Hiding my shirt that says 'i am not normal about narratives that imply an inanimate inhabited structure is a living breathing organism' as i walk into a board room and pitch my idea that we should make more horror revolving around living architecture

What do you think about “Mean Bodyguard Blade?” And this is my first send you a ask🥺

cw. mean bodyguard blade, reader wears a dress + bratty reader, fem! reader

bodyguard blade whose patience was always running thin whenever he had to put up with your sugarcoated "bullshit", as he referred to it— and you're wondering how long it will take tonight until he's losing his cool again.

keep in mind, he was in the right— because you can be such a little brat sometimes, with every intention hoping for an outcome like this, you're doing it on purpose and in your opinion there really was nothing better than seeing blade become terribly frustrated with you trying to see just how far you could push him until he snaps.

granted that he did like it, blade found himself downright mesmerized by the awful playfulness you made him go through on a daily.

bodyguard blade who can very well see the big droplets of tears slowly surface at the corners of your eyes when he presses you against the wall just after you managed to piss him off again— salty globules of crystallines boiling up and threatening to spill over until they'd end up slithering across your cheeks when he traps you against a cold wall, his muscular chest turning it impossible for you to find an escape route.

in all truth, how can he not entertain the lewd fantasy of punishing you for misbehaving?

when all you have done thus far was manage to turn him achingly hard, his dick wishing to just be inside of you that it burns him from the inside. it hurts so much, and blade knows you can take it, if you're doing your best and trying really hard.

would you be a little nicer to him as well? obviously after he forcibly turns you around and flips your dress up to expose your ass before smacking the flesh, feeling it jiggle underneath his palm, next to searching for your hole with his reddened tip so you could shut up for just a little while, yeah?

you're practically waiting for it, and the sudden stinging from his tip breaching through the soft patch of your hole shuts you up, only until he moves his hips forward with one single, deep snap— and you're arching your back and moaning his name unbearably filthy, focusing on the stretch of your tiny cunt.

you do not want to show him that you're enjoying it real good right now, also adore it when he's rendering you speechless with the size of his dick alone— because as natural as it was, you let your stubbornness kick in, "ahh— i don't feel anything.." you mumble under your breath, intentionally smug within your choice of tone.

you remind yourself that next time— you need to piss him off even more, because it's always a borderline delicious feeling when your bodyguard blade makes it his duty to remind you that, yes, he was employed by you and was supposed to be your protector— it still did not mean you were simply allowed to play violin with his nerves, nor turn him desperately hard when you're accidentally nudging your plush ass against his bulge or bite your bottom lip whenever he talks to you.

maybe even wear a skirt that was way too short for you, the fabric always exposing a slight outline of your behind.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

BED-REST IS BEST

howl pendragon x sick!reader | 2.1k

synopsis; while sophie and michael are away fetching you bone broth for your illness, howl decides to pay you a visit.

story warnings; sick!reader, howl is a pompous turd, book!howl-coded, interrupted kiss, roughly proofread, posted 2021.

Sophie supposed the malady came on the winds of spring, carrying with it all manner of sickness, unpleasantness, and turbid air just the thinnest tinge of green from particles of pollen. She herself felt the effects of the great thaw, the budding tulips of richest hue, and the haze that drew over head like a personal cloud of suffering all her own.

Of course, Old Sophie had a way of dramatizing, meanwhile simultaneously catastrophizing stuff, so you knew to listen to her words loosely, with a solemn nod that you also shared similarly in those feelings. To a lesser degree than her, you were already aware your forced bed-rest could be attributed to allergies.

Or, something else you considered, it could have been the number of sputtering children who yet not knew to duck their faces in a tissue or their arms; it could have been the last embrace you shared with your sickly aunt. It could have been so many things that you had to press the pads of your fingers into your temples to subdue the stab of a headache building beneath them.

“Michael and I are going to Market Square to get supplies and bone broth. That’ll whip you into shape in no time.” Sophie anchored her fists against the bulky layers of her skirt, nearly losing them from how deeply they sunk. “Don’t you dare think about moving until we get back, hear me?”

“What about customers?” you couldn’t say you were disappointed by her firm demand, though all the same it made you restless. Even in times where illness or injury got you down, rest eluded you like fine sand slithering through crevices in your fingers. “Howl went off and blew half our income on that- that, damn, what was it? Some kind of enchanted flute? The more customers we serve, the more we can stash away.”

Sophie’s nostrils widened while her shoulders sagged forward with her breath. Her eyes lost their hardness, ebbing into something far warmer, motherly, almost. As you shifted anxiously beneath the covers, she came back around and began tucking them under your body once again, sure to secure you tighter than before. In fact, you were so caught, so much in your cocoon that you only saw the gray ball of wadded hair pinned atop her head bounce as she rounded you.

“Just stay down you worrywart,” she sighed, heels tapping the floorboards in a collected gait. At your head, she was careful to fluff the feathers in your pillow. “Between us, I’ve been putting a bit aside here and there. Just enough so he can't go buy another one of those enchanted suits. I’d like to know the dealer he’s getting them from and have a word with them myself.”

Your lips curled up at the mention and, honestly, you believed she actually would. “Where is Howl, anyway? I thought he was around.”

“Good grief, I almost wish he wasn’t. He’s been banging around in his room for hours now.” Old Sophie threw her hand towards the adjacent wall, upper lip curling as she continued, “says a lot that you haven’t heard a lick of it.”

That was enough to get you to concede to her obstinacy, letting the weight of your head- suddenly a strain on your neck- fully rest atop of the pillow she had fixed. The more she talked about you needing to stay in bed, drink bone broth and saltines, the more you felt the lead in your limbs rooting you to the mattress and the world floating around you when you closed your eyes.

It was any guess to you when it was the moment Sophie slipped out of your room with that hobbled gait of hers. You had been vaguely aware of her giving your cushion a bit more lusciousness, and then warmth of her palm covering the space of your forehead, giving a fretful tongue click. Behind your heavy eyelids, your eyes floated after her tiny footfalls, but that at once made your bed feel like a boat crashing through cresting waves.

So, you finally resigned to your fate of her and Michael’s care, finally let the stone in your bones meld you into the bed like beige boulders sinking further into the earth and undergrowth with coming centuries.

The silence that surrounded you was enthralling, probably the only true amount of peace you had had in a long time, considering your days were often brimmed with mediating Sophie and Howl’s explosiveness, meanwhile, still cooking up meager spells and manning the business with Michael.

In your weariness and delirium, a thought crossed your mind in a drawl: what about Calcifer, did he need more wood? You anticipated his voice bursting out soon, imploring attention in any number of ways. What of the front door? You expected a knock to come soon, and then another, and another, and perhaps a dozen more. That was money well needed.

What of Sophie? Your thoughts continued. Would she need you to help with scrubbing the floors? Maybe she wanted to give you a knitting lesson later, or expand on her tutelage of weaving hats.

Oh, and Howl—

God, how could you forget Howl? The man felt like a job all on its own. 

Surely he intended to go out again and woo many of the loveliest in Market Chipping, or hell, maybe he’d move the castle somewhere else for the night to do that. You expected him to hunt you down, throw open your door, barge through the threshold with his hair aflutter and eagerness in his eyes—where did you and Miss Nose stash his suits? His guitar wasn’t where he left it, where was it? Neither of you meddled with the charm over his door, right?

As it turned out, you mumbled in your sleep, or at least in your discombobulated state. Your head rustled the feather pillow, lolling to one side and then the other as sweat prickled your forehead in cold beads. Behind your eyelids, Sophie’s nimble and darkly spotted hands worked on a suit, meanwhile Michael was ran ragged around the castle to try to fulfill orders, Calcifer bellowed for attention and eggs and bacon, and Howl’s hair whipped up in the breeze as he spun round and round with another lovely.

Your entire face twitched when a large hand smoothed across the top of your head, a damp weight of something laid spread across your forward, unpleasant and clammy unlike Sophie’s warm hand. “Hey. Don’t take the newt from the shelf, it’ll get on the floor.”

Howl gave a bemused smile that took a while to dissipate. You continued to babble incoherently here and there about things that didn't matter while the peaks of his knuckles simply rocked across your temple and cheek.

“I’ll keep that in mind. I pray that Sophie has made herself useful instead of sticking her nose in on us again.” He said with lightness in voice, peering across his shoulder towards the bolted doorway to be sure. “Good. She seems to think I only make you worse in these states. I would never.”

You were sure you were hearing his voice at this point, rousing you from the cluster in your head until your eyes fixed with his, wonderful and marble-like. They were softer than usual, glittering like the sea when the sun hung highest, making the water like a trove of dazzling treasure.

“Your eyes are amazing, Howell.” You whispered hoarsely, swallowing through the desert in your throat. “I don’t notice them enough.”

His smile took on something brighter, almost as though delighted you took notice of something that menial. “I would agree with you there! You can look as long as you’d like. Tell me more about it.”

“I think about us sometimes, Howell.” It was a strange feeling right now, the words you spoke were the first to float forward in your mind. You knew you were speaking garbled silliness, still you didn’t think better of it. “I remember college together, before we came to Ingary. I remember how you used to look before you… started doing the enchantment stuff. I feel like I’ve forgotten you.”

The lines in his lips were significantly deeper as they pulled down, his hand halted against your skin. It was either the thought that you felt such a disconnect from him, or the reminiscence of who he once was that brought the sullen look of his on. No longer was there a glitter of childish joy, but rather of anxiety, of concern.

“Nonsense. You’re talking nonsense just like Sophie and Calcifer.” He moved closer to you on the bed, rolling your arm from its spot as the mattress bent. Next, the pillow cradling your head flattened, his hands cuffed into the thick fabric as he leaned across you, your eyes only able to see him. “I… I’m still here. I have not left you, I wouldn’t entertain the thought. Didn’t I tell you that wherever I’d go from here on out, you would have to be right with me?”

You only wished he’d tell you such things in every other state of being, instead of during the peak of being bedridden. “I want to believe you, but in this world I am as ordinary as the hat makers and bakers. I’m replaceable. I wonder if that will happen one day.”

Noticeably distraught from the creases deepening around the corners of his mouth, and his eyes flitting wildly around your face as though in panic. He came down onto his elbows, caging you below him as his fear neared, his hot breath inches away.

“What makes you think I could ever replace you? Has someone put that bull into your head? Was it Calcifer—the pest? Was it a panderer we met the other day?” Now that he was so close to you, his voice had lowered and it rumbled. “Or, are you so sleep deprived, so loopy that you’re finally now telling me your heart?”

“Does it matter what I confess to you now?” you asked, pushing your head deeper into the feathers and farther from him. As you turned your face away, he shifted to gently coax your chin forward with the daintiest touch of his fingertips. “I would be alone in that venture. In a matter of five, six, ten years—I’ll have all the age and lines you hate. I’m sure I’ll shrink even more.”

“You do realize we have someone in our house who already looks like that.” He said this jokingly, of course, but even in your fever, your hand shot up to pinch his arm. “H–Hey, stop! Furthermore, you’re making up stuff, who would be to say you’d be alone with your heart?”

The explanation to that was obvious, considering the whole business with Calcifer and the Witch, but you didn’t want to think about it. In fact, at any opportunity to steer your mind away from that debacle, you found it.

Once again, you tried to look away from him—both sleep was beginning to weigh on your bones more than what you imagine Howl would if he were to collapse, and away from the furor gleaming in his eyes. And once again, he pulled you back towards him.

“Sick as you are, I’d like to prove it to you.” It was an unusual thing to hear from him considering all his caution with appearance and health. You wondered if he was desperate to alleviate your distrust. “Why are you looking at me like that? Close your eyes—yeah, I would rather not risk your germs, but some things can’t be helped.”

You weren’t sure if your eyes slid shut from gravity, or from some sort of internal desire for him to do this. Either way, his hand returned adjacent to the other near your hair, tugging slightly at the strands and his breath came so close you felt it tremble against your lips.

And then, all at once, his breath snagged in his throat as the door was thrown open, bouncing off the wall with such force it vibrated. In waddled Old Sophie, arms conveniently free of anything other than an old wood broom with long, spidery bristles that she held aloft across her shoulder, eyes blazing and the most malicious you had ever seen them.

“I knew I shouldn’t have left you alone with this dog! This cretin, vile imbecile! This complete, utterly hopeless dolt!” She screeched, the layers of her dress billowed behind her as she started into the room as fast as her creaky old limbs could. “Get out, get out, get out! Away with you, you absolute user! Away! Away! Away! Begone!”

Howl yelped in surprise as the tiny old lady swung the broom with enough ferocity for you to feel the air gush and whoosh around you.

“You demented old coot! Swinging brooms and the like around, are you completely classless?!” he propelled himself upright, expertly ducking her onslaught until he was well out the door into the hall. “I won't forget this!”

As luck would have it, their bickering continued on even once they were out of the room, even fifteen minutes later when Michael weaseled through the threshold with your bone broth and bolted the door behind him.

divider by @/anlian-aishang

reposted from my deleted blog officiallytheduchess/cardeneiv

TAKE US BACK || ZOMBIE AU || KYLE ‘GAZ’ GARRICK X GN!READER

Word Counter – 6.4k words

Summary – The new world was rotten, and you rotted away with it. 

Tags/Warnings – Zombie AU (heavily twd coded, don’t expect some l4d type of stuff /lh. Death and turning after the bite ARE slower, however. For the sake of drama. obviously), gore, blood, gn!Reader, established relationship, heavy angst, major character death. 

A/n – So, this fic is my contribution to the spooky season! Special thanks to @mockerycrow for helping me with the pictures for the header, you're the best, pookie!!! I have a playlist for this fic too, so in case you want to read this with complete immersion I’ll link it here. Enjoy <333

also available on my ao3

upd. if you saw that unfinished paragraph you didn’t see anything, move along 👁️👁️

“Kyle, I think…I think I’m bitten.” was all it took to shatter him into millions of tiny pieces. Just like that. Nothing mattered anymore, even that you promised each other to stay alive, no matter what. In the back of his mind, he knew all those promises muttered into his lips while he feverishly kissed you were empty, shallow attempts to silence his mind, to make him sleep in peace, thinking you’ll be there no matter what. And of course, he didn’t doubt your words even for a split second.

Kyle knew he was a fool to believe that. To think the two of you were inseparable. In a world like this, how could one even think of something staying forever untouched by decay that spread far beyond the horizon? Rot overtook everything, and if something was still untouched by it, soon enough that wither would find a way to slither inside, spoiling it forever. It would even find its way into people’s minds, ruining humanity in a manner no physical disease could ever hope to damage them. Kyle and you have seen it happen far too many times, and his only wish was for you to meet your end together, peacefully. But now…he only wished he had the strength to go on, he truly did. 

Because you needed him. Now more than ever. 

And so, he kept trying. If he didn’t then both of you would be done for. You didn’t deserve that, not when all he wanted was for you to be safe and well, not caring much about himself. You were the one who saved him when all the shit went down, now it was time to return the favor. So, he pushed himself through every agonizingly slow day. But he was starting to feel the already feeble remains of his strength slipping away from him. He wouldn’t give up, however. Never. Not when your life depended on it. 

That’s why while you were bedridden, weakness setting in your body as a permanent, bitter resident, Kyle was scouring the old town for fever and cold medicine, trying to be as quiet as possible, not to attract any undead. He had a gun, but he did not use it – too loud and bullets were a luxury, not a commodity. Kyle only had one bullet, following the advice of a nice older man with mutton chops he remembered meeting in one of the survivor camps a long time ago.

“Always save the last bullet for yourself or your loved ones. You never know who’ll need it more”

Methods aside, recent days were spent wandering abandoned houses in attempts to find at least some food for the two of you. Only when the darkness started to settle, Kyle would head back, throwing his backpack over the fence and barely managing to climb it, sore muscles and empty stomach sending jolts of pain all through his body. Even then, he was restless, sitting by your side, wiping your forehead of sweat, and taking your temperature. Your breathing was strained, chest rising and falling under thin blankets that barely kept you warm. And each time he looked at you for more than a minute at a time he felt his insides twisting in pain, eyes getting white-hot with tears, and throat closing, barely letting him take a short breath just so he doesn’t suffocate in his misery.

And then the sun rises, warm rays painting the room in a variety of colors, falling over your face, morning birds wake up Kyle from his nightmare-filled sleep. He jolts awake from the dreams, filled with the image of you, dying in agony over and over, crying out for help, begging him to do something. You get torn apart, your intestines spilling out on the damp floor, pulled out by a crowd of the undead who devour you with vigorous hunger, biting into your flesh until he can’t recognize your face from the bloody and mangled pulp that rotting hands and jagged teeth turn you into. Your raw, pained screams haunt him even when he’s awake, observing you lose your life all over again. Much slower and in a much more painful way. 

The sun rises. And so does Kyle. Your desperate pleas that drag from the dream are muffled as soon as he sees you sleeping. Forgetting, that you were getting weaker with each day that passed. Choosing to bask in your tranquil glow, in the way your eyelashes fluttered while you slept, choosing to neglect the worry clawing on the back of his mind just to stay like this with you for a little longer. Kyle knew he couldn’t delay the inevitable, but he still decided to make the best out of the short amount of time he had left with you. Hoping that some miracle would happen and you wouldn’t succumb to the decay. That the bite would turn out to be a bad dream you both had on the same night, waking up from it in cold sweat, searching for the comfort of each other’s embrace, while letting out relieved sighs, realizing that you’re safe. 

That would be great, wouldn’t it?

Instead, he shakes you awake with a gentle hand, almost not wanting to wake you up from your slumber. You blink up at him, looking even more tired than before you went to sleep. Circles under your eyes are even darker than the previous night. And Kyle is in pain once again. He wants to help you up, throwing your arm over his shoulder, to lead you through the long, silent halls of the school where you were staying, full of dust and damp, moldy smell, to have breakfast together. Like good old times. But he sees that in your eyes, you’re too weak to pull your weight up and stand up. So, he brings the heated-up cans of beans here, putting one on a stool in front of you, helping you to sit up before he even thinks of touching his food.

“Kyle, that’s twice what I usually eat.” You mutter, watery eyes rising to him, sitting on the mattress in front of you with his legs crossed. He raises his eyebrow and his head shifts to the side in a questioning motion.

