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dearharriet · 3 months

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By Any Other Name; Sirius Black ☕️

“D’you have a name, love?” He was spitting mischief into every word. “Or should I just call you angel face?”

By God, he was not pulling any punches. His voice being as silky as your knickers didn’t help, nor did his wicked teeth or his lithe hands. It was a feat of its own to close your mouth, and another altogether to speak.

Your name spilled off his lips with an exhaled drag, hot and smoking and swept away by the wind.

“Pleasure to meet you, angel face,” he said cheekily. “You can call me Sirius.”

summary: by the will of mother nature, you meet your charming downstairs neighbor—who has been dying to meet you just as much.

word count: 3K

warnings: fem!r, sexually implicit comments, lots of mentions of underwear and lingerie

authors note: me 🤝🏼 making sirius act like my other favorite scorpio (ryan gosling)

1978. London, England.

More than anything in the world, you wished you had a tumble-dryer. The London winds turned brutal in autumn, and you’d lost nearly ten items of clothing before the season was done.

A pretty sundress, a flannel you’d nicked from your father’s dresser. A skimpy little black nighty, the top only lace and the bottom sheer satin.

That one had been the most recent, only the day before. You blamed yourself, really; You thought you’d be coy and hang it outside for the boy downstairs to see, and the wind tore it off the line and blew it to who knows where. Now some creep probably had it in his sock drawer.

Despite all of this, you still did not have a blessed tumble-dryer. Which meant even at present, in wind that might’ve blown your makeup off, you were outside clipping your soggy knickers to the line. Three clips each, thank you very much.

You can’t say it was all that embarrassing. London wasn’t particularly a town of modesty or shame, especially in more recent times. All the ladies along your alley hung their undies out, and no one seemed to mind. Maybe you just lived on an especially progressive block of the city. Whatever it was, you liked it.

You hummed a soft tune as you hung the last piece of clothing on the line, feeling chilly yet accomplished.

The wind had died down just slightly, leaving the clothes swinging on the line—suspended between your building and the one neighboring it. You peeked across to ensure that everything seemed secure, just in time to watch a pair of silky pink undies slip from their clips and fall a story down into the alley.

You clicked your tongue, promptly making your way down the fire escape to retrieve them.

As you rounded the landing to descend the second half of stairs, you were aghast to see the boy from downstairs—the one you so desperately wanted to see your cheeky nightgown—leant against your flat building. He was smoking a cigarette languidly and intently watching your sad knickers which landed before him.

You stammered at first, unsure what to say. The remaining shreds of daylight were reflecting quite stunningly off of his pitch black hair, in a way that was all too distracting. Eventually, you settled for something apologetic.

“God, I’m sorry.” You inched forward until you could bend down and rescue the pink knickers from the filthy ground. You frowned at the specks of dirt on them. You’d have to wash them all over again. Or maybe you should just toss them.

Or cast them into the sea. Perhaps donate them to a bluebird to use for nesting. God, you were embarrassed.

For a split second you became mortified with a scenario where you kept the dirty undies and this handsome-boy-downstairs wanted to shag you, only to find you’re wearing the disgusting alley knickers. Your cheeks grew hot.

You pushed the underwear behind your back then, hoping he didn’t see them in full. When you looked up, he blew a cloud of smoke from his nose and smiled devilishly.

“Not to worry, darling. I’m quite accustomed to women dropping their knickers in front of me.”

Your mouth popped open in shock. A boyish but refined laugh bubbled out of him as you failed to respond.

“D’you have a name, love?” He was spitting mischief into every word. “Or should I just call you angel face?”

Your name spilled off his lips with an exhaled drag, hot and smoking and swept away by the wind.

“Pleasure to meet you, angel face,” he said cheekily. “You can call me Sirius.”

“I can’t call you handsome?” You blurted, and Sirius’ smile got so much worse, which is to say humbler and far more genuine.

“If the shoe fits,” he mumbled.

A gust of wind blew and his hair billowed with it, just as he took a final drag of his cigarette. The embers lit his face warmly.

It fit. It definitely fit.

Sirius stomped his smoke out on the cobblestone and brushed his hands off on his slacks.

“I actually have something I want to give you.” Sirius inched toward his flat window, ignoring your pinched brows. “Wait right there.”

Contorting his long limbs, he slipped inside and disappeared.

Within seconds he returned, holding what you instantly recognized as your black nighty. He walked it to you, growing taller with every step.

“Think this belongs to you,” he prodded. You took the garment from him, smiling coyly.

“Do you happen to have any of the other clothes I’m missing?” You accused, and he ducked his head sheepishly.

“Just this one,” he promised, “it fell last Sunday, just here, like your knickers.”

You flushed. “Sorry.”

Sirius’ expression turned boyish. “You should be. I’d have preferred that you came with it.”

The wind picked up again and wafted his cologne with it, something citrusy and clean. A pit stirred in your stomach.

“Maybe next time,” you murmured, and slipped up the fire escape before he could respond.

You sincerely didn’t expect to see Sirius after that. Not because you didn’t want to, but because it felt too simple. Too convenient.

Stunning, charming boy downstairs, holding onto your nightclothes to give back to you…

He had to be a creep. There was no other explanation. Or worse—he was only trying to be nice to save you from embarrassment.

You kept running through your conversation with him, adding new motivations and hidden meanings. Each one was like a warning siren, and it kept you from seeking him out.

Sirius, however, was not dissuaded at all.

A week later and it was the turn of November. The winds were cruel and rain barely ever let up, and any sunny day became laundry day.

One fateful, blessed dry Friday, you popped out to hang your loathsome clothes. If being clean was this much trouble, you weren’t sure it was worth it anymore. You were halfway through the soggy hamper when someone downstairs began to whistle.

“Darling, do you do anything but laundry?” A familiar voice called, posh and smug and handsome.

You peeked over the railing, and Sirius was in the alley with an amused grin on his face.

“Do you do anything but watch me do laundry,” you shot back, which made him laugh.

Sirius was making a paper boy cap look very stylish, holding the lip of it to aid his theatrics. There was something quite old fashioned about him, even in his boyish demeanor.

“I like to hear you sing,” he defended. “You have a pretty voice.”

You weren’t sure how to respond to that. You didn’t entirely realize you sang at all. Sirius shoved his hands into his pockets and looked around.

“Does this seem a bit cliché?”

You looked around, too, at your balcony and the shaded alley; At Sirius, who was the shining image of a hopeless romantic, ready to profess his undying love.

“I suppose,” you agree. “Wherefore art thou? No—a minute is not enough.“

Sirius pushed his tongue into his cheek, grinning.

“I was imagining something else,” he said. “Let down your hair…Or—your clothesline?”

You snorted.

“Luckily, this damsel has stairs.”

Smile widening, Sirius raised his eyebrows, wondering if you’d meant to invite him up. You nodded, and he took the steps two at a time.

It was charming. While you were still reserved, you couldn’t help but admire his complexities. He’d seemed so subdued upon first meeting him, but now he was almost howling with excitement.

He was completely out of place on your terrace. A sharp and shining bachelor lording over your half-dead plants and damp t-shirts. He looked like he had a tumble dryer, and an iron, too. Or a maid. Definitely a maid. It was a mystery why someone so put together was living on the floor beneath you.

“What,” Sirius asked, looking dubious.

“What?” Your cheeks warmed. You’d been spacing out.

“You’re looking at me weird,” he accused, but he kept a lightness in his voice. “You don’t still think I stole all your clothes, do you?”

“No,” you denied. Then, feeling cheeky, you added, “just the nighty, right?”

He blinked, looking shy again. “Well. It—it fell.”

“Oh, right, my mistake. It fell,” you nodded, and watched his mouth open and close.

“Y’know, most neighbors bake something if they want to make friends,” you continued, enjoying his squirming, his brown pearly loafers scuffing on the grated platform.

You thought he was handsome when you met, with his cavalier confidence and dangerous smile, but seeing him so embarrassed was just as enthralling; His fair skin flushed pink, his broad shoulders hunched…his voice turned raspy and unsure.

“I was never good in the kitchen.” He said it like it was a fatal flaw, unfixable.

“No, of course not,” you said with unwavering mirth. “You’d hire someone to do that, wouldn’t you?”

Sirius’ head snapped up, shocked, confirming your suspicions.

“What are you robbing my clothesline for, rich boy,” you teased, wrinkling your nose at him.

Scratching his jaw, he blew out a bewildered laugh.

“What gave it away?”

You snickered, making a sweeping gesture over him. “What didn’t?”

Sirius looked down at his pressed white dress shirt and well-fitted vest. He then ripped his hat off, deflating.

“Thought I was doing a good job of fitting in,” he muttered.

“Sorry,” you cooed, though you weren’t sure why. It should’ve been insulting, that this upper-class idiot was so upset at seeming as well-off as he was, but he kept striking you with an odd sincerity. He didn’t seem ignorant, he just seemed lost, and you felt sorry for him.

“If it’s any consolation, you look quite handsome.”

Sirius looked up at you through his lashes and shyly smiled.

“Do I?” He needled. You hummed affirmatively.

“If a bit chilly. Who’s been making your cuppas?”

Grabbing your basket, you backed away towards your window and slipped inside. You waited for Sirius to follow, hoping your invitation wasn’t too indirect. Thankfully, he crawled in after you, loitering by the window awkwardly.

“Well, don’t let all the heat out,” you called over your shoulder, dropping the basket onto your couch and bee-lining for the kitchen. Sirius closed the window and meandered further into your space.

“You’re not going to poison me, are you,” he asked from your kitchen threshold, watching you put the kettle on.

“I’m not sure you should be as paranoid as me,” you said, leaning against the counter. “But I’m fresh out, so not this time.”

Sirius laughed. “Oh, good.”

“So,” you started, crossing your arms to mirror him, “who are these girls dropping their undies for you? I’m painfully curious.”

Sirius sucked his teeth, hiding a grin.

“I’m not sure you have enough tea,” he sighed solemnly. “We’d be here all night.”

Eyes tracing over the long hands splayed over his biceps, you bit your lip.

“I can imagine,” you humored. “A pretty boy like you…you never catch a break, do you?”

Sirius looked constantly unprepared for complements like this, and you couldn’t get enough. He was pink and silent and restless, faltering for something witty to reply with.

In the end, he just shook his head.

When the water was hot, you made up Sirius’ tea, and he thanked you shyly as his hand brushed yours. He put far too much sugar in it, and not a spot of milk, but you found that just as charming as the rest of him. You sat at your kitchen table, smiling over your cups.

“I haven’t had a good cuppa in months,” Sirius sighed, spinning his mug in absentminded circles.

“Thought you had a maid,” you prodded, and Sirius’ responding smile was bittersweet.

“Not anymore,” he said quietly, “not for a while.”

You took a slow sip of your tea, watching him carefully. As you set your cup down, you licked your lips, and Sirius instinctively copied you.

“So…no maid.” You leaned back, lifting a brow. “Who presses your clothes, then?”

Sirius frowned. “I do.”

“Oh.” You frowned, too. “But you can’t make a cuppa?”

“I—“ Sirius chuckled. “I can make a cuppa. It just tastes better when someone else makes it.”

“Ah.” Picking up your cup again, you smiled at him. “Well, I’m happy to help.”

Sirius pulled his lip between his teeth as you drank, rubbing his hands on his slacks.

“Well I—“ he cleared his throat, “—I should go.”

