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strnsvt · 2 months

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2 + woozi!! thank u 🫶🫶

lee jihoon — hearts ablaze.

the evening air was crisp and cool, a perfect backdrop for jihoon’s grand romantic gesture. for weeks, he’d been planning this night, hoping to sweep you off your feet with an elaborate surprise.

he had envisioned a perfect dinner, a movie night, and perhaps even a serenade—everything to show just how much he cared.

you arrived home from work to find the apartment bathed in a soft, warm glow from the fairy lights jihoon had strung up around the living room. the aroma of something that might have been a meal wafted through the air.

a table was set with candles, a vase of flowers, and a fancy tablecloth. it was clear he’d put in a lot of effort. but as you walked in, you noticed a faint, smoky smell that made your eyebrows furrow.

“hey, jihoon,” you called out, stepping further into the apartment. “it smells like...burnt toast?”

jihoon, who was in the middle of the kitchen, turned around, a sheepish grin on his face. his cheeks were flushed, and there was a thin layer of sweat on his forehead. “oh, uh, hi um welcome home.”

you glanced around and saw the kitchen in disarray. the stove was still on, and a pan was blackened beyond recognition. “what happened?”

“i...i tried to make a fancy dinner,” he said, scratching the back of his neck nervously. “but i might have...overcooked it a little.”

you couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight. “a little? i think you might have turned it into charcoal.”

jihoon sighed dramatically, his shoulders slumping. “i guess i should have just stuck to something simpler.”

“come here,” you said, walking over to him and pulling him into a hug. “i appreciate the effort, really. it’s the thought that counts.”

he wrapped his arms around you, his smile returning. “thanks. i’ve got another plan. let’s just skip dinner and move on to the next part.”

you followed him to the living room, where the candles were now lit and a movie was queued up on the tv. jihoon had arranged a selection of your favorite snacks on the coffee table. however, as he reached for the remote to start the movie, a sudden sound interrupted—an annoying beeping noise.

“what’s that?” you asked, looking around in confusion.

jihoon’s face went pale. “oh no. the fire alarm.”

you both rushed to the kitchen, where the smoke detector was blaring loudly. the candles had burned too close to the curtains, which were now smoking. jihoon tried to fan the smoke away, but it only made things worse. the situation was quickly getting out of hand.

“jihoon!” you shouted over the noise. “it’s okay! just turn off the stove and open the windows.”

he scrambled to do as you said, trying to get the smoke out of the apartment. after a few frantic minutes, the noise stopped, and the air began to clear.

“well, that was...something,” you said, trying to suppress your laughter.

jihoon’s face was red, his embarrassment evident. “i really wanted tonight to be perfect.”

you took his hand and squeezed it gently. “i know you did, and it means a lot to me. but you don’t have to do anything extravagant to show you care.”

he looked at you with a mixture of relief and regret. “i just wanted to make you happy.”

you leaned in, kissing him softly. “and you do make me happy, even if things don’t go as planned.”

with a sigh of relief, jihoon smiled and pulled you into a more relaxed embrace. “how about we just hang out and watch the movie, snack on whatever’s left, and forget about the rest?”

you nodded, your heart warmed by his sincerity. “sounds perfect to me.”

you both settled onto the couch, the movie starting up in the background. the snacks were a bit of a mess—some were burnt, some were still edible—but you didn’t mind. the evening had turned into something unexpected but genuinely enjoyable. jihoon had put his heart into the gesture, even if the execution was far from perfect.

as the movie played, jihoon snuggled closer to you, his arm around your shoulders. he occasionally glanced at you, a mix of pride and embarrassment on his face. you could tell he was still slightly disheartened by how the night had gone, but his efforts had not gone unnoticed.

“you know,” you said softly, leaning your head on his shoulder. “this is actually one of the best nights i’ve had in a while.”

jihoon looked at you, his eyes wide with surprise. “really?”

“yeah,” you confirmed with a smile. “it’s not about the fancy dinner or perfect setup. it’s about spending time with you and feeling loved.”

he seemed to relax a bit more, his smile widening. “i guess you’re right. i just wanted to make it special.”

you kissed him again, this time more deeply, letting him know how much you appreciated his efforts. the movie continued to play, but you were both more focused on each other than on the screen.

when the movie ended, jihoon stood up and stretched. “well, i guess i should clean up the kitchen and see what’s left of dinner.”

you grabbed his hand, pulling him back towards the couch. “don’t worry about it. let’s just sit here and talk for a while.”

he nodded, settling back beside you. you spent the rest of the evening talking and laughing, the earlier mishaps now just funny stories to recount. jihoon’s romantic efforts might not have gone as planned, but they had brought you even closer together.

as the night drew to a close, you both lay down on the couch, the fairy lights casting a soft glow over the room. jihoon’s arm was around you, and you felt content and happy.

“jihoon,” you murmured, your eyes closing as you snuggled closer to him. “tonight was perfect, just the way it was.”

jihoon chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “i’m glad you think so. next time, i promise to keep the fire alarms off.”

you laughed quietly, feeling grateful for the love and effort he had put into the evening. “i wouldn’t have it any other way.”

as you drifted off to sleep, you knew that despite the romantic failures of the night, jihoon’s love and dedication had made it unforgettable in the best possible way.

#seventeen x reader #seventeen fluff #seventeen imagines #svt imagines #svt x reader #strnsvt's writing #seventeen #seventeen x y/n #seventeen x you #woozi #woozi x reader #jihoon #lee jihoon #jihoon x reader #lee jihoon x reader

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satancopilotsmytardis · 11 months

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Can I rec like obsessive/stalking shig or Dabi

Pairing: ShigaDabi

Content: Obsession, Possessiveness, Dom/Sub dynamics, Under Negotiated Kink, Masturbation

Dabi's strange little crush was amusing at first. It was funny that he thought Tomura couldn't tell what he was doing, but he had picked up on it immediately. For all of his isolation, he did take a fair amount of enjoyment in people watching and watching his teacher manipulate his pawns. And Toga had smelled the crush on him the moment it solidified, and had been eager to tell him about it to try and get romance blooming. So having Dabi try to pull his pigtails by being so obstinate and insubordinate during meetings had been more amusing than anything else, especially when the other man was always so eager to not only do his job, but do it well. The crush was amusing. And now it isn't.

Tomura would never say that he was fond of all of his teacher's allies. His teacher always tried to get as much out of the villains he worked with as he could, and he would work with anyone if they had something useful. Tomura doesn't plan on working like that when he takes over, already has a list of contacts he'll be cutting off once the decision is up to him. Ryuya Wakahara is at the top of the list. Wakahara is a thin man with a rat-like face, small sharp nose, sharp chin, and perpetually gaunt cheeks. He was balding when Tomura had been a child, but now has rather poorly done plugs to give him a falsely full head of slicked back black hair. And perhaps, the five eyes, an additional set beneath his normal one, and a single one on his forehead, are also somewhat off-putting. Especially when they can each move individually, especially, especially when he knows his quirk allows him to strip back and ignore different parts of the visual light spectrum at will, giving him the ability to see through anything and in infrared and he's sure other ways as well. Notably can see through walls, through safe doors, and, unfortunately, through clothes as well. Something the man always somehow manages to allude to whenever meeting someone new. Delights in watching them squirm and Tomura has seen his arrest record and is privy to the far worse crimes that his teacher has helped him get away with.

He hates meeting with him, but unfortunately it was necessary. Hates that Kurogiri was preoccupied with his teacher which means he has to bring Dabi with him as his second. He's fairly good at controlling his distaste when he absolutely has to, and since Wakahara has the blueprints for the summer camp, it is absolutely necessary. Was mild when they made small talk before actually getting down to business, and thankfully, it wasn't long before money and blueprints were changing hands. Absolutely ready to be done with this.

"We should have a drink sometime, Tomura," his skin crawls. Doesn't know if it's more because of hearing his first name out of this creep's mouth or the fact he feels bold enough to reach out and touch his forearm as he starts to turn back to Dabi. "You've grown up so much since we last spoke," three of his eyes moving over his body, his primary ones locked on his face which he forces to remain passive. "It could be fun to catch up."

He plans to pull his arm away and rebuff him professionally. He doesn't get a chance. Dabi is moving around him, always knew the arsonist was fast, but he moves too quickly for Tomura to even think about stopping him. And then Dabi is grabbing Wakahara's arm, ripping his hand from Tomura's sleeve with a snarled,

"Don't touch him!" Before blue flame is erupting in the space where Wakahara was standing. Only screams for a few seconds before his corpse is charcoal and smoldering against the warehouse floor, the air filled with the smell of smoke, burnt hair, and meat. Tomura doesn't say anything for a second, a little too shocked that Dabi's crush has apparently spiraled this far out of control. He doesn't even know what he's going to do about this. But then Dabi moves and picks up the briefcase full of money they'd brought to buy the blueprints before turning and starting to head towards the door. "Oh look, you got a discount, boss. Sure your teach will love that." And he just keeps going, completely nonplussed. Doesn't manage to say anything to him, but the crush is definitely a lot less amusing now.

///

"Tomu," He braces himself. Toga only calls him that when she wants something, and usually only when it's something she doesn't think she's going to get unless he's in a particularly good mood. Only three days out from Dabi burning someone to death for touching him, he's definitely not in a good mood.

"What?" And his voice is plenty short enough to reflect that.

"Can Magne, Twice, and I go to that club your friend's friend owns? Please?"

He's tempted to say no. They have a lot of work to do, but it's mostly just planning stages right now, and he doesn't really need everyone around for the time being. They also won't have many chances to go out once this job goes off so any scant bit of freedom they have now, is really all they're going to get until they finish their work. "Fine, keep out of trouble."

"Yay, thanks, Shiggy!" She gives him a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. He's never gotten so much platonic physical affection in his life since the League settled. Magne, Twice, and Toga are huggers. Spinner always bumps their knuckles together when they're playing something, Compress is always patting them on the shoulders or back. Dabi is the only one who keeps his hands to himself. She goes bounding out of the room and they only have to wait another half an hour before the three of them are heading out. Compress and Spinner are at their own places already for the night, and Kurogiri still isn't back from whatever his teacher is having him do. So it's just him and Dabi in the bar for the time being. Which means they should probably talk about what happened. Dabi is sitting on the chair beside the couch, looking at the blueprints and smoking.

"You're not going to set Toga on fire for touching me, are you?"

Doesn't even look up, "No. Toga doesn't want to fuck you."

Well, he was never under the impression that Dabi was anything other than blunt. "As flattering as the crush is, you can't go around burning anyone you think might catch or want my attention. Especially not people who are supposed to be our business partners."

Dabi still doesn't look up at him, but his shoulders hunch in a little more and he... scowls. No, he pouts, and Tomura hates how cute he looks being so petulant. "They don't deserve your attention."

"And you do?" The arsonist hunches in a little more on himself.

"..no, sir."

Tomura is not prepared for how quickly heat ignites in his veins. Did not think he would ever be given Dabi's submission so readily. Can't help wanting to push that and see how far it can go. "Stop smoking in here. It's bad enough when Twice does it." Dabi immediately puts the cigarette out against his wrist. He's about to admonish him for hurting himself, but he doesn't press the cherry to his skin, rather against one of his staples with practiced ease. Doubts the heat of the cigarette is strong enough to mess with them if they can withstand his flames. Dabi waits for another order and Tomura makes him. Goes right back to his work without glancing at him. Keeps Dabi waiting ten minutes. Then,

"Come here." His voice cool, as if this isn't worth his attention either. Dabi moves over to him immediately, moving to sit beside him. "No," snaps his fingers and points at the thin strip of floor between the coffee table and couch. Dabi doesn't even hesitate, kneels at his feet and keeps waiting. Gives him another few minutes to stew as he tries to decide if this is a good idea or not. If he even cares when he could have someone as dangerous and pretty as Dabi at his side if he does. He reaches towards Dabi, still not looking, but he feels his temperature go up a little as his hand draws closer to his head. Wonders if that's fear. If he really will try to burn him if he thinks that he's about to die. He drops his hand into his hair.

One finger is raised, and Dabi is still too warm under his palm, but he doesn't combust. Gives a little shiver as he starts to run his hand through his hair, nails scratching lightly across his scalp. "You made things more difficult for me by killing him. I'll have to explain his death to my teacher." Glances at him out of the corner of his eye. He's the picture of contrite submission, hands knotted into fists against his knees, shoulders hunched, head down. It's a heady rush of power that goes through him at seeing the other man so willing to take his beratement. "What do you have to say for yourself."

"You didn't like him. He was making you uncomfortable--"

"And I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself." His voice hard and sharp. Dabi flinches under his hand.

"...I'm sorry, sir."

He hums in the back of his throat. "If you can't control yourself I'll have to have you leave."

"No!" And his temperature goes up a few more degrees, hands desperately tangling in his shirt sleeve. "Don't please, I'll be good, don't make me leave, I can be good, I'll be useful, I--"

He's taken aback by the sheer desperation in Dabi's voice, in the way he sounds so frantic and shaky. He doesn't know Dabi that well, is probably the person he knows the least about in the whole League. But clearly there is something to this obsession and terror of being abandoned. Something he can work with. "Shh."

Dabi immediately stills his tongue, but he's looking up at him with desperate blue eyes and there's a tremble running through his whole body. Dangerous. The alarm bells are going in the back of his mind. Dabi is dangerous. Obsessive, unstable, deadly. As useful as he can be, as good at his job as he is when he's not just trying to get a rise out of him-- when he's trying to get his attention, he realizes now-- keeping him around is a risk to his plans. Dabi won't give a shit about their goals. He'll do anything for him, though he does think that the other man has also shown he has enough sense to mostly know when to stay his hand. Tomura isn't quite sure what he did to inspire that level of unhinged loyalty, but it does give him an intoxicating jolt. He shouldn't keep him around. He should dust him right now while no one is home and tell them they had a fight and he left.

"If you want to stay you'll have to prove to me how good you can be. Follow my orders, not act up, be patient. Do you like being like this, firefly?"

The prettiest pink blush flares to life on the thin strip of unscarred skin across Dabi's cheeks. "Yes, sir." Breathless when he speaks.

"Then if you're good, and patient, and do your job well, then when I have time, I'll reward you like this in private." Gently tugs his arm out of the other's grasp so he can use a single finger to trace that pretty color across Dabi's cheeks. Not expecting for it to earn him a desperate, thready moan from his lips as his eyes fall closed and he leans forward a little to try and get more. Fuck, this is a bad idea.

Turns one finger to two, trails them from his temple down along the edge of his jaw slowly, watches Dabi's breath get a little shorter, his eyelashes flutter against his cheeks. Tomura traces over the staples in his chin so he can very lightly run the pads of his fingers over Dabi's scarred lip. The other man immediately opens his mouth, tries to flick his tongue against them, but he withdraws, moving down over his chin and tracing the column of his throat instead. His scarred skin is such an interesting texture, and he's not sure if it's more sensitive than the rest of his skin, or if Dabi is just so receptive to his touch, but as he trails along the swell of his chest, just visible above the low cut collar of his shirt, he sees the other man start to squirm slightly. Is tracing over the bumps of staples when he sees that his cock is hardening in his pants.

"Like having my hand on you that much, firefly?" Amusement, a little mockery in his voice. It makes Dabi tremble a little harder. Looks like it makes his cock a little harder too. This is a terrible idea. This is exactly why Kurogiri is always watching him whenever he's here, can't always be a perfect general. "Touch yourself, firefly."

Dabi doesn't even hesitate, reaching for his belt as his cheeks darken and his pretty eyes go half-lidded and hazy with his lust.

