#it's seriously a behemoth of a post
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Cod Characters General Dating Headcanons (part three)
+ Random and Some bits of Chubby Fem S/O Headcanons with mentions of different nationality S/O
+ What type of BF/GF they would be
Including König, Kim "Horangi" Hong-jin, Keegan P. Russ, Philip Graves (+ some headcanons including the Shadows), Makarov
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
Fem terms and pronouns like she/her are used for the reader
ꕥ HOPE YOU ENJOY! ꕥ
My rules for requests and characters I can write for
A/n: I tried so hard to get this one out in time with the other but my other wips are getting to me 😭. I posted twice today just to feed y'all ahaha.
Disclaimers/warnings: Typical Cod things, OOC characters???, Unrealistic, Some suggestive themes and language, I'm so sorry but English is not my first language so please don't come after me. Most of the content I've seen are on TikTok and Tumblr I don't actually play the game but I love the characters so much, same with any other content I have for other video games.
Tiny sidenote: the reader in this has been describe to be shorter than the characters and has been mentioned to have a soft body rather than the muscular type.
König
ꕥ (PLEASE DON'T COME AFTER ME, I DON'T KNOW ANY GERMAN AND I'M USING GOOGLE TRANSLATE)
ꕥ Speaking of König, I don't think this man is the shy boy that some people is making him out to be (not that he doesn't have that side at all, I just feel like they make it his whole personality). Based on voice lines alone this man is cocky asf.
ꕥ There's a reason for his mask, yes he was bullied as a child because of his looks and that's one of the causes to his social anxiety but that doesn't mean this mf is shy. He just like to avoid people and social interactions yk. (Y'all have no idea how much I can relate to this)
ꕥ Has and will continue to use his height to his advantage, someone bothering you while you're both sat having a wonderful time together? This mf stands the fuck up, shoulders back, chest out and everything. Looming over that person while glaring down, arms crossed while they're engulfed by the shadow of this 6'10 behemoth of a man.
ꕥ Chubby!Reader? He'll throw you over his shoulders, only using one arm below your ass while he carries you off. Seriously it is no problem to this man, he'd beg you to sit on his face and suffocate him. If anything I'd say he has a preference for it yk, very soft and plush reader for real.
ꕥ Our DIY king here wearing a shirt for a hood, his hair sticking out of the hole for the head whenever he's dressing casual. Play with his hair like right now, you'll make him melt right then and there.
ꕥ Enjoys cuddling, hasn't had many partners and by that I mean kinda none. Nobody was insane enough to approach him till you came around so he's very touch starved. He didn't even know he enjoyed touching that much till he was able to feel the amount of warmth your body gives him. He'd swear on his life that he was intoxicated in that moment.
ꕥ Whenever you sit or straddle on his lap, he's still so fucking tall. I swear you will gain neck pains if you wanna keep eye contact while talking to him. (I understand the struggle, I am a 5'1 girly. Every character I know within the CoD universe is taller than me 😭)
ꕥ Doesn't actually wear his mask around you, he's comfortable and trust you enough to know you wouldn't go around telling everyone what he looks like.
ꕥ Nicknames he'd call you in German are Mein Schatz, Fräulein, Liebling, Engel and Kleine Maus
ꕥ He's still definitely bitter about not being a sniper. (AHAHAHA)
Kim "Horangi" Hong-jin
ꕥ (IF I'M BEING HONEST, I DID NOT EXPECT HIS VOICE TO BE THAT DEEP. ALSO HIS VOICE LINES IN KOREAN/HANGUL (IDK WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT)
ꕥ He has doodles on his tactical gear that he did himself (there are also one that are a tribute to squid game because man's had a gambling addiction), has asked you to draw on it too and he proudly wears it when on duty. Will feel stupid while unconsciously smiling if you draw a heart.
ꕥ Writing something down on his vest from your own mother tongue and he's asking the meaning, if it's genuinely something good like a compliment or something like "I love you" then you will catch this man with a shit eating grin.
ꕥ He used to be a gambler before entering the military and it eventually got him to stop, though he still has a thing for risk, he got himself a more deadlier alternative.
ꕥ Expect surprise back hugs, this man isn't called Horangi for nothing. He's stealthy, I like to think that whatever he says to you is well thought out as well. Man knows how to think before he speaks.
ꕥ Horangi likes to pounce on things, just for the fun of it. It leads him to tackle you on your shared bed a lot, lots of play fighting too.
ꕥ HAS THE PRETTIEST EYES EVER. Like seriously, the only people who knows what he looks like is you and König. Had gentle eyes, you know that quote "His eyes softened", yeah that's the definition of his eyes.
ꕥ Loves it when you trace the veins on his arms with your finger nails, will just straight up offer his arm to you.
Keegan P. Russ
ꕥ This man and his panty dropping voice like holy hell I have never heard a voice as deep as his without a vocal fry (from those try hard guys on TikTok who try to hard thinking their thirst traps are good).
ꕥ Calls you "kid" in an affectionate way? It's honestly just what he calls anyone younger than him, you're shorter? He'll emphasize on that shit. Elaborating on the nickname I said earlier, he uses it less when y'all are dating but still does on some occasions.
ꕥ Would say the most dirty and uncalled for things, whispering it in your ears. He's and asshole in the best way possible, loves it when you gasp and playfully slap his chest.
ꕥ He's sweet though, would see you as his wife even if you're not married. You're his now, the moment you entered his life, he basically had a death grip on you.
ꕥ Something tells me that he likes talking about you or to you through radios yk. His voice sounding even deeper through the device, calling you doll even though he's supposed to refer to you with your call sign.
ꕥ Praise kink? I mean you've more likely heard his voice lines, is the type of man to praise you and ruffle your hair, either that or he'll kiss you depending on what stage of your relationship you are both in.
ꕥ Constantly thinks his eyes are weird even though they aren't, he just has sleepy eyes. Speaking of sleeping, I feel like he has such a fucked up sleeping schedule and is used to pulling all nighters more than the normal person.
ꕥ Will drag you in bed though and lay his whole weight on top of you because you ain't going nowhere, you are staying there with him and only him.
Philip Graves
ꕥ (If it isn't "Fix It Felix", please tell me I'm not the only one who sees it AHAHAHA)
ꕥ Philip is touchy, somebody for the love of everything that is holy cuddle this man please. He is just screaming at any type of physical contact at this point. (My sources? Right fucking here)
ꕥ Is the type of boyfriend to come home to you and just hug you, y'all would be there for a solid 10 minutes before he lets you go. Burying his head into your neck and just inhaling your scent while having his arms wrapped tightly around you.
ꕥ His Shadows? More like his fucking children, again going back to the TikTok. He knows how to get their attention, the little pats on the shoulder and small praises are his way of saying they did a good job and they're eating it up.
ꕥ That being said, you are either gonna be their mother figure or someone they enjoy protecting because their dad is so fond of you. Why not be both right?
ꕥ You cannot tell me this man won't be next to the grill, spatula, tongs or whatever kitchen utensil in one hand and a cold bottle of beer in the other.
ꕥ Spends his weekends with you on his lap while he watches football in your guys' couch, you're definitely scrolling on your phone during this.
ꕥ You cannot tell me this man doesn't wear cowboy hats and boots because he certainly does, is it a turn on or a turn off? I genuinely do not know..
ꕥ Is fruity on some aspects but would never fucking admit it..
Makarov
ꕥ Y'ALL ACTUALLY THOUGHT I'D WRITE FOR THIS MAN? NAH THIS ACC IS WHOLESOME (OR ANGSTY) AND ION THINK THIS MAN IS SALVAGEABLE. (This came from a girl who once was obsessed with Tom Riddle for years when she was 13, I recovered from it dw)
ꕥ This man would literally use anyone and anything as leverage for whatever he wants to achieve. (Yes I am one of those "I can fix him" people but damn idk if this man is fixable)
ꕥ Please don't tell me you actually genuinely think this man would be good to you.. I knew what I was writing was unrealistic but damn y'all are delulu on another level (so am I, stay delulu). Jokes aside I love y'all and he's one of the few I won't write for. (AHEM Severus Snape (that greasy mop haired mf)
ꕥ And yes I understand most of my shit are kind of OOC but damn if I wrote him, it would be extremely fucking far from canon and I don't like romanticizing toxic relationships (if I ever do write it, it will be angst and I can't ever promise a happy ending).
ꕥ Happy April fool's! (I know I'm posting this end of September (it's actually October now 😭)
#cod headcanons#cod x reader#cod mw2#cod mwii#philip graves x reader#konig x reader#horangi x reader#keegan russ x reader#cod x female reader#cod x gn!reader#cod modern warfare#cod mwf2#call of duty mw2#mw2#makarov x reader#satire#Aethelwyne Lia writes
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𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑
“𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐔𝐒”
[ SYPNOSIS ] You found yourself stripped of your immortality, a punishment for daring to flout the edicts laid down by your father. Your transgressions? Two-fold. First, the grave sin of disobedience, and Secondly, the cardinal offense of falling irrevocably in love with your Lady in waiting. In your father’s eyes, the sanctity of your divinity was tarnished by a same-gender relationship, a concept that he vehemently repudiated as aberrant and abhorrent. Such unforgivable love, he pontificated, dulled your goddess-like essence. Thus he used his powers and casted you adrift into a parallel universe suffused with curses and sorcerers whose love aren't really the healthy type of love, a punishment to show you that ‘Love’ isn’t all about sunshine and rainbows
[ WARNINGS ] Gore, Slow Burn Yandere, Love Percentage Au. Pseudo Incest on Choso’s Case. Confusing Bullshit. Toji is smelly af. Cannibalism (kinda), Cringe, Unedited. Mentions of torture.
[ PAIRINGS ] Yandere! Jjk x Isekai’d! Goddess! Reader
[ LOVE INTERESTS ] Satoru Gojo, Suguru Geto, Shoko Ieri, Yuki Tsukumo, Kento Nanami, Utahime Iori, Choso, Toji Fushiguro, Sukuna Ryomen.
[ NOTE ] Also posted in wattpad & quotev. Hearts and Reblogs are greatly appreciated<3.
[ PREVIOUS CHAPTER ]
[ MASTERLIST ]
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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑
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EACH INHALE THROUGH YOUR nose pulled the stale, musty air into your lungs, therefore, you decided to breathe through your mouth, making a conscious effort to keep your nasal airways closed to avoid the unpleasant stench emanating from the man.
No matter how fervently you struggled to elude him, evading the man proved an insurmountable task.
Your every fiber ached with the desperate want to revert to your true form and scram, or ideally, melt into the very earth beneath you.
Yet, the prospect of metamorphosing back into your human guise was filled with trepidation. The notion of him witnessing a repulsive, gargantuan worm contorting into a person would potentially trigger aggression, and you're not in the mood to fight.
After all, it would be double assault too.
The assault on your olfactory senses from his offensive stench is damaging you too, and it would be worse if he were to add the physical damaging too.
And you don't want to risk it.
Seriously, you groaned inwardly.
Doesn't this guy possess an aversion to basic hygiene? Was he really that oblivious to the existence of potassium alum or the simple efficacy of deodorant? While the information of human smells regulation eluded your understanding, you knew that there's this ‘deodorant’ concept of a substance applied to the underarms to stave off malodorous stenches.
Doesn't he use that?
You felt incredibly uneasy as you perched uncomfortably on his unwashed shoulders, already imagining the putrid green aura that signifies a strong and offensive body odor.
Putanginang kili-kili yan. You thought.
The man then suddenly opened his mouth and yawned. The yawn he released unleashed a putrid wave of odor that assaulted your senses like a physical blow, causing your stomach to churn in protest as you froze.
The fumes invaded your nostrils and your meticulously maintained standards of personal cleanliness recoiled in horror at this olfactory assault, your inner hygiene guardian screaming in protest.
WHAT THE FUCK???? HE HAS A BAD BREATH TOO?
You wailed internally.
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𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍
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You sat there on his smelly shoulders, utterly stupefied.
That man that picked you up was sauntering by with a grotesque behemoth of a worm sitting on his shoulders, A.K.A you, without any shame.
He reeks, and his smell is enough to incapacitate even the hardiest of skunks. Yet, the people around seemed unfazed, their reactions ranging from mild wrinkling of noses and curling lips to indifference.
