The Colossal Gray Sunshine by Faultline, ft The Flaming Lips
Prologue: The Colossal Gray Sunshine
In which Nori is not okay and Ori will never fall in love. Not ever.
It was Ori who’d found her, but he wished it had been someone else.
Nori was supposed to be the brightest one in the family. Amad was iron and stone covering diamond and Dori was better, amethyst and alexandrite set in mithril and silver, but Nori was the colorful one. Nori was gems in all the colors of the hearth fire when she was laughing and she was steel and iron and mithril when she wouldn’t give in. She was green when she cried and blue when she couldn’t decide and she was yellow when she back-sassed Amad. She was even purple sometimes, when she was in a mood to sit and let Ori read to her while Dori braided her hair. Nori was color, though, so many shades and kinds that sometimes she was even colors that Ori didn’t have words for yet.
When Ori found her that day, though, her colors weren’t right.
Nori was sitting on the ground next to the door with her forehead pressed into her knees. She wasn’t crying or screaming or doing anything, really. If her colors had been okay, Ori would’ve just left her alone, but she was pale - so very pale. Ori had never seen her so pale before and, when he realized that she was losing even more color with each moment that passed, he panicked.
He ran to Dori first. Dori was strong and smart and Dori would know how to stop Nori from losing all her colors.Â
But Dori didn’t know how.
Nori didn’t react to anything that Dori said and whenever Dori tried to move her, she just did as Dori asked or went along with how Dori moved her. She didn’t even resist when Dori bundled her into a cuddle-hug that kept her all trapped exactly how she hated most.
Ori had known what Dori was going to say the moment the eldest Loriskin turned that horrible sickly shade of purple that meant that Dori was afraid.
So he didn’t wait for Dori to say it.
Ori ran the whole way to the market. He didn’t remember what path he took or if he ran into anyone or knocked anything over. He did remember that his face was wet when he finally found the stall Amad worked in, though. He remembered that his legs shook and his lungs burned like fire. He remembered the way Amad’s colors shattered like shale when the only word he could manage was Nori’s name.
By the time he got Amad home, Nori was nearly white and Ori thought he might throw up.
Bringing Amad home worked, though.
The moment Amad walked in the door, Nori burst into tears. She flung herself into Amad’s arms and sobbed and wailed and nearly made herself sick with how hard she cried, but Ori didn’t care. He was nearly crying himself because Nori was greens and yellows now and he’d rather have Nori colored like a fading bruise than that horrible non-color she’d been turning before.
All three of them fussed over Nori for the rest of the day. She wouldn’t eat anything they put in front of her, but she drank the tea that Dori made and let Amad bundle her in blankets. Ori didn’t know what to do. He was too young to know how to braid hair properly and his voice wasn’t meant for singing, so he sat next to Nori and held her hand while everyone else tried to work out what was wrong.
It wasn’t until after supper that she finally explained what happened.
Nori had found her One.
She called him Khagholel, he was one of the guard who patrolled the market. She had picked him out a year ago and had been trying to court him on her own. She was too young to be courting anyone, according to Dori, but others had done it younger.
Nori had found her One and today he’d rejected her.
Nori wouldn’t tell what the dwarrow had said or what his name was or even what he looked like.Â
Amad made soothing nonsense sounds into Nori’s hair and promised that her heart would heal. Dori yelled and snarled and said rude things about the guard, but Ori stayed quiet. His stomach felt funny.
Later, after all the lamps were put out and everyone was supposed to have gone to sleep, Ori crept as quiet as he could to his sister’s room.
Ori was a very good listener, Nori had told him before, and he knew that she was telling the truth because sometimes, when she didn’t want to tell Amad and Dori something, she would creep into his room and tell Ori the thing. When ages had passed and Nori didn’t come sneaking, Ori thought to go to her, instead.
He knew he had made a good decision when she reached for his hand the moment he peaked in the door.
Nori started speaking the moment he sat on her bedside, her voice wet and scratchy. She told Ori about the sound of her One’s voice and the color and styling of his hair. She went on and on about all the shades of blue his eyes were and the way sweat made his body gleam when he sparred on the practice field. She spoke of the tattoos that decorated his body and the runes that decorated his axes. She described his walk and the way he held himself so well that Ori thought that he might be able to sketch his portrait without ever having seen the dwarf himself.
