#Absolutely rancid the three of them

[bunni-v1]

OMGG you wrote the first years finding out reader was a girl so well! i love it :D could i maybe request the same thing but for thirds years? thank you so much and have a good day :)

Third Years Find out You’re a Girl?!?!? (NOT CLICKBAIT) 

TW: Rook and Lilia are creepy

Info: Trey, Cater, Rook, Lilia x Reader (platonic)

Tags: @kierancaz @danchann33 @arashrita

🍓Ahh, the third years… How I do love them. Please ignore my blatant favoritism in Rook… I just… I really <3 him. Truly, the third years are my absolute weakest character, but I hope I did them well. Remember, dorm leaders are on a separate post. Love you all, and enjoy <3

First Years

Ortho & Sebek

Second Years

Dorm Leaders

-Okay so, I know we’re all wondering, how the hell do you get away with hiding your gender for so damn long?

-Firstly, those ceremonial robes do great at hiding the figure. The only tell would maybe be your hair, but feminine men aren’t unwelcome at Nightraven College, so you mostly get a few questioning stares and that’s it.

-Secondly, Crowley wants to save his own fucking ass. He already has to hide from the press that he has a MAGICLESS student from ANOTHER DIMENSION here, he doesn’t need the fact that you are a woman ALSO on his plate. So, obviously, he helps you hide your gender from others.

-Grim knows, of course, and he keeps his mouth shut for a few yummy cans of tuna (and threats of being expelled from Crowley <3)

-Even when you were just a janitor, he couldn’t have the rumor that he put a “helpless” young woman to work. (Like it wouldn’t be expected.)

-So how do you two do it?

-Baggy ass uniform. Crowley gave you at least three sizes too big.

-Your figure is completely hidden. Sure, you look completely homeless, but at least you’re hidden.

-For your voice, you simply deepen it. After some point, you blackmail Crowley into giving you a potion to help with it, since it's so taxing on your voice. (Or maybe your voice is naturally deep!)

-Sam provides you (for an unfairly pretty penny (not too different from your original world…)) any feminine hygiene products you might need.

-Honestly, you’re set for being cared for, but it’s the adjustment period that’s the hardest part. 

-Truly, it’s very jarring to suddenly be thrown into both a magical world and be isolated in a man's world with nowhere to hide.

-At least in your world you had other women who could understand your struggles. Here though? You’re completely alone.

-You notice how… messy some of these guys could be. How some of them smell… really rancid. -How rough they were with you and each other.

-Honestly, it’s kinda eye-opening. The way men show affection to each other is oddly refreshing to watch and experience!

-Ace and Deuce specifically are a good… trial run.

-That’s not what we’re here to talk about though…

-For the most part, it's incredibly easy to hide yourself for the first while on campus. Everyone on campus is so self-absorbed that they don’t bother questioning you.

-Your only real risk factor is Savannaclaw, but it's easy to avoid those guys (minus Jack, of course).

-However, you can only hide your gender for so long… It’s mentally draining to keep up this facade all the time around people you care about.

-So… how do they find out?

Trey

-Trey is a very good middle ground compared to everyone else in NRC.

-He doesn’t find out immediately like some people, but he finds out pretty soon into knowing you.

-Trey has siblings. Specifically, he has younger sisters he helped raise alongside his mother and father.

-He’s good at reading women thanks to his sisters. He knows many tells of discomfort, displeasure, dislike, etc.. 

-It’s different from how his brothers would show it, how others at NRC show it. 

-He can’t even explain it, he just knows the differences and it makes sense to him.

-With you, he notices the tells. Notices that you deepen your voice and you shy away from the more… intimidating and touchy guys on campus.

-He’s not one to assume, though!

-He’s attended three years at NRC in the same class as Vil.

-He understands that gender expression presents itself in tons of different ways. 

-You clearly prefer using he/him pronouns, Ace and Deuce use strictly male pronouns, so it’s not his place to say anything.

-Still… the way your eyes glitter when he praises you for doing well on your tarts reminds him a whole lot of his little sisters.

-It’s not till a bit later, shortly before Riddle explodes when he asks Cater that his suspicions are concerned.

-“Cater, don’t you think the new guy in ramshackle is a little…”

“Girl? Yeah, it’s kinda obvs.”

“Is it now…?”

-Cater pretty much lays out everything he noticed about you, and it matches up pretty well with what Trey was thinking.

-Still! Trey doesn’t want to force the idea that you’re a woman on you! 

-What if you are trans, non-binary, or anything else? To assume something like that is completely awful, and he’s better than that. 

-He’s not a troublemaker after all.

-So, during one of Heartslabyul’s tea parties, (much like many others at NRC), he pulls you aside just to get confirmation.

-“So, this might seem a little rude, but I want to make sure I’m respecting you.”

“…kay…”

“Are you a woman?”

“Didn’t Cater tell you already?”

-Oh. Okay. Cater was right. He shouldn’t have doubted him. Noted.

-You make him swear up and down that he won’t tell Ace or Deuce, and you move on from it like it's nothing. (You’re not sure you can trust Ace and Deuce to keep their mouths shut at this point).

-And, really, it should be nothing. Trey should just be able to move on and relax… but his brotherly instincts sort of act up around you.

-He’s not overbearing in any way, it isn’t a creepy thing that suffocates you… it’s just a notable increase in intake of Trey in your life.

-He invites you over to “try this new recipe he made” (an excuse to ensure you’re eating, because he’s confident Crowley isn’t providing you nearly enough nourishment).

-Sometimes he shows up at Ramshackle to pick up Ace and Deuce and ends up staying and helping you clean up after the disaster freshmen.

-Most importantly, he checks in on you and your well-being considerably more than he does anyone else.

-He has, in fact, called you little sis before as well. He was incredibly embarrassed by it and refused to acknowledge it happened.

-Cater does not let him forget that it happens, calling you “Trey’s honorary sister” every chance he gets.

-It’s not so bad though. Especially at the start, you really needed someone reliable like Trey to lean on when you needed help since Crowley would only do the bare minimum.

Cater

-Cater finds out pretty damn quick after meeting you.

-It's not the exact second he sees you, but very shortly after your first interactions… he gets it.

-As we know, Cater was sort of forced into being feminine and girly by his sisters — something he was completely uncomfortable with, but later forced himself to embrace.

-When he looks at you… how big your clothes are, how you artificially deepen your voice, how you’re clearly uncomfortable with both of those things… he sees a younger version of himself.

-Still… it's super not his place to bother you about something like that. 

-He hardly knows you, and as your upperclassman, he should be a role model and not worry about superficial stuff.

-M’kay! It is no big deal for Cay Cay, he can leave it all behind him with no issue! Totally doesn’t bother him at all!

-…He’s a big fat liar.

-It’s not his fault okay! He just… can’t get that look of discomfort out of his mind. 

-You looked so miserable :( You looked like how he used to look :(

-So, Cater, far more impulsive and honest than good old Trey, straight up asks you. (Privately, of course, he’s not a monster.)

-“Heyyyy, so, weird question… are you a girl? It’s totally cool if you’re not, I’m just curious.”

“…How did you know…”

-It kinda freaks you out a lot. You thought you were hiding it so well.

-Cater, sweetie that he is, assures you that he’s different from others. 

-He’s got special circumstances that allowed him to notice what was going on.

-Promises he won’t open his mouth…

-He tells Trey less than a week later.

-It’s not his fault! He was on your trail already, he was gonna figure out one way or another!

-Other than the Trey debacle, he’s really good at NOT gossiping about it, believe it or not.

-He’s your reliable senpai after all :D

-He is your first official ally!

-Completely supportive of what you’re trying to do here, and is more than willing to be a safe space when you just need to… be a woman sometimes.

-You spend a lot of time with him after he finds out.

-His dorm is always open for you, even if Riddle hates it, m’kay! You can always come to your old pal Cater for help.

-He really helps you on selling the whole “I’m a man” act. 

-He shows you easier ways to hide your chest so you don’t always have to swim in your clothes and helps you keep your hair styled in a way that either hides it or makes you look more masculine.

-He’s like the best big brother figure to have, honestly, and he remains one of your dearest friends through your whole stay at NRC.

-He’s someone to vent to, someone who gets what you’re going through just a little, and someone who’s really there for you all the time.

-Also very protective of your secret. 

-The only reason Ace and Deuce don’t know for so long is because Cater is working overtime to keep them off your trail.

-He tells you all about his escapades and keeping them in the dark too, he’s so proud of himself. (Please praise him, he needs it).

-Seriously though, he’s such a sweetheart and he’s always there for you if you need him.

Rook

-Ah beloved lover of beauty Rook!

-He is quite the oddball, isn’t he? Always off in his own world spewing flowery nonsense all in “the pursuit of beauty” as he calls it.

-Most people on campus just call him a freak and move on from it. 

-You’ve heard about him, of course. The stalker-hunter from Pomefiore makes the beastmen on campus tremble in fear (or annoyance, in Leona's case).

-You knew he existed, but seeing him was never really common. In fact… seeing anyone from Pomefiore was rare.

-You guessed such an elitist dorm probably wouldn’t want to mingle with someone like you.

-In Rook’s case, however, you couldn’t be more wrong.

-He was quite interested in you from the very second you’d interrupted the whole opening ceremony.

-You were… striking in his eyes. Not quite as beautiful as Vil, of course, but very eye-catching.

-While Vil insists you are a pest not worth Rook’s attention, he disagrees.

-Truly, he’s fascinated by you and your story.

-You from another world, who goes out of his way to hide such natural beauty with baggy clothes and messy hair… Ah! How his heart pounds in excitement, he must know more!

-So he does the only thing he knows how to…

-He goes on the hunt. For what? He’s not sure yet, but his hunches are rarely wrong.

-He follows you to classes, watches you get yourself into trouble and out of it, stalks you through the windows of ramshackle, and laments about his findings to (a very unimpressed) Vil.

-You can feel his piercing gaze on your back, but you never see him. It’s chilling honestly.

-It’s not until he decides to follow you to Sam’s later at night that he figures it out.

-You had purchased a large box of feminine supplies…

-He had gotten you, little trickster :)

-Now, since he had gotten his solution, he laid back on the whole… creeping on you in your dorm thing.

-He is a hunter, not a pervert.

-Leading up to the VDC, when you’ve decided to try out officially, you suddenly see a lot more of this mysteriously creepy Rook character.

-And, honestly, he was really nice! 

-Sure he said a lot of needlessly long and poetic sentences, but at the end of the day, he would always wave at you in the hallways or offer to help you learn the dance for auditions.

-This was all a ruse to be able to get closer to you and uncover your inner beauty.

-HE convinced Vil it was a good idea for you to be manager, and HE was the one who offered to ensure you “didn’t cause any trouble.”

-And Rook, good as he is at hiding secrets, pretty much lets you know that he knows. Constantly you find him… flirting? Complementing? You… saying how badly he would like to see you cleaned up and in more fitting clothes.

-Nothing he’s doing is romantic… you think… he’s just very clearly interested in you.

-So, of course, you have to ask him.

“Did you… figure out I’m a woman.”

“Perhaps…”

“You’re… not going to tell anyone, right?”

“Little trickster, I am the master of secrets.”

-Honestly? It’s not so bad having him and the others in Pomefiore know. 

-You really get to be yourself with Vil and Rook, so it's nice! Besides, you haven’t been prettied up in a really long time. You kinda missed it.

Lilia

-Ah, Lilia… beloved elderly man.

-He won’t lie and say that he isn’t incredibly curious about you too. Who wouldn’t be?

-A human from another reality with no magic, no concept of where they are, and no idea how to get you back.

-Very curious indeed.

-However, he has no reason to get himself involved in your business.

-You are a confident young lad, and clearly strong and capable. 

-In the few interactions he did have with you, you clearly had your head on your shoulders and well-founded confidence in your own abilities.

-The only thing truly odd about you was… your face.

-He isn’t one to talk, he’s thousands of years old and he’s got quite (unnaturally) large eyes and soft skin.

-You, however, aren’t fae. You aren’t anything more than a human.

-Excuse his close-mindedness for just a moment, but if he wasn’t mistaken you look quite… feminine.

-Small(er) stature, baggy clothes, clearly discomforted by “manly” activities that your friends drag you into.

-It wasn’t his place to question, of course. He understands that gender isn’t easy to define, and his thoughts are only ideas from his past creeping up on him.

-Still… it raises some questions in his mind.

-He knows where his responsibilities lay, so he brushes his thoughts under the rug and moves on from the thought.

-That is… until he notices Malleus’… interest in you.

-The prince’s visits to ramshackle only seemed to increase after you arrived.

-As Malleus’ caretaker (and out of morbid curiosity), he must investigate you further.

-That's how you start… seeing a lot of Lilia. Like, too much Lilia. How in the world is he always there, it’s creeping you out.

-He’ll talk to you, sometimes, but most of the time you can feel his beady little red eyes watching you.

-You don’t know what you did to him, but it’s really starting to freak you out.

-You’ve seen his fangs, does he want you for a blood bag or something.

-You, being strong as you are, decide to just confront him one day in the library.

-“Okay, what’s your problem. You went from acting like I don’t exist to constantly staring at me like I’m your next meal.”

“Please forgive me, that wasn’t my intention. I’m simply… curious about you, and I didn’t want to scare you off by approaching.”

“I don’t think your solution to that problem was any less scary.”

-You give him the benefit of the doubt, and you realize this guy talks like your grandpa or something. He’s so old, it’s almost funny.

-You decide to start spending some more time with him, and you realize he’s really fun to be around.

-Despite his seemingly old soul, he’s rebellious and feisty, and he has an endless treasure trove of stories to tell you.

-He becomes a comforting force in your life, so much so you begin to confide in him your stresses and worries.

-Inevitably, you end up telling him how hard it is to hide being a woman. How only so many people know, and how exhausting it is to pretend to be something you’re not.

-“Does Malleus know?”

“Malleus…?”

“The man you meet in front of your dorm at night.”

“Oh! Do you mean Hornton? No, I don’t know if he’s good at keeping secrets or not.”

“He is not.”

-Lilia is more than willing to be a force in your life that keeps you happy and healthy. 