A wave of incredulity washed over you. Were their nostrils forged of iron?
Nevertheless, there was no denying the unsightly, repulsive sight of that gargantuan worm clinging to the man's shoulder. Who in their right mind could overlook such a monstrosity? The edge of your patience threatened to splinter.
What the fuck is wrong with these humans?
You've been briefed by your father on the supposed stupidity and repulsiveness of humans, yet experiencing it firsthand was a whole different level of shock.
Could it be deemed normal for them to accept a rotund man, drenched in a putrid stench, nonchalantly bearing a worm with an unsettling face atop his shoulder?
These humans are crazy. You thought, acting as if you're not crazy yourself.
You can feel the weight of regret crushing your spirit as you silently reprimanded yourself for even considering the transformation into such a loathsome form. Amidst the tumult of your inner turmoil, the surroundings begin to dim as the man strides purposefully through somewhere, then through a door.
The ceiling looms above, adorned with strange alien objects that defy recognition to you. The sterility of the environment would have been a welcome reprieve and a fresh breath of air, had it not been for the olfactory assault perpetuated by your uncouth carrier.
As he traverses, you two encountered a few passersby who recoil in visceral aversion at his noxious presence and a slight sense of relief washes over you. Finally witnessing the unbridled revulsion reflected in the reactions of these normal humans validates your own repugnant assessment of the situation.
Finally, normal humans. You mentally sighed in relief, then suddenly, you heard a voice speak.
“So you’re Zeni’n Toji, huh?” a voice utters in a language foreign to your understanding, the moment you saw the man's mouth move, you immediately close off your nasal passages in a desperate bid to shield yourself from the overpowering bad breath emanating from the man.
“Nope,” The black haired man shrugs.
“Not a zeni’n anymore.”
“It’s Fushiguro now, i took my wife’s last name,” The man said, his fingers roaming over the sinewy muscles of his neck. You winced as his touch grazed your slimy exoskeleton.
“Duly noted. So, Fushiguro, I presume you’re the one making these purchases then?”
Peering ahead, you spotted another man draped in a weird ensemble—a solid black garment adorned with five white crests, that is wrapped-front style featuring square sleeves and a rectangular body, with the left side crossing over the right. The peculiar attire perplexed you.
They started to talk, but you were oblivious to what they’re saying, for you are too distracted by the foreign language and the strange attires.
Do humans truly wear such strange attire?
You pondered, you don't really know how things in the other realms, cause your experiences was limited to the confines of your father's celestial castle high above the nebula, forbidden from venturing into the realms beyond.
Bound by the restrictions imposed on you, your existence had been confined to the splendors of the nebula realm—a domain reserved for supreme beings like Aionarch and yourself, alongside his twin sister and her progeny. The nebula is considered to be the most divine and beautiful place in existence in your world, and the highest of them all.
A place more Celestial and Ethereal than heaven itself.
Here, the very fabric of existence holds a unique resilience, swiftly restoring anything that dares to meet destruction. It's a celestial sanctuary where permanence is a fleeting concept, and the essence of eternal renewal is in the ethereal currents. In this sacred domain, nothing can succumb to irreparable harm without the sanction of aionarch.
Nebula is limitless, though, you have only heard of its magnificence from Aionarch, as you have never truly been able to explore it. The only time you did venture into the nebula was with Xeranthi, but even then, you and your mother were restricted in how far you could go, always under the watchful eye of Aionarch to ensure you ‘safety’ cause he was too afraid that his precious wife and only daughter might become lost or in danger. Thus, you were never allowed to venture too far and wasn't even allowed to go to other realms.
The second realm was heaven, where a plethora of deities resided, including Ataraxia. Though a paradise in its own right, it paled in comparison to the ethereal beauty of the nebula.
Although you have never experienced the beauty of heaven firsthand because you are stucked on the nebula, or more like locked up in the nebula, you have heard descriptions of it from ataraxia. She believes heaven is visually stunning, but interestingly, she also believes that the nebula surpasses it in beauty and grandeur, and that the heaven is only the second most beautiful place in the realm.
Then the third realm, Shaxilu, housed the lower deities—a realm known for its inhabitants' disdain towards Aionarch, bottom feeders deities who yaps without knowing much.
A realm teeming with fauna and lesser beings, it boasted of beauty yet lacked the divine allure present in both nebula and heaven. Here, the deities grappled with their responsibilities, ensuring the demigods remained contained and restraining the meddling of their celestial kin amongst humans.
Then came forth rhe fourth realm, known to humans as Earth, Earth was beautiful, yet it was getting destroyed by the humans who call it home.
Beneath this realm, existing as the darkest abyss of existence, was the fifth realm known as Kolase. Nestled in the deepest depths, Kolase was a place that humans calls hell. Everywhere in Kolase, cries of tortured souls and the shadows of demons and other eerie beings were palpable. Despite the horror that filled its every corner though, there was an undeniable beauty to Kolase, a charm that struggled to surface amidst the ceaseless chorus of tormented wails that echoed through its depths.
And by now? You felt as if you were on kolase again because of him.
The cloying stench emanating from him is suffocating, it was akin to an inferno raging in the depths of kolase itself. A shudder runs through you as you avert your gaze, the foul odor threatening to overpower your senses.
You observe him through narrowed eyes, his words muffled by the foul miasma enveloping him. His voice cuts through the thick air, each syllable laden with a putrid undertone that makes your stomach churn. Clenching your jaw, you silently commend yourself for sealing off your nasal passages, sparing yourself the full assault of his repugnant breath and reeking armpit odor.
“How much does those things sell again?” The black haired man asks, green eyes lazily scanning the place.
You blinked, not understanding any of their words.
What did they meant by that?
“About 7 million yen, Fushiguro-san,” the man replied without hesitation, his eyes locking with the gaze of the green-eyed man before him.
Huh? What are they saying? Your lips pressed tightly together.
The black haired man's lips curved into a knowing smile.
“Mhm. So, all I have to do is auction off that things then, and i get the money.” he drawled lazily.
“Yup. Half of the proceeds shall be yours,” the man stated.
“Good,” the green eyed man murmured.
“Just make sure that those jujutsu high brats—No, that gojo satoru brat comes.”
“Rest assured, Fushiguro-san.”
“Is it settled then?” the man inquired, seeking confirmation. The smelly man merely nodded.
“Let us proceed, then.” the man beckoned, his steps purposeful as he began to walk away, a silent invitation for toji to follow in his wake. And follow he did.
Meanwhile, you were confirmed. the foreign words that they uttered left you bewildered, the cadence unfamiliar to your ears. Are humans speaking a different language? The thought nags at you, a stark reminder of the vast gulf separating your celestial realm from this alien world. Everything about them feels foreign—from their attire to their accents and the peculiar sounds that spill from their lips.
Your irritation simmers beneath the surface, exacerbated by your inability to comprehend their discourse. Yet amidst the confusion, one word rings out with unmistakable frequency—“fushiguro.” Your gaze flickers to the man who had hoisted you up, connecting the sound to his assumed identity. Fushiguro, was a name that rolls off your tongue just fine, and it's pretty, just tarnished only by the off-putting odor clinging to him.
Beauty marred by filth. You noted.
You were having many thoughts and suspicion as Toji and the man strode down the shadowy corridor. The further they ventured, the more secluded the surroundings became. The door at the end of the corridor drew near, its surface adorned with an array of locks and pins, and you couldn't help but think that this is a bit shady.
With a metallic creak, the door swung open, revealing a dimly lit room that can only be described as reminiscent of a clandestine laboratory.
The walls were lined with shelves stacked high with various glass vials, beakers, and jars containing unknown substances that glowed in shades of red, green, blue, and purple. Strange symbols and diagrams were etched into the walls, aswell some equations, like a cult. In the center of the laboratory, a large stainless-steel table dominated the space, its surface littered with an assortment of scientific equipment—test tubes, Bunsen burners, and many more.
You noticed a series of cages lining one wall, each containing a different creature. Some were familiar—a dark, sleek-furred cat with unnaturally sharp claws, a plumed bird with iridescent feathers that seemed to shimmer in the dim light.
On the adjacent container lay a grotesque being, a nightmarish amalgamation resembling a spider. Its elongated limbs flexed with unnatural dexterity, stained with crimson. The creature's pallid, almost translucent body contrasted starkly against the bloodied appendages, it lacked eyes, a nose, any semblance of face—save for the gaping maw with serrated fangs.
You winced at the sight of the ugly creature. Shaking off your revulsion, your gaze refocused on the man passing two small containers to Toji.
The lower limb buds of the creature resembled paddles. Fingers were also visible, detailing the complexity of its anatomy. Furthermore, small swellings were starting to outline the future shell-shaped parts of its ears, while its eyes were visibly defined. The upper lip and nose were present, adding to the overall features of the creature. And it was all curled up.
You knew what the fuck those things are.
Fetus.
What they have is a fucking fetus, albeit a bit weird since it's color purple.
But still, why the hell do they have those? Did they ripped those out straight out of the mother's womb?
Your throat constricts.
Your heart raced as Toji suddenly forcibly pried open your deformed mouth.
Oh my fucking goodness, don't tell me that they're gonna feed that to me?
You tried to squirm away, trying to close your mouth, but Toji thrusts the containers in your mouth.
With a sickening squelch, your saliva coated the containers and you felt a surge of panic rise in you, the urge to gag overwhelming. The glass made a sharp contact with your Epiglottis, causing discomfort before slowly gliding down your throat as you struggled to swallow it in one piece. A trail of saliva escaped from your lips and dripped down your mouth as you finally managed to swallow the glass completely.
This is just a dream, it's not happening. You gaslighted yourself as you sobbed internally as you you fought back the rising bile in your throat, your every muscle tense with discomfort.
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𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍
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Tension filled your rigid body and your mind was filled with revulsion, your veins coursing with a vile concoction from the memory of that abhorrent act of swallowing a fetus in a glass jar. The sensation churned in your stomach, the urge to vomit it overwhelming.
Could the fetus metamorphose within you? Would it grow inside of your wormy stomach? Would it explode from the jar and live inside of your womb? What the fuck.
would you unwittingly become the surrogate mother to a baby and birthing it while being a worm?
The horrific scenarios played out in the theater of your mind, driving you to the brink of a mental collapse as you and Toji were on a bridge.
Toji on the other hand, strolled nonchalantly, one hand thrust into his pocket while the other had a gadget in his hand, it was glowing and from what you assumed, it looked like a mirror, he was talking but you paid no mind to him—not like you can understand what he was saying anyways.
You still loathed him for making you eat the poor fetus.
The mental image of a tiny human bursting forth from your body made your poor stomach churn, causing a nauseating wave to pirouette up your throat. As you allowed your thoughts to meander, a disquieting unease began to simmer within you. Toji's incomprehensible babbling faded into the background, as all you yearned for was to shed this fucking worm form and revert back to your true self, urgently and unequivocally. The urge to turn back into your true form and just kill toji so he doesn't have to see it surged through you.
After all, you would do the poor humans that is living in the earth a favor by killing a man that smells like the fart and smells like Thioacetone.
Surely, it's not a sin to kill such man right?
But then, was this the fabled retribution aionarch had told you about? It suddenly made sense why you were exiled to Earth, to make you suffer from the overwhelming pungent odor of the man—You are but a clean and hygiene freak after all.
Suddenly, Your gaze unexpectedly locked onto the fluttering of a random butterfly that was on a top of a flower. In that fleeting moment, a profound realization struck you like a bolt of lightning as you got an idea of what's happening.
The Butterfly effect.
Your throat constricts as you realized that you are actually experiencing it firsthand right now.
A minor pledge made in haste to ataraxia had unfurled loads of calamities. From the seething wrath of aionarch, getting tortured, to a harrowing plunge to the earthly realm, to your regeneration not working, to ugly creatures assailing you and to Metamorphosing into a worm, and then getting kidnapped by a reeking man, and now you have an fetus inside you?
please let this be a dream. you sniffed.
You shut your eyes, a thousand thoughts raging through your mind, silent sobs echoing internally as you prayed for this nightmare to cease.
Suddenly, a rumbling sound, like of a horse hooves in a frenzied gallop, rang in your ears.
What the fuck?
