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gold-rhine · 10 months

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Inazuma Rewrite Act Two

Please read part one before reading this. It will make no sense otherwise.

In part one I did setup for the vision hunt conflict, changed Raiden’s motivations, added Rebellion \ Resistance interaction and Teppei setup, added setups to the arcs to Ayaka and Yoimiya. And more!

In this installment:

Let’s Make Player Give A Fuck About Rebellion and Teppei

Kokomi Is Not An Idiot

Delusions Are Not The Aging Beach

Ayaka’s Arc Pay-off

and more!

All disclaimers from part one also apply, I’m not gonna copy paste them.

Raiden Shogun First Duel

I think we can keep the duel itself mostly unchanged. The cutscenes are pretty good and very cinematic, I don’t see reason to fix things which are not broke when there are already so many broken things

so, Traveler comes to Thoma’s rescue, gets taken to raiden’s plane of euthemia

also mb let’s cut i hate all minorities dialogue and instead like. open disobedience of the traveler to raiden shogun is i think enough to be used as a cause for the duel

The dialogue with raiden changes, we add banter with Traveler where traveler is like but you were pro-change before! and like cites some Transience things we talked about in the part 1.

Raiden gets mad in response, yells “Don’t you dare to mention her against me!” and that’s when she throws Traveler out of euthemia and prepares the boob nuke

yeah, it’s foreshadowing of Makoto reveal

then the cutscene is the same, Thoma chucks a spear in her face and escapes with the traveler

thoma goes into hiding, traveler goes to join rebellion. bc they’re already in contact with gorou, we skip meandering around and go straight to the goal

First battle

and we arrive directly to the battlefield

there are several problems with rebellion pacing and kokomi characterization, which i elaborated on before. Like, Kokomi in canon only has one battle, which she wins because she hired mercenaries with fatui money. which like! invalidates this whole thing and makes her naive enough to be duped by the bad guys. So we need a battle win which is decidedly due to Kokomi’s genius.

so like in canon, Kujou Sara demands rebellion give her the traveler. Teppei, whos also there, is like no, fuck off! he’s embarrassed to speak out of the order but determined.

Gorou of course gives a speech about not giving up comrades, the fight starts, we have cool battle animation blah blah, and then suddenly!! Kujou Sara has reinforcements coming from behind some cliffs, oh no!! Teppei yells there’s too much of them! We will be overrun! Close up of Gorou’s snarling face, eyes darting, ready to call retreat, close up of victoriously looking Sara, Tenryou reinforcements are running to the battle...

The water bubbles start rising up and Kokomi appears. She smiles at Gorou reassuringly and does some cool water animation. The hidden spring\waterfall bursts up with water and crushes into the reinforcements, washing them away. Rebellion rejoices, Kujou Sara curses and calls retreat.

i’ve seen people demand kokomi to have like a cool battle transforming into a dragon or smth bc of her origins and draconae constellation, but like this is missing the narrative pacing. the vishap origins only make sense after enkanomya where we learn about watatsumi history AND on the subversion of “oh its pink pastel kokomi who is smart and sweet :3”. Like we need to know her like that first, and THEN the dragon reveal will be cool and interesting.

Rebellion and Teppei overall setup

so, the Rebellion act wanted to accomplish too many things and didn’t structure them efficiently:

make you feel comradery with rebellion

make you like teppei

make you feel like a leader of your own squad, but like you EARNEd it, bc at first soldiers are distrustful and make you prove yourself

establish delusions and that delusions are bad bc teppei died, which is sad bc p.2

in canon it’s like - have one scene with teppei, do some useless fetch errands for rebels, have another scene with teppei, be assigned swordfish captain and have two quick scenes with two dudes you will not remember

so obviously no one gives a fuck with this kind of pacing

instead, we will combine all of this and more importantly, give it narrative throughline so it doesn’t feel so disconnected and erratic

traveler is already known to Gorou through resistance meet up, he vouches for them, and Kokomi immediately names Traveler as captain of swordfish 2

Teppei is here and he excitedly volunteers to join that squad too

Gorou is like hey its a high risk squad that’s deployed on front lines, and you don’t have combat experience like, at all

Paimon and Traveler step up to be like yeah its fine, we’ll look after him, teppei is like omg thanks you guys :3

turns out he has problems fitting in with the rebels. they are all great ppl, sure, but they are warriors bonded in fights for years and most of them are from watatsumi.

and he’s like a merchant or a clerk from narukami island. he feels like an outsider and a burden

but now the Traveler is here! they are already buddies from that resistance meet up and Traveler is an outsider too. They can stick together!

Swordfish II

So you go to meet up with your swordfish squad. You are greeted by a buff butch woman who is v no-nonsense and skeptical about your ability to be leader and another woman who is more friendly, but still kinda keeps distance and is snarky

their code names are Xena and Gabrielle for no reason other that we need buff female models like blacksmihs, hoyo. The point is that we need some memorable NPCs to represent swordfish, bc these two dudes that give you shit in canon for 3 second? I couldn’t remember them if my life depended on it

anyway, you learn that the previous captain just died and everyone loved and was very loyal to them, and now they are hostile to anyone who tries to take command.

So we do couple of battle to prove we’re strong blah blah, teppei is useless during a fight and Xena makes fun of him for this, and he’s super embarrassed

after that we walk around with teppei. Swordfishes camp is kinda shabby, they just took a bad hit. So we help the wounded, repair some tents, etc, but most important, Teppei uses expertise he’s got from his civilian job to solve problems

like he knows how to make a great painkiller potion bc he used to sell them. Or he gets an idea to use empty bags from used supplies to cover holes in tents, etc.

Point is, he contributes.

After all this, Xena and Gabrielle are walking around, and Gabrielle is like wow captain, did you do all these improvements, and Traveler is like yeah, but it was all Teppei’s solutions, and Xena doesn’t say anything, but you can see she’s surprised and appreciative that you’re not only strong in combat, but care for the squad

she nods over the campfire at teppei like “i guess you’re not so useless after all, narukami nerd”

he protests, everyone laughs, its Bonding Time

Kokomi is not an idiot\ Fatui

We’re summoned to go see Kokomi. She’s in deep thought. Rebellion is in dire situation, supplies are running out, she’s sure they will not be able to win another open confrontation, even with her strategic tricks

But there is a new development - she’s being offered a huge anonymous donation. With that money, she could hire mercs to help. But to accept money without knowing the source is too risky, it could be a trap or setup

so she asks us to investigate these mysterious benefactors. bc also there are some vague rumors about some way to get boost to power going around and thats very sus too

bc like no, I cannot get over supposed genius Kokomi just taking fatui’s help blindly and letting them spread delusions around

so we go to the quest to investigate clues, with the swordfishes, its our first srs mission as the captain.

its couple of fights, blah blah. we find some clues and then its the Leader Decision time.

like there are two camps and we need to strike both at the same time, or the other one will destroy evidence and run, but we don’t have enough manpower. traveler is like can take one camp by myself, and Xena at first is skeptical, but we’ve proven ourselves yesterday so she’s like okay I trust you, boss

everything goes well, both camps are taken and we find evidence that these donations are in fact, from fatui! and they are trying to spread delusions, which are bad and can kill you!

Delusions

I’m not a fan of Delusions working like the aging beach from that movie Old. Like first of all, if that’s how it worked, Childe should at this point look like this

and Diluc. And Signora. Like I get that these are like low quality delusions, so effect is worse, but you can’t be like wow Teppei turned 90 in 2 days and Diluc stayed babyfaced after 4 years.

second, how is that no one noticed Teppei aging 20 years after each fight. Like it had to happen in front of other soldiers.

And like, why change the mechanics at all?? You use delusion, you get burst of power and take huge hit to the health, that’s it. Low quality delusions take more out of your health, so people using them die faster. They don’t need to age faster at the same time.So that’s mechanics I’m using here.

Anyway, while swordfishes discuss delusions finding (and Xena loudly condemns them), camera shows Teppei being quiet, kinda sus and looking away

Kokomi Mini-Arc\ Swordfish Bonding

we go back and report to kokomi. She’s distraught. The battle is so soon and she doesn’t know what to do!

from pure strategic, emotionless perspective to win the battle she needs to take fatui’s money and close her eyes at some soldiers using delusions. She can trade their lives for the voctory

But as a Watatsumi leader who cares about her people she cannot do that!

Traveler comforts her, but leaves without any obvious decision made and with a heavy heart.

the night before battle, we gather at campfire with the swordfishes

everyone is kinda doom and gloom bc it’s obvious Rebellion doesn’t stand a chance

Traveler stands up and makes a motivational speech about fighting together, about how they’ve faced seemingly impossible odds before and prevailed, bc everyone worked together, like with Ossail fight

Xena suddenly stands up to support us, she’s like yeah, I didn’t believe in you before, but now I see you’re worth it, Captain!

everyone cheers, Xena punches Teppei into shoulder and he almost falls over like “Even this narukami nerd is not as bad as I thought haha!”

Final Rebellion Battle

So, cinematic cutscene. Sara on one side with obviously more soldiers. Kokomi and Gorou with rebellion on the other side. Traveler is with the Swordfishes and Teppei. Kokomi and Sara shjare some snappy banter.

mb there’s a duel, but only if combat designers can figure out way to make it cool. Traveler whacking NPC in a row who can do nothing back with a sword 5 times in a row like in canon is fucking boring. Mb incorporate like challenge with Inazuma mechanics like the thunder zoomies or smth.

the battle begins. Rebellions fights fiercely, close ups of our swordfishes.

Teppei is fighting Surprisingly Good For Him. Xena comments on this and he beams up

but the difference in numbers is too much. Rebellions starts being overwhelmed, and then!

Suddenly Beidou and the mercs join the battle! Kazuha is here too. Traveler looks worriedly at Kokomi, does this mean that she’s accepted Fatui’s bloody money??

But Kokomi smiles back. No, she’s had another trump up her sleeve

trail of snowflakes runs through the ground and suddenly, Ayaka appears on the battlefield.

animation cutscene plays, Ayaka is shown in the past, after Traveler leaves, feeling restless and trapped in the estate. She’s still reeling from Yoimiya’s words and the fact that she couldn’t even help Thoma herself. She feels powerless, a pretty helpless figurehead princess that she didn’t want to be

letter from Kokomi arrives, telling about Rebellion’s dire situation and asking if Ayaka can help

Ayaka is in turmoil, she wants to help so bad, but she can’t steal money from Yashiro commission, that’d be stealing from people of Inazuma!

She glances at her dancing fan and suddenly, a solution comes to her.

Looking determined, she goes to the Kamisato estate treasury and opens the chest of her parents’ inheritance

She sells some of her family heritage jewels and silks to get the money, deciding to use the same privilege that kept her trapped to finally help people

she also officially announces that she’ll be in religious solitude meditation ritual or smth and instead sneaks off and travels to Watatsumi

she’s wearing that carnival mask that hoyo puts on models when they want to do “disguise”. Listen, if Diluc doesn’t get recognized in this gay little mask, then it can work for Ayaka too

anyway, animation ends with Ayaka springing from the ground on the battlefield and starting her burst, which transitions to her in-game burst animation

Her burst shreds through Tenryou forces.

Ayaka freeze with Kokomi and Kazuha is one of the best meta teams. Sara realizes it’s fucking JOVER for this battle and calls retreat.

Teppei death \ Delusion factory

Rebellion overjoices, Traveler and the swordfishes hug or whatever our animation department can handle in celebration, when suddenly!

Teppei falls down! Everyone gathers around and see delusion roll over from his hand!

oh no! He says he secretly picked up delusion from the fatui camp we cleared during investigation. This is why he’s fought so well today.

We tell him that he shouldn’t have done it, the fool!

He says he wanted to be useful. He just wanted to finally be one of the rebels!

Xena sits down next to him and says “You were already one of us.”

He dies holding her hand, with all comrades all around, instead of alone behind a shed like a sick housecat

Gorou and Kokomi walk up.Kokomi says that this is exactly why she refused Fatui’s help, but this happening even to one of the soldiers is a tragedy

Traveler and Swordfishes of course demand revenge. But we don’t know where the delusions are coming from! we already cleared fatui camps we knew of, we just don’t have any new leads!

Kujou Sara who watched this scene from afar suddenly speaks up

She has intel about possible location of Fatui factory, that she didn’t have time to explore. It’s on Tenryuo territory, but she’s willing to let Traveler pass. Fatui betraying and harming Inazuma people like this is unacceptable to her, even if they are enemies for now.

We’re like but can we trust her?? What if she just captures us?

Kokomi has long eye contact with Sara. It’s very Yuri.

She finally says “No, we can trust Kujou Sara’s honor”

Sara only lets Traveler pass, so we have a scene of swordfishes wishing us luck and then we leave

Delusion factory quest goes the same. It’s okay, again, not fixing what’s not broke.

We confront Scara, he rants about mortals being bubbles, blah blah

The only dialogue change is when he bullshits about like oh, these mortals are weak and useless, of course they have to pay for power, Traveler argues that Teppei was already useful, he helped with the camp in a way others couldn’t, and he didn’t have to die to prove anything or “pay” for power

Otherwise it goes the same, Traveler passes out, Yae shows up to trade the gnosis

we’re moving to the Act 3!

PART 3

#rhine talks #genshin impact #inazuma ranting

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undercityrezident · 10 months

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So, did anyone else notice during Memory 4 that the Dueling Peaks is a complete and single mountain?

So that means, at some point between when Zelda arrived and the present day, according to Shay at the Lakeside Stable (in Breath of the Wild), "...legends say that a dragon god split the mountain in half to forge a way through, and that's how how it went from one to two."

It's worth mentioning that he talked about this while also mentioning "the presence of the shadow of a large creature on the surface of Lake Floria," which largely connects this dialogue to Farosh, the dragon often seen diving into the waterfalls near the peak of Mount Floria (in Breath of the Wild). The fact all this information comes from the same source may be the game's way of telling us that Farosh was responsible for the state of the Dueling Peaks.

However, I have a hypothesis to offer (which contains intensive TotK story spoilers, hence the readmore):

The way the camera pans in the memory to show the Dueling Peaks (or peak, rather, in this era), feels somewhat purposeful to me. And knowing that Zelda becomes a dragon in order to help restore the Master Sword over the aeons, I can't help but wonder if she might've been the reason why it happens.

Not that I blame her of course. She's a newly minted dragon, likely bursting with emotion and pain she doesn't understand or know how to cope with as she's just lost her sense of self. She could've gone mad for a time, flying erratically and ploughing through a mountain in her time of grief before settling into her new draconic existence.

Does this disprove that Farosh, or any of the other three dragons could've been responsible?

No, it doesn't. But I propose the idea that the other three dragons have existed much longer than her. By the nature of their names, they're connected to the three goddesses, Nayru, Farore, and Din, and have likely been around since the world's origin (or very close to it). Further, the Zonai have many carvings and depictions of dragons, meaning that dragons existed during and likely prior to this era, given their longevity.

Why is this important? We can look to how the three main dragons behave: they have regular patterns of flight, likely formed out of habit or preference, and do not go out of their way to harm people or impact the landscape in any significant way. For the most part, they're high in the sky where little can reach them, save for a hero with a paraglider.

Grant you, their paths have changed since TotK debuted, but the landscape itself has changed, as has the state of the world in general. The depths are now readily accessible, and perhaps there's an obligation on their part to survey it or maintain order wherever they can venture.

But my main point is that the dragons, given time, tend to settle and keep to their own habits and paths. If the three dragons already existed long before Zelda transformed, it's unlikely one of the other three dragons would find reason to deviate from their normal behaviour and plough through a mountain to split it in two.

But the new Light Dragon hasn't settled yet. She's wracked with emotion, grief, and new power she doesn't know how to control. She could almost be considered a newborn in that sense, and what might a newborn with nearly god-like powers do?

Split a mountain in half because it was in her way...

Also, keep in mind the former Temple of Time where Zelda transformed is not all too distant from that once unified Dueling Peak. As well, Zelda's own draconic trailblazing hasn't been consistent either in the present. At the beginning of TotK, she's seen flying in circles near the Great Sky Island before she boldly plunges through the cloud layer to open up Hyrule to Link once he's finished his trials there. As far as dragons go, Zelda doesn't have the same temperament as the other three.

It's true that there could be another dragon, or being that approximates one, that is responsible for the splitting of the Dueling Peaks. Maybe it was a more nefarious dragon sharing heritage with the likes of Volvagia, Argorok, or some progenitor of the Gleeoks.

Still, I think that it would be interesting to believe that the once gentle Zelda's sacrifice may have had a bigger hand in shaping the future of Hyrule than only her dutiful task of revitalizing the Master Sword. It would further contrast the change between the woman she was and the dragon she became, and emphasize the tragic nature of what she had to do in order for us to finally defeat Ganondorf.

#The Legend of Zelda #TotK #Princess Zelda #Light Dragon #Tears of the Kingdom #TotK Spoilers #Rez Rambles #Headcanon #Yes let me make the saddest moment in TotK even sadder #Whoops...#I'll admit this isn't the most ironclad theory but...#I find myself wanting to believe it XD #If only for more angst

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orqheuss · 11 months

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How could I fear any hurricane?

(Ominis Gaunt/GN!Reader HURT/COMFORT)

Summary:

Do you think I'd give up? That this might've shook the love from me Or that I was on the brink How could you think, darlin', I'd scare so easily? *** The ancient magic that burned under your skin was beginning to become a problem, and when one fateful day in Defense Against the Dark Arts changes things for the worse, will Ominis be there to help you pick up the pieces?

Based on the new Hozier song, "Francesca"

Word Count: 4.8k Ao3 link here

It was supposed to be a normal day in Defense Against the Dark Arts— dueling day, your favorite until the events of the previous year. Everything you once loved about the sport, and sometimes about magic in its entirety, was now fraught with tragedy.

Your heart threatened to beat out of your rib cage and run for cover when you stepped up to the stage, wand shaking in your white knuckled grip and a primal fear quivering in your eyes. Ominis, the boy gracefully standing across from you on the platform, had sensed your trepidation the moment you entered the classroom. Many wouldn’t notice, except for the select few that had the privilege of being his close friend, but he was deeply worried about you. You’d gone through more than even some of the strongest Aurors ever did in your short magical lifetime— it was only natural that facing down the deadly end of a wand made you uneasy. You chose to ignore the telltale downturn of the blonds eyebrows and the minuscule, barely noticeable frown that crossed his visage as he prepared himself for battle, the tip of his wand changing from a comforting read to a blinding blue as he readied his spells. You'd perfected the art of hiding your emotions early on, and with that came the knowledge of noticing even the smallest of shifts from anyone you encountered in conversation. It was easier to ignore the worry of others rather than focus on it; if you thought about it for too long you'd start to spiral deeper into your mind, and hiding how you felt would become increasingly harder.

