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plushieclan · 6 months

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Moon 4 Gathering

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“Ish dish enough frefkill?” Nightflower muffled through two mice crammed into her mouth.

Darkstar chuckled. “Hey, you shouldn’t have your mouth full when speaking, Nightflower.”

She spits the mice out onto the ground. “Heh, sorry Dad.”

Still, he nodded affirmatively. “With Shimmersky’s fish and Gingerclaw’s bluejay, we should have enough food for the gathering.”

“Darkstar! Darkstar!” a large bundle of orange fur barreled towards the two cats, crashing into Nightflower.

She laughed. “What’s wrong, Tigerkit?”

The ball of fluff straightened himself out until he resembled a normal cat. “Applepaw’s being mean again. She snapped at Pebblekit!”

Darkstar sighed. “Acting out isn’t going to make me change my mind. I’ll have a talk with Blossomtail.”

“About what?” Nightflower asked.

“I decided to have Applepaw stay behind this Gathering. She’s been too irresponsible as of late.”

“I suppose that makes sense.” she probably also would have been sulking if she was left behind.

“You know, since I’m so helpful…” Tigerkit started.

“No Gatherings until you’re an apprentice.” Darkstar sighed.

—

The Gathering itself was just as bustling. The fresh kill was deposited atop the grates of the flaming barrel for the after-gathering feast. Nightflower still didn’t do well with fire, so she handed off her freshkill to Dawnpaw. She decided to meet up with Lynxpaw and Firepaw while Dawnpaw took care of the food.

Firepaw wasn’t hard to find. Her bright red fur was like a beacon, even among a sea of other ginger cats. She was sat with Lynxpaw, who looked very happy.

“What’s the occasion?” Nightflower asked as she padded over.

“My warrior ceremony!” Lynxpaw declared, the enthusiasm palpable in her voice. “I’m Lynxclaw now.”

Firepaw looked glum. “I wish. My mentor’s been ignoring my training… I’ll never be a warrior at this rate.”

Lynxclaw paused. “I’m sorry Firepaw. That sucks.”

“Ah… whatever. I think Smallcloud is just getting sick or something. I don’t know why he’s been ignoring me.”

“Oh… I can’t imagine how you must be feeling.” Nightflower said. Even Leopardcloud, stuck in the nursery, still made sure she kept up her training when she wasn’t able to be there.

A large silence fell over the Gathering. It was time to start; the first leader stepped to the front. This moon, it was Redstar.

“To start, Swampclan has been well. Our kits are well-fed, and will grow strong. Our apprentices, even more so.” Redstar stated simply, before stepping back.

“I heard that those kits born last moon were his.” Lynxclaw whispered to Nightflower. “Jaggedkit and Sharpkit, I think they’re named. Poor kits. Now they have to turn out evil with those names.”

Nightflower wasn’t so sure, but she wasn’t willing to be scolded for talking during the Gathering.

Next, Finchstar took the front.

“My son and his mate have had a litter of three healthy kits! We thank Starclan for them.” He showed an uncharacteristic amount of emotion, before frowning again. His tone was grave. “Unfortunately, one of our border patrols was ambushed by a coyote. One of our apprentices, Splinterpaw, did not make it. We ask other clans to increase their patrols and stay wary until the coyote has left our lands.”

Whispers carried over the crowd— uncertain, and somewhat panicked, before the Wanderers representative spoke up.

“It will not take long for the coyote to leave. The Twolegs will chase it out once they notice it. Remain alert, but calm, while on patrol.” the representative stepped back, allowing Badgerstar to step forward.

“We have two new warriors, as well as one new cleric apprentice.” he drawled, seemingly not caring. “Lynxclaw, Locustclaw, and Mitepaw.” He paused to allow the clans to cheer.

Nightflower made sure to cheer extra hard for her good friend, who seemed extremely flattered by all the attention. Firepaw, on the other hand, looked like her flames had been doused by a heavy rainfall.

After the noise had died down, he spoke again. “We grieve the loss of our beloved Seedwhisker, who succumbed to illness. May my son carry on his path of benevolence in Starclan, just as he did in life.” he bowed his head, ushering in a moment of silence.

Nightflower looked over at Starleaf. Her mother was close with Seedwhisker, right? He was one of the members of her prophecy journey. Her mother was huddled up with her Grangeclan friends, Dovelight and Pearlheart.

The silence was broken with a single exclamation.

“Seedwhisker!”

Now, every clan was looking at the three mollies. Pearlheart was staring at the faded outline of a tom, though Nightflower couldn’t pick out any of the details. He was glowing a bright blue, which certainly wasn’t a real pelt color. Was that… a Starclan cat?

“What’s she looking at?” Lynxclaw asked, confusion lacing her voice.

“You don’t see the glowing cat in front of her?” Nightflower said.

Firepaw shook her head. “She’s just staring at nothing.”

“Well, there’s a Starclan cat right in front of her!”

Nightflower quickly looked around. Badgerstar had his head in his paws, and Bonestripe looked shocked. Finchstar merely looked confused, and Redstar was simply annoyed.

Clouds began to crowd around the full moon, blotting out all but a small circle in the middle.

Darkstar took the front, interrupting the moment. “Starclan has spoken. The Gathering has ended for now.” he jumped down, gathering the clanmates.

Nightflower barely had a moment to say goodbye to her friends when she was pulled away with the rest of Crystalclan.

He padded over to Nightflower as they left the Gathering. “Your mother is staying behind.”

“What was that?” Nightflower asked her father.

“You could see it, couldn’t you? How well?” he dodged her question.

“But— well, yes. I could see the glowing blue cat. I couldn’t tell who it was though. Was he from Starclan?”

He nodded to her. “So not well. I see… yes, that glowing cat was a Starclan cat.”

“But why did that ghost appear?”

“To say goodbye.” Darkstar replied. “or maybe to give a warning. We won’t know until we ask your mother.”

“I guess that food will go to waste now…” she said absentmindedly.

“It won’t. Don’t worry about it.” he licked her forehead. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

As he walked away, Nightflower could only wonder what Starclan was thinking. Perhaps she’d ask her mother. Hopefully her mother was willing to share what she’d learned.

—

“Beware the jagged thorns of the lake, for they will sink into you like a lifeline.” Pearlheart repeated back to the other two.

“What could that mean?” Starleaf asked, worry in her eyes.

“I don’t know Leafy.” Pearlheart had a worried look on her face. “But he said the message was for you.”

Dovelight turned to Starleaf. “If you need extra warriors, Grangeclan will send them.”

Starleaf shook her head. “No. I will not put your clanmates in danger. We will handle this ourselves.”

Pearlheart pressed against Starleaf’s side, letting out a sad huff. “Be safe Leafy. Please.”

“I will, Pearlheart. I promise.” Starleaf spared one last look towards the spot where Seedwhisker supposedly stood, thoughts swirling with confusion and fear.

She turned and walked away.

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pilot-boi · 2 years

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Add on to my theory of Jaune landing in the Ever after YEARS before RWBY.

What if the clocks and rabbit theme don't mean Jaune is the rabbit, but instead that he was the thing they were late for? What if Jaune searched for all that time for them... only to never find them? And assumed they had simply gone somewhere different to him?

And the knight is a much older Jaune who has spent years surviving in this place all alone? Would explain the rust and claw marks, maybe from fighting the jabberbeasts?

(Adding your previous thing for context)

WHY WOULD YOU INFLICT THIS UPON ME

Like it’s certainly not canon, cause it seems like Yang has been there the longest and she fell first

BUT GOD CAN YOU IMAGINE??!

Like I want to add stuff to this my mind is too stuck on vicarious sadness even thinking about this concept. I’ve been trying to respond to this all day but I’ve really got nothing

Okay I’m back and no I lied I DO have thoughts

Him waking up alone on the beach or in the jungle. His shattered sword at his side. He’s traumatized and guilty and in shock

And he hates himself because he’s also hopeful

He doesn’t have any right to be hopeful after what he did, but if he’s here then maybe the others are too. He doesn’t want to see Ruby because he’s sure she’ll be furious with him, but she deserves to know

And he doesn’t know if he can stand being alone, as selfish as that is

So he searches. And he searches. He meets talking mice, and a talking cat, and a talking raccoon. Vines that move with a life of their own, a queen the size of a child and her playing card soldiers. He fights a beast that speaks single words and shudders like a cartoon a few frames out of sync, and his armor gains new scratches.

But he doesn’t find his friends.

He wonders if they’re looking for him, like he’s looking for them. Maybe they just keep missing each other. He goes back over his tracks. It takes days, months, weeks. It’s hard to tell how much time is passing, the suns never seem to move.

Maybe he’s dead.

The Blacksmith offers to forge a new life for him, so he can let his pain behind. A steed, a charge, a new purpose. All he’d have to give up is his self.

It’s been years, it has to have been. It’s hard to tell because the suns don’t move and he hasn’t aged. He never found his friends, never even found Penny’s body. If he’s dead, then back in the real world the war must be over.

One way or another, he has nothing left.

Jaune accepts.

The next day, a golden haired woman wanders cautiously into the market, followed by a woman with hair as white as snow, a woman with a face of beauty and ears of a beast. Trailing after them is a woman in a red hood.

The Knight does not recognize their faces. He does not recognize their voices.

But they recognize him.

Even with his armor rusted and scratched. Even with his sword shattered at his side. They speak to him, beg him to remove his helmet, and they gasp when he does.

The Knight doesn't understand why they're upset.

He doesn't understand that he looks precisely the same as the last time they saw him. Hair still awkwardly cropped and sun yellow, shadows under his eyes from lack of sleep. Only the eyes themselves are different, their clear blue darkened by unseen years.

Another friend they were too late to save.

#rwby #jaune arc #dragosar1 #mine #asks #ruby rose #yang xiao long #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #my writing

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antheshewro · 24 days

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Of A Cat Purrspective And Nine Lives (1) - AOT Veterans AU

Perhaps a set of claws can be a pair of blades.

Before You Read: Here I am again! It's been so long :( this has been in my drafts for a long while, it's not the first part and I'm gearing up to fix the rest of this story, hope you like it ཐི♡ཋྀ as always, let me know if you like it! Disclaimer: gender neutral!reader for everyone to enjoy kitty cats + credits for the inspo from official arts about the characters as cats (for Levi and Hange), while for Erwin I browsed around the Internet to picture his cat self, as well for Miche. ♡ ^__^

It was a rainy morning at the Scouts' headquarters. A quiet, tranquil Thursday morning. It was raining outside, the pitter-patter of the raindrops landing on the windows, the yard and the roof, making breakfast time even more cozy and enjoyable. Nothing seemed to be out of place… not yet. When you didn't find Levi in the dining hall, given his appearance there before anyone and his restleness (along with the habit of being on his own way too much), you already knew something was up. He was always wandering around the headquarters at that time of the day, early in the morning. He couldn't have left that place out of the blue. He couldn't be sick either—Levi had strong health.

At that point, no matter if it was 8:00 AM, you decided not to stay to the dining area and look around, right down the hallway of the same floor. After a few minutes, you noticed that the door of the storage room of that floor was unlocked. The doorknob quietly twisted and clicked, the old wooden door creaking open as you pushed it. When you stepped inside, it was desert. Eerily silent. Your brows furrowed as you looked around and called his name, but he wasn't there, apparently. Until, you heard a sound coming from behind one of the shelves.

A raspy 'meow'. A couple of seconds would pass before a cat walked from behind a tall shelf on your left, next to a metal cabinet. A black, adult cat, with pointy ears, slender body and icy-blue eyes. Its little yet somewhat long black claws clacked and scratched the wooden floor as the cat shifted on its spot. Its expression was as cold and unamused as ever, a few strands of fur peering from in between its ears and behind them. Around the cat's neck, a white cravat. A sigh of relief left your lips. Levi, your cat, wasn't missing. It was just hiding.

"You scared me. I couldn't find you anywhere."

Levi's ears twitched at the low tone of his owner's voice. He wasn't much of a vocal cat—not like most house cats at least, making his quiet meows and his silent purrs a rare occurrence only when he was in the mood for cuddles and scratches behind the ears. With a lazy demeanor, he slowly walked over to you, rubbing against your legs with a soft ‘mew’ as if to indicate that he was fine. He continued to nuzzle your leg for a bit, craving some attention that you happily provided with a few gentle scratches from under his chin.

You picked the cat up, with one hand around its little belly and one beneath its paws. The front ones were against your chest, as if he wanted to support his own body in his owner's embrace. A tiny peck landed on his forehead and on the side of his face, feeling the cat's whiskers twitch. Even the smell of feline, exuding from his luscious and smooth black fur, was always able to calm you down. Levi was an extremely clean cat, and knowing he would get outside the headquarters to haunt birds, mice or whatever it pleased him, you were always very attentive and careful with his hygiene. Not to mention, the cat would willingly get inside the bathtub to get a bath. A far cry from how felines would usually approach their bath time.

"Are you hungry, sweetheart?" you softly asked, moving down the stairs. No one sitting there seemed to be minding if you were walking inside the dining hall with Levi sitting in your arms; it would've been odd to see the opposite.

"What do you feel like having for breakfast?" you added, while sitting on a single and spare table, running your fingers on the cat's back.

His ears slightly perked up at the mention of food. His tail lifted up, his little paws placed atop on the table. Levi then looked at you, his big bright blue eyes practically screaming ‘food’ in cat language. His little pink nose then twitched as his owner scratched underneath his chin and around his face. The black cat meowed at your question, as if he was answering her question and demanding food. He had a good appetite in the morning if anything. Levi's eyes then turned to the other soldiers around the room who were having their breakfast.

Another usual sight would be the one that saw you moving to the kitchen to get her breakfast with Levi on your shoulders. They say cats are smart animals, and he was one of those as well. Levi was an extremely responsive and intelligent feline. Even when his owner was preparing their own meal, he stayed around their shoulders and silently watched you prepare herself some food. You didn't get much, just a tiny cup of milk, three slices of buttered toast and some scrambled eggs in a small plate. Once you were done and had placed your breakfast on a tray, along with a napkin and utensils, you went back to the table where you previously sat. One could notice that your breakfast always included something Levi also liked. In this case, it was the eggs. You knew that eventually, he was going to fill his little tummy by himself—a reason why the quantity of those eggs was able to feed both of them.

Levi watched his owner walk back to the table, his blue eyes locked onto the plate. He was definitely eyeing that scrambled egg, his tail thumping against your back. However, he was a good boy and waited for you to sit down first. The black cat meowed and leaned forward on your shoulder, waiting for you to give his share of the food.

You chuckled a little before gently moving him so he was sitting in your lap. Immediately, the cat leaned towards the plate, his wet pink nose practically touching the eggs as he sniffed. Once you put the plate down so he was able to reach the food, Levi started taking small bites out of the scrambled eggs. He sat still on your lap as he ate, his tail wrapping around your wrist as a sign of approval and appreciation. He was never one to leave a single crumb behind, eating a few bites before licking his lips and letting out a little satisfied purr.

After a nice breakfast, you and Levi went back to your own quarters. Once you opened the door, two more cats would approach the pair. A far bigger cat than Levi, a male, with deep blue eyes, a white and soft fur with some honey colored strikes on his forehead and body stomped on the wooden floor. One of his front paws, the right one, was missing after a stray cat bit him, and there wasn't much the pet vet could do besides amputate it. Around the cat's neck, there was a tiny, shiny green bolo tie-like collar you bought at the local pet store. The other cat was smaller than the first one, but still a bit bigger than Levi. A female cat with chocolate colored fur and black stripes around its body. Its left eye was injured, its eyeball missing; you covered it with a black eye patch. On its head, a few tufts of longer fur could be seen on the cat's forehead and behind its ears. Your face softened as you closed the door, sitting on the floor and placing Levi down.

"Erwin," you murmured, referring to the white cat. Then, your eyes shifted to the other feline, the female one. "Hange."

Levi happily hopped out of his owner's arms and trotted over to the other two cats. He didn't waste any time in weaving around Erwin's legs, even rubbing his face against the tabby's body. His ears perked up when he heard the name of the other cat, Hange. The black cat walked over to the smaller female and nuzzled the side of her face as he purred. These three cats had a special bond, as they’ve been together for years now.