“Well, you have to eat plenty to recover.” He said, matter-of-factly. You stay silent, unwilling to have that debate right now. You barely managed to stay awake as it is. Let him think that you’ll get better, despite everything you saw together. Despite every rule that you’ve discovered. Let him live in the illusion, in the waking dream that all will be well if he tries hard enough. “Well, what are you waiting for? It’s growing cold” 

You didn’t realize that you’d been drilling the can of steaming beans in front of you with your glassy gaze for the past several minutes, submerged in your thoughts deep enough to suffocate. You pick up the spoon with a weak, shaky motion. Then your eyes fall on the can. Somehow, you knew that you wouldn’t be able to pick it up. Failing at something so simple…you knew it’d hurt your pride even more. So, you opted to push the tin closer to the edge of the stool.

Kyle glanced over at you, beads of sweat glistening on your forehead. He sensed the fatigue from you, lacing the air that surrounded you and leaving dark, oily traces over anything your fingers lingered on. You breathed sickness. Your hands, which were able to easily bash an undead’s head on the wall just several days ago, now could barely hold a spoon steady without it trembling and threatening to fall, spilling all the contents over the moth-eaten blanket. He felt his heart squeeze in pain, and he swore that something shattered inside of him once again. 

“Let me help you.” Although it sounded like an offer, Kyle didn’t look like he was going to let you debate it, shuffling closer to you, taking the spoon from your hand in a swift motion. You purse your lips, knowing that protesting that would be stupid. If it wasn’t for how weak and sick you were, and for a lot of other circumstances, it would be a cutesy moment. Your dear spoon-feeding you something? Please, one’s teeth would rot from how sweet it is. But now it was just another deep, bleeding gash on your pride. Kyle blows on the food, cooling it off and promptly moving it towards your mouth with his hand cupped just under the spoon. You obediently clamp your lips around the spoon. “There we go.” He gives you a small smile, but you see the melancholy in his eyes when Kyle wipes the corner of your mouth with his thumb. He means well, yet you can’t help but feel like you’re a burden to him. 

You loathed being like this. Being this weak. Fragile. You were able to fend for yourself, you had resilience and strength, but now you were just rendered useless, only dragging Kyle down, depriving him of the freedom to go on.

He’ll die if he continues like this.

You knew it. He was exhausted, and you’ve been like this for a little over a week. Survival wasn’t about skill anymore, it was about luck. You lost yours already, the moment rotten, jagged teeth sunk into the flesh of your forearm like it was butter, drawing the first blood. But Kyle, he…sooner or later he will lose his luck too. And it was apparent that it was coming sooner than you anticipated. A bullet he won’t be able to dodge. An infected scratch. An undead that he simply didn’t notice because of how tired he is. A bear trap in the vicinity of someone’s camp. Something will get to Kyle. Or someone. And thankfully, you won’t be here to witness it. Hopefully.

 “What are you doing? Where are we going?” You barely managed to mutter out, clinging to him with all the strength you had, which, to be fair, wasn’t a lot. He could feel the cold of your hands clasped around his neck even through several layers of his clothes. Kyle’s hands carefully held you under your thighs as he went up the stairs, not showing any signs of exertion except for beads of sweat on his temples. 

“Just thought we might watch the sunrise together, like good old days” You could hear the soft smile that tugged on his mouth when he said that. Another reminder for you that he probably loathed the way you lived right now and would prefer to go back to the way things were. With you not being his…burden.

You didn’t need to be reminded of this. Of the “good old days”. Finding that abandoned farm, deep in the buttcrack of the countryside was what saved the both of you when the world started going to shit. You and Kyle met each other years prior, but it didn’t matter anymore. Not when everything as you knew it was gone.

Hiding there gave you a sense of normalcy you missed so much, after having to live for months, years like an animal. You didn’t feel like the world as you knew it was falling apart beyond that fence with cracked white paint. Deserted fields full of dead crops, empty house with a bunch of stuff forgotten or thrown around messily - it was obvious the owners wouldn’t come back any time soon. Snooping around gave you too much information - you couldn’t help but feel a bitter burn on the back of your throat when you picked up a framed family photo from the fireplace, five tan faces staring back at you with perpetual smiles etched into the glossy paper. 

You didn’t have the gall to throw away or burn everything personal the previous family left behind. Photo albums, children's clothes and toys, diplomas, drawings, letters, posters, and even something as small as shopping lists on the fridge, five life stories were packed into several boxes, taped and put in the attic. Kyle didn’t understand your wish to preserve something that wasn’t even yours, but he didn’t interfere, choosing to give you a hand instead. If it helped you to sleep in someone else’s bed calmer, replacing the presumably dead strangers, he was willing to indulge you.

Despite how far away from the civilization this farm was, seeing an undead roaming around wasn’t a very rare occurrence, but at least you could handle the occasional walking corpses. You wake up, you go on patrol. You finish patrol, and you meet the sunrise with Kyle by your side, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, with a blanket thrown over the both of you, sitting on the front porch, right on the creaking stairs. These fleeting moments felt so right. Like home.

Eventually, you had to continue moving. Started to run short on supplies ever since then. Running into all sorts of different people, relying on strangers, leading a nomad way of life. It wasn’t unfulfilling, since you only needed the company of each other to keep it together. In a variety of groups that you’ve been through it was always a known fact that you’ll stick by each other before someone else.

All he needed was your loving hug when you came back from a supply run. A soft kiss that you would put on that scar right on his cheek. Or to hold your hand under the table when you sat down to eat with whatever group you were with this week, like your love for each other was a secret meant only for the two of you. All you needed was his warmth, his comfort, his mere presence, that would light up your shitty day like a damn light beam. He managed to take your breath away each time he looked at you with such gentleness and softness that sometimes you didn’t think you deserved it. You’ve found the world in each other. A purpose.

So what is Kyle going to do when you’re gone?

The morbid thought suddenly crosses your mind, while the man carefully sits you down on a worn lawn chair with a soft grunt, plopping down on the ground by your side, warm palm reassuringly resting on your thigh. Bringing you down to earth. Gusts of frosty wind brush through your hair, nipping at your cheeks, nose, and ears. You missed the outside, despite it being quite cold and unwelcoming this time of the year.

“I think the herd's close. See that dust?” Kyle taps you lightly on your leg and points towards the horizon. And true to his words, there is a fine dark line separating the sky, burning up in a mix of reds and yellows, from the earth. “They’re moving weird.”

“What does that mean?” you croak at Kyle, not able to peel your eyes from that sheet of gray, bunched-up dust that sat on the edge of the horizon like a shadow.

“Means if we’re lucky they’ll pass the school.” Kyle mutters, trying to reassure you, giving your thigh a gentle squeeze.

And then it clicks.

When he came back from the supply run you were nowhere to be found in the wind-torn building. There were no traces of you in the old cafeteria on the first floor where the two of you would heat up the canned food that your taste buds got used to over the long months the end of the world stretched over. Before you got bit.

He felt his heart sink to his stomach, so nauseous from the mere thought of something happening to you. Kyle fought himself not to double over, press his forehead against the wall and throw up everything you two had for breakfast until he feels the acidic burn on his tongue and cries his damn eyes out from the pain. You knew that the herd was getting closer, why did you have to disappear right now? You two were supposed to wait it out together, by each other’s side. What were you doing, and more importantly, what were you thinking? Nothing made sense. Nothing at all.

Kyle felt the wall with an awkward, stiff motion of his hand, before putting his weight on it and sliding down, he felt like his legs could not hold him anymore. You barely had the strength to sit upright, where would you go in your condition? 

The only place he could think of that was close enough for you to get to was the motor inn down the street. Of course.

The herd was already here. Kyle had no time to spare, he needed to act now, to get you and run away as fast as possible. He remembered there was a car in that old motor inn, so that could be your getaway plan, sure thing he could figure something out…and to get there…He can use that old trick that another group of survivors taught you two. “If you smell like them, they won’t notice you, simple as that. Just make sure not to bump into anyone, or they’ll get real friendly with you.” Of course. It was that easy. You never resorted to that trick, preferring to avoid or dispose of the undead on sight. But desperate times call for desperate measures.

Kyle cringed at that sinking feeling in his stomach, but not at the thought of having to walk through the herd and probably be eaten alive, no. The possibility of you not being in that motor inn was what made that hollow pit inside of him grow. The fact that he might never see you again. Or that he would find you already gone.

He moves with calculated precision. Catch the undead’s attention, yellowish whites are dull under the daylight. Let it get close enough, it groans with each movement, joints snapping and clicking. Make the undead lose its balance, kick it in the knee, and the rotting leg almost falls off under the force that Kyle unintentionally applies. Destroy the brain, put a hunting knife right to the forehead, and let it thud to the ground, finally at rest. He’s thoughtlessly going through the motions, every step ingrained into his consciousness, almost like second nature to him. Rips through the stomach of the undead, black, resinous blood oozing out. Sinks his hands in the intestines, they smell so strong Kyle tears up and gags, hands shuffling around clothes caked with dirt and grime, swiping putrid, nasty mass all over himself. But it’s nothing. It’s alright. It will be worth it when he finds you.

After that, everything he remembers is under a thick blanket of haze, accompanied by the smell. You never get used to it. He feels nauseous, his insides twisting in worry, gnawing and biting at his heart like a terrified, desperate dog. His eyes grasp onto anything, but all Kyle sees is the sea of rotting flesh all around him, groans and moans of the undead so echoing in his ears loud all he wants is to tumble to the ground and end it all. He barely breathes with how tight his chest is squeezing his heart, it feels like in a split moment his insides will collapse onto themselves, capturing him in this meat cage. He has to remind himself that he’s not doing it for himself, he’s doing it for you, only for you. Kyle has to let his thoughts travel to your voice, to the way your nose scrunched when you laughed, to the frown between your brows when you slept in his arms just so he doesn’t go mad. Stares from decomposing, milky white eyes with yellows, blues, and reds here and there felt like stabs right through him, each could be the last if he gave himself away.

He could be grabbed by any of the half-rotten hands with sickly yellowish bones sticking out like spears of the cavemen, bitten, dragged away, or devoured. But he pressed on through the seemingly endless crowd of the undead. He would be lying if he said it didn’t affect him. That abandoned motor inn was like a beacon right now, but his imagination still ran wild, his hope growing more and more dim with each minute spent away from you. He didn’t feel like any hero. Kyle was scared. Mostly for you, but he could feel the tremble in his knees at the mere thought of any undead in the crowd recognizing him as an impostor. If that happens, he won’t be able to mutter even a single word. Rotten fingers will dig into his flesh, tearing it apart and Kyle will meet his end like this, on the damp ground, abandoned and scared out of his damn mind.

When Kyle pressed himself against the closed door of the motor inn, he finally could breathe in again. It wasn’t the time for a break, however. He still needed to find you. He wanders through the dusty, ransacked rooms in a daze, fixated on finding any traces you left, noticing the old rusty car in passing. The getaway plan. If the two of you are lucky enough. Footprints in the dust. They look new, and similar to the ones on the soles of your old boots. He follows. Your thin blanket lies forgotten on the stairs. Kyle practically flies up to the second floor, picking up the blanket, while he’s at it. More footprints in the dust, door to some old office is left ajar.

First, you felt the smell. Then you heard him cry out your name in surprise. And then you finally saw Kyle. He’s a blur of red, black, and brown. Covered head to toe with blood, guts, rotting flesh, and dirt, you presume. A sad, heartbreaking sight. Kyle, however, doesn’t mind it and immediately runs towards you, falling on the floor with a loud thud, and you’re sure he might’ve scraped his knees with how hard he landed. His arms cage you in a tight hug and you hear him let out a shaky exhale. Tears start to sting your eyes when you feel him pressing your head into his shoulder, stroking you with a gentle motion. You weren’t sure if he was trying to comfort you or reassure himself that you’re real, and not a fragment of his imagination. Regardless, you manage to reciprocate the hug, raising one of your arms and wrapping it around his back.

All of these days you saved up your energy for the last push. You needed to get away from him. You couldn’t trust yourself to remain near Kyle anymore. Any moment you could turn. You felt it in the way your bones ached with every gust of wind, how your blood boiled under your veins and your vision turned even more blurry. And in that case, you’d be a threat to Kyle, possibly getting him at his most vulnerable. It didn’t matter that you’d be long gone by then, you would still never forgive yourself if there was any possibility of it happening. Because, deep down you knew. No matter how skilled and ruthless Kyle was with handling the undead…he didn’t have it in him to bash your head in. So, you only had one choice to ensure his safety.

Yet he finds you. Here. You could feel your cheeks burn from being so angry at him, for his lack of acceptance that you were on the brink, and all it would take for you right now to fall into the abyss would be a light gust of wind or a slight shove. But you couldn’t blame him. You thought a lot about what you would do if the roles were reversed. The scenario brewed in your mind, haunting those short hours you were awake and trapping you in restless dreams.

You would want to live in illusion too.

“There you are.” You could practically feel something inside of you crack when you catch his smile beaming at you. Kyle just went to hell and back to get to you. And he still finds it in himself to smile at you, wrapping the blanket around your shoulders with hurried, but soothing movements. You were so weakened by the bite that you couldn’t even find any strength to go down the stairs and get the blanket when you dropped it. Humiliating. “Come on, we have to go, now, we can’t stay here.” He tries to scoop you up in a warm hug again, but you dig your heels into the ground. “Are you alright? Are you hurt?” he looks at you again, trying to catch what is wrong,

“No.” Kyle looks you over, eyes open wide, expression of confusion and sadness on his face. Of course, he doesn’t understand.

“You don’t…have anything on you. Then how, how did you even…” You didn’t have any grime on you at all, looking like you just walked through the herd of the undead without any preparation. But then his eyes trail lower and he sees it. Your left hand, cuffed to the rusty radiator. Suddenly the wave of terror cuts through him, like a fine, thin string through a block of fresh clay.

You came here to die.

“They stop paying attention to you once you’re far along enough. So…I guess that’s it.” He hated you for saying that. God, he hated you so much, he wanted to cling onto your body and suffocate you, arms wrapped around you in weak, pathetic attempts to shield you from any harm. “I…I don’t have any time left.” Kyle felt like he got punched in the gut. Air squeezed out of his lungs, wheezing in pain that he felt for you, because of you, chest aching, tearing apart, and baring his heart under the cage made of bones. 

“No. No, no, no, no, you can’t say that! Why are you saying that?” And for the first time, since Kyle saw the bloodied, ragged teeth marks on your flesh, he broke down into minuscule, fragile pieces right in front of you. His voice trembled, frantic and exerted, refusing to believe you even dared to make peace with the inevitable. He grabs your shoulders firmly and his fingers dig into you so hard he can feel how cold you are through your clothes.

Key. He has to release you from the handcuffs. The herd was here, the way the floor vibrated under his feet, and the way gargled moans and sighs echoed outside made Kyle even more agitated. Where did you get those handcuffs anyway? It only takes a moment for him to remember. One of the supply runs that feels like a lifetime ago. Police station. Searching the bodies, or rather, what was left of them, for anything useful. You take out the handcuffs and show them to Kyle, telling him some kind of joke. He can’t remember what it was or the way you smiled, only that you made him laugh. 

He wished instead of quiet rasping he could hear your laugh again.

“Where is the key from the handcuffs, where did you put it?” Kyle jumped to his feet and started looking over the room in a hurry, suffocated by the fear of losing you. He was wishing, hoping that you would show him where you hid the key, somewhere, anywhere, Kyle needed to throw you on his back and run right this moment.

“Fuck, listen to me, listen. To me.” you tried to snap him out of his delirium, with your harsh tone, freezing palms digging the bloodstains Kyle left on your blanket “You know what you have to do.” He shook his head wildly, looking at you like were mad for even suggesting something like this. “I don’t want to become one of them! You have to make sure I won’t come back.”

“Have you lost your damn mind?! I-” Kyle didn’t understand you. How can you say, make a request like this? Something was fundamentally wrong and the bite, the illness were to blame.

“Have you?” you interrupted, pouring all of your strength into this yelling match. You didn’t care anymore. You felt your fingers going numb, black, inky spots dancing on the edges of your vision, taunting you in their vicious dance macabre. You did not have time for his lame excuses and whatever it was he was trying to be right now. “I’m asking you one thing, and you can’t even do that! What the fuck is wrong with you?!” You couldn’t feel the way tears burned your cheeks.

“Listen to me, please! I’m not putting a bullet in your head; do I look like a fucking murderer to you?” Kyle pinches his brow in frustration, not even able to look at you right now. Every single suggestion and comment from you stings, fucking hurts and tears him open once again. Because you’re talking nonsense. Absolute bullshit. And you don’t even realize it, he thinks, blinded by your sudden chase after death.

“I’m fucking dying and you’re worried about not being a murderer? Are you being fucking serious right now?” You couldn’t believe your ears, quite frankly. It was the only thing that you had asked of him. The only thing that you wanted. To be finally released. You couldn’t bear it anymore. Your body working against you, living with the constant threat of turning any second, massacring and desecrating Kyle’s corpse as a bloodthirsty, disgusting creature, that will have your face, your body, your hands, and your voice, but not anything that makes you – you. No memories. No love. No inner strength and compassion. Just hunger and urge to slaughter, destroy, and ravage everything in your sight.

“You know that’s not what I meant! Why are you doing this right now?” Kyle felt like he was about to collapse into himself from despair. He couldn’t just do what you were suggesting. And you knew it, yet you chose to ignore it and refuse any acceptance? You always listened to him, even if you didn’t quite agree. You always were patient with him. What’s gotten into you now, what happened?

You don’t have any more time. That’s what happened.

“Oh, so I run away, trying to keep you safe so you live another day and see another one of these stupid sunrises, cuff myself here just so I don’t harm anyone and you can’t even do what I’m asking you to?!” Your voice rises to a volume you didn’t even know you had in you right now, after dragging yourself through the imitation of your former life for a little less than a week. To think your suffering so far lasted less than a week, yet you were ready to end it all right this moment.

Because you could feel it in your bones. You were close.

“Well, tell me, what’s the point of me living if you’re dead?!” You can hear the way his voice breaks in the end. Desperate. Pleading.

The silence rings in your ears with how loud it is. 

“I’m sorry.”  You croak at him after a short while, eyes trained on the dirty floor. Kyle chuckles, the sound that you love so much, but then it’s followed by a muffled sob. He kneels in front of you once again and your eyes rise to meet his. You can’t help but think that he looks even more beautiful covered in rotting guts, with his eyes full of light and love for a doomed failure like you.

