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annahxredaxted · 4 months

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Heyo idk if your requests are opened, but if possible can you write a one shot of Milo and sweetheart when sweetheart is non verbal after a bad day, and they can't talk to show him a wound they got on the job? Thanks!!

oh my goodness nobody ever requests stuff so this made me super excited! so of courseeee. also just so everyone knows my request are always open unless explicitly stated (:

Pairings: Milo/Sweetheart

cw: mentions of blood/gore etc. - cursing -

____

sweetheart let out a loud sigh as they closed their car door. they knew inside would be tiring. milo was waiting for them.

the idea of keeping a conversation going made them almost nauseous, they debated staying in the car for a little bit. but alas they gave up and went inside.

the smell of dinner instantly flooded their nose when they opened the door. they could hear bustling in the kitchen.

sweetheart set their bag on the bench in the entryway and hung their keys on the rack. the jingle alerting milo they were home. they could hear his steady footsteps making their way toward them.

“well hey there..” he smiled and hugged them with a quick kiss on the head.

they nodded and barely whispered a “hi.” back he knew something was wrong, but he couldn’t quite pinpoint it.

he looked at them concerned, he rubbed their shoulder briefly before clearing his throat.

“why don’t you go change into some more comfortable clothes yeah? then you can come back in here for dinner. i made ya favorite.” he smiled and nudged them, trying his hardest to get a grin out of them, but nothing. they still held that drained and almost numb look.

they nodded and shrugged their jacket off before hanging it up and walked to their shared room, not a word uttered.

sweetheart trudged into their closet, grabbing a pair of shorts and a dark green crewneck, that just so happened to be milo’s.

they splashed their face for a minute before blindly feeling for a towel with their eyes clenched shut. they dried their face with a tired sigh. it was only 6pm and that was a bit early to go to bed at the excuse of being tired.

as they walked they felt a painful sensation on their waist, they remembered being burned by some crazed and drunk fire elemental, but they barley thought it was a singe, so they ignored it.

milo noticed them come back into the kitchen he smiled and handed them a mug of tea, their favorite kind they usually drank when they came home.

“you hungry?” he asked softly, his hand on the side of their thigh and began trailing up, resting on their waist, they flinched at the sting, which had milo every shade of confused.

he looked very concerned and they didn’t say anything.

“sweetheart? are you alright?” he asked, their eyes getting watery from pain and tiredness. they shrugged weakly not being able to formulate the right words.

sweetheart began to pick at their thumbnail, part of it already red from a nervous habit they’d partaken in for a while.

“hey.. it’s alright, what’s going on?” milo whispered again, his head closer to their ear now. they still said nothing. they avoided his gaze, looking to the side of him instead of at him.

he led them to the couch to try to make them feel more relaxed, his heart aches for them, even if it wasn’t his fault he hated the idea that they were in pain or uncomfortable.

“you don’t have to answer our loud you can just nod or shake your head okay?” after a moment they nodded very subtly, sinking into the back of the couch, biting the collar of their sweatshirt.

“was it jett?” he asked, knowing jett pissed them off constantly. they shook their head.

“traffic? or just having to go to work in general?” he mumbled, his hand stroking their hair, they shrugged. that was definitely a part of it.

“did something.. bad happen today?” he asked a little more concerned. his hand rested on their shoulder and subconsciously went down to their waist again.

sweetheart winced loudly again, their face red and sweaty. milo immediately moved his hand away. he noticed that they only did that when his hand was there.

“can i look?” he asked holding the bottom of their sweatshirt, waiting for permission to tug it upward. they nodded, shivering.

he slowly and carefully pulled it up, revealing a burn mark the size of a small fist, red and oozy, it looked as it if started to scab up but the rest was raw and their were hints of dried blood around it. it looked.. painful, raw, gross.. those were all words floating around in milo’s head and he chose to say none of them.

“holy shit.. fuck sweetheart..” he whispered and they didn’t say anything.

they clenched their jaw as milo’s fingers softly circles around it, testing it’s limits of pain.

“does that hurt when i do that?” they shook their head. he was relieved he wasn’t contributing to the pain, but he still felt horrible for his poor poor sweetheart.

“why didn’t you tell me about this earlier..?” he said in a whisper. the question felt almost rhetorical because he knew they wouldn’t answer.

he immediately stood up, making his way to the first aid kit, bandage wraps and Neosporin, on his way back he grabbed a rag and a ice water.

he returned to the couch and sat in front of them on the ottoman, setting everything down. he gave them some water and kept the rag near them for something to bite down on.

milo ushered them closer, a warm but steady essence to him. he smiled briefly at them before clearing his throat.

“can i take your shirt off?” he asked quietly, they seemed almost scared. he knew this would probably hurt, and he sure as hell knew they knew that too.

they nodded reluctantly, and began pulling it over their head with some struggle, he helped them, his hands under the collar to keep it from hurting and he pulled it off with ease.

they sat there waiting as he grabbed an antibacterial wipe and slowly brought it next to the burn. before he began he handed them the towel to bite down on.

“this is probably gonna hurt.. i’m sorry baby, it won’t last long..” he whispered before kissing their head.

they whimpered and bit the towel, their head rested on milo’s shoulder, their body shook and he tried to calm them.

he slowly wiped the wound, he could hear them crying from exhaustion and pain. it hurt him to hear and see the love of his life in this state.

they quivered under his touch, the pain almost unbearable. he shushed them with warm words.

“i know baby i know..” he mumbled before finishing. he threw the wipe away, grabbing Neosporin and rubbing it on the wound, a smaller sting but still definitely sting.

they winced, arms shaking as they tried to regulate their breathing.

it was finally time to wrap the wound and they couldn’t be more relieved, milo sat them up straight, and even he was upset they had to pull away from his comfort.

milo placed the end of the bandage on the opposite side and wrapped it twice around their torso, sealing it tight but not tight enough to hurt them more.

they sighed with shaky breath before milo pulled their sweatshirt back over them, giving them a kiss on the forehead. he brought the water to their lips making them drink a little before clearing his throat.

“there.. good as new ehh?” he joked lightly, kissing their cheek. sweetheart wiped their lips of any excess water, their eyes drooped and they look exhausted.

milo smiled down at them, pulling them to their feet and kissing their head again.

“i think it’s sleepy time yeah?” he asked with a grin, they nodded barley before he picked them up, startling them but they were quickly brought to ease. they wrapped their legs around his torso and their hands around his neck, their head rested on his shoulder.

they let out a big yawn as he began walking he chuckled slightly, his smile turning into a frown when he began thinking of everything that had happened today.

why had they not just told him? did they not trust him? did he do something for them to feel that way..?

he spiraled but was knocked out of it when he felt their hand snake it’s way up to his hair, digging into hair and softly scratching his scalp. almost as an action of gratitude.

milo knew and respected that they weren’t the best with words, their love language wasn’t necessarily words of affirmation but they definitely didn’t struggle in that arena. but they were also definitely better with actions, and/or gift giving.

like sometimes they’d briefly rub him on the back when he seemed down, or they’d buy him something for the simple reason it reminded them of him. they’d give him endless massages, or if they knew he had a long work day they would run him a bath.

all of that to say he appreciates them, but there are definitely times he wished they were a little more verbally open with him. he would never judge them for struggling with that, but he wishes he could help them get more comfortable, and confident in oder to confide in him for things like this.

milo arrived to their shared bedroom, he gently laid them down, the light was already off and the second their head hit the cold pillow they were knocked out, it was a little chilly in there so he might have thrown in an extra blanket. they seemed relaxed and at ease and it made his heart happy to see them like that.

he leaned down to kiss their head and they shifted, slightly waking up. they fluttered their eyes, looking up at him.

sweetheart half smiled, pained but genuine. they pulled his head closer to theirs and placed a feather light kiss on his cheek.

