II) zoey centric, in which she wonders about hair colours while braiding rumi's and mira's hair
(takes place during the movie, a few days after the saja boys appeared!)
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"Okay, hear me out. Mira's hair is pink. Rumi's is purple. The saja boys' are the color of the transgender and asexual flag. It's pride month. Does that-", such is the start of the, low-key conspiracy, tweet that sends Zoey down the rabbit hole.
Ever since she was a child, she's always been left in awe at seeing people with blue hair, with green hair, or split hair, or whatever cool design there can be.
But recently, she's been getting fascinated with people with colorful hair again, whether they had to dye their hair to get crazy cool design or not. It's not too common, but it's a fact: some people are born with blue hair. Or green. Or-
And while there's many more logical explanations to that, that being the tweet, like the hair colour gene of the saja boys being affected by their demon gene ( or something like that? she doesn't have a degree in demon biology), or just being some sort of shapeshifting spell..
For Mira, the logical explanation could be that she just dies her hair pink. But, well, her eyebrows are pink as well. Same with Rumi.
Uncommon hair colours are, well. Uncommon, but they exist: there might be a good 25% of the population who has hair of colours such as green, blue, red, or whatever else shade naturally.
Which is absolutely awesome? Hello? Her friends too, she's pretty sure, because never once has their roots been anything other than pink or purple. Or, maybe they touch them up literally every time they start showing but, come on. They'd have no reason to hide that from her unless it was some sort of a veryyy long term prank.
And she's been wondering: is it the hoonmoon and coming into contact with it that caused that for them? Caused wild, pretty shades to tint their hair, like reaching into the hoonmoon let them create their own magical weapons?
She thinks it could be, but none of its previous protectors had colored hair so..
So maybe not, maybe she's reaching, but it'd be so cool if that was the case. Because.
She has no clue whether her friend's hair are this way because of fate or because of their own doing . But the one thing she knows is that, that is absolutely unfair?? Like, come on! She has a very much common hair colour. She didn't get to have a fun one either at birth or afterwards. And, the cherry on top, is that she got the hair colour that's the hardest one to dye.
By that, she means that she'd have to bleach her hair, and absolutely damage it, unless she can settle with, maybe, simple black hair that'd sometimes glows red-dye in the light or something. Life's unfair.
It's not that she's frustrated or jealous, but she'll admit it, she is indeed kind of envious of her two best-friends, her besties that don't seem to realize how awesome their hair is, how pretty and ethereal it looks.
Wich might be why she kind of harass them with that fact. Wich, really, absolutely is why she bully them about their hair.
She figures, if they're not going to outright tell her if their shade is natural or not, she might as well have some fun while trying to figure it out.
She had tried finding childhood pictures of younger versions of her friends.
Usually, Zoey's good at that, at scrolling through medias and content to stalk someone's life. She loves being noisy, to look everywhere on the internet digging up informations, and that's an activity that's only made easier by their countless fanpages.
Except those fanpages only uses candids from any of their countless concerts (candid shots they somehow always manage to look absolutely flawless in, zoey's owns being a whole other question), pictures they've posted themselves on their socials, or official shoots. Her researches don't offer her much more. Mira's baby pictures seems to be as well hidden as the One piece, and Rumi's younger pictures as a whole seems to be an ancient legend you could doubt even existed.
But Zoey's everything but not persistent. She had thought she should outright ask them for baby pictures, for child-pictures, then. And so she had ! Asked, shared hers, shared some pictures of herself when she was still in highschool, aswell.
They had withdrawn. Mira's had lowered her head to conveniently clean her glasses, while Rumi had sooo awkwardly tried to avoid her gaze. So awkwardly Mira had raised up her head and changed the subject (, very much less subtly than Rumi was trying to be). So.
She hadn't insisted.
They're very close to each other, and they share a lot of moments, and they've been living in the same home for 2years now, but her girls keep their past close to their chests. And that isn't something she necessarily mind! There's things she doesn't tell them about what her life used to be like, as well.
But it's true she's more at ease expressing herself than they are, a little too much sometimes.
And yes, she wishes they wouldn't close off so suddenly; so drastically.
But, well.
She doesn't want them to feel uncomfy with her.
Wich is why instead of prodding at their past, she's currently proding at Rumi's hair. At a specific strand, specifically, one that's refusing to stick with the others.
Playing with her friend's hair is a way more effective way of investigating, the girl definitely more relaxed that way. She's actually kind of melting into the cushion, wich is both very endearing and also hilarious.
Zoey's not really doing this just to try and check for different colored roots or strands anymore. She's honestly doing it for the sheer joy doing so makes her feel. And also because seeing Rumi with her hair down is always an occasion to jump on.
Listen, she gets the appeal of having a signature hairstyle: she does have one, and Rumi's pretty characteristic, and it fits her well, but.
It's such a shamee, because if Rumi's braid fits her and accentuate the sharp features of her face, she looks like a downright goddess with her hair down. The way hair frames her face. Woah, to put it simply.
She doesn't even needs to make up an intricate or original design, really, so she's just making tiny braids there and there. It kind of looks like lavender, except the shade of rumi's hair is warmer than that. But, yes, that might still be a gooddesign idea anyway.
"Oh my god, that is genius, how did I never get this idea", she hears from the other side of the bed and under her, Rumi makes an enquiring grunt, or an agreeing one.. Wait. Pause. Uhhhhh? Did Mira just read her fucking mind?
"I've been saying, drag queens are genius walking among us mere humans."
Oh. Okay, yeah, Mira's answer explain everything. Drag show they've been watching. She's no mind-reader.
"What's the genius thing?", she asks, still focusing. Her fingers continue twisting hair strands around. She sticks her tongue out a little. If she wants to makes it seems like a sprig of lavender, she needs to focus so as to twist it just like that-..
"She did a sexy megamind costume and she made the ball cap work", Mira explains.
Which, yes, explains the amazement.
"Please don't get any ideas from her.", Rumi says, and she snorts.
"I'm sure you could rock a ball cap tho", she chimes in. Mira definitely would, at least. She rocked a sleeping bag and could probably rock a trash bag if she wanted to.
"Eh.. I'm not sure the fans would like it"
"They so would not.", Mira intervenes, solemny nodding, wich Zoey sees only from the corner of her vision, because she'd rather not mess up her idea, or, worse: mess up rumi's hair.
"I'm sure you could make it work! Somehow."
"I mean.. If you really want that, we could try incorporating bald caps into a choregraphy? Really not sure how tho.", Mira answers her. Still from the corner of her eyes, she sees her repositionning herself , half turning toward her and Rumi.
"Maybe making it into an epic hairstyle reveal? Like, ball cap for a quarter of the song then BOOM, epic braid.. or something.", Rumi starts brainstorming, and, oops.
She was kidding, but those two are really the greatest, seeing as they don't sound too dubious about her silly idea. (Or they're simply as crazy as her. That theory is as plausible, if not more likely, and this is probably why she likes them so much: they're never scared or following her in her crazy ideas, in her very much spontaneous and sometimes stupid decisions)
"Nooo, I was joking, don't hide your pretty hairfull heads"
"Hah, okay, phew. Because I was gonna say, we have no songs that would fit this, sooo", Mira says.
"Songs that'd fit what?", Rumi asks.
