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the-californicationist · 1 month

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The Window (6 of 7)

Ch 01 // Ch 02 // Ch 03 // Ch 04 // Ch 05 // Ch 06 // Ch 07

AO3 Link

TW: lactation kink

The house is lonely without your boys, especially when your breasts are so full and achy. If only there was someone home to help you…

You settled into the house almost too quickly. You each had your own space, but the main bedroom was where you all spent most of your time. The bedroom was huge — one of the reasons John had picked this house — and the en suite bathroom could more than accommodate all five of you, if need be. But, when the boys were away, the sprawling, expansive house was… lonely.

They tried to leave you in shifts, but it wasn’t like they were logging hours at a normal job; it was war. War didn’t have a schedule. So, you padded around the house, trying to play some music or keep the television on, but it wasn’t the same. It was just you and… who?

You’d asked the doctor not to tell you the sex of your baby at your ultrasound appointment, and none of the potential fathers had been around to go with you. So, you were in the dark. You’d thought about names, and Johnny had offered a good many family names to keep you busy for a while. But, even though you had plenty to think about and plenty to do – you were still working remote on recon and data tracking – it was just an empty sort of existence.

To make matters worse, you’d hit a bit of a snare. Right at the sixteen week mark, you’d started leaking more than just a little milk. You’d woken up to a wet, messy situation, and you quickly scheduled an appointment. The doctor had taken some time to assure you all was well, but then, not even a week later, you had swollen, painful blockages and you were back in his office, waiting for more news.

“Looks like you just have tiny ducts,” he shrugged, looking at your scans. His hands were dry but chilly as he peeked under your hospital robe to examine your sore nipples, “You may need to express them. I know it may put you at risk of an early labor, but we can monitor you in the meantime. Try to only pump when absolutely necessary.”

So, you’d followed his orders. Once every few days, you pumped out the heavy, engorged globes that used to be B-cups, watching as your nipples filled jar after jar. There was no use in freezing it this early, so down the drain it went.

Now, at week twenty something, you were a walking milk nightmare. You’d never done so many loads of laundry in your life. The embarrassing thing about it though was that you liked it. Just the thought of attaching the plastic suction cup onto your breast was enough to make you slick between your legs, and the act itself was frequently pleasurable enough to send you over a climactic edge. To say that your nipples were sensitive was an understatement. But still, you tried to only do it when need be. You didn’t want to make a mistake.

When the boys came home, you filled them in on all the updates. Johnny was a little sad he’d missed the ultrasound, but it just added fuel to his fire of picking out names. He seemed even more interested in the pain-relieving, pleasure-inducing qualities of your breast pump, though. At dinner, you caught him staring down your shirt more than once when you tried to speak with him, and when you lay together on the couch, his hand was always massaging your swollen flesh, all under the guise of keeping you from getting another painful duct.

But, you knew the truth. His cock had never been so hard as when you started to leak through your top and had to go change, rushing to wash and find your nipple pads. Johnny stalked you into the large bedroom, thumb crooked in the waistband of his pants,

“You alright, bonnie? Need me to help you?”

“No, yeah. I’m okay. Just… dealing with the dairy farm over here,” you said, exasperated.

He sat down next to you on the edge of the bed, watching you pull out the tubes and machine with all of its parts and cords. His hand fell to your thigh, squeezing you gently,

“Think I could do it instead?”

“You…” You turned to face him, hands still tangled in the pump, making sure you heard him correctly, “You want to try it?”

Johnny adjusted himself in his jeans, his eyes pinned to your cleavage, unable to look away even for decorum’s sake,

“Aye, lass. More than anythin’.”

“Um, sure. I think it’s fine. It all gets thrown out anyway. I’ll get you a towel,” you moved to get up, your belly now at a round enough size to be a hindrance, but he stopped you, pulling you back down roughly.

“Hey —” You protested, but he interrupted you.

“Sit down,” his voice was gravelly and heavily accented, almost like when he was drunk, “Let me…”

“Johnny, wait,” you tried to twist away from his grip, but he was too strong, “It’ll be such a mess. They’re so full right now. Just wait for me to—”

His eyes shot up to yours, pinning you in place, his full lips set in a hungry snarl,

“I dinnae need a towel, bonnie. I’m gonna taste you, messy or not.”

He let his vow sink in, and you could feel yourself melting, literally and figuratively, at his words. You didn’t fight him as he began to kiss you, smearing his mouth all over you, doing his best to shove down your tank top, stuffing the neckline under your tits, fumbling around the back to unhook the clasp of your bra.

“Johnny,” you breathed, your voice giving away the wet rush that was flooding straight to your core, “The laundry…”

“Fuck the laundry. I need to drain you fuckin’ dry. Right now.”

Your whole body responded to that comment. Your skin flushed hot and your sore nipples hardened, eager to experience the way his mouth would feel as he drank from you. You weren’t even sure if he’d know how to draw out your milk.

All of your concerns were cast aside as he settled you in his lap, pulling off your clothes like a much-desired present, tossing your clothes aside like wrapping paper to get to the good part. He fumbled with his jeans, freeing his thick, curved cock from his pants, pumping it roughly to spread his precome over the heavy head.

You helped him, angling your body over his dick and lowering yourself down onto him, as carefully as you could, spearing your pussy with his rod, inch by trembling inch, listening to him try to catch his breath. Once you reached the middle, at the deepest part of his curve, you struggled to fit him the rest of the way in, grinding forward and back, looking for that sweet spot.

Then, impatient and hungry, he finished the job, pulling you down by your hips and forcing himself the rest of the way. It made you cry out from the shock of it. It wasn’t necessarily painful, but his roughness was a stark change from how he had been treating you. When he knew about the baby, he spent a lot of time preparing you, using his mouth to lap at your pussy and prying you apart with his fingers. Always gentle and mindful of your comfort. But, not now. Now, he had his sights set on devouring you in the literal sense of the word.

“Johnny…” You gasped, rocking against his shape tentatively.

“C’mere, lass,” he whispered hoarsely, his voice sharp and commanding.

His eyes were fixated on your dark, round nipples, and as you rode him, grinding yourself down onto his lap, he latched onto your left breast, taking the meat of your peak all the way into his mouth. Then, he began to suck.

You thought it would be gentle and sensual, expecting it to be largely for his pleasure and not effective enough to get the thick, creamy milk out of your poor swollen ducts, but you were wrong. Johnny began to suck and swallow, suck and swallow, suck and swallow; a terrifying, rhythmic feeding, drinking from you like his life depended on it. You peered down at him as he delivered this unknown pleasure to you.

Johnny’s eyes were fluttering closed, the whites of them rolling back into his head, and he began to let out these long, deep, guttural moans. You could feel the relief in your breast the moment he began, and with each suck, you could tell that his mouth was filling with squirt after squirt of warm, sweet milk.

Your hips humped against him involuntarily at this point, too horny to think straight, and you realized that your right nipple had begun to let down, full as it was. You tried to catch it from dripping onto him, swiping away the white rivulets with your palm, but he caught you, realizing you were trying to take what was his.

He moved his mouth from your left nipple to your right, letting his score drip down his chin and neck, caring nothing for the mess. Then, he latched onto your right nipple just as he had the left, sucking and swallowing until his cock throbbed inside of you.

You cradled his head as he drank from you, using his neck and shoulders to keep you steady as you rode him, feeling him suckle against you over and over, your hot milk filling his belly.

“Havin’ fun without us, Johnny?” Price’s voice rumbled from the doorway, startling you. You tried to turn around, but Johnny had you in a vice grip, and all you could do was ride and whimper from his fucking and his feeding.

“John…” You moaned, and he stepped around to sit next to his sergeant on the bed, smiling at the two of you, admiring the mess you were making.

“Can I try, love?” Price asked, leaning forward to drink from you without waiting for your permission.

All you could do was moan, high and helpless, your pussy so wet that it was practically gushing over Johnny’s thick cock. As soon as you felt John’s mouth on you, suckling from you just as intently as Soap’s, you started to come. You felt yourself clenching around your hungry lover, flooding him with your orgasm, wrecked by their insistent mouths.

“Tha’s it, bonnie,” Johnny pulled away, white streams of cream falling from his lips, looking like he was drunk, “Come for me.”

Price was greedier than Soap, even though you weren’t sure how that could be possible, and he used his strong hand to knead and squeeze your tits, forcing your body to drop even more milk for him to drink. His mustache tickled your sensitive flesh, and you couldn’t see it but you could hear the twisting, slapping wetness of him jerking his fat cock as he drank from you.

“Fuck, she tastes so good, hm?” Prince crooned.

“Hngh, Johnny… I can’t…” You whined, feeling yourself start to become overstimulated, “I can’t…”

“You can, lass. And you fuckin’ will,” Johnny grabbed your face in his hand, squishing your cheeks, forcing you to kiss him. You could taste your own milk on his tongue. It was warm and a little sugary, like the dregs of a bowl of cereal, thick and creamy.

He released your jaw and went back to work, suckling from you with a relentless vacuum, making your head spin. You didn’t know how you were able to make so much milk, but it seemed endless. You were hypnotized by the way his throat bulged as he swallowed gulp after gulp of your body’s gift, sucking you down.

Price seemed just as hungry, and you saw how, from the corners of his mouth, tiny droplets of milk would escape and wet his beard, the white cream staining his dark hair. He teased you with his hand, leaving his cock to fend for itself as he smeared his precome all over your asshole. Then, as you rode Soap back and forth, thrusting against him with abandon, John put his finger against your puckered hole and let you push yourself onto it. As you canted your hips back, your hole would let your captain’s huge fingertip slide inside it. As you thrust forward, you would pull away, losing the feeling of fullness that he was giving you.

It was agony. You wanted him to fuck you on his hand, or to take you with his cock — as painful as it may be without prep — anything to make you feel filled up. But he didn’t; he kept his finger right where he wanted it, letting you fuck yourself with just the tip until you felt stinging tears in the corners of your eyes.

“Please, John… please…” You barely had any words left, but he knew what you wanted.

He met your eyes with his own as he took a particularly long suck from your sore breast, making you watch as he coaxed your nectar into his mouth. Then, he pulled away with a swift pop, licking across your swollen nipple to soothe the pain he had caused. He smiled at you, patronizingly, teasing you still with his finger,

“Does our girl need me to fuck her tight little arse?”

You nodded, barely able to keep your eyes open, overwhelmed by the pleasure,

“Yes, please… I need it. Need to come again. Please…”

“Fuck, bonnie. If you come again, you’ll take me with you,” Soap murmured, unwilling to take his mouth away from your tits too far, talking with his mouth half-full.

Price bent his head, returning to his rough suckling, filling his cheeks with more of your milk. But, this time, as you thrust yourself against Johnny, you felt two, curled fingers shove themselves deep inside of your asshole. Your whole body convulsed, your pussy clenching and gushing with wetness, twisting its muscles around Soap’s dick, trying to get him to fill you with his load. Your legs shuddered, unable to keep from shaking as you rode him, feeling numb as the tantalizing sensation of your stretched holes washed over you.

John fucked you without mercy, pulling his fingers all the way out and stuffing them all the way back into your ass everytime you thrust forward and back. You were screaming, and your poor, well-used cunt was pumping itself against Soap’s rod, making heinous slick noises as you rode him. Beyond any sort of politeness or gentility, your men were noisy in their feasting as well, slurping and sucking loudly, grunting every time you clenched yourself around them.

When Price added a third finger, you came again, your pussy quickly running out of room to accommodate them both. Soap’s hot seed burst inside of you just as he’d promised, burning your core and painting your walls with his come.

“Oh, fuck! Johnny, fill me up. Fill me…” You slurred, letting your head hang back limply, basking in the feeling of his orgasm.

Price took the opportunity to haul you off of Johnny’s lap and onto his own, replacing the emptiness in your pussy with his fat cock, sliding through his sergeant’s come and keeping his fingers in your ass as you rode him.

Even though he was spent, Johnny didn’t let up on his feeding. He’d ripped a page out of Price’s playbook and was massaging your breast with both hands, squeezing out every last drop from your body. When he finally stopped suckling from your bruised nipple, he licked you, over and over, running the warm flat of his tongue across your nipple to swipe up any stray drops, chasing your peaks as you bounced on your captain’s dick.

Price squeezed your tits in his hands, letting the one that was still full squirt all over his mouth and nose, covering himself in your cream. When he noticed Soap’s desperation, he switched positions. The sergeant fell onto his back, resting against the mattress, and the captain threw you on all fours, letting your tits dangle over Johnny’s open mouth. Then, he climbed up behind you, feeding himself back into your pussy.

As Price fucked himself into you, your breasts swayed back and forth, your nipples rubbing across Soap’s mouth as he moved from one to the other. You felt him latch onto the left one, drinking from you in thirsty slurping gulps, his puckered lips pressing onto your flesh with as much suction as he could muster. Meanwhile, your stretched cunt was being stuffed with Price’s shaft, his head invading your deepest parts, filling up your hole over and over and over.

Finally, when you were out of milk and practically sobbing from the brain-breaking orgasms you’d been given, he pulled out, flipping you onto your back and laying you right beside Soap, aiming his load at your bruised tits. His teeth were clenched as he grunted out his climax, painting long, white ropes of come all over your nipples.

You looked down, unable to tell what was his and what was yours, your breasts messy and covered in cream of all kinds. John’s hands came down and rubbed his spend all over your nipples, smearing it around them like a salve. Johnny leaned over you, licking up Price’s come just as greedily as he had your milk, latching and suckling from you over and over, even if you were empty, like a greedy puppy.

Exhausted, and with a belly full of breast milk, Price crashed to the mattress beside you and Soap.

Standing in the doorway, Gaz and Ghost looked down at you with smug, satisfied expressions, and Garrick chuckled,

“Better recover quick, babes. Got me workin’ up an appetite.”

#call of duty fanfic #captain john price #john price #call of duty #captain price #captain price x you #john soap mactavish #john price smut #soap smut #soap x you #sharing is caring #cod #sharing couple #fun for 3 #poly tf141 #cod mw2 #poly 141 #the window by the californicationist #the window

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pangolin-404 · 8 months

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non-exhaustive list of masked headcanons:

A group of Masked is called a "masquerade".

The process of possession kills the host, and the mask immediately begins to take root in the host's skull and eat away at the body. It can take weeks for the mask's root system to fully take hold, and a healthy root system allows for finer control of the host body, slowed rates of decomposition, and better long-term nutrient intake.

A Masked is not its host, despite Masked appearing to retain some of the host's instinct and reflex. Very fresh Masked may respond to their host's name, become extremely distressed when fled or fought, or attempt to vocalize spoken language, but they are still an active threat. They are not your friend.

