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#red soldier beetle
flowerishness · 2 years
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Daucus carota (Queen Anne's lace) and Rhagonycha fulva (Red soldier beetle)
When I was recently down at the beach, I was specifically looking for a Western honey bee pollinating a invasive plant species. Yesterday, I posted an introduced Butterfly bush but I had lots of choices because the beachfront is full of invasive species. I took these photos of Queen Anne’s lace but when I looked at them later, I discovered another introduced species, the red soldier beetle. Both the plant and the beetle are European imports introduced in historical times and now found throughout North America. 
The Wikipedia entry on this beetle is hilarious. Not only is this species known as the ‘hogweed bonking beetle’ in Britain but it goes on to say; “The adults, which are active between the months of June and August, spend much of their short lives mating and can often be seen in pairs.” 
As you can see, I caught these two in the midst of an ‘amorous embrace’. I want to reassure you that I didn’t intend on an X-rated photograph but I’ll have to be more careful in future. Otherwise Tumblr may put a Parental Guidance warning on my blog.
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kiteknots · 7 months
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Greenhead Moss Nature Reserve // Wishaw
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dansnaturepictures · 9 months
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09/07/2023-RSPB Strumpshaw Fen
Pictures taken in this set: 1. A lovely Grey Heron, a key bird of the weekend trip. 2. The majestic Marsh Harrier we so enjoyed seeing from a hide, seeing others well on the walk round. They are such beautiful and striking birds, one I do really love seeing and I've had a fantastic year for them so far. 3. Follow the leader: Mute Swan cygnets. 4. Delicate meadowsweet and great willowherb. 5, 7, 8, 9 and 10. Views at this picturesque Fen reserve including of the expansive and lovely River Yare. 6. A Woodpigeon with a twig in its mouth on a gate which was a feel good and quirky image to take away from the day.
It really was a brilliant walk round this rich reserve, with seeing my first ever Norfolk Hawkers - exquisite emerald eyed dragonflies dashing around stream and vegetation - the key moments from the day. I feel so lucky we saw them. Brown Hawker, Black-tailed Skimmer, Emperor, possible Southern Hawker and Common Blue Damselfly, Banded Demoiselle and darter were other great dragon and damselflies to see. Comma, Red Admiral white butterflies including Small White and Green-veined White I believe, Large Skipper, Silver Y moth, Kestrel, Sedge Warbler, Jay, Swift, Common Tern, Great Crested Grebe and chicks which was good to see somewhere different to Lakeside, Little Grebe, Mallard and ducklings, Great White Egret a very key bird of the weekend away, ladybird, possible ladybird larva, Common Red Soldier beetle and a marvelous Muntjac Deer shuffling over the path right at the end - a magical and euphoric moment I love seeing them - were other highlights. Other key plants of the many seen on the walk were hemp agrimony, purple and yellow loosestrife, white clover, pineappleweed, heath-spotted orchid, self-heal, herb-Robert, red campion, marsh bedstraw, hedge woundwort, thistle, bird vetch, valerian and plantain.
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Common Red Soldier Beetle - Rhagonycha fulva
Standing guard over the thistles are valiant soldiers with an appetite for pests of plants and their flowers. All these mating pairs and hungry troops were found in the same year and location (but in different months) alongside other inhabitants of the thistle thickets including the Thistle Bud Weevil and Thistle Stem Gall Fly. After the latter 2 species placed their eggs on the thistle plant, their larvae get to work, but their small and soft bodies are no match for the strength of the Soldier Beetle’s mandibles. While small insects are the preferred prey item, there are instances where they’ve been recorded to try their luck with larger soft insects that feed on plants (such as Caterpillars) and bite them! Even the larvae are carnivorous and feed on ground-dwelling soft-bodied insects and snails which may also feed on plants (the former targeting plant roots). With their pest control prowess, they’re a valuable biological control in nature and in the garden. And where food is plentiful, you can be sure they’ll be back next year since after their short summer adulthood, the larvae take to the soil and subsequently overwinter. Why right now, the next generation of Red Soldier Beetle grows and awaits the warmer weather for successfully pupation.
Since they patrol around flowers I was curious about whether or not they pollinate and research shows that they can instead serve as pollinators. Flight makes travel simple and since they hunt insects drawn to flowers, they would be very likely to make contact with the flower’s organs. Since they don’t have a layer of dense fuzz to carry pollen around with them, they probably have a pollination ability comparable to Butterflies. Amazing, a guard and pollinator; they really are handy for the garden. Though their pollination is beneficial, for Ontario’s sake it’s good that they don’t aid in seed dispersal as one of the plants they are known to pollinate is the Giant Hogweed (a large invasive plant similar to parsnip that SHOULD NOT be touched due to its light-activated toxic sap). I suppose these soldiers don’t choose the battlefield but make their contributions count, and that’s quite noble in the insect world, though I’m anthropomorphizing them a bit. To close this post off, pay close attention to the Beetles that you find like these. Seeing these pairs, the females are larger on average. As well, close examination will help distinguish these soldiers from a lookalike known as the Wharf Borer Beetle (Nacerdes melanura) which isn’t a Borer Beetle, but rather a False Blister Beetle. Researching between the two, I almost wish I found the lookalike instead to give the Red-Necked False Blister Beetle some company. Anyways, the lookalike has a different pronotum shield and leg color and are instead found near rotting wood.
Pictures were taken on July 8, 2022 with a Google Pixel 4.
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unkn0wnvariable · 19 days
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Feeding Soldier Beetle
A common red soldier beetle feeding on fennel flowers, in Twywell Gullet.
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postmanpetecoluk · 2 years
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Rhagonycha fulva: Common red soldier beetle
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Love bugs. Rhagonycha fulva: Common red soldier beetle by pete beard Via Flickr: The common red soldier beetle is also known as the 'bloodsucker' for its striking red appearance, but it is harmless. It is a beneficial garden insect as the adults eat aphids, and the larvae eat other pests.
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privitivium · 2 months
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Hiiiiii so I'm obsessed with how you write! I was wondering if you could write a sanemi x m bottom reader with overstimulation kink and orgasm denial
sure pal. :3
domtop sanemi shinazugawa x subbot m reader
cw;; overstimulation?? Kinda. orgasm denial.,, anal fingering, toys, slapping, bad dom sanemi,… ahrmhem.. sadist sanemi, ahemrhrm
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in the market, trying to find a stall that sells fruit, fresh fruit. he knows he can get someone to do this for him - buy his food and pet food, but it feels more meaningful to get it himself for his little rhinoceros beetle pal. he has to make sure its top quality, making sure there aren't any brown spots or wilting… humming with scrutiny as he studies an apple.. red.. sweet, perhaps? sweet.. his mind flashes to you. he'd call you, a sweet man, an idiot, a brat.. unknowing of how to deal with his feelings since you make him sick with butterflies.. why is he thinking about him??? hurry, sanemi, pick out some damn fruit…
you're a boisterous guy, you'd say,,, on par with rengoku kyojuro? no, you wouldn't go that far.. but, having unique quirks and a friendly, polite nature;; getting past someone's outer shell of anxiety and nervousness with ease, you'd call yourself a rowdy, energetic guy, not having the charm as others and wondering why exactly sanemi hates you so much if you were so similar to rengoku kyojuro whom he generally likes? you just wanna get along with everyone,, but you can't please everyone. or maybe you can? sanemi hasn't outright told you to fuck off every time you attempt conversation every so often… maybe this counts as being friends on sanemi's terms!
a mere outing as best companions and ubuyashiki's soldiers, wanting to try a new special at a restaurant you frequented with a friend because of course it tastes better with company.. it was a little hard convincing giyuu at first - but he relented, in the end.. obviously taken by your charm. obviously.
animatedly chatting with giyuu and sitting next to each other comfortably in your uniforms, the villagers didn't seem to care about your swords.. received little to no response as he was simply admiring the exterior of the restaurant, relaxing and hanging out.. you'd say this was great progress!! maybe you should invite him out more often? you sigh, relaxed and smiling, turning away and surveying the stalls and villagers before catching sight of white hair.. spiky white hair. of course, first thought is woah, wind pillar sighting?? but it could easily be a villager with spiky white hair… except it isn't -!!
waving merrily to the wind pillar after spotting him amongst the crowds, hand curled around giyuu's forearm to know that he's still there sitting next to you,,
he glares, eyes widened in a very creepy fashion, spotting your obnoxious arm-waving. a-and why is he walking toward you ?? towards you and that smug asshole… it was like his body was on autopilot - until he was standing over you, and you take a quick moment to assess him, noting that he wasn't wearing his usual KILL haori, but rather a plum colored haori… his uniform all the same, chest on display whilst holding a bag of fruit…
you don't comment on his appearance, and quickly greet the wind pillar politely;; “hey, man! what a surprise.. it's nice seeing you here!!” and, doing most of the talking.. explaining what giyuu and yourself were up to - merely hanging around the village as a little break, no missions.. then questioning him, “what are you up to? having a bit of fun around here yourself?" quite awkwardly,,
he promptly ignores and answers with a question of his own. “are you free?” quite.. mildly you'd say,, his tone, that is - “.. no, not at the moment.. but i will be, around sunset?” you narrow your eyes at the wind pillar, scrutinizing him. you just explained what you were doing, and he asks you if you are free…? b-but at the same time, hanging out with the wind pillar you were trying a bit too hard to be friends with??!?!! you decide not to question it.
and so he schedules a spar with you, gruffly.. ignoring giyuu's presence.. how rude, you thought, but it isn't like giyuu is making any move to greet the wind pillar… and when the time comes, after a wonderful time hanging out with giyuu - and managing a smile out of the stoic tomioka giyuu, you're trekking upwards to the wind estate, breathing in deeply and relaxing in the winds that brush against you as you hike up the steps, the sun just an hour away of setting..
receiving no nice greeting and getting straight to work. he was mostly silent, besides the rude quip of being lazy and not hurrying it up as you followed him throughout his estate to the training grounds of his - it was comfortably breezy.. maybe he wouldn't have a problem with you getting half naked to feel the breeze full-force… would that be unprofessional?? questioning sanemi if you could take your clothes off - catching him off guard it seems, but he relents mutely, allowing you to do such a thing, not once looking at you as you stretch, half-naked. hrmn.. this probably gives the other an advantage.. but this isn't serious sparring, is it..? uh.. you'll find out, soon enough.
he makes quick work of subduing you, having grown weak to his harsh hits - your wooden katana on the brink of snapping.. you let yourself fall underneath him, hand over your abdomen as you lay sprawled out; inhaling deeply and trying to control your breathing, unconcerned with the wind pillar standing over you, before taking a seat on you just below your belly. you stare at him, questioningly - never one to be so close to you, but sitting so close to your dick - it arouses a feeling that makes your dick twitch to life. ahem. you hope he doesn't feel it; but judging by the smug expression on his face, he does. you'd peg him to be disgusted by you.. not.. whatever he was now…
sanemi hums, tongue flicking out and running along his bottom lip - you have to look away, feigning tiredness as you lay your cheek against the rocks beneath you - surprisingly cool to the touch, comforting to your heated body… he shifts around, shuffling around before he was leaning over you and guiding your jaw upright to face him - shivering ever so slightly. aha.. god this is not going the way you'd expect. you wanted to have a good time sparring and trying to get to know him, but he wasn't giving you anything to work with.. oh, besides that thing. in his hand. that he pulled out of his pants. uh..