"Like, you know, hiding shit until the final dramatic reveal", Mira says. Zoey focusing back on her tiny braid. She's almost done, she can't mess up in the final moments, can she? She's almost to the point of just having to tie her masterpiece it with a small hair-tie.
"Yeah. Right.", Rumi says.
There's a blank, suddenly, a silence that's almost absolute except for the sounds from the show.
The previous pressure seems to be back, somehow, like Rumi is starting to stress again from nothing. Everything has been so tense, in between the release of golden, and those pricks of saja boys, and their songs fighting in the charts, and- Everything has been lowkey awful, even between them. She doesn't know why, but Rumi has been stand-offish, and it's affected Mira aswell, and her, too.
And, since they don't usually share those things, Zoey has been hesitating to speak up about it. Wich is why their hanging out session turning into an impromptu sleepover had been so much more nice than usual. A break from the tense (and too hushed) space settling between them.
"Right." Mira turns back towards the screen.
The silence keeps going, for a good minute. It's a different one than the one that sometimes come during their conversations and, yeah, no. Zoey's not a fan of confrontation, but she doesn't like letting things being tense, either. She doesnt think the girls are going to acknowledge the heart of the problem. And she doesn't know how to, but what she can do is..
She straightens up, and- "Tadaaaa! I'm done!"
"Oh?" Rumi slowly straighten up as well, stretching then twisting to see the braid. If she hadn't been wearing sweatpants and a long hoodie, Zoey would have most likely been able to see her stomach, seeing as Rumi is very flexible and currently very much extending herself to try and get a glimpse of what she's just done. "That's not a regular braid", she says, so carefully feeling it Zoey kinda want to guh about the gentleness of the action.
"Nope, I wanted to try something new"
"Zoey, that's gorgeous as fuck. You got the idea yourself?", Mira asks, and she can see that she's turned back around toward them.
"Yeah! I was trying to make it looks like lavender, or something like that", she grins.
"Can't believe you, you stole the idea from pinterest, not taking any other explanations", Mira jests.
"Excuuuse me, I'll let you know , I'm the aesthetic pinterest inspiration person", she jest back, smile clearly present on her face.
"You two are making me wants to get a mirror to see but I'm way too comfortable there to do it, stop ittt", Rumi says, still trying to break her spine to see the braid, which she.. cannot possibly do. Unless she were to break her spine.
She snorts. Rumi hears. "You had to do it right in the middle of my hair where I can't see", she says so grumpily that Mira immediately joins her in the laughing.
"Cruel, you two are cruel. I'm going to miss the next reveal and you're laughing.", she says, which is the absolute truth, which is reality as it stands.
"Yeah. We're evil and cruel.", Zoey answers while organising her hair stuff or rather putting every one of her hair ties together in a single box despite their various colour), attempting to stay serious, because that always is the best way to get Rumi to keep being dramatic, which is very much peak entertainment.
It works. "Nooooo, why would you do this to meee, I'll never get to see my glorious Youngrong Kim's design??", Rumi dramatically weeps, hand on her chest and the other down the side of the bed, like she's a drama heroine dying.
"oh my god you are such a drama queen ", Mira snorts. "It's not that hard, you can just go"
"You're next by the way", Zoey decides to announce right this moment.
The way Mira's face loses her smirk so drastically at this is absolutely hilarious. Drama queen, yeah, indeed.
"Nevermind, Rumi, don't you dare leave, she won't let me speak to her while she's focused, I won't be able to ramble"
"I thought it wasn't "that hard"?"
"I never said that. I definitely never said that. Rumi, have mercy on me"
Zoey snorts the antics of her friends. Boy is she glad to hear them back to their usual self. She'll deal with Mira's yapping if it means no more of the chilling silence, the loneliness, gladly. She knows very well it's in their nature not to speak about what bother them, but, really, it bothers her that they won't talk to her about it, and really, she'd rather be distracted than have to be sad about it.
"You know you can take a picture of the back of your head with your phone right?" , Mira's been adding, trying to convince Rumi to stay in Zoey's room (despite the fact Rumi is making no move to actually leave, apparently fine with sticking on the bed next to Zoey).
"Hmm, I don't knoww. . .", Rumi says.
"Rumi. Rumiiii- Don't leave me alone with her, she's going to spend hours brushing my hair"
Zoey snorts, again, dragging Mira to the middle of the bed, even if that means she can't really see much of the screen anymore with the tall girl in front of her .
Long, pink, soft hair, here she comes.
" I missed it, did Gvan reveal her outfit already?", she asks, gently dragging her fingers through Mira's hair, exactly like she had done with Rumi's earlier.
"Oh my god, you missed it? " Comes Rumi's answer, said girl taking her phone out and shifting even closer to them. "You've got to see, it wasn't the most original but, still, wow. Glorious."
And there they go, yapping away about the show and design decisions. It's fun. It's nice. It's the warmth Zoey feels when thinking about their relationship coming back again, this time metaphorically and quite literally, with the blankets of her bed and the shared warmth of Rumi's and her tights next to eachother, of Mira's shoulder she's leaned over to see Rumi's phone.
It's what makes her totally forget about her previous hair colour brainstorming, her questioning over the reasons why they hide things that seems so simple, temporaryly.
It's moments like this that she prefers over the sheer rush she feels when on stage.
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I have this fun little head-canon that "unnatural" hair colour is actually natural, if not common in kpdh's universe, (because, for rumi, for example: I think it doesn't make much sense that she'd feel comfortable with her hair being purple and very obvious if that was something she inherited from her father's side, from being a demon, given how she's always been hiding her patterns. I think Celine would have made her that hide aswell if it had been a telltale sign of her being inhuman ?) so here's a fanfic that stemmed from this idea!
Requests! Yay! :D I have an idea for a Shadouge scene that's been in my head for months and I think you'll like it. Here you go!
Shadow has been avoiding sleeping for far too long and Rouge decides to take matters into her own hands. Meaning she slips something into Shadow's food at dinner to make him intensely drowsy. Cue some fluffy interactions as Shadow tries (and fails) to fight off the impending sleepies.
Lullaby Sleight
Dark circles clung to ruby eyes; scarlet striped onyx quills slightly disheveled from frustrated fingers scuffing through them. Multitudes of empty paper cups littered the desktop, all ignored in favor of scouring the scattered papers printed with the official GUN seal, classified information that Shadow had been attempting to decipher for the past several days with little success. A growl of frustration rumbled in his throat, and Shadow furiously ripped his latest sheet of scribbled notes from the pad and tossed it to the wastebin—already overflowing with other such crumpled balls of yellow paper—where it toppled to the floor with the others.
Leaning against the doorway of his bedroom, Rouge watched with a frown, concern and frustration heavy in her green eyes. Since receiving the intel reports from Commander Towers a week ago, Shadow had been borderline obsessed with breaking the ciphers, as if the author had issued him a personal challenge. He rarely left his desk, only briefly teleporting away to answer nature’s calls or retrieve more coffee. He would refuse any meals, citing he needed no distractions from his work, and Rouge knew for a fact he hadn’t slept a wink since receiving those reports.
Observing him now, watching his eyes flutter shut and snap open, watching his lips twitch with the desire to yawn but his jaw clenching to halt it, watching his knees bounce but refuse to even stand and stretch his restless muscles…Rouge made up her mind. Enough was enough. Abraham could fire her all he wished, but those ciphers could wait. Shadow’s health couldn’t.
