#Eart Protection

[eu-phoris]

why am i only productive at night i want to study in the morning not after 10pm

[vilhelios]

— SWIM WITH ME / I THINK I CAN SEE THE BEACH;

( i need you here with me / but we're out in the open. ) ; romantic headcanons for abysswalker!rafayel ♡ more under the cut!

CW: spoilers for rafayel's "sea of golden sand" myth + general abysswalker rafayel lore ; fluff ; angst ; hurt/comfort ; mentions of blood, injury, and self-harm (rafayel plucks off his scales) : might feel a little ooc because it is abysswalker and not main story rafayel ; quite the word dump (bc i rattle my cage for him)

— as the morning light of the desert creeps into the dim of a tent, two bodies lay tangled in the warmth of each other. RAFAYEL sleeps light and wakes early—hours before the sun peeks over the golden dunes—and although the habit irks him, it does offer him a wonderful sight as compensation: the sight of you, bathed in the soft, rose-gold light of morning, hair a mess, marks littering your skin from where the sheets pressed up against you.

overcome with a love that warms him like molten gold, the young god cannot help but litter your face in butterfly kisses. two to the apples of your cheeks, one on the tip of your nose, the corners of your lips, the middle of your temple. when you shift in your sleep, groan at his ministrations, rafayel can only chuckle, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck. he thinks he can hear amund yell for his presence. he couldn't care less.

— RAFAYEL sees himself as the sword at the hilt of your belt, the dagger in your hands that you should use as you see fit, the steady hand guiding your own, drawing your bowstring. he is your ever faithful shadow, always at your side, a watchful gaze always on you. it is only natural for one to protect the keeper of their heart... which is why you and the medical kit from the nurse's tent have gotten well acquainted with each other.

"one of these days, you're going to listen to me." you sigh, gently peeling aside the torn leather of his garb. rafayel does not wince; you don't think you've ever seen him do so, not when he ripped that arrow from his shoulder, or when he stumbles back to your tent with a bloody gash on his chest, or when he's brandishing new bruises on his knuckles. the royal guards seem intent on tracking you down, crossing all of philos's 30,000 zetameters of sand to lock you up in your gilded cage again.

rafayel seems equally intent to ensure that doesn't happen, even if it means throwing himself into their line of fire.

"if i listen to you," the lemurian starts, violet gaze trained on the gentle workings of your fingers, "they'll take you from me again, back to the palace." his breath hitches the slightest—at the thought of you leaving him again, or at the too-harsh tug of the bandage, you're not sure.

— some nights, RAFAYEL is awoken by dreams—horrible, lifelike nightmares. it's sudden, a jolt that has him taking in rapid breaths, a tremor in his hands. "a nightmare", he tells you, when you stir awake and ask him what's wrong in a groggy voice that makes his heart ache, "just a nightmare, sweetheart. nothing to worry about." he waits until he hears your breathing slow once more, pressing kisses to your temple all the while, before slinking out of the tent and into the cold desert air. he'll return to your side before the sun rises, but for now, with still-stuttering breaths, he just needs some time to clear his head.

in his nightmares, a butterfly flaps its wings just the wrong way and rafayel is landed in a world where he is as cold-blooded as amund wished he was. he is back in the ruins of the isle of songs, your hand guiding his own (white-knuckled, dagger brandished) to the place where your heart thrums beneath. and unlike himself, rafayel takes the chance: takes back what is his, what was never yours to keep. the god of the sea was a foolish, lovesick man. he would not make the same mistake.

the dagger sinks into your flesh, the ease of it wrong. your blood flows onto his palms, gets into all the creases of his gloves, spills onto the barren earth and dyes the returning sea red. it is so, so warm against his skin, warms the fire in him that threatened to fizzle out. (he has always been a selfish man, he knows. it is only right that he is no better than bloodthristy philos.) the look dream-you gives him, before he awakes from this cruel world, sears itself into the back of his eyelids. he can see it still, when he looks at the dark of the night sky: reverent, loving. (how could you not, when he has freed you yet again?)

— often, you ask RAFAYEL to tell you tales of the ocean; more specifically, its creatures! what were those rays he spoke of, or the sharks, or those star-shaped things? do the lemurians actually eat them? your lover finds your boundless curiousity incredibly endearing, chuckling whenever your eyes seem to light up at the mention of some new deep-sea fish.

"this is a whale shark." rafayel says, and you watch as the scale in his hands transforms into a small purple apparition. it's as long as his pointer finger, heteroceral tail flicking as it swims in the flame currents, light purple spots patterning its black back. "they are gentle things, despite their size. they only ever eat plankton. i used to have one as a pet, long ago."

"how cute!" you laugh, waggling your finger in front of the shark and watching it follow. "did you have other pets?" and at that, he procures another silver scale, places it into your palms and covers it with his own. a barreleye manifests, and you grin when it's luminous purple eyes stare up at you.

(rafayel ignores the sting in his arm, pinpricks of blood soaking his garb from where he'd plucked some scales off. the wonder in your eyes is more than worth it.)

— helping the LEMURIANS with their daily chores within the camp comes like second nature to you. there is always so much to do: collect jars upon jars of water from the nearby oasis, prepare food, feed the camels, record the state of the camp's supplies... all the while, you feel RAFAYEL'S eyes on your form, your ever cautious vassal. with a little smile, you pretend you don't notice his lavender gaze, if only to spare him from the flushed ears.

it's surprisingly simple, making that lemurian cake: tapioca flour, camel's milk, a healthy dash of sugar, and citrus rind... when the sweet old woman you've spent the afternoon baking with feeds you a slice, you think you've simply ascended. back then, rafayel had fed you one that was cold and a little stale—probably as it was a part of his rations for long journeys. perhaps he'd like one that was far fresher, and baked with love?

... which is how rafayel found himself with a wicker basket full of cake shoved into his hands, and an awaiting you in front of him. "you've been training a while, haven't you?" you smile, taking one of the soft slices and bringing it up to his lips; "try it for me, please!"

and as obedient as ever, rafayel takes a bite, sweetness and citrus on his tongue. "it's good," he hums, kisses your fingertips, "tell me when you're making it next time, love. i'd love to help."

— the LEMURIANS, you remember, were masters of the arts: singing, painting, poetry... so it's no surprise, then, that they celebrate their craft almost every night: children crowd around a charming poet, hooked on every word of their newest bedtime story—his newest fable, that is (something about a fish and a bird, who wished to visit a bakery); the musicians have already begun their newest improvised song, a lively version of an old elegy, it seems; the bonfire in the centre burns high into the night sky like it was trying to reach the stars itself, and when the lemurians dance around it their shadows are long against the sands. you don't know how, but you're eventually dragged into the dance yourself. the glee is infectious, and you find yourself instinctively looking for your beloved.