It’s almost impossible to breathe from how hard your heart aches. God, you love him so much. You want to take all the pain from him with you, into the vile, putrid abyss. Kyle takes your hands in his. You’re terrifyingly cold. And he’s too warm. You feel tears rising to your eyes, prickling at them, as you fail at your attempts not to break down right now.

“I can’t stay mad at you when you make that face.” Kyle says with a small laugh that breaks into dry sobs, as his shoulders shudder violently with every single one, before he clings onto you, seeking comfort and reassurance, that you’ll be here. With him.

His embrace feels suffocating. It’s so tight you think any more pressure from him will break your bones into yellowish sharp daggers and fine dust. And you’d forgive Kyle if that happened. You’d forgive him for anything, quite frankly. Funny, how now you have the answer to what you would do if he was the one turning. You’d let him devour you wholly, in the ultimate show of love. You’d let him bite into you, whatever he wanted – neck, arm, a leg, he could have. You’d lay in the pool of your blood, muffling your pained cries by stuffing that worn blanket into your mouth. You’d slowly slip away into oblivion, letting your undead beloved gnaw on your bones and taste the love that would seep out of your flesh. You would probably turn a lot faster if that happened too. And then you’d be together for eternity. You knew Kyle always wanted you two to be together. Both in life and in death.

“I’ll wait for you. I promise.” You barely manage to squeeze a smile out of yourself to comfort Kyle, feeling your strength leaving you. Succumbing to the weakness that spread a dull ache over your body, to that festering rot inside of you, that was finally overtaking. You felt cold, thin digits of terror sink right through your chest, sweat prickling once again on your forehead and temples. There was no use clinging unto something that was unsalvageable. Your body and your mind were beyond repair. You knew it. Only he kept you here.

“Please…don’t leave me.” Kyle couldn’t feel anything besides the pain and hot needles jabbing his eyes. Your touch almost felt unreal, how weak, subtle it was. He tore away from you only for a moment, bloody palms cupping your face. His lips pressed against yours in a quick, feverish kiss, and even more pecks like this followed – to your forehead, eyelids, corners of your mouth, and nose. As if this would save you from inevitably losing the remains of your strength. As if you weren’t clinging to your last seconds with him as it is. “Please…please.” He whispered against your skin. His tears glittered like gemstones in the dim glow of the sunset. Kyle looked so beautiful like this. Yours.

He missed the moment when he stopped feeling short, warm breaths on his neck and your body started to get cooler to the touch. But he wasn’t ready to let you go just yet. A little more time, that’s all he needed. So, he lays your head across his lap, carefully, gently. Like he’s trying not to wake you up from a peaceful dream about places far better than this world. Kyle desperately tries to find that strength to make sure you won’t come back, to grant your last wish, but he just…he can’t. Now when you were right here, beside him, getting your well-deserved rest.

But you started stirring back to life unexpectedly, and just when Kyle wanted to say something, he realized, that it wasn’t quite you. The glazed-over eyes with a milky white cloud over them looked right through him, the blood that was dripping down from your nose, ears, eyes, and mouth after your brain finally shut off from the illness. The strained rasp, full of pain and hands that started grabbing and clawing at Kyle with crooked fingers, contorted into bizarre figures.

Kyle’s heart leaped down to his feet again in fear and he forced himself to push away your undead form, reaching out to him, pleading for something he no longer understood, as he crawled away, still facing whatever you turned into. If his heart wasn’t pumping blood through his body as fast he would’ve felt the small cuts from scraping his hands on the dirty floor. But his eyes were on what was left of you.

There were no traces of what he was searching for in this hollow shell, stolen from his love, stolen from you. Crimson trickling down from the mouth, the creature in your shape bares its bloody teeth and lets out a gargled moan, stretching the trembling hand towards him, demanding flesh, demanding sacrifice. And in Kyle’s mind, this isn’t you. This just can’t be. Absolutely not.

Kyle thought about the way you held him in your arms, while he gripped his shoulders in a tight hug. He thought of the way your thumb brushed over his knuckles. His thoughts traveled to the distant past, when you met him years ago in that summer camp, even before the world started rotting, only to be reborn a sick copy of itself.  He remembered your smile when you sat near countless bonfires. The way fire played in your eyes. Your old leather jacket, the tent in your old survivor camp, the older man with mutton chops.

It wasn’t long before a bullet was between his fingers, being drilled by his sharp eyes. Kyle sat there, silent, eyes trained on the gun in his hand, unable to even look at your cuffed undead. Contemplating. Letting his mind stir around, thoughts sticking to the inside of his skull, brewing and bubbling there, like heavy resin. Kyle’s heart sent waves of dull, ringing ache all over his body. His eyes were on fire, burning and raw from tears.

Nothing made sense anymore. Kyle’s endless search through his mind landed on another memory again. Survivor camp in the forest. Ring of mountains to the west. A woman with dark, brown eyes and a shaved head.

“Turning is not the end. They still harbor the memories of their former selves. They’re just prisoners in their own bodies. I know that it’s not the end for them, it can’t be.”

Right now, Kyle would’ve clung to any lie that would explain to him your state. He would’ve believed any tale. You can’t just be gone in an instant, just shedding all that made you yourself like a snake sheds its skin, or a bird picks out the old feathers. How could he ever accept that you were gone, like a puff of smoke on the wind, leaving no visible trace, only the gaping, bloody hole in his heart and years’ worth of memories in his head?

All he ever wanted was to be with you. In life and death.

A minute passes. Another one follows.

A single gunshot echoes through the valley, drowned out by the rumble of the herd.

Taglist - @mockerycrow, @stridersdiner

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midnight, car lights 🌃 // george daniel x reader

a/n: a second fic for the george bbf!au that's been plaguing me lately!! (a third one is coming soon). also happy 10 years of self titled <33 i'm scheduling this to come out at midnight uk time tihi

cw: none really, just fluff and flirting. maybe a very tiny age gap?? like 2 ish years

wc: 3.3k

“let’s go on a joyride.”

those words bounce around in your head like the dvd logo, said to you at 11:50 in the night—whisper-shouted would be more accurate. from under your balcony no less, like some fucked up iteration of romeo and juliet. 

so far you have failed to come up with a coherent answer for george who stares up at you expenctantly.

you lean over the railing, your curiosity piqued. "a joyride…” his words repeated back to him in a disbelieving deadpan voice. 

he nods eagerly. in his hands is a tiny heap of small stones—the source of the clinks on your bedroom window that had scared you half to death. when george follows your gaze, he drops the rocks hurriedly, dusting off his hands. 

“it’s a thursday night…” you point out. 

he clicks his tongue. “and you’re clearly not doing anything.”

your eyes narrow at his little jab. sure he’s right but come on now, he didn’t need to point it out like that.

“my brother—”

“is out on his ‘date’.” he makes a little face at that and you stifle the urge to laugh at how icked out he looks. clearly, some more questions that you need to pester matty with. but that’s for tomorrow. right now you raise an eyebrow at the way he cuts you off and finishes your sentences.

“my parents—”

“are asleep!!” his voice acquires a borderline whiny quality. “i checked!” he confirms proudly and before you have the chance to present him with further counterarguments, he throws his hands up in the air. 

“come on, little healy,” george’s grins a feral little grin, “scared you’ll get caught?”

you bite your lip, determined not to let him see your smile. it’s midnight, you’re in your pjs—an old ramones t-shirt and tiny shorts that barely come up to the top of your thighs—your hair is half out of your ponytail. in short, you’re the ugliest you’ve ever looked in front of george. 

meanwhile he looks like he’s just stepped out of an indie rock magazine—black skinny jeans, a black t-shirt that hangs loosely on him and yet somehow fits perfectly and his beloved vans. at this point, you’re sure george could wear just about anything and still look drop-dead gorgeous. 

“only a little drive? i promise i’ll get you back home in one piece.”

truth be told, you had made up your mind the first time he asked. a slow tingle of thrill slithers down your spine. the goody two shoes who’s never even smoked a cigarette before he came into the picture. about to sneak out the window at 11:56 pm. 

“okay,” you mumble to yourself. the small smile you’d tried to stifle escapes anyway. “okay, fine.”

george grins and whoops silently, fists the air in triumph. it does something funny to your stomach–his excitement. 

“hold on a minute,” you tell him before making a mad dash to your wardrobe for an acceptable pair of jeans and a t-shirt. 

the subtle nude lip gloss is inviting but you know it’s too much. he’s probably just bored on a thursday night and has nothing else to do. so begrudgingly you settle on a lip balm and brushing out your hair. 

it’s fine. it’s normal. and anyway, he’s not going to see you as anything more than matty’s little sister, so what’s the point?

another little rock clinks on your window followed by a soft whisper-shout. 

“hurry up!” the clear impatience in his voice makes you giggle but you look at the mirror a final time, smoothing out your unruly hair. this is as best as it gets. 

after all, this is not a date.

“can’t exactly fly out the window, george,” you respond drily as soon as he comes back into view. 

he looks around curiously, toeing the grass and pulling it loose with his shoes. you can practically see the wheels in his head turning, generating ideas that you don’t entirely trust… matty’s friends aren’t the sharpest tools in the shed—not according to you anyway—but once george gets an idea, it is downright impossible to deter him. 

“that looks good enough,” he mumbles but you catch it anyway, catch the spot his eyes are trained on and your stomach plummets about half a foot. 

“have you—have you lost your mind?!” you stifle your screech halfway through, looking at the boy in front of you like he’s grown two heads. 

george shrugs, looking the least bit bothered and points to the pipe next to your window. 

“it’s sturdy, look,” he gives it two firm raps with his knuckles. “and there’s the brick for you to grab onto. and i’ll catch you.”

the last part has your ears perking up. you look at him with a raised eyebrow. it’s only a floor. the ground below you is soft grass that’s regularly mowed and looked after. if you fall, the most that will happen is a bruised ass (and a bruised ego). besides, the alternative is to go your through the front door and risk waking up the whole house. 

“trust me!” he bounces on the balls of his feet, eager and impatient. 

george stuffs his hands in his pockets, veins on his forearms taut with tension. his colourful tattoos are a stark contrast to his all-black outfit. should you trust him? 

“if i fall—”

“you won’t!” he answers confidently. “i’m not going to let you get hurt.”

your heart skips a beat at how soft he sounds, mumbling the sentence more to himself than to you. a shadow of tenderness crosses his features, or maybe you’re just projecting. just a silly little girl with a crush on her brother’s best friend. a cliché. 

“can’t let my best mate’s little sister get hurt,” he clears his throat. and your heart drops in your chest. of course not. to him you are nothing but matty’s sister. ‘little healy’. 

“’course not,” you mutter begrudgingly and grab onto the pipe.

george stands below you, hands raised, neck craning to guide your steps down the exposed brick wall. there’s taking risks and then there’s whatever the fuck this is. regardless, you have put a disturbing amout of faith is george and now there’s nowhere to go but down. literally. 

the last few feet loom between you and the ground. your sweaty palms almost slip and involuntarily a whimper escapes you. 

“almost there, sweetheart,” george murmurs. that word snags in your brain. all thoughts fly away, and before you know it, you’re missing a step, foot slipping on the rough wall. there’s a split second of panic, the beginning of a scream that dies in your throat as soon as you feel a pair of hands around your waist. 

warm, rough hands on soft skin. 

george, holding you up. 

you’re practically pulled flush against his chest, wide-eyed and flushed from the almost fall. funnily enough, the vertigo intensifies the moment you look up into his eyes. they’re just as wide as yours, mouth parted as if he was about to say something. 

for a fleeting instant, time seems to stand still. the world around you fades into a distant blur as you and george remain locked in this suspended moment, bodies pressed close together, his towering over yours. his warm breath tickles your skin, and you can feel the rapid thud of his heart against your chest.

"are you okay?" george's voice is a hushed murmur, his grip on you firm yet gentle.

you manage a shaky nod, finding your voice after a few seconds. "yeah, i... i think so."

george's grip on you doesn't waver as he slowly guides you back onto the solid ground, his hands lingering on your waist for an extra beat before finally releasing you. you take a step back, both to regain your composure and to put some distance between the two of you. 

"thanks," you mumble, your cheeks burning with embarrassment. "i don't know what happened there." you giggle nervously, unable to stare directly into his eyes. 

"no need to thank me,” he smiles, “just glad i was here."

the two of you stand there for a second, the weight of the almost moment hanging in the air. then, as if on cue, george's playful grin returns, diffusing the tension like a ray of sunshine breaking through the clouds.

"good to know i can make your heart race like that, little healy," he begins with a teasing glint in his eyes.

despite the heat creeping up your neck, a small laugh escapes your lips, the tension finally breaking as you roll your eyes at his cheeky comment. "you're unbelievable, george."

“right then,” he toes a small pebble, stuffing his hands in his pocket. “shall we?”

his car is cleaner than you expected. 

sure there are some receipts and empty plastic bottles on the floor, even a jacket in the back seat for some inexplicable reasons but it’s nowhere near the pigsty that is your brother’s car. 

“in you go,” he motions, casually holding the door for you. internally you’re grateful that he can’t see your flustered expression. 

it’s a tiny gesture, barely even a gesture really—just a boy opening a car door for you. but he’s not just a boy. he’s george—the boy who makes you mad beyond belief and annoys you with the smallest of efforts. the boy who makes you stumble over your words. the boy who is your brother’s best friend. 

“my my, george,” you tease to cover up your flustered silence, “manners. when did that happen?”

george rolls his eyes as he closes the car door behind you, and you settle into the passenger seat. you notice the faint scent of air freshener, attempting to mask any lingering odors from the cigarettes he no doubt must have smoked earlier. you glance sideways at him when he gets settled in the driver’s seat, unable to hide the hint of a smile playing at the corner of your lips.

"believe it or not," george retorts, putting the car in reverse, "i do have manners sometimes. just don't expect it all the time."

another playful taunt crawls up your throat, about to make it’s way out of your mouth when george casually just does the hottest thing you’ve ever possibly seen. your heart is in your mouth as you try not to stare at his arm behind your headrest. george, oblivious to your freak out, focuses solely on reversing the car from its little hiding spot. his cologne—something warm and smoky—fills the tiny car. a space that is so overwhelmingly him that you have to swallow roughly every couple minutes lest you do something incredibly stupid. 

like grabbing his face and kissing him senseless. 

especially with how inviting his light stubble looks. 

instead, you pointedly stare out the window at the dull grey road beneath you. 

“scared?” he teases, misinterpreting your darting eyes. 

all you can do is shake your head. there’s no way you trust your ability to speak right now, especially as half of your brain is focused on not ogling his arms and hands. 

this was a mistake. this was a stupid, idiotic, avoidable mistake. 

“come on! aren’t you excited to do something reckless for once?”

you are, you really really are. there’s no denying it as the car finally maneuvers out of the parking spot and away from your house. 

you let out a silent sigh of relief. the tension in the air begins to dissipate, and you take the opportunity to relax your grip on the seat. you sneak another glance at george, this time allowing yourself to truly take in his features.

his bleached hair is tousled—just the right amout of effortlessly messy, and his full pink lips only intensify the butterflies in your stomach. george is beautiful—from the way his hands grip the steering wheel with confidence to his jaw that tenses as he focuses on the road. all of it makes your heart race again. you can't deny your silly little crush, can’t deny all the times you have wished george was anyone but matty’s best friend. that you actually had the courage to kiss him. more than that you can’t deny all the times you’ve wished he would kiss you first. 

“where are we going?” you clear your throat, distinctly aware of how breathy you sound. 

george shrugs. “maccies, i think. been really craving some milkshake.”

and then he has the audacity to snicker at your gaping face. “a milkshake…” you trail off, wondering if hitting him on the head would be taking it too far. “sure, good to know i risked my life for your milkshake cravings!”

“pfft,” he blows air, taking his eyes off the road and training them on to you. “admit it, sweetheart, you were ready to, oh what was it? ‘risk your life’ for the thrill of it. don’t lie to me now, i saw it in your eyes.”

there it is again, the little flutter in your ribcage at the s-word. george seems so casual about it too, throwing it around like it doesn’t bother him whatsoever. and maybe it doesn’t, maybe he uses that on every single girl he talks to. the thought curdles in your stomach. 

“fine then,” you huff, turning back to the window.

the mcdonald’s is a flurry of people—drunk and high students looking to satisfy their munchies, homeless people looking for a cheap meal and shelter. exhausted employees handing out orders with a dead expression on their face. you almost feel sad, making them prepare two milkshakes at this ungodly hour. 

you turn to george who is busy studying the menu with the utmost curiosity. 

“strawberry,” he mumbles to himself then turns to you. “or no, wait. banana?”

you quirk an eyebrow. “strawberry is superior.”

“which means that’s what you’re getting,” he replies and goes back to perusing.

“if you think, for even a second, that i would let you steal—”

“so territorial, sweetheart,” he teases, eyes still on the artificially lit board. “fine. two strawberries then.”

george places the orders, giving the cashier his winning smile and handing over some cash. she perks up slightly, eyeing him through her lashes while george leans against the counter. a sudden heat burns through you, wild and unpleasant. 

heartburn, you tell yourself. the milkshake will fix it. 

or maybe not looking at george being flirty would fix it but oh well…

so you turn around, finding yourself an empty seat and leave him to bring over the drinks. 

minutes later, you almost jump out of your skin when george places the cool take-out container against the nape of your neck without warning. 

“real mature, george!” the shriek causes a few people to throw distasteful looks your way but he looks absolutely unbothered and oblivious.

“such a grump,” he snickers and motions for you to follow him. 

armed with your milkshake, you settle in the car once again. the car park is almost dead at this hour of the night and you wait for him to start the car back up, for him to tell you what the next steps are but george only taps tirelessly on the steering wheel. a complete 180 from five minutes ago.

tap. pause. tap tap tap. pause. tap. pause. it’s restless and rhytmless; not like his usual tapping where he’s lost in own tune. his milkshake sits untouched, condensation dripping onto the dashboard. 

you wrap your lips around the straw, sucking on it noisely, sipping on the sweet, cool liquid while you observe him closely. “something’s on your mind.” 

your statement makes him blink. so you’re right then, something is on his mind. he’s more fidgety than usual. in the stillness of the night, his thick swallows and knee jerks are painfully obvious. 

