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patolemus · 3 months

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Here’s a little thing that’s been bugging me for a few weeks.

Summary: Stiles is a demon. This is common knowledge. At least, he was under the impression that this is common knowledge. He should have known better than to trust Derek Hale to figure it out.

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Look, in his defense, Stiles was sure they knew. At least, he was sure Derek knew, and if Derek knew, then the rest of the pack knew. That’s just kind of how it works, when they aren’t hiding threats from each other.

(He’s not pointing fingers. It’s just that Stiles sometimes gets fucking tired when the pack does not tell him shit and then he ends up having to figure it all out by himself so they don’t get themselves killed. It wasn’t funny the first time Scott tried it back in sophomore year. It hasn’t gotten any funnier since.)

(Alright, so he is pointing fingers. Sue him.)

Stiles is a demon. And okay, before anyone gets mad and starts saying shit like ‘no he’s not, he’s just a bit chaotic’, he… well, Stiles will admit to being chaotic as a general rule, but that is more of a character choice. He’s being for real when he says he’s a demon.

His parents couldn’t have children. It’s just how it goes sometimes. But Claudia was a very powerful witch, and she knew a thing or two about making pacts with demons. So when the doctors told her she could not carry any children, she figured the next step was obviously to summon a creature from down below and make a deal with it in exchange for a child.

That’s where Stiles comes in.

Claudia probably wasn’t expecting a demon child to come to her when she did her summoning, but personally? Stiles thinks she lucked out. Stiles is a friendly demon, as far as those go, and his policy regarding humans is more ‘see what makes them tick’ rather than ‘make them burst into flames spontaneously’, so all in all, she could have done a lot worse.

So that’s kind of how he ends up as Stiles Stilinski, son of John and Claudia Stilinski. Claudia and John are the only ones that know Stiles’ true name, though only Claudia can say it right. John tries his best, but they all collectively decide that Mischief is a rather good alternative.

In exchange for being the best son anyone could have, Stiles gets to spend an unspecified amount time on the mortal realm. Claudia doesn’t put any restrictions on him, on the understanding that Stiles can’t go and kill people for kicks. Annoying them is fair game, though.

That’s fine. Stiles has never been particularly interested in needless violence. He’d much rather learn everything there is to know about humans. Such interesting creatures. Truly fascinating.

And that’s how he spends the next twelve years of his life. He makes one singular friend - humans tend to get this instinctual need to get away from demons, but Scott doesn’t have any survival instincts at all, so it works out fine - and spends most of his time enjoying the admittedly mundane life of a human child.

Stiles knows there’s a pack of werewolves living in town, but he never runs into them, and then they die in that terribly suspicious fire and the survivors leave. The town quiets down a lot after that, and Stiles tries not to mourn the loss too badly. The energy they gave off was very pleasant.

Then the werewolves come back to town.

Stiles doesn’t intent to get involved. He doesn’t. He’s a demon, he doesn’t care for mortal affairs no matter how amusing they are. So he doesn’t do anything when he feels the presence of an Alpha in Beacon Hills after seven years. A not his circus not his monkeys kinda situation. But then Scott gets turned into a werewolf, and Stiles doesn’t care for mortal affairs but he does care about Scott, so really, it was inevitable.

There’s also Derek Hale. Derek Hale with his lickable abs and his chiseled scowly face and that angryhurtsadmiserable aura of his. Stiles acuses him of murder, Derek shoves him into walls. How is Stiles supposed to not become completely obsessed?

Anyways.

Stiles isn’t sure how he ended up in a pack of werewolves of all things - demons are lonely creatures, they don’t get packs - but he can probably blame Scott for that. It’s pretty alright, even if he gets dragged into every possible supernatural matchup imaginable. At least no one is busting out the holy water. Not that it would work, that’s a myth. Stiles had that phase as a kid where he went to church every Sunday morning and received the sacrament of Eucharist just for kicks. His dad didn’t find it funny, but Stiles still thinks it’s fucking hilarious. Now he uses the name of Jesus Christ every time he can. It’s blasphemous and Stiles thinks it’s hilarious too.

Back to the point, Stiles never bothered to hide he’s a demon. He doesn’t advertise it, of course, but he doesn’t go out of his way to mask his scent or whatever. He’s powerful enough that he can take on mostly anything that comes find him. So he thought Derek knew, and was just being chill about it and not mentioning it.

Apparently not.

The bitten wolves, he could understand. They still mix up deer and rabbit after years of being bitten when they’re running in the preserve. But Derek’s a born wolf. He was trained since he was a kid, and it’s not like demons are hard to sniff out. Hell clings to Stiles like a second skin.

Well, it turns out Derek is the ultimate failwolf, because after four years, he still had no idea. It takes a run in with another demon - this one does like to set humans on fire, unfortunately, so Stiles has to banish it back to Hell - and even then Stiles has to practically spell it out for him. Stiles is only a bit disappointed in him. Mostly, he’s still a bit confused on how Derek even missed it in the first place.

“Dude, can’t you smell it?” he asks, and they’re alone in the loft because everyone else has gone out to buy celebratory donuts while they try to get the scorch marks off Derek’s wall. It’s not going as well as they hoped.

Instead of an answer, or a growl, which is his primary method of communication, Derek does something unexpected and fucking—blushes.

Huh. Okay.

Wait, no. Not okay. What?

“It’s not considered polite to act on the way people smell, Stiles,” and Derek’s voice is strangled, like it hurts him to get the words out. He’s always been bad at talking but Jesus Christ, this is excessive.

(Heh. Jesus Christ. It will never not be funny.)

“That’s bullshit and you know it. I’ve lost count of how many times you’ve sniffed out other supernatural creatures or people’s intentions. It’s what you do. Other than rip out throats and creep around my window, obviously,” Derek’s scowl makes an appearance - there it is, Stiles was getting worried for a second - looking back at the scorched wall like it’s going to magically clean itself with the power of his rage.

Stiles could probably do something like that. Maybe. His magic is chaotic on a good day, so he can’t really call it reliable. Destructive, definitely. Offensive, if he has to pick between that and defense. Stiles is terrible at that.

He’s really getting off track here.

“That’s different. You’re not a supernatural creature,” Derek says stubbornly and what?

“What?”

“What,” it’s impressive how he always manages to ask questions that don’t sound like questions.

“What do you mean, I’m not a supernatural creature? Are you—“ Stiles looks at his Alpha with narrowed eyes, mouth open mid sentence as it finally downs on him that they’re talking about very different things. “What did you think I meant when I asked you if you smelt it?”

Derek stubbornly refuses to say anything. That’s fine. Stiles is the king of stubborn, he can out-stubborn anyone at any given time.

“Tell me,” he presses. Derek doesn’t say anything. “Tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me, tell me, tell—“

“Jesus fuck, Stiles, fine!” heh. Stiles knew he’d break. “I was smelling that you’re horny. All the time.”

That— that’s not what Stiles was expecting. Um. Okay. So things got awkward very fucking quickly.

“Oh,” he says, and now he sounds strangled because he thought he’d kept that little tidbit of information hidden quite nicely. It turns out Derek was just being polite about it.

God, does it mean the betas can smell it too? Oh, no, no no no no.

(Heh. God. Stiles is so funny.)

(He really has to stop unfocusing like this.)

Stiles is officially mortified. Turns out even demons get prudish after spending so much time in the mortal realm. Who knew? It’s okay, Stiles will just find the nearest bridge to throw himself off from. If he has any luck he’ll die instantly and won’t get back to Hell so he doesn’t have to live with this knowledge forever.

“It’s okay. I know it’s not personal or anything,” Derek’s still not looking at him. He’s grabbed back his rag and is valiantly rubbing away at the wall. Stiles doesn’t have the heart to tell him that if the mark hasn’t come out already, it probably never will. He’d know, he’s burned plenty of walls before.

By accident, if his dad ever asks.

“That’s fine and all, only it’s very personal,” and Stiles is just making a bigger hole to bury himself in, but his mouth is faster than his brain. It’s an ongoing issue. “You don’t think I’m horny all the fucking time, right? I mean, demons do have that hyper hormonal stage at my age but assuming it’s all the time is a bit excessive. I’m not a succubus. This is completely a you thing.”

Derek’s face does that thing where it pinches in between his eyebrows and his eyes narrow a bit, lips pressed together tightly. It’s his Stiles Just Said Something Deeply Upsetting face. He uses it a lot.

Alright, time to backtrack.

“It’s really okay that you don’t feel the same. Really, I get it. I wouldn’t feel the same about me either. So let’s just ignore I ever said anything, and we can go back to trying to clean this up even if we both know it’s not going to come out,” he offers Derek his most winning smile. Derek’s face just gets even more pinched.

Stiles’ senses are pretty dulled here on the mortal realm, but he doesn’t need them to know his Alpha is probably very pissed. At him, specifically.

So it’s Tuesday, then.

Stiles takes a step back, just as a precaution. He doesn’t think Derek will throw him against a wall - he stopped doing that a couple of years ago. Stiles refuses to acknowledge he kinda misses it - but you can never be too cautious. And Stiles did kind of just confess his undying horniness for him.

Imagine if he’d also told the guy he’s utterly and helplessly in love with him. That would have gone fantastically. Not.

“You’re a demon?” Derek’s voice comes out more high pitch than Stiles has ever heard it. He’s surprised. Why is he surprised? This is what they were talking about, before Stiles stuck a foot in his mouth. “Since when?”

“Since always? Seriously dude, can’t you smell it?”

It’s like they’re back in square one.

So. Turns out Derek truly had no idea Stiles is a demon. No wonder he’d looked like Stiles had grown a second head when he banished that fiend back to Hell.

On the good side, Derek apparently also returns his feelings, after they go in circles a few more times and Stiles gets across that he’s not just horny, he’s in love. A happy ending, in Stiles’ opinion.

(“How did you end up as the son of the Sheriff anyway? Is he a demon, too?”

“Hmn? Oh, no. My mom just did this summoning ritual for a Prince of Hell to get them a child, and I showed up. It was kind of a two for one deal,” he waves his hand dismissively.

“You’re a what?”

Oh, boy. Stiles knew he was forgetting something.)

#patolemus writes #yes this is inspired on the fact that no one can say stiles’ real name and he refuses to tell anyone what it is #emotionally constipated derek is very funny when he’s not obstructing true love #sterek #stiles stilinksi #derek hale #derek x stiles #stiles x derek #teen wolf #teen wolf fanfiction #writing #fanfic #eternal sterek #sterek fanfic

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bonefall · 4 months

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Is there a list of all the jobs the cats can have?

I gotta make a whole thingie on this but here's a short list of the new job expansions, as a quick summary before I get around to it;

All heads of the patrol expansions report to the deputy. Patrol expansions also have apprentice chores that need to be carried out-- like dishwashing for Kitchen Patrol.

Official Jobs: Tasks that a cat can volunteer for or be assigned to for the day.

Kitchen Patrol Tasked with preparing meals. This includes processing prey from carcass to meat, making all the cats feel as full as possible on the food they have on-paw, and general preservation. NEW Position: Head of Kitchen. Oversees these operations, ensures fair ration distribution, decides the communal meal for the day, works directly with the other two heads to provide building materials (leather, bones) and discuss hunting quarries.

Hunting Patrol Very similar to canon; tasked with catching prey or patrolling the border. NEW Position: Head of Hunting. Tasked with managing prey populations and overseeing the types of animals that are being brought home. Has the freedom to levy "limits" on species and organize big game hunts. Is also expected to keep tabs on the territories and populations of other predators, especially vixens and how many cubs they're having in a season.

Construction Patrol An expansion of canon's unofficial builder roles. Tasked not only with building itself, but weatherproofing based on the season, comfort of the dens, and collecting materials. NEW Position: Head of Construction. Oversees projects and manages safety. Works intimately with the Head of Kitchen especially, responsible for taking the skinned pelts and processing them into proper leather, and cleaning spare long bones (especially of rabbits) for use as beams and supports. In ThunderClan, they are also responsible for maintaining the spears.

Educator A cat in charge of giving all kittens all their basic skills and a simple introduction to history, before their mentor and the elders eventually take over. Teaches kits how to understand glyphs, the names of certain animals, the leaders of their Clan, etc.

Unofficial Jobs: Tasks that a cat chooses to do, sometimes also asking permission to do it professionally or permanently.

Chaperone The "perma-queen" position. Helps out in the nursery and attends the needs of the queens. Doesn't typically do a lot with the kittens themselves, between their Mi, the Educator, any Bas or family they have, and the elders. Raising kittens is communal, so the Chaperone focuses more on the parents themselves. (Chaperones are generally rare, as they are redundant if you write the clan as a proper social unit, imo...)

Trader A cat who brings things to the border or to gatherings in order to swap them for other goods. Becoming more popular as peace between the Clans grows. Not a "position" but more of a hobby, or a talent. The Clans are currently running on bartering, between borders.

Crafting Weaving, tanning, toymaking, instrument creation, etc. Not so much a singular position rather than a blanket of various hobbies Clan cats can do in their off-time, now. While Construction Patrol often has to do these as chores, they can be done just for fun or personal gain.

In addition, the Leaders, Deputies, and Clerics have significant expansions as well.

Leaders are now given 9 lives to USE, and are expected to function as "the ideal warrior." They are at the head of dangerous missions, patrols, and are brave responders to natural disasters. They are blessed by StarClan itself, carrying a piece of a star to display their holy rank.

The Deputy is now expected to be the one who handles the "busywork" in the Clan so the leader is free to lead by example. The final decision always goes to the leader, but the deputy has MASSIVE influence over the day-to-day functions of the Clan now.

And the Cleric is the healer and spiritual authority of the entire Clan, only outdone by the Leader itself. Only a Cleric is allowed to interpret signs and omens, with Clan Culture now having the concepts of blasphemy, dark magic, and demonic influence.

#clan culture #better bones au

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tragicdruid · 17 days

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Angst with Scara please, using this line!

“Is it too hard to love me back?”

Lost Love (1)

Pairings: Scaramouche x Reader

Contains: Angst no comfort (?), established relationship, break up, minor Archon quest spoiler

Word Count: 600+

Part 1 | Part 2

Scaramouche was different now -- or perhaps he had always been this way. Ever since he'd successfully taken the electro gnosis, his mind has been dead set on a singular goal; becoming a God. Everything else had fallen to the wayside. He abandoned the Fatui and, in some ways, it feels as if he's abandoned you.

You were still at his side during this venture, following him loyally as a lover should. But love...it felt as if it was slipping through your fingertips. So focused on godhood, it was as if he'd forgotten you. Or rather, you were no longer of any importance. He cared more about a single worshiper than he did his lover. At least, that's what it felt like.

As you stand in the Joururi workshop, staring up at the giant mechanism that Scaramouche is attached to from within, your expression becomes pensive.

"Is this really what you want?" You ask, head tilting as your eyes search for his visage behind the combination of intricate metals. When was the last time you saw his face? Felt his touch? Weeks? Months?

"What kind of question is that? Of course it is." His voice echoes out into the space, full of disdain and judgement. As if you were nothing more than a dog.

In truth, you missed him. It was as simple as that. Sure, you were in the same space, but things were different now. It wasn't as if the two of you had a normal relationship to begin with, but it feels as if the fragile thread that connected you both was on the verge of breaking. And it's not like you weren't supportive of his plans. You just wonder if the consequences were worth it.

"Well...once you become a God, where does that leave us?" You hope that there will still be an us.

Contemptuous laughter fills the space and you feel your stomach drop. "What do you think? You will worship me like everyone else," he sneers, and you can practically feel his cold gaze through the machine.