In the immediate aftermath of converting an employee to a fellow Masked while more are in the immediate vicinity, both individuals will be distracted (when unprovoked) for up to one minute before resuming a hunt. Use this time wisely.

To a Masked, its blood is its sole defense, chemically altered to boil under excitement or duress.

Bracken mistakenly hunt Masked, but abandon them once realizing what they are, as Brackens only feed on fresh meat. The Masked will expend energy mending the damaged nerves, un-snap its neck, and get up just fine eventually.

When outdoors, Forest Keepers are the top predator of Masked, because Masked are bad at registering things as threats.

Snare fleas are an exception, as potential damage to the mask will make the Masked break into a panicked state of running aimlessly, vocalizing, and regurgitation until the flea inevitably dies.

Jesters will follow Masked around, and rarely wind. If a Jester starts winding, it will eventually stop without popping.

Thumpers will attack Masked, and will eat the mask.

Masked occasionally pick up and hold scrap. Some still carry a long-dead flashlight or walkie-talkie.

They have excellent night vision.

Masked appear to have an appreciation for music. Attempts at dancing around winding Jesters have been observed.

Masked are known to sleep standing up. They alternate between sleeping and standing stationary to reserve energy and make potentially nearby employees approach. Company employees are advised to assume any standing Masked is an awake and hunting Masked.

Masked that are more decomposed will sit to rest and sleep more, but struggle getting up again.

Masked are more docile in groups, and will go out searching for employees far less when they already have company. Most masquerades are three to five Masked strong, but the largest infestation recorded had over two dozen members.

Masked are very affectionate with one another and will often vocalize together, hug, hold hands, and "kiss" (clacking their masks together) for enjoyment. A fight between Masked has never been recorded.

If a Masked is injured, its masquerade will take care of it and defend it. If the host is unsalvageable, the mask is either abandoned or carried for a small period of time before being apparently forgotten. In larger masquerades, a mask with a dead host is more quickly abandoned than in smaller masquerades.

It is unclear if a Masked recognizes a host-less mask as one of its own.

It is unclear if masquerading behavior affects a Masked's sense of individuality.

Masked in masquerades will mimic each other's behavior until they act in unison. The Company is unsure if they form true hiveminds.

Tragedy Masked exist, though are rare. It is unclear why Masked have this apparently random variation. They behave the same as the more common comedy Masked, but cry instead of laugh. Some comedy Masked appear distressed when recent tragedy additions to the masquerade cry and smother it in affection until an understanding is reached.

Tragedy Masked will pretend to be an employee in distress, crying to lure employees in. If part of a masquerade, the other Masked will hide and strike when any prey comes too close.

Sometimes this backfires when pretending to be injured or frightened distresses the Masked around it, which come out of hiding to comfort the tragedy, much to its confusion.

Tragedies cannot laugh, and comedies cannot cry. However, all Masked can perform other vocalizations, such as hissing and growling when attacked.

The common observance of the mask rattling on the host's head is believed to be out of excitement, and is only seen when actively hunting or when around other Masked.

Masked require very little to sustain themselves, but it is believed they are opportunistic hyper-carnivores who occasionally hunt hoarding bugs, snare fleas, or hatchling thumpers to supplement the nutrients leeched from the host body. Masked readily share kills with any Masked nearby, but do not tend to hunt in parties larger than two or three.

Due to the state of the host's face and jaw post-possession, Masked cannot chew. To eat, they regurgitate activated (boiling) blood onto a desired food and drink the resulting slurry.

It is unknown where Masked originated. It is under heavy debate whether they have crustacean ancestry or are highly specialized fungi. Rumors that they are artificial life created for war are, in fact, just rumors.

When a Masked's host rots away until it cannot move, the mask will enter a dormant state. Eventually, the host body is picked apart by scavengers such as baboon hawks, hoarding bugs, and snare fleas. The mask, inedible to most, is typically discarded or added to a hoarding bug nest.

While environmental conditions adjust its durability, a Masked host is usable for four to five months on average. Heat, injury, repeated hunts (exerted energy) regardless of success or failure, and anemia drastically shorten a host's usability. The mask itself, if not shattered or eaten, is functionally immortal.

#thoughts #lethal company #masked #lethal company posting #you could probably pick some buddy lore out of this so #oc: buddy

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blackseafoam · 27 days

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Marked Part III

A Bad Batch x Red Dead Redemption crossover AU (with illustrations)

PART 1 - PART 2

Word count: 2002

CW: Stuff you'd normally find in a western story. Swearing, smoking, gun touting, bullet wounds, horse jokes.

“Why do you keep looking over there? The job is as good as done, Arthur.” Javier gestured with his whiskey glass, elbows planted on the bar top.

“Yeah, have a drink. We earned it.” Lenny nodded with his beer.

“Slow down, Summers, remember the last time you came here to ‘wind down’” Javier jabbed, snickering.

“Shut up, Esquella.” Lenny muttered into his glass as he raised it.

Arthur barely noticed the two bickering. His mind elsewhere. There was a nagging feeling those three soldiers weren’t done fighting yet. The energy between those men was almost as if they could talk without speaking. Their expressions clearly showed they were not ready to give up yet. Like an animal in a snare, biting and scratching to its last breath, chewing off its leg to get away if it has to.

He sipped his whiskey but kept one eye dutifully on the front of the Sheriff's office, just in case, even as the sun went down and the warm light of lanterns and candles became the only way to see.

BOOM. Every glass on every table shuddered at once. Lenny choked on his drink.

Dutch’s boys knew the sound of dynamite all too well. Arthur got to his feet and ran outside, closely followed by his inebriated posse.

The side of the sheriff's station was blown wide open, a gaping hole in the wall revealed the inside of the holding cell, and prisoners nowhere to be seen. Arthur cursed, making eye contact with the deputy inside, on the other side of the bars, standing frozen in shock.

“Damn, these guys might be even crazier than us.” Lenny huffed. Javier sighed with frusdration.

“Goddamn. I can’t believe it.” Arthur couldn’t help but sound a little impressed.

Arthur’s attention went to the muddy ground, to the scrambling footprints, four, no, five sets of boots led toward the main road, then disappeared.

“They got on a wagon, come on.” Arthur growled, then turned to get his horse. This bounty was now officially giving them a run for their money.

“Do you think they heard that?” Wrecker laughed as soon as his brothers climbed aboard the wagon. With a flick of the reins they were off as quickly as Murray could pull the full load. Tech, being the designated driver, climbed to the front and took the reins. They headed south out of the town,the opposite direction of their old camp. It almost felt good to get into some action again, almost.

“Where’s Meggy?” Hunter huffed as he took a seat.

“In here!” His seat spoke. Echo huffed a laugh as Hunter stood in shock and opened the crate. The three siblings in the cargo area shared a reunion hug.

“How touching.” Crosshair caught up to the wagon on Havoc, rifle trained to the sky in one hand, reins in the other. The jet black steed’s nostrils flaring with excitement. “Celebrate later, we’re being followed.” He cast a glance over his shoulder.

Three horsemen coming up from behind caught the light of the train station on the edge of town. Barely visible at this distance, but closing fast.

“Did you bring our guns?” Echo began moving the supply crates to barricade the rear of the open wagon.

“In here!” Meggy handed him a saddlebag from the floor.

Echo moved one crate toward the front of the wagon. Hunter motioned Meggy to take cover behind it. “Do not move from this spot until we say so.” He said sternly. Meggy looked at him with eyes wide open, nodding and sitting frozen still. The intensity in his expression taking her aback.

Wrecker loaded his sawn-off shotgun, Echo spun his pistol, and Hunter turned the safety off of his revolver. Tech urged the horse to continue as fast as he dared into the night. He wasn’t familiar with this road but from his vague recollection of maps it was relatively straight.

The first shot rang out, splintering through the back of the driver’s seat. Missing Tech’s hip by inches. Being on the wagon meant their aim would be marginally better than their pursuers at full gallop. Hopefully.

Sure enough, it was their three escorts from earlier that came into view in the moonlight. One of them took another shot, but it went wide. Hunter and Echo returned fire, forcing the bounty hunters to spread out evasively. Meggy watched in horror over the crate, covering her ears and not daring to move a muscle as she crouched in the corner. Her limbs shook with adrenaline.

“We are not going to outrun them, we need a plan!” Tech called over his shoulder.

“No way we’re surrendering!” Wrecker bit out as he rolled into the back to take cover.

“I have an idea.” Tech gritted his teeth and veered the wagon onto the train tracks.

“TE-ECH, what are you do-oing!?” Echo yelled, the seriousness in his tone cut by his jostling voice. The wagon wheels bumped violently as they rolled over the railroad ties.

“Blackwater!” Is all he said in response.

Echo didn’t have time to ask more questions, as more shots rang out. A shot went straight through Hunter’s side, and into the crate protecting Meggy.

Hunter staggered, Echo noticed. “Hunter’s hit!” He announced. Hunter was still firing after he stumbled to his knees, Wrecker stowed his shotgun went to his brother’s aid. His close-range weapon wasn’t much help in the firefight anyway.

“We still need more distance!” Crosshair spat, his expression steeling as he thought. He knew that as soon as their enemies caught up with the wagon, it was all over. And they were getting uncomfortably close by the second.

The massive railroad bridge that was Bard’s Crossing stretched high over the yawning mouth of the Dakota River before it spanned out into Flat Iron Lake. Tech was leading them straight for it, an absolute madman, but probably one of the only people who could pull it off. Crosshair couldn’t help but smirk at his brother, the lunacy of the situation.

In that moment, Crosshair realized what he needed to do. He slowed Havoc to a canter. The stallion grunted, wanting to stay with his herd.

“Crosshair, what are you doing?!” Wrecker called out, crouched over Hunter, trying to staunch the hole in his side.

“Buying time.” Crosshair said, releasing the reins to cock his rifle. Using his seat to further slow his horse.

“This isn’t part of the plan!” Tech started to slow Murray.

“Too bad, it is now. GO! I’ll meet you in Blackwater.”

Tech nodded reluctantly, and urged Marauder back up to speed.

“This is not good, we shouldn’t split up!” Echo lowered his pistol, watching Crosshair and Havoc disappear into the darkness. “Running off to be the hero never works Crosshair!” He futilely called after his brother.

After the bridge, Tech steered the wagon back onto the road uncomfortably close to an oncoming train, thankfully still going slow as it left the nearby station. He cast an apologetic wave at the conductor who was visibly angry. They pulled the wagon over as soon as possible, Tech held up the driver’s lantern to check on Hunter. “How bad?” He was almost afraid to ask.

“A little worse than a graze, but I don’t think it hit anything important.” Wrecker reported.

“I’d… beg to differ, Wrecker. Feels pretty important.” Hunter huffed a small laugh which became a groan.

Echo rummaged through the kitchen crate for a whiskey bottle. Handing it to Hunter, who took a long swig before returning it. His face scrunching in anticipation before Echo splashed the stinging liquid onto the wound.

Tech finished by cleaning and staunching the wound with fabric from their triage kit, leftover from the war. They hadn’t had much use of it since then. After the train went by they were left in hanging silence. The tension began to abate, though worry about Crosshair still hung in the air. Wrecker looked out toward the bridge as if he could see his brother through the darkness if he tried hard enough.

Echo turned toward Meggy, still cowering in the corner of the wagon. Still doing exactly as Hunter instructed, staying put. Her face was lined with horror and her eyes were wet, as she hugged her still shaking legs.

“Hey, hey Meggy. We’re okay.” Echo went to her side. She glanced at him, then looked back toward Hunter and Tech. “Here, uh, come sit up here.” He took her elbow. The poor girl looked shell-shocked as if she were the one who’d been through a war. She took his offer to get up off the floor and sit on a crate with him, still shivering.

Crosshair halted Havoc, still on the bridge. He could already hear the hoofbeats of his pursuers pounding on the wooden struts. He deftly uncaulked his rifle and stowed it in the saddle as he slid off. Walking several paces toward the enemy, he raised his hands toward the stars above.

The gang got on their way again. “The closer we are to Blackwater, the safer we’ll be.” Tech assured, steering Murray to ford a shallow creek, letting the loyal beast take a long drink of water before continuing on.

“Why’s that?” Hunter croaked, taking another swig of whisky while trying to get comfortable against a sideways barrel close to Meggy’s seat.

“A few weeks ago the Van der Linde gang were here, and… left quite the mess.” Tech snapped the reins and Murray continued at a walk. “The gang robbed the Blackwater ferry. $150,000, according to the paper.” He added.

Wrecker whistled in amazement. “That’s a lot of cash…”

“It was a bloody affair, the Pinkertons got involved.”

“We should probably stay far enough away from the town if there are feds about, not to mention in case Meg–, I mean our wanted posters have made it out here.” Echo pointed out, casting a glance at Meggy beside him, still as a statue with Echo’s jacket draped over her shoulders. Hunter looking at her with concern, despite being the only one bleeding.

“Meggy, are you okay?” Hunter put the bottle to the side and reached out to her, wincing as the motion tugged painfully.

“She’s not hurt...” Echo pondered. “I think she’s scared, but she hasn’t said anything.”

“I’m okay.” Meggy nodded, and a tear ran down her face. She wiped it quickly, hoping no one saw.

Her brothers continued to console her as the wagon continued into the dark.

Arthur, Javier and Lenny rode up on the lone dark-clad outlaw with guns drawn.

“You’re coming with us.” Lenny spat, leveling his pistol.

“I would like to come to an arrangement.” Crosshair called out. “I have… a proposition.”

Lenny and Javier looked at Arthur, who raised his chin in interest. “Let’s talk somewhere we aren’t about to get crushed by a train.” He responded after a beat of consideration. Crosshair spun around and saw the light of an engine appearing on the other end of the bridge, when he turned back around Dutch’s boys were trotting back to solid ground. Crosshair mounted up and followed.

“You sure this is a good idea, Morgan?” Javier chided.

“Let’s hear him out. It’s our only option now.” Arthur cast a glance over his shoulder in the direction of Blackwater.

Between two prairie hills just outside Blackwater, the Bad Batch gang had settled in for the night, huddled against the wagon with a small campfire. Coyotes yapped nearby, and the crickets added to the chorus with their own nighttime song. Meggy laid on her bedroll between Hunter and Wrecker. Tech took the first watch after he untacked Marauder and brushed him. All five of them were silent with worry since the wagon wheels stopped. Every little sound had Tech looking up from what he was doing, hoping it was Crosshair catching up with them. Wrecker took the next watch, then Echo. Meggy and Hunter were allowed to sleep off the ordeal. The night slid by with no sign of their absent brother.

