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lynxskip · 9 days

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Minor Characters - The Sun Trail

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NOTE: Some of these aren't from the wiki, as I highlighted somethings that I think are minor characters.

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"Skinny cats," - pg. 1 | Honestly, I think these are all the cats in the cave.

"The elders," - pg. 1 | Misty Water, Lion's Roar, Silver Frost, and Snow Hare.

"Desperately mewling kits," - pg. 1 | Jagged Peak, Fluttering Bird, Pine Snout, Jay Song, Flower Heart, and White Flame.

"Mewling kits' mothers," - pg. 1 | Quiet Rain and Hollow Tree.

"Several kits squabbling over an eagle's carcass," - pg. 1 | Aspen Whiskers, Leaf Brook, Pale Ripple, and Cherry Frost.

"A big ginger tom-kit," - pg. 1 | Aspen Whiskers.

"Smaller tabby she-kit," - pg. 1 | Leaf Brook.

"Ginger kit's mother," - pg. 2 | Blooming Sky.

"Group of cats returning from hunting," - pg. 3 | Shaded Moss, Sharp Hail, Jackdaw's Cry, Hawk Swoop, and Honey Skip.

"The several cats that sprang up to greet the returning cats," - pg. 3 | Quick Water, Falling Feather, and Tall Shadow.

"Cat that calls out eagerly," - pg. 3 | Falling Feather.

"Demanding cat," - pg. 3 | Quick Water.

"Leader of the returning cats," - pg. 3 | Shaded Moss.

"Several cats that crowd around Clear Sky and Gray Wing," - pg. 9 | Turtle Tail, Dark Cloud, Shattered Ice, and Thorn Foot.

"Returning hunting party," - pg. 16 | Shattered Ice, Turtle Tail, Dark Cloud, Falling Feather, and Moon Shadow.

"Yowling cat in the crowd around Shaded Moss," - pg. 17 | Thorn Foot.

"Three cats that are farther down the valley," - pg. 20 | Hollow Tree, Howling Wolf, and Sharp Hail.

"Groups of cats that are settled around the cavern's edges," - pg. 23 | Hollow Tree, Howling Wolf, Clear Sky, Bright Stream, Turtle Tail, Rainswept Flower, Honey Skip, and Mist Eye.

"Anxiously pacing cats," - pg. 23 | Twisted Branch, Snow Hare, Silver Frost, and Lark Tail.

"The kits that Jagged Peak is playing with," - pg. 28 | Pale Ripple, Pine Snout, Leaf Brook, and Aspen Whiskers.

"Tabby she-cat that Jagged Peak is wrestling with," - pg. 28 | Leaf Brook.

"The other cats that crowd Shaded Moss with questions," - pg. 29 | Falling Feather, Shattered Ice, Blooming Sky, Lion's Roar, Moon Shadow, and Dappled Pelt.

"The other cats that let Gray Wing pass," - pg. 29 | All the cats that are questioning Shaded Moss and that returned with Shaded Moss.

"The larger group that are around Shaded Moss," - pg. 32 | Bright Stream, Mist Eye, Blooming Sky, Dark Cloud, and Hawk Swoop.

"Shaded Moss's mother," - pg. 135 | Foggy Dove.

"Huge brown dog," - pg. 137 | Johnny. (Some of the other minor character pages include dogs and twolegs, so I'm just gonna do that.)

"Huge fluffy black-and-white kittypet tom," - pg. 146 | Bandit.

"Ginger kittypet she-cat," - pg. 146 | Mia.

"A long-legged brown-and-gray tabby tom 'The Stranger'," - pg. 163 | Grouse, later renamed Grouse Step.

"Three dogs that chased the cats," - pg. 168 | Ashley, a large dark gray female greyhound. Chai, a small tan-white-and-black male beagle. Eggo, a large male golden retriever.

"Ginger cat," - pg. 187 | Flax, she-cat.

"Black-and-white cat," -pg. 187 | Eel, tom.

"Cats that are disappearing into the bushes," - pg. 197 | Petal and Fox.

"Couple of nosy cats that Quick Water chased away," - pg. 233 | Fox and Petal.

"Small black dog that chases Gray Wing," - pg. 295 | Sooty.

"The three cats that Petal and Fox meet as kits," - pg. 4, bonus scene | Misty, Falcon, and Vine.