“what’s up…” you trail off, unsure if pushing him would be the right move. 

“there’s this–well. i want to–”

“this is new.” the amount of glee in your voice should be disturbing to you but you can’t contain it. because it is new. 

you’ve seen george be arrogant and annoying, laddish and even on occasion, sweet. but you’ve never seen him be shy before. 

“shut up,” he mutters to himself, then sighs loudly. “okay fine, it’s better if i just show you.”

you follow his movements inquisitively, his imperceptibly shaky hands as he takes out his phone and opens up a non-descript recording titled track 11

his phone screen illuminates his face in the dimly lit car as he hovers over the audio file. the soft glow casts a warm, intimate ambiance, making you acutely aware of how close you are to him in the confined space. your curiosity and anticipation mount as you wonder what he's about to reveal.

"i've been thinking about this for a while now," he clears his throat, finger lowering to finally click on the file. "and i want to share something with you."

at first, nothing happens. all that comes out of the speakers is static and then some more static. but just as you're about to speak, the car is filled with the opening notes of a song—one that instantly tugs at your memory. It's a tune that you have heard before, at different points in time. it's the song that matty’s hummed to you on days you were ill in bed, a song you heard them play at band practice. it’s a song that george and matty laboured over for days. the one that brought you all closer together.

and now it sounds all put together. the final piece of the puzzle locked in.

matty’s voice is stronger than you’ve ever heard, adam’s guitar and ross’ bass sprinkling magic onto it. and then there are the drums—precise and clear and passionate. just like how george drums his fingers on his lap now, matching the beat of the song.   

when the song ends, there's a brief silence in the car. the weight of the notes and the sincerity in his eyes hang in the air, leaving you breathless.

"george," you finally whisper, "that was..."

“we finished it,” he smiles, looking down at his lap. “so we recorded it…”

“it’s…”

there you are once again, at a loss for words. almost certain that there might be actual tears in your eyes. 

“that was…”

“shit? derivative? lousy?” he tries to laugh it off, covering up a vulnerable moment with his jokes but you’d be damned if you let that happen. 

“perfect.” 

the words echoes around the car resoundingly. there’s no challenging your opinion. the song is perfect.

“and you listen to me once and for all george daniel, if you call that song names in front of me one more time, if i hear you call it shit and derivitive and lousy again—”

before you can finish your sentence, george leans forward, crashing his lips onto yours. there’s a crackle of electricity in the air around you, the slowing down of time as if you’re having an out-of-body experience. as if you are a fly on the wall watching two people giving into the magnetic pull between them. but george cups your cheek with his hand and you jolt back into your body. 

his lips are cool from the milkshake but the kiss is searing hot, teeth clashing against teeth. your bodies trying to get as close to each other as possible despite the gearstick between your seats. george tugs on your bottom lip, smiling wide as if he can’t help it—grinning ear to ear.

by the time you pull away, you’re both breathing heavily—practically panting. he doesn’t pull back entirely, instead he keeps his eyes closed and his forehead rested against yours. the grin stays on his face. wide and gorgeous and making him look so boyish. 

“um,” you start and break off into a quick laugh. 

"i've wanted to do that for quite some time now," he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.

“yeah?” 

“yeah.”

with some hesitation, george lets go of your face, opening his eyes to look at you a second later. 

“damn, sweetheart,” he sighs again, chuckling a little. “this is turning out to be a great joyride, huh…”

lemme know what you think <33

taglist: @scooby-doodoo, @partoftheairforce, @beachesgetpeaches, @justgoatsbreakinghearts0855 @beachesgetpeaches, @you-muppet, @mcabister, @alexmarie29, @at-her-very-foreign, @hfkait, @squishysoupy

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WOW!! im that anon that got rambly and wrote rhat lil thing im glad u liked it that much!! maybe ill post future ones since i have lots of wips and. ill just do that since its also easier to read instead of yknow reading it from an ask lolol - also i hope ur doin good!! (btw ofc your works are DELICIOUS too i love everything u make 😭😭 especially ur law works cause... u write him so well,, waiting on the next part of silent reaver no pressure tho!!)

but uhmm,, about virgin law,, (all the other asks have been amazing so far btw 😤😤) idk if u accept doubles,, but feelin really soft and giddy today so this is more fluffy than smutty- what if soft and tender aftercare,,, warm, lovely, sweet cuddles,,, he looks at u like a little puppy with a cute tiny smile after ur both done and awkwardly requests "uhm... c- can I hug you?" laying there on his side, looking at u with the most vulnerable eyes u've ever seen and he just, looks so adorable like. must hold and pamper him with kisses and praises, must tell how much u love him. mustn't let him go. (I WANNA BITE HIM AND TEAR HIM TO SHREDS affectionately must cuddle AGGRESSIVELY)

Ok so like I said earlier I’d get to answering this!! And Ik nobody else saw it from the ask I posted but your blog theme is so cute!!!! Please post whatever other Law stuff you got bc that other one was SO good!!! <3 Anyway… here’s a lil scenario for this:

Warnings: kinda short but still sweet, a little nsfw but it’s really just them cuddling and being in love. Implied(?) afab reader

The room is hot, air thick after all the things that had just occurred within it. Law’s mind feels clouded, and yet so clear at the same time- he’s completely blown away by the events from just moments ago.

You’re laid against the soft sheets of his bed, naked body glistening under the dim lights. There’s a satisfied smile on your lips, and you look very content. Your legs are barely spread apart, but it’s enough for Law to catch a glimpse of his cum pooling out from you. A mess he’d have to clean soon.

His body is exhausted and numb, you taking his virginity having done a toll on him physically. But contrary, his mind is entirely awake, buzzing with thoughts about how good you felt, how beautiful you looked, and how pretty the noises you’d made -because of him- sounded.

You look so peaceful, and yet, something about your body language indicates you’re wanting something more from Law. He’s never had to perform aftercare before, so Law’s unsure of where to start. But he figures, a hug can’t be a bad place to start with, right?

“Y/n…?”

Your eyes flutter open, and he loves the way you gaze at him just now. “Yes, Law?”

“Can I… h-hug you?” He asks, meekly.

You giggle, shuffling yourself closer to your boyfriend. Wrapping your arms around him, you kiss Law and run a soft hand over his back, soothingly. “Course you can. You don’t even need to ask, baby.”

He nuzzles his face into your neck, goatee brushing against the skin of your shoulder. It’s a pleasant feeling, your body tingling with want once again. Though, you’re too tired to go for a round two, you think.

Law’s arms slither around your body, hugging your waist and pulling you closer to him. He inhales your scent, still able to smell the lingering scent of sex. But then there’s just you, and Law can’t get enough of that.

“I love you,” he whispers, voice small and muffled against the skin of your bare shoulder.

“I love you too, Law,” you tell him, moving the hand that had been on his back tattoo up to his soft raven hair, fingers playing with the locks to soothe him.

Something about the way your bare body is flush against his, still warm from the physical activities, sweat lingering on the both of you. Your plushy chest pushed into his tattooed one, your soft legs wrapping around his long legs, the way he can feel your lips smiling against his upper neck. Law’s completely and utterly obsessed, loving this feeling despite being so tired. Though the doctor in him wants to get up and clean, take care of you and perhaps take a shower even, Law can’t bring himself to disrupt this moment between you and him, wanting to stay here in your loving embrace forever.

The cleaning part of the aftercare can wait until morning, can’t it?

oct' 18 x picking apples

Prompt: picking apples Pairing: sequins!joel miller x gn!reader (A/N: main series Sequins is written as female, but here they're written gender neutral) Word Count: 508 Warnings: fluff, just domesticated fluff Summary: is this head canon for sequins!joel x reader? I'm not sure, but I wanted some domestic fluff and this just came out of that and a new addition for the miller household. thank you @gnpwdrnwhiskey for the image of grumpy joel at the apple orchard.

x. masterlist

“Tell me again why we’re picking fuckin’ apples when we could just go buy a bag from the H-E-B for half the price?” Joel asked as he looked down one of the many rows of trees that filled the orchard.

You smiled as you turned to him, shielding your sunglasses-covered eyes from the glare of sun that cast its warmth over the orchard. “Because it’s fun,” you replied.

He raised an eyebrow, “Darlin’ I can think of half a dozen other things that are more fun than drivin’ an hour out of town to buy more apples than we know what to do with.”

“Sarah wants to make apple pies this afternoon and apple butter.” You added a couple more apples to the basket you’d been handed on the way in.

Joel muttered something under his breath before you heard him say, “H-E-B sells those too, ten minutes from the house as well.”

You didn’t need to turn around to know he had a smirk on his face and he was actually enjoying himself despite his complaints.

It had been an event just getting you all out of the house that morning. Much like all the fall expeditions so far, they had been at the planning of Sarah. The night before her enthusiasm over dinner had led to a plea for you all to wear plaid, really get into the autumnal mood despite the warm temperatures of fall. 

Your yellow plaid was tied at your waist, one too many layers for you, Joel’s red plaid was hidden under his jacket, zipped up and the barest slither of it to be seen.

He came to stand beside you and you took a moment to take him in. He looked the same as always, rugged and handsome, some extra grey in his beard this year, a little more tiredness in his eyes, but there was something all so different today.

Something so new, something very much unplanned, a small addition to your fall traditions this year, and also the impetus of Sarah’s ramped up fall enthusiasm this year.

“You're really getting the hang of that, aren't you?” you remarked as you gestured to the slight bulge that could be seen beneath his coat.

Joel held out his arms, a mock-serious expression on his face. “I believe I've mastered the fine art of baby-wearing.”

You chuckled and leaned in to give him a soft kiss on the lips. As you pulled away, your eyes met, and you felt that same magnetic pull, the same indefinable connection that had existed since the moment you both met.

Sarah, retuning with her own basket, pretended to gag. “Guys, please. We're in public.”

You laughed softly as the both of you looked down at the tiny bundle cradled against his chest as she let out a tiny yawn.

Joel grinned, his gaze still fixed on you as he moved closer until your foreheads were pressed together. He groaned in mock frustration, “If it’s not the big one, it’s the little one.” But the smile that lingered on his lips told a different story.

What do you think of Scream Tail? I can't get over the prehistoric Jigglypuff

One of the most underrated funny things about Scream Tail here is that Jigglypuff lulls people to sleep with its singing, so what does this thing do? Scream at the top of its lungs. I really wish we could've gotten some focus on that in the 'dex or gotten a cry that references that, because it's by far the best part of this Pokemon.

Anyway, design-wise, Scream Tail isn't the strongest of the past paradox Pokemon, but it's not bad either. In some ways, I actually like it better than regular Jigglypuff; the contrast between the lighter pink of the body and the darker pink of the tail/hair, which is shared by the blush cheeks, gives it a much better sense of contrast then regular Jigglypuff. The dark pink on the tail also draws attention to it, as it's the part of the design that's the most different than regular Jigglypuff.

I also like some of the little details in this, like the extra fur around the ears or the legs now having little toes to them. It also has a bit of a tail, though the way it doesn't touch the ground is a bit odd. I think I would've liked something a bit longer and more Chansey-esq there:

I also feel like the lighter yellow eyes and tiny fangs give it a fierce yet cute aesthetic that somehow manages to be cuter to me than OG Jigglypuff does.

If Scream Tail has one problem though, it's that it feels a bit directionless. Most of the past paradoxes have a specific theme to them—Koraidon is a feathered dinosaur, Slither Wing retains a nymph-like stage, Sandy Shocks has legs, etc.

With Scream Tail, it has a long tail/hair, and it also screams, and it also has fangs, and it's overall just kind of unclear what they were going for with it, resulting in a visually interesting but ultimately disconnected design. Maybe if they tied the tail back into the screaming thing, like it unfurls and emits a psychic scream blast or something like that.

So as a whole, Scream Tali has a perfectly nice design with some good contrast that arguably looks better than original Jigglypuff, at the cost of having an ill-defined concept in favor of some vaguely prehistoric unrelated elements. It's good—it just could've been better.

Also side note: this thing supposedly being over 1 billion years old makes it older than all multi-celled organisms and I think that's unintentionally hilarious.

Azul 21

Summary: The potion he drank wasn’t the right one. Azul is stuck in his room but you come in, just to humiliate him as punishment for trying to take advantage of you while you're sick.

(Prefect is cruel. You have been warned. Also writing is kinda sporadic but I think it's suiting given the situation.)

“Did you really think hush money was enough to get me to forgive you?” You walked through the door as though it was your own room. You even locked it, clicked it closed as Azul writhed in the nearest corner as though it can make him disappear. “Trying to bind me to a contract while I was sick. You really think I would be that dumb?”

You switched the potions. Azul drank it at his scheduled time so he doesn’t suddenly transform on land, but here he is anyway, in his bedroom. He hasn’t exited his room. Can’t. He has to wait for the potion to be delivered to his dorm and it won’t be here for a good week. You can’t just make them. They’re specially made.

What Azul would give just to get his hands on the recipe so these kinds of things don’t happen.

“Please leave.” It was a useless plea, a weak demand Azul is in no position to make, but he had to say it. What else can he do?

But you walked closer anyway, pushing the heavy, thrashing tentacles of his aside with a shoe as though nothing more than annoying pieces of trash. A tendril slithered over your ankle, tried to wrap around it just to feel the weight of your existence, but you grabbed it, dug your nail into it, and ripped it far above your head.

His skin strained but the pain wasn’t registering in his head. All that was ringing inside it was how naked he felt as you teased at a suction cup. Azul wrapped himself up tighter. There was nothing good to see, nothing he can present or give to you that anyone would like, let alone the one he wishes to please most.

He can’t look into your eyes. He wishes for them to hold that spark of care but he knows there won’t be such a thing. The fact you’re touching him gives his dumb body joy, but it’s not with a caressing hand.

“If you’re going to see me at my most vulnerable, isn’t right for me to see yours?” Even with the added mass to his size, somehow you never fail to make him feel small. Tiny. Insignificant. Like anything he’d try to do would end in futility. This confidence, this power that laid in your magicless body, how dearly Azul wanted to make that his own.

Perhaps, if he can get you to love him, maybe he can get closer to loving himself?

“Well, come on,” you forced his tentacles to split down the middle as you knelt, further pushing him up against the wall, “spread yourself. Show me all the little bits of your anatomy. I got pictures to take so you don’t try that shit again.”

It is because he knows he deserves this cruelty that he obeys you.

a/n: hehe i saw @eijirhoe + @kazuwhora dom!reader event and just had to join. i present a sort-of cut scene from my levi anthology fic.

content/warnings: edging (m!receiving), mommy kink, a little degradation, breathplay (m!receiving), sub!Levi, bondage (m!receiving)

wc: ~.7k

Levi is trapped in an endless loop. You reeling him up tighter and hotter and louder until he’s there, right there, before you take it away and build him up all over again. It’s gone on so long that he can’t remember when you even started—it’s been hours. 

Heat pelts off your bodies, like a sauna. Where your bodies are connected is slippery and hot to the touch. There’s barely any friction left, so it’s all just wet.

 The air tastes of sweat and sex and Levi’s small whimpers, his cries. He’s even begging. 

You don’t think he can help it, just as the headboard rocks and snaps every time he yanks the cuffs. His fists clench and twist uselessly, searching for any purchase on anything.

His cock is fat and throbbing inside you. Your hand slips up to hold his neck like a necklace that’s far too small, and he jerks.

“I’m-I’m gonna come.”

You cease your light rocking and press down on him a little more. “No you’re not. Not until I let you.”

He moans, wet and defeated and broken around the buzz your hand gives him, and surrenders. Shapeless warm things whirl about behind his shut eyes, making him loose and thoughtless—what’s left is you taking his earlobe between your teeth, and your cunt swallowing in his cock, working him until he keens. 

A step away from too much you let him go, and a heatwave rolls over his cock.

“I can’t!” he gasps. “Fuck!”

Your thumb flirts around his plump bottom lip, then dips into his mouth. His lips close automatically, sucking around it without thinking. 

“Can’t?”

He whines at the sound of your voice. You sound so innocent. Maybe he moans, or you, but who cares when it’s too much effort to feel embarrassed by it?—Not when you talk like this, dragging your words and sounds like hot syrup. 

He’s helpless and he knows it. Saliva pools at the sides of his mouth but he just keeps sucking. He also knows you have him perfectly taken care of.

“Can’t what, sweet baby?” you go on. “Is it too much?”

Your thumb pops out of his mouth. The smirk decorating your lips makes him beg, please, but then you rake his bangs back and his eyes pinch shut, plump pink lips gaping.

“Please what, Levi? Tell me.” The bed creaks. “You wanna stop?”

“Please. Please, please—mommy, please–”

You groan, your cunt fluttering around him, but Levi is louder. His chest heaves and he curls his toes so his hips don’t rock, or like earlier, jump up to fuck your cunt. If he misbehaves, you won’t let him cum, and he can’t not. It’s all he can think about.

But the way you brace yourself using his chest so you can fuck yourself on his cock—that sharp shift in weight is enough for him to flirt with the edge again.

He can’t shut his mouth; sounds fly from the top of his throat. That rush of pleasure that’ll flip his world upside down darts behind his eyelids, so forget his embarrassing noises. He’s right there.

Your teeth flirt with his sweaty neck—“M-Mm!”—and you murmur in his ear, “Tell me how good it feels, baby, and I’ll let you come.”

Thrill shoots through his belly. “It’s good,” he mewls, “It’s so good, it’s—d-don’t fucking stop...!”

Then you go still on top of his cock. He's actually going to cry. 

“Nu-uh, you can do better than that.” Your hand slithers up his heaving chest until your thumb and pointer finger close around his throat again. 

His head falls back, each gasp shuddering. You raise a brow and squeeze, just enough to feel his adam's apple bobbing, and his sharp jaw draws rigid again.

A cracked, broken sound dies at the top of his throat. “It’s so fucking good. Please,” he tries, and he’s trying—so, so hard.

“Is that all? Am I fucking you so hard you can’t even think?” you huff, nudging your hips forward in tiny rolls. 

“Uh-huh!” If he agrees to whatever you’re saying, maybe you’ll let him come. “M-Mommy.” 

Wetness sticks to Levi's lashes, which you lick off his cheeks. “Give mommy s’more.”

“Fuck.” He plants his feet flat and sobs. His eyes, cracked open into light blue slits, beg you. “I can’t.”

