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misteria247 · 1 year

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Imagine:

Rise Mikey with Bayverse Mikey and Rise Leo going to get Christmas themed hats for the others in the lair. The trio come home with a bunch of bags full of Santa hats, reindeer antlers and other festive Christmassy decor. 03 Mikey, 07 Mikey, 87 Mikey and 12 Mikey are the first ones to pick out their little hats, wearing them in a childish giddiness that only they could pull off. Soon the orange turtles along with Rise Leo go searching for the others in the lair, placing silly, brightly colored Christmas hats onto their heads with various reactions.

Bayverse Raph, 03 Raph and 07 Raph give some glares at having a festive hat placed on their heads but before they could go at the Christmas menaces they're already gone. 87 Raph just gives an angry pout when he gets his and 12 Raph and Rise Raph just accept their fates, though Rise Raph's more lively than his shorter counterpart.

Rise Donnie practically yanks the hat off of them and puts it on, before grabbing 12 Donnie who was trying to get away quietly and puts one on his head. 03 Donnie and 07 Donnie watch amused by their counterparts and get their own hats with little trouble. Bayverse Donnie and 87 Donnie meanwhile are so focused on their tasks that they don't even blink at the Christmas hat being placed onto their heads.

87 Leo is beyond ecstatic at getting a hat wearing it proudly. 03 Leo and 07 Leo and Bayverse Leo meanwhile just accept them with somewhat enthusiastic reactions because finally they can fuck around and still look mature because their brothers gave it to them and it's the Mikey's and Rise Leo you can't say no to them. 12 Leo meanwhile waits till his counterparts are done getting theirs before he picks his, placing it on his head with a smile and pats 12 Mikey, Rise Mikey and Rise Leo's heads in mom affection. (This prompts the other Mikey's looking at 12 Leo with puppy dog eyes and he ends up giving them some as well. The other Leo's end up joining in giving out head pats).

87 Splinter, 03 Splinter, 07 Splinter, Bayverse Splinter and Rise Splinter of course accept the hats with fatherly smiles and wear them with parental pride because their babies of their clans decided to give them festive hats and they love anything that's gifted to them. No matter how supposedly silly it is. Rise Leo of course comments that they all look good making them smile more at the compliment.

12 April and Rise April accept the hats with bright smiles, pleased to get something adorable from their favorite turtles. 87 April and 03 April are hesitant to take the hats at first but at the looks at the orange turtles and Rise Leo they crumbled and gave in placing them on their heads. 07 April and Bayverse April just accept the hats in a professional kind of way because there's no use complaining about them when they know they won't win the fight.

12 Casey, 87 Casey, 07 Casey, Bayverse Casey, and 03 Casey meanwhile are instantly all over the festive hats, wearing them with wide mischievous grins and twinkling eyes of Christmas excitement. 12 Casey has to rein in Rise Cassandra and Rise Casey Jr to get their hats on and after a bit of persuasion the duo finally put them on and much like their counterparts end up enjoying them.

Once everyone's got their hats the Mikey's, mainly 12 Mikey, 03 Mikey and Rise Mikey will go seek out Ronin Mikey and in a very sneaky manner get a pair of antlers on his head. The older turtle will just blink owlishly in bafflement and will go to say something only for the trio to disappear back into the main part of the lair, shooting him bright childish grins at him before leaving his sight. Ronin Mikey will just stare for a moment before letting out a small sigh and just leaving the head wear on, a small twitch of a smile on his face for a brief moment.

And finally there will be one hat left. Or rather a piece of holly that's attached to said hat. 12 Mikey will take it off of the hat and with 12 Raph, 12 Donnie, 12 April, 12 Casey and 12 Leo following behind him the group of six will head towards the room where they're staying in while in this world. They'll head towards the small table by their sleeping area towards the small picture that's leaning against the unlit candle. There they'll be greeted by 12 Splinter's smiling face and will then quietly place the holly plant by the photo so their Sensei can join the festivities as well. They'll say their prayers to him and give him their offerings speaking quietly to each other as they spend the next bit of time reminiscing about the Christmases back home that they'd celebrated with 12 Splinter. Once they were done they'd go to join their counterparts, who would be quietly waiting for them and ready to help them forget about the bittersweetness of the season.

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rainbowolfe · 8 months

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Hiya! Been loving your writing! I'm curious on your take of Bishop Kallamar x Vessel or Guardian. Platonic? Romantic? Up to you!

The Vessel's New Clothes

Word Count: 1997 Lamb x Narinder; Lamb x Kallamar *No particular gender/sex assigned to Lamb

[Visual Reference for Your Viewing Enjoyment]

Cast in darkness for only a brief moment, Lamb felt the familiar sensation of falling, then ascending. The red glow faded from their eyes as they arrived at their destination. Their hooves made little noise in this realm of nothingness. If they had been summoned here, they’d have appeared before their vainglorious god. This time they’d appeared a good distance away.

They quickly preened themselves, straightening their new fleece and fluffing the tuft of wool that hung over their forehead. They instinctively went to fluff the wool around their torso, but were quickly reminded that it was no longer there. They had shaven off quite a bit of the wool that used to hide their figure.

It was an impulsive decision, born out of frustration and a small dash mischief. They were relieved to find that the roots of their wool were dark in color, as the cut they’d chosen would not have looked as nice without the contrast—and it would have looked downright silly if the roots were light enough that their pinkish flesh showed through.

They took a breath to steel themselves before briskly walking forward through the fog. No use stalling.

Sound didn’t really travel in the Realm Beyond, so even when The One Who Waits entered their sight, they weren’t quite sure what he or his two clones were doing. He was sitting. That was new. As Lamb came closer, they could tell he’d noticed their presence when his ears raised ever so slightly. And yet, he made no move to greet them. He did not even turn around, too focused on the two gangling cats attempting to meditate.

‘Pretending to be focused on it,’ Lamb thought, tail bristling.

“Is it working? I don’t think it’s working.” The one clad in white spoke, starting at a whisper that transitioned into full volume.

“Ugh! Would you be silent? I almost had it!” The other grumbled.

“Busy day for you three?” Lamb chimed in.

The one in white opened his mouth, paused, then quickly closed it with an awkward smile. As if he were inclined to respond but suddenly thought better of it. The One Who Waits barely spared them a glance, taking his sweet time to respond.

“I did not request your presence.” He finally said.

“Ah? My mistake,” Lamb opted to feign ignorance. “I could have sworn I heard your call… but since I am already here, may I request an audience?”

“Why?”

Lamb’s composure slipped, sputtering briefly at his response. “Haven’t you noticed anything different about me since we last spoke?”

The One Who Waits turned his head slightly to fully regard Lamb for a moment, expression unchanging. He hums and gives a short shrug.

“Really?”

“Have you grown taller?” The cat in white chirped in an innocent, yet simultaneously condescending tone.

“Perhaps you’ve lost weight?” His dark counterpart matched his energy.

The One Who Wait’s head snapped around to face the duo again, presumably with a glare or something, but their giddy reactions made Lamb wonder. They sighed mentally.

“I have been hard at work collecting Holy Talisman fragments! Reuniting them to harness their power!” Lamb proclaimed, hands on their hips.

“And?” He turned his head to see Lamb again, faint signs of amusement still visible on his face.

“And… Well…” They puffed their chest out as they folded their hands behind their back, unable to keep the pout off their face. “I thought it was pretty cool…”

“Was I to be impressed that you have been moonlighting for Lessers in exchange for paltry goods? Have you forgotten your purpose?”

“Huh? No, of course not, I was just…!” Lamb’s mind grasped for the right words, but landed on parroting his words back to him. “Paltry?”

“That is what I said.”

“This isn’t some ordinary cloak!” Lamb huffed, tossing their cape for flare. “It’s made from a… an extremely valuable treasure that no mortal could begin to comprehend!”

“I am aware.”

“With the right curse, I’m a force to be reckoned with! As it is a tool I’m utilizing in my crusades, wouldn’t it be beneficial to explain their use?”

“Those relics serve no use to me while I am bound in this realm. Thus they are not a priority. I will not dissuade you from collecting more, as it means I will not have to seek them out myself when I am freed, but their true purpose is not something you should concern yourself with.”

“Oh.” Lamb didn’t know how else to respond.

“Is that all?”

“…yes.”

“Then, you are dismissed.”

Whatever they were looking for, Lamb clearly wasn’t going to get. They turned and began the walk back to the pentagram to leave, holding in their sigh of annoyance until they were out of earshot.

The One Who Waits was looking at them, sure, but he wasn’t seeing them. At least not in the way Lamb wished to be seen. It frustrated them to no end. Were they just unattractive? Or was it because he was a god? Could a god not see a mortal in that way?

‘Am I even technically a mortal?’

There was only one way to relieve this building aggravation: By taking it out on the followers of the Old Faith. Though the location of Heket’s temple remained unknown, Lamb was not particularly inclined to search for it after being snubbed by their benefactor. So, off to Anchordeep they went.

They weren’t much interested in a serious fight either. Heket was brutal with Lamb from their first meeting—back before they even knew how to use a sword effectively—so they imagined it would only get worse with the death of Leshy. When Leshy was alive, he tended to launch surprise attacks on Lamb—with or without his followers. But Kallamar?

Well, Lamb was beginning to wonder if he was even capable of combat. As he’d never tried to attack them, even with the other Bishops by his side. When encountered alone, he tended to find indirect ways to make them leave. At first he infected their followers with a nasty flu, but when that stopped working, he started dropping “hints” about secret treasure that could be found in the other realms.

Naturally, this encouraged Lamb to promptly abandon their exploration of his rather unpleasant oceanic realm to look for the one thing they couldn’t resist: treasure. They had even taken a direct bribe from him once.

Not Lamb’s proudest moment but, in their defense, it wasn’t Kallamar’s either.

Lamb didn’t think they would see Kallamar at all. So, imagine their surprise when he ‘greeted’ them the second they stepped out their saferoom.

“You! Why are you here?” He snatched them into the air before they could even spot him, the momentum orienting them upside down. “I told you—Why—WHERE is your wool?”

Lamb actually had a really suave, dismissive response prepared in their head that they never got to use (as Narinder never asked). But they were so caught off-guard, that it flew right from their mind.

“Whaa-What do you mean?” They stuttered out, only slightly disoriented as Kallamar hastily flipped them right-side-up.

“I really do not feel I need to clarify further!” He squawked. “Are you… Are you shedding? Do sheep shed? I don’t believe you have before…!” He said the last part mostly to himself.

Lamb let out a soft snort as their confusion faded into amusement. The Bishop’s ability to almost completely nullify their crown was typically a cause for concern, but not today.

“It’s just my seasonal trim. It gets rather stuffy in the warmer months.” They finally gave a response.

“I… see… Why have you come to disturb my realm?”

“I’m just doing my duties as the vessel of the Red Crown. I have no more business in Darkwood.”

Kallamar took pause at that, his expression unreadable to Lamb. They could probably guess if they cared to. Whatever it was, Kallamar didn’t dwell on it long, returning to his gaudy, flamboyant character.

“Though dear Leshy is no longer… present. Darkwood still holds many precious things. Things previously unattainable due to his resonance with those woods.” Kallamar bridged his fingers, as he often did, periodically tapping them together one at a time. “Ahh, but there is a beast that remains that must be slain first. A Witness! Yes, yes. You must be wondering what a Witness is—”

“I’ve already killed Leshy’s Witness.”

“They are vicious—wh-what?”

“I killed it,” Lamb repeated, as casual as the first time. “Traded it’s eye for my new fleece!”

“I see…!” Kallamar’s stare lingered for a moment before he found something else to look at. “You may want to renegotiate with your contact. For such a valuable object, you should at least get a cloak with as much, er, material as the last one.”

They scoffed back at him, “Do you take me as vain? I didn’t change cloaks for looks. I did it for power! It’s made from an extremely valuable treasure that no mortal could begin to comprehend!”

“That is… fascinating. Is that a Holy Talisman, then?”

“Huh? Oh…! Yes, actually. You know what they are?”

“Of course I do. We all have at least one.” He tapped his chin. “In fact, there are likely plenty more out there that you could wear in place of that.”

Lamb was inclined to inquire further about what Kallamar knew about Holy Talisman pieces, but their mind got caught on the barely-veiled insult towards their new fleece. Their fleece that was not easy to get.

“What’s wrong with the one I have now? You don’t even know what it does!”

“It increases the strength of your cursed abilities.” Kallamar seemed a little too smug about knowing that. “And do you really have to ask? Look at it. Why, you aren’t even wearing anything under it.”

“I’ve never worn anything under my cloak. I am covered in wool.” Lamb scoffed right back.

“Well you—I do not think I’m being unreasonable!” Kallamar gave a short, awkward laugh. “If you are going to have less wool, you should wear more clothing."

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Lamb casually flipped their cloak over their shoulder, wearing it as more of a cape than anything now.”

Kallamar’s eyes went wide. He had to physically turn his head to tear his eyes away from the sight of Lamb.

“It is like… It’s like wearing boots and nothing more! You might as well be wearing nothing at all.”

“Huh… I suppose that makes sense… I’ll just take it off, then.”

“Yes, yes, maybe you have some sense after a—” Kallamar’s mouth hung open for just a moment. Although he had managed to collect himself, he was flustered all over again.

“Oh my. I was just joking but… if you insist—”

“No, NO, that is not what I meant! You misunderstand!” He yelled, hands held out defensively. “What foolish—why would I—No, I didn’t even—gh!”

“How else am I supposed to interpret ‘you have some sense’ in that context?”

“I was—I thought you were done speaking! I hear things on a delay, so I thought…! And who would guess you would say something so—so ridiculous!”

“Uh-huh. It’s alright, we all have our Freudian slips.” Lamb waved dismissively, then said with a wink. “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear it.”

For a moment, Kallamar was at a loss for words. He started and stopped a few different thoughts without completing them, physically grasping at the air as if he’d find a suitable response there.

“Could it be that you’ve begun to see me as more than merely a vessel?” Lamb tittered.

