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freshstartbaby · 1 year

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A NIGHT IN BUDAPEST

Florian couldn’t really focused on the conversation his friends were having.

Since him and five of his close friends stepped into the fancy restaurant, his mind was caught by the voice he was earing. Whenever the waiter asked them for the booking’s name, took their coat or show them the decorated table, Florian’s eyes were desesperatly looking for the source of the mesmerizing sound.

It was a very important weekend for him. With all the things going on in their different lives, boys wanted to keep their bond tight with these kinds of moment. It was refreshing and so warm to have advices from people who really love you and wanted the best without judging. Florian wanted to be the best friend for those people and even if the conversation was light, being a good listener was part of the job.

But she kept singing. And he finally saw her.

By any miracle, the boy’s table was placed few feet by the little stage the restaurant installed for the month’s performer.

« Do you want to take the bench seat ? » Masias asked him noticing the sparkle in his eyes looking at the woman.

« Yea, I will take it. » Florian answered blinking slowly coming back to earth.

His hands were damp when he opened the button of his tux before seating down and finally taking a good sight of the singer.

What hit him first was her hair. They were deep jet black and weavy with some kinky texture. It seemed so fluffy and spotting lights from the restaurant made them even shiny. The volume of her hair was definitely catching eyes in this area of Europe but Florian was quickly interested in other things.

The woman was dress in a black corset dress which gave her a very gracious figure. The lack of any straps also gave her a clear neck were was standing three thin gold necklace.

« Bruder you will turn to rock if you stare too much, you want a picture or something ? » Tuncay said to Florian patting his shoulder before lightly laughing with the rest of the table.

Florian chuckled a little before passing his hands on his full beard trying to suppress the fact that his was blushing.

« She got a good voice. » Florian tried to simply replied

« And she’s kind of good looking too it’s ok you can admit it »

Boys continued to tease Florian for few minutes before going back to the initial conversation. But Florian head was still not into it. In fact, he wanted to correct his friends, to him she was breath taking.

And he stayed on his word even after he really looked at her face. Her lips were paint with light brown gloss and her nose was pierced with a tiny diamond. His heart started to speed when he finally saw her eyes.

The make up on them was very minimalist but what surprise Florian was the vertical scar on her left eye who seemed blind by the lack of colour. How couldn’t he saw that in the first place ? He was so focus on other elements like her cleavage, her milky nails or the shape of her hips that he hadn’t really paid attention to her beautiful face.

He took a sip of water beating his own ass, that’s probably why he was single.

-.-.-

« Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for this evening, I am Valentina Wolves and I was accompanied by the TDC band. This is the last song of the evening. I wish you a lovely night in Budapest. »

Florian finally reach to participate to the conversation during dinner, but his heart stoped when he eared her talk. She had a very silky voice but at the same time more deep than any woman Florian ever met. His hands had a brain on their own and grabbed his phone before nothing her name on his notes.

All night, Florian tried to make eye contact with Valentina, but she wasn’t looking back at him. Actually she wasn’t looking at anybody. She was lost in her own bubble, felling every words of the song she performed tonight. Realizing that it will be the last time he will saw her, Florian rose his eyes when he finally saw her looking back to him.

« Cause people come and go,

But I think you should know,

That I think this will work. »

And in a second he felt warm inside. Like something was missing for a very long time and was finally fulfilled.

-.-.-

Plates were removed from the table, coffee was drinked and the bill was paid. Boys were ready to head to a little night hooka to end the night, but Florian felt like he needed to use the restroom before going. He knew too well how much the cold weather was a trap for his tiny bladder.

He followed the directions and end up in a small corridor full of mirrors when he slowly cross someone. With the strong liquor he had that night, the information got slowly to his brain before he turned back with big eyes.

For the happiness of his heart, the singer turned back just like him, look back to his eyes with a shy smile. Words fumble in Florian’s mouth who didn’t know where to start but definitely needed to say something.

« Please forgive me, did I bumped you ? »

He asked touching very slightly her arm

« No you didn’t. It’s ok. » she replied in a very calm voice trying to reassure him.

« Your voice is breath taking, you really gave soul to the restaurant tonight. » Florian said after long seconds of silence. He couldn’t remove his hands from the smooth skin, just not yet.

« Thank you so much » Valentina whispered, Florian could see the excitement in her eyes « it means a lot to me, really » she continued with frowned eyebrows.

Someone needed to pass through the corridor so the next compliments Florian gave her was kind of cut while they stayed close to a wall and made his hands fall from her arm to her hands.

« Are you from here ? » she asked slowly looking up at his features

« Do you mean Budapest ? » Florian tried to understand before Valentina noded. « No I’m on weekend with some friends.»

« Oh alright. » she answered looking at their holding hands and caressing a second his fingers « Well thank you for your kind words and enjoy your weekend in Budapest » Valentina said taking few steps back finally breaking the touch.

Her hands didn’t have the time to reach to her initial place that Florian took it back, delicately but in a very fast movement and bringing her closer to him « Wait Misses Wolves- »

She was a little take back from that act but started chuckling a little. « Please call me V.»

-.-.-

Florian entered in the cozy and warm appartement just after Valentina. After the improvised night walk trough de old town and some of the hot spot, she noticed Florian hands were ready to turn blue and couldn’t imagine the gentleman making a end to night because of the weather.

He had enough audacity to ask her out earlier so she fight with her caution and propose him to discover where she lived.

The conversation the had while Valentina heels clacked on the parlement floor was priceless. Florian really could have listen to her for hours but she kept reminding him to tell her more about his self.

And he opened up. Like he never did before with a stranger.

« Welcome in the beast’s lair. » Valentina told him before asking him to make his self home « Please sit » she said showing the burgundy sofa before disappearing in a room.

Florian took this time to take a deep breath and let the cinnamon smell reach down his lungs. His eyes crossed the mural clock when he realized it was already 4AM. He didn’t felt like 3 hours passed spending time with V.

« May I offer you a coffee ? » she asked him back in the living room with a lighter. Valentina took the candle placed in the middle of the glass low table and light it up.

« You could save my life doing that » Florian answered with a big smile

« Save your life ? » she asked him back with a tiny laugh in her voice and offering him her hand.

« Mh mh. » he grabbed her hand and follow her through the kitchen. He stay behind her and took the opportunity to slightly touch her waist. She lost few feet. That when he realized she had dropped her heels for house shoes covered in black fur.

Valentina took a ceramic white cup in one of the cabinet, put it in the counter before handing him an aluminum capsule and showing him the silver coffee machine.

« So you will be sure I do not put anything in your drink. » she said with a side smile

« For what, like abusing me ? » he asked trying to be sure he understood the joke while processing to launch his drink

« Maybe » Valentina answered putting her back toward the cabinet

« You wouldn’t need it. » he whispered still looking at the empty cup. And the only sound left in the appartement was the coffee pouring itself.

-.-.

Valentina couldn’t really remember for how long they were kissing in the kitchen.

But one thing was for sure, this type of hot make out wasn’t in her daily habits for a minute now and damn it was intoxicating.

He was intoxicating. The level of pleasure he was giving her was illegal at this step. She felt like it was the first time a man touched her that way and she didn’t want it to have an end.

Florian was already too lost in his own pleasure to got that far with the woman who kept his attention since the night’s beginning. He was taking his time devouring her sweet spot in her neck when he felt her move on his knees and eared a zip. Valentina stood up and freed her body for the corset dress. She didn’t have the time to went back on Florian knees that he stood up and sat her down the kitchen table.

She watched him gave a horny lick to one of her nipple while removing slowly his jacket, putting it whenever he want and grabbing the edge of her thong. Her head felt back feeling the fabric going up her legs.

Him moaning trough her walls.

Earrings his pathetic sound while having him in her mouth.

The look he gave her before finally feel her.

The grab on her hips when needed to pick up the pace.

Looking at their reflection trough the enormous bedroom mirror.

The feel of his hair on his chest.

The wetness of wis tongue entering her mouth.

The firmness of his hands grabbing her ass cheeks.

His wet mouth close to her ear.

His deep voice telling her to let go.

Valentina grabbed softly her silk sheet having pictures of the night while slowly waking up. She couldn’t really remember if her mind had making up all these images but she felt a certain smell on the other side of the bed and damn it was enough to remind her how much it was real.

Her heart speed up remembering all the exciting feeling she felt fews hours ago but it dropped down faster.

He was probably already gone. It’s not like she thought he would stay forever but.

« It was a great night stop, don’t go this way » she spoke up to herself

« What did you say ? » a voice came from the living room

Valentina eyes grew big realizing she was not alone as she thought. She jumped out the bed and put on her dressing gown before slowly exiting the bedroom.

Florian was standing in the kitchen near the table and ending the coffee he launch few minutes ago. A needed to go back to the boys, it’s was already near 10Am and they had things planned. As much as he would love to stay little longer he couldn’t let boyz without info for this long.

« Good morning V. » he said putting his phone in his pocket and finally taking a sight of her.

She replied a simple hi with her signature side smile before lean against the wall.

« Did you sleep well ? » he said putting on his coat with a little embarrassed thought. He didn’t want her to think he couldn’t wait to leave her

« Mh mh » she simply replied her smile getting bigger thinking of the previous night but understanding he wasn’t staying

« Mh mh ? » Florian said back also thinking about all the things she had done to him and finally facing her ongle few millimeters separating them

« Sir, you did understand me. » she said chuckling

Florian took back the hand he braved the night before and looked at it long second before start speaking

« I got to go / You should go » they said at the same time before their eyes caught a last time.

During long minutes, they stayed in each other arms enjoying the smell and the warmth of their body, not really sure how and when they could do that again.

« I wrote you down my number on a sheet on the kitchen table » Florian said grabbing her chin and lifting it up a little before kissing her forehead.

She nod and removed her embrace to the tall men before he directed himself toward the door.

« Text me alright ? » he said leaving her and closing the door without a last look, understand him, his own heart was heavy.

« I will. »

——

I hope you all had a great Christmas and ending 22 in a lovely way 🫶🏾

#florian munteanu #florian munteanu x black reader #florian munteanu headcanons #florian munteanu x reader

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erroramended-blog · 2 years

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Here’s a (partial) process pic for that last piece. It was a heck of a time to make, so that gives me a great opportunity to talk about the process in depth down below!

So the initial idea was that I wanted to explore color and emotion. I wanted to try to depict a panic attack with big bright colors and shapes. So of course I picked Hunter as my victim.

At point one I just did a very quick initial sketch, and at point two I threw some color behind it. Just getting the idea down. Sort of like thumbnailing. Just getting a visual I can reference to see where I wanted to go with this.

At point three I went back to the show and looked at how the character acts and what he does when upset, then used that to explore posing and expressions in point four. (I’ve got shots from one ep up there, but I looked at multiple.)

Clenched teeth, wide eyes, raised shoulders, curled fingers. He digs his hands in his hair. His breathing gets loud and uncontrolled. He shakes sometimes, curls up, and hides his face. I was initially attached to an open mouthed expression because I wanted to try to get a sense of that uncontrolled breathing, but I couldn't make it work. So I went with clenched teeth and later decided that I might be able to indicate trouble breathing with his hand positioning. I have him reaching for his throat in the final sketch. (Side note. These aren’t all the sketches / versions. These are what I thought to save while sketching. I do like looking back on the process so I end up saving a lot of it, but by nature of the work, a lot of it gets drawn over, erased, or otherwise destroyed.) Looking back, if I were to change anything, I maybe would have gone for a more claw like finger positioning on that hand. I did have one sketch where he was grabbing at his chest, but I’ll be honest, I didn’t want to deal with the fabric folds on that one. I also think it maybe would have visually distracted from his face, which is where I wanted the main focal point to be.

I also wanted to try and get a sense of him shaking. I tried to indicate that with the wiggly lines off his shoulders in some of the sketches and with the yellow spikes, but that also was another point I just couldn't make work and had to let go. Though I did try to capture a little of that in the eyes.

I tried a few different eye positions. Looking up, looking down, looking away, looking at the audience. Ultimately I wanted him looking at nothing to give the sense that in that moment he’s not seeing, his in his head, he’s freaking out. So his eyes are pointed off into the unspecified distance.

I liked the scratchy lines for his eyes. It added to that idea of him not really seeing in that moment, and those tightly spaced, heavy contrast vertical lines can kind of have, like a vibrating visual effect. Opinions may vary, but I think that helps give off the idea that he’s shaking.

Anyway, moving on to point five, I took the sketch and started thinking about over all colors and composition again. I was a big fan of the orange and yellow, so I moved on to line art.

Back to the image from the top. Pretty straight forward, just line art, flat colors, then I used overlay and multiply layers to mess with the lighting and colors.

With line art, before I gained more confidence with it, I used to do really detailed sketches and get everything figured out in that phase, then try to copy it exactly. These days I’m more comfortable with it, and I do some of the detailed work and creative decision making during the line art process.

One such decision was the little displaced chunks of hair on the side of his head. I really liked that. I feel like it adds to the story, implying that he was already pulling at his hair on that side. I also like putting little lines near his scar, to suggest that there is like a skin texture difference there, like a raised edge. It gets a bit covered up by the tears later, but I still think it adds to the overall effect.

I also did the tears completely separately from the initial line art so I could have full freedom to mess with style, positioning, color, and everything. I tried a few different combinations of color, transparency, and style, but ultimately liked the bright yellow from the sketch phase and ended up going back to it.

Moving on to coloring. I find it much easier to just start with the normal flat colors, and mess around in filters (sai) / tonal correction settings (clip studio) / layer modes, after or on another layer. I knew going into it I was going to want reds and oranges and yellows, but I need those initial value differences as a foundation to work from.

Easy tip for getting that lighting, fill a layer with a color, set it to multiply (or your layer mode of choice), clip it over top, mess around in filters till you get the shadow look that you want, then erase out the parts light hits.

Now this next bit is where crap started to fall apart.

Initially this was just going to be a bust with a background of expressive shapes and bright colors with the goal of supporting and putting the focus on his emotions and facial expression. But my god, no matter how much I messed with it, I hated it. It looked awful. I saved very little from that process. None of it was worth saving.

So I took a nap.

Then I came back to it with fresh eyes and decided to take it into another direction. I shrunk Hunter down, and decided to give the piece a real background showing the things that were going on inside his head.

I really liked that red, pinkish orange gradient from the previous phase, so I wanted to keep that as a prominent part of the final piece. So I put a dark shape behind Hunter, and I was going to have everything happening inside his head, be inside that shape, and in a different color palette to add to that separation.

These were some of those shapes. This also gave me a really hard time. I tried something organic and loose, something breaking apart, tried looking up references of broken mirrors, nothing was working for me. I thought about maybe scrubbing the episodes to look for a meaningful shape there,( like maybe that wiggly shape the collector made when implying that he thought Belos was going to go off on Hunter. ) But at that point I was getting fed up with it.

So I went and made dinner.

During this process up to this point I was trying to do as much as I could in Clip Studio, because I’ve owned it for over a year now, and barely touched it, and god damn it, it was time to buckle down and learn to use it. But that extra level of frustration in getting used to a new program was completely messing me up. So I went back home to my good pal Paint Tool Sai.

(Sometimes art is a bitch, and you just need to eliminate the other factors that are getting in the way in order to move forward. Take naps, eat, switch mediums, go for a walk. It's productive. It’s part of the process. Don’t fight it.)

After switching back into my comfy program, I busted out a thumbnail sketch of where I wanted to take this. I spent time thinking about what he’s worried about and decided to have everyone being angry with him, and turning their backs on him, and then I had Belos looming tall over it all.

Something I also really liked here is that in establishing a rule that everything within the shape is in Hunter's head, it gave me the opportunity to break that rule in a meaningful way. I did that by having the mask horn break out of the shape, and later had Belos’s coloring transition from the cool palette of his mind to the warm palette of his present panic. I feel like it gave off this really menacing “He’s coming to get you” vibe. And it implies that of all the things he’s worrying about, Belos is a very real very immediate threat.

From there it was just more of the same. I filled in my big dark shape, then I went and found shots of each character in profile, did my sketch, did my lines. Took a while.

Each character sketch was on its own layer so I could have the freedom to move them around in the composition. The bg shape also changed a bunch in order to accommodate everyone's positioning. I didn’t want to put a character under Hunters elbow, and I didn’t want to have Amity be the only one with a full body, so I threw some spikes down there, that pointed back up to the focal point, and threw some shards on the other side of him to try and balance that.

I also wanted to include Luz in the piece, and the upper corners were looking a little empty, so I made space for her. In doing that though I had to balance it out on the other side with something, so that's how broken Flapjack ended up in the piece.

I also ended up with a sort of happy accident with Luz’s placement. One of the points on the shape she’s in ended up overlapping with her cheek in a way that somewhat mimics Hunter's scar. Unintentional, but I just think it’s neat.

Next up it’s more of the process. I briefly considered leaving it just as yellow line art, I liked the look it had. I liked how it furthered the idea that everything in yellow was just in his head, and I liked how it tied back in the yellow tears, but in the end it just looked too unfinished. So I moved forward with putting in everyone's flat colors, then desaturated the heck out of them, and messed with colors and lighting again. Fading the characters into shadow also proved itself to be a major pain in the ass. I had liked that purple gradient, but with it at the bottom it just made the characters look muddy, so I flipped the gradient to put the dark end at the bottom, then ditched it entirely, and just put some blue behind Belos.

I also learned something new in Sai. I didn’t know you could layer mask a whole ass folder! So that's what I did to fade the characters back, while still keeping everything on separate layers to allow for further editing. (Hooray for non-destructive workflow!)

After that it was just finishing touches. I realized the whole thing had been kinda dark, so I messed with the brightness, contrast and color balance. I also felt like the edges of the piece felt too open, so I threw on a gradient to bring the focus back into the center a little bit. Over all, it was a fun piece and I’m really happy with the results. If you got to the end of this and liked reading about this process, please tell me. I am shouting into the void and I have no idea if anyone’s hearing it. So comment, reblog, reply, say something if you want more of this kind of thing.

