#language is a complicated beast

[shallow-wordsalad]

Words mean things.

That must be true, because otherwise language doesn't function. If words were entirely meaningless, there would be no difference between talking and nonverbal grunting—everything conveyed through context and inflection. That's obviously not the case; words do have meaning, and we've largely agreed on those meanings within languages. However, when I say "watermelon" and you say "watermelon", we're imagining different things. If I said "wow that box was as heavy as a watermelon", you might be confused if I look tired when saying it.

Watermelons aren't that heavy, you think. You're thinking of the personal watermelons you had every summer, that you bought to split with your family over a barbecue. You could carry them as a kid, they're small.

I'm thinking of the larger watermelons that my dad bought to cut into cubes and put in the fridge for a week's worth of lunch snacks. They were huge and took a while to break down. They shook the table when he set them down.

We said the same word, but we meant different things. The words had concrete definitions, but the exact meaning is something we assigned ourselves, which defines only our own perception of the word and all associated with it.

Now what do you picture when I say "rock?" What shape is it? Can you pick it up?

Which is bigger: "Huge", or "Giant"?

Which is worse: An "injury" or a "wound"?

Which is faster: A moment, or an instant?

Define the color teal. Now define grey.

Define "male" and "female".

Define "lesbian", "gay", "bisexual", "transgender," and "queer".

Define "pornography". Define "sex".

I'm sure you can. I'm sure someone can give me exact data that empirically proves their definition. You could point to a scientific or medical or geological database that gives a certain, absolute definition. And yet I can point to something which exists somewhere on the fringe of your definition. Do you expand your definition to include that fringe case, or rigidly insist that "words mean things" and insist we call that thing something else?

In one field, words lose meaning—anything can mean anything, and we're back to pointing and growling in context. In the other, we subdivide everything into increasingly smaller boxes, rigidly assigned words in a fractal of definitions.

Words mean things. Whatever "things" are.

[a-hound-will-die-for-you]

A Bath for the Hound

Masterlist | img source

Summary: Sandor Clegane is injured. And dirty. Some healers try to help him, but he's a gruff man who won't let anyone touch him. That is, until you show up at his door. Word count: 3200 Notes: Well! It ended up taking me more than a month to write this fic!! But here it is, and with an ending I didn't expect myself. Warning: Highborn f!reader x sandor clegane; Cocky reader; Grumpy Sandor; Beauty and beast vibes and reference; Nakedness and descriptions of underwear; Nothing explicit; Suggestive; Banter; Almost a kiss; Confessions of love; Sandor calls reader little dove. English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes I might make. Constructive feedback is welcomed, I am here to share and learn <3

You barely lifted your eyes from your book when four burly men shuffled into the room - three of them rubbing their sides and the last running a hand over a nasty bruise on his jaw.

"How is he?" you asked, turning the page calmly.

"I-I… don't know, my lady…"

You lifted your gaze and set the book on the silver tray beside you.

“You don't know?"

"No, my lady," the leader of the group answered. "He is… he's a…"

"A complicated man," Tyrion finished for him.

You knew that would happen. Not even a group of strong, experienced men was enough to deal with him.

"I'll go," you sighed, rising from your seat. Your two ladies-in-waiting stood up too, but you gestured for them to stay.

“Are you sure, my lady?” Tyrion’s small hand gently grasped yours. “I don’t think it is the most appropriate.”

“Tyrion,” you smiled at your friend, "I'm good with dogs, I know how to handle them," you added looking into his almond-shaped eyes.

The Hand of the King studied you for a moment. You were a stubborn woman. Nothing he could say or do would make you change your mind. And besides, he knew that you carried the weight of what had happened.

"Very well," he finally said, his smile tight as he released your hand.

You dipped your head briefly and, beneath the wary stares of your ladies-in-waiting, slipped out into the dim corridors of the Red Keep.

*******************

The king’s sword had his quarters in the same wing as the royal chambers. Close enough to reach the king in an instant should danger arise. But unlike the luxurious, sunlit chambers of the nobility, his were in the dark corridor reserved for guards and hired steel. 

You stopped before a heavy, dark door, flanked by two unlit torches. Almost instinctively, you smoothed down your crimson dress, adjusting its square neckline before tapping lightly on the wood with your knuckles.

“GET THE FUCK OFF!!” a rough voice barked from inside.

You smiled to yourself. Exactly the answer you expected.

“Sandor…” you said, keeping your voice calm.

After a moment of silence, heavy footsteps approached the door, stumbling over something metallic that rolled across the floor.

“Fucking seven hells…”  he cursed, and you smiled again.

One, two, three locks clicked open, and the large door moved just enough to reveal a nearly seven-foot tall man scowling down at you. His face was stained with dried blood and dirt.

“Gods, you look awful,” you said. 

The Hound pushed the door open further so his body loomed over yours.

“The little dove shouldn't be here,” he rasped. His gaze roamed unabashedly over your neck and collarbone, just as he always did.

“I know,” you lifted your chin at him, unbothered, “but you kicked out the healers, and someone has to take care of you.” 

His dark eyes darted between yours with a special shine, but his mouth twisted reluctantly. 

“I don't need help.”

Before you could protest, he grabbed the door and tried to slam it shut in your face, but as he did his bulky body staggered to one side. You reacted quickly and caught him by the shoulder. He was a giant of a man, you could not carry him, but at least you gave him some support until he found his balance.

"Let's go inside," you whispered. To your surprise, he bowed his head in a silent nod, letting his black hair fall over his eyes to hide his shame.

Sandor Clegane could afford better as the king’s sworn sword, but he was no man of luxury. In his room, there was little more than a simple wooden chair, a table cluttered with bloody bandages, and a fireplace that looked like it had never been used. You stepped around his battered armor scattered across the floor and helped him sit on the chair.

"Let me see the wound," you said as you lightly tugged at his linen tunic. It was the same he usually wore under his chainmail.

With a grunt, he pulled it off and threw it aside. Before you, a broad chest came into view, strong and covered in dark hair. But it was the blood-soaked bandage around his abdomen that caught your eye. You peeled it back and had to force yourself to stay composed. Jagged cuts tore through swollen, reddened flesh, the crude stitches binding the torn skin in a hasty, careless job. He had lost a great deal of blood, which explained his weakness.

"It’s not infected, but we need to clean it,” you said, so focused on examining the wound that you barely realized you were alone with a man in nothing but his breeches. What would your father say?

The man just grunted, staring straight ahead while you bent down to take a closer look at the wound.

"I’m going to bathe you," you added with all the seriousness the moment allowed.

He shot you a glacial glare. 

"No bloody chance you’re bathing me.” 

"You stink like a dead horse, Sandor. I’m going to bathe you whether you like it or not."

He opened his mouth to argue, but before he could you had already stepped into the hall in search of a servant.

"Hot water, towels, and soap," you instructed.

Several men and women dragged in a wooden bathtub and hurried to fill it with hot water. The tub was large, made for someone of his height, and it took several trips for the servants to finish preparing it. As they worked, you helped Sandor remove the rest of the bandage, stuck to the dried blood. He did nothing but grumble and curse the entire time. Once the steam and the pleasant scent of lavender soap filled the room, you were left alone again.

"I’ll help you get in," you offered him your arm.

"This is nonsense," he stared at the bathtub like a dog refusing to go into the river. "I can fucking wash myself."

"You could if you could stay on your feet," you retorted.

You thought he’d grumble again but instead, he let out a loud huff and pulled his breeches down. You quickly averted your gaze, keeping your arm steady to support him. The fabric crumpled around his ankles, and you felt the weight shift as he stepped into the tub with a soft splash. Yet, for some reason, he didn’t lower himself.

“Sit down, please,” you said, still politely looking away.

“Water’s bloody hot,” he rasped.

“It’s warm,” you said.

“It’s too damned h-”

“JUST SIT IN THE BLOODY BATH, CLEGANE,” you snapped. Your neck was turned so far away it might snap, and you couldn’t take this ridiculous standoff another second.

A brief silence followed your order until, with a reluctant grunt, the towering man relented and lowered himself into the wooden tub. Once the water was up to his waist and the foam concealed his nakedness, you knelt next to him. Moisture clung to your neck, so you gathered your hair into a high knot before taking the cloth and soap left at the tub’s edge. Then, you lathered the fabric thoroughly, dipped it into the warm water, and pressed it lightly against his wound.

“Seven hells, woman, warn a man before you start poking at his guts!” The man cursed and flinched, sending water sloshing over the sides.

You frowned.  "If you held still, it wouldn't hurt so much."

He leaned toward you, teeth bared. 

“If the little dove hadn’t run off, this never would’ve happened.”

“Well,” you squeezed the cloth, “if you hadn’t scared the little dove, she wouldn’t have run!”

Your eyes met his, and his scowl deepened, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of looking away. As you held his gaze, you took a small bottle of ointment and applied it to his wound, more carefully this time. He squeezed his eyes shut and leaned his head forward, jaw so clenched it might break.

"How many were there?" you asked, trying to distract him from the pain.

“Six,” he muttered.

“And where are they now?” 

“Dead.”

You clicked your tongue in silent reproach.

“Seriously?” He turned to you. “They were going to rape you bloody. Would the little dove have preferred I brought them back for supper?”

A chuckle left you, but you didn't answer. You just got up, walked behind him and knelt at his back while he stared ahead, more sullen than ever.

"Here," you curled your fingers around his unshaven chin, gently guiding his head upward. He allowed it, but the moment you poured clean water over his head, he jerked back dramatically.

“Sandor, it’s just a bit of water," you laughed, "I doubt it’ll drown you." 

He was ready to strike with something sharp again, but the words died in his throat as your fingers sank into his hair, tracing slow and soft circles over his scalp.  

His dreadful scars became even more visible beneath his soaked hair, and the man hunched forward, embarrassed. But you had long since lost your fear of his ruined skin. Your fingers ran through his hair, raking through his locks and gently untangling each knot they found. An almost imperceptible, shaky breath left him, and you could almost say he was enjoying it. But when your hands pressed too close to his scarred flesh, he stiffened and pulled his head away.

"It's alright," you reassured him, carefully guiding his head back.

He remained still like a rock while your fingertips slowly wiped away the dried blood from his burned cheek, treating the folds around his deformed ear with the utmost care. Then, you brushed his hair aside and pushed his shoulders forward. The gesture made his muscles tense under your touch, accustomed only to blows and punches. His back was painted with bruises, stiff with countless knots. You pressed your thumbs where he needed it most, kneading until the tension in his shoulders slowly loosened. Unconsciously, he leaned forward to grant you better access. When you traced his spine from top to bottom, a low moan escaped him. He quickly cleared his throat in an attempt to cover it up. The effort only made you smile. 

There he was, one of the most dangerous men in the Seven Kingdoms, crumbling beneath your touch.

"All done here," you said as you moved around him. 

His eyes followed you as you knelt beside him again and reached out to wipe his chest. But he was so broad that you had to bend over, wetting your sleeve and the front of your dress.

"Sandor, turn toward me as much as you can," you asked.

He didn't. 

His mouth twisted into a grin as he shot you a defiant look that you recognized instantly. It was the same one he wore when a man tested him in the training yard. He was trying to regain some control after his previous moment of vulnerability, and you knew he wouldn't give in this time.

"Fine," you huffed, standing up. You weren’t going to waste more time. 

Your fingers reached for the front laces of your dress and tugged furiously until the gown slipped from your shoulders and fell at your feet. Sandor's eyes widened, but you paid him no mind. You clutched your undershirt in your fists, tore it over your head, and let it fall carelessly to the floor too.

The man was now fully turned toward you, watching with keen interest how your delicate corset cinched enticingly around your waist. His piercing stare didn't stop you. You yanked down your underskirts, lifting one leg to step into the bath. Only white thigh-high stockings with silken ribbon garters covered your thighs. A foolish choice, perhaps, for that day.

"Gods, woman…” the man leaned forward, thick fingers tugging at your garters as if unwrapping a present. “…a true little dove…."

"Sandor!" You slapped his hands away. But he ignored you. As you shifted your appetizing thighs in front of him to get into the water, his large hands cupped them.

“No! Hey!” You seized his wrists and pushed him back. “No touching, alright? Behave.”

"Must be fucking kidding me…," he gave a sharp, annoyed huff, eyes still glued to your thighs as he let his back fall against the bath.

You lowered yourself onto the opposite side, trying not to be intimidated by the sight of the sturdy, soaked chest before you. The steam pressed against your skin, and you ran a hand over the back of your neck, dampening a few stray strands that fell down your back.

You retrieved the cloth and dipped it back into the foamy water. Your hands found his calves, hard as rocks, and you started to scrub them. You kept your gaze down, perhaps because you felt a little vulnerable as he drank in the curve of your neck and down your cleavage. You continued rubbing his knees and began to slide it up his thighs. Higher and higher. Until you stopped abruptly halfway.

“Scared of what you might find?” he taunted, voice rough as sandpaper.

“Oh, Sandor, I know exactly what I’ll find,” you said, pulling the cloth from the water to repeat the process on his other leg.

His chest shook with a deep, throaty laugh that you were sure could be heard from the hall. You rolled your eyes and sat on your ankles, steadying yourself with one hand on the tub’s rim. As you leaned in to scrub his chest, the soapy water slid slowly down his ribs. He leaned back in the tub, arms resting on the sides. You could feel his pupils fixed on you, hungrily.

"Stop looking at me like that," you grabbed his chin and turned his face away.

“Ah, no," his deep voice rasped. "You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. Let this beaten dog enjoy a bit.”

You clicked your tongue at his words but the warmth creeping up your cheeks betrayed you. Gods, who would have thought The Hound’s flattery could make you blush?

“Sandor…” You said, running the cloth over his neck, thick with dark hair that climbed up to his beard.  “Yesterday, when you were chasing me through the woods… why?”

“Following orders,” he said, voice flat. 

You hummed, your touch drifting over his collarbone without thought. He exhaled, long and slow. 

“You were meant to go meet your future lord husband. No one told you?” His eyes sought yours, but you kept them downcast.

“Is that what you want?” You asked, fingers idly toying with the soap. ”For me to meet him?” 

“That’s what highborn ladies do, ain’t it? Marry fine, proper lords.” The scorn in his gruff voice made you look at him but something in your gaze made his own soften. “No, little dove… I don’t want you to meet him,” he sighed.

“Why not?” you asked with round, innocent eyes.

He stared right into you. 

“You fucking know why…”

Silence followed his words, so heavy that you feared he might hear the wild hammering of your heart. 

What a foolish thing to ask.

You tore your eyes away from his, gripping the cloth so tightly that the soapy water ran down your wrists and forearms. His fingers brushed against your wet skin, trying to wipe it away. You shuddered. 

No touching, you had said

"You’re not mine to have, are you?" He continued, his hoarse voice weighed down with the same sadness that darkened his eyes. "Damn foolish of me to have even thought of it."

Your hand clasped his and pressed it against your flushed cheek.

No touching. 

To hell with that. 

Water spilled over the edges of the tub as you rose onto your knees. Your trembling hands found support on his shoulders. His own wandered roughly over your back, sliding up your neck until his fingers tangled in your hair, gripping it in fistfuls. His heavy-lidded eyes flickered down to your mouth. Your parted lips throbbed with want. You weren’t sure if you had leaned down or if he had pulled you in, but there was nothing between you except unsteady breaths and heat. A rough hand glided through the back of your neck. His dripping beard hovered close, almost grazing your chin.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“My lady?” 

You both jolted as a voice called from the other side of the door. You turned your head toward the sound, while Sandor dropped his own forward in defeat.

“Yes?” You raised your voice so the servant could hear.

“Lord Tyrion sends word, asking if all is well.”

You swore you’d strangle Tyrion the next time you saw him.

“E-everything is perfectly fine, thank you!”

“He also asks that you come to the Great Hall with all due haste. Your betrothed has arrived and is eager to meet you.”

You closed your eyes and drew in a deep breath before answering.

“Very well, thank you.”

When you opened your eyes again, Sandor’s mask of indifference was barely holding together.

"I should leave," you said, quickly brushing your hand over his wet beard. He nodded briefly without looking at you.

Stepping out of the bathtub, your eyes lingered on the discarded clothes on the floor. Your silks tangled with his rough garments felt strangely complementary. You gathered your gown and pulled it over your moist skin.

"Can you finish on your own?" you asked, fingers quickly tying the laces.

"Aye," he muttered, still not turning to face you.

You swallowed hard and moved toward the door, leaving him to brood in silence. But just as your fingers brushed the handle, his voice stopped you.

“Little dove.”

You turned. His gaze was fixed on the water.

“I'm going to kill him. I'll rip out his guts in his sleep and strangle him with them.”

Your lips twitched. 

"Tyrion?"

"No..." He lifted his eyes to yours. "The fool who thinks he deserves you."

You left the room before he could see your smile fade. Leaning your back against the wood, you placed one trembling hand on your chest. Your heart raced frantically. You needed a moment. A moment to breathe and calm that wildness that gripped you inside. But they were waiting for you. As much as you wanted to go back to that room, you couldn't. You had to do what you were supposed to do. In that, even a highborn lady was no different from a hound. So you squared your shoulders and pushed yourself away from the door.

Beneath your dress, your soaked stockings stuck uncomfortably to your thighs as you made your way to the Great Hall.

...............

Thanks for reading! <3

What do you think? A comment would give me life, and encourage me to write more :)

[frameacloud]

Therianthropy Day is Friday, November 15, 2024

Therianthropy Day is held every year on the first full moon of November. This year, in 2024, that falls on Friday the 15th. According to NASA, this also happens to be a supermoon, which means it’s slightly brighter than usual.

Why that date, and what is the history of that holiday? 

Therianthropy Day commemorates the first Howl, which was held 30 years ago in November 1994. A Howl is when therians meet up together in person. That was a year after the first therians started to meet up together online in November 1993. Therians first proposed commemorating it as a holiday on that date in 1996, in a conversation thread you can still see here. Based on that history, in 2016, Muninn the Raven proposed observing it as Therianthropy Day, though the first posts and community poll about it attracted little attention. I think the holiday finally really caught on in 2021, when I first saw many therians posting on social media about fun things they were doing for it.

What are therians, anyway?

If therianthropy is a new idea to you, or you want to explain it to others who are unfamiliar with it, this essay is a quick and easy to understand introduction to it. It’s available in several languages already, and more translations would be great.

Learn more about the history of the therian community by reading the Timeline of the Therian Community written by @liongoatsnake

What can we do for Therianthropy Day?

I’ve seen therians celebrate it by wearing gear (for example, a necklace with the therian symbol, or clothes with pictures of their species), meeting up with their therian friends, and howling at the moon.

Enjoy some indie games and zines about therianthropy from this hand-curated itch.io collection. Some therian highlights from that: SlumberDragon’s zine of self-care tips for animal folk, @who-is-page’s therianthropy-inspired solo journaling game Wolf In Man’s Clothing, puppygirlbelly’s interactive story I Am Dog(s), and Digital Freegans’s zines THERIANARCHY and BEAST PUNKS.

Are there days for other sorts of alterhumans too?

There are. Alterhuman Day commemorates when Lio of the Crossroads System coined that word on September 26, 2014. Otherkin Day is on July 9, commemorating when the word was coined in 1990, though Arethinn has found that the word’s origin is a little more complicated than that. Plural Events says that Plural Pride Day is the third Saturday of July, and Plural Acceptance Week is that week.

[domesticandlovingmonsters]

I'm thinking of writing a story set in a medieval/fantasy setting, of a suit of armour piloted by something unseen. A monster, of course. Unsure its origins or description, but fiercely loyal to you.

Maybe a beast/entity that needs to dedicate themselves to someone. An ancient instinct to protect someone or something. And when you first meet, your warm smile and curious gaze cermented its loyalty to you.

So now, you have a full set of armour at your command. It helps around the house and stands guard outside any room you enter. It understands language and orders well, even complicated commands are followed through to the smallest detail.

It doesn't speak. But some head tilts and nods, answer your questions. Other than that, though, your knight doesn't hold conversations. Just listens and replies with the clink of its helmet when it bows.

After some time, you notice it watching you differently. Its gaze feels heavier, warmer. Watching you move with a shadowed gaze that somehow makes your skin ripple with goosebumps and your belly twist with intrigue.