The bat nodded to herself, a plan formulating in her mind. She knew Shadow, knew him well enough to know that if she forced him to bed now, he would fight her every step of the way, and she’d inevitably lose. He would ignore her, argue with her, and go right back to that desk and those cipher’s out of pure stubbornness, just as he had before. No. The conventional way wouldn’t work this time. Rouge would need…ulterior methods to get Shadow to rest like he so desperately needed. Rouge smirked. Well, she was always up for a challenge, and always had a trick or two up her sleeve. Years of working with Shadow meant she was well-versed in navigating the Ultimate Lifeform, and she planned to use all her knowledge of Shadow to get her way.
So, for the moment, Rouge left Shadow at his desk, headed for the kitchen, and began setting her plan into motion. With any luck, Shadow would be too distracted to pay enough attention to her to stop her.
#
Shadow’s ears twitched at the soft knock on his door but otherwise ignored it. He almost had it cracked, he just needed-
A well-manicured hand rested on his desk, covering the pages from his view, and his pencil was carefully tugged out of his hand before he could react. Indignant scarlet eyes shot up, enraged by the interruption, but the blasted bat merely stared at him with a smirk and a raised brow, twirling the pencil between the fingers of her other hand. Her slender body leaned against desk, her warmth permeating his cloud of focus, and Shadow ignored it to glower at her and held out his hand. “Give it back, please.” He commanded.
“No.” Rouge impudently tucked it behind her ear, out of his immediate reach, and Shadow’s lip curled. “Dinnertime, handsome.” She proclaimed.
Shadow scowled. “I’m busy.”
“Not anymore.” Rouge disagreed, nudging him. “You need to eat, and being the generous bat that I am, I made one of your favorites.”
Shadow ignored the scent now so obviously wafting in through the open door from the kitchen, and the ensuing growl from his empty stomach. “I’m not hungry.” He lied. “I need to work.”
“You need to eat.” Rouge countered. “I slaved away in that kitchen for you, Mr. Robotnik. Are you going to let my benevolent efforts go to waste?”
Shadow opened his mouth to snap back at her…and paused, the aromas of parmesan chicken and alfredo pasta and honey wheat rolls hit his scent glands. His stomach rumbled again, and his mouth watered. Rouge really did cook his favorites, and Shadow knew how much she detested cooking anything more complicated than microwaveable mac and cheese. His ears flattened against his head, and his eyes lowered to the floor. “Then…a quick break shouldn’t hurt.” He muttered, standing and refusing to meet Rouge’s eyes and missing the conspiratal and victorious smirk that flashed across her muzzle.
#
Rouge wiped her mouth with her napkin, humming in the satisfaction of both a full stomach and a successful plan, observing with a secret smirk as Shadow practically licked his third plate clean. “I hope it was passable?” She leaned forward, ears pricked and eyes bright.
Shadow covered his mouth with his fist, hiding the belch that almost burst forth by clearing his throat, but nodded at the bat. “Delicious.” He commended her. “For someone that loathes cooking, you certainly excel at it.”
Rouge waved a hand. “Basic pastas like chicken alfredo are simple enough, and the rolls were premade. Nothing too difficult, but I’ll still be leaving it to you, Mr. Ultimate Chef.” Shadow snorted and shook his head.
He sighed. With a pleasantly full stomach, going back to work was as unappealing as a bonfire in Shamar during the dry season. The striped hedgehog wanted nothing more than to curl up in his chair with his current book and listen to his new vinyl on the record player, but… “Duty calls.” He sighed and stood up.
Rouge merely smiled at him. Shadow frowned, alarm bells ringing in his head at the…mischievousness in that smile, but even they sounded muted. He blinked, then blinked again…then yawned. Lethargy clung to him like a warm blanket, and Shadow shook himself. “What-?” He snapped his eyes open and threw a wide-eyed look at the still-grinning bat, putting the pieces together in his mind.
Rouge cooking his favorite pasta. Rouge insisting he come and eat. Rouge insisting on fixing his plate for him. The grin on Rouge’s face now. “You didn’t.” Shadow hissed.
“I did.” Her tone was smug.
“Rouge!” Shadow was never eating anything prepared by her or coming from her hand again. He was going to inspect every meal, every drink, every snack thoroughly from now on. “You can’t-!”
“I can and I have.” The smirk dropped from her face, replaced by solemn concern. “Shadow, you have to take care of yourself. This is the first time you’ve properly eaten since Towers gave you that assignment, and I know you haven’t slept since then, either! The circles under your eyes are nearly as dark as your quills. You need to rest, and if you won’t do it yourself, then you leave me no choice but to force you.”
“By drugging me?!”
Rouge snorted. “Oh please, you drama king. I know that drugs have no effect on you. A natural supplement that your body naturally produces however,” She held up a little plastic jar and waved it at him before tucking it back into her pocket.
Shadow opened and closed his mouth, indignant that Rouge would pull such a slight on him and embarrassed that he didn’t catch it in time to stop her. He shook his head and turned away from the table. “I’m going back to work.” He grumbled. He may still have some time before the melatonin took hold and forced him to unconsciousness, and he was going to use all the time that he had. Perhaps he could even fight it off. He staggered through the kitchen and down the hallway, shaking the fuzz out of his head. His mouth split open in another yawn, and as he leaned on the doorframe of the living room, he could barely make his legs work.
A slender body pressed against his side, a gentle hand curling on his shoulder. Rouge. Shadow blearily blinked at her, her green eyes swimming pools of soft emerald, and Shadow leaned into her warmth with a noise of discontent. He nuzzled sleepily into her shoulder, loosely wrapping his arms around her waist. A soft chuckle reverberated in his ear. “Alright, handsome. Bedtime for this Ultimate Lifeform.”
“Don’t wanna.” Shadow mumbled. “Wanna read…listen to new record.” He blinked pleading eyes at Rouge, disoriented ruby on mirthful green.
Rouge chuckled. “You need to sleep, hon.” She reminded him. Shadow pouted, and Rouge paused. “How about a deal? If you agree to go to bed, I’ll get your book and read to you.” She offered.
Shadow eyed her suspiciously. “What about my record?”
Rouge shook her head. “The record player is in the living room, hun, it’s gotta stay there. You can listen to it tomorrow, I promise.”
Shadow slumped against her. “Fiiiine.” He groused. Rouge wrapped her arm around his waist and guided the half-asleep hedgehog back whence they came, and Shadow practically flopped onto his bed, snuffling into his pillow. Rouge couldn’t resist and sniggered at the photo evidence now stowed away in her phone. Just in case.
“Alright, hon, you think you can get settled while I get your book?” Rouge prompted. An unintelligible grumble answered her, but the hedgehog shifted, so she darted down the hall to collect her half of the bargain. There, resting on the little oak side table beside Shadow’s wingback chair near the window, was the book in question, and Rouge snatched it before marching back to Shadow’s room. She found him sitting slouched on the edge of the bed, chin against his chest fluff, his breaths steady and bordering on sleep.