Yes, the idea of being on the tail end of a wand made you nervous, but that was not where you held your fear. Not many knew about the powerful magic that burned through your veins, the unknown levels of new, enticing darkness that invaded your soul deep down in the repository long ago— not anyone alive, that is. Only your dearly departed Professor Fig knew about the lengths you went to to protect Hogwarts’ most dangerous secret. You remembered how it felt to have all that stolen pain, all that strange, ancient knowledge slither its way into you from the ominous, ethereal darkness above. Most of all, you remembered how all that power made you feel— how tempting it was to unlock the cage inside your soul and let all the darkness pour out of you like a demented waterfall. That was what you were afraid of: yourself. You hadn't dueled since that fateful day, and the pulsing feel of the absconded ancient magic swirling in your chest sent a spike of fear from your head to your toes. The idea of simply sitting out of this duel came to mind quickly, and you began to come up with multiple ways to slip out into the hall and down to the Undercroft where no one would bother you.

Alas, it was Professor Hecat that made the decision for you, pairing you with the exceedingly kind blond that held your affections. Ominis Gaunt was a capable duelist, this wasn’t really that much of a secret, but you hadn’t had the chance to tell him about everything that happened to you under the school all those months ago. The thought of hurting him, hurting the one you held so much affection for, sent dread to coil around your throat and choke you. You'd grown close to the Slytherin boy over the course of the previous year, often spending time alone together in the Undercroft when Sebastian would have one of his stubborn tantrums. Hurting him, maiming him in any way would kill you inside, you were sure of it. You tried to school your breathing, letting your breaths naturally ebb and flow from your lungs as you waited for the starting bell. You could get through this— the magic was yours, all you needed to do was control it.

Your throat began to close up, images dancing through your mind of crackling red curses and spirals of death-bringing green lightning bolts clouding your vision like one too many shots of fire whiskey. You recalled what had happened to those who tried to hurt you before, how their bones snapped one by one as you threw them to the ground with deranged bursts of untold power. Even after months of time away from the castle, the visions of those you killed still screamed at you day and night. There were times when a simple sound, a familiar movement of a wand, or even a particular string of words would send you reeling back in time to your darkest moments. You silently prayed to anyone listening that you would remain in your own body, and your own timeline, during this duel. Ominis smiled at you reassuringly, promising you with his eyes that everything was going to be okay.

That beautiful fool— holding so much faith in your wretched disaster. He didn't know of the hurricane that threatened to rip itself out of you every waking moment of the day and leave nothing in its wake but death and destruction— fire, brimstone, and ruin.

You should've listened to Sebastian and skipped class today like he did. Everything would be so much simpler if you weren't so stubborn.

The bell chimed, and the battle began.

Ominis waited patiently for you to make the first move, eyes narrowed as he listened to the world around him. Ever so strategic, or simply more kind than what was good for him, he was letting you set the pace for the duel, a decision that was for naught in the end. You could feel the lightning begin to scorch under your skin, casting a soft glow through your periwinkle veins that only you could see. More panic trickled through your joints, nearly sending your knees buckling as you raised your wand and pointed it at the boy. You threw a simple basic cast, praying that the battle would be over soon and you could quell your pounding heartbeat. Ominis replied in turn, sending a blast your way with a strong, resolute voice.

“Expelliarmus!”

You quickly shielded yourself with protego, the stupefy that came next being second nature to you at this point. With each cast your mind fuzzed more and more as you let your body go through the motions. You threw a particularly hard spell Ominis’ way, watching as he quickly side stepped— his body turned to the side, only his profile visible as the spell flew inches from his face, screaming through the air and smacking into the pillar just beyond.

The loud explosion shook your soul loose, dissolving the cloud behind your eyes like a sudden downpour and dyeing your vision black. It was like your ghost had left your body, floating high above the crowd of students standing around you. The sight of your form through your own eyes like an omnipotent third party was unnerving— it was every time you dissociated from this plain of existence. One moment you were in the DADA classroom, and the next you were back at one of the many poacher camps you raided in the Forbidden Forest. You remembered this day; you had gone looking for trouble after an argument with Sebastian regarding his sister and his journey deeper into dark magic. Stumbling upon the camp had been a complete accident— little did the souls huddled under tents and drinking with their friends around the fire know, this would be their last day on earth.

You could hear the shouts of the dark wizards around you screeching in your ears, their spells shooting past you on your left and right, each one nearly slamming into you and sending you flying. Your eyes narrowed against the volume of the blood rushing to your head, and you gripped your wand tighter against the sweat that clammed your palms. Your body shook with rage and nerves as you launched barrels towards the ones closest to you, your personal brand of lightning shooting from the tip of your wand and burning one of them where they stood. You easily pulled a few of the loyalists closer, levitating them in the air and freezing them like stuck snowflakes, letting your magic throw them to the ground and shatter— crystal glass against a linoleum floor. Their screams of anger turned to sobs of fear as you took them out one by one until there was only a single poacher remaining, his fury seeping into the ground below and through the space around you like a thick fog. The look on his face was as vivid in your mind as it was the day you stood against him. You could see the curl of his lip as he tugged his mouth into a snarl, his eyebrows furrowed and his teeth bared like an animal cornered. You couldn't help but think he reminded you of Ominis, safely tucked away in the castle just over the treetops. His blond hair shone like scattered streaks of Aurora Borealis across the Scottish highlands of Lochinver. His build was similar, as well; he couldn't have been older than you, maybe closer to seventeen or eighteen. The main difference was his eyes— a honeysuckle hazel rather than the stormy oceans of your quiet crush. You could work with that, if you just looked into his eyes you wouldn't see your friend as you killed him. The smell of blood was thick in the air as you circled each other, wands drawn and narrowed in at heart level, haunches raised and hair standing at attention. The crackle of magic was heavy around you— a weight on your arms and chest, pushing you down and denying you from flight. Not that you'd run, though; if you ran the survivor would tell the others— the brave ancient warrior fleeing from the scene of the crime and running back to the safety of the tall castle walls. You couldn't do that, your pride wouldn't let you. Your own anger festered under your skin, freezing in your veins and creating little icicles of blood and flesh. Your eyes shot to the arch of his arm, his wand swinging through the air and a curse dangling from his lips. Your pupils glowed a startling crimson as you cast your own. You were faster, stronger, more powerful— the young naive boy didn't stand a chance.

“Diffindo!”

The world around you bled like painted blue moonlight and you were back in the classroom again. Mere seconds had passed, but for you it felt like a millennia. Your eyes focused on the blond across from you, crouching on the ground and his arms over his head for protection. Behind him on the wall was a long scar in the stone, ash falling from its chasm and smoke billowing from the wound. The situation at hand slammed into your brain like a bullet, and pure unfiltered terror flooded your entire body— fear of the reactions of those around you, fear of yourself. The students that stood around the table looked on in horror, some standing farther away than you last saw them with their hands raised over their wand holsters in defense. They stared at you like you were a charging beast— in all honesty, maybe you were.

Leander was the first to speak, his voice carrying through the silenced room. “What was that, you freak!? You could have killed him!”

There were murmurs of agreement from the crowd, but your eyes couldn't move away from the boy across from you.

Ominis stood shakily, his arms still cradled around his face and head in case of any aftershocks in your violent natural disaster. Only when his wand told him you were still did he untuck himself. The look on his face stole all the air from your lungs.

He was paler than usual, his skin as ivory as bone against the cream walls of the castle. Tremors shook him where he stood, body vibrating like a barren tree stuck in the harsh winter chill. What really shocked you were his eyes. His eyes were wide in the socket, the bluebell irises vibrating and the white lightning streaming from the center nearly luminescent like an animal at night.

The realization struck you across the face: he was scared of you.

The boy that had gone through years of living with his family, endured countless cruciatus curses at the hands of his own mother and father, was scared of you.

Your hands shook as you opened them from their white knuckled clench against your wand, letting the length of wood fall from your fingertips and clatter to the ground. You stared at them, watching the blue lightning spark from your nails.

The voices in your head hissed at you, a mix of your own and the sound of the ones you loved most.

First was yourself, an echo that sounded more like a growl than a human being: Locus Naturae — Freak, monstrosity.

Then was Sebastian, the same hurt inflection that resided in his words the day of the catacombs: You almost killed him; you almost killed your best friend— my family.

Then Professor Fig in the most disappointed tone you'd ever heard from him: Why couldn't you just be normal? Why did you have to be like this?

Finally, Ominis himself, anger bleeding into each and every one of his words: You're just as dangerous as everyone else says. They should hunt you for sport like the beast that you are.

Your hands came up to your head, covering your ears as you winced against the sudden influx of sound. The voices screamed louder than the silence of the classroom, and your eyes slammed shut so you couldn't see the disdainful glares of your peers anymore. They all hated you— all feared you. It was a witch hunt for the ages, and you were their scapegoat.

One voice cried louder than the others, the lit sounding vaguely like an old Hogwarts professor you’d grown to know through multiple pensives and diary entries. Isadora’s voice shook with intensity as it rocketed through your skull.

Run. You need to run.

You turned tail and ran from the room, the door slamming shut behind you with a mighty clang, drowning out the desperate call of your name at your back. The stone floors echoed your footfalls as you let your body carry you wherever it wanted to go, wherever it needed you to go to be away from your wretched memories. Leander was right, you were a freak— a monster. No matter how hard you tried to fit in, how much you longed to be like the people around you, you were perpetually different— irrevocably, inordinately odd. A wolf was still a wolf, Even in a cage. Even dressed in silk and school colors. You had to go far away, where no one would find you, where you couldn't hurt anyone else.

You didn't make it further than the Undercroft before your body began to fail you, legs trembling as you unlocked the clock and scrambled down the spiral staircase. Once you had crawled to the farthest corner of the room the floodgates inside of you opened and every terrible feeling you had came exploding out of you. Sobs fell from your lips like a constantly dripping faucet as you drew your knees to your chest, wrapping your arms around your body and cowering as small as you possibly could. You were disgusted with yourself— with this awful magic that festered inside of you that you never asked for. Everything would have been so much simpler if the Hogwarts book and quill never found you, if Professor Fig never appeared at your doorstep and ushered you into this magical world of light and dark— good and evil. There was no grey inside of you, the blackened sludge that swam in the very core of your being made that explicitly clear. You could never be happy, never be safe while that was curled under your ribs, and if you couldn't be safe with yourself, no one would ever be safe in your presence.

You knew that you needed to leave— needed to run as far as possible from everyone you’d grown attached to and hide this creature inside of you. It was the right thing to do. You could feel your heart splintering more and more with each passing moment and terrible, self sabotaging thought, but you couldn’t stop them from coming. Your mind wanted you dead, and there was nothing you could do about it. The resolute organ pounded under your flesh, and your brain screamed at you with happy images of your friends in a vein attempt to stop your downward spiral.

You thought of Sebastian’s warm smile the first day you beat him at a duel— his laugh when you both successfully snuck into the restricted section of the library ringing like wind chimes on a spring day. One moment you were laughing with him, then the next you were watching it morph into the heartbroken, melancholic anguish that turned his lips into a frown after he had killed his uncle, something you could have stopped.

The soft smile of Ominis when you first introduced yourself in the common room was next, the lilt of mischievousness in his voice from messing with the first years stealing your heart from day one. The image shifted to his sobs in the Scriptorium, crystal tears spilling from his eyes and bile hot on his breath after finding the dead body of his dear aunt Noctua— his pain was your doing, of course. You manipulated him into going down there. It was your fault.

There was so much pain you could have stopped, so much you could have prevented if you never came here in the first place. Now, you were attached to them, and your heart bled at the idea of abandoning them.

Everything you’d ever let go of had claw marks on it, and you refused to mar their skin any further than you already did. If you let go first, there would be no scars to heal.

The creak of the Undercroft gate sounded through the room, vibrating the stone floor under you as you curled tighter into yourself. The soft glow of Ominis’ wand first came into sight, and you desperately held your breath in hope that he wouldn’t find you, closing your eyes like a child hiding from the monster under their bed. He scanned the space quickly, pinpointing you quite easily in your corner of solitude. Even if he didn’t have his wand, your soft sniffles were all he needed to hear to know where you were. His own heart shattered at the sound of your pain, and he quickly made his way over to where you were crouched. You rose shakily to your feet, one arm wrapped around your torso in protection and the other held in front of you to keep the blond at a distance.

His eyebrows furrowed deeply at his brow in worry as he spoke. “There you are! Are you okay—”

“Stay away from me!”

Your pleas stopped Ominis in his tracks, the hand that he raised to grasp your shoulder in comfort lowering slightly. He flinched at your outburst, his expression shifting into one of hurt.

You spoke again, your voice slightly stronger but still holding a minute shake. “Don’t come any closer, please.”

You could hear him shift his weight in front of you, heeding your wishes for now. “What’s going on? Why did you run away?”

Your eyes snapped open, an incredulous look scrunching all the muscles in your face. “What do you mean ‘why did I run’!? I nearly sliced you in half, Ominis!”

He scoffed, his face relaxing with relief. “Is that all? My dear, I’ve gone through much worse than that. Now please, let's go back to class—”

“NO!”

He jumped at your outburst, realizing quickly the severity of the situation. You never yelled at him— Sebastian, maybe, but never him.

“I almost hurt you, Ominis. How are you so okay with that? I would never forgive myself if I caused you harm. Leander is right, I’m a monster.”

Ominis stepped closer, letting his fingers brush against the palm of your hand still held aloft to keep him at bay. You flinched, cowering away further into the wall.

He shook his head, taking a step backwards and raising his hands in a placating manner. “You’re not a monster, it was an honest mistake. No harm done, see?” He patted down his front, swishing his cloak to show you if there were any hidden injuries that you hadn’t seen previously. You wrapped both arms around your middle, tears gathering in your eyes again.

“But what if it wasn’t a mistake? What if I wanted to actually hurt someone?” You inhaled a stuttering breath. “I’ve killed before, Ominis! What if one day I just snap and you can’t dodge in time? What if I kill you, or Sebastian, or Poppy, or Natty!?”

He didn’t even need a moment to think before he replied, too desperate to get you away from the metaphorical ledge you’ve decided to hang over. “We’ve all done things we aren’t proud of, but that doesn’t make you a bad person! You wouldn’t purposely hurt us, and that’s all that matters. Where is all of this coming from?”

You shook your head harshly, your hair smacking against your cheeks. “This magic inside of me, this ancient power that I can’t control is too much. It’s just festering there, waiting to be let out so it can wreak havoc across the entire world like a damned hurricane. I’m scared of myself, Ominis, and you should be scared of me too.” Your breathing heaved from your chest, eyes wild and expression forlorn. “You should go— you need to go.”

He sighed heavily, annoyed at how incredibly stubborn you could be at times. “No, you can’t get rid of me like that— that’s not your choice to make. There’s a reason I get along with Sebastian so well; if I find something that’s worth it, I can be just as muleheaded as the best of them, maybe even more so if I truly mean it.”

He reached for you again, his fingers nearly wrapping around your shoulder as you side stepped, spinning from his reach and growling like a feral beast. Animals in the beginning stages of rabies try to get as far away from people as possible; you were just trying to save him from your infectious bite before it was too late. “Why are you so insistent on staying here with me? You should be running for the hills!”

Anger blazed in his chest— not at you, but at the people who made you feel this way. He was furious at Leander for calling you a freak, at the professors for pushing you to the point of no return, and hell, maybe a little at himself for not noticing your descent sooner. Ominis had been your best friend for nearly a year, and had harbored feelings for you for what felt like since he was born, and either you were too good at hiding how you felt or he was too dense to notice anything outside of his own little bubble. The blond had to change this, fix this somehow, and he had to do it now.

His words were strong when he spoke, determined that you understood what he had been saying since he met you last year. “Because I love you!” His shout echoed against the tall ceilings of the room. “I love you so much it hurts to breathe when you aren't near.”

The blond took a steadying breath, pouring all of his emotion into this very moment. “I didn’t think I needed to say it— I thought I was being obvious! Even Sebastian could tell how I felt, and he’s as dumb as a dugbog about women. Obviously, that wasn’t the case.”

It was like all the air had been sucked from your lungs in one grand swoop. “Ominis—”

The blond continued, cutting you off. “You are the pain under my ribs— the ache in my heart. If I loved you any more than I already do I fear I wouldn’t be able to stand it.”

He stepped closer, approaching slowly like you would run at any second, and gently took your hand into his. You let him hold you, his warm skin brushing against your cold palms and thawing your chilled heart.

“I know you feel like everything wrong in the world is your fault— I feel the same quite often, but it’s not. I don’t understand, did you think I would give up on you? That you could shake this love from me?” He tilted your chin up with his finger, forcing you to meet his gaze. Even though he couldn’t truly see you, it was like he was looking into your very soul. “Darling, did you really think that I would scare so easily?”

He brushed your hair behind your ear, cradling your face with his hand. “My life has always been a storm. How could I possibly fear such a lovely hurricane?”

The tears that were gathering in your lower lashes finally fell, dripping down your face just to be wiped away by the thumb smoothing over your cheekbone. “It’s not that— I don’t think—” You stuttered, the words getting trapped just under your jaw. “I’ll only hurt you more. You don’t deserve the rain, you deserve sunshine. I can’t give you that.”

He shook his head, quietly shushing you as he brought the hand holding yours up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the shivering skin. “If there was anyone in this world that I would be okay with causing me harm, it would be you. Even if you hurt me, I will always come back to you, because I know that you didn’t mean it— you love too much to truly cause pain.”

Ominis closed the final inches between the both of you, pulling you to his chest in a half hug and pressing his temple against yours. He laughed at the small sniffles that escaped you, feeling your resolve disintegrate by the second. “Now, must I continue to wax poetic, or have my words finally struck home inside that thick skull of yours?”

You chuckled, a pathetic thing that was more snot than sound, but nodded nonetheless. The wiry boy smiled in true relief, nuzzling his teeth against your cheek and pressing delicate kisses to your eyelids and nose. “There you are. There’s my dove.”

