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comfortless · 4 months

Note

for your consideration, dearest syl: hybrid Flemish giant rabbit!König 🐇💭

flemish giant rabbit hybrid! König x fem, coyote hybrid! reader

content/warnings: 18+. minors do not interact. hybrids: König is (mostly) human! he just has bunny ears and a cute lil tail & the same goes for reader!, kind of dark- mentions of what is essentially cannibalism, violence, scent & breeding kink, dubious consent to everything. please heed the warnings!

hello lil wisp! sorry!! this veered off a bit from what i usually write. there is still some fluff and sweetness here if you squint real hard…

Winter is setting in.

You could feel it on your bare skin, the chill that sweeps past the trees like breath from a ghoul’s rotting throat: something dead and wretched, so cold it steals your breath and halts the blood in your veins. If you weren’t careful, staying ahead of yourself and the rest of the things lurking in the woods, that ivory death would creep up, grab you by the neck and drown you out in the snow.

With the season comes the need to feed. You don’t have the luxury of hibernation settled into the primitive roots of your brain. While everyone else tucks themselves into dens carved out from mountains or beneath the earth, settled in with the roots of vast trees, you’re still left in smothering snow, heavy as the weight of the hunger.

You were born for this, the hunt: to feel your fingernails dig into the fallen leaves and forest debris, curl in carving your name into the earth, bite and rip and tear. “Little coyote,” the birds would call, seated up on tree limbs so, so far above that the sunlight would burn your eyes if you dare to look at them, “let us watch.”

You always put on the show, always stage the fight with grace. A lost, blubbering sheep one day; the wool ‘round her ears dried your throat, her mournful bleating only died down when your teeth found her throat. The canopy above echoed your pride, they were always grateful to have something to scavenge later, whether it be finger or eye or ear; your hunger wasn’t the only that raged out here in the forest.

This winter would have to be your last alone. You could feel the way a life of roaming without pack or anything to settle with had eaten away at not just your body, but that little illusion of a soul somewhere tucked a long way down inside of you.

It would be a simple one, too— drag some creature to your den to keep your flesh warmed and your stomach full, survive this loathsome season and flourish with the spring. When the leaves returned and the lakes thawed, you could settle into some foreign pack. Flash your neck, hide your teeth and hope they wouldn’t rip you apart as you have so many others.

You think to yourself that a deer would do, some meek little doe that would bat her eyelashes and plead that you only wait the winter out with her, curling against you to keep you warm as you keep her safe until finally…

You didn’t like to think about it too much.

As much as the chase and the thrill had a hold on you, thinking about the loss of life, the ghosts that cling to your shoulders and wail, waiting for your turn to join them was far different. You couldn’t fight your nature, but you knew well enough you could never entirely swallow down the guilt that came with it, either.

There was a pain in your legs as you walked, exhaustion that would go unsatisfied until your plan had been laid out proper. It begins to feel dismal when you realize you have not seen another creature in miles, no prints, either. The only thing that brings you any companionship are the first flakes of snow, sifting down from far above, the great bone white and gray of an falsified sea.

You crouch and wait, curling your arms around your midsection as you shiver. Time passes, but you can’t be certain of just how much… mere seconds, maybe hours. The sky gives nothing away.

Now, there’s a rabbit.

You catch the scent of it on the breeze, musky and floral. Poor thing has probably only basked beneath evergreens, lived in sprawling gardens its entire life, kissed the sun and held flaking petals in its hands. So very unlike you who only knows the shade, the blood, and the hunt.

Your charge is determined, the soles of your feet torn and bloodied from angry thorns springing up from the crushed leaves on the cold soil; teeth bared as you hurtle through the brush of dying plant life. Its so close, so terribly close you can already feel the way your teeth will rend its flesh, feel saliva pooling up on the back of your tongue.

Reaching the forest’s edge you spot… him.

The rabbit is huge, stood in the midst of the deadened field with his back turned to you. The tall, decaying grass just barely brushes against the backs of his knees, low hanging fog veiling his face. If not for the puffy, fawn-colored tail situated just past the expanse of the pale, toned back, you would have assumed you were faced with some sort of bear.

This is not your usual prey.

No matter the sharpness of your claws or the ferocity of your bite, you know well enough that someone like this could never be brought down by yourself alone. It’s too risky, even as your belly aches and you itch to be back in the warmth of your den, surrounded by the pelts of the four-legged imitations and the fire roaring in its pit…

Rabbits were simple, at least. You press your face against them and cuddle, whisper sweet things in their ears and they melt, begging to be swallowed whole without any idea that you’ve only ever meant it literally.

You approach him with cautious, gentle steps, allowing your body language to remain open and friendly as you present him with the view of you bare, claws turned inward into your own palms and teeth hidden away by soft, warm lips. Your ears lie back to rest against your head, tail tucked between your thighs: all a display of utter submission, and a trickery that has worked time and time again.

“It’s getting cold..,” you murmur, voice low and as pitiful as it can get. “Will you keep me warm?”

Your rabbit cocks his head at you, one flopped ear lifting in curiosity. And he doesn’t move, doesn’t startle… The poor, stupid thing remains in place as his stare drinks you in, almost adoringly as you pad right up to him. There’s no hope of your faces being level, you merely use that to your advantage, putting on a cute pout and placing your palms flat against his bare chest.

“Ja,” he murmurs, gently coaxing your chin up to look him properly in the eye. Cute prey was easy, but never… never in your life had you found your prey to be handsome. Even with those silly ears bouncing with each cloudy puff of breath he takes, his face is still something of a myth. The old humans would have made statues in his honor from his build alone, but that face would have given him the look of a warrior of myth— brutish, yet charming with the wide grin he gives you when you meet the sea holly color of his irises. “Come here.”

He lifts you into his arms with ease and your shivering immediately ceases, he’s warm like the summer sun.

“I’ll take care of you,” he whispers into one of your triangular ears, causing it to involuntarily flick from the rush of his breath and press tighter to your skull.

Your intent was to take him to your own den, but as he begins to move it winds up being the opposite; there are mountains, an ice covered stream all laid out before you as he huffs more sweet words in a foreign tongue against your temple. It takes some time to understand that what you had intended to do and what he intends are entirely different. The mouth of a vast cave comes into view right as he dips his head, huffs several breaths against you, panting like a dog.

You’re only dropped when he kneels down to enter the den— his, ripe with the scent of sweat and musk and something floral. The rabbit has supplies stowed away for the winter, an array of preserved food, ample pelts likely stolen away from some other poor creature. He has weapons scattered about, stolen away from what remained of the old humans and their buildings, some sharper and more deadly than even the claws that crest the peeks of your hands. Your heart only plummets… you’re not in the presence of some stupid bunny, but a behemoth.

You begin your protests in a hiss, only to have your lips met with dried fruit, something sweet and red laid out on your tongue that tastes of sugar. He pulls you up and over his lap as he fits you both into the bed of animal skins and feeds you by gently guiding the food to your lips. The only think still spitting and crackling is a fire pit at the center as you allow yourself to somewhat settle.

The rabbit man only hums his contentment against your throat as your back presses to the expanse of chest behind you, and his hands trail away from your mouth, down further until they’re spreading your legs for him. Your pulse races as your eyes map the daggers across the floor down to the fur he’s seated you with him upon.

There’s only a hiss of breath that leaves your lips when his already leaking cock does press against the heat of your core. You don’t fuck prey— that would only spoil it, and you suppose that you are satisfied in knowing that he has no intention of harming you, only filling you with his seed, perhaps even his kits…

As his tip snags at your entrance, he purrs finding you already wet, bared open for him with his hand still steadying your thigh.

“Coyotes mate for life, hm?,” he rasps against the back of your neck, his own thigh trembling with the sheer excitement of the prospect of breeding you, tethering you to him for not only the rest of this winter.

You can hardly bite back the moan as he pushes through your folds again, nudging your bud as he spreads your arousal over the girth of him.

“Answer,” he commands in a sharp whisper, using his free hand to guide your chin up again. And you do, only in a weak nod.

He stuffs you full then, leaves you a panting heap as he repositions you onto your knees and covers you in himself. The furs smell of him, not the animals they’ve come from. Just the scent of lonely nights and a bitter, masculine stench that you whine and whimper into; all while he grunts his approval and praises about your tightness, your warmth, how you look somehow prettier now, capsized in his bed. Even has the audacity to whisper how long he’s watched you dart through the forest and waited for you to come to him as you sink your claws into hay and fur to steady yourself from the punishing pace he sets.

He only seems more fervent and adoring when he brings you to a rapturous bliss, keening whines and and tight praises pulled free from your throat as your cunt drools around him.

“You want kits?,” he purrs behind you, around you, everywhere as his voice lowers to an almost growl with each word spoken. In your trembling state, addled by sheer bliss as his cock soars into you to grind against your deepest places, you’ve barely the mind to refuse him anything. You merely mumble into the fur, something akin to a yes that has him grasping at your hips as though you’re his last tether to life itself.

When he’s finished, your stomach full of fruit and cunt full of him, he whispers into your ear about how the old humans believed in fate. His hands trail over your back, your waist, every curve only to rise and cup your cheek. His ears raise when he kisses you then, tender, as if trying to push his faith that you belong here right past your teeth.

#könig x reader #tw: dubcon

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when-pigsfly · 3 months

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WITCHING HOUR, CH 2/3 — [18+]

(18+) - MARKED FOR EVENTUAL SMUT, MINORS DNI!

fem!reader x arthur morgan

summary: the prodigal son returns tags: marked 18+ for smut in later chapters, reader has a backstory kinda (but now a little more than kinda), original side character(s), does arthur count as a tag, he needs his own warning, its more exposition please don't leave

word count: 4.9k

a/n: HERE! DAMN! (i'm so sorry this took so long)

<< previous chapter | read on ao3 here | masterlist

you can find a link to the playlist here! tag list (look how crazy. i have a LIST.): @photo1030

The subsequent mornings are painted with varying shades of gloom. It was smeared over the sky in thick coats, and if it was just a little thicker, it might be able to keep out the spears of light.

Sometimes, they tickle. Sometimes, they recoil from the rigid mounds of snow and blind you and anything else unfortunate enough to get caught in the line of fire. Pain in the ass, really. A particularly nasty pain in the ass flickers in the cloudy metal of your spoon one morning while you’re shoveling grits into your mouth.

“You planning on eating the table too, kid?”

Your eyebrows shoot up, as does your spine once you lower your spoon back into the chipped bowl.

“My apologies,” you gulp. “You’ll uh, have to forgive me, Mrs. Campbell. Seems the winter air’s gotten to my head.”

Mrs. Campbell was a wiry, dark-haired woman of 63, and had spent more time rearing cattle than children. She was rough, tough, and at present, leveling you with a stare so doubtful that you wonder if the look you often catch on the livestock is embarrassment.

After holding your gaze for a few moments more, she resumes the rocking of her chair from the corner and returns to her darning. A large red sock, the same one she’d whacked Mr. Campbell over the head with after she’d found it on the floor of the living room only thirty minutes ago.

“No, no, you’re alright.” Mrs. Campbell pauses, though her hands continue to work. Under, over. In, out. Not a single finger pricked. “Think that’s the most I’ve seen you take down in one sitting, is all. You bite like a bird.” She makes a funny chewing motion with her mouth—or, at least you think it’s supposed to be funny. It seems to amuse her well enough; most strange things did.

She then asks how much horse feed is left, and you tell her enough to last for the next two weeks. You ask how her daughter’s baby boy is doing, she tells you he’s been picking his nose, and the two of you return to your respective distractions: the pulling of thread and a spoon fishing around a now empty dish while you consult silently with the peeling floral wallpaper.

Arthur Morgan’s appearance had set you on edge, loathe as you were to admit it. The fact that there’d been no sign of him since you’d first spoken only hastened the growing dread, more so than the lack of response after your father’s men had been so kindly disposed of.

Contingencies had been thoroughly accounted for, leaving you mildly inconvenienced at best and dead at worst. There were other conclusions you’d drawn up, of course, but dealing in extremes had its benefits.

You press your thumb absentmindedly into the corner of the dining room table. Could the Campbells have heard your exchange? No, they couldn’t have, too old. And that was excluding the fact that the main house was rather far from the cabin. Given the time frame, it would have been well beyond what was reasonable for your…situation to have been brought up.

Besides, this was important. Better to sort this out now than when—if—he showed up at your doorstep again.

“I have a question.”

Mrs. Campbell snorts. “I presume you’re lookin’ for an answer.”

You set your spoon down, and stand to clear the table. “Do the two of you get…stray cats often?”

This time her hands waver. “During the warmer months, sure. But in this weather? I mean, if it had the guts to get through all that ‘winter air,’ I don’t see why not.” Her eyes flick up. “Would have to be real hungry, though. Or stupid, which I doubt, ‘cause cats ain’t stupid—sonuvabitch!”

You jerk as her needle clatters to the floor. She lets a curse slip as she hunches over to retrieve it; another follows as she tugs the string loose, just a little, and her fingers trip over themselves before falling back into a steady rhythm.

Her brows pinch in concentration. “Never met a stupid cat,” she repeats.

“I…I see.” Moving around to the other side of the table to collect what's left, you frown when you catch your warped reflection in a bent spoon. You pick it up, and your fingers brush over the bump unconsciously. “I saw one,” you say slowly. Mind fumbling over any disastrous outcomes. “A cat, I mean. He’s been hanging around my cabin for a while now. I was only asking ‘cause he’s been spooking the chickens.”

When Mrs. Campbell doesn’t answer, your mouth gets the better of you. “Only, he turned up again a couple nights ago. Acting real docile, you see.” Not docile. The farthest thing from it. “Nearly shot him then and there, but—oh, he just looked so pitiful! He’s real mean looking, all scratched up and such, but I was tired, so when shooing him off didn’t work I let him in. Didn’t hiss, didn’t bite, nothing. But, I think I may have scared him. Skittered right out the door, quick as lightning. He’s been pissin’ me off—pardon my language—but, I just don’t see why he’d go through all that trouble to show up if he was just looking to leave the moment I raised so much as a finger.”

You only cease your rambling once you realize that you’ve bent the spoon too far in the wrong direction. “I…should turn him away, shouldn’t I? If he shows up again?”

Mrs. Campbell lets out an exasperated exhale, smooths out her apron, and sets her mangled sock down in her lap. “He kill any chickens?”

“No, but—”

“You feed him?”

“No?”

“Well, I think you should. It’d be real funny.”

Funny. Funny, she’d said.

You look to the silverware for consolation, but they can only produce a weak gleam.

“Quit making faces at my utensils, I hate when you do that. If you got something to say, say it now so I can finish this damned sock.”

Instead of making faces at the spoons, you reserve them for the tablecloth. “I just—don’t think it’d be wise.” A wanted man, with a lofty bounty at that, and you were comparing him to a mangy feline. Attempting to see him as anything other than what he so obviously was would be disingenuous.

And maybe Mrs. Campbell wasn’t the right person to be speaking to about this, because her nose crinkles with such distaste that you have to remind yourself that you’d remembered to bathe. “You’re grown,” she says, “and you work here. I’m inclined to believe that you have enough know-how to keep yourself from doing anything too dumb. If not, oh well.”

“…Right.”

Sometimes you wonder if her daughter had moved out not for marriage, but to escape Mrs. Campbell’s dreadfully indifferent way of speaking. Still, you take her words with relative care and pray that the “feeding” portion of her advice can be altered into something much more metaphorical.

When you attempt to bring the dishes to the water bucket, Mrs. Campbell’s head snaps to you and she clicks her teeth. “Drop it.”

“I was just—”

The sock finds its way into a basket of other half-finished projects at her feet, and she pushes herself up to stand just as tall (if not taller) than any tree before snatching the dishes from your hands. “I don’t pay you to do my dishes, girl.”

You smile. “I don’t believe you pay me at all, Mrs. Campbell.”

“Precisely. Your Pa pays me. And enough with that ‘Mrs. Campbell’ mess; makes me sound like an old crone. Told you to call me Fran, didn’t I?”

Shrugging past the bitterness in her tone at the mention of your father, you turn to the doorway and pull your coat off of the hook you’d tossed it on the night before. It’s only slightly warm from where the sun has touched it.

