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thegodthief · 2 years

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Dreamt there was a stray dog that always came to this one park bench on certain days and times to wait for his human friend that would never sit there again. Everyone knew about the dog but let him be since there was nothing they could do.

A woman who had often tried to buy the dog from the man now decided there was no one who could stop her and did her best to capture him. Eventually, she succeeded but the dog turned into a large towel the moment she laid her hand on his fur.

She found out I was traveling through the town and brought the oversize towel to me to be transformed back into a dog again.

I looked it over. The towel was the size of a bedsheet but it was shaggy the way a comforting towel straight from the dryer is shaggy. It smelled like sunshine and kept warmth in its folds. But there was no hint of the dog it once was. "Sorry, there is nothing I can do. The spirit has left and all that remains is a token of affection for what he had for the man."

She took my inability to conform to her wishes as a personal insult and said many disparaging things about my appearance and abilities. None of which contribute to this telling other than to explain why even if I could have restored the dog, I absolutely would not have. It would have been a terrible wrong to leave any sentient being in this woman's care, embodied or not.

I knew enough of the story about the dog and the man that I felt leaving the towel at that one park bench was the right thing for me to do. It was a place of comfort after all, and the towel would certainly provide comfort to whomever it was wrapped around, so why not leave the towel at that spot for the next person who needs care?

When I got to the wood slat bench, there was a palm-size frog sitting under it. The frog seemed to have just completed its transformation from tadpole to frog. It was a cloudless day with very little wind. The frog had folded itself to fit in the shade of a seat slat. I laid the folded towel such that it not only provided more shade to the frog but also shielded it from sight of predators. When I stepped back, I saw the frog had unfolded its legs a bit to a more relaxed position in the now larger puddle of shade.

Smiling, I turned away to leave but my attention was caught by a small ribbit that is too deep to have come from the tiny frog.

I looked back and see that the frog, now the size of a basketball, had pulled the towel off of the bench. It was now struggling to get into the folds of the tightly folded cloth. It tried to nudge into a fold once more before turning back and looking at me with very pleading eyes.

"Well, hang on, lemme help."

I lifted the towel and completely unfolded it by shaking it gently over the frog which was jumping in a way that reminded me of kittens at play. Once completely unfolded, I was going to make a standing tent from the thick cloth large enough to accommodate the new size of the frog. But as I brought the two ends together, suddenly there was a carved wooden pole inside of the fold. The pole, as thick as my body, was elaborately carved to resemble a large tall frog on a stump. The face of the wooden frog was even with my own.

The pole appeared in such a way that it looked like I was draping the large towel around the pole as a ritual covering. I took the hint and followed through with the suggestion, folding and tucking the towel so that it remained in place without any clasps and looking like the frog statue was wearing a very comfortable and thick cloak.

"There. Now you look comfortable. I'm still not sure what's going on, but I'm quite sure that this is better than what would have happened with that woman!"

The carved eyes of the standing pole did not move but I felt a confirming warmth from them just the same. Satisfied, I turned away from the standing pole and the park bench only to be surprised by the quiet crowd of people that had assembled behind me while I was fussing with the towel.

"Are you the new Reader, Miss?" An old man stood with his family and an increasing number of onlookers. "We've been waiting to see who the dog would choose since that fella was the last of his line."

Voices from the crowd spilled over him. "When that woman declared herself the next Reader, we told her that she had to get the dog's approval. If the dog didn't accept her, neither would we."

"And that's why she tried to trap the dog! But we know that's not just a dog. But she spent so much on traps and bait and even tried to hire a dog-catcher!"

"We didn't know how to stop her. Or how to approach the dog ourselves. So when the dog became that cloth and she brought you in to unmake it, we were worried. We ain't never heard a story like this before and didn't know what to do."

I was at a loss how to answer them as I haven't heard a story like this either. But a detail picked at me. "You said 'Reader', not 'Speaker'. What was the previous Reader reading?"

The old man spoke up first. "We don't know. It was something only he could see and only when the dog was with him. You would come up to him and ask him a question and he would put his hand on the dog and look through you like you weren't even there and he would speak the answer he was reading. You could see his eyes move and track like he was reading a sign, but what he saw, only he knew. He would only speak the answer and not how he got that answer."

I gestured to the standing pole. "Do you see this?"

"Yes, Miss."

"What does it look like to you?"

"Like one of them carved poles you see up in the north by the Pacific, Miss."

"Is there something carved on the top? Can you tell me what it looks like to you?"

I could see in the old man's face that he did recognize something on the pole, but he was very reluctant to say it. When I looked to the crowd, most everyone else had that same reaction.

"It's a frog, lady!" The child's mother quickly hushed them and apologized for their rudeness.

"It's not rude when I'm asking for an answer. See, I see things differently from most people. I need to know what is obvious to everyone here so I can sort out what's not. If I were to ask if the stove is hot, it's because I don't want to get burnt!"

The crowd murmured an embarrassed agreement.

I was going to ask more about how their town's tradition of a Reader when I looked back to the standing pole and saw that the towel had not only been absorbed into the pole, but that the pole was now a carved stone slab standing several feet taller than I and wider than I could grip. The cloth had become something like engraved scales that made a decorative border around an unmarked, mirror polish front. The scales extended to the [animal head] crowning the slab. Without looking, I knew that the scales completely covered the back of the slab.

"Sir, kid, anyone. I need someone to tell me what they are looking at. I need to know if this stove is hot, please."

I heard the crowd murmuring behind me again. Something was bothering them but it would have been rude for them to leave because of it. A child's whisper floated out from the noise. "Mommy, can I tell her it's still a frog? That nothing changed?"

"Still a frog, you say? And the towel?"

Emboldened by my response, the child loudly shouts how nothing has changed and to tell me that their mother also tells them when the stove is hot so maybe the pole isn't hot also.

We adults collectively chuckle at the child's advice, but we adults also recognize that I wouldn't be asking that question if I saw the same as them. The crowd stands silently behind me, waiting to see what happens next.

"Miss, what do you see?" It was the old man again, standing closer this time so as not to shout. "I ask, because you have that same look on your face that the previous Reader had. What you are seeing is not anything here with us."

What am I seeing? The carved eyes look at me without moving and the mirror surface darkens into a vertical pool of shadow. The shadow deepens and brightens, like an LCD screen without input. I reach out and touch the surface, feeling nothing, but something happens. The shadow shows an image that settles into an image of a cave, and in the cave there is a cube of white stone, and on the cube of stone there is a book, and the book has a title, and the title reads…

"Lineages and Traditions: Their Ebb and Flow."

I did not realize I had spoken of what I was seeing until I heard the old man remind me of my question about titles. "Now you literally see why we called him our Reader. He was reading what we could not, just as you are now. If you can, read more, Miss."

I reached back to touch the slab as if it were a touch screen on the hunch that the interaction would be based on what the person had experienced in the waking world. I fell through it instead and caught myself on the cold edge of the sharply worked stone. I winced as the perfect edge cut into my palm drawing a thin line of blood.

I was in the cave, with the stone, with the book.

But I also felt the breeze in the park blowing across my neck, and the body heat from the old man who was now very close to me in the park. I understood that somehow I was in two places at once and that this division would not last very long.

I stood, put my bleeding hand behind me so as not to leave a stain on anything here, opened the book with my unmarked hand, and began to read what I saw out loud with hopes that the assembled crowd in the park would hear me.

As I read, the personal implications of what was written attacked my internal view of myself. I did not want to hear what I was reading, but I was unable to close my mouth or to turn away. The pages had seized me and I would read what was written until there were no further words to read.

The chapter now finished, I regained control over myself. I closed the book and the book melted into a shadow that was absorbed by the white stone cube. The cube suddenly glowed bright like sunlight and I felt myself stumble under the assault of pervasive light.

I opened my eyes. I had fallen to my knees before the stone slab and was resting one hand on the smooth surface to steady myself. The surface had become as polished stone, reflecting a heavy image of those assembled behind me. At the top, the [animal head] remained unmoving, even as I knew that those carved eyes were still focused on me.

"Did you hear what I read, Sir?" My mouth was very dry and I was almost too tired to speak.

"I did, Miss. We all did."

"So, what is the answer to your question if I am your town's Reader?"

"You're not, Miss. You are a Reader, but you're not our Reader. We have to raise up one of our own instead of waiting for the spirits to pick one for us. That tradition crumbled long before I was born and we haven't been proper about trying to find out what to do for ourselves now that things have changed so much."

"Here then, is a start. Those who would think themselves worthy of becoming your town's Reader should come here and present themselves to this… standing… the same way I have done. If they have ears to hear and eyes to see, they will be shown what to do. If nothing changes, then nothing has changed with them, and they are not yet worthy." I struggled to my feet as I spoke, continuing to keep a hand on the stone slab as I regained my balance. I wasn't sure if I was testing the stone or myself.

The old man grabbed and held my free arm to help steady me. "And what does a person have to do to become worthy, Miss?"

I looked at the [animal head] crowning the stone. I thought about the words that were still deboning my self-image. I thought about my responsibilities in the waking world and all I have done to come through this, that, and the other.

"Be willing to die."

The crowd that had made itself so thick with anticipation of being chosen now gasped and moved back slightly. I watched their reaction in the stone's reflection and barely kept myself from openly laughing at them.

"A Reader will be given words they do not want to say. They will see things that will hurt to reveal. They will be stripped of their pride and be laid bare before Life and Death. A Reader will be courted in public and shunned in private. Everyone will want to be known as the friend of a Reader because that will give them power, but no one in their right mind will want to be a Reader because they will cease being a person to everyone else."

I pulled my hand away from the stone and gently took my arm away from the old man standing beside me. I pulled my gaze away from the reflection and looked back at the crowd directly. There, in the middle of them, was the woman that thought herself the Reader's Successor. I did not give away that I recognized her. Instead I let my sight sweep over everyone before returning to the old man.

"Who becomes your next Reader will be a result of your town's collective conversation with whatever is on the other side of this standing. This is your town's interface now. If someone declares themselves to be your next Reader, test them! Anyone can throw words on the wind, even me."

I looked back at the stone and saw it was the carved frog standing pole again but the towel was now part of the carving. I touched it. The wood was warm from the sun but did not react in any way. The spirit within it was silent and I knew it would tell me nothing more.

I'm not the town's Reader, after all.

I closed my eyes and the image of the [animal head] at the stop of the stone slab looked back at me from the depths of my personal darkness.

I turned bodily away from the standing pole and faced the old man squarely.

"Would you know more?"

The old man shook his head silently. The crowd also indicated that they had heard enough and "out of respect", lowered their gaze so I could not look directly upon their face.

"Then I leave in search of pancakes, as there are none to be had here and I think I deserve a treat."

I took a step to leave the park and completely exited the dream entirely.

----

I did not intend to write this for public view, but the dream would not leave me in peace until I had done so. Yes, things were redacted. No, I will not explain what or why.

Make of that, what you may.

#dream #Will likely not go on the main.#I remember the words from the book.#They are engraved upon my psyche.#I cannot be anything other than what I am.#But what do you do when you are not prepared to accept all of what you are?

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hanazou · 3 years

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matching onesies with him.

Books : Dazai | Chuuya | Oda

Shelf : Mixed

Genre : Fluff, domestic

Note : I did this of my own accord because I am, in fact, a softie

Dazai Osamu

This clingy crackhead.

Dazai will be the first to come up with the idea. It's actually a random one and he asked it so spontaneously, he doesn't expect you to actually say yes.

"Sure, why not?" You agreed.

He's both surprised and elated, and he didn't hide this reaction at all.

"Oh, darling!" He wrapped a hug around your neck. "You always revive my heart with your love!"

You both will be enthusiastic about picking the onesies and agree to surf the net instead of looking from shop to shop since Dazai is under the supervision of a certain angry Kunikida

It almost feels like babysitting. Not that you hate it right? Should you get an identical pair with different sizes? Or complementary ones?

Dazai will call the customer service to ask if they have black crow onesies since crows represent death in some cultures. The response is obviously no and it's obvious that the customer service was confused.

"That's a shame," Dazai whined disappointedly, shoulders dropping. "Wouldn't it be both cute and poetic if we had a double suicide while wearing matching crow onesie? Two achievements in one!"

At that point you wouldn't even be surprised anymore. You will just take the phone away from him to apologise and thank the customer service. You have to convince Dazai that you won't find a onesie of that kind

"Wait, don't tell me," You stared at him. "The reason you want to get onesies is just to wear a matching crow pair?"

"Is it?" He grinned mischievously. "Maybe you're right, maybe you're wrong, but I just want to match with you."

Other ADA members will wonder what you and Dazai were doing, Kunikida the most. He isn't exactly curious, more like suspicious. What's that good-for-nothing Dazai up to now?

Eventually you find a pair of identical ones. Kind of rare designs too! Guess what?

Crabs! In red! The little eyes on the hood!

It will take less than a week for the onesies to arrive in a small box. When it does Dazai will pull out a cutter so energetically Atsushi will think he's going to pull a suicide attempt with it

"AAH! Dazai-san! No!"

Nothing will happen aside from Dazai stabbing the box (while making sure he doesn't cut the onesies inside. he's good with blades, ex Port Mafia and all)

The crab pincers for your hands are soft like mittens and so smooth???? Imagine sweaterpaws but with crab pincer mittens (!!)

It will take everything in you to stop Dazai from wearing it that instant since a client Fukuzawa talked about will be coming. You will need Atsushi's help to take it off him but let's not talk about it

Both of Dazai's legs are already in the onesie too..

It seems like Kyouka wants one. Yosano and Naomi will tell Atsushi to buy the girl one and match with her

When Dazai and you go home together, he will be so excited to wear the onesies immediately. Dazai will be light on his feet.

And when you finally put yours on? Pictures. Dazai will take lots of pictures of you. You're a piece of art and he wants pictures so he can recall the image anytime

"Oh, dearest~ How is it possible for you to be so cute?" He began his dramatic poses, a hand over his head while spinning like a ballet dancer.

You both will take a lot of couple pictures.

"Love, you are so adorable I want to eat you!"

"Is it me who's cute or the crab?" You teased back.

When Dazai makes a troubled expression to answer your question, you will have to pinch him 💢

If you can cook crab soup, wouldn't it be funny to make and eat one with Dazai while wearing crab onesies? He will be so clingy when you do it, like an old school married couple; when you cook, he'll be bugging you while hugging from behind. It feels cozy, don't blame him

You have to be keen with your eyes so you won't miss Dazai secretly pouring ajinomoto to the soup. Get him a healthier diet, I'm begging you.

"Look, the crab is red like us." He pointed at the soup. "And like your face when I do this." He took advantage of you turning your head to peck your cheek.

He will also pinch your nose with his pincer mitten. "Boop!" It's a challenge. Boop his nose back.

You think he's already as clingy as he can be, huh? Wrong. You are absolutely wrong. If he previously sticks around you like a magnet, this time he's glued to you.

Even in the shared living space, he won't let you go. Is it the softness of the onesie under his touch, the warmth, or your cuteness? Well, it's all of them. What then?

Snuggles.

You both cuddle together in the futon until falling asleep together. You feel twice as warm.

He's the big spoon, let him feel the smoothness of the onesie while feeling your heat. And for once, the double suicide joke stopped for the rest of day. That's how much this impacts him, and you're proud of him.

Nakahara Chuuya

Matching with Chuuhuahua in a onesie? You lucky fella.

You have to be the one initiating it with Chuuya. Baby boy will be like "Eeh?" at first. He's not against it at all but more like, confused. The request is out of the blue

"Come on, why not?" You tilt your head. "It will feel so soft to cuddle with?"

That's it, that's the spell for him to agree

Mans is a Port Mafia executive, you can't go out from shop to shop in a mall to get your onesie with his schedule, so you have to settle with online shopping with this guy too

Only when he has time to spare from beating up people

You will sit together on a couch at the headquarters once Chuuya and you don't have missions. It's a good chance to relax and unwind together too

Chuuya knows best where to find clothes, including onesies. There are so many options! Dinosaurs, frogs, bears, Sanrio characters, Doraemon, Pikachu, Line characters, pandas, unicorns, penguins!! (I should stop fantasizing Chuuya in each of them)

Chuuya will act cool and chill about it at first, but he actually got invested in choosing and thankfully he isn't a crackhead unlike a certain someone

He has a good fashion sense I don't accept criticism, and this side of him will jump out while both of you scroll the catalogue. He nails both street wear and mafia outfits daily, so you can bet he'd pick the best onesies for you both

"This one doesn't suit you," He moved to the next option. "These are the only colours available? Pass.", "What's with the unnecessarily long tail?", "Oh maybe this? Wait, I don't like the stripes."

Of course, he will listen to your opinion too but since you feel he's better at this, you just either nod or shake your head with him

You have to be careful with your words when picking the size (this is much more valid if you're taller) or he'll go "I'm not that short!"

Kouyou and Mori (+ Elise) will catch you both on the couch together while browsing, comfy and all, and Kouyou asked what you two were doing. Chuuya's face will be as red as wine.

When you want to explain, his gloved hand will cover your mouth and he frantically shakes his head, screaming "Don't!" silently.

But alas, while you want to tell him there's nothing to be embarrassed of, Kouyou will take the phone from your hand with a curious grin and a "What's this~?"

Chuuya will just accept fate at that point, growling to himself and all

Kouyou and Mori won't expect to see a catalogue of onesies, apparently. The "Huh," on their faces are hilarious, and Mori will be instantly inspired to get a full set for his Elise-chan, much to her distaste.

While Mori and Elise are going at it, Kouyou will actually share her opinions. Chuuya will crawl out from his burrow of embarrassment and listen to her with you.

"Rather than identical ones, these would be much better. They have variety." Kouyou said. And you both will agree. You both have been eyeing a specific pair anyway

You both will decide to get complementary ones! Chuuya's will be a brown teddy and yours a white bunny! (Try googling Line's Brown and Cony, they're cute you won't regret it) Kouyou will totally agree with the decision.

When the package arrives, both of you will open it together. Chuuya's eyes for clothes are never wrong, the quality is immaculate. So warm and smooth, not a seam out of place.

Imagine the blush on Chuuya's face when you put on the white bunny onesie. The bunny ears on the hood! The fluffiness! His flustered face!

He will be slightly hesitant to put his own on, but when he does, you swear you can die from the cuteness. Want to see more cuteness? Tease him about it, and maybe he'll tickle you down until you're too breathless to tease him.

Chuuya doesn't want to say it explicitly but it does feel really comfortable, it's suitable for winters too.

As usual, Chuuya will be the big spoon. You will melt into his warmth and the smoothness of his onesie, and you can tell he's enjoying it too, from the way he'll drag his hand all over you to feel the smooth fabric

"It's a good thing we listened to ane-san's suggestion, hm?" You asked. "I didn't exactly like the matching penguin pairs."

"Yeah, this isn't bad at all." Chuuya admitted, snuggling his chin into the crook of your neck. "You're so warm."

Oda Sakunosuke

First off I'm Odasaku's lover before I'm anything else.

When the weather gets cold, it's your idea to get onesies for the kids. They could use some cute onesies to sleep in.

Unlike Dazai and Chuuya, Odasaku will have time to spare to go shopping with you. Being the handyman of Port Mafia has its good sides, after all.

The atmosphere is identical to a date! You both meet up at evening after work, have a simple dinner first, then start the shopping. Shopping for the kids' onesies with him makes you feel like a parent doesn't it?

Odasaku and you will make sure not to pick flimsy, thin, or rough ones. Only the best for the kids. Both of you put your keen eyes to use, examining every considered piece

Odasaku and you will definitely discuss whether to get five identical or different ones. After considering that the kids have different personalities, choosing different pieces will sound more ideal. You both will grant them the liberty of picking themselves.

"We just have to make sure they don't fight over it." Odasaku said.

Lion, dinosaur, piglet, panda, and penguin. That's what you both will choose!

Odasaku is a man who doesn't wear his emotions on his sleeves, so you relied on his eyes when it comes to him. You will see love and sincerity. He picks each piece with careful consideration.

The store clerk will throw an unexpected (yet clichéd shoujo) question at you both. "You picked such good choices. We have sets for adults too, why not match with your children?"

Odasaku and you will widen your eyes. First of all, parents? And match? Both of you stare at each other in confusion. Should you get two get a pair for yourselves?

"Why not?" Odasaku eventually said.

Odasaku's will be a brown dog and yours a white cat (remember that one official art of Odasaku with puppy ears? <3)

Odasaku and you will immediately visit the kids and give them their onesies. Their excitement in picking one for their own made you smile, and you can see the joy in Odasaku's eyes when the kids thanked him and you. He doesn't smile, but you don't need him to just to know he's glad his children love your pick. The way he pats their heads already speaks volumes of love.

Thankfully no kid wrestled to get what they want. You were especially concerned Kousuke will compete with someone

Odasaku will bring a secondhand polaroid he once bought at Yokohama's flea market to take pictures of the kids. You will herd the children to gather for the picture while Odasaku looked for the right angle in the other side of the room.

"Why don't you stay there for the picture too?" Odasaku asked you, half of his face behind the camera.

You kneel behind the kids and put your hands on Sakura and Yuu's shoulders, the ones who stood on the far left and right. That much is enough to warm Odasaku's heart, but when you too, smile for the camera, he freezes for a while to take the sight with his eyes

The picture comes out nicely. You will end up convincing Odasaku to take more but with him in it, together, all seven of you. You would need the curry diner owner's help to take the picture

"Sakunosuke, smile, will you?" You held his shoulder while you both kneeled behind the kids for the picture. He would be a little stunned

He smiles, but it was faint. Nevertheless, you recognise the content in his eyes in the photo, and it's enough.

When it's just the two of you in the living quarters, you will have to remind Odasaku that he too, bought a onesie. He will gladly put it on him since you look so eager, he's curious how it feels too

Your heart stops when he put on the hood with the puppy ears. You will have to fight back the urge to attack him with cuddles right there and then when his confused and innocent face matches the onesie so much!

"You're adorable," You smiled half teasingly, taking in the look of confused Odasaku who looked down at his onesie. The weight of the material felt right, it's like a cozy blanket.

"Try to put yours on," He says. When you did, his heart also missed a beat. The kitten ears on your head! The pure snowy white on you!

Odasaku is a bear hugger and when he hugs you, his embrace will feel tighter than usual. It's no surprise, he likes you and cats, and the way you interacted with the kids that day played tricks on his heart. You hug him back and ruffle his head while he mumbles his thank-you's at you

That night's sleep will be filled with nothing but cuddles of love and adoration. Yes, Odasaku is the big spoon, but you will also hold his arms tighter around you as you both drift into the night, chatting about life.

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yellowsuitcase · 3 years

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Prophecy Problems // Draco Malfoy

Request from @lovecatsnotpeople

A/N: For this imagine, please pretend Hermione becomes the Minister of Magic much sooner than 2019, lol.

Summary: Draco is Y/N’s boss and she comes to him after she makes a mistake. He gets angry.

Warning(s): SMUT, Unprotected sex, choking, rough sex, slight voyeurism (but not really)

Word Count: 4k

Y/N walked through the hallways of the Ministry with guilt sitting heavy in her gut. She knew her boss would be angry at her, there was no doubt about it. To say she had fucked up was an understatement. Since she was the Keeper of the Hall of Prophecy, she had done her daily rounds that morning. However, when she was leaving, she noticed a new prophecy waiting to be placed on an open stand. Disaster struck when she picked it up and read the name on the tag. She was so unprepared to see that name on the paper and thus dropped the orb. When the sound of it shattering reached her ears, Y/N knew she was done for. The silvery smoke circled around her feet and then was reduced to white ashes. Once she processed what she had done, she sprinted out of the hall quicker than she ever thought possible of herself.