“Ignoble lamb!” He finally spit out. “Go home! I have had enough of you for one day! Go on, shoo!” With every sentence emphasized with a telekinetic shove towards the door Lamb came through.

With their spirits now lifted, Lamb didn’t quite feel the need to go on a violent crusade anymore. They got the attention they wanted—the reaction they wanted—and although it wasn’t with the person they had in mind…

Perhaps he would do.

---

A/N: Gee, it only took me three months, but this request is finally done XD I think Kallamar would be Lamb's rebound after being shut down by Narinder one too many times.

#cult of the lamb #cotl #cotl kallamar #cotl narinder #cotl lamb #narilamb #kallamb #the one who waits #aym and baal #kallamar x lamb #cotl fanfic

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twoidiotwriters1 · 2 years

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Copycat: Agent Zero —(Marvel Fem!Oc)

A/N: My version of Billy is kinda comic accurate (cause i haven’t watched the netflix show) but like still not the same thing, I just wrote him as I saw fit so expect him to be pretty ooc ig -Danny

Words: 1,639

Phase Four Masterlist

Previous chapter // Next Chapter

Listen to: ‘Cardigan’ -by Taylor Swift

iv: Billy Russo

"Happy, I didn't come here for you to look at me like that."

"I'm sorry," he sighed, "I can't shake the thought that you're too young to be working as an agent."

"I'm too old to be running around the city dressed up as a cat," she replied, "being an Avenger doesn't pay the bills."

She was comfortable with the place she'd been granted, but she couldn't say she was content. During her youth, Cat's friends had made her feel a giddiness that she'd assumed was it, but after the blip, the memory had turned into a complicated matter.

"As long as you're happy," the man sighed, and she made sure to look delighted.

"Let's order food! I have a long day ahead of me but tonight I'm all yours. We can talk about anything."

"How's Harley doing?"

"We fought and now I don't talk to him," she tried to change the subject. "Pizza or Cheeseburgers?"

"Wait, hang on," Happy frowned, "he's your best friend!"

"My best friend's Wagner," she corrected. "Harley was... not even that much of a friend, it seems... he stopped talking to me at the very first chance he got."

"He stopped talking to you?"

"We fought." One minute they were hanging out and learning how to hack stuff, then the next they were yelling at each other from opposite sides of a street. "It's alright, Happy, not like I'll be able to keep any kind of relationship in the future."

"Pizza," he concluded, trying to make her feel better. "I expect you to call at least once a week, I'm a lonely man."

"You need a hobby."

People had stolen items from the ruins of the Avengers compound. Why it mattered was beyond her, but Fury wanted them back.

"Make sure the right people see you."

"Yeah, yeah— just to be sure, though, my name is Kate, right?"

"Katrina," Fury growled, "don't mess it up."

"I'm just messing with you," she smirked, sliding out of the car. "I'll get what you want, now leave me alone."

Cat was escorted to the lobby, she left her coat and moved to the main room, surveying it quickly. That night she was Katrina Maxwell, the adopted daughter of some British couple that had recently passed away, and who was interested in building her own empire in New York. She'd changed her hair to red, and her eyes were hazel. There were several people from the night she'd talked to Yelena in Los Angeles.

Thirty minutes into the night she was walking out of the bathroom, reaching the stairs two young teens ran into her.

"Sorry," the oldest blushed, "we— er, we're looking for our parents."

The little one moaned. "Ali, my feet are sore!"

The oldest sibling hushed the kid and looked at Cat guiltily.

"You're too young to be at the lamest party of the year," the way the teens' eyes lit up amused her. "I would sneak out if I were you..." She looked around to make sure no one else was in the hall. "Tell you what, I'll stand here ten seconds and admire this lovely mural—"

"That's wallpaper."

"You just lowered it to five. You wanna keep going or should I just call security?"

The children ran away, Cat stood there for a moment, reminiscing on the days Peter would help her sneak out dressed as their superhero counterparts. She remembered the night Pietro gave up on his only chance to assist a homecoming dance to help them... it was disorienting how different her present was compared to her youth, everything was somehow quieter, and the colors were duller but to be fair, her eyes had evolved too.

Cat would give all away in a heartbeat if it meant one week surrounded by her high school friends. Not that it meant anything, she would take those wishes and longings to the grave, agents must abandon all hopes for domestic life.

Cat found a spot near the bar, she sat and waited, no one had approached her but they knew who she was. Days before S.H.I.E.L.D had planted fake articles in some magazines about her, this crowd had spent a whole week reading about her life, and they were seizing her up. Scanning her clothes to decide whether she belonged in their circle or if she was just a clown in silk attire.

The thought of being examined from top to bottom reminded her of the day she overheard her classmates berating her. It made her wonder if she would have to endure that sort of stuff even now that she was an adult. She couldn't lose her temper this time around, Fury told her he could tolerate mistakes just once, and she'd already reached the full capacity of his forbearance.

Solitude in the face of an unexplored territory made her melancholic. She tried to ignore it, but it fought back. If only she had someone like MJ to calm her, if only she could give Peter a call, or even Harley...

Cat had promised she wouldn't get her friends involved in her agent stuff. She loved them, and the feeling was mutual, so she refused to put them at risk. The young woman remembered what she'd decided the moment Tony sacrificed himself to save the Universe.

If Tony could do it alone, so can I.

"Miss?" Cat gave a start. "Sorry, I just wanted to introduce myself," the older man smiled, "I've heard so much about you... sadly nothing from the mouth of a friend."

"I don't have any," she replied politely, "not in this city, at least. I'm Katrina Maxwell. You are..?"

"Jack Duquesne," the man shook her hand with a gentle grip.

He continued to make conversation about his girlfriend and the places Cat had to visit in the city—the country, in fact, if she had time for it. She wished he would stop talking for a moment, she was there to listen to conversations, and not to participate in one.

He got distracted ordering a new drink, she turned on M.O.U.S.E and the assistant quickly did background research on the people attending the evening. Most had questionable jobs, but nothing of interest for S.H.I.E.L.D.

Mr. Duquesne was useful in the end, once the event gave way to the cocktails and light dinner. He took her under his wing and introduced her to several people, at least now her presence felt natural.

Once or twice she spotted children gathering into little groups. Fancy evenings were no place for teenagers, she thought fondly of her nights at Peter's place eating pizza and playing videogames, the rides in aunt May's old car, and the way Ned would wheeze in the backseat every time Peter nearly missed a red light because he was too distracted by their conversations.

Someone tapped her shoulder, and when she turned a man smiled at her. "We meet again."

"William," the agent blinked, "I didn't see you before..."

"I just got here," he said, "I'm glad I ran into a familiar face, I don't know most people in attendance... even you! I ended up learning your name from an article, Miss Maxwell."

"Billy, you're here!" Mr. Duquesne had returned. "Let me introduce you to our newest: Miss Katrina Maxwell. I hope you can help her out. Katrina, this is Billy Russo, one of our youngest businessmen, always around and yet never takes part in the events."

"I'm happier as an observer," he grinned, "but I'll be glad to participate in the future if Katrina wishes to have a companion?"

"I'd love that!" Cat recalled Nat's observation about how she could use her charisma to get what she wanted, now more than ever it was proving to be an amazing skill.

Peter's frown flashed in her mind, as it would often do whenever she did something unethical. She pushed her shoulders back and drank a determined sip of her whisky, Peter didn't know her adult self enough to determine how she ought to behave. Pietro wouldn't have minded this tactic, he'd taught her how to flirt.

"I'm sure Billy and I will become friends remarkably quickly."

He had to be around the same age as Matthew, but Matt tended to be sweet whenever he was in a good mood. William's voice wasn't as charming as Matt's, but his eyes were darker and far more captivating.

What the hell was she thinking? Cat needed to pull her head out of her ass and start working, otherwise, Fury would degrade her to a shitty desk job.

She started a new conversation once they were left alone. "Mr. Duquesne already introduced me to a large list of places I could visit, but none of them is anything more than tourist fun. I'd like something that isn't a waste of time."

"That's a little unclear," the man responded, though he was smiling.

"Something I could turn into a hobby," she clarified, "I don't know, classical concerts that I can attend, art galleries with only the rarest, most beautiful works that I can buy and turn into my own collection..."

"A hobby, you say," he chuckled, "a girl your age should be attending the best clubs in town, or maybe shopping..."

"If the girl in question had nothing to worry about but to be a daughter," she pressed, "I'm no longer allowed to be irresponsible with my money. Getting a hobby sounds like a waste, but I know that's what I'll be needing when the business life gets to me."

"A wise view," Billy agreed, "I'll see if I can find the right thing for you."

"What are your hobbies, Mr. Russo?" She asked with a little smile. "Jack said you're like me, so now I'm curious."

"I don't wish to bore you, Katrina." He retorted playfully. "You might not want to take me to your place afterward."

"How about you get me that drink you promised, then?"

"I'd be delighted." Billy placed a hand on her back as he guided her, he also complimented her dress.

There was one thing that tipped off the balance to his favor when compared to Matt Murdock: he did not hesitate to make a move.

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@ieatpanicattacksforlunch @jesuswasnotawhiteman @siriuslysirius1107 @greengarsstuff @itsyagirl01 @23victoria @espressopatronum454 @jkthinkstoomuch

#twoidiots writing #marvel #marvel fic #marvel fanfic #copycat fic

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tetsuwhore · 3 years

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getting fucked stupid by boys who actually are stupid

Description: just sweet dumb boys who live for making their girl cum over, and over, and over again. himbo counterpart to boys who’ll fuck you stupid

Characters: Bokuto, Kageyama, Goshiki

Warnings: explicit smut - dom/sub dynamics, overstimulation, crying, this counts as some form of dumbification ig??

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Bokuto → when Bokuto loves, he does it with every fiber of his being. he adores you.

and he especially adores making you feel good.

he’s pretty okay at staying in control when he has to focus on touching you. curious eyes drink in how your hand gingerly guides his larger, rougher one down between your legs, darting up abruptly when he catches the sharp hitch in your breath as his calloused fingers make contact with your sticky center.

the corners of his lips perk up into a wolfish grin when you cling to his side, trembling arms looping around his strong neck as you beg him to kiss you.

he’s still somewhat alright, but significantly less collected when he’s got your thighs thrown over his shoulders, his face buried in your cunt. he manages to stay focused and listen out for your instructions, but he can’t help getting just a little too enthusiastic with his pace.

and then suddenly, he’s got the condom on, and you’re laying back expectantly, waiting for him to resume his position on top of you. there’s a nervous gulp of his throat, a few shaky movements as he crawls back above you, one shy kiss as he nudges the blunt head of his dick past your slit.

and just like that, it’s all gone.

you’re whimpering into his ear, and he can vaguely make out the bite of your nails into the skin on his back, but, fuck, fuck- you’re so fucking tight, and everything feels too rushed, too dizzying, and, and-

god, it’s worse when he opens his eyes because you’re so pretty, the sensation of your pebbled nipples rubbing up against his hard chest feels fucking amazing, and he doesn’t even realize he’s subconsciously shifting the thrust of his hips to reach deeper into you.

when Bokuto loves, he does it with every fiber of his being.

passionate, free and uncontrolled.

Kageyama → you’re just so pretty. he’s always thought so, right from the moment he first saw you.

but god, you’re fucking gorgeous when you’re under him, with your eyes screwed shut and your head thrown back in bliss. nothing could ever compare to the sight of you squirming around, fingers digging into his moving arm as you break out into pleading whimpers, “there! fuck, righ- right there, Tobio, god- please please please do that again!”

he’s painfully fastidious, sharp, blue eyes following every one of your movements, every heave of your chest as you cry out in bliss. he files these details into permanent memory; the sharpening of your moans as he presses his palm harder against your clit, and how the furrow in your brows deepens when he curls his fingers just right.

but it’s a dangerous game.

because now, he’s not stopping until he’s satisfied. the way you moaned just now, after he’d just made you cum - weren’t you louder last time? and only last week, when he’d fucked you so hard, you sobbed into his chest for a whole 20 minutes afterwards - he could do that again, couldn’t he?

of course he could.

yeah, yeah - all he has to do is angle his fingers a little sharper, probe further so he can find that spongy spot inside you that makes you yelp, and then do it again, and again, and again, until you’re seeing stars. there’s no point half-assing it when he knows what you look like when you’re really fucked out.

he can do better. he can make you feel better. he knows he can.

Goshiki → it’s almost like every moment is about him proving himself. to whom, you’re still not sure.

it’s got something to do with all those years of overhearing hushed conversations between his upperclassmen - first from Tendou back during his Shiratorizawa days, and even now in the Green Rockets, between Kiryu and some of the other older guys. they’re giddied, and really not quiet enough as they ramble on and on about how good it feels making their girls cum.

he wants to do that. Goshiki wants to do that for you.

that’s all he has in mind as he presses his tongue deeper into the slicked velvet of your folds, lapping faster and faster at your swollen clit. he’s so one-tracked in his focus, obliviously zoning in on the addictive bliss that is having your thighs wrapped around his head, that he completely misses how you’ve already orgasmed one-two-three times now.

he grunts at the shaky fingers that tug at his hair and pulls away momentarily, moving his hand to rub against the side of your thigh in a circled motions that are probably meant to placate you. “only a little more, baby, please! just wanna take care of my girl. just gotta make you cum first.”

it’s actually kinda funny... because even when your mind isn’t completely fucked out beyond coherent thought, you don’t think you can remember a time he’s ever not made you cum.

[HONOURABLE MENTIONS: Hinata, Koganegawa, Tanaka, Lev, Gao]

#bokuto x reader #kageyama x reader #goshiki x reader #haikyuu smut #leave your rosaries at the door

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writing-in-april · 3 years

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Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: Reader brings Spencer a surprise at their picnic date.

A/N: Here’s the third fic for my 750 follower celebration!! This fic has a much more soft dom reader then the previous two! The book that is referenced in this fic is totally made up and I wrote the fake book passages myself! I had a hard time writing this but I’m very happy with how it came out! Thank you @spencers-dria for giving me this idea, I had such a fun time writing it!