The beams have softened their assault on the curtains; it’s still fairly cloudy, but there’s no sign of incoming snow. Chores would be alright, if only for today.

“I’ll work on it, Mrs. Campbell. But, I do have one more question, if you don’t mind.” You wait for a nod while you pull on your boots with a wince. “How come you don’t take on any other help?”

Like most of her responses, Mrs. Campbell doesn’t give much away. Nothing remarkable that you can discern, at least. She merely winks and carries on with her washing. But just as you set a foot out the front door, she calls out to you.

“Hey, kid?”

You turn.

“If the worst you can call him is a spooked cat, he can’t be all that bad, can he?”

You freeze. “Pardon?”

She looks up at the ceiling, as though her next words will appear if she gets her eyes to narrow enough. Glasses had been the first of many neglected suggestions you’d offered upon your arrival. You’d even offered to buy them yourself, with what little you’d been able to bring with you. But Mrs. Campbell, being Mrs. Campbell, had simply laughed.

Squinting, she returns her focus to the bucket and reaches for a cake of lye soap. “Ah, and tell that idiot if he slams my doors, I’ll send my foot so far up his ass that them science folks won’t have any animals left to call him.”

Illusory warmth finds you a few weeks later.

It isn’t quite spring yet; winter is a stubborn mule, and though the snow has receded into the dirt it still stamps its hooves into the wind. In the water, too—freezing rain taps its fingers onto the windows. Soft and melodic, it nearly puts you to sleep from your place on the floor before you remember the annoyances it’s dragged along with it.

There’d been no sign of trouble tonight, and the chicken wire had been reinforced a few hours prior. That’d mostly been the work of Mr. Campbell, though. He’d chirped about some promise he’d made to his “lovely wife,” and went on his merry way after leaving you with some choice words from the wife in question about the importance of rest.

The rain had started not long after. Which was great, for someone out there. But, bad for you. Pretty bad. Ugly, messy bad—because it was cold, dark, and the dirt hadn’t the moral backbone to keep itself together for any longer than two blinks before your boots were practically swimming in it.

The trudge back to the cabin was only slightly humiliating, considering the fact that the sole witnesses were the owls you knew were hiding out in the safety of the trees.

Scampering from the uneven path to the front porch, however, was another story. Although the pliant (no good, backstabbing) earth was quick and eager to drag you to its depths, you were aggravated enough to be slightly quicker, and your palms shot out to catch you just before your chin could meet the full wrath of the wood.

But the word “just” was a pebble cast into a pond, and the first ripple was the metallic tang that flooded your mouth. Diatribes were spat onto the ground alongside the blood, tongue throbbing with a vengeance before you drove the heels of your palms down to push yourself up. The second ripple was a little less red, but just as irritating. The rain had pulled the wet fabric of your work shirt and trousers tight over your limbs, and it had begun to border on painful when water droplets struck like one might strike the skin of a drum.

“I’m grateful, I’m grateful, I’m oh so fucking grateful…” It was a mantra you often found yourself repeating whenever nature’s pranks sought to drive you mad. Rain was good. Rain was fine, actually, so you’d ignored the creaking of your knees and hobbled your way inside.

And here you sit: back propped up against the wall, shivering like a fool with your knees tucked into your chest. The mud crusting between your fingers barely registers while you work on releasing yourself from your wet clothing.

Which, of course, is when the light tapping on the window takes its cue to crescendo. It’s a rather flimsy cloak for the uneven thunks outside that make no attempt to conceal themselves. But your bones know better.

Awful timing, that man.

You feel the weight of his fist against the door before he makes contact.

(One.)

You shoot up.

(Two.)

You lunge for the table.

You decide against greeting him with the rifle, which is a significant improvement. It’s a revolver. But you did have the good sense not to kick the door again; the rusty hinges were fragile enough without your meddling. Instead, you let it creak open with one hand on the doorknob.

You’re met with a bruise, planted right atop a cheekbone. A swollen bottom lip, blood threatening to split it wide. He’s got a button missing from his rumpled jacket, and the caving of the porch underneath his feet clues you in on the fact that he’s favoring his right leg. He’s been fighting. Fighting, and he looks about ready to keel over and die. Or pick another fight. Probably both.

Part of you unwinds at the sight of him, battered as he was. Present as he was. But the more logical part of you senses that he’s here for something, and the even more logical part of you remembers exactly what it was that stood at your doorstep.

It’s then that the stench of alcohol hits you, and the familiar smell of mud sweeps in not long after. Arthur is completely covered in it, save for his face. And—

There. There it is again.

That look.

Your pulse trips in your throat, and you pray that he’s inebriated enough to ignore it. “You’re on my porch. Why?”

Bright blue comes back into focus, and his hands fall to his hips. “I can go where I damn well please.”

“That’s all well and good, but why are you on my porch?”

He sniffs. Peers just over your shoulder. “...House call.”

You step to block him. “Now that’s two chances. I have it on good authority that one is just fine these days, but I’m feeling generous.” And confused. Extremely confused.

His face contorts into a heatless grimace, and the doorknob squeals. You’re suddenly reminded of the odd tales of shapeshifters you’d stumbled upon as a child: one moment a man, the next a bloodthirsty predator. Not a particularly helpful development—especially since your talk with Mrs. Campbell—but it was a development nonetheless.

Arthur rattles off the courtesies typically extended toward esteemed guests while you look him over again, and your eyes lock onto his hair. Another familiar connection—doe brown strands, streaked with mud and nearly plastered to his head from the light downpour. Much less ferocious than the rest of him. But, tonight, if you have to pick, he’s a wet dog. A wet, potentially drunk dog, who was missing his hat.

And suddenly, the natural chatter of the trees comes to a halt.

“What’d you just call me?”

…You idiot.

“I didn’t call you jack shit,” you lie. Arthur gives a loose smirk, and your next protests become nothing but bluster. “What, the little girl that hit you knock your ears shut?”

“Figured I’d let her get a hit in, out of the kindness of my big ol’ heart.” Arthur sways on his feet a bit, peering down at you through the water that he hasn’t bothered to wipe from his lashes. Gravity finds eventual triumph, and he leans into the post before eying the revolver still in your hands. “Don’t suppose you’re plannin’ on pullin’ that trigger any time soon.”

“What’s it to you?”

Arthur’s face begins to harden, and he crosses his arms tight over his chest. “You know, last time I was here I said you were lucky. Well, I’d like to make an addendum: lucky and stupid, lady.”

You cast a disbelieving look at the leg he’s been keeping his weight off of. “And you’re drunk. The fact that you got here without your horse cracking your head open is a miracle.”

His brows draw low, and he rubs the heel of his boot against the muddy spot where you’d fallen earlier. Blinks at the ground. Then, with the vigor of a child caught sleeping in church, wipes angrily at a speck of mud on his thigh. “M’not drunk,” he finally mutters, flicking the offending dirt out into the yard and crossing his arms again. “And I’ve got enough trust in my horse to fill at least half of that barn y’all got.”

“Just half? Not the whole thing?”

“Whole thing would be two horses.”

You almost laugh. Almost. When you don’t reply, his eyes drop back down to the gun, gaze contemplative. “You got any idea how easily I could’ve knocked that flimsy thing outta your hands?”

“Why of course I do, Mr. Morgan.” The dampness you’d been struck with pulls at you, bones heavy and patience now worn thin. You give the revolver an exaggerated twirl, the metal snatching what can be seen of the moon through the rain and reflecting it at him. “I’m real lucky you’re here to tell me so, ain’t I? Matter of fact, why don’t you go and fetch me my chair before I topple right on over? ”

“That ain’t what I meant, and you know it.” You think he sounds somewhat regretful. But somewhat isn’t enough.

“Do I now,” you say dryly. “You seem to ‘not mean’ an awful lot.”

Arthur pushes himself off of the post with his shoulder and shoves his muddy hands into his muddy pockets. “I just don’t see why you people are so eager to act like you got your life for dog-cheap.”

“You people?”

“Yeah, you heard me. You people.” He’s looking at everything but you now, eyes wild but body frighteningly still. “You’ll look trouble right in the eye, and lie right through your damn teeth till it gets you laid out cold in a ditch somewhere.” Arthur gestures to the embarrassing height your shooting arm has dropped to in the time that he’s spoken. “I can tell each time you open that door that you won’t shoot. Can’t, I’d argue, ‘cause if you didn’t have my big head within one inch of that barrel, you’d be some deep shit.” His words are a forlorn echo amidst the rain, now nothing more than a light haze.

You could shut the door and go back inside, you think. Tell him he’s wrong, because he most certainly was. Peel out of your damp clothes, because standing outside in the chill spelled nothing but trouble. Arthur wouldn’t push. He was just as prone to bluffing as you were.

And yet.

“I could say the same about you. Don’t think your kin would take too kindly to the fact that you’re hangin’ around someone that knows your face. Who you are.” You steady your aim. “That’s a loose end, Arthur. You don’t seem like the type of man to keep many of those around.” It’s the first time you’ve said his name all night; you’re only sure because the moment it leaves you, his entire body tenses before he sags back against the wooden post.

The way he looks at you then might be considered cruel and unusual punishment. You think of butterflies, embroidered into blankets from childhood. Tacked to the wall of your father’s study. The only difference between them and you is that you’re free to leave.

If only you possessed something to sweeten the deal—whatever deal you could come up with in the next five seconds. To mask the returning waver of your voice, now laden with inconceivable realities. “Am I a loose end, Arthur Morgan?”

He opens his mouth to speak. Closes it. Untucks a hand from the arms he’s wrapped around himself to scrub at his beard and finally wipe at the water you’ve been eyeballing from his lids. He opens his mouth again, now on the precipice of what might be an explanation.

“S’dangerous,” is all he says.

You see red.

The arm holding the revolver is dropped so you can poke a finger into his chest. “You’re not making any sense!” Each word is enunciated with a jab, and you cringe at the feeling of rain rewetting the mud underneath your fingernails. “You cut and run, turn up drunk and beaten half to death, practically beg me to let you inside, and then you get upset when I say I won’t pop a bullet into your head?”

Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose, voice beginning to escalate. “Now if you would just listen for more than two seconds—”

You cut him down with a harsh whisper. “Listen? Listen?” Your eyes momentarily check for any sign of a light being turned on in the main house. Nothing. Your finger falls away then, and a violent chill wracks your body from head to toe. “No, you listen. I don’t know you. You don’t know me. You said your piece the last time we spoke, and you left, so why are you on my porch!”

“I don’t know!”

Something cracks, and your vision blurs when you whip your head to recheck the lights. Still nothing. The crack fizzles out into nothingness, and you return to find Arthur close. Awfully close. And your hand is warm and—oh.

It seems his pluck is rather contagious. The noise you’d heard wasn’t thunder, but the sound of your treacherous hand clapping right over Arthur’s mouth.

Time stills. Or speeds up, more like. The only thing you can be certain of is that ring of greenish gold around his pupils. The brush of his lips against your palm. Humid air being released in slow, steady clouds. You briefly wonder what else this warmth has dominion over, save for your cupped hand. Who else.

The speed of the exhales increases, and envy wriggles in the dirt of your heart like unearthed worms. Did his mind wander, as yours often did? Surely not as emphatically. It no doubt ambled from one thought to the next, attention snagged only when he had the energy to do so. Had you been interesting enough to snag his?

The spell is broken by a lamp flickering on in the distance.

“Shit!”

Sheer panic sinks its claws into you before rationality can, and you’re curling a hand around Arthur’s wrist and yanking him inside before he can protest.

You’re both panting ragged breaths once the door shuts behind you, in spite of the mere two steps it’d taken to cross the entryway. Tangible confusion permeates the air, and Arthur looks at you expectantly. It’s only fair that the (secondary) perpetrator speak first.

But words are tricky, tricky things. And as much as you partook in your fair share of falsehoods, finding the right ones when you didn’t feel that your life was on the line was an unfamiliar practice.

Voice quiet, you blink at the muddy footprints on the floor. “You left my door open.”

“I remember,” he replies. Simple.

The silence returns, eerily reminiscent of your first encounter. You consider telling him about the warning Mrs. Campbell had wanted you to relay to him. But then you think about all of the other things he’s missed since he’s disappeared, and your mind becomes saturated with just about everything, and somehow nothing at all. But Arthur’s voice, once again, cracks the fragile quiet.

“God damn it!” He begins to pace, rubbing at the shadows under his eyes. You’re thankful that he’s finally lowered his voice to a whisper, though the close quarters don’t seem to help with the intensity. “I ain’t supposed to be here. Not like this.”

“Not like what? Arthur what do you—”

“This isn’t how this was supposed to go,” he says, voice edging on the side of desperation.

“How what was supposed to go?” You look at his hands, fumbling with his belt loops. He sucks in a brittle gulp of air when he catches you looking, like he’s surprised you’re looking at him at all.

And then, miraculously, the pieces of the puzzle fall into place.

“I’m to kill you. Ideally this evening.”

Until it all promptly falls apart.

You turn away. Begin to work open the half done buttons of your shirt. Arthur turns to face the door. You decide to humor him. “Who.”

“Some man, your Pa, I presume,” he says. For the first time in what feels like eternity, his voice is devoid of any feeling. It sounds small. Not defeated, not yet, but oh so small. “Willing to pay big bucks to get rid of a ‘financial thorn’ in his side. Knew ‘bout my business in Blackwater, which I assume you’re also aware of. Said he’d had some bonds on that boat.” Blunt fingernails scratch lightly at the curtains. “He said I could sniff things out, see if I wanted to to his dirty work.”

Shirt falling to the floor, you allow yourself some time to stew numbly in your naivety while you get the fire going; you could be disappointed all you wanted once you were warm. You can hear Arthur scrubbing at his beard again when you begin to drag a chair in front of the fireplace. You sit, or collapse rather, and shuck off your boots with little care for where they land. Where the mud splatters.

“How’s Marlene?” You ask.

Rustling. He’s turned around. More frantic rustling. He’s turned back to the wall. “I’m sorry?”

“Marlene. Chicken. ”

“Ah. She’s uh, good. Eating good. Still pecks like hell, though.”

And, once again, more silence.

You bark out a dry laugh. It hurts—hurts like hell, but it tumbles out of you with a sharp snap. It snowballs into pure, unadulterated laughter. Bouncing off the walls, the drinking glasses, the mud, right into the fire and back out again. It continues until you’re left with nothing but a pathetic wheeze rattling your lungs.

Settling into the back of the chair, your head lolls back till you can see an upside down version of the bewildered Arthur you’d turned away from. The angle is awkward, and the blood rushing to your head makes him look all warm and fuzzy, but it’s precisely why you’ve chosen it.

“Didn’t think finding all this out would be so funny.” He speaks as if poking a tiger.

Another half-hearted chuckle slips out of you. “Good god, I thought you were trying to proposition me.”

“Proposition you?” He scowls. “What on earth would I—”

Arthur stops. Blinks one of his blinks. Gives his eyes another rub. Blinks again. He’s been doing that a lot, lately. This “blinking” thing.

“Oh.” He frowns.

Frowning right back, you push yourself to stand and toss some old papers from your table into the fire. “No need to seem so put off by it, gosh. Should’ve told me you were out for my head from the start. Would’ve made this a hell of a lot less embarrassing.” Disappointment had beat out the warmth.

You wait for an apology, or a joke. Or something. Anything. But you’re met with nothing. The paper eventually crumbles into nothing, too, smoke tickling your nostrils alongside the smell of rain.

His voice sounds from the back of the room.

“I didn’t say that.”

You whip around.

“Say what.”

He speaks as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I didn’t say I wasn’t. Interested, I mean.” When you point to yourself, he rolls his eyes. “No, the couch.”

There was no couch.

The two of you watch each other for a bit. Then Arthur finds another annoying spot on his thigh to rub at, and you’re watching him.

“You’re drunk,” you conclude, voice flat. You pull on a blanket, suddenly conscious of the bareness of your shoulders. “You’re drunk, or tired, or both. You weren’t here. I didn’t see you, you didn’t see me. Am I clear?”

You stand on wobbly feet and motion for him to leave.

“You don’t think I’m joking, do you? I meant what I said.” He brushes past your outstretched hand to clunk into the chair, mirroring that same awkward position you’d found yourself in earlier. Strong neck arched, fire light catching the water that’s begun to bead on his cheeks. “I don’t do charity. Don’t think I have the money for it, actually.”