#toh spoilers #toh hunter #luz noceda #emporer belos #the owl house #toh darius #eda clawthorne #raine whispers #toh gus #toh willow #amity blight

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repo-net · 5 days

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updated ver: aoyama nakazke

How long has it been since I posted about an OC, let alone one that isn't from my bag of wrestling characters? A couple of years now?

Well, never mind all that. I've been in a strong writing mood as of late (it's more or less just me trying to get back into the hobby again while my schedule is freer than it was a month or so ago) and I thought I'd put down an updated and cleaner version of one of my older OCs; Aoyama Nakazke. The older post for him can be found here, if you have some sort of interest in checking that out.

He used to be solely a Danganronpa OC (and the context of his backstory is still minorly reliant on Hope's Peak being a thing), but I've admittedly fallen out of that genre a little bit as of late (not completely mind you, why else would the sage is still the entire theme of my blog?), so now he's more or less just a general OC that can be put in just about any verse.

Well, anyways. The lad's under the cut, so go check it out if you're interested.

Picrew link

Name: Aoyama Nakazke

Gender: Male

Age: 19

Height: 5'2" / 158cm

Weight: 128lbs / 58kg

Birthday: May 8 (I forgot why I gave him this birthday, but it has something significant to do with basketball)

Talent: Street Baller

Likes: Cola bottles / most kinds of street food - Cats - Mikel Jordin (???) - Having his hair stroked (generally by people he likes)

Dislikes: Strong fires - Authority figures - Tacky clothing - Getting shoved/slapped/any form of physical disrespect

Appearance:

Aoyama is a rather short boy with a youthful face; making it easy to mistake him to be younger than he actually is. He has light brown eyes and fair white skin, and styles his dark gray hair into short upswept spikes, with two pigtails tied together with black ribbons. When they’re let down, his hair reaches all the way to his shoulders, though he rarely ever does this outside of his own home or in the middle of a shower. (Small tidbit: he chose the dark color for the ribbons to have them blend in with his hair as much as possible)

Aoyama’s attires for everyday use consists of a long and baggy sleeved, black hoodie jacket that has a puffy interior within it, made to maximize the amount of comfort he can feel. Underneath the hoodie is a maroon shirt patterned with black vertical stripes, with the same design being applied to his socks. His shorts have a similar color scheme, with predominant maroon and black accents around the waist area and the edges of the cloth, and maroon sneakers that are topped with white shoelaces. This is usually his outfit while at his home, or if he plans on playing basketball within the day.

If he’s out and about, he makes the slightest bit of effort to change it up; although not by much, as he tries not to stand out among a crowd and would only really put in this ‘effort’ for someone he likes. This alternative outfit has Aoyama don a crimson and black undershirt with a silver leather jacket, and black pants kept in place with a belt. Both the jacket and his pants have plenty of pockets for him to store items; and more importantly - his hands. He really likes idling with his hands in pockets somewhere.

He also changes his footwear a little, now a simple pair of pure crimson socks and black sneakers with red undertones and laces. Aside from his clothes, he’ll style his hair to make sure his three antennas don’t just pop out, thinking that they look ‘stupid’.

Underneath his clothes is a rather muscly and well-toned build, as expected of someone from his area being a street basketball player and all. There are also a few, not so distinct scars around his torso and back - all a product of his childhood.

Personality:

Raised in the streets by himself and his talent, Aoyama is a stubborn and humble boy who seeks to get by in life as comfortably as he can. He's generally quiet off the court due to not wanting to really associate with anyone other than those he teams up with, and from a bit of deep insecurity that he isn't really worth more than what his talent can get him.

His thoughts tend to be a little sarcastic and blunt, sometimes seeping out of his lips and getting blurted out. Aoyama generally tries to avoid anything that’ll start a confrontation though - especially if it’s getting him involved in one.

He's unpretentious and practically his own biggest hater, though he doesn't take well to disrespect, especially physical ones, and it’s likely he’ll instinctively throw a fist right at the source if he gets shoved, pushed around, etc. He's a little clueless when it comes to things like world knowledge and educational subjects, with his lifestyle while growing up playing a major part in that.

Aoyama is incredibly loyal to those who he considers a friend and resents the idea of turning his back on someone; but his nature and roots as a street kid make it rather unavoidable for him to get in trouble from time to time, which has had him have to solve issues across different groups… at least, in the ways that he best can.

Backstory:

To say that Aoyama hated his childhood would be an understatement; but even so, he knows most of it came to be because he would rather walk through true hell than have to live in a fake heaven with demons.

Aoyama was an accident child by a shaky and collapsing couple in a rural farm close to the edge of Kushiro (an average town/city just north of Hokkaido) - both parents were not only poor but had also began to fall out of love for one another, sending the Nakazkes into a spiraling doom of debt and unwanted parental responsibility. Not having the means nor the funds to abort the child, they gave birth to him and left Aoyama to be raised by his grandparents, who would both shortly pass just before he turned 3 - the year he first started to remember and be conscious of his surroundings.

Taking Aoyama back with them to their house, his parents began to take their frustrations and misery of their situation out on him, blaming him for the fact that they keep spending money because of him. Whenever he was at school, he didn’t have many friends; and his short stature and endearingly innocent face as a kid made him an easy target for bullies. Yet whenever he would fight back, he’d get punished as if he started the trouble itself. It didn’t help that he could never focus on school too - and his grades were ‘passable’ at best.

Aoyama’s parents would constantly shelter him and refuse to ever let him out of the house, stopping him from eating too much, reasoning that if he gets full, he’ll become sleepy - and that if he became sleepy, he wouldn’t be able to study. After some point, Aoyama’s parents were no longer able to keep affording his tuition, which left his basic education level around merely the 4th grade. It wasn’t until he later got into Hope’s Peak that he was able to somewhat catch up.

Scars left on him by the whips and belts they’d strike him with, cold and heartless words that made him question why he was even alive, and constant hate that boiled and bubbled until he couldn’t take it anymore. After getting splashed with hot water by his father after he was caught trying to go outside and berating him, telling him that he’s wasting his life by trying to make it out of the house and that he’s only going to hurt himself like the idiot he is. Aoyama yells at the both of them, screaming and asking why they’re so mad at him when he never asked to be born, and that they’re saying that he’s wasting ‘his’ life…

When ‘his’ life was never his to begin with, because they’ve been dictating everything he’s been doing since the beginning, and that he hates it here, saying that he wishes he could just leave like they clearly want him to. His mother steps up, slaps him in the face and pulls him by the hair, dragging him back to their house. She tells him if he hates his life here so much, then why doesn’t he pick all his stuff up and leave? Aoyama’s eyes narrow for a second, but he grits his teeth, clenches his fists and storms off to pick up his own stuff. Both of his parents look shocked at the fact that Aoyama seemed absolutely on-board with the idea, but… if he wanted to leave their miserable life, when they knew he’d come crying back later on anyways… they’ll amuse him, they thought.

He never came back. He took a basketball, a stock of his clothes, the very little savings he had, and most importantly… what little money the Nakazke family had left and took it all for himself from his parents’ room and hid it away in a wallet he hid away between his shorts. And Aoyama barged out the door. Then he ran. And ran. And ran. And he just kept running, refusing to ever look back. If he felt thirsty or hungry, he’d buy a drink and a small snack to eat along the way. If he felt sleepy, he’d rest in an alley or a sidewalk under the night sky, using his bag as a makeshift pillow. And if he ever thought he’d want to go back home, he’ll kick himself in the foot and continue to run.

Aoyama didn’t know where he’d go. He doesn’t even know what his old house’s address was; and what side of the country he’d ended up in by then. But as long as it was far away, by himself, he was okay. And if he ever has to make money again so he can keep surviving long enough to prove those two nutcases wrong… he’ll pick up his ball, dribble it and gamble everything he has against another kid. It doesn’t matter if he gets pushed. It doesn’t matter if he gets hurt.

If someone shoves him, he’ll be able to shove them back. If someone tries to trick him, he won’t just look down and let it go. He’ll live. If only to spite them. If only so he never has to go back to them. And there were bumps, losses, moments of thievery and rumbling into street fights that he’d get into along the way. But he kept getting better and better, stronger and tougher, faster and sneakier. His height became a deceit for what was both a natural and honed gift for street basketball - skillful, agile, and a menace on the court that tore through enemy’s defenses and was speedy to the point that getting past him while he was guarding you felt infuriatingly impossible. Building himself from the bottom up, he was able to get scouted for local teams, make a proper wage for himself, a name was created, and soon enough on his phone, a call from prestige he could only peek through from a window had finally reached him.

Extras:

I got asked this a while back on a Discord server, and I thought I'd put it here too - Aoyama isn't exactly interested in romance (ball is life 💯). While he wouldn't say no to having a partner regardless of their identity, he grew up thinking that it's extremely corny and has a bit of a childish perspective, still half-convinced that cooties actually exist. But half the reason for that is because he's pretty socially inept and has trouble with showing and receiving affection outside of the one thing he's good at. The other half is because he doesn't even know what kind of people he's into and is still figuring things out, though he might have a bit of internalized homophobia having grown up in a somewhat conservative environment. It'd just take some convincing.

Aside from the likes listed above, Aoyama's into trap, hip-hop, and video game music. He's also more likely to hang around people that are rebellious and wild, even if he himself isn't a very loud and proud guy. Maybe it's just him wishing he'd have half the confidence they did. Oh, and he's a pretty frugal guy, tending to take the cheapest and most bang-for-your-buck options at almost anything he goes to.

"Is there anything outlandish he might have an interest in?" - Another question I answered on a server I used to be in. There might be one, actually! I gave it some thought, and I think he has a slight repressed fascination in cosplay! While he himself would never want to wear flashy clothing out in the open, thinking that it'd look ridiculous and cringey; ironically enough, he'd be open to trying it on by himself and pretending to be another person! That... stems from a bit of his insecurity about his own image (physically and mentally), but that is one thing someone who's close with him wouldn't expect for him to be drawn to. He'd probably isolate himself in embarrassment if you ever find out though, so maybe it's best you never find out about that.

#ocs: aoyama nakazke

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aladaylessecondblog · 2 months

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Mousetrap, pt 1 (sequel to Six Hours)

Author's Note: Welp, here we are, ready for the actual plot of the game! Hope you enjoy. :)

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

They're dead. They're ALL DEAD!

Orin's face was scarred, twisted with angry red gouges, some fresher than others, all of them vertical in nature. She was laughing, too. More madly than ever before.

You can kill me. You can kill me all you like. Give a display to make Bhaal proud! But it won't save you from Cazador, oh, no. The master of my freedom hates you with a wrath that would rival even MIzora. He freed her too, you know. But he wanted your death all to himself. Your friends, Rivington, dead, dead, DEAD! Those who are not will be soon! And if you think I--

A sudden gurgling noise, as a blade appeared in her throat from the other side.

"By the black hand, that bitch never shuts up..." A pause, then, "We...we need to go...now."

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

Tav was prepared.

Packs, full. Supplies, ready. All of Cald's little workshop kits, secured.

Tav wrote up two notes on the front door, one at normal height and another at goblin height, both saying the same thing, and including directions to her garden, alchemy lab, and once inside the house, to the beds:

I have gone to see if any were harmed by the fall of that ship - a nautiloid, I believe.

In this house all are welcome if they are in need of healing, food, water, or rest. My only request is this: that once you cross my threshold, you have no enemies amongst yourselves. You are all partaking in the mercy of Ilmater, and to fight in this house is to spit in his face.

If you wish to repay my kindness, weed the garden, harvest fruit, herb, vegetable, and leave something for the next visitor. If you have eaten your fill, put the scraps into the compost bin. If I am gone through winter, chop wood and leave some behind.

- Tav

The last thing Tav did was change into her armor. She still had the Adamantine Scale Mail, and as she sat it on her bed she stripped her gown off and reached for a pair of trousers. When she turned to look in her mirror she saw--the expected scars, of course, but then, at her hip, there was something else. Something she took at first to be a bruise--it was red, like an inflamed wound, edged all over with the white of a healed scar.

She scribbled it down on a piece of paper before slipping on the trousers and covering it up.

She finished dressing, grabbed the Sword of Screams that she hadn't touched in years, inspected it, then sheathed it again. All was ready, and she had to start now, there was no time to worry about weird wounds like that. If it wasn't in danger of killing her right now and wasn't Raphael popping out of nowhere to ruin her next four minutes, it didn't matter.

The stage is set, and the first piece moves.

"Have you got all your bags, Cald? Canteen, crossbow? Everything?"

"Everything, mama!"

"Now," Tav said, when he appeared in the main room, "I want to remind you--everything I told you about hasn't happened yet so we have to be careful to do things as closely to the last time as possible. One of them might remember--besides the bone man I told you about. But until we figure out who that is we must be careful. Alright?"

"Yes, mama." He nodded his head, but was practically bouncing on his feet. "Let's go!"

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

"What? Not another step or I'll --"

So it's not Shadowheart.

"We mean you no harm," Tav said, raising her holy symbol - an amulet she wore about her neck, that had a small pair of silver hands bound in red thread, "We're looking for survivors of the nautiloid crash, to see if they need aid. And...I...I have a tadpole too. I just...when it crashed, I had the chance to get home...collect my son, and..."

So was I not on the nautiloid this time? Perhaps someone like me was, but died?

Suddenly a question opened in her head, one she simply hadn't thought to ask before now: how did she have the tadpole but not change into an illithid? And HOW had she not thought about it until NOW? Perhaps Withers had done something to it before or during her journey back?

Thankfully, Shadowheart believed the bad lie.

"These things are going to consume us from the inside, and turn us into mindflayers! You and I...need...a healer."

"Well...I can heal, but...I can't do anything about the tadpoles," Tav replied.

"Finding one who can won't be easy in this wilderness...and we'll need supplies."

"I've got plenty of them, and I'm willing to share. My home is...somewhat south of here, in the swamps, and not knowing how long it would take to find someone who could help, well...you understand. I'm also a druid, so...I know Goodberry. If supplies run dry we'll have that."

"Mother's very nice about sharing," Cald said, eyeing Shadowheart, "So you don't have to worry about not getting much if you stay with us."

Shadowheart paused. "I suppose what lies ahead will be a little less daunting with support...and I won't say no to a guarantee of supplies."

She looked to Tav.

"Lead the way."

Tav took out her map, and beckoned Shadowheart closer. "I want to check around the ship's immediate area, to see if there's any other survivors. Then..."

She thought for a moment. Astarion and Lae'zel, she had to be sure to find them. Then Gale, and the druid grove for Wyll...Halsin, in the goblin camp...but one step at a time.

"Once we've finished with that I'd say we can head north to the Emerald Grove for anything beyond food. Crossbow bolts, things like that."

"Do you use a crossbow? I can, but...I didn't have it on me when I was taken."

"I do!" Cald said suddenly, "Just a little one, though, when I run out of spells. It might be too small for you."

He gave a grin and gestured at the one on his back. Tav had tried to teach him to use a regular bow, but he'd just taken to the crossbow a bit more.

She gave a brief smile at the thought - even without Gortash's presence, little bits of him were still sneaking out in his son.

"Well!" she said, bringing her hands together, "Let's get a move-on, before any more of these hideous things crawl out after us."

She wouldn't have minded it being Shadowheart, honestly, but it seemed it was not to be.

Once I discover who it is, I'll ask Withers. I don't know if he controlled who remembered, but he seems to like balance, so surely...hopefully...with two of the most heinous men alive remembering, there should be someone nicer to remember.

Though she hoped it wasn't Volo. How stupid THAT would be.

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

It wasn't any of the tieflings near Lae'zel, either

"And if it escapes? How--oh, a guest." the leader whose name escaped her looked at Tav, but without a trace of recognition.

Tav looked up at Lae'zel, feeling a momentary pang of guilt. The woman whom she'd failed to save, before. The woman Orin had taken first. With the tadpole, she reached out to Lae'zel mentally.

Who are you? came the reply.

A cleric of Ilmater afflicted with...the same condition you seem to be suffering from. I'm not going to harm you. I'll get you down from there, just give me a minute.

"I'll deal with her," Tav said to the tieflings, "I saw a group of goblins on the way here, sounded like they were heading this way. You might want to hurry back."

"The goblins will take care of her if you all don't," one of the other tieflings said, before looking to her companions "Let's go."

They left, and she let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.

"This one, really?" Shadowheart questioned. "We should leave her there."

"We need all the support we can get," Tav replied quickly, "And a githyanki warrior, regardless of what you think of her personally, is a formidable foe."

Enough gawking, Lae'zel's voice came again in her mind, Get me down!

"How would we get her down, even if we wanted to? I don't see a lever within easy access."

"The floor of the cage looks pretty bad," Cald said. He reached behind him for his crossbow, then moved closer to Lae'zel's cage, studying it for a moment.

"You might hit her feet. That would be amusing," Shadowheart quipped.

He didn't seem to respond; he was too focused on his task. He raised the crossbow--knelt, and squinted his eyes. Then he fired--the bolt went up the side of the cage, not even grazing Lae'zel, who dropped to the ground when the wood she'd been standing on gave way.

"I know what you're going to say," Tav said suddenly, "I've met gith before, and know something of their...treatments for ghaik infection."

Lae'zel seemed surprised, but was undaunted. "Then you know that it is VITAL we visit a creche. Without what they offer, within days we will be ghaik!"

"Well, first we need supplies," Tav replied, "We are going to look around a little more for any possible survivors, and then we're going to the Emerald Grove for supplies. It would be a good idea to stick together. If a few tieflings reacted like that to your presence...I can only guess how a larger group would behave. Or a pack of the druids from the Grove."

"But you're a druid, mother," Cald spoke up. "And you're being nice."

"Not all druids are as welcoming."

"You have made an ally of Lae'zel, of Creche K'liir. Few know such fortune."

"I can only hope that fortune continues to smile upon us, then."