“wanna guess what this is?” he grinned, maliciously it feels like. but that's how he always smiles, no? “uh.. no.. what? what is that?” you squint, trying to get a closer look.. it was a simple ring of sorts… an odd, black trinket, certainly. too big to fit on a finger that is for certain. “ehh, it's pretty easy actually.. why don't you guess? come on, really try..” sanemi hummed, trailing his fingers down your abdomen briefly, fingertips lingering along your happy trail along your navel.. laughing shakily and shuddering under his touch.
he grits his teeth, before parting his lips and holding the ring in his mouth - moving upwards in a partial squat/standing position - undoing his beltㅡyour bulge quite visible. embarrassing. his actions arousing quite the surprising emotionsㅡand he snaps it once, a threat? before he was leaning down and flipping you on your stomach roughly - you yelp, bracing yourself as if to help yourself up before he was kneeling on your back, pressing you into the rocks and tugging your arms back - spluttering in surprise and trying to get free as your boner was promptly being pressed into by the pesky fucking rocks - tying your wrists behind your back before flipping you back over and resuming in his position along your groin. fuck, the small rocks digging into your wrists. they were smooth, but still.. It hurts !
sanemi huffs, lifting his hand to his lips and taking the ring from his teeth - before slowly placing it atop your navel. “you're just... so damn ignorant... stupid little bastard... " he snapped at you, "you really know how to rile me up.. fucking fuck..” he hisses just under his breath as he begins making rough work of undoing your belt, you;; mewling softly in surprise and unable to keep still, writhing underneath him. too surprised, too shocked to speak as you merely stare wide-eyed at the wind pillar sitting over your groin,,- “you're not going to deny me this. i know all your dirty little fucking secrets… you have a little crush on me but you go out with giyuu like that? are you kidding?!” he growled akin to a dog, squatting over you and ripping your uniform pants downward, completely discarded;; your dick springing forward and accompanied by a pearl of pre, tip darkened in comparison due to the flush of arousal.. going to cover yourself, thighs trying to press together - and feeling your wrists press against the rocks underneath you, a reminder that your arms were restricted.. you can't imagine getting a cramp,,, and you feel as though you wouldn't be heard, asking sanemi to take you elsewhere…
“i- i'm sorry, man, jeez..” you try to pacify, try to get him to be a little more gentle.. by no means denying him - yeah, you did like where this was going, but it could be a little softer!!! sanemi ignores you, in his own world and trails his fingers over your abdomen - grasping your cock abruptly and you hiss in surprise, knees jerking,, slowly, the ring he had been flaunting, placed just around the neck of your cock. mewling softly at the stimulation,,
“damn, man.. don't you look pretty..”, a chuckle escaped sanemi's lips as he promptly admires your frame - leering. dripping with sweat and marked with grime here and there, raking his eyes down to your cock and thin happy trail… dick weeping with pre-cum as you babble incoherently, squirming underneath his slightly bigger build, an indescribable feeling - unlike anything you've ever felt before. a vibration along your genitals..,ㅡwhere could you get one of these, for your use?? it was only a matter of time before you were cumming on yourself and partially sanemi.. “you're such a fucking brat. you know that? i-i just can't stress that enough. i thought it was clear that you're mine..” his lips hike up into a mean snarl,, hands gripping the inner of your thighs and sure to leave hand marks, before he was shifting positions in between your bare legs, head tipping downward and breath ghosting over your leaky tip,,
your legs jerk, not exactly trying to shake him off, as a nervous tic.. threatening to close around sanemi's head.. “d-ude no.. no you weren't clear at all..” you manage to choke out, “if i woulda’ known.. i swear..!!” you cry out, hoping that he understands what you're trying to say, pathetically. hoping that he relents and takes fucking pity on you for one secondㅡthe feeling of your lower intestines tightening, knotting as the dull sensation of the little ring continues - and you buck up into the air, tip smearing your slick along sanemi's cheek on accident but holy fuck his lips felt so goodㅡ
“don't do it.” he warns gruffly, and holy fuck he's so scary - staring at your vulnerable with his wide, blank eyes, looking like a shark peeking behind your cock,,; your writhing form beneath him with a vibrating mechanism around the neck of your cock - your hips jerk upwards, head thrown back and hole clenching around nothing repetitively.. vibrating mechanism slick with your cum dribbling from the slitㅡsanemi slaps your thigh harshly after your accident, giving no warningㅡyou shriek in pain, searing pain that makes you tear up,, hitting you along your inner thigh, so close to your upright cock.. so rudeㅡyou didn't mean to, holy fuck.. it just feels so good-!!! “m’ sorry.. m' sorry, i-i'm sorry..” you squirm helplessly, sobbing quietly, thighs tensing to squeeze together after feeling the a draft hit your hole:; your dick threatening to shrink if not for the uncomfortable buzz keeping it stiff and upright,, leaking, dripping down onto your pubes you try to keep trimmed - unable to keep still as you try to jerk your hips upwards,, trying to get the mechanism off. you never touched yourself after cumming - never cumming two times during a session of masturbation, griping to yourself about how it felt too much.. it was too much. it felt almost painful, but still, a considerable amount of pleasurableㅡmaking your legs twitch and hole tense around air continuouslyㅡ
sanemi grunts in displeasure and the vibrating little ring seems to slow down.. god it felt so fucking good just then as if you were about to cum again even with the overstimulation along your cock - and he just t-took it away,,, tears stream down to your ears;; shaking your head and parting your partially dry lips to apologize - “you fucking moron.. don't know when to fucking listen.” he snapped lowly before he was standing up and - his pants disappear. his dick… just a smidge bigger than yours… standing outright, and it seems that the carpet does match the drapes.. neatly trimmed. Ahemhrm.. he inches down, squatting - and using his pants as a cushion for his knees and bunching up your pants underneath your ass as a cushion for you… you revel in this moment of sweetness… biting your lip, swallowing the spit in your mouth, and blinking the tears away… unwilling to gaze at him,,. you fear though that will make you cum again,,, realistically, it wouldn't, but you’re still nervous,,,
sanemi swipes his thumb on his tip, thumb slick with his mess.. unable to contain himself after seeing you so pretty - circling it with his thumb slick with his pre, before switching fingers and pressing inward.. it was relatively easy… a little too easy… as if you were a little familiar with fingering yourself,,,, “huh.” he mutters, his dick aching to be properly touched as he fingers you lazily - you jerk, squeezing around him with a soft cry.. “hmm,..” he continues, as if skeptical, as he slowly scissors around, trying to find that magic mystical button to make you squirm again - and with ease, you begin to writhe, push into his hand.. “ah, there we go…” he nods, prideful as he begins rubbing, furiously against your prostate with the pad of his middle finger - hand snapping to grip your cock and thumb placed over the slit of your tip.. “a-uah,, sa-sanemi.. sa.. nemi-!” you weakly cry out his name. Over and over.. while clenching on his fingers and grinding downward into his touch.. he could get used to this.. maybe have you around his house as his little fuckdoll to stuff and toy with whenever he wanted.. ah, he reprimands himselfㅡyou're more than that to him.. his.. husband?.. his lover..? … his.
sanemi stretches, and scissors your hole dutifully - humming in contentment as he uses your cum to lather his cock,, the mere feeling of his fingertips grazing your dick almost.. almost.. makes you start back up again - crying out softly at his touch along your shaft.. before he inches forward, guiding his tip to your head before pushing inward, kindly being slow… the tip of his cock making it passed your previously stretched ring of muscle,,, you inhale shakily, bracing yourself yet trying to relax - sanemi, snapping his hips forward into you. piercing you, fucking filling you to the brim and making you choke on your spit - drool dribbling down your cheek and rendering you speechless - lips parted with glazed eyes..
“i'm gonna make you wish that you didn't cum..” gently, he trails the back of his hand over your cheek, wiping away your tears… uahgh… his hand gently wrapping around the base of your cock and slowly stroking it, as he slowly pushes inward until his pubes were buried in your perineum, filling your hole out nicely.. “... if you cum again… i'm gonna rip your dick off, alright?” sanemi hums affectionately, thumbing the slit of your cock as if plugging it up once more - you writhe, ultimately trying to relax; breathing heavily.. chest heaving up and down as you stare into the sky, the sunset overcoming the perfect blue with oranges and yellows - augh.. fuck..,, sanemi, gently fucking into you compared to when you first began, yet you can't cum? - tears welled up in your eyes, and you feel so honored despite the rule... this must mean you're friends now… o-or more, as sanemi alluded to.. what exactly did being sanemi's entail?... being lovers..? y-yeah, you'll go with that.. just.. don't.. think about … cumming all over his hand… all- all over his face.. D-DONT THINK-!
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sorry for any mistakes ,,, :3
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dumbass-duo-showdown · 6 months
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Ahem ahem
After months of waiting!
I AM PRESENTING THE BRACKET FOR DUMBASS DUO SHOWDOWN!
CLICK FOR BETTER QUALITY!
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The first 16 battles will happen at 8pm CET (gmt+1)!
Group 1!
Uhh btw some of these were put on one day accidentally
Roronoa Zoro & Monkey D. Luffy aka Zolu (one piece) vs Good times with Scar & Grian aka desert duo (hermitcraft)
Bill Preston & Ted Logan (bill & Ted’s excellent adventure) vs Jessie & James from team rocket (Pokémon)
Wayne & Raj (total drama) vs Denji & Power (chainsaw man)
Burton & Shawn (psych) vs Rosencrantz & guildenstern (hamlet & rosencrantz and guildenstern are dead)
Josuke Higashikata & Okuyasu Nijimura aka Josuyasu (JoJo’s bizarre adventure) vs Shouyo Hinata & Tobio Kageyama (Haikyuu!)
Isaac & Miria (Baccano) vs Jay Walker & Cole Brookstone/bucket aka Bruise (lego ninjago)
Ace & Deuce (twisted wonderland) vs Aang & Sokka (avatar: the last airbender)
Tommyinnit & Tubbo aka Clingyduo (dsmp) vs Shiver, Frye, & Bigman aka Deep Cut (splatoon)
Blue Beetle (Ted Kord) & Booster Gold (Michael Carter) aka boostle VS Mustard Lesbian and Ketchup Gay from this post
Mordecai & Rigby (regular show) vs Lindsay & Tyler (total drama)
Rui Kamishiro & Tsukasa Tenma aka Ruikasa (project sekai) vs Zuke & Mayday aka Bunk Bed Junction (no straight roads)
Ruffnut & Tuffnut Thorston (how to train your dragon) vs Jedediah & Octavius (night at the museum)
Merry & Pippin (lord of the rings) vs The Doctor & Donna (dr who)
Jedward (irish music history) vs Min-Gi Park & Ryan Akagi (infinity train)
Grif & Simmons (red vs blue) vs Beavis & Butthead (Beavis & butthead)
Bender & Fry (futurama) vs Porsche & Pete (kinnporsche)
GROUP 2
1/8-18:30 & 2/8 18:30
Kaz & Oliver (mighty med) vs Bobbi Morse & Lance Hunter aka Huntingbird (agents of S.H.I.E.L.D)
Henchman 21 & Henchman 24 (venture bros) vs Spongebob & Patrick (Spongebob Squarepants)
Galo Thymos & Lio Fotia (promare) vs Yusuke & Kuwabara (Yu Yu Hakusho)
Charlie Kelly & Mac (it is always sunny in Philadelphia) vs Donald, José & Panchito (the three Caballeros)
The Bros (the bro duet) vs Chai & 808 (hi-fi rush)
Markiplier & CrankGameplays aka Unus Annus vs Knockout & Starscream (transformers)
Caspar & Shez (fire emblem warriors: three hopes) vs Yukiko Amagi & Chie Satonaka aka Yukichie (persona 4)
Tk Strand & Evan Buck Buckley (911 on fox lonestar) vs Shane & Ryan (buzzfeed unsolved)
Ontario Pipping Plovers (birbs from canada) vs Kaminari Denki & Ashido Mina (My hero academia)
Rin Okumura & Kuro (blue exorcist) vs Adam Blampied & Sullivan Beau Brown (No barrels rolled)
Chip & Gillion aka Fish and Chips (just roll with it) vs Josuke Higashikata & Yasuho Hirose aka Yasugap (jojo's bizarre adventure)
Soldier & Demoman (team fortress 2) vs Cuphead & Mugman (the cuphead show)
Nott/Veth & Jester (critical role the mighty nein) vs Troy & Abed (community)
Walter White & Jessie Pinkman (breaking bad) vs Barbie & Ken (barbie life in a dreamhouse)
Cuddles & Toothy (happy tree friends) vs Heath Burns & Hoodude Voodoo (monster high)
Pete Wentz and Gabe Saporta (bandom) vs Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng & Nie Huaisang (MDZS/the untamed)
TAGS TO CHECK OUT!
