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bonefall · 6 months

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⭕️Hey Bones! Is it ok if you explain and/or elaborate how Crowfeather is abusive to Breezepelt if please?⭕️

I do KNOW that crowfeather is indeed, abusive to Breezepelt, due to the fact that he emotionally and/or physically neglected him - with child neglect being known to BE a form of child abuse - and I also heard that he slashed and/or hit him within one of the books, which I believe is in the book Outcast, in chapter 16.

But I also wish people would talk and be informed about it more within the fandom, because in the parts of the fandom I’ve known portrayed Crowfeather’s neglect on Breezepelt as negative and bad, but not in a way that made me think and/or feel: “Wow, that’s pretty bad. That’s…actually abusive.” I suppose? So I hope more people will talk about it more in that type of way.

Also, please be aware that I have NOT read PoT, OoTS, etc. or barely any warrior cats books, since the majority of the information I got from the series is from the wiki and the fandom, so that probably explains why I didn’t know this part of Crowfeather’s character is as bad as it actually is until now. Also, feel free to talk about Crowfeather’s abuse on Breezepelt I haven’t mentioned and/or don’t know right now as well if you want.

I’m SO sorry that if this ask is unintentionally quite long, and feel free to make sure to take all the time you need to answer it. Thank you!

OH LET'S GOOOO

Breezepelt is both physically and emotionally abused by Crowfeather. I'm not talking about only child neglect; he is screamed at, belittled, and even once hit on-screen.

The fact that Crowfeather both neglected and abused him is very important to the canonical story of Breezepaw. There's actually a lot more to this character than people remember! Even from his first appearances he displays good qualities, a strained relationship with his father and adult clanmates, and is clearly shown to be troubled before we understand why.

As many problems as I have with the direction of Breezepelt's arc (especially Crowfeather's Trial), his setup is legitimately a praiseworthy bit of writing from Po3 which carries over into OotS. To say that Breezepelt was not abused is to completely miss two arcs worth of books SCREAMING it.

BIG POST. Glossary;

INTRO TO BREEZEPELT: The Sight and Dark River

ABUSE: Outcast, Social Alienation, the Tribe Journey.

DARK FOREST: How these factors push him towards radicalization.

For "brevity," I'm not getting into anything post-OotS. I'm just showing that Breezepelt was abused, the narrative wants you to know that he was abused, and that his status as a victim of child abuse is CENTRAL to understanding why he is training in the Dark Forest.

INTRO TO BREEZEPELT: The Sight and Dark River

Our very first introduction to Breeze is when Jaypaw walks off a cliff in the first book of Po3 and is rescued by a WindClan patrol. He's making snarky remarks, and Whitetail and Crowfeather are not happy about it. Whitetail snaps for Crow to teach his son some manners, and Crow growls for Breezepaw to be quiet.

But our proper introduction to him is at his announcement gathering, when Heatherpaw playfully introduces him as a friend,

From the offset something's not entirely right here between Breezepaw and his father. He's cut off by Heatherpaw here, but he's touchy whenever his father is involved, and we're not entirely sure why.

Throughout Book 1, he's just rude, with a notable xenophobic streak. He's a bit of a mean rival character for Lionpaw, as they're both interested in the affections of Heatherpaw and make bids to get her attention, but nothing particularly violent yet.

He participates in the beloved Kitty Olympics and gets buried in liquid dirt with Lionpaw, basically a rite of passage for any arc.

(And Nightcloud has a cute moment where she watches over them until they fall asleep)

As the books progress, the relationship between Crow and Breeze visibly deteriorates. They start from being simply tense with each other in The Sight, to the open shouting and hitting we see in Outcast.

In the very first chapter of Dark River, we learn where his behavioral issues are really coming from;

Crowfeather.

Breezepelt is getting xenophobia from his father. Occasionally he says something bigoted and his dad will agree and chime in, and those are the only positive moments they have together.

(Note: In contrast, Nightcloud explicitly pushes back against xenophobia, chiding Breezepelt for his rudeness to Lionpaw in back in The Sight, Chapter 21. The Sight is the book where a lot of "evidence" that the Evil Overbearing Woman is actually responsible for the rift between father and son but. No. She's not. Though she can be overprotective; Crow and Breeze have a bad relationship when she's not even around in Breeze's first appearance and even his Crowfeather's Trial Epiphany refutes it. Anyway this post isn't about Nightcloud.)

So he starts acting on his bigotry, accusing cats in other Clans of stealing, running really close to the border. What's interesting though, is that this is not entirely his doing. The first time we get physical trouble from Breezepaw, DUSTPELT aggressed it. Breezepaw and Harepaw were just chasing a squirrel and hadn't yet gone over the border at all.

We learn that WindClan is teaching its apprentices how to hunt in woodland, and tensions between the two Clans is starting to escalate as ThunderClan isn't entirely trusting of their intentions.

The second time, fighting breaks out over him and Harepaw actually crossing the border and catching a squirrel. WindClan is adamant that because it came from their land, it's their squirrel. So it's as if Breezepaw is modelling the aggression around him, learning how to behave from the older warriors and his father.

When he joins Heatherpaw and The Three to go find Gorsetail's kits in the tunnels, he's grouchy towards the ThunderClan cats, but very gentle with the kittens. Notably so. When Thistlekit is dangerously cold, he cuddles up next to her, and even assures Swallowkit when she's scared,

Through this entire excursion, he's the one in the comforting roles for the kittens. Breezepaw is the one who is taking time to tell the kits they'll be okay, that he'll protect them, and physically supporting them when they're weak, even when he's terrified.

And it's always contrasted to Heatherpaw who's way more 'disciplined,' as a side note. It's a detail I'm just fond of.

All this to point out,

Breezepelt displays his best qualities when he's away from the older warriors of WindClan, and he's at his worst whenever he's near Crowfeather. Even while he's essentially just a bully character for The Three to deal with. He's gruff but cooperative when it's just him and Heatherpaw interacting with The Three, but mean when there is an adult to please.

We're getting to the on-screen abuse now, but Po3 actually sets up Breezepaw's troubles and dynamics well before it's finally confirmed that he is a victim of child abuse.

ABUSE: Outcast, the Tribe Journey.

In Outcast, Breezepaw's problems have escalated into open aggression towards cats of other Clans, and is now a legitimate concern for his own safety. Yet, he's spoken over by older warriors, and reprimanded at nearly every opportunity, right in front of the warrior of another Clan.

Squilf just asked the poor kid how his training was going, and then Whitetail JUMPS to talk over him so she can complain, RIGHT in front of his face.

They can't even wait until they're alone to grumble something rude about Breezepaw, who is still just a teenager here;

They taught him already that a bit of prey that runs off their own territory still belongs to WindClan, encourage him to blow past borders in pursuit, and started a battle with ThunderClan over this. And then they're pissed off at him for being aggressive, thinking it's deserved to scold him in public.

When Onestar announces that he wants Breezepaw to go on the Tribe Journey, he's devastated by it...

Because he thinks WindClan doesn't like him, and he's right. He's gossiped about, torn into in front of a ThunderClan warrior, and even his own dad doesn't want to be around him. It's clear that Breezepaw's impulsive "codebreaking" behaviors are a desire to prove himself, and once you realize that, the way that he's being alienated is heartbreaking.

But Wait!! Hold on a minute! Where did he get a "patrol of apprentices" from to confront the dogs with, exactly?

Simple. Breezepaw CAN make friends! He actually values them a lot! So much that it's the first thing Crowfeather snaps at him over, out of frustration that his son is also being forced on this journey with him. It's an angry response to his child having emotional and physical needs, resentment that will continue all journey long.

Note that it's plural, friends. Breezepelt has multiple friends, at least one who is not Heatherpaw, and she promises to say goodbye to them.

Up next, they state over and over, Crowfeather and Breezepaw do not like each other. Crowfeather resents being around him and dealing with his rudeness, embarrassed and angry, and Breezepaw is absolutely miserable being sent on a journey to the mountains with a man who hates his guts.

The whole while, Crowfeather is brooding longingly about Feathertail, already thinking about her as soon as he kitty-kisses Nightcloud goodbye, his eyes looking somewhere distant. He makes a jab about loyalty when Breezepaw doesn't understand why they're helping the Tribe.

Breezepaw gets smacked after he's "shoved" at Purdy and acts rude to him, while the other three manage to be polite (while still having internal dialogue about how stinky he is).

Without so much as a, "cut that out," Crowfeather raises his paw and hits him. Breeze is quiet after that.

I don't give a shit how rude your teenager is being. Do not hit kids. Being throttled on the head is not okay.

In spite of the Three not liking Breezepaw, or even Crowfeather, they're constantly noting that their arguments are not normal, and that Crow is a cold, unsupportive father who digs into his kid constantly, and the only time he ever DOES "discipline" his child it's through immediately smacking him.

At one point, the apprentices get hungry, and decide to foolishly hunt in a barn that they know has dogs in it against Purdy's warnings. Once again, JUST like the first two books, Breezepaw is more friendly when Crowfeather is not around.

EVERY time he is alone with cats his own age, he's grumpy but cooperative. Even enthusiastic at times! The minute Crowfeather is in the picture, he's nasty.

Naturally, the dogs show up, but Purdy rescues them. Though Brambleclaw also chews his kids out (and i have strong opinions about bramble's parenting style for another time), Hollypaw is taken aback by the contrast of what a scolding from Brambleclaw looks like vs how Crowfeather reacts.

The narrative is desperately trying to tell you that the way Crowfeather treats his son is not normal.

And then Crowfeather is pissed off that Breezepaw is exhausted from running for his life from hungry dogs,

And he's constantly losing his shit whenever Breezepaw says something as innocuous as "dad im hungry"

Then, Breezepaw is made to watch his dad pine over the grave of a woman who died long before Crowfeather was even considering his mother for a mate. What he feels is jealousy, because he knows his own father doesn't love him anywhere near as much as he loves the memory of Feathertail.

This really goes on and on and on. The ENTIRE trip is like this, with Crowfeather treating Breezepelt poorly, giving him a smack before even verbally warning him, pushing him past his limits and blowing up on him when he asks simple questions about eating or resting.

It all comes to a head in this one exchange, towards the end. Hollypaw ends up snapping at Breezepaw for his rudeness, before having an epiphany.

It's explicit. Crowfeather's emotional abuse, his "scorn" for Breezepelt, is what is driving a wedge between him and all of his older Clanmates. Between EVERYONE in Breezepelt's life who wasn't already his friend. This awful treatment is only making him worse and worse.

Realizing this, she has more sympathy for him, but it's too late. He continues to be rude to her because he feels insulted, and her patience completely runs out. She's just a kid. They're both just kids. She's not responsible for fixing him when he's pushing everyone away at this point.

That's the end of Breezepelt in Outcast. It can't be helped anymore. Any spark of friendship they had together in the barn, or in the tunnels, is gone.

As the series progresses, Crowfeather continues to refuse any personal responsibility for the mistreatment of his son, even pinning all of Breezepelt's behavioral problems on Nightcloud. He is a cold, selfish father who only ever thinks about his own pain and reputation.

DARK FOREST: How these factors push him towards radicalization.

Everyone talks about the Attack on Poppyfrost, which happens in the first book of OotS, in oversimplified terms. YES he is going after a nun and a pregnant woman. I've never said that's not Bad.

But no one talks about "WHY", and that reason is NOT just that he desires power like so many other WC villains. Breezepelt makes his motivation very clear on the page.

Escalating to violence was about making Jayfeather feel the way that he does.

When Breezepelt says that he wants Jay to be surrounded by "lies, hatred, and things that should never have happened," he's talking about the way HE grew up, knowing his father never wanted him, and that his Clan HATES him as a result. Killing Poppyfrost is about trying to frame Jayfeather for her murder, so ThunderClan won't trust him anymore.

When Jayfeather points out the simple truth that what Breezepelt is saying doesn't make any goddamn sense, his hatred "falters." He's blaming his half-clan half-brother for his own treatment because of the reveal, but totally failed to consider that JAYFEATHER'S ALREADY GOING THROUGH IT... so his response is just this pitiful, "s-shut up, man."

Then the ghost of Brokenstar and Breezepelt bounce him back and forth between them like a beach ball for a bit until Honeyfern's spirit shows up.

Breezepelt's childhood abuse and social alienation was a hook that the Dark Forest latched onto, to reel him in. His anger at his half-brother is so obviously misplaced that its absurdity was something Jayfeather pointed out.

We soon learn that it's the Dark Forest who's planting that ridiculous idea in his head;

The narration is SCREAMING, "The Dark Forest is validating the anger he feels towards his father, and redirecting it towards The Three." He's described as 'kitlike,' Tigerstar's eyes are compared to a hypnotizing snake.

This prose could not make it more obvious if it drove to your house, beat you with it, and then spoon fed you the point while you were hospitalized.

At the end of this scene, Tigerstar sends Hawkfrost to recruit Ivypaw. This scene where Breezepelt is being lovebombed, and the command to start grooming Ivypaw, ARE LINKED. That was a choice.

A VERY GOOD choice! Again, as many issues as I have with OotS, its handling of indoctrination is unironically fantastic, and it owes a good amount of that to the outstanding setup of Breezepelt that was done back in Po3. And that setup doesn't work if Crowfeather was merely distant.

Breezepelt was abused by his father, both verbally and physically. It drove him to be more aggressive to prove himself, modeling the battle culture around him. The adults of WindClan judged him based off Crowfeather's responses, shunning and belittling the 'problem' teenager, which eventually drove Breezepelt to the only group that he felt "understood" him.

In a book series that is RIFE with abuse apologia, this is one of the few times that there's any behavioral consequences for abuse and the narrative holds the perpetrator accountable for it.

But people hear Crowfeather's deflective excuse in The Last Hope where he says he never hated him, blames Nightcloud for everything, and just lick it up uncritically.

Gee whiz, I wonder why the guy who never blames himself for any of his problems would suddenly say it was his ex-wife's fault. Real headscratcher!

(Crowfeather's Trial then goes onto, for all my own problems with it, also hold Crow accountable as the reason why Breezepelt turned out like he did. But that's a topic for another day.)

#This is headcanon territory here. But one day I realized I can read Breezy-P with BPD and he became a blorbo.#Never been able to unsee it and it massively endears him to me... Breeze Pelt Disorder...#I actually REALLY hate how his arc was resolved and strongly feel that he should have progressed into a bigger problem #But I equally strongly feel that being redeemed is the ideal ending for him #so if it was between him being pure evil/redemption death or the awful halting we got at the end of oots....#I'd pick the halting over him being pure evil or a redemption death.#I think BB made me REALLY fall in love with him. He's my sweet cheese. My good time boy.#Bones when he sees an angry black cat: ''i can fix you. first i must break you. but then i can fix you''#Like. what i dislike about where he went is that even if your anger issues came from abuse. you STILL are responsible for your actions #but in the end getting that Shitty Dad Approval fixes him. Not his own growth or self-reflection.#it feels like BREEZE gets his agency stripped away for HIS ABUSIVE DAD'S character arc #It retcons in a reason why Breezepelt is not still a problem and then he faded into the background.#while Crowfeather continues to get supporting roles and every now and then Breeze now looks at him fondly #BLECH.#Crowfeather #Breezepelt #Abuse #Child Abuse #Warrior Cats Analysis #And now you know anon!!

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edgeray · 2 months

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“LATE NIGHT DEVIL, PUT YOUR HANDS ON ME

and never never never ever let go”- Teeth, 5 Seconds of Summer

Mafia AU! Arlecchino x Reader Oneshot

Author's Note: It's been a while since I've actually published anything on here. Well, my gay ass is back with another oneshot. This one has been in the works for at least a month. I'm considering making a Part 2, but that will definitely take at least a couple weeks for me to publish (if not months). I wish I was kidding. School literally hates me and my teachers are incessant on killing my GPA. This is also a gift for @megistusdiary because it'll be her birthday when I post this. Please go check out her blog for amazing genshin wlw content (especially Arlecchino content!) Would you guys like this on AO3 as well?