"No, not like that." Still doesn't put up a fight as he brings his hand to the swell of his erection and starts to rub and grind his palm against himself. Blue eyes never leaving his face. So wanting, desperate for his touch, his attention, his approval. He wonders how much more broken he could make Dabi if he withheld them. Catches his chin between his forefinger and thumb to tilt his head a bit higher. Wants to see the long line of his throat and how his staples gleam when the light catches them just right. Wonders what shape he would take if he lavished Dabi with all three. What he would do if he wrapped a collar around his neck. If he would even care if he put him on a leash in front of anyone else.

Opens his hand, pressing his thumb across Dabi's lips and slowly dropping a finger, one-by-one against his neck. Stops at four, but Dabi doesn't even flinch. Doesn't seem to even notice or care because he opens his mouth again and flicks his tongue over the pad of his thumb. He lets out a loud moan as he does, like the taste of his skin is the best thing he's ever known as his hand starts to work over himself a little rougher, a little faster. It's an indulgence that he allows when Dabi takes his thumb between his lips and starts to lick and swallow around it. Is definitely trying to entice him, clearly wants more than just this. Wants to be between his legs, and Tomura doesn't doubt how good his slightly too-hot mouth will feel, how much more of a pretty picture he'll make with his cock fed between his eager lips. But this has to be about control. Unchecked this will go from a bad idea to catastrophic. He needs to make Dabi earn rewards like that. Needs to make sure he knows that bad behavior won't be tolerated.

He lets Dabi keep touching himself, watches him as he does, would be lying if he said having the other man so at his mercy wasn't making his own cock stir, but he ignores that. And it seems like, so long as his eyes are on Dabi, so long as he's even touching him with a single finger, that's enough to keep him needy and pushing towards the edge. Knows he's getting closer when his breaths start to come in harsher, when he starts to trickle smoke out of his seams, and there are little bitten off moans and gasps falling from his lips.

"Ah, ah, Tomura--" That gives him a surge of heat. Never heard Dabi use his name before. Hasn't ever heard anyone say it so reverently. But he just hums in acknowledgement. Dabi's hand moves a little more desperately. "Please, sir, please," close, but clearly he wants something else to bring him over the edge.

"Would you like it if I kissed you, Dabi?" Immediately has the arsonist moaning loudly, nodding his head desperately, trying to get closer without disobeying his order to stay on the floor. "No."

He whimpers, but his hand keeps moving against his cock.

"You'll have to earn that. Just like anything else. You misbehaved so badly this week, you're lucky that you're getting anything at all."

"I'm sorry, please sir,"

"No. You don't even deserve to feel good. All you deserve," and he roughly shoves three fingers between Dabi's lips, "is to know that you're a desperate whore, who isn't worthy of my time." Presses down hard on the back of his tongue, swears to god he feels stitches running across it, as Dabi lets out a sound that might be a gag and a moan. His eyes shut and his whole body shudders sharply and his hand abruptly stops moving. Oh, he's nearly purring with his satisfaction that he was right, and that that was enough to make the other man cum. Dabi's breath is still coming in roughly when he pulls his fingers out of his mouth, wipes his spit away on his cheek before turning back to the blueprints. "Your punishment for this week is that you are going to keep kneeling there in your mess until the others come home. You will speak only if you have something relevant about the job. Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir," Still a little breathless. Sounds just chastised enough, but Tomura gets the feeling that rewards are going to be a far more reliable way of getting Dabi to do what he wants.

The crush is certainly not amusing anymore, but it is interesting in a new way that he's eager to explore.

Thank you for submitting!

#ask #asks #shigadabi #my writing #kinktober drabble asks

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sleepinginpanic · 1 year

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Nunemaker’s Parable by Everyone’s worried about Owen is Chip coded.

It’s so Chip coded and if I knew how to animate I’d make a animation about Chip with this song

Also Spoilers for JRWI riptide and analysis below

V V V V V

Ok for the like analysis

“There was a wanderer who found his way to God

Or maybe it was Lucifer under some false facade

Broken down and tattered

Compound fractures in his sleeves

Shoe soles nailed together

But he never seemed to bleed

With one desperate push

His poor diaphragm forced out a plea”

Let’s be honest, Chip doesn’t look good. He has been several times described as haunted. With all the battles and things he’s seen, he’s probably constantly kinda dirty and his clothes are probably kinda ruined. Also maybe some 109 spoilers for his looks here (specially with the last three lines)

“He said: One home burned down, one fell apart

One met a flood, and one was nothing from the start

Weapons build against me, well they all seem to fail

But weapons built against my home

They always will prevail”

The one that burned down was the orphanage with Price. The flood is the Black Rose pirates. Nothing from the start is where ever he came from before joining the black rose pirates, his birth family. One that fell apart is his first ship, the chipper (I think that’s the name).

“So leave me my liver and leave me my skin

Leave me the way all those other homes did

But leave me a soul, only by definition

I don't want to feel anything

My neurons are snapping like cat gut strings

A symphony of agony

I don't wanna hear and I don't wanna sing

I don't wanna breathe incompletely

I am mourning

I am morning

So break me anew”

This just feels very Chip. He’s mourning a lot, the black rose pirates mostly. (Also Episode 109)

“Well, I'll find every sick fuck I can

And I'll make them a deal

With no conscience, I'll make money and

I'll lie and cheat and steal

And that money won't bring happiness

But let me ask what does

'Cause I've found a place, and those sick fucks

Well, they turned it to dust

And if I can't have justice

I might as well join the unjust”

His deal with Niklaus, Price, becoming a pirate in general. So much of just hiding behind the role of a bastard.

“The floorboards smelled like lemonade

Prepared for our arrival

The air was clean and crisp

Just like a tonic for survival

Well, I wrote my name in charcoal

On the bathhouse where we cried

So now I'm broken fundamentally

And nobody gets why”

This about the albatross. Him carving big chipper into the ship. Also replace lemonade with orange juice.

“So give me what drugs you got, give me your meds

Give me a cocktail to sedate my head

Abandon all hope of my moral salvation

They already took that from me”

I don’t have a part about the drugs but I do about the morals. Chip doesn’t have very strong morals when it comes to lying, stealing, stuff like that, but he did about killing. Yet he loses this moral when he gives up his memory of why he has this moral. He has been said to be a sinner several times, to be past saving really when it comes to his sins.

“The sky was an angel of morning's heat

With languid, shiny curls of aquamarine

And when I close my eyes and when I dare to dream

When I think I might shatter completely

I can feel them in my hands

But I can't go back again”

Angle could be Chip speaking celestial. Though this part I think goes better with him talking about Gillion and Jay. As well as the nightmares he had with everything burning, including his friends.

“My neurons are snapping like cat gut strings

A symphony of agony

I don't wanna hear and I don't wanna sing

I don't wanna breathe incompletely

I am mourning

I am morning

So break me anew

Turns out that the God he found was just a little girl

Sitting on a swingset

Just a little girl

She said "Mister, you look tired

I will let you go, but first

I think that what you're asking for

It just might make things worse"

This part right here about the little girl, that’s Chip talking to Ollie. Ollie is the little girl in the song. Chip sees Ollie as like a better version of kid him. He sees what Arlin saw in him in Ollie. Ollie is like a reminder of his childhood.

Also I feel like For Sad Strange Little Man is also Chip coded.

#jrwi riptide #chip jrwi #jrwi spoilers #jrwi #just roll with it #just roll with it riptide #Nunemaker’s parable

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iviarellereads · 8 months

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The Eye of the World, Chapter 7 - Out Of The Woods

(THIS PROJECT IS SPOILER FREE! No spoilers past the chapter you click on. Curious what I'm doing here? Read this post! For the link index and a primer on The Wheel of Time, read this one! Like what you see? Send me a Ko-Fi.)

(Dead tree icon) In which some costs are too great, but perhaps we can hope, not this one.

Rand plods on until he notices the dark night fading. He can barely feel his shoulders or his legs anymore, just the queasy hunger in his stomach and the burning in his lungs. He smells smoke, and smiles, but shortly realizes there's too much of it in the air.

The city's been sacked. Sort of. The destruction is in patches, as if specific houses, specific streets were targeted, and those between and around them left alone.(1)

Master Luhhan is the first one Rand can flag down, and he calls for Egwene and helps Rand with the litter. Egwene leads them to Nynaeve, who looks Tam over and declares sadly that she can't help him. Rand protests that Tam is dying, and Nynaeve says she knows he is, but she knows what she can do with her herb lore, and there are people she can still save.(2) She goes back to her work, calling Egwene in after her. Egwene gives Rand a tackle-hug for comfort, and goes back to work.

Rand sets himself to bring Tam to the Mayor, surely Bran al'Vere will know something to do. He walks in a daze, brushing off offers of help from others in the village. Thom Merrilin is outside the inn, and says he's sure the Wisdom will set Tam right, he admires her work since last night, and how odd that Padan Fain disappeared in the night.

Ignoring Thom as he did the other villagers, Rand is started on his arrival at the inn to see its door marked with charcoal, a teardrop shape balanced on its point. Rand calls it the Dragon's Fang,(3) and thinks it's used to accuse those within of evil, why would anyone accuse anyone at the inn of evil? Somewhere along the way, Master Luhhan left to other tasks, so Thom helps get Tam on the litter inside.

Rand gets Tam in and Bran insists on settling the man in a bed, so he can at least rest. After telling them Nynaeve won't help him, Rand begs Master al'Vere and Thom the gleeman for any idea what he can do to save his father.

Thom wonders who scrawled the Dragon's Fang on the door,(4) and the Mayor accuses the Coplins and Congars, troublemaking families. One of them, he says, told him he ought to throw Moiraine and Lan out of the village, as if there would be a village left without them.

Rand is confused. What did they do? Turns out Moiraine is an Aes Sedai. She called lightning out of the sky and killed many of the Trollocs. Lan being her Warder, his sword felled any that came near him. Bran realizes that Aes Sedai can heal, and asks why Thom didn't just say that in the first place, since he knows all the stories? Thom remarks coolly that the Coplins and Congars aren't the only ones who want no truck with Aes Sedai.

Help from an Aes Sedai was sometimes worse than no help at all, so the stories said, like poison in a pie, and their gifts always had a hook in them, like fishbait.

Despite his misgivings and the men's warnings, Rand runs off to find Moiraine and ask for her help. As he walks up, Lan and Moiraine talk about how seven bands of Trollocs have been noted in the dead, that many haven't worked together since the Trolloc Wars.(5)

Rand stumbles over his words and says he'll pay any price in his power if she can help his father. Moiraine says they'll talk of prices later, if at all, but she'll do what she can. When Rand tries to rush them, Lan snaps that she's obviously tired, from what she'd already done the night before. He adds that he's not sure Rand is worth helping, "no matter what she says."(6) Moiraine bids Lan to go gently, the boy only cares for his father as much as Lan wants to protect Moiraine.

For his part, Rand just tries not to worry what price she'll ask as they approach the inn.

=====

(1) What were they looking for? Well, nearly all the boys of an age range in and around town reported seeing the black rider in the days before. That would be a pretty big coincidence. (2) Triage is a wonderful and terrible thing. (3) And this is why I used that name a few chapters ago. Only, we see now what connotation it carries. Looking back, what in chapter 3 might have justified its use there? Was it the talk of the Dragon, or something more sinister? (4) Note here, how Thom tries to draw attention to Moiraine Sedai's ability without saying so. He knows the Fang was probably exactly what Bran said, done to accuse Moiraine and Lan of being Darkfriends. So, he tries to guide Bran down the path to "Aes Sedai can heal" without compromising his principle to know about and interact with Aes Sedai as little as possible. (5) We've seen mention of the Trolloc Wars before, "when men battled Trollocs for rule of the earth", from Thom's bragging about all the stories he knows. We didn't know quite what Trollocs were then, but we have a much better idea, now, of what horror a Trolloc War might entail. (6) Moiraine seemed awfully relieved to see Rand had survived the night, and now we learn that Moiraine thinks Rand is worth putting herself out over. Who is this woman, this Aes Sedai, and why is she here?

#wheel of time #wot #the wheel of time #twot #the eye of the world #eye of the world #eotw #teotw #wot dead tree icon #rand al'thor #tam al'thor #haral luhhan #egwene al'vere #nynaeve al'meara #bran al'vere #thom merrilin #moiraine damodred #lan mandragoran

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vibraniumwing · 3 years

Text

warmth.

a bucky barnes x reader blurb wherein you’re the only one who gets to see the soft side of the usually cold and stoic super soldier.

WARNING: none !! (well is isn't beta-read so mistakes are all mine !!)

A/N: i have this headcanon where bucky’s pretty much soft with you yet he’s still so awkward with it since he’s still trying his best to learn how to be open with his thoughts and feelings. drown in feels with me, please <3

---

You were Bucky’s new source of strength; the ray of sun he needed on days that are too rough and dark. You were his rest when life gets too tedious.

If you weren’t so updated with his life, it would be hard to believe that he was the same person who can take on 10 men alone without breaking a sweat. He tried to shield you from his wrong-doings but you ended up giving him a lecture that he shouldn’t hide anything from you一 even the dark memories of his past since you wouldn’t love him any less. In your eyes, he didn’t do any of that. He was barely a shell of a man when you met him and you don’t have the heart to blame him for it; he was a victim.

---

The sun that seeped in through the small cracks of your curtains was enough to wake you up, making you stir lightly. You reached over to the side of your lover only to see that it was cold and well empty, making you open your eyes to check the time and groan at the fact that it was barely past 8 in the morning.

You grabbed Bucky’s pillow and hugged it close to your frame, his scent greeting your senses as it lulled you back to sleep until the smell of burnt toast infiltrated your nose, making you cringe and sit up. As much as it irked you to get up, you had to see what was going on in your kitchen before it burns down completely.

You made your way out of the room and the smell of bacon and eggs wafted through the air, making you smile in excitement. Carefully, you peeked inside and saw Bucky silently cursing as he grabbed the charcoal-looking toast from the oven while the other hand waved over the toaster that was smoking lightly as rather /colorful/ words rolled off his tongue.

This made you laugh and re-emerge from your hiding spot, startling Bucky. “You shouldn’t be awake yet, doll.” He groaned, his right arm running through his hair. The faint rosy color that decorated his features were enough to tell you that he’s embarrassed that you caught him in the middle of the act一of burning toast that is.

“I would love to sleep in, Buck but the smell of burnt toast woke me up.” You teased, letting out a soft laugh as he huffed softly, putting his hand over his face. You walked over to where he was and wrapped your arm around his frame, snuggling yourself against him, “Plus, the bed is cold without you, James.”

He placed a gentle kiss to your forehead, hand cupping your cheek as his thumb prodded against the skin gently. “I’m sorry, baby. I just wanted to make something for you.” He explained, holding you in his tight embrace, swaying the both of you from side-to-side.

Bucky was still awkward in showing his emotions around you, albeit he was worse when the both of you first started dating. Everything was very foreign to him in terms of showing affection and receiving it. He was actually growing ashamed of himself for being a fool in front of you. He has his adorable moments with it; when he wants to say i love you but ends up saying something rather embarrassing that leaves you clueless or when he wants to give you a hug but instead just stands and looks at you until you ask what’s the problem.

It was so very new to him and you didn’t blame him for it, instead you embraced it and told him that he didn’t have to force himself and that you can wait for even a thousand more days if it meant you could see him comfortably be affectionate around you. It’s in these little moments like this that you are reminded of how loving he can actually be.

“Then we can make them together, love. So I can make you something as well.” You answered, leaning in to give him a gentle kiss, smiling into it as you feel him smiling as well. He nodded, hesitantly letting you go as he grabbed the bread and passed it on to you.

“If so, can you do the toast? I don’t want to burn them again."

---

TAGLIST: @gcdricreads @lunalovecroft @https-bvcky (i can't tag you)

join my taglist! find it in my main masterlist!

