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sprout-fics · 6 months

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Rotes Mädchen: Chapter 7

(Werewolf! König x Red Riding Hood! Reader)

(Art by the lovely @zwienzixes)

(Masterlist)

Word count: 5k Rating: Mature Tags: Werewolf! König, Fairytale AU, Monster Hunters TF141, Traditional German Fairytale setting, World Building/Lore, F! Reader, Domesticity, Literal sleeping together, Bed sharing, Angst/Comfort, (Brief) Fluff, Cuddling, Love bites/Hickeys, Claiming bites, Emotional Angst/Comfort, Cliffhanger Warnings: None A/N: New cover as we head into the finale!

The sun dawns on the final day before the full moon.

You awaken gently, feeling the cold grip at your limbs as you snuggle deep into the covers. The motion disturbs your bed partner, who makes a small sound of protest before adjusting to drag you closer against his chest. You happily snuggle into the warmth of him with a little whine, willing yourself back into blissful dreams. The cage of his arms provides steadfast protection against the waxing moon as it hesitates beyond the horizon, counting the hours until sundown. It feels as if König senses your thoughts, for there’s a low, purring growl that vibrates his chest against your cheek. Defensive, a warning to the shadows that lurk in the woods.

There’s a heavy set to your limbs that forces you into limpness against his frame. It drags at your senses with drowsy intent, makes your head loll against his collarbone with a happy sigh. Grey, misty light washes over you both, a gentle baptism of dawn that you wish would suspend both of you in time, caught here forever in his embrace.

It’s your stomach that at last rouses you, and even as you try to ignore it the sharp pang of hunger eventually gurgles low in your belly. König answers it merely with a huff, arms caught around you a little tighter, preventing your escape. You smile at him, at last opening your eyes to see him.

He replaced his hood sometime while you were asleep, and though you mourn the chance to see his blissful, sleeping expression, you’re grateful for the simple grace of seeing his eyes closed at such a near distance. You can see his brow slightly scrunched, as if trying to ignore the pull of wakefulness, and you resist the urge to poke at it just to hear him grumble in his sleep. Instead you settle for observing what little of his sleeping expression you can discern, memorizing the way his eyes flutter in dreams.

Eventually you lean forwards, gently bestowing a kiss upon his masked mouth before delicately wriggling from his hold. It takes several attempts, and eventually you manage to avoid his grasping, heavy hands so you rise to your feet. König curls around the warm space you’ve left, murmurs something you cannot hear before he goes still. You smile fondly down at him, try to ignore the way anxiety pierces your heart as a morning lark declares the dawn.

You coax the dying embers of the fireplace back to life and set water to boil above it, tucking a loaf of bread above the hearth to warm up by the time it is done. You ignore the shake of your hands as something whispers that this could be the final day you ever live this mundane routine, that your life could be stolen from you tonight by dripping red claws and gleaming fangs.

It takes effort to shake off the thought, and instead you focus on washing yourself with water warmed by the fire. You pause as you look in the mirror above the basin, blinking in surprise at the marks painted across your skin. Love bites, gentle bruises, places where his lips descended to your skin with a scarcely contained growl. There’s an ache to your hips that remains where he split you on his cock over and over again, as if he were possessed by the feast of your flesh. You’d barely been able to crawl from bed long enough to eat and relieve yourself for the entirety of yesterday before König had decided you’d been gone for too long, had pursued you just so he could carry you back and press you into the sheets once more.

He seemed almost crazed with lust, your beloved, consumed by the act of defiling you. Growling, pressing, hauling you to him, holding a leg aloft just so he could sheath himself back inside you with a growl. He’d mouthed dragging endearments into your skin, had followed them with sucking teeth and apologetic kisses when you’d whined at him. Lost as you were in the buttery haze of lust and warmth, it still became quickly clear to you that his attempts to mark you seemed almost like a claim- an attempt to ward off others, to ensure you remained his, only ever his. Territorial, possessive, gorging himself on the sounds of your desire as you begged for more.

You trace the smattering of love bites that adorns your collarbone and chest, tilting your head to reveal the full indent of his teeth on the arch of your neck. It makes you blink in surprise, as you twist to reveal more marks along your bare back and shoulders. König had left no inch of skin untouched, it seems, and you silently shudder to think how you’ll explain this to Laswell.

Nevertheless you wash and dress yourself, once more donning your red cloak before you carefully step outside towards the well down the lane. You’re grateful that your long layers hide the marks, consciously tugging your hood up to conceal the bite on your neck. The last thing you need is more neighbors and village folk accusing you of being some type of seductress, or asking too many questions about who spent the night in your home.

As you draw water from the well you look to see the misty forms of others bustling about morning chores. There’s sounds of wood hammering against shutters, trying to barricade windows and doors for the coming darkness. Animals that would normally be escorted to pasture now kick at their stalls, safely shut away for the coming sunset. You’re scarcely noticed amidst the distractions, and you pause to watch your neighbors conduct preparations for the full moon that will rise above the forest tonight.

You wonder if the wolf watches even now from the trees. Silent. Waiting.

You make yourself scarce as you dart back towards the direction of your home, ignoring the passing stares of others as they see you pass by. The reminder of the hunter’s son, of the accusation levied against you and Laswell forces a heavy weight down onto your ribcage, an imminent danger that follows in your shadow.

"I bet you're a witch too! Just like her! You probably brought the wolf here yourselves to kill us all!!"

You need to tell her, to warn her.

A thin frown of worry presses your lips as you slip back inside, trying to plan your options. It will be difficult to slip from the village unnoticed before nightfall, especially when you’ll be trailed by a huge, scarred, hooded figure on your heels. You’ve not yet told König of your plan to retreat to Laswell’s by nightfall, and you know you’ll have to convince him of the safety she and the others provide. You’re not sure you can, not with the way Price and the other witchers are tensed, ready for battle, vigilant of threats. They may see König as a monster not unlike the one they hunt. For all you know, you could be walking him into the jaws of a greater beast than the one that lurks in these woods.

To stay here, however, to do the same as the other villagers and barricade yourself inside, knowing now that your neighbors see you as a potential source of their misfortune...

You see a vision of yourself, tied to a pillar in the center of the square under the full moon, listening to the howl of the werewolf, watching as they force König to his knees and screaming for help-

He said he’d protect you. How are you supposed to protect him, when you can’t even keep yourself safe?

The woods press in on you from all sides, arching above to tangle into a thick entanglement of branches with you trapped inside like a small, scared creature trying vainly to escape. You stare up through the brambles and thorns to the dark sky above, where the moonlight casts pale light against your eyes of despair.

You’re so caught in your thoughts you nearly miss the figure that lurches into your view right in front of you.

You startle, and in doing so the bucket of water you have sloshes lopsidedly, spilling across your boots. You hardly notice it, staring instead at one of the older village women who has suddenly seized your attention. You recognize her. She’s one of the few that often comes to Laswell in search of tonics for her weary bones, a persistent cough she’s never been cured of. You’ve arrived at her doorstep many times over to deliver remedies, and she’s always returned the favor with a soft smile, a gentle pat to your shoulder or an apple tucked into your pocket.

Now, you try to catch your breath, settle your heartbeat as she squints at you with a narrow gaze.

“You don’t belong here.”

You blink in surprise, mouth pressing into a frown. Shock, hurt blossoms in words across your tongue. Yet before you can respond she steps forward, jabs a finger against your chest insistently.

“You need to leave these woods.” She intones with a creaky voice, staring up at you with displeasure. “You’re no longer welcome here, girl.”

You can feel the other villagers pause now to observe the dispute, their wary eyes looking on as you’re harassed by someone who had once been kind to you.

“T-this is my home-” You try, taking a step back, but she only presses forward once more. You feel your heartbeat claw at your throat, and your eyes flick past her to the path up to your cottage, where familiar smoke curls from the chimney in a beacon of sanctuary.

“Not anymore it isn’t.” The old woman hisses, and you feel your face contort in a returning snarl. Yet then the woman softens, the sinister sneer from her face easing into a look of concern.

“You need to leave.” She whispers hastily, eyes wide. Suddenly her voice is once more that of a friend, one with grave worry and urgency in her words. “You and Madame Laswell. It is no longer safe for you here.”

You freeze in surprise, trying to form words past the veil of shock that colors your eyes. Cold air seizes your lungs, an uncomfortable prickle of awareness raising goosebumps on your skin as the other villagers pause to watch the fear dawn across your face.

“The others, they think you brought the wolf here.” She adds, a wrinkled hand grasping at your sleeve in a touch much harsher than her words. “I heard them. They think you and Madame Laswell are witches, that you summoned the wolf to kill us.”

She gazes up into your eyes, this unexpected ally, and even though her mouth is set in a grim frown, her eyes portray fear.

“They plan to kill you both.”

You jolt away as if scalded, ripping your arm from her grasp, heartbeat hammering wildly against the cage of your ribs. The ground under you seems to shift, and the trees that had once been your home now seem to slowly creep to your shadow, ensnare it with tangled thorns so they press into your skin and yield red warmth. In your mind's eye you see the figure of yourself bathed in moonlight, clothes ripped and hands bound to a pyre that alights the sky in a wicked red haze. You see Laswell struggling as she watches below, held by the villagers, screaming for Price and the others as they chase the wolf who howls dangerously at the moon.

and König...König...

His blood soaks the earth, a sacrificial lamb to an unknown, evil god that reigns in madness over the village you had once called home.

The bucket in your hand drops, and the water sloshes out to seep into the cold earth, just as his blood will come nightfall.

You don’t thank the woman as you run, but her voice chases after you anyways, feigning sinister intent.

“Run, girl! Leave these woods and never return!!”

Your cape flares out behind you as you sprint for the cottage, racing up your garden and to the heavy door which shuts behind you with a thundering clank of the lock. You brace on it, hands pressed to the frame, chest heaving and eyes wild. You can’t contain the shaking of your limbs, and even the warmth of the hearth at your back does little to alleviate the icy grip of terror that seizes in your chest.

They plan to kill you both.

You try to reason with yourself. Price and the others, they’d never let the villagers touch you or Laswell. They know you both, know that no matter what accusations the villagers levy against you, that you will never be what they say. You know you’ll be safe with them. If you flee now, you can make it to Laswell’s cottage by sundown, tell her all that you’ve learned. You know Price and the others will protect you from the promise of a pyre, from the misplaced wrath of those you once called neighbors.

But...König...

You shake your head. It doesn’t matter now. You cannot stay. If you stay, if the villagers come for you, they’ll no doubt find him as well, will wrestle you from his arms and restrain him like a wild beast even as he snarls, tries to fight his way to you. They’ll see him, this stranger you’ve kept hidden, take his hood and reveal the terrifying visage he keeps hidden and they will fear him. If you stay, it will be a death sentence for you both.

The woman is right. You need to leave. Now. Daylight be damned.

“König-” You breathe as you race to your bed, lay your hands on his still slumbering form and try to wake him. “König, we need to leave. We have to go-”

König stirs, but it’s with a groan that sounds almost painful. You freeze, hands stilling, before you once more try to rouse him.