Your eyes opened, and when you saw that there's indeed a horse, your lungs seared as if the air had been forcibly expelled from them, a scream bubbling in your throat.
A literal horse was charging towards you and toji—looking like as if it was about to attack you.
Why is a horse coming our way?! You gawked.
THIS IS SO RANDOM! You wailed.
Panic gripped you, muscles coiling tight as you squirmed against Fushiguro's neck, a desperate attempt to make him aware of the impending danger.
“You with the big tits! Move! A random horse is literally coming our way—a fucking horse!”
You were practically screaming at him through your worm like mouth, but it was all distorted and can't be comprehended.
Thus, he remained oblivious.
However, he noticed the way you tightened around his neck—as if you wanted to strangle him.
“Hm? What’s up with you?” He asks dumbly, before looking forward, and gawking.
“The fuck is that?” He gawked.
“That’s so fuckin’ random.”
“Why the hell is a horse—” Toji didn’t even finished his sentence as the horse crashed with you two—Kicked you two. The world around you condensed into a singular point of terror as the wretched horse pushed you to the ground. A guttural shriek tore from your throat, the sound a mix of fear and confusion, as your being buckled under the strain.
Involuntarily, your body reacted on its own and your worm form began to change in your normal form.
Toji's strangled sound of “huh” was barely registered as the world spiraled. The wooden bridge that you two were in shattered and gravity claimed its due, and with a sickening plunge, you and Toji plummeted towards the churning water below.
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𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍
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Toji's mind reeled in disbelief at the surreal situation before him. The weight of water pressed against his body as he swam upwards.
“What the fuck did just happened?”
his fingers raked through his hair, pushing the wet strands out of his face as rivulets of water trickled down his skin.
“Did A literal horse just attacked me?” he exclaimed, his voice laced with incredulity. His eyes darted around, searching for answers in the murky depths of the water. The absurdity of the situation made him shake his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips despite the tension in his muscles.
“Fucking weird....” The memory of the horse's unexpected assault annoyed him. Toji swore that he will kill the horse.
“Ugh.. is this my punishment?”
Toji's hand absently reached up to massage the tense muscles at the base of his neck, a habitual gesture that offered little relief in the current circumstances. Frustration welled up inside him as he realized that his precious worm couldn't be found.
“Wait, Where are you?” he muttered, his brows furrowing as he scanned his surroundings.
“Where are you?” he called out, the words muffled by the water surrounding him. His movements were sluggish in the aquatic environment, each motion hindered by the oppressive force of the water.
In the meantime, you would have been pleased that Toji had finally bathed, even though it was accidental and somewhat coerced due to being pushed by a horse. It was a positive development, however, leaving you feeling relieved. You would have been rejoicing in this achievement, had it not been for the fact that you're practically drowning.
The crushing weight of the water pressed on your body and the sharp impact of the rocks against your back was painful, it felt like as if it was scrapping your back, their jagged edges, almost enough to cut through your skin, leaving you momentarily paralyzed. You involuntarily inhaled a rush of frigid water, and your esophagus began to sear as the water made contact with it, your nose contracted in pain.
You squirmed, desperately trying to tune out the pain gnawing at your back from the jagged rocks, you swore that you could see a crimson stream mingling with the rippling water below because of it. Frantically writhing, you sought to propel yourself upwards, but before you could swim upwards, a sudden impact crushed down on you, fragments of the fractured bridge fell down on you.
Your ribs began to break from the force and a searing conflagration within your chest. Your vision was obscured by a watery haze, the burn of chlorine stung your eyes as you fought the drowning urge to gasp, your fingers clawing at your constricted throat, nails gouging into your flesh.
Unable to contain the burning flood, your body convulsed in a futile attempt to expel the deluge, lungs saturated as you swallowed more of the river's waters.
Transform. You tried to say, trying to force your body to transform into something that can breathe underwater.
Fucking do it—now.
But your body wouldn't listen.
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𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐁𝐔𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍
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Your eyes struggled to focus as the world around you were in a murky haze, every breath was like a dagger of pain stabbing at your chest. The cold seeped into your bones, chilling you to the core. As clarity slowly crept back into view, you felt a firm grip clamping the tender flesh of your nose shut.
Someone's lips was pressed down firmly upon yours, looking to aim for a perfect, airtight connection. With each exhale, you could feel the rush of air invade your lungs, and your brows furrowed.
They seemed to sense the stirring of consciousness within you and abruptly withdrew, leaving behind a glistening residue of saliva on their lips, likely remnants from the urgent CPR efforts.
A surge of bewilderment crashed over you as you sucked in a deep, shaky breath, your chest heaving as you greedily welcomed the life-giving oxygen into your deprived lungs.
A violent fit of coughing suddenly seized you, your chest heaving and convulsing as you tried to ciugh out the water that had invaded your airways, your throat was burning like liquid fire.
Each gasping breath felt like shards of glass scraping against your insides, and there was a sharp pain radiating through your body with each jagged inhalation.
A comforting hand pressed against your damp back, patting you, though you were too disoriented and drained to push it away.
“Can’t believe that this is happening... putanginang buhay to... pinaglihi ata ako sa kamalasan eh.” you grumbled through a hoarse rasp. Your fingers absently rubbed at the tender flesh of your neck.
The person withdrew, leaving you to slowly raise your gaze with wide, searching eyes.
There was a man with long, jet-black tresses tightly bound into two long black stringy hair tied into two high ponytails that jut upward and outward. He had purple eyes and across the bridge of his nose, a dark crimson mark stretched from one side of his face to the other.
Adorning his neck was a circular scarf and a purple vest adorned him. Beneath the vest, a loose, light tan robe cascaded down, enveloping his arms and legs.
Your chest heaved as you slowly lifted your gaze towards him. Was it his hands that had pulled you from the water? or was he merely a figment of your delirium?
Your face suddenly irked as you remembered the horse that attacked you, nonetheless, you thanked him for saving you.
“Thank you,”
You managed to say before a crease formed between your eyebrows, a question ready to spill from your lips.
“Wait.. who.. who are you?” you inquired, though a sudden tension gripped your jaw as the realization dawned that he likely couldn't comprehend your words. After all, if Fushiguro doesn’t speak your language, this man probably does too.
“I’m your son.” he stated bluntly.
You froze—You can understand what he’s saying somehow—unlike with fushiguro.
But then, what the fuck is he saying?
How could he claim such a title when logic insisted it was an impossibility? You never touched a man, let alone you're a virgin.
This seemed biologically impossible.
Tangina, anong pinagsasasabi neto?
“dude what.” you deadpanned incredulously, the weight of bewilderment settling on your features like a heavy cloak.
You’re plunged into a swirling abyss of bewilderment.
The very notion of him being your son is preposterous, absurdly impossible. You’ve guarded your body like a fortress, and you’ve never slept with anyone—not even with ataraxia.
But then, could it be that you unwittingly underwent Parthenogenesis? Some goddesses, like your mother had a children without having sex with a man after all.
But as you search the recesses of your bewildered mind, not a whisper of memory surfaces to confirmed that you had undergo through parthenogenesis.
Besides, Surely, such an aberration would never escape Aionarch’s eyes. Hell he even keeps an eye on your virginity and reminds you how important your chastity is.
So... How could he be your son?
After some moments of thinking about it, you finally spoke.
“I’m not your mother, no.”
You shook your head in utter disbelief, feeling the weight of confusion pressing down on your shoulders like a leaden cloak.
“Listen, whoever you are, I believe that you’re mistaken. I am not your mother,” you managed to utter through tightly clenched lips, a sense of exasperation tingling at the edges of your patience.
“You are mistaken,” the words escaped your lips, each syllable heavy with disbelief.
“There is no resemblance between us,” you murmured, noticing the flicker of irritation in his eyes at your assertion.
“Besides.. I’m a virgin, and... my lover is a woman.” Your jaw clenched, trying to wrap your mind around the bizarre revelation.
“And... And I never conceived you,” you stammered.
“You can’t be my son seriously.” You said shaking your head.
He clicks his tongue in annoyance at your assertions.
“If you're searching for clarity,’ he began, his steps deliberate as he closed the distance between you.
“My brother lies within your womb,” he said solemnly, his gaze locked with yours in an unflinching intensity that sent shivers down your spine.
What is he saying? What did he meant by his brother is in your womb? That's seriously creepy.
“What?” you hissed, the word barely more than a whisper as your mind struggled to assimilate the incomprehensible stuff that he was saying.
“We share the same womb, we came from the same womb. Within you,” he stated.
“So... that would imply that you birthed us all,”
“What the fuck kind of logic is that?” You snapped.
And with that, the two of you began to argue.
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𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑
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𑁍ࠬܓ━━𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍
𝐅𝐔𝐍 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐒:
𝟎𝟎𝟏.Choso assumed that [Name] is his mother because [Name] swallowed his brother (literally) and now his brother is just resting on [Name]’s stomach.
𝟎𝟎𝟐.[Name] was actually glad when they fell on the river because the water finally touched Toji’s skin.
𝟎𝟎𝟑.Mahito is the one who gave the body to choso on the anime, but in this, i changed it, and someone else gave him his body, and that someone is important to the story:P
𝟎𝟎𝟒.So Toji was supposed to sell the death painting wombs, ik that they're hidden somewhere on jujutsu high, but, on this book, jujutsu high only have 6 death painting wombs on them since some of them (Choso, Eso, Kechizu) already have bodies and the other one is on [Name]’s stomach.
𝟎𝟎𝟓.Choso isn’t really [Name]’s son, it’s just that he believes that she’s her mother. From what i know, when they were given the bodies by mahito, they have no memories and doesn’t know their mother or something and only knows that they live for each other.
𝟎𝟎𝟔.And yes! There’s a language barrier between them! And only choso knows how to speak the language [Name] is speaking (You’ll know why he knows that language later)
𝟎𝟎𝟕.Basically, [Name] doesn’t understand any of the words Toji is saying.
𝟎𝟎𝟖.Toji was using a cellphone and talking to some of his clients, but [Name] sees it as a mirror bcs there’s no cellphone in her world
𝟎𝟎𝟗.[Name] and Choso argued after that, but Choso ended up winning the argument.
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𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐌𝐒:
𝟎𝟎𝟏Putanginang kilikili yan means “That fucking armpits/damn armpits”
𝟎𝟎𝟐.Putanginang buhay to, pinaglihi ata ako sa kamalasan eh. It doesn’t really have a direct translation in English since pinaglihi doesn’t have its english counterpart, and the closest translation of this is “Fuck this life, i was probably conceived from misfortune”
𝟎𝟎𝟑.Tangina anong pinagsasasabi neto means “The fuck is he saying”
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🔪 || 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐒
╰┈➤ 𝟎%
—𝐒atoru is fucking disappointed. How was he supposed to eat you now if you aren’t a mythical bird? Suguru and Shoko told him that you might be a shapeshifter after all.
╰┈➤ 𝟏𝟎% (𝐔𝐩 𝟓%)
—𝐒uguru found some parts of your hair and some parts of the destroyed necklace when he and Satoru went to the forrest (without permission). And guess what? There were little letter like engravings on every part of the broken necklace. He’s not sure on what language it is though.
╰┈➤ 𝟎%
—𝐓oji is fucking pissed because his worm is missing. Where the fuck are you? He still needs to sell those death painting womb for some money.
╰┈➤ 𝟒% (𝐔𝐩 𝟐%)
—𝐒hoko is trying to decipher all of the words found on the broken necklace, she noticed that some letters of it are different though, there's no kanji, katakana, hiragana, and not even a single letter in the alphabet.
╰┈➤ 𝟐𝟎% (𝐔𝐩 𝟐𝟎%)
—𝐂hoso is confused. Aren’t you supposed to be his mother? Why are you acting like that? Why are you being so mean and snappish to him? He’s pretty sure that mothers aren’t supposed to act like that towards their sons... He literally saved you from drowning and this is how you repay him? He’s starting to feel annoyed at you for denying everything, seriously, why can’t you just admit that he’s your son? Your lips feels soft against his though.