And now Y/N stood outside her boss’s door. It looked more daunting than ever. She adjusted her brown suede skirt, clenched her hands, and inhaled deeply. Slowly, she raised her fist and knocked on the wooden door. “Come in,” said a firm voice.

Y/N turned the door handle and stepped one foot into the room, but before she was entirely through the archway, her eye caught sight of the plaque on the wall. Draco Malfoy, Head of the Department of Mysteries. Her heart began to pound. She’d only been in this office a handful of times, despite wishing she could visit more often. It was a spacious room filled with white and black decor. The walls were a stark white, making the black picture frames and tapestries stand out. To her left were a coat hanger and stand-alone closet. In the back corner sat a tall plant in a silver pot; it had orange flowers sprouting from it. The floor was covered with the same stone from the hallway, but there was a large emerald rug with intricate details in this office. And in the center of the room was Draco, sitting at his desk. It was littered with parchment as well as empty chocolate frog boxes. The man himself was tossing a green apple up into the air and letting it fall back into his hand. He looked to be in a good mood. He caught the apple in his firm grasp, the veins in his hand becoming visible, and set it down on the cedar desk. He looked up at her with interest in his eyes. But that soon faded when he noticed the remorseful look upon her face.

“Ms. Y/L/N,” he said curiously. “What brings you to my office?” he asked as Y/N closed the door behind her; she still hadn’t made eye contact with him. She was already terrified of what his reaction to her news would be, and it didn’t help that he was quite possibly the most attractive man in the building. “Well, you’re my boss, so I have to report to you if something ever goes wrong,” she replied, cutting to the chase.

Draco raised an eyebrow. “Has something gone awry?” he questioned while gesturing to the leather-clad chair in front of him. Y/N gulped, stepped forward. She scanned Draco up and down while still avoiding eye contact. He looked particularly striking today. His hair was perfectly styled. The wispy bangs on his forehead appeared soft. He was wearing a long black jacket as well as a button-up paired with a green tie. The chandelier in his office provided perfect lighting; his skin was almost glowing. His legs were spread to provide support for his elbows. Y/N couldn’t help but steal a glance at his bulge, wondering if the rumors were true about Draco’s size. Of course, she couldn’t tell just by looking. She felt ashamed of herself and averted her eyes as she took a reluctant seat.

“I’m afraid so,” she answered once she was settled. She then began to pick at some loose thread on the seams of the chair, her nerves getting the best of her.

“Quit picking. You’ll pull out the entire stitching,” Draco ordered sternly. Y/N’s hand immediately released the thread and found a new place on top of her lap. She was growing more anxious by the second, and Draco’s irritation was increasing. Y/N gulped before finally making eye contact with the man. He was looking at her intently, expectantly almost. His hands were clasped underneath his chin as he stared at her. Y/N decided to spit it out.

“I was doing my rounds this morning, and there was a new prophecy, and I accidentally dropped it, and it broke,” she said quickly, her words mushing together. Draco smiled at her and separated his hands. “That’s not the end of the world, Y/N, you know that,” he assured. “Whose was it? We’ll send them an owl to inform them of the accident,” he said as he sat up in his chair. It was clear Draco didn’t understand the gravity of the situation as he picked up the apple again and took a bite out of it. Y/N took a deep breath before responding. “It was Hermione Granger’s.”

Draco stopped moving, a stoic expression fell over his face. Y/N watched as his eyes grew dark. He stood up from his chair, walked over to the bin, spat out his food, and tossed the apple in with it. Y/N looked down, feeling sick to her stomach. She heard him coming towards her. His feet came into view; they were right in front of hers. “Stand up,” he commanded. Y/N gripped the arms of the chair and hoisted herself to a standing position. She stared intently at the smudge on her glossy black flats as fear began to stir in her chest. “Look at me,” Draco said quietly. Y/N didn’t move an inch; she was too afraid.

“You’re telling me you dropped the Minister’s prophecy? Is that correct?” Draco asked. Y/N could feel his breath on her face; she nodded solemnly. “You do realize I’ll have to take the blame for your fuck up, don’t you?” he asked, his tone sharp. “She’ll be angry, hell, she’s hardly forgiven me for our time at Hogwarts, she’s not going to be happy to hear her prophecy was smashed to smithereens, is she Y/N?” Draco asked condescendingly; he was raising his voice now. Y/N shook her head.

“That’s what I thought,” he snapped. He stormed over to his desk and ran his hands through his hair. Y/N’s curiosity got the better of her, and she spared a glance up at him. He was positively fuming; she wouldn’t have been surprised to see steam bursting from his ears.

Draco breathed heavily as he shuffled through papers on his desk. “Fuck!” he yelled, making Y/N jump. The man reached for his neck, roughly loosened his tie, and yanked it over his head. Y/N felt her skin turn hot; she averted her eyes back to the floor. “Bloody hell, Y/N. If I lose my job for this, you’re coming down with me,” he shouted. Y/N flinched at his words. Suddenly, his hand was on her face, her heart stopped.

“Look at me,” Draco growled as he forced her chin upwards. His face was tight, and his teeth were bared. Even though fear coursed through Y/N’s veins, she couldn’t resist a peek at his tempting lips. Draco tightened his grip on her jaw. “You think I’m stupid, don’t you? I’ve seen you looking at me.” Y/N held her breath. She stared into Draco’s eyes, where once they held anger, they now held lust. “Every day in the hallways, I see you. I see you looking me up and down. I notice how your eyes linger, Y/N,” Draco said as he began trailing his hand down her face and onto her neck. He applied light pressure, just enough to send a pleasant buzz through her body.

“Frankly, I find it flattering, almost endearing. But, darling, let me ask you this…” Draco trailed off. His left hand remained around Y/N’s neck while his right traveled to the small of her back. She breathed heavily as he began to trace small circles on the fabric of her skirt. Suddenly, he pressed his palm flat against her. Y/N felt herself growing lightheaded with desire. Draco chuckled lightly and pushed her hips forward, firmly pinning her against him. Y/N started to gasp, but Draco tightened his grip on her neck, cutting off her airflow. He smiled down at her as she squirmed.

“Are you sure that this is something you want?” he asked in a low, sultry voice. Y/N felt a shiver run down her spine. Draco cocked his head, prompting her to answer. She was unable to speak, so she gingerly nodded her head. Draco smirked. “Is that so?” his face turned dark, “then prove it,” he whispered. He released his hold on her neck, and Y/N jumped into action, smashing her lips against his. Draco smiled into the kiss and slipped his tongue inside Y/N’s mouth, where he gently began to swirl it around hers. Y/N couldn’t help but let out a soft moan as Draco then began to suck on her tongue. Y/N pressed her thighs together and felt her wetness growing.

Draco pulled away to look at the woman in front of him. Her cheeks were flushed, and her white shirt had been drawn up, revealing her stomach. Draco put his hands on her cheeks and pulled her close to kiss her swollen lips. He nibbled on her upper lip before pushing away and spinning Y/N around so that her butt was pressed against the front of his desk. He smirked at her before crouching down to his knees. Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as Draco pushed her shirt farther up her torso. He sensed Y/N’s eyes on him but paid her no mind. Swiftly, he took out his wand and cast a quick, locking spell on the door. He turned back to Y/N and gently kissed her stomach while simultaneously gripping her thighs underneath her skirt, preventing her from rubbing her thighs together like she had been doing previously.

“Draco,” she mewled. The man pulled away from her immediately and glared up at her. Even though she was looking down on him, his next words still made her falter. “Call me, sir,” he whispered. Y/N shuddered as she felt his breath fan over her stomach. Draco kissed her again, this time taking some of her skin into his mouth, biting and sucking softly. When he released her, there was a red mark beginning to form next to her bellybutton. Draco kept a firm grip on her thighs as he pressed a kiss to her lower abdomen through her skirt. It had a little corset in the front instead of a zipper or button. He considered untying it but figured it would be more fun to have her keep it on. He removed his hands from her thighs and grabbed the hem of her skirt, lifting it over his head. He was now facing her crotch. Y/N was breathing fast above him; he could only imagine the thoughts running through her mind.

Draco hovered his mouth over her inner thighs, teasing her. She attempted to close her legs, trying to create friction, but his hands flew to her knees and gripped them tightly. He then pressed his mouth to her clothed pussy, eliciting a sharp gasp from her lips. He slowly began to lick her through her underwear, making it even damper than it already was. He could tell she was getting impatient because of the way she was pushing her hips upwards, so he took the fabric in between his teeth and yanked it down, revealing her pussy to him. Draco pursed his lips and blew air directly onto her clit. Y/N whined and tried to buck her hips, but Draco’s firm grip kept her pinned to the desk. “Stay still,” he ordered before sticking out his tongue and dragging it down her slit.

Y/N slapped a hand over her mouth to prevent a cry from escaping her. She never thought in a million years she’d be in this position. But there she was, pressed against her boss’s desk and being eaten out by him. His tongue was thrusting in and out of her entrance slowly, steadily. It was making Y/N dizzy. She desperately wanted him to get on with it and slip himself inside her. Alas, Y/N knew Draco. She knew that anything that happened between them would only occur according to his terms. Y/N had no control in Draco’s grasp; that was obvious. And while that aroused her, it also frustrated her to no end.

Draco continued flicking his tongue within her, but then he added his thumb into the equation. With it, he began to rub her clit, drawing out a long moan from Y/N, whose fingers were squeezing the edge of the desk. She felt her legs begin to tremble, the weight of her body was getting to be too much, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to hold herself up much longer. Despite the burning in her calves, Y/N held herself still as she felt her climax approaching. “Please, sir,” she pleaded. Draco’s tongue began to speed up while his thumb maintained a consistent pace. The contrast between slow rubbing and fast thrusting brought Y/N to the edge. She clenched her walls and prepared for orgasm, but it never came. At the last second, Draco lifted his thumb off her clit and retracted his tongue, leaving her empty.

Laughing, Draco pulled himself out from under her skirt. He pushed off his knees and stood up, looking into Y/N’s eyes. “Did you really think I’d let you cum?” he asked, an amused look on his face. Y/N stared at him silently; she couldn’t think about anything besides the intense throbbing between her legs. “Lemme let you in on a little secret, darling,” he said while putting his large hand on her neck and pulling her close, “The only time you’re allowed to cum is when you’re wrapped around my cock and begging for it. Understood?” he growled in her ear. His words had a physical effect on Y/N’s body; she could hear her heartbeat in her ears. “Yes, sir,” she mumbled, feeling his hand against her throat.

“Louder,” he demanded. Y/N swallowed thickly before repeating herself. “Yes, sir, I understand.” Draco tightened his hold on her neck and then abruptly let go. He pushed her to the side and laid his hands on his desk, swiftly brushing off all the papers onto the floor, not caring about the mess. Y/N didn’t waste a moment; she kicked her underwear off her feet and rushed to the end of the desk. Putting her hands on top of it, she jumped up and laid down. Draco cocked an eyebrow; he looked pleasantly surprised by her actions.

“Somebody’s eager,” Draco mused. Y/N let out a whine and arched her back. She wanted him badly. Draco tutted and walked around the desk, where he positioned himself between her legs. He locked eyes with Y/N and maintained contact with her as he took the bottom of her skirt and lifted it up, exposing her bare pussy to the air. Y/N couldn’t help but moan. She was the most aroused she’d ever been in her life. Draco extended his index finger and gently slid it inside her. With his opposite hand, he held her hips down, already anticipating that he’d have to if he didn’t want her to squirm.

Y/N, with her legs spread and waist held down, was rendered helpless to Draco’s touch. All she could do was moan as he inserted another finger and slowly thrust into her. In between thrusts, he spread his fingers and began to stretch her out. “Sir…” Y/N called quietly. Draco hummed. “What is it, princess?” he asked.

“I need you,” she replied, feeling Draco insert yet another finger. Y/N clenched down on his digits inside her. When he gave her a particularly hard thrust, she whimpered. Then he grabbed her chin roughly. He held her face in his hand and put his thumb over her lips. She instinctively took it into her mouth and began to suck. Draco smiled and said, “I’m gentle now, but don’t worry darling, I’ll fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk tomorrow. How does that sound?”

Y/N groaned and felt a blush rise to her cheeks, painting them red. Draco let go of her face and continued to slide his fingers in and out of her, making sure to go slow. Y/N waited a few more minutes before saying, “Sir, please, I’m ready.”

“Are you now?” Draco asked, still stretching his fingers within her. Y/N whined and wriggled on the desk, feeling her frustration grow. He wasn’t listening to her. “Yes,” she retorted, letting her annoyance be known through her tone. She gasped when she felt a sharp slap land on her inner thigh. “You’re ready when I say you’re ready,” Draco growled. Y/N gulped and remained silent, letting Draco put a fourth finger inside her. He thrust hard and spread his fingers; the drag of his digits against her walls sent sparks through her body. She could feel her wetness begin to drip, and she felt as though she was going insane with need.

Finally, Draco removed his fingers. He smirked at Y/N as he began to unbutton his pants. She watched as he pushed down his underwear, and his dick sprung free. He rubbed it a few times and aligned the tip with her entrance. Y/N held her breath and bit her lip as he slammed his hips forward, filling her to the hilt. She was hardly able to breathe in as he immediately began to pull out and force himself back in. He set a harsh pace; the desk was shaking underneath them. “Fuck! Don’t stop,” she begged.

Draco grunted and gripped her hips, pulling them towards him so that they met his with each thrust. Y/N reached for something, anything to hold onto; she needed to ground herself. Draco seemed to take notice of her panic. He let go over her hips, grabbed her thighs, and brought them to his waist. Y/N got the hint and wrapped her legs around his middle, bringing the pair even closer, allowing Draco to pound her even harder. Y/N nearly screamed when he found a deeper spot within her. She noticed Draco had repositioned his hands. They were now pressed to the desk on either side of her head. Y/N reached up and gripped his forearms. This was a mistake. She watched as a vexed expression formed on Draco’s face. In a swift and aggressive motion, he turned his arms out, forcing Y/N to let go of him, and when her hands were in the air, he seized her wrists, pinning them to the desk. Y/N felt butterflies erupt in her stomach. Unknowingly, she clenched down on his cock, making him laugh. He peered at her with a prideful look on his face. “Did you like that, Y/N? Does pinning you to the desk make you wet, hmm?” he cooed tauntingly. Draco stared at her expectantly. When she didn’t reply, he slowed his speed.

Y/N whimpered and jutted her hips, trying to urge him to resume his brutal pace. Draco shook his head. “Answer me, darling, maybe then I’ll make you cum.” Y/N closed her eyes, letting his words sink in. God, he was too much. “Come on, princess, who makes you this soaked? Tell me,” he commanded. Y/N desperately needed to reach her high, so she told him what he wanted to hear. “You, sir.”

“Who?” Draco asked again while slamming his hips into her.

Y/N gasped and cried out, “You sir, you make me wet!” Draco smirked. “That’s what I thought,” he grunted. To Y/N’s delight, he began to increase his pace. His face was close to hers; she could feel his breath on her face. Then he hit it, her g-spot. Once the head of his cock touched it, she screamed, letting Draco know he’d found it. He released her wrist and instead wrapped his fingers around her neck, forcing her to look at him. Y/N couldn't move her head as he slammed into her, hitting that spot repeatedly. She felt her climax approaching but was unable to warn Draco. All she could do was take it.

But Draco was perceptive; he knew Y/N was nearing her high. “You gonna cum on my cock, darling? Go on then, cum,” he said. And with that, she was pushed over the edge, crying out as she fell. The world seemed to stop spinning; all Y/N could feel was the electricity running through her body. Every one of her muscles was tense as she endured the waves of pleasure. Draco was nearing his end as well. His thrusts were becoming sloppy, and within thirty seconds, he was releasing inside her. His body jerked with pleasure as his cum filled Y/N’s hot pussy. Draco groaned and let his body fall on top of the woman underneath him.

The pair panted heavily as they came down from their orgasms. When Y/N felt strong enough, she raised a shaky hand to Draco’s face and stroked it softly. He kissed her hand while opening his eyes. “That was incredible,” Y/N breathed, still reeling from what just happened. Draco chuckled lightly. “I’m inclined to agree,” he said.

They were interrupted by a knock at the door. Y/N felt her blood run cold; she looked at Draco, terror on her face. Her boss, however, looked more relaxed than a sleeping baby. “Just a moment,” he called out. Swiftly, he pushed himself off Y/N, reached under her arms, and picked her up. He walked them over to his chair and sat down, the impact forcing his cock deep inside her. Draco then took out his wand and wordlessly summoned the papers back to the top of his desk. “Come in,” he said calmly as he unlocked the door.

Y/N felt her heart drop. She was sitting on Draco Malfoy’s lap, his dick still inside of her, and he just told whoever is outside his door to come in. As quickly as she could, Y/N ran her fingers through her hair, trying to make it appear as though they had not just had rough intercourse. Just as she was pulling down her shirt, the door opened, and Y/N slapped a soft smile onto her face. When she saw who stood in the doorway, she felt bile rise in her throat. There stood Hermione Granger, the current Minister of Magic.

“Hey Malfoy, I was just stopping by to tell you that - oh! Y/N, I-I didn’t know you were here,” Hermione stuttered. Despite her apparent confusion, she didn’t ask why Y/N was on Draco’s lap. “Well, anyway, it’s good you’re both here. I was informed that a prophecy came in today with my name on it. Did you see it, Y/N?” she asked. Y/N gulped and nodded. “I did.” Hermione smiled. “Oh good, well, then you must know where it is, right?” she inquired. Draco gripped her waist, but Y/N ignored her boss and answered Hermione. “I do. Why do you ask?” she questioned with a fake smile on her lips.

“Well, it turns out that it’s not actually my prophecy. See, the Seer was actually talking about someone named Helga Graingle. Apparently, she’s a rather old witch. Or I suppose, was, is the better term. She passed away early this morning,” Hermione told the pair. Draco cleared his throat. “How unfortunate,” he replied. Y/N nodded, “That’s horrible. She didn’t even get to hear her prophecy.”

Hermione sighed. “Yes, I know. It’s a shame. But anyway, I just wanted to let you know about the mix-up. I’ll be on my way now…” she trailed off as her eyes flickered to Y/N’s hips. Obviously, something was up, but the Minister said nothing; she simply nodded her head and slinked out the door, shutting it behind her.

Once she was gone, Y/N let out a sigh of relief. “Merlin,” she muttered. Draco pressed his lips to her neck. “Got lucky, didn’t you, princess?” he taunted. Y/N rolled her eyes and pushed him away lightly. “Shut up, Malfoy.” Draco chuckled and squeezed his arms around her waist. Y/N felt her heart stutter, the things this man did to her.

#draco lucius malfoy #Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy smut #draco malfoy x yn #draco fanfiction #Draco #draco malfoy imagines #draco malfoy x reader #draco imagine #draco smut #harry potter #smut

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evolutionsvoid · 3 years

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Logger Sharks are, well, sharks but not the kind you may think of! When most people hear "shark," they think of the toothy saltwater variety, the swimming meat grinders that devour all! Of course this is all hyperbole, sharks are not the crazy bloodthirsty creatures that story likes to make them out to be. They eat meat just like everything else, so lets just all calm down about it. Back to my point, Logger Sharks are not found in the ocean but, rather, inland where fresher waters lie! That's right, Logger Sharks are a freshwater shark that is also amphibious. Their gills are capable of dealing with air, which means these little guys can march their way right onto dry land! This also is allowed because these sharks have grown a set of legs! Their fins have morphed into appendages that can work well on both water and land, which is perfect for their amphibious lifestyle. I am sure this sounds utterly terrifying for the ignorant, but do not fear! First of all, they aren't that big. They grow to about four feet in length. and their dorsal fin reaches about two feet. Second, they have better things to do then gnaw your leg off. You see, Logger Sharks get their name for a good reason, and they work hard for it! If you get past the fact that they are land sharks with legs, you will notice that they tend to go after non-meaty things. The thing they really like to sink their teeth into are trees and other woody vegetation! It turns out that super sharp teeth can do more than slice through flesh! Logger Sharks possess the same fast-growing, replaceable teeth as their ocean brethren, though theirs has a longer journey. The teeth grow in the back of the jaw, then slowly move forward as more erupt. They slowly travel towards the snout, until they exit the mouth entirely! The lower jaw of a Logger shark has a special, spiraled root that allows the teeth to move out of the mouth and down their chin. This creates a toothy circle saw, which is quite good for carving through bark and woody materials! When Logger Sharks find the perfect tree, they clasp on with their forelimbs and use their spiraled teeth to rasp away! Obviously their size and equipment aren't suited for slicing clean through the tree, instead they slowly wear away at it from all sides, counting on the height and weight of the tree to finally topple it. I now realize I kind of made it sound like these guys are chewing down redwoods, but really they are going after smaller thinner trees, because they have to be able to carry them home! After chopping down a good sized piece of lumber, the Logger Shark will use their jaws to chew it into workable pieces. Too big, and they won't be able to carry it. Too long, and they will hit every rock, tree and bump on their way back home. So careful cutting is needed, and once it is done they grab it in their jaws and march! They adorably plod their way back to some pond or lake where they live, as these sharks still prefer to live in water! They like non-moving water bodies, as they don't like to fight the current when they are building! You see, Logger Sharks use this chewed up lumber to build lodges for themselves, where they may eat, rest and groom away from the bothersome outside! They use wood and mud to slap together these little huts, and slowly form an inside chamber to live in. These lodges are furnished with grass and dead leafy vegetation, adding extra comfort to their home! They also sport multiple entrances and exits for speedy getaways and easy access. They don't just build houses, as sometimes extra construction is needed if the water refuses to stop running. Dams and blockages are constructed to bring up the water level and create a personal pond for them to live in! Quite the clever little fellas, though the folks downstream may not appreciate the craftsmanship.