“i love you milo..” they whispered, barley coherent, but he heard them.

“i love you to baby.. now go to sleep yeah?” they nodded and let go of his face, rolling back over and snuggling soundly into the blankets.

milo loves his sweetheart.

_____

TAGLISTTTT:

@itsdaifuku @shellssstuff @darlin-collins @verrverii @hobiesrockstargf @mrsmiagreer @glitchedvariety

a/n: y’all this took longer than necessary. IT KEPT DELETING PARAGRAPHS AND SHIT. but anyways it’s here now. thanks for the request anon! mwah!😘

(also just a debrief of all the feeling i felt writing this- this made me so sad but so comforting because it really shows a side of sweetheart we don’t see. like we know sassy sticks up for ppl and themselves but letting them just be a little tired and not want to talk and be all of these things was so nice and milo is just so understanding of all of it and it makes me so so happy. that’s all. )

#redacted asmr #redacted milo #redacted sweetheart #redacted fanfic #cw: gore #CW: Cursing #CW: mentions of blood #redacted fandom #redacted audio #redacted audio milo #redacted audio sweetheart

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anakirui · 3 months

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i need to talk about a mafukasa au idea i came up with. it's not really polished at all, but i kinda have a basic idea for it i think

essentially, the basic premise so far is that mafukasa are kind of stuck together in a place where they can't escape.

mafuyu is like a porcelain doll (if you knock her over, she will shatter, and she is hollow on the inside), while tsukasa is like a stuffed animal (his insides are entirely made of stuffing— he has no organs)

however, despite having no organs, no heartbeat, no breathing, no need for food— therefore not being "alive," they r magically tied to objects that represent their feelings and give them life. for mafuyu, they are dolls. for tsukasa, they are plushies.

however, these objects are very much alive in comparison to them. they bleed when injured and breathe and contain all the true thoughts and feelings of both mafuyu and tsukasa. they act on their own principles when freed from control.

when one of these objects is destroyed, part of mafuyu and tsukasa's personality/feelings are gone, and their behavior will change drastically as a result after.

tsukasa's strings are attached to his plushies, and he often pulls them back or forcefully pupeteers them, destroying their agency. mafuyu's strings extend far beyond the ceiling, but she has kept her dolls in a small box in order to protect them— she's scared as to what the force controlling her will do to them.

mafuyu and tsukasa's goal is to find a pair of scissors so they can cut their strings off and be free.

i feel like the overall au would have a creepy, maybe even horror-esque tone, especially with like one of my ideas for like... when tsukasa frees his strings, the plushies at first go completely limp and seem dead because they don't realize they have control— until they eventually start clinging onto mafuyu in fear that tsukasa will go back to controlling them ... also, the plushies r cute and behave similarly to animals (they can not speak because their mouths r sewn shut), which i think adds to the unsettling factor idk

as for the actual mafukasa part !! i see mafukasa as queerplatonic, so anyways, i think these two would cuddle, and it would be fine because kasa is too squishy and soft to knock over mafuyu— he is much lighter than her

#project sekai #prsk #tsukasa tenma #mafuyu asahina #mafukasa #colorful stage #cw: mentions of blood #cw: mentions of body horror #not sure if it counts as body horror but id rather be safe than sorry #im gonna make a tag for this au just in case if i post about it again #dollplushmafukasa #theres the au tag #also i love queerplatonic mafukasa

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elsanna-shenanigans · 2 years

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August Contest Submission #4: Thórduna

Words: ca. 2,500 Setting: Old Norse AU Lemon: yes Content: mentions of blood

When she hears the roar of thunder, she thinks of Anna.

The midnight sun bore down on them with the thinly veiled menace of Sköll giving chase to Sól. It was with that same wild frenzy that Elsa pursued her younger sister hotly across the fjord. By far Elsa was the better rider, but Anna’s horse was swifter, more agile. He’d been a gift from Elsa herself, brought back as a yearling from ventures to the Mediterranean Sea. What more fitting a gift for a princess than a fine horse made from the woven dreams of Freyja herself and the fires of Halogi? A horse so light on its feet it practically floated in contrast to the heavy, unforgiving pounding of Elsa’s own steed.

She cursed loudly her tenderness towards her younger sister, who in turn laughed in delight of her own power, her voice resonating off the cliffs of the fjord, creating a boom that seemed to draw the interest of the gods. The sky darkened and a storm gathered. If Anna had any fear she did not show a sliver of it, instead urging her bronze horse faster as her dress streamed behind her and she took a sharp right turn towards the foothills.

Elsa smirked, now knowing exactly where Anna was headed.

She eased her mount from a headlong gallop to an easy canter, following the trail as dark clouds roiled above in the sky. As the terrain got rougher she slowed to a trot, not even needing to really look, her body subconsciously communicating to her horse which way to go.

It was a few more minutes before she arrived to the mouth of a grotto as lightning tore through the firmament with a power that could’ve shaken the entirety of Yggdrasil. She saw the big, elegant dark eyes and the chiseled, dished head of Anna’s horse peering from inside cave and rain began to pour down as she dismounted.

She heard her sister’s voice before she saw her face.

“Now what will the world think if I tell them I outrode our mighty, ravishing Jarlskona, said to be the greatest rider in the kingdoms of Norway and Sweden combined?”

Anna came into view, her brass mane matching her horse’s, the braid resting around her hair like the crown she was meant to wear. Their eyes locked with one another’s and Elsa’s body felt febrile. They’d played this game many times, with Elsa often managing to snatch Anna from the saddle, until the horse she’d gotten sometime after her 16th winter had grown strong enough to carry her. But something was different today. The power that set the sky alight seemed to be humming within Elsa too.

“The finest rider is nothing if the finest mount is bitted to another.”

That laugh again. So large for a body so slight.

“I guess I have you to thank for, then.”

Elsa pointedly did not go towards Anna, instead turning around to unsaddle her horse, dropping the wood and leather seat to the ground next to them.

“However I still think I deserve a prize, considering she outran your horse fair and square.”

It was her turn to laugh as she turned around and a flash of lightning illuminated them for an instant, her throat feeling tight as she saw the ravishing figure and the gaze laced with a certain longing.

“Unfortunate then, that I don’t have anything to give you.”

Her reply was a little breathless as Anna stepped closer towards her and the rain began to fall with unforgiving, unrelenting force closing them off from the outside world. Locking them into the grotto.

“I don’t need to be given anything. I can simply take what I want, what I deserve… a certain most breathtaking shield maiden taught me that.”

Her heart was pounding like drums of war in her chest and she almost felt the urge to reach for her horn to sound it in, but this… this was an entirely different kind of battle she faced now.

The distance between them had grown to nothing and she could now sense their bodies nearly brushing against one another. A shiver went down her spine, knowing, sensing that whatever attention Anna had drawn to herself risked quickly turning to misfortune.

Then again, hadn’t the Norns already woven the tapestries of their fate? So she thought, as a fingertip brushed against her lower lip.