You tugged him the rest of the way against your chest, tucking your face in his neck and holding onto his robes like he would disappear if you let go. He let you cry against him, soaking his collar with your grief as he decorated your head with a crown of fluttered kisses. Once your breathing slowed and your words returned, you whispered against his skin— a prayer at the pews of adoration.

“I love you, too.”

He held you impossibly tighter, syncing his heartbeat and breathing with yours until you were one. Ominis moved his mouth to your ear, his hot breath fanning through your hair like a gentle summer breeze. He smelled like home. “We will get through this together. I won’t let you fall, my darling— I will always be there to hold you steady.”

After what felt like centuries of waiting, he softly touched his petal-toned lips to yours, silencing all voices in your head for good. It was like heaven itself was kissing you. After a moment he pulled back, his lips just slightly ghosting over yours with his murmured affections.

“Je t'aimerai jusqu'à mon dernier souffle.” The way his mouth wrapped around the foreign words sent a shiver down your spine. “Même si tu es la cause de ma mort.”

Sebastian found you both there later in the evening, curled around each other on the settee like a human knot and sleeping the rest of the day away. His gaze softened at the tiny, serene smile that just barely stretched the corners of your mouth. He would bother you both about what happened later, but for now he turned around and left the chasm under the school, content that his best friends finally found a little piece of happiness in all this chaos.

What he didn’t know, though, was that you didn’t find happiness; happiness found you.

French translation: "I will love you until my last breath. Even if you are the cause of my death."

Try and tell me French Ominis wouldn't be hot as shit I DARE YOU

***

like what you read? here's more!

#tina speaks #hogwarts legacy #hl #ominis gaunt x mc #ominis gaunt x reader #ao3 #ao3 fic #ao3 writer #ominis gaunt x you #ominis gaunt #hurt/comfort #masterlist

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sweetsweetjellybean · 6 months

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Prince!Steve x Sleeping Beauty!Reader Masterlist

These are short blurbs with figurative fairy tale themes. Smut, PIV, Dirty Talk, Spit as lube. All kinds of fun. Without further ado...

In the flickering embrace of candlelight, you stir from your slumber, your senses waking with the ghost of his warm lips – the kiss of your dark prince. The room is fragrant with the essence white roses and cloves. A soft flicker of the flames casts dancing shadows upon the ornamental fairies and witches. The pleasant scrape of his blunt nails leaves behind pebbled skin as they travel over your ribs, your stomach, your thighs, igniting trails of fire. The exquisite ache of your need deepening as it radiates from the bottom of your stomach, like the desire from dreams that have filled your sleep, until it controls every cell.

Your fingers entwine in the long, golden-brown locks at the nape of his neck as you arch your back, your gaze fixed upon the gilded antique mirror suspended from the ceiling. The rich hue of your breasts' hardened peaks, visible through the diaphanous silk of your chemise, the ties carelessly undone. An opaque triangle, proof of your desire, burgeons at your center as your restless legs writhe against the midnight-blue velvet that drapes the baroque four-poster bed. A place where you've lain resting for far too long without his caress.

The freckled skin of his shoulders and back glides smoothly, rolling with every gesture as the material of your shift is inched higher and higher until it's gone completely, sliding like a waterfall onto the cold stone floor.

“My beauty.” His breath fans over the glistening wetness of your pussy, like moonlight on water. Carvings of golden acanthus leaves scroll up the posts behind him, framing his head in a regal crown.

“Please,” you whisper on a needy sigh as his lips trail along your navel.

"Shhh.” He silences your pleas as the rough skin of his large hands envelops the softness of your breasts, kneading and teasing and pushing them together, a feast for his black eyes. “Let me take you,” he murmurs, his desire and devotion evident, “I’ll make you my queen. And then, my love, I shall be yours to rule."

His britches are pushed down his hairy legs, forgotten amongst the bedclothes. He's hard and long as he kneels proudly before you. You wet your lips, hungry, as your eyes follow the veins of his thick shaft to the thatch of hair at his base.

His fingers clasp firmly around your calves, urging your knees toward your ribs, parting you with deliberate intention. Spit escapes his parted lips, dripping down your seam, collecting at your entrance.

“Watch,” he orders as his hand circles his base, guiding his crown at your eager opening. His gaze locks with yours as he thrusts with a moan, filling you completely, stretching your boundaries, molding you for his pleasure. Your insides pulse and ripple around him, euphoria waking from a slumber.

He falls forward as he keens, his hand sliding around your throat, fingers gripping with a hunger that matches his lips as they close over yours, capturing your breath. Your tongues tangle in a sensual duel. 'What is your command?' he murmurs, his voice a rasp against your skin. 'I'll give you anything,' he promises, intoxicated by pleasure, the rhythm of his hips quick and relentless. He slides out smoothly, teasing until you're almost empty before driving into you with the force of a tempest.

The kiss ends with a passionate tug of your teeth on the lushness of his bottom lip. With a seductive grace, you guide him nearer, savoring the taste of desire as you press tender, lingering kisses along his temple, trailing down until his ear is at your mouth. “Make me cum.”

AN: Thanks for reading. 💋-Jelly

#steve harrington #stranger things #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #stranger things fanfic #dark fairytale

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alemonyoyo · 3 months

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No Country for Young Humans - Chapter 6!

Hi everyone! This is your author, ALemonYoYo, writing to you from JAPAN!!!

This chapter, as well as "The Duel", are some of my favourite chapters so far! This one was a blast to write for! I hope you enjoy it as much as I do!

This chapter is another long one!!

Missed the previous chapters? Check out the Masterlist!

Words: 4100

Tags: GN Reader, No use of YN, Flirting, Teasing.

Summary: You and Star escape to Waterfall to evade the Royal Guard's watchful eye. The nature of Monster-kind, and their history with humans slowly reveals itself as you meet an interesting source of knowledge.

You struggled in your clothes, the cotton, dampened with sweat and dew, clung to your skin helplessly. Much like yourself, who clung to North Star as he led his way through the mines. The gemstones around you, once a blistering gold, eventually faded to a cool blue that made the ceiling look like the sky. Large stones, small stones, each littered this facade of a sky and acted as the only source of light within the tunnel. They were far fainter, and cooler, than the stones in the mines.

The peaceful atmosphere punctuated by the soft breeze billowing through the caverns should have slowed your racing heartbeat, but even you knew Waterfall wasn’t safe. In fact, it was probably the least-safe place in the entire underground, besides Hotland and The Core. Martlet had told you during one of her many spiels about the leader of the Royal Guard, who apparently resided in Waterfall of all places. Walking through it now, with Star’s presence at your side among the tight cavern, you couldn’t tell why. The caverns of Waterfall at the very least seemed quiet, completely tranquil unlike the constant bombardment of chaos within the Dunes, or the bustling nature of Snowdin.

“Up ahead is where Waterfall properly starts.” North Star pointed through the cavern, to where a pale blue light faded through the cavern's exit. You nodded, unable to speak. You had only been walking for about an hour, in the cool of the underground caverns no less, yet you were already exhausted. Trudging along these swirling paths was already enough, but carrying the weight of a trained search party on your shoulders made the trek all the more challenging. Instead of replying, you reached for his hand again. At the brief touch of his palm, he knew what you were asking for, his fingers interlinking with yours.

You had made it to the end of the tunnel, the small cavern opening up into a wider, marshy area, with small puddles caving in the floor. There was a bridge among tall plots of grass that led further. Small, luminescent mushrooms gathered in clusters at your feet, and as you walked into the clearing, they puffed out small rivulets of blue powder. This was true beauty.

“Wow-” You mumbled out,

“Yeah, quite the looker this place is.” Star followed you along as you wandered, hand in hand as you eyed the greenery of Waterfall. Or would it be “bluery” in this case? “We should probably head further out than just this clearing, don’t wanna take any chances now do we?”

He smiled down at you as you turned to nod in approval, and with that he led you away, traversing across the wooden bridge into new terrain. The tall grass on either side of the bridge was lush and vibrant. You found yourself running your fingers through it as you passed, mesmerised by its elegant movement.

“Do you come here often, Star?” You felt yourself ask out into the heavy air, damp like the boards of the bridge.

“No, I’m more of a desert guy myself, if you couldn’t tell.” He replied, turning back to you with a small grin.

“Who would’ve guessed?” You replied back, trying to soak your tone in some sort of playfulness. The mood was evidently as heavy as the air around you, and Star had already made the immense effort to accompany you here, the least you could do was play along; be happy.

“Well, I’ve always grown up in the Dunes myself.” He nodded to himself, using his remaining hand to pinch his chin in thought, “The only time I ever left the farm was to do sales. Don’t get too many sales ‘round here though. Not enough customers.” That was clear as day. It was extremely quiet. Not a monster in sight. That would make it easy to hide from suspecting monsters, but if even one were to see you now, you’d stick out like a sore thumb.

“You have a farm?” You inquired, burying the panicked thought under your bubbling curiosity,

“Yep. Back when I lived with my folks, before this Wild East thing.” His tone inexplicably shifted in a way you couldn’t pin down, “We sold lots of corn. More corn than anyone could need.” He continued, the same irk in his tone remained. “My parents were big on me contributing to the family business so I only did sales around the Dunes and Snowdin. I’ve hardly ever been here.”

Eventually you got to the end of the bridge, and emerged out of the thick walls of grass that met you at either side of your crossing. This new area was similar to the last, except for the distinct sound of running water. Sure enough, right across the room, as bright as the stars in the sky, ran a waterfall. Its water was an icy cyan hue.

“Would’ve been nice to do sales ‘round here then?” You ask, wandering into the space.

This area's walls were slightly higher than the previous, and slightly damper with the running water. The waterfall was frankly quite small, but the light it emitted had an allure to it like nothing else. You felt yourself slip away from North Star’s grasp as you walked towards it, entranced.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” You heard him mumble.

You walked closer to the running water, trickling up from a crack in the wall high above your head. You reached a wandering hand across, letting the water trickle around it lightly. It seems that the water itself didn’t glow with a radiant cyan. Rather, there was a high concentration of gemstones right behind the waterfall, almost as if they were attracted to the water.

“So pretty.” You said under your breath, you felt North Star come up behind you, placing two soft grips on your shoulders.

“Very pretty. The water’s nice too.” You could hear the smile in his voice, he sure loved being a flirt. And you sure loved him being a flirt. Even despite the stakes of this trip, you still found your face flushing with the compliment.

You took your hand out of the water, pulled out of your trance.

“Let’s keep going.” Was all you could manage out.

“Sure thing, darlin’.” He took your hand, your wet hand, in his own and continued on. Eventually, you found yourselves at a crossroads with dark signs littering the walls. Reading the bright blue text on them didn’t aid in your need for directions. The text was far more interesting than that;

“United, the humans were too powerful, and us monsters too weak. Not a single SOUL was taken, and countless monsters were turned to dust…” It seemed to be the end of an excerpt. You had never heard of such an event! You had barely even known that monsters had existed prior to your journey down here. Only rumours, supernatural mumblings in certain circles eluded you to this whole world underneath your own.

North Star had walked to the centre of the crossroads, examining each path with care as you moved to read another sign; “Why did the humans attack? Indeed, it seemed that they had nothing to fear.” Attack? The world felt foreign as it rang about in your mind, hitting the edges of your skull with its harsh and abrasive corners. Humans attacked monsters?

You moved to the last sign in the area as Star began to make up his mind on where to turn next. You’d have to ask him about this. The last sign read; “In the end, it could hardly be called a war.” You felt your blood run cold, even in the humid climate. Somehow that one was the most chilling out of all of them.

“Okay sweets, I know which way to go.” He called over to you, watching your gaze as it read over the writing. Eventually you turned to follow him as he led you down the leftmost path.

“Star?”

“Yeah, dear?” His tone was a little apprehensive, almost as if his own words were cutting himself short. Perhaps he knew what was coming.

“Those signs- They were talking about a war between humans and monsters.” If it weren’t for your exhaustion, your tone would’ve dripped with more surprise. “I-I’ve never heard about anything like that. Ever.” You spoke out.

“Really? You just thought everyone down here was attacking you for no reason?” The walls around you dropped off into a vast cavern, far larger than anything you had seen down here. The ceiling above was so far, so littered with bright stones that it looked like a galaxy.

“I mean- I never questioned it. Which seems stupid now-” Your eyes peered around the relentless horizons around you, the blue of the underground mountain range ringing out through the caverns with a mellow beat. “I don’t think anyones ever mentioned why they try to hurt me. They haven’t had to. I’ve solved the conflicts myself easily enough.”

You stopped walking, in awe of the scenery around you. Far beyond the distant mountain ranges was a castle, lit with the blue lights of the cavern's ceiling, though it was apparent that the castle was grey in hue.

“Wow- I can’t believe that. The only history we’re ever taught about down here is about that “war”.” He stopped beside you, following your gaze out to the castle beyond. “Humans declared a war on monsters centuries ago. The humans won, and forced the monsters to live down here. They sealed us down here with some spell, though nowadays y’all don’t wield magic, do you?”

You shook your head. “Magic wasn’t real”, you told yourself. But it was a stupid thought, for every person you had met here had launched some sort of otherworldly attack against you. Dalv shot lightning out of his fingertips, Martlet summoned a barrage of knife-sharp feathers. This was a magical world. A far departure from the surface above.

“So the humans sealed us down here, long before I was born. To break the seal, what we call “The Barrier”, you need seven human souls.” A breeze picked up in the cavern, rushing around you with a shrill whistle. “That castle over there,” He pointed out to where your eyes stayed fixed, “That’s the King’s castle. He’d probably keep the souls there.” As North Star talked, everything slowly slotted into place in your mind. The relentless attacks against you, the apprehension towards humans. You had ignorantly thought it was just a “monster thing” to be so violent, which upon reflection seems incredibly prejudiced. But who could blame you? You had fallen down and met with creatures the likes of which you had never seen before, and most met you with violence upon first meeting. All but that one lady in the Ruins and North Star himself.

“How many souls does the King have now?” You felt breathless asking the question, both curious enough to yearn for his response, yet scared all the same. You had heard stories about humans who had fallen down Mount Ebott, sure, but to know where they ended up, *how* they ended up there, it would be heartbreaking.

“Five. They only need two more.” Five humans. Five humans had died down here. It wasn’t just anyone who came bumbling around about the summit of Mount Ebott. It was usually children running off from their families. You had heard many a story just like it. The thought only spiralled darker, and you couldn’t help but shudder away from the castle view, the sight spoilt with the new information. “Hey, hey.” Star spoke softly, “I won’t ever let them get a sixth one.” He continued, placing a gloved hand on your cheek. “At least. Not *your* soul.” He turned away, embarrassed but without fluster. The whole thing felt selfish, yet you couldn’t help but play into his every word.

Without a word, you continued forward, out of the massive cavern and back into calmer terrain. North Star followed you at your heels. This new area was wide with dark navy grass carpeting its floor. There were dark bridges that laid upon the cyan expanse of water rushing every which way. Peppered around the shrubbery you heard whispers. They came from every which way, circling you with their wind-like sounds. You tried to follow the whisper, learn its source, but another would interject, cutting through its trail and leaving you empty handed.

“Do you hear this whispering too?” You called over to Star, hoping you hadn’t gone insane with panic.

“Yeah, that’s just the Echoflowers. No need to worry yer pretty little head.” He walked over to you and pointed out one of the bright blue flowers that stood up tall. “They repeat the last thing they heard, over and over.” You approached the flower with a timidity you were not met with. The very essence of the flower exuded a sort of confidence, despite its lush and elegant appearance. Leaning down and into its light, you could hear a faint voice, that of a child; “I like visiting him! I just wish he wasn’t so scared anymore.” The voice was chipper, it stood out amongst the quiet humbleness of the marsh.

“Hey, deputy, I think you’ll like this one.” Looking behind you, Star pointed at one of the flowers, far taller than the others around it. It nearly resembled a Sunflower the way it shot out of the ground, searching for the blue light of the ceiling. You met him over by the Echoflower, its face adorned with petals looked down at you with a quiet glance. You leant in close;

“Yer cute.” You could recognise that voice anywhere! You turned to the messenger, and Star stood sheepishly behind you before letting his smirk take over.

“Oh, well aren’t you such a flirt.” You chuckled out, hitting him lightly on the shoulder. He stepped back in surprise;

“Why, I don’t know what yer accusing me of! I got nothin’ to do with that plant!” Gosh he was so cute like this, all flustered yet still playing along in this little game. This game that had begun the very day you entered his town.

Laughing along with him, you walked over to a flower before loudly speaking into it; “You’re a bastard.” You heard North Star giggle from behind you. Turning, you said; “I think you should check this flower out.” Pointing to the flower you had just spoken into.

“I don’t know if I do, sweets.” He smiled, the weight in your chest lifted at the sight. “Had a feelin’ that you’d like playin’ around with these things. Yer quite the curious one.” He continued through the shrubbery and you turned to follow along.

“Of course. Everything is so different around here. It’s like a whole other plane of existence.”

You caught up to him eventually, as he slowed to meet your pace; “I need to know everything about it, haha.” You giggled, taking his hand in yours. Looking up at him you could see his flustered expression. Despite being such a forward flirt, he sure did flush easily.

“Perhaps we can find you something that can answer all your burning questions. There’s a library down in Snowdin that might have some things.”

“You know where the library is?” You giggled, teasing. He dramatically faked his offence,

“Why, I’m the most educated cowboy there is, dear!” He placed a hand over his heart. “Plus, I like a little readin’ here and there. Only the stuff on humans though.”

“That and the ones on Cowboys I am assuming?” He nodded in response with a small smile.

“Of course, of course. That library is sure to have hundreds of books on monster history, or whatever suits yer fancy.” You placed your other hand on his, leaning into him as you walked. You had certainly become more comfortable around him, though he didn’t seem to mind. The whole ordeal always had your heart skipping beats, your eyes darting around for a comfortable place to land, lest you risk making eye contact.

“That sounds good, you’ll have to take me there sometime.” You smiled to yourself, feeling your face grow warm. This was nice. The Royal Guard was surely on your tail, yet the sharpness of that reality couldn’t pierce this comforting bubble you had made with him.

At the end of the dark room was a small framed entrance. It nearly looked like the entrance to one of the mine shafts seen back in the Dunes’ caverns. A sign, much like the others you had seen earlier, was perched atop the frame, though you couldn’t make out what it said, the text had faded with time.