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky fluff #bucky barnes blurb #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fics #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes imagines #marvel imagines #marvel #mcu

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asweetprologue · 4 years

Text

deep in the coffin of your chest

Octoberfest 13: Possession (whumptober #15)

Something was wrong. Jaskier knew it instantly, in the way a deer knows when it’s been spotted by a wolf, the way a field mouse feels in the shadow of a hawk. Jaskier was sitting on the other side of the charcoal circle they’d drawn up, finishing the second to last of the runes. It looked like yrden, mostly, just a more permanent trap. Geralt had wanted to snare the wraith for easier dispatch, knowing that the fight would be harder without a talisman to burn. Jaskier helped as much as he was able, looking carefully over the lines Geralt had sketched out in his notebook before moving to fill in the runes on the floor. The smooth marble of the mausoleum accepted the marks easily, neat little lines of soot almost hidden from view. The air was still, the smell of damp stone and faint decay hanging around them. Geralt had finished his own side and looked over the work with a satisfied hum, and then something in his posture had changed.

He looked the same, was the thing. Nothing had changed. There were no flickering lights, no rush of wind, nothing to indicate that a malevolent force had arrived. But the way Geralt was holding his head was suddenly a little off, his expression when he looked up at Jaskier just a bit too flat. Something wasn’t right. Jaskier had barely one more line to do before the circle was complete, but he hesitated.

“Geralt?” he said, unsure. “Are you alright?”

It was like a switch being flipped. For a moment, everything was still, Geralt’s face utterly emotionless. And then, in the blink of an eye, rage unlike anything Jaskier had ever seen stole over his features and a growl filled the room. It rumbled through the room like thunder, echoing through the alcoves and into the vaulted ceiling above them.

Jaskier dropped the charcoal. It clattered softly to the ground near his knee.

“Geralt, what’s wrong? What -” Jaskier didn’t have time to finish, because Geralt was standing with all the fluid grace of a seasoned witcher and stalking towards him. Jaskier scrambled to his feet, heart pounding. He’d never felt scared of Geralt before, but something about the slow prowl towards him made the long lost prey part of his brain scream run run run! Geralt’s pupils were wide, black entirely swallowing up the lovely gold, and he looked angry. Jaskier turned, seized by a sudden panic, but Geralt closed the distance too quickly. The witcher slammed into him, shoving Jaskier back against the wall hard enough to knock the wind out of him. He floundered for breath as Geralt stepped towards him again, unable to get his bearings before fingers were grabbing his forehead and slamming his head back into the stone wall of the crypt.

Jaskier’s vision swam. Spots danced in front of his eyes as pain exploded from the back of his skull, instantly making his stomach lurch. He gasped, reeling at the shock of the blow and the betrayal. Geralt would never hurt him. He wouldn’t. But whatever this was, it wasn’t Geralt. Jaskier could tell, squinting at him through watering eyes. Geralt would never look at him with such hatred. “Geralt, snap out of it!”

There was a blow to his gut, not as hard as Jaskier knew Geralt could deliver but hard enough that he could hear the faint groan of his ribs. It bowled him over, one hand going to cradle his abused stomach while the other blindly reached for Geralt’s shoulder. Seeking support even when it was he who’d dealt the blow. It was a mistake; Geralt grabbed his arm and twisted, tackling Jaskier to the ground. He couldn’t keep his injured head from banging against the floor again, and the repeat impact made Jaskier’s vision go black for a long moment. Huge, warm hands were pinning him down, an ongoing growl reverberating through the chamber.

Jaskier lashed out, blindly reaching to try and slap Geralt’s face or knee him out of the way. It must have come as a surprise, because both blows landed and the growl stopped with a startled huff of breath. Jaskier blinked his eyes open in time to see the witcher flinch back a bit, fury twisting his features. Seeing an opening, Jaskier tried to wriggle away. His head was swimming, but he tried his best to struggle free of Geralt’s grasp. Whatever was possessing him couldn’t do this. It couldn’t be allowed to use Geralt against him.

It didn’t matter. Geralt recovered easily and grabbed Jaskier by the leg, pulling him back into place with a snarl. Jaskier met his eyes, looking for any recognition, but was met with hateful indifference. It hurt worse than any of the blows Geralt had rained down on his body, cutting through his chest like a blade. Geralt looked at him with impersonal vehemence, and Jaskier felt despair flood through him. Whatever had Geralt, it had him completely. Jaskier felt hot breath over his jugular as Geralt leaned down, violence in every line of the body above him. He choked on a sob. This was more powerful than either of them. Jaskier was going to die. And if he escaped with his own life, Geralt would be devastated.

Jaskier's hands came up to clutch at Geralt's back, holding him close even as his body screamed for him to try and fight. His heart was pounding so hard he thought it might burst in his chest. He'd never felt fear like this - Geralt's sharp teeth were inches from Jaskier's neck, ready to tear him open at any moment. Jaskier felt a tear slip down over his cheek, falling back towards his hair. Geralt's entire body was drawn tight above him, shaking.

"It's okay," Jaskier gasped. He raised a hand to card it desperately through Geralt's hair, his thumb barely brushing over his clenched jaw. "It's okay, Geralt, it's okay. I forgive you. It's not your fault, I forgive you, okay? It's okay. I love you - i-it's okay, I love you, I love you." He was crying, but he tried to put all of his trust in Geralt into the words. Geralt was going to tear himself apart over this, Jaskier knew, and it was almost worse than the fact that he was going to die.

Geralt's clenched teeth pressed against Jaskier's neck, his lips pulled back in a silent snarl. One quick move and it would be over, Jaskier’s blood spilling across the floor and Geralt’s tongue. His fist slammed down next to Jaskier's head, shaking the ground.

"It's alright," Jaskier said softly. He leaned his forehead against Geralt's temple, a parody of a lover's embrace. "I love you, Geralt. It's okay."

Geralt shuddered against him, a whine leaving him. He was fighting it, Jaskier realized, pushing back against the thing boiling his blood. It was a moment. A chance.

The charcoal was still on the floor, inches from his face.

His only advantage was surprise. Using the hand in Geralt’s hair, Jaskier suddenly pulled as hard as he could, at the same time twisting to shove Geralt’s knee out with his foot. It was a trick Geralt himself had taught him, one only managed successfully in the past because the witcher had allowed it. But this wasn’t Geralt, and the thing inside of the body above him wasn’t ready for it. Too distracted in a silent battle of wills, Geralt tumbled to the side.

Into the circle.

Jaskier scrambled for the charcoal just as Geralt began rising back up on his knees, none of the hesitance present in his face. He - it, whatever was playing host to Geralt’s body right now - was furious, absolute rage contorting his features. It was utterly inhuman. Jaskier threw himself at the edge of the circle, towards his last final rune, just as Geralt lunged forward. One line, a gentle curve, and a tiny dash off the end.

Jaskier held perfectly still, on his hands and knees before the circle. There was a sudden shift in the air, like the pressure change when walking up a mountain, and then Geralt gasped. Jaskier looked up just in time to see a half solidified form stutter out of Geralt’s body, peeling off of him in fits and starts. Geralt staggered when it was done, fumbling a few feet outside of the circle. The thing within lunged for him, but was stopped at the edge with an angry howl. It was no true color, barely there at all, more of a density in the air and a presence before them. So hateful.

Geralt drew his sword, untouched throughout their own scuffle. It was a simple fight, which Jaskier watched from his slumped position on the marble tiles. Within a moment the creature was gone, dissipating into ash.

Not a second later Geralt was beside him, sword flung to the side. An arm wrapped around his shoulders, holding him in place, and another came up to cradle the back of his head. Jaskier winced at the throb there, flinching away from the hand.

Geralt released him immediately, his expression pained. Jaskier swayed towards him without the extra support, catching himself on Geralt’s chest with one wide spread hand. “Sorry,” he said, still feeling woozy. “Hit my head. That didn’t seem like a wraith.”

“Demon,” Geralt said. He reached out again, more hesitantly now, and cupped Jaskier’s jaw. Their eyes met, and Jaskier was relieved to see familiar liquid gold staring back at him. Geralt’s eyebrows were creased in worry, guilt making his features tight. Jaskier spared one brief moment to be intensely glad that he hadn’t died. For both their sake. “You’re hurt,” Geralt said. And then, more quietly, “I hurt you.”

Jaskier huffed, even though the movement hurt his ribs. Definitely bruised. “None of that,” he said, tapping Geralt’s chest. “You didn’t do this. You know that.”

“I could see it. I couldn’t stop. It was so angry, it wanted to hurt you so badly. Why didn’t you fight back?” Geralt asked. He sounded wounded, his other hand coming up to hold Jaskier’s face in his palms. Searching his gaze for answers. “You just… gave up. You said -”

“I said I love you,” Jaskier finished for him, bringing one hand up to curl around Geralt’s wrist. He skimmed his thumb over the pulse point there, soothing. “It’s okay. I didn’t want you to feel guilty.”

“Guilty,” Geral repeated, his voice breaking. “Jaskier, I couldn’t - If you -”

“I know,” Jaskier said. He turned his head just slightly to press a kiss to Geralt’s palm. The movement made his head swim, but Geralt inhaled sharply at the soft brush of lips, so it was well worth it. “I know, darling. I’d never blame you.”

Geralt made a choked sound, and then Jaskier was being pulled into a gentle hug, mindful of his injuries. Geralt tucked him in close, pressing his nose into Jaskier’s throat in an echo of his earlier position. This time, Jaskier had never felt so safe. “I’m sorry,” he rasped out, pressing the words into Jaskier’s skin. “I couldn’t bear to lose you. You must know, that I - You -”

“I do. It’s okay. I know,” Jaskier said. He brushed his fingers gently through Geralt’s hair, trying to sooth the guilty, fearful man before him. Who he loved so dearly. “I love you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Geralt hummed and Jaskier felt the press of slightly chapped lips at his jaw before Geralt pulled back. “Good,” he said, eyes over bright. He glanced over Jaskier’s features and frowned. “Shit. We should get you to a healer.”

“Ah, I’ve had worse after a night of hard drinking,” Jaskier said, offering Geralt a grin. “You aren’t all that tough, at the end of the day.”

Geralt frowned back at him, not rising to the joke. “I was holding it back,” he said absently, moving to run his fingers lightly through Jaskier’s hair. There was a sizable bump there, but Jaskier hadn’t been lying - this wouldn’t be his first knock on the head, nor likely his last. “You’re going to have a concussion.”

“Good thing I’ve got you to take care of me,” Jaskier said, feeling woozy and bruised but somehow still warm and relieved. They were both alive. That was all he could ask for, at the end of it all.

He expected to receive an eye roll and a dismissive hum at his remark. Instead Geralt just looked at him with an expression that made Jaskier ache in a too-pleasant way, deep in his chest, before he leaned in to press their lips together so, so gently. “You do,” Geralt mumbled, tipping their foreheads together. “You do.”

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ashintheairlikesnow · 3 years

Note

I didn't know that you still wrote adsom.. if you're willing to take prompts - and it's totally okay if you aren't - I think I saw an old ask about Holland trying on kell's coat?

Hey, Anon! Sorry, I went to sleep last night just as this ask came in, I think. I took some time to think it over today and here, I have a little something for you. I hope you see it! Sorry again about missing it when it came in.

Holland Vosijk was not a man driven by flights of fancy. He had been, just a little, before Talya and the violent loss of his vision of a world he could simply live in. Now, though, everything but unwilling, unwanted survival had been burned away.

He would have called himself forged by fire, but most things forged become stronger afterward, and Holland rarely felt that way.

He was not a man of whims - he was instead the hand and arm that acted out the whims of his monarchs, his masters, that obeyed the pulse of the curse carved into his chest.

So when he stepped into the inn and finds a very recognizable coat draped over a chair, the urge to pick it up surprised him.

He wasn't aware he could still have sudden thoughts like that.

The coat's owner was up at the bar itself, seemingly three ales deep and working on the fourth, his pretty brother at his side. Holland tried not to look at either of them, hoping he could go unnoticed.

If there was a bevy of whispers, well, perhaps the little princes would assume they were about them, not him.

He stepped slowly up to the table the two must have been sitting at, littered with the empty finished ale cups, half-eaten meals, and the damned coat.

It looked normal enough - luxe soft wool heavily treated, impossibly expensive, in the deep saturated red that all these Arnesian people seemed to take as 'their' color. It was hideously unflattering to the prince, with his pale skin turned too reddened by it, his red hair made to look dull when Holland knew damn well Kell's hair was shining and coppery and gleamed like coins in the sun when Holland very much wasn't looking at him in the slightest-

Stop it.

He had come here to drink himself to senselessness in a world where his monarchs could not trace him, could not pay some citizen to speak of his whereabouts, could not torture some innocent youth who merely saw him pass on the street.

And yet...

He allowed his fingertips to run, just for a moment, along the line of the chair's back through the coat. He felt over a hint of golden thread sewn in along the lapel. Red and gold, pointless sickening luxury in a world grown fat on the magic it stole from a dying one.

In a sudden fit of violence, he jerked the jacket off the chair into his hands. The chair, knocked off-balance, toppled backwards onto the floor with a loud CRACK.

The inn went briefly quiet, and Holland felt two dozen pairs of Arnesian eyes quite suddenly land entirely and only on him.

Including those of the princes.

"Holland?" It was Rhy who spoke first, and drunk or not, the Arnesian prince slipped into an immediate smiling brilliance. Difficult to resist.

Holland, though, had an inborn defense against idiot princes. He, after all, spent his days and nights tortured by an idiot king.

"Have you come by to grace us with your company?" Rhy smiled, tilting his head. His amber-yellow eyes sparkled with the drink coursing through his veins.

If Astrid drank his blood, Holland thought idly, she might get drunk on it.

"No," he said, shortly, and turned, walking outside as quickly as he could, before the faintest blush in his cheeks might become visible, before they could read embarrassment even in his faded skin, his washed-out color.

He made it out into the street before he realized he still had Kell Maresh's coat in his hand.

He couldn't very well go back in and give it back, now could he? Admitting to that embarrassment would be a crime far worse than simple theft.

Instead, he walked quickly, turning left into an alleyway just as he heard the door open behind him and Kell's voice ring out, "Hey! He's got my coat!" with a note of nervous trepidation that had Holland rolling his eyes.

Like Holland didn't already know Kell smuggled between worlds. He'd been tracking him at it for months. Years, even.

That nasty little habit would get the redheaded Arnesian prince in trouble one day.

He came to a stop in a spot of near-total darkness down by the docks, the gentle sound of the river lapping at the shore a soothing balm. The Isle glowed a brilliant red, the usual nighttime sky in London, stars only vaguely visible through its haze.

They had so much magic. How little of it they could have shared and saved Makt.

Holland very nearly threw the coat in the damn Isle to drown the way he sometimes wished he could drown the entire Arnesian royal family before... before that damn whim struck again.

He turned the coat inside out.

The red became white, a white that nearly blinded him, with black thread. He frowned.

"No," He said out loud in the Royal language of Arnes.

He turned the coat inside-out again.

This time it was a pale robins-egg blue, with embroidered birds along the lapel. He wrinkled his nose.

"Absolutely not."

He tried one more time.

The third time, indeed, was the charm - the coat this time was a deep black, so solid it seemed to soak up light entirely. The embroidered cuffs and lapel were white, a series of spirals that made him think of a time long, long ago, when the doors were open to all.

It reminded him of how they once dressed in a London now dead and gone, entirely overrun by magic it grew addicted to rather than tightly controlled.

He sighed and undid the silver clasp for his half-cloak, pulling it off and carefully laying it over a short wrought-iron stair railing for a building next to him. The silver winked slightly in the red light of the Isle.

He slipped his arm into one sleeve and then the other, fully expecting them to be far too long - Kell was tall and lanky, after all, while Holland was far more compactly built, and short like the rest of Makt after a life spent working and fighting for every bite of food left.

The coat fit perfectly, as if tailored only for him.

He looked down at himself, and then up, finding a windowpane where he could see his own reflection.

He looked... Arnesian, almost.