Rouge shook her head, hiding her smile, and bent down beside him. She slipped the skates off his feet and neatly laid them beside the bed for easy access the next morning, then stood and gently pushed on his shoulder. “Come on, hon. Down you go.” Though he grumbled, Shadow followed her guidance and made himself comfortable, watching her with sleepy eyes.
“Read?” He yawned.
She waved the book. “As promised.” Shadow smiled at her and patted the space beside him. “Shadow, I don’t think-,”
“Won’t be able to hear you from down there.” He interrupted.
“Shadow, you have perfect pitch.” Rouge reminded him. Shadow pouted and sat up, crossing his arms even though he yawned again. She rolled her eyes. “Stubborn hedgehog.” And before she could question if this was even a good idea, she jabbed at his shoulder. “Down, or I’m not coming up.” She threatened. Shadow flopped back down onto his pillow, and Rouge crawled up the mattress until she was seated comfortably at his side, her back against the headboard and opening the book to the marked page. “Lucy felt a little frightened, but she felt very inquisitive and excited as well.” Rouge began, then paused as she felt the bed shift, looked down to find Shadow lying on his side towards her, his half-lidded eyes focused on the book’s pages, his ears tilted sideways, and Rouge hesitantly combed her fingers through his quills. Shadow’s eyes fluttered, and she smiled softly at the quiet but contented purr rumbling deep in his chest. Rouge returned her attention to the book, but her fingers remained on Shadow’s head, stroking his quills, scratching his ears. “She looked back over her shoulder and there, between the dark tree trunks; she could still see the open doorway of the wardrobe and even catch a glimpse of the empty room from which she had set out…”
Hours later, when dawn brought the first rays of sunshine, instead of rising with the sun, Rouge the Bat grumbled and clung tighter to her pillow, snuffling into the fluffy white fur of her best friend’s chest and humming contentedly when he purred against her forehead, nuzzling in his sleep against her hair and curling his arm tighter around her. However, that did not stop the E-Series badnik from snapping several shots of photographic evidence to showcase later in opportune moments before lumbering down the hall towards the living room and the television, which would be solely his to enjoy for the first time in ages.
It isn't often Paul Hill finds himself terrified of a storm, but the first storm he experiences on Crockett Island would be enough to put the fear of God into anyone. Set during Less Than Holy
Two fics in three days, whaaa? Really though, I knew I wanted to write something with Paul's perception of storms corresponding with his emotional state, with the reader helping him calm down. I didn't know I would actually write a bit of backstory for this AU Paul. I'm happy I did, though.
gif by @shazadlatifgf
The First Storm - 4.5K
tw: a light panic attack
It was father Paul’s third night on Crockett Island. He served his very first mass for his new congregation in the morning, a chilly late february Sunday. To say he was nervous was an understatement. Most of these people had only ever known one pastor their entire life, the esteemed Monsignor John Michael Pruitt, who was currently recovering in a hospital on the mainland.
—
Paul met him in the Holy land and had been the one to stop him from walking off into the desert on his own. He helped the older man wake up from his haze and then led him back to their hotel, and they began talking. Monsignor Pruitt told him about all the good people in his town, all with a smile on his face and kind words to say about every single one of them. But there always came a point in their conversations when John Pruitt stopped talking. His eyes became unfocused and he looked around himself in near panic. He suddenly didn’t recognise him, didn’t know where he was and kept muttering two names. Millie. Sarah.
Paul knew the signs, unfortunately. He remembered coming to visit his elderly grandfather, reading to him, helping to feed him, and bringing him tea. Sometimes they shared long talks until old Phillip Hill became too tired, sometimes he stared at his grandson like he was a stranger. By the end, he was in too deep, his mind slipping into memories and disregarding the outer world entirely. By the end… by the end it was a relief when he left to join his wife up above. For him, surely. For Paul… Well, he was glad his grandfather was no longer in any pain, but he did miss him terribly.
So each time he lost the Monsignor completely, he knew what to do. He’d bring him to his room, sometimes even helped him get ready for bed, if John Pruitt was too far gone. He’d order melissa tea from the hotel service and wait until the elderly priest fell asleep. Then he’d sneak out and go to his own bed, saying a quick prayer for his new friend before falling asleep. Monsignor’s mind worked better in the mornings and he usually had no recollection of how he got to bed in the first place. But he seemed more jovial and quite excited to tell Paul more stories.
When the day of their departure came, Paul decided he couldn’t let Monsignor go by himself with a clear conscience. The younger man himself wasn’t needed anywhere. Before coming to this journey, he served as a substitute at a small parish near Boston, but seeing as their priest returned from his mission, Paul was currently jobless. The Monsignor was surprised that the younger man decided to tag along with him, but he seemed delighted and promised to introduce him to everyone on Crockett Island. But there was something wrong… The young priest couldn’t tell how, but he felt something was wrong indeed.
That little something was unfortunately proven right. During their first transit flight, John Pruitt still shared stories of people of his parish. ‘Ed and Annie Flynn, they are amazing people, Annie is a saint, and both of their sons are such clever, nice boys!’ Or ‘Bev Keane, she’s very zealous, knows the Bible by heart, every single word.’ and ‘A young woman recently started coming in. I don’t think she’s from the island, because I don’t know her and she sits back during communion, but she seems very lovely!’ . John Pruitt told stories of Erin Greene, who came to bring new life to the little town, ‘such a dear girl!’ , poor Leeza Scarborough, who despite being bound to a wheelchair never missed a single sermon, and Joe Collie, whom he wished he could help but didn’t know how.
Paul tried covertly asking about the women John mentioned during one of his episodes. “You did say something about, um, Millie, I think?” The elderly priest stayed quiet, a strange look appearing in his eyes. Paul decided not to pry and they talked of other people once more. However, an hour before the plane was supposed to land, Pruitt got quiet again. Paul thought perhaps he fell asleep, or maybe his mind wandered off. Looking at him though, he discovered not only was Monsignor awake, he also looked very aware. But also quite ill. Something was definitely wrong.
“Monsignor Pruitt? Are you feeling well?” Paul asked, concerned. The old man didn’t reply, but he shook his head no and continued staring in front of him. He stayed this quiet during the entirety of their second flight, looking worse by the second. And as they left the aeroplane, John Pruitt grabbed at Paul’s shoulder, steadying himself. His hand was warm, way too warm. “Monsignor?” was the last thing the old priest heard before he lost consciousness.
—
It was a rough few days. Monsignor Pruitt was promptly taken to a hospital, where he was diagnosed with gastroenteritis, most likely caused by faulty food. Which wouldn’t be that serious really, but with the priest’s old age and the health problems that went hand in hand with it, the doctors insisted it’d be better for him to stay in the hospital to recover. Paul agreed. The monsignor did too, to some extent, but he didn’t want to leave his parish without a priest for such a long time, as he'd been 'gone too long already' . Paul Hill didn’t know why he said what he said next, didn’t know why an idea so spontaneous felt so absolutely right. He’d grown fond of the old priest, and wanted him to recover in peace, without him having to worry about his congregation. It all came down to why he even became a priest in the first place - he just wanted to help.
“I will stand in for you.”