Taglist: @dragonrider9905 @omegafett99 @griffedeloup @happydragon @fionas-frenzy @dizzy-9906

Author's note:

"It didn't hit nothin' important!!" That scene from the Ballad of Buster Scruggs kept playing in my head while I wrote this. I might add some more illustrations to this later, cuz I still have some ideas, but for now I just wanted to get this OUT THERE. I've completed a rough outline of the whole story at this point, and I'm so excited for the stuff at the climax. I have no idea how many chapters this will be but I'm trying to keep each one around 1.5 - 3k words.

I am so grateful for the positive feedback on the first two chapters thank y’all so much! I am certainly not the most experienced writer, and have been kind of hard on myself with this chapter, but had to keep remembering that this is all just for fun and doesn’t have to be perfect.

#tbb x rdr2 au #writing #the bad batch #sw tbb fanfic #sw tbb #tbb omega #tbb crosshair #tbb echo #tbb wrecker #tbb tech #tbb hunter #hunter whump #western au #rdr2 fanart #bad batch fandom

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pixiecactus · 2 months

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i may be talking shit with this, but i remember grrm talking about the important connection that noble houses had to their animal sigils but i can't find anything about it other than research papers written about the theme, so please take this with a grain of salt.

so okay... most noble houses have an animal sigil that represents them, we are shown that some members of those houses feel a stronger connection to their respective animal. we currently know that three of the stark children are skinchangers (i don't remember well if we got a confirmation of rickon's abilities, but i don't see why he wouldn't be one too)

well guess who also has a strong connection with an animal and its symbolism, even if he isn't from a noble house (we could discuss semantics in this one, but this isn't what this post is about) yeah, is best boi gendry, look i get the poetic tragedy (?) that's thinking how house baratheon started with a bastard and then after the war of the five kings all of what remains of this house is robert's bastards... but for me the role of the baratheon brothers in the war, in the most shallow way possible i can think of, is the author saying something something about the male ego.

but if we get a baratheon restoration in the next books (which i don't think it will happen) i don’t understand why that obligation would fall under gendry’s shoulders other than he’s the bastard of robert that we know most of. gendry does not hold any love for noble houses and nobles as a whole (with a known exception) meanwhile we know one of robert’s bastards whereabouts, hiding and staying safe in lys and edric storm is a acknowledged bastard (we only have two of them, mya stone and edric himself) and it’s been said that edric's character could be described as courteous, charming, proud and fierce, davos (known baratheon simp) compares this boy to a mix of robert and renly both. edric is proud of his baratheon heritage, gendry doesn’t even know about said heritage and i don’t think it will please him when he finds out about it.

i wrote all of that to say, gendry is not a baratheon (again semantics), probably never will be, he was an armourer’s apprentice and a no name bastard, he is an outlaw knight now but a knight nonetheless, he could make heraldry to wear of his own. and we know he adopted an animal symbol of his own way before the possibility of knighthood was even a thing for him.

gendry being a bull and not a stag, it’s what makes this quote so dear to me with it’s possible gendrya foreshadowing:

"Some will tell you that they are demons. They say the pack is led by a monstrous she-wolf, a stalking shadow grim and grey and huge. They will tell you that she has been known to bring aurochs down all by herself, that no trap nor snare can hold her, that she fears neither steel nor fire, slays any wolf that tries to mount her, and devours no other flesh but man."

the quote is talking about nymeria, the direwolf that even when arya lost from her side, is still connected to her very own being as a stark, with a direwolf sigil as heraldry. and what is an aurochs? the aurochs is considered the wild ancestry of modern domestic cattle, which animal is part of this modern domestic cattle we know today? yeah, bulls.

tldr: in my opinion book!gendry and i can only talk about his book counterpart (because is the only one i like) is a bull and probably will never be a stag.

#not davos catching strays in this post of mine #time to lay low again because i'm spamming the tag #a song of ice and fire #asoiaf #house stark #arya stark #gendry #gendrya #arya x gendry #gendry x arya

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artists-ally · 1 year

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{Weather} Reader x Azriel

Hello people! My name is Ally and I am proud to enter the ACOTAR world with a bang. I've been writing for years and years now and thought eh fuck it why not start posting it.

So here I am. 100% not expecting this to go anywhere but if it does, come give me a shout! I'd love to hear what y'all have to say about it or hear your ideas for fic recommendations.

There isn't a whole lot of plot, just a thought that turned into another and I connected them. Enjoy!

Word Count ~ 7,523

Warnings ~ Language, blood, hurt/comfort, fluff, violence/fighting, lets all pretend that you can winnow inside the House of Wind for a sec pls.

