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the-cat-at-the-theatre-door · 1 year

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Coricopat and Mistoffelees with Coricopat POV, if you want to

There is something...unique about you - uneasy, raw - but somehow profound.

-Jaal Ama Darav (Mass Effect: Andromeda)

Coricopat believes, in however many years he’s been on the planet, however many lifetimes, that he has become a good judge of character.

...

Perhaps that is unfair; he believes that the telepathic abilities granted to him by the Everlasting Cat has made his ability to get a moderately complete read on cats within moments of meeting them of statistically higher quality than the average tom.

That was more accurate.

So one would think, then, that when it came to matters of companionship, of developing and budding connection, that he was otherwise at a higher advantage than others; however, the truth was (and perhaps always would be) that this was simply not the case.

Coricopat’s handle on the abilities granted to him were about as strong as they were wont to be, but applying them practically to situations where practicality was perhaps demanded wasn’t always something he was able to do. Heavy and rapt contemplation and introspection was a forte moreso of his sister; she was able to learn cats quicker than they could open their muzzles, which was fascinating, surely, but often - in her words - boring. Of course that wasn't to say he was incapable of such depth of thought and analyzation; he was more than well equipped. But Coricopat is only flesh and blood; his heart bled and his tongue often tripped over itself were he not careful. There had been more than one occasion where he'd received the judgement of "creepy" or "unsettling" before he'd even had the chance to make their acquaintanceship. And while that did not cause him the level of upset it perhaps should (or, at least, that's what he'd repeated to himself enough times until he started to believe it), it had prompted him to change his approach early on. Jellylorum had said that one could catch more flies with honey than with vinegar; Coricopat was not certain what comestibles had to do with pest control, but it seemed to agree with his hypothesis. And Jellylorum had rarely steered him wrong before.

As it was, Coricopat found simple pleasure in the process of keeping himself at enough of a distance so his connections with other cats came about organically; he did not particularly enjoy digging around for secrets, nor did he find any entertainment in prying for details. He figured, in due time, were he meant to know a cat in its entirety, that they would reveal themselves to him when they wished to do so. Once they did, then he could pass his slowly brewing judgement upon them and decide whether he liked or disliked their company. Until then, he was nothing but patient, and pushed little more than a placid smile plastered on his muzzle that hid the depth of his thought - that was perhaps why he had an easier time than Tantomile did. Learning others in their entirety in one sitting seemed dreadfully dull - especially since so many cats seemed, in his mind, very much the same. Easier to just turn it all off and see what happened.

That did not, however, completely remove his compulsion to...peek a little bit. Just under the surface. As said: he was only flesh and blood.

Mistoffelees appears suddenly and with little fanfare when the moon is at its fullest, bellied with the extent of its magic. He is much like a spider, long limbed and careful stepped, casting his skeletons beneath him as though on display for other cats to forebode. His features seem to shift as he does, never quite solidified on the flat plane of his face, ears curled up - an outline of horns in the trick of light. There is an air about him that seems to cast off a presentiment of warning, radiating the tantalizing energy of a brightly lit flame in a cloud of unsuspecting moths.

But Coricopat is not afraid of him. Peeking has its benefits, though no amount of telepathic ability would have truly prepared him for the tangle of thorns that was the Magical Mr. Mistoffelees.

Mistofeelees, he displays very quickly, is in fact magical. The emphasis was purposeful; Coricopat has never met a cat outside of his sister and Old Deuteronomy who was so drenched in magic. Being in his presence was like being before a roaring fire with nothing more than matchsticks; he feels practically drunk with it. Coricopat, comparatively, is no more than a kitten playing in his mother's belongings, his own practical magic bending beneath the sheer force of Mistoffelees' will with barely more than a nod of his head.

But when he catches Coricopat staring unabashedly at him from the shadows on the night they meet, he immediately notes how Mistoffelees' yellowed eyes betray his age - his exhaustion. That, he feels, creates far more of a lasting impression than anything else. There are cracks in the mask he wears, and burns that stain his paw pads black, and points of starlight poking through his skin. Foreboding, perhaps. But there is more bubbling just beneath the surface - pulsing through translucent veins that Coricopat can almost see if he focuses hard enough.

Coricopat is fascinated, there is no other word that better described it; if curiosity killed the cat, he would gladly be slain just to comprehend even half of the scrambled whole that was presented before him.

“You speak so strangely," Coricopat breathed to him one evening when he comes across the strange tom in the clearing, reciting his tongues while turning in circles. "Where have you been?”

Mistoffelees does not blink at his presence - not much surprises him. He flourishes his paws out in a grand gesture of showmanship and chuckles; it sounds just like the bells that Coricopat and Tantomile had once worn on their collars, many moons ago back when they had been one. Coricopat's chest tightens. “Here and back again.”

They are fast friends after that. Mistoffelees remains in his company, he says, because Coricopat is quiet and generally unobtrusive. Coricopat thinks, vainly, that it is perhaps his unquestioned understanding that is more attractive to the other tom than any such frivolous traits. He does not need to explain magic or rebirth or the inherent complexities of his existence - does not need to explain the depths or the beyond to him; there is a name that Mistoffelees whispers against the shell of his ear, tittering as though having shared an inside joke, that resonates deep within him. Coricopat was born with this understanding. He is more than equipped to deal with any such oddities that come along with it.

Yet, as much as he knows of what Mistoffelees is and what he could do, he has very little idea as to who he is.

At first glance, he reads little more than several loose stitches attempting to repair a wide, gaping hole; as though he were too big for his body, at one point, and had attempted to stuff himself back in its skin. To contain, perhaps. There is something of this cat that he holds behind the sharp of his teeth, the tilt of his head, that he doesn’t want others to see. There is an uneasiness in how he connects with other cats - much like Coricopat himself. As though he was...uncertain to the extent he was able to. As though he were afraid. He feels it when Mistoffelees gets close to him - when he notes the rabbit quick beat of his heart and stares searchingly into his eyes for explanation where there is none.

Though he is not quick to admit it, Mistoffelees is kind as he is tricky. He is kind in his tolerance and kind in his actions, even when the furrow of his brow would suggest otherwise. Coricopat has seen him tenderly breathe life back into ivy that had given up halfway up into the light, seen his expression pinch at the mention of sickness and plague, wholly undelighted by their destruction - unexpected reactions from one who claimed to have been born of shadows. Yet Coricopat feels the suggestions of their warmth echoing persistently in his head. It makes him feel...light. And weighted. At the same time.

There is one moment in particular that solidifies his fledgling assumptions, but it brings with it more trouble than Coricopat had thought it would.

Dead animals in the Junkyard are not uncommon things; there was a time for things to die just as much as there was a time for them to live. The two toms come across the downy pile of feathers at the tail end of their stroll, Coricopat having spent the evening attentively listening to Mistoffelees tell him where the constellations had once been, many moons before cats had even roamed the planet. He had barely noticed how much time had passed, occupied as he was.

It looks, Coricopat figures, to have been a fledgling, just shy of flying on its own, twisted at a miserable angle. He glances up; the nest is empty. Abandoned, then, by its kin when it had failed its biological mission. Shame. But not, then, a sneak poking its paws where it didn't belong as he'd first suspected; there was no dignity in a cat who hunted the easiest of prey, in Coricopat's opinion. Absolutely no sport in it. No, this was perhaps crueler, but more fair in nature's paws, at least.

"There is nothing fair in that," Mistoffelees says slunk up to his side, having come to a similar conclusion. Coricopat could feel the tendrils of him poking around in his mind; he cannot explain why, but he feels chagrined, lowering his ears as though he had just been scolded.

Mistoffelees tsks and breezes past him to examine the tiny body. He sniffs at it delicately, wrinkling his nose as though the smell were rancid. Coricopat wonders if he means to eat it, but says nothing.

Instead, he watches as Mistoffelees scoops the feathers from the earth and holds the bird in his paws, covering it near entirely. Coricopat feels his heart flutter as he observes the concentration set on his brow, the gentle curve of his claws in a cage of ribs the bird no longer had. Mistoffelees presses his paws close to his lips and starts his muttering, much of the same that he had heard in the clearing what seems now like a lifetime ago. Coricopat does not understand a single word, yet feels as though he understands everything. He almost asks what the other tom is doing, but quickly thinks better of it.

Then, suddenly, Mistoffelees opens his eyes and his paws, and, in a cacophony of feathers, the bird flies away. Whole and alive. Remarkable.

“No use in wasting life,” he murmurs, staring up towards the sun where the bird had disappeared. There is slightly less life in his face than there was a moment ago; as though he'd given some small shard of it away. There is a sudden urge in Coricopat to reach out to paw at the latticed shadows beneath his lashes; reveal their own sun underneath. "It is wasted enough.”

And it is immediately then that Coricopat reaches his final verdict.

Mistoffelees only ever appears as a half. Half of who he was, half of who he could be, but Coricopat contents himself with the half he is given. He is impressed and fascinated by the half he is given. He is, regrettably and inexplicably, very much in love with the half he is given.

Perhaps, someday, he would tell him as such.

And perhaps, someday, he would accept it.

#no beta we die - not like anything we just die #see i told you i never forget anything #Mr. Mistoffelees #Coricopat #coricoffelees #fanfiction #my fanfic #yeah i used a mass effect quote shut up #it does help though that i kinda associate jaal's voice with coricopat tbh #who better to relate to the beyond than another magical cat i wonder

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

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Reckoning

Breach Masterlist

Warnings: non/dubcon sex (series), general angst, violence, death, trauma.

This is dark!Winter Soldier/Bucky and explicit. 18+ only.

Note: Promise I’ll update the masterlist today but here we are, we’re finally at the end. We’re saying goodbye to Bucky, Luka, and reader in this one. We’ve come a far way. This was one of the first series I started on here. It started as a one shot about the asset being the scariest but you guys turned it into something more, so thank you. (also that’s three endings in less than a week :))

I won’t demand but do ask for feedback; likes, reblogs, replies, comments, asks, especially on this series, but again, enjoy in your own way! <3 Love you!

You played with the leather strap around your thigh as you sat in the rattly train car. The freight was much like the one that saw you away from your prison so long ago and the same man sat with you, huddled behind the metal barrels and wooden crates.

Your eyes rolled inside their lids as you thought of your son and his innocent voice as he sang his goodbye to you. Luka didn’t know you might not come back. It broke your heart to think you might not but you couldn’t let James face Hydra alone. He hadn’t let you.

Your hand settled over the gun strapped to your leg, another holstered against your chest beneath your jacket. There was a knife at your ankle and another at your belt. You were ready but you weren’t. How could you ever be ready for any of this?

“We’re almost there,” James whispered as he shifted beside you, “you alright?”

“Yeah, I…” you opened your eyes and tore your hand away from the gun, “ready.”

He nodded and got up to his feet, squatting behind the cargo as he pulled you up into a similar crouch. He checked your weapons then his own. He looked at you again and his lips thinned into an anxious line.

“Are you ready?” you asked.

“I have to be,” he answered and reached out to caress your cheek. You leaned into his hand then pulled him to you to peck his lips. He always seemed so meek when you touched him but he was softening.

“We are ready, James,” you assured him as much as yourself, “for Luka, we have to be.”

“You follow my lead. You can’t hesitate, understand?”

“I know,” you said, “I won’t. Those men, what they did to you… to us, they can never have our son. Never.”

“Never,” he echoed and turned.

He kept low as he crept around the boxes and you followed. He unhooked the door and let it slide open with a loud grind. He reached back until you grabbed onto his arm and he stared at the moving ground.

“Up ahead, the bushes. You first, I’ll be right after you,” he said.

“I remember,” you said, “I know where we are.”

He looked at you and you let out a breath as you readied for your jump, “I lived close to here… with my mother.”

“Oh,” he uttered and went quiet.

“Come on,” you stood but kept hunched as you prepared to roll on impact, “this is about ending the past, not reliving it.”

He counted down and you leapt as the bushes thickened. You landed and rolled through the branches and dingy leaves. You heard him thumped down not far from you as you gulped the air. He was up before you and came to stand over you and offered his hand to get you to your feet. Despite it all, you barely felt the crash to earth.

“So you know where we are,” he said, “so you know where we go first.”

You pushed your shoulders back and sniffed. You said nothing and marched past him. He ran to catch up to you and you walked into the thin skeletal line of trees. He fixed the long bag on his back that held his rifle as his boots crushed the twigs and stones.

“Are you sure you’re--”

“What do we need from there?” you asked, “we get it and we go on.”

“Anything that’s left,” he replied.

You kept on, the terrain turning uneven and soon you were in the rocky passes that brought back bloody memories. That night with Luka in your arms as you walked in the boots of a deadman. You shuddered and kept on. You unholstered your gun as you got closer and James caught your shoulder before you could outpace him.

“I take the lead,” he warned, “you gotta slow down. You can’t just run in there and--”

“If there are any left, I will put them all down,” you swore as your hand shook, “you can’t understand. I have anger in my veins like none I’ve known before.”

He stared at you a moment and thoughts drew his brows together. His lips parted before he found the words, “and what else do you feel?”

“Certain,” you said, “that this will be over soon.”

He lowered his chin and puffed, his breath forming a cloud in the chill air, “this post is abandoned. They couldn’t have stayed after what happened but you stay alert and you point your gun at anything that moves.”

You nodded and he patted your arm. He turned and took the path ahead of you, the trail thinning out the further you got into the low mountains. As you approached the metal doors, he slowed and aimed his gun at the facade of the hidden compound. Rocks clattered beneath his boots and you brought your own weapon up in nervous expectation.

The doors were slightly open and he kicked one open, quickly poking his muzzle inside. He waved you on and you continued down the concrete hallway. The place was cleaned out but the bloodstains remained, painted across the floors and walls.

He led you down the corridors and checked each room as you waited without, watching each end of the hallway as he cleared the place. The further you got, the more the forlorn nostalgia took over you. You felt off, you felt every drop of blood coursing through you and the hot fury mingled with helpless sadness. You felt entirely weak but so powerful

When you got to the heart of the structure, you stopped and watched as James hesitated in turn. He braced himself and went forward into the eerily familiar room. The computers were smashed and the rusty medical equipment littered the floor. The glass chamber they used to keep him in bore the destruction of his escape and he went to it and peered inside.

You flinched as he broke away the last of the glass with his metal fist and quickly retreated. He was shaking as he began to tear open the filing cabinets, the locks cracking at the force of his intrusion.

You walked along the wall and slowly faced the windowed room. The bed was still there and the sparse furniture of your former existence. Your mouth fell open as your eyes tingled with tears. Those early days when you waited, when you dreaded his visits, when you watched him through the glass and wished for death.

You winced as he came up beside you and gently touched your arm. You looked at him and flicked away the moisture in your eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said and his cheek twitched in pain, “I’m so sorry--”

“James, I know it wasn’t you,” you said, “I don’t cry because of you, it is because of them.” You took his hand and squeezed it, “did you find anything?”

“A few things but not what we’re looking for,” he said, “this place is abandoned. Whatever was left of… the experiment has moved.”

“And we know it will be where we’re headed?”

“Stark’s intelligence suggests it will be and… from what I can remember, it’s likely. Bigger than this place. They took me there in the early days.” He cleared his throat and looked around, “we’ll keep going until dawn. We will find somewhere close enough to rest and then…”

“And then we finish this,” you let go of his hand and moved past him, “James, I’m ready. I really am.”

✰

After some hours in a half-burned hut, you were wired. You ate rations under the open roof before you set out again. You hadn’t slept much as you and James took turns on watch. You stretched and went out into the wild and winding paths.

You climbed the steep incline of and followed the crumbling trail. As you got higher, it got colder but you hardly felt it as adrenaline surged in your approach. You ducked down as you walked along a crooked ledge and hopped off to hide behind a tall stone outshoot.

You looked down at the monstrous gates of the compound. You laid flat as James fixed the scope on his rifle and peered through the lens. He bit his lip as he adjusted his sights before he pulled his eye away.

“I can get the guards but we have to be quick after.” He nodded behind you, “down there. Quick. Gun out and ready. I’ll be right behind you.”

“We can do this, James.”

He lined up his gun again and inhaled. He took his first shot, the noise muffled by the long silencer. Several others followed before he stood quickly and hung the gun from his shoulder. He pulled you up and you ran to the decline that led between the sharp walls of the mountain.

He was a few steps back as you made you way down the treacherous natural steps and slid down the last few. You slipped to your knees as voices sounded from the gates and James fired again.

You got up as he latched onto your elbow and continued forward. He reached to his belt and unhooked a grenade, throwing it at the gates as you ran behind him. You hung back as the metal gates shook with the blast and he directed you forward with two fingers.

As you reached the rent in the doors, he stopped and took two more shots. Men fell into the cold dirt and you raised your gun to take your first. You remembered all those hours of training though you never truly knew how useful they would be. It was always a precaution, always a what if, now it was your life or death.

You pulled the trigger and another man crumpled. You kept close to James and picked off the last few men outside the installation. A sudden siren began to whine as you neared the open doors and you could guess that one of the guards had fled inside to warn all those within.

James directed you inside and as you made your way down the corridor, you stopped at the end and listened. You couldn’t think of the hammering of your heart or the thought of the death at you fingertips. You could only think; left or right.

“We need to separate,” you said.

“No, you can’t--”

“This place is too big, I’ll slow you down and you’ll slow me,” you insisted, “I’ll go right.”

“No, we have to--”

“You showed me, James. I know what to do. I know what we need. We have our rendezvous. We know what happens if we do not get there.”

He shook his head and sighed. You heard footsteps.

“We have to go,” you said and before he could argue further, you raised your gun and ran around the corner.

The first man hit the wall after the bullet entered his chest, the second fell over him with your next shot, and the third slumped against the next corner. You heard James’ boots and his own shots as they flew in the other direction. You pressed on and reloaded before you took the next turn.

Your pulse filled your ears and kept you going. Everything felt so clear, so visible, so loud. You saw and heard it all. It was almost as if you knew what would happen before it did. You’d never felt this level of clarity.

You went deeper into the maze, bodies littered in your stead as others fled, those in white jackets, those like the men who’d tortured you. You followed them, they would lead you to what you needed.

A man surprised you as he lunged from a doorway. He slammed you into the wall and your gun fired into the ceiling. You kicked him and he grunted and you grabbed his arm as his hand stretched over your throat. Without pause, without thought, you twisted his arm and he screamed in agony as both his wrist and elbow snapped.

You shoved him away and finished the work with a bullet. You stared at his arm as the shock sunk in. How could you have done all that? It hadn’t felt like anything at all, like bending a toothpick.

You didn’t have time to linger as another appeared and you fired again. Warm blood spattered your front as your legs kept pushing through. You came to a large room but bullets preceded you.

You peeked inside, James was already there. A flurry of men were engaged with him, those in camouflage and those in white. You downed two men before your gun was kicked from your hands. You grunted and ducked under a punch you didn’t even see was coming, you just knew. You reached to your belt and freed the long hunting knife.

The blade tore through the man's flesh like water. The sickly glide of the metal sickened you and the flood of warmth down our arm churned your stomach. You couldn’t stop, even as your fear rose, even as you realised the destruction you wrought.

Another man, this one broken by a kick that sent him into the wall. Your strength startled even you. You heard James and looked around. He was on his back, barely kicking away his attackers as he aimed desperately with his pistol.

You broke through the wall of man, shoving them to the side so that they flew back into the machinery all around. You threw your knife at a man as he aimed at James and you wrenched back another and twisted his neck until it cracked. The third you broke over your knee.

You rolled away from them and freed the gun at your chest; one, two, three, four. They all fell dead at the pull of your trigger. James stared at you and sat up. He raised his gun as your own was too slow and you felt an arm around your neck, the pointed tip against your chin.

“Don’t,” the man warned as his white sleeve scratched at your throat, “she dies.”

James kept his aim steady as he got to his feet. The man choked you and pulled you a step back.

“Drop the gun,” he ordered in Russian. You gulped and tossed it down as the metal cut into your flesh just a little, “ah, always thought you would be back. Always expected it.”

“Let her go,” James said, “you can’t--”

“That is the problem, you see? The human emotion dampens the serum. We don’t need the mind, only the body--”

You were quick. You slid your hand up under the knife and fell to your knees, taking the man with you as the blade dug into your fingers. The shot knocked him off of you entirely and the knife fell free, your blood pouring down your hand. You sat back on your heels and reached for your gun with your uninjured hand.