Warnings: 18+, Soft dom reader, Public sex, Fingering, Oral sex (female receiving)

Main Masterlist Word count: 1.51k

I couldn’t believe my luck when Spencer called saying that he was coming home early as he had already finished all of his paperwork. I had begun packing for a picnic as soon as I had gotten off the phone with him.

The weather was going to be perfect, it was a crisp summer day with a steady flowing breeze. My intentions were to have a relaxing time with Spencer, but something else had been dancing in the back of my mind. There was a book I had been reading that had given me some ideas, specifically ideas on what I could do to Spencer in the bedroom. Though, the specific idea I wanted to try wasn’t exactly in the bedroom.

The two main characters had set up a picnic similar to the one I was about to embark on with Spencer. What was originally supposed to be an innocent little picnic turned into the male protagonist fingering the girl. I was pretty sure I had read the scene around ten times now, and I couldn’t wait to try something similar with Spencer today.

——

When we got to the park I made sure to pick a secluded spot where no one would bother us. Which ended up being just beyond the park’s edge just slightly into the woods that bordered it. My nerves bristled with anticipation as Spencer laid out the checkered picnic blanket, it was a simple task and I didn’t quite understand how someone could look so gorgeous just while doing it. I wanted- no, needed his hands on me.

“Would you read a book to me?” I tried to not let any of my giddiness seep through into my words, attempting to keep my plans a secret.

“I didn’t bring one.” He said solemnly, looking like he felt a little dumb for not bringing one along. I had already planned for that though, that’s why I almost immediately pulled him out the door when he came home so he couldn’t add anymore books into the picnic basket. There was only one book I wanted him to read to me.

“There’s one in the basket.”

When he pulled out the book he raised his eyebrows slightly in my direction as if to ask- Are you sure you want me to read this one? He already knew exactly what the book contained.

“I’ve been reading it when I have free time. Could you start where the bookmark is?” I played coy, pretending that I did not know that around halfway through the book it turned into an erotic novel. The bookmark was strategically placed just a few pages before the picnic scene, I didn’t want Spencer to catch onto my game just yet.

The first few pages he read were just filled with exposition, which I would have normally found intriguing if it wasn’t for the pooling wetness between my thighs. My patience was wearing thin as he made it to the fifth page, I was inwardly cursing my past self for setting the bookmark as far back as I did.

Maybe I could give him just a little taste of what’s to come, I thought while trying to stop myself from squirming. I then spread my legs just barely so he could get a slight peak at the lace panties I wore underneath my sundress. He stopped reading the passage as soon as he noticed, his breathing also becoming a little more heavy. I couldn’t have him stop yet, he was just about to get to the good part.

“Keep reading.” My voice was soft, but there was no doubt that it was a command rather than a suggestion. He continued though his voice was more high pitched and rushed. I did not move again until I heard the beginnings of the infamous picnic scene.

“The sun shone bright over the hills covered in luscious green pasture. There on those hills my love and I sat eating sweet fruit, the only prying eyes were a few stray sheep grazing.” The look on Spencer’s face told me that he had connected the dots in his head, after all he had read this book before. He had at least a good educated guess as to what was going to happen next.

“My love began to make the ascent up my thighs with his soft delicate hand. He did not make his intentions ambiguous to me, I knew exactly what his intentions were.”

I then moved to gently grab Spencer’s free hand up in the same winding path that his counterpart in the book took. His touches were light, like a whisper up the expanse of my thighs.

“This ok Spencer?” Once I saw his head nod in confirmation I commanded again, “Keep reading.”

He cleared his throat and tore his eyes away from me to keep reading the scene. I then moved the hand that was not guiding Spencer’s to bunch up the edges of my sundress fully revealing my bottom half, we were well hidden enough that I was not worried about any prying eyes. Spencer did not tear his eyes away from the book, he was such a good boy for following my directions.

“Slowly his fingers parted my folds in exploration, wanting to know every part of me intimately before giving me pleasure. Once he was satisfied with his study he circled his fingers around my entrance, causing me to gasp in euphoria.”

I looked expectantly up at Spencer and removed the hand that was guiding him, “Well, what are you waiting for?”

He nodded in understanding and started to mimic the actions of the character that paralleled him. First, imitating the explorative movements by parting my folds and gathering up the wetness that had gathered. Then, when he was satisfied, circled my entrance once, twice, and then three times. This time as he started to read, he followed the characters movements at the same time.

“A gasp fell from my lips as he plunged his fingers inside of me, his long and dexterous fingers reaching places that my own could never dream of. They curled upwards to hit my spot just right every time which brought me closer to the edge faster than any man had ever done.”

Spencer multitasked effortlessly, his own fingers entering my core causing ripples of pleasure to surge through me. The crisp summer air felt like it was not reaching my lungs fast enough as Spencer curled his fingers to hit right at my g spot.

“Can I taste you?” My breath caught in my throat at his sudden words. It was a slight deviation from what the characters did in the book, but how could I deny such an offer when he asked so sweetly?

“Of course you can, since you’ve been such a good boy so far.” The praise made him blush dusting his cheeks a lovely rosy red. He removed his fingers from my core then ducked his head down to dive in, the book flopping down onto the blanket forgotten. I laced his fingers with mine as he dragged his tongue slowly from my entrance all the way up to my clit, then circling it with his tongue. It was good, but not nearly enough to get what I desired.

“Spencer, stop teasing.” My voice growled out in frustration. Spencer obeyed my command, he knew what would happen if he was to act like a brat, and that’s not what he was after today. He wanted to be a good boy for you. He added more pressure to his tongue as he continued to circle my clit, finally getting me closer to fringes of an orgasm.

The grip on the edge of my dress loosened as Spencer pushed me closer to the edge, I just needed one more little push and I’d fall right off. I let go of the hand that was interlaced with his fingers to card through his hair, pulling slightly on his locks and grinding down into his face. That was the push I needed to fall off the edge, my orgasm was so intense that I had to bite on my bottom lip hard to prevent any cries from falling out. When he comes up for air after I have fully ridden out my high I notice that Spencer’s hair is a ruffled mess with his chin covered completely in my release. I hummed in content at his disheveled appearance, running my hands through his hair to ruffle it up even more before bringing him into a bruising kiss. We both let out a moan as our lips met; they were now both blissfully tainted with the taste of my release.

I hadn’t forgotten about Spencer and his desires, everything I wanted to do to him would be pushing a little bit too far at the boundaries of what we could do in public. I had a feeling he’d be loud enough to give our position away if I indulged right now.

“Come on, let’s go home where I can fully ravish you with my affection.”

—-

Tag list (message me if you want to be added):

All works: @shotarosleftpinky

Spencer/CM: @calm-and-doctor @destiny-tsukino @safertokiss

Sub!Spencer: @thatsonezesty13 @pastathighs @virtualpeanutartisanjudge

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds smut #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler smut #750 follower celebration #750 followers

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gdcee · 3 years

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Old Friends

Summary: Loki doesn't meet his three counterparts in the TVA's garbage dump at the end of time but someone else entirely.

Warnings: Some sexual innuendo. Troubling possessive childhood behaviour. Mention of unwanted sexual advances (not perpetrated by either of the main characters in the fic).

==============

Loki considers the words neatly painted in bright red letters on the large signpost.

NO LOKIS (except for the kid and alligator they're cool)

He squints, wondering if his earlier rough landing has jumbled some connections in the language processing bits of his brain. He shakes his head and reads again.

Nope, he evidently did not misread the bit about the alligator.

"What in the name of Buri's wrinkly left-"

Before Loki can finish uttering the obscenity, an overwhelming aura of powerful magic smothers him. He barely has a chance to retaliate before he's swept away like a pebble in a fluvial flood.

He finds himself lying on the half-withered gray-green grass, staring incredulously at the softly glowing incorporeal fetters wrapped about his chest and ankles.

There's only one person he knows with this particular type of binding magic.

But no, no it couldn't be. It couldn't possibly be-

"You have a lot of nerve," her achingly familiar voice rings out in the desolate silence. Her equally familiar face comes into view as she leans over his prone form, "Coming here."

"Sigyn," he can only manage a hoarse whisper at first, but giddy elation soon overtakes shock, and his mouth widens in a cheeky grin, "Oh, I'm certainly not doing that at present but since you've already skipped past dinner to the bonda-"

Sigyn whacks him sharply on the head with her staff. Not hard enough to cause any pain, but hard enough to startle him into silence.

"Brazen," she sighs, sounding more exasperated than offended, "Every single one of you."

"I prefer cockyyy-" Loki trails off at the unamused glare she shoots him, "-shutting up now."

"Good choice."

Sigyn shakes her head and dispels the fetters that hold him. Though familiar, in truth, Loki hasn't felt her magic so close to him in centuries. Not since they were children and he was showing her how to conjure fireworks in her hands.

He wonders briefly if her hair still smells like apple blossoms.

"Come on," she reaches for his hand and pulls him to his feet without waiting for his assent, "Time to go. You know the rules."

"I don't actually," Loki tries not to look upset when she lets go of his hand (pathetic, Norns, he is pathetic), "I don't even know where...what this place is." He frowns, considering. "Probably not Hel since you're here."

Sigyn coughs a short, sharp bark of a laugh. There's no humour in it.

"This is Hel," she says, "In all but name."

"So...I'm dead?"

Sigyn sighs again, closes her eyes and blows at the loose strand of hair hanging in her face.

"Wonderful. You're a new one then. You remember being pruned, yes?"

"Yes. Not very pleasant."

"Quite. Well, this-" she moves one arm in a fluid, graceful arc, gesturing in grandiose fashion at the depressing panorama of refuse and ruined buildings littered about the grey landscape. "-is where the TVA sends their rubbish. Everyone they prune, any physical material from a reset timeline - it ends up here."

"Everything?" Loki quirks an eyebrow, "Seems a little empty of clutter if the refuse of millions of dead timelines is being dumped here."

"Ah. Yes, that would be the work of the giant purple cloud monster of eternal, ceaseless hunger that devours all within its path."

An ominous sounding growl underlaid with the rumble of thunder sounds faintly in the distance.

Loki looks towards the distant horizon and sees a large dark, purplish smear like a fresh bruise in the grey sunless sky. Light flares and something that vaguely resembles a galaxy-class battlecruiser falls from the heavens. Immediately, the great bruised mass is upon the hulking remains.

He is uncomfortably reminded of that ridiculous nightmare he used to have about being phagocytosed by a giant amoeba (he longs for such innocent days, when his bad dreams were the result of his overactive imagination processing tedious microbiology lessons and not recollections of the various horrors he has experienced).

"That would be Alioth. The giant purple cloud monster. Don't ask me who came up with that name. Now if you'll excuse me-" Sigyn turns briskly on her heel and heads off in the direction beyond the NO LOKIS sign.

"Wha- hold on! You're just going to leave?You're leaving me to that thing??"

"Oh please, you'll have plenty of time before it gets here. Besides," she mutters, "You're a Loki. There's a thousand of you in this Norns forsaken wasteland. Trust me, if there's one thing you all do very well, it's survive."

Her words hurt more than he wants to admit. That bad memory loop with Sif had been more painful for obvious reasons, but...he knew what Sif thought of him. Even back then, those words she'd thrown at him had not surprised him.

As a child, he'd always felt special to Sigyn. She'd wanted to be his friend, his own true friend and not just Thor's friend who didn't mind having Loki along for the ride. She'd liked the same things he did. She'd always laughed at his jokes and pranks.

He'd felt like he mattered to her.

Of course that had only made him abominably possessive. He just couldn't abide any other child having her attention. The fear of an insecure wretch - so terrified that if Sigyn looked away even for a moment, she would see something better, that she would find him wanting.

He shouldn't have been surprised when Sigyn did not protest at her father sending her to live with her late mother's relatives on Alfheim when her true powers manifested on the cusp of puberty.

He'd...he'd said such awful things to her before she'd gone. When two people have been friends for centuries, they know exactly what to say to make it hurt. Sigyn had given back as good as she got, but instead of petty childish insults, her accusations had rung with truth.

She'd known why no one wanted to be her friend, she'd known exactly what he'd been doing behind her back - all the tricks, all the schemes, everything he'd done to ensure that none would take his friend from him.

As a parting shot she'd declared that even though he'd been horrid, she had stayed his friend because she had cared about him. That he had been special to her and she hadn't wanted to lose him either.

It was one thing to lose his only friend besides his brother - it was another to know that all his fears had been naught but smoke and mirrors. That he had been awful, that he'd made Sigyn sad and disappointed for absolutely nothing.

She had returned to Asgard.

Eventually.

Týr could only use the excuse of his daughter's magical education for so long. Someone of her abilities was too important an asset for the Allfather to ignore.

In the end, they had come to a reconciliation (of sorts) because they were tired of avoiding each other.

Or perhaps, the more simple truth (that neither would have admitted to) was that they missed each other.

They were never again as close as they'd been as children, but they'd stayed friends (or friendly at least). On good enough terms that the Warriors Four had not sought her out to spin their tale of treachery and magical incursion (Sigyn certainly would have been the ideal person to subdue a treacherous, power-mad and magically gifted regent). But not on good enough terms that he would have approached her for help in his ill-conceived scheme to delay Thor's coronation (perhaps events would have played out more favourably if he'd had someone to bounce ideas off).

That had been his Sigyn anyway. The one who didn't even exist now. Reset into non-existence by the TVA along with everything else on the timeline he'd been taken from.

Did you mourn, he'd asked his brother.

We all did.

He wonders if the Sigyn he'd known had mourned him.

The Sigyn briskly walking away now seems ill-inclined to mourn any Loki. What had the Loki of her timeline done to make her want to have nothing to do with him? He isn't sure if he wants to know.

He is tired. So very, very tired. Tired of feeling responsible for things he has not done (yet? is it really destiny if your life is just a series of bullet points on a checklist created and enforced by a totalitarian bureaucratic organization built by person or persons unknown?). Tired of not being able to do anything to make amends for the things that he actually is responsible for.