“How kind of you.”

“I mean it. Truly.”

“Then come back tomorrow,” you blurt.

Fuck.

What the hell were you doing? “You come back tomorrow night, sober, and we’ll see.” No, we would not.

But it’s too late—Arthur is rebounding off of the chair, straightening out his jacket (he’s noticed the missing button, finally), and striding to the door before you can retract your mistake. Even so, you follow after him like a besotted moron, only stopping when he turns to face you once the door is back open.

“Tomorrow, then,” he says. Eyes dark. Searching.

And then he’s stooping down. Reaching for your hand. Pulling it to his dry lips, and pressing a chaste kiss right to the top of it. He chuckles when you shiver, still clutching the blanket tight around your shoulders.

You’re released soon after. And Arthur gives you one long look, tells you to lock your door, and leaves.

—

next chapter >>

#arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x you #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #ao3 #archive of our own #fanfiction #witching hour

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khaire-traveler · 2 months

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⚔️ Subtle Nemesis Worship ⚖️

Stand up for yourself and others

Join causes that you're passionate about; attend a protest if it's safe to do so (don't risk your well-being please)

Learn self-defense (includes weapons)

Support human rights or abuse survivor organizations

Educate yourself on historical breeches of human rights and how they still affect people today; educate yourself on oppression

Get a candle that reminds you of her (no altar needed)

Wear jewelry that reminds you of her

Keep a picture of her in your wallet

Have imagery of swords, scales, whips, lashes, daggers, or apple branches around

Have a stuffed animal goose or griffin

Eat an apple

Grow an apple tree or thistle plant

Be kind to yourself and others

Prioritize your well-being; put your needs first

Assert your personal boundaries; learn what your boundaries are

Practice patience, especially with people you dislike or who annoy you

Cook a meal for someone in need

Volunteer at a homeless or animal shelter

Donate supplies to a homeless shelter; blankets, warm clothes, and canned foods during the winter are especially needed; hygiene kits are often highly sought after year round

Cook a meal for your loved ones

Practice empathy for others (not at the risk of your own well-being, however; empathy does not equal self-sacrifice)

Try not to support companies or organizations that are morally corrupt or supporting things that go against human rights (Chick-fil-A, Starbucks, Salvation Army, etc.)

Educate yourself about corrupt organizations and companies so you know which to avoid

Be gentle with yourself when going through something difficult

Apologize for your mistakes, even if it's hard; only do this if you are prepared for a potentially negative reaction, however

Hold others accountable for their actions; don't let people off the hook constantly

Hold yourself accountable for your actions; take responsibility when necessary

Light a bonfire in her honor; write down bad things that have been down to you on paper; burn them in the fire (safely!!!); focus on the feeling of retribution

Take a warm shower/bath after a long day, especially if you're feeling down on yourself

Write encouraging affirmations on sticky notes and place them where you'll see them

Make a list of your strengths and weaknesses; celebrate what you're proud of, work on what you're not

Express yourself in little ways if you can't be fully open; a bracelet to represent your gender, pride flag colored shoelaces, etc.

Celebrate your accomplishments; you did a great job!

Feed neighborhood cats, dogs, birds, etc.

Engage in random acts of kindness; holding the door for someone, complimenting a stranger, helping someone carry things if they're struggling, tipping well, etc.

Take care of yourself physically and emotionally

Practice restraint; learn to hold your tongue if it would only escalate a bad situation

Engage with self-care often, especially when feeling unwell

Practice emotional regulation; allow yourself to feel your feelings; find healthy emotional outlets

Work on forgiving yourself of past mistakes; learn from it, and move on

Let go of people or things that do not contribute to your life in a positive way

Focus on yourself, your future, and your well-being rather than focusing on the success or torment of others; YOU matter, YOUR success matters!!!

When you make promises, try to hold yourself to completing them

Build makeshift animal shelters for animals, especially in the winter season (bird houses out of wood, cat houses of old coolers, etc.)

Engage in activities you're passionate about; drawing, crafting, bike riding, etc.

Play with pets if you have any

Exercise; get movement throughout your day

Pick up trash in your neighborhood or environment; don't litter

Don't kick someone while they're down; offer them a hand up

Treat vulnerability with kindness rather than hostility

Give yourself compliments; wear things that make you feel attractive or badass

I may add more to this later! For now, this is my list of discreet ways to worship Nemesis. I hope this helps someone, and take care, y'all! ❤️

Link to Subtle Worship Master list

#helpol #hellenic polytheism #hellenic pagan #nemesis #nemesis deity #nemesis worship #paganblr #pagan tips #deity worship

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autisticempathydaemon · 1 year

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Hello! Are you hyperfixated on RedactedAudio?

Do you want (need) to know who to follow to cultivate your dashboard and feed your gremlin brain good, good boyfriend roleplay content?

Cool, I’ve got you, and I’ve got hyperlinks. Buckle up.

(Note: This is by no means a comprehensive, objective, or complete list. I've only been in the fandom for six months or so. I have biases and favorites and limited time. I hope to update this list periodically, and if you feel I've missed someone, please feel free to reblog with your additions! I just would have loved a guide like this when I got into the fandom back in August and wanted to spread some positivity~!)

Fanfiction:

@angelnoodlesoup: she/her

Sophie is just one of the sweetest David stans that's ever existed who writes, like, the sweetest things about him. Her posts are just going to make you feel warm, fluffy, soft things in your heart area; give into the sweetness. Highlights: Sophie writes this adorable timestamp series of vignettes exploring Davey and Angel's day, but I'm particularly attacked to their David/Angel neighbors to lovers AU~

@arrowfleur

I was actually going to put Max in the visual content portion of this post, because they post delightful Redacted edits on Tiktok (under the same username, highly recommend~), but then they made a uquiz that gave me an existential crisis, so here we are. Highlights: This quiz sent my whole server for a loop and has made me reconsider my relationship with Lovely as a character and kin; it's a great time.

@batch-of-pengwings: robin/bird, she/her

Robin, an absolute sweetheart who makes all the fun ask games that keep the community interconnected and thinking and talking which is just really sweet and fun in the best way. Highlights: The Winter Wonderland game is the one who went around most recently, and it’s so fun to engage with the fandom and discuss who we think is stupid enough to get their tongues stuck on a telephone poll~

@bicyclepainting: they/them

Clover, the fandom's resident Smartass, doing the lord's work and reminding us all how fucking smoochable Aaron is on a regular basis on top of being the coolest astrology nerd don't give them your birth chart you will be perceived /lh Highlights: No one is doing Aaron/Smartass like they are; like, read and absorb the delicious, domestic delight that is them. I also recommend their deep dives into the Redacted bois signs, if you're into that; they're very thorough and fun to read!

@cashandprizes: she/they

My Lexi, my queerplatonic soulmate… She is on a quest to dissect and critique fandom brick by philosophical brick, and I both love her and fear her in equal measure. (That’s a lie, I love her infinitely, more than anything, but she is in fact incredibly intelligent and intimidating.) Highlights: Come for the scathing insights into gray-morality and DD:DNE’s place in fiction, stay for the stripper!Gavin fic they’re working on and their sequel to Lasko’s SexTember audio because she really wanted to make him cry

@ejunkiet: she/her

EJ, the very first of my Redacted loves~ Not only is EJ an endless well of kindness and positivity, but she also writes fucking bomb ass everything. You get angst, you get smut, you get fluff- We stan a multitalented, ace queen. (She also writes really cute CastleAudios fanfiction and original stuff as a cherry on top.) Highlights: EJ writes just some of my favorite David/Angel smut; she captures Angel's little shit nature perfectly. She's also written the sweetest thing of Damien meeting Huxley's moms that I can't get enough of~

@dominimoonbeam: she/her

Domini, truly one of the pillars of the fandom. I don't know what'd we'd be without her fantastic fics or her original novellas or her fantastic, beautiful, rarepair-creating brain. Highlights: God, there's too many to choose from! There's the Sam/Darlin fake dating AU that has us all gripped by the proverbial balls. There's the David/Darlin tattoo shop AU that has me frothing at the mouth because tattoo artists are stinkin hot. That's not even getting into their Cam/William fic, because god, that is such a good rarepair. We love two immortals finding love with one another, we really do. My personal favorite has got to be their Huxley/Darlin piece though, because Darlin gets to be cute and awkward and so, so loved in it.

@frenchiefitzhere: she/her

Frenchie, the fandom's unofficial (but basically official) Marie Greer, not only a gorgeous writer but also the creator of the most fantastical and unique fansongs (who makes original audio content to boot~) Highlights: We would be nowhere as a fandom without the Marie/Colm greer backstory and saga or her audios as the Greer Matriarch herself, but personally? Her Imperium!Lasko/Adam fic kind of changed my life, I'm kind of obsessed with it.

@friendlyfaded: he/him

Miles, the king and professor of the rarepairs! Beware, you will leave his blog wishing for fics for a ship that doesn’t actually exist yet. It’s unavoidable when you read the careful, creative, thoughtful way he considers seemingly silly pairings and makes them gorgeous. Highlights: I recommend his whole rarepairs with prof tag for a snack and his Sweetheart/Lasko/Milo fic for a whole meal~

@gingerbreadmonsters: she/her

Ginger, literally one of the sweetest, friendliest people in the entire Internet. I cannot adequately describe the absolute magnificent poetry of Ginger's prose, so you just have to read it for yourself. You will not be disappointed. Highlights: Ginger's Milo/Sweetheart series is for if you're feeling sweet, and her Vincent/Lovely/Gavin/Freelancer foursome fic is if you're feeling spicy~ Or if you're like me and are longing for an character we'll never see again, you can read her gorgeous, Doctor Who-inspired look in Marcus's mind.

@glassbearclock: she/her

Beans, also known as the best Milo/Sweetheart writer in the game. Their banter is taken from the mouth of god and first name Erik last name Redacted himself, and you could not convince me otherwise. Highlights: I’m a big fan of her sweet, wholesome, Jewish!Milo sick fic, but aYO her Milo/Sweetheart first date fic is so good y’all like goddamn Sweetheart phases through their door and makes Milo faceplant it on accident man that shit is so good

@horrorscoupes: they/he

My beautiful, darling Lotus, my gloriously deranged brother in arms (affectionate). The way they write each and every d(a)emons is just so -chef kiss-. Highlights: I think about their Regulus/Doll fic, like, literally every day, it's just yummy and depraved. Though, for a true taste of genius, for a galaxy brain treat, you've got to read his Shark!Vega/Pet masterpiece.

@k9rage: he/xi

My beloved Calico, our helpful Image Description fairy. He is just so cool and writes the most glorious smut like the world has ever seen. As of publishing, he's writing a Vega/Lasko street racing AU that's gonna be just smoke ash cinder fire hot. Highlights: You need to read his Damien/Gavin waxplay fic; like, this changed my life, I think about it daily. Ooh, AND his Aaron/SmartAss/Gavin threesome fic, because he didn't do all that thinking and imagining for us to not appreciate it. I'm also reccing @calicostorms, his other blog and spotify, so you can get at his stellar Redacted character playlists!

@lovelylonerliterature:

Lovely, absolute stand-out writer in the fandom! Would you believe they have a whole (as of posting) 95 works for the RedactedASMR fandom on AO3? There’s <2000 fics, which makes Lovely a whole five percent of the fanfiction on their own. That’s wild and so hella cool. Highlights: Literally everything they write. Explore their extremely well done masterlist, it’s beautifully put together, and you’ll find something you love. (I’m particularly fond of the Darlin/Vega fic they wrote based off of one of FriendlyFaded’s posts~)

@romirola: she/her

Dr. Romi, the one and the only and one of the legitimate sweetest goddamn people that has ever existed. You've never met a more polite, darling person in all your days. How did she write all these thousands of words of art while getting a doctorate? God, I wish I knew... if only we could also be so beautiful and wonderful and accomplished. Highlights: You haven't existed until you've read her Milo/Sweetheart Tangled AU; like, what are you doing here? GO. (I also deeply recommend her found family Shaw Pack + Sam fic, if you're looking for something that's still ongoing!)

@sealriously-sealrious: they/them

Chrys who writes- no contest I think we can all agree- the best Huxley that this fandom has ever seen. He is just so well-explored and so multifaceted, just the top-tier himbo content we all need and deserve. Highlights: Huxley and Freelancer at the aquarium, Huxley and Freelancer going camping, sfw, nsfw, whatever you want, we've GOT. (There's even some imperium!Huxley, if you're so inclined >:))

@starlitangels: she/her

Starlit, another absolute powerhouse of the fandom. Just look at this masterlist, I think there’s something here for literally every character. That’s what babes call RANGE. Highlights: The way they explore the Shaw pack is so fun; I’d highly recommend her fic exploring Gabe and his backstory or her fic exploring the Shaw’s future pups~!

@taelonsamada: she/her

A pillar- or should I say fence post?- of the fandom and just an utter peach. Always has a nice word to say and says the best nice words about Sam and Darlin- Highlights: Her nsfw Geordi/Cutie fic holds a special place in my heart (the blindfold? the gag? Be still my beating heart), but you haven’t lived until you’ve read her Shaw-centric Ranch AU~!

@teasandcardigans: she/her

Mads, another lovely creator that could be in either section of this post- that's how talented she is! Not only is she a lovely writer but she also designs the most fun Redacted stickers! Also, she's got the only Redacted fan tiktok that Erik has confirmed seen and liked, can't not mention that it's so cool Highlights: Honestly, there's too many to mention! A really popular of hers is a "What If" echo-esque reimagining of everyone's stories which is so fun, and my personal, biased favorite is her Alexis & Gavin fic hear me OUT-

@the-sugar-crash

Cait, out here doing the most and the best. They’ve run the Redacted Winter Gift Exchange for the past two years, connecting blogs who might have never spoken to each other, inspiring creativity, and spreading holiday cheer~ Highlights: I recommend taking a look-see through the “Redacted 2022 Winter Gift Exchange” tag- much thanks to Cait for making it possible- to consider if you’d like to join next year! Until then, there’s a compilation of their cute headcanon posts to inspire you!

@zozo-01: she/her

Zo, one of the sweetest people in the fandom~ Not only is she a fantastic writer, but she is also one of the friendliest people in the space! Constantly excited and supportive and positive and a joy to follow and befriend. Highlights: Her Sam/Darlin Deity AU is going to change the world and break some hearts, I just know it. (Just like her Alexis and Darlin meeting fic broke mine-) If you're not up to getting your heart broken and just want a friend, I recommend asking her about her Powerpoint of Bollywood scenes that could be Sam/Darlin moments~!

Fanart:

@andr0leda: she/they

Androleda’s art is so gorgeous in that most of them are uncolored or working with a smaller palette, and it just makes those colors stand out and the line work all the more elegant. Highlights: Their wolf!Darlin piece got so popular, and you can see why! It looks like the cover of a really cool YA fantasy novel. Also, her Sam/Darlin art just melts the heart- the gentle hand, the key around the neck-!

@artbykays

Kays, a fantastic artist who plays around with the prettiest, brightest colors and has the prettiest (hottest) fem listeners. They also have super fun Redacted playlists! Highlights: Their Sweetheart, Valentina, is kind of smokin hot, I mean look at her, but also good lord, have you seen their Warden like lock me up anytime hello-

@belovedbow

Bow’s art just makes me so soft and gooey inside I dunno. Their art is so pretty, and they always have the most expressive faces. Not to mention the colors- like, Bow uses the simplest but most emotionally evocative shades of pinks and blues that make me inexplicably feel things, and I love it. Highlights: Literally all their Davey/Angel is the sweetest, but I also have this deep fondness for their imp!FL and Vindemiator pieces, because look at these deep, mournful blues, they’re beautiful!

