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undonerhapsodize · 2 years

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Domestic Burdens

Sonic the Hedgehog Movie!Knuckles the Echidna x g/n!reader TW: cursing, implies violence, injury, blood, bruised limbs, much angst, comfort and fluff, happy ending, SPOILERS FOR THE SONIC MOVIES Word Count: 10.4K

Summary: You never thought you would find yourself living in the same house as a walking, talking echidna. Yet, as you adjust to this new life, secrets begin to unravel, for better, or for worse.

Side note: I write sonic the hedgehog fanfiction because I am mentally ill, I am not mentally ill because I write sonic the hedgehog fanfiction.

I cannot believe this is actually one of my better works of fiction.

Living with Knuckles was an… interesting experience to say the least. “Jarring” is the word you would probably use to describe it, along with “pleasant”.

Never in your life had you ever encountered something like him. And with Knuckles being a echidna and all, that fact was pretty unsurprising.

When you first met the guy, it took a lot of self control and convincing from Tom to not go and bash your head against the nearest hard surface. The hedgehog was one thing, he was a one-off. Tails was another, he was kind, kinda cute, and helpful so he got a pass. But another one? And he's big and scary? AND he can beat the shit outta you? Needless to say, you went home and took an ibuprofen.

Jokes aside, he was off-putting at the beginning. To you, at least. While Sonic felt comfortable in forgiving the harm the warrior had caused almost instantaneously, you weren’t so easy-going. Not that you had held any kind of long lasting hatred for what Knuckles had done, but rather it was simply a matter of time and understanding. And understand you did, with the help of Sonic, Tails, and even the echidna himself. It turned out that hearing it straight from the horse's mouth was an effective way of realizing the complexity of the situation Eggman had put the lot of them in, especially Knuckles.

And with that, and the promise of friendship between the hedgehog and the echidna, suspicions of Knuckles’ character disappeared just as fast as they arrived. You didn’t plan on holding his mistakes above his head (like it would do anything remotely close to helping relations heal), for his own past transgressions are just as permanent to him as they are to Sonic and Tails, and everyone else for that matter. Knuckles was a kind being, and you knew that now. Losing his way in his endeavor to protect the Master Emerald doesn’t change that.

Your friendship with him had started out of circumstance. After the fiasco with Eggman, the gang needed to find a place to safely keep the weapon. Tom and Maddie’s place was quickly rooted out as a station. Their home was too close to the city to house it properly. There would be too many strangers getting within reach of it every single day. An accident was bound to happen with that lack of security. There was also the issue with Eggman himself, if he were to ever return. The doctor knew of Tom, but didn’t technically know you. Yes, you were indeed present for much of the chaos, but you all had a feeling Eggman didn’t pay much attention to a random stranger whilst piloting a giant robot.

Lucky enough, you had your own home outside of city limits. It was much like a farmhouse, except for the farm. Wide open space, way out in the country, and no neighbors within sight. It was almost too perfect. Feeling generous and knowing there were limited options, you offered up your humble abode for Knuckles and his emerald to stay. He thought about your proposal for a while before ultimately accepting, saying something along the lines of “I accept your offer, comrade. Let us shake on this alliance.”

You didn’t understand why Sonic had zipped up to you two, frantically trying to stop him from grasping your hand. Knuckles’ handshake was fine? Like yeah his hand (paw? foot??) is big, but it's not like it would crush yours or anything.

And with that, Knuckles became your new housemate, and you became the substitute Guardian of the Master Emerald.

At first, it was a bit… awkward. It wasn’t hard to tell that the warrior felt out of place, to at least some degree. He spent most of the time in his own designated area of the basement, quietly keeping to himself and no doubt watching the Emerald. He came out to get food, or use the bathroom, or perhaps borrow a book from the shelf in the living room. He did talk some, but not enough to you would like. Sometimes you would act more extroverted than you really were, going out of your way to ask the echidna some questions about Angel Island and his preferences on certain things. He always gave short, curt answers that went straight to the point. If you didn’t know better, you could think he’d be pissed at you for asking anything at all. If you had to pick a favorite, once you asked him what his favorite fruit was, only to get a bizarrely serious response. As Knuckles padded back into the basement, he stopped briefly, contemplating his answer for a second or two before glancing back at you.

“I enjoy grapes.”

He walked away right after.

Not letting Knuckles’ lack of social skills inhibit your progress, you still pursued. And steadily, you gained progress. First came simple things, like what the echidna liked to eat, or what he would do to pass time while watching the Master Emerald. Then, conversations started to happen, usually about what Sonic, Tom and the gang were up to. Sometimes you spoke about how work had gone for you, though in the beginning you usually held back on talking too much about that, since Knuckles never seemed to be listening. Later on, you were given a pleasant surprise.

One time, as you stood at the kitchen’s stovetop cooking up something for you and Knuckles, who sat quietly on a barstool at the kitchen island. You had started to feel as if you were rambling on about this one incident that happened with your coworkers. With no response from the red mammal, you assumed your story was starting to become a bother. So you stopped about halfway through it, instead deciding to focus on the pan in front of you. He’s a battle-hardened warrior, why would he ever want to listen to some silly story about spilled coffee? Going back to the food, you were content to quiet down, despite that annoying feeling in your chest.

“Why did you stop?”

The question surprised you. It was abrupt, coming from behind. Turning, you look toward the echidna, who now had his eyes on you. The softer, smaller quills on his brow were furrowed in genuine confusion. Fumbling for your words a bit, you reply back just as confused. “S-sorry, I didn’t know you were listening.”

“I was.” Knuckles countered, tone lowered in his earnesty. He titled his head back down to the kitchen counter from once it came, folding his arms across the hard surface comfortably. “Continue. I was enjoying your tale.”

At that, you grin, going back to the stove to finish cooking you and the echidna’s dinner whilst you recount the events from this morning at the office.

Knuckles soon became a key person in your life. He was not one for words, but you soon learned not many were needed with him. Most often then not, he understood the silence was a natural part of company. A thing others could learn from him, including yourself. He even gave advice on the simple things that troubled you. His straightforward way of communicating never failed to speak the obvious when truths were hard to say out loud. Though your friendship with him had just started, you trusted him. And just maybe, he trusted you. He was always there, figuratively AND literally.

Though you planned on changing that last part.

It wasn’t often where you would descend to the basement into Knuckles’ domain. You never wanted to intrude upon his space, his privacy and security were important to you. Though once in a while, you would have to enter to ask a question or two.

He didn’t have a door, only a long set of stairs leading to the bottom floor. He could definitely hear you coming as you stepped down, down. The stairs weren’t exactly the quietest thing. As you peaked around the corner, you knocked firmly on the wood of the wall, just in case he was preoccupied and hadn’t heard you. You greet him all the same, knowing to announce yourself when he is on guard duty. “Hey Knux?”

There you saw the echidna, laying on an older model of a coach you had given him, head propped up on a cushion while reading a book. The master emerald laid on the other end of said coach. He moved the novel away from his snout so it wasn’t obscuring his vision of you, responding to the nickname you had given him like it was own with a simple “What is it?”

Given the greenlight, you asked your question “Where'd you put all the total paper?”

He seemed confused. It was an emotion that occurred to him often when dealing with things like this. He thought for a split second before asking his own question back. “From… when I helped you in storing the supplies?”

You nodded, assuring him he was right. “Yeah when we put the groceries away a few days ago.”

Knuckles looked deep in thought as he tried recalling the event, eyes in a blank stare seeing nothing at all as he dug up the answer. It would be fitting for a buffering effect to appear above his head at this moment.

He looked over, slowly turning his head as he drawled out his sentence. “I think… I recall… placing the package inside… the garment washing station?” It came out more as a question than anything else, holding little confidence.

You blinked, still perplexed. You spoke to yourself quietly, not directly talking to Knuckles anymore. “The laundry room? Huh.” You paused, scratching the back of your head. “I already checked it. Guess I’ll look again.”

“Have I put it in the wrong location?” Though it was just a few words, you could detect a small amount of apprehension in his voice.

You wave him off casually, wanting to ease any guilty feelings that may be developing. “Nono you’re fine. That’s where I told you to put them. I’ll just have to take another look.”

He stared at your figure for a minute before nodding, picking up his book once more and getting comfortable. “Well, if that is all, then I shall return to reading.”

You chuckled quietly at the formality. Turning to go back up the stairs, you caught a glimpse of the wall of the basement. It was barren, completely. That’s weird. You look more, craning your head to gaze more at your surroundings. As you start to properly take in the atmosphere of the basement, it dawns on you. You’ve never fully realized it before, given you haven’t had the opportunity to until now.

Knuckles’ space was lonely. Extremely lonely looking.

There were the essentials, coach, table, bed, even a box tv, but not a whole bunch else. The space lacked any kind of personality or decoration. Almost like a default Sims room. There was nothing there to define it as Knuckles’ own space, completely empty of anything he could call his own. It bothered you.

“Is there something else that needs asking?”

The echidna looks to you, the same inquiring expression as before. Had he even glanced away in the first place, you didn’t know.

You kept your mouth shut as you mentally ran through your options, not wanting to say anything rude. You scolded yourself. Should’ve known better. Knuckles came from a completely different world. Did you think he brought anything with him? He owns nothing. The only exception being his own damn shoes.

You feel you’re at a loss when suddenly, a lightbulb pops in your head. Oh.

You face Knuckles, finally answering. “Hey…” You start, a little nervy for his reaction. “What do you think about going to the store with me?”

He pauses, and looks at you as if you’ve grown another head. “The store?”

You nod.

Without missing a beat, Knuckles was once again, confused. He sat his book down on the coach, sitting up upright. “Why?”

You shrug. “Thought you’d just want to go outside a little. You haven’t done that since you got here.” While it wasn’t lying, it wasn’t telling the truth either.

Knuckles shook his head. “No.” He declined. “I cannot. I am forbidden from leaving the emerald unattended.”

Humming, your feet shifted positions, angling you so you were leaning against the wall. “Aw come on.” You say, halfway between a whine and an exclamation of annoyance. But even still, Knuckles held his ground, a stern frown set on his face. “No. I must turn down your offer.”

You sigh, shoulders slumping.

The echidna notices. “I am sorry.” He turns back to the book that had been resting face down on the coach. “Now… if you’ll excuse me, I will return to the fox’s book…”

Your mouth dropped in the shape of an ‘O’, an idea hitting you at the mention of your mutual friend. “Wait.” You exclaim, regaining Knuckles’ attention. “What if Tails can watch it?”

He starts, brain slowing a little at the discovery of this new information. “...If the fox can act as guardian while I am away?” Repeating the sentence out loud to affirm it, looking to you to see if he had heard it right. You nod, practically on the edge of your seat, waiting for him to carry out his sentence.

“Well,” He starts. “The fox can be trusted,” Knuckles looks deep in thought as he ponders this new option. “I suppose if the hedgehog does not interfere with Tails’ focus then, I guess it is possible.”

That’s all you needed to hear. “It would just be for a matter of hours. Shopping doesn’t take a whole day.”

Knuckles rubs his chin. He contemplates the idea of Tails taking over his position a bit more before he ultimately accepts, not having much reason to say no. “If so,” He makes eye contact with you, purple irises peering into your own a little intense for the circumstance. Yet, Knuckles is Knuckles, and he is determined. He speaks with that same formality he often does, “Then I do accept your offer, Y/N of house L/N.”

Oh yeah, forgot about that.

“It’s just Y/N Knux. I’ve told you that.”

It took about a week to organize you and Knuckles’ little shopping trip. Between your work schedule and Tails’ own experiments, it was somewhat difficult to arrange for him to come over. Yet, you were stubborn, and with some convincing for Knuckles, and reassurances for Tails, you got the fox over for your house. He didn’t need to do much, just keep an eye on the Master Emerald while you all were away. All it took was a quick tour of the house, showing him where the food and utensils were, a quick goodbye and you and the echidna were off.

Knuckles had asked before where you two would be shopping and what you would be shopping for. You did your best to wave him off, telling him what kind of stores you would be going to, but not so much your intention. As vague as it was, he chose not to question any further.

You took Knuckles to a variety of shops, Home Goods, Target, Home Depot. All shared one feature. Decor. Through the limited time you had spent with him, you had learned some things about his world. As confined as your knowledge was, you know it DID NOT look like the plain basement he was currently living in. And though he’d never said otherwise, it wasn’t hard to believe that the echidna could be a little homesick. You would be if you were in his position. You planned on making his home more like a home. Nothing less.

And so, you did. First, you tried looking for larger things. That way you could build a foundation, and work your way up with smaller items. This way, you could also fill up the otherwise empty space. You figured some blankets to make an overhang type thing and the hammock you found in clearance would do nicely.

“These would look really nice in your room, Knux. Whadya think?” You paused, catching yourself, a stutter falling from your lips. “I-I mean if you want to? You don’t have to- of course.”

Knuckles looked up at you. He blinked, eyes widening a slight fraction. You two were the only ones in the aisle.

“So.” He said slowly. “This was your plan?”

“Uh” You eloquently spoke. “Yea?” Reflexively averting your eyes from the echidna, you sweat dropped, waiting for Knuckles to react. How could you face him when he was gazing at you like that?

Though what you assumed was a look of offense, was actually of wonder, and even something of another nature.

Knuckles inhaled, turning toward the bundled up hammock on the rack, picking it up with a gloved hand. The silence was suspenseful. It usually happened this way: Knuckles doing much of his thinking in his own head while you stressed out internally. It would be funny if you didn’t constantly get the short end of the stick.

“Do you pity me?”

You were caught off-guard, head whipping back to the echidna. What? Why would he say that? “I- uh, no?”

He kept his gaze on the hammock as he spoke, each syllable low as he concentrated on saying them correctly. “Is pity the reason you choose to do things like this?

Mouth agape, you truly were lost. To say you had trouble finding words was an understatement. Did he- feel bad? That was the last thing you wanted him to feel.

You take your time choosing your next words, for they could either make or break this moment. “I- listen Knux, look at me? Please?” And so he did, standing a little slouched in comparison to his regular, straight posture. The lavender purple of his eyes had a guarded melancholy to them you had never seen before. Both changes spur you on to reassure your friend while also shake you where you stand. The range was astounding.

You cleared your throat. “N-No, not out of pity per say…” You trailed off, struggling to find the right words as Knuckles stood patiently, quietly, never once taking his eyes off you. “I just- the other day when I asked you about the toilet paper? Yeah I uh, I realized how unwelcoming and- plain your space looked and I just felt bad because you didn’t have a single thing a-and I wanted you to feel a home- I know it's probably really hard being launched into a whole new world with nothing but some shoes and I just-”

Knuckles reached out and grasped your hand, gripping it gently appit firmly. It pulled you out of your spiraling ramble. “Slow down.” He urged. “You’re not in a race Y/N, house of-”

“Ok, ok” You laugh a little, giggling at the return of the silly title and wrangling with the fact he had grabbed you in the first place.

You take a breath, inhaling deeply before starting again. “I just- want you to feel comfortable. And, I thought this was a way to do it.”

At that, Knuckles’ features relax, and he looks away, thinking. “I- You are a very kind human.” He concludes, dropping your hand to take a set back from you. “But,” He says, a hint of reluctance in his voice. “I cannot accept this.” He moves to put the hammock back, reaching up to set it back on the shelf.

“Wha- hey! Wait, why?” You half shout, catching his hand and stopping his movement. Though he could easily muscle past you, he chooses to stop with you. “Because,” He defends. “I do not need it.”

You huff. “Well I know that, Winter Soldier.” You go to gently pry the hammock out of Knuckles’ hand. Again, he lets you, though not without a face that screams ‘what are you doing’. “But I want you to have it.”

The warrior detests. “I don’t-”

“Knuckles, bud.” You tenderly cut him off, smiling with a benevolence that you hope conveys your honesty. “I want to do this for you.” You lean forward to pronunciate your sentence, catching eyes with the echidna that widens more and more as you continue to speak. “I don’t mind buying this, or anything else for you.” You shake the item in your hand for emphasis. “Will you let me?”

Knuckles freezes momentarily. You swear you see a hint of pink on what you would consider his cheeks as he somewhat suddenly turns his head away, wrestling with himself and with your proclamation.

“I-” He’s stuck, and he has to give himself a mental kick in the rear to get him going again. “I guess… I would like the hanging blanket.”

You let out a sigh, relieved you both are on the same page. “Awesome.”

After getting most of the larger decorations, you then focus your attention on smaller things. What those smaller things would be is now up to Knuckles, who has grown more open to the whole ordeal as the hours passed. A large variety of things were considered, such as candles and fairy lights, even some abstract art pieces that would be fit for a garden. Though the things that were favored above all, and the things that you kept catching the echidna staring at, were the plants. His eyes would linger on the greenery, especially on some of the more exotic ones. Those didn’t take much convincing to let you buy, the warrior only giving a few words in approval: “This one will do…” “...Possibly this one as well.” It wasn’t hard to tell that Knuckles felt weird doing plant shopping of all things, he’s never done anything like it before. And because of that, you did everything with your power to talk to him, to make this as casual and as pleasant as an experience can be. Normalizing domesticity in one of the most powerful fighters in the galaxy may sound difficult on the surface, but as you two approached the end of your short adventure (store worker looking as flabbergasted at your friend as a person could), you found no trouble at all leading Knuckles to check out at the last shop with your abundance of wildlife greenery, and onto this new kind of life you’ll be sharing with the echidna from now on.

It didn’t take long to set all the decor up back at home. With Knuckles’ help, you all made quick work of it. The hammock came first, finding a secure way to hang the thing was a little tricky, but once you broke out the power tools, installing it went by with a breeze. Same case for the fort. You looked up some ideas on pinterest, but you quickly learned that there is actually some strange red mammal in the house who can make a really rad blanket fort by memory. You’ll have to ask him for advice sometime. As for the plants, the one space was filled right up, the emptiness being replaced with a vibrancy that definitely made you feel welcomed. As for Knux, well, he was happy. You knew it. Even as he tried to keep a straight face as he walked around admiring the hanging plants, which branches gracefully cascaded over the rim of their pots.

“While nothing could ever replace my home,” Knuckles said remorsefully as he adjusted a small potted fern, angling it in the most eye-catching way, “This does make the space feel… different.” He trailed off, looking down as he thought of a history and sentiment not unknown to you.

“A good kind of different?” You ask with a hint of a coy tone.

Knuckles looks at you, your playfulness gone completely over his head. Instead, his face is pleasant, approving in some way. “I think so…” He remarks, words sounding confident to your ears. Though his expression changes to something more reluctant as the next thought pops into his head, slipping out his mouth before he can stop it. “You did not have to provide this…”

It takes a good amount of effort to steel yourself from rolling your eyes in the back of your head. You ‘tsk’ in frustration. “Knux, I know. But I chose to. Understand?”

He nods, though hesitant to fully accept the finer feelings, “Yes... It is a lot like the echidna’s honor code in battle.” Seeing your perplexed face at his random reference, he elaborates. “Even though my tribe held proud independent warriors, we helped our comrades at our own discretion. Whether they wanted the aid or not.”

At that, you made a sound of realization. “Ohhh okay, okay. I get it.” You smile down at your friend, who had seemed satisfied in how his room now appeared. It brought you great joy to see the typically stone-faced tank with a softer, more relaxed look. It gave you the confidence to ask one more borderline teasing question, “See, some things aren’t so different, now are they?”

Once again, the intention passes Knuckles by. “No,” he notes, too preoccupied with his own brain to give back any more of an answer. “No they are not.”

You take no notice, grinning in genuine joy for Knuckles. “Good.”

It's during the most unsuspecting moments in which the most unexpected events take place. Shouldn’t you know that by now?

What the fuck. I should go to the ER. No that’s a stupid idea. What the fuck are they gonna do, put ice on it? I can do that. What the fuck. Well I’ll probably need something more than ice. Ibuprofen? Maybe. A shot? Yeah. What the fuck. Why? Why did they do that? I don’t understand. To me? Why to me? I’m sorry. What the fuck. I’m tired. I wanna go to bed. What if I wait till the morning? Can I sleep like this? I can try. Probably not. What the fuck. Should I call my friends? No they’re probably busy. I can take care of it. What the fuck. Was it really that special? Was it worth that much trouble? I should’ve been more careful. How old was it? I’m sorry. What the fuck. That bitch. What a fucking piece of shit. I’m sorry. What the fuck.

The calculating rationality that most healthy-minded people would have in these situations was lost to you. Sometimes you thought of it as a gift from god himself: the ability to see things in such simplicity that the problem itself never even posed an ounce of a threat. Never in your life have you had that. Though, never in your life have you ever been healthy-minded, so the math kinda works out in a weird, twisted way.

The hole in your chest remained through it all. Never once subsiding in its outrage. It held every emotion possible as it freely expressed them all, only confined to your heart. Unwavering in every roar, it made such a ruckus. If only it felt just as exposed as you did, then maybe it would shut up. Maybe it would silence itself, just as you were now. Instead, you would have to deal with its burden, as well as the aching that started from your forearm, leading up to the triceps of your shoulder.

It was still daytime. The sun had not yet set, though it was about to. The sky’s vast shades of pinks, purples and blues lit up the darkening landscape of the range, the green and the brown of the earth ever so slowly growing into one cool shade of black. The air was as crisp as ever. It felt mocking in how pure it was, untouched by the will of others beyond its reach. It was the only thing pushing you to walk up your own porch’s stairs, for every bone in your body absolutely refuted the idea of entering your home in the condition that you were in. And only because of one thing. One, small thing.

Your melancholy seemed to express itself through the stomp of your shoes on the old wood. Bump bump bump. It was quiet, not wanting to be heard. Though it was, as there were no sounds to go with it besides the giggling of your keys and the distant sounds of crickets coming to life. Though the adrenalin had since worn off, the nerves had not yet seized. You’ve only got through half the battle. And who to say it had even begun in the first place?

The key was a little difficult to find with one hand. With a shaky arm, you plucked it from the batch, loudly shaking it to rid it of its neighbors. It was slotted in with a good push. You didn't have much trouble turning it. It was with a weighted heart you entered the house, stepping one foot, and then the other past the threshold, the door letting out a loud creak to welcome you home. You didn’t appreciate it. Just as quickly as you were cleared, you gripped the edge roughly, firmly shutting the door back up, locking it, therefore silencing it, for the night.

The house was just as quiet. The thunk of the shut door echoed through the house, disturbing the void. You found yourself unwilling to move forward. The feeling in your heart didn’t want you to. It weighed you down to the floor, outright sticking the soles of your feet to the carpet of the doormat. If it wasn’t for the consistency of your arm’s pain, it was possible you would’ve been standing there all night. It keeps you motivated, reminding you of its presence with every throb.

You toe’d your shoes off where you stood, setting the keys down softly onto the table beside it. Eyeing the kitchen sink that was visible from the door, you padded towards it quietly, evading any spots prone to creek. One by the TV, another by the dividing wall, another by the knife drawer. You subconsciously counted them whilst listening to your quiet feet step one, after the other, after the other.

You nudged the water on with your elbow, the liquid coming out the tab in an easy trickle. Putting your hand under the stream, you felt the water for its temperature. You found it was tolerably lukewarm. That should be fine. Muscling the appendage up from its hanging position below the counter, you bent your arm at the elbow, angling your forearm to get the brunt of the water’s force. You winced when it made contact. It wasn’t pleasant at all. As soothing as it should feel, the area was still sensitive, even to the gentle stream. You watched uneasily as the sink was turned a maroon, the red coloring the once clear liquid. From there, you started to gently rinse off the wound, trying to wash away the blood that had since dried and scabbed over. It was a tedious and aggravating task. The blood was stubborn. You had to really scrub to get it to leave, irritating both you and your skin. You started using some of your fingernails when you became impatient, ignoring the pain that came with it. Anxiety started to bubble within you the longer you stood there, the old clock in the living room doing nothing to ease your nerves as it boldly ticked away. Tick tick tick. You swear this was sabotage. Karma has come to get you. If only this would go faster, then maybe you wouldn’t be out in the open so-

“You’ve returned early.”