-He is more providing and giving than Crowley is, constantly giving you little gifts and ensuring you have enough money to keep taking care of yourself.

-You insist that he doesn’t need to do any of that, but his fatherly instincts tell him otherwise.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #x reader #bunni's treats 🧁 #trey clover #cater diamond #rook hunt #lilia vanrouge #trey clover x reader #cater diamond x reader #rook hunt x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader

[mothandpidgeon]

The Outlaws (outlaw!Joel Miller x f!reader) - Chapter 3

Moth's Masterlist - follow @mothandpidgeon-updates an turn on notifications so stay updated with my fics!

SERIES MASTERLIST

pairing: Outlaw!Joel Miller x f!reader

rating: E (18+ MDNI)

wc: 3.2k

summary: Wanted for murder with a bounty on your head, your only hope of escaping the Pinkerton detectives is an outlaw named Joel Miller and his sidekick Ellie. But Joel has other plans for you.

tags: old west au, enemies to lovers, grumpy Joel, handcuffed together, only one bed, riding a horse together, one mention of pee, hand touching, strip tease I guess, Tommy and Maria, morally grey characters, reader has backstory, moth never uses y/n

authors note: Been holding onto this chapter since I haven't finished the next one but I really want to share this with you! Thank you @ezrasbirdie for beta and helping me untangle this mess and being the wind beneath my wings.

There are six links in the chain that separate you from Joel Miller. You count them over and over again. As you lay awake by the dying campfire. When he rattles them just after dawn to rouse you from the sleep you’d finally fallen into. While you drink the rancid coffee he boils over the fire.

You imagine them leaving an imprint on Joel’s tanned neck. Red, purple, bruising his skin as you use it to choke him to death.  

You spend the morning following him to and fro as he and Ellie pack up camp. 

“You know how to whistle?” Ellie asks you. 

She’s been sticking her forefinger and thumb between her lips trying to get a sound out of them. 

“Afraid not,” you tell her. 

“You’re with me,” Joel says. He stands beside his horse, hand on his hip. 

“I have to wear this damn bracelet the whole way?” you ask. 

He nods. 

“Do you think I’m crazy enough I’d jump off a horse?” you ask. 

His eyes rake up and down your body and you try to ignore the heat that flashes across your skin. “Yep.”

Once he’s in the saddle, he hauls you up behind him. Not like you have much choice. 

“You go for my gun and—“

“I know, I know,” you tell him. 

You have ample opportunity to study the outlaw, at least the back side of him, as you ride behind him. He’s broad and sits tall in the saddle like he was born for it. You watch his shoulders under the fabric of his shirt, tempted to smooth your palms over them. With your wrists connected, you’ve got to keep your hands at his middle. His narrow hips roll with the movements of the animal beneath him, and you grip onto his shirt imagining how powerful it would feel to take him from behind. 

He barely acknowledges you. There are a couple of times when you rest your cheek against his back just because you know it’ll annoy him. It works. He looks over his shoulder at you and you can hear the grumble vibrate through his body. 

The three of you ride all day, stopping only twice to stretch your legs. Both times, Joel helps you down with his hands on your waist. You shouldn’t enjoy it as much as you do but his hands are big and his eyes dart away from yours. He stops touching you as quick as he can, as if you’re a hot kettle that might burn his fingers.

Your amusement is short lived as you have to suffer the indignity of squatting behind a bush with your arm outstretched towards fucking Joel Miller while you take a piss. 

It’s dusk when you reach your destination— an old two-story roadhouse with a sign that reads The Dusty Boot. There’s nothing else around but a barn, an outhouse, and open country. Seems like an ideal place to keep a hideout. 

Joel hands you down from the saddle again but before you head inside, he rounds on you. 

“Now listen here, missy,” he says. “When we go in there, you keep that trap shut. No talking about bounties or the like. Not a peep out of you. Understand?” Joel asks you. 

You twist your pinched fingers in front of your lips as if you’re locking your mouth the same as your wrist is locked in that cuff. It’s a command you have absolutely no intention of following. 

By the frown on his face, it seems he knows that. 

“And you let me do the talking,” he tells Ellie. 

“Maria’s got a stick up her ass,” she laughs. 

“Ellie,” Joel scolds. 

“You said it yourself!” she says.

Joel sighs and trudges forward, dragging you along with him. 

The inside of the Boot is cozy and rustic. There’s a large parlor with a number of tables, the paneled walls are decorated with antlers and horse shoes. After a full day bouncing on horseback, you’d love to sit your ass down in one of the winged back chairs in front of the fireplace. Most importantly for your new companions, the place is empty. If there are other guests, they’re up in their rooms. 

At one end of the room, a man in an apron with a rag thrown over his shoulder stands behind a modest bar. 

“Hey, brother!” he calls, a smile lighting his face. 

You can see a resemblance between the two men– the same dark eyes and tan complexion, though Joel’s has been kissed by the sun.

“Tommy?” you whisper to Ellie. 

She nods. 

Tommy’s as slim as Joel is broad and he looks a bit younger. If Joel ever bothered to smile maybe he’d lose a few years off his face, too. 

“Been a while, stranger,” he says. “How’s it going, kid? Still giving him hell?”

“We need a place to lay low for a bit,” Joel says, cutting the pleasantries. 

You’re not sure if Tommy’s disappointed that this isn’t a social call but he nods and says, “Yeah, alright. You gonna introduce me to your lady friend?”

Joel bristles at the suggestion that you might be anything other than his prisoner. You give a smile and lift your fingers to your brow as if to tip your hat. As you do, the chain rattles obnoxiously and Joel glares at you.

“What the hell, Joel!” Tommy’s jovial expression has transformed to a look of horror.

“She’s got a bounty on her. I’m taking her to Jackson,” Joel explains. 

“Maria ain’t gonna be happy about that,” Tommy says. 

“Isn’t going be happy about what?” 

A lean woman has appeared at the top of the stairs. She stands tall, shoulders back with a cool air. Her simple, grey dress is neat and spotless just like, you note, the room around you. 

Joel quickly takes his hat off. He nudges Ellie to do the same. He’s tense and you can’t tell if he resents this woman or he’s afraid of her. Maybe a little of both. 

You like her. 

She sighs heavily as she descends the steps. 

“Tommy, please tell me I’m seeing things because it looks to me like your brother has a woman shackled to himself in my parlor,” she says. 

“You ain’t,” Tommy replies. He sounds just as exasperated. 

Maria sizes you up with a look that’s half pity, half disdain. She’s a beautiful woman. Deep brown skin and sharp, appraising eyes. You can only imagine what she thinks of you. A night sleeping in the dirt can’t have done you any favors and certainly neither did a day bouncing around on horseback. 

“How’d she get that bruise, Joel?” Maria asks.

You stroke the spot on your face gently as though it really hurts. In truth, you’ve pretty much forgotten that it’s there.

“She came by it on her own,” Joel says.

“That true, darlin’?” Tommy asks you, his voice full of concern. 

Joel’s face contorts in what you can only describe as disgust that his brother would think him capable of such a thing.

You give a noncommittal shrug.

“That’s courtesy of the Pinkerton man she was with before we picked her up. Joel gave him what for,” Ellie explains.

Tommy nods. 

“We’re just wanting a couple nights to keep our heads down. Ain’t nothing we ain’t asked for before,” Joel says.  

“That’s fine. If you unlock her,” Maria says. 

“She’s a murderer. You want me to let her loose around your nice customers?” Joel asks. 

“I’ve already got three criminals in here. What’s one more?” she says. 

“Come on, Joel. Let her be,” Tommy says. “She ain’t gonna give you the slip. Are you, darlin’?”

“Well, if given the opportunity—“ you admit. 

“Joel, take that damn cuff off her. And you,” Maria turns on you, “give him your word you won’t try to run while you’re under this roof. Or so help me god I will throw all three of you out.”

“The hell did I do?” Ellie asks. 

You’re beginning to understand why you sensed fear on Joel. For a second there, you’re more afraid of enduring her wrath than you are facing the executioner. 

“Yes, ma’am,” you say almost involuntarily. 

“Shake on it,” Tommy suggests. 

You extend your hand to Joel with a saccharine smile. Tommy’s obviously gone soft since he left the gang if he believes somebody like you would be beholden to a handshake promise. It’s sweetly naive. 

Joel’s thinking the same thing. You can see it all over his face. He grinds his molars. 

“You do what I say when I say it,” he insists. 

“Sure thing, boss,” you say. 

He shakes your hand.

Joel watches your every move. 

He’s been wanting to get Tommy aside to talk but he doesn’t dare to take his eyes off you. You’re unleashed and eager to run and he’s not willing to lose his bounty just because his sister-in-law is so sanctimonious.

“Hey, Tommy. Why did the cowboy go to the doctor?” Ellie asks.

Evening has descended on the Boot. A stage coach pulls in for the night. Its two passengers take their supper at the bar while their driver warms his hands at the hearth. Ellie and Joel sit across from you in the corner, bowls of hot stew on the table. Hers is empty before Joel’s even managed to bring his spoon to his lips. 

Joel notices things about you. He wishes he would stop noticing how attractive you are. 

Your eyes are sharp and fast. He can tell you’re making note of anything and everything that might help you escape. You massage at your wrist which is now naked with delicate fingers. You lick your lips jealously when Tommy sets a whiskey down in front of his brother. 

You don’t have good table manners. The way you stab at potatoes is particularly violent. You probably wish those tines were going into his eyeball.

“How come?” Tommy asks. He wipes his hands with his bar rag, eyes twinkling with delight. 

“He was feeling a little hoarse!” Ellie cackles. 

Joel shakes his head. The kid is a handful but she’s grown on him. Her puns have not. 

He looks up to find you smirking. Not because you find the joke funny. No, you’re laughing at Joel. 

He reaches across the table and puts his hand around yours. He shouldn’t touch you again, not since he shook your hand and felt the softness of your skin on his. He spent all day with you practically pressed against his back, getting hints of lavender each time he turned his head in your direction. Such a sweet scent for somebody like you. It’s been a long time since he felt the weight of a woman on him. His body doesn’t know that you’re as dangerous as a mountain lion and slippery as an eel. It just cares that you’re pretty and you’re closer than you ought to be. And it wants more of that. 

Your muscles tense around the horn handle of your fork. Joel unwraps your fingers from the utensil, focusing on the task at hand not the feel of you under his fingertips or the wide eyed stare you give him. His heart is beating double time when he replaces your pointed fork with a spoon. 

Your shoulders soften when he releases you. You remind yourself to sit up straight. 

“Enough jokes,” Joel tells Ellie.

“He ain’t no fun,” Tommy laughs. 

You continue to keep your big eyes on Joel as you finish your stew. 

“That was good eating Miss Maria,” you say when she clears bowls from the table. “I don’t rightly remember the last time I had a proper meal.” 

You’re a fool if you think you’ve got an ally in Maria. Just because she got you unlocked doesn’t mean she thinks you’re anything better than trash. Her daddy was a justice of the peace and she’s never taken kindly to criminals either. It still vexed him that she’d fallen for Tommy but then again she blamed Joel for all of his brother’s failings. 

“I know a thing or two about cooking. I’d be happy to lend a hand,” you tell her. 

Joel lets out a sharp laugh. Your voice is sweeter than Joel’s heard and you're laying it on thick buttering Maria up. 

“What’s funny about that?” you demand. 

“You don’t know a thing about cooking but I’m sure you’d like to get a knife in your hand,” Joel says. 

“As a matter of fact, I do know how to cook. More than cowboy beans,” you spit. 

“I appreciate the offer. It'd be nice to get a hand in the kitchen for once,” Maria says probably just to get a rise out of him. 

“That’s too bad. I ain’t letting you out of my sight,” he says. 

He stands, stretching out the sore muscles in his lower back. 

“Got the front room for ya,” Tommy says. “I’m guessing you’re not looking to sleep in the common room.” He glances towards the other guests. 

Joel and Ellie have stayed amongst the strangers in the big room on the second floor when the rest of the private accommodations are taken. With you ready to bolt, though, it’s not an option. 

“I want my own room. Take it out of my share,” Ellie tells Joel when he gives her a stern look. “I’m sick of listening to you snore.”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Maria says. 

Despite her contempt for their criminal lifestyle, Maria dotes on Ellie. Like she’s leaving a saucer of milk out for a feral cat, hoping one day it’ll come inside to lay by the fire. “Tommy’ll set that up for you.”

“I’ll bunk with the kid,” you say. 

“Nice try,” Joel says. 

“Ain’t this cozy,” you say. 

You’ve stepped into the room you’ll be sharing with Joel. 

Cozy’s one way of putting it. There’s barely enough space to open the door without hitting the iron framed bed. Beside that is a night stand with a porcelain wash basin, a chair, and a window. There’s about two paces of open floor in either direction. It’s hardly big enough for the both of you. 

But that works to Joel’s advantage. He doesn’t want you going far. 

As soon as the door shuts behind him, he clamps the handcuff around your wrist once again. 

“Come on now,” you whine. “What about our truce?”

“That’s for Maria’s benefit. And she ain’t here,” Joel says. 

You’re well beyond arguing and rolling your eyes. 

“Well you can’t expect me to sleep in these dirty clothes again. Can you at least give me my arm for a minute so I can get out of ‘em?” you ask.

Joel’s eyes travel over you and he swirls his tongue over his teeth. It’s not a difficult decision for him. If you want to undress and lay in bed in your underthings, he’s not going to stop you. He unlocks the cuff and moseys over to lean against the door. You’re not going to run out of there.

“You going to stand there and watch?” you ask, fingers pausing at the buttons on the top of your bodice.

Joel presses his shoulders against the door, making himself comfortable.

“How do I know you ain’t got a weapon in them petticoats?” he asks.

“If there was, you’d already be dead,” you say. 

He lets out a chuckle. 

“Suit yourself,” you say.

A cool smile comes over your features. You continue undoing the buttons as you turn towards him so he can see you straight on. Slowly, you reveal what’s underneath– the lines of your corset, a sweet ribbon at the top of your chemise, and an expanse of decolletage. You slide the bodice off of your shoulders and toss it onto the floor, then continue on to your skirts.