Gale and Astarion next, then, Tav thought.

Gale would've been one thing, but the idea of seeing Astarion again...she was afraid, frankly. Not that he wouldn't remember, but that he WOULD. Angry? That was a possibility. But almost worse was the idea that he'd be relieved to see her, knowing--having suffered, no doubt, six more years under Cazador.

Cazador--that was a thought. If Raphael wasn't outright LYING, the vampire lord would remember all, and surely that would carry through to Astarion? What if he hadn't been allowed outside and hadn't been tadpoled? What if he was dead already? What if--

"Has the tadpole eaten your brain?" Lae'zel spoke up. "Let's go."

"Of course," Tav replied instantly, "I'm sorry, I was just thinking about--let's go."

She turned and started off, praying Astarion was both where he should be and that he didn't remember a damn thing.

#tav has a shadow thats going to cast itself over everything it can #tav #bg3 #fanfiction #vitiligo drow tav #drow tav #bg3 fanfic #shadowheart #lae'zel #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate tav #bg3 orin #bg3 spoilers #bg3 tav #laezel #drow oc #tiefling

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starbandit · 2 years

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The World In-Between (CH.3)

PREVIEW: “I need more information from you. Why should I trust you? What makes you think I won’t throw you out there and let them tear you apart?”

WARNINGS: MATURE CONTENT, MENTIONS OF DEATH, BLOOD, WEIGHT LOSS

word count- 2.5k/unedited

Jungkook threw the bags down as soon as he got inside, with you trailing close behind. You listened closely as the door creaked shut again, and the sound of multiple locks clicked. “Turn around and introduce yourself.” The voice of the man grumbled behind you.

You turned around slowly, your heart racing. “I-I’m Y/N. I am-was a student in Seoul.” You gulped as you looked in his eyes.

He was dressed in jeans and a long green jacket. His hair was blonde and laid below his ears, with dark roots. He had smooth, cat-like features. The one thing that caught you off guard was the scar on his face. It ran vertically through his eyebrow, over his eye, and down his cheek. The milkiness of his eye still stared into your soul.

“I need more information from you. Why should I trust you? What makes you think I won’t throw you out there and let them tear you apart?” He clenched his jaw.

“I-I don’t know, sir. I promise I won’t be too much trouble,” You could feel the tears welling up in your eyes. The intense stare and threatening energy he was giving off made you extremely uneasy. You were beginning to wonder if staying back in the apartment was the right choice and you made a huge mistake coming here.

“That's enough, Yoongi.” Another voice chimed in from behind you. Your head whipped around and you were faced with another man, one in a clean, white button down. He had broad shoulders and a neat appearance, soft hair that covered his forehead. “The two of them have been through enough, leave the interrogation for another day, please.”

Yoongi grumbled. “Stay out of my way, little one.” He whispered in your ears as he pushed by you and Jungkook, knocking his shoulder into yours just enough to make you stumble back a little. A small chuckle came out of his throat as he disappeared up the stairs.

“My apologies, Y/N was it? Yoongi can be a bit much at first.” The other man shook his head. “I’m Seokjin.” He reached his hand out. You nodded and gently shook his hand, your heart rate finally slowing down. “Have you eaten? I was about to make some dinner.”

Jungkook answered before you could open your mouth. “No, we haven’t eaten yet, hyung.” Your stomach growled as soon as the words left his mouth and your cheeks burned with embarrassment.

“Jungkook, why don’t you show your friend to the bedrooms? Send Jimin down while you’re up there, I need him to help me with dinner.” Seokjin gave you another kind smile before turning around and slinking off in the direction of the kitchen.

Jungkook grabbed your arm and started pulling you in the direction of the stairs. He was rambling on about Seokjin, how much you were going to love his cooking, how the jokes just rolled off his tongue. You weren’t listening too much, too distracted by the sound of your heart pounding in your chest. What the hell were you doing? You jumped on the back of a random mans motorcycle, ended up in a mansion in the countryside, and now you’re gonna sleep here? If your parents, or even your roommates for fucks sake, found out about this, they would have you six feet under in less than 20 minutes.

“Yah, who is this?”

You snapped out of your thoughts as Jungkook stopped you in the middle of the hall. There was a man standing in a doorway, leaning up against the frame with his arms crossed and a smirk painted on his lips. He wasn’t much taller than you, with flaming orange locks and plush lips. His eyes were hooded in a way that made your mouth dry and your hands sweaty.

“Jungkook-ah.” He rasped out. “Who did you bring with you?” The thick Busan dialect made you a little weak in the knees.

“Hyung, this is Y/N. Y/N, this is Jimin-hyung.” Jungkook threw his arm over the other mans shoulders. “He’s not always like this, just when he wants to show off.”

“You brat!” The man, Jimin, grabbed Jungkook by the hair and they both started play fighting, loud laughs coming out of their mouths. “Do you want to die?!”

Soon after the fighting stopped, it ended. Breathless laughs filled the hall and you stood there with wide eyes. “Anyway, it’s nice to meet you Y/N, I’ll save you a spot next to me at dinner.” Jimin winked at you as he pushed by the two of you and down the stairs to find Seokjin.

You followed behind Jungkook some more before stopping in front of a closed door. He gently pushed it open and revealed a nice guest room, fit with plush white sheets and a new dresser. The newspapers on the windows brought a subtle glow into the room.

“This will be your room,” Jungkook helped you set down your bags. “You can put your clothes in the dresser and get settled.” He started to back away. “I’ll uh… I’ll leave ya to it then.” He awkwardly smiled and shut the door behind him.

You sighed and sat on the bed, letting the clean smell of the sheets envelope you. You didn’t even realize how exhausted you were until your head hit the pillows and you were able to fully relax. You couldn’t hear any screams or the groans of the dead outside, only the slight sound of wind and birds. No crying from scared neighbors with children, no banging on your door, just serene silence. You fully relaxed into the bed and curled up, allowing your eyes to close for just one second.

It wasn’t until you felt a warm hand on your side that you jumped up, the air from your lungs leaving in a silent scream. Your face got hot, the tips of your ears felt like they would let off steam if possible, and you could feel your heartbeat through your entire body.

“Holy shit, I didn’t mean to scare you.” Jungkook put out a hand to grab your shoulder, the touch instantly grounding you. “I just came up to get you for dinner, Seokjin-hyung wanted you to join us.”

You let out a few breaths, calming yourself down. “Okay, yeah, let me wash up real quick and I’ll be down there in a second.”

Jungkook nodded and made his way out the door. You let out another sigh and followed behind him, turning the corner into the bathroom. The room was nice, clean and white. The lights were extremely bright and you winced a little at the assault on your sensitive eyes.

You turned on the cold water and cupped your hands, splashing the water on your face. When you lifted your head to look at your reflection, you almost didn’t recognize yourself. You gently dragged your fingers over your face, feeling the skin under your fingers.

Dark circles painted under your eyes, scars from nervously picking at your skin, even how pale you had become in the weeks since going into hiding. Your eyes looked dead in the mirror, no longer full of life, no longer bright like they once had been. The bones in your face had become prominent, the baby fat that had once stuck there now gone. You couldn’t help but think about if your family had seen you, how they would pinch at your skin and tell you to eat something, to put some meat on your bones.

You snapped out of your thoughts as you heard laughter come from downstairs. You quickly washed your hands, drying them on your jeans and going to join the boys in the dining room.

The sun had begun to set, casting a warm glow over the open room. The fireplace in the living room had been lit and the smell of homemade food hit your nose. Your mouth began watering at the smell. You couldn’t remember the last time you had a full meal, the amount of instant ramen and canned veggies you had eaten over the last few weeks had to be criminal on your body.

The room fell silent as you approached the table and you soon realized there were more people that you hadn’t met yet. All the blood drained from your face as you stared into the seven sets of eyes that were burning holes into you.

“Ah, Y/N, come sit next to me.” The man you had met in the hallway, Jimin, said in a rough Busan accent, pulling the seat out next to him. A smirk was painted on his face as he softly bit his bottom lip and looked you up and down.

“Jimin-ah, don’t be gross at the dinner table, please.” Seokjin scolded softly. “Y/N, you can sit anywhere, ok?” He gave you a kind smile from his spot at the table.

You gave a little nod and slid into a seat next to Jungkook and someone you had yet to be introduced to. Even sitting next to him you were slightly intimidated. His tanned skin was glowing in the light, the sleeves of his t-shirt were rolled up slightly to reveal just a little muscle, and an expensive watch decorated his wrist. He picked up his hand and ran it through his hair, a light sigh left his mouth as he did. You didn’t realize you were staring until he turned his head and stared back at you with a tiny smirk and raised his eyebrow.

“Taehyung.” He introduced himself. His voice was much deeper than you expected and it shot a spark of heat through your body.

Dinner went by with a bunch of laughter. You were introduced to the final two boys, Namjoon and Hoseok. The boys all made sure you had enough food, shoving various side dishes and portions of their plates onto yours until you were sure they would have to roll you upstairs from how much you had eaten.

The boys left the table, going to the living room to watch each other play a game. You stood from your place and began to collect plates.

“Yah, put those down.” Seokjin scolded from the kitchen. “You’re the guest, go rest and enjoy yourself.”

“It’s the least I could do.” You continued to collect the plates. “That was the best dinner I’ve had in weeks, Seokjin-ssi.” You delivered the plates to the sink. “At least let me help you clean up, please.” You looked up at him as he sighed and nodded.

“Okay, but after you have to rest.”

“Deal.” You smiled and nodded. You and Seokjin made small talk while you cleaned up the mess from dinner. You learned he had become the CEO of a large company recently, which allowed him to purchase this house, with a little help from his parents. He emphasized to you how grateful he was, and how hard he worked to get to where he was. You didn’t doubt him for a second and listened as he rambled on about the responsibilities he had and the history of the company.

Before long, the kitchen was spotless again. You followed behind Seokjin and rejoined the boys in the living room. They were giggling as they attempted to play a co-op game and were failing miserably. Yoongi was curled in the corner, a small smile plastered on his face as he watched the younger ones argue over what to do. That smile dropped as soon as he made eye contact with you.

You quickly looked away, instead opting to stare blankly at the TV in front of you. You could still feel his eyes burning holes in you. It made you wonder if he stared long enough if you would catch on fire and melt into the ground.

Yoongi’s sour mood wasn’t going to ruin your night, there was no way you would allow that. Instead, you joined in on the game, letting a few laughs out as Jungkook whispered what to do in your ear as you played against Jimin. He gave you a high five and stuck his tongue out at Jimin when the screen showed you as the winner in big letters.

The laughter died down, and soon enough the boys were excusing themselves to bed. Yoongi was one of the first to leave, sauntering up the stairs in a broody silence. Namjoon followed soon after, along with Seokjin and Jimin. You were about to excuse yourself as well, to try and freshen up a bit in the bathroom before bed, when Hoseok stood up from his spot next to you.

“Y/N, would you like me to show you how to use the shower?” He questioned softly. “Not because you stink or anything, oh god, I just figured it would be nice to shower before bed and whatnot.” His cheeks turned red.

You smiled. “Yes, please.” Your knees ached as you stood up and you turned to say your goodnights to Jungkook and Taehyung before following Hoseok up the stairs. He led you to the same bathroom you freshened up in earlier in the evening.

You watched as he turned the water on for you. “Okay, turn it left for hot water, right for cold.” He wiped his hand off on the towel hanging over the toilet. “All the way down to turn it off when you’re done. Towels are in the cabinet and feel free to use whatever shower stuff you need, ok?” He gave you a kind smile and began to back out of the bathroom. “I’ll see you in the morning, Y/N, have a good night.”

The door clicked as he shut it behind him and you let out a little breath. The room was beginning to get steamy and you figured now was the best time to get in the shower. You set out a towel, a nice plush one that smelled like a soft floral arrangement, and stripped to get into the shower.

The hot water felt so good you couldn’t help but relax under it. Thoughts about what you had seen that day flashed through your mind, the countless bodies on the roads, the screams from the treelines leaving the city. You thought about your roommates, were they even alive? You hadn’t heard from them in days, did they leave the hotel or stay where they were? What kinds of horrors had they seen? While there was nothing you could do now, you couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. Survivors guilt maybe? You shook your head, no, not survivors guilt, they weren’t dead, for all you knew they could be frolicking through fields of flowers.

You quickly washed your hair and scrubbed your body before getting out of the shower. You didn’t want to take forever, and thinking about your friends dying wasn’t doing you any good. You were hopeful that a good night of sleep would snap you out of it.

Soon enough, you tucked yourself into your bed, allowing the blankets and pillows to envelope you once again. For some reason, Yoongi’s words replayed in your mind as you began to fall asleep.

“Stay out of my way, little one.” Little one…

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theimpossiblescheme · 5 months

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👁️💤🙈🌌 for Ulysses and Prufrock?

👁️ EYE - what colour are their eyes? do people notice their eyes? is there anything special about them (shows emotion easily, literally magical…)?

Ulysses has a blue left eye and a green right eye. His right eye was slashed by a bit of metal after a gate slammed in his face, so it has a long vertical scar across it, and he wears a monocle attached to a chain on his collar over that eye to help him see. And they tend to show somewhat different emotions than the rest of his face--it's not uncommon for a smile not to reach his eyes, for example.

Prufrock, on the other hand, has an amber left eye and a blue right eye, both of them with perfect vision. They're extremely expressive eyes and always sparkle with a bit of mischief, even when he's not actively coming up with one of his hare-brained, but well-intentioned schemes.

💤 SLEEPING - do they fall asleep easily? what helps them sleep?

Neither of them fall asleep very quickly at all--they both have a habit of being hyper-vigilant and startling at any sudden loud noise. Ulysses likes to sleep as close to one of the street lamps as possible so the humming can serve as gentle white noise, and Prufrock likes to sleep cuddled up to someone. Usually it's his mate or one of his friends, but if he can catch his brother on a good night he might get some company out of it.

🙈 SEE-NO-EVIL - whats a side of your oc that they don’t want to show other people?

Ulysses does have an extremely soft center under his fussy, prim-and-proper exterior, but he only shows it very sparingly to cats who haven't earned it. He doesn't want anyone to think he can be taken advantage of, after all, especially as a Protector (which he knows is irrational just looking at Munkustrap, but... well, there's a lot of baggage he's still unpacking from his kittenhood). And while Prufrock usually wears his heart proudly on his sleeve and couldn't keep most secrets if he tried, that's partially by design. Deep deep down, he's terrified that one day everyone's going to get tired of his antics and kick him out of the Junkyard. It's another irrational fear since the Jellicles here have been nothing but kind, but he doesn't want to lose yet another home because he did something stupid.

🌌 MILKY WAY - what was the inspiration behind your oc? what was the first thing you decided about them?

Both of them were inspired by characters from the Royal Ballet's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. Ulysses is based on the White Rabbit, a fastidious nervous wreck with a protective streak a mile long, and Prufrock is based on the Knave of Hearts, a hopeless romantic with a penchant for causing trouble. I decided to flesh out their backstories more to give them more distinct characters and make them make sense as cats, but the images of Edward Watson and Federico Bonelli respectively are still there in my mind whenever I think of them.

#My boys... <3 #cats the musical #OCs #my headcanons #asked and answered #anonymous

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iscbelshoward · 5 months

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( rosamund pike. cis woman. she / her. ) ⸺ 🐏 greetings, bighorns ! walking around campus, sporting her long, blonde ponytail, we’ve spotted ISOBEL HOWARD, a fourty - four year old who contributes to our thriving community as a VETERINARIAN. according to our intel, she’s been around the sanctuary for two years and what we know about her, aside from the fact that she doesn’t agree with the decision to close the gates, is that she was first brought to campus sick with fever, she’s never anywhere without her walkie, and she’s keen to join scouting missions to search for her son and ex - husband . doesn’t that make her fantastic ? we think it does, and that’s why we appreciate her so much, grateful for what she gives to our community.