She could only surrender when she felt a sweet, soft supple mouth against it instead.

~~~

Where others hear the clash of Thor’s hammer, she finds her sister.

The Völva had foretold of Anna’s seeming ability to call on a storm. A spark of mjölnir within her soul, she’d said. Elsa had just risen to power as Jarlskona then. She’d scoffed at the theatrics, the drama of it perhaps being sufficient to impress men of power before her, but her respect to the gods did not always extend to their servants, they too were mortals in the end.

Yet again and again, Anna would lure Elsa away, and a storm would break on the horizon, and the unforgivable would happen. Eventually the kissing turned to a heated grasp of the waist or the flirting of nails on the nape of a neck and Elsa, ever tantalized would kiss and fall into Anna deeper, thankful for the cosmic display of Asgard’s most beloved son. No one would venture out in such weather, no one would find them like this, biting into the sweet fruit of the unknown.

Midsommar came and went, and the season moved forward, the wolf clan clamoured for a raid. For the first time since she’d claimed a shield, Elsa found herself not wanting to go. She knew not of where this was meant to go, knew that Summer would pass and the storms would ebb away as winter approached yet she could not imagine a life without embracing the princess in her arms, without running her hands over her prone body as their kisses turned from slow, sweet affairs to hot, open, bites. She’d grown a slave to the desire for the taste of her sweat and the faint scent of juniper on the skin of her throat.

It never went any further, after all this too was a game. But a game she’d decided was a little more fun than the equestrian races she was always doomed to lose. Wasn’t it, after all, simply a different kind of chase?

Today was different however, Anna’s panting did not end when she laced her fingertips with Elsa’s to put a stop to her wandering hands. Instead, as lightning and thunder tore through the firmament, Anna stepped back and Elsa looked at her, lips still parted from their favourite game. She noted a trembling in her younger sister, the sort that moves a body just before the thrill of victory. They held each other’s gazes, their eyes catching what was left of the light outside, making them shine like stars in the darkness of their favourite hide. Elsa stood motionless but for the heaving of her chest, still shorted from her heated chase. She knew this time was different, like the current of lightning in the air shifted directions, like the storm was gathering itself for an even greater display of might.

She watched, as Anna carefully removed the belt that so aptly emphasized the bite of her waist and the swell of her hip and Elsa’s heart thundered in her chest. If Anna truly had the ability to tickle Thor’s fancy, then Elsa herself stood no chance in the face of the storm she called within her either. Blue held blue as Anna allowed her dress to fall at her feet like leaves fallen from an ash tree, revealing pristine nubility beneath.

The Jarlskona had had her fair share of women, and had turned away more male suitors than she’d entertained, yet she stood before the princess’s tantalizing form with soft knees and the flutter of flames in her loin as though she were herself but a nervous virgin.

The storm raged beyond the confines of their secret nest and a crack of thunder boomed in time to Anna stepping back towards Elsa, taking her hands, bringing them up to her lips, kissing her knuckles sweetly before she gently brushed her tongue against her fingertips, then placed Elsa’s hands on her waist, pressing their bodies back together. She placed a kiss to the corner of Elsa’s jaw, then tugged at her earlobe playfully with her teeth, a little purr in her voice.

“Your princess demands tribute, Jarlskona…”

As if those words unlocked something within her, Elsa let out a little growl, her hands sliding from Anna’s waist to her buttocks, squeezing them with greed, as hungrily - no, hungrier - as she captured raided treasures. Her teeth grazed Anna’s lower lip before parting them with her tongue, gently yet feverishly.

One of her hands slid back up Anna’s body to find one of her breasts, gently cupping it, humming into her mouth as she felt the weight of it, and felt the pertness against the nook of her palm. She swallowed a quiet moan and short shallow gasps, as she felt Anna grow prone to her touch and she herself shuddered as she felt her younger sister suckle on her tongue with need.

Anna had cupped the sides of Elsa’s face, her nails flirting with the skin on the nape of her neck sliding a little further back to thread at the roots of her icy blond mane. Again it sent sparks flying down her spine and through her entire system, and Elsa had to stop, step back, with fire in her hardened gaze. Hurriedly, her axe dropped to the floor heavily as she unlaced its trappings from her heavy leathers and pulled her robe over her head. Her body unlike Anna’s unmarred skin was etched with battle scars and decorated with inked declarations of strength.

Her toned, well-muscled form was taut and no doubt appealing to the princess judging by the look in her eyes, and though she knew she looked smaller without her trappings, Elsa was proud of what the gods had given her to forge in pursuit of power for the wolf clan and subsequently somehow felt larger than when she was fully clothed. She stood long enough for strikes of lightning to illuminate her adding to the faint glow of the fire they’d started prior. Briefly, she wondered if the gods had known, when they’d gifted them these forms what they’d be using them for, or if that was a surprise the Nornir had kept to themselves.

As Anna closed the distance between them once more, skin against skin and placed a hand at the base of Elsa’s throat, kissing her with a demand only she would ever dare out of Elsa, she made absolutely no effort to fight her Fate.

Their hands sought each other’s bodies desperately, nails trailing thighs, sacral areas; fingertips seeking breasts, buttocks and lips seeking skin.

“A princess ought to be well prepared in demanding anything from a wolf…”

Elsa found herself hiking one of Anna’s legs around her hip as she brought their centres closer together, drawn to the heat radiating from them both and she allowed the storm - Anna’s storm - to consume her mind, her heart, her body, her soul. Her mouth trailed kisses that turned into love bites, marking the princess’s skin as her own. She felt her sister’s body tense and melt into her at the same time and growled softly against her skin, kissing her way down to her breasts, finding an eager peak and wrapping her lips around it.

She felt one of Anna’s hands thread fingers into her hair, nails biting into her scalp as she began to suckle ever so softly, feeling the arch of her back with one hand keeping her firmly in place. Anna’s hips rolled against hers and she panted softly as heat brushed past heat.

Without missing a beat, her tongue flicked at the tip she was currently adorning with ministrations before she let go of it, delighting at the frustrated little whine she heard and she smirked as she pressed her lips to her princess’s sternum then switched to her other breast, repeating the ritual. The hand gripping her hair was joined by another and she added very gentle teething which earned her mewling and moaning between the panting and gasping.

Her mouth trailed away from her breast, and thunder roared so loudly it almost felt as the world tree itself shook Midgard… or at least, their little corner of it. She smirked deviously as Anna protested but she slowly knelt before her princess - without a doubt the only person, divine or mortal, who would ever see her on her knees. She nipped softly at the junction of her thigh to her hip and pressed hot open mouthed kisses as she trailed her way to the soft patch of red nestled between her legs.

The taste of her was as intoxicating as the frenzied storm that tore through their land.

~~~

It is her lover’s voice that resonates in her soul when the skies open.

The prow of the drakar barely bobbed with the waves, the water gently allowing it to carry its journey forward. The Wolf Clan’s Jarlskona stood a little forlorn as her eyes surveyed the horizon. She looked up to find the stars as bright as if they were fireflies floating before her and quickly sought Karlvagn the man’s chariot to locate Kvennavagn the woman’s chariot and checked that they were still sailing in the right direction. Elsa had a rare talent for reading the skies as clearly as a map, in large part thanks to Anna who, as a child, would beg her to sneak out with her at night and bear witness to them. Pretty quickly she’d understood they were one of the most effective tools a Vikingr could hope to use. The Wolf clan had become famous for losing few ships and effectively always guiding raids back home, thanks to her skills.

But tonight even as she would normally stand in awe at the majestic dome above them, her soul stood crestfallen as they sailed further away from home and towards their destination. She did not want to sound the horns of war, nor did she crave the taste of blood splashed from her blade in battle. She craved the taste of a nectar known to herself only instead, she craved the sounds of thunder and rain muffling the quiet gasps and moans heard only by her ears.

She knew as a seafarer who used celestial light by day and by night should be grateful for such clear skies…

Yet her heart longed for a storm.

Her heart longed for her storm.

A sudden flash tore through the skies, clouds gathering ahead of them.

Her warriors shuddered.

Elsa smiled.

Her spirits soared at the notion of riding that storm.