Not quite - his hair was too faded, the deep black of his childhood gone charcoal-gray with the way the world had of leeching magic and life out of everyone. His skin was too pale, his Antari eye stood out like it did everywhere else.

And yet...

"Not bad," Kell Maresh said, and Holland's heart skipped a beat in surprise. It took all his willpower not to visibly flinch.

He instead turned smoothly, slowly, as if he had known the redhead was there all along. "I am glad you think so," He said in a dry voice devoid of sincerity. "It is unkind to follow a man at night, lile prins."

"Well, you ran off before I could talk to you," Kell pointed out, walking towards him. There was a high red spot in each cheek and a gleam to his blue eye that said he was still drunk.

"You could have as many coats as you wished, what is a few gold coins to a prince to replace it?"

"True. But that is my coat. It cannot be replaced."

"It could be my coat, if I wished it to be."

"It's not, though. Plus..." Kell's expression went into a kind of teasing look that made Holland uncomfortable and also oddly... interested in if this was what it looked like to see the Maresh prince flirt. It was awkward. It was endearing. "It is also unkind to steal a drunk man's clothing."

Holland hummed. "I am not a man known for kindness," He said, sliding the coat back off and folding it over his arm.

When Kell came closer - and he smelled of the flowery odd sort of beer they made and drank here, damn near wine. "And yet I think you have kindness in you that you will never express."

Holland stared at him, shocked. Kell Maresh often seemed to have little more sense than the gods gave a goat, and yet...

Perhaps the beer had loosened some kind of wisdom in him. There were stranger, less believable things in the worlds.

He held his hand out for the coat, and Holland, still too surprised to really think, simply handed it back. "Thank you," Kell said. He flipped the coat inside-out twice, until it was back to the color and style he liked, and slipped it on. "Why did you take it?"

"I don't know." It was, for once, a truly honest answer.

Kell considered, and then nodded, slowly. "I'll see you around," He said, stood there awkwardly waiting for Holland to reciprocate the farewell and receiving only silence in return, and then he turned and walked away, back towards the inn and his brother.

Holland watched him go, not quite sure what held him to the spot, but he found himself unwilling to move until the last sight of the other Antari's red hair shimmering with the light of the Isle was gone.

Holland inhaled, and the air smelled of roses, with a kind of steel underneath.

"For some reason," he murmured, "I genuinely don't want them to make me kill you."

Perhaps he could find some other way.

#adsom #adsom fanfiction #adsom fanfic #a darker shade of magic #kell maresh #holland vosijk #agos #acol #ve schwab #some light hinted at kelland here but mostly canon compliant #reluctantly so

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ohheyitsokay · 3 years

Note

I am a simple hoe, I see soulmate au I get excited. Anyways could you do a “world is black and white till you touch your soulmate for the first time au” with Frankie 🥺. If you’re not feeling it then please don’t stress out over it. Your writing is amazing 💜

Me too, babe, me too. I love a good soulmate au, so absolutely no stress! Thank you, hope you enjoy!

Pairing: Francisco Morales (Frankie/Catfish) x reader (g/n)

Wordcount: 1k

No warnings :)

To be honest, Frankie didn’t mind all of the grey.

When he was in the air, the grass and the sea both moved in waves, and it was soothing to have one less thing to fuss over.

Unfortunately, Santiago Garcia did not quite feel the same way.

“C'mon, Fish, you know you're gonna hate yourself if you don’t,” his voice was, as always, insistent and even a little convincing.

The other man eyed you across the lawn. You hadn’t noticed them yet, having been caught in a conversation with an excited couple, no doubt listening to them go on and on about how beautiful the world was now that was in color. Your patient smile was more than enough to tempt already, and Santi had noticed before he could reign in the aching tug on his heart.

“Probably gonna hate it more if it doesn’t work.” It was a common argument between the two friends.

They’d spent so much of their lives running through chaos, Santi was always sure that meant they were one step closer to the next big adventure. And for all the times those adventures went up in flames, there was small part of Frankie that wanted badly to believe him, enough that he’d tagged along to this awkward barbecue.

But he had rotten luck. Given how the last few adventures had gone, it seemed more than likely that even if you were his soulmate, something would go wrong. He preferred to play it safe. Santi could run around touching people casually, talking up strangers, risking it all for the high reward but Frankie? He wasn’t even sure it would be worth it.

Still, there was something about his friend that made it all seem more reasonable. Beauty aside, it would be helpful in his daily life to see properly, and … and he was always a little jealous when he saw how free people were, after.

“It’s just talking, Catfish, what’s the harm?” Santi’s voice was softer now, a gentle reminder that he wanted the happiness for his friends as much as himself. “At the very least, they’re cute as hell,” he added, and Frankie couldn’t argue with that.

“Only if you go, too,” he nodded towards another person Santi had been eyeing even less subtly. His friend grinned, knowing this was victory – Frankie knew he was never one to back down.

It didn’t take long for him to get reach you through the crowd, and he felt an unexpected lightness inside at the look you gave him.

The couple with you caught sight of it, too, and eagerly nudged you, whispering fast, excited words into your ear.

“Thank you very much, I think I’ll be okay,” he caught your voice as he finally stepped into your area. They were laughing, but made no effort to stay close, winking at you.

Frankie wasn’t sure it that made it bitter or worse. God you looked good. It was a sunny afternoon and even in grey, that was more than enough to bring out the warmth in your skin and the softness in your eyes.

“Did you get dragged here, too?” it was a blessing you were friendly. His heart beat loudly when he noticed you didn’t touch him immediately - judge by that alone if he was worth talking to. Your eyes caught his arms when the crossed too, the droop in your shoulders did something to him. Keeping you safe and happy suddenly seemed like a pretty good new adventure.

You explained that the couple from before were close to the host – same as Santi – and they were always dragging you along to things.

“I cant tell sometimes if it’s for my life-partner and happiness or if they just want to double date.” He liked the way your eyes crinkled in the corners when you smiled. Smells of hot food and charcoal floated by as he began to open up, first sharing about his over-eager friend, and then more and more. Life stories didn’t seem nearly as dreary as they had before, now that you were listening, laughing in all the right places.

Frankie forgot he was looking for his soulmate, forgot to keep mingling, forgot about how nervous he was as the two of you tucked yourself away at the edge of the yard.

And when he handed you a cookie from the tray behind him, he forgot that he hadn’t been touching you.

The chatter of the crowd, the smells of grilling meat, even the sweet taste of the bite he’d stolen all became irrelevant. You had stopped mid-laugh, perfectly still, hand grasping his.

Logically, the two of you should’ve been looking around, absorbing the new visuals of your environment but all he could seem to care about was you.

In the same state, you drank him in. When you first saw him, his eyes were dark and deep but now you could see just how rich they were. The tufts of his hair looked even softer, and the color of his cap brought out the tan of his skin. Of all the feelings overwhelming you, you were surprised to find that one of them was one that wanted to press kisses onto his cheeks. There was no way to tell before but now - he was blushing.

Before, Frankie had known you were captivating but now, you were otherworldly. He forgot to be afraid of you rejected him, afraid of the skeletons in your closets, afraid of being vulnerable, afraid of it all because you were standing before him, full color, and perfect. Perfect hair, perfect brows, perfect eyes, and nose and lips. You’re lips!

He stopped thinking, stopped trying to process everything, closed his eyes, and kissed you.

The first thing you said when you had found your soulmate, touched him, seen the world in full color, and held him in your arms as he kissed you for all he was worth?

“You’re friend was right,” your voice was breathless with disbelief, not of your statement, but of this moment. The man in your arms shrugged.

“He was bound to be at some point,” Frankie wasn’t even a little upset about it.

Taglist:

@fangirl-316 @0celestialbitch0 @scribbledghost

#francisco morales #francisco morales x reader #francisco morales x you #frankie x you #frankie x reader #catfish x you #maybe i don't know people #thoughts from elle #soulmate requests #💜 anon

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vibraniumphoenix · 3 years

Text

warmth. [ b.b ]

a bucky barnes x reader blurb wherein you’re the only one who gets to see the soft side of the usually cold and stoic super soldier.

WARNING: none !! (well is isn’t beta-read so mistakes are all mine !!)

updated a/n: oh wow this was so soft and domestic good bye im crying

---

You were Bucky’s new source of strength; the ray of sun he needed on days that are too rough and dark. You were his rest when life gets too tedious.

—

“If so, can you do the toast? I don’t want to burn them again.“

---

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hrwinter · 4 years

Photo

You’re not sure what you remember about home. If you try, it might be blue skies and warm summer rain that you played in for hours. It might be your mother washing the mud out of your clothes, frowning and asking if it was really necessary for you to roll that completely in the dirt. You told her you were just doing what the dog did.

You had a dog, right?

You’re not really sure.

Because the other memories you have are not blue and green and the dirt brown of your knobby childhood knees. They’re grey and orange and crispy charcoal black. The market you visited where your parents would sometimes have hushed meetings behind shaky hands, it’s rubble. The wind that used to blow the fragrance of fresh peaches and citrus, it’s ash. The home you had is gone.

You remember a voyage, long, dark, and ripe with a putrid accumulation of smells. You remember getting to see the water a few times, opal blue and ever shifting. It was beautiful. But the ship crashed or was attacked, you don’t know, and then it was back to the oranges of fire, the reds of blood, and the screams of your parents you’d never find.

You washed up on shore alone.

Although, not quite alone.

That’s when you first saw her. The crow. You’re sure of that. She’d been there, pecking at the sand near your arm, the same one still clutching the cheap large plastic debris. It had saved your life. You looked over the edge of it, coughing salt water into the surf, and you saw her.

It was weird. She’d surprised you. You’d never seen a bird so big and black, you thought, and she shuffled from foot to foot, nervous. Was she hungry? Was she scared?

You don’t get a chance to find out before a man with large hands is swatting her away. She cawed angrily, reluctant to go, but she did, maybe to a nearby tree. He shook your shoulders then and asked you who you were.

“Kara,” your voice came out in a croak, not yours.

“Kara,” he says again.

The crow cawed.

It’s years before you put the patchwork pieces of your life back together, that you find out what happened to you. That a warmongering company, LuthorCorp, helped exacerbate the tensions in your region then exploited and profited from them by selling both sides weapons. But that doesn’t become relevant for a long time. For now, you’re an immigrant, and an immigrant is not a very good thing in this new country.

It could be worse. There are other kids who are not as lucky as you. Somehow having never set foot here, you have dual citizenship. Your mother was American. So, despite the government calling your parents insurgents and traitors, they don’t try to deport you. Or keep you locked in a cage. Instead, they put you in foster care.

It’s hard. It’s toiling. It takes you a long while to learn the language. You’re shy to talk because of it.

And you’re pretty. At least, people keep telling you that you are. You’re not sure what you see when you look in the mirror. The kind, clever blue eyes of your mother. The hard line of your father’s brow when he’d reprimand you for sneaking too many cookies.

But your prettiness doesn’t feel like a good thing. The other children resent you for it. And it brings you a different kind of attention, a kind that has you cowering from your foster mom’s drunk boyfriend, a kind that has your crow swooping in and attempting to peck out his eyes. She almost manages it, but when he swings, taking hold of her, you jump into the fray, too. You would’ve killed him if your foster mother hadn’t intervened.

That’s right, your crow has followed you here, has followed you through it all. She’s in the tree outside of the window when your foster mother returns you to the group facility for being ‘cruel and violent.’

You didn’t do anything. At least, you didn’t do anything you wouldn’t do again, a hundred times over.

“We’re better off here, anyway,” you tell the crow sitting with you during lunch recess.

“Why do you talk to that thing?” a boy asks you nearby, trapping a soccer ball with his foot.

“She’s my friend.”

“Friends can’t be birds.”

Yes, they can, you think.

“She doesn’t understand you,” he feels the need to add, certain.

But she does. You know she does.

---

You’re adopted into a new home not long after that. It’s different than the others. They’re called ‘Danvers.’ Eliza and Jeremiah, your adoptive parents, they’re kind and intelligent. They encourage your natural abilities in science and math. You’re starting to get A’s for the first time in your life, and you’re less reluctant to speak in class.

You still feel like an impostor. It doesn’t seem like a reality that’s meant for you. You were meant for the bottom of the sea.

“You have a right to be here,” Eliza tells you, but that’s not how your new sister acts.

Your crow has somehow inferred the antagonism between you. One afternoon she swoops in to steal a large portion of Alex’s sandwich and drops it on your plate.

“Hey!” Alex shouts after her, but the crow merely glares at her with dark black eyes, wings ruffling on your side of the picnic table.

“You did that on purpose.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

Alex looks between two of you, wary, parsing.

“How did you train it to do that, anyway?”

“…patience?” you improvise.

“You’re lying.”

The crow caws loudly, and Alex narrows her eyes.

“Whatever, I’m going inside.”

The crow watches her leave, and you soothe her ruffled feathers with a hand. The sheen of them always makes them seem oily, but they’re not at all. Her feathers are soft, and she preens a little under the touch. You gives her a nickel to play with. Maybe you’ll actually try to train her.

So, you make her puzzles. She seems somewhat competent in checkers. You read to her. Her favorite stories are fairy tales. Her favorite foods are unsalted peanuts, boiled eggs, shell and all. She likes apples too (you painstakingly removes the seeds, they’re bad for birds.) You feed her from the window. She sleeps in the tree there and follows you to school and back every single day. She watches you organize quarters for a state collection, nipping slightly at the plastic casing.

“I already gave you Iowa,” you tell her.

She clicks her beak back at you. Sometimes, she’ll steal your keys. You think she just likes things that you like, but you’re not sure. Alex says you’re projecting. Alex says you make up things that aren’t there, but honestly, Alex is a little mean.

Once on a fishing trip, the crow used bread to catch a fish, laying it before you all on the thick wood pier planks.

“That bird is smart,” Eliza comments, watching her chase away a hawk that seems a little too interested in the fish.

You’re proud. She’s fearless.

“Their brains are bigger than ours proportionally,” you reply with enthusiasm. You look to Alex. “See.”

“Her brain is bigger than yours,” Alex mumbles over her empty fishing line, and the crow dives down to nip at her.

“Hey!” Alex swats without making contact. The crow flies away again. “That crow doesn’t like me, I swear. She knows me.”

“Of course she does.”

“It’s meaner to me.”

“She’s a she, not an it,” you correct her.

“It’s not normal.”

“It’s perfectly normal for a crow,” you bicker with Alex. “They don't forget a face. They hold a grudge.”

“You sound like the Discovery Channel.”

“Well, it’s true. Did you know that they also mourn the dead? That they don’t migrate, staying in one place for most of their life?”

“So, you’re saying we’ll never get rid of it? Great.”

“She,” you correct her again testily. “And they can live to be 15 years old. So, yeah, you’re stuck.”

Alex quiets, and you’re thrilled to have won the argument.

But deep down inside, you’re willing to admit it’s a little weird, she’s a little weird. Crows are supposed to be social, and you’ve never seen her with any other crow. She only talks to you. She only follows you.

It would be crazy to think she wasn’t quite a crow, but something else, something more. Wouldn’t it? But you kind of do. You don’t admit it to anyone, but you do.

---

Graduation from high school is close, only days away. You’ve arranged everything for college, although not without a hulking amount of help from Eliza. She organized all of your scholarship forms, your applications, your dozens of essays. She kept you on track with projects and midterms and extracurriculars (you’re the captain of the Geology club, who knew!) And it’s all materialized into your acceptance at National City University. It’s only a couple of hours from Midvale, and you can’t wait for August.

Sometimes it’s crazy to think you’re going to college. A blonde, blue eyed girl who washed up on the beach one day like a sand dollar? You would’ve never put your money on her.

But here you are, walking a beach not that far from the one you arrived on, a big slate blue sky in front of you, wind whipping your hair. You think about the future; the new city, the potluck roommate, eighteen hours of classes in biomedical engineering.

“You’ll come with me to college, right?” you say to the crow perched on your shoulder, bobbing with every step you take.

