#knocking smaller birds out of the sky

[colderdrafts]

Little Doves 1

Practicing the more gorey and horror side of things in this two-parter featuring a slightly aggressive bird. Putting a mature warning on for some less-than-cozy stuff. Next

Gn reader x monster (male falcon hybrid). TW for forced touching (sfw), kidnapping, violence

"Please eat," Callum pleads for the umpteenth time, brows furrowed in worry. "No food in days - do I need to help?"

Trying not to think too hard at the prospect of the hybrid falcon basically chewing your food and spitting it out for you like you’re a baby bird, you wince, shaking your head.

Callum grunts in frustration, his black and white plumage puffing up slightly, amber eyes sharp and narrowed. He stands a good head and then some taller than you, imposing frame heightened by the giant wings that protrudes from his back, and the thick layer of soft feathers that covers his body.

You glance to the floor, once again politely refusing of the offer he insistently holds out to you - this time a can of vegetable soup. You stomach growls in hunger and, truth to be told, you are beyond famished.

But you can't accept food from him. You don't want to seem like you're getting attached.

And you don't want to rely on him, although your other options are a tad limited at the moment.

You’re currently trapped inside the top of a ruined clock tower, once a great landmark and the pride of the city. Now, all that remains are a broken mess of clockwork and debris; When the city was destroyed, so was the clock tower.

The magnificent structure had fallen apart and split in two once the bombs fell, the mangled structure resting against its fallen neighbor building. Callum has utilized the remains as a space for his nest.

You’re inside the inner workings of the old clock, a large room partially covered in intricate workings of metal, the technology that once made the clock run – silenced now, due to the destruction. Any exit to lower levels were blocked by debris after the tower was cracked in half. The only way out is through a hole in the wall where the clock itself used to be, and the withering heights makes escape for any unwinged creature, such as yourself, near impossible.

Callums hums, concerned, bringing you back into the moment. Usually he relents at your request and leaves you be, but for some reason this time he decides to stand firm.

"I worry! Growing weak. Thinning, tired," he holds out the can to you again with a pleading expression, claws scraping across the aluminum surface. "Eat!"

To his credit, he genuinely looks concerned for your well-being, but you can’t trust that at all as you’re still unsure of his intent. Reasonable, given he forcefully dragged you here against your will and has held you captive for about a week now.

He is right, however. You have been growing weak, spending more and more time resting in a corner on the floor, refusing to utilize and share with him the nest he's built beneath the old internal workings of the clock. You’ve been saving your energy only for picking through the debris in search of anything that could get you out of here. Callum leaves once or twice a day in search of food, and you take advantage of his absence to look around without him noticing.

Two days ago you got lucky and managed to pull out what used to be a safety-net and a rope that once served as the railing of a staircase. Slowly, but surely, you’ve knotted a rope that may just be long enough to reach the street below.

It's not a foolproof escape plan, but it's the one you've got.

You look at the can in his hands, and your stomach painfully lurches. It's just soup, but right now it looks like the most delicious thing in the entire world.

If all goes well, you'll soon be out of the clock tower anyway – and if your escape plan works, you'll still need some strength to get back through the broken city and return to your faction, the Community.

Perhaps accepting this small offer wont hurt.

At least you tell yourself as much, because you can't stand the hunger anymore.

You reluctantly reach out and take the can and get to work opening it.

Callum heaves a massive sigh of relief, and stares at you while you wolf down its contents, making sure you eat it all.

You let the empty can fall to the ground with a clatter. Cold soup has never been so satisfying.

"Good," he coos once you've finished, and takes a step closer.

You freeze in place when he suddenly leans in and rubs his face against your cheek. He affectionately trails his clawed hands over your arms. "Need to eat to be strong, silly."

It sends a terrified chill through you and you grit your teeth at the contact, not sure if allowing it is your best course of action. But you also don't want to push him too much.

There's a pause where he takes note of your tension. He doesn't move away.

"Trouble?" he asks. He gently nudges you. "Sick? Is that why you are not eating?"

Scared shitless, more like, but you decide not to tell him that. "Something like that," you say instead, turning your head away from him.

He nods, and finally leans back to look at you. "Understand now. Rest, then."

You try not to yelp when suddenly clawed fingers firmly clasps your shoulders, and he starts leading you toward the nest. You turn your head to protest, but his sharp eye and something about his grip strength tells you not to waste your energy. You aren’t winning this fight.

You gingerly step over the edge of woven branches, random fabrics and grass, and take a seat when Callum puts weight on your shoulders to signal you down. The nest is not the most comfortable, but at least the branches inside have been expertly folded into the main construct so no sharp edges can poke you.

You try to ignore the small pile of bones whose species you’ve yet to identify that litters the space around it.

Callum hums in thought, and rests on his haunches across from you, peering at your face.

"Warmer here," he says. "Why do you like cold floor? Sick now. Silly."

You realize he's waiting for an answer when he doesn't move to get up. Telling him you really don't want to be in here - and that the prospect of sharing his space makes you shiver - is probably not wise. So you opt for some good ol' lying.

"Flat rock is good for my spine.” You’ve probably read that somewhere. “I need it sometimes.”

He stares at you curiously, but then looks considerably relieved. "I worry nest wasn't good enough! I will learn more of these things."

He gets up, towering over you, especially when you're sitting, and stares you down. "You rest here now. No sickness!"

"Got it," you mutter.

Satisfied, Callum turns and steps over the nest. The soft feathers at the edge of his wings caresses your legs as he moves away, heading toward the gaping hole in the wall where the giant clock used to be. You look on as he moves, a strange mixture of beautiful and terrifying where the dark hues of his wings blends together in a way almost mesmerizing.

He takes a seat at the edge of the broken wall, leaning back and staring out over the city. A few moments later you hear him gently humming.

He has a nice voice, you’ll give him that, a deep and warm baritone that gently drums across your senses. Best not to listen too much, lest he lulls you to sleep.

You sit back up, though at the sound of your stirring the humming promptly stops. You look back over to find Callum fixing on you with a sharp glare.

“Rest,” he grunts.

You lean back on the side of the nest with a huff. The humming continues.

What do you do now? There's isn't really much to do with him up and about. Usually he’s content to let you wander around the clock as you please, but now you can't even subtly look around for a way out. Seems he's set on keeping you ‘resting’ since you're 'sick'.

Nice going, you.

You stare at the sophisticated metals of the clockwork hanging above, leaning back on the branches. It’s so strange how all this happened. You cannot figure out why on Earth a hybrid falcon would snatch you if not to simply eat you.

That’s what usually happens when people get caught here.

Your fear feels justified, especially considering how you first ‘met’ him, where what was supposed to be a quick supply run had turned into a fight for your life.

You’ve often gotten the feeling of being watched when out and about scavenging and fighting off rabid animals, hybrids and hostile survivors. Usually you've roped it off as the general paranoia that’s necessary to stay vigilant and survive in this city. The Community usually sends you out in groups of three, but a collapsing building separated you from your crew mates, and left you stranded at the other side of the street.

Your paranoia had proved correct this time, however, when Callum dive-bombed for you the second you were blocked off and exposed, taking advantage of the confusion. Your crew had called for you, hearing your screams, but they had no way to quickly come to your aid.

He had the element of surprise on his side, but you still did everything you could to fight him off, even managing to knock him over the side of the head with a bat. But, in the end, he managed to force the weapon from your hands and wrangle you on the ground. You’re still sporting the partially healed bruises and scratches from the struggle.

You still have nightmares of lying there, terrified and in shock with the giant bird of prey's talons firmly locked around your torso and arms, pinning you in place. Callum had stood over you, panting and smiling, apparently pleased with the outcome of the skirmish.

Then he simply plucked you off the ground. You still remember the drop in your stomach at the sensation when he first pulled you into the air, lovingly informing you he admires your strength and cunning. He brought you here, and you’ve been here ever since.

Needless to say, it's been a strange couple of days, and he has not been very good at explaining exactly what this whole deal is. He acts as if it should all be very obvious to you.

It isn’t.

After the initial shock settled and you surmised he wasn't going to maim and devour you just yet, you had cautiously inquired if you could please leave.

"Leave? Where would you go?" he had asked, tilting his head to the side curiously.

"..home?"

He had smiled at that and laughed. "Silly! Playing games with me. This is home."

And that was the end of that.

You've tried your luck bringing it up again a few other times, even bringing up your other responsibilities in the Community – but it's like he simply can't comprehend why you would need to go anywhere, especially when, in his own words, 'you haven't properly bonded yet'.

Whatever that means.

You glance over from your spot in the nest, watching him move around on the broken wall and preening his feathers. You don't know what to make of him. He’s a dangerous predator who snatched you and could tear you apart in seconds – but since you got here he's been nothing but overly affectionate, attentive to your needs and goes out of his way to bring you food and other items you might find interesting.

He even brought you a new pair of trousers after hearing you mutter complaints that you previous pair got torn in your fight. He had puffed out his feathers and beamed with pride when you had thanked him and put them on, as if earning your gratitude was a significant milestone in his life.

After everything you've experienced in this ruthless fallen world, every selfish survivor, every person who proved to you that no one can be trusted, every nook and cranny that hides the next predatory gaze that holds only a wish to harm you – only a very select few have ever been this nice to you. And this is a brutal kidnapping.

It's weird.

You need to get out of here.

You glance over at the corner where your makeshift rope is hidden behind a block of concrete. It's a long way down, but with any luck, it might just be enough for you to actually have a way down the clock.

The gentle humming stops, bringing you out of your thoughts. You look up to the sound of footsteps as Callum slowly approaches. He kneels at the edge of the nest, frowning.

"Still not resting?" he asks. "Can't fall asleep?"

You cog an eyebrow at him. "I'm lying down in here like you said. Isn't that resting?"

"No," he says flatly, and crawls over the edge of the nest toward you.

Uh-oh.

You scramble backwards, looking for any excuse to keep him at bay. "H-hold on, what if it’s contagious? You'll just get sick too!"

He reaches for your legs. "Then you will be strong for me. Now I will be strong for you."

He grabs hold and pulls you to him. You try and squirm free, but he ignores it, climbing on top of you and holding you down. He shifts in behind you, pulling you close so your back is laying flat against him, arms wrapped firmly around your torso.

“Be still,” he growls against your neck. You feel a hand draping over your head.

Panic floods you system and you strain against him, heart pounding in your chest. Your breathing comes haggard, the last time he had you close like this you were in a world of pain.

He holds onto you firmly. “You need rest now. Silly.” He rubs his chin on the top of your head. “Too tense. I will help.”

You stop squirming against him and remain frozen, not able to release the rigidity in your body. He’s very warm, but the gentle strokes along your scalp and across your face sends chills through you.

You should probably shove him off, tell him to leave you alone like you’ve done all the other times he’s tried to get close, but you can’t move. You’re scared what would happen if you did. Callum hushes you, gently trying to convince you to let go.

After a bit, it becomes hard not to.

“Breathe,” he whispers.

You realize you’ve been holding it in, and let out a deep breath to try and release a bit of the tension. He senses when you relent and hums, pleased.

“Spine is okay now?” he asks somewhat playfully.

“It’s.. fine,” you manage.

He chirrups in acknowledgment, and shifts slightly, propping himself up to better look at your face. He frowns when he finds you looking back.

“You do not sleep with eyes open,” he states.

He’s definitely not letting anything up this time, so you simply concede and shut your eyes. You feel him closing the distance between you as he gently presses his forehead against yours. He then lies back down, securing his arms around your torso once again and burying his face in the back of your neck.

You don’t know how long you lie there, just listening to the silence of the city, feeling the rhythm of his breathing behind you, and the occasional affectionate stroking across your face or scalp.

You glib in and out of consciousness, trying your best to fight it off, but the exhaustion soon overtakes.

You fall asleep.

#colderwriting #monster romance #gender neutral reader #x reader #monster lover #monster x reader #fun fact Callum is based on a peregrine falcon #they're urban dwellers who likes tall buildings #going very fast #knocking smaller birds out of the sky #etc #was debating whether even positng this at all but I said I'd get better at sharing sooo.. #Callum

[takumifujiwarastan]

dandelions

pairings: teen!satoru gojo x reader genre: fluff warnings: bad grammar and not thoroughly read through, so lmk if there r mistakes :3

based on the song Dandelions by Ruth B

a/n: gojo was voted for the next fic to be written, so here ya go!!

maybe its the way you say my name

"y/n~!" you hear the sing-songy voice of your classmate satoru as he runs up behind you, slinging an arm around your shoulder.

maybe its the way you play your game

you laugh at his eagerness, turning your head to meet his crystaline eyes. a tingling sensation fills your body, a warm feeling gracing your cheeks so slightly as you notice how close you are to him. his voice snaps you out of your thoughts. "it seems as though a gift from the heavens has been bestowed upon you..." he says in a playful tone as his hold his arm out in front of you, a can of your favourite drink in his hand.

"and who's that for?" you inquire, a teasing tone in your voice. "you, pretty." he replies slyly, a playful smirk on his face. you feel the warmth increase in your cheeks upon hearing the nickname, your heart swelling at the thoughtful gesture and his casual use of the term of endearment he used. his actions made your eyes shine and heart flutter.

but its so good, ive never known anybody like you

"lets go for a walk or something, im tired~" satoru whines, leaning more and more of his body weight on you in a dramatic fashion. you giggle at his antics, shifting your feet to stabilize yourself to support him as he continued to practically fall on you. by now he was leaning over your smaller frame, and he loops an arm around your waist so you dont fall under him. his eyes locked with yours and his face was just inches away.

his lips curl into a sly smirk as he eyes you over the rims of his circular sunglasses. "y'know, i wouldn't mind staying like this..." he remarks with a teasing tone in his voice. you push him away from you, straightening yourself up before starting to walk ahead of him. "oh, knock it off. c'mon, lets go for a walk then." you say, quickly dismissing his suggestive actions in an annoyed way but your rosy complexion did not aid your argument.

despite only being classmates, good friends even, you wish his actions meant more. that there was real emotion behind the terms of endearment he bestowed upon you. reciprocated feelings behind his soft touches and little gifts. you wanted this relationship to be more.

but its so good, ive never dreamed of nobody like you

he caught up to you was you began to walk, falling in step with you was you walked down a pedestrian path to a nearby park. the afternoon sun was high in the sky, small fluffy clouds dotted the otherwise clear blue sky, and a cool breeze pushed them along in the sea above.

you were sipping on your canned drink as you walked down the path in comfortable silence, listening as the tree's leaves rustled together when their branches were swayed by the wind, as sacadas sang and birds chirped to each other in their leafy lofts.

you disposed of your empty can in the nearby trash can, returning to the path and seeing as the path went further, winding past patches of trees and a wide expanse of field.

"satoru, look!" you called out behind you as you started to run down the path, darting to the wide green that awaited. you hear him call out to you from behind you and his footsteps increasing in pace as he starts to sprint after you.

ive heard of a love that comes once in a lifetime

you laugh as you look behind you, seeing the white-haired man hot on your tail and you pick up pace, the green expanse widening in your view as you approached it faster.

the path now turns at this point to continue along a row of houses and trees, but you stray off and run into the field, where thousands and thousands of yellow and white flowers dot the vast and endless green. by now satoru has caught up to you, tapping you on the shoulder as he runs past you and further into the field. you laugh and run after him.

and im pretty sure that you are that love of mine

he slows to a stop, leaning down and picking something up but you cant quite see what it is. panting, you catch up to him, tapping him on the shoulder as he did to you, your head tilting slightly in confusion. he turns around tentatively, revealing a full, white dandelion. he extends his arm out, presenting the flower to you like a proud third-grader. you chuckle as he does this, meeting his eyes as if to ask what his intentions were.