Whatever you ate from lunch that day immediately tripled in weight, making your stomach drop at the sound of his voice. You stopped rubbing at your arm, freezing the movement entirely. Your posture went rigid, though you tried masking it with a shift in your stance. You refused to turn around to face him. You couldn’t. Not now, not here. You wouldn't risk it. You didn’t trust your poker face at this moment, which was too caught up in showing you trying to figure out a response that remained calm.

You let out a humorless chuckle. It was so unnatural and disingenuous it made you cringe. Not dissimilar to nails on a chalkboard. “Ha ha yeah, we uh- finished up pretty quickly.” You say this while still facing the sink. Though you were no actor, you felt comfortable resuming your washing, this time slowing down with slower, more deliberate strokes as to appear with a facade of calmness.

“I suppose that is good.” Knuckles shrugs as he says, “Based on what you said before you departed.” He begins to walk closer and off to the right, edging his way to your side, unaware of the person on the edge of a mental breakdown right in front of him. Hearing his footsteps grow nearer, you shift your weight to ensure your back is to the echidna, even as he tries to change that. It almost makes you forget what he had just said, not expecting the remark. “Oh- uh, right.” You say, feigning an agreeing attitude.

You recall the event. You loosely remember telling Knuckles you were heading out. When he asked you why, you didn’t want to lie to him. Poor guy has already had enough of that happen to him. So you told him the truth, adapt a vague version of it. “Just something I promised I’d help someone do. Ha ha… I mean, I don’t really want to, but I’d better.” He watched you leave, silently questioned your weird act as you begrudgingly gathered your things. Yet he knew the importance of promises, he himself taking them very seriously. So he let you go without much fuss, despite the twinge of suspicion in the back of his mind.

He seemed to be satisfied with the closed proximity. About 5 feet away from what you could tell just from your hearing. The sound of the water running still remained in the air, serving as the white noise to this one-sided conversation. You couldn’t even imagine how sore your jaw would be after this from how hard you’ve been clenched it. The emptiness laughed at you as the seconds ticked by. What you wouldn’t give to just seal it away, to just find some semblance of peace, to just be and exist normal in this moment without having to breathe fucking manually just to appear fine.

“How did it go?” Knuckles asked, taking up the mantle as the conversation starter. You would have room to think ‘hey he’s not so bad at it’ if you weren’t a little busy. Yet as it all things go, busy turns into anxiety, anxiety turns into panic, and panic turns into bad. Fucking. Choices.

“Fine.”

Fuck.

Now why did you say that?

You could feel your face flare up with heat. Out of fear or anger, you couldn’t know. The only thing you did know, was the suffocating sound of silence that followed. It was so loud. You stopped your scrubbing a little bit ago.

“What are you doing?”

Fuck.

You hear the question, but not really. It’s odd coming from the warrior, you think. Though you don’t really think as you have to figure out something, and fast.

“U-uh, dishes.”

You spit it out before you really have a chance to think about it. You’re proud for a half-second at your white lie, but the celebration is short-lived when your insides move in sickening ways for the second time while in the conversation.

“I’ve already done them. There are none.”

Fuck.

The silence finds some way to be worse than before. It’s brutal. Never ending its assault on your hammering heart, and never yielding to the vulnerability of your mind. Oh my god could you please just-

“Is there something-“

“…”

“What is on your arm?”

FUCK.

The dread is immense. The impending doom of that singular question is incredible. All senses are blocked from you like a deer in headlights, unable to make out the true meaning of the ask. The hole in your chest becomes invigorated in its bloodlust, your own panic spurring it on to mobilize it while also paralyzing you.

“It’s nothing.”

“I don’t think it is.” You miss the way he says it. It’s calming, concerned. His eyes are careful. A completely opposite force to you. But it all completely passes you by in the current state you are in.

He takes a set forward, just one. You recoil, just enough for the echidna to notice. He doesn’t take another one as he continues to speak clearly, yet deeply and seriously. It doesn’t help ease you much at all.

“Let me see.” It's more of a demand than a request. It makes you shrink back, lip curled down in displeasure. You knew he meant no harm, but it doesn’t stop the back of your mind from taking it in a negative connotation.

“No! It-It's fine!” You grasp your injured arm, still futilely trying to keep it out of sight from Knuckles. Your heart beats away in your chest, boiling like a pot of hot water about to spill over. You’re scared, you realize that now. Of what, you haven’t got to that part yet.

He takes another step, undeterred by your protests, which spur him on further. “No, it is not.” He reaches a hand up, open and waiting to grasp yours.

“I’m fine. Knux, really.” You stress, your voice becomes wobbly as do you. “It’s o-ok, just-“

“No.” The echidna says, the tone he uses sounds final, yet soothingly firm. It makes you stop your panic, just a little. Every word that comes next feels like magic, doing almost supernatural things to your head to make you hear them, to really hear them, for what they are. Each is punctuated with a softness unlike anything your friend had ever used before.

“Y/N, let me see your arm.”

“Please.”

You stop. Taking a deep breath in, you take your time to let it back out. It allows you to see things the way they actually are. There, Knuckles stands. Arm raised, palm open. His stance is mostly relaxed, though if you look closer, a hint of anxiety is there. His eyes were kind, sympathetic, the crease of his eye wrinkled with a stress you’ve never seen from him. In battle it was a harder line, strengthened with anger and determination. Here it was nothing like that. It was fragile, gentle, and even looked painful to wear for long.

Moved by the look, you evaluate yourself as you were. As defensive as you are now, in hindsight, what were you defending against?

Slowly, you ease up. You wordlessly turn to face him, and without much thought, you lower your arm down and away from your body, and towards Knuckles’ awaiting hand. He takes it, tenderly turning it over to look at what he had seen a glimpse of before.

He freezes. His eyes widen, jaw literally dropping at what he’s seeing. Yet, he doesn’t say a thing. He’s just as frozen as you were a minute ago. Like a statue he just stands there, not moving an inch as all thoughts and movement cease. It makes you sweat, not doing much to quell your aching heart.

He doesn’t make eye contact, keeping his eyes trained on the sight of your arm before him. The quills on the back of his head and around his face start to raise, puffing out his features to make them appear larger. It seems as if he has a hard time saying it himself, as he grits out the question. Finally, he speaks. His eyes narrow, brow furrowing downward at his own word.

“Who?”

Though it was only one word, it didn’t fail in striking trepidation through your heart. You’re silent as the question hangs in the air, awaiting an answer that you never planned on giving.

But Knuckles still wants it, so he asks again.

“It was them… Wasn’t it?”

His voice lowers as he utters the phrase, even as he tries to keep an even tone. His anger builds as the seconds of silence tick by, seconds that do not deny the question. His mouth contorts at the ongrowing outrage, curling down into a snarl. Even he, who knows the repercussions of not keeping your anger under control, cannot stop the blooming, burning feeling so deep in his gut that it makes everything he’s ever said about remaining calm sound like a lie.

And without a response from you, there's nothing to stop the echidna’s rage.

Suddenly, and without warning, Knuckles drops your arm, which you pull back to you to hold. Then, he just… walks away, wasting no time at all as he makes determined strides to the front door. He’s mumbling words as he goes. If you listen closely, you could hear the more punctuated ones, such as ‘coward’, or ‘unworthy’.

“H-hey!” You stutter out, tripping over your own feet as you try going after Knuckles. “What are you doing?”

“Going to go deal with the problem.” He grumbles, making the situation sound oh-so simple. He’s halfway to the exit at this point.

“Hey wait!” You try again, “Where are you going?? I didn’t tell you where I went.” You take more steps to the door, not covering near enough ground to catch up with him.

“I’ll find them.” Knuckles flat out growls, getting increasingly agitated by the second. His fists tighten into intimating weapons of pure strength, just itching to get one good hit in.

An image plays over and over in his head. You, face pale at his discovery of your bleeding arm, the very real fear that showed in your body language. It angered him. Greatly.

He’s about to reach for the door handle before your feet catch up with your thoughts, legs propelling you forward. Your head spins at the possibility of Knuckles facing those responsible. That is the literal opposite of what you wanted. The thought of it alone is what gets you going faster.

“Don’t!” You shout, grabbing his shoulder to stop him from going any further. “Please don’t.”

“And why not?!” He yells right back, whipping himself around to fully face you. He sheered as he spoke, a grumble to his voice that made him appear more frightening than what he truly was. He used a booming voice that conveyed all of his frustrations pretty clearly. “They need to pay.”

“I-I know- just,” You take a minute to rub your hand down your face, already at your stress limit.

Knuckles interrupts, unable to contain himself at what seems to him is your level of complacency. “It is inexcusable!!” He roars, refusing to back down. “I will not stand for it.” He tried once more to leave, turning away from you. You stop him again, overcome with your own anxiety. You feel the incessant need to fiddle with your hands as you put your foot down.

“I KNOW!” Your scream catches both you and Knuckles off-guard. The house becomes eerily quiet with the lack of noise, the sounds of the pipes and utilities on the edges of their seats as they watch on. You were never one to get aggressive to those you cared for, but desperate times call for desperate measures. And yes, you were, in fact, desperate. Your abdomen cramps, making it harder and harder to sooth the situation like you normally could if you weren’t so caught up in your own head. Your breaths are heavy, holding the weight of everything you have done and said up until this point. You’re sure your lungs are willfully unprepared to take up the burden of what you plan on saying next.

You soon discover you’re right.

“I know-w” you pant, shoulders crumpling in on the rest of your body. “Just pl-please, please dontgo, I donwanna-” It suddenly gets harder to speak, your throat constricting around itself, preventing the words from escaping you. Even it doesn’t want you to sound weak. “I-I’m sorry…”

At this point, you’re at the end of your rope. You were frightened. Of what Knuckles could do, what they could do, what you would do… it all ran through your mind at a million miles an hour. You haven't even begun to rationalize with yourself the event that got you in this mess in the first place, and it was starting to catch up to you. You simply did not have the mental capacity to process all that it happened. And it showed on your face, lines of worry etched into what used to be smooth features. And suddenly you seem much, much older, The sheer pressure adding decades of age, your bones turning frail, matching the vulnerability of your headspace. Your eyes lowered to the ground, head drooping, ashamed of what you feel and afraid of what you've become because of it.

And Knuckles finally sees it all.

The echidna’s own worry lines grow at the realization, his own chest tightening at the sight of you. It’s a strange thing to him, a feeling he had trouble recognizing at first, seemingly forgotten from his younger days with his father. It confused him, and he didn’t exactly have anything to compare it to. How was the battle-hardened echidna supposed to know what it was? Yet with the help of his new family providing guidance and remaining patient, he was eventually able to figure it out, though only roughly. What he did discover, however, is that it often came with his anger.

He was worried. So, so worried.

And that scared him.

He didn’t like feeling worried, not one bit. He detested the idea of him being worried the moment he comprehended he was. Knuckles the Echidna, worried? How ridiculous. It was a weak emotion, he thought at first. It would slow him down, make him vulnerable, and even, worst comes to worst, allow for him to get taken advantage of again. That’s what he told himself, at least.

When he saw your arm, he felt his worry come at full force. It struck through his heart, piercing it with a sharp, clean cut. What he left out of his explanation for his dislike of worry, was the deeper meaning that had apparently escaped all he knew, even his closest friends.

It was the fact that his worry reminded him of everything he had failed to do. Every promise he broke, every vow he made to nobody but himself yet did not hold true. And even then, as he realized the how and the who to the backstory of your injuries, he failed again, once more not delivering on a promise he made to himself: to protect his protector. And oh, did it anger him. It angered him so much. To fail at such an extent, it was downright shameful.

It was easy for the madness to take hold, he often let it. And he did. He let his anger control him when he found your blood exposed to the elements, your skin inflicted with a bruise the size of a baseball. It coursed through his veins at an insane rate, setting his mind into overdrive, acting as a catalyst to every negative image that crossed his mind. A spark ignited within him, the flame erupting within his chest, the flame of revenge. “How dare they? How could they? You?! Of all people to attack? How weak, how pathetic. How dishonorable.”

And in that instance, he remembered his promise, and sought it out to hold it true, by whatever means necessary. It would be easy for him. Light work even, and he would definitely get immense satisfaction in absolutely pummeling your enemies. You wouldn’t even have to lift a finger.

Though easy does not mean right. And as much as he would find gratification in solving this problem for you, your health took precedence over everything. Even this. He knew that, it just took him a minute to fully remember. Your eyes sure helped, pleading, watery, bloodshot from stress, it all came together in a heartbroken concoction, like a liquid potion ready to persuade its victim of anything. And he had fallen for it, though willingly. It wasn’t hard, you were you after all.

He takes a deep breath to settle that smoldering fire within him. “Okay.” He speaks within a new tenderness that does wonders to calm your racing heart. “I won’t go anywhere, nor do anything.”

He grasps your arm carefully, beginning to lead you to the couch nearby. “Come,” he says “let's sit you down. Your wound needs treatment.”

You nod absentmindedly, not exactly understanding, but doing so nonetheless. You follow him one step at a time as you take your seat, Knuckles leading you down all the while. His touch isn’t something many would expect from the tough echidna. It was gentle, delicate, like a soothing balm to cover the sores on your soul. “Stay.” He spoke in a whisper, “I will return with the box of aid.”

“First aid?” You joke weakly, voice cracking with the effort.

Knuckles is either unaware of the gag, or chooses not to react. “Yes, that.”

Without another word, he quickly dashes away, returning just as fast with the kit in hand.

It took some mumbled guidance from you for the echidna to understand what to do. Though that was understandable, since the guy has never had to use the first aid kit before.

He was uncharacteristically careful in how he treated your wound. Every time the pads of his fingers brushed against your skin, it was gentle, almost feather-like. Especially around the mangled tissue of your injury. Here, Knuckles’ touch was that of a ghost. There, but not really. Its presence was felt, surely, though not nearly enough for your senses to pick it up as something harmful. You could confidently say the warrior had not caused you any excess pain. Which was already monumentally better than you.

It was quiet as he worked. It was somewhere between a comfortable and uncomfortable silence. It was hard to tell which. So many things remained questioned, so many things remain unsaid. What could you say? What good will an explanation do? Well, some obviously. You of course knew that. It was still hard though, to say the truth. Even if you’ve known it for years.

As rough as you were, the wound was clean of any dried blood or debris. Knuckles knew as well, and went straight to wrapping it up. Placing a sterile absorbent pad on the bruise he secured it with some medical tape, which he probably used an excessive amount of. But you chose not to say anything. He also examined your bruise on your forearm, though decided there wasn’t much to be done about that. However, it didn’t stop him from putting a bandaid on the area. Again, you let it slide.

Knuckles quickly gathered up the supplies he had gotten from the kit, putting them back in the box haphazardly. I’ll fix it later, you thought to yourself.

The warrior chose to sit by your side about a foot apart from you. Not too close, not too far. He held his tongue for a minute, eyes kept trained on the floor beneath the both of you. Perhaps waiting for you to speak first, perhaps muddling over the same thing you were. It was not easy for anyone to read the echidna’s mind, not unless Knuckles himself said his thoughts aloud.

Which he often did.

“How come you didn’t tell me of this?” He spoke the question in a whisper, matching the delicate atmosphere with the tone of his voice. He looked to face you, eyes missing their usual luster of purple. You hated to be the cause of such a loss.

You had to think for a second. You yourself didn’t know the answer to such an ask, even though you would be the one person who would. You fidgeted with your fingers, picking at the skin of them as your mind twisted and turned. It took several more moments before you could come up with a conceivable answer, one at least an outsider could begin to understand.

“I… I didn’t know what to do.” You started. Knuckles sat to your right, as patient as ever, gloved hands propped up on the coach, which straightened his posture to attention.

You continue as best you could, “I guess- I mean, I think I wanted to handle it?” It comes out in the question, not sure of yourself in the slightest.

“Why?” Knuckles butts in, quick to question the decision. His brows furrowed in confusion, genuinely not understanding.

“Why?” You say back, parrot-like. “Uh-h…” You had to think to yourself again. It’s astonishing how so much over thinking can go right down the drain when you need your excessive ideas the most. “Because uhh, I mean it’s my thing isn’t it?”

The echidna’s face doesn’t change, still frozen in trying to figure out what you mean, and it shows on his face. So you try again. “It’s… my responsibility.”

A deep frown spreads across Knuckles’ face, painting his features in a disapproving way. “Your responsibility?” He repeats. You nod meekly, taking hold of your injured arm to cradle it, still not knowing what to do with your hands.

Closing his eyes, Knuckles huffs out a breath. He stands, pushing himself off the coach in a smooth motion. Your heart jumps at the thought of him walking away and leaving you there alone, but the muscle soon calms to see him turn to face you, coming to stand before you. There you two are level. It's truly one of the only scenarios in which the both of you can see eye to eye, when the warrior can peer right into your eyes without having to look up or down. Just maybe, he chose this on purpose.

Knuckles reach down to your lap, oh so gingerly taking your arm into his hands to hold, looking at the bandaged injury whilst he says his piece, the smoothness of his voice just barely echoing through the home. “My father was a kind soul” he breathes out, “yet he had a habit of keeping the burdens that weighed on him all to himself.”

Your eyes grew wide at the mention of Knuckles’ kin. He’s talked about them before, though this is definitely the most personal it's ever gotten.

“You remind me of him in this way” He looks up to you, eyes with a hazy focus, thumb brushing against the cotton of your bandage softly. “A protector that refuses to be protected.”

The silence is deafening as the two of you contemplate what has just been said. You more so. You’re shocked to say the least. The sentiment of Knuckles comparing you to his own father, someone he loves and respects extensively is… overwhelming. The weight of it seems to help ease your nervousness.

“What role do you think I play in this tribe?” Knuckles asks, titling his head down to try to make eye contact with you. It kind of works, coaxing your own up to face him as well.

“Uh” You stumble, “A guardian?”

Knuckles does the echidna equivalent of a ‘uh huh’. “Yes. I am a guardian.” He continues, “What of the hedgehog and his fox friend?”

You look up to the ceiling, it now appears much more appealing as you think of a response. “Well they’re kind of protectors too.”

Knuckles nods, asking one more time “And Maddie and Tom?”

You’re on a roll, now feeling more comfortable looking Knuckles in the eyes. “Them too.”

“Right.” He says, satisfied. “In our tribe, we all have the role of guardian. And so, we all protect. Especially each other.”

Now you see where this is going. “Knux, I’m not sure if I-”

He interrupts. “Whatever you are about to say- it is wrong.”

“Knux I-”

“No. Wrong.”

“But I-”

“No.”

You give up, giving in to the echidna’s game. You swear you can see a twinge of a smile start to creep onto his face.

“But if I may,” He adds, voice suddenly becoming dimmer as he breaks eye contact to look back at your arm. “I do think there is one difference among us.”

“In what?”

Knuckles takes a breath, seemingly randomly getting anxious. You can’t fathom why. “As a guardian, I am meant to treat all I protect equally.” You nod, agreeing but not getting the point. “Though I do not.”

He slid his hands down to grip your own, head lifting to let his eyes peer into yours unwaveringly. They look to be dripping with his usual determination, along with something else you couldn’t place. Something kinder, something sweeter. “Though each of us were guardians,” he pauses, thinking for a moment “you have had a different duty ever since the EggMan’s defeat.”

You blink, trying to follow as best you can. Knuckles continues, “Your duty is dangerous. Fragile as humans are, I was surprised when you took up the task. It requires constant vigilance, not many could keep it up for long.”

His hands tighten around yours, squeezing momentarily before easing up. Perhaps a reminder for himself. The urge to squeeze back comes and goes. “I have since then grown a respect for you unmatched by any other. Both because of that, and because of your character.”

His pause invokes a special importance, pulling you in. It was captivating, doing its job in changing the atmosphere only slightly. “You are precious to me, as I have grown to know you. More so than the other members of our tribe.”

Your eyes widen, not expecting such a declaration. You have to keep your mouth from opening in shock.

Unperturbed, the warrior continues. The fiercest of his eyes growing with every passing moment. His grip becomes impossibly more gentle, every callous he ever had suddenly disappearing. “Though my focus does lie with the master emerald, it is you that keeps my attention and company Y/N, not any gem or jewel.”

“I don’t know why you would think that.” You blurred out, too caught off guard to think to hold back.

Knuckles takes it in stride, once again taking a breath, wanting to speak as clearly as possible. The effort from keeping his cool shows on his face, a little scrunched with the strain. He leans in to emphasize his next words, yearning to have you understand him. “I do.”

The staticky fog in your mind doesn’t seem so intense anymore.

“You have commendable bravery, and a personality unlike any other. Attributes I now hold dear.” Knuckles returns your hands to your lap, taking the opportunity to straighten the fabric of your shirt, which has since been crooked. The neckline is quickly fixed back into its usual spot with a quick tug upward, letting it fall back into position naturally. He now spoke with a more annoyed tone than before. It would’ve alarmed you about 5 minutes ago, though now you’ve calmed, and know the warrior doesn’t point such frustrations to you, but to the third party in question. “Which is why it pains me to see you overwhelmed in this way. Especially by those who are meant to be closest.”

You worry your palms, growing tired at the lack of things you can actually answer. “I’m sorry” You whisper, “I should’ve told you.”

“It’s alright” Knuckles whispers back, in a way that differs from your own. A way that makes your thoughts coherent. That actually helps you understand that he's telling the truth. “I don’t know much of troubles such as this… but I do know they can be complex to you.”

He rolls his shoulders, instinctively resetting his posture. “But to me?” He shrugs, “Not so much.”

That earns a watery chuckle from you.

The air feels tired, almost rung out of all energy it had. It’s breathable now, and it lets you digest everything, lets the both of you take a moment to grasp with the gravity of the situation. Lets Knuckles figure out what to say next.

“I want you to make a promise.” He speaks, crossing his arms in front of his chest with a huff.

“What kind?”

“My kind.” He responds.

You sit up straight, a little confused. Knuckles takes it as a signal to proceed.

“I want you to promise to ask for my aid if something like this were to happen again.”

You furrow your brow. “Knux, I don’t think I can-”

“Let me restate that.” He rehashes, cutting you off. “I want you to promise to try to ask for my help.”

You bite your lip, looking off to the side in contemplation. Could you? Realistically. It surely was a difficult question to answer, especially with every little negative thought poking into your brain to tell you no. If this question had been asked before, you probably would have said yes just in passing. It would be easy to say yes, just to get the question over with. But now, as you hold the spotlight, you can't lie. Not to him, not right now. It's neither the time nor place. And you don’t think it ever will be.

But as you look at Knuckles now and into his stupidly sweet lavender gaze of his, your true answer starts to become more and more real. Him and that worried look of his does wonders in helping to encourage you to make that leap, to take that chance that you never knew you would be taking. It's so strange, you think, he could do anything, as mountainous as destroying death robots, or as simple as baking a cake with you on a Sunday morning, and it would all still come together into the nice little package of ‘good’ he had to offer. Nothing changed with him, even now, as that same sense of good comes in clutch to hull you away from your enemies and take on the burden instead of you. An honor like that is impossible to find, and irreplaceable once tossed away. You better remember that Y/N.

And that's when your answer becomes clear. Something so profound and special, so kind and gentle, will never be forgotten or taken for granted if you have any say in it. And it will never shake, nor ever waiver. You have a promise to uphold, and you intend to keep it. As a protector, as the protected, and as a roommate.

