#almost the same height as russ

[lock-my-feelings-in-a-jar]

[billthedrake]

HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS

"Russ?" the voice called out as I walked through the big-box store parking lot. "Russ McAdams?"

Maybe it was the dark winter dusk or maybe I just didn't expect to see Coach Stanley, out of the classroom in his casual hoodie and jeans, but it took me a second me a second to connect the voice with the face.

Given how much I'd jerked off to fantasies about my AP History teacher back, I probably should have recognized him immediately. The guy wasn't the only dude I lusted after in high school, my body swimming in teen hormones and my head trying to make sense of it all, but I always thought he was the hottest teacher at Aurora High. 5'11" thick ex-baseball player muscle, thinning brown hair and a clean-shaven face that always seemed on the verge of a five o'clock shadow. Even the way he walked was a little bow-legged and a lot masculine.

He wasn't clean-shaven any more, instead sporting a closely trimmed beard. And he wasn't in his khakis and button down shirt now, but instead had on a puffy winter jacket and jeans, with a scarf that mostly covered a casual sweatshirt underneath.

"Coach Stanley?" I said as I realized who was walking up to me. Ed Stanley wasn't my coach, just my teacher, but all the school called him Coach Stanley or Coach S for short.

"Almost didn't recognize you," he said as he held out a gloved hand. I shook it. "Seems you've done some growing in college."

"Yeah, I guess I have," I chuckled and took his words to be a big ego pump. After I moved off to school and came out, I decided that I'd hit the gym. Hard. I was an athletic kid in high school, on the soccer and tennis teams, but I was slender, and my height made me look even leaner. But it was winter break of my junior year and I'd put on a lot of muscle since Coach Stanley last saw me.

"Well, you're looking good, Russ," Coach S said. I mean it was probably an innocent compliment, but standing a few feet apart from the guy, I got caught up in his blue eyes and bright smile for a second. All those silly adolescent puppy crushes I thought I'd outgrown came flooding back to me.

I know I blushed, but my red cheeks could probably be explained by the cold evening weather. I'd underdressed given I had only planned to pop in for a last-minute gift for my sister. "You running some errands, Coach?" I asked.

The man nodded and gave one of those trademark Coach Stanley smiles. Fuck I was gonna be jerking off thinking of him later, for sure. "I've kind of procrastinated but I'm here to pick up a tree." He gave an embarrassed shrug. "It's a lot of trouble to go through with just me, but you know, I guess it doesn't feel like Christmas without one."

I didn't know Coach Stanley's story. I mean, a few of the girls in my high school gossiped about his hot fiancee, so I think I expected him to be married by now.

"You busy shopping, Russ?" he asked. I half thought Coach would just say hello then go on his way. But I figured a teacher enjoys running into a former student. And I was a good student, I knew - academically successful and all-around "good kid."

"A last minute gift," I replied, holding up my bag. "Guess I'm a procrastinator, too, Coach," I laughed.

Stanley flashed me that bright grin, and it seemed like his eyes couldn't break contact. Fuck. "Well, I guess I better let you get on with your errands," he said. "Good running into you, Russ. Take care."

"I will," I said. "Good seeing you, too, Coach."

He paused and then added. "And if you ever want to stop by the school, say hi... I'm always around."

"Will do," I said.

We both kind of stood in the parking lot, looking at each other. I think we laughed at the same time from the awkwardness.

"All right," he finally said with a nod and turned to walk over to where the Christmas trees were set up.

He got about four paces, but I spoke up. I couldn't believe I was about to say this, but I figured if I made a fool of myself, it didn't matter. I didn't live in my hometown any more. And something about Coach's vibe made me think something was up.

"Hey Coach," I said. The man stopped, surprised, but turned around. I took a couple steps forward. "This may sounds weird," I said with a deep blush. "But if you want some help setting up your tree, I'd be glad to help out."

I could feel my heart pound, and I wanted the parking lot to swallow me, the embarrassment was coming on so strong. Thankfully, Coach Stanley's smile returned. "Yeah?"

I nodded.

He seemed like he was trying to check some emotion. "I'm sure you have better things to do, Russ," he said.

I had no inclination that Coach Stanley even thought about guys, but those words were when I knew he wanted me.

"My parents have some holiday party to go to, and I don't have any plans," I said. "I'm happy to help. Honest."

Coach paused then agreed. "All right. Maybe I can give you my address and you can meet me over there?"

We made a plan.

I went back home to drop off my shopping and to grab a quick bite. I had a quick change of clothes. I felt weirdly nervous, like I didn't know what Coach Stanley went for. It was a weird thought and unexpected I'd even be thinking this on a Saturday night before Christmas. I took off my sweats and slipped on a nice pair of jeans. A long-sleeve gray T and a layered T-shirt with my college logo on it seemed to be a nice jocky-preppy outfit and the snug size showed off my body pretty well.

"Hope you like it, Coach," I laughed in the mirror.

I went down to find some leftovers for dinner.

My dad was in the kitchen, pulling out a bottle of wine he was taking to the party. I told him I was thinking of going over to hang out with one of my friends. And maybe staying over if that was Ok.

Dad was the softer touch of my parents, but Mom probably didn't care. I was responsible, and they had a lot of me time over the holidays. "Just text us when you know your plans for sure," he said.

"Will do, Dad," I replied. "Have fun at the party."

"Be safe," he added, as went to get his coat, just as Mom came down the stairs.

They left pretty soon thereafter, and I cleaned up from my quick dinner.

By the time I got to Coach Stanley's place, I was feeling nervous, real nervous. I parked my car and walked up to the front door of the modest colonial house in a decent but not overly fancy neighborhood. I started second guessing myself. Maybe I'd been misreading the cues, but even if so I'd have some quality time with an incredibly hot man. I figured I'd just enjoy that for what it was worth.

When Coach answered the door, I was so turned on. Gone was the puffy coat and the scarf and the sweatshirt. My high school history teacher stood before me in a pair of jeans, sock-clad feet and a loose, thin cotton T-shirt of some fundraising road race. This shirt was a little loose but somehow draped perfectly over the rounded shoulder muscle and strong pecs. Even if it wasn't snug, I could tell Stanley kept his midsection flat and trim for a dude in his late 30s. I don't know why this was a major turn on, but Stanley wore a thin gold chain necklace around his corded neck.

"Glad you could make it, Russ," he greeted, his mellow tenor voice gaining a friendly edge. "Come in. I've just put the tree in the stand and was about to start on the lights."

I did feel kind of dumb. In my imagination, I'd come over and right away would be having sex with my former teachers. But here I was to help him with his tree. I took off my coat and followed him to the living room.

There were a few wrapped presents set to the side and a few family photos in frames. And there was a big bookshelf with hardbound books. But other than that it was very much a bachelor home. Sparse and clean, but not homey at all. I kind of liked it as a glimpse into Coach's personality, but it kind of felt lonely, too.

I set my coat down and followed his directions, holding the string of lights as he wrapped it around.

It was all business, but having two men at the task made it go more quickly. Next was the garland. Then there were a bunch of ornaments to put up - a couple of boxes.

"We don't need to do all of these," Coach said, handing me one.

It was a little frustrating being so close to this hunk in his own home. But it was a good kind of frustration. Sneaking looks at him. His handsome face, his serious demeanor, his hunky body. It was like every sexual thought I'd had sitting in his third period class all junior year came back to me, only it felt more powerful. Closer, more real.

At that point I wasn't expecting anything to happen. Maybe Coach was lonely at the holidays and just wanted some company. If so, I was happy to give it.

Then I felt his hand on my shoulder. "Let me just get by you a sec," he said. He reached up over my shoulder and hung an ornament in a bare spot. And just as quickly his hand left.

I wouldn't think anything of it, only two minutes later, he repeated the action. I paused and savored the grip of his hand on my shoulder as he placed the ornament.

My heart was pounding now. I waited a few more minutes, feeling this strange energy in the room. I really didn't want to misread things, but something was up. As Coach reached over and put a ball on a branch, I stepped beside him, almost behind him and put my hand on the middle of his back. Coach Stanley had one hell of a strong back, I could tell, and up close I could smell his aftershave.

"Mind if I get in here, Coach?" I asked, reaching up to the top. I had a good four inches of height on him.

As soon as I placed the ball, my eyes dropped level again and I saw those mesmerizing blue eyes. Quietly expectant.

I gently massaged that spot in his back, through the T-shirt and leaned in.

Coach's lips were soft, almost chapped, but they parted and I felt the tip of his tongue graze my own lips. As I parted them, our mouths connected fully in a kiss.

In my imagination of how this evening would go down, nothing compared to the thrill of that kiss. I was a young guy still, just 21, and I was realizing then that none of the guys I'd been with really knew how to kiss. Not like this.

Stanley's look was all serious when we finally broke for air. My heart was racing and I just sensed his was, too.

"You OK with this, Russ?" he asked softly. "I usually don't do anything like this."

I ran my fingers along the small of his back. I may not have had Coach's kissing skills, but I enjoyed being physical and handsy-flirty when I hooked up with a guy. It was something I learned from a frat boy I sorta-kinda dated and now something I consciously worked on.

Coach seemed to like it, and I could see his nostrils flare as my fingertips slid under the hem of his shirt to touch his bare flesh.

"More than OK with it, Coach," I grinned. Just being close to him I could tell how solid his body was, and that was turning me the fuck on. But I noticed Coach S wasn't making much move to touch me or feel my body. "More to the point... are you OK with it?"

He cocked me a little grin. "Yeah, Russ... it's just... part of me thinks I shouldn't be doing this."

"I'm not gonna blab to anyone, Coach," I said. "Promise." I ran my fingers up higher along his lats. Rock hard solid muscle that was more dense than bulky. I could tell the man was gonna give me new workout goals, already. "Come on... I want this so bad."

That made him smile. "I want you, too, Russ," he whispered, getting that serious look on his face again. And I was now getting my second Ed Stanley kiss, almost better than the first. And the man's hands were now on my waist, openly feeling me up as he pulled me into his body.

We made out, right in his living room, right in front of the Christmas tree, and our hands moved from gentle exploration gradually into groping. It was like we were copying each other's moves, and one-upping them.

The look on Coach S's face when he pulled back was adorable. I could see a crazy amount of lust but also the desire to fight it.

"I like to take things slow, Russ," he said as his blue eyes swept up my taller form.

"Works for me, Coach," I muttered, my voice cracking with lust. I mean, my normal MO would have been to go hard and heavy with a dude like this. But I didn't want to see the impatient young guy I really was.

He cracked a smile. "How bout some make out time in the bedroom?"

I nodded and followed him. The master bedroom was somehow even barer than the living room of Coach Stanley's house. But it smelled like Coach's aftershave and the scent hit me like pheromones as I watched the man pull the covers down and get up on the bed, still in his stocking feet and clothes.

Normally, I'd be stripping down, ready to get it on, but I followed Coach's lead and kicked off my shoes before joining him.

"Thanks for coming over, Russ," Coach said softly after a kiss.

My hands were on his chest. I was doing my very best to be a good boy and not grope the man too much but fuck he felt nice. I'd hooked up with some hot guys before, but Stanley was probably the hottest I'd scored. And the fact that I had some lingering high school fantasies added to the thrill. I was rock hard in my jeans as we lay on our sides, face to face.

"Not how I was expecting my evening to play out, Coach," I said. "This is a fantasy come true, to be honest."

He chuckled softly and ran his fingers along my flank. "It's Ed, Russ," he said. "You can call me Ed."

"All right, Ed," I said. "But I'm probably still gonna think of you as Coach."

He shook his head gently. Maybe mildly bothered by the fucking with his former student thing, but owning up to the dynamic. "Probably to be expected." Then he added, "You really better not fucking tell anyone, Russ." It was the first time I'd heard my former teacher swear, but the gruff tone was in gest, even if I knew Stanley had real anxiety about what we were doing.

"For real, Ed.... whatever happens stays between us." I took a deep breath and felt my heart pound. I was not good at doing the patient approach. "I know you wanna take it slow, Coach, but you make me so fucking horny."

That made the man laugh. "All right, buddy," he grinned. He pulled back and kind of sat up. I watched him pull his T-shirt off over his head.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" I gasped, my thought going straight from my head to my lips. Coach's body was just incredible. Meaty and thick, but also in shape, even with knotted abs. He had a lot of brown fur on his chest, swirling over his round pecs capped with thick brown-pink nipples. And to top it off that gold chain clung around his neck.

"What?" he reacted with a laugh.

"You, that's what," I said. "That body is insane." I normally didn't verbalize my reactions to men when I hooked up. Then again, normally with my hook ups both men would have gotten off by now and be getting dressed to go our own ways.

Stanley seemed pleased with my compliment. "You're looking in fine form, too, Russ... come on, show me what you got."

I felt inadequate but I wanted to get the party going, so I stripped my shirt off, and raised the ante by undoing my jeans and pulling them down over my legs.

Already, Ed's hands were on my semi-naked body, feeling me up. Seems that Mr. Take it Slow was getting horny himself.

"Damn, Russ, you're not one of those Corbin Fisher guys, are you?" he teased.

I was eating his praise and his touch, too. After I kicked off my jeans I spread my legs to show off the hardon in my boxer briefs. I wasn't porn hung, but I measured up pretty well against most guys I'd been with, and I was certainly rock hard right then.

"You watch that stuff, Coach?" I laughed.

"I won't lie, Russ. That stuff's gotten me through some pretty lonely nights." His blue eyes met mine directly, communicating not only his desire but his vulnerability. For some reason, that made my cock twitch.

"No need for porn tonight, Ed," I replied. Then with an impish smile, I added, "Unless you wanna have it on."

He shook his head with a laugh. "No. No porn." He took his hands off my biceps and reached down to undo his jeans.

I swear my breath stopped as I watched him peel them down. I swear I don't know how and why I didn't realize that Ed Stanley had gone commando. As the jeans slipped down, I saw the thick brown hair of his lower belly, then a solid erection eager to poke out.

Coach was of average length. Totally average, yet thicker than normal. His cock was girthy and beautiful and seemed to fit him.

But his attention was on me, and as he scooted up back close to me he ran his fingers along the waistband of my underwear. "May I?" he asked.

"Oh yeah," I replied. Like a kid unwrapping a present he peeled them off over my boner and then jerked them down my legs. My prick stood up and jerked in excitement.

"That's a nice tool, ya got, Russ," he growled. He stared at my cock then looked up to my face again. "You definitely could be in one of those Corbin Fisher videos." His fist wrapped around my hard meat and almost instantly his palm was smearing my pre cum down the shaft with its regular strokes.

I touched his dick, now, too, feeling like I had permission. He hissed, and I watched his face react as I did my best to adjust my touch and approach. "You into college dudes, Ed?" I asked. Maybe it was nosy or forward to ask. Coach wasn't old or anything, I'd guess mid 30s, but he seemed very much into my collegiate body.

He nodded. "If I'm honest with myself... yeah. I guess I think and wonder what if I'd done stuff back then."

I felt back for Coach S and also weirdly protective of the man. I let go of his dick and held up my arm. "Come here, Coach," I muttered.

He took the invitation and scooted into my embrace, nestling his warm furry body against mine. For a man in his early 30s, Ed Stanley was as hairy as a man in his late 40s. I wrapped my arm around his back and he held me in a similar grip. We humped our hard dicks together, slowly, but didn't really escalate the sex. Not yet. Ed just rested his head in the crook of my neck and held on to me.

"Feels nice, buddy," he said. Then, nervously, "you must think I'm a mess."

I patted his back. It was incredible how solid his lats were. "Not all, Coach... Ed..." I heard him laugh. "It bother you that I'm still calling you 'Coach'?" I asked. "Old habits and all."

Stanley pulled back. Up close his face seemed less youthful but he was even more handsome. I tried to memorize the soft lines in his rough-skinned face and the close trim of his beard. "It's probably not making me feel less like an old pervert, but it's all good, Russ."

He'd asked me to take things slow and we were just in this quiet emotional moment. Which is why I was surprised by the sudden move Coach made to roll me onto my back, with him on top of me. He was 5'11" and shorter than me but he easily weighed as much. I loved feeling every bound of his hard body on top of mine.

We kissed, and Ed was no longer doing the soft, gentle kiss. It was more the hard sexual kissing I was used to. Coming from this man, it drove me wild. Roughly he thrust into my crotch with his. I never was into frottage, and this wasn't gonna get me off. But as foreplay I fricking loved it. Feeling Coach S's athletic ex-jock body on top of mine, working up his own sexual heat to match mine as we sucked each other's tongues and then took turns plunging in and out of our mouths with them.