“What’s in there?” You asked, pointing over to the wooden entrance,

“Not sure myself, darlin’.” Star responded, rubbing a thumb over your knuckles, “You’re welcome to check it out. I’ll keep watch outside just in case.” So protective, he was. Though, it was probably better to be safe than sorry.

“Sounds like a plan, Sheriff.” Star perched himself beside the entrance, leaning against the wall in his classic “Cowboy Stance”. He could be a real dork sometimes, especially now when he tried to look intimidating. He used to appear so, during those first couple of days in the Wild East.

You left him standing by the door, heading inside the wooden entrance.

The darkness shifted quickly to a bright light as blue gemstones littered the floor, walls and ceiling of the small room. A dark wooden counter separated one half of the room from the other. It seemed to be some sort of shop, but who was here to tend for it?

You leant over the dark wooden desk, “Hello?”, you spoke out before you heard some rustling from beneath, before a bump and a crash alerted you to another presence.

“Ow-” You heard from under the counter. Eventually up came a small, tortoise-looking monster. He wore a safari hat, and wielded quite a large magnifying glass. One of his eyes was shut, but the one that was cocked your way was filled with curiosity. “My apologies for the wait.” He spoke out with confidence. “Old men gotta get their beauty sleep.” He laughed out. “The name’s Gerson, this here is my old shop. Though it’s not good for much of that anymore.” He placed his hand on the wooden counter, running it across its worn edges. “But I have nicks and nacks here and there! And a tale or two to tell.” His voice was peculiar, near parrot like with its squawking tone, but clearly aged with a humble underbelly.

“I like tales.” You respond, your curiosity peaked. Perhaps you didn’t need the books.

“I am what the folks like to call an “Old Bastard.” I’ve got stories that date back aeons. Even before that god forsaken war!” Wow. Star had told you the war occurred centuries ago, yet this man was claiming to be from that time!

“How have you lived so long?” You asked, before flustering at the question. Was that impolite?

“Some monsters just live longer than others. You seem to be quite the fleshy lookin’ thing. Not long for your kind, I’m sure.” Well, that was true enough. Though it wasn’t certain whether this Gerson fellow had clocked you for a human just yet.

“What can you tell me about before the war?” You leant forward eagerly, hands rested against the counter. “Why did it start to begin with?” Gerson reached under the counter where he brandished a cup of tea, somehow it was steaming though you never saw him brew it.

“Ah well,” He took a swig, “The war was started ‘cause humans were paranoid. Thinkin’ we’d take their souls and all. You know human souls stick around a while after death, real powerful things they are.” He sipped once more from his tea, the words flowing out of him as easily as the liquid did. “Humans were shakin’ in their boots at the prospect of a monster absorbing their soul after death. Doin’ so makes a monster real powerful, y’see?” He gestured wildly with his hand as he spoke, you couldn’t read a single gesture. “So the humans started a war. Could you really even call it a war? Well they sealed us down here after they won, and we’ve been here ever since, y’hear!”

“Yes I hear.” You responded, feeling a bit dumb after the realisation hit. “Were tensions always so high between humans and monsters? Or did they once live in peace?” Gerson seemed to ponder for a moment, or at least you think he did. You went to repeat your question in case he hadn’t heard but it was only then that he piped up unexpectedly.

“Yes, yes! I remember now.” He flashed an excited look, “Way back, when I was a youngin’, humans and monsters got along quite nicely. Coexisted like any other society would.” He sipped at the tea, though it was clear that by now the mug was empty, and he only did it for dramatic effect. “But now, well, you know how it is now.” He looked down with a solemn expression, “If we had more of your kind, then maybe us Monsters won’t be hated for good.”

“You knew I was human?” You asked out, speaking before you could think. Stupid, stupid- He could’ve meant something else! Now you have blown your cover in new territory!

“Of course I did! Don’t know many folks who haven’t heard of the war. Plus, I can smell the surface air on you! Even after all these years it still smells of freedom. Such a sickly thing.” He pondered to himself.

“Well if that’s the case,” You began, hesitating, “I do have another question.”

“Fire away, I say!” He tried morphing his small, tortoise fingers into a gun shape, but his fingers were too stubby and rather immobile that the gesture came out unintentionally offensive. Perhaps monsters didn’t know the connotations of the middle finger.

“Well, when humans and monsters lived in peace, way back when…” The question hung on your tongue, it’s taboo nature was slick and sticky like honey, it was hard to move your mouth, “Did they, well,” You took both of your hands and interlocked the fingers, “date??”

The expression Gerson met you with as you struggled out your question was nothing less than smug and knowing. You felt your face grow hot.

“Oh, missy, they did far more than just date.” He chuckled to himself, “Humans weren’t my type though.” He continued as he slipped his empty mug under the counter. “Now why, I must ask, would a human like you be askin’ such a thing?” He raised an eyebrow and cocked his open eye your way, interrogating your flustered demeanour.

“I- well-” You stuttered out, before a harsh hand met your shoulder. You shot up in surprise.

“We gotta go, sweets.” North Star had entered from behind you, his face littered with urgency.

“Ahhh, I see how it is.” You heard Gerson’s voice draw out every vowel. Turning back to him, his expression had folded to be even more smug, his eyes darting between you and North Star, punctuated further by the up-and-down shrugging of his eyebrows.

“No- it's not like-” You tried to manage out a defence, but your attempts were futile. Even you couldn’t convince yourself that this wasn’t “how it is” as Gerson had put it.

“Sorry to be takin’ this one so suddenly.” Star said to Gerson, before turning to you, “I’m hearing heavy footsteps, it’s gotta be one of those armoured guards. We should go.” He took your hand before turning to leave, pulling you out of the store with him,

“G-goodbye Gerson! Thank you!” You called out, being met with a;

“You lovebirds have fun~!” Of course-

As you and North Star ran through Waterfall, escaping the looming clanging of every armoured footstep, you did it all with a warm blush across your face. The moment was tense, of course, but you were weirdly comforted with the knowledge that perhaps you weren’t the only human in history to fall in love with a monster.

Let’s just hope this monster has fallen in love with you too.

***

“Have you seen a human around this part of Waterfall?”

“Hm, well, I couldn’t say for sure Undyne. You know I’ve got quite the bad eye!”

“Yes- Yes I know, Gerson.”

“I will try to keep an *eye* out for them!”

“Ngahah! you haven’t changed a bit, old man!”

“Neither have you, tadpole.”

#undertale #undertale yellow #uty #north star #starlo #fanfiction #starlo uty #undertale yellow starlo #uty north star #uty starlo #north star uty #north star undertale yellow #north star x reader #starlo x reader #north star uty x reader #starlo uty x reader #no country for young humans

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sexyinaratkindaway · 3 months

Text

Leave All your Love and your Longing Behind

Rating: E

Fandom: QSMP

Pairing: FitMC/Pactw

Summary: In Purgatory, two almost-lovers meet on the battlefield, feral as dogs and just as beaten, to find comfort in each other.

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/53085622

Pac is scared.

Of course he’s scared.

Why wouldn’t he be?

This isn’t Purgatory. After Purgatory ends, fire and brimstone and purifying gold, Heaven awaits.

This isn't Purgatory.

They're in Hell, and Pac doesn't know what he's being punished for, but he must have deserved it, for Hell to be so vivid and terrible. Instead of devils tormenting him, it's his friends, his family.

Forever is there, Mike is there, thank the Goddess, but so is Cell— Cellbit —and so is Fit, beautiful, dangerous, cruel, kind Fit. He’s at his most handsome like this; bloodstained, cruel, scarred and dirty and grungy, blood in his nail beds and stubble on his chin and dirt in his scales. He’s handsome as the sun, as howling wind and tall mountains and thunderous waterfall, and Pac is, irrevocably, unendingly, in love with him. He can't bring himself to hate him when he catches sight of him, manic and dust-covered and bloodstained, so different and yet so familiar. They cross paths on the battlefield, again and again and again; again and again and again they brush shoulders without the time to really face off. Pac is happier that way; he doesn’t know if he wants Fit to see him like this.

Because Purgatory has turned them all into animals, and Pac is no exception: his lungs itch, his throat hitches, his skin burns, from the toxic fog and the acid rain and the sand swallowing him whole; he’s gaunt and hungry, howling like a dog, his undershirt is torn and dusty and stained, his hoodie tattered and dirty, the only colour left about him the scabbed over, bloody cuts that tatter him all over, and the too-bright blue that, he knows, shines in his eyes like headlights. It’s a curse, it makes him too visible; but being visible has its advantages, in battle as in stalking. He’s just come out victor of a duel—with Cellbit, what a pretty coincidence—when he spots Fit spotting him, and he can see the emerald green spotlights of Fit’s eyes shift and tighten and widen when they land on him.

He grins at him, waves his arm in the air like everything is normal and perfect. Like there's no droplets of blood swinging in the air from his brisk movement. Fit jogs the distance between them closed, the lightest of limps in his stride, and Pac feels himself frown. He kicks Cellbit's body to the side, lifeless and pale and limp and empty, finishes stuffing the last of his things in his backpack. His knife feels odd in his hand, heavy in the blade and light in the handle like it wants to jump out of his grasp. He tucks it in a holster on his thigh and turns to Fit.

"Fit!" He says, and barely holds back from drawling out the end of his name into the soft, tender fricative it so badly wants to be in his mouth.

Fit, despite himself and what his better instincts say, smiles.

"Pac," he says. It’s a tender, low, breathy sigh, a parched man who can’t believe his luck, finding a puddle of clear water. Pac is his water, and he doesn’t know the water’s poisoned. “Pac, God, what happened to you?”

“Just tired,” Pac says, nonchalant. He runs a hand through his hair to pull it out of his forehead, huffs when the too-long locks fall right back over his eyes. He smiles, and hopes they crinkle with it even if he doesn’t feel it. “Might just give up on this and do like you, cut it all off. What happened to you ?”

He nods his chin in direction of Fit’s leg, stiff, pained. It’s his left.

Fit chuckles. “Oh, just a bad fall I took a couple days ago. ‘M fine.”

Pac knows it was the tigers. Pac doesn't say, and grins instead. "At least now we match!"

He lifts up his left leg, bends it back and forth at the knee. It goes smoothly, but screeches an ugly sound when he bends it back too far, and Fit's handsome face crumples into a sympathetic grimace.

“That can’t be good for stealth.”

“Eh, I just can’t crouch too far. I’ve been meaning to oil it, but…”

Not much oil in Purgatory, and what little is there is better used on machinery, on farms. As long as Pac can walk and stand, he can conserve the oil.

“Can't be good for stealth.”

“I don't need stealth.”

“This guy tried stealth on you?”

Pac laughs a wheezy little breath, nudging Cellbit's corpse with his running hook. It's warm, still twitching.

“Nah, he tried to be honourable; came to me face to face. I respect that, even if I think it was to get me to panic more.”

“Well, that obviously didn't work.” Fit's words are all a chuckle, low, gravelly with misuse. If that hadn't been enough to make Pac quiver, then the way he stared at the mess of blood and guts on the floor, staining Pac's still open scythe, cold and calculating and hungry , would have been.

“Nice scythe,” Fit says, and then squeezes his eyes shut like he can't believe he said something that stupid; Pac feels laughter bubble in his throat, and for a moment they're back home.

“I see,” he says, “you only like me for my scythe.”

He enjoys seeing Fit sputter and blush, loves the look of his handsome cheeks bloody red under the scales, grimy and dirty on his face, the bashful smile stretching his lips.

“Well, it's a very nice scythe. Looks… well-made.”

“It’s not better than my scythe back home.”

“Yeah, I be–”

“What are you doing here, Fit?”

And that’s the million dollar question, isn’t it? What is Fit doing, all alone, so close to team Soulfire’s base?

Fit doesn’t answer, mirth blown out of his eyes, mouth set in a grim line, and Pac knows, he knows. He pulls his MDA from his pocket, stares at Fit’s name on the screen, looks back at Fit. “Who do you have to kill?”

Fit’s eyebrows twitch. He doesn’t pull his phone out.

“You.”

It’s like he has to wrench the words out of his throat to say them, but Pac feels a weight lift off of his shoulders, relief settle around his nape like a scarf, his mouth stretch in a smile.

“Oh, thank the Goddess. Now it’s easy. I also have to kill you, you know?”

Fit is staring at him like he doesn’t understand his glee, and to be fair, he probably doesn’t.

“Why don’t we just spar for it, right here, right now? And who loses dies.”

“I’m not killing you,” Fit says.

“Why did you come here, then?”

Fit doesn’t have an answer to that. He swallows empty air, shifts his weight on his feet, doesn’t say anything, eyes—too green, too bright—stuck on Pac.

“Do it for our children,” Pac says, and he knows it’s low, he knows it’s cruel , but he doesn’t care, he needs this, he needs this, after fighting Cell, after winning Cell, the stench of blood and feces still high in the air, he needs this with Fit. He needs to feel him. “We have to do it to save our children.”

“You're cruel, Pac.” He is reaching for his sword.

"I need it, Fit, and so do you.” Pac smiles, takes a step back and raises his hand in a grand gesture. “Will you do me the honour," he's hoarse, with joy, with adrenaline, at the sole thought of getting to taste Fit's blade, "of a dance?"

Fit looks down at his outstretched palm, blood under his nail beds, staining his fingerprints, he looks down at the scythe held tight in Pac's hand.

He smiles at him, all teeth.

"It would be my pleasure."

Pac has never been more in love than he is now. Their blades meet, iron and diamond, and never has Pac's heart sung louder than now, guided by the tempo allegro that their weapons beat. Fit is strong, stronger than Pac, the force behind the blow of his mile-long sword makes Pac’s arms quiver, but he’s strong too, and he’s got the advantage of a hooked blade by his side, of a smaller size and strong legs made for running. He jumps circles around Fit, and the man struggles to follow him, but his face is grim, his eyes are steely, full of the glacial wind of a killer with a target in his crosshairs, Pac is his target and his sword sings for blood and Pac wants nothing more than to let go of his scythe and feel the stinging kiss of needle-sharp diamond as it sinks through his ribs and makes tartare of his guts; his belly rumbles with desire at the sole thought.

But he has to try. He has to give it his all, if nothing else than out of the respect he feels for Fit; he’ll give the man a fair fight.

Fit is quick, is relentless with his sword, chases Pac like inevitable death, but Pac twirls his scythe around, catches every hit with the wooden hilt of his scythe, and the strength of Fit’s arms reverberates through Pac, and he knows the poor wood, if nothing else, is not going to come out of this fair fight unscathed.

A fair fight, apparently, is too much of a challenge for Fit, because it only takes a bit of tussling—a minute? Though it feels like they’ve been fighting for a year—for him to end up flat on the ground, arms pinned under Pac’s thighs. He's still gripping his sword: takes much more than a little fall for his grasp to loosen, and his sword is dangerously close to Pac's bare side; but the blade of Pac's scythe is nestled securely under Fit's chin, where Pac has dreamed and dreamed of tucking his face and sleeping, protected from the world.

It's easy to see who won: Fit doesn't have enough leverage to move his shoulder, or arm, or wrist.

Pac quivers: his body aches to lean into the sword tip barely grazing his hip, like he wants to fall into it, he needs it, needs it, needs it, needs it.

He's throbbing, he realises, pressed in the divot between Fit's pecs, comforting and warm and tight even under the leather armour.

Goddess, he's fucked up.

Cellbit's corpse is still laying down ten feet from the two of them, stinking up the place.

“Well,” Fit gasps, like breathing is hard, “you won.”

He won.

Victory tastes bitter.

“I can't kill you.” It feels like a defeat to admit, but he drops the scythe.

Fit laughs. “So you were just talkin' a big game, eh?”

“Sorry, I… got all worked up over nothing.” He blinks. He wasn’t supposed to win. “I wasn’t supposed to win. Did you let me win?”

“You insult me,” Fit says, smiling, voice just this side of wheezy. He’s still pinned under Pac, and Pac is not putting any effort in not letting all his weight lie on his chest, perhaps because he likes to hear the wheeze. “I wouldn’t just let you win. Why, just because you’re my… roommate?”

Pac feels a smile tug at his lips, tired.

“You wouldn't?”

“You don't give yourself enough credit, Pac. You're a better fighter than me.”

Pac wants to answer, to say something, anything, mock himself because that's all he knows, but then a great force is lifting him, thighs first, and suddenly the world tilts on his axis: he lands on the soft grass, and Fit is curled between his thighs, beautiful, dangerous, terrible. He can feel the stretch in his hip, trying to accommodate Fit's larger body in his, and that’s some unfortunate wording, is it not?

Fit's sword is nestled against the middle of his chest.

Pac closes his eyes.

Now the world is turning in the right direction again.

“What,” comes Fit's voice, torn between amusement and despair, after too long of a pause, “did you think I would kill you?”

And the truth is, despite himself, despite how deeply, desperately, achingly he wishes it so, the truth is one: his heart knows it would never happen. Never in his life has he felt so safe as in Fit's arms: not in the womb, longingly alone, not in his youth, when not even the other half of his soul by his side could lessen the harsh blows that life threw at them, and not now, as a man, ever chased by solitude and despair as he is. Fit's embrace, alone, his voice, his hands, so delicate on him when he knows them capable of such destruction, he feels safe in.

Fit wouldn't kill him, despite how much he wants it.

His skin itches. His throat itches. His eyes itch.

“Fit,” he says, low, whimpery, like a desperate call to the wind, like a plea for mercy, and he can't bring himself to care about that little ‘-tch’ his mouth tacks on at the end, “can I kiss you?”

Fit’s sword clatters to the ground, and he leans down and presses their lips together: he tastes like black tea, strong, bitter, burned. It’s the same kind Tina planted for them, but it’s obvious that no one in team Green is a master steeper. Pac gasps, and all the same tries to tilt his head up, to lean into the kiss, lets his mouth fall open and his tongue run along the ridges of Fit’s lips, chapped, warm, wet. He moans when Fit's tongue wets his lower lip, teeth-plump, when it touches his own tongue, when it coaxes it close for Fit to suck gently on. He’s not an expert kisser, but he more than makes up for it in enthusiasm. Pac moans again, tries to wiggle under Fit until their chests are flush and he can close his legs around his trim waist, get him close, close, Goddess, so close, he needs Fit to crawl into his chest . They kiss like starved, groaning in each other’s lips every time Pac’s legs hitch around Fit’s hips and pull him close enough that their bodies slot together like puzzle pieces.