#lynxskip #lynxskip's rewrite #erin hunter #warrior cats #warriors #wc #waca #warrior cats rewrite #warriors rewrite #wc rewrite #waca rewrite #dawn of the colonies'#the sun trail #minor characters

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officialweezerelections · 1 year

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THE FULL FUCKED UP BIRD BRACKET

All birds have been randomized, the seeds mean nothing. Yes pitohui is spelled incorrectly in the bracket image.

GROUP A

Andean Condor VS Loggerhead Shrike

Superb Lyrebird VS Emu

Greater Sage-Grouse VS Common Ostrich

Yellow-Billed Oxpecker VS American Woodcock

Bare-Throated Bellbird VS Giant Petrel

Greater Sooty Owl VS Vampire Ground Finch

Great Eared Nightjar VS Spur-Winged Goose

Common Cuckoo VS Tawny Frogmouth

GROUP B

Great Potoo VS Killdeer

Domestic Chicken VS Oilbird

Tufted Puffin VS Dalmatian Pelican

King Vulture VS Twelve-Wired Bird Of Paradise

Greater Superb Bird Of Paradise VS Perrito

Barn Owl VS Purple Gallinule

Bearded Vulture VS Secretary Bird

Long Wattled Umbrellabird VS Horned Screamer

GROUP C

Oriental Bay Owl VS Anhinga

Pennant Winged Nightjar VS Snowy Sheathbill

Red-Legged Seriema VS Marabou Stork

Argentavis VS Common Loon

Black Skimmer VS Luzon Bleeding-Heart

Southern Cassowary VS Flamingo (all species)

Green Heron VS Great Hornbill

African Jacana VS California Condor

GROUP D

Hamerkop VS Capuchinbird

Shoebill Stork VS American White Pelican

Roseate Spoonbill VS Hoatzin

Terror Bird VS Elephant Bird

Great Egret VS Magnificent Frigatebird

Guinean Cock-Of-The-Rock VS Hooded Pitohui

White-Throated Rail VS Spur-Winged Plover

White Bellbird VS Kiwi

Polls will be tagged with their BRACKET (example: #bracket a) and #tournament poll

MAY THE WORST BIRD WIN

#information #all of these matchups fucking suck /lovingly #these are literally just all bad bitches being pitted against each other #BRUTAL AS HELLLLLL #mod gf #birdbracket

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yeahcurrahhe-e · 10 months

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𝐒𝐊𝐘’𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐋𝐔𝐄

〚 𝐉.𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐁𝐆𝐎𝐓𝐓 〛

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ➛ mentions of blood, swearing

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐏 𝐎𝐅 𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐆𝐍𝐄 was an obscurer of time, an infiltrating poison to the concept of days, weeks, months.

Yet, the day of the week wasn’t much of a thought to ponder upon for Easy Company; minds wrapped around a prayer for survival in the next few seconds, legs stinging with an ache from desperate sprints across slippery snow, throats throbbing from a lack of hydration and an overload of grouses pertaining to the lack of winter clothing, the incompetence of a barely present lieutenant. A majority of them were cramped ass to ankles in foxholes to preserve warmth, something that was as fleeting as daylight nowadays.

Y/N departed the squish of cold leather in the Jeep, a conscious miles away at the aid station she had presently returned from, hands twitching to reek a sickly penny odor of blood. All she could hear was the obnoxious banging of her heart, of the memories when the sniper shredded the heads of the young boys in her platoon, of her boyfriend shrieking himself raw from a detainment of distressed soldiers. Their blood stroked over her calloused palms in a haunting reminder.

Y/N gazed tiredly at the billows of smoke contrasting the blue sky above, it being a beautifully tragic horizon to encapture her admiration for a final time. Her aching back was cradled subtly in the matted snow — it being drabbled with red from blood, a fine mixture of her own and other wounded soldiers. Her legs throbbed with oozing burns on skin that had been exposed by shrapnel from the explosion that had forced her down in the middle of a farmer’s field. Her legs were what made her a remarkable runner, her bloodied body holding the strength that had distinguished her from being a mere nurse, but also an esteemed soldier amongst a platoon teeming with men. And it all seemed to crumble at Y/N’s hands when a German soldier — in a move fueled by his last breath — propelled a mortar in the direction of the small group she was escorting across the field. The bodies of those soldiers now were scattered like ragdolls around her withered body, all their eyes glassily staring at her in their afterlives, as if mocking her apparent invincibility. You’re supposed to be better.