“That brother of yours is handsome,” you tell him. One skirt falls away. “Did he leave you for that woman or she come after that?”

Joel doesn’t answer. You don’t seem to care.

“She don’t like you,” you tease.

You square him with defiant eyes, inviting him to look, daring him to stay in control. More flesh is revealed. Your blue corset presses the swell of your breasts above the chemise and you bend forward to give him a little show. Ripe, soft. He salivates. 

Joel tries not to enjoy himself too much. He shouldn’t. And not just because this could easily turn into a trap. 

“She don’t like you neither,” he says.

You shrug.

He could have you any which way he wanted with just the promise of letting you go. He wouldn’t even have to do it. Just say the word and you’d get on your knees for him. It doesn’t feel right, though, taking advantage of somebody so desperate. So he just watches, trying to keep his features indifferent as each piece of frilly fabric hits the floorboards. He hooks his thumb into his gun belt, hoping that it might obscure the growing strain in his dungarees.

By the time you’re undoing the metal fasteners at the front of your corset, he’s biting down on the inside of his cheek. He tastes blood when there’s nothing more separating him from your body than a gauzy chemise and cotton drawers.

You go to the wash basin and splash water on your face and neck. Some droplets fall and make your chemise cling to your damp skin.Y ou moan happily, refreshed. The noise is obviously exaggerated but it still makes Joel ache.

You linger like that for a moment, lazily swaying your bare shoulders. Finally, you step towards Joel, crowding him against the door. The space between the two of you is hot and his breath shallows. He can see the outline of your peaked nipples beneath the flimsy material. The thought passes his mind again, how easy it would be to toss you back onto the mattress and help himself to all of you.

You raise your hand to him and for a moment, he’s forgotten what’s going on here. The sly grin on your lips tells him that you’re well aware of the effect your nearly naked body is having on him. He swallows and slips the cuff around you again. His knuckles graze the inside of your wrist as he locks it. Delicate, warm skin.

Pleased with yourself, you crawl onto the bed. Joel wills his cock to behave as he slips out of his boots and coat. He soaks his bandana in the wash basin and cools the back of his neck. Once he’s in his union suit, he sets his holster down on the floor beside his pillow and swings his legs into the bed. He locks himself to you and tucks the key next to his gun.

“Well ain’t this romantic,” you say from your spot against the wall. “Feels like my wedding night all over again.”

Joel stares at the ceiling. The bed’s a tight fit, his shoulders touch yours when he lays on his back. You’re leaned on your elbow smiling like the cat that ate the canary. He smells that lavender again. 

He rolls onto his side, away from your leering. You laugh to yourself as he squeezes his eyes shut for a very long night.

Comments and reblogs always appreciated!

Chapter 4

Follow @mothandpidgeon-updates to be notified about new fics!

#outlaw!Joel Miller #joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fic #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character #ellie williams #tommy miller #maria tlou #tlou

[melodiousmonsters]

I'm just going to start talking about my celestials each month to give you all some low effort and fun(for me) content. Also doing full illustrations of them as well, with some design notes at the end.

My interpretation of loodvigg, named Fhobia Denta Latrostratous (they're one of the three celstials with a full name at the moment) is a fair bit different from other's interpretations of it for extremely personal reasons. They're a tad bit strange, and creepy looking, but overall they are a compassionate (in their own strange way, like almost everything about them) and creative individual that's held as a role model for all shadowkind. They also have a lavender colored ring around their pupils so their eyes aren't fully pink, which is the main difference from the cannon loodvigg, along with the subtly different feathers, lower body, markings on the abdomen, and scales on the arms.

They are generally unexpressive (tonealy, the main way monsters express their emotions) yet VERY emotional. Over the years they gradually became more in control of their emotions due to sheer life experience, but they are still a little more irrational and driven by emotion than most of the other celestials.

They hate being touched, loud sudden/repetitive noises, math, people or things that get too into the meaning of art and other stuff like that, and the texture of a few things like fish meat or coarse fabrics. There are very few things they have a neutral opinion on, one of which is the taste of blood by itself.

They love keeping up their appearance in most situations, for example, their hair isn't naturally like that, they use their saliva like hair jell and specifically style it to look like that, also they would be absolutely rancid smelling and filthy with their diet of fresh meat and preferred locals of wet warm caves. They spend a lot of time cleaning themselves, which is extremely rare for monsters. They also like eating more than your average monster, they eat like a toddler because of how preoccupied with eating they get, collecting/making taxidermy and other oddities, and all critters, especially invertebrates though.

They are majorly interested in biological sciences, specifically preservation and taxonomy. They gave the celestials and dof era monsters/critters their scientific names(no I don't have scientific names for the celestials yet, I've kinda ran out of ideas for scientific names tbh). They happen to spend a lot of their time in a very large cave network with a lot of different types of caves that make good enclosures for keeping critters to study.

They care a lot about the other celestials as they are siblings and gets very angry if something bad happens to them, only if they feel it's undeserved, their empathy is a bit wacky and  inconsistent.

Also most shadow monsters tend to share in its odd mannerisms, sometimes the behaviors show up in completely non shadow affiliated monsters and no one knows why.

Disclaimer (I think that's the right word), yes you guessed right, Fhobia and the large majority of the shadow monsters are autistic, the term isn't used in universe as the monsters don't have a word for autism as they aren't that into psychology and "the way that monster is" has worked in place of a proper word historically, monsters aren't into categorizing others.

as for design notes and process here it is! all the stuff in red boxes are final.

#my singing monsters #beezleart #art #melodious monster chronicles #loodvigg #fhobia denta latrostratous

[ceralmillkandstars]

a beautiful ring pt 2 (namor x siren!reader)

excerpt: 500 year old god and a young, enchanting mermaid who acts like an absolute gremlin- she refuses to act any different in front of the man who could slice her in half. and he’s absolutely enamored by it.

welcome to part two :) thank yew for all of the support i’ve gotten from you guys so far. def slowly but surely buildin up here. part three is in da works as we speak, praying for some smoochy time cuz smut is my fav thing to write. 

here we goooooo 

You were raised to love the sea, but your home was the surface. 

And by the gods did you need a shower. 

Your back was sore, your hair stiff from the sea salt, and the slowly dying adrenaline rush was leaving your eyes droopy and body hunched over. Flying back to Chicago in the dead of night after returning from East Hampton’s beach killed you, your victory of stealing from a god seems meaningless when there is no more energy left to boost your own ego. 

You found yourself surprised when you made it to your condo's doorsteps in downtown Chicago safely, in awe that you were just that good. Winding the prize out of your pocket, you gingerly look it over before laying it on your vanity desk, giving yourself a once over in the mirror after you beelined towards your room.

The east coast truly brought out the freckles under your eyes. You glowed, blowing yourself a kiss before trudging into the bathroom. Inhaling the crushed eucalyptus leaves affixed by twine atop of your shower head, you turn the knob as hot as you can stand, beginning to strip from the salty slip dress and undergarments. 

A melody begins to hum from your lips, effortlessly wrapping yourself in a protective transfixion as you step into the shower. A groan mixing in with the angelic sound emits from you while the steaming water droplets pelt your back. You lean your head back, running your now goldless, godless fingers through your hair, gingerly tending to your scalp with lavender shampoo and tea tree oil. 

You don’t quite know what you are, but you are too unique, too important, to not nourish.

Twirling your conditioner-soaked hair into a clip, you lather yourself with similarly smelling soap that reminds you of the tide pool you once bathed in as a girl, singing hymns that reminded you of the ocean floor you visited today. Twisting and swaying your hips to the song, you let the water turn ice cold once you cleaned yourself sparkling, your hair soft and relaxed, ready to be brushed and braided for the night. The frozen pellets encourage your fears, your inhibitions, the fear that you might have not been forgotten, swirl down the drain, the song coming to an end as you turn the dial off. 

Lavender lotion, face oil, floral spaghetti strap and matching undies, french braids with rosemary elixir being soaked by your scalp- the perfect night. 

Pizza would make it better, though. 

You plop yourself on the bed, back on the mattress, legs raised and pointed towards the air as you dig for your phone to dial whichever place had stuffed crust and pineapple. 

You are not alone, the moon murmurs to you, allowing a black sludge of dread to pool within you. Your body jerks up, and you cross your arms over your chest. Eyebrows furrowing and lips jutted, you scan your room. 

My kitchen, my kitchen. 

Who is in my kitchen? 

If another absolutely rancid, stupid boy who couldn’t take the hint and throw away your condo key (you’d never admit that was your fault), you were drowning them. Even if you had to hull their unconscious bodies to Chicago’s murky waters to do so. Even if that’s never happened before. 

That’s never happened before. 

With a paling face, you slide off the bed and storm into the kitchen. Sometimes, you prayed that the moon would foretell you important information before such an event occurred. 

“Listen, Chad, or Jason, or Elijah, who-fucking-ever, if someone ghosts you and doesn’t call you back that doesn’t give you authority to come into their home even if you have a key. I’m going to count to ten before I lay you flat on that countertop and remove your most important ligaments from your body because I am just so fucking tired- oh..” 

Your fears did not travel too far down the drain while you showered. Your protection hum was not enough. In fact, the unease of being out of control slithered back up and wrapped itself like a serpent around your neck in a chokehold, for the moon did not whisper to you soon enough that he had followed you back home. 

Your protection song was not enough. Usually, something so simple would cause an intruder to burst into a billion water droplets. Usually, you would have just come into the kitchen to discover a puddle and smile to yourself knowing that an idiot got what was coming to them. You did not need the moon to warn you of robbers, of shallow one night stands who can’t get enough of your hypnotic stares, of anyone coming into your home without permission. 

And yet, this god stands in your kitchen, seemingly perplexed by your adornment of antique plates and cups poorly stacked in the open cabinets, not one of them the same. His fingers trace along adjacent jars, reading to himself each herb and spice labeled and put away on the wood shelf. You mirror his annoyed expression as his eyes wander near the sink, finding a ripped open, half eaten, chocolate bar. 

“I wasn’t expecting company,” you murmur, taking soft steps towards the barrier of your kitchen. You find your fingers smoothing down the base of your floral tank top, giving an angsty stare towards the pair of matching panties acting as a second skin. 

Well, at least it didn’t look like you were lying. 

He did not change, his gold armor tightly affixed to his shoulders, spear tightly bound in his hands. The large, gold-plated necklace and larger than life pearls, other finely varnished necklaces stack upon one another and his curly, damp, yet neatly toppled hair with those earrings had your cheeks heating. 

Very rarely does one of your stature, your nature, become seduced themselves. 

Or so the moon tells you. 

“Do those earrings hurt from wearing them all day, or does swimming in the water help with the weight distribution?” You blurt, cheeks red, back straight. 

The god simply turns, giving you a slow once over. Quiet rage, curiosity swims in his eyes, a deadly demeanor flowing from him to you, you to him. 

Exposing pajamas and random questions being unanswered won’t stop you from making his atoms implode with a whisper, for disrespect is a sour taste on your tongue. 

Could you even kill him? Leave a scratch on his cheek? 

Internally, you scoff. You won’t kill a god. You might steal from one, but it would be purely selfish of you to kill this man. The moon has whispered secrets of an underground world since you were a child wishing to sleep sooner, and it would be against your very nature to slaughter the man who leads a dream world. 

So you continue on, filling in the bloodless silence as he turns to your dining table, “I like how you wear your oceanic garb on the surface. I think it’s neat.” 

Is he going to take the ring back? Kill you? I mean, if you were him, you’d kill you if caught. Maybe you should go get it. 

“I will not conform myself to the surface when I step foot onto this land.” The silky, calculated, deliberate cool tone reverberates around your home, the tranquil atmosphere melding into an eerie fog. 

You pucker your lips, nodding. 

The moon must be humored by your calmness before the very man whose spear could impale you before you could send another twinkle. Or horrified. Her daughter lackadaisical, wearing floral panties and a small, matching top in front of the serpent god.  

He stares at you for a second longer, his eyes melting any confidence, any tranquility left in your body. A small girl with a knack for pretty things quivers before the god. 

“I have heard rumors of the ones who are creatures of the sea. The creatures that can return to the surface world if they wish, full-bodied at their will. The creatures who can manipulate, who could conquer the world at their whim-”

“The moon does not wish me to conquer,” you bite, chin upturning. You turn, beginning to move towards your room. If you’re going to be interrogated, it better be with pizza. 

A gasp pelts from you as his spear shoots out in front of you in a swift, presiding motion. The sharp metal kisses your cheek, the flesh of it nearly missing being sheered off. 

Whiplash consumes you as you turn towards the god, face shot. 

You guess it’s not the right time for pizza. 

“The moon?” He quizzes, eyes narrowing, utterly fixated upon you. He observes as your chest heaves, your wide eyes staring down his spear, watching as you fight between looking at his face and that skillfully crafted weapon. There hasn’t been this powerful of a man so close to you before. 

You gulp, nodding, wishing you could straighten your back, turn up your chin, more,“Yes, the moon.” 

The spear slaps back to his side, and he moves away from you, continuing to contemplate your home. Your living room, your dining table, the half eaten dark chocolate bar sitting on the counter from the other night. Flowery, ethereal, a little messy. You strived to bring as much essence with you to the surface world as you could, finding incandescence in each piece you brought back to your condo. Stolen or not is long forgotten by now, all you know is that this is your home. 

A god is looking around your home. Cheeks heated, you pray to the Mother to take the embarrassment and hope he is even the slightest bit impressed. 

He strides towards the velvet couch, and you cringe as he sits. It’s unearthly to witness a sea god attempting to relax into your couch. It seems he feels the same way, unable to sit in an indestructible way, so he settles for resting his elbows on his knees, gazing up at you. 

“Do you have velvet couches at home?”

It is not a request when he states, “tell me about your moon.’

“It is not my moon,” you begin, tiptoeing towards the adjacent couch. You grab a small throw pillow, shielding your peaking, freckled stomach as you sit down. Any wrong moves, any innuendos you’d fight him in your apartment would mean slaughter. The moon warns you of this as you cross your legs and force yourself to face the god. “She is simply the moon. She holds the energy to the waters, and water is within us all- no matter the level. I serve her and her me.”