#elsanna #August 2022 contest #prompt: Cosmic #lemon #submission #cw: mentions of blood

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stil-lindigo · 1 year

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the calamity.

a comic about being seen.

creative notes:

all my other comics

store

#cw: blood + eye scarring #oh the inherent intimacy of seeing and being seen #just a comic about how the desire to be seen and shown love and compassion unites us all #also big scary monster lady pretty #girl power! the personification of disaster and strife uses she/her pronouns!#i also feel somewhat obligated to mention here that i dont have anything against christianity as a whole #i just think the concept of God is interesting #i went to a christian school for 12 years im allowed to make this comic #comic art #sapphic #yes. interpret the subtext #stillindigo art #heartearters #thats the name of the anthology this will belong to. whenever i finish it #stillindigo comics

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sunnieschaos · 9 months

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Been thinking about an old thing I did, which I may eventually use for a fic or original story idk

This is a world where the stronger you are the more lasting your magic is. You can use magic more easily with runes and therefore sorcerers tend to draw their most used and most compatible runes on their skin.

The most powerful ones have runes that contrast strongly with their skin, so light skin will have darker runes while dark skin will have more light coloured runes.

For some people the runes look more like scars while for others they just look like tattoos.

The way these runes are drawn onto the skin can be done in multiple ways. Some just draw onto their skin with pen, some carve the runes into their skin with blades, others may burn them into their skin.

Runes can be applied to the body by another person, as in done for marriage, but this can also be used in a malicious way that may incapacitate enemies whether temporarily or permanently.

#sunnieswriting #sunnie's late night rambles #it's not exactly late night but the thought started late at night so ig #just doing some world building i suppose #originally this started with the thought of kdj having tats #cw: mentions of blood #cw: mild body mutilation

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bamsara · 4 months

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Doodles for the Drunken Gods chapter in TROD

'sorry about accidentally reviving some memories and causing you to have a bit of a mental breakdown. do you wanna eat some pomegrante about it?'

#trod au #the rehabilitation of death #narilamb #cult of the lamb #true devotion #cotl narinder #cotl lamb #doodles #tw blood #cw alcohol #alcohol mention

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cupcakeslushie · 3 months

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Does Donnie ever lash out at any of his brothers during an "episode"?

For the most part Donnie tends to direct any harmful actions inwards, but of course his brothers won’t just sit there and watch him hurt himself. So it’s only when they try to intervene that they get caught in the crossfire. They never hold it against Donnie, though.

#rottmnt #rottmnt fanart #tmnt #tmnt fanart #rise of the tmnt #rise donnie #rise leo #rise raph #rise mikey #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt separated au #separated au #ask slushie #my art #cw self harm mention #cw blood #queued post

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indulgentdaydream · 4 months

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Can you write something where the reader is badly injured in some way and jason rushes her to the manor for help and everybody is confused on who she is bc they didnt even know he was in a relationship (despite them being together for awhile) but they see how soft and cute he is with her. (I’ve never made a request so sorry if it got kinda rambley)

anon you’ve got me TEEMING with ideas I LOVE the trope of nobody knowing jason has a girlfriend and they find out but it is NOT by Jason’s choice nor reader’s.

Also omg? Your first ask is to lil ol me?? That means this is a special occassion. And you’re doing great I’ve def sent worse asks.

Out of the Bag

Jason Todd x Fem!Reader || Hurt and Comfort.

Word Count: 1,862

Warnings: Injuries, swearing, near death experience, blood, knife mention, stabbing, canon-typical violence, use of pet names (princess, baby), drug (pain med) use

You were sat in an alleyway, vision going in and out.

“Tell me something, princess. Anything.” Jason’s voice rang out in your ear.

That’s right. In your right hand, you held your phone, to your ear. Your other hand was pressing the fabric of your coat to the side of your stomach. The blood had soaked through, becoming sticking on your palm and fingers.

You should’ve listened to Jason. You shouldn’t have walked home alone, at night. Luckily your phone had been in your pocket and not your purse, which had been stolen from you by the same guy who decided to stab you.

“Princess,” he sounded panicked.

Right. “Wish I had kicked him harder.”

You heard a sigh of relief leave him, “That’s my girl.”

The phone slipped from your grip a little as your head swam. The sight of blood coming from your own abdomen made no help in quelling your nausea.

You fixed the phone. You had called Jason the second the guy ran off, leaving you to bleed out. He was driving, you think. Tracking your phone to try and get to you. “How far?”

He said something you didn’t hear. Your vision was swimming, your side was aching, and you couldn’t help but keep this funny understanding out of your mind that you were dying.

That this is something Jason had come back to your apartment with a few times, claiming it was nothing. It was something.

You heard him call your name, “What’s around you?”

“I’m tired,” you mumbled.

It seemed to happen in a blink of an eye. Jason was trying to tell you to stay awake, to look at the alley around you. To look out towards the street and tell him what you saw. Then he was there, standing in front of you, his helmet hiding his face.

“I’m here. I’m here, baby.” He cupped your face, tapping your cheek to get you to open up your eyes. He crouched down, pulling your hand from your side to assess the damage.

You smiled lazily and leaned forward, resting your forehead against his shoulder.

Jason muttered a slew of swears as he pressed something soft yet hard against your agonizing wound. You let out a yelp before Jason was picking you up, placing you on his bike.

He’s talking fast, “Fuck. Okay, listen to me. We’re going to go somewhere new, okay? There’s nowhere around here except there for me to get you safe.”

You passed out nearly as soon as he started the bike.

Jason’s freaking. He had tried to keep you safe from anything like this. From everything less than this. And here you were, bleeding out in his arms as he carried you through the batcave. He beelined for the cots and the medical supplies off to the side. He knows his motorcycle couldn’t have been the smoothest of rides for someone in your condition, but it’s all he had in such a short time span.

He’ll apologize when you wake up.

When. He repeats. When she wakes up and when we can get the hell out of this place again and when I can remind her I love her.

No one was back from patrol yet. He set you down on the cot before tearing off his helmet. He tossed it aside, pulling out a med bag and ripping it open. He pushed up your shirt, examining your side and where he had placed the military-grade gauze pad. He curses at the amount of blood.

His hands are shaking. Jason’s hands don’t shake, but you’ve proven to him a lot of things you could make him do that he hadn’t known he was capable of in the last year and (almost) a half of your relationship.

Jason nearly drops the suture thread before another hand is reaching out from just behind him. It catches the thread and Jason looks back over his shoulder. Alfred’s there, moving up to you.

“Allow me. You keep checking her vitals.”

Jason hadn’t even heard him come up. He’s nodding, stepping back to let Alfred take over the stitching. He moves to the other side of the bed.

That’s when he catches sight of the dark figure moving closer from behind Alfred. Jason immediately fixes him with a deadly glare, pointing at Bruce, “Do not come closer!”

Bruce stills. He’s in his bat suit, his cowl hanging behind his head, exposing his face. He looks down to your body, “Who is she?”

Jason doesn’t want him here. Rather, he doesn’t want to be here. You should’ve been home by now. Getting ready for bed and sending him a goodnight text. He turns his gaze back to you.

There’s some hair across your face that he hadn’t noticed. He moves it out of your way without a second thought, “My girlfriend.”

“Finally feel some remorse for sending someone to their grave, Todd?” Damian’s voice spoke up, walking up and stopping beside Bruce, “He’s probably trying to just reverse what he did.”

Jason ignores him. He wants to yell, scream, and maybe shoot the little bastard, but he was right. In a way, this was his fault. He didn’t look after you. He should’ve offered you a ride. Called you a taxi. An uber. Anything.

Jason grips your hand into his. It’s a way to count your heartbeat, and another way to ground himself. To reassure that you’ll be okay. His other hand stays on your cheek. His thumb gently moves back and forth, stroking your skin.

He barely registers Bruce telling Damian to go wash up. When the brat is gone, Bruce speaks up again, “What happened?”

Jason doesn’t take his eyes off of you, “She was walking home from her friend’s. A mugger got her purse, she fought back. He stabbed her.” Jason takes a deep breath, “She still had her phone. She called me. I brought her here because it was closest.”