RAFAYEL doesn't indulge in dancing often, as fun as it may be. he knows the steps, his feet still tapping to the rhythm of the tambourines even as he nonchalantly leans against the tent pole in the distance. it is second nature, now, but his eyes always find you, even in the crowd of people—you, laughing and twirling around without a care in the world. it makes his heart race, a smile creeping onto his own features. he watches you dance with his people, linking arms and being spun around; for a moment he wonders if he should join just to be your one and only dance partner.

... he doesn't notice when you've escaped his gaze, but before he knows it, you've snuck up on him and wrapped a shawl around his neck, dragging him towards the crowd; "dance with me, rafa!"

and how can he refuse a shared moment that transcends lifetimes—across shimmering oceans, and marble floor ballrooms, and golden sands? rafayel's stumbling forward into you until his arms take their rightful place around your form. his hands find the small of your back and yours hold onto his shoulders, shawl long abandoned on his neck. this is second nature, galaxies colliding, two souls becoming one.

— after all of the night's festivities are said and done—the musicians pack up their flutes, lyres, and tambourines; the children cover up their yawns with still-red palms from clapping to tonight's tunes; the remaining food is safely packed away for tomorrow—it's just you, RAFAYEL, and the dwindling embers of the fire he'd just stomped out. "i do believe even your highness is not exempt from curfew," he hums, takes your hand in his, and presses his lips to the knuckles.

and in the silence of your tent, coveted in the silver hues of moonlight, rafayel sits you down before him, your back leaning against his chest. his arms wrap around your frame, his chin resting on the crook of your neck. this is your ritual, on too-cold nights: rafayel lights a flickering flame in his palms, the black and violet embers cold as ever. you both stare into this dying fire—you both know what is to come.

sometimes, when the ugly concoction of guilt and sorrow prick at your very soul, your hand reaches up to entwine with his own, just as they did to guide his dagger to your heart. "i won't." rafayel says, and you know what he means. "i will never hurt you." he doesn't complete the sentence, the words dying on his tongue, but you know the rest (there is no other end to this story): i would rather die.

a/n : i need abysswalker carnally it's not even funny anymore 🤩 these were. not supposed to be this long (they are like little fics in themselves omg). but i love this rafa so much i think he deserves it. thank you for the love on the previous rafa content <3 it makes me so happy seeing people who also love this lil guy. the dancing with rafa hc is very much so inspired by "through heaven's eyes" from the prince of egypt! <3333

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XVIII)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

PART ONE is here PART TWOis here PART THREE is here PART FOUR is here and PART FIVE is here PART SIX is here and PART SEVEN is here PART EIGHT is here PART NINE is here PART TEN is here PART ELEVEN is here PART TWELVE is here PART THIRTEEN is here PART FOURTEEN is here PART FIFTEEN is here PART SIXTEEN is here PART SEVENTEEN is here..welcome to eighteen..

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... Uh... *checks notes* UH... *flips frantically*...listen my laptop exploded and I lost the original version of this chapter gimme a break. I think it was the oatmeal ch. last off.

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

So. Danny is halfway through his squeeze this, please exercises where he has a grippy thing the doctors give him where he tries to squeeze this until they make calm noises again when something bursts through the door.

He’s so distracted that he drops his squeezing machine. 

Everyone immediately gets terse and guarded— the lady who looks out for him the most actually pulls up in front of him? Like, protecting him? With her body?? It’s so far out of left field Danny has to wonder if they’re, like, keeping him for something important down the line instead of just treating him. 

The doctors take shelter behind medical equipment where they can, but whatever the assailant is, it’s too fast for them to put up their defenses. For a second, Danny is instinctually scared— the doctor in the periwinkle scrubs sees him almost every day, changing out his bag and fussing with his lower half under his blankets. The doctor in green makes him do the hand stretches he doesn’t want to do and sit up so that he can do it more often again. 

He’s used to them. He doesn't want that to change, or— Or for them to get hurt. 

The blur darts through the doors and past the doctors and is definitely aimed at Danny, so when the lady catches it (with one hand??) and hauls it up out of reach of Danny’s cot, Danny’s relieved wheeze is genuine and emphatic. Ohgodthatwasscary. 

On the other end of her arm is a teenager. A teenager in a…red…outfit, probably, unless he really likes gray and Danny’s eyes are actually working normally for once. Gray hair. Some kind of face, presumably. 

The teen’s legs keep spinning until he realizes how caught he is. Then he goes completely limp in defeat. 

“Cild Lihting se þridda,” the lady scolds, not unlike how Danny’s heard Vlad scold his cat for throwing paperwork off his desk. “Hwæt eart eow dydest?”

“...Naþing ,” the teenager lies, badly, and it sounds so much like Nothing, mom, wasn’t me, that Danny can’t help but choke out a laugh. 

It makes his chest muscles spasm and his throat sore, sure, but that’s not the point. The lady keeps scolding the teen she’s holding up midair, but the teen lights up at Danny’s choked out wheeze like the sun. Almost literally, actually— the green starts accumulating in Danny’s field of view as his body tries to compensate for whatever’s going on in the atmosphere around him. 

The doctors slowly let down their improvised shields, fetching Danny’s lost grippy tool (ugh) and putting it back in his hand (UGH). Danny gives one, pathetic squeeze of the tool, and then decides to visibly languish, because this sucks, obviously. The fact that no one can sympathize with his struggle isn’t new. Just watch him go limp about it. 

The next time the lady and the teen stop making scolding and scolded noises, Danny looks over; the teenager has been, apparently, wrangled into a hair net and face mask. Okay. So it’s not that Danny is off limits then— or maybe he is, but either way, it’s more about getting people into the right gear than about keeping them away from him. Once the teen’s been sprayed down with something that smells absolutely gross, forcibly gloved, and dropped unceremoniously onto the ground, the teen is back on his feet and hollering as he leaves the lady behind. “Þancie eow!!” 

“Slaw, lytel Lihting!” 

Slow, Danny understands, parsing out the weird words as they reach him. Lytel might as well mean little. This sucks. He can never tell if he’s right when he guesses, and he just gets lucky when people understand him back, or whether people are pretending to understand him more than they actually do. Lighting is a weird nickname for a kid though. 

—And then the teen is a foot away from his face and babbling at top speed, entirely at ease with their proximity and hands moving a mile a minute, and Danny has not been losing enough time for that to be anything other than either magic or a superpower. 

Oh, his brain corrects. The word clicks into place. Lightning. 

It’s probably some kind of magic, Danny’s guessing, because as he’s absolutely flabbergasted that someone is leaning into his face and trying to engage him that talk that isn’t happening, his ghost sense flares with a backwash of OMGHIHELLO!!MIS/SEDYOUMISSED//YOUPLAYING?? that. Uh. Is very…a lot? Very intense??

Very…welcoming?

The lady who minds him but isn’t a doctor sighs, picks the teenager up by the waist (??) and sets him a whole foot back. The teen doesn’t even stop chattering, his aura flaring alongside a story Danny is definitely missing, but not unappreciative of. 