Summary ~ You have been encompassed into the Inner Circle after the Spring Court went to shit. During a dry stead between the Queens and Hybern, Azriel was sent on a mission to the Mortal Lands to see what was going on. There is little he can do to hide his rather harsh expedition. Set during ACOWAR, you provide a level of comfort for the shadowsinger that no one else is capable of.

~~~~~

All of us are sitting around the House of Wind, relaxing after another brutal day of training. I had been with Cassian, Mor with Rhysand and Feyre, Amren off doing Amren things. Azriel was… nowhere to be found.

It’s been a few days since anyone has heard from him. We know he’s been spying in the Queen’s territory, but to not have a check in or for him to not come home to rest for days on end is concerning.

But what makes my gut churn is the smell of blood coming from upstairs.

Azriel’s blood.

Rhys and Cass get a whiff of their brothers' carnage and exchange a worried look with me. The three of us winnow up to his room and knock on his door.

“Az?” Cass says softly.

No response.

“Azriel, it’s Rhys, open the door,” Rhysand knocks a little harsher than Cassian had.

No response. They can hear his labored breathing and groans, and the smell of blood. They didn’t bother to knock a third time. When his door unlocked on a phantom wind, the sight was horrifying. Az peered over his shoulder at the curse coming from Cass, and shook his head.

“I don’t want visitors,” he mumbled, trying to stand, but failing to do so. Rhys and Cassian rushed to his side, helping him sit back down. I remained in the doorway. Staring at his wings.

They were a little mangled to say the least. Cuts and scratches littered the delicate leather, some puncture wounds oozed trickles of blood and puss.

“What in the name of the Cauldron happened?” Cassian demanded from the shadowsinger.

“Tree snare, Mortal lands are littered with them,” He groaned. “I’m fine, please just- please leave.”

He never begged quite like that before. The desperation was a foreign thing to his tongue. He tried to straighten his spine, but it did no such thing. He hissed at the jarring of his wings, and settled into the curves of his hunched over position.

He looked awful.

“Az, we can’t just leave you like this. We can get Madja in here-”

“No,” he plead again, tone more harsh than the last. “No… leave. I don’t want any help.”

Typical of Az to say such a thing. The quiet, reserved male was always so adamant about doing things on his own he forgot that sometimes it’s better to ask for help than to suffer in silence. Especially when it comes to such a delicate and sensitive body part.

But alas, the two brothers nodded, stepping around the third and heading to the door. I moved out of their way, but not with them. I just continue to stare at his toned, berated back.

“Yn…” he called out. “Don’t make me beg you too.”

I stiffened.

I knew how hard this must be for him. To turn down his friends, to turn down aid. I don’t know Azriel very well, not like the others did after spending five centuries with him. But maybe that would… I don’t know

“I won’t say anything,” I promised. “Just let me clean you up, is all I’m asking.”

He sighed heavily, hanging his head in his hands, but he nodded. I quickly shut the door behind me and moved to the bathroom. Under his sink there was a little brown pouch with all kinds of medical supplies. I grabbed some towels and a bowl of hot water appeared by his feet. When I walked back into the main area, he had his chin fastened on his fist, looking out the big window.

I stood next to him laying the open bag next to him so I could rummage through it. There were some wipes, some bandages and some thick cloth pads. I ripped open as many as I thought I needed and began to apply pressure to the wounds on his arms and shoulders.

Az held a few while I drenched a cloth with the warm water and began to clean off the dirt and sap.

He didn’t even seem to breathe, to even blink as I ran the cloth up and down his right arm, ditching it on the floor when it was too dirty to continue. I repeated my steps until the majority of him was clean. The bleeding had stopped for the most part and I applied an adhesive pad to the area to keep it covered. I couldn’t smell any infection on them so it was okay to conceal the wounds. Had there been a sticky, yellow goo then they would need to drain.

Then I looked at his wings.

They weren’t shredded, but they were not in good condition by any means. They looked so painful.

I silently moved to the opposite side of the bed, kneeling into the mattress and spreading out more supplies.

“I-” he started, “please be gentle…”

“Of course,” I nodded, resting my hand on his shoulder to try and get them to relax. They sagged a bit, but didn’t stay there long. The second my fingers grazed the smooth flesh, he jumped.

“Sorry, sorry,” I mumbled, retracting my hands. “What hurts?”

“No, no it’s not painful, just very sensitive, I’ll try to hold still,” he apologized, displaying his wings, stretching them out all the way as if to brace them against the bed. They were massive. And most of the small cuts and snags littered the top and middle of the span, not towards the bottom.

“This might sting a little, if it’s too much, tell me, and I’ll stop.”

He nodded, clutching the tops of his knees. His breathing was hard as I dabbed the first cotton ball to the sore area. It had been rubbed raw from Mother knows what.

There had to be hundreds of them, if not a thousand scrapes and scratches. But they all didn’t need tending to, they would heal just fine. There were a few that I was concerned about and applied something to keep the bacteria from spreading.

I gently slid my hand to his shoulder, pressing it down from his ear, telling him it was okay, that he was alright.

He listened, settling down. I knew he must be in a lot of pain. There wasn’t much that I could’ve done beside what I did, but I did as much as I could to ease the tension. I summoned another rag and gently cleaned the skin on his back, wiping the mud baked onto his skin. Az relaxed more at that.

“I know it’s not really my place to ask, but if you would like to share what happened, I will patiently listen, Azriel. If not, I’ll enjoy the silence with you,” I offered, my hands coming to his shoulders, massaging the thick muscle.

He groaned in satisfaction, dipping his head forward and sagging downward. His arms slumped to his side as I drove my knuckle between the fibrous strands. Az ground his teeth, breathing with every knot I worked from his body. I drove my thumb in and around the base of his wings, careful not to brush against them.

Cassian had once told how sensitive Illyrian wings were. Why they were so sensitive. It made my cheeks blush, which I was taunted for endlessly.

Azriel sucked in a breath.

I had been too busy thinking about all the things Cass and Rhys had teased me with and my thumb slipped, brushing the delicate nerves at the base of his spine. I could see the goosebumps etch his bronze skin.

“S-Sorry,” I stuttered, fingers trembling, struggling to resume. “Do you need anything else? Can I get you something to drink or eat?”

I stood before he had a chance to say otherwise. I didn’t, truly didn’t, mean to brush over the hyper-sensitive area.

Azriel just looked up at me with full eyes. They looked like strangers, not the deep, fierce set of hazel that I had come to know. They were like the shadows that whispered in his ear. There hadn’t been a glimpse of them in the hour or so that I’d been here tending to him. It’s as if they’ve vanished.

His eyes were bright, filled with his pupils in a way that made him seem feline. Like a true predator hunting in the pit of night.

“I…” Az started, swallowing hard before his eyes darted between mine. “Will you stay? Please?”

He reached his hand to grab mine, and I let him, his warm, scarred hands engulfing mine. I nodded precisely, a smile playing on my lips. He seemed to deflate then, a weight being lifted off his shoulders and he dragged me closer, wrapping his arms around my waist and resting his head against my stomach.

I let my arms fall over his shoulders, the strands of his inky black hair finding its way into my fingers. I tangled it between my digits gently, letting the soft curls form as I brushed them away, repeating the process.

I had no idea how long we stayed there for, but enough for the once dimly lit room to ignite with fae light as the sun set over the Sidra.

Azriel began to tug me closer. I had no choice but to crawl into his lap, letting my weight rest over one of his legs as he clung to me.

I didn’t dare try and break this moment.

I nestled into the dip between his shoulder and neck, letting my eyes lull shut as his warm body did the same. I let my thumbs brush against the smooth skin on the back of his shoulder, wanting to press a kiss there, but… not my place, I reminded myself.

I had always cared for the Illyrian more than the others had. Was always the one wondering if what his shadows were whispering were things to him or about him. I knew he had a traumatic pass, and I knew he suffered a great deal during the early years of his immortal life, but things were… they weren’t great, but we were in a lull. With Hybern. Things were stalled so we took this time to cut back.

Not Az. He was always spying somewhere, reporting on new territories siding with us or the King, but nothing more. We all knew he needed a break, but never took one. It was frustrating.

He shifted on the bed, then I felt a gust of wind encase my body.

His wings enveloped me entirely.

I had not expected it. I was shocked to say the least. I tensed for a moment, and he must have sensed it because he began to retreat.

“No, no” I said, adjusting myself on his muscular thigh for a moment. “Put them back.”

He answered with the leathery wings covering us completely. I settled into the warmth, the soft scent they admitted. I had never felt so safe in my entire life, so completely safe and comforted.

I didn’t know a lot about Illyrian tradition since I had been encompassed into the inner circle, but I knew enough that it was a great honor to see a pair of wings up close, let alone touch them. If he had let me do that, gods only knew what this meant.

I felt a tear hit my shirt. I heard him sniffle, then hiccup in a breath.

“Azriel…” I breathed out slowly, gripping him tighter as he clung to me, the sobs wracking through his body. He gasped for a breath every now and then, the tears falling faster with every breath.

He cried for a long while. I wasn’t even sure if he knew how to do that. To cry, to be vulnerable with anyone.

“It’s okay, Az, I’m here, I’m right here Az it’s okay,” I soothed, twisting his hair around my fingers once again. His breathing seemed to even out at that, sobs reduced to trickling tears and sniffles.

I didn’t know what to do.

I didn’t know what to say.

Thankfully, he spoke. “I don’t know what you did, Yn… but you made the shadows go away. It is so quiet without their roar in my ear. In my bones… everything is silent. There are no whispers, no murmurs of potential threat. It is all quiet.”

My heart thundered in my chest so hard I thought it might break my rib cage. There were no words to describe the feeling in my body. I gripped him even tighter.

His hands stroked up and down my sides, gently nudging me to pull off. I did, meeting his glossy eyes and tear stained cheeks. His hand ever so gently came up to my face, fingers barely touching the surface of my skin as he looked into my eyes. So deep I thought he might see my thoughts.

“Thank you,” was all he said. I nodded and smiled, tucking the hair behind his ears. “Besides Madja and my own mother, I have never let anyone touch my wings. Not even Rhys or Cassian. They are… my entire world. The most prized possession any Illyrian could hoist. They are my ticket to anywhere in the world and I let you touch them without a second thought.”

My eyes had widened at that.

“In 500 years,” I gaped, “you’ve never let either of them touch your wings? Once?”

He shook his head, “Never. It is a privilege that few get to experience. Typically just mothers to their newborns, but once you learn to fly, you’re old enough to take care of them on your own. It becomes our responsibility to keep them safe and keep them clean. Of course there may be a medical need, but other than that, they are not to be touched. Only mates have that sacred right.”

My heart clenched.

I’ve only been a part of this group since the middle of the war. I had left the Spring Court when Feyre had planted those lies. They spread to my territory and we all went our separate way. For the better. I chose to come and fight for what we all knew was right. I can’t say the same for the rest of my family.

I had managed to hitch a few rides to Summer, right before Adrita was attacked. I fought alongside them, and none of them knew that I was from Spring besides Feyre. She had recognized me for the Tithe. We instantly connected and she offered me sanctuary with them while we fought against Hybern. I had exceptional knowledge of the Spring Court and The Wall, of who was going where and when.

When we came back to Velaris, I was introduced to Amren, who just briefly looked up from that book, took a sip from a gauntlet, gave me a cold once-over, and went right back to the book.

Nesta was much the same.

Elain hadn’t said much either, just asked me if I knew anything about the human lands. I was later informed on her betrothed. It made my heart hurt.

Mor was undoubtedly my best friend. She really helped me get settled here in Velaris. She was the one to pick me up time and time again when I didn’t think I could go on.

Rhysand was more of a gentleman than anyone painted him to be, especially all those years Under The Mountain. He was not a hostile homicidal maniac like Amarantha had painted for him. He was gentle, and kind, only being capable of those horrible things when he needed to be.

Cassian was… well, Cassian. Big, strong, charming as ever. Dumber than a pile of rocks but a brute of a man nonetheless. He was my other best friend. My go-to drinking buddy and my favorite person to beat at cards. I would come with him and Nesta to Windhaven. He was not merciful.

And then there was Azriel. He rarely spoke when he wasn’t prompted. He kept to himself, to those shadows, and wasn’t one for conversation. I had only spoken to him three or four times. Most of them during the war, once during Solstice to give him his gift. It was usually just… so, between us.

Until now.

Until he let me touch his wings.

Could it have been a possibility that-

As if he knew what I was thinking, “I didn’t know how to bring it up to you, Yn. I didn’t want to at first, cause I didn’t think you felt anything. Any type of bond. And I certainly didn’t want to bring it up right in the middle of the war, risk death, and then leave you alone forever. I couldn’t bring myself to leave you with that type of pain.”

My eyes stung. My heart thundered. Every fiber in my body became aware of just how close I was to him. I took in a deep breath, eyes blinking rapidly.

“If you… I don’t know if that is what you want,” he hesitated. “If I am what you want, but you are everything I’ve ever needed, Yn. You are the sunshine to my dark and hazy life. The only thing that can make my deep, roaring shadows disappear. Completely. It is calm and utterly silent when you are near. And when I get to hold you… Cauldron Yn, it is like a fresh breath of air. Like a torrential rain to my wildfire. It hasn’t been this quiet inside my body since the day I was born.”

There was nothing I could do to stop the tears from flowing. They hit the clothing between us, saturating the fabric and then drying. I didn’t know what to say. And I could tell that was killing him, my silence. He tensed beside me, gripping my arms a little tighter.

“Yn” he breathes, so softly. So gently than anyone ever had.

I looked into his eyes, finding them to be so much more breathtaking than I did a little while ago.

“I don’t know what to say, Azriel,” I chuckled lightly. “I’m shocked, I just thought that you and Mor…”

“No,” he shook his head adamantly, “Not us. Not ever, I’m afraid. I spent a long time trying to… coax her, but she never budged. I decided I needed to look for someone else. For you.”

I smiled greatly.

“Stay with me, tonight,” he grabbed both of my hands, placing kisses to each of them before folding them against his heart. “Let me give this to you, slowly, at your own pace. It is yours, Yn. It always has been. Let it be yours, if you choose.”

His eyes, glowing and begging me to say something. When he pressed his lips to my hands, I could feel my chest tighten in a way it hadn’t before, constrict around itself until it let loose and erupted from within. Everything I had hoped for, spent countless hours dreaming of, pestering my mother about stories of when she found out my father was her mate, came true at that moment.

An unrelenting pull in his direction, a deceptively overwhelming feeling of trust and sureness that seemed to never end crashed through me. It was like I was looking at him for the first time. Like I opened my eyes and the first images I was blessed with seeing were of him, of Azriel, this shadowsinger and spymaster of the Night Court.

A piece of a puzzle locked into place, one that I hadn’t even known existed yet. And here it was, front and center in my mind, so clear it almost blinded me.

All I could do was smile. Smile and nod my head as I watched his teeth flash before he wrapped me up in his arms. He giggled, tossing me over his shoulder and rolling me around on his enormous bed. I laughed and laughed, letting him pepper my skin with kisses.

“You have no idea how long I have waited for this, Yn,” He sighed, propping himself up on one elbow, clutching my fingers in the other. “How long I have needed a mate.”

“I think I might have an idea,” I smiled, tucking some hair behind his ear. He rolled his eyes, scooping me up and laying me on top of his chest.

Cauldron knows how long we stayed like that for, just talking and smiling at each other, kissing every now and then. When I grew too tired to keep my head up, his wings encased me again, that soft, musky scent circling around me.

“Rest, my Yn,” he whispered, his arms coming around my waist. “We can talk all day tomorrow.”

+++++++

The sun made him look like the most perfect shade of bronze. His dark, inky hair was a mess over his eyes, his tattoos swirling across his shoulders. His wings were still folded around me, keeping my body pressed to his all night long.

Azriel slept, another thing I wasn’t sure he actually knew how to do.

I shifted my legs around, detangling them from his. He groaned, but let them go, only tightening his grip around my torso.

“Az,” I whispered, "we need to get up, training is in an hour.”

“Five more minutes,” he grumbled, tucking his head beneath my chin. The hair on his head smelled like the Sidra; salty and lemony. So calming and soothing. I let him, and myself, have a few more minutes, just basking in each other. But I eventually did have to be the fun killer.

“I’m sure Cassian will understand if you don’t want to train today, but I unfortunately don’t have any excuse. I have to get ready and go eat before I go. Let me up, please.”

He let go reluctantly, making a big huff as I climbed away from him.

I laughed, “You know I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”

“Yes, but I wanted to spend this morning with you. I want to spend all my time with you.”

My heart swooned. “Come to breakfast with me. Even if you don’t want to train you can still come and watch.”

Azriel rolled his eyes, but followed me nonetheless. I got changed into my fighting leathers, and Az strolled behind me to the dining room. I greeted everyone like I normally would, as did Azriel. They could instantly tell, because he wore a smile on his lips the entire meal, taking up the empty seat next to me, which normally was Mor’s.