Content Warning/Info: This is a long af oneshot (6.3k words), long af descriptions and kinda long intro, Arlecchino is referred to with they/them pronouns, implied female but no usage of feminine pronouns for Reader, general dark-ish content, pet names, Arlecchino is a lil scary, I've never been to a club so I apologize for the very inaccurate information, nor have I ever been apart of the mafia so also inaccurate, a bit suggestive but otherwise sfw, if I'm missing anything feel free to tell me!

---

Monsters are said to have lied underneath beds–waiting to ensnare an unknowing victim–or stalk hidden among the depths of a closet–awaiting an opportune moment to strike its next prey. Monsters are fabled entities that are used to scare off children from bad behavior and are quickly eased from the mind by coddling parents. The mere notion of a monster shooed away like a pesky fly, swept underneath the subconscious like forgotten specks of dirt.

You know otherwise. Real monsters don’t lurk on the undersides of mattresses; no, they lurk both in the skies above and the depths below. They do not stalk dark closets because they instead stalk alleys in daylit streets. Monsters are very real, that you know is true since you’ve seen your fair share of them. You’ve met monsters in person–they’ve come to you before. Terrifying is an understatement for them, and each time one has appeared as a client, you’re no less scared shitless.

You’ve learned that even inhumane demons find themselves in need of entertainment; like the sinful creatures they are, they seek self-pleasure. And that is how you found yourself in this particular circle of hell, meant to serve and please demons, devils, and monsters alike. Perhaps it was a revolting job, working at a strip club run by a criminal organization but it paid decent money for being danced on the fingertips of whoever you were unfortunate enough to be assigned to.

If it was a regular strip club, being an exotic dancer would have been fine. It wouldn't be so bad. Lustful and prying eyes can be accustomed to quickly, and so are the flattering compliments and the awkward flirting by middle-aged married men. However, there was a difference between lecherous and predatory gazes. Here, you aren’t even viewed as a person, no, the clients here, those that come in reeking of smoke or blood (though sometimes both), armed with knives and guns on their person, see you as nothing more than a toy or prey for them. Even in the eyes of your employer, you're less than human in their eyes.

‘You harm our merchandise, you’ll pay for it,’ is the warning given to every guest when they first enter. Merchandise. That's what you are. And that single line of words is the only thing that assures you of your safety among mafia members, gangsters, crooks, and whatnot. You've heard that the organization behind this strip club does well in enforcing that rule according to other dancers, but you personally don't want to see if the statement is true. You've been here for a little over a year, and besides bruising grips and pulled hair you’ve surprisingly yet to be seriously injured in any way. So maybe monsters do have a little humanity in them.

You're quickly growing to be a fan favorite as of recently, which means more money goes your way, but you're not sure how you feel about all the attention on you. It's most likely because of how often you offer private dances and private rooms to clients. Whatever gets you the most money; the faster you make money the faster you can pay off your debt and be out of here.

Tonight is supposed to be no different from other nights. You perform on stage, you rile up the crowd, you get showered in tips, and if there is a customer that looks mentally sane enough not to murder you in private, you take them to the back. Except, tonight, you're approached by your boss, who informs you that the entirety of the club was reserved by the Fatui, a well-known mafia more powerful and larger than the one that backs you up, for some celebration. These kinds of occurrences in the club rarely crop up, but when they do, they're often the most opportune time to bag in an abundant amount of money. Big shots like the Fatui pay and tip well, but there's one unsaid risk that comes with this: as a mere dancer like yourself, your life quite literally dangles in the Fatuis’ hands tonight. The organization that owns this establishment can't retaliate against the Fatuis if they so choose to dismiss the warning. They can't even compare to the might of the Fatui.

Simply put, if a Fatui kills you tonight, no one could do more besides bat their eyelashes. You're not at all pleased with this predicament of practically bordering on death, especially when you know one wrong move with one too hot-tempered Fatui could land you at the pearly gates. Keep pleasing the crowd, keep entertaining them, keep racking in the money, you remind yourself as you continue your dance, twirling around the pole sensually, and the customers devour every movement with their eyes. The only comfort you're given is that you've heard the Fatui are quite reasonable and diplomatic most of the time. This is especially true for the Harbingers, you've heard, the twelve most elite members that serve under the Tsaritsa, and the ones that are the most exclusive customers this night. That doesn't mean the Harbingers are any more humane than the average crook. Having worked in a strip club run by the mafia and surrounded by criminal organizations, the more rumored something is, the more dangerous it is. They can be considered devils amongst demons even. That's simply how vile they're supposed to be.

The most concerning problem about the Harbingers is that you don’t know what they look like, only the occasional whisper has alluded to how to distinguish between the twelve. Perhaps, you can survive through the night if you try not to draw too much attention; let the other dancers shine instead and hope you don’t get requested for a private room or dance. That way, you can ensure you don’t end up dead.

Your time to go upstage comes sooner than you’re prepared for. Your hands are clammy, and your form trembles in a way that only happened during your first month. Both reactions don’t make for a very good combination when your survival relies on you not fucking up and disappointing criminal customers. As you approach the pole, just like every time you’ve done, you make sure that the crowd’s gazes are in the backdrop of your mind, and instead, fixate on repeating the movements you’ve been taught and have mastered with your experience. Bet your survival on the provocative sway of your hips, the practiced showcase of your legs, and the allure of your dancing form. Beguile the crowd, but not too much, just enough to wow them. From what you can tell by the volume of the crowd, you’re doing a good job pleasing the Fatui enough. Your body stops tremoring after a few minutes on stage, and with one last final push of courage, you focus your eyes on the crowd before you.

Unsurprisingly, the makeup of the Fatui are men, though there are notably quite a few women. Either way, all of their attention is on you. As your eyes scan across a crowd, for one reason or another, you stop at a particular set of eyes near the back of the crowd. Intent, pitch-black abysses stare back, like they were trying to bore into your soul and devour every single motion of yours. They don’t quite hold the same ravenous desire as many of those before you right now, you mentally note with curiosity. It feels like your form is being calculated, in the way a predator would cautiously observe their next prey, a sensation you’ve experienced a few times, but each is no less chilling. The weight of their engrossed gaze causes you to shiver momentarily, and you snap away from their disturbing gaze to prevent any fumbling or faltering while you’re on stage.

Tonight marks the first time you actively seek out the same viewer while on stage, or even, during your entire time here. For some reason, you feel awfully bold, or curious, whichever two comforts you more, and unlike the meek little rabbit you usually are, you instead search for the viewer’s gaze. You find the pair of eyes with relative ease, as you remember that above their eyes are distinctive snow-white strands with streaks as black as their orbs. You take a moment to study them, and they remind you of a lion–or lioness–among hyenas. The aura they exude varied quite a bit compared to the other Fatui in front of you: not rambunctious, or arrogant; it's apparent they held an aura of indomitable authority just from the way they held themselves. Perfect posture with their clasped hands nested in their lap, with one leg raised over the other. They’re an embodiment of perfected elegance, however, much like a porcelain doll, they’re also expressionless, their appearance unmarred. You don’t examine the Fatui’s form for much longer because their scrutiny on you pricks at your skin irritatedly.

You don’t look for them again throughout your performance. In fact, you hope you never meet those charcoal pits again. You’re afraid that if you do, you’ll be ensnared by whatever beastly claws or fangs you know that Fatui hides underneath that impenetrable mask. The moment your time on stage ends, you rush back to the changing room to shake off your nerves. You sit down at a nearby chair, taking in deep sighs as you attempt to forget how you were stared down like a you were cornered, defenseless animal. And that is what you are, as much as you hate it. There’s nothing that can protect you from the Fatui. Maybe if you hide, never show your face for the rest of the night, they’ll forget they ever saw you and they’ll target another dancer. Surely, that will work, won’t it?

You’re able to steady your breathing before you can delve into a panic attack. Tonight, you decide, you’re not going to take any customers to any private rooms or take any private dances. You’d be missing out on a lot of money, but your life is more of a priority as of currently; not after the ‘encounter’ with that individual, you don’t want to think about how many more are just like them, hiding in the crowd like they were awaiting an opportunity to pounce on your vulnerable form.

Unfortunately, it seems like someone else has other plans for you because your manager storms into the room asking for your whereabouts before his eyes narrow on you. You immediately sit up, stiff as a board when he practically marches his way towards you.

"Someone wants you."

You sigh and shake your head. You should have known. "Not tonight."

He clicks his tongue. "You know I can't allow that tonight."

You bite your lip. "Just pass them to someone else."

"They're not someone you or I can refuse."

"Who?" You question with a shuddering breath, your nails digging into your thigh.

"The fourth one. The Knave. Lord Arlecchino."

Fuck your life. You might as well pull the trigger now. You’ve heard faint whispers of each Harbinger from the customers audacious enough to speak of them. The youngest, the eleventh, charming and boyish. The ninth, money-obsessed but a pretty looker. The eighth, elegant and cold, yet no less alluring. The seventh, as human-like as their robotic creations, which to say isn’t very. The sixth, is hotheaded and mysterious. The fifth, unknown. And the fourth?

Insane. Ruthless. Bloodthirsty. That’s how the fourth is described. You shiver at the horrors that appear on the forefront of your mind when imagining what may come for you. If you're lucky, you'll be alive at the end of the night, more than likely clinging to the edge of living.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Get ready as soon as you can.”

And you do. It’s not long until you stand in front of the private room’s door, your guest is already inside more than likely. The Fourth Harbinger is waiting, you remind yourself, fruitlessly trying to swallow down your stress. You can be dead the minute you step inside, this room could be marked as your grave. Whatever he tells you to do, you’ll obey wordlessly to survive. Just nod along, smile, and do whatever it is that he tells you regardless of the demand. You inhale deeply, regaining some ease of mind, before you bring your knuckles to the door, knocking.

“Come in,” comes a deep, flat voice, slightly muffled by its distance but what surprises you is how feminine the Harbinger sounds. Maybe you got the wrong room. You glance back at the room number plate on the door, and it’s the room you remember your manager mentioning. It’s the right room. Maybe someone else? You don’t have time to wonder, however, as you enter the room, knowing that if it is the Fourth, it wouldn’t be wise to keep him (Her? Them? You’ll just stick with ‘them’ now.) waiting.

“Lord Arlecchino?” You inquire as you enter the room, closing the door behind you. Sucking in a harsh inhale, you instantly recognize their distinct hair. It’s them. Your sight is immediately greeted by the figure sitting on the couch before you, sitting in exactly the same way you discovered them–crossed-legged and lounging back with unfaltering confidence. The Knave wears a scarlet blazer over a black compressed turtleneck, with a matching set of crimson leggings. Upon closer inspection, you’re able to make out red irises in their jet-black eyes. Despite the blatant and literal red flag, something about their appearance draws you in even when they scream danger. They’re… you’re not quite sure how to describe them. You admire the unblemished and pale skin, their elegant and rugged demeanor is like the perfect balance between femininity and masculinity. Are they beautiful, or are they handsome? You think both.

Arlecchino stares back at you like they’re considering devouring you then and there. You can’t suppress the shudder that runs down your spine. You’re a sheep before a wolf. There’s something so chilling about them that even with your experience with other clients, none has ever made you feel this way with just their mere gaze alone. This is what separates the average crook from one of the most powerful mafia members you've ever heard of.

You wait for a response but they only continue to observe you. You take the silence as confirmation to your question and that they’re anticipating something from you. Biting back a sigh of resignation, your hands hook underneath the band of your bra top and you lift it just the slightest amount before a cutting voice makes you freeze.

“What are you doing?” the Harbinger demands, their tone chilling and apathetic, making you want to shrink in yourself immediately. Your blood pumps loudly in your ears and your hands tremble a bit. Something about how designing their gaze makes you suddenly self-aware in a way you’ve never felt before another client–you’re practically half-naked in front of them with your skimpy bra top, undergarments, and fishnets and now is the only moment that you've actually considered how little covering is on you.

Why are they stopping you? Isn’t this what they wanted you to do? Or maybe they just want to do it themselves. Those types of customers always have the most bruising of grips and suffocating of holds. You stiffen at the notion. How are you going to survive this night with a Fatui Harbinger of all things? How many of your limbs are going to be fractured and how many of your bones are going to end up broken?

“I…I’m undressing,” your meek voice sounds out and you hate the crack in your speech. The Harbinger continues to scrutinize you. You don’t dare continue disrobing yourself.

There are several beats of wordless response before they then stand up from the couch.

Oh shit. You’ve fucked up. Are they going to kill you now? Is this your end?

Every thought is telling you to run in the opposite direction as they stalk up to you, but you're petrified as you realize with a chill that they’re taller than you. You’re not short by any means, a bit above average height, but they tower over you, looking down at you from above and casting judgment on you like a god. Once they stride toward you, you avoid eye contact by looking straight, observing their neck and clavicle that protrudes from underneath the fabric. You tense when they raise a hand, their manicured fingers placing themselves underneath your chin and long, carmine nails dig into the underside of your jaw, making you wince. They forcefully tilt your head, raising your focus onto their face.

It’s like they plunged their hands down your throat and ripped out the oxygen from your lungs, leaving you unable to breathe. Up close, the first thing you notice is their lips, plump and red from their lipstick. Briefly, you wonder what color their lipstick would look on your skin. Then your eyes travel up, red-crossed eyes gaze back at you and you gape quietly at the distinct shape of their pupils. You swear that their pupils flash red as you finally lock eye contact with them.

“Did I tell you to?” Their tone is cold compared to the strange softness of their handsome (beautiful?) face.

Something in your gut coils inwardly and you want to look away, but their firm hold on your chin prevents you. You bite your bottom lip to repress a whimper. You’re delicate glass in their hands, and they can break you so, so easily.

“No, sir.” Only the numerous times you’ve said this phrase ensures you don’t stumble over your words. They don’t answer promptly, but as they observe your features, their lips quirk up the slightest amount.

“You know how to address me. Very good,” Arlecchino purrs after several beats of silence, in a low, oh-so-sultry tone, and oh. Oh.

You’re not sure why, but their last two words make your stomach churn, but not in a discomforting way. In the way that lights a fire underneath your skin and spreads heat to every part of your body. You’ve never quite felt this way with another customer. You couldn’t believe that your body reacts this way just from a single praise but it doesn’t stop the pooling heat in your bowels. The chill down your spine still remains in place, but there’s an off-putting equilibrium of iciness and fervor generated from the client.

The Fatui’s eyes stay fixated on you wordlessly until the hand on your chin turns your head, finally breaking you free of their intense behold. Their grip slackens so that they can trace their nails gently down your throat, every inch of surface their fingertips brush against ignites a blaze on your skin. A shuddering exhale leaves your lips and it seems like they take notice because from the corner of your eye, the small uptick of their mouth grows. Despite how sensual and probing the Harbinger’s touch feels, there’s nothing lecherous about it–purely just intrigue and fascination. It’s a touch you both have and never experienced before. Cold nails rake against your throat, not enough to mark or scratch, but enough to invoke shivers.

You’re aware you should be terrified, but for a reason you can’t pin down, you can’t jerk away from their touch. You try to reason with yourself it was only because you’re one upset away from getting yourself killed but that reasoning falls apart when their hand gingerly traces your jawline and you make the softest of groans, a barely audible noise of content. Unfortunately for you, the sound seems to have reached Arlecchino’s ears and their expression softens slightly: their eyes narrow less and their brows aren’t as creased. And that smirk–if you could even call it that from how faint it is–becomes a half-smirk.

They pull their hand away and your trance is broken, reality returning back to you as you remember that the person before you is still a Fatui Harbinger, no matter how bizarrely melting their touch was. They turn on their heel and walk towards the couch in front of you; the slightest bit of heaviness is placed on your heart. You remain stationary where you are, observing them as they seat themselves gracefully on the couch, and their attention encounters yours again. Their black pits hold expectancy in them. At first, you’re clueless as to what the criminal desires from you, but then their legs spread apart, an inviting gesture that beckons you and every rational thought leaves your easily swayed mind. Your heart skips a beat, and you're sure this time it's not out of trepidation.

Even if you didn’t command them to, your legs would take you to their seating figure. You stand before them, feeling blatantly disrespectful to look down at Arlecchino, but you await their order. They lean back, lounging laxly against the couch, their posture never lacking their usual self-assurance. It only ties the knot in your gut tighter. You’re aware of what they’re instructing you to do, but the absent confirmation makes you hesitant. It seems like the Knave picks up on this because the room echoes with one definitive spouted word from their lips, authority and dominance ringing through their husky voice.