Then its hands start holding onto you longer than it needs to. Wandering fingers that play with your hair or the fabric of your clothes. You know the knight to be curious, but touching you seemed beyond its loyal code. Much like a true knight, you were something precious to be kept safe, and their touch never strayed for long. Until tonight. When the rain had washed the roads with muddy puddles, your knight knelt and gathered you up in their arms. They carried you home through the front door and placed you on the threshold of your bedroom. Your face blazed with heat when their metal hands left your thighs, trailing along your side before they stepped away. The entire way home, you felt their palm kneading your thighs and, dare you say, felt the slighest touch on your ass when they stooped to carry you.

No... surely, their lingering presence by your door was just them guarding your room, like always. And definitely not waiting for you to ask for their aid in a different manner.

[a-book-of-creatures]

Creature Metamorphosis - the Curious Case of the Cahab

I've said it before, and I will testify under oath - the study of mythical creatures is the study of people, not animals.

There is a persistent misconception (mythconception?) that medieval explorers were going out there, seeing weird animals, and, struggling to comprehend them, came up with all kinds of silly stories.

The truth is more complicated. In a lot of cases it's not about actually misconstruing real things, but recopying Classical accounts over and over until the become unrecognizable. In the process, we'll get to explore how language affects creature accounts, how mistakes become real, and how seemingly good-faith additions snowball. And, of course, the importance of primary sources.

Instead of looking at something well-known like dragons or unicorns, let's take a look at the cahab, whose origin was explored in detail by Gauvin et al. (2013).

If you've ever read Rose's Giants, Monsters, and Dragons (and if you read this blog, chances are you're familiar with it), you might have seen this.

SAHAB The Sahab was a sea monster said to inhabit the North Sea and the beaches around the coasts of Norway. It was described as having a huge body with a long, extended foot by which it fed itself; the other feet were like those of a cow. The Sahab was reported in the works of Olaus Magnus in the sixteenth century from an apparent sighting of one found beached on the Norwegian shores. (Rose, 2000)

Hmm, alright, that's interesting. Sounds like it could be a beached whale? Neat! Where did this story come from? Rose (2000) mentions Olaus Magnus but only cites Barber and Riches (1971). Their entry for this is as follows.

Sahab Described by Olaus Magnus in the sixteenth century as a sea-beast with small cow's feet and a large body found off the Norwegian coast. One long foot was used as a hand for feeding and for self-defence. It was amphibious, breathing in in the water and out in the air. It could also spout like a whale. (Barber & Riches, 1971)

The first thing I'd like to point out is what I like to call "detail drift", or the "stands-to-reason additions", or "snowballing details". A "large body" becomes a "huge body". Details of being amphibious, of spouting are lost. Instead we are told it was based on an "apparent sighting". I mean, stands to reason, right? It makes sense. Surely that was what was behind it.

Where did Barber and Riches (1971) get it from? This one leads directly to a primary source, Olaus Magnus himself. The English translation of Olaus Magnus' Compendious History tells us the following.

There is also another Sea-Monster, called Sahab which hath small feet in respect of its great body, but he hath one long one, which he useth in place of a hand to defend all his parts; and with that he puts meat into his mouth, and digs up grass. His feet are almost gristly, and made like the feet of a Cow or Calf. This Creature swimming in the water breathes, and when he sends forth his breath, it returns into the Ayr, and he casts Water aloft, as Dolphins and Whales do. (Olaus Magnus, 1658)

Makes about as much sense as anything! So clearly silly old Olaus Magnus had seen something bizarre out at sea and explained it the best way he knew how. Because medieval explorers or whatever. Case closed!

... right?

Don't look at how long this post is, keep reading

Something is fishy about this. And I don't mean it as a pun, either. The thing is, Olaus Magnus was more than happy to populate Scandinavia with creatures plagiarized borrowed from other, older authors. And the first clue is in the name.

The French version of Olaus Magnus' work gives it a different name.

Il y a un autre monstre marin, appelé Cahab, lequel a de fort petits piés, pour la proportion du cors... (Olaus Magnus, 1561)

Huh. So it's called Cahab here. Is the English name a typo? It may well be. The Latin text starts like this.

Est & aliud monstru marinu secundu Alber. lib. XXIII l. de animal. Cahab dictum, pedes parvos habens respectu magnitudinis corporis sui... (Olaus Magnus, 1555)

Yeah that tracks, so it is Cahab in the original too and

wait what

Est & aliud monstru marinu secundu Alber. lib. XXIII l. de animal.

Are you saying the English and French translations literally cut out the part where he tells us where he got this from???????

See what I mean? There are layers to this.

So, following Gauvin et al. (2013), who track this bizarre transformation, Olaus Magnus never did see or claimed to see a cahab. He merely borrowed it from Albertus Magnus, who had this to say.

Cahab animal marinum esse perhibetur parvos habens pedes respectu corporis sui... (Albertus Magnus, 1920)

But the trail isn't getting cold yet. Gauvin et al. (2013) indicate that Albertus Magnus got this from Thomas de Cantimpré, who instead refers to the caab.

Caab animal marinum est, ut dicit Aristotiles, parvos habens pedes respectu corporis sui, quod utique magnum est... (Cantimpré, 1280)

In other words, "Caab is a sea animal, as says Aristotle, whose legs are small in proportion to its body, which is huge”. Once again, a citation has been lost by someone repeating it.

The caab in Cantimpré's Liber de Natura Rerum, accessed here.

So where did this thing comes from? He does say it's from Aristotle, but Aristotle doesn't mention caabs, does he?

Would you believe an elephant?

As Gauvin et al. (2013) explain, Cantimpré is the origin point of the caab/cahab/sahab, and it originated in a misreading of Aristotle.

Specifically, a misreading of a Latin translation of Aristotle by Michael Scot, which had been translated from an Arabic translation of Aristotle from the original Greek.

Now! Listen carefully Bond...

Scot retained Arabic words in his translation (maybe he didn't know what they meant? Or thought they just looked better? Can't blame him). In this case:

et habet duo cahab parva respect magnitudinis corporis sui (cited in Gauvin et al. (2013))

He's saying, in the description of the elephant, that it has two "cahab" that are short compared to the rest of its body. Cahab is a transliteration of كعب, which is a bone in the ankle. So in other words, elephants have small ankle bones.

Except!

When Cantimpré read this, according to Gauvin et al. (2013), he did not recognize the word cahab. Instead, he interpreted it as the subject of the verb "habet". So instead of "and has two ankle bones that are small", it became "and the caab has... feet I guess? That are small".

Then he combined previous details about the elephant - it has a trunk that it uses to spout water! - to create his caab. Which then got transplanted into the ocean around Norway. Somehow.

And there you have it, a supposed "apparent sighting" of a "beached" animal that in reality is a bunch of snowballing translation errors. Olaus Magnus never saw one, and neither did anyone else.

Of course, when I painted my cahab, I had to make it as much like a floppy elephant as possible. :3

References

Aristotle, Cresswell, R. trans. (1862) Aristotle’s History of Animals. Henry G. Bohn, London.

Barber, R. and Riches, A. (1971) A Dictionary of Fabulous Beasts. The Boydell Press, Ipswich.

de Cantimpré, T. (1280) Liber de natura rerum. Bibliothèque municipale de Valenciennes.

Cuba, J. (1539) Le iardin de santé. Philippe le Noir, Paris.

Gauvin, B.; Jacquemard, C.; and Lucas-Avenel, M. (2013) L’auctoritas de Thomas de Cantimpré en matière ichtyologique (Vincent de Beauvais, Albert le Grand, l’Hortus sanitatis). Kentron, 29, pp. 69-108.

Magnus, A. (1920) De Animalibus Libri XXVI. Aschendorffschen Verlagbuchhandlung, Münster.

Magnus, O. (1555) Historia de gentibus septentrionalibus. Giovanni M. Viotto, Rome.

Magnus, O. (1561) Histoire des pays septentrionaus. Christophle Plantin, Antwerp.

Magnus, O. (1658) A compendious history of the Goths, Swedes, and Vandals, and other Northern nations. J. Streater, London.

Rose, C. (2000) Giants, Monsters, and Dragons. W. W. Norton and Co., New York.

Unknown. (1538) Ortus Sanitatis. Joannes de Cereto de Tridino.

[fligniuz]

your building’s on fire (and i’ll catch you)

luigi mangione x reader

｡𖦹°‧ your boyfriend feels bad. you take care of him. ‘nuff said.

word count: 3k • sfw • read on ao3

tag list : @mangionebabymama , @mangobabygirl , @jenisaswift13 , @mangionesdaisy , @iinfinitelimits , @daydreamingwithluigi , @nephris

warnings : none really! gender neutral reader; some language; hurt/comfort; soft sweet fluffy good times :-)

notes : this was written after gi’s feb. court appearance and i think that mullet had crack in it or something like i was on one…also title frommmmm:

Luigi has been down lately.

It only makes sense, of course—the past few weeks have been nothing to write home about. Work is slow and family is still as complicated and annoying as before and sleep has not come easily of late.

And his back, as is typical, has been of no help whatsoever. His back, as is typical, has made his problems worse, rubbed and irritated them, like salt in a wound; some might think he would be quite used to his entire mood being hampered by his condition for a month or so, a slump every once in a while, but the truth is that it’s never “familiar” for him. His pain is not “familiar”, not a daily obstacle he manages to break through—it’s invasive, violating, downright sadistic. It’s overbearing and petty. It sucks the passion out of him, locks even his dearest comforts far, far away from him, leaving him to bang against the cage with his fists and chew his way through its metal bars to escape.

What is one blessed with a jacked-up spine and a heart that yearns for activity meant to do? Fuck all, apparently, since there’s no magic pill he could take that can fix a slipped vertebrae, and getting his back sliced open for a fusion sure as hell hasn’t proven itself to be of much use (so far). Luigi has always been welcome to a challenge, but chronic pain is a beast with no solution, and he’s had about enough of dealing with it.

So much for pain management.

It’s safe to say that Luigi has quite a lot to complain about—but Luigi doesn’t complain. He internalizes. He carries his burdens deep inside of him.

You find him on the couch when you come downstairs, curled up on his side and mindlessly watching Seinfeld reruns on the television. This was nothing unusual, but still never any less heart-wrenching to see; you’ve always tried to be as supportive of Luigi as you can be, especially during his dark days—you accompany him to his appointments, remind him to take his meds when needed, massage him with your gentle hands, encourage and reassure him every chance you get. But the one thing you can’t do is take his pain away from him.

“Hey, babe,” you greet softly. “Whatcha doing?”

Luigi makes a sound between a grunt and a sigh, a little harumph. “Moping,” he says simply.

Kneeling down to meet his height, you ask, “bad day?”

“Not a bad day,” he clarifies. You cup his face with one warm hand and he burrows into your palm, long lashes fluttering. “Just feeling bad.”

“Hurting?”

He nods, meekly. “A little.”

In Luigiese, “a little” tends to mean “a lot”. And there isn’t much that helps him when he hurts a lot. Not much but you.

“Why don’t you let me run you a hot bath?” you offer, smiling tenderly. “You can relax and I’ll wash your hair for you.”

Luigi usually does quite like it when you join him in the shower and help him care for himself—but right now he slumps further into the couch, looking sort of guilty.

“You don’t have to do that for me,” he says.

You sigh. “Sweetheart, I want to.”

He cringes, like it’s physically too much for him to come to terms with how much you love him. Truly. Not the fake, choreographed shit in movies and romance novels and even Seinfeld, for god’s sake—whatever it is you feel for him is as real as the heart in his chest, beating with an intensity that could stand a chance against a tsunami.

“But it’s weird,” he protests. “I’m not a baby.”

Your eyebrows furrow.

“It is not weird for me to take care of my boyfriend, Luigi.” You tilt his chin up slightly so that he can look you in the eyes, watch your lips move as you speak. “And you’re not a baby. You’re a grown man with a disability and you deserve to be tended to when you need it, and you certainly shouldn’t feel wrong for accepting that from someone who cares for you.”

Well, he feels a bit like an idiot now. Sometimes you say things that leave him speechless, which is rare—but it’s one of his favorite traits of yours. Always has been. You blow him away.

“Oh, and another thing:” you add, “so what if it’s weird? I’m weird; you’re weird; we’re fuckin’ weirdos, baby. We’re the weirdest people in the world and I love it. Why should we be normal?”

Luigi smiles. Chuckles to himself. Kisses you. “Go start the water.”

And you do, skipping to the bathroom to turn on the faucet and prepare some towels for him. You grab his Sun Bum shampoo and conditioner from the tub to have them closer to you and when you leave briefly to grab a cup from the kitchen you pass him with a grin—but ultimately you beat him back to the bathroom, fingers testing the water as he walks in.

“Hi,” you greet. You’re sitting on a stool right next to the bathtub, sleeves rolled up above your elbows.

He blushes under your stare. “Hi, baby.”

It takes him a minute or two of lingering and looking around, like he’s never seen his own bathroom before, but eventually he starts to strip, ducking shyly into the filled tub.

“How’s the water?” you ask as he sinks into it.

Warm. Warm and like a salve for his spine, holding him tight between invisible arms.

“Good,” Luigi nods. “Splendid.”

So you come closer to the tub with your cup and scoop some water up, guiding him to tilt back so that you can wet his hair. He winces slightly at first as you begin to pour it over his head, but he eases quickly, eyes closed and pretty face rested. Yes, this is nice. The water is the perfect temperature, enveloping his strained skull, soothing the headache that’s been slowly building all day long—and your hands are like magic, so delicate and kind. He could almost fall asleep right here in the tub, but he resists the urge so as not to drown. You would be quite upset if he were to be so clumsy during a moment like this, he thinks.

And sleep will come later. Easily. Always does when you take care of him like this, when he gets to fall asleep in your arms knowing that even if the world were crumbling to pieces you’d be right here, in this apartment, waiting for him.

When his hair is sufficiently wet you set down the cup and reach for the shampoo, squeezing a dollop into your palm and then rubbing your hands together. You work them into a lather quickly and slather your fingers through his curls—you can only guess that he hasn’t paid himself such attention in a very long time, so you make sure to wash him right, scrunching the froth into his hair thoroughly, sluicing each individual lock until not a single spot on his head is left untouched. Eventually you move your hands up to massage his scalp, curling your fingers slowly, and you smile with pride and overwhelming fondness when Luigi’s eyes flutter shut in tranquility.

“Lean back, my love,” you murmur, coaxing him with a soapy hand on his chest.

And when he does you collect water in your cup again, dousing his curls and taking extra care to rinse the shampoo meticulously. With his face so close to you and his eyes closed you can admire him all you want; you resist the temptation to trace the light freckles on his cheekbones, his strong nose, further down, just to feel the uneven stubble growing on his jawline against your palms. His furry eyebrows are neutral and his soft lips are set in a straight line, pouting slightly. If you weren’t bathing him you would be kissing his face all over.

You dip your hands in the bathwater to rinse them clean before you reach for his conditioner, again working it into his hair, just a little at a time. As you brush it through his curls from top to bottom he speaks up:

“You’re very gentle,” Luigi says, hardly more than a whisper.

“Yeah?” you smile. “Is that a good thing?”

He hums, a soft mhm rumbling in his throat. Then:

“I’m sorry about what I said before,” he adds. “This isn’t weird. It’s really nice.”

He’s the sweetest boy with the most tender heart. You hold his head steady and lean forward to press a kiss to his forehead, catching soap on your lips.

“You can have this anytime you need it, sweetheart,” you whisper.

And then you rinse your hands again and stand, turning towards the cabinet.

“What’re you doing?” Luigi asks.

You retrieve his shaving cream and razor, smiling. “You’re getting hairy. You need a shave.”

He blinks, heart swarming with the knowledge that you’re willing to dedicate so much of your time to grooming him and helping him look his best. “You’re not going to rinse my hair?” he asks.

Sitting next to him again, you shake your head. “Not yet. The conditioner needs to sit for a few minutes.”

“It does?”

You nod.

“I guess I’ve been using conditioner wrong until now,” he says, grinning. And he soars when you smile back and lean forward to kiss him, this time on the lips, quick and soft.

His face is somewhat damp from having washed his hair, but you dip your fingers into the bathwater and bring them up to his cheeks, jaw, and neck, wetting his stubble to your liking. Once the lower half of his face is sufficiently slick, you grab the can of shaving cream and pump foam along his jawline, smearing it into his skin.

Luigi has never had anyone shave him before, most certainly not you—and he likes this quite a lot. It feels candid, domestic, sickly sweet like nothing he’s ever experienced before, and he’s starting to think that he might be perfectly fine with letting you shave him all the time, for as long as you’re together. And he feels more like himself when he’s clean-shaven; crisp and handsome. He’s definitely not complaining if it’s you helping him.

You hum a little tune as you drag the razor along the slope of his jaw—something that’s been on the radio recently, for sure, because it sounds fresh to his ears. He relaxes under your touch and puts all his effort into sitting still, more so for his sake, but your hands are careful (if not a little shaky) and slow, moving with utmost caution.

“You don’t like me when I’m hairy?” he jokes when you move to swirl the razor in the water.

“Babe, I’d like you if you were a werewolf,” you laugh. “It just gets in the way sometimes. You know?”

With two fingers you tilt his chin up so that you can stroke his throat with the razor.

“I’d be a very hairy werewolf,” Luigi says.

You make a quizzical face. “Do you think your wolf self would carry over your Italian genes? Like, would you be an Italian werewolf?”

“It’s not like I’d lose them when I transform.”

Smiling, you shave the other half of his neck and ask, “well, would your fur be as curly as the hair on your head?”

“It would have to be,” he answers, like it’s obvious. “My hair type wouldn’t just change, just like my genes wouldn’t change. I’d be a curly Italian werewolf and I’d howl at the moon for you.”

“You’ve thought a lot about this,” you quip.

He smirks. “You’re the one who brought up werewolves.”

Shaving him does not take long. You finish up the other side of his face easily and wipe him clean with a damp washcloth, admiring the smoothness of his skin under your hands. There’s already much more light and color in his face than when you found him sulking on the couch—the thought brings a pleased smile to your lips, and at the sight Luigi leans forward to kiss you, now bare-faced and feeling back to himself again.

“Mmm,” you hum with delight when you pull away. “Now I don’t feel like I’m kissing a cactus.”

Luigi giggles like a child. “You’ll never guess what my Reddit username is.”

“What? Something about cacti?” You roll your eyes playfully. “You’re a dork, babe.”

“That’s Mister Cactus to you.”

“Oh, I see,” you nod with faux disapproval painted on your face. “I suppose I’d still love you if you were a cactus.”

He kisses you again. And again. And again. Until you pull away.

He whines.

“Hold on,” you whisper. “You can kiss me as much as you want once I get you out of this bathtub.”

You grab your cup again and fill it up, guiding him back and soaking his slick curls in water. The wild hairs at the nape of his neck and over his scalp get the most attention as you rinse him, stroking his sensitive skin with your blunt nails, and Luigi can’t help but smile to himself at the feeling of it. Everything you do to him feels so right. Feels like it’s meant to be, like he’s never known anything else other than this, you taking care of him. He feels silly for trying to deny himself this peace when you first offered it to him—he had never imagined how much relief your loving hands could provide.

“All done,” you announce, running a hand through his clean, wet curls, glistening under the bathroom light. “Feeling better?”

“Good as new,” he confirms. For the most part, it’s true. You can’t take away his pain, but you can make it easier to forget about. And you’re really, really talented at that.

“Want to stay in the bath a little longer?” you ask.

He shakes his head. “Water’s getting cold. And I want to cuddle you.”

“Okay, sweetheart.” You plant a kiss on his lips and grin at him. “C’mon. Let’s get you dry.”

Luigi stands up and you are quick to hand him a fluffy towel, giving him room to step out of the bath. He sweeps over his arms, legs, and torso and wraps it around his hips, sitting down onto the toilet seat as you come close to him with another clean towel.

The sound of the tub draining fills the room as you speak. “Let me know if I hurt you,” you urge him, and he nods.

And then you bring the towel up to his hair and ruffle it over his head, working it in your hands like you’re drying a wet dog. His giggles are muffled under cotton. Precious. You want to bottle them, wear them around your neck like a music box. After a while his curls begin to lose their moisture, so you throw the towel into the hamper and disappear quickly to grab some comfy clothes for him—but not without muttering a “be right back”, of course.