“Hah, awe honey—you’re my good boy, of course you can.”

| levi masterlist | main masterlist |

I am sure at this point I have made volcanic deserts sound absolutely miserable, at least that is my hope. They are one of those fascinating biomes that are incredible to read about, but are utter torture to actually visit. The rough sand, shredding rocks and endless storms, they are all just too much to deal with. Of course my studies have taken me to these ecosystems multiple times, and I have to say I hated every one of them. Sure, there have been amazing things to see and study, as the flora and fauna there are incredibly unique, but that usually only happens during the five minutes a day you get where you aren't desperately trying to survive. It isn't a whole lot of fun, I will tell you that! While the wildlife of these lands are an amazing thing to witness, there are times when they are the last thing you want to see. I have already talked about my encounter with a flab rat, and I am sure you can still see that story on my leg, but that incident is just a shallow weed compared to the other things that roam this land. I certainly aim to see as many creatures as possible, but there is a beast found in these volcanic deserts that makes the list of "Creatures I never want to see while they are alive." In this case, I am referring to the Fuldruk, or Lightning Wyrms. I know there is much confusion about what is and is not a true dragon, but this species is absolutely a member of the true dragon family. They belong to the group that split away from the whole winged design and stuck with a more serpentine route. Though they are very snake-like with their insanely long and flexible bodies, you will notice that they still possess limbs. Four stubby legs are all they got, and I am pretty sure they are only used to assist with scaling obsidian spires and for grooming. Those limbs are barely used for walking, as they just slither about on that serpentine body of theirs. Though it is quite flexible, it is also heavily armored, allowing them to survive the grating sandstorms and sharp rocks. If you tried rolling over the same things they do, your bark would be sanded down to the pith. Along their bodies is also a dorsal line of glows spikes, which lead into clusters on the head, above the two pairs of limbs and on the tail. These structures actually house special organs that allow them to generate and store electricity. The tiny ones obviously hold minute amounts, but the large clusters is where the real power is at. You can tell when they are charged up by the blue glow that comes from these structures, as the brighter they are, the more electricity they have. I would say that if you ever see a Fuldruk glowing so bright that it hurts your eyes, stay far away. However, even if their bodies were pitch black, I would still advise to not be anywhere near them.

This incredible amount of energy is no doubt used for defense and offense, but it also fuels their senses. If you were able to get a closer look at their heads, you would notice that they have no eyes. Indeed, the Fuldruk is blind, but that hardly seems to matter to them. The glowing cluster on their head is able to release electrical pulses that allow them to navigate their environment and locate prey. And since these spikes are super hard and sturdy, they fare a whole lot better in these grating sands than squishy wet eyeballs. This sense allows them to find food even if it is buried deep within the dunes, or if it is trying to retreat into a darkened tube. It doesn't matter where you hide, because the Fuldruk will find you, and that is when the trouble begins. A quick look at those teeth and you should already know that this species has a taste for meat. Though those jaws are quite thin, the material they are made out of are rock solid. Powered by strong muscles, they can clamp down on prey and hold on tight, but chewing is not their forte. Instead, they use their pincer-like tails and serpentine body to help tear chunks off. The tail may hold food down as the head grabs and rips, or they will just grab hold of a meaty piece and start spinning into a death roll. In truth, this slender beak is designed to plunge through deep sand and seize buried prey, striking so fast that the victim doesn't have a chance to flee. Their diet consists of pretty much anything that has meat, though there are a few things they don't bother with. What defense the prey has usually doesn't matter to the Fuldruk, as they seem to have an answer to any problem. The thin mouth cuts through sand or can target chinks in armor. Their long bodies can constrict and crush, cracking open armored foes like a nut. And for anything else that dares stand in their way: lightning.

Obviously the name "lightning wyrm" gives away their most potent ability, but that spoiler certainly doesn't downplay their power. With high amounts of electricity coursing through their bodies, Fuldruk are capable of incredible destruction. They can catch prey in their coils and then unleash a sustained shock to fry their prisoner. They can charge their spikes to zap those who are jabbed by them. Their tails can be lit up with an insane amount of energy and then snip prey in two with these charged blades. From their heads come their most famous move, where they dump electricity into their quivering jaws. A quick snap of teeth and a blaze upon their head clusters, the Fuldruk will fire off a literal lightning bolt from their mouth! The damage this causes should be quite obvious. If you didn't pop on impact, you will be a smoldering cinder shortly. Even if you aren't hit by it, the resulting thunderclap could knock you off your feet! With abilities like this, you can see that Fuldruks rarely go hungry. They can hunt down pretty much anything and cook them to their liking. As for threats to themselves, there really isn't any. There are beasts that can make a lightning wyrm hesitate, like a troop of volcanic trolls, but these beasts don't go out of their way to hunt down these dragons. Rather, most things would prefer that they never run into them, a feeling I quite understand!

Like all other true dragons, Fuldruk lay eggs and they incubate them in the blackened sands of the desert. The preferred location is near the lava rivers, where the constant heat can provide warmth even during chilly nights. The mother will bury them and herself in the sand, coiling her body around them for protection. This position also allows her to warm them if something were to happen to the heat source, using that stored energy to maintain the proper temperature. During this time, she is incredibly hostile and dangerous, which is stupid for me to say because Fuldruk are always like that. I guess the real danger is that she is buried and thus hard to see. If one isn't paying the closest attention they may literally tread on top of her while she is guarding her eggs. If that happens to you, my condolences to you and your family. Hopefully better luck to the next person. There is no advice to give on what to do in that situation because you won't know it happened. You'll just be walking along then wake up in whatever afterlife you believe in. For your companions, they will just see a blinding flash of blue and the smoking remains of your clothing and maybe your skeleton. Best tip I can give is not go anywhere near a volcanic desert during the Fuldruk breeding season. Even better advice, don't go to a volcanic desert. Ever. Because that will at least guarantee that you will never meet a Fuldruk.       As a true dragon, they certainly live up to their name. Dragons tend to be associated with destruction and carnage (which is usually unfair), and the Fuldruk embodies that perfectly. Their lightning abilities give them an insane amount of power, and their armor makes them difficult to even harm. They can be blindingly fast, slipping in and out of the desert sand and then striking you down before you even know it. With a bolt shooting mouth and a snipping tail, no end or part of this species is safe to approach. The other issue is that it also has the other famous trait that true dragons tend to have: intelligence. Though they can seem like mindless beasts, they are quite smart, or at least have enough brains to enjoy what they are doing. They can plan strategies to ambush prey, figure out schedules of local villages to find the right moment to strike, and burst into horrifying laughter whenever they fry another helpless soul. Fuldruk do not appear to talk (at least no one has heard one speak) but they do emit vocalizations that have to have some kind of meaning. The most common sound to hear is....well, imagine if a lightning storm could giggle. Feels like the noises they make fit more with an energetic bird than a massive reptile, and the sheer glee that you can hear in it! It is just a charged giggle that trails off into some weird warped howl or something. Pretty hard to explain, but I feel you would know it if you heard it. Just pray that you never do hear that noise. Or that sound they make when they get struck by lightning. They like to climb up spires during storms to get the free energy from the lightning strikes. Getting hit doesn't hurt them in the slightest, they just absorb the charge. They do feel something though, as evident by that unsettling noise. The safest way to put it is that they really seem to like it. A lot. Like I mentioned, Fuldruk are powerful, smart and dangerous which makes them absolute menaces to everything they encounter. They appear to enjoy torturing prey and playing with their food. Talk of them burying themselves beneath the sand to ambush and torment prey, usually having their head spook them and then their hidden tail lash out and cut them down. Using bursts of electricity to paralyze prey even when they could end the hunt with a single bite. Animals that can resist their electricity are still hunted and pretty much tortured to death, as if punishing them for spoiling their fun.  They know that they are the apexes of this land and they relish in every moment of it. They attack villages seemingly for pleasure, as they never appear to be starving or desperate, they just find it enriching. With all their strengths and defenses, fighting them off is no easy feat. Forget your armor plated knights, those guys would be cooked in a second. Anything with metal would lead to a frying pretty quick, so people have to rely on more natural armor and weapons. This is why flab rat skin is welcomed in these communities, as the rubbery hide resist lightning. They have also brewed up a special concoction that is flung at the Fuldruks and splatters all over their charged cluster. It is a sticky fluid that seems to disrupt their electricity, essentially blinding them or disorienting them. This is often enough to drive them away, but it is rare to fend one off without a fatality or two. This should say something, since these people are used to this species and still cannot keep them away without death. Now imagine if one of these beasts was transported OUTSIDE THEIR ECOSYSTEM! It's a disaster! A nightmare! A fuldruk outside of its natural habitat is a menace to every living thing! No creature outside of a volcanic desert is built to withstand such energy, so everything is easy pickings for them! And that is even if they choose to eat their prey! Fuldruks that have been unleashed into other lands are capable of decimating local populations, as they just zap everything in sight. They ravage the ecosystem and burn villages to the ground, taking countless lives before they are finally slain. Obviously volcanic deserts are quite isolated, so natural migration is rare, but there are unfortunately cases where people try to smuggle their eggs or young out. Fuldruk anatomy is quite cool looking, so some people want it as trophies. Their parts and pieces are powerful materials for magic users, so there is a market for that as well. And obviously there are the people who think dragons are the kind of thing you can slap a collar on and put into a kennel, which don't even get me started on that. As long as they breathe, Fuldruk are incredibly dangerous and should not be removed from their natural habitat. I don't care that you think nurture beats nature, and that no one is born evil. I agree that evil is not an inherent thing, that no species is born with wickedness in their heart. However, we have yet to see a Fuldruk grow beyond that, so don't even try it! Every instance of someone trying to rear a lightning wyrm hatchling has led to absolute disaster. The coliseums don't even want these things! They are banned at the Enamel Spire, and you know what they let into that place! Turns out betting on death matches don't work so well when the audience is included in the causalities.   Chlora Myron

Dryad Natural Historian

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It appears to be smaugust, so why not post a dragon? And of course it can't be a normal dragon, because that's not how we do things around here people. Take a wild guess on what this thing is based on. Is it a river dolphin or a gharial? That's only half of it, but that doesn't matter CLACK CLACK CLACK!

SWYAATL 11: The Forest of Hands and Teeth (pt.2)

Pairing: Eren Jaeger x fem! Reader

Warnings: description of a decomposing body

Summary: “If anything,” Eren says, and you can hear Armin’s quiet plea “Please stop talking, Eren,” because he knows Eren better than he himself, and if there is a chance to resolve the conflict without it blowing up, Armin will always throw himself in as canon fodder, “if anything, she got fucked up because you tried to run away. Because you tried to abandon us.” Jean goes still beside you like a statue. The glass shard nearly slips from your cold, clammy fingers and you bite your lip, tasting dried blood on your lips. “At some point,” Eren continues, “you’ll have to stop making excuses and stop running.”

Notes: [01] || 10 | 12

Words: 8.2k

A/N: like i promised, i'm baaack!! used my off time to finally finish AoT manga and let me just say I was pretty disappointed :)

the story still remains one of my absolute favourite, but I fell out of love with some characters the same as I fell in love with others.

i really missed uploading and i really missed you guys ♥ thank you for everyone who kept sending me messages about the story!! it makes me so happy to see how much you're enjoying it and yes, some may have figured out the secret! any ask gets a tiny snippet from the story hehehehe i can't not share the stuff with you, especially the smut ehehehehehe. enjoy! (also hmu if you want to join the taglist!)

Chapter 11: The Forest of Hands and Teeth (Pt.2)

The words shake the foundation of your world, open up the ground beneath your feet. Lying under the surface, where you always thought there was benign soil, you discover a pit of bottomless black, yawning wide, waiting to swallow you whole.

All the way, the men herd you like lambs for slaughter away from your camp to a tree where they tie you up. You stay silent, fighting off a crushing waterfall of thoughts and fears and burning tears—everything that is at once vicious and violent. It is only when they are done that your conscience arises from the murky, dark waters of slithering thoughts and ruining imaginations.

Ropes bind your hands together behind your back, biting painfully enough into your skin that all feeling slowly begins to trickle away. Shoulders pressed against shoulders, thick ropes cut into your upper arms tying you against the skin-scratching, rough bark of a tree.

You blink dazedly when after all the commotion there is suddenly nothing but silence—silence and a sharp pain in your closed palm sending shocks of tiny pinpricks up your arm. The men have left, decided that with nothing to break you free from your binds, you are just a bunch of harmless teenagers unable to either save Christa, whom they’ve taken for leverage, or get your equipment back and put up much of a fight.

The silence that mutes you is a savage beast, sharp-toothed and snarling as if it is just waiting to sink its dreadful talons into whoever manages to summon the courage to speak first.

It is no surprise that it is Eren who shows the beast his own fangs and claws sharpened by seething fury.

“We … we could have done something.” He’s sitting between Jean and Connie, too far away from you to see the emotion on his face, but from the tone in his voice, it has to be hot contempt. “If we attacked as a team, we could have shown those bastards, you fucking cowards!” His voice booms over the quiet of the forest, startling birds and squirrels from their slumber.

There’s no reply. The events replay once more behind your closed eyes, quick flashes of pictures, your skin remembering the pressure of a cold rifle barrel. You take a deep, shuddering breath, and fumble with your fingers until the sharp pain relents from your palm. You couldn’t have done anything earlier. But you are not helpless now.

With your arms shaking from the strain and the uncomfortable angle, you begin to cut at your ropes binding your wrists with the shard from the broken whiskey bottle you picked up during the quarrel earlier.

And then of course, because as long as Eren Jaeger lives, Jean Kirschstein will stand against him.

“That’s your opinion,” Jean mumbles, and then louder he continues, and you can feel from the way his shoulders turn hard as stone that the rage in him circles and collects at the centre of his lungs from where he can just spit it out. “I don’t agree. Actually, because of your crazy behaviour, everyone was at danger. [Name] almost fucking died because you acted up.” And quieter, he says, “Victor did die.”

You can hear Eren’s sharp inhale. Marco, ever the diplomat, quickly intervenes, “That wasn’t his fault. It was nobody’s fault, and you know it, Jean.” His voice is thick with an emotion you don’t know how to take apart to unravel the core. “You know it.”

“If anything,” Eren says, and you can hear Armin’s quiet plea “Please stop talking, Eren,” because he knows Eren better than he himself, and if there is a chance to resolve the conflict without it blowing up, Armin will always throw himself in as canon fodder, “if anything, she got fucked up because you tried to run away. Because you tried to abandon us.”

Jean goes still beside you like a statue. The glass shard nearly slips from your cold, clammy fingers and you bite your lip, tasting dried blood on your lips.

“At some point,” Eren continues, “you’ll have to stop making excuses and stop running.”

“Fuck you,” Jean spits, but he’s looking away, shaking slightly, and you know he’s fighting hard not to cry and it cracks something inside you open and now that it is spilling, you have nothing to mend the broken pieces and stop it from spreading.

“If you two could just shut up for a second,” you say, feeling the ropes come loose but also the glass turning slippery in your fingers from new cuts, bleeding and stinging, “maybe we can get out of here faster and make a plan.”

“What—what are you talking about?” Jean shifts, and almost drives the sharp point of the shard right into your wrist. “What are you doing?”

When the rope finally snaps, your arms jolt right into Jean and Connie sitting to your left and right. You bring your arms forward, presenting your unbound hands but also the cuts and slashes on your hands, the bloody shard glinting in the sharp, silvery moonlight. “I,” you say, and the only reason you grin is probably because you’ve lost so much blood you can’t think straight, “am getting us out of here.”

Jean sucks in a sharp breath. Connie makes a relieved sound that is close to a whimper. From the other side of the tree, Mina’s soft sobs have finally stopped and Sasha demands, “What’s happenin’? What’s she doin’?” You doubt she’s realised that she’s allowed her formal speech to slip from all the agitation.

“That’s from Victor’s bottle,” Connie realises, awe-struck. “God, that—he is saving us in a way, isn’t he?”

Lips pressed together tightly, you begin to work at the thick rope tying you all to the tree. It gives you enough reason not to think about how true Connie’s words are, and that even after everything Victor has done, he did not deserve to die such a gruesome death.

You change the shard from hand to hand whenever it hurts too much, but after five minutes, it finally becomes loose enough that a hard pull from everyone else rips the rope apart and it falls in your laps.

“Here, cut me free,” Jean urges, turning his back to you. “Let me take over.”

You don’t argue. When Jean is free, he immediately snags the shard from you, making you jolt away. He’s sickeningly pale, his eyes too big for his face. “Shit, sorry.”

Your response is weak, and he notices. “I’m fine.”

“Nothing about this is fine.” But instead of arguing, he turns away and begins to cut the ropes off Eren’s hands. It doesn’t take long until finally everyone is free, and the mirror expressions you are all wearing says the same: What now?

Mina has come around the tree and kneels before you, gently pressing a piece of fabric she has torn off her shirt against your bleeding palms. You have always noticed how tiny her hands are, how cute and slender her fingers dance whenever she’s excited and claps her hands. Now they are surprisingly strong, yet gentle, as Mina puts them under your chin and inspects your busted nose after cleaning most of the blood away as best as she could.

You can’t stand the worry edged deep into the lines of her face, the dimples around her mouth. “Am I still pretty?” you ask, the smile on your face feeling like those wonky grins children slice into pumpkins with jagged knives for All Hallow’s Eve.

Mina sighs. “Always,” she mumbles, and she doesn’t smile but her eyes do light up a little and it’s the little victories that count for you. “I don’t think it’s broken, so that’s good.”

“There goes my idea to skip cleaning the gear shack for the next couple of weeks.”

“Dude,” says Connie, and if Connie Springer of all people has to reprimand you, you know you’re balancing on a thin tightrope.

It’s Marco’s tight voice, all business-like, that puts a lid on your next light-hearted words. He’s sitting on the ground, cut ropes coiling around him like a thick snake. “What are we supposed to do now? We can’t continue this exercise, it’s over.”

No one objects. Over Mina’s shoulder, you watch Jean mumbling quiet things to Armin who has started shaking once more like aspen leaves in high wind. When he meets your eyes, he immediately looks away, his throat working.

How much do you remember? The words notch into you, cutting deeper than the shard ever could. You’ll get your answers, even if you have to retie him against something and drag them out of him.