You went straight to the bed, crawling on the mattress and laying down on your side. At the gentle pat you gave on the spot next to you, beckoning the cats, Levi immediately pit-patted over to the bed, hopping on with a small jump. The black haired cat wasted no time in rubbing his head against the hand, craving affection. Behind him, Erwin and Hange started to approach their owner. Both cats were on the bed a few seconds later. The tabby climbed up on the bed and sat down by your legs, letting out a low meow as he glanced lazily at the window. Hange, on the other hand, quickly laid down in her owner's lap, rolling onto her back to expose her belly.

You had always found cats to be her true calling. If you could, you would've adopted tons of them. Each cat had been neutered, vaccinated, with a complete check up three times per year unless one of them was sick. They all had their personal litter box, in a spare little angle of your quarters, with their bowls of food and water, toys and blankets collected inside a box. To you, those cats were straight up your children; no one could tell you otherwise.

You picked Hange up, lifting her up and slightly moving her left and right, now laying flat on the bed.

"Who's my little princess, hm?"

Hange let out a soft, happy mewl at the action, her tail gently swaying back and forth. She purred quietly and nuzzled the underside of your chin as she was held. Meanwhile, Levi and Erwin could be spotted curled up together on one of the pillows, the black cat burying his face in the crook of the tabby's neck as he quietly purred.

"Of course you two are cuddling together," you mused, putting Hange down on the bed and observing her as she curled next to her side, her chin placed on her little paws. Letting out an amused snicker, you moved your gaze back to Erwin and Levi.

"Little boyfriends."

Levi lifted his head at the comment, letting out a small meow of protest as he shot an unamused look at his owner. Meanwhile, Erwin merely looked at you in response, his tail starting to sway faintly. The tabby cat couldn't care less about your words, he didn't want to get involved. There was a moment of silence as the three cats simply laid on the bed. The sound of rain outside was filling the silence, the pitter-patter against the window soothing, the storm growing stronger.

As you laid on her stomach, sighing as she felt her body relaxing on the mattress, your eyes closed for a moment. The atmosphere was just too relaxing for you—thunderstorms were always able to help you sleep, for some reason. It wasn't until you were almost drifting off to sleep that your eyelids fluttered open. Your brows furrowing as you spoke.

"Where's Miche?"

At the mention of his name, the three cats perked up at the same time, their ears and tail twitching a little. Levi, however, was the first to look around in the room for the missing cat. Hange did the same, sitting up straight in the bed and sniffing the air. Erwin, on the other hand, simply laid there silently, almost as if he already knew where the big tomcat was.

"You've been here with me the longest, Commander Erwin," you mused out, tilting your body towards Erwin, scratching his soft and full belly and running your fingers through his soft fur. Miche was the first cat you owned with Erwin. Then, you rescued Hange from a cat shelter; a few years later, Levi joined the other three cats, when he was just a little black kitten. Erwin found him near the dirty and cramped stalls; his fur was covered in mud and grime, hissing the entire time, swaying his tiny paws and claws and trying to attack. That day, you thought Erwin was bringing you a dead mouse as a gift; you couldn't be more wrong than that. Another thing that you were used to doing, by now, was to give your cats some… particular nicknames. Given your job as a soldier, they were little soldiers too. Erwin always seemed to be the one that led, in some way, his own friends. Just like a Commander would with their own subordinates.

"Go call your friend."

Erwin let out a huff at the nickname, lifting his head from the pillow for a brief second before settling back down. The tabby cat stared at you with a deadpan expression as if saying 'really?'. After a few seconds of silent staring, he let out a low meow and flicked his tail. At the quiet noise, it wasn't until a loud crashing sound came from your wardrobe that got the other three cats' attention. Something, or more specifically, someone, had been hiding in there the entire time.

Suddenly, the door of the wardrobe started to slowly creak open. A pair of orange eyes could be seen in the darkness inside the cabinet before a big and fluffy tan cat stuck his head out, getting out of the wardrobe. The feline, way bigger than the others, walked over to the bed quietly. He then jumped onto the bed with a thump, his black paws sinking into the soft mattress. His long and golden toned fur appeared to be all wet from the rain outside. Levi let out a little meow while Hange sat up, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the tomcat.

Due to the fact that Miche was close to the Maine Coon's species, his size while laying down was taking almost half of the bed. It was difficult to sleep with those four cats next to you every single time, due to the lack of space; but for them, you could endure it. Since all your cats were now with you, you went back to lay on your stomach and closed your eyes. As well behaved as they were, however, those were four cats.

Four felines that acted like felines. Your idea was to take a nap until lunchtime… if your cats would let you.

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average-giant-kissing-enjoyer · 1 year

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G/t July #5: Caught

Went in a bit of a different direction with this one. Also it might be a bit too silly.

Devon couldn’t move.

He wasn’t even sure how it had happened. One moment he was walking in the forest behind his neighborhood and the next he had fallen prone, his limbs stretched out. He tried to move them but it felt like they were bound by really tiny wires.

Was this some kind of animal trap? Living near the mountains meant sometimes coyotes or cougars would wander down to the outskirts of the suburb. They never came anywhere near the houses but a few cats and small dogs had gone missing recently. Some of the more, uh, “outdoorsy” neighbors liked to set animal traps. No one had caught a cougar or anything yet. Devon wasn’t sure how he was getting out of this one, with his arms and legs constricted as they were, but he was sure he was going to find out who’d set this trap and give him a piece of his mind.

That is, until he saw the small figures walking his way, coming out of the underbrush. He blinked hard. There was no way he was seeing what he was seeing.

These were creatures which walked on hind legs like humans. In fact, they were incredibly humanoid in their appearance, except they were only a few inches tall. They wore human-like clothing, but their exposed legs and arms revealed they were covered in fine fur. Actually, now he thought of it, Devon didn’t see these as tiny people so much as very, very anthropomorphic mice. They even had little mouse ears and whiskers.

One of the little mice people stepped forward out of the crowd that had now gathered. It must have been the leader, Devon assumed, because it was wearing a silly hat. “Aha, a trespasser!” it cried in a voice louder than its frame would suggest. “A mighty giant has dared to invade the sovereign lands of the Bumbleruffins!”

Devon closed his eyes tight. This was definitely a weird dream. If he shut his eyes long enough maybe he’d wake up.

“I am Rimsleydale, great king of the Bumbleruffins. Does the trespasser have any last words?” the leader said.

“Woah, woah, woah - last words?” Devon blurted. “What do you mean, last words?”

Rimsleydale walked right up to the tip of his nose. “The punishment for trespassing on our turf is death.”

“Death!” cried all the other mice as one.

That’s when Devon noticed many of them were brandishing weapons. Tiny weapons, of course, things like sewing needles or bobby pins. He wasn’t sure if they knew how to kill him with those, but they could probably find a way to make it really hurt. “Hold on a second!” he said. “How was I supposed to know? I was just walking around. You don’t even have a sign or anything. That’s not fair.”

One of the other mice walked right up to Rimsleydale and bonked him on the head. “I told you we needed to put up signs.”

“We don’t even have a flag,” said another.

“Don’t you have some sort of ignorance clause in your laws?” Devon asked. “I’ll do community service. I’ll bring you cheese or something. Just don’t stab me.”

Rimsleydale raised both hands in the air in grand gesture, even though the tips of his fingers didn’t even reach up to Devon’s eyes. “I am the king of the Bumbleruffins and my word is law! Death to the giant! Death by mauling! Bring out the creature!”

“Creature! Creature! Creature!” the crowd chanted.

Out from the bushes Devon spied something orange and black prowling his way. He squinted to get a good look. If he didn’t know better, he’d say that was the neighbor’s cat Winston. Winston had gone missing about a week back. Everyone thought the coyotes got him.

“Go, creature!” cried Rimsleydale, pointing at Devon. “Attack! Kill!”

The crowd went nuts as Winston approached, their tiny voices hissing like TV static. “Creature! Creature! Creature!”

Winston was right in Devon’s face now, sniffing at him curiously. And then the cat rubbed his little head on Devon’s nose.

“No, bad creature!” said Rimsleydale. “Kill! Kill the evil giant. Don’t kiss him!” But Winston was gently licking Devon’s cheek.

Another mouse stepped forward with a fish hook and a match. “Time for plan B, boss? Red hot poker in the eye?”

“Red hot poker in the eye! Red hot poker in the eye!” the crowd shouted.

Rimsleydale held out his arms to his people. “No, fate has spoken. The creature has forgiven the trespasser, and so shall we.”

“Thank you,” Devon said, sighing. “Will you let me go now? I promise I won’t tell anyone about you or anything. This will be our little secret.”

“Let you go?” Rimsleydale repeated, laughing. “Foolishness! The giant will be spared, but he shall be made a prisoner of the mighty Bumbleruffins until he has paid for his crimes in sweat and toil!”

At this point Devon was convinced this was an elaborate prank. “Wait, you are going to force me to work?”

“Our elevator broke,” said another one of the Bumblyruffins. “We used it to get up into the trees and collect fruit, but the string holding the basket snapped last week, and we’re completely out of string to fix it.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” said Devon. “How much string did you use to tie me up?”

The Bumblyruffins fell silent and started whispering amongst themselves. “Oh,” they were saying, “ohhhhhhhh.”

“The giant makes a good point,” said Rimsleydale. “How fortunate we are that someone of great size, strength, and wisdom should fall into our hands. You - giant - you will serve in my employ as an advisor and ambassador to the land of the giants. We will pay you handsomely for your efforts. What would you like? Berries? String? Women? Uh… men? What is it giants love again anyway?”

“He is handsome,” said another mouse, “and would make a very capable husband.”

“Please don’t make this weird,” said Devon.

“Husband! Husband! Husband!” the crowd resumed shouting.

Rimsleydale clapped his little hands. “Enough! Bring the giant to the great chamber. We shall have a feast! Bring us… wait a moment, giant person, what exactly do you eat?”

Devon sighed. He might as well make the best of this situation now. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll uber eats something.”

#g/t #g/t writing #g/t july #giant/tiny #size difference #agke microfic #sfw gt #i stay silly

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jungle-angel · 2 years

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Pls

10. Cats in the basket by the fireplace

With Bob! From tgm!

Maybe even some black cats?

EEEEEEEEEEEKKKKK!!!!! I'm screamin babes!!! Cat!Dad Bob and literal Daddy!Bob are running like crazy through my brain right now

Bozeman, MT

November, 2022

The fire crackled away in the fireplace of the big log cabin you and Bob had built on the land you owned in Montana, the blizzard already howling outside and pelting the windows with snow.

Right next to the fireplace was the basket where the cats all slept at night. Beau, the big Maine Coon, had a bad habit of pissing Bob off with the dead birds and mice he'd leave near the kitchen door, but on nights like this, he was one of the best footwarmers you and Bob had ever asked for.

Maisie was the white Angora with mismatched eyes, one blue and another green, the queen of the pack who curled up in your lap and purred every night after dinner. You and Bob had been to a friend's graduation from the Naval Academy in Maryland and had found Maisie cowering under a mailbox on the streetcorner. Ever since then, Maisie was yours.

Oliver was a little orange tabby cat who had been found in almost the same way, a bedraggled kitten in a rained out box on the streets. Bob had found him on a walk one night and had stuck him inside his hoodie, bringing him home to you. Every time you watched "Oliver and Company" after that, you and Bob were practically in tears.

Thunder was the slinky little Siamese cat that had wandered onto the property, a beautiful little kitty with a shiny cream colored coat, ashy, black markings on her face, paws and tail and GINORMOUS blue eyes that reminded you almost of Bob's. Some days you looked at her and swore she was a queen's cat in a past life.

Jiji and Salem were the last two to join the clan, the blackest cats with the greenest eyes you had ever seen. Once you had gotten the ever living shit scared out of you when you saw Jiji's eyes at night, lurking in the halls. You and Bob had a long running joke about how you could never get either of them to fly right on a broomstick.

"Ok buddy, ok," Bob murmured to the wriggling newborn in his arms. "You're gonna meet some furry friends of Momma and Daddy's."

Bob crouched low to the ground and sure enough, the cats came right to him, hesitantly at first but the sight of a new little human filled them with curiosity.

"He'll be ok if they start licking him right?" you chuckled.

"Counting on the fact that at least all of them have woken up at some point or another in his crib," Bob said.

Each of the cats got a sniff or two in before Bob was able to get to his feet and stand up right. The three of you moved to the couch where you snuggled close together, your son letting out a tiny little coo before the cats began climbing all over.

"Thank God your mom and dad took Teeter for the winter," you said. "He'd chase the cats all the way to the attic if he got the chance."

Bob laughed a little bit at the thought that sprang into his mind. Once the cats had settled in, you and Bob did the same, warming yourselves close to the fire while the blizzard howled away outside.

#top gun maverick #robert bob floyd #bob floyd x reader #tgm prompts #top gun maverick shortfics

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tumblrthumping · 3 years

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#brand new sentence #your mind wanders like a cat looking for mice

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arachine · 2 years

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– 𝐟𝐢𝐱𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

+ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: steve harrington x hybrid! fem! reader

+ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: mature

+ 𝐜𝐰: dark content, hybrid!reader, reader w/ oral fixation, oral sex (m receiving), very tame face fucking, mentions of gagging & choking, female masturbation, cum swallowing, dacryphilia (kinda), biting, bunting (basically when cats mark you with their scent), explicit language, a little angsty but i swear i didn’t mean to !!

+ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this was a request for kitty!reader having an oral fixation and how’d they prevent it but i got carried away and did my own thing…sorry (not really) + everyone pls thank my sweet baby angel @cocoamoonmalfoy for beta’ing this for me !! this shit was hot garbage before lol :3

+ 𝐰𝐜: 3.5k

+ 𝐝𝐭: my lovelies @snowflakeicicles @ringpop-poppy

trying to control your oral fixation was probably the most difficult thing they ever had to endure in their lives—apart from, you know, saving the world from man-eating monsters, battling evil scientists, and fighting crazy russians—but they still somehow managed to lessen the severity of it.

at first, when it was really bad, you’d nip at almost everything. clothes, shoes, the legs of a table, hands—fingers, especially fingers. those were your favorite to play with. it had gotten to the point where their hands would be absolutely littered in cuts and scratches, and it had become quite troublesome having to explain to their parents how they had gotten them.

so, that’s when they took it upon themselves to invest in some toys. they tried feathers, stuffed animals, fake mice, lasers, balls of yarn—but nothing seemed to ever work. eventually, they’d settle on just indulging you, coming up with more lies, more excuses, more nonsense to silence their parents’ ever-growing curiosity.

“you’re trouble, you know that?” mike scolds, running his fingers over your silky coat. you merely purr in response, the tip of your tail swaying side to side as you continue to suck, bite, and rough up his digits.

“thank god it’s steve’s turn tonight,” he throws his head back against the couch, “because i don’t think my hands can take anymore of this torture.”

“yeah, my mom thinks i’m getting into fights,” dustin pipes, “i mean come on, look at this face. does this look like the kinda face to be getting into fights?”

that’s right, it was steve’s turn today. your favorite chew toy, how could you forget? your mind wanders back to the last time you stayed at his house. how you’d played, slept, cuddled—kissed…and how he’d let you nip and suck on other places, too. just thinking about it was enough to trigger your human form, skin and flesh appearing in mike’s lap.

“mike, mike, when will steve be here!?” you beam, pouncing on his chest. unintentionally, you pierces him with the tip of your claws, the excitement of seeing steve rendering your brain to complete and utter mush.

“jesus, you just poked me,” the boy rubs his chest, “and why are you so excited to see him anyway?” there’s a beat. silence. it was a simple question, actually. could be answered with a ‘no reason’ or a ‘just excited ’s all’—but you choke, and mike finds this strange. odd. he takes notice of the way you avoid meeting his eyes, a tell-tale sign that you were hiding something, but before he can ask about it, heavy feet make their way down the stairs.

“hey, guys.” everyone averts their attention to where the voice is coming from, a chorus of tepid ‘hey’s filling the room.

there it was, that familiar scent. the one that belonged to…

“steve!” you leap from mike’s lap to embrace the brunet, wrapping the length of your legs around his torso. his hands settle on the curve of your lower back, and he smooths over the area soothingly, a soft expression gracing his face.

“ready to go?” you nod enthusiastically, ears shooting up with a quick flutter.