He throws something onto Danny’s bed. Danny drops the grippy tool in order to grab it, to the doctor’s verbal dismay. 

But. 

Like Danny’s model shuttle, which never leaves his side, the thing on his bed is Danny’s. This is Danny’s weird, flimsy, squishy toy.

The teen practically vibrates with pride.

…Okay, then. He’s kind of confused, but like. You know. He’s not against this.

Danny picks the squishy, blue thing in his trembling fingers and shakes it around without any sense of fine motor control, and the thing leaps out of his fingers and lands on the floor pretty much instantaneously.

It makes a weird suction noise. Danny peeks over the bed to find it sitting upright, stuck to the floor.

The teen responds by throwing even more colorful, oddly-shaped toys on the bed.

Danny knows enough about doctors to know that there were probably structured plans on how Danny was supposed to spend his time on specific exercises to target specific muscles and stretch specific parts of his hands, but the teen sits at his bedside and plays with toys Danny doesn’t remember with him, and no one stops them at all.

It’s nice.

For about an hour, until Danny truly tires, it's almost…normal.

[multi-fan-dom-madness]

Hello

I would like to request a smut prompt for Sergeant Hunter. (Only if you’re up for it oc)

I had ❛ let me come in you, please. i want to fill you up. ❜ in mind. It’s fits him so well 👀

Or, if you’re in the mood for something else,

❛ you're mine, and i take care of what belongs to me. ❜

The choice is yours, cheers ^^

emerges from my cave, writes hurt/comfort instead of smut, disappears back into my cave. sorry nonnie, the smut muse didn't want to cooperate for this one

Tell Me

Summary: Hunter does his best to protect you, but feels he must prove it in more ways than one. Prompt in bold and red.

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: allusions to harassment, Hunter being bad at talking about his feelings, fade to black so nothing NSFW but this blog is still 18+, first kiss, hurt/comfort vibes

You've never experienced Hunter's anger like this. He usually doesn't let his emotions get the better of him and, no matter his own issues, ensures the squad stays mostly on task. Even when hiccups interrupt the plan, he rolls with the punches. The Bad Batch has a 100% mission success rate for a reason. 

But tonight the issue is so much more than a mere hiccup. No, the creep at the cantina was far more unpleasant. 

The squad can gather intel in its sleep; any of you could've staked the cantina out alone and been successful. Hunter had insisted everyone partake. In hindsight, you're glad he pushed for it, even if you and Crosshair both grumbled aloud at Hunter's mother-hennishness. You'd strode straight into the shithole bar, determined to get what you were sent for and get out as quickly as possible. 

Then that stranger got a little too friendly. He'd invaded your personal space and put his hands on you despite your very evident discomfort, reeking of cheap alcohol and bad decisions. 

Hunter had stepped in. Well... he'd done more than that. You're not envious of the stranger and his freshly broken nose.

The sergeant, glowering and shaking his hand out, had growled at the others to stay put and finish the mission. Then he'd all but ordered you back to the ship, giving you no choice but to follow or risk his wrath as well. 

Now, back on board the Marauder, you sigh as your irritation grows, prickly and uncomfortable in your chest. "Hunter."

"What," he snaps. 

"You don't have to babysit me." Crossing your arms, you lean against the bulkhead, fixing him with an unimpressed glare. 

"I'm not—" He turns away, jaw working. Shadows play over his face, backlit by the ship's control panels. His heaving chest gives enough indication that he's mentally working through something.

Softening, you take a step toward him. "Will you at least talk to me?"

His nostrils flare as you move closer. "You— You smell him now." 

"I'm sorry?"

"S'not your fault," he says, misinterpreting your words. His shoulders slump. "It's my job to protect you- you all. And I was so close to failing tonight." 

"Hunter," you say gently, holding one hand out. 

He looks down at your outstretched palm and tentatively reaches to hook your fingertips together. Even through the coarse fabric of his blacks, his warmth scorches through you. Though his nose remains scrunched, when his eyes find yours, he seems to finally step back from the edge of anger. But the emotions continuing to shine in his eyes give you pause. 

Swallowing down the burgeoning hope in your chest forcing out the irritation, you squeeze his fingers. "I appreciate you looking out for me. I really do. But is this about protecting me? Or is this something else? I- I can shower if it's a sensory issue—"

"No," he interrupts. Adjusting his hold, his fingers twine between yours. He tugs you closer. "I mean—it won't be an issue for long. Kark, I'm goin' about this all wrong." 

The sergeant sighs, pulling you in for a hug. While you've embraced him before, surprise hums along your veins. Tentative, you wrap your arms around his middle, and tuck your face into the crook of his neck, where his own scent is strongest, a unique blend of earth and musk and sweat that makes your insides stir. He tightens his arms. 

"Not that this isn't nice," you say, voice muffled, "but what're you doing?"

He's quiet for a moment. "Making you smell like me." 

You blink. "Oh." Without meaning to, you inhale a deep breath, his warm scent swirling within your lungs. "You do smell good."

Hunter chuckles. The sound vibrates against your chest. "That right?"

Humming in affirmation, you press the bridge of your nose to his skin. His pulse beats against your nose; its pace quickens. For a heartbeat, you manage to contain the response that leaps to the tip of your tongue. Is this really the time?

But then again, you've been waiting for the right time to broach the subject of your feelings for months. You've shared a few hugs, left countless lingering looks when you think he isn't looking, chased an orgasm or two in silence when he's not around. If you keep waiting, the right time won't ever happen. And you'll be left wondering.  

Throwing caution to the wind, you say, "Be easier if you take your armor off." 

"Mesh'la," he murmurs. The endearment somehow sounds like a warning. "I- Your heart is racing. You're not thinking clearly."

Gnawing at the inside of your cheek, you resist the urge to pull away at what feels like a rejection. Have you been reading all the signs wrong? Did you misread the situation earlier? You're relatively certain any of the squad would have jumped to your defense--but would the others have needed to be physically restrained from doing more damage? Would Wrecker have had to pry Tech, or Crosshair, or Echo, away from your assailant like he'd done to Hunter?

No, you decide, you've been reading the signs correctly. Stepping out of his embrace but not his orbit, you search Hunter's gaze. Threading your fingers together once again, you raise his hand to brush your lips over the knuckles surely bruising under his gloves. Hunter's lips part in surprise. 

"I'm thinking perfectly clearly." You hesitate, then forge ahead. "Tell me you don't feel anything for me, and I'll go back to pining in silence. Tell me I'm the only one who sees something here. Tell me... Tell me you broke his face because I'm part of the squad, and no other reason. Please."

Hunter inhales a shallow breath. His eyes, gray in the dim light of the Marauder's controls, sear into yours with an unidentifiable mix of emotions. "I can't." 

Relief floods through you. With a weak smile, you gesture to yourself. "Do I still smell like him?" 

He nods. 

"Do you care for me?"

Another nod, stronger than the previous. 