Except...he can.

Sigyn isn't a memory construct, she is real, she is here.

It's just one thing, one little thing and it is paltry compared to the other ill-deeds he has committed (and the ones he is fated to commit)-

But it's something at least.

Loki catches up to her easily (being roughly a head taller has its advantages) and grabs the end of her staff.

"Sigyn-"

She fixes him with those sharp, dark eyes and he realises he doesn't know how he's supposed to start this. He swallows past the lump in his throat and says the first word that comes to mind.

"Please."

Her eyes soften just a little, but her mouth remains set in a firm, hard line, and she tries to tug the staff out of his grasp.

He doesn't let go.

"Stop trying to stall me."

"I'm not-" Loki bites back the instinctive protestation and soldiers on. "I need to tell you I'm sorry about what I said before Alfheim and for everything I did before that. I'm sorry that I was selfish, I'm sorry that I didn't trust you, I'm sorry I made you cry and...I'm sorry I wasn't a worthy friend to you."

"...Loki," her voice is soft, "That happened centuries ago. I'm not...I'm not even the Sigyn you need to apologize to."

"You're still Sigyn. You deserve one regardless."

Sigyn has that look on her face. That gentle, pensive consideration tinged with something soft and tender that he can't quite name. She used to look at him like that whenever he did something nice (whether unprompted or as an apology for something not so nice he'd done earlier).

Norns. This is getting awkward. Existential fear at the potential cessation of his existence and his childhood night terrors featuring improbably large unicellular organisms notwitstanding, Loki thinks he might not mind if that giant purple cloud trundled in right now and swallowed him up.

"Well, I'd best get on, hadn't I? Surviving and all that?" He coughs, "I...I'm...it was good to see you again. Thank you for not kneeing me in the crotch mid-apology. I appreciate it."

He turns to leave. He doesn't have a clue where to go, but the opposite direction from the purple cloud monster seems like a good start.

Maybe he'll survive long enough to come across Mobius. Half of him wants to find the man as soon as possible (perhaps also be complimented on his intelligence and the betterment of his moral condition). The other half hopes that he never sees him again (because brainwashed amnesiac variant or not, Mobius has subjected him to very unpleasant situations designed to psychologically shatter him. Loki is the last person in the universe who would hold someone entirely responsible for actions undertaken after their minds have been tampered with, but still. Just because he understands doesn't mean he can forget.)

As for Sylvie...Loki doesn't want to think about it, but if the TVA is smart, they wouldn't prune her. They wouldn't risk a repeat of whatever had happened on Lamentis-1, and since he is already here...

"Catch."

The improbable sound of Sigyn's voice startles him from his ruminations and without thinking his hand shoots up to intercept the small rectangular object wrapped in plastic and foil before it hits his face.

Loki stares at the granola bar (expiry date 12/12/2075) incredulously and then at Sigyn, walking briskly at his side and keeping pace with his long strides.

"I thought you-"

"You looked hungry."

"Sigyn, I believe this is what the Midgardians call 'giving mixed signals'."

"Look," she sighs, "I've been looking for...someone very dear to me for a very long time. I can't deny I feel some resentment for everyone I meet wearing his face. My baggage isn't an excuse for my rough treatment of you. It was unfair of me, and I apologise."

He blinks, not quite sure what to make of what she's telling him. Sigyn had never been one to mince words, she either said exactly what was on her mind or nothing at all.

That she is being deliberately vague and yet throwing up strong implications with her choice of words means that she does not want to lie but believes the truth is not something that he will be happy to hear.

Well, by now he's had a lot of experience dealing with unpleasant truths. Another one added to the pile is hardly going to hurt.

Sigyn has just started drinking from a battered metal canteen when he voices his suspicions.

"It's Theoric, isn't it?"

She chokes and spits out half of her drink.

"What?!" She wheezes, "What in Ymir's hoary arse gave you that idea?!"

"Didn't you fancy him back in-" Loki grimaces, snapping his fingers as he tries to pinpoint the date in question, "That year when burgundy was all the rage. Burgundy, scandalously low necklines and uncomfortably tight trousers."

"I went on a date with him because he was handsome, he was annoying me and I was young and stupid," she sneers, "He tried to put his hand up my skirts an hour into the picnic so trust me, after that I wanted nothing to do with the louse."

Something a little too much like that old familiar selfish anger bubbles up in his chest.

"He dared," he growls, "He dared to put his hands on you. He should have had his filthy paws struck off at the wrist for the insult to your dignity."

"Eat your granola, don't crush it," Sigyn says calmly, "In any case, I resolved the situation quite easily and without bloodshed."

"Shame," Loki mutters. He takes a bite of the now somewhat crumbly Midgardian snack and wrinkles his nose at the taste. "So how did you handle that son of a bitch?"

"I rendered him impotent for a year. I would have kept it permanent but he came crawling on his hands and knees begging for my forgiveness, swearing on the souls of his ancestors never to trouble me again, vowing to gift me his firstborn as my thrall etcetera etcetera..." she shrugs, "What can I say? I'm soft."

Loki doesn't remember the last time he's laughed this hard.

#loki #sigyn #mcu #logyn #more implied than anything #this thing has been sitting in my drafts for a week and a half

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narrans · 3 years

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A Tall and Small Collection | Soren | Revelation

Soren calmed his breathing as his heart pounded in his chest. It wasn’t just a nervousness that wracked his body – it was an excitement. The water training had gone better than any of them, Ashlynn and his younger brothers, expected. In fact, they were putting it to the test now.

Ashlynn had removed the soft cast completely and, though it was still achy, the once injured Borrower could now stand on both legs without aid. It was a tremendous success, but they were far from done.

Soren had an itch – a running itch. The eldest Borrower had been confined for so long, hindered by his injury, that the prospect of running, even slowly, was too tempting to pass up; and that was where he was now. Dorian and Rey stood as the finish line marker across the room. They were just as anxious and giddy as their older brother – arguably more than him if Soren was being honest with himself.

Time slowed as he exhaled nervously. The tingling in his fingers and leg sent chills through his body. He was a spring ready to be released. Soren remembered how fast he used to be – how quick he could dart from one end of the room to the other. Silently, he hoped he could achieve that once again. He watched with bated breath as both Dorian and Rey raised their hands.

“Ready? Set? GO!” they cried out in unison. Soren’s body tensed as he lunged forward. The ache in his leg became a burning pain quickly, but he pushed through the sensation traveling through his leg. He winced involuntarily after the first three steps, but that was all. He pushed his legs, willing them to go faster with each step – and, temporarily, they did.

The air rushed through Soren’s messily tossed hair. Air filled his lungs and, as he ran, he couldn’t help but remember the draw on his instincts to run for cover. He darted for a spot under the bed, imagining the old days of sprinting for the protection of his life.

The oldest Borrower crossed the finish line without even realizing it. Dorian and Rey cheered and chased after him, tackling him to the ground the moment he slowed and spun around just under Ashlynn’s bed to face them. For the first time in a long time, the trio of brothers laughed. Really laughed.

While Soren pulled them tight and they held him close, they simply laughed at what they had just witnessed. Excitement. Joy. Pride. Disbelief. All of it. Like a burdenous weight lifted from their chests, Soren smiled and ruffled his brothers’ sandy blonde hair. They beamed at him, the light finally returning to their blue eyes. Finally, things felt normal.

That is… until Ashlynn opened the door to her room and came into the bedroom.

She shut the door behind her quickly. Something that looked like a hard plastic container that she explained was for food “to-go” was in their human counterpart’s hands.

“Soren?” she called quietly. She locked the door behind her. There was a faint tremor to her voice that Soren hadn’t heard. Immediately, he knew something was horribly wrong. Dorian and Rey, picking up Soren’s sunned demeanor, quieted as Soren smiled reassuringly at them, untangled himself from their grasp, and stepped out into the open.

“Here Ashlynn!” he called. Their eyes met. Now he knew there was definitely something wrong. She took two long strides toward him and knelt with the container. The brisk approach was still a bit jarring and unnerving for the four-and-a-half-inch person, but it no longer created an involuntary jump as he reached Ashlynn. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

Ashlynn’s jaw clenched as she held out her hand for him to climb onto. Now Soren was nervous. Apprehension settled just above his diaphragm, creating an uneasy flutter. “I need your help,” was all she said. The now suspicious Borrower stepped onto Ashlynn’s open palm which trembled slightly.

“Just tell me what’s going on,” said Soren reassuringly as Ashlynn brought him up to see the top of the box, which she hadn’t opened.

“He’s… he’s really hurt…” Those three bone chilling words were enough to make Soren’s head spin.

“He? One of us?” asked Soren as he felt his heart sink and triple in pace.

“Yeah…?” muttered Ashlynn. “The kid I’m watching today, right now actually… he thinks this guy is a doll – a toy. I’m not giving him back, but there’s no way I can fix all of these injuries right now and definitely not on my own. I… Soren… this is really bad. I don’t want to rope you in, but I don’t think I can save him on my own. Please.”

Ashlynn had gone above and beyond for him and his brothers. Soren remembered what condition he was in and could only imagine what this other Borrower looked like if Ashlynn was this unnerved. All of these things plus helping a fellow Borrower culminated in only one obvious answer.

“Of course, but I don’t know much about first aid. I’ll help where I can,” agreed Soren. Ashlynn nodded with a nervous glance to Soren and to the lid of the box. She stood carefully and brought him to a small standing desk in the corner of the room. She set down Soren before taking a shaky breath, opening the box, and setting it in front of Soren.

“Just… prepare yourself, okay?” she prefaced as Soren approached.

“Yeah, sure thing.” Soren braced himself, noticing Ashlynn’s nod and nervous glances, as he approached the figure in the box. Instantly, Soren felt a torrent hurricane of emotions: disgust and gut-wrenching nausea at the injuries; worried that he could do nothing; pure, unadulterated hatred; an almost sense of poetic justice. Soren hated he felt all of these things, but he couldn’t stop feeling them as he looked at the round, squarish features of the blonde-haired Borrower.

The Borrower was Brady.

Continue

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~Prompts Welcome~

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bup1957 · 3 years

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jonnie! I know youve written kent for QUITE a while now (hello again xoxo) so, a question for you, hun. I want you to recall those passions for kent and tell me what about him is so special to you. what do you resonate with? what do you feel when you look at your muse? what's kept you with them all this time? don't be afraid to pour your heart out, that's the goal. *holds mic to u*

HIII HELLO HELLO MONI <3 I always find myself like a deer in headlights when I get asked this question (but in a good way, if that's at all possible). It can be difficult for me to articulate at length exactly what it is that makes Kent appeal to me with such intensity. He is by far my favorite character ever, beating out the likes of characters with far more development, history, and backstory that I'm also very fond of. My love of Kent Mansley is very much instinctual, I think. I do recount quite often the genesis of my petite obsession, and now is one such occasion. The players: me, 15 and freshly on the other side of a tween weaboo phase; one rented copy (from Netflix, back when people still used the DVD service en masse) of the Iron Giant. The scene: a rewatch of a film I was too scared to complete as a child because of the villain I now come to call my poor little meow meow above all other poor little meow meows. It was like Cupid struck me with an arrow, honestly. I decided on a rewatch because of the Giant... And came out the other side with a fierce passion for a man most everyone rightfully hates. It's a rush of several feelings that hit me whenever I muse upon The Muse. I get giddy, most of all. I love his stupid little face and his aggravating posturing and his completely unearned ego. I'd put up my dukes if faced with him in real life but draw him [CENSORED] all the time. He's a rat bastard but he's my rat bastard. I think in the end that's what kept me coming back. In all my (Jesus Tap-Dancing Christ) eight years of writing him, off and on and off and on, only one other person's made a blog for him... And (sadly) they vanished quickly soon after I returned myself. But at the same time, because he is so often overlooked or outright rejected, he very much feels like he is my own character. To the point that I honestly prefer receiving fan art of him than my own characters. He runs almost entirely on headcanons at this point (not for my lack of trying, of course, but the Iron Giant is a film that does not need an effusive backstory for its characters) and yet I've been told time and time again he smacks distinctly of his movie counterpart. There's something at the core of him I get, apparently, and I think it's that same aspect that has managed to keep me in his orbit, even if it perhaps has decayed a bit since I was first ensnared. All of this to say, in the end, that I don't have an easy answer to this question even all these years later. I look at Kent and I feel like a Tex Avery wolf in ways that go beyond (but don't necessarily exclude wink wonk) horny. It's something bordering on a little primal; like a moth drawn to a flame, like a Florentine artist drawn to their muse.

#[ooc]#[i got very flowery with this one but kent's worth it <3]

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twodaysintojune · 4 years

Text

Arranging Weddings

The Untamed / Mo Dao Zu Shi / The Grandmaster of Diabolic Cultivation

WangXian, background XiCheng, warnings - None

Find me at AO3

It had not even been a month since the passing of Jin GuangYao and Lan XiChen was not feeling better at all. If things kept on going that way he might head into seclusion soon rather than half ass all of his work like he was doing right now. He was never feeling like doing anything and right now he was feeling it even less since he had to stand his uncle's outrage for the eleventh time at nine in the morning.

"... Anything could happen to WangJi at any moment and we don't even know where they are right now! The inconceivable, utter disrespect to the most basic premises of morality! He did not only stick his cut-sleeveness on my WangJi but he also… he also forced him to elope! Just like that! Can you believe it XiChen!? The shame he has forced on our Sect by dropping off the last sense of decency by not getting married!???"

Lan XiChen wondered for a moment if it was wise to remind his own uncle of rule number seventy five on the wall of rules: "Causing Noise is Prohibited" to satisfy his own pettiness or if his uncle was in need of another cup of tea before any kind of smart backlash when both men heard a coughing coming up from the exterior of the room.

Lan XiChen beamed as much as his proper upbringing could allow. Standing still and quite elegantly poised, like the Sect Leader he was, was Jiang WanYin.