"make a wish, y/n." he says, gesturing to the dandelion, a soft tone in his voice as he waits for your response. you giggle softly, leaning towards it and closing your eyes, going through with this childish act. in your mind, these words echo around...

"i wish, satoru... that you'd love me the same."

im in a field of dandelions

you open your eyes, exhaling and blowing air toward the flower, the seeds beginning to waver and detatch from their stem, spreading into the air as the breeze carries them into the sky.

"whatcha wish for~?" satoru asks in a playful slyness. "not telling~" you respond in the same tone. "your turn now!" you say eagerly, leaning down and plucking a tall stem of the fluffy flower wand.

wishing on every one that you'd be mine

you carefully lean back up, flower in hand, turning to face satoru again, when you feel a pair of lips on yours, and a hand softly cupping the side of your face. you freeze in place, stunned, your heart bursting as you slowly melt into his touch.

he pulls back, clasps your hand with the flower between his. "i wish, y/n. you'd love me the same." he says softly, then blowing onto the fluffy flower, its seeds floating through the air and mingling in the sky with the ones from before.

you look at him, stunned, as he watches the pieces of the wishing flower drift away into the bright sky. he turns back to you, his eyes locking with yours.

i see forever in your eyes

he smiles, his thumb softly brushing over your cheekbone as his eyes stay locked on yours. "i hope my wish comes true" he breathes out, before slowly reconnecting his lips with yours again. this time its slower, more sure. you melt into his touch, your heart swells and your cheeks warm up.

he pulls back, his forehead resting against yours as he stares so lovingly into your eyes. "y/n, you have no idea how much i love you." he says breathlessly, closing his eyes and pressing a kiss to your forehead. "and how many times ive been wishing you loved me the same-" "i do, satoru." you cut him off, causing him to open his eyes, a slightly surprised look on his features.

"i love you more then you'll ever know."

i feel okay when i see you smile

a bright smile spreads across his lips, his eyes brightening in turn as a breathless laugh falls from his lips. its like all my doubts and inhibitions melted away at his confession, and now just his smile made my heart flutter in turn. "will you let me continue loving you... as my significant other?" he asks, your eyes meeting with his again.

"yes... yes i will, satoru gojo." you breathe out, a smile spreading across your features as you look up at him, and he kisses you again. you spend the afternoon in each others arms, in the field of dandelions.

a/n: gAH HOW'D I DO?!?? NEVER WRITTEN FOR GOJO BEFORE!!

requests r open :3

#jjk gojo #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu gojo #jujustu kaisen #jjk x y/n #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #teen gojo #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #young gojo #fluff #trending

[breannasfluff]

Most days, Wild is more than happy to fill the role of social bird in the group, flitting from person to person. Four often joins him and they bridge the gap between pairs and raptors.

Wild plays peacemaker and attentive friend, making sure no one is left out unless they prefer space to themselves. Four chatters at anyone nearby; a near-constant soundtrack on their travels.

Today, Wild doesn’t have the energy to fulfill his normal role. He sits a little off from the camp, wings up to block out the others while he swipes through photos on his slate.

“Mind if I join?” Four’s voice is soft as a wing nudges his.

Wild grits his teeth, because he just wants to be left alone, but lifts a wing so the smaller hero can crawl under. “What’s up?”

Four keeps his wings tucked in and curls over his knees. “My head is too loud.”

Ah, a bad day for both of them, then. There’s no chatter now and Wild can’t help but be grateful for the silence. He swipes at photos without seeing any of them. He should delete some before the storage gets full again.

In camp, Legend screeches and Wind’s cackle answers; goofing off, probably. His stiffens; he should have moved further away. Too far, though, and the Chain would really know something is off.

Giving up on the slate, Wild drops it to the dirt and copies Four, resting his head on his arms and knees. He’s just…not up for being social.

By the Goddess, he’s not up for anything. Exhaustion weighs down every limb and the bright spark in his chest barely smolders. Wild got plenty of sleep, but he’s just…tired, all the time.

Four whimpers and digs his hands into his hair.

“Come here.” Wild pulls the other forward to rest against his knees instead, combing gentle fingers through Four’s straight hair. The smith relaxes marginally, but his wings remain tucked tight to his back.

Footsteps approach and someone taps Wild’s wing bone for attention.

It’s Sky. “You two sharing snacks?”

Wild glares back, not up for it today. “No. Go try someone else.”

“I bet you two are sharing bugs, aren’t you?”

He continues the soothing motion over Four’s head as the other burrows deeper into his knees. “Sky. Not now.”

The chosen hero’s smile drops as he registers Wild’s mood. “Right, sorry.” A final tap to the wing and he leaves.

Four growls into Wild’s knees and his wings snap up and open, knocking Wild’s away. “Sorry!” His eyes swirl when he glances up and pulls them back down.

Wild doesn’t comment, just shrouds them once again in blue feathers. It’s hard to be at war with your own body.

Sometimes, when his scars ache and his muscles spasm, Wild wishes he’d stayed dead, or that the Shrine had done a better job of healing. He’d never give up the group, but the pain has a way of muddling everything but release in the moment.

Four continues to mumble into his knees, but it’s under their breath. The words slide smoothly into each other and Wild tunes it out, eyes closing.

Maybe he can just…take a break. For a little while. Maybe someone else can cook and take watch and play mediator in the group. The burdens he’s imposed upon himself weigh heavier with every moment Wild ignores them.

If Twilight cooks, they’ll eat nothing but meat for dinner. Sky can’t cook and he’ll try to steal food all night if someone doesn’t keep an eye on it. No, Wild should plan a meal for everyone. Pick up the slate, check the ingredients, and pick out a meal.

He doesn’t move.

With a deep sigh, Four pulls away with a nod and waves vaguely. Wild lifts a wing to let him out, watching as they wander deeper into the woods away from the group. Whatever the smith needs, he’s not finding it with Wild. Should he have done more? What else could he do?

No longer having to wrap them around another, he folds his wings back and hunches down, making his own feathery cocoon to hide in.

He’s so tired. Wild doesn’t want to sleep but…just…stop.

The rustle of wings points to someone approaching. He doesn’t look up this time. The person settles on the log next to him and wraps one wing around his back, ducking down to nudge his arm. Hyrule.

Someone joins on the other side and a sheen of yellow and black fans around him as well; Legend.

Sandwiched by both of them, he lets his wings droop back and slumps.

They don’t push, thankfully. Hyrule lays across his lap, much like Four did, and snuggles into his stomach. It tips his feathers at a skewed angle, but Legend snakes an arm around Wild’s side and pulls him to lean on his shoulder.

Surrounded and supported, Wild lets his eyes slide shut again. One hand runs gently through Hyrule’s curls.

The silence stretches, but it doesn’t need to be broken. Maybe dinner can wait. Maybe…Wild can rest a little longer.

#lu wing bois #lu wing au #wing au #linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu wild #lu hyrule #lu legend #lu four #linked universe fanfic #breannasfluff #my writing #wings #loz #legend of zelda #hurt/comfort #cuddles

[frenchkisstheabyss]

✧*̥˚ Under the Sky *̥˚✧

✧ Mature Content. Minors DNI. Warnings below the break ✧

✧ Pairing: fairy king!yeosang x chubby!fairy queen!reader

✧ Summary: The night of your wedding you disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Regaining your senses, you set out to return to your true love.

✧ Genre: ateez fairy au, romance, adventure {smutty at the end}

✧ Word Count: 1.9k-ish

✧ Warnings: Mentions of death. Reader has some injuries. Unprotected fairy sex. I'd say "wrap it up" but darling, you're a fairy. Have a ball.

✧ A/N: This is for @anyamaris and her absolute love for fairy Yeosang. Thank you for trusting me to write this. Love you forever, sis!

The fae believe that each soul, upon its entry into the realm of the living, is split in two. It’s said that to find your other half is to find a love so deeply rooted in the land of the fae that, should you ever part, the Fates themselves would shift to reunite you…

Hours have passed since you awakened in a graveyard of sorts. Found in the darkest reaches of the forest, it's desolate. No singing blue birds or fields of which to frolic. Only shallow graves dug in packed dirt and a thick smog that carries the nauseating stench of death. Nothing survives there. You aren’t sure how you did or how you even got there. What you do know is that your wedding dress, spun from the silk of a dozen spiders, clings to you now in tattered strips. A dozen scrapes and bruises adorn your body. None of which you notice in the presence of the sharp pain shooting through your back. Your wings, once grand and glittering, have been stripped from your back. An evil, depraved act that not even the fearsome creatures who you crept past to escape death's valley could bring themselves to do.

Night descends swiftly as you push on, at last reaching a point where the air is crisp and the forest is lush. You stop along the way to drink from sparkling ponds, nibbling on foraged berries for strength. Purple means poisonous but the blue ones are safe. Or was it the other way around? You shake it off. Your thoughts drifting to your husband Yeosang. Please don't think I abandoned you. I'd never. I couldn't. A girl like you from such a humble background marrying the king of the fae had been the talk of the town. People spoke of the riches you’d inherit. The luxury you’d live in. For you, none of that mattered. You'd call home a dry rotted tree stump if it meant having him by your side. You were only wed a few hours before your disappearance. Why? How? You shake yourself for answers only to come up empty-handed.

A firefly zips past your face, snapping your attention back to the world around you. The energy here, it’s different, familiar. In the distance, you hear music blended with the laughter of mothers and their children. The baritone voices of men sing a song that brings you back to your childhood. Back to…“Home!” you cry, adrenaline coursing through your veins. You race towards the sounds, dodging weeping willows and woodland creatures busy carrying on their own business. Bursting out into a clearing you find yourself at the center of your village. It’s the annual May fair and the streets are so packed that you’re swallowed by the crowd. Your lip quivers, tears flowing, as your attention shifts beyond the extravagant celebration to the castle sitting at the summit of the trees. Through a stained glass window, a single light shines.

“Yeosang!” you shout, shoving your way through the crowd to find a way to him. The villagers begin to notice you. The music gradually dies down to reveal exchanges of “The queen. The queen? Can’t be. It is!” “Yeosang! I’m here!” you’re shouting in every direction, intent on continuing until your throat’s raw. “I’m here, my love! I'm...aah!” What little breath you have left is knocked out of you when you’re swept up into the air. You look down to find the villagers growing smaller and smaller. You’re flying but how? “My queen. My treasure. You’ve returned” Yeosang beams, holding you close. The mere sight of him makes your head spin. The face of your love, heavy with hope and sadness, is the last thing you see before everything around you goes black.

“If anyone steps foot through these doors without my approval kill them!” Yeosang commands the soldiers lined up before him in the throne room. “If I have to do it myself I’ll send you into the afterlife with them!” In all his years as king Yeosang had never so much as raised his voice at his people. Admired for his gentle strength, the loss of you had filled him with a rage that burned wildly enough to destroy everything in his reach. And he'd done so, regrettably. In search of his love. In search of you. Word spread quickly that, in your absence, Yeosang had embarked on a rampage soaked with the blood of his enemies. “The Mad King” they came to call him, not to his face of course but he heard their whispers. “Gone, she is. He needs to accept it. Probably nothing but bone by now.” Yeosang never listened, he refused to. You would be together again. He'd accept nothing else.

The pitter-patter of a maid’s feet against the pearlescent castle floors provides some relief to the soldiers. “My king! My king!” she squeaks, nearly out of breath. Yeosang motions for his men to disperse, “What is it, Fern? The spiders again? I’ve told you, they work here. You must stop being so frightened of them.” “No, it’s the queen. I took her to the bath and she…” She carries on explaining but he’s already whipping through the halls in search of you. Bursting through the doors of the washroom he finds everything as it should be. The only peculiar thing is you, dripping wet before a mirror carved in cherrywood. Bubbles from your bath still gliding down your generous curves. Your back’s turned to the mirror, your attention fixed on the bruised, raised skin where your beautiful wings once were.

“They’ll never come back? Will they?” you say with enough despair to break him. Yeosang plucks a towel from a nearby hook, proceeding to dry you off. “In time” he sighs, working his way up from your feet to your calves, “Until then I’ll carry you wherever your heart desires.” Wrapping his arms around you, he releases the towel to lay his hands upon your wounds. His wings pulse, radiating a soft blue, as he massages the tension from the damaged muscle. “But you are as fierce, as exquisite a woman, as you were with them” he whispers, “And I swear that whoever has done this will feel your pain tenfold.” “When did you become so vengeful? Such a beast you've become” you coo, placing your hands on either side of his cheeks. Yeosang draws you in closer, resting his head on your shoulder.

He breathes you in as you pet wings and you can’t help but giggle at the way they shiver when you touch them. “What’s so funny?” he asks, his head popping up. You do your best to stifle your amusement, “Uhm, nothing. Nothing at all” A seriousness creeps across his handsome face, his lips suddenly meeting yours. “Do it again...” Never one to back down from a dare, you drape both arms over his shoulder, fingers lightly stroking his wings. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve missed you?” he asks between passionate kisses. You shake your head, heat rushing down between your legs as he presses his hardening arousal against you. “Show me…” Too entranced by his kiss to watch what you’re doing, you blindly tear at his clothes until not a single shred of garment separates you.

Cradling the back of your neck, he pulls away from your lips, kissing along your collarbone. “As you wish, my love” he hums against your chest, nibbling at your pillowy breasts. Bringing your legs around his waist, he brushes the tip of his cock against your tender bud and it’s your turn to shiver now. To rock back and forth along his length, the slick from your aching pussy soaking him from base to tip. “Yeo…Yeosang…so good” you moan, the friction setting off sparks in your system. Yeosang feverishly laps at your heaving breasts, tasting them as your chest rises and falls, your breaths growing shorter the more you grind down against him. “That’s it, darling. Use me to make yourself…mmm…feel good” he urges, tilting his hips so that his swollen head teases your entrance.

You catch yourself biting down on your own tongue, dragging your clit along his shaft, your walls already pulsing, desperate to be filled. “Inside of me. Please” you whine, hips stuttering, “Need you, Yeo…” He peaks up at you, your eyes glazed over, so needy. How could he refuse you? He raises his hips, fingers reaching between your legs to spread you wide for him, feeding you his cock painfully slow. He has to take his time with you. Feel the way your thighs tremble. The way your core contracts each time he goes the slightest bit deeper. Your low, soft moans in his ear are sweeter to him than his own pleasure. With every stroke your sounds grow fractured, those sparks having grown into full blown fireworks, setting off within your very essence. Yeosang grabs you by the hair, thrusting into you with such force that all thoughts of anything else leave your mind.

Any words you say are incoherent, your limbs moving as they wish. You are in heaven. The pressure builds. Unbearably strong. Dominating your senses. “Fall apart with me” he whispers, lovingly palming your scars, “I will carry you always. I promise.” “Aah…I…I…” Whatever you meant to say escapes you, your high crashing against you like the roaring tides of some vast ocean. The waves are unforgiving, taking more and more of you each time. Steadying your weakened body against his, he buries himself into your depths, your walls clenching around him, hitting just the right spot to trigger his own release. His seed gushes into your womb, warm and sticky, marking you as his own for the first time since your wedding night.

Struggling to catch your breath, you collapse onto his chest, suddenly aware that you’re no longer vertical. You tilt your head to the side to find that the floor might as well be worlds away. You’re…on the ceiling. “You…have to…warn…me…” You attempt to scold him but can’t focus with him still grinding into you the slightest bit, filling you to the point of overflow. “But it’s so much fun not to” he teases, kissing you all over your face. “Cut it out” you giggle, not meaning a single word. “My king! Did you…” Fern starts, fluttering into the bathroom. She scans the washroom for a moment before looking up. “Oh my gods and goddesses!” she screams, startling Yeosang enough that you both fall from the air, his wings stopping you a mere inch from the ground. 