"Then do something about it, Hunter." Guiding his gloved touch to your face, you lean into his warmth. 

His throat bobs when he swallows. After another moment of silent indecision, Hunter steps into your personal space, gaze searching your expression. He must not find anything worth stopping for, because his grip tightens behind your jaw. The tip of his crooked nose slides along the side of your own nose, breath puffing warm and unsteady over your face. 

You close the gap. Your mouths slot together, and it's like coming home after a long time away. Humming in the back of your throat, you press closer, deepening the kiss without hesitation. Hunter follows your lead. His armor still blocks you from truly feeling him, but you don't care. His lips are on yours, and your heart is his. 

Your name slips from his lips like a prayer. Eyes fluttering open, you peer up at him from beneath your lashes. "Yes?" 

"A-Are you sure?"

"I am."

"Then let me prove that you're mine," he murmurs. His touch lingers along your waist before drifting towards your center. "Let me prove that I take care of what belongs to me." 

A shiver skates up your spine. "Show me."

Ragu list: to be added or removed go here!

@dystopicjumpsuit @littlemissmanga @anxiouspineapple99 @wings-and-beskar @sinfulsalutations

@523rdrebel @sev-on-kamino @starrylothcat @deejadabbles

@starqueensthings @idontgetanysleep @wizardofrozz @mythical-illustrator

@sleepycreativewriter @bobaprint @dickarchivist @a-single-tulip

@thorsterstrudle @droids-you-are-looking-for @goblininawig @cw80831

@mssbridgerton @isaidonyourknees @dreamie411 @jedi-hawkins

@dangraccoon @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @9902sgirl  @zenrobbins0021

[an-gothamite-aka-zannalial]

I often see or think about the Batfamily who don't want to call supers in life and death situation, in my headcanon it's because they have a very big ego problem. They always make Themselves think that their live or condition doesn't matter but, but deep down that just they not want to get help and seen week

They feel like already kinda useless when work with the supes, in the superhero community they think they are should proof their power, skill, intelegent, knowledge, and everything that they have

So asking for help only makes them feel insecure and weak because they are unable to solve a problem alone, which makes their friends always have to force them to get help. Because the bats Would never want to ask just once

Superman : Batman, you need to get treatment first before the other

Batman : I'm okay flash and

Superman : nuh uh your kids gonna kill me if you die here, I still need to protect eart okay

Batman : Valid point, okay but-

Superman : *already Drag him to Medical room

Nightwing : I can doit don't worry guys

Everyone : *Vietnam war flashback. No, don't you dare, Nuh uh , you're not

Red hood : I don't need you all to be here, ITS my job to do this alone

Roy : no jaybird, no

Artemis : I rather fight God than trust you do this alone jay

Bizarro : you wont get hurt, so I wont help you anymore

Tim : I don't need this guys, my work are more important than sleep

Bernard: no babe you're need sleep and therapy more than all of us Combine

Bart : only in your dream tim

Kon : your brother gonna kill me of you don't sleep to day

Cassie : I know you don't want it but you definitely need it , this is for your own healt tim please

Jon : Damian you can't go, you should go home already how you still here. Omg

Damian : that not your problem farm boy

Jon : that is

Harper : you should comeback first i can take them all

Cullen : no you go home and I stay here

Harper : no

Cullen : Nuh uh

[jame7t]

i lied there is a wednesday stream. we have to protect EART

[oxenfvrt]

“It's always sat there empty, this hut. That is, till the night afore the battle. A man arrived, walked right in like twere his own. Was standin' at me window, peerin' at the goin's-on... He must've eyed me, 'cause next I knew, there he was, comin' my way! So, I grabbed me pan - for protection, see. But he just asks all polite, 'Gran, got any birch bark, by chance? Lilac berries, or even a few coals?' Nay, says I! And you must be right daft to pester folk at night with such foolery! But I sees he ain't listenin'. Just starin' at me pan, like a magpie at a copper! 'Lend it to me, gran, I'll give it back come morn'. Was right baffled, for what's he doin' fryin' in the dark? But I've got a soft 'eart, so I gave it to 'im.”

THE WITCHER 3: WILD HUNT

[sonicblueartist]

🌊𝕊𝕒𝕚𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕆𝕧𝕖𝕣 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝔻𝕖𝕖𝕡 𝔹𝕝𝕦𝕖 𝕆𝕔𝕖𝕒𝕟🌊

Masterlist

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃: Yes || No

Pairings: Sails x F!Reader

Summery; Romantic/fluff headcannons

A/n: Does anyone want to be in the tag list?

AFAB/Female Reader// comfort and slight angst//Everyone is +𝟷𝟺

Word Count: 2720

𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐅𝐔𝐍❕️

✎ 𝙒𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙥𝙞𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙚 𝙗𝙮 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙚, you will never feel alone or bored. He always manages to find an adventure when you're around. Sometimes, even if things doesn't end against your favors, you two always find yourself laughing and having fun in the end.

✎ Be prepared to be donated with sudden hugs and kisses because this fox loves giving attention. He also loves showing off his skills, especially in a fight. But he still prefers brains over brawn.

✎ His love language is gifts. Will give you anything he find interesting in an island.

"Ahoy, Sweetcheeks! I found this here an' thought you would like it."

"Aww, Sails that's so cute of you— is that a rock?"

"It looks just like you—"

✎ Definetly a poet. Will stutter if he accidentally says something absurd (not noticing it is until he read aloud) or  someone steps in/teases him.

✎ "Ye see that gal o'er there Cap'n?"

"Yeah?"

"Mine—"

✎ User of a lot of silly nicknames. Whatever you could think. He uses every one of them.

✎ Love painting your face on the books he reads.

✎ Will blush if you kiss him on the cheek.

✎ He adores when you wear his belt or his bandana.

✎ Somehow his metal hand always ends up tangled in yours.

✎ Dates on the Crow's Nest, while watching the sunrise/sunset, feeling the nice gentle breeze over your faces.

✎ PDA; outside, inside, whenever he had the time! When he is reading he will hold your hand or press his back/shoulder to you, when he is fighting he prefers to be around you (often with protective instinct), whenever they are searching for new islands he is always there next to you.

✎ Whenever you struggle he will always be there to help out. You are struggling to climb the ratlines? He will be there flying next to you, guiding with a close eye, hand behind you in case you slip.

"Come one, sweats. Just a few more. You are doing great!"

✎ And if you are scared of height then he won't be pushy about it. But he won't hold back from telling you to not give up just yet.

"The best way to face yer fears be Exposure."

"What..."

"It involves gradually an' repeatedly goin' into feared situations until ye feel less anxious."

"Oh..."

"An' after a while, yer anxiety will naturally lessen."

"Okay—"

"Now jump."

"Wait, what—" Sails pushed you off of the Crow's Nest.

✎ He couldn't help himself. Don't worry he catched you before you can even get crash.

✎ If you have constant nausea caused by the waves, he will always be by your side to get through it.