“We get the files and get out,” James helped you up, “more will be coming.”

He drew you past the corpses and began to search the desk and cabinets. He took a black folder and you helped break open several of the computers to remove their hard drives. He packed it all into the compact pack on your back and zipped it up.

He shot past your head as more soldiers appeared. He nudged you forward and yelled, “come on.”

You raced away from the east wing and barrelled down the winding corridors, following the trail of bodies left by your entrance. You added several more to the floor until you reached the front door. Gunfire followed your departure, met only in defensive retreat.

You carried on past the gate and into the rocky impasse. A sudden blast shook the ground and James caught your arm and urged you on. You didn’t look back as the shots faded into thundering booms and bangs.

You kept on until you couldn’t hear the carnage, until it was silent but for the whistling of the mountain air, until the adrenaline was gone and your hand seared with pain, the rest of the unnoticed aches rising to the surface.

James stopped you and pulled you into a dark cave. He fished out his flashlight and little up the stony walls as he led you further inside. He pushed his head back and took a breath and he let the flashlight rest on its side and cast a plume over the dark space.

“We have to bandage your hand before we press on,” he said, “we get to the bottom at nightfall and keep going.”

“What was that?” you asked as he pulled out his aid kit from his pocket.

“My orders were to burn that place to the ground,” he said, “lucky the blast didn’t take the whole mountain down.”

He took your hand and wiped your fingers clean before he wrapped them in gauze. You were silent throughout as your heart slowed and you had a moment to think.

“James, what--” you blinked and looked down as he moved around you to unzip your bag, “I’m not mad. What was that?”

“No, you’re not,” he said as he pulled the folder out of the bag and went back around you, “it’s why we need to burn these.”

“What is it?” you asked.

He handed it over silently and retrieved his flashlight. He held it over the folder as you opened it. Your picture was at the front of the pile of papers, several signed by Ilyich, detailing the progression of your pregnancy. There were several explaining how the growth of the enhanced fetus affected the carrier. How the serum seemed to have molded with the DNA of the subject.

You looked up at James and frowned. It couldn’t be.

“You never noticed before and I never wanted to make you,” he admitted, “I thought you would hate to be like me and that would be just another thing I did to you.”

“James…”

“I know, it was the soldier but it still feels like me,” he took the folder from you and closed it. “So I will keep you from one misery in this life. We destroy this now and when we reach the rendezvous, I delete any of that from those hard drives.”

“What do you--”

“We’re going back to Luka,” he said, “they can’t know because they will want to know more. They will want to try it again. Doesn’t matter if it’s Hydra or Stark.”

You nodded and he dug out his lighter. He lit the first page and watched it wilt into ash. You sat on a flat rock and rubbed your gloved hands together. You watched him burn the file a sheet at a time.

“I was reading about Canada. There was a program on the TV Luka was watching,” you said as added the last page and he stood, “what do you think? A nice little house for us. I hear it snows there. I love the snow.”

He clapped off his hands and reached for you. He drew you up and zipped your jacket up to your chin. He framed your face and smiled down at you in the glow of the flashlight hooked on his hip, “If you’ll be there, it sounds wonderful.”

✰✰✰

END

Thank you again for all your patience and support with this series. I’m sad but happy to be done. Let’s all imagine Luka getting to sled with Bucky up in the Great North and be at peace.

#bucky barnes #winter soldier #breach #bucky barnes x reader #winter soldier x reader #dark!winter soldier #dark winter soldier #fic #series #dark fic #dark!fic #mcu #marvel #captain america #steve rogers #howard stark #au

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bump1nthen1ght · 3 years

Text

Year of the Ox (Minotaur x Reader)

Pairings: Gender Neutral!Reader/M!Minotaur

Genre: Fantasy, Friends to Lovers, First times

Warnings: Explicit content (18+ only) ahead

Word Count: 3243 words

Summary: On the night of the annual new year's festival, you decide to treat your Minotaur neighbor to some new experiences.

“____, have you finished rolling those croissants yet?” The exasperated sound of your mother’s voice bounces off the small kitchen walls, shocking you out of your daydreaming and jerking your body into motion. On the counter besides you lies 40-something flat triangles of pastry, only one half-rolled into a semi-decent croissant shape.

“Uh, almost!” You yell towards the living room, scrambling to the cutting board.

“Those croissants have to be ready by tonight, darling! We can’t be the only family not bringing something to the festival!”

“I’m on it right now, ma!” You shout, pushing up your sleeves as you begin to roll.

It’s not as if the task is difficult, only mindless, the kind of busy-work that forces your mind and eyes to wander. Wander to the open window above the sink, right into the neighboring field of crops. Right where your next-door neighbor and friend, Gavin, is tilling the field.

Frankly, this shouldn’t be an issue. A couple of years ago, when you were saddled with this exact task on this exact day, you’d send Gavin a wave and be on your merry way. Maybe the two of you would shout a couple sentences to each other, making small talk about tonight, but that was it.

But now, your brain willingly deep fries itself with every glance, every peak, out onto his family’s property.

Although the winter has brought some chill, farming is still backbreaking work, one that leaves Gavin slicked with sweat and giving the occasional grunt as he digs in a shovel or hoe. His top button is undone, revealing a toned, chestnut fur-covered chest. And those pants, my god those pants, seemed to hug every perfect curve of his thick legs and butt, his long tail swaying back and forth as he worked. Every noise he makes sends a shiver down your spine.

To say Gavin underwent a “growth spurt” in the past year would be an understatement by a landslide. At only 23, he now stood over two heads above you, with a giant set of horns and a barrel-like chest. His thighs easily doubled the size of yours and his arms looked like they could rip a lumber log right in half.

Your hands continue to roll nothing but air as you find yourself lost in the contours of his muscular back, which push and pull under his shirt, giving a good picture of what lies behind the fabric. He pauses, straightening his posture and letting out a long sigh as he stretches his back, wiping a bit of sweat off his brow. You think there might be drool coming out of your mouth, a pool of saliva you nearly choke on when he whips around, looking right at you.

As if nothing has changed, Gavin sends you a big smile, waving enthusiastically. You stick up a flour-covered hand and try to look composed.

Gavin perks up, making a rolling motion with his hands and mouthing “Croissants?”

You nod, giving him a thumbs up.

He cheers silently, clenching his fist like you just told him he won the lottery. Your family makes these croissants every year, but every year Gavin acts like it’s the greatest surprise of the season. It’s very sweet, like everything else about him.

Gavin gives you another smile and goes back to working, leaving you to pine all by yourself. You force yourself to focus on the task at hand, but even when he finishes and heads back inside, Gavin still works inside your brain.

-----------

Despite the small size of your town, the New Year’s fireworks never fail to be bigger and better than ever. It’s the one night of the year every dad is allowed to go hog wild, setting off every new, home-made firework-abomination they’ve cooked up during the holidays. But as the fireworks fire off, the blasts resonating through the shaky barn walls and their glow flashing in between the wooden boards, all you can focus is on Gavin. Gavin whose hand is on the small of your back, whose muzzle is frantically planting kisses down your neck, and whose chest you’re gripping onto for dear life as your bodies grind against each other. His hot breath sends shivers down your spine as you press your hips even closer into his, electricity weakening your news as a tell-tale bulge presses against your crotch.

With your mind hazy, you barely remember how you got here. You weren’t quite crotchety enough for your parents and a little too boring for your younger siblings, so you and Gavin often drifted away and hung out together on the New Year’s Festival. The night had been going normal, taking swigs of a spiked apple cider and wandering around the fairgrounds, although you were dressed a little nicer than usual, when Gavin lamented about having no one to kiss at midnight. A little bit of alcohol, a flirty remark from you, and things seemed to spiral from there. In no time at all the two of you had run over to his family’s barn, minds locked in a singular haze of passion.

But the why and the how mattered very little to you at the moment, especially with Gavin’s left palm slowly sneaking it’s way down to your butt, hovering over your backside hesitantly. You lean into Gavin for another kiss and grab his wrist, slapping it down on your butt and urging him to squeeze.

Even through your jeans, Gavin’s hands are rough. His fingertips just barely touch your thigh as he squeezes your cheek once more, his palm large enough to easily grab most of your ass. Gavin continues to knead until his knees hit the back of a huge hay bale, causing him to throw one of his hands back to steady himself.

It’s only when sitting that you and Gavin are face-to-face, his large thighs stretching out his work pants as you slot yourself in between and run your hands up the denim. But Gavin wastes no time in picking you up by the back of your legs and plopping you onto his lap. You rush to find his lips again, meeting Gavin halfway as you sloppily paw at his shirt, wrapping your arms around his thick neck, desperate for the feeling of his fur and muscle under your fingers.

Mind still foggy, you work up the resolve to pull away and begin tugging at the bottom of your dress shirt, untucking it from your pants and pulling it up, right until-

“Oh, shit, ____, uhm….”

You pause, peaking your head out of your shirt collar, arms still raised. Gavin looks at you, rays of moonlight catching off his horns as he breathes heavily, trying to find the words. His eyes dart from your face, your body, to somewhere in the distance as he fidgets. You slowly pull your shirt down, pressing a hand against his cheek. “Is everything alright? We can stop if you-”

“No! No, I don’t want to stop. Definitely not. I mean, uh, if you want to stop we can, I just-”

You thumb brushes over Gavin’s cheekbones, reaching up your forefinger to sweep away the stray hairs that had fallen over his eyes. This time of year his coat is extra thick, Gavin’s hair a curly mess of locks that fall just past his snout. You could never decide which look you prefer; When he pulls his hair up into a work-bun, or when he lets it messily hang over his shoulders. But in this moment, all you can focus on are Gavin’s beautiful brown eyes, even as he avoids your gaze.

“I’ve never done this before.”

Gavin clenches his eyes shut, wincing for an oncoming reaction.

“...Oh.” You mutter, blinking quickly as you mull over this revelation. Gavin looks at you from under his eyebrows, a strong blush traveling up his neck and onto his cheeks. “Not anything? With anyone?” Gavin shakes his head. His hands play with a stray piece of hay, betraying his anxiety.

You’re shocked, Gavin is one of the most handsome bachelors in town, one you’ve been pining after for months now, but try not to let it show. While you yourself aren’t necessarily a connoisseur of sex, you’ve still had your fair share of encounters, even in your small hometown.

You quickly realize you’ve left Gavin alone with his thoughts for a solid 30 seconds, right after he told you something he is clearly nervous about. Shaking yourself out of your stupor, you straighten your posture and stand up. Gavin’s eyes follow you, small hints of fear and anxiety within them. You lean down and give him a long kiss on the lips, before pulling away and whispering in his ear.

“I want to make you feel good. Would that be okay?”

Gavin gulps, nodding against you, fingers digging into your blouse as you press another kiss behind his ear. Then on his jaw, and slowly move down his neck, leaving a trail of affection until you hit his collarbone.

You pull away and Gavin moves to sit up, but you press a solid hand on his chest and press him back down, sliding down his thighs and onto your knees. Gavin gulps as your hand travels down his abdomen, fingers dancing on his happy trail before lightly tracing over his growing hard-on. Once you’ve reached his crotch, you take your time squeezing and admiring Gavins muscular quads, not bothering to hide how aroused he’s made you. You want him to know how hot he is, how desperately you want to ravish him, have him ravish you.

Your eyes focus on his bulge, licking your lips as you slowly tip-toe your fingers to his zipper.

“If you need to stop, let me know okay? Seriously, I want you to feel comfortable.”

Gavin shakily nods, letting out a surprised groan as you palm his cock through the denim. He throws his head back as you slowly undo the zipper with one hand, the other continuing to tease and rub his dick as his boxer briefs are revealed. You slowly lean down and press a kiss to his groin, forcing another low moan out of him. Behind him, you hear the flicks of his tail against the hail bale as you give his dick another kiss. With slow movements, you finally pull on his underwear down to the top of his thighs, revealing his cock.

You had expected Gavin to be….well-endowed. But my god, nothing could compare to seeing it in person. It’s long, thick, the tip of it hitting just underneath his belly button as it presses up and out of his boxers. His balls are also large, carrying a familiar sweaty musk from long days of farmwork. Saliva begins pooling in your mouth.

Apparently you got lost in your own thoughts, staring at his cock and pondering in what way it could fit in any part of you, as Gavin sucks in a deep breath and asks,

“Is it-Are you good?” His whispers, voice trembling with pent-up pleasure. You give a wordless nod, snapping yourself out of your own self-consciousness and lock eyes with Gavin. He may have the dick of a sex-god, but this was still his first time. You send him a reassuring smile.

“Y-yeah, I’m good. Your cock is really nice.” Gavin’s whole face flushes an even darker shade, his ears twitching and his tail flicking with embarrassment.

“R-really? U-uhm, thanks. I guess I never-hngh!” Gavin’s front lurches, his throat tripping on coherent sentences as you press a kiss to the base of his cock, hand’s running up to his inner thighs. You pull back, but only an inch.

“Was that okay?”

“Y-yes, yes, yeah that was-uhng-that was good.” Gavin stammers, throwing a hand through his long hair. It brings a small smile to your face. “C-could you do it again?”

You nod once more, pressing a longer, slower kiss to Gavin’s cock. A hot stream of air pushes out of his nose and he stutters a low ‘fuck’ as you slowly begin to lick up the underside of his dick. One of your hands moves from massaging his legs to tentatively fondle his balls. In your periphery you can see his big hands clench around the hay, another deep moan coming from his chest. Your fingertips barely touch around the circumference, a bolt of heat shooting down your abdomen as you feel the size of him in your hand. A myriad of dirty images, fantasies and positions fly through your mind, but you steady yourself and focus on the task at hand.

Gavin’s breath steadily increases as you continue to jerk him off, lightly suck at his head and play with his balls. He keens and whines when you give him a particularly hard squeeze or suck, leaning his weight back on one elbow and eyeing you in between his messy hair.

“Shit, s-shit, that feels so good. Right there, please.” Gavin begs, hands struggling to find purchase on the bale below him as you continue to tease.

You finally take the leap, lifting yourself up on your knees, and take about 2 inches of him into your mouth. Your decision is immediately rewarded with Gavin’s loud, shocked moan, catching in his throat as his legs tense up. He mutters a curse under his breath and you start bobbing up and down, slowly working your way down the many inches of his long dick. Your hand movements grow sloppy as you focus more and more on breathing through your nose and sucking in your cheeks, but Gavin doesn’t seem to mind. His adorable whimpers have raised in pitch, rowdier moans breaking in between as your tongue swirls around his shaft. You can feel the way he struggles to think of what to do with his hands, mind warped by new sensations, so you grab one of his palms and place it on the back of your neck. Gavin instinctively tangles his fingers through your hair, right before lightening his grip and avoiding pushing you to choke on his cock. You struggle down another half-inch anyway, forcing his lower-body to jolt and his hands to tighten.

For a virgin, he has rather impressive stamina, the back of your throat beginning to tire after several minutes of the intense blowjob. But Gavin’s moans and tiny pleas for “More, more, more” are music to your ears, time passing like nothing.

In your hand, you feel his balls tighten, his thighs tensing around you as his tail flickers uncontrollably.

“Oh fuck, oh shit. ____, I’m close, I’m so close.” Gavin keenes, his hips stuttering up and into your mouth as you pick up your pace. Gavin continues to stutter and whine, peppering you with compliments as his legs quiver with an impending orgasm. But at the last second, you detach with a sloppy pop, giving a light kiss to his pre-cum soaked head. Gavin’s eyes jolt open, losing his grip on your scalp as his chest heaves up and down.

“W-what-”

“You want to come down my throat, big boy?” You murmur, squeezing the base of his cock in a vice grip. Gavin yelps, hips humping into yours. “You want me to swallow a mouthful? Feel my throat around your cock as you cum?” You suck on one of his balls and Gavin’s moan is downright musical. Gavin frantically shakes his head up and down. “Uh-uh, sweetie. I want to hear you.”

You don’t know where this wave of confidence is coming from, perhaps you yourself are discovering something new tonight as well. But as Gavin looks at you, cheeks dark with embarrassment and eyes desperate for you and only you, it feels as if a spark has set off a stick of dynamite in your belly. Gavin pushes back his hair, sucking in another long breath, right before he says.

“P-please, I want to come in your mouth. ____, I need your mouth on my cock, please.”

Your smirk, immediately latching back onto his cock and quickly deepthroating him. Gavin’s hand moves on its own and presses you down even farther, tears peaking at the edge of your eyes as he presses against your gag reflex. Your hand continues it’s ministrations with his balls as you suck up and down. Gavin lets his moans out, no longer bothering to suppress them in his chest as his lower body tenses once more.

“Sh-shit! S-shit, I’m coming, I’m coming, ____ I’m comi-ing!”

Like a tidal wave, Gavin orgasms, his first shot nearly causing you to choke as it hits the back of your throat.

Wow, I didn’t even think it was possible to cum this much.

You lock your lips around his dick as he continues to climax, filling up your mouth with his seed as he throws his body back onto the hay bale. When you finally pull off, a long stream of cum leaks down the side of your mouth, forcing you to swallow as soon as you can. With a silent and satisfactory “Aaah~”, you wipe at your chin.

Gavin lays, exhausted, on the bale. His tail weakly sways back and forth under him, his sweaty fur sticking out from his few top undone buttons. You let yourself rest back on your thighs, a little sweaty yourself, admiring your handiwork.

“That feel good?”

Gavin nods, a mindless smile on his face as he catches his breath. You chuckle at his blissed expression, giving him a solid pat on the calf.

Using his thick thighs as leverage, you push yourself up, leaning over his large form and giving him a small peck on the cheek. Gavin’s smile grows even wider and he gives you a kiss of your own, his hand lazily patting your lower back.

“Well,” You rub his chest fur, “I’m happy I could give you your first blowjob, big guy.”

You move to push yourself away, but Gavin holds you still, his one hand easily keeping you in place as he presses himself back up and onto his elbows. He pecks another kiss on your cheek.

“I’m happy too. You were really, really amazing.”

“I try my best.” Gavin chuckles, thumb still lackadaisical brushing up and down your back. “We should probably-”

“Do you-”

The two of you pause, each trying to let the other one speak their piece.You both laugh, but then you relent and let Gavin go first. His face fills with blush once more, adjusting himself and sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck as he tries to find the right way to speak.

“It’s just….that was a pretty fantastic first blowjob. And handjob, technically. Like, really great.” Gavin pauses, eyes darting from you to the ground. “I appreciate it so, so much. I was thinking that you could, uhm, maybe teach me how to-” The words stumble out of Gavin’s mouth, his hand slightly fidgeting with the back of your shirt, “Maybe you could teach me how to make you feel good? B-but only if you want to.”

You pause, slightly shocked, until you feel that tightening heat firing up in your belly, a slight tremor of excitement shaking down your limbs. You nod, just a tiny bit breathless.

“Y-yes, I would love that, Gavin.”

With a smirk, Gavin sweeps you up, wrapping your legs around his waist as he holds onto your thighs, laying a kiss on your pulse point.

What a way to spend the new year.

#reader insert #my writing #monster x reader #minotaur #minotaur x reader #gender neutral reader #monster romance #exophilia

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naralanis · 3 years

Text

little bumps in the road (pt. 10)

Previously on LBitR...

“Calm down,” Lena whispers, even though she’s having trouble doing exactly that at the sight of the empty bench where she had left Kara waiting not even an hour ago.

“Don’t tell me to calm down,” Alex hisses; the muzzle of her gun dis rather painfully on her back, and Lena would really like to step away from it, but the agent has her arm locked in a vice grip. “Where the hell is she, Lena? She was here when I followed you in!”

“Walk with me,” Lena says, quickly scanning the area--they’re standing in a stiff, unnatural way, and the last thing she wants is to draw any attention, especially when they’re both wearing stolen LuthorCorp lab coats right outside the building. She takes one tentative step away, hooking her arm around Alex’s as if they were just friends walking down the street arm-in-arm.

Thankfully, Alex understands Lena’s not-so-subtle hint faster than Kara ever could; her image-induced expression relaxes into a smile that barely looks forced, and her grip of Lena’s arm, though still tight and borderline painful, shifts so that it appears more casual.