"Sect Leader Jiang! What a pleasant surprise! We didn't expect you until…" Lan XiChen turned to look at the hour and realized his own mistake of letting his uncle rant for literal hours now "oh, Oh. Please forgive me, Sect Leader Jiang. I have failed to properly receive you at the appointed hour."

"Please, no need to apologize, Sect Leader Lan, Master Lan Qiren." Jiang WanYin bowed to both men as appropriate to the occasion "I would have waited without a problem for you but I must admit your conversation got me quite intrigued. Is master Lan Quiren implying that he wouldn't have that much of an issue with a pair of cut-sleeve relationship were they properly married?"

Lan Qiren scoffed. "I admit that would be a great start."

Jiang WanYin's smile widened wildly for just a glimpse in a way that reminded Lan XiChen of those moments he knew he had the winning hand during the few times they fought together at the Sunshot Campaign. A thing that made him excitedly anticipate the great Sandu Shengshou's upcoming actions.

"I am quite relieved to hear of this. If that is the case, Master Lan Qiren, there's a proposal I would like, no, I would love to discuss with you."

---

Wei Wuxian was somehow splayed on top of Little Apple, looking at the increasingly brightening sky while Lan WangJi was pulling the reins, walking towards the closest city after being travelling through the mountainside a couple of days.

"Ahahahaha oh Lan Zhan, my Lan Zhan, did you really see that grave digger's face when all the corpses around him began to rise? Ahahahaha~"

Lan WangJi smiled warmly at his husband's figure. How could he deny him of such pleasures when they brought him so much happiness? Especially when it meant they were doing good. Keeping the spirits to their proper rest.

When they arrived at the city, the place was bustling with energy despite being so early in the morning but it was not the usual one from a large place like this, there was some sort of effervescence and giddiness in the way everyone behaved that both men felt was just a tad bit too excited.

Being a naturally curious person, Wei Wuxian asked the nearest steamed buns stall owner.

"Excuse me, Ma'am" he took a couple of buns while Lan WangJi was already taking out the money to pay. "Can you tell us what is going on that the city is so excited about?"

"Oh my boy! Haven't you heard!?" Said the owner, almost jumping on her heels as if she had just been waiting for someone to ask "The leaders of the Lan and the Jiang sects are getting married!"

Wei Wuxian paled and felt like he had suddenly become a walking corpse while he heard a couple of coins dropping to the floor by his side. He forced a smile on his face.

"Surely that's… that's not right? Is it not, maybe, a pair of disciples?"

"Oh, no, no, no. If it was that they wouldn't be announcing it to the whole world, would they? Just look at the announcements board at the plaza! If you can't trust this old hag, then you can surely trust an official document."

Wei Wuxian somehow brought up a more charming smile "My dear lady, I could never not trust someone that has so much more experience that I can ever dream of"

The old lady cackled while receiving the coins Lan WangJi had picked up again "oh my, you're such a flirt. Here, have another bun for the ride."

Wei Wuxian thanked her and turned around with his mouth open only to see that his man was well beyond him, already walking towards the plaza. He ran towards him and reached the board.

There, in the middle of it all, was a very official looking paper with celebratory imagery surrounding the edges of the announcement.

"It is with great pleasure to announce that the leaders of the Jiang and the Lan sects are organising a wedding to be held in Lotus Pier during the auspicious upcoming new moon of the month of Xin Si at sunset where they expect to celebrate a wedding that will tighten up the relations between both regions of Gusu and Yunmeng. All blessings for the grooms to wed."

The announcement ended with a beautiful seal that joined both sects imagery, a lotus flower floating over a cloud.

Wei Wuxian read the thing three times before anything made any kind of sense and then one time more.

"The upcoming moon of… oh heavens, Lan Zhan. That is in eight days!!! This is… We cannot stay here! We have to stop this nonsense wedding!"

Lan WangJi was looking at his soulmate with a stern glare that was completely agreeing with Wei Wuxian's exclamation.

"Mn."

Soon enough, they were running to the stable where they had left Little Apple and began their journey towards Wei Wuxian's old home.

---

The day arrived, the whole city of Yunmeng was dressed for the celebration, people wandering excitedly throughout the streets, waiting for the announcement that the marriage was completed. Inside of Lotus Pier, two fine figures in relatively simple red robes were alone, kneeling already at the ancient hall, just waiting for the exact hour. A red veil covering the head of one of them.

"After knowing you through all these years and battles, I have to be honest and say that I know I shouldn't, but I am still impressed about your boldness. Sect Leader Jiang."

Jiang WanYin laughed "Turns out I'm not only good at slashing things, eh?" He winked at the elegant face behind the veil. "Also please call me Jiang WanYin, I hope we're well past certain formalities after this."

The veiled man snickered "Very well, then please do call me Lan XiChen. I'd feel quite saddened if you felt there was any need for formalities with me as well, Jiang WanYin."

Jiang WanYin smiled brightly at the man by his side.

A couple of minutes passed when Lan XiChen began to fidget.

"Are you sure they will come?"

"Oh trust me, I don't know about your HanGuang-Jun but Wei Wuxian will definitely be here. And if he is here…"

"Then WangJi is going to be here as well."

Jiang WanYin nodded in agreement. As if they had summoned the chaotic couple, they heard a commotion starting on the Swords Hall.

"It's the Yiling Patriarch and HanGuang-Jun!"

"Somebody stop them!"

Both men heard the sounds of blades and general fighting getting nearer at each second, sometimes yells of pain.

"Will your disciples be alright, Jiang WanYin?"

"Are you kidding me? They were ecstatic when I told them they would be able to test their skills against the Second Jade of Gusu-Lan. Not that they're anywhere near him but that will help them assess their own strengths."

Lan XiChen snickered. Soon enough, the commotion was right behind them and suddenly the doors of the Ancient Hall burst open and in came Wei Wuxian and Lan WangJi.

"JIANG CHENG!"

"XIONGZHANG!"

The pair in red stood up from their kneeling position and turned to look at the newcomers.

"Ah, my dear WangJi! How auspicious that you managed to arrive in time!"

"Yeah, we would have had a real problem if you didn't show up."

The couple at the doors looked at each other in shock and then glared at their counterparts while approaching them. Wei Wuxian fisted Jiang Cheng's robes and pulled him forward while Lan WangJi almost fell on Lan XiChen's arms, almost imperceptibly glazed eyes.

"Can you tell me what sort of nonsense this is!?"

"Xiongzhang, please!"

Both men in red gave their brothers a smile, albeit one would have been considered saintly while the other devilish. Suddenly, the doors of the Ancient Hall closed once more, startling Wei Wuxian and Lan WangJi. They turned around and saw, appalled some very well known faces.

"HanGuang-Jun, Senior Wei, I'm really glad to see you're well."

"I mean, not like we actually cared but…"

"Oh, don't be a liar! You're the one who wanted to see Senior Wei the most!"

"Can we get going with this? We'll be late for the banquet at this rate."

Before he was able to completely understand what the junior quarter was doing there, Lan WangJi heard his brother.

"Please forgive me WangJi, we cannot afford more stalling, you are indeed a little bit late."

And just like that, he clearly sensed how his spiritual energy was blocked by his own brother's hand.

"Alright, you can take him, Jiang WanYin."

"Gotcha!" Exclaimed the man while leaning forward and carrying a very startled Wei Wuxian like a potato sack and jumping through the threshold that the juniors had opened once more, disappearing through the hallways.

"W… Wait a second! What are you doing!? Lan Zhan! LAN ZHAN SAVE ME!!!"

"WEI YING!!!"

Lan WangJi did his best to get away from his brother's grasp while the frantic screams of his lover moved away from them but it was impossible without his spiritual energy. He turned to look at his brother, a pair of tears menacing to roll over his cheek.

"Now, now, don't look like that, let's go get you changed and refreshed, you'll be able to see him soon."

Unable to do much more, he allowed himself to be guided through another hall towards a guestroom with a sigh, shoulders slightly falling.

"Tche, what's all the drama for? It's not like they're gonna be apart forever."

"Look who's talking, Mistress."

"You-!"

"Please guys, let's not do this right now."

"Yes! A wedding is a very important occasion!"

Chided by his brother, Lan WangJi took a quick bath and began to dress himself in layers of increasingly dark blue without paying too much attention but stopped when he finally noticed the outer garment his brother, now properly dressed with his best silver and light blue robes, was providing. He had in his hands a deep red robe accented with dark blue and silver embroidery reminiscing of clouds around the edges that was to be matched with a dark blue, almost black sash. He looked at the clearly elegant garment in awe and then turned to look at Lan XiChen.

"Xiongzhang, this…"

Lan XiChen gave him a soft smile, already holding a comb. "Come on, dress up, let your big brother do your hair."

Lan WangJi's eyes widened up in comprehension. He felt his ears burn when he finished dressing himself and sat down.

"Xiongzhang, I'm sorry. I thought, we thought…"

Lan XiChen let out a soft chuckle.

"We know." Lan XiChen began to brush softly WangJi's hair.

Both men got lost in the process of brushing and hairstyling, reminiscing childhood days where the older man took care of the younger in the same way. Lan XiChen sighed while pulling up the hair for the bun after being done with the brushing.

"You know WangJi, I'm really glad I'm able to be here for you today."

Lan WangJi frowned. "Xiongzhang?"

It was barely a whisper but that didn't stop Lan XiChen to feel the worry.

"I'm going into seclusion WangJi… Don't move, you'll ruin the bun…" Lan XiChen sighed once more "Maybe one of the reasons I agreed to this mad scheme was precisely because I did not want to miss this particular day and knowing how erratic your movements can be I was not sure if I was going to be here otherwise."

Lan WangJi looked downwards, faintly blushing, feeling his brother fix the decorative pins.

"Which is why I also wanted to tell you…" Lan XiChen grabbed Lan WangJi's forehead band,and began to arrange it on the hairstyle he had fixed, oddly out of place in the middle of so much red and dark blue. "That I don't really have much to tell you about the importance of treasuring your soulmate, since I saw you learn that lesson yourself." Lan WangJi saw a tear trailing down his brother's cheek through the mirror. "...But I can tell you that I am happy for you. And no matter where you go from now on, I hope your travels bring you nothing more than bliss and joy. And that I support you, today and tomorrow and all the years to come."

Lan WangJi felt a knot on his throat.

"There, it's done. Let's go back to the Ancient Hall. I'm sure your future husband is there already."

Lan WangJi stood up and turned to look at his brother. Lan XiChen smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Ready?"

Lan WangJi looked at his brother for a second and threw himself at him with a hug. Lan XiChen hugged him back a little startled and felt more than heard his little brother's soft sniffle. He hugged him tighter.

"I love you too."

---

Lan WangJi walked inside the Hall once more. He was shocked when he saw his uncle standing there as well. Feeling overwhelmed, he walked towards him and bowed. The old man scoffed and shooed him towards the altar. Lan WangJi nodded and turned towards the center of the room.

The perfect figure of his husband to be was already kneeling in front of the altar, not slouched or slant but immaculately poised. Bright red gown speckled with gold and lavender motifs of lotus flowers in both the sash and the veil. His face was barely visible but his body showed he was clearly moved. He knelt down by his side.

"Wei Ying"

His voice had been but a breath but Wei Wuxian had heard him alright. He turned towards him with the brightest smile.

"Look at this Lan Zhan," he whispered "We're finally in front of them… Do you… do you think shijie would have given us her blessing? And Uncle Jiang? And Madam Yu?"

Lan WangJi gave him the softest smile yet.

"Mn."

Wei Wuxian took in a deep breath. Clearly trying to restrain the tears that were already rolling through his face and nodded. Unable to say a thing, very unlike his usual character.

The ceremony went incredibly fast after that. Both Jiang WanYin and Lan XiChen said a couple of words as the ones preceding the ceremony, Jiang WanYin dressed in proper purple, navy and gold robes. The grooms exchanged bows, too short and surprisingly not embarrassing from Wei Wuxian, too long and incredibly bold from Lan WangJi, and then prostrated three times as per the tradition.

The juniors, the ones acting as witnesses standing behind were all tearing by the end. Jin Ling had been the first to be noticed but Lan JingYi's teasing was not really effective since he was crying as well.

The banquet had been a success. The entire city was celebrating the newlyweds after all so the noise and celebration was everywhere. Around nine, the newlyweds finally bid their goodnight and stepped away from the hall in the middle of catcalling and whistles that Wei Wuxian encouraged, absolutely elated after three bottles of wine. Being carried bridal style by his now very official husband.

The following day they were caught by the juniors before they could run away on Little Apple once more and received a thorough scorn from Jin Ling who screamed at them something about being already married and not seeing the point of acting like a pair of runaway, wanted criminals anyway and that Wei Wuxian better go see him at LanLing or else he would definitely hunt him.

Meanwhile, Jiang WanYin was supervising that not a place had been left uncleaned, with Lan XiChen by his side.

"Are you sure you're not gonna say goodbye?"

"If I say goodbye now, Wei Wuxian won't need to come back later." Jiang WanYin said matter of factly "What about you? I don't see you at the backdoor of Lotus Pier right now."

"I already said all that I needed. Now I feel like I can finally go into seclusion."

Jiang WanYin eyed his counterpart carefully and scoffed.

"You don't approve of that."

"Obviously Not. You're saying it like you're about to die."

Lan XiChen laughed tiredly.

"You're being dramatic."

"All I'm saying is that this seclusion thing is not going to work for you at all. If you don't come out of your personal coffin after a year I'll come raise you from the dead."

Lan XiChen gave out a tired scoff but said nothing more about it. After all, there was no way Jiang WanYin would know him better than himself.

"I'll take that as your permission."

Finished the man by his side, ending the conversation.

Both leaders kept on supervising the cleansing of the whole Lotus Pier and making sure it went back to its usual state while, on another side, a figure in black mounted on a donkey waved goodbye to a bunch of sniffling teenagers while a figure in white pulled softly the donkey's reins.

#wangxian #xicheng #wei wuxian #lan wangji #jiang cheng #lan xichen #fake wedding #mdzs fanfic

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calitraditionalism · 3 years

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Arc Two: Chapter Three

(AO3 counterpart here.)