Eugene pardoned her hands when they absentmindedly extended to pluck the haggard box of supplies they could scrounge up at the station, “It’s quiet for now, go and rest, Y/N, before ‘ya open up those stitches.” Stitches that had been meticulously sewn through her torn flesh by him at the aid station whilst they gathered themselves outside the church, hunched near a scanty fire in a metal can.

“I’ll make it just fine without ‘ya, chérie. I’m sure Liebgott will be looking for ‘ya,” he stifled whatever opposition was accumulating on her tongue, a swaying mouth indicating that she was prepared to leap to silence his concern, “Consider it an early Christmas present.”

Y/N’s glazed eyes impossibly widened as the remark registered for her spotty hearing, “What day is it?”

“It’s December 21st,” a rage of winter blast tousled his impossibly dark hair whilst he nonchalantly answered, scarred fingers working through a maze in the box of supplies. His eyes of an alike shade scoured the flicks of his curious hands until the crunch of snow and hastening footsteps of departure provoked a glimpse forward, the hunched silhouette of the female soldier vanishing beneath the rolling blanket of cloud.

Her boots were scathed with a veneer of icy powder as she trudged through the latest brushing of snow that evening, each step a prayer for the warmth of home. The home she perceived in the wisps of wheat in the fields that huddled around Camp Toccoa, the sooty forest path they run to Currahee’s peak, the sporadic bursts of lavender amongst that wheat, hell, even in some of the starry-eyed privates mucking about the camp. A home where she’d be with her family, hands scrubbed of the grot and blood of innocents, a greeting of ‘happy birthdays’ from relatives. In a distant memory, a brief glitch of reality, she was amidst the Floridian warmth and beneath the shadow of palm trees with a party buzzing around her.

In another reality, she would be at home celebrating her birthday today.

There was no celebrating in the crisp hell of Bastogne, not when so many would never see another birthday again. It was a gnawing guilt in her core, a fiery frustration that juxtaposed the bitter snow that entombed those young men. Teenagers. No matter how good she was esteemed to be, medic and soldier, no matter how good the medicine, no matter the strategy, boys died. Died in flashes of a sniper, an ambush, red. Streaming tears cleanser her red cheeks, a salty release congealing on the collar of her jacket whilst eyes scour the snow. A few meters before her blurry vision was a stark crimson splotch of blood, nature scorning her by not concealing its presence with the dusting of snow. A scorn for her inability to save a starry-eyed replacement, Julian. Her nails were undoubtedly trenched with his dried blood.

Limp extremities groused and shattered under the pressure of her gear whilst she kneeled in a tremble against a cracked tree trunk. Her back constrained against the ridges with her rifle trembling in bloodied hands, the ghostly bodies of her platoon crumpled in the field around her. Y/N’s ringing ears were plagued by memories of Richard Winters screaming himself raw from the tree line, permitting Joseph Liebgott, her boyfriend, to despise her in that seemingly perpetual moment as he screeched above their superior.

She had already fled Death’s tendrils once that week, she couldn’t forever, and it was daft to recklessly evade him in a war. And, now, Y/N was okay with having the tendrils asphyxiate her properly, taking her away from bloodied fields littered with the bodies of those she couldn’t save. It’s okay. Nevertheless, she wanted to whimper for help, for a damn sign that someone was there for her.

And then Y/N peered up with her lungs clenching in her chest almost immediately; Joe was trudging furiously through the wreck of snow, the Bay Area hotspur a volcano amidst the frigid earth beneath his feet, his cigarette bouncing anxiously between his lips. It was almost disquieting with her ignorance of the dark crimson sheen over her uniform and exposed skin, how accompanying sickly penny odor was a normalcy to be encompassed by. It was just always there nowadays. Yet, it was the agitated churning in her chest, her soul, reminding her that there was some humanity enduring in her and that she was still very much whole and alive.

“Happy birthday,” he muttered with regard for the sound discipline presently, extinguishing his wrinkle of cigarette in the snow despite the warmth it flooded his bitter blood with.