✎ If you have insomnia or  trouble sleeping, he invites you to sleep with him in his hammock. You are always welcome to sleep with him no matter the reason!

✎ He loves laying down on the sand, his fur mixing with the messy surface while you are by his side. You two staring at the night sky, counting the stars and joking around. He points out the stars and their names. Giving you knowledge about the constellations and little details he finds remarkable.

✎ He always plays a song for you with his mandolin. No matter the genre he can play for you.

✎ Secretly wishing you would carry him on your arms more often.........

✎ His tails always brushes your sides as he walked past you.

✎ He is just a sweet heart with a thrill for adventure.

✎ You always catches his stare on you. He becomes really flustered after that. So cute.

✎ "Cap'n told me that life been a deck o' cards, so I guess ye must be the queen o' 'earts. '' After a wink he walked away whistling happily, leaving you flustered.

[minie-mastermind]

The Crime Society first appearing in 52 #52 2007 before properly being introduced in Countdown #31 2007. All members and implications for the wider universe will be named left to right. Before beginning it is important to mention that it is implied that this is not the anti-matter Universe seen in the JLA earth 2 comic because Kyle Rayner who participated in that state so below. Do to be inclusion of the Crime Society it may be an analogue of the Earth 2 Justice Society or the main Earth Justice Society of America.

From left to right.

Johnny Quick joins Monarch's army and is abducted into the arena to fight otherworldly counterparts. He does not mention speed juice so assumably his powers are not related to it.

The Spectre's Earth 3 counterpart who is not named although it does imply two things. That he has a human house who maybe this world James Corrigan and he is always an incarnation of God's vengeance. A theory that I have is that it may be Eclipso because in his back story he was the original spirit of God's wrath and was only stripped of the role for being too cruel which very well may never have happened in world this cruel.

Superwoman is implied to be Lois Lane but we have very little else we know about her, in her appearances we don't even get an implication of the Ultraman and Owlman love triangle.

Power Ring they do not name which Lantern this is a counter part to I believe it is Guy Gardener's. Due to the visor replicating his bowl cut, his quickness to anger and his construct look like riot gear which would make sense if he came from a family of cops. Do to the Crime Society being a counterpart to the Justice Society it could be a counterpart to Alan Scott, but from there appearance this is unlikely.

Star Girl's Earth 3 counterpart who is not named although her predecessor Star Man counterpart Space Man outfit was seen in a display case during JLA Eart 2. With the lack of the Star Staff and the inclusion of a pair of pistols we can maybe head can and her name as we could potentially call her Spacegirl in honor of her predecessor or Shootingstar in reference to her pistols.

Ultraman is heavily implied to have the same origin as his JLA Earth 2 counterpart, this is the only information we are given on him.

Owlman is implied to be Thomas Wayne Jr., He has been know to collect protect payments. The only other relationships we are aware is Commissioner Wayne and the members of The Riddler family. That being Riddler, Three Face, the Jokester and Dual Dent. All these relationships being antagonistic, notably he took enough offence to Jack Napier's comedy about him that he killed his secretary Harleen Quinzel and mutilated him which made him become the Jokester.

Green Arrow's Earth 3 counterpart who is not named although we have previously seen a green arrow counterpart known as Dead Eye in Justice League Quarterly #8. In regards to names that came after I do not believe he could be known as the Blue Bowman due to his outfit and The Archer would fit any Arrow wielding analog. From appearance we can assume it's Oliver Queen and with that that Queen Industries exist as a competitor to Wayne Industries. The extended Arrow family may exist alongside his home of Star City.

Black Canary's Earth 3 counterpart who is not named in this comic although we did see a display case during JLA Earth 2 that displayed the same outfit with the name Whit Cat. We can assume it it not Dinah Lance or her mother do to the difference in skin colour.

Hawk Girl's Earth 3 counterpart who is not named is unnamed but we know she does late for have a partner in later continuity known as Skytirant who is the counterpart to Hawkman. A potential name for her is Hawkwing who is mentioned as one of the victims of Mazahs during forever evil but never seen. With the many different origins of the Hawk Heroes there is rather an implication of reincarnation or interaction from the alien Thanagaruan race and the wider implications for the cosmos that come with there inclusion or absence.

Wild Cat's Earth 3 counterpart who is not named although personally in my own head canon his name should be the obvious alternative name of Mad Dog. The biggest change in Canon would be many people he has trained from Blackwing to Catwoman depending on continuity.

Now going into those not in the above image.

Annataz Arataz appeared in Countdown to Final Crisis #23 2007 and was kidnapped by Superboy Prime, the only other information we can gleam from her is she uses the same sort of Magic that Zatana which remains reference. Given her outfit she is likely not a classical magician but more of a modern Chris Angel mind freak sort of type.

Booster Gold's Earth 3 counterpart appeared in Countdown to Final Crisis #16 2008 never named and does not show any physical differences to the original. Ray Palmer dubs him Dark Booster not knowing his real name and some fans have dubbed him Blaster Gold. Given his power set we can assume there is a version of the Legion in the future due to his Legion flight ring.

Supergirl's Earth 3 counterpart appeared in Countdown to Final Crisis #16 2008 and is not named, but is assumed to be Ultragirl by fans given the U on her chest. The low cut of the U could be reference to Power Girl. The main question that arises with her existence is how did she get her powers, Ultraman of this earth was an astronaut abducted by alien after his death in space. Was she also an astronaut, was she abducted from Earth and all her and Ultraman even related?

[kissedbyaphrodite]

The burrow belonged to the Weasley family for many centuries, built by Francis Weasley and his wife Margery Weasley in 1610; who built the house out of roots, stones, trees and the earth, with the help of the wands they crafted out of fallen trees and gemstones. The Weasleys were amongst the oldest of the wizarding families, who had managed to escape multiple witch hunts, thus had nothing among them when they settled in the rural area of Britain, near a muggle town where the houses could be counted with the fingers of their hands. They had settled down in the middle of a clearing, after months of traveling, Margery herself was nearing the birth of her child, thus, could no longer move. Francis, knowing he needed to protect his family, called for the guidance of the Goddess Hecate, who made the clouds split apart to let the moon shine down on a fallen Rowan tree, and amongst splinters and broken twigs, there was one living twig, with a white flower growing on it. Francie took the twig and yanked it off the tree, watching in amazement as the twig began bending and morphing, becoming softer and pointy, the flowers began shifting as they wrapped around the twig like vines, before the remaining wood traveled south of the wand, creating a hilt for Francis to hold comfortably. With his new wand, Francis raised the eart and created a base, he used the fallen tree to build stairs and railing, the stones that had fallen down the mountain became walls and a roof, lastly,he swished his wand around amd willed the wood to become a door. He went down to the village the morning after, and began taking the furniture that was broken and damaged, left to rot outside. He used his magic to fix the furniture and began building his house. He built a turret out of stone and stairs out of vines, his windows were made with the frozen water of the lake nearby, his home grew and grew until their son was born, a son who he named Edward. The home grew in size everytime a new member joined the family, each generation adding more and more traits to make it feel more like a home. Given that it was made if stone, it didn't take long for ivy and honeysuckle to grow on the sides; the material also allowed for the house to retain heat. The Weasley house grounds grew with the house.