“König, wake up, please wake up.” You urge him, swallowing down a gasp of fear. He seems to hear at least that much, because he rolls over only slightly, echoes your name in a groggy slur.

“Rotty?” He asks, voice cracking with something that sounds weak, almost ill. His eyes flutter open, glassy gaze turning to you as he tries to focus. The confusion softens into something fond, and you feel affection flutter in your chest at the way his eyes melt upon seeing your face. “Rotty...”

You force a smile despite your trembling hands. “Yes, love. It’s me.” You whisper, and he sighs at that, eyelashes fluttering before drowsiness claims him once more. You swallow down the growing panic in your throat, forcing yourself to not imagine the footsteps of the villagers pounding closer to your door.

“König.” You insist, shaking him now with rising franticness. “We must leave. It’s not safe here. We need to go to Laswell’s, the villagers-”

“No, no, not the witchers...” He interrupts with a groan, and you frown at that, fear tugging sharply in your stomach.

“König we need to leave.” You tell him again, leaning full over him now so your cape drapes partly across his form. Your arms bracket him on either side of his broad, bare shoulders adorned with thick, coarse hair. “The villagers-”

You pause at the abrupt whimper that bubbles up his throat, unexpected. It sounds not fearful but hurt, as if rousing him from dreams forces him to endure an affliction you cannot see. You feel your brow crease with worry, a hand tracing over the bare skin of his scarred shoulder, and he flinches.

“König...” You breathe, and with a worried urgency you begin to try and pull away the covers, at last noticing just how damp they are. It’s as if he’s sweat through them while you weren’t paying attention, and as you reveal his bare form you see a thick sheen of sweat glistening on his skin. You don’t know how you didn’t notice earlier, curled in his arms as you were. He feels too hot to the touch, shivering under your palms, eyes stubbornly scrunched shut as if he’s trying to block out a phantom pain.

A different type of terror grips you now, as you lay a palm to his damp, clammy skin, hearing him groan at the touch. He reaches up to clumsily bat at your hand, and you’re not entirely sure if he’s trying to chase you away or drag you closer.

“König.” You repeat again, swallowing the dryness in your throat. “König, what’s…”

“Rotty.” He whines, and you ignore him, reaching for his hood. Before you can touch it König arches with a wet gasp, his large hand seizing your wrist. His head lolls towards you, hazy gaze focusing on the acute worry plain on your face. He blinks, as if trying to focus, and you see his brow pinch for a moment before it relaxes.

“What lovely eyes you have, Schatz.” He sighs, head drooping once more. His hand goes lax around your wrist as he melts back into the bed. When you try to sneak it under his hood to feel for his forehead however, he tenses with a growl, the sound rumbling low and deep in his throat like some wild, feral animal.

“Shh, it’s alright.” You coax despite the tremble in your words, and your palm lays flat against his searing, damp brow.

“König, love.” You breathe, hands shaking. “You’re burning up with a fever.”

König groans at that, pulls your hand away and rolls to the other side of the bed. You try to follow him, but when your hand lands on his shoulder König growls at you again, this time deeper, almost savage. You pull away as if burned, but your missing touch prompts a whine instead, as if his body can’t figure out what to do with itself.

“König.” You try again uselessly. “Please, get up. I- I can take you to Laswell’s. She can help you. We can’t stay here. It’s not safe.”

“No.” He slurs again in protest, and you feel frustration and panic rise hotly in your veins as you resist the urge to bang on his broad back with your fists in your vexation. Instead you once more soothe a hand across his bare shoulder so his muscles unwind under your touch.

He relaxes then, sighing in relief before he turns part way back to you. His eyes are gentle as they regard you through his strange delirium, and you hold his gaze, unable to hide the mounting fright in your stare.

“The wolf won’ hurt you, Rotty.” He tells you, words low and jumbled. He reaches a large hand out, and you wonder for a moment if he’ll drag you back into bed. Instead he strokes your cheek with his knuckles, tilts his head wearily to regard you. “I’ll protect you. I swear it.”

You suck in a sharp breath at that, feeling the building terror, the grief, the panic and the confusion of the past few days finally overwhelm you. Hot tears flood your eyes, and you try to swallow them to no avail. A hiccup forces its way up your throat, and you clutch at his hand, holding it desperately to your face as if it’s a lifeline.

“How are you supposed to protect me when you can’t even stand?” You cry, feeling your voice crack in your throat with despair. “I-I’m supposed to protect you, I’m supposed to keep you safe from them- from the villagers, from Price and the others, from the wolf, I-“

You sob, a broken sound pouring from your chest as you’re no longer able to contain the rush of emotions wash over you. It cracks in your bones like the snap of wood in an evening hearth, a sharp sound that disturbs the peaceful silence you long to share with him. The embers alight across your skin, force a cry of hurt past your gasping lips and into his palm.

“I’m scared, König.” You confess in a raw whisper, eyes wide, staring into a vision of the pitch-black forest where the object of your nightmares awaits. “I’m trying so hard to be strong, to keep us both safe, but I’m scared.”

You swallow, but it does little to stem the words that come tumbling forth, first as a trickling stream and now as a raging river.

“I’m terrified. I wake up every morning thinking you’re not going to be here anymore, that this was all just a dream. I’m scared you’re going to disappear, that the wolf is going to hunt you alive, that the villagers will find you and hurt you, that Price and the others will refuse to protect you. I’m scared that the final thing I’m ever going to see is fire or the fangs of the monster. I’m scared of living a tomorrow where you no longer exist.”

You sob openly, words hiccupping desperately into his knuckles entwined between your palms. You can no longer stop it, the untamable tide of desperation that seizes your chest, your heart, your limbs. König makes a little noise of distress as he watches the tears roll down your face, land on his worn hand.

“No-” He tries again, and you see his expression pinch as he tries to find the words. “Don’t cry, Rotty. It won’t....won’t hurt you.”

“Please.” You beg him again, gasping and bowing your head into his hand. “Come with me. We can go, Laswell can help you, I can explain to the others. They’ll keep us safe. They’ll kill the wolf, and then we can leave the village like you asked me to. We can go and never have to look back, like you wanted.”

You hunch forward, eyes closing shut, sending up a prayer at the same time your words form the plea.

“Please.”

König pauses, and you feel him hesitate before he gently draws his hand away…

Only to push you so you topple backwards onto the floor instead.

“I’m sorry, Rotty.” He whispers, voice cracking with pain, clearer now. “I-I can’t come with you.”

You sit, sprawled and stunned at his words. You feel the air in your chest pause, gripping tightly to your lungs as you try to understand, trying to make sense of his sudden rejection. You can hear the blood rushing in your ears, face open with confusion, distress. The world seems to suck into a silence that is unknown to you, words absent as the desolate wind howls in your thoughts.

“K-König…?” You ask in a small, fragile voice as you try to understand. It only makes König hunch further into the bed, as if your words are a slicing wound that carves into his turned back.

“Go, Rotty.” He tells you, growling low with warning. You flinch. “To the captain and the others. They’ll keep you safe.”

You stare at him with hurt, shock warming your eyes with fresh tears, trying to understand, trying to unravel the riddle of him you’ll never find the answers to. He’s retreating into secrets once more, and you watch helplessly as he walks into the dark, misty woods ahead of you, vanishing beyond your reach as the echo of a wolf howl rattles your bones.

“Don’t do this.” You tell him in a voice that’s hardly a whisper. “Don’t…don’t make me leave when I’ve already fallen in love with you.”

König tenses at that, form curling further in on himself before he goes still once more. He doesn’t speak.

You want to scream at him, to cry, to beg and plead for answers you know he won’t give you. You want to throw yourself into his arms, apologize for whatever transgression you’ve committed, for the sin of loving him if he did in fact never love you in turn. Yet you do none of those things, instead frozen on the floor, tracing the rigid rise of his spine, the way he shivers as the fever grips at him.

“Please.” You try once more, voice raw with emotion, a desperate entreaty that he stubbornly ignores.

The moon rises on the horizon. You’re running out of time.

You gather yourself, stand and scrub the tears from your face, stand over him at your bedside. Your fists curl with resolve, expression grim as you stare down at his curled, shivering form that tries to ignore the shadow of you cast by the fire.

“I’m leaving.” You tell him resolutely. “and I’m coming back. I’ll bring Laswell, and I’ll bring Price and the others to protect us. She’ll cure you, and we’ll stay here until the night passes, until the wolf is dead.”

You swallow the urge to hurl yourself onto his form, drape yourself across his chest and will time to return itself to the moments after wakefulness only a mere hour ago.

“Then. Then, once it’s over, we’ll leave these woods. Together.”

He doesn’t shift. You try not to fracture with the hurt that lays bare across your skin.

“You can’t push me away. Not when you allowed me to keep you for so long.” You finish and turn before you can stop yourself.

It takes effort to stride to the door, to lay your hand upon the iron latch. You feel your face pinch, tears once more obscuring your vision as you glance one last time at him.

“I love you.” You whisper. You’re not sure if you can hear it.

Once more, you walk into the woods, and you pray to the Gods that in the next dawn, you’ll walk them together.

----

He waits until you leave.

He waits until after the lock has shut, until your footsteps have faded, until silence settles over the cottage in your absence. He waits for the pain of betrayal in his heart to be quieted by the sickening, feverish hunger that grips his limbs.

“I’m sorry, Rotty.” König whispers in the solitude of the cottage. “I’m sorry. I’ll keep you safe.”

Soon now, he knows. Soon the sun will set, the moon will rise, and he’ll no longer be able to control the ravenous hunger, the desire to feast on flesh, the instinct to hunt, kill. The fever of bloodlust grips his limbs, and already he can feel his bones try to crack, reform, strengthen into monstrous size until he lifts his muzzle to the moon. He’s tried a hundred times to stop it, to refuse to gorge himself on the blood of beings only known as prey. He’s watched a hundred times as his victims scream, trying to flee from his outstretched claws.

He remembers each face, each final, breathless plea before his fangs snap through skin and bone.

You’re among them in his dreams. He sees your face the first time he saw you on the back of the captain’s dark mare, holding tight to his waist as your red cape fluttered behind you. He remembers seeing your eyes shining brightly in the moonlight, and thinking to himself not of prey, but of something delicate, fragile, beautiful.

Little did he know you’re a creature of the woods as well.

König had long ago resigned himself to this fate of his. It is his destiny to be cursed in the way he is, to roam the earth endlessly in search of blood to quench his wild, savage hunger. He’s long since stopped praying to the gods to free him, resigning himself to his imminent demise at the hands of humans for the sin of his existence- for being a monster that he cannot control.

He’d expected to die the night he first saw you, the strange creature cloaked in red, cradled by the trees as if they were your ally. The witchers had pursued him through the forest relentlessly, chasing him into one of their many traps. He’d barely escaped, and even now he wonders if he should have simply accepted the slash of a sword to his neck, breathed in his last as he gazed up at the beautiful autumn moon.

Yet you’d found him.