When she strolled in, she gave him a high eyebrow and he shrugged. She looked at me and I had to suck my lips into my mouth to keep from cackling out. I mouthed ‘I'll tell you later’.

When I rose from my seat, so did Azriel, following me into the kitchen.

“When will you be back?” He asked softly, cradling me close.

“By noon, Mor and I have some work we need to do at Rita’s,” I responded, falling into his warmth. “Are you going to be alright here?”

He nodded against my shoulder, “I just don’t want you to go, is all. I’m enjoying the peace and quiet.”

My heart sank at that. I was just happy to offer him at least some moments of rest in his utterly chaotic life. If I was able to give him any sort of relief, I’d stop at nothing to make sure that he has access to it whenever he pleases. Who was I to deny him of that?

He stepped away, pressing his lips into my forehead a few times.

“Have a good training session, please don’t get beat up too bad, I have plans for later,” he smiled, rubbing the sides of my arms.

“Oh?” I tilted my head.

“It’s a surprise, now get going, Cass is waiting for you.”

“Don’t blow a gasket when I come back with bruises from him,” I chuckled.

He straightened, real concern coming into his eyes. “Maybe I should come-”

“No, no I’ll be okay,” I explained. “Cassian has beat my ass more times than I could count and you were able to hold it in. I’ll be fine, it’s never anything too bad anyway, nothing I can’t handle. I'd really rather not see you bash his face in because he got in a couple of good shots.”

That didn’t make it any better. His grip tightened, his eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched.

“Hey!” Cassian called from down the hall. “Put your lover's quarrel on hold, we gotta go, Yn. If you’re not out here in 30 seconds I’ll make you go up and down the steps every second you’re late.”

I rolled my eyes, impatient bastard.

“I need to go,” I said, removing his hands from my body. “I will come find you when I’m back. Try and relax, okay? I’ll be fine, you know that.”

He just nods briefly before stepping out of the way to let me pass. He caught my elbow at the last second, kissing me so intensely I thought I might fall over. When he let me go, he was smirking like a cat.

++++++

The bond must have already been slipping into place because I could feel this agonizing pull back to the House of Wind. But it also felt like he was right here with me. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was spying from the shadows, something for him and I to talk about later.

Cassian and I had gone through our normal workouts, doing footwork drills and some strength training. But of course, even after almost collapsing to the floor himself, he wanted to spar.

“Can’t we just skip it for today?” I begged, rolling my head to look at him.

“Nope,” he said with a grin. “You need more practice, and I know it’ll come in handy against Hybern. If you ever find yourself without a weapon, all you’ll have is your fists. And seeing the look on Az’s face will be priceless.”

“You know,” it wasn’t really a question.

“I’ve known before he has,” Cassian huffed. “I pointed it out to him after about three times of you being near him. His shadows always disappeared and I found him staring at you. He didn’t even realize, said that he hadn’t even noticed things were quiet because he was too busy thinking of you.”

My heart lurched in my chest, filling with pride and triumph. “I don’t know what it is that I do.”

“Nothing,” he shrugged. “That is the whole point of being a mate, things just simply work.”

“I have given it a ton of thought in the past, about what it would feel like to have a mate, to have a bond with someone. It’s… so much different than I expected it to be. I miss him so much more than I thought I would. I thought I’d be able to ignore it, but I can’t.”

“Welcome to having a mate,” Cassian snickered, taking up a fighting stance. I followed suit, circling around him and dodging his blows. I wasn’t lucky enough to escape them all, one particularly hard kick sent me to my knees, and then Cassian was on top of me.

He flatten me like a bug and flipped me on my back. His forearm pressed into my throat, cutting off oxygen. I coughed, blood rushing to my face, my vision darkening.

“Come on, Yn, what have I taught you to do?” he pressed further into my esophagus. I drove my knee as hard as I could into his crotch, causing him to hiss, loosening his grip, faltering.

I smacked him as hard as I could in the face, sending him toppling to the ground. It had been hard, harder than I really meant to. I could see his eyes darken as he rose to his feet, really wanting a challenge now. He started to run towards me, and I braced myself for the impact, but it never came.

I saw a shadow blurr by and Cassian was vaulted 12 feet in the air. He made a dent in the earth as he drove through the soil. In seconds, he was encased in tendril like smoke. One that I recognized all too well.

“Az-”

“I am going to kill you,” the voice was so foreign. Azriel straddled Cassian as he held him up by the collar of his shirt. “How dare you put your hands on my mate.”

I climbed through the ropes of the ring as fast as I could, jumping down and off the platform. I sprinted the distance between us as fast as I could. I screamed his name, but couldn’t hear me over the roar of the shadows.

Before I could get there, Cassian had thrown him off and was ready to fight. The two went at each other so hard I was genuinely worried that Azriel was going to hurt him. I didn’t know what else to do, so I took off towards the townhouse.

I barged in the door, huffing puffing, and red faced as the door smacked off the wall.

“Cauldron alive, Cassian, how many times have I told you not- Yn?” Rhysand’s eyes immediately softened. “Are you alright?” “I was sparring with Cassian and Azriel came out of nowhere,” I rushed, barely able to speak over my labored breathing. “Last night he told me I’m his mate and I think he might actually kill-”

“Oh shit,” Rhys cursed, grabbing my arm and winnowing us both to the sight. They were still scrapping, both bleeding from the face. Azriel looked like an animal, and Cass looked like he was genuinely afraid. I haven’t ever seen him look like this, either of them.

Rhys threw himself in the middle, trying to get Azriel’s attention. He paid no mind to his High Lord, throwing him off his back as he lunged for Cassian again. I went to step in, to try and get his attention but-

“Yn no,” Rhysand shouted from a few feet away. That caught Azriel’s attention quickly. He looked up from where he had Cassian in a chokehold, eyes locking with mine. In a second, he vanished from Cass and appeared behind me. His arms were strong and tight around my middle. A snarl ripped from his chest as Cassian rose to his shaky feet.

His shadows encased us, creating a shield. He took staggering steps back, inhaling and exhaling so hard I thought he might pass out. Rhysand moved to check on his brother, Cassian battering him away as he wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

“Azriel,” I said through a hurried breath. “Az it’s me, it’s me.”

He inhaled deep, scenting the air, letting out a deep breath. His grip loosened and he said my name like an old forgotten prayer.

The shadows vanished immediately, his heavy body leaning against mine.

“Yn…” he breathed, turning me around. I shrugged his hands off of me, more than pissed at him for barging and attempting to kill his brother.

“Go inside,” I said, turning away from him.

“Yn please-” “I don’t wanna hear it from you,” I shouted, eyes blazing. He took a small step back, ears flattening back against his head, wings tucking in tightly to his body.

“That’s right, shadowsinger, go back-”

“Not another word from you either,” I snarled at Cassian. He, too, jumped in his skin. “You have nothing to brag about either. Don’t you dare put your hands on my mate like that again.”

Silence rippled around us. Rhys lifted his hand, opened his mouth to say something, but the glare I sent him had him scratching the back of his head quickly.

“I swear to the Mother that if anything happens while I’m with Mor at Rita’s, I’ll kick all of your asses myself. And don’t think for a second that I won’t drag Feyre into this either.”

That was more than enough to get the Illyrians to look the other way, words forgotten in their minds. I turned on my heel and grabbed my water from the corner before stalking off down the street to find Mor.

++++++

“He just appeared out of thin air?” Mor’s eyes were wide.

I nodded, “It was like he was waiting for something to happen. He would have killed Cassian, I’m sure of it, if Rhys hadn’t been there, and said my name to snap Az out of it.”

“Sounds like someone needs a little time alone with their new mate,” Mor’s eyebrows waggled on her forehead. I smacked her arm and she boomed a laugh. “I’m just suggesting.”

“It hasn’t even been a day since he told me, Mor, and he’s acting like he owns me. Rhys didn’t dare do this with Feyre,” I shook my head.

“Well,” she countered. “Rhys did almost kill Cassian once.”

“I know, I’ve heard the story a million times,” I sighed. “But that was after the Weaver and all that. They had mated and had time for the bond to be in place. There weren’t any problems until that and Az and I have barely kissed a handful of times. That’s it. How can he be this… territorial?”

“Az is unexplainably protective. Of all of us. Before you came along he was like that with all of us. In a different way, but… he’d never let any of us volunteer before he looked into it or did it himself. It is rooted deep within him, in a way none of us will understand.” “Even so, it doesn’t make it okay for him to do what he did.” “I don’t disagree,” she added, “but just try and understand where he is coming from. Yn, you are the only one who he has come across that can make his head silent. To stop the shadows and the constant whispers. I don’t know about you, but if that were me, I’m sure I’d do everything in my power to make sure nothing ever happens to my peace and quiet.”

+++++

When I came back with More, she bid me good luck before Winnowing herself back down to the Townhouse.

I came to the main dining room, Cassian, Rhysand and Feyre all sitting at the table.

“Okay, what the hell happened today?” Feyre demanded, noticing the bruises on my neck.

“I’m surprised you don’t already know,” I snorted, letting down my shields so she could see it all. She flinched slightly when Az landed a particularly brutal blow to Cassian’s face. It sent blood spewing from his mouth.

“Has anyone seen him?” I asked with a sigh. No one answered, but I heard something. I whipped my head from side to side, this deafening roar in my ears.

“What?” Rhysand asked.

“You all don’t hear that?” I asked, eyes wide as I searched for the thunderous sound. I listened deeper and deeper, not hearing any words. I suddenly felt a chill in my bones so cold I thought I’d freeze right there. There were so many voices and whispers.

I looked up to the set of grand stirs and noticed the shadows lurking at the top.

Azriel…

I sprinted up the stairs, the tendrils leading me down the hall and to his room. When I opened the door, the room was almost pitch black, shadows swirling around and around like an endless storm over the Sidra.

I tried to push my way through, but I rebound off of it like a shield. I tried again, screaming his name. He was in the center. And I had no way of getting to him. I began to panic, shouting for him louder and louder.

Nothing, no response from my shadowshinger. I took a deep breath and shoved my body against the wall, bouncing off of it immediately. I slammed hard against the floor, back groaning as I pushed myself to all fours. I tried to crawl, but it was no use, it flung me back and into the hallway where Ryhs, Cassian, and Feyre were all standing, Mor popping up next to her.

“What the fuck-” Mor gasped, seeing it for herself.

“He’s in there,” I heaved, “Mor I can’t get to him what do I do?”

She was at a loss for words and Rhys slid beside her, taking it all in. He did nothing to hide his wide eyes and frantic look. His own shadows rose and tried to comfort the tempest, but failed. The roar in my ears grew so loud I couldn’t hear whatever Rhysand said to me. I tried to read his lips, follow the bond.

I felt deep inside, it was so cold. If I didn’t know any better I wouldn’t have known anything was there at all. I pulled and pulled and pulled and pulled. I must have screamed because everyone around me flinched. I went slack against the wall and covered my ears, calling out for Azriel. Begging for him to come to me.

A flicker. I felt a flicker of warmth in my chest. Against my soul, I felt a tug, as if he too was pulling on the same thread that ties us together. I pulled faster and faster until I slammed into something so hard I gasped.

It was rock solid, something so impenetrable, like magic itself. I beat on it with everything I had, prying at it with my whole being until it began to give away. I tore this wall apart, it grew warmer and warmer-

She doesn’t want a mate, she doesn’t want me…

There is no meaning if I do not have her to protect, she doesn’t want me to protect her.

Useless, dumb, bastard born Illyrian filth.

Rhysand and Cassian should have left you in that acid bath and left you to dissolve into nothing. They should not have saved someone so vain and cowardly.

These were not my thoughts, but they sure felt like it. I looked towards the swirling wind and shadow, finally seeing Azriel at the center, crumbled to the floor, hands over his ears.

“Azriel,” I shouted. He didn’t move.

“What’s happening?” Rhysand asked, helping me to stand on my feet.

“I-I don’t know I just felt this rush of thoughts and now I can see him but he can’t hear me,” I felt the tears in my eyes. He looked around, as if searching for his own thoughts, but then he stood rigid, throwing a glance at Cassian. They seemed to share a thought before Rhys turned back to me.

“Speak in your mind,” he said hurriedly. “You have to talk to him in your mind.”

“Wha-”

“Just do it,” he urged, and I turned back to face the raging storm.

Azriel… I whispered.

I watched him flinch, hand bracing on the corner of his bed. His eyes and cheeks were wet with tears when they met mine.

Yn…

Az you have to take this down so I can get to you, I begged, it’s too strong for me to get through let me in.

He went silent.

Az please let me in. I can make the shadows go away, remember? I can make all of this go away, you just have to calm it down enough for me to get to you.

I can’t.

Why?

I am the shadows, and they are me.

“What is he saying?” Rhysand asked.

“He just said he can't tame them, that he is the shadows and they are him,” I shook my head, threading my fingers in my hair. “I can help him but I can’t get to him.”

“Do you trust me?” he asked, eyes wary.

“With my life, High Lord,” I said, because it was true.

He grabbed my hand and the familiar hollowness of winnowing encased me. He tried to drop me right next to Az, but it seemed to be warded. I was instantly flung away from him and hit the wall so hard I saw stars. Feyre came to my side immediately as the bright light in the hallway dimmed.

I forced myself up and boiled with rage. How dare he, my mate, keep me from him. I trudged forward, a small limp to my gate but I kept on pressing, despite the protests from behind me. I came to the whirling wind and shadow, staring at it.

I placed my palm against it and closed my eyes.

I know this is you, shadowsinger. These shadows, this wall… but it is not Azriel, not my mate. He would never keep me away. He’d want me right next to him, holding him as we weather this storm together. I know you are one in the same, and I know I make you go away and you are angry. He is the shadows, and you are him. I am his mate, meaning he is a part of me. I am the sun that casts the shadows you need. I am the maker of your shadows. Without one there cannot be another, without my mate there is no one to harness your strength. Let me in, let me cast the sunshine so that your shadows may sing once again.

There was almost a noise of discontent before the roar in my ear withered away. It disbanded like fog in the early spring mornings. The wind and shadows misted away, the room and hallway no longer swirling in a veil of darkness.

In the center of the room shook Azriel, arms trembling as he looked around at the sudden brightness.

I didn’t know I even gave my feet permission to move until I was collapsing into his lap. I hiccuped a sob so hard I thought my lungs burst open.

Azriel buried his face into my neck, breath just as ragged. I cried uncontrollably, crushing him with my arms, I’m sure.

I felt warmth and tenderness encase my body. I felt a tap against my shields and I let them down, welcoming Az’s shadows without a second thought. His thoughts became mine, and vice versa. There wasn’t a part of us in that moment that wasn’t connected. Our minds, our hearts, our souls seemed to tangle in each other.

It must’ve been a long while before we detangled because everyone had left.

I, begrudgingly, pulled myself from him, sitting up to look at his tear stained face.

“Don’t you dare do something like that ever again,” I breathed, resting my forehead against his.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be that harsh with Cassian-”

“What?” I asked, brows knitting together. “No no no, not that, whatever the hell that shadow wall was.”

“You’re not mad at me for beating the shit out of Cassian?” He asked, equally as confused.

“Well,” I sighed. “I’m not happy about it, but for the love of the Mother if you ever shut me out like that again, when I break through, I will kill you.”

It was a promise so deep even he knew it was true. He just nodded, kissing both of my cheeks before my lips.

“I’m sorry, Yn,” a tear trickled down my face. “I saw Cassian choking you and on top of you and it blinded me with a rage so unexplainable. I don’t even remember doing it. It was an afterthought by the time I came out of it. And you looked so infuriated at me I just- I panicked. It had been so quiet for a good while it was like I forgot about the shadows entirely and they took over my being. It was so foreign and strange and they rained down upon me with such vengeance-”

“I know, I know,” I said, combing his hair with my fingers. “We… had a talk. We came to an agreement.”

“Agreement? A bargain?” he asked, a little concerned.

I shook my head, “no, not a bargain. We just saw eye to eye on things. A favor, I guess you could call it.” I let the words I had once spoken filter into his mind. Azriel had this starry look in his eyes when the words were over with.

“You talked to the shadows…” he said, a smile tugging at the corner of his lip. “H-How did you-”

“Rhys tried to winnow me to you but it must’ve been warded because the next thing that I knew was the wall against my back,” I hissed as his hands crept up my shoulder. His touch was featherlight as he examined, lifting up my shirt to reveal the bruises forming along my spine.

“Yn… Yn I am so sorry I hurt you…” his eyes feel so dark, I worried for a second that another tempest was coming.

“No, Azriel look at me,” I grabbed his face between my hands and made him look up at me. “This was not your fault. You and the shadows are not the same thing. You two, like I said, may share the same being, but you are not your shadows. You are Azriel, my Azriel.”

The color came back to his eyes almost instantly. There was a new set of tears in his face as he landed on my chest, arms tightening around my waist.

“Thank you, Yn… for seeing me, not just the shadows.”

#ally writes #praying that the tags will bring me some traction #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x female!reader #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #acowar #acotar fandom #a court of thorns and roses #sjm #rhysand #cassian acotar #feyre archeron #writing #writeblr