Throwing her hands over her eyes, she flees into the hallway shouting “I’ve seen nothing! Carry on!” You move to climb off of him but he won’t let you go, his arms still locked around your waist. “Do you mean to chase her in this state?” “I don’t know! I just…we’ve traumatized the poor thing.” you sigh, burying your face in his chest out of embarrassment. It’s been so long…too long…since he felt you curled up against him this way. “I love you so dearly, Y/N” he sighs, kissing the top of your head. You return the kiss to his shoulder, “And I, you, my king.” You curl up there, floating in the arms of your love. A nightmare behind you and a dream before you. After a long, perilous journey you are, at last, home.

#yeosang x reader #yeosang x y/n #ateez au #ateez x reader #chubby reader #plus size reader #ateez x y/n #yeosang au

[bramble-scramble]

Ogh please please please vampire!phantom with something... soft : ]

It was the early hours of the morning. The poet yawned and slid a paw under his glasses to rub his weary eyes. He hadn't been at the castle for long, and... he wasn't exactly sure what his long-term sleep schedule was going to be. Right now, in these hours, his circadian rhythm was more of a circadian cacophony.

He had once been an early riser, and it went against all of his old habits to fall asleep with the sunrise. And yet these days that's when sleep invariably came upon him... easier than sleep had ever come before, and scarcely voluntary... because, after all, that was when his Lord fed. Sleep came freely, the drowsiness rushing into him, after the world's most effective acupuncture routine had drained him of just enough of his lifeblood. And so he slept all day, and was awake and working on his writing all night, and that was that. Still, his body was getting used to the demands imposed upon it, and--

A knock on his bedchamber door awoke the writer from his musings. "My Lord? Is that you?"

"Oui, mon poète. May I enter?"

"Most happily you may," said Woodrow. But as the door opened, he continued, "You are back early, my Lord. There are hours yet before sunrise. Are you tired?"

"Ah, no, mon cœur. It's just... I had a particular desire."

Woodrow blushed, but before he worked up enough sensibility to ask what this desire was exactly, the vampire continued.

"Do you have any fear of heights?"

"Heights!" repeated the poet. "Not as such... I try to keep myself away from high places due to my ill fortune.... but no, I do not dread them naturally. In fact, I once wore stilts of my own volition..." It would be most unfortunate if he DID have this fear, he thought to himself, considering the permanent growth spurt the Fates had granted him.

The vampire, who did not know all of the writer's past, took this to mean he had extended his already unusual tallness, and laughed at the mental image. "I should have liked to see it! But, well, let us waste no more time then- there are things I'd like YOU to see. Come-" and with that he floated towards the room's large window.

Woodrow was slightly confused, as he already gazed out this window frequently. But then Lord Phan undid the latch, and cast the panes open.

Before the poet knew what was happening, he was snatched up in the vampire's grasp, held tight to his chest. His wings unfurled with a loud leathery flap, and the two of them shot out through the opening.

The wings, of course, were unnecessary for the ghost's flight, but they did help with speed... and thus they rocketed upward, towards the crescent moon. As they reached great heights at great velocity, the poet's instinct was to scream- this was a little more than a normal fear of heights would account for - but he swallowed it, and clutched at the vampire's cravat, looking downwards at the castle becoming smaller and smaller.

Soon enough the vampire stopped. The air at this height was chill and moist, and the vampire himself was no less cold, but held so tightly and protectively in his claws, the poet felt warm. And safe. He looked down at Spooky Trails as he had never seen it... rivers and creeks winding through forest, ruined abbeys and derelict villages, and Lord Phan's castle itself, with the grand stage in its courtyard and the Moon Gate further on. Even the occasional creature moved about, both corporeal and spectral, so small that he could scarcely make out their species- just that the glowing white dots were likely Boos. To those below, the Phantom would also be a barely-discernible speck, the poet effectively invisible and the vampire's glowing belly looking like just another star in the sky.

"It's beautiful from up here," said the poet in awe.

"Yes," said the vampire. "I wanted to show you my domain as I see it. The idea came to me when I was in flight. I noticed you often write about birds in your work, so... I surmised that perhaps you might enjoy the bird's eye view. Or the bat's, as it were. You are part of my world, and thus ought to see my world."

"Oh, my Lord, I... thank you."

"You are certain you aren't afraid?"

"I'm never afraid when you're here."

The vampire purred at this, and nuzzled into the poet's neck. Freeing his arms from under the Phantom's grasp, the poet loosened his own collar, starting with the ribbon that held it tight. He looked back down at the world below him, and felt the familiar sting in his neck. Perhaps it was just the intensity of the setting, the dizziness of the heights and the thinness of the air, that made the experience seem extra intense; but the vampire seemed especially amorous tonight, the little licks and the hungry suction at the poet's veins just the right amount of passion tempered by tenderness. He sighed, reaching up a hand absentmindedly to stroke the vampire's cheek and play with his hair, but soon his vision went fuzzy and his paw fell limp.

Lord Phan finished his work, and held the man in his arms tighter than ever, now barely conscious and floppy as a ragdoll. Soon he would flutter back down to the window and lay him into bed. For now he held him, supporting his head close to his own chest, feeling the warmth of the poet's body on his exterior and the even more intense heat of his freshly given blood inside him. Indeed, the satisfaction was external and internal....

He looked down at the world below. A world that recently he was seeing in a new way, illuminated and given vibrancy by the work of his favorite poet. A world that was better than he had ever known it could be.

#mario plus rabbids #mario + rabbids #alter answers #phandrow #SoH vampire AU

[windblume-wishes]

This story based on his Platinum Card Groovy featuring the oysters from the story The Walrus and the Carpenter (Alice in Wonderland)! Ace will be five years old in this story!

𝕃𝕖𝕥’𝕤 𝕤𝕖𝕖 𝕟𝕠𝕨, 𝕀 𝕓𝕖𝕝𝕚𝕖𝕧𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕥𝕒𝕝𝕖 𝕘𝕠𝕖𝕤 𝕒 𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕝𝕖 𝕤𝕠𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖…

Ace Trappola- Don’t Gobble Me Up!

Night fell over the Queendom of Roses, the stars came out and graced the night sky with their Diamond like twinkling and a cool autumn breeze swept through the trees, it was a quiet and beautiful night in the sleepy town below. Many mums and dads were busy putting their little ones in bed and tucking them in with a sweet kiss and others reading them a bedtime story.

Ace waited patiently in his bedroom for his father or older brother to come in and read him a bedtime story as either of them always did for him at night before bed. Ace held his stuffed orange kitten named Dinah as he continued to stare out of the window watching the stars twinkle above him in the night sky. A knock sounded from his bedroom door, it was his older brother Jace who stood there smiling fondly at his adorable little brother who wore a sleepy face.

“Ready for a bedtime story, little bro? I gotta good one for ya! Ever hear about the Walrus and the Carpenter?” Jace asked as he walked in and picked his tiny brother up and placing him on his bed, tucking him in with a ruffle to his copper hair.

“No, but it sounds cool! Tell me! Tell me!” Ace squealed as he playfully punched his big brother’s leg as he took a seat next to the smaller. “Ya gotta tell me now!”

Jace laughed as he playfully shoved the smaller boy into his cushioned bed rail.

“Alright tough guy, this is an old Queendom of Hearts tale of a fancy walrus and a carpenter who wanted to open a restaurant in the beach with the baby oysters, how’s that sound, Ace?”

Ace nodded his little head excitedly and curled up next to his big brother, holding his plush closer.

“Once upon a time there was a walrus and a carpenter, the Well Dressed Walrus and the Hard Working Carpenter strolled down the sandy beach in search of a spot to build their restaurant- it was a hot summer day. The sun was shining on the sea, Shining with all his might. The sea was wet as wet could be, the sands were dry as dry. You could not see a cloud, because no cloud was in the sky: no birds were flying overhead — There were no birds to fly…”

“The two then looked to one another and had an idea to find a snack that hot afternoon, walking about made them hungry and they began to look for a bite to eat. Then it hit them-”

Ace’s eyes widened, as he looked up at his brother practically begging for his big brother to stop leaving him in suspense. “WHAT?! WHAT IS IT?! TELL ME!”

Jace only laughed and continued. “Baby oysters! The walrus dunked his head into the ocean and began to talk to the oysters, tempting them to join him in the surface for a lavish meal. Mother Oyster had her suspicions about the walrus and shook her head as she warned the baby oysters about joining the Well Dressed Walrus and the Hard Working Carpenter on the shore.”

Ace’s face went pale, he had a feeling where his big brother was going with the story and tears began to build up in his eyes.

“J-Jace… did they- did they eat…”

“The Well Dressed Walrus and the Hard Working Carpenter ate all the baby oysters up! Gobbling them up for lunch! GRR!”

Ace could not hold in the tears any longer, he let out a loud wail in fear. Bawling his little eyes out at the scary story his big brother told him.

“YOU MEANIE!! BIG MEANIE!!” The little red haired boy only wailed harder. Jace sighed and picked up his crying baby brother in hopes to soothe him. “I-I’m a baby! What if they eat me up?! I DON’T WANNA GET GOBBLED UP, JACEY!!!”

“Shh, hey it’s alright! No mean walruses or carpenters will come here to gobble you up… I’m sorry for scarin’ you baby bro… Shh, it’s alright.” Jace whispered softly as he gently swayed himself, petting Ace’s soft, red hair in a comforting manner. “Shh, hey, want me to sleep in here with ya? I’ll stay here all night just to make sure no mean walruses come in to eat you.”

Ace hiccuped a little, nodding as his head was still pressed into Jace’s collarbone, soaking it with his tears. The elder brother sighed but his soft smile never faded as he sat there on the bed holding his adorable, precious little brother.

“Why… why’d they eat the babies…? That mean! The mommy oyster must’ve been so sad!”

“Yeah, I bet she was. But the lesson in the story is not to go wandering off with strangers- you don’t know what might happen to you. What if some meanie took you, hm? I would be sad. Dad would too.” Jace looked down at the small boy in his arms, adjusting him so Ace now lay in a cradle carry. “But I don’t think Dinah here wants to see you cry anymore, I think he wants you to smile and have sweet dreams.”

Ace giggled and pouted a little, taking his kitten into his arms to hug. “But… but I’m too scared to sleep… I don’t wanna…”

Just as Jace was about to attempt to lecture the younger about the importance of sleep a knock on the doorframe echoed in the room. The boys looked up to see their father standing there with a gentle smile which quickly turned to a look of concern when he noticed tears in the youngest’s eyes.

“Jace, what did you do? Why is your little brother crying?” Mr. Trappola sighed, having a good idea as to what the cause was as his eyes then landed on the storybook. “Jace- son, we talked about this! Ace is too little for that story! He’s probably traumatized!

“DADDY!!” Ace called, reaching his tiny arms up for his father who happily took him into his arms to hug. “I don’t wanna be gobbled up by a mean walrus! I’ll be good just swear!”

“You’ll be good? Well, just suppose I’ll take your word for it after I gobble you up with kisses, young man!” Mr. Trappola then began to smother Ace’s face with kisses as his tiny son giggled and squealed adorably. “I’m the mean walrus who gobbles up little boys who are not tucked into their beds dreaming! Oh? Is that a yawn? I think it was!”

Ace giggled sleepily and then rested his head on his father’s shoulder. All his crying wore him out as well as all his giggles too. He clutched Dinah to his chest again and closed his eyes with another yawn.

“I think it’s time you went to bed, kiddo. Jace, did you apologize to him?”

“Yeah, we are cool now, right, buddy?” Ace sleepily nodded and snuggled closer to his father, not wanting to leave his warm embrace. It felt nice knowing he was safe in his home without a terrible child eating walrus chasing him. “Goodnight, Ace, sweet dreams, baby brother.”

Jace pecked a soft kiss on his little brother’s petal soft cheek as he slowly drifted off to sleep. He looked at his tiny brother nestled in his father’s arms and smiled softly, this was what he would protect at all costs, no evil walrus or vile creature would ever lay a finger on his little brother.

That tiny life was his to protect and love no matter what.

“I love you, Ace, never forget that.”

—————

A/N: Ace did end up having a nightmare and Jace had plenty of laundry to do the next morning 😂

- Windblume

#windblume writes #twisted wonderland #twst ace #ace trappola #ace twst #twisted wonderland fanfiction #twst fanfiction #twst fanfic #disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #disney 100

[hollowwrites]

Blindsided

Part 12

Ominis x MC

Summary - Ominis is back and he’s a little bit worse for wear. Fortunately, Evelyn knows a thing or two about pain

I’ve gone full on head-canon, no lore accurate Drabble here!! I just want to take care of Omi okay? Leave me be!

As always swap Evelyn for your own MC or Y/N

Warnings - Mentions of pain, Medical stuff (the mildest ever I honestly don’t know what i’m talking about), Kissing, lil bit of biting…just a nibble.

Word Count - 1993

~

The Room of Requirement seemed different every time she entered nowadays. She’d told Poppy about its location and its menagerie of beasts and told her it was hers. She still used it to brew potions and grow plants but The Room had now broken into wings.

Poppys was warm and open. A constant display of the sky and stars, no doubt from the time Amit spent there with her.

Evelyns’ had changed drastically since fifth year. The Vivariums completely gone and transferred to Poppy, only a small greenhouse like building with a potions stand remained. A book nook was tucked haphazardly up the corner with stray vines cupping at the small sofas legs. Any available surface either had a book, a plant or tea cup sat upon it. The gentle constant hum of distant water echoed through the glass hall and little flocks of birds busied themselves through from her wing to Poppys’.

Ominis couldn’t appreciate any of this in his current state.

The persistent ringing in his ear left him without his dominant sense. He relied completely on his wand, for once, and the gentle pull of Evelyns hand in his.

She gently guided him to the sofa and asked him to sit whilst she readied a bowl of water, some clean wash clothes and a variety of Wiggenweld Potions. The sound of distant clinking, vial against vial rang in Ominiss’ good ear.

“This is payback for fifth year isn’t it?” He said sitting back against the sofa. He smirked but it sat oddly on his face. Like he was anticipating pain. His nose flared as he took long exaggerated breathes.

“Well you did coerce me into spending the day with you. And force fed me Wiggenwelds. Speaking of…” she took his hand and placed the vial in it. “Drink”

His face twisted up in disgust before he did as he was told and downed the putrid liquid. He coughed

“With how good you are at potions I assumed your Wiggenwelds would taste better” She laughed breathily. Not like he can talk. His did more damage than good.

Ominis could suddenly feel her presence over him as she manoeuvred between his legs. She tilted his head slightly up and to the side, her cool finger tips gently gripping his jaw.

He longed for his senses to return to him.

He needed to know if her heart yearned for him, like his did for her. Needed to hear the way her heart stuttered like the evening behind the Quidditch pitch.

He felt himself lean forward, sitting up straighter to get closer to her, knee knocking against knee, when he shifted.

For the time being, he lived in this fantasy world where she tended to him sweetly. Whilst she lived in the real world, starring at the worst Crucio scarring she’d ever seen. Even his old ones across his chest were smaller than this. Its tip started somewhere in his ear and swirled down across his neck and throat and over her collar bone. The bruising was a deep purple almost red at its centre. Like it radiated pain.

“Your brother…he must have really meant it…” she whispered, pulling his collar down and inspecting the bruise.

Ominis didn’t respond. He simply sighed.

She hovered her hand near its centre and could feel its energy against her finger tips. A small crackle of red lightening snapped up to her finger.

“When did this happen?” She asked sternly.

“About…three hours ago…” he stretched his back and neck out. “He did it as I was leaving. Maybe to get me to stay…I don’t know”

“I’m sorry” she said and kissed his temple.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I’m sorry you ever had that family.” She spat, her venom aimed at his brother and parents, not him. He sighed again before he twitched and squirmed in agony. A deep visceral hiss left his chest, the familiar echoey allure of Parseltongue filling the glass room.