The other interesting thing to note about Logger Sharks is the fact that they are quite social. This species lives in family groups and work together to build their perfect home! They tend to interact a lot with their own kind, be it felling trees together or staking their claim. To tell others that this territory is theirs, they will use extra rough patches on their body to rub against vegetation. This acts like sandpaper and wears away at the outermost layer of plants. It also is infused with their special marker, which other Logger Sharks can detect. If you ever notice multiple trees having strange worn patterns near the base of the trunk, it is a good sign that Logger Sharks are about! The other tell is the short barks they let out to call to one another, either warning of danger or calling for extra help carrying their haul! Living in temperate climates means that winter is bound to appear, so how do these little guys make it through the cold? Why, they stockpile food and make their lodges nice and cozy! They build special entrances and exits so that they can get through the ice when need be, but most of the time they sleep in their homes. They are able to go into torpor for long periods of time, occasionally waking to snack on some food before going back under. When spring arrives and the ice begins to melt, they are back at it again, making repairs and moving thing around so that the fading ice doesn't cause any damage. Cripes, I just realized I haven't even mentioned what these creatures eat, I have been so caught up in their antics! Logger Sharks are omnivorous, though a hefty portion of their diet leans towards greens. They eat leafy materials and aquatic vegetation, as well as the bark and chunks that come off of fallen trees. For meat, they target smaller prey, like worms, bugs, grubs, frogs and other critters. Their sharp teeth make short work of anything they go after (this includes fingers of fools who can't keep their hands to themselves)! Logger Sharks have been seen feeding on carrion, but honestly pretty much everything does that. Show me an animal that willingly passes up a free meal! This scavenging is what gives people the wrong impression of these guys. Someone will walk through the woods and see a group of them tearing into a deer carcass, then stupidly assume that they killed it. Logger Sharks do not go on feeding frenzies and they do not tear apart large prey! They just don't! Enough with this nonsense! Logger Sharks are a species of shark that give birth to live pups. They do so in the safety of their lodges, where the mothers can look after them and the family can bring them food. They will grow under their watchful care, until they may be strong enough to strike off on their own and build their own future! With their love for chewing down plants, I am sure many are wondering what us dryads think of them. They eat trees, surely they must be despised! First of all, they don't go after old trees, those are way too big. They prefer younger growths and tree saplings, something they can actually carry. Fallen limbs and branches also work too, as they are fine with scooping up pre-cut supplies! Second, they do not like busy areas and places with lots of people in it. Of course these little guys aren't going to come plodding into town to eat our homes. Honestly, dryads are fine with Logger Sharks because most communities know how to deal with them. This species likes to chew and work, but they won't pass up free meals! What dryad communities do near Logger Shark territory is plant fast-growing tree species that provide Logger Sharks with the materials they want. They may also discard unusable pieces of lumber and wood near these territories, so the sharks may use them instead. When they are provided with plenty of resources, they have no reason to come after our own crops! Do be warned, though, if you live on the outskirts of these territories and collect firewood. If you keep your logs and kindling outside, the Logger Sharks might scurry in to nab a few! Keep them contained somewhere safe, or store them high up! It isn't just our views on trees people wonder about, they also ask if Logger Sharks attack dryads. We are made of wood, after all! Do dryads have to fear bodily harm from Logger Sharks? No. This species is used to working on stationary trees that don't scream or fight back. They get spooked pretty easily, so I can't see any dryad letting one of these things chew through their leg unchallenged. Maybe an incident happens every decade or so, but most of the time it is just a bite or scratch from a scared animal. To have one chew all the way through a leg and then carry it off? Cripes, they must have guzzled a bottle of Napellin Cobalt to let that happen! If that did indeed occur, I would not use that against this species. I mean, how many drunk people have died to horses, and people are still fine working with those? Since I am talking about interactions with these critters, I would like to take a moment to inform folk of a few things. The first, is telling people not to go knocking down Logger Shark dams without proper precautions. I understand some communities get impacted when their river is blocked up by these guys. I would implore you to take a moment to think through the situation and find a solution that won't cause unnecessary harm. I know some folk just run in there and smash the whole thing apart without a second thought, and those people are absolute idiots. If the dam is broke that fast, the rush of water released will sweep away the lodge and any poor pups trapped inside! Also, that wall of water is headed straight towards your stinking town, genius! Hope no one is near the river when that battering ram of water and debris comes hurtling by! So instead of being stupid, why don't you relocate the Logger Sharks elsewhere, or at least drive them away and then slowly dismantle the dam. Bring it down little by little so that the water is slowly released. The other thing I wanted to mention is that Logger Sharks are absolutely adorable, wonderful and are certainly not pets. These animals are very social and need the company of their kind to properly function. I admit myself that I wish I could keep one, but it isn't healthy for them and they don't do well with it. Not to mention what will happen if you somehow own furniture! Logger Sharks should stay wild and stay with their families. The best option, if you want their company, is to be neighbors. Happy, but safely distant, neighbors. I have spent quite a few evenings after a long day's work sitting by the shore and watching them work. It is quite soothing and entertaining! Enjoy them from a distance, and I guarantee you will love every second of it! Chlora Myron Dryad Natural Historian --------------------------------------------------- I realized my world didn't have any sharks in it yet, so I figured I would fix that. Also been reading and seeing how sharks always get the violent evil image, so I wanted my first species to at least be something different than the cliché crazed meat shredder. Took some thinking on how to make a unique shark, but than the epiphany struck! Beaver sharks! I had to draw them up the second it hit me! This is one of the designs I am super proud of, despite the fact I probably say that about every other creature I make. Sharks! Formation! Sticks in jaw, snout in line! Colonel Bogey bring that tune to the 1,2,3 and MARCH!

#shark #sharks #fish #beaver #monster #creature #ampibious #art #drawing

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fanfoolishness · 3 years

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five denials and a truth (The Mandalorian)

Written for @fake-starwars-fan, who suggested this idea. Five times Din Djarin denies he is a father, and one time he doesn’t. Canon-compliant, spoilers for seasons 1 and 2, and gets angsty as hell. I’m so sorry, Din. Featuring Din, Grogu, Omera, the Armorer, Peli Motto, Ahsoka Tano, Boba Fett, and Cara Dune. 3800 words.

***

The sun fell beneath the crowns of the trees, leaving them awash in blues and golds, and the insects sang their chorus in the growing shadows. Din Djarin sat at the edge of the fire, watching the child play with the other children. Wariness hummed in the back of his mind, long years of training deeply entrenched despite the seeming peace of Sorgan. Still, though, it was hard to remain battle-ready here, as the children laughed and played their silly games.

Omera sat on the log beside him, waving a hand to her daughter. The girl took off eagerly to join the others. Pinpoint flashes of light sparkled around the children as they played, the evening lightning-beetles taking wing.

“The children love your son,” she said, turning back to Din, her eyes aglow in the firelight. “I’ve never seen a youngling like him, but they’ve truly taken to him. My daughter’s quite envious of his frog-catching skills.” She chuckled, voice sweet and warm.

“He’s not my son,” said Din in polite, careful tones. He shifted slightly on the log.

Omera tilted her head. He found her direct eye contact discomfiting, but he did not look away. “Because he isn’t human?”

He shook his head slightly. “No. That has nothing to do with it.”

“Then what? I see the way you watch out for him. You’re watching him now, making sure he isn’t getting into trouble,” she said lightly. “Every parent does it.”

“There are terrible people after him,” said Din, feeling uneasy in a way he couldn’t pin down. Imps, bounty hunters, who knew what else? The less said about it, the better. “I’m just trying to protect him until I can find a safe place for him, that’s all.”

She arched an eyebrow as the child toddled over to them, holding a squirming lightning-beetle in his small hands, its green-gold light pulsing between his fingertips. “Looks like he has something to show you.”

Din bent down, reaching out to take the child’s hands. “You, uh, you caught this?” he asked gruffly. “Huh.” He’d seen the other children trying to do the same and failing, the agile beetles getting the better of them. Despite himself, he was impressed.

“Good for you. Just don’t -- no! Drop it!” He pulled the squirming beetle out of the child’s mouth and tossed it aside, watching it flash up into the sky. The child looked at him with big eyes, ears sinking down to his shoulders.

“Oh, they’re perfectly safe to eat,” said Omera, laughing. “We eat them now and then if things are lean.”

“Oh,” said Din. He felt his mouth form into a smile, a reflexive action beneath the helmet. “Uh, sorry,” he said to the child. “Maybe next time.”

The child took another step forward, then leaned against Din’s leg, small arms curling around his shin. Then he was off again, toddling back to the children and the waiting lightning-beetles.

“If you aren’t his father,” asked Omera, “what’s stopping you?” She gazed at him, her face kind, her eyes questioning.

“I’m not what he needs,” Din said. He turned away from her, staring off into the forest, where the bandits waited. “That’s all.”

***

ii.

The Armorer watched Din Djarin carefully, grateful that another member of the Tribe had survived. Of course, he and his actions were the reason so many had fallen, but the Creed was unflinchingly clear. Death in the service of protecting another Mandalorian or a foundling was the noblest end to a warrior’s life. The price had been paid, and paid again, and she bore him no anger for it.

She asked to see the child, to see the one whose protection had merited the fragmentation and destruction of the Tribe. The creature stared up at her, clearly tired and frail, but its eyes held a spirit she understood. This one had seen suffering. It was always written in the eyes of those who did not hide their faces.

She saw, too, the way Djarin angled himself toward the child. She had heard of how he had protected it, blaster, body and beskar, against the storm that drove him from the planet. And she remembered the tale of the enemy that had helped him defeat the mudhorn. She began to understand.

She explained to Djarin what he must do, what the Creed demanded. No matter that the child was linked to the Jedi, nor that Djarin knew not where to find them. He was a resourceful man. She had faith that he would fulfill the Creed.

The others pressed him to leave, their urgency clear. The Imperials were coming, as they had come upon them before in the night, and she understood their fear. They knew not the Way of the Mandalore, the honor of a warrior’s death.

Djarin dissented. “I’m staying. I need to help her, and I need to heal.”

His desire to assist was welcome, but she knew that this was not his path. His path was clear. It lay in the child’s wide eyes, in his small hands, in the way Djarin spoke of the foundling with a measured distance she knew he did not keep. The truth could not be hidden. A Mandalorian could fool an outsider, but she was the Armorer, and the depth of his feelings toward the child was laid bare in voice and stance.

“You must go,” she said firmly. “A foundling is in your care. By Creed, until it is of age or reunited with its own kind, you are as its father.”

You already are, she wished to say, but she did not. He was not ready. Not yet. Denial showed plain in the set of his shoulders.

“This is the Way,” she said instead, voice brisk. “You have earned your Signet.” Her hands were swift and precise upon his pauldron, affixing the gleaming mudhorn to its rightful place.

There it was, the emotion she knew lay deep within him. “Thank you,” he said, and she saw the warrior’s heart within him gentled, humbled, made vulnerable. “I will wear it with honor.”

There were certain truths she had long known. The best warriors did not harden their hearts. Too hard, and they found their deaths too quickly, the potential glory of their sacrifice fading into a meaningless waste. Yet those that succumbed to the pain of the world could be too soft, losing the will to fight and turning to the follies of pacifism.

The finest warriors, the truest, walked wounded through the world. It was their battles that burned brightest in the minds of their people, their struggles that most honored the Way of the Mandalore.

She watched Djarin and the child leave with the others, and she waited, her hammer at the ready. She would protect the beskar and buy time for those of her Tribe to escape. She knew she would not fall this day.

Beneath her helmet, she smiled. For she believed Clan Mudhorn would earn their place in legend.

***

iii.

Din returned to Peli Motto’s shop, laden with supplies from the market. Ammunition, food and water for himself and the kid, a few more packs of bacta patches. Wouldn’t do to head out into the deep desert unprepared, and he wasn’t sure this mining town Peli was talking about really still existed. He unloaded the supplies onto the ramp into the Crest, and turned to look for the kid. He’s fine, he reminded himself, but he still hated how hard it was to leave the kid sometimes, how he always felt like something was missing when the kid wasn’t in his sight.

As expected, Peli was in her office, the kid in her lap. She was having an animated discussion with him, judging by the way his ears quivered. As Din drew near he picked up some of their conversation.

“So there I was, fighting an infestation of womp rats the size of banthas, and this no-good nerfherder shows up wanting to know why his ship’s not ready. I tried telling him the droids were overrun and that I’d already busted one blaster trying to shoot the damn things, and he had the nerve to -- Mando! Back from the market, huh?” Peli asked, looking up at him.

The kid let out an excited squeal and reached towards him. Reluctantly, Peli lifted him up, and Din took him into his arms. The kid settled down in the crook of his elbow like he’d been there all his life, and Din finally relaxed.

“Not the best selection I’ve ever seen, but I got what we needed,” he said. “Thanks for watching the kid. He’s gotten me into trouble with more than one vendor. Sticky fingers.” And having the ability to move things with his mind, while impressive, wasn’t exactly a good recipe when combined with a youngling who was hungry all the time. Din tilted his helmet down to look at the kid, his mouth tugging invisibly into a grin beneath the beskar.

“This angel?” Peli scoffed. “I don’t believe it.” Din simply looked at her, and she relented, “Okay, okay, he ate half my lunch when I wasn’t looking, and tried to eat a sand roach when I was. I get your point.”

“I told you to be good for Peli,” scolded Din. The kid let out a small, sad burble, and he sighed. “I know, I know. You didn’t mean it.” He reached up, fingers cuffing gently against the kid’s cheek.

“You guys should do more business on Tatooine,” said Peli, leaning back in her chair and taking a long drink of caf. “Always a pleasure. It warms my sandblasted heart, seeing you two.”

Din nearly choked. “Excuse me?”

“You know what I mean!” she said, waving her hands. “Mos Eisley’s got some pretty nasty dealings in the back alleys. Orphaned younglings, drunks, slavers looking for easy marks… It’s just nice to see a dad actually taking care of his kid for once.”

Din was still. The kid grabbed his thumb with one small hand, holding it tight, and reflexively he curled his hand closer to the little one. He didn’t speak.

Peli raised her brows, looking concerned. “Did I say something wrong?”

“I…” He swallowed. “I’m not his father.”

“Well, I don’t know what exactly you look like under that armor, but no shit, Mando,” she said. “But dads aren’t just a blood thing. I thought -- I mean, the way you take care of him, and all. You’d do anything for this kid, or I don’t know a damn thing.”

“I would,” he said slowly. “Do anything for him.” The kid brushed his hand against his cuirass, his claws making tiny ting noises against the beskar.

“But you’re not his dad.”

If you aren’t his father, what’s stopping you?

You are as its father.

“He’s a foundling,” said Din, and he fought to keep his voice steady. “I would die for him. This is the Way.”

Peli held out her hands skeptically, face shifting into clear confusion. “And again, you’re not his dad? I’m not getting the distinction here.”

He looked down at the kid, whose ears quivered with curiosity, his mouth slightly open as if asking a question.

Red robes, blaster fire, the smell of smoke, the sound of screams --

Until it is reunited with its own kind --

“It’s complicated,” he said, turning away from her. “Thanks again for watching him. We’d better get a move on before it starts getting dark.”

He headed back out toward the ship and the speeder, her indignant voice following him. “It’s noon, but whatever you say, Mando!”

***

iv.

Mist lay heavy in the secluded forest, muffling the sounds of the grazing beasts in the distance, the township far away. Din stared out at the falling darkness, his stomach twisting. It was nearly time. Time to fulfill his quest, to deliver the child.

Time to say goodbye to Grogu.

His feet felt heavy, so heavy, though the distance to the little sleeping area from the hold was only a few steps away. He stood in the doorway, watching the child sleep in the small hammock. He’d picked up the cloth in a small market on a forgotten world. He remembered asking the shopkeeper if it was soft enough for a youngling, remembered taking his glove off to make sure the fabric wasn’t itchy. He remembered the kid -- Grogu -- cooing to himself that first night in the hammock, remembered how well the kid had slept.

He remembered how he’d laid awake half the night, missing the kid curled up on his chest.

Din raised his hands. They trembled.

This is what I came to do. This is for him.

“Wake up, buddy,” he said, voice breaking. “It’s time to say goodbye.” He reached a hand into the hammock, brushing against Grogu’s chest. The kid made a small, sleepy sigh, a sigh he’d heard dozens, hundreds of times now, a sigh that had become as familiar and homey as the engine’s hum. He lifted him carefully out of the hammock, but Grogu just yawned, smacking his lips, and closed his eyes again.

Din sat down, leaning against the wall with Grogu on his knee. He looked at him. Really looked, though his vision blurred. I have… I have to remember.

He drank in the sight of those long, delicate ears, soft with thin white fuzz on the edges, the inner skin shell-pink rimmed with mossy green. He memorized the curious ridges and bumps on his forehead, between his eyes, remembering how they crinkled when the kid was happy and flattened when the kid was being obstinate. He looked at the mouth that had eaten a horrifying number of frogs and spiders, and nearly laughed despite himself.

Grogu’s hand twitched, curling over Din’s fingertip. Din shifted his thumb to cover the back of his small hand, and the kid blinked sleepy eyes at him. Those eyes, so wide, so curious, so expressive. He would never forget them.

“You’re gonna love being a Jedi,” Din whispered. “You’ll learn how to use your powers. You’ll get even stronger. You’ll see.” You won’t need me.

Grogu’s weight on his knee was so light.

Funny, then, that Din felt so crushed.

He bowed over the kid, arms curling around his small body. Grogu leaned into him, and Din held him, and he told himself that it was time.

He was never sure, looking back, how he piloted the ship safely back to the town and landed it without a hitch. He only remembered walking down the ramp, seeing the Jedi Ahsoka waiting for them, and going cold, cold, cold.

They regarded each other for a moment. The Jedi’s eyes were sad and distant. She gazed down at Grogu, nestled in Din’s arms.

“You’re like a father to him,” she said finally. “I cannot train him.”

His legs felt fuzzy and weak. He straightened up, forcing himself to stand firm. He had to try again, for the kid’s sake. “You made me a promise, and I held up my end,” he accused.

The Jedi spoke. Part of him held onto her words, kept them safe, directions to a planet, another option to find more Jedi. He could do this.

The other part of him was dizzy, punchdrunk, even as he held the kid safely in his arms. You’re like a father to him echoed, and somehow the words struck deeper than they ever had before. He ached with them, ached for them to be real -- weren’t Jedi supposed to be noble? Weren’t they supposed to tell the truth?

But he knew he couldn’t be that lucky.

He thanked her politely for the information, and set a course for Tython.

***

“We’re coming up on Nevarro,” came Fett’s voice in his ear, and Din jerked awake.

It took him a moment to get his bearings. This wasn’t the Crest. This was Slave I. This was Boba Fett. Fennec Shand was down below. And Grogu was… gone.

His head reeled. Gone. Not safe in the arms of a Jedi, no future secured and sheltered. He’d been stolen, been lost. Under his watch.

“You still asleep?” Fett asked, glancing back. His helmet rested beside him, half-cleaned of its scorch marks and scars. Fett had been busy while he was sleeping.

“No,” said Din, trying to clear his head. He lapsed into silence.

“It’s a fair plan,” said Fett. “I hope it works. For the sake of the child.”

“You didn’t have to --” Din started. They’d been through this already, though, and he knew it would be insulting to keep up his protests. “I’m… grateful for the help. Thank you.”

Fett shrugged. “We tracked you for a while, you know. Before Tython.”

Din stared straight ahead. He didn’t care about that. But he realized in the waiting quiet that Fett expected an answer. “I didn’t know.”

There; the man should take it as a compliment. Din knew he wasn’t easy to track.

“I saw how you were with the child.” Fett’s scarred face was thoughtful. There was something complicated there behind the older man’s eyes, but Din couldn’t read it, unsettled and numb as he was.

“I was to return him to the Jedi,” Din forced out. “I failed him.”

“You took care of him,” Fett pointed out. “I saw it. That’s not nothing.”

“He was a foundling,” he said mechanically. “Any Mandalorian would have done the same. The Creed demands --”

Fett sighed. “You can keep your Creed.” The words still sounded so wrong -- to view the Creed as a myth, it was sacrilege. Still, though, he’d seen the chain code, and he knew Fett’s claim was valid.

Din watched the other man cautiously, but was taken aback by the next words Fett spoke. “You were a father to him. That much was clear.”

Din chuckled, a brittle, awful sound. It hurt his throat. “People keep telling me that.”

“Are they wrong?”

He thought of Grogu taken, held captive by droids’ arms harsh and cold. He thought of him in a cell, thought of tests and needles and experiments, thought of the little youngling toddling after him and laughing sweetly about cookies. He thought of standing there helplessly on the rocky slopes of Tython, watching the world end.

He was grateful, not for the first time, for the helmet shielding his face. “Does it matter?” he gritted, and Nevarro loomed before them.

***

vi.

Cara Dune caught up to him, about six months later.

He’d been half-expecting her for some time. Knew that rumors of his doings would reach certain ears. Knew that she’d put two and two together. Even if he no longer wore beskar, he knew the patterns would be noticed.

She found him in a scuzzy bar on an ocean moon, where the damp seeped into everything and the cold never faded. She sat beside him, tossing a few credits onto the bar, and was rewarded with a sea-brewed ale. She drank about half before she finally turned to face him.

“Hey, Mando.”

He didn’t look at her. Didn’t want to see the pity in her face. He could hear it well enough in her voice.

“I knew I’d see you again,” he said quietly. “Galaxy’s never as big as it seems.”

“No,” she said. “I guess it isn’t.”

In the silence, water dripped, dripped, dripped behind the bar, a constant rhythm.

“I know it was you,” she said presently. “The Imperial bases on Corux and Raethe. Two cruisers downed, the troops dead long before the ships crashed. Imps dead in the streets of a dozen backwaters. And a lot of high-ranking officers found in pieces.”

“A lot of people hate the Empire,” he said. He took a drink of his ale. He hated the taste, and hated the burn more.

“Not a lot of people hate them like you do.” Lightning-fast, she twitched aside the cloak hanging over his hip, revealing the Darksaber hanging like an anchor at his side. He ignored her, covering it again with his cloak. “Let’s just say you have a signature style these days.”

Din glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. She looked different, hair a little shorter, upgraded armor, a new insignia on her shoulder. And sympathy etched in every line of her face. He looked away, shaken.

“So what?” he asked. “Don’t tell me the New Republic has a problem with fewer Imps running around.”

“They don’t. They’d probably give you a medal, if they knew who was behind it,” said Cara. She finished her drink. “I have a problem with it.”

He nearly snorted into his foul ale. “Really. You’re worried about the Imps.”

“I’m worried about you, Din Djarin.”

He froze. She’d never used his name before. Slowly, he turned to stare at her, fully aware that his naked face was on display. “Stop.”

Cara flushed. “I was on the ground at that Maelstrom-class cruiser. I saw what you did to them. It wasn’t…” Her mouth twisted. “Killing Imps doesn’t bother me. You know that. But that was… brutal.”

“Again,” he said defensively, “you’re worried about them?”

“About what it’s doing to you,” she said, her voice flat. “Mandalorians… I thought you were known for noble kills --”

“I’m not a Mandalorian,” he spat.

She pounded a fist into the table, a sharp crack that left a mark on the flimsy surface. “You’re torturing yourself about letting him go. This isn’t you, Mando. And I think a part of you knows it.”

The weight of the last several months loomed. It pressed. It shattered, a shield failing, a dam breaking. He saw the Darksaber flaring, scorching, searing, amputating, saw his bare hands on the hilt, saw the bodies piled. He remembered enjoying it in a way that felt sick, felt dirty, an insult to the Way of the Mandalore, but he’d already burned that bridge, hadn’t he? Already bared his face to the child, to the Jedi, to all of them; already desecrated his beskar; already severed his clan of two into one, alone --

“I know,” he said hoarsely, ashamed. “I know it’s wrong. I -- I broke the Creed --”

She reached up slowly, rested her hand on his shoulder. She waited, her eyes soft.

He bowed his head, shaking. “And I gave him up,” he whispered, burying his damp face in his hands. “I lost my son.”

My son.

The truth he’d hid from so long flared white-hot, burning through him. Denial had done nothing for him; all it had done was rob him of the chance to tell Grogu how much he loved him before it was too late. It hadn’t saved him from this agony at all. The pain roared, a howling void opening up within him, a darkness he could never hope to see through.

“I was his father,” he choked. “What am I now?”

Cara’s hand was firm on his shoulder, steady, kind; but she had no answers for him. In the end, the only sounds were his broken breathing and the drip, drip, drip behind the bar.