“Fuck,” Fit groans, tucking his face in the crook of Pac’s sweaty neck, “fuck, how have I been waiting for this.”

“You have?” Pac hears himself asking, like he’s hearing it for the first time, like Fit hasn’t shown him, again and again, the depths of his affection and devotion, and he hasn’t been blind and deaf to it in the wave of his own despair. “Me too,” he says immediately after, lets his arms tighten around Fit’s shoulders, talks into his ear like he wants no one to hear him but Fit, “so long, so long I’ve wanted you, since the beginning, since the first time I saw you, kiss me again.”

Fit kisses him again, lets his hands roam along the too-thin expanse of his underfed chest, his fingers drum against the delicate imprints of his ribs under warm skin, under the thin cotton of his little black bodysuit, steadfast on his skin despite the tears, the dust, the blood that sticks fabric to muscle. Fit’s hands are hungry, hungry, pressing down on him enough that Pac fears tomorrow’s blooming bruises, and yet he knows he’ll be disappointed if tomorrow he finds none.

He’s been marked plenty, and never for good: forgive him if, for once, he wants the marks of ownership on him to be something beloved.

They kiss and kiss, and Pac sighs in Fit's mouth when he feels thumbs slipping under the hem of his shirt to caress at bare, bare skin and press into the divot between hip and thigh, so sensitive and rarely touched, tilts his hips up into the warm, rough touch.

“Please,” he gasps: he has to, because he feels like he's going to lose all grasp on the English language reasonably soon, and he would like Fit's cock inside him before then. “Please, Fit, please.”

What is he pleading for?

Fit groans against the delicate skin of Pac's throat, slips more fingers under his vest like he needs the skin-to-skin touch, “Don't beg me like this, Pac, you'll make me lose my mind.”

“Good, good. I've lost it already, so let's be crazy together.”

They kiss again, and this time it's Pac's hands pulling Fit's tank top from where it's tucked in his jeans, getting at skin, skin, skin, bare, rough, scarred, warm. He thumbs at his belt, and it takes four hands(three, because Fit’s metal hand is keeping him from tumbling face first into Pac), trembling and sweat-slick, to undo it, clicking of metal and leather, and then undo his pants to push them down his thighs just enough to expose his boxers, dark grey, threadbare, damp with a little pearl of wetness that Pac can't help but swipe his thumb into, enjoy the strangled groan Fit gives, tucked in his shoulder.

Armour starts dropping on the soft grass, clinking of diamond and steel, as they start undressing each other, feverish, reverent, and when the armour goes, it’s time for Pac’s jeans to go, too, and Fit stares at creamy, tan skin slowly revealing itself before his very eyes as Pac undoes them and shoves them off, at the way denim barely catches on the delicate hinges of his prosthetic, the sudden smell of arousal that wafts through the air and makes his nostrils twitch, sensitive. He wants, he wants, just as much as Pac does, and isn’t that a relief?

He’s laying in the grass now, legs bare against the chill, briefs tented and wet with his arousal, and he wraps his knees around Fit’s hips again, just so he can grind against him, let their arousals get acquainted. It feels good , and Fit’s breathy groan when their hips press together, separated by only two thin layers of threadbare cotton, is probably the best music Pac has ever heard, rough and wild, muffled with teeth on his throat. Fit’s hand, warm and rough, closes around his hip, thumbing at the hem of his briefs like he’s shy to pull it off, like they’re bashful young lovers on their first fuck and not… whatever they are, warriors, killers, hunters, monsters. So he tilts his hips up into the tender touch, enough for Fit to get the hint, and reaches down to pull the damn thing down, and now there’s cool air on his cock, less sharp than Fit’s gaze but making him shiver all the same, and warm, warm hands, rough with sword callouses, close around his skin with force enough to bruise; he keens a too-loud noise that has his blood freezing in his veins, has Fit’s too-green eyes darting around the clearing they’re in, settling on the dark trees surrounding them, the red sky above them, the mushy remains of a man staring emptily at the two of them like they might decide to get up and start biting. His cock throbs, scorching hot against Pac’s fluttering folds.

Only when he’s satisfied enough with the stillness of the air does he go back down to mouth at Pac’s throat, panting like a dog. Pac knows that kind of ardour, has felt it himself, many times, for many men, but to feel it aimed at himself is…

Indescribable.

He shifts his legs, tightens the lock of his ankles on Fit’s lower back; the movement presses him down, close, cock grinding into Pac’s cunt like it belongs there, and yet the man seems shy to reach down and tug it inside, through his low, rumbly, desperate moaning.

“Wh–what are you waiting for?” Pac hears himself asking. Tsk, tsk, breathless already like a teenager on his first tryst.

“I–it’s just… Is this really what you want, Pac?” Goddesses above, how infuriating that the man manages to look earnest through the traffic lights he’s got in place of eyes, and how much more infuriating that it looks terribly attractive, with his flushed cheeks and sweaty forehead and haunted expression like he’s terrified of being rejected, and that’s just silly, because Pac is a second away from wrestling a hand between the two of them and tugging Fit’s cock in his cunt himself. “I–I mean, I don’t want you to feel, you know, forced , or anything, or, like, is this just the adrenaline of the fight, I, uh…”

“Did you not hear what I said before?” Pac asks, and Fit looks panicked enough to spur him on and not let the poor man talk his own erection down, “I’ve wanted to have sex with you since, like, day one. When we crashed on the island, after you guys rescued us, I’m, like, pretty sure I went to bed for a week straight thinking about you with your shirt stuck to your chest from the rain. If you don’t fuck me right now I might go insane.”

As if to underline that point, he does actually reach between their warm bodies to tickle a hand around Fit’s cock, warm, thick, tip flushed red and glistening. He flutters his fingers, tight and then loose, and Fit moans a, frankly, whorish noise, high and trembling into Pac’s neck, and his hips follow Pac’s gentle coaxing like well-trained dogs; his cock slips inside like a knife retreating to the warmth of its sheath, and Fit moans again, the temple of his body wracked by a shuddering earthquake that almost sends him careening down.

He stays up, thankfully, holds himself up with both hands caging Pac’s head in, and gives a single, powerful thrust. Pac moans, kisses the discoloured skin of Fit’s fleshy forearm, lets his lips linger over pale lines of old, beloved scarring, and enjoys the way Fit shudders with every butterfly touch.

Fit's thrusting is shuddery, but methodical: little rhythmic jerks of his chin beat the tempo, as if he is counting the seconds between each thrust inside his head to ensure a perfect clockwork, and that is such a goofy thought, in-character as it is, that a chuckle puffs out of Pac's chest, and he curls his arms around his neck to pull him in a kiss, lap along his lips and coax his tongue out. He moans pretty in Pac's mouth when he starts sucking on his tongue; his hips lose their perfect rhythm and instead start pistoning in and out as fast as they can go, uneven and shaking with the effort of a movement never tried before, and now that feels good, the nearly-dry rubbing pistoning into him, so harsh it feels like it's tearing up Pac's insides, yes, yes, yes , more.

But Fit deserves better, better than this, better than harsh sandy earth under them and whipping wind and patchy red sky and dry-fucking under the bug-eyes attention of freshly killed prey.

So he pushes Fit away despite his half-pained whining—Goddess, the dryness was hurting him too, huh?—and spits on his hand, spits again for good measure, lets the thick, foamy fluid coat his glove before he reaches down to smear it on Fit’s cock, let it mix with his own wetness and the pearl of pre shining on his glans, and Fit cries out when he guides him back in, slide made easier by the spit.

“Fuck,” he groans, “Fuck, you—your… you feel good.”

That's cute.

“You feel good too,” Pac tells him, because it's true. “You're so warm and you fill me up so well when you thrust in, I can't wait to be so full of you I'll feel it dripping down my legs all the way back to my base.”

Something jumpstarts in Fit, a croaky gasp punched out of him, and the brutal pace starts up again. It's cute, in a way: Fit is mindless, chasing his own pleasure and gasping and twitching as if already on the brink of an orgasm, like a teenager fucking his first cunt. It's very cute, the way he cries out Pac's name every time he clenches around him, just because he can, just to be a dick.

Pac takes his wrist, the one made of flesh, discoloured and scarred, and brings his hand down between the two of them, guides him gently into tugging gentle circles on his cock. Fit is many things, and among those is a quick study: he takes to the movement as a bird to flying, spits on his hand and touches Pac, drinks in his every moan with trembling ardour until he is gasping wetly, stilling deep as he can go inside, and Pac can feel him twitch and spurt out pleasure, painting him white and taken with a pitiful whine just this side of ashamed.

He doesn't pull out immediately, which is already its own victory: but he stays still, panting heavily with his thumb pressed into Pac's cock, until he whines a strangled, uncomfortable sound, and immediately Fit picks his pace back up like the trooper he is, uncaring of the mess or his softening cock; at least, he tries to. He gives up after half a dozen thrusts, hissing his discomfort, and gives up to swirling his thumb in hypnotic circles, letting his fingers flutter along the jagged edges of Pac's lips to the rhythm of his broken praise, because despite how little Fit’s lasted, Pac is ridiculously close, himself.

“How ca–can I help,” Fit gasps, half-panicked as if fearing Pac will just up and leave, disgusted by his rapid performance, “Tell me how to help, I'll do it.”

Pac is struck by the very alluring image of Fit kneeling between his legs, face soiled with his own cum, nose buried in his bush.

Another time.

After they’ve all made it back to Quesadilla Island, where he'll be able to properly woo Fit on his soft bed in Chume Labs.

Man, he misses his soft bed in Chume Labs.

Instead, he shakes his head, “Just–just keep going, just like this, f–finger me, I'm so close–”

Fit immediately presses his index finger in, deep as it will go, the intrusion almost coquettish after having felt his cock.

“Good, go–good boy,” the finger twitches, his thumb stutters, “n–now curl it in, like you're telling someone to come close.”

Fit follows instructions like he was made for it. It takes very little, gentle coaxing and angling his hips into the stimulation, for Fit to catch the gist, start looking for the spots that make him sob all on his own, uncaring of the sticky mess dripping down his wrist, and when Pac comes, he comes with a shout, back arching and then falling like a poppet with cut strings.

They stay still a while after Fit gingerly slips his fingers out of Pac's cunt, the only movement the heavy fall of their breaths.

Pac is sleepy. Fit's eyes are droopy.

“We should… go back to our bases.” He tries, gravelly and hoarse.

Pac just nods. “Well, you would have to get off of me for that.”

Fit grunts, buries his head back in Pac's neck.

They’ll get up.

They'll get back to Purgatory.

Right now, they just want to rest.

#knight's notebook #qsmp #fitpac #hideduo #fitmc #pactw

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cyberdragoninfinity · 26 days

Note

one of my favorite bits of yugioh lore is the fact drawing is apparently an actual skill you can train. not drawing the out truly is a skill issue huh

IT'S SUCH A FUNNY FACET OF THE YUGIOH WORLD kids at duel academy were honing their ability to channel the goddamn heart of the cards by pulling sandwiches out of a big cart. There's guys training under waterfalls simply to be good at Drawing Cards. Zuzu's dad is doing strength training exercise about this shit.

DRAW SPEED ISNT EVEN REALLY AN ISSUE IN A DUEL??!?! BUILD YOUR WRIST MUSCLES, I GUESS

#i love you ygo worldbuiling never change. card games forever #ygo posting #asks #anonymous

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clytemnaestraes · 9 months

Text

Catelyn, Arya, and Alyssa Arryn: unshed tears + weeping statues symbolism

The half-mythic, half-ancestral figure of Alyssa Arryn furthers themes connecting Catelyn and her daughters (Arya in particular) and grief.

Alyssa Arryn had seen her husband, her brothers, and all her children slain, and yet in life she had never shed a tear. So in death, the gods had decreed that she would know no rest until her weeping watered the black earth of the Vale, where the men she had loved were buried. Alyssa had been dead six thousand years now, and still no drop of the torrent had ever reached the valley floor far below. Catelyn wondered how large a waterfall her own tears would make when she died.

Catelyn VII, AGOT

Alyssa was cursed by the gods because she did not grieve/weep for her family. Catelyn wants the war to be over so that she can weep for her family and grieve her losses.

I want to write an end to this. I want to go home, my lords, and weep for my husband."

Catelyn XI, AGOT

She woke aching and alone and weary; weary of riding, weary of hurting, weary of duty. I want to weep, she thought. I want to be comforted. I'm so tired of being strong. I want to be foolish and frightened for once. Just for a small while, that's all... a day... an hour...

Catelyn II, ACOK

However, she can't, because she's emotionally exhausted and burdened by her duties, and because she thinks she has to be strong for the sake of Robb.

Does he see Bran and Rickon as well? She might have wept, but there were no tears left in her.

Catelyn III, ASOS

Six Brave men had died to bring her this far, and yet she could not even find it in her to weep for them.

Catelyn VI, AGOT

The parallel between Catelyn and Alyssa is furthered when Bronn breaks the statue of Alyssa during the duel and subsequently uses it to pin his opponent to the ground and kill him, thus shattering Catelyn’s hopes of justice.

The Eyrie's plump septon escorted him to the statue in the center of the garden, a weeping woman carved in veined white marble, no doubt meant to be Alyssa.

Catelyn VII, AGOT

Jon Arryn's beautifully engraved silver sword glanced off the marble of the weeping woman and snapped clean a third of the way up the blade. Bronn put his shoulder into the states back. The weathered likeness of Alyssa Arryn tottered and fell with a great crash, and Ser vardis Egen went down beneath her.

Catelyn VII, AGOT

Catelyn dies in ASOS and is resurrected as a vengeful, inhuman fire wight, Lady Stoneheart. Lady Stoneheart demands vengeance, but that's not the true route to rest for Catelyn’s soul. In order for it to rest in peace, Catelyn needs to grieve her dead family members properly. She needs to let her tears fall. Mother Merciless needs Mercy. It has been theorised that her path will intersect with Arya's for this reason.

Art by Nejna on devianart

There are several passages in the books connecting Arya in Braavos to weeping statues of stone, unshed tears, and Catelyn/Lady Stoneheart.

Arya and Cat/Catelyn/Lady Stoneheart:

Cats never weep, she told herself, no more than wolves do.

Cat of the Canals, AFFC

Braavos was a good city for cats, and they roamed everywhere, especially at night. In the fog all cats are grey, Mercy thought.

Mercy, TWOW

Arya thinks cats are grey, and cats do not weep, paralleling the symbolism surrounding Lady Stoneheart.

Grey was the color of the silent sisters, the handmaidens of the Stranger. Brienne felt a shiver climb her spine. Stoneheart.

Brienne VIII, AFFC

Arya and unshed tears:

Some nights she might have cried herself to sleep if she had still been Arry or Weasel or Cat, or even Arya of House Stark… but no one had no tears.

The Blind Girl, ADWD

Arya and Weeping statues:

I am carved of stone, she reminded herself. I am a statue.

The Ugly Little Girl, ADWD

The nearest was a marble woman twelve feet tall. Real tears were trickling from her eyes, to fill the bowl she cradled in her arms. The Weeping Woman was the favorite of old women, Arya saw.

Arya I, AFFC

The statue outside the shrine of the Weeping Lady of Lys was crying silver tears as the ugly girl walked by.

The Ugly Little Girl, ADWD

It can be fairly reasoned that Arya and Lady Stoneheart's paths will intersect at some point. She is the Mercy to her Mother Merciless.

#arya stark #catelyn stark #asoiaf #alyssa arryn #lady stoneheart #cat of the canals #catelynisms #aryaisms #asoiaf character parallels #alyssa's tears

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syneilesis · 4 months

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[fic] Floriography

Floriography

By next week, and the several following, Vlad gives you flowers.

A/N: One last fic before my vacation ends! Another installment to my university crossover AU! This one is just silly and pointless and I don't know why it's reach this word count lol. In this particular fic, characters from other ikeseries games show up, and there are some callbacks to the previous fics for worldbuilding lol. I'm not an expert of floriography, I just used this as reference.

The day the news broke out that the university president has been kicked out and replaced by a new one, is the day that you wake up as if your muscles are replaced by lead.

Sore, aching in places you don’t even know can ache, your heavy eyes struggling to pry open, you—after ten minutes of intense internal deliberation—decide to call in sick. This is rare, but the recent months have thrown you into a waterfall of activities: traveling to conferences, organizing events, research projects, department-related excursions—these on top of teaching and grading papers and lots and lots and lots of meetings held consecutively in separate buildings.

You steal a few more minutes of sleep, but the responsible (read: guilty) person that you are, you grab your phone on the desk beside your bed and fire off a heads up in your department group chat. An email announcement for today’s classes will be written a little later.

Not even ten seconds in and your phone lights up like fireworks.

HEY HEY YOURE MISSING OUT

Oh, no. Rest well, doc.

Oh my god guys! Did you read the paper?

Moving forward, what’s in it for us?

Its aLready been poSTED in teh WEBSITE!!!!!!!!

Proper typing please, prof. This is still a professional group chat.

You squint at the stream of chats as you try to feel for a sleeping position that wouldn’t exacerbate the soreness in your calves. The nerves at your nape feel pinched and your shoulder muscles burn. Thank god it’s almost the weekend; you think you won’t come to work until next week.

Then, in a private chat, one of your colleagues sends you a link to a livestream of an emergency announcement. On the thumbnail is the Executive Secretary Kicho’s face, and despite the woozy state of mind and body, you tap on the video.

“—thus, from this day onwards, our new university president—”

A close up shot of the HR director, looking like when Professor Clavis has installed a giant disco ball on top of the historical main building—again. A panicked glare towards the secretary, who ignores it, then a rapid blinking that can be interpreted as repeated SOS directly to the camera. The live comments are on fire: some asking what happened to the previous president, some celebrating the disappearance of the previous president, and some lamenting over the future of the university. Two in particular are a momentous standout:

Dr. Clavis Lelouch Haha so we’re allowing insurrections now? Splendid! @Chevalier Michel sleep with one eye open 👈(ﾟヮﾟ👈)

Kenshin Uesugi, PhD I will join the insurrection and challenge Michel to a duel to the death.

