#samlou

colour: lilacseason: springchosen word: gentle

ʚଓ٠࣪⭑ your chosen weapon is a silver chain whip tipped with amethyst beads. they move like fluid, yet still deceptively dangerous. it moves like ribbon in the air, graceful until it strikes. it doesn’t announce its power, because danger hides behind the beauty.

ʚଓ٠࣪⭑ sam notices you first by the color—purple hair catching spring light through the bunker windows. but it’s your gentleness that stays with him. the way you patch up small wounds without being asked. the way you hum under your breath while reading lore.

The bunker is washed in soft spring light, pale gold slipping through the high windows. You’re at the table with your headphones on, purple hair falling into your face as you scribble in the margins of a lore book. There’s a faint leak of music. Low bass, moody and restless. Sam pauses in the doorway. “Chase Atlantic?” he asks gently. You pull one earcup back. “Yeah. Consume.” He nods, stepping closer. “Didn’t expect that.” A small smile curves your mouth. The song hums between you, dark and pulsing—a contrast to the way you carefully turn pages, the way your fingers move soft and precise. Sam’s eyes drift to your hair, catching the lilac strands in the light. “How long’s it been purple?” “A while.” He hesitates. “Why purple?” You shrug lightly. “Felt right. Like something blooming.” He studies you. The gentleness, the quiet intensity under it. “It suits you,” he says softly. You tuck your hair behind your ear, shy but steady. The song plays on. And Sam stays, listening.