Confused, you watched him as he pushed his chair back and stood, ducking to you gratefully.

“So soon,” you complained. It was odd. You’d been avoiding him all week, but once he was around you didn’t want him to go.

“Yes, well. I wouldn’t want to intrude.” Sirius smiled kindly, if a little distant.

“Well, I invited you, handsome. That’s hardly intruding.” Your words were intentionally soft and sticky, cloying, to change his mind.

Sirius’s eyes swept over your face for a moment, his mouth chewing on words that never came out. Eventually, he left a thankful caress on your hand, where it laid dormant on the table.

“Thank you for the tea,” he expressed, and then he was gone.

You sat at the table long after he left, until your tea was cold and his empty cup was dry.

The whole week after that, you turned your conversation with Sirius over in your mind again and again, looking for what you’d done wrong.

He’d never seemed angry, even as he left. He was almost sullen.

In the days following, it was like he’d never existed. The alley had a Sirius-shaped hole in it every time you hung your clothes, and—as if it was missing him, too—the wind had stopped blowing.

Singing softly, you hung your final garments, enjoying the still evening while you could. When you sucked in a new breath, it was thick with the scent of burning tobacco. You looked down through the slats, and as you expected, Sirius was leaning where he was when you’d first met him.

Sucking your bottom lip, you looked at the cloth in your hands, and then back at Sirius. At the sudden absence of your voice, he’d looked up, and your gaze met his. He stilled, the ash growing perilous on his smoke, and watched as you held your dark nightgown over the railing. You let it go, and watched Sirius sigh, tracking its feathery fall to the ground.

When he looked back up, you were already halfway down the rickety stairs.

“Darling, don’t—“

“You know, it’s rotten manners to leave a girl wondering what she’s done wrong,” you scolded, plucking the gown off of the cobblestones. “Especially after being so charming all the time.”

Sirius winced. “I’m sorry.”

He looked frustratingly good, more casual than you’d ever seen him. His hair was messy and his collar unbuttoned, sleeves rolled to the elbow. It only made you bolder.

“Well,” you prodded, “won’t you at least tell me?”

He furrowed his brows, his cigarette long forgotten between his fingers.

“Tell you what?”

“What I did,” you huffed, exasperated.

His face crumpled.

“Darling,” Sirius stressed, “nothing. You’re the loveliest neighbor I’ve ever had.”

The compliment felt like an insult, calculatedly detached, and you wondered if you’d invented the whole thing in your head.

“Why’d you leave, then?”

Sirius shifted, his expensive shoes crunching on the ground.

“I didn’t want to impose.”

Unbelieving, you shook your head in disappointment. It must’ve been something awfully offensive if he still wouldn’t tell you.

“I can’t afford the expensive teas, so if it tasted odd—“

“—Love, it wasn’t the tea, it’s—“ Sirius licked his lips, hesitating. “I shouldn’t have taken it.”

Lost, the corners of your mouth pulled down. Sirius sighed.

“The gown, I—“ He gestured to the satin in your hands. “It was inappropriate. I’m sorry.”

Avoiding your eyes, he finally ashed his cigarette, but left it abandoned in his hand. Stepping closer, you batted your lashes at his shameful face.

“Sirius, if it worried me, I wouldn’t have invited you inside.”

“It should worry you!” His face contorted. “It was manipulative and debauched—“

“Debauched!” You grinned, eyes bright. “What exactly did you do to my nightgown, hm?”

Sirius’ mouth pursed disapprovingly. “Love, please.”

You stepped closer, pouting.

“You didn’t imagine me in it?” Sirius shook his head passionately, but his cheeks warmed. “Shame. I hung it for you, you know.”

Sucking in a breath, his cigarette met the ground as you waded closer. You reached out, tugging on the top button of his vest.

“Will it take a cyclone for you to ask me out?”

Sirius let out a heavy breath and shook his head. When he said no more, you tilted your head and pulled him into you.

“Well then?”

His eyes searched yours.

“Go on,” you said. “I’m not sure someone who likes his tea with seven sugars could be very scary.”

Brightening, Sirius took your hand where it fiddled with his vest. You watched with heat in your chest as he brought it to his face and pressed his mouth to it. He then turned it over and did the same to your open palm.

“Could I please take you out, angel face?” His breath was hot on the inside of your hand, sending chills up your neck. “To repay you for the stunning cuppa?”

Chuckling, you traced a feather-light finger over his jaw.

“Certainly.” You licked over your teeth. “I’ll wear my driest knickers.”

His smile slipped into wicked territory.

“Don’t sweat it, love.” A big hand smoothed over your shoulder, and you melted. “You’ll only be wasting your time.”

thank you for reading! 🦢

masterlist

#sirius black #marauders #sirius black imagine #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #sirius black x female reader #marauders era #sirius black fic #sirius black fluff

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waspredteeth · 1 month

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You know what I've realized these past several months on Tumblr and just...years of consuming content?

It's pretty rare for the fandom to acknowledge Gotham as a city. A real, living city with people in it. Like, sure we always get cutesy posts about Batman or the others from outside perspectives or fics that include interesting ocs (I love u if you do that btw).

But what I mean isn't that. What I mean is: does anyone think of Gotham and its citizens as actual people? Because I've sure seen kind of the opposite.

I see constant arguments or heavily biased (mostly misinformed) posts regarding what Bruce does and how the Batman helps the city. That his riches would get lost in corruption and no one can save the city unless there's violence. You could try and make the argument, sure. But we've seen time and time again in comics that Bruce uses his money to the benefit of the city. We've seen in comics that he employs people who are disadvantaged and gives them opportunities. People know Bruce Wayne gives jobs and treats his employees well. He donates heavily to charities, creates his own organizations, funds Leslie Thompkin's clinic, and consistently updates the safety of his own buildings. People (at least post-Crisis) would know that Bruce Wayne did everything he could to save Gotham after the Cataclysm earthquake/No Man's Land - that he went up against Congress. Of course, not everyone would like Batman. Not everyone would trust the Wayne name. They'd see a stranger who prowls nightly and may or may not rescue you. They'd see the privilege of an old rich name who gets to exert his influence over the city. If you go to him for help, you go to him with the fear, and anticipation of rejection or with the knowledge that he will be safe.

I've also seen the (imo) ridiculous notion that Crime Alley citizens would trust the Red Hood. Maybe some would now, after the reboots and actual comic book evidence that he's doing something. But I cannot fathom living in a city with such heavy crimes occurring and then trusting what is essentially a cop. People don't know the Red Hood. They don't know Jason Todd. They would only know: 1. he has tried and succeeded various times to take over organized crime and drug routes 2. he can and will kill if he sees it fit. In some people's eyes, he would be a cop with even less judicial oversight. In some families, he would be the killer of their breadwinner, of their fathers or family members or lovers. A man with a gun. Eyes without a face. If you go to him for help, you go to him for blood.

This doesn't even begin to lay out the insane amount of vigilantes who live/operate in Gotham. The Batman is not the only figure. The Red Hood is not the only figure. If you boil down Gotham to only the conflict between these two characters, you miss the nuances and varied opinions of the city by miles. If you boil down Gotham to just Batman-affiliates, you miss even more.

For every person who doesn't trust Batman, there's someone who'd prefer Huntress. For every child who lives in fear but can't trust an adult, there's Robin or Batgirl. For an abused woman, there's other women out there who help: Catwoman or Black Canary or Holly Robinson. There's people who'd never trust a vigilante but want safety, they'd have Leslie Thompkins (who operates in Crime Alley) or Lucius Fox who could give them a job.

Not to mention, Batman is very obviously white. There would be some people who would rightfully mistrust white men, and would prefer figures like Orpheus or Onyx or Batwing or the Signal or Huntress (post-N52). There's the Creeper, who would be terrifying but some might prefer the monster over the man. There's Ragman, an explicitly Jewish vigilante who was literally called the Tatterdemalion of the Oppressed and trusted by the poor and homeless. There's Batwoman, Mother Panic, Spoiler, Nightwing, Red Robin, Azrael, Bluebird, the enigmatic idea of the Oracle, Anarky, Ghostmaker, Gotham Girl/Boy, Catman, Alan Scott-Green Lantern, Wildcat.

Hell, maybe someone who lives in Gotham would just straight up trust Superman or the Flash or Wonder Woman more than anyone else. Maybe they'd never once trust someone acting for a perceived view of justice and would just trust an employer like Two-Face or the Riddler or any mobster.

I'm stressing my point here: when you write anyone who lives in Gotham City, keep in mind that they don't know they live in a comic book world. Secret identities are foreign to them, they only know the base actions of each vigilante. Each person's opinion will heavily vary. Every experience colors their view of the city and vigilantes as a whole. Just, idk, widen your horizons and consider about what someone living in a place like Gotham would really think.

To that end, read the comics!!! Research actual cities!!! Take in experiences and history!!! It's all interesting and just adds so much more.

You want one comic that shows Bruce helping Gotham and the various views of Gothamites, read Gotham Knights #32, published in 2002 and titled "24/7." Read it online illegally if you have to!!

#i'm not hating on existing content #make what you want!#I've just always wanted to see more #because there is more to explore #dc #batman #dc comics #batman meta #gotham city #DM for a link to the comic issue if you want #just be prepared for a comic website with pop-up ads #robin #dc meta #bruce wayne #I am Not tagging all these people

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acourtofwhatthefuck · 11 months

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Bluebird — Part II — (Azriel x Reader)

Hiiiii. Still don’t know where I’m going with this. Totally just winging lmao. Still hope you enjoy!

Warnings: None!

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

“Another attack – this one just outside the village. The most brutal thing I’ve ever seen. It was Alda this time. The tailor’s daughter.”

Your head jerked up. Ale sloshed over the tankard in your hand, dripping onto your boots.

The man sitting with his friend at the bar raised an eyebrow at you. “I hope you’re going to refill that, Y/N. You poured half of it onto the floor.”

Your cheeks burned. “Yeah—yes. Sorry.”

Their conversation resumed as you turned back to the ale tap. The topic itself had lost its shock value, with how often you heard such conversations in your father’s tavern — but you knew Alda.

Well – knew her in the sense that you sometimes nodded in greeting as you passed by each other in the village. Knew her as well as a sheltered, friendless girl such as yourself could know anyone.

You placed the tankard in front of the man – your father’s friend…or associate. Whatever they called themselves. Alf, you thought his name was. “Is…is Alda dead?” You asked.

Alf gulped down a few mouthfuls of ale before he nodded. “She is. Yet another attack from the scumbag Fae. I’m telling you—” He turned to the man beside him, then, “They’re priming to strike and wipe our kind out completely. There’ll be a war before long.”

There was no mistaking the way your stomach plummeted, your body going cold all over. Sheltered you may be, and inexperienced, perhaps naive – but while you had pretty much educated yourself, taught yourself everything you now knew at twenty-one years of age, your father had been the one to teach you about the Fae.

Terrible, evil beings who assaulted and slaughtered humans for sport. Beings who preyed on young, innocent girls and lured them out of their beds in the dead of night. Was that what had happened to Alda?

Was it what had happened to your mother, when they’d killed her?

The Fae hadn’t breached your village in decades – until recently. The attacks were ratcheting up.

“We need to start rallying our forces.” The second man said. “If they’re planning to strike, we need to be ready.”