She held his hand as he rode out the wave of pain. He’s been through…too much

He sat slumped over, panting as it subsided.

“I’m going to get some materials that might help okay?”

He squeezed her hand in response, unable to speak in his current state.

Moving away from him, reluctantly, she gathered the items she had been studying over the years.

After Sebastian had become somewhat obsessed with the Dark Arts, Imelda refused to take it easy after Quidditch started again, and even she couldn’t seem to stay away from getting injured, Evelyn had taken it upon herself to learn some of the Healing Arts. She never thought she’d be using them on Ominis. He was her safe space. He was supposed to always be safe.

“So I’ve been reading about Pain Relief. Pain derived from a curse is complicated but…I think I can stop the bruising. You may still experience tremors for the next few days. It’s an Unforgivable, there’s…not much I can do there.” She mumbled most of it, not completely sure of her abilities.

Ominis barely heard her. The ringing in his ear became louder after the last wave of pain. He tried to focus on what he could comprehend.

She smelt like Roses and freshly cut grass. Floral and sweet.

Her touch felt like a cool breeze on a warm sunny day and…unconditional love.

Her voice, though he barely made out the individual words, sounded like a calming lullaby. She only ever sounded like this with him.

Her softness was reserved only for him.

He was quiet for a long time.

She rang out the cloth in the tiny basin she brought over, carefully tipping some Wiggenweld onto the dampened cloth.

“I don’t know if this is going to do much but…it might make the bruising less painful” she returned to between his legs holding his other shoulder, bracing him “I also don’t know if this is going to hurt”

“What a fantastic nurse you are” he teased, but the tone was warped as he spoke through his teeth.

She rolled her eyes, ignoring his snippy tone and pulled gently at his collar. The bruising got worse as she pulled his shirt away and she couldn’t help the gasp that left her.

“Ready?” She continued softly, despite his attitude.

“I’m ready” he said shifting in his seat, reading for the potential pain.

As carefully as she could manage, she dabbed at the bruising, keeping the cloth over its centre, just above his collarbone.

Thankfully, it was not painful. The Wiggenweld sank into his skin and he breathed out a long and heavy sigh. She watched as the bruise retreated away, as though the cloth was absorbing it.

“That…feels nice. Thank you Ev-ARGH” he grunted once more as a wave of pain enveloped him. His hands flew to her waist, fingers digging into her side.

“Shhhh okay…it’s okay” she wrapped her arm around the unmarred side of his neck, keeping the Wiggenweld soaked cloth pressed to his neck. Whilst his forehead pressed against her stomach mumbling incoherently into her, she lightly rubbed small circles into his back. “I’ve got you” she whispered

Then…

“Ah…” he sat up suddenly and seemed to look around, sighing contently “I can hear you…properly” he smiled.

It was like he’d resurfaced from water. The popping of his ear was painful, but it was worth it to be able to see her again. His increased senses returned to him under the restorative properties of the Wiggenweld and he reached out to her, confidently, her heartbeat like a lighthouse amongst a choppy sea. His hand sought her out, his palm resting on the flat plane of her chest. The rapid thumping of her heart against his fingertips lined up with the rhythm in his ears.

“There you are” he breathed a sigh of relief. He felt and heard her heartbeat racing “My little Hummingbird”

Thank Merlin he is blind.

The tingly sensation of her cheeks reddening was stronger than she had ever felt.

My Little Hummingbird

His.

She smiled placing her hand over his.

“I just need to clean you up” she whispered. Her voice so quiet she wasn’t sure she’d actually said anything.

“First…” he stopped her hand moments from dabbing at his skin, looping his fingers around her wrist. The hand resting on her chest ran up along her collarbone and around her neck. His fingers weaved through her soft hair and pulled her down to him. “…If I may”

It didn’t really seem like a question. Not the way he said it. Not the way she heard it.

And she didn’t need to give permission. The small whimper that left her lips was enough.

Her hand went limp, dropping the cloth to the sofas cushions and gently cupping his face. They met in the middle, both seeking each other out equally.

Their lips touched softly to begin with. A surprise to both of them. After three days neither imagined such a tender moment would occur. More of a desperate raking of nails and skin and teeth.

The warmth of her lips against his was something Ominis was certain he would never tire of. He had already committed their last kiss to memory, it playing over and over in his mind as he dealt with his family.

But this one was so different.

So much more.

She poured her love and sympathy and heartbreak into him, gliding smoothly over his lips as she deepened the kiss.

She tilted his head up, leaning further in, her chest pressing against his. His hand resting on her hip glided down her thigh and pulled her into his lap. It was probably meant to be sweet. But his nails dug into the fabric of her shirt and carried down on to her legs, leaving red lines of tortured want in its wake.

She gasped. Her lips parting a fraction and Ominis took that opportunity.

He took her lip between his teeth, his tongue running over the flesh he’d gathered. He delighted in the little noises he pulled from her. The tiny gasps and needy mewls, each like a sirens song drawing him closer to…he didn’t know what. Just that it was probably worth it.

Another strangled gasp left her as he pulled on her lip. Letting go, he nudged her chin upwards with his nose, kissing down the length of her neck. He felt the vibration of her groan against his lips causing him to chuckle.

It was unlike any laugh she’d ever heard from him.

It was throaty and deep and sultry.

Like he was fully aware of the affect he was having on her.

“Ominis…” she keened, her hands gripping at the collar of his shirt, pulling him impossibly closer.

Both had forgotten about the last three days.

And the scar

And the fact he still bore that Curse.

The trail of cold left behind from his open mouthed kisses made Evelyn shudder. His lips circled the tissue between her neck and shoulder. Purring, he took it between his teeth…

Before clamping down harder than either of them had anticipated.

He whimpered and shuddered in pain as another wave of the Cruciatus hit him. The yelp that erupted from Evelyn caused him to gaze up at her with a furrowed brow.

“Are you okay?” He grunted through gritted teeth.

She rubbed at her neck, feeling the tiny indentations of his teeth across her trap.

“Yes fine. Are you?” She held his face searching for any remaining pain from this swell of the curse.

“Mmmmmmmmgh” after releasing a breath he held on to, he continued “Perhaps…this isn’t a good idea, not right now”

She exhaled through her nose, the slightest hint of amusement gracing her tone

“Perhaps not” she brushed the hair from his face as she spoke “There’s always next time”

“Oh…” he gripped her waist, pulling her closer one finally time “…I am beyond thrilled, to hear there will be a ‘next time’”

Masterlist

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry #hogwarts headcanon #hogwarts houses #hogwarts #hogwarts oc #slytherin #hogwarts legacy ominis #ominis gaunt #harry potter hogwarts game #hogwarts mc #hogwarts fanfiction #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts ominis #ominis hc #ominis x you #ominis imagine #ominis my beloved #ominis fluff #ominis x mc #ominis x y/n #ominis x reader #ominis x oc #ominis fanfic #ominis headcanon #ominis hogwarts legacy #ominis smut #ominis angst #ominis x player character #fanfiction

[skyloftian-nutcase]

MORE DAD SQUAD :D

@nancyheart11

Abel gritted his teeth as the ground shook. They'd already taken care of a few bokoblins with little effort - what could be heading their way now?

The earth beneath his feet moved, and Abel yelled as he was flung to the side as rocks assembled into a massive form of a monster. Rusl scrambled to the edge of the clearing while Fierce glared defiantly, holding his ground.

"What the hell is that?" Rusl yelled.

"Stone talus!" Abel answered.

"A stone?" Rusl repeated, jumping to avoid a swing from the massive rock monster's arms. "Does it have weak points?"

The Fierce Deity yelled and swiped his sword low, slamming it into the talus' leg. Though the force of the blow made the talus stumble a hair, the blade barely chipped the rock it impacted, making the deity have to retreat when the talus kicked out.

Before Abel could answer, he heard an eerily familiar whirring sound, and he felt his blood freeze as he turned to see a guardian approaching. Cursing harshly, he took cover behind a few trees to stay out of its line of sight. Maybe it would go after the talus instead.

He doubted they'd be that lucky, though.

The cursed deity noticed the guardian's approach and swiftly made his way around the lumbering talus. As he passed Abel, he said, "I'll handle the metallic beast, you handle the stone one."

Abel wasn't going to argue.

The two rushed in different directions. Abel managed to reach Rusl, who was dodging attacks while trying to analyze his new foe.

"See the small glittering black stone on its back?" Abel pointed out as the two coughed from the dust cloud the talus' latest blow had kicked up. "That's its weak point."

"All the way up there, eh?" Rusl muttered, wiping some sweat off his face. "Fine. You distract it and I'll get up there."

Abel glanced at him, bewildered. "What? How are you going to--"

But his question was interrupted as the two had to leap away from each other as the talus' arm came swinging to the ground once more, splitting a tree in half. Abel gritted his teeth as the wind was knocked out of him from landing flat on his face. He quickly scrambled to his feet, pulling out his shield and yelping when the talus grew tired of trying to give chase and instead started throwing items large enough to destroy a house.

How had Link defeated the talus that had made its way into Hyrule field all those years ago?!

Ah, that's right, he suddenly remembered. Insane child climbed the damn thing.

Abel was a... decent rock climber, but not on something as mobile and dangerous. Link had been far more agile and, well, small.

And then Abel stared up at the sky, his mouth falling slack. Rusl was flying through the air, held up by a... a cuccoo??

What the actual hell was happening right now?!

The Ordonian blacksmith landed cleanly on the talus' back, letting the cuccoo continue its flight to the other side of the clearing, and drew his blade. Abel was too busy staring at the sight that he almost forgot there was a giant monster in front of him wanting to kill him, and he hastily rolled forward to avoid a tree heading his way. He heard Rusl chipping away at the talus' weakness, and realized he had to be more aggressive to keep it distracted.

Drawing his shield, he bashed the talus with it, unsurprised that it did no damage and feeling the reverberation of the blow climb from his forearm all the way into his shoulder. He was definitely going to feel that for a few hours.

The talus shuddered suddenly, as if Abel's blow had actually affected it, and it collapsed into multiple smaller stones as Rusl stumbled to the ground, covered in dust.

Abel put his shield on his back once more and strode over to his companion, helping him to stand.

"Well," Rusl grunted and coughed a little, staring at his now damaged blade. "That was an adventure."

Abel found he had no words left as he watched the man stroll over to his awaiting golden cuccoo and scooped the bird up into his arms. Instead, he just sighed heavily and watched as the Fierce Deity returned, looking satisfied with his own battle.

#Dad Squad #Rusl and his golden cuccoo #writing #Abel was not expecting it #I wasn't either the first time Rusl did that LOL #fierce deity #fierce dadity #rusl #abel

[fanfictionatic]

In Better Hands

Part 7 of NanoWrimo hell

Pairing: yandere!fairy!Ceasar x reader

Description: The walk in the woods was peaceful

Warnings: Manipulation, house fires, yandere themes, unedited work

You had been wandering around the woods for days, not knowing where you were. Something bad had happened at your home. You weren’t sure how, but it was on fire when you got there. Unfortunately, you lived too far away from any kind of city or village to get anywhere for days on foot. Not only that, but all of the paths would lead you through the forest that was supposed to house some creatures that could make people disappear and never come out.

Still, you couldn’t just sit there in the ruins of what was once a house and let yourself waste away. You had to try to make it through. Besides, the chances of actually encountering a creature like that on the road must have been somewhat low. And you could carry something made of iron if any of it was still intact.

After sifting around and pulling out a key, you gather what else you can salvage and start on your way. The sun is shining high in the sky and there don’t appear to be any clouds. The sky is soon covered by a canopy of leaves, only leaving patches of it, but it was still pleasant. Maybe this wouldn’t be too bad.

The path seemed to go on forever, but some part of you was alright with that. This would probably be the most peaceful part of either rebuilding your house or finding a new place to live. The only thing that would await you in the next town would be hectic irritation. But here? There was nothing but the sound of birds chirping, leaves blowing, and the sound of animals scurrying about nearby.

Or at least you thought they were animals. Now that you thought about it, some of those footsteps seemed bigger than they were a second ago. Was that even possible?

You sigh and keep walking. It was probably just a deer or something. You doubted it would be something to cause you any issues. Especially when the noises stopped abruptly. Whatever it was must have been gone.

You go back to your peaceful walk, your mind getting lose in itself again. Was it already starting to get dark? Time seemed to be passing by both more slowly and more quickly at the same time. It was a strange feeling to have.

You find a place to set up camp for the night next to a circle of mushrooms. You had read about these in a book. They were the result of fungi growing in the ground that would pop up as a ring. You smiled at it. They were always funny to look at, but you didn’t want to step on them in fear of damaging the tiny mushrooms.

You set up your tent, silently grateful that you had been on your way back from a camping trip when your house was set on fire. The timing was extremely convenient and you would make the best of it. You set up a fire to keep you warm, pulling some rations out of your bag. You desperately wished that you had something better to eat, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Then you notice something on the ground, stepping out of the circle in front of you. Something that is smaller than the mushrooms and curiously stepping out from them to examine you. He seemed to be a tiny blond man with a green jacket and a headband.

 To make it even stranger, you could see a pair of tiny green wings poking out from his back that were beautiful and looked like they might belong to some kind of insect you had never seen before. His ears were pointed. And he seemed to be holding....some kind of fruit?

“I couldn’t help notice that you are have nothing to eat other than....whatever that is.”

You shake your head at his statement as he holds the fruit up, offering it to you. “Thanks, but I would feel bad taking food that doesn’t belong to me. You probably need to store it or something little guy.”

With a laugh, you poke his stomach, being careful not to do it hard enough to hurt him or knock him over. You can see a slightly frustrated look on his face, but you ignore it. When people had told you about magical creatures that haunted the woods, this was the last thing you were expecting.

 But in hindsight, it should have been obvious that even if there was something strange about this place, the danger was exaggerated. It was just funny looking down and seeing such a tiny creature that had done nothing but offer you food.

He steps out of the circle and you hold out your hand for him to climb on, not really knowing what else to do. “I can assure you I have more than enough for myself here. I am offering you a simple kindness. And the laws of this land forbid me from telling a lie.”

“That’s fine. I’m kind of full after finishing my food. So what are you anyway?”

“I am a fae of the high court. And I am capable of many things.”

Suddenly, he stepped to your side and seemed to be the height of an average human, taking one of your hands in his. You almost stumble back at the sudden unnatural height change.

“Whoa, maybe warn me next time before you’re gonna do something like that!”

“I tried to, didn’t I?”

You shrug. “Fair enough.”

“Come, dance with me under the fading light of the sun. There truly is nothing like it caro/cara.”

There is something glimmering almost in his eyes as he starts backing up, continuing to hold your hand and starting to pull you with him. You blush. He really is pretty now that you can see his features more clearly.

You quickly pull your hand back, your entire face red as you quickly step back to where you were before. “I uh....I don’t really feel like dancing right after I just ate. You..you can understand that right?”

He gives you another slightly irritated look before he sighs and he goes back to a warmer expression. “I cannot argue with that.”

“You should go do it though. It’ll be fun right? I wish I could do it with you, but you should still get to enjoy it.”

“You’re right. I hope to meet you again in the morning amore.”

“Maybe if you catch me before I wake up. Either way I’m tired and I have a long way to go tomorrow.”

With that, you put out your fire and head into your tent for the night, making sure to close the flaps so that bugs couldn’t get into the tent. You climb into your sleeping bag, laying down and shutting your eyes after drinking some water.

When you wake up in the morning, you can hear a strange noise coming from the side of your tent. When you open your eyes and sit up, you find none other than the fairy from the night before struggling against the netting meant for bugs. Did this mean that he had tried to get into your tent?

“I’m sorry for waking you, but I thought you would want to make sure you left early.”