When you come back to the bathroom he’s looking at himself in the mirror, smiling like an idiot.

“What are you giggling about?” you ask, handing him his clothes—boxers and lounge shorts first, “You had me at Hello World” shirt next.

“My hair,” Luigi says, pointing at it simply, like the humor is right in front of you. “I look like Kramer.”

“That the one who dresses like a thrift shop?” you ask.

“Kramer?” He looks at you curiously, then shrugs. “I guess he dresses kinda weird. But he’s got crazy hair. Looks like he got struck by lightning.”

“I like your crazy hair,” you say, reaching up to thread your fingers through it. It’s still a little damp and leaves your hands feeling slimy. “You’re cute.”

He blushes, blooming mauve pink in his cheeks and his marked nose. One of your favorite views in the whole world. “Whatever. Let’s go to bed.”

You lead him to the bedroom by his hand, not even bothering to tidy up the bathroom—it can wait until tomorrow, because it always can. When the two of you are tucked away in your safe space you go to pull down the covers, gesturing toward the bed, and he follows your directions without question, laying down on his back.

And as you pull the sheets and the duvet on top of him, he asks, “are you tucking me in?”

Chuckling, you shush him. “I’m making you comfortable. Don’t be a grump.”

Once Luigi is settled in bed you shuffle around the room to get changed yourself (your shirt is quite damp by now), sneaking glances over your shoulder between each article of clothing you pull off and on; he’s already quite cozy, eyes shut, blanket rising and falling with the force of his breathing. When you’re finally in your pajamas you crawl into bed next to him, and he flips onto his other side to face you instinctively.

“Hi,” you smile, pulling him close to you under the covers.

He smiles back. “Hey.”

For a while the two of you bask in the silence—Luigi particularly enjoys the feeling of your hands in his hair, petting softly, the sound of your own breathing slowly lulling him deeper, deeper, deeper into sleep…

But before he’s out entirely, he speaks:

“Thank you for tonight.” He nuzzles into your warmth, presses his forehead against yours. “Thank you for caring so deeply. Not that you don’t always care, but tonight it felt especially strong for me.”

And, after a beat, he adds, “I really appreciate that you take time for me. I’m not used to that. I’m trying to handle it better, I guess.”

Your thumb traces his brow bone, strokes over his cheek and beside his eye. “I love you, Luigi. I love taking care of you.” You kiss him and conclude, “I hope you let me do it for as long as we live.”

A lazy smile spreads across his face. “Love you,” he murmurs, already closing his eyes again.

Your hands still brushing through his hair doesn’t help keep him awake much longer.

^ divider by cafekitsune

[sellieloves]

happy april fool's!! for the occasion i shall NOT be posting art today, but rather:

Japanese First + Second Person Pronouns the Ancients and Beasts use!

*i have to clarify that these interpretations of the language they use is mine alone, and that what pronouns they use imply is highly situational!! The same pronoun can have different meanings depending on situation and who's using it, it's a bit complicated to explain.... it's very if you get it you get it (?)

*disclaimer no 2 i may be inaccurate in conveying some of the nuances and for that i apologize ;;

it'll go first person pronoun (I/me) first and then second person pronoun (you)

Pure Vanilla Cookie

僕 (boku), a more polite, somewhat gender neutral first person pronoun (although it's considered more masculine than feminine).

君 (kimi), a polite way of saying “you”.

Hollyberry Cookie

あたし (atashi), a more casual and informal feminine first person pronoun

あんた (anta), a more informal form of “anata (あなた)”, which is the classic way of saying "you" for a more feminine person

Dark Cacao Cookie

私 (watashi), a formal first person pronoun. Feminine-presenting people also use it casually, however with more masculine-leaning people like Dark Cacao it gives off an air of formality

お前 (omae), from someone like Dark Cacao, "omae" signals his high status as a king, and has an air of assertiveness. He’s also been shown to switch to the more rude 貴様 (kisama) when he hates someone/feels greatly offended

Golden Cheese Cookie

Uses the more polite and formal 私 (watashi) for the most part, however in informal settings with her fellow Ancients she uses the more casual あたし (atashi)

お前 (omae), it carries a similar meaning to Dark Cacao's use of "omae" for "you" in that it implies her high status. She still uses "omae" even with her friends, although in this case it could be interpreted as it's a very informal setting with people she's close to

White Lily Cookie

私 (watashi), a more classically feminine first person pronoun

あなた (anata), a polite way of saying “you”

-

Mystic Flour Cookie

私 (watashi), a classically feminine and formal first person pronoun

そなた (sonata), a very archaic word for “you”

Burning Spice Cookie

俺 (ore), an informal and more masculine way to refer to oneself

貴様 (kisama), a way of saying “you” that's considered pretty rude generally, and even a bit aggressive (?)

Shadow Milk Cookie

Normally uses 俺 (ore), an informal, masculine pronoun (fun fact even his Sage of Truth form uses "ore"). However, he uses わたくし (watakushi), a more formal form of “watashi” when performing or narrating in his little plays.

お前 (omae), a somewhat assertive way of saying "you"

[honeyvettel5]

beast of burden | alex/franky, alex & marc, secret relationship, set during the summer of marc's fourth operation; cw: mentions of death. [2.1k]

the car glides into the garage without a sound. with a flick of the wrist, alex twists the key, and the engine exhales once, then shuts off. he leans forward, rests his forehead against the cool press of the steering wheel; the leather meets with the heat of his skin, still flushed from the hospital’s thick, over-sterilised air, and he sighs, savouring the contrast.

to his right, the folder sits where he left it, carelessly thrown on the passenger seat; all of the paperwork doctors gave him throughout the years are there, along with marc’s new set of prescriptions, a printed packet of physical therapy instructions broken into bulleted points, and the number of madrid lead physician inked hastily on the margin of his brother’s clinical chart. he gets to stay for the night, the doctor had said; maybe tomorrow, too. we want to be absolutely sure there’s no complication. his voice had been kind, practiced. and alex hates himself for thinking it, but he is glad for the news; grateful, for once, to spend the night without responsibility pressing against his spine. just a few hours to let the tight coil in his chest loosen a little—a pocket of time before he has to hold steady again, be brave enough for the both of them. he breathes out slowly, the way franky taught him to when the tightness in his chest starts climbing up into his throat; in through his nose and out through his mouth. then he steps out, folder under his armpit.  he can already hear shira and stitch scrabbling at the door that leads to the living room, their high-pitched wails bouncing off the stairwell with frantic insistence. it's always surprising, somehow, the way they know it’s him, and not marc; by his footing alone, the faint jingle of car keys swaying against his hand. when alex finally manages to the main floor, the dogs burst forward like springs uncoiled, weaving in and out between his ankles in messy, excited figure-eights, tails furiously wagging.

“hey.” franky’s voice reaches him from over the couch, where he’s half-slouched, lazy and soft, watching some old black-and-white film across the tv. the actors on the screen speak in a language alex can’t place—polish, maybe russian, while the italian subtitles scroll gently along the bottom. “hey,” he echoes. he sinks down on the cushions with his limbs feeling like wet sand, thigh brushing against franky’s. he presses the heels of his palms into his eyelids, trying to rub out the burning sting that’s settled there after a full day without his glasses. “how’s marc,” franky asks, voice calm, even. alex doesn't look at him; he keeps rubbing at his eyelids, like pressure might somehow stave off the growing throb at the base of his skull. “yeah, he’s— he’s good,” he finally answers. his mind flashes with the last image of his brother as he had left the room; body swallowed whole by the hospital bed, eyes feverish with morphine, arm wrapped in fresh bandages and tucked against his chest. “you know the first thing he said when he woke up?” alex exhales sharply, a sound between a scoff and a sigh. “i can’t brake. tío, why can’t i brake?” he pauses, eyes still blinking against the all encompassing darkness of his own palms. “he thought he was racing. had his hands curling around some fucking invisible handlebars and all.” a laugh suddenly bubbles up from the middle of alex’s chest, high and sharp, almost absurd, until it twists, splinters into something jagged and wet and broken. the pressure behind his eyes builds until it becomes unbearable, a wave crashing just beneath his skin, headache now fully blooming. alex realizes he’s crying just when franky reaches out, gathers his damp shaking hands into his own. “alex, hey,” he murmurs, gentle as breath, coaxing him in. alex goes wordless against his chest, heavy with the kind of exhaustion that comes with spending fourteen hours strung up in a stiff plastic chair. it hits him right there; like a boulder tumbling, like one of those landslides you see caught on footage where the cameraman holds the frame until the whole thing swallows him too. he hides into the hollow of franky’s neck, breath hitching. he searches for him in his familiar scent, the taste of his skin, how his pulse beats faintly against the roughness of his unshaved cheek.

“sorry. i made you fly in and then left you alone in my house for all this time. i didn’t—”

“alex.”

franky cuts him off softly, not unkindly, but that's all it takes for more tears to rise up, unbidden. alex thinks it’s just the stress; just the pressure of everything, all these months of holding it together, finally breaking open and spilling out. no shape to the grief, no sharpness to the sadness. franky presses a kiss into his hair, his lips resting there for a beat longer than before. “don’t even think those things,” he says, voice low. “i’m glad you called. i’m happy to be here, really.” alex wants to argue, wants to pull apart the words and inspect them for cracks. but even if they’re not true, even if they’re only said for his sake—he lets himself believe them. just for a minute. he melts further into franky’s chest, slides lower until he’s curled into his lap, bodies overlapping. he breathes in, then out, and in again. he visualizes the motion around the image of a square; inhale, hold. exhale, hold. and repeat. his thoughts seem to dull at the edges, the headache retreating to an uncomfortable pressure at the height of his temples, like a fist unclenching.  then his nose scrunches up, face twisting with unpleasantness. “god, i smell of hospital.” franky laughs, low and rich, echoing in the hollow spaces between his ribs. alex hopes it stays there forever, rooted just beneath his heart. “take a shower,” franky says, still smiling. “i’ll bring you clean towels in a bit. do you want to eat something before?”

“no. i'm not hungry.”

“you sure? it’s been a while. i can make some pasta, quick.”

alex can’t stop thinking about marc half-asleep in his bed; the way his brow had knit together in grimace, voice barely above a whisper when he’d said, it hurts a bit, before the morphine pulled him under again. his stomach twists involuntarily, bile crawling up his throat. “no, really. just— shower. then sleep.” franky doesn’t press; he lets alex untangle from his lap and then reach towards the bathroom. when the cold water finally hits his skin, alex groans out loud—a deep, guttural sound torn from the bottom his throat. the icy droplets slide down his back, between his legs, washing away the stale heat clinging to him since this morning. for a long moment, he just stands there, head tilted back, letting the noise of the water fill his ears until everything else drops out, world numbed to a static. eventually, he reaches for the soap and starts scrubbing with sharp, mechanical motions, forcing the scent of antiseptic and medicine out of his pores. he doesn’t hear franky come in until the bathroom door clicks shut. there’s a rustle of fabric, then the soft sound of towels being placed down beside the sink. franky leans there, back against the counter, legs crossed at the ankles. through the glass, alex catches his gaze—fond, eyes warm and earnest. “what y’re looking at,” he huffs above the sound of the water, half-muttering as he reaches for the bottle of shampoo that marc usually uses. there’s an unexpected tight, nervous flutter in his chest, something that makes him want to turn his back and stay like that until franky’s gone. it’s not like franky hasn’t seen him like this before. they’ve had each other under less innocent lights (alex still vividly remembers the way franky’s thighs had looked the other day, bite-marred and spread and shaking, when franky had let him fuck him); but this—this is different. it’s him raw and scraped down to the bone, terribly barren. and franky’s still looking. 

he opens the towel wide for him when alex steps out of the shower. “what,” franky says, a small smirk tugging at his mouth, “i can’t even look at my boyfriend naked now?” the word lands like a stone skipping across the water, rolling right off franky’s tongue with no ceremony, no hesitation. boyfriend. alex doesn’t think they’ve ever used that word before. not like this. it’s new, and weird, and slightly terrifying. before he can respond, franky steps in, close enough that their chests brush. he leans in and kisses him—long and slow, mouth sure. his tongue slides against his palate with ease, no urgency except the little tug at the base of alex’s neck. alex realizes—stupidly, belatedly—that they hadn’t kissed until now. when they finally break apart, he lets out a breathless laugh. “and what was that for?” he asks, voice rough around the edges. franky lifts one hand, cups his cheek with that big familiar palm, thumb brushing beneath his eye, gentle. “you looked like you needed it.” franky turns then, giving alex some space to change into clean boxers, while he picks up the toothbrush he carefully set aside earlier, not to be mixed with the two already in the holder.

when they finally hit the bed, alex can feel his body giving way all at once—limbs slackening, muscles loosening, everything sinking deep into the mattress like warm wax. franky joins him a minute later, book in hand, and reaches over to flick on the bedside lamp. “it’s still early,” he says. “i’ll read for a bit, if that’s okay.” only then does alex turn his head and glance at the clock mounted above the dresser. 8:42. it feels like a joke; it should probably be midnight or something at this point—he’s sure he’s aged a year since this morning. he scoots under the sheets until he finds the warmth of franky’s side propped against the headboard. “sure. what’s that about,” he asks, nodding toward the title printed in long, unfamiliar portuguese vowels. he keeps his eyes open a little longer than he wants to, tries to pretend that this is normal, that he’s just come home from his useless, forgettable office job, and he gets to fall asleep with franky’s breath brushing up his neck. “it’s about the dictatorship in brazil,” franky murmurs, his voice low and even. he reaches for alex’s hair, fingers combing through the damp curls and untangling them slowly.  

“the author, marcelo—his dad was kidnapped by the state.”

“ah. that sounds terrible.”

alex nestles closer, doesn’t really know what to say. “yeah,” franky eventually hums. “it’s about his mother, mostly. how she picked herself up when she realized her husband wasn’t coming back. became a lawyer. an activist.” his hand keeps massaging alex's scalp, slow and steady, like a tide washing over the same stretch of sand. “i wish my mother could be like her too. not always. just—sometimes.” franky's hand lifts to turn the page, and then settles again with gentle, practiced weight, same as before. alex’s throat closes up a bit; he swallows around the thought of not seeing his parents for a long time, of not seeing marc ever again, really, and that turns overwhelming far too quickly. he wishes he had something to say to franky, something wise or warm or helpful. instead he just shifts again, presses his mouth to the patch of skin where the fabric of franky's shorts has ridden up.

alex doesn’t think about tomorrow—he doesn’t think how he’ll be back at the hospital in less than ten hours, standing beside marc’s bed as the doctors lift the bandages and murmur to one another, deciding his brother’s future life in one string of words. he doesn’t think about the printouts stacked neatly on the kitchen counter, with pictograms and instructions for every stretch marc’s muscles need to relearn—how alex will have to be the one who coaxes him through the pain with his own clumsy hands, because their physical therapist can’t fly to madrid until next week. instead, he lets himself float into a senseless reality when none of it exists, just for another moment. here, he gets to have franky’s fingers lulling him to sleep, his warmth deep and steady radiating against his face. somewhere above him, alex hears franky turning the page again, slowly, like time isn’t chasing them down. he sleeps, hoping not to dream.

[doubledeadstudio]

Hello, happy holidaysヾ(＾∇＾) I apologize for this being a long question but I've been thinking for a long time and I really have to ask if you would ask the RH crew (Mars, Abel and Fleur too if that's okay) for book and/or movie recommendations, what would they give ? If it's not a spoiler, what media inspired their depiction, if any? I want to practice English so I find new things I like, and I hope my words make meaning when I use translation. Have a happy holiday (づ ᴗ _ᴗ)づ♡

Happy Holidays! This is so sweet. Good luck on your language journey.

Recommendations:

Crux Hertz - The Ritual (2017) or Bones and All (2022) (movie), Siddharta by Hermann Hesse or No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai (books)

Black Lumaban - Mad Max: Fury Road (movie), The Conquest of Bread by Peter Kropotkin (book)

Vincenzo Fontana - Possession (1981) (movie), The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde or Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov (book)

Florentin Blanchett - The Substance (2024) or Dead Ringers (1988) (movie), Stiff by Mary Roach (book)

Abel Valencia - American Psycho (2000) or Wolf of Wall Street (2013), no books because he's stupid but I will give a TV show... Desperate Housewives

Inspirations:

So, the thing about this is really complicated because I'm an avid art fan and I consume all sorts of media, from books to movies to tv shows and music. Generally, I get a concept then my brain starts piecing things together. (Crux is the hardest to explain because he originally started off as the child of two of me and my husband's oldest OCs... and he became a whole separate beast on his own.)

But I can give characters that really remind me of them!

Crux - Sans (Undertale), Gojo (JJK), Loki (Marvel), Shawn Spencer (Psych) (This is the worst list of all time), also Markus (Red Embrace:Hollywood), and Lee (Bones and All). Hozier and Will Wood remind me of his aesthetic.

Black - Guts (Berserk), Lio Fotia (Promare), Fenris (Dragon Age), Warren Peace (Sky High), Bigby (Wolf Among Us), Juri (Utena). For music, grandson has his vibes.

Vincenzo - Lestat (Interview with a Vampire), Orin (Baldur's Gate 3), Gilbert (Kaze to Ki no Uta), Mahito (JJK), Alois Trancy (Black Butler), Ryo Asuka (Devilman Crybaby). His storyline was largely inspired by HP Lovecraft's Dreams of Witch House. For music, near everything by Emilie Autumn and Mindless Self Indulgence.

Abel - Ashley (The Boys), Rhys (Tales from the Borderlands), Nathan (Life is Strange). (I won't lie, a huge part of him is directly inspired to parody Right Wing pundits lolol) For music, no lie, Laufey and Lana del Rey, LMAO.