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𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄:
I SWEAR, I'M SO FUCKING EMBARRASSED AT THIS CHAPTER 💀💀💀 it's so random and all😭😭 I'M GETTING A SECOND HAND EMBARRASSMENT THE FUCK??? And some of it are also confusing too. Like everything is so random 💀💀💀 (ig reels r getting onto me, the horse scene is from an ig reel that i have watched)
Anyways, Choso is not related to [Name], he just thinks that she's his mother or something. So, i also decided to just make [Name] speak tagalog because there's a language barrier yk? I don't wanna use some translator to make her speak other languages. Imma just make her speak my mother tongue.
Alsooo, more scenes w [Name]'s family and the jujutsu high students on the next chapter:33
The choso part got my lazy writing fr..
how i feel after hurting my mc every sngle chapter: 🥰🎀
Yeah, just don't mind me babbling...
#𝐀𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐇’𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒#𝐘!𝐣𝐣𝐤; 𝐑𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐛𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jujutsu kaisen#yandere jjk#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yandere satoru gojo#yandere gojo#yandere geto#yandere suguru geto#yandere nanami#yandere anime#yandere#yandere choso#choso#jjk choso#choso x reader#sukuna#yandere sukuna#yandere shoko#yandere toji#toji x reader
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I saw a popular author post about how, while of course Elizabeth has some obligatory flaws, Darcy's are exponentially more severe, and it was like stepping into a view so far removed from mine that it was almost disorienting.
The thing is, I periodically see people wondering why Elizabeth/Darcy is such a behemoth in Austen fandom when either/both of them have substantial flaws that the narrative doesn't shy away from. Their flaws aren't identical, but they do obviously mirror each other and are thematically intertwined, with reflecting character arcs and specific beats. As I see it, the novel maintains a tense and careful balance between them—not in terms of centrality (Elizabeth's mistakes and growth are more central to the narrative than Darcy's IMO) but in terms of the weight given their flaws and virtues.
And for me that's essential to their appeal!
I love plenty of other Austen characters and relationships, but for me, personally, none of the other canon pairings are balanced in such a fun and satisfying way. The closest (and the other most conventionally romantic pairing in Austen IMO) is probably Anne/Wentworth, where at least the choices of both of them are heavy contributors to their current problems. But a) the novel is ambivalent as to whether Anne actually erred morally in the first place and b) that is long in the past by the time of the novel; the Anne of the main story of Persuasion is a fairly idealized figure by contrast to Wentworth.
I sometimes see arguments that, say, Anne or Mr Knightley or Elinor Dashwood or whomever are actually as flawed and prone to error as their romantic counterparts, but I just ... don't buy it, honestly. As far as canon Austen goes, I only really see that balance in the course of the main story with Elizabeth/Darcy. P&P loves them and holds them up as admirable (and they are!), but it also loves undercutting them in clearly paralleling ways and does it over and over throughout the novel.
So the idea of an Elizabeth and Darcy where one of them has obligatory storytelling flaws that can't seriously be compared to the other's is just ... blah. It cuts out the fundamental interconnection and resonance between them that I think is built into the structure of the novel down to its bones and is what makes their relationship special. A lot of stories pay lip-service to that kind of dynamic, sure, but despite the many (many) imitators, I don't often see it done successfully. But P&P is the real deal.
So yeah, when people are like "why do people like Elizabeth with Darcy so much when she could have a different man who doesn't make serious mistakes" I'm just thinking ... why on earth would I want Elizabeth "there was truth in his looks" Bennet with someone who would never make mistakes on that level? Or when people are like, Darcy's just misunderstood, wouldn't he be better off with Jane [or another relatively idealized female character] it's like ... hell no, I love him, but I do not want to inflict him on that poor woman.
It's not that there's something wrong with multishipping them (I've written alternate pairings for both!) or shipping them with other people, but just in terms of the novel as it exists, I do think the balance and echoes between them are part of what makes the novel work and one of the sources of their long-standing popularity. And I feel that trying to pin the "real" blame on one or the other up-ends that balance and diminishes a lot of what I, at least, find appealing about the dynamic between them.
#anghraine babbles#anghraine rants#austen blogging#austen fanwank#otp of otps#elizabeth bennet#fitzwilliam darcy#long post
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Something else about Alec—when we first see him on the field, he’s remarkably less intimidating than the other Undersiders, with a costume much less fear-inspiring and more straight-up gimmicky. I’ve talked about the Undersider’s costumes before, but one of the subtler differences between Worm and more “traditional” superhero media is how the villains’ costumes and personas often don’t have the same level of camp to them that comic villains do. There’s much more focus on practicality, where the only thing that matters aesthetically about a costume is that it communicates “don’t fuck with me.” Every hero in worm has a detailed, practical-yet-aesthetically-pleasing costume, but you run into villain capes with no costume or only the bare bones of one all the time. Rachel’s dressed like a horror movie slasher, Brian doesn’t bother with more ornamentation than an intimidating helmet. Lisa looks the part of your Saturday-morning villain, but she’s more invested in doing that than most because her cops-and-robbers theory—plus, when she’s in action she’s nearly always the scariest person in the room. And Lung, the first supervillain we meet, doesn’t have a costume at all, just a commanding presence. In contrast, the next set of villains Taylor meets, Uber and Leet, are established as losers no one takes seriously partially through having costumes that are just gimmicky. Early worm establishes that the successful villains in this setting are focused on being scary before anything else. Considering the extend Taylor internalizes the “be feared or die” strategy as the story goes on, it’s important for Worm to set that dynamic up quickly at the beginning, even if later characters break this rule*.
But early Regent doesn’t care about being scary. He struts into the battlefield like he’s Gorgeous George**, complete with a costume that wouldn’t look out of place in professional wrestling. He spends less time trying to act intimidating when fighting people and more time trying to get people to forget he’s there until he can steal their cool canon. He’s not trying to scare heroes or rival villains off like the others are, and that’s largely because he didn’t create the Regent persona to scare away people and make crime easier—he made the Regent persona to have a life away from his horrible family. It’s an early indication that Alec’s motivation for being here are not the same as everyone else’s—the other Undersiders are criminals for a living, and are using their personas as tools for their job. Alec is in this to have a good time in a way he didn’t get to in his old life, and is using his Regent persona as a form of play.
*for the later successful villains who DO care a lot about aesthetics, such as Accord or Trickster, their motivation for bucking the trend tend to says a lot about them. But that’s a different post.
**now I have the image stuck in my head of Alec coming to an important villain meeting in an evening gown, puppeting his henchmen to spread a carpet of rose petals ahead of him. Fuck he’d love doing that. The real tragedy of the Behemoth fight is that it robbed us of Aisha and Alec forming the best tag-team heel duo the wrestling world has ever seen.
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Worm Arc 15 interludes thoughts
Carol interlude:
Holy shit you really were just a fucking TERRIBLE mother!
Like I get it, you had lots of horrible childhood trauma. And you didn't want to adopt Amy and let yourself get bullied into it by your sister. But that doesn't give you an excuse for how you treated both your kids.
Got to see another trigger event!! Fuck yes. Give me more. I want to see more details on those higher dimensional beings.
Fucking hell seeing Marquis's powers in play is pretty crazy. Dangerous boy.
Carol was just going to full blown stab right through that closet door without even looking inside! She almost killed a child! God damn.
“No. He’s just my daddy. Reads me bedtime stories, makes me dinner, and tells me jokes. I love him more than anything else in the world. You can’t take him away from me. You can’t!” Fucking ooof that's a line.
No seriously though this can't be the first time there has been a young child of a cape that needed to be adopted because their parent was arrested or killed. Is there really no system in place for this? Cause Amy should not be going with Carol.
Just the way through most of the present sections of the interlude that Carol thinks about her daughter and Amy. Not her daughters. And this was before she knew anything about what Amy had done. Terrible mother.
HOLY SHIT AMY OH MY GOD YOU MADE IT EVEN WORSE! And I thought flesh coffin Victoria was bad! FUCK!
Vic is going to need lots of therapy.
Fucking Carol basically deciding Amy is her daughter now only because she doesn't want to think about Victoria being her daughter. Damn. Bad mother.
And Amy is in the birdcage (Hellfire playing in my head the entire damn time I'm reading this part). I'd be rather terrified to see what she becomes except no one ever gets out of the birdcage so obviously there is no worries. She is never going to be an issues. (I shouldn't need the /s but just to be safe.)
Brian interlude:
Not much to say here, most of my thoughts on this relationship was said in my last post.
I do always love seeing Taylor from the PoV of someone else. Just shows how fucking badass she is. And kinda terrifying.
"She conveyed an eerie kind of confidence that he knew she didn’t have at her core." This is just incorrect bud. When she isn't thinking about how she is portraying herself she conveys the confidence she does have at her core. The stuff she hides from herself.
Alexandria interlude:
DATES! DATA! LORE! AHHHHHHH!!!!
Date of first Endbringer attack!!!!! Strong estimation of the number of capes in August 1986! Knowledge that Cauldron was working in 1986! Their "success" rate at the time that I can compare to now! (Success in quotes cause I don't personally think tentacles is a failure. I want to meet tentacle lady.)
Obviously I'm not a big fan of any of the Cauldron people on the surface. But I think I like Contessa within those boundaries. I technically have no idea what she can do but I'm almost positive she is some type of precog. And I kind of ship her and Alexandria.
Behemoth is fucking scary. Just light people on fire from the inside, shoot lightning. Full energy manipulation. Damn.
Alexandria is the head of the PRT! Damn! (I assume at least.)
I want to know more about the Terminus project!
And Coil is a product of Cauldron! But he doesn't know it (supposedly). Damn. They list him as an alternate to the Protectorate which is very interesting. I'm super curious what Cauldron's goal with the Protectorate was and how Coil can do the same.
Fucking Alexandria just going and grabbing people to be experimented on and it's "ok" cause they were dying. Holy shit! She even manages to make the comparison to her chemo treatment and still does it! Fuck lady. You can justify anything.
Triumph interlude:
See? Triumph is fine! So Skitter didn't do anything wrong.
Triumph is Cauldron created too. Cause he was only good enough at baseball for the minor league but not the majors. God damn fucking privileged ass rich white boy. And he describes it as a traumatic thing! God. At least later he does kinda call out that he got stuff from having a rich dad with connections.
Assault seems to be doing great! Sure was a good idea to let him join the Protectorate just cause he wanted to be a creep to this one girl. Turns out when that girl is gone he doesn't have any motivations to be a "good guy". Great decision Legend.
Robot daughter! Good to see you again! And you built yourself a bio body! Or a head at least. Still, fun!
AAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Defiant.
Definitely isn't Polearm McGee! Nope! Absolutely a different person. That also likes really long pointy sticks.
I am glad Frank Miller's Armsmaster was able to remove the restrictions on robot daughters code. She deserves freedom. Pretty much served his purpose now and she basically just keeps him around to humor him. "Oh yes I need Defiant to help me, even though I built his suit and could just control it directly myself."
Seven Dragon suits in Brockton Bay huh? I'm sure that won't result in anything next arc. What with Dragon specifically on the lookout for Taylor and Taylor planning on going with her dad to the town hall on the election.
Triumph gives in to the weight of not speaking up about Defiant being Armsmaster but then he gets mad at Prism for not speaking up! My dude! You didn't speak up, you can't be mad at her for the same thing!
Fucking LOVED the ending of this interlude, and thus this arc, though. Absolutely perfect. Just with the inherent comparison of Defiant to Mannequin, especially considering Colin called Mannequin a "monster" in his interlude and said "I'm nothing like you!" And then Triumph thinking how he could see the reason for every step Colin made and could see himself justifying each one. And the previous chapter had Taylor dealing with how far she had let herself go. All that and then ending this chapter with Triumph staring at the bodies of Crawler and Mannequin (finally confirmed dead) and the line "Maybe it was to find some clue, some sign he could watch out for, that would let him identify the monsters from the men."
Just fucking. So good. I think it's my favorite quotable arc ending so far. I might like Arc 11's ending more (it's close) but not in quotable way. "All lies" at the end of Arc 14 is a close second, but I like this one more.