"That's not what I meant and you know it," you reply quickly, brows furrowed and lips pulled into a frown. "You know I love you. Is it too hard to love me back?"

You earn a scoff of disbelief before he chuckles coolly. "Love? Is that what you thought it was? Mortals are so simpleminded."

Your chest clenches at his words, wanting to believe that he's just being disagreeable to irritate you, as he often did. The power must be getting to his head.

"Yes, love. Aren't we enough? You don't have to do all this to prove yourself."

"Hah, I don't need to prove myself. This is my birthright. If you think I'm going to stop just because you think you're special, think again."

Immediately, tears begin to well in your eyes as your voice gets caught in your throat. You want to argue like you always do, but you know this is different.

"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" Scaramouche was always one to twist the knife, but you had hoped that he wouldn't be so cruel to you.

Taking a moment to collect yourself, you blink away your tears and glare at the mechanism that was to be his new form. "I guess we're done then," you mutter bitterly, turning your back to him.

"Aw, did I hurt your feelings? You'll come running back like you always do."

His taunting laughter fills the chamber as you walk away. You don't come back.

--------🍃

A Wanderer walks alone through the marketplace. You pass him with groceries in hand, your scent familiar and expression serene. He is unfamiliar to you, but as your eyes meet, you catch a glimpse of yearning in those stunning indigo orbs. The stranger tilts his head downward, the rim of his hat blocking your view as he continues on his path.

Pausing for a moment, you turn your head to stare at the stranger's back. With a shrug, you return home, wondering why that wanderer looked at you with something akin to love.

#scaramouche x reader #balladeer x reader #genshin impact scaramouche #genshin impact x reader #td;writing #td;genshin

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daisukitoo · 7 months

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Humans are small ecosystems animated by hive minds, which present themselves as singular "multi-cellular life forms," as if such a thing were possible. When dealing with humans, it is best to humor this self-presentation, as they have been known to become violent if this self-image is challenged or if you attempt to appeal to their components individually.

When communicating with a human, you will be addressing the verbal module of one organ of one cellular subset. This verbal module itself possesses no apparent intelligence or self-awareness, but it draws upon the resources of other processing systems. Again, it is safest not to remind humans of this, nor to take their languages' frequent use of the second-person plural in place of the second-person singular as recognition of their collective agency. When addressing one human ecology, "you" is treated as a singular, despite the grammatical and biological absurdity. Reference the interspecies relations manual for FAQs on this topic.

Human ecosystems exist in multiple layers. The most central "human" organisms are a collection of symbiotic, specialized cells built from a common template. Humans will often recognize this layer as "you" and expect other species to be built similarly. They do not recognize the existence of other layers as themselves.

For example, the entire surface of a human is a "microorganism" battleground, where Earth yeasts and bacteria fight for eminence. If any faction wins, the ecology will be stabilized and the human will both die and become uncommunicative. Do not offer aid or comfort to any involved faction. Humans will take personal offense at discussions of their surface microorganisms.

Humans are not capable of digesting their own sustenance. Rather than absorb any common energy wavelengths, humans must consume other organisms and absorb them into the local ecology. They call the first several steps of their digestion "cooking," by which sustenance is physically and chemically altered before ingestion. Their "gut bacteria" is a collection of captured subspecies that they have incorporated into their corporeal bodies. Again, offering to "cure" gut bacteria is considered offensive and is potentially fatal (although not quickly enough to be valuable as a combat technique; see the relevant subsection of the interspecies relations FAQ).

Humans are strangely aware that all of their "cells" contain other organisms in a symbiotic relationship as a powerhouse. This recognition extends only to these "mitochondria," with the usual offense taken if other subsections of the ecology are recognized or addressed.

Avoid contact with any liquid emitted by a human. Human ecosystems aggressively reproduce themselves through the transfer of components in liquid form. While not all toxic human liquids are active assimilation vehicles, assume that the human is present and potentially attempting to assimilate in any liquid form. This is only a class 3 danger for most life forms, but exposure can be fatal in biologies sufficiently similar to humans. Humans emit liquids at and in each other frequently as a form of communication and fellowship; do not be surprised if humans offer their liquids to you in a variety of forms of direct contact. Humans may take offense at a refusal of liquids or contact, but most humans you are likely to encounter off Earth are sufficiently aware of norms to attempt to hide this offense. Humans may be aggressively eager to assimilate or create hybrid lifeforms, despite the rarity with which this is biologically feasible. Attempts should be avoided, as success is at least as likely to be fatal as the attempt.

It remains unclear whether one aspect of a human drives the collective or if the collective is a true hive mind. Again, the verbal component that communicates with other life forms seems unaware of most ecological factors happening in "itself," and this is so consistent that it is hard to believe it is a humanity-wide deception being played against other lifeforms.

Most humans seem to possess an instinctive revulsion to other hive minds and collective ecological lifeforms. Because the human communication module is unaware of its own collective nature, it is not helpful in providing insight into whether this antipathy is driven by factors such as a competitive drive or a need to avoid self-recognition.

As above, a subset of humans will eagerly attempt assimilation with other collective intelligences via liquid transmission in either direction. There is no apparent biological difference in these humans, and these contacts are usually fatal to at least one party. Verbal recognition of this fact has no apparent connection to a human's eagerness, again speaking to the verbal module's inability to observe what motivates the collective ecology.

It is best to isolate different forms of collective intelligences from each other to avoid either conflict or assimilation attempts.

#humans #space orcs

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monstersdownthepath · 11 months

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Milestone Monster: Watchers of Jandelay

CR 22

Lawful Neutral Gargantuan Outsider

Planar Adventures, pg. 246-247

Have you ever felt like you were being watched, even though you were certain you were alone? Have you ever felt like something was terribly wrong even though you couldn’t place why? Then you may have some form of anxiety and/or paranoia, I’m afraid. Unless you’re in the Pathfinder universe, where a sense of something staring at you from some unseen direction or a vague feeling of doom is a fairly good sign you’re being stalked by a Fey, or some form of Undead, or any number of fiends. You’re lucky in some ways if it turns out to be one of these 30-foot-tall insects instead, but unlucky in significantly more important ways.

The Watchers are the primary keepers of the infinitely mysterious Jandelay, a bead of order floating within the endless chaos of the Maelstrom. Knowledge of this unusual demiplane is basically nonexistent on Golarion but for a strange poem carved into the base of a thousand-foot-tall tower called the Spindlethorn, meaning that if any of THESE creatures show up, it’s very likely that no one on the planet will know what the hell it means. Unfortunately for everyone involved, their presence typically means that the world on which they’re spotted is about to end, all life on it to be wiped out by an apocalyptic calamity which can rarely be averted. They’re not the cause, merely a symptom; they’re observers called to a doomed world to witness its end, recording and collecting what they can before its history and uniqueness are lost forever.

Perhaps as a form of mercy for the doomed world, the inhabitants don’t really have to deal with 30-foot-tall spiders suddenly appearing and gazing dispassionately at them. Rather, Watchers of Jandelay have the unnerving ability to become completely Inconspicuous, fading entirely from all senses if an onlooker fails a DC 28 Will save the first time each day they’d observe one of them. If that save is failed, that creature simply cannot be made to see or hear that Watcher with any of its senses for 24 entire hours, unless it’s forced to touch one by someone who succeeded (or the Watcher, for whatever reason, touches it). This Inconspicuous ability is a mind-affecting effect, so any creature immune to them can see a Watcher perfectly, which I’m sure will have no effect on their mental health whatsoever.

Even if a creature can see it, though, that’s no guarantee they’ll be able to interact with it. Once per day, a Watcher can Phase Shift out of local reality entirely, appearing to all the world as ghostly, transparent shapes that are entirely untouchable, something they use to minimize their potential impact to a world (and also avoid being caught in whatever calamity is about to befall it). A creature able to see one (or even multiple) will not only have to convince their allies that the Watchers are even THERE, but that they’re living beings rather than some kind of illusion or hallucination. Depending on if the apocalypse is in full swing or not, they could be entirely dismissed as some harmless but disquieting magical anomaly or trickery, which suits them just fine. The fewer creatures that perceive them, the fewer opportunities there are for something to go wrong with their work.

When a Watcher arrives on a world, it has two duties: Observation and preservation. Assisting the former is their singular, gigantic eye, a sensory organ so impossibly complex and powerful that comparing it at all to your pathetic human eyes is like comparing a lit match to the light of the sun. A Watcher’s eyesight is unmatched due to its Perfect Observation, recording all sensory information in a memory that never fades or corrupts unless tampered with by an outside source. They also are always treated as rolling a natural 20 on ALL vision-based Perception checks regardless of any possible intervening factors... which means that they’re always treated as having a 71 Perception, a number that may as well be an infinity sign! They’re outright immune to being blinded or dazed, and with 120ft of Blindsight, See In Darkness, and True Sight besides, it’s safe to say that the only way you’re hiding from a Watcher’s eyesight is with good old cover and concealment.

Aiding in their efforts for preservation is their ability to erect Beacons of Jandelay, six-foot-tall pillars of pale yellow energy that designate their surrounding environment as worth keeping. Jandelay, the realm of emerald fields and alabaster spires, is actually something of an archive and a museum in one, keeping records and collected remnants of worlds and civilizations destroyed by calamity. Any stretch of land marked by a Beacon of Jandelay is transported to the demiplane and knit together with one another, magically preserved for review by the Watchers and any visitor that manages to reach the plane. Because these beacons are so important, they’re typically built out of phase with reality, where they can still function but cannot be interacted with. Dimension Anchor or any similar spell that bars interplanar travel can cause a phased-out beacon (or even a phased-out Watcher) back into reality, but doing so can be dangerous, because interacting with or ESPECIALLY causing damage to a beacon will summon a Watcher to investigate; they always arrive on target with their at-will Plane Shift or 3/day Quickened Teleport if their destination is near a beacon! And once they’re there, they have ways to very, very quickly deal with interlopers.

At their base, being Full-Attacked by a Watcher can end a battle as soon as it starts. Their unique version of Air Walk allows their body to remain fixed in space even as their limbs are occupied, meaning they can swat an annoyance with all six of their limbs without risking falling over. That means upwards to six 2d8+10 shots from claws that crit on a 19 or 20! And with a 20ft space but a 30ft reach, having one suddenly appear in the midst of your party (either because it teleported there or because the party finally noticed it) means you’re likely stuck there as it Full-Attacks every round.

Thankfully, Watchers rarely fight to kill... because, oftentimes, they literally can’t kill their targets before the targets are permanently neutralized via their Stasis. Being hit by a single claw forces a DC 28 Will save to avoid being slowed (as the spell), and any creature that’s already slowed has to make a DC 28 Fortitude save or be permanently frozen in time. This works exactly like Temporal Stasis; the victim cannot take actions, cannot be harmed or targeted by anything, and cannot be moved from whatever spot they were frozen on This stasis can only be ended if it’s dispelled, if the Watcher that caused it is slain, or if the Watcher and frozen target are no longer on the same plane as one another... which typically means the unfortunate victims are often frozen right up until whatever calamity the Watchers came to watch is wracking the planet. They snap out of their stasis just as the world ends around them.

Being able to force upwards to six Save-or-Suck effects a round with no per-day limit or 24-hour immunity clause is really all a Watcher needs to handle most threats. There’s basically no creature that resists the Stasis effect, and the only way to avoid it entirely is to dispel the Slow effect each time it’s applied (or, more realistically, bolster the target’s Will save beyond 28)... though it’s a little ambiguous if this ability would have any effect on a creature under the effects of Freedom of Movement, which allows a creature to move normally even while under the effects of Slow, but Stasis doesn’t CARE of a creature is actually affected by the Slow, only that the effect is there in the first place. Make sure you think about this before sending one after your players! And make sure you have a way out in case they all fail! Like, perhaps, the Watcher has sustained too many injuries (though players would have to get past its DR 15 and Regeneration 15, both requiring Chaotic sources) and has to Plane Shift away to recover, which frees everyone held at once to regroup.

Anyway, back on track: the six natural attacks are typically all a Watcher needs in its day to day life, but those are by no means the only weapon in its arsenal. Oh no, you wish it was. As witnesses to countless calamities, Watchers have absorbed some of the resulting destructive energy to become mobile armageddons all on their own, to a degree that feels almost unnecessary! I mean, they have Control Weather and Telekinesis at-will, which is already great for causing chaos... But then there’s their 3/days: Whirlwind, Call Lightning Storm, Sirocco, Vortex, and Earthquake. THREE TIMES A DAY, EACH! If stirred sufficiently to action, a Watcher can obliterate not just an adventuring party, but the entire city around them if it needs to, bending the laws of nature to their whim and will with all the power of an angry demigod.

And that’s before we look at their 1/days. The combat applications for Time Stop and Meteor Swarm are plenty, but why do they also need Storm of Vengeance and Tsunami? My personal guess is to create distractions for anyone trying to stop the coming end times.

Uniquely and frighteningly, Watchers will move to intervene against any group of creatures that stand a good chance of stopping whatever apocalypse is about to unfold, each one guided by whatever strange intelligence that lays within Jandelay... or perhaps guided by sunk cost fallacy. They’re already here and already set up, and now it’s not going to happen? Boooooo! It’s unclear why they’re motivated to fight against any attempt to avert a world’s fate that seems poised to succeed, but whatever the case may be, it’s certainly convenient for a DM that wants to test their luck and their player’s patience with these aliens from one of the strangest planes in all of Pathfinder.

You can read more about them here.

#Monster Spotlight #CR 21 to 25 #Pathfinder #Dungeons and Dragons #Milestone Monster

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ms-scarletwings · 7 months

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On Defective Irkens

“It is theorized that Tak may also be an Irken defect because-“

“Say guys do you think Skoodge is defective? He did a thing he wasn’t told to do once do you suppose-“

“Service Drone Bob's contempt for the Tallest is extremely abnormal, even for most defective Irkens…”

“Hints of the comms officer being a defective are seen when-“

Ohhh mauling the fan wiki writers grr biting biting thrashing and then turning around to the rest of you before I’m done, you bet, for I have sat and listened for over 12 years of leaps and speculations of this sort and now I’m now one of the ones who gets to have what the cool kids these days call a hot take on the matter.

By the end of this I’M going to bring up and expose who I actually think may be the only other defective Irken(s) in the show besides Zim, whom I’m aghast I haven’t seen anyone suggest before.

But before anything else, I want to front one preassumption center and loud.

It took me a long time to guess at why very few people can ever seem to get on the same page of what it actually means to call an Irken defective. Implicitly, the bulk of what we are given is that something can be wrong with a member of this species, and Zim is our prime and singular clear example of that. So there’s a ton of trying to find patterns between Zim’s behavior and that of other Irken characters. Weirdly (to me), a lot of people have, in their efforts, chalked the status up to a sense of rebelliousness or insubordination- a defectiveness in the manner of D&D illithids, stomping out disloyal break-aways from the collective hive mind with punitive wrath. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a cool concept, and it’s definitely closer to my opinion at least than the comparisons to real life mental disorders or disabilities. Not knocking the comfort or the enthusiasm, obviously.

From my view of the canon, I hope it’s at least apparent to other fans that “defective” isn’t some empirical measurement or status to Irkens. Look at the way they determine the defects from normal society. IRL, if I have a faulty device on my hands, there’s some way out there to tell me in a clear cut fashion if there’s a problem and what exactly it is. If it’s code, it can be scanned and debugged. If it’s mechanical, something can be seen, fixed physically. Most organic health problems are only different in the complexity of the matter, but the entire purpose of medical research is to come close as we can to bridging that gap. In Irk’s people, that line is rapidly becoming one long smear of wet chalk. I’m going on like this because if defective paks were akin to hardware actually being damaged, as Purple had put it, it doesn’t make as much sense that they are neither “fixed” nor given real, concrete diagnostics. The only way we know of that the aliens are tested in a since on this merit is by existence evaluations. And existence evaluations are anything but empirical, impartial events. They’re worlds more political and cultural than clinical.