Mistface was jolted awake the next morning by a yowl of excitement. His face scrunched unpleasantly in irritation as loud chatter rose up just outside the entrance of the den he was in and battered his ears. He refused to get up. The nests in the houses were made of odd, soft material that smelled very alien, but were unarguably comfortable and kept in warmth beautifully. Even with the stone of the houses chilling their innards, Mistface was quite cozy.

But, alas, the commotion was continuing, and Mistface knew he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. He scowled, stubbornly keeping his eyes closed.

“Oh.” He heard Laurelclaw shift and get to his feet nearby. “New cats, it looks like. Well, maybe. Beetlefoot, are they new?”

“They are.” Beetlefoot was just as annoyed as Mistface, but significantly more awake. “And clearly very eager to be here.”

“Awful early to be yellin’ like that,” Mistface muttered into his nest.

“This is hardly early, the sun’s out.” Beetlefoot marched past him. “Where’s Greyleaf? He was here last night.”

“Went to talk to Redheart.” That was Darkpelt. She shifted and rose too. “Up with you, Mistface. We need to greet the newcomers.”

Mistface reduced the sigh he wanted to make into a slightly deep exhale and slowly got up. He shook out his thick fur out of habit, even though there weren’t any bits of grass or twigs to get stuck in it overnight. That was a rare luxury.

Beetlefoot was already standing outside, waiting for the other three to join him. Past him, a group of nearly ten cats walked together, some casually looking around at the Clast members or their homes, some chatting with each other.

It was very obvious who had yowled – a red-and-white tom was almost bouncing as he trotted along, blue eyes wide. He looked back at his companions with a wide grin.

“So now we get to meet this rebel deputy!” he said, with all the giddiness of a hyperactive apprentice getting to hunt their biggest prey yet.

A cat behind him had the exhaustion of the mentor of that apprentice, especially after chasing after them all day. “I still think you’re crazy. No one’s stupid enough to just declare themselves a rebel where the leaders can hear them.”

“And no one has.”

Every cat jolted to attention as Redheart emerged from the loosely gathered cats that had come to see the loud newcomers. Head high and eyes a little tired, she came to a stop in front of the patched tom and gave him a slow, single nod.

“You’ve come because of the rumors,” she said.

The tom wilted a bit under her gaze, but he kept up his merry attitude. “We all had to see if they were true. Cats leaving the Territory sounds really exciting.”

“You’re here just in time.” Redheart turned around. “I was about to make a morning speech.”

The Clast natives and the visitors slowly began to follow her towards a strange, small structure. It was like the houses, in that it was made of many rocks evenly spaced and neatly piled together, but it was round and short enough for Redheart to jump on and seat herself. Mistface guessed from how she was perched and the fact that her tail had disappeared that it was like a circular wall of some kind. Above it was rotting, flat wood angled upwards. It was impossible to say what it was originally for, but it served as a position for an authority figure to announce things from well enough.

Once everyone was sitting, or at least standing still, Redheart raised her chin and began.

“I wish to formally welcome everyone who has arrived here,” she said. “I’m very pleased to see that there is still curiosity and courage in this Clan, and that you have come for answers and a possible test of your worth as a warrior. I’ll say it now – yes, it is true that I have intentions of leaving the Territory. Before any of you leave or lose interest in this idea, I want to pose a few thoughts and questions for you to consider to yourself and with your companions.”

She paused and drew a breath. As she did, Mistface’s roaming eye caught his brother sitting in the shade of the structure, blending in with the stone around him. His expression was serious, but it was impossible to deduce what he was thinking. Mistface did not like this new pattern of not knowing his brother’s mind when it mattered most.

Redheart continued. “Our lives are easy here – too easy. Apprentices learn the most basic of skills before being named, never needing to achieve anything more than a swipe and a pounce, and we hardly even think about our elders’ needs when food walk in front of our noses, leaving them to hunt for themselves. Healers – you all know this – healers are treated with disdain for pursuing what we think of as a pointless role with a set of unnecessary skills. We speak scornfully of kittypets and their cushy lifestyles, but look at us. We grow fat and lazy, and we become fatter and lazier by the day. When was the last time any of us had to actually work for what we wanted, even for a brief moment? Kittypets are imprisoned by their masters, those creatures we call ‘humans’, and claim to be free. Meanwhile, we have the audacity to think of ourselves as so much better, but we don’t dare leave our borders of this Territory for fear of what lies beyond our oversized nursery den. Even the Plage and seers traveling to the Lighthouse to speak with our ancestors – even they don’t step off of the well-worn paths they’ve walked for generations.”

The gathered cats exchanged whispers and troubled looks. Mistface narrowed his eyes, but he was careful to say nothing to his neighbors, just watched Redheart as she regarded the cats below her. She spoke with a clear, controlled voice, and it was obvious she had practiced this speech a few times, but he couldn’t detect any obvious lies in her words. Actually, he realized disconcertedly, she wasn’t entirely wrong.

“We are hardly warriors anymore.” Redheart’s voice was strangely grave. “We do not fight for our loved ones, or hunt with any skill, or mark our borders. Our forefathers were warriors. They knew what it was to stand on their own feet and earn what they wanted and needed. Back then, being part of a Clan meant something. What does it mean now? What truly separates us from kittypets and well-fed loners, on the most basic of levels?”

She was met with silence this time. An uneasy air shifted through the crowd.

It was hard to tell if she was satisfied with this. She simply concluded, “I want you all to think about that. Speak to each other. Start a discussion with your neighbors. Question what you think you know. And when the time comes, I hope that I will find you ready to come with me – ready to really be a warrior.”

With that, she stood up, moved around the wall’s edge, and jumped down smoothly where Greyleaf was sitting. He got to his feet and followed her closely as she parted the cats in her way.

Discussion did indeed start after that speech. It almost erupted, in fact; voices rang through the clearing as soon as she left her podium and cats quickly faced each other with shocked expressions, eager to dissect what they had just heard.

“I didn’t think it could’ve possibly been true,” a cat near Mistface remarked, almost in awe. “She’s got some stones to even suggest that!”

“I never really gave much thought to any of this,” his neighbor replied, sounding just as amazed. “She might have a point. An insane point, you know, but it is a point.”

Mistface restrained from making a face and looked to his right. Darkpelt was close by, looking deep in thought. He made his way over to her, thankful that she had settled a little ways apart from the bulk of the audience.

“So we know for sure what she’s doin’,” he murmured, standing next to her and watching where his brother had gone.

Darkpelt twitched her jaw forward and nodded. “Real interesting idea, isn’t it?”

Mistface realized quickly that she was pretending to be considering the option to leave for the sake of the cats around her. He shifted his face to mimic her contemplation. “Indeed. Dunno if I’d take that kinda life over one in here.”

Darkpelt hummed and stood up. “It’d be fun to see how we do, at least.”

Before Mistface could respond, she slightly leaned into him. From where she was, her mouth was right next to his ear without her having to turn her head.

“Look busy,” she whispered. “I’m going to take a walk.”

Mistface wasn’t sure what that was code for, but he nodded and said aloud, “I’ll see what Beetlefoot thinks.”

The two split up. Darkpelt walked away until she was a whisker-length from the nearest house and slunk off around its corner. She did not appear to be noticed by anyone. Mistface melted back into the now moving crowd, looking for his other two teammates.

---

Contrary to popular belief, being a blind spy was incredibly useful.

Darkpelt heard the mass of noise behind her quickly fade as she walked along the house. When she felt air at her side, she knew she had passed the stone structure. She could smell that she was still in the camp, and, more importantly, that Redheart had been nearby.

It was quite easy to be stealthy, even out in the open. Cats with sight never seemed to notice what was in front of them. Blindness was also an excellent excuse for when someone did catch her – she could just pretend that she was lost and looking for assistance. They always bought it. It was hilarious.

Now, however, there were no cats around her. From yesterday’s exploration, she gathered that the settlement’s community only spread out towards noon, when the prey-pile ran low and it was time to hunt or find something else to do (which was, true to the stereotype, usually fighting). She had a bit of time before she needed to get back to her novice crew and pretend all was well.

Nose raised, she moved quickly, turning immediately when the scent of the deputy went left or right. She heard soft footsteps and someone settle into a nest, and she stopped just before she bumped into a house. The door was to her left, so she carefully scooted back a little to the right and tucked herself against the wall, ears swiveling to catch the soft conversation inside.

“I mean, I think it went well.” That was Greyleaf. It was a marvel how very unlike he was to his brother, right down to his voice. Mistface had a low, smooth drawl that sounded almost too bored to even be coming out of his mouth; Greyleaf’s voice trembled and sounded significantly younger, like it was scared to make itself heard. “I heard them all when we left. They sound excited and surprised.”

“I hope so.” Redheart was deeper and even as low as it was now, it commanded attention. “I’m worried I scared some cats off.”

“We knew that was a risk.” Greyleaf’s tail swished across the floor. “It’s just the first step. Hopefully, if they do leave, they can tell other cats who might be interested, and we can get more out quicker.”

“It’s going to be a long process no matter what,” Redheart said. “And Snowshine will be eager to cut us off as soon as possible. We have to be careful, especially around her.”

“Yeah…” Greyleaf was still for a moment. Then, quietly, he said, “My mother will be coming with us, right?”

“Of course.” Redheart’s voice turned almost gentle. “Even if we have to carry her out, kicking and screaming, on our backs.”

Greyleaf sighed a short laugh, and the two fell silent. Darkpelt waited a minute to see if they would talk again. When they didn’t, she walked off, careful to make her steps completely silent. Luckily, there were no leaves or grass to stir up noise, so she padded along on the stone back to the noisy clearing.

Darkpelt was happy to not have to measure her distance from the crowd to circle around it and find the team. Laurelclaw was close enough to be heard when he said, “Oh, there she is.”

“Save some prey for me?” she asked casually, heading towards the voice.

“Yeah, actually.” Mistface was laying down, from the position of his voice. “Laurelclaw insisted on gettin’ you a bird.”

“They’re really tasty around here!” Laurelclaw said, like this was something to defend himself over. “They’re not as good on the coast. Very, um… what’s the word… salty.”

“Saltiness is disgusting.” Beetlefoot was the furthest away, but he was definitely close enough to overhear a quiet conversation. “I don’t know how you tolerate it.”

“Happens when you grow up flopping around in the ocean,” Darkpelt replied breezily. She sniffed out the bird and pulled it close to her. “Thanks, big guy. I do like the birds in this part of the valley.”

Laurelclaw somehow emanated delight enough that she could feel it from here. “Happy to help.”

“Find out anything?” Mistface muttered. He was across from Darkpelt.

Darkpelt sat down closer, and she felt the other two toms join her. In a low voice, she said, “Snowshine is a cat of interest. From what Redheart said, she’s going to be heavily opposed to whatever the extent of their plan is. Mistface, I think you can find her and talk to her. I need to keep on the downlow.”

“If I must,” said Mistface, not sounding nearly as badgered about it as he was probably trying to. “What else?”

“This plan is long-term,” Darkpelt went on. A cat walked past, and she waited for them to be gone before continuing. “They sound like they want to get as many cats out as possible. StarClan knows why. I’m suspecting they might make return trips to get more members of their little group.”

“That’s not good,” Laurelclaw whispered. “Should we send a message to the leaders?”

“Not quite yet.” Darkpelt could smell Beetlefoot near her and looked in his direction. “I want us to get some information out of this Snowshine first. You, boyo, are going to watch the perimeter and see when it’s least occupied. That’ll be your prime time to speak with the patrol.”

Beetlefoot, surprisingly, simply harrumphed an affirmative. Something meaty made a peeling sound; she figured he was eating his prey.

“What do you want me to do?” Laurelclaw had a tone like he was anxious about not being helpful.

“Keep me within your eyesight,” Darkpelt said. “I’m a hapless blind molly and I’ll probably bump into lots of cats. Might start a fight on accident, yadda yadda, you know how it goes. You need to watch me and help me out when I get particularly lost and clumsy.” She turned to him and winked. “A big cat around these parts is a good meat shield.”

“I can do that.” It was funny how earnestly upbeat he was about being assigned to such a useless task. “Maybe that’ll keep me from having to fight anyone!”

“You will have to tussle at some point, Laurelclaw,” Mistface said. “We’ll be gettin’ questions if you don’t.”

Laurelclaw sighed with such melancholy that Darkpelt laughed out loud, to which he responded with a sheepish chuckle. With that, everyone returned to their prey. Nothing more was said for the rest of the meal.

#warrior cats #steorra #arc two #chapter #chapter three #dullard #redheart #greyleaf #mistface #laurelclaw #darkpelt #beetlefoot

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beyondthetemples-ooc · 3 years

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Things I find myself wondering: (For anyone stumbling upon this post via tags, I’m still in the middle of reading Harrow the Ninth.) (Update: I WAS in the middle of reading it when I posted this, and I have since finished reading HtN! Several times in fact, and I’m still not sure any of these were answered...)

- (frequently) Is anything we’re learning about Harrowhark in this book applicable to her life with Gideon? To the “dead” Harrowhark? Her studies? Her hallucinations? Her parents? If she and Gideon were always “in each other’s pocket”, how much TIME did they spend together? Clearly Harrow must have still had time to work on her necromancy skills, but how MUCH?

- can harrow laugh. (I imagine it would sound warbling, strangled. Maybe like a squawk. Like me when amusement catches me off-guard. Like a flexion of muscles that barely know how to handle so much air and constriction suddenly being set upon them, coupled with a depressive mind that trips over itself trying to process Feeling Giddy.)

- Was... Ortus working on a poem like that in GtN’s timeline? How much time did he dedicate to that one?

- Palamedes being a spirit worker and also trained in anatomy to a medical level intrigues me to no end. Like, as someone who has... not quite “studied”, that’s a term of far too much dedication and honor. I’ve “studied” meditation. I’ve “studied” animal anatomy. I’ve “studied” Latin. What I did with real-world necromancy is more like a cursory glance over what people want to accomplish with it, learned how to defend myself from ghosts during the Samhain season, and then shed the attention to such things like the midmorning grass sheds dew.