#Worm#Worm Web Serial#Parahumans#Cairavende reads Worm#Carol Dallon#Creepy Crawlies#Alexandria#Cauldron#Triumph#Dragon#Frank Miller's Armsmaster#For real though I kinda want to write up an essay on the “identify monsters from the men” bit. There is just so many layers of stuff!#At a minimum it goes all the way back to 3.6 when Tattletale is talking about her “cops vs robbers” analogy.#And she says “And then there's the monsters.” Referencing SH9 and Nilbog (want to know more about) and Skitter brings up the Endbringers.#And the whole constant theme of the heroes not necessarily being the “good guys” and labels mattering more than actions.#And just the idea that there is 3 things. Heroes. Villains. And Monsters.#Monster in many ways being just as made up of a label as hero or villain but it lets people justify their actions better.#Just. AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#Worm is good.#Girlfriend thank you tag! Thanks for pestering me (affectionately) to read Worm.#My life (and the life of everyone who likes reading my thoughts on it) is better for it! Love you!!!
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Common Grounds / Chapter 6
Pairing: Marcus Pike x f!Reader
Rating: T (for now... you know me, this will go up)
Word Count: 1.9k
Warnings: Food mention, slow burn, yearning, flirting, overly charming Marcus, seriously the man is a menace in this chapter, so much unresolved sexual tension
Summary: ...Is it Friday yet?
A/N: Sorry for the delay! I'm so used to writing behemoth chapters that I panic and worry that anything less than 2k isn't worth posting and that I should make it longer, LOL, but I like where this ends. Next chapter they FINALLY go out to dinner <3
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"Shit!"
Steaming milk sloshes over the rim of the coffee cup, running down the sides and creating a pool on the counter. Sighing, you grab a replacement cup, pour the overflowing contents into the fresh one, and hand it to the customer.
"That's like the third time you've done that this morning," Sam remarks. "Are you okay?:
"I'm great," you answer quickly.
"I'm glad," Sam answers, "but you should get out of outer space and back to the coffee shop before we run out of milk. And cups."
"I ran into Derrick yesterday," you say abruptly.
Sam drops the scone they're holding, sending crumbs scattering around your feet. "Excuse me? You're just going to blurt that out?" They whirl to you, grabbing your shoulders and staring into your face. "Are you okay? What did he say? Did you punch him? Can I punch him?"
"No… no punching," you say, trying to squirm out of Sam's hold. "It's fine, he just came to rub some million dollar deal in my face."
"Hey," the customer at the counter says weakly. "Um, can I–can I have my… scone?"
"This is important," Sam announces, barely turning around to acknowledge them. "Babe, you were supposed to call me if he ever showed up."
"It's fine, Sam. Besides…" you say casually, knowing you're about to drop an even larger bomb on them. "...Marcus was there."
You grab a scone from the shelf, put it into a white pastry bag, and hand it to the befuddled customer.
"Marcus?" Sam shrieks, before schooling their face into the most ridiculous, overexaggerated customer service look you’ve ever seen. “Welcome to Common Grounds! What can I get started for you?”
"Mmhmm," you hum an affirmative to Sam as you pour the woman’s requested iced coffee.
"Excuse me," Sam begins indignantly, but you interrupt.
"Guess that's what happens when you miss a day!"
"I'll keep that in mind next time and come vomit in the cookie dough."
"Sam," you scold, laughing.
The next customer is eyeing both of you warily. "They're kidding," you tell him. "It's a bit we do. Can I interest you in a cookie? Chocolate chip."
The man grimaces and shakes his head. "Can I get one of those… lavender lattes?"
You smile and ring the man up. That reminds you–Marcus should be in any minute. You're giddy–even more so than usual. Marcus had asked you on a date, hugged you twice, kissed you on the forehead, and suggested that he'd like to do much more than just that. You're vibrating with excitement at the prospect of going on another date with the man on Friday.
"Hellooooo," Sam says in a sing-song voice. "Why was Marcus there?"
"He was um," you stammer as you pull the espresso shot, "he came back to the cafe to uh, ask me on a date?"
As Sam's jaw drops, you suddenly remember something.
"Hey! You owe me two months of opening up shop!" you exclaim, a wide grin on your face.
"First of all, I fucking told you," Sam says, bumping you with their hip. "Second of all, when is your date?"
"He took me out for ice cream yesterday," you say, "after the whole Derrick debacle and a shit morning at work–Lavender latte!–and we went for a walk and talked for like, an hour."
"Oh. My fucking. God," Sam deadpans. "I'm dead. I've passed away. Who takes someone out for an ice cream and a walk in the year of our lord two thousand twenty-two? That's a date straight out of the fifties."
"I guess Marcus does. And he's taking me to dinner on Friday, too," you tell them, just before taking another order.
"Did he kiss you?" Sam asks as you pour an americano with room for cream.
You avoid making eye contact. "On–on the forehead. Once."
"No way. I refuse to believe that," Sam says, shaking their head.
"It's true! He's very…" you trail off, searching for the correct word. Just as you decide on 'chivalrous,' Sam chooses another one for you.
"...chaste."
You shrug. "He's really sweet. Americano!"
"Oh, I cannot wait to see this," Sam says gleefully.
You turn to them, confused. "See what?"
"He's here."
Your head whips comically to the front doors, where Marcus is just entering. You're sure that your startled, hopeful expression gives everything away, but for the first time, you don't care. Marcus is looking right back at you with poorly-disguised excitement. As he approaches the counter, his smile grows so wide that his eyes crinkle.
"We're closed," Sam says.
"Perfect," Marcus replies, not missing a beat, "then you're free to come to breakfast with me."
"Ha! I wish," you say emphatically. "What's for breakfast?"
"Hmm," Marcus scratches his chin thoughtfully. "Chocolate chip pancakes? Or no–how about something savory. Eggs benedict?"
"If you're going to come in here and make me hungry, I'm going to ban you for life," you tease.
"Fine, fine," Marcus sighs. "Well, if you're open, I'll have my usual–" he winks at you, "–and a pastry of your choice. Surprise me."
"I know just the thing," you say. "Carrot date muffins. There's a whole serving of vegetables in each one, but they're so sweet that you'd never even know."
"You know I have a sweet tooth," Marcus comments, except this time he says it, there's something far more flirtatious in his tone, blatantly so. He says it while looking not at the muffin, but at you, with a little glint in his eye.
Oh, fuck. You aren't going to make it to Friday.
"Hi."
Both of you jump slightly, the tension not exactly dissipating, just… morphing into a different kind of awkwardness as Sam stands right next to you, looking between the two of you with obvious amusement.
"Hi Sam!" Marcus exclaims. "Feeling better today?"
"Yeah, guess I missed a lot yesterday," they say pointedly.
"Should I have asked for your permission first?" Marcus asks, smiling.
"Maybe you should," Sam says, crossing their arms. "I'm very protective of her, you know."
"Sam," you exclaim, embarrassed at both of their antics.
"I promise I have only the best of intentions," Marcus announces, standing up straight and taking on an overly formal tone. "I have a reservation for two at Osteria Morini on Friday and I plan on treating the lady right.”
You can’t stop giggling at Marcus’s antics. You’re in that wonderful place where everything your crush does is absolutely hilarious, no matter how dorky, and you can’t help but find his playfulness exceedingly funny and charming.
“Are you going to buy her a dessert?” Sam asks, raising one eyebrow.
“If the lady wishes,” Marcus says, syrupy sweet, with a little wink in your direction.
“Okay, I’m out,” Sam says, throwing up their hands.
“Giving up that easily?” Marcus accuses. “I could be anybody!”
You thrust his cup of coffee into his hands. “Out, you menace.”
Marcus is ready. His fingers wrap around yours as he takes the drink, and your hand is engulfed by his larger one. “Text me tonight,” he says softly. “If you want.”
“I will,” you promise.
Marcus pulls away, his fingers lingering on yours until the last possible second. Your eyes follow him out of Common Grounds until he disappears from view outside.
“That. Was. Disgusting,” Sam remarks, coming up behind you.
“Uh huh,” you breathe, not really listening.
Sam hands you an empty cup. “Hazelnut almond milk latte, one extra shot.”
“Mmhmm.”
“Dude.”
“Okay!” You grab a shot glass and press ‘dispense’ on the machine.
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.
Wow.
– – – –
In the evening, just after eating dinner, you text Marcus.
Beep Boop. Will my texts go to some government database somewhere?
The reply comes almost immediately.
Only if you text my work number. Which you DON’T have.
Classified?
Nah, just too risky. Don’t want to mix business and… you know ;)
Lord help you, Marcus is using winky faces.
Business and… what?
Don’t make me say it.
Is the time still not right?
No, the time is not right.
Don’t tell me you’re a “only kiss after the 3rd date” kinda guy
I guess you’ll have to find out. ;)
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckfuck—you scrub your hands down your face and groan loudly into the room. He’s going to kill you.
Maybe so, but I’d still kind of like a preview, you type out, your heart in your throat.
I’ll tell you this. You are so damn pretty that waiting until the 3rd date just to kiss you is going to be completely out of the question.
Oh really!?
Yes. Believe me, I’ve been sorely tempted more than once.
Do tell.
Before it was remotely proper.
Your eyes widen. How long has Marcus been interested in you?
Okay, tell me this. When IS the right time?
Hmmmmmmmmmmm
I’ll have to think about that.
You wait. You wait until you’re blue in the face. In reality, it’s probably only a matter of minutes, but you’re nearly vibrating out of your skin before you see the next text from Marcus.
Ideally? It’s after dinner on Friday. I’ll walk you back to your place, of course. When we get there, I’d take your hand in mine and tell you I had a really nice time. You’d agree, looking up at me. Your eyes would be begging me to kiss you. I’d cup your cheek with my other hand, slowly lean in…
You wait. And wait, and wait, and wait. The story doesn’t continue. Eventually, you text back.
MARCUS!
Yes? ;)
It’s going to be a long couple of days if you’re going to play it like THAT.
Is that a problem?
I’m going to want to skip dinner, at this point.
Another pregnant pause as Marcus apparently deliberates his response.
That’s good to know. Although dinner might be a good idea.
You take the bait.
Why’s that?
…keep your strength up?
Jesus fucking christ.
Okay, I’ll stop.
You press your face into the pillows and groan again. When you don’t respond, Marcus texts again.
I’m sorry if I was out of line there.
You weren’t, I’m just… frustrated?
I know the feeling. I’ll leave you alone after this: I’m VERY much looking forward to Friday.
Me too.
See you soon, beautiful.
You resist the urge to throw yourself onto your stomach on your bed and kick your feet into the air. You’ve never felt this way about anyone, let alone someone you haven’t even kissed. Marcus has this ability to stir up feelings you didn’t even know you had. A deep seated longing settles in your stomach, an overwhelming need rising in your core.
You scroll up and read the longest message again. ‘Your eyes would be begging me to kiss you. I’d cup your cheek with my other hand, slowly lean in…’
Your eyes flutter shut as you imagine the scene he’d painted, shuddering as you picture Marcus’s hands on you. You remember the way his fingers had encircled your wrist the day before. They’d overlapped. He had huge hands. If one of them cupped your cheek, you imagine, his fingers could touch the nape of your neck as he pulled you in close.
You conjure up the feeling of his breath ghosting across your lips. Would he linger there for a few seconds? With the two of you mere inches apart, would Marcus stop and savor that moment just before your lips connect? Or would he be impatient, immediately capturing your mouth with his, all of the tension that had built up over the past few weeks making it unbearable to wait another instant?
Thoughts of kissing Marcus after your date on Friday lead you to another, bigger question:
If you invite him up, will he say yes?
#marcus pike#marcus pike x you#marcus pike x reader#marcus pike x f!reader#marcus pike fanfiction#the mentalist#pedro pascal
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People who haven’t read worm have no idea what they are missing out on. They think they get it because they read up to leviathan and know the broad strokes. Fools!
Things I didn’t know/ didn’t understand the gravity of despite being far more spoiled than the average worm fanfic reader:
Rachel’s interlude (I can tell who got this far in the book based on how Rachel is written in fanfic. If you aren’t obsessed with Rachel you simply didn’t read it).
Mannequin and crawlers statues
Bonesaw swearing in blastos interlude.
Arc 16 from the moment taylor gets teleported onward. (I almost got in trouble at work because I couldn’t put it down).
Arc 17
Trickster betraying everyone for Noelle.
The triumvirate clones
Noelles death
Cody in the behmoth fight.
Taylor’s attack on bohemoth.
Alec’s statue
“My life, always in the hands of greater powers.”