Digest the terms we keep seeing all around the concept: Innocent, justice, trial/evaluation, Judgementia, these are terms of judicial courts and moral weight and sentencing. In effective practice,

Irk labels defects by what one does, not by what one is.

Yet, defection is presented as if that’s not the case, and there are reasons for that. Reasons that reinforce the current power structures and promote what its leadership has decided is healthy for the broader society. When Zim was merely re-encoded from invader status to food service work, it was a more secluded evaluation, presumably done on Irk. His only seen witnesses then were the Tallests and the single control brain dishing the judgement. His existence evaluation, on the other hand, rings more similarly to the IRL historical practice of literal “show trials”. Show trials were something that existed way less for the actual crimes of the accused and so much more for their audience, which, show trials are always for an audience. Three main points about them off the Wikipedia cuff:

• Typically, the defendant of such has already been determined to be guilty (oftentimes of completely fabricated transgressions), and the trial serves mostly to make a massive public spectacle and warning of the accused.

• They tend to focus on retributive punishment over correction. The disproportional brutality and lack of mercy is often the point.

• Their goals are propagandistic in nature, and there’s many notable examples to be found in the history of Nazi Germany, the USSR, and in witch trials across the world (because it was never just Salem).

A formality? Well, that much they couldn’t have more brazenly admitted to. Retribution? There’s hardly a more absolute punitive sentence I could craft up over obliteration PLUS Damnatio Memoariae. And as for the degree of spectacle, I will let you make your own observation here.

Believe it or not, the part where my comparisons along this line end with Existence Evaluations is that their standard for taking place isn’t actually this cartoonishly oppressive one that some fans try to make it out to be. In “The Trial”, Zim was not having his data read for some binary is/is not determination… he was having his experiences and actions interpreted by how much damage he has done against the Armada. He said it himself, that hotseat is reserved for criminals. Likely outright traitors and maniacs. Those who have given cause to alert the brains to a genuine existential threat to their civilization and who have repeatedly failed every opportunity given to redeem themselves.

Defective doesn’t just mean “different” to Irk. We’ve hardly seen an exploration of what the median Irken example even is, because the more we see of any one of these characters, the more they show us their eccentric uniqueness and will. Yes, Irkens are authoritarian; yes they’re over-militarized; yes, they’re a supremacist breed aligned under one ruling military… but listen, they are not literally The Borg, or illithids.

The biggest victims of this government itself are those races it colonizes. Average civilians on the other hand, they get to largely enjoy all the vices and pains and indulgences of hyper-space-capitalism. The height-ocracy may limit their opportunities, but even the lowest drones among them are supposedly hired into their positions in return for wages. Irkens are pretty selfish, but in a rugged individualism sense. It’s a dystopia of atomization instead of collectivization. If everyone had agreed that “defective” had anything to do with arrogance, free will, or an ability to feel one’s sense of self worth, no one would ever be pointing to Skoodge as a possible example. That guy’s the poster boy for what it means to be a “tool” in the derogatory sense. I’m not forgetting that he technically never even left his job. He was fired and more or less forced into hiding, and he’s still not even that perturbed over the whole thing.

Moreover, it also takes some extreme acts of harm to justify such a trial. Real harm- not rebellious attitude or even disrespect to authority. The control brains and the tallests alone get to define that threshold, and neither Tak’s/Zim’s insubordination nor Bob’s audacity concerned them enough for a ticket to Judgementia. In fact, they really don’t seem that bothered at all by deserters and those that abandon their encoded function. Tak is likely to be merely the responsibility of her janitorial squadron, the same way that enforcing Zim’s banishment was the responsibility of his Frylord. Because Irk actually does have standards of justice and layers of bureaucracy to work within when it comes to dealing with true malice. Small fry problems are for the lower rungs of the ladder to handle, until they become a higher priority by necessity. Incompetency alone isn’t a crime, either. The go-to punishment for failure in one function is demotion to a lower position. These are the only Irkens formally not allowed to change jobs, making what they do a kind of communal service or forced labor sentencing. Remember how Tak’s motivation for leaving Dirt wasn’t solely dissatisfaction with the grunt labor? Remember how she kept justifying her actions by the logic of fairness and setting things right? Not to mention how she fully made the Tallest aware of what she was up to and how her plan was well crafted enough to probably work out exactly like she wanted. Tak is utterly as loyal to the empire and competent as any invader. She was genuinely just dealt a shitty hand, and her response to it is at least understandable.

She even went to great lengths to identify and specifically target Zim and to use a planet that otherwise had less than no value to the armada’s operations. She is a great foil to Zim, but I can’t see how she’s any bit defective, only full of rage that she was screwed over by the actions of a real disgrace to their species. Genuinely destructive cases like Zim are an incredible rarity. Such a rarity that I can only guess it took this long for him to go to Judgementia because his degree of dysfunction outright baffles the system. It also would appear that it’s an event of such significance that it can only be set into motion by the command of the ruling Tallest. By murdering a couple of them, and then being a clown show for a couple more, he inadvertently bought himself some time.

And the crazy thing to remember here is that Zim doesn’t even understand that his actions are an existential threat to the Empire- that he IS a whole supervillain to his planet. This is how effective Irken programming and the education plugs are. They’re supposed to do 99% of the work of setting up the population, even the lowest drones, for not turning out like traitors to their kin in the first place. ALL of them grew up on a steady diet of the same drip-fed propaganda and essentialist ideology as their most militant soldiers. So I can see the logic behind the conclusion that the only explanation for criminals in their society must be outright brain damage or corrupted data… and I’m not gonna lie I do openly headcanon that the latter case is exactly what happened to bad egg Zim.

The limits of only having the one example in him notwithstanding, I’m anything but against theorizing about who else could be “worthy” in the Irken sense to also stand before those brains, playing sweaty advocate for the worth of their continued existence and all. I just don’t see it in Bob, or the Comms officer, or any other invader. Tak, there may be some hypothetical ramp to that end, in her future, but as things are right now, I only see a candidate that has become comfortable right in the control brains’ biggest blind spot of all. See, eggs don’t always have to crack in order to go bad. Sometimes, maybe they just spoil. Sometimes, I believe just the right conditions and time can turn them downright rotten.

Dramatic musical flourish, please.

I forget whoever said the quote “Power doesn’t corrupt, It just exposes who people really are”, but I’m a huge fan of the fact that they did. In my opinion, it’s less about power itself and more about a complete lack of accountability that allows the weakest and most toxic seeds to really fester in a seat of authority. Indeed, we all know that there is something pathetic, and vapid, and cruel floating around The Massive’s bridge. I am saying I’d call Red defective, but I couldn’t be certain enough with myself to say that Purple’s largely the one carrying a lot of fault. His greatest sin is his negligence and enabling his companion. whoever we can say shoulders more of the blame, they have been running this horror show as a joint unit, so they will both bear the guilt. Without a doubt, these two are terrible- popular maybe, but terrible leaders. Like, more responsible for the near ruin of their home world and species than I can even pin on Zim at this point. By almost every measure once you hold them up to Miyuki’s and Spork’s barely few moments of would-be screen time, they’re the worst Tallests for the Empire we’ve ever known. It’s too bad that they have no one over them we know of to flag them for an existence evaluation, because I am assured that the real orchestrators of the Armada would be disgusted to look over their track records since they took power.

I mean, what can I remember just off the top of my head?

- Full awareness of Zim’s blackout-causing history before the beginning of Operation Impending Doom I and not keeping a close eye on him, removing him from his position, or keeping him away from the homeworld’s WoMDs

- Overseeing the shipment of faulty equipment to Invader Tenn (even if the packages had not been switched, the Megadoomer still had a potentially fatal flaw), and then presumably NOT giving her urgent guidance/assistance to avoid being captured by native hostiles

- Showing an egregious amount of immaturity and frivolity when making logistical decisions, such as the flight path of the Armada or how conquered planets are utilized

- Repeated abuses of their standing, trying to extra-judicially get rid of subjects over the pettiest reasons (if they had the formal authority to just vaporize Skoodge, Bob, OR Zim on the spot, they wouldn’t need to come up with convoluted and indirect methods that they only hope kill said targets)

- Upon Zim returning to them from his banishment: not sending him back to Foodcourtia and not refusing to humor his wishes to larp as an invader

- Oh yeah, also granting Zim at least some invader tech and allowing him to leave Conventia in what I assume is a ship he could have only stolen

- Still not dealing with Zim with extreme prejudice in a timely fashion after the events of Backseat Drivers from Beyond the stars, or investigating enough to find out and deal with prisoner 777

- HAVING WAITED THROUGH ALL OF THE ABOVE BEFORE SENDING FOR ZIM’S EXISTENCE EVALUATION

- Spending the bulk of their reign so far dicking around in space and gorging themselves. Seriously, Red showed us one act of proactive competence… and it was in order to fix a mess that they allowed Zim to get them into. Not to mention, the Resisty got away from that scrap after thoroughly humiliating their flagship.

Red, and by extension, Purple, are the almighty, Tallest threats to the entire Irken project of galactic conquest, as much as Zim would have loved all the credit in the universe. By what they’ve done, and who they are. He might be damaged, but them? There’s some defective moral character if I’ve ever seen.

#invader zim #iz #iz theory #iz headcanons #tallest red #tallest purple #iz tallest #iz the trial #defective Irkens #long post #scarlet talks about things #Tallest slander

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patheticpaprika · 2 years

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Goncharov: Fandom's Struggle Between Fanon vs. Canon and How That's Created A Mythos Rivaling The Greeks

A tag ramble to this post that got away from me and became too long to feel okay putting in the tags lol. It can be easily read as a stand alone though.

It's absolutely FASCINATING to me being able to both watch and participate in the Goncharov (?)fandom(?). It's taking everything that fandom culture is and letting it run free without any barriers to stop it.

Because frankly, I can't think of anything (to my knowledge) quite like it in recent history to reach such a scale. Both the ability to write stories down and the rise of copyright have had a significant impact on the way stories are told. We went from a storytelling culture that slowly evolved each story told by the person telling it, to one that is very close-handed to the narratives created.

And yes, to some extent, this twisting and evolving still happens in fandoms to the point that fanon and canon can become so separated it feels jarring. But that's just it isn't it? There always remains the canon. That will always be the true story. Fanfiction will forever be fanfiction, no matter how much we want it to be "real." You can whittle away at the narrative to shape it into something more appealing, but it will always be stuck as a block of wood.

Yet, the very fact that fanon exists proves that we never lost that want to change stories and make them a little bit our own. All that we lost was the medium to do so. Evolve something too far, and it won't be the same, will it? We're stuck in the confines of "canon."

I have seen fanfiction of fanfiction before, but it tends to quite quickly pitter out without its own foundation to stand upon. More can be added to the universe, but what's there does not change. It does not evolve the way a story passed down orally does; in a story spoken, the canon is forced to slowly change by the memory and style of the speaker. A classic game of telephone.

Goncharov however? There is no original story; there is no true canon. Not only is the story evolving freely from storyteller to storyteller, but the only reason there is even a coherent story in the first place is that there are multiple storytellers weaving the tale at once yet also expecting you to fill in the gaps.

It's like we're all playing that one writing game where each person writes a sentence back and forth to create a story. Yet, instead of you and one friend, we're playing it on this gargantuan sitewide scale that can't possibly all be connected into a singular coherent narrative. But you're not supposed to be able to. Each person can choose what they want to know it as. It's like some big giant exploratory choose-your-own-adventure book. The framework is there, but it's going in 50 different directions and you can always add another one in just for fun. You discover the story as you read, but only the bits you like get added on.

It's fucking incredible.

We all see each piece of media through our own personal lenses but never like this?? Not to this extent. We're all collectively joining together to obsess over the little ideas in our heads we got from each other's prompts and are excitedly spewing them regardless of how contradictory they are. We do something similar brainstorming with others but not with 12k messages in a single day.

Would this have even been possible before the rise of social media? Not to mention the strong sense of community Tumblr has that is so rare to see with such a large amount of people. There's more people than you could ever know on this site but we all act like some deranged extended family. Yes, people can work together but so rarely do people that vary so greatly in personality and life experiences, get together in such larger numbers to do a little silly goofy CREATE AN ENTIRE STORY THAT DOESN'T EXIST.

We pull shenanigans like this all the time. But this time it's not like eeby deeby or even the mishapocolyse; this time we're seeing the power of an entire community working together to create not only layers and layers of memes but layers of memes shaping an entire mythos. It's like we're the Greeks thinking up stories of our gods but instead it's a homoerotic mafia movie from 1973 written by Matteo JWHJ 0715 and Martin Scorsese that all started with a picture of a shoe.

We have stumbled across something fascinating and new. This may not be the first mafia movie that's been thought up and played around with but this is absolutely the first to be created by thousands of people working together but also towards their own individual goal/story. We're seeing the power that created mythology being wielded by fandom culture, and it's letting it evolve like no other story has.

It's free from the confines of prescribed canon, but there is so much being created that can be canon if you want it to be. This isn't changing one by one like some spoken tale towards exponential growth either. This has been created like one spectacular big bang. We had a funny post of a boot, and then we had a poster and that was enough to make Tumblr go collectively insane. (Not that we weren't already.) I want to (politely) shake all of you by the shoulders till everyone realizes how crazy this all is.

This story is ours, all of ours. Goncharov (1973) is held together by the power of belief and love for it. We have fragments of canon, yes, but it only exists because we want it to. And God-damn it, I hope we do it again. Together we can create things that we'd never thought could exist (and in this case still doesn't).

-We- are strong. Please never forget that.

As it now 6am and I have not slept, I will leave you with a quote; Goncharov's final solemn plea as he slowly bled to death, for I feel it's in an odd way rather fitting.

"What is the dust but a remnant of what we once were, all around us coated with it.

But we brush it away in search of something else. Not everything that mattered once matters now.

Yet you seem to think that's the only way, just keep dusting it.

You never stop to think that some things we search for might not be worth keeping.

Nothing has meaning unless we continue to think it does.

So please... I beg of you, can't we just move on and let this sickening contempt between us dissolve into dust?"

#goncharov #goncharov (1973)#meta #goncharov meta #fandom culture #fanfiction #paprika's pantry of posts

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my-moo-moo · 1 month

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demigod of fertility

She should have known she couldn’t run away from her true purpose. She was the daughter of Freyja, the Goddess of Fertility. She knew she had inherited her mother’s godly powers, when she had started bleeding before all her other classmates in school. Historically, all of her siblings have been stuck popping out children year after year, and refused to be trapped into such a life. When she began attracting boys like flies, she took precautions in her own hands. She began chopping her hair short, and hiding her feminine curves under layers of ugly oversized clothes so as to not even attract the male gaze. Hiding away from town, she avoided interaction with people, swearing that complete abstinence was her only option. She couldn’t trust the miniscule percentage of failure of birth control or condoms alike. She knew that any sliver of a crack in the barrier for sperm to swim past would automatically result in pregnancy.

As the years pass by, her body only grew more desperate to carry life. Her menstrual cycles become almost unbearable with bloating and cramping that left her bedridden for an extensible fraction of the month. Still, her stubbornness kept her from giving into the temptation of falling in line.