The crow softly caws and nuzzles its head on your shoulder. It’s a rare form of her affection. Otherwise, her eyes are focused on the little crabs skittering in and out of the waves.

“I couldn’t have done it without you, you know,” you reach to bring the crow to your hand, her pointed claws clinging gracefully to two of your fingers. She looks back at you expectant and listening, canting her head to the side every now and again.

“We’ve never really talked about it,” you say as if it’s typical to apologize for conversations you haven’t had with your crow. “But you’ve always been there. You protected me.”

The crow flaps her wings a little. Is it pride? Joy?

“Thank you.”

You’re not sure what overtakes you then, but you do something you’ve never done before. Despite the fact that you’ve seen her roll around in ant piles, you lean forward and plant a little kiss on her feathered head.

Immediately, you know something has changed, that something is different. There’s a shimmer in the air in front of you, prismatic in color, and the crow flies away from you, landing, staggering in the sand. You chase after, but a crisp gust of wind blows sand into your eyes and you wobble, falling. When you scramble to your feet again, blinking and rubbing the grit out of your eyes, you don’t see your crow, but a girl with eyes as green as spring leaves, with hair as black as crow.

“You’re her,” you say as she sits up, looking confused, one armed draped across her middle.

“Yes,” the girl answers simply, shaping the word as if unfamiliar.

“You’re naked,” you announce.

“Yes.”

You strip your light jacket off, suddenly rushing to cover her. You rub her shoulders and she looks at you in that same, too intelligent way.

It is her.

You have no idea know what to say next. You just watched a bird transform into a human. It’s not real. You made it up. Maybe you passed out. You did eat a lot of cinnamon rolls right before this. You pinch yourself, but you don’t wake up. You’re still here on the windy beach, clutching a familiar creature in your arms.

In a panic, you fall back on the very first English you learned.

“I’m Kara,” you say. She sort of smiles as if that’s obvious. “What’s your name?”

She looks away, thinks hard. She has a strong jaw. Her skin is too white, like it’s never seen sun. Maybe not under the feathers? God, you think you’re going crazy.

“Lena.”

“Do you have parents, Lena?”

It’s a ridiculous question. She’s been with you for eleven years. But it’s a ridiculous situation.

“I—don’t remember. But I guess I do,” she says thoughtfully. Her voice has a raspy quality to it, not unlike her caw. “They probably think I’m dead.”

“What happened to you?”

She shakes her head again.

“I don’t remember,” then, “a curse, maybe. On my father. A woman came to our house that night. ‘A payment taken of your most prized possession’, she said. Something about an enemy loved.”

“A curse,” you repeat back. It makes sense. Even if nothing about this makes sense.

You shake your head, focusing on what’s important.

“Don’t worry,” you take her hand. Her palm is butter smooth. “Let’s go home.”

#supercorp #fanfic #supergirl au #crow au #i don't know #i literally don't #this was in my drafts for six months and i finally was like fuck it i'm finishing #i havent written 2nd POV in like one hundred years

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and-there-were-words · 3 years

Text

A Spider Life: Slow days (Chapter 05)

I first wanted to write something out of the Spider Queen’s POV, but struggled to keep it within the narrative I am going for at the moment. I will write something for her after what’s show-canon though. A slow one with some more HCs, but I hope you still enjoy this chapter!

Also “Ask questions” had been enabled, I did not notice they weren’t before /o/

---

Taking place some time before “Minor scale”.

After the last two, rather smooth successes of gathering the artifacts, things had turned… slow. With everyone doing their best to busy themselves, Syntax makes some (for him at least) interesting observations. (Wordcount: around 2150)

---

With the mirror in their possession, the little lady had grown silent while working on the furnace. Aside from that whisper business of course, that had been a constant the last few days. And while nobody wanted to admit it out loud, it put everyone on the edge. Even the Queen.

However, nothing would stop Syntax from working on his spiderbots, even trying to improve the additional arms on his back. Not the easiest thing to do when you don’t have eyes on the back of your head, but making sure they just won’t snap in the heat of a moment felt rather crucial. The additional weight to this upgrade wasn’t exactly a worry to him at all, in the end he wasn’t one of the brawler types.

Something in the air changed, making him halt for a second.

“Yes Huntsman, how can I help you?”, he spoke without needing to look up. The other spider made a frustrated noise at being detected, he had been just mere inches away to give the scientist a poke. With an annoyed huff he turned around to stomp back to Goliath. Syntax would be lying to say if the other's frustration didn't plug on a string of satisfaction. This sort of interactions had been going on for a while now.

Leaning back, just to give his spine a proper stretch, the scientist couldn’t help but feel a little bit proud of himself. Just the progress he had made the last few days was satisfying, and not only the ones on his machines – but himself too. Huntsman had taken a sadistic joy in startling him whenever he could, and he was infuriatingly good at it. Though, Syntax started to pick up on the faint noises the hunter made when stepping on stone, the shuffling of clothes. Eventually he could catch him prior to a scare.

Which only goaded Huntsman to try even harder, becoming more and more silent and careful in his steps. Syntax had taken recordings to measure the changes of skill level (and for his own sanity) – by now, the hunting spider was so silent that even his gadgets could barely pick up the sounds anymore. Certainly a skill Huntsman had all along, but finally seemed to shake off the initial rust after his involuntary slumber. With the knowledge that he wouldn’t be able to catch him on that anymore, the scientist tried to focus on other giveaways.

What had started as an obvious attempt on grilling his nerves, developed into a near playful banter. Just the wordless back and forth to get the other to try harder. In an odd way, it almost felt like Huntsman was training him, but he was careful to keep that thought to himself. Syntax knew better than to read too much into the hunter's actions, as chaotic as they were.

Nonetheless, the scientist found himself trying to imitate the hunter now and then. Since the guy was going on about smelling all kind of stuff, he gave it a try himself. At first not picking up much more than the damp air in the cave, the metal of the machines. It took him a while to find stronger differences, trying to casually walk past Goliath and the Queen. He found it rather surprising that they didn't seem to do much to hide their presence, but maybe it was simply the comfort of the cave that allowed them to do so.

Picking up on Huntsman was an entirely different beast. The man always seemingly on guard, always ready to appear and disappear. However with time, the scientist managed to actually pick up on Huntsman’s scent, as faint as it was. Kind of earthy, a little bit mildewed, and Syntax could swear there was the ever lingering hint of fresh blood. Did this guy ever wash that pelt of his?

Of course, he would never claim that his own sense of scent was as powerful as the hunter’s, but it was enough to know who was currently around the cave. The little lady didn't seem to have any telltales like these, which usually would've raised red flags in his mind but… he didn't question it, nobody else did either. Anything else he came in contact with, the scents of the surface… became a mixed blend of too much too quickly. Maybe a task for another time.

Aside from that, scent and hearing weren’t the only senses he had noticed an improvement in! Their lair seemed to have become much less dark, he wasn’t as dependable on his goggles as he used to be anymore. What before had looked like chunky and random bits of webbing, now unveiled themselves as carefully crafted pieces with intriguing patterns, with uses he was still starting to understand. Goliath did his best to explain them in more 'common' terms, and it was always a pleasant surprise to see how excited the large spider became to share his knowledge. The more time Syntax spent within the Silk Web Cave, the more beautiful this place became to him. A pride welling up that he lived here.

However their hideout wasn’t the only thing that was much more layered than he previously thought. Turning around in his seat, he watched the other two henchmen going about their day. Currently sticking their heads together over something he couldn't see from his position. Still, he watched them a little, while he was sorting further observations in his mind.

...to no one’s surprise, when he wasn’t within the lair, Huntsman was hunting. Or at least, somewhere outside doing who knows what for days on end. Yet always coming back with some good pieces of meat, roots and berries (but mainly meat). The first time Syntax saw the hunter preparing food for dinner, he nearly refused to partake in it. Mostly because he couldn’t imagine his meals to taste anything but bland, or worse, be poisoned. Color him surprised, that stew was better than most dishes the Queen would concoct on a daily basis. Another thought Syntax would take to his grave before speaking it out loud.

When Huntsman wasn’t around for dinner, and everyone else felt too lazy to scavenge for some proper food options, Goliath and he would order takeout. The strong spider clearly intrigued by this concept, always wanting to try something new. Syntax often questioned the sanity of the cityfolk, considering that the delivery people didn’t had much care to come down near a spider den. The food from the surface world had something comforting to the scientist, as cheap and artifical as it sometimes was. Though he was really craving noodle soup as of late and he wasn’t entirely sure why. Syntax let out a little sigh while standing up.

This whole food thing had also shown an interesting side on Goliath. While the Queen and Huntsman didn’t seem to particularly care about human food (the latter even openly showing his distaste for it), the strong spider had taken a deep fascination. Especially sweets and candies seemed to have struck his attention the most. More than once did Syntax catch him just trying some new trendy food or colorful jawbreaker that he got from… who knows where. Goliath didn’t make any of this a secret, however he clearly wasn’t one with a rotten sweet-tooth as he barely finished anything. “For science.”, he once said with a wink and didn’t elaborate any further. Okay then.

“What are you two doing?”, Syntax casually asked as he wandered closer to the two. The strong spider looked up in confusion for a second before giving the younger man a smirk, “Secrets”. The scientist blinked owlishly, circling around them to look over the smaller spider’s shoulder. There were parchments of leather, deer if Syntax would have to guess, with Huntsman trying to draw squares and circles. Large black smudges here and there told the story of many previous attempts, letting the edges of the material look almost black by now.

"Get away from me.", the kneeling spider hissed, Syntax complying with an annoyed eye roll. Looking back at the larger man in an unspoken question. "We want to make a new robe for the Queen.", the giant almost beamed with excitement. Only for the big smile to water down in mild disappointment, "Buddy ain't good at designing though."

"If you wouldn't be just so damn picky!", Huntsman shot back, smudging away his latest attempt. "Just let me do what I do best, I know what I am d-"

"No!", Syntax flinched a little in surprise. It wasn't exactly an usual thing for Goliath to argue, or to even interrupt someone. "I want this to be special and you just can't get the patterns right! For the Queen's sake, just follow a plan for once!"

The scientist had to raise a brow. This was the first time he ever saw the two of them actually butting heads and… he had to admit, it was a little bit refreshing. Letting his eyes wander to some other pieces of leather, recognizing the sketches as copies from the patterns all over the cave. This one was a sigil of warding, as he had learned the other day, and a few were the Queen's own emblem. In case some other spider demon decided to come here, they would immediately know who's domain they dared to enter. The rest of those, he had not gotten an explanation yet.

"If I may.", mechanical arms shoved Huntsman unceremoniously to the side. Crouching down to pick up one of the charcoal, he started to draw. He was no expert on how to draw people by any means, but it certainly resembled the queen more than any of Huntsman's attempts. With careful strokes, he designed a fairly simple cut, working in the patterns on how he would think would look good on the Queen. It didn't pass him that the other two were watching with bated breath.

Once done, the scientist sat back on his heels, giving his creation a proper look. Not too shabby, if he may say so himself.

"Oh this is really good, Syntax!", Goliath cheered, looking like he wanted to touch the sketch but didn't dare to. On the other end of the emotional spectrum, Huntsman almost looked like he was about to explode.

"The fuck is your problem.", the elder hissed in dreadful silence, whole body tense and twitching. "What do you think you are!", he now became louder but Syntax did his best to just give him a neutral expression and not to budge. Which may not have been the best idea, as it only agitated the other further. The hunter was now standing, looming over him. "You really think you can just come in here and do whatever?! Think you can just be part of this??"

Large and sharp spider legs lashed out, in reflex Syntax let out a startled cry and raised his arms in an attempt of protection. But the pain didn't come. They hadn't aimed at him, instead… having shred the parchment with the sketches to bits. "I REFUSE TO WEAVE THIS."

Like an angry lion, the hunter had bared his fangs in a snarl. For a moment, Syntax was still prepared to be hit by the other, but the hunter suddenly turned around and just. Left. Goliath looked torn between the two men, mouthing a silent "Sorry" before hurrying after his friend.

A breath he didn't know he was holding, escaped his lungs. Syntax crumbled a bit to the floor, bitter thoughts flooding in. Just when he thought things were doing okay. Of course he had to step right into a sensitive nerve for the older spider. Heavy clicking pulled him out of his thoughts, but he couldn't care at the moment to look presentable before the Queen.

Spider Queen looked between the tired scientist and shredded pieces of leather, no apparent expression showing. But of course there was a glint of recognition in her eyes. "Why y'all causing such a ruckus?" Syntax sighed silently, giving a brief summary of the recent events.

The silence that followed was uncomfortable, the scientist not entirely sure how his Queen would react. To his surprise, she let out a little tired sigh. "Weaving is something quite personal to us. Especially if we do it for someone else.", she explained without really looking back at him. Instead giving the destroyed sketches another glance. "Just pretend this never happened. He'll get over it." With that, she simply left.

Syntax pulled his lips into a frown. Just ignore this all? If Huntsman got over it or not, it did not matter. His fists clenched a little, looking at the floor, choking and holding back bitter tears he could feel burning in hte back of his eyes. Syntax was more upset that he apparently wasn't allowed to be an actual part of this clan, no matter how hard he tried.

#spider queen just ignoring problems?#more likely than you think #lego monkie kid #lmk syntax #lmk huntsman #lmk goliath #lmk spider queen

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diabolik-sai · 4 years

Text

A/N: So someone requested a Shu scenario about his s/o comforting him after a nightmare, and this started out as a short drabble that just got longer and longer until it turned into this, so. . . Here we go! I really do love this boy~ Warnings: some descriptions of gore, panic attacks, PTSD

Shu groaned as his eyes slowly drifted open, the blurry but familiar image of the manor’s ceiling coming into his view. As he groggily moved to rub the sleep out of his eyes, he realized that he had fallen asleep in his school uniform on the couch. Four years ago this wouldn’t have been an especially strange scenario for the vampire, but now he couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t fallen asleep in bed with his arms wrapped around you.

He chuckled a bit to himself. Who would have thought he would come to be so attached to a mere human? His past self would have mocked him, but it was true. Somehow you had managed to take a step into his world when no one else would, or rather, when he wouldn’t let anyone else do so.

If there was one thing Shu Sakamaki knew himself to be good at it was keeping people at a distance. Over the centuries it just came naturally to him. It wasn’t as if he had no people skills, he simply preferred not to use them. No one was worth the time or energy, and at first he wrote you off into that same category.

Oh, how you proved him wrong.

Somehow, you were just as stubborn as you were compassionate- Impossibly patient, and with a level of empathy he could never achieve or understand. You could have run away at any time, it wasn’t like he was trying to stop you back then. But you didn’t. You stayed; for some unfathomable reason you chose to be by his side.

Eventually it was more than just your blood that he craved. It was your laughter, your presence, your smile- the very essence of your being. It felt like you were a drug that allowed him to feel for the first time in a long while.

Shu resisted the urge to roll his eyes at his own thoughts. Since when had he gotten so damn sentimental? You must be rubbing off on him. . .

He was snapped out of his thoughts as a familiar scent wafted through the air. He turned to face who he knew was the source and sure enough, there you were, standing in the doorway with a fresh cup of tea and that unwavering smile on your face.

“Ah, he lives,” you grinned, shifting your weight from the doorframe as you stepped into the living room.

“Been a while since you’ve slept on the couch,” you said, arching a brow, “Did I get mad at you for something? I can’t remember.”

“Hilarious,” Shu deadpanned, although you caught the telltale trace of a smirk on his lips, “If I did, I certainly wouldn’t remind you.”

He propped himself up, moving into a sitting position on the couch. As he turned back to you he noticed you staring at him.

“What?” He asked.

“This is good,” you said, almost to yourself.

“What are you on about?” He chuckled, shaking his head at your antics.

“This,” you said, gesturing around you with your hands. When the level of confusion on Shu’s face remained the same you stifled a laugh.