The forces he spoke of were, in fact, your father’s doing. Though he was an aloof, nonchalant man – not a natural parent, by any means – the visceral hatred he felt for the Fae seemed to bring him alive. You covered his work behind the bar every week while he gave impassioned talks to the men of the village about the evil across the wall. What they were capable of. What they had already done to your kind. The fact that many humans lived in squalor, whilst the Fae lived in the lap on luxury on what was once human-owned land. And it was your job to go around after his talks, collecting the coin that the punters donated to further his cause.

You were privy to everything that was said in The Bluebird Inn. And you’d had no choice but to be aware of the Fae, when they’d taken your own mother from you when you were just a babe, too young to ever hold a memory of her. If the Fae truly were getting bolder, coming closer…if they were picking the village girls off one by one—

You shuddered, wiping down the bar. The two men rose from their seats and went over to join the crowd of rebels that currently surrounded your father, the noise from the group only growing louder, more incensed, as news of Alda’s murder spread.

“Have you ever seen a Fae?”

You looked up to meet the eyes of the handsome, blonde-haired young man who leaned against the bar, bracing his forearms on it – Devin. He was, perhaps, the most dazzling of all the men in the village – only a year or so older than you, and currently completing his training to be a Village Guard. One day, he would join the other guards in protecting your people and warding off more Fae attacks. He was a quiet supporter of your father’s cause, having attended two of his talks now.

“No.” You blinked at him. “Of course not. Have you?”

“I have.” Devin nodded. “Count yourself lucky, Y/N. You don’t want to see a Fae. They’re hideous, horrible beings. Terrifying. You can see the evil in their eyes.”

“I thought they were always rumoured to be quite beautiful.”

His broad shoulders shrugged. “They are – but that’s all a part of the allure. They coax you in with their beauty, and then they rip you limb from limb and leave your broken body to be found by your loved ones. And they do it because they can.”

Sick – you felt utterly sick. And cold. How could such beings exist? It didn’t matter that your father had spent your entire life drilling these facts into your head – the details were never any less horrific.

“The attacks are becoming more frequent, aren’t they?” You asked quietly, pouring Devin a drink.

He nodded, his pretty, pale blue eyes darkening. “They are. The Village Guards are doing all they can, but they don’t stand a chance against magic. These are dark, unsafe times, Y/N. And you’re the exact kind of person they target.”

“I…I carry a blade with me. My father has shown me how to use it.”

His lips lifted into a wry smile. “Smart as that is, it won’t do you much good against a being who can infiltrate your mind and plant thoughts there. They can convince you that you want to go with them, to follow them. They can get you exactly where they want you, and then they’ll strike.” He reached forward, placing a hand on your arm – the contact tinged your cheeks pink. “I know you’re independent, Y/N. I know that you help your father with the tavern, and you run a lot of his errands. But…it’s not safe, right now, for a young woman to be out walking alone. If you absolutely must travel somewhere — send for me. I’ll be your chaperone.”

If possible, your cheeks burned even more. Any of the girls in the village would have killed for such an offer from Devin. He was easily the most sought-after man around here. And to think he was offering you his protection…

“I will.” You said a little too quickly, hoping your face didn’t show how flustered you truly were. “Thank you, Devin.”

With a charming wink, he rose from his seat and took a place amongst the other gathering audience members, glued to your father’s talk that evening. It was obvious in the incensed murmurings amongst the men that the tensions were ratcheting up. That it wouldn’t be long before they struck, and the human-Fae troubles would begin anew.

You couldn’t help scanning each face and wondering which of them would survive to tell the tale.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Azriel went back.

Despite telling himself not to, a few nights later, he went back.

It struck him again how dark and dingy that little village was. But the thought eddied away as he positioned himself in the same spot and waited.

The young woman played the piano again. It was at the same time, by the same dim candlelight. But a different tune.

He wondered if this was a routine of hers. If she played at the same hour every night.

And then he wondered why he damn well cared.

He’d never had much interest in humans. Not from any sort of prejudice; it just seemed pointless — needlessly painful — to build connections with people who he’d have decades with at best. It was easier and far more logical to quietly respect their existence from a distance.

But that mantra was not in keeping with a growing fixation of a human woman he had no business going near.

He supposed it just…soothed him. To imagine a life of peace, where time was set aside every night to play music. Such beautiful, chilling music.

It was a damn sight more relaxing than the ever-present roaring in his head.

And that was why he went back again.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

“I haven’t seen you much recently.” Elain sipped delicately from a teacup, brown eyes flitting over Azriel in all his dark glory. “What’s been keeping you busy?”

It was a pleasantly warm day in Velaris. Warm enough for them to take their tea outside. They had so far sat in companionable silence as Elain had admired the vibrant flowers and Azriel had pored over reports while sunning his wings.

But he found himself quietly restless. Eager for nightfall; to spread his wings and fly amongst the stars

“Just business.” He responded vaguely. A far better answer than the truth — that her mating bond with Lucien suffocated him. “Nothing exciting.”

Elain hummed thoughtfully, studying the shadowsinger. There was a pause before she said, a little coyly, “I hope nobody’s giving you grief—about me, I mean.”

Azriel’s eyes flicked up to meet hers. “Grief?”

“I’m a grown woman—female.” She still found herself having to correct her words sometimes. “I make my own choices. And that includes whose company I do or do not wish to keep.”

“I don’t think anybody would expect otherwise.”

Silence was the only response. Because both of them knew what she was hinting at — the warning Rhysand had given Azriel to watch how he behaved around Elain. How Elain had learned of it, Azriel didn’t know. But she wasn’t daring enough to confront it outright.

“I just wanted you to know that.” She said, rising from her seat. “I enjoy spending time with you, Azriel. There’s nothing wrong about that.”

No, there wasn’t. Still…the two of them didn’t usually speak so boldly to each other. Az found himself unsure of how to respond.

And even more so, as Elain leaned down and pecked him on the cheek, her strawberry scent enveloping him. He felt his body go taut, felt his cheeks flush.

“Don’t work too hard.” Elain said softly. And then she gathered up the tea tray, and disappeared inside.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The coins jostled and clinked against each other as you set the clay pot in front of your father. “Tonight’s takings.” You told him.

Rough, dirty fingers rooted around inside the pot. Your father glanced up at you. “Not bad.” But could be better, was what he meant.

You were starting to wonder if there was an amount that would satisfy your father, if you presented it to him. You knew he was eager to further his cause, to build up funds and supplies, but…he always seemed so disappointed.

Still, you hovered in front of him, wiping your hands over your wrinkled shirt. “…Devin said it’s not safe for people like me to go out unattended. With all the Fae attacks. He’s offered to be my chaperone.”

Your father’s gaze flitted to yours. To raise the subject to him was to test the waters. Your unspoken plea lay heavy in the air: go on. Let me have friends. Give me some freedom. You can trust me.

“Devin is a fine male.” He said, and a little kernel of hope arose in you. “But I don’t want you getting any ideas, Y/N.”

Your shoulders slumped. “Yes, Papa.”

“I need you here, helping me however I ask whilst I do my work. That’s your duty. And Devin is training to be a Village Guard. That is his duty. Perhaps when this whole thing is over, things will be different. But right now, I need you here.”

“Yes, Papa.”

“Are all the chores done? Have you locked up?”

“Just some trash to take out. I had to kick Kiall out. He drank too much again, and he was becoming a nuisance.” Your voice gave away how downtrodden you felt, but you knew your father would pretend not to notice. “I thought I might play some music for a while.”

“Not tonight, Y/N.” He shook his head. “I head out tomorrow to give talks in the other villages. I need as much rest as I can get — as do you. You’ll be holding the fort here while I’m gone.”

You inclined your chin. And for a third time, you droned, “Yes, Papa.”

Your father dismissed you by easing himself back in his chair and retrieving his glass of whiskey from the small table beside him. You lingered a moment longer before turning on your feet.

But it was in the doorway that you stopped, a feared, plaguing thought arising in you.

“Do you truly think we can win against the Fae?” You asked.

Your father glanced over his shoulder. And something shadowed his face as he bit out coldly, “We have to.”

The tone of his voice frightened you too much to respond.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Azriel waited. And waited. And waited.

But the woman didn’t appear. And the sweet music didn’t float up to him.

He supposed he felt a little foolish for becoming so…hopeful. For racing to the human lands to glimpse and hear what had occupied his thoughts for the last few days.

Gods, Rhys would chew him out if he knew. Even though Azriel was the damn spymaster. Even though he knew how to stay hidden, and he could sure as shit defend himself against any number of humans — it was still risky. Because he could frighten the humans, if nothing else.

But he still hoped. And when he realised that it was getting late, and The Bluebird Inn was in darkness — that no music was coming tonight — he felt frustrated.

His whole body was restless as he turned and made to leave. He didn’t want to return home yet, but…there was no point in being here. In staring at a bleak, darkened village—

He was just about to take off when he caught the movement in his periphery.

A door opened below — the inn’s side door. And out stepped the woman he’d so eagerly wanted to glimpse.

Azriel’s entire body went still, only his wings keeping him aloft. He watched as the woman — carrying what seemed to be a trash bag — turned into the alley beside the inn.

He shouldn’t have done it, but he did. He flew closer.

Close enough to watch the human deposit the trash bag into a bin. Close enough to see her turn — and pause at the sight of a man who came stumbling seemingly out of nowhere. Azriel tensed, not quite catching what the man slurred at her.

“We’re closed.” The woman’s voice floated up to him, skittering over Azriel’s skin. As sweet as the music she played. “And you’ve had plenty to drink. I won’t be serving you any more.”

The drunken human man staggered closer to her, clutching at the wall. “One more drink, and I’ll leave you in peace—”

“I said no, Kiall. My father is trying to sleep.” The woman snapped. “Go home and sober up.”

She made to step past the inebriated lout, seeming so much smaller than him.

And it was as the man’s hand shot out to shove her against the wall that Azriel acted without thinking.

He swooped down, landing with a thud in the mouth of the alley. His face was a sheet of fury, his wings a blanket of unforgiving night, as he stared at the two humans.

They both paled at the sight of him. The woman quietly gasped.

“The lady said no.” Azriel intoned quietly, lethally, his cold eyes fully on the man. “Leave.”

There was no movement; just two humans gaping at the sight before them. Until the man seemed to reach for some sort of weapon. Azriel almost laughed at the idea.

“Leave,” he said again, taking a step forward, “while you can still leave with your heart beating.”

That was all it took to frighten the man into moving. He shoved the woman away from him, tripping over his own feet as he took off. Azriel tucked in his wings just enough for the man to scuttle past. He left as quickly as his human legs would allow.

And then it was just Azriel and the woman. The woman who so beautifully played the piano. The woman who was still staring at him, wide-eyed and trembling.

He wanted to know her name. But it didn’t seem appropriate to ask. And his head was roaring so much with fury that he wasn’t sure he could even formulate the words.

“Are you alright?” He managed to bite out. He knew he’d got there before the woman had been hurt, but he still studied her for any indication of harm.

She blinked at him, pressing herself against the wall. And then stiffly nodded — just once.

Azriel wanted to hear her voice. But she didn’t speak.

“You should go back inside.” He said quietly.

She paused, and then nodded again. He nodded, too.

“Goodnight, then.” He inclined his head.

He shot into the skies before he could make any more reckless decisions. He knew that the woman watched the whole thing in both fear and awe.