“Thanks for that then. Sorry you got tangled, here let me help you out there.”

You carefully step out of your tent, pulling him off of the netting and setting him down on the forest floor where he belongs. You then start to break down your tent as quickly as possible, packing up the rest of your things as you get ready to hit the road again.

You don’t run into the fairy for a while after that and assume that he probably flew off and had other things to do. While he was definitely interesting, this meant you could go back to having a relaxing walk like the one from the other day and in a way, you still kind of preferred it. You kept rejecting things he was trying to offer you and some part of you felt really weird and possibly guilty for it.

You stop as you finally see where the treeline ended. While there would definitely be more of a walk after that point, you wouldn’t have to find your way down the twisting path through the forest anymore.

But standing right before your way to the exit was the same fairy you had seen before, right in the middle of the path, blocking it off. He must have something important to tell you if he made it all the way out here from the other part of the woods he was in.

“Hey, you’re the guy from before! What are you doing here at the edge?”

“I came to ask you your name before you go and to say goodbye to you. I don’t see humans are beautiful as you come by here every day after all.”

“It’s y/n. And I’ll try to come back here some time. This is a really nice place that you live in and it’s nice to walk through it.”

You smile. Maybe you hadn’t disappointed him after all. You move to walk past him, but he doesn’t seem to be budging.

The fairy returns your smile, but it suddenly doesn’t seem as friendly as it was before.

“Are you aware of the laws of this forest amore? The same ones that prevent me from telling a lie?”

You try to scratch your brain for what you can remember hearing from the old legends. There was supposed to be one really important rule. Something about what you’re never supposed to give them under any circumstances because you would be giving whoever hears it permission to do with you what they wish.

Wait, was it...?

“You....you did come here to say goodbye didn’t you?”

You feel dread start to pool inside of you as the creature steps closer to you, practically giving away the answer to your question. His eyes were glinting with the same thing as before which you now recognized as possessive.

“Hmm? Oh yes, I was planning to do that before you gave yourself to me. My name is Caesar by the way. Although that is not my full name of course.”

He pulls you into his arms and as much as you want to struggle, your body seems to be too limp and heavy to move or resist him in any way. Leaning down, he presses his lips to yours. Some invisible force makes your body move against your will, kissing him back with what you would usually only reserve for someone special.

When he finally breaks the kiss you are left staring into the eyes of the monster that had tricked you.

“Don’t worry y/n. You are in better hands now.”

#caesar zeppeli x reader #yandere caesar zeppeli #yandere jjba #jjba yandere #yandere #jjba x reader #yandere jjba x reader #dark posting #fanfiction #my writing

[amywritesthings]

CHAPTER 14: WRECKED

The POINT A TO POINT B series.

gif credit: @ themandaloriandaily

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader ( Din x You )

Summary: Knocked unconscious by an ill-timed bomb, you awake to the aftermath of the freighter mission. It’s time to move forward, to find Point B, and continue your escape with Din.

Warnings: 18+ NO MINORS / Mentions of injury, Flashbacks, Aggressively Protective!Din, Bacta mentions, Bo-Katan being Bo-Katan, Helmetless!Din, Blindfolds, Themes of Sensuality

Word Count: 4K

A/N: ...it’s been a while, huh? The three-month hiatus is over! Thank you for your support in my absence, friends. As always, reblogs & comments are adored and appreciated.

Previous Chapter. / Next Chapter. | Series Masterlist.

PREVIEW:

“Then explain why one of your clan found her in the ship, unconscious?” He spits the word ‘clan’ with immense vitriol and distrust.

“Because, at some point, she went into the freighter on her own volition,” Bo-Katan reasons with a growl. “I cannot anticipate what your partner will or will not do when she is alone. In this case, she felt the need to leave her post.”

Mando stands an impossible step closer. Bo-Katan doesn’t move away.

“Speak ill of her again. See what happens.”

“Is that a threat, Mando?”

His nickname is sung with mockery.

POINT A TO POINT B

CHAPTER 14: WRECKED

-

Yavin 4 is beautiful after a storm. 

The scent of grass after a passage of rain soothes the anxiety clinging tight to your chest. Birds sing in the distance while the insects buzz, creating a white noise blanket. Despite everything that surrounds this woodland planet, there is peace — maybe not for long, but it lives. 

(A peace you have tried time and time again not to hold onto with an ironclad fist. Squeeze too tight and the earth will shake. These people don't need your avalanche.)

While most of Rebel volunteers work tirelessly under protective slabs of concrete, sheltering them from any impending attacks from above, you go against better wishes to remain in the forest. Here, where you can push the dirt around with your boot and see it roll effortlessly like the clouds in the sky.

Alive. The world is alive and well and beautiful.

“It’s my fault.”

You know she's there watching, waiting, for you to speak first. The Commander has yet to leave your side and with good reason — rumors circle about allegiances in the night, in the dark. Whether or not the other rebels believe your story is up to her trust and her trust in you alone.

Craning your attention from the pebbles of dirt, you angle towards the patient Commander. Her hands are clasped together, body adorned with a brilliant forest green jumpsuit.

“Your Highness,” the woman murmurs, her smile small yet inviting. “You’ve only just arrived. You’re allowed a moment’s rest.”

“As lovely an idea as rest is, Commander, I cannot,” you murmur absently, shifting your gaze to observe a verbal argument just beyond her shoulder. At the mouth of a safe zone building, two pilots hover heatedly around one of the circular holo-grids to debate the images below their chests. “Not when I suspect he’s only a few days behind us.”

You don’t need to hear the conversation to know why both pilots are so passionate: the destruction of the second Death Star is smaller than a one in a million shot.

Everyone’s fearful the plan won’t work, and they have every right to be: the first only went up in flames because of sheer luck, a bout of lightning that rarely strikes twice.

The Empire is falling, that much is true. Yet it’s the lengths in which the enemy will go to keep themselves on life support that cause such distress and worry throughout the galaxy. 

(Distress and worry you wear on your own sleeve, here, as you clutch the possibility of ruining their final Hail Mary — and the possibility of failure, should Moff Gideon find you first.)

“I probably should have kept running,” you continue. “Kept people out of this mess.”

“You knew you could trust us,” the Commander beside you sighs, raising her arms to cross over her chest. She leans back against a metal barrier, waiting expectantly for the argument in return.

You scowl at her confidence, ignoring how the cut on your cheek burns with it. “That doesn’t mean everyone at this base happily signed over a death wish.”

“No, but safety is not what we signed up for, Princess.” 

You shoot her a look, and the woman laughs. 

“Well, it’s true, isn’t it? You could have stayed in the ivory towers of Coruscant, yet you chose to be here with us. If anything, it’s you that signed a death wish, clear as day and on a dotted line.”

“It’s not the same.”

“Is it not? Your injuries alone have shown the others what kind of sacrifice they have to be willing to make to be here.”

You hate being spoken of like you’re a martyr.

(It was the right thing to do.)

Your entire body still aches, but you know his aches more. The knowledge that you caused Moff Gideon equal amounts of suffering and pain is good enough for you. This plan was never one of the winning plays the Rebel alliance had on hand, but it was the only viable solution left. While Imperial numbers dwindle, so do yours; volunteerism has become the only way anything gets done under the talons of the Empire, and there is one good card left to play on the sabacc table.

Winning by the skin of their teeth — it’s something you and the Rebels have in common.

Once you heal enough to fly on your own, you’ll depart from this base to the next.

Constantly moving until the final Imperial flag falls.

“He’ll come after us,” you frown, eyes lingering on hers before you turn your attention back to the pilots — they now hold one another in a tight embrace. The softness — the desperation — makes your stomach churn. “All of us.”

“And we’re prepared for it, should the fight come.”

You don’t have the energy to tell her: there is no should.

Moff Gideon would come, whether you want him to or not.

The longer you bounce from place to place, the more scorched earth will linger in your absence.

If you can find your way to Point B without detection, if you can hold on for a little while longer, then this will have been worth it.

(Without this power, the Empire will weaken and die off altogether. You’re sure of it.)

Crouching with control to the ground, you reach lower to place a bare palm against the loosened dirt at your boot. The tickle of the particles offers you in a heavy reminder: you still breathe with full lungs, so you will continue on.

After floating through space on an Imperial ship week, months, it's so easy to forget the little things: how much you miss the smell of grass on the fresh dew of morning, or the warmth of an awakening sun as it rises.

Your fingernails dig down, down, until earth lives in the universe of your fist.

Remember this. 

You are eager to photograph every inch of this place by sheer memory. The laughing foot soldiers pouring their mourning stew into their bowls. The families that play here, sing here, making the most of what remains of their once peaceful lives with the hope of starting anew.

(Rebellions were — and always have been — built on hope.)

You squeeze hard and suck in a sharp breath, closing your eyes.

. . . . . . . . .

“What did you do to her?”

It isn’t your voice.

The sound is filtered, as if grating against the edges of a helmet.

When you open your eyes, you’re no longer in the middle of a serene field base on Yavin 4, but somewhere much worse: the tumultuous docks of Trask, where a squared-shouldered Mando is nose-to-nose with an equally tense (and helmetless) Bo-Katan Kryze. 

His visor points down to her bare face, gloved hand at the ready on his hip. Both Koska Reeves and Axe Woves hold their weapons steady, pointed at the Mandalorian in an elongated triangle and placing him dead center.

“What did you do to her?” The modulated voice demands again, deeper in its bark.

“Do to her?” 

Bo-Katan. Her voice is no longer laced with nonchalance, but with surprise. Anger.

“Koska saved her.”

Koska?

Who did Koska save?

While everything beyond the dock continues to slosh back and forth like a trawler on the choppy sea, you explore the tingling sensation of your limbs reanimating from sore, dulled pain.

“You said she was going to be out of harm’s way.”

“And she was.”

“Then explain why one of your clan found her in the ship, unconscious?”

He spits the word ‘clan’ with immense vitriol and distrust.

“Because, at some point, she went into the freighter on her own volition,” Bo-Katan reasons with a growl. “I cannot anticipate what your partner will or will not do when she is alone. In this case, she felt the need to leave her post.”

Mando stands an impossible step closer. Bo-Katan doesn’t move away.

“Speak ill of her again. See what happens.”

“Is that a threat, Mando?”  

His nickname is sung with mockery.

“It never stopped being one since the moment you slandered my clan,” Mando snarls, armor clinking as his finger raises to point in her face. “Without us, you wouldn’t have survived the first wave. You should be grateful she did you a favor. With honor, she—”

“Mando?”

Finally, you discover your voice. It’s hoarse and dry, but working. Managing.

Like lead, the hand once pushing into Bo-Katan’s face drops to his side as his helmet whips at attention, visor directly pointed at you.

Without another word he pushes past the helmetless leader, stalking with urgency to the other side of the dock.

“—dank farrik.”

His armor clangs as he drops to his knees, glove gingerly cupping the side of your face. You melt into the heavy feel of his palm — strong, familiar, a chance for peace — and rest your cheek with ease. 

“Hey, it’s me. I’m here.”

“Hey,” you mumble in return, shifting against the pole propping your seated torso from slouching. You try to offer a smile, but your face aches.

Everything hurts.

“Don’t move,” he orders, but something sounds off about his voice. It’s small against the modulator, whispered, while his visor searches the perimeter of your head in a frenzied, clockwise circle. “You’re hurt. I’m going to get you out of here.”

The realization sinks deep.

He’s terrified.

“It was…” You wince at the sandpaper-like texture of your throat and swallow heavily to coat it with saliva. “...my fault.”

“What?” You feel Mando’s gloves tenderly pressing down your arms to halt any any sudden movements. You fight to keep your eyes on him. “Nothing was your fault.”

“What Bo-Katan said is true,” you admit. “I went... into the ship.”

“She was under a pile of rubble beside an Imp and a Trooper,” Koska supplies, taking a protective stance in front of Bo-Katan in the absence of the bounty hunter. “The Imp was impaled. Trooper under the rubble. I wasn’t able to do a thorough check, but it looked like she crawled.”

“Because the ceiling... caved in,” you add, keeping your attention on his visor.

Surely he must know you heard all of it — the argument with Bo-Katan about the plan, the sudden influx of Stormtroopers, the way he said he would handle the flurry of fresh Troopers.

Then an explosion appeared.

Mando’s fingers smooth over your bicep, though whether it’s because he’s calming you down or stalling in admitting he was the cause of the damage above, you cannot tell.

“Bounty hunter: do you carry bacta spray on your ship?” 

Axe gently weaves into the conversation, peering around his leader to speak directly to Mando.

“If I were you, I would transport her back there as soon as you’re able, before her wounds cause any lasting damage. I have a spare canister on me, should you need it.”

He walks forward, pace deliberate and strong before extending a long arm towards Mando. The bounty hunter hesitates, frozen in place before he regards Axe above him. Their gloves connect, and he slips the canister from the palm of the other Mandalorian and secures the item to his belt.

Mando does not thank him for his generosity. 

“As agreed, I will help you seek your Jedi, as you have more than earned it,” Bo-Katan says in her feigned diplomatic tone, abandoning the heat Mando released. You slump to look at her over the bounty hunter's shoulder. His hand cinches tighter around your arm, protective.

(Feral.)

Her dark crimson brows raise in a pause.

“Take your ship to the forest planet of Corvus. There you will find a Jedi of the name Ahsoka Tano within the city of Corvus. Tell her Bo-Katan Kryze sent you.” 

In an effort of belated good faith, Bo-Katan steps back once, twice, three times to give you both room. Her chin bows deep.

“Now go care for your partner. Depart from Trask safely.”

In the haze, you see her gaze connect with yours.

“And thank you, for everything you did for us.”

Wordlessly, Mando rises to his knees and takes to a crouch, preparing to sweep his arms under your knees and back. He cautiously places your limp arm around his shoulders for support, but there is no need for it — he’s strong enough without your help to do the heavy lifting for you both.

“Please tell me… we’re walking,” you weakly joke into his breastplate. A noise of discomfort rushes past your lungs as he rises to his feet, anchoring you in towards his chest.

“Flying will be the fastest way,” he murmurs over the crown of your head. “Hold onto me, okay?”

“I might — pass out.”

“Don’t fall asleep, do you hear me? Stay with me.”

You can’t pin-point if his voice cracks or if it’s his modulator glitching.

The jetpack ignites.

. . . . . . . . .

You aren’t sure when you fell unconscious — somewhere between the feeling of being airborne and the exhaustion of today taking over — but when you come to, the universe is black.

With a brilliant gasp of air, your body lurches in the darkness to fight. Yet the heaviness of restraints aren’t there. Your forehead is ablaze with sweat. The pain is dulled, a lulling throb in the back of your skull. Beneath you is soft and warm, not hard and cold.

“Princess?”

The question tickles your left ear. You turn to nothingness to find the gruff voice, taking into a frenzied scramble to get away from it in a fight or flight response.

“Stay away from me—”

“Wait.”

The deep baritone cautions the air surrounding you like velvet. Soft warmth engulfs your flailing arm, pressing your bicep into your torso with profound care. A squeak of surprise catches in your throat.

“It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Mando.

It is Mando's voice.

Searching for him in the nothingness with the tip of your nose as your guide, you tremble at the absence of a modulator.

There is no vocoder buzz. No filtered disconnect.

“Don’t move so much," he adds, filling the space with his naked voice. "The bacta spray’s still working.”

“Your—”

“—safe.”

“—helmet,” you finish in a croak, squeezing your eyes shut. “Why — where is your helmet?”

Your free hand roams in a fuss to cover your face, but it connects with a sliver of fabric — a thick barrier between the bridge of your nose and the skin of your fingers.

The emergency blindfold.

“I… took precaution in case you stirred earlier than expected,” he adds with unease. “You sustained a fair amount of injuries. I needed to be careful.” 