Nori told about how she had tried courting the older dwarf and how careful she had been in choosing her gifts and what lengths she had gone through to find out the things her One might like. She explained how she had managed her way around chores and slipped away from her lessons and the weaving master to do what had needed done. She even shared with Ori the way she had tricked her One’s friends into helping her set up situations where he would have to talk to her.
But none of that really mattered, because Nori’s One had rejected her.
He had told her she was too young and that she was hurting the other market goers in taking his attention away from his duties. That he didn’t have time to entertain a child.
“Then make it his job to pay attention to you.”
Nori went quiet for a long moment. “What?”
“He said you were too young, but you can’t fix that right now.” Ori shifted on the bed, speaking his thoughts out loud for the first time since their listening ritual began. “But if you do something against the law, he’d have to pay attention to you. It would be his job.”
Nori made a strangled sound and sat up on the bed. Her mouth hung open and her eyes were wide, but Ori could see flecks of steel among the yellow-green she was still stained. “But if I’m caught - even if all they do is just get a good look at me - I’d bring shame on the house, on Amad and on Dori and you.”
Ori frowned and nodded. “Not if you looked different, though. If you change how you look a little bit, then they’ll never know. He’ll have to pay attention to you and no one will know you’re Nori.”
Nori spent another moment gaping like a fish before she surged forward and cracked her forehead against Ori’s so hard that he thought she might wake up the whole house.
“You’re brilliant, Ori!”
Nori smiled and laughed under her breath. She hugged Ori close and pulled him down so that he was snuggled up tight to her in the bed and the whole time his head was near to spinning with how colorful she was again - firelight flickering over metal like he was in a forge.
It was in that moment that Ori decided - he was never falling in love. Not ever.
In which Nori is not lacking confidence and has made a lovely discovery.
Nori was no mere apprentice weaver.
Nori was sixty years old, but the shuttle danced at her touch and the loom bowed to her whim and she had been assured by anyone who knew anything that she would be weaving cloth spun of mithril before she celebrated her centennial.
Nori was young, but already she had suitors.
Nori wasn't as pretty as her amad, nor was she as strong as Dori, but there were already five young dwarrow who had begged permission to court her and that was a surprising number for one so young. It didn't matter that Dori had chased each of them away, declaring that Nori was still too young to worry over that sort of thing - five suitors was five suitors.
None of this mattered, though, because Nori had found her One.
She was in the market when she first saw him and she could not have said what she had come for because he was all that she could see. He had skin the color of mahogany and hair so black it was nearly blue. He had a fighter's build and a wicked grin and he had to have been at least eighty because he was wearing a guard's uniform and she thought it took at least five years to complete the training for that sort of thing. He had two axes strapped to his back and was dressed in leather of the best quality and he moved with an arrogance that was meant to hide nerves.
In which Emma is drunk and having a very nice dream.
Emma was dreaming. She had to be. It was the only thing that made sense.
Only half her attention was on her surroundings. She was walking on some sort of metal grating, wandering through strange corridors lined with glass-faced coffins. She’d get to an intersection, choose a direction, and travel down the next aisle. It was always identical to the one she’d just left, though. Always.
The whole place was silent and dimly lit, terribly still in a way that should’ve had her on edge. If she wasn’t sure she was dreaming, she’d be terrified. If she wasn’t still pleasantly drunk, she’d be nervous. As it was, she was happily neither.
The other half of her attention was focused on remembering the music she’d been dancing to earlier tonight, the way the two men she’d danced with had touched her - respectful and lustful in turn - and moving her feet to those memories without falling over.
If she was dreaming, then she already made it home safe and the worst that lay ahead of her was a hangover. She had the whole day off tomorrow, which meant plenty of time to pamper herself as she suffered penance for the fun she’d had tonight. There was nothing to worry about.
Emma paused. If this was a dream - and it was - and she was aware that it was a dream, then she should be able to control it, right?
A wicked grin curled the edges of her mouth upward and she laughed as she spun in a circle.