His gaze gives away he is not satisfied with this information, and you shrug your shoulders. There is little information you wish to give away tonight, your growling stomach and fluttering eyes urging you to find a way to end this conversation and get this man on his way. 

“What more is there to know?” What a teasing answer, and his brows rise in the slightest. You’re both struggling to keep your composure, this god used to his world bending to his will and your sleepy, angry hunger fueling whatever delinquency was about to arise. 

“How do you serve her?” You nearly groan at that demanding tone, it’s what- midnight? There’s no food, emphasis on no food, in your stomach and you wish to curl under your freshly washed winter duvet to borrow away until the upcoming afternoon instead of being questioned right now. 

“I am tired,” you feebly admit, voice soft like silk and edged glass. A fine balance for a soon-to-be tantruming moon child. You prayed to her to not let him see you act a fool after stealing his ring. 

A fine price to pay for not being powerful enough. “Can we continue this conversation another time? You know where I live. I just want some pizza- what? Pizza is good.” 

You nearly scoff at his grimacing complexion. Slowly deteriorating, your once gentle, feline gaze began to melt into a matching stare as he replied. 

“The surface world food is vile.”

“Have you ever had stuffed crust pizza?” Gods, arguing was going to get you nowhere. What can you do to get this god to leave? 

He is not leaving, child. 

“How do you serve the moon?” He repeats, straightening his back. 

He just won’t quit. You ponder how it turns out for someone to push his button; a fire ignites in your stomach at the thought. 

“I’m in my undies right now, I’m hungry, I am exhausted, and I don’t even know who you are. Come back in the morning once I’ve eaten my vile food,” you spit, “and I’ll think about telling you all my cute little secrets.” 

Incredulously, his mouth gapes open in the slightest before standing up, bolting to tower over you faster than you can recalibrate yourself. Before your gaze can linger on his thighs for more than a moment's notice, you find a tight grip on your jaw, cheeks squishing and your lips pursed in the slightest. Dread consumes you, and you feel the moon shake her head. 

“You dare,” he begins, staring down at you as if you were less than the scum under his feet, “speak to me like this as if you did not steal what does not belong to you in the first place- siren.” You return the fever, glaring back at him, clenching the chair’s cushioning and pushing yourself to meet his face with yours. 

“It was pretty,” you seethe, “and I am not a siren.”

He tuts, clenching your jaw harder between his thumb and forefinger, twisting your neck as though you were the ring you plucked from him in the ocean, “Little surface girls taking things that do not belong to them, claiming they belong to the moon.” 

Mother forgive me, you silently beg, the rage allowing one last particle of energy to surface. You let yourself blow out a soft sigh that you hope, you pray, feels like peppering kisses all over his face and neck. 

Peppering kisses turn into boiling beads of sweat pilling along his temples in mere seconds, your silent will urging his blood to cook beneath you. Boiling blood and a dark, unearthed lust surfacing in the form of a longing gaze and heated skin. His grip molding soft, lips parting. 

“Return tomorrow, and I will answer your questions,” whatever sultry notes left in your voice bellow in his stomach, your eyes hooded, skin glowing as you summon the moonlight to cast against your goose bumped skin. 

Bend to me by the order of the moon, bend to me and go home. 

He longingly looks over your moon-kissed cheeks between his hand, down to your collar bones, the dip of your chest begging to pour out of your small tank top, tracing your navel with his eyes and they linger on the embroidered panties, your throw pillow long gone on the floor once you sat up fully to fight for yourself- for your pizza- tonight. 

But because the way he was returning your devilish look, you might not be hungry for just pizza. 

Bend to my will, sweet king. Let me continue my night, you may question me in the morning. 

And then he has the audacity to reel back and laugh, letting you jerk away at the expense of your own mortification. 

Heaven forbid, it didn’t work. 

Dark red embellishes your cheeks, your nose, your neck and chest. Blotchy. 

Your cooler hands find your cheeks, urging them to quiet, and you curl back into your chair. Looking down at your newly polished toes and back up towards him with pure fury, you couldn’t feel more humiliated. 

The moon did not let you win. 

There is no victory, no satisfaction when you are angry, she murmurs, synchronizing the gods movements as he lifts your chin again. It is gentle, testing. You are met with a curious, cautious, nevertheless impenetrable stare. His eyes travel between your cheeks, watering eyes, your pink, pouty lips. 

“I will return in the morning, when the sun rises.” He promises with a nod, “hopefully you will be as enchanting as you are described in the books with a full stomach and long nights rest.” There is a soft laugh, the god not yet letting go of your face, observing the pink splotches of shame along your neck. “I did not think the definition of moon children would be so literal.” 

You could not manipulate this man, and he is calling you a child. 

You are too angry, too tired, too defeated to rebuttal that you are the goddess, the justice, the love and power of the moon. 

He did not ask for his ring back when he let go of your face, gathered his spear, and took flight from your open balcony window, giving you another short, determined once over. 

A loud groan escapes you as the transparent, pink-hued curtains sway with the wind. 

You want to chuck that ring out of that very window, you decide. 

Before you went to bed, you ate a whole box of stuffed crust pizza.

.

.

.

He kept his promise. 

After failing to have a good night’s rest, tossing and turning, waking with cold sweats and dreams of cascading down a rabbit hole, you understand why your sleep was disrupted in the early morning.

There he sat, across from your bed in another lounge chair seemingly miniature while he shuffles about. He twirls one of your small shell in his hand, and it seems as though he took a good chunk of time out of his night to look through nearly all of your trinkets. 

You sigh and roll over in your bed away from the man in the chair, pulling the duvet over your head. A groan reverberates through the sheets when you shove your face into the surface of the mattress. 

This is not how you imagined your morning after East Hampton. You allow yourself to daydream for a moment, pretending you wake in the sun alone, stretch, cum with one of your previous vibrators, and make an omelet with the mushrooms you got from the market just the other day. Cheese and mushrooms and eggs, maybe a coffee, maybe a chai. 

With a final groan to ground you, you flip the covers and force yourself to sit up. Your braids are tightly wound, the natural lighting from the window causing your hair to glow and your freckles to surface and sparkle. From your tank top, a large tshirt covers you, fabric folding over your stomach and thighs, barely covering your underwear. 

Should you say hi? Should you act like he’s not there and get on with your morning routine? 

You decide the latter, swinging your legs to hang off the of the bed and scoot for your feet to touch the floor. Your arms raise, and you stretch, looking towards the sky as you silently thank the moon for allowing you to see another beautiful morning, letting the gratitude bathe you. 

He simply stares. 

You let him as you wander into the bathroom to wash your face and brush your teeth. 

There is no way you’ll be less than presentable in front of a god, you whisper to the moon as your examine your small closet. Your eyebrows furrow- you cannot remember a time you contemplated looking presentable for someone else. 

You can hear the moon giggle as you contemplate wearing one of your prettiest dresses that you specifically use for full moon nights. Or the new moon? What kind of energy are you bringing into this conversation? 

Energy, your lips quirk. May he be enamored, for it is not about the dress but jewelry that adorns you. 

You place yourself in lacy garments, a shimmer of silver and a soft green, puffy-sleeved, translucent blouse and lightly washed, high-waisted jeans. Matching, lacy socks and a silver necklace with a curled shell. 

Glamoured rings slide themselves onto your fingers, and you inspect the finery wrapped around your flesh with a grin. Silver and gold bands with crystals wired around them and dipped into moon water and rose oil bound to convey any man to serve you. Hopefully a god, too. 

Gold glitter smears across your eyelid, your cheekbones and a tap on your nose. Clear mascara and brow gel brushes its way on as you glow at yourself in the mirror. 

Wetting your hair and re-curling your golden ringlets with a serum, you place two pearly clips to push aside the front pieces of your hair on each side, framing your face in the most pleasing way. 

Terrifyingly beautiful. 

I am dreamy, I am translucent, I am a child of the moon. 

With a deep breath and another prayer to the moon, you’re gliding out of the bathroom. 

May the moon bless this day. 

“I’m hungry,” you state as your feet patter towards him sitting in the chair, his body did not move an inch, now holding one of your hair clips. You stand in front of him, nearly at eye-level. Perplexed, angry, annoyed, curious, lustful- all the emotions you could sniff out as he gave you a slow, deliberate look over. 

“Would you like to join me for breakfast?” You breathe, refraining from twirling your fingers together. Asking, not taking, was not a talent of yours. It makes you blush, makes you sweat. 

“Tell me how you serve your moon while you eat.” 

You find yourself agreeing with the slightest of smiles. 

@angeli-fucking-cat <3

#namor x reader #namor x you #namor fanfiction #tenoch huerta namor #namor smut #namor imagine #mcu imagine #mcu fandom #marvel universe #marvel headcanons #marvel writing #marvel fanfiction #my wreck this journal #writing #i hope so so much u enjoy #again.. dunno where to go from here! lemme know how you feel #if u got ideas plz send them my way

[ideas-4-stories]

That picture of Mihawk bloody and looking absolutely feral got me craving for a fic where Mihawk and Crocodile are vampire mates who've been together for centuries. Although they love each other they have both felt incomplete. Buggy learns of their true nature and is equal parts terrified and fascinated. Then one day the Marines launch a sudden attack on Cross Guild. It is absolute chaos and in the process Mihawk and Crocodile's blood supply is destroyed. The attack lasts for a full week and by the time Cross Guild successfully repels the Marines, Mihawk and Crocodile are both mad with hunger and fury. To protect his crew, Buggy goes to them and offers his blood. With very little choice, Mihawk and Crocodile accept Buggy's offer. Buggy finds himself held down with bruising force and two sets of fangs sink into him. Mihawk and Crocodile are expecting to have to choke down whatever rancid substance Buggy passes off as blood, instead it is the most exquisite blood either of them have ever had in all the centuries they've been alive. Buggy was expecting the pain, but not the pleasure that comes with a vampire's bite, and he has two of them to contend with. Things soon devolve into hours of passion between the three of them, leaving Buggy totally out cold, and Mihawk and Crocodile's hunger sated but new, fiery desire filling them. They realize that Buggy has been their missing piece all along and now have to find a way to both make amends for their past disregard and disrespect, and earn his love for real. Buggy just thinks his "lieutenants" are plotting new ways to end him when in fact they are trying to court him.

I'm not sure what picture it is, Vampire!Mihawk is valid. Crocodile being a vampire as well, a score really.

Yes, wholesome Buggy with his crew, even though attitude and temper would make people think he's a bad captain. That can't be more wrong. Giving up his blood to make sure nobody would go through sees just like him to do.

Technically Vampires are a part of the undead and are dead. So, I think it would be that Buggy has the most exquisite blood either of them has ever had in all the centuries they've been undead.

Buggy going out cold, while Mihawk and Crocodile's hunger sated makes sense. Buggy being their missing piece is so cute!

I always love the idea of Buggy thinking Mihawk and Crocodile are plotting something for him that would end him. Buggy's just obvious like that. Crocodile and Mihawk are goanna be so frustrated by this.

#one piece #buggy pirates #cross guild #buggy the clown #sir crocodile #dracule mihawk #buggy the star clown #mr. 0 #hawkeye mihawk #buggy the bombastic clown #crocodile x buggy #mihawk x buggy #buggy the genius jester #crocodile x buggy x mihawk #buggy the flashy fool #ideas~4~stories says #ask

[veliseraptor]

i was wondering if you have any thoughts on why xie lian alway offers to cook for people? he seems pretty self-aware so he must know that his cooking is rancid. it feels like a joke for the audience, but knowing mxtx i feel like there must be more to it that i'm missing

xie lian is definitely aware that his cooking is rancid (particularly since he actively weaponizes it against the cultivators who come after hua cheng in book 3); if I'm recalling correctly (and despite having read this one three times it is definitely possible i'm not recalling correctly), he only actually offers to feed people when he's actively trying to chase them off (as with feng xin and mu qing in book one, where his offer to make dinner drives them to leave and it reads to me as though he very much intends that to be the case)

xie lian is very good at playing innocent when he knows exactly what he's doing, and that's what this looks like to me. later on he gives his food to qi rong (who he dislikes) but specifically warns hua cheng off it:

and when he feeds shi qingxuan and minghe yixuan when they visit, he only does so after shi qingxuan excitedly asks to eat some, and hua cheng has been eating his food and seems to like it:

and is a little crushed when it doesn't go well. (i am absolutely certain that hua cheng, incidentally, did this on purpose, because he's very upset with he xuan for showing up at xie lian's house.)

so basically, the one time (that i can recall) where xie lian feeds someone other than hua cheng (who he warns off once, and is excited and surprised when he seems to appreciate xie lian's cooking afterward, which is of course a sign of hua cheng's devotion in itself), it's because he (falsely) thinks that maybe he's not an awful cook after all. I could be forgetting something, but I'm pretty sure the only other time he makes food/gives food to someone who isn't hua cheng (or qi rong, and that seems to be explicitly punishment) is when he uses his meatballs as weapons against the cultivators in book 3.

#conversating #anonymous #xie lian #dysfunctional gods and ghost kinks #i don't know if this counts as meta

[britishassistant]

It’s dark and dank down in the hag’s lair.

The infernal engine cuts through some of it, but it’s still enough to niggle at Karlach, feeding into her rage alongside the righteous fury of seeing this scared young mum cower while the hag wears her face and the ire of “we have had to run through an ABSOLUTE SHITHOLE to get here, and the bitch is still not dead?!”

She can see Wyll hanging back by Mayrina, eldritch blast crackling in one hand with his rapier at the ready in the other. Gale has magic missile humming at his fingertips, mage armor humming around him. Yuu is drawing the hag’s attention away from her, mockery as vicious as the spear they’re still getting the hang of.

The hag screeches as Karlach’s axe cleaves into her fleeing back, vanishing in a puff of rancid smoke.

But when the three dopplegangers reappear, something’s different. They’re all chanting, a language that Karlach doesn’t know but sets her teeth on edge the same way a devil or demon around does.