#rhaz’s works #sonic the hedgehog x reader #knuckles x reader #knuckles the echidna x reader #knuckles fluff #knuckles the echidna fluff #knuckles x reader fluff #sonic the hedgehog fluff #sonic x reader #sonic fluff #sonic fic #knuckles fic #movie knuckles

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spectralgalaxii · 3 months

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Shit's fucked! But not in the way we thought it was?

I am always open to new info, and here is what I know as of about 12 hours ago (I would've posted this earlier but we had to get ready for work by the end of the conversation)

We spent the morning messaging a couple people at Dorian to figure out what the hell is going on with the takedowns, because one of our friends had fanart taken down even though it didn't break any rules. This is becoming a pattern.

Specific email address and name edited out, but here's what we got from them.

Asrabounding also reached out to us himself.

Dorian does keep a record of what they take down. The fanart that hasn't broken any rules is not in their records, especially the stuff on instagram which is where Rhaz was hit. So there's a possibility of someone else reporting posts without permission on Dorian's behalf. (Or instagram's bots are broken, or both.)

If your work has been taken down for copyright infringement you can send an email to [email protected] to see if it was actually Dorian or not. Because if it wasn't Dorian, someone is going rogue and causing trouble and that's also a huge problem.

Believe me, or don't believe me, I don't really care. This is just the info Rhaz and I were given this morning.

#dorian live #the arcana #the arcana game #dorian era

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problemchildzu · 3 months

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I guess i have a more general question. How does mpreg work in this lore?

I also head cannon that the buns and cats have litters. Lol

Honestly I guess it's not strictly mpreg? Guess it depends on who you ask. Kyaris, Rhaz and Fey for example they are intersex, both sets of genitalia that allow them to not only get others pregnant but also be pregnant. Viera are fun in that technically they're genderless until they hit puberty. So however the kids identify that's what they are regardless of what presents. The miqo troupe is the same with two of the partners are technically intersex but are male in how they present. I have an elezen that is Trans but has kids with his partner.

Honestly? Confession time. I hate butt babies. I'm not here to shit all over people who do. You do you friends, but it's the one thing I couldn't really work out in my brain when I was really coming to recognize I loved pregnancy so much. So you likely won't find cis male pregnancy on this page. Now, will I still like art of it? Yeah, maybe birth stuff may be less so but I still love seeing pregnant dudes.

#zu talks

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larkr · 2 years

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of all the wip fics i have for ffxiv, the first one i actually finish is half gore and half rhaz lecturing the ppl trying to k word him

#ffxiv #rhaz maeani #my writing

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second-chance-stray · 3 years

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RP Log: Cravs, Aislinn, and Bertram try to find a buyer for stinky fish in a country of vegetarians.

Aislinn North Comes out from the house like a person moving briskly from one task to the next. Brushing a hand down her skirts, she smiles briefly to Cravendy. "Alright there, Cravendy?" she asks in her usual fashion.

Cravendy Hound - To this day, there have been -at least- five fish deliveries from Dirtpatch to Heartwood, all handled by Bertram Windshadow. The highlander’s feelings about becoming a fish courier was unknown...what was known was that Heartwood’s storage area would soon fill up if the product wasn’t dealt with soon. Crates upon crates upon crates, each full of fish in different stages of decay.

Bertram Windshadow was ponder such a turn of events himself as he walked along the path toward the Heartwood headquarters. It was certainly a stark change of pace for the man but it also came with the blessing of distraction. Something he'd found to be quite the blessing. Even if the perpetual smell of fish was ... maybe less than ideal. He waved a hand to the two standing just outside the yard and flashed a quiet smile, "Cravs! Lin!"

Cravendy Hound is outside, trying to dry some of the fish. But the drying racks are full and there are still plenty more to deal with. She turns to Lin and gives her a somewhat panicked smile. “Eh, er. Hm.” Then after a pause. “Nnn..nno. Oh bugger, Windy. Are ye ‘ere with more to deliver?”

Aislinn North By now she knew well enough not to jump right into the business at hand. Which in this case, was definitely the amount of fish piling up on the grounds. Even so, the looming need to move the product, and *fast* hung over her head. It was starting the smell and soon she feared the aroma would seep into the walls of the house itself. She turned her attention to Bertram as he arrived. She was smiling but her eyes all but dared him to say he had yet another delivery. "Afternoon, Bertram."

Bertram Windshadow: "Uhm ..." Bertram's gaze sweeps over the scene as he quietly processes what it all means, a somewhat nervous chuckle rising up from the man as he notes the look from Aislinn. "I ... uh ... was coming by to borrow a chocobo to haul it up the hill ..." He shifts his attention to Cravendy looking apologetic.

Bertram Windshadow: "But the ice crystals still have some chill in 'em, so ... they should be good for a ... bit!"

Cravendy Hound: “NO...” Cravs sinks to the ground, crestfallen. So soon! And all her efforts would barely cover the first batch, as there were still several more crates to process. That said, Cravs was really just buying time...a house full of fish jerky was still suboptimal.

Cravendy Hound: “The smell is startin’ to attract unwelcome company, if ye catch my drift. So far just small critters, like spriggans an’ squirrels, but if we don’t do somethin’ soon it’s only a matter of ‘when’ a bear’ll come and make itself at home ‘ere.”

Aislinn North groans inwardly at the news. With a shake of her head, she glances between Bertram and Cravendy. "We can't keep stockpiling it all here. Soon we'll all be smelling of fish." she makes a face. "What about...the botanist guild? Surely they need some fertilizer or somesuch?"

Bertram Windshadow watches in muted horror as Cravendy succumbs to piscine despair. Though he is pulled from that moment at Aislinn's suggestion of selling it to the the botanists. "That's a pretty good idea ..."

Cravendy Hound: “Seems like such a waste.” Cravs tips her head to a particular crate that she’s been too scared to open. The wood used to be straw brown, but now it was stained darker from its wet contents. She grimaces and averts her eyes from the disaster. “But we don’t ‘ave a choice for a lot of it.”

[FC]<M'shara Rhaz> if there's so much fish in the house all I can wonder if how badly the races with sensitive noses are suffering [FC]<Altani Misair> Maybe the fish smell good [FC]<Riylli Aliapoh> Did no one deal with the box after it was left there [FC]<Riylli Aliapoh> is it just rotting [FC]<M'shara Rhaz> fish do not smell good [FC]<Altani Misair> Maybe someone sprayed them with perfume [FC]<M'shara Rhaz> *shudder* [FC]<Cravendy Hound> ahahahah

Aislinn North she shoots Cravendy an incredulous look. "It can't possibly be fit for eating at this point. There's nothing for it."

Bertram Windshadow follows Cravendy's gaze to the ominous and unopened crate. "Yeah ... I think we've already passed that threshold."

Aislinn North waves a hand in Bertram's direction. "Maybe we can still sell the new delivery as food but whatever's sitting in that crate there..." she followed Cravendy's gaze to the ominous box like it was a ticking timebomb. "It just has to go."

Bertram Windshadow: "If it makes you feel any better, Cravs, it might be used to become food again."

Cravendy Hound: “By who?!”

Cravendy Hound: “Ye mean that one-” She points to the soggy crate. “-t-that one, as food?!”

Aislinn North tips her head. "I think he means that it'll be used to grow actual food. Part of the cycle. No one would eat it as it is." she assured the Roegadyn.

Bertram Windshadow blinks, trying to parse the question. "Not directly, I mean! But if we can sell as fertilizer like Lin suggested ..."

Cravendy Hound: "OH YE MEAN. AS fertilizer it'll become food again....Not like. Someone’ll eat it like food. Ah." Cravs finally understands. Gods, her mind is far too preoccupied by fish despair.

Bertram Windshadow gestures toward Aislinn, "Yeah, that!"

Bertram Windshadow: "Or maybe swine fodder ..."

Cravendy Hound blushes slightly as she clears her throat. “Ahem. Well, let’s go over and try to sell it to the botanists then. And keep an eye out for anyone interested in the fresher stuff as...instant food.” Cravs grabs a couple of fish samples before she heads out, just in case.

Aislinn North As the wind shifts, the putrid smell drifts their way. "Nymeia's breath." Aislinn chokes. "Alright. Yes, this needs to get solved. Yesterday. Surely we can make some sort of deal."

Bertram Windshadow suppresses the sudden urge to vanish as the scent of ripe fish wafts in his direction. He speaks as though he's being partially strangled, "Yeah. Let's go."

(Cravendy Hound) heading over to the botanists guild :D )) (Aislinn North) ((That firecracker was handy! :D)) (Bertram Windshadow) (( A signal cracker!! *grins* ))

Cravendy Hound - The Botanist’s guild is, as usual, a verdant and bustling place, with farmers diligently working the fields. As the trio approach, one of the guild’s workers stops what he’s doing and freezes in place, nose crinkled and generally confused. “Gods, what’s that smell?”

Bertram Windshadow follows along with Aislinn and Cravendy whilst also holding a russet colored chocobo by the reins and walking them alongside the trio. Hitched to the saddle bags are two small crates of fresh(ish) fish that are being kept chilled via ice crystals. He clears his throat and looks to the others at the cry. "Fish..?"

Cravendy Hound - Cravs realizes the stranger must be talking about her. When she had grabbed samples, she had grabbed a fish from every stage of rot, from unspeakable, to fresh, to bone dry. Figuring that there was no point in hiding it, she presents the source of the smell to the farmer. “Fish...”

Aislinn North Jerks to a halt, a dawning look of embarrassment flashing across her face. She knows it can't be the still fresh fish Bertram has in tow. "It's happened already. We reek of fish." she murmurs leans over and discreetly sniffs Cravendy. "Everywhere we go." a flush of red starts creeping up her neck.

Cravendy Hound: “I can’t tell if it’s ye, or this thing.” Cravs lifts the rotten fish in her hand slightly. “Or me. Or all three. Seven ‘ells, this is bad....Maybe we’re numbed to the smell.”

Aislinn North Realizes what Cravendy has brought with her and pulls back sharply. "Twelve above!" she hisses. "Nevermind." she says somewhat in relief. With a bracing breath, she steps forward and addresses the botanist.

Bertram Windshadow was starting to wonder if he was just going to smell like fish for the rest of his suns. He'd been around the scent for so long now that he was worried that he couldn't really discern it from himself any longer. "We ... uh ... we were hoping that we could, maybe, ... offer a trade with your guild?" He looks toward the botanist thoughtfully.

Aislinn North Nods in agreement with Bertram. "We find ourselves with some good quality fertilizer on our hands and we were hoping you all here might be interested."

Cravendy Hound - The farmer puts down his bag of seeds for a second to listen to the trio’s sales pitch. “Let me guess - fish fertilizer? We’re already stocked up on other varieties of fertilizer. What makes yours different?”

Bertram Windshadow seems entirely at a loss on this one. He's not exactly a botanist and his knowledge of caring for plants was ... middling. He looks over at Aislinn in the hope that she would know something about this, otherwise he'd have to fly by the seat of his pants.

Aislinn North "Namely, it's fish. It does wonders for the overall health of the soil. And the plants really take to it. The gardens at our Company House are quite the sight to see." Aislinn replied as she took a look around the garden plots. "We have an agreement with a fishing village and ended up with a bit of surplus."

Cravendy Hound: “Ye know why Sea Wolves are tall and strong? It’s cause we love fish. And eatin’ it daily ‘elps keep yer eyes workin’....Not that you’d know, since you Gridanian’s don’t eat meat...” Cravs notes, her comment both useless and insulting? She clearly has a bone to pick with Gridanian cuisine. “Anyway, that’s gotta count for somethin’ with the plants.”

Bertram Windshadow nods his head slowly along with Aislinn's explanation before looking back over to the botanist. "And I could make personal deliveries." He looks over to Cravendy's pitch with ... a bit of uncertainty but nods all the same. "It could bring some nutrients that the local varieties don't usually replenish!"

Aislinn North Blinks once at Cravendy's reply. And again. But aside from that small tell, she makes no sign that the comment was anything out of the ordinary and plows ahead, building off of what Bertram had said. "You really can't go wrong with a well-rounded fertilization schedule."

Cravendy Hound - The farmer listens intently to Lin and Bertram, his curiosity piqued. He opens his mouth, about to ask about price and volume, but is interrupted by Crav’s comment. So instead, he gasps, insulted. “Wait, what?! What do you mean by that?”

Aislinn North lets go the quietest of sighs. So close.

Bertram Windshadow takes in a *deeeeeep* breath as he lifts a hand up and rubs the back of his neck, "She ... uh ... she doesn't mean anything by it. She's just not from around these parts."

Cravendy Hound: “I’m sayin’ ye should try it too. Fresh fish. We got that.” Cravs says somewhat aggressively. She steps forward, invading the botanist’s space and looms over him with her fish-begotten height. The farmer shrinks under her shadow. What the HECK is this negotiation - more like intimidation?!

(Bertram Windshadow) (( I'm dying. "Fish-begotten" )) (Cravendy Hound) bad cop good cop confused cop ))

Aislinn North Steps neatly between the looming Seawolf and the botanist with a gentle laugh she certainly doesn't feel but sells all the same. "Or, just the fertilizer. Like Bertram said, our friend is from Limsa, very passionate about seafood. She just wants everyone to try it." as she's speaking, an elbow is nudging Cravendy back. "And I can't blame her. It really is, very good. Very fresh."

Bertram Windshadow takes a step forward and reaches up to touch Cravendy's shoulder with a pleading smile, "That's right. She feels real strongly about it, but it comes from a place of passion and knowledge."

Cravendy Hound - There isn’t much space between Cravs and the farmer, so for a second, Lin, Cravs, and the poor man are sandwiched against each other - chest to back to chest. At Windy’s touch though, Cravs backs down and takes a step back. She has more to say, but senses that maybe she should leave the talking to the others.

Cravendy Hound - The botanist is visibly shaken and annoyed. “Tell your oversized friend that around these parts, we live in harmony with the forest and Elementals! That our meals are balanced and wholesome!” He huffs, arms crossed.

(Aislinn North) ((I love the visual of us all just piling on this poor botanist XD)) (Cravendy Hound) probably never gotten a sales pitch like this before ))

Bertram Windshadow pats Cravendy's shoulder as she backs off from the botanist. Something that the man says seems to spark a thought. "I guess ... these fish would be like a wholesome meal for the plants that is in harmony with the forest? The fish returning to the soil..?"

Aislinn North For a moment, Aislinn stills and her smile grows tighter. Insults thrown in her direction rolled off her like water off a duck's back but insults tossed uncaringly at her friends were an entirely different matter. Even so, she tries valiantly to keep sight of the bigger picture. She merely nods along with what Bertram had said deciding it was much better than what might slip from her mouth.

(Cravendy Hound) return to soil )) (Bertram Windshadow) (( He's trying his best. )) (Cravendy Hound) I love all of this xD )) (Aislinn North) ((Ahh yes, the soil. Natural habitat of fish XD))

Cravendy Hound is being placated by Windy...for now. But when she hears the botanist spit an insult back, she nearly goes right back at it. Teetering on the edge of doing something rash, Cravs grabs tightly onto Windy’s shoulder and whispers harshly in his ear. “Guh, I know I shouldn’t, but I wanna give this whelp a new eye socket. ‘old me back, alright?”

Bertram Windshadow feels the vice like grip upon his shoulder and shifts his attention back to Cravendy. He listens quietly to the request before lifting his brow and, ultimately, giving a firm nod. "I'll do my best, Cravs, but you have fish-fueled strength." He offers back in a hushed tone.

(Aislinn North) ((*dies*))

Cravendy Hound - The botanist is at the limits of his patience and desperately wants this colorful trio to leave him alone so he can work. He raises his hands up in defeat. “Fish returning to the soil? I....doesn’t everything return to the soil eventually? Agh, look. Just. How much are you selling this for? If it’s a good price I might be willing to try, provided you throw in free samples as an apology for how your colleague acted. VERY generous free samples.”

(Cravendy Hound) LOL )) (Bertram Windshadow) (( I couldn't help myself! ))

Cravendy Hound: “Free samples?! F-for wh... Alright, this bloody drylander is askin’ for an ass kickin.” Cravs growls under her breath. She tries to lunge forward, truly testing Bertram’s strength.

Bertram Windshadow does his best to hold Cravendy in check! He slips his arm through her own and tries to lock it there ... or as best as he can! "Cravs ... we're *trying* to get rid of the stuff!" He whispers sharply.

(Bertram Windshadow) (( Good lordy. She's so much taller than Bertram. )) (Cravendy Hound) djfkls the contrast between professional and the absolute clownfoolery in the back ))

Aislinn North The only thing keeping the smile on Aislinn's face at the moment is the thought of this man opening up the dark, fish juice soaked crate that currently sat back at Heartwood. "Certainly. I can have that sent over straight away." she paused, a look of consideration on her face before tossing out a gil price per ponze of fertilizer. Discounted but still enough of a profit knowing the need to get rid of the stuff while still giving Dirtpatch something for their efforts.

Cravendy Hound is like a lion on a frightfully thin leash. For the moment she is held back, but for how long?

(Bertram Windshadow) (( *laughs and grins* Also, if you want me to roll or anything to hold by the fish primal just let me know. )) (Bertram Windshadow) (( *hold back )) (Cravendy Hound) oh god I desperately would want you to roll higher than me )) (Cravendy Hound) let's roll the dice why not xD )) (Aislinn North) ((famous last words)) (Cravendy Hound) also LOL the fish juice soaked crate....true fear )) (Cravendy Hound) Random! 664 (Bertram Windshadow) Random! 815 (Cravendy Hound) -wipes brow in relief- )) (Bertram Windshadow) (( Fate provides relief! )) (Aislinn North) ((Whew!))

Cravendy Hound - The botanist considers the price, considers the free sample, considers the sight of Bertram holding Cravs back....and finally gives. “Okay. But if this fertilizer isn’t up to par, we have the right to get a refund. Eh, hope this stuff really is a wholesome meal for the plants.”

Cravendy Hound isn’t able to break free from Windy’s grasp, and he buys enough time for the botanist to agree. This, in turn, is enough to defuse Crav’s fighting spirit.

Bertram Windshadow manages -- by some miracle -- to hold back the tide of fury boiling over in Cravendy, though he does hope and pray that the botanist either hurries or keeps his mouth shut a much a possible. He doesn't want to have to explain to the Wailers why there's a botanist outcold that smells of spoiled fish.

Bertram Windshadow heaves a sigh of relief as the tension seems to settle.

Aislinn North shakes her head. Did he take them for fools? The price was already discounted. All she could see was him opening up the crates of decaying fish and sending it straight back. They'd be in the same situation a sennight from now. "Alright, that's fair." she allowed. "But if you decide it's not up to snuff, we'd like to come back and see the plants that you feel didn't benefit before issuing a refund." she replies.

Cravendy Hound - The man nods. “That’s fair. I’ll bring this up with the guildmaster and we can draw up official agreements, refunds and conditions included.”

Cravendy Hound shakes her arm free from Windy. Thank the twelve for Lin. It looks like she has something to say, but wants to wait until they leave.

Bertram Windshadow exhaled a sigh of relief as the botanist seemed to take to the demand reasonably. "And I'll be happy to come in and check up routinely for a moon or so!" He fully pulls his hands away from Cravendy as he decides to trust the roegadyn not to throttle the botanist now.

Aislinn North nods as the polite smile returns to her face. "We'll leave you some samples now." she waved to the decaying fish Cravendy had brought with her. "And we'll stop back later to sign the agreement. I'm excited to see how the plants here are going to take off once you start rotating in our fertilizer." turning to Cravendy and Bertam she gives them a look of utter relief. "We'll be getting out of your way now."

Bertram Windshadow nods in fervent agreement with Aislinn before looking over to the botanist with a small smile, "It was ... uh ... a pleasure doing business with you. I look forward to speaking again!" He then looks back to his two companions and quiets his tone slightly, "That ...wasn't so bad?"

Cravendy Hound places the rotting fish at the farmer’s feet and then backs away awkwardly. The farmer simply stares down at it and then at the three as they make their way out. The silence that follows is particularly uncomfortable for Cravs. What an experience.

Aislinn North Is only too happy to beat a hasty retreat before the botanist tries to change his mind.

(Cravendy Hound) lmao I like to think we ICly RAN AWAY )) (Bertram Windshadow) (( "Scatter!" )) (Aislinn North) (( Ahahaha! 'They bravely ran away'))

Cravendy Hound: “Pah, fish this high quality, and it’s just goin’ straight into the ground. What a goddamn waste!” Cravs bemoans, her agitated expression more intense than usual. She rubs the space between her brows. “Maybe there’s an underground market for this kinda stuff...I know there’re miqo’te in the woods that might be more open to eatin’ fish.”

Aislinn North Once they're far enough away, a rush of breath escapes her. "Alright, the important thing is we've dealt with the spoiling fish problem. From here on out, we can try and find takers who are actually interested in the fish as -food-."

Bertram Windshadow follows behind as they make their hasty retreat from the botanist's guild, leading the chocobo along with him. "That *does* take care of the more critical problem." He turns his attention to the crates on the chocobo's sides. "That just leaves the fresher catch..."

Aislinn North "Hopefully there are people around here a litt more open minded than that...." she stops herself. "man." from the stress she puts on the word it was clear she had something more colorful in mind. "Miqo'te, you say? Maybe some Keeper tribes?"

Cravendy Hound: “I can’t believe that man!” Cravs hears an echo of herself gently speaking back - but you started it. Undeterred, she shakes her head. “And he ‘as the gall to complain about how the fish stinks, when they’re usin’ literal shite as fertilizer too? Bloody shove it.”

Bertram Windshadow: "Sometimes it's the novelty of the stink that really gets people ..."

Cravendy Hound: “We’re givin’ ‘em the caviar of plantfood, and then ‘e’s askin’ for a discount, for samples,” Cravs grumbles. She sighs. But Lin was right, at least the problem of Heartwood filling up with fish was dealt with.

Aislinn North Nods to Bertram. "Shite, they're used to. Fish, not so much. But once they see the results, they'll stop complaining.

Bertram Windshadow nods his head slowly before lifting a hand and rubbing the back of his neck, "So ... we should look for one of the keeper tribes out in the Shroud?"

Cravendy Hound: “Worth a shot. A lot of ‘em ‘ave been branded as poachers though, so they might be ‘ard to find. Maybe Riylli could ‘elp us get a foot in the door.”

Aislinn North offers up a placating hand. "But think about it this way. You don't have to open that jack-in-the-box of decaying fish now. That joy belongs to him." she looks to Bertram and nods. "I think that's our best bet. Especially if that man's attitude is prevalent around these parts."

Aislinn North "Aye, maybe Riylli could help, if she's willing."

Cravendy Hound smiles smugly at the thought of the man dealing with /the/ wet crate. Hopefully, he wouldn’t return the merchandise, but still. It felt good to be petty.

Cravendy Hound: “That’ll be a once in a lifetime experience for ‘im. Windy, make sure ye run at least a malm away, in case ‘e wants to open it the moment ye deliver it.”

Bertram Windshadow glances over at Aislinn at the mention of pulling in extra help. "Well, I certainly wouldn't turn down someone that's more familiar with them. I can't say I know which would be the best to approach with this sort of offer." Bertram has chosen not to think about the horrifying pandora's box of the sea.

Bertram Windshadow looks at Cravendy at *that* comment. "I'll be ready to run ... don't you worry."