“Are we abandoning Christa?” Eren’s voice is quiet. He stands tall and strong against the slithering darkness, but from the way his shoulders are drooping you can tell he is not fine. He looks almost forlorn, surrounded by the looming shadows of the tall trees.

“No, no, by the Walls, we aren’t abandoning anyone.” Marco rakes his hands through his black hair, staring down at the ground between his feet. “But with just us, what can we do? We should head back and ask the instructors—”

“What if we don’t make it?” Eren cuts him short. He finally turns, though his body sags in defeat, you can still see fire burning in his eyes. “I’m not just gonna stand back and retreat. I’m going to save Christa.”

Armin tries to stand but his knees buckle under his weight. Jean quickly catches him before he can fall. “Wait, Eren—”

“Wait for what?!” Eren snaps, and when Armin startles, he either doesn’t notice or ignores it. “Wait to find others who can do the shit that we can do now?! Those fucking pigs won’t hesitate to … to—” His sharp eyes find yours as if that is statement enough.

Oh, you realise suddenly. Before, when the man with the potato bag over his head wanted to have his way with you, it wasn’t Jean screaming not to lay a hand on you. It was Eren.

Now, he takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I’ll go alone, if I have to,” he says now. “Before they hurt her. Or kill her, too.”

“You stupid idiot, do you really think you can do anything on your own?” Jean scrambles to his feet, rises to meet Eren’s glare.

“Guys, please.” Mina’s voice beside you is so quiet. “We can’t afford to be at each other’s throat right now. Things are bad enough.” She seems frail, all of a sudden. Thin and transparent, like she might disappear any moment. You feel an overwhelming urge to just hold her.

The sound of protest clawing its way up your throat, already resounding from Armin to your left, is squashed by Marco’s hand resting gently yet affirming on Armin’s knee. He’s looking up at Jean, and there’s something flashing in his dark eyes you can’t read.

“If I won’t do it, no one will!” Eren screams back, and even though his voice is so loud, like that itself should be enough to drive his point across, he seems small as if he’s moments away from caving in.

“And how are you going to find her?” Jean’s voice has a veneer of calm, but beneath you could hear the vibration of some very different emotion. “All our horses were released, we got nothing on us. You think you can catch up to them on foot?”

“I can’t just stand still and do nothing.” Eren is seething with anger. His hands, balled into tight fists, shake by his side as if he’s about to take on the whole world all by himself and Heavens, what a heavy burden that is. What a lonely pursuit. It makes you want to tug him away, somewhere to a safe place where he doesn’t have to fight all the damn time.

“We won’t,” Jean says, quietly at first, and then louder, “we won’t. I’m coming with you.”

Eren opens his mouth, closes it. He looks at Jean as if he’s seeing him for the first time.

“We’ll go together,” Jean continues, “and we’ll get Christa back.”

“Christa and our gear.” Slowly, Marco climbs to his feet. Determination turns the lopsided smile of his mouth into a formidable line. There’s little hesitation when the rest follow Jean’s declaration, vow that they won’t let Eren alone.

If you’re looking closely enough, it almost seems as if Eren is about to cry.

“It’s settled then.” Jean brushes dirt off his pants. “We’ll go together, stay together. That’ll give us a better chance at surviving this.”

“And we can’t head back first? Only … only for a moment,” Mina says, making everyone turn to her.

“Why?” Jean asks. You startle a little when he leans forward and pulls you up to your feet, a hand around your arm. “We don’t have time to get back and pack up.”

Mina is quiet for a moment. “To bury Victor.”

Someone makes a very small, plaintive sound. Armin’s eyes widen when you all look at him, and he hurriedly brushes Eren’s hands away, who is trying to inspect the little scratches on his face. After he had stumbled over his own feet earlier, one of the men had yanked him up roughly.

His small hands lay balled into tight fists on his lap. “They had one horse pulling their cart … for so many people and all that equipment, I doubt they’ll make it far. Which means they’ll have to stop, maybe take stock of their yields.” Armin’s lashes flutter like the wings of an anxious butterfly. “It’s the only chance we’ll get to catch up to them.”

“No turning back now.” Eren at least has the decency to look apologetic towards Mina. Her answer is a raised chin, a confident nod. You all have to deal with this later.

“So, how are we gonna do this?” asks Connie. He’s dragging his sleeve over Sasha’s face, wiping off any remaining snot from her nose. “We might not make it even if we split up.”

“And if we keep following that path they took without really knowing where they went, we might get lost.” Jean’s face is grey and hollow, as if cut from living rock.

“How about we climb to a higher place?” offers Sasha. “When you get lost in the mountains, climb upwards. If you get lost in a forest, climb a tree. That’s what my Pops—I mean father always told me.”

“Okay. First, we find high ground, then hopefully some signs of those fuckers. And then …” Jean looks around, as if he’s just remembered you’re all stuck in the woods in the middle of the night and maybe there are more things you should be scared of. “Well, we’ll figure out how to deal with them once we find them.”

“We stick together, we take care of each other, okay?” Marco says, sharing urgent gazes with each one of you. “You see, hear, smell anything weird, the whole group has to know.”

“Yes, sir,” you chorus as one, and even though you don’t like to think about how you unload this on Marco’s shoulders, it feels good to have him still stepping into the leader’s shoes and trying to keep you all together and at least pretend everything is under control.

He turns to you and makes sure the worst of the bleeding has stopped before he uses Mina’s tattered fabric to bandage your hands. “You remember the map? There’s a rock overhang nearby that should give us a good outlook over the whole forest.”

“It’s south-east from our camp,” you say and try not to flinch when the fabric burns against your cuts. “But I … I didn’t pay attention to where exactly they led us, and where we are now.”

“It’s fine.” Marco gives your wrists a quick, encouraging squeeze. “You did enough already.”

He turns to the others, explains where you’re going, and moves to the very front to lead. You move in the quiet of the night, a small group of hunched people one could easily mistake for malformed animals. The order is nonsensical, Marco and Mina at the front, then Connie and Sasha, and once you begin the ascent of the rock formation, Eren is glued to Armin’s side and helps him whenever he stumbles or just needs to take a quick breather.

You can’t tell what exactly it is Jean’s been waiting for, but when he falls beside you, he sticks to your side like a shadow. He’s silent for a moment, but he can’t keep the words inside him for too long before he needs them out. “How are your hands?” he starts with something safe.

You spread them before you, wiggle your fingers slightly. “The bleeding’s stopped. Didn’t cut too deep, thankfully.”

They fall back to your sides, but Jean quickly reaches out and takes one in his. You see him gnawing at his bottom lip as his fingers graze the bandages, lingering for a moment at the dark copper spots where the fabric has sucked in your blood.

“I’m sorry,” he says. His thumb brushes your knuckles, and you feel thrown back to another time, inside the infirmary where he said he would protect you from exactly this.

“What for?”

Jean lowers his head. “I ran away.”

You can’t help it, laughing a little. “You didn’t make it far.”

“I mean it,” he says, and the urgency in his voice makes you both halt. “I’m the last one who would agree with anything that suicidal maniac says, but he—he was right. All I could think of was saving my own ass. Well, getting away to get help, but ultimately.” He shakes his head. “And even then, after the—” He swallows hard. “—the shot. After the shot, you tried to come for me. You still tried to help.”

You hum, open your mouth, and the memory hits you so hard it gives you whiplash.

Crossing your arms, you cock your head towards him. “Bold that you think I’m sticking around here and wait for you.”

Emil snorts but he looks almost pleased. The crown is almost done. “You’ll be here. And I’ll come back to you. I will always come back to you.”

You bite your trembling bottom lip, press the corners of your mouth further up into a smile even though it wavers and threatens to disappear. “Oh, come on,” you say, punching his arm lightly. “You know I’ll always come back for you, Jeanbo.”

Even in the darkness, you can see him flushing hard. His shoulders shake when he takes a deep breath in, deep breath out, then blinks up at the moon. You pretend you don’t see the tears at the corners of his eyes.

“Same,” he says, and his grip around your wrist is borderline painful, but you don’t pull away. You let him hold you and reaffirm to himself that you’re safe and here. “I’ll come back for you, [Name]. We’re a team, we’ve always been a team.” He points at you, then at himself. “Pot. Kettle.”

You bump into his side.

“Heya, right now is literally the worst time to flirt, you two!” Connie calls down to you, peeking over a ledge. They’re all much further ahead than you’ve expected, getting so lost in your conversation with Jean.

Jean flips him off, and you can hear Connie’s grunt as he laughs to himself. When he turns away, you spot Eren staring down at you, but you can’t read his expression from down here, and before you can call up if everything’s alright, he’s turned away and you only see his retreating back.

You ignore how your heart shrinks to the size of a walnut. This will have to wait for later, when you can find time and peace to entangle the muddle of thoughts still occupying your mind without worrying to get shot. Or worse.

Before Jean can start the excruciating climb up the rocks, you latch onto the hem of his jacket. “What did you mean with your question?” you ask. “Earlier, I mean. What … what am I supposed to remember?”

Jean throws a quick glance up to the others, and you know there’s no time and you have to hurry. But something, even if it’s crumbs, has to appease the hunger to know inside you before this black hole swallows you. If Jean knows something, he owes you that much.

“God, it’s been so long.” Jean wipes a hand over his face. He looks exhausted. “All I remember is my parents talking about it, and asking, well…” He waves a hand in your direction as if that’s supposed to make you understand. “They asked me not to mention it so it wouldn’t trigger some unpleasant memories. Apparently someone…,” Jean trails off. He braces himself. You’ve only seen him take on that posture when he’s about to swing at Eren during an argument.

“Jean.” You tug on his jacket, feeling your hands go clammy. “I need to know. Please.”

“Someone kidnapped you, when you were little,” Jean says slowly. He falters for a moment, squeezes his eyes shut, like the memory of that conversation with his parents is still too close, too painful, excruciating. “You weren’t gone too long, they had found you on the same day. Some old fart had locked you up in his house while going about his day. It was your Dad … your Dad who found you. When I asked my Mom, she only said that your Dad made sure that guy would never steal little girls from their parents again, and I thought that meant the Garrison, or Hell even the Military Police took care of him.” He focuses on you fully now, and you wish he would stop talking. Your guts clench like someone has kicked you in the stomach.

“Your father killed that man when your captor swung a knife at you two. The Military Police ruled it self-protection and closed the case from what I overheard my parents say. You had blacked out during that fight, but when you came over to visit after that, and my Mother accidentally slipped up … you acted like it had never happened.”

You stare at him, throat tight, the cold sweat sensation of dread spreading slowly through your limbs. “How old was I?”

“Ten? Or eleven, I think?”

“And what … what did that man do to me?”

Jean’s voice is frighteningly quiet. “I don’t know.”

You feel sick. “So it could have been anything.”

“Or nothing,” Jean replies fast, sharp. “Your Dad found you really fast, I know that much. Or I mean, that’s what your parents told mine.”

You stare past his shoulder at a dark spot in the sky where black clouds have hidden away the stars. “So, my Dad saved me.”

It makes sense. The room you remember, the green wallpaper with golden flowers strewn across, the weight of an imposing man behind you. You calling for your father’s help.

And yet.

And yet.

The feeling is all wrong. You have a vague remembrance of that feeling, and it was not relief at knowing your father was on the other side of that locked, heavy door. Rather, it is closer to … harrowing, horrific fear.

As if he had left you there.

You try to shake the feeling of dread away, to push all these thoughts to the far back of your mind. If you had really lived through such a traumatic experience at such a young age, maybe you had simply suppressed those memories out of shock.

Though that doesn’t explain why you still see the fall of Wall Maria vividly as if it is the very same day, every event a clear image burnt into the backside of your closed eyes.

And why … why of all things … why had Emil never said anything to you? You would have noticed his behaviour changing—he would have worried himself sick about you.

“When we’re back in Trost, I’ll have to ask Ida about it. About everything. She should have told me at … at some point.” Not anger pangs through your chest, hot and sudden like a bullet, but an urgency that is nearly as frightening. You need to know every single detail. Right now it feels as though you are grasping for sand as it slips through your fingers, using it to rebuild the very foundation of the person that you are.

“I’m sure she, and Dad, didn’t see a point in it because you didn’t remember.” Jean juts his chin up to where the others are still waiting and continues the ascent, you hard on his heels. Quieter, he says, “Why make you scared when you were better off not knowing? They thought it kinder to spare you that.”

“Because it would have been honest.” You give him a long, hard look. “Maybe not kind, truth isn’t kind. But it is the truth.”

He turns around at that. The milky-white slant of moonlight catches in his hair, his eyes. Jean gives you a nod, easy and simple, and it weighs more than any promise he could have made.

“Let’s try to make it out of these woods first, okay?” Jean says when you’re almost at the top. “And then we can think about everything that’s happened. And write Ma a letter.”

“Yeah.” Deep breath in, deep breath out—resettle the beating of your heart and remind yourself you are not alone. “Yeah, that sounds like a plan.”

He gives you one last, fleeting look, then turns to assert the situation before him: Armin is greedily finishing up the rest of water from Mina’s field bota bag, Sasha and Connie huddle together, lost in their own quiet, private conversation. Marco and Eren perch by the edge of the cliff, both facing the forest stretching out before them.

You join them right in time when Marco whips out his binoculars to survey the area ahead.

“Found anything?” Jean asks. He kneels beside Eren, eyes roaming the horizon. Eren, in the middle of them, steals a glance at you, first at your face, then at your bandaged hands. You wiggle your fingers in his direction to show you’re alright, all fingers are still working. He purses his mouth, looking as if he doesn’t really buy it. You make your point by flipping him off good-naturedly, which at least makes the corners of his mouth twitch a little. Another small victory.

“Smoke, right there.” Marco points into the distance at a thin trail of grey smoke curling into the night sky. “Armin was right,” he continues, handing Jean the binoculars. “They’re currently camping out and loading the carts. Christa seems fine.”

“For now,” Eren bites out.

“So, what are we gonna do?” Jean lowers the binoculars. “We won’t make it in time, even if we head out immediately.”

“And unlike us, they can defend themselves.” Marco looks grim. “And I don’t want anyone else ending up like Victor.”

“I … I might have an idea.” You all turn at the timid sound of Armin’s voice. He’s wiping his mouth dry quickly, and hands Mina’s flask back. He looks over at you sharply, his eyes glinting with steely determination. “But I need your help.”

Suddenly, everyone is looking at you as if you owe them something. You want to take a step back, but there’s only a cliff and a steep fall waiting behind you. Literally.

“Okay.” You pull at the loose threads coming off the bandages. “Shoot.”

“We might have to head back to camp anyway to get some of the stuff we’ll need, but I want to be sure just in case, and you’re really good at memorising maps. How many wide exits are there in this forest?”

“Wide exits?”

“Wide as in wide enough to let them pass through with multiple carriages.”

You turn, take a good, long look at the forest with its tall reaching green peaks like gnarly fingers waiting to snap at whatever dares to come too close. You recognise some landmarks from the map: two giant rock formations facing each other, a smaller one right behind them—the points of a triangle. Mountains encircle the forest, high in the east, dipping down a little and rising again towards the south.

You point a finger towards them, and say, “That’s the closest exist in this area. The other two wide enough for them to leave are in the opposite direction. I’m pretty sure the road over there divides into two routes after you clear the forest.”

“Then that’s where we’ll ambush them. Once they enter the wider exit, we don’t stand a chance, so we have to lead them back into the forest.” Armin turns to Sasha. “Can you lead us there? We’ll have to head back to camp first, get ropes and some other things. But can you bring us over there?”

Sasha takes in the area, lips puckered in concentration. She grins. It isn’t a pleasant sort of grin; too many teeth, too feral. It makes you want to kiss her.

“No problem,” she says at last. “I can get us there fast enough, even without horses.”

Armin heaves a relieved sigh, but his expression quickly turns sour at the sight of having to climb the mountain all the way down again. When Eren notices and offers to give him a piggy-back ride, Armin declines vehemently.

“Okay, so what’s your plan exactly,” Jean asks halfway down the mountain. Whenever he stumbles or trips on loose rocks, his hands shoot out to hold onto Marco to steady himself, which is cute, or onto you, which is annoying because you can’t even carry half his weight.

“We block off the route leading to the wider exit by putting a tree in their way. That’s where the ropes come into play. Three of us will stay at the road fork and detour the carts. The rest will wait ahead until they arrive. I think it’s best only two hide in trees and jump onto the carts to attack them.”

“I’ll go,” Eren immediately says.

“I’ll go, too,” Jean quickly follows up. You want to catch his eye, but he’s staring ahead stubbornly.

“How do we figure out which carriage are Christa and our ODM gear are in?” you ask. Little rocks give away under your foot, but before you can slip, Jean has a strong hand around your arm and hauls you up.

It is Marco that answers: “The ODM gear should be easy. The roads leading back into the forest will be rocky and bumpy. If we hear a rattling sound, we’ll be able to tell.”

“The leftover cans at camp,” Armin says. “We can use them to give the sign.”

Marco nods. “If the equipment is in the first carriage, I’ll pull once. If it’s the one after, then twice. If it’s both, I’ll pull three times.”

“Okay, that’s a fucking great plan,” says Jean. “But let’s hurry back, or else we’ll never catch up to them.”

With every step closer back to camp, putting foot before foot becomes more difficult, as if your limbs are heavy with lead. You don’t want to see Victor’s corpse and be reminded of what happened earlier, but as you move on, with no chance to stand still, you brace yourself for the worst.

The worst you have imagined, it turns out, is still tame compared to the actual sight. Within minutes after he’s died, blow flies have arrived and now swarm around Victor’s blown head. Even from a good few feet away, you see them scurrying around, diving into the openings of his body and the big hole at the side of his face to lay their eggs into his rotting meat.

You try to swallow around the lump in your throat, noticing the sour taste of rising bile spreading inside your mouth. Quickly, you turn away before yesterday’s meal comes back up to greet you.

The sudden movement of you turning around startles Eren, who has crept up behind you, and out of instinct, you guess, he grabs your shoulders to steady you, probably worried you were about to pass out.

“Woah, easy there.” He has to lower his head a little to get to your eye level. “You okay?”

The look on your face must be answer enough, because he winces at his question. “Right, sorry.”

His eyes drift over to Victor’s body, and as you watch him you are surprised there isn’t any strong emotion on his face. No disgust, no sorrow, like having the dead remains of a former comrade—even though he was a bad person and not very kind—is a completely normal thing.