He should go home. And not return. This had been foolish, and dangerous, and damn well pointless. She was just a human woman. Az had seen many in his half a millennia, and he would see many more.

He had no reason to be so transfixed.

But that didn’t stop him waiting and watching, making sure she made it inside, before he turned and flew back to the city of Velaris.

✧: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ azriel tag list:

@hanasakr @positivewitch @ruler-of-hades @brekkershadowsinger @nightscourtt @imperfect0angel @luna-1-3-5 @hyacinthoideshispanica @lucyysthings @lahoete @littlemoonash @blacksstarrynight @azriels-mate123 @ghostly-poetic @frieddesigninspiringquotesslime @a-frog-with-a-laptop @illyriansimp @morrie-rose @passingthroughfireandshadow @illyrian-dreamer @azrielsbabyg @96jnie @mich0731 @mulansaucey @truthtellerfanclub @acourtofbooksandmagic @insightsonmylife @basicbittywitty @curbside-cyanide @acourtofchaosandmess @123345566 @starrynights-frostbites @eos-princess @thesillyyogourt @ona-raising-07-l @acediahamartia @dontfollowmepleaseitsannoying @polli05927 @asdfjklbooks @azriel-luvr @amysangel @humanpersonlasttimeichecked @wildflowernightmere @audie-writes @aaronwarnerswifereal @starxqt @lulufairbank @laurzwrites @livelaughlovenestaarcheron @girlwith-thecinder-blockgarden @emturtles @lostpirateinwonderland @kammsinn @localhopedealerr @pee-stachio @tobifeemo @torchbearerkyle @honeycriess @shadowsingersmate24 @azziessidehoe @camillo-420 @aztheshadowsinger @shadow-singer123 @weirdo-fun @bookscurlsandgirls @limelightsuperhero @eviepeo

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blingblong55 · 11 months

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Call sign- Simon "Ghost" Riley

Think of Hacksaw Ridge where you don't like guns at all so you are just strictly a medic

Gn!Reader,

You and Ghost have been friends for a few years now. You had become his favorite medic, he always came to you for anything. This time things were a little different, you had come to him. One night you overheard a few recruits talk about some female rookies they planned on sneaking to their barracks for some ''fun'' time. As a lieutenant he acted fast on this, the problem was gone but a new one rose. At the time the rest of the 141 men were doing different missions, he and you had stayed behind.

So when he swore there was a snitch, only he could trust you. By some point you found yourself on enemy ground. You weren't trained at all in warfare let alone strategies or how to use a gun. After much fight, from the enemy and Ghost, they surrender.

Ghost had his gun pointed at them as your tied them all to poles. He reached for his radio, "This is bluebird, we have them. Mission accomplished, we'll be taking them back." ''Bluebird? I thought you were Bravo 0-7?''

He let out a light laugh,

''It is, but it helps us confuse the enemy. Make them think we are just a malfunction.''

''We give each other callsigns like that for shits and giggles.''

He paused and looks at you with a soft look on him.

''Your's is Echo 0-1.'' he finally said.

''okay..so Ghost is a nickname, bluebird is just for fun, bravo 0-7 is the call sign. Got it.'' You stared at him in confusion. what did he mean you had a call sign?

''I thought us medics didn't get call signs.''

He shook his head, ''Everyone gets a call sign. It's for identification on the radio and for recognition. You are a part of the special forces unit, so you do get a call sign.'' It looked as if he had more to say, so all you did was nod.

''I named your call sign,'' he confessed ''do you want to know why I gave you the name 'Echo 0-1?' " You, intrigued, nod.

He smiled before answering. ''The word 'Echo' means sound produced in a series of regular reflections, and its related to the sound and waves,'' he pauses, ''You're as charming and radiant as those sounds, echo. Your smile warms my heart and your presences brightens up my day.'' He smiles. ''Just like the sound of waves during dawn the moment I heard it, I couldn't forget it.''

He cups your face, "you are beautiful/handsome, Echo.''

A/N: short, straight to the point and simple, whats more to give...bye now

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cheritzteam · 2 years

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[The Ssum] Special Interview on The Ssum (feat. Bluebird)

Hello, this is Cheritz.

As we have entered the month of August, it has been raining a lot in Korea.

Are you waiting to hear the news on the official launching of <The Ssum : Forbidden Lab>?

Some of you might have realized there is a little secret(?) with the PV we previously released, and today we have brought small news!

Perhaps you are tired of seeing PIU-PIU all the time, so…

We give you the Bluebird!

We have asked some questions in order to prepare you for your upcoming encounter with your special ssum-one! :D

(Please scroll down if you are interested!)

***The following contents include the wholesome conversations that took place during the interview.***

Q. Please introduce yourself. A. I am the Bluebird, No. 37. I’d like to ask you to keep this interview brief, as there is a place that requires my presence right after.

Q. Where are you needed? A. I’ve been relocating the post from ** sector on *** of *** to the lab studying human emotions.

Q. So you run the application that allows sweet, heart-fluttering chats between the users and this special ssum-one, right?? A. If you are talking about The Ssum, I must tell you that it is managed by the lab that studies love.

Q. (I’m starting to question where this conversation is going…) Is there a reason why all A.I.’s come in form of birds? A. That would be a top secret, classified.

Q. Uh... Sure... Anyways, let us move on and talk about the game. Is it true that contents worth 200 days of chat will be unfolded real-time? A. It is true.

Q. So what about chats that would take place after the 200th day? A. We are currently working on them.

Q. Could you tell us whether you will provide matches with a variety of men who could be potential special ssum-one? (A lot of our users seek conversations with more than a single person…) A. It is highly likely that will be the case in the future.

Q. Is it true that the special ssum-one will send messages whenever the user can check them for sure? Any chances that he will wake up the users in the middle of the night? A. Our A.I. named PIU-PIU used a unique technology that transcends time and space and provides a match between two different daily patterns.

Q. Is that a warning for sleep deprivation? A. Just make sure you enter the right data.

Q. The disclosed images showed how the special ssum-one changes his hair and outfits. Is there a reason he does that? Or is this part of a special event?! A. That is up for him to decide.

Q. (Now that was simple…) Will he get to send a lot of pictures? A. I cannot answer that one. I am not the special ssum-one.

Q. Come on, give us a hint! How many pictures can users expect each day?! A. According to our data, it is common to see a couple exchanging at least 10 pictures per day.

Q. (Is that supposed to be a hint??) Okay, moving on! Ever since PIU-PIU’s Love Bundle was revealed, we have been receiving questions about app subscription! A. You mean the upgrade for PIU-PIU.

Q. Is subscription a must?? Does this mean that users cannot complete the game without upgrading PIU-PIU? A. PIU-PIU on default will not disappoint, although it does come with a bit of flaws.

Q. Will users get to experience termination of chats in the middle without subscription? A. No.

Q. So what is the immediate good that the users can find in upgrading PIU-PIU? A. Its frequency will get stronger.

Q. (I’m not sure if this fella is really here to promote this game…) Just what is the <Forbidden Lab>? Why is it forbidden? A. I’m afraid this is not the right time to tell you that. (Whisper) Come find me in the game. And I must take my leave now.

Q. Wait! Before you go, please give us a word of promotion for The Ssum!!! A. It comes with features that make it more than a simple communication app.

Q. I see… Thank you for sparing your time. We will look forward to the Forbidden Lab and The Ssum!

***End of the interview***

That is all from the Bluebird!

We hope it was helpful for those of you who had questions!

You will get to see a variety of surprises and treats from your special ssum-one for 200 days...

Spend your days and nights in sweetness as your chats with your special ssum-one grows deeper and sweeter, and find out all the hidden features of the app!

And we hope you will meet again with PIU-PIU and the Bluebird in the game.

Please remember that on the 17th of August, <The Ssum : Forbidden Lab> will be officially lauched!

We will bring more news to entertain you in the future, and we wish you a happy day!

-Cheritz-

#thessum #ts #cheritz

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canonicallysoulmates · 7 months

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J2 Gold Panel Minncon 2023

Quick psa/reminder that this con took place while the actor’s union, SAG-AFTRA, is on strike. This means the boys cannot talk about any past, present, or future projects. But for the sake of clarity, I will be mentioning projects the boys are referring to by name.

Before the panel starts Jared notices a fan with an I heart Jensen sign, and says he does too.

Jared shows off a bit of his and Jensen's unspoken lingo, he does the sign for a brief pause. They got it from their director, Jensen says they had a lot of different hand signals for communication, and they also had names for certain types of shots. Jared mentions they had a friend in Van who's a larger individual and was always smoking pot so if they start the scene with a high and wide shot they'd call it the Murph. When the camera is on the dolly track and does a creep in if it's a little creep they'd call it a Mickey Rooney then Jensen says there are other ones they won't mention because they're very inappropriate.

Jared reminds fans that actors are currently on strike and thanks the fans for their understanding if there are any questions that they cannot answer. Jensen says that Jared can talk about his gardening skills and Jared says he loves him some zucchini and that he harvested some the previous week...I'm not gonna say it, but you know what I'm thinking 😉

Do they follow the Texas country music scene?

Jared always goes back to when in High School or Middle School Robert Earl King. Or Pat Green.

Jensen mentions Jerry Jeff Walker. He also says Texas certainly has its own country core, it's not like traditional Nashville country. x

The next fan had already asked Jared this question and now they want to know Jensen's answer: what kind of car would he have if money was no problem?

He doesn't have a holy grail and the reason he doesn't is because if he did he'd spend all his time figuring out how to get it; he'll watch car auction shows, used to watch them with Clif, and every one of them he'll want. He did see one car once, he and Jared had the opportunity to go to Concours d'Elegance which is the best, greatest car show there is in Pebble Beach. They close off the 18-hole golf course and line up the cars all along the fairways. It's right there on the coast and they were walking past the pre-world war cars and he saw an Austin Martin that took his breath away. He was like "this is outrageous you probably can't even get your hands on this" but if he ever had the opportunity to own something like that- he took more pictures of that car than any other car. x

The next fan doesn't have a question, they just wanted the boys to wish her a happy birthday and also show the tattoo she has of Jensen's face on the inside of her thigh, which took her 6hrs to get done. Jared jokes Jensen can't last six hours 🤣

What's the backstory behind the bracelets Jensen sometimes wears?

They've all been gifted to him by someone in his life, usually his wife or his daughter but he has friends that he has also traded with; there's always some sort of a back story to what he's wearing he doesn't usually go shopping and just buy stuff.

Then they get told a naughty joke: if a blackbird has black babies and a bluebird has blue babies what bird has no babies? A swallow. Both men have to walk away from the mic 🤣

Jared asks the next fan if they have any babies and even he's wondering why he says what comes into his head 😂

If they had to pick tattoos for each other what would they pick out?

Jensen points towards the fan that has his face tattoed on her inner tigh and says she already has it he would put his face on Jared's and Jared says "yeah I'd be more handsome." Gentlemen 👀

Jensen then says would put a bear growling on Jared's right hand. And Jared's like "why do they exist?" and Jensen just goes "to scare big things like you." Which I found a cute little exchange.