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gerogerigaogaigar · 4 months

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In the wake of the Drake/Kendrick beef its become clear that a lot of people here don't know what hip-hop is and/or don't know how to listen to it. Instead of dunking on people's ignorance I'd like to offer up an educational opportunity. Hip-hop can be difficult to get into if you come from an exclusively white and rock oriented upbringing. It simply listens differently than other popular music and you have to learn how to listen to it. This is honestly true of all music, but white america grows up with modern rock and pop that more or less derive their structure from tin pan alley music of the early 1900's. Hip-hop is a derivative of the 70's disco scene. Disco had an even more dance oriented feel than the funk that it spun off from. And funk was already more rhythm heavy than the Soul and Rhythm & Blues that birthed the funk scene.

Hip-hop is, first and foremost, a black artform and I am not black. So I'm not trying to position myself as a community ambassador or anything, but I do get that there are some barriers that white suburban kids face when it comes to getting into hip-hop. I also know that I am very, very into hip-hop so being a suburban white kid is clearly not an excuse for dismissing an entire artform. And racism isn't something you are it's something you do. So its time to stop talking about Weird Al and Eminem* whenever someone asks if you like rap. Right now it is time to learn how to listen.

*all due respect to eminem, he's actually really good, but we aren't talking about white rappers right now

When listening to rap one of the first things you need to pay attention to is the rapper's flow. A rapper's instrument is their voice, but unlike what you may be used to rap vocals are part of the percussion. In the songs included below, try to listen for how the vocals create a rhythmic counterpoint to the instrumentals. and listen for how rappers use rhyme as well as rhythm to create a pleasing cadence. Don't worry about what they're saying, listen to how they say it.

All Caps We start with All Caps, an absolute beast of a song. MF DOOM meets the frantic energy of the beat with a steady even flow that feels effortless. DOOM interlocks Rhyme schemes and uses matching vowel sounds throughout the verses to create the illusion that he is just dropping thoughts off the top of his head. The maneuver he pulls in the last stanza always blows my mind. making a *pop* sound to onomatopoetically match the vowel sound in pot, got, and snot while also rhyming troubles and bubbles.

A Milli Next up is Lil Wayne. Much like DOOM he can bury rhyme schemes for days, but instead of a smooth even flow he goes in bursts of frantic energy to contrast the very steady beat.

Ultimate Denzel Curry is probably one of the best in the trap scene and Ultimate is an early track where he is nailing the lazy beat, angry delivery thing. his shouted couplets overlay the trilled snare to create a texture that is actually very typical of trap music.

Izzo (H.O.V.A.) Jay-Z has a triumphant tone and a sing-songy cadence to his voice. He tends to match the percussive parts of his raps to the downbeat of the drums and it further emphasizes the strings from the Jackson Five sample and his more melodic lilting.

Bad Character You might notice that Quasimoto sounds... uh... well its Madlib with his voice pitched up. Weirdly Quas has a totally different cadence than Madlib. The timbre of his voice is so distinctive but he raps so casually. It almost feels like he is disconnected from the beat, but he's still right on it. It is a weird quirky atmosphere.

ATliens ATliens is the first song on the list with multiple rappers on it. Big Boi is a master of the straightforward 90's gangsta style while Andre 3000 has a supernatural sense for where he is on the beat that allows him to dodge and weave around it. the two of them work together by giving a back and forth between the extreme steadyness of Big Boi and the extreme wonkiness of Andre 3000.

Protect Ya Neck The Wu-Tang Clan had a lot of members and Protect Ya Neck has all of them on it. It would take forever to explain the different styles of the whole Clan so I'm just gonna let you hear it all yourself. even if you can't tell them all apart it is still pretty easy to tell when they pass the mic.

Ready Or Not Wyclef Jean and Ms. Lauryn Hill are two of the best rappers, and also Pras is here. The interpolation of soul hooks that show off Lauryn Hill's singing skills were standard for the group, but Hill could switch from singing to rapping on a dime. Even when they are rapping there is a sense of soul music underlying their music.

Life's A Bitch Another track with a laid back beat. I couldn't tell you when Nas takes a fucking breath in this song. he just goes and goes. everyone on this is so smooth.

Fix Up, Look Sharp Finally I had to get some really rowdy shit on here. Dizze Rascal's flow is so bombastic. he hits every downbeat as hard as possible and almost drowns out the steady snare-kick beat with his voice alone. Like Jay-Z he is also very sing-songy.

#hip hop #kendrick lamar #drake #kendrick drake beef

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randomfoggytiger · 3 days

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I don't want to shame or be age-ist, but why did they bring in Mimi Rogers as Diana? She looks so much older than both Scully and Mulder. Was she hot and in the market in the 90s? I can see that her assertiveness and self-assuredness could be attractive, but she just didn't seem to "fit in". It's almost as if Mulder went for her because of mommy issues and looking for an older woman like Scully did with Daniel and her daddy issues.

I don't know anything about the actress. My issue is just with the casting and that she fit more in line with being an older character that came across, to me, more like a wicked step mother than a potential mate.

I don't think the question is ageist. :DDD It's a reality that she does look older than Mulder-- but that really works for canon.

Actually factually, they hired Mimi Rogers because DD acted with her before (The Rapture); and he likes to bring his friends forward into new projects. But her casting also enabled David and Mimi to take their characters' interactions in a slightly different direction than the script dictated.

I get you completely, Anon-- and I agree. That angle worked for me, however: it underlined Mulder's personal growth over the past five years (and showed how glaringly unimportant Diana had become.)

Diana Fowley: the Definition of Manipulative Comfort

(Credit to: @iddoitforfreebaabe)

In the script, CC wrote Diana as a knock-out who subtly wielded her sexual prowess to draw Mulder's attention away from "the truth" (and to make Scully jealous, ahem ahem.) There was a sneering, preening quality to her that isn't present with Mimi Rogers. And I like that change; because five years and a thriving partnership have changed Mulder as a person-- not completely, but enough. Sneering, preening superficiality would repel, not attract, the person he's become.

Moreover, Mulder is a man so haunted by his past that he sees his sister in every little girl-- or, to the point, he sees the love and security he lost in childhood in every feminine, devoted, almost nurturing brunette. (He's drawn to women who promise love, companionship, and ease up front, only to be duped by their intentions and strung along with breadcrumbs of affection later.) I don't think he's looking for other sisters or other mothers in his selection process; just that their standard of beauty has been normalized since childhood. Importantly, we see his own distinct sexual preferences separate from his traumas: Mulder is attracted to intelligent, outspoken women, be it Pheobe Green or Diana Fowley or Dana Scully (or Bambi Berenbaum, etc.) This trait doesn't define his on-screen interactions with Tena Mulder-- a very passive, emotional woman when around him-- nor distinguish Samantha in his memories. They weren't idiots, certainly; but that's not how he selectively remembers them.

Back to Diana.

THE NATURE OF DIANA AND MULDER'S PAST RELATIONSHIP

Diana Fowley is the perfect archetype of a person who latches onto potential-- for intelligence and companionship-- and stays until she decides to leave (cutting loose ends cleanly, and purposefully parting friends.) Relationships are for advantage, positive or negative.

We know this because of her reappearance: in The End, Diana expects to waltz back in and turn Mulder's affections back to herself with the snap of her fingers; in The Beginning, she chastises Mulder for doubting her dedication and loyalty to the files (read: him); and in One Son, she foists a kiss on Mulder when he is at his lowest point.

She's not a mother figure but a dangerous second thing: a prey animal who locates the wounded boy in the man and weaponizes that to her advantage-- hence, her full name (Diana meaning 'goddess of the hunt'; Fowley, a spin on the word fowler or snare.) (It's not until The Blessing Way that Mulder began to question his own mother's involvement in the conspiracy, posts here and here; which provides ample proof of the lengths his ex would have been able to twist him about without his suspicion.) Diana knows how to mask her control through silky "Fox, I know better; and you know I know better" language that skirts his animosity and detection. While Phoebe is cruel and callous and careless-- getting caught-out both times she and Mulder engaged in a relationship of sorts-- Diana is circumspect and calculating and careful. Diana exploits his weak spot-- self-punishment and a desperate need for love-- by disguising her attentions behind loving, near-maternal guidance and protection... something she would have known he lacked after Mulder unveiled his backstory. While Phoebe is reliant on relationships and adoration and praise to feel superior-- unable to face or accept rejection-- Diana doesn't rely on anyone or anything except herself (hence why CSM came to depend on her, too.)

DIANA, THE (PURPOSEFULLY) NOT-SO RAVISHING

All that logic and canonical consistency aside, the beauty in Mimi Rogers's casting is that she isn't a ravishing beauty to Mulder.

Mulder isn't head-over-heels for her like he was Phoebe Green or Bambi Berenbaum or (later) Scully. In the magazines and tapes that aren't his, in his dreams, in his Kill Switch illusion, Mulder fantasizes about larger-than-life sexuality: the Jersey Devil, Phoebe, Bambi, the blonde bimbo nurses, Jade Afterglow, Scully in sci-fi gear, etc. The exaggeration in their presentation captures his imagination and attention. (We see hints of Diana as a wanton, sexually deviant temptress here and there: namely in Mulder's vision of her in Amor Fati-- post here-- where he is not surprised to see her in aggressive, sexy lingerie-- but is surprised to hear she suddenly wants to settle down and have children, post here. And, again, "settling down" is framed as "It's time to grow up, Fox"-- another maternally slanted manipulation.) In casting Mimi, their dynamic changed from Phoebe-Green-enraptured to old-wound-manipulation.

Mulder himself wasn't gutted over their breakup-- telling Diana, without a shadow in his eyes pointing to past hurts or wounds or pain he'd overcome, "I've done okay without you." It was Diana who walked and Diana who returned; but it's Mulder who didn't ask her to stay either time. She was his partner: not in the "wildly understood definition of that term", but a literal partner who discovered the X-Files alongside him, who spent five years of her life with him, and who left-- without regrets, from either side-- for greener pastures. It had been a comfortable, not passionate, relationship. Afterwards, Mulder was content to burrow down in the basement, alone; and resented any intruder into his sanctum after she left.

And when Diana returns, he's stiff, tense; and takes a while to warm up to her presence. Yes, because of his past with her, yes because he hadn't informed Scully of said past; but mostly because he knows Diana is there for a reason. And, profiler that he is, Mulder suspects he's the reason. And he's right.

DIANA FOWLEY V. DANIEL WATERSTON

How does Mulder's draw to Diana differ from Scully's draw to Daniel?

Well, firstly, we have to discuss the similarities. Both Diana and Daniel are older partners, and both put down the instincts of their lovers (or would-be lovers, in Scully's case) to assert their own interests and end goals. ...The similarities largely end there.

The differences, however, point to the nuance of their situations.

Mulder isn't drawn to Diana because she was "his mother"-- he was attracted to her because his inner porch bug is drawn to the promise of a light at the end of the tunnel; and always coaxes him into the dangerous dark and straight towards the beam of a bug zapper. In this case, he got caught in the window screen, peering into the glow of a house but unable to advance towards or retreat from it. Diana and he had good times, comfortable times that they could remember fondly later; but their reminiscing consists of her helping on the files, not the years of their relationship beforehand. In essence, they have "the work"-- in whatever current form that was-- between them and nothing more (in contrast to his bond with Scully, which transcends Mulder's search for "the truth.")

Scully is drawn to Daniel because he is "other fathers"-- a man who not only understands her expertise and passion but rewards it with devotion and pride. While Diana left Mulder and was, apparently, perfectly content to be single as she carried out the Syndicate's aims (or because she left her options open to exploit CSM's interest), Daniel mourned and pined after his loss, letting his cracked marriage dissolve completely and abandoning his daughter to-- hopefully, maybe-- run into Scully someday. Diana and Mulder coasted five years-- another sign their relationship didn't healthily benefit either person-- before they decidedly separated. Daniel and Scully had a stormy (near) love affair, and split after the tempestuous blowout.

(By the way, Mulder and Scully, carry out those patterns with their ensuing relationships: Scully moving fast and strong with Jack and Jerse before they separate; and Mulder coasting on from case-to-couch, phone to his ear when he gets lonely at nights. Their partnership ultimately breaks each other's pattern, posts here, here, and here.)

Diana does fall in love with Mulder, though: by One Son, we see she truly has lingering feelings for her ex-- that take a backseat to her Consortium calling (and lack of characterization)-- and by Amor Fati, her affection has grown enough to manifest guilt, shame, and change-- that results in her death. However: the series portrays this as new emotional growth, not a symptom of their past relationship. Mulder doesn't expect that depth of feeling from her in The End nor The Beginning; nor even Two Fathers and One Son (hence his consternation with Scully's "jealous" suspicions, post here.) Again, "I've done okay without you" speaks volumes-- especially with the twinkle Mulder sports to show Diana that, for the first time in his life, he's found a spark: that his current "relationship" isn't comfortable or stagnant or in the past. (Which is why she reads between the lines and plans to break apart the partnership as deftly as possible.)

CONCLUSION

Hopefully these thoughts helped in some way or form. :DDDDD But what do you think, Anon?

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

**Note**: Here's the interview mentioned in the tags.

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aealzx · 1 year

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After too many attempts to use his ninpo to escape, only to have it shredded as soon as it left him, Donnie’s captives had switched their nullification machine to be on continuously. The horrid external drum of constant pressure against his skull only added to the internal throbbing his brain was doing trying to escape the stimulus it was getting. Every brush of gloved fingertips against his skin became scraping abhorrences against his thoughts. To the point he couldn’t distinguish the hands from the blades carving out tiny samples of his body. He barely bled from their cuts, but they were still quick to clean the wound with stinging alcohol before placing a bandaid over it. Augustine hadn’t been lying about keeping him as physically unharmed as possible, but that did little for his mental state. The only welcomed attention was the quiet employee with an irrigation bottle full of saline water trying to rinse his mouth out so they could get a clean saliva sample. Getting rid of the bloody taste did little to cure the nausea he felt, but at least it was from a different source. How much blood did they take? No, he didn’t want to think about it. Enough to make him dizzy, and therefore too much.

For now he kept his eyes closed to try and keep his mind isolated from the world around. It was all he could do to keep from continuing to scream at them for invading his personal space, stealing what didn’t belong to them. He didn’t need to exhaust himself with useless actions. They had Lil Mikey. He needed to focus on how to get them out of there. But it was so hard to think of anything other than wanting to sink into a black oblivion of stifling silence and soft blankets.

That was, until the drumming anti mystic pressure swelled to a nigh unbearable force against his body before abruptly declining into nothing. Sweet, blessed calm amidst the chaos of soft chatter and clinking tools. It almost felt like a heavy snow had fallen over the room with how much frozen peace the absence of the machine’s nullifying energy brought.

Donnie’s fingers twitched, and a ripple of purple energy traveled down his arm, from shoulder to palm, without getting torn apart by external interference. With the barest hint of a smirk, Donnie pulled his eyes back open, nevermind the stabbing light invading his unfocused pupils. Another ripple of energy was released with purpose this time, snaring the machines keeping him pinned and breaking their hold on him with shuddering creaks as the shackles snapped open. His overriding ninpo disabling the locks, and ordering the beams pressed against his back and legs to raise.

The employees naturally cut off all conversation, all five bodies gasping and backing up, unsure if this was part of a plan by their employer or not. They remained uncertain as Donnie pushed himself to his knees, keeping his gaze on the floor. He wanted to be cordial. Or eloquent. Or at the very least capable of crafting a full sentence from the language that used to come so easily to his mind. But instead only a single word escaped his lips in a hissed half whisper.

“Leave.”

They didn’t quite obey as quickly as he would have liked. Not until his own machines started piecing together in the air around him. “I SAID LEAVE!” he shouted. The crack in his voice smothered by the clinking of his fabricated machines. Harmless constructs, but it was enough to earn a yelp from the women before they frantically escaped his presence, one of their hands slapping against the keypad and opening the door.

Breathing a steadying sigh once the bodies had vacated, Donnie let his constructs fade before they were completed, reveling in the additional step towards complete silence.

And then the announcement blared into the room from the hallway speakers.

Donnie barely heard what the grating voice stabbing into his coveted silence said over the intercom. His eyes snapped back open under furrowed brows, glaring at the offending atrocity. At least he could shut it up now. Curse this forsaken hell hole into silence. Every whirr and hum, crackle and clink from the electric machines operating the damn woman’s base. Gathering up a specific charge into his hands, Donnie let a pulse of curated ninpo crash down his arms into a rolling wave across the floor, up the walls and into every crevice the building had. The energy made short work of the establishment’s power, robbing it of life as it greedily ate through the framework until the main generator swelled into an overloaded crash, halting the systems and bathing the base in temporary darkness.