“Us,” you elaborated, smiling down at him.

For a while Shu didn’t know how to respond to that. The love between you two was mostly unspoken but not unfelt. It simply wasn’t the way either of you typically showed your affection. Such a bold statement from you about your relationship caught him off guard, even after all these years.

You stalled for a moment, staring absentmindedly at the living room wall, your back facing your lover.

“But I have to wonder,” you pondered aloud, “Will it always be like this?”

The clank of porcelain rang out in the room as you placed your tea cup onto the mantle.

“What do you mean?” Shu asked, his tone still light but with a slight edge of caution.

You turned over your shoulder and smiled at him reassuringly, crossing the room in a few confident strides.

“You’ve always been there for me, Shu,” you said, a hand coming up to caress his cheek, “Even if you didn’t know it, you’ve always been there.”

Shu stiffened a bit under your touch. Somehow it felt foreign. You were abnormally cold. . .

Suddenly, your hands jot out, grabbing his wrists on either side of his body in a vice grip. His eyes widened as he struggled against your grasp, impossibly steadfast as that reassuring smile turned sinister on your features.

“But what if you weren’t?” You asked innocently, cocking your head to the side as your grip tightened painfully, your nails digging into the flesh of his wrists leaving weeping, red crescents in their wake.

“What if this manor were to burst into flames?” You wondered aloud. As if your words were coming alive the smell of smoke began to fill the room, and it suddenly occurred to him that you had lit the fireplace behind you.

Every instinct in Shu’s mind told him to move, to run, but it was as if he wasn’t in control of his own limbs. It felt as though every nerve in his body was screaming as a flicker of vermillion spilled out onto the carpet.

“You want to run, don’t you?” You grinned, your tone of voice sickeningly sweet and unfit for the words leaving your lips, “So what if you did? Don’t you want to know what would happen?”

Shu grit his teeth so hard he thought they would shatter as the flames wove through the carpet towards you. You smiled at him, not letting up on your grasp for a second as you leaned down to speak into his ear.

“You’d only make it to the edge of the courtyard before your guilt caught up with you,” you whispered. Chills racked Shu’s spine as you continued. “Then you’d go into shock- frozen, like a useless little rag doll, and you’d be forced to watch me burn. You’d be safe, though. Far enough to not be hurt yourself, but close enough to watch my skin bubble like the water in a squealing tea kettle. To see my hair turn to white hot ash and my eyes liquify and ooze out of their sockets.”

His eyes widened in horror as the flames reached the edge of your nightgown, creeping up your legs until they reached your torso. You only smiled down at him, the flames traveling down the sleeves of your dress towards him. Shu’s hands went numb from your grip as he watched, unable to do anything. He felt like he was suffocating, and any words he tried to choke out died in his throat.

The next time he blinked, you were suddenly off of him, standing in the middle of the living room that was now entirely engulfed in flames, and just like that, your chilling, unfazed expression shifted to fear and panic.

”Shu?” Your eyes widened as you looked down at your flame covered dress, “What is this? What’s happening?!”

Your hands shook as you tired and failed to put the fire out, looking for something, anything to help you until your eyes landed on Shu, and for the first time in centuries he felt pure, unadulterated terror.

He opened his mouth to scream but no sound came out. As he looked down he found a pitch black hand covering his mouth. It was burnt to a crisp, some of the dying embers still ignited in its charcoal fingers. Another pair of burned hands reached out and grabbed hold of his feet, keeping him in place.

“Shu, please!” You pleaded, tears streaming down your face as the fire singed your skin, “It hurts, make it stop, please!”

He desperately struggled against the hands but every movement he made only caused more to appear, grabbing onto his limbs, his clothes, his hair- hundreds of tiny, burning hands holding him back against the couch, forcing him to watch you suffer.

You collapsed on the floor with a choked sob. Your voice was raw from screaming as your face became contorted in pain. In a last feeble attempt to call for help you reached out to him, your skin practically melting off your body.

Shu managed to break one of his arms free from the grasp of the charred hands that covered the rest of his body, trying desperately to reach you. The smell of burning flesh assaulted his senses and he fought the urge to retch as he watched his own outstretched hand turn to cinders in front of him.

“Shu!”

He flinched as another one of your anguished screams ripped through the air.

No, no, no, no, no, no-

“Stop,” he choked out, his voice breaking as he pleaded with whatever force of Hell was causing this.

“Shu!”

“Stop, STOP!”

“Shu!”

The vampire jolted straight out of bed with a strangled cry, gasping for breath. His eyes were blown wide with mania as they darted around the room, first to the unlit fireplace and then immediately to you.

“Shu?” You asked groggily, moving to turn the lights on, “What is it?”

You hadn’t seen him like this in a long time. His nightmares used to be relentless, an every night occurrence. But in the past few years you’d been with him they’d become less and less frequent until he slept peacefully through the night. But this seemed much worse than what you’d seen before.

It pained you to see him like this. You knew how vivid his nightmares could be- they were no ordinary dreams.

“Shu-“

You gasped as he suddenly gripped your wrist, staring intensely into your eyes as if he was searching for something but didn’t know what. You ignored the pain as his hold on you tightened.

You knew what his dream must have been about.

You steadied your free hand as much as you could, moving your body so you were facing your lover. You carefully wove your hand into his soft blonde locks, pulling him into a hug. You could feel the rapid beating of his heart; how each breath caught in his throat just before he held it, trying to get it under control before gasping in another intake of air.

“I’m here,” you said softly, your heart clenching as Shu let out a shudder of a breath.

You stayed that way until you felt his breathing even out and you pulled away to look into his azure eyes.

“I’m always going to be right here, Shu,” you said, meaning every word.

“No, you won’t,” he said, his voice coarse.

Your eyes widened slightly in the dimly lit room, taken aback.

“Yes, I will-“

“Then you shouldn’t,” he said coldly.

The look on his face startled you. For just a moment you caught a glimpse of the steely, indifferent exterior you’d broken down over the years, and it scared you that it was still there- still a part of him, albeit a learned one.

“Have you forgotten you’re just a human?” He scoffed, “the only thing humans can be relied upon to do is die- It’s the only certain thing.”

His words were harsh, but his touch changed from the desperate, steel grip he’d used on you only moments ago. He held you as if you were made of glass, like if he held you too tightly you would break but if he let go you’d disappear into smoke.

He was so terrified of losing you. For so long he was told that he was cursed. That he destroyed everything and anyone close to him, and he believed it. The proof was in his past, what reason would he have to believe you would be safe from him?

Your gaze softened as you brought your hands up to cup his face, breaking his mental spiral of negative thought.

“Then don’t let me die,” you said, to his surprise, “turn me.”

Your words seemed to echo in Shu’s mind while he tried to process them.

“Turn me into a vampire,” you repeated, not a trace of doubt in your voice.

“You don’t know what that means, not really,” Shu said quietly, “To live forever. . . To watch everything and everyone you know fester and rot around you while you stay the same. . . Don’t you understand? You’re throwing away any hope for a normal human life.”

“I think I did that the second I walked into this manor,” you grinned.

“I’m serious,” Shu said, his voice raising, “this isn’t a joke, (Y/n). Why would you honestly throw your normal life away? Why wouldn’t you run? Why. . .”

As he trailed off you knew what he was really asking.

Why the hell would you stay with him?

“I wasn’t joking, Shu,” you said, “I threw away any chance for a normal life a long time ago. The second I stepped foot in this house I knew that. The first time you fed from me I knew that. The first time we made love I knew that. Nothing’s changed, Shu. At least, the way I feel about you hasn’t. . . I love you.”

Conflict swirled in Shu’s mind. Part of him wanted you to leave, to just forget everything about him and this manor and be safe somewhere; you could live out a boring, normal life like humans were meant to- far away from him. You would go to university, meet some business major with a stable job and get married on the beach. Have kids who grow up and make you proud and give you grandchildren who you love and protect until you eventually pass in your sleep from old age. If it meant you would be safe. . .

He looked up at you, sighing deeply as he saw the unwavering expression on your face. No. . . That kind of life, that wasn’t who you were. . .

He pressed his forehead to yours, an unspoken response to your earlier declaration of love.

“Are you sure?” Shu stared into your eyes, looking for any trace of uncertainty, but found none.

“Yes,” you said, so soft a whisper Shu thought he might have imagined it.

“Give yourself to me, Shu Sakamaki,” you said, kissing him gently before bringing your wrist up to his fangs,

“Give yourself to me as I’ve given myself to you, for eternity.”

680 notes · View notes

tobi-momo · 3 years

Note

Congrats on 400!! You 100% deserve it! For the event could I get a fluffy 6:23pm with denki? Thank you!!

aww this is such a cute one ok i love it ty sm for paticipating <333

denki + 6:23 pm + fluff

The smell of charcoal floods your senses as you walk inside your apartment, kicking off your shoes and setting your keys on the counter. You were sure it couldn't be worse than some burnt food; Denki being the only one home, he was bound to burn the food.

"Uh, babe? Don't come in here for a sec," he shouts, making audible movements in the kitchen you couldn't make out, pans and pots clanging together. You cough, inhaling the smoke that had left the kitchen as you pray the smoke alarms don't go off. Rushing to the room where your boyfriend resides, you see him waving his arms as he frantically tries to clear the smoke.

"Denks what did you do?" You laugh as you move your way towards him, helping him him air the smoke out. "Did you open a window?"

He turns to you slowly with a blank expression painting his features, like he had never thought of that option. "No?" He stammers, staring at you. You sigh, rushing over to the nearest window, opening it and waving it out.

"Sorry," he chuckles awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck while you take a look at the disaster in the pan he caused.

"You know, maybe I should just order something tonight."

aaaa i hope you like it kajsdhkasjd

Momo's 400 Follower Event!

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kaibacorpintern · 4 years

Note

hi i forgot the ship name but would u write something thats seto and ryou? (platonic or romantic) where they play a ttrpg together or somethin idk

“or somethin idk” give me an inch, i have run a mile. a mile of 4.7k words.

platonic euroshipping. post-canon. ryou applies for a game writer position at kaibacorp and makes it to the final stage. contains: dragons, swords, some very sexy things about solidvision and the virtual world, kaiba covered in blood and having a great time, me the writer having a great time, hopefully you the reader having a great time, and ryou, not covered in blood, having a very, very, very anxious time

tw for some fantasy violence

++++++

Ryou inhaled, taking a deep breath of: the fresh, sweet smell of grass, the coolness of river water, something dry and grey in the wind, slightly rotten - smoke? And sulfur. The grasses were filled with the restless susurrus of the wind, each blade quivering with anticipation. Above him, a hawk tilted in lazy, wide circles, tracking the hidden paths of its prey. He stood on a dusty path halfway up the long slope of a steep hillside, the farmlands of the valley behind him peeled back to reveal the burned, blackened devastation beneath. The village from this distance looked like the charcoal remains of a bonfire, the air still shimmering with heat.

The sun itself was hot, making him sweat in the thick, coarse silk of his mage’s robe, every purple thread saturated with light and heat. Mopping sweat from his brow, Ryou opened his options menu, the holographic display falling open, in the guise of an illuminated manuscript, and hovering at waist-height in thin air, perfectly tilted for reading. The parchment was old and yellowed, almost velvet to the touch, the edges frayed with age, and he couldn’t resist the urge to smell it, leaning in cautiously to take an experimental whiff. Strong notes of dust, old ink, age; an undertone of knowledge, of the forbidden kind.

He selected Player Appearance and the page turned, with weight and heft, to reveal another. Kaiba didn’t miss a beat. Ryou had no doubt if he knelt down to drink from the stream that flowed down the slope, folding in clear ribbons past the rocks, the water would run cold over his fingers until they pruned. And the magic effects?

He swallowed. It was not just the sun that was making him sweat.

He’d just changed into something more practical - a short-sleeved green tunic, a pair of white breeches, leather boots that had just a bit of bite to the fit, like the player had to wear them in - when a chime pealed out from six feet away, as though someone had rung an invisible bell. The air tore apart, in odd, geometric anguish, like a broken mirror twisting into itself -

and there was Kaiba, standing in the knee-high grass in his customary black turtleneck and tight pants, frowning with his arms crossed.

“Hello,” Ryou said. “It’s so nice to see you again. Your technology is... this is amazing. The attention to detail is incredible. The player screen, with the parchment - it even smells like - ”

“What is this? Medieval?” Kaiba said, glancing around at his clothes, the distant village, taking no notice of his praise; Ryou bit his tongue in self-rebuke. As if buttering him up with compliments was going to help.

“Western Europe. From the mid-11th century to the 12th. The age of knights and chivalry,” he said, deciding that maybe his best strategy was to simply be straightforward.

“I’m familiar with basic history, thank you. How... classic,” Kaiba said, in a tone that screamed disinterest, and Ryou’s heart began to plummet - already starting from behind? No, no, no, he reminded himself, straightening the slouch out of his shoulders. Yuugi had warned him about this. Kaiba was fantastically tough to impress, in general, and the Virtual World was his world, a realm he'd built with sweat and tears, and stolen back with blood. So he hand-picked every writer that wrote for Virtual World games, refusing to squander a single pixel on conventional nonsense and uninspired cliché.

The last step - before he brought the axe down - was a short, playable demo, as proof of concept, written by the applicant and executed by the Virtual World team.

Ryou had come this far in the application process. Trust that, Yuugi said. And trust yourself.

Kaiba was looking at him, eyebrows arched with expectant curiosity.

“Er,” Ryou said. “Let’s get started, then. You’ll need to change.”

He pulled up the menu, revelling in the hovering parchment once more, and changed Kaiba’s appearance, like - like magic, the lines of Kaiba’s silhouette rippling like a sine wave from the bottom up, his modern-day clothing becoming a knee-length tunic of chainmail under a belted dark blue surcoat. Kaiba held still throughout the entire transformation, in smug admiration of the effect, his arms held out in a ballet dancer’s pose as chainmail draped down his shoulders to his wrists.

In his right hand appeared, with a sharp, diamond flash of light, a long arming sword, the edge nicked with age and bloodspill. The hilt was black, with a sapphire gleaming in the pommel. A plain shield dropped onto his left forearm.

He gave the sword an experimental spin, testing the heft with practiced ease, and slid it back into the leather scabbard on his belt.

“A knight, the charred, smoking remains of a village… I’m assuming I’m on a quest to kill a dragon?” he said, pushing back the hood of the chainmail so that it draped off his shoulders, and nodding up the slope to where the grasses tattered into rocky shale.

“Yes, you can assume that,” Ryou said politely.

On cue, a child no more than twelve years old staggered up the dusty path from the village, her small torso heaving with breath, sweat and tears running in clean streaks down her soot-stained face.

“Sir Knight,” she choked out. Flashing a look at Ryou that said cheap blow, but unable to deny his own fraternal instinct, Kaiba dropped to one knee and caught her, his hands swallowing her thin, shuddering shoulders. Playing along, at least.

“Calm down,” he said, steadying her. Ryou imagined his anxiety as a small, hard rock, packing in the twist of every fraying nerve, and leaned all his weight onto one foot, grinding the rock into the dirt with his heel. "What is it?”

“They sent me to warn you, about the dragon,” she panted. “They said only the Chosen One can truly defeat the dragon, and bring peace back to the land. Many have tried. All suffered the same terrible fate - a fate worse than death.”

“I see,” Kaiba said. “And who is the Chosen One?”

The girl glanced at Ryou over Kaiba’s shoulder, her eyes glinting with fear.

“No - no one knows,” she said. “But all the oracles say they’re coming… a knight with a pure and worthy heart. Sir Knight, don’t go. Come back to the village. It’s safe there. What do you gain from this? Our humble lands aren’t worth the danger!”