“alright, you know the drill,” steve points to his backpack, gesturing for you to transform and slip inside.

the drive to steve’s is quiet. and it’s even quieter as the two of you trek and traverse through the house and up the stairs to his room. the only time there’s anything but silence is when steve utters a ‘watch your step’, followed by the eerie sound of the wooden floorboards creaking and cracking under weight.

“just us?” you query, falling into step behind him as you enter his bedroom. the door creates a faint draft, and immediately, your nose is flooded with his scent—it’s strong, intense, pleasant. you can smell him everywhere.

“yeahhh, just us.”

nobody’s home, just like all the other times. you never really poked or prodded, but kind of gathered that this wasn’t unusual for him growing up. coming to his house was always a drastic change in environment, it was just so much different than all the others—which was probably because they were kids, and had siblings of their own, and parents who liked them. silence and tranquility was not something they had the privilege of knowing.

steve didn’t mind it, though. actually, he preferred it. with his dad frequently away for work, and his mother accompanying him, it more often than not, left him with an empty house—an empty house that provided him ample opportunity to do whatever the hell he wanted…which sometimes allowed for drinking, throwing parties, and well, bringing home girls. but more specifically, bringing home you.

“blew out the main light, so it’s a little dark in here, sorry about that,” his fingers point up. he ambles over to his desk to turn on the lamp sitting atop it. it’s tiny and only illuminates a portion of the room, but it’s enough to just barely make out the wanes and curves of his face.

your eyes follow him intently as he moves from one corner of the room to another, a piece of his uniform falling to the floor with every step, creating a trail towards his dresser. he’d always changed in front of you, never thought anything about it. and you never thought anything about it either—that is, until recently.

steve had always been just steve. the one who doted on you, the one who tended to your wounds, the one who dedicated almost (if not all) of his time to ensure that you were well and taken care of. but now? now it was different, and you couldn’t quite articulate why.

bare skin was just skin, and limbs were just limbs, but the sight of steve’s chest and abdomen perfectly outlined by the golden dim of the light, was making your stomach all knotted up. it felt like the feeling you got when you played with the others; when you laughed, and cuddled, and kissed them—but it was more intense, scary. in the way that you’d hoped he only ever did this with you—and no one else.

“what is it?” he raises a suspicious brow. you don’t answer. instead, you let your feet trudge across the carpeted floor until you stand in front of him, until you’re so close, he can feel the heat of your breath fan his face.

you stand there, studying him, trailing your claws lightly over the places his abs concave and dip. he doesn’t know what you’re doing at first, just gazes down to where you stand before him, a look of perplexity etched into the crinkles between his brows.

your hand wanders lower, and the boy releases a deep exhale through his nose. you can hear the pace of his heart quicken as you run your fingers through the trail of hair that starts at his navel and disappears under his briefs. experimentally, you ghost your hand over the bulge in his underwear, looking up to him with inquisitive eyes before placing a firm palm on his front.

he swallows thickly this time, holds the spit in the cavity of his throat, and it burns as it trickles down. you had not the slightest clue what you did to him—the effect you had on people. he wonders if you think this is a game, if the things you do when you’re alone are fully of your own volition—if you actually feel the way he does. and you have to, right? a part of him wants to believe it, that your heart beats for him the way his does for you.

“stevie…” his heart squeezes, and his eyes soften. god, you were the very incarnation of calamity, the thing that started wars and killed many a men.

“yeah?” his voice is breathy, wanting. his eyes flicker across the expanse of your face, stopping briefly to glance down at your lips, then back up to your eyes.

letting your impatience guide you, you pull him down by the shoulders and kiss him. it’s unrhythmic, inexperienced, and wet but he doesn’t pull away. instead, he melts into it. lets you explore his mouth, and peck at the plush of his lips. lets you taste him with your tongue, and run your teeth over the crevice of his neck, watching with bated breath as you go down, down, down…

“slow down there, kitty,” steve jests, “what’s the rush?”

what’s the rush? doesn’t he know that you waited all day for him? to play with him, touch him—taste him? to see him twitch and writhe as you work him with your hands, tongue, and mouth? to hear him call you a good girl—his pretty girl?

“been waiting for you all day, stevie,” you confess, rubbing your cheek against his crotch. it’s so warm, you can practically feel the heat seeping through the fabric of his briefs, and the groan that emits from his throat makes your ears flutter. you wanna hear it again, and again, and...

“all day, hm?”

“all day, everyday. you’re all i think about,” your hands find the elastic of his briefs, “my favorite chew toy.”

steve scoffs at this, because of fucking course. how could he ever be so stupid to believe that you felt the same way he did? he has half a mind to pull you off of him and let all of this, whatever this was, end here. but the other half wants to continue, wants to see the tears stream from your eyes and coalesce at the base of your chin because he’s too big—too much. he wants to be selfish, wants to hear the sounds you make when you choke and gag around the thickness of his cock, feelings be damned.

“figured as much…hey, we should—you should stop,” his hand reaches to push you away but your tail wraps around his wrist, halting his movements.

“no!” a beat. a transient silence that feels almost deafening, just eyes staring back into eyes, hearts thumping unruly. he’s taken aback by your outburst, doesn’t seem to catch the glass-like droplet ribboning down the fat of your cheek.

your eyes depart from his face and fix themselves on the floor, ears following not too far behind with a sad flop. he only picks up on your dejection when you open your mouth to speak and the words come out in a tremble.

“’s not like that…you…you’re different. this is different,” you confess, “you make my stomach feel fuzzy and my head all dizzy! ’s not like that with the others…” the brunet doesn’t know what to say; actually, he does, he’d been fantasizing about this day for as long as he could remember, but the words leave him the second you tilt your head up jut those pretty little lips. he wants to kiss the pout off of you.

“really?”

“mhm, you’re special t’me, stevie. i wanna show you.” your fingers hook under the elastic of his underwear, and you pull it down teasingly, eyeing him as you take the flesh into your hand. “can i…?”

“fuck, yeah, yeah. ’s all yours.”

with a purr, you lean forward and leave a soft kiss on the tip of his cock, flicking your tongue over the spot before taking him into the heat of your mouth. you love this, you think. love seeing the expressions you can pull from him, love seeing how pliant he becomes in the palm of your hand, and the honey sweet praises he mutters only for you. it makes you feel useful, to be able to make him feel good, and take care of him like all the countless times he’s taken care of you.

you’d been waiting to hear these sounds all week, the sharp intakes of breath, the heavy breathing, the drawn groans and expletives. so much so, that you’d find your hands wandering down into your pajama shorts many a nights, thoughts of the boy before you, and how it’d feel for his hands, mouth, fingers to be on you—and how it’d feel for his fingers to stuff your little cunt full.

yeah, you’d spent many nights like that in the dark of mike’s basement, sweaty and fucked out as you brought yourself to climax over, and over, and over. the thought alone had your panties sodden with slick, and you could feel it begin to pool and settle. you were so unbearably wet, so touch-starved, you needed to feel some sort of relief. and right now, your hand was the closest thing to provide that.

steve watches with wide eyes as your fingers dip down the waistband of your skirt, and into the confines of your panties. the tips of your digits roll the nub of flesh first, then gather at your core before sheathing themselves inside. a series of moans vacate your throat and vibrate around him, coaxing him to press a firm hand to the back of your head. teasingly, you do it again, humming beguilingly to get him to replicate the reaction.

“shit,” he drawls, placing emphasis on the ’t’, “feels so good, kitty.” your tail wiggles in response to the honest adulation, and so, you take him deeper, using the back of his thighs to force yourself down.

he’s big. thick. and the stretch that comes along with taking him in your mouth is always a plaguing reminder. but you don’t mind it too much, you like when he’s all deep down there, and you can feel the tip of him hot and heavy in the back of your throat. it always makes you gag, and choke, and sometimes your eyes get too cloudy with tears to the point you can’t see, but it’s worth it. it’s worth it because every time, without fail, he calls you—

“good girl.” that. he calls you that. his ‘good girl’, not ‘kitty’ or ‘good kitty’—but girl. makes you feel all high and mighty, like you’re one of the others, like he sees you as something else other than just a hybrid that he’s been saddled with the burden of caring for. you know he loves you, at least you think he does. he hasn’t right out said it, but judging by his disposition earlier, you couldn’t be too far off.

you keep your nose pressed into the skin of his pelvis until you physically can’t, pulling off of him with a loud pop. your cheek is wet with tears, and your chin is slick with spit, the two coalescing at the apex into a sticky mess.

the sight makes him twitch in your hand, because this is what he’s been thinking about all day. this was his selfish wish, to see you below him with this expression. eyes all doe-eyed and desperate, hands still working yourself to orgasm. he can’t help but to reach out and rub the callused pad of his thumb over your parting lips, pressing the salty digit flat against your tongue, and retreating it in the same breath to hook it around your cheek. he adores you.

“i lo—“ a pause, hesitance. your ears perk up. “you’re so pretty, y'know that?”

oh. you feel like a dagger dipped in poison just punctured your heart and cut it into smithereens. it hurts, terribly so, but you brush the disappointment off of your face before he can notice and reacquaint yourself with his cock, stroking the length of him languidly, then increasing your pace, going back and forth between the two speeds.

even if he doesn’t say it, those three silly words, the ones you so desperately want him to say—to you and no one else—you think you’ll be fine. all you care about in the moment is making him feel good, making sure that your spot as his girl, his good girl, is solidified and impenetrable. that when another girl goes down on him, they taste you. smell you.

“wanna taste you, mmf. gimme something, stevie.” your eyes flicker up to his, hand still pumping slowly inside your kitten cunt, jaw slack and waiting. fuck, you were so unbelievable. such a sweet little thing, but if he didn’t know any better, he’d think you were one of those high school sluts he brought in and out of here during his ‘king of hawkins’ phase.

“jesus, lemme use ya,” he hisses, hands already coming down to rest on the sides of your head. “can i?” you nod your head, relaxing the column of your throat so that he can slip in and out with ease. the first thrust is experimental, slow. like he’s testing the waters. then, he does it again, pulls all the way out until only the mushroomy head of his cock is sheathed inside.

all you can do is kneel there, breathe in and out through your nose while he builds up a steady rhythm. he decides now that he’s never gonna fuck another girl after you. because how could he? you were his, mouth molded only for him. heart beating only for him.

nothing or nobody could ever compare after you, and he wishes he could boast to the world about how good you are for him, and how much he loves you, but he could never do that, not without consequences. he wants to keep you all to himself, away from evil, and anyone who’d ever inflict harm onto you.

a string of profanities leave his lips. he’s close, and you can tell by the way he begins to fuck into your face with unparalleled ferocity. to guide him there, you begin to hollow your cheeks and narrow your throat, using a single hand to massage and pet his balls.

yeah, he was gonna cum, could practically feel the white hot liquid traveling up from his balls and to his shaft. he can feel you start to get antsy, and when you start to scratch and claw at his thighs for air, that does it for him. with a final, lazy thrust, he releases the entirety of his load down your throat, keeping you pressed down on him until he’s sure every last drop has been emptied into your mouth.

you push off of him so that you can swallow it down properly. it’s thick, and much warmer than what you can remember from last time, but swallow it. and when you do, a proud, cheshire grin creeps onto your face. before you stand up, you kiss the inside of his thigh, then bite down onto it, leaving a mark. a reminder.

“i love you.” steve’s mouth moves on its own accord. and at first, he’s not even sure if he said it, but then he sees your little ears flutter, signaling that you did, in fact, hear his untimely confession of love. panic starts to set in, but then you rise from your knees and pounce on him, the two of you stumbling back into his unmade bed.

“say it again, stevie,” the pupils of your eyes widen into saucers, tail swaying side to side as you hold your breath in pure, unfettered anticipation.

“i love you, kitty. and not in that way.” he starts, choosing his words carefully, “…in the way that nance and jonathan love each other, and hopper and joyce. understand?”

your lips part to speak, to reciprocate his feelings, but your excitement is so uncontrollable that you end up biting down into his shoulder. the boy soothes the affliction and mouths an ow before breaking into a fit of laughter.

“not sure what to make of that, is it something good?” steve smirks coyly.

“yeah, ’s good,” your head finds solace in the barrow of his neck. “i…i love you, too. always have. meant it when i said you’re special to me, stevie.”

for a brief second, time seems to stand still, and the only way steve knows how to respond is with a kiss. a slow, passionate, sweet kiss that he pours the pining, desperation and patience of two years into, just hoping that you receive the message.

and you do. loud and clear. you rub the skin of your neck against his, and you do it until every last pore on body is touched by your scent. until you can’t smell him from you, and you from him.

“what’re you doing,” he chuckles, encasing you into a bear hug.

“’s nothing, don’t worry about it!” you lie, but he knows. you left your mark. he was yours, and you were his.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x you smut #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x y/n smut #steve harrington x black reader #steve harrington x black reader smut #stranger things x reader #stranger things x reader smut #stranger things smut #dark.content

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peterman-spideyparker · 2 years

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happy 2k my love <3

[ APPROACHED ] our muses haven’t been intimate yet and sender finally broaches the subject to receiver // with matt murdock.

Okay, but not me blushing over here for the first of many smutty requests👀👀 Love you, Rhi💜🥰💜🥰💜🥰

Embrace it (Matt Murdock x Reader)

“This, this is why you are my favorite,” Matt says as he opens the door for you.

“Not for the late night patch ups or the melodic sound of my voice?” you tease before he places a hand on your waist and pulls you in for a kiss.

“Those are perks, too,” he smirks before his hand gently guides you into his place, closing the door behind him as you toe off your shoes.

“All I have to say is is that everything would have been warmer if you had told me your late night was at your place instead of the office. We’re gonna have to pop this in the microwave.” You help Matt unpack the takeaway in the kitchen and potion it out into plates, your movements comfortable around one another as you warm up the food. “Hey, how come it is just you working on this case tonight? Isn’t it a big one?”

“Yeah, but it’s Foggy and Marci’s anniversary tonight, and Karen has to meet her deadline at the Bulletin.”

“Well, at least now you’re not alone,” you say with a soft smile, one that Matt always seems to know how to meet and return. “Do you think you can take a break for a little? We can have us our own little date night. I can say something that makes something clink in your brain and then I basically win your case for you. You know, like in movies.”

“Because this is clearly a movie.”

“Okay,” you say, dragging out the vowel. “Or, I just get to sit and chat with my boyfriend.”

“I like that,” Matt says with a smile, leaning in for a kiss while one of his hands opens the microwave door before it can beep. Once your dinners are warmed up, we make your way to his couch, situating your bodies to face one another while you eat and talk about anything and everything you can think of.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” Matt says, taking a swig of his beer.

“I only wish,” you sigh with a dramatic flop of your head. “I don’t even know how the cat go in the vent! It looked like something out of an NBC comedy when it fell down on the conference table. I actually kinda wish that they didn’t take it to the shelter—don’t you guys still have that mice problem?”

“Firstly, it was rats—.”

“That’s not any better, babe.”

“—secondly, we’ve been seven months since our last incident—.”

“That’s not terribly reassuring.”

“—and thirdly,” he chuckles. “Foggy is allergic to cats.”

“That’s what allergy shots are for!” you laugh.

“I think you missed your calling as a lawyer, angel.”

“Trust me, you wouldn’t want that to be a reality.” Putting down your plate, you take a sip of your own drink, your action being halted halfway through by your cell. Picking up the phone, you see Foggy’s name light up on the screen. But Matt said he was on an anniversary date . . .?

“Hell—aah!” you screech as you pick up and immediately hang up, throwing your phone across the living room.

“Were they—?” Matt asks, his super hearing clearly having picked up on what Foggy and Marci were doing on the other end.

“Uh huh,” you say, covering your face in your hands, mortified. “I need to go cut off my ear and boil it in bleach.”

Matt laughs as you cover your face in embarrassment at what you just heard. As you begin to calm down, your brain decides to wander a bit. Matt and you have been together for a while now—why haven’t you taken the next step? You know he has had a reputation in the past for being a little more on the promiscuous side, but he’s never tried to take it any further with you.

“You okay, angel?” Matt asks, putting a hand on your forearm.

“Oh, um, yeah,” you manage, running your hand down your face, trying to regain your composure.

“You know I can tell when you’re lying.” He moves to put his plate down and gives his attention fully to you. “What’s on your mind?”