#propaganda #dumbass duo showdown announcements #dumbass duo showdown update #round 1 #art gallery #polls
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2frosty4you · 9 months
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mercs with an s/o who’s super considerate with the lives of animals, even insects! but on the battle field they’re like a murder machine? (GN reader)
Mercs with a reader who's kind to animals but a murder machine [Hcs]
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| Mercs x GN!reader | 944 words | Masterlist | Ask/Request-box |
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Scout:
Scout watches you take out bugs from the base constantly, be it crickets or beetles they are not dying in your presence. 
You save scout from all the bugs that appear in his room from all the food he eats in his room.
But when your foot merely touches the battlefield? That good personality is thrown out the window and replaced with a bloodthirsty maniac.
Your weapons are more explosive than scouts, think demoman’s weapons.
And you just charge into the enemy crowd, you only will be stopped in your death.
Cue the 60/4 kill to death ratio you have and wave off when scout's jaw is touching the floor in shock.
He rather the more ‘kind’ version of you, at least with him.
Soldier:
Soldier is some of the same, but only to his raccoons
And you are also very soft and cuddly with his raccoons
“What animals do you like?” “My raccoons” “Soldier’s Raccoons”
Soldier and you are a force to be reckoned with.
He doesn't care what weapons you have because you both are going to paint the walls and floor red
You stop to show him a butterfly of American colours and he screams an American chant and runs into the group of enemies with his shovel high. 
He loves you even more when you offer him the head of the enemy soldier with a grin.
Pyro: 
You and Pyro both love all the insects and animals around the base, saving small ladybirds from soldier and saving scout from grasshoppers.
Pyrovision makes it so they don’t see all the gore and death you do
Pyro just skips along with their flamethrower and giggling to themselves as you scream while running into the enemy base.
You come out covered in blood with a badge you stole from a dead body and you clip it to pyro’s suspender.
To them you are just pink, with candy stuck to your side and your hair curled and turned a soft pastel pink.
Yeah, they like how you look after battles.
Engineer: 
He finds it adorable as you show him the small cricket you found in his workshop.
He’s made you a little enclosure for a lizard you found in the base, helping you clean it and care for the large enclosure.
On the battlefield when you skip back to him with a beetle you found to show him.
Then you crack open a spy’s skull as soon as you hear the de-cloak noise.
You stick around his building for a bit, scaring off the Frenchman and engie gives you a kiss before you scamper off to beat men to death.
Heavy:
Heavy is scared mostly, but also proud.
He finds it sweet how you care for all the random animals you come across, even holding up a cat you found (he does not know how you even found it)
You guys now own a very fluffy cat.
Then when his eyes meet yours on the battlefield you are bashing a medic’s head open with your melee weapon, his blood covering your front side.
Its nice knowing you can take care of yourself, but also that you aren't yearning to bash skulls in all the time.
Demoman:
Drunk out of his mind when you place a dog onto his lap
You smile and pat it as the small German shepherd barks and makes demo almost fall off his chair.
He’s gotten used to your kind nature off the battlefield, taking animals to safe spots outside the base and somehow finding a dog which was abandoned.
Demo stays out of your way during battles, as you grasp onto the face of a scout and bash it into the wall. 
He gives you a thumbs up and drinks from his scrumpy bottle. 
He loves you murder machine or not. 
Medic:
He’s proud seeing you go apeshit on the battlefield 
Tries not to mention all his baboon experiments to you, and laughs when you just grab Archimedes like a burger and the bird is just cooing happily.
You protect him during battles, no questions asked.
Heavy might be the brute force and a meat shield but you kill the spies and scouts trying to ambush him.
Hearts in his eyes when you appear covered in blood asking kindly for heals.
He pockets you a lot, you and heavy are the two he sticks to in battle,
Spy:
He’s got photos on photos of animals you've found.
Is happy knowing you can hold your own on the battlefield, but also when you saved him from the enemy soldiers, he thanks you quickly and runs off.
He loves you, but finds your methods of fighting…. barbaric. 
Spy does appreciate how you just pick up the bugs in his smoking room and race to show pyro.
Knows you can take care of yourself but sometimes he stands in your shadow and watches as you pull the heads off the soldier.
You have trinkets from the enemies you've killed and you offer them to him like a cat.
Sniper:
He takes you on camping trips, and the amount of animals you pick up and show to him is nice until he turns around to you holding a baby crocodile.
You love the birds he feeds around his camper-van and you baby the owl he cares for.
He watches you from the scope, and is grateful he isn't on the receiving end of your bullets and fists.
The way you run through enemies with medic healing you makes him just the tinge jealous.
You scare him sometimes.
The Australian knows you wouldn't hurt him but seeing you with a knife scares him.
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izukulus · 2 years
Text
— 𝖕𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖊 𝖉𝖔𝖓’𝖙 𝖘𝖆𝖞 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊 𝖒𝖊.
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featuring. connie springer, krista lenz, armin arlert, bertholdt hoover, eren yaeger, sasha braus, mikasa ackerman, jean kirschtein, reiner braun.
content. food/eating, fluff, cursing, canon-typical violence, death, alcohol consumption, sickness/fever, slight angst in bert’s, reiner’s and jean’s, harrassment in sasha's, everyone is down horrendous for you.
word count. 7.4k
synopsis. pretty much every member of the 104th has had a crush on you at some point - it's like some agreed-upon rule that none of them will mention it aloud, but be it fleeting or lasting years, nobody is truly immune to you.
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The first one to develop a crush on you - however fleeting - is CONNIE. It's only a few months after all you young, fresh-faced recruits are herded to the military camp to begin your training under Shadis' eye. Sasha and Connie had joined at the hip quickly, often found wandering the grounds together or sharing food — by which you meant, Sasha stole morsels off of Connie's plate when he wasn't looking and he was too tired to realise, most of the time. It's twilight when you approach the two of them cross-legged on the grass outside the mess hall swapping stories of their hometowns, muscles sore and achy from solo ODM training you'd partook in.
"Evening!" Sasha greets you brightly as you approach with a slow nod. You're not known for being the most talkative - probably the most stum member of the recruits except Annie - but those two always made an effort to greet you normally. You did appreciate it, even if you scarcely showed it. "Oh, you should sit with us! Connie was telling me this real funny story about how his sister found his—"
"N-never mind!" Connie blusters, cheeks darkening to an angry scarlet. He throws a furtive look at you. "Just forget it, you idiot."
Sasha rolls brilliantly bright brown eyes at you. "Huh? I'm the idiot? You're the one who let your sister find your—"
"Shut it, stupid!" Connie cries, and launches himself at her. Sasha's words get lost in a yelp of shock and then dissolve into mad, cackling laughter. She snorts when she laughs, you note absently, surprised to find it as endearing as you do. The two wrestle in the mud like sprawling dogs for a good minute, yelling mindless insults at each other, yanking hair and clothes until you tire of it.
Rolling your eyes, you march forward and seize the back of Connie's collar. Without a warning, you yank him off the kicking, sprawling Sasha. The sound he makes is akin to a dog that had been hit across the head, some demented cross between a howl and a squawk; his limbs jerk uncertainly like a beetle upturned onto its back as you pull him backwards, and when you relinquish your grip he skitters uncertainly, trying to find his balance.
His face is bright red from exertion. There is a moment of swollen silence before Sasha bursts out into another peal of hysterical laughter, and the red on Connie's face darkens steadily and spreads down his neck until he looks to be in real danger of overheating.
"Y-you-" he stammers, staring up at you with eyes round and wide as coins. "You lifted me up!"
You raise an eyebrow. You did, indeed, do that.
Sasha wails, practically sobbing with laughter, and pounds a fist into the ground. "Like a baby! Ha! Ahahaha!"
"Shut up, Sasha!" Connie yells. "H-how did you just - you just picked me - I'm not that small, am I?!"
He sounds so genuinely distraught that you can't help but smile a little. If anything, this only seems to make him more agitated; his blush spreads, and he drops his burning face into his hands with a groan. He looks like such a kicked puppy, not helped by the screeching tableaux of Sasha howling and gasping for air, that a pang of pity zips through you. You suppose, as a soldier, it must be a little emasculating to be picked up like a misbehaving puppy by the scruff of your neck by one of your fellow cadets.
You reach out and pat his head apologetically. The moment your hand makes contact with the shorn hair on his head, he freezes; you're pretty sure he's not even breathing through the gaps in his fingers anymore. His whole posture goes completely rigid, and he glances up at you again, mouth slack, redder than ever, eyes a little glazed.
You retract your hand, worried you've upset him, and begin to skirt around the two of them. "Gonna grab some food before bed. Later."
Sasha reels in a breath, eyes swimming with tears. "N-night! See you tomorrow!"
You nod and disappear inside. Once darkness falls back over the two of them, Connie turns slowly to face Sasha. His expression is still agape, and Sasha may be slow upon occasion but even she knows what that violent blush and utter speechlessness means. Her eyes widen at the realisation, and before Connie can even shake his head in horror, she collapses into a fresh fit of neverending mirth.
Connie escapes to the barracks, mostly empty from cadets who are still eating in the mess hall, and slams his head into the wall.
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KRISTA never stops trying to be kind to you, no matter how much Ymir groans that it's a waste of time. "Nobody can get through their thick skull," she complains when Krista hurries over to give you a helping hand with a finicky strap on your gear.
Krista throws her a haughty look. "I've got it, Ymir!" she protests, already sinking to her knees to assist. You blink down at her, trying very hard to avoid the poisonous look Ymir shoots you. "Why don't you go get your own gear on? We're moving out in five minutes, you know."
Ymir huffs. "Fine, fine. Don't you leave without me, though." She shoulders through a couple of unfortunate cadets to the supply shack to fetch her own straps. Krista looks up at you with the barest grimace crinkling the pretty features on her face.
"Don't mind her," she says airily, fiddling with the buckle on your leg. "She can be a little abrasive, but she means well. She's very protective."
"'S fine," you say quietly, because it is. You know Ymir's affections for Krista go beyond the simple ogling of the male cadets or some unhealthy possessive streak. There's real care in those stony, dark eyes when they fall upon the blonde girl. You don't begrudge any of your cadets affection, not when it's so hard to come by here. "No big deal."
"Still," Krista sighs. "She can be pretty rude. Oh, I see the problem! The strap's gotten twisted, so it hasn't fed through the buckle properly, see? I'll get it for you."
"I can do it," you mutter, but Krista shakes her head vehemently.
"No, no, it's no trouble! Really!" You blink slowly at her; the barest pink films her cheeks as she returns diligently to her task. "It's, um... I can do it."
Realisation dawns slowly, like the sun slipping over the horizon. You don't say another word until the strap is untwisted and she threads it smoothly through the buckle, rising to her feet with a touch of embarrassment colouring her expression.
"Thank you," you say earnestly. Krista beams.
"Th-thank you!" she returns graciously. "For, um... believing I could do it. These other soldiers... I know what they think of me. They don't take me seriously. But I'm determined not to be a liability! I'll show you I'm just as capable as anybody else here."
You look at her, slightly taken aback by her earnestness. Slowly, you place a hand on her shoulder.
"I know you can do it," you say truthfully. "I've never doubted your strength."
It's the plain, honest truth, but it makes Krista's face flood with colour. "O-oh," she squeaks. "Um. Well. Th-thank you, that's... oh, Ymir's back! I should - um—"
You unlatch your hand and nod, already stepping away to mount your horse. "Thanks for the help."