B A S I C S

name : isobel emelie howard

age + date of birth : fourty - four, september 17th ( virgo )

gender + pronouns : cis woman, she / her

place of birth : london, united kingdom

education:

sexual + romantic orientation : bisexual + biromantic

relationship status : single, divorced

family : liam howard ( son, status unknown ), mark howard ( ex-husband, status unknown ), father ( deceased ), mother ( status unknown ), brother ( status unknown )

P H Y S I C A L A P P E A R A N C E

height : 5"7

weight : 59kg

hair colour : blonde and greying

hair style : pre-outbreak: never greying ( regularly visiting the salon for root touch-ups ), razor-sharp bob reaching just below chin. / post-outbreak: long, worn in a ponytail. she plaits it or wears it loose for sleep

eye colour : blue

clothing style : pre-outbreak: blouses, slim-fit jeans or slacks, penny loafers or boots with low heels, patterned blazers, knee-high boots and waterproof coat if she's working in weather or with large animals. / post-outbreak: full length jeans ( usually mom / wide leg ), trainers ( almost always dirty ) or a pair of work-boots ( also caked in shit ), long-sleeved tshirts to protect from weather, jackets that are a size too big

jewellery : pre-outbreak: gold!!, delicate chains, thin bangles, hoop earrings layered through multiple piercings. / post-outbreak: none, though she keeps her last mother's day gift from her son ( a silver tree of life necklace ) tucked safely in her pocket

misc. : vertical scar on her left forearm from early outbreak days gone wrong, faint stretch marks on her stomach from her pregnancy that have faded but never truly left, slight discolouration on her ears from where her helix piercings have closed over

P E R S O N A L I T Y

positive : diligent, kind, adaptable

neutral : observant, extraverted, discerning

negative : melancholic, perfectionistic, impatient

moral alignment : neutral good

skills : piano ( her mother forced her into lessons as a child ), steady hands ( having performed many a surgery in her life, isobel knows where and where not to slice and is very confident in her work ), horse-riding ( she learnt to ride as a child, and kept up the hobby as an adult )

H I S T O R Y ( trigger warnings for infidelity & illness )

isobel was born in hammersmith, london on the the 17 of september 1979. the youngest of the two howard siblings by seven years, she was an unexpected ( but happily recieved ) surprise. the child of a successful concert cellist father and accountant mother, she grew up comfortable and wanting for nothing.

school was a breeze for academically-minded isobel, and when it came time to make a decision about tertiary education, she was ambitious. she applied to all the top universities in the UK, and to the shock of her family, even a few US ivy leagues. due to her excellent grades, she had her pick of the litter when it came to acceptance time. and she chose cornell in new york.

life in america was challenging at first, especially as a lone international student. isobel kept herself busy with her degree in animal science, and eventually as she made more connections, she began to feel at home. her course was thrilling, and only solidified her desire to become a vet and one day own her own practice. working with large animals, specifically, felt like her calling. horses were her favourite patients, reminding her of the joyous times spent riding on her grandparent's farm as a girl.

isobel was studying in the library in her third year at cornell when she was approached by a man who introduced himself as mark howard. he was a few years her senior, engaged in postgraduate studies, and devastatingly handsome. the two began talking, and soon enough they were an exclusive item. isobel had dated people before but never seriously, never long enough to fall in love. with mark, she did; and it was effortless. isobel completed her honours year with flying colours, and she and mark moved into a small apartment near campus together. she began working as a veterinary technician at a local clinic. and then she fell pregnant.

liam howard came into the world bloodied, his screams a soundtrack for his mother's joyous tears and father's beaming smile. isobel put her plans for veterinary college on hold to raise liam, and mark took more shifts to support the family. for the first few years of liam's life they were a strong unit, their home filled with laughter. the couple moved to a nice two bedroom home in colorado, with a backyard large enough for a dog they named buck. but when isobel went back to work and started studying again, things began to change. isobel and mark found less and less time for each other, and a kernel of resentment grew between them for careers they had to stop and start.

liam was eight when isobel discovered mark had an affair. it was a one time thing, he told her, born of loneliness and frustration, but isobel could not get past it. she been lonely and frustrated too, and still she had not betrayed him. they divorced shortly after, agreeing to a split custody agreement for liam's benefit.

eventually, isobel did get that veterinary practice she dreamed of, and slowly her life got back on track. she began dating again, too, exploring her sexuality in a way she never dared to as a younger woman. for all his faults, mark barely bat an eye when she asked him to look after liam one friday night so she could go on a date with a woman. none of the relationships worked out for her, though not for lack of trying. she didn't lose sleep over it. she thought she had time to figure it out.

an infectious outbreak — that's what the media called it anyway, before internet shut down. military trucks rolled into town and began herding people out of their homes shortly after, but before they could reach her, isobel had driven to her ex-husband's. it was his week with liam, and there was no way in hell she'd let herself get rounded up without her child by her side.

surviving the end of the world proved tough, but even more difficult was surviving it alongside her ex-husband. the early years very nearly drove her insane, stuck in a military quarantine zone in the same house. every little thing she used to love about mark drove her insane. however as time went on, they established a truce. liam was now a gangly preteen, and presenting as a united front made parenting insurmountably easier. a unorthodox family of three, they stayed in the safety of the quarantine zone. if not for the bodies of the dead visible from the high boundary walls, they could almost imagine they were living an ordinary life.

they were eight years into the end of the world when the sickness began to spread. her veterinary skills put to work at the camp's medical station, isobel was one of the first to fall ill. it started with a sore throat and headache, and before she knew it, isobel found herself in a makeshift hospital bed, slipping in and out of consciousness. moments of waking were spent in panic, looking for the face of her son. but she was isolated, set aside with the rest of the sick. she began to rot away there, until one day when she awoke she was being carried through the ruins of the quarantine zone. the military had been overrun. her home was gone.

after what she later discovered were days, isobel came to in the university of eastern colorado's hospital. her rescuer had dragged her all the way to the nearest sign of civilisation. hooked up to an IV, the camp's medical staff rehydrated her devastated body and provided her with the care her previous home had not. it took her a week to gather the strength to walk the length of the halls, and not a day longer to convince the staff to let her outside. there was no sign of her son or ex-husband amongst the uec crowd, but still isobel refused to let herself think the worst. if she was able to make it out alive, barely breathing and unable to walk, then liam and mark surely could too.

it took isobel some time to accept the uec as her new home. being without her family, as strangely joined as they may have been, felt unnatural and foreign. the people around her were kind, if not wary, but it was in the paddocks of their farm where she first began to feel at ease. interested in proving herself ( and in turn earning some "excursion" passes outside community walls ), isobel became camp veterinarian. she spent her days on the farm, wandering between animals and mucking out stalls with the farm hands. her nights were occupied by the comms tour, where she sat with camp operators, praying to hear a call from her family on the station they'd always communicated on in the past. any hopes of venturing outside the uec with scavengers and scouts was dashed though when the coalition attacked a year into her stay. broken and frightened, the community closed their gates for good, and isobel finally felt herself losing hope in ever seeing her family again.

these days, there's a sense of defeat to isobel that wasn't present before. though she keeps herself busy with work and finds comfort in the friends she has made over the past two years, her every moment is punctuated by the fact that her son is not with her. desperate to join scouting missions and search for him herself, isobel has began to trade in evenings at the comms tower for those spent in the camp's training yard. after ten years spent protected behind walls, far from the infected, isobel is now more motivated than ever to get out from beyond them. she won't find her family by hiding.

#.　　. 　 ˚　. ｉｓｏｂｅｌ— intro #endureintro #infidelity tw #illness tw #.　　. 　 ˚　. ｉｓｏｂｅｌ .　　. 　 ˚　.

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aces-to-apples · 2 years

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“You are the least useful person around.” smells like codakin to meeeeee ԅ(≖‿≖ԅ)

"You are the least useful person around," Anakin declares from his place on the floor. He had been trying to convince his limbs to get him back to some kind of vertical position, but every time he'd made headway, Obi-Wan's wonderful perfect most-specialest boy in the whole wide galaxy would nudge him onto his back, ruining his progress. He felt like a turtle on its back being bullied by a six-year-old with a stick and abandonment issues. "I hate you."

"Of course, General Skywalker," Mr. Perfect nods, not bothering to look down at him.

On him, sure, but that—is different, Anakin's sure. But now he's thinking about Obi-Wan's Perfect Commander being "on" him and Mr. Perfect doesn't even need to nudge him because he trips over his own limbs. If hands can trip, anyway. That's up for debate, as far as Anakin's concerned, but only because everything is up for debate on this horrible, terrible, no good, very bad ship with its stupid handsome commander and no Obi-Wan to keep Anakin from noticing how stupidly handsome he is.

"Are you all right, sir?" Commander Perfect asks, feigning concern. "You went pretty quiet, there."

"I didn't ask for this," Anakin moans pathetically into the cold durasteel floor. "I never asked for any of this. People just expect me to do things for them and then they get mean if I don't do them right and then I have to deal with the consequences."

"Of course," Commander Perfection says after a long pause, sounding a bit more normal, "you didn't have to drink the whole bottle. Sir."

Anakin makes a noise of indignation and raises an arm to point to where he thinks The Most Perfect Commander's face probably is. It's hardly to tell with his eyelids in the way.

"How dare you."

Warm, calloused fingers wrap around the digit, and then the attached wrist, and then Anakin's being gently heaved to his feet by a chuckling commander. "Yes, yes, how dare I," he agrees as they begin walking... somewhere. "Next time, save some of Wooley's brew for me, eh? Obi-Wan keeps making me drink tea and, well."

"It's awful," Anakin groans, as much to himself as to Cody, and tries to wrangle his feet into doing what Cody wants. "Why does he like it? Why does he think everyone should like it?"

Cody grunts as they turn a corner. "No idea, but next time, I want to be the stupid drunk getting dragged back to my rooms."

Squinting, Anakin lets his head loll to face the commander. "You get really horny when you drink, though," he points out.

"I said what I said. Sir."

It takes a moment for Anakin to translate that, and then he's grinning, feeling buoyed with good cheer and preemptive excitement. "You son of a bitch, I'm in."

Cody chuckles again, letting Anakin nuzzle at his temple and press chaste kisses to the scarring around his eye.

"I outrank you," he says, amused.

"I love you," Anakin says, lovestruck.

Cody takes a second to think about that before nodding and accepting his due. "Then give me the booze next time."

Anakin smiles happily and begins pressing slightly-less-chaste kisses to the side of Cody's face until he reaches the shell of his ear. His warm, panting breaths make the commander shiver and Anakin feels his lids grow heavy as he leans in close and whispers—

"No."

#ask meme #answered asks #offensive fic prompts #sw fic #by apples #anelegantoffense #codakin #star wars #the clone wars #drunken shenanigans #anakin skywalker #commander cody

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demonslayedher · 3 years

Text

I lost a bet to myself and paid the price by making another demon sibling AU. Was originally just going to be headcanons and doodles, but I wound up writing the parts I felt like. The names of Tengen's siblings are entirely made up. This will come in two parts due to length.

Clicking each bone in his spine, Yogen stood to his full height, taller than Tengen remembered. It wasn't uncommon to go long periods of time without seeing his siblings when they were on their own missions, but Yogen shouldn't had changed that much. "I'll spare you. It wouldn't do for the Uzui clan not to have a head. Now you're the strongest one."

"...Yogen..."

"I wouldn't had been able to take you on, if not for the fact that you'd never have done it if you knew. You should thank me, Aniki. You know what I've spared you? Father was going to make us all have a fight to the death. You'd have done at least half of this."

"What have you done!?"

"I ate them," he laughed, something Tengen had never heard Yogen do in his adult voice. He had the most infectious laugh when they were children, and this rang with the same pleasure, however dissonant. "I was stunned too, at first. When I came to, I had eaten two of them, they were still warm in my mouth, their cells already nourishing mine. But you know what? I decided to eat the others. I was going to kill them anyway, what difference does it make that I should eat them?"

Tengen's face pearled back into a snarl, his eyes flaring.

"One, two, three... Eizen got away before I could bite him, though. That whelp would had done nothing for me. The one I really wanted to eat was the strongest," he said, his glowing white eyes shifting down to their father's fresh corpse. "And now, even he's nothing to me."

Tengen could stand no more of this. "Yogen!!" he screamed and gripped one of the swords at his back, and charged at Yogen all in one motion. A hard sickle burst out of the flesh of Yogen's arm and caught it, but when Tengen pulled his other sword down through Yogen's shoulder and chest, the sound of ripping sinews what different than it should had been. A look over to the injury revealed that the shoulder was repairing itself before Tengen's eyes. When had he learned any technique like that?

The momentary lapse in focus caught him, Yogen swiped up against Tengen's forearm. It felt too varied to had been spiked knuckles--those were his fingertips, he had grown claws. Tengen drew a sword up to lop off Yogen's forearm, and then his brother let out a shrill scream as his features lit up and revealed how contorted they had become. Yogen didn't look human anymore with how his veins bulged and burned. Burned? From what? Tengen took a look over his shoulder to the sun rising and casting light through the wide open door, and when he looked back, Yogen was gone.

---

Tengen watched the flames consume the house and the bodies of his slain family. He had combed it for any trace of Yogen, but his brother left none. Hope though he did that the flames may consume Yogen too, he knew in his gut that he was still out there.

Behind him, Suma sneezed in a gust of smoke that wafted into her face. Hinatsuru handed her a handkerchief, as she and Makio were already covering their faces in case of poison. Tengen didn't bother, he was resistent to most ninja poisons, and the scratches down his forearm were already less swollen. "You three should go back to your homes."

"No!" insisted Suma.

"We're already members of the Uzui clan," said Hinatsuru.

"Your revenge is ours," added Makio.

Hinatsuru made the most important point, they were already seen as his property. He could hear whispers and feel them all being watched; the other ninja clans knew what had befallen the most powerful family, and the Uzui name was now shunned. Even if Tengen wanted to stay, he had no place in the village, and neither did anything that belonged to him. The only thing left for him now was to track his brother down and drag him to hell.

Someone else was approaching, and Tengen reached for one sword. Uneven footsteps. One didn't have the splat of a foot, it was the thunk of wood--a cane, or two canes? A leisurely, but determined pace. Self-assuredness, even for entering ninja territory. A robust heartbeat. Who was coming?

"Well, is that what you all look like? I feel like I've wandered into one of those storybooks," said an old man. He had one missing leg, a full head of hair and moustache to rival it, a grin, and a telltale scar lining the underside of his left eye. "I had always left your kind alone, but I couldn't when I felt the presence of a demon over here."

"Who are you?" Tengen asked, stetching one arm before his wives while the other hand stayed at his weapon.

"You didn't chop its head off, did you, ninja boy? It's long gone by now, you know. It'll hide from daylight. Be even more trouble to find if it's one of your folk."

"How do you know about us?" Makio shot back.

"How do you children not know about demons? Aye," the old man huffed to himself as he set down a stool he carried. He planted his rump on it, then folded his arms. "The name's Kuwajima Jigoro, former Roaring Pillar of the Demon Slayer Corp. I figured this would be out of your expertise, so I've come to help."

Tengen felt in his gut he could trust that. He dropped to one knee and bowed his head, his wives all doing likewise behind him. Jigoro seemed to enjoy that, but insisted they do not. Instead of bowing, he'd appreciate the ladies rubbing his shoulders to display their gratitude, he said.

While Hinatsuru and Makio set about at each arm, Suma kneeled at his remaining foot with a gasp. "Aren't old people not supposed to be this beefy?"

"Can it, Suma!" chided Makio.

Hinatsuru said nothing, but could feel something was different in this man, not only in his physique. Whatever he had to say was going to change their lives more than the previous night already had. They all listened carefully as Jigoro orated about the existence of demons, how they eat humans, how they are near impossible to kill, but also the methods of those who hunt them, with specialized blades and an organization to support them. As he began describing Breath, however, Tengen stopped him. "I already know all that, that's ninjutsu basics. That's not giving me anything I don’t already have."

"Oh? I figured as much. Always made me curious about you pups. So you you've got the basics of Breath technique, huh?"

"It's beyond basic," he shot him an annoyed frown.

"I'll be the judge of that. See that tree over there? That's probably about the strength of the usual demon neck. Go hog wild on it." As much as showing off was against the ninja code, Tengen wasn't in the mood to argue and made short work of that tree, the only sound being the pop of it seperating into two halves. Jigoro gave him a clap, then stood with his cane. "Good accuracy. Spot on. Now you pick one out for me. Take some mercy, though, I'm only working at half-strength." He balanced on his foot and his peg, plopping the end of his cane in his palm to show off that he meant to use it in place of a sword. Tengen hated when other people tried to be show-offs, so he pointed to a tree a few rings thicker than the one he had cut.

The old man eyed it, then slid his good foot through the dirt, and as he leaned forward, clouds of steam rose from his lips. "Breath of Thunder, Fifth Form. Heat Lightning."

The sound hit Tengen so hard that he covered his ears, and the old man was gone--on the other side of the tree, which was not only cleanly chopped, but split itself in half vertically as it fell. A rarity, Tengen's jaw dropped. Jigoro looked back with a fierce grin, knowing he'd have left them all impressed.

Rather than one knee, Tengen planted his palms and face to the ground. "Please teach me this technique, Master."

"When did I ever say I wanted a student like you? You already said you know Breath technique, don't you?"

"You won't teach him?" Suma sat straight up, little tears in the corners of her eyes.

"I only want students with talents I can mold. You're already set your ways and would just try to make Thunder Breathing into what you want. You can't fill a full tea cup, as they say."

Tengen wanted to insist he's do anything to take his revenge, but the old man was right. As he was, he wouldn't be able to unlearn everything he always knew, it was as much a part of him as every experience and memory, like every scar, such as the ones running down his left arm.

"The true nature of Thunder Breathing would escape you, you'd get too caught up in how powerful it looks. You're too flashy!"

His cheeks flushed. "Say that again."

"You're too... flashy? I don't think a ninja should find that a compliment."

"You can't tell him all that and then not train him!" insisted Makio. "Please! There's got to be something you can do! Tengen-sama works really hard!"

"Tengen-sama works harder than anyone!"

"Please, Master. Tengen-sama can think flexibly, please give him a chance."

"I won't! I can already tell he's not the sort of student I'm looking for!" he barked back, and Suma burst out into sobs, while Hinatsuru hid delicate tears and Makio's face turned dark red. Jigoro flinched at the sight of the upset girls, then looked back to Tengen. "I--I didn't come out here to leave you high and dry, you know. I already told you about the Corp, didn't I? That's where you really need to go. I can't teach you Thunder Breathing, but if you really think you can pick up something new, there's an old scroll I've got of an off-shoot Breath. Someone like you might be able to pull it off. What do you say, ninja boy? How about I give that to you and you teach yourself Sound Breathing?"

---

From there, Tengen took much the same course as in canon. When he became a Pillar and had his meeting with Oyakata-sama, he was upfront about his reasons for entering the Corp. Oyakata-sama appreciated his frankness and assured him that the entire Corp would support him if they found any information on Yogen, but Oyakata-sama was also keen on the undercurrent of Tengen's heart; that he was relieved to leave the murderous ways of ninja, and that he wanted to live an upright life. This finally gave words to something Tengen always felt, but thought he had no right to wish for. He and his wives were moved and they swore loyalty to Oyakata-sama.

However, as time went on, there were no clues whatsoever about Yogen. Around the time they all got antsy, Makio finally couldn't stand it anymore and suggested they may never find him. "Think about it," she said. "This Corp is full of strong swordsmen. Someone might had already chopped off his head long before we got here."

While that should had come as a relief, Tengen couldn't help but find the idea frustrating. That revenge was his to take. He could think of only one person stronger than him who might had done it, so he described Yogen to Himejima one day and asked if he remembered seeing a demon like that. Himejima plainly replied that he was blind.