“Well,” you start, not entirely sure how to phrase this. “We’ve been together for a while, and I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.” A big, soft, tender smile pulls at his lips, making his eyes crinkle in the corners and your heart skip a beat. “I just . . . I mean, well, w-we haven’t um . . .” Why can’t you just say it? Why haven’t we had sex yet? It’s not that hard to say! You shouldn’t be embarrassed to say it. “We haven’t been . . . intimate yet,” you finish, your cheeks burning hot with embarrassment that you even brought it up.

“Oh,” Matt says softly, clearly not expecting that.

“No, I shouldn’t have brought it up—.”

“(Y/N)—.”

“No, i-it’s fine, I—.”

“I-I want to,” Matt sputters out, the tips of his ears matching the same rosy hue that graces his cheeks. “I do, I just . . .”

His words falter on his tongue, suddenly unsure of how to say what is on his mind. You take his hand in yours, gently rubbing your thumb back and forth over one of the only unbruised knuckles on his hand.

“(Y/N), I really, really care about you, and you deserve the world.” He swallows hard, and you can see his Adam’s apple bob under the stubble that trails down his neck. “If I . . . if we cross that line and something happens to me out there—.”

“Matt, hey, c’mere,” you breathe as you pull him in tightly for a hug, relishing in the feeling of his chest against yours as your fingers run through his hair to soothe him. You mentally chastise yourself. He constantly puts himself on the line, and with such a big heart, of course he’s worried about how that could affect the two of you. “It’s okay. Don’t think like that.”

“But I have to,” he whispers into your neck, his voice small.

Pulling back, you move just enough so you can rest your forehead on his, letting him feel you.

“You are the bravest, smartest, most caring man that I know,” you tell him softly. “You know what to do in the courtroom, and you know what to do out there at night. And every night, I know you’re gonna return And I will always be here waiting for you. Don’t live in that fear, Matt. That’s not living. Embrace what you have, and don't look back.”

Matt brushes his nose against your own before he slowly moves his lips to yours. His soft lips are still against yours for a moment, but they begin to move when he wraps his arms around you and holds you close. Matt lets out a soft groan as he presses a kiss deeper against your lips. His strong, calloused hands carefully move down your back, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Through all the sensations that he brings to your body, you have to break the kiss, letting out quick shutters of pure euphoria against his mouth. Matt bunches up the fabric of your shirt at the hem, silently begging permission to do what you have waited so long for him to attempt. You give Matt a series of short, quick nods, knowing that he can pick up on the affirmative motions. The fabric soon leaves your body, your arms raising above your head as soon as you feel him pull it up.

Once tossed aside, Matt holds you incredibly close to his body, forgetting about his paperwork and your dinners as he lifts you from the couch and into his bedroom. Once he lays you down, you become a prisoner in a divine cell, his silk sheets below you and his warm, hard body up above. Matt pulls his pink, swollen lips from yours, pressing a smattering of kisses along your neck and chest like a beautiful assortment of freckles. You move your hands to unbutton his shirt, and Matt quickly assists, harshly tearing the cotton-blend open and sending buttons across the floor. Your hands slide over his exposed skin like it’s second nature, taking time to feel the dips and curves of his muscles and scars. Even though you’ve felt his chest before when patching him up, there’s something about the way yours hands move against him that is so incredibly different and absolutely divine.

“Tell me what you need, angel,” he says breathlessly, his lips infatuated with your body as his rough, calloused fingers move along the seam of your underwear. “Tell me what you need.”

“Please, Matt,” you breathe as you press kisses down his chest. Fuck, he looks like an angel in the neon light that streams in from the giant billboard outside of his apartment. “I just need to feel you. I just need you.”

Before Matt can work to rid your body of the rest of its clothes, he get up off from the mattress and makes quick work of his slacks and boxers. He then leans forward to his bedside table, rummaging around.

“Hey, hey,” you breathe as you gently take hold of his wrist, moving his hand to caress your face. “I just want you.”

“But—.”

“Birth control,” you explain.

Matt just stands, his chest panting up and down, his pupils blown so wide you can hardly see the his beautiful irises.

“I just want to feel you, Matt,” you say softly.

He licks his lips and swallows before moving back over you, kissing you deeply as his hands wrap around your back and his hard cock presses against your folds. Matt’s deft fingers quickly remove the remaining soft fabric of your bra, flinging it behind him.

“Are you sure, angel?” he whispers in your ear, pressing a kiss just below on the juncture of your neck while his hands smooth down your hair.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything, Matt,” you assure him.

With a big smile, he brings his lips back to yours once more, discarding your panties before he slowly pushes into you. You whine as you work to stretch around him, but Matt’s tender pace maximizes every ounce of pleasure, emphasizing the love in your bodily interaction. Your soft moans fill the room in perfect harmony, your fingers lacing together as he bottoms out. He remains still inside of you, letting you get used to his size and bask in your embrace. Matt smatters kisses all over your face, the lingering embraces following your bone structure.

“You feel like heaven, angel,” he breathes into your hair as you move down to kiss his shoulder.

“Matty,” you breathe, your brain hazy with nothing but him. “I-I need you to move. Please.”

He kisses your face a few more times before you feel the slow drag of his hips. Your eyes flutter shut as you feel him virtually pull all of the way out, except for the tip. A moan falls from your lips as he pushes back in, the absolutely profuse wetness between your legs adding a new layer to your erotic soundtrack.

“You feel so good for me,” he grunts as he continues his ministrations, his nose tracing yours as he presses soft kisses to your lips. “So good for me.”

“Matt,” you breathe. “Oh, fu—Just like that, just like that.”

Matt works to keep a steady pace, hitting exactly where you need him. Once you hook a leg around his waist, it spurs him on, encouraging him to go faster at a deeper angle. Your moans become more frequent with your altered position and his fastened pace, the bliss he brings you only increased by the way his lips begin to worship the supple flesh of your breasts and the hand that snakes between your bodies.

Your whines become needy, begging him to keep on working you in every delicious way that he can.

“Oh, God,” Matt breathes as he picks up his pace even more, his hands tangling at the roots of your hair. “Angel, you’re so fucking good for me.”

“Matty,” you moan, burying your face into his neck while his pounds into you. “R-Right there. Oh, Matty, ooh.”

“I know, angel, I know you’re close. You’re doing so good for me.”

You swallow hard, pushing your head back into the soft pillow and arching your body into his, desperately trying to chase the feeling.

“Good girl,” Matt breathes. “Oh, such a good girl for me.” He removes his hand from your core, the slap of his hips against yours more than making up for the momentary loss in friction. “Cum for me, angel.”

Your eyes pinch shut and you cry out as your nails dig into Matt’s soft skin, decorating his beautiful flesh with little crescents. Matt holds onto you like his life depends on it, cumming not long after you begin to squeeze him like a vice. His grunts are muffled in your skin as he works through his high, his hips moving ever so slightly in with each pulse of his hot seed in you.

Matt’s lips meet yours in a state of pure bliss, letting you know with no words at all just how much he cares about you. You reciprocate, wrapping your arms around him and holding him close.

“I love you, (Y/N),” he murmurs.

A big smile pulls against your lips. “I love you too, Matt.”

With a few more lazy kisses, Matt slowly pulls out of you with a moan, and let out a breath at the emptiness that you now feel. To make up for it, you curl into the warmth of Matt’s chest.

“Let me clean you up, angel,” he mutters into your hair as he rests his lips on your head.

“Mm, not yet, Matty,” you hum as you snuggle down on him, listening to the inner workings of his body.

He lets out a low chuckle, pulling the blankets up and wrapping his arms around you to hold you securely to his chest, your legs tangled together. You press one more kiss into his soft skin, right above his heart, before you both drift off in each other’s embrace.

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casuallyimagining · 3 years

Text

Fix You (2)

hybrid!Min Yoongi x female!reader

Summary: When you take in a stray cat, you have no idea he’s secretly a hybrid trying to escape his past. Can you help him heal? Genre: hurt/comfort, angst, slow burn, fluff Word Count: 2,987 Rating: M Warnings (may not appear in every part): minor character is a dick to animals, mentions of a gun, main character injury (non-serious), discussion of physical abuse, emotional abuse, discussion of sexual abuse, discussion of self-harm

Notes: Banner by @birbdae; thanks to @voiceswithoutlips, @taetaesbaebaepsae, and @hoebii for editing this for me.

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When you woke up, the cat was nowhere to be found, and your pillow was missing. It was just your luck that the random cat you had saved would end up being a kleptomaniac. You sighed and began to get ready for your day. It wasn’t like you could do anything about it. The cat was probably scared and confused, and you couldn’t blame him for wanting to be comfortable.

As you passed your TV stand, you bent down to peer underneath it. Copper eyes stared back at you. You greeted the cat and his tail swished back and forth against the floor, annoyed. So he wasn’t into mornings, then.

Heading into the kitchen, you quickly made yourself a cup of coffee. If the cat wasn’t a morning person, then you would probably get along. You were an early riser, but that was mostly due to insomnia, not because you actually enjoyed being awake.

You brought him the rest of the chicken you had cut up the night before, prepared with his morning dose of the antibiotics. Laying down on the floor, you pushed the plate under the TV stand for him.

He sniffed at the chicken, eyes not leaving your face as he started to eat. His canines were long and pointy, you noticed, and if you paid attention when his mouth was closed, you could barely see the tip of the right one poking out from his lips.

“I’m going to go shopping today to get you some stuff.” The cat didn’t answer. Of course he didn’t. He was a cat. “I know you’re feeling better, but please try not to jump on stuff. You’ll hurt yourself more, and I really can’t afford another weekend trip to the vet.” His copper eyes seemed to soften at that for a moment before hardening back into a glare.

You weren’t sure what you did to make the cat constantly glare at you. Maybe he had a resting grouch face. Maybe he was just uncomfortable in his new surroundings. You hoped that, if nothing else, he would eventually warm up to you. All the pets you’d had in the past had opened up to you right away, although you supposed that was because they were babies when your family had adopted them. You’d never adopted an adult cat before.

“Eat up,” you told him before pushing yourself off the floor. “I’ll be back soon.”

The pet store was larger than you remembered it being. When you were a kid shopping with your mother for your pets, there were only a few departments in the store. There was, of course, sections for cats and dogs, as well as areas for fish, birds, reptiles, and small mammals. Now though, in addition to the old departments, there were additional sections for hybrids of all kinds--there was even a department dedicated to large and exotic hybrids like lions, panthers, giraffes, and elephants.

Hybrids weren’t a new species by any means, but it had only been in the past decade or so that people had fully started to embrace them in society. Before, shops that catered to hybrids were usually small and boutique--hybrids used to only be seen as pets or servants, and ones that lived without ownership were few and far between. But after fighting for and receiving the rights they deserved, hybrids had become more prevalent in society. There was even a hybrid serving in the president’s cabinet, and quite a few serving in other high-ranking government positions.

You wandered through the cat section of the pet store, unsure of what to buy. You had a couple toys in your cart--catnip mice and little springs and balls that had bells in them. You knew the cat was somehow going to act offended by them, but you reminded yourself that he’s a cat, and indoor cats needed something to stimulate their minds.

You also had put some cat shampoo in your cart. The cat was dirty, and you weren’t sure how much blood was going to be caked into his fur under the bandage, so you figured a bath was somewhere in his immediate future.

Sighing, you grabbed a bag of air-dried food. He would probably hate that, too, but you couldn’t keep feeding him raw chicken. For one thing, you couldn’t stand the feel of it, and the less you had to touch the raw meat, the better. But also, chicken was expensive, and while your job paid decently, you weren’t sure how well it could support an all-raw diet for the cat. This air-dried food was turkey and salmon, and would be the next closest thing to raw.

Eventually, you would probably end up getting the cat a cat tree, but you didn’t think it was a good idea right now. With his shoulder injury, he really shouldn’t be climbing or jumping, and a cat tree would only invite that more. So you left the aisle, even though they had a tree that had a little house you knew he would love to hide in.

Before checking out, you stopped by the little kiosk that sold ID tags and collars. You knew he would hate wearing a collar, but if he ever escaped, you wanted to know someone could return him to you. You would ask the vet about microchipping later, but for now, a collar would have to do. Looking at the options, you couldn’t help but laugh. Most of the plain collars were pink or had things like little butterflies on them. A few had bells, which you knew he would find absolutely repulsive, and a couple others had bowties. You considered a dark blue plaid one with a bowtie, but decided against it. As cute as he would look, you knew the cat would probably bite you if you went anywhere near him with it.

You settled on a collar covered in piano keys. It was the plainest one they had in stock that wasn’t bright pink. You grabbed a small, circular tag, too. He would hate it, but at least maybe if you picked the least offensive options, the cat would tolerate wearing a collar.

On the way home, you stopped and grabbed a coffee from the chain cafe down the street from your apartment. You were still a little tired, and when you got home, you were glad for the extra caffeine.

“I’m home, kitty!” you called into the seemingly empty apartment. You hadn’t really been expecting the cat to be anywhere out in the open, but a small part of you had hoped.

Walking into the kitchen, you deposited the couple bags from the pet store on the table. You couldn’t help but feel like something was off. Nothing was broken or in the wrong place that you could see from first glance, but the niggling feeling in the back of your mind wouldn’t go away. Something had been moved in your kitchen. Your mug from your coffee this morning was washed and sat in your drying rack, along with another cup that you had thought you put away and the dish from last night that you had used to feed the cat. You didn’t remember washing the dishes this morning, but you were still a little tired, so maybe you had and just forgot.

You didn’t see anything else out of the ordinary, so you let it go, choosing instead to go find your cat. As expected, you found him under the TV stand. He was panting as if he had just run under there from somewhere else in the house.

“You know you’re allowed to be in other rooms, right?” you asked him softly, pulling the empty plate out so you could take it to the kitchen. “You don’t have to run under here every time I come home.” Copper eyes met yours for a second, and you could see panic in them. Then you saw it. The bandage around his shoulder was gone.

Your brow furrowed in confusion. Dr. Jung’s assistant had wrapped it securely. He must have really been running around the house to not only loosen it, but to dislodge the bandage entirely.

“What were you doing while I was gone, dude?” you questioned. The cat looked terrified. His eyes were large as saucers, his ears flat against his head. His mouth was open in a silent hiss, his long canine teeth on full display. “Are you hurt?” That seemed to catch him off guard. “Are you still bleeding? Can I see?” You reached into your back pocket and pulled out your phone. “You don’t have to come out if you don’t want to,” you said softly, waving your phone in the dark. “But can you at least turn so I can see?”

It took you a second to realize that, again, you were talking to a cat. He wasn’t going to listen to you, despite how human his reactions to you seemed to be. In the second that it took you to remind yourself that your cat is, in fact, a cat, his demeanor changed. His ears were still pressed back against his head, but he seemed less agitated, more resigned. He crawled toward you slowly, the limp almost entirely gone.

When he was out from under the TV stand, he stood fully. You pushed yourself up so you could sit and examine him. As you reached for him, he backed away slightly. His copper eyes met yours for the briefest of seconds before they flicked away, focusing on the floor. He stood still and allowed you to scoop him up into your lap.

“It’s okay,” you soothed, scratching his head gently. “Let me just look at your shoulder.”

You ran your hand over the joint and he froze. For a second, you thought maybe he was going to bolt back under the TV stand. But he sat there stiffly, allowing you to feel for the bite marks and anything that might still be bleeding.

You found nothing. Not even a scab. The only signs of the dog attack yesterday were a ring of indents--scars, you presumed--that ran from his shoulder blades down to his chest and onto his leg. There was no way he had healed that fast.

But you didn’t say that. Instead, you smiled at him. “If you don’t want to wear the bandage any more, you don’t have to,” you said soothingly, scratching at the base of his ear. His copper eyes met yours, and you pulled away at the apprehension in them.

He stepped out of your lap as soon as your hand was away from him. You nodded once, smiling at him. “I’m going to go do some work, kitty. I’ll be in my office if you need anything.”

You were a researcher. Always had been. When you were looking for apartments in the city, you had created spreadsheets and pro/con lists and had spent weeks researching neighborhoods. And when you decided on the right neighborhood, you had debated floor plans, after weeks of second-guessing finally settling on the single floor, three bedroom, two bathroom with the decent sized kitchen and living room.