All the great Sophia stuff post s9000
Brian, the character (dlc only) :(
Alec, the character (seriously there is so much great Alec stuff even after behemoth. I’ve never seen it brought up outside the premier Alec enjoyer of wormblr)
Aisha, the character
When lab rat calls taylor an angel
Scion getting more violent
The simurgh stuff
The Las Vegas group
Lung being funny
The very sudden khepri decision
Contessa vs eden
Marquis vs Taylor
Taylor vs dragon (this part went crazy)
Taylor vs everyone post scion’s death
A thousand more, I read some of these parts over 6 months ago and they are unforgettable. How are you not reading worm right now.
#parahumans#wormblr#worm spoilers#god that part with lab rat is so good#he sets up how inhumane the guy is with all the kidnappings and things he did. plus he’s a cell block leader#then the only thing we really see him do is earnestly thank someone for helping him#also the way everyone always gets in lungs way when he fights. do they all remind him of how daiichi and ren ignored his advice?
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Stars Aglow Ch. 3 || Okoye x Attuma
A Sea of Stars ~ Part 3 of 3
Ch. 1 • Ch. 2
Summary: Babies.
Warnings: Semi-Graphic Depictions of Childbirth, An Excessive Amount of Fluff, Seriously... I Hope Y'all Got Good Dental Insurance, And Tissues
Tags: @mamajankyy @theeblackmedusa @theemfingmenace @xenokattz @tvreadsandsleep @ariyannah @iccedays @xblackreader @blissdoutbyattuma @karimk2 @umber-cinders @mickimomo @dontruinmymorning @princess-of-gondor
A/N 1: Pinky swears are very serious things that I take very seriously. This chapter is a behemoth of nearly 5k words... ridiculous.
A/N 2: Massive, huge, ridiculous, enormous thank you to @xenokattz for all your help!! Love you forever 💕💕💕
The Amnio was brilliant.
When she’d first told them about it, Shuri had made it out to be a simple birthing chamber, but it was far more than that. She had converted an entire floor on the lower level of the Citadel’s residential tower into a birthing suite of dreams, complete with an operating room, a miniature neonatal ICU, and a near-exact replica of Okoye’s upstairs apartment with an added nursery for their post-delivery stay.
The main space was wide and cavernous, with a wall of windows that allowed the sun to illuminate the room and provided an incomparable view of the night sky. At its center was a circular in-ground pool with a series of wide ledges that helped accommodate varying depths within the water. Four holographic displays lined half of the pool, one for each baby and the last for her, their vitals being monitored by the patches affixed to her stomach.
Okoye kneeled on the second step below the outer ledge of the pool, her forearms folded across her mother’s knees as she breathed heavily, panting through the latest contraction. She’d been in the water for hours now, the night dragging on as her body prepared to deliver her children into the world. Her head was bowed, resting on her arms, her face twisted in a grimace as the labor pains reached a new height. Attuma kneeled behind her, massaging her submerged lower back and stomach while her mother cradled her head, murmuring words of comfort. Nakia and Ayo bracketed her mother, both coaxing her through breathing exercises in soft voices.
Nakia’s fingers entangled with hers. “You’re almost there, usisi. So close now.”
Okoye did not feel close. Each contraction felt like an hours-long battle, challenging everything she thought she knew about pain. What started as a dull ache in her lower back rose to a roaring fire as her muscles constricted tightly, stealing the breath from her lungs. She fought to regulate her breathing, exhaling forcefully in a loud groan.
“Good, intombi,” Her mother praised, dabbing the sweat from her brow. “You’re doing so good. It won’t be much longer.”
She heard Ixtli and the nurses who’d accompanied her singing beneath the water, a wordless melody of highs and lows in time with the waves of pain crashing over her. Attuma and Namora joined them, and she sighed gratefully as each note eased the sharp bite of the cramping across her lower body. Thank Chaac and Bast for Talokanil siren singers.
An early point of contention in her pregnancy had revolved around whether they would observe Wakandan or Talokanil traditions when the time for her delivery came. She and Attuma had argued relentlessly about it until Namora suggested a merger of the two traditions; Okoye would deliver their children on the surface, in the water, with a Talokanil midwife and a Wakandan obstetrician. That Namora's mother happened to be an iyom k'exelom was a happy coincidence, and Okoye couldn’t be more grateful to the woman and her melodious analgesic.
As the contraction passed, Okoye whimpered as she felt Attuma move to her left, missing his presence immediately. She pulled her fingers from Nakia’s and unfolded her arms, reaching for him desperately. Attuma leaned in close, holding her hand in his, and pressed his nose to her cheek, muttering a string of reassurances and praises in both their mother tongues.
She wanted him closer.
Ixtli surfaced, rebreathers firmly affixed to her face and gills, informing them that her body was ready. It was time to push.
She needed Attuma.
Using what little strength she had, Okoye used the stair above her and her beloved’s shoulder to support herself as she sat back on her knees.
“K’iino’?” Attuma’s voice was wary, trying to gauge her intent as he sat up with her.
“Behind me, please? I just… I need…” Okoye didn’t know how to adequately verbalize what she was feeling.
Thankfully, she didn’t have to; Attuma wrapped his arms around her, shifting them gingerly until his back was flush with the outer ledge of the pool, only their legs remaining beneath the water. Her back rested on his chest, skin-to-skin; their hearts beat in tandem, soul-to-soul.
“Good?” he whispered against her ear, and Okoye nodded, a stray tear slipping down her cheek. This was everything she wanted, everything she needed.
“Don’t leave me?” she pleaded.
“Never, in K’iino’,” came his fierce response.
Her family corralled around them. Ayo, Namora, and Shuri stood on the outer edge of the pool, each holding a different colored blanket for their corresponding godchild, ready to carry them from the water after they were born. Her mother and Nakia stood on either side of her and Attuma, grabbing her hands and helping her into a low squat.
Namora’s mother crouched between her legs, gently cradling her belly. “Are you ready, Nacom?”
Okoye gave a hoarse hum of approval and steeled herself. She was tired and terrified, but they were at the end now; the battle was almost won.
“When the pain comes again, listen to your body and bear down,” she instructed. The Talokanil midwife looked contemplative for a moment and pressed on the lower right side of her distended abdomen. “This one first, hm? He’s ready.”
Okoye wanted to question her, but the force of her contraction punched the air out of her, and she clamped her jaw shut. The urge to push came, and she did as she was told, a long groan escaping her gritted teeth as she bore down. Long agonizing seconds passed before Ixtli stopped her, letting Okoye catch her breath before commanding her to push again.
Her mother and Nakia spoke quiet words of encouragement as she labored, and she squeezed their hands as they continued on in the arduous cycle of pushing and breathing. Attuma blew softly on her head between each push, extolling her strength and courage as he urged her to keep fighting.
Ixtli ducked her head under the water quickly and resurfaced with a chuckle. “Uts ka a k'iino' yanak ti' juntúul paal il le eek'o'obo'. [It is fitting that your Sun would have one who looks to the stars.]” she said to Attuma in rapid Mayan, GRIOT translating for the room to hear.
“What- what does that mean?” Okoye asked, leaning back on Attuma’s shoulder, breathless. “Are they okay?”
“The baby is fine, General. He’s just facing the wrong way,” Dr. Langeni waded over from the fetal monitors, placing a reassuring hand on her knee as she explained. “It’ll make things a bit harder, but we’re watching carefully, and if we need to intervene, we will.” She nodded over to the wall of glass partitions on the right side of the room, behind which lay the operating room and NICU. “For now, just focus on letting your body do what it was meant to.”
Ixtli nodded, confirming her counterpart’s words, and when the next contraction struck, Okoye bore down again, her groan ending in a sharp cry as she felt the burning stretch of her son crowning.
“Dudula, Okoye!” “Yiza, emnandi, tyhala.” Nakia and her mother spoke words of encouragement, urging her to push, and squeezing her hands back as she tightened her grip on theirs.
The Talokanil nurses had resumed their song, and their voices grew in pitch as Okoye pushed again, a low scream erupting from her throat. The feeling of something giving way was followed by a rush of relief flooding her, and she collapsed against Attuma’s body. He peppered kisses onto her forehead, praising her strength and wiping the tears from the corners of her eyes. Gasps of awe and resounding echoes of praise came from everyone around them, but Okoye only had eyes for the tiny, screaming baby in Ixtli’s arms. The midwife stood and laid her son on her chest, and she instinctively cradled his small body even as the elder woman used a soft towel to wipe him down.
Her son.
Wriggling and squalling and hers.
Theirs.
Attuma’s hand rested over hers, his chin over her shoulder as they took in the new life they’d made together.
They had a son.
“Molo, mntanandini. [Hi, sweet baby.]” she whispered as his cries softened.
He was magnificent.
Ixtli wrapped her firstborn in a towel, plucking him from her chest, and passed him to Shuri, who stood ready, having swapped places with Nakia to receive her godson. Okoye smiled weakly as the princess beamed at the baby.
“Molo, mncinane,” she murmured, gathering the small boy in a yellow woven blanket, “I’m your Aunt Shuri.”
Okoye craned her neck, watching closely as her sister carried him out of the water to the designated team of nurses and doctors ready to check him over. She winced as the smarting ache washed over her, despite her rush of joy. She felt the urge to push again, and it seemed her son’s twin was more than ready to join the world.
“He will come easier; his brother has made the path clear.” Ixtli said, once again pressing on her abdomen. “Now push, child.”
Attuma sat them both up, and Nakia rejoined her, grasping her hand fiercely as her mother did the same on the opposite side, the three of them helping to support her body as she bore down yet again, and they re-entered the cyclical pattern of pushing and breathing. The singing resumed with her efforts, but the song was different this time. Through the haze, Okoye made out the words to a familiar chant from the River Tribe, sung in perfect harmony by the nurses and Namora. Even Attuma sang with them, his voice a gentle rumble against her back. Her eyes darted to Nakia, who grinned at her as they sang the steady, cadenced tune.
Letting the song strengthen her, Okoye braced herself for the next wave.
She pushed.
And groaned.
And pushed again.
A burning flash drew a harsh cry from her lips, and her second child entered the world, as quiet as his brother was loud.
She held him to her chest, marveling at his scrunched face and soft cries. He was smaller than his brother but no less wriggly.
Another son.
Perhaps Attuma was right, she thought with a tearful laugh.
Her second son settled quickly, gazing back at her with Attuma’s dark, wide eyes.
He was beautiful.
Like they did with their first, Okoye and Attuma cradled their secondborn son together. “Okoye… in yakunaj… two...” His voice was choked with emotion, but she understood perfectly what he meant.
They had children.
Two children.
Two sons.
She cooed down at him, welcoming him to the world in a hushed whisper as Ixtli wiped him down before gingerly passing her son to Namora. The Talokanil general wrapped her secondborn in a blue blanket Okoye’s mother had woven, whispering sweet words to him in Mayan. Okoye settled back against Attuma, watching as her friend carried her baby out of the water, passing him to the team of nurses and doctors waiting to ensure he was hale and healthy.
“Rest now. The next will not be so easy,” Ixtli said, drawing their attention back to her. “The youngest rarely is.” She shot a pointed look toward Namora, who scoffed from the medical bay, making Okoye laugh weakly. “Let your body work to expel the afterbirth while I consult the stars for your first two children. I will return when it is time.” She cupped Okoye’s cheeks, touching their foreheads together. “You have done well, Nacom Okoye. Chaac and Ix Chel have blessed you with the strength of a thousand warriors.”
She smiled tiredly and thanked her. The Talokanil midwife exited the pool, and Dr. Langeni followed, promising to bring an update on the children when she returned.
Okoye looked at her mother. She was crying, tears of joy, Okoye presumed, and she blinked, a few tears slipping down her own cheeks. “Don’t cry, mama.”
She reached out a hand, and her mother took it, squeezing her fingers gently. “I can’t help it, emnandi. It’s not every day a woman becomes a grandmother; I should think I’m entitled to a few tears,” her mother sniped jokingly, and they shared a quiet laugh. She leaned forward to kiss Okoye’s cheek. “Oh, I’m so proud of you, intombi. You did wonderfully.” She kissed Attuma’s cheek as well. “You both did.”