—
And so here he was. It was all rather rushed, but it could've been much worse. He explained Monsignor's and his situation to the dioceses under which Crockett Island fell, phoned his family to send more of his clothes, personal objects and anything else he could need while standing in for the old priest, seeing as he travelled to Israel rather lightly. He found the correct dock from which the ferry to Crockett left and managed to go all the way to the rectory without alerting anyone. He spoke to Monsignor Pruitt on the phone, assuring him he'll take care of his flock and explain what happened. It all went down so quickly, but as he finally sat down on the tiny (and rather uncomfortable) sofa in Pruitt’s little house, he felt he was exactly where he was supposed to be.
That is not to say the last few days didn’t take their toll on the young priest. As he stood on the porch of the rectory, watching the clouds becoming darker and darker by the second, he felt that familiar uncomfortable tingle in his stomach. He was nervous. Paul usually didn’t mind storms, in fact, he often enjoyed them. Sometimes though, mainly when he was going through some stressful times, the comfort he normally felt, when raindrops hammered against his window and a deep thunder roared through the sky, turned into utter terror. Some stormy nights he’d be able to sit outside under some shelter and keep watch for lightning bolts, contently breathing in the smell of earth mixed with rain, other nights he’d press his hands to his ears, painfully hard, trying not to scream each time the thunder almost shook the very ground he was cowering on. Trying not to weep in fear and embarrassment. It was like the chaos of the tempest could latch itself onto his inner turmoil, and when it did, it shook Paul to his core.
He let out a long breath, trying to calm down. Paul went inside intent on distracting himself from the ever nearing storm. He changed from his priestly attire during the day into a pair of washed out jeans, a simple grey t-shirt and a very warm and comfortable blue bomber cardigan. The priest made a cup of tea and sat down, opening a well read old Bible and trying to drown out the loud sounds of rain entirely, which was quite difficult, considering it was the only thing he could actually hear. The many lights in the rectory calmed him somewhat, so, of course, they went out not five minutes after Paul’s heartbeat started slowing down.
The man was plunged into absolute darkness, panic immediately rising within him. Between cursing himself for not preparing any candles beforehand and wincing as the entire room was suddenly illuminated by a different kind of light, he bent his legs to place his sock clad feet in front of himself and hugged his knees with his arms. Paul closed his eyes, trying to concentrate on his breathing and steadying the little tremors that started coursing through his hands. Suddenly though, his ears perked up. There was a new sound among the booming thunder and the loud noise of millions of raindrops falling all around. A pitter-patter of feet hitting wet gravel, slowly getting closer.
He opened his eyes and saw a different kind of light in one of the windows, light blue, like the thunder, but much smaller and moving erratically. His curiosity managed to outweigh his discomfort and he crept to the window. It was hard to actually see anything in the dark, especially through the thick curtain of rain, but Paul saw the light, clear as day, and the sound of footsteps grew louder. There was a person, running through the storm, a flashlight in their hand to light their way, wherever they were going. ‘Are they mad?!’ thought Paul and, without thinking, he ran to the door. He opened it wide and stepped out onto the porch, immediately getting drenched by the rain which was flying in all directions because of the wind.
“Hey!” he called, as loud as he could, but another thunder rolled through the skies at the exact same moment, drowning out his voice and making him gasp and cringe. “Heey!” he called again and this time, the person, who was now some 40 yards away from him, nearly by the church. They stopped and shone their light in his direction. “Come inside, quick!” he called again, managing to do so before another giant flash of light illuminated the entire sky and more roaring came, making his already trembling hands shake violently. The person stood still but for one second, before they made a dash towards his door. They both ran inside and Paul threw the door closed with a bang. His unexpected visitor put their light (which turned out to be a mobile phone flashlight) onto a little side table close to the door, and it helped illuminate their face.
Father Paul instantly recognised it as belonging to the girl he saw in church earlier that day, the newcomer who sat back during communion.
—
You were an idiot. You were an idiot and got yourself caught in this horrid storm. Originally, you had been taking an afternoon stroll, hoping to get some writing inspiration and secretly thinking about your interaction with the charming new priest in the morning. You liked strolling through the Uppards. Most of the stray cats were quite feral and ran away as soon as they caught your scent through the tall bushes, however, every now and then, a few of them would get curious and investigate, even let you pet them.
You thought you had enough time to get back home before the storm began, but the first few little drops that fell on your head soon turned into a full blown shower and the sky got dark fast. You started running as fast as you could, using your phone’s flashlight to guide your way through the shrubs, careful not to step on any cat that could suddenly appear in front of you. You were soaked to the bone and well aware that you’ll soon be freezing, even though you were running. You basically jumped right over the little bridge leading from the marshes back towards the town and carried on, the quickest route back to your home leading around the church.
But only, as you neared the church itself, gravel rustling under your feet, you heard something other than just rain and thunder. It almost sounded like… a voice? A distressed one, too. “Heey!” You turned towards it. It was the new priest, you could barely see him, standing on the porch of the rectory. “Come inside, quick!” A lightning bolt tore through the sky and you wasted no time in running towards him. He shut the door behind the both of you once you finally stepped over the threshold, rather hard, too. You set your phone down onto the first flat surface you saw and stopped to catch your breath.
In the light of your flashlight, you finally got a good look at his face and blinked in confusion. There was an expression of fear there, his eyes were wild and when yet another cracking louder sounded around you, nearly shaking the ground with its intensity, the charming priest’s entire body visibly jerked and his eyes screwed shut. You were at a loss for words. You were standing in a house you’ve never been to before with a man you only met today and who was an absolute stranger to you. It was obvious the storm was making him feel panicked and miserable, terrified even, and you wanted to provide comfort, seeing as he saved you from the rain and most likely from a nasty cold as well, but you had no idea how.
If you knew him a little better, if he was your friend, you’d probably wrap your arms around him, whisper gentle words of consolation, perhaps pet his hair. But not only was he a stranger, he was also a priest, and you didn’t want to make him even more uncomfortable than he already was.
So instead, you slowly reached a single cold, wet hand out, and put it on his shoulder. He flinched slightly, but made no move to shake your hand away. “Hey,” you said softly, getting his attention, “how about you sit down?” His breathing was shallow and his eyes still wide, but then he blinked, once, twice and stiffly nodded his head. He walked to the sofa and sat down on it, hands gripping his knees. “Okay,” you whispered, more to yourself, than to him and began untying your sopping wet shoes to take them off. Your socks were equally drenched, but at least they weren’t muddy. Next to go was your jumper, the wet wool was heavy and freezing and you thought for a moment, before you just opened the door and threw the garment out on the porch. No use having it drip all around the floor here and making you freeze to death.
You made your way over to the priest, whose entire body radiated tension. There was no point in asking him if he was alright, because even in the near darkness you could tell he was definitely not. You kneeled in front of him and once more reached out a hand, putting in on his own which seemed intent on crushing his knee. He looked at you and his large soulful eyes were literally screaming. “Do you know where the candles are?” you asked, your voice only loud enough for him to hear over the rain and wind outside. He shut his eyes again and shook his head. “Alright. Do you mind if I go look for them?” Paul opened his eyes again, a tiniest hint of gratitude hidden behind the panic in the nearly black orbs. You went to fetch your phone and put it next to him on the sofa, so he wouldn’t have to sit in the dark while you were searching the rectory for candles. And after a bit of thought, you took a hold of the blanket that was haphazardly thrown over the back of the little couch and draped it over the priest’s lightly trembling shoulders. His hands left his knees to grab at the blanket and wrap it tightly around himself.