“Sit.”

Your legs buckle underneath you from the one-worded response, the demand only stoking the consuming fire inside you. Eager to please, you perch yourself on their lap, straddling them, your knees pressed into the furniture below you and encasing both of their thighs between your own.

Oh, you think to yourself as your legs make contact with their thighs. They're firm. And for some reason, that provokes your stomach to churn in itself even more. You're so close to them, enough to feel their breath cascade against your skin.

As you seat yourself, you nearly clumsily topple over, instinctively grasping onto their shoulders for support. Their shoulders are remarkably broad, you regard, well-muscled as well. Their hands creep up on your hips, steady but gentle hands grasping on each bare side of yours to stabilize you. The heat that radiates from their hands is infectious, regardless of the nails that burrow into your plush waist. For the first time, you flush considerably, a sweltering inferno forming in your cheeks and your head fills with dizziness. Their touch is gentle–something you rarely experience with customers–so, so gentle that you would describe it as heavenly. How can someone so inexplicably vile have heaven on their fingertips?

It's not a position you never found yourself in. In fact, it's far from the first time you've been like this with another client. But here, as you're sat on top of the Fatui Harbinger, and red x-pupils search yours, a foreign feeling passes through you. Placing your finger on it, you dubiously think it's bashfulness, but the heartbeat that sings in your ears and pulses underneath your fingertips tells you otherwise, tells you it's something more. Against that, you remove your grasp on their shoulders and place your palm flat against the couch’s surface behind the Knave.

You squirm a bit, nervousness in your form as you remain as still as you possibly can, waiting for any more instructions. All you need to do is act like an obedient doll for them in order to survive; compliance is the best way of ensuring survival with people like these. You feel like you're merely eye candy from the way that their attention flits across your body, but you're immobile throughout the entirety of their observance. Being looked at is much better than any physical interaction. Their hands still cup your hips, but slowly, they descend to the side of your thighs, making your skin feel tingly.

Impulsively, you mumble out a quiet "Sir…" as strange sensations brush against your skin.

The sound surprises you and you feel on edge as their eyes travel from your lower half to your face. You gulp considerably. From their stare, they expect more of a response, a reason for their addressment, but even you don’t know yourself; it seems like an unconscious calling that just rolled off your tongue. You cow underneath their gaze, even when the two of you are at eye level. When you linger in quietude, their hand releases one of your thighs and lifts to your face, supporting your chin while their thumb rests on your bottom lip, unfurling it just the slightest amount to implore an answer from your now parted lips. Gleaming scarlet pupils grip your regard sternly, piercing into you and instilling you to spew something out. Except, you still can’t, now too entranced and lost in the crimson.

“Doll.”

Despite the pet name, it's devoid of any affection or warmth. It's a word that drips of command, a reminder of your place: simply a toy that they can play with however they want, a manipulated and decorated plaything for their amusement. That means you answer to them, and so when they request a response, you're under the obligation to please them. Your survival is in their palms anyway, if they wanted you to dance, you would just so they wouldn’t strangle the life out of you.

However, its implication doesn’t prevent the tingling shudders that wrack your body nor the involuntary clenching of your thighs around theirs. Was it the gravelly voice that aroused your behavior? Your cheeks flare at the knowledge that Harbinger sensed the physical reaction. It shouldn't be possible. It shouldn't be possible, your thoughts repeat, but then they're interrupted by:

"Oh?" Arlecchino inquires to themselves, a stark amusement in their speech. Their red glare illuminates slightly, replacing the lost darkening with a faint glow in their pupils, and the corner of their mouth curls up. It is only then that you discover something entirely new: that monsters can be sinfully, cataclysmically, terrifyingly beautiful and the sight before you is the most exquisite example. A devil has you wrapped in its claws and its fangs readied for devouring but it’s disguised as an ethereal angel; blinded by their perilous allure, you mistake their snow-white hair, their lustrous piercing rubies, their flawless porcelain skin, and their burning, fleeting touches as traits of a seraph. From a measly smirk, you forget the atrocities lying underneath their fingertips and dismiss the hazard their presence holds.

The hand on your thigh rakes its fingers up, red nails trailing across the surface of your fishnet, wrenching out a breathy gasp from you as they travel inwards. Tingling pleasure injects into your veins as you subconsciously lean in, imploring for further sensual contact. A plea sits on your tongue and nests in your eyes as you beg them through your pitiful expression. They drink in your desperation with a slow swipe of their tongue over their lips, and that single action is debauched enough to elicit a soft groan from your throat.

“Well, aren’t you an amusing toy?” They drawl out with a preposing rasp and dark abysses glint with an insatiable hunger.

They smirk enticingly, their thumb running across your bottom lip and smearing your lipstick on their thumb pad. Their grip on your chin tightens a bit, pulling you even closer to them before a shadow casts over you when their face nears. Before you can even fathom their intentions, they descend upon you, closing the distance between the two of you. Your lips are greeted with something pillowy soft and fervently warm, and you sharply inhale from the sensation. Every one of your nerves sings frenziedly, your muscles tense all over, and your heartbeat drums deafeningly in your ears–all of this as your body is engulfed in a fervid tornado of heat that makes you lightheaded with pleasure. It takes you several beats to realize the reason for this is that Lord Arlecchino, the Fourth Harbinger, the Knave is kissing–no, kissing is far too intimate, devouring–you voraciously like they're trying to rob you of any air, trying to imprint themselves on your mouth. Their mouth dominates yours, pushing against them with a deep fervor and famished urgency, eager to swallow every bit of shocked noise you make.

You close your eyes and allow yourself to indulge.

You first taste lipstick with a waxy flavor hitting your tastebuds. It’s cold against your lips, yet warm at the same time. But the physical texture and flavor of their lips are irrelevant; there’s only one true manner you would distinguish their taste:

They taste like sin.

The type of sin that’s chocolate coated and sprinkled with colorful toppings; depravity so sweet and charming it makes you reconsider the bounds of right and wrong. Degeneracy is far, far tastier than anything you’ve indulged in before. How can something so evil be so heavenly? Cushiony soft, placidly warm, flatteringly zealous, it’s like having a dance with a devil; so unequivocally immoral but no less gratifying. You question if they really belong to the Fatui because how can something like this come from such? You want to engrave the texture of their mouth onto your memory, feel this faux intimacy even when you’ve long parted. The Fourth Harbinger, you surmise as you surrend your will to them, is decadent–the only word that can be defined as both wicked and delectable at once–the perfect word to describe them.

The last remaining bit of reasoning comes to the backdrop of your thoughts and begs you to not be swept away in the heavenly embrace. You discount it in favor of accepting this godsent gift by leaning further with a weak imitation of their ravishing lips and pressing back. It’s a feeble attempt to match their insatiate nature, far too domineering and forceful than you can manage but they display a token of appreciation when they squeeze your thigh, indenting your skin shallowly with the burrowing of their nails. The action exposes just how sensitive you’ve gone underneath their touch and you reward them with the sweetest of sounds.

“Arlecchino,” you mumble with half-lidded dazed eyes in between ravenous exchanges and it evokes a depraved throaty growl from the Fatui, like provoking a call from a starving beast. They lean deeper to indulge in your taste. The gruff sound reaches your ears and it’s like a psalm–you shudder from its musical melody.

Their clutch on your jaw releases and their fingers outline your jawline before snaking to the back of your head. Well-manicured digits entangle themselves in your hair, and there’s a gentle shove against your skull that forces you deeper into the kiss. Your hands clutch onto the couch underneath you as tight as you physically can for any sense of grounding and your knees attempt to close in even more to feel more of their body against yours. The hand on your leg, in turn, caresses the length of your thigh.

Every graceful touch, stroke, and brush exudes an unyielding and infectious warmth that only adds to the stoking fire in your gut, and you’re bathed in so much swelter from the ecstasy that you feel dizzy. Yet, you never want it to end, you grow more addicted and drunk with each encounter of their lips. That, paired with your strained breathing, prompts your stamina to falter much sooner than the Harbinger’s. You let out a soft whine to signal your depleting oxygen, and their mouth unlatch with yours, pulling away despite your ache for more. With the separation comes a small string of saliva attached between the two of you, evidence of the shared intimacy that’s snapped when they lick their lips. The hand behind your head detangles from your hair and you silently mourn over the loss of contact.

You heave for air, your chest rising and falling rapidly. You’re a little perturbed when you notice that they’re not even out of breath, a small but firm reminder that they’re as inhuman as humans can be. That knocks a sense of reality back into you. Customer, mafia, Fatui, Harbinger, it comes back to you like a train. Here you are swapping spit with them while in the lap of potentially the most dangerous criminal you could ever meet, but fuck were they a good kisser–you’ve never experienced anything that came close to this in your lifetime.

Any foolish doubtful contemplation of the morality of this interaction is swept away just like that when you hear:

“Greedy little thing that you are,” they regard with the most cunning and handsome of smiles, discrete amusement dripping from their words. Their dark pits behold you entirely, the same way they have always done when it seems like they were contemplating what part of you to savor the most. Only this time, you’re not so disturbed by the notion. If anything, the swirling heat in between your legs suggests the opposite.

Greedy wasn't a word often associated with you, yet you couldn't more correctly describe yourself in that moment. Greedy. Greedy for a Fatui Harbinger no less. As ashamed as you should be, there's no use denying that you crave for their touch, for their gaze, for anything and everything they're willing to give you. You want everything and more. The more you contemplate, the more it seems obvious why you wouldn’t. Are they a devil disguised as an angel, or are they an angel that fell from grace? Regardless, they bring nirvana to you. An incessant desire bubbles inside you, your throat swelling up with an urgent request on the tip of your tongue. Would they allow such a thing if you plead? Would they be offended by your impudence? Would they punish you for such? But the necessity outweighs any reconsideration of your insolence and the supplicant beg tumbles out of your loose lips.

“Can I… touch you please, my Lord?” You croak out, wincing at just how wretched it comes out. The response from them is not immediate as the two of you stew in silence, a building sense of dejection inside of you. The expression on their face noticeably contorts, smile lessening, their brows furrowing, and their red x’s glinting dimly. Their free hand raises to near your neck and you suck in a harsh breath as their fingers enclose around your throat. The mere action sends a stinging reminder to your lust-dazed thoughts about their position, and a chill pierces you.

Mafia, Fatui, Harbinger, the Fourth Harbinger, the Knave–the labels cycle through your thoughts. Though their grip is lax, not exactly suffocating and giving ample space to breathe, their fingertips does acutely jab into your skin, a display of their impressive grip strength. You have no doubt that they can suffocate you with one hand alone, snap your neck, or, as your mind ventures into more harrowing territories, crush your skull. Those thoughts alone has you breathless with anticipation. A heavy weight suddenly appears in your gut, so heavy that you feel like you can’t move so much as a muscle.

Did you just go too far? Was that too much to ask? Was this how you were going to die?

The reflex to gag and inhale combat each other in your throat, a discomforting sensation that crawls up your spine while you tremble. You’re almost certain that the nails have penetrated the layer of skin, drawing beads of blood that’ll trail down your mark. You whimper at the prickly pain. Yet, in all your unease, the most masochistic thought arrives briefly at the forefront, and you can’t help but consider: this position is just as intimate as all the other interactions. You’re already so vulnerable in their lap, does the hand around your neck change your peril in any way? No, you’ve been a defenseless lamb to a slaughter the moment you’ve stepped into the domain of a menacing wolf.

Ah. Even now, you can’t dismiss the warmth of their fingertips.

“Do you still want to touch me when I do this?” They demand callously, their voice harsh and reverberating through the room. Their grasp closes more around, and you feel your supply of oxygen inhibited. Tears begin to brim your eyes, but you’re undeterred. Unlike Arlecchino’s, your answer is instant and breathless. Your eyes intently lock on theirs, the hardened expression enough to satisfy their question. There’s no need for contemplation. Danger, you determine, is addicting.

“Yes.”

The previously small smile stretches across their lips considerably. Content, or dare you say it, thrill writes itself over their face and the boulder previously pressed against your shoulders is lifted. Your throat is freed from their hold, but their touch doesn’t halt there. Instead, they rotate your head for you to face to the left, exposing your side profile to them. From the corner of your eyes, you watch as their face draws closer to your skin, hot breath cascading across the small dents her nails created. The one on your thigh finally leaves, moving to one of your hips, tender strokes across your flushed surface. They lean forward, and moist, plush skin meets yours. Lips traverse over the length of your neck, teeth scraping against, making you weakly groan. It takes all of your will to still your body, only allowing for the Harbinger to do whatever they desire to your form. Their touches are burning, burning, burning–so hot that you wonder if you’re experiencing a heat wave. Peppered kisses follow the edge of your jawbone, all the way up to your earlobe. A wet kiss graces your ear and then the most sinful of statements dignifies your eardrums, like a devil whispering hymns directly into your ear.

“I think I’ll keep you to myself after this.”

A short hum follows afterward.

“If you want to touch me, you’ll have to work for it. You’re only mine for tonight, aren't you? Entertain me. Give me a private dance, doll. After all, you have me for all night.”

---

Link to M-Alexa's amazing art and how I imagine Arlecchino to look like in this oneshot.

#arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #arlecchino #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact fanfics #guys I'm so tired it's 2AM rn #i have school tomorrow guys #i chose to finish this tonight despite the shit ton of homework I have to do #arlecchino brain rot does that to you #def worth it #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact arlecchino #genshin arlecchino #genshin fics #arlecchino smut #edgeray.writes #edgeray.blog

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weirdgenetic-fuckup · 1 month

Text

No Nut November - Duff

A/n: These were meant to be all put into one but then I made Duff's really long, then I made Axl's even longer, now I'm working on Steven's but the other's will also be posted separately, either way I hope you enjoy :3

Also if anyone wants to request more for Duff... ;)

Warnings: Smut, no nut November, fingering (f receiving), I completely forget everything that happened since I wrote it so if I missed anything please let me know :3

Intro

Duff walked out of the studio once they were done for the day. He had completely forgotten about the bet until Axl yelled out to him from across the parking lot. “Don’t let Popcorn win, ya hear?!” Whether he was joking or not Duff couldn’t tell, he didn’t care all too much either.

Honestly, the bet didn’t mean much to him in the first place, he just thought it would be fun to watch everyone else deal with it. He never put too much thought into whether or not he’d win or not, frankly he didn’t care. All he wanted was to get home to his partner.

It was October 31st, his plan was to come home and celebrate Halloween with his love, explain what was happening and see where that went.

He walks through the door and is met with you, his girlfriend, wearing what could potentially be the most revealing costume he’s ever seen in his life.

You did a little spin as you frolicked over to him. “You like it?” You asked with a big grin.

“Like what, the two inches of fabric covering your whole body?” He asked, a smile on his face as he admired you, his hands quickly finding their way to your hips.

“What, you no like?” You asked, looking down at yourself. “I got it for the party tonight.” Duff paused, suddenly this hot costume was no longer fun and games.

“You plan on going out in that?” You looked back up to him. “Babe, that’s a fucking thong and some cat ears.” You smiled and turned around.

“There’s a tail, too.” Indeed there was. Duff pulled on the fluffy black thing dangling out of you. A buttplug. You got a buttplug for a costume.

Duff shook his head and pushed your further into your shared apartment. “No way in hell are you leaving in that.” You laughed and flopped over onto the couch. Duff came right over to lay over top of you. “You are staying here with me for one last perfect night.” His lips crashed against yours, you happily went along with it until what he said finally caught up with you.

You pushed him away from you and nearly fell off the couch. “Last night? What do you mean ‘last night’?” You asked, tone full of worry.

Duff thought about what he said for a moment. “Oh, God, no, that’s not- that’s not at all what I meant.” He blurted, pulling you close to him. He sat you in his lap and you shifted uncomfortably due to the toy stuffed inside you. “It’s just, the guys and I made this bet to see who could last the longest through November without cumming.” He explained, toying with your hair. You let out that breath you were holding in and curled into him.

“Jesus, you fucking scared me, Duffy.” You mumbled. The bassist chuckled softly and kissed your forehead. You kissed his jaw, he kissed your nose, then you both met in the middle and your lips collided, ending in a heated makeout session.