“I think they are,” Kaiba said, thumbing soot off her face, and frowning as her cheek pixelated, briefly, and resumed a skin-like texture. "Open master commands, user ID 000002510. Initiate master log. Begin recording: skin-to-skin contact glitch reappeared during writer play-test, candidate Bakura, R. Begin patch work immediately. End recording. Disperse to Virtual World team, flag Sawada, project manager. Close master commands. Did you know, one of the most compelling unsolved problems in physics is the lack of a theory that realizes both general relativity and quantum mechanics?”

The girl gave him a wary look, wide-eyed with faint alarm. Ryou sucked in a breath, grinding the anxiety rock down, down, down.

“You - you speak in tongues, Sir Knight," she said. "Are you also an oracle? Has your future-sight failed you? Don’t you see that only death lives on the mountain?”

Kaiba snorted and stood up, turning to Ryou. “A solid response to non-standard player input. Doesn’t ignore modern concepts, but re-contextualizes them in the setting of this world via a framework of prophecy, and redirects the player to the plot.”

“Um... thank you?” Ryou said. “I wanted this world to feel like it has a future, too, not just a history. I wanted to place it on a timeline, like it - ”

Kaiba’s attention swung back to the girl, still standing there with her eyes darting between them, full of bafflement.

“Return to the village, girl. Tell them my future-sight never fails me.”

The girl retreated backwards, warily, twisted on her heel, and fled down the path.

"If I go down to the village, what'll I find?" Kaiba said.

"More information about the Chosen One, and an outlaw who tries to recruit you to her band of thieves, with the option to join them for a stealth-based quest.”

"Hm. You have the imagination and the decency to offer me something other than blatant bait, which I don't always bite. The cliché of the Chosen One is boring as hell, it’s both over-done and deterministic, but I think... yes. Yes, I'll bite. Let's go see your dragon."

In the wake of this... compliment?, Ryou could only offer him a small, tentative smile, his heart clenching tight around Yuugi's advice.

Kaiba started up the path.

“Er, Kaiba - you might want to check your inventory before you encounter the dragon."

Kaiba’s hand padded around his waist until he found the small satchel that sat on his hip. Another parchment unfurled in the air before him, listing its contents:

Two full healing spells;

Two glamour spells, for changing the guise of a person or object;

Two transformation spells, for changing a person or an object into an animal;

Two scrying spells, for locating people or objects;

Two ignis spells, for commanding fire;

Two aqua spells, for commanding water; and

Two ventus spells, for commanding wind.

Ryou watched him as he read. He'd carved a small, thick groove into the dirt below his foot. Surely, that was enough for Kaiba to get creative?

Kaiba only closed the parchment with a brisk flick of his hand. Then he started up the mountain, Ryou following nervously behind.

***

The mountain path was rougher than Ryou expected, a tightly-coiled spring of switchbacks, leading to the curved lip of a high pass. After several minutes of trudging the dust in silence, he was panting for breath, his feet aching and blistering in their boots, and deeply regretting adding this little detail to the story. Next time, he was just going to put the dragon on a rolling, grassy plain, and he’d make it like an American autumn corn maze, because it still needed to be a challenge, and when the players got to the center they’d find the dragon’s decaying, rotting corpse and realize they’d been stuck inside the maze for five hundred years and everyone they loved was dead, and if they wanted to go back to their own time they’d have to find out how to resurrect the dragon, but only at a terrible cost, a sacrifice of some kind... Not his best off-the-cuff work, but there were usable concepts in there, somewhere. If there was a next time.

Despite being laden down with the chainmail, each tiny link flashing like fish scales in the airy slanting of the afternoon sun, Kaiba seemed unaffected by the demands of the hike, propelling himself forward with long, energetic strides. How?

Ryou thought about asking for a break. Or drinking water from the stream. Or changing his boots for something comfier, but he didn't have anything else in his outfit inventory except the mage robes, and the slippers might be even worse… he stopped, hands on his hips, gathering his breath.

From here the valley sprawled below them, a wide, velvety plain, its edges rising and scalloped by mountains. The village fit in the circle of his thumb and forefinger, a smoking black thumbprint. The team had done a fantastic job: the stream ran down the mountain, flattened into a river, and ran south, lazy and serpentine, a green-blue ribbon cutting through the yellow plains, just like he’d outlined in his initial description of the world….

Wait.

This was all virtual.

There was no such thing as air, here, or rivers or sunshine or grasses.

His real, physical body was half-asleep in a Virtual World testing pod on the 17th floor of the Kaiba Corp Tower, and his body here was just a series of algorithms, and if he didn’t want to sweat, he didn’t have to fucking sweat! Thank God!

Up ahead, Kaiba noted the absence of his footfalls and turned around, one hand resting easily on his sword hilt. From his position on the path, he looked down at Ryou from several feet up, which doubled the intimidation of his already formidable bearing.

“I’m fine,” Ryou said. “Just... admiring the view.”

“Are you having your Matrix moment? That’s what my programmers call it,” Kaiba said.

Ryou laughed. “I think so. I was tired but I don't feel it at all, anymore. Like all the fatigue's just melted away and I could run a marathon.”

“Is that something you enjoy?”

“Oh, no. I hate sports.”

Kaiba snorted.

“So, tell me. Why do you want this job?” he said. “At my company? Writing stories with my technology?”

“Er - ” Blindsided by the swerve in topics, Ryou tripped over his thoughts. Surely he must’ve read his application? Maybe he didn’t have the time. Stick to straightforward. “I’m sure you remember my performance in Battle City?”

“Yes, I remember,” Kaiba said, which was honestly more than Ryou expected of him.

“Well, I don’t play much Duel Monsters anymore,” he said, “but I still.. every once in a while, I turn my Duel Disk on and play a few cards, just to see my monsters come out, see them breathe… you know I run a Zombie deck, full of demons and dead things, but SolidVision makes them feel so - so alive. You took these fantasy monsters that exist only in our heads and put them in our world.”

“Virtual World game writers don’t work on SolidVision products,” Kaiba countered.

“Right, I know that. To me, Virtual World and SolidVision are the inverse of each other, or opposites that contain each other, like, like yin and yang - with SolidVision, the unreal enters the real, and becomes real. In the Virtual World, the real - ” Ryou motioned to himself - “enters the unreal, and becomes unreal. We like to put walls between imagination and reality, you know, taxes are real and unicorns aren’t, but with SolidVision and Virtual World, there is no wall. That’s the world I want to write stories for.”

“Hm,” Kaiba said, the corner of his mouth curving up in a smile. “Interesting take.”

And he waited, saying nothing more, until Ryou realized he was waiting for him; and trotted lightly up the path to join him.

***

By the time they reached the top of the mountain pass, the air had turned a clear, dusky gold. The mountains cast long, black shadows across the valley, like dark teeth, chewing up the farmlands. The mountain pass was saddle-shaped, one side sloping down into the valley they’d just come from, the other flattening into a smaller, higher bowl, cupping a pale blue-green lake between its rocky palms.

Kaiba scrambled onto the nearest large rock, his head swinging as he scanned the lake valley. Ryou wrapped one arm around his waist and bit his thumb. They had found a deep, penetrating quiet, the kind of wilderness quiet that was devoid of texture of any kind; no bugs or burbling streams or bird song. It was not even like holding your breath, waiting, because that implied a coming moment of exhale, a sigh of relief. This was a perfect stillness.

And hidden somewhere inside it was a dragon.

Ryou bit harder, until he remembered the pain was fake and did nothing, and he had to come up with something else to temper his anxiety, which was definitely, definitely real.

Kaiba's gonna flip his shit when he sees your dragon, Yuugi said, from the back of Ryou's mind, Ryou's demo manuscript in hand. In a good way or a bad way? Is it too derivative? What does it matter that he'll flip his shit for my dragon when he flips his shit for ANY dragon? He's a slut for dragons. Oh my god, you can't say that! Yuugi, please, help - nope. You got this. You know what you're doing.

Even the metallic shing of Kaiba’s sword coming out of its sheath seemed small, in an unnatural way, a pointless, petty defiance.

A shadow fell across the lake valley.

Both of them looked up -

and an enormous dragon hurtled out of the sky, landing with thundering force on all four clawed feet, flattening trees and boulders beneath its reptilian bulk. Ryou staggered backwards and fell, in an awkward, clumsy crab pose; Kaiba threw his shield over his face and dug in, undaunted.

"HAVE YOU COME TO KILL ME?" the dragon boomed. “MISERABLE WRETCH?”

Kaiba lowered his shield, just enough for his first full look at the dragon. From his spot, crumpled on the ground, Ryou saw, in the shadow below the shield, another slender smile. The dragon’s hide was a dark, luxurious blue-black, mottled like snakeskin but textured with the heavy crags and knobs of crocodiles. It lowered its head on its long, arching neck, gracefully bearing the weight of two massive, curving horns, and stared down at them with fathomless acid-green eyes.

Even Ryou, who had designed it, sat enthralled: every movement it made - the eager flick of its tail, the claws, curling into the dirt, glinting under a layer of blood and grime, the shuddering of its leathery wings as they folded into its long body - hinted at indomitable power. It was a true creature of legend, a titan from the youngest days of the world, demanding both reverence and terror.

“I have!” Kaiba replied blithely, despite announcing it in a ringing voice.

“ONLY THE CHOSEN ONE CAN DEFEAT ME,” the dragon said. “YOU ARE NOT WORTHY OF SUCH A FEAT. I SEE YOUR HEART, BLACKGUARD KNIGHT. I CAN TASTE THE BLOOD YOU’VE SPILLED WITH YOUR SWORD, BRIGHT AND PUNGENT. I CAN HEAR THE CRIES OF ALL THE LIVES YOU’VE LET EBB INTO THE DIRT AT YOUR FEET!”

“I’m here to avenge the village!” Kaiba shouted.

“YOU COME UP HERE TO DEFEND SOME PATHETIC SCRAPS OF BRICK AND WOOD, THINKING YOU CAN KILL ME, AND CALL THAT HONOR? REDEMPTION? YOU CALL THAT COURAGE? ITS TRUE NAME IS VANITY! EMPTY AND FALSE! IT WILL STRIKE YOU DOWN BEFORE I DO!” the dragon boomed again. “LEAVE. I WAS ONCE NAIVE AND VAIN LIKE YOU. COME BACK WHEN YOU ARE MORE THAN A MERE WORM, OR ELSE SUFFER MY FATE!”

Ryou had clambered to his feet and bolted for the safety of a low ridge, which gave him a perfect view of Kaiba, head held high and proud as he gazed unflinching at the dragon, several hundred times his size. He’d written those words in his notebook on the metro, leaning his head against the cool midnight glass, pausing every other line to ferret out another piece of sour candy from his bag. Then he’d missed his stop. That trundling, light-washed world of a train car seemed impossibly distant now - a rapidly fading dream, to be remembered only in flashes and silence. To hear the words come out of the smoking jaws of this dragon, each syllable flowing in a delicious, indulgent baritone from its shining teeth, filled him with a breathless exhilaration, his heart hammering in his throat - this was real!

“Only one of us is suffering fate today!” Kaiba shouted back, a laugh in his voice, and then threw a glance at Ryou. “‘Suffer my fate?’ Is that a typo?”

“VERY WELL. COME KILL ME! THERE IS PEACE IN DEATH, AND ONLY ONE OF US CAN CLAIM IT!”

“I - watch out!” Ryou yelled, as the dragon lunged forward, its jaws snapping shut on the empty air where Kaiba had been standing half a second before. Kaiba threw himself out of the way, a nimble tuck and roll, and scrabbled across the shale towards higher ground. Behind him, the dragon swung its massive head, nostrils red and flaring, mouth curled up in a savage draconic grin, glinting with the promise of violence.

No sooner had Kaiba flung himself behind a scattering of boulders, shield raised, than it unleashed a jet of fire so hot and scorching the boulders glowed red, their rough faces melting in sheets. Ryou felt the heat wash across his face, from several dozen yards away.

The fire died out. The dragon snorted in satisfaction, horse-like, a loud, wet huff of smoke. The boulders sizzled as they cooled into their new, bizarrely dripping forms.

Kaiba emerged from behind a boulder, sweating and singed, his face streaked with ash and his eyes shining. He tossed the warped, melted wreckage of his shield aside, where it bounced and clattered against the rocks.

“SO YOU STILL LIVE? A MISTAKE. WHAT COMES NEXT WILL HURT WORSE!”

“For you!” Kaiba hurled back, and threw his hand into the air, a gesture Ryou had seen countless times on a duel field - a lightning rod, a summoning. “VENTUS!”

The wind picked up, in a giddy, howling whirl, bringing with it a cloud of dust that descended gritty and blinding and pale across the valley. Kaiba and the dragon vanished from sight inside it. Mentally Ryou subtracted one spell from Kaiba’s satchel.

“THIS WON’T HELP Y - ” Cut off by a wet chop and an ear-splitting draconic scream, a raw, awful sound, torn out of an unwilling throat. Just below it, a glorious, cascading laugh. “WRETCH! WORM!”

The dust settled, revealing glistening, dark-green blood splattered across the rocks, and a single severed claw, its flesh still twitching. The dragon seethed, its wounded foot curled in agony. Kaiba was clear across the other side of the pass, by the dragon’s tail, grinning open-mouthed as he panted for breath. His chainmail and surcoat dripped with dragon blood; his hair was thick with it.

“COME GET YOUR PEACE, DRAGON!” he bellowed, and the dragon slung its head around, tail coiling in an ominous whip.

Again Kaiba lifted his hand, shouted “VENTUS - !”

And a second dust cloud barreled into the valley, as the dragon roared back, “THAT WON’T WORK AGAIN!”

It whipped its tail through the dust cloud, a scythe-like sweep - smacking something hard into the rocks with a thick, fleshy crunch of bone that made Ryou’s insides clench tight with terrified sympathy.

The dragon whirled around, clearing the dust with several storm-gathering wingbeats.

This was not real. This was just pixels, neatly arranged and running in rivers of algorithms - just a clever series of ones and zeroes - and yet Ryou gasped, the dragon laughing, at the sight of Kaiba lying in a crumpled, motionless heap in the rocks. He hadn’t considered Kaiba might actually fail to kill the dragon - all thoughts of jobs and game-writing abandoned - unreality aside, the mind had a way of making it real - what the fuck happened if Kaiba died?

“IS THAT ALL YOU HAVE, WORM?” the dragon said, nudging Kaiba’s limp body with its claws, rolling him over. His head lolled, his body twisted into a horrifying, broken-boned slouch. How on earth was Ryou going to explain this to Yuugi? Hell. “I TOLD YOU, YOU'RE NOT W - ”

Ryou almost didn’t see it - a hawk in a dive, arrow-straight, from the top of the sky, diving through a blinding flash of light several stories up - and out of the light came Kaiba, alive and whole, plummeting towards the dragon’s head, gripping his sword with both hands - plunging it straight through the top of the dragon’s skull.

He left the sword hilt-deep in dragon flesh as he pitched forward with the force of impact, rolling over the dragon’s brow, flailing to catch himself - on the massive horn. Clinging, victorious, as the great dragon swayed, its green eyes filming, and finally slumped, in agonized slow motion, to the earth, body first, head last, with a thundering, bone-rattling crash.

It released one last, rattling breath, the trees shuddering in the fetid breeze.

The valley descended into stillness once more.

Ryou sat down on his low escarpment with a limp thump, burying his face in both hands. This was just a Virtual World, where at one point everything would power down and they’d wake up safe and sound in the squishy, air-conditioned comfort of a pod, and he had, after all, planned on Kaiba killing the dragon, but Kaiba’s sheer nerve seemed beyond that. Yuugi was right. The guy was, maybe, a little nuts. Completely off his rocker.

“Ryou,” Kaiba said, above him, and Ryou lifted his head. Kaiba rested the sword jauntily across his shoulder, the rest of him filthy with dragon blood and human blood and dirt. “I have to say, I enjoyed your dragon. A shame it had to die.”