In 1708, Circe Weasley planted her garden with flowers brought to her by different lovers, who desperately tried to court her, by 1712, the garden was filled with beautiful flowers that made the garden swarm with butteflies and bees.

In 1756, Florent Weasley planted multiple fruits and vegetables to harvesy and sell, the grounds where they lived was so fertile that they had multiple bushes of blueberries, strawberries, and so many more fruits.

In 1806, Aciano Weasley and his brother Sorrel Weasley created an area of the house where they would offer tarot readings and different potions to clients, normally people of novility. Aciano would read their future, telling them how long they would reign, how would they die and who would follow their reign, many wars were seen by him before they even happened. Sorrel would give them potions for different occasions, if they struggled to conceive or feared getting old and dying, they created a book of potions, and their business flourished.

In 1827, Sorrel's son, Rowan, created a large greenhouse where he experimented with different plants and created multiple salves and potions never discovered before. He began traveling all over the world, writing down every plant he saw, every potion he made and what it did. By the time the boy turned into a man, he had written four books with the plants in Britain, Portugal and Spain. By the time he was sixty years of age, he had traveled to every country known to men and wrote a book for each country. His books became famous and sold millions of copies, mostly used by schools but also used by different herbologists and potion makers who wished to expand on their arts.

In 1891, the last addition was made, a large conversatory was made by Matilda Weasley. The house had grown and become large, and yet the stone still was able to conduct the heat of the firplaces throughout the house. The conversatory was as tall as the four story house, so large that it fit multiple plants, a fountain that lead to a pond and an area where the family would sit and spend their times talking. The greenhouse made by her great-uncle instead became a specific place where the Weasleys would craft potions and practice their magic.

Despite the following generations fighting in a war, the Burrow was still glorious and magical, with garlands of oranges and rosemary twigs scenting the house and filling it with a calming and soothing aroma. The house had been witness to so many people being born and dying, her ears had heard every whisper ever made, every thought ever had. The house was alive, with the climbing flowers seeping through cracks and into the house, sealing every crack and blooming inside. The Burrow looked almost alive, and even to a stranger who just spent five seconds near the house, it felt like a home. The family still possessed many of the books written by their great great great great great uncle Rowan, and made money from them; not only that, but they would also often create potions and sell them to different people who knew of the secret of wizards, different witches who would drink potions to remain young looking but didn't want to spend fortunes on treatments made by medieitches. And while not rich, the family was able to survive from their harvests and their business.

[sweeneytodddemonbarber]

Me ‘eart is broken and in rage because a certain non binary child in Oklahoma—is dead! Murdered by three teenaged girls who thought that Nex doesn’t deserve to LIVE!!! 🤬

WE NEED TO ‘OLD THE SCHOOL AND THOSE 3 GIRLS THAT BULLIED NEX TO THE POINT OF DEATH ACCOUNTABLE FOR THEIR ACTIONS!!! And what’s worse, the officials INCLUDING THE POLICE ARE COVERING UP NEX’S DEATH BY LYING!

ALSO A BIG FUCK YOU TO MOMS OF LIBERTY, THE WHOLE REPUBLICAN NAZI PARTY, PRO-LIFERS CHRISTIAN NATIONALISTS, AND FAR RIGHT BIGOTS WHO THINK THIS WAS ABOUT “PROTECTING CHILDREN!” THIS IS NOT!!!!!!! FUCK YOUR EMPTY WORDS!!!! I WOULD WANT NOTHING MORE IF THOSE THREE GIRLS WERE ARRESTED, CHARGED AND TRIED AS ADULTS AND SENTENCED TO LIFE WITHOUT PAROLE FOR THEIR HATE CRIMES!!!!! 🤬🏳️‍🌈

@iloveyoutoinfinity

[the-blackbird-roleplays]

John Bienville, Crescent City's Homme-Araignée

"Well crap, I guess it's my turn huh? Alright, let's run this back one more time, but how about a l’agniappe for your troubles of coming this far?"

The young man smiled as he stood on the edge of a skyscraper in Crescent City, slowly removing his mask to reveal a tan-skinned young man around 20 years old, green eyes, and the killer smile of a southern gentleman.

"My name is John Bienville, but my friends call me Jack. I was bitten by a cursed spider, and for the past five years I've been Crescent City's one and only Homme-Araignée. That's Spider-Man for the non-Francophone out there." He grinned, yanking his mask back down as he leapt from the building, backflipping as he did before tapping his wrist-mounted web-shooter, firing out a line of webbing with a soft thwip.

"Yeah yeah, we all know the story. Young hero with a heart of gold, tragedy ensues, power and responsibility, all that merde. But mine's a bit different from the rest." He grunted as he landed on the highest building in the city, smiling over the place he called home.

"Being raised in the bayou gives someone a unique perspective on things. It's a little wilder out there than people are used to. Most people had pet dogs growing up... I had a pet alligator. Most kids grew up with their mom and dad... mine died in a riverboat accident when I was four and I was raised from then on by my aunt 'n' nonc who could charitably be called Swamp People... but don't tell Auntie Anna that or you'll get a face full of buckshot."

He chuckled softly, leaning against the skyscraper's spire as he pulled his mask completely off, revealing a head of bushy blond hair.

"Growing up with them, I learned how a man should act, and how a gentleman should act. You gotta fight for you and yours, protect the ones who can't protect themselves, and have fun doing it... what I didn't know is Uncle Benji... He'd run afoul of some bad people. Bad people who pretended to be protecting everyone, hiding their corruption behind a badge and an ATF jacket. One day, when they realized they couldn't profit off him and his still anymore, they showed up, rigged his still, and waited for the fireball."

John sighed softly, closing his eyes as he thumped his head against the metal spire of the tower.

"I used every legal avenue I had to try and get those crooked feds to the courts. I was blocked at every turn like a dam for a salmon. So... I turned to the only source I had left. An old witch that lived deep in the bayou. She said she'd help, but I'd have to pay a cost, keep doing what I was about to do for the greater good. She said something about 'Spider-Totems' and other universes that I didn't exactly understand at the time. I just wanted justice done and done right. I agreed, she summoned a black spider, and next thing I know I was tearing up a deal between some corrupt ATF agents and some smugglers attempting to bring in guns through the Port of New Orleans. I also may or may not have left them tied up with a few wildlife camera shots of them messing with my uncle's still. Best Sunday of my life up until that point."

He smiled softly, jumping forward off the building as he backflipped through the air, swinging along as he snatched a beignet from a store window, leaving a five-dollar bill behind on the plate, munching away as he went from web-line to web-line.