As they began to accept that they may never have closure, Hinatsuru proposed that they be satisfied bagging an Upper Moon. That should be enough for them to earn their peace, she said, and as much as it grinded away at Tengen's heart, he agreed.

In the course of performing Tengen's Pillar duties, they closed in on what was likely an Upper Moon in Yoshiwara. Hinatsuru, Makio, and Suma slipped in, but when he lost contact, Tengen went looking for some female Corp members to sneak in and see what was up. That's when he reencountered the boy whose head he meant to spill at the last Pillar meeting, as well as his two annoying buddies. Inosuke would had been satisfyingly flamboyant, if not for the fact that he was gross. The other whelp was named Zenitsu.

"You write that 'Zen' with the kanji for virtue?"

"Yeah. What's it to you?"

"Nothing," Tengen replied, never saying anything of it ever again. It didn't take long for him to notice that Zenitsu had ears on par with his own.

The boys managed to get in, and soon the plan went awry. Tengen's first encounter with an Upper Moon broke out, and that went awry in the most horrifically flamboyant of ways. Tengen found himself unconscious, needing to stop his heart to keep the demon poison from spreading, as it was many times more potent than any ninja or demon poison he encountered before. There was fire in the wreckage nearby, he'd be consumed if he doesn't move soon. In the odd space where consciousness was returning to him, his hearing reached into a deeper plain, where he could hear the most carnal thoughts pounding though the bodies of those around him.

Tanjiro was panicking.

No scent! No scent! Upper Moon Five--where did--but--no scent! No scent!!

Tengen could hear Upper Moon Six, in both bodies, but he couldn't hear any other demon. It gave off no sound. He struggled to look in Tanjiro's direction, and was stunned by the sight of a demon partway sticking out of the shadow Tanjiro has cast, guarding Upper Moon Six with a kunai stuck in his arm.

"Sakage!" growled Upper Moon Six. That is not the demon's name. "I don't need you here! Were you intruding on my thoughts?"

"I didn't need to. I heard the cacophony from ages away. You wouldn't had seen wisteria coming anyway."

Upper Moon Six looked to the kunai, while Tanjiro panicked that the poison had no effect on the newly arrived demon.

"Quit with all the fuss. I'd appreciate it if you hurry up and silence that Pillar over there," he turned his glance to Tengen. His eyes had writing in them, but that was Yogen. "I can't be bothered."

Yogen disappeared into the shadow as suddenly as he appeared, and Tanjiro fell forward with a stumble. He'd be a sitting duck like that, Tengen had to go save him, he pushed himself off the ground to--but--but his arm was missing--the scars were torn off-----

---

Yogen had been quick to learn some of the ins and outs of being a demon, but not all the finer details. He gathered from the surrounding demons' fear of the drum demon that the "Twelve Moons" were the most fearsome demons, closest to their progenitor, but didn't those other demons notice that the drum demon couldn't stomach humans as he ate them? That demon was weak, and Yogen wouldn't stand for it. He cut off his head.

It did not kill the demon, who screamed at him with the characters "Lower Six" in one of his eyes, but he shut up quick when Kibutsuji Muzan arrived. Despite warning Yogen that this was not how fights between demons were done and he should kill Yogen for acting without permission, Muzan smilingly decided to allow it, and instructed him to absorb the former Lower Moon Six and assume his role. Muzan did not care for how Yogen's name referenced sunlight, though. He renamed him Sakage on a whim.

Sakage went on to learn very quickly how to please Muzan, and how to climb the ranks. While not immune, he could resist wisteria poison, which Muzan was more than pleased to borrow from him and see how he could try to adopt it into his own cells. Sakage could move between connected shadows, and in spying on the Corp, he picked up on the hand signs the swordsmen used and quickly deciphered them, and openly reported so to the demons that outranked him. With hearing far more advanced that his brother's ever was, he listened to the information shared between crows, piecing apart their language to the best of his understanding.

Lower Moons Three and Two later, he used his spying abilities to identify his next target: Upper Moon Five.

Gyokko was startled by the challenge, and under Muzan's gaze, he could not refuse. Sakage made short work of him, and the other Moons all felt a chill. Akaza's chill was excitement.

Akaza wasted no time in chatting up the new Upper Moon, for Sakage likewise had a stated hatred for weaklings. While Sakage did find it a bit of a bother, especially since he knew he was a long way from ever being able to pose a real challenge to Akaza, he learned that the quickest way to stop Akaza from pestering him was to spar. Akaza loved to chit-chat even while sparring, though, and this became a useful way for Sakage to catch up on a hundred years of gossip about the other Upper Moons.

While it did feel they had somewhat of a friendship, one day they got on the topic of poison. "I hate people who use poison," said Akaza, between punches. "It's as cowardly and low as you can get."

Sakage, who could create a myriad of weapons from his cells as needed and always laced them in poison, was not offended, but disagreed. "I see no problem in being effective."

This gave Akaza pause, and an uncomfortable drop in his stomach. He excused himself, and bothered Sakage not so often after that.

Muzan was typically pleased with Sakage, which made Hantengu tremble that the ambitious demon had it out for him next. When Muzan was in a foul mood after Upper Moon Six's defeat, Sakage was likewise in a bad mood for the annoyance he encountered out there, someone who should had stayed hidden away instead of bearing free his inherently show-offy personality by joining the Demon Slayer Corp, especially since he was sure to have his ears set to the ground now for any new sign of him. He was certain Tengen witnessed him. But, for as much of an insult as it was to the Upper Moons that Gyutaro let him live, Tengen wouldn't be much of a threat anymore.

Still, Sakage knew to keep his cool. He had news to report, and he was certain of his deciphering. When he declared where the swordsmith village was located, Muzan had no doubts, and sent Hantengu alone. "Now why couldn't you find that, after all this time?" Muzan smirked to Nakime. She, not being of any rank, could merely apologize. Sakage took no pleasure or pride in looking better than a peer whom he knew he was stronger than. Muzan's mood could never be sustained for long, though, and he very soon frowned back to him. "You've brought no word of the blue spider lily."

"My apologies."

"Aren't ninja supposed to have knowledge of these things? Weren't you of a high ranking clan? Go back and order them to search."

And, at that moment, a dangerous thought escaped Sakage's inner filter, it leaked though to his mind at the same moment it leaked to Muzan's: But I can't show my face back there.

The way Muzan's face bent with disgust drove more terror into Sakage than when he was still a human and first encountered the demon lord. He felt certain of a swift death, but Muzan let him be. Sakage was still too useful. But, Sakage knew he'd have to crawl back to Muzan's graces by providing something of more use to him. He had to unveil a secret of more value.

Tengen, who remained active despite missing an eye and a hand, was present at an emergency Pillar meeting. Tokito and Kanroji were bandaged up, and they recounted how the swordsmith village was attacked by Upper Moon Four. With two Pillars and a few other reliable Corp members all working together they defeated him well before daybreak, but not before discovering an ancient ability known only as "the mark."

As he was now, Tengen knew he'd never attain this. What bothered him more was how the demons found the village, so hidden that he'd have to put his mind to it to have figured out where it was. He could had resorted to old tricks to figure it out, whether that be silently tracking the smiths after their deliveries or flirting with the Kakushi, but what recourse would a demon have had?

'I heard the cacophony----'

A demon may have had ears that rivaled his own, or were better!

Feeling sure of which demon it may had been, he set to thinking of what he would do next. If the demon moved in shadow, listening for the Corps' secrets, what would be a bigger target than the swordsmith village?

Oyakata-sama!

"Uzui-san, are you alright?" asked Himejima. "You seem quiet today."

"You look pale," added Kanroji.

"I'm jealous I won't get one of those flashy marks," he lief without flaw. "We all know I can't take any demons on like I used to. Maybe I don’t belong here."

"Uzui, what sort of talk is that?" Iguro looked to him with his flamboyant dichromatic eyes wide, and brows knit tight over them. "This isn't like you."

"I've got a different sort of mission to go on, I'll see myself out. You all stay here and keep each other company discussing this."

"Then I'll excuse myself here as well--"

"Not you, you've got no excuse," Uzui forced Tomioka back to a seated position by pressing on his head.

In conducting his own investigation, Tengen set his crow to work investigating from the sky. What the crow learned, tracing a few leaks and scolding the birds involved, was that their mid-air communications may had been what spoiled the secret location. This confirmed Tengen's suspicion about Yogen's hearing. He had a feeling about some other spoiled secrets too, and in following up with Corp members involved in previous mishaps, he concluded that the secret hand signals had been divulged.

(Read the conclusion reblog here.)

#please reblog from the conclusion post thx #tw blood #tw violence #tw cannibalism

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weighty-ghosts · 3 years

Text

‘Wondering’ (wolfstar)

Wondering, by weightyghosts

“It’s late summer before their sixth year at Hogwarts, and one afternoon, Sirius, James, and Peter meet a boy their age sitting in a tree, reading a book. This boy might just be the missing piece in their lives- particularly for one of them.”

Rating: General

Word count: 2202

Pairing: Remus x Sirius

Published: May 2, 2021

Warnings: Brief description of scar

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31049291

Whoosh!

“Sirius!” Peter whines, after almost falling off his broom, “Stop throwing it so hard at my head! I can’t catch it!”

“Sorry, Pettigrew,” Sirius snickers. He flies, if one can call it that when moving so languidly, over to where James is observing the scene from his own broom. “Come on,” he says to Peter, “Go grab it and we’ll play again. James will be keeper this time.”

“Why me?” James asks, frowning at Sirius. James is a chaser, always.

Peter pretends not to hear Sirius whisper, “Because I don’t think I can stop myself throwing the quaffle at his head.”

He groans loudly, then groans again when Sirius and James don’t react to it, busy now discussing the merits of the various quidditch positions. He turns his broom around to go look for where his old quaffle has disappeared to in the thick trees surrounding the meadow they play in. He’s moving a large leafy branch out of his way, when he almost gets smacked in the head again with his own ball.

“Oh, sorry!” A voice says quickly, and an apologetic face appears as a boy about their age lowers the quaffle, “Almost knocked me out of the tree,” he laughs softly, nodding at the ball that he holds out to Peter, “I’m guessing you want this back?”

Peter knows he’s staring, and that his mother would be very unhappy with him, but he can’t help it; this boy is sitting in a ginormous tree that’s at least forty feet high, in a cozy spot where two branches meet, with a book in his lap, looking like this is a regular afternoon for him.

Peter glances around and doesn’t see a broom anywhere. He’s wondering how this boy got up here- when he freezes. He doesn’t even breathe as he looks at this stranger who’s now tilting his head at Peter in confusion, and Peter is panicking. Did he just stumble upon a muggle? Is Peter going to get sent to Azkaban for flying on a broom in front of a muggle and breaking the Statute of Secrecy? Surely the Ministry wouldn’t send a fifteen-year-old to the dementors, right? Right?

Peter lets out a little squeak and zooms backwards as fast as he can, banging the back of his head against a small branch in the process.

James and Sirius are waiting for him when he exits the tree-line, still talking with their heads close together, but they turn when they hear him.

“Oi, where’s the quaffle, Pete?” James asks, pointedly looking at Peter’s empty hands that are gripping onto his broom for dear life.

Sirius nods at Peter’s messy head, trying (and failing) not to laugh. “Why do you have so many leaves in your hair?”

“There’s- there’s a boy!” Peter stutters out.

James and Sirius glance at each other, then fly closer to Peter until their brooms are almost knocking together.

“What do you mean a boy?” James questions, “Where?”

“In the tree!”

“There’s a boy in the tree?” Sirius’ voice is laced with disbelief, “Did you hit your head Pete?”

“No! Well, yes, but it’s true!”

“Pete, what exactly did you see?” James asks. He peeks over Peter’s shoulder and squints, as if he believes he’s capable of seeing through vegetation if he just tries hard enough.

“In the tree!” Peter repeats, “He was holding the quaffle and just sitting there! In the tree! And,” he gulps, then leans in closer to his friends, “I didn’t see a broom. He must have climbed up there.”

Sirius narrows his eyes. “You think he’s a muggle?”

“I-”

“If I were a muggle-” The three boys whip their heads around in the direction of the voice wafting through the tree line, “-Don’t you think I would have been quite taken aback to see a person floating on a broomstick forty feet in the air?”

Sirius, James, and Peter look at each other for a moment, before deciding at the same time to burst through the trees, coming to a dead stop in front of the stranger who’s still holding their quaffle.

“Blimey,” James blurts, “There really is a boy in a tree.”

The boy’s eyes are alight with amusement, but he has a shy smile playing on his lips, as if he wants to laugh but doesn’t think he’s allowed to.

Peter keeps a good distance away from him, then starts to ask, “How did you get up h-”

“How do we know you’re not a muggle?” Sirius interrupts. He takes in the boy’s appearance; frayed jeans, long sleeve tee with a vinyl cover that’s been sun-bleached beyond recognition, and light golden brown hair that matches his eyes-

Sirius jolts when he realizes those eyes are staring back at him. He purposefully scowls in suspicion at this potential muggle, though, for some reason he can’t stop staring at the boy’s cheeks that have turned adorably pink.

“I don’t think muggles even know the word muggle,” the boy responds, speaking to a spot near Sirius’ shoulder.

“Where’s your wand, then?”

“Sirius, don’t be a prat,” James chides, punching his arm lightly, “Why’re you interrogating him?”

“I just think it’s interesting,” Sirius explains, returning James’ punch in kind, “Meeting someone who claims to be a wizard and looks about our age but doesn’t go to Hogwarts.”

The boy’s flush darkens and he looks away uncomfortably. As he does, his collar pulls down to reveal the top of a nasty red scar that runs vertical along his neck, stopping just below his left earlobe.

“What’s that from?” Sirius asks right away, his suspicion dissipated as curiosity takes over. The boy’s hand instinctively flies to his neck to cover it up.

“Sirius, cut it out,” James rolls his eyes, then turns to the boy and extends his hand, “Ignore him, he’s a prat. I’m James Potter, and the prat who doesn’t understand boundaries is Sirius Black, and that’s Peter Pettigrew.”

“Oh,” the boy glances uncertainly at the three of them, then stares at James’ hand as if expecting James to pull it back, but he doesn’t, so the boy tentatively reaches out and shakes it. “I-I’m Remus Lupin.”

“Cool! Want to play quidditch with us?”

“Oh,” Remus says again, genuinely surprised at the offer. He looks down at the quaffle in his hands, then holds it out to James with a frown on his face. “That's alright, I don’t have a broom.”

“Pete,” James turns to address him, “Can’t Remus here borrow your brother’s?”

“Oh, no that’s-”

“Of course!” Peter interjects Remus’ protest, “I’ll grab it now.” Peter dashes away, apparently excited by this task set out to him.

“That’s settled then,” James declares, “Pete lives close by, we've been staying with him for the week.”

“That’s nice,” Remus offers, a little awkwardly.

“So, come on!” James starts bouncing up and down on his broom in excitement, and Sirius finds it endearing how enthusiastic James gets about making new friends. “Let’s wait on the ground for Peter! You know how to play quidditch, right? And how did you get up here? Are you going to climb down?”

Remus meets Sirius’ gaze, silently asking if this is what his friend is like all the time. Sirius grins and shrugs at him, and Remus returns it with a shy smile.

“I know how to play quidditch,” Remus answers, “But I’m not very good. And yes, I climbed up here, I come here a lot. I like climbing trees.”

That blush returns to Remus’ cheeks, turning the spattering of freckles on his nose and cheekbones a reddish brown. Sirius doesn’t understand why he can’t seem to focus on anything other than those freckles.

“You shouldn’t climb down though,” he finds himself saying, “That doesn’t sound safe. I can give you a lift.”

Sirius feels James’ questioning stare on the side of his head, but then James shrugs charitably and leaves them with a quick, ‘See you down there, mates.’

“Alright,” Remus slowly agrees, his face as pink as ever, “Thank you.”

“Not a problem,” Sirius dismisses, flipping his hair over his shoulder. He scoots forward a bit on his broom, then sidles up next to Remus. Remus hesitates, but tucks his book into his back pocket, and reaches out to grab Sirius’ shoulder as he hitches a leg over the broom. He slides too far to one side and grabs onto Sirius’ shirt with a gasp, and Sirius’ hand flies to Remus’ thigh to steady him.

“Careful there,” Sirius chuckles awkwardly, pulling his hand back.

“Yeah, sorry,” Remus mumbles.

“It’s alright. You can, you know, hang on to me. I don’t care. I mean, I wouldn’t want you to fall off.”

He feels Remus’ soft laughter on the back of his neck, and suddenly finds it hard to breathe when Remus wraps his arms around him. Sirius shakes his head slightly and flies the two of them towards where James is waiting. His landing is a bit more rough than usual, but for reasons he doesn’t want to think about right now, he needs to put some space between himself and this boy he just met.

“Thanks,” Remus says as he climbs off the broom. There’s a glint in his golden eyes that Sirius hadn’t seen up in the tree. His smile is different too, more secretive, and Sirius doesn’t know what to make of that.

___________________________________

They spend the next hour playing their makeshift version of quidditch, then the following two hours exploring the forest and a river nearby that held strange gems at the bottom that Remus wanted to show them. The four of them seem pleased at how well they’re getting along and how easily they’re having fun together. Sirius tries to focus on their effortless dynamic instead of how strangely nervous he’s been feeling around this person. This boy. He must have stumbled no less than four times over the forest floor, and even walked into a tree at one point. Remus must think he’s the most dim-witted bloke he’s ever met.

They’re walking back to the meadow near Peter’s house, pockets full of colourful gemstones, when Remus stops walking abruptly, glancing at a rough trail that heads off in another direction.

“Okay, well...” He wavers, and the other three stop and wait for him to continue. “It was nice meeting you.” Remus smiles quickly, shuffling his feet.

“Do you have to be somewhere?” Sirius asks, not knowing why Remus is feeling awkward out of nowhere, while also panicking that Remus is about to leave and Sirius will never see him again.