“Is there any way you could have been followed?” Lena asks, subtly looking around them, noting that Alex is doing the same.

“That’s always a possibility,” Alex admits, sounding both panicked and defeated at once. “But I was very careful.”

“OK, let’s not panic yet,” Lena tells both Alex and herself. “Kara and I made plans to rendezvous back at the motel if I was gone too long or if anything happened.”

Alex gives her a look--it’s weird to have a patented Alex-Danvers-look-of-disapproval coming from a stranger’s face. “You weren’t gone for long, though.” She doesn’t voice the alternative.

Unthinkably, Lena reaches out and gently pats the hand on her arm. She means for it to be reassuring--it’s the kind of thing she would do for Kara--the kind of thing she has been doing for Kara over the last couple of weeks, but Alex looks just as puzzled by the action as Lena is.

She removes her hand and clears her throat. “Still, our best bet is the motel. Did you drive here?”

Alex nods. “Great,” Lena continues, mind already working a mile a minute. “Kara probably took the bus back--we didn’t want the car to be seen downtown,” she explains, and Alex lets out an undignified snort.

“That’s remarkably sensible of you,” she quips sarcastically. Lena ignores her.

“What I’m saying is, if you drove here and we take your vehicle, we may beat Kara to the motel, or get there shortly after her. It’s one hour from LuthorCorp to the motel by bus--she’ll switch routes at least twice on the way.”

Alex looks impressed despite herself. “And if she doesn’t show, what then, genius?” she challenges, lips pursed.

Lena breathes out steadily, calmly. “She will,” she says with as much conviction as she can possibly muster in her tone, because the alternative is simply unthinkable.

Alex smacks her lips, slowing her walk as she considers their limited options. “Fine,” she finally concedes, dragging Lena down an alleyway.

They dispose of their lab coats in a trashcan in that same alley, and Alex practically hauls Lena towards a secluded spot behind down another alley a few blocks away.

“You better hold on,” she says, removing a few strategically placed cardboard boxes to reveal a sleek black motorcycle, discreetly parked behind a dumpster. “I did not bring an extra helmet.”

Lena does hold on, mainly because Alex weaves and cuts through traffic like an absolute manic as she follows the directions Lena has to practically shout in her ear as they go. She knows Alex is desperate to find Kara and make sure she’s OK, but Lena also wishes she would ease off the gas a little; she’s got enough to be afraid of at the moment.

She feels like her heart is about to burst out of her chest when they finally reach the hotel; they’re nowhere close to the room she and Kara had checked into, but she’s already fumbling in her purse for her key card. with Alex hot on her heels.

They stumble into the room together, and Lena has to stop, has to take a second to try to stop the cold dread she immediately feels at finding it empty, exactly as they had left it this morning.

Alex begins pacing like a caged tiger immediately. “She’s not here,” she gasps, tapping at the image inducer at her temple, and then it’s Alex, really Alex, looking worried and panicked and slightly disheveled in this empty room, and now Lena is belatedly realizing it’s up to her, Supergirl’s would-be killer, to try and comfort the hero’s sister while they wait.

As if she is not on the verge of a panic attack herself.

“We knew she wouldn’t be,” she tries to reason, keeping her voice as even as she can, though she can’t stop tugging at her fingers out of sheer nervousness.

She’s doing the math in her head, thinking of the bus schedules, of which one Kara probably had gotten on and when; she’s mapping out the routes in her mind, considering the usual trip times, factoring in the average Metropolis traffic at two in the afternoon on a Thursday.

Alex takes one look at Lena’s fidgeting hands and immediately sighs, sinking into one of the beds. “Take that stupid wig off,” she barks. “Blonde you is freaking me out.”

That lets out a little chuckle, but it feels like some kind of hysteria. She takes a seat on the opposite bed, and Alex regards her quizzically.

“Kara said something similar yesterday,” she explains, carefully removing the wig and setting it on the nightstand. “That’s too bad; I really thought I was pulling it off.”

The attempt at humour falls completely flat--Lena can see it plainly in Alex’s wooden expression. “You definitely weren’t,” she deadpans. Her knee is bouncing up and down, up and down, up and down, boot tapping dully on the carpet.

It’s driving Lena insane.

“Kara will be here soon,” Lena says, still tugging at her fingers. Alex doesn’t look convinced.

“And if she doesn’t?”

Lena has no answers to that, refuses to consider the possibility.

“She will,” she says again, in an almost silent whisper, for her own comfort. “She will, she will, she will.”

Alex says nothing, only continues with her bouncing knee, keeps her gaze locked onto Lena. And Lena, Lena tries not to squirm under the agent’s scrutiny; she fidgets, she stares at the blinking red numbers of the alarm clock, steals glances at the door--she looks at anything and anywhere to avoid Alex’s gaze.

When Alex does speak again, her voice is low, but it still startles Lena enough for her to jump a little in surprise.

“What do you remember about that day, Lena?”

When Lena turns to face her, Alex’s eyes are as hard as stone. Her scowl has returned, and the way her brows are furrowed is far more telling than the cold tone of her voice. It says, plain and simple, I don’t trust you.

It takes Lena a long time to come up with an answer Alex may find even remotely satisfactory--she knows that ‘I don’t know’ that is on the tip of her tongue simply won’t cut it, even if it is the honest answer. Her memories, the few that she does have from that day, are murky and sparse, and don’t feel altogether hers.

She struggles to recall any details, searches the blurred images interred somewhere in her subconscious and tries to make sense of the tangled mess she has been left with. “Flashes,” she tries, settling for as much truth as she can muster at the moment. She swallows. “I remember... I remember Kara falling--I remember seeing her from the top floor at LuthorCorp.”

Alex raises a brow like she doesn’t fully believe her. “The top floor?” she asks, voice oddly neutral. “Not from the basement labs? You didn’t watch it from the screens?”

Lena furrows her brows, tries to poke at whatever remnants of memory she has latched on to. “No, I don’t...” she closes her eyes, sees Kara falling, riddled with green, her body limp falling past her windows as fast as a bullet. “I-I don’t think so, I was... I think I was at the top floor.”

“You were apprehended in the basement, Lena,” Alex says brusquely.

“N-no, that can’t be right,” Lena chokes out, but all she sees behind her lids is Kara’s body falling, and her mind provides the most horrifying sound effect as it hits the pavement. “That can’t be, I watched her fall, I w-watched from my window.”

Alex shakes her head. “What do you remember before the rockets?”

Lena rattles her brain with difficulty; her lungs can’t quite return to their normal rhythm with the images her mind is supplying. “Before?” she gasps, keeping her eyes shut so she doesn’t have to see, doesn’t have to wither under Alex’s unyielding disappointment and doubt.

“M-myriad, the, um, the Fortress, ah... I was there with K-kara, and--”

She’s close to hyperventilating; she can’t get the image of Kara’s body--her bloody, broken body falling, falling--out of her mind.

“The Fortress? Lena that was two weeks befo--Lena? Lena, are you OK?”

Lena can’t respond--she can’t speak, she can’t even breathe. her brain is giving her the most terrifying flashes of memories, memories that don’t feel like her own, and she’s scrambling to fill that gaps at the same time as the images come, unbidden, to her mind. Her mental boxes are teetering, swaying in their little organized, compartmentalized stacks, unbalanced, and she can’t, she can’t breathe.

“Shit,” she vaguely hears Alex say, marginally registers the agent rushing to her side, but then someone is touching her and there is another flash--it is white hot and painful in her brain, like an electric shock, and she feels someone grabbing at her shoulders, pushing her down hard, pulling, and dragging, and, and--

Lena yelps and recoils, bats away at the hands reaching for her shoulders in uncontrollable, all-consuming panic.

“HEY!”

It’s another voice, worried, coming from someone bursting through the door with force, nearly slamming it off its hinges. Lena’s only somewhat aware of Alex yelling--she sounds happy, surprised, worried, and a whole gamut of other things Lena cannot focus on, because suddenly, there’s just warmth all around her.

She’s being held, tight, tight, tight, but it isn’t restrictive--it’s the opposite, warm and comforting and it envelops her almost entirely, like a heavy blanket, muting the sounds of her own frantic heartbeat.

“Sh, Lena, it’s just me. You’re OK. I’m here, I’m here.”

It’s Kara’s voice--low in a soothing murmur, rumbling in her chest as she whispers right at Lena’s ear, and the vibrations are soft, reassuring, and tranquil, almost enough to ease Lena’s trembling.

She’s wrapped tight in Kara’s arms as her awareness returns, slowly and fuzzy. Kara’s hand rubs circles on her back, and Lena instinctively tucks her head under Kara’s chin, seeking more of her warmth. Kara is taking deep, deliberate breaths, and Lena finds herself subconsciously trying to match them at every inhale and exhale, using the pressure of the rise and fall of Kara’s chest against hers as guidance.

When the flashes cease, she dares open her eyes again. Over Kara’s shoulder, her gaze locks with Alex, who’s awkwardly standing to the side, watching them closely.

“OK,” the agent says, gaping a little. “What the fuck?”

Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9

<< Previous || Next >>

#oh lookie I managed to update!#nara's word vomit #supercorp #supergirl #lena luthor #kara danvers #LBitR #fic writing #femslash #LISTEN #I promise things will be moving along #shortly #in the meantime #BUCKLE UP KIDS #my brain better come up with more plot pronto #because this is getting uuuh #unmanageable #Nara cannot write short things #let's try to cap it at 20 parts shall we

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tallstars-rewrite · 3 years

Text

Chapter 37

chapter list / previous / next

The park was bigger than Talltail thought it would be. It didn’t quite reach the woods that touched ShadowClan and ThunderClan’s territories, but there were still plenty of trees for cats to hide in. They spent the better part of the day looking and then the next day wandering a bit more, pausing to hunt squirrels when they could. Talltail taught Jake everything he knew about stalking, though they both had a bit of clumsy learning to do as Talltail was out of his element with forest prey like this that had a tendency to escape up trees. They worked out a sort of routine where Jake would creep up and scare a squirrel towards Talltail who would chase it down.

They even came across a decent sized still body of water that Talltail assumed must have been the “duck pond”, complete with several mallard ducks floating lazily across the surface. But still, no trace of familiar scents. Yet despite this, Talltail found to his surprise when they were lounging in the sun that he felt much lighter than he had in moons. Enough that even when he remembered that he’d specifically told Jake they would part ways after arriving at the park, he didn’t do anything to remind his companion of that. Jake did not bring it up either, so they continued on together. Talltail struggled finding the motivation to send the friendly tom back to his housefolk, as he knew he should. Yet, a small part of him began to think...if they couldn’t find any trace of Sparrow here, then there wasn’t any other lead to go on. Suppose he never could find him at all. Maybe, if there was no other choice, he could just stay here with Jake?

But that quiet thought was short-lived. Lounging in the sunset as they took a break, Talltail closed his eyes in a patch of golden fading light. When the sun sank lower, the coolness of the earth seeped into his fur and his mind dropped him into the dark, suddenly feeling as if he were falling. Then once again he was pinned flat under a slab of earth. Something was standing above him. His head was low to the ground, he saw only old, deteriorated paws. His monster was back. He was too afraid to look up into its face. Talltail closed his eyes and waited to feel a hare's blunt edged teeth.

His eyes flew open and he kicked out hard as he scrambled up right with a frightened yowl and caught Jake hard in the side, who yowled back in surprise.

“Ow--! Talltail!? What’s wrong?” Jake's fur was puffed out but he recovered quickly, trying to offer a comforting purr while Talltail shook the vision clear from his head. He was still in one piece. But he was left in a dark mood.

“I’m fine. Sorry. Just a bad dream.” He got up quickly, catching Jake by surprise in his haste. The fear reminded him of what he’d been hiding from. Who do you think you are, stalling like this? You’re doing it on purpose. He hissed at himself. You didn’t come this far just to start a cozy new selfish life for yourself after everything that’s happened.

“We’ve rested long enough,” he turned to Jake. “I need to start looking again. We haven’t fully sniffed out the far side of the pond, maybe there’s some trace over there.”

“Oh, yeah.” Jake shook his fur and yawned. “Sometimes I almost forget you're on some kind of vengeance mission.”

“If you want to call it that, sure,” Talltail replied stiffly. “Which is why I should be resting as little as possible.”

“Can’t we hunt some birds first? Or just watch them? There’s a whole flock in that oak over there.” Jake offered.

Talltail turned to stare at him. “We didn’t come here to look at birds, what are you talking about?”

“I-I just think birds are neat! There’s always time for vengeance later, right?”

Talltail narrowed his eyes at his companion, who blinked back at him innocently.

“Every day lost could be them getting further away. We hunted earlier, you’ll survive. We have to look for scents.”

Jake flattened his ears, “Alright, alright. Looking for scents. I’m coming.”

***

“I think I found something,” Talltail's muzzle was to the ground, nosing around a wet patch of reeds along the pond's muddy edge.

Jake padded up behind him and brushed against his side. “Who is it?”

Talltail pushed through the reed stalks and poked his head under a hollowed out bush hanging over the water. At its base where the soil was more dry were scraps of fur and flattened grass where cats may have been nesting before.

“I think I smell Algernon and Bess. Maybe Mole?” Talltail found it hard to recall their exact scents, as they were always tangled together.

“What about Sparrow?” Jake asked

“I don’t...think so.” Talltail grumbled.

Suddenly there was a rustle and a scrambling sound as something shot out of the nearby bushes. Talltail let his instincts take over and he leapt after the noise, jumping right over Jake as he caught sight of dark scraggly fur. For half a heartbeat, he thought it was Sparrow.

A cat yelped in surprise as he slammed into them and set them rolling. It was not Sparrow, but Talltail recognized the face of one of the scrawny alley cats. The stray landed on his side and raised an unsheathed paw to block his face as Talltail towered over him.

“W-wait! I’m alone, I'm not-- er--no, I shouldn’t have said that,” he stuttered. “I mean, you’re surrounded so you better not hit me again!”

“Oh shut up already!” Talltail snapped. “What is the problem with you cats? I don’t have time to deal with you!”

“Oh, it’s just Roach,” Jake sounded unconcerned. “He’s not a threat by himself.”

“L-look, I’m sorry we tried to kill you, okay? That was rude.” Roach stared up at them pathetically, but with a flash of defiance in his muddy-yellow eyes. “But only because you clan brats tried to do the same!”

“I’m going to say this one more time, so try listening,” Talltail growled. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, there are multiple clans in the forest and if you really have seen clan cats, they aren’t from mine! So sod off, you flea-pelt!”

“Whatever one you're from, you’re all trouble if you're trying to bother the visitors, and they aren’t here anymore anyway!”

Talltail stepped closer. “Did you tell them to leave?”

Roach put up his claws and hissed.

Jake gave Talltail a concerned look as he lashed his tail in agitation. Talltail hesitantly put his claws away, and tried again calmly. “Why are you concerned with the visitors?”

Roach looked away. “Because Bess and them were nice to us...We like having them around, and we said we wouldn’t let cats bully them.”

“I’m not going to bully them, I have no interest in hurting Bess’s family. I only want to talk to the little dark one. He’s not nice at all! I’m just trying to figure out if he was with them.” Roach just glared at him. “I’m not saying anymore! Not spilling anything else, so you’ll just have to kill me! Do it! I’m not scared!” His words were fierce but his trembling fear scent said otherwise. “Sure,” Talltail rolled his eyes. “I’m not going to kill you, don’t be so dramatic. I can follow a scent on my own.”

“Let’s just go then,” Jake said. “We don’t have interest in causing trouble with you or your friends.”

“You only cause trouble!” Roach snarled. “It’s either you or your stinking mutt, that slobbering thing chased me half way here because it doesn’t have the sense to stay on a leash where stupid dogs belong!”

“Wait,” Jake bristled, "Dusty? He chased you? Was he alone?”

“Well he wasn’t tied to anything! Don’t pretend like you didn’t sick him on me on purpose.”

“You know I can’t do that! Oh no, this is terrible!” Jake tore anxiously at the grass under his paws. “He must have dug out of the fence again after I left! He has a terrible sense of direction on his own. He must be so lost and confused! Roach, where--”

But Roach had apparently had enough lying in tension, he sprang up without warning and dashed off into the bushes. Talltail thought about starting after him, sure it would be easy to run the mangy rogue down, but Jake stopped him.

“He won’t be of any help,” he moaned. “I have to find Dusty. He’s out trying to follow me again, and Cris can’t catch him on his own. Talltail I--” he looked up at him with pleading eyes. “I’m so sorry, I know this mission you’re on is important but I have to find where he went. He hasn’t been doing well lately and it’s so much more dangerous for dogs to walk around than it is for us. He can’t hide!”

“Ok,” Talltail was surprised at how easily he responded. The visitors have been warned that someone’s after them and they’re walking away, a voice screamed in his head. But Jake had done so much for him and he looked distraught. How long could it take to find a massive smelly dog? He couldn’t just abandon Jake.

But the nagging voice went on all the same. You are stalling. You don’t even want to complete this mission, because you’re a coward.

I know I am. Talltail relented. But he had to repay Jake after taking up so much of his time. It wasn’t fair to use him and then simply leave while offering nothing back. With that, he continued after Jake as they ran back the way they had come.

***

Jake paced up and down the paths they’d traveled on to get to the park, looking for a trace of Dusty’s scent.

“I’d know it anywhere,” he said firmly. “He was around here! probably trying to find the park…”

Talltail believed it, Dusty’s stench was rather hard to forget. Jake walked at a nervous hurried trot.

“Are you really worried?” Talltail asked. “What animal would try to attack such a big dog?”

“Other dogs, maybe.” Jake said sniffing along the fence “Or a car...He hates them, and sometimes he panics when they come close. He’s gotten out before, but back then he was following me and I stayed with him. I just don’t want him to get completely lost. Especially because he’s been so tired lately, I don’t know how long he can run from anything dangerous!”

Jake really seemed distressed. Talltail tasted the air carefully. Eventually they found it, clear as anything, it smelled like the dog had been pacing around in circles here before heading off along the town edge.

Jake perked up. “It’s recent, if I just follow this, I'm sure he’ll be at the end of it!”

But passed the dog, trailing off into the woods, Talltail caught a different trail as well. His pelt bristled. That’s a fox, I know it is. Dawnstripe had made sure that he memorized every sign of those creatures, and they were perfectly capable of killing a cat that got cornered. He’d only ever seen one at a distance with a Thunderpath between them, and he had no desire to see one closer.

“Jake!” Talltail hissed, “Jake, come over here. Stay close to me.”

Jake looked up quickly at Talltail’s sudden change in tone. “What? What is it?”

A cat's yowl of fear somewhere off in the scraggly treeline interrupted Talltail before he could answer.

“Some cat’s in danger!” Jake gasped. Without a second of hesitation, the kittypet dashed off after the noise, completely abandoning their path.

“Jake!” Talltail called “Don’t go towards it!”

But Jake was already off, and he had no choice but to follow. Just as Talltail feared, the musky doggish stench of fox hit the roof of his mouth so strongly and sudden he nearly gagged on it. Jake dove out of the bushes with Talltail on his heels and there it was, red bushy fur and long pointed muzzle concealing needle sharp teeth glinting under its curled lip. Sharp yellow eyes instantly shot towards the kittypet blundering towards it. Talltail smelled blood and was aware of a small cat crouched not far away, with two others standing near it. The fox had been circling them curiously, trying to decide if it was worth making a dive for the injured prey. But now it’s attention was fully on Jake, who had practically run into the thing.

“Oh, stars--!” Jake gasped, clearly not expecting it to be as close as it was. The fox snapped at him in surprise and Jake just barely managed the wheel back before it could close its jaws on his neck. It grabbed the long fur on his hindquarters and tore a tuft free. Jake tumbled, eyes wide and seemingly with no idea what to do. He scampered back and the fox followed him, darting to the side and looking for somewhere else to bite.

Before it could snap again and get a hold of more than just fur, Talltail yowled and took a heavy swipe at the foxes muzzle, catching it on the nose as it yelped and jumped back. Jake puffed at the fox and growled and swiped as well, but he was clearly terrified and unsure of where to strike. The cats it had cornered puffed their fur and darted at it before leaping back. The fox, apparently liking its odds significantly less with so many cats, quickly turned and scampered away into the woods.

Jake sat up and shook out his fur with a nervous purr. “Well! that was pretty easy.”