He takes a beat, and you feel rough fingertips curl around yours by your nose. He tugs once, pulling your hand with his from the surface of the blindfold to lower to the sheet of the cot. His thumb slides along your skin in an attempt to soothe away any disorienting fear.

“You should be healed enough, now.”

You nod once, shoulders dropping a fraction. "...how long was I out?”

“Long enough to scare me,” he admits softly. “Four days, give or take some hours.”

Four entire days since the freighter.

Kriff.

“The kid?” you question abruptly, belated worry rushing to the forefront of your tired mind.

“Kid’s fine.”

“And Bo-Katan?”

“Gone to do as she pleases with her endless supply of weaponry,” Mando answers with a sour note on his tongue. “Along with her alleged clan.”

“And we’re on the Crest away from Trask?”

“Far away from Trask,” he confirms. “It’s only us.”

Your shoulders slouch with relief. “Thank the Maker.”

A huff of an ironic laugh leaves your lips as you open your eyes. Nothing. You see absolutely nothing, but you hear everything: the beauty of his naked voice, the freedom of his breath as he inhales and exhales. You didn’t realize how much you missed the simplicity of it.

He continues to hold your hand, but the air of the room shifts.

“What happened back on Trask can't happen again.” The softness in his voice becomes molten, solidifying to steel. “From now on, you stay on the ship until we arrive on Coruscant.”

Your chin tilts to find his voice, voice stronger in your blurt.

“What?”

“The only way this works is if you stick with the kid. I’ve had plenty of time to think about this.”

“No, there is no way I’m staying—” 

When you start to vigorously shake your head, you’re slammed with stars behind your eyes. Mando’s grip tightens against your fingers in fright, while his free hand rests at your knee.

“Careful, cyar’ika, don’t move too fast.”

“I am fine,” you demand louder. “I will be fine.”

“You went inside the freighter.”

“But—”

“You promised me you would run the other way.”

A wave of nausea passes through your body from head to toe.

“The rest of the troopers were moving indoors,” you reason slowly, ignoring the waver in your voice. “I would have blown my cover if I stayed outside alone.”

“Your only responsibility was to run if things went wrong.”

“And I’m telling you, I would have been caught,” you argue, sitting up straighter. His palm is quick to steady the middle of your back. “Then Bo-Katan changed the deal—”

“You promised me,” Mando interrupts, sharper.

“And what about you?” you counter swiftly with your own bite.

“What about me?”

“Was I supposed to… ignore the comms completely when you broke our deal?”

You can hear him shift against the edge of the cot. “Our deal?”

“You and your promise to keep me safe. You say you don’t trust Bo-Katan and her clan, fine, but you were still willing to put yourself at risk. You’ll handle their problems for them, right? Even if they change the deal on a dime?”

He doesn’t speak, causing a huff of irony to pass your lips. 

“Yeah, I heard the little savior play on the comms. That’s why I went running. To come after you.”

A heavy sigh exits his mouth as he shifts in front of you. “I was fine.”

“And if you weren’t?” you challenge, unable to halt the crack in your question. “This is twice now. Twice where you could have died and I would have heard or seen it. First the ship at sea, and now this job with Bo-Katan. Am I supposed to be okay with almost losing you? Was I meant to fly the Razor Crest to Coruscant on my own?”

His voice nears in a sorrowful whisper. “Princess, you don’t understand. You could have died. ” 

“You could have, too,” you counter without missing a beat. “But Koska got me out of there.”

“And if she hadn’t?”

“Then I knew you would have, because I trust you.”

You reply with such conviction that the ship grows silent. All that surrounds you is the small sounds of the distant cockpit and the hum of the engine.

Mando pauses under your grip, marinating on the sentiment before replying with his own three words that break your heart:

“But I didn’t.”

Before you can hang on too tight, the mattress shifts and his hand disappears from yours.

You chase the touch despite yourself. All you connect with is air.

“I failed you, cyar’ika, and I am sorry,” he begins, voice further away. “I allowed my anger to get the best of me. In the moment, I could only see what it took to protect my clan and their honor. To show what it meant to be of the Watch, but I was supposed to protect the kid. I was supposed to protect you.”

Guilty seeps into the few beats of silence he holds onto after speaking.

“Yeah?” you tell him, recognizing the tremble in your own voice. “Well, not if I protect you first.”

Mando says nothing. You drop your palm to the mattress, searching for him in a semi-circle around you. He shifts further away once more, but you manage to clip your fingertips against the edge of his belt to stop him.

"Stop."

By some miracle, he does. Mando stays put, waiting for your command.

"I’m not letting you out of my sight — figuratively, obviously, since I can’t see you.”

Finally, finally the tense air breaks with his own chuckle of disbelief. He mumbles something foreign under his breath, and the mattress creaks at your side.

He’s back.

“Princess…”

“Bo-Katan was cruel,” you start, cutting him off before he can do the same to you. “Mandalorians or not, what her clan did to you? They ought to be ashamed of themselves. We were willing to help, yet she changed the deal and threw your code in your face just to see what makes you tick. I understand why you did what you did on the freighter, why you were willing to sacrifice yourself, because you’re always willing to help."

He says nothing, but you can hear the mattress beneath you shift. He's sliding closer. You continue.

"You’re a good person, Mando. You're good to the kid, you're good to me. Hell, you're good to strangers who never deserved your goodness. And I know I’m not a Mandalorian, but—”

“—but you have the heart of one.”

Mando cuts you off, taking your hand into his, but that isn’t what makes your breath disappear.

Something warm glides against the inside of your wrist. Soft and featherlike, barely a touch, before there is pressure, some wetness, and the fire blossoms low in your belly when you realize:

Somewhere you cannot see, Mando is bent over and kissing your wrist.

Kissing.

With his own naked lips.

You dare not move. 

You dare not speak. 

The Mandalorian has your undivided attention.

“You are right," he murmurs against the delicate skin. "You were not born on Mandalore, like me. You may not possess our armor, you may not have sworn to a code, but that does not mean you do not have the heart of a Mandalorian.”

He breathes for you — a gentle puff against your forearm. 

“In the time I have known you, I have learned you are strong,” he continues with conviction. “You own a resilience unlike anyone I have ever met. You make difficult choices and do so with honor.” 

His lips climb higher, dragging along your arm in worship. Goosebumps form in his wake. 

“When my faith — when my oath — was tested on that moon, you chose to negotiate with peace instead of violence for the good of the Child. You asked to work with Kryze and her clan and secured the location of the Jedi when I could not."

He lingers, kissing the slope of your bicep.

"Even when your life could be in danger, you risked it. Even when I didn’t deserve it, you fought.”

He presses another kiss at your bare shoulder.

“You have always chosen to fight.” 

Within a pause he rises, breath shivering along your chin.

“For the kid. For me. And I would...” 

His words trail off, voice crackling. It repairs, returning with conviction.

“I would scorch the galaxy for you.”

His bare palms slide along either side of your face, cradling your head as though nothing more precious has ever graced his calloused, tired hands.

Your lips part wordlessly, voice lost in his confession, but eventually sigh as the pad of his left thumb grazes your cheekbone with timid admiration.

“Mando—” 

“Din.” 

The word is so small you almost don’t hear it.

The smooth plane of his bare forehead, warm and alive, drops ever so gently against yours. Over the fabric of the blindfold, the tip of his nose nudges yours. You hyper focus on something brushing your lips — facial hair, you're sure of it — before the universe stands still.

Because he murmurs the next four words like an oath to a creed:

“My name is Din.”

#din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #mando x reader #mando x you #the mandalorian #din djarin #pedro pascal #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfic #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x f!reader #mando x female reader #mando x f!reader #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x f!reader #point a to point b #fic: point a to point b

[irisopranta]

The Girl from Gridania - Part 2

Part 2 of Iris's origin story Part 1 Word Count: 1742

The late morning sun has risen into the upper part of the sky. The two elezen are currently traveling to the Lifemend Stump. Both are curious as to what is happening to the shroud. They mostly walked in silence only to hear the birds chirp away and the rustling of the leaves as the wind gently blew by.

They arrived at the stump. They noticed right away what the problem was. There was a big sword just sticking in the middle of the big stump. Iris tries to go up to it.

“Now, hold on.” Ephault stuck his arm out in front of Iris to stop her. “Something seems odd about this. We should look around before going up to strange swords.” Cautious as always after being in the god’s quiver. They scouted around the stump making sure there wasn't anything threatening nearby. It seemed all cleared, so Iris went back to the sword on the stump.

“Look! Someone’s already here!” an unknown woman's voice came from behind them. The two elezen turned around to see a Hyur woman and a Lalafell man.

“Is this our dark stranger?” The lalafell asked out loud. A silence fell over the group of four at the stump as there was supposed to be answered. The silence was getting a bit awkward for Iris’ taste.

“Who exactly are you people?” She tried to get an answer from them.

The lalafell put on some strange looking goggles on and started looking around, ignoring the elezens in front of him. The woman asked him “How are the readings?”

“Same as the last. There is a disturbance here as well, and newly manifested at that.” He took off the goggles and looked at Iris “But if this isn’t your doing, whose is it?”

A bit peeved, Iris asked again “Who are you people? Why are you even here?”

The two unexpected guests were a bit shocked about the barrage of questions.Then again, the lalafell wasn’t too surprised. He cleared his throat with a few coughs. “Ah yes, I guess a small introduction is in order. My name is Papalymo and this is Yda.” As he gestures to the woman. The man took off his goggles. “As for why we are here” as he said that, another tremor passed through the area. The group of four started to lose their balance. It subsided.

The group regained their balance. Ephault looked over at Iris to make sure she was still conscious. Iris was still on her feet. His natural glare looked over to the lalafell that is front of him. “As you were saying,” he said coldly. 

The lalafell cleared his throat “Ah yes, as I was saying. We are here to investigate the aether flow in the twelves—.”

He was rudely interrupted by his female companion “Ever since the calamity, the forest’s been really sensitive. The slightest disruption to the aetheric flow…” another albeit smaller tremor came through. Unlike last time, treants rose up from the ground and they aren’t too pleased being awake. “and this sort of thing happens!”

“It seems we have little choice!” Papalymo exclaimed as he pulled his staff out. Yda got into a battle stance. Ephault and Iris followed suit, by pulling out their bow and cane respectively.

As the treant charged towards the group, it roared. It started to swing its branches wildly. As one was about to hit Papalymo, Yda blocked it with her forearm. The force from the swing pushed her back a few feet. The midlander ran back towards the treant and deck it in the trunk so hard that bark fell off the treant’s body. Ephault fired an arrow at the treant, a bit annoyed. The wooden beast let out another roar as the arrow landed, this time summoning some bulbs.

As they approached, Iris chanted “oh graceful wind, I call you forth. AERO!”. As she finished a huge gust of wind blew through the area, knocking down the bulbs. Papalymo noticed that they are all grouped up. “I call forth flames, burn and destroy. Fire.” he called out and a pillar of flames came forth, burning the bulbs.

With the bulbs down, Iris and Papalymo can start to focus on the treelike beast. The seedkin has a couple of arrows sticking out of its back and a good chunk of its bark has fallen to the ground. Yda gave it another wack and the beast fell down. Iris ran up to Yda to check her hands. They were a bit damaged. Iris decided to heal them a bit just to make sure she was okay.

With the threat down, Ephault put away his bow. He looked over the area, ignoring the felled beast. His attention was more towards the sword that is in the stump that brought him and his sister there. He headed towards the sword. Papalymo followed suit. The two approached the sword and they noticed an Ixal dead by the stump.

“What do we have here?” Ephault questioned.

“Our culprit, it would seem. An Ixal. and no ordinary Ixal, either - a chieftain. That they would venture this deep into enemy territory. The beastmen may indeed be acting under orders.” Papalymo responded to his question.

The two continue their conversation, as Ephault wanted to figure out what exactly is going on. Out of earshot from the two, Iris noticed that there was a crystal by her feet. She bent down to pick it up. As she did the crystal started to float in front of her. She grabs it. As she does, the world around her starts to spin. 

When she woke up, she was somewhere she wouldn’t believe would be in this world. An ambient blue surrounded her.  A voice started to speak out to her.

“He….eel…. Ink” a woman’s voice spoke. However, Iris couldn’t make out what she was saying. “ Crys….. Bearer. I am …. all made one.” She spoke again, and again Iris couldn’t make out what she was saying. Visions flashed before her. 

The first being meteors raining down to the world. Men screaming in terror. Women hiding from the chaos. Flames consuming the land. Smoke billowing from the earth. Another flash and another vision. This time where dragons attacked a village. A man and a child were running away from the carnage. The village burned down to the ground. A third that showed a war that set the world aflame. A country torn apart. Country men killing each other.

She jolted awake. The sun is now at the highest point of the day. Her brother was sitting right next to her. “You fainted again.” He helped her sit up.

The Lalafell man looked at the two siblings. “A surfeit of aether, no doubt.” he chimed in. Iris looked at him inquisitively. “A surfeit… of aether?” she pondered it a bit more. Is it possible that all this fainting was due so much aether in the area? 

She was lost in thought. “How are you feeling?” Ephault asked as he pulled out his flask, offering water to Iris. 

Iris took a sip from it. “Yeah.” she murmured. She was confused with everything that just transpired. The dream, getting information about a possible reason for her fainting; these adventurers might know more.

The lalafell turned his back from Iris and Ephualt. He seemed to be talking to someone. Ephault looked back at his sister. “Are you sure you’re feeling better?” His face showed concern. Rarely has Iris been out of it for a long period of time. 

“I’m quite sure. I’m fine brother.” she huffed. She started to stand up from the ground. Losing a bit of balance as she got up. He caught her to help stabilize her on her feet.

“I’m still worried, you know.” he sighed. “Let’s just head back to E-Sumi-Yan and tell him what was going on. Once we do that, I want you to get the wool for mother and go home. You need to rest.”

“Understood. Over and out.” Papalymo finished talking with whomever, eyeing the elezen. He turned his attention to the two. “Well , if you are going to talk to E-Sumi-Yan, could you give him regards from the scions?” He asked. Ephault nodded at his request. Pleased that he can rely on some locals to report what was going on. He bowed to them “here is where we part ways. Till next time, take care!” The hyur and lalafell walked away.

“Wait.” Iris called out softly as though she couldn’t muster the strength in her voice. However the two didn’t hear and continued on their way. A little disheartened that she couldn’t get the answers that she wanted from them.

“Iris, come on.” Ephault beckoned her. “Let’s just go home.” she sighed in defeat. The two walked back to the city-state to report what had transpired.

They arrived at the conjurer's guild without any events happening. No one passing out, no tremors passing through the area, no angry, territorial seedkins trying keep invaders out of their area, nothing happened.

“Ah, you two are back.” E-Sumi-Yan stated calmly, “What have you found out at the Lifemend Stump?”

Ephault presented the sword to the padjal. “It seemed that some Ixals wanted to disturb the flow of aether in the twelveswood. I think the Twin Serpents should look into it a bit more. Then again we are pretty limited on what we can do based on what the elementals feel on the matter.”

The padjal nodded. “Aye, but at least for now they have calmed down now that the Lifemend Stump is okay.” He dug through his pocket and fetched out a pouch filled with coins. “As for your reward.” He handed the pouch to Ephault, who then handed it to Iris and the two walked out of the guild. 

Iris got the wool from the markets and returned home as instructed by her brother. Her mother was confused that it took her so long. Ultimately, she had to explain what happened to her day. Tired and the sun is going down on this unexpected adventurous day she decided to call it a night.

She went into the bathroom to wash up for the night. As she was undressing, a crystal fell to the floor. She put her dress on top of the dressing screen. She then bent down to pick up the crystal. She stared at it, recalling the two adventurers. Recalling what Papalymo said. 