You hadn’t done any research before taking in the cat. You loved cats, had had several growing up. You knew enough about them to not need to do any research before committing to taking home the stray living near your parents’ house.

Maybe you should have.

Although you weren’t exactly sure how researching could have possibly prevented anything. You pushed it out of your mind, though, choosing instead to focus on your next work project.

Except you couldn’t focus. Your client was a hybrid-owned cafe just outside the city, and you were trying to design their menus. Normally, it wouldn’t take you long at all. They were great clients, and they had given you all the information you needed, but your mind kept drifting to the cat in your living room. You assumed he had crawled back under the TV stand. He seemed to be comfortable enough under there, although clearly he felt comfortable leaving the shadows when you weren’t home.

And then there was the problem of his name. You had no idea what to call him, but you were sure he had a name. Though how you’d figure it out, you had no idea.

You had wanted to watch this movie for months. It had appeared on streaming services around Christmastime, but it was now April, and you still hadn’t had the chance to watch it. You curled up on your sectional in the living room to watch it, a bowl of popcorn sitting beside you. You had turned the lights off in the living room, so the only major source of light was what was coming from the TV, and it was a fairly dark movie.

Though you were invested in the plot, you still scrolled through your phone, your attention divided between social media and what was happening on the television.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed a shadow moving under your TV stand. Your cat’s head poked out a second later, copper eyes watching you scroll through your social media. In another second, the rest of his body emerged from the shadows. You forced yourself to watch the movie. You didn’t want to freak him out by watching him. When you glanced back at where he had emerged, he was gone.

The movie was about halfway over when you noticed him again, slinking back into the living room from the hallway. Where he had gone, you had no idea. But he sat for a moment, staring at you from beside the wall. You had grabbed a blanket in the time that he had been gone. Your apartment tended to get chilly at night sometimes--it was old, and the insulation wasn’t the best--and you were a little cold.

Before you knew what was happening, he was up on the couch and in your lap, laying in the valley between your outstretched legs. He paused for a moment, copper eyes meeting yours as if gauging your reaction. In the dim light from the TV, you could see that hint of panic again, as if he was terrified you would shout or push him away. You smiled at him gently, resituating so more of your lap was available and going back to scrolling through your phone.

The cat was apparently satisfied with your reaction, because he readjusted himself, as well, curling up so he was taking up more real estate on your lap. You didn’t mind. His little body put off quite a lot of heat, and from what you could feel of him through the blanket, he was cold, too. Eventually, he settled in, his head rested against your leg beside your free hand, his tail flopped into the crook of your elbow, the tip flicking lightly back and forth.

After a moment, you felt him shift again, and you almost jumped when you felt his head press into your hand. It took you a second, and a few more tentative bumps from him, but you eventually opened your hand and allowed him to press his forehead into your palm. You rubbed your thumb gently over the soft fur of his cheek. He leaned into your touch and you could feel him relaxing. You heard the rumbles of a purr start to stutter in his chest. It wasn’t constant like other cats’--it sounded vaguely like popcorn, crackling and popping at random.

You sighed, resting one hand on his back and continuing to stroke his cheek. He stiffened for a moment and raised his head, wide eyes staring into your face, before he slowly started to relax again.

“I can’t keep calling you kitty,” you said softly when he was comfortable. He didn’t raise his head, but his ear swiveled in your direction to show he was paying attention. “And I’m terrible at names, so you’re going to have to figure out a way to tell me what yours is. Unless you want me to call you something ridiculous like Smudge or Shadow.” The cat grunted. Apparently he didn’t like those names, either. “I didn’t think so.”

Your attention returned to the movie, but you kept petting him. His stuttering purr resumed. He directed your hand by nudging it, up his head and down to his shoulder. He adjusted how he was laying so you could rub where the scars of yesterday’s bite marks were. You massaged the area gently, his purring increasing in volume.

His fur was soft and considerably less dirty than it had been that morning. If you concentrated, he smelled like your shampoo.

“I have to take some stuff back to the pet store tomorrow,” you said finally. “So you’ll have some time alone to do whatever.”

He froze, and despite the movie playing, it was quiet without his purring. His eyes were wide, and he hissed, but aside from his ears flattening, he didn’t move. He was scared--no, he was terrified.

It broke your heart.

“I’m not going to hurt you.” You kept your voice soft and even. “You can stay here for as long as you’d like. I want you to feel comfortable here.”

You sighed. You still felt a little weird talking so seriously with a cat, but his reactions confirmed what your research had told you. You had questions, and you were a little concerned about the logistics of everything, but you had started to come to terms with it.

Him smelling like your shampoo. The dishes being done. The stolen pillow and blanket. The things that were moved ever so slightly. The oddly appropriate reactions to what you were saying. How fast he had healed. Maybe you’d always known. Maybe that’s why you still talked to him like he was a person.

He was a person, more or less.

Your cat was a hybrid.

As always, your feedback is appreciated. Feel free to pop into my ask box with questions or thoughts about the series. I’d love to hear from you!

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Taglist: @min-yus, @melindagrace31, @shrimpmsg, @ghostkat23, @demcreeps, @ggsmashgg, @findingourtreasure, @20emma0, @springbean, @black-rose-29, @cuteipat, @agustneeds, @deeepvibes, @yzkyzkuniverse, @softbbyg0rl

#yoongi x reader #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi #hybrid yoongi #hybrid yoongi x reader #bts hybrid au #hybrid au #thebtswritersclub #yoongi hybrid au #hybrid bts #hybridyoongi #yoongi hybrid #yoongihybrid #yoongi angst #bts angst #min yoongi angst

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bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years

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What do you think everyone’s favourite animal is?

(Headcanon Masterlist) (Full Masterlist)

Hmm I've never really thought about it before, but let's have a go. Bear in mind none of this is based on facts or evidence, just my dumb brain😅

Merlin likes birds, and maybe that's ironic, but I feel like he's one of those people that birds just... land on; they're not scared of him at all. Robins, pigeons, crows, bigger things like ravens and hawks, they all just love him. And he loves them, maybe because he envies them a little bit? Everyone wants to know what it's like to fly, and birds just... do it, it's all they do. Once everything has settled and he goes out on dragon rides, with other people or not, he always makes Kilgharrah/Aithusa just glide around among the flocks of birds and it's his de-stress activity.

Arthur is a horse girl. No I will not elaborate.

I'm just kidding, of course I'll elaborate. He has a huge amount of respect for the horses he rides, he knows how hard they work, how brave they are, how hard it is to train them. He finds looking after them soothing, and he knows that if you respect a horse and treat it well, it will serve you well in return.

Gwaine came across river otters in his travels, and he never stops talking about how they're the coolest and cutest things he's ever seen (kinda like Merlin). Gwen sewed him an otter soft-toy she copied out of a book one year for his birthday and he almost cried. He just thinks they're neat.

I'm inclined to say that Percival is also a horse girl buuuuut. Man likes rats. He's a rat man. Or just rodents in general I guess, anytime the kitchens have a problem with mice they call Sir Percival in and he catches them and cleans them up and feeds them for a few days before taking them out into the meadows beyond the city walls to release them. It's always an emotional affair.

Leon is a dog person through and through!! Like birds are heavily pulled to Merlin, dogs are all over Leon. Maybe it's the shaggy hair, maybe it's the fact that he's basically a golden retriever in human form, but any and all dogs the gang come across IMMEDIATELY pull their owners over to play with Leon and the guy LOVES it. He looks after the hunting dogs even though he doesn’t have to, and the gang scrape together to get him a puppy one Christmas (they call it something stupid like Camelot, or Honour. Gwaine tries to call it Arthur the First (and better) but Lancelot said no) and he sobs.

Elyan likes snaaaaaakes. When travelling, he never stayed in one place too long except over winter, when he'd set up a temporary little forge in whatever village/town he found himself in. Or he'd help out at the local one in exchange for a bed. Either way he'd be holed up in a VERY warm building and they always had to be so careful because every pipe, every crate, every vent, every nook and cranny, would have sleepy little snakes in it if they weren't careful. He thinks they're really cool and clever and it also helps with intimidating arsehole clients if he has a snake coiled around his neck or wriggling in his hands.

Lancelot. Hmm. Yet another horse girl me thinks. But also cats. But the like... half feral outside cats that will occasionally wander into your home to sniff things and sit on things and generally be in the way, and then leave again. He's weirded out by them because they always seem like they know more than an animal should, but he thinks they're cool and regal looking. He nods respectfully at every cat he passes when with the others, but if unsupervised he will spend hours making smoochy smoochy noises to try and make friends with the local cats, all of whom completely ignore him.

Gaius also likes cats, but it's more of a respect thing? Cats know what they're about and they chase away rodents, that's all Gaius needs.

Gwen!!! Likes rabbits!!! Elyan's snakes always make her jump (she's not... scared of them, per se, but she's not overly fond) and Leon's dogs are just too... hyperactive, she can't be running around with a dog with the amount of fucking layers she has to wear as a woman. But bunnies are cute and fluffy and whenever Merlin finds one he always brings it to her for a quick snuggle before he takes it out into the fields again (how he keeps finding them in the city, Gwen has no clue).

Druids spend a lot of time in the woods, so I feel like Mordred has an adorable fascination with foxes or something. Urban foxes, the ones that sneak into the city at night to snatch babies and dig through rubbish, are horrible, but the timid country ones are amazing. So smart, and quiet, but they can get aggressive if you threaten their home. He just thinks they're really cool and he was bitterly disappointed to find that the ones that roam Camelot's cobbled streets after dark are... not friendly, they're just arseholes.

Homegirl Morgana like cats also, but house cats. You know, the really friendly, cuddly, affectionate ones. Cats kind of ignore Lancelot, despite his love, but they flock to Morgana no matter their original temperament. They're warm, and soft, but they have sharp claws, and Morgana appreciates that, especially when the cat Arthur snuck in to the castle for her when they were children would curl up on her pillow and purr when she had nightmares.

Behold!! My thoughts on something super random because you asked for it!!

Keep ‘em coming!!

(and if you send me romance/relationship based ones, give me a ship as well please, I don’t write reader inserts or anything close)

#headcanons #bbc merlin #animals #send asks #send requests #asks #requests #bbc merlin headcanons #favourite animals #everyones favourite animal #merlin

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endlich-allein · 3 years

Text

Interview with Till about his life: he fought with his father, killed his beloved dog, swam on a wild river and worked on suffering. How Till Lindemann's mind works

"I will finish you off" and why you fought for the German army.

Werner Lindemann wanders around the room, interrupting the silence with strange questions, writing something down. His motive is to get to know his son and make him a friend. But it's complicated. Generational conflict.

"My island of tranquility is shaken every day. The day before yesterday, a guy pulled on my socks because his were torn. Yesterday he didn't put out a single lamp in the house. Now, with voluptuous delight, he spits cherry pits into the cat's fur. Is this grown boy really an adult?"

The apprenticeship in Rostock, where you have to do window production after graduation, is the limit of boredom. Till Lindemann moved to his father in the countryside so that he could forget about the hustle and bustle of the city and not fall under the article for anti-social attitudes. He thought of a new life, in which there was no pointless work, and arranged an attic in his father's house.

In the mornings over coffee, he scolded life that everything went according to schedule. And listened very loudly to music - electronics and metal. My father didn't understand and grumbled: “I matured late. Naturally, I wanted to listen to the music I liked, but I could not get my hands on these records. For example, my father did not understand when I bought the Alice Cooper record for a month's salary.

Werner Lindemann was a children's writer who went through the war.

At the height of his career he disappeared for weeks on literary tours - his fame spread to teachers and librarians across the country. His father pecked at Lindemann for refusing to work and promised to turn him in:

"My willful child. What doesn't fit his standards is rejected as nonsense or crap." So he took a job as a carpenter, where he made shovel cuttings and cart wheels. The head foreman constantly drank vodka during the day, didn't want to be annoyed with questions and addressed the long-haired Lindemann with the nickname: "Mozart!" This suited him.

Werner Lindemann talked about war, hard existence and limitations. For example, about a grenade splinter that remained in his body. Lindemann did not believe in all these stories - but categorically did not accept service, war and murder:

“After that I objected: “I would hide, I would not go to war. Why did you even let yourself be dragged into this? You could have hidden."

And he said: “It didn't work out. They searched for it and it took away."

Then I said: “I would rather go under arrest. Never in my life, I would go to the front line to shoot people. It's against my nature. It would be better if I went to jail."

Much of the time father and son were simply silent, even while watching television.

"He regularly made me feel guilty, to say the least, he placed himself on a pedestal towards me: I shouldn't complain. At your age, I ran barefoot through the stubble, and in my stomach - a potato in a uniform."

The only acceptance is Mike Oldfield's music: "One day my father came to grumble again. At that moment I was listening to Mike Oldfield, and he sat down and said: "That sounds interesting."

For me it was like a quantum leap: my father sits in my room, listens to my music and thinks it was good. Probably because of melancholy. He was sitting in a rocking chair that I made myself - at the time I was working as a carpenter on a farm. I, too, always sat in an armchair, immersed myself in music and smoked hand-rolled cigarettes."

The conflict was intensified by a fight. Lindemann bought a Trabant car, installed speakers in it and tested the sound - loud as usual. “Then my father came and I had to turn off this fucking music. It was kind of loud for him. He was then fiddling around his cases of flowers, and then suddenly the situation escalated. I think he slapped me while I was still in the car.

He leaned toward me and hit me with the back of his hand. I made some bullshit remarks like, "Leave me alone," something like that. That was a provocation to him, and he said: "If you do that again, I'll hit you for real." And I said, "Then you'll get it back. Because you're crazy. Don't you dare to hit me anymore."

And then he hit me with his palm again. He wasn't controlling himself.

He was exalting himself. Instantly he introduced himself as a boxer - he had boxed in the Hitler Youth - and I just... I thought I didn't hit him, I just pushed him away. And then he stood in front of me again, "Come on, I'll finish you, you haven't got a chance!" Somehow. After that, he went up to the attic and threw all my stuff out the window.

It happened over the weekend, my sister was there, a lot of screaming, serious drama. Then I packed my things, put them in the car, went to a friend's house and never went into his house again. At first I lived with this friend, and a week later I bought myself a house in the village."

His father's book is about his son, which the son will only open up after the death of the father.

Lindemann is a late child. He was born when his father was 36. The gap in their relationship was felt in everyday life and perception of the world. Werner Lindemann woke up early in the morning, worked with the circular saw under the windows and did not understand when his son slept until noon after a working week.

Lindemann's parents then lived separately, but kept in touch. Mom worked as a journalist and discussed her texts with his father. "She still lived in Rostock and always came to see him only on weekends. Mostly on Sundays she came back quite early, because she couldn't stand the stress of being with him, either."

In 1988, the book “Mike Oldfield im Schaukelstuhl Notizen eines Vaters" In this book, Lindemann Senior describes the relationship with his son (whom he calls Timm in the book), who settled with him at the age of 18. The book was written in the 80s and laid on the table until the German Democratic Republic and the Federal Republic of Germany were reunited.

Werner Lindemann wanted his son to take up writing too. But this only amused him, although as a child he wrote poetry. At the age of 13, little Till Lindemann and his father were returning home along the bumpy road to Mecklenburg. They talked about career self-determination:

"You should already have thoughts about what you want to become, boy." My answer: "I don't know yet, maybe a fisherman on the high seas."

But immediately, no matter what I said, objections arose: “But then you have to get a certificate of maturity. But then you will be away all the time. But then you won't be able to start a relationship."

There was always a “but”.

At some point it got on my nerves, as usual. And I said: "Worst case scenario, I'll just become a writer.

I still remember how alienated his face became. "And what do you think then, what do I do! It's a very hard job! In fact, it's not even a job, it's a passion. And it's a job that's supposed to be enjoyable."

I said, "I don't know anybody who works with pleasure."

"Yeah, that's the problem. You have to look for a job that gives you pleasure." Then I say again, "But some people never get to choose..." This gigantic discussion happened because I didn't take his profession seriously. At the same time, he was completely lost, funny!"