@cascadiiing: they/them

Atlas creates the most beautiful, squishable, smoochable characters on top of being the most beautiful, squishable, smoochable (platonic) sweetie in existence~ they’re so sweet and friendly on top of being so talented at such a young age, and I would protect them with my life. Highlights: Their Sam kind of makes me so lovesick, I could barf- he’s just that pretty. Their Alexis/Christian art is fanart of my own fic, I’ll grant you, but it’s also so fucking pretty look at the dreamy colors and it MOVES-

@claracatlady

Where would we be without Clara, like honestly- What really stands out about their art is- other than the overwhelming talent- the obvious thought and joy that went into designing the outfits. Only the best from our resident fashion design student! Highlights: literally everything. If I must be specific, the David design pinned to their blog is utterly ahdhkakshdjsk, and I am particularly partial to their Alexis design, because I love my beautiful, possibly complex lady okay-

@fregget-frou : he/they

Mal has the prettiest Listeners; I’m lowkey in love with all of them~ I love the way he does such fluffy, voluminous hair, and I dunno, all their listener OC’s have this fashion model-esque glamour and posture about them that’s really attractive. Highlights: Of their listeners, Mal’s Angel has got to be my favorite. Look at this fluffy-haired cutie! Look at this menace! I would also propose to them, they’re gorgeous!

@gwenifred: she/her

Gwen draws the most gorgeous, swoon-worthy Huxleys and is just a big sweetpea to boot. Her and Pali sharing OC’s and art trades here and on Twitter is a testament to how friendly and sweet the fandom can be! Highlights: Everything she draws is gorgeous, but you haven’t lived until you’ve seen her animation work!

@ice-palace-art: They/It/He/Dae

Darby has some of the most beautiful designs, I can hardly stand it. He creates the most gorgeous, realistically proportioned characters and listeners, and they’re just really smoochable okay let me live- Highlights: It has this one piece of Gavin and Lasko having a sleepover that fills me with the warm fuzzies every time I see it, and their Aaron design fills me with longing I am hopelessly in love with their dad-bodded Aaron.

@itsdaifuku: she/her

Y’all don’t even know the little happy stim storm Fuku’s art sets me on; like, all her art is so cute and joyful and somehow colorful even when it’s in black and white? It just gives the vibe of life and vibrancy constantly? How does she do that? Highlights: Literally, everything she draws is gorgeous and sweet, though her designs for the Shaws and their mates are so S-tier and so cute. (I’m also particularly fond of her designs for Love and Alexis, my favorite characters, I’m biased, sue me)

@mr-laveau: he/they

Laveau, my favorite Milo kinnie~ (Yeah, I said it out loud; I’m callin you out.) Charming, thoughtful, friendly, much more talented than they have any right to be when they’re also so funny and sweet, AND also writing at their other blog @bratty-telepath. You’ve never seen such a double threat. Highlights: Literally, everything he makes. All his designs are colorful and gorgeous and filled to the brim with deliberate, intentional details (though I am incredibly partial to their Alexis and Darlin designs and the parallels he included between them.)

@nais-doodles

Nai is a fucking blessing unto this fandom, and we are not worthy. You haven’t really lived, haven’t experienced all the pure, positive silliness that this hellsite has to offer until you experience Nai’s Redacted Actor AU. It’s pure serotonin, and we’re all here listening to Boyfriend ASMR, I know we could use it. Highlights: Other than said AU posts (which really are so fuckin good), have you seen their drawing of Vincent and Sam’s Monarchal ball? Ooh, and if you go to their tiktok under the same username, you can see some of the really cool dating sim they’re working on!

@nanowatzophina: any pronouns

Na’no is not only a must follow on tumblr, but I also highly recommend their tiktok if you wish to wade through the horrid cesspool of that app (I say with tiktok as one of my top social media sites- we have a codependent relationship) Their art is super cute and expressive, and I get massive gender envy from the way he draws hair and teeth. Highlights: Her aspec Freelancer is just so close to my heart; I adore Avery so deeply. Also, the way they draw imperium!Vega and Pet makes my heart fucking melt and want to jump out my chest- the size difference, my god

@obsessivedino: they/them

Mint’s contribution to the fandom cannot possibly be overstated. Their art style is just so clean and neat and with the cutest expressions, and I love their designs so much, especially for the d(a)emon bois I just ahhhhh Highlights: If you’ve joined the official unofficial Redacted Discord server, you’ve seen their adorable stickers reminding you to kick that ass or hydrate unless you want to die-drate, and you haven’t truly embraced life unless you’ve seen their two-year anniversary masterpiece. Ooh, or pocket caelum!

@palilious: she/her

There is no Redacted fandom or fandom list without Pali, and we’ve all accepted that. Her style is so uniquely and instantaneously recognizable as hers, and everyone adores it, including but not limited to GBA, Nomad, and Cardlin! Highlights: Literally everyone she draws is so pretty, though I have a soft spot for her Vincent or her Nomad drawings if you’re looking for more VAs to listen to!

@pearl-kite: she/they

Kirehn has the most huggable humans and the most awe-inspiring d(a)emons. The way she draws the d(a)emons with constellations worked into the designs and color palettes is just so gorgeous and purposeful and thoughtful. Highlights: Their Vega is so frightening but beautiful, you just can’t look away from him. I’m also particularly in love with their Darlin!

@queendread

Do y’all ever do this thing when you see an ethereally beautiful person and you have no words, all you can do is giggle like a vapid schoolgirl(gn)? That’s me with all of Anna’s paintings: no words, just awe. Highlights: I don’t even really like Gavin, okay, he’s not my type, but lord above, Anna’s Gavin is something else. Their Sam also has those Captain America, boy next door good looks I imagined, it’s like they took him right out of my daydreams.

@ryokoaoi : they/them

Ryo has the absolute cutest, most adorable art style, one can barely handle it! Everything they draw is just so pretty and so colorful and detailed and sweet. (Except the sad things, those are less sweet but gosh they’re still so pretty.) They also have this Magic Swap AU that they design that is so fun to read about! Highlights: Their swapped! Gavin and Avior designs are so fun, I adore them deeply, and if you need something to cheer you up, you can always depend on their DAMN pieces that always include a little invisible Caelum to bring you joy~!

@slushrottweiler: she-they

There is nothing like seeing Slush’s signature blue linework on your dashboard, it’s such a sweet treat- or spicy. There are also very good, very spicy treats. Her blog is a magnificent roulette wheel of blue surprises. Highlights: I love their Sam/Darlin stuff, especially this one because wowee them shoulderblades, but their HuxDami BA piece takes the cake.

@spookybeandoodle

Spooky has my whole heart and wallet and my other heart if I had one I fell in love with their rich color palettes and shading and Alexis right away and had to commission them. Could not recommend enough, they were a treasure to work with~ Highlights: I’m not biased- okay yes I am but not now their Alexis is fuckin smoking hot but also their Cam might be my favorite Cam look at that smile-!

@sri-rachaa: she/her

Rae is such a treasure to this fandom, we hardly deserve her. Her art is so ethereally pretty and delicate? The way she draws hair and noses and silhouettes- her line work is just phenomenal. Everything she creates is just a delight to look at. Highlights: The Southern Siblings AU is a gift, a treasure, a boon that cannot be ignored. I’m also a big fan of her Lovely OC who is ridiculously pretty~

@tankwolf : she/her

June has been posting fanart for only two months, but I’m already absolutely obsessed. I just find her monochrome character portraits so visually engaging and interesting. I would love so badly to be friends with her listener OC’s… Highlights: …or more than friends, because her Sweetheart is something else good lord. I would just love it if June could stop putting the hot people in crop tops please (but also don’t cause whoa)

@terrazaurio

All the fanart Terra creates is so bright and vivid and colorful and expressive, they’re really such a treat to see and experience. I’m a sucker for the colors they use, cause it makes my lizard brain all happy and go “shiny pretty happy.” Highlights: Everything they draw with the Shaw Pack is pure dopamine, like this one of the bois and their mates hanging by the pool. I am particularly attached to this piece from Milo’s HBS, because they’re so fucking in love, your honor, I love them.

@thefablefoxart : she/her

Angelina’s Redacted couple series is one of the truest delights of the fandom; like, they’re so colorful and cute and just adorably designed. I’m also deeply in love with the way she does hair. Everyone just has really fucking good looking hair, and I can’t get over it-Highlights: On top of the aforementioned couple series, I just want to bring attention to this adorable chibi Sam that she drew- it brings me so much serotonin- and their Darlin, Kai who I wish would just give me a shot okay I have a Southern accent too-

If you’re reading all the way here, I hope you found the post helpful and smiled while making your way through it! Or both! The RedactedAudio fandom is truly one of my favorite spaces on the internet; it’s so intimate and creative, and I’ve found some amazing, perfect friends here, so I hope you will too 💖

again playing around with the formatting please stop hurting me tumblr I’m trying to be nice

If you can see this, I love you, and you’re watching me try to format this post so tumblr doesn’t cut off the bottom of it please ignore the Android behind the emerald curtain go about your day

#redactedasmr #redactedverse #redacted asmr #redactedaudio #redacted audio #redacted

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wisteriaiswriting · 3 months

Note

Could we please get some general relationship headcanons for Mei, Mercy, and Pharah? Thank you!

𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕖𝕣𝕒𝕝 ℝ𝕖𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕡 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤

Words: 245

𝕄𝕖𝕚:

Constantly cares for you by bringing you food and drinks.

The biggest romantic movie fanatic, so she drags you to watch them with her.

Isn’t the biggest fan of kissing, would much rather hug or link arms to keep close.

Enjoys just standing in your embrace, listens to your heartbeat and almost falls asleep.

Whether you wear winter or summer clothes she’ll get you matching clothes.

𝕄𝕖𝕣𝕔𝕪:

While she isn’t the biggest cuddler she does appreciate a small amount of pda, including hand holding and quick kisses.

Only when she’s serious does she use your actual name, otherwise it’s bird and angel petnames. (Dove, swan and the classic angel.)

Is the big spoon every night, will face you while using her arms and hands to cradle you close.

Will share her swiss chocolates with you, everytime will feed them to you. Wiping away any that smudge.

Surprisingly a massive tease but manages to hide it from the others.

ℙ𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕙:

She constantly brings you stuff from her missions, if there's anything just ask.

If you workout she absolutely does it with you, and helps by making personalized and partner routines.

In public she acts tough, but in private or around close friends she just melts whenever you do anything.

Speaking of, she has a preference for big spoon but won't complain about being the little spoon every once in a while.

Huge cuddler! Especially when she returns from a mission, be careful as she does run really warm.

#overwatch x reader #overwatch x male reader #overwatch mei #overwatch mei x reader #mei x reader #overwatch mercy #overwatch mercy x reader #mercy x reader #overwatch pharah #overwatch pharah x reader #pharah x reader #wisteria♥

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walker-bait-1973 · 8 months

Text

First Kicks

A Daryl Dixon x Y/N (Feminine Reader) Fanfiction

18+

Warnings: Sex, Fluff

Author's Notes: Daryl and Y/N have secured a home life in the wilderness, just far enough away from the communities to make a go of life on their own, but not too far from their family and friends. Y/N and Daryl are expecting their first child and today, it seems the baby is being felt for the first time.

Masterlist

The weather was unusually warm for early spring. The sun shone through the clearing of the canopy overhead not far from where Daryl and Y/N were standing. The two were in the woods quite some distance from their hidden cabin home. Daryl had been tracking pheasant through the undergrowth, yet unable to get a decent shot on one. If Daryl was having difficulty, Y/N was as well. The sneaky birds knew how to hide. Dog was finally sent forward to flush the game out…

Y/N sat on the old wooden chair outside plucking the feathers from another pheasant, “good boy, Dog. We couldn’t have done it without you!” She patted his head fondly before returning to her task at hand. Daryl threw a pheasant head to Dog who barked in appreciation before gnawing on it.

“You spoil him,” Y/N teased. She stopped working for a moment, “ooh!” She sat up straight, her hand going to her baby bump, “the baby kicked!”

Daryl dropped everything he was doing, swiped his bloodied hands on his pants, and rushed to her. His hand went instantly to her lower belly and felt around. He grunted moving his hand this way and that to no avail. Y/N noted the look of disappointment on Daryl’s face as he lowered his hand.

“Don’t get discouraged, it was a flutter at most…” she tried to make him feel better.

“I don’t believe ya,” he grumbled. She sifted her fingers through his unruly hair. It’d gotten so long over the winter, and he’d refused any trims.

“You’ll feel it soon,” she reassured him. He wasn’t buying it. He wanted to feel the life inside her wiggling around for himself.

“Hey,” she continued, kissing the top of his head as he continued to kneel, “it will happen. It’s just starting.”

He brushed his hand over her belly one more time before returning to his work on gutting pheasants.

That night, during dinner, Y/N let out a small gasp, “it happened again!” She motioned him over. Again Daryl was by her in a flash, his hand on their growing baby. She moved his hand here and there trying to find anywhere that the baby might move. Again, no luck for Daryl.

Scowling he said, “gonna go feed them animals.” He headed out to feed their livestock out back.

Y/N sighed and said to her little one, “kick when daddy’s touching me… please.” She cleared the table, put things away, and went to take a bath in the hot spring. Daryl soon found her there, stepping out of the steamy water and reaching for her towel. He admired her developing body, the roundness of her lower abdomen, and her padded hips.

“Don’t tell me t’ baby kicked in t’ bath.”

She bit her lip. He rubbed the towel along her back gently, “yer face says it all.” He replied, kissing the back of her neck as he wrapped the towel around her. She turned around to face him.

“I know how badly you want to bond with this child right away. I get it you’re frustrated today. But it’s just the first day. It’s going to happen more often, it’s going to get stronger, and you’re going to be part of it all. I’ll make sure of that.”

His head bobbed in agreement, yet he remained quiet, stoic as they padded back to the cabin.

It was getting late. Daryl had been sharpening his knives from the earlier work they’d performed. Y/N was reading aloud as was a nightly custom. When she stopped for a moment, lost in thought he said, “hey… y’ look tired. C’mon Y/N… let’s get t’ bed.”

She nodded, lifting the candle from its place on the rough-hewn coffee table. She reached for Daryl’s hand, and they headed upstairs together.

In the darkness, it wasn’t long before Daryl began to caress her breasts. They were soft to the touch, her skin smooth like silk. He’d noticed that they were becoming fuller over the past few weeks and became gentler with his touches. She would soon become more sensitive, and he was keenly aware of his rough hands. After a tender rub, his hand slid down her hip, then between her legs. Y/N felt his hot breath on her face. Her breath quickened as he moved his hand to open her legs wider. He didn’t say a word, he didn’t need to. Before long, she was straddling him, her hands pinning his muscular arms down on the bed. Her soft muff stimulated him further, his hardness growing wider deep within her. She moaned softly. Daryl felt her rounding belly brush against his stomach and smiled a small smile. He could easily shake her grip off his arms but always played as if she was stronger than he was. However, tonight he wanted to hold those hips, rub that ass, and plunge deeper. His hands shifted to her hips, just as his fantasy, and over her full, round ass.

After their intense lovemaking, Y/N fell asleep quickly. She’d worked extra hard today, and now she was at rest. Daryl touched parts of her arms, rubbing down across her hip and over her stomach. He froze at the bump, feeling a light tap, a slight ripple against his calloused hand. His heart raced.

“Y/N!” he whispered, his voice quick and full of urgency. She groaned, pushing a finger over his lips.

“Shh…” she rolled to her back. Daryl rubbed her stomach gently. Another ripple. He smiled a crooked smile and whispered, “hey there…” More ripples, “y’all dreamin’? Or did we wake ya?” He chuckled lowly. He laid his head on Y/N’s chest, rubbing in a slow circular motion, around and around where the baby lay.

“’M… yer papa… ‘M gonna keep ya safe as I can f’ as long as I can. Y’all got a good mama… she’ll keep ya as safe as she can too. ‘M gonna be talkin’ t’ ya more n’ I talk most times. I want y’ to know me.” He paused before whispering, “love ya lil’ bean.”

He lifted from his comfort spot, lowered his lips to her tummy, and kissed her belly, “night,”

Y/N ran her hands through Daryl’s hair as he laid back in his spot on her chest. He rested his hand on her stomach and asked, “how long y’ been awake?”

“Only a moment or two. Long enough to know you got your first kicks.”

“Mhm.” She could tell he was proud as a peacock, his heart beating strong, “Me n’ the bean have an understandin’.”

“You do huh?”

“Mhm. But ‘s our secret.”

She smirked, “keep your secret then. I won’t pry.”

He laughed deeply, his voice like gravel, “hey y’all get nine months of secrets. I’ll have t’ catch up.”

It was her turn to chuckle, “you’ll have plenty of your own little secrets. I have the feeling the baby’s going to go crazy over papa.”