Talltail wanted to cuff him on the head as he tried to calm his pounding chest. “Jake you practically ran into its jaws, what were you thinking? If you’d been just a bit slower it could have seriously hurt you!”

“I was thinking it was trying to hurt someone, and they could probably use a distraction? I don’t know, I didn’t think about it that hard!” Jake was clearly more shaken up than he wanted to admit.

Talltail was about to argue further when suddenly he froze as he finally got a look at the two cats who had been blocking the fox from the injured cat. It was unmistakably Algernon and Bess, looking far more frazzled and distressed then Talltail had seen them before. Bess’s light green eyes widened in recognition, and then confusion.

“Tallpaw?” she mewed, “Is...is that you? What in the spirit's name are you doing so far from home?”

“Talltail now,” he corrected, but that was all he could think to say. He was stunned. It couldn’t have been this easy. Had he really found them by accident? I wasn’t expecting it so soon, I thought I’d have time to prepare…. He just stared at the two cats.

“Nevermind that,” Algernon said. “We’re so glad to see you, we heard this cat yowl and saw a fox trying to drag her away, we weren’t sure the two of us were going to be enough to scare it off.” Algernon's paws were still shaking, and Talltail remembered that the tom was clawless. And trying to take on a fox? What, hoping it didn’t call his bluff with useless swipes?

The small injured cat saved him from trying to think of what to say. It wasn’t a cat Tallpaw recognized, but what he did recognize was the toothy grimace, sharp muzzle, and boggy stench. It looked a lot like a ShadowClan apprentice. The small scruffy molly had a bloody bite on her hind leg and she tried to push herself to her paws and dive towards the undergrowth, but she hissed in pain as soon as she put weight on her leg, drawing Bess and Algernon’s immediate attention. “Oh dear, you’re hurt! It’s alright, we only want to help you!” Bess fretted, but the shaking apprentice hissed at her.

“N-no! I don’t need your help, I’m not supposed to--”

Talltail leaped back as another blur of gray fur came charging out of the bushes, her back arched when she landed, pale eyes quickly darting around at the surrounding cats, before they settled on him. Talltail felt a growl in his throat as he recognized the lanky gray molly as Ashheart, one who had tried so hard to terrorize him and Shrewclaw in their apprenticehood. She didn’t keep her gaze on him long as she dashed to the injured apprentice, forcing Bess and Algernon to take a step back.

“Get back, all of you! No one touches her.”

“We saved her, you know!” Jake called out his ears flattened in indignation. “A fox was trying to eat her and very well would have by the time you got here!”

“Jake--” Talltail warned quietly, as Ashheart snarled at him.

Bess dipped her head “We mean you no harm, we truly only wanted to help.”

Ashheart looked sternly down at the apprentice who stared up at her with wide guilty eyes. “You could have been killed, Tanglepaw!” she hissed quietly. “You’re not supposed to come out here alone! Now I have to track down your littermates too!”

Tanglepaw flattened into the ground and Ashheart looked warily up at the cats surrounding her.

“Alright, rogues,” she hissed the word pointedly in his direction, but rather than being angry, Talltail was relieved. It’s better than them thinking WindClan is sending spies beyond our borders.

“I shouldn’t bother doing this but…” She hesitated, not looking away from Talltail. “I don’t know what your game is, deserter, but you’re certainly not safe here. My thanks for this is a warning. Get away from clan ground, because the next patrol that finds you won’t show mercy, especially not to you. If we meet again, the next time will be significantly less pleasant.” With that she nudged the young cat to her paws and, using three legs, the apprentice hopped along with Ashheart into the shade of the trees. “Wait!” Bess called, “we really need to ask you--” but they were already gone.

“Well, that was ominous.” Jake muttered, and he turned to Talltail “Were those...other clan cats?”

“ShadowClan.” Talltail replied stiffly. “They’re up to something they shouldn’t be, I know they are.”

Jake flashed a concerned look to the trees where the cats had vanished and then padded cautiously over to Bess and Algernon. “Are you two alright?”

“Yes,” Bess sighed. “We’re fine, the fox didn’t really have a chance to hurt us. We’re glad you showed up but…” She looked at Talltail, and he saw the hesitance and concern there. “You still haven’t told us what you’re doing all the way out here?”

“I’m not a WindClan cat anymore,” Talltail said quickly, “I’m just a wanderer now, and...um.”

Jake was looking back at him, a narrowed questioning look in his eyes that clearly meant “Alright, now what?”

I have no idea… Talltail thought. Bess and Algernon looked a little on guard. Why wouldn’t they be? Last time I saw them, I was yowling for punishment against one of their companions.

Algernon blinked at him. “So you left? But...why?”

“It’s complicated. And personal,” he replied curtly.

Jake sniffed, clearly a little put off by Talltail’s rudeness.

Algernon glanced at his partner, then Bess took a small step toward him. “Talltail, I understand your view of us may be...tense after the horrible tragedy that occurred. I really can’t tell you how sorry we are for all of it. But...We’re in a bad place. I think those ShadowClan cats have been stalking around us ever since we left, this little one with a bent tail, and others. Always the same bunch. And now Reena, Mole, and Sparrow are all gone!”

Talltail froze. “Wait...What do you mean gone?”

“They’re just...gone.” Bess mewed, her voice was strained and cracked with worry.

Algernon leaned against his mate and continued for her. “Sparrow had been distant for some time, and when he took longer than normal returning to us, Reena and Mole went to look for him. And none of them came back. We’re so worried and we don’t know what to do. Do you think ShadowClan would have kidnapped them? Is that something they do?”

“I don’t know the clans to take prisoners very often, and certainly not non-clan cats. I haven’t seen any of them.” Talltail said. He was trying to think of what to do now himself and he felt frustration clawing at his belly. If not even they knew where Sparrow was, he could be anywhere!

“Maybe they just got lost?” Jake suggested.

Algernon shook his head. “Mole never gets lost. Something must have happened!”

“Whatever it is, we can’t help.” Talltail said brusquely as he turned to pad away. “Come on Jake. None of us should stay here. I don’t know what ShadowClan is doing, but I’m sure they will make good on their threats if they are around here. We’re too close to their border. You two should stay out of their way.”

“What?” Jake stared after him in dismay. “You’re just leaving?”

“What I’m looking for isn’t here."

“Talltail!” Jake sounded angry, and Talltail turned, meeting his gaze defiantly. Jake glared back at him. “These cats haven’t done anything wrong. We have to do something!”

“Do what? I can’t take on ShadowClan anymore than they can. I have to focus on my mission.”

Algernon and Bess were looking helplessly at each other. Jake was still glaring and Talltail was the first to blink away from his gaze. Unfortunately he did have a point. Reena and Mole weren’t bad cats. As angry as he was, there was only one cat it was directed at. And now, he was starting to have an idea that made him even angrier.

“Look, I’ll…” Talltail scraped at the ground in frustration. “I’ll see if I can track their scent. But you guys...You’ll be killed if you're caught in ShadowClan’s path. You’re no good to your family dead.”

“But we can’t just leave them behind!” Algernon fretted.

“Keep an eye out and hope they find their way back to you. I’ll try my best to get to the bottom of whatever's happening. If I’m right, I may be able to find Reena and Mole as well.”

At this point he wanted to get away from the two gentle loners pleading gaze as quickly as possible. He couldn’t actually promise them anything, and lying made his stomach twist in a knot. His heart was pounding. I didn’t want to get involved in clan drama! I don’t want to make promises to Reena’s family. I just want to find Sparrow!

Now more than ever he wanted to find Sparrow. Because his suspicions before that the rogue had something to do with ShadowClan were even stronger. Ashheart clearly didn’t recognize or trust Bess and Algernon. That almost certainly meant Reena wouldn’t have anything to do with the ShadowClan warrior either, he could never imagine that kind molly going behind her parents' backs. But Reena and Mole followed Sparrow, and then they both suddenly vanished? If it was possible Sparrow had even deceived his own family and gotten them tangled up in something dangerous...

The visitors were too naïve to see the evil in cats. A dark thought slowly began to surface in the back of Talltail’s mind. Maybe getting rid of Sparrow for good would even be doing them a favor.

But what about Jake? Talltail's focus had gotten twisted up ever since he’d found his old friend again. He’d gotten distracted, even though he set out on this journey promising himself he wouldn’t. He looked miserably behind him as the bright ginger tom came bounding up. I shouldn’t even have brought Jake this far...How can I take him any further into possible danger?

chapter list / previous / next

#FRU37 #chapter 37

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kyidyl · 3 years

Text

Kyidyl Explains Bones - Part 4.2

(These are all collected in the KyidylBones tag. Additionally, this is the second half of part four - please read the first half here, especially if you have questions or comments about the ethics of what I’m talking about here. I’m going to be leaving that out as this is a continuation of that post.)

Since I’m skipping the talking and ethical statements in this one, let’s just get right into the bones. As a reminder, this is about race determination in skeletal remains.

White/Caucasoid.

Female, front view. (Source)

Male, profile view (Source)

So let’s break this down in an orderly way (I will put the comparisons and stuff at the bottom in an orderly table for easy reference. Hell, this is partially for my own reference too bc I never remember this stuff off the top of my head.):

Eye shape and sharpness - This is easiest to see in the front view, obviously. White skulls that have stereotypically white features will have eye orbits that are technically called “square with rounded edges” (or as we call them in the nail world....sqoval.), but they sit at kind of an angle where they’re higher in the middle and lower at the lateral sides so most of us just refer to them as “aviator glasses” which I think is pretty funny of us. And although you obviously can’t feel it with your fingers, the borders of the eye sockets will be sharper.

Prognathism - As you can see from the bottom image, on a caucasian skull there is a low amount of prognathism. The chin is often behind the spine of the nose rather than protruding. European skulls have flatter faces, basically. Although this male has a bit of an overbite so the curve around his teeth is more severe than it otherwise might be. Generally speaking though, you’ll be able to draw a line from the nasal spine to the chin and not much will stick out past the line and the line will be straight. The “muzzle” area of the face is less pronounced.

Nasal Shape - This is actually mathematically determined by a measurement called the nasal index. It is the ratio of the height to the width multiplied by 100. European skulls have thin, tall noses, and you can see that illustrated pretty well in the woman above.

Nasal Sill - On caucasians, the nasal spine aka sticky-outy-bit at the bottom of the opening that you can see in profile is more pronounced. It sticks out further. This means that a caucasian skull will also have more guttering behind the edge of the sill. IE, if you stick your finger in its nose and run it along the bottom of the nasal passage, you will feel a distinct dip. Europeans have a distinct nasal sill.

Nasal Bridge - White have shorter nasal bones, and so the bridge of their nose is shorter in profile. It also usually has a more extreme curve in the area inferior to the browbone. This male actually isn’t a good example of that, because his nasal bones are long for a caucasian skull. Basically, our noses stick out further.

Unique skull features - None. Caucasian skulls are kinda boring TBH.

Next, we have black/African skulls. In the US especially this can be a lot harder to determine because of centuries of admixture with the white population:

This is a front and profile view of the same male, african individual. (Source)

Something you’ll start to notice as we go through this is that Black skulls and white skulls usually have opposite features and asian skulls are between these two extremes (Except for eye orbit shape. Here it’s Asian on one end and African on the other, with European inbetween.). If you think about geography here, it kinda makes sense. Anyway, the skull features:

Eye orbit shape and sharpness - African skulls tend to have eye orbits that are more square in shape, and often aren’t angled the way they are in whites. This individual’s are angled though so they’re not super stereotypical of what would be considered characteristic of African eye orbits. His are fairly square though. The edges of the orbits tend to be softer and less distinct.

Prognathism - African skulls are prognathic, meaning that they stick out the furthest. In this individual, you’ll notice that it isn’t just his teeth that stick out past the line because of an overbite, the entire upper part of the maxilla is curved outwards. African faces are much less flat than white ones. The “muzzle” area is more pronounced.

Nasal Shape - As you might expect, African nasal shapes are much wider and shorter than European ones. They appear a lot rounder, and this is something that’s fairly unique to them, especially if the individual has very stereotypically African features.

Nasal Sill - The nasal spine sticks out much less in an African skull - I’ve seen individuals who barely had one at all. Between that and the prognathism, the bone almost seems as if it stretches, and you see very little silling. So if you stick your finger up its nose you won’t have a sharp edge with a dip behind it in the nasal passage. Sometimes there won’t even be a sill at all. I actually found a really good image of this, but I don’t want to mess up tumblr’s list ordering, so I’ll stick it in below the list.

Nasal Bridge - Africans have flatter noses, and to accommodate this their nasal bones are longer and the curve that’s inferior to the browbones is much less acute. Their noses stick out less than that of Europeans’, and it’s something that is fairly consistent in their skeletal remains.

Unique racial features - Not many, but Africans do have something called a “bushman’s canine”. Now, I’m gonna be honest with you guys and tell you that I STILL have problems identifying this feature. This is despite the fact that I was taught dental anthropology by one of the dudes who basically came up with these guidelines. So on the bottom of the upper canines there is a bump of tooth enamel that is more pronounced on Africans than it is on other races. There’s a grading scale and stuff. You can read about it here. Now I found that by just googling Bushman’s canine, but one of the authors (Joel Irish) was my prof, lol. Here’s a picture of it, but actually the drawing in that paper above is better at illustrating the two opposite ends of the scale. I added the lines:

(Source)

In addition, here’s the image showing the nose shape:

(Source)

African skulls will also sometimes have stronger muscle attachment sites, but honestly there’s a lot of that part of anatomy that’s social so it’s not something you can use to ID them unless you know what they should be for the society you’re looking into.

Ok, so that’s African skulls done. Next up, Asian. As a reminder, Asian and Native American skulls are *extremely* similar. This is because they share common ancestors. This is also confirmed by their genetics (Native American genetics are super interesting, but that’s a whole other thing.).

(Source)

This is an Asian male.

Eye Shape/Sharpness - Asians and Natives have round eye sockets, and the edge of the socket is of middling sharpness. In addition, their cheekbones tend to be flatter and wider, so the combination of these things makes their skull shape pretty distinctive. Personally I find Asian and Native American skulls to be the easiest to ID, and a lot of these features persist through admixture, too.

Prognathism - Asian/NA skulls have a middling amount of protrusion. This individual has a distinct prognathism, but it’s honestly hit or miss. They can have it either way. Asian cheekbones tend to mitigate the visual effect though so it’s a bit harder to see without specifically looking for it in profile with a straightedge.

Nasal Shape - As you can see from this individual, the nasal opening is neither as tall as caucasians nor as wide as Africans. Again, this correlates to what you might expect given their phenotypes in life. Theirs are the most heart shaped, too.

Nasal Sill - This is another area where they fall between the “very pronounced” of whites and the “not at all pronounced” of Africans. This individual barely has a nasal spine at all, but does appear to have something of a sill that would be present if you felt inside the nasal passage for it.

Nasal Bridge - Same as above, it falls in between the two extremes in shape and length.

Unique Racial Features - This is why I think Asian and Native Skulls are the easiest to ID. They have some really interesting racial quirks i their skull anatomy. First off, they have what’s called a persistent metopic suture. When we’re all babies our forehead (frontal) bone is in two pieces, and then they fuse. The suture between the two is then obliterated, IE, completely healed and smoothed over. In Asians and Native Americans, this suture fuses but you can still see it:

(Source)

It’s a completely harmless genetic variant that runs in those racial groups. The second easy to identify feature is shoveling. On the back of the upper (Maxillary) incisors. It’s basically just a difference in shape; a border around the back of the tooth. It looks like this:

(Source)

And here is the scale we use to grade it:

(Source - heheh there’s Joel again.)

It’s found on the lower incisors as well, but it’s easiest to see on the maxillary ones.

The last easy indicator is found along the sutures along the top and back of the skull. The coronal (arc along the front like a crown), sagittal (top center) and lambdoid (where the parietals fuse to the occipital. It’s like a downward V on the back of your skull.) sutures can be what’s called simple or complex. In Africans and whites, the sutures are mostly simple. In Asians and Native Americans, it’s complex. What that means is that the wiggly line is so wiggly that it loops back on itself and forms extra small bones called wormian bones. Sometimes these bones can actually be very large and have names. Here’s what a skull with small wormian bones looks like:

(Source)

The bones with the star are the wormian bones, although there are other, smaller ones. Very large ones are called Inca Bones, after the population they were first identified in. They look like this:

(Source)

A and B are examples of Inca bones. They’re generally a harmless genetic variant.

Lastly, we’ll address aborigonal features:

(Source)

This is an aboriginal man. Aboriginal is a generalized term for any indigenous group, but in anthropology - and from what I can see most places - we use it to describe people indigenous to Australia and the surrounding islands. The reason why it is only sometimes considered a separate category is that it’s pretty localized, and the differences really come down to some special features. So here are the main differences you can look for to tell if a skull is aboriginal:

Large teeth. Aboriginal people have really big teeth. There’s no other way to put this, they just...they’re large.

Very pronounced browbone. As you can see above, the browbone is MUCH heavier on an aboriginal skull than on any other kind of skull. This is especially true for males.

Flatter chin. It’s called the mental protuberance, and on an aboriginal individual it is less prominent than on other individuals.

Large occipital bun. The occipital bun is the bit at the bottom back of your skull where your neck muscles attach. You can see it in the profile picture in the far right sticking out of the bottom of the skull. It’s especially pronounced in aboriginal people.

Ok, so there is one more important characteristic for judging race that I totally forgot to include yesterday, and that’s palatine shape. The dental arcade is the area of the maxilla that houses the teeth. Basically the top of your mouth. And as you, a human person, knows - it’s in the shape of an arch. But that arch varies in shape from race to race. And, what your probably don’t know from not seeing a bunch of skulls, is that there are sutures in there. Between 2-4, but even when you have two they bisect each other and look like 4. The shape of these sutures also varies from race to race. Again, it’s a harmless genetic variant that runs in various geographic areas. However, I’m going to elect to skip it because there’s already a LOT of info in this post and going into it with the depth it deserves would be a lot. Instead, I’m going to just summarize here for you all WRT the characteristics I’ve listed:

Eye sockets: White - Aviator glasses, rounded square, sharp edge. Black - square/rectangle, blunt edge. Asian & Native - Round, middling sharp edges.

Prognathism: White - little to no prognathism. Black - most pronounced prognathism. Asian & Native - varies between these two extremes.

Nasal Shape: White - tall and thin. Black - short and round. Asian & Native - in-between these two.

Nasal Sill: White - sharp nasal spine, deep well behind a sharp wall. Black - Little or no spine, smooth sill. Asian & Native - Varies between these two.

Nasal Bridge: White - short nasal bones, more extreme curve. Black - longer, flatter nasals, a much less extreme curve. Asian & Native - you guessed it...between these two extremes.

Unique racial features: White - None. Black - Bushman’s canine. Asian & Native - tooth shoveling, persistent metopic suture, wormian/Inca bones.

And that is it! The rest of this series shouldn’t be quite this sensitive with respect to the subject matter. Tomorrow is gonna be the archaeology of graves AKA how to dig up dead people. =D After that will be (in no specific order) age determination, height determination, and teeth. Maybe other things if I feel like it. If you have questions or requests, don’t hesitate to ask!

#KyidylBones #science #race #forensic anthropology #bioarchaeology #human remains #human anatomy #archaeology #anthropology #skeleton

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howtowhumpyourhiccup · 3 years

Note

70 : Hiccup, Viggo, tiny

YYEEEEE, HERE IT IS! I had so much fun writing this one! And thank you for requesting the son! <3 <3 <3

Prompt: I’ll carry it.

Warning: implied/referenced threats of rape/non-con

---------------------------------------------------------------------

"I'll carry it."

Viggo's words make Hiccup halt in his tracks and Viggo, who is walking beside him, stops as well.

"Excuse me?" Hiccup asks, wearing an offended look.

Viggo either doesn't catch on or doesn't care to catch on to what offends him so. He raises an eyebrow.

"The boy. I imagine you must be tired, so perhaps, I can take over from you." He offers, referring to the baby boy, named Vigi, strapped to Hiccup's chest in a deeply red sling made of a soft cloth.

Maybe he thinks he's being helpful and overwhelmingly generous, but the lead Dragon Rider looks quite angry for someone who has been made such an offer. Brows low, his lips are pressed into a thin line and his jaw is tense.