In the hollow where he’d licked his wounds, had shuddered against the cold, you’d come to rescue him from his own wretched existence.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” You’d whispered, and he had believed it, had allowed himself to deceive you just to feel the warm touch of kindness he’d forgotten. He’d allowed you to take him to this, to your home, to tend to him. He’d allowed you to burrow into his heart, into the empty hollow that had resigned itself to the terrible ending fate had divined for him.

He hadn’t intended to fall in love with you.

How could he not? How could he not be mesmerized by the captivating, beautiful strangeness of you? You with your wistful eyes, with your lonely smile, with the way you were so kind despite everything, despite the suffering, stifling solitude that he could see haunt your gaze? How could he possibly ignore this creature that was like him in so many ways, one who filled the emptiness of his aching soul?

Your smiles, your laughter, the brightness of your eyes and soft greetings, the way your bare skin was cast aglow by the fire- sights, sounds, scents that had forced him to forget who he was, the feral creature he was born to be. He’d gone willingly into your palms, had sheathed his fangs just to nuzzle against your delicate touch.

He should have left sooner. Perhaps then this fate would not be so cruel.

At least, in the end, he was loved. If only for just a while.

König waits until the ache of your final words has subsided, rises from the bed that still smells like you and gathers the clothes you’ve made for him. He drinks in the scent of you once more, remembers what it felt like to have you safe in his arms, in his den, in the place where he loved you too.

He hopes that you’ll forgive him for this someday.

König staggers from your home, down towards the edge of the forest.

And once more, he vows to keep you safe.

Safe from himself.

Taglist:

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@writeforfandoms @zwiiicnziiix @soapskneebrace @tealikestoread @mikrou @atenceladusiaawfytbwb @kiroshang @adorephina @equalstrashflavoredtrash @dog55teeth @seraphimcollections @pettyprocrastination @borderlinecatboybehavior @warenai @moskaisley @nachtcirce @feelingnotmyself @lovenotcomputed @rk1v35 @kikisstrawberrie @emrzennn @montenegroisr @frazie99 @graybraids @ohgraywardens @tangerines-mustache @poohkie90 @arbesa-mind @glitterypirateduck @ihatethinkingofnames10 @josieguts @berryjuicyy @emmbny @merkitty49 @danisblog164 @trashedies @arael-asuka @angryvengeful @fake-id-69 @theallpowerfulrosami @ramadiiiisme

(If you would like to not be on the taglist, please DM me)

#konig x reader #konig x you #könig x reader #könig x you #könig x f! reader #my fic #fic: rotes madchen #werewolf x reader

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svsss-fanon-exposed · 4 months

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Exposing SVSSS Fanon: 10/∞

SHEN QINGQIU HAS GREEN EYES

Rating: FANON - CONFLICTING

It is extremely common, to the point of being the default, to see Shen Qingqiu depicted with bright green eyes.

His canon eye color, however, is black:

It was a fine-featured face with pitch-black eyes and brows, thin nose and lips, and a most scholarly air. (7 Seas, Ch. 1)

and

Black eyes painted like stars swelled with dewy ripples as their focus blurred, tired and drowsy, his spirit like dying embers. (7 Seas, Ch. 29)

Portraying SQQ with green eyes directly contradicts the novel.

I am not entirely certain of the original source of this fanon, but it may be some sort of progression from the grey color of his eyes in the donghua, or perhaps an attempt to color-code with his attire.

However, it was almost certainly widely popularized, like Luo Binghe's curly hair, with the cover art of the official EN translations. Regardless, green-eyed SQQ is not only not canon, it is confirmed false by canon, and should thus not be seen as the default.

Shen Qingqiu canonically has black eyes.

#fanon exposed #conflicting #svsss #shen qingqiu #sqq eye color

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portalmonsterrr · 9 months

Note

I'm not saying I miss your AU, I'm saying I've been scrolling through the art you were posting and it gave me +1 to Inspiration which resulted in creating a scenario in which Kaveh and Alhaitham are being called to the principal's office because Nahida "misbehaved", they find her there crying, as teacher says some accusations (like she isn't attentive enough bla bla bla argues with teachers yada yada - all these stuff that Nahida is not, but what she looks like according to this person). And Alhaitham just snaps, turns into momzilla, ready to fight for his daughter to the death and longer. But one touch of Kaveh, his beautiful ^ᴗ^ and Alhaitham is calm again. (And here it goes either with or without some snarky comment from the teacher) Only for Kaveh to explode and explode so that whatever Alhaitham did before was as if comparing embers to blazing suns, and lists all the everything that the teach did wrong, that Nahida was right and nice and proper and everything.

And Alhaitham is left with the need of kissing him for it thinking how hot Kaveh is when he actually loses it AND the urge to maybe cover Nahida's young uncorrupted by such speech ears (not like Kaveh was using some obscene words, just overall way, the delivery was making up for it)

protective parent Kaveh is the scariest Kaveh

#kavetham family au #genshin impact #kavetham #haikaveh #kaveh #alhaitham #nahida

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syndxlla · 11 months

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best friends don’t look at each other the way we do

A low stakes, high reward, and self-indulgent Zelink fan fiction. Canon-compliant. Takes place between BOTW and TOTK.

Heavily inspired by my Zelink thoughts

I wanted to dig into the dirty, grimly reality of being the saviors of the world and not knowing how to be the savior of yourself. But you can find that safety in another person.

Fan fiction warnings: Canon-typical violence, eventual smut (in later chapters, characters are consenting adults), references to self-harm, eating-disorders, and a lot of angst. Each chapter will have chapter-specific warnings.

Chapter one: I used to tie your shoes

Song: We’ll never have sex by Leith Ross

Summary: Fresh off Hyrule Field, Link and Zelda have to face life after the Calamity, and come to terms with the long road to physical, emotional, and mental recovery.

Warnings: Vomiting, trauma, canon-typical violence, eating-sensitivity

Word count: 3.7k words

Author’s Note: I am so excited to share this. Please share and support this in anyway. I drew this art for the cover :) chapter begins after the page break. I love you guys. Also, these chapters won’t be heavily edited. Ignore any grammatical/spelling errors pls

Time. We never seem to have enough time. Green grass burns soft red embers into the field, a horse’s mane is rebraided at the nearest stable, and the stars shine as if nothing changed. Because it hadn’t, not really. The sun will still rise in the east and set in the west. The birds will still sing their songs at daybreak and the fireflies will still flicker at dusk. Nothing changed, but everything did. The air feels lighter, the sun feels warmer and yet Zelda’s fingers still shake as if she was in the snowy Hebra peaks.

The Princess by nature, is very gentle. She’s soft and patient at heart, but was placed under such strenuous situations all through her youth that caused her to often snap or lash out. But not now. Currently she is silent, stone-cold and confused. She was in shock. And Link could tell.

“Here.” He pulls out a baked apple from his pack, handing it to her. He has to get her attention twice before she finally takes it, their hands brushing for a moment. Her awareness returns to her gaze then, her bright-green eyes meeting his.

“I-I’m so sorry.” She sighs, her voice weak. “I’m just… so tired.” Link tries not to show his distress, but she notices his demeanor change as well. “How much further?” She says, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

“Probably another hour and a half. It’s just through those mountains.” He points.

“Dueling peaks. I remember.” She nods. “I remember everything.”

“Everything?” He asks as he starts to dig around a pack on the rear end of Epona, searching for his rito attire. It was starting to get dark, and she hadn’t stopped shaking since they left Castle Town almost three hours ago.

Zelda nods once.

Her silence speaks volumes.

He yanks out his snowquill armor, finally. “Do you remember anything from the last hundred years?” She doesn’t answer right away, she instead takes a smaller than small bite out of the apple. “Zel? Can I put this on you? You’re still shivering.” He asks, looking at her blank, traumatized stare. “It’s from the Rito, it’s soft as a cloud and will keep you warm for the rest of the way.”

“The Rito.” She sighs. “Revali…”

Link realizes that she hasn’t had any time to process what she just went through. She had spent the last one hundred years deeply focused, probably in a trance-like state. He places a hand on her cheek. “Look at me.” His voice is gentle and welcoming, not forcing her at all. She looks at him, their eyes locking. “Breathe with me.”

They take two deep, heavy breaths. They sync their inhales, exhaling together.

“It’s over. It’s all over, okay?” He reassures her. “It’s not coming back. It’s just us now, alright?”

She swallows, still emotionless. “You’ve changed.” She says.

“So have you.” Link smiles in an attempt to comfort her. “Can I put this shirt on you?” He asks again. She answers faster than she usually had, nodding twice this time. Link bunches up the excess fabric before pulling the head-opening over her hair. He then guides each one of her hands through the arm-holes. Link takes a moment to adjust the garb around her torso until it was probably positioned around her shaking body. She immediately sighs in relief.

“You talk more.” She mumbles, looking at him as he gently wraps his fingers around her long, golden hair and softly pulls it out of the shirt, knowing how much it irritates him when his hair is loose underneath a shirt.

He smiles again, “I do. Some people say I don’t shut up.” He tries to lighten the mood.

“Like who?”

“Impa.” He sighs.

Zelda’s eyes light up with that name. “Impa?”

He hums and nods. “We can go visit her when you’re feeling stronger, okay?”

“Okay…” Zelda looked down into her lap, the skirt of her goddess dress was barely white anymore. “I am going to get stronger, right?” She asks, her voice tender and broken.

Link’s heart sinks. Not because he’s worried she won’t, but rather because he feels responsible for putting her in this state.

“Of course.” He reassures. He believed it. He wanted to believe it.

“I’m… just so tired.” She repeats herself.

“I know, come on, let's get you a bed.” He then picks her up bridal style from the ground. They had stopped in the first place to get that rito armor for her. She rests her head against his chest as he lifts her onto Epona. She smells like burnt oil and exhaustion. He probably isn’t smelling any better.

They wouldn’t get to Hateno until noon at the earliest tomorrow, and traveling wasn’t doing anything for her recovery. He gets on Epona behind her, letting her weak body rest against his chest as they make their way to Dueling Peaks Stable. The road is quiet, so much quieter than it ever has been. The pair of lizalfos always swimming in the river aren’t there, and even the crickets suppress their chirps.

It’s post-apocalyptic. Literally. Link isn’t sure how to feel.

She throws up a few hundred feet from the stable. She gags and lurches over the side of the horse, somehow managing to keep it off of anyone. Not much comes out, she hasn’t eaten in over a century, but Link frowns when he realizes the apple probably triggered it. He silently curses himself out for causing her any form of distress. She dry heaves violently, and Link tries to hold her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. When she finishes, she holds her breath.

She can’t decide if she feels like she lost a bit of dignity or not. She holds back the tears that well in her eyes. Link breathes in to say something, but she raises her hand in protest. She would rather they act like it never happened. Neither of them say anything from there on, they just keep riding the final minute of the journey.

Everyone at the stable was asleep except for an attendant… who was also treading precariously between consciousness and a deep rest behind the counter.

“Excuse me?” Link asks to wake him up, hopping off of Epona after making sure Zelda would still be comfortable in his absence. She would never admit she wasn’t.

The man stirs awake with a jolt. He yawns, slightly startled, “So sorry, young man.” Link wouldn’t necessarily call himself young. He smirks softly.