#the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian #din djarin #noromo mando #din djarin + grogu #cara dune #boba fett #ahsoka tano #peli motto #the armorer #omera #my mando fic #ugh this is toooooo sad whyyyy

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pandawriterstuff · 3 years

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Pinehallow Summary & Character List

This is my main WIP, if I'm complaining about characters doing whatever they want, this is them.

Pinehallow Summary-Monty, an eleven year old boy who has spent most of his life traveling from place to place with his in-demand lawyer mother, Irene, is sent to live at his uncle's horse ranch because she thinks he needs roots. Used to nearly everyone but his mother not being around long enough to get to know, Monty is more than a bit uncertain about this. But in scrambling to find his place in a town different to anything he's ever known, he finds friends, both human and animal, makes discoveries, and even manages to foil a plot against Pinehallow Ranch itself.

Character List

Monty (Montgomery) Cade Waller- Main character, 11, white. Monty is curious, bright, and more than a little awkward. He has a tendency to state the obvious, which can be endearing or annoying depending on your perspective. Big vocabulary and grown-up way of speaking because he’s spent more time around grown-ups than other kids. He’s quietly stubborn, particularly when it comes to being told he’s wrong when he knows he’s right. Insecure about socializing and friendships because of constant moving and traveling. Can’t hold a grudge for the life of him, even when he likely should. He likes bugs, birds and turtles, would rather read nonfiction than a story. Fills lonely afternoons with sketching, nature sketching on the ranch.

Irene Waller- Monty’s mother, 36, white. Irene is a powerful corporate lawyer, either full of energy or exhausted, never in between. She loves using words to sway minds and deciphering documents to find exactly what the opposition doesn’t want her to find. Sometimes Irene wishes she was using her skills in more meaningful ways, but also really likes the money, the traveling, and the competition. Has an almost encyclopedic knowledge of show tunes from musicals. She has a hard time letting people get close. Would stab someone for her baby, but knows it’s better to teach him to stab for himself. Only partially joking. Dolly Parton is her hero, and as much as she loves her music, it’s Dolly the business woman and Dolly the philanthropist that she strives to emulate.

Keith Waller- Monty’s uncle, 34, white. Horse Rancher. Keith loves working hard and getting dirty, and if he’s not exhausted at the end of the day he’ll be looking for something else to push him there. Otherwise he gets antsy. Loves animals and absolutely will not tolerate anyone mistreating any of the animals on his ranch-ordinarily he’s very careful of his size and strength, in that situation, all bets are off. Times that by about ten for any of the ‘barn rats’ that help around the ranch for riding lessons/time. Loves romantic comedies and telanovas and doesn’t care who knows it. Keith doesn’t read a lot, it never came easy to him, but if he’s taking a long trip he’ll always check an audio book or two out of the library instead of just relying on the radio.

Juniper - Keith’s goddaughter, 15, white. She has a calm, confident personality with a smile for most everyone she meets. If she doesn’t have a smile for you and it isn’t because her head is in the clouds over a girl, you’ve probably earned her scorn and will be ignored as much as possible. Juniper raises rabbits and it’s taught her patience, and a lot about unfairness when a kit doesn’t make it. She helps out with riding lessons at the ranch in exchange for riding time of her own, and has become a fixture, spending more time there than she does at home, and when she can get away with it, school. Loves sunflowers and her sunflower comforter is probably her most prized possession.

Nell - Caretaker/cook for the ranch house(would cooking lunch for the workers still be a thing on a modern ranch?). 38, white(?). Not about to put up with nonsense. Will make you cookies if she doesn’t have to put up with nonsense. Please. At one point she wanted to be a chef and has a year of culinary school under her belt, but quickly decided the super fast paced and competitive environment wasn’t for her. Anything that was making her hate one of her favorite things that fast could not be good for a person. She intends to live a long, long life and that kind of stress can just walk right out of the door. Loves to go on long walks, often into the hills (BLM land) behind the ranch. (maybe she was taught/took a class on foraging, and teaches Monty to find wild onions and stuff? But this would mean *I* have to learn about foraging in Idaho.) This leads to a contented, if often silent, companionship between her and Monty, who desperately wants to explore/record/sketch everything about the natural world of his new home, particularly the parts that are off limits to him without an adult along.

Ray- Family Friend/Co-Owner of R & M General (designed to feel vintage, but shiny. Bit of a tourist stop now, they decided to lean into it.), 50, Black. He uses his background in chemistry to make amazing looking candies and chocolates, using that to deal with a time he used it in less pleasant ways when he was in the military. He never expected anybody outside of his small town, or maybe the folks at the county fair to make so much fuss over them. This might embarrass him, if he weren’t so delighted. A cheerful man with a dreamer’s heart, a magazine once referred to him as a small town Willy Wonka. He dotes on his wife, often making and gifting her small surprises. An amputee in honor of my Grandpa (missing left leg at the knee, possibly missing one arm as well, but I’m not sure how that would affect candy making.). Has certain parts of his past he just doesn’t talk about.

Mavis- Co-Owner of ____ with Ray, 48, Black. Fierce and kind in equal measures, Mavis believes in protecting what’s hers, and as far as she’s concerned the entire town of (oh my god, it needs a name) is included in that. Mavis is very selective about the battles she fights, but when she chooses one she throws herself in whole-heartedly. On several committees around town, she’d be on more, but then she wouldn’t have enough time to really get into the work of the ones she loves. She knits in her limited free time, often while listening to the news, but sometimes opera. Has started knitting stuffies in the shapes of the more unusual candies Ray makes, it’s silly, but fun, and tourists and the local kids love it. Still head over heels for Ray, even though his often dreaming about things for ages instead of just doing them is also still baffling to her.

Leanna - Juniper’s sort-of girlfriend, 15, Vietnamese. Quiet, a little cynical, but very empathetic. She avoids the news because it’s that or be mad and want to cry all the time-until she hears about something she can’t not research, and goes on a 24 hour google search and learns far more than is probably good for her about a species going extinct due to logging in prohibited areas, or genocide being covered up by claims of violent uprisings. She loves manga and comics. Leanna sometimes tries for a cottagecore* type aesthetic, but mostly thinks it's too much work. She’s starting to worry about what she’s going to do with her future, and people telling her that she’s only 15 and doesn’t have to worry about it yet is NOT HELPING.

*even though cottagecore isn’t a thing in the early-mid 2000s this is maybe/vaguely set in. Shh, let me have this. Anne of Green Gablesesque maybe?

Winnie - Leanna’s mom, 45, Vietnamese. Widow? A little ditzy, but a lot loving. Everyone in town is convinced she’s the stoner type of hippy, but no one minds as she’s someone who truly wants to know how you’re doing when she asks and strangely almost always has very spot on advice. She’s rarely on time anywhere, but that’s because she’ll have stopped to talk, and often to help, whoever she’s run into. Leanna and her bicker over this when she’s late picking her up. Always wears bright colors. Loves Agatha Christie books. Calls everyone, even people 50 years older than her, hon.

Logan - Juniper’s stepdad, 40, white. Kind of a jerk, but most of the jerky things he says are actually jokes that fall flat or have simply gotten old. Tries really hard, like *really* hard, but has a tendency to get annoyed if people don’t appreciate his efforts right away-more in his personal life than professional, possibly because of his profession. A contractor, hard worker, loyal, has worked for the same company since he was twenty even though they don’t often treat him right. Sometimes tries to buy people’s affections. Wants to have better communication with Juniper, but it’s gotten really hard the last few years and he’s never quite sure why.

Candice - Juniper’s Mom, 39, white, works at a nursery that sells seedlings and baby fruit trees, has a cheerful, calm personality, but a lot softer and more lowkey than Juniper’s version. Very house proud, but has a ‘maximalist’ approach to decorating-everything is in its place, but there are places for lots of things. Loves spending time outdoors, but would rather spend it tending her garden than hiking or riding, preferably with a cup of tea by her side. On the weekends, a fruity beer or wine instead. Wants to go on one of those train rides where you get to drink wine, eat canapes and try to solve a mystery, thinks Winnie might be a good candidate for someone to go with her.

Ura - a ‘barn rat’, 12 and a half, white(maybe a Czech immigrant? 2nd generation?) . A cheerful, rough and tumble boy who is always climbing things, and often being told to stop when he gets too high for other people's comfort. Ura is fearless when it comes to physical feats, but has a fear of ‘slimy’ things like worms and frogs. He has a thick layer of pudge and a big appetite, but is athletic and strong enough that anyone bullying him over it would be doing it at their own peril. Not that he’s the type to start fights, or even finish them most of the time. Doesn’t feel he quite fits in with his family, who are all more serious, reserved people. Redwood is his favorite of the horses, and Keith has all but given up on telling him that sitting on the floor of Red’s stall to talk to the horse isn’t exactly safe.

Elliot - Ray and Mavis’s son, Black, 19 and a college student-maybe/probably at U of I. Lives on campus, but comes home at least a couple weekends a month. Has an older car that he and Ray fixed up together, that is his pride and joy. Quiet, with an irreverent sense of humor that he unleashes somewhat at random. Interested in robotics, engines and mechanics and generally has some project he’s working on, a piece of which may or may not be in his pocket. Often has oil, grease, or ink on his hands, either from working on or designing a new project. A bit of an overachiever, he can spread himself thin trying to live up to all his responsibilities at once. He’s best friends with Randy, a friendship his parents want to disapprove of, because the few times Elliot’s gotten into trouble not only was Randy there, but 99% of the time whatever it was is Randy’s idea, but never quite manage too.

Randy - Handyman at the ranch, mixed race Hispanic and white, 21. Technically head handyman, because the old head retired six months ago, and is a little young/inexperienced for the job, but he’s not the type to back away from a challenge and has risen to the occasion beautifully. Loves rock and metal music, and spends a lot of his free weekends at concerts, the ones crammed into little venues and bars where people are practically on top of each other and the beat is so loud and solid it throbs through you, connecting you to everyone even before you hit the mosh pit, are his preference. He’s been working at the ranch since he was 16, and feels like he has a claim on it, not afraid to speak up if he thinks a decision Keith is making isn’t right or that he isn’t taking something important into consideration. Can be a bit wild when he’s not being the responsible one, definitely doesn’t always think before he acts.

Alma - Local artist/worker at R & M’s, Hispanic, 25. Alma is a painter and poet, a confident young woman who’s figured out that half of surviving as an artist is being your own agent/a salesperson as well, and in addition to several shelves at the R & M that hold postcard prints of many of her pieces, both the coffee shop and cafe have some of her larger paintings displayed, and she always has a booth at the Saturday market, though the majority of her sales come from her website. Alma is cheerful, and likes to tease, and growing up the middle child of four brothers, is very able to hold her own in verbal sparring. She’s close with her family, still living with her parents, and while at first her father was dismayed at her choice of career, he now hands out her business card to basically everyone he talks to.

Miriam - Nell’s Mom, white, 71, a little deaf, speaks loudly, partially because of the deafness, partially because she spent too long letting other people push her around and when she hit about 50 decided she was going to be the one talking over people now. She’s earned it. Age has made her more delicate than she likes, bruising and scraping easily, but she’s determined to do most things for herself. Those that are beyond her she has no problem loudly ordering someone else to take care of. Volunteers a lot, often fosters kittens for the local animal shelter. Used to chain smoke, quit when Nell was a teenager because she kept leaving pictures of diseased lungs everywhere. Still uses the candy ones as a substitute.

Places

Unnamed Town- Somewhere in Latah County, Idaho, where there is not already a town in the way. Around 200 years old and has grown and shrunk and grown again, and currently has a population of about 12,000. Having grown out from a traditional mainstreet, _______ no longer has the western style boardwalk seen in old pictures, but it does have a large cluster of local businesses and ‘hot spots’ still along that old main street, a coffee shop, a diner, a combination bookshop and independent library, a hardware store, a bar, a few places I haven’t thought of yet, and of course R & M General. There is a historical barn half a mile or so away from mainstreet that has been converted into a theater/meeting hall/dance hall, and a community center was added onto it in the early 90’s. During the summer there is a farmer’s market on the property every Saturday. The elementary school and junior high are all on one property, several miles out of town, because the majority of families live on farms, ranches or small rural properties rather than in one of the neighborhood clusters in the town itself. The junior high is 7th, 8th and 9th graders, in a newer two story building, and the elementary school is divided into lower and upper elementary with the bracket shaped building basically being cut in half, K-3 on one side and 4-6 on the other. The high school is outside of town on the other side by several miles, and actually serves kids from another town(s) as well. There is also a trailer park with about forty units, not exactly sure where it is yet, but Miriam(Nell’s Mom) lives there. There is also an animal shelter, a vet’s office, a cemetery, and a couple churches, and I’m sure more things to come.

R & M General (working title?)- Ray and Mavis’s store, a general store with a candy focused twist. A vintage Pepsi sign, neon still bright, and a charming green glass juke-box filled with hits from the 1940’s onward grace the front porch of the R & M, along with a long bench that locals are encouraged to use for a spell or to listen to a couple songs, provided they can behave themselves (teenagers arguing over who their favorite member of the rat pack is might be amusing, considering they were already ‘mom and dad’, or at least older brother and sister, music by the time Mavis and Ray were teenagers, but when they get loud it also gets annoying.). The store itself still has the original wooden counter up front and built-in shelves along the walls, but all refinished and polished to a high shine. A mixture of display types going down the middle of the store, barrels and baskets filled with skeins of colorful yarn and cloth or Mavis’s knitted stuffies(and during winter sometimes socks and mittens), other sewing and craft supplies, display racks with local arts, postcards and carvings, sometimes wind up toys made by Elliot, and of course many, many displays of candies and chocolates. They also have a lot of dry goods, and some of the simpler candy types have little instruction booklets and the ingredients it takes to try out making them yourself stocked in the same display, drink coolers, and sometimes have local produce available. Basically, they have a bit of everything, except for building equipment/home repair supplies, and that’s because of the hardware store across the street.

Pinehallow Ranch-A sprawling 100 acre ranch in Latah County, Idaho where the Waller family has been doing something or other with horses for four generations now. Originally it was a horse breeding ranch, but Keith and Irene’s grandfather felt the money was in training horses, and offered boarding as well, and Keith has continued to build that up, offering lessons for a variety of styles, ages, and skill levels. Butting up against BLM land that allows additional grazing and trail riding, the ranch has four pastures, a large corral, a medium sized indoor arena and two horse barns, one for boarded horses and one for the ranch's own stock, and an equipment barn, an old bunkhouse that is mostly used to store feed-though Randy has slept there when in between places, mostly unbeknownst to Keith-and some smaller equipment sheds, placed where they’re needed. The main house is an L-shaped ranch house with a porch that goes around the entire long front of the house with a large herb/kitchen and rock garden arranged around that. There are treed pockets scattered here and there, left alone as the rest of the ranch was developed, but the creek Monty and Juniper sometimes hang out at is on BLM land, as is most of the forested area around the ranch.

Pinehallow Taglist @sleepysera @enchanted-lightning-aes @odysseywritings @thegreatobsesso @writing-is-a-martial-art and @hiitsolivia If anyone else wants to be added just interact with the post :) (My more advanced tumblr knowledge has led me to believe this is better than asking people to reblog/comment to be added, but if I'm wrong just let me know.)

#character list #oc list #someday I'll do a proper series introduction #and an introduction for me #but today is not that day #pinehallow ranch #original writing #I tend to build my world around the characters #backwards I know

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quidfree · 3 years

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prompts,.,, fem tdbk and a date gone very wrong ? ❤️

ohhhh my god anon. pump this shit directly into my veins i love this whole premise let’s go. also all inspired by whatever the fuck horikoshi was doing in this

just so everyone is on the same page here, it is not a fucking date.

it’s lunch. a singular lunch. people do that shit all the time. even katsuki does lunch, sometimes. she went to that semi-shitty diner place with kirishima that one time when the food hall was shut because some dumbass first year exploded into goo or whatever. and todoroki does lunch, too- her and deku were on some shitty lunch date like a week ago, as evidenced by deku’s even shittier selfie of them having a grand old time doing whatever the fuck they do alone.

fuck, not a shitty lunch date. a shitty lunch. whatever.

the point is lunch is a normal non-date thing people do, and the fact katsuki and todoroki are maybe not the usual suspects for it is just circumstantial. it’s not like they planned it ahead of time, or made some big thing about it. they literally arranged for it in public, so obviously todoroki didn’t think there was anything weird about it. and there isn’t! they’re both going to be in tokyo on the same day, and todoroki’s always happy for any excuse to spend less time with her old man, and katsuki sure as fuck wouldn’t turn down an opportunity to avoid her hag of a birth-giver for a few blissful hours, so when todoroki had very nonchalantly gone ‘oh, bakugou, we could do lunch then”, it wasn’t like she had any real reason to tell her to go fuck herself. like, yeah, maybe a year ago, on principle, she would have, but even katsuki can only take so much trauma-bonding before she resigns herself to the reality that she’s stuck with half ‘n half for life, one way or another, and she may as well suck it up and approach civility because said moron is determined to ignore her open malice until she plays along anyways. they’re... you know, whatever. friends. or something. jesus.

the point being that it’s not a date, and the fact that she’s getting increasingly annoyed at her limited wardrobe is just because she would have packed more shit if the crone hadn’t insisted that they ‘pack light’ so they could get cheaper train tickets for less luggage. it’s just annoying that she can’t wear anything that’s not screaming holiday.

it occurs to her as she sits and scowls at her suitcase that her mother has been watching her from the doorframe for some undetermined amount of time, which is criminal mainly because she’s a goddamn hero-to-be and getting snuck up on by anyone is a blight upon her good name. she tries to disguise the ego damage dealt by glowering murderously in her progenitor’s direction.

“what the fuck do you want?”

“you know,” the she-devil says, cocking a hip, “if you want to borrow something nicer...”

“i wouldn’t be caught dead in your shitty clothes!” katsuki snarls, which prompts the witch to immediately scowl back.

“watch your damn mouth!”

“watch your waistline! no way in hell are we the same size!”

“why you little-”

the interruption at least reminds her that she is obsessing over her clothes ahead of meeting todoroki for lunch, which is so humiliating it kickstarts her brain again long enough to grab some normal shit and get the hell out of there.

on the walk she checks her phone again. the previous day she’d had to bite the bullet and make the first move, todoroki’s infamously terrible communication skills making themselves known once more, and their ensuing conversation had been so mortifying she’d nearly cancelled all-together.

to: Half ‘n half

Yo asshole are we still meeting tomorrow or what

I’m busy as shit

from: Half ‘n half

Yes. TS

to: Half ‘n half

What the fuck is TS

from: Half ‘n half

I was signing off.

to: Half ‘n half

SIGNING OFF ON YOUR OWN TEXT

YOU THINK I DONT KNOW YOUR DAMN NAME

from: Half ‘n half

[Pin attached]

Does here at 12.30 work for you?

to: Half ‘n half

Yeah whatever

Don’t be late

And don’t think I’m forgetting the fucking signing off thing

from: Half ‘n half

Glad you can make time for mockery in your busy as shit schedule.

the venue looks like some rich person shit, which she semi-expected, but it means a lot of people give her weird looks as she makes her way inside, probably on account of the shorts and t-shirt she’s wearing if not her general vibe. some old woman actually drags her purse to her, which makes katsuki sorely tempted to bare her teeth and maybe hiss for effect, though she settles for scowling and shoving her hands in her pockets. it’s 12.27, because she wasn’t going to be late but being any earlier would have given off some dubious impression that she’s eager to see todoroki, except now she kind of wishes she’d just come for 12.30 because if there’s some reservation bullshit she gets the feeling she’s going to start fighting with the waiting staff, and then-

“bakugou,” todoroki calls, from inside, raising a hand with unnecessary formality. “you made it.”

“course i made it,” katsuki grunts, absolutely not relieved as she by-passes the suspicious looking waiter to join her outside. “think i can’t ride the damn underground by myself?”

todoroki is wearing jeans cuffed at the ankles and a white t-shirt on top of which she’s thrown on an open button-up with the sleeves rolled up, and she looks casual and normal and incidentally kind of like they dressed to match, but the important part is that she doesn’t look dressed up at all, so katsuki was totally right about the non-date situation, and also isn’t the only one totally underdressed for the shitty venue.

“you look nice,” todoroki says then, completely shattering katsuki’s brief moment of reprieve. “i’ve never seen so much color on you.”

katsuki almost chokes on her own tongue, but the worst part is that the asshole seems completely nonchalant about the weird as shit observation, focused on her stool as she takes a seat on the balcony. which- what the actual fuck? since when does todoroki issue compliments unprompted- of the non-professional variety, at that? and what the fuck does she expect katsuki to say now- return the compliment? say thanks? is this whole thing some kind of exercise in psychological torture?

well, fuck it. she can’t look like a little bitch just because todoroki said something inanely positive. two can play that game.

“yeah. you look half decent yourself. did you hire someone to dress you for the occasion?”

todoroki blinks up at her in surprise, which is totally a win and would make her more smug if she could stop feeling so weird and prickly all over. for a dangerous moment todoroki seems on the verge of blushing, but miraculously the world rights itself and the usual deadpan persists, one brow quirking up in completely feigned ineptitude.

“there was a compliment somewhere in there, so thank you, i think. i thought we were past this vendetta.”

“we’ll be past this vendetta the day you burn your piece of shit hero suit,” katsuki retorts, back on familiar ground, and relaxes long enough to squint down at the menu.

this turns out to be a mistake.

“the fuck? is this whole thing in french?”

“oh,” todoroki says, after a beat. “that makes sense. i thought my english had deteriorated.”

“are you- you didn’t know? you recommended the place!”

“it was the nearest place to our hotel,” todoroki defends, now having the decency of looking slightly put out. “coq can’t mean what i think it means, can it?”

“that’s chicken, asshole,” katsuki hisses, flinging the menu down. “great, now we’re going to have to flag down one of the shithead waiters and ask for a japanese menu. excuse me! hey! yeah, i’m talking to- what the hell, did he just blow me off? hey, jackass! you with the shitty mustache!”

“sorry about that,” todoroki interjects, when mustache asshole turns an offended stare their way. “do you have the japanese menu?”

“we only serve the food in its authentic form,” mustachioed asshole says, with frigid self-satisfaction. “might i suggest google translate?”

“might i suggest my foot up your ass, you shitty-”

“that’s fine,” todoroki says, in a flat tone that implies otherwise. “we’ll make do.”

the waiter sniffs pretentiously as katsuki thinks about all the ways she could beat his ass into next tuesday, running an aggravated hand through her hair when the wind rustles it into her face. she’d half expect todoroki to suggest they fuck off elsewhere, but when she looks back her way she finds an ill-boding gleam of determination in her eyes despite the impassive set to her face, and it’s a testament to how fucked in the head ua has made katsuki that she feels a sort of sick thrill of recognition at the sight. todoroki’s in stubborn bitch mode.

“i’ll have this,” todoroki says, sure enough, pointing to the most expensive item on the menu. “and also this. and one of those.”

the waiter’s eyes nearly pop out of his skull, and todoroki looks unfazed in katsuki’s direction, tapping pointedly at a sleek black and red credit card in her wallet. “bakugou?”

well, if endeavour’s paying....

“sure,” katsuki says, slowly, and then turns her meanest smile the waiter’s way. “i want the frog legs.”

mustache clears his throat, attempts condescension. “we don’t serve that here.”

“you’re a gastronomique restaurant,” katsuki says very loudly, as other clients turn to stare, “and you don’t have fucking frog legs? is this a joke? does this napkin say authentic french cuisine or am i hallucinating?”