This stubbornness was not only affecting herself, but horny men from all walks of life who have been awaiting a chance to knock up the once-in-a-lifetime demigod of fertility. In particular the sweet, potent stench of her fertile womb has been becoming far too distracting for the wolves in town. It was this collective obsession that led to a gathering of a rally of alpha wolves in one bar to enact a plan to end her abstinence. Once one of them gets her pregnant, surely she would give in to her breeder life purpose.

It’s not surprising when a brawl erupts in the bar as they argue who was going to have the chance to fuck her first. Hormone-high alpha meatheads are throwing punches in all directions and hurling others into the wooden furniture, all without the demigod’s presence.

Almost one dead man from being shut down, the night is saved when one of the alphas takes charge and stands up on the bar to gather the attention of the mass. “I’m not sure it will even need to take sex to impregnate her,” he says with a smirk across his face.

She only came out closer to the town to bathe in the dead of the night and even then she chose the smaller secluded pond. It didn’t take much effort for the wolves to uncover her daily routine when she smelt like the sweetest dessert in the midst of the gangly forest.

Unaware of the starving wolves hiding in the bushes, she began stripping her clothes down to her undergarments. She had her underwear halfway down one of her juicy buttcheeks, when her ears caught a shuffle of leaves behind her. She pauses her motion, in that singular moment of being caught unaware, a large beast launches at her, pushing her into the pond with a large splash.

She flails in the water to get her bearings and when she finally manages to surface, the predicament she was in washes upon her. She was surrounded by wolves who had their large cocks out in their hands. Assuming that they were all there to gang rape her, she begins backing away from the shore. Strangely, the wolves don’t chase after her, instead they begin pumping their throbbing dicks until ropes of white cum stream into the water.

Caught flustered by the unexpected course of action and circled on all ends by feral wolves, all she could do was wade in the water as she tried to figure out her next move. It didn’t take long before she felt an unfamiliar tug in her belly. Her hands fly over the plane of her stomach, immediately feeling a roundness straight out of her nightmares. She jerks back in shock and starts wading back to the shore, but the resistance of the water is frustratingly slowing her down.

The wolves laugh at her splashing around desperately, not bothering to take their hands off their dick to help her. She manages to pull herself onto the rocks like a beached whale and looks down upon the irreversible damage on her body.

The head of the pack steps over her and glances down with a winning smile. “Look at you, we didn’t even need to put our dicks in you. Your womb soaked up all the sperm in the water like a bone dry sponge.”

Red hot embarrassment rises to her cheeks. Sometime during her struggle her underwear had fallen off her so the only thing left covering her modesty was the tight bandage she normally used to compress and conceal her heavy breasts. She had barely been in the water and her belly had already swollen up to look like she was halfway through her pregnancy. The wolves’ seed could’ve only just fertilized her eggs yet her body was already betraying her, growing and expanding without halt to accommodate her babies, like it’s been eagerly awaiting their entire life for this moment. her skin stretching without resistance.

The wolves start centering into her. “Should we let our pups’ birth break your hymen, or shall we break you in first?”

She pulls herself up on her feet and starts running like what she knows to do. Her built athleticism is already shot with her lungs struggling to expand to full capacity and her changing centre of balance causing her to stumble. The wolves are running behind her, not even at their full speed capacity, rather teasing her for the sake of the chase. Her body wants to stop, but her stubborn brain doesn’t want to give in.

She kept stumbling through the forest until she hit a dead end— a large cave in the mountain side. Unbeknownst to her, the wolves had herded her right into their den.

She hunches over to catch her breath, clutching her heavy belly, already resigning to her doomed predicament. The head alpha sweeps her up into his arms like she weighed nothing, not waning in spite of her persistent squirming. The wolves howl in celebration as he walks her into the den and deposits her into their nest.

He tears her clothes away as if the fabric were made of tissue until all that was covering her was bandages bound tightly around her chest. With one swipe, his sharp claws tear through her chest bindings and her bountiful breasts burst free, even more voluptuous than before. She hastily covered her arms over herself, but there was no denying the freedom she had felt— as if she could breathe properly for the first time.

Each of her legs were hitched up by a wolf as the pack alpha readied his cock over her entrance. Without any prep, he forces his thick head into her virgin pussy, wiggling it in. She couldn’t even see past the expanse of her baby bump, yet could already still anticipate she’s far too tight for him. She yells out from the top of her lungs, “No! It can’t fit! It’s too big!”

Disregarding her concerns, he continues slamming his cock further in, her wet sleeve only yielding to the intrusion. “Don’t lie to me,” he grunts. “Look at you sucking me in. You want this as much as your body does.”

“Please stop! I’m already fucking pregnant! You already got what you wanted!”

“What makes you think we want you only as a breeder? Look at the line up of wolves ready to have a chance to use you like a sleeve.” She lifts her head around for the first time, taking in the crowd of wolves that have gathered to watch her humiliation.

Without halt in the pummeling, he trails his free clawed hand over the curves of your body. “I can’t believe you’ve been hiding all this from the world, but I guess it worked in our favour. Everyone wants you, but it was our wolf pack who managed to capture you for our own use.” The reality dawns upon her that they won’t be letting her out of their clutches and any efforts to escape will be futile. There will be a hard chance she would be able to look up at anything but the rocky walls of this very cave for the rest of her life.

His hands stop over her breasts, palms barely able to surround the entire mass, and clenches down. White milk squirts all over his hairy chest with a steady stream. She couldn’t believe her eyes that she was already lactating this early. “Seems like our pups are going to be well fed,” he chuckles.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that. Look at how swollen she already is. This could be the largest litter we have ever seen in the pack,” another wolf pipes in.

Two full months later, she became the encapsulation of fertility that she was always meant to be. Her short hair had grown long enough to cover the modesty of her nipples. Her heavy melon-sized breasts constantly leak trails of milk without stimulation, yet no one is worried if she would have enough to feed her litter. Her skin somehow has maintained its glowing, baby soft nature even when it has stretched without restriction to accommodate the pups. Her gargantuan belly weighed so much it hung down to her knees, yet her wide and built hips were still strong enough to hold her upright. Though, she was never required to move, being tended upon hand and feet by the pack.

When labour came, she managed to push out each and every pup of hers faster than the wolves could lick them clean. All ten of them were plump and healthy, and they were certain she could carry more next time. And this next litter was imminent because the alphas were already lining up to impregnate her as soon as that last pup latched onto her nip.

She wouldn’t run, not even flinch away this time. All the omegas in the pack have been gaping and worshiping the demigod, filling her ego so much for her to accept that this was her calling after all. Why had she wasted so many years denouncing her identity?

One day when help comes to save her from the wolves, it is only another pack of creatures wishing to use her for themselves.

#pregnancy fic #pregnancy kink #forced impreganation #hyperpregnancy #my fic #fpreg

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monkey-network · 2 months

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Pizza Tower: The Series Episodes

26 Episodes; Season 2 Coming 20XX

A New Universe: Taking place after the events of the game, a singularity has caused everything from the destroyed Pizza Tower to manifest into reality. It's up to Peppino once more to now try to find normalcy in his new world.

Nice Noise: The Noise realizes being friendlier has its perks, so he changes his ways much to Peppino's disbelief.

Pizza Pickiness: Peppino must deal with a customer that's constantly unsatisfied and that is affecting business.

Gun Safety: The Vigilante, with help from The Noise and Gustavo, educates the dos and don'ts of using firearms.

Lunch Rush Slumber Party: Peppino studies all night on how to handle a lunch rush better and becomes extremely tired on the worst possible day.

Brick and Mortal: Peppino is forced to look after Brick the rat while the Noise plans to steal from the pizzeria.

Hot Art Block: Pepperman gets inspired by Peppino for his new line of art works, who doesn't approve when he feels it ruins his image.

Noisette the Bachelorette: Noisette starts dating Gustavo after The Noise flakes on a date. The Noise plots revenge when the two hit it off better than expected.

Peppino's One Good Day: It's a day in the life of Peppino Spaghetti and it goes better than he thought. There's a catch to this, right?

Faker's Fazool: Fake Peppino invades the restaurant but only wants a real job. Peppino tries to give him a good one in fear of what could happen.

The Noise in Loopyland: The Noise finds himself stuck in a bizarre dimension and there can be such a thing as too zany.

Talk Through the Night: Before closing, Peppino has one more customer that constantly tries to chat with him. It gets annoying, but Peppino slowly grows to like his company.

The Piefather (1/2 Hour Special): Pizzahead returns with a new gang looking to run Peppino out for good. Peppino takes matters into his own hands to even the fight, but the power gets to his head.

Super Magical Bubblepop Paisanos with Extra Sauce: Noisette finds a collection of magical keychains that transform her and the others into glittery superheroes.

The Best Bite; The Topping Song: Peppino goes to a new restaurant and has the greatest meal in his whole life, which puts his career into question; Gustavo sings about every topping you can put on a pizza.

Menu-pilation: Peppino relunctantly adds more items on the menu and realizes this was the challenge he needed in life.

Brick the Rat in "Cheese Chasers": Brick hunts down an elusive piece of cheese.

We're Taking War to Gnome: An accident from Peppino has caused the Gnome Forest to plot a siege on his restaurant, which leads to everyone to join forces to protect the restaurant.

Ska-pportunity: The Noise gets into ska music and it's infectious for everybody except Peppino.

Giallo Pepato: Peppino must face the traumas of his past when forced to complete Pepperman's puzzle room.

Down in the Gutter: Peppino and John Gutter make a deal to protect the Pizzeria from The Noise, but the price starts to add up.

Five Noisy Nights at Lenny's: The Noise is locked in a fun center that's haunted. It's all good at first until he realizes he's stuck there night AND day.

We Wrecked A Zoo: Peppino decides to go to the zoo on his day off; Noisette wants to capture the perfect moment with Noise; Brick starts a rebellion.

Spaghetti Western: Peppino begrudgingly reenacts one of the Vigilante's favorite movies with the others for a birthday party.

Peppino Quits (Part 1): After the pizzeria gets destroyed, Peppino decides to throw in the towel as a chef. His new job finds him inner peace, but everything's become too quiet with him now gone.

Peppino Dies (Part 2): A moment of stress has put Peppino in a coma and everyone tries to reconcile with the idea of losing their friend. Emphasis on "tries" because they mostly suck.

#Pizza Tower #peppino spaghetti #gustavo #gustavo and brick #brick the rat #the noise #noisette #pepperman #the vigilante #video games #cartoons #fake episodes #story ideas #long post #fanfiction #dumb

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socially-awkward-skeleton · 2 months

Text

All Along the Watchtower (chapter 16)

[Can also be read on AO3]

Pairing: Captain John Price x Fem!OC (3rd person POV)

Word count: 4.5 K

Warnings: Minors DNI - 18+ only - SMUT! P in V sex, cunnilingus, praise kink, unprotected sex (she is on the pill), pet names, nipple play, lots of dirty talk

Summary: Tent sex... plain and simple.

Rory giggled as she fell past the open flaps of the green canvas tent and onto the bedroll on the ground, John landing atop her shortly after. Smiling into the kisses they continued to press to each other, looking more like two lovesick teenagers than hardened veteran soldiers. The moment they had both been eager for, dancing around, had finally arrived.

By the golden glow of the lamp in the corner, their only source of light, its warm beams filling the enclosed space hardly big enough for two, John ripped at the velcro of her tac vest. Pulling it off of her in one swift motion and tossing it aside, his own following shortly after before grabbing the collar of his shirt at the back of his neck and pulling it over his head roughly. Large hands gripped at her with desperation like she might fade away from his grasp at any moment. That same frantic, rushed energy that had consumed them their first time together had taken him over once more.

“Slow down,” Rory scolded him, running her hands over his upper body, completely on show for her. Drifting over his shoulders, down his chest and abdomen, feeling the hard muscle that lay below the layer of subcutaneous fat that made his stomach soft. Fingertips trailing through his body hair, tracing over each scar from battle he had collected over the last sixteen years as a soldier. Tensing under her gentle caress, she could feel every little movement of his muscles under the skin as they tightened.

“You’re lucky I'm not especially ticklish, sweetheart.” He chuckled quietly and started to kiss her neck, teeth grazing softly against her skin sending sparks shooting through her nerves.

“I’m finally getting the chance to appreciate you proper instead of just ogling you, forgive me for wanting to take my time with it.”

She wanted nothing more than to languish in this singular moment for as long as she could. Touching him, becoming absorbed in the aroma of his sweat and the cigar smoke that clung to his breath and that hint of his spicy cologne. She wanted him . Not the Captain - John . Resting her hand on the nape of his neck as he continued to kiss along the soft flesh that led to her clavicle, her fingers brushed through his close-cropped hair. Breath short as he buried his nose in against her and sucked on the flesh, his beard tickling her as he did so, she lost herself in the release of all the pent up feelings that had built while trapped together for all this time.

His hand drifted in under the front of her shirt, slowly trailing up her stomach and over her ribs. Fingertips slipping under the material of her bra and caressing the smooth underside of her breast, appreciating the gentle curve of it and dragging a quiet hiss past her teeth.

“Arms up, darlin’,” he ordered as he pulled her shirt up her body and over her head, throwing it into the corner of the tent. Quick to grab at the elastic of her sports bra and pull it off, flinging it aside just as quickly. John’s eyes roamed over her, appreciating her form. Jaw dropping slightly, practically drooling at the sight of her underneath him. “Fucking hell, just look at you,” he groaned.

“Shut up.” Her cheeks became a bright rosy pink as she blushed, embarrassment creeping in to further increase the hot flush rising inside her.

“Why should I?” His gaze drifted from her body back to her eyes, his voice lowering, “Been waitin’ long enough f’ this to happen.”

Pressing his body against her, their bare flesh finally being allowed to meet, she could feel the hardening of his cock against her thigh, barely contained by the material of his tactical pants that were quickly getting tighter, the zipper straining against him. He started to work on undoing the button and fly, and – as was customary of soldiers out in the field – he was going without underwear, his cock quickly springing free of its confines.

Mouth watering at the sight of him, her thighs rubbed together desperate for the friction. It had been years since she had last seen his girth, but she hadn’t forgotten how full he had made her feel. “ Jesus Christ ,” she murmured in a breathy whisper as her eyes started to glaze over.

Smirking at her reaction – the heavy lidded stare of lust and the thick swallow that followed shortly after – he pumped his hand down the length of his shaft, a guttural noise escaping him as he tugged it tightly in his fist. Hungry eyes looked her over as she unbuttoned her own pants and dragged them down her hips and thighs in a rush, leading into the awkward struggle to remove them and her underwear while in the confined space with him on top.

“Very graceful,” he teased as he tossed her pants and underwear aside.

“Bugger off.”

Laughing warmly, he kissed her again and stationed himself between her legs, bucking his hips in a deliberate rhythm into his hand, ensuring his hard cock was slick with his precum. Pushing the ruddy head of it against her entrance, he stroked the soaked folds of her sex as he worked on stretching her open for him. Thrusting the head in bit by bit, until with a moan from both of them, he entered her fully.

His lips collided with hers once more, moving from her mouth, down her jaw and onto her neck. “My gorgeous girl,” he mumbled against her, the coarse hair of his beard burning the skin. Cupping one of her breasts, swallowing it whole in his warm grasp, John kneaded the flesh with his fingers. “Just fuckin’ gorgeous,” he rasped, voice low and thick with desire, “and you're all mine.”

Smiling softly, Rory's lashes fluttered as the sweet little dimples in her cheeks appeared, whimpering with his touch. “I am.”