“I’d like to board this horse till the morning, and we’d like one soft bed, please.” Link nods before setting down the required rupees. The man squints his eyes, taking the money in hand.

“Ah! It’s you! Link, was it?” He asks when Link turns his back to help Zelda down from the horse. “Jeez, you haven’t passed through here in at least six months! We were holding onto that old mare for you!” He gestures to their stables where a small gray spotted horse sleeps. Link’s first horse since he woke up from his century-long slumber. He only rode her in the beginning, when he was doing chores between Hateno, Kakariko and one time a longer trip to Zora’s Domain. But she’s old and weak, which is why she was easy to catch when Link was still regaining his strength. He stopped taking her out when he found Epona in the western part of Central Hyrule.

“Yeah… you guys can let her free.” He says as he sets Zelda down on the ground. She holds her cold hands together.

“Well uhh.. we tried. You see, after four months at a stable we let go of any forgotten pony’s, but she kept coming back.” He chuckled, his voice exhibiting a distinctive nasality.

“Here,” Link hands him a red rupee, not wanting to discuss an old horse any longer when he literally has the closest thing to a God in this world resting her head on his back. “Keep her for another month, I’ll come take care of her then. Okay?” Link asks. “Can I get that bed now?” Not impolite or forceful, he never was. He’s assertive but has a comforting cadence to his tone. For being such a talented swordsman, guard and easily the most deadly hylian in the entire kingdom, he was never rude or condescending. He was welcoming, and little kids often looked up at him with intimidation when they first met him, but it didn’t ever take long until they were chasing him with tree-branches while he fled and begged for mercy, letting them take him down with ease. The kids at the stables loved him, knew him by name, and would play as him in their silly pretend games.

The stable-man replies, “Of course! But you only asked for one bed, it’s not big enough to fit both of you.”

“I know, it’s for her not me.” Link then starts to guide her into the stable, where it’s much warmer and safer. Just because it’s quiet doesn’t mean it's safe. Hyrule is a dangerous place by nature, especially if you’re two century-old Gods being hunted for sport with the faces of children.

“You won’t sleep?” Zelda asks quietly behind him.

He doesn’t directly answer, and instead guides her to the bed. She’s weary, and he’s terrified of her not waking up. He wouldn’t be able to sleep even if he wanted to. He helps the Princess sit in the bed, and kneels before her to untie her sandals. When he touches the leather, he immediately gets transported into another memory.

It rips through him, just like the memories he had images of. Suddenly, he’s kneeling in the same position, but instead he was outside of the spring of courage. He looks up to see the clear sky, it’s sunset, and then his eyes meet Zeldas. Her face is rosy, and her eyes don’t have the blank stare they possess in the current time. He looks down at his fingers, tying the straps around her ankle.

“Really, you don’t have to do that.” She hums. He doesn’t respond. He never did back then. He finishes wrapping the leather around itself and then stands up. His face is emotionless. She looks at him, they’re about the same height. “I won’t be long this time.” She says. “I’m not expecting much anyways.” She sighs and then walks past him, but before she can get very far, he gently grabs onto her arm, holding her back. He doesn’t say anything but she can read his expression. He’s trying to tell her to have faith this time, just one more time.

Surely the Goddess would commune with her.

She shakes her head, and wades into the warm waters of the spring. Link turns to watch her, how her hair cascaded down her back, how her hands balled into fists. She turns around to look at him, their eyes meet. She smiles.

He comes back as fast as the scene played in his memory. He blinks a few times, and looks up at her. She doesn’t look any different, very little—if any—time seemed to pass. He doesn’t usually experience memories with someone, he wonders if she realized anything happened. Link didn’t even consider the fact he would keep receiving memories after the fact. His stomach turns, he feels like he’s lived two completely different lives and is forced to remember things from one that he doesn’t even relate to anymore. He doesn’t feel like the same person, the boy he was a hundred years ago is a complete stranger to him.

Link much preferred this life.

And that scares Zelda.

“I just remembered something.” He says. Zelda hums in response, a light-hearted noise that implies an inquiry. He elaborates, “I used to tie your sandals for you at the springs, didn’t I?” He asks.

Zelda smiles for the first time since they defeated Ganon. It’s a small pull of her lips, not showing any teeth but her eyes finally light back up. After she had asked if he remembered her on the field, she collapsed, not even aware of her own exhaustion until that moment. He ran to her aid, and ever since then she felt woozy, it only got worse the further from the castle they got.

“You did, yes.” She says. “I never asked you to, but since I was in the dress, you insisted.” She sighs. Link grunts in response. “It was very chivalrous.” Zelda adds.

They look at each other for a minute. Not saying anything. It was late, and two beds down there was a set of kid brothers sleeping. Link remembered them from their last visit. One of them wanted nothing to do with him, trying to act mature and ‘cool’. Link eventually won him over, though. They don’t speak out of fear of waking anyone. Zelda’s smile slowly fades away, and Link swallows thickly. They will never be the same.

He pulls her sandals off, her feet are filthy with century-old mud. He silently smiles about that. The closest thing to a Goddess in the entire world has dirty feet. How human of her.

Then, after pulling down the heavy rito-down blanket so she can slide in, he helps Zelda swing her legs into the bed. He pulls the blanket up to her neck, she lays on her side facing him. Her hands find their way up to her face, resting her cheek against them. Link pulls a short stool over to the bed, sitting on it and looking at her, bending at the waist.

“You’re not going to leave me, are you?” She asks in a timid, sleepy voice.

Link’s heart just about breaks when she asks. “Never.” He shakes his head. He takes his gloved hand and tucks a piece of her loose hair behind her pointed-ears. He lets his fingers linger a little bit longer than they should. “I will never ever leave you again.”

“Promise?” She asks, her eyes heavy with exhaustion.

“Promise.” He whispers, “Just as long as you promise to never leave me, okay?” He asks, ignoring the lump in this throat.

“Promise.” She says, taking her pinky finger and sticking it out for him. He wraps his finger with hers, which is far daintier and softer than he's ever been. She is a Princess, after all.

“Wake up in the morning, okay?” He whispers.

“Mhm.” She hums as her eyes slowly close. He tries to disconnect their pinky fingers, but she holds onto his. He leaves his hand in that position, letting her hold it until she falls fast asleep.

Link doesn’t move his hand until he’s certain it won’t wake her up from her much needed rest. He looks at her gentle, soft face. No one even understands what she just went through, no one ever will. He’s worried sick that she won’t make it through the night, and he keeps leaning his head down to listen to her breathing, or places a few fingers against her forehead to check her temperature.

He does his best to stay vigilant the entire night, not once even looking away from her. But just before the sun rises, his body suddenly catches up with his mind. He also just had the most demanding battle of his life. His muscles started to ache, and he developed a headache. He was just a boy, after all. More than anything, his sword arm was weak, and fire-hot pain shot up and down through it. He probably overused it fightin the calamity.

He keeps telling himself that he’s fine. He has to be fine, for Zelda. His arm isn’t that bad, what really hurts was his heart. Usually he’d just down a fairy tonic and maybe go to the hot springs if he was in the area but this pain was different. A twisting and contracting ache in his chest pulled and tugged on his lungs and pulse. It’s the same pain he felt when he remembered Mipha, and more specifically, the pain he felt when he dreamed about his family before the resurrection.

The dream that gave him the memories of a little sister with blonde hair like his collecting fireflies in her pockets. Her laugh echoing, the call of an older man, the image of a royal guards sword leaned up against the dinner table. The touch of his father’s hand as he rubs Link’s back to sleep.

Link’s first sword.

He wakes up like a fire, standing up and almost toppling over. He didn’t even realize he had fallen asleep. He could hear the soft tune of the penny whistle playing the standard stable theme, and the two little brothers played tag outside. He curses and looks down at Zelda.

Her bed is empty, and his heart completely stops. He starts breathing hard and heavy, his entire nervous system feels as though it’s pulled into stasis. How could he make such a foolish mistake? He swings his sword over his back, strapping his shield to his leathers and turns around in a wild-hunt to see the Princess sitting at the round stable table, drinking out of a mug and speaking gently with an older man.

Link takes a breath of relief, and approaches the two.

“Good Morning.” She smiles up at him. Her voice sounded much better, and her eyes finally had life back into them, but she still wasn’t herself. Her skin still looked sickly, her face hollowed out and eyes droopy. Any progress is good progress, Link decides then and there.

“I… didn’t mean to fall asleep.” Link sighs. “I’m so sorry. When did you wake up?”

“Oh not long ago, maybe twenty minutes? I didn’t want to disturb you-”

“You should have.” He interrupts her and her words get swallowed out of surprise. Link realizes that he snapped at her a little, and immediately becomes apologetic. “I’m sorry, again. I just…”

“You’re worried about me. I understand.” She takes his hand, her bones frail. In many ways, she physically looked worse today than last night. But at least she could hold a conversation. He nods. Zelda notices the tension, and changes the subject, “This kind gentleman was telling me about when you saved the stable from a horde of lizalfos about a year ago.”

Link looks over at the man, Giahzo. “Oh that was nothing, it was just two green lizalfos and a blue one who wandered too close to the stable.” Link hums. Their hands were still held together by Zelda.

“Don’t be so modest!” The old man chuckled, “Without you, it would have been a disaster! The number of monsters means nothing, especially when you don’t know how to fight!”

“That’s very kind of you.” Link smiles and then realizes he and Zeldas hands, he’s the one to pull it away. “What are you drinking?”

“I’m not sure…” Zelda begins and Link immediately snatches the mug from her hand. “Hey!”

“You can’t just drink something mysterious.” Link scolds.

“Oh it’s just a bit of Hateno Milk.” The man assures. Link looks at him, then Zelda, and then into the mug to see the creamy liquid. He brings it to his nose and smells it, and then takes a sip of it. Sure enough, it was just milk.

“I’m sorry, Giahzo.” He apologizes and places the mug back down. “I’m just on high alert.”

“Do not apologize to me, apologize to this lovely young lady you’ve graced us with.” The elderly man smiles with a chuckle, his eyes wrinkling up with his age. Zelda smiles, blushing a little, “Tell me, dear, where are you from? We don’t get many new faces at this stable these days.”

Zelda looks at him, her eyes sad. A hundred years ago every person in Hyrule knew her face. She looks at Link, unsure how to answer.

“She’s from the Outskirts stable.” Link covers for her. “Her family used to reside in Central Hyrule before the Calamity.”

“Yes.” Zelda immediately chirps, “We’re headed to Hateno for…”

“A honeymoon!?” Giahzo smiles brightly. Both Link and Zelda freeze in their tracks, and Link hopes he doesn’t look as embarrassed as he feels. “Hateno is a great Honeymoon destination! Although I’ve heard Lureline is even more splendid!” He clasps his hands together.

“Research.” Zelda clarifies, “so sorry to disappoint.” She chuckles politely, making a conscious effort not to look at Link. “I’m researching… population dynamics in Hyrule.” She makes something up that sounds completely believable.

“Of course.” Link then says, “I’m just escorting her there, we are total strangers.”

That breaks Zelda’s heart.