Okoye grinned, then winced slightly as her body continued laboring. The contractions were far milder than her earlier ones, and one of the Talokanil nurses rubbed her ankle in encouragement, speaking words she couldn’t understand. Attuma murmured the translated instructions and a steady stream of compliments between light kisses to her head and hair, and the afterbirth passed easily, requiring little effort on her part.
She lay in the cradle of Attuma’s arms, glancing intermittently at the medical bay where her children rested. Okoye itched to hold them, to study their faces and catalog the pieces of her and Attuma in every feature. Nakia passed her a cup of ice chips, and she shot her sister a grateful smile, chewing them carefully between her contractions. She was slightly relieved for the short rest before their third child was born. She chose not to ask how Ixtli knew there would be time between the twins and their thirdborn or how she knew her children would be boys before their birth; the woman had forgotten more about childbirth than Okoye would likely ever know.
Dr. Langeni returned and had a quick GRIOT-assisted conversation with one of the Talokanil nurses before wading over to Okoye. “Molo, umama, baba,” she said with a soft smile. “Everything is looking good; both boys are hale, healthy, and quite possibly the cutest newborns above or below the surface. You did very good,” the doctor chuckled with a wink. She pressed a button on her kimoyo beads, activating a holographic display of her womb. Her lips twisted in a frown, and she sighed. “It looks like Baby C is still transverse. Which means we have two options: we can attempt to maneuver them in hopes that they turn on their own, or we go in for a C-section now. Should they prove reticent despite the maneuvers,” she paused, arching a pointed brow at them, “we’ll have to go in surgically.”
Okoye narrowed her eyes at the implication but couldn’t argue. Be it a maternal or paternal trait, headstrong children were a given between her and Attuma, and she was already praying for the strength and patience to match wits with whichever aspects of herself would be reflected in her children.
“How long would we try the maneuvers for?” she asked, shifting against her beloved and placing a hand over the monitoring patch of her youngest.
Dr. Langeni turned to the displays outside the pool, studying the remaining monitor. “Should Baby’s heart rate remain within acceptable parameters and the placenta intact? We’ll say 20 minutes.”
Okoye nodded and glanced at Attuma, silently asking him to weigh in.
He tilted his head, looking contemplative. “It is up to you, in K’iino’. I will be by your side no matter what you choose.”
Her heart fluttered, warmth flooding through her at his words, knowing he meant them wholly. She pressed her head into his chin and considered each option before taking a fortifying breath. “Let’s try the maneuvers.”
~~~
In the darkest hours of the morning, Okoye’s youngest child finally decided to cooperate with the efforts of the medical team. They’d guided the baby downward between her contractions, firm hands pushing hard through her abdomen. She grit her teeth through every attempt and nearly regretted her choice on a particularly hard press. The Talokanil surrounding her had resumed singing the euphoric analgesic of earlier, dulling the sharp pain, and Okoye groaned, breathing heavily. Attuma blew cool breaths along her head again, providing an anchor of solace in the sea of pain, but her relief proved temporary as her muscles tightened in a fierce contraction.
Ixtli had returned shortly before they began; she and Dr. Langeni worked in tandem, the Wakandan doctor maneuvering the baby while the Talokanil midwife swam beneath her, singing a soft siren call to draw the child down. Ixtli resurfaced, a visible smile showing through her rebreather, and she proclaimed it was finally time to push. Okoye sighed gratefully, thanking the gods. Dr. Langeni gave her an encouraging smile and waded to the side of the pool with her mother, Nakia, and Ayo. Okoye slid forward, squatting low on the step below Attuma, her chest and head remaining above water. He slid his arms under hers, helping her to brace her elbows on his knees.
“One last battle, Nacom,” her iyom k’exelom said, giving her knees a reassuring squeeze, “Let us see what the dawn brings.”
The woman sank beneath the water, and Okoye sucked in a deep breath as she felt the next contraction roll into her.
She pushed hard, biting back a scream, until Ixtli squeezed her calf, commanding her to stop. She leaned against Attuma, who spoke words of comfort and praise between blowing cool breaths of air on the crown of her head, each breath meant to hasten the delivery of their child. She rested for a moment before the Talokanil midwife’s head surfaced, coaxing her to push again, and they fell into a steady rhythm: Okoye pushed, Attuma blew, and Ixtli coaxed.
Again and again, until she felt like she couldn’t anymore.
She sagged between Attuma’s legs, her head thrown back as tears ran down her face.
“Ko'ox, Bah’te. K'a'abéet a ba'ate'el! [Come on, Warrior. You must fight!]” Ixtli urged in a stern voice. “We’re nearing the end, Okoye; Yaantal a to'on jolkanil.”
Find your courage.
Bast help her; Okoye didn’t know how much she had left.
She screwed her eyes shut before opening them to meet the deep umber of Attuma’s. They shone with love and pride, and he bent to kiss her forehead. “Ngakumbi kancinci [Just a little more], in yakunaj,” he whispered against her sweat-slicked skin. “Ungayenza. [You can do it.]”
She looked into the eyes she loved beyond all measure and found her courage.
The next contraction ripped through her, and Okoye tucked her head into her chest and bore down, crying out at the searing flash of white-hot pain.
Ixtli dipped back into the water, coaxing her through a final round of pushing, their youngest child slipping free of her body as the sun broke over the horizon.
Okoye cried in relief, her body slumping from exhaustion, and Attuma hauled her into his arms. Ixtli emerged from the water, holding a small baby who began wailing seconds after tasting the air.
“A son?” she asked, a weak smile on her lips.
Ixtli grinned, a fierce, proud thing.
“The Dawn has brought you a daughter,” she proclaimed, laying the baby on her chest.
Okoye clutched the small body, her daughter, to her, blinking in shock. Faintly, she heard the excited exclamations of her family, but her focus was solely on the tiny, wailing infant on her breast. She let out a shaky breath, staring at her daughter in awe.
She had a daughter.
Okoye held her close as she screamed, wondering how one so small could make so much noise.
She put her brothers to shame.
Okoye laughed as hot tears ran down her face, gently attempting to shush the squalling infant while Ixtli cleaned her.
She was perfect.
Attuma laid a large hand on her back, nearly covering her entire body, humming the lullaby he sang throughout her pregnancy, and they marveled as she quieted almost immediately, her robust cries softening to hushed whimpers.
“K Eek'e' asab chichanen. [Our littlest star.]” Her beloved murmured, smoothing his finger over her furrowed brow.
Their youngest grizzled, nose crinkling.
“Welcome to the world, ntomba ethandekayo.”
Ixtli swaddled their daughter in a towel and placed her in Ayo’s arms, her sister-in-arms greeting the child warmly, wrapping her in the soft green blanket Okoye’s mother had woven for their third child. “Good morning, little one. Today is your birthday.”
She exited the water gracefully, speaking to the baby in full sentences, making Okoye chuckle despite her exhaustion. She watched through half-lidded eyes as the final team of nurses and doctors engulfed their baby girl. As their daughter was tended to, Attuma pressed long, tender kisses to her head, muttering an incomprehensible jumble of praise and thanks between each one.
“Óoxtúul paalal [Three children], in yakunaj,” he said into her hair. “Ts'o'ok a taasik to'on óoxp'éel… [You have brought us three…]”
“Three stars,” Okoye replied softly. “Our own little sea."
~~~
They moved her from the water to a large bed once she passed the afterbirth, and she lay reclined against Attuma, clean, changed, and content. They talked quietly with her mother and Dr. Langeni about what to expect these next few days as they waited for Ixtli, the trio, and their godmothers. Okoye’s exhaustion was bone deep, but she wouldn’t sleep a wink until she had held each of her babies. Nakia slipped into the room, having ducked out earlier to retrieve the rest of their family. She led M’Baku, Yoltzin, and Aneka in, Junior still sleeping in the early morning hours. They stood at the end of the bed, smiles abounding.
Attuma’s mother came to their bedside, pressing her forehead against Okoye’s, then Attuma’s. “Ki'imak óolal, waal. [Congratulations, daughter],” Yoltzin said, grinning brightly. These weren’t her first grandchildren, but they were her eldest son’s, and she’d been giddy with joy the moment Attuma had informed her of Okoye’s pregnancy. She rounded the bed to stand beside Okoye’s mother, the new grandmothers embracing each other.
“Three babies in one night! You truly are Wakanda’s greatest warrior,” M’Baku smiled proudly, gently squeezing her ankle through the bedding. “Where are the little shark pups?”
His question was answered by the sliding door, and Ixtli entered the room on quiet feet with Shuri, Namora, and Ayo trailing behind her. Each woman held a brightly swaddled bundle in their arms, and they formed a line by her right bedside.
Shuri passed the baby in her arms to Ixtli, who unwrapped him slightly and placed him on the far right side of Okoye’s exposed chest. “This is your firstborn. A son who looked upon the stars as he entered the world, a war cry on his tongue. What name will you give to him?”
Okoye looked at her eldest son, whose eyes were closed as he slept peacefully, tiny brown fingers curling into her skin. The small yellow cap on his head hid most of his hair, but Okoye could see the gentle wisps that curled along his forehead. She lifted his small hand with her finger, an awed breath leaving her as he gripped it firmly.
He looked like Attuma.
Her beloved carefully traced the soft fuzzy hair of his son’s brow and answered Ixtli. “T’Khwezi Cadmael.”
The Star Chief.
Okoye heard Shuri and Yoltzin gasp quietly, and she glanced between her little sister and Attuma’s mother. Both women’s eyes were watery, and Okoye reached out, entangling her fingers with Shuri’s. She squeezed, providing a gentle reassurance, and nodded to Yoltzin. Neither T’Challa nor Cadmael would ever be forgotten; their spirits lived on through them. Shuri smiled tearfully, muttering a wet thanks before releasing her fingers, and Yoltzin hugged Attuma briefly. The princess slid from her place in line, crossing behind Namora and Ayo to stand with the rest of their family at the foot of the bed.
“This is your secondborn. A son born beneath the Great Weaver, swift and sure of his path.” Ixtli lifted their son from Namora’s arms and placed him on the right side of Okoye’s chest. “What name will you give to him?”
Okoye gazed down at her son, watching him nuzzle into her skin. His skin was warm, and his body was heavier than she expected. He looked nearly identical to his brother; the deeper cleft of his chin was the only difference she could see between them. Like his siblings, their son had thin, dark lines along his collarbones, alluding to the presence of gills. Dr. Langeni had already confirmed that the organs were vestigial and had no function. Her children were blessed with the ability to respirate air through their lungs and water through their skin, much like the King of Talokan.
The first to be born between the land and sea, her children represented the cementing of the Wakandan/Talokanil alliance. The two nations were connected by blood, woven together by love. Her son required a name that fit their future.
“Chii’kaan B’atz’,” Okoye said after a moment.
The Feathered Serpent Weaver.
Attuma cupped her face gently, looking deep into her eyes. “K’iino, are you certain?”
Her beloved knew there was no love lost between her and his king. It had taken time for her to tolerate his presence in Birnin Zana, never mind their home. Okoye hadn’t even called him K’uk’ulkan until she reached her second trimester of pregnancy. To honor him in this way was a step beyond, but in order for their nations to grow strong together, grace was necessary. She would never forget, and likely never forgive, but the past was immovable and unchangeable. They could only go forward.
“I’m sure” Okoye nodded. “We are bound by blood, my love. Our children are equal parts, Wakandan and Talokanil. We must honor both as we move forward.”
Attuma’s eyes melted with her declaration, and he kissed her forehead, her nose, then her lips softly. “Ndiyakuthandana, Okoye.”
Okoye smiled and returned his kiss, just as soft. “In yaakunech, Attuma.”
“The mother of your children is a wise woman, Nacom. K'a'abet a sutk'esiko'ob le ti' a watan,” Ixtli said with a sharp grin.
Okoye didn’t understand everything the iyom k’exelom said, but she did know watan. Wife.
She and Attuma shared a knowing smile.
We will be married when in K’iino’ is ready to have a husband again. That’s what he’d told her mother.
She never thought she would have another husband, not after the bitter betrayal she’d faced. She hadn’t thought she could tie her soul to another man before Attuma. She hadn’t thought she could love someone so wholly, so thoroughly that she felt incomplete without them as she did with Attuma. He held her heart; married or not, their souls were irrevocably bound.