Hips slowly rolling against hers, their flesh pressed together as his weight kept her flush with the tent floor. John was built solid like a tree trunk, stocky with muscle and well fed, making her feel dwarfed in comparison. His thick cock slowly stretched her tight walls open as he pumped deep inside her, groaning as he slid out of her once more, the wet sounds of her arousal filling the quiet space between them. “Almost forgot how good this feels…” His words trailed off as his mouth moved from the hollow of her neck, over her collarbone, and down to her chest, lavishing her in kisses and leaving the sheen of his saliva against her, his hot breath fanning over the peaks of her breasts as he licked his lips.

“What, in general? Or just with me?” Rory gave him a wry grin, speaking in a purr.

“Cheeky li’l thing.” He smirked back, narrowing his eyes as his mouth wrapped around her nipple and he gave it a gentle nip with the edge of his teeth.

Gasping, her breath hitched, caught in her throat, her back arching at the sudden pinch. The hand that had been carding through the hair on top of his head, combing through strands of brown flecked with salt and pepper, gripped tight at the sensation. Her eyes going wide, gazing into his, she couldn’t help but get lost. He almost looked younger again as he smiled, focused entirely on her.

“Course I meant you. Five bloody years, Rory.” His fingertips grazed gently over her sides, tracing patterns against her skin, leaving reminders of his warmth before goosebumps rose from underneath like budding flowers in spring. “Never did I think –”

Stroking the side of his face with her hand, her grizzly bear of a man leaned into her touch like he was starving for it. “Neither did I. But I'm glad it did.”

“Me too, my girl.” He swallowed thickly and his scruffy adam’s apple bobbed. “Me too.”

Lowering his head to her breast once more, his tongue circled her stiff bud in his mouth, flicking against it as his other hand massaged her other perky little tit. A low moan coming from him as he found the especially right angle inside of her and her slick walls began to flutter and clench around him, her sweet little noises of pleasure growing louder. “Fuckin’ perfect,” John's rumbling timbre broke into a hoarse whisper as he lifted his torso and looked down on her. Head resting against the bedroll, her short waves of chestnut circled her head like a halo and he could do nothing but watch as her mouth fell agape with a quiet shuddering gasp, her eyes closing as the blush crawled up her chest to her cheeks.

“Beautiful, absolutely beautiful,” he breathed.

“Not so bad yourself,” she teased, eyes still closed as she gave in to how full she felt as his cock thrust up into her only to slowly drag back out, her thighs coated with her arousal and the sweat from the heat of their bodies so closely embraced.

Cradling her cheek as he chuckled, his mouth met hers in long, wet, lingering kisses. Tongue slipping past her lips to meet hers, curling and coiling, as he continued to rock into her, stroking her sensitive core. She slipped under his control, feeling that same stomach drop that occurred when jumping out of a helicopter, letting her defenses finally crumble and fall.

Her moan drifted into his mouth as he stroked his fingers through her silky tresses. Long, toned legs wrapping around him to hold him tighter to her, appreciating the thick mass of muscle pressed against her slender frame and the way they seemed to slot perfectly together.

“Want me that badly, eh?” His smirk built into a cocky smile against her lips, eyes shining with mirth – it was plain as day he was enjoying himself and the thought of finally having her for his own.

“You are such a shit,” she murmured back.

“Careful now.” Curling his fingers under her chin, he tipped her head back and pressed soft kisses along her neck. “That's bordering on insubordination,” he husked, his predatory stare gleaming back at her.

Cocking her brow, Rory was thoroughly unimpressed with the joke. Now was not the time to be playing with power dynamics. At work was one thing, being together would be another.

“Only teasing, darlin’.” His words ended in a devilish half grin, steely eyes twinkling.

Cupping his face in her hands, her fingertips stroked through the thick whiskers on his jaw. “You’re lucky you’re so goddamn handsome.”

“Or what?” His brow lifted, something sharp in his voice like a threat.

“Or maybe I wouldn't be willing to give you the second chance… how do I know you won't rush off like you did last time after getting your fill?”

His thrusting stopped and his expression turned serious. “Last time we agreed it was a one and done.”

Rory hummed, her brows lifting. “What a mistake that was, eh?”

One side of Price's mouth quirked up in a grin at her confession. “You regret that night?”

“I regret it was only one night.”

John gave a low chuckle as his cock split open her sex once more, sucked in by her wet, welcoming heat. “Well lucky for you, darlin’ that's no longer gonna be the case,” he purred in a hoarse whisper. Mouth lowering to her chest once more, the tip of his tongue flicked at her stiff and puckered nipple as he smiled. “ This . You and me. This is the real deal, yeah? For keeps this time. You’re always gonna be mine.”

She sat up, resting on her forearms, her body aglow with the light of the lantern. Her brow furrowed as she looked at him. “Not going to toss me by the wayside?”

“I'd be a bloody idiot to do somethin’ like that with a girl like you,” he said, stroking a piece of hair out of her eyes, his expression totally genuine.

“So you're serious? We're going to try and make this work. Have some secret love affair?” Her cocked brow turned into narrowed eyes as she looked at him. “And just how long is that gonna last, eh? Before we spend too much time apart and it gets to be too difficult to keep this going? When it seems so much easier to just go back to the old solution of some random hook up in a bar?”

Brow furrowing, he was taken aback by her sudden tone while he was buried inside her. “You think I'd give up that easily? That I'd rather choose some random woman over you? You have that low opinion of me, ‘s that it?”

“No, I didn't say that. I just…” Her sigh was heavy with a million unspoken thoughts and feelings about failed relationships, romantic and platonic alike. “This is going to be hard, John. Hard on both of us. Playing pretend while all eyes and ears are on us. Having to act purely professional while under the brass’ nose. No lingering glances or sly touches. You sure you really want that?” Her head tipped to the side, dark waves blanketing her shoulder. “Am I really worth all the trouble?”

Caressing her cheek, he pressed his forehead to hers. “I've already told you, you're worth every bit of trouble that could ever come my way. I came so very close to losin’ you, my girl. That's not happenin’ again. Not f’ anythin’.”

Her large eyes staring up at him, completely vulnerable, spoke volumes more than her words could say. Trust . Something Rory didn't so easily give to most people, but he had hers in spades. Her soft, slender hands rose to cradle his face between them, the tip of her nose brushing against his before tilting her head to kiss him. Inhaling deeply through her nose as she pressed her mouth to his with more intensity than she ever had up to this point.

Gripping at the edge of the sleeping bag to steady himself, John lost his breath. His other hand brushing up through her hair, collecting a handful and holding her closer to him with just a hint of possession. A low growl built in his chest as he kissed her back passionately, his hips taking up their pace against her once more.

The heat crackled like a flame between them, a spark setting off a wildfire of white-hot euphoria that burned brighter than phosphorus. Both of them quickly became sticky with sweat, beads of it dripping from her temples, plastering the hair to her forehead as her breath came in ragged pants, overcome by ecstasy.

“My pretty fuckin’ girl,” he purred against her lips, forehead remaining pressed to hers as his cock curved up against that sensitive, spongy spot inside her. Rubbing against it over and over again, her walls clenching and her stomach fluttering against him. Her sweet panting breaths breezing over his mouth. “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

She nodded as her eyes squeezed tightly shut, back arching. Words barely able to form in her throat as she bit back the moan growing deep in her chest. Pleasure pulsing through her, making her thoughts as foggy as the corners of her vision.

“Use your words, pretty girl.”

“Yes. F-fuck,” she stammered, grabbing at his back. Nails digging into his flesh, Rory scratched red lines across his multitude of freckles. The sheer joy that coursed through her led her to run on instinct.

“Such a good girl f’ me.” His husky whisper vibrated into her as his lips traveled over her neck and towards her ear, sucking the lobe of it into his mouth, teeth nipping at her softly, grazing against her sensitive flesh. “You know, there was one thing I wanted to do with you first time we were together, and I never did…” Price murmured as he stroked the smooth curves of her waist, hands sliding up and down over her lithe muscle.

“Oh yeah, what's that?” A coy grin curled the corners of Rory's lips as she gazed at John. She already knew, she couldn't forget that hungry gleam in his eyes when he'd been bent over in that bathroom stall, the way his gaze trailed over the sheen of arousal painted on her thighs, the way his tongue dipped against his lip as if he was already imagining how she tasted. She wanted to know how Captain John Price , of all people, was going to tell her he wanted to bury his head between her thighs.

“Wanted to taste you proper,” he purred.

A blush climbed up her cheeks and turned her ears pink. Her grin grew into a soft smile that pulled at her mouth causing her dimples to carve into her more prominently below her lower lip. “You'd only just met me,” she said, unable to stop herself from sucking in her pout between her teeth.

“I know.” A low groan escaped him, shifting into a growl, “But Christ , you were pretty and the rest of you was so sweet. Can you really blame me?” His brow shot up, piercing blue eyes focused entirely on her from beneath it.

Rory giggled quietly and laid her arm over her face hiding the deepening shade of scarlet that stained her cheeks. “Fucking hell, John.”

“And now…” His hands gripped tighter on her body, a cocky smirk widening on his face as his tongue dragged over his plush lips. “Well now, you're just so gorgeous, it would be a crime not to.”

She pulled her arm away and smirked, her brow lifting as she scoffed, “A crime ?”

A low, rumbling purr built in his throat as he hummed in the affirmative. He pulled back and his gaze traveled over her body with reverence, landing at the apex of her thighs. Warm, rough hands trailed over the soft skin there. “You wouldn't hold it against me if I wanted to now, would ya, darlin’?”

“No. Not in the slightest.”

His smirk lit up his eyes as they flicked up to meet hers. “That's my good girl.”

A shiver coursed down her back, the praise almost too much for her addled brain to handle. She gripped at the material of the bedroll below her, crushing the fibers into fists. Her heart raced, her palms clammy and the trickle of sweat that rolled down the back of her neck and along the curve of her spine did nothing to cool her.

John’s steely gaze lowered to her folds, his pupils dilating at the sight of her sex and how wet she was. “ Jesus . That is a gorgeous sight.”

“Stop!” Rory begged, laughing with embarrassment.

“Oh, come on, my pretty girl. I'm just praising you, am I not allowed? Thought you liked praise?” His smirk grew into a devilish grin, mischief glowing in his eyes as he squeezed at the fat of her upper thighs.

“You are a menace.”

“Maybe I am…” He shrugged, “but you like that though, don't you?” His head lowered, the wiry hairs of his beard beginning to scratch against the tender skin of her inner thighs.

“ Maybe .”

Taking her hands in his, he interlocked their fingers as he lay down between her legs. Duty bound, he was dead set on making her come for him. Mouth angled for her pleasure, his tongue licked long stripes up her folds until she was dripping with his saliva and her arousal, a soaking mess that leaked down his beard and onto the bedroll below. The wet sounds of him sucking on her flesh, her whines and cries, and the groaning he made as her walls fluttered around his tongue filling the tent in a symphony of perfect satisfaction.

His hands unclasped from hers and ran over her body, grabbing at her waist and then sliding up over the peak of her breast to grip it tight, squeezing her in his grasp before rolling the stiffened nipple and pinching as he continued to gorge himself on her taste.

It was almost too much for her now, too much sensation, her hands dragging through her hair to keep her grounded in reality. Some desperate plea for an ounce of composure. She had fantasized enough about a moment like this with him, imagined how he would feel and no dream could come close to the boiling heat of her blood in this current state.

“Goddamn. You taste fuckin’ amazing, my girl.” He mumbled against her thigh, biting into it softly before his tongue went right back to work.

Fuck , she needed more. Reaching forward, Rory aimed to delve her fingers into his hair, wanting to hold his head in place in that perfect spot as his lips wrapped around her throbbing clit, but hesitation hit. Dragging her nails down the lengths of her thighs instead as she bit back a moan.

Grabbing her wrists, John’s long fingers perfectly encircled them and placed her hands on his head, letting her take control and keep him steady. Growling into her folds as her nails massaged at his scalp as she began to grind up against his face, chasing her high. His entire face turning red and streaked with sweat as she rode against him, the tip of his nose pushing up against her pelvic bone, the bristles of his beard burning against the inside of her thighs, softly groaning at the taste of her.

Her thighs shook. Clenching tight and squeezing against him, trapping him there as her climax crashed over her and she cried out. Shoulders lifting from the ground, her whole back curved into an arch. Ears ringing from the blood that thundered in her veins.

Blue eyes stared up at her from between her legs, lifting his head for air and giving her a wolfish grin as his facial hair glistened, damp with her slick. “Fuck – you’re drivin’ me crazy, darlin’”

Rolling her onto her side, he lay down beside her and tucked her leg over his. Hips bucking against her, he gave her ass a quick slap and proceeded to knead into the flesh of her hard enough to leave indents before hooking his arm around her, the rough pads of his fingers rubbing between her folds. Fucking into her, spurred on by each of her soft moans, his fingers worked at her clit, making it throb under his touch.

Muscles tightening as hard as stone, she grabbed at his arm, her nails digging into his skin making him hiss. Pressing the back of her head to his shoulder, she brought her fist to her mouth, trying so hard to bite back her cries of pleasure.

“Don’t you dare hide those sweet sounds from me, darlin’. I wanna hear them all,” he grunted, squeezing her petite frame against him.

How could she possibly deny him? Even if she wanted to – the way he was touching her, the way she was trapped against him – she had no other option but to let him know just how good he was making her feel. How he eclipsed every other partner she had ever had.

Held tight within his muscular arms, his hand pressed on the flesh of her pelvis over the area where his bulge rubbed up against her inside making each of her breaths come out in stuttered little gasps, whimpers of pure ecstasy. Wrapping her arm around the back of his neck, she held him as close to her as possible. Their pleasure growing as they moved together, it was almost suffocating, the intensity only continuing to build.

“That’s my girl. So good f’ me yeah?” He mumbled against her neck, pressing kisses to her tender throat as his cock rammed into her, leading her towards another orgasm.

She moaned once again in response, her body stiffening, afraid she might lock up at any moment as the uncontrollable heat coursed through her once again, pooling in her gut, collecting at the base of her spine making her feel like she was about to combust.

“Oh god… John …” she mewled.

“Gettin’ close, darlin’”

His thrusts became more aggressive. Rougher, faster . The sounds of wet skin on skin increased as his hips drove up against her arse. Groaning out in unison as she seized up in his arms and he pinned her against him, his cock throbbing and spilling inside her cunt.

Body melting into his touch, her chest heaved with each breath, heart racing inside her chest as his hands roamed her flank, petting her gently. The intimacy of it all overwhelmed her… so much affection… safe.

Brushing the sweaty strands of hair from her face, John tucked them back behind her ear and kissed her cheek softly, resting his face against the side of hers. His rasping breaths loud in her ear as the roaring of blood like the ocean started to fade into the background. “Did so good f’ me, sweetheart,” he whispered.

Carefully rolling her onto her back, he wrapped her up in his arms and rested his head on her chest as he pressed tender kisses to the silky, sweaty flesh between her breasts. He hummed, pleased , and suckled on her as he stroked her sticky skin, tongue circling the areola.

“Such a good girl.”

Rory laughed softly and shook her head. “You really can’t help yourself, can you?”

“What d’you mean?” He asked, brow lifting before returning to kissing her skin.

“Giving orders, the praise…you really take the whole commanding officer thing very seriously, don’t you?”

He shrugged with a smirk. “Can’t help it, ’s second nature now.”

“I suppose it is, isn’t it?” Giving him a soft grin, she brushed her fingers against his cheek, her thumb stroking against the lines near his eye. “Not that I mind.”

Moving to settle beside her on the bedroll, he pulled her back against him, the curves of their bodies curling into the other. “Not gonna mind if I hold you either, will you?”