Aislinn North Seeing she had successfully hit the mark with appealing to Cravendy's vengeful side, she turns back to Bertram. "We'll have to move quickly though if we don't want the latest shipment to end up in the ground again." she glances over at Cravendy. "Can you try and track her down? See if she'd help us and soon?"

Cravendy Hound: “I can catch ‘er at the next bar night. Riylli...I don’t know where she lives, actually. She’s the type to drop in and out at ‘er own schedule,” Cravs notes. “Meanwhile, Windy, if ye can find others that might be interested, other Keeper clans or otherwise. I’ve found that when ye ‘ave rules on what ye can and can’t ‘ave, there are always interested parties willin’ to pay premium for illicit goods.”

Aislinn North snorts delicately. If that wasn't the gods honest truth, she didn't know what was.

Cravendy Hound gives the two a hearty thumbs up. A job well done! Well, it was mostly Lin, and

Bertram keeping the situation from diving nose-down into disaster. But regardless, a job well done.

Bertram Windshadow nods his head firmly, "Yeah, I can do some scouting ..." his gaze drifts in the direction of the chocobo at his side, "And ... I'll keep these crates on ice as best I can."

Aislinn North glances at the crates. "We've got some more ice crystals back in Heartwood's lab. We can fill them up."

Bertram Windshadow reaches up and scratches the neck of the chocobo fondly before looking back to the others, "Compared to selling spoiled fish selling edible fish should be a breeze, right?"

Aislinn North "One would hope." she returns dryly

#ff14 rp logs #Cravendy Hound #Aislinn North #Bertram Windshadow #this didn't happen more than ten days ago and I forgot to post the logs nope!!#djkfsl guilty as charged #this was a GOOD ONE THO #FISH

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dak-legacy · 4 years

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Tyra’Xiachayl - The Cursed Red Dragon

Lady Tyra’Xiachayl. Child of Ashzu, Red Dragon, and Mistress of Flame.

This was once how Tyra would embellish herself. A proud and fierce creature, she invoked terror into the hearts of those who angered her, and commanded respect from those fearful of her.

History

Tyra, and her sister Maya, were born in the isolated Underdark city of Ashzu. Her family held sway in the court of the city’s ruler, The Greatwyrm Wymar, though not very much. They were a wealthy noble family of lesser birth. This didn’t stop Tyra from enjoying the privileges granted to her by her position. She was the very definition of a spoiled brat. The only thing bigger than Tyra’s ego was her fear of the surface, and the humanoids who inhabited it.

From an early age Tyra heard stories of the greed and evil that humanoids wrought upon dragon kind. Hunting them for their wealth, their skin, glory, any reason they could muster to hunt her kind. Tales of dragons who had left Ashzu often ended in insanity or death on the part of the wyrm, and Tyra bought every sentence of the stories with no questions. Her fear turned to hatred as she grew older, seeing humanoids as needing to be ruled and kept in line through fear.

Her only tempering came from her sister, Maya’Xiachayl.

Maya was Tyra’s best friend, and the only one to ever temper Tyra’s anger. Unlike her sister, Maya was calm and measured in her approach. She was wise and powerful. A measured ruler and the perfect inheritor of Tyra’s family line. Tyra even had hopes that one day Maya would be chosen to succeed Wymar as ruler of Ashzu, seeing Wymar’s own children as too weak to possibly follow such a powerful legacy.

During her formative years Tyra trained as a squire to another dragon, Lady Vashti. Vashti was another powerful dragon, much older than Tyra and fiercely strong. Even in her humanoid form Tyra aspired to be as great as Vashti.

As she grew Tyra became less interested in maintaining her humanoid form, choosing to remain draconic as often as she could. Her relationship with her family became strained with Tyra taking less interest in court but demanding to still be part of the ruling of the house. On top of this Maya became distant with her sister, leaving for long periods of time and rarely speaking to her.

One day, when Maya was due to return from a long trip away, Tyra had a rare moment of wisdom. She saw Maya slipping away from her, not wanting to lose her sister Tyra sought to make amends starting with a small gesture. She assumed her human form and went to buy a present for her sister upon her return. Unfortunately when Tyra came home she found that Maya had been murdered, her body had been bought home for the family to grieve over. Tyra was told that Maya had been murdered by a group of people who infiltrated Ashzu to steal its riches. With this story Tyra’s anger resurfaced with a vengeance.

Following Maya’s death, her family refused to seek a resurrection service. Tyra could not understand why, and for her sister she would do anything. Tyra stole 25,000 gold pieces worth of items from her personal treasure hoard and made her way to the surface, seeking a powerful cleric to perform the ritual of True Resurrection.

Tyra found someone very quickly. In the northern realms near the city of Winterholt she found the Bastion of Sages, home to the Sage of the North, Gilbert and his apprentice Elyse. Gilbert was indisposed at the time, but his apprentice was more than capable of performing the ritual. She refused, however.

Elyse attempted to explain that resurrection is not a simple spell. It requires divine intervention from the gods of the caster, as well as compliance on the part of the soul who may have found peace in the afterlife.

Tyra did not want to listen. Enraged at the defiance of this humanoid she attacked Elyse. The two fought for a long while, destroying part of the bastion in the process. Elyse pushed Tyra to her very limits, but eventually Tyra emerged victorious, burning the cleric with her dragon fire.

Injured and dejected Tyra returned home, only to find her family waiting for her.

Word of Tyra’s crime had spread quickly. The Sage, Gilbert, now hated all Red Dragons and Ashzu for her crime. Tyra was dragged before the court of Wymar and her sentence was clear. Exile.

Her draconic aspects were sealed deep in the depths of her soul by the court wizard and she was banished from her home. Unable to assume her true form and saddened at further loss Tyra wandered the world, with only her anger to warm her on the cold nights.

Involvement with the Saintess of Light & the Main Party.

Three years after her banishment Tyra heard rumor that the son of Wymar, Voss was in the desert city of Rhaz receiving tutelage from a humanoid Wymar was friendly with. Seeing potential in seeking and audience with Wymar she traveled to the city to confront him.

Tyra found herself met with his large retinue, headed by Vystra, brother of Vashti. She exchanged heated words with the young prince and his enforcer, receiving a slap to the face for her trouble. Angered by impertinence by someone who was far beneath her in her eyes she stormed off, cursing in draconic.

Voss warned his tutor, Horatio Atherton, of Tyra. Explaining that it was because of her that his mother, Wyla’s, resurrection could not be pursued as Gilbert had declared he would not provide such services to them. While Horatio knew that Wyla was not dead, he could not tell the young boy and took his warning graciously to be wary of Tyra and her hatred of humanoids.

Meanwhile Tyra wandered Rhaz, realizing quickly that her pockets were becoming empty. She sought employment and quickly found work for one such as her.

Tyra met with the Saintess of Light, Aelia Crassi, and her party, after reading a notice about needing help in an upcoming battle. They consisted of the young Wyther Marche, a gnome named Brooke, a northern dwarf named Fortinbras, and the wizard Horatio Atherton.

Horatio informed Aelia as to his distrust of Tyra, though they couldn’t be picky about the help that came before them. Tyra was given a place on their first job, retrieving a staff of power for one of the other Saints to use in a vital battle. Seeing this as a chance to test this party’s resolve she came along.

The party were teleported to the southern Dolman jungles with the task of retrieving a staff from a temple of Yuan Ti, snake people and worshipers of a demon god.

Tyra proved herself quickly in battle, assisting in the cutting down of many Yuan Ti, though the party remained distrustful of her, not knowing exactly what it was she had done.

After successfully retrieving the staff she attempted to recruit the party to help her return to Ashzu and plead her case to Wymar to remove the curse and give her back her power, as well as revive her sister. However the party shot down her request stating that the upcoming battle was far more important.

Unbeknownst to Tyra, Horatio had used his connections in Ashzu to already request Wymar’s help for this battle, a request which was granted.

Tyra followed, reluctantly, to the Golden Isles, a beautiful paradise of an archipelago, where she had been told a demonic incursion had occurred. She doubted the assessment of the situation until she saw the destruction wrought.

Through combined forces consisting of multiple powerful Saints, draconic forces from Ashzu, naval support from Rhaz and arcane artillery from the city of Geffen, the party were able to battle their way through the Isles and slay the mastermind behind it. The Monk of Pale Night, Dontae.

Upon her return to Rhaz, Tyra sought another resurrection for her sister from the Saintess of Rhaz, Nina. She was met with the same words Elyse had echoed to her years before. With her anger quieted and her ears open Tyra listened to them for the first time. Not only could this ritual possibly fail, but with her actions Tyra may have doomed any chance she had at returning home, and having her sister back. She realized too that the actions she had taken since Maya’s death would certainly have made her sister saddened and disappointed by them.

Distraught and alone Tyra pledged herself to Aelia, the Saintess of Light. She wished to find redemption in the eyes of her sister, and saw a possible way to do that by following someone who might embody Maya’s ideals better than she ever could.

Now Tyra finds herself in the North, fighting against the regime of blood and death in the form of the vampires who have terrorized these realms for generations. The Saintess traveled there to end the parasitic threat to the North’s people once and for all, and Tyra followed, still seeking actions that might redeem her in Maya’s eyes.

Mechanics & Stats

Tyra is functionally a human with limited Red Dragon features. Her class Warlock, with her patron and pact being Hexblade and Pact of the Blade.

Her patron takes the form of her draconic powers, sealed deep within her but still crying out to be tapped into. Tyra is able to manifest these powers as a magically bound weapon forged from her draconic essence. She is also able to muster limited uses of powerful spells and abilities such as Terrifying Presence, and Dragon’s Breath.

Str: 14

Dex: 14

Con: 20

Int: 10

Wis: 8

Cha: 20

Tyra is trained in the use of both martial and simple weapons, as well as how to effectively use shields in combat. Her preferred weapon is a segmented longsword, combining the effects of a whip and longsword into an elegant and powerful sword which she feels mimics her tail.

She is able to speak common and draconic, though her common is broken at times. She does not enjoy speaking it and much prefers to converse in her native language. Surprisingly she can also speak Ignan, the language of the fire elemental, which stems from her reverence of flame and that aspect of her.

#Tyra'Xiachayl #D&D #Character Bio

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demdalian · 4 years

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Akira Aelia Rhaz /// From my original work, Excelsior

The "Lost Heir" to the once mighty, now fallen Empire of Rhaldea. Believed to have been killed as a baby in the Siege of the Rhaldean capital. She was captured and raised since she could to walk to be a deadly cybernetic assassin with the powerful ability to travel through time kill her targets without mercy. Although deep down she is reclusive, nervous and awkward she puts up a cocky, playful, and sarcastic front to push away the Blaze Star Commander, Marina Anahid, with whom she had fallen deeply in love with.

#oc #original characters #original character #original art #traditional drawing #traditional art #artists of color #female artists #artists on tumblr #watercolor #arteza #brush pen #nonbinary

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sasha-rochester · 6 years

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Such a sweet venom that drips from your teeth, a silver tongue all too comfortable in your mouth. The weaving of intrigue and betrayal clings to you and We have rejoiced to watch you work. What more could We offer? What crown could We lay at your feet for the simple pleasure of being nearer you? Come to Us, darling liar. Come to Us and We will give you everything you could desire out of this existence.

“Sounds like a lure to a trap.” Sasha flipped the letter over, her eyes scanning the paper for any hint of the source. Finding nothing, she frowned and set the letter on her desk. “Adelard, contact Cynrid for a meeting tomorrow.”The elezen butler quirked a brow, “…You’re not just dismissing this? It isn’t the first time you receive a letter that sounds like a recruitment for a cult.”“Yes, but those letters usually don’t accuse me of being a venomous liar.”“But you are a venomous liar.”“Alright, but most people don’t know that. These people know something and I need to know how much information about me is out there. I need to know their sources, because frankly, I don’t like feeling watched.”“But you are being watched.”The woman scoffs, “You’re really not helping, Adelard.” She fell silent for a few moments, letting a soft sigh slip through her nostrils before she spoke again, “I need to know who is watching me and what they know. Information can be used against me, I can’t afford that.”Adelard pushed his reading glasses up the bridge of his nose, his gaze distant. “It sounded like they wanted an alliance of sorts-”“But I’m not that naive, and neither are you. That sales pitch is something I, myself have used before. ‘I’ll give you the world,’ ‘I’ll make you a king,’ etcetera, etcetera… Those are the words of empty promises coined by someone who will exploit people’s ambition and pursuit of power to their own benefit. I don’t trust it one bit.”“You’d certainly know.”“Anyway, I need to find the source.”“So… You’re coming to them.” The elezen gently shook his head, a cocky glint in his eyes “Just like they are requesting in that letter.”“I’m not stupid, Adelard. Besides, they included no address or time for a meeting, even if I wanted to come to them, I’d be incapable of doing it.” She folded her arms in front of her chest, leaning back against her desk as she took a deep sigh.There was a silence for a moment, a silence all-too-familiar to the butler as he tilted his head with a knowing smirk, “… But?”“But I’m still curious.”Bingo. Adelard snorted, “It’s either your arrogance or your curiosity. I’m starting a wager with Rhaz about what will kill you first.”“I’ll have Cynrid look into this.” She picked up the letter and neatly tucked it back into the envelope, “If they are truly interested in meeting me but provide no information for this to happen, then the only conclusion I can come to is that they either will provide me with a location in the future or they will come to me.”“Which one appeals to you the most?”“If they know enough information about me, neither. We’ll have to keep an eye out for this. Gods know what those empty promises are hiding, but it probably won’t be pretty.”“Spoken like a true business woman.” Adelard grinned, “I’m almost proud of you.”Sasha rolled her eyes, dismissing his comment with a soft scoff, “Set up a meeting with Cynrid for tomorrow, we have a lot to talk about.”

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vexyvex · 4 years

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Prompt 5: Matter of fact

The jungle was an interesting place, walking along tall tree branches and roots that made for walkways and bridges over gaps. The canopy was thick and made the atmosphere very humid and dark. As Mjra trailed a hand over the bark of the tree she sat in, she let out a sigh while looking over her village. “And what are you thinking about with such a sound as that, child?” She looked up, her mentor standing over her with arms crossed. “Oh, sorry Malva. I was just—”

“Just thinking about seeing the world away from home. Like you always do when you come up to the canopy.”

Mjra slumped her shoulders, looking down towards her sisters as they went about their day. Some were coming back from hunting, others tending to wounds, some caring for the young, among others. “I just think that it would be fascinating to see! We never hear from the Veena, and with how close some of the outsiders live…. We could—I could learn so much!” She looked up at her mentor, knowing the disapproving gaze she would find there. “Mjra, we have gone over this a dozen times. Your place is here with your sisters. You are a wonderful healer and have saved so many of your family from hunting trips gone wrong. Or do you forget that? What about when you had to tend to Rhaz after she got caught between a Warden and those outsiders who wanted to come in here, hm?” The older Viera shook her head. “You are old enough to be done with these silly fantasies, I commend your desire to learn but I cannot allow them to continue. Go back to your post and see to your sisters returning from their hunts.”

Mjra’s eyes blinked open, her vision blurry for a few seconds before the book in front of her came into view. It had been almost a decade since she had dreamt of her life in the jungle. “I hope you are all well…” She sat up, stretching before pushing away from the desk and moving to the galley on the airship to get something to eat. The Viera was lost in thought as she nibbled on a biscuit when someone else came into the galley. “Oh, Mjra! I didn’t realize you were still here.” Her ears swiveled at the voice, turning her head with a nod. “As a matter of fact, yes. I have not left save to gather more books to research. The desk in the infirmary is quite comfortable and gives me plenty of space to work while I keep watch over X’chai.”

#ffxiv #Balmung #FFxivWrite2020 #ffxivwrite #Mjra

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undonerhapsodize · 1 year

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a fantasy au where you, a warlock of the forest, rescues bakugou, a werewolf.

he reasons that he will stay with you in your secluded home until his pack returns to the area. meanwhile, he will help you in taking care of the forest so he ‘doesn’t owe a dept’, becoming your familiar in the process

#rhaz’s works #bakugou x self insert #bakugou drabble #bakugou imagine #bakugou x reader #bakugou x you #fic inspiration #fic ideas #bnha bakugou #bnha x you #bnha x reader #wolf bakugou #werewolf bakugou

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spectralgalaxii · 2 months

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Also I have an anon asking for a full proper review of dorian, I promise we’re working on it. There’s just a lot of stuff cover and Rhaz and I have very little free time at the moment

#dorian live #the arcana #the arcana game

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problemchildzu · 3 months

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Anything, really. up until that post, i thought they were all babies. Lol

Isla has my eye the most, though.

I could give a run down of them all! They're fun. Now imma preface this with my head canon that, Viera, miqote, hrothgars probably have litters. It's more normal for them and their bodies are capable of handling larger pregnancies cuz...well cuz I wanna head canon that. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Isla is Fenn's oldest (Kyaris has 3 others from a certain Forum member). She's headstrong and would always challenge them growing up. Isla idolized her dad and the warder lifestyle, and she wanted to be that, but no one was sure that was cool because of how isolationist Viera can be. She wasn't born in the woods, so they were sure she would get chased out if she tried. As soon as she could, she traveled to where Fenn was born and met up with her grandpa, who begrudgingly took her on. She ended up thriving in that lifestyle, just really fit her very well. She's a tough nut, and she felt like she had something to prove. She ends up getting pregnant with her first son Erran, then when he's 12, she has her next litter of six. She ends up being exclusive with another warder, but that took over a decade for him to come around to the idea. She didn't push whatever happened. it was cool by her. She has big feelings for him and is happy he stuck around.

Rhaz is the next oldest. He's a bit of a hot head and got into fights with Isla a lot. It was fun for her infuriating for him. He has less confidence but is good at playing off like things dont bother him. He never took to fighting or anything like that but boy he loved to craft. Their family owns a weapons shop where they make a lot of the things there and he started working there young. It was all he wanted to do tbh. That's where he met Pavi and developed a huge major crush in the cute Viera paladin. They end up together and had their first little girl. No one, not even rhaz knew he was pregnant that little girl just showed up and Rhaz freaked out when he gave birth. His husband later brings home a little girl Viera caught in a bad situation and they adopt her. His life is pretty low key. He ends up taking over the shop when the parents retire.

Fey is the child they trust with anything! She was always fiercely independent and reliable. Kept to herself but has a sass streak that can sneak up on you when you're least expecting it. She helped babysit when the youngest was born, she was also the one in charge of her older siblings, which she might lord over them if she was feeling petty that day. She felt in love with a family friends garden and often asked to help out there. From there she started working at the botanists guild and part time in the family shop. She has a partner she discovered by accident in the woods. Merrins story is really fucking sad and it made him really timid and scared so she took him home to help. She wasn't about to leave this poor bun who faited at the slightest thing. Eventually they got super close and had their own babies, I wanna say four? Honestly we lose track sometimes. Fey is not the one who got pregnant, she wanted kids but she never wanted to go through that while Merrin did, so it worked out! They'll probably have more bit we haven't gotten that far.

Myrrh is the sweet baby who can do no wrong ever in pretty much the eyes of the whole family. Right off the bat this kid was a struggle, he was premature and for awhile they were scared he'd just die. He is blind like his dad though his is from a defect while Fenn is blind because of an injury. Him being blind wasn't a big deal really but he had a weaker constitution over all. He was sheltered and coddled for way way too long but when he was 18 he convinced his family he wanted to be independent and they only allowed it cuz he went to live with Fey. She gave him space to be independent butbhave someone in case he needed it. He ends up meeting Rhune (part of the miqo troupe was probably gonna post them tomorrow) and kind fell head over heels for him. Rhune was an adventurer so kind of hand a whirlwind romance before he left. Myrrh ended up pregnant and had a litter, though Rhune came back and they're pretty happy. He had (I think) 3 in his first, then a singleton then another of 5 which nearly kills him so they stop there.

Omg that was more than I expected to write, but I guess if you have other questions, I'm down to answer. They're good kids, and we're always talking about different stuff with them.

#zu talks #zu oc

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larkr · 2 years

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jfc y’know it’d be a lot easier for me to figure out the whole primal thing for rhaz if i confidently understood how the elements and polarities worked in ffxiv.

#blah blah blah #rhaz maeani #someone either explain like i’m 5 or just shoot me in the head #does eorzea have “aether for dummies or am i gonna have to write it myself

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undonerhapsodize · 1 year

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Patience, Just for You

Part 2

BlueLock Kunigami Rensuke x g/n!reader TW: swearing, fluff, casual conversation, reader is a little odd, nice and considerate Kunigami Word Count: 7.8K

Summary: You meet Kunigami once more by chance, getting more acquainted with him in the process. His normalcy and friendliness makes you wonder, are the vibes you're getting warranted? Or are you making something from nothing at all.

Side Note: FINALLY. After A WHOLE YEAR- part 2 arrives. I’m SO sorry for how stupidly behind this is- it’s kind of ridiculous. But please stick around!! I plan to make updates on this fic more regular. Another note: I just wanna say I’m making the reader have a messy head on purpose. This could be interpreted as on the neurodivergent spectrum and/or as mental illness. While I don’t think I could ever fully capture how it is to be not neurotypical into exact words from my own experience, hopefully the characteristics displayed will add more substance to the story while giving representation to those who experience the same unorganized headspace and spiritic thoughts the reader does. Any constructive criticism to how I portray this in writing is very welcome :) ENJOY

Previous Part

The grass beneath your feet was more stiff than before. The cold made it so: it’s moisture semi-frozen because of the lowered temperature. Crunching with each step, it collapsed under the weight of you. Routinely making your way up the slope of your eating spot, the hard ground of the incline leads up to its highest point: the top of the hill. The green seemed to make hissing sounds in objection to your intrusion, in a display of distaste to your arrival.

The protesting sounds stopped when you did. Reusing the same motion as the day before, you patted the ground with your hand, checking for any unwanted moisture. Once again, there wasn’t any to be found. You placed your bag down, flat side parallel to how your back is soon to be. Crouching first, you ease into sitting on the cold grass, relaxing your back and leaning against the bag in order to provide at least some level of comfort that the iced hill definitely did not provide.

The weather hadn’t changed much from the previous day. The cold stayed put like a stubborn mule unwilling, unable to concede. You didn’t expect it to. Autumn had just begun. Day after day after day the chill would remain. From now until time took its course, it would stay, growing in strength with each passing week or so.

And this time, you planned. The jacket you wore now was thicker than yesterday’s. Layers of padding kept you from much of the chill’s bitterness. Though some parts endured the cold in its fullest, going unguarded against it. Your hands were one of those. Some of their feeling was lost to you, mostly numb and stiff from going unprotected against the weather. Whatever sensation they had left was not a pleasant one. It made you want to stuff your hands as deep into your pockets as possible, wanting to bring back the normality of warmth.

But you couldn’t do that. They were currently preoccupied with holding a familiar styrofoam container. The same from the day before.

Setting it into your lap, you allowed your arms to rise up and cross over your chest, your hands wedging themselves into the space in between the inside of your forearms and your sides. The temperature difference caused a shiver to erupt from your spine, the heated area not used to the new sensation. You hugged yourself tighter, willing the sharpness of your fingers to stop affecting you so.

After a short minute, you start to feel some of the life flow back into the extremities. Unfolding yourself, you reach for the container sitting in your lap. Hand clasping the lid and opening the tray, the smell of the warm food easily flowed through the air and to your nose. The stench of each article mixed together, creating the perfect storm of pleasantry. At least in your not-so-picky opinion. You would take what you could get. Without much hesitation or thought, you dug in, lifting whatever you chose into your mouth, the warmth of your lunch doing its part in warming you on this gray, autumn day.