Lindemann thoughtfully read his father's book, in which he comprehends their relationship, after his death. Faked for hidden anger and indecision. For example, in a situation where their dog Kurt was bitten by a fox. The father was frightened because of rabies: “At the same time, we did not even know whether he was bitten by a fox or not. The father immediately called the huntsman. But I said: no one will enter this courtyard and shoot the dog. I'll do it myself if I really need it. At some point I really had to kill the dog."

Lindemann is not a monster. The animals he fiddled with are an important attribute of childhood. He had an aquarium and hamsters, brought mice and rats home, and was friends with dogs. “Like many children of new buildings, he felt the need for someone alive, in need of love,” said Werner Lindemann. Sometimes the appearance of an animal in the house was surprising:

“This guy will never say what he's up to. He appears on the doorstep at the same time as me. He gets out from his vehicle, throws his coat open and puts a young black shepherd in my hands. "Your Christmas present!"

Till's father is speechless. My son stands before me like the sun's little brother. Touchingly concerned, he directs me into the house, working out a plan for the animal husbandry, accommodation and diet of our new pet housemate.

With confusion, a question flies from my lips, "Wheredid you get the dog from?" "Timm" is gibbering, "Imagine, the mason in the barnyard wanted to hang him, simply wanted to strangle him with a rope, said he was a worthless eater..."

Werner Lindemann died of stomach cancer in 1993, when his son was 30. They didn't finally reconcile, but Till visited him in his last days and was there for him with his mother: "They couldn't be without each other, even though they lived apart. Unreal, but my mother never had another man afterwards. To this day she can't let go of him."

- Not going to the Olympics in Moscow and ending up in the German ghetto

Lindemann had the knowledge and the potential to be a swimmer. And a shyness that pounded harder three days before the competition than concerts in front of crowds of thousands. "I know how difficult it is to develop willpower and stamina and instill those attributes. In the GDR this was instilled in us by coaches and so-called functionaries."

Lindemann came to swimming at the age of eight and devoted his entire youth to the sport. He would get up for training at five in the morning and pass out in the evening. His grandmother watched him from the stands. At a competition in Leipzig she shouted at the coach, who told Lindemann off for a poor result. The grandmother took the coach by the ear and said: "How do you talk to my grandson?"

Sports tightened up his upbringing and developed self-discipline. “Drilling - probably the boy has already received this experience as a swimmer,” Lindemann's father wrote. - Once he had to take second place in a competition, but by no means first place. Of course, he got carried away, forgot about it, became the first, thanks to which he received a shouting for indiscipline. And whenever he lost in the future, his coach would torture him at practice for a long time and yelled at him: "Even if you win, you're not a winner yet!"

Lindemann swam the 1.5 km freestyle and could have gone to the 1980 Olympics in Moscow. Everything was ruined when he left the hotel without permission during a competition in Florence: "I didn't want to run, but just wanted to look at the city. Cars, bikes, girls. I was caught and kicked out of the team, but then I didn't give the required results either."

Lindemann competed at the European Junior Championships, but did not go any higher. After the story in Florence, his career in sport slipped away. Perhaps an abdominal injury influenced his departure. Lindemann is gone, but he doesn't yearn: "I was relatively young. There were no good [memories] left. I was glad it was over."

"The hardest part was getting back to normal. I fell into a real hole. My home was no longer a sports school, but a ghetto in Rostock. Now I stood out through drinking and fighting. I used to be surrounded only by beautiful ladies who were interested in swimming. Now I had fierce women standing in front of me asking, "How come you don't drink?" When I was shy about approaching a girl, it was interpreted as: "Are you gay?"

Lindemann now works with a coach and swims a few kilometers before his tours to get in shape: "When I exercise, I feel a certain lightness - not only physically, but also mentally. I just feel better. The main problem is staying in shape. That's where self-discipline comes into play. Teeth grinding is important."

- Three weeks in the wild and loneliness as a creative tool

Emotionally, concerts = sports:

"How do I go on tour? Hungry. And happy. It is good to compare concerts with sport. You don't want to do both at first. You don't want to go on stage. You don't want to go to the pool. You don't want to go to the boxing ring. It all happens with reluctance. It has to be accepted somehow, that's life: spring, summer, fall, winter.

When it's done, winter's gone, the blooming begins, greenery appears, it gets bright, and you start to get a taste for it. When it's over, you feel happy. Then the body produces a sea of chemistry, a lot of happiness hormones. I think the body rewards itself."

The stage, like sports, is an embarrassment, but a necessity. Lindemann wore dark glasses in order to collect fewer views from the audience. Therefore, a couple of steps before the water, he looked at the pool with a shiver. You need to cope with yourself in order to open up to new emotions.

Lindemann's gut requires solitude and moderate solitude. This is the point:

“Loneliness is always good for a creative push - you drink a glass of wine and you feel even shitier. Art is not complete without suffering; art exists to compensate for suffering."

With his friend Joey Kelly, Lindemann spent three weeks on the Yukon River. They paddled through the wilderness in a kayak for eight to 10 hours each and lived in a tent. Lindemann didn't take a tape recorder with him, so he transferred the lyrics wandering in his head on paper.

They were catching inspiration and atmosphere:

"There were times when we wouldn't say a word for hours, but then: look there, look there! It was breathtakingly beautiful. These relatively fast-changing panoramas and skies, layers of clouds, the colors.

Except for a few bears and wolves, it's hard to see anyone else out there, it's exhilarating. Along the way we saw two hunters setting traps. No one else.

I grew up in the countryside, and I have a very strong connection to nature. I love fishing, hunting. It's an archaic experience that I like to revisit over and over again. When I'm in the city for too long, I start to miss it."

To recreate situations in the Yukon, Lindemann and Kelly trained for nine months on the Rhine river in Germany because of its liveliness.

"We went down the Rhine to where the transport ships create huge bow waves. If we hadn't had a coach with us, we probably would have been sunk by the side wave impact already during our first attempt," Lindemann said.

Together with Kelly, he had four sessions with two coaches and swam from Cologne to Koblenz [more than 100 kilometers by car]. Lindemann trained separately each week on the lakes in Mecklenburg. It's both physically challenging and savage identical to being natural.

In 2015, Till started his solo project Lindemann. On the album Skills In Pills, the song Yukon was released, in which the lyrics appeared first, and then the music.

- "My lyrics come from pain rather than desire."

The country boy is big and not much of a talker. That's how the Rammstein members saw him at the start, when they were hanging out at home. "He looked cool, like a big peasant talking one sentence an hour," keyboard player Christian "Flake" Lorenz recalled. - He always had food and vodka. He'd just steal a couple of ducks somewhere and cook them on a tray. And then, frozen like in Sleeping Beauty, there were people lying in corners and on trunks in his house."

Lindemann loves and appreciates home gatherings. This came from my father, who always had guests. “In my opinion, this is the little bit that I inherited from him. Throwing parties and gathering people. Throwing parties and getting people together. He just enjoyed being a good host. The house was always full of guests from Leipzig, from Rostock, foreign guests, even from Kazakhstan.

It was always exciting for him. He stood at the stove, cooked, bought an abundance of wine, and there was always a fire in the garden. At some point he stopped drinking, then he left the party at 21:00 and the whole company continued to feast. And in the morning he got up at four, cleaned and tidied up."

Till Lindemann is about self-digging, overcoming and childish shyness, which is covered by a pumped-up figure of a swimmer. This is how Lindemann decrypts himself:

• “And I really am like a big child - ill-mannered, but harmless. People think that I am always strong, explosive. This is not true. I am sensitive and easily hurt, but in love I am romantic and passionate."

• “At the very beginning, you sit somewhere in a dark room, open a bottle of wine and figure out how to make the lyrics popular with the music. At first you only have a vague idea of what it could be.

And when, three years after recording, mixing, and more mixing, developing the artwork, all this nonsense, then you stand on stage, and what you came up with then really works, when you manage to get 20 thousand people to raise their hands, then you experience incredible sensations."

• “Art is a kind of therapy.

When I feel that something is arising inside me, domineering and is most often dark, I need to give it a way out, otherwise it will simply crush me. So destruction and self-destruction are the two pillars on which my creativity is based.

But everyone chooses this for himself.

• “My lyrics arise from feelings and dreams, but still more from pain than by desire. I often have nightmares, and I wake up at night sweating, as I see terrible bloody scenes in my dreams. My lyrics are a kind of valve for the lava of feelings in my soul.

We are all struggling to hide behind good manners and outward decency, but in fact we are governed by instincts and feelings: hunger, thirst, horror, hatred, the desire for power and sex. Of course, there is also additional energy in us - this is love. Without it, all human feelings would fade away."

- "When you're constantly living someone else's life, it's very hard to get back into your own skin. I like that in principle, but sometimes you start to get confused - are you out of a role or not yet. You're already Till, or you're still a homicidal maniac."

- "I hate the noise. I hate the chatter. I expose myself to it, which is pure masochism. And then I have to protect myself from it. Noise makes you crazy. You die in it."

• “I think there is no God. And if he is and actually allows all the misfortunes on this earth, then he must punish me along with other sufferings. I will not pray to such a god."

This is how the members of Rammstein see Till - flexible and with a split personality:

Guitarist Paul Landers: "Till is so good that when you let him know that his lyrics should go in a different direction, the very next day he brings a new version of the song."

Guitarist Richard Kruspe: “He's a hell of an extreme man. He dives very deeply into situations where I cannot follow him. Everything he does is very extreme; I don't know anyone who does it. "

Drummer Christoph Schneider: "I would not want to be in Till's shoes: his soul is tormented by doubts and contradictions, he is equally a moralist and a monster."

June 1, 2021 - Translate by Lindemann Belgium

#very interesting #till's life #till is love 🖤#till lindemann #till 2021 #werner lindemann #flake lorenz #paul landers #christoph schneider #richard kruspe #oliver riedel #joey kelly #rammstein #t.lindemann #t.lindemann 2021

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l-anna-art · 4 years

Photo

Hide And Seek - Anima!AU

A new illustration with an extract, this time! There is the english version first, and I added the french one too :)

"Not a sound," Yagi whispered.

The blond held Izuku against the wall with a strong and firm grip despite his sickly appearance. Izuku stared at him with a frown, the incomprehension clearly visible on his face. Yagi didn't give him a look. He wasn't looking at anything specific, in fact. His eyes were just wide open, frozen, pupils dilated and his body was tense.

Attentive.

Clac.

Izuku's eyes widened. If the night had not been so silent and empty of life, the boy would never have heard the clicking of claws scraping the ground. A metallic, steady, quiet sound.

Clac.

It was much heavier than Renard's flowing step. It was also farther away, out of sight at the moment when Yagi had grabbed Izuku by the shirt to hide behind one of the low walls along the street.

Clac.

Izuku had not even noticed the presence. And as the tinkling became closer and closer, clearer and sharper, he could feel the excess energy swarming under his skin, becoming unstable and painful as his anxiety grew. He regretted that Renard had disappeared in the night, because there, right away, he terribly missed the comforting presence of his automaton. Nor did watch Yagi stand as still as a statue help to calm his mind, and he squirmed under its grip. The blond turned silently towards him, a finger on his lips as he stuck himself a little closer to the wall and brought Izuku closer to his chest.

There were still steps, and a grunt resounded behind the low wall decorated with bushes. The thing finally overtook them, revealing the amalgam of flesh and metal that formed its body. It was as tall as a horse, but much more massive, and the dark body glowed in the glow of the street lamps. The paws, made of steel and other materials that Izuku did not recognize, were probably as wide as the boy's silhouette, and he had no doubt that one blow would be enough to shred him.

"It's hunting us," one of the voices said. "This one has no sense of smell, but it has keen hearing. Silence."

Izuku wanted to ask what the hell was that thing, but just the idea of opening his mouth and being noticed twisted his insides in a painful way. He suddenly missed his bed. His bed and the warm, soft blankets. And hot chocolates too, with marshmallows and cream in excess.

He wasn't sure he'd get the chance to drink one again.

The monster raised its head and looked around, probing its surroundings. What must have been its ears stood straight and high on its head, and it stood there, motionless and silent, its iron tail flapping the air.

Deep down, in a visceral way, Izuku knew it. If that thing turned around, it would find them.

But there was little they could do, each sound threatening to reveal their presence. So they stood there, paralyzed like mice at the sight of a cat. Yagi looked straight ahead, breathing calmly despite the clamminess of his hands, and looked for something in one of his pockets. Izuku, on the other hand, had his hands glued to his mouth, reducing the sound of his breathing as much as possible as he closed his eyes.

A new growl - a mixture of low rumblings, clattering, and rales - emanated from the monster before it fatally began to rotate in their direction. Izuku felt tears streaming from the corner of his eyes as the fright lacerated his stomach, making him want to vomit.

They were dead. Izuku had always had bad luck and that wouldn't change tonight. Yagi, too weak to fight, would end up in pieces by something straight from hell, and Izuku would end up just as shredded in the corner. He pitied the poor passers-by who would discover their corpses in the early morning. If there was anything left of them.

There were still footsteps, rattling and scraping, closer and closer still, when suddenly the echo of a crate falling to the ground resounded in the night and startled him. The beast's head turned around, its neck twisted in a position that was anything but natural, and stared into the darkness in search of the source of the noise.

A moment passed without anything happening and then the duo, completely alert and motionless, watched the rest of the creature move to follow the alignment of its head that fixed one of the alleys.

A white lightning bolt leapted out of the shadows, three tails whipping the air as Renard faced the monster. The metal sparkled under the artificial light, and the gold bindings that covered its body captured the light and reflected it back. Izuku would have wanted to scream, panic and anxiety roaring in his veins. Renard was so small in comparison, tiny and frail in front of the creature.

All it would take is one bad move.

Yagi had to restrain the boy and put one hand over his mouth so he wouldn't ruin everything.

The creature was staring at Renard, motionless, one of its legs frozen above the ground. The body creaked and rattled as it bent forward. For a moment, the thing was standing about fifteen meters from the automaton. The next, it was on Renard and trying to push it to the ground with its claws and fangs out.

However, the automaton, although much smaller than the monster, remained agile and fast. It managed to free itself in a fluid movement, rolling on the ground and getting back on its feet. Then, before the dark creature moved again, the automaton hurried off into one of the adjacent alleys, the one opposite where the duo was.

The thing didn't waste a second and followed it, disappearing into the night as rumblings and screams echoed through the city.

Both remained motionless for a while, before Yagi finally decided to get up, looking around for anything abnormal. Izuku was still curled up on the floor, nervously playing with his shirt while his mind wandered about what was waiting for his automaton.

Renard was fast and hard to catch. It was also much smaller and could sneak everywhere, it would find a place inaccessible to the monster, right? It could always run and lose it somewhere, but could it find his way back? Izuku didn't know the city well, and he doubted that his automaton would do better. My God, what if it couldn't find it before leaving ? What if Renard got stuck here ? Yagi could understand and maybe delay the departure, but what if they couldn't find Renard ? They couldn't leave it here! Nor could he ask for information or help from anyone, they were wanted. And in broad daylight, his automaton would not really be the most discreet thing in these neighborhoods. Oh my God, what if the monster catches it anyway? What if it's not fast enough?

"Midoriya, you're rambling."

The boy blinked, suddenly out of his thoughts. Yagi had crouched down in front of him and gently shook his shoulder.

"Your fox is an intelligent beast. I'm sure it will find us," he said.

The blond offered him a smile.

This time, Izuku wasn't sure it was true.

"We shouldn't stay here," Yagi continued, looking again at the alley where the monster had disappeared. "These things never move alone."

"What exactly was that?" asked the greenette, his face still pale as he released a shiver.

The man stared at him with a sorry expression, before tapping his shoulder and helping him up.

"One of your father's experiments."

FRENCH VERSION ===============================

"Plus un bruit," murmura Yagi.

Le blond maintenait Izuku contre le mur, la poigne forte et ferme malgré son apparence maladive. Izuku le fixa avec un froncement de sourcil, l'incompréhension clairement visible sur son visage. Yagi ne lui accorda pas un regard. Il ne regardait rien de précis, en fait. Les yeux grands ouvert, figés, les pupilles dilatées et le corps tendu.

Attentif.

Clac.

Les yeux d'Izuku s'écarquillèrent. Si la nuit n'avais pas été si silencieuse et vide de vie, le garçon n'aurait jamais entendu le cliquetis des griffes raclant le sol. Un son métallique, régulier et tranquille.