Jared would make Jensen get an enter at your own risk and an arrow pointing to somewhere that he's not gonna say but it would be in an old English cursive writing. Again 👀

Jared asks the fan what they would put on them and the fan replies that they would ask what they love and what describes them

Jensen comments that he and Jared had talked about getting something that represents SPN because when you're in it you're not thinking about how long the show is gonna go and so you know they talked about maybe getting the anti-possession tattoo or there was also talk about symbols of MOL but it's really come down that now that they're a few years removed from it and they're able to look back on it they're able to realize how big that part of their lives was for them and how forever it will be. That's not to say tattoos always have to be amazingly meaningful, some are just fun, but he feels they would because of how that show impacted their lives. x

If they were in Van and had a ping pong tournament with the cast and crew of SPN who would make it to the gold round and come out the victor?

They would. Jared says he thinks it happened a few times and they had to hide said ping pong table from them because they would sweat their makeup off.

Jensen says they would play that game so intensely as if they were running a marathon. They would be called back on set and be out of breath, show up panting- they had very intense games. I wanna make a dirty comment so badly involving the other things they were probably might have been doing on that ping pong table but I'm gonna keep it moving.

Jared says they represented Texas pretty damn well, and they're asked if they doubled up or destroyed the other. Both say it was pretty split, pretty even. It got to a point where they were just exposing each other's weaknesses like Jared would figure out Jensen's forehand was a little weaker that day so he'd send it straight into his forehand. x

Next is a fan wanting to know what they thought of her tattoo, and if they could give her artist a shoutout. They thought it was really awesome and the artist did a great job. x

If they go to a diner how likely is it that they would actually order a salad and a cheeseburger?

Jared says at a dinner he's kind of greasy spoon type of guy so like a burger or something. That's at a diner, but he probably orders salads more than burgers.

Jensen would probably go burger or burrito if they have it. And Jared says that's cause it's probably 2am, probably on the way home. He knows hubby so well 🥰

Jensen comments there's a dinner close to where he lives that they go to sometimes, and he's a creature of habit so they have this big massive burrito that he has no business eating all of but he does.

He mentions it has hot sauce so the fan asks if they like spicy food, they do, and Jensen says he likes jalapeños on his pizza all the time. They also mention Hot Ones and how they'd like to do it. x

J2 Gold Panel Minncon

#i hope the time stamps on this are correct cause I had a bit of a mix up #j2 tinhat #noniwtv #mine

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yoitsjay · 4 months

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Wilder West

Pairings: Ghost x Gn! Reader

Summary: you left your old life behind, you had a new purpose... but your past would come up eventually.

Warnings: cannon typical violence, wild west shiz. No specified gender, can be male or fem

Word count: 2388

Render credit: @ave661

1870, what a time to be living, where women were fighting for the right to live and vote and men were off running wild on horses, robbing folk who deserved it or who didn't. You were a lawman in a small town on the border of California and Nevada, practically the only form of law the small town you were in had. Everyone came and went, and of course the locals stayed and made your life either miserable or enjoyable, it all depended on the day really.

At the moment, your deputy in training was watching over the office and town while you were on a small patrol on the perimeter. Lately, there has been talk of robberies on the roads leading out of the town, and you suspected they would be heading in your town to rob folk and shops. It was all local and there wasn't a bank in the town, you'd have to travel to the nearest city which was several days away, There wasn't even a trolley station to store money in. You honestly had no idea why these outlaws would wish to rob your town.

However as you make your way back to the town you hear two gunshots from the middle of the town, followed by shouts of the locals and then shouts from strangers. Your eyes widened and you kicked the side of your horse and got him into motion, galloping back into town as you showed up behind several outlaws who now held your people at gunpoint. Your horse reared up on his hind legs as you pulled your revolver from its holster, pointing it at the back of the supposed leader's head. "I suggest you get the fuck out of my town." You drawled out, the sound of your gun loading filling the dust filled air. The outlaw slowly turned to you with his hands raised, and you quickly noticed that he was wearing a red skull half mask, with a bandana hiding the rest of his face underneath. He wore a vest and a cowboy hat with several teeth sewn into the fabric. Though his appearance was intimidating, he did not scare you.

"I will repeat myself. Get out of my town." You ordered, hearing the chuckles of the other outlaws. You gripped your weapon tighter, your eyes flickering around as you took in your surroundings, and the fact that two outlaws had snuck behind you, and had you surrounded. The leader spoke up, tipping his hat to you. "I think we found our pretty bounty boys." He drew out, however his accent was strange, it wasn't american. It was british. You scoffed, however as you looked to the sheriff's office you saw your young deputy get dragged out by the scruff of his neck. Once again your eyes went wide, and in your moment of vulnerability the leader shot forward, grabbing your arm as he tugged you down off your horse. The stupid beast ran away of course, not before kicking one of the outlaws to the ground. "stupid horse!" You shouted, struggling against the large man as he hogtied you on the ground. You huffed and you turned to lay on your back, staring up at the skull faced man with narrowed eyes.

"You will be comin' with us Sheriff Y/n… or should I say Bluebird? fastest draw from Louisiana to Montana? you should've known you'd be found one day." The man explained, grabbing you and hauling you over his shoulder before he placed you on the back of his horse. you grunted, staying silent as you stared at the ground. It had been years since you put down that name, you did not kill anymore, you didn't rob innocent people. You thought you had flipped your life around but… Your past caught up to you.

"Come on boys. Let's take this pretty thing back to camp, leave the rest, we got what we came for." The skull faced man announced, pulling himself up onto his horse before riding off. You grunted at the sudden jolting. shifting your body slightly as you tried to grab onto something to hold you more still as the man rode out of the town with his fellow outlaws behind him. "So who are you then? some outlaw wannabe?" You asked him, closing your eyes so you didn't get dust in them. The man chuckled, however he didn't answer you. The sun glared down on the back of your head, making you sweat more than you had before. "I turned my life around, I did good and I am good. I bet you can't say that about yourself." You sneered. You felt the man's horse slow to a walk, and then his hand in your hair as he yanked your head up so you looked at him and into his eyes through the mask.

"Shut up. Just stay quiet and once we get to camp you can talk all you want. We ain't bringing you in friend." He stated, however, that made you all the more confused, what did he mean by he and his ruffians were not turning you into the law? you were sure you had a massive bounty on your head, they could get a pretty damn big paycheck if they handed you in… maybe they were lying to you.

regardless his words shut you up and he continued riding, knowing well you were trying to figure out what he had meant. After a few more hours on the road, he pulled into a little forest clearing by a lake, it was cooler here, because there was more shade, and it was definitely relieving. however before you could bask in any more of the coolness, you were lifted off the back of the horse and dropped on the ground by a tree. you were untied for the most part except for one hand being tied to the tree so you couldn't go anywhere. The outlaws talked amongst each other before a different one approached you. This man had his face revealed, but he had a mohawk and a red cloth tied around his neck, he wore a white button up that was unbuttoned slightly down the collar with a dark brown vest over. he sat down in front of you and you both just stared each other down for a few minutes until you noticed a smile grow on his face.

"I've read newspapers about you, Blue Bird, only two years ago you were robbin and killin' west of arkansas. Now you're a lawman of a small town in Cali. How fast things change hm?" He questioned, however you simply narrowed your eyes. "get to the point mohawk, what do you want?" you asked him, watching as the scotsman stood up, gesturing for the others to come forward. Skull face approached and he handed you a bounty poster, but it didn't have your face on it. No it was an old friend of yours that you had long abandoned… "König?" You let out a shaky breath as you stared at the poster before looking up at the men around you. "You know him then?" a new voice spoke up, and you turned your head, staring at a dark skinned man with shorter hair, also wearing a button up but with no vest. You nodded your head.

"I do… König and I were an item, an unstoppable team, with him and his lackeys…" You trailed off, handing the bounty poster back to skull face. "What do you want with him?" You asked, balling your hands into fists as memories resurfaced in your mind. "We want you to join us and help us track him down. We know your skills as an excellent tracker, and on top of that you could be the person who knows where he was last… and as for König, he is an excellent hunter, big bounty, and an even bigger ego to match… we think he could be useful for a much bigger picture."

All of this was explained by another new voice, he had a beard and a cowboy hat resting atop his head, however it was different from skull face's hat, more fitting to his clothing style as well. a sigh left your lips as you stared down at the ground for a moment, eyebrows furrowing in thought before a conclusion finally came up in your mind.

You looked up at the men, shifting your hips in a more comfortable position. You nodded your head, running a hand through your hair. "I'll help, as long as you promise that he won't be harmed." You stated, and the better dressed man nodded before he cut the rope around your wrist. "What are your names?" you questioned, looking around at all of them. They were all much taller than you, not to say you were short or anything, you were average height, they were all just giants.

Mohawk stepped forward first with a big smile, and began gesturing around to the men in camp. "Im John, or Soap, our leader is Price, and that's Kyle but we call him Gaz, and then this big guy is Ghost. Just Ghost.." Soap was introduced, and you shook his hand firmly before shaking Price and then Gaz' hand. You stared at Ghost, narrowing your eyes as you stared at him before shaking his hand. He gripped your hand tight for a moment, even as you tried to pull away he didn't let go until he was ready, giving your hand one last squeeze before dropping your hand. Ghost then tipped his hat to you, leaving in silence. a huff left your lips and as the men scattered around to busy themselves you wiped the dirt off your pants. If you were back in the outlaw gig, you might as well look the part.

You walked up to Soap and you tapped him on the shoulder. "Soap, will you take me to my cabin outside of town? my gear is stored there and i'd like to get it." You requested, and he nodded with a grin. "Sure i'll take ya friend! just- don't do nothin' stupid alright? I'm not afraid to put a bullet in your head." He stated, and you nodded with a nervous expression. "I don't plan on stabbing you in the back." You explained as you followed him to his horse which was tethered up to one of the trees.

The trip to your little cabin didn't take that long, and in no time you had your sheriff's clothes off and you were back into the clothes that held so much history for you. Once you were dressed you had just one final touch, and as you exited the cabin where soap was waiting you slowly raised your arm, and you placed your signature hat down on your head, a light smile gracing your lips as you walked over to him. "I ain't no killer no more, but i sure am back in business." You told him, before putting your fingers up to your mouth, whistling loudly. It took a few minutes but you eventually heard the sound of galloping approaching closer and closer, and out of the tall brush emerged your horse. "You stupid boy" You scolded as you walked up to the fine steed, patting his broad neck before getting up onto the saddle, making yourself comfortable as you turned to Soap. "Ready? let's head back to camp." you requested, and with that you and soap rode- more like raced back to camp, and luckily enough for you, you had memorized the way out and you beat soap in the camp, skidding to a stop as he entered the clearing with a defeated look on his face.

Your boisterous laugh carried out through the camp as you tethered up your horse with soap, making your way to everyone else gathered around the campfire in the center of camp. the skull faced man- Ghost, piped up upon your return. "You seem like you two had fun… nice clothes sheriff." He pointed out, nodding his head to you in a quick motion before lifting his mask down just enough to take a sip of tea, pulling the mask up right after. A hum left your lips and you found a seat beside him and Soap, immediately being handed a cup of coffee by Price, you thanked him immediately, taking a sip as you stared in the fire.

"so, the last time I heard from König was about a year ago maybe? He sent me a letter after we parted ways, and he told me he would be heading up to Montana for some work. He also used to stay in a hovel in Oregon. I doubt he is still there hence the letter, but he could have left some clues behind to tell us where exactly he is." You explained, sipping your cup of coffee once more, Price hummed in agreement, liking the idea you proposed.