“Good,” he whispered, “’m already crazy over t’ baby.”

#daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon fluff #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixion imagine #daryl dixon #daryl dixion x reader #daryl dixon x y/n

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esilher · 5 months

Text

Collaborative December klaine challenge 2023 between @esilher and @mynonah

Tiny Friends in the Neighborhood by @mynonah

"Blaine? What are you doing?"

"Feeding Theodore."

"Excuse me?"

"Theodore, this is my fiancé, Kurt." Blaine says, gesturing theatrically between the window and Kurt, "Kurt, this is—"

"It's a squirrel." Kurt interrupts.

"That was rude. Yes, it's a squirrel. Well, there are two of them, but it's early, I think Francesca's still asleep."

Kurt looks at Blaine as if he's suddenly grown a second head. "Okay, while I try to process this... may I ask what he is doing on our ledge? This is how you teach them to keep coming back, Blaine. And one day, they’ll come into the apartment. What are squirrels doing in this tree anyway?"

"The same thing you do inside the building. They live there."

"No." Kurt shakes his head wildly. "They don't belong here. Squirrels inhabit forests. Or at least... wooded areas. Here it's all concrete and people and bustle."

"They probably moved here from Central Park. But they build their nests in trees and that, in front of our window, is a tree. So it seems to me that they are at home, just like us."

"How do they get food here?"

"They are wild animals, they know how to get food. Besides... we are here for them," Blaine adds with a grin. "I looked up what they eat. Would you like to try?"

"Feeding him? No way! What if he bites?"

"Give him food, not your finger. With your palm open. Come on, Kurt, I'm right behind you. You'll love it and Theodore is hungry!"

Kurt rolls his eyes, but steps closer to the window and carefully holds out his hand to the squirrel.

"Oh," he giggles. "He's cute."

"I know, right? Look, there's a little hole. That's where they nest."

"Uh. That can't be too warm..."

"They live in the wild, Kurt. Don't worry about them."

"But winter is coming, Blaine. Theo and Fran need a more secure home than this. Wait, you were gonna make a bird feeder in the spring, remember? Let's do it now," Kurt says excitedly. "Well, mostly you, but I’ll decorate it. Just make it a little bigger. I'll go see what we need to buy and we can go in 20 minutes." Kurt announces with the same enthusiasm, then turns on his heel and hurries back to the living room.

"Wait… Are you serious now?"

"Mhm."

"Five minutes ago you didn't care about them at all and now you want to build them a house."

"It's your fault. You named them, Blaine!"

"Whoa... Okay. Understandable. Maybe I should have named the spiders you found in the bathroom yesterday."

"Ugh... have you killed them yet?"

"No, not yet."

"Then do it. Please."

"I don't know... It's a moral issue, Kurt. A whole family!"

"What? You're such a dork."

"And they're high up..."

"That's not a family."

"Okay. Not a family. Just two random spiders and two random half-sized spiders who happened to meet in the corner of the bathroom and have been hanging out together ever since."

Kurt narrows his eyes at Blaine. "Something like that."

"Hm. I still think they’re a family, though. I'll give them names."

"Don't you dare!"

"Everyone deserves a name, Kurt. Don't be cruel."

"Stop it!"

"Hmm... How about Lucas and... Frederick..."

"Blaine, stop it!"

"...and the kids are Charlotte and... ah, Samuel!"

"Shit! I hate you."

"You love me. Very much. So, are you starting to think they're cute?"

"No! They're spiders, for God’s sake. ...Lucas and Frederick?"

"Yep," Blaine says proudly, grinning from ear to ear. "They're gay. Spider family, Kurt. With two dads. And even if the kids manage to escape in time... A lot of little feet need a lot of little shoes, and you want to murder their parents. But of course, as you wish... I just..."

"Fuck!" Kurt exclaims, throwing his phone on the other side of the couch so suddenly, that he almost falls over.

"What’s wrong? Are you okay? Why did you... Whoa! Oh, my God. You actually googled ‘spiders + pets + feeding’?!"

Kurt holds both hands over his eyes frantically, and Blaine can't help but laugh. "You're cute."

"Could you just... Could you just... Just do something!"

"Should I close this and clear the search history?"

"No! Just... just type ‘TINY’... at the beginning of the text. Please. Tiny spiders. Like Charlotte. Thank you."

"I love you so much."

#here we are again!#not in December anymore but…#december klaine challenge 2023 #inhabit #klaine #klaine fanart #klaine fanfic #never give a spider a name!!#esilher’s drawings #myno's stuff

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da-birb-writes-sometimes · 11 months

Text

Though The Path May Be Long, I Shall Find You; Jack Howl

A path lies ahead, some are more treacherous than others. At the end of the winding, coloured footsteps is where they can rest; a bird directing them forward, made out of precious stone.

Main Character; Jack Howl

Supporting Roles; Jack's parents, Vil Schoenheit (if you squint), Leona Kingscholar, bird messengers

Content; Soulmate AU (I use the term soul match), gender-neutral reader, this can be read as platonic, familial, or romantic, made up some lore for Jack's family, hurt/comfort (but not as much as the others)

Content Warning; brief violence (not reader or Jack), some swearing, nightmares (reader)

Word Count; 5 K

Do not put mine - or other creators’ - works into AI; that shit steals.

Prologue & Leona's Story | Ruggie's Story

Winter was in the air, despite it only being the start of September. But this was the Shaftlands, winter always came early, and a thin blanket of snow would be covering the ground before the end of the month. Jack was out picking berries with his father, as his mother was out hunting game to fill their freezer for the long winter nights. The Howl family was stocked up on almost everything, but having some fresh and rare cloudberries were always welcomed; especially during the long nights that were to come. A raven flew overhead and came to rest on his father’s shoulder, croaking into his ear.

Jack’s ears perked up, but he continued picking berries, trying to overhear the conversation between his father and his messenger, made from sodalite. Hmm, oh there’s a large patch over there! Dad’s busy so he wouldn’t notice if I went ahead and picked those!

“What news do you bring,” the older man asked the bird. A particular harsh wind rustled through the evergreens. Seems like winter would be here early this year, earlier than usual.

The raven puffed up, and shook their head. “The Mrs has harvested a moose, a large bull. Enough to feed the household until spring.”

Mr Howl nodded his head and his raven was off again, going back to reunite with the others. “Jack?” He called out. Nothing. “Jack?!” He looked to where he was earlier, but he wasn’t there. “JACK?!” He shouted, causing birds to leave the trees in a panic. “JACK HOWL?!”

Jack was still busy picking berries, and he stopped upon hearing the echoing, concerned, yelling of his dad. How had he gotten so far away? “Dad? I’m over here dad!” He stayed calm, and stayed put. Should you ever get lost, stay put. Should you panic and run more you’ll only get yourself more lost. He got up on a rock and waved his arms, in the hope that his dad would notice the movement. “I’m over here! DAD?!”

A twig snapped in the undergrowth, and Jack stopped. The wind was moving towards him and he could smell something, something dangerous. He wedged himself into a narrow rock overhang and held his breath. Slow padded footsteps thudded outside and soon he could see the brown fur of a brown bear outside of his hiding place. And he could hear and feel the hot breath entering the crevice.

“JACK?!” His dad shouted, and all he saw was something white and furry fighting the bear. But it wasn’t his dad, it was his mom. “Jack, come on! Hurry!” His dad forcibly dragged him out of his hiding spot and made a beeline home.

…

“What were you thinking,” his mom inspected his face, looking for any marks, even though during the fight with the brown bear a claw had left a gash on her shoulder blade. “I told you to stay with your dad while out foraging-”

Jack’s eyebrows were knotted, and his lip trembled. His mother stopped and cupped his face.

“Love,” she embraced him in a crushing hug, “we were worried about you. Please, just stick near us. Okay? You’re okay, Jack.”

Jack squeezed her back, tail in between his legs. “I’m sorry Mom.” He just wanted to pick some cloudberries, his mom’s favourite. He wanted to surprise her with enough so that they could make some jam together. But all the berries that he had picked had been destroyed during the fight. It was all for naught.

A light knock on the front door made him stop, and his mother went to answer it. At the door stood a blond boy a few years older than Jack, bright amethyst eyes looking up. “Excuse me, Mrs. Howl, but can I play with Jack?”

Jack’s mom looked at Vil, taking mind to make sure her wound dressing was still covered. “Sorry Vil, but-” she stopped and looked towards her son. “But, you’ll have to play here, in the yard.”

Jack looked up, asking silently for permission, and his mom nodded a yes. “What do you wanna play,” he asked excitedly, grabbing some of their usual play things.

Vil smiled, and helped bring the toys outside. “Hmmm, what about knights? Trying to save the village?”

And the two boys went off and played. Vil would continue to visit every day, until a large ice storm rolled in on Jack’s fifth birthday, forcing everyone to stay inside.

That night, as Jack was starting to fall asleep, he looked outside. The ice had temporarily stopped, and a bright orange moon hung in the sky. Green and blue auroras painting the night sky. Jack didn’t know what to ask for when it came to his messenger. He knew it was going to be a raven, as it was customary for a raven to form a bond with a wolf pup.

“Can I,” he paused, thinking. What do I want? ��Can I have someone there for me?” He was about to turn in for the night, but an unseasonably warm wind opened the window. He rushed to close it, and when he looked down there was a raven messenger, but it wasn’t made out of typical stone. It was made of petrified wood; representing trust, grounding, and knowledge. But he didn’t know that, all he knew was that he had a raven. That he had a soul match. That’s all that mattered.

…

Jack placed his belongings down on the floor and the desk beside his bed, looking over the room. He didn’t know what to expect of Savanaclaw, but he was thankful that he at least had a dorm, unlike the one student. They also smelled… different, not a bad different, but different. They didn’t smell like they were from Twisted Wonderland, that they were from somewhere entirely different. But that wasn’t any of his business, and he wasn’t about to poke his nose into someone else’s business, let alone a complete stranger.

He shook his head and started placing his items where he thought they would go best. And since he was now in a place temperate enough without any harsh winters, he could finally start growing some plants he saw in a book once; some cacti. The little green plants spoke to him; they survived in harsh conditions and adapted to not only survive but to strive. He could appreciate that, even if the plant did prick him every so often, he couldn’t blame it for doing so, that’s what the spines are meant for.

His mind wandered, wondering if his siblings were doing okay? He knew that his parents were more than capable of looking after them, but he still worried. Ever since his mom fought off that bear, she hasn’t been able to use her left arm like she normally did; weaker from nerve damage. Her raven also had the scar, and couldn’t fly due to it. But she never alluded that she was in pain, keeping on a brave face for Jack, and later on for his siblings.

Jack looked down to his raven. Unlike the others, his raven was made of fossilized wood, preserved throughout the aeons. He turned it over gently, his hands dwarfing it in comparison. It would stay small, small enough to hold until his soul match’s bird awoke… that is if he had one at all. Apparently, messengers made out of anything other than stone were rare and could be seen as a blessing, but also as a warning. A warning that hardships may await them in the future. He didn’t want to dwell on that though, he had a messenger so that in itself proved that there was someone out there for him. Be they a friend, found family, or life partners, like his parents.

“What lessons do you hold,” he asked quietly, ears twitching making sure the coast was clear. He placed the wooden bird on his desk carefully, and when he was satisfied, he left the room, heading off to the dining hall.

A cold breeze entered the room, which was rare for the Savanaclaw dorm. It carried the smell of snow, pine trees, and a lone snowflake landed on the wood raven, resting between their eyes. They shook their head and stretched out their wings, flexing them for the first time. The cold wind was gone as soon as it came, the warmth from the sun-baked stone returning.

The raven hopped to the window sill, looking out to the rapidly setting sun. “The time is nigh. They are here.” And they took off, but not to find Jack.

…

You couldn’t sleep, but what could you really expect? You had just arrived to this ‘Twisted Wonderland’ and everything you knew had been flipped upside down. Magic was real. There are merfolk, fae, and beastmen?! All of the fairy tales were true but they were Disney-fied; honestly that probably saved your butt, since the originals are… well you would have had fewer chances of survival let’s just say that.

“I swear if I see one more Mickey Mouse easter-egg-” you muttered under your breath, rubbing your temples. It didn’t help that your new place, Ramshackle Dorm, was not up to code. How that ‘Headmage’ thought the decaying mansion was suitable to live in was beyond you. To be fair, he does seem to be quite a few screws loose.

A gust of cold wind blew the windows open and you scrambled to close them. When you finally got them closed a low croaking was behind you. You turned around and on your bed were two ravens, but they looked to be made of stone instead of flesh and feathers. “Finally arrived, I see,” the one said, hopping up to stand on the bed frame.

You blinked a few times, but the ravens were still there. “Uhhhh, I just got here.” You had already been exposed to so much today that, sure why not, talking stone birds are totally normal now. Totally normal. Nope, not internally freaking out. You are totally zen. WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING?! Not having an existential crisis. Everything is normal here.

“We have been waiting many years for you,” the other raven spoke, their voice being deeper than the previous one. They stood stoically, unlike the more hyper one which was tracing patterns in the hole-ridden bedsheets. “However, there is much to learn here. You must grow before I or your messenger digress any further information. For now, know this; many a hardship will fall your way, but you must stand tall. You are stronger than you give yourself credit for.” They bowed to you and took flight, exiting through the window from whence they came, leaving you alone with the more playful bird.

Many a hardship will come your way. You had just gotten here and that cryptic line of advice sounded more like a warning than something comforting. I must stand tall? I’m stronger than I give myself credit for? Haven’t I already received enough character development? I just… I want to go home.

You felt a soft tap tap tap on your hand. The raven had stopped making patterns and was sitting beside you, looking up at you. “Come now, it has been a long enough day for you. You cannot do anything if you are not well rested. Off to bed with you now, shoo shoo!” They flapped at you with their wings.

You planted your feet down, and stopped. “And why should I listen to you?!” You snapped. For all that you knew, this could be a prank, a hazing ceremony of sorts.

The raven stopped and calmed down. “I am a part of you. Once you awaken tomorrow, I shall tell you everything that you ought to know.”

You would have protested more, but in all honestly all of your energy had been drained throughout the day. The mattress was hard and lumpy, the sheets thin and with holes, but you fell asleep quickly. The wood raven silently looking after you.

“King of Beasts,” they said in a hushed tone, looking up to the moonless night. “Make haste, for many a challenge will face them. Send their match on his quest for them… before something else finds them.”

…

When Jack got back to his dorm it was dark out, being held back by a fight between Leona and the Diasomnia housewarden. But when he opened the door he stilled. When he left, his wood raven was sitting on his desk, and now it was flying around and collecting anything shiny it could find. “Oh, this would make for a lovely present, yes, yes, that will do nicely!”

His soul match was finally here then. He should have felt happy, but all he felt was confusion. Should I be… happy? “What are you doing?” He asked the raven, as it had made a mess of his side of the room.

The raven squawked, and dropped a coin it was carrying. “Ah, Jack, my good fellow! Finally back I see! Oh, I’m just gathering up some exquisite gifts for you to give to your match!” They presented all of the ‘presents’ they had collected; several coins, a bobby pin, and some dryer lint. “Are they not lovely?”

Jack’s ears pulled back, “You didn’t have to do that, I can do it myself.” He wouldn’t classify any of those gifts 'exquisite’ or ‘lovely’. “Nevermind that. How are you alive?” He already knew the answer but he wanted to hear it, to have confirmation that this was real. That this was really happening.

The raven hopped down to the floor and bit at his tail, hard.

“HEY-”

“There, proof that I’m alive. There should be a bruise tomorrow as well.” The raven looked smug, and puffed up with pride. “Oh your meeting shall be splendid! Their raven and I have it all planned out-”

“No,” he interjected. “Nothing is planned out, it’s not your place to plan how, when, or where, we meet. Don’t force them to do anything.” He didn’t want to force his match with anything, even if both of their birds wanted nothing more than to plan some horribly cheesy scene. “We will meet when we meet.”

The raven stilled in its actions, looking at the things it had collected. “Which will be when, Jack? It has been over ten years since you received me.”