“i can ask the chef,” the waiter demurs, casting a nervous glance at the muttering snobs nearby, and attempts an ingratiating smile. “anything else for you, mademoiselle?”

“what did you just call me?”

once the ordering debacle is over, todoroki slants katsuki what may well be an apologetic glance, vaguely contrite frown sitting pretty atop her usual dead-eyed stare.

“i probably should have read up on the place ahead of time.”

katsuki is well within her rights to chew her head off, she thinks, but food’s on the way and she got to yell at the asshole who gave her the once-over when she came in, so she’s feeling forgiving, even in the face of todoroki’s annoyingly doll-faced apology. the bitch really has to do the bare minimum and she looks like a fucking kpop idol.

“yeah, whatever. i always knew you were a shitty ops planner.”

todoroki, who is an asshole, looks relieved at her generous forgiveness for all of a second before she quirks a brow. “between the two of us, i only count one person who has actually spoken the words ‘shoot first, ask questions later’.”

“that was in a training simulation,” katsuki protests, outraged. “and you know damn well the actors were annoying as shit!”

“i did find them slightly too committed to the role,” todoroki concedes neutrally, which totally means she agrees with katsuki 100% and is being precious about it. katsuki scoffs.

“least the view’s decent.”

“the-“ todoroki starts, in weirdly confused tones, until she follows katsuki’s gaze outward and nods in understanding. “oh, the skyline. yes.”

what else katsuki could have meant she doesn’t fucking know: they’re sitting pretty in the middle of tokyo. the only thing the hellhole of a restaurant has going for it at this point is the cityscape.

todoroki stares out into the distance for a good long moment, and with the breeze her negligently loose hair whips this way and that, red and white blur where the two halves mingle. instinctively katsuki itches to braid it flat so it doesn’t tangle. if todoroki asked her she’d tell her to just cut her damn hair into a bob or something- it’s not like icyhot has any attachment to her princess hair, and she’s got the obnoxious bone structure to pull off any length. not that she’d mention this last part. or that she’s given it much thought. it’s just fucking obvious.

if todoroki could keep her mouth shut throughout the rest of the meal, it could be sort of nice. tokyo skyline, and companionable silence, and presumably edible food. worse ways to kill some time, and way less incriminating than anything that may be said otherwise.

“i think this is the part where we make small talk,” todoroki says instead, sadist that she definitely is, as katsuki grimaces feelingly her way.

“no, we don’t.”

“well, we don’t. but this is the part where we should.”

“i don’t even believe you can last a minute of small talk, icyhot.”

todoroki looks pensive, mismatched eyes thoughtful. “...how has your day been?”

“uneventful,” katsuki says, combative, and eyes her watch. todoroki does not give.

“this place seems nice.”

“you don’t even think that.”

“how have you been finding tokyo?”

“noisy.”

“the weather seems-”

“no.”

“you look nice.”

“you said that already, dumbass,” katsuki grunts, palms crackling with sweat, and does not at all read into the way todoroki makes a stupid little movement with her mouth that could ungenerously be interpreted as a pout.

“well, i meant it, so i’m saying it twice.”

“give it up, half ‘n half, just ask me about training.”

“...how is your training?”

“i did this thing yesterday,” katsuki starts, leaning back in her chair, and from then launches into a very technical and barely exaggerated retelling of the batshit insane stunt she pulled off with her quirk the day prior. todoroki’s focused attention is gratifying, in a totally platonic non-weird way- it’s just that her parents couldn’t very well follow why exactly said stunt was as insane as it is, but todoroki obviously can, and also there’s that thing with todoroki where pulling a reaction out of her ice queen act is admittedly more satisfying than most people. it has jack shit to do with the fact katsuki’s got a very minor complex about todoroki paying her her dues, and even if it did then that’s entirely fucking reasonable considering she still hasn’t forgiven her for the sports fest incident.

it is a little weird having todoroki’s sole focus on her outside of hero shit, though. it’s not like they really hang out one on one outside of school or work. it’s kind of- unnerving. yeah. unnerving, to be making prolonged eye contact, todoroki’s expression intent but not intense the way she gets in fight scenarios, frowning lightly because she has resting bitch face but apparently genuinely interested. it’s kind of a relief that todoroki asks questions- moves them safely into a conversation, so katsuki’s not just sitting there talking and sort of dry-throated. fucking waiter, leaving them water-less.

it’s fine. they talk about training, and quirks, and then todoroki pushes her hair behind her ears and leans forward to demonstrate on a small scale this thing she’s trying to do where she melts her ice and refreezes it in rapid succession so it causes what is essentially ice rain, but there’s logistics and shit that need to be worked out for it to work the way she’s thinking it might, and katsuki knows her thermal shit so they start scrawling maths over the napkins, and then bicker over the finer points of first year chemistry, so when the food actually arrives to interrupt them todoroki’s startled blink is weirdly relatable, like she also forgot where they were.

the waiter’s there and gone before they’re really recovered from the brief misplacement, which katsuki registers only when she looks down at her empty glass.

“goddamnit- how hard is it to bring us water?”

“they only offer sparkling,” todoroki says, gravely, then outpaces katsuki’s disgust by placing her hand over her glass, ice rising before she switches hands and melts it down. “tell me if the temperature’s off.”

intensely mollified and trying not to look it, katsuki sips it. “’s fine.”

“okay,” todoroki says, faintly pleased, and tilts her head to look down at her food. “i have no idea what any of this is.”

“moron,” katsuki snorts, except it comes out way fonder than it has any rights to, and from beneath the convenient curtain of hair todoroki’s smiling a little, so she hastily stabs a frog leg and gets to eating before anyone gets any ideas.

the actual meal goes okay-ish. most of the stuff todoroki ordered is extremely pretentious french cuisine, and todoroki secretly has the culinary adventurousness of a five year old, so it befalls katsuki to impatiently attempt every dish and pronounce it edible before todoroki will deign to brave it. she’s still trying to bully an unyielding todoroki into attempting the weird bird soup thing when there’s commotion nearby. it takes the both of them approximately three seconds to spring into work-mode; katsuki’s on her feet poised for a fight before she’s even consciously thought about it, scanning her peripherals, and she doesn’t even need to look to feel todoroki unconsciously covering her back, cool sting of air signalling her quirk at the ready.

the commotion turns out just to be some old dumbass choking, relaxing them both out of their stances as she falls back to let todoroki ahead. they’re both uber-qualified for first aid shit, but she’s self-aware enough to know even todoroki’s bland reassurances are usually preferred to her bedside manner. unfortunately, the whole entourage seems to be braindead, because they’re all crowding the old guy in a panic while he chokes, his wife in shrieking hysterics.

“oh, my god, he’s choking! he’s choking! sugar-plum, stay with me!”

“fuck me,” katsuki mutters, unethically thinking that she would personally prefer choking to being married to someone who calls her sugar-plum, but todoroki’s pushing ahead with implacable calm, so she trudges after her anyways.

“excuse me. excuse me. i need access to your husband.”

“who are you? don’t touch him! help! get this woman off my husband!” wailing hysteric yells, bosom heaving dramatically. katsuki is starting to suspect she poisoned him on purpose or some shit, because no way does anyone talk like that in real life.

“she’s a fucking qualified first aid provider, lady, shut up and let her through!”

thankfully, the woman seems on the verge of an outrage aneurysm, which drags her focus away from suffocating her choking husband to dramatically pointing at katsuki long enough for todoroki to duck past her and reach the guy as he turns purple.

“how dare you speak to me that way? who do you think you are?”

“ma,” chinless moron number one says, clearing his throat. “i think that’s one of those future pros from TV.”

“what?”

“you know, ma,” chinless moron number two adds, glancing nervously between them. “the one that explodes things. you know. from UA.”

katsuki takes great pleasure in watching recognition dawn in the old cow’s beady eyes, but in any event there’s a hacking noise and then the old man’s coughing out a bone into his plate as todoroki steps noiselessly back from the table.

“he’s fine now. enjoy your dinner.”

“god, that was gross,” katsuki says, as they ignore the woman’s sputtering and return to their seats. todoroki tilts her head.

“not really. if he’d thrown up it would have been.”

“not the choking guy,” katsuki scoffs, casting a glance back his way. “his wife. talk about theatrics.”

“she seemed more afraid of us than her husband dying.”

“for good reason,” katsuki mutters darkly, spreading out in her chair. “i hate civilians.”

“i don’t think she recognised us,” todoroki counters, pensive, and absent-mindedly takes a bite of the weird soup before she screws her face up like a betrayed kid. “oh. you didn’t say it was sweet.”

the look on her face thoroughly distracts katsuki from asking what other reason the pearl-clutcher could possibly have to be so terrified at the mere sight of them; instead, she chokes back a laugh, stifling a grin. “what are you, five?”

“i don’t think i like this,” todoroki says, mournful, which makes katsuki grin harder. she can’t help it- todoroki looking stupid is her kryptonite.

“then don’t pick a restaurant where you can’t read the menu, next time.”

todoroki’s midway to looking up, but for some reason her expression transforms instantaneously, which makes katsuki reflexively try to quash her amusement. todoroki always gets weird when she’s smiling.

“next time?”

motherfuck. obviously she didn’t mean next time like next time, she meant next time like- hypothetically, in the future, when todoroki’s on a lunch date with someone else. a lunch non-date. she’s just about stopped sputtering furiously long enough to try and express this sentiment when it occurs to her that todoroki seems- pleased, one eye soft sky-blue when katsuki accidentally meets it, and that draws her up short long enough that she ends up just muttering lamely to herself. fucking todoroki.

on the heels of this utter embarrassment, she downs the rest of her water, scowls in a neat 180 at everything in sight, and wonders for the first time in her life how the fuck extras get through dates. not that this is one.

it’s fine. they’re done eating, and no one’s died, and katsuki is no longer fifteen and thus mostly trusts her ego to lick its wounds and recover from the ordeal. even if they stick around for desert that’s only another half hour of this to endure. as long as todoroki doesn’t make any sudden moves they’ll be fine.

...the problem is, of course, that sudden moves are todoroki’s modus operandi. katsuki has not forgotten the bitch calling them friends on national television in the same breath that she was vociferously denying them being anything of the sort. in todoroki’s fucked up brain, they’re always ten steps ahead of whatever they actually are- considering katsuki’s come around to privately acknowledging she’d take a couple more stakes through the gut for the asshole, in todoroki’s world they're practically hitched.

platonically. platonically practically hitched. this is not a thing, goddamnit. no matter the weird looks aizawa’s been giving them, or utsushimi’s nefarious schemes, or the alarming cardiopulmonary condition katsuki’s been developing of late. she’s not some shitty yuri protagonist pining over the nearest female bishōnen in her vicinity.

admittedly if she was to pine over anyone it sure as fuck wouldn’t be some guy, but that’s besides the point, since pretty damn near every person on earth is just some guy by her standards, regardless of gender. the fact that todoroki is not one of said people is entirely irrelevant.

her internal irritation is so distracting that she misses the tremors nearby until entirely too late, by which point todoroki’s stupidly perfect brows raise an incremental fraction and she goes: ‘oh’.

when todoroki goes ‘oh’, some shit is about to go down.

katsuki turns slowly with an impending sense of doom, and sure enough, the sight that greets her is so nightmarish she seriously reconsiders whether the entire day has been just that.

“don’t freak out,” a giant building-sized deku booms, apologetically, as his hideous giant face stares at them. “it’s just a quirk thing.”

it’s probably a good thing katsuki has gone speechless with outrage, since it permits todoroki’s constantly composed ass to ask useful questions katsuki probably would have coated in a fair amount more threats and cursing.

“midoriya. i didn’t know you were in tokyo.”

“well, i wasn’t meant to be,” deku says/booms like a foghorn, as the restaurant clientele shrieks and stampedes behind them. his sheepish expression is even more punchable when magnified. “it’s a long story. it’s almost sorted out now, though. i just saw you guys from over at the NPA office and thought i’d come ask if you maybe wouldn’t mind lending a hand? i wouldn’t ask but there’s going to be a lot of cleanup and your quirks would be really helpful to-”

“we’ll do it as long as you shut the fuck up,” katsuki yells, to cut him off, massaging her temples. “the monologuing’s bad enough when you’re not about to burst my fucking eardrums, jackass.”

“oh, sorry! i’m trying to be very quiet but this body’s just hard to get used to- thank you so much for helping, i didn’t mean to come bother you on break...”

“it’s fine,” todoroki says, and then seems to realise that her monotone doesn’t reach midoriya’s giant-ass ears and clears her throat, raising her voice to a shout. “it’s fine. let me go deal with the bill and then we’ll go.”

“sorry?” midoriya whisper-shouts, craning his monstrous head closer to them, the sight of which will haunt katsuki for the rest of her life. “i can’t hear what you’re saying!”

“she said she’s going to go pay for our nice fucking lunch,” katsuki hollers, with no small sense of satisfaction, as deku winces and todoroki slinks off. “since you want to come crashing it like a dipshit.”

“sorry, kacchan!” deku begs off, flapping hand gestures creating enough wind to knock over a nearby umbrella stand. “i just thought it would be a lot of help if you came to oversee the fall-out- especially with the building damage-”

“we’re good,” todoroki announces, to katsuki, apparently having given up on matching her in decibels. she’s got that classic hero look on her face, already in work mode, but just when katsuki’s about to do the same and jump into action, the look wavers a little and she frowns vaguely awkwardly. “thanks for doing lunch.”

“huh?” katsuki stutters, thrown, and then scowls at nothing in particular, stalling. todoroki’s the one who paid, albeit indirectly- it’s typically weird of her to be all formal about it all of a sudden, leaving katsuki to attempt to wriggle them out of the awkwardness of the moment. “i didn’t do shit except show up and eat, weirdo.”

“it’s been abnormally hard to show up and eat in the circumstances,” todoroki replies, a little wryly, and more concerningly a little resigned sounding. which is just unnatural, because todoroki may have expanded her range of emotions considerably since first year but resignation is not on her usual roster, and there’s nothing to be resigned about unless she had some kind of vested interest in this whole fiasco playing out any better than it did.

which she didn’t, obviously. katsuki’s been through this. she chose the nearest possible venue and rocked up in jeans and a t-shirt, and- and why is the fact that todoroki never dresses so normally out of class only now occurring to her, again?

she’d said ‘i think this is the part where we do small talk’. the part of what?

“yeah, whatever,” katsuki says, automatically, as her brain plays catch-up, which is the excuse she will forever stick to for what leaves her mouth next. “should have known you’d be a lousy date.”

todoroki goes ‘what?’ at the same moment deku does, ten times louder and more bug-eyed, which reminds katsuki that 1) deku is still there, 2) deku is still as big as his martyr complex, and 3) deku is the fucking worst, and allowing him to trap her into friendship is somehow responsible for this, she’s sure of it.

“can we go handle this fucking mess or what?” katsuki snaps, instead of screaming or breaking deku’s very large nose or maybe self-immolating in abject humiliation, hands erupting into explosions as she jumps onto the balcony railing. maybe if she throws herself headfirst into the debris she’ll concuss herself and turn amnesiac.

“um,” deku is saying, when she turns a withering glare his way. “um, yes! yes! yeah! let’s go do that!”

so she jumps skywards, explosions blasting her high into the air, and very scrupulously does not look towards the sounds of slick ice forming just behind her until todoroki skates into her peripheral vision, hair waving flag-like behind her. ahead there’s a building with a crater clean through it where deku must have erupted from, though when she turns to comment she finds him a fair deal behind them, lumbering pace slowed further as he avoids stepping on anyone or anything along the streets. instead her eyes lock on todoroki’s where the latter is staring at her, face unreadable, and she bristles hard enough to disrupt trajectory, correcting course rapidly before she plummets into an office.

“what?”

“i’m a lousy date,” todoroki repeats, neutrally, over the wind. katsuki grits her teeth.

“and what about it?”

she’s bracing for a lot, but not the horrible, sickening eye-crinkle thing todoroki does, dark eye twinkling even as her expression stays carefully impassive. “you think you can do better, then?”

“hah?”

“next time,” todoroki intones, very precisely, and then dips ahead like a complete coward as katsuki goes a color never previously visible to the human eye, sifting through about fifteen emotions before she decides to stick to outrage.

“what the hell? you suck at asking people out, icyhot!”

“you don’t have to say yes.”

“what, you think i can’t do better than this mess? you’re on, asshole.”

“i look forward to it,” todoroki says, gravely, and then there’s a collapsed building to handle and shit to do and if anyone wants to ask why katsuki is so especially gleeful in blowing shit up they wisely keep their mouths shut. she just likes the job, all right.

(for the record, it’s still not a date until katsuki says it is.)

#qui repond #qui ecrit #anon #prompts #tdbk #todobaku #fem todobaku #fem todo #fem baku

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quillandink333 · 3 years

Text

Scarlet Carnations ~ Part VI

BotW Link X Zelda ~ Detective AU

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.4k

WARNINGS: death, murder, loss, trauma, blood and gore, terrorism, organized crime, self-harm

Summary: Inspector Zelda Hyrule, assisted by the faithful Constable Link Fyori, is infamous for cracking the most confounding of cases in a town dominated by crime. Her latest assignment is to solve the murder of her own godmother, Impa Sheikah, the late CEO of Sheikah Tech. Incorporated, while staying under the radar of the dreaded Yiga organization.

Part I • Part II • Part III • Part IV • Part V • Part VI • Part VII • Epilogue • Masterlist

By the time I was finally let into the crime scene the day after making my little forensic discovery, the sun had already come down to kiss the horizon. It had taken a great deal of stubborn persistence, but in the end, I had managed to convince the chief detective to grant me access by proving the effectiveness of my method.

As for the name of this method, I had decided to dub the chemical “luminol” due to its distinguishing chemiluminescence, as well as for the sake of succinctness.

Though the chief himself had taken to this well enough, there was yet another hurdle that I’d had to overcome. The estate’s residents. That process had been a bit more difficult, and delicate. At first, my adoptive family were, naturally, apprehensive to let me do as I wished. But when I gave them my solemn apologies and told them that this might allow me to make up for all I had done to hurt them, their trust in me seemed to have been somewhat restored. And I had no intention of letting them down again.

I had to admit, though, that being here on my own was more than a little bit strange. I’d done each one of my investigations side-by-side with my partner ever since I’d freed him from the psych ward and gotten him in with the force a year ago. Every time he wasn’t there to lend me his insights or hold onto something for me or put a hand on my shoulder if ever I got myself overly worked up was like the pang of being slapped across the face. But each of those times, I would straighten up and remind myself, “I’m doing this for him.”

According to Link, he’d found the key near the foot of the fireplace. And so that would be the first place I’d search.

But before I could begin, the parlour was bathed in harsh, orange light.

The officer charged with supervising me had his finger on the light switch. “Ah, actually, could you keep those off for me?” The man gave me an estranged look, but granted my request all the same. “Oh, and close the blinds for me while you’re at it, will you? Ta!”

Now that the room was dim, I’d more effectively simulated the conditions of my apartment that night.

With no further ado, I made my way toward the mantel. Its polished, stone surface couldn’t possibly have the ability to conceal any amount of blood, one might have thought. In which case, one would have been wrong. And my new formula was going to prove just that.

All it took were a couple of spritzes to cover the entire width of the mantelpiece. I waited. Then after a few seconds, the luminol set in, and I had my results.

On either end of the shelf, there was a statuette. These frog-like figures stood guard here as guardian deities to the Sheikah family, or so I’d been told as a seven-year-old. But now, the truth would be revealed to me that what they protected was not the family but a secret. And on the night of the murder, evidently, they’d failed to do even that much.

On the right-hand figurine’s forehead, there had appeared an array of fluorescent blue spots. They were shaped and positioned like fingerprints—a thumb, index, and middle, gripping the creature by its painted skull—but unlike fingerprints, they were completely filled in. I recalled dusting these statuettes for prints on the second or third day of official inspections, and I’d found nothing. The person who these bloody prints belonged to must have been wearing gloves at the time. The same method they’d used to leave no prints on Link’s revolver.

With caution, I aligned my fingers with the prints and gave the figurine an experimental wiggle. To my surprise, it wasn’t fixed to the mantel as I’d thought, but rather hinged to it. It tilted back, and underneath its feet, a small, round keyhole glowed orange in wait.

This was it. I took the unassumingly sized key from my pocket and dropped it into the hole, whereupon both key and keyhole went from orange to brilliant sky blue. A perfect fit.

I couldn’t believe my eyes with what occurred next.

When the key fell in place, the mantel itself split down the middle. Then the two halves began to shift independently away from one and other. As this was happening, the inner wall of the chimney had broken apart into individual rows of stone brick, which then swung backward into the wall.

The two halves of the mantelpiece, having scraped along all the way to either end of the fireplace, collapsed and folded down against its outer legs with a decisive klock. All of this had transpired in the span of just ten seconds.

Behind what had once existed in my mind as a solid, stone-brick wall, there was now a small, cylindrical hollow, just big enough for one or two people to stand inside. The floor of the hollow, beyond the hearth, bore the symbol of the Sheikahs and glowed with the same blue hue that had the key upon being returned to its home. I looked down and noticed the key in question on the floor, having fallen out when its side of the mantel had lain itself vertically.

When the mechanisms in the mantelpiece began stirring to life again, I realized I was on a time limit. With haste, I retrieved the key, placed it in one of my coat pockets, and entered the tiny room.

For several moments, nothing happened, save for the wall of the fireplace closing back up behind me. During these moments, I wondered, what purpose could this room possibly serve? There were no shelves or drawers or racks that one could use to hang one’s clothes on, and it was far too small to be used as storage.

Then all of a sudden, the floor began to lower, all by itself.

The farther and farther I descended into the depths of the unknown, the harder my heart pounded. Just how deep did this elevator go?

And for that matter, how in the world was it even going? The ceiling above me remained where it was, so pulleys were out of the question—and there were no gears or anything moving the floor downwards, from what I could tell.

My confusion turned to shock when the platform I was on defied gravity itself as it entered the chamber that seemed to be its destination.

“What in the blazes...?” I breathed aloud. I had half a mind to suspect that what I’d just witnessed was the result of paranormal influences. Of course, the Sheikah crest beneath my feet told me there had to be a scientific explanation as to how these endless technological mysteries operated. Auntie Purah was sure to know. Though, come to think of it, had she even been aware of the existence of this secret passage?

I now found myself at the start of some kind of corridor. The sound of my heels touching the floor as I stepped down from the levitating platform echoed in the darkness. The only sources of light came from the pulsing, blue runes lining the baseboards of the cold, polished walls, the similarly pulsing Sheikah insignia adorning the archway that marked the start of the hallway ahead, and the mounted sconces that, rather than fire, contained lightbulbs of the same blue that emitted no heat.

As enthrallingly curious as all this was, none of it was relevant. Right now, I was retracing what were likely the steps of the true killer. All I had was to keep moving forward.

But doing so was going to be far easier said than done. Not only was this place exceedingly dark, so much so that I could only just make out the edges of each wall, but it seemed to go on forever. The twists, turns, ups, and downs were so frequent that after five minutes, I hadn’t the slightest idea which way I was facing. The one bright side to it all was that there was only ever a single path forward to choose from.