Florentin - Griffith (Berserk), Viktor Frankenstein, Dr Herbert West (Re-Animator).

~~~

For Mars:

Hello, Clovis here, creator of Mars! Thank you for the interest! Mars likes classic films with lots of sexuality and violence. Kill Bill, Pulp Fiction, Chicago (he loves a good musical if it isn't too sugary-sweet). He'll go for the stereotypical Dad Movies too as long as he thinks they're suave enough, like James Bond and Indiana Jones. For books, he reads a lot more than you'd think and enjoys being well-read, but let's say A Song of Ice and Fire, because there's political drama and everyone's suffering. (Their misfortune and crushed innocence amuses him.)

Mars is inspired heavily from the Fullmetal Alchemist Brotherhood depiction of Greed. While not a direct inspiration (I've had the character for years), Sukuna from Jujutsu Kaisen is hilariously similar to him. Vintage mafia movies are where a lot of his aesthetic comes from. If you like crime thrillers, I would highly recommend the television show Fargo for bastard men that you love to hate, are scary as hell, and are darkly comedic. — Clovis @VileFable

[foundfamily-connoisseur]

Uhhhh lower effort but it wasn't leaving me alone: My take on Giga Mac 😋

Basic info:

Mac doesn't remember or know how he obtained this form. At best he remembers the feeling of restrains on his wrists and ankles and the stabbing of needles, but nothing else.

It usually occurs when in a fight when he's badly injured and his brain enters "fight or flight" mode: it chooses fight. The biggest downside to this is that this is no longer a fight for the title, but for survival(ie to the death).

While there's the bonus of added strength and stamina, it comes at the expense of his mental: basically he becomes more of a wild animal. He can understand basic human speech but he can't talk, resorting to vocalizations(no sign language either so good luck with that)

Retractable claws: he has em. Id probably make him more fucked up tbh but I wanted to keep it low-key since he still gotta throw hands and claws don't rlly let you curl your hands into fists.

Transformation: painful, he can feel his bones snapping as everything shifts into place. It takes about a minute, maybe less. The longer he stays like that, the more beast like he gets, and the harder it is to get him back to normal.

The 1st Hour: absolutely vital, transformed and post transformation. Mac isn't meant to stay transformed for long, so try to get him back to normal within the first hour, or complications will arise (heightened aggression, more animal characteristics, loss of sanity, etc). The longest he's stayed transformed was 2 hours, and it's something no one wants to see again.

Post transformation: the most crucial. He's at his most sensitive and therefore most volatile. Small things can set him off, bringing you back to square one with Gigamac. Avoid anything that would annoy him normally, as even the sound of a radiator can get him back to the snarling beast.

He also retains some traits from transforming. He already has slightly longer canines than average, but freshly transformed all his teeth are sharp. He doesn't have traditional claws, but his nails are still sharp and pointed. The only thing that sticks is the hair, which he usually just cuts off and calls it a day.

Getting him back: there's two main ways to do it: exhaustion and pacifying. Exhaustion is the easiest method, as it usually just ends up with the bigger, tougher boxers to either just Duke it out literally or hold him down as he thrashes till he tires himself out. Pacifying usually just resorts to being like 🍔🥺 "quieres?". Much harder to do but it's what the boxers and Doc try to do first, cuz naturally no one is comfortable pinning down the 17 year old as he screams like a banshee.

Recovery: as stated, the transformation takes an absurd toll on Mac, knocking him out for the day. While he's never been out for longer than 3 days(which was already scary enough that Doc Louis right about had a heart attack), it's still something to worry about. When hes out, he's out and essentially nothing will wake him up.

And yeah I just think Giga Mac as a concept is pretty neat

[blackwaves]

link click fic recs

[ hi– compilation of fics that are rentfree in my head rn. limiting myself to one fic per writer for length, but as a rule i'd recommend much more by each writer if i did not have that restraint + would suggest searching out more by each writer on the list. bonus obligatory self-rec in form of: you can find either niche genfic or veinxiao/polyhouse crimes on my ao3 at lanternglass. crossposted on dreamwidth. ]

i take your hand in mine by jan

(li tianchen & qian jin; rated t; 0.9k)

summary: I could make you do anything, Tianchen thinks. I could take your hand here, now, and make you do anything.

notes: obsessed with literally anything by ao3 user jan thanks— mostly-genfic with impeccable characterization that sprawls across a variety of different characters in the cast and maintains their voices throughout it. this particular fic is a study of li tianchen and qian jin's canon relationship and has a fascinating interplay between them wrt power dynamics.

pay time's debt by yvesi

(li tianchen-centric; rated m; 5.0k)

summary: "Let's reconsider that, shall we?" Liu Xiao says, a gentle smile. "My friend. Let's reconsider everything."

notes: incredibly interesting and very comprehensive character study of tianchen that makes me literally vibrate. the dynamics between both tianchen & liu xiao and tianchen & tianxi & qian jin are fraught and complex in ways that fit with canon and are very well-executed; the grasp of each character as an individual is also excellent. it uses the form and structure in a way that makes me go !! as well.

blue and permanent by sunslants

(li tianxi-centric; rated g; 1.7k)

summary: Li Tianxi, at the opera.

notes: everything by this writer uses gorgeous, poetic language— this fic in particular is a single moment in time between qian jin & the twins pre-canon, and it executes it well as a lens to encapsulate the dynamic. it's written through li tianxi's pov and i think touches well on the ways in which she's so devastating to me.

blood and oil by Shadaras

(li tianchen & lu guang; rated t; 0.5k)

summary: Li Tianchen stared at Lu Guang in the flickering light of the subway tunnels. They were the only two people left alive. Bullet wounds dotted everyone else, and now the gun was out of bullets, and neither of them were well either but at least they were alive.

“You need to do it,” Li Tianchen said, holding on to the last thread of his sanity with both hands. Also his sister’s body, slowly growing cold in his arms, head resting on his shoulder like it so often had in life. “You must.”

notes: this fic is short enough that i normally would not place it on a reclist (and the writer has longer sgdlr fics i would also rec) but it's a favorite of mine forever— it takes an intriguing possibility wrt the time-travel and ltc's canon desire to use that power, and it plays very well with it. the last lines make me stop and stare each time.

a perfet slaugther of innocence by Lanster

(xiaochen; rated e; 0.8k)

summary: "Aren't you too old to be playing dress-up?" Liu Xiao asked with a note of a slight amusement, as he languidly leaned against the doorframe.

Li Tianchen took his eyes off of his own — Xixi's — reflection in the mirror and turned around to meet Liu Xiao's eyes instead. They stared at each other in heavy silence.

His mouth opened.

I just miss her, the words got stuck in his throat like a bone, digging into the soft walls of his esophagus.

notes: gorgeous writing in delightfully fucked-up liu xiao/li tianchen. sibling grief alongside the weird power dynamics between lx and ltc, as well as an exploration of ltc's canon dressing-up-as-xiaoxi and setting the twins being such a complicated dynamic next to the fact that liu xiao is sibling-issued in his own unique ways.

the seed of a gorgeous death by insideascarecrow

(li tianchen & liu xiao; rated t; 1.1k)

summary: a good hunter needs an important friend to tell them when the beast is about to swallow them whole.

and you can trust me, li tianchen. you are – you will be – a beautiful beast.

A guide to hunting, as narrated by one Liu Xiao.

notes: stylistically fascinating and intriguing; prose poetry-esque? character study that makes me go !! forever. it's as liu xiao addressing li tianchen, and the dynamic and the way it characterizes them both is so so good to me.

a contemplation by LadyCharity

(li tianchen-centric; rated g; 3.1k)

summary: The place where Li Tianchen hated most in his childhood home was the dinner table.

Or, to know your mother is to sit at her table.

notes: fascinating take on (1) food-as-love, (2) an alternate universe where the twins end up living with the photo studio trio post-s2. the writing is lovingly done, especially in the descriptions of the food, and it captures the internal conflict and the flinch away from kindness very well.

cross the line, be mine by streetlights

(shiguang; rated g; 7.1k)

summary: “I’m sorry. This isn’t fair, but I don’t know how I feel about you yet. I can’t make any promises. Can you wait for me?”

Cheng Xiaoshi throws him a languid smile. “Of course. Don’t you know? I’m pretty good at waiting for people.”

In the original timeline, Cheng Xiaoshi falls first. Many timelines later, he’s still waiting.

notes: shiguang + love confessions as a fic; i think it captures the way shiguang pine for each other and the impossibility (i.e. the certainty/solidity of that love as contrasted to lu guang's goal-of-saving-cxs rendering delivery upon it impossible) of it? excellently done pining/yearning in a way i think is well-fitting.

wanting it all by brekkerified (enhattps)

(shiguang; rated t; 1.1k)

summary: 7. Originally, Xia Fei squints between them and gives Lu Guang a look that he can’t parse. The same happens the second time, but there’s not much time to contemplate when they come face-to-face with Vein in mere hours.

8. Would trying to translate the sheer depth of everything that whirls through his head and heart into words back then, in the original timeline, have saved Cheng Xiaoshi at all?

A short, non-comprehensive list of things Lu Guang would like to do with Cheng Xiaoshi, if he weren’t actively trying and failing to save him from death’s jaws.

notes: makes me go !!! forever. feels very tender to read, and i think is a good picture of lu guang + yearning + the way it aches that he is time-looping to save cxs' life. the impossibility of breaching the gap between them feels very vivid in the fic, and the steadiness of the devotion between them underlays it.

play it ‘til the end and then reset by Moondal

(lu guang-centric; rated t; 1.1k)

summary: You are a hypocrite of the highest order. For Cheng Xiaoshi you break your own rules again and again, uncaring of the consequences of time and space, because you can’t even breathe at the very thought of him no longer being there.

He has to live. He must live.

So again and again you raise your hands and go back to the beginning. Because how can you do anything else?

-

Lu Guang’s self-imposed time loop.

notes: timeloop fic!! i think my favorite exploration of lu guang timelooping— this is a canon-compliant take on him having cxs die in his arms again and again, and repeatedly dive back in time. i think captures the desperate grief very well to me, the inherent selfishness of that refusal to let someone die.

can you see me this time? by aknightley

(shiguang; rated t; 9.4k)

summary: Cheng Xiaoshi doesn’t think it’s a bad thing to trust your feelings.

Trust is all you have left, sometimes.

Lu Guang has never asked Cheng Xiaoshi to trust him, but he does.

Alternatively: Cheng Xiaoshi weighs his trust in Lu Guang against an increasing list of things that do not make sense.

notes: well-written and handles the inevitable confrontation re:lu guang's timelooping well (the way that lu guang steadies him, the way lu guang takes comfort in being able to tell him, all make me a little bit insane). handles the fact that the core of the bond between shiguang is trust well as well.

impermanence by FingerCracc

(shiguang; rated t; 7.0k)

summary: They're orange roses, six of them in a ring around a bit of baby’s breath, a piece of leather fern tucked in the back like an afterthought. Cheng Xiaoshi comes back from whatever errands he’d been running and sets the bouquet on the counter.

“What is this?” Lu Guang asks, eyeing the flowers.

“For you,” Cheng Xiaoshi says simply. .

Cheng Xiaoshi buys Lu Guang flowers. Lu Guang can't ignore whatever's between them anymore.

notes: the writing style is lovely, delicate kind of careful (would rec other works by the same user for similar reasons). the dynamic between shiguang feels steady and deliberate and i'm so, so fond of it, as well as the intimacy between them. the namesake theme of impermanence is well-delivered upon in lu guang's narration, and it feels fitting.

our bodies at the shoreline by velvet_ie 

(shiguang; rated m; 0.8k)

summary: —like this, Cheng Xiaoshi is obedient. He trusts in the safety Lu Guang provides, trusts Lu Guang to not burn him.

It’s almost too much trust.

notes: the writing feels incredibly soft/tender/intimate, and i'm so fond of it— i think it examines the trust that cheng xiaoshi puts in lu guang in a non-dive setting in a way that makes me so so. soft about shiguang.

you know how it is by honorarybimbo

(xia fei-centric; rated t; 2.2k)

summary: He cracks at the edges and occasionally unwinds at the seams. And there’s a dissatisfaction buried deep in the pits of his stomach that hollows him out from the inside, that collapses like a caving accident right above a pocket of air no one knew someone was stuck in. He’s pressed in a space the size of an artery deep within the earth, and can only breathe when he exhales.

Sure.

But that only if he isn’t fed.

notes: an exploration of xia fei and the hints of something sharper/meaner that we get out of him, via a canon-compliant (pre-bridon arc) moment in time of him switching into something colder to retaliate against another model. i'm fond of the writing style, and i'm fond of the ruthlessness of the xf voice.

soft smoke, sharpened teeth by bloomingsite

(xia fei-centric; rated m; 4.1k)

summary: Xia Fei once thought proper goodbyes were too sentimental: to linger was to give what they had too much focus and too much weight, so earnest he might trip up over the formalities. But he would give up just about anything to be sentimental now. That must be part of why he turns the key in the lock of the door and slips in, right as the sun sets, and it's like he's tumbled into a picture from the past. Nothing much has changed — Xia Fei's invaded Vein's place plenty of times and then been left to his own devices — the silence is the same. But knowing it's not, not truthfully, is a steady, painful revelation. In search of clues and comfort, a grieving, sleep deprived Xia Fei breaks into Vein's penthouse.

notes: xia fei grief fic that i love— the framing device wrt the flashbacks is fun to me, and i'm fond of the way the ache of the loss resonates through the writing. i think it's a fun exploration of xia fei left in the wreckage afterwards, trying to figure out what to do at the same time that he's falling apart from his own grief.

They All Fall Down by NbZo

(xia fei-centric; rated t; 28.4k; 6/? chapters)

summary: To uncover Vein’s mysterious death, Xia Fei investigates the Yingdu underworld, the disappearance of one Wang Qing, and the Bahati fire from his past he had long repressed from memory. However, other agents are at play, and it may make his mission impossible.

notes: reviving the ancient and half-forgotten art of plot-centric fics via something that you can solidly sink your teeth in; i'm so, so fond of this fic. i'm being flippant, but i genuinely adore fanfiction that puts so much of itself into the meat of logistical workings (the writer of this has an insanely long plotting/research document, notably to me) and which weaves a convoluted plot via it. there are so many fascinating theories in this, i think.

paifang by yuudoufu

(veinfei; rated t; 7.0k)

summary: “Felix, do you want to know how I became the leader of Chinatown?”

Xia Fei lolls his head over the back of the couch, bangs flipping over his forehead to reveal the Badtz-Maru themed bandaid Vein had stuck on him earlier. He silently gnaws at the lollipop in his mouth as he stares at Vein from upside down. For someone lounging in the maw of a beast, he always looks more relaxed here than he does in the studio, drunk or not. “Umm. Democracy?”

Vein barks out a laugh that comes out sharper and more genuine than he expects. Oh, sweet, naive Xia Fei. Kid’s smarter than he lets on, but not always when it comes to Vein. Then again, it’s partially this that makes him all so amusing. Vein bares his teeth into a large grin, tongue and incisors and all, and relishes in how Xia Fei stops chewing on the candy after a straight half hour to gawk. “With my teeth, sunshine.”

// or: life lessons with vein except they're not so applicable to college students whose biggest trouble is the lack of financial aid and applied physics exams

notes: engrave with my teeth, sunshine into the urn that will eventually hold my ashes, etc. the style of the writing is so unique (again, would rec the writer's works as a whole for that) and i think the vein pov + the characterization literally solved an equation in my head for how he works, it's excellent and i'm so fond of it and the character voices in it.

[fyodorsushankaaa]

introduction post!! :3

name: olivia or any nickname you want (as long as you're not being weird)

pronouns: she/her

mbti: isfp

birthday: october 18th

nationality: turkish 🇹🇷🐺

languages i know: turkish (mother language), english

languages i'm currently learning: arabic (a1), russian (a1)

things i love: music, books, drawing, stars, cinnamon, poems, coffee, tea, milk, rain, thunderstorms, flowers (especially roses), mythology, psychology, games, guitars, violins

characters i kin: osamu dazai, ranpo edogawa, fyodor dostoevsky

fandoms i'm in: bungo stray dogs, percy jackson and olympians, gravity falls, arcane, persona 5, doki doki literature club, hazbin hotel, helluva boss, alien stage, the art of murder, the amazing digital circus, animation vs animator, animation vs minecraft, ramshackle, the owl house, hamilton the musical, lacey games, grishaverse

moots list

detailed information: https://en.pronouns.page/@olivia.charder

time zone: utc +3

strawpage: https://oliviacharder.straw.page

my favorite;

colors: purple, blue, brown

bands/singers: mitski, the neighborhood, artric monkeys, melanie martinez, indila, rebzzyx, marina, mother mother, bo burnham, billie eilish, tv girl, lana del rey, cavetown, olivia rodrigo, taylor swift, the living tombstone, halsey, panic! at the disco, palaye royale, maneskin, jann, isabel lasora, conan gray, sodikken, 6arelyhuman, roar, girl in red, my chemical romance, penelope scott, the crane wives, adele, alex g, britney spears, ic3peak, ado and more (my music taste is more complicated than my room.)

animals: cats, foxes, jellyfishes

animes: bungou stray dogs, vanitas no carte, moriarty the patriot, kakegurui, toilet bound hanako-kun, jujutsu kaisen, my hero academia, demon slayer, angel of death, death note, seraph of the end, classroom of the elite, persona 5

ships: kunizai, ranzai, fyozai, sigzai, nikozai, yosazai, kunichuu, kunichuzai, rankunizai, ranchuu, kunisano, ranpoe, shin soukoku, atsulucy, taniatsu, akulucy, tachitani, tachigin, vanoe, sherliam, alcroft, satosugu, itafushi, bakudeku (only after recent chapters)

writers: fyodor dostoevsky, osamu dazai, nikolai gogol, adora yağmur, leigh bardugo, sir arthur conan doyle, lucy montgomery, rick riardon (there're more but i don't remember rn qwq)

genre of book: russian, japanese and turkish classics, fantasy, crime, horror, mythology, action

season: autumn/fall

my other blogs;

@oliviaisdrawing drawing blog

@14yo-dazai 14 years old dazai rp

@wontbeheretilltheend beast dazai rp

@ideals-of-the-night pm kunikida rp

@kuni-in-the-water orca kunikida rp

@the-coming-storm-verlanie verlanie rp

@the-silver-wolf-in-the-dark fukuzawa rp

@lil-sig 9 y/o sigma rp

@akira-thelilone bsd oc rp

@fyodor-dostoyevsky-rp fyodor rp

@subject-fyodor fyodor rp for lab au

@olivia-charder gonna post my fics there

our little kunizai community;

https://www.tumblr.com/join/DK136ck6

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑

my yt channel: https://youtube.com/@fyodorun_usankasi?si=DEK5enbPMutXkQEw

my spotify: https://open.spotify.com/user/313bidxg6foc4vkgto7g57wefrfm?si=FnUV2gZETnuSWlkgUpFI5A

my instagram: olivia.charder (i'm not online there tho)

[janahanooo]

Heavy angst HEADCANON cus why not :D

Okay so, not that I cried at the thought that TWST's story is near its end, but

It is. Malleus overblotted, meaning its only Grim left, just like what we saw in the beginning. And this, breaks my heart.

But the process? Why did Grim overblot? Because of the black gems? Or maybe the grief of realising Yuu is not staying in Twisted Wonderland? Or something far more complicated? Lets face it, we dont know anything about Grim. Of course, the others, they all got backgrounds and some explanings why they did the things they did, but Grim? He just wants to be 'Greatest Mage' and thats it.

I know there are some headcanons, like Malleus made him to stop himself or the others that overblotted. Or that he is actually the eighth of the great seven. So let me present you what I think-

What if he was just a beast, who suddenly was capable of speaking a language foreign to him(yes heavily implied Pokemon reference right there, except its like a curse kind of thing), causing him to be casted to the side The years of wandering around, being around humans, faes and other creatures, he learns if he wants to be loved, accepted, he has to gain respect, be someone that people look up to. And when the chance presents it self, he may become a mage if the dark mirror chooses him, so that he could be loved, cared for, just to be called a monster and cadt aside again. But here comes this strange person by the name of Yuu and acting like he is family, like he truly matters. Ridiculous, Yuu doesnt even have magic, yet the looks at him with awe and love, like no one ever before. And you mean to tell him, that Yuu is going away and may not even come back anymore? No, Yuu wouldnt do that to him, right? Afther all that they went through.... His hench-human, his helper, his first friend, his family. Why would Yuu betray him like that? Did he really not matter at all to them?

Yeah, I did cry when this thought came to my mind. Sorry

[darkdemeter]

・issue #2・ HABITS OF MOTHER NATURE'S WILL II

⚤ Wanda Maximoff x Werewolf! GN/Female/Male Reader, (Platonic) Avengers x Werewolf! GN/Female/Male Reader High levels of angst — hurt/comfort — minor sexual interaction, unspecified genitals but use of "groin". (making out. slight dry humping) — high level gore and violence (werewolves are fighting, and that is never clean) — sprouts of fluff moments — trauma/ptsd — mentions of violence and death (WARNING: Unspecified ages, but implied deaths of children and teenagers) — protective reader — aggressive werewolf! reader — reader begins recovery from trauma — some adult language — brief alcohol consumption — minor name calling feat. Tony calling reader "pup" — use of Y/N ✎ 13.8k Habits are not easy to let go and neither is the past. The team and yourself are sent to Alaska for an undercover op, but it becomes clear to the team that you’re more guard than guide on this mission. Mother Nature herself vouches that you will put your new wisdom to her intended use when the once distant howls have grown close. You will do everything in your nature to protect your pack and your mate. Instinct will take over; and instinct shall turn into habit.

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You can’t change what cannot be undone. She wants you to embrace this, yet you fight it,  tooth and claw.

There came this new and sole desire that occurred during the excruciating ordeal of your shift on the full moon last night. 

Only such an experience meant Mother Nature was granting you a new wisdom, that which altered your previous nature, no matter how complicated the human biology was.

By her law, instinct was instinct. 