Gale yells something, but it’s drowned out by the chanting reaching a crescendo, the hags all shrieking in unison before the illusions burst.

The next thing Karlach knows, Yuu has vanished from her periphery, and the hag is cooing at something in her grasp.

“Well, aren’t you just the sweetest little morsel, petal?” Floats over to where Karlach is, the saccharine sweet poison in the words somehow piercing the too-hot rush of her fury. “Now, hold still for Auntie…”

There’s a frightened child’s scream.

Karlach’s already hazy vision goes red.

Next thing she knows, she’s staring down at a pulped mess where the hag used to be, her rage broken by exhaustion more than anything else.

When she twists around, she sees Wyll curled around a small child, the pair of them staring up at her.

The only ways she can tell they’re a tiefling is the bruise pink face peeking out from under a wimple pulled too tight against their little head and horns. Gloves cover their hands, not even their feet peep out from under the hem of their long, undyed dress.

Looking at the kid, Karlach gets the weirdest sense that someone has tried really, really hard to make them as unlike themself as possible. Something in her gut squirms.

This teeny tiny version of their leader gazes up at her, mouth hanging open. Excitement, of all things, dancing in their eyes.

“Are you my Mummy?!” They ask.

“Uh.” Karlach says blankly.

Wyll’s lips are pressed together as he wheezes on an exhale.

Behind her, Gale begins coughing as though he’s choked on his own spit.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 tav #karlach cliffgate #karlach #wyll ravengard #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #villainous paranoiac yuu #yuu #auntie ethel #de aging #because baby yuu imprinting on karlach would not leave me alone #Ethel is fey and so probably has access to spells like this #ur enemy too strong? de age them and eat them baby! #strong new hag guaranteed!

[yuzuocha]

𝚢𝚞·𝚣𝚞·𝚘·𝚌𝚑𝚊 | ユズオチャ

noun

1. a type of citrus tea that originated from China and is now also widely produced and consumed in Japan and Korea.

2. the owner of this ridiculous blog.

‣ about me

hi there and welcome to my blog! i am yuzuocha but call me yuzu :D

they/them

日本語/한국어/ENG

i write mainly for love and deepspace, but there might be some other fandom content here and there (i.e. project sekai)

this is a fic, art and incorrect quotes blog that is 16+!

INBOX IS OPEN. PLEASE SEND A MESSAGE IM LONELY HERE

‣ requests

i only accept up to three characters per headcanon/drabble request. you're free to request the same headcanon/drabble for different characters, though; this is to make requests into bite-sized pieces for me! you are welcome to also request one-shots or even multi-chapter fics >:D do your worst!

however do know that i only accept these requests as suggestions, not explicitly favors i have to do. if it interests me, you're in luck. if it doesn't interest me, you ain't in luck. only times i'd take it as a request is if it's for a friend i personally know or whatnot.

this blog will be NON-EXPLICIT for the most part, anyway. obviously there's going to be suggestive themes, plenty of implications and a whole lot of softcore (like c'mon look at my first post kek), however i absolutely refuse to write or draw outright smut. we got enough smut artists and writers in the lds fandom and i think we don't got enough fluff-angst writers HAHA

‣ things to know

this blog is 16+ — while I don't explicitly discourage readers under the aforementioned age from consuming my content, most, if not all of my content contains somewhat suggestive themes and contain suggestive, violent and/or triggering themes. additionally, the game itself holds aforementioned themes, so i thought i might as well put a soft-minimum just to give myself some peace and mind lol. please use your personal discretion before you consume my work!

i have a taglist! please let me know if you'd like to be a part of it through commenting here or through my inbox! i'll give you lots of smooches as a ty <3

finally — i have commissions available for both art and writing! please contact me through my discord yuzuocha for details :D

‣ masterlist

headcanon

‣ the horrors of gacha. — 全て/All

‣ moments of panic. — みんな/All

‣ back in the days. — みんな/All

‣ kith? kith. — みんな/All

‣ domestic times. — みんな/All

‣ a living proof of your love. — みんな/All

one-shot + drabble

‣ heartstring fortissimo. — セイヤ/Xavier

‣ eclipse. — セイヤ/Xavier

‣ drunk mind, sober feelings. — セイヤ/Xavier

‣ a second love at second sight. — ホムラ/Rafayel

‣ post-care. — レイ/Zayne

multi-fic

‣ player one, player two. — セイヤ/Xavier

‣ syndicate overture. — セイヤ/Xavier

but really really fast

main story ‣ prologue

main story ‣ chapter ɪ

main story ‣ chapter ɪɪ

main story ‣ chapter ɪɪɪ

main story ‣ chapter ɪᴠ

main story ‣ chapter ᴠ

main story ‣ chapter ᴠɪ

main story ‣ chapter ᴠɪɪ

main story ‣ chapter ᴠɪɪɪ

incorrect quotes

ɪ ‣ truth conundrum

ɪɪ ‣ caleb v. ladder

ɪɪɪ ‣ xavier's mc sensor

ɪᴠ ‣ rafayel's morals

ᴠ ‣ anti-consolation

ᴠɪ ‣ following directions with faith

ᴠɪɪ ‣ rafayel's rancid rizzing

ᴠɪɪɪ ‣ who let xavier cook

ɪx ‣ "helping out"

x ‣ false alarm

xɪ ‣ fiery motivation

xɪɪ ‣ self love

xɪɪɪ ‣ vroom vroom

xɪᴠ ‣ how to treat a short person

xᴠ ‣ is rafayel into choking?

xᴠɪ ‣ sanity loss documentary

xᴠɪɪ ‣ spooky broccoli

xᴠɪɪɪ ‣ xavier's tendencies

xɪx ‣ "what keeps you up at night"

xx ‣ speling is hahrd

xxɪ ‣ subway surfers was fire ngl

xxɪɪ ‣ whoever threw that shell, fuck you

xxɪɪɪ ‣ innocent until proven guilty

xxɪᴠ ‣ happy middle fingers

xxᴠ ‣ single when drunk?

xxᴠɪ ‣ a cursed bless

xxᴠɪɪ ‣ serotonin, too!

xxᴠɪɪɪ ‣ he isn't wrong, per se

xxɪx ‣ lie detector

xxx ‣ an artist's perspective, apparently

xxxɪ ‣ yeah no he bucked up

xxxɪɪ ‣ a cursed bless 2.0

xxxɪɪɪ ‣ caleb's sick of it lol

xxxɪᴠ ‣ propriety over honesty

xxxᴠ ‣ words of (questionable) truth

xxxᴠɪ ‣ caleb technically didn't lie

xxxᴠɪɪ ‣ she thought she was playing chess, he was playing 4d chess

xxxᴠɪɪɪ ‣ as long as rafayel's happy, i guess

xxxɪx ‣ who let xavier cook 2.0

xʟ ‣ nice card, shitty purpose

xʟɪ ‣ put a price tag in bed

xʟɪɪ ‣ mission accomplished (?)

xʟɪɪɪ ‣ asshole of the year

xʟɪᴠ ‣ "KILL IT KILL IT KILL ITTTTTT"

xʟᴠ ‣ local fish intentionally stranded on walmart parking lot

xʟᴠɪ ‣ cereal hits when drunk

xʟᴠɪɪ ‣ zayne can't be left alone, poor him

xʟᴠɪɪɪ ‣ a chair that can kick you

xʟɪx ‣ needs and wants

ʟ ‣ honesty so brutal it hurts

ʟɪ ‣ yea just buy whipped cream instead

ʟɪɪ ‣ words v. stones

ʟɪɪɪ ‣ living in the present

ʟɪᴠ ‣ popcorn doesn't last

ʟᴠ ‣ war of words

ʟᴠɪ ‣ it is trash can, not trash cannot

ʟᴠɪɪ ‣ newton's rolling in his grave

ʟᴠɪɪɪ ‣ carnival avocado

ʟɪx ‣ how much white stuff can fit in a mouth?

ʟx ‣ 6 cm per second, which is frankly impressive

ʟxɪ ‣ xavier v. jeremiah getting punched

ʟxɪɪ ‣ hunter's "reflexes"

ʟxɪɪɪ ‣ declaration (?) of love

ʟxɪᴠ ‣ double friendzone'd

ʟxᴠ ‣ rafayel's garden

ʟxᴠɪ ‣ reminiscence (?)

ʟxᴠɪɪ ‣ xavier the almighty sun

ʟxᴠɪɪɪ ‣ xavier the almighty mosquito

ʟxɪx ‣ the duality of fish

ʟxx ‣ didn't happen if there ain't no evidence

ʟxxɪ ‣ life is just one big capitalist experience fr

ʟxxɪɪ ‣ oof lmfao

ʟxxɪɪɪ ‣ you something get eat might

ʟxxɪᴠ ‣ father v. further v. farther

ʟxxᴠ ‣ hobbies

ʟxxᴠɪ ‣ the ends justify the means, right?

ʟxxᴠɪɪ ‣ so short they can duck liability

ʟxxᴠɪɪɪ ‣ cashed in the wrong way

ʟxxɪx ‣ love is an open door

ʟxxɪx ‣ efficiency > flirting

ʟxxx ‣ viral for all the wrong reasons

ʟxxxɪ ‣ killer fashion

#yuzuocha ‣ works #yuzuocha ‣ questions #yuzuocha ‣ rambles #yuzuocha ‣ comments

[nyaagolor]

Very silly chart about the sv characters and weed

Protagonist: your mileage may vary but mine only befriended Koraidon because she was high as shit and thought it was a really big wingull

Nemona: She took those anti-drug PSAs to heart. Not only does she think marijuana will kill you and has never smoked before, but if she saw someone else smoking she would put out their joint and give them a stern lecture. She's still student council president at the end of the day and she will NOT tolerate la hierba diabla

Penny: Being a stoner transfemme catgirl furry is basically a prerequisite to being a cybersecurity expert at this point. This woman has DEFINITELY played Minecraft while high out of her mind

Arven: He is completely unfamiliar with weed outside this one weird brownie recipe he saw online once, but good lord he needs some. Get this man an edible immediately he needs a nap and a release from the cruelty of existence

Sada and Turo: Got the idea for the time machine while high, this is a hill I will die on

Jacq: He has enough cortisol in his bloodstream at this very moment to kill a small mammal, I think he needs something to chill him out. He's so air-headed that it probably won't affect his outward behaviors anyway

Miriam: Medical marijuana was getting popular so she got curious and tried it, telling absolutely no one. She hated the cotton-mouth feeling, so she hasn't touched it since, and says she's never tried it when people ask

Dendra: She's an athlete and they drug-test so she couldn't try it even if she wanted to (and trust me, she wants to)

Saguaro: He was never interested in it because it smells bad >n<. Try as he might to hide it, he's a bit sensitive and didn't want to be around something so stinky

Salvatore: He was in the poke-netherlands once on a study abroad trip and rolled the worst blunt of all time. He was so thoroughly humiliated that he didn't even end up smoking and was asked to leave. The memory still haunts him. He doesn't like to talk about it

Tyme: Smoked a few times when she was a teenager and hanging out with Ryme-- ironically in their youth, it was Tyme who was the rebel! She hasn't done it in a few decades though, it's not really her thing anymore

Raifort: She'll try anything once, but didn't like the feeling of being so sluggish and tired so she didn't do it again

Clavell: You know that video with Clavell as Dwight? "Clavell finding marijuana is more dangerous than most people smoking it"? Exactly that

Katy: Smells too bad for her to even think about trying it. Also she's petty and too many people asked her if she can bake weed brownies, so she avoids it on principle now

Brassius: He's a grass gym leader, what do you think. Also I hc he has a chronic illness so he takes it medically to help with the pain. His studio smells downright rancid

Iono: Got high on a since deleted stream. She ended up staring directly into the camera for like three hours and falling asleep drooling, which was so embarrassing that she erased all records of the stream from existence and swore never to touch it again

Kofu: This is a man who looks like he would make MEAN cannabutter. He just has the vibes

Ryme: Smokes sometimes at parties and other social events, but not all that frequently. Grandma's still got it, plus it helps calm her down before a seance

Tulip: Tried it once after being offered it at an afterparty, but didn't like how it made her feel. She likes to be at the top of her game At All Times and this was not the way to do it

Grusha: Takes it medically for his chronic pain, but that's about it. Wouldn't use it otherwise

Rika: Just look at her.

Larry: Tried it one (1) time and didn't like it. Prefers regular cigarettes

Poppy: She's four.

Hassel: He ran away from home to be a musician he definitely had a stoner phase. Also he's besties / husbands with Brassius, so he's more than familiar with weed. I think because he's a schoolteacher and works with kids he doesn't do it much anymore though

Geeta: I'm honestly not sure how she fits into this, only that she's on the Nightmare Blunt Rotation of every Paldean

Giacomo: He can pretend all he likes but he's still a student council president at heart, he is mortified by the very concept of smoking weed. Someone offered him a joint at a rave and he lectured them for a half hour on the importance of caring for your body. He may look like a stoner but do not be fooled

Mela: Acts tough but she's kinda scared of the prospect of smoking weed. Don't tell anyone though

Atticus: He heard about this ancient Johtoian technique of ninja relaxation and tried to hotbox his room once. This resulted in an academy-wide fire scare because he set off every smoke alarm in his hall. The director was less than thrilled about this. Rumor has it the smell from Atticus' homemade herb and weed blend still sticks to the walls

Ortega: His opinion on weed is irrelevant because no one in their right mind is going to deal weed to a 14 year old nepo-baby in a pastel pink suit

Eri: Actually shockingly responsible and healthy at the end of the day-- illicit substances aren't part of her workout routine. Will probably give you a look of disapproval if she sees you smoking, but ultimately that's your business

#pokemon sv #mod vex #headcanons #this isn't that serious don't think too hard about it

[bunni-v1]

hii, can I request "First Years Finding Out Your A Girl" with sebek and ortho please?

Ortho and Sebek Find out You’re a Girl?!?!?! (NOT CLICKBAIT!!!)