I guess the fascination should extend to Mercymorn too. I just have zero desire to think about her with anything even remotely close to fascination.

Then again, there are real-world witches in the medical field (not all modern witches eschew modern science, you know-- I’m among them). It’s probably not all that far-fetched, and there are several schools of thought that teach the spirit body to be a reflected counterpart to the physical body, wherein they are connected and affect each other. I wonder if that comes into play for him?

It’s really the intersection of the disciplines that fascinates me. I don’t know enough to know where they intersect. And with what Palamedes accomplished in HtN, I’m curious how much of his spirit work had any sort of interaction with his anatomical studies and medical treatment knowledge.

- How much can spirit work affect the River, exactly? This one’s very abstract, I know.

As an aside, I’m thinking about how Palamedes and Harrow always seemed a bit like kindred souls to me, even if only on the most cursory of curiosity levels. Scholarly, pushing the boundaries of what is known to be possible, greedily reaching beyond the known horizons to discover something new. Thirsty for knowledge and readily applying it to their practice. It’s almost artful in their pursuit of science. I don’t know, I liked that dynamic.

#htn spoilers #harrow the ninth spoilers #rhs tlt #the locked tomb

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frostbitten-written · 3 years

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"Indie Mangrove," he hummed, tasting each soft syllable on his tongue, feeling them spill easily from his lips. As sweet as her smile. "The pleasure is all mine."

And he meant it. He may not yet know her motivations for desiring to continue their conversation, but he did not sense any malice or ill will radiating from her petite being.

"Thank you," she repeated again quietly, "for the drink."

“Someone ordered me a drink earlier tonight,” she motioned to the bloke sitting a few seats away from them. “Not my type,” she whispered playfully before sipping the cocktail. The drink wasn’t too sweet or tart, and it was quite fragrant. “Honestly, I didn’t like how he was looking at me,” she mumbled to no one in particular.

The mumbled words did not go unheard. Loki swiftly moved to stand in between Indie and the aforementioned fool who made her feel uncomfortable. There was no reason for her to suffer discomfort when it could be solved with such little effort on his part. Muttered curses from the slimy git at his broad back proved him incredibly unpleasant and ill-suited for the beauty before him.

"You are most welcome. It's a simple gesture to hopefully make amends for my temporary bout of distraction."

Her boldness fought its way to the surface yet again when she playfully eyed him and reached for his drink instead. “And next time, I’ll have what you’re having, mister.” She winked before sipping his drink and sliding it back over to him. She always loved a nice glass of whiskey. It went down like fire but settled like honey.

Bold. Appreciation for the spark glinting in her eyes crinkled around his emerald counterpart. He hadn't expected the action from her and as she was not a threat, it excited him. Whether that sip of whiskey was a challenge or a threat, he is keen to find out. Long fingers curled around the glass and raised it in a silent toast before finishing the glass.

"Next time," he paused to drag his eyes down to her mouth and back again to her eyes, "we'll put that to the test." His finger traced the edge of his upper lip once the smudged glass met faded wood, concealing part of his smile. Never did he look away from her warm gaze.

“Now, enough about me, unless you have any questions then feel free to ask, but tell me about you?” She looked at him expectantly, a twinkle of curiosity in her eyes.

Before any response could be given, she launched into a series of questions, each more earnestly and distractedly given as the last. Her rambling was charming--hardly worth an apology. The ease she finds in speaking to him is as endearing as it is disarming.

His hand lifts from his face to smooth down his chest, straightening his impeccable tie unnecessarily. Propping an elbow up on the bar, he ticked off his answers to her rapid-fire inquiries. "I know how to dance, but I've found the pleasure in dancing is typically dependent on my partner and the location. I have an extensive personal library and have read almost the entirety of the royal library on Asgard. I would be interested in learning of what you write, and maybe reading a sample if you'll allow it. There is no need to slap yourself simply because you did not allow me to answer your questions; I will make myself heard one way or another," he winked. "It's lovely. You are hardly annoying, Indie."

This giggly, glowing mortal was so unlike the others he'd encountered in similar establishments. She stood out from the rest and he felt drawn to her. In a more appropriate setting for conversation, he could imagine himself listening to her rambling for hours. Instead he leaned closer to her until he could feel the heat radiating from her skin, judging her reaction like a predator to his tempting prey.

"Would you like another drink?" A dip of his chin pointed at her glass. "And I do want to know why you're here this evening. It is late and no one has come to rescue you from me. Typically people do not come to places such as these alone."

-Loki

(I am so giddy! I’m loving this!)

"I know how to dance, but I've found the pleasure in dancing is typically dependent on my partner and the location. I have an extensive personal library and have read almost the entirety of the royal library on Asgard. I would be interested in learning of what you write, and maybe reading a sample if you'll allow it. There is no need to slap yourself simply because you did not allow me to answer your questions; I will make myself heard one way or another," he winked. "It's lovely. You are hardly annoying, Indie."

She listened in wonderment as he spoke, sipping her drink occasionally. She liked his style and she was really starting to like him. “Oh, royal library…? Wow… I can imagine that must be extensive… That must have taken you forever to get through… Huh? Wait, you’ve read books from a royal library, yet you would voluntarily read my work?” She was in disbelief. That’s high praise in and of itself. She bit her lip and looked away; she could feel her cheeks light up like a furnace. He was perfect. How a man like him ended up in a place like this, she still couldn’t fathom! Better yet, how she managed to hold his attention, was beyond her!

She chuckled sheepishly, letting out a breath before smiling. “Sure, one more drink. That’s it. I may talk a big game with drinks, but I’m a lightweight; I’ll admit it.” That probably wasn’t the best idea, admitting that to a stranger, but as far as a judge of character goes, he was a decent person. He hasn’t given her a reason to distrust him.

She paid close attention to his words and felt her heart hurt when he talked down on himself. She fixed her seating and moved closer to him, pushing herself forward to look directly at him. Despite being tipsy, she could still be assertive and intimidating… even if he was the one looking down at her and not the other way around. That wouldn’t stop her from confronting him. “Wait, no, that’s not right. Why would I need rescuing from you? You’ve been fine company thus far.” She playfully poked his chest as she admonished him and made eye contact.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, mister. You’re lovely company.” She offered a warm smile, hoping he’d do the same. She’d love to see him with a full grin. With the small smile he’s hiding, she could only imagine how spectacular he’d look teeth and all.

“I’ll admit, I’m not here alone or of my own volition… My friends dragged me out because they wanted me to get drunk and have fun. I’m not normally a club girl, but tonight it paid off.” She cocked her head to the side and raised an eyebrow playfully as she looked at him. “And just to be clear, I’m talking about you. You made tonight worth it.” She watched his facial expression, hoping she wasn’t overstepping any boundaries in her friendly endeavours.

“Now what about you? Tell me about yourself. Why are you here? Are you alone or with friends? What are your plans for tonight, Loki?” And do any of them involve me, she dared not ask out loud.

- Indie

#loki anon #loki rp #anon rp #rp #Lokes RP #loki

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countlessrealities · 4 months

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Kisses under the mistletoe

@advnterccs sent: 💏 : my muse kisses your muse under a mistletoe without a warning { To your Rick from my Rick uwu }

If asked, Rick would have said that every romance-related tradition was bullshit. Why the fuck should a symbol or a day or a plant or whatever else in their place push you to show more love than you normally did? It was beyond dumb, for how he saw it. Unless you were talking about a plant or an object or something that secreted substances that worked as aphrodisiacs or "love potions". That was different, that was science. Idiotic rituals sentient beings had come up with during the millennia were not.

Christmas and its mistletoe kisses were, of course, no exception.

Till a bit less than two years ago, the scientist would have died on that hill. No matter what he truly thought, no matter how he truly felt about it, you would have never caught him indulging in such things, not unless it was the easiest way to get in someone's pants. However, in that case, there wouldn't have been anything romantic about it. Just physical lust and arousal.

Meeting and getting involved with his counterpart had changed that, just as it had changed so many aspects of Rick's life. Now gestures he would have never thought to do came natural to him, words he had believed he would have never spoken again, fully meaning them, slipped through his mouth as if they had always been an integral part of his vocabulary. His mind played the very same fantasies he had so often mocked people for having, his heart fluttered so much that it made him feel like a teenager experiencing butterfly in his stomach for the very first time.

It was too much, it was unbearable, it was impossible to control. His emotions took over him so often that he found it almost terrifying. His mind and body seemed to act on their own.

He should have hated it. He should have been displeased, paranoid afraid of it all. And yet, he loved it. How could he have not, when it made everything so thrilling, bright, fulfilling? When it made him so giddy, excited, happy?

He was in love, in a way he had never been before, and when his boyfriend was around everything else stopped mattering. And if that meant being a hypocrite, then he would have proudly accepted that label. To hell with everything and everyone.

And that was why, the moment he spotted his counterpart obliviously moving towards one of the bundles of mistletoe the Jerrys had insisted on hanging around the house, he acted before he could even think.

In the blink of an eye he had opened a portal under his feet, which had landed him in front of his boyfriend, causing the latter to stop his tracks in the perfect spot. The mistletoe hung over their heads, exactly between them. He couldn't have been as precise even if he had stopped and done the maths.

"Y-You know the rules, lover," he hummed with a pleased smirk, lacing on hand around his other self's belt so that he could pull him forward while he himself step backward, until he had his counterpart cornering him against the door jamb. "I-I caught you under the fuckin' plant, s-so now you owe me a kiss."

The last word came out in a sultry purr, as he pushed his back more firmly into the wall, teasingly stretching his body, offering himself as a prize to be taken and maybe also a gift to be unwrapped. His free hand climbed up along his counterpart's chest, making sure to feel up every inch of skin through the cloth of that shirt, until he reached the other's neck.

His touch softened as fingers met bare skin, and so did his expression, the flirtatious smirk turning into a lovestruck smile as he caressed the side of his boyfriend's throat. He was so handsome, so brilliant, so everything. He had no words to fully describe how much he saw in his counterpart, how much he felt for him. At times it left him yearning to find a way to voice it, but at the end of the day only one thing matter.

He got to call his perfect match the love of his life.

His thumb brushed along the line of his other self's bottom lip, applying a teasing pressure to it and, a moment later, his hand had closed around the collar of that teal shirt, so that he could tug his boyfriend's face close to his own, so close that their lips were brushing.

The love that his ice blue eyes had been betraying was still there, strong and unshakable, but it was now darkened with a much more carnal desire.

"I-If you make it good...an-and I know you will, baby, you always do...I-I'll give you something even better in return.~"

#[ ic :: c137 Rick ]#&& Rick Sanchez #[ ˢᵀᴱᴾ ᵀᴴᴿᴼᵁᴳᴴ ᵀᴴᴱ ᴹᴵᴿᴿᴼᴿ ᴬᴺᴰ ᴸᴱᵀ ᴹᴱ ᵀᴱᴸᴸ ʸᴼᵁ ᴹʸ ᴰᴿᴱᴬᴹˢ ᶠᴼᴿ ᴼᵁᴿ ᴰᴱˢᵀᴵᴺʸ :: ʀɪᴄᴋ & ʀɪᴄᴋ ]#advnterccs #[[ idiots in love 2.0 ]]#[[ because they can't really be anything else -eyeroll- ]]#[[ and as expected my Rick got a little carried away too -facepalm- ]]#[[ still my Rick basically getting off on being a hypocrite cracks me up ngl xDD ]]

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vanessakirbyfans · 4 years

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Katherine Waterston and Vanessa Kirby play 19th-century farmers' wives who develop a passionate connection in Mona Fastvold's drama co-starring Casey Affleck and Christopher Abbott.

A friendship that blossoms into romance offers two mid-19th century farmers' wives refuge from their joyless marriages and routines of menial drudgery in Mona Fastvold's The World to Come.

Adapted from Jim Shepard's moving 2017 short story of the same title, this Venice competition entry is set in a rugged upstate New York where the winters are harsh and the patriarchy hangs heavy. Resignation seems to be the default mode for Abigail and Tallie (Katherine Waterston and Vanessa Kirby, respectively), the women at the story's center, whose lives revolve around keeping their husbands' stomachs full and their ambitions afloat. The initially halting, increasingly urgent intimacy that grows between them comes as a relief, but also a frustration — an agonizing taste of what life could be like if they weren't locked into roles dictated by their time, place and culture.

The World to Come has much to recommend it, including the polish and precision of Fastvold's directorial touch and a terrific quartet of leads (Casey Affleck and Christopher Abbott play the heroines' spouses) who, among other things, deliver mouthfuls of unwieldy period dialogue with dexterity and conviction. Kirby, especially, is a marvel, radiant and haunting as the more outgoing of the central pair.

That the movie succeeds to the extent it does is somewhat of a miracle given how often it gets in its own way. Indeed, The World to Come is nearly undone by a single glaring flaw: The drastic over-reliance on voiceover composed largely of lines lifted from the short story. On a sentence to sentence basis, what we hear — mainly Abigail's diary entries, read by Waterston — is vivid, at times strikingly lovely. But it's also so jarringly literary, and so extremely frequent, that it yanks us out of the delicate spell cast by the film's painterly, austerely beautiful images and nuanced performances. Meant to draw us into the outwardly placid protagonist's churning inner world, the voiceover has the opposite effect: one of distancing and interruption. Rarely have I so wanted to tell a first-person narrator to — for lack of more delicate phrasing — put a sock in it.

Shepard, the story's author, is credited as co-screenwriter (along with novelist Ron Hansen), so it's tempting to diagnose the problem as excessive fidelity to source material. Admittedly, the narration makes dramatic sense. Abigail is a stifled intellectual, and writing is her talent and escape; the passages from her journal give us access to feelings that her air of sleeves-rolled-up stoicism doesn't immediately suggest and her everyday duties — baking bread, plucking chickens, milking cows — don't provide an outlet for. The World to Come uses voiceover as its primary tool in building a portrait of female interiority.