You had your night and that was supposed to be that for the month.

A week passed and Duff was seemed fine. He hadn’t had any wet dreams, no real neediness. He did ask you to cover up a little more, though he swears it was because it was chilly. You didn’t necessarily plan on following through on this whole ordeal with him, still you hadn’t made any attempt at anything with or without him.

The first weekend was fine, you had it off and had your fun lying around all day. Monday killed you. Everyone was being an ass, some kid even got on your nerves when he ran into you with an icecream in his hand, getting it all over your new pants.

That night you came home seething, wanting nothing more than to have Duff fuck you into next week but you couldn’t even ask that.

You got in the apartment and slammed the door shut behind you, more than annoyed with the day. Duff poked his head out of the kitchen and, upon seeing you so distraught, he rushed over to you. He wrapped his arms around you and picked you up. “What happened? Rough day?” He asked as he walked you over to the couch. You groaned loudly. “That bad, huh?” Once he sat down you fell over, lying over the couch and his lap, covering your face with your hands.

“Oh, fuck off, would you?” You grumbled. Your eyes shot open and you slowly moved your hands away from your face, peering up at Duff who glared back at you.

“What was that?” He asked, knowing there wouldn’t be a good answer.

“I-I’m just tired, I didn’t-”

“No, no,” he interrupted, “say it again, I didn’t hear you the first time.” Your lips pursed in a small pout as you stayed looking up at him. “What, you had a bad day and decided to be a brat?” You shook your head. “Thought that I couldn’t do anything about it for a whole month, hm?”

“No, I just-” Duff cut you off again, this time with a harsh slap to your thigh, causing you to yelp.

“Say. It. Again.” He repeated. You let out a small whimper. Duff shook his head. “Tsk, tsk... Sweetheart, it’s one thing to say something like that but it’s another to put on this act.” His voice was degrading, cold and mean. By God did it have your cunt blushing for him.

Duff knew he couldn’t fuck you, he’d lose the bet for sure. He didn’t plan on winning but he wasn’t thrilled with the idea of losing, either. To get around this he just fingered you.

He had you in his lap, naked. Your legs hooked for his to give him full access to you and he took full advantage of it, his long, thick fingers pushing deep inside of you. He went slow, making sure to drive you crazy by hitting every spot, then he’d speed up and the room would fill with lewd sounds and loud moans as you cried out for him. Right before you came he’d stop and return to an even slower pace.

You stopped warning him when you were close in hopes of cumming but he knew anyway. “Fuck, Duffy, please! Hah- ‘M so-sorry, please!” You whined, bucking your hips against him, searching for any amount of extra friction, just something to get you over the edge.

“You’re sorry, are you?” He was right by your ear, lips caressing the shell of it. “You’ll be good if I let you cum?” You nodded enthusiastically.

“Yes! Yes, yes, I-I promise, I’ll be good!” You were clenching around his experienced fingers in anticipation. Duff planted a few soft kisses along your neck as he continued his abuse on your hole, bringing you even closer to your release.

“Cum for me, baby, cum on daddy’s fingers.” He whispered in your ear. Your eyes rolled back, your head fell onto his shoulder and your back arched as you came hard around his fingers.

You two never usually even made it a week without some kind of intimacy, even when he was on the road you’d call. That, paired with how much he teased you had a familiar yet different feeling building in your gut.

Instead of simply waves of pleasure rocking through you a gush of liquid shot out. It took Duff a second to realise what was happening but when he did he was quick to change tactics and pulled his fingers out of you to play with your clit, wanting to see as much of you squirting as he could.

He let you finish and gave you an extra few minutes to come back down from that. “I didn’t know you could do that.” His voice was soft and sweet in your ear, a full 180 from the tone he had earlier.

You shrugged. “One of us had to this month.” You joked, your voice airy and tired.

“You thought I could see that and not cum?” You looked up at him with a brow raised. You twisted in his lap to see the giant stain forming in his shorts. “Your ass kept rubbing against me, I gave up halfway through, that was just the cherry on top.” He explained and pulled you to him, kissing your neck again. “You know,” he started, “now that there isn’t a bet to worry about...” He trailed off.

Your brows raised and a smile came onto your face. You stood up and slowly started walking to the bedroom. When you were only a few steps away you turned back to him. “Last one in bottoms.” You teased. Duff booked it to the bedroom.

#duff gnr #gnr #guns n roses #guns n roses x reader #guns n roses smut #guns n roses fanfic #duff mckagan #duff mckagan smut #duff mckagan gnr #duff mckagan x reader #duff mckagan fanfic

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kitmoas · 5 months

Text

maimed underneath wreckage

TGU--Season 2 Installation 1

Warnings: **18+ ONLY** **MINORS DNI*** Mommy Kink, light talk of breeding, hostage talk, light degrading, talk of weapons and magic

as usual if I missed anything let me know!

Author's Notes: IT"S SEASON 2!!! Hi Hello, the beginning of season 2 is here! It's a day late and I'm sorry. Also no editing cause fuck that shit I'm sorry if there's mistakes. Hopefully its a good intro to the vibes of season 2 :) Lemme know your thoughts even if you wanna stay anon in my inbox

Training Grounds Master List | Navigation Post | Inbox

Flickering, a small flame breathing in air as it grows slowly. Despite the darkness and the isolation, it almost feels as though the world is solid. Firm and rooted in a good foundation, but it won’t take long for that to crumble. Falling, spiraling about as if gravity no longer exists.

Nothing in this place had longevity, changing within a single breath, a flaw in its creation. The insatiable need for peace drove the inevitable hysteria, and that’s where the structure falters. Slowly everything will become normal once more, forcing a reality check in which will leisurely chip away at the sanity within.

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The sounds of conversations mixing is a nice change to the beeping of the lab and the clicking of keys in the office, a light wind blowing through your hair as you allow your eyes to laze around your surroundings. The heat lamp next to you allowed for you to sit atop the roof despite the snow along the grass under the balcony. Having spent the past few months keeping your head down after your first semester into your masters, it was nice to finally be back to something a little more normal. A moment between everyone that feels cozy, and you even feel comfortable with the arm that lays along the back of your chair.

Empty plates are scattered and you know that your brother is confused, and a bit off put, but you try to ignore it. This isn’t where you thought you would be, but it’s okay. Life is a rollercoaster and you need to start understanding that, you cannot control everything nor can you put someone else in control of the levers. You need to move on, learn to take the hits like an adult and live.

The talk was light the entire lunch, almost cordial which felt weird,and maybe you should have taken that as a sign that this was destined for doom but you shrugged it off. You were here for fun and not everything had to be serious, which made your skin crawl because you knew that wasn’t the same mindset of the girl next to you but it was the one you were stuck in.

“So have you thought anymore about Peter’s offer?” It never happened on purpose, the dreaded swing back. An end to almost every interaction that you have with anyone at this point, never really detangling yourself from those that left your world rocky.

You know your brother doesn’t mean it maliciously, but you can’t help but glare at him every single time he brings up the offer. A step into the same world as those that used to be your pillars, the ones that created your world as it once had been.

Sighing, your eyes divert as you notice the hopeful look of both your lunch companions. “You know I haven’t Cars, you know that it isn’t the only offer I have and there’s no reason to even entertain it. I have school.” Despite the want for your voice to be strong, almost commanding, it wavers on each syllable. “I don’t need another distraction. I want to do well.”

Before you even finish you can sense the change in his body language, jaw stiffening and eyes rolling. “Personally I think it’s time you stop running from what you’re actually good at.”

Your mouth opens, just slightly, as your tongue dips out to wet your lips. “You know damn well that I won’t ever truly become part of that world, not full time.” The low simmering anger, the one that exists in you at all times, starts to heat up. You know where this is going, where it has gone for the past couple months.

“Running from dad and who he was isn’t going to make you happy, we both know that.” The words were out of his mouth, put out into the world, but it was almost like you lost your ability to hear. It wasn’t healthy, your coping mechanism with your father, and you know that but at the end of the day you still weren’t ready to change. It almost felt too familiar, too cozy, and the thought of more change scared you.

An answer for his statement never came, just your footsteps in the light layer of already melting snow as you walked back into the building. The loud chatter within the food court of your student union masking your emotions, as Cassie stumbled to thank your brother for having a meal with the both of you. Only the brief reflection of them parting indicated what happened at the scene you left behind as you conceal yourself within the wave of people all heading for the coffee bar.

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A small stack of papers go flying through the air, hand slamming down on the large oval table. “We can’t keep acting like expansion is impossible! The world needs different types of technology so let’s give it to them!” Kate leers over the table, glaring at the projection of their end of year statements.

You could feel the tension in the room, everyone was just a bit too scared to fight their boss. “Ms. Bishop, what….what would you mother do in this moment?” Apparently not everyone was scared, a single older man raising his hand with a strict look on his face.

The young girl blinks, straightening her back as she stares down the table. Her jaw sets and she uses the moment of quiet to smooth down her blazer lapels. Kate settles down in her chair, allowing the smooth soft leather to calm her down more before she speaks. “Maybe you should remember where my mother got this company, yes? At the brink of forced federal shutdown, and practically bankrupt when our combined assets were seized. She destroyed the reputation of this company, disruption within the entire field, because she wanted to be rich. When I took the seat, and responsibility, of this company I swore that I would bring it back to what it could be but you all want to stay what my mother created. If that is true then security can escort you out because I will not be working with criminals. Meeting is dismissed and you all are required to go home, do not return to this building until or unless your mindset changes. We are not villains in this company and I will not entertain the idea of such ideals either.”

Slowly each person leaves, shock on their face after being practically punished by such a young girl. They had always thought that she would be a fun loving kid, the one that was barely a good secretary but they knew she was growing into a good firm CEO.

Letting the door lock behind the last person to leave, Kate leans back with her feet on the wood table. Sighing she rubs her hand along her face, staring out at the skyline. Her mind drifts as she tries to settle her heart rate. Memories of her favorite times plague her mind.

“You wouldn’t dare, Mutt!” Her words held no real venom, voice cracking with laughter as she tried her hardest to keep the nerf gun aimed properly. The ginger staring down Kate as she holds you in a chokehold, her own gun against your temple.

The body behind you shifts, the arm loose around your neck. “Bring it on, old lady, I’ll pull the trigger. I ain’t no scared lil bitch!” Everyone in the room cracks up at your girlfriend’s random accent that she puts on.

Neither of you noticed Wanda, hovering in the back, eyes gleaming ruby. Just a tilt of her head and the brunette’s nerf gun is hovering above her hand, the two of you separated slowly. Her hands land on you and Nat is tackling Kate next to you. “Well hello, my little one. No one keeps you hostage but me, understood?” Her voice is deep, smooth as her lips move directly against your ear.

The sight of the ginger straddling the younger girl below you, hand wrapped around her throat as the two kiss messily. You can’t help the whimper that falls from your mouth, teeth tugging at your bottom lip as you try to focus on the feeling of Wanda’s hands on you, but you can’t help as your attention is pulled to the wetness growing between your thighs as you watch the beginning of dry humping.

“Now, if Mommy’s little girl doesn’t start paying attention I’m not going to be able to take care of that issue growing between your pretty little thighs. Are you my brainless obedient hostage or not?” Her nails grips at your hips now, digging painfully into you as she tugs you backwards into her. Her bulge is prominent as she grinds purposefully into your ass.

You can’t help but get lost in the sensation, arching your back as much as you can to feel more of the woman behind you. The sound of the witch’s annoyed sigh only turns you on more, as she lets one of her hands claw at your jaw–forcing you to nod your head. “Such a stupid little slut already?” Her other hand is pushing its way into your pants, fingers roughly swiping along your wet folds. “Do you want to play a game with Mommy?”

Even though you are eagerly nodding your head, the claws that dig into you are forcing your head up and down as well. A sharp whistle makes you flinch, the piercing sound right in your ear as the woman behind you calls for the attention of the others. “It’s time for the puppy to learn how to breed our pretty little fucktoy.”

Kate practically falls out of her chair at a gentle knock, the door disengaging as her secretary pops her head in. “Are you staying late? I can stay so you're not alone.” Her sympathetic smile makes the young brunette feel almost pathetic.

Pulling herself up, politely she dismisses her and lets her know that she too is heading out. That she has a busy night ahead of her with some very important plans, but had just lost track of time. The brunette spends the next few minutes cleaning up, taking great care to make sure that her co-worker is fully out of the building before starting her descent down the stairs. A heavy sigh as she pulls up Doordash for some random pizza shop, trying once more to find a place that can take the place of her once favorite parlor. -----------------------------------------------------------------------

Crickets softly chirp, a sound in the early night that still brings a soft smile to the blonde’s face, under the slowly raising moon. A chill is settling over the dead grass and bare branches, a sure indicator that another night time snow fall is approaching. It’s been a while since she felt like this, everyone around her had been so stressed out and tense but she just wanted the world back as she had fallen in love with it. That’s selfish but it’s what she wanted, even though she knows that the pain and despair she is going through is bare minimum compared to her closest people.

“You know, when we were younger mom would also find you fallen asleep out here. She used to say that you were meant for the night. Viridescent in the moonlight.” Natasha’s smile is forced, and her younger sister can see it from a mile away. It had been for months now, if not even longer but it’s only gotten worse as each day passed.

The hum is soft, barely loud enough to even be noted in the noise of nature. “I miss them.” Her voice breaks causing her to flinch at the obvious weakness she displayed, a quick flash too early in the conversation.

Wrapping her arms around the blonde, the older woman takes a moment to press a kiss to her temple before rocking with her. “They loved you so much Y. You don’t even understand. When you came to us, god, that was it. We were complete and we all wanted to protect you so much. I wish we would have done a better job, we kind of failed there.” Even as the ginger looks out into the yard, a newly installed play gym shines in the dim light, she can’t help but let her mind wander to some of the best years she had in this neighborhood.

“You…Sha, you say Mama and Daddy loved me and I knew that but why do step straight to them?” Yelena blinks up at her sister, relishing in the first sign of emotion from her. She watches her contemplate for a while, silence filled with the chirping of crickets, before she stutters out a few syllables. It ends in a stubborn snap of her jaw, the muscles there tensing as she clenches her mouth shut. “I just believe that they would enjoy it here. We will reunite with Mama soon and maybe by the grace of the gods Daddy will show, but we have people we love here. They once said that we find love grasp on tight, you remember?”

Natasha nods, hot heavy tears filling her eyes. Forcing them down, she tries to chuckle. “The idea of that man being graced by the gods is hilarious, if anything that man would make it back to Yav in the form of one of Mom’s pigs.” At the dead end glare she receives the older woman gulps, trying to collect her thoughts. “Okay, I had to walk away. Okay? Okay. I think everyone can agree that I had to. I had no other choice but to remove myself from the situation. It wasn’t fun or nice but I had to. I had to. I had to Y. Okay?” It wasn’t on purpose but her voice was getting louder and her younger sister could see the anger and desperation rising in her.

Pulling away to sit directly facing her sister, Yelena takes a deep breath as she goes through her thoughts. She knew that it wasn’t going to be easy and that she needed to take her time, but at the same time it had to be direct and quick to make sure that Natasha didn’t run. “The situation did not require leaving, you should never leave and even Daddy spoke to that. Do you not realize that staying would have allowed you to growth instead of leaving and the entire would becoming rubble?” Internally she flinched, the words spoken were harsh but she knew what she wanted out of this. At the end of the day, she herself was angry. Her sister walked away, without a fight, and the blonde knew that she was in the wrong. No matter how much she may idolize her older sibling she has to knock her off that pedestal once in a while.

The two sit there, for almost an hour, in silence. It’s agonizing and tedious, a feat that almost feels athletic but it ends with Yelena retreating. A gentle kiss to the ginger’s forehead as she sighs, shaking her head and heading back into the house to allow her to have some time in a calm isolation.

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Your brow was dripping slightly, the back of your hand doing barely anything to stop the droplet from stinging your eyes. A chorus of laughter echoes in your ears as you stare down at the facetime call, both Peter and America are frantically running towards your shared destination. “Okay, whoever gets there first needs to make sure that they try and get them to honor our reservation!”