She knows he’s just trying to be extra careful, pushing her anonymity as much as possible. And in a way, it wasn’t a total lie. But it cut her like a knife.

“I see…” Giahzo doesn’t seem convinced. “Well, if you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to stop by. Hopefully the monsters will start to die down.” He smiles and stands up, moving outside.

Zelda is still afraid to look at Link, and he’s a little bit shaken up by the entire interaction. He knows the Yiga are still out there, he knows that there are people who will try to take advantage of her for power or money. He has no reason to suspect anything from the old man, but he can’t help himself from being deliberate. He senses her tension and walks back to the bed to gather their things.

“You should have woken me up.” Link says as he picks up a satchel full of food and readjusts his gloves.

“I’m sorry.” Her voice was timid and tired. He turns around to see her, her green eyes looking up at him apologetically. “I didn’t know it would worry you so.” He approaches her.

“Of course it worries me.” He sighs. “I spent three years trying to get you out of that castle, I’m not gonna lose you on the first night.” He holds his hand out for her to trade, helping her up. She must not have rested as well as he thought, because as soon as she gets on her feet, she almost topples right over him. He catches her, holding her up before she collapses. “Woah there.” He mutters. “You alright?”

She nods, “Let’s just get to that house you told me about.”

—

chapter two

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randomgirlyoudontknow · 1 month

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No one will probably read this, but as a long-time fan of ATLA (as in, I literally watched the show as it aired in 2005-2008), I wanted to share my thoughts on the live action. Let it be known that I am far from an ATLA purist––the original certainly had its own flaws and aspects that didn't age well, in retrospect. Despite the generally negative reviews I've seen from the fandom, I was actually very satisfied with this adaptation! But I’ve seen people saying that the characters were butchered, that it’s a soulless and superficial reproduction, and those who liked the live action aren’t capable of thinking/watching critically, which I wanted to push back against (I mean, I’m working on a doctorate in literature…I am quite literally incapable of watching anything uncritically).

The shift in tone to a darker, more mature one was a positive change, imo. It is definitely a much angrier show than the original, even if some of the characters were not as fiery as they should have been (*cough* Katara *cough*). Overall, while there were certainly decisions made that I didn't agree with (mainly related to pacing and narrative), I thought the cast and crew really captured the spirit of the original, and even added depth and nuance to parts I felt were initially lacking.

In general, I really appreciated the added emphasis on the cost and suffering of war and imperialism, as well as the depiction of the physical effects of bending. Now, I realize this is largely a matter of personal preference––for example, I'm very interested in depictions of war in fiction (I mean, my dissertation partially covers the impact of WWI on avant-garde art & literature, so...). But I've seen several claims that the live action glorifies war and violence in a way that is meant to traumatize the viewer, and I simply don't think that's true? While the original handled war, genocide, trauma, etc. in a phenomenal way for a kid's show in the early 2000s, it was also still sanitized when it comes to death and injury, to an extent that I feel like we, the viewers, almost lose sight of the fact that bending KILLS. Sure, we were exposed to its after effects, like the death of Katara and Sokka's mother or Zuko's scar, but there's something to be said actually seeing and acknowledging the very palpable danger that something like firebending presents.

I've even seen someone say that the show's depiction of "gratuitous violence" constitutes a "profound misunderstanding" of the source text, which I think is frankly a bad faith take. The death and violence, though more realistic, is still not a major focus of the show, nor is it glorified in any way. A glorification of violence would look like indiscriminate killing and maiming for the sake of edginess (looking at you GOT). We would see graphic depictions of death and injuries, which simply does not happen in this show (they even joke about the fact that we never see anyone die in Ember Island Players). War and fighting are still treated with the same depth and gravity as the original, only this time, the severity of its consequences isn't obscured from the viewer.

I also thought the show's handling of trauma (especially Katara's) was excellent. The choice to have Katara's mom's death revealed in flashbacks (specifically when around firebending) was something that really stood out to me. And the new characterization of Bumi, which I realize was quite unpopular, was another change I quite appreciated. His bitterness and cynicism seemed more in-line with someone who had endured 100 years of war and the suffering of his people at the hands of a brutal imperial force. Lastly, I was pleased to see the narrative attempt to address the role Iroh played in the Siege of Ba Sing Se (something that was absolutely missing from the original). The Earth Kingdom soldier confronting him and calling him a butcher was a powerful moment, for me. I truly hope the show continues to dive into this aspect of his character in future seasons.

Speaking of characters, I loved that we got extra background and insight into several of the characters. Zhao, for example, was unexpectedly quite funny, and his actor really did a phenomenal job of fleshing him out and making him feel like a real person (as slimy and smarmy as he was) rather than a stock, cartoon villain. And I have to give kudos to the actors who played Sokka and Zuko––they both did an incredible job of embodying their respective characters, in a way that felt highly reminiscent of the original. In particular, I thought the handling of Zuko's backstory was truly outstanding––perhaps even better than the original.

All in all, I felt the live action did a really nice job of balancing the darker sides with the light. While I've seen fans complaining that the show doesn't have the same goofiness and lightheartedness, I actually thought the humor worked really well––it was one of the few times I felt the overly ironic, Joss Whedonesque one-liners actually fit. Sure, the humor was a lot drier and more toned down than the original, but I nonetheless thought it carried the show's spirit well (loved that they let Sokka say “ass” not once, but twice). There were moments when I genuinely laughed out loud! I also appreciated how, despite the more mature tone, hope, friendship, and harmony still remained the most important aspect at the end of each episode.

There's a lot of room for improvement, but I was overall very satisfied with the live action, and I'm very glad that the series has been renewed. I'm very excited to see what the cast and crew does with the rest of the show!

#tl;dr i really enjoyed the live action #long post #there's honestly so much more i could say but my brain is currently fried #this is probably a little all over the place but i just finished up a book review and i am incapable of forming coherent thoughts #atla #avatar the last airbender #natla #natla positivity

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jullbnt · 3 months

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Hey! If you are still taking requests, I would like to make one 🥰

Also, if it is possible, can you not respond to my ask publicly? I want to make the request for my sister, and she has you on notifications.

My sister absolutely adores your art and fell completely in love with the ballet au (since they are like 2 of her favorite things) and I wanted to request something for her.

So I was wondering, would you be alright with drawing a design up for Midna? One of her favorite moments is the end of Twilight Princess when Kinda reveals her true form to Link and Zelda. If you are open to it, would you maybe be able to turn that into a ballet scene? If not, that's totally ok.

Again, we both love your art so much, and congrats on the milestone! 💖

Hello @no-embers-left I hope you enjoy your surprise :))

This is such a lovely message, I was really touched! 🥹 (of course we agreed I could answer this way even though I was first asked not to reply publicly haha)

I actually considered drawing Midna for my ballet AU but didn’t know how to include her in my very simple story ^^

Her design also makes things a bit complicated I guess, I don’t know if her cape (or whatever it is) would be very practical for dancing and I can’t really remove such an important part of her design. Her imp form is another problem, could she be portrayed by a child dancer or am I being unrealistic? 😅

I also don’t know how her return to her true form could be done in a ballet (the game itself didn’t show the actual transformation haha)

Anyway I write too much, here’s Imp Midna and also… Twilight Link :D

(I guess dancing with that big weird helmet that covers one eye has to be difficult??)

And now the reveal scene! I drew Zelda too since she was mentioned in the ask even though she stays behind in the cutscene. This one has an actual background even though it’s still fairly simple ^^

(It’s a bit large sorry if you’re on your phone)

Now I’m thinking a scene with dancers representing the Light Spirits would be interesting 🤔 I’ve always loved the moment they all appear above Midna with that beautiful music!

I hope you enjoy this and I’m so happy you two love my work :D

———————

I won’t accept more requests at the moment! This is a request I received for my 500 followers celebration and I still have a lot to do :)

Answered art requests

#loz #zelda #loz fanart #the legend of zelda #loz ballet #twilight princess #link #princess zelda #midna #tp link #tp zelda #ask #art request

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dailyadventureprompts · 5 months

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Adventure: Shadow of the Harvest Moon

Most imagine the shadowfell as a dreadful and dreary place, but there are islands of solace in the underworld, such as the realm of Dwindlehearth which manifests as a pastoral village rendered in an eternal autumn sunset. It is a place where those who were lonely in life find kinship in the folkish festivals put on by the attendant spirits, where those too stubborn to accept the end can work themselves to satisfied exhaustion in the fields before retiring in comfort, and where those never had enough can stay in on a rainy day and enjoy a filling meal by a warm fire. It is a good death, a good afterlife, the sort we would wish for those we loved dearest to allow their memory to fade most gracefully.

But Something is wrong in Dwindlehearth

Rot spreads through the fields and the shades can find no solace, foul things stalk at the edge of dark woods, clouds cover the face of the ember-warm sun and part to reveal a cold and leering moon, too low and with it's own strange, superntatural gravity.

If the dead are to know peace once again, something must be done.

Hooks:

After their latest bout of occupational grave desecration the party are called upon by the deathgod Nerull to help sort things out, whatever's causing the problem is hidden from his sight and he'll forgive them their literal and figurative trespasses if they can root out whatever corruption is twisting his pastoral realm into a nightmare.

Most shades in Dwindlehearth have varying levels of awareness, identities growing hazier the closer they get to moving on. The rot seems to remind them of all their regrets and failings, preserving their worst aspects while the rest of them atrophies. This is to say nothing of when the night descends unexpectedly, and those shades worst affected transform into monsters, or nightmarish hauntings.

Investigating the source of the corruption will prove difficult, but perhaps the party can get the aid of one of the attendant psychopomps ( most of whom are busy fighting the rot and fending off incursions from unseen enemies at the village's border) or by taking inconstant direction to seek out Dwindlehearth's mayor ( a position the psychopomps have no memory of appointing) who turns out to be a still living necromancer resided on an estate that she's transported to the middle of the death god's domain (especially if the party encountered hear early in the campaign). She's willing to help, but only if the party put in a good word for her with Nerull, as she's grown to quite enjoy the surroundigns.

Behind all the problems in Dwindlehearth is Zuggtmoy, demon queen of despair and decay, who saw the pastoral stillness of the village as the perfect place to spread her stagnation. Her influence drives souls to bitter, resentful, remembrance, priming them for transformation into foul minions.

Speaking of Minions, Zuggtmoy's influence was carried to the village by the departed soul of one of her priests, a poet mired in morbid melancholy by the name of Blaine Blackstem, who got one of the psychopomps to carry him over Nerrull's wards. Blaine was never a good poet, but his mistress's gifts and the nightmare landscape have transformed him into a looming scarecrow figure, striding through the fields sowing rot and then taking grisly inspiration as how the souls twist.

A number of Zuggtmoy's other fiendish minions probe the border of Dwindlehearth just waiting for a large enough breach to pour in, Blaine aims to accommodate them by creating an army of pumpkin monsters and setting them lose to overwhelm the psychopomps leaving the village undefended.