"Been doing this Spider-gig ever since. My methods are a little unorthodox, playing around the lines as much as in, but there's one thing I hold absolute. 'If ya got might, ya gotta make right'. Uncle Benji taught me that. Now, I protect the ones who can't protect themselves."

He grinned, standing upside-down on a bridge spanning the Mississippi River as he scarfed down the last few bites of the beignet.

"My name's John Bienville. I'm Spider-Man. And If you abuse the might you got, I'm coming to make things right."

XxXxX

Name: John "Jack" Bienville

Age: 22

Occupation: Spider-Man, Mixologist, Chef

Home Earth: Earth-504 (Personal Creation, lore MAY be added later)

[nalyra-dreaming]

Hi! Do you know why i keep reading of anons writing left and right over lestat and louis tumblr blogs saying Sam is racist? Like what? He seems so down to eart and a tad bit scared of the fame. Is it cuz he is playing lestat and episode 5? It’s just a character. Why so angry? Like I’m not a fan of Claudia etc but i don’t go on a rant and write mean things to people

Haven't seen any, though I heard of that (and had a few asks indicating), I must be following the right people...

A lot of people seem not able to divorce actor from character, and at the same time seem to need to protect others and project, heavily.

I watched everything I could get my grubby little hands on and I have seen nothing that would explain it.

*shrugs*

[designedparadigm]

The mass of oily black in the corner is bad enough, stuck there like a bad mix of cobweb and…not flesh, not exactly; what flesh grows in corded tendrils like that? Worse, it moves when they enter, as if in direct response to their presence — maybe sound, maybe vibration. Whatever the case, there are claws working their way through it now, followed by a parody of a humanoid arm cast in that same gold-shot black mass, which is in turn followed by a shockingly slight frame still clad in what might have been light armor or a flight suit or both.

A single red-golden eye fixes first on Johnny, blinks in bleary assessment…and then the gory woman notices Ghost. The low growl that begins deep down is deep and choked with the residual blood that runs from her nose, eyes, and from between bared and too-sharp teeth.

“Fuckin’ get out.” Her voice is hoarse with disuse and tinged with a faint southern American drawl, but hardly convincing. The way her arms shake as she fights to maintain a sitting position isn’t selling the threat, either.

   it  wasn't  what  either  expected  to  walk  in  on.  soap's  gaze  casts  toward  ghost,  and  ghost  steps  forward  first,  taking  the  protective  step  in  front  of  what  is  his,  watching  with  a  trained  eye  at  the  sight  before  him.  he  waits  for  her  to  make  the  move  -  and  her  move  is…  a  pathetic  threat.  ghost  rolls  his  eyes,  before  crossing  his  arms  against  his  chest. 

   “no'  intimidatin'  in  th'  least.”  he  gives  the  cold  remark.  “you  don'  look  like  you  could  fight  us  off  if  that's  wha'  we  were  ‘ere  for  t’  star'  with.”  he  takes  a  glance  toward  soap.  “you  sure  you  wanna  bleedin'  ‘eart  this  one,  johnny?  we’re  already  uninvi'ed  as  i'  is.” 

   “aye,  ghost,  i  do.”  johnny  sighs,  running  a  hand  through  his  hair.  “ye  ken  it's  what's  right  in  the  situation.  ye  cannae  argue  me.  nae  after  what  ye  did  ta  me  ta  start  with.” 

   “was  more  for  ya  than  to  ya.” 

   “doesnae  matter.” 

   a  scoff  from  ghost,  and  a  roll  of  his  eyes,  though  he  relents  and  allows  soap  to  take  the  approach.  soap  keeps  a  respectful  distance,  but  stays  as  close  as  he  dares.  there's  concern  in  bright  blue  eyes. 

   “yer  nae  the  enemy,  aye?”  he  asserts  it.  “neither  are  we.  ye  can  tell  what  we  are,  aye?”  he  offers  a  smile.  “we  can  help  ye  outta  this  mess.  get  ye  on  yer  feet.  not  everyone  in  this  world's  out  ta  get  ye.  think  ye  can  allow  yerself  some  help  when  it's  offered  ta  ye?”

[drmaqazi]

CRIME AND PUNISHMENT IN ISLAM AS 

APPLIED IN SO-CALLED ISLAMIC REPUBLIC OF PAKISTAN, WHICH BY DEFINITION IS 

NEITHER ISLAMIC NOR REPUBLIC, 

UNFORTUNATELY!

IT IS AN AUTOCRATIC DICTATORSHIP 

IMPOSED ON THE PEOPLE OF PAKISTAN 

BY A FEW FEUDAL RUTHLESS LANDLORDS, 

A LEGACY OF THE BRITISH EMPIRE

PART 5

The Objectives of the Islamic Penal System

The Islamic penal system has many objectives, the most important of which are as follows:

The First Objective: Islam seeks to protect society from the dangers of crime.  It is common knowledge that if crimes are not countered with serious punishments, then society will be in grave danger.  Islam seeks to make social stability and security widespread, making life in society secure and peaceful.  It has made this consideration a platform for action, legislating punishments that will discourage crime.  

This purpose has been articulated by the following verse that discusses retribution and its effects on society:

“There is (preservation of) life for you in retribution, O people of understanding, that you may become pious.” (Holy Quran 2:179)

If the murderer, or any other criminal for that matter, knows the extent of the negative consequences for himself that his crime will cause, he will think a thousand times before committing it.  Awareness of the punishment will cause the criminal to abstain from committing the crime in two ways.  

The criminal who has already been subject to the punishment will most likely not return to the crime again.  As for the rest of society, their awareness of the effects of this punishment will keep them from falling into the crime.  

To realize a general effect from the punishment, Islam has established the principle of publicly announcing when it will be carried out.  

God says:

“…A group of the believers should witness the punishment.” (Holy Quran 24:2)

The Second Objective: Islam seeks to reform the criminal.  The Quran often makes mention of repentance in association with the crimes that it deals with, making it clear that the door to repentance is open whenever the criminal abandons his crime and behaves properly.  

It has made repentance a means of waiving a fixed punishment in some instances, like the punishment for highway robbery.  

God says:

“…except for those who repent before you take hold of them.  Then know that God is the Forgiving, the Merciful.” (Holy Quran 5:34)

God says regarding the punishment for fornication:

“It they both repent and mend their ways, then leave them alone.  Verily, God is the Accepter of repentance, the Merciful.” (Holy Quran 4:16)

God says after mentioning the punishment for false accusation:

“… except for those who repent afterwards and makes amends, then verily God is the Forgiving, the Merciful.”

God says after mentioning the prescribed punishment for theft:

“Whoever repents after his wrongdoing and makes amends, then verily God will accept his repentance and verily God is the Forgiving, the Merciful.” (Holy Quran 5:39)

This objective is seen more frequently with regard to discretionary punishments, whereby it is incumbent upon the judge to take into consideration the circumstances of the criminal and what will insure his betterment.