“Erm, not really, I mean, I should be getting home soon, my parents-”

“Never mind your parents,” James waves these concerns off, then walks over to Remus and throws a casual arm around him, “Come back to Pete’s with us! We can drink pumpkin juice and play gobstones outside.”

Remus looks at Peter, evidently questioning if James has the authority to invite someone over to his house.

“Yeah,” Peter agrees easily, “Of course you should come!”

Remus’ eyes find Sirius, and Sirius gets a little thrill out of the thought that Remus might actually care if Sirius wants him to join them.

“Pete’s mum makes great pumpkin juice,” he says quickly, “And we were planning a bonfire for tonight since James and I are leaving tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Remus smiles shyly again, “Only if you have marshmallows, though.”

“Who do you take us for, Lupin?” Sirius grins.

___________________________________

Later that night, after a lively round of gobstones and many pints of pumpkin juice, the boys are gathering wood for the bonfire, when Sirius nudges Remus to slow down and let Peter and James walk ahead of them.

“Hey,” he says in a low voice when the others are far enough away.

“Yeah?” Remus is frowning at him, a note of anxiety in his voice.

“I was just wondering,” Sirius starts, feeling more awkward than he’s probably ever been in his life, and increasingly embarrassed as Remus simply stares back at him, waiting for him to speak. “Erm, just- just wondering, since I can’t come back here for a while, if I could write to you? During the school year?”

“Oh,” Remus breaths, his features blank with genuine surprise. Then, his face breaks out into a wide smile that does something wild and strange to Sirius’ insides. “Of course. Yeah, of course. I’d love that.”

Sirius exhales a large breath that he had apparently been holding in. “Right, great. Cool.”

“Cool.”

“Oi, Black! Lupin!” James calls from somewhere up ahead, “Let’s get this fire going! Pete says we’re having a competition to see who can eat the most marshmallows!”

Sirius smiles at Remus, feeling unusually giddy, as they start walking again.

“There’s no way any of you are beating me,” Remus states confidently, surprising Sirius. “I’m the king of marshmallows.”

“Is that right?” Sirius laughs.

“Yeah, that’s right.”

“I guess we’ll see.”

“I guess we will.”

___________________________________

Sirius loses the contest to Remus by one marshmallow, and despite being known for his competitive attitude, he finds he doesn’t care at all. He has a sneaking suspicion he won something much better that night, and already can’t wait until the next time he gets to see Remus Lupin again.

#wolfstar #wolfstar fanfic #pre-wolfstar #wolfstar fanfiction #harry potter au #alternate universe #remus didn't go to hogwarts #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #james potter #peter pettigrew #moony #moony wormtail padfoot and prongs #padfoot #marauders #marauders era #ficbyweightyghosts

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gointothevvater · 2 years

Text

Rollin’ me down the highway

Another chapter in the some kind of kiss series! Be warned, this one addresses a past suicide attempt, though only briefly.

It wasn't long before they'd all piled into Snazz's shitty van, rolling down the highway. The windows were open to the hot summer air, the music on full blast. This, Pickles had learned, was an unexpected bonus of being in a band: The traveling, the wandering. It was nice.

Snazz was driving, as he always was, and Sammy sat beside him in the passenger seat, singing along to Eye of the Tiger as it played over the radio. There was a very obvious reason he was a drummer and not a singer.

St. Cecilia sat in the seat behind him, reading some book with a half-naked lady and a ridiculously buff guy kissing on the cover. In the seat across from her was an array of snacks and bottled drinks.

In the back seat, Pickles was dozing with his head in Tony's lap.

"You two're looking awfully cozy back there," St. Cecilia said, and though Pickles had his eyes closed, he could hear her smile.

His voice light and full of laughter, Tony asked, "You got a problem with that?"

"I think it's sweet," she said. There was something soft and wistful in her voice now. "I'm a little jealous, actually."

From the front seat, Sammy said, "We're sweet, too."

"We're more horny than sweet," St. Cecilia said, and Sammy laughed.

Pickles opened his eyes just in time to see it. Sammy had a great laugh, a great smile. It was no wonder St. Cecilia was so crazy about him. Pickles was halfway there himself. Sammy had twisted around in his seat, an arm extended so he could hold St. Cecilia's hand.

Pickles reached out an arm, too, saying, "Hand me a Coke, will ya?"

St. Cecilia did, and Pickles sat up to accept it. He unscrewed the cap, took a long drink, only stopping when he caught Tony looking at him, head cocked quizically to one side. He asked, "What's up?"

Moving slowly, like he was giving Pickles an out if he wanted one, Tony gently took hold of his wrist, flipping it over and asking, "Is this what I think it is?"

It was. It was a long vertical scar, spanning from the base of his wrist to about halfway down his forearm. There were tiny dots along the sides from where the stitches had been. There was a matching one on his other wrist. They had nearly killed him. Here, with Tony, with St. Cecilia and Sammy and Snazz, he was immensely glad they hadn't. Pickles said, "Yeah."

Running the pad of one fingertip along the scar, Tony said, "I could cover this with a tattoo, y'know."

"You could?" Pickles asked, one brow lifting.

"Came to Cali to be a tattoo artist," Tony said with a little grin. He flashed his own wrist to show off a tiny hand-poked cassette tape. It was cute. "So far, I've only tattooed myself, though."

Pickles returned his smile. "When we get to Salinas," he said, "that's gonna change."

#this series is so fun to write - i just wish i had an actual plot lol #pickles the drummer #snakes n' barrels #tony thunderbottom #antonio dimarco thunderbottom #metalocalypse #pony #pickles x tony #sammy Twinskins #sammy candynose twinskins #snizzy snazz bullets #st. cecilia jameson #my mtl

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darkeninganon · 3 years

Text

Heyo! Back at it again with Ghost Dream (Gream). He has a little weirdness happen in this chapter, mostly because my brain just yeeted off to Pluto. I don’t think I need any Trigger warnings, I mean... Tommy gets a little shaken up emotionally, but beyond that, this is a pretty safe chapter.

Gream smiled, setting up the final blocks to complete the diorama on the table. It had taken many days, but finally Gream had completed it, with the help of Tubbo, Ranboo, and Tommy. It was an exact replica of the server. Well, with a few changes. Some places had no walls, and the building in place of the prison was nothing more than an obsidian box surrounded by red and orange string. There were also the dolls, almost exact replicas of the people of the SMP.

Almost.

Tomothy had a blue sweater on, instead of whatever the real Tommy was wearing. William was grey-skinned, had no white streak, and was wearing a yellow sweater. Prezbo was wearing a classy suit, reflecting his position of power. Lethe was wearing a cloak and bandages over his eyes. Gream even made one like himself, naming it "Nightmare", it lacked a mask though. He was not about to try and figure out how to make a doll-sized mask. There were so many more as well: A centaur-like creature named "The Warden" sat on top of the prison box, a tall cloaked figure standing in a sandy area along with many other smaller ones, including a fox man; most notably was a figure in a bloody suit with crooked eyes, a pink scar slashing vertically through one, a beanie, a gold tooth, and a square smile. "Fangs", "Raev", "Sir"....

Gream shook his head, fear and dread creeping up his spine and making his stomach roll. He sighed, setting the dolls down after inspecting them. Raev was his favorite in the group; Gream had given him bright orange hair and a smile, plus a cute green-black suit. It clashed with the hair and fur, but Gream didn't mind, it was kind of cute in a way.

Gream continued to just stare at the little scene, sitting cross-legged as he took it all in. All of these characters were related, their stories tied together in some way. Gream reached over, pulling Nightmare from the little brick house he stood on and placing the doll in the cell The Warden stood on. That was where Nightmare belonged.

Gream spun to look at the door as the floor creaked, Tommy looming in the doorway, staring at the ghost.

"Hey there. Your table is finally done?" The teen asked, stepping into the room and over to the table. He wouldn't deny, it made him nervous; it was a replica of the SMP with New L'Manburg, the oldest version of the Community House, and the maximum security cell of the prison, plus Snowchester and Las Nevadas. It was like the server had been spliced between several time periods. "Looks good."

Gream looked back at the table, nodding. "Thanks. I also made the dolls." Gream motioned to them. He noticed Tommy tense, specifically when looking at the one in the prison. "That's Nightmare. He belongs in jail."

Tommy knew Dream was... quiet, to put it lightly, but he had never seen Gream do the same. "Yeah, and why's that?" he asked, sitting next to the ghost.

"He did a lot of bad things." Gream grabbed the doll, pulling it from the "jail" to look at it more.

"Well... sometimes people do bad things for a good reason-"

"That doesn't make it okay. Nightmare did a lot of bad things. He wanted to have a family... He wanted Tomothy to be his little brother, but Tomothy chose William, and William was a megalomaniacle dick to everyone, even Nightmare. But then William died and things got better." Gream placed Nightmare back in the cell. "But... William managed to convince Tomothy that Nightmare was evil, and Nightmare saw people drifting apart because he gave Prezbo a test, and Prezbo failed it." He grabbed the two dolls, holding them close. He then placed Prezbo back in the town he had built, placing Tomothy in a bare plains-like area with wooden fort-like walls around him. "Prezbo kicked Tomothy out of their home because Nightmare got mad and threatened the town. Then, Nightmare tried to... twist? Corrupt? No, neither of those words work..."

Tommy's breath hitched, and it took a moment for him to speak; "Manipulate?" His voice pitched up. Fuck, he really had to get that under control. It was such a tell.

Gream looked to Tommy, nodding solemnly. "Yeah. Nightmare tried to manipulate Tomothy into liking him. Like William had done when alive. Instead, Tomothy just hated him more." Gream picked up another doll, rolling it around. "Then, Nightmare asked for Lethe's help. A favor. Lethe needed to protect the server, but he had to forget everything unless there was actual danger. A True threat. They cast some... spell or something, and Lethe forgot." Gream placed the doll in the area that looked like Snowchester, and now Tommy could see who it looked like: Ranboo. "there is a way to reverse it, but... I don't know if Lethe knows it."

Tommy watched, listened. It was so obvious who was meant to be who. It was like Gream... Wait... "Hey, so... you said Nightmare wanted a family, right?"

"Yeah."

"So... he made everyone think he was evil... and now he's in jail, yeah?"

"That's right. Mostly. He is in jail."

"Well... did... I mean, how did he get in there?"

Tommy watched as Gream seemed to think, staying silent and still before grabbing "Nightmare" from his cell. "Well... everyone teamed up against him. But... even though he'd never see anyone again, he was happy."

"Why?"

"Because, they were finally a family." Gream placed the little doll back in the cell. His voice was soft, wistful.

Tommy nodded. "Pardon me." He stood and left, Gream nodding to show he had heard. Tommy barely made it to the stairs, clinging to the railing as he finally broke. Gream was... He wasn't just playing out his memories, he was sharing what he felt and his thoughts at the time. Dream was... Jealous? No, that didn't excuse his actions, at all! He was still worse than... But... No, he wasn't. Dream was just more physical, less mental.

Tommy took out his communicator, sending a message to Tubbo and Ranboo: We need to talk. Meet me at Snowchester. Bring the others Ranboo. Tommy grit his teeth. He couldn't let Wilbur near Gream. Wilbur would see Gream as an easy mark, and likely a way into Las Nevadas. Sure, seeing Dream's version of everyone on the SMP was unnerving, but it was even more unnerving that he has so perfectly replicated Quackity and Las Nevadas. Quackity who was likely the reason Gream even existed in the first place, and also someplace Dream had never seen. Gream probably didn't even know he had done that.

Tommy swung open the front door, hoping to meet the others right at the tunnel; nearly smacking right into Wilbur. Fuck.

"Tommy! There you are! Now, look, I know me and Quackity were a bit intense-"

"Not now Wilbur."

"Okay, but hear me out! We need so much more stone, and more importantly, we need to team up with-"

"I have more important things to worry about here."

"It'll just take a moment! We team up with Tubbo and Ranboo and let them expand into our land right by Las Nevadas, and-"

"I'll talk to you about it later, alright?"

"Alright, but real quick, We also need to come up with a plan to get Dream out of Prison-" Tommy tensed, unseen by Wilbur; "Because, you know, he has that book that brought me back. God, imagine how useful that'll be! No more death ever! We can fight for eternity and no one can stop-"

Wilbur's head was snapped to the side. Tommy had punched him. "He's not a fucking tool you can just lock up once you're done using him! What the fuck man?!" Wilbur groaned, rubbing his jaw as he slowly turned to look at Tommy, clearly wanting to say something, but too shocked to do so. "You will... never get the revive book, or the power it holds... Dream is... I hope Sam kills you again." Tommy turned away from Wilbur, storming over to the tunnel. He knew Wilbur was following silently behind, confused and desperate to say something, to get to the bottom of why Tommy just punched him.

Tommy stood by the tunnel, furious. Sure, Dream was a dick, and everything would have been solved if Dream had just talked to Tommy, but at the same time... Asking Gream more about Nightmare would shed some light. But he needed everyone else to show up first, to see what Gream was doing. Tommy tapped his foot, staring at the sky as they waited for everyone else.

Ranboo burst from the tunnel, trident in hand, panicked expression, netherite on. "What's going on?!" Someone crashed into the poor half enderman, causing him to make that distinct noise of an enderman in pain as they crashed to the ground.

"Shit! Sorry-" Phil couldn't complete his apology as the rest on the Syndicate tumbled out of the hyper tunnel, crashing into each other.

Tommy snorted, trying his hardest not to laugh as the four people untangled themselves. Ah yes, the most fearsome group on the server, couldn't navigate a hyper tunnel. Tommy lost it as Tubbo came speeding out of the tunnel with a scream, crashing into his platonic husband and causing Ranboo to let out another pained enderman noise. Something about Ranboo yelling like an enderman was just so funny to Tommy, surely he was cursing in the language of the End.

"What did you want to talk to us about, Tommy?" Niki cut in, her usually calm voice cold, snapping Tommy out of his laughing fit.

"Right, uh... Let’s walk and talk, yeah? It's a little tough to explain." Tommy lead the group to the mansion, casting a quick glare at Wilbur. "So, you all know about Gream, yeah? Of course you do, anyways, he was building and working on a table to play games with when it comes to spending time with Big Mike, since neither are really allowed to leave due to safety." Tommy glanced back, making sure everyone was following along; Techno and Wilbur looked completely lost, while Niki looked confused but was clearly listening. "So, the thing about this table, more importantly the dolls he made for the table, is that they're... well... This is going to sound really weird, but it’s everyone and everywhere on the server. You’ll see." Tommy pointed to the door, and everyone crowded around to peer into the room.

Gream sat by the table, looming over it. Even with the cursed mask on, it was clear he was concentrating hard on something. The table and dolls had his full attention. Tommy motioned for everyone to linger back, hiding just outside the door-frame; before he walked in, he let out a quiet cough to not startle Gream. The ghost looked up at the noise, spotting Tommy and nodding at the teen.

"Hey Gream. I... actually had a question for you about that uh... Nightmare character." Tommy carefully walked up to the table, pulling the doll from the cell.

"Well, ask then."

Tommy smiled nervously, fidgeting with the toy. "Well... You said he did bad things because he was angry... jealous, actually. Um, why didn't he just talk it out?" It was such a huge risk, and for all Tommy knew, this could make Gream angry and have the ghost snap like he did back at his house.

Gream was silent, perking up as if thinking about something. Finally, he sighed. "Nightmare... Nightmare can't figure out his emotions... and he doesn't like talking about them... Someone... Hurt him once, someone he loved. It’s something I understand, but... you prefer talking about things, right?"

Tommy was quiet, frozen. "What?"

"I..." Gream pulled on the edges of his mask, a puddle of acid began to form under him. "Ever since the incident with Jack and Puffy I... Tommy, you're not telling me the truth, are you? No one is!"

Tommy flinched. He could hear netherite armor being thrown on behind him, but he took a breath, relaxing as he placed the doll back in the cell. "You're right. I haven't been honest. But-" Tommy held his hand up as Gream glared at him; "But I have my reasons. Nightmare... He did bad things for a good reason... He knew he'd go into jail for it, didn't he?"

Gream was silent, thinking again before nodding.

"That's why he asked Lethe for a favor. Well... People do bad things for good reasons all the time. I'm... withholding information from you for some very good reasons. It's not just for your safety, it's also for me. The things I'm keeping from you... they're things I don't like talking about, ever." Tommy sighed, running a hand through his hair. It sucked having to try to explain it, but now... Now they'll get to see things from Dream's view... something that no one was interested in before-

"Dream died?!"

Tommy cringed as he was reminded that Wilbur was there. "Yes, Dream died. Congradu-"

Wilbur shoved Tommy out of the way, grabbing Gream's hand and shaking it vigorously. "It's amazing to meet you! You and I were such- Oh man, we had so much fun together! I was... What was the word again? Oh yeah! I was your vassal! You helped me blow-"

Tommy shoved Wilbur away. "Alright, enough! Leave the poor guy alone!" Tommy stood between Wilbur and the ghost, Gream didn't need to know that he helped destroy L’Manburg or was a traitor or anything like that. Wait... Tommy shook his head. Dream was never really on their side.

"You... I don't like you."

"I'm.... What? What do you-"

"You're a megalomaniac aren't you?" Gream crossed his arms, glaring at Wilbur from behind his mask. "You... You were... Why do I hate you?" Gream turned away, pacing around until he looked to the table. He grabbed Nightmare and William, setting them up along with Tomothy on a hill. He stared at them, gently fiddling with Nightmare as he stayed quiet.

Wilbur went to go say something, but Tommy stopped him, staring intently at the ghost.

"You could have been a good leader... But I don't want to be a good leader. I hate you so much, I'm going to be worse than ram man... I will tear this place apart because I hate you... Tomothy gave up everything and you gave up nothing, you are going to get him killed..."

Gream removed Tomothy, setting him up with Prezbo on top of an obsidian wall. "Can't we all just be a family... No, you're the bad guy... but why?" Gream stopped, picking up Nightmare and holding him close. "But why?"