“No, not in the slightest.”

“Good,” he murmured into her ear, kissing the side of her head, breathing in the smell of her as he stroked his hand down the length of her waist. “Just wanna hold ya. I’ll clean you up in a bit.”

The silence between them was comfortable now, but she couldn’t help herself. That nagging voice in her head expecting some sort of solid answer as to what she and Price were now left her to stare down the fear that this was all some short-lived bit of fun like it was the barrel of a gun.

“So…I guess this sort of makes us official now, eh?”

“You wanna call me your boyfriend , Rory?” he teased.

“I just –” she sighed, feeling foolish for having even asked. “I need some assurance.”

“Yeah, love. It’s you and me now.”

You and me. She couldn’t help the beaming smile that grew on her face or the warmth that seemed to spread throughout her with the way he said it. It made the afterglow even better. It wasn’t some empty, fleeting moment of joy – it was bound for more.

#call of duty #cod smut #john price #john price smut #john price x oc #oc: rory sinclair #ship: you are the sword to my shield #skelly writes #fic: all along the watchtower #chapter 16 #cod fanfiction #captain price #captain price smut #cod captain price

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marabarl-and-marlbara · 3 months

Note

I hope you're having a good day! And if not I hope you find comfort

hey there anonymous; good morning, you sent this to me last night when i was well in bed (sun had barely even set, even; time change makes sleeping at 8 feel even earlier than usual);

mostly ignoring this to blog a bit about the usual thing i always whine-about (maybe it:ll help someone 'relate' or feel 'less alone' but lord knows its just me spinning wheels cause i like writing): the flattening of my mood: like every-thing had just become this one singular wide featureless plain with all site in sight being just the same stretch without pit and without hill: the sort-of landscape that'd provoke NO PASSION and NO THOUGHT equally and just-so also smooth away any great pain and any great joy: which is exactly just the comfort i am tired of, as it:s like some crawling thing that keeps taking more and more, example: food now all tastes the same, too, taken under by that same wasteland plain barren; although i:d describe my mood as being fairly 'up' (there are still things i:d been getting keen about: writing isekai story, the new ABA in strive looks really cool, i have religious programming to write, there is new media to read and watch) it never seems to amount more than a small 'pop' that ends-up nearly always more disappointing than fulfilling or centering; it is like the spirit has begun evaporating out of me through these little fissures in the Make of my material that had let that esprit DRY, KILN, BAKE, ASH out and leave the innerworks of me (MARA!) as little more closer and closer to being some fine spotless beetle of mechanics, and operations, clicking with spring and circuit forward and forward to next task: cook, eat, clean, exercise; count in fours always; pray in mornings, too; it is the experience of life not as a person but as the mechanical, where life ceases to be felt as life and yet as mere experience of time (both four letter words, as it were; vision poor enough they:d be the same grey smudge on the screen; vision poor enough they:d be the same dead bug on windshield before the bugs themselves became rare); my mood has been up and i still have these black thoughts flowing out from Dieth and Daniela and centered around how inescapable and infinite Wasteland seems: the self is extricated out and becomes a paperdoll where (impersonal) you imagine it undergoing a hanging or a suffocating of all air, and imagine the 'ecstasy' of whether the viewer can undergo the felt feelings of the paperdoll as it goes to 100% material; the act of moving limbs to go through with the task, to resolve, to collect the instruments, to imagine the Afters (the people who knew), to imagine all the things unsaid and things yet wanted to do and done undone and the willingness to let self be robbed of 'fate' (?) where death claims its 'natural' (?) due;

very-much i:d just like to write and focus and be left fulfilled, but it:s all fairly boring; i:d like to play the new ABA and grind her in practice mode (i SHAN'T be spending money on games though) and just instead imagine how anxious sitting in a practice mode hitting buttons feels and can:t imagine undergoing that more than eight minutes at most (this is much how writing is; much how drawing is); there:s this alien quality being poured in-to me, may-be byproduct of adhering to Etiquette like the years of slowly embodying an ill philosophy has led me further ill and alien: it becomes harder and harder to find any reason to talk to another, to nurture friendships, to say Hey, to want to do anything with others as it all just becomes more stretch on the barrenland and buttons to hit and mechanical beetle limbs to undulate, undulate, driven just by fluid sacs or what-ever dumb organ drives beetles (for me it:s my yap organ).

all of this is to say: i wish i could be playing new ABA cause i like her design a lot but can:t imagine playing a fighting game ever being fun without having a friend to do it with, and nothing sounds more boring to me at the same time, but i:m tired of being bored, too. i want to be at a joyous tone 4! a joyous tone 4! so engender a joyous tone 4 in your own life, anonymous, cause if you will it surely it:ll happen.

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butwhatifidothis · 11 months

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You know, as shallow and cheesy as Awakening's writing can get at times, the way it handles Mustafa vs 3H's handling of Edelgard are kind of interesting when compared.

Mustafa is someome that we as players know for exactly one, singular chapter. He is a commander of a troops of soldiers, and he dies the same map he is introduced in. And yet, he has become one of Awakening's most beloved NPC's - if nothing else, he is certainly rarely hated outright. And that is because in his one, singular chapter, he manages to showcase to the player how much of a genuinely good person he is; he is helpless to outright defy his orders, but inspired by Emmeryn's sacrifice he nonetheless tries to plea for Chrom to surrender and avoid bloodshed. He takes their outrage not with anger, or defensiveness, but understanding and sympathy - he knows he is in no place to ask them to surrender, but he does so for the slightest chance of avoiding a fight ultimately he had no power to stop. And after the battle begins and his men start becoming despondent, he loudly tells them that should they want to flee the battle he will take any blame off of their shoulders for doing so. But his men stand by him regardless because they don't want to abandon him, and when Mustafa is killed his dying words are to please spare his men.

In just one chapter, Awakening managed to pull at the players' hearts by going out of its way to show us the kind heart of Mustafa, before forcing our hand in killing him, all while one of the most melancholic tracks of the game plays in the background, further cementing how tragic the situation at hand is for all involved. Most players recall it as one of the most impactful and emotional moments of the entire game.

In contrast to that - and let's assume that we're talking about strictly SS - you have half of the entire route's length having Edelgard by your side directly. As Byleth, you the player can directly speak to and support with her, and you see her perspective on the events of the story. And throughout this time, Edelgard shows herself again and again to be someone of poor character; she admits to being willing to sacrifice her men right after Lonato, Byleth eventually finds out that she helped kidnap Flayn, and that she was somehow complicit with Remire, she graverobbed a holy site and tried to kill Byleth and her "friends" with an army and Demonic Beasts.

And this only includes stuff that Byleth, as a character, finds out throughout the story. They don't know that Edelgard only let them talk with her (aka the player only gains her supports) once they gain the Sword of the Creator, for the explicit reason that she wanted to use them. They don't know that Edelgard didn't just waltz in after Remire randomly, but that she knew it was going to happen and did nothing to stop it. And this only includes stuff in pre-timeskip; they don't see her continue to use Demonic Beasts, or hide behind her citizens, or keep Rhea as a hostage so that she can keep using TWS's help.

And I look at these two characters and am kinda lowkey astonished at how different their writing is. When Mustafa's men grow angry at the soldiers who are shaking in their resolve to fight for Mustafa, I'm on the verge of tears because I know that Mustafa does not deserve death. When Seteth talks about how Edelgard can't be that bad of a ruler because her men follow her, I can't help but roll my eyes. When Henry mentions Mustafa off-handedly in a support chain, I get so sad because the only way to speak about Mustafa at that point is in the past tense. When I talk to characters in the explore sections and I hear them talk about feeling bad about Edelgard dying, I just mash through their babbling.

Because I am given ample reason to understand why characters would like, respect, and mourn for Mustafa. He is kind-hearted, self-sacrificial should it possibly save the lives of others, and does everything he can to make the lives of those around him better. In the collective fuckin' 10 minutes of screentime he has, he shows a quality of character that does nothing but suggest that he was a damn fine person thrown into an impossibly unfortunate circumstance.

But with Edelgard, everything I see of her only tells me that she is selfish, self-centered, and uncaring for the lives around her should they inconvenience her. Why would any character like, respect, or mourn for her, after seeing everything she's done? Even going under the assumption that the players gets all of her supports to the max as they are available in pre-timeskip; nothing, in any support chain, could ever dream of usurping her actions towards everyone. In both a "all of her friends" sense, and especially in a "all of Fodlan" sense. So when I see characters go out of their way to make sure the player knows how swell Edelgard is, I am simply unable to believe that anyone would ever genuinely believe that about her. Not when themselves, their loved ones, and their homelands (for Kingdom/Alliance students) are all being endangered by Edelgard's active, willful actions that she chose to make.

Which itself is another huge thing that makes it so hard to believe anyone in-game would believe in her outside of contrived writing. She's not someone forced to do what she does against all of her wishes, like Mustafa; she is the one with all of the power of 1/3 of Fodlan's political landscape and half of its territorial one. She is the one to spearhead and instigate the war - that is one of explicit conquest anyway, not for any altruistic purpose. Why would anyone cry and snivel and piss themselves over the fact that the person who had the power to make them suffer and did make them suffer lost? Why are they pretending that she's just some poor damsel whose path was so lonely, and not the conquering Emperor that she is and admits to being?

Soooo... yeah lmao. I just found that pretty interesting

#anti edelgard #anti-edelgard #edelgard critical #edelgard discourse #just to be safe #like. I can SEE why Mustafa's men are willing to fight an unwinnable battle for him. why they would die for him #i have NO clue why the hell Ladislava is so loyal to Edelgard - why anyone other than Hubert would ever be GENUINELY loyal to her #MAYBE as a player looking in you can find good in Edelgard but the characters themselves? most don't have that knowledge #and so all most of them have going for them is ''girly who lied to them about colluding with terrorists for a year & tried to murder them''#and THEN they'd have ''girly who violently invaded my homeland with terrorists and mutated humans'' once the war starts #which y'know call me crazy but i don't think She Was Nice To Me Once In High School is enough to offset that image painted by her actions

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fruitchouli · 2 years

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Isabelle Adjani on Perfume

Her first emotional experience

"I am certainly not the only one to be bewitched by the famous N°5 by Chanel, which must have marked a whole generation of girls. It has such a strength that it has made me aware of scents for life, and it is certainly thanks to it that I can't go a day without wearing perfume. It is also and especially the perfume of my mother... The one who wears it becomes a little bit my mother, that is to say! As a little girl, I was forbidden to touch it, and before I dared to wear it myself, I got drunk on Cristalle and N°19, such pretty young girl perfumes! Now I sometimes wear N°5 when I miss my mother... "

Her memory box

"Like Marilyn's beloved elixir, Guerlain's L'Heure Bleue is another magical fragrance. I was 17 years old and making my theater debut at the Comédie-Française. I liked fine boutiques, so with my first money I went to Guerlain, at 68, avenue des Champs-Elysées, their mythical address. I remember first trying Vol de Nuit and Mitsouko, then Après l'Ondée (of which I kept a bottle) to adopt L'Heure Bleue. I wore it to play a few years later in L'histoire d'Adèle H. by François Truffaut. It followed me, it is a sensor of "moments" and a source of memories. It symbolizes my roles in the theater and is essential for my films in costume. It is a perfume that I rediscover all the time, I fall in love with it each time, without any feeling of use or wear, it is an absolute for me.

Her adrenaline triggers

"Between the ages of 25 and 30, I discovered Passion and Heure Exquise by Annick Goutal. By always wearing them together, without separating them, a crazy alchemy occurs, it is the love equation par excellence. Each time, it's amazing and ecstatic, as if I hadn't been looking for them but they had found me. It's amazing that fragrances like this exist and overwhelm me every time."

Her other self

"Aromatics Elixir by Clinique: I smelled it one day on a friend and it was a shock, something crazy, intimate and irrational. I like it when it's strong, it doesn't scare me. A bit like Tom Ford's Jardin Noir collection, right now it's Café Rose, a singular statement to the Damask rose, captured in its black-clad bottle. I wear them when I want to surprise myself, to have that feeling of an unusual other self. It's as powerful for me as changing my haircut."

Her eternal obsession

"Since I was a teenager, I have been fascinated by Eau Sauvage by Dior, my father's perfume. Although it is impossible for me to wear it, I have several secret weapons that bring me back to him, such as Escale à Portofino, still by Dior, Eaux 1, 2 and 3 by Sisley, and the very successful Jardins du Sud by Fouquet's. Some smells act on me like spells and confuse me without me being able to explain it. Whoever wears Dior Homme, for example, is bound to be irresistible!"

Her troublemakers

"I love layering scents. There was a time when I would stop by Comptoir Sud Pacifique and mix currant and vanilla, cocoa and grapefruit... I think I contributed to their inspiration! For the same reason, I have a thing for Jo Malone who has reinvented the art of combination. I am a fan of Blue Agava & Cacao and Jasmine & Mint. I love that incongruous side of the mix, I love that people are a little confused about how I perfume myself and wonder what I'm wearing."

Her mystical trips

"I had a long period of Angel by Thierry Mugler, an incredible fragrance where sugar was treated in a new way, and another under the seal of Serge Lutens, especially for his Daim Blond and his Rahät Loukoum, a concentrate of sweetness. His creations intoxicated me, they are like mystical ointments that come from afar. I often go to Jovoy, a store where everything makes me dream, and I found Misiones de Fueguia 1833. Beyond the incense scent that I look for everywhere, there is the refined bottle, the wooden box... A pleasure found for more than ten years at Frédéric Malle, I have a soft spot for his Lipstick Rose, a delicious interpretation of the powdery smell of a lipstick.

Her recent conquests

"I wear my perfumes in cycles but I keep them all in very strong cases where nothing breaks, I don't throw anything away. Always on the lookout for a new olfactory coup de foudre, I'm like a little girl in the luxury boutiques. In the duty free shops, I try absolutely everything I don't know on my skin and when I get on the plane, it's all over! I read all the articles on perfumes and I do some scouting. I recognize myself in the world of Terry de Gunzburg and particularly in his Ombre Mercure, but also in Diptyque's Eau Duelle which echoes my preferences. I don't understand women who don't wear perfume, it's impossible for me and it depresses me for them!"

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ann-writes-universes · 1 year

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Archangel (Azriel x reader) Pt. 9

A/N: I promise I have not forgotten about this series. Work has been kicking my butt recently :,)

Warnings: Possible editing errors, None (?)

W/C: 3940

---

“So you’ve made progress with her?”

“Something like that…”

“I wouldn’t call it progress, Amren.”

“Shut up Azriel,” Amren spit in reply “She’s gotten better than when we started a month ago.”

“I worry about her being in that cabin alone.” Rhysand spoke from his desk, his hands folded under his chin. A crease had taken up permanent residence in between his brows since the beginning of this discussion with his friends and It was growing deeper the more they argued over the Beddor sister.

“We are with her nearly every day, Rhysand.” Azriel reminded him softly from his spot by the door. He was leaned against the wall, lazily twirling Truthteller in his left hand.

“And when we aren’t, she writes us or bakes. It’s not like she’s going insane out there.” Amren chided, pulling her legs beneath her in the chair she sat in before Rhysand’s desk. She was staring him down, willing him to listen to her.

“Yes, but Feyre…”

“Feyre is not (y/n), Rhysand.” Azriel butted in, promptly stopping his motions with his blade to stare his brother down.

“Yes, I know.” Rhysand swallowed, narrowing his gaze on Azriel’s features. As always, they were guarded, hard to read. “But she worries.”