A beat of silence. Still stitching you up, Alfred speaks, “How come we’ve never been introduced?”

Jason shakes his head, “I didn’t want her near any of this. She’s bad off enough sticking with me.”

Once you stabilize, Jason brings you up to his room in the manor. He walks past Dick, Tim, Duke, Cass, and Steph without looking at them. They sit around the batcomputer, watching Jason gently carry you out ot the cave.

He changes you out of your dirty clothes once he makes a run back to your apartment to grab you some of your own spare clothes.

Asides from that, he doesn’t leave your side.

He lets you have the bed to yourself. He pulls up a chair beside it, waiting for you to wake up. He didn’t want you to be alone when you did, in a strange place after a traumatic event. It was a recipe for disaster.

The sun’s been up for a long while and Jason hasn’t budged. He sits there, your hand gripped in both of his, held up and pressed against his mouth. His lips brush over your knuckles whenever he speaks up. Uttering a “I’m sorry.” every now and then.

There’s a light knock at the door before it’s cracking open. Jason turns his head to find Dick poking his head in. Jason glares at him.

Dick steps further in, presenting the tray he was holding. There were two glasses of water, some solid foods, and lighter ones, probably for you. Jason looked back down at you, letting his older brother enter.

“Just… figured since you’ve been cooped up in here all day,” Dick begins, setting the tray down on the beside table beside Jason.

Dick moves back around. He stands at the end of the bed, leaning against the tall bed post that was meant to hold up a canopy. “I heard…” he trails off, before nodding and your body in the bed, still unconscious, “Who is she?”

Jason looks up at his brother, not letting go of your hand, “So you haven’t heard.”

Dick rolls his eyes, “You know what I mean.”

Jason raises his brows a little. He looks back down at you. His hand reaches out to brush along your forehead, moving away imaginary stray hairs, “My girl.”

Dick nods in understanding, “How long you two been together.”

Jason pauses in thought, “Over a year. Our anniversary was in December.”

A small, choked sound comes from outside the door, in the hallway. “A year?”

Jason looks up at Dick, who makes a face that shows he’s knows he’s been caught.

“Are they seriously listening right now?”

Steph poked her head in first, an apologetic smile on her face, “We wanted to know!”

Duke pokes his head in next, just above Steph’s, “And we wanted to meet her.”

Tim’s head in next, above Duke’s, “You can’t carry a random bleeding woman into the cave and expect the family of detectives to not be curious.”

Cass’ head appears below Steph’s. She nods in agreement.

Jason let’s one hand go of yours to wave his hand through the air, “What the fuck? She’s not even awake!”

“Well that’s why we sent Dick as bait.”

“For the record,” Dick held up a finger, “They built off of my original, innocent idea of bringing you snacks.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jason stands up, taking a few steps forward. He points them all back towards the door as they start to filter into the room, “Get—“

“What’s going on…?”

Jason’s whole body whipped back around at the sound of your groggy, rough voice. The others watch as he’s back at your side in a millisecond, his whole demeanour changed. “Hey, you’re okay. Everything’s okay. Remember how I said we were going somewhere new? You thirsty, baby? Here, I got you some water.”

“Oh, you certainly did not get the water,” Dick piped up.

Jason glared back over his shoulder as he held the glass of water for you, keeping the straw Dick had added placed in your mouth.

You stopped drinking, your eyes now on the other people in the room. You turned your head, propped up against pillows Jason had put there for you. You weakly raised your left hand to wave, “Hi… oh?” your gaze turned down to your hand. A heart monitor clip sitting on your finger grabbed your attention. You gave a confused pout at it, “I feel funny.”

Jason set the water aside again. His glare was gone. He leaned in, kissing your forehead, “You’re hopped up on pain meds. That’s why, princess.”

“Damn,” Steph spoke up, “I wish I got the literal princess treatment.”

Jason turned back around, pointing out the door, “Get. Out. Leave my girlfriend alone until she’s better.”

You looked at the strangers, pointing at Jason with your left hand, “I’m his girlfriend.” Your head tilted back against the pillows as you stared up at Jason, pursing your lips, "I’m tired.”

“I know,” Jason said softly. The others began to filter out of the room as he leaned down and gave you a soft kiss, this time on the lips.

From the exit, a collective, “Awwww,” sounded out.

“Out!”

Your drugged up voice came after his, once they were all back in the hall, “Nice to meet you!”

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galvusz · 2 years

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‘Trick or Treat! 🎃’

— @cnavant

The light was dim in the living room, the storm raging behind the windows, the panes of glass rattling with the furious downpour. It was one of those nights to enjoy in front of the chimney, enjoying the company of a good book and a warm drink. The fire crackled in the chimney, the remnants of wood getting lost among embers and curtains of ash. And while Lex was lost in pages of ink and stories, something crept up behind him. It was a mere whisper at first, camouflaged among the whimpers of the fire. But after a few seconds a gloved hand cupped his face, gently, and a presence loomed over him from behind his sofa. Golden locks whispered promises of blood, and when Zenos took his other hand with his, Lex knew what would happen.

The blond man breathed in his scent; his gloved, long fingers caressing the skin of his prey. It was a soft caress, like that of a lover. Zenos was taking his time, staring at his face, at his expression, at every movement he did in silent contemplation. It was almost like he was admiring a painting. But this painting twitched slightly under his grasp. And it was oh, so delightful.

And he stopped resisting. Reveling in the scent and feel of his prey, he sank his fangs deep into him, drinking deep from his being, feeding on his sighs and the blood that now revitalized him.

#cnavant #zenos #halloween #this was so fun to make :D #suggestive #cw: mentions of blood #answered

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techn0tony · 8 months

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I present to you: Donnie's design from my Future AU (that still does not have a name-)

Okay so a few things I should mention:

It's hard to see these details, but he has a robotic hand and eye (and one of his legs as well)

He is so fucking tall, he is taller than Leo even (but shorter than Raph of course). And yes he does tease Leo about it

He is the second brother to die, but I haven't decided his cause of death yet

There is a lore reason for places on his skin being blue, but it would be spoilers for my Separated AU if I told the reason x.x

This is the same Donnie from my Separated AU, my AU's are connected

EDIT MONTHS LATER LMAO:

Augh okay so actually I updated this recently: He does not die after Raph anymore, now Donnie is the first brother who dies

And the AU has a name now! It's the Genius Built AU

#a LOT of techno music and energy drinks led to me drawing this #and staying up until 2am #no i do not plan on sleeping /g #there may be things about donnie i forgot to mention #i am not sure agh #rottmnt #rottmnt donnie #rise of the tmnt #tmnt #artists on tumblr #art #future donnie #technotony future au #tw blood #cw blood #technotony genius built au

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doodle-with-alizard · 6 months

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Dead man just wants some toast :(

I love this scene so much oml

#im so happy people keep mentioning an american werewolf in london in my tags cuz i finally watched it and omg i love it so much #saw #adam stanheight #lawrence gordon #gore #blood #cw: gore #saw posting

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kaban-bang · 1 month

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Si beside the feathers, fangs and dragon dick do you headcanon something else for falin ‘s chimera body ? I headcanon her eyes glowing in the dark, physically stronger than Laois now, not fire breathing but she can make smoke come out of mouth. Wish you a happy weekend

Two things: 1. Extended lifespan (HERES HOW FARCILLE CAN STILL WIN) 2. COOL EDGY DRAGON POWER UP TRANSFORMATION:

#this was originally going to be a quick doodle but I ended up getting too into it #dungeon meshi #dunmeshi spoilers #falin touden #post canon spoilers #tagging mature for the bulge and dick mention ig #cw blood #muh art

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howlsnteeth · 2 months

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and are you really okay? are you really okay?