“Uhm, Eren.”

He still isn’t looking at you. “Hm?”

“You can let me go now, I’m good.”

“Oh.” Eren’s eyes sweep over at you. His hands loosen their grip on your shoulders, but instead of falling back to his side, they slowly slide down your arms—as if they have a mind of their own, confused and a little lost without your shoulders as anchors to hold onto.

Eren blinks, gaze darting to your mouth, and then quickly away. “I think that was the first time.”

You roll your shoulders, still feeling the touch of his fingers as if they have seared their imprint through the solid fabric of your jacket right into your skin. “First time for what?”

“That you called me by my name. Not Jaeger.”

“Oh. Well. Almost dying together earns me that privilege, I think.”

He gives a little, dry chuckle. Somehow, you feel that as long as he can laugh, everything is going to be okay. Eren looks at you, slow and hard, and then smiles. His green eyes light up. “Then I have earned it as well,” he says. “[Name].”

You have never thought about your name much before, but when he says it, it is as if you are hearing it for the first time, and suddenly you are aware of how intimate calling each other by the first name is, and how much you like the sound of your name on his lips. Your breath is very short when you repeat, softly, “Eren.”

“Yes?” Amusement glitters in his eyes.

With a sort of horror you realise that you have simply said his name for the sake of saying it; you haven’t actually had a question—you just craved another taste of his name in your mouth. Hastily, you stumble over the words even though you don’t know where they might lead, “When Victor got shot, there was an owl. Wasn’t that weird?”

If he finds your sudden change of topic strange or suspicious, he doesn’t show it. “Weird how?”

“That it was there at all. I didn’t know they’d be so close to the ground when people are around.”

Eren shrugs. “Nothing weird about it. It was probably just looking for food.”

You don’t know much about owls, but that doesn’t seem right. Feel right. You rub your heavy eyelids, feeling a dull throb crawling along the back of your head. Was it all just bad timing? Fate? You don’t know what would have happened if it had been you spinning to the bottom of the Wheel of Fortune.

“We’ve decided you’ll stay with Marco and Armin to give us the signal when to attack.” Eren’s voice is suddenly close as he dips his head to you as if he’s sharing a secret. You blink up at him, ready to argue which he reads in your face as if it is an open book. “[Name], think about it. You’re hurt. Marco is right, you’ve done enough.”

It is hard to argue against this, with your palms cut open and still hurting. Still, somehow you feel like there is more you can do, should do. You move away from Victor’s body, scanning the ground for empty cans. Eren sticks to your side.

“We only get one chance at saving Christa,” he continues. “If we mess it up, she’s as good as dead. Our gear will be gone. But there’s no way we’ll mess this up. We got three cadets from the top here, we’ll save her.”

It’s sweet that he tries to comfort you, thinking your hesitation is because you’re scared of failing. You should just thank him and catch up with the rest.

Instead, you blurt, “Do you like Christa?” and immediately regret having opened your mouth.

Eren blinks as if he’s been knocked off his feet and he’s still trying to understand what has hit him. “She’s a comrade, so … yeah?” He frowns as if you’ve spoken a different language and he’s realising maybe his answer is completely wrong. “I mean, sometimes she creeps me out with all that holier than thou, being super friendly. All that benevolence has to drive her insane at some point. And it’s creepy sometimes.”

That wasn’t what you meant but you’re not too keen to explain what answer you actually want from him.

“Maybe you’re having a hard time understanding her,” you say, noticing how much easier it is to fall back into teasing banter and light-hearted jabs, “because you don’t know how to be nice.”

“I can be plenty nice if I want to.” He narrows his eyes at you, and it feels like there is more behind this; as if there is something else layered in his words but you are missing the respective key to unlock the door and get behind the meaning.

Before you can say anything else, Connie wedges himself between you two. You didn’t even notice how close you and Eren stood.

“Hate to break ya up, but we’re leaving,” he announces. Eyes half-closed, he’s wearing this expression you’ve come to associate with Conny being tired of some shit—you just never expected to get the brunt of it.

He has probably known it long before you.

Everybody has known it long before you, but you were oblivious to the signs, maybe even a little scared to pay them too much attention.

It will still take another two years until you finally find the courage to tiptoe closer to the edge, only to have Eren yank you down into the void with him.

Armin’s plan worked out splendidly, which was a surprise to no one.

After Christa’s heartfelt plea to spare the men, held at blade-edge by Mikasa and Annie who managed to find your group after Armin had used Sasha’s signal flare, Thomas and Bertholdt had rode out to inform the instructors of what had transpired and where the remaining recruits were holding the attackers captive until reinforcements arrived.

Once their headwear was off and you had a good look at the faces of your assaulters, it was easy to see them for what they were: miserable men trying to get by with any means necessary. Thieves and beggars, left of any other civil option to provide for their families.

You couldn’t say it out loud then, but there was no ounce of pity for them inside you. Everybody seemed to simply agree with Christa’s noble spirit, that killing them was wrong; that making them pay for what they did was not the solution. It didn’t sit right with you. Only one look at Eren was enough to tell you he might be the only one sharing that sentiment.

A quarter of a day was all it took for Shadis to arrive, with him the Military Police soldiers from Trost. They took the men away in police carriages, sending them to the inner Wall where they would be judged and locked away. You didn’t want to think what that would mean for their families, the very reason they got into this in the first place. Maybe there are worse things than death.

Depending on how many recruits passed away within three months after the last, obsequies were held at the end of the third month. Because Victor Hoffmann had been the only one, the instructors deemed it sufficient to simply cremate his remains and send them back to his relatives in a simple wooden box with his possessions. Shortly after that, both his friends Albert Kleinstein and Edmund Rowe left the military service. All three, gone. Just like that.

A day after, you had sent a letter to Ida and Felix, asking for every detail from that day seven years ago when you were kidnapped. It was weird, how while you were sitting down and forming the words on the paper, each ink stroke unravelled the tight knot in your stomach—all of a sudden it all had seemed not important anymore. What could you do with that information?

Seven years later, with the villain of your little story dead, and your hero as well. Would knowing change anything for you? Why did it feel as if all the threads and weaves holding you together suddenly became unknitted and the person you see in the mirror every morning appeared to slowly turn into a stranger.

At least the ring hanging on the thin golden chain always remained the same. At least there was one part of your past that remained a constant and steady point around which you rotated—a sun to your star system.

That concludes the low-risk Wasteland Excursion, one you’re sure the instructors will tell every following cadet corps in the years to come.

“Low-risk my ass,” Jean mumbles. His dirty hair falls into his eyes as he leans over his lap, fumbling with a loose screw on his turbine. The tip of his nose is red and his words come out in little puffs and dense clouds. Winter is approaching, fast and hard, and you couldn’t be happier for Ida’s care package to arrive in two weeks with hopefully a new scarf and a warm pair of gloves. Gear maintenance is all that’s left for today, then you’re allowed to hit the showers and call it a day. “Every single one of us should get a fucking medal for putting up with those thieves and catching them.”

“I can already imagine what Shadis would say to that.” You lower your voice. “Are you chipmunks going to expect us to give you a medal every time you return from a fight? Get back after you killed some real Titans and maybe I’ll give you a pat on the shoulder. Now scram.”

“That was a good impression,” Jean allows. “But he would never call us chipmunks.”

“I love chipmunks,” is all Marco contributes before he dives back refilling his gas cylinder.

“I think at least Marco and Thomas should get bonus points for holding the groups together.” You glance over at him, noticing how his hair has grown and how he always brushes it behind his ears whenever he is flustered. “You guys were great leaders.”

“I don’t know if I should have accepted the leader position, to be honest.” Marco smiles sheepishly at you. “But thanks.”

“Why not?” Jean breathes on the metal case of his housing, polishing the surface. “You did a good job. I think it fits you.”

Marco tugs his hair behind his ears. “Nah, I’m not suited to be a leader. You’re more up for that job, Jean.”

At that, Jean looks up. They share a look that seems like a dare. Eventually, Jean goes back to work. “Why’s that?” he asks.

“I don’t think you’re ready to hear it yet. But someday, I’ll tell you.”

“Am I ready to hear it?” you ask.

Marco grins and leans over, his voice very quiet and very deep in your ear. “I just really enjoy looking at him from behind.”

Oh.

He leans away, giving you a quick wink. Your little secret. You’re pretty sure your face is on fire right now.

“What did he say, tell me,” Jean demands.

You mimic sealing your mouth shut and throwing the key away. Jean kicks at your foot in a half-hearted attempt to make you talk. He points a finger accusingly in your and Marco’s direction. “You’re ganging up on me. Is this how it’s going to be from now on? Leaving me out? Dear God, don’t make me have to befriend Jaeger.”

“Eren can’t stand you,” you point out.

“Armin, then.”

“Armin’s too smart for you.”

“Keep talking and I’ll dunk your head inside a latrine.”

Marco laughs, but it quickly trickles away into a somewhat sorrowful smile. “Do you guys think we can spend all our days like this?”

“Together?” you ask.

“Mocking each other?” Jean offers.

“Yeah, together.” Marco looks at you two, and he somehow looks much younger and older at the same time. “Jean and I want to join the Military Police and you’ll go to the Garrison, but maybe we can still … you know.” He shrugs a little helplessly. “Still hang out.”

“I think [Name] and I are ready to broaden our horizons, open the gates.” Jean claps his hands, then spreads them wide as if he is a pastor ready to absolve Marco. “Let someone new in and become a trio.”

He wiggles his fingers, looking at you and Marco expectantly. Marco scoots closer, allowing Jean to leisurely throw an arm around his shoulder. Now they both look at you expectantly.

“I’m good, guys,” you say, blowing off fine iron dust from your hooks, satisfied with the result. “There are more priorities on my list, sorry.”

Jean rolls his eyes. “Like what?”

“A long, hot shower.”

Marco sighs, but he is in no hurry to untangle Jean’s arm from his shoulders. “She’s got a point.”

“You can’t run from the Jean-Marco-[Name] sandwich forever,” Jean says, pointing at you. He then turns to Marco. “And to answer your question, no. I don’t think we’ll stay together forever. We grow up, we find our own things to do. But what’s important is that we’re in each other’s hearts … or …. some shit … like that,” Jean finishes quietly at the baffled gazes you and Marco level him with. It takes only one second for his face to become the colour of the red roses on the Garrison soldier’s uniforms, and he quickly tries to hide it behind Ida’s scarf she knitted him two years ago.

“That was the most beautiful thing you’ve ever said, I think,” you say in awe. “Who are you and where is the real Jean?”

“Shut up and go take a shower.” He pushes you off your stool. “Try not to drown or whatever.”

You laugh until the muscles in your face strain, until your belly hurts. You laugh, because it is easier than finding the words that you too wish the same.

All three of you don’t make a promise on it because you know that would be too cruel.

❀❀❀

When you call to me asleep, up the sandy hills I scramble. A single thread hangs limply down, and I breathe, “Not now, not now.” I find you all unwoven, trying desperately to sew. And I know the kindest thing is to leave you alone. Yet I am selfish. I want every part of me to crash into every part of you, and I swear that is how stars are born.

When your seams have come unknitted, and you cry out to the sky, I’ve run out of my words, my song, just let me die, me die. The rockrose and the thistle will whistle as you mourn. I could try to calm you down, but I know you won’t.

All the pins inside your fretted head and your muttered “Whens” and “Hows;” all your mother’s weaves and your father’s threads, let me rob you of them now. Because I will darn you back together when you think that you’re bereft, and you’ll wail, you’ll scream, but I will never stop, because you are all that I have left.

I awake and hear you calling, and up those hills I climb. And I find you with a thimble weeping; “May I”, I ask, “may I?”

And you gently gift it to me because you have no clue how to sew.

And I know the kindest thing—I pray to both our Gods, it is the kindest thing … I know the kindest thing is to never leave you alone.

Rockrose (also cistus of the Cistaceae plant family) in the Victorian language of flowerssymbolizes imminent death.

Thistle: In Celtic countries, the associations are positive, and the flower symbolises resilience, strength, determination, protection and pride. The flower’s purple and pink colours represent royalty. In Victorian England, the thistle signified pain, aggression and intrusion.

These whole last part in cursive are the lyrics of Rockrose and Thistle by The Amazing Devil. I’ve changed a few words to make it fit, but I don’t take credit for this poetic master piece.

***

A/N: y’all, connie knows

so yeah, we got a little more! i'm so eager to hear everyone's thoughts and theories! especially the last part, this song/poem plays a huge role in explaining why Reader (doesn't) remember(s) certain things, or other people recall them differently… interesting, isn't it. i'm happy to be back and can't wait to give you more!! stay healthy everyone!

A Thousand Sons 2

Is this disjointed? Yes. Am I going to organize it into something more coherent? No.

I'm remembering all the Ultramarines in Know No Fear being completely shooketh at the thought of Astartes killing Astartes meanwhile Magnus is like "I'm going to kill you" to the Space Wolf captain dude

the framing around Othere's introduction is kind of romance novel and given what I've been spoiled on that makes me uncomfortable.

‘I know well your name, Ahzek Ahriman,’ said Wyrdmake, with a feral grin, ‘for I have long desired to meet you.’

This is a good way to end a chapter, though.

the bulked musculature of his smooth torso

now my mental image of Ahriman's torso is of a cylinder

also lol, Magnus calls the SW captain a whelp this is after: -telling him to take off his mask because he wants to see a mans face before he kills him -threatening to destroy all their ships in orbit

Magnus is not a diplomat, to put it mildly

Magnus is a great example of how intelligence is not wisdom

Honestly the Space Wolves are currently coming off the better in this conflict.

-i feel like removing the ability for your soldiers to panic would be far more useful than removing the ability to fear -how on earth did the TS manage to conquer any planets on their own i must ask -current theory Magnus went and did Aang's marble trick in front of the planetary leaders -McNeill is once again Gross when women show up on page, i will spare the exact quote -also this whole book is like...kind of horny is a plausible deniability way?? i don't know how to describe it. It's really not enhancing the reading experience -Magnus received one (1) sympathetic moment, his main redeeming quality is that he does in fact care about the TS and they were the reason he decided to go deeper into the Warp, to save them -greasy tentacles. okay. moving along. the snake: bro im a daemon

‘Daemon is a meaningless word, a name to give power to fear.’ ‘I know, isn’t it wonderful?’ smiled the serpent, coiling around Magnus’s legs and slithering up his body. Magnus did not fear the serpent. He could destroy it without effort.

you know im kind of getting tired of slithering things no more slithering things grabbing people and wrapping around them to drag them off into the depths society has moved beyond the need for slithering things

This book has just been a slog tbh.

Timeskipt and...ITS A BIRD WORLD I LOVE IT except for the fact that they're, you know, conquering it ;-;

As well as this lost strand of humanity, Heliosa was a world that belonged to the creatures of the air. The skies were alive with flocks of every description, from tiny, insect-sized creatures that fed on guano to rabid pterosaurs that hunted from lairs in hollowed-out peaks. More than one Imperial craft had been lost to bird strikes before weapon systems were modified to provide continuous clearance fire.

me @ the birds: you're doing amazing sweetie

‘What happens here after we leave is not our concern.’ Ahriman shook his head. ‘But it should be,’ he said. ‘Guilliman has the way of it. The worlds his Legion wins venerate his name and are said to be utopias. Their inhabitants work tirelessly for the good of the Imperium as its most loyal subjects. The people of these worlds will be reluctant citizens of the Imperium at best, rebels-in-waiting at worst.’ ‘Then we will return and show them what happens to oathbreakers,’ snarled Wyrdmake.

hey. Ohthere. Oaths given under duress aren't valid.

current evaluation of Leman Russ: I don't like him either, but he's not quite as obnoxious as Magnus yet

/taps fingers on desk/

If even ONE of my prompts gets the @rexwalker-week selection, heck, even if it doesn't—I think I am going to write my ARCformers AU. Obviously, abridged.

Is it because I want to weave to the reader the image of Obi-Wan pecking through the Negotiator's cargo hold until he finds the one crate BigCat!Cody has flopped himself in, his whiskers down in a datapad reading a report? Or, at least until Obi-Wan changes it to a stimulating app that Cody's feline brain cannot help but BAP at—he's gonna catch those little fishies. What about the image of a tiny red fox skittering through the alleyways of Coruscant, listening in on a Separatist spy? Maybe there is the howl that cuts through a frozen wasteland, before the 104th barrels in to the rescue, with a large wolf watching from the rear (this is pack leader behavior)? There is also the image of Capybara Bly wading through the water, patiently guiding the little mitey alien children to safety? Maybe there is a massive jungle cobra slithering through the vines after the Tiplee and Tiplar sisters?

Sure. Those are great. However...

Mostly, I want to tell the image of—

Metal scraped across the floor as the hilt skid across the sleek floor panels. In the dark, there was only the blue of the blade to cast its light into the shadows. Further and further it slid, faster than its bearer could reflexively reach out towards it, its momentum continued to fling it towards the sharp ledge. The greater the distance his saber went, the more into shadow it became. Soon it would drop into the dark. Then, it was gone. Which is just fine: Anakin was quick thinking—he always thought of something else to do. But, most importantly: He wasn't alone. He had the Force and... like many of his Jedi brethren, he had his friend. There were those with scales, with fur... His? His had feathers. It was a good thing because momentum had tossed Anakin right after his lightsaber. The sides of the reactor shaft were too smooth for either of his fingers to grip onto, and the drop was far too deep. He knew the sound when large, powerful wings stirred up the stale air. Around his right arm, large talons gripped onto him and slowed his descent. He saw the blue-tipped feathers beat against gravity, and halt his fall. Quickly, swiftly, Anakin reached his other hand down beyond his drop, and re-summoned his blade into his hand. Only then did he look up, and see the face of his friendly, feathered rescuer. A white-faced bird of prey blinked at him. Boyishly, the young Knight smiled at the sight of the bird's face. Only briefly did he get to see the little blue feather tufts stand upright, where another animal's ears might be. Anakin could admit that those little fufts of feathers would be cute when they were quirked at him curiously with interest. They weren't always cute, like when the bird's mind was preoccupied. Soon, they were laid flat against the bird's head, just as it reared its neck upwards, where it peered on approach to the ledge. Anakin knew he was heavy, even for a bird of this size. Besides, the raptor was still a juvenile, had a little more growing to do. Right when the upward stroke of the bird's wing tips crested over the ledge's edge, the blue floofs were laid flat against the bird's head, yet the lower neck feathers ruffled like they were jaw muscles bulged along a strong, tan-skinned jaw. Black and gold peaked under the white-headed bird, its beak stretched wide as it screeched loud enough to make his ear drums feel like they'd shatter. Shatter like the joy of his heart ready to burst into his chest. Unceremoniously, he dropped onto the floor, left to fend for himself as he rolled himself onto his feet. "Thanks, Rex!" He got a scalding shriek as the bird went on its way.