"Alright then, we leave at the crack of dawn tomorrow morning." He stated, standing up and leaving the fore which left no room for argument. The sun was already setting, and because of the trees blocking the sun it was significantly darker in camp, but lamps were strewn about as well as the light from the campfire. Ghost then stood up, gesturing for you to follow him. And follow him as you make your way to a large tent. He opened the flap for you, and you went inside first with him close behind. On the ground there were two bedrolls, one was a bit cluttered with items and trinkets while the other was completely empty. "You'll be sharing a tent with me. So I can keep an eye on you, understand?" He asked and you nodded, setting your hat down on the top of the bedroll. "Understood Ghost." You answered, turning around only to see that he had disappeared. a huff left your lips, however you wasted no time to get comfortable in your bedroll, you were tired and it had been a long and hot day.

So with your head resting upon your arms you let your eyes flutter closed and you fell asleep. And by the next morning you knew the hunt for König would begin.

#fanfiction #call of duty: moderm warefare 2 #outlaw au #simon “ghost” riley #simon riley x reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader #john soap mactavish #john price #kyle gaz garrick #cod könig #cod ghost #cod soap #cod gaz #wild west

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pluralcultureis · 4 months

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plural culture is seeing a term unintentionally named after your spin, but its not meant for you... wdym my grown ass cant be a bluebird kid :( I lovebbirds...

#endos dni #osdd #pdid #did #did system #pdid system #osddid #actually did #traumagenic #actually dissociative #plural culture is

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frangipanilove · 30 days

Text

About That Damn Cat… and why it’s great for TD

So Jadis/Anne’s secret dossier turned out to be hidden inside a sculpture of a cat.

This is an obvious callback to the cat sculpture we saw Jadis/Anne work on back in TWD 8x6 The King, The Widow And Rick.

Back when it aired, I thought of it as a representation of the “nine lives” symbolism around cats. Cats are said to have nine lives, and while that seems a little exaggerated, cats do have a tendency to land on their feet, even after falling from heights that could easily have killed them. There's obviously a lot of resurrection symbolism in the term, and Carol used it about herself after having survived a situation in season 3 when she could have died. She had been overrun by walkers inside the tombs of the prison, and only survived because T-Dog, who was already bitten, sacrificed himself to save her. She was "gone" for some days, before Daryl eventually found her. I wrote about it here.

We didn't know that Rick would temporarily leave the franchise at the time when the cat sculptures occurred, but when we later found out, I assumed the cat symbolism had been introduced around him to support his “death and resurrection” arc, and I feel like that has been thoroughly confirmed now.

Interestingly, Jadis’ cat sculpture from 8x6 was in reality foreshadowing a different but similar type of feline that we were to see a couple of seasons later, namely a green(e) Jaguar:

Because in 8x11, Dead Or Alive Or, we saw Father Gabriel and Dr. Carson escape from imprisonment at the sanctuary. Father Gabriel was sick, Dr. Carson feared he had an infection of the optical nerve, and demanded they’d find antibiotics immediately, before the infection spread and potentially killed him.

Now, before I elaborate, let me demonstrate why Jadis’ cat sculpture from 6x8 and the green(e) Jaguar from 6x11 are inextricably linked:

Her cat sculpture and the Jaguar logo are quite literally the exact same.

8x11 Dead Or Alive Or is a really interesting episode. Father Gabriel and Dr. Carson’s storyline is full of symbolism, and I’ve written about it several times before, such as here.

This was the episode where Father Gabriel lost his sight on one eye and became a Sirius figure, but there was so much more. For starters, Dr. Carson stepped into an animal trap, just like Beth did in 4x13 Alone:

And while we in 4x13 Alone had the Sirius piggyback…

…in 8x11 we had a Sirius Piggy-Bank:

Let me remind you that radios are Sirius symbolism because of its connotation to Sirius Satellite Radio (I've talked about it in many posts, here's a real old one). Ham radio is a term for short band amateur radio. Remember, when Jadis/Anne met Father Gabriel in TOWL 1x5 Become, he mentioned having tried to reach her on Eugene's ham radio.

A piggy bank (an obvious play on the word "piggyback", as in the Sirius piggyback from Alone), marked with the text Ham Radio, is evidence of the symbolism around "pigs" having everything to do with the Sirius symbolism.

And Beth is surrounded by references to pigs, such as the aforementioned Sirius Piggyback, but also the pigs feet from Alone, seen in the center of this pic:

...as well as the Guinnea Pig from 5x4 Slabtown:

...and now also the Sirius Piggy-bank from 8x11, which accidently broke, revealing a set of car keys and a map:

And Voila! We now officially have tied the Sirius symbolism to the pig symbolism to the car symbolism (think Trunk Resurrection)

Other pig references worth mentioning are the references to pigeons in TWDDD. Obviously, they're not actual pigs, and clearly, neither are Guinnea Pigs. But they have "pig" in the name, and they merge with the Bluebird symbolism I've talked about at length in multiple posts, such as here. And I should also mention the Crowned Victoria Pigeon, which I talked about here.

My hypothesis is that the pig symbolism ultimately points to the similarities between Rick and Beth, and the identical resurrection symbolism around them. Rick is a police officer, and "pig" is a derogatory term for "police". We've seen the term used in this sense both in TWD and in the spin-offs. And Beth is encompassed by this symbolism because she's "the new sheriff in town", "crowned" by none other that Rick Grimes himself.

Back to the cat symbolism. We've seen the cat theme around Rick and Michonne before, it's sort of their thing:

(creds to coolpartytimefan on Tumblr for the screenshots)

I do believe the cat symbolism ultimately points to the "nine lives" symbolism and means "resurrection" in a general sense, as seen with Carol in season 3. However, I'm convinced the cat sculpture, in which Michonne found the dossier, more specifically points to the green(e) Jaguar from 8x11 and the symbolism that's directly tied to Beth, to the Sirius symbolism that allowed Father Gabriel to survive:

"You're fighting a Sirius infection"...

Finally, let's discuss the dossier itself. Let's turn to my favorite trick to decipher TWDU symbolism; etymology. What does the word "dossier" really mean?

What do you know, it's derived from the Latin word for "back".

"Back", as in "return", "resurrection", as in the Sirius piggyBACK, as in BACKpack. And if you're familiar with my theories, you know I'll say it means "back", as in Latin "dorsum" (as the etymology describes), which incidently is pretty much the same as the back of the human upper body, the TRUNK. Meaning, we've circled back to TRUNK symbolism.

Or, how about "back" as in "the back/trunk of a car, such as the trunk that many of us believe Beth was left in after Coda...

...or how about, as a metaphor for the aforementioned trunk that Beth potentially was left in, the BACK of the green(e) Jaguar, where Dr. Carson examined Father Gsbriel's eye-sight, after establishing what a Sirius situation they were in...

If I remember correctly, Jadis/Anne first referred to the dossier as a "note" in one of the earlier episodes, before it explicitly became a "dossier" in 1x5 Become.

And forgive me for going full Negan with vulgar metaphors here, but I wouldn't be doing "delusional" right if I didn't mention how the dossier quite literally came out of the uh.. the "ass end" of the cat sculpture, as Joe Claimer would have put it...

Don' blame me, I didn't write the script. Just relaying crucial information here...

#team delusional #team defiance #bethyl #daryl dixon #beth greene #the walking dead #beth x daryl #daryl x beth #twd towl

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kitanaijin · 4 months

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feathers in the attic | freakebana | part i. | blueberry trainwreck >> blackberry kush

yandere keigo takami x reader, goldfinch. words: 4567. explicit content. 18+ MDNI

He longed for a world where heroes had too much time on their hands.

No one knew better than his wives how he’d rather spend his days.

please be mindful of the ample warnings as we're all responsible for curating our own fandom experience✌️ this chapter contains neuro spice, chronic pain, non-consensual fingering, degradation, involuntary & forced orgasms, physical abuse, throat fucking, enforced sobriety, and mention of the breeding plot within the harem.

“Would’ve made a hell of a name.”

Lazing over a bed of flannels and plumage, you flip through the well worn pages of the magazine until you’ve found it.

You can still remember when an idol graced the cover. It’s an old issue from 2018 with a midsummer run, scratched to ruin ages ago. The full shoot was left virtually untouched along with the accompanying article.

She’d posed so pretty, selling her story to perfection. Not that you could fully appreciate what she was promoting.

These types of interviews tended to lose their impact, dated as they were.

No intimacy. No stakes or connection. No urgency in your step to rush to the nearest theater to support the little girl with a dream.

The farthest you could take yourself was the toilet.

Not quite the Library of Alexandria—but oh, how the loss of context tore you apart.

Within the confines of these four walls, time was a construct at your most lucid… a prison when you were dragged past the depths of your dark and twisty recesses.

The nights he’d sweep your broken body from the floor. Hold you in his crimson embrace and manhandle you to his whims. When all the fight left your lungs so you couldn’t even scream, let alone tell him no.

He stole your name twice over in a swinging pendulum of perception; Goldfinch for times you were his sweet girl… Bluebird when you were less than pliant.

It bruised him to see you scorn his affections, so he called you in kind.

He’d pin you down. Pry you apart. Fuck himself into your cunt and soul, leaving you a mere ragdoll to his desires.

You’d only ever been what he had demanded of you.

He wanted a victim, you could damsel with the best of them. This was a show that would go on with or without your approval.

He’d feed you. Rape you. Dry your tears.

Anything more than that, he can stand to spoil you.

Could’ve been hours before you’d feel him leave your side. Days, even. You’d hardly know the difference—only that his side was barren, cool to the touch as you washed a hand over the sheet…

Here one minute, gone the next. Pain emanating and all your own.

Without the organic warmth of sunlight on your cheeks, you’d never feel the day break for yourself.

He took everything from you. Your power. Your will. Your life.

The room was set to a constant low light, controlled by the flick of his wrist and a tablet.

Never natural and never enough, same as every inch of every room of this godforsaken place. A damn menagerie, down to the fucking temp.

dry heat so you won’t catch cold… fans in the warmer months.

He kept you maintained. Albeit depleted in your current state, but no one was about to accuse the bastard of neglecting you.

If they ever found his nest, that is.

Would it matter?

Would they care?

White knuckles hold the spine as the water bottle at your side loses the last of its tepid edge.

You can’t think about it. Mainlining dopamine where you could manage would have to get you through the worst of it for now.

Vivid colors punch a sigh from your lips, even muted in the dark like this. More than satisfied, you’re relieved. Manic thoughts swirl that someday he might deem the material obscene. He was a jealous man, mercurial by nature. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility for him to tatter disagreeable content beyond recognition.

Maybe leaving the article unmolested was a gesture on his part, a bygone offering.

Perhaps he’d just overlooked the whole thing. It could mean nothing.

Fingers graze the gorgeous arrangements until you can match the scent into your mind and memory. Citrus and pome. Florals you haven’t thought to conjure in years.

Freakebana.

You take your time tracing the header with a wavering touch before devouring the article.

Composition. Purpose. How to style your very own lovely item.

In another life you’d be all over this shit. You and your quirk.

Don’t think about it.

It’s a striking contrast that never fails to overwhelm you…

Sensual. A serenity that follows the warm blush of anthurium piercing the understated pears. Surreal. The next image featured a bit of Queen Anne’s lace and soft peonies over an orange. Vulgar.

The dissonance of rotting fruit and lush botany was breathtaking. The writer was on the fucking money in the best of ways.

You had some trouble placing the last of the flowers through the hurricane wreaking havoc over your joints and muscles. Breath catching, the aches come roaring back.