Clac.

Il était bien plus pesant que le pas fluide de Renard. Il était aussi plus lointain, hors de vue au moment où Yagi avait saisit Izuku par la chemise pour se cacher derrière l'un des murets qui longeaient la rue.

Clac.

Izuku n'avait même pas remarqué la présence. Et alors que les tintements se faisaient de plus en plus proches, de plus en plus clairs et nets, il pouvait sentir le surplus d'énergie grouiller sous sa peau, devenant instable et douloureux à mesure que son anxiété grandissait. Il regrettait que Renard ait disparu dans la nuit, car là, tout de suite, la présence réconfortante de son automate lui manquait terriblement. Regarder Yagi se tenir aussi immobile qu'une statue n'aidait pas non plus à apaiser son esprit, et il se tortilla sous sa prise. Le blond se retourna en silence vers lui, un doigt sur ses lèvres alors qu'il se collait un peu plus contre le mur et rapprochait Izuku de sa poitrine.

Il y eu encore des pas, et un grognement résonna derrière le muret orné de buissons. La chose les dépassa enfin, dévoilant l'amalgame de chair et de métal que formait son corps. Le monstre était aussi grand qu'un cheval, mais bien plus massif, et le corps sombre luisait à la lueur des réverbères. Les pattes, faite d'acier et d'autres matériaux qu'Izuku ne reconnut pas, était probablement aussi large que la silhouette du garçon, et il ne douta pas une seconde qu'un coup suffise pour le déchiqueter.

"Il nous traque," lui intima une des voix. "Celui-ci n'a pas d'odorat, mais son ouïe est fine. Silence."

Izuku voulait demander ce que diable était ce truc à l'ouïe fine, mais rien que l'idée d'ouvrir la bouche et de se faire remarquer lui tordait les entrailles d'une manière douloureuse. Son lit lui manquait tout d'un coup. Son lit et les couvertures chaudes et douces. Et les tasses de chocolats chaud, aussi, avec des guimauves et de la crème à outrance.

Il n'était pas sûr d'avoir à nouveau la chance d'en boire un.

Le monstre releva la tête et observa les alentours, sondant son environnement. Les choses qui devait lui servir d'oreilles se tenaient droites et hautes sur sa tête, et il resta là, immobile et silencieux, la queue de fer battant l'air.

Au fond de lui, d'une manière viscérale, Izuku le savait. Si cette chose se retournait, elle les trouverait.

Mais ils ne pouvaient pas faire grand chose, chaque son menaçant de dévoiler leur présence. Alors, ils restèrent là, paralysés comme des souris à la vue d'un chat. Yagi regardait droit devant lui, la respiration calme malgré la moiteur de ses mains, et chercha quelque chose dans une de ses poches. Izuku, lui, avait les mains collées contre sa bouche, atténuant au mieux le bruit de sa respiration alors qu'il fermait les yeux.

Un nouveau grognement - un mélange de grondements graves, de cliquetis et de râles - émana du monstre avant qu'il ne commence fatalement à pivoter dans leur direction. Izuku sentit des larmes perler au coin de ses yeux alors que l'effroi lui lacérait l'estomac, lui donnant envie de vomir.

Ils étaient finis. Izuku avait toujours eu la poisse et ça ne changerait pas cette nuit. Yagi, trop faible pour se battre, allait finir en morceaux par un truc sorti tout droit des enfers, et Izuku finirait tout aussi déchiqueté dans le coin de la rue. Il plaignait les pauvres passants qui découvriraient leurs cadavres au petit matin. S'il en restait quoi que ce soit.

Il y eu encore des pas, des cliquetis et raclements, plus proches et plus proches encore, lorsque soudain, l'écho d'une caisse tombant au sol résonna dans la nuit et le fit sursauter. La tête de la bête fit volte-face, le cou tordu dans une position tout sauf naturelle et fixa les ténèbres à la recherche de l'origine du bruit.

Un moment s’écoula sans que rien ne se passe puis, le duo, complètement alerte et immobile, observa le reste de la créature bouger pour suivre l'alignement de sa tête qui fixait l'une des ruelles.

Un éclair blanc bondit hors des ombres, trois queues fouettant l'air alors que Renard faisait face au monstre. Le métal étincelait sous la lumière artificielle, et les reliures en or qui couvraient son corps captaient la lumière et la renvoyaient. Izuku aurait voulu hurler, la panique et l'inquiétude rugissant dans ses veines. Renard était si petit en comparaison, minuscule et frêle devant la créature.

Il suffirait d'un mauvais coup.

Yagi dut le retenir et lui plaquer une main sur la bouche pour ne pas qu'il ruine tout.

La créature toisait Renard, immobile, une des pattes gelées au-dessus du sol. Le corps grinça et cliqueta alors qu'il se penchait en avant. Un instant, la chose se tenait à une quinzaine de mètres de l'automate. Le suivant, il était sur Renard et tentait de le plaquer au sol, griffes et crocs sortis.

Cependant, l'automate, bien que beaucoup plus petit que le monstre, restait agile et rapide. Il parvint à se dégager dans un mouvement fluide, roulant sur le sol et se remettant sur ses pattes. Puis, avant que la créature sombre ne bouge à nouveau, l'automate détala dans une des ruelles adjacentes, celle à l'opposée d'où se trouvait le duo.

La chose ne perdit pas une seconde et s'élança à sa suite, disparaissant dans la nuit alors que des grondements et des cris se répercutait dans la ville.

Les deux restèrent immobiles pendant un moment, avant que Yagi ne se décide enfin à se relever, observant les alentours à la recherche de quoi que ce soit d'anormal. Izuku était toujours recroquevillé par terre, jouant nerveusement avec sa chemise alors que son esprit divaguait sur ce qui attendait son automate.

Renard était rapide et dur à attraper. Il était aussi bien plus petit et pouvait se faufiler partout, il trouverait bien un endroit inaccessible au monstre, pas vrai ? Il pouvait toujours courir et le semer quelque part, mais est-ce qu'il pourrait retrouver son chemin ? Izuku ne connaissait pas bien la ville, et il doutait que son automate se débrouille mieux. Mon dieu, et s'il ne le trouvait pas avant le départ ? Et si Renard restait coincé ici ? Yagi pourrait comprendre et peut-être retarder le départ, mais s'ils ne trouvaient pas Renard ? Ils ne pouvaient pas le laisser là ! Et il ne pouvait pas non plus demander des infos ou de l'aide à qui que ce soit, ils étaient recherchés. Et en plein jour, son automate ne serait pas vraiment la chose la plus discrète dans ces quartiers. Ho mon dieu, et si le monstre l'attrape quand même ? Et s'il n'est pas assez rapide ?

"Midoriya, tu divagues."

Le garçon cligna des yeux, soudainement tiré de ses pensées. Yagi s'était accroupis devant lui et lui secouait doucement l'épaule.

"Ton renard est une bête intelligente. Je suis sûr qu'il nous retrouvera," il dit.

Le blond lui offrit un sourire.

Cette fois-ci, Izuku n'était pas sûr qu'il soit vrai.

"Nous ne devrions pas rester ici," continua Yagi en observant à nouveau la ruelle où avait disparu le monstre. "Ces choses ne se baladent jamais seules."

"Qu'est-ce que c'était, au juste ?" demanda l'adolescent, le visage encore livide alors qu'il relâchait un frisson.

L'homme le dévisagea avec une expression désolée, avant de lui tapoter l'épaule et de l'aider à se relever.

"L'une des expérimentations de ton père."

#Anima!AU #bnha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #izuku #izuku midoriya #all might #yagi toshinori #my art #at the beginning I wanted to do it in color #but the result was terrible #so I went back to a black and white version TuT #sometimes colors are hell x)#and sorry for typo or weird words #english isn't my native language

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thelegolashairappreciationclub · 3 years

Text

I adore "Maedhros and Maglor in the war of the rings" AUs

(and I think I've come up with my favourite one yet)

Timeline to be figured out but:

Celebrimbor as a test before making the 3 elven rings decides to craft his uncles a final gift using the methods that Annatar has imparted (Of course it's not entirely light magic but he doesn't know that yet.) What he intends to make is a ring of protection that defends them from the teeth of the Oath but instead what he makes is a ring that protects them from themselves. The Oath is a magic bound in their minds and thus so is the protection of the rings so when Maedhros and Maglor recieve them what they basically turn into is rings of self preservation. Mae tries to throw himself into a chasm and finds himself turning around and walking away against his will. Maglor wanders around fading but keeps finding himself back in rivendell whenever he's on the cusp until eventually he gives up and settles there. I imagine Mae eventually realises he can't Just Fecking Die and he refuses to fall to what little of the enemy is left and going back to the elves would result in being held prisoner (he assumes, ya boy's paranoid ok) instead of executed. So instead he just says "Well Sauron had allies in the east didn't he? 😈 " And goes off to cause problems on purpose in a way that's useful.

All this wandering and futility carries them right through the first war against Sauron so neither of them are really involved aside from Sauron suddenly losing allies in the east and a really pesky loner who keeps singing random patrols to death around the coast.

However, then the quest of the mountain happens. And all of a sudden there's rumours of a redheaded elf who speaks Khuzdul living with the dwarves but by the time Elrond gets a message to Erebor like "???" Dain is like "oh he's long gone already, didn't find what he was looking for."

By this point Maglor has been living with Elrond for a few centuries and had no idea Maedhros was still alive and basically just disappears instantly. To which Elrond is like "Great.. now there's TWO unattended, feral dads wandering the continent 🙄." Fast forward a couple of decades and Maglor shows up like a cat leaving mice on your doorstep with Maedhros in tow, who is distinctly unhappy with this arrangement. Still, eventually Mae stops hissing and biting long enough to actually bond with his family again. (Especially since Elrond knows how the rings function and has ordered that no one is allowed to remove them for mae or mags.) And things start actually looking up for the kidnapp fam.

But then sh*t gets interesting. Because the one ring appears in rivendell.

(I will probably continue and elaborate on this when its not 2am)

#the silmarillion #lotr #lotr au #maedhros #maglor #i will explain when i can words more #but the gist is that everyone goes well if someone were going to appropriate an extremely powerful magic item to fight sauron #its probably the guy who stole an extremely powerful item and really hates sauron #but obvi actually giving the feanorions the one ring is a bad idea #so instead they decide to be a distraction for the main quest #they head straight to gondor through the pass be isengard #probably fist fighting saruman on the way #the whole time sauron is like ah yes the elven lords are coming to foil my plans #too busy to notice the fellowship wrecking all his stuff in the background #it'll be fun

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glowingbadger · 3 years

Note

You may have a little Lorenz Prompt as promised. As a treat. Here goes~

Lorenz taking thorough notes to surprise his s/o (is it the blog owner? the reader? some random character? It doesn't matter~!) with the most lovely, romantic date imaginable based around everything they like. He wouldn't put in this much effort to TRULY impress someone, but you're worth every step and more.

Enjoy where this takes your thoughts~!

(and pls don't eat it, Tumblr)

Y'know what, I've had a shitty day and I just finished writing some darker content- so I am going to ~indulge~. Normally I try to make my Reader character as broadly relatable as possible, but today we're going with MY preferences and interests because I WANT A NICE DATE WITH LORENZ GODDAMNIT

Lorenz (FE3H) x GN Reader - perfect date

Fluff - SFW

Today simply has to be flawless- the Gloucester heir will not accept any less. Not when it comes to you. Of course, Lorenz holds himself to high standards in all things, but the thought of providing anything less than perfection for you is one that pains him to even consider. Especially now that he'd finally gotten the courage- or, rather, found the right and proper time to ask you to spend the day with him.

You approach him at the Monastery gates not long after noon that day, and find your pace slowing as you eye him before he's noticed you. Without his usual elegant set of armor, you can appreciate the way constant marching and training has toned his slender frame- and appreciate it, you most certainly do. Though he soon turns to face you, and your eyes dart back up from a rather ignoble place to meet his instead.

"You're as radiant as ever, I see," he says with a warm smile. He offers you an arm and you take it, replying with a grin,

"You've already got me for the day, Lorenz, there's no need for flattery."

"'Flattery' implies a measure of falsehood," he says with confidence, leading you towards town, "and I could never bring myself to lie to one so lovely."

As your time together proceeds, you can't help but feel that, some way, somehow, Lorenz has some kind of psychic insight into your preferences. Everywhere you turn, whatever your heart could desire is immediately available and set before you with hardly any negotiation at play. At the first flower stall you find, Lorenz takes a moment to exchange words with the owner while you admire the sprawling array of colorful blooms; and by the time he's returned, he's holding a woven crown of delicate little white flowers. With an admiring smile, he carefully places it on your head, a hand trailing down a lock of your hair as he pulls away to observe you.

With a shy grin, you perform an exaggerated curtsy, prompting Lorenz to laugh fondly and take you by the hand. He twirls you slowly under his arm, watching you all the while, then says,

"They suit you every bit as wonderfully as I'd thought."

"They're my favorites," you reply.

"I know- erm, that is- I know of a superb bakery down the block this way," Lorenz seems a bit red in the face, but you chalk that up to nerves.

He's not wrong though- this bakery is something else. The selection and quality of ingredients is on an entirely new level compared to the Monastery's dining hall, and you find yourself overwhelmed even reading down the list of items posted to the wall. By your third pass over the full range of options, the words are starting to dance in your eyes- but a warm touch at your arm shakes your focus. Lorenz leans close to be heard over the rapidly growing crowd at the bakery's counter,

"Might I make a recommendation?" you nod, and he goes on, "I happen to have it on good authority that there's an item not included on this menu that you may like. It incorporates three different treatments of Brigid cocoa, if that is of any interest to you."

Your eyes light up and you can practically feel the rich sweetness across your tongue already.

"That sounds incredible," you reply, enraptured by the very thought. When you start to ask how he'd heard of such a thing, Lorenz has already turned to speak to the worker taking orders, and your words drown among the crowd of customers. The speed at which he acquires this mythical pastry only fills your mind with more questions. How did he manage to purchase an off-menu item so quickly? Wouldn't the cost of something requiring those many luxurious imported ingredients be astronomical?

But then, Lorenz returns to your side and guides you out of the crowded shop, and the sight of the delectable chocolatey treat in his hands dashes all other thoughts from your mind. He hands it to you wrapped in a handkerchief, and you can't help but immediately plunge in for a bite.

"Mmmm-!" you wear an expression of pure bliss as your mouth fills with sweet, savory chocolate, "Oh- Lorenz, it's so good!"

When you glance up at him, he's watching you with a strangely heavy expression. Once more, his fair complexion is painted a light red. You tilt your head curiously, and he seems to resurface from whatever thoughts had taken him for the moment.

"Here- you should try some," you break off a piece and hold it up to him.

"Are- are you certain? I had intended for you to enjoy it to your heart's content," he stammers out, evidently still a bit flushed.

"I want you to get to have some too. Please?" You hate to resort to puppy eyes with him, but it's hard to argue with the results. He leans forward and accepts the piece of pastry from your hand. You don't shy away from him in the slightest, and so a brief brush of his lower lip along the tip of your finger simply can't be avoided. Lorenz does his best to move past this without acknowledgement, and you two enjoy your treat together as you take in the bustle of the town around you.

The day continues in kind, with Lorenz apparently having painstakingly arranged every element of this date from start to finish. At a local seller of antiques and luxury goods, he secures permission to view and explore rare and dazzling paintings from around the world. Here, he's rather uncharacteristically reserved. Wandering the storage area like your own personal art museum, he watches you with evident warmth as you exclaim at the rich and varied pigments, the innovative expressions of human form, and so on.

After this, he brings you to a tavern at the far end of town, where he's reserved the second floor exclusively for you two to enjoy a quiet, intimate meal together. By this point, you've finally gotten around to considering just how much gold must have gone into this singular date.

"Lorenz," you say cautiously, "are you sure it's okay to go through all of this and spend so much just for-"

He raises a hand to cut you off, then replies,

"I assure you that it is," he takes your hand in his, holding it warmly from across your private table, "wealth has no value that we ourselves do not assign to it, and I have chosen to spend it on your pleasure. I can think of no greater use for a bit of coin."