Savoring the flavor, you shifted your gaze to the field in front of you. Observing from afar as you chewed, it was easily determined that the game going on before you was similar to what had been played before. Figures positioned in a recognizable pattern, the signature look was a giveaway. Football, once again. Focusing a little more, the imprecise features of the players vaguely matched those of yesterday. Only a few were mismatched. Other than that, every player was recurring.

Speaking of.

Instinctively, your eyes hopped from one body for another, quickly scanning each player for a particular set of looks. The forms went through a mental check off list, each failing in their own distinct way. That was until your eyes fell upon one in particular.

The familiar head of orange hair soon came into view: it wasn’t hard to find among the others. He wore a similar outfit as he did the day before, though with the addition of a hoodie of some kind. Looks like he had the same idea you did.

There he is.

Darting back and forth on the field he played, constantly giving chase to whomever was in possession of the ball. His eyes, from what you could see, were open and focused, always keeping track of where the object was, as well as keeping a mental note of where his teammates and opponents were at any given moment. His posture constantly switched from offense to defense, guarding whichever opposing member he was meant to be covering.

You shouldn't be surprised, really. It fits. ‘Well known school football player playing football in school.’ Duh. Yet, it catches you anyway. Your mouth forms a tight line.

You were almost afraid of this. Though ‘afraid’ is probably not the word you would use to describe how you feel. More like- ‘hesitant’.

The mental image of encountering Kunigami again after yesterday’s incident made you cringe. You noticed that now you knew of his presence, the atmosphere changed in some nuanced, indistinguishable way due to your first encounter with him. It’s almost like the air itself shifted. You felt a brush of chilly air against your skin. You pulled your jacket tighter around your body in reaction.

You thought about not coming back to this hillside for the sake of not wanting to be or feel awkward. It did take too much reasoning with yourself to decide not to. You’re not a coward. Most times. Besides, Kunigami never gave you a reason to avoid him. Not once. Who would you be to do so to him after he had been so… nice? Normal?

You were too stubborn to move spots, but too awkward to play things off as normal. Lord, can you get a break?

It’s not that you didn’t want to meet him again, it's just that… you would rather not. The chance alone put you sort-of on edge, changing the kind of headspace you were in. The feeling of the frigid air that was kept at bay with your jumbled thoughts was released, now once again a grating sensation of slight annoyance.

‘Weary’ should just be your middle name at this point.

You took a bite of your food, intentionally keeping your eyes mostly trained on the ground. However, you felt brave enough to peak up in certain instances, looking on to the commotion of the field when a sound would catch your attention. Honestly, it was intriguing, the way they all played together. You could tell there was a system there, somewhere. A structure to what Kunigami and his allies were shouting to each other at what looked to be at random. A method to the madness if you will. Not one you immediately recognized of course. Yet it was apparent by the way the players moved, where they moved, how they moved, and even how fast they moved, that there was some sort of plan.

You remained in your thoughts as you chewed. The blanket of hushed awareness you had hoped would come had not arrived. This usually happened. But the regularity of the moment didn’t make the experience any more enjoyable.

You wanted to find tranquility in your mind but struggled to truly find it. True tranquility, not what you told yourself was peace. To distract yourself, you took another bite of the plain-tasting food, focusing on the taste of whatever you had in your mouth. It worked for a second. You almost got it. Only a moment later to be taken right away with an intrusive thought. As another diversion, you attempted to watch in on the game before you, straining your ears to listen to the talking of the other students to find a score. That too, failed in its goal. Try and try as you might, you wouldn't settle. Worries from the everyday to the long term reverberated, keeping each one afloat with the strength of each other. Your thoughts kept buzzing around your head, like an annoying fly just waiting to be smacked from the sky. If only you had a fly swatter. Yet, sadly, you are, and have been, unarmed for a while now.

Oh well. You sigh. I’ll cope.

And that you did. If you had to guess, you’d probably say you’re actually pretty decent at it all this point.

You checked your phone a few times for the clock, even choosing to scroll mindlessly for a few minutes before slipping the device right back into your pocket from whence it came. You made an effort to not be on your phone during this time, you could be on twitter all you want later. No, when you were outside for this break, you wanted exactly that: a break. So you choose to take it, simple as that.

There wasn't much to think about as time ticked away. Not much to say as the game played on, and on. You ate in silence, alone. The seconds blurred to minutes as you finished your food, setting the tray aside when you thought you were satisfied. It only felt like a few moments outside on the prickly graying grass as the clock crept closer and closer. However, it dragged on noticeably longer this time. You could safely assume Kunigami was the reason. You would be a liar if you told someone you didn’t pay attention to him, specifically while on the field. You could recognize his voice by now without even looking at him by how he shouted to his teammates. You also noticed how he was on the field- like he was center stage. Like the game revolved around him as he controlled the ball for almost half of it. It was weird, how your eyes caught him on occasion while disregarding the other players. It was easy to chalk the phenomena up to circumstance. He was the only motherfucker you knew here, much less talk to. Also, he had the ball. Of course you would focus on him.

Before you knew it, the bell rang. Knowing the routine, you gathered your things, picking up your backpack first to sling onto your back, then your tray, holding it with a relaxed hand. You looked back at the field, just to see the game quickly stop, teams dissolving as the students made their way back into the school.

You felt odd leaving so soon. Out of place even, to move on. A weird feeling settled in your chest, like someone dropped a weight there and had forgotten it. You pondered the feeling for a moment, before shrugging it off to begin walking, knowing there’s not much to be done or explained. You know by now that questioning your feelings never leads to a straight answer, as weird as that is to think about.

Your descent down the hill was as per usual. Your steps were careful as they made their way down, watching for any slippery spots in the greenery. Your head was empty as you went, head cast downward, not needing to really look where you were going as your own muscle memory dragged you along. You subconsciously ran through a checklist of what you needed to do before going to class. The space around you grew louder as you approached the building, now in greater proximity to the students who were outside.

“Hey! Y/N!”

A shout from your side brings you back to the world around you, urging your head to face whatever, or whoever had hollered your name. Not expecting to be called, you’d imagine you were probably wearing a comically caught off-guard face, eyes blown out in shock. They searched the blacktop of widely strung-out, moving people, scanning for anyone who had already had their attention on you.

That voice sounded familiar.

Seeing a commotion, you were automatically drawn to that, almost forgetting what you were doing. Though it all comes full circle when you recognize a face amongst the crowd.

About twenty feet away from you, Kunigami stood closely accompanied by what you would assume was one of his football buddies. From what you could see, his hand was raised high in an effort to wave at you, a clear effort to grab your attention. On his face, he wore a subtle deadpanning scowl. It was obvious he was trying to conceal it with a more pacified expression, but it really wasn’t working. It made you confused for a millisecond as to what he could be so blatantly displeased at before you noticed the grip the other student had on his arm. Kunigami strained slightly against the hold his friend had on him as the stranger visibly smiled and boyishly laughed aloud at something unknown to you. It wasn’t until Kunigami saw you were looking at him before he changed his look to something more pleasant, trying to ease the growing tension he was probably aware he was showing. His hand relaxed as well- lowering from above his head.

You didn’t have any time to think to wave back yourself before the jock clinging to the red-head started pulling hard on his arm. Kunigami seemingly decides to compromise, giving in to the excitement of the other. Turning and stumbling over his feet, Kunigami stepped into a walk with the other players. Before you knew it, the player in question started gaining some distance away from your form, shaking his arm out of the grip of the one who had his hold on him. He walked to another door that led inside the school with some of the other football players, turning to give one last look to you before permanently stepping in line with the other students.

You are left where you were standing: a halted figure amongst the ever moving crowd. Seemingly miraculously, the weight held in your gut disappeared, yet not an ounce of your bewilderment chose to leave in any way, shape, or form. It seemed to congeal in your mind, even as you took the memorized path back to your locker, stepping in time to be one with the crowd. It subsided over time, but never truly went away. Rather, it hid, ready and willing to rear its ugly head whenever the next opportunity arrived. You wanted to think it would never get the chance.

The air was stuffy.

It would be, with this many students packed into one gymnasium. The already poor circulation mixed with the massive amounts of teenagers’ and young adults’ body odor proved to be an unpleasant combination, because of course it was. And the space, obviously, certainly did not help, it being far too small to comfortably hold as many bodies as the school staff wanted it to hold.

It was also loud. Very loud. The vast majority of the voices in the gym did not give a single shit about staying moderately tame, much less even a little quiet. Hundreds of students lining the stands all around you, the open ceiling reverberated with the clamor, serving as the most annoying white noise in existence. The sounds of laughter, scolding, yelling, offense, and gossip, along with other noises you couldn’t even decipher, all morphed into one amalgamation of a racket that roared on, and on, wholly chaotic, and definitely grating. You swore you couldn’t even hear yourself think in this mess of an assembly.

Thankfully, you got a little lucky. You ended up sitting in an obscure corner of the auditorium: a place not as crowded as the rest of the large room. On the second set of stands from the ground, you hunched over, keen on making yourself somewhat small amongst the rowdy bunches of trade school students behind you.

As you scanned the auditorium, you were able to distinguish a couple things. One, this was an athletic event of some kind. It was clear by the congregation of generally fit and popular people on the gym floor, right in the center of attention for everyone to see. They separated in groups, supposedly by the sport they played. You wouldn’t be able to tell which were which if it weren’t for the rudimentary signs that the taller individuals waved above their heads. Two, it was going to be boring. That was apparent from the moment several older men in suits showed up. You slumped further down in your set at the realization, robotically taking out your phone to see how else you could fiddle with it today.

It's not that you legitimately disliked sports or those who played them. You would never judge anyone for putting their effort into something they cared about. And while you definitely did not fit in with the crowd, and a good portion of the athletes were not raised right and you wouldn’t touch with a ten foot pole, they’re students all the same. Egotistical, maybe. With a dash of narcissism, duh. But they were people all the same.

It’s these recognition assemblies you really didn’t care for. They’re the most performative things in the world, and they serve no purpose other than to boost some egos and make content for the local newspaper. They were dumb, through and through. And it seemed the majority of the audience watching knew that, as the staff visibly struggled to calm the erratic students.

It didn’t take long for the assembly to finally start. Somehow, the organizers were able to get all the athletes together and calm, just enough for the guest speakers to introduce themselves, and begin their speeches of unending boredom. They spoke of the various teams’ accomplishments throughout the year, expressing how proud they were in their performance, effectively getting the sentimental portion out of the way. As you could assume, they went onto specifying titles, going over each groups’ success in detail.

It would be an accurate statement to say that you were uninterested. From where you sat, you could barely see the stage, your vision obscured by the surrounding students. Not to mention your natural gravitation to the exit, which definitely did not help, given the distance from the podium where the speakers planned on hanging out for the next forty minutes or so. You found yourself zoning out, almost in record time too. Not that you cared to listen. The quicker this goes, the faster you’re out of this sweaty auditorium.

You feel a light tap on your shoulder.

“Hey… Y/N?”

Nearly jumping out of your own skin, you whip your head around, hair thrashing with the shear force of the movement. You look toward the one who had called your name.

Though you truly didn’t know what to expect, you definitely did not expect a mop of tangerine-colored hair, along with a matching set of eyes that seemed awfully familiar.

With a hand raised, Kunigami stood from the edge of the bleachers from where you sat. Blinking a few times, his eyes darted to the podium from where the guest continued to speak, only to look back at you, opening his mouth to say simply and plainly…

“Hey uh, could I sit here?” He pointed to the empty spot beside you, the last available space from the edge, and closest to him.

You didn’t give much thought into your answer, having no real reason to decline his request. “Uh yea! Sure.”

Kunigami's lip curled up in a half-smile. It was genuine from what you could tell.

Breathing out a thank you, he took a large step off of the floor, hoisting himself into the open seat with less clumsiness than you could ever manage. Scooting over, you made plenty of room for him to adjust and get comfortable, squeezing into yourself even more than before to make that happen.

Looking again at the event, Kunigami asked another, but slightly out of place question, “We’ve uh- started right?”

You rubbed your hands together, processing what he said before answering him clearly, “Yea, I think about like, five minutes ago?”

Kunigami nodded his head in approval, pulling out his phone to quickly check the time, only to put the device right back in the pocket from which it came. “Ah okay.” You could’ve sworn the ginger let out a puff of air, his shoulders deflating at the action. As odd as it was, you dropped it, but made note.

The player was… imposing. He took up space, metaphorically and in actuality. Not through any fault of his of course. It was your mind that did this to you with its tendency to turn nothing into something. Try as you might, its pattern of overthinking was persistent as the source of your downfall. As dramatic as that sounds. You force your attention away from your guest and to the speaker. He wasn’t entertaining by any means, certainly not. The old geizer drawled on and on about… something? You weren’t really paying attention, for Kunigami’s mere presence distracted you immensely.

The sound of countless clapping hands reeled you back to the present. Your fellow peers had erupted into a boystrosious applause, followed by a few hoots and hollers from the rowtier ones in the back. Zeroing back in on the podium, you knew it was brought on by the speaker, who had joined the audience in the clapping and was now turned to a group of male students.

While you didn’t have much reason to care, something caught your eye anyway. You recognized the faces of the students. Just vaguely. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it. You wracked your brain for the answer as you recalled what you had subconsciously remembered by the man’s speech spoken just moments ago. I saw them from the field that day, didn’t I?

And with that, you put it together: it was the soccer team. Yet, that discovery had only brought up another question.

If the soccer team was there, then why is the star player sitting next to you?

You turn your head to look at him, confusion plastered all over. He was looking at the stage as well, with an expression you couldn’t read. If you had to take a guess, it was a rather calmer one, yet his brow was a little stressed. It threw you off. Deciding to be a little bold, you speak.

“Um,” You begin. “Isn’t that the football team?”

Kunigami starts, turning his head to look at you. A moment passes before he responds. “Yeah that’s them.”

You continue, gesturing with your own double take at the group. They were receiving some sort of plaque, presented by the same old man as before, a showy smile displayed for all to see. “Shouldn’t you,” You pause to find the resolve to state the obvious. “Be with them?”

Kunigami’s eyes widened a fraction. They glance at the team, then back at you. Then to the team, then back at you. “Uh.” He says eloquently. “Yes?”

The carrot-top’s answer only confuses you more. “You’re on the team?” You ask it as a question, like you were searching for clarity in something that's already crystal. When he only stares back, you ask another. “Aren’t you… the guy?”

Kunigami blinked at that, expression morphing from what looked like he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, to flat out perplexed. “The guy?” He parrots back, emphasizing the ‘the’ just as you said it. It’s not mocking in the slightest. It's very honest, almost innocently so.

Your mind scrambles for a better way to explain, not that you had one. “I mean…” You try, “Like,” Your hands rise from your lap, coming to rescue you from your stumbling. They move strangely, trying to form what you mean without the use of words. Ultimately, they fail. “I mean, the guy.”

Kunigami only looks. Thinking, still confused. His own hands come together, clasping one another as he leans over, hunching his back and supporting himself by resting his forearms on his legs. He speaks with raised brows. “You’re gonna have to help me here.”

You resist the urge to groan aloud. What really comes out is an agitated huff. You rack your brain for a synonym, coming up with one a second later. “The star?” You ask, kind of happy you found a substitute for your thoughts. “You’re the star of the team.”

At that, Kunigami’s eyes grow bigger. This time with a new emotion. It takes him darting his eyes away from you to decipher it. Flattery. The same he had shown before when he had paid for your lunch.

Is he embarrassed? Isn’t it the truth?

The one in question shakes his head. “No.” It’s soft how he says it, not very firm, yet still in a disagreeing tone. “I am not the star of the team.”

“So, what are you?” You go on to elaborate. “Like what it is called.”

What could barely be considered a smile makes its way on Kunigami’s face slowly, yet surely. His eyes show some amusement, though not the kind that makes someone feel as if they were being made fun of. Rather, he was enjoying himself. Sincerely. He looks back at you, blankly, with that hint of delight.

“I’m a forward.” He says plainly, though the face betrays his tone as he mentions the source of his joy. “That’s the position I play.”

You think for a moment. The label he named doesn’t sound familiar. “I mean… you’re called something else.” You pause to rearticulate your thoughts again, wringing your hands in your lap absentmindedly. “There’s another word for it.”

It doesn’t even take a full second before he replies. “Striker?”

“Yeah.” You say, recalling the term from how many times you’ve heard it over the intercom.

“Then yeah, I guess.” He says, shrugging. “Though it's not a term actually used in the game.”

You hum, though more to yourself than anyone else. Oh okay. The new piece of knowledge doesn’t slip from you so easily. As trivial as it is, you thought it was an interesting fact. So you plan to remember it. Besides, it might become relevant later.

The crowd rang out in applause once more, for seemingly no reason at all. It barely registered; you had no clue what they were on about. Instead, your focus grows, fixating itself on Kunigami, as so does your confusion. Your question has yet to be answered. You ask again, the sentence slipping from your lips before you had a chance to reconsider. “So why aren’t you up there?”

Kunigami shifts, just a little, just to get more comfortable. He just blinks some more, showing absolutely no sign of any negative emotion at your question. He looks to the team, then back to you, again. Yet, because he doesn’t respond right away, and because of his movement, you automatically think of it as discomfort. You’re backtracking before you know it. Your mind begins to spiral, thinking, oh god I fucked up even though, clearly, you didn’t. You avert your eyes, and apologize. “Sorry, it’s none of my business. I-”

“I just don’t want to be up there.”

You stop, and look at him again. He’s calm, not rattled in the slightest by anything you’ve said in the past fifteen seconds. He wrings his hands a bit, and looks at his fingernails for a second, but otherwise, he just sits.

He’s no fool. Kunigami can see how you were beginning to work yourself up, even if he can only view it from an outside perspective. He takes it in stride, and with a small smile and firm shake of his head, he addresses it. Simply.

“No need to apologize. It's a valid question.”

Now, it's your turn to blink. The sound of his voice sticks with you, his point driving itself home in the opening your insecurity created. “Oh.” You say. You didn’t expect that response. You expected something more akin to being brushed off, or even ignored. Instead, he just, answered. Huh. “Okay.”

He chooses to continue. He brings a hand up to scratch the back of his head. “I’m not a fan of this kinda stuff.” The clapping starts up once more. You look to the stage, wondering, what is it this time, only to see the football team begin to file off its steps. One student grasped the award tightly in his hand as he descended. He looked to be laughing with his friends, those of which you remember from before: when they had pulled Kunigami away from waving to you earlier in the week.

The redhead in question speaks again. You assume he’s aware he has your attention, even if you're not looking at him. “I don’t really see a purpose for it. It’s all for show anyway.”

You turn back to him. He’s already looking at you. For some reason, you notice something you hadn’t before. His eyes, though they were mostly an orange color, very similar to his hair, also had some brown in them. Just around the outer rim, where the shade of chocolate met the white of his pupil. You’re not sure why you can see it.

Instead of questioning it, you decide to reply to him. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He says. His eyes don’t leave yours. “It’s a load of crap.”

You’re still curious. You decide to pry some more, just a little bit. “Do you not like crowds?”

“Crowds?” He repeats, eyes widening a bit at your surprise question. He answers after he takes a second to think. “Uh, not really? I mean, I tolerate them. I guess I like them as much as anyone else.” He tilts his head in a questioning manner after he finishes speaking. “Why do you ask?”

“Nothing.” You dismissed, shaking your head. “I was just wondering.”

Kunigami hums, content to move on. He turns his head away and back toward the stage. By now, a new group of students had ascended it, perhaps for an award of their own.

A flicker of his own curiosity makes Kunigami want to ask the same back. So, he does. “Do you not like crowds?”

You’re not as caught off-guard this time. His statement gives you the confidence to laugh shortly. “Ha. No.” You tug your hands closer into your body, crossing your arms over your chest so you're hugging your torso. “I don’t.”

Observing the movement, the striker can’t tell if you’ve done it consciously or not, since you don’t acknowledge it. A part of his brain connects your body language to what you’re saying. It's a part not connected to his inner monologue, so he doesn’t realize it, but he recognizes it nonetheless. Just internally. While it finds permanence, he continues as if he never made the observation. Which he sort of didn’t. Not truely.

Kunigami can’t help the twitch of his lip that compels its edge to go up. Otherwise, he responds, simply, plainly. With a hint of something neither he nor you realize is there. “Really?”

You’re oblivious to it. “Yeah.”

It’s silent after that. There’s no other reason to speak. The two of you continue to half-heartedly watch the assembly, now with a new understanding revealed: that you both don’t want to be here.

The solitude gives you a moment to process your conversation with the redhead. You didn’t expect it to go so, normal. Maybe you were the weird one here, but in all honesty, Kunigami was a jock. You’re not friends with jocks, at least not in any meaningful capacity. You’re not the kind of person who resonates with those kinds of people, at least the ones you knew of. It was foreign to you: how someone like him could act so, different in comparison to his peers. How he could just be a regular person.

You outwardly make a face. You want to slap yourself. “How could he just be a regular person?” What the hell are you talking about? Of course he’s a regular person. He’s a person, on the football team or not. It doesn’t matter if he’s quiet or a party animal. He didn’t appear to be away. His agreeable nature from your first meeting seemed to stem more from politeness than as a facet of his personality. Instead, he seemed on the calmer side, and is generally more internal.

But even if he wasn’t, it was none of your business. You have no idea why he keeps the company he does, nor why he’s even on the football team. You don’t know him, and that’s fine. As long as he’s not an asshole, that should be enough of a reason to be friendly back, just as he’s done to you.

A realization comes over you suddenly, and without warning. Unbeknownst to you, it's always been there. From the moment you met the player during that frigid recess. It was just waiting for the moment, the perfect moment where you would finally pull back the curtain to reveal its presence. It makes you stop your train of thought in its tracks. Not that it was going anywhere anyway.

Why is Kunigami so friendly to you, for no reason at all?

There’s a change of pace of commotion on the stage. A woman takes up a microphone. Her voice projects through the speakers built into the gymnasium. A dismissal is taking place quicker than you thought it would.

Quickly, she gives instructions on how to exit, delegating that those on the lower levels of the bleachers are to leave first, then those on the higher levels. This is to reduce the amount of chaos that will surely ensue after she gives the order, seeing as the gym was congested with as many people as the fucking titanic.

Even as she speaks, you know where this is going. As annoying as some of the staff can be, in instances like these, you feel bad for them. You watch it happen in slow-mo: she gives the “ok” and immediately, hundreds of students jump from their seats. Many around you rise too and begin to shuffle around. You stay put. So does Kunigami. The room rattles with the vibrations of countless shoes on the plastic of the bleachers. It’s a rumbling irritation, yet the sound is the least of your worries.

Try as she might, she cannot stop the hurricane of students who disregard their warnings and jump from their seats, their heads set on getting out of the packed auditorium. Her shouts of command fall on deaf ears as people descend, and walk casually past her. It's a funny sight: her beginning to fume as she continues to not be taken seriously as hundreds of students pass her by, and exit the gym. Surely by the next assembly you all will get another lecture on this.

You have two options, as you do every time you’re part of a massive crowd such as this, and everyone in it is trying to go to one place all at once. Either stay here, seated, watch the masses of people dissipate and risk being late for class, or you brave the congestion and suck it up to dive headfirst into the sea of sweaty, loud people. Neither option was appealing. It was usually a coin toss on which you picked. Sometimes it depends on your mood. Though you were not in a particularly bad one, you didn’t exactly want it to dampen over something as pointless as this.

While in your thoughts, you hadn’t noticed that the striker beside you had begun to stand up. It was the ‘pop’ of his knee that snapped you from your reverie. He looked at you with a curious expression as he straightened himself, wondering to himself why you hadn’t made the move to leave as well. “Are you… staying here?”