You splashed cold water onto your face and absorbed the sight of yourself in the mirror. Often you caught sight of the beast beneath your eyes in the reflective surface. And many times it scared you how close it always lingered. Ever watchful and biding its time.

How could Wanda see you as more than you realise? 

You caught the shine of amber as it shimmered across your eyes in your reflection. Right below the surface of your own skin, a predator resided with unbridled force. You shook your head to rid the intrusive need to let it out. 

‘It is done now. She’s preparing me for something.’

Your hands gripped the sides of your sink, your white, strained knuckles ached with the pressure that threatened to crack the ceramic basin. 

‘They wouldn’t understand it. Wanda wouldn’t understand it.’ 

A knock on your room’s door caught you off guard. That rarely happened with your keen senses. Your hands released their hold on the sink.

“Y/N?” Your ears pricked at the accented tongue of her voice, “you finished packing?”

You don’t even think about your actions because it felt natural to approach her. To be close to her. You’ve already opened your door when you came to your senses 

when a pair of bright eyes blink up at you. Fuck, you can’t control your racing heart whenever she smiled. 

You’re almost afraid she’ll read your mind again and discover what she’d be better off never knowing. 

She saw you as more than you realised but could she possibly understand the idea that you saw her anymore differently than you did before?

‘Mate.’

“I came to let you know everyone is waiting for us. Can’t leave our guide behind now.” 

Her eyes momentarily fluttered down before they lifted to stare into the captivity of yours. 

“Y-yeah,” you bit back a snarl at the stutter of your response, “I’m ready.”

“Good. Could you help me with my bags?” Her eyes looked hopeful for the short moment you left her unanswered before you nodded, perhaps a little too enthusiastically.

“Of course!”

And that’s why you now fought so hard against Mother Nature. She instilled within your agonised cries, broken bones and reformed muscle what every werewolf anticipated: a soulmate tie. 

When many were overcome with a pure and primal feeling of joy, you were consumed by trepidation. 

Nevertheless, you walked Wanda to her room and retrieved her bags - much to her protest, you gave a wolfish smirk to hide the near breathlessness in your lungs and rapid beating of your heart - and joined the others on the Quinjet for your mission in Alaska.

Where a wolf calls home.

“So tell us, Wolfie. What’s the whole story with you and Alaska?” Natasha spoke up from the co-pilot's seat, Steve sat next to her, his focus on flying the jet though her question piqued his interest. “Did you grow up there?”

A few hours into the flight and all was smooth sailing until her question made the hair on the back of your neck stand. 

When you mentally prepared yourself, you turned your eyes in her direction.

She’d turned to peer over her shoulder at you with a quirk in her brow, curious to Fury’s designation as the team’s guide.

“Ah,” you huffed and scratched at your neck haphazardly, another habit you shared with disdain, “something Fury left out of my file, I take it?”

“Well, yeah. Your file has barely anything regarding background. Only when you moved to the city and your skill set mainly.” Your lips pulled into a thin line with Sam’s deliverance of this news. 

Your nose wrinkled at the scent that tinged the air like ash and smoke. A dark tone to their concern. Were they worried you were hiding something?

You simply shrugged to ease some of the tension that built around you and your teammates. “Just spent some years there before I moved on to live in the city. As a werewolf, you tend to learn terrain quickly, no matter how long it’s been.” 

Natasha nodded but something in the way she pursed her lips made the tight coil in your chest grow, almost to the point it strangled out a whimper from you. 

“Alaska is a really beautiful place,” you sighed and your lips stretch to form a smile, “if we have enough time, I’ll happily show you guys around. 

“I’d like that very much,” Wanda said from her seat across from yours. Your smile turned shy under her gaze, a flutter of her glowing red magic used to merely entertain herself made your heart warm. 

An odd sensation as if her very magic was tied to your heart. 

Steve hummed out from his place, his eyes wandered to Tony as if to hear out his thoughts on the matter. Tony shrugged. 

“Just don’t forget we’re here for a mission, not a ‘walk-with-nature’ getaway trip.”

The small assembled team nodded and mumbled amongst themselves. 

“Alright, Stark. But I am personally not leaving Alaska without playing a proper game of fetch with Y/N.”

Your chin tilted down to conceal the smirk on your lips. Wanda was surely determined with a tone like that. You briefly caught her eyes and the wide grin plastered on her face.

If Mother Nature gave you one chance to change yours and Wanda’s - unbeknownst to her - new fate, would you truly want to?

The Quinjet landed without trouble thanks to Steve’s impeccable piloting skills, though you could tell Sam and Tony may have had a few hundred pointers for the captain. 

The engine was turned off and everyone gathered their bags together. You reached into your suit pocket for the small pill case, taking two of them. When Sam gave you a questioning look, you mumbled something about it being medicine for your headache. 

The ramp lowered and the frozen breeze brought most of your teammates to a shiver. You and the super soldiers hadn’t so much as flinched. 

You were the first to step down the ramp and greet the snow with your feet, the deep crunch beneath you a welcomed whirlwind of contentment.

‘Home.’

The others followed behind you, bags adorned, they took in the marvel of their new surroundings. Below a blue and sunny sky littered with clouds, the platform was mostly covered by the ensuing white that covered the landscape. 

Down the trail that led alongside the woods, a large house laid vacant in the distance right near the edge of the frozen lake. 

“Quite the walk,” Tony huffed with a cluster of windy ice before his mouth. Snow already littered in his dark hair. 

Your gaze followed the span of the ice until it reached the far off cluster of trees on the other side. Beyond that, the mountain peaks contrasted against the sky.

“See that mountain up there?” You pointed at the tallest one and your team all turned their sights to where your hand directed. 

“I’ve been up there. A sort of tradition to race up to the top just as the sun grazed the horizon.” 

The memories were distant when you moved to the city. But now they flooded back like an avalanche. 

“All the way up there, huh?” Steve asked, mouth agape as he assessed the frosty white peak. “By yourself?”

“No, with my siblings.” You answered that too quickly and too honestly. The frosted mist faded before your lips into the air with your words, unable to take them back. 

“Wait, you never mentioned you have siblings,” said Bucky with a furrowed brow. 

“Oh, I guess I never did…” Your once smile faded from your face and your eyes were overcome with that pain that stained the snow you walked upon. You felt the stares against your back and you huffed aloud, shoulders sagged.

“Come on, we should get settled in,” you said with a forced smile, the cold for once stung harshly against your face. It burnt your skin.

The others nodded and you led the way down the trail. The sun would set soon, and it was unwise to wander around after sun down. But that sole purpose that fuelled your soul burned deep within you like a campfire amidst a snow storm. 

You wouldn’t allow any harm to befall your team. You’d sooner die than let anything happen to them. To her. 

As you walked with a determined stride towards the lodge, Wanda’s warm fingers swept across your knuckles.

‘I’m here for you, if you want to talk.’

You swallowed thickly and the inkling of your head nodding seemed to answer her as her eyes scanned you.

“So how did Fury get this safe house?” Clint asked with a deep, and huffy breath, his hand adjusted the bag on his shoulder. 

“It belonged to a family many years ago. But it’s been vacant for some time and Fury gained ownership of it.” 

“You seem very familiar with the safe house.” 

Shit. Was she reading your mind as you spoke? 

You walked up the steps onto the front porch, key in hand but your hand lingered on the door handle with an iron grip. 

You stood locked in place for what felt like an eternity, eyes scornful as they glared daggers into the wooden and glass panelled door. 

“I’d worked alongside the family. Did some odd jobs here and there, kind of became a family friend.” 

you unlocked the front door and promptly  stood aside with a gesture to the others before you, the door held open. You offered them all a kind smile the moment your eyes found Wanda’s, the sharp lines in your brows eased even when in hers, you saw the glimmer of concern.

“Come on in.” 

It was safe to say the majority of your party were relieved to step inside the lodge and turn on the thermostat. Not that it was ever much in use back in the day, you were a little surprised that it still managed after all this time. 

While the others took in their temporary residence, you couldn’t help but let your eyes rake over the emptiness that took place. A shadow of its former self.

Your hands ran over the hearth’s sill, clean of any dust but once, it held the memories of a past you left behind. Each frame a moment in time which you treasured beyond belief with the passed family.

Now you stared at the unlit hearth. Barren of those memories. You thought it was for the best. Fury did well with the clean up.

‘Are you okay?’ 

You looked towards where Wanda stood by the L shaped lounge, arms folded over her front and fingers knitted together; her nails dragged across her knuckles and it made you cringe from the thought of her discomfort.

‘Yeah, I’m alright.’ 

“So how are we doing the rooms?” Natasha asked after she finished her investigation of the kitchen right across from the lounge room. 

“We will do pairs,” you answered curtly, yet you still feigned a smile even if they could tell it was fake. 

“Follow me.”

You only hoped they wouldn’t say anything that delved deeper than the surface. Only the wolf awaited them there.

You hadn’t expected the return to Alaska to hit you in such a way. And to add atop of it all, your senses were at an all time high, dialled up to eleven. You felt far more sensitive than usual. 

More easy to falter. Easier to piss off.

Everyone followed you up the flight of stairs to the second floor. 

The hallway was less narrower than you remembered, it could fit two people shoulder to shoulder fairly well. Rooms lined the hallway down towards the singular pair of double doors at the end.

“These are the rooms, take your pick. This is the bathroom here, the master bedroom has an ensuite,” you explained to them, your tone rapid fire. 

“Wanda and Natasha, you can take the master bedroom.” You opened the double doors and it took everything in you to prevent the tears. And yet a sad smile pulled at the corners on your lips.

You could still smell them after all this time. It was like they never left. 

“Are you sure?” Natasha asked rather sharply, almost offended you offered it up so casually, given your relationship with the family.

“I don’t mind bunking with Clint is all, if that’s your concern. You and Wanda can take the master.”

Natasha’s tone was one you knew well enough for your months with the Avengers. Firm. Bossy. She wasn’t asking, she was telling. Your breath goes still in your lungs and your face became heated, a red hue bloomed in your cheeks and the tip of your nose.

You and Wanda together in a room? By yourselves?

“I— er, I don’t—“ you’re a fucking stuttering mess again and you clear your throat, the sound more of a growl than anything. 

“I don’t mind bunking with you, Wolfie!” Wanda assured with a light and gentle smile, you could see easily she was holding back a flustered giggle given the faint colour in her cheeks.

Though you wished to chalk that up to the cold still settled in her bones beneath the layers. 

“Then that’s settled!” Natasha flashed you both a wink and you whined lowly, involuntarily on your part but no less made Wanda giggle freely this time.

“I’m not sleeping in the same room as Tony,” Bucky grumbled, his eyes found Steve’s to indicate he’d chosen his roommate. 

Tony huffed with a roll of his eyes. “Likewise, cyborg.”

“Okay, boys. Keep the peace. Everyone settle in and come downstairs for dinner in fifteen minutes. That’s an order!”

“I thought I was in charge!” Tony called after Natasha down the hallway, Sam patted his shoulder. “Yeah, only on report. We know who’s really directing this mission.” 

Steve and Bucky took the room that belonged to the second eldest sibling, further down the hall, Natasha and Clint claimed the room next to theirs; the twin’s old room and Sam and Tony chose the room opposite Bucky and Steve’s, the third eldest’s room. 

When you looked down that hallway, you could see the kids in that hallway again, their feet pattering against the wooden planks in their rush of excitement. 

The last bedroom, however, was off limits. Under lock and key. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together. Fury put everything in there and put a lock on it. 

It was for the best. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Wanda asked after everyone had gone to their chosen rooms to unpack and settle in. 

You closed the doors with a heavy sigh, forehead pressed into the cool, wooden surface.

“Yeah,” you managed to breathe out, “yeah, I’m just… not feeling too good. Feel different…” 

Wanda took a few steps forward but was paused in place by the command in your voice. “Don’t…” 

Your vocals were contorted into a deep, husky drawl as the wolf shined through enough to reflect in your eyes with an ominous glow. Your claws dug into the skin of your palms to the point they almost drew blood. 

Her eyes drifted down to see your balled fists and her hands nervously fiddled together once more, you waited to see the red hue of her magic.

Was she trying to read your mind again?

“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t—“ you retracted yourself, getting a grip of the wolfish desire to let go. You had to keep it together. 

Your heart rapped hard in your chest, your claws sank back and the amber glow faded from your eyes. “I’m sorry, Wanda.”

‘I’m sorry, Mate.’

“It’s fine, really, Y/N. Don’t worry about it. Just know I’m here for you if you want to talk. We all are.” 

There was too much on your mind to simply talk. No. You needed action. Talking about it would only lead to tears and a breakdown. 

“Hey,” Wanda closed the gap between you both and you fought between doing the same and taking a retreating step. You were locked in place a second time.

Her hand was delicate as she placed it on your arm to give an assuring squeeze. 

“Don’t fight it. Whatever it is that’s troubling you. I want to help you.”

‘I want your help. I want you.’

You feel like you can only nod in reply. Your words all jumped in the back of your throat, a knot ready to burst the moment you try to utter a single one of those words.

She took the daring leap and wrapped her arms around your torso.

The instinct Mother Nature had sewn into your wisdom made your arms wrap around Wanda, and you tugged her in until she was flush against you. 

Her scent filled your nose and your eyes softened with a rumble reverberating against her chest, the glisten of tears not long to follow as your eyes became coated. How you wished you had the courage to tell her this new desire. This need to protect her; claim her.

But she wouldn’t understand it. Those who did not share their very soul with the wolf couldn’t possibly grasp the identity of such serious and sacred matters that kept your species alive and the old ways honoured. 

Not often were humans and werewolves bound together by Mother Nature’s soulmate tie. Often the wolf was spurned because their mate didn’t understand that their rejection held far greater consequences than hurt feelings.

Perhaps that was why you wanted to protect Wanda so much. Not because she was your destiny or to protect yourself from getting hurt.

You were no stranger to getting hurt.

It was to protect her from what you would become and the guilt she would harbour on herself. 

“Thank you, Wanda. For being here,” you sighed after a long moment, time having felt dragged on for years as you held her in a tight hug. You didn’t want to let her go. Not now or ever. 

“Of course, Wolfie. You’re my friend.” 

You whined softly but the corner of your lips turned up into a faint smile, conflicted between pain and relief. “I like that…”

‘Mate…’ 

You and Wanda had been the last to join everyone downstairs for dinner. Natasha and Clint mostly tutted and bickered with each other as they slaved away with dinner, Wanda opted to help out when she had a taste test.

Tony and Bucky had helped themselves to one of the finely aged whiskey bottles in the cabinet near the dining table and Steve took interest in the small collection of books arranged by volume, while Sam took in the terrain from the wide, floor to ceiling windows that looked out into the growing dark woods.

Everyone was growing accustomed to their surroundings in the house. This was good, it meant they felt comfortable. That’s what you wanted, had hoped for. You couldn’t exactly say the same for you, but there was that feeling of home.

You joined Sam by the window, a cold bottle of beer curled into the palm of your hand. It didn’t taste the best, you’d never liked the brand, but it was what was on hand.

Alcohol had a weird effect on werewolves anyway so you opted to stay away from it as much as possible. 

You took a swig with a grunt from your unsettled gut and Sam smirked at you. “You doing alright, Wolfie?” He asked and you rolled your eyes.

“Just fine. Beer’s shit though, I don’t know how you guys like it.”

The sneer on your face as you glared down at the bottle only made Sam chuckle. “Honestly, it does taste bad, but I don’t fancy myself the connoisseur.” Sam, subtly as he might, gestured towards Tony and Bucky. “Unlike them.”

You huffed at that, a small grin on your lips. Sam was a good man to talk to whenever you felt like the world around you was caving in with a purpose to destroy you. 

Even more, when he’d talk about his family, you got immersed in his stories; as though you were there too. 

“I wouldn’t trust Tony to drink a shot of dyed bleach and tell the difference.”

Sam’s fist was brought to his face, a mouthful of his drink chuffed back when he snorted so he wouldn’t choke. 

You grin impossibly more and clapped his shoulder. “Hey, I’m not the best at jokes, how did you even find that funny?” 

“Something funny, pup?” Tony asked over the rim of his glass. Your eyes met his and you shook your head. “Just told a dull joke,” you replied, “like your taste buds…” 

Only Sam heard your muttering and once he was free of his mouthful of beer, he laughed loudly. The sound faded after a moment and you both stared out into the woodland.

“It’s really peaceful out here,” Sam said finally. You nodded but you feared something in you couldn’t entirely agree with him. 

It had been peaceful once. But now there lingered something eerie. It made you too alert to easily relax as the others did. Even if they too could sense the same thing as you, their scent gave nothing away. “I thought the same as you once.”

Sam looked at you with a troubled, confused furrow in his brow. His lips pulled down into a frown. Sam opened his mouth, no doubt to ask the question you already saw in his eyes, but Natasha’s announcement cut him off.

“Dinner’s ready!” 

Clint and Wanda served up everyone’s plates with the spaghetti bolognaise. The food was good on account of Wanda adding just a little bit more spice and salt to the sauce, and of course what was dinner without conversation.

Talk about smaller topics were easier to digest with your food. How you didn’t expect it to take a turn that made your hand halt before you could take another bite of your food.

“Is there anything dangerous out here, Y/N?”

“It’s Alaska and we’re in the middle of unsettled territory. Of course there are dangers out here,” you answered Sam with a casual shrug. 

Not many predators roamed so close to the house when you were here with the family. Just the odd bear once or twice. You glanced up to meet Sam’s unsure stare.

He didn’t believe you. 

“Just as a safety precaution, when we’re not on a mission, stay within the border of the property,” you began, “I’ll show you guys around tomorrow. At night, I ask that you stay inside. If you do go outside, let me know so I can come with you.” 

“We’re capable of holding our own against a drifter moose or yogi bear, pup,” Tony snarked lightly with another gulp of his whiskey. 

“I know,” you bite with a tone a little too harshly, the beds of your fingernails felt bruised and ached as your eyes burnt. “But just… please, just do that for me, yeah?”

You looked around the table and you let out a relieved sigh when you saw heads nod. “Of course, Y/N,” Natasha assured. 

“Good. Other than that, you have free roam of the house, minus the locked room upstairs. Just the family’s old belongings.” 

The others nodded again and your eyes met Wanda’s. she could see something deeply troubled you. You were usually so calm and collected on missions, barely flinching when bullets fired at you in a frenzied spray. Sure, your aggression was a feat unmatched in the heat of battle but it was what made you strong.

Deadly.

Effective. 

You were Mother Nature’s definition of safety and danger. An apex predator. 

But now, something in you had visibly switched. Gone was the fearsome animal that could maul and maim without restraint but one. Your confident smirk and wicked disregard for your life - despite your actions to protect your teammates - had contorted into a concerning frown and a strained, husk of a drawl. An underlying threat to unleash the wolf if steps were not taken carefully. 

Dinner resumed, albeit, a little less talking and a lot more tension. You finally excused yourself after you promptly thanked Natasha, Clint and Wanda for the food. 

You knew everyone watched you leave but Wanda’s eyes pierced through you like nothing else ever could. 

The wind swept across your back and through your hair with a hollow whisper in the night. The pier was a spot you went to to think when you felt troubled. The Northern Lights danced across the black canvas littered with stars and a bright, fading full moon. 

The frozen lake offered a different ambience with the rest of nature. A deep, echoing boom across the frozen surface could be heard from the water beneath the layer of ice. 

Boots intruded on the wooden boards of the pier as they gently - calmly - thundered towards you.

“Wolfie,” one accented tongue said so beautifully you thought for a moment an angel greeted you. Startled with a gasp, you spun your head to look in the direction of her voice.

“Wanda,” you greeted with a rumble.

‘Mate.’

“What are you doing out here?” 

She rolled her shoulders back and stepped closer. Then another step. The post behind you greeted your back then. 

“I came out here to find you. May I join you?”

You nodded, the action more of a nervous quiver than anything, Wanda smiled and stood by your side. Her shoulder brushed along your arm and you felt the air in your lungs dissipate. 

“You left dinner so abruptly. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.” 

“I’m alright.” You stared off into the distance to keep your eyes away from Wanda’s who you knew analysed you now. Her scent filled you and smothered out all the rest. You couldn’t smell the fresh wetness of the snow, the rich, earthly smell of the pines, nor the herd of the elk that traversed the wilderness across the vast lake. 

You could only smell her. That intoxicating scent of rose and vanilla that her shampoo couldn’t conceal from you.

The vanilla was stronger. She was in a state of unease. Worry. 

Your eyes slowly drifted from the mountains to her. Her gaze must have left you to also see where it was your sights wandered off to. 

“You don’t believe me?” You asked and she sighed, unable to meet your eyes. “Not really. I know something is wrong, you’re encumbered by this fear and it’s driving me crazy that I can’t— that I can’t…”