It’s chaos afterwards. You spare a sympathetic thought for your HR-Director-promoted-to-University-President. But, really, you’re too out of it and in pain to care. Sleep calls, and it is not to be denied.

A few hours more of sleep, breakfast, and an email announcement to your classes (with additional assignments so your students won’t slack off) later, there’s a knock on the front door.

On the other side of the doorway, a bouquet of gladioli and yellow tulips greets you. This is held by a pair of elegant-fingered hands attached to a beautiful specimen of a man, who is currently gracing you with the sweetest smile that has ever existed in your lifelong awareness.

“Special delivery!”

Vlad passes you the flowers, your hands coming up to meet the gift in reflex. You met Vlad—a pretty and charming florist across your building—right after you moved into your apartment. Noticing the moving truck, he had wandered into the building and introduced himself, a pot of anthurium in hand. You were so taken by his kind and pure heart that you’d swore to yourself to protect this man and buy flowers from him regularly. To this day, the anthurium is still alive and bright-colored in your living room.

“I didn’t order this?” you say, admiring the flowers. “What’s the occasion?”

“It’s a get-well-soon gift from your students. They asked me to deliver it to you, since they have classes all day today and couldn't do it themselves.”

That’s sweet of them, to make a gesture like this. It warms your heart, and you bring the bouquet closer to your chest.

You almost forget that Vlad is standing outside the hallway, and he’s watching you with a curious glint in his eyes.

“Oh! I bought a strawberry cake yesterday. Have some as my thanks.”

“I won’t say no to that.”

You also brew him coffee, explaining that the combination is a feast on the taste buds. Vlad just hums in agreement, definitely not protesting against free strawberry-made food. As he enjoys the pastry, you sip your own coffee in contentment, the floral gift already arranged and added into the coziness of your living area.

Midway through decimating his cake, Vlad comments, “This is my first time inside your home.”

You pause. “Truly?”

“Truly.” He turns a little to his left, where the large windows overlook the campus, the sun glaring behind the edge of the main building far to the right. “Ah! The anthurium I gave you is still healthy.”

“Of course. I’ve been pretty diligent about taking care of it.”

Vlad smiles so prettily that your heart forgets to fulfil its function for a couple of seconds. Will that have to be added to your list of things to ask your doctor?

When all is finished, Vlad lingers in the hallway as you bid him goodbye. Then he asks, “Will you also call in sick tomorrow?”

You think about it for a moment. “If I still feel sore, then maybe. But as much as possible, I don’t want to cancel classes again.”

He takes the liberty to smoothen the wrinkles on your shirt, a move that you find odd yet not unwelcome. “I see. Then, rest well. I’ll see you around.”

The remaining hours of the day are spent on the bed, hot compress soothing your heavy muscles, while you catch up with your leisure reading. Every now and then your thoughts drift to the memory of Vlad’s smile, how it’s caught in the late morning sun, an example of perfect geometry. You don’t notice it—but your own lips curve of their own accord.

And then your phone buzzes with the group chat notification, the preview text saying, OUR SPY SAYS SURPRISE AUDIT TOMORR…

The next day, you come into the department office warmly welcomed by a mess of papers and Hideyoshi at the end of his wits.

“I’m sorry you have to come to work,” he says by way of greeting, the black undereye circles he’s sporting so obvious in his haggard face. “I would’ve told you to rest some more, but Mitsuhide says that the head auditor is personally seeing the audit of our college.”

You nod in sympathy. It’s not like your college doesn’t comply with the university standards—in fact, it’s one of the most compliant colleges ever, lauded (sarcastically though) by Executive Secretary Kicho whenever he has the opportunity for it. It’s just that, there’s a weird and tension-filled rivalry going on with your dean and the director of internal audit. Every time they cross paths you swear that the air thickens and darkens, static raising the hair on your arms and nape. It drives Hideyoshi insane and Mitsuhide gleeful. Dean Nobunaga, though—he’s just amused and so nonchalant about it all.

“S’okay, I planned on coming anyway. Uh, good luck to us, I guess? What time will the audit happen?”

“In the afternoon, right after lunch break—we have a little more time.” Hideyoshi sighs. Behind him your colleagues pass around a jug of coffee, the enticing smell reaching your nose. “It’s not that we’re not prepared, but we’ve been informed that today is going to be different. How exactly it will be different, I don’t know. Mitsuhide didn’t say.”

“But is Dean Nobunaga worried about it?”

Hideyoshi jolts at that. “Not at all! Our—our dean has full confidence in our capabilities. It’s just that—well …”

Hideyoshi’s devotion to Nobunaga has been a main topic in the college for some time now—ever since he assumed the position of associate dean, in fact. Apparently something happened between them in the past that made the once-average-performing student Hideyoshi shoot for graduating with distinction so that he could follow Nobunaga in whatever field he was taking. It isn’t like it’s a secret, but the teasing became so much for Hideyoshi he’d now get embarrassed whenever somebody mentions that particular point of his past around him.

Sometimes, you catch him unconsciously referring to the dean as ‘Lord Nobunaga’, but you don’t bring that up to him ever.

“It’s just that the audit director has been trying to sabotage our college and destroy our reputation! I can’t let that happen.” Hideyoshi’s phone rings, and he warily turns around. “I must check the other departments. We’ll have our post-audit meeting later. In the meantime, don’t push yourself too much, okay? Where’re the dept-heads when you need them …”

When you place your bag on your desk, a colleague offers you a mug of coffee, which you take gratefully. “Happy Friday, I guess?” you offer.

It’s met with a snort. “Say that again after you finish filing all your student evaluation forms. Bet it hasn’t even reached seventy percent compliance.”

Your co-faculty is right. “Mine’s sixty-three.”

“Ouch. You still have class this morning, right? There’s still time. Happy Friday.”

You sigh, thinking about begging your students to fill out their evaluation form again. Happy Friday indeed.

“Vlad!”

“Oh, hello.”

There are two other customers perusing the displays, curiously sniffing the blooms. Instead of meandering around, you head straight to the counter, where Vlad is rearranging the decorations beside the cash register. He waves a hand goodbye at the one customer who exits without buying anything and glances at the other, who’s still smelling the flowers. When his shining eyes fall upon you, you momentarily forget what you’re supposed to say.

“Uh—oh, right! I’d like to place an order,” you say, checking your phone for any additional instructions. When you find none, you go back to Vlad, who’s watching you with his customer service smile. “A bouquet for our boss, something that means respect and success and great job and all.”

“Hmm.” The smile cracks and becomes more excited. “Did something good happen?”

“We just survived a surprise audit. Everybody was ready to demolish our building out of sheer panic, but Dean Nobunaga led us to victory. The audit director looked so frustrated! We just want to celebrate tonight. Can it be done?”

“Of course, you can count on me.” Vlad steps out of the counter. Somewhere in the corner, the other customer sneezes. “I already have something in mind. I’ll get on to it right away.”

He shows you a preliminary illustration of the bouquet, and you, knowing nothing about the language of flowers, agree to everything he suggests. It’s paid by the college budget anyway, so whatever. When the flowers are finalized, you hand him Hideyoshi’s card. Vlad raises an amused brow, having gotten to know the man via your recountings of your college shenanigans whenever you drop by, but swipes it wordlessly.

“I’ll pick it up later, okay?”

“Okay. I’ll see you then.”

At the door you turn and see the remaining customer having an allergic reaction to sunflowers. Caught off-guard by the scene, you approach the person to help, meeting Vlad’s concerned eyes at the other side. It takes you an hour for the matter to settle, and you finally leave the flower shop, Vlad’s soft, cool voice lingering behind you.

By next week, and the several following, Vlad gives you flowers.

Not a bouquet, just one hand-picked flower that he offers you by the apartment exit with a cheerful smile and a morning greeting.

“What’s this?” you ask.

“Just something to brighten your mood,” he answers.

And that would be that, except every day it’s a different flower: today it’s an amethyst flower; tomorrow it’s angelica flower; the day after that it’s lesser celandine; and so on and so forth. There’s no pattern to the choices of flowers he gifts you, and oftentimes you wonder if he’s just carding through the types of flowers alphabetically for no reason at all.

It comes to a point where even Nobunaga makes mention of it:

“Your admirer is committed to their daily presents, I see.”

He’s caught you on the way to your department office, studying the flower as if it holds all the answers to the universe. You freeze at your dean’s voice, and Nobunaga takes the opportunity to intimidate you through proximity. He eyes the flower before gauging your reaction, and something in your face delights him, because he grins and says:

“White clover. Interesting.”

It takes a few more seconds, but you manage to gather your wits.

“It’s just from the florist near my apartment building. He’s nice and generous enough to give me flowers to ‘brighten my mood’, as he put it.”

“Indeed.”

Nobunaga’s grin hasn’t slipped off, and a grinning Nobunaga means a dangerous Nobunaga. You still remember that time when he audaciously announced that he intended to unify all colleges under his lofty purview, which incited a whole spectrum of responses ranging from sardonic amusement (Dean Sariel) to a declaration of war (Professor Kenshin). It’s risky to stay inside the perimeter of a scheming Nobunaga, so you pretend to look around and gasp dramatically, pointing to a corner as if expecting somebody to materialize out of thin air.

“Oh, look! Isn’t that Doc Hideyoshi coming to get you? Well, dean, it’s nice to talk to you. See you around!”

You don’t give him the satisfaction of responding when he calls out, “I’ll guess tomorrow’s choice—peach blossoms.”

Vlad’s flowers are too beautiful to put away once they wither, so you elect to press them and have them framed in your home.

But as you stare at the array of the colorful gifts for you, you can’t help but think of what Nobunaga told you earlier. It haunts you until the next day, when Vlad hands you a frame of pressed peach blossom flowers.

“Peach blossoms are out of season,” he elaborates, “so I preserved them until I can give them to you.”

The words escape you quicker than your brain can catch them:

“What the hell?”

Vlad falters, his genial smile wavering, and you scramble to accept the gift with a sheepish smile of your own. A dour Vlad makes the world go dimmer, so you try to salvage your faux pas.

“I’m sorry! I just meant—you’re going to think it strange. Yesterday, my boss saw your gift and then predicted that today’s flower would be peach blossoms. And he’s right! I can’t believe he’s right.”

As you recount your conversation with your dean, Vlad listens in rapt attention, his expression serious, until you mention Nobunaga’s parting words, and that lights up Vlad’s face. “Oh,” he says, narrow-eyed pleasure uplifting his features. “What an interesting man.”

“Is he? He just made a lucky guess, I bet.”

“Why don’t you ask him what he thinks? Maybe he guessed my intentions correctly as well.”

That makes you pause. “What are your intentions?”

Vlad chuckles. He taps your nose once, almost teasing but also fond. Your heart skips a beat.

“That takes out the fun, doesn’t it?”

Later, at the faculty room, Nobunaga sweeps by and sees the framed peach blossoms on your desk. The smirk he’s adorning is practically radioactive in its smugness.

Before the end of the day, you cave.

You march up all the way to Nobunaga’s office, heedless of Hideyoshi’s offended squawk, and demand, “All right. Explain.”

Nobunaga leans back on his plush leather chair and eyes you critically, arms folded across his chest. If you were anybody else, and Nobunaga anybody else, the way you treat your boss could invite a surprise visit from the HR. But you’ve been working in this institution for a while now, and four-fifths of those years had Nobunaga as your dean. He may be intimidating at first—and he still is—but you’ve discovered that underneath that warlord-philosophy he’s got going for your college is a big brother who would readily tease his younger siblings with relish at every opportunity.

Which makes him all the worse when you think about it.

Behind you, Hideyoshi attempts to catch your attention. “What do you think you’re doing—”

“White clover. Think of me.”

You and Hideyoshi both halt and stare at Nobunaga. The twin looks of confusion fail to daunt him.

“In the language of flowers, white clover means think of me.”

He lets the words hang in the air, and you and Hideyoshi glance at each other—he bewildered and you boggled.

“Are you sure?”

“Are you doubting Lor—Dean Nobunaga?!”

You level Hideyoshi a pointed look. He coughs discreetly. Before you can say anything further, Nobunaga redirects back the topic at hand.

“I am certain. You may ask me about the meanings of other flowers, if you wish.”

“Okay … Amethyst flower?”

“Admiration.”

“Angelica flower?”

“Inspiration.”

“Lesser celandine?”

“Happiness coming your way.”

“Hibiscus?”

“Delicate beauty.”

You pause at that. “What? Really?” You shake your head. “Uh … Viole—blue violet?”

“Faithfulness.”

“... Peach blossom?”

Here Nobunaga smirks, just like earlier. He lets the silence marinate for a bit before dropping the bomb.

“I am your captive.”

Hideyoshi gasps; you’re not sure why—he’s not the one being wooed. The two of them await your response, Hideyoshi vibrating with what you suspect is materteral commentary on the subject matter.

“Seriously?” you say.

Nobunaga just nods.

“Is someone courting you?” Hideyoshi explodes, grabbing your shoulders and whirling you to him. His expression is a little frantic, as if he can’t believe that he wasn’t informed of this. You’re tempted to say that he can always adopt you if he wants to continue indulging himself of his motherly urges. “You know them well, right? You’re getting to know them well? They have a stable job, right? What’s their annual salary rate? They better not have any criminal record. Have you asked for their CV—”

“Okay,” you declare, escaping the associate dean’s line of interrogation and heading towards the door. “Thanks for the answers, Boss. And Doc Hideyoshi—you might as well slap my suitor’s face with money based on how you’re shaking right now. Anyway, gotta go.”

“Wait, I’m not finished—”

“Byyyyeeeee!”

Tomorrow comes, and just like any previous days, Vlad is waiting for you by the apartment building exit, and this time the flower he offers you is a rose. Red and fully blossomed.

“This is the most beautiful rose that bloomed in my garden,” he explains without your prompting. “I’d like for you to have it.”

Hesitation colors your movements. Even you know what a red rose means. Vlad’s gaze is guileless, and you’ve no doubt that the man knows that by giving you a rose, he’s declaring something with intent.

Though it's only a single flower, its fragrance is remarkably potent. “A-Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“You know what this means, right?” And, because you can’t help yourself, you add: “I asked what the other flowers’ meanings are.”

“And what did you find out?”

So you tell him what transpired the day before. Vlad listens diligently, a serene light cast on his face. When you enumerate the list of flowers he’s given you the past weeks and what they symbolize, the calm smile that curves Vlad’s mouth widens and widens.

When you finish, Vlad’s grinning, white teeth sparkling against the morning sun. For some unfathomable reason, the thought of him being a perfect toothpaste model renders you distracted. You nearly miss him stepping closer to you.

He leans towards the side of your face, his hand grasping one of yours and pushes something on your palm. Your fingers enclose on a narrow stem, thornless.

Then Vlad whispers into your ear, “So … have I succeeded, then? Did you think of me in the last several weeks?”

He also smells of roses. This close, you note the floral scents that cling to him strongly. Like he’s bathed every day in flowers.

“Well?” he spurs, and the warmth of his breath accelerates your heartbeat. It makes you realize the lack of distance you have with each other.

“Oh,” you mumble, shifting your feet. Vlad remains in his position. And then, softer: “Constantly.”

Vlad sighs happily, pressing his nose against your hair and inhales your scent. You jump in surprise, not expecting that. But before you can make another move, he’s lessened his proximity to you, hands on his back, head tilted, innocent smile on.

“Did you … Did you just—”

“I’ll send a frame of pressed agrimony to your boss, and—” Vlad looks at you slyly “—attach my CV while I’m at it.”

You blink.

“What.”

⇼

Endnotes:

Other reactions from Nobunaga's unification goal: confusion (Prof. Isaac); bloodthirst (Head of Security Motonari); airheaded intrigue (Prof. Dazai); nosy intrigue (Prof. Arthur); resentment (School of Divinity Dean Kennyo); rebellion plotting (then-Prof. Kicho); a raised eyebrow (Prof. Michel); pure stressed out (then-HR Director); pure amusement (Director of Audit); refusal to be one-upped by this villainy (Prof. Clavis); etc. etc.

The apartment building you live in is owned by the kind landlord, Comte.

Vlad deliberately set up his flower shop across the apartment building so he could unnerve Comte whenever the landlord visited the building. When Vlad had developed an interest in you, Comte barged in his flower shop once and threatened Vlad not to hurt his tenant. Vlad sent him hops flowers, just because.

You luckily managed to reach 70% compliance in student evaluation that day before the audit session. Happy Friday.

Hideyoshi reads Vlad's CV and ruptures his blood vessels. Mitsuhide is there to see it in real-time.

#ikemen vampire #ikevamp #ikemen vampire fic #ikevamp fic #ikevamp vlad #ikevamp vlad x reader #ikemen vampire vlad x reader #cybird university verse #fic #my fic

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haveyouseenthisskeleton · 11 months

Note

The Undertale characters are hired to give humans a tour of the Underground after they reached the Surface. Do they take their role seriously?

Undertale Sans - He's not too happy about it so he's only showing the big cities and some places not too secretive. Though he loves to mess and make crazy his humans by going in the wong direction to shortcut everyone somewhere else. The humans are losing their mind over it. Also, be careful, he might have set several pranks along the way. Somehow, despite not really liking the job, everyone wants to go have the tour with him. It's kinda annoying him for his brother.

Undertale Papyrus - He takes his role very seriously but he is maybe just a bit too enthusiastic about it, and might have gone too far when he showed a bunch of his most famous forbidden traps to his group of humans and set one up to show them, sending a 4 years old to solve it. After that, Undyne confiscated everything and Papyrus had to show his regular puzzles, which is boring, so he decided to show the humans cool attacks instead, knocking out the same 4 years old in front of the eyes of their parents, who then... threatened to sue him. Oops.

Undertale Toriel - She's taking care exclusively of school visits with human classroom and shows them everything, doing her best to gain their interest and entertain them with puzzles and quizz. She was not too enthusiastic about the idea of visiting the Underground at first, but she has to confess she didn't see the day pass.

Undertale Asgore - He's showing the people around the castle, avoiding at all costs the room with the human corpses to, you know, not freak out anyone. Asgore is happy he has some people to talk too and he might have lost thoughts of what he was supposed to do at some point, inviting his group of humans to take tea and talk about their lives...

Undertale Undyne - Undyne is trying her best but she is really not very good at the "show around everyone" thing. She's not patient, she's losing it because of that couple that isn't listening to anything and walk very slowly and man, at some point, she can't anymore. She takes a big rock and explodes it with her bare hands. All the children are in awe and asking for more. The couple fled in fear and got lost in Waterfalls... She didn't get to fetch them, the will met one of the other groups eventually... right?