#cw for sh mention in song ! i removed that part in this !#narilamb #cotl #cult of the lamb #cotl narinder #eye strain #blood cw #not 100% happy but couldn't keep picking lmao #song is #are you really okay by sleep token #anyway there is some story to this. but first and foremost i think lamb probably breaks down often over the fact they're the Last sheep and #their whole race was killed. it's fucked up #anyway the small detail is that in ~my version~ narinder is very passive aggressive where he can be. like wearing white robes so #his bleeding (he has lacerations that appear even as an ex god) is always staining them. as a fuck you to lamb because he refuses to #wear red/darker colours like the rest of the cult #but over time his robes do get slightly darker. until say there's a night where he does find lamb fixating on blood/their species being #completely culled. and he silently makes the choice to wear much darker robes And stuff underneath so his Ooze doesn't show as much #:3 #cotl fanart #cult of the lamb fanart #cotl toww

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elsanna-shenanigans · 1 year

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November/October Contest Submission #5: secret garden

Words: ca. 4,500 Setting: Canon Divergent AU Lemon: no Content: violent cough, mentions of blood, Anna in significant pain, Angst

—x— ELSA —x—

They were young then, Elsa reminisces. Devoured by the vestiges of youth yet still strikingly shaped by the responsibilities of their adulthood. Their joyous laughter, once unbridled, has now tapered into a more polite giggle. The chaos that once led to even more debauchery, now only a memory evident from the various scuffed markings scribbled on the marble floor. And how could she forget the illusion of freedom—sweet and alluring, taken for granted before they were truly old enough to learn the consequences of losing it?

—xxx—

She was twenty-one and her sister was eighteen. They were off to a field south of their home at the crack of dawn, riding their steeds in the hopes of finding a bouquet fit for their mother. They made a quest of it, and a competition at Anna’s request, for whose flowers should be the prettiest. Elsa had emphasized that a bouquet, while still judged by the sum of its parts, is admired for its unity and cohesion. Anna begged to differ as she plucked every unnamed flower she could find in her path. Once the sun started to blister upon their skin, they rushed back home with fluttering petals upon their trail.

Elsa remembers it so clearly as one of the few fond memories that she has been able to cherish over the years. Queen Iduna had welcomed her daughters, ruffled and dirtied by the mud and grass, and cooed at their gifts for her birthday. She praises Elsa’s flowers for having colors so pleasing to the eye, while Anna is praised for probably acquiring a whole field of wildflowers. When her daughters insisted on which bouquet had won her heart, Iduna gave them a tender smile before choosing the king’s. It is no wonder that the two have steadfastly objected.

“That is such a non-answer, mother.” Elsa huffed, but Anna wasn’t as politely displeased.

“Regardless, I’m sure I would’ve won. What with the amount I’ve gathered—it’s basically a testament to my immeasurable love.” She boasts.

Before the argument escalated further, Iduna had quickly interjected by clearing her throat. “While I do appreciate your confidence, my dears, I have not judged with bias. Come with me, and I’ll show you.”

She leads them to the vase where their father’s flowers bloomed. What they were met with is nothing but a dull arrangement that would have made Anna’s loud flowers cry. They were sure to protest once more until Iduna continued, “See, it isn’t as colorful as either of yours. Not as numerous as Anna’s, and not as calculated as Elsa’s. However, do you wish to hear the secret of its beauty?” She leans in close and whispers, as if what she’s about to divulge is nothing short of a national secret. “It’s the hidden message.”

With a gasp, Anna quickly inspects the vase for any unusual markings, letters, or cyphers. True enough, she found nothing. By then, Iduna had procured a book before them—“Flora’s Interpreter,” it states. This had definitely piqued Elsa’s interest, while Anna admired the delicate craft of the bindings, “This was a gift to your father a long time ago. He was young, no older than Elsa. Though we had met by then, he had trouble expressing his admiration for me. Upon learning the secrets behind these unassuming flowers, he had brought them to me. One after the other, with every meeting we’ve had. And though he thought I was ignorant of their underlying truth, I knew full well what he wanted to tell me.”

She flips a page and points to a flower on Elsa’s fingertips. “These are white primroses. Though it seems as if it talks about purity, it signifies sadness and mourning.” Elsa’s face fell. “Worry not, however, for these,” she points at its yellow variants, “signify love, happiness, and warmth.” She then gestures at its equivalent in their father’s arrangement.

Then, another illustration from the book is shown, and Iduna points to a flower in Anna’s bouquet. “These are snowdrops. Lovely and beautiful in their own right. However, they are known to be a sign of death—or bad luck, if you will.” Quickly, Anna throws the snowdrop away from their gaze as if she was burned by the very prospect of its existence. Iduna merely chuckled at her daughter’s antics. “Though, it can also mean innocence, purity, and sympathy.”

“Wh— mother!” Anna exclaims. Elsa snickers behind her palm.

“Do you understand, now, how powerful these could truly be?” The pair nodded, acquiescing. Iduna then points at the rest of the flowers in the vase, reiterating each and every meaning behind them. While Anna seemed excited by its prospect, Elsa eyed it with reluctance. At the very end, Iduna wished to impart the book to them, one that Anna delightfully takes. Elsa, on the other hand, isn’t as interested in the implications of its messages as much as she admits.

—xxx—

She was newly twenty-two and Anna was nineteen. It was her birthday, after all, and the celebration had been extravagant. A ball was held in her honor, for her complete transition into adulthood. Elsa wanted to pretend that turning twenty-two isn’t all that different, but she’d be lying. For one, there is a line of pushy suitors waiting to dance with her during her parents’ speech. And for another thing… a metaphorical gap extends between her and Anna, it feels. Though blurred and unseen, their distance seemed all-encompassing, and Elsa felt as though it was her fault for growing up too fast.

When the band had once again resumed its upbeat symphony, a man rushed to ask for her first dance. Before her is Prince Caleb, she believes, one of the older boys from the Southern Isles. Though her discontent is palpable, with his smarmy boyish grin and greased up hair, she takes his gloved hand in hers and accepts his giddy invitation. Sure enough, he wasn’t a joy to be a partner with. He talked her ear off, with spit flying from his mouth. He also had a distinct smell of horse manure that seemed to waft off of his coat in droves. But worst of all, amongst his tall tales, his only subject of interest is to talk arrogantly about himself. Elsa was sure that if given the chance, he would’ve gleefully danced with himself, if only for the satisfaction of autoflagellating any further.

It was unfortunate that her succeeding dances hadn’t fared any better. Her second dance was from a duke from Weaseltown—“Weselton! I hail from the dukedom of Weselton,” the man would constantly correct. Much like Prince Caleb, he is a very talkative dance partner. And unlike Prince Caleb, he only talked about the wonders of Weaseltown’s—Weselton’s!— trades. By her third dance, Elsa felt as if the night would never end. She strains her ears to listen for the distinct ring of the clock tower bells, but her impatience wasn’t rewarded.

It wasn’t as if Elsa was never excited by the prospect of romance. Being a princess, her wedding vows were already tailored for her potential political spouse. Being the crown heir, it was ever more important for her to find a man that would suit her well. Much to her regret, however, seeing as none of the men had passed the test.

By the end of the umpteenth waltz, her arms aching and her legs sore, Elsa was sure that she could never dance again. If not from her limbs falling off, it would surely be from the tremendous emotional pain she would incur if she was to follow another flailing box-step in pinching shoes. Having feared that her father would incite another suitor upon her, she quickly dismisses her purposeful retreat back to her traitorous family. Instead, she redirected her escape through the stairs and atop the mezzanine. Elsa finally found reprieve in the cold winter air by slipping into one of the open balconies. The night was beautiful, she mourned. It should be cruel that she spends her birthday with the arms of unbecoming men instead of basking in the glory of the moon’s light. She watches as her breath turns into fog, like clouds upon the sky. It has been so long since she’s felt gratitude for the simpler joys of life.