The rest of the early evening is filled with pleasant chat and the occasional subtle sweet-talk. As you discuss everything you've seen and experienced that day, Lorenz engages you with surprisingly astute comments and observations. He's always at his best when he feels permitted to simply talk with you, as one person to another, free of the pressures and expectations of his birthright that he shoulders without a thought.

The sun is steadily lowering behind the hills and walls of the surrounding town by the time you make your way back together. As you walk hand in hand watching the Monastery gates rise ahead of you, Lorenz clears his throat abruptly and says,

"If I may steal you away for just a little while longer, there was... actually someone I thought you'd like to meet."

"Oh? What an honor," you say with a smile, "Do I get any hints?"

Lorenz gives a good-natured chuckle and says,

"Only that I think you'll get along splendidly."

And of all places throughout Garreg Mach's grounds, you begin to recognize that he is leading you towards the stables. You've met Lorenz's horse before- a lovely mare with a calm and agreeable temperment. If not her, then...

"Eloise?" Lorenz calls out in a gentle voice, "Eloise, come say hello- Ellie? Come now, don't tell me you've chosen tonight to become bashful..." at his call, a svelte black cat with delicate little white paws comes trotting out to meet you. Your heart positively aches and melts at the sight of her eagerly approaching Lorenz with clear comfort and familiarity.

"Lorenz, you... have a cat?" You say with obvious disbelief.

"She's one of the Monastery's strays, to be clear," he says, "She helps with the mice in the stables. Evidently, she had become quite fond of my preferred horse- and so eventually became fond of me as well."

Fond seems an understatement- she very clearly adores him. With a chorus of happy little mews, she circles his legs and rubs against him until he crouches down to offer her his hand. As he does, a shred of parchment flutters from his pocket onto the ground. Eloise targets it like a seasoned warrior and pounces at it with gusto. With a laugh, you kneel down to retrieve whatever this paper she's captured might be.

"Now Eloise, none of that- you must behave genteel-like with guests."

As he firmly lectures the cat, you glance at the paper in your hand. Nearly every inch of it is covered in an elegant, curling script that you imagine must belong to Lorenz. It looks like a... list of some kind. As your eyes scan down the page, you begin to recognize a pattern. Your favorite flowers, favorite desserts, favorite types of books and places around town- plus, to the side, the word "cats?" underlined several times. For a moment, you simply cover your mouth to hold in a snort of laughter. Then, you come to kneel beside Lorenz as he's failing to convince his feline friend to stop swatting at his hair.

"So- you've been taking very thorough notes lately." you say, nudging his arm playfully. He turns to face you with an immediate look of panic. Lavender eyes widen and glance down to the parchment in your hand, then back to you. He visibly deflates and says,

"Goddess- you must find me such a fool-"

You press your lips firmly to his before he can say another word. With a soft noise of surprise, his eyes flutter shut and he leans into your kiss. His lips are wonderfully soft, and the subtle scent of his cologne surrounds your senses as you tilt your head to seal your lips to his more firmly. You're not certain how long you remain like this, but only the dull ache of kneeling on the dirt and the incessant sound of Eloise bapping her paw against the paper in your hand bring you back to your surroundings. When you part from him, you brush aside the silky curtain of his hair to run your hand along his face, and say,

"I had a wonderful time today, Lorenz- and it means the world to me that you put so much thought into this. But next time, you don't have to study so hard, okay?"

For a moment, he seems speechless. Then, he gives a shy chuckle.

"You have bested me yet again, it would seem. How can I ever hope to become a man worthy of you when you are ever more lovely with each passing day?"

Eloise gives an insistent chirp and rubs once more against his leg, evidently tired of distractions from the attention she feels she's owed. Your smile widens, and you scratch her ear fondly.

"I think there's at least two of us who like you just as you are, Lorenz."

#no one's gonna read this why is it so long #fe3h #feh #lorenz hellman gloucester #lorenz x reader #fire emblem #fire emblem x reader #fire emblem imagines #fire emblem fic #fluff #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem fluff

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liibrii · 3 years

Text

fem!Miya!reader x Ginjima Hitoshi & Akagi Michinari || part of the Third Miya series

Synopsis: It’s just a courage test. Just a nightly walk through a labyrinth of statues. Even the moon refuses to peek out from behind to clouds to witness your stupidity. Oh, did I mention there've been ghosts sighting here? There've been ghost sightings here.

Warnings: cursing, some spooky atmosphere, spooky things happen, some prime examples of sibling love

wc: 2.3k

a/n: should I post this chapter after the one establishing Reader's friendship with the team? Yeah, probably. also what I could do is write a little author's note that Reader is a friend with all the boys on the team and move on from there, ya know?

In case you missed previous chapters, Twins call their sister San, while others simply refer to her as Miya. (I'm experimenting and trying to use y/n as little as possible. lemme know if you like it).

if you wanna be tagged in future chapters lemme know and as always feedback is greatly appreciated!

Nothing scared you.

Well, except Mr-No-Gaps Kita Shinsuke but you're pretty sure there isn't a being on this planet that wouldn't be afraid of him so that disqualifies him from this particular competition; or mom that one time she discovered nobody had taken the trash out even though she said to do it several times. And the dark sometimes. And ghosts! Ghosts are spooky. You can't punch a ghost

But other than that nothing scared you.

This nightly walk though is making you reconsider the statement. Maybe the time has come for you to put 'dark' and 'weird noises whose origin you can't see' to the top of the list. Shivers run up your spine and you step faster, closer to Ginjima beside you. He gives you a questioning glance but luckily doesn't say anything. You hope he won't mention it later either. The only thing worse than your brothers finding out what a scaredy cat you're being right now is... Well, nothing would be worse than that.

The Gallery Tangle is what this place is called and you find the name strangely fitting. Stone statues, some crumbling and all overgrown with moss, stand lined by the path going in twists and turns. No matter where you turn cold unseeing eyes watch you. If you were the one choosing the name for this place it would be something along the lines of 'that corner nobody in their right mind would ever go close too'. Some people believe it used to be a cemetery but really it's just a meadow where someone left an unwanted statue once, and then another, and before you knew crowds of curious tourists and stupid teenagers visited the place all the time. Even the moon refuses to peek out from behind to clouds to witness your stupidity. Oh, did I mention there've been ghosts sighting here? There've been ghost sightings here.

So naturally it's the perfect place for a courage test. The only one at fault for this entire situation is Osamu for daring Akagi and Ginjima to go visit the site, and you for falling for his trap when he turned to you and, with that annoyingly sweet voice pretending he's a caring older brother who's just looking out for his little sister, said: “Thank the heaven yer too much of a baby to go out of the house after sunset.“

Yeah well, maybe you are and he knows it, and he also knows the easiest way to get you to do something is to tell you you don't have the guts. It's all a well tested trap you keep falling into. Walking amongst countless silent statues you want to ponder how the mice traps are always so obvious and yet the mice keep falling for them like dummies, but that would be a silly thought to have in the middle of the night and taking your current circumstances into consideration also incredibly hypocritical.

Nothing much scared you, except for Kita Shinsuke, but if you were given a chance to get help from one person right now you'd chose him. As much as the mere thought of him makes you straighten up and check if your clothes are on point you're sure ghosts and demons and other creatures of the night would rethink once or twice before coming closer to bother you. Not to be rude but he'd probably be a better ghost repellent than trembling Ginjima beside you who at the moment is being more of a ghost attractor. Can ghosts sense fear? Apparently even horses can smell fear so why would ghosts be any different? Maybe better for that question to go unanswered.

“Are ya sure we're goin' in the right direction?“ asks Gin.

“Maybe.“

“Akagi-san ya do know that's not the answer we wanna hear right now, right?“

“I'm yer senpai so I can't lie to ya,“ answers Akagi and you wish he wasn't your senpai so you could give him the well deserved kick in the shin. As Osamu would put it, getting a straight answer out of him was sometimes harder than eating udon noodles with only one chopstick. Your smart-ass replied with 'Just drink them', which was a funny response at the time, a justifiable enough reason for Osamu to slap your head, but in the end this solution didn't really apply to the libero. “We're takin' a little detour to avoid inhabitants of this place,“ Akagi says and if you didn't know him better you'd think his words were meant to reassure you.

“Ya mean the statues? I don't think they really mind us trespassin'.“

“Ah no, not the statues.“ He turns and points his torch up to light up his face. “I meant ghosts.“

“Ha ha, very funny,“ you say pretending a shiver didn't just run up your spine. Your hold on your own torch tightens.

“Skepticism doesn't suit ya Miya. There's a ghost of a little boy hidin' round here. Ever since his old house was demolished he walks around lookin' for his parents.“

“Sure he does,“ you answer and quickly change the topic because if Akagi doesn't stop you're sure Gin will climb in your arms and the question if you're strong enough to carry him is another one you don't want to know the answer to. “Where did Samu say he left the scarf?“

When Ginjima answers his voice is strangely high pitched: “By the statue of an old lady with a cat.“

Akagi nods. “We should split up so-“

“No!“ you and Ginjima half yell.

“We could get lost,“ you add, feeling heat rise on your cheeks.

“Exactly,“ Ginjima agrees, “look how many statues there are! It's a labyrinth 'round here!“

Akagi gives in without much convincing with a gleam in his eyes you really don't like because it looks suspiciously similar to the gleam Atsumu has before blackmailing you with one of too many embarrassing things he knows. “Right, right, last time I was here the cat lady was on the other end.“

“Was?“ Ginjima follows close behind and you're just glad to have you back covered.

“Statues move sometimes. Usually when no one is lookin'.“

“Funny,“ is all you say.

Still, as you continue the expedition you don't let your gaze wander around. It's not like you could see anything anyway. It's too dark! At least that's what you keep telling yourself. Anything could hide out there.

You shudder. Why did you think it was a good idea to leave without taking a hoodie? As if summer nights aren't chilly. Or maybe you just walked past a cold spot where ghosts linger. Now that sounds like something Akagi would tell you.

You're acutely aware of how close Ginjima is walking and you're glad he is. His shoulder bumping into yours every now and then and the sound of his steps are the last things keeping you from letting your imagination run free.

That's the thing about imagination. It makes the pile of unfolded clothes look like a child crawling out of the floor. It makes sitting stone statues seem to blink and turn their heads when you pass by.

When you nervously glance over at Ginjima you notice he's clenching his jaw so hard you start fearing for his teeth. He puts you at ease. As much as that is possible while walking in the dead of night around seemingly endless line of statues. If he was as carefree as Akagi you would, all your foolish pride be damned, most likely burst into tears right then and there.

The nearby bushes rustle and maybe it's just the wind, or a cat on a nightly adventure, or maybe it's something entirely different, but whatever it is lures you into making the mistake of looking over at the statues, where you catch a pale face with unblinking eyes behind long, black hair staring back at you. You scream. Jump, trip over a stone and end in Ginjima's arms, your ears ringing from the high pitched shriek you presume is his.

Akagi jumps too and points his torch around to see what made both of you finally lose the brave facade. He searches around the statues but there's nothing to be found. “It's gone now.“

“Ya sure?“

“What was it?“

“A white face and... black hair.“

“So, a ghost?“ asks Akagi and you nod, holding tightly on Gin as if your life depended on it. A sly smile spreads across Akagi's face. “See, I told ya there's ghosts.“

“Not helpin' ,“ says Gin as Akagi's words make you shudder.

Only then does it hit you Ginjima is holding you bridal style and you swiftly climb back down, still shaken and now completely embarrassed as well. You don't even dare think how much bribing will take to convince Akagi to keep his mouth shut about this. Oh, if your brothers find out they will never let you live it down.

“Maybe we should go home,“ suggests Ginjima still holding you up because your knees turned to pudding.

“Like hell we are,“ you sneer, the blood rush turning fear into burning determination. If this is what it takes to shut Samu's annoying shit mouth, then so be it. “Cat lady, right? I bet she's this way.“ You pick up your torch light and head into the wrong direction.

“Miya, we have to go right,“ Akagi calls after you.

“I am goin' right!“

“The other right.“

You turn on your heels and head into the 'other right' direction. You think you hear Akagi snicker. Step by step your sudden burst of determination and fearlessness drains but like hell are you going to show it. It's just ghosts and spooky demons and maybe some cursed children, what are they going to do? Scare you? Joke's on them, you're already scared! And cold, and embarrassed, and you just want to find that damn scarf already and go home.

It waits neatly wrapped around the cat's neck. It's eyes have an almost mocking look. As if the stone is judging you for taking on this courage test in the first place. Well, you think, it ain't wrong.

“There, now we can go,“ you proclaim when your trembling fingers finally manage to unknot the silky fabric, and as if some cruel fate or inhabitants of this eerie place watched you only a few statues away something rustles.

All three of you freeze and listen. In the distance you can hear cars driving by. A late night train stops by the station.

“What was that?“ asks Gin.

You stuff the scarf into your pocket. “Doesn't matter, we got what we-“

“Let's go check it out!“

“O hell no,“ is the first thing that leaves your mouth but for some reason Akagi thinks it's a sunny Sunday afternoon and the perfect time for a stroll.

“Let's go,“ Gin nudges you to get you to follow Akagi but you don't budge.

“No.“

“He's our senpai Miya, we can't just let him wander off.“ He lowers his voice. “He might get in trouble.“

“Let him. I've had enough of this place,“ you say and head into the opposite direction. Ginjima hesitates, casts a few lost glances between you and Akagi before he decides the prospect of something happening to you would get him into much bigger trouble. “Are ya okay?“ he asks when he catches up.

You give a stiff nod. All you want is to get away from this place.

It doesn't take long for Akagi to come running back. “It was nothin',“ he says, out of breath and smiling as always but if you'd pay more attention you'd notice he's a bit paler.

And you are about to find out why.

A white figure appears from behind one of the statues, howling and shrieking, or maybe that's Akagi and Ginjima. Your heart stops for a mere moment before jumping into overdrive. You grip your torch, step back with one leg to gain momentum, and chuck your only source of light into what you guess is ghosts head.

“Aargh!“ shrieks the ghost before it starts screaming its lungs out at you, “Are ya stupid?! Ya could've hurt me ya shithead!“ It pulls the sheet off to reveal a very irritated Atsumu rubbing his forehead where the torchlight hit him. “OW!“ he shrieks again when you kick his shin. You'd probably kick him again for good measure if another figure, this one clad in black and with an oni mask, didn't jump from behind the statues and scare you into leaping in the air. The figure laughs and avoids the kick aimed at it's knee. “Samu!“ you shriek. “This isn't funny!“

“It is a little,“ says Akagi and to his luck he's your senpai and standing out of your reach. At least Ginjima doesn't look amused by your utter embarrassment.

In an effort to regain some of your pride you pull out the scarf and chuck it into Osamu's face. “Here, yer kitchen cloth.“

“San don't speak about mom's clothes like that,“ teases Atsumu who at the stare you send him immediately takes a careful step back.

Osamu pinches your cheeks and not even a death glare stops his teasing: “Maybe ya ain't such a baby after all. But ya do scream like one.“

“Absolutely hilarious,“ you deadpan. “Who was the white faced lady? Suna?“

“What white face?“

“Don't play with me ya shit pig. The one that almost gave Gin a heart attack!“

“Ya screamed louder than me-“

“That wasn't us,“ your brothers shake their head. You don't believe them because, why would you?

Akagi bursts into laughter. “Maybe ya saw a real ghost after all!“

A... a real... ghost. The rest of you exchange uncomfortable glances.

Gin is the first to speak. “It's gettin' a little chilly. Maybe we should,“ he gestures towards the path, and you nod, enthusiastically.

“It is gettin' late. We'll hear it if we come home past curfew,“ says Osamu.

Walking away you don't want to look back but something compels you to throw a quick glance over your shoulder. Wide unblinking eyes stare as you leave, face ghostly white and almost glowing in the dead of night.

Or maybe it's just your imagination.

tag list: @espressons @trashy-simp @nachotrash @megumiisee @foxxtrot-116

in case you’re curious, Gallery tangle is based on a real life Statue village in Japan.

#ginjima x reader #akagi x reader #ginjima hitosh #akagi michinari #ginjima hitoshi x reader #hqcorenet #akagi michinari x reader #haikyuu ginjima #hq #haikyuu #inarizaki x platonic reader #inarizaki x reader #inarizaki x y/n #inarizaki imagine #inarizaki #the third miya #libri scribbles

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