Blessed darkness and silence.

It would take a moment for the backup generator to bring everything to life again. In that time Donnie reached his ninpo out just enough to locate where they had stashed his equipment. He wanted something on his back immediately. It was taking a lot of will to not rip off the sticky bandage stuck over the fresh cut there. On his back, legs, arms, the coban wrapped around his elbow. He deliberately kept his hands from being in contact with anything. Fingers twitching in the air as he brought himself to his feet, swaying slightly. Basic steps. Simple commands. One foot in front of the other. Get his tech, and find his brother. He could do this.

Donnie dragged his feet towards the exit as the backup generator brought the base humming back to minimal life. The red lights bringing false color to his pale cheeks. Break down his actions into basic steps. Simple thoughts. Ignore everything else. Everything was going to be fine.

Or else.

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Previous Next

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Everyone is free now~ yeeeey~ And totally 100% fine. ¯\_(979)_/¯

#my art #rottmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise + 2003 crossover #cross dimension kidnapping #Donnie #rise donnie #overstimulation

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moongreenlight · 7 months

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U already KNOW what time it is baybee!!!! WIP WEDNESDAY!

Been riding the Gaz high and this has been in the works recently (I wrote 2k words yesterday) so here's this!

Director!Gaz x Actress!Reader

Summary: It’s the mid-1970’s and you’ve recently made the unshocking discovery that it’s difficult to find good work acting. Lucky you stumble on the wrong opportunity at the right time!

You’re not dumb enough to fall for the advertisements in the papers looking for actors in ‘up and coming independent films.’ Not anymore.

After being burned so many times by ‘pay to audition’ schemes and sleazy directors only looking to collect videotapes of girls doing porno auditions, you gave up on that front.

But what’s the stipulation on extenuating circumstances? Like when you’re working at a bar a few blocks away from the community theater and a man comes up and sits at the counter all by himself.

He’s gorgeous and a sweet talker. Seems intent on chatting with you even though you really should be polishing glassware. And once he’s finally caught you in his snare, he drops a bomb that up until this point you’d only ever heard stories about.

He says he’s a small-time director and he saw you in the last production the theatre put on. He laughs and makes a lighthearted self-deprecating joke about being “one of those wankers in the paper” to which you wrinkle your nose and give him a weary smile.

But, Jesus, if he can’t make a bad thing good. He’s got all the makings of a politician the way he’s able to talk circles around you until you agree to show up to an audition for his latest project. ‘Trouble in paradise’ or something to that tune.

He tips you twenty pounds and his business card on a coke he barely touches. Uses your pen to write your audition time on the back of the card.

Wednesday at 11a. x

He doesn’t give back the pen.

Your roommates do no good talking you out of it. Hushing your half-arsed arguments about scams and serial killers and all kinds of things. It ends with the four of you in a pile on the couch, wine-drunk and giggling yourselves into hysterics.

So two days later you go. Forcing your roommates to promise no less than five times that if you’re not heard from in an hour that they’ll send in the authorities.

You find your way to the address on the card that now looks tired in comparison to when you first got it. The edges are fussy and dog-eared from your worrying with it and passing it around to prove its legitimacy.

It doesn’t look like any studio or office you’ve seen. Far from. And that should have been the final nail in the coffin. Should have been the reason you turned tail and went back home. But something pulled you up the worn steps of the house. That same something, now cowering a bit at the looming possibility, brought you to rap your knuckles sharply on the part of the door with a few different layers of paint chipped away to expose the cheap metal underneath.

You’re left standing on the stoop for a few moments too long with no answer. And just as you were about to come to your senses and return home with some sliver of your dignity still intact; the door swung inward and exposed the same man from the bar - Kyle - with his horrible, beautiful, toothy smile.

“Thought you were going to stand me up. Wouldn’t have known what to do with myself.”

You catch yourself thinking it’s a shame that he’s directing and not starring in movies. His devastating good-looks and all. Must be a terrible read.

There’s a card table set up in the living room. Two folding chairs behind it that look flimsy at best. Three thick packets that have been three-hole punched on the side, but held together by a binder clip in the top center.

The rest of the furniture is pushed up against the wall. A hodge-podge of mismatched chairs and a sofa that very well could have been your grandmothers and a few banged-up side tables.

He offers water. Offers to take your purse. You decline both. Opt to stand a bit stiffly on the faded rug in the center of the room with your bag tucked snugly under your arm.

Maybe you should make a run for it. Maybe you were stupid to come at all. He’s a total stranger for Christ sake.

Before you can will your feet to move, there’s s bang from behind you. A screen door slamming shut and rattling on its hinges. It startles you almost a foot into the air.

“Nervous?”

Kyle is cool as ever, sliding into one of the chairs, waggling his eyebrows at you. It whines under his weight and you’re suddenly very aware of just how bulky he is. Doesn’t look it on passing glance, but when all you’ve got to look at is the way his shirt fits it becomes glaringly obvious.

“Easily startled.”

You correct, trying to decide whether or not it’s passé to turn over your shoulder to find the source of the heavy footsteps behind you.

He hums and grabs one of the packets, taking off the clip and leafing through it. Pulling out a few odd pages and setting them on the table.

The footsteps reveal their maker when he rounds the corner into the room and shuffles behind the table. If you thought Kyle was big, this man is properly a behemoth. A bit taller, broader in the shoulders, a layer of fat packed on over his muscles. He looks to be older by a few years. He gets crows feet when he nods and smiles at you before taking his seat.

The chair looks as though it would be happier pulling its own legs out from underneath itself.

“Cap’.”

Kyle doesn’t look up from his papers when he addresses the man.

You get no formal introduction to ‘Cap’ though he doesn’t seem to be truly involved in the audition process. He barely glances up from his packet. Content to nurse a fresh cigar and lean further back in the chair than you think should be plausible.

You read from the stack of pulled-out papers with sloppily highlighted lines and try not to shy away from meeting Kyle’s watchful eye.

The audition goes normally, all things considered. You’re instructed to read three different scenes. Without the time to read the blurb on the project, you draw the conclusion that “Trouble in Paradise” is some sort of short suspense film centered around a woman living, shockingly, in paradise.

The writing isn’t first-rate, but you suppose that’s to be expected. You have a hard time piecing together how the scenes flow, but that’s not your largest concern.

“Lovely. Really, darl’.”

Kyle stands when he talks. Commands the attention even of such a small audience. Takes up space in the room like he’s owed it.

You smile, feeling a bit more at-ease now that things seem to be wrapping up.

“N’ how do you look in a bathing suit?”

The question takes you entirely off-guard. It makes your jaw fall far enough open that you’re left looking like a fish out of water.

“I- sorry?”

Kyle’s face doesn’t change. Fantastic at keeping up appearances. He’s still casting that warm smile over you. The focus of it makes you feel like you’re sunbathing.

“Bathing suit, love. How d’you look?”

Disappointment drops like a stone in your belly. Heavy and fast. It’s another scam. Of course it is.

“Oh. I don’t- I don’t do dirty movies.”

It must be palpable on your face even more than it is in your voice.

‘Cap’ glances up at Kyle when he ashes his cigar. The smell is nauseating. He seems to be chewing on a smile. Kyle meets his eye for only a moment, amusement painfully evident on his face.

“You’ve just read the pool scene. Hardly anything dirty about costuming.”

#gaz x calling reader 'darl' you will always be famous #moongreenlight #moongreenlightwrites #sephspeaks #cod mw2 #call of duty #cod x reader #141 headcanons #drabble #gaz x reader #gaz call of duty #gaz cod #gaz mw2 #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick #wip wednesday

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missamyrisa2 · 8 months

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when your punk butt sits on a seat clearly marked "do not sit" and you find out whyyyy someone put up that warning as the machinery snares you ~ the bottom of the chair folding away and the seat sucking you in securely so your tush is inside ~ you can be defiant all you want as the trap slides back and up, raising you up ~ and down below eager clampies start clamping at the air, reaching for your ankles~ kicking is uselessss they catch your legs and pull your feet back into newly opening holes in the wall~ the whine and shriek of machinery can be heard from behind and you suddenly feel breeezyyy~ as the unseen mechanical parts relieve you of your footwear, then your socks, and thennnn your behind~ the current of air sparkles against your wiggling toes, up your tush~

and thennnn you hear it~

the footfalls and chatter~

"got another one huh?"

"well let's get to work~!"

"yeah let's see what this one is made of..."

matter of fact comments rise into excited little chirps of muffled voices and excited exclamations. Probing touches of gloved hands are felt on your exposed booty and feet. You can pull and fight alll you like ~ the machinery won't budge and keeps you completely secured~ the touches become more pronounced, swirling over and doting when a particularly ~quivery~ spot is found. They're merciless and endlessly curious. Fingers play at your toes, inspecting each and every one with thorough rubbing.

"We've got a squirmer~!"

"definitely, definitely a squirmer"

"try this spot under the cheeks, makes em go wild!"

It must be five people, maybe more. And more coming as footsteps join in, some are merely observing. "I just got the alert, what do we got? Oh shiiiit look at that rump!" The shutter clicks start. "Gotta post this one!"

You squeal into the empty room, sucked into the wall with arms flailing uselessly as fingers tickle at your soles and tush with merciless strokes. And then it gets oooh so worse~a sudden rush of cool glides into you, the curious finger parting your cheeks and searching for a hidden tickle spot.

"That's a hall of famer!"

Adoring hands pat your behind before teasing along the hot spots. Fluffy sensations start mixing into the stroking touches. The added mix of soft and that wicked finger has your toes and cheeks dancing for their entertainment. Boisterous laughs drift through the wall to join your ticklish cackles. Oil is painted on your skin next, the brush working rapidly between the flurry of gloves and tickly tools. The machinery hums and increases power when you find the strength to try and pull free.

"They always fight don't they?"

"We gettin some moans today or what? Hey let me try the hmmm hmmm~"

Another sound joins the melee, the buzz of vibrations mixing in just as the fingers explore your now shiny oiled feet. Thumbs rub under your toes, fingers stroke every wrinkle of your helpless soles. The vibrating wand grazes at various angles on your tush, stimulating all that ticklish skin with a relentless massage ~

"Oooh ohh~! I just got here! Look what I brouuuught!"

A sassy voice joins the fray and all goes silent for a moment. You gasp a reprieve, thinking maybe someone else has been trapped and they are looking at a new alert. But ohhh no~ seconds later a swarm of buzzes ignites through the wall~ and you realize they are all holding ticklyyy buzzzyy toothbrushesss~ and they intend to brush off everyyyy square inch of your feet and bootyy~

No, they won't be releasing you from the tickle punk gallery for a loooong while~

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somefanficrecomendations · 9 months

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December Monthly Roundup

Here's December's fic round up!

DC/BATMAN

Worlds Saddest Breakfast Club by motleyfam (gen)7k, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd-Centric Following a couple of Very Bad Weeks™ (which may or may not have involved being kidnapped and mildly tortured), Jason decides the best way to cheer himself up is to break into the Manor for a 3 a.m. snack. Turns out he isn’t the only one awake.

Batstream by RandomReader13 (gen), 6k, Bats on social media, Humor “I want it on record that I think this is a terrible idea and I’m only doing this to mitigate the damage." AKA Red Robin decides it's a great idea to livestream patrol while Batman's off-world. It goes about as well as you'd expect.

cards on the table by wesslan (gen) 67k, WIP, Fortune Teller AU, Tim Drake-Centric Tim's parents faked their deaths and fled the country years ago, but neglected to take him with them. He spent some time on the streets, and now at 16, he makes a living as a fortune teller, stalking and hustling the shit out of Gotham's elite by telling them eerily accurate fortunes based on the information he gathers about them. His life is peculiar but he wouldn't change a thing. When he gets booked for the big Wayne Halloween party, however, he finds himself getting all tangled up with the Waynes, and the more fortunes he tells, the tighter the snare becomes. or: Tim just wanted to scam Gotham's elite, not end up on the Batfamily's watchlist. But it seems they just won't leave him alone..

(a not so) lonesome town by wesslan (gen), 10k, 2-part series, Sentient Gotham, Jazz music. Two works in which Gotham City is sentient and adopts enough kids to rival Batman himself (Batman is one of them).

Banshee in a Well by liverobinreaction (bugbee) (gen), 43k, Meta Tim, Resurrection Powers Tim is five years old when he drowns in his parents' pool. He dies quietly, waiting for parents who love him, but will never be there, to realise that something is wrong. They never show up, and he sinks into oblivion. When he wakes up and claws his way out of the water, the sun has set, and the lights of his house are on. He is cold and wet and his lungs burn. But most of all, Tim is alone. (If you die and no-one is there to see it, were you ever alive in the first place?)

HUNGER GAMES

right here in the old therebefore by californianNostalgia (Katniss/Peeta) 14k, Canon Divergence, Ghosts There’s a ghost at the Hanging Tree. Katniss sees him first when she’s six, her hair in braids, the song about the growing gallows fresh in her mind. This changes nothing. This changes some things. (In which Lucy Gray killed Coriolanus at the lake.)

How Rue Became the Mockingjay by aimmyarrowshigh (multi) 5k, Different 74th Victors AU Katniss Everdeen and the girl from Eleven are ruining their best-laid plans – the Capitol’s and the Rebels’. So Caesar, they say. Announce the change. An alternate chronology for The Hunger Games.

CROSSOVERS

Annabeth and the Nine Step Career Plan by feeling_the_aster_9145 (Annabeth/Percy), 76k, PJO x DCU, Annabeth gets Lex Luthor arrested, BAMF Annabeth. Annabeth Chase does not accept limitations. Everyone knows that. If she wants something, no matter how impossible, she will find a way to make it happen. Though, perhaps she will allow Bruce Wayne and his ridiculous paranoia-induced company restrictions a small portion of the credit. Actually… now that she thinks about it, the man may have had a point in his worries. Wayne Technologies does not accept college interns. Annabeth always has a plan B.

A Lesson in Superiority by Nation-Ustria (gen), 96k, WIP, Batfam x Harry Potter, Damian Wayne is Harry Potter, Wizarding Politics “The good news is, he’s not cursed,” Constantine says. “And the bad news?” Dick asks sharply. Constantine squints. “I wouldn’t call it bad news so much as, er, news.” He turns to Damian with something like a grimace. “You’re a wizard, kid.” “...I’m a what?”

#batfam fic rec #hunger games fic #percy jackson fic rec #harry potter fic recs #fanfiction #Tim Drake #Jason Todd #katniss everdeen #batfamily #damian wayne #Batman #monthly roundup

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writingseaslugs · 2 years

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Rook: I Tip My Hat To You

As requested by @livinglovingtrainwreck , Rook with a crush who likes to pull the brim of his hat! I am so down bad for the man, it ain’t even funny.

Disclaimer: All characters in this series is aged up. For more information about my version of this world and the type of reader you can expect, please do a quick read of THIS post.

Rook Hunt: I Tip My Hat To You

Rook was, by all means, a damn near perfect hunter; especially when it came to the students of Night Raven. Anyone he decided was interesting enough was studied down to their nightly habits. He could predict what most people would do (minus a few students, like Floyd, who’s entire personality surrounded them being unpredictable). You, the magicless prefect from another world, were among those students he decided to study.

You were easy to watch from afar for the longest time, but then you started to build a pack of students who surrounded you. Once Leona and the Tweels came into the picture, it was almost impossible to watch you from afar without worry of one of them alerting you of his presence. Then came the school festival and concert and Rook, without realizing, had become one of those who were always around you, watching out for you in their free time.

Rook was enraptured by this. How you managed to snare the hearts of so many, including himself, in less than a year was something he never would’ve predicted. Even those he had studied previously had now developed new habits around you. With his newfound close proximity to you, and how others weren’t as weary when he watched you from afar since, he too, was part of your pack, he learned way more about you.

He could tell when you were approaching him just from your footsteps alone, and would always greet you without hesitation. It became routine for you to run up to find him and he’d call out your name the moment you turned the corner. You had become somewhat predictable in that aspect. It took a lot to catch a hunter like himself off guard, something he prided himself in, but you sometimes found your ways.

The newest way had become a personal favorite of his. It was due to never being able to tell when you planned on doing it. You wouldn’t do it every time you saw him, but sometimes it was every time, sometimes it was every other time, and sometimes you went a solid week without doing it. He can still remember his shock the first time it happened.