You spent several minutes looking around the room to see if you could perhaps spot the candles hiding somewhere in plain sight. You didn’t. Erin kept her candles in the kitchen cabinets, you remembered, and perhaps Monsignor Pruitt did too. The first one you checked only contained mugs and glasses, good thing to remember, maybe you could make some tea for the priest later. The next cabinet had various plates in it, and the one next to it had various durable foods stored inside, pasta, rice, canned goods, etcetera. Only one cabinet remained. You took a deep breath and opened it. You were wet, cold, a bit miserable, and worried for the priest, so you grinned in victory at the various candles of all shapes and sizes, complete with a large pack of matches.
There was no coffee table, so you pulled a chair from a dining table nearby and began lighting up a candle after candle. You left one large one and several smaller ones on the chair itself, but then started putting the little lit candles on every flat surface, making sure nothing flammable was nearby. Soon enough, the rectory was bathed in a pleasant warm orange glow. It wasn’t exactly bright, but you saw father Paul’s face clearly now. He stared into the flames of the candles placed on the chair, still trembling a bit and flinching at every loud boom of a thunder. Acting on instinct, you pulled close curtains on all the windows. Tea, you remembered, that could help him calm down.
Well, this idea left as quickly as it arrived. The rectory’s stove was an electric one, therefore useless in the current situation. Damn, you could have sworn it was a gas one, at least it looked to you as such before you lit the candles. However, on one of the burners stood a kettle and when you touched it, told to do so purely by your own subconsciousness you supposed, you were quite delighted to feel the little sting on your fingers. There was hot water inside, and while not boiling anymore, it’d be enough for tea to steep in. Remembering you saw some earl grey in the third cabinet you opened, you fetched two random mugs and put a teabag in each, before pouring the hot water over them.
You carried the tea back towards the sofa and, without a word, father Paul moved to sit a little closer to the edge of the sofa, prompting you to take the now empty seat beside him. You did and held out one of the mugs for him to take. He appeared to be a little calmer, the thunder ‘only’ making him tense up now, instead of full on flinching. He still stared into the flames, his expression less panicked, but still unhappy and now also appearing tired. “A little better?” you asked softly, blowing on your tea. He nodded and started biting on the inside of his cheek. “It’s not…” he began, sadness in his rich voice, “it’s not always this bad… Almost never, really. I actually even like storms, it's just-” he broke off after another loud crash from the skies.
“I’m so sorry,” he rasped out, “you haven’t known me for a day and you already have to… comfort me, because I got-... spooked by a stupid storm... That’s some first impression as a priest I gotta be making now.” Yes, he was still a stranger, but you hated how self-deprecating and ashamed he sounded. Without thinking, you took a hold of his free hand. Paul gave you a surprised look. “Don’t…” you whispered, looking into his eyes, “don’t. We all get spooked sometimes. And many people are terrified of much smaller things than this hell of a nasty storm. Besides,” your thumb stroked over the priest’s large hand, “I don’t think it’s really just the storm that made you so wound up. You said it yourself, you usually like them. Perhaps you’re just… under a lot of stress. Which of course you are, I mean, you stood before total strangers today, talking to them from a position of authority, I mean, I’d be sweating bullets. But you weren’t. You were awesome. You were charming and kind and knowledgeable and approachable. Just like a good priest should be. That’s my first impression of you. As for the second,” you scooted just a tad closer to him, “my second impression is that you are a man who went out of his way to give me shelter from an abominable storm. The storm terrifies you, and you still went out and got yourself drenched, just to help me. And I think that’s pretty awesome, too.”
Paul’s expression softened and he gave you a small, but honest smile. And you were so glad your face was only illuminated by the candlelight, because it hid the fact you blushed seeing that smile. It made his face look so open, and little crinkles appeared at the corners of his eyes, in which you saw pure gratitude written. “Thank you,” he said, and squeezed your hand, but didn’t let go of it. He turned his head away. “You’re right,” he spoke then, “these last few days… have been quite stressful.” You waited for him to elaborate. Another thunder - the priest’s hand squeezed your own again. “Let’s talk some more,” you said, trying to get him to focus on you instead of the tempest raging outside.
“You can talk to me about what’s been bothering you, if only to get it out of your system. Or, if you don’t want to talk about it, you can tell me something about yourself.”
So Paul talked. He told you everything that happened from first meeting the Monsignor in Israel up until today, holding your hand the entire time, and the more he talked, the less he tensed up each time the ground underneath trembled with the storm’s intensity. Gradually, his body relaxed and once he was done with his story he seemed nearly as calm as he was when you first spoke to him in front of the church. “No wonder this monstrous cloudburst got you so worked up, this is enough pressure to throw anyone out of their element. Especially so suddenly… Your first storm here is always the worst. It gets better after that,” you said then.
He looked at you with a slight smile: “How about you, then?” You frowned at the question. “What about me?” you asked. He chuckled lightly: “How come you got stranded in the storm? I mean, Monsignor Pruitt told me a little about you, but he never mentioned you're fond of going for jogs in thunderbolts and lightning, which I think is rather peculiar.” You giggled and rolled your eyes. You supposed it was your turn to talk.
And so you did. You took turns talking about your lives, what was before Crockett Island, and you talked long, long into the night. So long actually, that neither of you noticed that the storm slowly fading away until there were no other sounds than your voices, and while many of the candles died, the rectory wasn’t as dark as it had been before. And the entire time, you held each other’s hand.
Father Paul suddenly stopped talking, excused himself, held a free hand in front of his mouth and yawned. You chuckled and, letting go of him, stood up to walk to the window.
“The rain has moved on,
And left a new day,
Nothing seems to move,
Everything is still.
It’s just a perfect day.”
You sang quietly and pulled the curtains on the window apart, revealing first rays of sunshine appearing on the horizon, stars still visible on the west. “You should get some sleep, father,” you turned towards him, your own eyes feeling quite heavy. He observed you with such fondness, anyone would’ve guessed he’d known you for years, not less than 24 hours. “Thank you,” he spoke in a whisper, which you heard perfectly in the absolute silence of the room, “you’ve done so much for me, a man you barely know. I don’t know how I could ever repay you.” You smiled and shook your head, walking back to the sofa and stopping right in front of him. You put your hands on his shoulders and looked into his eyes: “There is nothing to repay. I mean that. I’m glad to have helped ease your unrest, father. And don’t forget, you saved me from the storm.”
You went to put your shoes back on at the door. They were still wet, but they’d get you home just fine. Your jumper though, that was a different case entirely. Seeing as it spent the entire night out on the porch and was not only soaked but also utterly filthy, you could pretty much throw it away. “Wait,” Paul said as got up and disappeared to, what you presumed, was the bedroom. He came back a few moments later, holding a warm looking cable knit cardigan. “Please, take it, I- I wouldn’t want you catching a cold because of me.”
You gratefully accepted and let him help you put it on. You were right, it truly was very warm, but also soft and it smelled really nice. “Go get some sleep, father Paul, you could really use it after the last few days. I mean, I know you’re supposed to be serving mass in a few hours, but after that, I think you earned yourself a nice long day of rest,” you said, standing at the door. He gave you that soft smile again, and you tried your hardest to keep blood from rushing into your cheeks. “Perhaps. Hopefully.” he replied. “You too should rest.” “I will,” you agreed and smiled at him in return, “Good night, then.”