She didn’t utter any extent of a retort, solely beholding his gaze that expressed a continuing conversation of contempt, ire, and adoration — spared for her in that moment and always. He was suppressing the wrath that had, undoubtedly, festered like a raging crimson welt in his consciousness whilst she was away at the aid station. Joseph Liegbott was a man fused with an aura that distanced himself from others, decreed his content with a lack of company, and bombarded the empty crevices with a fiery temper. It was a ripple in his demeanor to care, love someone so fondly as he did with her. Her, the brash female paratrooper of Easy Company, the girl who had long since made a name for herself since Toccoa, got detested for her existence on this very planet by Sobel himself. Her, who led Easy Company as their first lieutenant. She could silence them herself by merely entering the room, authority a dark shadow eclipsing the light of her essence. Such silence is what implied that she had secured what she wanted — deserved — after enduring the constant lapses of confidence, the derision, the catcalling.

When Joe first realized he was in love with Y/N, she was the one leading Easy Company — and him —up the dizzying steepness of Currahee, she not even being the commanding officer of the men, but domineering more than the ill-nature of Sobel. She was adorned in the same outfit any male soldier would have been, hardly sweating due to years in track and field and cross country back home, her lips curled into the most seraphic smile he had seen. He remembers the way she nudged his shoulder whenever the exhaustion slipped him and his robust facade up, how she’d flick away the cigarette pendant on his lips, rambling on about her fret over breathing issues and other health complications such a leisure could bring.

“Thanks,” she mumbled with a puzzling dip of her brow, a numb mind obscuring any response of depth.

Glancing up, Y/N could see Joe with horror petrified amidst the dirt on his face, a very foreign guise on his chiseled features; there was so much blood and dirt on her baggy uniform and what skin was exposed, one would assume she was dancing with the devil. Her face was blemished with a mix of the dirt that had been flung up by the explosion and blood that belonged to her and those that laid not too far now. Her eyes were just as remarkably expanded as his as they steadied eye contact with one another.

“Your ass will freeze to the ground if ‘ya don’t get up, doll,” he softly quipped to shatter the anchor of forebode bobbing in his core, extending a pale hand towards her. Dubiously, Y/N set a bloodied, scraped hand onto the chilled crook of his palm, him plucking her from the disturbed dirt as if she was nothing.

“They’re all dead, Joe,” Y/N breathed out, hands trembling and legs cramping painfully. There was no coaxing herself into composure now as the shock of it all was registering once death wasn’t looming over her to seize her away anymore.

“Nobody could’ve expected that to happen,” Joe reasoned, and winced like he was in anguish yet was swarmed with peace at the same time, and her own internal conflict released through a lump in her throat. He cracked a smirk her way, Y/N stared at him blankly, so lifelessly, slipping ever so slightly right before him, “I wish I could do more for you, doll. I can’t patch up your wounds and sure as hell can’t give you comfort. Hell, it’s your birthday and you’re all glum. You did everything anyone else would have, ‘ya know.”

A hollow feeling bloomed at the center of her chest; she is a categorical victim of war, constantly drowned in tidal waves of guilt, regret, pain, anger. She did everything she could have.

Y/N absentmindedly tread a few fingers through his messy, disheveled hair, his breathing almost instantaneously steadying with the slight yanks at the tufts of his hair brushing his neck, “Twenty-three.”

His dark brows solidified into a furrow, shifting down his chin to gaze in inquiry towards her.

“I’m twenty-three today,” she clarified, a small smile emerged amidst her ashen face.

Joe chuckled wryly; her eyes may have been horribly bloodshot from burst blood vessels, her lips chapped with blood in the crevices, and her entire uniform resembling the aftermath of an animal mauling, yet she was still there with him, smiling fondly from beneath the layers of destruction. Still beautiful.

“Dance with me,” he spurted out, surely without much contemplation, eyes traveling along the lines of her face, the bold and free moon haloing her disheveled hair.

“Joseph Liegbott asking me to dance? You’re certainly ill now,” Y/N rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

Crimson rose to the apple of his cheeks, red as the temper fused with her speculation, “Shut up.” His own exasperation challenged hers, not deliberately, but it was fair competition as it sought to bleed from him through gripes and cusses. He was humiliated enough that the words had dared leave a giddy thought.