"It's nothing!" she calls as Ymir appears at her side. The brunette takes one look at the bloom-pink flush on her face and groans.
"You're kidding," she says flatly. "Thought you'd have better taste than that."
"D-don't be cruel!" Krista elbows Ymir in the ribs pointedly. "You could stand to learn some manners from them, you know."
What little amusement was lining Ymir's features vanishes. "Not fuckin' likely," she says darkly, and stalks away to equip her own horse.
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Three weeks later, you and ARMIN sit beside each other in an empty lecture room, pouring over separate books. He is trying to find something to help Eren pass his balance test, and you have offered to help.
You should probably be in bed; you got little sleep the night before on account of Shadis making you run laps 'till you dropped after sliding Sasha an extra roll at lunch. But Armin had looked almost feverish with desperation to be helpful to his best friend when you'd stumbled upon him an hour or so ago, it pained you to simply walk away.
You turn a page, stifle a yawn into your sleeve, but you're a fool to think it will go amiss. Armin's large blue eyes raise immediately from the text, round and shiny with concern.
"You don't have to stay if you're tired," he offers. "Shadis... worked you pretty hard last night, huh?"
You shrug. "Nothing I didn't earn."
"Still..." Armin chews at his lip. "You should maybe get some rest."
Practically blinking fatigue away, you shake your head. "It's okay. I'd like to help." You turn the page determinedly, trying not to think about how none of the words for the past twenty minutes have sunk in at all. You don't generally like to be vulnerable in front of your peers, but you're pretty sure Armin hasn't got a malicious bone in his body.
Hopefully.
Armin returns reluctantly to his book, but not five minutes later is there a dull thud of your volume falling limp to the table. Before he can look round, a soft weight drops onto his shoulder, and he freezes where he sits.
Agonisingly slow, he looks around to confirm what he already knows. Your head rests upon his shoulder, eyes closed tight. Your warm, even breath flutters over the hollows on his neck, and he suppresses an involuntary shudder. He sets down the book with shaking hands.
"Y/n?" he prods in a whisper, and you must be a light sleeper because you twitch. You're not awake, not truly, but your eyes flicker for a moment before humming and adjusting your position. Your hair brushes against the soft skin of Armin's neck, and he feels heat creep up his face. You look so... huh. He doesn't think he's ever seen you without that permanent frown line between your eyebrows, that downward twitch of your mouth.
You're entirely unguarded, where you rest on him. It sends his stomach swooping, knowing the trust that must've taken you. Trust in him, and from someone as shuttered and closed-off as you, that can be nothing but the highest of compliments.
You're lovely. Armin's face goes hot at the realisation, but he can't take it back. Your features smoothed, the shadows peeled back from your face... he sort of wishes, for a mad second, that you could stay like this for hours.
Quietly, Armin picks up his book and reads on, cheeks aflame and stomach in jitters.
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BERTHOLDT is bashful when you make an effort to seek him out. Despite being the tallest among you all, he seems to possess a talent for fading into the background. Indeed, Reiner seems adept at taking the spotlight, and in all fairness this never seems to bother Bertholdt too much.
"You've known Reiner for a while," you start one day, arms braced on the foot of his bunk. He stutters to a stop in the middle of lacing up his boots, turning to face you with an expression of surprise. His dark eyes blink over freckled cheeks.
After a second or two, he recovers with an awkward cough. "I... yeah, we're from the same hometown. Uh, why do you..."
You frown. "I can't figure out his fighting style. Can you help me?"
He blinks, hurriedly finishing with his shoes and standing - minding to slope his back so as not to hit his head upon the top bunk railing. "H-help you...?"
"I want to beat him." A beat. You fiddle with your jacket. "I can do it. I just need some advice."
"Reiner's pretty strong," he cautions, shuffling awkwardly. "I doubt even I could best him in a fight."
You level him with a flat look. "I can do it. I'll work 'till I do. Can you help me or not?"
His eyes widen. "H-hey, it's... sure, I can give you some pointers, don't worry. Are you busy now?" You shake your head. "O-okay, let's... go to the training ground, then."
Once the two of you are outside, you wrap your hands carefully. He does the same, slightly clumsy, like his fingers are too long for him to move comfortably. You wonder if he has always been so tall and lean, or whether he grew into it one day like a shock. You cannot picture him as a young child, tottering seven inches above everybody else.
"Reiner is clever," Bertholdt admits as the two of you circle each other. "But he doesn't tend to think too far ahead when it comes to hand-to-hand combat. He mostly relies on his strength to save him."
"I've noticed." The bruise that streaks all up your left side throbs.
"But he has a few tells," Bertholdt continues patiently. The sun begins to slip below the horizon, casting burnished light across the sky, soaking the two of you in gold. Your determination shines off the hard features of your face like precious gems, and for a moment Bertholdt fumbles his words. "Um, a-ah - and a short temper. If you get him riled up, he'll get sloppy."
You nod, absorbing this. Bertholdt sweats. Your expression of intense concentration probably shouldn't be making his chest tighten. In the dying light, you look a little like Annie.
The two of you spar for maybe an hour before you manage to get him on his back. Your foot plants itself on his chest, and he finds that when he gazes up at you, features lifted slightly in triumph, hair stuck to your head with sweat lacquering your skin, that words fail him.
After a few thick, painful moments without Bertholdt being able to conjure up anything to say, your expression flickers. For a maddening second, Bertholdt desperately wishes you to keep it there. You lean down and take his hand, pulling him to his feet, and he follows you, pliant and dumb for all his height.
"Alright?" you ask briefly.
"Sorry," he says weakly. "W... you winded me a little."
"Ah." Your expression clears a little. "Sorry."
"No, it's good." He smiles, genuine, soft. Something inside him - the part that knows what he's really here to do - pangs. He can never have this, he realises, even as the sweetness of your graciousness washes over him. Not him. "It's... you improved."
You nodded tightly, a tiny, satisfied smile appearing on your face. "I'll beat Reiner one day."
Bertholdt's smile slips from his face like oil off water. "I... I think you will," he says, and doesn't answer when you ask him why there are tears in his eyes.
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EREN has a knack for getting scraped up; it's an endless source of anxiety for Mikasa and amusement for Jean, but regardless, after one rigorous ODM session where he crashes straight into a tree, Shadis keeps you behind to patch him up.
"Sir, I can do it," Mikasa offers, her dark eyes flicking from you to Eren. He sits, seething, an angry flush darkening the apples of his cheeks - his fury is slightly dampened by the gash on his forehead spilling blood down his left cheek.
"You're wanted for hand-to-hand, Ackerman," Shadis refuses, stone-faced. "Get moving."
Mikasa's lips twist.
Eren snarls, "It's fine, Mikasa! Go do your training!"
Mikasa watches you unroll a wad of medical gauze and blows out a slow, controlled breath. "Okay. See you at dinner."
Eren shrugs, already looking away. He misses the slightly pained expression that flickers over Mikasa's face as her hooks dig into one of the trees around you and she zips away with a burst of gas.
You think Eren could stand to show his appreciation to her more, but then again, it's really none of your business. You're growing to care for these people way more than you'd priorly conceived of being possible. It's a little scary, sometimes. You cut the bandage with finality and ready a cotton pad with disinfectant.
Eren winces, barely gulping back a yelp of pain when you begin to mop up the blood around the cut. "I - I got it!" He gropes clumsily for the cotton, but you evade it, shooting him a reprimanding look.
"Shadis asked me to clean you up," you say quietly. "I will. Please let me do my job."
Eren wilts. "I... oh, fine, then. Just don't treat me like a kid, okay?!"
You tilt your head. "You're not a kid." You resume wiping at the gash, chewing your lip when he keens away and muffles a gasp of pain into the back of his hand.
"I - I know I'm not," he grumbles. "But everyone... Mikasa treats me like I am."
"Mikasa worries," you return swiftly, tucking the cotton pad away and readying the bandage. "There are worse ways to be treated, you know."
Embarrassment colours his face a blotchy, dark red. "I - yeah, I... I know."
You nod. "Hold still." You reach out and place one hand on the blunt vertice of his jaw, tilting his head to a better angle, and then push his bangs back; they droop like dark feathers over his rapidly reddening face. His skin is warm - close enough to begin wrapping his forehead, you can see a faint spray of freckles over the bridge of his nose.
You wind the gauze around his head, taking care to pull out stray tufts of hair that entangle themselves in the process. Eren, meanwhile, is finding it a little difficult to breathe. You're... very close. Closer than he thinks he's ever seen you, actually - you tend to keep to yourself. You're even less sociable than Annie, because even she hangs around with Reiner and Bertholdt sometimes. His brain throws up its hands and leaves for a smoke break.
"Uh..." he finds himself saying, suddenly frantic to fill the fizzing silence. "Where're you from?"
Your concentrated gaze doesn't break. "A small town inside wall Rose. It got overrun with refugees when Maria fell. My family couldn't afford to live thanks to the pigs in Sina driving up the prices of food and travel. Why do you ask?"
He swallows hard. He can smell sweat and floral soap and something coppery in your hair. "J-just wondering... are you nearly done?"
You give a slight nod, tying the gauze into a final knot as you speak. "All finished."
It's somewhat of a relief when you finally pull back; pure, sweet oxygen fills his lungs and brain again, but his face feels like it's on fire. Indeed, there's a flush creeping all the way down his neck, scarlet and embarrassed. He looks vaguely feverish.
You cock your head, an expression of vague confusion forming on your features. "Are you alright?"
"Fine!" he wheezes, scrambling to his feet. "Uh - thanks - for the - and - yeah."
You shrug, already making your way to the combat training grounds. "No big deal."
No big deal. Eren feels like his head is ringing, and he's fairly sure it has nothing to do with his head injury.
Tentatively, he touches the bandages oh-so-carefully applied around the crown of his head, and realises he's going to have to scrub the furious blush from his face before catching up with Mikasa and Armin.
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"Those pigs," SASHA mutters to herself, skirt whipping against her ankles as she strides through the marketplace. Trust Connie and Jean to wander off and leave her all alone, when they knew she didn't know her way around. Typical! She'd clobber them both over the head when she saw them next.
For now, though, she was hopelessly lost. The wind was chill as it whipped through the town square, and she hadn't eaten in a good few hours so she really had to be getting back unless she wanted to use her savings to pay for food. She can't make head nor tail of the map she'd pilfered from Shadis' study, either.
Crap. She sighs, deep and heavy. She's going to have to ask for directions, isn't she? She hates talking to strangers - they can always smell the country on her, it feels like. She squirms under new eyes. You and Connie are the only ones who don't look at her oddly when her speech veers into overly stilted politeness, but you don't really look at her like anything most of the time, anyway.
"You lost, girly?" sounds a voice to her left. Sasha whirls around, blanching in surprise. There's a couple of men leaning against the railing of an alehouse, all stubble and sweatstains. Sasha's skin crawls; she mightn't be from the big city, but she knows creeps when she sees 'em. She squares her shoulders.
"No, thanks. I got it," she returns, as polite and demure as she can muster. One of the men, the taller with oily, black hair, laughs meanly.
"You been starin' at that map for damn near ten minutes," he sneers. "What, your boyfriend run off? How's about we show you the way back, hm?"
"No, really..." Sasha begins to back up, darting small, quick looks about her for an escape route. She's deceptively fast with quick hunter's reflexes, but the marketplace is so crammed it'll be difficult to make a dash in any direction. The man's flinty eyes widen with delight, his mouth splitting into a damp smile.
"Ah, loosen up, darlin'," he cackles, and then a large, too-warm hand closes over her sleeve. Sasha grunts and tries to yank her arm back, panic flashing through her, but he hangs tight, digging the blunts of his nails into her toughened skin. "C'mon, let us buy you a drink, yeah?"
"Let go—"
"'S there a problem here?"