You’ve passed the eye of the storm.

Just as well, you’re wrapping on your daily indulgence anyways. Spoil yourself now and you risk the brainrot of whatever envy you’ve got waiting in the wings.

You tuck the magazine under the mattress with a frown.

“Seriously.” Falling back on the mattress, you set the heels of your hands over your eyes. “Like taking a shower and having that perfect comeback all those hours later. So goddamn irritating.”

A voice cuts through the vent, where her wall meets your ceiling. “Never took you for the hero track.”

“Never said I was.”

You hone your focus on the neon numbers at your bedside, blinking away one hour to the next.

The clock reads five fifteen. He’ll be darkening your doorstep soon enough.

A distant cry tickles your eardrums. You curl in on yourself, tremors washing over you with a groan. The contractions in your belly spread like a wildfire of pain past your thighs and calves. It’s all you can do to pull the sheet over your shoulders and bury yourself deeper.

Five thirty.

You’d thought to ask if she heard anything on her end but Magpie had long grown quiet in the room beside yours. It’s all you can do to force your bloodshot eyes open.

You have to stay awake—you can fall apart when he’s taken to the skies or buried six feet under.

Five fifty…

Before sleep can take you, a near melodic taps hit your ears; the sweeping fingers of a key code just beyond your reach.

Keigo lets himself inside, his feathers shutting the door faster than you can think to act.

Not that it matters. You couldn’t fight him off if you’d been training from the start of your confinement.

Your eyes remain locked on the time. Jaw tight, you commit to refusing him.

Five fifty one.

He’ll be late if he doesn’t hurry the fuck up and get face time with every wife. There was a ritual to these things.

Timing had to be down to an art form otherwise the fastest man would have to be late to the day job. Usually a punishment or two.

Hate to do this, he’d say. Lies spewed past a tight jaw and a strained cock.

Rather than present a front of urgency to the fact, he only lets out a long suffering sigh at the sight of you.

You hear his voice before you ever make his face.

“I know you’re awake.” You tense under his avian gaze. “Was it another bad one?”

He drops the tray of breakfast and meds on a dresser you’ve always found woefully redundant. Then he’s crossing the room, shameless in his liberties over the unclaimed space.

The mattress dips beside you. His body runs flush against your back as an unwelcome touch traces shapes over your belly.

“Finch…” A plea on his lips, a warning to your ears. “I’m sure you don’t want to make a bad time worse. You know the kind of stress I’m under. C’mon, Songbird. You gotta give me something.”

Silence begets silence. He frowns in the darkness, ever waiting on a poised reply from his captive bride.

“Tell you what. You talk to me. You behave, I’ll see what I can do on my end,” he coaxes with his fingers carding through your hair. “We can have family game night. Maybe a movie?”

“So generous,” you rasp.

He hums into a modest shrug, pressing a kiss over your shoulder. “I thought so, at least.”

Smug fuck.

“You still have Starling on the suppressants?”

His wings posture around you reflexively. You have only a second to relish in the chaos before his grip is tightening. He pulls the hair he’s buried himself in.

“I thought you were gonna be a good girl,” he accuses.

“That was your mistake… You’re the one who wanted me to sing.” Spite bleeds from your lips like a curse.

“Really now.” He quirks his brow, almost impressed. “You know what, fair play.”

Drawing your head back for a torturous moment too long, he keeps you in those eyes right there with him. Molten and tragic—fixed solely on you.

You catch your breath in the pillow, heaving into a series of coughs.

He passively regards you as the strewn feathers do his bidding. They haul you from the mattress, raising you up with ease. Remaining on the bed, Keigo knocks both wrists under his neck to lean on.

Hands above your head, he has you bound and restrained midair. You watch the idle plumage sharpen in your periphery. Only two.

You can’t muster the fucks it would take to panic… Never mind the pleas to get out of this.

The aches are ever present, blossoming upwards now. It grounds you, pins you to the moment as the feathers keep you locked in place.

“Here I wanted to have a nice breakfast with all you pretty birds on my day off,” he grouses.

“The pain I’m in is killing me. Day in, day out. You leave me to wither and rot without a thought to my suffering. Not me, not any of us.” You’re absolutely raging beneath his phantom hold. “Fuck your day off.”

The blades move closer. Just a nick in the right place, that’s all it would take to end this nightmare for you. There’s nothing else for him to take.

“As much as I appreciate your blessing, I was already planning on it.”

One slice. And another. A mere whisper of cloth that leaves your breasts exposed.

Both straps of your silken nightdress come undone on his order. They turn the remaining scraps to ribbons until you’re completely nude for him.

Rising from the bed, his wings bristle ever so.

Keigo takes his time sauntering towards you. Rounding the bed, he pops a grape in his mouth. It only takes one fallen feather trailing behind him to swipe pills from the very same tray.

“Not like either of us have anywhere to be. Why don’t I make you really sing, hm?”

Close as he is, you find yourself flinching. His calloused touch ghosts across your skin, breath fanning in tandem over your cheeks.

“What d’ya suppose I’m gonna find when I get down there.”

“Drop dead,” you curse.

Your head is knocked back into the wall before you even register the slap. A practiced hand slips inside your mouth to silence you, taking his time fucking you with his fingers. Never once does he break stride with the hand that keeps time over your pulse.

Your cheek burns. His fingers gag you as he smothers the sounds of protest at your airway. Emboldened by the sounds at his fingertips, his breath stutters over your cheeks as he ruts desperately against you.

He releases you. Presses on, low as he dares to tread in these little hours.

Down your chest.

Past your stomach.

Quick as a flash, he pulls himself from your mouth leaving a trail of spittle that runs down your chin. The absence leaves you fighting for your life, choking on air one minute and a scream the next.

Deft fingers bite into your throat. You groan, arching into his touch.

“Tell me why you’re so interested all of a sudden,” he bids. “Couldn’t possibly be out of concern for me…”

You want to tear away from him. Claw his skin, his eyes. Those feathers aren’t granting you any favors—palms bleeding stigmata, their loyalties remain solely with the master who controls them.

You’re in a losing fight with the pain.

You’ll have to ride this out until he kills you or tires from the game. Fuck this and fuck him.

“Star…ling,” you grind out.

A weak swing of your legs is thwarted with ease.

He loosens his touch some. You hurl your answer at him while there’s a fraction of a chance he’ll leave you alone.

“Lend me her power or up my dose… I don’t care, just give me enough to end it.”

This gives him pause. He hovers over your collarbone. You watch him swallow.

“I can’t live like this anymore,” you sob. “The pain is unbearable and you’re not letting me heal myself. No sunlight. No relief. I can’t sleep unless you put me under and it’s never enough. It was for me, Keigo.”

He sends for a feather to fetch his whims. Rests the heel of his waiting hand against your mons.

“That’s what you’re going with?”

You hang your head. “It’s the truth.”

His lips lock around your aching nipple just as he dips inside you.

He spreads your thighs, appraising your legs with a scrutinizing eye and a wandering touch to match. You’d scream if you thought it would help.

Keigo slots your legs over his shoulders. Sucks a bruise into your thigh, cups your cunt. You jolt into the assault.

Slow to start, he presses down and teases you with his relentless strumming. His middle finger laps your juices, fucking them deeper into you every time.

Thighs shake. Your stomach tenses, bracing for the forced release.

His wrist twists in quick succession. It’s all you hear. He latches on your clit, a steady staccato of tongue and teeth with his forearm shining with sweat and your own wetness.

Your breath catches on a wail, riding the orgasm for all it’s worth. The last of your release comes pouring out of you, stuttering the last of the stream all over his face; a shining testament to an evil man who knows just how to give migraine-shattering head.

The hormonal gremlin that haunts your attic almost wants him to fuck you. Best taken as a sign you’re ovulating… better to stay away.

It’s like he can smell the apprehension on your skin. His eyes stare up at you in the dark. Not in awe, rather a cautious advantage.

Ever the predator, he watches and awaits the moves of the prey.

You’re still a writhing mess on his tongue. If you could bury yourself in his hair, you would bear down with a white knuckle grip and a piercing cry to match.

Your arms tingle in the restraints above you. “Keigo… stop.”

He does so. Pulls away from you entirely.

You slump to the floor. A groan, “Keigo—what the fuck?!”

The scruff on his chin glistens in the low light. He smiles down on you, aglow as an angel.

Even Lucifer had wings before the fall.

You flinch when his palm reaches your jaw. It takes you by surprise how gentle, how earnest it was. Almost reminds you of the beginning.

Never enough. Not really.

Of course you knew who he was. Hawks was renowned on and off the job; a top hero during business hours and a notorious playboy after dark. He frequented your flower shop when you were earth side.

Still, he never touched you. He didn’t have to when he’d been grooming you from the start.

You came. He called. Service with a smile, even with eyes locked on the scene of him devouring the deepest parts of you.

He left you to your own devices for the most part. One day you got a little too familiar, too comfortable with the back and forth, letting it slip that you’d been living with chronic pain for years.

And maybe you shouldn’t have reassured him that your form of management is often self medicated, supplied by your plant quirk…

But he looked so sad.

Little did you know the ammunition you’d be giving him. A warrant signed by your own hand for a drawn out death, long and tortuous.

Coming to, you gag around him.

“Take it,” he demands. “Shut your whore mouth and take it.”

He’s got a fistful of your hair and you can’t get a breath in while you’re warming his cock.

You push on his thighs but he only tightens his grip, pulling you flush against him.

He stutters above you and then slows.

Stays still inside you, caresses the bulge taking purchase down your throat.

One roll of his hips. Then two to follow. He came on your tongue before he could see to the third.

“Don’t you dare swallow yet.” He twists your nipple, further scrutinizing you as he nods towards your quivering lips. “Open up, let me see.”

You do as you’re told. In the dark like this, you don’t have the luxury of foresight. You could never have known that he had you where he wanted; primed with a grape and your cocktail of pills and vitamins.

He takes the grape in his mouth, tracing your pout with his thumb. After a few moments pass when he drops a languid pool of spit over his come. You choke on the intrusion and are afforded no time to recover. He presses two tablets on the pile before making you take it all.

Palm across your mouth, his thumb caresses your throat. He’s got his fingers censoring you, guiding you.

You swallow with a retch and grimace before taking the rest.

He watches, expectant. Keigo snags a circular style, day of the week pill dispenser from an errant feather. Snaps the lid open and presents you with your haul for the morning.

“Go on,” he urges.

You present your palm to him… It dawns on you both that you were bleeding still.

“Damn it,” he scoffs. Runs off to a trunk in the corner and comes back with first aid. Regards the blood with a rough double take. “Fuck.”

“If it’s really that bad, maybe you should stop doing it. Food for thought.”

He turns your hand over, alcohol wipe in hand. Doesn’t give you any countdown, just starts scrubbing his scene.

“Fuck,” you hiss. “Son of a bitch…”

“Do you want the vitamins or not?”

“Are they going to put me in a good mood?”

“Ginger, garlic, and elderberry… mostly immune boosting. Best I can do. You know how I feel about you girls and drugs.”

You watch him, incredulous. “And just what does your little philosophy have to say about forcing sleeping pills on your wives so you don’t have to worry about them keeping up, hmm?”

“Finch, you’ve taken your punishment like a good girl.” He nurses his temple where he’s bound to have a migraine as well. “You can take a day off from being a brat, for once.”