This whole evening had been unexpected and had played out with surprising ease. Only I realized I didn't know Coach Stanley's deal. On the apps, you know from the get go what the guy is looking for. I didn't know if Coach was a top or even if he was into fucking. For my part I was pretty vers and while anal was my favorite thing, giving or receiving, practicality mean that an oral hookup was more common.

The way Ed was putting his whole body into our intensely sexual make out made me half expect the man to kick my legs apart and ravage me. Instead he slowed his hips and paused, pulling back with a big fucking grin.

"Please tell me you suck dick, Russ," he hissed.

I chuckled. "Yeah, Coach."

That was all he needed to hear. Gone was the patient man. Instead he quickly scooted up and lined up his dripping cock to my lips. I mentally prepared myself, hoping Stanley wasn't the type to go into rough facefucking mode. I opened my lips and felt his prick press past them.

Thankfully after Coach pushed in three solid inches, he let me do the work. I didn't have a great angle or a lot of room for move my head back and forth, but that was OK. Stanley didn't need a pro blowjob, it turns out. After a minute of my awkward bobs, I felt his quads tense and his voice get real strained.

"That's it, Russ..." he hissed. His sexy masculine voice now needy. "Right fucking there, buddy.... so close... Yeah, keep sucking! Oh god, oh fuck... UNGH!"

His cum was hot and the load thick. The angle made it shoot against the roof of my mouth so it was a half second before I tasted him. He was salty and sweet and I was instantly hooked. I swallowed that ejaculation and moved my mouth back and forth, adding suction to coax out a few more jets. Other than the my sorta frat-guy boyfriend and a 20-something dude I went out with for a few months, I didn't have much relationship experience. And in my one-off hookups, my dick size meant I was more often then not being serviced orally. But damn, I loved this feeling of a man cumming in my mouth and down my throat. Particularly because it was Coach S.

He finally pulled back, a huge smile on his face. "Thank you," he muttered and patted my cheek. Then, he said, "your turn."

I watched as he quickly scooted down to get on all fours between my legs. I had been so focused on blowing him, I almost forgot how eager I was to get off myself. Coach was reminding me now, the way he licked up my boner, one side then the other.

Maybe Coach was closeted, I don't know. But the man knew how to suck cock. He had a good technique as he took me into my mouth and started working me up and and down. But the most amazing thing was his enthusiasm. Even though he'd already gotten his rocks off, the man was so clearly into this. Into sucking dick. My dick.

I watched him and enjoyed him, not overly urgent in my need to cum.

But, fuck, I felt Ed's fingers nudge my ball, and the urgency hit me. I thought of trying to hold back but I worried I'd mess up a perfectly great orgasm.

"Coach!" I hissed. "I'm gonna cum.... oh SHiT!"

I could hear Ed gulp as I pulsed my seed into his mouth. Then on my second spurt, he let out a deep, excited moan.

I leaned my head back and just enjoyed every wave of pleasure that coursed through me. I could get used to Ed Stanley's skills, for sure.

Finally, the man relinquished my prick and gently kissed up my belly and chest. I felt a little ticklish after the intense cum, which made him laugh softly.

"Thank you, Russ," he said, now raising his weight above mine, our soft dicks pressed together but our torsos not touching.

"Man... you're the one that's letting me live out my high school fantasies."

I could see him wince a little at that but he just nodded. "Well, I'm glad." He gingerly scooted off to the side, resting on the bed beside me. "I'll be honest, Russ... I don't know the etiquette in these situations."

"What do you mean, Coach?" I asked, turning toward him and running my fingers through the hair on his chest. I wanted to memorize the look and feel of this man.

He seemed shy now. "Sometimes guys seem to want to split once they get their nut. And sometimes they seem mad if I don't ask them to stay."

"I've done both, Ed," I assured him.

That seemed to relax him. "Well, you wanna stay for a bit? Maybe we can light the tree, enjoy some egg nog?"

I nodded, a smile on my face. "Yeah," I said.

That made him happy, I could tell. It seemed strange a man as hot as this could be so lonely, but I was happy to be his stand-in boyfriend or whatever for the evening.

We kissed some and then got up to get dressed again. As we padded back into his living room, I had to ask, "So... there been a lot of guys for you?" Maybe it was a sore point, but I figured if Ed wanted to some quality time, we could talk man-to-man.

He shrugged. "About ten. About half of those in the last year," he explained. "I guess I'm still figuring some stuff out."

I nodded, sympathetic. I had a different journey than Coach, but I understood some of what he was going through. "Well, I'm real glad I ran into you, Ed."

He smiled. "I'm glad too, Russ."

[macravishedbymactavish]

Hugging Headcanons (COD Ghosts x GN! Reader)

TW: Rorke. Mentions of the canon Ghosts ending, illusions to torture (nothing graphic)

| Blog HQ | MW2 Version |

David "Hesh" Walker

As we all know, Hesh is very, very open with his emotions. Both negative and positive, it's very easy to see what he's feeling at a glance.

Which means he is also very open to tell you how he feels for you (after months of pining and annoying Logan about it. Who was ready to spill his brothers secret for him, just so he could have one night without hearing about you)

Not only tells you how much he loves you, but also shows it through his hugs.

Normally quite goofy, a lot of times ending in you laughing while pushing against his chest. Trying to create space between the two of you as he only pulls you tighter.

You two also have your fair share of serious, loving hugs when the moment calls for it.

Loves watching you jump then immediately relax when he surprises you and hugs you from behind. Has almost gotten nailed right in the nose for it though.

Will hug you everywhere and anywhere that it's safe. No regard for who's watching, or your surroundings (the exception being if the surroundings/situation is dangerous)

Hesh has developed the habit of seeking you out when he needs a pick me up. Especially when his head gets a little too loud, and life becomes a bit overwhelming.

Maybe it's the feeling of security when he's wrapped up in you, but he finds it easier to deal with his emotions when being held by you. These moments seem to help him find clarity in his thoughts, and help him gain new perspective.

Especially when he's dealing with problems or topics he feels hopeless and lost about.

Hesh is just all around more level headed when he can hold you and slow his brain down for a few minutes.

Keegan Russ

He's antisocial, appreciates having a decent amount of personal space. So 1 of 2 things happens:

If you're like him, and don't particularly like people being too close. He respects it, and finds it rather endearing watching the journey of you getting a little bit closer to him each day. To the point where standing beside one another comfortably is the norm.

If you're not like him, and love being up close and personal he'll eventually form a soft spot for you. Initially gets annoyed, but holds back the attitude because he does like having you around. But maybe over there.

Don't ask me why, but I get the vibe that while he wants to hug you sooner, he doesn't. For what reason? Nobody, including himself can figure that one out.

The first hug would be work related. Whether that be a heroic "oh shit" moment where he's doing something like the clichè cover your body with his. Except far less dramatic (nobody got hurt).

Or a way to not get caught when trying to go undercover.

No, those aren't 2 Ghosts. Just a couple of overgrown teenagers loving up on one another in that dark alley. It's fine.

After that first time however, he's hugging you during every quiet moment the two of you have together.

If you're shorter than him, he's going to rest his chin on your head and hold you tight into his chest. He always feels like you're this delicate thing that needs to be protected within his embrace (even though you're not and would likely chew him out if he ever said that out loud).

If you're the same height or taller -- he loves pressing his face into your neck. It brings him unlimited comfort doing this, but he'll deny it to no end if anyone asks.

Thomas Merrick

Another guy that gives me bear hug vibes (like Price). Not overly obnoxious, but if the situation or mood calls for it he's holding you tight and considering the idea of not letting go.

Otherwise very casual with keeping physical touch. Arm around your shoulders or waist when you're sitting next to one another or walking together.

While very private about his personal life, he unconsciously wants to keep in some form of physical contact with you.

Has totally done that thing where he rests his cheek on your head, just relishing in the moment.

Especially on long rides back to whatever destination. He's gotten a couple curious looks from the newest Ghosts for this (in his defense, Logan did think it was adorable. Hesh ruined it by showing his clear confusion because Merrick's a softie?!)

They were promptly shut down by one of the other guys giving them a look of warning. Just let the man have his small moments of peace....in peace.

Call him old fashioned, but he loves when he can hold you close and slowly dance with you. Music is totally optional.

He may or may not have imagined the two of you like this on your wedding day (if marriage is in the cards for you two).

While he can come off as hot headed, and loyal/defensive to a fault (literally slamming Hesh into a wall for stepping up at Keegan) I want to say he's actually fairly laid back at home. If he needs to step in and ensure you're okay, he will in a heartbeat.

But otherwise? Totally content just lounging around with you in his arms.

Merrick also appreciates when he's the little spoon. Or being hugged from behind. Something about the feeling warms his heart in ways he can't (and won't) describe.

Logan Walker

In the beginning, you're going to have to initiate most of the hugs. While he loves them, he overthinks it too much and talks himself out of it.

Loves (and I mean LOVES) being hugged by you. Everything in the world just lines up during the time he's being held by you. Nothing bad can happen to him when you're hugging him.

The first time he hugged you (was a "from behind hug" where he rested his chin on your shoulder) you could've swore your heart might've exploded.

His confidence eventually progresses to greeting you (when appropritate, nobody dying for hugs here) with a hug and forehead kiss becoming the norm.

Hear me out on this, beach date with Logan. Hanging out by the water when he hugs you from behind....then promptly dunks you both under the water.

He'd be fully clothed and dripping wet with you, but would have such a mischievous smile on his face for the rest of the day.

That was the most fun I've had in a long time. He would tell you later that day, waiting for the sun to dry you both off.

Little does he know you're probably plotting his revenge.

Post-capture, this would be one of the first things he finds to come back naturally. They wiped most of his mind and memory, but the feeling of you in his arms and vice versa seems to be ingrained in his muscles.

Even when the world becomes a bit too much for him to handle, the comfort of your hugs grounds him and wipes his mind for a second

Elias Walker

Throwing him in here to say it would only happen under 3 circumstances:

1). You become like a third child to him

2). You are in desperate need of some familial comfort

3). You were almost seriously injured/killed on a mission and thank God you're okay. Remember how he pushed Merrick off Hesh in the helicopter scene and immediately went to calm Hesh down? I'm thinking that kind of vibe.

I don't know, he's the dad of the game and I like the idea that Mama Walker was his soulmate. He has no interest in filling that role. He's content with his sons and team filling his heart

No matter what situation causes the chain reaction leading to a hug -- it's filled with comfort and understanding.

Like hugging a parent who truly cares, and wants the best for you. Leaves your conscience feeling lighter and your soul a little warmer

Gabriel Rorke

If you're on hugging tier with this man, you're special. Like....extremely special to him.

Maybe it's my overtired brain (that initiated this idea), but I could see you being the one and only tie he has left to life pre-federation (like with Logan - the feeling of holding you and being held is muscle memory. It evokes an unconscious reaction within him).

If you were by his side on the Federation:

He'd seek you out for some form of comfort, especially after capturing Logan and starting that process. No matter how brainwashed he is and hellbent on revenge, he knows first hand how terrible the conditioning process is.

For a kid he's never met, he feels horrible for doing this to him. But duty calls and you gotta do what you gotta do.

Especially on nights when he can't get the sound of the screams and agony out of his head...and his body aches in the same way it did years prior -- he seeks you out. Relishes in the feeling of you holding him and helping him forget about the atrocities.

If you're not part of the Federation with him:

I feel like you two would cross paths in the battlefield. Which would go 1 of 2 ways:

1). You get spared, he can't quite place the details but he recognizes you as someone vastly important in his life. All he wants in exchange for your freedom is a hug -- because apparently those were really important to him at one point before all this

2). You don't get spared. Again, some part of him screams and deep dives to try and remember who you are. Details are blurry or redacted within his head; but acting on instinct he pulls you close. Despite everything, you get your last moments alive in the arms of someone you once loved.

Taglist: @bloodonmyhands-1221 @ai-luni @v1naco @bowtruckleninja

[moodymisty]

hi! i hope you feel better soon!

i was wondering if you plans for continuing your ‘legions reacting to their primarch’s partner’ series ?

have a good one :) 🐊

Part 1, Part 2

Author's Note: Sure, here's the rest of them :3

Relationships: Implied Leman Russ/Reader, AlphariusOmegon/Reader, Sanguinius/Reader, Lorgar/Reader, Ferrus Manus/Reader, Mortarion/Reader, Jaghatai Khan/Reader, Horus/Reader, Fulgrim/Reader, Corvus Corax/Reader (A NOTE: almost all of these are gender neutral, but a few might have the term mother or another female term in it, so fair warning)

Warnings: None really

➧ Space Wolves:

Pretty average. They're definitely one of the better legions to be around if you're a baseline human, as they're not only pretty chill, but actually somewhat... nice? By Astartes standards.

You enjoy listening to them tell battle stories around the bonfire or whatever you're all camped around, and they like how easy it is to impress you with their feats of strength. Evenings can quickly devolve into one on one duels if you're around, and there's enough Mjød involved. Impressing Wolf Mother with your spur of the moment honor duel is the height of accomplishment, for a hammered Space Wolf.

You would hope Russ would stop these shenanigans, but you’ll find yourself disappointed when he joins in, brawling his own Astartes for your attention that he already has.

They also all find it absolutely hilarious when you use one of their tamed Fenrisian wolves as a mount, as it puts you at eye level with them.

➧ Alpha Legion:

Your relationship with Alpharius & Omegon is as ambiguous as how the Alpha Legion Astartes feel about you.

They don't like the twins having a potential weak spot that can be exploited by enemies, and their myriad of plans and spiderweb of secrets could get easily unraveled; But if the twins brought you into the inner circle, they’ll place trust that they did it for a reason.

It's just a bit, disorienting having so many men- some of which look very similar- coming in and out of your life. The twins know that you can tell them apart from their legion lookalikes (somehow and it pisses them off), but they still find it funny to try and slip things past you.

➧ Blood Angels:

As one of the kinder chapters, you being brought into the fold is of little resistance, largely because they see how happy Sanguinius is when you're around. They may be battle hardened warriors, but they find it difficult to express their worries when their Primarch has never looked happier holding your much tinier hand.

However the Blood Angels already have a protective (border-lining on obsessive) nature with their Primarch, and that is something that now extends in fold to anyone Sanguinius is close to. Being you.

Do not expect to go anywhere with any less than three fully armored Blood Angels. They will glare at anyone who comes close, they will scold anyone who speaks to you without proper prose, and you will have to deal with it. Some may have a developing soft spot for their kind Legion Mother which allows you to order them around, but they are very strict in this regard.

And Sanguinius will not stop it; Because he feels the same way as them, he's just better at hiding it.

➧ Word Bearers:

Largely neutral at first, but over time they begin to warm up to you as Lorgar's loving gazes and borderline worshipping talk wears on them. It also helps that they have some non-violent experience with other humans.

There are some however who don't approve of your closeness to Lorgar; Especially as it becomes more obvious that Lorgar's priorities are changing, and his distractions are getting worse. You becoming the idée fixe of Lorgar's mind is more than a bit concerning for some members of the legion, particularly ones touched by Kor Phaeron.

They hold their tongues, but you know they don't like whenever the two of you are alone. You've heard the word 'temptress' uttered more than once.

➧ Iron Hands:

Extremely blunt, and to the point. like the Imperial Fists, but without the protective streak. Iron Hand brutal efficacy doesn't exactly mix with the slow nurturing of what one could consider romance.

But you show genuine interest in the practices of the legion and don't impede on their chapter traditions, so the Iron Hands suppose it could be worse. They'd much rather their Primarch not be distracted however, and that is a theme that will remain present in any conversation regarding you for a long while. Expect them to basically ignore you for the first portion of your relationship with Ferrus.

Rude...

➧ Death Guard:

The Death Guard are one of the legions that is definitely more conflicted about the whole thing.

On one hand they say that he will end up distracted, eyes pulled away from his crusade to more frivolous things like romance. But on the other hand, if it does away with some of Mortarion's depressive moue, then they can bite their tongues about it. Either way, they definitely aren't fans of it, and you'll more than hear about it.

Legion meetings are, more than a bit stressful. Mortarion often times comes back ragged and angry after being told he should be rid of you.

Things are strained. You hope they'll level out with time.