Art 1 Art 2 Art 3

#halloween #mid level #low level #shadowfell #festival #village #spooky #underworld #zuggtmoy #monster hunt

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xxgoblin-dumplingxx · 7 months

Note

In Buck tattoo artist, what tattoo does the reader want to cover

Bucky set up his room and exhaled slowly. Steadying himself to focus in. The picture of the tattoo he was covering. The heavy lines and busted work of the anchor.

Traditional work gone wrong. So wrong.

The placement- the whole thing was just wrong. But this Phoenix with the flames and embers. And the color and shading in the wings. It suited you.

During the consultation, you were- hard to describe. But he knew strength and resilience when he saw it. You didn't even flinch at his prosthetic. You focused on his portfolio. On what he was best at and how he could make a piece of art you could wear and be proud of.

He wanted to do this justice.

"Ready for today?" Nat asked leaning on the doorway.

"I think so," he said nodding. "Not sure how well she'll sit but-"

"If she can sit through that," Nat said nodding to the scratcher work on the table, "She'll be able to sit through you. You're not as heavy handed as Clint-"

"Hey!" Clint protested.

"Just saying," Nat said shrugging, taking a sip from her coffee mug.

"She know she's getting a discount?" Clint asked, surveying the work.

Bucky felt his cheeks heat and he shook his head, "No I uh- she's pretty broke and I-"

"Aww. Bucky and his client sitting in a tree," Cling said breaking off.

"It's not like that."

"Yeah yeah," he snorted. "Don't have a cash bar at the wedding."

#ask answered #minors dni #reader insert #tattoo artist!Bucky #Bucky x reader

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ceruleancattail · 15 days

Note

ceruruuuuuu whats ur favorite cater card art?

…. Excellent question.

OK MY HEAD WAS BLOWING STEAM WITH THIS ONE, I GENUINELY LIKE ALL OF HIS CARDS… for varying reasons. It’s not because I’m biased because I like him, uh nuh-

I have all the cards of cater released in the en server but that’s just a coincidence, trust me on this one ok-

BUT MY FAVOURITE HAS TO BE HALLOWEEN CATER. HALLOWEEN CATER.

Ok just look at this. He’s serving✨

I love the unique angle of this card, the way he’s slipping off the hat, and the detail of the veil covering his face. It just goes to show the layer he keeps within him and the people around him.

The way he keeps a distance, despite still being “Cater”. I really like the contrast his eyes have to the warm orange lighting and the dark background, because they seem to almost glow, giving an eerie, ghostly sort of effect to this entire card.

The lighting of the Jack’o lanterns illuminating him with a soft orange, ember sort of glow is just so cool. It feels like a sort of artificial warmth, surrounded by the chill of the night. I love love love it so so so much.

I might be reading too much into this card but I have to tear this apart with my teeth I love it so so so so so much GRRRRRRR

THE GROOVY HAVING A INSANE CONTRAST FROM A WARM SOMBER SORT OF LIGHT TO THIS COLD, STRANGE MIST LIGHTING IS INSANE. JUMPSCARE FR.

I love like deranged he looks now, compared to the picture perfect model from the earlier card. His hair is tousled up, he’s on all fours, stretching out towards the camera, reaching for something for me teehee (delusional) AND THE WAY THE LANTERNS LOOK SO MUCH MORE SINISTER BEHIND HIM????

BRO CLIMBED RIGHT OUT OF THE GRAVE WITH THAT SMUGASS SMIRK RRRRRR!!!!!! Biting this card like a freaking chew toy-

FOR THE LONGEST TIME THIS WAS MY HOMESCREEN CHARACTER OUTFIT SHENEJKSW I FUCKING LOVED IT

ISN’T HE CUTE? ISN’T HE SO NAUSEATINGLY ADORABLE???? THE LITTLE WINK??? THE SMILE AS HE HOLDS UP HIS HANDS IN THE “ROAR” POSE???? GRRRRRRRRRR I’M GONNA THROW UP FROM HOW GOOD HE LOOKS!!!!!! HANDSOME BOY HANDSOME BOY!!!!!

I LOVE THE LACE CORSET THING HE HAS GOING ON FOR THE ENTIRE OUTFIT SO MUCH. THE WHITE ROSES (?) ON HIS SLEEVES AS WELL WKSNWJWKWKWKWKEKEKJE IM GNAWING ON THEM!!!!! THE DETAILS THE TATTERED CAPE THE LITTLE SKULL ON HIS FUNKY LITTLE HAT IS EVERYTHING TO ME. EVERYTHING.

I’m just questioning the crotch… like…. Hm. Why? Why is it laced there? Oh well-

BUT EVERYTHING LOOKS SO GOOD HEARTSABYUL ATE THE MAKEUP WITH THE SMOKY EYELIDS MAKES ME INSANELY FERAL I HAVE NO IDEA WHY PLEASE SAVE ME FROM THIS MAN.

ALSO THE GROOVY VOICELINE SLAPPED ME SO HARD I’M STILL SEEING STARS LIKE ON GOD- YANA KNOWS CATER’S TARGET AUDIENCE FR FR ITS ME I’M THE TARGET AUDIENCE/j

FUCK!!!! THIS WAS SUCH A SHOCK TO MY ASS LIKE I JUMPED AND WAS LIKE OH NO I’M BEING CALLED OUT-

Like you could take this two ways. One is the whole “you took the effort to know the real me (dug me up), so you’re now an important figure in my life, please don’t leave me”

AND THE OTHER IS THE WHOLE YANDERE SCENARIO THING LIKE “You know who I really am, unearthed the real Cater Diamond… don’t think I’ll ever let you leave me.”

Am I delusional? Yes. Am I self aware and properly ashamed of myself? Yes. But this VOICELINE gave me brainrot for weeks so this card makes me so so so ill. Ill for this man!!!!! THIS MAN!!!!!

HIS STORY WAS SO FUCKING SAD IN THIS CARD THO I WAS LIKE NOOO!!!! I HATE YOU BUT LIKE BRO DO YOU NEED A HUG??? DO YOU NEED SOMEONE TO TALK TO??? MY MAN????

but yes this is my favourite Cater Card to date. Sorry for the whole ass ramble I got too silly.

#the mage’s hat 🎩#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #cater diamond #I hate him btw but I have to admit he slayed with this one

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blazingsakyra · 2 months

Text

"This guy gives me the heebie jeebies."

-Tam probably

Also, quick theory. I keep thinking that John and this Master guy are blood-related somehow.

I mean, John is clearly not a human and happens to know and get along with Master. Plus, Master's a shapeshifter, and if I remember correctly, a Leo gender (edit: it's Pisces sorry-) which means he can shapeshift, and John can also shapeshift. Family inheritance! I think.

This might also explain the part in the Embers documents when the writer of the document (I forgor) said Edgar might've come to the surface because of John (at least, that's how I interpreted it). Maybe John and Edgar personally know each other too? Or Edgar sensed something familiar about him?

Idk, there might be more that I forgot to cover. I just like to spew some nonsense every once in a while. IF this theory actually means something, then yay I guess-

If not, oh well. Anyways- if you read this rant, thanks. I'm going positively insane after getting 3 hours of sleep and getting kicked in the ass by art block and school.

#Incredibox #Incredibox fanart #Art #Sepbox #My hand slipped #Art block hhhghgerjghjks

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sprout-fics · 8 months

Text

Rotes Mädchen: Chapter 5

(Werewolf! König x Red Riding Hood! Reader)

(Art by the lovely @zwienzixes)

(Masterlist)

Word count: 5.6k Rating: PG-13 Tags: Werewolf! König, Fairytale AU, Monster Hunters TF141, Traditional German Fairytale setting, World Building/Lore, F! Reader, Sexual tension, Slow burn, Domesticity, Literal sleeping together, Bed sharing, Angst/Comfort, Fluff Warnings: Sexual harassment by unnamed characters

In the days that follow, you begin to feel your heart unfurl.

You wake before König most mornings, pad on bare feet to the hearth with its still glowing embers and allow fire to blossom under your hands. The infant flames ward off the growing chill of dawn, light against the planes of your face until they crackle against the logs. It's the sound of splintering wood and bubbling steam from the kettle that often wakes König, who refuses to draw from bed. Instead, he tucks himself closer into the covers, growls at the thought of wakefulness and dozes a little longer. You find it oddly endearing, and it makes sense, given his seemingly nocturnal nature and with the both of you spending long hours into the night talking about all manner of things.

"I've always loved the stars." He tells you one late evening, while you perch in the loft with him, a shawl draped over your shoulders and legs dangling over the edge. He gazes up at the beams of the cabin as if he can see the sky beyond. "I learned when I was a boy to navigate by the sky. I know the winter constellations- see?" He leans over to you, shoulders bumping and raising a hand to trace invisible paths beyond the ceiling. "There's der Wasserman, the water bearer- and der Widder, the ram."

You smile, lean further into him as if you can somehow see the heavens beyond his gaze. He smells like ferns, of damp soil and pine. It floats through your thoughts, holds you cradled against his side until your eyes grow heavy to the sound of his voice.

When you wake the next morning, you find yourself in your bed, one of his blankets tucked around your shoulders, and the faint memory of being aloft in his arms.

The blanket smells like him.

König stays inside during the daytime lest he be seen by your neighbors. You venture out on most days, relishing the sunlight on his behalf. There's always work to be done in the village, and for you, who lives alone, that goes thrice fold. You hike up your skirt as you chop wood for the stove, dig through damp earth for mushrooms and roots to trade for meat, gather apples from the wild orchards, let bread dough rise above the hearth so the scent fills the cottage. Normally the things that feel mundane, perhaps even a hindrance, are now tinted with a soft sense of joy- knowing that once they are finished you return home to him and his company.

There's a tenderness in your heart that you fail to notice at first. It blooms like soft spring flowers, hides the gentle pale of its petals until sunlight washes over it. The air you breathe feels lighter, scented with rosemary hanging from the rafters, filling your lungs in a way that is wholly unfamiliar and yet so welcome. It feels much like the sound of his voice, the brief glancing touches he seems almost afraid to offer. When you meet his stare, the green of his eyes feels like a misty springtime meadow.

König is gentle with you in a way no one else has ever been. He's a touch shy, but in a way that's blessedly endearing. He calls you by soft names, Fraulein, Liebchen, and your favorite: Rotty- a play on your red cloak. He drapes it around you one morning, tying the ribbon with fumbling fingers as his eyes dart from yours to the lopsided bow. When you smile at the sound of his voice, his eyes alight with joy that bleeds into your soul. The companionship between you two comes as naturally as breathing, two lonely souls gently entwining themselves against the growing November frost to keep warm the slow filling of your hearts.

You can't deny the glances you steal when he isn't looking, watching the way he stretches so his just too-small shirt rides up the planes of his stomach or the reach of his muscular arms as he climbs the ladder to the loft. You thought his build was wiry at first, the way he was hunched in his cave, frightened and scared. Yet the more König shares your meals with you the more he fills out, adding bulk to the broadness of his shoulders and thighs.

"See something you like, fraulein?" He asks playfully when he catches you ogling him one evening as the fire glows warmly against his skin. You only return the humor in his voice with your grin.