#Gream #Ghost Dream #mcytg/t #mcyt g/t #Gream is trying to remember things #but he doesn't see himself/Dream/Who Dream Became as the same #So if he were to ever make a ''pre-wilbur'' version of himself #he'd call it Dream as opposed to Nightmare #I was super creative with names wasn't I? XD #He also references the incident with George #angst

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luimagines · 3 years

Note

Subject 10-Mulan Link

You have now gained the accesses file page of the chain links case number #19835 Corrupted heroes for Subject #10

Current state: Safe

legal name: Link,last name unknown

Nicknamed: Mulan

Biological age: unknown

Chronical age: unknown

Hieght: Unknown

Weight: unknown

Visiting accesse time for subject Zero: Must be planned ahead of schedule time in order to have private meetings and clerance from head chief researcher Queen zelda and level 5 personal clerance

Physical description: Subject 10 is a short haired Hylian woman who wears a green tunic and knight gear armor.They have a well built muscular body and a ferret that rests around thier neck as well as scars and cuts around thier body.The most noticeable scare they have are three little cuts under thier chin and a long vertical cut across thier right cheek.

Information: Subject 10 first arrived at the castle carrying subject zero and subject 11 bloodied and badly injured with a broken arm and serveral fractured bones as well as stab/slash wounds.They came in as duplicates of four identical versions of subject 10 dressed variouse colors such as brown,cyan,yellow and green.Only one of the 4 sets had arrived at the castle with subject Zero and Subject 11 while the others fought off to keep back the “chain” while back up knights and town gaurds were deployed to apreheand them.Subject 10 is not placed under any containment but is required to come to the SCRPP research site to have check ups and testing as well as recorded interviews with research personales.Subject 10 refuses to have to go anywhere without her ferret campaion so all interviews and meetings are held with subject 10′s ferret either on the site with them or curled around subject 10′s neck.Subject 10 is in current possesion of the master sword and four sword as well as veriouse other items from the group(but not all for research purposes and other classified resons).They are to be informed of any drastic procedures that are to be done to any of the known subjects and participats of case file #19835.Subject 10 is one of the only subjects out of all the links who dose not show a red essence seeping out or show any signs of agression or possesive behvaiors for subject Zero. Research is still going underway to find out a way as to why it is and if blood or dna samples can be exracted from subject 10 in order to find a cure.

[interview recoding of subject 10 #1]

Dr.Jean: Now beining case file number #1983 dash 1 subject 10 interview of the anomalie the Curropted Heros. Time started at 10:89. Interview researcher personale Dr.Jean, tag number 893 of site 13 room A14.

Dr.Jean: Ok,lets start.Rember at anytime you start to feel uncomfortable we can stop the interview,alright?

Link: ok..

Dr.Jean: ok,lets start off with something simple.Subject 10 can you please state your name?

Link: Mulan.

Dr.Jean: I am sorry,let me clarify I meant your real name.

Link: oh,right..its uh,its Link.

Dr.Jean: Good,can you state your last name as well?

Link: I dont have one.

Dr.Jean: Are you sure? No documnets? Family? Anyway to file for one?

Link: Yes,I am sure.I dont have one.Thats it.

Dr.Jean: Right,right, *ahem* can you tell us how long you’ve know the links?

Link: We had all know each other for about a year and a half, and today would have been our second year together if…you know,had things still been normal with everyone.

Dr.Jean: how did you meet these people to begin with?

Link: I was out exploring the outskits of the forests behind my house one day and saw a bright light,so i got curiouse and followed it.I found a portal and went through it.I was transported to the guredo desert and wondered a around for a bit before I found the chain.it turns out the portal took me to a diffrent time period and there was some time,dimentional stuff going on and we were all gathered to fix it or something.

Dr.Jean: How did you meet subject Zero?

Link: Subject Zero? oh,do you mean [redacted]?

Dr.Jean: Link,please reframe from saying subject Zero’s real name during this interview.

Link: Fine.

Dr.Jean:thank you,pleas contiue.

Link: We first met them a few months after lucky came when [ audio connection has been temperarly lost]

Dr.Jean: Intresting and how did you feel about Subject zero?

Link: I didn’t think much of them, I thought that they were ok.they were kind of nice and everyone liked them,so I did too.But there was something just…off about them.

Dr.Jean:Off like what? Did you distrust them?

Link: no,no,no not distrsut or anything like that…just that something was not right…there was just something…..something WRONG with them,I dont know how to describe it, they were just not normal in a very bad way.But I ignored it and didn’t think much on it. I think they were just…diffrent.

Dr.Jean: Why did you help them escape?

Link: Because it was the right thing to do.I wanted to get them out of a situation where they were held captive and also keep the others from killing each other on who got to keep them.Its not that complicated. besides it my fault for not stopping this sooner.

Dr.Jean: How?

Link: What?

Dr.Jean: How do you think it was your fault?

LInk:[sighs] its…it was all right there I didn’t want to see it,I knew everyone was starting to act a little wierd but I didn’t want to take it that seriously,I didn’t want to think badly about my fami-friends..my friends…Until one day when they had gone completly overboard and uh…..I had found some of them beating down on a man after they were flirting with..with subject Zero…and to say that they looked like they were thugs when they were doing it would be too much of a understatement…They looked like they were having a good time doing it too.I swear when I saw them that day at the allyway they were not the heros I knew and travled with and as faw as i was concerned they were strangers-no,not even that,they were monsters…And the look on thier faces when I yelled out to them and they turned to me…it was like they were going to kill me right there and then……[Inhales heavily before exhailing shakingly] they weren’t normal….thier eyes….I don’t think I can really ever forget those empty vacant looks..it was like someone els was there…Since then things had started to get worse.

[suject 10 begins to pet her ferret at this time seeming to find comfort in it from thier stress]

Dr.Jean: Who were the ones that were there at the time of the incident?

Link: it was…I think Twilight,Four,Sky and Wild were all there.

Dr.Jean: Even Sky?

LInk: Yeah, him too.I rembered the second I started yelling and taring a new in asshole for them he just came up from behind the group and started to try to “calm me down” and explain how the shit I just saw wasn’t what it seemed like and yadda yadda yadda,typical gaslighting you know? But I wasn’t going to fall for some shit like that so I got the man out of there and to a medic, payed for all his expenses and reported them to Time and Warriors. Honestly I was so pissed off and in shock about it all that I had finally started notice and realize more and more things that were wrong about the group that I use to just keep ignoring.I still didn’t try to do anything serious about it though until the end of our journey.

Dr.Jean:What did you mean by noticeing things?

Link: …….just things….and looking back at it now should have been obviouse red flags but I never pressed for them.I think the first time I did it was with Wsrriors but he kept brushing me off saying things like “everyone is just protective of [redacted]” or “that you are looking way too into this” and when he did listen to me he would tell me that he’d keep a closer eye on the group.I suppose you can take a guess that, he did not, in fact, keep up the promis that he made.

Dr.Jean: did at any point in your adventures feel,were attempted to or successfully attacked or harmed by any members of this group during you adventures before the escape?

Link:No-well I mean yes but…[ exasperated sigh]…yeah….yeah there were a few…ok maybe a lot…But I guess the one that really stuck with me was when,uh,when Time held me up against a wall and tryed to cut my throat during a heated argument about…..them.

[Subject 10 reaches over to rub on a faint cut across thier neck]

[the ferret circles closer to her neck nuzzling it head into hers in an attempt to comfort Link]

Link: Aww,its ok little guy,I am fine right now.Don’t worry fluffy.

Dr.Jean: i am sorry if its too much but what was the argument about?

Link:…….

[subject 10 stays silent for a few minutes before speaking again]

Link: It was about if we should kill subject zero.

Dr.Jean: Then do you think we should kill subject zero?

[subject 10 stops petting fluffy and stares at the doctore without giving an answer for several more minutes]

Link:[a shallow exhale leaves thier mouth] …….I……..I….

[the sounds of sirens and alarms going off]

Annocemnet :There is a containment breach in the D -12 containment building floor,please all personels and staff go to the evacuation exits and safety rooms while special elit force knights handle the situation.Subject 4 case 19835- 1,2,3 and 4 cololrs have all escaped.If you see him or any of the colors they are to be neutralized and brought back to thier containment cells.All other staff do not ingage unless -

Dr.Jean: oh Hylia,looks like we’ll have to cut this short and we have to hurry and-wait where are you going! The safety room is this way! Link!

Link: [distant and muffled]I know,I just need to go out and kick a few stobbern little butts back in thier cells first-!

Dr.Jean: Link the elit knights can handle it you don’t have to-Link!! Link! Sir Link! Lin-!!

[audio ends here]

I am doing wind next

This is long, so I'll react as I read.

oh SHOOT THEY RAN!!!

MULAN USES THE FOUR SWORD!!

[REDACTED]?!?!!?

LUCKY!!!

AUDIO CONECTION TEMPORTARILY LOST!?!?!?!?!?

THEY GONNA KILL A GUY-KIL MULAN!!? SKY IS GASLIGHTING!?!?

TIME CUT THEM?!?!?

MULAN GONNA KILL SUBJECT ZERO!?!?!?

THEY ESCAPE!?!?!? THE COLORS ESCAPE!!!!

MULAN GOES TO FIGHT?!?!?

MY GIRL!!!!

OH MY GOD

#pinky replies #SCP LU #PINKY IS SCREAMING #pinky is screaming #i don't know which one I use anymore #violence #yall gotta let me know with tags #i don't think this was so bad in terms of being graphic....#but let me know because i can't think...#yandere #yandere linked universe #horror

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theloneliestshipper · 3 years

Note

What about a Soulmate or red string of fate AU for Leia and Boba?

I actually had multiple requests for this one. I came up with a premise years ago for this and yet writing it out only made me realize how hard it would be to get these two stubborn, independent people to buy into it. I dragged them as far as I could, I swear.

AO3 Link

“It’s Mandalorian.” Her father’s voice was hushed. He sounded worried. “I recognize the lettering.”

“Could we have it translated?”

Leia rubbed her leg just above her knee as she listened to her parents whispering outside her door. The darker patch of skin had always been there. Her mother said she always had. It was only after her tenth birthday that the color began to deepen and the foreign letters began to take shape.

“Yes, but should we?” Her father continued. “This whole business of soulmates, it’s a lot of pressure. Maybe it’s best if she doesn’t know.”

Her mother sounded uncertain. “There’s a lot she doesn’t know, Bail. What if this is one thing too many?”

---

“You have a soulmark?” Sabine Wren’s eyes went wide.

“You don’t think it’s crazy?”

“My parents have them...so, no. My dad’s says, “I’m looking” and my mom’s says, “look at this beautiful sight!” My dad was painting a picture of a lake when they met, and he wanted her to look at the view and she wanted to look at him.” Sabine shrugged. “And those were the first words they said to one another. My mom says she was just grateful that hers was in Mando’a.”

Leia fidgeted, keeping an eye out for anyone passing in the hall of the rebel base. “Mine is in Mando’a too.”

“It is? That means it’s your soulmate’s first language!”

“I looked it up, but the translation wasn’t exact. It’s just one word. Slana’pir.”

“Huh.” Sabine considered that for a few seconds. “That can mean ‘get lost’ or ‘go away’ depending on the context. It’s kind of a funny thing for someone to say as their first words to you. The first letter, does it angle at the bottom? This way?” She illustrated with her hand.

Leia had to think about it. “No. The other way.”

“That’s interesting. It means they’re probably Concordian, from Concordia or Concord Dawn.” She grinned. “A hick Mandalorian, you know? In some places they use slana’pir literally, from a Concordian it’s more likely to be a threat.”

“Great,” Leia replied dryly. “I’ll just keep my eyes peeled for a Mandalorian who instantly threatens me. Are your parents...it’s real for them?”

“Oh yeah. They’re really happy together. My dad always says he doesn’t mind dying at the same time as my mom, because he can’t imagine living without her.”

“Wait. You die if your soulmate does?”

“That’s part of the deal. Once you meet and exchange words, you literally can’t live without one another.”

“But what if it’s someone you pass on the street and never speak to?”

“Then I guess you do what you want like everyone else.”

---

Leia couldn’t understand the grunts of the Gamorrean guards who dragged her through the door. They tossed her in the direction of the bed and left, locking the door behind them. The room was simple, the only furniture was a bed.

Jabba had made the terms of her captivity clear with the scraps of metal and cloth she was forced to wear. She was a trophy for the Hutt to display. So why lock her in here?

She paced for a while. When she got tired of pacing she sat on the bed, her eyes fixed on the door. That quickly became boring and so she laid down, curled up on her side. At some point she fell asleep.

When she woke up there were voices outside the door. Bib Fortuna, the Twi’lek majordomo, and a second voice.

Boba Fett.

Leia bolted upright. Of course. Jabba was passing her on as a bonus to his pet hunter. Her hands curled into fists as the door opened and the Mandalorian bounty hunter strode in.

“Get out.”

She resisted the urge to cover her soulmark with her hand. “Congratulations,” she snarled instead. “You can read.”

He didn’t respond. He stood frozen in front of the door until it finally occurred to Leia that something had happened. “The fuck,” he whispered, the words barely audible through his helmet. Suddenly he was moving towards her, and before she could scramble away he was on his knees at her feet, his hand on her leg. His gloved fingers scrubbed across her soulmark as if he was trying to rub it off.

“Ow!” She pulled her leg up under her, shoving him away. “Get off me!”

He straightened, started to walk away and then turned back. And then away again, as if he had lost all sense of direction. “It can’t be,” he said to no one.

“Are you on spice?”

He laughed, a harsh, unexpected sound that caused a burst of static in his helmet. “I wish this were a spice dream, but neither of us is going to get that lucky.” He lifted off his helmet, setting it on a table before he removed his jetpack. He was in his thirties, with dark curly hair and tan skin. A handsome man, in spite of his grim expression. He looked as if he wanted to be doing anything other than what he was doing.

He stripped off his bracers and then worked open the flak vest his chest plates attached to. When he started opening the neck of his flight suit Leia realized that he was undressing.

“Let’s get one thing clear,” she said. “Lay a hand on me and one of us is going to die.”

“I’m not going to touch you.” He said it scornfully, as if the very idea was offensive. “I have to show you something.”

“Why?”

His anger faded a little. “I think you have a right to know.” He pulled his arms out of the sleeves of his flight suit and let the top half hang over his belt. He wore a white sleeveless undershirt beneath it, which he pulled over his head in one smooth motion. His back was all smooth skin and muscle, except for a few scattered scars and the line of aurebesh letters that ran vertically down along his spine.

Congratulations. You can read.

“Oh my gods.” Leia could scarcely breathe. “You...you didn’t read it. It was just...the first words you said.”

“Seems impossible that we haven’t spoken before. But even on Bespin we never talked. Not directly.”

“It’s you,” Leia said, still trying to process it. “You’re the hick Mandalorian. From...Concorda...or something.”

He blinked at her. “Concord Dawn. And I’m not. But my dad was.” He waited a moment, as if he was trying to decide something. “When did they show up for you? The actual words, I mean.”

“I was ten, I think.”

“Me too.” A smile appeared, fleeting but sincere. “My dad said they were funny. Like a joke.” He shook his head. “It’s a fucking joke, all right.”

“Tell me about it.” Leia rubbed her temple. “My soulmate is a bounty hunter.”

“And mine is in love with someone else.” Fett winced as if something had just occurred to him. “I’ve got to get you out of here.”

“What? Why?”

“Because if I don’t you’ll get yourself killed trying to rescue Solo. You know what happens now, right? Now that we’ve met? If you die, I die.”

“You could help me. Help me get Han out and-”

“And what? You’ll marry him, move to the outer rim and live a long, peaceful life?” His tone was rich with skepticism.

“Maybe I will,” she lied, trying not to think about the rebel forces gathering on Yavin IV.

He looked at her for a moment in silence and then dropped his gaze. “I’ll leave. Whatever plans you have, I’m not part of them. We’ll both just try to...stay alive.” His shoulders rose and fell in one sharp breath. “Since we probably won’t see each other again, is there anything you want to know?”

Leia plucked at the blanket on the bed. “I guess you’ve heard some of the same things I have.”

The bounty hunter shrugged. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious.”

“I didn’t feel anything when you…” she gestured at her leg.

“Might have been blocked by the gloves.”

“Yeah. That makes sense, I guess.” It might be her only chance to test it. “If you want to try it again…”

He worked his glove off his right hand and approached her cautiously. His hand spread over her thigh, covering his words completely. Leia felt nothing. She gingerly placed her hand on his naked back, over her own words.

And then she felt everything.

It was...a connection. She could think of no other word to describe it. This person belonged to her. His life, his body, his mind and his soul. He fit her like home. She looked up into his eyes, eyes that reflected the same intense longing. “Oh no,” she breathed, overwhelmed and shaking.

“Yeah,” Fett gasped as he leaned in and kissed her and it was perfect the way no kiss between two strangers should be. Leia’s hand went to his chest and then up around his neck as the kiss deepened and then she was wrapped around him and they were both nearly horizontal on the bed.

And then suddenly he was pushing away, detangling himself from the embrace. He turned his back to her and clutched at his head as if he had a stabbing headache. “No,” he growled. “No fucking way.”

Leia couldn’t take her eyes off the words on his back. Her words. She wanted to touch him again. To hold him and comfort him. But clearly that wasn’t what he wanted. She swallowed the lump that was suddenly in her throat. “So I guess that’s real.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, still facing away. “No matter what some stupid magic tattoo says, that was out of line.”

“It wasn’t…” She didn’t know how to finish that. Was it better or worse if it truly wasn’t what he wanted? For that matter, how could she be sure that it was what she wanted? “No apology necessary,” she said finally.

“That’s gracious of you.” He reached for his undershirt and pulled it back on. “I think I have all the information I need.”

“Yes,” Leia agreed. “So what now?”