“Care for another dance?” A voice called behind her. Elsa would have groaned from hearing that phrase, but she didn’t want to pretend any longer. Her heart leapt in joy from the sound of Anna joining her.

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m not.” Anna finally stands beside her, giggling at Elsa’s plight. For the first time in the entirety of the night, she was able to see Anna. She wore a beautiful green gown— it had always been her color, Elsa thought. It wasn’t puffy like some of the dignitaries wore, nor was it too revealing. Instead, it moved with her, as if Anna were the goddess who blessed the land she walked on. On her neck was an emerald pendant strung on a silk sash. And under the moonlight, she seemed to glow.

When Elsa didn’t grace her with a response, Anna’s gaze bore into her own. “I’m not,” she says again, more reverently, and extends her hand as an invitation. The pulsating chorus of the wind instruments carried itself in a soft hum around them.

Elsa takes it with mock exasperation, but ever so glad to have Anna in her arms, if only for a single dance. “Hopefully you don’t step on my toes, dearest sister, the Prince from Wales all but mangled my poor feet” she teases, but with their first step, she felt herself glide. Anna, taking a more traditional leading role, flawlessly carried Elsa around the balcony as if they were one with the wind. She felt herself breathless, not from exertion, but from the majesty of it.

In that moment, Elsa remembers her father saying, ‘Dancing is important for nobles because it measures the amount of chemistry one may have with their partner. It requires a lot of close contact, holding, and synchronization. What is a better way to know that a person is perfect for you if not the sharing of both mind and body?’

How cruel it must be, she wonders, that the only person befitting for her heart is none other than her own sibling. She was dipped low, with the moon framing Anna’s head like a halo. She looked ethereal, with love and admiration exuding effortlessly. For a moment, Elsa felt her heart expand, as if compensating for the amount that Anna would give. However, it overflows, from her chest and into her limbs, and down to the tips of her fingers. This is what dancing should feel like, she thought.

She would have addressed that brief moment of sanctity if it weren’t for Anna heaving and sprawling on the floor. Her body shook from violent coughs, and her gasps and sobs followed the thundering crescendo that echoed from the ballroom. Elsa scrambled to hold her, but Anna had held her hand out to stop her. She didn’t heed her warnings, however, and enveloped the fatigued body in her arms. She tucked the stray strands of hair that clung to her forehead sheening from sweat. Finally bringing her arm down, Anna opens her hand to reveal a flower. It was pink, almost reminiscent of a rose, yet its full bloom suggests that the petals are far more numerous than her initial guess.

“Camellia,” Anna raspily supplies, but she stated it with an emptiness and detachment uncharacteristic of her personality. It’s as if Anna scorned the flower itself.

“It looks beautiful.” Elsa tries to keep it light, though the silence that remained made her hesitate whether this is a battle she could fight.

However, Anna finally gave her a small smile, agreeing. “You’re right, it is beautiful.” She caresses its silken petals before meekly offering it to Elsa. “Do you… Would you like to have it? It’s magic, you know? It never withers.”

“If it’s from you, of course.” Elsa holds the hand that held it. “But how did you ever have the opportunity to find a magical flower?”

“I made it just for you.” Anna easily says, reaching to tuck the flower in her neatly braided hair before letting it rest on her cheek. She then whispers, almost as if saying it louder might make her cry thereafter, “Happy birthday, Elsa…”

A beat, perhaps, a moment of hesitation.

“I love you.”

They let the soft diminuendo fill the unspoken words between them. By the end of the symphony, Elsa allows her thumb to caress her sister’s freckled cheek. “I love you, too, Anna.”

Anna’s response was to resume the violent fit of coughs until the palace servants had come to retrieve them.

—xxx—

Elsa was twenty-three and Anna was twenty when their parents decided to embark on a journey. They had to leave, they said, in the hopes of finding a cure for Anna’s sickness. By then, Elsa was prepared for the royal duties left by her parents. Though busy from overlooking their kingdom’s affairs, Elsa only had a single worry in mind.

Anna tried to placate her, yet her weak voice only served to dissuade Elsa. “Oh, stop looking at me like that. Come to me.”

Elsa approached her quickly, dropping down to her bedside. Anna sat up and procured a Dahlia to join the rest of Elsa’s growing garden. She cherishes them, the enchanted flowers that Anna seemed to have an endless supply of. Though, on the breast of her blazer, only the first Camellia was pinned— never withering, always eternal. She had brought it with her everywhere she goes, to remind herself that Anna is always in her heart. Meanwhile, she kept the Dahlia in a flower box for safekeeping.

When night comes, she would knock on Anna’s door and await for her approval before she entered her bedchambers. And there she was, sitting idly on the large four-poster bed, reading the book their mother had given them years prior.

It felt haunting to watch someone filled with life and fervor be snuffed by the cruel apathy of the known universe. Still, Elsa seeks respite from her own thoughts. Tomorrow may be her turn to give Anna a flower crown fit for giants, but tonight she is alive and with her.

Once the last flame had turned to smoke in the kerosene lamps, they would talk about their day. However, there are nights where neither of the two had anything to offer. Instead, they would lie on the bed, reminiscing their earlier years like weary spinsters rocking their chairs on a porch.

“Gods, I miss playing in the snow.” Anna whines. “What does my weakened state have to do with enjoying winter?”

“One day,” Elsa promises but both know it’s empty. “And maybe we could rebuild Olaf once more. Do you remember him?”

“How could I not!” She laughs. “He is practically my son, the sweet thing. His love for warm hugs definitely came from me.”

“He’s my child, too, you do realize?” Elsa would declare. “I have fond memories of trying to make him as you pilfer my stones or pelt me with snow.”

“It’s called labor, sister dearest. Surely, you’ve listened to the disgusting lessons about pregnancy and consummation even when you’re adamant about your maidenhood.”

“Oh hush, I have no need for any man when I have you by my side.”

Occasionally, Anna would start to cough, and Elsa would rush to her side with some water. Almost always, she would hack and sob; almost always, a flower would bloom. And though worried and afraid, Elsa would always compliment its beauty as she held her sister in her arms, thereafter, promising to keep her gift safe. They varied, Elsa observes. Sometimes a daisy, sometimes a gladiolus, and sometimes, it is paired with chrysanthemums. Though rarely, Elsa would keep a handful of hyacinths, and a litter of rues. It never mattered what they are, she kept them all.

She then waits for the shuddering breaths to taper into a soft rattling hum. She knows that Anna is too exhausted to fight the vestiges of sleep. Her breath is still labored but it will soon calm into a more natural ebb and flow. Elsa doesn’t dare close her eyes in fear that when she awakes, her sister would be gone. That from her slumber, all that will remain is a bed of petals in her wake.

—xxx—

She was twenty-four and Anna has recently turned twenty-one. At that point, she knew their parents were long gone and all that’s left in the world is her and Anna. Fellow dignitaries visited with their condolences, but most had their own private agendas in mind. Some asked for her hand in marriage in order to solidify the crown, while some tried to entice her with quack medicines to aid her dying sister. They sickened Elsa but such is the privilege of a political figure.

Aid came forth in the form of Queen Arianna of Corona. It surprised her, truly, since the monarch was rarely seen travelling after the disappearance of her dear cousin, Princess Rapunzel. Nevertheless, her visit had been well-appreciated.

The woman bore gifts for both sisters: a vial of magical tears for Anna and a story for Elsa. The tears, Queen Arianna had forewarned, can only aid Anna’s ailment for only a while. Though, it may give her enough time to truly heal what has been hurt before all would be lost. Even then, once the time should come, Elsa will believe that the woman’s gift to her was more valuable.