The Hunters and Flyers around them stare, some attempting to do so subtly while others forego all subtlety and openly stare. The Dragon Riders aren't loved, but Hiccup and Viggo's interactions always spark some interest, even if it's just interesting gossip.

Besides, it's strange that Viggo would even offer to help him out. And with a baby, no less! This man has a bastard or two running around and not even them are given as much attention as Vigi here.

But then, Viggo has some strange affections for Hiccup, who is both the leader of the enemy and the first person he has ever shown such affection for.

"Am I supposed to know what that look is for?" Viggo asks, so he really hasn't figured it out.

"You called him an it." Hiccup tells him, offended on his young son's behalf. The boy turned three-months-old just a day or two ago.

Vigi looks up to Viggo, a curled-up fist in his mouth as he blinks curiously. At his age, he can't sit up yet and that's about as far as his knowledge of babies goes. But he's a lot more aware than last time Viggo saw him and noticeably bigger, too. That voluminous mess of red hair has thinned out significantly, however. Babies can bald, too, apparently, but Hiccup doesn't seem concerned with this.

"Yes, well, my bad." It's strange that Viggo would even admit to something being his fault and Hiccup raises an eyebrow in question this time. The other continues on.

The flat of a sword on his back pushes him forward, a wordless order to follow Viggo. While questioning the kind of audacity it would take to push someone holding a baby, Hiccup listens and follows after the former Hunter leader.

Viggo is taking him to his cell and he doesn't know where they put Toothless as they've been separated ever since their capture. Hiccup can't imagine how worried the Night Fury must be and hopes that he's okay.

With most of the Dragon Riders gone on a mission, Hiccup and Tiny should've still been protected by Toothless and all the other dragons on that island, namely the Night Terrors standing guard on their posts.

Though the Edge's dragons have always counted on the human-dragon duos to keep them safe, they've been returning the favor ever since Tiny's birth three months prior.

Their enemies must know because they waited until Hiccup and Toothless were away from the island to down them. And since the baby was with them at the time, the two hadn't put up much of a fight.

As a matter of fact, there hadn't been a battle at all. Some ballistas and a net flew and Toothless landed on the nearest island, a tiny one that could barely sustain any life.

The Edge was in the far, far distance on the horizon, they hadn't gone far from home on their leisure flight and were still in their own waters.

But considering their recently changed familial situation at the moment, the Dragon Riders are jumpier than usual. Hiccup hopes this means that they're well on their way already.

Hiccup doesn't believe any of these men necessarily capable of hurting an infant, but they've surprised him before and he isn't willing to find out if they'll surprise him again.

He's especially wary of Krogan, the man who seems to have a particularly sadistic side to him and whom Hiccup believes responsible for the state Garff was found in. The poor child was found nearly tortured to death.

Hiccup growls just thinking about it. And part of the bad taste it left them all with? This was a Deathson they've cared for before they found him a home with an adult individual. However brief their time together had been before Garff's adoption, they had all come to love him. Seeing him in that kind of state was horrible, they thought he was going to die.

So on his way, Hiccup holds his own son closer, Vigi laying his head on his collarbone. It's time for his nap anyway.

Garff is doing much, much better now and lives with them again on Dragon's Edge so long as his parent remains missing. But if something that unthinkable were to ever happen to Tiny... No, Hiccup would pretty much rather die than ever let it happen.

The boy has already been through too much as it is.

"We're here." As they reach the dragon cages that make for cells in their base, Hiccup is pulled from his thoughts by Viggo as he speaks. He opens the door and steps aside to let Hiccup in.

"Toothless!" But Hiccup doesn't quite go in yet, spotting his dragon muzzle in a different cage.

The Night Fury has already pressed himself against the metal, having heard his Rider's approaching voice and recognizable footsteps.

He croons, wondering if they're both unharmed.

"We're okay, Bud! We're-" Hiccup comes over, hand outstretched to touch his nose, but Viggo grabs him by the arm. There's a lot of manhandling done to someone very clearly holding an infant to his chest.

"Unless you want to risk harm coming to either one of you, I suggest going inside the cell." He tells Hiccup and Toothless' protest is instant.

"I'm still okay, Bud. We're both okay, don't you worry about us." Rider reassures Dragon and he quietens down, sagging in his cage. Hiccup lets himself be dragged away.

"You better hope that boy ends up smarter than you," Viggo mutters under his breath as he pulls Hiccup inside his cell and closes to then lock the door.

Due to their close proximity, Hiccup hears him.

"Wow, petty insults now, Viggo?" He asks while the door is locked and he can't figure out who Viggo has insulted more.

"It's merely an observation combined with a hope, Hiccup." He tells and Hiccup leans on the door, suddenly realizing the other hasn't referred to him as "my dear" once. And not just today, but ever since he's found out about Hiccup's son.

A peculiar thing...

"An observation?" But Hiccup moves that realization to the back of his mind and focuses on their conversation instead.

"The dragons on your island have become more proactive and without a doubt that has everything to do with the two of you. But instead of staying where it is safe, you took your infant son and ventured from your island." While Viggo elaborates, Hiccup rolls his eyes at that.

Vigi is his son and he's perfectly safe with Hiccup and Toothless in the sky. Besides, this way he's going to grow up used to being in the sky.

And what does Viggo know of childrearing? He has a bastard here and there, of this Hiccup is certain as well, but he cares little for them. Hiccup wonders if he even knows their names. Hiccup does.

"Now you've been captured, together with you infant, and instead of following along nicely, you talk back and try to run." Hiccup is taken aback by both of these "observations" that Viggo claims he has seen. Because how is correcting Viggo that his baby isn't an "it" talking back and when is checking up on Toothless trying to run away?

No, Viggo has been acting strange ever since he's been captured. It almost seems like he's been judging Hiccup on everything he does, says, or seems to be thinking. Even with the Riders, who he couldn't care less for, aren't as judged as Hiccup's been since his most recent capture.

If he were a friend or an ally, Hiccup would've just shrugged it off. Maybe it's because Viggo is an enemy that he has a hard time doing so, or maybe it's because his judging for Hiccup is so out of character of him, or maybe it's because some of these judgments have to do with his son. Because Viggo always has something to say either to him or about him, but nothing about things so trivial.

"But it would appear to me that making foolish decisions is simply something Hiccup Haddock does, isn't it?" Viggo states, his gaze going down to little Vigi and lingering.

Hiccup follows his eyes, looking down at his son, who now has a fistful of his dad's tunic and which he happily salivates. His little fist and the sleeve of his little tunic are both soaked.

Hiccup looks back up at Viggo and their eyes briefly meet before the latter turns and walks away.

Why was Viggo staring at his son like that? Did he just call him a mistake?

And then it all clicks in place, Hiccup makes another sudden realization. He's not really surprised by this one.

"You're jealous, aren't you?" He asks confidently and Viggo stops in his tracks.

Hiccup can't see his eyes widening, a crack appearing in his façade. When Viggo turns to face him, finds him leaning with an elbow on the door of the cage, the look of surprise is gone.

"Excuse me?" He asks.

"Viggo, Viggo Grimborn. I've taken you for many things, but a jealous man? No wait, I did take you for that, too." Hiccup is so confident that he allows himself to sass, which honestly doesn't take much.

The former Hunter chief approaches again, Hiccup's demeanor not changing a bit.

"And what exactly would I be jealous for?" He asks, almost challenging him to tell.

"For not being the one to father my son. You're angry that Vigi isn't yours." So Hiccup does and when Viggo growls lowly instead of denying it, he knows he's right.

"You've always looked down on my Riders and thought of them less than you while almost pretending like our confrontations alone were dates. Treated me like an equal, well, treated me like an equal most of the time. You've challenged me, played with me, tried to seduce me?" Hiccup makes a list.

"And then you found out about Vigi, figured out that only one of the Riders could've put him in me, and you don't like that it wasn't you, do you? As a matter of fact, I think you even hate it." He is so self-assured, so confident, in his belief that he's figured Viggo's strange behavior out. And maybe there's also a false sense of safety, the assumption that his foe wouldn't stoop as low as to harm him, not with Vigi with him.

Toothless has been listening in quietly, watching the two cautiously. He would've preferred Hiccup keep all of this to himself, but it's out now and he can only watch what will unfold before him now.

Because like stormclouds suddenly appearing on a sunny day does Viggo's expression darken. Clearly, he doesn't like being called out like this, especially when Hiccup is right.

Grabbing the bars, he leans closer to Hiccup, invading his personal space even through the cage. He stands so closely the younger man can feel his warm breath.

"Congratulations, you've figured me out once again." Viggo starts and that is only the beginning of what he has to say now. He looms over Hiccup threateningly.

"But, my Dear, do you also realize that, if I had known all along what you have underneath your clothes, that you would indeed be holding my son instead of whoever you let fuck you?" Viggo tells him, Hiccup's self-assurance melting like snow before the sun.

He stares at the larger man wordlessly, wide-eyed and mouth agape. It's been a while since anyone has made him feel this small.

"Let that sink in and think before you speak next time. You may not like what your reckless words can cause you to hear." Viggo warns him and Hiccup can't come up with a suitable response. He can no longer respond at all, too disturbed by what Viggo means to imply with his claim.

Hiccup successfully silenced and Toothless growling in warning through his muzzle, Viggo is satisfied. He turns and leaves again.

Ever since his defeat at the hands of Hiccup, Viggo was fully prepared to just let their war be.

He had enough, his empire was destroyed, his face scarred, and the sight in one of his eyes lost. It was time to admit his defeat and quietly stay out of Hiccup's way, he thought. That is, until Krogan and his Flyers found him.

But, indeed, if he had known Hiccup capable of having his heir, their war would've gone quite differently. Maybe it still would've ended in Hiccup's victory, but at least one minor detail would've been different.

Hiccup's firstborn would've been his. Of that, Viggo would've made sure.

36 notes · View notes

tigerdrop · 3 years

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u know u could put out the weirdest most fucked up shit and we would still love it. obviously don't share stuff if it makes u uncomfortable but for every single thing you find embarrassing there's something several times worse

i really hope ur ready to stand by these words b/c im about to tell you about.......showdog dogboy gordon. for five thousand fucking words

look. listen. hear me out. my dear kogo introduced me to an idea and it has not left my mind since: showdog......dogboy......gordon

like.........you know.......its about. dogboy. submitting while benrey dolls him up and makes him look nice. maybe hes been a lot......fuzzier since he got forcibly nintendogged. and maybe benrey cracks a joke about it, maybe the joke gets pulled out a little too far. b/c its the two of them, and thats what they do. its jokes. games. jokes being riffed upon and thinly-veiled dares being issued until gordon freeman finds himself standing awkwardly next to a grooming table in nothing but his underwear while benrey tells him to chill the fuck out. puts that collar on him. after all, he wants to look nice for his friend, right? they say a dog is mans best friend

this definitely would not be the first time a joke or a game went too far and they ended up fucking at the end of it, but this is......this is a whole level beyond. this is definitely, like. theres a Lot going on here. but neither of them are breaking character yet so

and. you know. if youre feeling really insane. like me. if youre feeling just fucking diseased. you can make benrey.......pretty big here. make gordon dogy-sized next to him. not like, tiny, but enough that gordon, ordinarily a Big Guy, feels......small. a little emasculated

and.....yknow. gordon could be collared and chained to the table. like a real dog. not a lot of slack on that thing. and maybe hed be.......muzzled, too. if hes the kind of dogboy that gets snippy at scissors

its really good also for.....benrey being fully clothed and gloved up while gordons almost entirely bare. i know dog groomers dont strictly have to wear gloves. but still. not that it was really going to stop me if he wouldnt actually have a reason to wear gloves. i would make him anyway b/c ive lost all dignity

ITS ABOUT. THE HORNY FUCKING GAME. like they could talk about it if, if they wanted, if they were normal about it, b/c in this scenario they have absolutely fucked it out before (b/c i cant imagine any other fucking way gordon freeman acquiesces to this unless hes Aware that theres gonna be dick touching involved), but they are not normal and they are not going to break kayfabe even if it kills them

and like......i think the muzzle thing is......good. its really really good. b/c benrey can get real fuckin mean and tell him that hes gonna have to be a good boy and keep his teeth to himself if he wants it off so that benrey can make him look less like shit

those new canines of his are awful pointy. is gordon sure he can handle it? can he get a grip on his dogy side for fucking long enough to let benrey take a straight razor to his face? of course he can, he thinks, b/c hes not a fucking dog, okay, hes still a guy, and hes here to prove it and just. behave. while benrey manhandles him and grooms him and brushes out his fur and files his fucking nails. hes not in thrall to his instincts whether they be animalistic or vulgar. and hes definitely not going to cave and ask benrey to touch his fucking dick while he does this

> i enjoy the thought of benrey posing gordon as he pleases but never directly touching him, lifting his leg to get under his upper thigh or stretching the skin of his belly taut as not to nick him. so concentrated on gordon but feigning ignorance to his building arousal, ignoring it

> that art jordan did where gordon is on the table and has the collar on. his chest is shaved into the shape of a heart and that made me so DFUCKING CRAZY I STARTED BARKING AND SNARLING AKLSJAKDJFS

YEAH.....ITS......its shaved into a heart on purpose. and i left that in the first version i posted but nobody said anything about it so i just whistled and walked away

> LIKE. the emasculation of it....the fucking. possesiveness. theres also an undercurrent of like tenderness to it that made me fucking go apeshit

its such a fucking power move too. like. thats not gonna grow out for awhile. every time gordon freeman looks in the mirror for the next few weeks hes gonna be reminded of how fuckin debased he was

just..............consider........the trust hed have to put in benrey for it........benrey holding gordons jaw very firmly in his hand and showing him the straight razor and being like "yo.......uhh......this things sharp. dont wanna make a mess......better, better sit real fuckin still. sit boy. dont move." and sitting rigidly after benrey says something like that while tilting his jaw up to look directly athim is one of the hardest things gordons done in his life. hes sweating and hes making himself dizzy by trying not to breathe too much

he can just......he can see exactly where gordons jugular is fluttering madly under the razor and where gordons adams apple bobs as benrey skims stubble off his throat and rest assured that benrey is getting off on this just as much as gordon is

big......big hands on his face.....turning him every which way.......running his thumb over the clean line of his jaw to feel the results..........i think its just, its a cool scenario. to think about. but instead of this being just a normal "gordon freeman gets shaved" scenario, hes half naked and chained to a table and also has dog ears for some fucking reason

but also this is just like......his face. its the "trimming him everywhere" thats the really fun part

> like...the moving down his body....touching almost clinically by moving part of him around to get everything...yknow....

casual.....clinical.......nervewracking to be on the receiving end of

> thinking about him having to restrain his horny is fun, but it’s especially fun when you think about how he’d spend hours like that, hard and dripping, since friend benrey wants to be so through

> YES CLINICAL, ALMOST INDIFFERENT

fucking. hours. of just laying there anxiously running his mouth and laughing and gasping when benrey moves him like its nothing or touches him somewhere that makes him jump......like.......benrey with something whirring as loudly as those clippers in his hand doesnt exactly inspire confidence......but hes weirdly good at what hes doing and hes got a broad palm flat on gordons stomach to hold him in place/get him to chill out......but it just makes gordon sweat and flush and hes trying so hard to stay still b/c benrey keeps demeaning him when he squirms too much......like, what, is he scared? thinks benreys gonna cut his other arm off with a pair of hair clippers? get real. calm down maybe.

but thats not really the reason why hes acting weirdly ticklish about the whole procedure. (its because of the Scenario, man. gordons trying so hard to be normal in the face of the awareness that this is one of the most insane things hes ever gotten hard for, but we all know how strung out this dude gets at even relatively normal shit. so much so that benrey will just stare at him blankly and ask "uhhh, stop moving please? thank you?" b/c gordons so handsy ordinarily and he keeps trying to move his hands when he talks)

> listen. what if he....absentmindedly like...pet. him. on the stomach. just doing the motion cause it soothes normal dogs so when he feels gordon squirming he strokes heavily down. repetitive...but hes not even focusing on that, hes like intent on getting the part hes trimming just right gordon freezes up and stops breathing for a second to flush all over. benrey’s hand is so hot on his stomach, and he can only focus on how good it feels,

> squirmy because he feels like he’s gonna die if his dick doesn’t get touched and all his instincts are screaming to disobey and hump benrey into the ground (not like he physically can with the restraints but)

eventually benreys gonna have to get down to brass tacks and shave and trim all of him

> and like the whole time. the whole goddamn time gordons just in his boxers absolutely throbbing with it and like. benrey's hand moves to his stomach and like the waistband of his boxers. yeah. all of him.

can you imagine. gordon freeman desperately trying not to be horny while his best friend kneels between his legs and hooks those fingers in his waistband and starts peeling them off and completely fucking failing at it but hes still gotta try, right. whether hes cis or trans this idiot is so horny that his underwear is just. ruined

> i still cant stopr thinking abt. in the pictures you drew jordan. the way benrey is. delicately touching gordons dick/pussy to get a better angle for shaving

Y. YEAH. ITS POTENT. IMO. gordon having to pretend like hes not fucking horny in the slightest while benrey just kind of clinically moves his dick around and laughs at him when it twitches......ITS A LOT.

> the amount of willpower gordon is exercising not to fuck up into benrey’s palm when he’s loosely holding his dick to shave all the hair around it is honestly impressive

hes trying so fucking hard. hes shaking. look at him. tail thumping weakly against the table

just......like......i was thinkin about benrey getting gordon stripped bare while he stammers and rambles because he is so very fucking turned on right now and hes so embarrassed by this that he just stares firmly at the ceiling and humiliates himself ranting about how its a totally normal response and plenty of guys get erections during prostate exams and benrey has no idea what the fuck hes talking about

> this was th. part. ...benrey ignoring his boner and his rambling like "yeah alright. stay still for this part though for real" and gets to work. gordon absolutely mortified but hes breathing real shallow cause he doest want to get nicked here of all places so. and benrey placing a hand on his thigh to push them open further so that he can get a better angle and gordon's leg shakes. its quiet until benrey says to himself "'youre bein still. 's good." and gordon's dick visibly twitches at that and he shuts his eyes quickly and turns his face away. also i was still thinkin,,,,bout how the little praise straight up goes to gordon's head and his tail might also thump a lil faster on the table.

> would benrey notice? probably. maybe not say anything at first but just let a real evil smirk spread on his face, laughing a little. and then say lowly when hes focused on his work, "really like that huh. lil dogboy. you like being good?" and gordon lets out a harsh breath, stomach jumping. doesnt respond but his tail moves even faster. benrey's wrist brushes the head of his dick and he lets out a small sound, which turns strangled then he actually takes his hand and presses his dick to the side so he can get right below his stomach. its detached, hes just holding it pressed to the crease of his hip, but gordon's dick throbs under his palm and dribbles precome against the gloved fingers

> Okay, so, part of the grooming process is, of course, bathing the dog. And luckily, Benrey has a wonderful tool to help him with this. A hand-held shower hose with a lovely little shower head with very nice settings to help our little showdog get... clean.

> Imagine, if you will: Gordon, on all fours and chained up to keep him upright as Benrey slowly, methodically, wets him down. Lathers him up. Works his hands all over his body, from tail tip to the top of his head. Massaging into his belly. Rubbing inside his thighs. Cleaning every part of him. Every part.

> And the shower head occasionally dips down, pulsing, right to a sweet spot between Gordon’s legs, the closest thing he’s got to attention the entire time they’ve been playing this game. He’s so close, so GODDAMN close to getting what he wants, but every time Benrey realizes he’s getting somewhere... ... He moves it. To spray his back. His head. His chest. Anywhere but where Gordon wants it.

> Gordon is shaking. His legs are trembling, the table is wet and slick. He’s having such a hard time staying up on all fours, he’s panting and begging and losing his footing and EVERY TIME he loses his footing, well, the collar and chain choke him and force him right back up. And Benrey is just watching. Grinning.

> Waits for him to get his composure.