Undertale Alphys - She said she would do it, but when people knocked at the door of her lab, she freaked out, decided it was a bad idea and ran down in the true lab to hide from everyone. She curled up against Endogeny, who came for figuration, and hugged the big dog all day long.

Undertale Frisk - They're having fun, showing the people around and tell them everything about their journey and how they almost die at least 200 times! The kids are traumatised and their parents are not too happy about knowing this place is not safe at all for children. Oh well. Live dangerously or what's the point?

Undertale Chara - They thinks all the people in their groups are idiots. They keep asking stupid questions and Chara just sighs with exaggeration and answers to them like they are children. They gives up miday and follows Toriel around as she has way more patience than they are.

Undertale Mettaton - He's showing them his building , the backstage of his movies and all the famous places where he thought Frisk in duel. Mettaton might have changed the story to make himself the main character and hero. He might also have invented half of it to make it look more epic. He prepared a private show at the end of the tour where he almost cut in half a poor screaming woman with a chainsaw. These humans have no sense of humor, it's boring.

Undertale Gaster - He was just chilling in his room in Waterfall when the couple Undyne lost showed up and asked him something. Gaster freaked out and made the door disapeared. Now the three of them are stuck in the Void. Welp. That happened...

Undertale Grillby - He's not doing the tour, he's serving food for the people who spends the day here and needs to eat. He never gain so much money in his entire life and he's so happy because it means he can finally open a bar on the Surface! He's in a good mood, even randomly gifting free icecream to children nice to him.

Undertale Muffet - Both humans and monsters are avoiding here. She tried to promote her bakery but surprisingly, people are not too happy about getting imprisonned in cobweb until they accept to buy one of her spider donuts. She might or might not be very jealous of Grillby's success. Even Sans is selling more hotdogs than her and that's not even real hotdogs!

Undertale Burgerpants - He's selling Mettaton merch and is trying all he can to convince people to not buy it since his boss is too busy to notice. He's also telling everyone to please talk around them about how Mettaton is treating him so he can destroy his reputation.

Undertale Flowey - He's following Toriel's group, trying to catch the attention of the children and dragging them apart of the group to show them the best forbidden and dangerous spots to see them risk their lives stupidly. That's entertaining, especially when Toriel comes to fetch them in panick after a few minutes to lecture them to death. Damn, he could do that all day.

Undertale Gerson - He's doing the historical tour, giving people who are interested the story of how the Underground got build, the story of Asriel and Chara... And of course a top 10 of the greatest arguments he witnesses between Toriel and Asgore with baits on which of them win in the end. He's a big gossip.

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armenianwriterman · 2 months

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Thinking about those droids on mustafar. They’re just trying to work their 9-5 and they just get used as stepping stools for obi wan and anakins dramatic lightsaber lightsaber duel while what seems to be the only inhabitable place on this planet falls into a lava waterfall and explodes.

#star wars #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker

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korpikorppi · 2 years

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The Untamed costumes: Wei Wuxian's outfits

Bonus:

A compilation of the (many) outfits Wei Wuxian wears (hope I got them all 😅).

The episodes where each outfit is seen in and links to individual costume posts I've made this far:

Episodes 2-3 (Cayi town), 8-9 (Dafan Mountain), flashback in 17 (Lotus wine) (costume post)

Episodes 3-8 (Gusu Summer School) (costume post)

Episodes 9-11 (Chang Clan residence to Qinghe) (costume post)

Episodes 11-12 (Wen indoctrination) (costume post)

Episodes 12-14 (Xuanwu) (costume post)

Episodes 14-18 (fall of Lotus Pier) (costume post)

Episodes 17-18 (Yiling Supervisory Office), flashback in 46 (golden core transfer) (extra costume post)

Episode 19 (Yiling, Burial Mounds)

Episodes 20-25,with white mourning sash in ep23 (Sunshot Campaign)

Episodes 24-25 (Yunmeng lotus picking interlude)

Episodes 25-28 (Phoenix Mountain hunt to duel with Jiang Cheng)

Episodes 28-31 (Burial Mounds, date with Lan Zhan in Yiling)

Episodes 31-33, 1 (Jin Ling's celebration to Nightless City massacre)

Episode 1 (Mo residence) (costume post)

Episodes 1-2, 33-42 (Dafan Mountain to Yi City to Jinlintai stairs)

Episodes 42-45 (Lan library to Mianmian's family to 2nd Siege of Burial Mounds)

Episodes 45-50 (Guanyin Temple)

Episode 50 (Gusu waterfall to Wangxian separation)

The bonus:

The signature red underwear, best seen in episodes 13 and 23 (extra costume post)

Lan Zhan's white undershirt worn under outfit 16, best seen in episodes 42 and 45

The coming back to Gusu robe, first worn as the middle layer under the vest in outfit 3.

There's been a bit of a hiatus in the "costume breakdown" posts, but I hope to continue those soon. I am also planning posts similar to this one for the other main characters with several costumes 🙂.

#theuntameddaily #character costumes #character costumes: wei wuxian #the untamed costumes #wei wuxian #wei wuxian's outfits #the untamed #cql #guzhuang #mine

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paisholotus · 8 months

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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐢𝐞𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡, 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏

Arnook's pov

My wife and I stood in front of Myra and Yanna in the temple gardens. "What do you recommend that we do?" I asked. She was sitting on her knees, bowing in front of our descendant Imiq, when she stood up and walked in front of me, a severe and resolute expression on her face.

"We'll be patrolling the walls perimeter and in the oasis around the waterfall. We figured that's where the Avatar would be most safe. The most important thing to remember is not to panic. We are powerful and mighty. Zhao may have an army, but we have the strength of our ancestors. And that in itself will teach the Fire Nation not to underestimate the Children of the Moon." She spoke with assurance and pride.

I nodded and smiled down at her fondly, saying, "Your father would be very proud of you, young one." She smiled and nodded gratefully. Myra and Yanna nodded once more and excused themselves from the gardens.

My wife looked at me with concern on her face. I grabbed her cheeks and gently kissed her forehead. We drew back, turned to Imiq, and kneeled in prayer, saying, "Ancestors be with us."

Narrative

Looking below the plaza at the foot of the citadel steps where Katara faced off with Master Pakku. The segmented ice columns that Katara toppled during the duel have been repaired. It is morning and two waterbending students face off against each other.

The student on the left, a nervous looking teenage boy whose left eye twitches slightly in anxiety. Katara looks very confident, a slight smile on her face. The the boy then raises up a ball of water, turns it to ice, and throws it at his opponent. Katara bends the ice around her, liquefies it, and sends a huge stream of water back at the boy who is washed up and pushed backwards. As he is washed away, the water turns to ice, imprisoning him about ten feet of the ground. Katara who relinquishes her waterbending stance while Pakku approached from over her shoulder, with a proud look on his face, and claps.

"Nice try, Pupil Sangok. A couple of more years and you might be ready to fight a sea sponge." Master Pakku, said irritably. Pupil Sangok continues to struggle against his bonds. Master Pakku turns away, makes a motion with his left hand, and the ice prison melts, dropping the hapless student to the ground. The rest of the students who are sitting slumped on the ground. These all appear to teenage boys, who have been bested by Katara.

"Would anyone care for a rematch with Katara?" Master Pakku, asked them, smirking. They all shake their heads. "Katara, you have advanced more quickly than any student I have ever trained. You have proven that with fierce determination, passion and hard work you can accomplish anything." Turning to look at Aang, "Raw talent alone is not enough." He said, frowning.

Aang lying on the ground, floating Momo around on an airball, a lazy smile on his face. "Pupil Aang!" Master Pakku, yelled, walking towards Aang. Momo's airball dissipates and Momo falls on Aang's head. "Yes, Master Pakku?" Aang, answers, sitting up on his elbows. "Care to step into the sparring circle? I figure since you've found time to play with house pets you must have already mastered waterbending." He said, with a straight face. Aang airbends himself to his feet.

"I wouldn't say "mastered", but check this out!" He said, excitedly. Aang spins around, collecting snow around him as he goes. When he is done, he has made himself into a snowman. Momo pounces on him and knocks him down. Pakku and Katara who wear similar expressions of disdain. Master Pakku shakes his head in disgust.

Yanna's pov

I stood back and watched Sokka converse with Yue. He went along the guard rail while she was on the boat, and she laughed at some stupid joke he undoubtedly told. I grinned to myself at the image of Sokka being the same awkward, goofy boy he was when we were little.

Then I frowned a little. I often wonder what my life would be like if I didn't have so much responsibility. I would have had a somewhat regular childhood and would not have lost touch with my friends. And perhaps Sokka and I would be more than just distant memories.

I wish my father didn't die at the hands of the Fire Nation. He constantly communicates with me, sometimes in my dreams, and I sense him all the time. But it's not the same as having him present. I miss his touch, his grin, and his gaze. All I want is for him to be here. But I'm sure he'd be proud.

Sokka dragged Yue over the guard and ran away in a separate direction. I smiled and closed my eyes for a brief moment to fantasize about what may have been. Then I stood up as I noticed my bracelet glowed on my wrist, signaling that my mother wanted to see me.

I stood up and made my way back to the palace.

Narrative

Appa flies effortlessly through the city and out to the waters past the main city gate. "Wow!" Yue, yelled amazed, Blushing slightly, "I can't believe you do this every day!" She said, smiling at Sokka. Sokka put both arms behind his head, and laughed, "we pretty much live up here." He said, in a bragging manner. Princess Yue hugged herself, "Is it always this cold in the sky?"She says, snuggling up against Sokka.

"Not when you're with someone." He said, lowly staring into her eyes. Yue stared back stared into his eyes with a big blush on her cheeks. "It’s beautiful up here." She said, softly. "Yeh." Sokka, replied. They look at each other with adoration. They came close to kissing before Sokka got nervous and pulled away.

"Whoo! Yeh! Good times! Good times!" Sokka, said awkwardly laughing. Around them, what looks like snowflakes begin to fall. Sokka pointing down, "Hey, look!" He yelled. Appa flies into a squall of these "snowflakes". Strangely, most of these "snowflakes" are black. "What's happening?" Yue asked Sokka. Sokka looking ahead, "Oh no." He, he says sadly in realization.

The black snow is now falling everywhere. From inside the city as citizens pause to regard the ash falling from the sky. Aang laughing as he rolls around in a circle in the snow. Momo is nearby. Within a few seconds ash starts to fall around him, but he doesn't notice. Momo sticks out his tongue, catches some ash and eats it. He spits it out as Aang rolls back into the frame. Aang notices the ash and looks up, Katara now visible in the background doing the same. Master Pakku and a few other city dwellers near a fountain looking up at the ash.

Yanna and her Warriors walk towards the palace windows and watch the black snow fall down past the windows. She pulls her mask down and frowns. She turns to her mother and Chief Arnook, "they're here."

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a-world-of-whimsy-5 · 1 year

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Hello author, could you make Nuada with a female reader who is a dragon leader, she resembles like a mix of Hiccup and Valka from httyd, she also has a fire sword, dragon armor and staff, she is kind and compassionate to dragons, can tame and earn the trust of any dragon, she has 3 main dragons: Stormcutter, Triple Strike, Song of Death and the baby Deathgripper she recently rescued, she lives in a hidden place with the dragons she rescued. It took her a while to start trusting Nuada and the others. All the dragons obey her, so when a screaming death attacks the base, she calmly talks to the dragon and tames it. She takes Nuada with her on missions to free dragons from hunters, but her dragons are not friendly to Nuada (they don't trust him, but after Nuada saves y/n from a hunter's weapon, he deserves their trust and respect, but the dragons can growl at him and the little deathgripper tries to burn his clothes with acid, which Red laughs at), but are friendly to the others. One shot, if you don't mind. I apologize if I send you this request a second time

Ask and you shall receive!

I changed things around a little bit. I hope you don't mind.

Paring : Nuada x Fem. Reader (Elf / Dragon Keeper)

Themes: Enemies to friends | Slow burn | Soft/Fluff | Fights in the begining, and at the end.

Summary : Waking up in caves is never a good idea, until Nuada wakes up in one, one that leads him to a world he never knew existed.

Word count : 3.5K words

Nuada awoke in the dark. He fumbled for his spear, trying to make sense of where he was.

All he knew was the darkness, the cold, and the lingering dampness that clung to the air. The ground beneath his feet was rocky and uneven. He was in a cave, a dark and gloomy one at that. Nuada had stumbled here and collapsed after his duel with Anung Un Rama to recuperate from his many injuries. He must have passed out, he realized, but he was alive. And if he was alive, then that meant his twin was alive.

He reached through his link, searching for some sign. Nuala was alive, and she seemed happy. Very happy, if the feelings he picked up were true. The sheer relief was enough to push him back onto his feet and grab his spear. He needed to get out of there and figure out what to do next.

He had no idea how far he had stumbled or where the entrance was. The cave seemed to flow on and on, a veritable tunnel of darkness and cold air. There was nothing here. No warmth, no light, no signs of life. At least this tunnel was empty, thank the gods. Nuada still felt weak and was in no mood for more fighting. At least, not for a while.

He walked and walked, ignoring his discomfort, his ears alert to any sound or movement. He stretched out a cautious hand, feeling the walls, his nose sniffing, hoping for something. Anything. Any sign that he was on the right track, on his way out, and to freedom. In the end, Nuada heard nothing. And he thought he was trapped in this dark prison for the rest of his days. He did not like that prospect at all.

And that was when he heard it, a faint and distant shriek. It felt shrill and powerful, like it came from some formidable beast. A beast of any kind meant there was an exit somewhere, and he was determined to find out. Nuada walked on, tightening his grip on his spear.

The tunnel dragged on, but the sound grew louder. No, not just a sound; there were many sounds. He heard wings flapping, strange creatures snarling at each other, of waterfalls.

Waterfalls? He thought. In so deep a cave?

Curiosity overtook all else, and Nuada was determined to see where he was and what dwelt within. He went on, sighing in relief when the presence of fresh air grew strong. He was nearing an exit of some sort, and perhaps, he would find the answers he was seeking. He was so preoccupied with his quest that he was completely unaware he was being followed. At least, that is what you thought.

While his back was turned, you sneaked up on him, your hands reaching for your weapons. They sliced through the air in silence, ready to strike, and then—

The intruder turned and neatly blocked your attack with a spear.

Nuada was stuck between shock and confusion. There was someone else here? Living in these caves with whatever beasts dwelled within? "Who are you?" He demanded.

You didn’t answer and only responded with another charge, another attack. Nuada was prepared, blocking your every attempt, but his body weakened. It hurt to move. It hurt to even breathe. He started to slow down and you took advantage of it, pressing your attack even more. Nuada was growing weary, and needed to end this battle before he collapsed again. When you charged, he deflected your blow and brought his spear down on your weapons, knocking them out of your hands. He moved again, bringing the pole to your knees and knocking you onto your back. Before you could even stand up, the tip of his spear was right between your eyes. "Enough!" He rasped as black spots danced before his eyes. "Who are you?"

Before you could give an answer, before you could even think, Nuada dropped his weapon and collapsed, groaning as the world went black again.

✵

When Nuada awoke a second time, he found himself resting inside an airy tent. One filled with light and soft pelts and colorful cushions. His body throbbed, and his head swam. When he looked down, he found clean dressings over his wounds.

"Aha! The intruder comes back from the dead."

Nuada’s head spun as he sat up. "Here." A warm bowl was pressed into his hands. "Your stomach was growling the entire time while you slept."

"I would hardly consider falling unconscious as sleeping, but I thank you all the same." He lifted the bowl to his nose and sniffed, hoping and praying he was smelling vegetable stew and not anything else.

"Carrots and potatoes," You rolled your eyes and chuckled, tossing a chunk of bread that he caught cleanly with one hand. "And a bit of mutton. Don’t worry, I didn’t poison it. If I wanted you dead, I would have just chucked you over a waterfall."

"I thank you for your consideration," Nuada muttered as he studied you. You had to be els, or at least part elf. You had donned wearing strange armour, and your shield was all blues, reds, and yellows. Your helm, now perched on a pole, had strange horns sticking out, all painted in blue. Who were you, and how did you come to be here? "I am Nuada Silverlance of the Bethmooran clan, and--"

You gasped as your hands flew to your mouth. Without another word you made your way to his weapon and picked it up, your eyes filling with reverence. "Bethmooran iron," you breathed. "As I live and breathe. And you’re Prince Nuada?"

"Aye," Nuada said between mouthfuls of stew and bread.

"And your father is King Balor? The King Balor?" You kept the spear to the side and leaned in to hear more. "Is he still alive?"

Nuada was overcome with remorse for the pain he caused his father. "He is," he said truthfully. "Though he no longer considers me his son."

"What? Why?"

"Because I tried to go against him, tried to awaken the Golden Army. He sent a champion after me to stop me from finding the last piece of the key. We fought. And I- I was defeated."

Your eyes gave nothing away. "Hence the injuries?"

"Hence the injuries."

You hummed and pursed your lips, sat up straight, your legs crossing over each other as you studied him with wary eyes. Nuada ignored you and went on eating, his hunger greater than he realized. The stew was delicious, the bread soft and fresh. That still didn’t explain why you were here, what those beasts were. "Where am I?" he asked, as he mopped up the remnants of stew with the last piece of bread. "Who are you? And what were those sounds I heard?"

You sighed but decide to introduce yourself. You were within the safety of your home after all, and had nothing to fear. And should the prince try anything, he would find you had many means of defending herself.

"I am y/n. I moved to these caves during the great war against the mortals."

Nuada nodded, his ears twitching when he picked up the noise of large wings in the air. "I heard some elves went into hiding and kept themselves apart from all the others. But what is this place? And what are those beasts out there?"

You pushed yourself up onto your feet and made your way to the entrance. "This place has no name," you said as you pulled back the flaps. "If it did, the memory of it died long before I was even born. As for those beasts you heard--"

Nuada craned his neck and only saw lush trees, sprawling meadows, a strange but gentle light, and waterfalls in the distance. He looked again, trying to see what you saw. Nuada nearly gave up when a shadow flitted over the tent before settling in front of the entrance. He gaped at the sight before him.

"Dragons? Here? Alive?"