Sasha freezes, mouth going slack. Seeming to have literally spawned out of the crowd, you're approaching the cluster with even, untroubled strides. For all your body language is unhurried and composed, your shuttered expression is more alert than Sasha has ever seen you; your eyes are bright and twitching, flickering from her, to the man holding her to his greasy friend with startling swiftness.
"Y/n!" she squeaks, trying to pretend she isn't as scared as she is right now. "Wh- what are you..."
You tilt your head, absorbing the situation. And then you shrug stiffly. "Looking for you, of course. You wondered off again, love."
Love? Sasha gapes, feeling heat crawl up her cheeks. Her brain seems to stutter to a halt. What are you—
"Would you mind taking your hands off my girlfriend, please?" you address the man, pleasantly enough, but your tone is shot through with steel in a manner that makes even Sasha wilt. She does not ever, she decides, want to be on the receiving end of that cold stare.
The man shuffles, clearly uncomfortable. "Hey, now... we're not lookin' for trouble, y'know? Maybe we can buy the both of yous a drink, how about that?"
"I'm afraid we'll have to decline," you say swiftly. "Chief Instructor Shadis would like us back for combat training in due time. I think you've held the two of us up long enough - don't you think, Sasha?"
Sasha barely holds back a squeak as you slide an arm comfortably around her waist and pull - not enough to be forceful, just enough for the man to feel it. The air becomes charged; your eyes scream for a challenge.
The colour drains from his face. "You're... cadets? Are you seriously threatenin' me? I could call the MPs and have you locked away for months!"
"Try it," you invite tonelessly. "It's a busy day. Think they'll get here in time?"
The man's mouth twitches. This time, when Sasha pulls her hand back, his grip goes slack and he lets her wander off. A dull, ruddy flush climbing up his neck, he spits on the floor and tugs his friend back into the alehouse. Sasha blows out a long breath, cradling her arm before turning to you, wide-eyed.
"Th-thank you!" she squeaks. "Y/n! You seriously saved my life! How can I ever repay you?"
You retract your arm from her waist, expression a touch awkward. "It was nothing. He didn't hurt you, did he?"
"N-no, he didn't," she babbles, still gazing up at you with bright, starry eyes. "That was seriously so cool! You were scarier than Mikasa just then, you know that, right? I think I love you!"
You blink at her, looking genuinely taken aback. Speech fails you for a few moments before you tug at your collar and spin on your heel, facing away from her. "Let's get you back. Connie and Jean are spitting up hairballs with worry."
Face aflush with lovesick pink and her usual beam back upon her face, Sasha eagerly loops arms with you for the whole walk back to the barracks.
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It's no surprise that MIKASA has made her fair share of enemies, being as indomitable as she is. People who take her strength as a challenge or her passive stare as an insult. They know they can't outmatch her in the field - so this, she supposes, is what they resort to.
She flings her pillows at the floor in rage, barely biting back a scream. She'd unwound her scarf for ten minutes to wash, left it beneath the rest of her clothes like always just in case of lightfingered cadets, and now it's gone. And she'd like to pretend there isn't panic crawling up her throat, and that a small, childish part of her isn't dangerously close to tears, but that is in another time when she isn't as quick to crumble as she truly is.
Weak. She falls to her knees, running her fingers through her hair. What would Eren and Armin think, if they saw her like this? She gulps back a sob, stuffing her knuckles into her mouth to stopper any noise.
"Oh... Mikasa?"
Her whole body jolts at the interruption, limbs springing into defensive like a loaded weapon, a snarl at the forefront of her lips. "What?"
You don't look at all perturbed from where you observe her in the doorframe, only mildly surprised. "Have you lost something?"
With the initial spike of adrenaline beginning to ebb, Mikasa lets her hackles lower slowly. You've never meant her harm, she reasons dully to herself. No reason to take her foolishness out on you. She hides her gaze with a curtain of dark hair so she may not see the judgement in your eyes. "My scarf," she mutters. "Somebody's taken it."
There is no mocking laughter. Only a thoughtful pause, and then, "why would they do something like that?"
"Because they're weak," she snarls at the floor. "Stupid. They can't best my strength, so they do this. I'll find them and break their wrists so they can never steal again."
You frown, considering. "Alright. I'll help."
"What?" Mikasa looks up at you, eyes flaring, wrongfooted. She's scarcely known you to put a foot out of line helping anybody here, let alone with something as trivial as this. Despite herself, suspicion uncurls in her gut. "Why?"
You shrug, and she hates that she cannot read your expression. After a good half-minute, she shrugs irritably.
"Fine, if you really want." She passes you on the way out; there's a satisfied expression on your face, and Mikasa doesn't know quite what to make of it.
Her own search turns up no luck; in her frustration her thinking isn't as sharp as usual, and she doesn't really have any clue where to start. The idea of marching into the boys' barracks with a sword is beginning to sound greatly appealing as she seeths in the stables, raking hay into a pile, when—
"Here you are." She glances up, surprised at the interruption - and the surprise melts to bewilderment when you casually enter with some cadet trailing behind you. He's sweating profusely, eyes shiny with tears, a nice bruise swelling pretty and purple beneath his left cheekbone. Sand-blonde hair is plastered to his face, and his eyes dart nervously from you to her.
"What..." Mikasa utters, stunned, eyes flicking from him to you for an explanation. You seem very pleased with yourself as you push the cadet forwards; he stumbles over his own feet and plants upon his knees, gazing up at her with swimming, pleading eyes.
"Found your scarf," is all you offer in explanation. Mikasa's eyes widen, and she grabs a handful of the cadet's hair, yanking him forward; sure enough, his hands are bound with dark red fabric, so sweetly familiar she could cry. She yanks it from his skin with absolute carelessness to the painful angle of the cadet's arms, his yelps of pain white noise to her.
When she has her scarf back, she holds it to her face to hide her tears. Her hands shake against the worn, loved fabric; it has not yet lost its smell.
"You..." Mikasa gazes up at you, and the tenderness in your eyes make her heart stop for a moment. She's distinctly aware of heat flaring up in her cheeks, two spots of colour blooming quickly. "How did you..."
"When you're quiet," you say, "it's like people think you can't hear. You have to know where to listen, and then someone talks. Someone always talks. He stole it during your wash because you broke his finger during ODM training. He's... quite sorry, now."
Mikasa's stare hardens; she kneels down so she is at eye-level with the boy, who gazes on, stiff and petrified. "If you ever take my scarf again," she breathes, "I'll break each and every one of your fingers, understand?"
He nods rapidly. "I - I know - 'm sorry, please don't hurt me..."
She scoffs in disgust. "Go away."
He hightails it out without a second thought, and then there is only you. Mikasa clears her throat, slightly awkward. "Thank you. You didn't have to... thank you."
You shrug. "It's nothing. I know that scarf is important to you."
"That's not all, though," Mikasa says carefully. "Everyone knows that it's important to me, but not everyone helped look for it. Why did you?"
You seem to roll your answer around in your mouth before uttering it into existence. "I s'pose... I'd want someone to do the same for me, if I lost something that precious. I don't have much left of home, and what I do, I guard with my life."
Mikasa feels stricken that you have seen so very far down into her soul so correctly. She swallows hard, suddenly finding it difficult to meet your gaze. "If... if you ever lose anything important to you, I swear I'll help you find it."
You blink, looking taken aback for a moment before your expression softens a touch. Mikasa isn't used to seeing you so open - it's nice, she realises. Your eyes are such a warm, lovely colour. Her flush deepens.
"Thank you, Mikasa. I appreciate that." And your voice, when is it ever this open, inviting? It sounds like floral tea and soft fabric. Her hands, shaky all of a sudden, clench over her scarf.
"It's nothing," she tells you. And it isn't.
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There aren't many things that truly frighten JEAN. He's not some tough guy, no matter how he pretends to be at first, but he's no cowering mess, either. You had once told him, just before departing from the mess hall, that you thought he was 'brave when it counted.' And before he'd worked out whether that was a compliment or an insult, you were out the door, leaving him gaping at your back.
Brave when it counted. The more he mulls it over, the more it sounds like a compliment.
He doesn't feel so brave now, though. He hovers at the doorway, frozen stiff, unable to speak. Only gaze with wide eyes upon what he's found in your tent.
You're curled into a fetal position, chin against your chest, and you're trembling so hard he'd thought you were seizing at first. He can hear your breath stutter out from between your lips in shallow, jagged bursts. The bone-white sheets beneath your body are stained grey with sweat - and when you hear the hitch in his breath, you look up at him and he feels his stomach sink.
He knows fever. His mother is prone to sickness, after all. He knows that unnatural shine in your eyes, the trembling of your lips.
"J-Jean," you stammer out, and your voice is coarse and weak, so far from your usual flat sureness that Jean feels himself stutter. This is scary - he's never seen you at anything but the picture of health, and even when you were injured you kept a strong face. You've always had as much determination as Yaeger, but none of the bullheadedness that went along with it. You were more like Mikasa in that regard - stoic, sure, strong.
You look so weak right now.
"Y/n?" he manages weakly, finally stepping into the tent. It's stifling in here, and already he can feel dampness crawling up his collar, his cheeks growing warm. There's the musk of trodden earth and illness, that heady, quietly ominous air. "What's... what happened?"
You cough, your whole body racked with it. Jean's head spins; you were fine last night. How can you have been reduced to this shaking, feverish mess so quickly? He feels as though he's stumbled across you half-naked, or something. Like this was something he was never meant to see.
"D-dunno," you conjure up weakly, and your voice breaks and Jean watches in horror as tears begin to slide down your face. You're not even crying - just lying there like someone's turned on a faucet behind your eyes, despondent and miserable. "Hurts... J-Jean, it hurts, it..."
"I..." Jean forces himself to swallow. He backs up toward the mouth of the tent. "I'll go g-get Shadis..."
"No," you whimper, fresh tears blooming in your eyes. "Don't leave... please - don't leave me alone..."
Jean freezes, eyes wide and round. "Y/n..."
And maybe it's not fair of you to ask him to stay - if it were anyone else, he'd say no in a heartbeat. And yet... had you ever asked him for anything? Had you ever asked anyone? Jean doesn't think so. Maybe you deserve this, and if you don't want him to leave... he can suck it up 'till you fall asleep, right? And then he can run for Shadis.
He swallows thickly, and instead of departing, forces himself closer, toeing off his shoes as he goes. As he kneels down at your bedside, it occurs to him that you should sit up, drink some water. You're still wearing all your heavy layers - that can't be good, right? He should be trying to lower your temperature?
Without thinking, he locks his hands beneath your arms and begins trying to urge you into sitting up, but he freezes when you cry out, squeezing your eyes shut and hiding your face in his shoulder. You're so warm, too warm, he can feel the heat radiating from your body, seeping beneath his own clothes and setting his face afire. His mouth is dry.
"Y/n?" he says weakly.
"Sorry," you slur. "Room's... spinning. I feel s-sick, Jean."
"Shit. Okay. Here." He props up your satchel behind your back so you can loll against it, then fetches your water skin, clumsily tipping it into your mouth. Stray streams of water roll down your chin and chest, and the churning dread in Jean's gut grows. You don't even have the energy the hold the nozzle of the skin in your mouth... he's seen you wrestle Reiner into the ground and break a cadet's fingers, but right now he doesn't think you could fight off a newborn kitten.
He uses the last of the water to soak one of your undershirts, folding it up and placing it over your forehead. You let out a stuttered breath of relief, and Jean feels a modicum less useless.
Your eyelids droop.
"You tired?" Jean asks, maybe a tad hopefully; the sooner you're asleep, the sooner he can run for Shadis and get someone who knows what they're fucking doing. The way you're swaying and breathing is really starting to freak him out.
"Mm-hmm," you barely manage, and then you fall into his chest and Jean cannot move. He gapes down at you, mouth slack and eyes wide, and there is heat creeping up his face that he's sure has nothing to do with the fever. He prods at the meat of your arm with his finger, but all you do is groan and nestle further into the fabric; your nose brushes over his chest and he has to fight back a wince.