Joe glowered teasingly at Y/N, who was a chaotic mess of stifled laughs, the fire and gold in her eyes dripping as her mind wandered away from the woe of the day. The moon’s expanding rays entangled with perfect molds in the curves of her hair, a kink of hair brushing her forehead teasingly. His chiseled jaw lifted with a hubristic yet pleasant smile after a few moments of wading in feigned irritation.

“Well, fuck me, I’ve managed to shut Joseph Liegbott up,” There emerged a meager pout of a smirk on her mouth, shedding a subtle shadow beneath the pinkish swell of lip. Y/N rolled her eyes when Joe bit his tongue, a playful scoff spurting from her parted lips, similar to a wisp of cigarette smoke, “I’ll dance with you.”

Her hand was tightly encompassed in his own as he hastily yanked her toward the shadow of a tree, more earnestness than the step before, and she kept good pace with his urgency. The second his foot securely adjusted onto the snow, he was facing her with his eyes sparkling with mischief and an almost melodic laugh cascading from his mouth, setting her heart a flutter. There he was, standing in his familiar army green uniform on a contrasting quartz floor of snow, grinning at her like she was the source of his content and life.

And she couldn’t refuse when his hands drew her head into the crook of his neck, embracing her tight to make her cracks remain together, a sway naturally falling between them. A tentative shiver poured over her spine at the warm breath flittering against her skin, it vanishing just as abruptly as it manifested, and a desire blazing beneath indifference for more — more of the closeness.

“Too bad this is just for tonight,” she cracked one of her smiles, pushing off the warmth of his shoulder, his eyes blazing with life the second the loll of her head departed the plateau of his shoulder.

“Yeah,” he agreed in a mutter, eyes traveling along the lines of her face. He dared to think of a life after this war, where blood and grime wouldn’t be a typical concoction for people to have tarnishing their faces, where the two of them would always be physically clean of any remnant of war. This didn’t just have to be for tonight. “Come home with me to San Francisco, or wherever the fuck ‘ya want to go, I don’t care…give you all the best birthday’s I fucking can-”

Her chapped lips were pressed against his before he could continue his nervous bout of rambles, showing just how hastily she could move and shut him up. She could feel his lips form the bow of smirk, it being a rush in the tenderness of the kiss, his hands toying with the hem of her shirt.

“My oh my, Joseph, you’ve gone soft,” Y/N tsked when their lips temporarily wavering in a few inches of distance, “But… I’ll go home with you, just as long as a ring is put on my finger eventually.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

#band of brothers #hbo war #hbo war imagine #hbowar

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goddamnshinyrock · 1 year

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I saw a Hutton's Vireo today (lifer!), which was exciting since they're largely limited to the pacific coast in the US, and I'm moving in two weeks, so this was a Last Chance sort of thing

I'm looking forward to east coast birding again but man there are some that I am just going to have to come back out here for that I wish I had managed to see in the past decade. (I'll be back, sooty grouse and white-headed woodpecker! you elusive fuckers.)

#also I truly am awful at distinguishing between marbled and ancient murrelets in flight #so I have never been sure enough to record an ancient murrelet ;_;#birding #anyway fuck grouse

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mountrainiernps · 1 year

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Sooty grouse used to be called blue grouse. After DNA testing, blue grouse were split into two groups; dusky grouse inland and sooty grouse in the coastal mountain ranges. Found from California to Alaska, the sooty grouse, Dendragapus fuliginosus, is a chicken-like bird with short legs and a medium length tail. Both male and female birds are camouflaged in brown, black, gray and white, but the males are a bit more gray and have yellow eye combs and yellow air sacs on their necks.

In the summer, you might see and more often hear these birds in the subalpine areas of the park. They take advantage of the leaves, flowers and berries that are available in these environments for summer feasting while the young feed more on insects. But come winter, it’s time for change. The sooty grouse move into the deeper, denser forests. Throughout the colder months, these grouse feed on the needles of the douglas-firs, as well as other conifers like fir, pine and hemlock.

In winter, for sooty grouse, it pays to follow the food. Have you seen or heard the calls of sooty grouse in the park? Where have you seen or heard them? ~ams

More information on birds in the national park can be found here https://www.nps.gov/mora/learn/nature/birds.htm

These photographs are from years past and do not reflect current conditions. NPS/C. Roundtree Photo. Sooty grouse male on snow near Narada Falls area. Yellow air sac and eye comb visible. May, 2018. NPS/S. Redman Photo. Female sooty grouse on ground amidst fall foliage in Paradise area. September, 2015.