But also, the sight of Anakin reaching his right arm outward, and a large harpy-eagle sized raptor coming in with claws stretched out. The feel of wind being stroked into his face, while the young bird settled its weight on his arm.

HAPPY BUNNYEAR!!!

I wish you all a nice year!! I'm planning do work less this year and try to focus more on my health. I'm still obsessed with writing so I think I'll still produce a lot but I'll try to be more gentler with me!

I wish you lot of little plot bunnies for the year coming!!

I leave you with a little Prostichilde (because no change between 2022 and 2023 for this) and his beautiful Zhongli!!

VVV

“Please, please, come in,” a man eagerly invited.

Ah! Having the Consultant Zhongli on the Pearl Galley? It was such a sign of good luck. His opinion was respected all around the Harbour and far beyond, and who knows if other people wouldn’t come here specifically to see him?

Zhongli was, honestly, coming here for the food. A delight.

“We have a special event,” the man said.

“A special event?” Zhongli repeated. “Thank you,” he added as a stool was tug for him in an isolated place.

“Hm! We’re celebrating the New Year! It’s the Year of the Rabbit so…”

The man held out his hand to the hosts all around. Ladies for the most, there was also a few men and people of other gender lost in the mass, of course. They were all wearing skippy outfit, leotard that followed the curve of the breasts, fishnets to hug their legs, and, of course, a hairband with bunny ears and the little fluffy bun.

They were beautiful.

Zhongli opened the mouth to thanks the owner and just tell him he just wanted to enjoy a drink and a meal but his mouth stayed open without a word coming out from it. This slender silhouette coming from one cabin, a tray on his hand, and the little bun taking the sunset hues. How tempting to grab. But what was better than this little fluffy bun? Those hair also taking the sunset hues and giving them a bright ginger aspect. And those freckles like stars on his beautiful skin.

“Can this one come take care of my table?” Zhongli asked, moving his chin to the boy.

“This one?” the owner repeated. Ah! It was the Consultant Zhongli after all. “Sure! Give me an instant!”

The owner quickly moved aside. Zhongli glanced at him, then at the other hosts. They were taking lascivious pose to give the food, the drink or they were even sitting on the laps of the customers.

What a service.

But it wasn’t surprising from the Pearl Galley. Some of the customers even disappeared in the rooms with the bunnies. After all, this was the Pearl Galley with its forbidden delight.

“Greetings to the Pearl Galley! I’ll do anything to please you! Ask what you want and I shall do it!” the host said, leaning in, his round peach peaking out, and his little bun so exposed. The blue eyes opened and then widened with horror. “Xiansheng?!”

“Oh,” Zhongli said with a smile. “This seems so formal. What about something more intimate?”

His teasing tone flustered Childe in front of him.

“Hmpf! What do you want?!”

“Your best wine, and what kind of food do you have?” he asked, grabbing the menu. “Would you make me the honour to sit on my lap and help me?”

Oh! Zhongli was teasing him? Fine! If he wanted to play, he would play!

Childe wrapped his arms around the strong arms and sat on his lap, snuggling in.

“Sure!” He pressed his breasts against Zhongli’s chest. “We have a lot of seafood dish for the occasion. We had rabbit meal before but you wouldn’t want to eat cute little bunny, uh?” he said with an adorable look.

His eyes were shining.

Zhongli gulped down with difficulties and without realizing, his arms were already around the tiny waist, bringing him against him.

“Childe…”

Childe moved one hand, caressing the bottom lip with his thumb. His own lips came even closer.

“We have peking duck, though. I thought you’d like it.”

“I believe so,” Zhongli answered.

“Would you also take the chips as snack while your food is cooking?” Zhongli nodded. “And I recommend our special soup! Bird nest!”

“I have the sensation you are playing me,” Zhongli said.

“I only want you to have the most delicious meal!”

Childe let out a little yelp as he felt a hand slither between his thighs.

“If you are here, this would be a delicious meal whatever you bring me. Use me as you wish if you become my dessert.”

“Xiansheng!” Childe protested.

He was so red. Ah! Why did he felt so hot? And why did he wanted the hand to come lower between his thighs. The last time they saw each other was in the Northland bank when Childe discovered who Zhongli was.

“Tartaglia?” Zhongli teased.

Childe leaned in lightly and Zhongli pressed their forehead together. His hand slithered a few centimetres into the warmth. His hand dared to close around the fluffy bun, and while it was a fake one, Zhongli swore he heard him moan.

“I think I’d like to take my meal in the room with you, is it possible?” Zhongli teased.

“Idiot,” Childe said between his teeth.

Zhongli got up with him in his arms, holding him like a Princess, and as if he was as light of a little fox. He carried him to the rooms under the decks. The reason why they were here was quite obvious as, walking through them, moans and mattress’s creaking filled the corridor.

Childe didn’t try to jump out of the loving arms, and, to be honest, he wasn’t against making up by making out. He leaned at Zhongli’s ear and whispered the number of a free room. Zhongli brought him to said room and, as he opened it, his limbs turned blacks, claws breaking his gloves and glow coming from his clothes. He had to lower his head to avoid his horns and too big stature to take in the frame of the door. Scales grew over his argil-like skin, and a long draconic tail slammed the door closed.

(Disclaimer! All the canon images on the “Agony” collage are taken from the FNaF Wiki, they aren’t mine, and I do not claim to own them, also! These are simply my own personal ideas and headcanons for this specific AU of mine, I am by no means stating them as absolutes or “canon” or anything of the sort, just sharing my thoughts and having a little fun. :3 )      A FnaF: A Wound Left Bleeding AU Guide to Remnant and Agony. Remnant and Agony in a sense, can be seen as two sides of the same coin, as such, they do hold some similarities, though their effects and behavior can differ wildly. Let's start with similarities: Both Remnant and Agony can have the same base source, the two they share are Memories, and Emotion. Strong positive emotion and memories usually results in Remnant, where as strong negative emotion and memories will often cause Agony, however, the two aren't mutually exclusive, while there must be some degree of negativity to summon or create Agony, Remnant can appear in conjunction with negativity or positivity. Both in their own ways can “Extend” life, though one does so in a far more... well. Pleasant way than the other, we'll get to that later. Both are capable of affecting any living or at least intelligent thing, as such, AI can be affected by Remnant and Agony, thus, machines and computers can at times be affected. Both have their own tell-tale “marks” that are left on those affected, though they can be easier, or more difficult to spot depending on the creature. Both are most easily destroyed by fire, or extreme heat. Now, lets move onto the differences, starting with:                                        Appearance.                                         Remnant: Remnant primarily comes from 3 base sources, the most common being Memories and Emotion, with the third being Souls. All forms of Remnant tend to look rather close to one another, with Memory and Emotion based Remnant being basically identical. They appear as small, colorful orbs of light, that usually drift near metallic objects, and sometimes draw close to living things, seeming to regard them almost curiously. The color of the Remnant Orb can sometimes denote the type of memory or emotion that created it, other times, though this isn't always the case. Memory and Emotion based Remnant tends to be quite small, and the more transparent/less “dense” than Soul Remnant, density of a Remnant Orb can denote how powerful it is, the less transparent and “tight knit” it is, the more power it contains. Memory and Emotion Remnant is still very powerful stuff, but it pales in comparison to the third type in regards to absolute raw power. Soul Remnant tends to appear much larger, more opaque, and denser that it's smaller and more commonly found counterparts, as such, the effects, capabilities and longevity of Soul Remnant tend to greatly outweigh the capabilities of the other 2 types.                                               Agony: Agony as previously stated usually only comes from powerful negativity, emotions, memories, ideas, if its strong and negative enough, you may just end up with Agony on your hands. “Soul” Agony does technically exist, but usually doesn't form naturally in living creatures, more often appearing alongside the spirits of those who's lives for one reason or another were shrouded in suffering or malice. Agony's most common physical appearance is that of thick, tar-like sludge, which tends to leave ink-like stains on anything it lingers on for more than a few moments. Formless and shifting, it often pulls its blobular form into the shapes of claws and hands to help drag itself along, though it's also capable of slithering like a snake, it may also form gaping mouths from its shifting form. Remnant can often be seen hovering in and around more sizable masses of Agony, and can appear like tiny glowing eyes in and around the sludge. Remnant that is left to linger among Agony too long can become “tainted” losing most of its positive properties, but allowing the Agony the drift about in the air like Remnant does. “Soul” Agony appears much like it's Remnant counterpart, though the light is far more faded, and parts of the sphere will be utterly marred and/or drowning beneath the thick Agony sludge, a Soul fully taken over by Agony will retain the spherical shape, and little else.                                       Effects And Use                                              Remnant: Remnant's main effects have to do with healing and longevity, regardless of how long something has been dead, or how grievous the injuries or illness effecting whatever Remnant is introduced to, they can be healed and/or revived. In order to use Remnant for these properties, the substance needs to be introduced to heat long enough to shift its form from the weightless orb of light, to a more malleable, semi-liquid state, the most common and effective means of introducing Remnant into ones system is via a needle and syringe, directly into ones veins, however, ingesting it or forcing it into an open wound can also work. Injuries that, in theory, could be healed simply with time, and/or proper medical care will be healed in mere moments by Remnant, likely with little to no risk of the injury ever returning without it being inflicted again, common illnesses can also usually be cleared up by Remnant in a single dose. When it comes to fatal injuries and illness however, it can vary in a case by case basis on if using Remnant once will be enough to keep the effects at bay, or if you may develop a lifelong, or rather, eternal dependence on the substance. A single clean but fatal wound for example, will likely need Remnant no more than once to allow the victim to recover and revive. The same can be said if what caused the fatality was a myriad of smaller wounds, that simply resulted in death due to things like blood loss or infection. Whereas a multitude of severe wounds, loss of vital parts, or in general, extreme damages sustained to a multitude of the body will likely result in dependence on Remnant for a “comfortable” existence. Remnant is a healer, not a replacer, if parts are removed or otherwise missing from the victim, Remnant can still revive what is left of them, but cannot replace what's no longer there on its own; though with its affinity for metal and organic materials, Remnant can bond new parts to the old body; for better or for worse, and use those in the place of what's missing. How long a dose of Remnant lasts for those dependent on it depends on how severe their injury or illness is/was, the type of Remnant used, and the volume of Remnant in the dose; generally speaking though, the worse the injury or illness, the more power Remnant is going to have to expend to keep you functioning, thus, shortening how long it stays in proper effect before another dose is needed. Soul Remnant, even just a piece of it, generally lasts at the very least twice as long as Memory or Emotion Remnant. All Remnant, once used, has the effect of instilling it's user with effective immortality, keeping them alive even when it lacks the power to make sure they're alive comfortably. The only known way to negate this effect of Remnant is by burning the body of the user, and even then, results may vary. Upon entering the body, Remnant will burn a “star” like scar into the flesh of the user at its initial entry point, even if you say, were to inject it into your right arm one day, and then the left the next, you'd still only bear the mark on the right arm. These scares are often surrounded by a random pattern of smaller scars that somewhat “Halo” the star scar. In the case of the Remnant entering the system via ingestion, the mark usually appears on the tongue or throat. Along with the mark, each time a dose of Remnant is taken, the star scar will glow briefly, creating a vein like patter across the skin of the user as it spreads and dissipates through the rest of their system, this display is difficult to miss, but only lasts a couple minutes at most. Remnant that hasn't been heated to be used in these manners can be used to relieve, or project memories, or, approximations of them when touched. Depending on the mental state and connection to the memory of the one in contact with the raw Remnant, and the potential presence of others who may have been there during the time the memory or emotion was created, may result in an approximation of the memory held within, rather than a clear cut replay. The presence of Agony or “tainted” Remnant can twist these memories and projections even further from their basis.                                                  Agony Whereas Remnant is a healer and preserver, Agony is far closer to a parasite who needs a host to properly express its abilities and properly survive. (in most cases.) Agony left out on it's own will quickly attempt to locate and amass more of its kind in order to try and survive by itself, but more ideally, it will seek out something “living” or at the very least, intelligent to infect and inhabit, humans and AI heavy machines are it's most preferred targets, though animals and plants can suffice in a pinch. When the situation presents itself, it's also quite keen on infesting Remnant to sustain itself. Smaller amounts of Agony left out in the open tends to quickly fade away and expire. Agony most often infects a host of it's own accord, rather than needing to be placed within ones system manually, Agony needs little more than an sized open wound, if it can bleed, Agony can slither its way in; once inside, it seals the wound itself in an attempt to keep itself from being removed before the injury it entered through can heal on its own. Afterwards, off-colored scars, and strange “bruising” remain visible on the skin, with the “bruises” slowly fading as the Agony slowly spreads out and latches onto more of the victims systems. Though Agony cannot heal, once it has a firm grip on it's victim, it tends to at least try and block out their ability to feel the pain being caused by any injuries or illness they may have, or have ended up with due to the Agony itself; this behavior is mostly common in more powerful masses of Agony, or more widespread infections, as Agony needs Agony to sustain and power itself up, it will usually try and ensure it's host suffers to some extent first. Agony infections that fail to take proper hold, but don't “die”, tend to concentrate into one or two areas of the body and lay dormant until a situation to amass more Agony and power presents itself, or, the need to even “protect” it's host to ensure it doesn't get cast out arises. Agony seldom has any positive uses, if anything, it's pretty much an instrument of torture and in rare cases in which a sentient being gains its favor, a means of control. Other visual effects of an Agony infection can manifest as: -parts of the body temporarily or permanently being twisted in monstrous ways. -Faded eye color, missing pupils, and the darkening of the whites of the eyes. -External “veins” of Agony weaving in and out of the skin. -Agony occasionally leaking from the eyes, mouth, or open wounds. These vary in presence and severity depending on how much Agony is in ones system, how strong it is, if its widespread or concentrated, and the general physical and/or mental/emotional state of the victim. Infections are usually initially characterized by the aforementioned darken “scars” and “bruises” but initial infections can also result in general weakness, high fevers, exhaustion, sudden boughts of strong negative emotions or a phantom hopeless or paranoid feeling.                                             Behaviors While Remnant and Agony aren't exactly fully “sentient” or completely “alive”, both display behavior unique to themselves, and at times, even seem capable of displaying some levels of understanding and intelligence.                                            Remnant: Between the two, Remnant is the more “Shy” of them, usually opting to avoid contact, and preferring to say hidden in rubble or within metal objects over being spotted, though it also seems to grow curious towards people and spirits at times and will drift closer, though (usually) just out of reach as they follow, or even lead the individual they've taken interest in about. Voices can emit from Remnant on occasion, usually only a few words or sounds at a time are clear, with the rest sounding like disjointed whispers or mumbles. Raw Remnant when touched will temporarily “transport” whoever came into contact with it with the memory it contains, direct contact with soul Remnant can occasionally result in the temporary possession of the individual making contact, with the soul of the individual; Soul Remnant that comes into contact with a corpse, or machine will possess this thing fully until released via burning. Remnant will also, strangely enough, despite having the ability to phase through solid objects, will stay within confined spaces if intentionally placed there, making it rather easy to keep for long periods of time so long as you're able to get close enough to catch it.                                                Agony: In contrast to Remnant, Agony is far more aggressive, willingly darting towards anything capable of feeling pain or with enough sentience to experience mental or emotional pain any chance it gets. The presence of blood or open wounds only seems to prompt this behavior even more from Agony. Unlike Remnant, Agony's “voice” can't be heard unless you're making direct contact with it, or are already possessed by at least a portion of the Agony mass you're dealing with in that moment, otherwise, Agony tends to only make low growls and hisses, and the occasionally incoherent mumbling or whispers in a low, deep tone. Raw Agony when touched will likely attempt to hold the victim in place in order to search for, or create an open cut or wound to enter from, the sensation of Agony against the skin is icy cold with an extreme “pins and needles” sensation accompanying it. Agony is near impossible to contain in anything it doesn't already want to be a part of. Agony on its own is usually a rather thoughtless creature, acting primarily on instinct to survive, and cause harm in order to “feed” itself. However, once introduced to a more “intelligent” creature, whether they be human, machine, or otherwise, Agony will inherent quite a bit of their thinking capabilities, allowing it to better plot out ways to cause pain and torment per the situation, instead of always relying more solely on brute strength and physical pain. Agony also, oddly enough, can die out even after finding a host, (without burning it), if the host in question was already far too physically weak or ill for it to properly worsen the situation without killing the host itself before it had time to properly take hold. Agony that's taken proper hold of a host tends to slowly chip away at them until it has full control, at which point, it will attempt to remove or destroy the host's soul, or equivalent there of, ultimately “killing” the host, and taking full control of it's body for itself until it can no longer function, it will however, attempt to prolong functionality by replacing worn, broken, or missing parts with more Agony, or, metallic components. As previously stated, Agony infected “Soul Remnant” seldom happens naturally, most times this is encountered, it was created artificially by force. However, a truly tormented and agonized soul may end up with such an infection naturally; the souls of the dead that never moved on are also very susceptible to these Soul based Agony infections, but generally speaking, the living won't need to worry. As such, Agony, despite how much it would love to get its claws on that sort of power, will usually just try and remove or destroy the soul of its host all together in order to take control, as absorbing it takes far too much time and energy. In some rare cases, when Agony finds it easier to inflict mental or emotional pain on a target than physical. (like if they have a high pain tolerance, or some other means of blocking out the feeling), it may manifest to its host as shadowy creatures in order to assist in tormenting him, these shadowy constructs are often difficult, or even impossible for most others besides the victim to see. Aaaaand that's all for now! I wrote this out pretty quickly and don’t really have the time to give it another once over, so I'll likely occasionally reblog this post with extra info as I think of it, also keep in mind, my mind tends to be all over the place, if an idea I feel fits better or works well in general arises, I may rework some of this. But for now, here's a general post about Agony and Remnant in my AU! :3 Thanks for Reading!