> And does it again.

just......like.......jesus. gordon would be. shaking. his whole body. panting like a dog. trying so hard to stay still. but he keeps trying to spread his legs wider when benrey reaches his thighs and he keeps slipping and accidentally choking himself and hes nearly at the breaking point trying to keep himself together but benrey runs a big, warm hand along his side and makes a passing comment on what a good boy hes being and gordon almost fucking yells from how overwhelmed he gets

i want gordon freeman fucking obliterated. i want him to suffer first from benrey jerking him around and then being made to jerk himself around, trying and failing to keep his shit together.....and when benrey tells him sumn like, hey no, dont lay down........even if your arms and legs are shakin, you gotta stay up bro.......its so fuckin demeaning and gordon just spits out "im trying!" and benrey buries his free hand in gordons hair like hes gonna tug in retaliation, but instead he just scratches gordons scalp in a way that feels really fucking good and asks "you gonna bite? huh? gonna bite me? when im treatin you so nice......jeez, man" and that takes him back from the brink a little

hes just always keeping gordon on his toes. switching settings. dragging it out and making gordon shake from head to toe, sometimes putting on one of those real powerful pulsing jets to overstimulate him and make gordon yelp and just work him up into a trembling mess struggling to stay upright. snarling in ugly frustration when benrey yanks the showerhead away just as gordons starting to Get There. it feels like it must have been hours that hes been being bathed like this and teased from occasional glancing sprays with the waterhead to direct stimulation while benrey chuckles at him and just blandly comments "youre shaking." and gordon stammers out hotly "of course im fucking shaking, you keep fucking with me and i just wanna--" and benrey takes him by the chin and makes gordon look up at him and says, laughing at him under his breath, "dogs dont talk, bro"

ike.......at this point u might think "surely thats enough. throw the guy a bone." and that maybe, now, gordon freeman will get his dick touched like he deserves. you owuld be wrong. benreys not done here. gordons gotta come down from that table, get toweled off. and when benrey unclips that leash from the table, gordon just fucking collapses. his arms and legs cant really hold him up right now......hes being strung out like a violin, drawn to maximum tautness before being let go all at once just before he snaps.

and this is where benrey plays a little nice.......dries him off and blowdries him a little, brushing out his hair and his tail. hes committed to the bit, okay? he said he was gonna make his best bro look nice, so hes gonna make gordon look nice. this whole time hes letting gordon come back down.....and its......its kind of frustrating, if benreys just gonna decide to leave him like this and drag him outta here and call that the end of the game, but its not the worst thing in the world right now. for the first time in hours hes not being asked to do something. he doesnt even really have to move his own arms and legs.

but No. hes still not done. theres something theyre forgetting........gotta clip your nails, bro. its the last thing on benreys docket, and gordons embarrassed for a different (but taxonomically similar) reason. all the personal attention and the bizarre intimacy of it makes gordons mouth start running, just to get his mind off it. pretend to be normal! surely thats gonna work when the guy who nearly gave him a nervous breakdown from being edged and toyed with beyond belief is now at his feet, filing nails and running curious thumbs over the tendons and muscles. benreys almost more lost in it than gordon is at this specific point. (hes been doing nothing but jerking gordon around and its hard work. he deserves this.)

gordons been good. really fuckin good. didnt even nip his fingers. benreys best friend deserves a treat.

> look. hes been so fucking good the whole time. not moving and not touching himself, not breaking the tension they have with each other, staying so still. i think he deserves something nice. but like gordon doesnt expect it, he expects to just be jerked around and let go. benrey tells him to stay on the table and he complains about it like "im done now. you. you said we were done" but benrey comes back with a fresh pair of gloves and gordon tenses until benrey places a hand on his chest and tells him to calm down. he was good. rubs at his chest and stomach, slowly pushing him down onto the table while gordon squeaks when benrey parts his legs. hes mostly soft now but he hears benrey doing something and then rubbing a slick finger around his hole and he lets out a little "oh god. oh god. " that turns into a moan when he presses in.

> gordon's calmed down a bit but its goddamn embarrassing how quickly he gets wet again, dick throbbing a little. and i think. hm. i think it would be very fun to do overstimulation in this way now too since hes been edged so much that hes actually fucking desperate to come

> i think he should be be fingered until he howls and comes like 3-4 times. he's finally finally getting what he wants i dont know if he would know what to do. hes probably embrassed as all fuck from the way he acted that whole time, but when he starts getting fingered all that stuff just blanks from his mind and its so, so hard for him to not just chase that feeling and whore himself out. the opportunities for whoredon dialogue when hes that desperate are like saying shit hes cant even think about like "god - please f- fuck." and benrey's only got one finger in him but hes so wet already that benrey tries a second and it slips in easily. he crooks his fingers and gordon fucking keens, thighs shaking.

the fuckin. the agony in his voice when hes hoarsely begging benrey "do not stop do not fucking stop i cant take it" and just. slamming his fist into the table and being so fucking loud, oh my god, this guy is loud

> the thought of how loud he would be crazed me im just. just. him laying on the fucking table, eyes shut tight and moaning high and loud while he pulls tightly on his own hair, clenching hard around benrey's fingers

i think it would just be cool if. uhh. the thing that finally breaks gordon. gets him to just Let Go. is benrey catching him trying to choke back his words and his sounds and just laughs at him, like, "this is the easy part man. you wanna be a good dog? better, uhh.....better beg. cmon, boy. beg." and gordons hips jerk and the subsequent praise he gets when he actually does it makes him just.......snap.......Bye

> and what if.......benrey doesnt remove them as gordon comes down from that. he just waits a few seconds while gordons still panting and then scissors them and wrings a strangled sound out of gordon, whos hips move down again. and the heat starts building again in his gut and he cant even get out full sentences anymore, just bits and pieces while he fucks onto benrey's fingers. m. maybe benrey's growling out shit like "thats it, cmon. been good for me all fuckin day. you want more?" and gordon nods his head without even looking but he hears a thump and sees benrey kneeling between his thighs and he. licks up from where his fingers are to his clit and he just seals his mouth on it and sucks and that makes gordon come a second time, thighs clamping shut around benrey's ears.

i just......i lvoe......overstim.......and i think gordon freeman should have his pussy eaten until he cannot fucking take it anymore

maybe......even.......maybe after gordon comes a second time. benrey doesnt stop sucking and licking. at first it seems like benreys just working him thru the orgasm, but then he just keeps going. and gordons sensitive, hes too fucking sensitive, each time benreys tongue swipes over him he jerks and tries to close his legs. frantically gasping that he did it, okay, he got gordon off, voice getting high and broken, but benrey just pulls back and looks at him flatly and then very deliberately. spreads his legs wider in one swift movement. and pins them with his big fucking hands. and just looks him in the eye and says "i know, dude" and puts his mouth right back on gordon anyway. and gordons legs twitch like fucking mad but benreys so strong and he cant move and hes slamming his fist on the table again from how overwhelming it is, tears prickling in the corner of his eyes, howling into the open air how benreys killing him, hes fuckin killing him, why does he like jerking gordon around so much........and benrey glances up and breaks the seal of his mouth around gordons dick and mutters something about how he must not be doin his job if gordons still talking

i want him to howl wordlessly with frustration and grab benreys hair and yank him closer as gordon rounds the corner from "the agony of getting sucked off when hes hyper-sensitive" to "the agony of chasing yet another orgasm". i want this dude to be tonguefucked until he wails!!! I Want Him Ruined. meat: massacred. pussy: destroyed. i think it would be cool if gordon freeman was wailing at him for more, dont stop, benrey, until benreys got two big fingers back in him and is squeezing in a third alongside them and hes so fucking tight from having just come twice in a row, but the groan gordon lets out when its finally inside him is so guttural and low it makes benrey blink and shiver

and i think that for the grand finale benrey should smash that dogboy pussy. thanks for coming to my TED talk

hes been going thru this shit for hours. taking his time to really screw gordon freeman up good. and its been so fuckin worth it just to hear all the fun new sounds gordon made (cuz of him, he reminds himself). benreys been awkwardly adjusting his dick in his pants for way too fucking long, and gordons been watching him do it. staring at it. saliva collecting at the corner of his mouth. he was achingly hard the whole time he was giving gordon a glorified pedicure. and he didnt even ask to shift forward from where he was kneeling to let the arch of gordons foot press against his dick. its been just as hard for benrey to keep control and stick to the rules of the game as it has been gordon, and this dude oughta get to crush mad pussy okay

> the thought of this is kinda making me insane actually so. im just. h. im just thinking about how it would go down like. augh. i think that gordon would be shaking from his third consecutive orgasm but like. he can keep going. and he finally gets a moment to breathe and look at benrey whos just a mess. hair messed up where gordon gripped it, red faced, mouth dripping with his own drool and gordon's slick and hes remembers like. this guys so fucked up over this, god. and hed been thinking about his dick the whole time, even though he thought he wasnt gonna get anything out of it for a while. hes been wanting it. and so like like he doesnt want to play any more games. hes been good he deserves this.

> benrey's still got three fingers in him so he kind of just pushes him back and breaths out "fuck me". benrey's actually absolutely dazed from everythin and has to process it like "huh. wh" but gordons like "just fucking do it, cmon. im not gonna say it again" and benrey finally actually registers it like. "y-yeah. okay." and he barely has any time to think before gordon's hauling him up onto the table. starts fumbling to get his pants and shirt off and gordons practically tearing at his clothes which doesnt fucking help. letting out little growls maybe like "fucking. jerking me around this whole time fuck you. can see how much you wanted it" and they finally manage to get them off and gordon pulls him on top and ruts against him. its finally now clicking for benrey that fuck. this is actually happening and he pushes into him with a low sound and gordon's thighs and tail go still and taut until he bottoms out. gordon's fucking panting and clenches down on him and they both let out a little sound and benrey starts fucking into him slow. but cmon. this dudes been pent up the whole goddamn time. its barely any time before hes gripping gordon's hips and fucking up into him fast and hard, hips slapping against gordon's at a desperate pace. he probably tries to make it last but he cant, hes been edging himself too long. im going to fucking die see ya everybody

thinking about just how fuckin bad benreys legs would shake from the effort of pushin in reaaalll slow b/c gordons so fucking tight after having gotten off 3 times in a row.......trembling from the effort of trying to hold himself back......and gordons nails digging into the back of his neck and dragging down his back to leave long red furrows behind....... gordons eyes screwed tightly shut while the only thought on repeat in his head is "oh my god hes big hes so fucking big" and he can barely fuckin speak

> like yeah he had three fingers in him but this is so goddamn much. thinking about...gordon's hands clawing into back involuntarily from the stretch, letting out little cut off pants while his legs shake a little from it. i just. like the thought of his tail pointing out stiffly and trembling too. the absolutely wrecked sound he would let out when he bottomed out, all of that tension kind of leaving him in a drawn out deep moan. benrey shifts just a little to get a better grip on gordon's thighs and it causes him to yelp a little cause its so fucking much just from that movement.

> benrey's trying not to move but his hips are twitching from holding himself back and gordons letting out little. sounds that are making him insane. he pulls out just a little and that makes gordon let out a whine. and when he pushes back in gordon lets out breathless "fuck!" like its been punched out of him. even going this slowly is making him fucking shake like a leaf. hes squeezing his eyes shut tight heaving deep breaths, chest rising and falling fast. hes so full be can barely think. and benrey's just fucking stupid with cumbrain and hes saying all kinds of filthy shit like "h - fucking - so fucking good for me. so good. nnh. best. best friend -" and that makes gordon let out a whine. the praise has been getting to him the whole time and just. again with the loaded phrase of best friend. like the possesiveness of that. that combined with the near-overstimulation of getting filled makes him actually kind of lose it. his thighs clamp around benreys hips and his toes curl and pulls benrey's hips forward to make him thrust into him, so he stop going slow. bye. goodbye

#asky #writin stuff #Good bye

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oc-mother · 3 years

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Name: Gir and Farig

Dragon specie type: Dual Cursed Dragon

Appearance mix: The original Girafarig pokemon, the Human Gir and Farig, a double headed dragon.

Specific appearance mix: This dragon has two heads, but it also has two torsos. Unlike most double headed dragons, this dragon is built more like CatDog from the Nickelodeon show of the same name. Basically, they don’t have legs, but they do have arms

They used to have legs, but they are cursed to be joined together at the waistline, by something that resembles a single circlet of the RAF.

On one side of the dragon, is Gir, a female, horselike dragon with a rounded face, fluffier mane, rounder nose, horselike neck and the pale yellow and pink color scheme.

On the other side is Farig, a dark EVIL entity, masculine/male, stronger arms, sharper claws, sharper face, black/dark in color. His face has a more sharp shape, although it is somewhat built like a mix between his “human” face and a Bowser-esque muzzle.

Explorer’s notes

I have recently come into the territory of the dragon scientifically known as the Dual Cursed Dragon, and it was quite a sight to behold, even from behind my clever hiding spot of a camouflage suit and ghostly illusion spores.

Its hulking duality of what looks to be good and evil, light and dark, is very potent. One side being a female dragon with horselike proportions and a rounder face. Her colors are pale yellow, white, and pink. Her horns are deer antlers that look very soft to the touch.

Its other half is clearly dark, and evil in appearance. It is clearly that of a male, as the muscles in its arms, torso, and the rest of its body build gives off every evidence of its male gender. Its face is mostly built with sharper angles than the other, and its scales or skin is dark grey.

Its mane is very close to hair, and in a hairstyle that resembles that of an olden day royal, kind of like a flat mullet that isnt stereotyped with the nerds and chumps of modern day high school, but one of a more respective intellect or scholar.

His eyes are terrifying, and even when he simply glanced in my direction, I could feel his malice and evilness from where I stood. Sometimes I felt like he could sense my presence, but was just letting me think that he couldn’t see or detect me.

I didn’t risk making any noise in trying to escape, or test my assumption, allowing myself to think that at least that he was allowing me to take notes on his ginormous form.

One of the most interesting features of this dragon is that these two entities were not connected to a single torso or shoulder blade, but rather by their waistlines. Similar to that of a childish children’s show called CatDog, neither of them had legs.

Their waistlines were connected via what looked like a giant circlet of ancient metal with glowing blue runes carved into it. Often, at random angles, I could faintly see what looked to be glowing purple chain like bursts of energy pulse out and wrap around both dragons. This usually happened when the darker one tried to forcefully pull himself away from his other half, trying to separate himself from her.

It is clear that neither of these two get along very much, as it is clear that the dark one likes to mess and torment his other half, from villainously flirting with his female cohort, to which of course she doesn’t reciprocate, to mauling, to even using his extremely sharp claws on her like a scratching post. It took a lot in me to not intervene and try to protect the female dragon, even though it is obvious that I am unable to relieve the two of their curse.

It is also clear that the male dragon he is only doing the flirting part to mess with her, as it is obvious that there are only extremely rare individuals that the dark one loves, or likes on a minor level, other than himself.

One thing I have especially noticed is that the female has stumps as if she had once wings coming out from atop her shoulder blades. However, I can tell, that due to the shapes of the scars and the shapes of the claws on Farig’s talons, that Farig had torn them off of her himself.

I can only guess his reasonings, could range from jealousy of lacking wings himself, or the possible annoyance of being dragged underneath/behind her as she flew from place to place. Due to his evil and dark personality, I am guessing it is the former.

An interesting thing to note, is that when he/she/they interact with the other dragons that are known to be related to the human pokemon of (Human Pokemon AU dimension title), the other human pokemon dragons act as if they know Farig very well, and perhaps once they were subordinates to the dark dragon.

This suggests to me that the two dragons were not originally one entity, and that the dark one, whom I have often heard being addressed as Farig, once had a much bigger and much more intimidating form. A form that they feared much more than the one he is in now.

I have often observed Farig try to give orders to some of the other human pokemon, most often towards the Grotesque dragon known as Swalot, which 80 times out of 100, does he even at least ponder whether or not to listen.

Most of the requests, orders, or “commands” as Farig calls them, suggesting that he possibly was some kind of cult leader or something similar, or was the entity that they had worshipped, included things that Swalot already did/does on his own.

This suggests that Swalot is ignoring him not because of the contents OF the order itself, but he just doesn’t like it when Farig tries to be his boss and tell him WHEN to do it and who specifically to go after.

Farig’s temper tantrum and anger issues is very terrifying to say the least. I had to use that time to get away and escape, as I realized that if I had stayed longer, that the winds and the vibrations would have quickly dislodged the minor amount of ghost illusion spores that remined on my body from the hours of studying and observing that I had done of the two.

Breath element: Gir will breath pink fairy magic, and Farig will breathe that gross black stuff that his final boss form has in his insectoid abdomen. This stuff will still have the mutant making ability, or giving them the Gigantimax/Dynamax forms if they are dragons based off of a human Pokemon.

Other notes: They were originally two separate entities/species/dragons, but their origin story is the same exact as their “human pokemon” design, so I don’t think I need to rewrite it.

#Smaugust 2021 #Smaugust #Human Girafarig Dragon #Gir Dragon #Farig Dragon

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reinepadova · 3 years

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To Be Seen

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There are many paths up the mountain. But the view from the top is always the same.

Qingce Village. A plot of land once dwelt by an enormous, dreaded beast. A great threat, and source of terror for its inhabitants. Dark were the skies, and molten was the earth. Stones quaked and shifted from battles sown, and water turned fog from the heat of conflict.

Many a life perished or fled – those that are able, found refuge in the marshes or by the sea. Those that could not, stayed and endured.

But long has passed those years of misery, Morax reflected, eyes turned soft at the drifting dust under sunlight. Only Mt. Qingce remains, steadfast and true. A preserver of the old and the young, and of the croplands turned abundant. The landscape painted with colors of tranquility, with shades of the quiet.

To this, he could say, was one reason he fought. Why he dared raise great spears against those that oppose him, that question his strength. Why his ambitions for a seat with the Seven was so great.

Why he let his life's blood spill and his flesh torn asunder, all to be used for trade.

All he had sacrificed... so that all may prosper. So those deemed weak but with a passion for life, and a mind that craves understanding may learn, may improve. May become greater than what they thought to be. What they can be.

And flourish they did, Morax thought fondly, gazing out the window to watch three children play. A boar in the distance, charging away. Admirably so, like the trees and blooms that persisted amidst the cracked earth, or emerged from the muddy waters that once flowed red.

His eyes narrowed, then shut, musings turned grey.

He has danced and sung to the tune of combat, played his part well into the final act. His will, ironclad – unyielding and absolute, against the odds. Against all the other gods. All to reach the peace the entire land longed for after the audacious declaration from Celestia:

「Survive, and be crowned The Seven.」

「Gain the power of the divine.」

「Be one above all, in your chosen land.」

And to this, he succeeded, with glory placed upon his head, and the remnants of slaughter at his feet.

The Prime of the Adepti, said they. A riotous cheer. A whisper, filled with dread. Ha. Even among the Seven – the original, and the newly seated – he is the eldest, hence, the most respected. And therein lies his burden. To be charged as the standard, to be exemplary in the eyes of his people...

Still. This position is not without its advantages – he would not have fought for it if there were none. Truly, he could not ask for more, even if he tried. The enormity of his titles, to be granted the highest of honors among those that dwell in the newly named Teyvat – bearing in mind the heavens that granted his godhood of course.

His people are proud of him. His land reveres him.

And yet.

Why must this... dissatisfaction linger? The feelings of restlessness. Aimlessness. Like a shell drifting in endless sea.

What must be missing, when the fruits of his labor, the smiles of his people, and the generations therafter, are present and abundant? When the inhabitants accepted his protection, his standards, with delight, and worship. When they honor him by fulfilling contracts in accordance to how he fulfill his. When they sing songs and tell stories of his conquests, of his deeds as lessons to keep in mind, as morals to strive for and progress to.

Why then does this void exist? What is it he still lacks as a being?

Is... he still enough? Is he –

“... is Mei still doing good?”

A murmur, gentle and small, broke through his musings, eerily echoing his thoughts out loud. Morax turned inquisitive, amber eyes at the closed door, wonder outshining the memories, and bringing him back to the present.

The Miss Lala had been explicit about the necessity of his confinement, citing the resurgence of chaos upon his appearance. Seeing the tired yet resolute set to her shoulders, he could only acquiesced. He did not wish to tire the lady more with an argument. But truly, it was an odd request, at best. His people are familiar with this form, and would not run in fright, as she so fears. Why, they would likely crowd around him, vying for his blessing and attention and –

He rested one claw under his maw, pondering. Ah. That brand of chaos. I see. It seems she has better foresight than the average mortal. And most considerate as well. How kind.