"Y/n," he stammers. "What..."
"Lemme sleep," you breathe, already taking, slow, deep breaths. Your hands grasp weakly at the fabric of his shirt. Jean is barely even breathing, basking in the terror of jolting you awake. "'M scared, Jean."
"S-scared? You got nothing to be scared of," he whispers, and it feels like kneeling at his mom's bedside and whispering sweet nonsense to her when the fever began to take hold. His stomach sinks at the familiarity. "You're... gonna be just fine, yeah?"
"Not the fever," you confess, pitchy and broken. "All the time. 'M always scared. Can... can you tell?"
Jean swallows thickly. "N-no. No one can tell."
"Good," you sigh. "'S good. You're scared, too, huh?" And Jean jumps a mile high as your fingers wander down his arm, finding his fluttering pulse point on the sensitive arch of his wrist. He gulps back a strangled noise of surprise as your nail digs a groove into the skin there; can you feel how fast his heart is racing?
"Yeah," he whispers, in the dark lonely tent where nobody but you can hear him. He says it, and it feels like being clean for the first time. "I'm scared."
You sniffle. Your tears have stopped. "'M glad it was you," you say quietly, barely more than a breath. "That found me."
And then you're gone. Jean stares down at you, stricken and hot, and doesn't understand why there is hot water pooling in his own eyes.
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REINER would never have believed whoever told him he'd find you sitting on the long table with the vast majority of the 104th, getting as drunk as the rest of them.
Not that he's drunk. He can handle his alcohol a lot better than most of these other kids, anyway. Bertholdt snoozes with his head on the table, legs arranged bizarrely beneath him. Ymir cups the back of Krista's head as the smaller girl chugs wine so quickly that it dribbles down her blouse like a streak of blood. Eren and Jean are arguing, to no surprise, and Armin has fallen asleep in Mikasa's lap; she threads her fingers quietly through his hair, her sharp eyes upon the fight before her, ready to step in should things get violent.
Reiner's heart swells at the pleased colour in everyone's faces, the easy smiles. He loves these guys, he really does.
Soldier. Warrior. Pick a side pick a side pick a side—
He flinches. Takes another long drink to make that voice go away. It only dulls it, like grinding the fine sharp vein of a blade across rough cobblestone. These migraines are getting out of control, these days.
He starts when you drop into the bench opposite him, nursing your own cup of wine. At first blush, you're hardly more unruffled than the average day, and Reiner at first thinks this is your first drink. But upon closer inspection, he can see the slow blinking of your eyes, the way your gaze is just a little unfocused, the absent parting of your lips. You don't look as though you'd tackle him to the floor for saying the wrong thing, either, which is reassuring.
"Hey," he greets you with a lazy smile. You nod back, which is more reaction than you typically give. "That your first drink?"
"Mmm..." you consider this with the slightest furrow between your brows. "Fourth, I think."
He whistles. "Take it easy, cadet."
You pout. Reiner has to make himself not stare because that was kind of... unexpectedly cute, coming from someone as stoic as you. "Ymir made me... her 'n Jean."
Reiner shakes his head. "Those two are pretty irresponsible, huh?"
You nod lazily. "Uh-huh... 's what him 'n Eren are arguing about now."
"That so?" Reiner laughs. "Don't take it to heart. Pretty sure those two'd find any excuse to start up at each other."
You utter a short laugh. "Yeah, but... I dunno, they care about each other, really."
"You think?"
You blink as though genuinely surprised by Reiner's inquiry. "Of - of course," you reason. "Everyone... everyone here cares about each other, right? I do. I mean..."
Reiner tilts his head, taken so aback by this admission that he fumbles his speech for a moment. "You - you do?"
Your eyes grow a touch brighter. "I don't - I don't have a home anymore," you confess in a whisper, and Reiner's heart slams into his ribs. Home. Marley. Liberio. Gabi, Zofia, Udo, Falco, Colt... aren't I
aren't I doing this
doing this for you?
Marcel—
His throat unsticks. "I..."
"This is all I've got," you continue, eyes fixed upon the table. Your hand clenches over your tin mug. "No parents. No one else. These cadets... you... you're all I have left. And I'm scared... you're all gonna end up breaking my heart."
Reiner's breath catches.
Annie, take off his ODM gear.
Do it!
Marco's dead. Marco's dead. Marco's dead.
"What... what do you mean?" Reiner asks, numbly, foolishly, because every word out of your mouth is making his chest feel horribly heavy.
"We're soldiers, Reiner," you whisper. "We all knew the risks when we joined the scouts. We - we're... how many of us will still be alive in ten years? I tried so, so hard... I said I wouldn't grow close to anybody... I said I'd get strong enough to - to protect everyone this time, but..."
Before he realises what he's doing, Reiner reaches over and grips one of your hands. Normally, he knows, you'd yank it out of his grip before he'd even closed in. As it is, all you do it stare down at where your fingers net together, gaping like a fish, eyes blown and glassy.
"You are strong," Reiner says, choked, because it's the only thing he can promise you that he knows is not a lie. It's all going to be okay? Everyone's going to live? Nobody here will break your heart?
Lies. All of them.
I'll break your heart. Me and Bertholdt and Annie.
Marco—
Your body wracks with a sob, and you lean forwards and take Reiner's face in your hands. He's too shocked to move, eyes wide, feeling his face heat up beneath the callused palms of your hands. He must look a fool. He should say something—
Your eyes are wide and full of shining colour, your cheeks glimmering with tear tracks. Your lips are gently parted, hair mussed, shirt unbuttoned at the throat. You look more alive than Reiner has ever seen you. He can't remember how to think, or how to breathe, and the only places he exists are in the patches of flesh that you're touching.
In another life, it occurs to him that he could love you.
"Thank you, Reiner," you hiccup. "I'm so... I'm so glad I know you."
You won't be, he thinks, wretchedly. For a split second, he wishes in some foregone part of his mind, that Marley didn't exist. To hell with the mission, he thinks. He wants to lean across the table and kiss you, or fall into your arms whilst you tell him it's all going to be okay.
He should hate you. You're an Eldian devil. And he doesn't. And he can't.
Reiner stoops his face into his hands and cries. And you don't tell him it's all going to be okay, but you do run your fingers through his hair and make sure he starts drinking water. He appreciates that you don't lie to him.
He wishes you didn't have to.
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blackswaneuroparedux · 10 months
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I never realised before the loneliness and isolation of a commander at a time when such a momentous decision has to be taken, with the full knowledge that failure or success rests on his judgment alone.
- Lt.Gen. Walter Bedell Smith
General Dwight D. Eisenhower rose to that occasion with character and greatness when he made the fateful decision to launch D Day on 6 June 1944. But he couldn’t have done anything he planned without the support of his feared chief of staff, Brig. Gen. Walter Bedell Smith.
When Lt. Gen. Dwight D. Eisenhower became commander of ETOUSA (European Theater of Operations United States Army) in June 1942 and began assembling his staff in London, the man he requested as his chief of staff was Brig. Gen. Walter Bedell Smith, at the time the secretary of the War Department General Staff. But Eisenhower’s boss, Gen. George Marshall, balked. Smith had impressed Marshall with his ability to cut through red tape and perform necessary hatchet jobs – to get things done fast and well – and he didn’t want to let Smith go. But finally, on Aug. 5, Marshall relented. Smith arrived in London on Sept. 10. In his biography, Eisenhower: A Soldier’s Life, historian Carlo D’Este wrote, “Eisenhower once remarked that every commander needs a son of a bitch to protect him and that the stone-faced Bedell Smith was his.”
Gustave Flaubert wrote, “You can calculate the worth of a man by the number of his enemies.” By that measure alone, Smith was not just a good chief of staff – he was a great one. Most people who came in contact with Smith hated and feared him – and with good reason. Smart, loyal to his bosses, articulate, incisive, and an excellent administrator, “Beetle” Smith was also intolerant, brusque, profane, rude, and ruthless.
Smith was also famous for his quick temper. Whether the result of his personality, or pain from a duodenal ulcer that occasionally forced him to be hospitalized, its volatility caused some exasperated senior officers to violate military protocol, bypass the chief of staff, and meet directly with Eisenhower to request transfers. Tellingly, Eisenhower tolerated that breach.
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The position of chief of staff is often thankless. But it’s necessary. As one of the members of Eisenhower’s staff, Air Marshal Sir James Robb, later wrote, “Ike always had to have . . . someone who’d do the dirty work for him. He always had to have someone else do the firing, or the reprimanding, or give any order which he knew people would find unpleasant.” That someone was Smith and, whether or not he actually enjoyed that duty, everyone acknowledged that he was damned good at it.
Eisenhower often entrusted Smith to represent him in high-level strategic meetings, which led some people to remark that the reason Eisenhower did so was that Smith had a better strategic mind than his boss. Eisenhower’s esteem of Smith ultimately became so great that he told Marshall that if anything happened to cause him to be unable to carry out his duties as head of SHAEF, Marshall should, “after [General Omar] Bradley, select Bedell to take my place.”
Expanding on Eisenhower’s orders to have an “allied” command, Smith freely, and with great effect, utilized the technique of layering the different sections. Thus if one section had a British commanding officer, his deputy was an American, and vice versa. Smith also was a master of promoting informal communication channels, and his relatively informal staff conferences freed Eisenhower to concentrate on the most important or critical command decisions. Though problems did occur, that Eisenhower’s staff worked as smoothly as it did was a testament to Smith’s success as chief of staff.
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onenicebugperday · 2 years
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@atienn-e​ submitted: here are some fun bugs ive seen lately in the pacific northwest. :) i believe them to be a harvestman, a common red soldier beetle, and a banded alder borer, but ofc i may have misidentified.
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and this is a moth i found in alaska, of which i’ve been unable to identify. do you have any ideas?
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Yes those IDs are correct! Banded alder borers are so dang pretty. The moth looks like a type of swift moth, Gazoryctra confusus, or at the very least a similar one in the same genus :)
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dansnaturepictures · 8 months
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24/07/23-Lakeside and home
Photos taken in this set: 1 and 2. Jackdaw and Starlings that created dramatic scenes sitting on the roof out the back against dark clouds. 3. Fleabane at Lakeside, a species I enjoyed today. 4. Yarrow at Lakeside which was nice to see. 5, 6, 8 and 10. Views on nice lunch time and evening walks at Lakeside. 7. Rough-haired Lagria beetle out the front, a new species for me which I was fascinated to see. 9. One of a few moody and pretty sky scenes out the back today on a day of changeable weather.
It was a great flower day for me at Lakeside with red bartsia, St. John's-wort, ragwort, a great clump of water mint which I enjoyed seeing, bird's-foot trefoil, agrimony, hemp agrimony, wild carrot, spear thistle and broad-leaved clover seen well and carrot, dock and I believe sow thistle creating a vibrant scene in the flower bed on the way. Common red soldier beetles and another epic view of Red Admiral along the northern path in my short evening walk, Gatekeeper, Six-spot Burnet and Small White seen well at Lakeside at lunch time and top views of the Great Crested Grebe families again at Lakeside were other key wild moments today. Moorhen, Magpie, Black-headed Gull, Collared Dove and Woodpigeon were other key birds at Lakeside today, seeing and hearing a squawking Lesser Black-backed Gull on the way to Lakeside at lunch time with Goldfinch, House Sparrow, Magpie and lovely Swift gliding through the air other at home highlights. Orange daylily and sunflower standing out in the back garden, agrimony and buddleia was nice to see at home.
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azsazz · 1 year
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Torrential
Knox x Reader
Summary: Anon Requests: “Hey I love your writing could you do a fic about Knox and his mate?” & “Knox supremacy” 
Warnings: N/A
Word Count: 4,362
Notes: This is quite a bit different than what I’ve written thus far, but I hope you enjoy anyway. I wanted to try to write a little something for Knox since he’d be the love interest if I ever wrote my own book so here we go, Knox girlies stand up 💙
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You tuck your dark robes tighter around yourself as you hurry along the unbeaten path. The heaviness is a comfort, thick and soft despite the thin metal links sewn between layers. Protection camouflaged by its emerald fabric, a disguise at night as much as it is a shield.