Your brows were pulled into a hard formation and your mouth fell agape. The struggle within her to voice her thoughts made your heart wrench and break. “Hey…” 

That instinct took over again, your arm  wrapped around her waist and you didn’t hesitate to pull her to you. 

It felt nice for Wanda to be held like this. The cold slithered beneath the layers used to keep it out, only to find the heat of your body to immediately nullify the chill. 

“It’s hard to explain, Wanda. I’m in a very difficult position right now and I fear what might happen to those around me.” 

“I told you that I’m here to talk, Y/N. I won’t judge, I promise. Please just… tell me.” 

Her head rested under your chin, her hands rested against your chest. It all felt so intimate. You wanted to cave and tell her everything on your mind. She was your mate and she had a right to know.

But would she understand?

“Wanda, you’re…,” you trailed off as something thick coated the back of your throat, “you’re…”

‘My mate. Just say it, tell her she is your mate!’

Your chest expanded with a deep breath, Wanda’s head lifting with it. Her cheek nuzzled against you. This was your chance. It was now or never. 

“Wanda, you’re my m—“

An announcing howl reverberated in the far distance like wind moved through a hollow. 

Your blood turned ice cold. The searing burn in your eyes returned with that striking, animalistic glow of amber. 

“What is it?” Wanda had asked but you didn’t answer. You glared off in the direction where the howl came from. That sounded haunted you; hunted you. 

“Get inside and don’t come out. No matter what,” you commanded beneath a baritone growl. Wanda looked at you, jaw dropped and eyes wide. You could smell it on her. Vanilla. 

Confusion. Fear. 

“But—“

“Now.”

You left no room for argument. Not when it came to her safety. Not when the wolf shone through the amber that danced ferociously in your eyes. There she could see a semblance of that old you. 

Protective. Dangerous. 

She made her way back towards the house but she stopped at the end of the pier and turned to look at you once more. Her bright, glossy eyes pleaded with you to follow her. You watched her and nodded for her to go on, that you wouldn’t be too far behind.

‘Promise you’re right behind me.’

‘I promise. Now go.’

She rushed off towards the front porch and entered the house as the wind was bitter against your back again; harsher than before.

You wanted nothing more than to end this. Your arm rested against the post, claws digging deep into your palm. You’d make it painful but to strike now would only invite conflict so early into your mission.

It would complicate things all because you couldn’t keep yourself in check.

A confirmation that even with your positives there came your negatives; unpredictable, bloodthirsty and dangerous to the team.

Dangerous to Wanda. 

You lowered your arm and drove your fist hard into the post with a pained grunt. You promised Wanda you were right behind her and what you planned on doing was only going to do the opposite. 

You saw the fear in her eyes. You couldn’t put her through anything else if you came out of this fight scathed and bruised. No less, the team would be suspicious.

You’d have to wait. 

Wanda waited up for you, no matter the hour it was now, she wouldn’t rest until she knew you were safe. The red hue of her magic glowed in the darkness of the room, the only other source of light was one of the twin lamps on the bedside table. 

Her head shot up and her magic ceased when she heard the doors open to your shared room, your form emerged from the dark hallway and promptly closed the doors behind you.

“Y/N,” she gasped your name and sat up on her knees, mattress dipping beneath her.

Your eyes met hers, amber flickering just faintly behind your pupils. With a growl, your face goes flush. Wanda was dressed down into nothing but an oversized shirt and what you chalked up to be her underwear. 

“H-hey,” you choked out as your hand rubbed the back of your neck. Your eyes darted elsewhere to keep your gaze - that now festered with a hunger - away from Wanda.

‘Fucking hell!’

“What?”

“What?” Your eyes widened as they stared into hers, you fought the tempting urge to let your gaze travel down her body.

Was this the work of your soulmate tie or your little crush? 

Wanda tilted her head curiously, her nose scrunched a little as the corner of her lips turned up. You appeared less troubled by whatever it was before. Now you were… you.

That you, whenever she would walk into the same room you occupied. That you, that often asked her how she was doing and complimented her. 

Her flustered wolf with the red ball. 

“I’m good, I just er—“ you glanced towards the ensuite bathroom with a wave of your hand. “I’m just gonna, ya know, get ready for bed.”

“Okay.” Wanda let out a light giggle. You were quick to gather your change of clothes and hurried into the bathroom. You may have taken a little longer than you’d have liked, but you had to get your bearings together before you re-entered that bedroom. 

‘To have her and mark her right now— no, no, none of that! She’s your friend…

Mate…

Fuck.’

You face-palmed yourself with another growl. The faint glimmer of the wolf behind your eyes had now brightened once more but with a newfound interest.

‘I was so close to telling her. I missed my chance.

Could tell her now…

No. Ain’t doing that.’ 

You walked out of the bathroom to find Wanda settled in bed and under the covers much to the conflict of your relief and disappointment. You climbed into bed beside her, being sure to leave a good amount of space between you both. 

Was she really happy to share a room with you for the duration of your mission? 

You flicked off the lamp and laid back against the pillow with a heavy, tired sigh. Both your arms rested underneath your head. 

“Wolfie?” Wanda’s voice whispered into the darkness. You hum in response. “I’m a little cold…”

You lifted your head slightly to look at her, able to see every detail on her face in the dark. A fine trait to have until you woke up first thing with the fucking sun in your eyes. 

It’s why you opted to always have the curtains drawn closed.

“The thermostat is a bit rusty, but I could get you an extra blanket if you’d like?”

She shook her head, fiery hair and cheek nuzzling into her pillow. A faint, shy smile on her plump lips. Lips you wanted so badly to kiss.

“I don’t want to trouble you with that.” 

You raised a brow at that. Why did she bring it up if she didn’t want you to resolve it?

Before you could say anything, she moved closer into your side, her arm curled over your stomach. 

Your muscles tensed as her cheek laid where your shoulder and neck met. Anything you did want to say completely went out the window of your thought process. 

“Much better,” she sighed almost silently, her breath even and slow. Your arm wrapped over her shoulder and Wanda relaxed more against your side.

“You good?” You asked, albeit hesitantly. She softly hummed in return and you couldn’t restrain your smile. 

By the soft thump of her heartbeat and her quiet breaths, she’d fallen asleep quickly. The warmth of your body must have really helped her.

You turned your head and your nose brushed against her scalp, lips hovering over the crown of her hairline. “Good night…”

‘Mate.’

You awoke to the sound of voices coming from downstairs. New voices that didn’t belong to anyone on your team. You grumbled as you sat up, arms pulled up to stretch your muscles. 

That’s when you realised the bed was vacant beside you. A piece of paper sat on Wanda’s pillow and you plucked it, reading the delicate handwriting.

‘Didn’t want to wake you. Come downstairs when you’re awake, Wolfie! P.S you were really warm and comfy’

You huffed at that, a smirk plastered on your tired features. For a moment you’d forgotten about the strange voices until you put the letter aside.

You frowned and your glare landed on the closed doors.

You stood up and silently, you opened the doors. You moved equally as quietly down the hallway until you reached the top of the stairs, thankfully you were obscured from sight on the first floor.

“What a wonderful place you have here. So, you lot just moved in?”

“Yep,” Steve said with a chuckle, “we all pitched in together to start fresh from the city. We’d heard good things about Alaska, stunning views and a lot of opportunities.” 

You applauded Steve’s skill to act like a civilian. A true and natural actor when it came to undercover ops.

Too bad your rather aggressive nature tended to give you a bad impression on people. It’s why you were often a background actor. Someone who was passing through, someone who wasn’t a permanent fixture to the attention of your targets.

Exactly the reason why you hid upstairs and eavesdropped. 

The man downstairs gave an amused hum. “And a lot of game,” he mused, you could hear the test in his voice.

Yes, you knew that voice. 

“Oh yeah, quite the trophies hunters claim up here. We’re quite the group ourselves, James particularly.”

‘Oh, Steve.’

You could smell the sudden change in Bucky’s scent. You rolled your eyes. 

“Oh?”

“Mm, when I’m up to it. I only go after the best game when it’s trophy season.”

“Then why don’t we go hunting together this weekend, huh? It is game season and I think it’d help break the ice as neighbours.“

You stiffened in your place, back rigid against the wall. You smelt it in the air. Each one of your teammates had a sense of unease. They must’ve known something was up, this man - these people - were undoubtedly your targets; drawn in just as Fury had predicted.

Only, he didn’t disclose what they were with the others. Only you knew. 

“Neighbour?” Sam asked and the man laughed. 

“That’s right! Over the mountain ridge out that way. A lodge like this one, you can’t miss it.”

“Sure, we might come by. Any particular spots for good game?” Tony asked, he’d actually fooled you for a second there with how invested he sounded in the idea of hunt and game.

“This valley is quite the place for hunting, actually. The best.”

Your eyes screwed shut, your mind slowly slipping away into that dark space you’d purposefully left behind. 

You wished they’d just leave.

“So it’s just you seven here? Nobody else?” He asked and your breath froze. 

“Nope, just us,” Wanda answered. 

“I see… hmm,” he replied, his response slow before a second silence befell him. You heard him clear his nasal before he shyly said, “Apologies, the cold season tends to make my nose sensitive. Well then, I’d best be going before the wife hangs my head over the hearth. Be seeing you, neighbours and welcome to Alaska.” 

You breathed out a sigh of relief when he and the men with him left. Your team bid their farewells to your neighbours and the front door closed behind your departing guests.

Your team was in danger.

‘And it’s my fucking fault!’

Werewolves don’t get sensitive to the cold. You lot were basically self-established heating machines to withstand the cold climates.

No. He’d sniffed you out and your pills to hide your wolf scent had worn off from yesterday. 

Your scent was known and he knew that his new neighbours had a little secret of their own. The muscles around your mouth and nose twitch, teeth clenched hard together as a rumble vibrates in your chest. 

How could you be so careless? You could smell them before you even opened your bedroom door and yet you failed to keep your own scent hidden. 

“Well, that was something,” Natasha huffed and you heard Clint grunt in an agreeable fashion. 

“You can say that again. The guy had a weird look in his eye when he spoke about the whole hunting thing.”

“I don’t think he hunts ordinary animals,” Bucky drawled, voice laced with his deep-rooted suspicion. He was right to be and you were glad he - or anyone on your team - didn’t fall for the facade.

They hunted animals to keep people off their scents but elk, bears and beavers weren’t their preferred quarry.

They prided themselves in hunting their own kind. A sick, perverted desire to slaughter other packs. Not only that, they had a sickening obsession with hunting humans. To do things no person should be subjected to.

Mother Nature scorned such vile behaviour with hatred beyond words. 

And this pack had connections to a Hydra resurgence group that intended to operate within Alaska. 

They had to be stopped and your temper was running short. Sooner or later you were gonna wolf out and you wanted the snow to be stained red with that pack’s blood. 

You should have done so last night, keeping your cover be damned.

You finally decided to head downstairs, the necessity to conceal your footsteps no longer mattered. 

All eyes fell to you and you waved in response to the uttered good mornings and greetings. 

“I take it you heard all that upstairs?” Tony asked you, doing you the courtesy of getting a cup of coffee ready for you. You nodded with a snarl, “yeah, and we’re gonna need a new plan.”

“Why?” Steve asked, brows knitted together as he leaned against the wall. Tony passed you the cup of steaming coffee. 

You took a gulp of it before your eyes looked to Steve and the others. You were silent, gaze elsewhere as your thumb massaged the handle of your mug. 

“What aren’t you telling us, Y/N?” Natasha asked from her place at the dining table, her own mug nestled against her palm. Still, you didn’t answer. 

“Because they know I’m here.” That’s all you said. What you intended to say. Did they truly need to know that they were dealing with werewolves? Probably, but you had other plans. 

“How? We told them it was just us,” Sam argued. You only shook your head. “They know I’m here. We need a new plan quickly. They’re not gonna wait until the weekend now.”

They didn’t like your answer, or rather, lack of answers. 

“You’re still hiding something from us.” You growled over the rim of your cup. Steve was pushing it. “If there is something about these guys that you know about, you need to tell us.” 

You placed your cup down on the countertop, hunched over on your stool. “Werewolves don’t get sick little noses because of the cold, Captain. The only thing that makes us sick are infections from wounds and poisons engineered from wolfsbane and silver. To which, Hydra has been known to have an abundance of.” 

They wanted the truth and you gave it to them on a platter. You allowed them to have their stunned silence, no matter how suffocated it made your nose feel. 

“You mean—“

“He could smell me, Tony.” Your eyes slowly rolled to meet his and for the first time since you met the billionaire, you saw the colour drain from his face as he stared into your eyes. 

“He’s the same damn thing I am and because of that, that leaves us in a very compromised position.” 

Another wave of silence filled the open space. You downed the rest of your coffee in a few gulps. You couldn’t even process the taste. 

“What do we do?” You heard Bucky ask from behind you. You turned to see him stare at you, blue eyes piercing into you to get the answer they needed. Wanda stood next to him.

She’d been quiet this whole time and that fear wedged itself sharply into your heart. To see the uncertainty of the mission because it had already gone sideways. 

“The whole guide shit was only half true. Fury sent me in as a guard,” you began, “but if you’re asking me what I really think we should do is get you guys back to headquarters.”

“What do you mean? Y/N, we’re not going to leave you behind. We’re going to complete this mission together.” Steve was pissed that you’d suggest such a thing. 

“We do have two capable super soldiers, an enhanced witch who can move things with her mind, an ex-spy, two mediocre talents at best and myself: the brilliant genius that I am,” Tony said. How you wanted to slap the arrogance from his head so hard. “And also a werewolf. What could go wrong?”

You shook your head again, tongue running over your teeth with a tsk. “You don’t get it, Stark. This pack has been here for many years. They know the terrain better than any of you. They will use that to their advantage. On top of that, they have ties to the Hydra resurgence. Tony, if I don’t get you guys out of here, there will be no getting out of here.” 

You turned to the others as you stood from your stool, your eyes coated in a hot, watery layer. 

“These werewolves are not your ordinary pack. They are literal hunting dogs for Hydra. You’ve all seen Bucky as the Winter Soldier…”

You didn’t wish to bring it up, not to see the pain in those blue eyes of his. Bucky and you seemed to get along quite well. You both understood each other. His time with Hydra was not something you brought up lightly; you had a point to make. They couldn’t grasp the severity of the situation. They hadn’t experienced what you did. 

You needed to get your team out of Alaska because they were yours to protect. They were your pack.

You take a deep breath in, your eyes scanned each awaiting face until they landed on Wanda. 

“Now imagine that type of scenario, but times it by ten. You have to trust me on this one. If I stay behind, I can fend them off while you guys get home and get reinforcements.” 

“No, Y/N…,” you heard Wanda whisper with a shaken breath. You didn’t want to see the tears in her eyes, but you turned anyway to face her. 

“Wanda, you have no idea what you’re getting yourselves into with this pack… but I do. What they did to the family that lived here is something I will not see happen again. Not to you.”

What remained of that day all felt like a blur. You’d all discussed the new plan and now, after two days of waiting, you were going to execute the escape plan. 

The howls from the woods had gotten closer each night. Their arrival was just as you had said. They weren’t going to wait until the weekend. 

“I don’t like this plan, Y/N,” Wanda said, voice quivering in her throat, “what if something bad happens to you while we’re gone? What if they kill you?” 

You shook your head. “They won’t kill me. I won’t make it easy for them.”

Wanda scowled at this and she rounded the bed to where you were. She placed a hand over yours, clenched together between your thighs. 

“This isn’t about making it difficult for them, this is about your survival. You said it yourself, these werewolves aren’t like any other. They’re different because of what Hydra did to them.”

Your jaw clenched tightly at her words. Her soft skin against yours made your hand tingle, her breath so close to beating along the apple of your cheek. 

“But so am I,” you said lowly. You turned your chin towards Wanda, her eyes searched your face and your uttered words for some semblance of understanding. 

“I… I still don’t like this idea. Just come back with us, please…” Tears wept down her cheeks and she didn’t hide the small sniffle. 

“It has to be this way, Wanda.” You stood up and pulled her into your chest without hesitation, her arms immediately encircled around your torso. 

“This is personal. What they did to—“ you grimaced at the memory. The blood that splattered the walls and the snow alike. Carnage like no other you’d seen stained the house secretly. The clean-up may have hidden the history but your memory did not let it go.

It couldn’t. The only way the nightmares would stop is if you uprooted it from the source. 

“What they did to this family - and more - is unforgivable. I have to be the one to do this. I can’t stand the thought of losing you, you’re my—“

This fucking soulmate tie. Why was it so difficult for you to tell her? Maybe she was right, you could possibly get killed and she would never know the truth because you were too scared to tell her.

Your arms squeezed around her a little tighter, hands quivering as they balled into fists until your knuckles were white and your claws unsheathed from your nail beds. 

“I’m what?” 

“I-I’m just…”

‘Scared.’

“Scared of what?” Her words made the air gasp from your lungs. You blanked your mind to shield it from her reading anything more. You just held her close. It was all what you felt capable of. With her head resting against your chest, she was able to hear the bombardment of your heartbeat. 

“I can’t say it,” you answered but Wanda shook her head. She was done letting this fear eat away at you from the inside.

“Tell me, or I’m going in there,” she ordered firmly, her hand reached out to grab your chin and hold it so she could rest her forehead against yours. You heard the smirk in her voice. 

You chuffed at her light attempt at humour, to make the currently dark moment a little brighter than it was. 

“I am scared that I will lose a second time. And I won’t survive that agony again.” 

Wanda nodded, her nose bumped against yours and your lips danced so close to one another. It was a struggle to not close the slight distance between you to kiss her. 

“You still haven’t told me what I am to you.” 

“I’ll tell you when this is all over,” you sighed, voice hesitant as you slightly withdraw your face from hers. Wanda’s hands slid to your cheeks and held you so you couldn’t pull away anymore.

“Promise?”

The corners of your lips tug into a smirk. “I promise.” 

You caught the way her eyes flickered down slightly to your lips and out of habit, your tongue darted along your bottom to wet it. Your eyes did the same to hers, plump and soft looking. Always tempting. 

“Kiss me, Wolfie.” Her voice called to you softly, the plea of your mate making you cave as you brushed your lips against hers. 

If you did this, you weren’t just friends. You saw her as more than a friend. Whatever she saw more than you realised, was it more than a friend for her?

Did she see a companion in you? A mate?

Your lips pressed into hers and your chest relaxed as the air was drawn from you, a deep growl resounded in the back of your throat. 

Wanda tilted her head to deepen the kiss with a breathless moan.

Your hunger consumed you. Your hands drifted down the length of her back until they reached her thighs, you knocked her knees and she gasped. Your tongue darted through her parted lips as her legs wrapped around your waist, your strength supporting her as if she were a feather. 

Her hands ran through the length of your hair with another moan and that unmistakable swell of arousal pooled in your groin. 

Fuck, how you wanted to claim her right now. That wolfish hunger, selfish in want, desired to make the bite now. 

But you would wait. You’d wait for Wanda and you’d wait for the rest of eternity for her. You couldn’t say she’d do the same, but you damn well hoped. 

You fell forward to lay Wanda down on the bed, your arms supported your weight like pillars on either side of her head. Her hands pulled you closer to her, even if the fight for air was growing too much to bear. 

You smelt it on her, the sweet aroma of rose tinged by an even sweeter scent; her arousal. Your hips bucked against hers and she gasped out, her fingers dug into you with a whimper of your name. 

Oh, how you wanted to hear that sound again. Her hips in turn began to grind against you, the friction of your pants made her legs quiver around your waist. 

You growled against her open mouth, her tongue submitted to you long before her back met the mattress. Her hand flew to your belt to loosen it but you captured her wrist and she stopped, you pulled away from her lips with a deep breath. 

“We don’t have to rush this, Sweetheart,” you pant, head nuzzling against hers. She smiled shyly and a red hue coloured her cheeks and nose.

Not that you blamed her, your own face was a fiery mess of its own.

“Sorry, I got a little wild,” she giggled and you flashed her a wolfish grin, chuckling deeply. 

“Says the witch with the literal wolf on top of her.” 

You brushed your nose along the curve of her jaw, inhaling her intoxicating scent. It made you feel how you presumed people felt when they got drunk. 

You lifted your head so you could see her now. Her eyes stared up at you and that smile that scared away the darkness was there.

How you adored her. What you wouldn’t do for the woman beneath you, you could not name.

You’d do anything for your mate.

Your hand caressed her cheek, thumb running over her chin. “What do you see in me, Wanda?” 

You were curious. She always looked at you with a sense that she saw something in you nobody else could. 

“I see many things within you.”

“Name one,” you urged. Silence ensued as 

her lips thinned in thought. Her gaze softened, perhaps you misread it because of the lighting in the room. You thought for a moment you saw love. 