You had been running down the hall and he could hear how your steps fell and the slight giggle that left your lips. Rook called out to you the moment he knew you could see the back of his head and he turned his face slightly to catch sight of you. You were panting from running around, but the giant smile on your face was a clear indicator that it wasn’t anything serious. Rook smiled over at you, opening his arms since you had a habit of hugging him.

You jumped into his arms, spinning around in a hug while you babbled on about the day was going before saying you had to run to your next class. He put you down and that’s when you did it. You tugged the brim of his hat down, just enough to cover his eyes and then ran away laughing. This had actually caught him off guard and he lifted the hat up, just as you rounded another corner and were out of sight.

After that, you managed to do it at the most random of times. He found it endearing and looked forward to the day he’d be able to predict it. There was never something that just gave you away. No changes to your mood, breathing, or how your hands twitched. There was never a sign, probably because it was always when he was distracted by staring at you. Then, on that fateful day, it finally clicked with him instinctively. It was like an added sense that you were going to do it, and just as his heart told him, five seconds later you were tugging the brim and running off. The same feeling washed over him a few more times, him just knowing you were about to do it, yet he still allowed it. Lured you into a false sense of security for a little bit longer as he decided exactly how he wanted to catch you, his little prey.

“Mon trésor…” Rook sang, turning and holding his arms out for you to jump into them. You giggled, loving this interaction more than anything. Rook always had strong arms and could lift you with ease, spinning you around like you weighed nothing. There was nothing better than being hugged by the man, which always led you to seek him out when you were happy or sad. Rook placed you down and looked at you expectantly, “You seem like the sun smiled down on you today.”

“It did!” You said before going into detail about your day in Crewel’s class, and how you managed to actually be the only one in your class who figured out how to mix the potion correctly. He could feel the pride rolling off of you in waves, happy to have been able to do something all the magical students couldn’t, despite your status. Rook smiled, leaning half his body against the wall closest to him, head tilted as he just listened on to your ramblings.

Then he got that feeling in his chest and knew you were about to try tugging the brim of his hat. His precious little treasure was about to make an attempt at being cute, one that normally would work, but Rook was slowly getting tired of playing this game. Being able to talk with you, hug you…it was fine and all, but his heart craved so much more out of you. He already knew you felt the same, with how he always felt your heart speed up when hugging him, or how when you turned the corner after tugging his hat, how your face seemed to look warmer than usual.

You began saying your goodbyes, turning as though you were about to leave this time around, before you felt the urge to just tug his hat. You always just wanted to rip it off of him so you could play with his hair, but were far too nervous to attempt such a thing. So you always did the next best thing, catch him off guard and make a run for it. You reached up with both hands to tug on it, when suddenly, one large hand was wrapping around your wrists.

You didn’t even know what happened until you were pinned to the wall that Rook had been leaning against a few moments ago. Rook pinned both wrists above your head while his spare hand went and found a home on your hip. He looked down at you with a smirk, watching as your face heated up and you began trying to stutter out words.

“Mon amour, you know that’s not kind” He said, leaning in closer. You swore you could faint from the close proximity he had to you. That’s when he decided to get back at you for all those moments. He leaned forward, capturing your lips in a short and sweet kiss. His lips were soft and warm against your own and you felt yourself melting. When your lips finally parted, Rook smiled and grabbed his hat, taking it off and placing it on top of your head.

“You really should know better than to entice a hunter.” He said as he let go of your wrists. Your hand went over to your lips, still feeling the electric tingle of his own against you. Then he smiled and simply turned around, giving you a wave while looking over his shoulder, “Until next time, escroc.”

#Twisted Wonderland #Twisted Wonderland x Reader #TWST #TWST x Reader #TWST Wonderland #Twisted Wonderland Disney #TWST Disney #Rook Hunt #Rook Hunt x Reader #Rook x Reader #TWST Rook #Twisted Wonderland Rook Hunt #TWST Rook Hunt

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the-24-7-lawlu-library · 8 months

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Hi! Just read this fic (https://archiveofourown.org/works/33748141) and the post that inspired it (https://ladycrimsonandblack.tumblr.com/post/658164849325604866/brawltogethernow-brawltogethernow-tama-gives), and was wondering if you knew any other fics where Luffy is a Fae or a Changeling or just not really human? Thanks!

Hello ! Sorry this took us a while, as it seems there are very few fics that fall under that category, but here's what we've got for you:

The closest that comes to mind is :

Wild Wind At Dressrosa by khepiari (M)

[Mod notes: I am personally recommending this one as it is set in a world of magical realism. Luffy is not explicitly a magical creature, but there is certainly a certain magic and mystery surrounding him, which gives this story a whole air of surrealness and fairy tales.]

Doflamingo has troubles- to govern Dressrosa, collect taxes for the King, a womanizing Secretary, a stupid Brother, an angry Wife and a Rebelling Son who is romancing the Biggest Troublemaker- a Wayfaring Godless Curio-Shopkeeper, who is storming the calm streets of Dressrosa. Law's heart is hell-bent to unite with the Wild Wind called Monkey D Luffy- a tale of food, books, friendship and love.

The Moonwitch And His Dumb Werewolf (also) by khepiari (T)

A.U., Fantasy. Happy Ending. Three Part. LawLu (Switch Couple) When his village gets burned down and family captured by the bounty hunters, a young werewolf pup, Luffy, finds himself in the protection of a witch boy named Law and his father Corazon. As the war ravages, the magical creatures must unite to fight their biggest enemies; humans.

Perfect Completion by quackquackcey (E)

Water sprite Luffy curiously happens upon a gathering of vampires and falls at first sight for a certain golden-eyed vampire…but will his feelings be returned?~

A Crown of Flowers by @hyperbolicreverie (M)

The Wild is a mirror, a magic realm of possibility parallel to the mundane one, and people like Luffy, changelings who've made a devil's bargain for power, walk the line between worlds daily. When Luffy makes a mad dash to rescue his brother from certain death, he sets off a chain of events that makes the very foundations of that realm shudder. Soon, he's got several other people along for the ride, and the situation quickly spirals out of control. There's something the people in power aren't saying, and it might be the key to all the strange events that keep happening around them. Luffy just wants adventure and fun and freedom. Law just wants to be left alone to live his life. Kid wants to never be beholden to someone else again. And Ace just wants some goddamn agency for once. But there are other entities in the Wild with agendas of their own, and they don't care about what others want at all.

How To Snare A Life by xairylle (E)

Accidentally ensnaring a parasitic sexual demon and being his host wasn't exactly how Law wanted to end his night or his life for that matter. LawLu/LuLaw.

A Fleeting Moment (When the Sun Can Kiss the Moon) by purplehairedwonder (T)

Once upon a time, the Sun fell in love with the Moon.

[We also recommend checking the #Sun God Luffy tag for godly Luffy material.

And finally, not Fae Luffy, but we'd like to recommend Fae Law]

To Give You My Name by cosmicatta (M)

Trafalgar Law, last of the faes, had committed a fatal mistake 15 years ago: he had given Doflamingo his full name. Now, even after having escaped, the looming threat of his ownership still follows Law everyhwere he goes. He can only try to survive as a runaway, hoping to, someday, find a way to cut the invisible string tying him to his former captor. Until he meets Luffy. He’s just a regular human. But maybe that’s all Law needs.

And, ofc, the one you recommended:

waters of the wild by ladycrimsonandblack (T)

Even to his nakama, Luffy sometimes appears just a little bit too odd. (Or: Five times a Straw Hat notices something strange about Luffy, and the one time someone knows what's going on.)

We're also happy to tell you that your ask prompted some of our writers to give Fae Luffy a shot, so expect some new fics under that tag soon enough.

-Mod Gigi

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imhereformysciencefriends · 11 months

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@mcyt-yuri-week Day 1: Break!

Read on AO3 here

Forest elves were known to come in many shapes and sizes. Gem was a willowy, slender, waifish, faun-looking elf, herself, with pointed ears and delicate antlers and bright red freckles that matched her hair, and thin, unicorn-like hooves and legs. It did mean that brushing her hair meant brushing her hocks, too, but it was such a natural part of life she didn’t even think about it. Despite her slim form, she wasn’t actually particularly tall, nearly every aspect of her small in one regard or another (except her hair, which was wild and curly and bright flashy red).

But she did have big aspirations! Many of her glade were content to build where they’d always built and live how they’d always lived, but Gem was curious about the border where their forest ended, where it rode up against strange lifeforms ethereal and odd. Gem was sure that as an elf, and a faunish one at that, it was a little rich for her to call something else ethereal and odd, but it was true!

At the edge of their forest, right across a broad river that served as a natural border, weird, brightly colored plants grew, moved in ways that plants shouldn’t move, and Gem swore she saw a ruin in there somewhere.

Now, she wasn’t going to try and stake a territory in the alien landscape. She was a braver elf than most but she would not be doing that, no thank you! She’d just set up her base across the river from it, still in her glade’s cozy ancestral home, shoring up the border of their territory (not that the river needed much help. In terms of forest edges that were in danger of being deforested, this one was generally considered one of the safer spans of area).

And go exploring! Sometimes.

Once she’d made a cute, cozy little cottage for herself, fussed around with her garden a bit, and gotten up some of her favorite pieces of art, she had to finally admit that she was stalling. It wasn’t that she wasn’t curious about the strange place! She was! But it also… seemed kinda dangerous, you know?

But it was time to put on her big girl tunic and see what was goin’ on over there! She cinched her leather underbust around her waist and tucked a couple thin vials of health potion into the sturdy straps, laced up her greaves and gauntlets, corralled her hair back into a loose, low ponytail, and set off! Worst comes to worst, she’d down a health potion and dart back home. Of all the elvish traits she’d inherited, being quick hooved with a keen sense of when to get the heck outta somewhere were amongst her strongest.

But things were off to a good start! The landscape here was beautiful, oh! So much of her wanted to take clippings or seed pods back home with her, though the rational part of her brain knew she should proooobably know a little more about what she was dealing with before she did that. But oh, the pinks and the oranges, the bright vibrant yellows despite autumn still being a ways away, the strange, moving vines and roots that did not radiate any malice or intent. It was gorgeous!

Now she felt a little silly for taking so long to come out here! Eee, she wished she was a better artist, she wanted to show everybody back home how lovely it was here!

And the ruins! Definitely human, though Gem didn’t know of any human civilizations that had lived so close to her glade on this side of the forest. It must be a very old ruin indeed! She pranced through them, light on her hooves, giggling to herself as she went.

The ruins were very, very old, so Gem was quite surprised when she found herself caught in a modern trap.

She yelped as tension snapped around her, a net of string clearly recently-fashioned hoisting her from the earth and leaving her dangling a solid four or five feet above ground.

“Hey!” she shouted, struggling instinctively. Oh this was silly! Now she was glad she was alone! Imagine! Her! An elf! Caught by a simple snare like this! Oh if anyone in her glade saw her like this she would never live it down!

But a modern trap meant a modern inhabitant. Gem’s blood chilled at the realization, and she then redoubled her efforts to get out. She didn’t know what kind of creature would have the mental acumen and dexterity to make a trap and was crazy enough to live here, but she! Didn’t! Want to know!

She yanked at the strings. It was well-crafted, likely spider silk, and Gem’s palms burned where she pulled and struggled. She kicked at it with her hooves, actually managing to snap a couple pieces here and there, but the net was intelligently made and did not unravel entirely at the loss of a few supports.

The bad angle wore at her stamina and the rising panic didn’t help at all. Especially since the plants, which had previously laid about so docile, even friendly, seemed like they were moving towards her now!

“Stay back!” she shouted at them, for all that she knew plants could neither hear nor “think” in the way that people thought. As she might have expected, the slow waves and wiggling of vines and roots went without dissuasion. She sank her teeth into the woven string, gnawing at it with her sharper canines, but the progress she made was frankly pitiful. It seemed she’d snapped all the weakest points, and all that remained was outside her ability to escape.

Finally, she wore herself out, and hung there, limply, trapped in the net as a fly in an actual web. It was hard to breathe as deeply as her body wanted, all folded in half like she was, one hoof and hock sticking out between the netting with one of the strings biting painfully into her skin, but she was too tired to try and wiggle it back in. She was mortified, too, red faced from exertion and embarrassment both. And one of her antlers was stuck and trying to move her head made the hornbed ache!

It was hard to tell how long she hung there. Not enough time for her to fully catch her breath, but enough that when she heard approaching footsteps, she instinctively turned to look. It pulled on her antler and she let out a small, high pitched noise, wriggling in her bindings once again.

“Oh!” came a woman’s voice, “Hyello!”

“Hi,” Gem said, half-breathless and irritable. “Let me down.”

“Well I almost wouldn’t need to!” The woman spoke with a strange accent, one Gem really hadn’t heard before, and she hung aggravatingly juuuuust in Gem’s peripherals. “You went and broke my trap! Not very polite of you.”

“What’s not polite is leaving me hanging here in a net!” Gem shouted, struggling again.

The woman laughed at her, the jerk, but thankfully gave a, “I know, I know, I’m just messin’ with you. Hold still, here, hup!”

Movement, the net swaying, and then there was the release of some mechanism and Gem and the woman both dropped to the ground, the one on the outside of the net landing nicely on her feet.

“Ow,” Gem deadpanned, far less amused with this situation than her captor/savior.

“You’re an interesting looking stranger. Are you from here?”

“I’m from across the river,�� Gem said, accepting the help to sit up and detangle herself from the net. “I was just exploring. Are you from here?”

“No,” she said with a bright shrug. “I am living here now though, I suppose. I’m researching the area.”

Gem grunted and started trying to unhook the webbing from her antlers. As she did, she surveyed her new… whoever this was.

By all accounts, she looked like an ordinary human woman (and what indignity, an elf caught in a human trap!). Long, pale brown hair that hung halfway down her biceps. Thick, sturdy-made green overalls and a well made cotton shirt beneath. Big, sturdy stompin’ boots. Everything the woman wore (and netted, apparently) seemed to be fashioned for durability.

…Gem had been staring at her strong arms long enough she’d made out fine little hairs on her skin. Probably should look somewhere else.

“Thanks,” she said, less irritable now that she wasn’t strung from a tree, “for helping me down.”

“Awh, sorry for snatchin’ you up in the first place! I’m trying to catch one of the little scuttlers, the one I’ve been researching got out and it’s been awful trying to get it back again.”

“Scuttlers?”

“That’s what I’m calling them! Here, come inside, I’ll show you my research lab.”

Now, Gem was an adult woman. She was smart enough to know it wasn’t always wise to follow a stranger to a secondary location. Especially after that stranger had already caught her in one trap.

But this stranger had also let her out of the trap. And she was a pretty woman. Surely pretty women had no nefarious purposes. And besides, Gem, like, owed her or something. It’d be rude not to go.

“Sorry again about your trap,” she mentioned, glancing at the broken remains before following.

“No worries! It was getting old, anyway.”

“Mm. Hey, what’s your name? I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.”

“Oh yeah! I’m your friendly resident Pearlo! Call me Pearl,” she said cheerfully, whirling around to outstretch her hand.

Gem took it in hers, strong, callused human fingers clasping firmly around dainty elvish ones.

“Call me Gem,” she echoed.

“Hey, listen to that! Gem and Pearl, we get one more and we’ll have a whole jewelry box.”

Gem laughed, and noticed that Pearl had not released her hand in order to resume walking her inside. They were holding hands now. Pearl didn’t even seem to notice it, so it was probably natural and nothing important to her. It should’ve felt natural and unimportant to Gem, too, she’d held lots and lots of hands before and it had never meant anything particularly special.

But, well, you see, Gem was not immune to Pretty Lady.

She followed her into one of the ruined structures, which was not so ruined on the inside, and listened as Pearl discussed her research. The “scuttler” was some sort of guard dog for one of those ancient underground cities, barking whenever passerby tread too loudly and alerting the alarm system, and eventually a huge beast. Gem listened with one cheek propped up on her fist, watching Pearl walk about her laboratory with the occasional “mhm” or “oh really?” to keep her going.

It was when Pearl said a particularly silly joke with a toss of her hair and a cock of her hip that Gem realized, “Oh, you’re trying to impress me!”

Pearl shocked still, mouth hanging open and eyes blown wide, and Gem giggled to see her blush.

“No, no,” she rushed to follow up, “keep going.” She tilted her head so her bright curls spilled over her shoulder and smiled with a flutter of her eyelashes. “It was working.”

#hermitcraft season 9 #geminitay #pearlescentmoon #gempearl #hermitcraft #mcyt yuri week #mcytyuriweek #mcytyuriweek2023 #prompt: break #sometimes you break your future gf's trap with your hooves it be that way sometimes #my writing #haro writes

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