#encuentra tu parque #find your park #wildlife #sooty grouse #birds #winter #national parks #mount rainier national park #forests

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tetrameryxx · 2 years

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Sooty grouse mother on high watch, the chicks forage in the clearing of bigleaf lupine and Oregon sunshine. It's early summer, and the clouds cast shadows like the careful wing of a mother over such a vulnerable opening

#My art #Grouse #Wildflowers #Birds #Testing out new brushes :)

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draculasfavoritewife · 3 months

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I Still Want You

Summary: It's been awhile since the two of you last worked together, but some things will never change.

Pairing: Madmartigan x fem!Reader

Warnings: Brief references to injury and alcohol use, some sexist jokes and sensuality (look, I physically cannot stop writing about reader running their fingers through pretty men's hair, alright? It's an actual problem guys).

So my family finally made me sit down and watch the original Willow film this past summer, and I ended up pretty smitten with this man lol. What can I say, the fallen-from-grace type with a flexible moral code and piercing eyes just really does it for me I guess. 🤷🏽‍♀️ (Also young Val Kilmer in drag? Kinda hot.)

"I don't know why the hell I let you talk me into this load of bull," you groan, a hand covering your exasperated face. "Why, in the name of all that's holy, did I leave behind my honest living to follow you into this harebrained scheme?"

The man next to you throws you a wide and winning smile, blue eyes flashing in the dim light. "Cause you didn't want me to come back to you dead," he says with a knowing smugness. "You love me."

"Did I say that?"

"You didn't have to," he teases, leaning down to saucily kiss your forehead before readjusting the woman's dress that doesn't quite fully hide his very masculine form. "Now, how do I look?"

You roll your eyes and crawl to your feet in the cramped cellar where he had chosen to make his quick change. "He's going to see through you in a second."

Your companion frowns, dark brows sulky and full lips pouting like a petulant child. "Please. The old oaf's such a lusty pig he's going to see exactly what he wants to see and fall head over heels for me. Believe me, it's happened before." He hurriedly stuffs the bodice of the dress until he has quite the impressive bust, and it's suddenly all you can do not to laugh out loud at the sight of him.

"I'm not sure you can slander other men until you finally start thinking with what's above your own belt," you chide, helping him wrangle his long, sooty-black locks beneath a headscarf. As always, you're momentarily distracted by how soft his hair stays, even though you know he does the bare minimum to care for it.

"I do think pink is definitely your color though, Mads."

"Shut up," he growls half-seriously. "We all do what we have to. A man's gotta eat, you know."

You snort. "Right. Because that's the old Madmartigan I remember. Always strictly practical, and definitely not getting in over his head robbing a rich man when he could find some honest work."

"Where at? A brothel?"

You move to slap his chest, but never make contact. It feels wrong somehow, now that his enormous false bosom is in the way.

Madmartigan sees the discomfort on your face and snickers. "Not to worry, Sweets. Your beautiful wife will return to you in one piece, trust me."

He presses a fond kiss to your cheek and turns around to the cellar door, ready to make a move on his unsuspecting target.

And promptly lets out a muffled yelp as you slap his ass.

"What the hell, Sweets?! What was that for?"

You smirk and make yourself more comfortable atop a large bag of flour, to wait out the results of his loosely formed "plan". Chances are he might have to call for backup if things get sticky.

"We women have to put up with that all the time from you 'lusty pigs'. Thought you should get used to it sooner rather than later."

"Insolent fox," he mutters, and hastily leaves, as if afraid you'll smack him again.

You might have, too.

Man's got a fine ass.

"Hold still, idiot," you scold as he flinches away from the wet cloth in your hand for the seventh time. "Do you want my help with that bloody lip or not?"

"I don't know why you're so angry," he grouses. "You're not the one that got their clothes torn off and beaten up for not actually being a woman."

"Oh, stop whining. You got out of there with the gold you came for and the other guy is worse off than you. And it's my dress that got sacrificed, so I think I've every right to complain." You gesture to the shredded pink material hanging around his waist, now the only thing preserving your disheveled warrior's dignity.

He at least has the grace to look momentarily contrite. "Right. I'll get you a new one."