#oc: iris opranta #oc: ephault #flower of hope #ffxiv

[jungle-angel]

Alley Cats on a Rusted Roof (Rhett Abbott x Reader)

Summary: Rhett’s hiding from his mother and (y/n) and it’s not long before the other men in the extended family come to join

Notes: Based off of the “Mike and Molly” episode where Joyce goes crazy with the spring cleaning and the guys are all roosted up on the roof and singing John Denver

 Granite Trail Reservation

Wabang, WY

Rhett couldn’t get to the Redwood’s fast enough. Cece had already gone nuts with the spring cleaning, making him, Perry and Royal clean out the attic, rake the yard and the rest of the ranch work on top of that. He needed a day, but knew he wasn’t going to get anywhere else......plus it didn’t really help that the Duttons had come down from Montana to visit and that the kids were all running amuck.

He pulled up to the smaller ranch he had known so well and the house that once had been a good sized mobile home with other pieces and extensions built off of it. In the yard roamed a few horses while the barn out back housed the other animals and critters that called this place home. As soon as Rhett pulled to a stop, he went up and knocked at the screen door.

“The hell are you doing here?” Wes chuckled when he answered the door.

“You gotta hide me dude,” Rhett told him. “Ma’s going crazy with the spring cleaning and I can’t take it anymore.”

“You’re in luck,” Wes told him. “Gutters need cleaning and the roof needs re-shingling.”

Rhett groaned and ran his hand over his face.

“C’mon, what can it hurt?” Wes asked him. “I go up to the roof when I hide from Nora.”

Rhett rolled his eyes and followed Wes as they grabbed a ladder and headed up to the roof. “You gonna want lunch?” Wes asked him.

“What do you have?”

“Might go down to the corner and grab a sandwich later,” Wes answered. “Uncle said he’s gonna come by and see if he can help get one of the fences repaired.”

Rhett and Wes set to work cleaning out the gutters, a job that was less then pleasant and not one they necessarily looked forward to. Rhett gagged when he hauled out a dead rat that had probably been there since the beginning of winter, cringing as he thought of Bartholomew, the cream colored little rat Hannah had kept as a pet.

“Oh God, it’s nasty,” Rhett gagged. ‘So nasty!”

“Chuck it across the yard,” Wes told him. “Buzzards will probably get at it.”

Rhett and Wes continued to scoop out the nasty muck from the gutters when they heard someone climbing up the ladder to the roof. “Ta 'c meeywi, knuckleheads,” Wes’s father greeted.

“Mornin Russ,” Rhett replied.

“Dad, what the hell are you doing?” Wes asked him.

“I’m hiding from your mother,” Russ chuckled.

“You’ve got knee surgery in three days,” Wes reminded him. “You shouldn’t even be up here.”

“If I’m gonna go, it’s gonna be after at least three beers and in peace and quiet,” Russell told him. “And not with your mother nagging my ear off at every hour of every day.”

Russ hauled up a small red beer cooler with him, his knee creaking and popping as Rhett and Wes both helped him up. “You hiding too Rhett?” Russ asked him.

“Yeah, Ma’s goin crazy with the spring cleaning,” Rhett answered. “Last I heard, (y/n), Monica and Beth were all cleaning the silver.”

Russell made a face. “And I thought our end was bad,” he laughed.

The three of them scraped the last of the gunk from the gutters, hosing it out as best they could until the water ran clear. The sun was shining high in the sky and not a cloud to be seen. The grass rippled in the warm breeze as it blew across the hills and through the pines while somewhere high in the sky, a flock of birds took off from the treetops.

Another truck pulled up barely a half hour later and out jumped Royal, John, Thomas and Mo, each one of them hoping to find a spot up on the roof to hide from the women of the house. Kayce and Rip weren’t too far behind them, both of them exasperated and ready to relax.

“Ya’ll got any spots up there?!” Royal called to Russ.

“C’mon up!” Russell answered.

The men climbed up the ladder, perching themselves up on the roof before digging into the cooler and settling in like roosters perched on the roof of a coop.

************************

Cecelia Abbott pulled up to the house, noticing the three trucks parked in the dirt driveway. She smiled and shook her head as she got out and made her way to the front door. 

“Cece!” Winona Redwood said happily. “Whatcha looking for?” 

“My clueless knucklehead of a son and his equally clueless knucklehead of a father,” Cece answered. 

“Check the roof, I think we have a nice assortment up there,” Winona told her. “You gonna want anything before you go? I need to run down to the corner and get a box of salt.” 

“I’ll help make lunch as soon as I find’em,” Cece half laughed. 

Cece rounded the corner to find the ladder, lured by the off kilter singing of a group of men who sounded more like screechy alley cats than actual singers. Sure enough, she climbed up and there they all were. 

“Aye, Calypso, the places you've been to The things that you've shown us, the stories you tell Aye, Calypso, I sing to your spirit The men who have served you so long and so well” 

Cece suddenly chimed in, the men turning their heads and each one with an “oh shit” look on their faces before they too joined her and finished off the song. 

“Oh hey, darlin,” Royal greeted. “I didn’t know you were here.” 

Cece gave him “the look”, one hand on her hip and the other still gripping the ladder. “Neither did I,” she said sternly. 

Each of the men meekly hid their beers, knowing what was bound to come next. 

“Now pray tell, why did ya’ll sneak away from your chores?” 

None of them really wanted to answer but Cece could tell what all of them were thinking. 

“Well,” she said. “I’m gonna go into town with Nona for a bit. Chores can wait till tomorrow.” 

As soon as she was gone, the men thanked God above that they had gotten out of their spring chores. Yet one thing still stuck with them even as they started singing the song once more. 

Cece always did....and always would, scare the ever living crap out of them. 

#outer range #yellowstone #rhett abbott #cecelia abbott #royal abbott #john dutton #rip wheeler #kayce dutton

[uschi-the-listener]

There was a murder out front this morning

.

Probably for the sunflower seeds

.

A living reminder of sunnier times

.

Seven crows

Strutting

Orating

Eyes on the smaller birds

And those coveted seeds

.

No one ate the day before

The rain knocked everyone out of the sky

Wet deer ate the seeds

.

Today

A murder arrived

Picking through an assortment

For oily black treasure

Among the seeds

.

#bird feeder #rain #a murder of crows #crows

[istumpysk]

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: Bran I (Chapter 4)

Are we there yet?

Me, every chapter of this book.

+.+.+

Swaying in his wicker basket on Hodor's back, the boy hunched down, ducking his head as the big stableboy passed beneath the limb of an oak. 

The foreshadowing is always Hodor ducking his head under something (usually a door), while Bran's on his back.

I don't know what the show changed, but something will be different.

+.+.+

One gloved hand still clutched the rusty iron longsword he had taken from the crypts below Winterfell, and from time to time he would lash out at a branch, knocking loose a spray of snow. "Hod-d-d-dor," he would mutter, his teeth chattering.

Curious to learn how this sword will be important in the future.

+.+.+

Coldhands was the name that the fat boy Sam had given him, for though the ranger's face was pale, his hands were black and hard as iron, and cold as iron too. The rest of him was wrapped in layers of wool and boiled leather and ringmail, his features shadowed by his hooded cloak and a black woolen scarf about the lower half of his face.

Covering the lower half of his face but not his hands. . . why. I'm sure we'll eventually get the answer.

+.+.+

Behind the ranger, Meera Reed wrapped her arms around her brother, to shelter him from the wind and cold with the warmth of her own body. A crust of frozen snot had formed below Jojen's nose, and from time to time he shivered violently. He looks so small, Bran thought, as he watched him sway. He looks smaller than me now, and weaker too, and I'm the cripple.

Say a prayer for Jojen, it won't be long now.

+.+.+

Of late Bran wore Summer's body more often than his own; the wolf felt the bite of the cold, despite the thickness of his fur, but he could see farther and hear better and smell more than the boy in the basket, bundled up like a babe in swaddling clothes.

No Bran!

+.+.+

Other times, when he was tired of being a wolf, Bran slipped into Hodor's skin instead. The gentle giant would whimper when he felt him, and thrash his shaggy head from side to side, but not as violently as he had the first time, back at Queenscrown. He knows it's me, the boy liked to tell himself. He's used to me by now. Even so, he never felt comfortable inside Hodor's skin. The big stableboy never understood what was happening, and Bran could taste the fear at the back of his mouth.

NO BRAN!

+.+.+

It was better inside Summer. I am him, and he is me. He feels what I feel.

You are not a wolf! You are Brandon of House Stark, son of Catelyn and Ned Stark!

+.+.+

From a nearby oak a raven quorked, and Bran heard the sound of wings as another of the big black birds flapped down to land beside it. By day only half a dozen ravens stayed with them, flitting from tree to tree or riding on the antlers of the elk. The rest of the murder flew ahead or lingered behind. But when the sun sank low they would return, descending from the sky on night-black wings until every branch of every tree was thick with them for yards around. Some would fly to the ranger and mutter at him, and it seemed to Bran that he understood their quorks and squawks. They are his eyes and ears. They scout for him, and whisper to him of dangers ahead and behind.

That's great and all, but I'm still going to pretend every raven in the story is Bran, because it's more fun that way.

+.+.+

The elk stopped suddenly, and the ranger vaulted lightly from his back to land in knee-deep snow. Summer growled at him, his fur bristling. The direwolf did not like the way that Coldhands smelled. Dead meat, dry blood, a faint whiff of rot. And cold. Cold over all.

I hope that's the only reason he doesn't like him.

+.+.+

Jojen's eyes were a dark green, the color of moss, but heavy with a weariness that Bran had never seen in them before. The little grandfather. South of the Wall, the boy from the crannogs had seemed to be wise beyond his years, but up here he was as lost and frightened as the rest of them. Even so, Meera always listened to him.

Jojen was so solemn that Old Nan called him "little grandfather," but Meera reminded Bran of his sister Arya. - Bran IV, ACOK

Is there a deeper meaning to this that I'm missing?

+.+.+

"There's been too much going around," Meera insisted, "and too many secrets. I don't like it. I don't like him. And I don't trust him. Those hands of his are bad enough. He hides his face, and will not speak a name. Who is he? What is he? Anyone can put on a black cloak. Anyone, or any thing. He does not eat, he never drinks, he does not seem to feel the cold."

Meera not liking Coldhands is making me feel uneasy, but they don't know he's dead, so it might just be that.

+.+.+

Bran glanced about uneasily, but there was not a raven to be seen. All the big black birds had left them when the ranger did. No one was listening. Even so, he kept his voice low. "The scarf over his mouth, it never gets all hard with ice, like Hodor's beard. Not even when he talks."

The elk, Bran.

+.+.+

Bran found himself remembering the tales Old Nan had told him when he was a babe. Beyond the Wall the monsters live, the giants and the ghouls, the stalking shadows and the dead that walk, she would say, tucking him in beneath his scratchy woolen blanket, but they cannot pass so long as the Wall stands strong and the men of the Night's Watch are true. So go to sleep, my little Brandon, my baby boy, and dream sweet dreams. There are no monsters here. 

I'm choosing to believe the author is conveying Bran's no monster.

+.+.+

The ranger wore the black of the Night's Watch, but what if he was not a man at all? What if he was some monster, taking them to the other monsters to be devoured?

What a word.

+.+.+

"Why won't this three-eyed crow come to us? Why couldn't he meet us at the Wall? Crows have wings. My brother grows weaker every day. How long can we go on?"

Jojen coughed. "Until we get there."

+.+.+

Supper was a fistful of acorns, crushed and pounded into paste, so bitter that Bran gagged as he tried to keep it down. Jojen Reed did not even make the attempt. Younger and frailer than his sister, he was growing weaker by the day.

Don't talk about Jojen after paste!

Kurz had told them how to use rocks and make a kind of acorn paste. It tasted awful. - Arya V, ACOK

x

If my brothers are complaining of me now, what will they say when they're eating snow and acorn paste? - Jon IV, ADWD

Is this something? What is this? Oh my god, Bran's making me paranoid again.

+.+.+

"Jojen, you have to eat," Meera told him.

"Later. I just want to rest." Jojen smiled a wan smile. "This is not the day I die, sister. I promise you."

Props to Meera, I could not handle Jojen as a sibling.

+.+.+

The last of the food that they had brought from the south was ten days gone. Since then hunger walked beside them day and night. Even Summer could find no game in these woods. They lived on crushed acorns and raw fish. 

Remember that.

+.+.+

Bran closed his eyes. It was too cold to talk, and they dare not light a fire. Coldhands had warned them against that. These woods are not as empty as you think, he had said. You cannot know what the light might summon from the darkness. The memory made him shiver, despite the warmth of Hodor beside him.

Ever think about that, Melisandre?

+.+.+

As he moved out from amongst the darkness of the trees into the bloody glade, they were watching him. The female was chewing on a leather boot that still had half a leg in it, but she let it fall at his approach. The leader of the pack, an old male with a grizzled white muzzle and a blind eye, moved out to meet him, snarling, his teeth bared. Behind him, a younger male showed his fangs as well.

One Eye Varamyr is back!

+.+.+

Men. The stink of them filled the world. Alive, they had been as many as the fingers on a man's paw, but now they were none. Dead. Done. Meat. Cloaked and hooded, once, but the wolves had torn their clothing into pieces in their frenzy to get at the flesh. Those who still had faces wore thick beards crusted with ice and frozen snot. The falling snow had begun to bury what remained of them, so pale against the black of ragged cloaks and breeches. Black.

Long leagues away, the boy stirred uneasily.

Black. Night's Watch. They were Night's Watch.

The direwolf did not care. They were meat. He was hungry.

[...]

He went from man to man, sniffing, before settling on the biggest, a faceless thing who clutched black iron in one hand. His other hand was missing, severed at the wrist, the stump bound up in leather. Blood flowed thick and sluggish from the slash across his throat. 

Ollo Lophand.

Coldhands has killed some of the Night's Watch mutineers. Bran doesn't know they were mutineers.

+.+.+

The eyes of the three wolves glowed yellow. The direwolf swung his head from side to side, nostrils flaring, then bared his fangs in a snarl. The younger male backed away. The direwolf could smell the fear in him. Tail, he knew. But the one-eyed wolf answered with a growl and moved to block his advance. Head. And he does not fear me though I am twice his size.

Their eyes met.

Warg!

One skinchanger can always sense another. - Prologue, ADWD

+.+.+

Then the two rushed together, wolf and direwolf, and there was no more time for thought. The world shrank down to tooth and claw, snow flying as they rolled and spun and tore at one another, the other wolves snarling and snapping around them. His jaws closed on matted fur slick with hoarfrost, on a limb thin as a dry stick, but the one-eyed wolf clawed at his belly and tore himself free, rolled, lunged for him. Yellow fangs snapped closed on his throat, but he shook off his old grey cousin as he would a rat, then charged after him, knocked him down. Rolling, ripping, kicking, they fought until the both of them were ragged and fresh blood dappled the snows around them. But finally the old one-eyed wolf lay down and showed his belly. The direwolf snapped at him twice more, sniffed at his butt, then lifted a leg over him.

A few snaps and a warning growl, and the female and the tail submitted too. The pack was his.

Bran becomes the leader of a pack of wolves that remind us of his siblings.

I'll let you decide whether you want to read into Bran and One Eye (Jon) fighting.

+.+.+

The wolf lapped at it with his tongue, licked the ragged eyeless ruin of his nose and cheeks, then buried his muzzle in his neck and tore it open, gulping down a gobbet of sweet meat. No flesh had ever tasted half as good.

Alright, time to hop out Bran.

+.+.+

When he was done with that one, he moved to the next, and devoured the choicest bits of that man too. Ravens watched him from the trees, squatting dark-eyed and silent on the branches as snow drifted down around them. The other wolves made do with his leavings; the old male fed first, then the female, then the tail. They were his now. They were pack.