Her mouth opened to finally give you her answer when a knock pounded against the door - and also your sharpened hearing. A grimace twisted your features.

Wanda offered a sad smile when the realisation that the small world you and Wanda were in had come to an end. 

There was a darkness out in the world that needed to be rid of. That temporary light had to withdraw for the time being. 

You rolled off of Wanda and she stood up quickly as the door opened, after you’d beckoned whoever it was to enter. 

“We’re ready to head off,” Natasha said from the doorway, eyes suspiciously squinted between you and Wanda with a smirk.

You cleared your throat when her knowing eyes landed on you. “Alright. Thank you, Natasha,” you bit down the bark in your words. 

When you two were left alone again, you looked to Wanda. “Don’t go getting yourself killed now. Promise me, Wolf.”

“I promise…”

‘… Mate.’

The sun was setting over the valley, the last rays of light quick to fade as night encroached. You would have to hurry to get everyone on the Quinjet safely. 

“Everyone ready?” You asked as you opened the front door and your team nodded. There was no time to drag their bags along. You’d all suited up and gathered your necessities. 

“Let’s go,” Steve said behind you. 

You exited the house first, a quick assessment of your surroundings, you signalled to your team to follow. 

“Keep together and in front of me. Go!” You urged, letting Steve take the lead to the Quinjet while you covered the team’s rear. It’d allow you to see any oncoming attacks. 

Wanda kept glancing back at you, to make sure you weren’t too far behind, her own fear that you’d be targeted first evident in her eyes. 

Twigs and branches snapped in the woods around you, the scent of your team polluted the air with their growing anxiety of an impending attack. 

“There it is, get going!” You called out, relief flooding the entire team in a shroud when the ramp was already lowered. Your hand brushed Wanda’s back as you urged her forward into a sprint, Bucky and Natasha beside her. You knew they would look after her. 

A colossal weight slammed into your side from the thicket of trees up the snowy hillside, your body instinctively shifted to the mass of muscle and fur now laced with snow. A roar tore from your vocals at the beast that’d separated you from the others. 

An expected tactic. 

You charged up the slope you’d been pushed down onto, leaping into the air and shoved your opponent into the ground beneath him. The hillside was crawling with the ambush, they moved swiftly down to join the first attacker. Most charged for you, but the few that ran for the jet didn’t escape your notice.

You bellowed a warning roar, Wanda among the group that guarded the ramp as Tony and Sam went to get the jet fired up. A clawed hand swept across your face hard, slashing you blind for a second and knocked you onto the ground. Your teeth sunk into the flesh of your attacker’s arm, a pained yelp echoed in the frosty wind. Your hind legs kicked at their toned stomach, claws tearing through fur and tissue as you launched them away; a chunk of flesh clenched between your canines. 

A flood of blood wept from the chunk in your mouth, you dropped it with a wet splash to the snow. A roar came from behind as another came at you but an arrow fired into her eye, her attack faltered as you rolled to the side. Wanda’s magic grappled hold of the wolf and flung her further back, her back smashed into a thick trunk with a growl. 

“The jet’s on, let’s get going!” Tony’s voice yelled above the ensuing chaos. You barked in agreement and cocked your head in encouragement for the team to leave.

“Y/N!” Wanda yelled out for you, fingertips touched by the tendrils of her magic as reached out for you; the ramp began to close. She made to run to you. 

“Wanda!” Steve called in his attempt to halt Wanda. One of the werewolves ran at Wanda, clawed hands outstretched to tear at her. 

Just as you went to jump to her defence, teeth clamped a hold of one of your hind legs. You yowled and used your other leg to kick at him but he avoided your defensive kicks.

Wanda screamed when a large, clawed hand grabbed hold of her leg, Steve and Bucky held onto her to keep her from being dragged out. Your leg arched towards your stomach and with another kick, you managed to loosen the jaws around your ligament and you charged at the wolf that tried to drag Wanda out from the jet. 

You ignored the agonised yelp caught in your throat, replaced by a deep growl as you jaws bit down and yanked at the bushy tail that dangled ahead of you; even when two new sets of jaws set their attack on both your legs this time. Flesh and muscle would be torn to shreds but that mattered little to you.

You’d survive it. The one that had a hold of Wanda released her and Steve and Bucky dragged her further back, even when she tried to reach for you again. “Y/N!” 

“Go!” 

Your roar cracked across the valley like a whip.

You snatched hold of the tail again before the werewolf could make a run for it. The two on your legs tried to shake you off your balance, you pulled the tail in closer and with all the strength you could muster, you flung him at a nearby rock side. His skull pelted against the dark stone and fell limp on the ground. 

The jet rose up just as the lip of the ramp closed.

Wanda’s eyes glowed a dangerous aura of scarlet. 

‘Be safe—!”

‘I will.’

The two jaws released your legs as you were hit from the side once again. This one was heavier, with more anger behind it.

You let out whines and growls as you tumbled down the snowy terrain and onto the ice lake. You lifted your head to see him approach down from the tree line. 

The beast that had sniffed you out. That intended to harm your team when he invited them over. 

Who was responsible for killing your family. 

“You’ve grown stronger,” he rumbled with a tilt of his head, his dark lips twisted into a crooked, fanged smile. 

His stare was bloodthirsty. 

“You should have been killed in that lab when Hydra had the chance. A wasted specimen who couldn’t obey a simple order.”

“I… was not going… to kill… innocents!” You ignored the way your ankles threatened to buckle under your weight, you stood on your hind legs to match the alpha’s height.

The remainder of his pack gathered behind him, forming a crescent around you. Car lights flittered through the tree line. 

Hydra agents. Your muzzle wrinkled with a snarl and your teeth bared until the line of your bloodstained gums showed.

“Well. We tried.” 

He surged forward faster than you could perceive to dodge his attack. His teeth sank deep into your shoulder, a high pitched yelp that mirrored a scream travelled across the ice. 

He pushed you down. He had you pinned, the layer of ice cool against your belly. His jaws ripped and shook you, a pawed hand pressed against you as he tore fur, flesh and muscle across your back.

His pack barked and yipped in their sickening cheers for their leader to maim you. Your jaws snapped again and again until you finally had his unguarded limb in your grasp. He snarled as your teeth gnashed down repeatedly, bone splintering until he kicked you aside. 

His ears were pinned against his head with a low, pained whine. His tongue hesitated to lick his wound and his eyes, full of hatred, darted towards you.

“I should have killed you when I had the chance.”

“Yeah…”

Your eyes squeezed shut, the pain from your shoulder down the line of your back stained your coat with dark crimson, the pain excruciating that steam rose from your wounds.

A guttural growl rose from the depths of your chest, anger festering in the old wounds.

“You really should have.” 

You ran at him and he met you halfway. Claws and teeth gnashed and swept at each other. Triumph in your fight with the alpha turned into moments of being overpowered; but you’d find a way to slip out and regain the upper hand.

A series of explosions caught you off guard. You looked up to see the jet had been hit, one of the engines on fire. The jet sputtered and sank. You whimpered out when the Quinjet crashed into the side of the tall mountain peak. 

Thankfully it hadn’t exploded. Everyone had to be alright. You had to hold onto hope.

You made an attempt to run for the mountain when something flew towards you and you ducked out of the way, a large harpoon penetrated the ice with a thunderous crack.

Silver.

You could smell the poisonous tinge of it. 

The armoured vehicles circled you, and Hydra agents jumped out, armed with what you only imagined were silver bullets. You roared and snarled at anyone who made a move to shoot at you.

“Nets ready!”

“Get it tied down and back to base!”

The mounted machines on the vehicles fired at you, whipping through the air as one net after another held you down. When you managed to slip out from beneath the nets, agents threw their hands forward, ropes entangled around your limbs as you struggled to break free.

“Get the humans!”

You turned your gaze back to the alpha at his command. His pack and him ran off towards the mountain. 

“Wanda! No!”

You’d heard the commotion from the mountain. Their screams. Your father’s howl. 

You didn’t wait a moment as you almost got yourself killed sliding down the slopes and cliff sides to reach home faster.

Your pack was in trouble. You panted as the wind attacked your fur as your claws cracked the surface of the ice beneath you. 

Your mother was who you heard, followed by your youngest siblings. Your heart felt as if it’d stopped beating. 

Your jaws came around the neck of their attacker and with a jerk of your head you heard the bones of their neck snap.

Your heart broke so very hard. Why did you leave them alone?

The twins laid together side by side, their smaller bodies nestled in the snow. Around them was a halo of their blood.

Blood that could have been avoided if you hadn’t left. You whimpered, your nose pushed into the fur. 

“Wake up, wake up please… no, please…”

Not far from them you glanced up to see your mother’s body. Her fur blended in with the snow. 

A rare white pelt. Now tainted with blood.

It was there your heart grew…

Ice cold. Your maws latched hold of the ropes that constrained you from protecting those who needed you. 

Who you promised yourself you would protect. Even if it killed you. You would not allow that alpha or his pack to massacre your pack again.

Your mate.

The agents stood no chance. They screamed as you shifted your weight to fling them into one another or the vehicles. You rammed and smashed into the armoured cars, destroying most and leaving the rest to burn when you tore the engine apart and flung it into another car. 

The ice cracked beneath you and you moved swiftly. You didn’t allow your wounds to alter your performance, no matter the pain or trail of blood you left behind. 

You pursued the pack that made their way to the cliff side. They jumped and leapt onto any vantage points but they didn’t know this mountain like you did.

You knew the best routes for quick travel up the terrain of the mountain. Whoever was in your way was shown no mercy. Your large hands ripped them off their balance and flung them off the cliff side to whatever fate awaited them below. 

Wanda softly grunted with a hand pressed to her temple. 

“Steve,” she mumbled as he knelt beside her. His hand helped to support her weight while she got her bearings.

“Wanda, are you alright?” 

“I’m fine, what happened?” She asked as her eyes focused on his blue eyes. “The jet’s engine was hit. It’s pretty obvious they wanted to knock us down.”

Wanda didn’t respond, not even as Clint and Natasha joined her and Steve. “Is everyone else ok?” Steve asked Clint and he nodded. 

“Yeah, the crash just took them by surprise is all.” 

“Come on, let’s get to cover.” Natasha’s hand found Wanda’s arm and pulled her to her feet, careful not to startle or aggravate any potential injuries.

Wanda pushed away from the ex-widow. 

“No, I have to see if Y/N is alright!” 

“Wanda, we have to get to safety,” Steve argued back but Wanda would not hear it. 

“They promised me!” She choked out, “you have no idea how I feel about them. The bond we have. This is why I must go to them!”

“They’ll be alright,” Steve assured with a hand pressed to her arm, “this is Y/N we’re talking about. If anyone can fend them off, it’s them.” 

Gunfire fired down the cliff side. “Stay here with her, I’ll help the others.” Natasha and Clint watched as Steve ran off to defend their flank with Sam, Tony and Bucky. 

A series of growls tumbled over the mountain ledge, glowing eyes crept into view as three hulking forms climbed up. 

Clint knocked an arrow to his bow, stance low and ready to perform a rapid fire, Wanda’s hands danced together before her as the glowing scarlet of her magic swarmed about her fingertips. Natasha drew her pistol and took aim at the middle werewolf.

Natasha was the first to fire. Round after round only made the beast grunt as if bitten by a fly as he charged forward. Clint shocked him with his knocked arrow and Wanda thrusted her hands forward with a grunt.

The werewolf was pushed over the cliff side with a howl. 

The werewolf to their right leapt at Clint, barely ducking in time. He rolled to the side and shot another arrow while Natasha took cover from an oncoming blow from the second. Clint was knocked back and used his bow to block the maw of his opponent from mauling him.

“Clint!” Natasha yelled out, Wanda waved her hands and pushed the werewolf off of Clint, granting him the opportunity to overpower it. He and the beast went tumbling down into a crevice in the mountain, having looped its neck between his bow and the drawstring.

The last werewolf swiped at Wanda but Natasha threw herself in front of it, grunting when claws tore at her arm sleeve. A clean gash bled through her suit. The werewolf rose it’s arm to come down at Natasha again when Wanda used her magic to fling it towards the edge. 

It bellowed a distorted roar at Wanda only to whimper when your teeth mashed down into its jugular with a baritone growl. Your amber eyes the bright fire beneath burning coals as you crunched down further. With another whine, you ripped your maw clean from the wolf’s neck and they fell to the bottom of the mountain. 

“Y/N,” Wanda gasped out as she ran to you. You dragged your body over the rocky ledge, Wanda was able to see the blood and wounds that covered you. 

“Good to see you’re alive,” Natasha said as she held her bleeding arm, her attention averted to Clint who was still standing his ground against his opponent.

 “I gotta help Clint!” She said hurriedly and rushed off to Clint’s aid. “Be careful!” Wanda yelled after her, hands attentive as they gently stroked along your neck.

A soft whine wheezed up your throat. Gunfire continued to ring, now having travelled further up the mountain near where you and Wanda were. 

Natasha and Clint climbed back up a short moment later, Wanda tugged Clint to rest as blood trailed down his face.

“Shit, you weren’t kidding about these guys, Wolfie. What exactly did Hydra do to them?”

Your vocal cords strained the rumbling chuff, hot air fanned out of your nostrils. 

“Come on, we should help the others,” said Wanda urgently. You, Clint and Natasha nodded and began to follow her but a blur flew from one of the higher up ledges.

Wanda screamed when she was pinned down, the form having pushed her back some distance from you and the others.

“Wanda!” You roared, you leapt towards her and the alpha without a second thought. The three of you fell over the lip of the mountainside, your body instinctively clawed Wanda out of the alpha’s grasp and encircled around her; caging her from the fall. 

Wanda was tucked between the heat of your body above and the snow against her front,  both of you stared at the alpha in front of you. 

His wolfish face formed into a snarl, saliva and blood dripped from his lips. 

Blood dripped from yours, fangs bared right back at him. 

“Protective, aren’t you? Found yourself a little mate?”

Your jaws stretched open with a protective roar. 

“That struck a nerve.”

The alpha jumped at you but this time you were prepared. You arched your body, arms latched hold of him as you both rolled back and over another lip, this time the fall was more steep and less intruded by any sharp rock edges. Your back collided with wooden blanks as yours and the alphas weight broke through it and crashed into the dusty keep below. 

Wanda shrieked your name. The sound was a fracture to your very soul, the tie to your mate tugged a little too hard for your liking. 

You barely were up on your own four limbs when the alpha continued his barrage of attacks. Each hit was ruthless as his claws swiped and tore at your body. His teeth fractured a number of your bones as you attempted to pry him off. He grappled the scruff of your neck and slammed you face first against anything he could.

He tossed you back and your back smashed into the crumbling bricks behind you. 

The sky of Alaska’s first rays of dawn illuminated through the old, stone archway with a pink and orange hue. Snow bellowed in with the gusts of wind.

For a moment you both stared at each other. Covered in the wounds bred from conflict.

Your shoulders rose and fell with each pant, pain rippled across your body and your fur bristled against the cool breeze. 

His glowing red hues danced in the darkness on his side, and the amber in yours did the same on your side.

If you killed him, it would be over. Without their leader they were hopeless. Defenceless. Weak. 

“Do you really think you are one of them? You’re not. You never will be. Mated to a human. She’ll break your heart and then… then you will become as cruel as I.”

“I am nothing like you. I will never be anything like you.”

Your hackles raised at him. He snarled back at you.

“We are monsters! Just embrace that! You will never be anything but that!”

You averted your gaze for a moment. He was right. You were a monster. You huffed lowly, ears twitching slightly when the breeze tickled against them. Mother Nature thought otherwise.

“I’ve embraced it. But if I’m a monster… then I’m a good one that hunts the bad ones.” 

You ran at each other with teeth bared and claws out. Snarls and growls echoed in the chamber of the ruin as you swiped at one another, biting into the flesh of one another.

Carnage.

Monster against monster. 

Mother Nature was not always as peaceful and beautiful as many thought she was.

She could be cruel.

Heartless. 

And it was all in the name of balance. It was fair.

His elbow drove into your face and knocked you back, he pinned your weight to the ground as his muzzle dug into your stomach and chest. You yelped and kicked your legs against him as the savagery of his mauling tore away at you.

Your claws swiped him upside the head again and again until he pulled his head away. A distorted scream came from the depths of his black and bloody throat. 

His clawed hand swept across your head, slamming it into the stones beneath you repeatedly in rapid repetition. 

Any moment he would smash your skull.

When he figured you’d endured enough, he stared down at the sight of you; ears flopped and a whimper struggling to escape your beaten and half torn apart chest. He raised his hand high. The light bounced off the blood, making it almost shine in the Alaskan morning.

Fairness. 

Was this fair? Perhaps not for you but for Mother Nature? Who were you to fight against her?

You’d been doing it for seven years. You were done.

You had embraced it all. What you were, what you went through, and what you were to become; come what may. 

“You could have been something more. Something great.”

“I already am. They made me something great.”

With a shake of his head, maybe calling you a fool beneath the huff of his breathy exhale, he prepared for his final slash. 

A bright red aura surrounded his arm just as it went to strike against you. Unmoving, the alpha whined when his arm refused to move. Wanda stood just in sight above the ruined keep.

You saw the determined shimmer of scarlet in her eyes. 

He roared at you in his confusion and you arched your neck forward. Your muzzle stained red once more when your teeth crushed bone, minced flesh and punctured his artery. 

He stilled above you and his weight drifted until it rested against yours. The sun finally began its rise over the distant peaks. You grunted as your limbs shoved the corpse, rolling him through the stone archway and down into the depths below. The ice could have him now. 

You didn’t know how long it took for your team to make their descent into the ruins you found yourself in. Your eyes were glazed over, the amber of your fiery hues slowly faded. Each breath you took was stunted from the damage you inflicted. 

Blurred forms moved down towards you, snow danced across your vision when a particular gust of wind blew through the archway. 

Voices beckoned you by your name but you couldn’t respond. 

“What are you doing here, Big Wolf?” You knew that voice. That adorable, innocent voice. “Big Wolf… why are you leaving them behind?” 

‘Hm.’ 

Their voices were inseparable, even in Mother Nature’s light. 

Your vision grew dark but the eyes of your mate were the last thing you saw. 

“Please, Wolfie… you promised.” 

You inhaled deeply as the smell of early stages of rabbit stew filled your nose. 

“Mother?” Your eyes were coated in a blurred layer of sleep. How long had you been out? Your mother was in the kitchen, humming softly as she prepared the freshly skinned rabbits. 

“You’re awake,” she chuckled as she peered at you on the couch from her place at the stove. 

“You’re awake, Big Wolf!” One of the twins shouted, the other not far behind. Their small feet thumped against the floor in their dash to get to you. 

You wheeze when your breath was knocked from your lungs as the twins plop themselves - rather happily as well - on top of you.

“You were asleep for so long!” One of them giggled. You chuckled at the enthusiastic pout on their lips.

“You promised you’d take us up that mountain before dark!”

“I…” you paused for a moment with a furrowed brow. Not long did you sigh and went to move. “I know. We can still go.”

They both jumped off of you as they raced each other to the door. “Yaaaay!”

You shook your head with a chuckle as you walked up to your mother, patting your two other siblings in greeting as they passed. “You guys coming or what?”

“Yeah! We’ll be out front in a second!” Said your second younger sibling. 

You looked to your mother who had chopped some vegetables on the wooden board, expertly. Even still, she never lost her concentration though her skill was unmatched and she could do it blindfolded.

She never overestimated herself. Never pushed herself to prove anything to the sake of being seen or respected. She did what she could with all she had. 

And that was enough for everyone.

She turned to put the chopped vegetables into the pot. Her eyes turned to you finally and she grinned.

You often reflected your father in both demeanour, stature and appearance; but the one thing you prided yourself for was that you had your mother’s eyes. 

It was the one reprieve you had. When you’d stare at yourself - beyond the wolf - you could see your family just from the colour of your eyes. 

“Something the matter?” She asked. You shook your head silently and stepped forward. Your arms wrapped her to you and she guffawed. 

“Finally gotten into the habit of being affectionate, have you?” 

You huffed at her words with a smirk. “Hmph. I guess I have.”

You should have known. A wolf’s memory was good. Often too good. This wasn’t a memory in that old lodge tucked into the valley, nestled near the lakeside. 

You and your mother pulled away to look at each other again. Her eyes were misted over and yours did the same. 

Her hand rose to caress your cheek tenderly. With a mother’s touch.

You leaned into her palm with a rumbling purr. “It’s time to stop running. Let go of that guilt that weighs you down.” 

You opened your eyes to meet her tearful eyes. “We’ve never left you. We have always been here, just know that in your heart.”

“I will, Mother…”

“You have to go now or you’ll be missed,” she said. You knew what she meant.

She looked towards the front door for a moment. “I’ll take them up the mountain for you,” she whispered with a kind smile. 

An understanding smile. She knew you had others waiting for you. 

“Thanks.” You embraced her again. Her warmth comforted you. 