You're slightly concerned by the fact that he doesn't explicitly use the word "buy", but decide to let it go for now. Many of the gifts he's given you throughout the course of your years-long friendship have shady origins, but it is the thought that counts.

And honestly, you're just glad he's not hanging up in a crow cage left for dead somewhere again.

His sharp eyes soften as he finally lets you finish tending to him. "Why did you really come along with me?" he asks bluntly. "I have nothing with which to bribe you, and you have built yourself a life here. When you made the decision to quit while we were ahead and go straight, I didn't understand, but I think I understand you even less now."

Not wanting to meet that deeply piercing ice-blue gaze, you study his lips instead, transfixed as ever by their perfect, sweeping curves. He can dress in animal skins like a barbarian and be constantly covered in ash and dirt, but the refined features of the noble knight he once was are never hidden completely, try as he might.

"I asked you a question, Sweets."

"Maybe I missed you, you boor." Unsettled, you smack him with the damp cloth and abruptly turn away to stoke the fire.

"Why?" You can't tell if he's genuinely lost or fishing for a particular answer from you. "You have a little bit of land, you're a respected herbalist, and I'm sure you've had more than a few offers of courtship since I saw you last."

Is that jealousy simmering behind his careless words?

You smirk over your shoulder. "Please. Herbalist is just two degrees south of witch around here. Men fear me."

He rises to his feet and comes up behind you, his large hands settling on your upper arms and rubbing gentle lines from your shoulders down to your elbows and back again. "I've missed being ripped to shreds by that razor-sharp tongue."

"Have you." You sigh softly as you lean back against his broad chest; without the barrier of one of his leather-and-fur shirts, all you can smell is him, a warm, welcome scent you hadn't forgotten in all the time since you last parted ways. Your bodies melt into each other with old familiarity, prompting a rush of memories of huddling together for warmth during long winters on the run, posing as husband and wife for hustling heists, his arm wrapped tightly around you on horseback.

All the little things that made you fall in love with him in the first place. The intimately shared moments that had made it so hard to leave him. But you had felt like you needed to protect your heart somehow.

After all, at the time he had seemed far more content to remain unbound to anyone, even you.

"I have another question," he murmurs, his lips now only a hair's breadth from the stretch of exposed skin at your collarbone.

"And that would be...?" You stifle a shiver, his hot breath skimming your neck and sending prickles of anticipation dancing across your body in all directions.

His cheek rests against yours. "That time I tried to kiss you, do you remember that night?"

Your hands tense, unconsciously grasping fistfuls of the torn dress fabric still hanging from his belt; there's a minuscule hitch to his breath at the sudden feeling of your hands at his hips.

"Yes."

"Why did you run away from me?"

The raw uncertainty running beneath that simple question makes you turn to face him again, acutely aware of the feeling of him against you, the hard muscles of his chest pressing into the softness of yours, his hands sliding down to linger in the curve of your back. There is no judgment in his handsome face, only a twinge of long-hidden hurt and real curiosity.

You reach up, tangling your fingers in his thick dark hair, loving the way the glossy strands slide across your skin. It's gotten so long, and your hands itch to weave it into slender braids like you used to.

"I'm pretty sure you were drunk, Mads. And I...I just wasn't fully ready," you admit.

"I still want you," he tells you softly. "I never stopped wanting you, even when you left."

You smile as he bends to rest his forehead against yours. "And I would still kill for you."

"Gods, you know it drives me crazy when you talk like that." He leans in even further, eyes dancing in the glow from the firelight. "How do you feel tonight?"

Your hands trail down again to cradle his face. "I think I'm ready now. I've missed you."

So you kiss him.

You're not surprised he's such a good kisser, but maybe more than a little startled that there's a real gentleness in him, a smooth temperance to his wildly passionate expression of love. And as the sweet reality of having him alive and solid and in your arms once again after so long finally sets in, you realize what you truly want with crystal clarity.

"Take this ridiculous thing off," you breathe as your lips finally part and you tug at his tattered skirt.

"You sure?" It takes him a second to figure out what you're really asking. "Cause I don't have anything else --"

You laugh and silence him with another kiss, guiding his hands to the laces of your corset and watching his expression change from one of surprise to warmth and hunger as he swiftly helps you undress.