TW: Swearing (as usual lol); Ortho being creepy; Misogyny mention <3; Reader goes by she/her and is biologically female; Book 6 spoilers (very light, but still there); Bunni hasn't read Book 7 and therefore doesn't know what they're talking about :)

Info: Ortho x Reader; Sebek x Reader; Fem!Reader; Platonic

🍓Hi. If you’ve read the first part of this, I copy pasted the intro. Not because I’m lazy or anything (I’m a little lazy, but I’m a full-time college student who also has a part-time job, so I think I can be excused.) It’s mostly because… It’s a good intro. If people are just discovering this stuff then they can read it, but if you’ve read the first part you can just skip to the good good yk. Anyway, long-ass babble session, but I didn’t include Ortho and Sebek initially because they’re kind of new to the First year group so idk. Felt weird including them. Also, I haven’t read book seven so Sebek I bullshit a lot lol. Anyway, they’re here now, and I absolutely ADORE Ortho, so sorry if my favoritism shows.

First Years

Second Years

Third Years

Dorm Leaders

-Okay so, I know we’re all wondering, how the hell do you get away with hiding your gender for so damn long?

-Firstly, those ceremonial robes do great at hiding the figure. The only tell would maybe be your hair, but feminine men aren’t unwelcome at Nightraven College, so you mostly get a few questioning stares and that’s it.

-Secondly, Crowley wants to save his own fucking ass. He already has to hide from the press that he has a MAGICLESS student from ANOTHER DIMENSION here, he doesn’t need the fact that you are a woman ALSO on his plate. So, obviously, he helps you hide your gender from others.

-Grim knows, of course, and he keeps his mouth shut for a few yummy cans of tuna (and threats of being expelled from Crowley <3)

-Even when you were just a janitor, he couldn’t have the rumor that he put a “helpless” young woman to work. (Like it wouldn’t be expected.)

-So how do you two do it?

-Baggy ass uniform. Crowley gave you at least three sizes too big.

-Your figure is completely hidden. Sure, you look completely homeless, but at least you’re hidden.

-For your voice, you simply deepen it. After some point, you blackmail Crowley into giving you a potion to help with it, since it's so taxing on your voice. (Or maybe your voice is naturally deep!)

-Sam provides you (for an unfairly pretty penny (not too different from your original world…)) any feminine hygiene products you might need.

-Honestly, you’re set for being cared for, but it’s the adjustment period that’s the hardest part. 

-Truly, it’s very jarring to suddenly be thrown into both a magical world and be isolated in a man's world with nowhere to hide.

-At least in your world you had other women who could understand your struggles. Here though? You’re completely alone.

-You notice how… messy some of these guys could be. How some of them smell… really rancid. -How rough they were with you and each other.

-Honestly, it’s kinda eye-opening. The way men show affection to each other is oddly refreshing to watch and experience!

-Ace and Deuce specifically are a good… trial run.

-That’s not what we’re here to talk about though…

-For the most part, it's incredibly easy to hide yourself for the first while on campus. Everyone on campus is so self-absorbed that they don’t bother questioning you.

-Your only real risk factor is Savannaclaw, but it's easy to avoid those guys (minus Jack, of course).

-However, you can only hide your gender for so long… It’s mentally draining to keep up this facade all the time around people you care about.

-So… how do they find out?

Ortho 

-Okay, so Ortho is a little creepy weirdo. He’s a highly advanced robot who likely has autism, and loves his big brother a whole fucking lot. 

-(Side note: Can a robot, child, or thing have autism? Does that mean Idia programmed Ortho to be autistic? How silly of him.)

-It’s my personal head cannon that Idia DECKED this kid out in as much high-tech gear as he could get his hands on. 

-He’s equipped with some of the most complex medical features, therefore he has access to a database of all students at NRC’s medical files. (This is not legal, but he does not care for the law.)

-“But Bunni, what does that have to do with the prefect?” Well, Ortho is ALSO equipped with the latest medical scanner on the market.

-Think like Baymax, yeah? He can scan everyone one time and know every piece of medical knowledge readily available.

-Well, Ortho, the sweet little creep he is, automatically scans the medical information of any new person he sees/meets into his database — just in case it may come in handy.

-So, before he even KNOWS you. Before he speaks a single word to you, he knows you’re biologically a female.

-He scanned you without thinking and just shrugged his shoulders at it.

-You’re not from here, and you got thrown into this, so you being a woman doesn’t really matter too much to you being at NRC. 

-It honestly could’ve been anyone getting stuck here, so why should he question it?

-However, he notices that you are referred to with exclusively “male” pronouns, so he marks in your file that you are trans and moves on. 

-Again, who cares? He’s a magical robot guy based on his brother's dead brother. Who was he to judge?

-When he finally ACTUALLY gets to interact with you after being welcomed into the first-year squad, he’s very respectful of your gender.

-You are a man to him, therefore he refers to you with exclusively masculine pronouns.

-However, everyone in your little group already knows, and they assume that Ortho knows. So when they speak about you, they use feminine pronouns.

-Ortho, sweet as he is, immediately questions everyone as to why they’re misgendering you.

-Protective of the people he cares for at heart, he doesn’t like the idea that your so-called closest friends are misgendering you behind your back.

-Doesn’t believe them completely when they explain, so he goes to you because you’re the only one who knows who you really are.

-“Prefect!”

“Hey, Ortho! What’s up? Miss me?”

“Of course I do, but I have a very important question.”

“Sure, what do ya need?”

“Are you a woman?”

-At this point 90% of your friends know, but there is a handful that doesn’t… and you can’t be having that.

-You, of course, assure Ortho that you are not only a woman, but that your friends are not misgendering you behind your back.

-Relieved, he takes several of your friends off a hit list and removes the trans man label on your medical chart.

-Asks why you hid your gender in the first place.

-Promptly adds Crowley to a hit list (again).

-Ortho, out of EVERYONE at NRC, has absolutely zero behavior changes toward you. 

-He’s equally protective as he was before, he spends the same amount of time with you as usual, he doesn’t suddenly have some weird crush on you, and he’s still trying to set you up with Idia.

-Honestly, everyone should take notes from Ortho. He’s the best at this whole thing.

Sebek

-On the other hand… do not take notes from Sebek! He sucks at this! He sucks really badly!

-Out of all the first years, Sebek is not only the least close to you, but he is also incredibly mean. So you just… feel no obligation to tell him.

-In fact, you kind of… sort of… actively leave him out of the loop for a really long time.

-I mean, it's not an unreasonable thing to do. He is constantly berating you and putting you down for being human. You have no idea how he feels about women and you don’t want to find out first hand.

-In all honesty, he is the only person (other than Azul and the twins) that you’re really scared of finding out, and take extra precautions to ensure he doesn’t find out.

-However, you attend NRC, and nothing ever goes your way at NRC.

-Despite every precaution you take to keep your gender under lock and key, you overlook one thing.

-Malleus Draconia.

-His complete and total lack of social awareness is your downfall here. He finds out, and despite everything telling him to keep his mouth shut… he doesn’t. Because of course, he doesn’t.

-At this point, you’ve gone through most of your misadventures, and most — if not all — of your friends know you’re a girl.

-Hell, even Silver knows now. Everyone BUT Sebek knows.

-And he finds out because Malleus casually mentions it over dinner. Not even directly about your gender, he just uses she/her pronouns.

-Sebek, being Sebek, respectfully asks Malleus if he meant to say he. Malleus, of course, says no without a second thought.

-The shock and horror on Silver and Lilia’s faces was enough to be further confirmation.

-And Sebek’s world shatters.

-He was completely left out of the loop and also has a moral conflict now.

-As much shit, as I gave Sebek (as everyone gives Sebek) he RESPECTS women. His queen is a woman, and his mother is a woman. 

-In his eyes, women are some of the strongest people around. Regardless of if they’re human or not.

-You, on top of being a human from another realm who had successfully quelled several of the strangest students at NRC’s OVERBLOTS and came out on top, was also a woman.

-If that wasn’t strength, he didn’t know what it was.

-However, his bias against humans strongly clashes with his respect for women in this case.

-And it just… messes with his head. 

-He doesn’t treat you worse, in fact, he’s just… really awkward around you now.

-He doesn’t know if he should apologize or berate you for being a human, so he just stays stiff and glares at you.

-It's honestly more scary than him constantly talking down to you.

-However, once the two of you actually befriend one another, he apologizes to you. For everything, and explains where he’s coming from. Why he acted the way he did, how he really feels about you, and all that sweet shit.

-Afterwards, he is genuinely the best at keeping your secret (if he even needs to at this point).

-If there is anyone you can trust to keep his stupid mouth shut at NRC, it's Sebek. 

-His honor and pride force him into silence when it comes to secrets he promises to keep.

-In fact, if anyone is on your trail about it, he’s the first one to jump in the way and scare them off/shut them down.

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #x reader #twst headcanons #bunni's treats 🧁 #ortho shroud #ortho shroud x reader #sebek zigvolt #sebek zigvolt x reader

[kurokeip]

Dominant Blade and Fist is a perfect event to me but i understand how it can feel confusing and regressive(?) if you haven't kept up with the Akatsuki stories, and it probably would've benefited from a chapter where Souma and Keito do the stuff they talk about in the end.

A really, unfortunately common sentiment is that Souma and Kuro are being held back/used by Keito, and that Keito becoming involved is a negative, because he can get overprotective and controlling, but it's never been as simple as that. Never trust the enstars unreliable narrator, especially Kuro Kiryu, in this particular story.

The thing about Kuro Kiryu, is that he... Self-harms in a way. When he feels hopeless and depressed, he digs a deeper hole to die in. He becomes sacrificial, resentful and pessimistic.

The vibes are so rancid that they replicate the ones that the audience in Kanatas execution.

Kuro is absolutely right when he monologues about his dependency on Keito. It's true that to an extent, they've still been letting Keito do the heavy lifting in terms of unit proposals.

However, the one time he tries to help out, his outfits end up becoming the critical weakness.

He's not good enough, Akatsuki isn't good enough. This is like. Factual. They cannot compete with full on traditional performers, and traditional idols. They're starting at the bottom.

Unfortunately, this is a lot for Kuro, who gets stuck in his own head, to bear. He immediately sticks himself in an extreme line of thinking. That his dependence on Keito is a complete weakness and flaw,

And once again, while this is true to an extent, it isn't to the extremes that Kuro is seeing it.

And well, He avoids Keito because Keito would tell him as much. (Unfortunately, Hasumi is right again lol. You can't take on the burdens of the world on your own, Kiryu!)

Instead, Kuro turns to Souma, another person that Keito 'protects'. He asks Souma, isn't it unfair that Hasumi does all the thinking?

And... Souma is inclined to agree! I mean, he's being left out of the unit conflict and proposals.

However, one thing about Souma

He LOVES akatsuki. He loves when all three of them perform, side by side. And he recognizes, when Kuro relays his plan, that Kuro is self-destructing.

I mean, if it wasn't obvious that Kuro's plan is a form of self-deprecating it should be via the references to the Ryuuousen, and the fact that it's centered on making a power grab, regressing to their old platform at Yumenosaki.

He's going to villainize himself, take all the blame, so that Akatsuki can regain their 'power'. And they'll do it WITHOUT Keito, to protect Keito, to prove themselves.

But... Souma can't let that happen. Because it would mean the end of the Akatsuki he loves.

So he fights to protect Akatsuki, for three whole days, he does nothing but dodge and take hits, not even fighting back, until Kuro is exhausted.

When he wins, he brings Keito back into the picture. And they still go through with Kuro's plan, but they do it together, with the goal of trying new things, using Yumenosaki as grounds for experiments, having fun.

And at the end of it, Kuro is able to come to terms with the fact that he's not 'perfect', and that he's going to make mistakes. But he won't stop fighting and let himself fall. He'll be reborn through his struggles.

And he wants Keito and Souma right there with him. To watch him grow into someone he can be proud of.

Because at the end of the day, they're barely adults. And it's not fair to expect them to be the Best. They have to become okay with the process of learning their ABCs.

And MOST IMPORTANTLY. That they're there for eachother, to rely on, to work together with. With Keito's help, they were able to rework the plan into something that allowed them more freedom than they agency ever granted. And Keito also held back and let them take charge.

Akatsuki is a three person unit! It's always been! It's a three person unit of three people that have shouldered so much responsibility, have had to mature so fast,

Learning their ABCs all over again, with eachother :) akatsuki iroha uta

#enstars #ensemble stars #kuro kiryu #keito hasumi #souma kanzaki #sqrambles

[hannahssimblr]

Chapter Three

A wall of heat hits our faces as Marnie and I shuffle into a cocktail bar that evening. It’s a hopping, trendy place right in the centre of town, and even though it’s Tuesday night it’s full. It’s one of those places that will set you back nearly fifteen euro for some obscure, designer cocktail called Foxy Kitten Vodka Tonic, and other such names that are so humiliating to say out loud that you end up getting flustered and ordering rum and coke instead.

We leave our jackets in the cloak room, and I strip down to my skimpy dress, worn with no tights in icy cold weather like true red blooded Irish girls do. Marnie didn’t dress up though, she’s too cool. She’s wearing the same mesh top and black runners she was in earlier, but I could never go to a bar casually. It’s just not what small town girls do, and Claire would have never allowed me to leave our apartment in any other state. My feet already hurt in my five inch heels after walking the ten minutes from the bus stop,  but I don’t dare complain. I just slide into a booth and start looking at the drinks menu, slipping out of them and uncurling my cramped feet on the cool tile floor underneath the table while trying not to outwardly shudder with relief. 

“Wine as usual, is it, Evie, or will we try to seize the spirit of the night and be adventurous?” Marnie’s got her nose in the menu, and I can barely hear what she’s saying over the thumping remix of some Katy Perry song.

“I think it will have to be the wine.” I reply, my head spinning at the prices. You know you’re in the wrong bar when a cocktail costs half of your weekly food budget. 

“Oh boring. Have a Sloe Comfortable Screw Up Against a Wall or something. Come on, you and I are out on the pull, let’s get ourselves loosened up a bit.”

“I’m not ordering a cocktail called that.” 