"I like you." You reply and laugh when he splutters. Yet then he rubs the back of his neck and turns, and the moment is lost.

There's a strangeness between you two that falls in the silence. You lay awake in your bed at night, listening to him snore softly in the loft, and feel your face warm when you wonder what it would be like to fall asleep in his arms. You remember the way he relaxed into your embrace when you looped your arms around him from behind on the night he told you of his mother, wishing he would draw you closer into him in the same way you wanted him. You want to feel the warmth of him bleed into you, chase away the distant ache of your heart as he whispers your name in the darkness.

You...might want him.

Yet, you aren't sure if König wants you.

It goes beyond his shyness. There seems to be a hesitancy to König sometimes that you can't fully understand. Every time he draws closer, lets his voice grow a touch softer, and you think maybe he'll reach out and touch you, he withdraws. Almost as if he doesn't trust himself, as if he won't allow himself. There’s secrets in him that wind around his heart like brambles. You want to reach out in the space he's left absent, tell him to come closer. Yet König seems to know that he might prick your fingers, draw red from the pad of your thumb like the same curse that befell Aurora.

He seems haunted by something you can't see, something that makes him toss and turn on some nights, muttering in his sleep. Yet by the time you climb up to the loft to try to wake him, he's settled once more into stillness, and his nightmares remain a mystery. Come morning his eyes are full of warmth, and the affection in them is sometimes so profound you have to avert your gaze as your face warms under his stare.

You wish he would tell you the things he is hiding, hope that it fills the unknowable distance between you so you can indulge in the feeling of his embrace. Maybe if he tells you, he’ll allow himself to harbor affections for you in the same way you do for him. You wonder, sometimes, if you'll ever get to know the things concealed by the brambles of his heart. Maybe if you push too hard he'll leave you, and you'll be alone again.

You wish...he would stay.

-----

When you arrive at Laswell's, the mood is sour.

You enter into a quiet scene, one filled only by the hushed discussions around Laswell's table and the crackling hearth beside it. They seem not to notice you as you enter and close the door behind you. You eye your companions uneasily, instantly able to discern the low, roiling tone of frustration and restlessness that permeates the cottage.

Price is leaning back in his chair at the table, arms crossed, brow furrowed, having not even lit his pipe- a tell-tale sign of uneasiness. Beside him, Soap leans into his hands with a similar expression, listening to whatever hushed words Laswell is saying to them. Gaz casts them anxious looks from where he crouches near the hearth, tending the flames. You feel the atmosphere press heavily down on your shoulders, stale the air in your lungs as you perch nervously by the heavy oak door.

It's Ghost who notices you, dark eyes flicking up to yours with a quiet greeting. It seems to startle the rest of them from their reverie, eyes turning towards you as you approach with a tender, anxious smile.

"Red." Laswell breathes, and the flintiness fades from her stare into something more familiar. "Please, come sit."

You hesitate for a moment, unsure if you should interrupt what seems to be a serious discussion. Yet there seems to be a relief in the expressions of your friends, so you settle on the chair Laswell has kicked out with her foot for you, depositing a basket of goods atop the table.

"What's all this?" Soap asks, quick to rifle through the contents of the basket, pulling aside the cloth atop it with eager fingers.

"Some bread, jam, dried fruit, a little bit of lamb." You supply, grinning as Soap's eyes light up happily. The announcement seems to dispel the growing air of anxiousness in the cabin with a sigh of gratitude. "I figured it's a lot to feed four hungry witchers. I'd rather you not eat Kate out of house and home."

Gaz strides over as well, plucking a glass jar of jam from Soap's hands and examining it with a broad grin. He turns it over in his hands a few times before his gaze alights upon you, eyes relieved and appreciative.

"I haven't had blackberry jam in ages." He conveys softly, a touch tender but more than pleased. "Usually we're eating on the run- rabbits, squirrels, boar if we're lucky."

"Snakes too." Soap tells you over a mouthful of bread, wasting no time in devouring some of the food. You think you might hear his stomach growl. "Ghost won' eat em. Can't blame him, they're a little gamey."

"I hate snakes." Ghost offers lowly with a mild sneer, though he too draws closer to the table, plucking a few dried apples and pocketing them for later.

"This was very sweet of you, Red." Price offers from where he sits, face relaxed from his previous scowl. His words are soft, reassuring, and seem to seep away the remnants of taut unrest from the room. You feel your shoulders relax, smiling in return at his friendly, beholden gaze.

"Did you walk here by yourself?" Laswell asks, and you turn to her to see her concerned gaze flicker across her gray eyes.

The unspokenness of the threat that continues to linger in the woods weighs heavy on her words. You needn't be reminded. The entire journey over here, despite the brightness of daylight dappling through the canopy above, was fraught with memories of a massive black shadow in the woods. Even now you can't shake the memory of glowing eyes at the periphery of a haloed lantern, gleaming in the darkness, watching.

"It's still bright out." You explain, shaking off the thought. "I'll be back before dark too. I promise."

Kate looks a little unconvinced, and though she opens her mouth to speak, she's interrupted by a grunt of disapproval from Soap as Gaz tries to wrestle a roll out of his hands. The two bicker for a moment before Laswell sighs, levies them with a stern look and gentle reminder of "Boys." that has both witchers instantly obey and duck their heads in apology.

"Let them eat, Kate." Price sighs, rubbing a hand over his face wearily. "They'll need their strength."

That seems to pass through the group like an electric current, summoning the bright flash of eyes and coiled muscles in response to Price's words. You blink at the return of this tense atmosphere, slide your eyes to Laswell's pinched expression. She catches your gaze, holds your stare for a long moment.

"The full moon is the night after tomorrow." Kate confesses quietly, and her hands reach between you to settle upon yours in your lap. You look from them to her face, your expression open with concern.

"But-" You manage, realization drawing across your thoughts. "You haven't found the wolf."

Somehow, it's Ghost's eyes you land upon in the room of averted gazes. The masked witcher refuses to look away for a few moments, and you think that if you peer past the mask you can see the tightness of his brow in frustration.

"There's been no sign of it." Gaz confesses quietly. "Not since that night."

That night, weeks ago now, the one where you had met them for the very first time. The one where you had allowed yourself a single look over your shoulder to see the mammoth, ragged shadow that seemed to blot out the light of the moon. It had gazed after you, your red cape fluttering behind you as Price rode off into the darkness, feeling the glowing stare of it chasing behind your thoughts.

"You injured it." You breathe, remembering Price at your door soon after. "Maybe...maybe you killed it?"

Price shakes his head, lips a thin line. "We would have found the body by now."

"T-then maybe you chased it off." You try, voice a little firmer now. "Maybe it got injured and retreated up to the mountains."

It's Soap who offers you a quiet, concerned gaze, having placed down his food. "Even if that were true, lass, it will come back. The thing needs blood, it needs to eat."

You feel an icy wave of dread wash over you, one that's not warmed by the crackling hearth at your back. Gaz nudges his friend a touch harshly, scowling.

"Don't scare her." Gaz warns quietly, and Soap levies a glancing frown at him.

"Not tryin’ tae scare her." He retorts, rubbing the spot on his arm. "She needs to know."

You swallow. Your throat feels dry.

"Know...what?" You venture quietly, and Soap turns to you once more, eyes softening as he takes in your frightened gaze. Yet it's Price who responds to your query.

"Your village." Price offers solemnly, and all eyes in the room draw to his hunched posture, his darkened gaze. "Many may die."

Devastating silence.

You stare at Price, your horror written clear across your face. The cabin suddenly feels too small, too thin, the perimeter of the woods pressing closer in on you. Suffocating. When you breathe, it isn't the familiar smell of dried herbs and bubbling stew. No, you swallow and taste the phantom scent of blood.

"W-what do you mean?" You manage, voice very small, wavering with fright.

Price stares at you grimly, and there's a faint concern to his stare that is shielded by the grave nature of his words.

"A wolf of this size may not stop at slaughtering livestock." He explains, voice low in prophetic warning. "We've seen what a monster like this can do. Even if you board your windows, lock your doors, paint the hinges with wolfsbane, it may not be enough to stop it."

A vision washes over you as you stare at the captain, eyes bright with fear. Your thoughts play the image of a massive, snarling beast destroying the walls and doors of houses, of snatching your neighbors from their homes and crushing them between its jaws as red seeps into the earth below a heavy, full moon. Screams slice through the air, and even with arrows lodged in the creature's back it only snarls, cuts through flesh with gigantic, glinting claws.

None will be safe.

"Red." Laswell presses forward, tone urgent. "Please. Come stay here. I know you don't want to leave your home, but it isn't safe. We can protect you. I don't-"

Laswell swallows, oddly emotional. Her gray eyes alight with a sudden insistency that plucks at your ribs. "I can't lose another friend." She whispers, feather light like graveyard mist. "Please."

Your face falls, mouth snapping shut as you regard your friend.

Gently, the soft smell of ferns, of earth and musk washes across your senses, draws you back through the winding forest paths and up the steps of your cottage. There, it's a familiar voice, gentle and pleased that greets you, that skims across your skin and leaves glowing captivation in its wake. His soft words wind around your thoughts, draw you closer to him, into the sensation of your arms wrapped around him while he whispers a question to the starlit sky, and to you.

“Would you ever leave?”

“…Yes.”

You can't leave him.

It's not that König needs you, you realize, but that you need him.

The realization thunders inside your chest hard enough to make you jolt, blink until your eyes focus once more on the woman in front of you. Kate's face is ashen with concern, and you swallow under the intensity of her stare, hands trembling.

Maybe, you think, maybe you can find a way to protect him, to keep you both safe, to bring him to your new friends without the promise of his destruction. If you can do that, if you can keep him until dawn rises on the third day-

"Just one more day." You whisper, even as the waxing moon inches closer towards fullness with every heartbeat.

"Just one more day."

-------

Your words linger in the back of your mind as you meander in the direction of the village. It's not dark, not yet, but the sunlight is fading beyond the trees, hiding behind the hills. The dimness nestled in the shadow of the valley slowly falls as a curtain over the forest and the creatures within it.

Price had once more offered you an escort back to the village, but you'd gently refused him. You need the time alone to think, and between the crowdedness of Kate's cottage and your sheltered guest back at your own, the woods offered a welcome respite from the tumult of your thoughts.

The threat of the wolf, of the monster you saw that night murmurs inside your chest with a heavy, consuming dread. Your dreams continue to be plagued by the beast, offering visions of your red cape snagged in brambles as you race through the darkened, misty woods. The wolf chases you, the earth thundering under your feet as you flee. When you stumble, fall, the creature halts to raise his fanged muzzle to the heavy yellow moon, howling a cursed abraxas before his glinting eyes fall upon you once more.

It's been several weeks now since that night, but the fear the monster presents has yet to fade. Now, in the imminent promise of the carnage to come, you huddle into yourself, look to the trees and wonder if these woods will be the same as they once were once all is over.

You're terrified, of course. For yourself, yes, but for your friends, fit to fight as they are. Soap's story of his young, brawny squad mates falling one by one to a werewolf's claws ripples across the vision of all of them, and you try not to imagine them befalling the same fate. The image of your tiny, unassuming village devastated by the wrath of a singular behemoth feels less like a nightmare and more like an imminent prophecy.