#x reader #female reader #willow 1988 #madmartigan x reader #madmartigan #romance #sweet #humor #my fanfiction #willow fanfic #this was in my drafts #scoundrel #idk I think he's hot #sortafluffy #friends to lovers #there needs to be more fic about him <3

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failedintsave · 2 years

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🥶 for any couple you please! I'm terrible at picking ships for other people to write, lol (Gointothevvater)

[Send me an emoji and I'll write a drabble]

Picking a ship probably took longer than writing this haha. I didn't know what canon character ship you'd prefer so I tried my hand at some Ceelie x Pickles, hope you don't mind me borrowing your OC again, I adore her!

🥶- Cold

The multicolored swirl of oil skimmed the surface of gray puddles gathered in the gutter, dirty runoff washing from London's busy roadways even as the rain finally let up. Exhaust and petrichor filled the air outside the sold-out Hammersmith Odeon, but Pickles smothered the scent of either, lighting up another in a series of cigarettes and trying not to let the weather completely ruin the brand new red boots he wore. He hopped to the side, cursing as a bus pulled away from the curb, splashing filthy water onto the sidewalk next to him.

Ahead, laughter echoed off the concrete curve of the overpass as St. Cecilia rounded a corner, the sound like silver striking crystal stemware. Readjusting the hood of his sweatshirt to shield what was left of his melting hairspray, Pickles quickened his pace to catch her. He'd grabbed the jacket off the floor thinking it was his, but the length of the sleeves and the smell of perfume as he slipped it on told him otherwise.

"Tell me again why we couldn't jest get drunk in tha'hotel room? Why're ya draggin' me out in this creap?" He groused, turning sideways to dodge a man hustling past with an umbrella.

Snakes n Barrels' first global tour had taken them to a myriad of distant locales; from Tokyo to Toronto, Auckland to Amsterdam, they'd performed in every corner of the globe and burned down the house at every stop. Once, quite literally. He wasn't sure New Orleans would be hosting them again soon, but it had been one hell of a show and an even better after party. The French Quarter had certainly seen bigger disasters.

"Because," St. Cecilia called, spinning around to walk backwards so she could catch his eye. "I want a proper pint while we're here, and so should you!"

Truth be told, she always had his eye, from the first moment he'd seen her. Her honey brown gaze sparkled with amusement under shaggy, blonde bangs made slightly frizzy by the humidity. A coquettish grin curled lips painted purple, not by the late November chill, but with her favored lipstick. Pickles could almost feel their soft press on his palm, transferring the vibrant shade to his skin for the thousandth time before curtain call. It was fast becoming one of his favorite colors, second only to the lighter version that graced Ceelie's lips after he'd kissed most of it off.

She led him a few blocks further, through lingering mist and past shop fronts just beginning to adorn their windows for the Christmas season, stopping finally at a heavy wooden door. The lower half of the building was painted cream and trimmed in a deep green, the red brick of its upper story streaked with sooty marks and capped with decorative stone balusters. Square panes of lead glass flanked the door, obscuring the interior but for a warm yellow glow within. No signage named the building a pub but there was a murmur of voices and laughter beyond the walls.

"This should do."

"Thank Christ, I'm freezin' my nuts off." Pickles tugged at the hem of his hoodie, trying to cover his partially exposed midriff. He crowded in behind her as she reached for the door handle.

Rather than open it, St. Cecilia turned and placed her back against the wood, effectively blocking the entrance and quirking one dark brow at him.

"I thought the winters were terrible cold where you're from? Shouldn't you be used to it?"

"Jest cuz it's familiar don't mean I gahtta like it." He reached past her to open the door but she caught his hand, her slim fingers remarkably warm as she held his frozen digits.

"You poor thing. Alright, a quick round, then back in time to warm up." She pressed her lips to his fingertips, a mischievous sparkle glinting in her eyes as she gave one a tiny kitten lick. "The boys should be ready for soundcheck by the time we've finished, yeah?"

Pickles grinned crookedly in return. "Oh, I dunno. Might take me a while ta' thaw out after this lil' adventure."

"Not like we haven't made them wait before." Ceelie purred, dragging him inside by the hoodie's drawstrings. Even in a blizzard, that tone would always make Pickles melt.

#pickles the drummer #st. cecilia jameson #mtl oc #metalocalypse #idk what their ship name is but i think ive seen st.pickleson used? lol #thanks! 💜

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