“I’ll order it for you if you don’t want to say it.” She points out the ingredients to me. “It looks so yum.” She flips through the menu with a concentrated face. “What do you reckon has the most possible alcohol in it? I feel like I need to get absolutely plastered so I can get through an evening in this bar. The vibes are absolutely rancid.”

“We can go if you want.” I say hopefully, picturing an evening curled up in my bed with a hot water bottle. 

“Stop. We’re not leaving. Now which cocktail will it be?” 

I’m still insisting on the Pinot Grigio when a group of NCAD students join us and start sliding into our booth with us. Marnie wanted us to have a group night, because apparently just having two of us alone would have been sad, and because she’s an extrovert she’s not very good at coping unless she’s surrounded by as many different people as possible. 

“Oh, sorry.” One girl says as she clambers over me, her elbow colliding with my forehead, and I smile and pretend that it’s fine. They’re all talking now, the cacophonous sound of at least twelve art students with interesting haircuts filling up my stratosphere. I reach underneath the table to put my shoes back on again, and when I glance down at my little satin dress and strappy heels, I’m struck by how completely out of place I look among everyone else. Apparently I should have worn jeans, flat shoes, edgier makeup, but this is just another case of me missing out on the memo. No matter what I do, no matter where I am I can never seem to get things right. At school I was never dressed up enough, my attempts were always misguided and awkward, and now that I’ve figured that out, I’ve found dresses that hug my body in the right places, shoes that make my legs look impossibly long, the rules have changed again. I excuse myself and wriggle out of the booth. I don’t need to use the bathroom but I want to go and stare at myself agitatedly in the mirror. Maybe I can run a little more kohl around my eyes, smudge it out, muss up my hair a bit so that I look a little more Alexa Chung. 

I shove through the doors and plant myself in front of the sinks, then pull my blunt eyeliner pencil from my little handbag and start raking it along my waterline. With my little finger I rub it in, making sure to get it onto the bottom lids so that it looks like I literally woke up like this. I was partying so hard, I just passed out somewhere and now I’m here again, in another bar. I’m just beginning to back comb the sleek, straightness out of my hair with my fingers when someone comes out of one of the cubicles. I don’t pay her any attention until she’s washing her hands next to me, and that’s when I recognise her. Kind of. From somewhere, only I can’t place her small, delicate features. She sniffs gently and rubs her hand under her nose, and then briefly meets my eyes in the mirror. She doesn’t recognise me either, her gaze just slides away. 

I’m just about to let it go when someone speaks from behind me. 

“Evie?”

I whirl around, and it’s Jen. I look at her, then look at the other girl, flooded with recognition. I do know her from somewhere. Michelle. The famous Michelle who I agonised over for weeks, zooming in on photographs of her pretty face, letting her tear down and completely destroy all semblances of my self-esteem without needing to ever say a word to each other. How could I forget?

“Oh my God. Hi Jen.” I say with surprise. She looks different now. Gone is the bright red cropped hair that she had before, now it’s chin length and straight, jet black with her roots and ends dyed bright, lurid magenta. She comes up to me for a hug, and I notice that she looks a little ashen faced, hands trembling slightly, but her hug is warm and familiar and somehow manages to transport me to a different time and place for a fleeting moment.

“You got extremely hot.” She comments and she stands back. “Wow, look at you.”

“Oh, stop.” I say shyly. “I feel so overdone.”

“That’s just what first years do.” She reassures me. “Spend enough nights out on the streets at two in the morning trying to flag down a taxi, and you’ll change your tune pretty quickly.” She peers down at my shoes. “I personally wouldn’t have fun trying to hike home in those.”

“They’re painful.” I admit, and I lean back against the sink unit to take the weight off them. 

“So what’s your story now? It’s been absolute ages since I’ve seen you. Where are you living?”

“Fitzwilliam Square.” I say, and then cringe in anticipation of her reaction. She boggles her eyes and makes an astonished face, just like everybody else who hears. 

“That’s so fancy, oh my god. What’s the rent on that?”

“Three hundred.” I say, hoping the conversation will move on quickly so I don’t have to get into the whole thing about it. It’s Claire’s dad’s property, and it’s not the whole building, it’s just the top two floors. There was a couple living there before we moved in, and when he evicted them for vague reasons both he and Claire acted like that was a totally normal thing to do, so I went along with it. I usually like to leave all that out now that I’ve learned that unlawful eviction is not okay, actually, and that for most people in this city, the term “Landlord” is synonymous with the words “Filthy, Diseased Bin Rat.” Happily though, Jen just muses about how cheap that sounds, and then moves on. 

“And did you get into art college in the end?”

“I did! I’m in NCAD.”

“Oh, sick. Same as Michelle.”

I turn to the other girl, who’s waiting patiently for Jen to wrap up, smiling blandly at me while she dries her hands with toilet roll, since none of the hand dryers are ever working in these places. 

“Shell.” Jen prompts. “Do you remember Evie?”

“I don’t.” She says in her soft, feminine voice. “Sorry, have we met before?”

“Kind of.” I shrug, wishing to avoid getting into the where and whens of our last encounter. “It was ages ago though, don’t worry.”

“She was at Jude’s going away party.” Jen informs her, and I have to turn away from her, his name like a blade in my gut. I have to resist the urge to wince. I start messing with my hair in the mirror again. 

“That was literal years ago.” I say tightly. “No worries if you can’t remember me. I can’t really remember you either.”

“I’m sorry, I actually don’t.” Michelle says. “That’s probably really bad, but thinking back, like, there were loads of people there, and like you said it was ages ago.”

“No worries.” I repeat. 

“So you’re a friend of his?”

“Not really.”

“You were.” Jen says defensively, then to Michelle: “She was. They were close that summer.”

“I knew him for a few months, and now I don’t know him anymore.” I say brusquely. For some reason my hands are shaking as I try to stuff my makeup back into my bag, and my spine feels like it’s made from steel cable. 

“I didn’t know you fell out.” Jen says with a frown. “Did something happen?”

“Nothing happened, he just obviously wasn’t bothered about me, so…”

“He never mentioned that to me.”

I sigh loudly. Of course he didn’t. I’m sure he never talked about me at all, not even once. ‘Well,” I say shakily. “It’s better that we don’t talk anymore, I’ve been too busy, and like I said, we hardly knew each other, so actually, it’d be weird if we stayed in touch. We both have other priorities.”

“You know he used to be my boyfriend.” Michelle tells me, I don’t look at her, but I can see her leaning into the sink in my periphery, watching me as I drop my eyeliner pencil and let it roll into the basin. “I know how he is. Or was. He was so immature, and I don’t think he really cared about anybody but himself, so like, if he was a dickhead to you or hurt your feelings-”

“Nah we weren’t that close.” I insist. “We just hung out sometimes and then he moved away, it was nothing.”

“Oh.” She watches me attempt to zip up my bag with increasing frenzy, and I know that she doesn’t believe me. 

“Anyway.” I say, flinging it over my shoulder. “So nice to see you both again, but I’m going to go back to my friends.” I flounce out of the bathroom, but instead of turning right and going back to the bar, I swing left and head out to the smoking area, pushing through the doors into the freezing air, which flings shards of ice at my face and my bare arms and legs. I want some air, but actually, the air out there is the furthest thing from fresh. I stand there shivering, looking into the faces of all of the people out there with me, trying to deduct which one has the least threatening aura, and would be most likely to let me bum a cigarette just so I can do something with my trembling hands. 

Prev // Next

#sims #sims 4 #ts4 #simlit #sims 4 story #sims story #writing #fiction #romance #sims 4 storytelling #sims4 storytelling #sims storytelling #lucky girl part 2

[wolfish-nightmares]

Attack

Pairings: the group x feral!reader

Era: Season 4

Warnings: violence, gore, bad language, cannibalism, 18+

Category: Fluff. Angst. 

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: The group learns the depths of depravity to which human beings can descend.

Wild Thing Masterlist

The building Glenn found was big and it had an old rundown look that very obviously predated the apocalypse. However, the wooden boards that covered the windows were a lot newer than the rest of the building. 

“There could be useful stuff in there.” 

Rick nodded at Glenn’s words. With the Woodbury people now living in the prison the group simply couldn’t risk passing up the possibility of supplies. He looked at the metal walls of the building before shifting his focus to the few walkers that stumbled around. 

“Glenn’s right. It looks like there’s only one entrance so we’ll kill the walkers out here and see if there’s any inside.” 

The others nodded and split off to take care of the walkers as Rick and Daryl headed for the door. The padlock on the door was open with dried blood smeared all over it. The two men exchanged a look before Rick slowly pushed the door open. 

Rick turned on the flashlight and quickly scanned the room, “No walkers.” 

“So far.” 

Daryl stepped in and followed. They began to slowly make their way through the building, packing anything that they deemed useful into their backpacks. It looked like the search was going to be a bust until Maggie found what seemed to be a medical room. 

All kinds of medical supplies lined the shelves in the room and there were a few beds, the only problem was the amount of red that covered the room. Blood was everywhere, soaked into the bed, splattered all over the wall, the floor was covered in dried puddles, and there were trays full of bloody equipment. 

“I don’t think they were saving people here.”

“There’s a door hidden behind the shelf,” Glenn pulls one of the shelves and it makes a loud scraping sound as he opens it. “Holy crap!” 

Glenn quickly rushes into the room without any explanation. Maggie and Rick both shouted after Glenn. Daryl moved towards the door but Glenn stepped back out with cans in his hand and a huge smile on his face. 

“That room is stocked full of food. Floor to ceiling full.” 

All three of them very quickly followed Glenn back into the room and discovered that it was indeed full of food. 

“There’s no way we can carry this all back,” Maggie’s voice was full of disbelief. The amount of food they had just found rivaled that of a small town grocery store, there was barely any room to walk with the amount of cans that littered the ground. 

“Pack what you can, we’ll bring the truck back for the rest.” 

“Got another door,” Daryl’s voice pulled everyone from their excitement and they looked over to find that there was indeed another door. He opened it only to reveal a set of stairs that led down. “No tellin’ what’s down there.” 

Rick pulled his gun and stepped past Daryl, “One at a time and move slowly.” 

The hall was pitch black and cold, Rick’s flashlight wasn’t very strong and they could only see the steps in front of them. Once they reached the bottom of the stairs they met yet another door. As slowly as he could, Rick opened it to yet another dark room. 

This one however had an incredibly rancid smell and it was eerily quiet. They all stepped inside and Maggie gagged as Rick’s dull flashlight illuminated the room which was full of corpses. The walls were lined with people chained and dead. There were various body parts tossed around the room and despite it being absolutely unbelievable, there was even more blood in there. 

The sound of rattling chains alerts Daryl and he turns in enough time to step back as your teeth snapped inches from his face. 

“Woah!” 

You strained against the chain attached to the thick metal collar around your neck. You sound like a walker as you growl and snap at him and it takes a minute for Daryl to finally realize you are in fact not a walker but actually a human. A thick metal band, similar to the collar around your neck, covers your eyes. You wildly swipe at him and he steps back more.

“That’s gotta be a walker.” 

Your skin is torn and cut, bruises and scars litter your body, the skin around your throat is raw and nearly shredded, and blood stains your mouth and hands. You huff and snap, trying your damnedest to get to Daryl. Eventually you give up and scramble back to the body you were once feasting on. Digging back into its bloody contents with a loud squelching sound. 

“Nah, that ain’t no walker.” 

“What do we do?” 

Everyone looked at Rick and he clenched his jaw as he watched you take a large bite of whatever organ you pulled from the body. He sighed, there was no way he would feel good about leaving you but would it even be safe to bring you back?

“We could…put them down,” Glenn quietly suggested and everyone shared uncomfortable looks at the idea. 

“No, we're taking them,” Rick stated as he made his way back to the stairs. “We have to head back and grab the truck.” 

Rick had asked Maggie and Glenn to take care of the food while he and Daryl worked on you. They went back downstairs and Rick let out a low whistle to get your attention. In an instant you were straining against the chain, violently weezing as you snapped at him. Daryl quickly moves forward as you snap at Rick and he slams the butt of his crossbow against your head, knocking you out. 

“I wonder what happened,” Rick crouched down to examine the band around your face, blinding you. “Hand me the bolt cutters.” 

Daryl hands them over and Rick snaps off the chain connected to your collar before moving back to the band. It was as thick as the collar around your neck and there was almost no space between your skin and the metal. 

“Don’t cut it yet,” Daryl said quickly. “No tellin’ how long it's been since they seen somethin’. Could freak ‘em out.” 

Rick nodded and stood up, “I don’t think I could even cut it with this, metal’s too thick.” 

“We might have somethin’ to cut it.” 

“Let’s get out of here,” Rick grunted as he picked up your body and made his way upstairs with Daryl behind him. 

“There’s only a few more cans left to grab and oh-,” Maggie gasped as Rick carried you outside the building. “They look even worse in the light.” 

She wasn’t wrong, in the sunlight they could better see the full extent of your injuries. You were covered head to toe in scars, cuts, bites, and blood. It was much worse than they had thought. 

“Can you open the back door?” 

Maggie quickly opened it and then went back inside to grab the last of the food. Rick sat you in the back seat and did his best to restrain you against the seat in case you did wake up again and to keep you from leaning forward during the trip. 

“We’re good,” Glenn called to Rick as he and Maggie climbed in the truck. 

“Knock them out if they wake up.” 

Glenn was tense as Rick drove back to the prison, “So what exactly are you planning to do about them?” 

Rick sighed, even though he wasn't sure what they could do, “Lock them in a cell and see if we can help them.” 

“There’s no telling what happened down there, how are we supposed to help?” 

“I don’t know but for their sake, I hope we can figure it out.” 

The car stayed silent for the rest of the trip, everyone shooting you uneasy glances. You didn’t look so dangerous when you were asleep but they all knew there was no telling what you could do. 

“Daryl and I will take them in, go grab some others to help with the food,” Rick said as he pulled up to the gates. 

“Where we putin’ ‘em?”

“Block C.” 

“What? No, Rick you can’t. What if they attack someone?” 

“Maggie has a point, we can put them in a block we don’t use,” Glenn suggested. 

“No, I want them close. Besides, I’m gonna lock them in a cell,” he got out and began unstrapping you from the seat. “We can’t treat them like an animal if we want them to stop acting like one.” 