You grinned when the dragon strained its neck to get a better look at Nuada. "Aye. Dragons. Alive. And in hiding. "Come," you said as you walked out without looking back. "I’ll introduce you to them.”

✵

You proved to be a hospitable host, the kind that was polite and generous but kept their distance. The prince going against the king and trying to awaken the Golden Army made you suspicious of him. The dragons living in the sanctuary seemed to share your feelings and avoided him, growling and snarling at him if he got too close. Nuada sighed and kept a respectful distance.

He met the dragons that had actually bonded with you. There was a magnificent ruby red Storm-Cutter named Crimson, a Triple Strike called Lash, and a gorgeous Deathsong aptly named Siren.

They didn’t try to kill him, oh no. They treated Nuada with great indifference, which he supposed was better than being eaten or burned to cinders. Still, it stung to know that they did not trust him and that they did not trust him because you did not trust him. And you did not trust him because he admitted going against his father in an attempt to awaken the Golden Army. Elves from that age knew of the horrors of that terrible war and the blood that stained the blades of the mechanical warriors. Anyone would be suspicious of him, so he made himself useful, helping her with whatever you needed to get you to trust him.

It did not work, so he turned to his sister, asking her for aid. Even through the link, he could feel her rolling her eyes as she advised him.

One of those was jokes, so he tried to lighten the mood as Anung Un Rama would.

It didn’t work.

He was then instructed to try to be as witty as Abe Sapien.

That didn’t work, either. You merely shrugged and carried on with your work. Frustrated, Nuada thanked his sister, thinking he could figure things out on his way. He kept his head down, kept trying, hoping he’d have some luck someday.

The days melted into each other, and he lost track of time. He had settled into a comfortable routine, sometimes stopping to watch as you went about you day, doing your own work and keeping watch over the dragons. They obeyed you without question and hung onto you every word. There was deep love there, he could tell. And It honestly shocked him. Dragons never took to anyone, and no one took to them. At one time, elves hunted them during their coming-of-age ceremonies as a rite of passage. Nuada had only heard of dragons, as they had disappeared by the time he was born. He now realized they had not disappeared but had merely gone into hiding. This underground system in which they all lived was certainly big enough.

"What do they eat?" He asked one morning.

You pointed to the river. "Fish," you said, your hand then turning to the forests. "Game. They don’t eat much. One good meal a day can them going for weeks."

Nuada nodded and took in his surroundings again. "And that light?"

Even you had no clue, and you shrugged. "I’m not sure myself. It only lights up during the day and goes off at night. Perhaps stray sunlight is hitting some residue?"

Nuada could bring Anung Un Rama and Abe here if he could make peace with them. They would be able to figure it out. He shook his head and chuckled to himself. Anung Un Rama might only succeed in getting them all set on fire; his companion Liz would not be amused, and Nuala would howl at him for weeks. No, he decided, he would only bring Abe.

And the days went on, with you and Nuada slowly falling into a comfortable pattern. There wasn’t complete trust, not yet, but he felt the two of you were getting there. He showed you how to improve your fighting, and you taught him how to befriend dragons you had rescued, save for one that is.

And that was a Screaming Death that had flown to the sanctuary, looking for prey. You had to use your flaming sword to distract it and calm it. It was ornery and given to sulking, and Nuada had missed its attack, how you subdued it. Its favourite pass-time was to try and hit Nuada with fireballs.

“Tell me how to tame that thing,” He muttered over breakfast.

“Not yet,” you said back.

The lack of trust stung, but Nuada was patient.

You did, however, tried to teach him to calm a young Death Gripper named Sting. Nuada got close enough to touch its snout. It responded by going after him with its stinger and nearly burning a hole through his boot with its acid.

You had been content to watch the chaos unfold before your eyes before doubling up in laughter.

After having freed himself, Nuada came over and huffed, "Enjoying my suffering, yes?"

You answered in fits and starts. "W-well c-can y-you b-blame m-me?"

And you hooted when the Death Gripper came for a second round, and he shooed it away. "One of these days," Nuada mumbled, his eyes narrowing to thin lines. "I’ll get you back. Mark my words."

"Y-yes, b-but n-not tod--"

You collapsed onto your side, holding on to your tummy, as the Death Gripper appeared out of nowhere and ran into Nuada’s knees, making him fall onto his back with a loud oof. It should have been mortifying that a prince of his station could be treated in such a way, but he managed to see the funny side. He sat up and rewarded you with a giggle that finally turned into laughter.

"Come on," you groaned, your sides hurting like hell. "I’m off to see if any dragons need to be rescued, and you are going to help me."

✵

The flight was exhilarating.

Nuada finally understood what true freedom was. He understood what it felt to be like an eagle, soaring above the world with nothing to hold him back Crimson was the most experienced at handling riders, and the boldest of the dragons. He’d rise and dive with the waves, take sharp turns around cliffs, never missing a beat.

You looked back, grinning at Nuada’s expression. “Enjoying yourself?”

His eyes had been filled with awe and wonder. “This is amazing!”

“You haven’t seen anything yet!” You tapped Crimson on the side, three gentle knocks to his neck. The dragon understood the signal and flew, going higher and higher, not stopping until he was flying between the clouds. “Look,” you said, pointing to what was all around him.

Nuada’s breath caught at the sight. Miles upon miles of bright blue sky, nothing around but the clouds all around them and the ocean beneath them. “You know, I’m glad I stumbled into those caves!”

You were glad too, though you wouldn’t tell it, not yet. Caring for the dragons was a fulfilling duty, a duty you enjoyed, but you had been lonely, with no one for company. Nuada had changed that with his arrival. “Good!” You yelled as you leaned forward, another signal for Crimson. “But you’ll need to hold on for now!”

“What?”

“I said, hold on!”

Nuada screamed, actually screamed, as he grabbed on to you when Crimson dived. The wind and cold were like tiny daggers, the drop terrifying, but he didn’t care. This was unlike anything he had ever experienced, and he’d cherish it for the rest of his days.

When the water grew closer, when the sting of salt grew stronger, Crimson leveled out, jolting the both of you. Nuada couldn’t help but cry, “We need to do that again!”

When you looked back, Nuada rewarded you with a smile that made him glow from within. “We should,” you turn back, pleased as punch. “We definitely should.”

✵

It was an abandoned farm you flew to. Crimson had been on alert, sniffing the air for the presence of any dragons. When he finally caught a scent, he dipped as silently as possible.

Nuada could still feel his heart thumping. “A moment, if you please,” he mumbled. His legs had been unsteady and he needed a second to compose himself. “Right.” He coughed and straightened himself, much to your amusement. “Let’s go rescue this dragon.”

Crimson pointed to the barn. A dragon had been hiding there, he was sure of it.

There was something in the air though, that put Nuada on edge. “Something’s wrong. I can smell it.”

That stopped you in your tracks. “What is it?”

“Those other rescues, you said they were difficult, yes?”

“Yes. Dragons hide in places no one has heard of or even seen. Why?”

“A large barn,” He gestured to the ramshackle structure. “By an abandoned farm, in a well-used patch of country” He pulled out his spear, his entire body going taut like a bow-string. “It’s too good to be true.”

“You think it’s a trap?” This put you on edge. The elven rites of passages may have disappeared, but hunters still roamed the country, looking for live dragons they could kill for their hide, for their bones. There was magic in those parts, and spell-workers paid handsomely for bones and scales.

It was something Nuada would have done if he was a hunter trying to lure a dragon. “I know it is.”

The two of you inched closer and closer, weapons drawn, attention at full alert. Crimson followed, in case you needed help.

It was nerve wracking, creeping towards the barn in inch by painfully slow inch. The barn creaked and groaned, as if in warning. Still, this needed to be done.

Nuada went in first, pushed the door, spear at the ready as it swung inside.

The air was cold here, and so very still. Nuada was right, this was starting to smell of a trap. “Crimson,” you turned to your dragon, to order them to fly away. “Go ho--”

Your order died on your tongue as Nuada pushed you back and blocked a club that was aimed right at you. A hunter stood before him, clad in inky black armour, their face covered save for the eyes.

A hunter, here, hiding in this very barn. Your skin flushed with fear, your heartbeat roaring in your ears. “But there was a dragon!” you yelled as the two of you fought the hunter, a man who seemed quite skilled in fighting. “Crimson felt it!”

The hunter cackled. “And he did feel it, aye. Come on, darling!” he yelled into the shadows. “Make your presence known!”

The deafening scream gave you your answer. Gods save us, you sank to the ground in pain. Crimson had huddled into a ball, whimpering. Another Screaming Death.

The creature that glided towards them was young, probably two at the most. A strange amulet was strung around its neck, its twin around the hunter’s throat. The best seemed eager, hungry, and eyed Crimson like he was a tasty morsel.

“Y/N!” Nuada forced himself to his feet, spear in hand. “Does it have a weakness?”

Screaming Deaths had no known weaknesses, save for one, light. And it was still young enough to not have outgrown it. Then there were those amulets. They glittered and gleamed, like some dark magic rested within the jewels.

What if those stones bound the dragon to the hunter? Made it subservient to him?

“You deal with the hunter!” You pulled out your sword and fumbled with the lighters, praying a spark would hold and a fire would catch. “And,” you quickly leaned in, “Get rid of that necklace somehow.”

Nuada was more than up to the task. While he kept the hunter occupied, you waved your sword around as flames took hold, providing enough of a distraction for the dragon. It tailed you where you went, ducking and weaving, screaming whenever it recovered its senses.

Nuada had his hands full, fighting the hunter. They parried and slashed, hacked and hammered, each a match for the other. Nuada pressed on. He had faced worthier opponents and he wasn’t going to back down now. He kept fighting, constantly pushing the hunter onto the back foot.

And you? You had managed to pacify the Screaming Death long to sneak up to him, to grab that amulet. It recovered again, screeched so loud that the shock knocked you down. When it was about to lunge at you, Crimson leapt for its throat, both trying to tear each other to bloody pulps.

Nuada kept the hunter on the back foot, never letting him have the upper hand. He had disgraced his father once, he would not disgrace him again by falling to such a foe. The hunter’s attention broke, and Nuada took his chance. The blade of his spear came down in a clean arc, hit the necklace right on the stone, shattering it to pieces, just as Crimson managed to tear the necklace off the dragon, overpowering it and subduing it. The hunter shrieked.

"Get out,” you hissed. “Get out or there’ll be worse for you.”

The hunter sputtered, but ran with his tail between his legs. You reached Nuada and collapse next to him. “That was an interesting turn to the day.”

Nuada chuckled despite everything. “You could say that.”

Crimson came over and huffed at him, an expectant look in his eyes. “He likes you,” you said as you kept your sword lit, to pacify the Screaming Death. “Go on. You can touch him now.”

“Does that you trust me now?” Nuada panted and stroked a scaly nose. If Crimson trusted him it could only mean one thing.

“Yes,” you smiled at him. “Yes I do.”

#prince nuada #nuada x reader #nuada imagine #how to train you dragon #crossover #one shot #reader request #how to train your dragon x reader #writeblr #hellboy

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angelofchaos001 · 6 days

Text

RW Headcanons Nobody Asked for but you get Anyway

This stuff is somewhat relevant bc of Monarch and my WIP fanfic/comic and such

Today's topic is Scavengers because they're probably the most developed things I have.

(Info under cut in case people do not want this huuuuge text block)

Biology

Scavengers are a live-bearing species of mammal-like creatures that are highly intelligent and social. I compare them to humans a lot, especially the humans in Wings of Fire (hilariously, also named scavengers). Don't worry, you don't need to read the books to understand it, it's basically just society before technology.

Scavengers typically have 2 pups, but can have more or less with varying rarity. Scavenger pups (called 'pups' or 'babies' by other scavs) are born with rounded bodies covered in a thick layer of baby fuzz. They're basically balls of fuzz with four little claw feet and a head attached. Speaking of their head, scavengers have somewhat pointed heads with a slight snout and a pair of flexible, cat-like ears on their head. Their spines are not present at all as babies, hidden by the fuzz, but grow in and show as they grow older.

Adult scavengers have thin, flat fur pressed against their body with long arms and legs, as well as fully formed spines, but are otherwise bigger versions of the scav pups. Some may display unusual traits, such as whiskers, additional claws, or extra sets of ears.

Hierarchy

Scavengers have a hierarchy structure that I loosely based on what is seen in fiction such as My Pride and Warrior Cats, as well as real pack structures in animals (namely wolves). In each region, there is a standing scavenger 'tribe' that go under unique names. Smaller tribes may exist within regions, but they do not get along with each other.

Tribes are named 'The Tribe of [X]', where X is some kind of description of their main territory (e.x. The Tribe of Endless Machines is the tribe in Metropolis). Sometimes, when rival chieftains address each other in a non-violent standings (To form alliances, discuss temporary truces, peacefully trade territory, or sometimes exchange members of the tribes), you can say 'Chief [Scav Name] of the Tribe of [Tribe Name]'

So, for example, the Metropolis leader could be addressed as 'Chief Ferocious Quick Thinker of the Tribe of Endless Machines'. Or just 'Chief Ferocious Quick Thinker'. Sometimes, rival scavs can also politely address each other as '[Scav Name] of the Tribe of [Tribe Name]'. Dee-Dee, for example, could be called 'Daring Double Whisker of the Tribe of Crystal Waterfalls'.

Each tribe has it's own chieftain with their own mask, though bigger and better tribes have more elaborate masks and are also the scavengers that commonly control tolls.

The societal structure is based on each member taking to their strengths to work to the best of their ability. At the top there is the chieftain. Scavengers can reach this rank through a few means, including (but not limited to):

-Ascending as a blood relative to a recently deceased chieftain (Must be direct blood and the tribe has to approve)

-Being appointed as a new chieftain (Done by the old one either when they step down or as preparation for when they die)

-Defeating a weaker chieftain in an honorable duel (Not always to the death, only accepted if the old chieftain had some kind of problem (not widely accepted, failed to protect the tribe in some way, had been badly wounded)

There's other ways, but these are the main ways they happen.

Below the Chieftain is their direct family (parents, siblings, mate, children), and then below that is female scavengers with pups. They rank high socially, and are highly protected by the tribe. Their mate ranks slightly below them, and all pups rank here as well.

Next are the majority of the tribes, being the normal scavengers who do tasks such as hunting, defense, running tolls, kill squads, scouting territory, etc. They're scavengers that are functional to the tribe. When they're not busy doing their tasks, they can be found reinforcing social bonds doing things such as cleaning each other or playing social games.

The lowest are the 'Maskless', young scavengers that have progressed past the baby stage but have yet to reach maturity. They have yet to get their adult names and modified masks. However, they carry similar tasks that the adults do, simply with less major tasks put on them. They are not sent out on kill squads and rarely sent out to defend, mostly being hunters or the last line of defense.

Stages of Life

Speaking of 'Maskless' and babies and such, here's how the scavs grow up and get named and such!

Scav pups are given short, one word or compound names that reflect their physical looks. Names like this can be things such as 'Fluffy', 'Fuzzball', 'Spike', 'Claw', 'Chocolate', etc.

Once they lose their baby fluff and their spines start to grow in, but before they are fully mature, they age into the 'Maskless' phase. During this, they keep their baby name as they begin to be taken notice of (their personality, skills, etc) to help form their adult name.

Finally, they get their name and mask when they reach full maturity during an elaborate ceremony for the individual. The chieftain appoints their new name, which is a three word combination. The first word describes their personality (Daring, Fierce, Restless), while the other two are a description of the skill or ability they're best at (Night Hunter, Gentle Giant, Flying Striker) Sometimes, they can also be physical descriptions (Double Whisker) or all three words can be the skill (Unrivaled Flawless Aim).

Their mask is also given to them here, which starts as a normal vulture mask that they are to carve and add to as they please during the ceremony. (Only real rules are that it can't be too ridiculous) Otherwise, it's really just a night of all the scavs having fun and taking the night off, probably eating the vulture they killed for the mask.

With their new adult names, most scavs also choose to take nicknames. These can be chosen or imposed by others, and have a wide range of what they can be. Some take parts of their name ('Unrivaled Flawless Aim' Flawless), others go by abbreviations ('Daring Double Whisker' DD or Dee-Dee), and some are nicknamed with their baby names ('Rushing Edged Glare' Dash)

Chieftans simply add the word 'Chief' before their name, and must always be addressed by their full name. (Chief Rushing Edged Glare)

At any time, they can always take off their masks, and of course as they move up ranks they'll also add to them (Like if they become an elite they can add more patterns, maybe pearls if they're really lucky). Their ears simply fold flat against their head when wearing the mask, and they use it for protection and secrecy when interacting with other tribes.

Language

Pretty simple, to me scavs communicate in three main ways: Body language, symbols, and their spoken language.

Body language is standard, mostly used between rival tribes since they dare not engage in pleasantries such as speaking.

Written symbols are mostly used as signs to others of the same tribe, as each makes their own symbols to signify different things. For example, if a hunting squad passes by a major threat too large for them, they might write symbols in their path to indicate danger and the need for a kill squad.

Spoken language, which sounds like various clicks, chirps, and squeaks, is most common in the same tribe and among close members.

Known Scav Headcanons

These are all my tribe names/chieftain/individual names for all known scavs in the game:

-Both GW scav tolls are owned by the Tribe of Lurking Danger, led by Chief Distant Lethal Finish. This tribe also owns one of the treasuries.

-The other GW Treasury is owned by the Tribe of Foul Sight, led by Chief Commanding Spear Master. The scav merchant in GW, named Bright Charming Gaze is part of the Tribe of Foul Sight as well.

-The Outskirts toll is owned by the Tribe of Flat Expanse, led by Chief Sharp Pinpointed Accuracy. They also owns the toll in Outer Expanse, making them the only tribe to own territory in two regions.

-Both the toll and Treasury in Farm Arrays are owned by the Tribe of Fungal Growth, led by Chief Unyielding Sixth Claw

-The merchant in Shaded Citadel, named Lonely Black Beard, is part of the Tribe of Infinite Darkness, led by Chief Perfect Glowing Eyesight

-The merchant in Sky Islands, named Leaping Aerial Ace, is part of the Tribe of Supposed Flight, led by Chief Delicate Iridescent Beauty

Das all for now =>

EDIT: I forgot to include how tribe names are, and some headcanons for existing scavs. Fixed!

#rain world #rw scavenger #headcanon #look this is cool idc if the canon wants to fight me

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