But to make things worse, there were traps set up along the complete length of the labyrinth. Things like cameras, pressure plates, and even lasers, all of which were inventions that I and the general public were already familiar with, unlike that impossible “elevator” that I had discovered. One thing was for certain: whoever had carried the corpse of their victim through here had to have known their way around this place. For I was barely even able to get by without unwittingly tripping the alarm.

By the time I was finally nearing the end of my journey, and thoroughly drenched in an anxious sweat, I spotted something lying on the ground where a few stray rays of moonlight were seeping in from the outside.

Upon closer inspection, it appeared to be a letter of sorts. It wasn’t until I examined the back of the envelope that I realized this wasn’t just any letter. It was addressed to none other than Impa Sheikah, and it bore no return address. Not only that, but it was stained with splotches of what appeared to be blood.

The sheets of parchment inside were old and yellowing, and the envelope had what looked to be the remnants of a broken wax seal on the flap. The letter itself was handwritten in the same elegant cursive in which the address had been written, with some kind of nib pen and ink. Aside from murder, whoever had sent this must have had a deep affinity for the old-fashioned.

“My dear friend,” it began.

“It is with great sadness in my heart that I am writing to you. The last time we spoke was far too long ago, but even so, I am afraid this will be one of the last times you shall ever hear from me. You see, I have held off on this for as long as possible, but you have forced my hand. I can no longer allow you to meddle in my affairs as you have been.

“I am certain that you are aware of this by now, but I have been keeping watch over you from the ashes of the afterlife for a number of years. I must say, you have done a fine job of raising my darling Zelda in my stead. She has grown into a fine, young lady thanks to your efforts. Though I admit, I do wonder if she has what it takes to ‘solve the mystery’ of which she has been so steadfast in her pursuit ever since my unfortunate, yet necessary, departure.

“The night grows late, and I find myself carrying on. This letter has strayed far from its original purpose. Allow me to get straight to the heart of the matter. Meet me in the secret garden on the twenty-first before daybreak. Surely I need not tell you what would happen if you were to decline this simple request of mine. You were once my nearest and dearest friend, after all, and to allow malice to fester between friends such as we would be a tragedy, to say the least.

“Please deliver my deepest and most heartfelt affections to the rest of the family.

“Yours faithfully, Hilda”

By the time my eyes had dragged themselves along the sweeping lines of the signature, by hands had started to shake so severely that I nearly couldn’t read what was written there. In fact, not just my hands, but my entire being was trembling out of control. I fell to my knees, the sheets of paper scattering in every direction.

Now I knew the reason why this writing had seemed so familiar. I’d used the very same to confirm the nonexistence of the tooth fairy at age five by writing “her” a note and analyzing “her” reply the next day.

My mother was alive. Not only that, but...

I rose to my feet so quickly, my head started pounding. But I paid no heed to it. All I could think in that moment was how impossible it was.

At the end of this long hallway, there was a small set of stairs leading up to a trapdoor, carved from the same stone-like material that made up the walls of the labyrinth. It was incredibly heavy, but it wasn’t locked. With a bit of effort, I managed to heave it open.

The scene into which I would then emerge would change my life forever.

I found myself in the middle of a section of the estate’s gardens that I had never seen before. Behind me was the garden wall that I was familiar with, but rather than the rest of it being properly walled off, it was lined with dwarf evergreens. Beyond those, however, the thicket of the woods seemed all but impassable.

At the centre of it all, there was a place where the flowers were trampled and wilting. From afar, these flowers appeared a deep red hue. But up close, they were white. Something else had turned them red.

Then it dawned on me—these were carnations. I looked around. The secret garden was fit to burst with carnations.

“I observe the world as I hide in a cage. In my youth, I am weak, but I gain strength with age. I both give life and take it away. When one tries to pluck me, I make them my prey. What am I?”

“A carnation.”

It was all flooding back to me. My mother’s fondness for the species, how she had been born on the streets, the great fire that had devoured City Hall, the uprising of the Yiga...

Everything I had been led to believe was a lie.

The head of the organization was my mother. And Auntie Impa had known it all along.

When I looked up toward the starless sky, it felt as though I were plummeting head first into its insatiable, black abyss. My lungs seized up, and I couldn’t breathe. My very soul, being pulled in two opposite directions, was doomed to be torn apart.

Then the clouds parted, and behind a veil of shadow, the full moon was revealed.

The phantom of a hand belonging to the boy I called Link came to rest upon my shoulder. It was soft and nostalgic, in tandem with the frail light of the moon. I felt my chest brimming over with a courage most profound. At that moment, I harboured not even a wisp of fear for whatever it was that lay ahead of me.

#my writing #fanfic #botw #zelink #botw zelink #zelink botw #link x zelda #zelda x link #botw link x zelda #botw zelda x link #zelink fanfic #zelink fic #zelink ff #zelda pov #detective au

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maddrmatt · 3 years

Text

A Beautiful Future: A Premonition or a Punishment?

New to this fanfic? Click here to properly begin!

Greetings, readers and fellow SoKai fans!

Time for a certain Princess of Heart to take the spotlight in this story!

Fair bit of warning though, I sort of used this chapter to showcase a few headcanons and speculations regarding the future of the series.

Also, there’s a little challenge within this chapter that you can take on if you wish.

Enjoy!

________________________________________________________________

Chapter 3: Writings of a Princess

Land of Departure

Dear Sora,

I know it’s been a while since I last wrote to you. I haven’t really had anything really important to tell you since I came here.

Now something incredible has just happened and I had to tell you first before anyone else. But before that, here’s a few updates on what’s been happening on this side of reality.

I’m still training hard. No offense to Merlin, but I think I’m getting way better with my Keyblade training under Master Aqua than him.

My days here at the Land of Departure are filled with learning various fighting techniques or improving my magic skills. And to test them, I often spar with Aqua, Terra or Ven. One day, I might even get a perfect score against one of them in our matches.

All of three of them and Chirithy have been very good to me. They’ve really made me feel like part of their family.

But as great as it’s been with them, they’re no true replacement for everyone back home. I miss everyone: Mom, Dad, Selphie, Wakka, Tidus, Riku, and you. Especially you.

Sorry, Sora. It’s just so hard every day knowing that you’re trapped in that fictional world. I really wish I could’ve gone there with Riku to save you. But after being out of action for a year and the fact that I couldn’t even land a single blow on that memory of Xehanort, I knew it was the better choice to stay behind and train even if I didn’t like it.

I really hope Riku finds you soon. We’re all so worried about both of you. Since nobody really knows anything about this Quadratum place, we’ve all thought Riku was a little hasty in just taking off there alone.

We still haven’t heard anything from Mickey yet either. Hopefully, he’ll come back soon from Scala Ad Caelum, and he’ll have found something we can use to help you and Riku. Until that happens, all the rest of us can do is wait.

Anyway, time to tell you the real reason for this latest letter, Sora. And you are not going to believe what it is. I can hardly believe it myself.

Last night, I had a dream. It was actually the first dream I’ve had since I came to the Land of Departure.

Not that I’ve minded not having dreams just in case they ended up being recreations of my worst memories. I’ve already watched you vanish twice. I don’t think I could bear to watch it happen again in my dreams.

But the dream I had was nothing like that at all. It was of a wedding, Sora. Our wedding.

It was an amazing sight. It was in this gigantic chapel that looked like it was in Radiant Garden, and it was filled with all your friends from around the worlds.

Many of our fellow Guardians of Light and closest friends made up our wedding party. It was hardly a surprise to see Selphie as my maid of honor or Riku as your best man.

You looked so handsome in the suit you were wearing. And judging from the stunned look on your face when you saw me coming down the aisle, I must’ve looked pretty beautiful to you.

It was truly incredible, Sora. It felt so real and so wonderful. I wished it never ended.

But, unfortunately, as it is with dreams, we all have to wake up eventually. And when I did, the happiness I felt ended up giving way to other emotions as I reflected on the dream.

First of all, I felt a little confused. As good as that dream was, I couldn’t help but wonder why I had it at all. I mean, wouldn’t you find a little strange to have a dream about a wedding especially since we haven’t even had our first kiss yet? It’s kind of rushing things a little.

But don’t get me wrong, Sora. I know, deep down in my heart, how we truly feel about each other. I wouldn’t have shared that paopu fruit with you otherwise. And when the time is right for it, the idea of getting married to you is something I will embrace wholeheartedly.

So, I thought more about the dream and believe it or not, I started to think that it was not merely just a dream. I wonder if what I saw was our future. It definitely did feel like that since there were so many unfamiliar parts in it.

For example, I had no idea there was a tradition in Radiant Garden weddings for the bride and groom to crown each other with symbolic flowers. Then again, I could have known that if the knowledge came from a memory from when I lived there. Maybe I attended a wedding there when I was young.

But what really stood out to me and made me believe that this could be our future was the many unfamiliar guests. I knew that because I’ve been studying the details of your last two journeys from Jiminy’s Journal and the Gummi Phone. And even though the Journal of your first journey was erased (Naminè’s still really sorry about that), I still remember everything about it from being in your heart through it all.

So, I was able to recognize who you had met and who were strangers. They were far too numerous to mention. But here are some examples that really stood out to me.

A tall woman with long black hair wearing a tan colored dress and a beautiful turquoise necklace with a raccoon, a dog and I think I saw a hummingbird flittering around her.

A pair of robots, one yellow and box-shaped, the other white and cylindrical, who were holding hands.

A couple that consisted of a redhaired woman and blonde-haired man who appeared to have some kind of hairless rodent on his shoulder.

A teenage boy and girl along with a younger boy and a company of animals such as a bear with gray fur, a panther, an elephant with a tuft of brown hair and a quartet of vultures.

A large family that appeared to be a mix of humans and skeletons along with a very colorful winged dog and a giant winged cat.

A boy with red hair (whose head looked triangular) along with another boy with green hair and a bunch of other teenagers as well as some kind of strange teal animal that looked like a cross between a duck and a beaver and a man with brown hair, poor posture and wearing a lab coat (who wears that to a wedding?).

A princess dressed in a beautiful green gown accompanied by a prince in a green suit with a blonde woman dressed in pink, a short old woman dressed in white and wearing sunglasses and a snake around her shoulders as well as an alligator who was carrying a trumpet.

A very unusual group consisting of two men and a woman with blue skin and pointy ears along with a dog-sized dragon, a centaur, and a winged lionlike creature with horns and a scorpion’s tail.

A girl with bushy brown hair among what appeared to be a family of giant frogs.

A woman dressed like she was some kind of islander with a burly man with numerous tattoos (I think I saw one of them move) over his body along with a pig and a chicken that didn’t look very smart.

A family who seemed to be some kind of royalty consisting of a princess in a simple green dress with long curly red hair along with three identical boys with the same kind of hair, their big, strong father with a peg leg and their very elegant mother.

A boy and a girl who looked like they were twin siblings who were accompanied by a pair of old men who looked like twins as well.

A redhaired boy in the company of a group of what looked like various human-sized bugs.

There were so many more, but I think I’ll stop here. With the large number of guests at this wedding, I could go on listing them for a long time. But it does seem there’s a lot more friends for you in the future.

Unfortunately, while I was mulling over the dream further, a horrible thought came to me. I started to wonder if the dream, as beautiful as it was, wasn’t meant to bring me happiness at all because it was actually showing the future that we could have had but now would never have. And the true reason of it was to punish me for my failures in the fight against Xehanort.

I know you wouldn’t like to hear this, Sora. But there are still days where I can’t help but feel responsible for your disappearance and think that if I had made some different choices, you’d still be here.

I know it was my choice to fight alongside you because I wanted to keep you safe the same way you’ve always done for me. But looking back, I now see it was foolish to assume that my training alongside Axel would turn me into a Keyblade wielder on yours or Riku’s level. And it was probably an even worse idea for a wielder with very little actual battle experience to go from basic training to a high stakes battle with nothing in between.

We may have been desperate to stop Xehanort before he went after the New Seven Hearts especially since he had already assembled all his darknesses. But we probably could’ve and should’ve explored some other options instead of going to fight the Organization right away after you woke Ven.

Since Ienzo told us that they had a replica body ready before we even left for the Keyblade Graveyard, we could’ve gotten Roxas or maybe even Xion out of your heart before the fight. In Axel’s words, they were the old hands when it came to Keyblades.

We also could have made a bigger effort to find and save Terra first even if our chances were pretty low. That would not only have gotten us a more experienced wielder, but it would’ve also lowered Xehanort’s ranks by one.

Maybe if we had done things that way, we would’ve had more experienced Keyblade wielders to fill out the Seven Guardians of Light. And even if it would be disappointing to be put in the reserves, it would’ve been worth it if it led to you being safe.

So, those are the reasons I believed that dream was a punishment. But you’ll be glad to know, Sora, that I only entertained those beliefs briefly.

After thinking it over some more, I decided that it didn’t matter what that dream’s purpose was. Comfort or punishment, I’m going to actually use it to serve my own purposes instead.

I’m going to let it remind me of what my ultimate goal is and drive me to be the best Keyblade wielder I can be. One that’s going to make the forces of darkness think twice before causing trouble and one that you and Riku will be proud to have fighting alongside you. And hopefully, that will lead us to a future like the one in the dream or at least one that’s pretty close.

In fact, after seeing that dream, I think I may end up actually proposing a couple of ideas to Aqua and Master Yen Sid. I’ve been thinking about them a lot and maybe now is the time to try to put them into action.

Since I need to get some real battle experience to become a stronger Keyblade wielder, I’d like to go on a journey throughout the worlds to gain some. Hopefully, Aqua will think it’s a good idea. And even though there’s been little sign of the Heartless and Nobodies since Xehanort’s defeat, there is one thing I really wish to do.

I’d like to try to find and identify the remaining three of the New Seven Hearts. After all, who’d better to find them than someone who’s part of the same group? And if we knew who they were and what their home worlds were, we’d be in a better position to protect them if someone tried what Maleficent and Xehanort did.

Who knows? Maybe all those unfamiliar faces at the wedding were not only friends you’ll make on future adventures, but ones I’ll make on my own adventures. Maybe even the remaining New Seven Hearts were among them.

I also have an idea that may be able to help in the quest to bring you home. If Fairy Godmother could bring me back to the Final World, I could talk to that girl from Quadratum again. She may not be able to remember certain things. But she might be able to tell us something about that world that could help.

Naminè might even be able to help with this plan. Even if you only met that girl briefly, that may be enough for her to be considered connected to you and therefore, Naminè’s memory powers can work on her.

Hopefully, the Masters will think that these are good plans. I really want to do any part I can to not only help bring you and Riku home, but also to protect the worlds as both a Keyblade wielder and a Princess of Heart. After all, with you two gone, someone’s got to pick up the slack.

Well, I think that’s enough for now. It’s nearly time for breakfast and then it’s training until lunch. But before I go, there’s just one final thing I’d like to say.

Whether that beautiful dream shows a wonderful future that is meant to be or not, it doesn’t matter. Because the only kind of future I’ll ever wish for is one in which we’re safe, we’re happy, and we’re together. That’s all I really need.

See you soon,

Kairi

________________________________________________________________

Much later, the training hall in the Land of Departure was filled with the sounds of clashing Keyblades and various shouts of magical invocation. While those sounds were nothing uncommon in that location, there was an unusual intensity that day.

As Aqua, Ven and Chirithy watched, a heated sparring match was taking place between Kairi and Terra. But much to their surprise, the more experienced Keyblade wielder was actually struggling as the young rookie was keeping him mostly on the defensive.

“Wow! Kairi’s on fire today!” exclaimed Ven.

“She is, indeed,” concurred Chirithy.

“Well, she has improved a lot in her skills since she came here. But you two are right. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this driven before,” said Aqua.

“You’ve got that right, Aqua. If she lands one more hit on Terra, this’ll be the first time she’s won by a perfect score,” said Ven.

As the match went on, Terra blocked blow after blow from Kairi. Then, strangely, she ceased her attack.

Terra saw his opportunity and charged toward her with a downward slash. The Princess dodged to the right narrowly avoiding the hit.

“Light!” she cried out as she fired a small but powerful Light spell at Terra’s side. He grunted as the magic struck him and knocked him off his feet.

“Point to Kairi,” declared Aqua.

“That’s three to nothing! Kairi wins!” exclaimed Ven as Chirithy clapped its paws together.

“Well done, Kairi,” said Aqua.

“Thank you, Master Aqua,” Kairi said as she walked over to Terra and helped him up.

After exchanging bows with each other, the Princess of Heart said, “I hope that didn’t hurt you too badly, Terra.”

Terra chuckled. “Not at all. It helps that you’ve learned how to restrain your magic during training. But I’ve got to say, Kairi that I am impressed. That’s the first time since you’ve come here that I’ve been unable to land a single hit on you.”

“You’ve certainly come a long way, Kairi. Today, you showed some truly exceptional skill and strength. You should be very proud of yourself,” said Aqua as she, Ven and Chirithy approached.

“Well, I’ve had a good teacher and some great sparring partners. But I think it really helped that when I woke up today, I just felt a little extra drive,” said Kairi.

“Yes. We noticed,” said Aqua.

“Why is that exactly?” asked Chirithy.

A certain smile came to Kairi’s face which caused her four friends to exchange knowing looks. They had spent plenty of time with her by now to know what exactly brought out that special smile of hers: thoughts of a certain someone close to her heart.

“I had the most amazing dream.”

________________________________________________________________

Notes from the Mad Doctor:

I thought the best way for Kairi’s spotlight chapter would be to do in the style of one of her letters to Sora. I’ve used it before as readers of my big fic Kairi’s Epic Journey would know.

So, in case it wasn’t obvious, the challenge I mentioned at the start is that list of unknown guests. It was quite a challenge to write all those characters by description alone. I hope you all will take a shot at identifying them. Some are pretty obvious, but some may be a little more difficult.

I hope I did a good job in trying not to make this chapter’s narrative too similar to the previous chapters. I actually tried having Kairi leap to the punishment notion before the premonition notion. But unfortunately, the flow didn’t work right.

Fortunately, the views on the punishment notion are a little different. Sora has absolutely no regrets for what he did and believes that he’s being unfairly punished for breaking rules he had no idea existed. Kairi, however, believes her punishment is deserved since she blames herself for what happened to Sora. Fortunately, both are able to use that dream to keep on fighting.

I hope you all aren’t put off that this is more like a series of one-shots centered around a certain plot device (the wedding dream) instead of a congruent storyline. That was what this project ended up being.

I give my thanks to whoever reads this chapter.

I also give my special thanks to @fandomchanger, @flynn-science, and @ladylucky for their likes on the previous chapters as well as @sokaiweek, @phoenix-downer, and @the-secret-place for reblogging the previous chapter.

Comments, likes and reblogs are much appreciated! Stay tuned for what comes next because it’s going to be a real feel-good chapter!

________________________________________________________________

Onto the next chapter!

#kingdom hearts #kh fanfiction #sokai #sokaiweek #sokaiweek2021 #kairi #aqua #ventus #chirithy #terra #maddrmatt

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ravens-rambling · 4 years

Text

Wingless Fae

A/N: this is a fic that i wrote at the beginning of this month but you all know what happened so uuhhh yeah, i just got around to editing this sorry!

Soulmate September! by @tsshipmonth2020

100 (G/T) prompts!!!

summary: Virgil is finally free after so long, he is free from that collector. And now he wants to see his soulmate.

WC: 1,716

ships: Romantic Moxiety

warnings: Mentions of torture, mentions of violence, self-doubt

Tag List: @punsterterry @stormcrawler75 @frostedlover @mycatshuman @mutechild @panicattheeverywhere15 @overlord-winter @analogical-mess @saddestlittlebabe

Have to get away. Have to get away, now. He's finally free after so long, and he can't waste this opportunity. He has to run now before that human catches him again.

The tiny wingless fae ran as fast as his tiny tiny few inches short legs could carry him. He kept trying to jump into the air and fly, but alas...that monster of a human took his wings for his 'collection' and chose to torture him now that he's mostly defenseless. Which was right. Without a faes wings...they are practically defenseless. Most of their magic is in their wings and it transfers to their spine and then their body. But since he doesn't have his wings anymore… he can't do magic. And he can't fly.

Virgil wasn't even sure how he got out, it was such a blur that he can barely remember anything. He thinks he...was able to dose the human with the sleeping injection somehow… He didn't think it would be enough to do much to a human but he guessed he was wrong. That must've been some powerful stuff for sure then… it might've been enough to kill his tiny body.

That human is a monster, he kept him trapped in a glass cage for...years. The only time he was ever let out was for experimenting and that was...it. He took his wings when he first captured him, and he was forced to stare at his wings and other fae wings up on the wall behind a glass sheet. And he didn't want to know what happened to the other faes, considering that there wasn't anyone else in that entire house…

Virgil was terrified, he knows at any time that human can wake up and follow his muddy footsteps. Course it'll be hard for him to follow, but if there's anything he knows is that humans are very determined to get what they want. And what they want is his body.

So, he continued running and running. He wasn't stopping for a single second as he crashed through the branches and bushes. Come on… come on…

That's when he heard something, an all too familiar ribbit noise. He stopped dead in his tracks and he panted as he looked around the swamp. His eyes landed on a ghosty white form of a frog that's bigger then himself coming towards him. There was a faint mix of purple and pale blue inside of this ghostly white form. He was almost transparent but not... completely. And his froggy eyes stared down at Virgil as if asking for a ride. Well, of course, Virgil isn't going to say no to that.

"Take me to my soulmate. Please?"

He petted the frog's chest, and suddenly he had a frogs long tongue around his skinny and frail body. Virgil yelped but held on to his tongue before he was placed on the frogs back and the ghostly frog started hopping away into the swamp.

Since he was a young fae he's known his soulmates animal is a frog. It appeared to him one rough night when he just stayed up crying until he fell asleep. The frog hopped through his open window and landed on his bed. He was about to scream in shock, but he stared at the frog. And he found a sense of...calmness almost immediately. A sense of...peacefulness, happiness. And ever since then whenever he's had a really rough day the frog would hop over and he would get that same exact feeling over and over again. And it was his lifesaver once he got captured by that human. It was the only thing keeping him going. So he knew that his soulmate was a very calming but joyful person. Which made his heart soar, but also worry him. Would he bring down his mate cause of his constant worries?! He didn't know and he guessed he was about to find out.

Another thing, however, was that this frog can't interact with anything physically other than himself or his mate. So the glass cell that the human kept him in? He could only faze through it, but he couldn't faze Virgil through it. For some...strange reason? He figured it was probably some special glass to hold on faes and to make sure their soulmate animal couldn't get through. Which would make a lot of sense?

But… now he was about to meet his joyful and happy soulmate. And he's terrified. All he's wearing right now is rags. He's a wingless, defenseless, fae. And he's so skinny and frail that he probably looks like a speck of dirt right now. What a great first impression this will be.

The frog continued hopping along until he reached a small village, well...at least this doesn't look that bad… oh, nope… there are humans… of fucking course there are humans here. He had tears in his eyes while he was gripping onto the frog tightly and ducking down. Dammit… don't tell him his mate is a human?! Who hates him in the fucking world?! Seriously… who hates him, there has to be someone!

It could be any other creature, a vampire… A werewolf maybe! Even a cat person he'll take! But a human?! This is going to be bad, he knows he's going to be horrible…

The frog led him between houses and across roads, luckily it was much later in the day so most of everyone was already inside having dinner. And yep, he could smell food drifting from these houses windows. And it made his stomach growl hungrily. He doesn't... remember the last time he's eaten something solid… and that wasn't drugged. It smelt so fantastic… but he shook his head and continued to focus on the task at hand.