“If time is what the girl wants, give it to her.” Amren concluded, bracing herself on the arms of the chair as she made to stand up and leave. With a singular motion of his hand Rhysand dismissed her idea and had her settling back in her seat.

“Seal the room Az.” And with those words, a thick wall of shadows had encapsulated the room and all threes’ mental shields had been snapped into place.

“With it becoming increasingly clear that all three of them, gained something from the cauldron, I worry that Hybern will come after them. The cabin is safe but Feyre wants (y/n) here, for her own peace of mind,” He cleared his throat then and shifted uncomfortably in his seat “I feel like it would be good for yours as well, Brother.”

The males’ eyes met and Azriel’s jaw tightened. Amren glanced between the two of them, her eyes slowly widening.

“I didn’t even smell it on you Az.” She whispered, twisting her body to face him more fully. He was nervously flipping the blade around now, an emotion that didn’t suit his collected exterior.

“That’s because it hasn’t been accepted.” Rhysand spoke, his voice soft.

“Are you going to tell her?”

Azriel looked to the floor and sheathed his knife, a crease akin to Rhysand’s taking place on his face. After a moment he shook his head softly and ran his hands through his hair, he was agitated.

“No. No, I can’t.”

“You saw how that plan of action went for me… Feyre hardly spoke to me when I finally told her.” It was a gentle reminder from the High lord, but it irritated the spymaster none the less.

“Feyre and (y/n) are different, Rhysand. She has hardly accepted the fact that she’s a fae with capabilities we hardly understand. How do you think she would take it if I told her she was cosmically tied to me by the hands of a creator she doesn’t even believe in?”

Amren and Rhysand both went lax at Azriel’s words, understanding marked their features but a thick air of unease had settled over the room. Shadows picked nervously at Azriel’s shoulders, informing him that the other residents of the townhouse had grown anxious at the trios prolonged absence.

“Feyre wants to know what’s going on Rhys.”

“And I will tell her, but this is your decision to make.”

“No. Its not. Its (y/n)’s.”

Rhysand nodded grimly at his brother’s words and with a sigh he leaned back in his chair, twisting it to face the window that stared out to the courtyard beyond. The snow was melting with the fast-approaching Spring and Elain’s flowers were struggling to bloom.

“She needs to know what kind of danger she is potentially in. If Hybern can track the couldron’s magic he will do everything in his power to get the three of them back.” Amren spoke, her eyes were distantly trained on the carpet, her hands tapping a mindless melody on the wooden chair’s arm. “I think it would be smart to train her in combat.”

“Absolutely not.” Azriel snapped, pushing away from the wall he leaned on.

“No… she’s right Az. We will do everything in our power to keep her safe, but war is coming. Her magic is young and from what you both have told me, her ability to harness it is 30/70.” Rhysand’s eyes were distant too, mulling over the melting snow and muddy grass.

“I don’t think she’s ready to be thrown into a ring with Cas and taught to fight. She’s done enough of that.”

“And what happened to it being her decision?” Amren whispered, her gaze finally finding the wide-eyed stare of the Shadowsinger. “What about it being hers.”

---

The fire crackled in the hearth, warming the cabin and casting lazy shadows on the living room. From your spot on the couch, you watched with little intrigue as the light flickered about the room.

Joining in with the ember’s glow was a small white light, that zipped about and searched the cabin readily. From the outside, darkened windows would light up from within briefly before going dark once more. You watched this little light with a soft smile before calling it back to your palm, relishing in the warmth it created there before dying out.

“Impressive.” Amren cooed, happily stretched out on a chase lounge, mindlessly sipping the tea you had made for her when she had arrived moments before.

“Thank you, not sure how it’s useful but it’s kind of cool.” You replied, letting your gaze find hers finally. She was a picture of relaxation, splayed across the furniture, sipping her tea and twirling her short hair with a ringed finger.

“What is it Amren?”

“What do you mean?”

“Not that I don’t enjoy your company,” You sat up a little, shifting the blanket over your legs “But you’ve never come out here so late.” She smiled tightly at your words and sat up herself, bracing her forearms on her knees as she stared at you.

“How would you feel about coming back to Velaris?”

It caught you off guard, and she knew as much from the way your face blanked and your eyes shot to the fire once more.

“I know you still don’t feel ready but-“

“Im not.”

“(Y/n)…”

“Amren. I have enjoyed you and Azriel’s company. I have appreciated Rhysand and Feyre’s generosity but a part of me being able to heal is not having to watch them every day.” Your hands were fiddling with the frayed edges of the blanket, your mind slowly beginning to drift to a far away place.

“I understand, and I wouldn’t be asking you to return if I didn’t feel it necessary for your safety.”

Your stomach flipped.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Amren sighed and looked to the flames, running a delicate hand over the linen fabric of her pants. How was she not cold?

“When you and the Archeron sisters were… made. Hybern didn’t anticipate for the three of you to take things from the cauldron. Rhysand worries that Hybern will try and track your magic and…” She trailed off, a tight line replacing her easy-going smile.

“And what Amren?”

“And reclaim it.”

The finality in her words turned your spine into steel. With shaky hands you tossed the blanket aside and stood. Your hands rubbed over your face and suddenly your mind was racing with millions of questions.

“Will he?”

“Hmm?”

“Will Hybern try and take it from me?”

“We don’t know for sure, but Fe- Rhysand thinks it would be safer for you in Velaris, its impossible to penetrate those wards and its closer to us if anything were to happen.”

You nodded and crossed your arms over your chest. Mulling over the possibilities and the smart thing to do.

No part of you wanted to be surrounded by seawater and concrete again and yet, the possibility of being in that house, watching as your dream was lived by someone other than you seemed just as suffocating. Amren watched as you paced the room, giving you time to think and praying that Azriel wasn’t freezing to death wherever he was outside.

You had summoned that little light again, and it was flitting nervously about the room. Soft plink, plin,k plinks sounding each time it careened with a window and bounced off of it. Summoning it back to you, you let it dance between your fingers, grounding yourself in the warmth it produced.

“I’ll go.”

“You will?”

“I’ll go.”

“Rhysand has offered for you to stay in the house of Wind. It’s away from the city and large enough for you to have privacy. He has also asked if you would be willing to train in self-defense with Cassian.” Amren was standing now, watching you with a soft smile. It was encouraging, bordering on pleading.

You nodded your head and urged the light to die away in your palm, the warmth quickly receding.

“When will we leave?”

“Tonight.”

The House of Wind was breathtaking.

Cassian had flown you in, and you had been met with Rhysand who gave you a private tour of the luxurious quarters you would be living in. It was open, airy, and entirely unlike the cramped space you had envisioned when Amren explained that it was built into a mountain.

That little revelation had nearly made you change your mind, though now you were glad you hadn’t.

“There are sparring grounds on the roof where Cassian will train with you. Nothing too insane I promise.” Rhysand chuckled, guiding you back to the main living space. Jasmine and clean linen permeated the air, and the warming breeze of the spring was drifting through the open windows.

“No one else is staying here correct?”

“No one who will bother you. Cassian lives here year round, and per Elain’s request Lucien has been sent here for some… distance.”

You nodded and sunk into a chair in the living area the tour had stopped in. Rhysand perched on the arm of a chair opposite of you and folded his hands on a knee. His brows were furrowed as he watched your eyes roam over the room, your shoulders slumped and your teeth mulling over a hang nail anxiously.

“Whats on your mind?”

And when you caught his gaze a breath snagged in your throat. It looked the same as it had that night in your family home. Concern, if not pity, was flashing in those violet eyes and you looked away from them, a hard knot forming in the center of your chest. Clearing your throat, you shook your head and forced a smile. It felt out of place, plastic on your features.

“Nothing. A bit tired and overwhelmed is all, thank you for the tour, I think I will be going to bed now.”

He didn’t push the subject any further, but as you stood and made your way to the room, he had deemed yours, you felt a pair of eyes boring holes into your back.

“Please quit looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” Azriel replied, lazily leaned against a rocky wall in the hallway.

“Like Im some kind of four eyed freak.” You grumbled, shoving past him towards the stairs. Your hair was braided neatly and the trousers and top you wore were tightly fitted, a sharp contrast to the oversized knits you had been sporting since your arrival in the Night court.

‘Not having fabric in your way is more conducive to noobie training’ Cassian had said the night before. Though part of you felt as though it was some plot to see if you were actually shaped like something other than a worn out cardigan.

“Ive just never seen you so….”

“Defeated?”

“Encouraged. I have never seen you so encouraged.”

You stopped, a foot on the stairs and turned halfway to face him. He had followed you, light on his feet as ever and was stopped a few paces away from the stairs himself. His brow was creased and those almond-colored eyes were searching yours, for what you weren’t sure.

“Azriel, what the fuck does that even mean.” You replied, a brow raised.

“Just that you don’t look entirely miserable about a five AM training session with the biggest Illyrian known to man. You look almost… excited.”

You huffed and rolled your eyes, hyper aware of his shadow as you began to ascend the stairs to the roof. Excited was certainly not the word to describe the feeling you had as you were met with the gentle glow of the rising sun and the bright beam of Cassian’s smile.

Terrified would be a better term to fit the current mood.

“Have you ever played with Knives before?” Cassian questioned from his place on the roof.

Yes, terrified.

“This ought to be great.” Azriel grumbled, moving to his seat outside of the sparring ring. He was meant to mediate, make sure you didn’t get killed. You had thought that notion absolutely absurd when he brought it up first thing in the hallway, but as Cassian unsheathed a knife from his thigh and turned his wolfish gaze on your frame, you stiffened.

Yes, terrified was a much better word.

“Do I look like someone who has played with Knives much?” You choked out, swallowing thickly. Had your throat been this dry all morning?

Cassian ran his eyes over you, no doubt taking in the absurdity of the way you looked. Some weight had begun to return to your frame, but by no means had your figure recovered from the past year. In comparison to the general you were tiny, fragile. His brows furrowed and his smirk loosened to a softened smile. Sighing he sheathed the knife and walked towards you, his hands on his hips.

“No. No you dont.” He glanced at Azriel, who merely shrugged and leaned back in his chair, basking in the rising warmth of the morning sun. His wings were splayed behind him and his arms were folded tightly across his chest. “Thanks for the help, Brother.”

You watched the two of them, your own arms crossed over your chest protectively. Cassian seemed to be weighing his options, trying to figure out how to teach you something when you knew absolutely nothing. His brows were furrowed tightly as he thought and he had taken up a position similar to yours, arms crossed over his chest, legs stanced as he leaned into his hip.

You were growing antsy, anxious at the thought of being helpless in even such a docile situation. Azriel was in his own world, eyes closed and chest rising slower and slower. Great, you had bored him to sleep and Cassian looked pissed because this seemed to be wasting his time.

With no further thought you shot forward, using the size difference between you and the general to snatch his sheathed weapon and duck away from his swinging arm, a violent habit encoded in his warrior brain.

“What the fuck?!” He shouted as you crashed to the ground on your knees, clutching the blade in your left hand firmly. You were panting, absolutely in shock you had pulled that off. Cassian had spun towards you and was staring at you wide eyed.

From his spot, Azriel opened a single eye and chuckled at the sight before shutting it once more. Standing, you dusted off your knees and handed the blade back.

“Now. Please quit standing there and teach me something.” You huffed, resting your hands on your hips. Cassian stared down at you, the blade resting in his hand loosely. Spinning it back into place at his thigh he merely nodded and motioned for you to step into the ring.

“Well little Beddor. We’ll start with defense since you apparently have a death wish.”

–

Pain.

Every fiber of your body ached and groaned as you walked down the stairs. It had been four hours of training on the roof, a “short” day Cassian had said. How he was so unfazed, trailing behind you, you were unsure. At some point he had discarded his shirt and the only sign he had even been outside was a slight glimmer of sweat on his toned chest. Azriel had stayed the entire time, watching, sleeping, and making comments on form and technique when he thought necessary.

“You did well (Y/N).” Cassian spoke, clapping your shoulder with a firm hand. You winced at the impact but nodded and bid he and Azriel farewell before slinking to the safety of your room. All you wanted was to peel the sweat sticky clothing off of your body and run a bath. Every inch of your skin was caked in red dust from the roof and the grime was beginning to make your head spin.

Halfway through stripping off your pants, shirt discarded in a corner, a knock sounded at your door. Before you had a chance to yell it was creaking open, had you even closed it all the way?

“(Y/N), Cass wanted to know if you needed any-” Azriel stopped speaking. Your spine was rigid. You were faced away from him, an arm crossed over your chest, the other clutching the top of your pants tightly.

Slowly, you turned your head over your shoulder, just enough to glance at him. He was halfway through the door, a hand on the handle and the other loosely hanging by his side. His wings were flared and his eyes were wide, nearly black from how blown his pupils were. He drug his eyes down your frame, every so slowly before dragging them upward once more. Swallowing thickly he shut his eyes tightly and turned his head towards the hallways.

“Gods, Im sorry.” He choked out, moving to shut the door enough for you to have privacy. “Cass just wanted to know if you needed a poultice for soreness?”

Cheeks heated to a new extreme, and hands shaking you turned away from the door and swallowed deeply. “Yes. That would be great. Thank you Azriel.”

The spymaster didnt even deign a reply, he simply shut the door. Dropping your arms you let your pants fall to the floor and released a breath you were unaware you had been holding.

–

“You walked in on her changing? So what. It was an accident Az.” Cass huffed, ducking away from his counterpart's swing. Azriel raised a brow and rolled away from the countering swing of the general’s leg. Catching his calf mid air, the spymaster stood and swept his partner to the ground. Chuckling when Cassian made impact and his breath was knocked clean from his chest.

“Yes an accident but still…” Azriel panted, reaching out a hand to help him up. “I keep replaying it in my head.”

“Well now you sound like a fucking creep.” Cassian countered, accepting the hand gratefully. Both males were sweating and panting like animals. The sun was baking the roof and their shirts had long been discarded. They had opted for hand to hand this training session, their weapons glimmering in the light, had been discarded as well. “She’s a pretty female, I’ll give her that. When was the last time you got some anyway Az? Maybe she’s the perfect outlet fo-”

Azriel didnt even let him finish. All technique flew out the window and the shadowsinger lunged at his friend. The two males fell to the hard clay beneath and Cassian was firmly pinned beneath the press of Azriel’s knees.

“Dont even fucking say it.” He growled. Cassian raised his arms above his head in submission and watched as Azriel stood, a brow raised.

“What? I didnt mean anything by it, it was a joke.” Cassian sputtered, rising to his knees as to catch his breath. Azriel was faced away from him, tugging his shirt on and strapping his blades back to his body. His shoulders were taught and any emotion once readable had been steeled away. “You act like she’s your-”

Azriel cut his gaze towards his friend. There was a fire there that Cassian had not seen since they were children, fighting for their lives in the war camps. And then it dawned on him, his shoulders slumped and his mouth fell open in shock. “Brother- how long have you known?”

Azriel turned away from Cassian once more and busied himself with the buckle of his belt. “Since the continent.” Was the only answer he gave before making his way towards the stairs. Cassian wasted no time in following him, haphazardly grabbing his shirt and belongings as he passed them.

“Does she know?” He pressed, struggling to keep up with the brisk pace Az had set. “Are you going to tell her?”

Azriel spun around to face him at the door to the stairs, a hand raised in his face.

“No Cas. I’m not going to tell her. And I will fucking kill you if you do.”

“I would never.” He spoke, the males shared a look before Azriel merely nodded and made his descent.

Cas watched him leave, his shoulders slumped and his items hanging loosely in his hands. A small light zipped into his view, and bobbed there. His brows creased and he reached for it, only to be burned upon contact.