It takes you a second to find a response casual enough to appear neurotypical. “Haha, nah. I'm just a bit slow.” You brush him off as you make to gather your things and stand, giving into the peer pressure the movement of clamoring bodies put onto you the moment they start to move toward the exit.

Though even as you begin to stand yourself, you couldn’t help but notice that Kunigami had not yet left. Instead he just stood there by your side, looking out into the sea of people at nobody in particular. It doesn’t take much for you to ask him why with a hint of your own assumption. “Are you waiting on me?”

“Yes.” He says, like it's obvious. He turns his head to see you properly and quirks a brow. “Why? You don’t mind, do you?”

You rush to straighten up at his confirmation. “A-ah no.” You’re frazzled. Just a little. “I-I mean, no. I don’t mind.” You slide your backpack onto your back, and adjust the straps. You find yourself doing the same: absentmindedly looking out into the crowd of peers from the slightly-elevated position you had on the bleachers, which has been steadily decreasing ever since the initial rush. “It’s just that,” you wonder, “I figured you’d already have gone off to class.”

Kunigami shaked his head at that. His semi-spiky head of hair jerks with it. “Nah, I’m in no rush.” He digs his hand into his pocket and fishes for his phone. Once again, he checks the time and puts the device right but where he found it. “Besides,” he says, blinking stoically. “You said you didn’t like crowds.”

Oh. “Oh.”

You’re not so caught up in your thoughts this time to have him wait for a response. “Uh- yeah I, I guess you’re right.” What? For real? You’re certainly surprised that the football player beside you had remembered what you said, even if it was only from a matter of minutes ago. You’re even more surprised he had thought about it enough to take some sort of action: to consciously let it dictate his choice of staying behind with you, even if it influenced his decision only a little bit. It was strange to say the least. He was strange.

You see Kunigami turning to the side toward the opening in the bleachers from which he had stepped up from. He craned his head to look back at you. “Here.” He said, motioning with his head to the exit you would guess he already designated. “Just follow me, and I’ll take the lead.”

You nod, and with an ‘okay’ from you, Kunigami fully turns around to the edge of the bleachers, and you mentally prepare yourself to go through whatever task this was about to become.

Your red-headed acquaintance swiftly takes a big step down from the height in a matter of seconds. He never stumbles as he does it, almost gracefully letting gravity carry his weight, falling from the elevated platform. He takes another step forward, kind of forming a rhythm. He turns around right after, watching for you to follow with that same thoughtful expression.

And you do, albeit less organized as he did it. You jump from the bleachers in a similar fashion, yet instead of moving in a stride, your shoes ‘thunk’ against the wooden floor. Kunigami sees you land, and an apology is already falling from his lips. “Sorry- we probably should’ve gone down the stairs.”

You chuckle at his effort. “No it's alright.” You say, waving him off with a vague hand motion. “No worries.”

Kunigami breathes out. “Ha, good.” And with that he turns once more. “Let's go. I think the bell is about to ring.”

You agree, and step in line behind him as he makes his way towards the set of double doors that separated you all from the rest of the school. At first the journey was smooth, but as the two of you got closer to the narrow passage, the area became more and more congested with students who were, conveniently, also trying to make their way towards the same set of doors. You creep closer to Kunigami as the bodies from all around close in. Though none made any solid contact, occasionally one or two would brush against your arm or leg. Accidental, probably, but it didn’t make you happy nonetheless. But don’t get the wrong idea. You weren’t ‘scared’ uncomfortable, just ‘annoyed’ uncomfortable.

As your duo passed through the worst of it, right on the threshold of the metal doors, Kunigami looked back at you over his shoulder. He said nothing, though his apricot eyes asked a silent question with the look he gave, eyebrows raised upward in a way that made them wider, more open: ‘you good?’

The sentiment didn’t pass you by. You give a tight-lipped smile at his once again confusing concern. ‘Yeah’

He seems satisfied with that, choosing to turn back around so he can look where he is going. The edge of his lip curls as he does. Just a little bit.

By facing forward, he unintentionally left your eyes to naturally fall upon whatever took the place of his own, which just so happened to be his back. From where you were, your gaze rested on the expanse of the back of his shoulder, and further up to the nape of his neck. You had never paid much attention to this part of him before. You didn’t have a reason to. Yet now, due to circumstance, you can’t help but look a little closer.

He was built. You already knew that part- it wasn’t hard to tell. But now, you were closer than normal. Meaning, you could see more than normal. You could see where the muscle that wrapped around the back of his shoulder blade- where it rounded off the edge of it to a degree you hadn’t seen so close on anyone before. You could see where his shirt strained because of it. Though not much, his clothes fit him well, the fabric would once and a while become taunt while he moved his arms in ways that went against its limits. You could see where that same muscle crept up with back and to the tops of his shoulders, once again rounding and defining the hump. You could see the skin of his nape, tanned probably due to the countless hours of football training done outside. It was smooth and undisturbed by any scars or blemishes. You could see where the tissue connected with the tendon of his neck, and where that then traveled up to his… undercut? You hadn’t yet noticed that either. WOW. He looks good with that. It really complements his-

You force yourself to stop your own untamed thought midway. You blink rapidly. Your eyes widened at the sentence you were just about to let be completed. What the FUCK?

You’re appalled at yourself. And a little ashamed. What was that shit?? Get a damn GRIP. You don’t even know this guy. You blink some more, and shake your head the smallest bit. It wouldn’t even matter if you did!! I mean SURE he’s not bad looking, and his back his build like a brick shithouse, and maybe the buzz underneath only adds to the icing on the cak-

“You alright?”

The voice of the motherfucker in question makes you want to dig a hole right where you stood and perish. You’d fear he had somehow heard you if he wasn’t looking at you like you hadn’t said anything at all.

“You look a little dazed. I didn’t know you had such a hard time with large numbers of people.” He says it easily in his tenor, and without a hint of judgment. You caught onto his nicety, mentally grasping it as a lifeline to pull yourself from whatever spiral you were about to go down.

You let out a laugh that has to seem out of place. “Haha- Nono I’m okay. It didn’t bother me that much, I was err- uh thinking about something else.” The last part comes out somewhat stiff and quiet, and you choose to look away from the redhead to find something else to occupy your frontal lobe.

You soon discover that the two of you have covered a lot more ground than you originally thought. You were now in the commons, a little ways away from the main exit of the auditorium, around the main seating area. Across the way was the closed-up concession stand the two of you visited not so long ago. Most of your peers in the auditorium had already moved in the hallway and through the school, save for a few stragglers.

Kunigami hums, then shrugs. “If you say so.” For the third time that day, he pulls out his phone to check something. Probably the time. Again. He seems like the kinda guy who’d want to be punctual. Internally you’re thankful he had dropped his concern as quickly as he did. You did NOT wanna talk about it.

He looks up from the device to offer a easy-going grin to you, and slips it back into his pocket. “Well I’d better get going.” He starts, “Don’t wanna be late for class.”

You nod back and reply eloquently. “Uh yeah. Definitely.”

At that, Kunigami nods to himself, and starts to turn on his heel, but not before bringing a hand up to give you a short wave. The same kind he had tried greeting you with early that week. His eyes shine with a serenity you can see clearly as he gives his departing words, again, a constant from your first meeting. “See ya later then, Y/N.”

And with that, and before you can say much at all aside from your own short little wave, he fully turns around to take long strides down the same hallway he had left from before, soon after pivoting down another hallway out of sight. One, if you were paying closer attention, you would recognize as the same secondary hallway as before, once again.

You watched him as he did, right from where you stood in the commons of the school. You remained like that for a few seconds before forcing your own legs to guide you down the opposite way, in the direction of your locker.

As you walk you’re preoccupied. Your fellow students are oblivious to your mental space as you keep to the right-hand side of the hallway, your head down as you mulled. Not that you’d ever want them to know. Many thoughts rattled around in your head as you approached your destination. Thoughts your second meeting, thoughts of your first, thoughts of him and his stupid back and his stupid concern, thoughts of how absurd this is all becoming-

Thoughts of how your patience was beginning to run out.

Taglist: @yuujiisann Its been so long so I didn’t know if you still wanted tagged but HERE YOU GO ANYWAY LOL

#rhaz’s works #PJFY #kunigami rensuke #blue lock #bluelock kunigami #kunigami rensuke x reader #kunigami x reader #bluelock x reader #kunigami fluff #kunigami imagine #bluelock fic #bluelock fluff #bluelock imagine #kunigami fic #kunigami x you #bluelock x you #bllk #bllk x reader

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undonerhapsodize · 1 year

Text

Mask Off

Act 2 - Pt. 1 out of 3

DSMP C!Dream x g/n!reader, ft. Quackity TW: Generally triggering content: suspense, dread, horror, threats of violence, arguing, fluffy for half but it goes away quickly, not a happy ending Word Count: 7,233 Summary: You and Dream were together. Your cabin held the both of you nicely, away from the chaos of the SMP. Yet, the very roof seems to cave in when a certain visitor suddenly comes knocking on your door. What could he want?

Side Note: So my imagination decided to run a bit wild and now there’re parts 2 & 3 as well as act 1 in the works. Yup. I’ve given myself more work. Yet again. But listen it’ll be a while until I finish this act, nevermind the first one x-X. Just a heads up. Anyway, enjoy!! I had fun writing this :)))

The swinging of the wooden cabin door whined at the newcomer, complaining loudly at the disturbance. It announced the presence of the individual daring to use it, echoing throughout the house, not letting up for even a moment as he stepped through. It shut just as boldly, even with his attempt of easing it closed with a soft click.

Not usually the type of person to state his arrival, Dream carried on without a word. He stepped through the foyer with practiced ease, navigating the semi cluttered area as best he could with an armful of firewood and his ax in the hand he wasn’t using. Taking care not to let the bundle of wood topple onto the ground, he sets the weapon down to lean against the counter, leaving it to rest. He stepped away from it, again side stepping around the room, not wanting to bump into any of the goods that lay on the small kitchen table or stumble down the stairwell, its opening laid against the farthest wall from the front door.

Making his way to the fireplace, Dream could feel the heat intensify, even through the mask he wore on his face. It grew with each step, hotter and hotter, only for its change to become stagnant as he crouched in front of it. He took a moment to feel its warmth, to take in the comfort it provided as opposed to the chill of the autumn breeze. Though Dream was not a man to hold such sentiments to a high value, he gladly accepted the feeling as he began restocking the fire wood, placing it on the melt rack beside the fireplace for later use. Whatever was left over he chose to re-inflame the fire with, seeing the once lively, now smothering embers, in need of the fuel. Conscientious of the heat, he plied on more wood, poking around at the base of the fire with one of the longer, thicker sticks. It quickly caught fire, and began to build the flame back up to its former glory. Bingo

Dream continued to work as footsteps began to sound from the basement, leisurely ascending the stairs that lead up to the ground floor. Of course he heard it, his ears were as keen as ever. He wasn’t warry. He knew who they belonged to.

Eventually, the footsteps reached the top of the stairs. They stilled for a second, feeling the familiar presence behind him. But with nothing being said, he grew confused. Dream was about to turn to face them. Only, they spoke first.

“Why hello to you,” they said. Their footsteps started up again, yet this time, to the kitchen.

The corner of his lip curled up in amusement. “Hello~.” He continued to stoke the fire.

“Now, why aren’t you using the fire iron?” They asked with an accusatory tone. There was a clamor made towards the backend of the cabin, one that Dream recognized as a box coming in contact with something hard: probably the floor based on the vibrations he felt. A ‘ping’ sounded just afterward: of glass hitting glass.

Dream shrugged, to no one but himself. “Cuz,” he spoke simply. “It’s pussy shit.” Another ‘ping’. “The fuck do you mean it’s pussy shit?” They spoke with the same tone, yet there was a small chuckle tacked on at the end of their sentence. “That’s it’s whole job.”

Dream threw what remained of the stick, which had at this point shortened greatly, into the fire. He was satisfied with how the fire now sprang back to life. “‘just don’t need it.”

He stood up, knees popping quietly. Shifting, Dream turned to face the person he was talking to. There they stood, just in front of the kitchen sink, an assortment of glass bottles inside a wooden box on the floor to their side . They spoke again, “Still,” a little softer this time, “you should use it. Give it more purpose.”

Dream smiled, if only a little. “Really?” He began to make his way over to them, maneuvering around the overflowing table once more. He passed over into the kitchen space just as they gave a ‘yea’ in confirmation.

Dream slowed as he got closer, almost about to close the distance. “Well,” starting in a light tone. Gently, he stepped into them, snaking his arms around their midsection and tightening, holding his own arm in order to secure them in place. He continued, “Whatever you say, Y/N.”

At the response, you breathe out a laugh through your nose, though don’t say anything else. The atmosphere grows quiet for a couple seconds, save for the clinking glass bottle as you continue to work. Dream modestly stands, hugging you from behind as he drinks in the warmth you provided, chest pressed surely against your back. A very grounding thing beyond all else. Definitely for him.

It doesn’t take long for Dream to pier over your shoulder to gaze at what you were working on. Though it's obvious from the movements themselves, he asks anyway. “Whatcha workin on?”

“Getting these potions into their proper bottles,” You say. “I saw we were running out a couple days ago and decided to make some more.”

Dream let out a ‘hmm’, content with the answer. He dropped his head onto your shoulder. Angling his face into the area of your neck and the back of your head, he breathed you in. Or, as much as he could with the mask on his face. Though it only covered the upper portion of his face (mouth still visible), it obstructed a lot of his movement. But, luckily, not so much this.

He enjoyed the faint scent your hair gave off from this morning’s shampoo. It set him at ease when not many other things could. The feeling in his heart grew, reaching from the pits of his stomach to the tips of his ears. He closed his eyes at the emotion blooming within. You, on the same page, sighed in content. The clinking of the glass bottles continued.

He couldn’t help but untangle one of his arms from his embrace. He took it, raising it up to move the fabric of your hoodie away from the nap of your neck, clearing the area for him to access. He didn’t get a chance to.

You jumped, something akin to a flinch. Stopping all motion, Dream froze. He already had an apology ready to go, but before he could, he heard your laughter.

“Haha… sorry, that spooked me. Also kinda tickles.”

Dream blinked, processing. A grin made its way onto his face, stretching from something passive, into something much more… cunning. “It what?”

You stopped. Hearing the tone in his voice was not a good sign. It wasn’t the sound of someone asking just an innocent question. “Uh, yeah?” You braced the edge of the kitchen sink, a bottle still in hand.

“Yeah?” he repeated, almost mockingly. The same hand had risen again, elbow bent, ready to strike.

Dread filled you at the realization. The missing arm. “Dream no-”

You barely could get another word in before the man in question pulled your hoodie back, starting his vicious attack. He dove in head first, literally.

Relentlessly, he kissed, nipped, and tickled the area with skin-on-skin contact. His lips, along with the stubble of his upper lip and jaw, not doing you any favors. You burst out laughing against your will.

He grinned borderline maliciously, happy to see his hunch had been right. And relentlessly, he laughed, abet muffled by your skin. Your reaction was far beyond calm. To put it plainly, you thrashed, trying to muscle out of Dream’s grip, but to no avail. Even with a single arm, he held you in place, refusing to let you go from his front until he’s had his fun. Shouts of protest rang throughout the house, as well as giggles of joy. Ones that fueled Dream’s rampage as he continued his onslaught.

Though it didn’t last forever.

The sound of glass shattering made Dream stop every movement. The sound of the shocked noise that left your throat made Dream unlatch himself to look over your shoulder and at your face. Your eyebrows were set downturned, yet your eyes were wide, fixated on whatever was in front of you. Dream turned a cheek to look at the scene, only to make the same face himself. His jaw even dropped, fully aghast at the sight.

There, in the bottom of the sink, was the remains of what used to be an invisibility potion, glass shattered and sitting on the metal. Though that wasn’t the best part, oh no. It was the fact that the concoction had splattered up, and onto your hands. Only making selective parts invisible. Not the whole hand, just dots.

Your hands were that of a dalmatians' coat, yet instead black, the bottom of the sink filled the space.

Expression frozen, Dream slowly turned his head to face you, wanting to get a read for your reaction. You just starred, and blinked. It was dead silent for a few seconds before you finally looked at him. You only had one thing to say.

“Bruh.”

Dream cracked.

Taking a step back, and letting go of your waist, he uses his arm to clutch his own stomach, letting out a wheeze of laughter at the mere sight of your hands. It apparently was the most hilarious thing to him. He slouches at the feeling of his stomach tightening at the exhilaration, shoulders turning into themselves. Eyes squinted, mouth agape, teeth showing, he let out buckets full of boyish, hearty laughter. He was tireless in his own humor. Even when that giggles stopped, he still pushed it out, squeezing out air from his lungs that sounded awfully almost like a kettle.

Meanwhile, you stood at the sink, arms crossed at the sight of Dream losing his shit over the sight over a fucked-up invis pot. Yes you thought it was funny. But was it that funny? Like, ‘laughing my ass off’ funny? No. That was just too much. Was it what you said? Maybe. You couldn’t know.

Dream continues to laugh as you turn back around to the sink, flipping on the sink to run the excess potion down the sink and wash your hands. “Just let me know when you’re done,” you call over your shoulder.

Dream runs a hand through his hair. He struggles to speak through his convulsing diaphragm, but muscles through anyway. “I-it…”

You turn your head, shutting off the water, “What?”

He tries again, giggling throughout. “I-It… they-y look la-like…”

You raise a brow. Already expecting something outta left field. You take the towel from the oven to palm your hands dry. “...What?”

He points weakly to your hands, chest expanding and shrinking with air. There, he makes an impeccable observation. He grins.

“Like… sw-iss cheEESEEeee…”

Once again the man doubles over, comically stumbling over to the fridge, using a free hand to lean against it in support. There, he confines himself, designating it as the resting place for his hackling.

You, at this point, can’t help but laugh with him. Leaning against the counter top, you chuckle softly, admitting that yes, they do kinda look like swiss cheese.

It takes a good couple seconds for Dream to calm after that, the last of his enjoyment dying out at the push of his body from the fridge, and an adjustment of his posture. You don’t even have to ask before he’s opening said fridge, and pulling out the milk. It just stands as a reminder that even as distracted as possible, he’s still thinking ahead. Even for simple things.

“I can get that.” You said instinctively.

Dream brushes it off with a sarcastic comment, as per usual. “Oh really? I didn’t know.”

You roll your eyes, but say nothing. He continues his path, plucking an empty glass from the cupboard, filling it halfway with the milk, side-stepping to return the milk to the fridge, and approaching you with it. The grin he wears is still cheeky. Not surprising.

He stands before you once more, presenting the glass to you. You take it easily, not hesitating to drink, taking small sips. He lets his hand fall to his side. You look at him, and into the porcelain white of his mask. For anyone else, it might’ve been intimidating to stand in front of him. One so tall, mysterious, dangerous, as you’ve heard. Yet, you were not afraid. Maybe you should be. But you weren’t.

You think to continue the conversation. “I can’t believe you would laugh at my suffering.” You take another sip to allow him a chance to speak.

“I won’t call that suffering, love.” He says easily, gesturing down with his head at the now fading remains of the invisibility potion. “You weren’t hurt or anything.”

Tipping your head up you’re beginning to finish the glass. Swallowing, you go on. “True,” you admit. “Though I could’ve been.” Dream’s grin drops a little in confusion. You elaborate. “It could’ve been something bad, like a harming. I also made some of those.”

“Why’d you make those?” He can’t help but ask. You shrug. “Had the ingredients. Thought, ‘why not?’ Just in case.” Dream’s enjoyment finally fades at the admission: at the realization that that spill-up could’ve been a lot worse. That depending on what kind of potion it was, the evening could’ve turned into a particularly awful one. Dream frowned.

You were about to ask about the change in mood, before he took a step forward. He raised both hands, tenderly placing them on your biceps. His thumbs started to rub into your hoodie, comforting in its motion. Even through the fabric, you knew the reason for his hands was rather to have, than to hold. He angled his face up, above and to your hair. A sign for you to tilt your head down, which you did. What you weren’t expecting was the feather-light kiss to the crown of your head. It was as soft as the moon-light that peaked through the closed curtains from the window. You could’ve missed it if you weren’t paying attention. There he held you, and spoke words you would cherish for years to come.

“I’m sorry. ‘Wasn’t careful.”

You’re confused. “I was kidding.”

He reports back, albeit softly. “I know you were.”

You pause for a mere moment to think, then it comes to you. Melting at the earnesty, you smile, chest warm. “It’s not your fault, you didn’t mean to.”

He continued to speak, protesting your attempt of comfort. “That’s the problem.”

Still, you shook your head, encased as it was. “You’re too hard on yourself.”

Dream chose not to respond. You didn’t make him.

Instead, you lightly tapped on his chest with the glass, which had been empty of milk for some time now. Chuckling at the way you chose to get his attention, Dream took the glass from you and side-stepped to the sink, going to wash it. He flicked on the sink.

You protested, “Ey-”

Dream interrupted you.. “Go sit down. I’ll join you after I clean this up.” He was referring to the broken glass still sitting at the bottom of the kitchen sink.

You protested one more, “I can get th-”

Dream countered, biting back with his back still turned. “No. I got it. Now go sit down.”

You tried again, “Dream, I can-”

He turned around. He decided to kick a leg out, and lean against the counter, glass still in hand. He tilted his head down. If you could see his face, you could guess the kind of face he’s making at you right now.

“Y/N.” He says with the patience he doesn’t have. “I’ve. Got. This. Please. Go still down.” He pauses once more, maybe to let the silence speak for itself. “Think of it like a favor.” You huff after a few solid seconds of a disconnected staring contest. “Fine,” you give in. Turning on your heel you make your way to the plaid coach sat by the fireplace. Before you get too far, you decide to call one last thing over your shoulder, “You’re impossible, you know.”

Dream audibly laughs, deep and true. “It is said to be one of my best qualities.” He pauses before adding. “As is yours.”

You huff again, though it ends in a chuckle you can’t hold back. You sit yourself down on the coach as he finishes his task. “Oh shush.”

The crackling of the fire’s flame filled the quiet of the cabin, as well as the sounds of heavy footfalls, and of clinking glass. From what you could tell, Dream made quick work of the clean-up, swiftly wiping down the counter of any remaining potion residue. The sound of a muffled slam made it known that he had finished, the disposable bin shutting for the last time that night.

From your position on the couch, you sat in your thoughts. Quietly. You tilted your head back until the back of your neck reached the curve of the cushion. You sighed out, letting your eyes flutter shut.

When you first found Dream, caked in dirt and grime, coated in both dried and fresh blood, he was in your barn. Hearing the alarming sounds of an intruder at one o’clock in the morning, you set out to investigate, seeking out whatever animal you thought had weaseled their way into the rickety old thing. What you did NOT expect to find, however, was the form of a tired, worn man on the brink of exhaustion. It was quite a sight if you were to be honest. The picture of what is probably the closest person to the antagonist of the Greater SMP, struggling to get himself to stand against you, hissing out insults and threats of violence all the while. It would be imprinted in your head for as long as you lived. It would remain in the same way as your first seated dinner with the villain after patching him up as he hunched over his bowl of soup, as would the time he threatened to kill you when you snuck up behind him by accident.

From the start of your relationship, you didn’t expect it to go far, either. Not at all. You knew what he was. He knew what you were. The both of you didn’t expect to change in the way that you had, to evolve in ways that went beyond your outstretched hand of empathy, or the soothing touch of the healing man you didn’t think he could possess. Yet, fate surprised you. He surprised you. It's predictable that way, unyielding in its course of amazement and the unanticipated. Even now, it baffled you. How could such a man, a man just as Dream, decide to share his company with you in the ways that he has. Ways even he probably thought himself incapable.