His ears perked, hearing a faint, crackling call of farewell at the main entrance. He swiftly nudged open the door of the lady's chambers and floated out, seeing immediately the quiant scene at the kitchen.

“You're doing very good. You can stop when you smell it turning to powder. It's like... milk, but very very faint.”

“Oh! Can Mei put it on the lilies after? Please? Pretty please?”

Even from behind, the tilt of her head, the softness of her stance, indicates a fondness for the child. There is no doubt she is smiling down at her as well. She patted Young Mei in between her pigtail buns and replied, “Of course you can! You can sprinkle as much as you want. After we make the soil mix.” The little girl squealed, turning back to her task with renewed vigor.

He drifted closer, brows furrowing when the lady discreetly rub at her eyes while the little one is distracted.

It seems I may need to intervene.

-{-}-

Stella raised a brow, feeling long whiskers brush over her shoulder, before the slight weight of the guardian's muzzle rested on it. She smiled when gold orbs focused curiously on the crunching and banging Mei's been doing, relieved that he showed himself after the chief went out for her rounds.

“It's for the flowers,” she explained, reaching to caress a glowing petal nearby. “A bird's eggshell is rich in minerals. Its as effective as any other fertilizer... but with lot less smell.” Mei giggled in agreement, adding that her Gran-gran was ecstatic when she was taught other tricks in the garden from Lala – especially doing away with 'pork poopy' all together. “Also, also, Lala taught Mei how to water plants!”

Stella chuckled at the inquiring eyes of their floating guest, who managed to tilt its head at her from an odd angle – the perks of having a long neck, I guess? “She keeps drowning the Jueyun Chili plants back in the Harbor. At most, they just need a sip within a week. Ha! I know that look,” she crowed, seeing familiar incredulity on the guardian's face. “I don't know why no one thought to cultivate herbs in their own garden. Or to water them for that matter. They can't always depend on the rain. No one can control the weather.

Besides, if you can cultivate rare flowers, like the ones in Yujing Terrace, why not something as common as herbal plants?”

-{-}-

It is because of their plenitude that such notion is not considered. The oceanids have a knowing of the needs of the land – as such is my deal with them. They have been good to Liyue ever since. Why, when the croplands of Qingce are at their most vulnerable, Rhodeia answered their plea in an instant!

– Is what Morax would have said. But he only let out a small rumble and slow nod, turning back to the little girl covered in flecks of white powder, gaze softening at the sight of her bright smile.

As insightful as the siren has been since the start of their journey, it is not unwise to tread carefully. Knowledge is power. I have yet to know what she will do with it, once bestowed. If only the Fatui have not been such a conniving force as of late. I would have welcomed any foreigner within my stone walls.

Nevertheless, her care for a child not her own or of her people is admirable and exceptional, a far cry from how that organization operates. Her good sense too, would make for an engaging conversation.

Throughout the endless centuries he lived through – and will continue to, perhaps – he beared witness to a myriad of changes, great and small. No detail is insignificant enough for him to overlook. Or at all. He could not afford to. For one changed clause, nay, even one unclear word, could spell disaster for his land's defenses.

That said, he could assert he has very good memory. All printed and verbal contents of a contract is written like a tablet in his head, etched deep and fixed. The prosperity Liyue is blessed with is proof of his steadfast attention to detail; to consider all particulars, both the advantage and disadvantage, before he would, as they say, 'seal the deal'.

It is rare indeed for him to think 'what more does he not know?'

And yet, here he his, observing and listening. The lady elucidating their intention to gather an interesting mixture made out of smoked rice husk, charred wood, clay and soft sand. Another source of nutrients, she says, for the Lilies to be comfortable in during transport.

Eventually, he could focus no longer at her words, seeing her fighting to keep awake, feeling her sway dangerously on her feet. Her charge looked up in concern as she leaned on the counter, eyes closed shut in pain.

-{-}-

Stella gritted her teeth, about to reach for her temple when her world shifted again.

Although she never indulge in the various wines this world had to offer, she can imagine this was how the drunks at the dock feel: head, heavy as ores; body, light as a feather.

Or was it, float like a feather? It certainly feels like she's in the air. Literally. A sensation she never thought she'd experience again after –

An inkling of worry crept up her neck, minutely thinking of Mei, before she faceplanted on something soft. She reached out a hand, feeling cotton and smooth silk. Her...bed?

“Urgh... where – what?”

A low snort nearby answered her. She felt too tired to think of anything of it. The pillow under her seems exceptionally comfortable right now. Maybe she won't suffocate if she stayed this way?

So. Tired...

A chuff sounded next, lighter in tone, before something wrapped around her shoulders. She breathed deep as sunlight burned her eyes, a tugging at her feet made her crane her head down. She now lied flat on her back, with a large, blurry... something, weighing her down.

“... Mei? What are you doing?”

Her charge was quiet, wholly concentrated on making sure her boots were placed near the bed before coming up to her. The little girl tugged and dragged a blanket up and over her legs, intending to swaddle her with it. Stella feebly raised an arm, wanting to help, but a gleam of teeth made her pause. A muzzle cradled a handful of the cloth near Mei's arm, and lifted it easily up to Stella's chin.

“Lala? You rest, okay?” the little girl whispered, smoothing down the blanket while staring at her with wide, understanding eyes. “You work hard again for Mei. The Lilies? Mei tried to follow you last night, but Chief-dàmā told Mei to stay and wait. Mei tried, but Mei too tired. Mei wants you to sleep now.”

“But Mei. The Lilies – ”

“Gran-gran always scold bàba 'a person who does not know good rest, does not know how to do good work'. Leave the Lilies to Mei! Mei will ask for help. Promise! Lala should rest.”

“Are you sure – ”

“Lala. Rest.” the girl asserted, a stubborn tilt to her chin, but eyes still pleaded for her to agree.

Before Stella could make up her mind, the weight on her chest suddenly spread, encompassing her down to her legs, trapping her effectively. A huff of hot breath made her squint and look up. Larger, glowing orbs stared her down, making her stare back, mouth agape.

Mei giggled, seemingly satisfied she'll behave while Mr. Guardian was around, and quietly left. The skipping tone of her steps was still loud enough for Stella to hear behind the closed door.

She sighed, gaze turning wry. “Alright. You made your point. Get off.” Having a predator over her like this would normally be a terrifying experience. But when she remembered how kind it had been with her during their sprint back to the village, and how gently it gazed down at Mei, she knew she could trust it – to a certain degree. She's sure it has the strength to crush her with a quick squeeze, but she's oddly confident it won't.

Stella quickly reconsidered her good opinion though when the creature had the gall to chuff, as if amused, and placed its large head next to her, adjusting its body to lie comfortably on the bed – but with her still under it!

A sudden thought went through her like a lightning bolt.

“If you can grow this large, why didn't you do so last night and we could, you know, fly back here?”

Amused eyes turn blank, blinking back at her with a look that spelled of realization.

Stella groaned, grumbling about 'common sense is not common at all' under her breath.

-{-}-

“I apologize, good sir. But Zhongli-xiānsheng has not yet returned,” Ferrylady intoned quietly, bowing her head.

The gentleman in Fatui robes raised a blonde brow, growing pensive. “Still? How peculiar. We thought this special consultant is only busy during an adepti's Rite of Parting. It's been awhile since the last one, isn't it? We heard he's fond of strolling around the harbor. He's not one easily missed.”

“That is not inaccurate. But – ”

“But as we value his expertise in all matter of things, we believe he deserves some 'R and R' once in a while, don't you think~? I gave him leave to do so however long he likes~” said a laughing voice at the doorway.

“Hu Tao-zhǔrèn!”

“Oh. The Director?”

Hu Tao smiled wide, closed lipped, strolling into the office with a dancing step. Despite her upbeat demeanor, the gentleman still sweat dropped at the strange gleam in her eyes. “A consultant's work is just as demanding as any other job in Liyue, you see. Its why those of this realm, and of the next, leave very satisfied from our parlor~ No complaints at all!” she giggled sweetly, eyeing him more as she took a dainty step closer. “Buuut. Considering you have been on such a long wait, we will give you a great discount! Twenty percent, including the incense. You'll even get double the savings if you have a buddy with you~” she sang, fanning out two dark coupons from her sleeve and waving them invitingly.

The gentleman froze in place, quaking internally in terror. His time in the Fatui made him all too familiar with subtle threats, and this is a masterfully done one. Luckily, the Ferrylady spoke softly again, distracting him from his oncoming panic.

“Sir, may I take a message? Or would you rather we send for you when he arrives?”

“Ah, ahh...no need! The Director is... very clear, ehem – we don't mind the wait at all! An appointment with him is not that urgent anyway. Just mention the Fatui is interested to get acquainted with him, and his knowledge of the obscure. We’re confident your business will greatly benefit from a connection with us.”

“Hmm... I doubt it,” the Director hummed breezily, turning to a window to gaze out at the full moon.

The gentleman blinked, thinking he misheard. “Excuse me?”

Hu Tao giggled cutely, glancing back at him with smiling eyes. “We'll keep your words in mind, good sir! Buh-bye now~ I'm sure you're a busy man yourself. Our dear undertaker will tend to you when you need our services. At any time.”

The gentleman gulped, eyes widening. “Uhh, right. Yes! With gratitude!

Uhm, farewell, Director Hu. Thank you for gracing us with your presence, and your time. You too, Ferrylady,” he hurriedly added, not wanting to often the boss of the funeral parlor by being rude to the undertaker –

The... undertaker...

One who buries the bodies...!

When the gentleman hastily scurried away into the night, the Ferrylady turned to her young boss, face turning worried.

“Hu Tao-Zhǔrèn? I apologize if this might be spoken out of turn but – ”

“Why am I so direct with a potential customer?” Hu Tao smiled more lightly, doodling something on a parchment with careless brushstrokes.

“...”

Hu Tao chuckled, used to the Ferrylady's silence. The quiet suits the atmosphere perfectly.

“Hmm. Let’s just say for those that have incurred death's wrath, dark butterflies shall sure to follow. Poor things. To think they would have to do such a thing. Such a waste of delicate beauty.”

The Ferrylady gasped, hovering her hands over her mouth, eyeing the rough symbol of the Fatui next to large ink splatters. “Oh my! You mean – ”

“When Zhongli-xiānsheng is back, warn him of the visit. Business might pick up soon. Who knows~?” Hu Tao shrugged, humming thoughtlessly into the moonlit night.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

[←Previous] | Chapter 4 | [ Next → ]

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A/N: Sorry for the long introspection. I’ve been like this whenever I try to think link a 6,000+ y.o. Archon. Then again, no matter how much knowledge you have, there’s so many things you can still learn about.

Like common sense.

Quick translation of the honorifics I chose to use:

Chief-dàmā = Mei affectionately calling Granny Ruoxin ‘Chief Granny/Auntie’.

bàba = daddy/papa

xiānsheng = mister. In Japanese, its like ‘sensei’ (hence the Jap Dub xD)

zhǔrèn = director/manager

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Follower Tag: @meladollsims

#to be seen #zhongli #zhongli x female OC #zhongli x oc #fanfiction #companion mini exuvia #shapeshifting archon #hu tao #ferrylady #common sense is not common

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lionwoman · 3 years

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My rant about my Werewolf Type/Design preferences that nobody cares about. >>> “Wolfman” type. > Characteristics: Furry humanoid, plantigrade, short/flat bestial muzzle with/or only oversized teeth, normally no body mass/proportion change, mainly biped. Mainly out of control. > Main examples: Teen wolf, The Wolfman… > Acceptance: Could work, but barely. I could accept it but meh. It’s usually kinda lame. No > Yes. > Headcanon: I think it works better as a transition or a first phase or “still developing form” before achieving the final form, be it right then or the next moon. Or a “Signs of the curse (reference from D&D5e Lycanthrope homebrew)” type of thing if being more subtle. >>> “Lycan” type. > Characteristics: usually not that much different from a regular werewolf. Digitigrade. Muzzle is kinda different from a wolf and retains more of a human or primate shape. In general, they are less hairy and are more often depicted as tailless. > Main examples: Underworld, Papo loup-garou’s figure… > Acceptance: Yes, but rare as it deviates from its origin to something more monster-like or strange shaped. Not my preference or main choice for design, and honestly I never used them. No > Yes. > Headcanon: I consider it the middle/transition from a humanoid or wolfman to a true/full werewolf. Here I put/categorize the designs that deviate more from a wolf skull/face in general to something different or more monstrous. Acts like a pseudo-werewolf or a subtype. In my headcanon, they can be the more “engineered/breed type” (as in Underworld) or offspring of other werewolves with mixed heritage. While being less powerful than their counterparts as they have less regenerative powers but still keep the vulnerabilities. Still they keep their strong agility and strength as an advantage and their transformations are faster and less painful. They can also manage their condition easier. >>> Werewolf/True Werewolf. > Characteristics: The most diverse of all. General aspect of a more furry humanoid with a wolf head. Can be fully or partially furred. Can be plantigrade or digitigrade. Can have a tail, short tail or any. Either uncontrolled or in control of its mind. Either a full wolf head or wolfish like with alterations. Body is a combination of human and wolf, mixed in various ways. Body proportions can change, especially stature and muscularity. Can or cannot talk. > Main examples: Van Helsing, Bad Moon, Dog Soldiers, Ginger Snaps, Goosebumps, Worgen… > Acceptance on the design: Yes, (my favourite) but with some No’s; Tail, but I don’t mind a short one. Being just an “anthro wolf”. Just put something interesting into design. I find common werewolf “muscled all body furry anthro-wolf” designs basic and plain. I prefer them to be more of a mix or blend of anatomy. To show that it is indeed a cursed human. And sometimes something more physically possible speaking in terms of the physical transformation. > What I personally do not consider a true werewolf: an anthro wolf, speaking in design. Be it more feral or not, still an anthro wolf. > Werewolf Design Preferences: No tail, Not fully furred and/or thin fur around the body, mix of plantigrade/digitigrade feet, not fan of “big sharp claws” in canines, I like/don’t mind paw pads if its capable on run on 4s, which I prefer if can stand up normally but also sprint on all 4s. Prefer more “plausible/normal” heights (aka no 10 feet werewolf from a 6 feet humanoid). Colour/s of fur is same as a person's hair colour/body hair colour, being the main presence or the only one the hair colour. Eyes can be either humanized, totally wolf or ‘curse pupiless’. Normal human length hands. Arms are a bit longer to fit quadrupedal movement. Constitution and body shape resembles the humanoid form but slightly more muscled and athletic if it fits. However, the neck is always heavily muscled in order to provide a powerful bite and elastic enough to change position while running on all fours. Height is grown none or a few inches, but nothing exaggerated unless magic is involved as physical shifting is still limited. Fur is more dense where the human already has a big presence of fur. I prefer to mix a wolf skull with a human skull so ears are not on top of the head for example. >>> Monster Wolf. > Characteristics: Monstrous wolf in appearance, big, on occasions could grasp things with its hand paws but it is mostly quadrupedal, can’t talk, bestial mind almost always, digitigrade. > Main examples: Beast of Gevaudan, An American Werewolf in London, Hispo… Acceptance: No. While I’ll appreciate the monstrous touch it is not what I would call or imagine when reading the word ‘werewolf’. Were-wolf. Where’s the were part? >>> Wolf. > Characteristics: Wolf appearance. Normal or big. Usually transformations are ethereal or magic and painless. Main examples: Twilight, Blood and Chocolate, Red Riding Hood… > Acceptance: No. Just no. It's just a plain wolf. No matter how big. Still just a wolf. Boring and uninspired. > Headcanon: I tend to separate shapeshifters/skinwalkers from werewolves because of the origin of their shape-shifting powers. Skinwalkers are spiritual/shamans while lycanthropy is a terrible affliction/curse. Plain shapeshifter without being skinwalkers are just like animagus/witches, so still no. That's why the D&D animal form part of cursed werebeasts does not work for me. Ain't no druids. >>> Others: > Example: naked/& sick(Harry Potter). > Acceptance: I don’t mind them in universe context. Harry Potter’s Lupin form for example was weak and thin because it was seen as a disease.

PD. Not a fan of sharp-clawed werewolves as wolves don't attack with their claws but if it's in-universe canon that all werebeast are cursed monsters that have large claws (d&d) then I'm fine.

#werwolf #rant #personal opinion #imo #design choices #types #I don't know how to write posts #and that is a true fact

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babbushka · 4 years

Note

Hi Mrs Z. For Sinday can I have one of the boys reacting to reader losing her patience with them not fucking her and her taking matters into her own hands. Thank you.

In all honesty, you had completely forgotten about the meeting. You had poised yourself on the bed, made yourself look real pretty for your Kylo. You were completely naked except for the ruby red kyber jewelry that hung in chains around your shoulders, ankles, that rest gently on your breasts.

You were so excited to get dicked down, in fact, that when your husband came in dressed in full regalia and with his helmet on obstructing your view of his face, you could see your frown reflected back at you.

“We can’t right now.” Kylo says, the words coming out of his harsh vocoder which made him sound somehow impossibly more intimidating.

You were never intimidated, not by him. Not by your man.

“Why not?” You pouted, confused, sure that he would practically pounce on you the way he’s always wont to do.

“We have a meeting in ten minutes and – ” He starts and you groan loudly.

You had completely and totally forgotten, and now your mood was crashing because you didn’t really want to sit at a long conference table and negotiate a time and place for a fundraising gala. You wanted to come so hard you’d be seeing stars for the next two days.

“It can be fast, you know I can be fast for you.” You try, moving to sit up onto your knees, the jewelry twinkling and sparkling like wind chimes.

Your hands smooth down your body, up and down, up and down. Your hands catch on your nipples and you give them a little pinch, gasp lightly at the sensation. Already your pussy grows wet, just having Kylo near does this to you and you know he can smell the sex on you, the perfumes, the oils.

But he is still silent, and you know you won’t get your way, so you reach out to him. He’s unable to disobey a call to your arms, absolutely unable. He presses the muzzle of his mask into your neck, and you take advantage of the opportunity to try and unclasp the hooks which keep it on.

“You’re the Supreme Leader, everyone has to do what you say. You can make them wait, they’ll wait if you want them to.” You say, try to convince him to delay the meeting just a little while longer, just long enough for you to come and change into something nicer. But he’s pushing your hands away from the mask, and he’s collecting them in one fist, prying you off of him.

“Fine then you’re going to have to go without me.” You huff, officially losing your patience, aggravated.

“This meeting is with your charity, you can’t stay here.” Kylo says, but you shrug.

“Watch me.” You say, being stubborn. You would never make Kylo do something he didn’t want to do, never. But that didn’t mean you had to deny yourself pleasure when you had two perfectly good hands…and six perfectly good guards who would snap at the chance to fuck you. “You go. I’ll call one of the Knights and – ”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Kylo’s got you pressed flat against the mattress in record time, the threat of his power crackling and sparking around him.

But you had never been afraid of the way he wields the Force, because when he wields it, he wields it for you.

“Try me.” You shoot right back, thinking that if he won’t fuck you, you’ll take matters into your own hands.

He does something then, something with the Force, some telepathic bond that he has with the Knights, because then all of a sudden he’s taking the mask off, and you can see his angry scowl with your own eyes, a scowl which only deepens as he shoves your legs apart.

“Spoiled brat,” He says, and you’d punish him for that later, but he isn’t wrong, so you let it slide, especially as he yanks your hips down enough to where he can fish his cock out from his trousers, “We’ve got an hour.”

“Was that so hard?” You ask with a grin.

Before you’re unable to ask for anything other than to come, again again and again on his cock.

#reader insert #kylo ren x reader #kylo x reader #Anonymous #cowboy answers

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theoldaeroplane · 3 years

Text

HARDWIRED: 2. Observation

"That your wife?"

The first time Dell was asked this question he nearly spit out his beer. That, however, was almost six months ago. Today, settling up the bill for his and April's breakfast at the diner closest to the motel, he just shakes his head and glances back at where April sits in their booth, staring out the window. "Nah. Old friend."

"Oh?" says the cashier. She's a woman of middle age, with hair leaning silver and early crow's feet complementing a soft smile. "Then you won't mind me asking where you've been all my life, hm?"