But that choice underestimates the other tools at the film's disposal — namely, the director's own visual gifts and her first-rate cast. Waterston is a skilled enough performer and Fastvold an evocative enough stylist to conjure the depths of Abigail's desires and disappointments without having her give an emotional play-by-play. Much as I admired and was at times stirred by The World to Come, I'm convinced it would be a significantly stronger movie with 75 percent of the narration stripped away.

Early scenes pull us into the daily grind of Abigail and her taciturn husband Dyer (Affleck) as they struggle to keep their farm functioning while mourning the loss of their young daughter. There is distance between them — which Dyer openly deplores — though remnants of tenderness, too. Mostly, for Abigail, there is a numbing sameness to the days that pass.

A ripple in that sameness comes in the form of a new couple in the area: Tallie and her hog farmer husband, Finney (Abbott). From the moment Abigail lays eyes on Tallie — with her luxuriant tangle of red hair, splash of freckles and alert blue eyes — she's fascinated. Tallie returns Abigail's curious gaze.

Before long, the women are paying each other regular visits, candid Tallie coaxing reserved Abigail out of her shell. The two share gossip, grievances and, eventually, personal confidences as they create a space away from the men — the lives — they have settled for. Fastvold and her leading ladies establish the characters' dynamic and trace their dawning attraction persuasively, as Abigail finds herself dazzled by Tallie's boldness and independent spirit while Tallie is moved by Abigail's kindness and sharp intelligence. Their closeness is built from a gently crescendoing accumulation of gestures — stolen smiles and glances, the graze of a finger, a bundle of birthday gifts, a foot massage, a hungry kiss — and rendered more intense by their shared sense of looming danger; Abigail and Tallie know that if they're caught, the consequences will be dire.

The omnipresence of Abigail's narration during the movie's middle stretch may call to mind the recent work of Terrence Malick, a great filmmaker whose use and abuse of voiceover has become a devastating weakness. The heroine's musings here may be less drifty and dreamily existential than their Malickian counterparts, but there are eye-rollers of various types — from flowery ("my heart is like a leaf borne over a rock by rapidly moving water"); to obvious ("Astonishment and joy," she sighs following her first embrace with Tallie. Then, in case we didn't get the memo: "Astonishment and joy. Astonishment and joy."); to TMI (when Dyer falls ill: "I've restored him somewhat with an enema of molasses, warm water and lard").

Those lines would be a heavy lift for any performer, and there's something a bit mannered in the hushed pitch and lilting cadences of Waterston's voiceover. She's much more affecting in her scenes with Kirby, the Modigliani-esque graveness of her face melting into a warm, giddy smile.

And how could it not? Kirby gives Tallie a mischievous gleam in her eye and a low, slightly naughty voice that makes her every utterance sound like a confession. The actress conveys more with a slightly cocked eyebrow and clench of the jaw than most do with an entire face-full of emoting, and her magnetism here feels effortless; Tallie isn't as flamboyant as Kirby's flouncy, fancily frocked Princess Margaret from The Crown, but she's somehow just as full of spark and drama.

Affleck and Abbott, meanwhile, lend their characters dimension and specificity, making them more than cardboard impediments to their wives' fulfillment. Speaking in a hoarse, wounded whisper, Affleck locates something deeply human in the hapless, love-starved Dyer, a limited man who nevertheless is capable of seeing beyond his own needs — of having "sympathy," as he notes at one point. Dyer becomes a partner to Abigail at a crucial moment, something that differentiates him starkly from Kinney, a rigid prig who can't conceive of Tallie as anything but an extension of himself. Abbott plays him with a flicker of madness, a streak of sadism that gives the story's turn toward darkness a kind of queasy inevitability.

Even with its flaws, this represents a step up from Fastvold's last movie, the creepy but slight mood piece The Sleepwalker (2014). There's a sense of confidence and control here, starting with DP André Chemetoff's evocative compositions and scrupulously judged camerawork, which favors stillness over movement and balances close-ups with longer shots situating the actors within rustic, sparsely decorated interiors or more majestic outdoor spaces. The setting is stunning (the film was shot on 16mm in Romania), but The World to Come never succumbs to period-drama prettifying. Nature is a seen as a wild, threatening force — Tallie's trek through a blizzard is captured with cacophonous nightmarishness — wielding as much power over the characters' lives as their own choices.

Daniel Blumberg's supple score, by turns mournful, playfully jazzy and full of roiling menace, is one of several other contributions that collectively create an impression of sensitive craftsmanship. Luckily for The World to Come, that impression lingers longer than the film's aggravations.

#Vanessa Kirby #The World to Come #Review #Articles

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automaticenemycrusade · 3 years

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Joyride: Prologue

“Nord!”

The onyx vulpera awoke with a gasp, soft as it could be, as he jerked his head up from the shabby, little table. Oh, had he fallen asleep at his desk again? No doubt he’d be dying the day he actually decided to sleep in his own bed. He glanced down to regard the mess he’d made, only to notice the goopy, black ink that had splattered across both himself and the parchment he was supposedly scrawling on. Fur and ink, what an exciting mixture. Dunes know he’d be having the time of his life washing that out.

He barely had time to make himself presentable before another vulpera emerged from underneath the flap of his tent, the one who had called his name. To neither his nor anyone’s surprise, it was his relative, a cousin whose only mission in life was to bother the former with his “brilliant” ideas. Nord acknowledged his presence as best he could, before swiping a rag off the table and wiping at his sullied pelt. It wasn’t coming out.

“Nord, hey,” The swagger in his step, the giddiness in his features, the passion brimming at his cheeks, warped and stretched to either side by that smile. That damn smile. Nord knew those motions all too well. “Listen, I wanted to talk to you, ‘cause I think,” Here it comes. “And stop me if you’ve heard this one before,” Despite the urge to, Nord smiled encouragingly, as if to say ‘do go on,’ to which his counterpart was happy to oblige. “‘cause I think I got it!”

And there it was. The poor fox had to resist rolling his eyes into the back of his head and groaning, which he did with ease. He had the practice after all. “Yeah?” He replied, lifting his brow. “And what is the ingenious plan you’ve cooked up this time, Jole?” Wry smirk in hand--or on face, technically speaking--he raised a single digit as he continued, “Are we convincing the guards to personally escort us to the oasis by pretending to be, what was it?” He tapped his chin in sarcastic thought, before lighting up his face in a similarly sarcastic realization. “The Dune Duke?”

The other vulpera, Jole, was taken aback by an eyeroll of his own, as well as a derisive series of hardy har har’s. “Before you mock me,” He began. “Just hear me out,” Nord complied, allowing him to continue, “Hot take: we get a wagon, a few alpacas, and we take everyone who wants it on the adventure of their lives.” That showman’s finesse of his really shined through in moments like this. Nord supposed one had to build some sort of charismatic skill set when they came up with bizarre schemes as often as Jole did, which is to say, he was irritably used to this. Nonetheless, he went on, “Day-long trip, from here to there, let the kits see the sights and get a taste of that authentic caravaneer life. Hundred-percent educational experience, no foul play.” He bent forward in a semi-bow, spreading his arms to either side with a final, “Whaddya think?”

“Well, first off, I think you’re insane.” He responded, oddly calm in tone for how witty his remark had been. They shared a chuckle, though Nord was quick to recover. “So, what? Are we bribing some,” He vaguely waved his hand. “Famous caravaneer to be our guide? For celebrity appeal?” Jole shook his head, though he did gesture for Nord to keep guessing. He was, no doubt, delightfully entertained. Nord obeyed. “Will the alpacas be incredibly rare? One has extravagant colors, maybe? Hot pink?”

Jole produced a drawn-out, “Noooooope.” in reply. He was having fun with this, and Nord couldn’t help but roll back his eyes at that. For what felt like the first time, he was actually intrigued by the prospect, even if it was probably extraordinarily dangerous. Of course, he’d had this mentality about Jole’s ingenuity dozens of times before, but there was always one tiny complication or flaw in the grand scheme that ruined it for him. Suffice to say, he wasn’t making any special exceptions nor holding his breath for this one.

The onyx vulpera finally relented, leaning back onto his palms with a shrug--his palms still stained by the ink, obviously. “What is it then?” He said, boggled, despite having never guessed it on the first try before. “What’s the outside help?”

Jole grinned that cocky grin of his and arched forward, “There is none,” He lifted up his hands to dramatically waggle his fingers. “‘cause we do it ourselves. You and me,”

“You and I.” Nord corrected.

“You and I. Not even! Mostly me.” The ash-furred vulpera winked--sweet sand demons, he hated those--before straightening out his posture, because you just know all that bending and curving he did for his showy presentations was taking its toll on his spine. Nord didn’t think it possible for his eyes to go any further into the back of his head, yet here he was, on the verge of an eyeball backflip. Although, Jole’s performances aside, the idea itself was interest-piquing. It’s the kind of thing he would have enjoyed as a kit. It’s the kind of thing he could still enjoy now. But, as with all of Jole’s ploys, they were too selfish to be fully realized. His cousin was never one to scheme if he didn’t think it benefitted him too.

“Let me guess,” Nord’s eyes glinted with familiarity, as he went to meet his counterpart’s gaze with knitted brows. “First people you invite are the vixens you talked up at the story circle,” He lifted a finger just as Jole went to interject. “The same story circle where you regaled the tale of The Dune Duke and his Dusty Damsel.” He, too, grinned a malicious grin, snark and snide practically enchanting his demeanor in that moment. This is what made listening to Jole’s rambling so very worth it. Still, he couldn’t help but feign shame and aim a friendly punch at his shoulder, tacking on a, “I’m kidding.”

“You laugh now, but just you wait until I get things in full gear.” Jole assured, and as per any accusation that involved him and women, he felt pressed to address it. “And for one, those ladies were delighted to have me; for two, that story was great,” And in an attempt to mimic his cousin, he raised a finger to Nord’s face before he could interrupt. “And you can’t deny it, ‘cause everyone else thought it was great too!”

“I dunno.” The curve of Nord’s lip twirled into a sly smirk. “I personally thought the ending could’ve been a little better. Plus, aren’t stories at the story circle supposed to be true?”

“It was true!” He retorted, though he quickly remedied his behavior once faced with a skeptical look from Nord. He folded his arms and paused. “Some of it, anyway- Look, that’s not the point. Point is, we got things to do!”

“Not people, I hope.”

“Doh,” And at last, Nord squeezed an eyeroll out of him, so much so that he couldn’t help but grin. “Alright, inkface,” Wait, was it on his face? He went to uncomfortably feel at it as Jole continued, “--Yeah, don’t think I didn’t notice that little detail when I rolled in here. Tell you what, you go wash up and I’ll do all the hard work, ‘cause I’m a generous and hard-working friend.”

Nord’s own laughter knocked the wind out of him. He replied, “You haven’t worked a day in your life.” just as Jole vanished back outside, to which he could hear a guffaw radiate from beyond his tent flap.

“It’s about persistence, not work ethic!”

The onyx vulpera scoffed, obviously, and although he wished to push the topic further, he decided against it. He turned back to that filthy desk of his, glancing at it with disdain, the disdain one got when they told themselves to do a chore. As if washing himself up wouldn’t take long enough! Note to Nord: sleep in your damn bed.

And then it donned on him, and he promptly dove his head past the tent flap in search of his cousin, which, praise be, there he stood, hands shoved in his pouch-pockets and eyes gliding from vixen to vixen. He’d slap himself in the face if he wasn’t preoccupied with another thought. “Jole!” He called out, to which the oblivious ashfur perked up an ear and spun on his heels to look back at Nord. “How do you plan on dealing with the older vulpera? That might be uncomfortable.”

“That’s the best part!” He shouted back.

“No supervision!”

♦

Nord had spent far too many minutes scrubbing away at his paw, far too many hours. Had it even been an hour? He hadn’t cared to check how high the sun rose above the horizon, and who knows when he originally woke up. At this point, he could barely remember the night before at all. Though, knowing him, it might be better to say, “the early morning before.” What was it he was biding all that time with? Funnily enough, that was exactly the problem. It was the very fact he had nothing to bide his time with. With each sunrise came the same routine, the same chores, the same hunts, the same necessities for survival. Had he grown so stale that he was finally giving into Jole’s senseless thrillseeking ways? Was there a part of him that wished that one of his cousin’s ploys would actually come to pass?

He wasn’t sure.

What he was sure of though, was that this damn ink, wasn’t coming out. Even with the addition of lukewarm water, it insisted on sticking to him. What was that ink made out of anyway? Tar? He needed a break, he needed a getaway, he needed something to sweep him off his mundane feet and wrap him in the exoticity of life. He needed an adventure. But, every time they got close, Jole lost motivation, or found something better to do, or abandoned the project all together out of spite.

Maybe this time, it’d be different. Just maybe.

Not that he was getting his hopes up, of course. Last thing he needed was to put effort into something and have it fail miserably, but hey, he was a hopeful guy. His birthright was that of faith he could misplace at his leisure, not that he was in any hurry. If anything, he was in more of a hurry to get this stain off. How much force did he have to apply? There’s only so much pressure a fifteen-year-old kid can exude!

“Nord!”

Fuck it. Just wrap it, wrap it up, no one will know. And that’s just what he did. He tore a strip of leather off of his own trousers and laced it around the still (somehow) ink-soaked hand. You burned yourself. That’s the story we’re going with. At last, he ushered himself outside, seeing none other than Jole standing… about a yard or two away from him. A cough was exchanged between the two as he moved an inch or two closer. His flair for the dramatic was a gamble as to whether or not it would be properly executed.

“So!” The ashfur began, clicking his tongue.

Nord, meanwhile, calculated all the excuses that were about to leave his cousin’s mouth. They were out of wagons. They want to keep the alpacas out of the deep desert for a few months. I had a wagon, but the wheel snapped when I tried moving it. I had an alpaca, but they fell ill just today. Everyone I asked said no. I kinda had a change of heart. I got an even better idea! I thought you hated the idea, so I got discouraged. I was sure you meant-

“We’re back in business, baby!”

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