➧ White Scars:

Probably one of the better legions to be in. Helps that they don't despise baseline humans, and actually know how to smile sometimes.

It's refreshing to be around Astartes who are a little less, stuck up, something you say under your breath not long after being officially introduced to them. They find it absolutely hilarious.

You have a few Astartes you're a bit more familiar with that Jaghatai trusts to be your personal guard, in the rare moments he isn't close. Pretty chill all around.

Unless there's about seven of them all eagerly surrounding you trying to teach you different Chogoran words, then it's significantly less chill.

Also jetbike rides sound rad af

➧ Luna Wolves:

They have their doubts as all legions do, but given Horus' charisma it isn't long before they toss those doubts aside, and quickly welcome you into the fold at Horus' side.

Also similar to the Blood Angels in that they get near feral protecting their genefather's beloved. It's like his obsessive nature somehow has somehow manifested or has been genetically implanted in them. Horus always makes sure you have a guard at your side, no matter where you go.

It was all fine at first, but now you're beginning to feel a bit like a prisoner.

➧ Raven Guard:

The Raven Guard are pretty tame all things considered. While conversations tend to be respectfully brief, you've noticed overtime that it's less so disinterest, and more a so near nervous formality. It's almost like they don't know how to talk to a baseline human woman for more than a few moments. It's, cute.

Nykona doesn't seem to mind you though; Largely because he overheard you mumble that you think his armor is the most impressive out of all of the Raven Guard Astartes during a sparring session between him and Corax.

Overall, they’re happy Corvus is happy, and as long as his main mission isn’t compromised, they’re content to have you here.

While most legions say ‘Legion Mother’ however, the Raven Guard tend to use the title ‘Raven Mother’ instead when being formal. When they started saying that instead of just legion mother, you noticed how it intertwines with how they refer to Corvus.

Once you realized you got a little bit too excited they’d finally started accepting you, and scared the shit out of no less than three guards by abruptly crying.

➧ The Emperor's Children:

They do enjoy being around humans that can appreciate the arts, and they don't hold much ill will towards you as the jewel of their Primarch's eye. If anything, they seem almost pleased their Primarch is able to pursue such things. You're welcomed into the fold with little fanfare, and Legion business continues on with nary a peep about Fulgrim's new wife.

Many of them create things for you, which while incredibly sweet, makes Fulgrim a little miffed if you show too much joy about it. He just gets a bit jealous, but it's harmless. You find it kind of cute.

[konigbabe]

little storm (part ii; hit and run)

Author: @konigbabe

Pairing: Keegan Russ x fem!OC

Word count: 4.2k

Tags/warnings: hurt/comfort; canon-typical violence; medical inaccuracies; military inaccuracies; violence; injuries; gunshot wounds; explicit language; keegan calls OC 'kid'; canon compliant; pre-canon; eventual smut [in the final part]

Summary: Keegan thought saving her and getting both of them out of the enemy lines was nothing but an easy job; that was before her true character shows up—and before the plan goes crumbling down.

masterlist • faq • AO3

little storm: part i • part iii [final]

He’s rarely worked with anyone outside Ghosts, outside his team, his family, and seeing this woman, so adamant to finish the task—to him, it’s like watching two sides of the moon; day and night.

Keegan strides in front of her. Casual as ever, his head occasionally turning to the side—to look around, to survey the environment. To look at her. Make sure she’s keeping up; though she tries to hide it, he’s aware of her pain, the discomfort her back’s causing her (even if she herself seems not to be).

“I’d say my luck walked out the door.”

The skull mask now replaced by a simple white balaclava, she still feels a tinge of disappointment that Keegan managed to change his face protection in a moment when she wasn't looking.

It’s been at least another hour; sixty minutes since they left the safehouse, got rid of any evidence pointing at them, and headed north. There isn’t much guarantee that Keegan’s intel is solid but they don’t really have a choice.

The white camouflage uniform allows them to blend with their environment with ease. Calculated steps, well-thought moves as they silently creep up the hostile surroundings; the enemy line searing their skin with invisible scars. The two of them heavily armed with lethal combat expertise as they advance, their weapons and determination like a shield against the danger that awaits them.

The eerie silence feels oppressive, almost like a heavy weight pressing down on her; the only sounds that break the stillness are the occasional howls of an owl, a twig snapping under their boots, and the light crunch of snow beneath their feet. The silence was unnerving, yet strangely comforting, like a reminder that all is safe in the darkness of the night, at least for her it’s been like that for some time.

Keegan’s steps halt the moment a tower comes into her view. Its height shooting to the sky, two black dots visible even to the naked eye thanks to the light emitting from the inside of the building. Three more guards walk underneath, all dressed in the same camo clothes as she and Keegan. Two storage facilities are lightened up by improvisatory street lamps; more soldiers walk in and out of the facilities, relaxed and visibly unbothered by the chilly weather. A fence wall surrounds the temporary compound; it’s small, smaller than she was expecting—still the foreign soldiers outnumber the two of them by way too much.

“Two armed guards at the parking lot,” Keegan’s voice is slow, casual as he peers through the scope, studying the guards, who stand like sentinels, their uniforms as immaculate as their weapons.

It’s when she follows his lead, the rifle's scope an extension of her eyes, that she notices the problem, “The parking lot is too far from the entrance,” she says. The parking lot is too far from the entrance, a great expanse of asphalt, a desert of distance between them and their goal.

And Keegan nods. He’s noticed it too, years of practice and experience written all over his maneuverism, the way he holds his weapons; with precision, softness as if he’s cradling a delicate porcelain object. Careful and meticulous while handling his own.

“We’ll breach by the entrance and make our way towards the vehicles,” he speaks, commands even with how stoic his tone sounds, “casual and calm.”

“Let’s make it quick,” she announces, securing her rifle behind her shoulder. There’s an uncanny excitement within her, and Keegan can feel it too. He’s rarely worked with anyone outside Ghosts, outside his team, his family, and seeing this woman, so adamant to finish the task—to him, it’s like watching two sides of the moon; day and night.

Once in the field, everything changes for her and having Keegan, someone more experienced, more accustomed to this, she feels a sense of duty to impress him; she wants to impress him. Needs to impress him.

Two fingers up in the air, a victory sign of sorts, she looks at Keegan’s confused look, “this means I’ve got it, ‘kay?”

“Why are you showing it to me?”

“Dunno,” she reveals, “it’s something we used to do in my old squad. You’re not really allowed to talk much on the field, have to stay quiet, so we would always show each other this sign to let them know that we don’t need any help; that we got it.”

He follows her. Steps quick and elegant, she waltzes to the side of the fence hidden in the darkness of the night, of her time. Keegan keeps his eyes on her form. Mesmerized by the way she carries herself; softness in her eyes, calming and carrying, but her stance flexed, ready to attack, fingers dancing around the apex of her thighs, close to her weapons.

She stops by a set of Jersey barriers with Keegan making his way in front of her. Close to the open gate, two guards situated on each side—her heart burning inside her chest, the adrenaline pumping in her veins.

“Stay behind me, kid,” Keegan turns to her, eyes wandering upon her expressionless face. She’s ready; more than that, she’s actually excited. It’s the pump of her heart, strong and steady, drops of sweat sliding down her covered temple, the white balaclava only allowing the skin around her eyes to breathe. Eyes wide, taking in the scenery before her.

Keegan gets up, adjusting his clothes, and walks toward the unsuspecting guard with her in pursuit. Walking by the windows, she can see the cameras, showing each and every corner of the compound and its surroundings, a man at the desk, playing on his phone, not a single ounce of attention on her and the Ghost.

The others notice them immediately, emerging from the shadows, dressed in the united uniform, with their weapons on Keegan’s shoulders and her thighs. To the unsuspecting eye, they do belong. Even the guards throw them a side eye in the beginning, Keegan’s broad form covering her smaller one. She remains in his shadow, letting him lead the way, keeping an eye on the computers.

With a quick flick of his wrist, the Ghost sends her inside the gatehouse as he struts to the guards. She walks with a sense of calmness inside her, greets the soldier who only hums in response. Too easy, she sighs, too dumb.

Keegan talks to the other two as she looks at them, fingers dancing along the edge of her knife, tucked safely in the holster on her thigh. She knows there’s no other way—at least not for entrance. The plan itself is faulty, and she still remembers her old captain’s words: “Nothing ever goes according to plan.”

She has a plan of her own.

Her eyes lock with one of the guards outside as the three men talk amongst each other, Keegan’s gentle Spanish mingling with the winter air. He speaks with equanimity, composure. With precision to each word. As he does with everything, she noticed before.

The guard to Keegan’s right watches her, noticing the differences in her form, the way her hips swayed as she walked inside the gatehouse, the curves; and he knows—being deprived of the attention of a woman, he can tell one when he sees one; even if covered head-to-toe in his people’s uniform. Looking back at the man that came with her, every second starts to count.

It’s the way her fingers curl over the handle of her knife, gloved hand gripping the leather handle, heartbeat picking up and adrenaline running through her veins like liquid lava that sends her on autopilot. Watching Keegan widen his step, these micro-movements that would escape even a trained eye if they weren’t looking for it; for any signs of imminent danger.

One hand swinging toward the guard’s Adam’s apple, blunt force against his larynx, Keegan’s moves are swift, calculated. Premeditated. And so are hers—unsheathing the knife from its holster, the guard sitting with his back toward her doesn’t stand a chance. The knife plunges into the side of his neck, the blade wedged right between the muscle and the bone, she can feel it scrape the hard tissue before pulling the knife out. Senses on high alert, hand catching the surprised yelp of the dying guard, her eyes move to Keegan once again; knife in hand, blood dripping from its blade, copying her own, he stands over the two bodies, red pooling underneath as he turns to look at her.

Sharing a reassuring nod, she helps him drag the bodies into the gatehouse. An unwanted familiar ache spread through her side and back as she strains the muscle, feeling the aftermath of the events that happened earlier in the day.

“We need to get to the cars before they find the bodies,” Keegan says; commands her. Making her way to the computer screens, she watches the guards—walking the routine path around the parking lot, rifles in hands, faces hidden underneath the plain white balaclavas, the same ones covering her and Keegan’s faces. The man stands next to her; she feels the way his arm presses against her, the hard muscle meeting with the soft tissue of her biceps while she remains bent over the now empty chair, studying the route. Keegan waits patiently for her, eyes subconsciously following the way her shoulderblades tend to stick out as she arches her back, body looking for a comfortable way to escape the itchy material of the uniform; to find relief from the ache of her back, the same ache he helped soothe hours ago.

“Got anything, kid,” he asks, making her look at him. Eyes hidden underneath the black glasses, she sees her own reflection in him; face covered by the white material, it’s itchy, making it hard to breathe. Putting her very own glasses off, her eyes follow the curve of her face, seeing a velvet splash on the side of her cheek. The guard’s blood painted her mask as if to mark her victory, even if all this was just the beginning.

“A possible route,” she motions to the screens. Using the computer mouse, she swipes the cameras to get a clear view of the whole path toward the parking lot, Keegan’s hand resting right beside her on the table as he watches her movements.

With her finger on the screen, she points at two guards heading their way.

“We need to go through these two. After that, we circle around the HQ. There’s a road heading straight to the vehicles, and no guards except those stationed directly at the parking lot. We take care of those, get a car and get the fuck outta here.”

Nodding, Keegan heads to the door, bloodied knife firmly grasped in his hand; he waits for his companion, the woman following shortly behind. Glasses left on the table, she adjusts the holster on her thigh.

From now on, it’s now or never. A simple hit and run.

Heartbeat ringing in her ears, she feels her every breath—the way her lungs expand with each inhale, flooding her blood with oxygen, and shrink with each exhale. It’s calculated, deliberate, purposeful; just like her every step. Staying on the pavement, avoiding unnecessary noise, heels digging into Keegan’s steps.

The biting chill of the air seeps through the fabric of her uniform, causing goosebumps to rise on her soft skin. Eyes glossy, her nose is starting to run. Mouth slightly opened, she struggles to inhale air that is warm enough to not sting her throat. It stings, biting at the soft gummy tissue of her trachea.

One foot after another.

Keegan strides in front of her. Casual as ever, his head occasionally turning to the side—to look around, to survey the environment. To look at her. Make sure she’s keeping up; though she tries to hide it, he’s aware of her pain, the discomfort her back’s causing her (even if she herself seems not to be).

Passing the guards is simpler than they both expected; too engrossed in their foreign heated conversations, all they see are the uniforms. White camouflage. One of theirs. Had the guards looked up, they would have noticed the blood staining their white masks. The red smears on her right arm and Keegan's upper body. But luck is on her and Keegan’s side today…

…to an extent.

The droplets escaped her attention before; she was concentrating on not getting noticed. But now, with her eyes on the Ghost, she takes notice—the red, thick liquid dripping from the tip of his fingers. Gloves off, another thing she failed to take notice of.

Frustration seers through her. Catching up with the man, matching his long strides with her shorter, swifter ones, her fingertips curl around his wrist. The quiet gesture doesn’t go unnoticed as he shoots her a disapproving look—they’re outside, without cover and she’s well aware of the danger her gesture could cause if seen by the enemy forces. The palm of his hand feels dry, rough against the chilled flesh of her fingertips. Her palm barely covers the length of his fingers; still, he lets her. Gently tugging his arm toward her, his eyes follow their route. No time for stopping.

The cut itself, hidden underneath the white and grey sleeve, doesn’t seem too deep. The chilly air cooling Keegan’s heated wound, adding a sense of comfort to his adrenaline-pumped body. They don’t exchange any words—they don’t need to. She knows that he’s aware of her disapproval of his decision not to tell, but at the same time, she knows that nothing would’ve changed. It comes with the job after all.

“You’re not hurt any—”

“No, kid,” he meets her halfway, “I’m fine. We’re almost there.”

Her eyes, boring into his glasses, turn to the front as he drops his hand from her grasp. A few feet from them, the guards walk along the edge of the pavement, not truly noticing the two intruders about to close in on their perimeter.

She can feel relief slowly creeping into her heart, like a runner entering their finish line. Pulse picking its tempo, her eyes lock on the vehicles. Keegan remains by her side, slowly but steadily taking her six; feeling the guards’ eyes at the back of his head, he’s aware that nothing is truly over until they cross the enemy lines until he gets them to the extraction point. The distance between him and her widens, inch after inch, he feels dread crawling up his arms, the feeling unnerving.

Multiple jeeps line up before them. Turning to her side, she takes notice of Keegan’s position—his head lulling to the side; not able to see his eyes, she’s sure he keeps watching the guards. One watches the other one, their attention is now on Keegan as well. Like a battle of stares, she knows they can’t really see the blood dripping from the Ghost’s arm or her mask stained in burgundy.

“Keep movin’,” Keegan’s voice is steady; so is his stance.

A loud blare of a siren.

“Fuck.”

“Run, kid.” He doesn’t scream it, rather opting to remain calm, deliberate. Demanding her full attention.

The muscles in her legs strain, back stinging in uncomfortable pain as she takes off, Keegan’s words echoing in her head like a cloud of haze; “Run, kid.” “Run, kid.” “Run.” Screams of orders, Spanish flies around her. It’s the sound of the loud bang that makes her upper body twist. Like fireworks, earsplitting blasts, the familiarity of it all rings in her ears. Keegan’s moved while she’s been running—now stationed behind the closest jeep, rifle in hand, his finger keeps pressing the trigger as he bends over the hood.

An invisible force pushes her forward, palm hitting the passenger’s door of a jeep. Red circles decorate the abalone grey of the car. Steadying her stance, her eyes fly to her own arm; the material of the uniform ripped at her elbow, the ruby red seeps into the nylon and cotton fabric. A hiss followed by a fuck escapes from underneath her mask. Twisting the car handle, she scutters inside, frantically opening the compartment before reaching the sun visor, the keys falling right into her bloodied and gloved hand.

The sound of the shooting never stops—she turns to open the door again just enough to scream for Keegan to hurry up. It’s that moment, the sound of her distressed voice, the split second when he twists his head to the side, just a little bit, eyes still on the guards running toward him. He stands up, body on high alert as a bullet makes contact, sending him to the ground with a shocked grunt.

He doesn’t feel the pain but his hand, flying to his side, gets covered in the crimson paint the second it touches his exposed flesh.