The frog continued hopping his way down the village, and he wondered where exactly he was taking him. Until...the frog came upon this rather large house, it was almost the size of a mansion. And he could tell it was one of the fanciest houses he's seen other than the king's palace of course. Before Virgil could make a noise the frog hopped up to the window. It made a loud croak to signal it's arrival and someone with a blue cape turned.

This man...okay, he was really super cute. He had pale tan really curly hair that laid on his shoulders. And he thinks he could see a little man bun on the back of his thick hair. His face is chubby and he had round cheeks. And on those cheeks were freckles sprayed throughout his face. And he had the most gorgeous bluest eyes in the entire world. It reminded him of a clear sky during the middle of the day… and that nose… it was so round and adorable. He was short, and a chubby in his stomach and arms. But, stars up above… this man was so frickin cute that it made Virgil's heart beat rapidly.

There was a child on the bed, a human child, and she reached up to tug on this man's arm. "Mister… you were saying something?"

"Ah, yes, try not to eat anything solid for a few days so your stomach can heal. Only drink liquids and make sure you stay with your mama in case you faint again, okay? Try to stay out of the direct sunlight and stay indoors the best you can." Now Virgil understood why he got that sense of calmness and happiness. This man's voice just radiated that as he spoke to the child.

"Okay! Thank you, Mr. Baker!" She giggled and hopped down, then she ran off past some curtain into another room, probably where her mother is.

"Are you...a healer?" That's your most important question, huh Virgil?

"Well...I'm a magician… but I specialize in healing magic. So I guess you could say I'm the village healer. Are you… you're a fae… and your riding… on my soulmate frog… does that mean you're my soulmate?"

"I…. I guess so?"

This Mr. Baker drew in a shaky sob and he looked ready to start crying. He shakily stepped forward to the window sill and had a wobbly smile on his cute face. "I finally...get to meet you face to face… after all these years… and oh… your hurt! And filthy! And… wait a moment… why are you in rags? And… doesn't have wings?"

Oh...here comes that major questions, Virgil wondered how long it was going to take before he mentioned it. "I… The reason why our frog couldn't get me was that… I was trapped...by a collector… He took my wings and kept me trapped for...years… I'm… I'm sorry, I'm probably not the best soulmate you could've asked for. I'm nothing… I don't got a home, or family… I don't even have magic anymore. And I can't fly. I can't… I'm the most useless awful fae ever...a disgrace… and I won't blame you if you say you don't want me as your mate…"

"Are…. Are you kidding me?!" This man gasped out and he immediately shook his head. "True… I wasn't expecting my mate to be a fae but… I don't care that you can't fly or have nothing. I don't care about that. I only care about you and your safety. Oh…. Your so filthy and….dirty and… oh, is those cut-up rags your wearing?!" He gasped with a shaky sob and he disappeared down the long hallway. He came back with a small dark purple jacket and some black pants. "I have this...once you take a bath?"

"It's... perfect… By the way… I didn't quite catch your name? I'm Virgil…"

"oh! Where are my manners! I'm Patton! It's such a pleasure to meet you, my soulmate. And don't you worry, I'm going to protect you from now on. No more collectors or pain, okay? You will be safe here, I can promise you that. It's so great to finally meet you… I'm so sorry I didn't come to save you… if I had known…"

Virgil shook his head, "It's okay… I'm okay now, that's all that matters. And I'm finally here...with you. Now… uh...where's that shower? I could really use one right now. You have a nice name, Patton."

"Right this way! Thank you! And Virgil is a gorgeous name too!!"

#tsshipmonth2020 #patton sanders #patton #virgil sanders #virgil #fae virgil #sanders sides #sanders sides soulmate au #sanders sides fic #sanders sides fanfic #my fics #romantic moxiety #moxiety #yeah this is one of the fics that i wrote before he died and just havent had the energy to edit it #so yeah.....

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hermannsthumb · 4 years

Note

Gonna request some camb0y newt who has Hermann as a regular follower who may or may not be requesting used clothing from Newt...😳

this one is less h0rny and more dumb and I died every time I typed newt’s screen name but (ALSO THE FACT THAT TUMBLR KEPT BLOCKING THIS MESSAGE....unbelievable) 18+/not sfw below cut

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

The whole thing only started because of the kaijus.

It seems foolish to place the blame on them, considering the severity of the damage they’ve caused in every other aspect of life, but it’s the truth. Hermann was never brilliant at romance even in the best of times; he never knew quite the right words to say, or quite the right way to kiss, and certainly not how to keep men interested enough to come back for more than a date or two. Then the end of the world came, and the jaeger program ate up what little free time Hermann had, and dating simply fell to the very lowest tier of his priorities. He had work to do. He had lives to save.

Unfortunately, his libido continued to run rampant.

Masturbation could only get one so far, though Hermann was undeterred and tried almost anything: dildos, vibrators, expensive lubricant, a paid subscription to a high-quality pornography website. He cancelled this after a week, when he realized none of its featured men--though undeniably good-looking--fit his particular area of interest. Besides, it was far too impersonal. Hermann did not like spending half of his time watching a video or scrolling through a photo gallery wondering what that man was doing now, or whether or not he’d enjoyed himself, or what he was like in person... In a fit of desperation, Hermann picked up a subscription to another website that promised live men 24/7. And, well. To make a long story short, Hermann is pretty sure he’s in love.

The object of his affections is twenty-something and stocky, a good few inches shorter than Hermann (he’d wager, anyway), with a chestful of tattoos and a voice that’s almost high enough to be grating. Hermann has seen his face only fleetingly, but it’s enough for him to know it’s a highly agreeable one. He’s got a nice sense of humor, seems intelligent enough, and the glimpses Hermann’s caught of the bedroom he streams from (at the perfect time of day, late enough that Hermann’s inhibitions are entirely nonexistent) indicate a healthy love of science fiction.

Hermann is mostly in love with him because of how good of a show he puts on, though. Where Hermann fails in his use of dildos or vibrators and other nonsense, the man succeeds, and indeed excels, and he’s endlessly creative with dressing in lace and other funny little costumes. It makes for some very inspired jerking off on Hermann’s end. More importantly, it makes for a calming of his libido.

Hermann doesn’t know his real name, only his chosen screen name, though it doesn’t really matter: kaijulover69 is most certainly the man of his dreams.

Well. Nobody’s perfect.

“Tonight’s stream is dedicated to a very special fan for all his support,” kaijulover69 begins. He’s wrapped in a bathrobe, though Hermann has a feeling he knows what’s beneath it, and he flushes pleasantly with warmth at what’s soon to come. “And for what I’m wearing right now. You know who you are. Thanks again, dude!”

His lips are just visible on camera, and he grins coquettishly before slipping the sleeve off his right shoulder. Then the left. “That very same fan requested a strip tease tonight,” he continues, “and--well, I’ll let the rest be a surprise, huh?”

The belt is undone. The robe slips down to the bed, revealing the object of Hermann’s affections clad in nothing but a rather small pair of lacy black undergarments. (And a bloody expensive pair, at that--cost a third of Hermann’s weekly salary. It’s worth it.) You look very attractive, Hermann types encouragingly into the chat box, and hope it’s visible between the pleads for kaijulover69 to flash his face or pull his genitalia out already.

He doesn’t appear to see any of them. “My week was pretty lame,” he continues. He begins to idly run his hands up and down his bare chest; Hermann mirrors the action on his own, enjoying the shiver he manages to elicit from himself even through two layers of shirt and sweater. “Work stuff has been kicking my ass. And--” His fingers falter. “Well, there’s this guy I really like, and we’ve kinda been...seeing each other, but I just found out he’s actually seeing someone else. So I guess it’s like, I realized I’ve been making all this shit up in my head?”

Who would ever turn down such a marvelous specimen of human? Hermann’s temper flares with a mingling of both righteous offense on the man’s behalf and a little bit of jealousy that he’s not the one who’s so captured his heart. He would like to knock some sense into them, whoever they are.

“But you don’t care about that,” he says, and forces a laugh. “You want to see me mess these up, don’t you?”

His hand drifts down to his panties, and he gives himself a squeeze through them.

“Please,” Hermann says happily, though he knows there’s no one to hear.

------

There’s an email from Newton waiting for him in his inbox the next morning. No subject.

Hey, dude-

Sorry I left you hanging yesterday. I was just a little shocked. Not shocked that you have a partner or whatever, of course you do, that’s totally normal, just that you never told me about them until now. I read over your latest article, and I just wanted to say what an utter load of--

“Hmph,” Hermann says, and quickly scrolls up and away from Newton’s annoying little rant.

Even as he does so, he feels a pang of guilt he doesn’t quite understand. Newton is shocked he has a partner: so what? And, er, so what if that partner isn’t quite as real as Hermann is pretending? The question came at him fast, and unexpected, and so very quickly into the switch from letter correspondence to email; kaijulover69 on his mind, Hermann panicked and wrote yes, I do have someone in my life. It’s not entirely a lie. Though Hermann holds no illusions about the nature of their dynamic, the man has certainly taken up the same amount of Hermann’s time and money that a real partner would. And besides--it’s easier. Less messy. Newton would probably try to set Hermann up with someone, or pester him about his sex life, or even--God forbid--try to offer him advice. (Once I blew a guy in the bathroom of this shitty dive bar, try that, he told Hermann a few weeks ago, and I always take my dates to the aquarium so I can talk about shit and look smart.)

It’s also helpful in dissuading Hermann from his daydreams and illusions of dating not kaijulover69, but Newton; that, he fears, is an even grander pipe dream.

He skims Newton’s--rather poor--critique of his work, ignoring entirely his comments on Hermann’s partner, and types up a fast rebuttal. Kaijulover69 has another stream tonight, and he doesn't want to miss it.

--------

“The trick,” kaijulover69 pants, “is to just, uh, relax your muscles as much as possible. It’s easier when you’ve got someone doing it for you, obviously, but...”

His chosen method of masturbation tonight is a frightfully large tentacle dildo, wider and longer than any prick Hermann’s seen in his life. Hermann’s not sure if such a dildo would fit inside him; he’s not even sure if it’s going to fit inside kaijulover69. The man is rather compact. It’s stopped about halfway into his body, and even from the rather distant angle Hermann can tell it’s stretching him tight.

“...I might’ve jumped the gun a little,” the man says, and bursts out into breathy laughter. “Should’ve, uh, should’ve gotten the smaller size. Or worked up to this one.” He works another centimeter into himself before his body goes taut. “Go--go big or go home, I guess?”

One hand moving steadily around his prick, Hermann uses the other to type an encouraging message: Excellent effort.

Kaijulover69 pulls the dildo out to the thinnest section, then once he relaxes, begins a rhythm of short, shallow thrusts. Each time, it goes in a little deeper. It’s very good to watch, and listen to as well; his little gasps, the creaks of his bedsprings, the spread of his legs widening. Hermann briefly considers how badly he would like to be the one pushing it into him and dragging out those sounds, and is surprised to find himself orgasming.

He tips generously once the stream is over: he does like to consider himself some sort of gentleman, and he likes seeing how excited it gets kaijulover69.

-------

The package arrives on an entirely ordinary Tuesday some three weeks later. Autumn has come, bringing with it a rather heavy series of rains, and Hermann is drenched and shivering when he finally ducks into the relative warmth of his flat. The knowledge of what the box tucked under his arm contains warms him considerably; he rented a P.O. Box for one reason and one reason exactly, not even daring to have his name attached to it. It’s gauche, he knows, but--isn’t it a bit like recycling? Kaijulover69 gets a fresh, exciting outfit from Hermann, and Hermann gets it back after he’s--well.

Hermann needs to unwind somehow. There’s nothing wrong with it!

The black lace undergarments are wrapped neatly up inside the box, with a sweet little pink bow on top. Attached to that is a simple handwritten card: To my number one fan! ❤️ There’s plenty more where this came from...

Simple, and innocently flirty. And so familiar it makes Hermann’s blood run cold.

“It’s not possible,” he says.

And yet--isn’t it? Hermann’s never seen his face--either of their faces--and the screen name--

There is no return address on the package, but a frantic search of its wrappings reveals its origin: stamped in black ink over frog-themed postage is BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS. “No, no,” Hermann mutters to himself, even as he reminds himself (unhelpfully) that plenty of people are from Boston. He tosses it to the bed and clacks over to his desk, clutching the card so tightly it crumples. Newton’s letters are all in the top drawer--he just needs--

The handwriting is a perfect match.

“Bugger,” Hermann groans.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous #not sfw ////

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winzenni · 4 years

Text

butterfly (nakamoto yuta)

Summary: when your secret tattoo is discovered and you're scolded during dance practice, the nice Japanese boy group trainee can't help but interfere.

Genre: fluff, hurt/comfort

Pairing: trainee!yuta x trainee!reader

Word count: 1.9k

Author’s note: trigger warning! unwanted touching? also, we all know that yuta respects women af so i thought this would just be something he’s probably done

“and uh 5, 6, 7, 8.”

“smoother movements, people.”

“y/n, you’re late on the third count.

“one more time from the top.”

“y/n, fix your left arm.”

“last time from the top.”

It was just another day in the practice room, preparing for your next dance evaluation, but today’s practice felt a little harder than usual. Maybe it was the fact that it was over ninety degrees outside (a typical summer day in Korea), or the fact that you were wearing a fairly thick T-shirt with long sweats that were made for chilly weather.

When you woke up from your nap two hours earlier, you had completely forgotten about the group dance practice scheduled in ten minutes, and grabbed whatever clothes you saw first in your closet before dashing to the practice room, where your trainee friends were already warming up with the teacher.

“Ok, 10-minute break. Get some water and come back ready to clean up your moves.” said the instructor, Mr. Kim.

The trainees scattered from the center of the room, with some girls leaving to stop by the water fountain, some guys grabbing a towel to wipe their sweat, and some just plopping down on the floor to catch their breath.

“It’s so hot, Jiwoo. I think I might faint from heat exhaustion,” you tell your friends. Like you, Jiwoo has been training under SM for the past two years. Though make and female trainees were often divided during the training process, today, all trainees, both male and female, were learning the same hip-hop routine for the monthly evaluation.

“It's not that hot though? Maybe it's because you're wearing fleece sweats. Y/n, you really are going to pass out if you keep wearing that. I have extra shorts that you can wear.” Jiwoo pulls out a pair of black athletic shorts from her duffel bag and hands them to you.

“Really? Oh my god, Jiwoo, I don't know what I would do without you.” You take them from her, standing up. “I'll be back, I'm going to go change.”

The shorts definitely helped with the heat, but Jiwoo’s size and proportions were a little off from yours. She was a little shorter than you, which made the shorts barely reach halfway to your knee, yet the shorts were a little loose around your thighs, allowing the fabric to fly up each time you squatted or jumped. Nevertheless, it was better to show some skin than pass out from heat exhaustion.

Still, you didn't want the male trainees to see anything that you didn't want them to. And in particular, you didn't want anyone to see the tattoo on your inner thigh.

Not only were tattoos considered ugly and immature, but they were also a nuisance to makeup artists and stylists. Just knowing that you had an inked design on your body would make you less eligible to debut.

So to prevent the shorts from rising up and revealing your tattoo, you put less energy into the jumps, but this compromised the appearance of the performance.

“Ok, everyone stop,” said Mr. Kim. “Y/n, why are you jumping like a half dead frog? At this part, everyone needs to jump up like a spring, a slinky! You're a rusty wire right now, fix it.”

“Sorry, Mr. Kim. I’ll do better.”

In the next rounds of dancing, you decided to put your all into it, fearing a scolding from the teacher. Hopefully, no one would pay attention to you enough to notice what was under your shorts.

“From the top to the second jump,” Mr. Kim ordered.

1-2-3-4, 5-6-7-jump. 1-2-3-4, 5-6-7-jump. You counted in your head, focusing on only the dance and your movements.

1-2-3-4, 5-6-7-jump. 1-2-3-4, 5-6-7-jump. In this moment, you only noticed yourself, your swaying motions, your posture, your expressions.

1-2-3-4, 5-6-7-jump. 1-2-

“STOP!” Mr. Kim roared.

Everyone's eyes widened, unsure if they were the ones going to be scolded. At this point, it had been a longer practice than usual, and as practice dragged on, Mr. Kim’s mood and tolerance dwindled exponentially.

“Y/n. Step up.”

Your heart suddenly began pounding a mile a minute. What did you do wrong? You could have sworn your movements were perfect. You stepped forward from the grid formation, to the front of the class with your back facing them. In the mirror, you saw your fearful face in front of all the other trainee’s wide eyes and pitiful stares.

“Y/n. What is this?” Mr. Kim pointed to your right inner thigh, right where the fabric of the shorts ended and revealed a black mark on your skin. “Lift up your shorts.”

With shaking fingers, you slightly pull up the edge of the shorts to reveal a small inked butterfly on your thigh, just a few inches wide. In your peripheral vision, you could see the other trainees, sending looks of surprise? shock? confusion? to each other.

“Y/n……” the edge of Mr. Kim’s lips slid upward, almost laughing in your face to mock you. “You've been messing up all day and now this. You really continue to surprise me.”

He pulled up the edge of the shorts once more to get a glimpse of your tattoo, his foreign touch on your thigh making you flinch.

“If you're going to be a rebellious bitch and get a tattoo, at least make it creative!” He laughed. “A butterfly?”

At this point, you looked down at your feet in the mirror’s reflection, too embarrassed to face how the other trainees were looking at you. You blinked quickly to prevent any tears from falling. Would you have to get the tattoo removed to keep training? Or worse, would you maybe even be kicked out? Having a tattoo was one thing, but you had been causing some trouble during today's practice with your mistakes.

Mr. Kim’s scolding continued in the back of your mind, but you tuned it out with the clouded thoughts of what might happen to you. You were brought back to the current situation when Mr. Kim’s hands pulled up your shorts again to see the tattoo, this time a little too high, revealing a sliver of your black underwear. You took a step back.

“Hey!” A new body appeared in your field of vision, pushing away Mr. Kim’s hand and stepping in between you and the teacher with his y'all figure.

“M-mr. Kim,” you started.

“Hah, look at this-this,” Mr. Kim didn't know where to start with cursing you. “Y/n, you're dismissed. Leave now. Yuta, get out of my way and go back to your position.”

It took a minute for you to process Mr. Kim’s words. Dismissed from practice? Dismissed from the monthly evaluation? Dismissed from the training you had put the past two years of your life into and given up academics and friends and good food for? With all these thoughts in your mind, you couldn't help but let some tears slide down your cheek as you left the room and went into the hallway. You couldn't even hear the roaring voice of another teenager behind you.

“You can't touch her like that! That's not-"

Sitting in an empty recording room, you couldn’t help but let the tears run down your face.

You had worked so hard for so long to get to where you were, and you might have just lost it all because of a stupid butterfly tattoo you thought would be cute a year ago. In your head, you could only hear the sound of your own crying and the troublesome thoughts plaguing your mind.

A boy sat next beside you. Looking at you through his straight blond bangs, he says, “Sorry about what happened to you back there. That wasn't cool at all.”

You try to even your breathing and control your tears for a moment to respond. “Thanks, but it wasn't your fault so you don't need to apologize. Why are you here? Aren't you going to get in trouble for leaving practice?”

“Well, I just didn't think it was fair for you to be treated like that back there,” the boy says, looking down at his feet. “I-I wanted to see if you were ok. Oh, and I'm Yuta by the way. Nakamoto Yuta. Nice to meet you.” He offers a hand to shake, and you grasp it weakly to give it a friendly shake.

“I'm y/n,” you say in an almost silent whisper. “You should go back. One dismissed trainee is enough.”

“No, I'll stay here until you stop crying,” Yuta declares firmly. “I-I just really think it was so unfair for you to go through that. It's so dumb, like honestly, it's just a tattoo! It's no different from… from me wearing this earring or choosing to have blond hair!” He says, readjusting the beanie around his bangs.

After a moment of silence and looking down at your shoes, your sweaty legs and tired ankles, Yuta gently breaks the silence.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

You hesitate for a moment, wondering if it will be burdensome to release your tensions and worries into this stranger you've just met today. However, his aura radiates a warm, welcoming feeling, like a close friend you've reunited with after a long time.

“I just… I just did so much to get here. I don’t think I can live with myself if this is what gets me kicked out.” Your mind reverts back to flashbacks of all the meals you skipped, tears you cried, hours you danced, and sleepless nights you had dedicated to your journey to debut. To throw that all to waste over sweating a little too hard and changing pants at dance practice -- it would be a burden you would not be able to live with.

Coming to terms with the tragic future you’ve set up for yourself, a tear slips from your eye down onto your shoes, not going unnoticed by Yuta.

“Hey, hey, y/n, look at me,” he says.

You look up to him from under your tear-stained eyelashes, meeting his honey-like gaze.

“You’re not going to get kicked out. It’s gonna be ok,” he says, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and squeezing it comfortingly before sharply retracting his arm.

“S-sorry, I… is it ok if I put my arm here?” He asks.

You nod, leaning into his touch and putting your head on his shoulder.

You sit together for a while like that, without exchanging any words. Though he doesn’t say anything besides softly rubbing circles into your shoulder, Yuta’s mere presence and the warmth radiating from his body brings you a sense of consolation.

“I think it’s cute,” Yuta says, after what feels like ten or fifteen minutes of silence.

“Hm?” you say.

“The butterfly,” he explains. “I think it’s cute. Don’t listen to what others say about it. I think it’s really cute.”

“Thanks. It’s supposed to represent, like, hope and endurance,” you say. “I got it a few months into training because it was a difficult time for me. So whenever I mess up, I just look at it and think about…. I guess, I remind myself to keep going.”

Yuta nods, processing the symbolism of it and how much it must’ve meant to you. “I’ll be your butterfly,” he chimes in quietly.

“Huh?”

“You’re going to keep training here with me. I’m not going to let you quit now.”

Though his words sound motivational, you wonder, what power does he have over this? Well, whatever happens, you’re glad you were able to make a new friend. Little do you know that Yuta’s father has some... connections with the company.

#yuta nakamoto #nakamoto yuta #yuta scenarios #yuta au #yuta x reader #nct x reader #nct fluff #nct hurt/comfort #nct 127 fluff #nct 127 hurt/comfort #nct 127 fic #nct 127 scenarios #nct 127 x reader

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jaspers-levis · 4 years

Text

Continuation Two: Dusk

TW: Self-image, allusion to eating disorders, abuse mention

PSA: The point of this story is not that the reader has value as a woman because of Paul’s attention. Everyone has value. Period. Size, shape, orientation, identification, race, religion, etc are all things that make us who we are but do not define our value as a human being. You don’t need a significant other to believe you have value before you suddenly have value. The point is, sometimes we as humans struggle to see the truth already in front of our own eyes. Our loved ones are there to remind us that no matter what the voices in your head say, you are perfect just the way you are.

Continuation Two: Dusk

Paul Lahote x female reader

“Ugh!” you grunted, your hand slipping from your waistband as you tried desperately to shimmy into a too-tight pair of shorts from last summer. The jean material would barely fit over your hips, shockingly snug despite the fact you were sure you hadn’t gained that much weight over the last year. You tugged one last time, only to hear the material rip. “Damn it!” Sighing, you slid the shorts down your legs and pulled them free, falling back onto the bed in defeat. It hadn’t been that long since you’d been able to fit into those shorts easily, and the size was already on the larger side in your mind. How could you possibly have gained so much weight in such a short time?