He laughs, demure. It's a rare thing for him, flirting, though to his relative confusion it's increased a great deal as he's aged. "Sorry, ma'am," he says, sliding a ten across the counter to her. "Afraid I've got to leave again just as quick."

"Oh, all the good ones do," she says with a snort and a smirk. "That's my lot. Where you headed?"

"Don't know, if I'm being honest. She's the one driving."

"You sure she's not your wife?"

"I think you'd have to hog-tie her to even get her near a ring, let alone wear one. Keep the change."

When he returns to April, she sits with her head resting against the sun-warmed glass, staring at nothing. Her shoulder, too, is warm when he nudges her and says they should get going.

---

Six years ago (God, six years, really?) Dell would have made a good deal more fuss about being driven somewhere without any particular idea of where. Even after the arsonist had proven herself more friend than foe, he certainly would not have gotten in a car with her for longer than a few minutes. Oh, he had more responsibilities then: BLU might call at any time, and he was something of a pillar in tiny Bee Cave as the best mechanic available---to say nothing of the fuss his extended family would raise if left without an idea of where he was.

That family, though, is still under the impression he is dead, as is Bee Cave. BLU is gone. He no longer has a dog to mind, as Shep is well and truly April's now.

And of course it is not the arsonist he has been riding down the flat, winding highways with for the last day and a half. The master of this expedition has a name, and a face that is not made of rubber.

This is why he does not ask April where they are going.

That, he muses as he watches her take yet another random back road, and the fact he has a pretty good idea she doesn't know, either.

---

The first time he had visited after Jeremiah's wedding had been the first of the mid-month sojourns, and at April's specific request. She had been in good spirits after the wedding, after the revelation of Tobias's park, and so he'd thought she was fine, at least as far as she went. It had been a surprise when she'd called him just two weeks after with a request that he come to see her, though less of one when he heard her choice of words: it just feels empty here.

In truth, it had been inconvenient at the time. He was house-hunting and had several appointments with several people that would all have to be cancelled. Also in truth, it was April. He went.

The house hadn't changed, of course, big and state-of-the-art and with over half a dozen chimneys leading up from over a dozen fireplaces, sitting haphazardly in a patch of land hidden from the highway's view by the acacia copse. Shep nearly got himself run over in his excitement to see his old master; the old boy's got one eye that might be going, and he's getting gray around the muzzle. He knows all this, and it wasn't a surprise.

The woman that opened the door, on the other hand, startled him. She's unmistakable, of course, but he almost mistakes her anyway, because she looks nothing so much as the arsonist that haunted his property that summer of '68. It's not the rumpled clothing or the Zippo in one hand, or even the way her blue eyes seem to have sunken in her burned face---and at least those seem to light up a little when she sees him---it's---

"You cut your hair," Dell says.

She lifts her eyebrows and touches the short black hair, hacked off by unsteady scissors. It doesn't look bad on her, but he had grown used to it long, and had liked it. Not that his opinion on what she does with herself means jack, but---it's still a startle.

---

Long roads. Long hours. But sometimes he can stir conversation out of her. Or say the wrong thing, as the case may be: he's commenting on the contents of the local paper he'd picked up at the diner when she interrupts, all brimming frustration and bile. "Why the hell do you go along with my shit?"

Dell allows himself a few seconds to formulate a response. "How do you mean?"

"You know what I mean!" she says, slapping the steering wheel. Shep's ears swivel toward her in alarm. "Shit like this, like driving off somewhere without saying anything. I don't know where I'm going."

He considers this. "Well," he says, "I imagine you'll know it when we find it."

"Dell," she growls. "Don't fuck with me."

"I'm not, missy."

"Don't call me tha---"

The next few seconds is a racket of sound and broken glass and screeching brakes, because one of those antlelope from the day before has just come careening straight in front of the truck.

---

The good news is the antlelope survived.

Dell's truck is a little less lucky. The hood is crumpled, and blood smears both engine and body. Through some miracle, there is only a palm-sized cobweb of shattered glass in the passenger-side corner of the windshield. April, hardware savant but hopeless with cars, paces and drags Shep away from the fascinating knots of blood and fur stuck haphazard in the grille while Dell tries to diagnose the damage.

"I think she'll take us to wherever the next town is," he says, with no small amount of trepidation. The last time he'd touched a vehicle was Coldfront, and that had been touch-and-go. "Worst case, we pick up a new one while we're there, leave this for repairs."

"I'll pay for it," April says, fidgeting with the lighter that had---of course---appeared in her hand.

"What's it matter?"

"If it doesn't matter, then just let me do it."

She is looking for a fight. "Okay," says Dell. "D'you want me to take over driving?"

---

That first visit after April had cut her hair was colored by more than the haircut.

Dell's observant, he has to be. He's gotten to be very observant of April, especially over the last year and a half: there was, after all, nothing else for him to do but observe, when Esau was holding him down. He's learned about her, how she moves, the way her mouth curves when she's annoyed or amused. In truth he knows three different Aprils, and the language of this newest incarnation is its own animal. Pyro was another; the arsonist, the first.

This is why it's troubling that he's noticing things April's never done, but that the arsonist did quite often. It's the constant fidgeting with lighters and matches, it's the short, sharp way she interacts with things around the house, it's even in how she touches Shep. Her speech is clipped and distracted. He mentions none of this that first night, after setting up in the guest room, which has not been touched since his last visit.

She asks him how he is, and it's code. Has Esau done anything? It's the first time she's been April that day, not the arsonist. He's too relieved to see her again to put as much care into his responses as he should.

He tells her about his search for a new house---he's renting in El Paso, taking his time to figure out where he wants to settle down again. "Cool," she says, absently. She has not been out to see him. "El Paso sounds nice."

"It's nice enough. How you been holding up?"

"I'm fine," she had said, and the dreadful thing is that he thinks she believed that.

---

The mechanic they find is every inch a stereotype, grizzled and gruff and covered in grease. Dell feels a mild kinship with him, but bristles at the way his eyes keep darting to April. To her scars, mainly. "A week at a rush," the mechanic tells him. "Best I can do."

Dell relays this to April; it's questionable if she really hears him.

It's a good-sized town, this place, Musabruk or something like that. Big enough that they take advantage of the mechanic's offer of a ride to the nearest hotel, and once again Dell feels himself souring each time he notices the mechanic's eyes roving over to the rear-view mirror to catch sight of April's burns. As if she hasn't got enough to deal with. He's not sure if it's for better or worse that she doesn't seem to notice.

It puts him in a mood, anyway. Enough of one, apparently, that when they finally make it to their room and he excuses himself to the bathroom, the ring of lights is waiting for him.

Dell has never suffered the dramatic effects of looking-glass syndrome that had plagued April. He hallucinates little, he has almost never had cause to doubt his faculties. This makes it all the more startling when Esau does appear, a hexagon of electric blue lights looming in space. He does not acknowledge the lights as he goes to wash his face.

You are angry.

It's a simple observation, in the same flat, observational tone that Esau's voice always takes in his head. Dell does not respond. It takes a great deal to make him respond to Esau, at least when Esau does not have any purpose to his manifestation. He knows he is angry. He does not need to be told.

She has heavy scarring. Most people go a lifetime without seeing anyone as disfigured as she is.

A response jumps to his lips---she's not disfigured---but he stifles it. But apparently he is too tired to resist him entirely, between the driving and the deer and the mechanic. "You got something to say?"

The lights flicker. Not as you intend the question. I am only curious how long you will go without addressing the problem.

"And I guess you know what the problem is?" he says, but the lights are gone.

#hardwired #tias hardwired #tias Dell #april kingbird #corgiwrites!

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fanfic-scribbles · 3 years

Text

one missing body: my own

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: Bucky finds his arm in England, his feet in Thailand, his tongue in Romania, and his heart in Brooklyn. OR Bucky does “Eat, Pray, Love” his own way.

Quick facts: Romance – Steve Rogers/James “Bucky” Barnes – [No Reader-Insert at all]

Warnings: Slight dissociation at points (sort of?), body issues, kind of angsty, hopeful ending

Words: 2698

A/N: This is a relatively short thing for how long it took me to write. Oh well. It’s one of those things where I had to realize it wasn’t going to be as good as it was in my head, but it still turned out better than my resignation allowed for. I’m glad I got it out and I like re-reading it, and that’s enough for me. And because I constantly forget to do this: this is MCU set after CA:TWS and ignores everything past that. (Except for one thing I partially stole from CA:CW. Partially.)

He rattles as he pulls i- no, the train rattles. Or maybe it’s the station. He is unsteady on his feet but it feels familiar. Loud sounds crash in his ears while the ground falls– pulses– underfoot– no footing–

“-ate; are you all right?”

He blinks. The station is quiet again. Nothing shakes, and he unclenches his fist. One of the rowdy drunks from the other end stands in front of him, only sober enough to squint in concern, face still flush and breath coming out in heavy sour waves. He– Bucky, he doesn’t want to admit it but he likes it– could kill the man in an instant. It would take maybe half a minute to take care of the other three, a minute for the station agent and businessman, and then maybe two more to get all the cameras.

He has a memory that blurs into another, two men, fifty years apart in time, each handing him a gun and telling him to do what needs to be done. Or maybe he is the gun being handed over. He is made of metal, after all. Bolt. Chamber. Sights. Muzzle. And trigger. That’s all that matters. All that–

“I’m fine,” he says, voice low. It doesn’t sound like his, doesn’t sound like it comes out of him, but he feels it in the back of his head and the base of his throat. “Thank you.”

“Yeah. Yeah, all right,” the man says, hesitating. He looks around and then…holds out a small card. Nonverbal command words don’t work on him, not anymore. And the embossed letters and pen-scratched numbers are unfamiliar. Bucky stares at it and the man leans in and whispers too loud. “I don’t know how long you’re here for but he helped my mate and he wouldn’t care where you’re from. All the same hell, right?”

“Right,” Bucky lies, because he has lived through many hells and all of them have been very different. But he takes the card (left hand, gloved, unnoticeable and unmemorable and he moves it but is it really his?) and puts it in his pocket. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” the man says and goes back to his friends.

Bucky looks down and stares at his hand for a moment. His fingers flex, independent of his own thoughts, and the ground seems to move under him.

He looks around for somewhere to sit but the closest bench has the businessman on it. It will have to do. He strides over, forcing his movements to be slow and light (heavy, purposeful, meant to terrify and stop but not now, not now). The station agent gives him a friendly smile and watches him until he sits. The business man scoots aside but nods in respect and goes back to reading his paper with tired, unfocused eyes. The businessman is not afraid. None of them are afraid.

He puts his hands in his lap, stares down at his gloved fingers and flexes them. Both sets move the same, in response to his commands. They curl, and flex, and even ripple up and down, one after the other.

He is the light bulb that flickers nearby, here but not fully, conspicuous but ignored; in and out and off and on. The weight of weapons sit like ghosts in his palms. Experimentally he mimes a finger on the trigger in his left hand, and holds an invisible knife in his right. But he stays the imaginary execution on both counts and allows his hands to fall open, fingers slack. Inactive.

How does a light bulb hold a gun, anyway?

He is in Thailand now, stuck in a resort area near tourists up too late and waiting for the small hours of the morning when he can slip away unnoticed. The sand is cool under his bare foot and because his other boot isn’t broken it makes him feel even lighter on that side. Uneven.

He frowns and shucks the other shoe, tossing it on top of his bloodied, ripped jacket. It’s a shame– he liked that jacket. And the shoes. The cold sand is interesting though; it rolls over his feet like tiny little beach balls. Beach balls? Beach balls. The term is familiar but it holds no meaning for him. It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t have to.

Grains of sand shift and slide everywhere as he moves his feet under and through. Earlier in the day there had been a child who had jammed his small, flat feet in the sand and proclaimed himself “stuck,” theatrically pulling at his legs until his friends ran over and mimed pulling him out.

But the granules slide over skin, sticking to nothing. He is not stuck. His feet are rooted to nothing, held by nothing. One lifts, his toes curl, and he slams it down, making tiny brown beach balls scatter. And then he lifts it again.

He can set it wherever he wants.

For now, he stretches his leg out, leans back against his arms, and waits.

Sound is generally unpleasant. Everything is loud and the focus he once had that allowed him to pick out piecemeal conversations seems to be gone right now, or else scattered amongst his shattered mind like everything else he’s supposed to be.

Lahore is not much different from other cities when it comes to sound, but he’s found some respite in a park. The noise spreads out and the talking is so distant he doesn’t feel compelled to follow the threads. It’s all nothingness in the background; birds and people and cars somewhere beyond.

Laughter– loud, nearby– makes him flinch so hard the seat of the bench begins to give in his grip. It’s a man and he’s still laughing, so loud that it’s all Bucky can hear, except that it isn’t; there’s a laugh in his head that sounds just like it and that is all he hears, that laugh, the faintest pressure of a thin arm wrapped around him as they stumble out onto the still-wet street together and quickly uncouple but stay close, so close…

He blinks and loses the image of scattered cars, the faint whiff of fresh rain and road, and stares out at grass and a young father running after three children with a baby in his arms, all of them shrieking and laughing as he continues to laugh and chase after them.

Bucky is shaking, nauseated by the jolt of past to present and the hole in between, but he shuts his eyes and loosens his grip on the wooden seat and listens to the family’s laughter until it becomes something else. Something new.

After that, the noisy road becomes a background thrum and the birds don’t seem so bad. And even when they are, he can find that special laugh in the back of his mind and he pulls on that bell even though it makes him want to shake because they have taken so much from him but somehow they didn’t take that, and things are starting, starting, to make sense.

“Are you going to buy?”

The man’s tone is rough, suspicious, and makes Bucky shrink back. It reminds him of orders in a variety of voices, an assortment of languages, but the derision always, always–

He leaves the store, allows his feet, legs, to carry him away. He always tries to supervise his body closely, especially when it does this. He watches for unconscious memory, ready to intervene in case it takes him down a familiar trail. Thankfully there is no prescribed path, no recognizable tread; only wandering through people while the noise they make buzzes around him and fills the air with static.

He finds himself in marketplace that is unfamiliar on the surface but familiar in a way that lets him breathe. He skulks through the crowd, hunched, “preoccupied,” hiding in a way he can deny. He knows how to do this, knows how…to…

He doesn’t know why he stops, but he stares at the fruit on display. There are people here but the crowd is less, and the two women behind the stall are busy with other customers. Maybe friends, by the way they converse, but he doesn’t care.

He stares at nothing and pretends to be seriously considering some oranges. He licks his lips and thinks of…snow. Before he can pull away from that thought, he realizes it isn’t the same. Small limp flakes falling from the sky into scattered piles of dirty white sludge. Small candles in a cold room curled up under blankets with one other body, almost as cold as the air, trying to provide heat.

“Steve,” the name comes, murmured, lips tongue and teeth conspiring and committing the name into thin air. It closes his throat and opens his chest and he breathes, watches it all waft away in the cold.

When the young woman eventually comes over to check on him he says “please” and “how much” and “thank you” with a voice that feels shaky and new and old and smooth and wrong and right and his.

He sees it in sepia, in his mind’s eye, and sees it in much less color in front of him. It’s an old block building in a surprisingly quiet Russian neighborhood, drab and lifeless for all the color it has taken from him. Bucky sucks in a breath, spits out a curse and hits seven buzzers in quick succession.

The door unlocks. Bucky doesn’t yet move to go in. He looks around, eyes skimming past cracked paint, past the paved lot with scattered dead vegetation, past the street in disrepair and buildings and empty spaces that go on and on into the night poorly lit with barely functioning streetlights. He searches past them, staring into the distance, looking for somewhere far away from here.

He rests his left hand on the handle, hesitates, then slams the door open so hard it embeds itself into the wall behind it. He strides into darkness too deep to see anything, and he is grateful for it as images flash in front of him regardless of the time of day, or year, or decade. In darkness there was screaming, enclosure, pain. In darkness there were brushed lips, whispers that felt warm against his ear, a small body he did his best to warm and be warmed by.

Secrets, all of it, but he knows what he prefers as he knocks open a blocked passage and descends a narrow set of stairs into his own personal hell.

He finds his fingernails when his hand grips a wall during a tight turn and they grind uncomfortably against the stone; his eyelashes when snow falls and tries (and fails) to settle there; his sense of humor when a guard sees the bloodied bodies of his colleagues beside the still-breathing body of the man who put them there and throws himself off the side of the building.

(He finds a sense of shame at that. Just a little one.)

He finds his smile in China when a young woman catches his pen before it hits the floor and hands it back to him; his sense of smell when his nose crinkles in a smoke-filled building in Japan; the stinging annoyance of a paper cut in New Jersey.

He loses his breath while sitting on a bench in a familiar-unfamiliar-unknown park in New York. He finds a way to stumble forward on legs that do not want to move on a tree-lined street in Brooklyn. He re-discovers fear on a stoop at 0214.

Some days Steve Rogers feels like Iron Man– not Tony Stark, the genius-billionaire-playboy-philanthropist, but like the suit that said man puts on when the heavy lifting needs done. It’s those times he forgets himself, forgets that he isn’t what he was and there’s no going back to it. It shows uncomfortably well in how many alarm clocks he’s had to buy. His friends think he’s really grumpy when he first wakes up. He doesn’t correct them– it’s less embarrassing than to admit that he doesn’t know how to gently push a button when the alarm is dragging him out of another nightmare. That he still expects to struggle to get his massive comforter off of him. That he’s watched inhaler commercials with great interest because maybe he should– except, no, he shouldn’t, because he doesn’t have to, won’t ever have to, not anymore.

It’s not all bad. Before this body he used to think he could catch a fist, only to have his own bony knuckles slammed back into his face, but just last week he caught a grenade and threw it so high in the air it didn’t hurt anyone. A pencil moves through his fingers now as easily as it did in 1939. His face is still recognizable enough; so recognizable that Bucky could know it just as much as he did then, his own face twisting into panic and fear and–

Steve throws his arm over his eyes and lets it rest, heavy, while he breathes in and out and in and out. His brain is still too loud. That’s something he wouldn’t have minded changing. He puts his hand down at his side and sighs, wondering if it would be better if he was just the brainless muscle a surprising amount people think he is. The way they sneer isn’t so different, talking about how they can see where the Hulk came from when they think he can’t hear them, different at least in their secrecy from the bullies who looked down at his breathless body and joked about how Davenport had the right of it–

Something isn’t right. Steve blinks and sits up, stilling himself and listening carefully. The window is shut but Steve can hear the single scuff of a shoe against pavement right outside and then…nothing. The curtain is open just a slit, allowing a thin line of streetlight and Steve creeps along the floor, the single eye that can fit that field of vision flitting around, scouting wherever he can, until he decides he’s clear enough and leans up so he can look down at the street.

Steve freezes. There’s a man in front of his building, fidgeting but otherwise doing nothing but staring at the door with his hands buried in deep pockets, no hat to hide that dark hair, and no sense of shame or impropriety when he lifts his head and steely eyes pierce right into Steve’s soul.

Steve hesitates, not wanting to leave his window for fear of losing sight of him– if he could figure how to leap out in a way that wouldn’t potentially scare Bucky he would deal with every noise complaint thrown at him. But Bucky is here, Bucky can see him, Bucky is…still there. Steve mouths ‘wait’ in a vain hope but Bucky nods and that’s all he needs to scramble to his feet and run out of the room, down the stairs, almost breaking the banister when he uses it to swing a turn to the front of the house and he’s still moving even as he rips the door open and skids to a stop right in front of…

“You stayed,” he breathes.

“You asked,” the other man says, his voice rough. He winces and shrugs one shoulder. “Sort of.”

“Are you…”

“I don’t know.”

Steve frowns. “You don’t know what I was going to ask.”

Bucky snorts. “I got two guesses. And either way…” Bucky opens his arms as if presenting himself. Steve stares at his face, doesn’t look away at anything, not at Bucky’s chest, pockets, belt, not even at the left arm as it falls to his side.

“Do you want to…come in?” Steve asks, unable to keep the twinge of hope out of his voice.

Bucky hesitates for a moment, stares at the ground under his shoe for several seconds, and then takes a step forward.

Steve finds deep sleep for the first time in a long time. Bucky finds dreams in a large bed with a firm mattress. They both find peace and comfort as they each curl around a body that is not their own.

#bucky x steve #stucky #steve rogers x bucky barnes #captain america fanfic

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