She screams his name in a blood-curdling matter, feels her blood drain from her face, the rational side of her brain shutting down as she jumps out of the car. Legs screaming in pain, the wound on her arm throbbing, head thoughtless; she runs. Sprints toward the Ghost, now using his elbows as leverage as he remains active, rifle aimed and shooting as blood stains the asphalt underneath him.

“Dammit, Keegan,” she hisses, throwing his arm around her shoulder. His other arm remains extended, expertly handling the rifle, providing cover as he allows the woman to help him. Undoing the safety on her gun, she grits her teeth as pain shoots up her wounded arm, the same arm that’s gripping the weapon, and she aims it. Frantically trying to stay on her legs, with the Ghost on her side, she keeps pulling the trigger—and he sees her, sees the determination in her moves, the look of a cornered wild animal that chose fight over flight, the storm in her eyes.

They move in unison, shooting repeatedly, dropping the hostiles as they move backward.

She leads him to the passenger’s seat.

He fights her over the driver’s seat.

She wins in the end.

Turning the ignition on, Keegan holds his side. The adrenaline covers the pain—for now but he knows what’s coming for him when it all wears out. Turning to look at her, he watches as her hand clutches the steering wheel, the other one gripping the gear shift, frenziedly changing the gear, basically drifting on the thin iced road with bullets digging into the car’s body, surely aiming at the wheels.

His blood stains her upper uniform, unaware that not all of the crimson red came from his body.

Hecticity engulfs her being as she hurtles through the compound, her foot pressing the gas pedal to the floor. Heart racing, adrenaline pumping through her veins; Keegan’s beside her, his hand pressed against the oozing wound on his abdomen. Her eyes keep flickering to his hunched form, attention torn between the awaiting enemy forces and the Ghost’s wellbeing. The air is thick with tension as her mind is filled with vivid images of what could be.

“Did the bullet go through?”

She can’t stop thinking about it; zig-zagging through the winding paths like a butterfly navigating a flowery meadow. Sweat dripping down her back, palms slick with perspiration, she knows that she has to stay vigilant and focused—her and Keegan's lives depend on it.

He sighs with a yes, ripping the foggy glasses from his face, the balaclava still tightly clung to his face while she, with a few swift tugs, rips the itchy material off her head, hair cascading around her face like a halo, the rubber band breaking with her jerky movements.

The gate in front of her starts closing as she drives onto the entry road, toward the same guardhouse they cleared on their way in—now swarming with at least a dozen men, weapons ready in their trained hands, aiming straight at the jeep. Dread fills her aching and bleeding body; if they manage to hit the wheels, it was all for nothing.

“Hold on.”

She isn't sure if the words were meant for her or Keegan, the sound of them slipping past her tight lips barely above a whisper. Fingers curling around the steering wheel, the force of the vehicle pushes her back into the seat like a comforting embrace. The way her heart thumps in her chest, strong and probably faster than the engine underneath them, a whirl of feelings course through her as her gaze remains fixed on the road ahead.

It’s when somehow, by a miracle or her driving skills (she doesn’t really know nor care), they drive past the flying bullets and the line of hostiles, that she releases a breath she’s been holding for a while now. Eyes shooting to Keegan’s quiet form, she watches him—eyes open, the skin around his eyes is rosy, glossy, signs of heat present as he navigates her to the exfil.

Hours pass by; that’s what it feels in her mind, even when it’s been less than an hour—she never took the foot from the gas, speeding through the road in the woods, only stopping when he tells her to. Hands pressing onto the bleeding wound, her fingers dip inside, nails scratching the open wound, resulting in a painful moan from the man and a shit, sorry from her.

When the chopper arrives and lands, doors to the car opening, she feels hands on her; gripping her, tearing her from Keegan. They’re trying to talk to her, demanding her name, unit, rank, anything to ID her. Except for those with red crosses over their arms, all eyes are on her but her eyes never leave Keegan.

The machine’s steady beeping wakes Keegan from his slumber. With a heaving groan, he tries to roll on his side, only to be stopped by a tug on his arm—in his arm; the IV securing him to the spot. Blinking away the blur once, twice, three times, his gaze follows the woman in white, facing him sideways as if not to look at him.

Feeling of familiarity falls over his worn-out form, recognition spreading through his numb system. The same hair that created a halo around her head back in the jeep, the same determined, wild look in her eyes; now narrowed, concentrating on the piece of paper in her hands, no longer frost-bitten. He watches as she takes the end of the pen between her teeth, biting on it slightly.

“You’re a medic, now?” his voice is rough, throat feeling like sandpaper as his mind forces the words out.

She looks up, a gentle smile forming on her face; she looks different than she did before, relaxed, mellowed. Content to be here, yet her eyes never turn to him, and somehow, a pang of disappointment aches in his heart, now beating steady and stronger than when he was still bleeding out onto his own hand.

“If you don’t blow my cover,” there’s an unusual softness in her voice, “then yes, Mr. Russ. I’m a doctor; your doctor.”

Mr. Russ…

“Since when,” he plays along, slightly entertained by her wit.

“Since,” she looks at the clock on the wall, “like twenty minutes ago. But don’t worry, I never looked at you. The guys that got us,” she motions to the door as if they’re standing there, “they demanded you get one of those screens. Apparently,” she puts the chart down, “you’re a big deal, sergeant Russ.”

“Also,” she continues, “you’re taller than I thought; and younger.”

It requires every ounce of her determination not to turn her head and look at him; the curiosity bubbling inside her is almost too much to bear. She’s aware that all she has to do is turn her head a few degrees to her right and she’ll finally be able to catch a glimpse of his face—but she never does it. Her self-control is a wall, a barrier she can't let herself cross.

No photo in his chart, nothing that she might be able to use against him if needed later on.

“Keegan,” he huffs out his name; a demand, correction for her.

His eyes follow the length of her body and to his slight delight, she seems to be in much better condition than he is; the healthy glow radiating from her posture.

As if she can intuitively sense his concern, she silences his worries, “don’t worry ‘bout me. I’m a tough cookie—unlike you; you’re more of a donut, y’know, ‘cus you have a hole in the middle—never mind.”

His beaten face creases into an amused smile, something she might never be able to witness, even at this moment with him by her side.

“You’re a terrible driver, kid, y’know that?” he keeps his eyes fixated on the side of her face, noticing the small scratches that she’s been carrying since the takedown.

“Did you notice that whenever you speak to me, and it’s not an order, you just tend to straight-up insult me? I just came to say goodbye and all I get is another insult and to my driving skills of all the things.”

The door swings open with a creak, making both soldiers turn to face the elder man who strides through the doorway; Keegan's doctor, his official doctor. She stands there like a deer caught in the beam of headlights.

“You’re leaving?” Keegan’s voice is laced with concern, unbothered by the doctor's attempts to usher her out.

“My team’s KIA,” it’s amusing to watch her fight the doctor while keeping up a conversation with the Ghost, “they’re transferring me to another unit somewhere southeast, near Florida. I’m leaving, ‘kay, no need to push me,” she hisses at the doctor.

It’s when his eyes lose sight of her after she closes the door that he finally looks at the doctor now examining his chart, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he reads over the doodles written rather recently.

“You’re lucky you are alive, young man,” the man turns to Keegan, eyes surveying the soldier’s face with the chart resting on his hipbone.

“I’d say my luck walked out the door.”

[part iii; finale]

[bear-boi-5]

FURTHER EXPLANATION FOR BOUNCER COLLIN??

Alright, here you go

Since I loosely mentioned Collin's job hopping and one of his jobs was a Bouncer, I'll explain further. Warning for mentions of violence, drunkenness and alcohol

When Collin was about 20, he managed to pick up a job being a bouncer for 2 years at one of the prime hotspots for raves and parties on Giya. He was a really good Bouncer due to his threatening size and also often going to the gym with Shepherd.

Collin often left his jobs on his own accord, whether they be because it just wasn't for him or he got better pay somewhere else. This one was different in the sense he was fired and almost got a criminal record if it wasn't for Shepherd and Russ saving his ass from going to jail for several years.

One night, Collin was doing his job for a large rave celebrating the new year. Collin already has had problems with sleep, making him considered to be an insomniac, so he was tense, tired and just wanted a long rest at home. Doesn't help he was flashed with bright colourful lights and blasted with loud music constantly.

He had gone inside the club after everyone was in to watch over the place. A couple of girls, who were kinda drunk, came up to him and asked for him to come and have a few drinks since they could tell he was tense. He declined but they convinced him. They weren't pushy or anything, they were quite sweet and just wanted him to take a load off, Collin knew who they were since they were regulars.

He ended up getting quite drunk. A group of the guys that used to pick on Collin when he was younger saw him and came up to him. They decided to start taunting him, trying to get a reaction. And oh. Oh they got a reaction.

Collin, being quite drunk and having past trauma from these fucks got angry. Really angry. He tried to just walk away but finally snapped when one of them pulled him back and punched him. They ended up getting into a really bad bar fight. Collin is like twice the size of these guys and easily bodied them. He bodied them too well cause he ended up getting them hospitalised. The only thing that stopped him from putting them 6 feet under was that people around the same height/strength as him pulled him off.

Shepherd was able to vouch for Collin during his trial and Russ was able to convince the jury to let him off the hook if he did community service for 8 months and payed a hefty fine. They accepted the deal. The only reason why Collin is even a Rescue Corps member is because Shepherd allowed him to be, she's the captain anyways.

He never ment for any of it to happen, as much as he hated them he didn't want to nearly kill them. This put him off drinking forever since that night made him realise he was an aggressive drunk. He doesn't care if others drink but he doesn't want them getting to the point he did.

This gives Collin internalised anger issues, insomnia and trauma.

[2lim3rz]

I know I keep bothering you but I have no one else to turn to when it comes to WH, and now I’m creating head canons because of you. Like, imagine getting close to the primarchs and the emperor to the point that you can like walk up to them during a free moment. Gently usher them down to your height before cupping their cheeks and giving them one of the softest look, one of pure adoration and love. Like they planted the stars in the sky type look before pulling away, fixing their armor or hair back into place and walking away to continue your job. Just…I know there is a lot of angst, but come on, just something soft.

NAAAAH DUDE! SPAM ME WITH THAT SHIT! GO FOR IT! I LIVE FOR IT!! ANYHOW!

Yes. I love this. Just.. so cute..

So.. here you go:

GENTLE MOMENTS WITH VARIOUS PRIMARCHS [AND THE EMPEROR OF MANKIND]

Order of characters based on whoever I think of first

LORGAR AURELIAN

Any time you did that, his mind would be blank. Which is a surprising thing to do to a primarch considering how primarch minds work.

Tbh, probably even thinks you're gonna give him a lil kiss, but the moment you open your eyes from blinking, he's kinda glad he didn't

Just, that look in your eyes. Such a gentle look that he had never seen before, a look that almost seemed to tell him that he's alright and will be okay. The last time he can remember an even vaguely similar look is.. from before Kor Phaeron found him.

All the same, just picture the smallest, tired little smile on Lorgar as he half closes his own eyes [he'd close them completely, but he enjoys that adoring look you have too much]

Of course, when all you do is gently hold his face, one of your thumbs running over his cheek bone, he'd sigh softly and watch as you let go to let him continue with whatever he had to do

LEMAN RUSS

I wouldn't say Leman Russ tolerated you, but he certainly pretended that he did, he may be a friendly [comparatively] primarch, but he liked to hang out with his brothers and Space Wolves more in his downtime [what little there was] [alsomostly because he could rough house without having to worry]

So, when you usher him down, he makes a show of it. Rolling his eyes and making a sort of grumbling growl as he kneels and leans down enough to look you in the eyes properly

I also wouldn't say that you don't surprise him, but you do. You catch him offguard every time because he lowkey doesn't expect that of all things. He's used to roughing around, even the women on Fenris are rough around the edges. It's all in his culture

When he sees you look at him like that, like he isn't some giant pinnacle of man. Like he isn't some born leader literally raised by wolves, he feels cherished. A different sort of cherished than when he's out-drinking his Wolves and brothers. A gentle feeling of being wanted

Of course, when all you do is gently hold his face and fix one of the braids in his hair, he can't help but chuckle and ruffle your own hair before continuing with his business

HORUS LUPERCAL

Gentle moments with Horus? Few and far between. Literally all work, little play, so it's hard to catch him when he's not overly busy. Well "overly busy", which really means you manage to corral him in a moment alone.

It's a mix of you standing on something and gesturing down and, like Leman, he's warmly laughing at your shenanigans and kneeling down. Asking what you're doing.

Horus gives you a very wide grin as all you do is gently hold his face and look at him. You close your eyes and then look up at him with a face that tells him all he needed to know, though he wish he was a mind speaker so he could tell you all those silent feelings too.

He'd close his eyes and sigh, leaning into your touch and chuckling as you gently adjust the wolf fur cloak on his armor and let him go. Opening his eyes, Horus would smile and give you a gentle touch of his own onto your face before resuming whatever he was doing with a parting goodbye

THE EMPEROR OF MANKIND

Finding a moment alone with the Emperor takes a special kind of determination. Even then, he's still technically not alone because of his Custodes. Oh well, you take what you can get Or in this case, give

So, in the soonest moment you manage to wrangle yourself a moment with the Emperor. He's grumpy [when is he NOT when not celebrating victories?] and asks you why does he need to kneel and so on, so forth. When you convince him to get down, he's looking at you with surprise as you just.. hold his face [Of course, it's slightly difficult with how the Custodes are blatantly standing at ready, but shhh]

Either way, you have the Emperor's attention as you look at him adoringly. There's something different about it.. something.. honest. He's used to the adoring looks of billions and trillions, but not this sort of honest love. It makes him feel odd as he leans into your hands.

You surprise him a bit [and also disappoint him] when one of your hands move to push a strand of hair behind his ear and let go. That's it? All that effort for just a little tender touch?

It makes him feel a little more human, honestly.

[ezwhump]

Pete’s Visit pt 1 - Russ & Lennon - pet whump, ‘it’ as a pronoun, deconditioning, mention of infertility.

There was a new car in the driveway.

Lennon heard the door shut from Russell’s office and waited until Russell got up to go and investigate, following close behind and stopping himself from grabbing at the hem of Russell’s t-shirt.

When they got to the bottom of the stairs, adjacent to the entryway, Russell turned and bent down a little so he could meet Lennon’s eyes.

“Remember how I said my brother was coming for a visit today?”

Lennon nodded, already twisting his hands into his shirt, nerves spiked. A dark silhouette was moving in the obscured window at the top of the front door, muffled voices talking.

A knock sounded and Lennon flinched.

“Well, he’s here, with his wife. She’s really nice. Are you alright if I let them in?”

Russell was almost crouched, watching Lennon’s face for any sort of bitter turn of the mouth, listening for panicked breath. He wanted the kid to be as prepared as he could be, and had asked Pete for at least a week’s notice before any travel plans were made.

Lennon nodded, once, and that was enough for Russell. He smoothed Lennon’s hair and gave him two soft pats on the cheek before turning to open the door.

Pete was the same height as his older brother. Lanky where Russell held stock and muscle, his hair more of a fox-pelt red, eyes lazy-lidded and a sharp blue. When he spoke, his voice was dulcet and clear.

“Trust you to get more out of a middle-man than you bargained for, eh?”

Lennon watched as Russell moved in for an easy hug which turned into a joking tussle, both of them laughing, the sound identical. A woman stepped in behind Pete, ducking her head in first, the rest of her following. She had the same sort of frame as the old trailer landlady, squat and heavier around the middle, tapering up to slender shoulders and then down to a pair of small ballet flats, her hair in a soft, blonde bun puddled at the nape of her neck. She seemed more interested in the house than Russell, and it made Lennon sour towards her a little.

“Kit, a pleasure.” Russell enveloped her in a bear hug and she patted him fleetingly on the shoulder, her hand dwarfed by his broad back.

“Where is it, then?”

Pete’s eyes were on Lennon, who was standing politely on the bottom step of the stairs, breathing in the colder air that had rushed in from outside. He felt like he was caught in a bear trap.

Russell led them into the living room and Lennon followed, trying to keep as close to Russel as possible, dutifully sitting on the carpet by the armchair, eyes level to the glass coffee table. He’d made sure to ask Russell permission when he was first told of their visit. Russell had been hesitant at first, but acquiesced once Lennon explained that it would make him feel better.

Pete gracefully lounged back on the left side of the sofa and Kitty took the other, crossing her ankles and flitting her gaze from Russell to Lennon, and back again. Lennon’s stomach gurgled and he only straightened his posture, trying not to turn his head back and catch Russell’s eye.