You weren’t one to tempt fate. Not at this part, at least. Here, in your cabin, you were content to sit, and wait for him. You had the patience. You had the time.

Though not much.

A scuffled sound, of rubber against tile, alerted you to something you had not yet processed. You opened your eyes, craning your head up to look at the person in question. “Do you still have your boots on?”

Dream made a noise close to what a horse would make, except distantly human. “Yeah.” He patted his hands dry with the dish towel, just having finished washing them thoroughly.

Your face scrunches up in disgust. “Take them off.”

At that, the masked man openly chuckles, placing the dish rag back from whence it came, beginning to take steps closer and closer to where you sat relaxed on the couch. “What if I don’t want to?”

“Then you’re weird.”

His mouth opens, agape with fake offense. “I am not weird.” He toes off his shoes at the front door, not bothering to set them up properly before padding closer with deathly quiet footsteps.

You almost make a face at the act, though you’re quickly distracted by the looming figure of Dream over the coach. A shadow could’ve casted over you. Your seated position only increased the height difference between the both of you. Mans is tall.

Yet, you are not afraid. “You kinda are.” You speak casually.

Dream scoffs, a smile visibly growing below the face, teeth showing. He’s a little more insistent this time as he takes a knee on the couch. He chooses not to lower himself. “I am not.”

You shrug. “You definitely are.”

Dream tilts his head. The whites of his canines peek out from his lips. He doesn’t move. Not a single inch. It makes you freeze as well. You go to say something else to get him to do something, but before you can, he pounces.

Leaning down and taking both his hands around your waist, he turns you sideways, nearly picking you up in the process. With an exaggerated grunt, Dream maneuvers you so your body faces longways down the couch. Rightfully caught off guard, you’re about to ask what the hell he’s doing. But before you can, Dream turns himself longways as well, and topples down, collapsing onto you with his weight. It effectively knocks the wind out of you, huffing out an “oof” at the impact. Dream laughs quietly all the while: a mix between a rumble and a chuckle.

There he lays on you, turning his head to the side, ear pressed to your collarbone and arms sandwiched between you and the couch. He gets comfortable, shifting against you to find the best position to lay. He stills after a minute. Then, as the grand finally, Dream speaks, smoothly yet clear. “Well… I guess I am.”

The feigning of innocence gets a laugh out of you. You breathe out, shifting on your own to try to get comfortable. Well, as best as you can with a six foot, well built man on top of you. Like your body moved on its own, your arms came up to wrap securely around the back of Dream, hands running along the expanse of his shoulders as you do. He visibly shivers at the contact. You stop, cautious in your movements.

Dream notices, and acts. He struggles to pull an arm from wherever it has wedged itself. He takes it, and twists his shoulder, maneuvering his hand to touch your own, which was held in the air, hovering over his back. Straining a little, he pushes it down, making contact with his back once more. He returns his arm, easily tucking it back into the space it had come from.

If he was phased by the touch, he didn’t show it, nor speak it. Smiling, your pride in him swells, and your apprehension leaves, just as quick as it came. Continuing, you tighten your arms, which find their resting place with ease.

There they stay. And there, the both of you sink into one another, melting into the cushion of your furniture and the comfort each other gave. Its warmth was unrivaled by anything, going beyond normal heat and into the very personification of a glow. And my, what a cozy glow it was. Oh how lovely.

The rarity of the moment did not escape you. How foolish could you be, to forget who exactly, you held so closely? How dismissive could you act, to not?

Dream and you. Together. A recipe for disaster. That was certain.

Take a seesaw. On one end, the man sat. The other, you. The balance was level, despite it all. Your feet floated, a foot or so above the ground. His did as well. If you listened close enough, you could hear laughter, light and unburdened. You can hear a heartbeat, strong and resilient. You can hear silence, unseen and unbothered. You can hear it all.

That is, if you can hear it past the rumbling of the thunder, just a matter of miles away.

A storm was brewing. How would the seesaw take it? Could it withstand the pressure?

KNOCK KNOCK

Both you and Dream tensed immediately. The silence of the cabin suddenly became too much for the both of you. Dream whipped his head up to face you, a look of confusion and panic plastered all over it. You didn’t have to see it to know it was there. You gave the same look back, just as shocked as he was.

At that unspoken agreement, a realization washed over the both of you.

You didn’t plan on having any guests over. You didn’t know anyone in the area who you were close enough to that could possibly come over at any random time. Especially at this time, when the night had just fallen upon the land, and the creatures of the world began to emerge from their slumber.

In that moment, the serenity had abruptly, and brutally been replaced with danger.

Wordlessly, Dream sat up, and rose from the couch. His eyes were trained on the door, never once leaving, even as you got up as well. “Invis.” You say quietly, looking at him with nervous eyes. “By the counter.” He nods once. Only once.

You make your way to the door, the sounds of your footfalls as bold as they could’ve been in the rigid atmosphere. Dream on the other hand, you can barely sense move into the kitchen behind you. He’s like a ghost in these kind of scenarios. Unseen and untouchable.

Placing your hand on the door, you lean in, peering into the peep hole to get a glimpse of your unexpected visitor. Though no matter how brave you think you are, nothing prepares you for what you see on your front step, only accompanied by the darkness of the sky.

You’re horrified.

Slowly you turn around. Dream had picked up his ax, and was moving it, taking it from where it was to where he now places it: on top of the cabinet and out of sight. His height works for him in that way, where he can easily reach up and grab his prized tool whenever he would need, and nobody would even know it was there. An invisibility potion in hand, it was already uncorked and ready to drink. He stills afterwards, straightening. He stares, unblinking. You can guess the expression: eyes wide with anxiety and adrenaline. His eyes only seem to grow wider at the look on your face, pupils shrinking to an almost inhuman size.

You have to command yourself to speak, the lone word not wanting to leave your tongue. For both of your sakes.

“Quackity.”

You whisper it into the density of the air, breathless with unease. You can only imagine the thoughts that go through Dream’s mind, as he continues to stand there, unmoving. You can see the hand that holds the potion tremble, even as the grip tightens.

Oh how you want to turn your back on the door and comfort him, to reassure him with every promise that you can. I’m sorry honey.

KNOCK KNOCK

You jump. Dream doesn’t. Instead, he lets his eyes ease shut. He seems to breathe deep, nodding to no one but himself, before bringing the bottle to his lips, tilting his head back, and drinking the entire potion in one go. If you had the time to think about it, you would be jealous of how quickly he can find resolve. Even in the face of such an enemy.

You watch him swallow the substance and how it goes into effect instantaneously. His body begins to fade, spotty at first, then partially, then completely, as the mask man disappears from your view. Nothing remained, not a shred of clothing, not even a shadow.

Your own resolve is shaky as you place your hand on the door handle. Before you lose your nerve, and before this visitor can lose his patience, you turn it, and brace yourself. With a tug, the door opens, about halfway, where it reveals none other than the President of Las Nevadas, Quackity. The vile torturer in the flesh.

He snaps his head to you. His body isn’t facing the door, more so to the side as he looked to be gazing out into the forest. He looks worn, though not overly so. The white of his shirt was muddled, its purity now appearing dirty. It looks as if he hadn’t properly washed it in forever. He had what looked like an ax secured to his belt. You try not to look at it too long. The scar along his face was as prevalent as ever, along with the blind eye. It matched the propaganda posters you’ve seen relatively well. Though its roughness was missed in translation.

He blinks. Then smiles.

“Oh hello!” Quackity greets, golden tooth peeking through his lips. One hand comes up to straighten a suspender that had been starting to slip from his shoulder. He turns to face you fully at the same time.

“Ah, Hello?” You ask with a question. You have never met this man before. Only heard stories. You could only wonder, what was he doing here? What did he want?

“Ha ha, I guess this is a little weird huh?” The President chuckles to himself. “You probably weren’t expecting someone on your front door at this time of night.”

You remain still, prompting him to continue. He straightens up, taking his collar in two hands, and pops it. Dramatically.

“Well… I’m Quackity, President of Las Nevadas, Big Q, blah blah blahahaha…” He trails off in a laugh, one that makes you shuffle your feet. It wasn’t a nice one to hear.

He does the same, but takes a wider stance. “Aha… whatever. It doesn’t matter. I’m sure you’ve heard of me, hmm?” He raises his unmarred eyebrow.

Seeing him stand there without continuing prompts you to speak. “Umm… yea… I think so.” You talk softly on purpose, influenced by your confusion and nervousness.

He grins again, dimples forming on his cheeks. He shuffles once more. It's almost fidgety in how he moves. Instantaneous, and unexpected.

“That's good, that's good,” He nods, muttering before clearing his voice. “I was just wandering around and saw your little cabin, and figured, why not ask a few questions.” He looks to you, making eye contact with a small bow of the head, smiling cheekily all the while. “If that’s alright with you, Mx?...”

“Y/N.” You finish lightly. “Just Y/N is fine.”

“Ah, Y/N. That’s a nice name!” He declares, almost excited. You force a polite smile on your face in flattery.

He gestures with a hand suddenly, pointing to the open part of the door. “May I come in?”

A flash of alarm flows through you, running all the way from the tips of your ears to the soles of your feet. Dream is in here. As cautious as you are in your presentation, you can’t help but stammer out a decline. “Ahaha, I’m sorry sir, but it is the middle of the night, and…I-I don’t think I would be comfortable with that…”

His smile falls a bit at the rejection. “Are you sure about that Mx Y/N?” The look he gives is less than pleasant, a far cry from the almost blissful look he wore only seconds ago.

As unnerving as it is, you stand your ground, now putting on the best performance of ‘innocent bystander’ as you can realistically manage. You hope your face beams with courtesy, as does your voice as you reply sweetly. “I am, Mr. President.”

You can tell he’s annoyed by the decline as he attempts to move on. He sighs. “Well, I guess I won’t be long.” He says to himself, as his eyes glance down at your porch deck for a moment before they return to your face.

He opens his mouth to begin. “I’m sure you’ve heard of the Greater Kingdom, haven’t you?”

You nod. “Yeah I have.”

He goes on, “Are you aware of the most recent events?”

You pause for a second, internally debating on what to say. Knowing Quackity is watching your every move, you answer casually. “Uhh, no? I don’t think so. What recent events?” You quirk a brow, honestly wondering what he's referring to.

Quackity breathes in deeply, as if the floodgates are about to open. “Well…” He starts, careful this time. Different than before. “There’s been an incident, and… there’s a prisoner on the loose.”

You don’t move. Quackity stares you, dead in the eyes, searching, inspecting. You don’t give him a thing. He shuffles again.

“What I’m interested in, quite frankly, is if you’ve seen anyone… suspicious over the past few weeks.”

You turn your head, bringing a hand up to rub your chin, the crease of your brow deeps as you pretend to think on the matter. You wait a second or two before letting up, shaking your head. “Uh, no. I have not. Well, I don’t think I have. Then again, I don’t really see anyone out here, especially so late in the year. That is, except for you of course…”

“Then let me ask you something else!” Quackity cuts you off, raising a finger to you in the universal ‘wait’ signal. He counters with a smoothness that comes off more as desperation. You can see it in his eyes.

They narrow a fraction as he cocks his head to the side. The dim lighting of the torch that rested on the wall only made the man more menacing. The shadow that casted over his eyes made a portion of his scar disappear, and the milky gray of his blind eye glow. You have to command yourself to match the stare of the dead tissue.

“Have you seen anyone around with a white mask? What with a smile drawn on?”

You breathe. In. And out.

“N-No?” Calm down. Try again. “What? A smile? On a mask?”

Quackity blurts out a cackle, clutching his chest. It reverberates throughout the house . “I know right?! HAHAHA… fucking stupid…”

You laugh with him, as much as you can for your sincerity to appear true. You grab the door frame with a hand to stabilize yourself.

He coughs inwardly, calming himself from the outburst. “Hehehe.. he.. it's just that, I mean…” He stands solid again. Except, it's different this time. He turns sideways, his shoulders pull back, looking the most square they've been during this whole interaction.

He clicks his tongue. “Anyone who knew anything would have to speak up.” His hand drifts down to the weapon by his side. Your heartbeat jumps to your throat. It decides to sit there, waiting, watching, as you do at the threshold of your lonely cabin.

A slimy grin takes over his face, though his brows tilt downward, almost saddened. Remorseful even at his own thoughts. “Conspiring with a convict? Jeez…” His grip tightens on the head of his ax. Your confidence betrays you. Your face begins to fall. Pupils the size of pebbles, they await. In fear.

“What a terrible way to go.”

You’re deafened to everything. Your vision narrows to only the man in front of you. The distinct sound of the blade being unsheathed is the only thing you can hear as you watch the distinct blue of the diamond ax reveal itself. It’s slow, calculated almost. Quackity is deliberate with the movement as he stares you down, the sneer making his show all the more intimidating.

Stomp

It comes fast and sudden: the sound of heavy footfalls approaching from within the house. The tile of the kitchen floor did nothing to muffle the sound. It was as clear as day. Dream approached swiftly from behind, certainly set off by the sound of an unsheathing blade. Each step hit hard, punishing the floor with the force of Dream’s instinct to fight.

If you had more time, you would think more of his spring to action: the reason as to why he chose to give himself away. But you would think about his protective deed later. Not here, not now. There was a sound in the house.

You heard it.

Quackity heard it.

With a similar thought, his eye twitched. Quickly, he shoved his way into the house. Past you, past the door. You didn’t have time to prepare. He effectively pushed you back, making you stumble further into the house and away from the door.

Dream’s muddy shoes had perfect timing. Because of their haphazard placement, they were able to find the opportune moment to make the situation worse. Your feet failed you as they got caught on the leather, your balance lost to the wind that whipped just outside the house, which could clearly be heard from the now wide open cabin door. You started to fall.

Except you didn’t.

Except your back hit something sturdy. Something soft even, as it absorbed your impact. While it didn’t catch you, it broke your fall, letting you hit two things easier instead of one thing hard. You would have to thank him later for his affinity for placing himself in the exact location needed.

You hit the floor with an ‘oof’, your bum making an impact before your hands came to the ground to stabilize yourself.

You didn’t dare look up to Dream. You wouldn’t give his presence away. Instead you locked your eyes on Quackity, who was currently scanning the house. His one eye darted around in every direction possible, his blind eye following with the muscle memory. He made several rotations, twisting and turning every which way, frantically searching for the source of the noise. He looked and looked, stepping around the table, moving back and forth countless times, never once ceasing his search. He was too occupied to bring attention to the fact he had pushed you down.

Before you make to get up, there is a pressure on your back. It’s feather light, you can barely tell it's there. It was spotty, not solid, for there were multiple points of contact. They were warm, unlike any inanimate object you knew. It's a reminder. It's a warning. It urges you to still, to sit tight where you were.

You sensed him behind you, as clear as day. He was crouching from what you could tell, his height would not allow his hand to rest where it was if he wasn’t lowered in some way. You wondered absentmindedly just how close he was. Was he more beside you, ready to spring into action at any given moment? Or was he more behind you, wanting to keep clear of the intruder more than anything? You didn’t know. You wouldn’t dare check. Not with Quackity acting so brazen.

He snapped his head around to you, a gnarly sneer of his lip commanding the tenseness of the moment. “I HEARD SOMETHING.” He barks. ”I FUCKING HEARD SOMETHING.” The grip on his ax is tight as it stressed the wood of the handle.

You only stare back, a mix of shock and offense. Nothing is said as the two of you are locked into a staring contest. You, on the floor, your blood rushing through your veins at an abnormal speed, like every platelet in your body was racing for the finish line that seemed oh so near. Quackity, standing on edge, outraged to find himself empty handed, just a matter of feet away. Clearly Dream isn’t visible to him. The potion is doing its job, and well.

The breeze outside picks up. The forest nearest to your cabin groaned at its strength, its own bark resisting with an agitated creaking. The leaves of the trees were restless, helpless to the forces of nature. Some were strong enough to stick to their branches. Others were not. They were tugged from their stems, picked up to only be dragged against the house, scraping against the shingles of the side, shuffling and grinding along the floorboards of the porch just outside. Some even ventured inside, the ajar door doing nothing to stop the visitors.

The civility of the situation was hanging in the balance.

You chose to take action.

Slowly and surely you begin to move, not wanting to startle the man, who seemed too on hyped up on his own concoction of adrenalin for your taste. He watched you carefully, though not with fear. With anticipation.

Leaning forward, you put more weight on your legs. Using some momentum, you get onto the balls of your feet, pushing upright. The pressure on your back leaves. You dust your pants off, hoping the action conveys some sense of ease to Quackity. You keep your gaze on him, not wanting to lose sight of the man for even a second. You dare to speak, words slipping from your tongue before you can fully understand their irony. They’re devoid of any special emotion. Your speech remains faithful to you.

“Must’ve been the wind.”

Quackity starts, blinking a few times. He’s still suspicious as he looks around the house, this time scanning attentively. He’s slow, making sure to not miss a thing that could potentially give him a reason to act. He turns as he does, doing a full circle before making eye contact with you one more time.

He gives you a once over. Up and down his eyes rake up your form. The touch returns to you, this time on your shoulder. You expect it this time.

Quackity’s gaze would’ve made you uncomfortable if he was looking at you with more lust. But no, this was different. He was memorizing, not checking out. You could see the gears turn in his head as he stuffed new information into the depths of his brain, mentally accounting for something that remained unseen.

He scoffed suddenly. Shaking his head, before moving to the door. A little caught off-guard, you follow right after him, leaving the touch once more. He shoulder checks the edge of it, nudging it open to make room for himself. He walks on, at a rushed pace, passing through the threshold of the door as the DONK of his boots hit the wood of the front porch, never once looking back. You only watch from the doorway as he steps down the stairs of your cabin, hand once again finding purchase on the knob.

You ponder calling out to him. To ask him for the reason of his assault, as well as the quick departure. But he stops first, right in his tracks. Right in the grass of your front yard, about ten feet or so away from the house. The words die in your throat before they can even begin to be uttered.

Quackity cranes his neck from where he stands, looking over his shoulder with his good eye. He speaks disturbingly composed. A far cry from the erratic man that forced his way into your home.

Though it's not the tone he uses that makes your breath caught in your throat. Oh no. It’s his words. So brutal and so jarring, that you don’t know how to comprehend them. Like a viper, they attack with the element of surprise.

“I know he’s been here.”

You don’t speak. You can’t. Not even if you tried. The poison of the viper is too much.

“Don’t make an enemy out of me Mx Y/N.”

Author's Note from the Future: I’m sorry to say but this fic is on Hiatus until further notice. I may come back to it, but I’m not very sure as of now. Apologizes, and happy reading :)))

#rhaz’s works #dsmp x reader #dsmp dream #dsmp fic #dsmp imagine #c!dream x reader #c!dream #c!dream imagine #c!dream fic #dreamwastaken x reader #dreamwastaken fic #dream x reader #c!dream angst #c!dream fluff #c!dream x y/n #c!dream x you

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undonerhapsodize · 2 years

Text

Instinct

Pt.1 out of 4

Bleach Ichigo Kurosaki x g/n!reader TW: cursing, threats of violence, tooth-rotting fluff, angst sprinkled all throughout Word Count: 6,161

Summary: After a routine mission with Rukia, Ichigo returns anxious with something to say. What could be going on?

Side note: This’ll be a small ongoing series. I’ve already got the idea figure out, just need to write it down lol. There will be HEAVY angst in the future, so be warned!!

The harsh rays of the sun made you squint your eyes, its grating onslaught too intense for them to bare. Its beams were strong enough to heat the concrete below you, surely uncomfortable to touch by how long the light had been beating down on it. The wind didn’t help much either. While it wasn’t completely wild, it did mess up your hair quite a bit: tuffs of it wiping freely through the air, your attempts to smooth it back down useless. After many tries, you eventually gave up. You let out a sigh of despair. Damn, why are the odds stacked against you today?

Pulling it roughly from your pocket, you checked the time on your phone, maneuvering the lunch tray that sat in your lap so it would not fall. 11:30 it read. You hummed, satisfied. Turning it back off, you sat it beside you on the bench you were sitting on. There, you took hold of your eating utensils, deciding to start eating your meal. You would wait, but you were bored. So you purposely began eating slowly, waiting for the company you knew would eventually arrive.

After a few minutes of just listening to the silence of the world around you, the door to the roof was pushed open roughly, almost hitting the wall adjacent to it. Out stumbled your group of rag-tag friends, who chatted amongst themselves quietly as they made their way to you. Well, most did. Uryu and Ichigo were bickering a bit loudly as the rest of the group, who were talking normally, subconsciously made their way towards the bench you were sitting on. A couple chuckles were let out at the sight. It was quite entertaining most days to see them shoot boyish insults at each other.

“At least I don’t have such a girly weapon Ury-shit.” Ichigo insulted, supposedly in retaliation for what the Quincy had said prior. The shit nickname seemed to have added more salt to the wound as Uryu gave a face of offense at the remark. “What the hell is so girly about a bow and arrow?? It’s a weapon Ichigo, it’s not feminie nor masculine.” Uryu pressed a finger against his glasses to set them back further on his face. Retaliating once more, he further corrected Ichigo. “Besides, all Quincy’s use a bow and arrow. It can’t exactly be anything if everyone uses it.”

Ichigo already had his mouth open for a rebuttal when Orihime beat him to the punch, cutting him off. The first to see you, she beamed and waved, “Oh, hey Y/N!! Sorry we took so long, I had to get my lunch out of my locker.” Still smiling bright, she held up her entire loaf of bread, even pointing to it, like she was excited. It made you grin in return. “Hey guys!” You said, giving a tiny wave too.

At that, Ichigo shut his mouth. The harsh line of his eyebrow was elevated at the sight of you. His features eased out, and he smiled.. You returned it earnestly.

Ichigo’s silence confused the archer. “What? You’re not going to say anything now?” Uryu snorted, in a little disbelief at the lack of a reply. Eyes rolling in the back of his head, Ichigo groaned, clearly fed up with the argument. “Dude, can you just shut it? You win, jeez.” Not stopping or turning around for Uryu’s response, he strode over to you. It wasn’t hard to guess his plan, especially from how repetitive it is by now. Thinking ahead, you scooted over to make room for the red-head. His long strides really worked wonders when he made them, as they crossed the distance in no time at all. He quickly plopped himself down, adjusting himself to face you. Reaching a long arm around your upper back, Ichigo clasped your shoulder, pulling you into him for a quick side hug along with a gentle squeeze. “Hey Hon.” He said, nearly a whisper, the corner of his mouth turning up just a little bit at the sound of the nickname leaving his lips. It was a gentle embrace, one unlike any other. One that, even if you were blindfolded, you could tell the difference between him and the rest of the world.

Not wasting any time, you copied his manner of greeting, leaning in and tilting your head to him to make up for your lack of a returning hug. You whispered back. “Hey.”

Its been a short while since the two of you have last seen each other. It was only natural to get a little lost in the moment. Ichigo seemed to feel the same, the soul reaper not yet choosing to remove his tender hold. There, the two of you kept it, a silent agreement to remain here, like this, just a little bit longer.

“I think I’ll throw up.” Rukia deadpanned at the sight of you two. Ichigo once again let out a groan, letting go of you and jerking his head to the side so he wasn’t looking at the other soul reaper across from him. Kind of like a snappy dog. Clearly annoyed, he spoke with a bite. “So the both of you just can’t shut up? What's up with that, huh?”

Trying to ease the atmosphere from its agitation, Orihime spoke up. Her hand made a brushing motion as she giggled nervously. “Oh Ichigo, Rukia’s just teasing! It’s alright, no harm done.” Ichigo huffed, but didn’t say anything.