She had been cryptic, but Elsa was sure the Queen knew the cure. She did her best to goad an answer from her, but she stayed adamant and stubborn. “We must do this carefully, Elsa. Please, trust me,” she would insist, and Elsa would do her best to seem placated.

Her impatience was at its precipice when the Queen reminisced about her parents. It was supposed to be bittersweet, but it felt more of a reminder of what Elsa had left. With the scattered ceramic on the floor and boiling tea upon the carpet, she all but broke the hardwood table from slamming her fists. Her wail echoed in the library, begging for Queen Arianna to heed her request. The latter merely sipped her tea.

“Sit, Elsa, that is no way to treat a monarch of an allied kingdom.”

“My sister is dying, and you keep vital information for her recovery in tight lips. I do believe that my good will has been suffused and ample enough.” Elsa would growl from a shaky breath. “What is it that you need from me, Arianna? My riches? My kingdom? Please—!“

And Arianna would stand up to walk. Elsa scrambles to follow her, suddenly silent. If anyone should wonder what she thought at the moment, it’s that she feared her anger had trampled upon the hopes of saving Anna.

“A few years after the birth of Rapunzel, I gave a book to a young bumbling boy who tried his best to woo a sweet girl. He was meek and reckless though his heart willed to capture a wild and untamable flame.” She wistfully recalls. “When his poetry and poor attempts of masculine feats failed, I suggested that he do a bit of reading. So, I gave him one of the books from a collection my husband and I had obtained during our quest to find the healing flower.”

Queen Arianna then procured a book, ragged and dog-eared. Clearly, it was well-loved. Upon flipping its pages, what greeted Elsa were annotations upon annotations written on its edges, while some illustrations had soon become familiar to her.

Recognition must have swept her features when the Queen’s voice had grown softer, “The young Frederic was a hasty and pragmatic man. However, the ways of love are not met with logic but with subtlety.” She then flips the page to an illustration of the eternal flower while wistfully saying, “Repay the heart that belongs to the heart.”

Camellia, adoration;

Love;

Longing.

—x— ANNA —x—

She was young when she knew her heart had failed her body. At first, the royal physician only advised rest and a few sips of tea for her cough. However, it soon progressed into a throat-ripping hack of which a single petal would fall from her lips. It tore from her lungs and crept through her neck in order to bloom on her tongue. The wisps of tulips littering the satin handkerchief gifted to her by Elsa. They were budding, then, and only a whorl of immaturity rather than a full florescence. With time, Anna was soon able to adore the colors of unwithering tulips in the dead of winter.

She wasn’t a fool. Anna knew full well when her breath was caught so her lungs could give way for another season of blossoms. She’s aware of the itch in her chest when the ring of her sister’s laughter reverberates through the corridors. She’s aware of the breathlessness of her obstructed lungs when Elsa touches her with great affection. She’s aware of her intrepid gaze, her wandering eyes, and her lingering lust. She is not a soft and demure lady, raised as bed-warmer for the noble men’s repose— no, Anna knows full well how she feels;

And how destructive it is.

She kept it a secret, a feat that is completely inexplicable to those that knew her well. Of course, there were curious and worried looks but it didn’t deter Anna from lying through her teeth. “‘Tis nothing but the spring air,” she would say, “I’ve gone and choked on my own spit!” She would exclaim, all while her hands stealthily flicked the remnants of petals away. No one must know.

No one must know the punishment I’ve incurred from loving you.

—xxx—

She was flipping through her newly acquired tome while Elsa hummed a tune from her perch. She looked beautiful under the light of the setting sun, Anna mused, but quickly averted her eyes when she felt the tell-tale sign of a bloom. Instead, she continued to pore over the pages, ignoring the strain she felt from uncharacteristically reading for hours on end.

“I’m surprised to see you quite taken with a book, sister,” Elsa jovially teased. “And an open one, at that!”

“Hush, you,” Anna pouted, “I never faulted you for being born with two left feet.”

“Yes, but you were happy enough to teach me how to dance, either way. I distinctly remember how much you abhorred reading. We believed you to be illiterate when you only admired the bindings!”

“I was not—“ She whips her head to see a bright grin from her usually graceful sister. She was close, with the faint freckles that painted her pale cheeks easily admired from such a distance.

“I’m glad you found it to your liking.” Elsa softly said, smiling so tenderly. Her hand brought up a daffodil and tucked it behind Anna’s ear. The sunlight framed her so ethereally. It should be blasphemous that such a woman could put goddesses to shame. Her fingers ached to trace the outline of her cheek and the edge of her jaw; perhaps, to finally answer the mystery behind the softness of pink lips. She longed for her, wholly.

Anna then rushed out of the room, stumbling back from bright teal eyes that matched hers. She crawled quickly, with tears from her eyes from suppressing the urge to spit out the flora that grew in her chest. Once in the safety of an empty room, she curled into herself and began to quake. And when she finds relief, she would find a full flower. Bright red, akin to the blood that speckled its fine petals, with white upon its center. Its pistil was dark blue to black, contrasting the otherwise loudness of the ensemble.

She knew it well because Anna had seen its illustrations. Underneath it was a looping cursive describing its secret message.

Anemone, forsaken love.

—xxx—

She pretended to sleep while Elsa snuck into her room. She is no longer able to hide her shame when she divulged the dirtied and sullen roots of her condition. The physician had noted the significant weakness of her lungs. When he slipped away from the room with her parents, she understood her wick was nearing its end.

She stilled when a cold hand ran its fingers through her hair. She tried to deny the lull of her ministrations, but she remembered the looming shadow of death upon her door. With a moment of indulgence, Anna rolled over to face Elsa. She wrapped her arm around her sister’s waist and pulled her close.

In the morning she would find her throat sore and a Dahlia between them.

Eternal love.

—xxx—

She was bound to her bed while Elsa sat on the available chair. Though, she would see less and less of her after their parents’ departure. Every night, however, she would retire in their room. Before, Elsa would make excuses about her presence but through the weeks she did away with them. Thus, Anna’s bed had also been hers to sleep in.

Anna couldn’t complain since it is her who truly benefited in their arrangement. When the clock strikes at ten, the fire would be snuffed from the lamps. She cherished such moments and tried her best to stay awake. Unfortunately, the hours are easily interrupted by her own greedy heart who longed to gift unspoken words to the person who truly owned it.

At times, it would spare a daisy when they reminisce old memories—innocence; childhood; purity. Though she would spare a gladiolus during acute moments of affection—you pierce my heart. Then, when she holds her sister’s weary body or her shaking hands, Anna would remember that her eyes no longer shone its child-like mirth. It would remind herself that her bereft love had torn her loved ones asunder. And during such downtrodden nights, she would procure a rue.

Regret.

—xxx—

She had awoken while Elsa sobbed by her bedside. She tried to open her eyes but she was too weak. Those days have become more frequent. She heard the faint news of their parents’ death but she was unable to comfort her beloved.

Instead, she allowed her remaining strength to cough out what she knew would be hyacinths.

Please forgive me.

—xxx—

She could hardly breathe. Her chest is full and aching, yet her lungs hardly contain the air she needs. She was mostly robbed of consciousness, cradled in the sandman’s arms. Every exhalation was heard from the dead silence of her room, as her restful state was tainted by the roar of her labored breathing.

She doesn’t have long.

And before she coughs out a snowdrop, she catches a glimpse of a curious bouquet of imperfect pink and red flowers amongst the withering dahlias and camellias. Having memorized the Flora’s Interpreter, Anna could easily distinguish them even when she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes.

Dogwood, she quickly remembers.

Our love will overcome travesty.

—end—

#elsanna #October 2022 contest #prompt: breathe #submission #cw: mentions of blood #cw: angst #cw: coughing

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