The boy yelps as he nods, the world rushing as he swings towards the science wing of campus. “I’m gonna beat you both!” He’s laughing loudly as he flips about, and for a moment everything almost seems normal. Just a couple college friends trying to finish some research, all of you aiming to practically overdose on caffeine.

Trying to focus on not tripping as you exit the gym and keep up with conversation as America runs across campus, the rapid wind being Peter’s only real contribution to the call, you almost miss running straight into someone. Dropping your phone, the dreaded clatter never came and you realize that the beloved item is hovering within a glowing red orb.

“You truly are just a clumsy little thing, you know?” Her voice is quiet, almost hesitant, as she looks up at you through her lashes.

Frantically reaching up to your air pod you hang up your call before your friends can realize who you just ran into, literally, as you try to scramble your brain into thinking of any sort of retort. “Um.. I-” Your vision blurs slightly, but it’s then you realize she’s still crystal clear. The world around her is blurry and fogged, but as per usual she’s the brightest thing to exist.

She smiles, a sullen thing pulling her lips, and shakes her head. “I just missed you, but you don’t have to reply.” A quick shush stops your arguing and her eyes dim for a moment. “It’s not fair of me but I just wanted to see you, just for a moment. I could never stay too far away from you for long could I?” There’s a slight cocky tone to her voice as she expresses her thoughts, her body straightening as she realizes you still react the same way towards her.

“Why.. um.. Why didn’t you call me? I would have answered. I always would.” You try to reassure her or maybe that’s all for you, but you can’t help the words as they pour out of you. “You don’t need to miss me, I’m always at your access if you need me. We always promised that and I don’t ever want to break that promise.”

The older woman chuckles, almost in spite of herself while she takes a few steps away. Her magic forces its way into your hand as it sets your phone there, waiting patiently for you to catch up to what was happening. It’s the last thing you feel, her scent pulling away as she moves farther backwards.

Gentle vibration that you cling to, but you never got to say goodbye as the entire world melts into nothing. -----------------------------------------------------------------------

The door closes behind her, a barely warm pizza in hand. It doesn’t smell very appetizing, but anything with cheese should do the trick nowadays. The feeling is instant, the box hitting the counter without a sound. An arrowhead slips down her fingers almost at an instant, swinging around the young girl tries to play her paranoia off casually but her shock is something she can’t. There bent over the chair is Wanda, almost in a frantic state. Her face is flushed and wet with tear stains. Her demeanor is nothing like the CEO is used to but she knows their lives have changed a lot. “W-Wanda? Are you okay? What happened?” Her concern for not only the woman in front of her, but those that connect the two takes over.

“Please I just want to see someone, anyone. Please. Where is Tommy? Billy? I’m begging you, I’ll do anything.” The woman is sobbing, the words slurring together as she struggles to stand up. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her frame was thin. It almost looked like she had spent weeks searching for these people, but Kate was completely confused. Who was she even speaking of? Did she find a whole new group in just a couple of months?

Taking a step towards the crouched older woman was a mistake, causing her to practically fling herself backwards. For the first time the young girl stopped, head tilting in confusion and her hand falling to her side, Wanda was scared. It was something that she never saw before, and felt like even on the battlefield she had never even seen an ounce of hesitation from her.

Slowly Kate slips to the floor, setting the arrowhead out in front of her so that she could seem less like a threat. “Hi, Wanda? Do you know who I am?” She was starting to think that maybe she suffered some kind of brain injury or maybe she was on some sort of drug.

The frantic woman’s bloodshot eyes snap to match the calm dark waves, and it seems to help her breath a bit better. She shakes her head, pushing away until her back can hit the wall. “I don’t… I don’t know who you are. Am I supposed to?”

It was a possibility, a small chance, and Kate knew that it was there but hearing it stung. A woman that not only did she look up to but also had grown a large liking to doesn’t know who she is. Though the hurt was sharp, and overwhelming, the young hero tried her hardest to ignore it. She had to save the woman in front of her, she had to make sure that she was taken somewhere that they could restore her memory.

As gently as possible the archer reaches out, palm upwards. “Can I touch you?” Her voice was soft, almost as if she was talking to a sleeping baby. At the shy nod of Wanda’s head, she smiles. It’s not a beam or bright, but almost like the beginning rays of the sunrise–soft and warm.

Her hand never makes it there, never touching what looks like a soft sweater, instead the world blacks out and it almost feels like Kate falls into a black hole.

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Natasha had grown accustomed to darkness, the time of day when even the moon goes to bed. It happened to be one of her favorite times of the day, a peace that was laid over her like a blanket. When everyone else wanted to do everything during the day, she just wanted to wait for the shadow of night. She worked and thought best at the latest of times, and sometimes that backfired on her; as it was currently.

She knew that her world was crumbling, but didn’t the destruction start two years ago? The daily life she had created was put on a pause and when she was able to hit play again, the script was rewritten. She was so far behind on rewrites and the new cast members that catching up was impossible, so she went along with what she knew.

It’s not like she didn’t enjoy everything, nor did she not finally fall into a groove but the foundation she created was not the one everyone stood on. No, instead it had almost felt like a bridge–one laid upon the old foundation. It was strong but it was heavy upon the slowly cracking stone holding it up, time was the only thing in the way of the wreckage.

For now this was her life, time in the neighborhood that could have been her identity. She could have been part of that family across the way, the one that is sleeping soundly currently and will wake up and get their children to school before heading to work. Maybe she would have been part of the couple that have three dogs and a cat, and work remote jobs so that they can travel the world together.

Gulping down a thought, she hates to have the visions cross her mind. It could have been her and maybe someone else. Someone else right next to her, smiling and laughing; crying and healing. They could have survived the world together, but the fights would be corporate life and monthly bills. The two of them could have dogs and a cat or two, maybe even a kid if they really wanted. It’s a vision she sees every time she lets her eyes scan the backyard, fairy lights now twinkling dimly to allow enough lighting for safety.

It’s then when she sees two small crimson orbs, floating. A sense of dread and urgency sinks in her stomach, her fight or flight kicking in and the need to grasp at her widow bites strong. As the circles approach, the figure being illuminated by the string of twinkling dots, Natasha realizes the familiar feeling. Taking her back to Sokovia twelve years ago, she realizes Wanda is the one once again hiding in the shadows; but this time Strucker is not a part of it.

“Well hello Agent Romanoff.” Her voice was deeper, a bit of that old rage still there. “What are you doing out here, all alone?”

Despite the girl being far enough out that Natasha could easily escape her, she still felt an overwhelming sense of danger. She knew what this Wanda was capable of, even if it was barely a fraction of what current age Wanda could do, and that was enough for her to let her widow bites activate. She doesn’t give the young girl the sense of pride to speak back to her, just stand at the ready. She couldn’t let her have a moment of the upper hand, she refused to feel her hex again.

Wanda tilts her head, a mockingly curious look on her face. “Why do you seem so scared, aren’t you the great Black Widow?” She smiles widely, every single one of her teeth shining a faint red as her eyes pulse with her magic. “Or maybe it’s because your best friend Tony Stark isn’t here?”

Blinking, slowly, Natasha tries to piece together what was happening. What does she mean? Did she lose her memory in the past couple months? Originally she had thought that maybe her magic had consumed her and that it reverted her back to a darker sense of dress, but the way she speaks isn’t something she understands.

The one thing she is conscious of is the growing ruby orb rolling around in Wanda’s left hand, and the rapidly expanding magic glow around her. The presence of the magic was stronger than almost every moment Natasha had ever seen of the other woman. It scared her and that was the only thing that saved her as she jumped out of the way of the impending attack.

Except it never happened, the world blurring almost as if her magic stole the ginger’s sight.

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Chaos, that’s the only word that can really describe what is happening. It’s only a moment after the world blacked out, only a moment since three lives were blurred and melted back together.

You didn’t really understand what happened, just a moment ago you were staring at Wanda for the first time in months and now you were in some random room with people freaking out all around you. She was standing, somewhat away, trapped in a box. She looked confused, but almost at peace, and you wanted to help her. She had been caged before and you never wanted her to ever feel like that again. You didn’t even get to take one step towards her before you watched her start to glitch, almost like a computer screen, before she just disappeared.

Swinging your head around you tried to find someone who would tell you what was happening, but that’s when you saw her. Kate, your archer, wait no. Kate. Just Kate. She was on her knees, talking to another Wanda who was curled up in a ball crying. It was only another second before that one turned to static. You watched as the brunette frantically stood up, begging for help from the first person she could find.

Next to her, with shocked eyes, stood Natasha. Her arm is held up by the CEO as her voice gets caught in her throat, but her other hand is outstretched to where a crimson fog is dissipating. The two stare at each other for a moment before Kate apologizes, trying to leave the situation in a professional way.

In the crowd you blend in, hiding yourself as agents and other Avengers run around. There’s screens and machines all around, things you don’t really understand as everyone is trying to piece together what could be happening. You almost couldn’t tell if you wanted to be seen by the other girl, or even by the widow. Your soul and heart craved her attention, and you knew that your body would relax just from the sight of the ginger’s eyes, but how could you look at them? You had destroyed their lives and now you must live in the ruins of it.

“ENOUGH!” The loud voice of Dr. Strange freezes everyone, and for a time you think you’re safe. It’s until everyone turns to you, the summoning from the stupid wizard, that for the first time you drown in the salty blue of the eyes you missed most. It was pain, a stabbing through your soul that you knew you would never survive. The need for her attention, even the most miniscule amount of it, was like oxygen. You need it to live, and for the past few months you had none.

You weren’t sure what any one spoke of, people pushing and shoving not only you but the other two to the center of the floor. A large table there that now seated the rest of the Avengers, three empty chairs left. Even though there is yelling and arguing around, you can’t help but stop. You want to just look at them, forcing your eyes away from Kate was a mistake as you struggle to stay still. You wanted to run to the widow, get on your knees and beg her to come back.

It was a clearing of a throat that interrupts your thoughts, stern and firm. “We need to discuss Wanda.”

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drippingmoon · 5 months

Text

Merry new year to everyone, again! 🥳💞🥂

I know it wasn’t an event this year, but writing a yearly wrap-up is really therapeutic, you know? So I decided to continue the tradition, and if anyone wants to join me, absolutely view this as an open invitation^^ Introduction is over, and now let’s see what 2023 looked like:

(spoilers: I adored it. I'm also probably going to make this my fixed post, in case anyone ever wants to catch up with me. And also because my second baby, AoS, is growing, and it doesn't have an intro, but I can't leave it out.)

Stats

Aquiver, Aglow: 181k (draft 4) + 195k (draft 5) + hmm, draft 6 is an outlier, because I didn’t rewrite from scratch, so I’m unsure of the written word count. I didn’t change much from draft 5, so I’d say an extra 15-20k. Total word count: 376k+

Remains of a Night: 120k

Aberration of Sunlight: 134k

This was definitely my most productive year to date. And I got so hungry: the more I wrote, the more I just wanted to keep writing, and honestly? I’m proudest of myself for literally carving writing time whenever I got a spot into my schedule. Mostly it was from 8pm-11pm, but I had a mad run where my only free window was from 1am till I literally felt I was dying… I’ll talk about that separately🤣🤣👌

Though, I'm seriously understating it.

Like a lot of other people, I would have all these hours when I was younger when I didn't have anything to do, yet I'd still find some excuse not to write. "I'm waiting for the right time." "I'm anxious I'm not going to get it right." "Tomorrow! Tomorrow I can start right from the morning, and I'll have more time to write, yeah?" or "I'm too tired now, it's late..." and so the snowball rolled down and downhill and I found every reason under the sun not to write, now that I think about it. Sigh. So much time wasted. But I can't regret it either, because I needed those baby steps at that time.

And now! Now I do what I thought I'd never learn to: I prioritize, and I actually organize my daily stuff so it's not so impossible anymore to have a little bit of writing time. I don't take it for granted either. It feels like such character growth for me, I'm immensely proud of it.

And for the record? This year was a huge improvement over yesteryear mentally, too. It turns out, what I needed to get over my word count anxiety… was to be faced with people who literally didn’t give a fuck about it, and just cared about the story. One of the most unexpected things beta stage managed to do to me… was to quench all my anxieties. It’s as simple as that. I read and enjoy very long books. People also do that. So, I’m very happy to say I’m no longer in a tizzy about ‘quiv. It might kill my chances for trad publishing, it might not. I’ll be happy come what may.

Because it’s so simple how working on ‘quiv or thinking about it makes me joyous, and now I can just enjoy that freely. I will miss writing this story so much. I really will. But at least I’ll have it forever to reread, and I hope this thought brings comfort to everyone who also has problems letting go, like it does to me.

Let’s break it down a little, shall we?🤩

Aquiver, Aglow◇◇◇

My little star of the hour. How fond I am of it.

Like you could glean from above, ‘quiv went through three drafts this year. More specifically: in the first part of the year, practically almost as soon as February arrived. I knew it was getting closer to the final version, and gave me the push to finish all three back to back. I couldn’t justify anymore the bazillion AUs I do with rewrites (basically, WHAT IFs from events, WHAT IF it went this different way, WHAT IF Tyrone actually said this here… and so on and so forth. I wanted to test out as many pathways as possible, and did I exhaust every one of them in existence? Definitely not. I don’t think that can happen, you just keep getting new ideas. On and on. What happened, instead, is that these couple different pathways, at some point, cemented themselves as canon in my mind. I didn’t want to tease myself with alternatives anymore, and that’s when I knew they would be it. Some bits from the first draft, some from the third, some from the second. Some were even draft 6 originals!

It’s a bit of a weird process. I definitely didn’t need to reach draft 3, and meet Mezusa, because I could’ve feasibly made it work with just Yles in the story. It still would’ve made sense, though in a different way. But if I hadn’t… I might’ve missed one of the best characters I’ll ever probably have created, and the story (and Yles) is much stronger for her, if you ask me.

For that matter, yes, full rewrites every single draft might take a lot of time and effort, but honestly I don’t think I’d ever change my writing process (save for the moments of frustration when I think I will lol) because of the sheer satisfaction of it. Whoever said so long never to settle on the first version, I owe you a beer and probably some curses as well lmao, but very lovingly. You shaped my writing life.

I don’t have much else to share about ‘quiv, other than it’s off with my beta readers my beloved, and maybe a tentative promise that, if anyone wants, you’ll be able to read this precious ball of hope of mine relatively soon. This story is so gentle to me. And as much as I loved to write and work on it, I dearly hope that whoever decides to give it a go, is treated just the same. That’s the only wish I have.

I also don’t know if I’ll go trad or self-published. Instincts say trad, because I fuckin’ suck at marketing (fact), and I know I’d grow resentful if I’d have to put so many hours into advertising when I know I could instead… write. I’m a writer. That’s the only thing I know how to do. Trad, however, might not be as kind on a ~200k as life’s been, so I might not have a choice. If it comes down to that… I’ll just treat it as I do everything. I don't love this story any less if I just write, publish without a fuss, hope that maybe, just maybe, a reader or two will stumble upon the story and we could talk. Maybe we can have the fun of our lives, create some genuine connection. I know that’s applies to a lot of writers. I hope we can accomplish it.

And so, I’ll finish this section of the wrap-up with a kiss to my ‘quiv, for all the warmth it’s ever brought me. It’s come so far, I know it can live distinct from me from now on. It brings me great comfort. And I look forward to the times I’ll reread it, and we can relive our best experiences together. Never thought I’d get to this point. Thank you, ‘quiv.

Remains of a Night♤♤♤

Mwhahaha! And because ‘quiv took all the pressure, this left AoS to be an extremely fun and spirited experience. Literally the chillest I’ve ever been writing. In many ways, it’s more my thing than I expected ‘quiv to be: I get to murder characters left and right, it’s more plot-heavy and banking on the tension created by a creature that horrifies the characters down to their marrow, but still the only way to defeat it is to know it better, which, uh, might have unpleasant consequences for them. It’s got chase and stealth scenes, and it always shoots me with adrenaline to think about them. In short, exactly my jam.

It’s not a new book, nope. You knew it before as Aberration of Sunlight, but from the get-go I felt it would be bigger than ‘quiv. Very fortunately for me, I had a place where to break it, and behold: there’s RoaN (book 1), and AoS (book 2). There might be a third book, which I dearly hope not because titling sucks, but it depends on the Sycamine arc. More on that in AoS.