Wanting to try something yourself, you reach over to your side, making a bold move to grasp the hand that belonged to the one beside you. It laid flat on the bench next to your leg, the perfect opportunity to lay your own on top. You placed it down just so. If Ichigo made any indication of a reaction, you couldn’t see it. His head was still turned to the side and away from you.

Not offended at the lack of response, you turn to your lunch, about to dig in. Lifting your hand from the soul reaper’s, you were about to move it to your tray when suddenly, another had caught it. Glancing over, Ichigo’s hand had grabbed yours, stopping it from pulling back. Taking care not to be too rough, he clasped it gently, the size of his successfully covering much of it. All while not looking at you.

You leaned over, trying to get a view of his face, your curiosity peaked at his subtlety. While the angle you had wasn’t a good one, you were able to make out some features of Ichigo’s face. A barely distinguishable and stubborn pout sat there, small enough to go unnoticed by the others of the group. Yet, if you looked close enough, the remains of Ichigo’s attitude from the previous bickering were there. Not yet retreating, it didn’t take long before you made eye contact with Ichigo. You quirked a brow at him, subtly questioning the look. He held a straight face. Well, tried to. You could see the cracks starting to appear, the performance of his expression becoming unstable. It was a little funny, how he put so much effort into looking unbothered. Yet all things must come to an end, and he eventually gave in. It was to be guessed that the staring contest you started did not help.

Breathing deep, he sat back, resting his back on the upper half of the bench. He let it out, the tension he held in his shoulders going with it. His fingers intertwined with yours.

It seemed he wanted to stulk, so you let him. Noticing the inactivity of the group, you opted to ask a question. “How was class today guys?” Orihime was the first to reply, always eager to put in her own two cents. “It was pretty good! We didn’t do anything really difficult today, so that works out for me!” Taking the first bite of the now unwrapped loaf of bread, she continues, unbothered by the clear obstruction in her mouth. “What about you?”

“Same!” You agree. “Today was pretty normal.”

Nodding, Orihime turns to the rest of her group, now sitting on the floor and eating, circling the front of the bench you and Ichigo sat on. “What about you guys?”

Rukia was first to speak after clearing her throat. “Not bad. Nothing special.” She went back to eating right away. Chad just shrugged and hummed deeply in agreement. Their short replies satisfied Orihime, who then turned to Uryu, who had so far been a silent watcher. This prompted him to respond. Swallowing, Uryu said his piece. “I agree with them.” Nodding again, Orihime was ready to turn away from Uryu, thinking that was all he was gonna say. Instead, he continued. “Excluding Ichigo’s nonsense, today was alright.”

A tic formed on Ichigo’s forehead. He clicked his teeth. “I could say the same for you, freaking emo.” Uryu scoffed. “So I’m emo now? I thought I was an asshole.” Without a pause Ichigo already had his rebuttal. “You’re both.” He cracked his eyes open to look down at the Quincy as he came to the conclusion of his insult. “An emo asshole.”

Uryu made a ‘wtf face’, almost disgusted with the red-head’s attempt of a come back. “Wha-“

“Awww this bread is so good!!” Right on que, Orihime butted in at the right time to stave off the renewed argument. Whether she meant to or not was a mystery to you. It did however, serve its purpose quite well, both the males’ attention going to her instead of ripping into each other once more.

You giggled at the sight of the long-haired ginger demolishing her favorite type of bread. “Need some lunch with that bread Orihime?” That earned a small laugh from Rukia.

Orihime reached a hand up, scratching the back of her head sheepishly and laughing it off.

Your partner, however, stayed silent at the joke. A spark of apprehension ignited in you, festering as the seconds ticked by without a response. You looked to Ichigo beside you. Head tilted back, looking at the sky. Or at least, he would be if he had his eyes open. One arm was propped back on the backrest of the bench and relaxed, the other still holding your own.

While Orihime began conversing with Rukia on some random topic, you took the opportunity to investigate your soul partner’s silence.

“Ichi? How was today?”

The man in question stirred. He cracked his eyes open, blinking a few times before facing you to answer. His face held relaxed fatigue, eyebrow furrowed upwards akin to an expression of concern and lips spread into a wiry smile. He spoke in a soft tenor, extenuated by the whisper he used to keep the conversation away from the main group. “It was okay. Nothin’ special.” He rubbed a few circles into the skin of the back of your hand. “How were you?”

You didn’t want to ignore his question. Though you thought that the truth behind his silent listening was more important than answering. Before you had the chance to stop yourself, the inquiry had already spilled from your tongue. “Are you sure?”

Ichigo’s face twisted into something of surprise and confusion. He seemed to stumble over his words for a few seconds, caught very off-guard by your interruption. He offered a laugh that sounded awfully disingenuous “Ha ha.. y-yeah! What’d you mean?”

You raised a brow. Your sixth-sense was going off. Staring at Ichigo, your gaze was questioning, suspicious of if he was actually telling the truth or not. No words were needed as the sheer weight of your eyes on him made Ichigo sweat. His eyes darted around his surroundings, unwilling to make eye-contact with you while he was under such scrutiny. He even kept his smile, it looking more and more fake the longer it lasted and the more he tried avoiding the issue. Once again, he offered a few more comedic variations of ‘It’s okay’s and ‘I don’t know what you’re talking abouts’ before the carrot-top eventually quit the act. Once again, your stare definitely played its part.

Ichigo breathed out a sigh, “Just some soul reaper stuff.” He shifted around so he was no longer facing you, but rather the rest of his friends, who were still occupied with their conversation. “It's nothing for you to worry about.”

As soon as the words “soul reaper” came from his mouth, the concern you held for him at least doubled. A soul reaper problem? Shit.

“Ichigo…” His name fell from your lips before you could stop it. “Is it… serious?”

He turned to look at you. While he still looked just as boyishly grumpy and stern as he normally did, care lingered in his features as he gazed at you, reading the similar expression that sat on your own face. There was a second of questioning silence before Ichigo seemed to have come to an answer to your question.

“I’ll tell ya after school.” The redhead remarked with a small smile, no doubt in an attempt to ease your worries. “Wanna meet in the park after 5th? At our spot?”

You nodded absentmindedly. Though to be honest, there was hardly a debate on how to answer. “Of course” You offer the same smile back. “No problem.” Ivhigo’s grin widens at your face.

Suddenly, the man in question tightens his grip on the hand he still held firmly and brings it up to his lips, giving the skin of your palm a peck. You managed to sense the feeling of his lips, soft yet slightly chapped out of neglect. Eyes sealed shut, his lips lingered for just a moment, much like a kid lasting their favorite candy. While you would argue that skin would never taste that good, you had a feeling there was a deeper meaning that wasn’t something so fickle. He set your hand back down from the same spot in which he took it from. It was over just as fast as it happened. Naturally caught off guard, you flushed a bit at his random, bold move.

While not necessarily shy about it, Ichigo was not too, too fond of PDA. With the exception of special occasions, he never outwardly displayed affection casually while in the presence of others. An action like this is out of character for him.

“Uh thanks?” You didn’t quite know what to say. “What was that for?”

The reaper’s face turned sour. A pout overtook his features, propping is head up with an arm and looking in the opposite direction you were sitting “Well if you didn’t want it you coulda just said so…”

You immediately raise your hands up in an odd mock-surrender, more confused than anything. “Wha- That’s not what I meant?? I’m just so confused… lord- stop making that face!”

At this point, the rest of the gang were now fixated on whatever the two of you were doing, eating silently as they watched the show.

Ichigo quickly got offended, whipping his head back to face you, the tic on his forehead coming back from before. “What the hell?? I’m not pouting.”

“Yes you are.” Uryu felt the need to butt in. It only fueled the growing fire that was now Ichigo Kurosaki’s attitude.

“Oh my god SHUT UP.”

The humid spring air did nothing to ease the worry from your mind. As warm as it was, the moisture-filled air clung to your skin, sticking there like an unwanted leach. The confidence you wish you had was muddled by the chattering birds that resided in the park’s oak. The mulch beneath your feet stayed relatively quiet in comparison to the noise as you made your way to the bench on the furthest side of the park, further from the action of any ongoing baseball games or frisbee tag.

There, it sat facing the lake that people would sometimes use for fishing, otherwise it was a spot so out of the way, those who sat would remain unbothered. It was Ichigo and your go-to spot for when the both of you came to the park to spend time. A calm atmosphere is one of the many things you both had in common.

As you came to a stop at the bench, you thought about what Ichigo had told you earlier that day. It had been something your mind had since then refused to let go, unwilling to drop such a supposedly important subject. Something to do with soul reapers? That didn’t sound so great. Anytime your redhead brung up anything to do with his odd extra-curricular, it was never a pleasant thing.

Turning around you sat down on the seat, adjusting your bum so you were comfortable. Ever since Ichigo had gotten into the business of soul reaping and was involved in the soul society, life had definitely changed for the both of you. More so for Ichigo. He always tried keeping his dangerous hobby separated from the life you two were wanting to have together, the desire to keep you safe outweighing whatever drove him to want to share this part of him with you. You understood of course. Being a soul reaper was no easy task, and you respected the boundary he’s set. He does a good job of keeping it too. Even so, every so often something would slip through, causing him to run off to slay whatever Hollow was in the area, which was most of what he would tend to give away. However, this time was different.

The light from the sun came down onto the surface of the lake, refracting on the water. The ducks nearby slept peacefully, unperturbed by the thoughts that occupied your thinking. The atmosphere was quiet, the wind for once calmed. Nobody else was nearby, only the occasional pack of teenagers who had nothing better to do on a Tuesday afternoon. Your thoughts occupied much of your mind-palace as they often did, trying to spend your energy tackling them while also taking in the otherwise soothing space. Soul reaper stuff? He said it was serious… how serious? What the hell does Ichigo consider serious? Is it da-

Suddenly, you felt some pressure on your left shoulder. In a flash you whipped your head around, probably hard enough to give yourself whip-lash. You raised yourself off the bench just in case you needed to make a quick get-away. In that split second, you were able to decipher that the pressure mostly resembled that of a hand.

You looked up to the figure of the one reasonable, only to find that you recognized the culprit. It was, in fact, Ichigo Kurosaki, who was standing just behind the bench with his hand out and raised from when he had touched you. There he stood, looking confused and caught off-guard at the same time, head tilted in a questioning manner.

“Jesus- fuck Ichigo, you think you could warn me next time?” You deadpanned at your significant other while breathing out in relief at the same time, not pleased with his surprise arrival. At this point you had stood up from where you were sitting, hands on your hips and head turned in exasperation.

Ichigo was quick to defend himself, shoving his hands in his pockets as a little display of defiance. He made his way around the bench towards you as he opened his mouth in rebuttal. “Me? I only tapped you! Maybe it's you who should be more aware of your surroundings.”

Your mouth dropped a little at the accusation. “Wha- me?? Did you forget that you’re practically a ninja with a big ass sword??” Ichigo simply shook his head, scoffing some at your choice of words as he stopped about a foot apart from you. “It's not the same thing, dummy.” You cross your arms, laughing to yourself at the mental image of your significant other in a stereotypical ninja costume, hacking away at his monstrous enemies. “I think it is.”

Ichigo clicked his teeth, but went in for a hug all the same. Both of his long arms wrapped around your middle, finding purchase on the area between your back and the sensitive area of your ribcage. He pulled his body flush against yours. His warmth seeped into your own body, fighting off the coolness of the air. You welcomed it with open arms. There it lingered, like the feeling of the sun on your skin on a nice, warm summer day. A sun which had taken care not to burn those in which it touched with its heat. It had this innate ability to melt even the furthest reaches of your heart without much effort at all. You would cherish it for all long as it allowed you to, as it would to you.

You leaned into the warmth of Ichigo, not willing to waste the precious time he had granted you when he was right here in front of you. While the redhead didn’t give you much room to work with, you were able to wiggle so your arms were able to make their way around his waist. Well, as much as they could from this angle. He in return placed his head atop yours, chin resting gently on the callick of your hair. The weight of it was a nice kind of pressure. It grounded you, serving as a constant but gentle reminder of the soul reaper’s presence.

After a moment of just basking in each other, you chose to speak up. “So” You start, “How are you actually today?”

Ichigo breathed harshly out his nose. Detaching himself from the top of your head, he tilted his head down, placing a tender kiss on the crown of your head. The action made you smile. “I’m ok.” He spoke into your hair, words muffled by the lack of room he gave himself. “You?”

Humming in response to his question, you further buried yourself into your boyfriend’s warmth. He chuckled at the action, the sound rumbling through his chest and sending vibrations into your own. His laugh was just as warm as the rest of him.

You made the first move to separate yourself from Ichigo. Placing both of your hands on his own, you took a step back, creating some distance between the both of you while still holding onto his large hands. You looked up to the man in question with mirth, yet a hint of reluctancy in your gaze. You didn’t want to spoil the moment, but the question from earlier still remained unanswered. You wanted it answered, no matter how badly you wanted to keep the serenity of this moment alive.

Ichigo looked to have copied your expression, the smile he gave wasn’t exactly genuine nor disingenuous. It was stuck right in the middle, seemingly undeciding of which side to pick. It made you a little wary of what was to come.

The carrot top gripped your dominant hand, the other he let fall back to your side. “Come on,” He spoke softly with a grin, “lets take a walk.”

Nodding, you agreed to the request. You were never one to turn down a quiet stroll with your significant other. Pleased with himself, Ichigo’ grin widened a little as he turned to lead the way onto the trial, fingers intertwining with your own easily at the same time. The action was so smooth, his muscle memory on point.

It wasn’t long before your step evenly matched that of Ichigo’s, stride falling in tune with one another as the two of you made your way into the greenery of the forest from where the trial emerged.

The mildly harsh rays of the sun were scattered as they hit the leaves of the tall deciduous trees that seemingly stretched forever upward. This dimmed the forest floor, which in turn eased the sun’s rays from you and Ichigo. Not that you two really minded. However, it would definitely help make this easier, whatever it was about to be.

Ichigo didn’t speak at first. You didn’t pressure him to. It was easy to trust him to tell you what needed to be said when the time was right. You trusted him with a lot. And you trusted him with this. Though, that didn’t stop you from glancing at him anxiously from time to time.

He appeared distant. Like he was far off in his own world, yet focused and present at the same time. It would have worried you, but you knew him by now. Sometimes, people just need to think, and Ichigo did his thinking best with you by his side. Well, that’s what he says, at least.

Beside you, you hear him inhale deeply, hold it for a second, the exhale smoothly. More to himself than to you, he speaks. “Okay.” Right on schedule. He looks over, brow furrowed at the mental battle he was surely having right now. “Y/N, I- uh, need to talk to you about something.” You automatically nodded your head assuringly, encouraging your boyfriend to speak freely. “About soul reaper stuff?” You dared to revisit the same subject matter from before, both because you were curious and to make the first step for Ichigo in order to make it easier on him. He nodded his head, confirming your question. “Yeah, about that.”

He went to open his mouth again when he cut himself off. It confused you. You yourself went to ask when the soul reaper abruptly raised a hand, pointing a finger toward an object that was nearing the both of you as you approached it. “There,” He decided “we’ll sit there.” It wasn’t long before the man in question started to pull you in the direction of a picnic table, which sat just outside of the mulchy road.

You laughed aloud at the action, your sound joyful but not so loud to wake any sleeping animals nearby. Though he was turned away from you, you can tell Ichigo had manifested a semi-annoyed expression . “What’s so funny?” You waved him off as the two of you approached the table, not meaning to cause offense. “I just think it's a little weird that we went from one bench to another. Like, what's wrong with the first one, ya know?” Ichigo scoffed at your joke, but answered it nonetheless. “The first was out in the open. I like this one better.” He turned to sit down on one end of the wooden table, hand still in your own, which helped him lead you down to sit beside him. “Besides, I thought you liked the forest better?” There’s no denying that. Humming in agreement, you cave. “I do.”

Ichigo smiles lightly at the sentiment. Yet, it doesn’t last forever as the silence once again reminds him of what he needs to say. His nervousness has been stagnant ever since school, the impending dread of knowing that he has to tell you what he does never subsiding. And your reaction. Definitely something else he’s been fervently unsure of.

Your own feelings were not so different from his own. You couldn’t recall even one time while dating Ichigo where he’s been this hesitant to tell you something. It almost gave you chills. The sheer worry in his eyes said enough, but the bittersweet smile was the icing on the cake. What was going on?

You didn’t have to wait long for Ichigo to speak. He turned to you, placing his full focus into the conversation. Yet his eyes had not yet reached your own. “Do you remember the mission I went on with Rukia recently?” Humming and shaking your head, you confirm “Yeah I do.” He breathes again. He goes to reach for your other hand. “Well…” Grasping it, pulls both of them into the space between your bodies. There he holds them carefully, like precious gems from a dragon’s horde. Ones he had given his all to fight for. “We had to battle some guys who were causing trouble, something to do with the Arrancar, and…” He pauses, trying to find the right words. “...One of them got away.”

You were confused. You wanted to stay quiet to allow him to say anything else, but when you saw that he wasn’t planning to, you spoke up. “Well that’s okay honey, you’ll find them again, it's no big deal.” He sighed once more. “I mean- that’s not the problem, Y/N.” He looked up, now facing you with everything he has: with a certain vulnerability that you’ve never seen before. Brows lifted up, eyes widened out of pure anxiousness. It made your stomach drop. He spoke again, his tone lowering with every word, like each was crafted personally before being used. Each had dangerous potential, and he knew that.

“It's just, right he before he left, he… he threatened you, Y/N”

Your eyes shot open. The hands that were previously being held by Ichigo’s tenderly were now balled into fists, curling in on themselves. Just like you wanted to do now. “H-How?” You asked the question in a daze, not really meaning to. You were preoccupied with getting that last sentence wrapped around your head. Ichigo fervently shook his head, almost violently. “I don’t know.” He tightened his grip on your hands. “I have no idea. I- I don’t know how he could possibly known about you, I’ve been so careful…”

The air you breathe suddenly becomes thicker, harder to swallow as the reaper continues to speak. “I don’t know if he was just saying that to get under my skin, I really don’t know, I just-” He takes a break to look at you, really look at you, just to see your nervousness taking hold. You had your shoulders hunched over, gaze now unfocused and head turned to your lap. The look in your eyes is the real kicker. Ichigo’s heart shudders at the sight.

“Shit- I’m sorry, I’m so- here, come ‘ere” He leans in, urging you closer to him. You didn’t mind as he practically grabs your shoulders and pulls you into his chest, the suffocatingly tight hold genuinely working wonders to calm your racing mind.

There, Ichigo makes a point to rub your back, trying with a great effort to ease away the tension that he inadvertently caused. His voice stumbles over itself as he tries to speak calmly, trying to get you to understand and out of whatever headspace you were in. “I didn’t want to tell you, I really didn’t. I… I understand if you want to separate, this might be ser-”

You interrupt him, raising your head at what you thought was a ridiculous notion. The suggestion sort of helps you get back your resolve by how absurd you thought it was. “Ichigo, I don’t want to break up with you. I can’t believe you’d even suggest that. You know how I feel. I’m just- nervous is all.”

He shakes his head, keeping his eyes on you all the while. “I know, I know. It's just-” He pauses, taking a shaky breath in. He lets go of one of your hands, pulling his own up to cup the side of your face. His touch was gentle. It brought about a calmness to you that you didn’t even know existed. Fingers wrapped carefully wrapped around your head, thumb treating your cheek like fine china, there was no better feeling.

“It's just- I want to be careful.” You stop him. “You are careful.” His bittersweet smile returns.

He continues, speaking with an airy passion that wasn’t unfamiliar to you. “I love you.” He sings resolutely, his tenor solidifying into something deeper, something more meaningful. His next words come out like a strangled cry, catching you off-guard. “I love you so damn much.” He’s working himself up- you can tell. The anger he usually reserves only for combat is rearing its ugly head, easily working through the cracks of his defenses. His downturned brow and clenched jaw were two dead giveaways. His irises grow dark, a shadow overtaking them as his brow line deepens. His jaw tightens, lips coming together in a thin line. The next words he speaks come out in a snarl, unrelenting in its purpose, like a furious tiger engulfed in its own frustration at the fact it's kill got away from it. He speaks with an intensity that leaves you almost wanting to create some distance, a growl extenuating the curses. “And, God, if some fucking nobody asshole tries fucking with you-”

“Ichigo-”

“I don’t know what I’d do.”

“ICHIGO!”

He stops. You swear you see a flicker of gold disappear just as quick as it came.

The sheer anger that encompasses his face that this very instant is not like anything you have ever seen before. Taken aback, it makes you have some trouble finding our own backbone. It’s not everyday where you have to yell overtop of your partner to get him to quit. Yet you stand your ground, steadily keeping your gaze on the pissed off soul reaper in front of you.

It takes him a minute to realize this himself, too caught up in his outrage to fully comprehend his actions. He breathes harshly out of his nose, not unlike a horse. It takes a minute for him to speak again, calming himself was never an easy task. Closing his eyes, he delicately rests his forehead onto your own. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get all worked up like that.” He opens them once more, eyes back to their usual schedule of guilt and anxiety. “I didn’t even-”

You cut him off, knowing where this was going. “Don’t feel bad.” You requested, “It’s alright. It’s scary Ichigo, I get it.”

He shuts his eyes again, disappointed at his outburst. Instead of arguing about it any further, you decide to let him be, not wanting to continue something you know wouldn’t really go anywhere.

You speak again, trying to offer something to ease his troubled mind and yours at the same time. “Could I stay with you? If that’s okay-” “Yes” He says, relieved at the idea that conveniently solved many problems. You breathed out a laugh. “I thought that maybe- since, ya know…” He chuckles in a similar fashion. “Yeah, I know. It's smart. Living in one place will probably be best for the both of us, at least for now. Until Rukia and I can figure it out.” You shake your head, grinning to reassure him as best you can. “Yeah, I figured.”

The silence dominates once again, and the both of you let it. Living with Ichigo, huh? The thought vaguely crosses your mind. While it's certainly the least of your concerns right now, it was still a curious idea. Sleepovers happen, but this will be a kind of permanent change, and one you don’t see yourself having a hard time getting used to.

Ichigo’ fingers rub circles into your skin, both on your back and apple of your cheek. “I’ll protect you.” To himself or to you, you have no idea who he’s making that promise to. You accept it all the same.

“I know.”

“Hey” He insists. “I mean it Y/N.” Even though your foreheads are still touching, he leans in even closer, your gravity drawing him in by the second. He turns his head in order to get impossibly nearer to your face, seemingly convinced the proximity will help get his point across. The determination painted across his features speaks for itself. It was the one thing out of all of this that you truly knew, mind and soul. “I will, I promise.”

You smile again, insisting right back. “I know.”

“I’ll find him, and you won’t have to worry about it anymore, ok?”

“You mean, you won’t have to worry about it anymore. Right?”

Ichigo groans a bit at the sass, but otherwise stays quiet. He takes the hand he's been holding in his, and brings it up to his lips, kissing the palm just as sweetly, if not more, as before. He opens his eyes. They act as a balm to soothe any sore or injury. “You’ll be stuck with me for a bit, sweetheart. I hope you don’t mind.” You don’t miss how he tacked on that coy tone at the end of his sentence. You chuckled at his attempt at easing the tension. “No, I don’t.” He smiles back, even through the apprehension that now planned on sticking around until this threat was dealt with.

Until then, you were content to just be here with him. Through the storm and rain, you didn’t care. You would fight to just be, to find a special solace in this moment, a particular tranquility only reserved for times in which humans find peace in each other amongst the chaos. And with the beautiful creature in front of you, you knew that peace was just around the corner. You would just need to storm to calm down first.

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