“I love you, Y/N.“

“I love you too.” 

“Vitals are stabilising.”

“Good, that’s really good. Let’s get them on a new drip.”

“Wanda, here you go, Honey. Have some coffee.”

“They’ve been like this for a while. What if… they don’t make it?”

Your eyes peeled open slowly. The bright lights above flooded in. Wanda lurched forward with a hand clasped over her mouth with a sob.

“I beg to differ,” you rasped, your hand outstretched and your fingers combed through her hair.

Your name was said by voices you recognised all at once and many faces greeted you on the other side of that dark tunnel. Relieved smiles and sighs, tearful eyes and many uttering your welcomed return. 

Wanda grasped hold of your hand, the clear, thin tube of your drip made you aware you were in the medic ward.

New York. The compound. 

“Damn, Wolfie,” Tony sighed, “you gave us all quite the scare for the past two weeks.” 

“Two weeks? W-what happened?”

“You were in a really bad way when we found you, Y/N,” said Sam, eyes casted down to conceal the way his eyes glistened.

“We all thought we lost you a couple times there.”

You tried to shuffle your body to sit up more when pain shot through you from all directions.  You laid a hand on the wound that reached over the entirety of your shoulder. You hissed, teeth clenched hard and everyone winced at your reaction. Your memory of the fight came back to you, piece by piece. 

“Your wounds were severe, Y/N. When Cho and Banner saw you… they told us it was likely you wouldn’t pull through…” 

“Moving you back to the compound was a risk we had to take. Even from the ruins.”

You shook your head with a grimace as the pain slowly subsided. “Is everyone else alright?” You asked and the room of your fellow Avengers scoffed in disbelief.

“Minor scratches and bruises were the worst we got,” Steve informed you with a light chuckle, “everyone else is fine. It’s you who everyone is worried about. You took the brunt of that attack.”

“Well… I had to.” You moved again, being more cautious of your wounds. “You guys are my pack. Mine to protect.” 

Your eyes met Wanda’s, a small smile on her lips as she pulled your hand to cup her face. To feel the comfort of your warmth. 

You chuckled as you remembered that night she told you she was cold, only to then cuddle into your side. 

How her body fit just perfectly against you when you both stood on the pier. 

Your eyes lifted up to the rest of your pack.

“So get used to that because that’s a habit you’re not gonna shake from me anytime ever.” 

THANKS FOR READING!

✎ a note from the author, Here it is, werewolf readers! Been a little busy raccoon with writing this behemoth. Quite the read as you can tell by the word count.

on this issue's taglist, we've got: @alexawynters

[drenix004]

𝐃𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐘━━━ 𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐊 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐄 141

❝𝐃𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐲︙She was an odd one, as was her obsession with daisies. But, that made her unique in the eyes of the herd… she became the treasure of TF 141.

warnings: mention of alcohol, drugs, death, obsession, among others, if you are not comfortable, don't read it !

rating: 18+

pairings: Task Force 141, Köning y Horangi x Oc female.

Summary: the hunt for jewels had begun, so Laswell decides to pass her off as a human and send her to the British military base under the command of a colleague, all this without him knowing her true identity to protect her (sorry, I don't know how to summarize).

¡English is not my first language, so there may be mistakes, don’t hesitate to correct me.!

wattapad -> here

INTRO | CH 1 | CH2 | CH3 | CH4

●❯────────────────❮●

A tense silence filled the air as they watched the CIA operative, a colleague of their captain for years, through the screen. The woman had initiated a video call to discuss the new team member, which had made them nervous ever since they found out she was human and not a hybrid or monster.

For Ghost, this posed a problem that would affect the team in upcoming missions. Moreover, she was an outsider, and years of betrayal had made him deeply distrustful and more cautious than ever. Whenever they allied with others, he requested their files and scrutinized them thoroughly before gaining more information.

The matter of coexistence between hybrids, monsters, and humans remained complicated. Despite their high ranks in the military, they still faced looks of disdain, disgust, hatred, and cruel words for not being entirely human. Even though humans were cruel and ruthless, they treated them as the only beasts in their hypocrisy.

Kate sighed for the tenth time in what had been just an hour-long meeting.

"I understand you may have doubts and even rejection toward this new addition," Kate said, staring directly at Ghost through the camera, "but she is necessary this time. She'll be a great addition to the team."

"She’s human," the tallest one interjected, his voice slightly muffled by the balaclava. "She’ll only bring trouble."

"She won’t cause you any problems; you have my word." Laswell locked eyes with Price, the man who had remained silent. He had already discussed things with the woman privately and was now letting his pack weigh in. "She’s not just any human. She’ll help you, and she might even teach you a few things."

"Like what?" asked the Scot.

That was the cue for Price to step in, setting an open folder on the table. The five men moved closer to take a look. Ghost was the first to reach it, despite being farther from the table.

"She’s given permission for us to see the first two pages of her file." Price’s voice was calm, as always. "She’ll be supporting us in the medical field." He handed one page to Ghost while the other went to the only dark-skinned member of the group. "She’s a combat medic, specializing in emergency medical-surgical care."

"Aeris Williams, no photo," Soap mentioned, standing next to Ghost. The others crowded around to see the first page.

"It’s for her safety," Laswell replied, "and she’s worked for several private military contractors." Through the camera, they could see the woman drumming her fingers on the table. Price noticed she was nervous.

"She’s worked with the competition, Laswell," Gaz pointed out upon seeing KorTac’s name. "What assurance do we have that she won’t leak information about us?"

"She’s a professional, and as her file shows, she’s worked with more than just that contractor. If she’d leaked information, she would’ve been blacklisted and imprisoned for breaching contractual terms by now," the woman defended her. "She’s highly qualified to join the team."

"It also says she worked with the ghosts. That’s impossible." Ghost tossed the page back onto the table. Price pulled out a cigar from his pocket, lighting it with fire that flared from deep in his throat. The attitude he was most concerned about was Simon’s.

"It’s true," the captain answered on behalf of Laswell, "and not just as a medic, but also as a soldier. She’s participated in counter-terrorist operations, rescue missions, infiltration, and reconnaissance; she’s highly experienced on the battlefield."

"She’s a veteran," Laswell added. "And as hard as it may be to believe, she’s even more experienced than Price." The men looked at their captain, who nodded as he took another drag from his cigar. "You could learn a thing or two from her, if you’re willing. And... there’s something about her that you might like." Price smiled, knowing what was coming.

"What’s that?" Gaz placed the other page back on the table, his black wings stretching slightly behind his back.

"She worked with the Shadows under Graves’ command." The room, except for Price and Kate, erupted in growls at the mention of the man they considered scum.

"She worked with that bastard? How could that please us?" Alejandro’s thick Mexican accent came through as he scowled at the mention of the man. Of them all, and especially the two Mexicans, Alejandro harbored the most resentment toward Phillip Graves. After all, the man had taken his base and his men during their time in Las Almas several years ago.

"That’s not the best part." Price approached the table with the cigar in his mouth, slipping the pages back into the folder. "There’s a very good reason why there’s no information in her file about working with the Shadows."

Soap raised an eyebrow, as did Alejandro. The men watched as a smile formed on their captain’s face and on the woman’s face through the screen.

"The reason is, she almost beat Graves to death with her bare fists." Surprise quickly spread across the faces of the group. Alejandro was the first to laugh, wearing his typical smile as his shoulders shook slightly from the laughter.

He was followed by Rodolfo, who chuckled lightly.

Gaz had his head tilted slightly, a small smile on his lips. Soap mirrored the expression, while Ghost remained silent.

"What was her excuse?" Rodolfo asked with curiosity after he stopped laughing.

Kate shrugged slightly before replying.

"She simply said he was an idiot."

"That’s a solid argument," Gaz commented.

"I’m already starting to like her," Soap said, flicking his tail.

"So, the lady almost killed him," Alejandro murmured beside Rodolfo. "Guess we should give her a chance, then."

Ghost looked at his pack before sighing.

"I’ll keep an eye on her."

"I appreciate your willingness," Kate clasped her hands on the desk. "Now, I’ll give you some recommendations to keep in mind for your safety."

●❯────────────────❮●

"We'll arrive in five minutes, Doc," the pilot announced over the communicators. "It was a pleasure flying with you."

She smiled as she took off her tactical helmet, just like Kamli and her other companion.

"Likewise, Jack. But this is more of a see you later than a goodbye," she replied before cutting off communication again. "Do you think the captain will be offended for not arriving yesterday?" She looked at the tallest of the three.

Kamli took off his helmet like she did, letting out a sigh.

"I don't think so. He knows beforehand that sometimes things happen unexpectedly. Besides, Laswell informed him we would be delayed." His piercing eyes landed on her. "Don't worry about the minor details. There are other things to be concerned about."

"Kamli is right," interjected the other accompanying them, a hybrid of Arctic hare; he was her assistant. "You should save your energy for the problems that exist at that base on a medical level; the anomalies in those records are troubling, boss."

She sighed as she saw the enormous base, spotting several people waiting in the landing area.

"Alright, let's do this."

The helicopter began its descent while the three prepared themselves. Kamli adjusted his gloves, she pulled her black Buff up to her nose, and her assistant grabbed the straps of one of the four military deployment bags they had brought, excluding the huge 25-kilogram first aid kit.

They felt evaluative gazes on them, especially on her and Kamli due to their height. They unbuckled their seatbelts and descended slightly hunched over as a precaution while the blades continued spinning powerfully.

She moved to the front and signaled to Jack to take off again.

Then she turned and made eye contact with the man in the hat and beard, who smiled politely at her. Kate had mentioned his appearance before they left.

"You must be Captain Price, right?" She approached the man and shook his hand. The scaly tail swayed slowly, but she held back her questions. "Aeris Williams," she introduced herself, "but I prefer to be called Harper."

Kamli and her assistant also approached, positioning themselves to her left and right.

Price nodded.

"Captain John Price." The man looked at her before addressing the two companions behind her. "Laswell mentioned that only two of you were coming."

From his tone, Aeris understood she needed to clarify things. Price was still an alpha, and as such, he liked to know who was coming in and out of his base. The arrival of another male without prior notice could be seen as an invasion of his territory.

Kamli was also an alpha, which could trigger an internal struggle to prove who had power over whom if they didn't communicate properly.

"I apologize for the last-minute surprise, Captain. We come from a small mission," she responded calmly. "The big guy next to me is Kamli Sharma, my partner in operations and missions." Kamli nodded at those present, looking at them neutrally with no signs of confrontation. "And he is Jim Parker, my right hand."

Parker also nodded; the man had noticed the gazes on his non-human limbs and ears but ignored them, as they merely indicated curiosity.

"No problem," Price stepped aside, revealing four members of his pack. "This is Gaz." The dark-skinned man stepped forward and shook her hand while slightly stretching his black wings; from the type and color of his wings, she deduced he was a hybrid of raven or harpy.

"Soap," the lighter-eyed one introduced himself with a smile; his accent revealed he was Scottish. His enthusiastic eyes and tail wagging behind him made it clear he was a wolf. "Two of us are missing who couldn't come; they'll show up later." He nodded towards the man in the skull-patterned balaclava. "And he is Ghost."

The one in the mask didn’t respond; his gaze was fixed on Kamli. The height difference between the two was evident, with Kamli being the taller at two meters.

Unlike the others, Ghost showed no indication of what kind of hybrid or monster he was.

"Kamli." His warning tone was enough to make the man stop staring him straight in the eyes.

The others had noticed the small confrontation between the two hybrids, so Price intervened.

"I'll give you a brief tour if you're not too tired." Aeris smiled through her buff.

"We're fine, Captain." She grabbed the first aid kit and slung it on her back before taking one of the bags, while Kamli grabbed the two remaining ones. "We can hold out a bit longer."

"Alright." Price turned halfway and began the tour, allowing Aeris to stay at his side and not behind him. That was a good sign; it meant he recognized her as an equal. "This base is larger than the others since we have more resources; I can give you a map while you get accustomed."

The base was undoubtedly big, just as Price had said, and the map would be useful for orientation in the first few days. Given her role as a combat medic, Aeris had certain privileges, such as the right to a room with its own bathroom, away from the dormitories for greater privacy, which she appreciated. She was also assigned an office at Kate's request for the tedious paperwork related to the anomalies in the medical processes of the base.

It was impressive that, despite being completely adapted for hybrids and monsters, there were more humans.

As they walked through the hallways and different recreation rooms, Aeris noticed small packs formed, all being cautious as they passed. She even observed some injured individuals with poorly placed bandages, suggesting that medical care for the non-humans was, at best, lacking in certain aspects.

She had a lot of work to do, but at least she wouldn't be bored.

However, she was sure she would face resistance from the medical staff if more of her suspicions turned out to be true, much to her dismay.

They returned to their room under the curious gaze of those present at seeing the three staying in the same space. Their excuse was that they had things to discuss, so the pack said no more, just nodded, and left them alone.

"They noticed your behavior, didn't they?"

"They must have a very poor relationship with the medical area; their bandages are poorly placed, and even one is not suitable for the type of injury," Jim remarked. "I think they did it themselves; someone trained wouldn't make such simple mistakes."

"It's clear they aren't being treated according to protocol," Kamli growled, "and yet, the miserable ones dare to ask for raises."

"Laswell suspects they are also smuggling medications, and I think so too," Aeris sighed as she took off her tactical vest. "For now, it would be better to rest, especially you; tomorrow you must return to the field." She lightly tapped the bed for them to climb up. That night, the three would sleep in the same bed; it was a custom they had adopted upon arriving in new places, as the protective instincts of the two hybrids were at their highest during the first two days.

●❯────────────────❮●

Let's start this adventure!

I'm sorry if there are spelling mistakes, I'm not good at English, but I do my best.

if you want to be on the tag list please let me know in comments :D

likes and reblogs are very appreciated by this author !

[nightwngz]

hi! this is my first time seeing your page, and let me tell you that I'm in love! I saw that your requests were open so, I decided to give it a try and ask... could you by any chance make a fem! reader x dick grayson os, where he and reader are both apart of the tt? they are both in love with each other but, reader thinks he likes starfire and he thinks that she likes cyborg, or even beast boy or aqualad? whatever happens next I leave it up to you. thanks in advance! <3

— 𝓘 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐬 ☆ !! eng.

dick grayson x fem!reader

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀. . . drabble. sexual tension, very slight smut, the writer trying to write smut when she is terribly bad at it. kisses, fingering, shower sex?

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁. . . no copying of my work is allowed. Free translation is allowed as long as I am credited.

𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘂𝗮𝗴𝗲. . . as I said in my other posts, English is not my first language. I have tried to make corrections with the translator, but as you all know, it is prone to making mistakes, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes or if anything sounds weird.

𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲. . . Omg, the first request about my Dick. I couldn’t be more happier. I didn’t want to write an explicit smut because you didn’t ask me to, but I think that it was necessary to add a little bit of it like a personal touch. I hope you like it <3

You thought he knew. You had a hunch that he suspected that you were in love with him. Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

Ever since you joined the Teen Titans, Dick has been a sidekick that every hero, and even villains, would want on their team. However, Dick managed to be more than just an ally to you; he was the closest thing you had to a friend. The dilemma arose when you realized that the term "friend" was not what you and he wanted to use to refer to your relationship.

Honestly, you were so in love with Dick that you couldn't stand it. There was only one problem: You suspected that he didn't feel the same way about you.

You couldn't help but think that the unrequited attraction for you was directed at Starfire. It wasn't hard to deduce that the two of them were deeply in love. And with a girl as beautiful as Kory, would you have a chance to compete?

Getting used to the idea of unrequited love was not difficult. What was really complicated was getting used to being in the same room as your crush and not feeling like your heart wanted to burst out of your chest. It was something you had to deal with every time you spent time together. Therefore, it was a nightmare to practice alone with Dick and risk an embarrassing tragedy because of your feelings for him.

At that moment, your nightmare had become reality. As he climbed on top of you, your cheeks burned so hot that you couldn't even look him in the eye without feeling embarrassed. You knew he knew. What you didn't know was that he felt the same way about you.

Just as he was convinced that you felt some sort of attraction to Beast Boy, just as you believed that he was in love with Kory.

—You can let go now — You said after Dick had been on top of you for several minutes, watching you.

— I can, but I don't want to — He pressed his face into yours, feigning a false innocence in his smile.

A rush of adrenaline coursed through your body after he took that provocative stance.

—Don't play games, Dick. What are we going to do if your girlfriend sees you?

— What are you talking about, y/n? I don't have a girlfriend. — He replied as he stood up. — I should have known that this would make you feel uncomfortable.

— What do you mean?

— We've known each other for some time now. It's not hard to figure out that you're in love with Garfield.

For a moment, you both looked at each other without fully understanding what was going on.

— I think there's been a misunderstanding. Aren't you in love with Kory?

— And aren't you in love with Garfield?

— Where did you get that? - You asked him as if he had just said the dumbest thing in the world.

— And where did you get the idea that I'm in love with Kory?

The atmosphere became uncomfortably thick. There was a short period of silence in which you did nothing but look at each other. Your heart was beating again, only this time as if it had never beaten before. Maybe you were confused, maybe he was taking advantage of the situation, and honestly, you couldn't understand anything.

Unfortunately, just when you felt that everything was finally becoming clear, you were interrupted to go on a mission. This meant that they did not talk to each other for a few hours, or even a whole day. This caused you to have so many thoughts at night that you could not sleep.

You were almost drowning in your pillow when you finally got the idea to go down to the basement to entertain yourself. You could probably watch a movie or do something relaxing. The problem was that Dick was in the same situation you were. So when you walked through the door of the gym, the first thing you saw was him lifting weights.

— Don't you sleep? — You asked him.

— I could ask you the same thing. — He smiled at you.

You admired how his smile had the ability to lighten things.

— We need to talk. You know that, don't you?

You swallowed hard. It was hard to concentrate. His physical attractiveness kept you from thinking clearly, from doing simple tasks. Especially when he was exercising; with his messy hair, the beads of sweat dripping down his face, and his abs showing through his sweatshirt. Was it an exaggeration to say that he was the most handsome man you'd ever seen? No, next question.

Sometimes you think it would be easier if he just pushed you into the shower and...

— I‘m in love with you.

What? Did he really say what you thought he said?

You couldn't believe in the truth of his words. You thought he was just playing with you, that it was just a joke that he would use later to laugh at how naive you were to think he had feelings for you. Although you didn't know if Dick was capable of such cruelty, you also didn't know how much sincerity there was in his words.

— Are you in love with me? — you asked again.

— Yes, that's what I said.

Those moments passed so slowly that you didn't notice when you were pressed against the wall with him on top of you, so close you couldn't breathe.

— And you like me?

The corner of his beautiful lips brushed against yours. His minty breath was there every time he spoke. Your heart responded, but your mouth remained closed for a moment.

— Mm? — He murmured, insisting on an answer.

— Either you are a very bad detective or you are very blind.

Maybe minutes, maybe hours had passed, but you could tell when the water started to rain down on your shoulders. When Dick kissed you in the shower and you barely noticed that your wet clothes felt so heavy that you had to take them off.

Fortunately for you, Dick Grayson unclothed and wet was much more attractive than his clothed and dry counterpart. You were surprised because you thought it was impossible to find a more attractive version of him than the original.

His kisses spread over every inch of your lips, devouring you completely. His wet tongue crashed against every part of your mouth, making you feel more and more sensitive and wet in the space between your legs. A space that was filled with his huge hand that was enough to wander around to caress every inch of your sensitivity.

—You love this, don't you, baby? Look at you, I barely touch you and you're dripping all over my hand.

Of course you loved it.

Even when he asked, you thought he definitely knew the answer.