He lifted you out the truck and took you inside without another word. Thankfully almost everyone was off working on various tasks so he didn’t run into anyone on the way, except for Carol.

“How was the run, did you find- what in the world happened,” she rushed to meet Rick and gasped. “Who is this? Oh what happened to them?” 

She gently grabbed your arm and examined the various wounds that littered your skin. When her eyes caught the collar around your throat she shot Rick a questioning look. 

“We’re not sure but you think you could patch them up?” 

She nodded and ushered Rick into the block, rushing to set up a bed and collect the supplies she needed, “Here lay them down. This is probably going to take awhile.” 

“I’ll send in Daryl, ‘case they wake up.” 

“Get Hershel please, some of these are deep.” 

Rick nodded and left, hoping maybe he made the right decision to bring you here. 

“Just make sure to keep their head still,” Rick switched on the saw as Carol held your head steady. 

When Hershel was patching you up, you woke up and it ended up taking the entire group to hold you down long enough for Hershel to drug you back to sleep. Rick decided it was a good idea to go ahead and cut everything off while you were out. 

He cut through the band around your eyes and cursed when the saw nicked your skin. There was no telling how long that medicine would keep you down so instead of worrying about it he simply moved on to get that collar off. 

Carol pulled all the metal off and exchanged a sad glance with Rick. She gently stroked your face before leaving the cell. Rick shut the cell and joined the group at the table. 

“What are we going to do? They could have killed Daddy,” Maggie didn't even wait for Rick to even get to the table. 

“Look, we might be able to do something.” 

“How?!”

He sighed, “I’m not sure, but for now we can start by not acting like they're an animal. Treat them like a baby, teach them how to be human?” 

He wasn't completely confident in his answers.

“I think it could work,” Hershel spoke up. 

Maggie looked at him in shock but he simply stood up and went to his room. Everyone else decided to disperse as well, obviously they did not want to be a part of the conversation. 

“I hope this works,” Maggie looked back at Rick.

“Me too.” 

#the walking dead x reader #the group x feral!reader #wild thing

[sophia-sol]

it's mxtx remix day! the collection opened at noon and I saw what my recipient had given me and I immediately expired in delight, and then revived in order to expire several times more over the course of reading it. STRONGLY RECOMMEND.

these are the streets of favour, by Anonymous

a tgcf fanfic about ling wen and pei ming, written for mxtx remix as a remix of my ling wen fic

SHRIEKING. FLAILING. CLAWING AT MY FACE IN DELIGHT. I am so honoured that my fic could inspire this piece of absolute perfection

the dynamics between Ling Wen and Pei Ming throughout are soooooo good. the affection and the insults combined, the way selfishness is manifested differently in each of them and the way it does and doesn't affect their connection

ling wen nonsexually domming pei ming!

the vibes of three tumours are so perfectly rancid!

and the unofficial junior official chats!

the way heaven in general thinks about ling wen's takeover!

I'm just. blown away. this fic is EVERYTHING to me.

2k words in length

#mxtx remix #fic rec #tgcf #ling wen #pei ming #heavenly emperor ling wen #sophpost

[ichayalovesyou]

TOS in Beloved Retrospect

A GREAT Show that is absolutely canon! But I’m Taking the Rose Colored Glasses Off

Listen, it’s no secret that I absolutely ADORE Star Trek: The Original Series. It’s easily in my tied top 3 with SNW and DS9.

But you know what?

I am so, incredibly SICK of people treating it like a sacred document whenever literally any show that’s set before it does almost any plot point that’s even tangentially related to it.

Let’s take off the holy pedestal for just, two seconds please I am BEGGING you.

Star Trek TOS is an episodic show from the 1960s and the showrunners (including Roddenberry!) had NO IDEA, at all, was going to spawn an absolutely massive, beautiful scifi universe that’s practically a genre unto itself.

Even when they made a second series they tried to get away from TOS with the century time jump! Some creators going so far as to want it to never have existed at all, at least briefly, like, uh, Gene Roddenberry.

I can safely say I and many others are VERY glad TOS never got decanonized, but some facts still remain.

As a result of time, The Original Series is very much limited by when it was made. Such as!

In it’s cultural attitudes to minorities and women, see: the POC and female characters not getting any major plot lines until after TOS.

Literally one of the first things that got disregarded by pretty much all other Star Treks that take place before and after is that women can’t become captains (like wtf was that about?? Oh wait, it was the 60s 🙄). It was literally like, the peak of sexism, and cloaking devices existing before the Romulans showed up that get decanonized the first chance they had (it’s literally been happening since Enterprise and people freak out about invisible ships, every time).

In the fact that because it was exclusively, extremely episodic, every episode was the first time anybody ever saw anything because they had to introduce it to the audience without confusing them and making them turn off the TV or change channels.

Do you know how many times I, a Zillenial who grew up with a mix of episodic/serialized shows, had to suspend my disbelief because if this show was any less episodic the main characters would’ve learned their lesson already from a previous episode or would still be processing the trauma of a previous episode? So many! Watsonian explanations galore!

It was TOS movies that changed the Klingon character design with no explanation. Every time there’s an evil double of Kirk or he gets possessed the crew reacts like it’s never happened to anybody before! Kirk convinces a computer to kill itself like eight times and every time it’s like “oh wow look how smart Kirk is getting a computer to commit die”. Kirk loses his brother, his sister-in-law AND his love interest within the span of two episodes and is totally fine afterward! And you know what? I’m ok with that because I have a brain cell and recognize the show was created before serialized television got even a bit popular!

Third of all technology! Listen I hate all that touchscreen chrome color pallete stuff too! I’m also not, never have been, and never will be a technobabble guy! I’m so happy that the Enterprise is still colorful and has buttons and stuff! But ultimately, TOS was a 1960s conception of 250 years of progress, and it came up a little, even VERY short at times (so do all the other Star Treks, you can’t predict progress with 100% accuracy).

So if the tech is better than say, not much more fancy than a submarine in space, I’m willing to give it a pass. Star Trek has been making up and then immediately forgetting/disregarding some completely world altering technobabble from a single episode or movie since the beginning! The tech is a means of storytelling, and it’s clearly not a limitation because people are always changing or ignoring it! It’s only pure vomitous rancid evil when “NuTrek” does it right?

If you take all three of those HUGE things into account, TOS has, by far, the most tissue paper thin delicate canon of all of Star Trek. Quite frankly I would MUCH rather enjoy exploring the 2200s without walking on incredibly fragile eggshells regarding technobabble details or certain alien encounters.

It’s not like Federation ships have cloaking devices in the 2260s or that the SNW crew is out here fighting off Romulan boarding parties or sipping Meridor with the ruler of the Gorn Hegemony. They’re toeing the line to explore familar concepts in a new format (like serialized short form TV) and like, that’s fine! For crying out loud the Ferengi popped up in an Enterprise episode and most people tend to regard that as funny without ripping their hair out!

Have there been some changes to canon I’m a bit lukewarm about (see, the Gorn being as xenomorph-adjacent and unsympathetic as they were in All Those Who Wander) sure, yes, absolutely! Do I think it obliterates the canon of TOS, in which the Gorn only show up in a single episode with very little and vague lore around them? No!

The Doylist explanation, even if it hurts, is that a lot of meta aspects of TOS are falling out of favor or otherwise obsolete. NOT the stories or the characters for certain, but other fundamental building blocks are frozen in the context they were created in. Trying to adhere to them would severely limit any writer trying to explore that era of Starfleet’s history. So the writers are going to adapt to the spirit if not the precise letter of TOS’s canon.

The Watsonian explanations are numerous, but my favorite interpretation (which you don’t have to like, but maybe it’ll help) is that TOS is still fundementally canon, but the elements that make it inconsistent with other treks or with modern expectations for representation and technology are the result of a “universal translator” sending the truth about our future being translated into a way 1960s audiences could understand. Which is ultimately, kind of what Roddenberry’s desires were in the first place, to show us a better future within the confines of what was then modern TV.

#Star Trek #star trek analysis #meta #Star Trek meta #tos meta #fandom meta #analysis #deep dive #star trek the original series #Star Trek tos #the original series #tos #Star Trek discovery #Star Trek strange new worlds #discovery #strange new worlds #Star Trek disco #snw #Star Trek snw

[mel-0n-earth]

BG3 February Writing Challenge: Day 3

Day Three (SFW): First encounter with their love interest (LI)

Link to the original prompt list

[Again, I'm using this writing challenge as an excuse to develop some ideas I had for a Kar'niss x Tav fic. I wrote a bit about my OC Tav in my fills for Day One and Day Two.]

Shadows crawled and swirled and gripped and strangled like so many vines in a gossamer jungle of night. Yes, as did sun bring forth seed from soil, so did shadow draw the Lady’s deeds into fruition. Yet Kar’niss could not thrive in such darkness as did his Lady, no. No, no, no—it was his Majesty’s light that guided him through throngs of gloom and rot to seek out followers anew, to lead the acolytes to her temple atop the moonlit tower. He would do as she asked, for as long as she asked. What more had he than her voice like molten gold in his fractured mind?

She spoke to him now—whispers crawling like spiderlings, or more aptly, wriggling like a worm. Lead, it said. Lead them to the tower. And pleased he was to appease his Mistress.

Then a shadow, a flicker in a corner, leaving a trace like the smoking wick of a snuffed candle. Something was here, waiting, watching. For whom? Or what, for that matter?

The Lady bristled.

“’Ere, web arse, something moved up there,” the goblin said, voice crunching like tiny bones. “Want me to drag it out?”

A glimmer, a flash in his mind, like branches of lightning connecting in the sky and driving earthward in a shower of spark and dirt. Then, a figure where shadow once was, a sole figure standing defiant amidst the gloom—no, no, not any soul. True soul.  

Such a strange sight to decipher in the dark—neither male nor female, drow but not drow. Such an oddity would be lost in the rank and file of Menzoberranzan, swallowed in the limen of their placelessness. A rancid giggle escaped his throat, cackling, keening.

“Such a strange servant you have chosen, my Queen. Yet even drow have folded in your dark. How have they survived? Where is their lantern?”

A raised brow, a downturned mouth, reading, measuring, deciding. And yet, unafraid. Strange to see, so very strange.

“The Absolute guided me here,” they declared (such assurance to their voice—warm, regal even. Even if Kar’niss could not decipher their place in the grand design, yet it seemed this one knew it well, wore it like a mantle). “She said I was to take yours.”

Oh, how his mind spun with that. Loyal he had remained, yet loyalty hardly bore the same weight as survival—such a word, survival, the Underdark had brought him to loathe it.

Survival—he’d said once before, in another life. One loses something when their existence is reduced to such a trite notion. Why survive when I could live?

FOOL, fool he was. The spider bitch had not liked that—no, not at all. Blessed was he to stumble into his Majesty’s light. Better off he was crawling on eight legs on the surface than on all fours before the noble Houses of Menzoberranzan.

Yet her voice was silent now. Surely, if she objected, his Lady would say so? Was he to take her silence as acceptance? A confirmation of truth? It seemed so…

“Very well. If it is your will, they can have it.”

A glint in violet eyes, pale and glowing in the dark, like quartz in dark stone, a precious thing born of the very earth. Once, he might’ve written a song about such a lovely thing, plucked it from the vestiges of his long-shattered lyre—no more. That fool was long dead, back bowed and broken to beastly form. Only the servant remained.

“Good,” their voice came once more (no, not a mantle—more a sovereign’s ring, to be honored with a gentle hand, a touch of lips, a gesture of gratitude for having briefly brushed with such splendor). “You may go now.”

A pit formed in his stomach, large and cavernous.

“Go?!” the goblin screeched. “Whatcha mean go?”

“We can’t go without you,” the orc pleaded. “The shadows would tear us to pieces!”

Kar’niss hesitated—only for a moment. Then, a snarl, a drawing of brows, anger brewed with confusion to boil in his belly. “This is not her Majesty’s will,” he hissed, all seven eyes burning in his skull-cage.

The not-drow’s eyes narrowed, striking him like a holy beacon in the dark. “The Absolute wants you to go,” they hissed, serpent-like, deadly and exquisite in equal measure. “Now.”

The voice did not sound as his Lady’s did, yet it struck a similar chord in his fractured mind—reason in the madness, harmony among the discord, beauty amidst ugliness. He would bow to it. He would obey.

“If it is her majesty’s will—”

“You can’t be serious!” the brute fool of an orc shouted. “You know what’s out there!”

Righteous anger blazed through him, devouring sense in its wake. The words fell sharp from his tongue, like daggers buried in a corpse. Did they not see? They were under their Lady’s scrutiny. This was a test—one he did not plan to fail, for he had already suffered the full extent of his failures. “If it is her majesty’s will,” he seethed, throat bubbling with delirium, “Then we. Shall. WALK!”—

--a blinking of many eyes, their fragile figures kaleidoscopic in his vision, copies upon copies of doomed and daunted faces regarding him with disbelief. Yet he would not be swayed. They had spoken—his Majesty had spoken—

“She will protect us,” he said, voice wrapping around his own fear like a child’s blanket. “She must.”

He cast aside his Lady’s light, and crawled stumbling into the choking dark.

As the shadows slit him open, boring their tendrils into the last dredges of his sanity, he felt life slip from between his clawed and blackened fingers. Close, so close was he to his death, his salvation. It would all be over soon, the Lady’s shadows would consume his disgraced form, and silence would settle over the scattered fragments of his mind.

But it seems he would be granted no such mercy. Instead, a voice came to him, slithering and familiar.

I’m not done with you yet, my pet, the Spider Queen crooned from out the Demonweb. It would be far more fun to see how thoroughly they might break you.

Kar’niss’s eyes went wide, and a scream tore his throat as the shadows dissipated and his body began the process of slowly, agonizingly, knitting itself back together.

The fool’s journey, it seemed, had only just begun.

#I have no clear idea of where I'm going with this #think the little mermaid but instead he is a drider #even I do not yet fully comprehend my vision #bg3ficfeb #day three #bg3 #kar'niss #OC Tav #Tav x Kar'niss