It felt like they were in a business meeting.

“You want something to eat, kid?”

Lennon looked back, instinctively, and Russell gave him an effortless smile. Almost like hey, it's okay, they won’t bite. And surely if Pete was Russell’s family then he wasn’t in bad company. They had similar features, a similar voice; it wouldn’t be hard for Lennon to rely on the common traits to ease his racing mind.

“I’m alright, sir, but thank you.”

Kitty seemed to brighten a little, she sat forward in her seat.

“Oh, he’s southern! How quaint.” She sounded whispery, like she was recovering from a cold, or a crying bout.

Pete spoke up. “You can talk to it, Kitty. In fact, I should catch Russ up on a few things, if you wouldn’t mind rustling something up in the kitchen?”

Kitty’s open smile shrunk into a demure tilt of the lips and she nodded, moving into the kitchen and gesturing for Lennon to follow. He looked back to Russell who nodded, already clocking the silent request for permission. He’d been getting better at reading Lennon lately.

“Be right back. Russ.”

Russell bit back a smile and turned his attention to Pete once Lennon had left his side.

Pete stretched languidly, propping up his foot on his knee and rotating his head till his neck clicked a little.

“She’s been a little temperamental since the bad news. It's nothing that can’t be fixed with a quick trip to Cabo but she’s been a real pain in my ass these last few weeks.”

His tone was conversational, but Russell knew there was something underneath. Something he was counting on Russell to bring up if he dropped enough hints.

“Bad news?” Russell offered.

Pete waved a dismissive hand and rolled his eyes in the direction of the kitchen. Cupboards opened and closed, silverware clinked.

“Can’t have kids. Which wasn’t even in the cards to begin with, but her being bummed out doesn’t make for an easy life, y’know?”

Russell recoiled and then fixed his face. “Jesus, Pete. Kids aren’t all that bad.”

His brother gave a derisive snort and shook his head. “Like you’d know. Although I bet having a pet put a dent in your plans, huh.”

It took a moment for Pete to realize his brother wasn’t going to dignify him with a response so he tried again, digging in a little this time.

“I mean,” he paused, flicking his eyes up to Russell’s, “it's gotta be a handful. Most pets are whiny bitches in my experience.”

Russell’s voice was low, a vicious kind of quiet. “How about this, talk about him like that again and I’ll dig out your fuckin’ eyes with a rusty spoon.”

Pete threw up his hands in a surrendering gesture and laughed humorlessly. “Hey, you don’t gotta go all Boston on me, I’m just saying. It’s an inconvenience at least, a thorn in your side at most. That can’t be ideal, right?”

Russell looked to the kitchen and then back to Pete, getting up out of the armchair and moving towards the doorway. His brother was satiated, having rubbed salt in the wound, for now.

“You’re a piece of shit, Pete.”

Kitty was at the stove, stirring milk and butter into a pot of macaroni, Lennon sitting at the kitchen island and fiddling with the box.

“You gotta let it cook for a little longer so it's not too hard for him,” Russell said softly, moving up behind Kitty and taking the spoon from her. “I’ll finish up. You can make yourself some tea if you want.”

Kitty busied herself, putting the kettle on and setting out a couple of bowls. She turned to Lennon and held up a fork and a spoon. “You have a preference, sweetie?”

Russell didn’t look up from the macaroni. “Spoon. Fork’s too pointy.”

“Hm, he could’ve told me.” Kitty put the spoon in one of the empty bowls and then made her tea, humming softly into the quiet kitchen air. “It’s a little gloomy in here, what with the lights off.”

“He likes it that way,” Russell said, turning to Lennon while he spooned out the macaroni into the bowls. “Huh, kid.”

Lennon smiled, lowering his eyes to the island. “Yessir.”

Kitty’s eyebrows lifted a little, but she seemed nonplussed as she took the seat next to Lennon, cupping her hands around the steaming mug.

“So you like living here?”

Lennon looked at her, or somewhere behind her, and nodded.

Russell felt immensely grateful towards his sister-in-law at that moment, giving him this chance to glean what was going on in Lennon's head.

“He doesn’t bore you?” She asked, inclining her head towards Russell.

Lennon slid the bowl of macaroni over to himself and mixed it around with the spoon, mulling over his answer. Russell stood on the other side of the island and shoveled down his bowl to give Lennon the chance to speak.

“He’s the nicest master I’ve ever had, ma’am.”

Russell almost choked on the food, puffing out his cheeks on a retch and then chewing more carefully, starting the water so he could wash their dishes once Lennon finished.

Kitty seemed to forget her tea. “He makes you call him that?”

Lennon shook his head and shot a contrite glance at Russell.

“No, ma’am. He encourages me to call him by his name and I respect his wishes, ma’am. He’s good to me, and I want nothin’ more than to return the favour.”

Russell wanted to usher Kitty and Pete out to their car just so he could smother the kid with books and pats and whatever else he wanted right there and then.

The moments Russell was allowed a glimpse into Lennon’s inner monologue felt precious, and they were blissfully becoming more frequent.

It’s an inconvenience at least, a thorn in your side at most. That can’t be ideal, right?

Nothing could be further from the truth.

--

pete : ) that is all

--

tag list: @yesthisiswhump @deluxewhump @whumpsy-daisy @queenofthedark @highwaywhump @yet-another-heathen @briars7 @whumpzone @cupcakes-and-pain @whumpadump1939 @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whump-me-all-night-long @shiningstarofwinterfun @whimperwoods

[buzzdixonwriter]

Don’t Let The Screen Door Hit You On The Way Out

”It’s never the crime, it’s always the cover-up.” Watergate Lesson #1

Y’know, some bastards need to be cancelled.

The liars, the hypocrites, the betrayers of trust public and private.

The “do as I say, not as I do” anusoids.

Dropkick those bozologists right outta here.

The problem is not people who screw up -- people screw up all the time.

It’s not ideas that later prove to be in error or just plain bad -- all of us at one time or another believed something we now know to be wrong.

No, the problem is those who set themselves us as moral exemplars and then betray the very moral example they proclaim.

Ska-rue those dips.

Cast them into the outer void.

Cast in point: The drugging rapist comedian spent their entire professional career stressing high principles and values, openly saying “look at what I did and do likewise” while deriding members of their own community for not obtaining the heights they did.

A good hunk of that time they spent drugging and raping victims, paying them off to keep silent so they could drug and rape more victims.

Look, back in the day Bob Hope was a notorious philanderer but he and his wife had an understanding and Hope never promoted himself as a moral exemplar (quite the opposite!).

So to find out Hope engaged in consensual adultery with the tacit approval of his wife is neither a big shock not does it undermine any message he sought to convey.

On the other hand, the drugging rapist comedian did espouse a message that millions saw as valid, and they held themselves up as an example for their fans to aspire to.

If we learned said comedian was a garden variety philanderer like Bob Hope, their message and example would be somewhat tarnished but not destroyed; consensual sex gets a tsk-tsk and nothing more, especially if the spouse doesn’t object (and said comedian’s spouse damn well knew what was going on yet didn’t think raping victims drugged into unconsciousness was a deal breaker of a marriage ender).

Some people today hope to this disgraced comedian will die soon so their comedy can be enjoyed publicly again.

Why?

Any good from this rapist’s life has already been done in whatever charitable donations and scholarships they provided, whatever inspiration they gave audiences to help them better themselves before learning of their crimes, and stylistic / topical insights gleaned by other comedians.

The rapist’s comedy routines and TV shows -- all family friendly and morally high minded -- now ring hollow and taste sour.  Whatever comedic insights the rapist had to offer have long since been absorbed by those who followed.

Leni Riefenstahl created two monstrous documentaries -- Triumph Of The Will and Olympiad -- that glorified Nazism while at the same time inventing the cinematic language for depicting mass movements and covering sporting events.

Nobody today ever need watch her original films in order to learn those lessons; thousands of film makers and videographers have applied them elsewhere and the technical lessons remain valid even when divorced from their racist origins.

So be it with the rapist comedian.

Let those who learned from their routines reinterpret those lessons in a form that noi longer contains a poison pill.

Case in point: The comic-turned-film maker presented their work -- no matter how funny the material – as a serious examination of modern moral values.

And, dang, the c-t-f certainly fooled a lot of us.

In their defense, the c-t-f always claimed in public to be a really terrible person, but this was all just c-y-a.

Of course those public admissions were all self-depreciating self-mockery, look how thoughtful and complex the c-t-f films were, how they examined modern life, look how they laid bare the contradictions and conundrums of the human condition.

Then it turns out the c-t-f could not keep their own knickers up and wreaked havoc on a dozen or more lives, rendering all their opinions and observations as worth less that a wadded of soiled toilet paper.

Yeah, the rapist comedian’s crime are worse by at least two orders of magnitude, but the c-t-f only misses a charge of incest by the barest of technicalities.

And it doesn’t matter that c-t-f’s spouse at the time is a batshit crazy homewrecker themselves -- c-t-f knew this then and chose them as a spouse and contributed to the chaos being wreaked in that family.

So, no, you can’t pose your films as Important Serious Examinations Of Modern Morals when you’re acting in a way that would get Dr. Freud to say, “That’s some seriously fucked up shit.” 

Open reprobates like John Waters and Russ Meyer never need worry about failing audience expectations; they’re upfront and honest about their perversions and peccadillos (and to be fair to them, they never screwed up the lives of others the way the c-t-f did).

I used to love the c-t-f’s work and eagerly looked forward to each new one.

Not any more.

You can never trust that viewpoint again, and even the earlier, funnier work is now called into question.

Case in point: This one is smaller, more localized, but I have personal knowledge of it and it’s emblemic of a far larger, far more vast problem.

The retired pastor tried to stay busy, volunteering at their local church and nearby nursing homes, and proposing an outreach for runaway abused teen girls.

It came as quite a shock to learn the retired preacher had been caught in a classic honey trap sex sting:  They texted what they thought was a 16 year old girl but turned out to be an adult investigator trolling for sexual predators.

The retired pastor got probation and registered as a sex offender.  There was a big public confession and an apology to their church, a contrite promise of repentance, and a big heaping helping of forgiveness all around.

There but for the grace of God, right…?

The retired pastor wanted to resume the runaway abused teen girl project.

Oh, they would have nothing to do with it directly, of course.

Just be available to advise others as needed…

Well, that waved more red flags than a May Day celebration in Tiananmen Square.  Even assuming the retired pastor was incredibly naïve -- more naïve than any retired pastor has a right to be -- the sheer optics alone would be incredibly bad.

And the chance of somebody finding out and filing a complaint for reasons real or suspected would put the church sponsoring it at terrible risk.

Dude, you screwed up.   That door is shut to you.

Organized religions are imploding right now, and no matter what faith or denomination, the reason is inevitably the same:  Predators of all stripes infiltrate the structure to find victims.

Sexual abuse ranks high, but there’s also financial abuse, emotional abuse, and just plain old abuse of power.  

It’s ultimately the exact same problem as that of the rapist comedian and the comic-turned-film maker:  Hypocrisy.

Religious leaders are as human as anyone else, few are the plaster saints we make them out to be.

And there are those who make mistakes, and those who hide their personal peccadillos from others (word among the BDSM community is that quite a few religious leaders enjoy those reindeer games), but those have the common fucking sense not to videotape themselves (remember, if you make a copy of anything you’re giving the universe tacit permission to share it and if the copy is digital, the sharing is compulsory).

The worst part is that the very victims of these predators are not only quicky to forgive these abuses and let them continue, but viciously turn on those victims that dare speak out against their abuse!

This is the reason organized religion is collapsing:  It’s become a cesspool of sexual predators and con artists.

Church leaders who decry the declining numbers are eager to blame a lack of spiritual discipline, a loss of faith, cultural influence, and of course that ol’ standby, Satan hizzowndamsef.

But when you ask people who left why they left, the answer is almost always they grew tired of being taken advantage of.

Physician, heal thyself. 

The problem we face today is that too many people impose standards on others they are not merely incapable of following themselves (which would be a sad but typically human failure) but are utterly unwilling to even make the attempt.

We need so-called cancel culture.  We need to expose hypocrites, denounce their hypocrisy, and deny them access to new victims.

Don’t feel sorry for the bastards who get caught, get angry over the harm they inflict.

    © Buzz Dixon

[aion-rsa]

How The Haunting of Bly Manor Pays Tribute to 1961’s The Innocents

https://ift.tt/3iQv1Tn

The first day at work for The Haunting of Bly Manor’s writers started with a field trip. Mike Flanagan’s team went out to the Amblin Entertainment screening room to watch a movie. “We did the same thing in [The Haunting of Hill House] with Robert Wise’s The Haunting,” Flanagan tells Den of Geek and other press outlets. “It’s a great way to start … to put up a really beautifully realized adaptation of the same source material, and to start talking to the writers about the things that I love about it and hear the things they love about it.” 

For Bly Manor, the version of the same source material chosen was Jack Clayton’s The Innocents, released in 1961 and starring Deborah Kerr. It’s a film that Flanagan wanted to celebrate in his own adaptation of Henry James’ The Turn of the Screw. 

“It’s a movie, I think, that isn’t talked about for whatever reason,” says Flanagan. “It doesn’t come up as often as The Haunting does. Though it employs a lot of the same technique and came out two years prior. So, it’s one of those films that cinephiles love and horror fans love, but a lot of people don’t know it. We were actively always looking for ways to tip our hat to it.”

And they found plenty. Though The Innocents cleaves more closely to The Turn of the Screw than Flanagan’s version does (the Netflix series is a mini anthology of James’ work, blending two of the writer’s other stories in with the events of the novella), the 1961 film invented several elements that reappeared in Flanagan’s series. The first is its ‘O Willow Waly’ song motif. The Innocents memorably starts with an entirely dark screen as a child’s voice sings Paul Dehn’s lyrics to a melody by composer George Auric:

We lay my love and I beneath the weeping willow. But now alone I lie and weep beside the tree.

‘O Willow Waly’ does not feature in The Turn of the Screw and was composed for the 1961 film where it’s heard several times: hummed by young Flora (Pamela Franklin), played on the piano by Miles (Martin Stephens), and as the tune to which a toy ballerina dances inside a musical jewellery box. As a tribute to The Innocents, the Netflix series borrows the same motif. Its opening lines are recited as a poem by the narrator in the very first scene, it’s sung and hummed by Flora a number of times – including when she’s playing hide-and-seek in the attic in the company of one of the faceless ghosts – and is once again the tune to which the toy ballerina dances in Miss Jessel’s jewellery box. That jewellery box (see below), and the photograph of Peter Quint discovered inside it, is another invention of The Innocents borrowed for the Netflix show.

A major tribute comes in the name of Victoria Pedretti’s Bly Manor character. In James’ original novella, the young woman who takes the position at Bly is known only as ‘the Governess’. In The Innocents, the governess character played by Deborah Kerr is called Miss Giddens. And in The Haunting of Bly Manor, she’s Danielle Clayton – her surname a nod to the 1961 film’s director, Jack Clayton.

Flanagan tells press that the hat-tips were meant to go further than character names; he also wanted members of The Innocents cast to cameo in Bly Manor. It’s a trick the team pulled off in The Haunting of Hill House, when actor Russ Tamblyn (who played Luke Sanderson in 1963 film The Haunting) was hired to cameo as Nell Crain’s psychologist Dr Montague. 

“We didn’t have the benefit of being able to bring Russ Tamblyn in this time, but we went looking. We went looking for anyone on the cast that we could find from The Innocents to see if we could get them back.” Were they successful? Child actors Pamela Franklin and Mark Stephens appear to be the film’s only two surviving castmembers, the former now running a family-owned bookshop on Sunset Boulevard and the latter now a UK-based architect with his own Ted Talk. If you spot either of them in Bly Manor, be sure to let us know.