One last thing to note, before we delve into the story (hoo-ray for earlier drafts, because I can talk more frankly about them). This is the culprit of my 1am writing adventures!!😫❤ My schedule became too packed, then NaNo came round and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to honor how AoS began, because it was last year’s NaNo, aaand I’m happy to say I won NaNo, somehow, with 56k down before I died. At that time, I only had one section left to write (from both books), otherwise, hahahaha, yeah, it wouldn’t have flown. Still, most of draft 2 I’d written in September-October, with my fairy lights, late nights, and cups of hot cocoa, exactly like how life should be<3

Alright. We’re going through them chapter-by-chapter again, exactly because I love seeing the titles so much:

ACT 1

Cracked Visor, Scorpion Grass

I did it! I did! Twas another shower thought I managed to get down in time. Bare broken sentences, but they did the impossible, and arranged this chapter into a structure I adore to bits and won't ever change. (And 'quiv's naughty voice left me alone for once and I could write it properly!) While I don't think I'll ever be happy with a first chapter (not as a concept, but the writing — part of me will always wish that the reader just had all the information already lol), this one is in the right place.

It pays its respects to the story of the broken helmet at the foot of a spaceship, and how it reconnects Madigan with all the people who'd suffered from being tethered to the planets when they yearned to fly, but the Beast punished them cruelly for it. It makes him feel phantoms of their efforts. The tone is exactly what I needed this story to start from: melancholy and numbly hopeless, against the backdrop of the Beasts's echoed cries.

Rain Through the Universe

Unlike 'quiv, because RoaN and AoS are way more plot-heavy, it's not as easy to change things willy-nilly (whereas 'quiv was all about character bonds and dynamics). As such, it's very similar to draft 1. Because of that, I'll frankendraft next (select and combine drafts 1 and 2, rewrite to connect them) and afterwards I'll try something I've always wanted to. (Scrivener keeps hinting at it!) I'm gonna split the chapters into scenes, and focus on those individually and how I can just rewrite them and set their purpose in stone<3 I'm excited!

As for the chapter itself, gods, I love the atmosphere. Just the wreckage of a sundered ship, and Madigan’s sudden madman appearance making a lasting impression on Spica, because how could it not. They no longer answer distress calls in that age, it just means more dead bodies. In fact, they're forbidden to. Madigan instead brings him what he himself lacks: hope. And a lot of crawling around while dreading the Beast's lambent eye opening, and oh my, the moments are really flying by😈👏 extreme fun for me as the writer.

Aberration of Light

If you remember, the books follow two timelines, which will connect at some point. The first and main one is Madigan and Spica’s story. The other is Holloway’s, in the distant past of that universe, and who’s been dubbed the most selfish man in existence. That’s important, because of how the Beast came to be. But that becomes important later. For now, a weird-ass new recruit has joined the ship, and the witchy crew will very soon start making bets if she’s the Beast in human flesh, which really wouldn’t bode well for their future.

Night Falls On Their Reflection

Draft 2 became Spica’s draft. It was high time. He didn't exist in the original idea beyond chapter 2, but he refused to die with his story untold. And now he's one of the most independent thinkers I've ever written. Now he's Madigan's son (yes, even at 25), best friend, back-to-back partner all in one, and I could watch the trust and mutual respect between these two forever. To be sure: Madigan comes up with the dumbass plans, and Spica's only too happy to follow him through everything (it is good fun.)

He's repaying the incredible kindness Madigan's shown him when answering his distress call, after all.

But it goes a bit further than that, doesn't it? Madigan is used to watching over myriad people. He's the Superintendent of his planet, and while he genuinely loves people, kindness is his default. It doesn't go further than that for him. He doesn't necessarily think people need, much less desire his presence there beyond Madigan extending help, and most of the time, he's content with that. Kindness does make him happy. And it should be the same with Spica now, shouldn't it? He's kind, but he's not Spica's family, nor ever will be. Yet he immediately feels a connection with the boy, that has nothing to do with bonding over escaping-a-cosmic-disaster. And so does Spica.

This is the moment when Madigan starts feeling guilty, for stepping where he should not. But here's the beauty of Spica's character: he's nothing if not dead sure of his own feelings, and what he sees with his eyes. It's okay if Madigan keeps unexpectedly taking steps back. For very long, there'd been nobody to support Spica's beliefs. So he does the same, as when he followed his heart to go into dead space: he believes in himself and Madigan, and that their paths aren't meant to diverge. They mean too much to each other for that to ever happen.

(In short, and legend says you can still hear me screeching about these two ten thousand years later, I love these two so much, and especially the parallels between Spica going alone into outer space and loving Madigan.)

(And, okay, obviously all these developments don't happen in a single chapter, but I couldn't stop gushing🤭🥰.)

Who Puts These Tombs in Ice

Overall, I think draft 2’s Luitgart performed worse than draft 1. Mainly it's the setting I want to revert (still an icy, sempiternally dark hell, but with different ice constructions) because some of the beats are a huge improvement, and again, I gotta combine the two. Otherwise, I’m still as obsessed about the Luitgart arc as I’ve ever been, and huge thanks to it for being so strong it could function as an ending of its own, allowing me to split the book.

Gettin’ into spoilery territory, but I have to un-kill Madigan so many times it leaves me in hysterics. That was what I was supposed to fix this draft. It got worse. Considerably.

(One constant: the chapter being a love letter to Madigan, and how his first answer will always be to help the other, no matter if they deserve it or not<3 and finally, finally, he gets acknowledged for it, and the favor returned.)

ACT 2

Lemon-Dotted Days + Remnant

Two Holloway chapters! I’m actually massively pleased with how they’ve turned out. Last year, I said the main issue was that I had an outline, and that never works for me. So I did what I do best and rewrote everything from scratch, and the result is both uncanny and… unexpected.

Unexpected, because I never in my life thought Holloway’s voice would make me laugh so much. He’s supposed to be unsympathetic, but then you get his interactions with Saintlark (the new crewmate, possibly Beast) where they’re contemplating the harvest of a nebula, and he’s harshly critical of it, which gives Saintlark hope… only to go deadpan One Moment Later: if they’d used the nebula to prolong their lives instead of bolstering the war, they wouldn’t have died like clown idiots.

And, they could’ve maybe stolen immortality from the nebula. They would've had to share it with him, of course. Or he would've murdered them to get it.

That, my guys, is his personality in a nutshell.

I have a lot of feelings on Holloway now, and most involve me huffing and slapping my forehead while groaning, but oh my gods. Was it ever so fun. And wait, wait, wait. Since I'm talking of humor (apparently a lot of comedy fit into this horror lmfao) I have to show you guys the following section🤣🤣👏:

Corpse Snow

The drifters are set howling on the ice. They share glances, five separate vehicles nodding at each other. Madigan revs up the engine, splitting the air with a jet of steam and vibration.

The last of the marines are climbing into the box. A figure flashes past Madigan’s drifter — and he leans over, teeth grinding because of his ribs, and he does his very best to grab someone by the back of their suit and pull. Workout days were never his strength, though. He only succeeds in stopping them in the frost smoke.

It’s Spica dangling from his hand, expressionless.

Lieutenant Hahn instantly seizes on the situation. He throws Madigan a long, withering look. “Whatcha doing, Boss?” he asks softly, about to unhinge his jaw again.

Madigan nudges Spica into the drifter. “Picking up your boy.”

Spica gets the hint and deposits himself into the front seat, glancing from his father to his Superintendent. He seems to give up on whatever’s going on, and makes himself cozy in the frosty spot. And Madigan, of course, pretends not to notice Hahn’s drifter sliding closer.

“And you didn’t consider I might want to have my son with me?”

Madigan looks up and sighs. “Lieutenant, dear Lieutenant,” he starts pleadingly. “Why won’t you show some leniency to a poor, wounded man?”

Hahn’s drifter stops, summoning a breeze across the icy floor that gently rocks the other vehicle. His breathing distorts the comms with static. “And what exactly is my son right now?”

“My trusty navigator,” Madigan answers easily.

“Sir’s emotional walking stick?” Spica pipes in at the same time.

They both look over. Spica’s quietly turned to the navigation, as serene as daylight, seemingly oblivious to how Madigan's expression changes, lightning-fast. He quickly hides it under the guise of a polite mask, as the marines stir and turn their attention on them. They’re snickering.

Lieutenant Hahn throws up his hands, giving up on everything.

This is also the first 30k chapter I’ve ever written. It's everything I've ever wanted to do with ice.

Heart of the Void

The end of the book. Originally, it was the ending section to Corpse Snow, but since it already got so ungodly long, I chipped off that bit and I have to say I’m very happy with how it works as an epilogue! So it ends the frosty, weary journey, and I can’t see the two books as separate yet, but here we bid goodbye to the first.

Aberration of Sunlight♧♧♧

I did the unthinkable and created a fifth arc. This might not seem like much to you, but I was screaming bloody murder you guys😭😭😭. Sigh. It’s so sigh. For so long, AoS consisted of four clear-cut acts, but it was necessary. With the introduction of Sycamine, and making it two books, it was just needed. It’s still one of the worst things I’ve ever done because I was used to four😃💔

(The chapters continue from where RoaN left off – from chapter 10, to 21.)

ACT 3

Retro Spectrum

Sycamine, oh Sycamine. Definitely the break I needed before Days in Darkness. It made for a really neat beginning. It’s calmer, focusing on the knowledge they have on the Beast. It’s also a reflection on Procyon (their main star) and the story of the two straggler dog constellations, and what they'd been running away from. I liked the direction it took. It veered away from the Beast for a bit, so the tension kept expanding in the background. And when it returns, well... maybe they shouldn't have been so eager to see it again🤭.

It suffers from the same syndrome as draft 1’s first chapter… it’s there in the vicinity of the idea, but too much to the left. Not bad for a first attempt. The setting annoys me – I really don't enjoy writing cities, and AoS didn't change that. So, for our next try, I was thinking... maybe we don't need to be on the planet, but up close and veeery personal with it. It's a secret❤.

And, oh gods. I put a moustache-twirling villain in this. And then I couldn’t stop myself from naming some sucker Sweetman Calories. I don’t know what happened to me during those days, but I’m crying🤣🤣🤣.

Toast to the Light

Holloway and Saintlark’s story is slowly coming to an end. Unexpectedly bleaker than draft 1, yet it feels much more sincere. Holloway has a way of saying everything Saintlark needs to hear. No surprise. They did that to themselves.

Dissonant Recognition

Ahhhh, the Madigan-is-slowly-losing-his-grip-on-reality chapter, or maybe he should really stop staring into the suns. One of my favorites<3 Also because it features Moren (!!!) who has a blast staying in the grey morality area, because she doesn’t know if her actions could ever matter, or if she could change anything. Does she just exist? Is she a player or just pawn? Who knows. Besides that, she gets along great with Spica. They form such a teasing duo, the level of mutual respect they felt for each other on sight was a delight to write. My favorite ally of theirs, even if her destiny lies elsewhere.

Night Beneath the Elevator

Best title hands down, dethroning Solgesis. I’m going batshit crazy about the visuals, it's exactly my thing. This half-light slanted over an elevator waiting in a rundown basement to be boarded. And there's something underneath it, and always has been. Something insidiously creeping up and waving its tendril fingers at you as you're just waiting for the fucking thing to ascend. Immaculate, guys, I'm telling you, and I'm cursing my hands because I can't make a wallpaper of this. I want to eat that atmosphere.

Time-sensitive missions, y'all.

And why the heck did nobody inform me I was going to add Command as an actual character and have them talk with Madigan?! That entire convo, made up entirely on the spot but somehow with a direction, made me realize what an idiot I’d been for not doing it sooner. They mean so much to Madigan, after all.

(And Mariya. So much Mariya in these chapters.)

ACT 4

Loop System

Like Who Puts These Tombs in Ice, draft 1 might’ve done it better. Not Spica and Madigan, though, because of the sheer development Spica’s been through and the dynamic he’s managed to form with the crew. It's different from Madigan’s, but similar enough that it’s got Hahn commenting lightly: [Spica’s] picked up quite a few habits from Madigan, hasn’t he? Almost as if they’ve gotten very very close, huh? How about Madigan tell him more?

(I adore writing Hahn.)

Outreach

Another Holloway chapter. Doesn’t have the punch of the kids subplot from draft 1, but this just makes it worse for Saintlark personally, because, this time, the consequences are on her.

Days in Darkness

I knew the moment I first got the idea this would be my favorite chapter. Well, it finally happened in draft 2: when the entire crew is here, this time, and ready for the final countdown, to relive the experience of being trapped in a ship that's disintegrating. No more heroes left behind. I'd been so tired writing this chapter in draft 1, but this time around it was incredible. Everything went up sharply from here, both in terms of events and how on fire I was.

(Maybe less than the gorgon, but I was.)

ACT 5

Echo Terminal

The first of the two log chapters.

I've never written smoother, more visual chapters than in this period. Days in Darkness changed me so much, I was writing day and night by this point and couldn't get enough. Well, I hit my limit in the second half of the very last chapter, but I am beyond satisfied. Even the Beast's metamorphosis took me by storm, because I'd been wondering what the final verbs, the final images, the final design for it was going to be. I didn't expect it to come to me this early, and with such thrill. Those were my very best days of the year, and I toast to them.

(And I knew it was going to be fantastic when Halo's Warthog Run OST started blaring in my head, with as much adrenaline.)

Where, Now? + Solgesis

My beloved. The second and last of the two log chapters, but it’s Noelle Saintlark’s log.

Holloway’s timeline ends here. Or maybe it just gets carried into the future. I thought I’d want to rewrite his parts again, make the plot just a tiny bit more psychedelic and nonsensical because it’s so close to the Beast… but Solgesis put all my fears to rest. Even the formatting and layout is a bit of that special thing I’ve always wanted to try, and it really changes the perspective of the previous chapters. There's a new confession that stands at the heart of Holloway's stories.

Honestly, the only thing that needs urgent working on is the anger at the end of the chapter.

Anger is so hard for me to write sometimes. Not because I don’t connect with it, but because I feel self-conscious writing it. The wildest I felt it was when I tackled 'quiv's chapter 3 and Imera's Turning speech, both in quick succession (before I'd even written draft 1. I'd been taking notes.) Since then... I just thing back to how keenly I'd felt that anger, and I kind of intimidate myself out of it. Kind of like a natural resistence, I quench it from myself. Which is actually hilarious when you think about it. It’s like I’m going I BANISH THEE FROM MY BRAIN because generally, as a person, I dislike feeling and operating on anger. But no worries. I’m going to find a way around it.

Watch me😎.

What Goes Around…

(Now it’s the time for me to start crying some rivers, and, alright, it won’t be visible so I’ll say it: the chapter titles are holding a conversation, guys. They speak to each other. And sometimes it’s both sides of the same coin, like how What Goes Around (comes around) hints here. If you take two chapters, one from the beginning and one from the end (for example 1 and 21) it'll tell you a little secret. Okay, What Goes Around and Rain Through the Universe communicate through their plot, which I can’t spoil but of course it has to do with Madigan and Spica and how they first meet… but there is one title pair that does it best visibly.

Lemon-Dotted Days and Days in Darkness.

And I hadn’t even planned this. All the parallels I wanted to draw… I feel like they built themselves, guys. They really did, and it makes me so wildly happy I don’t even know how to stop my hands from flailing.

And, with them being 21 chapters, they meet in the middle, on the one unpaired chapter.

Called Toast to the Light.

I friggin’ love everything.

New Sunrise, Forget-Me-Right

Of course, Forget-Me-Right is a play on Scorpion Grass. But it’s also such a gentle name for the chapter, because everything ends here. Lying on their backs, staring out into the universe, and it really, really is over. Just a dark horizon on which stars flare and bloom. And suddenly, that maddened rush to make every sacrifice count, to remember every soul they’ve encountered because the legend says the Beast absorbs you when it kills you – all that suffocating pressure dissipates. Lightness remains. Because they’ve protected each other.