You walked down the few steps leading from the rectory’s porch and made your way around the little graveyard by the church. But then you turned around: “Also,” you called to him, stopping him from closing the door, “we know each other now.” Your voice, while tired, held cheer within. “I guess we do,” replied the priest, his voice matching yours, “good night, (F/N). Sleep well.”
Father Paul shut the door only after you rounded a corner and disappeared from his view. He blew out the last few remaining candles and walked slowly into the bedroom. As he got rid of his own cardigan and changed into some sleeping trousers, he kept thinking about you, the sound of your voice, your very presence. The moment you stepped over his threshold last night, something inside of him happened, and with each passing moment you spent sitting together on that ghastly sofa, he felt more and more at ease. And he felt so very grateful. He lied down and got comfortable, looking at the ceiling.
His mind kept replaying the song, sung in your voice. He didn’t know it, but it was lovely. And it sounded lovely when you were singing it. Maybe someday you'll sing it in its entirety for him. Father Paul Hill didn’t even realise he closed his eyes, still hearing your soft voice in his head, your tones gently lulling him to restful sleep.
Hello, thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed <3 You can check this story and the entire series on AO3. I love your guys’ feedback :)
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
“I’m not sure how I’ve given you that impression, I pride myself on being a discerning man with an even more discerning tongue.” He says, and then sits beside her reaching one hand out out until he’s covered the rock in her palm. “Thus I know when I’ve said something unfitting of the presence of your good company.”
An offhand comment on Ross' appearance leaves her feeling insecure of her growing friendship with Gale and place among a group after a life as a solitary ranger.
I thought he turned back because he liked her petting his snout and he didn’t want to do anything to give that away. Or he was surprised he liked her touching his fur. Not gonna lie that sneeze threw me. Why did he sneeze? Side out: I know he’s a dog not cat, but does he make any purring noises? Like a dogs pur sound kind of? Some wolves can purr. Inquiring mind here 😉
Okay! FINE! I give up!
Here you go! 😍
Fully fledged, and with art at the end to boot.
Enjoy!
The First Time Rin Met Doggy!Sesshy
So, you want to know about the first time Rin ever saw Sesshomaru in full Doggy!Sesshy form, eh?
Hmm.... It would have to be at some point during the original series, yeah? So Rin would still have to be what demons would call a tiny human. It would happen in the evening, after the night would fall. The camping party of misfits would consist of Lord Sesshomaru, Jaken, Ah and Un, and the tiny human, Rin. They would all lay at their own leisure in a safe area to camp, complete with shade to stay hidden in the large bushes and trees.
They would have sat for a while, whilst the toad demon and the tiny human would feast upon the catch they would have made earlier on in the day. With bellies filled, it wouldn’t be long before Rin would finally find herself in a sleeping state. This would be a queue for Sesshomaru to go and hunt for his own food, as he would order Jaken to stay behind and keep guard over the camp. He would only travel as far as he needed to in order to obtain his food, but that would vary depending on how far away camp would be from his preferred diet.
What does he eat?
Use your imagination.
That’s not what this oneshot is about. :)
Something would happen while Sesshomaru would hunt, and it would most likely be a huge giant big-headed demon of some kind that would have smelled the dwindling campfire from not too far away. Careful to guard itself with its own personal demonic energy, this pathetic waste of space would cleverly hide its scent as it would happen upon the camp while the moon hung high in the sky. This stupid demon would believe Sesshomaru to be rather small compared to it’s large stature, and unfortunately for this idiotic demon, it would soon find out what happens when one assumes.
This filler episode demon would have waited until all was clear to attack the camp so he wouldn’t have to try very hard for his own dinner. With the larger demon long gone, this moron would emerge from the trees in the night and spot the sleeping girl and pathetic goblin-looking toad and see them as nothing more than a nice midnight snack. This causes Rin to release a blood-curdling scream. All this stupid demon would know was that the bigger demon was gone so these little tiny nothings be ripe for the picking. Sure there was still a dragon but surely he could handle one and be done with his business before the bigger demon would return, right?
As Sesshomaru would make his one and only kill to eat, he would immediately hear the cry of Rin. It would take naught but a hop and a jump for him to get to her, only to see that she would be lifted into some giant’s mouth. Ah and Un could only do so much while muzzled, and stupid Jaken would get himself caught, again. Sesshoamru would arrive to see the size of such a spectacle, and figures that it would just be easier to settle this the old fashioned way.
He would sigh at such a pathetic excuse of a demon, and he wouldn’t even have have to think as he would suddenly -- *- BAMF -* -- transform into full Doggy!Sesshy. Doggy!Sesshy would be a big vicious beasty, and poor Rin wouldn’t have even been able to see the transformation since she’d be too busy with almost being eaten, and all that.
The dumb demon would have had no time to react to the sudden giant-ass dog demon that would suddenly come lunging towards him. Doggy!Sesshy would swiftly kill the vermin, with little to show for it since his blood would taste absolutely disgusting to the Demon Lord. After mere seconds, both of the demon’s arms would separate from the rest of its body (cause duh) , and Sesshomaru would catch Rin (and Jaken) on the safety of his back to guide them down to safety.
It would take a few moments for the damsels to come back to their senses. “W-what happened?” Rin’s voice would speak as she’d subconsciously hold onto whatever she had landed on. She would look up to see that she’d be in the sky, flying as if she were on the back of Ah and Un, but she would see her two-headed friend as he would anxiously await her back on the ground. She would then look down to see white fur under her as they would glide in the air, and the fur would feel somewhat familiar, but not enough for her to directly understand what had just happened.
"Lord Sesshomaru!" She would scream for his attention. She would know that he’d sometimes leave the camp to eat, but a demon was just killed by another in front of her. "Lord Sesshomaru where are you?" He would usually hear her cry. It wouldn’t be like him not to show up to a fight like this.
She would be eager to get off this random.... demon and search for her lord.
"You fool!” Rin would hear Jaken’s voice from behind her. She would look to see her friend desperately trying to hold on to any kind of fur under him. This IS Lord Sesshomaru!" Jaken would berate the tiny human and her ignorance while holding on for dear life.
“Hold on Jaken! I’ve got you!” She would be close enough to be able to pull him up to safety by his unique looking staff.
Jaken would be thankful, though he wouldn’t want to be. “Meddlesome girl. I could have made it on my own.”
“What do you mean that this is Lord Sesshomaru?” How would she have known? This would be her first experience seeing him this way, after all. Doggy!Sesshy would take this time to slow them down and eventually come to a smooth landing.
“Don’t you know anything?” Jaken would screech as he would jump off of his Lord’s back. “Lord Sesshomaru is a Dog Demon. This is his true form! The look of a human is an optional one, but it does keep his true form rested and at bay so he doesn’t go crazy and kill the entire world with his vicious power and anger!” Jaken would cower at the very idea of the story. Rin would follow and slide off of Sesshomaru’s side, but he would stand there for a moment in full form. Rin would be shy about her movements, but she would be careful as she would slowly come to see the front of his dog-like face.