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The Haunting of Bly Manor: Mike Flanagan Discusses Standout Eighth Episode

By Alec Bojalad

Castmembers notwithstanding, there are countless echoes of The Innocents across the Netflix show’s nine episodes. In the novella, the Governess is driven by coach to Bly’s front door, where she’s greeted by housekeeper Mrs Grose holding Flora’s hand. In The Innocents and Bly Manor, she asks the driver to stop early and let her walk the remainder of the way to the house, letting her drink in the paradisiacal grounds and stumble upon Flora playing by the lake. There are other shared links that don’t appear in the original story: The statue garden, Flora’s bath on Dani/Miss Giddens’ first night at Bly, the game of hide-and-seek, the children’s dress-up and ‘story time’ performance, Miles choking Dani/Miss Giddens, Miles killing a dove… (in The Innocents, he kills one of the birds he feeds on the tower and hides its under his pillow; in The Haunting of Bly Manor, he breaks the neck of his teacher’s classroom pet dove). And while it’s never confirmed how Miss Jessel died in The Turning of the Screw, the Netflix series adopts The Innocents’ explanation that she drowned in the house’s lake, following the death of her lover Peter Quint (the circumstances of which are quite different in the Netflix show). 

The design of the Netflix series also takes inspiration from The Innocents. In The Turn of the Screw, the Governess first sees the ghost of her predecessor Miss Jessel across the lake when she’s sitting on a bench, sewing, with Flora playing nearby. In the 1961 film, Miss Giddens is sitting in a lakeside Gothic folly when she sees the apparition, and a very similar Gothic folly appears in the Netflix series. 

The influence doesn’t stop at sets, props and plot points. The style of filmmaking is carried over from the film to the TV series. The Innocents’ director of photography Freddie Francis made clever use of the sides of the frame to show glimpses of the film’s ghosts. Francis used specially made lenses to blur the edge of shot, in some cases painting directly onto the lens to create a foggy effect with a channel of light in the centre. In this interview, Bly Manor cinematographer James Kniest tells Den of Geek he aimed for the same effect with the ghosts in the series. “They were always meant to be very subtle and not on the nose,” Kniest says. “And that was probably some of our biggest conversations, how bright to light the ghosts in the background and then how to deal with them in post. Sometimes they’re in reflections. Look in the dark corners.”

There are major differences too, of course. With almost nine hours of story versus The Innocents‘ 90 minutes, Bly Manor delves much deeper into Dani’s backstory, and fleshes out the barely mentioned characters of the Manor’s gardener and cook. While the ending of The Innocents is faithful to the final lines of the James story, Bly Manor goes in an altogether different direction. 

The chief difference though, is Bly Manor’s unambiguous stance on the haunting. There’s no question in the series that the ghosts are real, but Clayton’s film dances beautifully around the ambiguity that Flora and Miles’ possession might only be happening inside Miss Giddens’ head. Revisit the moments in the film in which Miss Giddens sees Quint and Jessell, and almost every time, we first see her face reacting before we see the ghost itself – a suggestion that they only exist in her imagination. Director Jack Clayton was intrigued by the argument made by literary critic Edmund Wilson in his now-famous 1934 essay ‘The Ambiguity of Henry James’ that the original story is not a ghostly tale at all, but a Freudian fantasy in which a frustrated governess projects her repressed sexuality onto the lurid story of two children possessed by lustful adults. According to film historian Sir Christopher Frayling, when Deborah Kerr asked her director if the hauntings were all in Miss Giddens’ head, she was told to make up her own mind.

The Innocents was not adapted directly from James’ novella, but instead from a 1950 stage play by William Archibald that shares the film’s title. Jack Clayton worked with Archibald on the screenplay, and then brought in the successive help of playwrights and screenwriters John Mortimer, Harold Pinter and Truman Capote (with whom Clayton had worked on 1953 John Huston movie Beat the Devil) to fine tune the screenplay. It was Capote who gave the script its Southern Gothic and Freudian elements, says Sir Christopher Frayling in this video essay. The spider eating a butterfly (like the one Miles tries to scare Miss Clayton with in episode one of the Netflix show), the beetle crawling from the mouth of a statue … Capote’s preoccupation in the script, says Frayling, was to reveal “the skull beneath the skin.” 

The result is both disturbing and beautiful. Clayton’s film is drenched in a Victorian horror of Peter Quint and Miss Jessel’s sexuality, and doesn’t shy from the novella’s unsettling hints towards the sexual dynamic between the adult Miss Giddens and the child-possessed-by-an-adult Miles. It’s a captivating, intense treatment of a story James himself described as a plaything, or an “amusette to catch those not easily caught”. French New Wave filmmaker Francois Truffaut was a fan, and according to one anecdote, praised The Innocents to its director as the greatest English film since Alfred Hitchcock’s 1938 The Lady Vanishes. 

As remarked by Frayling, Clayton coincidentally appears to pay tribute to Hitchcock in The Innocents, visually quoting from 1958’s Vertigo in his shot of the winding staircase leading up to the house’s haunted tower (see below). He also included a nod to Orson Welles’ Citizen Kane in the shot of Miss Giddens leaning over a jigsaw, swamped by the vast stately house, and saluted Jean Cocteau’s 1946 La Belle et la Bête in the house’s ghostly, billowing curtains. Tributes all to the work of filmmakers Clayton admired. 

Left: Vertigo (Hitchcock, 1958) Right: The Innocents (Clayton, 1961)

And so the game continues, with Bly Manor saluting Clayton’s work in turn. It’s a secret language, says Mike Flanagan. “One of the coolest things about being people who love movies is that we get to share that with each other, and there’s these little unspoken secret languages we develop just being fans of the same thing. … We’ve created telepathy, just based on our own shared love of something.”

“That to me is what an Easter egg is. It’s the opposite of a dog whistle. It’s a quiet and secret communication that’s meant to just awaken just a little moment of joy in people who see the same thing you see and like the same thing you like, and to invite other people into it.”

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

The Haunting of Bly Manor is streaming now on Netflix.

The post How The Haunting of Bly Manor Pays Tribute to 1961’s The Innocents appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/358tljB

[sapphic-sustrai]

RWBY OC Bio: Rusty McGuire.

It’s been a while since I’ve talked about/introduced another RWBY OC, so here’s one that I’ve been working on for the last little while. His name is Rusty McGuire and more info about him will be shared underneath the cut! 

Full Name: Russel Archibald McGuire.

Name Meaning{s}:

Russel; French origin - from a surname which meant "little red one".

Rusty; English origin - from a nickname which was originally given to someone with a rusty, or reddish-brown, hair colour. This started out as a nickname that his Father called him, due to his love of machinery/auto mechanics. Eventually, Rusty started to prefer going by this name instead. 

Archibald; Scottish & English origin - derived from the Germanic elements ercan, “genuine”, and bald, “bold”. 

McGuire; Irish origin - Anglicized form of Irish Mag Uidhir meaning, "son of Odhar". It’s a given name meaning, “pale-colored”.

 Alias: While his first name is Russel, he prefers to go by the name Rusty. He’s been going by that name since he was around 11 or 12 years old. He only uses Russel for documents and such.

Nickname{s}: Russ {mostly used by everyone}, Master Mechanic/The Car Doctor {what most of his customers at his shop call him, due to his excellent reputation as a mechanic}, Rust {mostly used by his Older Brother Reed}, Darling/Darlin’ {used by his Ex-Wife when they were together}, Babe/Handsome {only used by Qrow}, Pa/Papa {only used by his Son}.

Age: Early to Mid 40’s, he’s at least 3-4 years older than the members of Team STRQ.

Gender: Cis Male.

Race: Human.

D.O.B/Star Sign: May 19th/Taurus.

Romantic/Sexual Orientation: Bisexual. 

Handedness: Ambidextrous. 

Complexion: Tanned, he used to be incredibly pale when he was younger.

Height: 6′1 {185cm}. He had a huge growth spurt in high school. 

Weight: 155lbs {70kg}.

Hairstyle/Hair Colour:

He sports a short & curly undercut. His hair colour is ginger, sometimes it looks rust-colored. .

Eye Colour: Brown.

Aura Colour: Rusty Red.

Emblem: A wrench and a screwdriver formed in an X-shape, that is rusty red in colour.

Weapon{s}: Since he isn’t a Huntsman, he doesn’t have a fancy weapon. However, he’s very proficient with handguns and shotguns. He keeps a couple of each at his house and in his trucks. To have a better fighting chance against the Grimm, he uses dust infused ammo. 

Semblance: X-Ray Vision:

The user is able to see through physical objects, at the user’s own discretion. However, they’re only able to use their semblance for a few seconds to a minute at a time. Otherwise the user will develop a splitting headache and their eyes start to feel sore.

Current Affiliation: The Kingdom of Vale, The Island of Patch. 

Previous Affiliation: A college in Vale for electrical engineering, as well as a college in Atlas for auto mechanics & business.

Occupation{s}:

Owner/head mechanic at his own auto shop called Rusty’s Auto Repair, that’s located on Patch. 

Sponsor/volunteer at an addictions & mental health services center on Patch.

He also does odd jobs as a handyman on the side. 

Personality:

Positive Qualities: He’s a very adaptable person, he’s known for being a very down to earth & humble guy, he enjoys helping others, he’s very brave & courageous, he tries to tackle any problem he may be facing head on, he’s very hard working, very dependable, he’s incredibly smart, he graduated from high school & college with honors, is a quick thinker. 

Negative Qualities: He can be stubborn when he wants to be, he does deal with an anxiety disorder, as long as he’s taking his medication & using his coping skills then it’ll be kept under control, he used to deal with an addiction, during this time he was known for being depressed, on edge & became incredibly hostile towards others, he’s been clean for several years now & has since made up for his past mistakes, he does still sometimes feel guilt for how he treated his loved ones back then, while he can be the jealous type, it’s never to the point of possessiveness.

Family/Relationships:

Rufus Arkwright & Flannery/Flan Cassidy {Biological Parents, his Mother is still alive, his Father sadly passed away he was around 28 years old, he got along with both of his parents quite well}. 

Reed Arkwright {Biological Older Brother by 2 years, despite not getting along sometimes, he still loves his older sibling, he also knows that Reed feels the same way}. 

Jelena Budney {Ex-Wife, they were on bad terms for a while due to Rusty’s addiction and it was what tore their relationship/family apart, after getting the help that he needed he has since made amends with her, the two are now back on good terms with each other}.

Roy Budney-McGuire {Biological Son who’s in his early 20′s, because of his addiction there was a period of time where he wasn’t allowed to be around his child, Roy meant the whole world to Rusty, he was one of the few reasons as to why he decided to eventually seek treatment, he eventually makes amends with Roy and is allowed back into his life when he was around 12-13 years old, the two of them are back on good terms with each other}. 

Orville Jernigan {Co-worker/ mechanic at Rusty;s Auto Repair, the two of them have been close friends ever since childhood}.

Qrow Branwen {Close Friend/Eventual Boyfriend, they met sometime after Salem’s defeat when Qrow decided to attend a support group for his addiction, Rusty became his sponsor and the two of them became close. They developed feelings for each other soon afterwards. I’ll explain more about their relationship in a future post. 

Primary Attire:

Leather Jacket {brown, zipped up halfway, sleeves almost reach his wrists}.

Plain T-Shirt {charcoal black, short sleeved, v-neck, tight}.

Leather Belt {mahogany brown, with a gold oval belt buckle}.

Necklace {of a golden crow, with a black leather cord, was a gift from Qrow}.

Leather Bracelets {mahogany brown, there’s 3 of them, wears them on his left wrist.

Sports Watch {black, wears it on his right wrist}.

Denim Jeans {slightly faded, not too baggy, not too tight}.

Carpenter Boots {dark brown, with black laces, usually wears grey socks}.

Facial Hair/Tattoos/Piercings/Scars/Misc:

Has a couple of freckles on the bridge of their nose.

Has a full scruffy beard.

Has a small mole in the left side of his face.

Has slightly noticeable forehead wrinkles.

Has a couple of marks on his arms from his early 20′s.

Has a scar on his chest from having open heart surgery. He currently has a pacemaker.

Has a couple of small scars on his right hand/fingers.

Doesn’t have any piercings.

His tattoos include: A checkered flag on his left shoulder, a winged piston on his right ankle, a mechanic pin up girl on his lower left torso, a red crown on his right wrist in honor of his son Roy, and finally has a flying crow on his right shoulder blade in honor of Qrow.

His Voice Would Be: Liam O’Brien {Current}, Samantha Herek {Young}.

5 Bits of Trivia:

Rusty was born and raised in the industrial district of Vale. His family had a cottage on Patch, which he has fond memories of staying there during the summer. This was what made him decide that he wanted to live on Patch at some point when he got older. His Father worked in a nearby steel mill, while his Mother worked from home running her own dry cleaning service. His Brother Reed currently teaches at Signal Academy and he’s also still an active Huntsman. 

Ever since he was young, Rusty has always had an interest in cars/motor sports. He fondly remembers going to the race track with his Father every other weekend. He’s also been very fond of tinkering with machines/gadgets. He used to help his Father fix things around the house. The first time he ever managed to fix something on his own was when he was 10 years old and it was the family’s toaster. 

He’s very much a steak & potatoes kind of guy, but he also loves bacon double cheeseburgers, spinach dip with Cajun pita chips, buffalo wings  with bleu cheese dip, apples, and chili con carne. He doesn’t have much of a sweet tooth, however he really dislikes tofu, cranberries and walnuts.  

Currently he owns a tow truck, two motorcycles, a four-door truck, and a classic convertible. He has a large four car garage by his home, where he keeps his vehicles. 

He’s really into classic rock, but he also loves old school hip-hop and old country music. He isn’t a big fan of the new stuff. 

That’s all that I have to share for now about Rusty. If anyone has any comments, questions or critique that they want to share, my inbox is always open! If there’s anything that I need to edit or change, I’ll go back and fix it later!

[nighttimepixels]

Now I’m really curious about your height hcs for the skelebros and skeleladies! Throw us a bone and give us your ideas on the matter?~

okay, answering this separate from the previous one where i address the skeleladies height, so check out that post for those specifics ;D

as far as the skelebros, the same rule applies: i hc all monsters as being monstrous in size. humans may have skewed the lingering lore about them as years went on, but i like the thought that the one thing that truly did ring true was the stature of monsterkind being larger than life.

as for the guys, these are their relative heights i always imagine, smallest to tallest:

UT Sans SF Sans US Sans UF Sans HT Sans UF Pap UT Pap US Pap SF Pap HT Pap

... heh, that’s right - i totally headcanon Classic Sans as being the shortest of the group. ‘course, that doesn’t mean that he doesn’t have a hell of a presence when he wants to ;) i also figure Axe (HT Sans) as being actually a solid deal taller than Red - almost dead in the middle between Red and Edge. with the way his world played out, his body diverted what little magic it could spare towards making him bigger and more intimidating before things got really scarce, so he’s left as being the biggest Sans - same with Crooks (HT Pap) by an even more significant margin, since Axe would’ve been giving him part of his own rations.

as far as rough height alignments go, I tend to picture it something along these lines:

Sans: 6′3″ (191cm)Black: 6′4″ (193cm)Blue: 6′4″ (194cm)Red: 6′5″ (196cm)Axe: 6′7″ (201cm)Edge: 6′9″ (206cm)Pap: 6′9″ (207cm)Stretch: 6′10″ (208cm)Russ: 6′11″ (211cm)Crooks: 7′6″ (229cm)

[moodymisty]

Author's note: Huge thankies to @commodoreprocrastinator (if you don't want to be tagged just say) for trading Russ ideas with me to help me finish this. A bit of an 'experiment' just setting a scene with him. Enjoy a drabble with the space viking king. I can't wait till I'm done writing warm-up fluff and I can inflict intense psychic damage on people.

Summary: You worry about meeting any of the other Primarchs, which Russ finds amusing.

Relationships: Leman Russ/Fem!Reader

Warnings: None other than typical 40kness, References to traditional courting style stuff like gift giving I guess

The bed is massive; It's fit for a Primarch, and thus it swallows you accordingly. Almost everything around you does, the massive pelt that drapes over the bed as a blanket covers almost most your entire body, though not the entire bed.

On a planet like Fenris you would've needed it and then some to even attempt at staying warm, but here, you find yourself only laying it over the middle of your body.

"Out of all the things I've gifted you, this is the one you like most?"

Russ finds something perhaps akin to amusement in the fact that you behave so differently than the woman who call Fenris their home planet, as you lay on your side watching him enter the room.

"'Out of all of them, this was the most useful one."

You'd brought it all this way to Terra, rubbing your ankle against the back of your other calf underneath the pelt Russ had hunted and skinned himself. The beast must've been massive, if this was only it's midsection.

Your snide comment makes Russ laugh, a loud rumble in his bare chest as he dresses in more casual garb befitting of Terra and the Holy Palace.

"You best keep that attitude in check today. I don't think they'll be fond of your bite."