You catch him in the low light. Seems he’s nursing a bruise to match. Onto your own scrutiny, his feathers cut you down before the gripe can draw breath.

His attentions never leave the work.

You pry your hand away, cradling the wound with a hiss. “It’s aftercare for me to watch you squirm, dickless.”

“Is that so…” Keigo sounds almost bored. He rolls his eyes, turning up the brightness of the room. “Well today it’s gonna be antibiotic ointment and gauze pads because someone decided to waste time with an attitude.”

Keigo dresses the wounds without dictation. You allow him his silence until an intrusive thought has you groaning.

“What is it now?”

You shake your head. “I can’t. It’s really bad.”

“Say your peace, Finch. I’m only one man and I have all of you to get through.”

You reel back with a wince, more hurt now than the slap across the face earlier.

The hand hangs limp in his own, touch matching his ever softening tone.

“No. That’s not… fuck.” A biting sigh. “I’m sorry. That’s hardly fair… How’m I supposed to call myself the fastest if I can’t even hack time management with my family.”

He returns his attentions to the inflamed palm. Draws you to his lips, all adoration.

“You know you can come to me with anything.”

And now he’s just gaslighting you.

Fingers splay across your neck and jaw… forcing your gaze, forcing your intimacy.

Your eyes well with tears when there’s nowhere to hide. He steals them away with a frown, lingering across the bruises that betray your sleep deprivation.

“Why are you crying?”

You push him with barely any fight left. “Please. Just go.”

As you thrash to get away, he can only fight to hold you closer. The pain spikes in an unforgiving swipe across your abdomen. You whine into his shoulder, shuddering into his arms.

He cradles your head to his chest with a soothing rock. Feathers run down your arms and back, all forgiveness.

“You know what would help…”

He’s the devil at your shoulder. You are fully aware of what he’s about to say.

“A baby won’t begin to fix this,” you break down. He has to strain to hear, this you know. “…won’t fix me.”

The warmth of his kiss bleeds under your skin. He thrums a gentle rap against your arm, just waiting for you to settle.

He shushes you, flying over his crimson helpers for an assist. A damp cloth. Dragon balm. Some medicinal chaser that tasted more like sewage runoff than remotely helpful.

Keigo carries you back to bed. He lays you down, spreads you out. You wince as he cleans his mess. Mercifully, you can’t see him. But you hear him. Feel him.

You make the sounds of him rustling with the cap. It’s mercifully warm on your abused muscles before the cooling menthol hits.

“Tell me the name.” Your blood runs cold as it registers what he’s asking of you.

He must’ve gotten to Magpie during their conjugal. Shit.

You swallow when he serves the crumbs anyways. “Little Birdie told me that our beloved Blue had heroic aspirations of her own, once upon a time.”

His touch roves over your legs to start, working the product into the meat of your thighs. He waits for what must feel like ages in his eyes… but it would never be long enough for you.

“C’mon. You’re really not gonna tell me?”

“Expect an answer, you’ll have to stop talking at some point,” you grouse.

Your breath catches on a strangled wail, meeting no resistance when he flips you.

“Quit your whining,” he snaps. “It’s all I ever hear from you. And fuck me for trying to make this marriage work, right?”

His touch is unrelenting. Prying the tension from the source, spreading his fingers over your lower back.

You try to reach out to him. Make him stop. Bat him away. Fight.

A feather nicks your hand away with the swipe of his whims.

“The name, Blue.” It’s not a grounding request anymore. “You give me the name, this all goes away.”

Starling flashes in mind and memory. If you could sleep, if you could dream—

“Freakebana!”

You curl in on yourself, pushing him with what little strength you have left from this ordeal. With any hope, your pride would be toll enough for him.

The one thing you had, gone in an instant. Precious and private, thoroughly yours. Now it was known to him. Sullied by his acknowledgement. He could twist your comfort and make it ugly—could do whatever he wanted, really.

Keigo was no stranger to it. This would be the least of his atrocities.

He nods to himself in quiet concert, seemingly mollified for now. Keigo leans beside you and presses a kiss over your bruising cheek. His idle touch traces the thrumming pulse before throwing the baby out with the bath water and simply scent marking your whole arm.

“Thank you,” he whispers into your wrist.

When Keigo rises from the bed, you keep yourself small. He crosses the room to the dresser. Out of the drawer and into his arms came the clothes meant for you.

You must have been a sorry sight if he’s dressing you in his boxer shorts and cotton undershirt over the negligée.

Again, woeful redundance. He’d disposed of your clothes in the first week, imposing a preference for nudity and teddies. What little he keeps on hand for himself, the only times your husband is liable to share are rare moments such as these.

Toe to toe, back to back.

He’s more patient coming back to you.

Two arms in each hole, ever minding your head as he finishes with the well worn v-neck. Right leg and the left until you’re left to your relative comforts.

“Just… I want you to think on it, yeah?”

You furrow your brow. “If this is about the fucking baby—”

On hands and knees, he remains unabashed in his desires. It’s an old tune, one he’s carried for years now.

A baby will cure your pain. A baby will give you purpose. A baby will soothe your broken heart.

Each and every argument has been run into the ground. He doesn’t need another mouth to feed, let alone want one. The others had been thrust into the position, far before their time or consent.

You were one of two holdouts, yes. But as ever, he remains a slave to his instincts. There were fledglings in his care and he craved their unborn siblings.

“I don’t want to fight,” he sighs. Scrubs a hand across his face like he actually believes it. “I just need you to know there’s an out for you. One that would make me very happy.”

You restrain yourself.

You let him kiss you.

You feel him leave your side.

Only when the door shuts behind him do you give yourself permission to fall apart.

Head pounding, pulse racing, a death rattle crawls from your lips.

The neon lighting bares down in an obtrusive vermilion that burns your eyes, ever the voyeur to your utter destruction.

#yandere keigo takami #yandere hawks #yandere hawks x reader #yandere keigo x reader #mha. fic #🎟️yandere🎟️#.mine #.freakebana #.keigo takami #.masterlist

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xxmia0wxx · 1 year

Text

Backrooms POI: Finley and Funny

Name(s): Finley and Funny

Aliases: "the Friendly Partygoer"(Funny) Team BoredFun, Fin+Fun

Dummy grumpy pants (Finley) =)

Funny dont add that in =(

You can't tell me what to do! XD

A stupid annoying idiot (Funny) =(

Hey! thats meeeeaaaaan >=(

Shut up =(

Last known location(s): Level 1, Level 5, Level 2, Level 11,

Known Affiliations: The Pity Partiers are the best and you should visit them =)

look I know they sound suspicious but you should listen to them =(

(Funny and Finley running from a smiler and a more clear, edited version of the smae photo)

Description: Finley and Funny are a unlikely duo of two eneties. (A rouge partygoer and a thought to be extinct partypooper) they have been seen wanderering Levels in deep conversation with one another, running from other entities

We dont do that! >=(

yeah we do actually =(

they seem to have a interest in guns and weapons as they have been seen carring many swords, guns and bazookas and making them as well

YEAH! THEIR AWESOME! right Fin? =)

Yeah i guess their cool =|

they love it =)

They both seem to be neutral on humans, they have been only seen killing them when negatively provoked

Uh YEAH? of course we respond violently to dumb, rude people! thats how it works dummy! =)

I think they're talking about how you clawed someones eye out when they accidentally bumped into you =(

It was level 201! I was on edge! >=(

Level 201 isn't that dangerous dumbass =(

you know why I didn't feel safe... Im not usually like that, honest! you can be a funny joke if you change your perspective! =)

Despite Funny being a partygoer, they have never been seen Hunting or eating wanderers but have been seen eating a prompus amount of Cannibal Cusinie.

Honestly cannbial cusinie so much more tastier =)

Im surprised you haven't gotten fat with how you eat that shit =(

Youda mean? =|

I'm just sayin its not good for you =(

WELL the more I eat, the less their is for the humans, DUH! =)

Finley has been known to be very cold and somewhat hostile to wanders, often pointing guns at wnaders but often never shooting

Don't worry, they only pull guns when they are just when They're grumpy, YOU SHOULD SEE WHEN THEY'RE MAD! HAHAHA! =)

Partygoers and PartyPoopers are infamous for being natural mortal enemies, but Finley and Funny have been seen either neutral or Straight-up romantic with eachother wait, wait, wait, WAIT. what do you mean by romantic? =(

uh fin we've been dating forever you stupid ass =)

Don't tell them that! >=(

Awwww! are you embarrassed?~ =)

im kicking you out of the room =(

Behaviors: Funny Has been known to be friendly albeit very malicious and dark regarding to their sense of humor, often making jokes about murder, missing family members, self harm, destruction, mental illness, or just straight up being rude piece of shit

You just gotta have the right mind set to get my jokes, Or at least a Mind at all! =)

as stated before Finley has been known being, cold, crass, rude, cynical but still helpful even if it doesn't effect them positivly. they have also been known to make edgy remarks reminiscent of that of a middle schooler who thinks they're depressed.

>=(

The following Is a interview log with The two eneties and dehila of the m.e.g in hopes to understand their odd situation better

____________________________________

Dehila: *Calmly walks over to Finley and Funny* Um excuse me-

Funny: FINELY SHOOT IT WITH FIRE ITS A SKIN STEALER!

-the tape cuts out for 20 minutes-

Finley: sorry about Asshole overthere *they point to Finny* they can't tell a clicker from a skin stealer

Funny: OH well excuuuuusse me for being jumpy in a plane of existence with cosmic entity cakes and hivemind cults following a dumb bluebird!

Dehila: oh it's quite alrig-

-the tape cuts out again

Dehila: so how did you two meet?

Finley: long story, but after the fun war PartyPoopers decided to stay in the promised land for "preservation of out species" or some dumb shit like that, but I left caused that Was the stupidest thing ive ever heard-

Funny: HA! not as dumb as you wanderering the halls alo-

-The tape cuts out again-

Dehlia: so you two have a bit of a enemies to lovers thing going on huh?

Funny: Eh, I guess, i mean we still fight ALL the time, and they're Super boring if that wasn't obvious! but.. i dunno They're a boring person, but Super fun to be around with! They taught me how to shoot a railgun, We made a bazooka that fires chainsaws, we smoke MJ together, They tell the best jokes! they've kinda become my muse!

Dehila: Aww thats so sweet- wait What about memory-

Funny: Nothing.

Finley: Yeah Funnys alright, Its nice to have someone who gets me, or Not takeing literally everything thing I say personally

Dehila: so funny, what separates you from the rest of the Partygoer?

Funny: Well I hate killing humans for starters, You guys are a alot funner alive, And Also Cannibal Cusinie Just tatses better, oh and also Being unwittingly controled by a giant birthday cake is super lame honestly, plus I'm having so much Fun With Finley!.... but I do miss friends back in level fun...

Finely: *sighs* ..yeah thats the hardest part about leaving..

Dehlia: so I've heard alot about "The pity Partiers" what is that exactly?

Finley: *akward silence*

Funny: Uhh.. well.. Uhhh

Funny:

Funny: you see when you love someone very much-

Finley: they're our kids

Dehlia: All of them?!?! they're like 50 of them!

Finley: 160 actually, Partypeople usally have 40 per litter

Funny: Yeah, why do you think were everywhere?

Finley: Anyways don't worry about them, their (mostly) harmless, right fun?

Funny: I think I have something in my teeth