Jack pushed his hair out of his face, centering himself. “I’m not sure, but one day. It could be tomorrow. It could be a week. Months. Or years. But we will meet when we deem ourselves ready. That isn’t for you to decide… So please, let us do it on our own terms.” He sighed, and sat down. He wasn’t planning on any of this happening and it was only his first day at Night Raven College, and there was still yet more to come.

…

Jack had adjusted to life in Savanaclaw and the college. He may not always agree with how… underhanded some of his peers may be, but he wished not to rock the boat. But he had stepped out of his comfort zone, he had confronted others when they abused their power. But even with all of that chaos, he had made a friend; you. But he knew that you hadn’t told him everything, and he wasn’t going to push you for it either. You would do that on your own terms, and he would patiently wait. Unlike his raven who kept on pushing him.

“It’s almost winter break,” they croaked in his ear. “Do you not wish to inform your parents of this wonderous news? That your match is here?”

Jack shrugged the bird off, and sighed. “I would, but I would like to know that for certain that they, my match, are prepared for… that. Mother can be… overprotective.” He may not be a young pup anymore, but his mother still doted over him. And yes, he loves her, but he doesn’t want to throw his match to the wolves when it came to his family. He didn’t want to rush into it. He wanted a slow progression where they got to know each other.

The raven relented in its actions. “Ah, I understand… have you seen the footsteps yet?”

“No.” No, he had not. There was no trace of any glowing footsteps, and he has yet to be visited by his match’s raven, which means that they were not ready. There was still something they were looking for; either in themselves or around them. He just wondered; what were they looking for?

…

Books upon books upon books, and there was absolutely nothing. No word of your world, the only thing coming close being this world’s version of Paris. Other than that, nothing. You were frustrated. Have the weeks of pouring over volumes of text been for nothing? And now winter break was nearing, and you would be left alone here… stuck as you have been for the past several months.

“Prefect, you look unwell,” Jack’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. He had become an unlikely friend during your time here. He had helped you so many times before, and now he even brought you some lunch, as you were hunched over yet another book. “And you’ve been reading non-stop.”

You looked over to your friend, and there was concern in his warm, golden eyes. A lot of people saw Jack as aloof, but you saw him as warm, but not overbearingly so. “Just trying to understand a few things is all. You don’t need to worry about me, Jack, you’ve done more than enough as is!” He had even brought you a plate of pear compote, his favourite.

He didn’t look convinced, his ears pinned back. “You can just ask, Prefect. I may not know everything, but it’s best to not let things cloud your mind.” He sighed, scratching the back of his neck.

“What do stone birds mean?” You quickly closed your mouth, regretting that you brought it up. As far as you could tell, no one else had a stone bird. “Ignore that-”

Jack cocked his head. “Prefect, do you have one?” He didn’t need an answer, as your expression, body language, and fast heart rate was one enough. “A stone bird means that you have a soul match. Someone who is right for you. They can come in many forms… but a lot of people wish for a romantic one. The more common ones are familial or platonic matches though.” He reached down into his bag, getting out a small journal with a wolf and raven on it.

“Don’t get your hopes up, herbivore,” Leona took a seat at your table and eyed the journal. “Shouldn’t be letting some bird tell you who to bond with.”

You picked at your plate; both of what they said playing in your mind. Jack’s ears twitched, and he opened up the journal. In it were crystal meanings, common birds for the different clans of beastmen. “Bitter, aren’t we?”

Leona’s ears pinned back, and Jack shifted closer to you. He didn’t know why, and he knew that Leona wouldn’t try anything, but he felt compelled to protect you from harm, even if it never came. And the hairs on his neck stood on end, much as the hackles of an agitated canine would.

Leona raised an eyebrow at Jack and rolled his eyes. “Not bitter, herbivore,” he sighed. “Just don’t like havin’ someone else call the shots for me, let alone some pesky bird and some long-dead king from times past.”

Jack huffed and handed the book to you, ignoring his house warden. “Hopefully this helps, since the messengers can’t tell us anything of substance-”

“What’s your stone bird?” Your eyes widened, and you fumbled. Why did I do that? That’s something that only… his soul match should know? What’s the etiquette on asking about soul matches? Did I offend him? Why is Leona looking so smug right now?

Jack rubbed the back of his neck, “A raven, that’s the messenger that wolf beastmen and their soul match receive.”

Huh, that’s- Wait a minute MY ‘messenger’ is a raven- Your brain was scrambling trying to put that information together. “That makes sense, I guess,” is what came out of your mouth instead of some hot word vomit. “Since, ya know, ravens form friendships with wolves and help lead them to food- Well in this case not food, rather their soul match…” You stopped talking, feeling like you were just digging yourself into a deeper hole. Best stop while I’m ahead. STOP RAMBLING! “But, uhhh, thanks for the book Jack!” You smiled warmly, finally having at least a few answers to the seemingly never ending list of questions you had.

“It’s no problem,” Jack offered a small smile and a nod of his head. But you knew that it was genuine, you could read him like an open book.

I don’t get why people are intimidated by him. Jack’s a nice guy. Sure, he’s a bit aloof at first, but he means well. “Just let me know if there’s anything I can do for you, okay?” He had already helped you out so many times before, so you only thought it would be fair for you to help him out in return in the future; not to repay him, but because you’re his friend. Friends help out friends.

He gave you a nod and the bell rang, and you were both off to your respective classes. Both of your wooden messengers flying after you, giving each other a nod.

…

Ink. Ink was everywhere. Hands were everywhere. And eyes, so many eyes were looking down at Jack. What is this? He shook his head and the scene changed, there were still eyes looking down, but the hands were gone, and there were only a few puddles of ink? Overblot? But there was no one around. The scene shifted again, and this time he was in the magishift field. Leona’s overblot?

“It’s their nightmares, I’m afraid. Rather rare for their dreams to enter into yours.” His raven said, but was nowhere near, off in the physical world. “I cannot do anything I’m afraid.”

But why is my soul match having nightmares of overblots? Only certain people have witnessed them… But he walked forwards, the field shifting into water, the browns and tans fading into blues and purples. Azul’s overblot? But only- But he was ripped out of the dream by his alarm blaring. He shot up out of bed, in a cold sweat. “What was that,” he huffed, trying to calm his racing heart.

His raven hopped over, and handed him a towel. “Night terrors. Premonitions. Awful things. They’ve been haunted by them for months now.”

This caused Jack to frown. His soul match has been haunted by dreams, dreams that he had just witnessed for months? How in the Seven were they able to get any sleep if their dreams were filled with the fraction of what he saw? They must be exhausted… “Is there anything I can do to help?” He hadn’t really thought it over, but the urge to help his soul match, whoever they were, was strong

“Hmm, until you properly meet through the path, no. but you know them, so just keep on supporting them-” the raven stopped, realizing its blunder. Jack wasn’t supposed to know that he had already met his soul match.

He narrowed his eyes at the wood bird. “I know them,” he said, not amused. “How long have I known them for?”

The raven did its impression of a guilty smile. “Oh since about… Actually, I can't say that, as that would be a dead giveaway and can’t have that happen, no no, can’t have that happen at all.”

Jack just stared at his messenger, and he bounced his knee, thinking. If my raven won’t tell me anything maybe their’s will… But that would have to wait until later, right now he was behind in his morning routine. “Fine, I’ll leave you alone then.” If you won’t tell me, maybe their raven will.

…

Night after night has only been nightmare upon nightmare. Waking up, sweating, gasping, and feeling like there were eyes everywhere. But they were just dreams. Dreams aren’t real. Dreams shouldn’t scare you. But they did. And tonight was no different.

The sun wasn’t up yet, but you couldn’t fall back asleep. You didn’t get up either, staying in a fetal position, trying to rid the feeling of sticky ink and the sensation that you were being watched. “It was just a dream,” you whispered, “it was just a dream.”

“Dreams have meaning,” the throaty voice of someone said. Out of the darkness walked forward a raven, much like your own. “It is good to heed them.”

Dreams have meaning. “Who is the wolf then,” you ease out of the fetal position and sit up, staring at the raven. Your soul match’s raven.

Amongst the nightmares, the being that saves you is a large white wolf, standing between the darkness, the hands, and the eyes, protecting you. A white knight in furry armour if you will.

The raven clamoured into your lap, getting comfortable. “Thought it would have been obvious. The wolf is your soul match, dearie. Afterall, ravens are the messengers and companions of wolves.”

You knew that much already, and looked down at the wood raven. “That’s not what I meant, and you know that.” Why can’t they give me a straight answer? It’s not that difficult of a thing. “Who are they?”

The raven sighed and propped itself back up. “I cannot tell you that… but I may give you this; you know him. And he is closer than you think.” They perched themself on the window sill, the full moon backlighting their silhouette. “And he knows you. Why do you think he’s in your dreams? It’s a very special link, do treat it with care.” They took off into the night, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You looked up to the sky, searching for answers. “Should I follow?” A brisk wind entered through the cracks of Ramshackle Dorm, ruffling the sheets and loose papers. It was cold, but in a comforting way. You closed your eyes and breathed in, and when you opened them again you saw glowing footsteps the colour of the harvest moon.

You are ready. The breeze seemed to say. The time for waiting and second-guessing was over. Now was the time for action.

…

Jack was doing his morning workout session early since he couldn’t fall back asleep after that nightmare, and running tended to get his mind off of things. He was running laps when he noticed something glowing on the ground. Footsteps. “Did you have something to do with this?” He looked up to where his raven was flying overhead.

The raven swooped down, coming to glide by Jack’s head. “No, just some reassurance is all.”

“What did you tell them,” he huffed, speeding up his pace. The footsteps followed him, but they led outside of the field, to the tree that always grew flowers. That’s where they ended. That’s where I’ll meet them?

The raven soared overhead, looking between Jack and the tree, where someone was sitting patiently, picking at the hems of their sleeping clothes; you. “That they know you. And that they are a lot closer than you think.” The raven stopped in front of Jack, making the wolf-beastman stop right in his tracks. “Go to them. They are ready, Jack. And so are you. Can you feel it? It’s in the air.”

There was a slight breeze that carried the smell of winter, but there was something else. Anticipation. And if Jack focused just right, he could hear the anxious heartbeat of his soul match, waiting for him. He looked towards the tree, where his raven was looking, and saw your outline, the weakest hints of the waking sun rising behind you and lighting your features in soft pinks, purples, and orange.

The footsteps led to you. And Jack could feel his tail wagging furiously. Wagging so hard that it was hitting his legs.

Go to them.

He wanted to run forward, but he controlled himself to a calm walk, not wanting to surprise you. All while trying to control his tail which would be a dead giveaway that he was beyond happy that it was you; his soul match had been you all along.

You sat under the tree, as the footsteps lead you there. And so you sat, watching the dark navy of the sky change colours as the sun rose. You heard footsteps approaching you, but you didn’t look up or get up. You knew. You knew they were your soul match.

Closing your eyes you turned to them, and took in a deep breath. “I don’t know exactly what soul matches are, but I do know that I want to put in the effort to befriend you. Not because some raven told me too. But I do hope we can be friends at the least.” You stopped, waiting for his response.

Jack tilted his head, and huffed out a breath of air in amusement. “I don’t think that will be a challenge.”

Your eyes shot open, and Jack was sitting beside you, the light of the rising sun reflecting in his gold eyes. Your raven was on his shoulder, preening his hair, and his raven was on your’s, fixing your outfit. The two birds stopped their actions, realizing that both of you had finally noticed the other. They took off, and performed their dance before falling back onto your shoulders.

“So,” you started, picking at the hem of your shirt, a nervous habit. “What now? Does this change anything between us? Do you want anything to change?”

Jack looked at you softly. “I’m okay with whatever you’re comfortable with… Do you want anything to change?”

I feel safe with you. You gave him a soft smile, “Not really… but I’m okay if it changes as we do. As long as it’s together.”

Fin!

Author's Note; Jack's story is the one with the least amount of hurt/comfort, so he deviates a bit. Happy with how this turned out though! And I hope I did Jack some justice in this! This story also concludes Savanaclaw's part in the Soul Match AU.

TWST Masterlist (if you want to read more)

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waffles-art-writing · 1 year

Text

Forgotten Keys - Soap Mactavish x Fem! Reader

Summary: Off duty, it’s nearly christmas and dog sitting? Feeding a mangy mutt which ends up with you locked outside your own home, no way to get inside unless you want to kick your door in, which you don’t want to deal with. No phone, no keys, trip to town on foot you guess. Sudden near miss and a yelling match with a stranger, another man who comes to diffuse the situation, you soon come to realise who that man is.

(There may be a part two if wanted lol)

Got inspo by another fix that someone wrote, it was a Reader x Ghost though and they bumped into each other at the supermarket. Please if anyone knows who wrote tell me so i can credit them for giving me inspo!

Proofread: Somewhat

Pairing: Soap x Fem!Reader

WordCount: 3K-ish

Age Rating: PG 13

Codename: (You Choose :) )

KEY: Y/N - Your Name, L/N - Last Name, C/N - Codename.

Warning/Info: Slow Burn, Cursing, Fluffy Fluff! Sweet and Gentle Soap, Lime (a bit of a spicy make out sesh)

——————————————

It’s cold in Scotland.

Obviously.

It is only a few thousand Kilometres from the North Pole.

You moved here just before joining the military, only because your uncle and aunt needed some help with the small farm they had. You quickly fell in love with the small village, it was a town bordering England and Scotland. Duns. Small town, the type of town where everyone knows everyone through someone else, not unusual for a small Scottish town. You could walk your dog and be greeted by at least five people that knew you, or they know you through someone else. Even if you live a couple minutes out of town on a farm, at least someone will say Good Morning of some sort. Kinda nice but somewhat weird if you dive into the connections deep enough.

You roll out of bed, knowing you have to get up, knowing you have basically nothing in the pantry, maybe a bag of potato chips.. Maybe? And some Coffee and tea. You do know that there is beer in the fridge, only a few bottles, maybe something frozen in the freezer? And the box full of essentials your aunt and uncle gave you when you got back. But god you couldn’t remember what there is, the day you got the call that you were needed for a mission with the 141 you practically gave all your food to your neighbour just down the street or your uncle and aunt. You don’t live far out of town, maybe a ten to fifteen minute walk? Basically a 10 minute walk to the golf course on the other side of the farmland your property backs onto. It’s nice out here but, if you wanted to go get food you gotta drive or you could risk freezing your tits off. Enough wallowing in bed, while the birds outside chirp, and the sound of the neighbours dog barking next door. You gotta feed it, they have gone away for the holidays and asked for you to feed it before their coworker? Friend? Who knows, shows up to take it with them. Which is today hopefully.

After pulling on some fuzzy socks on your feet, some random pair of cargo pants, and a hoodie. You head downstairs, you wander into the kitchen, the tiles cool under your sock wrapped feet. You fill the kettle with water and put it on to boil, you rub the sleep from your eyes as you look out the large window just above the kitchen sink where you can see your back garden and farmland past that. Another howling bark sounds out to your right, making you groan as you trudge to the front door, slipping on your already caked in mud rain boots, taking the heavy winter coat off the hook and adventuring outside into the crisp air of the winter morning. You trudge your way across your driveway, stomping through the snow, trying your best to avoid the ice underneath. You reach the side gate that leads into the back yard, you set out to find the key that's now buried under a few inches of snow and the doormat. “Fuck sakes…” you grumble as you kick the snow away, not wanting to take your hands out of your pockets.

Bark, Bark, Yap.

“Oh my god. Shut up!” You spit out to the small dog on the other side of the door, the small curly haired dog is bouncing around like some child on a sugar high on their birthday. You manage to find the key, quickly unlocking the door to let the dog out. Not caring if it freezes to death at this point, you manage to feed the mangy mutt without a problem and lock it back inside the house. Putting the key under a plant pot so it's easier to get if you need some reason to go back in there. Whoever it is that's supposed to take the dog is coming to get it today, at like lunch? Afternoon? Who cares, you don’t.

You trudge back to your place, almost landing ass first on the ice but catching yourself just before you hit the hard ground. You groan as you go to open the door, expecting it to open. Nothing, you try again twisting the handle every which way, nothing. You kick the bottom of the door to see if it’s just stuck, nothing. “No, no no no.” You curse under your breath as you take off running to the side of the house, trying the side door, no success. Back door to no avail, you check to see if any of the ground floor windows are cracked open a touch, no luck. Nothing, no way in. Your windows upstairs are locked tight due to ice. “No! Fuck, shit. This can't be happening!” You check everywhere that you have left a spare key in the past, then it dawns on you. Spare key is in your car… your locked car, one covered in snow and ice. Yeah that shitbox that's sitting happily in your driveway, taunting you with the key sitting in the cup holder of your middle console. Your face is pressed up against the glass, tears of anger, annoyance and stress form in your eyes as you slide down the side of your car. You would prefer to get shot over this any day.