No, the boy whispered, we have another pack. 

I think the ravens watching is meant to signal Coldhands was there.

I'm not sure what to make of the rest of it.

+.+.+

Lady's dead and maybe Grey Wind too, but somewhere there's still Shaggydog and Nymeria and Ghost. Remember Ghost?

That's the sort of thing that sends people into a spiral.

+.+.+

Warmth beat against his face, comforting as a mother's kisses. Fire, he thought, smoke. His nose twitched to the smell of roasting meat. And then the forest fell away, and he was back in the longhall again, back in his broken body, staring at a fire. Meera Reed was turning a chunk of raw red flesh above the flames, letting it char and spit. "Just in time," she said. Bran rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand and wriggled backwards against the wall to sit. "You almost slept through supper. The ranger found a sow."

Even Summer could find no game in these woods.

We should probably be asking ourselves how Coldhands managed to find a pig in the middle of a frozen desolate forest, right after killing a bunch of mutineers.

(It's not pig.)

+.+.+

Behind her, Hodor was tearing eagerly at a chunk of hot charred flesh as blood and grease ran down into his beard. Wisps of smoke rose from between his fingers. 

+.+.+

The ranger killed a pig. Coldhands stood beside the door, a raven on his arm, both staring at the fire. Reflections from the flames glittered off four black eyes. He does not eat, Bran remembered, and he fears the flames.

Kind of weird he has black eyes.

+.+.+

Men of the Night's Watch. "You killed them. You and the ravens. Their faces were all torn, and their eyes were gone." Coldhands did not deny it. "They were your brothers. I saw. The wolves had ripped their clothes up, but I could still tell. Their cloaks were black. Like your hands." Coldhands said nothing. "Who are you? Why are your hands black?"

The ranger studied his hands as if he had never noticed them before. "Once the heart has ceased to beat, a man's blood runs down into his extremities, where it thickens and congeals." His voice rattled in his throat, as thin and gaunt as he was. "His hands and feet swell up and turn as black as pudding. The rest of him becomes as white as milk."

Meera Reed rose, her frog spear in her hand, a chunk of smoking meat still impaled upon its tines. "Show us your face."

The ranger made no move to obey.

"He's dead." Bran could taste the bile in his throat. "Meera, he's some dead thing. The monsters cannot pass so long as the Wall stands and the men of the Night's Watch stay true, that's what Old Nan used to say. He came to meet us at the Wall, but he could not pass. He sent Sam instead, with that wildling girl."

I know it's not Benjen, but refusing to show his face is weird. His mouth is either disfigured, or he's someone that can be recognized, right?

+.+.+

Meera's gloved hand tightened around the shaft of her frog spear. "Who sent you? Who is this three-eyed crow?"

"A friend. Dreamer, wizard, call him what you will. The last greenseer."

Kind of like how Daenerys is the last dragon, even though she's not?

+.+.+

Before the snows began, the north wind would swirl around them and clouds of dead brown leaves would kick up from the ground with a faint small rustling sound that reminded him of roaches scurrying in a cupboard, but now all the leaves were buried under a blanket of white.

x

Out there the wind was stronger, a cold north wind that howled across the lake, knifed through their layers of wool and leather, and set them all to shivering. When it blew into their faces, it would drive the snow into their eyes and leave them as good as blind.

x

The wind was gusting, so the smells were hard to follow. The wolf turned this way and that, sniffing.

x

"At least we will be out of the wind," Bran said.

x

Inside the longhall they found the ashes of a fire, floors of hard-packed dirt, a chill that went bone deep. But at least they had a roof above their heads and log walls to keep the wind off. 

x

Sleep would not come, could not come. Instead there was wind, the biting cold, moonlight on snow, and fire. 

x

The direwolf moved toward the meat, a gaunt grey shadow sliding from tree to tree, through pools of moonlight and over mounds of snow. The wind gusted around him, shifting. He lost the scent, found it, then lost it again.

x

The longhall's wooden door banged open. Outside, the night wind howled, bleak and black. The trees were full of ravens, screaming. Coldhands did not move.

Moommm, the wind's picking on me.

+.+.+

"A monster," Bran said.

The ranger looked at Bran as if the rest of them did not exist. "Your monster, Brandon Stark."

"Yours," the raven echoed, from his shoulder. Outside the door, the ravens in the trees took up the cry, until the night wood echoed to the murderer's song of "Yours, yours, yours."

"Jojen, did you dream this?" Meera asked her brother. "Who is he? What is he? What do we do now?"

"We go with the ranger," said Jojen. "We have come too far to turn back now, Meera. We would never make it back to the Wall alive. We go with Bran's monster, or we die."

WHAT.

What does that mean? Why did he say Brandon? Did Bran make Coldhands?

WHAT.

By the way, the hideously misshapen monster comes next.

Final thoughts:

I don't mean to alarm you, but there's only two Bran chapters left. We don't have much time to figure out the ending.

Also, it's Thanksgiving weekend in Canada, plus I have to build a new computer desk, so I might be delayed one or two days. Apologies!

-> return to menu <-

#operation stumpy re-read #adwd #bran i

[mythvoiced]

kazuki, have u ever thought of having children??? hae u ever... thought about being a dad? 🤔 how do u feel when you think of being a dad?

@astremourante | me rn

---

"Don't you have literally anything better to do."

A cloud of smoke blocks the path from his eyes to the ceiling. The cord hanging from the lamp there is a fine irrelevant chain. It's a relatively old house, kept in relatively perfect shape. It has all the traits of a mansion: spacious, the wood is a rich dark colour, every door slides perfectly, every plant seems to mean something, every corner and corridor almost designed to make sure you grow smaller and smaller with each step, while the person guiding you deeper grows bigger and bigger.

You glance out at the internal garden and it's perfect.

And you feel like a bird trapped in a cage large enough to grant you movement, but never large enough for your wings to ache with the effort of reaching the sky.

Back and forth in two swings.

Birds are so fast.

You're so trapped.

Kazuki has never idealized nor romanticized the concept of fatherhood. He believes in the phrase 'everyone can be a father, not everyone can be a dad'.

The word 'dad' is silly and childish to him, suited to a boy of an age that barely reaches his knee, not for a man like him.

His father is father, if they're both feeling a little lazy, a little loose. It's about hierarchy and position and impression and perspective. Calling him by his title, even better, head of it all, the mastermind to have made an art out of the plight of others, like so many before him.

But... how many after him?

Kazuki blinks, slow and unfocused. Something is playing softly in the background. He saved an old radio from somewhere once, it's charming, it's in good shape, and the signs of age it does bear only add to its beauty.

He doesn't even like Matsubara Miki, he lies.

He's never thought about being a father, he lies.

"I'd want to do better," she's too cheerful for his mood, but perhaps the genre of her music dictates it. Hasn't this become a hit overseas in recent years? From Japan's 80s to the US' 2020s. Time is an odd thing.

"I'd want to do better... but I don't know what that means," his voice but barely louder than a drunken mumble.

"I wonder if my father ever thought of being a dad... if he ever thought of having children the way people normally think of having children," there's something almost poetic about how mundane it all feels. He could be in a small apartment in the belly of a large city, look outside and watch the skyline paint it a beauty far into the center where rich people live and move and thrive.

Listen to a train stop and go, not being able to see who's laughing down below the balcony, watch red and pale lights fade as cars move in and out of streets.

He could be standing out on that balcony, smoking his cigarette there, arms on the railing, warm and summery, wondering how much longer 'til the rain season begins, and then feel a tug at his leg.

The real Kazuki smiles, angry and small.

"If it made him happy... I probably wouldn't have any, if it made my father happy for me to have some," open defiance, a rarity.

He looks down in his daydream, and a child smiles back up at him.

She has a wicked little glint in her eyes, she's so much smarter than he'll ever be. Of course she will be, she's so much better than he'll ever be, and that's what being a parent should feel like, knowing you're nothing in contrast to the sight of your child smiling. You're just a vessel for their safety and you want to get it right and you don't deserve it.

Her lips widen into a mischievous grin.

When Kazuki notices who she resembles he sits up, grabs the radio, and Matsubara Miki can only manage to ask you one last time to stay with her, knocking on midnight's door, before her voice disappears in the shattering of components and the silence of a bad man's rage.

Kazuki is a bad man.

"No one like me should have children," he breathes at the wall he's now staring at.

"I have better things to do."

#astremourante #the golden boy;kazuki #the children are our future paint it red;amelia & kazuki #i tear up when i see birds in cages did you know that #especially when you can tell just from looking at the bird that their wings could spread much further than allowed #they can't even flap #GOSH MAKING MYSELF CRY FDKNGFDSLFKH LKHG #anyways have this HAVE THIS I WANTED IT TO BE FUNNY WHY DOES KAZUKI MAKE EVERYTHING SO SERIOUS #call me a japanese city pop amateur but i REALLY like mika matsubara's stay with me GOSH it's? #btw the idea was he's not talking to amelia here but a Disembodied Voice™ KLDSGJDFHGF IDK artistic liberty WAHOO #;queue

[thegayestandalite]

Chapter 2

—————

Ripping through the forest was a menagerie of ridiculously out of place animals. Mostly out of place.

The animorphs, a group of shapeshifting children fighting an intergalactic war with space slugs and with who your very future rested squarely on.

They were on the run before their morphs could even finish, tearing through scratchy thickets and leaping over rotted logs. The smell of forest heaving into their nostrils and lungs.

Tobias was first, a child in the shape of a red tailed hawk, he spotted the craft in his own domain - the open sky.

Ax, another - smaller- andalite, was at the relay point so he could communicate with though speak* and update his comrades with what Tobias was telling him.

Another andalite, male, injured, airily unhappy and Apparently

Making enemies - and then befriending? A squirrel.

*An essential form of speaking when you have no mouth

———————————————

Along with his wounded arm, he was also nursing an injured upper torso and was willing to wager with the absolute fire of hell streaking through his legs he had managed to break a few bones as well.

[You are my only friend in the world, hopefully harmless tiny creature,] he intoned sadly.

This wasn’t Harbringer of Death, she left a while ago. This new curious cutie was Baby Killer.

[Squirrels don’t have friends,] Tobias answered, absolutely correct, [Only malice.]

The alien - the blue one- ‘s head snapped up and his stalk eyes swiveled around.

He took a measured moment.

[That’s good to know,] he said carefully. [Are you the…squirrel?] He watched the tiny animal nervously twinge back and forth. Squirrel certainly felt like a good jumble of iterations to identify the creature.

[No.]

A feathered, winged creature with a dull brown coloring flapped onto a closer branch.

Baby Killer was displeased and fled in a chattering of disapproving sounds. She’d have her day.

[I’m the bird,] the feathered thing added helpfully. The Alien Noted the cruelly shaped beak and wicked black talon on each toe. No wonder the squirrel felt uneasy.

[Hello, ] he responded back, cordially.

[Sooo,] the bird hopped on one foot and ruffled his feathers, [Noticed you crashed your ship there,] the pointy bird said conversationally. He tilted his head over towards the treacherously crashed ship.

[Yes, I see why you’d make that mistake, perfectly understandable, but in reality the ship there crashed itself, despite my loudest protests.]

[Uh huh. Yep. So…just wondering here if you could use any help for, you know, the injuries and the- the blood?] He noted the blue blood smeared and seeping through his blue furry fingers that clutched and obscured an obvious wound. It was planted over firmly on the basis that he wasn’t going to be any happier actually seeing it.

[Could be, could be, and who are you?]

A distinct silence.

[Ah.]

Anyone who didn’t want to reveal themselves while using andalite technology, was likely not in fact, an andalite.

The cracking of dry foliage and rustling of plants caught his attention, and what he saw, precisely was, a large creature, a larger creature, a larger larger creature and hells help him an even larger creature than that. All compiled with claws and teeth. Seems he stumbled into something here.

The second Larger creature, the one with stripes he noticed secondarily - stepped forward from the pack.

[Who are you, and what are you doing here,] He demanded.

He scoffed inwardly, this one had all he bravery of a knock kneed artish.

[Ah, you see, what I’m doing here and who I am is, hm None of your business.]

Stripe jerked his head back, startled.

They all seemed to be staring at him in confusion, not that he was any judge of these particular alien’s expressions.

The first, smallest creature, still about 3/4 of his size, stepped up and looked at Stripe. [Look, he’s injured, let’s just get him back and take a look at these injuries.]

Ah yes, Good officer, bad officer. The oldest play in the galaxy.

But his hearts creaked to a halt.

A final, very familiar creature came into view.

Aximili-esgarrouth-isthill.

The injured andalite stretched to full impressive length along the grass and fallen leaves, his tail looped nonchalantly and narrowed his eyes in a hooded gaze.

A prickle of cold swarmed down his shoulders and backs, his fur bristling along the way.

[ In actuality, your assistance is not needed here or anywhere,] he said Coolly.

Stripe gaped.

[ Dude, in case you haven’t noticed, what choice do you have? I’m willing to bet you can’t morph or you wouldn’t be hemorrhaging to death right now.] This was from the walking torso.

Bor’ij, the injured andalite, snapped his head and glared with the intensity of all four eye. Inner truth time, he had yet again, forgotten about morphing. He had gotten that ability a bit late in the game.

[What choice do I have? I have plenty of choices, I have so many fucking choices right now, Up to my tail in them, so kindly Fuck Off.]

A moment of shock.

A moment of private silence as the aliens conversed with each other.

He ignored them, opening his hand held telecommunication unit. He knew his cell wasn’t going to be very pleased about the crashing and..the injuries…he quickly typed out his message and hit send while very pointedly ignoring the band of..morph..creatures. Meatures? No, putting two words together to make a new one was stupid.

He fiddled with his device, signing into the encoded extra-military network, that had turned more social rather than utilitary

The creatures…crearphs? No…Had still not gone away. He scrolled down his screen, still keeping a wary but observant non-Chalant eye on them. Some stories on friends’ adventures, signs of depression and anxiety from this wearing war, pictures of interesting and terrifying flora and fauna, obligatory check ins so your friends still knew you were alive and his personal favorite - awful dishonorable lewd pictures that no decent andalite- he paused to press and save into his collection- would ever associate themselves with.

The large striped creature with entirely too much tooth in Bor’ij’s opinion, stood awkwardly unsure of what to do with this clearly injured alien that was actually dead set on ignoring them.

[Who are you waiting for?] He hazarded.

[Who are *you* waiting for,] he snapped back, [I’m waiting for somebody to mind their own damned business, start stepping off the other way. You have the ability, I believe in you.]

Just then, his communicator blipped. He took a look at his screen and smiled. Predictably his cell, his friends, where cursing him to pieces, haha. His hearts started to beat faster and he put on his best straight face he could to avoid looking like an idiot when he read how close they were. Well..how close he was..they….but also him.

*Just keep from dying before we get there*, they scolded.

[Ok,] Strippey said, [Ok. Everyone. Let’s go.] The earth aliens looked at each other uncertainly.

Bor’ij smiled to himself, they were a social animal, they looked to a leader for direction. Intel was so easy.

The smallest furry animal seemed to stare urgently at Strippey. He’ll call her..Legs. The one most dedicated to her altruistic instincts that a social animal needs to protect their group to survive, he made a note of it.

But the leader, Strippey, the metaphorical knock kneed foal, will win out, because he has a clever plan to Not Leave. Probably even sneak inside cruiser should he decide to stumble into it. The pain radiated from his side as he accidentally reminded himself off his injuries.

Bor’ij flipped his comm back on and preceded to ignore their existence . He barely registered their leave, but for the briefest ting in his hearts that Aximili had not even attempted to talk to him.

#animorphs #fanfic #writing #fanfiction #uprising #uprising chapter 2 #chapter 2 #I won’t apologize