For the first time in my writing journey, blood rushed to my head with such emotion I had to stop writing, which never happens. I had to look up and exclaim, holy fuck. But how could I not, considering how the story ends for the Beast? I am speechless. A lot of gorgeous surprises this draft.

Conclusion□●□

Whew, what a year it's been! As for how 2024 will probably look like, though I don't like making plans: finishing the beta stage for 'quiv, and tackling RoaN and AoS's draft 3. Thaaaat one I'm actually starting on Christmas, when I can (finally!!) reread draft 2 with my mug of hot cocoa (or maybe mulled wine for a change) and, no surprises here, I'm hyper stoked for that<3 <3 <3 I legit can't wait to see where the new draft brings them. I might not have set any expectations for them, but they're vying to keep up with 'quiv and I adore it🤭❤

As for my lovely friends... well, you know by how I spam your tags how much I adore you and wish you happiness forever🤩🥺🥳 I don't know what my activity will look like in the near future, so for now I won't be saying anything, and my semi-hiatus continues. Semi, because you're unforgettable and I crave to see what everyone's been up to and (!!!!) what you've written!

So let's meet in 2024 again, and all the best wishes to you, the reader🥰🥂❤.

#ayearofwriting #2023 #aquiver-aglow #aberration of sunlight

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tamiisnthere · 4 months

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Once I was wondering what kinds of birds fly around sync points, so I did some research and compared the bird models to the species that lived in the places where each AC game takes place.

I used iNaturalist and eBird, which helped me compare individual bird species by region and appearance. Photo sources are below in the image. I wanted to put more photos, but Tumblr allows a maximum of 30 images per post.

I have to say that I'm not a bird/animal expert, just an animal enthusiast. I know populations of individual species were very different in the past than they are today.

You are welcome to correct me if I get anything wrong and If you know of any other species that I'm missing, please let me know. 💗

Here is the first model of an eagle/a hawk:

I decided to take screenshots of each bird so I could compare them, but this model actually appeared from AC1 to Liberation.

So here are some screenshots (sorry for the crappy quality):

AC1:

Fun Fact: In AC1 after synchronization, the eagle/hawk disappears permanently. Thankfully I didn't sync all the towers in Kingdom.

AC2:

AC Brotherhood:

AC Revelations:

AC3:

AC Liberation:

AC Regions:

AC1 - Middle East

AC2 and Brotherhood - Italy

AC Revelations - Istanbul, Turkey

AC3 - New York, New York State, US and Boston, Massachusetts, US

AC Liberation - New Orleans, Louisana, US and Yucatán, Mexico

Suggestions for AC1 & Ezio Trilogy:

Common buzzard (Buteo buteo)

This species is most common bird of prey in Eurasia (or has the most observations). It has several morphs.

Long-legged buzzard (Buteo rufinus)

This species has the most observations in Turkey. It can easily be mistaken for a common buzzard.

Suggestions for AC3 & Liberation:

Red-shouldered hawk (Buteo lineatus) - immature

This bird has the most observations in the southeastern part of the USA. The immature individual is more similar to the model because the adult has a more brown or reddish body.

Red-tailed hawk (Buteo jamaicensis)

The most common bird of prey in North America, which is also divided into subspecies and morphs.

Bald eagle (Haliaeetus leucocephalus) - immature

Juvenile bald eagles have similar coloration to the model, as adult plumage coloration appears at less than four years of age.

There is another model of the eagle/hawk from AC4:

It's the same model, only the texture is now different.

AC4 Screenshots:

AC4 Regions:

Caribbean - Cuba, Jamaica, Haiti, The Bahamas...

Florida, US

Suggestion:

Red-tailed hawk (Buteo jamaicensis)

This species most closely resembles the model and also lives in the Caribbean Islands.

And now it's another retextured model from AC Rogue:

AC Rogue Screenshots:

AC Rogue Regions:

North Atlantic

Nova Scotia, Canada

Newfoundland and Labrador, Canada

New York, New York State, US

Suggestion:

Bald eagle (Haliaeetus leucocephalus)

It's obvious, isn't it? :) Also bald eagle appeared in AC3 Cinematic Trailer.

Next thing is that AC Rogue has actually two models of the eagle (couldn't find this model in files). The second eagle model appears only in the intro and outro of the game and it's more realistic and detailed.

Despite that, AC Rogue ended in Paris, where bald eagles do not occur there. It's possible Shay owns one that flies with him (my new headcanon!).

Unfortunately, I couldn't find the eagle model in the files in AC Unity as well, so I don't have a showcase.

So here are only screenshots:

It's a new model this time and it looks a little more realistic, but is still low-poly.

AC Unity Regions:

France - Paris, Versailles and Saint-Denis

Suggestion:

Golden eagle (Aquila chrysaetos)

This eagle most closely resembles the model, even though golden eagles are mostly common in mountainous areas. Also it appeared in one of AC Unity Cinematic Trailers.

AC Syndicate is one of the AC games that doesn't have bird of prey on the sync point. Instead they have the rooks (Corvus frugilegus) in London.

Again, I couldn't find the model in the files, but according to the screenshot, the model is more low-poly than the first model of the eagle/hawk.

Bonus: Playable Birds

Since AC Origins, the protagonists have bird companions, thanks to which we can find targets and explore area more easily.

Also the developers confirmed species of them:

Senu - Bonelli's eagle (Aquila fasciata)

Ikaros - Golden eagle (Aquila chrysaetos)

Sýnin - Common raven (Corvus corax)

Enkidu - Eastern imperial eagle (Aquila heliaca)

#I started making this post in September but I lost motivation as always #writing Crossover Universe Lore gave me the motivation back to finish it #tamiisnthere's thought #Assassin's Creed #assassins creed #asscreed #ac #birds #bird #bird of prey #rook #animals #birds of prey #eagle #hawk #buzzard

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your-subby-creature · 1 year

Text

Intro Post:

Hi! I finally remembered to make one of these, let me know if I missed anything :^)

Last updated: 04/09/24

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Basics

Names: Creature or Hal/Halogen

Age: 20

Pronouns: he/it/pet/they

Gender: Genderqueer Trans Man

Interested in: anyone of any gender, especially other queer and trans people <3

Relationship status: Single and unowned (and a relationship anarchist so eh who really cares in the first place)

Role: Submissive Verse (leaning bottom)

DNI: Minors, Pedos (MAPS/NOMAPS/PEARS),bestiality/zeta, bigots of any kind or those who fetishize them, ED / weight blogs, self-harm (SH) blogs, no age in bio/pinned, anyone who doesn't believe that consent is always and forever the highest priority

Non-kinky interests: queer & trans community and history, art, crochet, baking, podcasts, nonfiction books, disability and neurodiversity, paganism, psychology, language/linguistics, history (I'll love you forever and also never shut up if you ask me about my research <3)

What I look like: Since I don't post or send pictures I should probably describe myself. I'm a white 5'0" (152.4 cm) fat and invisibly disabled guy. I'm entirely hairless due to an autoimmune condition (alopecia!), have grey eyes, and wear glasses.

DMs: Open

Asks: Open

Taken Emoji Anons: 🐑, 🍯🐾, ☆, ✨️,🎀, 🦴, 🐺🦊🐶, 🦊🕳, 📸

Tags: #Creature originals (original posts), #Creature responds (asks) #Creature scenes (based on scenes in dms or requested) #Creature rambles (misc thoughts), #Creature Studies (academia), #Creature polls (polls) #Creature denial (denial challenges) #puppy playtime saga continues (exactly what it sounds like)

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Kinks

Favorites: cnc, obedience, (cock)worship, control, praise, (loving) degradation, humiliation, objectification, hypnosis, free use, training, pet names, pain, impact, bruising/marking, cockwarming, discipline, sexual torture, ownership, oral fixation, dehumanization, boywife, petplay, orgasm control, body writing, domesticity, cages, corruption, experimentation/scientist kink, anal,

Soft limits: blood, detrans/misgendering, light choking or breathplay, heavy piss, light burning, kidnapping, rimming, needles, bratting, wet and messy, lactation, vomit, primal chasing, spitting in my mouth, heartbeat/cardiophilia

Hard limits: Raceplay, scat, abdl, bestiality/zeta, snuff/gore, pregnancy / birthing, sissification/feminization, hard breathplay, drowning, real incest, feederism, guns, fat fetishism, bald fetishism, SH fetishism, ED fetishism, farts/eprocto, abandonment, fuckpig, sub/sub competition, prolapse, ocular trauma

Presume anything not listed above is something I am neutral to / okay with. If you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask!

My body: I am on T but have not had any surgery. Acceptable terms include chest, tits, slit, cunt, pussy, hole, (t)cock, (t)dick, and ___parts (e.g. puppy parts or needy parts, etc.)

Terms: I love masculine, neutral, or objectifying terms! Anything that is not explicitly feminizing (eg good girl, princess) is fine; whore, slut, cunt, and bitch are alright. Do not call me slurs without asking. Never use the words annoying, worthless, useless, or pig(gy) in reference to me.

Safewords: For scenes and role-playing I tend to use the stoplight system (green/yellow/red), but if asked for a unique personal safeword, I use "Fluoride"

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Interacting

Pictures / Videos: DO NOT ASK ME FOR PICTURES OR VIDEOS. Presume that I will NEVER send them unless I initiate and explicitly ask your consent to send them. However, feel free to send me any pictures or videos of yourself or of things you find hot (as long as it's all legal and consensual and doesn't violate my limits.)

Audios: I MIGHT send audios with your consent during role-play through a Vocaroo link that I will delete once the scene ends. This is subject to my own judgement, but you are always welcome to ask. You are free to send any (legal, consensual, limit-abiding) audio whenever you'd like.

Calls: Presume that I WILL NOT call you (yes, even on platforms where I don't have to give out my number) unless I initiate and explicitly ask. This is due to privacy concerns and is non-negotiable.

Asks: Asks are open and I love them! I'll always try to answer them, unless they directly violate one of my limits or ask me to doxx myself in some way.

Messages: Anyone is free to message me! I will always try to respond unless it goes against one of my limits, and I reserve the right to stop messaging at any time. Feel free to role-play, scene with me, etc. You get one strike on misgendering me in messages (e.g. "good girl") before the scene immediately stops and you most likely get blocked.

Role-play, flirting, or scenes: Within the confines of my limits and the understanding that either of us can stop or revoke consent at ANY TIME, feel free to role-play, flirt, or scene with me. Please note: I am autistic and have a tendency to unmask during scenes where I'm being given orders to enact IRL. For me this means following certain patterns of typing, taking instructions literally, and requiring clear directions.

Meet-ups: I WILL NOT meet up with you. Non-negotiable.

#Creature originals #Creature responds #Creature scenes #Creature rambles #Creature polls #Creature denial #Creature Studies

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athemarina · 11 months

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writeblr comeback!! (for real this time!!)

hello (again), marina here! i am back from another long break, and this time i am determined to rejoin the writeblr community properly, because i really truly missed it here!

it's been a couple months since i've been here, and there have been a couple of changes in my life and to the way i want to run this blog, so i thought i'd give an update to anyone who might still remember me and maybe get to know some new writers! <3

who am i?

i am marina/mina, 27, from austria. i've been on writeblr for quite some time now, but had to take a break due to work and uni being really demanding, and also my personal life kinda falling apart lol. but i've realised once more that writing is one of the things that give my life meaning and stability, and i want and need to reconnect with it.

i work full-time and am still finishing up my degree, so i'm quite a busy bee. nevertheless, with uni summer break just around the corner, i want to spend more time writing and finding inspiration here!

some random interests of mine: philosophy, linguistics, the beauty of greece, musicals, folk songs and folklore, horses, and formula 1. what a list.

what do i write?

i have put all of my previous wip on hold because i had no time to work on them at all the last few months. right now i am in the worldbuilding phase of a new fantasy story (it takes some elements from children of the king but will go in quite a different direction! there's robots in it now!!) i want to take working on this new wip really really slow though. i've spent the last couple months feeling horribly burnt out and don't want to push myself around so much anymore. so while a proper intro post will have to wait for a bit, i'll still share some of the stuff that's floating around in my head and can't wait to get to know other people's wips again!!

i want to try my hand at writing poetry and flash fiction! it's not something i've dabbled with a lot in the past, but i really want to expand my horizons!

i have read quite a lot this year and would like to share some reviews / media analysis as well!

things i love to write and read....

all kinds of fantasy, anything that includes vampires, grief and healing and not-healing from it, characters who make all the wrong choices, questions of identity, queerness, and love.

if any of that vibes with you, let's be friends pls!!

i'd love to be part of the community again, and i love talking about reading / writing / just about anything so pls never hesitate to send me a message if you wanna chat <3 i also love to do tag and ask games, but it might take me a while to get to it!

thank you for reading, and thank you all for being such a lovely community here! i'm back babyyyy

#hello!! it's really me!! i am back!! (and very sorry it took so long but life has been Messy)#since it's been literal months and a lot has changed i thought i'd update my writeblr intro a bit #for everyone who still knows me and hopefully some new faces too!#i'm very happy to be back again!#writeblr intro #writers on tumblr #writing community

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aknolan · 1 year

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ok so can you explain how nnd have more buildup then other ships (not a rant)

Is the "not a rant" like, an instruction for me? Because I am very bad at not going off on a rant but the good news is I'm not currently interested in giving the full overview anyways so I'll stick to the main points of their buildup.

This is going backwards a little but looking at volume 9, I mean, it's pretty clear? Penny's death is a big part of Ruby's current breakdown and it's because Penny is so deeply important to Ruby. And when you consider how different parts of the scene with Neo's constructs are framed? When not!Penny starts talking, everything goes quiet. No fighting, no running, just not!Penny talking to Ruby, and Ruby listening. This is where you put the love interest in a scene all about an antagonist using the protagonist's emotional weak spots!

Neo was trying so hard to hit Ruby where it hurts, and all the other attempts include physical violence, but this? This just just emotional. This is what Neo thinks will hit the hardest, and from a meta-perspective it's what the writers think is the most meaningful part.

Going back though, I feel like it's a little bit obvious to tell how important Ruby is to Penny, right? Like, we all know that? First friend, first to treat her like a person, etc. etc.

The other way around, up to v3 there's not that much for how important Penny is to Ruby, really. I'll accept that. There's nothing necessarily distinguishing Ruby's grief over being too late to save Penny from her grief over being too late to save Pyrrha later either. But v7 is when Penny returns, and it's interesting! Really interesting!

This is where Penny starts getting consistently framed as Ruby's love interest. It's like that one post about her return in v7e1, "goddamn anime love interest framed by the fucking moon", if I'm quoting it right. And the v7 intro showing an image of a very happy Penny at the end of the phrase "in time you'll find through love your power just shines" is also some love interest framing. Then of course the election night episode pairs up a couple of characters, Ren and Nora of course, Blake and Yang going dancing, and then... Ruby and Penny hanging out. And of course the repeated important conversations happening, and the thing where Ruby almost fell asleep on Penny's shoulder which is just like, such a ship tease moment.

But v7 isn't that clear about it, so I get if that's not very convincing. I think it's more than any other ship has but the really big stuff gets there in v8.

The volume where they really Cannot Stop Hugging, and where Ruby promises they'll see eachother again soon, and Ruby's silver eyes are (not for the first time!) suddenly able to activate when Penny's in danger, and Ruby holds onto Penny so tightly - so afraid to let go because something is wrong and she can't lose Penny, and they all use the relic of creation to save Penny before they do anything else (and yeah I hate that scene but it's meaningful and I won't deny that it's meaningful), and yeah saving Penny is the theme of the volume because she was the winter maiden but for Ruby it's not about that. She can't lose Penny.

And then she loses Penny and she literally passes out the moment she finds out.

To bring it all back down to something simple, when the antagonist torments the protagonist with someone close to her saying the words "can you imagine what that's like? To be completely and utterly failed, time and again, by someone who meant the world to you?" after which the protagonist is more distraught then we've seen her all volume, in a volume all about how distraught she is all the time? That person meant the world to the protagonist too.

So yeah, I'm inclined to say they've got more buildup than any noncanon ships, you are free to point something out to me if there's a ship with a ton of buildup that I'm somehow missing but like... I'd be shocked.