“Your strategy... You used a glamour spell? On a... rock? To make it look like your dead body,” Ryou said. “And then a transformation spell.”

“Correct. Is that all for your demo?” Kaiba said, cocking an eyebrow, both bloody and disdainful, and Ryou swallowed. “I was hoping for more of a cha - ”

His words stopped hard in his throat, a harsh, hacking sound. His free hand flew to his neck, mouth dropping open in pain and confusion, eyes widening. He coughed - or tried to, achieving nothing more than a thin, ugly retching, his face going white - and Ryou watched, in fascinated horror, as his gamble began to play out. There was nothing he could do to help; he’d written it that way.

The sword clattered to the stones, green blood dripping off the shining edge, as Kaiba staggered sideways, gasping for breath, both hands on his neck - what was the algorithm doing to him? Ryou had only written ‘a suffocating, squirming pain, concentrated in the lungs,’ and resolved to think more carefully about what types of pain he might inflict on the player characters, if the gamble paid off... But how interesting to know even the creator of the Virtual World himself suspended his disbelief - his knowledge of the truth - sometimes, and indulged in pain...

He collapsed to his knees, stretching one hand out, fisting it around Ryou’s collar and dragging him closer -

“What - ” he choked out, eyes glaring into Ryou’s, in baffled, furious agony - terrified - they rolled backwards, the blue sliding away to white, as he slumped over himself.

His hand went slack and fell. What life remained slipped away in a low, shaking sigh.

Ryou took him by the shoulders and gently lay him down, passing a hand over his eyes to close them. Dead, but not really.

“Just hold on a moment,” he said. The body had been vacated. The soul - the player - was awakening elsewhere.

He waited a few moments, absorbing the stillness, the detail on the leaves of the pine trees; the way the lake water shimmered in golden flecks with late afternoon light. It was maybe his last few seconds to enjoy the world he’d written, rendered in full splendor by the magic of technology, and he’d banished his anxiety from both his mind and body, to live out its exile in the real world. It didn’t belong here.

The great dragon body began to stir, drowsily, waking up from a deep, deep sleep. The deepest sleep.

Ryou stood up and slid down the escarpment to the dragon, pebbles and dust avalanching around his feet. The stab wound in its skull was knitting back together; the severed claw was crawling back to its slow-bleeding joint. There was an agonized hiss, forced through the dragon’s tightly-clenched teeth, and a vibrating groan, deep in its chest, as it gathered itself out of death.

Its eyes opened, in wary slits - not the bright, acid green, but a stunning, oceanic blue.

“OW. FUCK,” it growled, in Kaiba’s voice, magnified and twice as resonant. “OPEN MASTER COMMANDS, USER ID 000002510. SUSPEND ALL PAIN ALGORITHMS. CLOSE MASTER COMMANDS.”

He rolled upright, flexing his wings with experimental care. He arched his neck, looking down at Ryou.

“YOU TURNED ME INTO A DRAGON.”

“Yes,” Ryou said cautiously.

“NO ONE HAS EVER TURNED ME INTO A DRAGON BEFORE,” Kaiba said. ”SO I WASN’T WORTHY? IS THIS WHAT IT MEANS TO SUFFER THE DRAGON’S FATE? EVERYONE WHO KILLS THE DRAGON BECOMES THE DRAGON, AND ONLY THE CHOSEN ONE BREAKS THE CYCLE. IS THAT HOW IT GOES?”

“That’s how it goes.”

“HOW DO I FIND THE CHOSEN ONE?”

“You choose them,” Ryou said. “You decide what makes them worthy.”

"SO ANYONE CAN BE THE CHOSEN ONE? ANYONE CAN BREAK MY CURSE?"

"That's right."

Kaiba pondered that for a moment, flexing his claws idly in the dirt, the massive slabs of muscle in his shoulders shifting as he tested the strength and fit of his new draconic body. His gaze drifted out over the lower valley, eyes clouding briefly with memories of another story, another game, another man; one who had always seemed real and unreal, all at once, no matter what world he lived in. Ryou had heard it all from Yuugi.

Then Kaiba looked at him and started to laugh, a sound that echoed and rebounded across the small lake valley, the water shivering as each delighted peal of laughter rolled across. Ryou blushed as it buffeted him from all sides.

“IS THAT SO,” Kaiba said, with dry relish. “YOU’RE HIRED.”

#sibbinthegivengibbon #fanfiction #euroshipping #(platonic)#oh my goddddddd this was a blast to write i just enjoyed myself the entire time #thanks for the prompt!!#its 1 AM i'm going the FUCK to sleep

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gabrieldrawsstuff · 4 years

Text

Aight fellas, I'm doing a list of canon descriptions of dw characters for future reference, might do a second part with more minor characters

SPOILER ALERT OBV

STRANGER

-THE JOURNAL : "Somehow I'm wearing a coat, so I must've changed my clothes on my way here. I don't recognize myself anymore. I can barely hold this pencil. Has my body changed?"

-DOCTOR : "I see you haven't regained your speech. You need to find another doctor."

-SNAIL : "Your face... What happened to you?

The snail's jaw falls so low, it almost detaches itself from the rest of the body.

You scared me... You barely resemble a human... You should cover yourself..."

SNAIL : "You're so ugly, I feel like puking... You barely resemble a human being..."

THE CRIPPLE : "You, lad. You've got your hands and legs. Strong arms. I beg you!"

MAMA ELEPHANT : "Can't you speak? Did someone take away your voice?"

MAMA ELEPHANT : "Your gob looks like that because of this fiendish air, do you know? I bet you can't speak, because you didn't keep your mouth shut when walking through the woods."

MAMA ELEPHANT : "(...) I know you want something, you leper demon."

MUSHROOM GRANNY : "(...) But you're young and strong."

CHICKEN LADY : "Whaddaya need, poor soul? Hungry, eh? I'd give ya some stew, but what good will it do?"

(I think in polish version it was closer to 'how will you eat it' although I can't be sure)

MIRROR : "You are one ugly bastard. I guess you got what you deserved."

MUSICIAN : "This is our doctor, yes? He is just as brave and good as you are!"

MUSICIAN : "You're not af-fraid of anything!"

WOLFMAN : "Even from afar I can smell your putrid stench. Be glad I don't have an appetite for carcasses, Meat"

WOLFMAN : (after the church dream sequence) "Meat, what's with the big eyes? Hehe... Scared?"

WOLFMAN : (when you nod to a question if you're making a joke of him) "You're a brave piece of meat... and what's more important, one with a sense of humor.

WOLFMAN : "Are you pretending to be human, or are you just cracking jokes?"

WOLFMAN : "You look tired, Meat. Busy night?"

WOLFMAN : "Have fun, Meat... Just remember to hide that disaster of a face or it's no dancing for you"

WOLFMAN : (when you spare the sow) "My heart sings with joy when I see such selfless kindness. Tell me the truth, Meat. It was you, wasn't it?"

vvvvv

TRADER

-A man, roughly my size, is standing before me.

I can barely make out his disturbingly familiar features through the matte visor of his helmet...

The massive helmet is covered with an old sack and seems to be an integral part of the unnaturally pale body.

-The man reaches out to me with his black hand. It's covered in charcoal... There's something written on his worn, woolen glove.

-Visibly struggling, the man drops the sack from his back and bends in half, as if out of breath. He shakes the dust off his clothes, then rolls up the sleeve of his, seemingly too small, jacket.

-The old sack covering his body slides down, revealing his chest, covered in horrid growths. It is fused with a porous helmet, pulsating to the rhythm of his breath.

vvvvv

WOLFMAN

THE JOURNAL: "If I'm not delusional, the man whom I met... had the head of a wolf."

FIRST ENCOUNTER: The figure hides its face under the hood. It smells of wet soil and fur.

WOLFMAN: "(...)I barely believe my beautiful eyes... (...) The Wolf smiles, revealing a row of sharp teeth.

AT BARN RUINS: The Wolf makes a quick leap and, bouncing against me with his swollen belly, he puts his paws on my shoulders. He ostentatiously licks his face. (...)

-I notice fresh bloodstains on his fur and feel streaks of his saliva dripping onto my coat.

-The Wolf takes two steps back. I can only see a row of filthy, sharp teeth underneath his hood.

-The Wolf squeezes my arms and starts licking my face. Once from the left side, once from the right side. (...) His breath stinks of rot.

WOLFMAN: "Thanks to you I feel fulfilled! I got my girl, my sweet little lady back."

-Suddenly the Wolf sends me back with a powerful push and reaches into his coat pocket.

WOLFMAN: "(...) and then nothing wil keep you from getting the fuck out of my part of the woods! Do you get me, Meat? You will pack your bags, dive into that stinking hole of yours and dissa-fucking-pear!"

-Finally he snorts, his thick, yellow spit landing on the photo.

-The Wolf grabs the box and starts sniffing it from every angle. I could swear I've heard his tail moving under his coat.

WOLFMAN: "And what am I supposed to do with it? Bite it until it opens? Your brain must be rotting if you think I will break my fangs for this shit."

WOLFMAN: "An electronic game, eh? About a wolf stealing chicken eggs... hehehe. Good one!I've a soft spot for games, how about you?"

-As I produce the key, the Wolf's pupils widen with excitement.

WOLFMAN: (about villagers) "Those selfish, deceitful wretches! They think they're superior, because they have human gobs. They treat us like lepers! But you know what? Fuck them. We're buddies, aren't we? And them? They deserve to be punished, Meat..."

-The Wolf pierces me with his look and grins. A string of saliva lands on his hole-riddled jacket.

-The Wolf puts his paw on me. I can feel his claws puncturing my skin.

WOLFMAN: (about piotrek) "Meat! Fucking hell, seen that? Hahaha! Seen that? Hahaha! Off he flew, didn't he? OFF HE FUCKED!!! Hahahaha!"

WOLFMAN: "If you wish to spend some more quality time basking in the striking, yet natural beauty of my features before you head off to the Silent Forest, you will find me in my camp in the Dry Meadow."

vvvvv

DOCTOR

THE JOURNAL: "What I do know is that the insane fucker took my key. My only chance to get out of the woods. He also tore out all the pages from my journal."

THE JOURNAL: "The doctor has escaped. So be it. He would only be a hindrance anyway."

CHICKEN LADY: "My sisters! Where did ya find it? It's all that godless quack's fault - devil brought him! All he did was prescribe this and that, scribble this no-good drivel! To hell with them papers!"

-I can feel the doctor's cold hand grab me by the jaw, (...)

-He removes his dirty glasses with a trembling hand and freezes.

DOCTOR: "First they begged for help, now I need to hide from them! I'm just an ordinary doctor! How the fuck was I supposed to help them?! How?!"

-With shaking hands, he reaches for the cigarrete butt between his yellow teeth.

DOCTOR: "I used to come here to treat people. I pulled out kids' milk teeth, delivered babies... (...) Last time I came here was three or four years ago. Then the trees blocked the path."

-The Doctor is visibly pleased with himself and his theory. His hands are no longer trembling. He produces a hand-rolled cigarette and lights it.

DOCTOR: "(...) I have no idea where it leads. I'm a shitty diver. (...)"

-The Doctor stares right into my eyes. Mud drips from his face. He hasn't blinked in over a minute.

- (...)His glasses are so dirty, I barely see the eyes hiding underneath.

-A chunk of mud falls down on his exposed tongue. He chews it slowly and swallows with satisfaction.

-The Doctor puts the muddy hand into his mouth, grimaces and pulls out a yellow tooth. He puts it into the pocket of his torn trousers. The tooth falls through a hole. He does not notice this...

-Slowly he bends down and grabs a thick branch from the ground. He starts biting the bark off of it. He swallows the bark with an effort, but also great satisfaction. He places the stick among other ones sticking out of his mud-covered head.

WOLFMAN: "Well, well. I know this quack. A nonentity, a third-rate witch doctor. Useless fucking clunker... But he still managed to screw you over with that key. Eh, comrade?"

MUSICIAN: "This is our doctor, yes? He is just as brave and good as you are! He helped me. He is helping all of us! He gave me this beautiful mask, so I could be healed of my afllictions. Maybe you could have one too..."

vvvvv

MUSICIAN

THE JOURNAL: "I met a boy in the village. He told me that the "Chicken Lady" keeps the "Pretty Lady" locked in her house. The boy really wants to see her, but the old woman won't allow it."

THE JOURNAL: "I decided to give the key to Chicken Lady's room to the little boy. He thanked me and asked me to bring him his mom's violin (it's hidden behind the wardrobe). He's afraid to go himself, as his parents are supposedly angry with him."

THE JOURNAL: "The boy sure was happy to see the new violin. (...)The kid also told me I should visit him in his parent's home someday."

CHICKEN LADY: (after musician's death) "Maybe it's just that me ears are getting worse, but it's been a while since I've heard that monster outside me windows..."

CHICKEN LADY: "Holy Mother, this creep again! May the devil take him and his blasted violin!"

MUSICIAN: "The Pretty Lady? S-she's... the most beautiful lady in the w-world! I w-watch her through the cracks in the window. S-she ch-changes when I watch her... g-gets more beautiful. I p-play for her... I want her to be h-happy..."

MUSICIAN: "I fished out the Pretty Lady's w-wreath from the river! (...)Oh yes, I will become the Pretty L-lady's husband! We w-will walk hand in hand, s-sir. I will play for her, mister s-sir."

-A skinny little hand emerges from beneath the tractor and grabs me by the ankle.

MUSICIAN: "They will not l-listen to me, they w-won't hear how sad I am, sir..."

-One of the strings securing his mask falls off, together with his ear. The boy reattaches it as if nothing happened.

MUSICIAN: "My m-mom has this beautiful violin! I would ask her to b-borrow it to me, but she's too angry with me... Could you p-please c-convince her to b-borrow it to me? I'll g-give you a card with drawings for her. To apologize."

-The boy turns the game in his hand for a while, but he can't find a way to reach the buttons with his overgrown fingers. The game slips out of his hand and drops to the ground. The wannabe musician freezes.

MUSICIAN: "(...) maybe you could take a wee piece of... m-meat for me? I've never eaten a pig and I've h-heard it's very tasty! W-would you take s-some for me?"

-The boy sniffles and rubs the mask with his deformed hand.

-From beneath the mask you can hear a horribly distorted, resounding voice... of a child?

-The figure tries to turn its head, but its enormous neck makes this task impossible to complete.

MUSICIAN: "P-please let me stay. P-please, don't chase me off. I've got nowhere to... go. The villagers don't a-a-allow me to live in the camp. I p-p-promise I won't p-play anymore! I'll be quiet. You can c-cover me with something, if you don't w-want to look at m-me..."

MUSICIAN: (after gifting you a rat) "(...) I mean, she jumped on my hand and s-started nibbling on my f-finger! I quickly clasped my h-hand and b-bit through its neck!"

-The corners of the boy's mouth turn up in a grotesque smile, exposing rows of overgrown teeth, which even his mask couldn't hide.

-The boy clumsily grabs the ball in his hand. He carefully hides it under his legs, so that it doesn't roll away.

MUSICIAN: "S-sorry! I didn't want to! T-this thing is coming out of m-my body. I... I tried to stop it, but I don't think I can... N-now the whole room is covered with... this. I didn't want to make a mess, I s-swear! Please, don't t-throw me a-away!"

-The boy leans over the violin lying next to his overgrown left hand. He plucks one of the strings with his right hand, clumsily trying to keep the rhythm.

MUSICIAN: "Recently, I've grown quite a bit. My mom always used to say that I need to be b-big and s-strong... to help her out in the field..."

The boy tries to hug his frail knees with the disproportionately massive torso.

"But I... I don't want to be big anymore. It's v-very hard being big. You need to be so... so strong! To even walk.Now my v-violin is... too s-small for me!"

vvvvv

#darkwood protagonist #darkwood wolfman #darkwood trader #darkwood stranger #darkwood #darkwood musician #darkwood doctor

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