Russ' reminder serves little more than to strike a bolt of fear and nervousness in you that you'd hoped forgotten for the time being; Pursing your lips as you lean on your elbow.

Right; You're overdue to meet the fellow Primarchs that Russ calls brothers, now that he's taken you on as, what you supposed would be referred to as consort. Not hailing from Fenris, you aren't aware if they have any sort of specific title for what you are to Russ. And as far as you know, he is the only of the Primarchs to do this; Which makes you completely and utterly alone. Being on Terra in the palace also means speaking with one of them is an inevitability, more so than a possibility.

And to think- many of them don't harbor the same, what you wouldn't call easygoing, but wild nature Russ possesses. You remember the fear that had struck you like a bullet upon realizing his eyes were on you for the first time. Before the gifts, the courting, when you were only a speck on a map in comparison. You doubt whichever Primarch you'd be unfortunate enough to face would have the same neutral nature about baseline humans that Russ somewhat has. To think, many humans in the Imperium would never live to even see an astartes, let alone a primarch; And here you are.

A soft bark however thankfully gives you a jolt from your thoughts, looking over to see a massive hound standing at side of the bed. The Fenrisian wolf is still technically a puppy, but he's growing at a rate that's going to have him competing with you in height, if it keeps up. You rub the top of his snout and the complaints turn into a soft rumble in his throat.

Russ, having been raised beside packs of the massive beasts since childhood, had no issue with you keeping the wolf pup that had been your latest gift right beside the both of you.

Some others in the palace were, noticeably less so. Glorious golden halls were quite quickly filled with roaring deep voices and barks; A sign that the Space Wolves had arrived. You're used to the ruckus, the drunkenness and the smell of wet fur, but many are not.

"You don't suppose I could forgo crossing paths with any of them?" Russ crosses his arms and lets out a loud laugh, as the wolf puts one of his paws onto the bed.

"And you don't think I'd take that opportunity myself, if given the chance?" You roll your eyes, despite knowing that he's more than right. The pelt that drapes over his one shoulder shows off most of his arms, biceps flexing as he crosses his arms and jerks his head in the direction of the wolf staring at you both.

"Bring the wolf; It'll keep half of them away. They hate the stench." You were planning on doing so anyways, but it's good to know it might keep unwanted eyes off of you. At least a few.

Fully awake you decide to leave the bed, only to find yourself unable to simply throw your legs off to the side and stand. You throw the gifted pelt off of you and to the side, looking over to your primarch.

"Help me out of this massive bed; I'm swimming in it."

Russ smiles just enough to show teeth as he leans forward to grasp your right thigh. Your nightclothes bunch under his tight grip as he roughly pulls you closer to him and onto the edge of the bed. Just as he lets you you realize his face is close enough for you to quickly lean forward, giving him a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. You can still feel his rough beard against your skin and the wild strands of unbraided hair flowing over his shoulders.

"Little thief," He growls.

He watches you with raised brow as you ignore his teasing accusation and slide the rest of the way off the bed, until your bare feet finally touch the floor. Shortly thereafter he elects instead of give you a kiss proper; Large hand cupping your jaw as his lips fully meet yours. His left knee has to nearly meet the ground for him to do so, with the sheer difference in your heights.

"Now get ready; Before I lose my patience for this and throw you to the wolves while I get some ale."

[dxlanwrites]

"Old Roots" .1 (G.D)