It isn’t cold, but the forest after the sun has dipped behind the ruddy red mountains is eerie. Your only company is the clicking of beetles, howls from packs of wolves in the distance, and the soul in the jar clutched tightly to your chest.
Your High Lord had demanded it of you, to slay the otherworldly creature roaming his lands and return its soul to the river to be washed back to where it had come from. Hel.
It had been one of the most terrifying things you’ve ever encountered. A perfect mix of a beast that stood three times larger than any male you’d ever met. Its pincers snapped loudly, echoing throughout the hilly lands of your home, and they were the size of your forearm. Its ivory talons dug up the soft ground as it growled and clawed at you in a warning.
Those very talons had shredded your side in a fateful swipe that you couldn’t dodge. The beast had stomped on the end of your cape and in your desperate attempt to outrun the creature the strings of your hood had tightened around your throat, yanking you off of your feet. All of your breath had escaped your lungs.
Through the stars in your vision and the pain in your side, you’d managed to dodge the pincers on their swipe downward, ready to stab through you and wave your limp body around like a trophy. They’d lodged into the dirt as you rolled away, and it had given you just enough time to stab your knife into the underside of its jaw and through its skull, effectively slaying the beast.
The long jagged claw marks carving open your side had hurt, but your advanced healing combined with the enchantment from the High Lord hadn’t taken long for your skin to stitch itself up, leaving an irritated pink scar in its wake.
The Night Court isn’t a place you find yourself visiting frequently, but the instruction from your High Lord had been to dispose of the creature's soul in another territory, and you weren’t one to argue. As his hand, you’d do anything that he asks, even if it means completing a job that you’d graduated from working every once in a while.
The soldiers originally sent after the beast were no match for its large but nimble body and quick reflexes. You’d seen off a group of five men and only two had returned, one with talon marks that nearly carved his face in two, an eye missing, and a broken jaw hanging agape. The other soldier had fared better, though the way that he was limping and the trail of blood that followed told you that he’d probably been grabbed by the creature’s pincers.
The High Lord had executed them without a second thought and sent you in their place.
A branch snaps beneath your foot and you cringe, stilling your body. If a member of the Night Court catches you in their land – returning a soul no less – you’d be tried for your crimes in front of the High Lord and his family. You’d heard that in the years since his children had grown, they’d adopted positions within his court as spymasters, warriors, lords and ladies of court territories and the sub-courts they ruled over. One child had even been ordered as keeper of the river, arguably one of the most taxing roles in the court.
The river – aptly named Psychē, for the souls it houses, is a direct line to Hel. Rumor has it there are four hidden waterways throughout the continent, though this is the only known. The remaining three have not yet been discovered, or if they have their founders kept that information close.
You hardly know how it works. Your High Lord had told you nothing of the intricacies of returning a soul to the underworld. He’d sent you off with a knowing look, that you would do well by his name and come back unscathed. The charmed pendant on a silver chain he’d wrapped around your throat was for protection, should you need it.
Your instructions included capturing the beast's soul before it escaped into the night sky, trekking into the eerie lands of the Night Court, and disposing of the soul without getting caught by the riverkeeper.
If you got caught, you’d surely be dead.
You stiffen as the sound of the breaking branch ricochets through the lush forest. Your hand tightens around the jar nestled to your chest and your heart skips. You keep your breathing soft and calm, listening for any signs that you’re no longer alone.
It’s nearly too dark to see. Your only light is the bright stars guiding you to your destination. You’ll know you’ve reached Psychē once you stand directly beneath the Alizer star. The High Lord’s instructions echo in your head.
He’d also mentioned the silvery glow the body of water would give off when you were near. A reflection of the moon and the withering souls reaching up for the sky. You’d heard that they’d make nearly any bargain to become one of the stars.
You knew better than to swear on the Psychē. It is your job for Mother’s sake. Capture and kill those who have done wrong by their bargains, by their court. Slay beasts and creatures alike. Trap those who do not belong to this realm and let the riverkeepers decide their fate.
The thought sends a shiver up your spine.
There’s a faint tap against your chest. The soul trapped in the container slams itself against the side, trying to shatter the glass to escape. It only bounces off of the magicked jar. You bite back a smirk, pulling it from between your robes and giving the crock a rough shake. The wisps of the once beast shatter inside and it begins to swirl around in a mass, trying to weave itself back into a semi-conscious state.
You snort at it, returning it between thick layers of mossy robes as you continue your journey.
The brush begins to thin and you gasp as you enter a clearing. In the center is an ethereal-looking river, just as it had been described to you.
The waterway opens into a pool of light, shining brightly against the thick trees. It looks like a body of liquid metal, like stars fallen to the continent and melted into something more, something that snatches your attention and makes you want to bathe in it. One side of the Psychē thins out into a trickle, and you wonder if you follow where it would take you. Hel perhaps. It must not be an easy trek to the underworld. The other end of the river tapers slightly, the water sweeping into the swirling pool of light.
The clearing looks as if it’s never been touched by anything in the time it’s been here before any fae or wild creatures were put on the continent. There are no tread marks in the grasses from passersby, no animals seeking out the river or its lush waters. Now that you’re paying attention to it, the clearing is silent, like you’ve stepped into a secret, or worse, a trap. No sound coming in and no sound leaving.
Stumbling forward on suddenly weak knees, the thought that your High Lord has sent you on a mission that you won’t be returning from crosses your mind. You take a steadying breath, shaking the silly thought away. No, he wouldn’t do that to you, you are his favorite and his hand for Mother’s sake. Of course, he would want his dearest pet back.
Quickly and quietly you kneel before the edge, peering into the sparkling abyss. Your robes sweep up on a phantom wind that makes your hand tighten around your jar protectively, the other sliding to your weapon at your waist. The fabric pools around you as you lower yourself to the ground, settling around you in dark waves.
The Phychē’s calming silver waters ripple with lost souls. Your breath hitches at the sight.
You don’t know if they’re on their way to or from Hel, if they’re sentenced to swimming this impassible boundary between the living and the dead, screeching and screaming to the Mother for mercy.
You think they might be praying to the wrong entity for help.
With one last cautionary glance, you settle. You untuck the container from your chest and place it between your knees, keeping a tight grip on it just in case the beast tries to break through it again.
You pull your large hood back, revealing your face to the river and the night sky.
Taking the jar back into your hands, you grip the lid with one and the body with the other, twisting the top a hair looser. You’re eager to get this mission over and return to your lands, to your palace, where the High Lord eagerly awaits your return.
A loud wail startles you and your head snaps to the darkened woods around you. Beaming light from the river washes the brush bright around you, but no glowing eyes are staring in your direction, no glint of fangs pulled back from snarling lips. There are no other sounds to lead you to believe that there’s someone out there watching you.
The screech grates down your spine like steel on steel, drawing your attention to the metallic waters before you. The soul's gray form swims beneath the surface of the water, treading against the magic with all of her might to stay in front of you.
It’s a soul that has made that sound, you realize, shuddering. She’s a tiny little thing, nearly half of the size of the other wisps of lives swirling around her. She calls up to you but you don’t understand what she’s saying. The language isn’t something you’ve ever heard.
Apparently, souls from all realms live within the Pyschē.
The curious part of you wants to reach in and grab her, pluck her out of the busy stream of souls and hear her pleas, let her loose upon the Night Court. It’s clear she wants to bargain, they all do, if the shouts and moans of the other churning spirits tell you anything. Promises that they’ll never be able to fulfill, in exchange for your help.
But the warrior in you knows better. Not to reach your hand into the silvery pool of light or to bargain with a soul. You don’t know where they’re from, who they’ve worked for, why they’re here. Though, if they’re in the river to Hel, you know it mustn’t be good.
The beast beats against the wall of the crock frantically as you lower it toward the glowing river. Your hands are ready to twist the lid off and spill its soul into the weeping waters.
The shadows of night fracture like cracking ice.
The air around you drops to sub-zero and you freeze, arms outstretched over the silky waters. You can see your warm breath mingling with the cool air and something tingling at the back of your neck. Your heart thunders in your chest.
Even the souls fall silent.
Like an ink droplet falling into the clear waters, the Psychē bleeds black. The center of it grows with a fountain of darkness, quickly spreading over the surface of the river. The onyx shadows swallow the light and the screeches of souls within grow louder, more frantic as they try to slide away from the entity that’s overtaking their path.
You tighten the lid of the jar, tucking it quickly beneath your robes as you fumble desperately for your weapon.
Fingers circling the hilt, you’re just about to pull it out from its holster when your muscles spasm to a halt, freezing in place. You wince, or, you would wince at the thing clawing your head inside out, stiffening your muscles against your will as it spears your mind. The power is strong, much too strong for you to break its hold, even with your years of practice.
It makes your throat bob and your chest hurt.
You can’t even blink, can’t scream as onyx talons split through your skull, searching, learning. It looks at all of the secrets in your head, even the ones you’ve thought you’d buried deep down inside your wounded soul.
A bead of sweat rolls down your cheek and you itch to swipe it away.
Shadows seep in from all around, slinking their way down trunks of trees and sliding through the tall grass like snakes. It’s so dark that you can hardly see, the moonlit pool offering no light with its inky covering. The seething darkness is unmistakable, as the shadows gather and curl in the center of the smoky river that once was, brushing away to reveal a male you’ve only heard of from horror stories.
The riverkeeper.
The sight of him is terrifying in itself. Your chest hurts from how hard your heart is pounding. You can’t even blink or huff out a breath to dispel his dark shadows around you. There’s no air in your lungs to scream or room in them to gulp down the death-coated air. You are completely under his lock.
The passing tales you’ve been taught spin in your head. Those of a youthful male, the youngest of the shadowsinger of the Night Court, a starless entity much stronger than any living creature in Prythian.
Death incarnate. 
And it is your judgment day.
Some have said that he deserves to live in the deepest depths of the Prison. Others rally for a public death of Hel’s keeper, the population terrified of his abilities. He lives in all darkness and is made from it.
Most of what you know about him is lore. You’d heard of powerful beings but none with magic quite like this. How he’s able to manipulate the night into your deepest fears. A child’s trick for him. You’ve been told that nothing and no one has heard the crow of his call, his true voice, for the day that if you do, it will be the last thing you ever hear, his baritone tone projecting into your head like the sweet call of death, unable to resist its song. His face will be the last thing you ever see.
The hiss is caught in your throat as you struggle futility against his mental holds. It’s pointless, you know, but you try to escape the iron grip he has on your mind anyway.
They’d told you of the monsters roaming in the shadows, but never the ones made from them. 
Nevertheless, as the tall male shrouded over you pulls his dark hood back, you’ve frozen again of your own accord, but still his doing. 
You didn’t expect the monster to be so…handsome.
Silky black hair sweeps across his brow on the wind his shadows create. They twirl around him like bloodthirsty snakes, eager to reach out and constrict your body and drag you into the river of souls before you. His thick brows are curved downward over narrowed golden eyes that are the only light source in the clearing. His angular features are set into an impassive glare, staring directly into your soul.
His stalk looks more like a glide, like he’s an ethereal being all of his own. He is, when you catch sight of his large wings poised tightly to his back, talons sharp like the tip of a sword. They’re just as dark, silky smooth skin absorbing the night.
He is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.
He forces a patch of shadows to disperse and you squint against the sudden light of the glowing pool he’s opened up. Whatever he’s doing, it doesn’t look good, and your heart pounds loudly in your chest. 
Instead of pulling you into the Psychē like you thought he might do, a tendril of darkness dips into the light. It’s exquisite, the black against the white waters and you’re mesmerized, staring on with awe.