“Now I ask you for a favor.” He turned to face her and he put his arms through the sleeves of his flightsuit. “Be careful. Play along with Jabba and don’t do anything that might get you tossed in the rancor pit.”

She inhaled slowly, weighing her options. “I’ll try if you do one thing for me.”

“What?”

“Don’t leave.”

His hands stilled for a second, and then he looked away. “It’s going to be hell,” he said, almost casually. “Not knowing where you are or what you’re doing. Fine. I won’t leave. I’ll help you if I can, but don’t ask me to lift a finger for Solo.”

“Fine.”

---

Things had taken a turn. Leia could feel it in her bones as Jabba’s minions raced for the deck of the sail barge. Fett clearly knew it too.

Artoo bumped against her leg with a quiet beep, and Leia took advantage of the Hutt’s distraction. She crouched down beside the small droid and held the length of chain between her hands. One zap and it broke.

But when she straightened, the bounty hunter was gone.

She heard Jabba’s cry of outrage as she bolted for the deck, but she ignored it. All of his guards were busy fighting. She caught a quick glimpse of her friends on the skiff and then the bounty hunter at the rail. The engines on his jetpack were lit.

Leia seized a pike that had fallen to the deck in the mad rush and swung it as hard as she could. Her aim was too good. Not only did she smash it into his jetpack but the force of the blow sent him over the railing.

Into the sarlacc pit.

She raced to the railing. He’d managed to slow his fall by grasping at the side of the barge, but without a good handhold in reach he was slipping down the side. She reached down with the pike and he grabbed it. A blaster shot ricocheted off the barge inches from his head. Artoo appeared on the deck and whistled sharply. Leia looked over at the droid. “What do you mean ‘it’s going to blow?’”

She jumped barely a second before the explosion. She collided with Fett on the way down and they hit the sand, rolling towards the mouth of the pit until suddenly they jerked to a stop. Fett had one arm wrapped around her and when she looked up she saw his other arm stretched over his head, bent at an angle that screamed ‘broken’ but anchored by his fibercord grappling hook to the skiff above them.

“Leia!” She heard Han shout, but she was too busy trying to hold onto Fett and keep herself from sliding further into the pit.

“Blaster,” Fett rasped. “Sarlacc…”

A tentacle slapped at her ankle and she pulled her leg up as high as she could. She managed to pull the bounty hunter’s blaster pistol from it’s holster and fired at the beast, causing the ground to shudder beneath them.

Chewie appeared over the railing of the skiff and then suddenly the skiff lurched and began to move. Fett let out a muffled cry of pain as it dragged them to safety.

---

“Can you see this?” Leia waved a hand in front of his face and Han squinted.

“I can see the motion.”

“That’s a good sign. Try to get some sleep, okay?” She bent down to kiss his forehead before leaving the Millennium Falcon's crew quarters. Fett was sitting up on the cot, his back against the wall. His arm had been set and placed in a sling and at the insistence of everyone else, his other hand was cuffed to the cot. His helmet sat beside him, and his eyes were half-shut. Lando had given him a pretty big dose of painkillers.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’ve felt worse.” His mouth curved into a bitter smile. “You fucked up.”

Leia folded her arms over her chest. “I still saved your life, Fett.”

He shook his head as if the motion took effort. “The sarlacc keeps its victims alive. You could have lived your whole life while I was being digested.”

“I don’t think I could have.” Leia sat down beside him on the cot. “I don’t want you to suffer. That’s not the magic tattoo, that’s who I am.” She brushed a dark curl off his forehead and laid her palm on his cheek. The sense of connection and wholeness she felt at Jabba’s was just as strong now. He leaned into the touch and Leia leaned over and gave him a quick kiss, which led to a longer kiss. And then an even longer one.

“What are we doing?” Fett demanded as soon as they broke apart.

“Nothing. You’re drugged to the gills and Chewie would love to have an excuse to throw you out the airlock.” She sighed and leaned back against the wall beside him. “I don’t like being told what to do. Even by fate.”

“My dad used to say ‘fate is whatever you make of your life.’”

He’d spoken of his father before, and always in the past tense. “When did he die?”

“Years ago. When I was still a child.”

“What about your mother?”

“Never had one.”

“I’m sorry. I can tell by the way you talk about your dad that you were close.” Leia turned her head towards him. “I’m an orphan too, you know. Maybe if we’d met at a different time or in a different place…”

Fett nodded and gave her a quick, tired smile. “If fate is real, maybe it’ll bring us back together when we have an actual shot at it.”

She laughed softly. “I like that idea, actually. Put it to the test.”

He lifted his hand as far as the cuff would allow. “I’d shake on it, but…”

“Nice try.” Leia sat up and gave him one last kiss. “For fate.”

#boba fett/princess leia #random au #my fic #rebelbounty #prompt fic #soulmate au #boba/leia #Anonymous

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whenimaunicorn · 3 years

Text

Playing House - Part 7.1

This one's a little short and a little subtle, but I thought I'd whet your appetite for more mayhem this week. Going for a weekly update schedule on Tuesdays for as long as I can keep it up!!

There is a small time jump here; it’s been a few days since the last chapter.

Catch up: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10

Ivar has really nice knives. You’ve never seen him cook, not since you moved in and not before, but you know the set of expensive Messermeister knives in the grey canvas case belong to him. They are just a dream to use, better than anything that you could afford.

You know that the knives belong to him because he gave you very explicit instructions for their care. “No one else is allowed to touch them,” he told you during the first week after you moved in, running his fingers down the longest blade as he showed them to you, “but I will allow you that privilege if you follow all my rules.”

There’s a problem today. His breath hitches when he opens the case; your body stills. “Y/N, what is this?”

You inch forward, peering over his shoulder with apprehension. His fingernail is tapping at the wide blade of the chef’s knife.

“Did you dry these with a cloth, right after you cleaned them?”

There are a few translucent white circles marring the blade, the kind that are sometimes left behind after water evaporates.

“I—” your throat is suddenly dry. “I must not have.”

“Evidently not.” He turns the knife around, offering you the handle with a significant look. “Wash it again.”

He doesn’t seem angry, and the tingling in your body is not exactly anxiety. “Of course.” His eyes linger on yours, even after you look down to carefully take the exquisitely-crafted tool from his hand.

You turn to the sink, listening to Ivar gather his ingredients behind you. This morning he had surprised you with a long, very detailed shopping list for what is apparently his signature pasta sauce. Details as in brand names, and specifying the amounts down to the ounces. You have never seen the boy cook before, but today you’re learning why he would even own expensive knives.

I cook, he had said almost defensively as you teased him about the uncharacteristic request. But do you think that animals like my brothers deserve to enjoy my skills?

Your cheeks warm now as you contemplate that statement. It meant that he considers you to be worth cooking for tonight, doesn’t it? You rub soap on the knife carefully from the back edge and glance over at him.

Ivar is inspecting the fresh herbs you bought. You hold your breath, but he gives them a little nod and moves on to the onion and garlic. You dry the knife and bring it to him.

“Good girl.”

Even just those simple words have your body thrumming. He’s not a dick about it, he just likes things his certain way, and that submissive streak in your soul is just loving every opportunity for Ivar to keep telling you what to do.

He sets the knife down, then holds out his hand. “Give me that towel.”

He folds it twice and lays it on the table in front of him. He pulls a tool from the bag that looks like a round little sword. “Oh,” you say, “does it need to be sharpened?”

“This is not for sharpening,” Ivar says, his voice cool and still, like he’s preparing a ritual. “This is a honing steel.”

“Oh.”

“It’s a common mistake. But we don’t want to sharpen a knife too often. Sharpening removes some of the metal. This,” he says, setting the tip of the steel against the towel and holding the hilt up vertically with his left hand, “is for honing.” He lifts the knife in his right hand and sets it at a close angle against the steel. His fist grips the hilt of the steel firmly, while his fingers curl more loosely, elegantly around the handle of his knife. He draws it down the length of the steel in a firm, deliberate movement. “Honing merely aligns the sharp edge of the blade, so it doesn’t blunt itself by curling to one side.” The blade crosses to the other side, sliding down in another brisk line. He builds a rhythm, every movement deft, controlled, and faster than you would have felt safe moving that blade around. “There.” He admires the edge with a satisfied nod. “Bring me the teak cutting board, from the bottom of the pantry.”

You didn’t even know they had a “teak cutting board.” You and Ubbe have been using a scarred plastic one that looks ready to crack in half at any moment.

You find the board wrapped up in the back; when you pull it out you want to cry. The rich shades of amber and honey in the woodgrain are just gorgeous. “Why do you have such beautiful things?” you say softly as you set it down in front of him.

“I like beautiful things.” He catches your eye, and there’s no way he’s not including you in the sentiment.

You smile and look away, smoothing your hands down your skirt just to give yourself something to do. Your movement draws his gaze, and a thick, satisfied look suffuses his eyes as he admires your outfit. Inspired by your little domestic 1950’s housewife fantasy, you’d bought yourself a vintage dress, royal blue, complete with full, knee-length skirt, fitted waist, and sweetheart neckline. Now that that fantasy seems to be coming true, you couldn’t resist putting it on today, even if your only plans consisted of staying home and cooking with Ivar.

He drags the knife across the steel a few more times.

“How do you know it’s sharp enough?”

He flashes you a grin, the one with the sadistic edge that makes your knees a little weak. “There is one test,” he lifts the knife in his competent grip, “to see if it can shave an arm hair . . . hold still.”

His eye glitter as you take a step back from him, sucking your arms up tight against your ribcage. Even though the idea of Ivar holding cold steel against your body is making your heartbeat quicken, a little warmth gathering between your legs.

He cocks his head, don’t you trust me written all over his smirk. He savors your discomfort for a moment, before speaking again. “Or, we slice a piece of paper.” He takes a flyer off his stack of mail on the table, something unimportant with Act Now! in big block letters at the bottom. Grasping it at the top between two fingers, he lifts the knife and slashes down quickly through the vertically-suspended page.

It slices neatly in two, the outer edge fluttering down to the floor in front of him. “Wow, that is sharp.” You wanted to say something infinitely cooler, but how exactly do you tell someone “your knife skills are turning me on right now?”

Ivar frowns at the lower portion of the 9-inch blade. “I felt a catch toward the bottom.” He turns back to the honing steel and rasps a few more precise passes.

He may be pretending this is still a normal conversation about sharpening, but there’s a darkness in his eyes when he looks up at you again. He tips his head dramatically to the side, looking you up and down until your cheeks start to heat up.

“Seeing something that you like?”

You stammer out two answers at once, so the sounds you actually make are non-sensical.

“Do not forget that I can tell when you are turned on.”

You finally notice your mouth hanging open, and you close it.

He inspects the blade’s edge with an unnecessary flourish. “You into knives?” he asks casually. His predator’s eyes watch carefully from under heavy brows as you flail about for an answer.

“Mmm,” you say, completely uninformatively. “Um, you mean like, sexually?”

Ivar nods slowly, as confident as you are flustered.

“There is something—something about it,” you babble, trying to push through your embarrassment well enough to be honest, “but not like… I’m not saying I want to get cut up right now.”

Ivar’s mouth makes a soothing sort of sound, his gorgeous lips puckering up. “Of course not. But there’s something about—” he hefts the knife in his hand, “—the threat inherent in a dangerous object, isn’t there. Even though I’m not even threatening you with it right now.”

You gulp. “Yes.”

His head is waggling, eyes narrowed over his smile. “Come here.”

It’s simultaneously the best and worst thing he could possibly say to you right now. You want to trust him, but you really have no idea what Ivar Lothbrok will do to you if you come within arm’s reach of him. You make a small sound.

He makes a beckoning gesture.

The heavy knife is resting against the cutting board; when you step toward him Ivar leaves it there and opens his arm to pull you in close. With a hand on your waist he guides you to face the cutting board, your back against his front. The stool he’s sitting on is tall enough that he can still see from behind you, and his arms up come up around either side of your body.

“One more test. I want you to feel this one.” His voice is rich and low, so close to your ear. “Did you know that if the knife is sharp enough, cutting an onion won’t make you cry?”

“No,” You say brightly, through a burst of exhaled air. You’re relieved, although maybe just a little bit disappointed, that the topic of conversation is back to cooking, and not secret dark kinks that you might not even be ready to admit to yourself. Ivar’s body brushes softly against yours as he places an onion at the center of the cutting board and sets the knife against it.

“Here,” he says, wiggling his right hand just a bit. “Take the knife from me. Keep it lined up, but do not cut yet.”

You do as he asks, and his hand ghosts over yours, covering your grip on the handle.

“You barely have to push down. Slide it forward slightly, and the blade should sink right in.”

His guiding hand follows as you do, and the onion comes apart easily.

“Good. Keep going. We want this one finely diced.” He keeps your body pushed forward with the pressure of his from behind. Is he making sure your face is right above the onion, ready to take in all the fumes that usually blind you with tears after the first few slices?

You get the skin off and keep slicing, as instructed. The little approving noises Ivar is making into your ear must mean that your method is correct, so far. And, miraculously, your vision is still clear.

“A dull blade crushes the onion cells, releasing the chemical that makes you cry. A sharp one slices through so cleanly that this barely happens. Are you feeling anything yet?”

“No,” you say. Not from the onion, at least. The way Ivar’s body is wrapped around yours, his breath warm on your neck, has you feeling all kinds of things.

Ivar coos. “Then I’ve done well. And so are you. Even finer, please.”

You pinch the back of the blade between your fingers and chop quickly. Ivar has released your hands, placing his own about your waist instead. When you finish, you set the knife down and he coaxes you to turn around.

He inspects your face. Your eyes had started stinging just a little during that final pass, but no tears have formed. His tongue clucks, softly. “Honestly I’m a little disappointed not to get to see you crying. I think we’ll remedy that later.”

You just about quiver in his arms.

You were supposed to be his sous chef today. I mean, that would only be appropriate given the roles that you two like to assume with each other in every other context. And it is Ivar’s recipe, after all. But once he knows what watching him use a knife does to you, he performs all the rest of the dicing and chopping himself. You’re relegated to walking back and forth across the small kitchen, fetching and washing and lining up the neat little prep bowls as Ivar fills them with each of his ingredients.

He watches you all the while, in between bouts of extreme concentration on his work. He says nothing about your dress but you catch him admiring its twirl as you spin through the kitchen.

Watching him chop the garlic is almost unreal. Ivar’s not one for that garlic press contraption, and clearly he doesn’t need it. He takes a second knife from his collection, one that’s flatter and a little more squared. His slices are just about paper-thin, and he’s minced them and scooped the little pile up on the side of his blade so fast you just have to stop and stare as he does it again for each clove. His hands are large but elegant, their subtle strength readily apparent as he handles the blade with impressive agility.

“Why did you switch knives?”

He tilts the tool in question in his hand. “This is called a santoku. Japanese knives are great for speed, and the fancier skills. But for most tasks I prefer the weight of the chef’s knife. These German-made ones feel so good in the hand.”

“They really do,” you agree. “How did you get so into cooking?”

“Just a hobby I picked up for a while.” His eyes meet yours. “I am enjoying having the excuse to remember my skills again.”

You almost can’t bear to keep looking at his face, his angelic visage just beaming his delight at you. For the second time you flush, and duck your head. You’re definitely not used to Ivar being so . . . direct about his feelings for you.

He saves you from having to respond by issuing his next order. “We are ready to start cooking. Measure a tablespoon of olive oil into the pan, turn the burner on high, and help me get my stool next to the stove.”

He puts the garlic in first, stirring it briskly to, as he explains, suffuse the oil in its flavor. Next come the onions, and there is something about the way his wrist cocks as he keeps everything moving in the pan that’s almost as fascinating as his knife work. His rhythm remains steady as he directs you to add each ingredient, his other hand lightly teasing at your waist, or your hip, or your leg at the bottom edge of your skirt every time you move close to him. He pretends he’s not doing it, but there is mischief behind his eyes. By the time a thick red sauce is filling the wide pan, you’re about ready to skip this dinner and see what other treats he’s got planned for your night in.

The apartment door swings open. Ubbe enters noisily, slamming the door shut behind him. “Smells so good, Y/N! I’m starving, what are you—” He cuts off when he rounds the corner into the kitchen, and sees Ivar sitting by the stove. He takes in the luxury kitchen tools spread out on the table, and you in your housewife dress and your kitten heels. He pulls back just a little, like maybe he’s thinking he shouldn’t intrude. But then he leans one forearm against the wall and grins. “You’re making the sauce, bro?”

Ivar rolls his eyes. “Yes, Ubbe.”

“I can’t fucking wait.” He turns to you, his wolfish eyes bright. “This is gonna be the best spaghetti night you’ve had in your life.”

“It is not spaghetti night,” Ivar says crossly. “We are having gnocchi. Also, I didn’t think you were going to be home.”

Ubbe shrugs. “I don’t have anything going on.”

“Ubbe,” Ivar chides, shaking his head as he speaks. “Don’t you usually have a date lined up just about every night?”

Ubbe is only looking at you. “That just doesn’t seem very interesting anymore.”

Ivar makes a dismissive sound and nudges you. “Time to add in the spices, Y/N.”

You tear your eyes away from Ubbe, and all the things that you might just be imagining are lying behind his eyes. He walks away as you lift the last prep bowl, headed back toward his room. You sprinkle the herb blend over the sauce.

“Now we simmer,” Ivar says, turning the burner down low. “But we must keep stirring.” He slides the spoon quite precisely around the edges of the pan, then spirals it through the middle. “Can you do it this way?”

You take the handle from him and attempt to replicate his practiced movement. After a little adjusting, he leans back with a satisfied sound.

“Keep that up. No more than sixty seconds between stirrings.”

He reaches for his crutches, and you lift a brow in silent question.

“I want a shower before dinner.” He gets to his feet, then leans down to murmur low into your ear. “I am planning a long night after that.”

How can he slay you so well with only a few words?

The corner of his lip is quirked as he shifts his weight back into his crutches. “After ten minutes, start the water boiling for the gnocchi, too.”

Read On

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