Nothing would fit you beside your largest pair of athletic shorts and even those were snug; you took a deep breath to hold back tears and failed. For years your ex had ridiculed you over your size until you obsessed over every calorie, every crumb on your plate. You’d prided yourself on dropping sizes every few months, until you’d gotten to your ‘goal size’. It was an incredibly unhealthy point in your life, both mentally and physically, but if it was possible for you to make your ex happy in some small way it meant one less way he could hurt you. Now it was a hard to break habit to value your appearance by the number on the tag, a habit you’d thought you’d dropped until now. Hot tears slipped down your cheeks and dripped into your hair, sticking it to your face.

Your phone buzzed beside your head, despairingly you smacked the covers until you found it.

hey babe, be home in a few. dont forget the bonfire 2nite!

You groaned, smacking your forehead lightly. The first bonfire of the summer with the entire pack celebrating the official start to the season was this evening; the weather was supposed to be warmer than it had been in the last few months so you’d pulled out your summer wardrobe in the hopes that everything still fit. This was the last pair of shorts you tried on and everything else was similarly too small… your heart sunk. You wanted to wear something cute to the bonfire, but nothing seemed to fit.

It normally wouldn’t be such a big deal, but Emily and Kim were both small and athletic and always wore clothes that highlighted their form. Quil’s new imprint Hannah was tall and slim, with a river of striking black hair and a fondness for crop tops and short shorts that showed off her endless legs. It felt like every other female you knew was fit and perfect--besides you. You knew it wasn’t a good idea to compare yourself to others but it was hard when you were constantly surrounded by supernaturally attractive men and their similarly attractive significant others. Why couldn’t you be slim and perfect too? You felt like a chubby little frog next to them…

“Babe, I’m home!” Paul called from the kitchen, the front screen door slapping shut behind him. Hastily you sat up and swiped at the embarrassing tears dripping down your cheeks but it was too late. “Honey, what’s wrong?” Paul was at your side in an instant, his warm hand sweeping your hair over your shoulder and resting against your neck.

“Nothing, it’s fine,” you muttered, turning your face away. “My dumb shorts don’t fit.”

“Oh,” you heard the frown in his voice and he picked up the offending garment from the floor. “These ones? Well baby, these are tiny! No wonder they don’t fit, they’re practically a children’s size.”

“But I used to fit in them just last summer!” you cried, turning to him and grabbing the shorts. “How did I get so fat??” You thrust yourself up from the bed and went to stand in front of the full length mirror. “I used to be so tiny, I never had a problem fitting into anything. Now I’m just a chunky little gremlin…”

“I’m sorry, what?” Paul asked incredulously, coming up behind you and yanking the shorts from your hands and chucking them forcefully into the corner of the bedroom. He slid his hands under your shirt and wrapped them around your waist. “Honey, no. For one, you’re tiny still, especially compared to me,” he chuckled and gently kissed your neck. “And secondly, who the fuck cares? We’ll buy new shorts.”

“It’s not that, I should be able to fit into them still! How could I have let myself gain so much weight?!” you sniffed again, glaring at your shape in the mirror and seeing every slice of pizza, every spoonful of ice cream, every piece of bread…

“Seriously? You’re not overweight!” he retorted, his dark eyebrows pushing together.

“Compared to Kim, and Hannah, and, and, and everyone else I am!” you sobbed, trying to pull away from him to hide your shame.

Angrily he spun you around and cupped your cheeks to look into your eyes. His hands trembled slightly, the only betrayal of his weakened control. “Y/N. You are NOT overweight. You are HEALTHY. You’ve gained weight because when I met you, all you had in your fridge was a bag of salad and a carton of eggs. Do you know how happy I am to see you fill out? Do you know how much it made me nervous that you would forget to eat for a day? I look at you and I see someone who is happy and healthy now. Every inch of you is perfect.”

Startled at the raw emotion in his voice, you hiccuped. Paul’s eyes were serious and dark in above his russet cheekbones, but not without love. Tenderly he wiped away tears with his thumbs. “I love you for better or for worse, no matter what you look like, no matter how much you weigh or what size you are, no matter what you do with your hair or if you wear makeup or not, or if you wear nice clothes or sweats,” he whispered, pressing his lips to yours in the barest imitation of a kiss. He pulled away and smirked suddenly. “But luckily, you’re exactly my type, and I think you’re hot as fuck.”

You giggled at that, leaning into his touch. “So you don’t think I’m fat?”

Paul rolled his eyes and pressed his face into your neck, nipping delicately at the sensitive skin there. “No, you’re delectable,” he growled, pulling the two of you back onto the bed with you on top and slipping his hands under the ragged t shirt you wore to caress your back. “And tempting,” he kissed your collarbone. “And perfect,” he pressed his lips to the hollow of your throat. Planting hot kisses across your skin, he began to lift your shirt, his eagerness abruptly making itself known against your stomach.

“Thank you,” you whispered shyly, ducking your head against his shoulder.

He growled softly and paused in his attempts to undress you. “For what?”

“For helping me remember my value, even when I struggle with it. I… haven’t always been good at remembering that my size shouldn’t matter.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he smoothed the hair over the back of your head.

“What do you mean, ‘you know’?” you leaned back and frowned.

“Honey, I’ve seen photos of you from the time that you were with your ex, and you’ve mentioned he’d abused you. It’s not hard to make the leap,” he pushed himself up on his elbows and swallowed a shudder. “I swear to everything that is holy, if I see that fuckwad ever again I will rip his fucking teeth out one by one and make him eat them like candy.”

“Okay, well we’re not going to let that happen, for legal reasons,” you laughed and smacked his chest.

“Mm, well, you better hope he doesn’t show up again because I can’t make any promises,” Paul shrugged unremorsefully, but calmed enough to stroke his fingers down your bare thighs straddling his waist. “All I can do for now is make sure you know how loved you are, how smart and funny and strong you are, and remind you that I love every piece and part of you just the way you are.”

Your heart squeezed in your chest, suddenly overfull of adoration for this fierce, wise cracking, temper-losing, enormous giant of a man who had a tenderness to him that belied everything his friends and family knew about him. Looking down at him, all you saw was the love in his eyes, the truth in everything he said. Paul had fought hard and earned every bit of the trust you placed in him, trust you had always had difficulty in placing in another person. While you believed in the imprinting mechanics having seen it first hand, it had taken you months to trust Paul in spite of your supernatural bond. Now, for the first time, you felt yourself truly letting your guard down, having shared your last and most shameful weakness. And he loved you, despite that. “I love you so much,” you smiled shyly and bent to kiss him lightly.

“I love you more, honey,” he returned your smile before deepening the kiss into something smoldering and languorous. Paul kissed you like it was the first time, the last time, and every other time in between, worshipping every inch of your skin with his lips and hands until you were burning up with desire. No matter that you didn't have anything to wear to the bonfire, it was likely you wouldn’t make it there before dusk anyways...

#paul lahote #paul lahote imagine #twilight fan fiction #twilight #twilight fanfiction #Twilight wolf pack #werewolves #twilight wolf #twilight wolves

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radioactivepeasant · 4 years

Text

Fic Prompts: Folklore Friday

This is actually an unfinished short story that I wrote three years ago. So you may notice that it’s a little different from my current writing style in some ways. It’s been edited a wee bit before posting, mostly proofreading stuff, but this is an urban fantasy short I was working on years back about a young man who accidentally becomes king of the goblins. He really really does not want to be king of the goblins.

He never should have taken the detour that night: that was the source of all his troubles.

Work had been brutal, with a grand total of ten patients either screaming over the phone about the charge for their appointment, or trying to convince him that the doctor had approved a kind of medicine that he most certainly had not prescribed. Of course, since he was “just a receptionist”, they all assumed they could bully him into agreeing with whatever they wanted. Admittedly, by the time he had clocked out for the day, Seth Jefferson Jr. had had just about all the frustration he could take.

All he really wanted to do was go home, sit on the couch, and not talk to anyone for the next three hours. So when he spotted five or six scowling young men congregating around the only streetlight on his normal route home, he decided to take the path of least resistance. Seth had never cut through the ratty, overgrown park before, but it would only add a few minutes to his commute. It seemed like a better idea than trying to navigate around the men up ahead, at least. He hopped the fence and continued on his way, hands in his pockets.

Seth kicked through a pile of leaves and discarded beer cans, wrinkling his nose. Midsummer Park had been a very nice place once, when he was young. It hadn’t been the most popular destination, but there had been a certain charm to the way the flowers had been planted in spirals around the tree trunks. The flowers were gone, now. Nobody had bothered to do any landscaping there for years, and the plants grew as they pleased now.

Seth pulled his coat a little closer to his neck, shivering. The park was quiet, save for the soft chirps of crickets and the occasional frog. His own footsteps sounded unbearably loud as he walked, as if he was trespassing. He could not shake the feeling that someone or something was watching him. He hoped it wasn’t the men from the sidewalk.

The toe of his sneaker met the thin stalk of a Clitocybe nuba with a barely audible plop. Seth glanced down at the mushroom, then caught sight of a large, ugly toad watching him from the shelter of another mushroom a few inches away. Gross.

There was a whole ring of the fungus, extending perhaps ten feet in diameter. Some might have thought of old legends and superstitions and walked around it, but Seth had no time for fairytales. Cold and annoyed at having to go out of his way, he stepped over the mushroom he’d kicked and moved on through the center of the circle. That was a mistake.

Instantly, Seth knew that something was terribly wrong. His feet were frozen to the dying grass as though they’d grown roots. His arms hung heavy at his sides, coated in an icy numbness from his shoulders to his fingertips. Panic gripped his lungs, and he strained to breathe. His eyes could still move, and he cast them about wildly, looking for the source of his paralysis.

The toad who had been sitting at the edge of the mushroom ring hopped forward with slow, squelching motions before coming to rest at Seth’s feet. Its eyes shone an uncanny gold, and then before Seth’s eyes, it began to change.

The toad grew in size until it was near the height of a large dog, then it straightened to stand on its back legs. The toadskin fell away like a discarded poncho, and left the most preposterous figure Seth had ever seen.

It was covered from its head to its cloven hooves in short, coarse hair or fur, most of which was covered by a very ugly embroidered tunic and breeches. Long, tangled hair hung down around the person’s shoulders, sprouting from a skull that sported horns. Horns of all things! Seth registered all this in silence, mostly owing to the fact that he was not able to open his mouth.

“Well well!” the strange figure said, and Seth’s heart skipped a beat at the eerie whispery sound. “Not many humans get stuck in these anymore! I wonder who we’ve got to thank for that? Your internet? Probably your internet.”

They leaned down to peer into Seth’s eyes. “How old are you? Twenty-two? Twenty-four? Old enough to know better. Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s not nice to walk through a fairy ring?”

You’re kidding me. Seth thought. Fairies? As in pixies and flowers and little glittery wings on kids’ dolls? Yeah right. This guy looks more like a demon.

As if they’d read the human’s thoughts, the satyr-like figure snorted, twitching their pointed ears.

“Now don’t tell me you thought all fairies were dainty little girls wearing flower petals? Human exaggeration: utterly ridiculous.”

Seth decided that he had to be hallucinating this. He’d probably slipped on one of those empty beer cans and struck his head on a rock or something. Now he was dreaming up some pseudo-mythological weirdness. Might as well play along until he woke up, right?

Seth’s more logical side pointed out that there was no evidence that he’d taken a fall of any kind, but Seth was not prepared to acknowledge that the satyr existed. Neither was he prepared to follow the line of reasoning that said the satyr might be a figment of his imagination, and that he might be standing in a field staring at nothing.

“Fairies, huh?” he croaked. He was a little surprised that his mouth was able to move at all, as it had been stuck shut only moments before. He coughed, and swallowed a few times in an attempt to strengthen his voice.

“I’m guessing that saying I don’t believe in fairies isn’t going to make you fall down dead.” he said dryly.

The satyr performed an odd little caper and cackled.

“No indeed! I don’t know why that idea caught on, but it’s not true.” They paused, and glanced slyly at Seth out of the corner of their eye. “In fact, saying I don’t believe in fairies usually results in a goblin being born.”

Abruptly the look of amusement dulled into something closer to flat annoyance. “There’s been quite a population boom in the Umbralands recently, as a matter of fact. You humans should stop telling your young that we aren’t real.”

This struck Seth as slightly amusing, but he said nothing. Whether he was dreaming, hallucinating, or actually experiencing this -- which had to be impossible. Fairies and Goblins had no place in modern, rational society! -- he’d been standing in the mushroom circle far too long. Seth needed to get home!

“I was never the fairytale type,” he said shortly, “Exactly what happens now?”

He hoped his tone conveyed what his frozen body language could not: that he was tired, hungry, and not in the mood to put up with any magical monkeyshines from this decidedly odd figure who had so rudely interrupted his Friday evening.

The satyr studied him a moment, as if they were trying to measure the man’s personality with their eyes alone. They paced with an odd, rollicking gait, whistling merrily through Their teeth.

They looked jolly enough, but there was something about them that made Seth’s chest tighten with a kind of fearful caution. Apparently, his body knew something he didn’t, and was classifying the satyr as a threat.

Perhaps it was the knowledge that things like satyrs just weren’t supposed to exist. There was a certain level of aporia spreading through his mind, suppressing his thoughts and reactions until there was nothing left but an unending hum and an anxious awareness of what was happening around him.

“What should we do with you?” the satyr mused, beginning to pace a loping circle around Seth.

“In the past, we used to set impossible tasks for interlopers. Or, I could keep you here, dancing uncontrollably for a year and a day or until someone figured out you were missing and called your true name. But that’s all pretty standard fare.”

They came to a stop just behind Seth’s left shoulder, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. Seth wished he could move, even just his arms so that he could protect the vulnerable stalk of veins and vertebrae.

Come on, Seth, he tried to reason with himself, It’s a goat-person. Not a vampire. It probably won’t drink your blood. But then again, Seth didn’t know anything about goat-people. Who was to say it wouldn’t try to eat him? It -- he? they? -- had been pretty menacing thus far.

He heard the satyr take a deep breath, then out of the corner of his eye he saw them walk around to stand in front of him again. They were smiling, and right away Seth decided he didn’t much like the look of that smile.

“I’ll tell you what, human. Since it’s late, and you’re probably tired, let’s do this: if you guess my name, I’ll sweep this under the rug and we can both pretend it never happened.”

Oh that just screamed “suspicious”. Even if he wasn’t familiar with a lot of folktales, Seth knew Rumplestiltskin, and he had a bad feeling about this seemingly-innocuous guessing game. Despite his better judgment, however, it seemed like this might be the only way out of this stupid mushroom ring.

“What’s the catch?” he rasped.

The satyr blinked slowly, then shrugged. “I suppose if you fail, I’ll get to set an impossible task for you after all,” they said innocently.

Seth muttered some choice words under his breath and stared very hard at the goat-person. “How many guesses do I get?” he asked shrewdly.

“I’m feeling generous. I’ll say five.”

Noticing Seth’s disgusted expression, the creature bared surprisingly sharp teeth in a slightly aggressive smile and leaned close.

“Just be glad I picked guess my name and not a game of riddles. You don’t look like you’d be very good at those.”

Well, that much was true, but Seth wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of hearing it confirmed. He racked his brain for bizarre and fantastical names. Rumplestiltskin could be dismissed out of hand, at least, as could most of the Tolkien-esque names that presented themselves to him after a few moments.

“Is it Mephistopheles?” he asked first.

“No. It’s a good name though, I’ll keep it in mind if I ever change mine.”

“Fine.” Seth squinted and looked for another. “Pan?”

The satyr narrowed their eyes. “It’s because of the hooves, right? That’s profiling and I resent it.”

Well, safe to say “Pan” was not their name. Seth tried hard to think and guessed again.

“Wormwood?”

“Okay,” the other answered with gritted teeth, “Now you’re trying to insult me.”

“Hey, I’m working with what I have, here!” Seth protested. “What about, er, Fauna?”

The satyr didn’t look at all impressed. “Well that’s not very creative, is it? A bit more feminine than I prefer, too. Try again.”

Seth’s remaining guess met with similar results. Frustration bubbled up inside him. It had been rigged from the start. He’d known that, of course, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t still get angry about it. Seth was at least glad that his face was still mobile. He twisted his lips into a vicious scowl, which he directed at the smug satyr.

“Well that’s my five guesses, used up. You might as well tell me what it was,” he growled.

“Of course, where are my manners?” said the satyr sarcastically. They swept into a low bow with a flourish of their hand. “They call me Chicanery. Lord Chicanery Black, if you require a title and surname.”

Seth was furious. “And how would I have been able to guess something like that?” he demanded.

“You wouldn’t,” Chicanery answered carelessly, “That’s the whole point. But while we’re doing introductions, what’s your name, human?”

Seth nearly said his name, but at the last second changed his mind. He had no idea why, but it seemed like a bad idea to just casually give the creature his full name. Was it something he’d read once?

“Jefferson.” he answered. Chicanery nodded.

He cracked his bulging knuckles and leaned on Seth’s shoulder in a very irritating fashion.

“Well, Jeff, you failed the test. So now I get to set a task for you.”

“No.”

Chicanery looked astonished, as though it had never actually occurred to him that someone would refuse to play along. For just a moment, a flash of anger crackled -- quite literally crackled as if it were a spark of electricity -- in his eyes, and a chill ran up Seth’s spine. Perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea to antagonize the creature.

“Impossible task, or stay here in the ring until you die of either starvation or old age. Your choice.” he said coldly.

“That isn’t fair.”

He knew it was childish, but Seth couldn’t help pointing it out. He had a job, a life, and none of this made any sense at all.

“If life was fair, I wouldn’t be stuck here guarding an abandoned dance ring,” Chicanery answered dryly. “Look, if it makes you feel any better, you’ll be rewarded if you actually pull it off. You need a car? Or a better job?” he stared pointedly at Seth’s scrubs.

Seth squinted at Chicanery, trying to gauge just how much of the odd being’s words were truth. It wasn’t as if he had a precedent for this to measure it against. The promise of a car was tempting, though he didn’t know how he’d afford the gas. No, best not to get ahead of himself. He didn’t know what Chicanery wanted him to do yet. Still, he was more than ready to get out of this fairy ring.

“What exactly did you have in mind?” he asked warily.

Looking immensely pleased with himself, Chicanery hopped back a pace and spread his arms wide.

“See? Was that so hard?” he asked. Then he leaned in again. “You’re going to help me run a little errand. It’s just some housekeeping. And by “housekeeping”, I mean you’re going to help me usurp the throne of Unter Kobold, king of the Umbralands. I assume you have a gun, or can get one?”

“What.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Chicanery held out one of his calloused, hairy hands and Seth found that he could move again. “Do we have a deal, or am I leaving you here?”

Well, when you put it that way, Seth thought bitterly, and he gingerly shook the satyr’s hand.

It felt like being grabbed by a pinecone. Something stung his skin and the human pulled his hand away with a hiss of pain. A shimmering mark in the shape of a leaf curled outward across his palm with the same faint crackle he’d heard before.

“You’re free to go now, Jefferson,” Chicanery said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “We start planning tomorrow.”

The moment Seth stepped out of the mushroom ring, the satyr was gone. In his place, the ugly toad from before sat, watching him. Seth shuddered and hurried home as quickly as he could. As much as he desperately wanted to convince himself that none of that had been real, he could not deny that he’d only lost five minutes by the time he got home, and the leaf-mark on his palm did not wash away.

Seth kicked off his shoes and did not bother to change into pajamas as he fell into bed. He could only hope that the satyr would forget about him after a few days.

He awoke the next morning to the sound of someone moving around in his kitchen. Seth felt around for the baseball bat he kept next to his bed, then eased his bedroom door open. Now he could hear voices.

“-well we can’t do that. No no, that’s much too much pepper. See? It looks weird now.”

Something gurgled and croaked, but Seth couldn’t make out whether or not it was words. He was more concerned with the fact that the first voice had belonged to Chicanery Black.

Seth marched into the kitchen, bat upraised, to find the satyr and a grotesque little creature that appeared to be a cross between a crocodile and a sugar glider sitting on his shoulder. They were bent over the stove, observing eggs frying in a pan. Chicanery turned with a grin.

“Ah! Morning, partner. Collywobble and I were just debating on how much pepper humans usually put in their eggs. How much do you put in?”

Flabbergasted, Seth’s mouth worked soundlessly for a few minutes before he gasped, “None! And how did you even get in here? Don’t you guys have to be, like, invited or something?”

“That’s vampires,” Chicanery shoved a forkful of boiling hot egg into his mouth and spoke around it. “Which don’t exist, by the way.”

“Of course,” Seth muttered sarcastically. “Because that’s much weirder than a satyr frying eggs in my kitchen.”

Chicanery did not grace this with an answer. He shoveled the other egg out onto a plate in an ugly lump, and handed a fork to Seth.

“Today,” he said, “You’re going to go to your public library and look up everything humans ever wrote about goblins and gargoyles and how to kill them.”

Seth seriously considered making a snide remark about homework, but decided not to push his luck. If the satyr had no trouble getting into his house, there was no telling what else he could do. He groaned and set his baseball bat down so he could eat.

“You weren’t going to stay here, were you?” he asked, gagging on the amount of pepper in the rapidly cooling egg. “I mean, is this going to be a regular thing?”

Chicanery glanced at the diminutive creature on his shoulder and back at Seth.

“I’ll stay until the task is completed.” he answered, confirming Seth’s worst fears. He leaned casually against the counter and raised a hand to scratch Collywobble behind the ears. “You know, you’re taking all this remarkably well. The last human I tried to recruit went stark raving mad, you know. They had to cart him away after he went goblin hunting in a supermarket. After an experience like that, it’s nice to find a human with a good, stretchy mind.”

Collywobble made a wet, barking sound in what was presumably agreement. Seth made a face and gestured to it.

“Okay, what is that?” he sighed.

“She,” Chicanery corrected, “Is Collywobble. She’s a goblin, and you’d better get used to her because you’ll be seeing a lot more of them.”

“Why?” Seth asked, already certain he would not like the answer.

Chicanery looked at him as if he’d lost his senses.

“One does not simply overthrow a goblin king without minions!”

Collywobble snuffled agreeably at this, then hopped down to the table. Seth decided that this was altogether too much weirdness for one morning, and that he’d be better off at the library. He stood and opened the refrigerator, looking for a stiff drink to chase away the taste of burnt and over-peppered egg.

Something like a winged porcupine held up a three-toed paw in greeting and he slammed the door.

“Why.” was all he managed to say.

Chicanery opened the refrigerator again and brightened.

“Oh! Widdershins!” he said, “So you found the place after all. What do our friends at the armory say?”

“I’m done.” Seth threw his hands into the air and left the kitchen. This was ignored by Chicanery, Collywobble, and Widdershins.

After discovering one more goblin in his clothes hamper and one in the closet, Seth threw on his shoes and stormed out of the house, locking it behind him. It likely wouldn’t do any good at all, seeing as Chicanery and his minions had just sort of materialized to begin with, but it gave him a slight sense of satisfaction.

#folklore friday #original fiction #original characters #original story #urban fantasy #fairytales #fairy rings #short story #long post #Chicanery Black. He's a brat.#Seth has so many annoyances ahead of him #fic prompts #writing prompts #someday i might finish this but i have no idea what was supposed to come next

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