Her body was awake and aching for release - a night of dancing always left her like that - but she hadn’t followed anyone home tonight. If this was her dream and she was in control, then she wanted someone who would fuck her senseless. Someone primal and strong and dangerous. Someone who could fuck her until she forgot who she was - until she forgot how to walk. Someone who wanted to keep her, who wanted to own her, in every sense of the word.
She shivered at the thought, her body thrumming with desire, and closed her eyes tight while she concentrated on what she wanted.
She opened her eyes again after a moment and looked around.
When no one appeared in front of her, she frowned. Maybe this sort of thing took time? This was the first dream she’d found herself in control of, after all.
Another song came to mind and she continued down the corridor, shuffling her feet and twirling around, mumbling the words under her breath.
She opened her eyes and let her voice trail off as she slowed to a stop. Now, this... this just might be exactly what she was looking for.
This coffin was different. It was larger, reinforced, and had some sort of warning plastered over the front of it. Inside was a man, a great giant of a man. He had skin the color of warm copper, a head bare except for a layer of black stubble, and a body that looked sculpted. He wore a blindfold, a mouthbit, and his arms and legs looked like they were chained down.
Emma swallowed hard. Her heart was pounding in her throat.
She wanted to say that he was familiar. She had this instinctive feeling that she knew him, that she should know his name, but he wasn’t anyone she had met before.
She stepped closer and leaned on the glass, trying to think. She startled when he moved.
He tilted his head just the slightest bit closer and his nostrils flared. A low rumbling sound came from within his chamber, one that had her whole body buzzing in anticipation.
He knew she was here. Emma couldn’t have said why, but the knowledge warmed her like a shot of liquor.
She started to pull away from the glass, pleased to see him leaning forward as she did.
He wasn’t as pleased, though. The sound coming from him took on a hard edge - like a warning or a reprimand - and she felt her breath leave her in a rush. She pressed herself back up against the glass without a second thought and the rumble softened back into something silky and seductive.
Emma shuddered. Her panties were soaked and her knees felt weak.
She’d never felt like this before, where just seeing a person - just hearing him - would make her so worked up. There was something about him that called to her. She wanted to touch him - needed him to touch her. She wanted his mouth and his hands and his skin against her. She wanted his body on her, pinning her down and fucking her raw. She wanted him to own her, to dominate her.
She ran her tongue across her lower lip and shivered again.
The man in the coffin strained against his chains, muscles flexing and shifting like he’d heard every thought in her head.
Emma bit her lower lip at the sight, but it didn’t quite muffle the moan that left her throat. She had to get him out of there.
She glanced over the thing he was in for a minute. She only saw the one lever. It was in the same place as the coffin opposite him, though, so maybe that was the release?
She looked up at him. He’d gone still, but his face was still turned toward her. If it wasn’t for the blindfold, she’d think he was watching her. “Hang on, okay?” Her voice sounded breathless, even to her own ears.
She waited until he responded - a single, tight nod - then glanced up and down the walkway. Everything looked clear and she couldn’t hear anyone else moving around, so she pulled the lever and took a few steps back.
It took a moment before something in the pod unlatched. There was a hissing sound after that and then the whole glass front swung open.
Emma swallowed, trying to ignore the way her heart was pounding. Nearly every fiber of her being knew that the man in front of her was a predator, a threat, and that she should run. Something deep within her, though, some quiet, firm voice insisted that he wouldn’t hurt her. She shifted, not sure how to process the conflicting instincts.
The man was already moving, though. He twisted his torso - powerful muscles rippling under his skin - and, with a metallic pop, pulled his restraints free from where they’d been bolted down. He made it look so easy, like he was stretching out a stiff muscle. As soon as he was free, he took one step and landed lightly on the grating in front of her.
Emma’s mouth was so dry. He was close enough to touch, now, but she found herself hesitating. She wasn’t afraid of him, just... nervous. This moment felt big, important. Even if it was only a dream, this... whatever this was, she didn’t want to mess it up.
He held still, not yet moving from where he dropped down. He was facing her, but his head was cocked to the side a bit and his nostrils flared again. Did he smell something?
Moving slow, even if he couldn’t see what she was doing, she reached toward him. “Your... your, uh...” She shook her head and licked her lips. “Your gag.”