The Third Objective: The punishment is a recompense for the crime.  It is undesirable to treat a criminal lightly who threatens the security of society with danger.  The criminal should receive his just recompense as long as he is pleased with taking the path of evil instead of the path of righteousness.  

It is the right of society to be secure in its safety and the safety of its individual members.  The Quran has asserted this objective when mentioning a number of punishments.  

God says:

“The thieves, male and female, cut off their hands as a recompense for what they have earned...” (Holy Quran 5:38)

“The recompense for those who wage violent transgression against God and His Messenger and who go forth spreading corruption in the Earth is that they should be killed or crucified or that their hands and feet should be cut off on alternate sides or that they should be sent into exile…” (Holy Quran 5:33)

REFERENCES:

https://www.joystickdivision.com/top-movies-entertainment/?utm_source=PMP&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=TopMovies

https://islamhouse.com/read/en/crime-and-punishment-in-islam-429676

[officialraylynn]

Fuck around, find out

Another piece written as a gift of cheering up for a friend <3 Basil is my oc, Kale is hers, and I love them lots 🥺

OCxOC; protectiveness, healthy relationships, tooth-rotting fluff! Warnings: Arachnophobia–contains a big ol' spider, but that's the only warning needed

Summary: "Every campsite is a gamble for roving bandits. Sometimes you strike gold, and sometimes... Well, sometimes you're lucky to see your next sunrise."

Click here to read it on Ao3!!

“Well, well, well–”

That was all the warning he had before someone grabbed his arm and harshly pulled him away from the fire with a squeal.

“–what’ve we got ‘ere?”

“Wot’ver it is, smells good!”

“Check the bags boys, never know wot ‘e might ‘ave on ‘him.”

Basil was a timid elf on a normal day. Having his arms firmly held behind his back while a knife rested against his neck was far from ‘normal’, and as such he was… Well, scared would be mild. It would be a cup of salt when he needed a dash, it would be expecting sweet tea but drinking sour lemonade!

“You know–” Basil had to nervously clear his throat before continuing, wincing when his arms were pulled on “–th-there’s plenty of food, I-I’d be happy to share!”

“Oh, would ye now?”

‘I don’t appreciate your mocking tone, sir.’

“Such a nice lad! Didn’t ye hear ‘im boys? ‘E said ‘e’d be happy ta share ‘is stuff wit’ us!” He also didn’t appreciate the boisterous laughter that circled ‘round the campsite at that, either. “Don’t you worry yer bleedin’ ‘eart, we’d be ‘appy to accept yer ‘ospitality, wouldn’t we?”

A chorus of “Aye’s!” rang out, and Basil slumped against his captor defeatedly, even his ears drooping. Just the food would have been fine, there was enough in the pot for everyone and maybe if they had full bellies they wouldn’t be such… Rascals (to be polite). Not to mention, perhaps they would be on their way quickly, before anything happened.

“Oh ho ho, lookie ‘ere!”

Basil perked at that, and without thought to the blade at his throat tried jerking out of the bandit’s hold. “D-Don’t touch that!”

Of course, he didn’t want to be robbed, but there was only a handful of items he truly, truly didn’t want to lose. The spider silk blanket held in (literally) filthy hands, was one such item. A dear gift, a most precious token of love. The mere sight of it being mishandled by some stranger, someone who didn’t know its true sentimental worth–Basil had to fight back a whine as his eyes threatened to tear up.

“Feels fancy, dunnit?” His plea was ignored, and the blanket traded hands, the new defiler even rubbing the material against his face as he ‘ooh’d’ and ‘aww’d’ over it. “Must be worth sumfin at least.”

Basil didn’t get the chance to snap at them how wrong they were.

Behind them, from the darkness, branches cracked and crashed to the ground. Leaves rustled as something swiftly moved through the night. While the bandits reached for their weapons, Basil let out a quiet sigh of relief and relaxed against his captor–he was not in danger, this he knew down to his very marrow.

“They touch that which does not belong to them.”

They do, and Basil had never been more grateful to see that familiar too-many-limbed shape emerging from the shadows. He had tried getting these bandits out of there quickly, whatever happened next they brought upon themselves. If they were smart, they would stop touching that which didn’t belong to them, but alas it would seem they were all rather frozen in fear at the moment.

They’d realize quickly.

…Hopefully.

“I-I t’ink t’ere’s been a uh, a misunderstandin’.”

The blade against his neck was quickly removed, only to be replaced with a ‘friendly’ arm around his shoulders. Similarly, the blanket was poorly hidden behind the other man’s back, while the rest of the raiding thieves attempted to shove things back into their respective bags. “We er, we was invited fer dinner, y’see–”

Kale hissed, a deep clicking noise of horrors, and all movement at the camp froze. He crept ever closer, towering over the campsite and glaring down at the intruders found within. “They touch what is mine.” His eyes locked onto Basil, and while the elf gave him an affectionate smile the arm around him immediately removed itself from his shoulders. “They should thank Mine, that they will not be dinner.”

“I haven’t ruled it out yet, honestly.”

Many pairs of eyes swivelled to stare at Basil with identical expressions of horror, to which he merely shrugged his shoulders and glared back at them. “Don’t look at me like that, you–” he whirled around to accusingly point a finger at the knife wielder “–held a knife to my throat! And you–” it was time for him to point in the general direction of the others “–were robbing me!”

The bandits only had a few moments to look sheepish and chastised before they were back to being scared, Kale’s many limbs now stepping through the throng to cross the campsite and arrive in front of Basil. Absently Basil heard the bandit beside him flee, but he was more focused on reaching out to his partner and gleefully nestling in against him once he was pulled into Kale’s arms.

“I’m fine.” He murmured against Kale’s neck, nuzzling him reassuringly as he did so.

“They are grateful you are.” One of Kale’s hands pet through Basil’s hair and the elf melted with contentment. With his eyes closed, he missed the menacing glare that Kale was giving the bandits, who themselves were discreetly tiptoeing towards the edges of the campsite. “They must leave… Now.”

Not wanting to risk becoming dinner for the demonic spider, the assailants were quick to flee, though it wasn’t for a while yet that Kale finally set Basil back down to the ground. Even then, Basil made sure to touch their foreheads together, a gentle reassurance that yes, he really was fine.

“Mine will not be left alone again.” Kale groused, while Basil set about tidying the campsite–taking great care to dust off his beloved blanket before packing it away. “Mine is like honey, attracting trouble flies.”

“I appreciate bein’ called sweet,” evident by the faint blush on his face, “but everyone runs into trouble when they travel, not just me.”

“Mm.” As soon as Basil was done, Kale settled in with his arms once again around him, content to have his elf safe within his embrace. “If Mine says so. I will stay close, protect Mine.”

Basil affectionately rubbed along one of Kale’s arms, hoping to soothe his worries. “I’d never say no to having you travel with me.”

Kale kissed the top of Basil’s head and held him closer, making a soft noise of contentment. “Then Mine will always have me.”

“And you will always have me, promise <3”