commensalist: (♫We lean like gardens toward light)
Luke ([personal profile] commensalist) wrote in [community profile] peacockstop 2024-04-19 06:50 pm (UTC)

[listen, he doesn't have to be like this!!!

He's also mildly alarmed to be lifted up like this, unable to scramble for space against the oh so insistent movement of Rediesel's famed leader. If it were a normal circumstance, he could have easily halted this for reason (even if reason isn't Sinsa's norm), enough to communicate the functional problem here.]


Stop—ugh—

[The poor butterflies—Luke is just glad that any fleeting brush of wings is far from being caught beneath his body, the stone he's lifted on warm from the artificial sun.]

Not—here—! [that hand presses at his chest and he struggles—more weakly than he would like, as quickened breaths deposit more pollen.] The pollen is—Sinsa, stop!

[Ah. Well, that's out of the bag, but it's Sinsa. All that does is say they're from the same place, right? Moreover, his body is bending without his input, the sudden urge to breed a punch to the gut he did not need. spicy pollen indeed...]

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