“What the fuck?” He whispered, stepping towards it. As he approached it slowly made its way towards the stairs before blinking out of existence entirely.

–

You were sitting up in bed, legs crossed and hands pressed firmly into your knees. Eyes closed, forehead creased, you had never focused on that little light harder. In the cabin, it had been able to provide you glimpses of what it had seen, like highlight reels from the outside world. Now, as it made its way through the House of Wind you practiced grasping onto that information.

Focusing hard enough you gathered that it could show you, and tell you. You heard the conversations of the servants as it zipped through the kitchens, the whispers of the maids as it tiptoed through faelights in different rooms, and the clanging of metal as it approached the roof.

“Brother- how long have you known?”

“Since the continent.”

“No Cas. I’m not going to tell her. And I will fucking kill you if you do.”

“I would never.”

Your eyes snapped open and that little light reappeared before you. It bobbed and spun in its place, like a dog happy to see its master after a long day’s separation. With a thought it blinked out of existence and you stared at where it had been without really seeing. He had known what? Had deigned not to tell you something? Azriel was your friend. Yes that much had been made clear over the weeks he had been with you at the cabin. The jokes and the conversations held in the safety of that wooden dwelling between the two of you and Amren. And yet he was hiding something that seemed important from you.

Swallowing thickly you stood from the bed and made your way to the desk. Scribbling quickly onto a piece of paper you concentrated on willing it away into the awaiting hands of its receiver. When it disappeared into that mysterious universal fold you sunk into the desk chair and stared out the window. Awaiting its return.

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@wanderer-by-heart @fussel9913

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@@we-were-beautiful

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slashersgostabbystabstab · 7 months

Text

Downtime

Hello Hux fans, I come with yet another Singularity offering ^^ This was meant to be a suggestive/smutty one but it went a whole other route towards the end. Maybe I just want so much fluff with Hux and I accidently go that route every time...

Anyways, hope you guys enjoy! I feel like this went in so many directions and I screwed it up a lot lmao. I'm off to write for his chapter series now!

Which btw a little context for this fic without spoiling too much(which you will see more of in this next chapter series): Reader is a friend of Gabriel's, they knew each other Pre-Entity and they were a robotics engineer. They didnt't create Hux but helped a co-worker with his former self (who is briefly referred to as 13). Reader has a prosthetic arm due to an accident they endured before coming into the Entity's realm. I think that should do?

Words: 3003

Hux, like any other robot, struggled to properly demonstrate any kind of emotion, or at least in his case he didn’t exactly care enough to display what he felt. His nonchalance was something he definitely excelled at, and when he wasn’t being apathetic he would show his disapproval during a trial. Or when Gabriel’s name just so happened to escape your lips mid-conversation. Or even when your friend happened to be in the same realm as you, apparently no close proximity was even required for that.

It felt so unfortunate just how impossible it basically was to coax out some kind of positive, or any non negative or uncaring, reaction from Hux. One who really knew what went on between the two of you behind curtains could disagree and say that the private moments you shared with the former cobot differed, but even then Hux was his typical unemotional self with a few short circuits every now and then.

Quite frequently you had the same thought circle through your mind…what was it that could possibly make a being like Hux squirm?

And you currently pondered at the question as you sat on top of a closed crate beside the robot, somehow having convinced him to be seated on another despite how awkward the position felt for him.

In your dominant hand you had a wrench, one that you used on Hux’s left arm that was held in your other hand. You were thankful his limb was light in weight, for you focused on tightening the locknut that connected his engine fuel line from his upper arm to the mechanical block near his projectile claw. Once you were done with that nut you set the wrench back inside the toolbox you found within the Huxlee Caracas III, taking a moment to examine Hux’s claw more closely. In spite of the several times you had gotten to embrace or even have the smallest of holds on Hux, you didn’t ever get the chance to properly inspect him like you did now. But you at least knew his every ins and outs, even if he had drastically changed his form.

“A hex socket screwdriver is required to fasten the hex button head screws.” Hux pointed out before you gave a slight chuckle.

“I know, I made sure to use that specific head for you.” you admired his three claws, attaching the screwdriver you took from your toolbox to one of Hux’s screws that had begun to loosen up. As “perfect” as Hux was, it seemed that the Entity momentarily slacked off with Hux’s condition. “I’m glad you kept the same kind of bolts, very smart of you in fact.”

You glanced up from Hux’s arm, somewhat hoping the tiny flattery made him budge even just a bit. But to your misfortune, he merely stared ahead into the emptiness of the room.

“Is this blood on your metal, or are you becoming a bit rusty?” you resumed your conversation after fixing the second screw, taking a moment to eye the brown-ish coloring coating his limb’s surface.

“Collecting genetic material and ridding this realm of its infinitesimal worms can not be completed without a mess. At least it is done fast.” Hux retrieved his claw from your hold to have it hover in front of his visor, admiring your simple work. “Vital fluid from J15L19 appears to stain my claw.”

Oh boy…here he goes.

“Well maybe if you weren’t so focused on targeting Gabriel who’s learning more and more about you every time, then maybe your body wouldn’t be coming apart so easily.” you posited as you stood up, very well knowing that Hux shot you what could be considered a glare. “Some powder or organic coating, and I don’t mean human, might do your claws some good. Though I honestly am not sure what to recommend for this metal I don’t understand yet.”

“This alien metal is too advanced for feeble Earth minds to understand.”

“Reminder that I wasn’t born on Earth, Huxlee. Cut me some slack at least.”

“You were born on Proxima Centauri A.” Hux added before a soft smile came upon your features, and you turned to him to see that his vexation seemed to have disappeared rather fast. “We are finished.”

Of course you were, conversations tended to be quite short between the two of you if the topic at hand was not to Hux’s interest. Somehow you believed that karma had come back to bite you in the ass after the numerous times you unintentionally pushed Gabriel away when work got the best of you.

So the moment you felt your smile begin to falter, you instantly stood from your spot before returning your screwdriver to its place inside the toolbox. You promptly closed the box and picked it up, soon turning on your heel to make your way towards the designated sleeping area where you typically left whatever belongings the Entity allowed you to keep. But before you were able to do that, something definitely seemed off.

“Why are you leaving?”

Much to your surprise, you caught sight of Hux who remained sitting on his crate while he looked at you with as much puzzlement as a robot could display.

“I thought we were done.”

“Negative.” Hux expressed with a twitch of his head, now observing as you returned to his location and stood before him.

“So what’d I miss?”

Hux gave no response other than his head tilting to the side, watching you set down your toolbox before he finally lifted his singular claw. You felt the sharp weapon go around and behind you, gingerly pushing you towards his seated form until your face was mere inches away from his visor.

“Oh,” a quiet chuckle came from your lips that curved into a soft smile, meanwhile your hands reached up to take hold of his head. “I forgot.”

How dare you forget his special treatment? The very same he received any time you left his presence?

“Don’t forget. Be better.” Hux’s red lights dimmed down almost as if he were shutting his eyes the moment your lips touched the middle of his visor, immediately lighting back up once you released him. Clearly much to his disappointment.

“I thought you’d only want one.” you teased, now feeling his claw shove you further into his form. You propped your knee up onto the space between his legs, leaning your head to the side to then kiss the circular piece connected on the left of his visor. Once again your hands came upwards, but this time around your left held onto the machinery bit of his right arm. Meanwhile, your non-artificial hand was careful not to interact with the alien crystal on his left side, instead placing itself closer to what was his neck. “Are two enough?”

“Negative.”

You brought your body even closer to his before connecting your lips near his gaping mouth and then on the flesh near his neck, sliding your right hand down from his neck to his miniature monitor. But there was soon a surge of surprise in you when you felt Hux writhe and twitch intensely in your hold, forcing you to jump back and release him. Clearly that was a sensitive area.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” you began to remove your leg from the crate he sat on to create a proper space between the two of you, but you instantly felt as Hux’s claw pushed you back into him. “Hux?”

“Don’t. Leave.” He almost tried to intimidate you while your body was pressed against his form, practically forced onto him. This made you place your hands on his chest while being careful with his protruding machinery. “Proceed.”

The command had you rather stunned as you stared directly into Hux’s red orbs, unconsciously gripping onto the flesh of his chest as he gave a few more spasms. Slowly your hands glided over his skin, feeling every groove and vein they passed which you realized made the robot lean back as if to get comfortable. His head followed his actions as you touched the area leading up to his neck, giving a gentle squeeze which resulted in another spasm, this time from his leg.

After coming to the realms and learning of what had become of your precious 13, it really did stagger you to know that he had found a way to incorporate the sense of touch into his body. You had learned he had turned up every dial to the max, so his sensations were much stronger than any human's meaning that a pleasing feeling was ecstasy to him. And anytime there was a new sensation introduced to Hux that didn’t have him disapproving of it, he just wanted more and more of it. From what this situation looked like…you knew a simple kiss on the neck would have Hux regretting not letting you feel his body much sooner.

Had you perhaps finally found your long awaited answer?

Considering how your current position was already awkward enough, you made the choice to climb on top of the robot so that you were now straddling his lap. You removed your hands from his upper area, instead moving your prosthetic to the flesh bits that connected his torso to his leg. While that hand stroked that part of him, your other went to the fleshy webbing that encased his appliances meant to resemble a waist.

No sounds came from Hux other than the whirring of his body, but you could feel under your own figure that his twitching had become somewhat more powerful with each stroke of your fingers.

An awe and adoration overcame you as you noticed his visor’s lights dimming down once more, exhibiting his ability to feel every touch. That if he spoke in a more human-like manner, there would without a doubt be some kind of whimper coming from his system. Mainly with how you now removed your hand from his fleshy waist, receiving a sudden jolt from Hux who whipped his head in your direction. Quite peeved in fact.

“Relax,” you breathed out before bringing your hand behind you to then place it over his right thigh, giving the synthetic skin a gentle squeeze before a caress followed after. “I’m not done with you just yet.”

The android made sure to watch your every move as you entangled your other hand’s fingers into his webbing again, making sure to hold every girthy strand in between your fingertips. You soothed every bit of his waist until trailing back up to his chest where his pec was now stroked again, resulting in you removing your hand from his thigh much to his disappointment yet again. At least what was what you hoped.

Feeling rather optimistic, you leaned your face towards his chest where you took notice of his miniature screen that read all sorts of binary code. It was already very difficult to decipher any of the phrases he was coding, but with every move you made on his body, the codes only wrote themselves faster as if trying to comprehend themselves. So you dared to plant your lips on his chest, making a trail up to his neck before you did the unthinkable as all cares flew out the window. You were too damn determined and roused by every reaction that came from Hux no matter how small they were; so you gave his skin a quick nip before sucking on one of the his veins that bulged out more than the rest.

Hux’s lower body jerked up and into your own that very instant, making you slightly jump but eventually ease up with a sly grin before you buried your face back into the crook of his neck.

“Is that to your liking, Huxlee?”

As your smile firmly remained on your features, Hux once again lacked any kind of reaction. Normally this would have had you disappointed, but this mode of silence had you beaming with pride. Especially with a new beeping that sounded from Hux’s chest screen that was quite reminiscent of a fast beating heart, so you pulled yourself away from him to take a peek at it. Yet another plethora of ones and zeros were drawn over his screen, lines coming in swift waves while you directed your attention to Hux’s visor.

“Should I stop?” you teased the android who now looked like he just got out of his sleep mode. And he clearly did not appreciate you detaching your hands from his body the moment it happened. “Maybe I should head off?”

“Stop squabbling.” Hux finally responded, encouraging you to press your chest against his again.

Right away did you wrap yourself around him, making sure to let your hands wander over the surface of his back. Somehow you had a hunch about the flesh surrounding the mechanical parts of Hux’s back, predicting that those specific areas would have a higher sensitivity. And it seemed that your predictions were accurate with how Hux reacted when you paid special attention to those locations.

He practically threw himself against you, twitching his head that you could say was buried in the crook of your neck.

Now you adjusted your legs so that they wrapped around Hux’s trembling body, ankles hooked together while your fingers played with a particular tube on his back. Your fingertips followed the strand from one end to the other until reaching a definite spot where it impaled into Hux’s flesh. You brushed your fingers against that very spot before actually caressing it, feeling his twitching intensify while his projectile limb held you close against him.

In spite of all the quivering, Hux felt completely limp against your body. The feeling of awe never left you, merely increasing with every passing second that Hux seemed to glitch. Oh how you wondered what kind of squabbling sounds would escape his voice box had he possessed the ability to communicate more than just words.

“Huxlee,” you whispered as one of your hands snaked its way up to Hux’s head to caress his damaged skin. Your lips grazed against its side before returning to his neck where you couldn’t help but tease with your hot breaths. And you soon elicited a powerful twitch from him the moment you kissed and nibbled on his neck right after you let out a tender whisper. “My lucky star.”

Amidst all his trembling, Hux looked straight into your eyes with every sensor on his visor. It was clear that his system was acting up with how overwhelmed he had become in such a short time span. What was not present to your eyes were the various codes swimming in his vision, lines of him attempting to recalculate and fathom every sensation he was feeling. Yes he had experienced his fair share of unpleasant feelings, such as when one of the worms managed to stun him with a pallet when he wasn’t in Overclock Mode or when J15L19 dared burn him. But…everything you provided made up for every single one of those moments of inflicted discomfort. You were blind to the new fuzziness in Hux’s sensors as he now tried to analyze your smile, your eyes, anything to ground himself and come to terms that he was still in the colony ship. However…your voice…the satisfying sound of your voice proved to be both relieving and torturous as you spoke to him.

“Hux?” you finally voiced, scratching the back of the robot’s head once you took notice of his wandering mind. With your palm pressed against the now still surface that was his cheek, you made him focus on you as you beamed at him but now spoke sincerely. “I can stop if you need me to, I know it can be too much.”

“You won’t do such things.” Hux expressed with his head deepening into your palm, sensors once again powering down into a sort of sleep mode as his hold on you tightened once more, if it was even possible to hold you any tighter. “It’s really annoying when you continue squabbling.”

“Then maybe I should do this instead,” you resumed your affections by planting yet another kiss on his visor’s middle area, prompting a shudder from his head that nearly bumped into your nose. “Hey! Watch it.”

“How do you do it.”

“Do what?” you cooed with a tilt of your head, removing your hands from his head to let your arms hang loosely over his shoulders.

“Create complications in my design.” Hux enunciated without hesitation, only proving his point when you soothed his back once more. It was then that you felt him hold you, not just hug your body, but hold you as he began to lean forwards until you were dipped and hovering over the floor.

“What are you doing?” your giggling rang in his visor’s microphones while you made sure to hold onto him securely so as to not fall. It was then that you noticed his lights back on and shining on your complexion with how close he was to your face. With his machine parts and your prosthetic, you were basically magnets attracting each other every time.

“This is better.” Of course when he had any kind of leverage over you was when he was actually content. “Finish what you began.”

“I fear that if I do, you’ll either drop me on my head or crush me with that arm of yours.”

“Don’t tempt me.” Hux placed his visor against your forehead as you giggled again.

“And what’ll you do if I don’t do as you say?” you held onto the robot with your prosthetic, this thankfully strong enough to hold you while you used your other hand to hold his face one last time.

“I will make you succumb.” He practically threatened, but you knew no kind of harm would be brought upon you. And so, you grinned from ear to ear before giving his cheek yet another kiss:much to his satisfaction.

#dbd #dbd singularity #dbd hux #hux a7 13 #singularity...#hux x reader #no joke hux was about to bust it #but then my fluffy side kicked in

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