He leaned forward and down, invading her personal space until he was practically nuzzling her shoulder and neck. She shuddered again and held as still as she could. She had to set her hands down on his upper arms when she started to sway. Just the feel of him being so close... it made her head swim and her breath hitch. She took a few breaths, trying to clear her head, then focused on what she meant to do. Her touch skimmed along his arms, over his shoulders, and up his neck, ending when she reached the horse bit that was wedged in his mouth. It took some work, but with his help, she managed to pull the stupid thing over the crown of his head and out of his mouth. She let the thing fall to the ground with a clang and tried not to whine in disappointment as he stood up straight again.
He brought his hands - wrists still chained together - up to rub at his jaw. Emma stood rooted to the spot, unable to look away. He licked his lips and she felt a soft, wanting sound leave her mouth. The chuckle he answered her with was a dark, wicked thing that curled around her like smoke and made her heart stutter in her chest.
He lifted his hands from his jaw to the blindfold, pulling it off.
The first story I'll be posting here is called Sanguine.
Sanguine is one of my favorite words, tbh.
In recent times, it's most commonly used by the medical field, where it means bloody. It also means optimistic or positive, though. It's the combination of these two definitions that make this word so beautiful to me.
This story began as a hyper-indulgent self insertion fan fic that I started years ago. It's changed it's shape several times since I've started it, but it's always fun to write, no matter what form it currently takes, so I thought it would be good to start with.
I am sharing this story (and, in the future, others) with you so that you can get a taste of my writing style, but also because writing something fun and self indulgent is a good way to get back into writing regularly.
In this fic, there either will be, or might possibly be,:
Spice (as in, smut or sex)
Paranormal Romance (bc it's likely linked to a series I'm outlining)
Violence (although I'm not sure what form it will take)
Changing POVs (bc that's how I get in their heads)
Inconsistancies (bc I'm using this for creative exercise)
Constructive critism is appreciated, but there's no garauntee I'll adjust the story for it. If you regularly provide supportive feedback (likes, reblogs, non-negative comments and questions), and express a strong preference (politely) for or against something in the story, I'll be happy to consider adjusting the story when it's possible. If you are rude, or simply don't interact with the story much, I will likely quietly ignore you. If you are very or repeatedly rude, I will block you.
Any way, I should have the first post up today and I'll try to post twice a week, on Mondays and Fridays.
Thank you for your time and patience, and especially thank you if you've decided to join me while I explore this story again. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.
I'm a storyteller! I'm currently working on a romance series, but I have no idea how spicy I want to write it? Bc I've only ever mentally written such scenes and while I do like spice of all kinds, I don't know how well I can put the spicy "on paper".
So, yeah, this blog will be where I post my words practice and my side practice, so don't expect anything fancy.
Constructive criticism is welcome, please and thank you.
Also, credit where credit is due: I do not own the pictures I'm using for the header or avatar, I got them on Unsplash.
Yeah, I still need to find a better name for this, but this is something for future me and the weekend.
A few days ago, I asked with this poll if there is interest in something monthly for writers and artists solely for smut.
I got 100 votes and 45% wanted the option of monthly informative posts with the month's awareness/celebration days of the NSFW kind and 55% wanted prompts, but also some people stated in the reblogs they like both options, so given the fact I have no idea what option these people voted on, I guess it would be closer to 50/50 like it was for a long time.
Actually, the move towards prompts happened in the last 24 hours after the poll got reblogged finally more.
I think 100 votes is a decent amount, given the fact not everyone is interested in this because of its adult nature, and it didn't reach the art bubble yet but hopefully will at a later date
To keep things short, since there was some interest, I will try to come up with something satisfying for April.
Tagging those who reblogged the poll @bloodlessheirbyjacques @kainablue @justnerdy15 @kingkendrick7 @livvywrites @the960writers @contes-de-rheio @radiowrites @mphdp @zmwrites @coffeewritesfiction
For those interested in this: LEAVE A COMMENT AND IF YOU RATHER WANT TO PARTICIPATE WITH A SIDEBLOG TELL ME THE SIDEBLOG SO I CAN TAG YOU IN THE FIRST POSTS TO LET YOU KNOW ABOUT THE BLOG FOR THIS.
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