You sigh as you stand up, dusting off the snow from your pants.

Your mission; get to the locksmith in town, get help, get five spare keys made to hide around your property, hot shower then drink your day away then sleep. Good Mission.

You trudge your way to town, your feet occasionally sliding on the road, the slight hill your home sits on doesn’t help. The occasional car goes past, in the wrong direction of course. Your hood is up, shoulders to your ears, hands shoved deep into your pockets. “Fuckin’ worst break ever” you curse as you start walking past more houses, families happily inside, warm and cozy, watching cringy christmas movies, sipping hot tea or hot chocolates. While you’re stuck outside on a sunny but cold winter's day, trudging to town in rubber rain boots, cargo pants that aren’t that warm, only a hoodie and jacket to keep you warm from the cold's sharp bite.

You pass a couple that is walking their dog, happily chatting, beanies and gloves, probably fuzzy socks as well. You huff as you turn the corner, seeing the market square come into view. Your soul desire is to just get to the gas station that's just past the market square. No wallet on you either, so there’s no possible way you could get a hot drink for the road. The smell from the bakery floods your nose, the sound of christmas carols, folk songs and whatever else there is playing sounds out from the small stores around the square. Kids laughing and screaming, parents talking as their kids play in the snow, all wrapped up from head to toe in warm clothing.

You finally make it to the gas station, almost. You look both ways before crossing the road, being careful to walk where there doesn’t seem to be ice, your feet slip on the ice ever so slightly. You see someone coming around the corner, mere yards from you, you're quick to throw yourself to the curb knowing the car won’t stop. You push yourself to your feet, whipping around to confront the dickhead who nearly ran you over. “What the hell man! Look with your fucking eyes!” You scream as you see a man step out of his car that is now poorly parked on the side of the road, its front tire on the curb. “Ya the one who should be lookin’ where she's going!” He barks back. You stand your ground and clench your fist.

“Maybe quit lookin’ at yer bloody phone and pay attention to the world around you, you think you're so big hotshot? Pull yer head outta ya arse and learn to drive!” “Oh shut it girly! Ya sure can’t say shit, yer the one walkin’!” “Oh why you little-” “Oi! Hey! Cut it out, what the hell are ya screaming about?” Another man’s voice cuts through. Your eyes are trained on the man in front of you, you're seething, you're holding back the urge to deck this man right here and now is powerful. “How about you just back off mate, get your arse back in your car and go home.” The new man growls out as he stands next to you, you watch as the idiotic driver looks from the other man to you. “Bet you can’t do shit even if you tried.” You raise your brow as you step forward about to lunge at the man, he’s short and stocky, you could take him. Arms wrap around your waist as you scream at the man who’s backing away to his car. You spit out any insult you can think of as you fight against the arms around you. “Aye, Lass calm down. He’s about to cry if you keep this up.” You freeze in your squirming to bash the man's head in. The arms that are around your waist loosen their hold on you, allowing you to turn to see who was holding you back.

Your eyes widen when you see the sky blue eyes, the mohawk and cocky smirk. “Soap?!” You gasp, wrapping the man in a hug. “It’s good to see you two Lass” he laughs as he holds you close, savouring your warm embrace.

“What the hell are ya’ doing here Mactavish?” You question as you let him go, looking him up and down. He’s clad in winter gear, better than what you have on, including some gloves. “Could ask you the same thing C/N” he smiles as he looks you up and down, his brows furrowing slightly at the state you’re in. “I live here, on the other side of town, a few minutes out” You shrug, temporarily forgetting why you're here in the first place. “Not surprised, but you don’t look that prepared to be walking the streets” he points out, motioning to your lack of cold weather gear. “Oh” you breathe out, your cheeks heating up, a strong contrast to the freezing temperature they were just moments ago. “This is gonna sound really stupid, I locked myself out of my house…” You chuckled nervously, finding the muddy snow beneath your boots a lot more interesting than the man in front of you, he laughs, it makes you smile as you start chuckling with him.

“How the hell did you manage that?” He chokes out while laughing. “Feeding the neighbours mangy mutt” you groan, “I forgot to bring the keys with me, and muscle memory kicked in and locked the door from the inside before closing it” you sigh. Soap shakes his head, placing a hand on your shoulder, “and you walked all that way here?” “Yep.” “Christ Lass, let me give you a ride at least” you shake your head as you walk with him towards the gas station. “No, no. It’s okay. I was just gonna ask the guy who works here who is also a locksmith to give me a ride and help me” you smile at the man next to you. “Lass, I don’t want you to waste your money on something that I can help you with.” You look at Soap with an awkward smile. “… you left your wallet as well didn’t you?” You nod your head, “and my phone…” you mumble under your breath as you notice him stopping at what you would guess is his car. A nice Jeep Wrangler. “God you are a numpty ain’t ya? Take this, go get yourself something warm” he states as he hands you a few notes of cash. You look at the money in his hand, looking back up at him. “Just take it before you starve to death.” He grabs your hand and slaps the money in it, making sure you are holding it properly. “Do you want anything? It is your money Soap…” he shakes his head as he starts fueling the vehicle. “Go get yourself something Lass, I’ll be there shortly.” He nods his head towards the building of the gas station. “O-Okay” you state as you make your way to the building, sighing when the warm air meets your frozen skin.

You’re still standing in front of the pie warmer when Soap walks in, he chuckles lightly, walking up behind you wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “Still looking Lass?” He looks down at you, noticing you holding the money close to your chest. “C/N?” His voice now low as he nudges you slightly. “I don’t know which one to get…” you mumble as you stare at the hot savouries in front of you. Soap grabs a pie, steak and cheese, no surprise there. He grabs another one, the one you like most. “There, done. C’mon” he pulls you gently by the hand to the counter. You attempt to pay with the cash Soap gave you but he beats you to it with his card, paying for the food and gas quickly. You two leave thanking the workers. “Here’s the cash since I didn’t use it” you hold the cash out to the Scotsman, he looks at you with a smile, gently pushing your hand away. “Keep it, I don’t need it. Now get in before you freeze.” You sigh as you get into the passenger side, thankful to be in the warmth.

The drive to your place is short, filled with chatter as you talk about plans for the holidays. Soap is planning on just driving around, having some time to himself away from the busy life of family before going to his cousin's place for Boxing Day, only a few hours away from your town. Christmas Day is just by himself this year. You’re having a calm Christmas with your Aunt and Uncle, your half sister coming up with her husband and her kids for Boxing Day from Alnwick over the border in England, and the annual family call. You continue chatting while you eat your pies, sitting in your driveway before Soap gets to work on unlocking your house for you.

“There we go, you’re in.” He smiles as he stands up, placing the small tools back inside the glove box. You sigh in relief as you push the door open further, making sure it's unlocked. “Thank you so much Soap!” You wrap your arms around his shoulder, thanking him with a hug. His arms wrap around your waist bringing you closer, a smile on his face. “Any time Lass.” You pull back, your hands resting on his shoulders, his hands still on your waist.

You two have always been close when you joined the 141, you two kinda just clicked. Yes you got along with the others, but you two always had this way of just knowing if the other is off. Upset, angry, annoyed, tired, or just needing comfort. Yes sometimes you’d pass out on the couch together while watching a show, if one of you got too drunk the other was there to support them. If you were under the weather, Soap was always there to make you laugh or just give you company if you wanted it. You were like two peas in a pod, you didn't want to admit it to yourself, much less anyone else. But you did find Soap someone you could see yourself having a relationship with, you might even say you have a crush on him. You’d never admit that, you sure as hell wouldn't tell the very man that's in front of you that either. Even if you did, it might get in the way of your job, might even cause one fo you to join a different task force.

“Do… Do you wanna come in?” You ask softly as you let your hands slide off his shoulders, motioning into your home. Soap smiles as he lets go of your waist - albeit reluctantly - “If you don’t mind” you shake your head lightly, letting him walk in. You kick your boots off and hang your coat up, leaving them by the door neatly, Soap following your actions. “Nice place you’ve got here.” He states. None of the walls have photos, you never really cared to decorate as you're barely home, there's the old picture frame on the mantle above the fireplace. A fake plant on the dining table just off from the kitchen. “Thanks. It’s not much, but it's home I guess.” You state as you make your way into the kitchen. “Tea? Coffee?” Soap chuckles at this “I ain’t not Brit” “Oh shut it MacTavish” you both fall back into comfortable conversation, you making a cup of tea for yourself and Coffee for Soap.

You feel Soap come up from behind you, wrapping his arms around your middle, resting his chin on the top of your head. “Soap?” You question quietly as you stand still, soaking in the warmth but confused by his sudden need to hold you. He doesn’t reply, you can see his reflection in the window. He’s watching you through the reflection, you smile softly when you make eye contact, his grip tightens slightly. “Johnny… You can call me Johnny” he mumbles into your hair, you hum in response. You turn around in his arms, bringing your hands up to his jaw, his stubble rough against the palm of your hand. “What’s wrong Johnny?” You ask quietly, unsure what’s gotten him so quiet suddenly. He leans into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed, he's tired, exhausted, drained. His hands rest on your hips, his thumbs rubbing soft circles into the fabric of your pants, he's fidgeting. You gently trail the hand he isn’t leaning into down his arm to rest over one of his own, you step to the side slowly, guiding him upstairs. He follows behind you, letting you lead him through the house, upstairs is darker than the rest of the house, the curtains still drawn in your room, a small amount of sun filtering through the small gap. You pull him towards your bed, the covers still a mess from you getting up earlier in the day.

You’re laying on your bed, Soap wrapped around your abdomen, head nestled into your neck. Your hand combs through his mohawk, nails gently running across his scalp. His arms are securely wrapped around you, his grip not faltering. “Johnny?” You whisper, nervous to break the comfortable silence. “Mmh?” He mumbles into your neck, his breath warm against your skin. “Would you like to stay…” you pause, sighing as you push down the nerves. “Would you like to stay with me, like over the holidays, till you gotta go to your cousins?” Your heart races, waiting for his reply. Did you just fuck everything up? Did you read into this friendship wrong? Did his lingering touches mean nothing? “Gladly, only if you're sure ya can put up with me that is.” He chuckles softly, his arms pulling you closer.

“If this is what we do everyday then I’m sure I can” you giggle as you feel him nuzzle your neck, your hands finding purchase on his shoulder, attempting to push him away gently, his stubble tickling your neck. You open your eyes when you feel him pull away, he’s looking at you, a small smile on his face. Not a smirk, not a teasing smile or a shit eating grin. A happy, content smile. One of his hands cups your jaw, his eyes glancing between your eyes and your lips, his silent question dancing in his eyes.

There’s mere inches between you, he closes the gap, his lips locking onto yours. Gentle, caring, loving kiss. Your arms wrap around his shoulders, pulling him as close as possible, not wanting this euphoria to end. He leaves you breathless when he pulls away to allow you to breathe. “Are you okay with this Y/N?” You answer his question by pulling him back into the kiss, heavy and heated, still passionate and loving.

Your tongues dance, the desire to taste the other overwhelming. His hand holds your waist, fingers dancing under your hoodie. He pushes you into the bed, supporting himself on his left forearm. You moan into his mouth when he slides his hand up your side. “Fuck, you taste like heaven Lass” he mumbles into the kiss, his mind a jumbled mess. Yours not much different, your hands run down his chest, stopping at the hem of his shirt. “Johnny- fuck. I didn’t think you liked me like this” you chuckle as he kisses your jaw, his hand that's under your hoodie slides up your back.

Bringing you closer to his chest, he kisses your neck. “I thought you weren’t interested in me, but I guess we were both wrong.” he chuckles as he feels your hands trace his taut muscles. You smile as he lifts his head, he looks at you with soft, loving eyes, with a genuine smile as he commits everything he sees in front of him to memory.

“Will you be mine, Lass?” Your eyes widen, so does your smile. “Yes, of course” Soap seals it with a kiss, his hands bringing you as close as possible, your own arms wrapping around his shoulder, hands running through his mohawk.

A/N: Ugh i want this man so bad ughhhh

#soap x y/n #soap x you #soap mactavish #soap cod #soap mw2 #soap x reader #soap call of duty #fanfic #x y/n #slow burn #soap fluff #cod x reader #cod mwii #cod fanfic

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balkanradfem · 1 year

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On agriculture, sustainability of cities, and monocrops.

So if you've lived in the countryside, or even seen a rural village on a map, you know how it's set up. There's a road, the area around the road is peppered with houses, and then behind every house, there's several fields growing grains, beans and potatoes. Most often, there's also a little vegetable garden in the back yard, and sometimes a few chickens, goats, or a sheep. Around the fields, there are forests, and every clearing in the forest is growing something, even if it's just grass that is set to be cut into hay.

It's clear where these people's food comes from, and how big of an area it takes to grow it. It's visible just by monitoring, that for one family it takes a field of wheat, potatoes, smaller area for beans, a vegetable garden, and corn or a similar grain for their animals. It makes sense, these people have inherited the land that can feed them, and they do it. The forests are used for firewood, but also replanted, there are new trees constantly planted, and only old, dangerous and rotten trees are felled.

And then you look at a city, and it doesn't make sense. The area is more densely populated, but there are no fields, no grains, no vegetable gardens, no chickens. So how do they eat?

The answer is – the fields are elsewhere. They're planted far from view. And the food is brought to the people, instead of grown where they live. Isn't that a bit inconvenient? The people in the city don't think so. They make a lot of money, and they can have food delivered to them. But what does it take to produce the food for a densely populated city? That's where we meet agriculture.

In order to produce massive amounts of food, enough to feed an entire city, you'll need a big amount of agricultural land. And, you'll need that food produced cheaply enough, so that when people buy it, there is some profit for you as well. So, you'll want to own a big area of land that is yours to do with as you please, and you'll need big machines, so you don't have to pay for human labour, and all of the profits go to you.

Now, the big machines that harvest food do not work like human hands do – they do not differentiate one plant from another. If you want a machine to harvest your field, your field has to grow 1 single type of crop. Otherwise, your harvest will be a mess, and it will take additional, expensive work to separate usable crops from waste. So, you create massive fields with only one type of plant growing on them.

I remember looking at big fields of wheat or corn, and thinking, neat! That's so much food growing! And it looks so clean and well grown! I don't have those thoughts anymore, sadly. The reality of a whole field growing only one type of plant, is now upsetting to me.

The thing with natural, wild fields is, they feed the wildlife. They have flowers that open even in the winter and early spring, and then continue to produce different types of flowers throughout the entire season, making sure bees have food all year long. They house different insects and good bacteria, they lure in birds, worms, ants, ladybugs, grasshoppers, butterflies, bumblebees, and all kinds of beneficial, lovely bugs. If there's a presence of water, you'll find frogs, dragonflies, and much more birds, who are there to feed on the insects and pick off the caterpillars. You might find a hedgehog, a snake, a turtle in there. All are coming because there are sources of life for them in that field, plants they can eat, or plants that bugs can eat, and bugs are then delicious resource to the animals. Bugs we consider pests, are also a great food resource for the birds and the animals, and their population is monitored and controlled by all of the other animals. Plants rarely get destroyed by pests, or they evolve to defend themselves, or to attract a predator who fends off of the pests.

Now, a field of let's say, only corn, doesn't do that. The corn is pollinated by wind, and the flowers of corn do not attract the bees. They do not serve as a home to many insects, and they do not make a good resource for the wildlife – until of course, they make the corn itself, which is then attractive to the birds. But they cannot sustain life for the entire year. There's only a short window when these crops can serve as source of food.

The area where corn will be planted, has to be tilled early in the winter or spring, making sure every life-giving plant in that area, is dead. Then, corn is planted, and then often weeded or sprayed with herbicide, if any other plant manages to grow inbetween. And they will grow, because no matter how hard you try to kill every weed, seeds are carried by the wind, by the birds, buried deep into the ground, some are capable of growing back from just one single piece of root. You cannot exterminate them, except, by herbicide. And that is what happens in monocultures – in order to fight nature to the point where you establish a monoculture, you have to distribute poison for plants.