As you look down the streets just as you meet the edge of town, you try not to imagine them streaked with blood and ash, houses torn asunder and the mangled corpses of your neighbors strewn across the lanes. You feel powerless to stop it, knowing the fate that awaits you all, but unable to protect anyone. Not even yourself.

Not even him.

Your house glows with warm, welcoming lantern light in the distance, smoke curling from the chimney with the gentle whisper of birch across your senses. You know the sound of the voice that will greet you, know the soft skim of his fingers and the unblinking interest in his eyes he never speaks. You know you'll both talk long into the evening as you always do, laugh over steaming mugs of cider until your eyes droop heavy and he offers a ginger murmur of "Sleep, Rotty."

You want these evenings to go on forever, you think. Your home is no longer the hollow, empty thing it once was. It feels warm, full, embraced in a tender touch that soothes the lonely fringes of your soul. The presence of him feels so much like the pine scented cradle of the woods around you, something that holds you safe, ensconced in protection. It whispers words to you that you can't understand, but you know in your heart all the same.

Home.

A home about to be ravaged, destroyed, and perhaps him with it.

He asked you once before in a desperate plea not to tell the witchers of his presence, too afraid they might see a leper like him as something not human- a threat. You've worked hard to earn his trust, relish in the gift of it bestowed in chuckled laughter and fleeting touches. To betray it, to tell Laswell that as much she wants to protect you, you need to protect someone too, to reveal him to the people who may very well want to hurt him-

You pause just beyond the stone fence of your yard, look up at the small slope leading to your front door, and once more feel your chest ache with terrible indecision.

You can protect him, you think in a silent, daring hope. You can protect him just a little longer from them.

As your hand lands on the wooden gate to your garden there's a voice that calls out behind you, and you freeze.

You can't make out the words, slurred and unintelligible as they are, but it's the tone that makes you pause, your startled expression peeking from under your red hood.

A man stumbles his way towards you. You recognize him. He's one of the hunters' sons, a lanky, young fellow with large, boyish ears and scruffy dark hair. He's smiled at you before, but the intentions behind his eyes had seemed anything but gentle. The night you, Soap, and Gaz rode through the town square you think you might have seen him, silent as the accusation of your impurity rang hollow against your curled form.

He's holding something in his hand, and you shy away from him as he approaches, untrusting of the staggered sway of his feet and sinister sprawl of his lips. Your stomach roils with acute awareness, skin suddenly cold beyond the chill of sunset.

"Guten Abend." He greets casually, slurring his words. He leans on the corner post of your fence as you try and subtly shift towards your front door, senses awash with danger. "You looked so lonely walking home, fraulein. May I keep you company?"

"No." You respond quickly, voice flat. You scowl at him, trying to clearly display your steadfast disinterest, but the waver of your voice fails to conceal your fright. He seizes on it, straightens and takes a step towards you. It only makes you take a noticeable step back. "Please leave."

The hunter’s son frowns at that, pauses to raise the bottle in his hand to his lips. The wine inside runs a red rivulet down his chin. Yet the ire in his expression is gone in a moment, replaced once more by his ill-intentioned grin.

"It's almost the full moon." He croons, straightening and running one hand over the fence posts as he saunters towards you. You slip inside the gate as he does, chastising yourself for never fixing the latch. Your frowning disposition has taken on a skittish anxiety now as he tries to close the distance, instincts blaring with alarm as he continues. “It's dangerous to be here alone, by yourself."

I'm not. You almost say, jaw snapping shut before you can reveal the presence of König inside.

"I can protect you." He goes on, resting a heavy hand on your gate you'd closed behind you, and your skin prickles at the brazen encroachment on your territory, hands shaking at your sides. "I can keep you safe from the wolf."

"I don't need your help." You bite back, hackles rising now at the threat this man poses to you. Though you tremble where you stand you still plant your feet, raise your voice in an effort to ward him away from you and your home. "You need to leave."

The ire returns in the form of a sneer, and before you can stop him the man swings the gate wide and makes towards you with a growl. You skid on your feet for a moment before racing up the hill to your door, making it inside moments before his fist pounds on the wood. When he tries for the handle you’re quick to latch it, preventing him from entering. It does nothing to calm his temper, and he shoves at the door with your back pressed to it.

"You think you're better than us!" He yells abruptly from beyond the threshold, and you tremble as you desperately press yourself to the door, feeling it shake under his blows. "You're nothing more than a common whore! You and that witch have seduced those men, we can tell!"

Witch.

The accusation pulses through you like an axe to wood, bludgeoning your fragile nerves and making your hands rise to your mouth to contain a shuddering cry of despair. It’s a curse, a jinx meant only for ruin. Once you’ve been accused to the village of such a thing, no amount of protest could ever prove your innocence. Laswell, even with her gray-eyed wisdom, wouldn’t be able to escape.

Neither would you.

He’s cursed you both.

"I bet you're a witch too! Just like her!” He bellows, kicking the base of the door so hard you squeak a shrill, high sound choked in your throat. “You probably brought the wolf here yourselves to kill us all!!"

You can barely hold yourself upright, terrified beyond measure as the door trembles. The earth rolls underneath your feet, shuddering along with your form. Fear, dread, realization bubbles as a deadly potion inside your veins, making your whole body tremble and sway unsteadily. The drum of your heartbeat is fit to burst, the thrum in your ears thunderous, nearly blocking out the man’s voice.

“Do you hear me?! You’ll be the death of us all!!”

A shadow looms over you, falling across your figure and blotting out the warm haze of lantern light. You whimper on instinct, mind discerning just another threat as the body above you leans to brace his wide palms on the door. He leans to keep it from shaking at your back, green eyes watching you shake and shiver, hands pressed to your mouth to silence your cries.

"Don't listen." König tells you, loud enough for only you to hear. His voice is gentle, a startling juxtaposition to the man on the other side of your door. You cling to it desperately, trying to find an anchor amidst the fear and confusion of this sudden assault even as the man yells and pounds at the door. König remains silent, still, pressing his weight against it to try and keep it from trembling. His eyes look down at you even as tears threaten your own, feeling so much like a little girl lost in the woods with no way to escape.

At last, your accuser grows tired, hurls a few remaining curses at you before you hear him stumble down your garden and back towards the main road. You listen to him leave, take several long minutes to be entirely sure of his absence before finally unleashing a trembling, shaking breath of relief.

König waits a long moment before he removes his palms braced above you, no longer crowding you with his massive frame. Yet he doesn’t move away from you just yet, lingers before you even as you breathe into your palms, watery gaze cast to the floor. It’s only once his hand catches your chin, tilts you up to his masked gaze that he speaks.

“Rotty.” He whispers, that beloved nickname he’s bestowed upon you, now spoken with such tender hushed concern. “Are you alright?”

Your lip trembles as you look up at him, face warm with mortification, fear, and anger all rolled into one. Your eyes threaten tears, and through them you can see the soft, worried light of his gaze onto you. He holds you as if you’re something fragile, threatening to break apart should he dare touch you. Yet the warmth of him is undeniable, a flickering hearth that draws you closer. You desperately want to bask like springtime flowers under the dappled sunlight of his stare.

Like home. Your mind offers again, unbidden, and the thought is enough to finally make the tears overspill. A sob cracks your throat, the desperation of loneliness bubbling up in a cry before you can stop it, sending you hurtling into his chest.

You fall into him, arms stretching to wrap as far around the trunk of his form as they’ll go. König jolts at the unexpected touch, coiling in surprise. His hands flutter uncertainly over you, as if he’s not entirely sure where to put them. You think perhaps he’ll pull away, will gently pry himself from you with a hushed apology. He’s constantly like that, allowing himself to dance closer to your flickering flame, only to pull away once more into the shadows. So, your arms fasten around him, fists gripping at the fabric of his shirt in a silent bid to keep him there just a little longer.

Slowly, he eases, allows himself to unwind with a barely audible exhale. His hands descend to your shoulders, soothe downwards to your back, pressing you closer into him as you shudder. You drink in the scent of him, moss and rosemary that floats down from the rafters, of damp soil that coats your fingertips in a beloved embrace. There’s a part of you in this moment that thinks perhaps you’ve known him all your life, have been wandering these woods in search of him without knowing it ever since you were a child- lost and lonely…

…and now found.

“It’s alright, Schatz.” He murmurs in a hushed reassurance, buoying you against him as you desperately try to contain your sobs. His hands grip at you as if he’s trying to memorize the press of your figure against his, as if it will be the last time he will ever hold you. It summons a fresh bout of tears to your eyes, throat thick with a gasping sob as you nestle further into his chest.

“They can’t hurt you.” He goes on, and his voice takes on a dangerous intonation, the semblance of growl reverberating against your wet cheek. You feel his nails dig into your shoulder for the briefest of moments, as if suddenly sharpened by his anger, only to relax less than a heartbeat later. The meaning of his words is left unsaid but echoes in the scarce space between you all the same.

“I won’t let them.”

He allows you several long minutes of your shoulders trembling under his palms before he gently slides his arms around you, bending to cradle an arm beneath your legs. He lifts you to him, and you go without protest, looping your arms around his shoulders and tucking your chin under his jaw. He’s gentle as he moves, careful of where he steps and oddly different from his typical clumsy nature. After a few moments he slowly descends, releasing you so you gingerly slide into your bed.

Yet when he tries to carefully remove your arms around his shoulders you make a whimpering sound of protest, webbing your fingers together in an unbreakable hold.

“Please.” You whisper, throat hoarse from crying, afraid he’ll refuse you. “Stay.”

König pauses, until he releases his inhibitions with a soft exhale. “Of course, Rotty.” He murmurs, and moves to arrange himself beside you in bed, hauling you back into his embrace and curling around you protectively.

The last of your sobs abate, but the fear and worry there remains behind. You cling to König as if that will keep him by your side, protecting you from the curse about to befall your beloved valley in the shadow of the monster. You wind yourself around him like ivy, desperately trying to never part from him, keep him nestled in the hollow of your heart as long as you’re allowed. His deep, even breaths whisper across your skin, feeling like the barest whisper of a breeze through aspen trees.

“I’ll keep you safe.” He vows in a sacred whisper to you, an oath you shut your eyes against, wanting it desperately to be true. His arms close around with a sudden ferocity so fervent it steals the air from your chest. “I’ll protect you, Rotty. I won’t let them touch you.”

You stay silent, allowing the meaning of his words to wash over you. The secrets between you remain unspoken, and as desperately as you want to understand them you settle for this instead- the heat of him, the curl of his body around yours, the press of his hand in your hair, the arm settled heavy across your form that shelters you from the world. You try to memorize it, try to imbue it into the repository of your memories so that if you survive the imminent cataclysm you’ll continue to remember him.

One more day, you remind yourself with a silenced whisper. One more day here, with him. With us.

You send a prayer up to the heavens that after all of this is over you’ll both walk into the woods hand in hand, having found each other after a lifetime of wandering the fern lined paths.

The moon grows heavy in your thoughts.

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