This would be the face of a great beast. He would be large and white. His snout would be pointed and vicious, and his sneer would hold a look of what most would consider to be pure evil. He would growl as he would refrain from releasing any of his poison around her, and such a sound would resonate within her ears. He would be fully aware, watching her intently, waiting for her every move. He would only imagine what his horrid form would look to her. ‘Surely, she must be frozen in terror. Look at how still she stands.’ He would believe it to be fear that he’d see in her eyes.
Nothing about his true form would be recognizable to her, except the familiar markings on his face. His two stripes on each of his human-like cheeks would morph into one jagged one on each in this form. The moon in the center of his head would make Rin wonder if the moon somehow helped his power in some way. Her disposition would calm as she would eventually be able to see him through his demonic form. "Lord Sesshomaru?" She would ask, looking into one very large red eye.
It would seem to be him after all, as he would shortly transform back to his usual form- the form that she'd be most familiar with. She would shield her eyes of the wind that would flow out of him.
He would stand, calm and emotionless, as per usual, but he would carry a disposition that would somehow be more quiet and standoff-ish. There would be no voice from Jaken, this time, and Ah and Un would always prefer to be the silent contenders in these situations. Sesshomaru would be waiting for Rin to scream and run from him in terror after what she had just seen. He would have just transformed into a vicious beast and murdered in cold blood right in front of her. In a way, he’d be no different than the one that just tried to kill her, so she must be terrified...
Right? ‘I really am a monster.’
Rin would not notice the trepidation in his movements. “Wow...” She’d whisper. Her eyes would grow wide with a smile to match. "Can you do that again?" She'd suddenly ask with hopeful eyes.
Sesshomaru’s eyes would widen at her sudden request... and for just a moment, Sesshomaru’s voice would be caught. ‘...What?’
"HOW DARE YOU REQUEST SUCH A THING." Jaken‘s voice would screech in her ear, scurrying over to the tiny human. "Lord Sesshomaru does not waste such valuable demonic energy to entertain the witless demands of a pathetic little human like you."
"Silence." Sesshomaru's voice would only have to utter a single word to get the demon toad to quiet himself.
“Y-yes milord.” The servant would do as he was told, sheepishly hiding behind the tiny human Rin in the process.
Sesshomaru would be the Great Demon Lord of the West. It would take naught but little energy for him to do something as simple as transform into his full self for a second time. The air around him would start to pulsate once again, as would the echo of his heartbeat. The wind would ripple through the tall grass and the leaves in the trees. Rin's eyes would grow in awe as she would watch his hair start to freely dance with the wind. Before she’d know it, a dangerous red color of his demonic eyes would return as the usual soft amber color of his eyes would fade away. His gaze would land directly on her.
Rin would stand completely still, wanting to see the entire transformation. There would be a certain something inside of her that would never want to look away. Rin would be an empathic human being, and this power could be very valuable in the future, should she desire to continue down the path of divinity. But for this moment in time, it would be able to help her see the beauty in such an extremely wild and dangerous moment as showing one’s true demon form like this. This would speak to her heart, though her mind would still need to develop a little more before she would be able to fully understand this power. For now, she would just be able to enjoy this moment.
Oh, what magic this would be to her- but Jaken would be smart to grab her arm as he would run from the blast that he knew would come. The human would watch in awe as Sesshomaru’s human-like being would become wrapped in the fur that would usually stay at his side, right before fully transforming in size with the power of his demonic light.
Clad in his full beast form, Sesshomaru would stand tall and mighty. The hiss in his growl would even scare away the sleeping birds that nest high in the trees, but Rin would pull herself away from Jaken's hiding spot and make her way towards this new Demon Lord Sesshomaru. This full transformation would be the raw and natural state of a creature that would call himself the Demon Lord of the West, and this would intrigue Rin to no end, no matter what age she might be.
He would actually be a... dog.
Her eyes would be directly on him as he would gently turn to see her with one very large and perhaps a little bit of a timid eye, as well. She would take her time making her way towards him, but she wouldn't hesitate to take the first step as soon as possible. His growl would come from deep within his throat, as if warning her not to get too close. This would be a recurring theme in Sesshomaru’s character, whether he’d notice it or not. This would just be another way for him to push her away, and to remind her that he is not good, he is not kind, and he is definitely not nice.
He is a monster, and he would always be a monster.
She would pause, but she would not be afraid. He would be in a defensive stance, but his body language would eventually simmer down to a calmer state, as she would grow even closer. Her mind would only be on Sesshomaru with youthful eyes of her own, but not with fear of him hurting her, but with fear of him being frightened of her footsteps.
The closer she would get, the more his growl would dim. Jaken's eyes would be large, as he would observe Rin’s courage. Even he wouldn’t dare to get so close to such danger. His jaw would seem to hit the ground.
Sesshomaru would then lower his snout down to Rin’s gaze. He would only be able to see her with one eye, but one would be enough. Rin would eventually be close enough to gently, yet gradually feel the familiar fur at the side of his nose. She would know the soothing familiarly of his fur, for it would be thickened with his wild nature, and warm to the touch. Here she would come to the understanding that his Moko-moko would be a part of him somehow. as she would continue petting the bridge of his nose.
This gentle action of hers would cause his eyes to gently come to a close. He would feel her kind touch, and it would be a foreign feeling. It would almost seem as though he... might... actually....
His eyes would suddenly pop open wide, and he would yank his face away from her, which would frighten the poor girl and she would end up falling back with a small scream. Her fear ridden voice would cause him to immediately transform back to normal as if nothing happened.
After a moment of defining silence between the small camp of beings, none would dare make a sound. They would watch Sesshomaru as he would slowly, but surely raise his (only) arm (at the time) . The silence would remain until the smallest ... *sneeze*...? would suddenly come from their Demon Lord of the West.
Did... Did Rin just make Lord Sesshomaru... sneeze?
"Let's go." Sesshomaru says as he turns away from the camp. "Since you're all awake, we might as well travel on."
She did! Rin made Lord Sesshomaru sneeze...
Well...Sort of.
He had to think of something, didn’t he? She was PETTING him like a DOG. That was unacceptable... right?
A-and it’s not like he actually enjoyed it or anything... right?
Never.
That would be considered affection.
Affection?
What is that?
Unfortunately, he would have absolutely no idea of what affection would be, so he wouldn’t understand why he would feel something ... positive in her gentle touch to his demonic form. And he definitely didn’t use the excuse of a fake sneeze so he could..... touch... the spot that she touched in his own state of shock.
Please.
This Sesshomaru? Have feelings?
Ridiculous.
Rin would scurry on up as everyone would continue on. ‘Lord Sesshomaru....’ she would think to herself. ‘You truly are beautiful. Inside and out.’ She would smile a smile that would be felt by the entire group.
‘I am a monster,’ he would think to himself, ‘but... perhaps I can be a decent one.’ Lord Sesshomaru, too, would hide a vague grin as they would venture on with their adventure.
“Observation” Trip x T’Pol Drabble, Star Trek: Enterprise
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Trip has (more frequently than he will admit) wondered what it would be like to flirt with T’Pol. Would a Vulcan be able to recognize genuine romantic interest? With arranged marriages and their sacred repression of all emotion, it’s not like they would learn from observing each other, but perhaps from observing humans and other species? He’s not sure, but if he’d have to place a wager, he would bet T’Pol wouldn’t understand if he outright asked her on a date. All hypothetically, of course, purely hypothetical.