#rwby #rwby spoilers #ask #anon #nuts and dolts #penny polendina #ruby rose #didn't succeed at not ranting. oh well #though I'd call it rambling because ranting implies being upset about something

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once-in-a-blood-moon · 2 years

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MC Having a Death like Chiaki Nanami

AN: Hi! This is my first time posting on tumblr, or anywhere really. I plan on posting this to AO3 as well, so you can read it there under thrice_in_a_void_moon. I'm excited to share this with anyone who is interested, and I'm not really into danganronpa anymore, but the thought of this has been in my head so here we are. Please let me know if there are any mistakes that I missed or if there's anything that I should change. Also, this fic is meant to be read altogether, but you can just read the characters separately, but there is an intro and a conclusion, so do with that as you will. Anyways I hope you enjoy! :)

TW: Gore, blood, mentions of abuse/torture, mentions of death, character death, slight spoiler in Belphie’s??

MC is gender neutral :)

The room lights up suddenly, and the boys have to quickly adjust their eyesight. Taking in their surroundings and noticing that they had been transported to a different location than where they were moments ago. Everyone checks on each other, making sure that no one has been harmed, when they realize that they are one person short. The multiple TVs that are displayed on the walls of the room suddenly come to life. There you are, in a daze, unsure of what’s happening, taking in your surroundings to find cold, gray flooring and walls that stretch and constrict in different directions, something of a maze. Matching abstract patterns surround you from every angle. Everyone’s attention is set on you. Fear, anger, confusion in the futile shouts to get your attention. A loud booming voice, one that Lucifer, his brothers, and Simeon know all too well, overpowers the twelve and announces the start of a game. A game of one. A game of life and death. And you are the star.

All Lucifer sees is red. In a flash, he is in his demon form and immediately begins to tear at the nearest exit, he will not stop until you are safely in his arms. He will take any pain, any punishment to get to you. The first blood curdling scream causes his attention to falter at the task at hand. Whipping his head towards the nearest TV, Lucifer sees you with such a pained expression. Looking towards what might have caused you to cry out like that, he notices a metal rod lodged into your arm, your opposite hand cradling the wound, and fixing up the courage to yank it out. He forces himself to look away, as another cry escapes your lips. He begins once again, trying desperately to get to you, though nothing he does seems to be working.

Several minutes have passed since the start of the game, and Mammon has been trying his hand at what looks to be another exit. His muscles are burning, his breathing erratic, and his throat has become dry and hoarse. He was determined to make the first scream the last one you made. He was going to get you out of there. He made a promise to you, and he would be damned if he broke it. He’s your first man, and he’s going to be the first one to reach you. Gearing up to start his pounding again, he uses your desperate cries as his motivation, ignoring his pain in hopes of reaching you in time.

As much as Leviathan wants to, he can’t seem to move a muscle. His feet stay planted as he watches the TV screen closest to him. The first scream gutted him. He knew he should be trying to find a way to save you. Tears form in his eyes as he silently cheers for you every time you dodge the obstacles that are thrown at you, and they fall when you don’t move in time. He feels useless. The Lord of Shadows would never let his friend Henry go through such trials, he would have fought til the bitter end to get to his friend. And yet Leviathan doesn’t move. He watches in silence as you get beat up, beating himself up as well.

Satan was in a blind rage from the start. You were the only one to see past his wrath and see him as an individual. You saw him for who he truly was. If only if you could see him now as he darted from exit to exit in hopes he could cause enough damage to one of them for him to be able to get through. He channeled all of his pent up anger into getting to you. His throat became scratchy as he bellowed for the mastermind to end this mess and let you go. Another loud scream ripped from your throat as a spike tore through your shoe and impaled your foot. Satan’s eyes darted to the screen and his wrath flared up again seeing your face distorted in pain. He starts again, ignoring the growing pain in his knuckles and the blood they left behind on the exit in front of him.

Tears ran down Asmodeus’s perfect face. If he could see himself right now, he would be ashamed of how red and puffy his eyes had gotten. But in this moment, he wasn’t concerned for himself. He noticed Leviathan standing alone, so he quickly ran to him, wrapping both of his arms around one of Levi’s and watched the carnage on the screen. Leviathan made no move to shake him off, both finding comfort in each other’s presence. Every scream and cry that came from you, made Asmo tighten his grip on Leviathan, sobbing harder each time you got hurt. At some point he started begging whoever was behind this to stop, wailing as he wondered why they were doing this, and never getting a response back. He wanted his MC to be back in his arms, he wanted to take the pain away from you. He wanted to save you, but he knew there was nothing he could do.

Beelzebub being the strongest demon in the room, had hope that he could get through to you. He put all of his strength, energy, and training into every move he made. He kicked, punched, he head-butted, he tore, he screamed and shouted as nothing seemed to work. Sweat poured off his face, his bottom lip red and swollen from him worrying it as he worked. Beel knew that it was useless, that these exits were unbreakable. He turned to look at the others who tried their hands at breaking through, with no better luck than him. His eyes gazed up at a screen and watched as you dodged the saw blades that jutted out from the patterns in the walls. He saw the blood that trailed behind you, and just hoped that you would make it out.

Belphegor watched on in anger, teeth clenched as his fingernails left harsh moon shaped crescents into his palms. He had finally gotten close to you, like his brothers had. He came to care about you. He knew he had harmed you before, but with time you had forgiven him and given him your trust. And he knew he didn’t deserve it. But now he watched as someone else hurt you, and knew that the attempts the others were making were futile. If Beel, Satan, or Lucifer, as much as he hated to admit it, couldn’t break through, then there was no way to get to you. Belphie knew that you were a strong human, he just hoped you were strong enough to endure this torture.

As prince of the Devildom, Diavolo had demanded that whoever was behind this monstrosity to end it. He had taken his demon form, just like the others who battered and fought for a way out. A way to you. He hoped it would make whoever was causing harm to you to stop, as he only transformed into his demon form for formal events. It was rare that he had to transform for serious offenses. And this certainly is one of those times. This was treason. When that didn’t stop the offender, he began assisting Lucifer, teaming up to find a weak spot in the room. Each time a scream bounced off the walls, Diavolo grimaced. Why were you the only one being tormented like such? He wasn’t trying to be a pessimist. At first, he believed that if not him, one of the others would get through an exit and get you to safety. But now he wasn’t sure anyone was going to get to you in time.

Barbatos stood in the center of the room and watched the screens around him. His face was emotionless, and his eyes stayed glued to your now beaten and ragged figure. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to get to you. No, he would’ve loved nothing more than to rescue you and bring you back to the castle and see to your injuries himself. But as a demon who has inflicted his own sadistic torture on others for centuries, he knew that there was no way to get to you. The walls that surrounded the group, were not unlike the walls in his own torture room. They were made to be impenetrable. The beings that were taken to the torture room were there for a reason, to receive punishment for their crimes and wrong doings. Barbatos knew all too well that the efforts the others made were futile, but said nothing to stop them. He knew this was a lost battle before it began, but who was he to crush what remaining hope everyone had left.

Luke has his face hidden in Simeon’s torso, gloved hands cover the younger angel’s ears. Luke had witnessed the first hit, and Simeon had been right to hide him from the gruesome scenes to come. Though, hands could only do so much to block out the blood curdling screams and occasional blood splatter that came from you. Tear stains left on the older angel’s shirt had only gotten bigger as time went on, and Luke startled each time he heard a noise. All Simeon could do was hold the smaller angel closer to him, in hopes of bringing him comfort. Simeon watched everyone work around him. It kept him occupied from looking at your wellbeing. Which he knew was no longer well. Simeon did all he could to hold his emotions together. He needed to be strong for Luke. He wanted to be strong for you.

As calm as Solomon usually kept himself, it would have been a shock to anyone that witnessed him as he unleashed his true power. After today, no one would ever question why he was considered the most powerful sorcerer. He cast spell after spell, racking his brain of ancient incantations that he had learned so long ago. Explosions went off countless times, but only leaving scorch marks in their wake. Solomon heard yet another cry from you, and he fell to his knees, eyes fixed to the floor. He was exhausted. He had used so much of his energy, giving more than he actually had. You were the first human in centuries he let his walls down for. He showed you sides of him he’s never shown anyone before, confided in you, and he was about to lose it all. About to lose you. Solomon’s vision had become blurry as he glanced up to the screen and watched as you approached a door. A hope sparked within him, a hope that you would be safe.

The mastermind’s voice suddenly interrupted everyone’s thoughts and ministrations, signaling that you had reached the end of the maze. Everyone watched with bated breath as you reached a bloodied hand towards the door knob. Slowly turning it, you looked inside and smiled widely, although the other’s could not see what was on the other side. Tears filled with relief began to stream down your face as you stepped forward, your arm stretched out as if to reach for something. Something you never grab as a spear launches itself from the other side of the door and through your chest. Gasps, shouts, and screams erupt the silence that had fallen around the boys. As you fall backwards, your body becomes suspended by dozens of spikes that impale you from every angle. No one dares say a word upon witnessing your body in such a state. The spikes retract, releasing you as you fall to the floor lifeless.

Luke is the first to break the silence, as he lets out a wail. Simeon immediately pulls Luke into him once more, as tears he had been holding back stream down his face. Asmo hides his face into Leviathan’s shoulder as he sobs. Levi’s lip quivers, tears well up in his eyes, as more leave trails down his face. Satan’s chest constricts in fury and sorrow, unable to tear his gaze away from the blood that pools around your body. Beel and Belphie are both abnormally still. Neither one knowing how to process what just happened. Diavolo's eyes well up with tears, as only a few shed, he questions the next best step to take for everyone's sake. Barbatos shows up beside Diavolo to provide some comfort for the young prince. A sharp ache reverberates in his chest. Solomon who hasn’t moved from his position from the floor, looks at your lifeless form. Mouth open slightly in shock as the tears that had been collecting in his eyes begin to fall to the floor below him. Mammon has his back turned towards the others, a hand over his mouth as he desperately hides the cries and screams that he feels bubbling up inside. Lucifer’s breathing is erratic, as his gaze hardens. He glances around the room taking note of the heartbreak that is written across the faces he can see, and watching as others shudder from the cries they let out. Lucifer locks eyes with Diavolo’s. An unspoken conversation held between them. From watching the one they all loved perish in such a way, oh, there will be hell to pay.

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lifeofamarauder · 2 years

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The Dark Prince 1

Mattheo Riddle x Odette

Part 1 <3 (it gets more spicy as we go but you first need to SUFFER)

Word count- 1,313 words

I wrote this not from Y/n perspective but let me know if you want me to post that version as well if you prefer it! I tried not to use too many descriptors for Odette, other than her house and family names.

Intro: I had a few quiet first years at Hogwarts. I explored the castle, read books in the library, and even brought a black cat to join me my in fourth year. It was all so quiet and nice. Until he came along.

I'm officially fifteen.

I'm officially fifteen and I have planned absolutely nothing for today. If my mum were here she would be scolding me about not having planned some grand party in the astronomy tower or at the very least invited my friends to Hogsmeade then getting drunk off of butterbeer and pumpkin ale. I couldn't tell her how impossible this was seeing as the only person who knew and cared about my birthday was Luna, a fourth year who would join me and jinx (my adorable kitten I brought with me last year) reading together or playing wizards chess. I also could never tell her how horrible I was at wizards chess and that miss Luna Lovegood beat me every time. I value my life too much for that, though I don't mind either of these things myself. But I am truly the antithesis of her.

My mother is a kind woman, as long as you are one of her party guests or my older brother, Silas. Two years older than me and more perfect than any other Ravenclaw Purebred around, Silas may as well be a Prince according to my mother. He even became Prefect this year. We're all so very thrilled (or so I'm told).

But today, I get to do whatever I want, and I don't need to tell anyone else about it. Today is the one day of the year I can be completely selfish and introverted. I only take this one day to myself, as my mother and my brother take control of my other 364.

I pet Jinx and move her off my chest before I set out some toys for her to entertain herself while I'm gone. Even though I know she will just end up sitting at the window watching ravens fly by the tower, I want to make sure she has anything she might need. I've never met a more spoiled cat and honestly? She deserves it.

I manage to make it all the way to the library without running in to Silas or his Quidditch buddies who would immediately notify him about my whereabouts. I'll count that as my first birthday gift of the day. I'm all prepared to sit in my favorite nook debating for around 30 minutes over which book to read first (I brought 3 just in case) when I notice someone in my spot.

Now, I didn't pick this spot my first year for its comfortable sitting or bright lighting, I picked it solely for it's purpose that it would be the very last place someone else would try to sit.

If this were any other day, I would walk away and decide to read in the astronomy tower or the empty corridor by the DADA classroom, which will most certainly be empty on a Saturday, but today is MY day. So I suck it up and decide to ask him to kindly leave him. I stand there awkwardly looking at his back and impulsively choose to poke him to get his attention.

His dark eyes immediately look up and I take a moment to fully look at his face now. He has a scar forming on his nose and another on his cheek that looks like it's been there a few years now. My breath catches when we make eye contact and I'm struck by how dark and deep his eyes are as they bore into mine.

I realize I'd been standing there staring at him for longer than I should, and shake my head a little to clear my thoughts before I force myself to continue.

"Can you move?"

Smooth.

He just keeps staring at me, his dark curls falling in his face, so I gather what's left of my courage and force out another sentence, slightly stronger this time.

"I need this seat. Can you please move to somewhere else?"

He, again, doesn't say anything, but this time his eyes darken slightly and he has the faintest hint of a smile.

I force myself not to smile back but unfortunately I cannot hide the blush escaping. I open my mouth to elaborate once more when he finally says something.

"What's your name Princess?"

I'm taken aback by the unexpected pet name. Princess? I just met this guys and he thinks its ok to call me Princess? He just keeps sitting in my seat, not acknowledging my request and SMIRKING at me. My desire to smile at him is gone, now taken over by annoyance. Who does he think he is?

"Apologies your highness, you must not have heard me. Honestly." I roll my eyes to give full effect of my annoyance. "I just want-"

"I mean I'm more than happy to keep calling you 'Princess', Princess, I just thought your name might be more favorable to you." he interrupts me while turning back to his book. And wouldn't you know, he's STILL smirking. I'm starting to lose it.

"You most certainly may not keep calling me Princess, my name is Odette and it's my birthday and all I want for this one day is to read in my spot where no one will bother me and maybe if I'm feeling adventurous I'll steal some hot chocolate up to my room and read THERE until I fall asleep and have to wake up and then once again do everything else for everyone else until I can't take it anymore!!!"

I realized my voice was rising and I had begun gesturing quite frantically but I kept eye contact with him. A small win. His smirk was still there, but this time his mouth was more agape and he looked like he was slightly shocked by my sudden outburst. And maybe impressed? I can't tell. I'm too shocked myself at my outburst that I can barely register anything else. I take deep breaths and try to calm my heart.

He slowly closes his book and stands up. I hide my head in embarrassment until I see his feet come almost in contact with mine as he backs me up into the bookshelf. My eyes shoot up and lock instantly with his which does nothing to calm my heart. I swear his face gets closer and I can feel his breath tickling my face but I'm unable to look away. He pulls in close to my ear and whispers, "My name's Mattheo but by all means, please keep calling me 'your highness'."

He pulls back only slightly to look at me, my face flaming by this point. The corners of his mouth lift up once more and he looks down to where I'm clutching my books in my hands. His hand reaches out and I think maybe he's coming in closer and I instinctively flutter my eyes closed. Instead, I feel one of the three books I'd long forgotten being pulled out of my hands. Mattheo steps slightly away from me, making the space he left suddenly feel cold.

He inspects the cover and looks back up at me before simply saying, "This is one of my favorites." He sets the book down on our table and he starts to walk off. I shake my head once more trying to clear it of whatever just happened.

"Happy birthday, Princess!" he calls over his shoulder.

I begin to call after him, feigning annoyance, to say that is not my name once more but he's already vanished.

I look back to the spot I just won back expecting to feel more victorious, though it suddenly looks much less enticing then it did minutes ago.

I sit down across from the book he laid on the table and attempt to pick through the two that he didn't touch but I tell myself I'm only curious as I pick through the one he claimed was his favorite.

I become fully immersed in the story and fail to notice the jealous eyes that had been peaking out at me from behind the shelves.

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