A/N: After re-reading the series I didn't like how fast the plot developed so I've been rewriting the current parts that are up. Some parts are still the same, others are different and have added scene's. Here's part 1. She's a long one so watch out. Enjoy.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

~~~~~~~~~~

An eerie quietness fell over the neighborhood as I closed my car door. The quiet thumps of my boots hitting the broken slabs of concrete sidewalk were the only noise that could be distinctly heard. It had to be around 3 a.m by now but I wouldn’t of known since my phone was currently smashed to piece's on my living room floor. Pulling my leather jacket closer to my body to help keep out the chill, I neared my destination. About a block away at the end of the almost abandoned street sat a fairly new looking home surrounded by cars and motorcycles. A warm almost inviting glow was hidden behind the closed curtains that framed the windows. A soft buzz of chatter could be heard as I got closer. Carefully maneuvering my way through the vehicles, I stopped and stood at the bottom of the steps that led up to the door and front porch. Damn. I haven’t been here in years but everything still seemed familiar. I still knew every inch of this house as if it were my own which it basically was to my 16 year old self, but now it was all just a distant memory. Taking a deep breathe, I reluctantly made my way up the steps. My boots sounded heavy against the newly placed wood, no doubt alerting everyone inside that someone was out here. Pulling open the screen door that was the only thing separating me from my past, I raised my arm and moved my clenched hand forward. Only to stop mere centimeters from the wooden door. I should of just called, I thought to myself. There was no need to do this face to face, yet here I was. No more hesitating. I have to do this. I need to do this. Taking another deep breath and rolling my shoulders back to relaxed slightly, I brought up my knuckles banged them against the cold wooden door. Knocking hard three times, I backed up slightly and harded my facial expression. Game face. The chatter inside died down alittle and the sound of footsteps were nearing the door. As the lockes clicked unlocked, my breath hitched when realization finally kicked in. Here goes nothing. The door was swung open and the familiar scent hit me like a ton of bricks but I quickly pulled myself together, pushing back any emotions that dared to break the surface. Looking back at me curiously stood someone I’ve never seen before. He looked pretty young and old at the same time, had to be no more then 17. His scruff aged him more than it should of but his baby face showed his youth. The jet black hair of his layed messily underneath the hood that was lazily thrown up. His bright green eyes were shinning as if he was just laughing hysterically at something. The throat being cleared from this unknown boy helped regain my attention when he caught he taking in his features.

“Can I help you?” His deep voice rang out into the air as his eyes narrowed in on me. Mentally clearing my mind and straightening up slightly to help with the height disadvantage I was at, I began to speak. 

“You can help me by stepping aside and letting me in.” I said emotionless.

"And why would I do that?" He said leaning into the door frame as he crossed his arms.

"Because I said so. So move." I said getting slightly annoyed.

"Yeah. Okay." He said stepping back as if he was about to let me walk in, only to shove me back by my shoulder and began to close the door. Okay, I wont play nice then. Kicking my leg out to stop the door from closing, I pushed myself inside. Taken back from my sudden aggressiveness, he quickly put himself inbetween me and the destination i seeked.

“You have about 5 seconds to get off the property or you’ll regret it, little one.” He said down to me.

"Little one?” I repeated quietly as I moved in closer to him, dangerously close. Lifting up my hand, I gently traced my finger down his jawline stopping at his chin.

“Oh honey the only little one here is you.” I said grabbing the collar of his hoodie and pulling him out of the doorway and onto the ground of the porch.

“Word of advice, never threaten me again. Or you’ll regret it.” I hissed at him. As I walked in, memories began to flow. Everything looked fairly the same, some changes had occured throughout the years though. New furniture, fresh layer of paint on the walls, pictures in picture frames taken out and replaced with new memories. A loud familiar laugh soon invaded my ears as it came from where the living room should be, unless that changed too. Before I could chicken out and run away, my feet were already reluctantly  moving me in that direction. Fast and loud footsteps were heading my way as I made my way ddeeper inside, no doubt from the boy I just met. When his figure emerged from the corner and spotted me, he lunged forward and tried to grab my arms only to be kneed in the groin and pushed onto the floor. This small commotion caused everyone to turn from their spots on the couches and look at the noise. Confused and shocked faces met my hardened one as they spotted me. No one said anything, just stared back with blank expressions, except for a brunette whose tits were basically pouring out of her tank top.

“Who the hell are you?” She said standing up from the recliner. Before she could take a step forward the arm from the guy next to her shot out infront of her to stop her from moving closer. She looked up confused as to why she was halted and was about to say something but the sound of glass breaking beat her to it. Looking to my right to where the shatter came from I saw a familiar face. My heart skipped a beat in excitement as my eyes connected with his. 

“Y/n?” He said in pure and utter shock. A smile spread across my lips as I closed the distance between us and ran into his arms. A few seconds later after his mind click on and realized I was real, he returned my hug and held me tight against him. I don't know what came over me to run into his arms like that but I was secretly happy I did. I hadn’t even noticed a single tear left my eyes until we broke apart to get a good look at one another when he quickly swiped it off my face. 

“Ethan.” I said breathlessly. His small smile grew bigger as he released me from his grasp. Our little moment was ruined by a deep groan from behind me, turning around I completely forgot about the boy I kneed a moment ago.

“What happened to you?” Ethan asked as he peered past me. The boy didn’t say anything instead just pointed at me instead. 

“She did this? Y/n, you’ve been here for not even 5 minutes and are already causing trouble.” He teased.

“What can I say, trouble seems to follow me. In my defense he didnt let me inside when I was being nice then he threatened me then basically came at me so he’s lucky all he got was a kick to the balls.” I said blankly.

“Still got it I see. Attitude and all.” He laughed.

“Kinda hard to forget. Blame it on the muscle memory.” I joked. Ethan rolled his eyes and bent down to pick up the glass from his cup he broke. Someone else I didnt know got up from the couch and headed towards the kitchen to get a broom.

“Damn y/n in the flesh. Never a sight I thought we’d ever see again.” A voice said behind me. I turned around just in time to see two large bodies come hurling at me, wrapping me up in their arms and squishing me between them. I laughed shortly but quickly was over the unwelcomed contact, getting irrated and began pushing them off of me.

“No more y/n sandwhich!” I said facing them. 

“Aw c'mon y/n/n, you know you love it. Being between me and Russ is a fantasy of yours, we know it.” Tyler joked as he smirked at me. Roaming my eyes over their body, I couldn’t help but take in the sight in front of me. Definitely not those scrawny 17 year old boys I once knew. Fully grown men now stood in front of me with toned muscle flexing underneath their too tight of a shirt, jeans perfectly wrapped around there muscular legs. Rolling my eyes at his comment, I gave them a small smile in return trying not to crack too much and show my soft. Standing back, I began to take in the new faces around us. A few of the guys that were sitting on the couch watching everything unfold in front of them looked to be around our age while the other 3 relaxing in the floor looked to be in their late teens just like the boy I met at the door. Awkwardly standing around waiting for Ethan to return, my eeyes fell onto a specific spot of the leather couch.

"Take a load off y/n." Russ said taking his previous spot on the couch across the room. Slowly walking to the couch, I hesitantly fell back into the only familar couch that still sat against the wall. It was still in the perfect position to see the TV and best spot to get to the kitchen and bathroom. Taking a seat in the only spot where I ever sat. My spot. The left corner next to the table. Closing my eyes and letting my head fall back onto the couch, I let out a deep sigh and surprisingly allowed myslef to relax into the familiarity. I was brought back to reality from an obnoxiously loud laugh. Ethan was making his way over to me with two beers carefully hheld in his fingers. Putting out his hand for me to take one, e rose his eyebrow when I hesitantly took it from him. He sat down next to me as he laughed quietly and shook his head.

“It’s as if you never left.” He said taking a swing of his beer.

"Oh but thank god I did." I replied under my breath as I took a sip of my beer. Wincing at the strange taste I took my lips of the bottle.

“What the f-. Light beer?” I said looking over at Ethan.

"Yep. We’re trying to maintain our amazing bodies and beer doesnt really help. It was Grays idea.” Ethan said nonchalantly. Tensing up at his name I remembered the main reason I was here. I knew I was going to let myself get caught up with all the reminiscing and comfortiblilty that I would forgot the only reason I even came back here. Noticing my uncomfortably state he gave me a sympathetic look which I didn't like at all. Pushing all flashbacks and feelings away, I refocused myself. 

“Where is he E?” I asked not looking up from the spot on the floor I was staring a hole in.

“Around. He was pissed at everyone and everything earlier. Left in a rage. Wouldn't even talk to Hailey.” He said avoiding looking at me after the last sentence left his lips. 

“Hailey?” I asked looking up at him. He motioned over to the kitchen with his beer, ignoring my stare. Following the direction he motioned with, my eyes met the backside of the brunette from before. Her bootyshorts road up her ass showing alittle too much booty. 

“Figures.” I laughed as I downed my beer. Ethan laughed at my remark and silently agreed with a simple head nod. 

“But seriously Eth, where is he? I didn’t just come here to take a trip down memory lane.” I said looking at him.

"Then why are you here?” A deep voice asked from the other side of the room. Freezing up instantly at the sound of his voice, I mentally cursed at myself for letting him take my by surprise and make me feel how I was. An overly excited squeal sounded out from the kitchen followed by footsteps.

“Baby!” The brunettes, or known as Haileys voice broke out into the silence that now hung in the air. From the corner of my eye I saw him quickly dismiss her as he walked closer to us. I smirked inwardly a little but instantly dropped it to remain my neutral look. Giving myself a small pep talk, I reluctantly rotated in my spot and faced him. As soon as my eyes hit his hazel ones, I knew I was a goner. So many emotions flowed through my body at once, I didnt know which one to react with first. Neither of us said anything as we stared at eachotheer allowing the tension to grow in the air. Ethan put a reassuring hand on my thigh to help edge me on, in which Grayson quickly took noticed of right away and narrowed his eyes. Noticing the slight change in his demeanor, I pushed Ethan’s hand off of me like it was on fire. Standing up and placing my beer on the table I stood face to face with him.

“Grayson." I said emotionless as my nails dug into the palm of my hand to help me not shake. Somehow his expression hardened at the sound of his name slipping past my lips.

“Why are you here?” He asked sternly boring his eyes into me as he crossed his arms against his broad chest making his muscle’s flex. In any other moment I would of been drooling over the pure sexual power oozing from him in that tight black shirt but I knew what he was doing. He was trying to intimidate me.

"We need to talk.” I said steadily. He made no advancement to reply or pay any attention to my request. Looking to my side where Ethan sat, I gave him a look we used to share many times when Grayson was being difficult. Grayson was quick to take notice of the smiles that threaten to spread on mine and Ethans face. An animalistic like growl escaped his lips making my head snap towards him.

"Don't even." I warned. That sound was all too familiar to me from the countless fights between me and him or whenever his overprotectness would emerge.

“Excuse me?” He said harshly taking a long stride towards me. Challenging him was one thing he had always told me he admired about me but it always pissed him off none the less. When he was in arms length distance of me and made no motion to be stopping anytime soon, I extended my arm out as it collided with his hard warm chest. At the mere contact he stopped all movement.

“Let's be civil. Talk like the adults we are, or well how I am. I dont know about you.” I sassed as I removing my hand off his chest.

“Im busy.” He said coldly pushing past me. Grabbing at his bicep and turning him around to face I gave him a hard look. I heard someone intake a hard breath as they watched me man handle him.

“Grayson Bailey! If it wasn’t important I wouldn’t of dragged myself back into this shithole.” I said angrily at his childish antics which earned a couple of defensive ‘heys’ from the boys.

“Shithole? Well this 'shithole' used to be your home.” He scuffed and pulled his arm out of my grasp.

“Gray, please.” I said as it came out barely above a whisper. Looking up at him, I noticed he was already staring down at me with an unreadable expression. He narrowed his eyes at me and knitted his eyebrows together as if he was thinking. Then in a blink of an eye, wrapped his large hand around my wrist and pulled me behind him without another word. 

“But baby-” An annoying whine called out from close behind us as we walked out of the living room. Grayson stopped mid step, making me inconveniently slam into his back and instinctively wrapping my freed arm around his waist. He didnt turn around but just turned his head back slightly to look at Hailey. 

“Leave us alone. I’ll deal with you later.” He said as he contiuned to walk and head towards the stairs. Ethan was causally leaned up against the wall no doubt waiting for us when he finally spoke.

“Gray man, let’s take a second to calm down. No need to be rash.” He said calmly as he tried to reach for my wrist in Graysons grasp. Grayson pushed him back slightly as he brought me forward so my back was now securely pressed up against his chest with his arm holding me in place by my waist. As soon as Ethan took in the expression Grayson was giving him and my knowingful gaze, he lifted his hands up in surrender and backed away back into the living room. He knew how things were going to get settled between us and as soon as Grayson and I had made eye contact but he hoped it wouldn't. Ethan would never admit it but he was always proud and happy for me when I finally left because he knew I could finally be who I wanted to be and reach my full potential instead of being stuck here and never see what the world had to offer. Without warning Grayson quickly rushed up the stairs with me in his arm, almost making me fall over my own damn feet.

“Fuck Grayson, I can walk on my own!” I said pushing myself out of his grasps. He ignored my whine and walked to the far end of the hallway where his bedroom still sat. Following him towards his room, he waited for me to get inside then slammed the door shut. 

“Talk.” He said harshly as he walked into his large walkin closet, stripping himself from his shirt and throwing it a basket in the process. He walked back out a few moments later in a pair of sweats that hung low on his hips and a t-shirt thrown over his shoulder. If I say so myself he has definitely been keeping his body in check. 

“Sit.” He said pointing to his bed as he pulled on his shirt. 

“No. Do I look like a dog?” I said crossing my arms and leaning back against the door.

“Did it fucking sound like an option? And well you are a bitch.” He said as he grabbed my arm and pushed me onto his bed.

“If you keep manhandling me, I’ll swear I’ll chop of your dick Dolan.” I said glaring up at him as I sat up from my thrown position. All he did was roll his eyes and make his way over the the desk that sat in the far corner near to the window. I noticed a small digital clock that sat on the desk and it read 4:45 a.m. Letting out a breath I didn't realized I had held in, all the exhaustion I have been holding back seemed to finally release myself as I let myself fall back into the bed. 

“I said sit, not lay.” He said still facing away from me.

“Never listened to you before so why start now.” I said rolling onto my side to face his direction. He was looking at paper work that was scattered on top of the desk when he felt my gaze on him, making him twist around and looked at me. He seemed to get lost in his own thoughts as he watched me. His face seemed to soften up somewhat before it disappeared and he turned around.

“Don’t lay like that.” He said bringing his attention back to the papers in front of him.

“Lay like what? I’m literally just laying down.” I said annoyed as I sat up. 

“Like you used to when I worked. Like you belong there, in my bed.” He said as his shoulders drooped..

"But Hailey can lay in your bed because she belongs here right?” I said surprising myself at the petty jealousy that was laced in my voice. He had stopped moving as his back muscles tensed back up. 

“She doesn’t come in my room. She especially does not lay in my bed.” He replied. Feeling somewhat satisfied with his answer, I took a moment to look around the room. It was pretty much the same. All the same furniture was still there just moved around, shelves still held the same objects, clothes were still all over the floor. His bed side table still held my initials I had carved in many years ago so that any girl he brought home after me would know hes will always be mine. Reaching out to touch my engraved initials, memories of that day flowed back.

"What are you doing." Graysons voice said startling me slightly.

"Nothing." I replied as I moved my book over the small scratches.

"Baby, guilt is written all over your face." He said walking into his room and over to where I layed. Staring down at me, he tried to pick out any sign as to what I was just doing. When my eyes twitch to the left a little his gaze followed as he investigated the side table. He noticed the small curved wood scraps from when I removed them with his switch blade. Pushing the only thing on the table to the side he stared down at my initial for my first name on it.

"What were you doing?" He asked. Some anger rushed through him at the thought of you ruining his furniture but he was also very curious.

"I was engraving my initials." I said making eye contact with his beautiful hazel orbs.

"Why?" His deep voice asked.

"So that any girl you bring into your bedroom after me knows that you will always be mine." I said staring at my unfinished job. He stayed quiet after my little jealous explosion and simply grabbed his switch blade that was closed up in my hand and contiuned to carve my last names initial in right next to me first.

"No girl will ever come in here after you cause your it for me." He said leaning down and cupping my face gently in his hands. Smiling up at him, I wrapped my arm around his neck and pulled him down towards me. His soft lips met mine as a smile broke out from him.

Getting brought back from my flashback from his gaze I could feel on me as I mindlessly traced over the edged markings, I knew he felt that same way I did. Dangerous waters we were treading. The possibility of opening up wounds that have been healed up for the past four years was closer then I wanted. Sighing, I lifted myself up off the bed and walked over to where he was standing. Reaching into my pocket to grab the reason I was here, I unfolded it and layed it out infront of him. He quickly grabbed it as he read it over and spun around to face me. 

“Where did you get this.” His asked as his voice came out strained as if he was trying to hold his emotions back. 

“It was in my apartment, attached to this.” I said pulling out the picture I had in my other pocket. He grabbed the photo from my hands and stared down at it before snapping his head up to look at me.

“Im serious. Tell me where you got this y/n.” He said a little more louder this time.

“In my apartment! On my fucking cutting bored with a knife stabbed throught them." I replied annoyed. He ran his fingers through his hair and pushed past me.

“Don’t fucking play games!” He yelled as he turned to face me. His face was slightly red and his muscle’s were really protruding. 

“Play games?! Are you fucking kidding me? Do you think I would of came back here if I was 'playing games'. The last place I would ever want to be is back here with you.” I yelled at him as I clenched and unclenched my fists at my side. He seemed slightly taken back by my outburst but quickly stiffened back up as he dropped the paper and photo on the bed and walked over to his dresser. After rummaging through one of the draws, he pulled out a metal box and brought it over. Opening it up he dumped out all of the piece’s of paper that were held with in. Looking down at them, I noticed they all had the same thing written on all of them in the same hand writing.

What’s poor old Grayson Dolan without his girl? And I don’t mean that little whore you’ve been keeping around. How’s y/n? She looks good, too good. Makes me want to have her squirming underneath me as she cried out in pain.

They were all similar to the note I got. Same messy hand writing and same type of paper, but my referred to Grayson and told me things werent as they seemed also mine came along with a picture of Gray and I when we had to be around 18 years old, sitting outside on the porch with me on his lap. Honestly I didn’t know what to say. Grayson had physical hand written threats targeted against me and decide to just keep it a secret. As soon as I saw the note and pitcure at my place, I was in the car making the 3 ½ hour drive over here without thinking but he didn’t even think to even pick up the phone to tell me.

“How- how long have you had these?” I said looking at the piece’s of paper as a moment of silence fell over us.

“A couple months. I recieved some pictures too of you, they looked recent.” He said unbothered. 

“What?! A couple months? You've received threats against me for months and got pictures of me recently? Are you fucking kidding me? Did you even think to tell me or was the small brain of yours too stupid and thought ’oh I better not tell y/n cause im a selfish dumbass and only does whats best for me, fuck y/n right? Who cares what happens to her’.” I yelled at him. He stood there taking my yelling with a clenched his jaw then began putting the papers back into the box along with my note and my picture. Once everything was put away he turned to walk back to his dresser.

“Stop ignoring me! What th-” I began to yell but he interrupted me by the loud sound of him slamming the dresser draw close.

“IM NOT FUCKING IGNORING YOU! If you would shut up for just a goddamn second and let me talk then you would of found out I handled the fucking situation already!” He screamed back at me. As he took a step forward I took one back. I wasnt necessarily afraid of him but I knew he was unpredictable when he was mad.

“What do you mean took care of it? Cause from where Im standing it looks like you didnt.” I said. 

“When I said I took care of it, I took care of it.” He said walking towards his door and opening it up.

“Now get out and leave.” He spat out at me. 

“You're joking right?” I asked in disbelief. Shaking my head I stood up but didnt make a move towards the door.

“After all these years I really would of thought that ego of yours would of actually shrunk but damn was I wrong. 'I took care of it'. What type of shady crap are you back into now? Or did you never leave that part of your life behind like you always promised you would. Cause from what I remember you told me you stopped working for those guys only for me to find you beating some guy almost to death a week later over some money he owed you. Then on top of all that bullshit I found out you had your own little gang and BROUGHT ETHAN INTO IT! And we all know how that ended, don’t we Grayson.” I said as anger rose in me. He looked over at me from the spot on the wall hes been staring at and I could of sworn his eyes darkened. 

"You're the one who left. You walked away. I was done with all of that shit then you left.” He said dangerously low as he stalked towards me.

“And why do you think I left? Huh? Maybe cause I was tired of you lying to me, coming back home at ungodly times of the night, bruises all over, money just coming in from nowhere, PEOPLE TRYING TO GET TO YOU THROUGH ME. The list goes on and on! Remember Marcus? What happened there? Who’s fault was that? Who’s fault was it when I was in the hospital for three goddamn days because of a fucking gun shot wound? Huh? I was FUCKING 17 FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! I missed most of my stupid senior year because of you. I didn’t go to prom because of you! Couldn’t go to graduation! I almost didnt get the chance TO GO FUCKING COLLEGE BECAUSE OF YOU! My own parents basically disowned me when they found out I got pregant with your baby only to have that fucking miscarriage. I gave up my entire life for you. So dont you fucking stand there trying to acting all innocent and try to blame anything on me. I left because loving you was the DUMBEST DECISION I had ever made!” I yelled. I didnt even notice the tears that were falling down my face until my eyes became so blurry I couldn’t see. I reluctantly let out a loud whimper as a pair of arms wrapped around me and held me against its chest.

“No! Get away from me. I hate you! I hate you.” I said as I punched at his chest and tried to get away. Memories I hadn’t thought about in years kept flooding my mind as I cried hysterically into Graysons chest. The whole house stood quiet expect for my loud uncontrollable sobs. I had soon forgotten that the door was wide open and that everyone obviously had to of heard everything, which made me cry even more. Soon later my sobs quiet down and the tears dried up but my body was drained emotionally and physically. I felt Graysons grasp loosen slightly on me but still held me close as he gently removed my jacket. In one swift motion he had me up in his arms then placed me gently into the middle of his bed. Removing my boots, he pulled up the blanket that was draped messily on his bed and placed it comfortably on top of me. When he was about to pull away, something in me reached out to grab his arm and pull him slightly towards me. He pulled away lightly to much of my dismay as he walked away and closed the door. I thought he had left but soon the lights were shut off and the corner of the blanket lifted up from behind me. Once he was settled in and somewhat relaxed I scooted back trying to get some sort of body contact I was craving at the moment. To my surprise he was on his side facing me so that when I wiggled back his chest was pressed up against my back. He stiffened up at the contact and didnt dare move so I reached behind me, grabbing at his free arm and wrapped it around me. He quickly relax into my touch and tightened his grip around me bringing me close to him. 

"Gray..” I whispered as my eyes stung from the tears forming again. He quietly hushed me and kissed the top of my head as he pulling me closer into him. Silent tears rolled down my cheeks and from the wetness on the back of my neck and uneven breathing in my ear. I could tell he was crying as well. 

“I’m sorry.” He said softly and he hugged me closer soon lulling us both to sleep.

[msmkcreates]

More behbehs please?!?!?!?!

Lol, sure anon! I definitely have more babies for Nova.

BlackBlack never wanted kids, mostly because both he and Nova are physically weak and he feared what would happen. When she became pregnant, he spent most of the pregnancy worried about the future, especially since she was so ill during this time.When Aries was born, he was the perfect picture of health–and nearly three times the size of a normal baby. He’s fully skeletal, like Black, with inky purple magic that broke stuff when he threw tantrums. Black quickly learned he needn’t have worried about his child’s fragility–Aries is built like a tank, and surpassed his father’s height and weight before he even hit his teens.…Black pretends it doesn’t bother him.

Pup/MuttPup was the most eager for children out of all of them, shockingly. When she told him she was pregnant, and with TWINS, he was over the moon with excitement and began to prepare immediately.His daughters, Briar and Rose, are twin souls just like Honey and Bee, with eyes like amethysts and bouncy blonde curls. However, the girls aren’t nearly as amicable. Briar’s temper is nearly as quick as Black’s, and she’s just as smug, and Rose is eerily polite in contrast, which makes it worse when you find she’s tricked you. They mean no harm, but their jokes usually have a cruel sense of humor.Nova sets them straight, seeing as Pup can’t be trusted not to high five them for their antics, and in the end they turn out to be pretty decent. The poor parents just spend their entire childhood repeating the phrase “They’re going to be strong, independent women someday…”

HunterHunter was…not thrilled at rhe prospect of a kid. He didn’t even realize he had wanted one until Nova got pregnant, and he wasn’t prepared in the least.When Tripp came out, he was a sight to behold–terrifying, his skull resembling a gaster blaster and sporting two curved horns like a ram with a deep cyan ecto body. Hunter thought he was the coolest thing he had ever seen, even as the nurses flinched.Later in life, when Tripp decided they felt more comfortable being a girl, Hunter personally saw to it that her entire room was remodeled to suit her tastes, even though she insisted the pink camo was a bit much. Hunter was immensely proud of his daughter and supported her through everything. Nova thought it was adorable.

AxeAxe was impossible during Nova’s pregnancy with their daughter, whom they named Agnes per Nova’s request. He never left her side, nearly feral with possessive protectiveness, and at the same tine he worried about what kind of father he could possibly be with a massive gash in his skull.Aggie was incredibly smart from the get-go, surpassing any and all intelligence expectations for humans her age, which made both parents incredibly proud. Axe was heavy-handed when it came to protecting her, even though she was incredibly capable with her magic skills as well.Aggie looked mostly human, but her one red eye gave away her half-breed status pretty quickly in school. Though…nobody dared to touch her after the first time Axe showed up for parent’s day.

Bro (UnderKin)Despite Russ and Serif’s enthusiasm to have a neice or nephew, Bro was worried that it wouldn’t work out…just like it hadn’t in his world. Luckily, Nova has a private doctor in Green, and they never faced the same prejudices his version of Nova had in his timeline.Sissy was pretty fragile when she was small, with weak lungs and a heart murmur, but she has as much spirit and energy as anyone else and persevered through it all. Her violet soul of perseverance was testament to her battle, and when Green finally gave her a clean bill of health, she went and immediately signed up for sports.

GreenGreen and Nova were supposed to have twins, but one of them didn’t survive the birth. Nova blamed herself for a long time, despite Green’s best efforts, and it wasn’t until Veronika, the surving twin, was old enough to discuss it that she finally realized it wasn’t anybody’s fault–“Cadence was just meant to have wings, mommy.”Veronika is very human-looking, with white hair and soft brown eyes. Her soul is a seafoam one, for tolerance–and she has insane luck…almost as if there is a literal guardian angel looking out for her.

@lethalroar

[zombieocto]

I posted 89 times in 2021

83 posts created (93%)

6 posts reblogged (7%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 0.1 posts.

I added 140 tags in 2021

#gorillaz - 48 posts

#2d gorillaz - 15 posts

#murdoc niccals - 13 posts

#noodle gorillaz - 11 posts

#murdoc gorillaz - 11 posts

#stuart pot - 11 posts

#gorillaz 2d - 9 posts

#gorillaz noodle - 8 posts

#stuart 2d pot - 8 posts

#russel hobbs - 6 posts

Longest Tag: 80 characters

#seriously it isn't that hard to go to the genius lyrics page and copy from there

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

why did the baff become a meme over noodle running through an electric fence

37 notes • Posted 2021-07-03 19:04:03 GMT

#4

okay someone asked for the headcanons the vampire murdoc art was giving me so here you go

- murdoc, obviously, is a vampire, but only has the fangs and yellow eyes when he wants

- (kinda nsfw) murdoc only bites people he *does it* with

- the bruises on 2d's neck in his demon days picture are bitemarks from murdoc (i swear i dont ship 2doc)

here's more headcanons i have unrelated to the vampire murdoc art

- noodle's tall, like around murdoc's height, but she tells people she's 5'2 to mess with them

- 2d likes those little gumball machines, especially when they have toys in them

- noodle likes to make earrings out of random things for 2d, murdoc, and russel (and yes, they do wear them)

- murdoc is terrified of spiders, and noodle and 2d always use it to their advantage when pranking him

- the kitchen is the only clean room in kong because russel can't stand a messy kitchen

last but not least, my headcanons of their sexualities

- 2d is bisexual, but prefers women (not cause i want him to be straight, but because im the same way)

- noodle is lesbian of course

- murdoc is pansexual

- russ is an aro-ace

- all of the band members are demigender except for 2d, he doesn't understand it much, but is still supportive of his bandmates

that's my headcanons for now, bye ig

40 notes • Posted 2021-07-18 04:24:29 GMT

#3

one time i tried to draw murdoc and i almost cried cause i made him look like shaggy from scooby doo

43 notes • Posted 2021-07-02 05:21:23 GMT

#2

i think its funny how gorillaz fans literally worship damon until he says something we don’t like and then we go “okay grandpa time for bed”

54 notes • Posted 2021-11-04 01:20:30 GMT

#1

pinterest gorillaz fans are something else

93 notes • Posted 2021-11-03 02:01:19 GMT

why was the pinterest one my number one post