Until his shadow plucks up a soul.
The contour of black carries the soul to him where it settles by his side, a pet delivering its toy to its master. The soul in its icy death grip shouts vulgarly as it struggles desperately in the shadows' grasp.
With a sweep of the riverkeeper's hand, the soul goes limp, glowing eyes fogging over with an unfocused look. It stares directly at you.
Your spine tingles as his shadowy purr settles into your bones.
“Are you on your knees because you knew you’d be begging for my mercy?”
Your brows itch, aching to pull into a furrow. The voice isn’t coming from the riverkeeper, instead, it comes from the soul clutched in the grasp of his shadow. He mustn’t be able to speak or doesn’t want you to hear his true voice.
If it does incite your last moments alive, you’re thankful.
His words are amused but his tone is deathly serious as it fills the clearing with a powerful boom as if he’s unaware of how loud he’s being. There is no mirth to his features to let you know that he means anything other than business.
He is the riverkeeper, after all.
You choke on a breath as he releases his hold on your mouth. The rest of your body stays still as stone beneath his strong power.
“You,” you choke on the word. Your surprise is clear, as is the shake of your voice.
His golden eyes gleam.
“Me.”
His voice is its own whisper of death, even though it isn’t even coming from him but from the soul beside him. It’s rough like the shadows twirling around him like guard dogs. One circles closer to you, swimming in front of your face as if interested, so you do the only thing that you can do with your unrestrained mouth; curse and blow at it like a child.
He cocks his head slightly, intrigued by your response.
“What are you doing at my river, sweet creature?”
Your mouth pulls into a frown at the name.
“Don’t call me that,” you grit and his gaze flickers brighter. His hold on you turns near painful, your spine popping as he forces it to straighten. A warning to you, knowing that he can tear you apart at any given moment.
“What shall I call you then?” He’ll give you this mercy, so you better answer.
“(Y/N),” you choke, gasping a heaving breath once he relaxes his hold and lets you settle back into the earthy ground. You glare at him with all of your might but it doesn’t seem to affect the male.
“(Y/N),” the soul purrs. You know that it isn’t his voice but it sends shivers up your spine nonetheless.
“You have a name, don’t you?” you question.
“We all have names,” he answers bluntly.
You bite back a curse. “What’s yours?”
His wings twitch at his back and his shadows crackle, scattering around the clearing. They look like they’re hissing but you don’t know for sure. Apparently, he doesn’t get questioned much.
“My name need not be known by murderous, sweet creatures,” he answers, voice like cold death. There’s that word again. Sweet. No one’s ever called you that before.
It makes something in your chest flutter.
The glass crock tucked against your side pings as the creature’s soul makes another attempt to escape, uncaring of the literal devil you’re staring down.
His dark brows furrowed. A shadow curls around his rounded ear, whispering something to him that makes his gold eyes sparkle and his fingers twitch with interest.
“What is it you’ve got down there?” he asks.
A muscle in your jaw twitches with effort. “It’s the soul of an Alphrachne. I was feeding it to you.”
Silky smooth laughter echoes throughout the clearing. It startles you, the sound of anything other than threats and violence coming from the soul he’s controlling. You remember then that he’s young, hardly a few years older than yourself, and that he seems to have a wicked sense of humor.
“I do not eat souls,” his gravelly voice is amused, “I see them to their final destinations.”
“And where might that be?” you grit, struggling against his hold. You’d thought that while he was laughing his grip on your mind might slip and you could free yourself. No such luck.
“It will take a lot more than a bit of struggling to get out,” he responds. Goosebumps rise on your arms as he continues simply, “Hel.”
You knew it.
He seems interested in the creature’s soul you’ve brought forth anyway, golden eyes flickering down to your robes as if he can see through the thick material.
“An Alphrachne, you say?” the soul questions, unfocused eyes glimmering under his power. The voice sounds intrigued almost. 
Of course, he knows what the beast you’ve brought is. His brother Jax has taught him everything there is to know about the creatures crawling the lands in this realm and the next.
He’s heard that they are enormous. Bigger than Uncle Cassian. With sharp pincers and long talons. And you’ve captured one’s soul all on your own, armed with only a single knife and a healing spell around your neck.
His mouth twitches, impressed.
“Let’s see it then,” he reaches a hand out and you glare, limbs still obeying his commands. They don’t move from your sides.
“I’ll let you see it if you tell me your name.”
The amusement flees from his gaze. 
“Is that a bargain, (Y/N)?”
Your throat dries and your swallow catches, “No.”
He laughs again and your thighs quiver at the sight of his sinful smirk, the way his fascinating glimmering eyes glow with something else. Something akin to curiosity but warmer.
“Clever girl.”
His words are paired with a caress of razor-sharp claws against your mind. They’re much sharper than the Alphrachne’s, a tease of a scratch to let you know that it won’t take much else for him to break you completely.
You don’t deign to respond.
“And what happens if I take it from you?” he asks, and it's nearly playful. He wants to banter with you, he wants to see what you’re capable of.
“I’ll kill you.”
“And I’ll drown you in the river. Maybe I’ll even use that jar to keep your soul in like a little pet. I’m sure my brother would be more than happy to dissect your soul.” His voice slides like ice down your limbs and your breath puffs out in front of your face. You shudder.
You nearly fall forward into the shadowy abyss that is the river when he releases you from his hold. You pitch forward but shadows sweep upwards from their murky depths, righting you on your haunches.
Every muscle in your body aches from trying to escape his grasp. You gulp down heaving breaths of air as you stare up at him, his handsome face stoic but gold eyes focused, watching as you grab fistfuls of your deep emerald robes and clutch them tightly to yourself.
The soul beside him lets out a huff of impatience and you scramble for the jar. You pull it from your robe and offer it to him with a shaky hand. Even lifting the lightweight jar seems difficult with how tired your limbs suddenly are.
He uses his shadows to carry the jar on a dark wind to him as if he’s afraid to come closer to you. Surely death himself isn’t scared of a girl like you, but he stays in the center of the pool on his throne of darkness.
The crock looks humorously small in his hand and it’s only now that you notice the swirling tattoos inked upon his tanned skin. They look like his shadows, rivers of black circling his fingers and crawling up his arms. If you squint you think they may be moving.
He admires your capture with bright eyes, twisting and turning the jar. The soul inside quivers, pressing itself against the glass as far away as it can, cowering in fear, knowing its fate now.
Should’ve been quiet then, you think to yourself, having no mercy for the beast.
The riverkeeper's mouth quirks up at your words and you’d forgotten for a moment that he’s inside of your head, listening to all of your thoughts.
Your eyes go wide with realization. If he can hear your thoughts that means that he knows you were thinking about how handsome he is. 
Fuck.
His lips pull high into a wicked smile. One side curls higher than the other and it’s the first imperfect thing you’ve noticed about him, yet it still makes your breath hitch.
Those shining eyes snap back to yours.
The darkness moves, pulling in from all corners of the clearing like a tidal wave of black. They sweep around him and you throw an arm up to shield your eyes as they draw from the river, its metallic moonlit waters shining full force.
“Do not let me catch you here again, (Y/N),” the soul’s eerie voice says. You lower your arm and squint against the brightness to see him one last time. “I will not be so nice next time.”
“Wait,” you blurt frantically. You don’t know why you’re calling for him, why a part of you doesn’t want him to leave. His shadows falter, coming to a stop and it feels like they’re all staring at you, along with the soul in his grasp and his molten golden eyes. “You didn’t tell me your name.”
He studies you for so long, shadows sweeping around him that you’re afraid he may not answer after all.
But his harsh gaze softens as the soul speaks one last time before disappearing into a puff of black smoke.
“My name is Knox.”
“My name is Knox.”
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unkn0wnvariable · 20 days
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Common Red Soldier Beetle
A common red soldier beetle climbing up a grass stem, in Southwick Wood.
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asha-mage · 5 months
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Mat/Rand. Prince
[Send me a character or pairing, and a one word prompt, and I'll write you a drabble!]
There is a small grassy glade in the Waterwood, nestled between two oddly shaped boulders that at one point in history, might have been something more. The huge willows of the Waterwood, with their spreading branches and tangling winding roots flank it on all sides and make the place almost invisible, if you do not know the trick of finding the path.
Rand can no longer remember if he or Mat was the first to discover it- the first to wander into that hidden place, always a little shadowy and damp with dew, even at mid noon in summer. But he knows that it was just their place: for the two of them to lay back in the grass and reach up for the branches, to laugh and joke and share secrets together. To talk of the adventures they would have when they where big enough to no longer be told no but their families or the Wisdom, or the Women’s Circle.
It wasn’t like the pond where they would go sometimes, with Perrin and Egwene to swim in the boiling heat of summer. Or like the trips down to idle by the river with other village youths. Something unspoken held it just between them, as if sharing knowledge of it would shatter something fragile and brittle and shinning kept there, between their laughs and games of make-believe.
Once, when they where eight, Mat had made a crown. With his clumsy fingers he had woven starburst and morning glory with loose garlands from the willows, twinning them around broken branches and loose sticks until he had made a rough ring of white and gold and bright orange.
He had bowed elaborately when he was done and presented the crown to Rand with a flourish.
“My prince.” Mat had said with exaggerated deference spoiled only a little by the fox like grin on lips. Rand couldn’t help but laugh as he had taken it and placed it onto his head. He had known it would look foolish, but something had shinned in Mat’s eyes as Rand had fixed it in place, something for which Rand had no name at the time.
“And what am I prince of exactly?” Rand had teased when the crown was settled. “Where is my kingdom?”
“You are standing in it!” Mat had laughed and gestured at the glade. “Prince of the hidden grove! Lord of the Waterwood, etc etc.”
Rand had smirked back. “Master of all the castles in the air? And served by soldiers armored in gossamer steel?” He teased. “And who is my general then? A puppet made of glass?”
Mat had whooped but shaken his head, plucking up another stick to hold like a General’s rod. “No puppets for the Prince of the Morning. I am your general, leader of your loyal hawks, and dogs and foxes. All the carrion eaters, all the foul things can oppose you if they wish-“ He winked. “I will drive them all back with sword and shield and catapult. Let the beetles and the snakes, the rats and the ravens try. I will chase them all away from you, Highness.”
He had said it with such solemnity, such stiff lipped strength that Rand couldn’t help but burst into laughter, and Mat had followed suit soon after. They had ended up laying on their backs staring at the sky and joking about the campaigns they would wage, and the laws they would enact in their new realm (beginning with no bed times of course, and descending in importance from there).
At some point Mat’s hand had found it’s way into Rand’s, and stayed there, until it was to late for them to remain, and they had no choice but to head back to the village.
My general of the hawks and the dogs and the foxes. Rand thought as he watched Mat ride ahead of him. That was years ago no, more then a decade gone. All around them, the crowds of Cairhien citizens cheered and sang, trying to press in on Rand’s small party, held back by the Maidens and the Tearians alike.
And Mat rode ahead, not looking back. Afraid to even stare into Rand’s eyes for to long. Lieutenants and officers from the Band of the Red Hand surrounded him on all sides, and more soldiers marched, rank on rank ahead of them, basking in the accolades of their victory.
The Band of the Red Hand. Not the Band of the Dragon, or the Legion of Al’Thor. The Band of the Red Hand, named for a long dead army of mercenaries, and likely to be just the same.
Rand felt his eyes sweep up to the spires of the Sun Palace in the distance. He was more then any Prince now, more then any King, probably more even then long dead Artur Hawkwing. His name would be writ across history in fire, and their where thousands ready to march at his word, to die for him.
He felt the never healing wound in his side throb in dull agony.
His eyes sank back to Mat, to the sight of the nape of his neck, just visible above the collar of his coat.
And I would trade it all, to be in our grove again. I would give it all away for our castles in the air, for our army of hawks and dogs and foxes.
Better to be a prince with a flower crown, then the Dragon Reborn. Better by miles.
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