After the monocrop is harvested, the field is left barren and void of life. There are no flowers, no food for bees, no hiding places for the insects to hibernate in. Some may hibernate deep in the soil, if they have not yet gotten poisoned, but most will not even bother, as there are no food sources in the area.

Have you noticed how wild fields do not get their soil depleted and poor at any time? Year after year, the wild plants are growing anew, never losing nutrients, never lacking food. And there's a reason for this – the wild plants are left to wither, dry, lay flat on the ground, and then decompose. The bugs, worms, bacteria and insects in the ground use them as a food source, and after going thru their digestive systems, it decomposes and becomes soil again. This way, all of the nutrients, minerals and food they took from the soil while growing, comes back around, creating fertile ground for a new season.

But monocrops do not do that. Once harvested, the soil remains depleted, the waste products of grains are usually extremely low in nutrients, there are no bugs to aid composting, the space remains empty of minerals and nutrition the plants have absorbed. So what do you do to keep growing? You have to buy the nutrients and physically distribute them all over the field, in order for the next year's crop to grow again. This almost ensures that you will have to do this again and again, and that your crops will only be able to feed on whatever you put there, and will only have the minerals you yourself have put in the soil. The soil itself becomes void of life, because it's those worms and insects and bacteria that are keeping the soil alive and healthy, they're creating an ecosystem where plants love to grow, where a healthy balance of nutrients and air and water and compost and roots is kept. Your field cannot do it. You have given the soil nothing to live off of. There is only a single crop, and it doesn't support any life in the soil. It doesn't feed the beneficial bacteria, bugs, or animals.

But you know what it does feed? The pests. There will always be some types of bugs evolved specifically to feed on your crop, and once you plant your crop over several kilometers, you have given them a perfect food source, and they will not restrain from multiplying rapidly, enjoying what you provided. Your monocrop will start getting eaten at a rapid rate, unless, you spray it with pesticide. So you do, you have to, there are no birds, predatory bugs, animals, or any other kind of natural pest control that would do the work for you or stop the pests from multiplying uncontrollably. You have to poison your monocrop in order to protect it from getting eaten away.

Wild plants are usually good at fending off diseases, because they will cross-pollinate, and some will contain disease-resistant genes that ensure that the next generation of plants will grow stronger. Your monocrop, is carefully planted so only ever one type of plant is growing, same type of seed, protected from cross-pollination, same dna. So when a disease hits, there will be no resistance. Your plants will all get infected. If it's a bit too hot, or too cold, or a disaster hits, or a new type of bacteria attacks, your plants have no way of defending themselves, or evolving into a stronger, more disease-resistant versions of themselves. You'll have to develop a different type of plant on your own, and rely on chemicals again, to stop the disease, to save your plants. This is actually the reason why bananas as we know them, are soon to be extinct, and a new variety is being developed to replace them – they've all grown sick, and there's nothing that can be done to save them, except developing a different variety that will hopefully, be resistant to that disease (but not to a new one, repeating the cycle again and again.)

So, once you've secured your giant fields of monocrops, convenient for your big machines to work and harvest, you've started to notice that you have to spray the chemicals on your fields to fertilize the soil, then to kill of weeds, then to kill off pests, then to fend off disease, and you're in fact, spending a lot of money on all these chemicals that you are now completely dependent upon. And what happens next is, these chemicals start getting more and more expensive. Maybe the seeds prices are getting higher too. And now, you're in a situation where you don't have many options. You cannot grow the same volume of food without monocrops, and you can't sustain your practice with ever-higher prices it takes to grow in this unnatural, diversity-eliminating way. In the older times, people learned to rotate their crops, allowing the land to grow some wild plants and recover from the intense use of agriculture, but now you can't afford to own land that you are not actively using for profit.

This is why agriculture is getting less and less productive, and why we keep needing new agricultural land to grow on, the soil is getting depleted, and land unusable. This also caused by the wind erosion and sun erosion. While the crops are not growing, the land is barren, tilled, and left exposed to the sun, which dries the top layer, since there are no plants covering it, and then the wind dries it even more, dissipates it into tiny particles, and turns it into dust. Without constant and consistent rain – which is rarely available, the soil gets turned into dust. This is a hard lesson learned by the 'dust bowl' example, where the agriculture combined with drought created soil erosion so intense, the people couldn't see in the times of storms due to the dust, and would often get lost in their own fields.

Soil erosion and wind erosion can be mitigated by growing 'cover crops', meaning plants are allowed to grow, or are specifically sown in the times of year where the main crop isn't growing, so the sun and the wind could not deplete the top layer of soil. The plants also help keep the soil alive with insects, worms and bacteria, and keep moisture in, more effectively than the barren land could. Another solution for gardeners is mulching, covering the soil with a layer of organic matter, it can be leaves, hay, straw, pine needles, wood bark, wood chips, anything that will decompose and create food for insects, generate a protective layers from the sun and the wind, and keeps moisture inside. In combination with this, it's important to not till the soil. Tilling exposes several layers of soil to the elements and disrupts or completely destroys the established ecosystem inside. No-till and no-dig methods are protective of the health in soil, specifically for smaller areas.

For large areas, what helps the soil stay safe and properly structured is allowing wild plants to grow, which have deep, resilient roots. You know when you grow a plant in a pot, and you pull it out, it holds the entirety of the soil together, just with the roots? That is what the wild plants are doing as well. The deeper their roots, the better structure and stability of the soil will be. Deep roots can draw the water from deep inside of the soil and keep the moisture level even in a drought. Big trees are also a factor in keeping the soil structured and safe, for example, if you keep trees on the riverbank, their roots will protect the soil from being carried away and depleted by the water. If you were to remove the trees, the water would erode the soil of the riverbanks. They also protect the soil from getting blown away by the wind.

There is a problem of decreased availability of water. We have now extracted so much water from our planet, it's getting harder to find water sources for our crops. And there are thousands of kilometers of these monocrops, making sure that no wild life species can live in that huge area that was once wilderness. This resulted in many species being threatened into extinction, if not already extinct. Bees cannot live on agricultural land, because there is no food. And all of these areas are not being used to feed the people in the cities, no. The majority of agricultural land isn't even used to grow the crops for human consumption. The plant products that the people eat is about 20-30% of all of the crops we grow. The rest is growing crops that feed the animals meant for human consumption. And these fields need to grow crops sometimes for years, until the animal is heavy enough to be used as a source of food. Reducing animal products could easily reduce the amount of monocrops we need to sustain our food sources, by big percentages. But, we're not trying to do that. Instead, the demand is steadily rising up.

Thinking of this makes me wonder if big cities are ultimately, unsustainable. Growing food to be harvested by human hands enables incredible diversity, fertilizing with compost, manure, bone powder, fish meal, and rich organic fertilizers that can be distributed over smaller areas easily. No till gardens can preserve all of the healthy bacteria, insects, worms and ecosystems in the soil. Using mulch and cover crops to protect the land from sun and wind erosion, and to keep the moisture in, can stop soil depletion in those areas, and feed and protect the wildlife and life in the soil. Animals can be used as pest control and as a method of fertilizing – if you leave chickens, pigs, or cows to graze an area and leave manure behind, they will bring fertility to the land. But, you would not be able to grow the amount of food that would feed an entire city, not without it requiring a vast amount of human labour, which would make the food expensive, and unavailable to the poorest citizens.

But, we can't get rid of cities, so we have to keep developing healthier and more soil-protecting ways to grow big amounts of food, in order to create sustainable, resilient and secure sources of food for people living in all kinds of areas. Encouraging people to change their habits and eat less beef, lamb, poultry and animal products would help significantly, since the amount of food that needs to be grown would reduce by a lot. Encouraging people to grow their own food, in rich and diversity-preserving ways, also helps cut carbon emissions by a lot, since this food no longer needs to be shipped and transported. Having people understand how their food is grown, what it takes to produce, and what is lost in the process, might inspire them to change their habits, and put more effort into reducing waste. Because even after destroying all that wildlife and diverse ecosystems – 20 to 30% of that food is simply thrown away. Food that people grow themselves is most often, never thrown away, because then it is a prized produce, something they worked hard on, something they treasure. In case of a spoiled produce, it gets composted right back into the soil, making the waste non-existent.

Home grown food is often at least somewhat affected by bugs and pests, and that is normal. It's a sign of the food being healthy, unpoisoned, and obviously a great food source, since the bugs are all for it. I've noticed home-gardeners, who understand how pests work, feel skeptical about the store-bought food, just because it being so pest free is in fact, unnatural. 'What did you do to it, so the bugs didn't want it?' opens up the answers of how far one needs to go to make the produce undesirable and uninteresting to bugs. You need to go as far as convince them that this is not a good food source anymore. And the bugs acknowledge it, and go find food elsewhere. And we often have no choice, but to buy that exact same food.

Food grown for selling in stores has proved to be less nutritious, grown merely for the visual appeal, storage and transportation, rather than taste. This is why, after eating store-bought produce, homegrown will taste infinitely better, sweeter, with more intense flavour and noticeably better nutrition.

What we'll need to do is spread awareness, learn about the cost of our food, and change our habits to make it less damaging on the planet. We can also try growing food. Make barren areas into wildlife again. Build ponds to attract birds, animals and bugs. We can try making diverse no-till gardens where all of the different varieties grow on top of each other, together with flowers and weeds and mushrooms. Make it a place for birds, ladybugs and bees to gather. Make it friendly to little mice, frogs, lizards and butterflies. We might just help save some of the dying species on this planet.

#monocrops #agriculture #unsustainable food growing #gardening #ecology #climate crisis #climate change #plant agriculture #animal agriculture

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enchantedchocolatebars · 5 months

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Good Omens Chibi Headcanons (Aziraphale And Crowley) [Part 1: Chibi Aziraphale]

👼 Original headcanons 👼

👼 Ao3 version 👼

Part 2 (original) is here.

Ao3 Part 2 is here.

Updated Tumblr part 2 is here.

Part 3 (original) is here.

Ao3 part 3 is here.

Updated Tumblr part 3 is here.

(*Takes place during Season 1*)

• HE'S THE CUTEST, SMOLEST, MOST GOODEST ANGEL BOY EVER!!! 😇👼❤️❤️❤️

• You can thank Aziraphale’s heavenly influence for that!

• The chibi gets little reminders from Aziraphale to be happy and to think positive.

• Chibi Aziraphale finds happiness in his friendship with Aziraphale and is delighted that they get along so well.

• Aziraphale enjoys reading to him.

• Chibi Aziraphale hopes that humans will create books in his size so that he can read them.

• Chibi Aziraphale's favorite fictional characters are Winnie The Pooh, Molang, Pusheen The Cat, and Moomintroll.

• Aziraphale takes Chibi Aziraphale to St. James park to visit the ducks by the pond and feed them. At first, the sight of the ducks frighten the little angel. They were so much bigger than him. What if they tried eating him?! Noticing the scared look on his small friend’s face, Aziraphale kindly reassures him that the ducks were merely water birds who enjoyed bread and that the tiny celestial being had absolutely nothing to be afraid of. He even shows the chibi how to properly feed the birds by placing a piece of crust in his hand and allowing him to toss it to the nerby drake, who caught it immediately. This causes Chibi Aziraphale to beam in delight as the two angels spend the rest of the afternoon giving food to the ducks. 🦆🍞

• As a reward for helping him around the bookshop, Aziraphale miracles Chibi Aziraphale sweet desserts.

• The angel had a love for food similar to his bigger counterpart. Chibi Aziraphale’s favorites include crepes and sushi, (of course) coffee cake, raspberry cream pie, and shortbread cookies.

• He’s not aware of it, but Aziraphale does indeed spoil his chibi at times.

• Aziraphale likes to dress his chibi up in 17th and 18th-century male doll outfits/attire. (Imagine a clothing montage of Chibi Aziraphale trying on/wearing the outfits and looking adorable in them all while classical music plays. Aziraphale would squeal at how cute Chibi Aziraphale looks in each outfit, telling him that he looks like a little gentleman).

• Chibi Aziraphale loves wearing his doll outfits when he and Aziraphale have tea parties. It makes him feel fancy! The chibi’s Harry The Stuffed Rabbit plush would also be at the tea party, dressed in 17th or 18th-century outfits similar to his.

• I can see Aziraphale getting his chibi a pair of round lenseless doll glasses. He looks nifty in them.

• Since he’s become fairly proficient at it, Aziraphale shows his chibi how to do the gavotte! It’s really cute to see the two angels both have ridiculously pleased expressions on their faces.

• Chibi Aziraphale really likes this song! Everything about it was just so pure and divine. Imagine during a cold winter day, Aziraphale happily knitting his miniature pal a sweater near a warm fire place, all while the song plays in the background.

• Aziraphale finally has a little assistant for his magic act!

• Chibi Aziraphale loves Aziraphale’s “magic” and was easily impressed by it, believing it to be real. His favorite trick had to be the ‘pull the coin out of the ear’ trick.

• Aziraphale gets one of those really big old doll houses for Chibi Aziraphale (something similar to the Astolat Dollhouse Castle) to live in so that he had a place he can feel at home in and be in control of.

• If someone or something new scares him, Chibi Aziraphale would quickly run and hide behind Aziraphale’s leg, similar to how a timid child would hide behind their mother.

• At night, after Crowley drops him off at his bookshop, Aziraphale goes inside and immediately heads to the back room to check up on Chibi Aziraphale. He had miracled the angel sheets of paper and a pack of crayons before he had left to keep the little guy from being bored while he was away. When Aziraphale walks inside the room, he spots Chibi Aziraphale asleep on his desk. The chibi was nestled up near his Harry The Stuffed Rabbit plush and several sheets of paper and crayons.

Aziraphale smiles.

Just when the angel was about to attend to the papers and crayons that were on the desk, he notices a drawing on one of the papers. He picks it up and takes a look at it. It was an adorable childlike drawing done by Chibi Aziraphale. On it, Aziraphale and Chibi Aziraphale were smiling and had a heart around them. The words “Friends Forever” were slightly sloppily written in crayon. Seeing this beautiful artwork made Aziraphale’s face melt into pure joy and happiness, tears welling up in his eyes. He sets the lovely art down on the desk and gently picks up Chibi Aziraphale without waking him up.

“You’re so sweet,” he softly whispers to him before walking over to the chibi’s doll house. As Aziraphale tucks the tiny angel into bed, Chibi Aziraphale forms a soft smile in his sleep and snuggles underneath his little blanket. Aziraphale smiled sweetly once more. After that, the principality returns to his desk to take care of the papers and crayons. When finished, he catches up on some late night reading.

Tommorrow, he plans on finding a safe place to keep the drawing.

• Aziraphale and Chibi Aziraphale have a parent and child relationship.

• Chibi Aziraphale didn’t look so happy today. In fact, he seemed quite sad. The angel was sitting on top of a book that was on Aziraphale’s desk with a glum expressoion. Aziraphale, witnessing this, makes it his duty to cheer his little buddy up. He knows that Chibi Aziraphale really likes it when he performs old-timey human "magic", so he switches into his magician outfit that he wore at Warlock’s party and tries doing just that. Although he performs the basic tricks (the card trick, pulling Chibi Aziraphale’s Harry The Stuffed Rabbit plushie from his hat trick, the coin trick, etc), they do not seem to alter the small angel’s gloomy mood. For his final act, Aziraphale makes a “pie” (a paper plate filled with whipped cream) “disappear” (He just shoves the plate in his face, pieing himself). He then exclaims, “Ta da!” and does jazz hands.

Chibi Aziraphale looks at him for a moment before laughing.

Aziraphale joins him in his laughter.

• Chibi Aziraphale does get slightly envious of Aziraphale sometimes, mainly because of his size. Aziraphale's size ensured that he didn’t have to worry about being stepped on, and he could eat all the crepes and sushi he desired without difficulty. It’s not fair! How dare that angel be big enough to do all those neat things! He still loves him though.

#good omens #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable husbands #ineffable chibi husbands #chibi au #ao3 #a03 #ao3 link #a03 link #ao3 writer #a03 writer #headcanon #headcanons #writing #my writing

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