“Tu k'iinili' [In time],” her beloved responded with a sly smirk.
Ixtli nodded and turned to Ayo, lifting their youngest from her arms. Like she’d done with the other two, the Talokanil midwife unwrapped the baby and laid her on Okoye’s chest, right between her brothers.
“This is your thirdborn. A daughter born at the dawn's breaking, ushering in victorious joy. What name will you give to her?”
Okoye craned her neck down to stare at the smallest of the three curled against her chest and felt her heart sing. She was their unexpected gift, a joyful surprise after the birth of two boys.
She looked at Attuma, who’d been so certain they would have three sons, they hadn’t bothered to discuss what they might name a girl. He looked just as baffled as she felt. Carefully considering Ixtli’s words, Okoye smiled down at her daughter, who grizzled and grunted even while she slept.
“Ixazaluoh.”
Yoltzin’s water-distorted voice spoke from the other side of the bed, offering up the name.
Attuma hummed and placed his hand on their daughter’s head. “It means ‘dawn,’” he explained lowly.
Okoye echoed his hum. “Very fitting, Na’,” she grinned. “Ixazaluoh, then. Ixazaluoh Kenura. The dawn of our joy.”
Her beloved’s smile was wide and bright. “Perfect.”
Attuma kissed her head, running gentle hands over each of their children. “They’re beautiful, in K’iino’.”
Staring down at them, Okoye couldn’t help but agree.
They would grow in time, surrounded by love and supported by their family. But for now, it was enough that they were here.
Small and sleeping and theirs.
Beautiful, indeed.
A/N 3:
I tried not to be too graphic with the L&D, but she did have 3 babies naturally so... it wasn't ever gonna be short.
There's a fourth part to this somewhere in my brain... it might take a lil longer cuz I gotta work on that OT3 thing 👀👀
#attoye#attuma x okoye#okoye x attuma#okoye x attuma fanfiction#okoye#attuma#bpwf#fluffy fluff#floofy floof#the talokandan trio has arrived#attoye has babies#pilesofpillows#a sea of stars
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Fic Progress
Wow. Two progress reports in a single week. Novel.
I mentioned A Part to Play that's in the Twilight fic I've posted up on AO3 and that Noctis had been invited to work on a special project.
(For those who don't know, Noctis in Twilight ends up working in construction and woodworking after giving up his crown.)
He was invited to be involved in the small skeleton crew that's doing repairs on an antique player piano that predates the fall of Insomnia by quite a bit.
What's fun about this fic is that I've come to realize that a lot of stuff about the history of pianos (and especially player pianos) that we know here can't translate over to Lucis / Eos. So I've been having the time of my life doing some hole-filling and worldbuilding just for this random side story. This is also a side story that may end up being, hilariously, as many - if not more - than the original story.
To figure out the progression of automatic music technology, you have to look at the era that's going on around it. And because of that, this has been a blast to write.
So below the cut, I've got a small snippet from it. I hope you enjoy!
---
Later in the week, Noct found that he couldn't finish the work he started on the keys because of the keytops.
During his lessons before the fall of Insomnia, Noct never really thought about the keys he played on, not in the more critical way he thought about materials now, at any rate. He was also surprised to find that the keys weren't a solid piece of that material, just a very small slice of it glued by a heat activated glue on top of wood.
Only now did Noct notice the strange texture to the tops themselves. Aldis had removed one and handed it off for Noct to figure out the material. "I'd wager a shell or bone of some sort?" He lifted it and held it to the light. "It's translucent enough that it can't really be a solid resin..." A pause. Noct then looked at Aldis and handed back the fragile keytop. "Is it a shell or bone?"
"Close," Aldis said as he gingerly took the keytop away. "Older pianos often had their keys made from the tusks - something from garulas or dualhorns. More expensive pianos went for higher end materials. I've heard rumors of some even sourcing their keytops from behemoth horns."
"Seriously?" Noct reached for the keytop once more to take it back. He wanted to examine it again, but a lot closer this time. Sure enough, when looking at it up close like this, he could see the organic look to the material. "That's wild."
"Newer pianos in Insomnia used plastic." Aldis explained while Noct examined the keytop. "Over time, the war with Niflheim made it real hard to source the materials needed for anything fancier. Anything with keytops like this were absolutely a luxury item."
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Entrapped Ch 2: No Such Luck
Summary: The bathroom next to your room is too fucking small.
Historic tags: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT; rape/non-con; extremely dubious consent; age difference; Flip is a bad bad man; seriously: beware
Brand-new tags: Piss, fellatio, battery
A/N: You should not read this, but if you do, remember where you are and what we do here.
January 9
Flip gave you a week to heal. For seven days, he spoke to you normally, treated you kindly, and behaved as though nothing had ever happened between you. The house was quiet - a perfect nuclear family. Lottie clucked on and on about how pleased she was the two of you got along so well, and it was all you could do to not throw the nearest knick knack or lamp at her. But after the third day, he started looking at you with that predatorial gleam in his hazel eyes. It wasn’t just that he tracked your movements; it was that he made sure you knew he did so. In a subtle power move, he’d shift his boot or tap his lighter against the table - any small thing to draw your gaze so you’d see him clocking you, taking stock of how wobbly you walked or how deeply you winced. You couldn’t remember a time when you felt so fucking anxious.
Your clock ran out at 7:57 a.m. on a Monday morning.
Having learned your lesson about locked doors, you stood at the tiny green bathroom sink brushing your teeth with your eyes closed. You couldn't bear to look in the mirror these days. The person who stared back at you looked haggard, conflicted, haunted. She had no options and wouldn't know what to do with one if it hit her square between the eyes. Instead, you spent every day praying your tormentor was busy, uninterested, or just fucking gone. His job kept him away, and as nice as it was to take a breath in his absence, Lottie was unbearable when he wasn't there to witness her performances. When she didn't have him to focus on, she hyper focused on you and all the ways you differed. For the last three days, you'd wondered if you'd prefer his scrutiny to hers. He was a walking terror, but at least he was something to look at.
Shaking off the foolishness, you chided yourself for that line of thinking because nothing good would ever come your way at the hands of Flip Zimmerman. You needed to get that shit out of your head post haste. Yesterday, even.
The man must be fucking psychic, though, because as you spit out the last of the toothpaste, telling yourself to get it the fuck together, the rickety door creaked open, edging inwards at the behest of a dusty boot. A veritable wall unto himself, Flip filled the frame completely, observing you for so long you fidgeted. Crossing python arms over his white thermal clad chest, he leaned against the jamb and sucked on a toothpick obnoxiously loud.
“Lottie?”
You didn’t recognize your voice. It was small, afraid, and it trembled where you wished with all your might you could be strong. If she was awake, though, the likelihood you’d suffer for the next however long was much lower.
His voice, however, burned into your gray matter. It raised your heckles, curled your toes, and set your teeth to grinding.
“Asleep.”
You smashed your lips together, as if you could stop the fear from escaping the bottom of your gullet. The world closed in, tunnel vision taking over because one person crowded the poorly designed bathroom; so, when Flip pushed off the doorjamb and stepped inside, you felt emphatically trapped. And terrified. He let the door click shut behind him and moved around you, moving far too stealthily for a behemoth.
You held your breath and dared not look.
When you didn’t hear the jangle of his belt until he’d passed you, your jaw unclenched in barely restrained relief. You hardly breathed, thanking the almighty that Flip's plan was to pee and not introduce your face to the grimy tiled floor. Cautious, you lowered the toothbrush to the sink, hoping you could flee if your steps were quick and careful. If you didn't agitate the beast, he could forget you existed.
You should have known better. You had no such luck.
Maybe it was the way you shuddered, or maybe you reached for the doorknob a smidge too fast. Something tripped his trigger, and he snatched the thought of escape right out of your brain with five thick fingers tangled into the hair at the back of your head. He had decades of experience subduing people on his side, and you were just an idiot with high hopes. In a flash, he had you on your knees in front of him, forcing his spongy dick into your mouth.
You didn't register that the floor was cold. Nor the smell of starch in his pants. Nor the burning in your nose, eyes, scalp. You missed it all because the first hot drop of salty urine launched you into an outright atomic panic. Your muffled yells bounced off the dingy walls, and you beat at his corded thighs. Crying wasn’t the right word for what you did. Your eyes leaked, and your chest seized, but it was more than sadness, more than anger or dread. It was revulsion. It was horror, and you flailed frantically against his grip, which did not, even for a millisecond, weaken.
“Shut the fuck up.”
He groused, but you just could not. What scant bit of self-respect you had left would not allow you to do this without a fight, but it was a fight with which Flip swiftly tired. Further exerting his control of the situation, he stepped closer, tipped your head back more, and bypassed any conscious function you may have had for this vulgarity. He took away your option to even swallow of your own accord and pissed directly down your throat while you frothed and retched, sending it dribbling out at the corners of your mouth and shooting up into your sinus cavities.
It was more than humiliation, more than objectification. He never thought of you as a person, you knew, but this was a level of degradation you could not comprehend.
When he finished, he yanked your head backwards off of his spit-soaked dick but did not release his hold. You heaved and coughed, trying so goddamn hard to do it quietly because there was no snowball’s chance in hell you’d ever be able to explain why you were on your knees at his feet if Lottie showed up. But the smell of it was everywhere, and you sobbed. Confusion and disgust and fury and… fucking everything passed through your mind, but you couldn't settle on only one. Somehow, this was worse than what he’d already done, and you suddenly weren’t sure if he intended for you to survive this bargain.
He meant to torture you to death. To do all the heinous things a person could think of but couldn't get away with legally. He had you dead to rights, and he intended to make the indecent most of it.
“Why the fuck do you only wear the same three things all the time?”
On another day, you might have pretended to be offended. This was your favorite hoodie, and it had hidden you from many a wandering eye. But today, with your shit rocked so thoroughly, you couldn't argue. Your jeans were more holes than pants, you could barely tell your hoodie used to be black, and your bra only had one good hook left. Your lungs thickened with colliding shames. Your stomach sloshed, and when you thought about why, you battled nausea all over again. Pushing the heels of your hands deep into both overflowing eyes, you forced yourself to breathe in through the nose, despite the smell, and out through the mouth.
“Lottie…”
It was all you could say, and it occurred to you it was the only word you’d said to Flip since he opened the door.
Whatever he felt about the thoroughness of your answer, Flip’s fingers tightened in your hair again, and he drew you back against his groin. You understood what he meant for you to do. Hell, any logical person would understand what he meant for you to do, and the sooner you got on with it, the sooner he’d lose interest and go the fuck to work. Squeezing your eyes shut tight, you opened your mouth and took him once more.
Sucking cock wasn’t historically your favorite thing, but it wasn’t particularly unpleasant. Losing yourself to the rhythm made it easier to bear. In addition, your blow job recipients never lasted very long, which also made the task easier to bear. Instinctively, you knew that would not be the case now, but if you could zone out, everything would be over soon…soon-ish.
With your nose brushing against Flip’s pelvis, you swirled your tongue around his semi-soft dick and coaxed it to life. Each twitch and jump told you what he liked, and it wasn’t long before he was half-mast and long enough for you to bob back and forth - root to tip, tip to root, root to tip, tip to root. He continued growing and hardening far past what you expected, though. His cock was fuller and longer than any you’d had before, and it was overwhelming.
The smell of him was everywhere, as was his taste. Not salty like his piss, but not sweet. It was a heady mix of spice and sweat, and it absolutely should not have tasted good. The way he guided your head with his large hand and the feel of his erratic heartbeat in the throb of his veins married that taste, and it fucking worked. Without really doing much, he fucked you all the way up, and you lost yourself in the obscenity of it. Sucking Flip’s cock was messy and loud. He coaxed more saliva from the back of your mouth until it was so noisy you were sure Lottie would hear, each slurp joining the roar in your ears. When he’d lengthened too much for you to fit in your mouth, you wrapped your hands around the base to tug and twist.
And when he hummed? That pleased sound deep in his chest? You. Were. Fucking. Gone. There was no bathroom, no house. There was no bruised past or million dollar hospital bill. There was no Lottie, no Colorado. There was only Flip’s thick, weighty cock.
“Not the first dick you’ve sucked, is it? Look at me.”
Maintaining your (surprisingly) enthusiastic pace, you shifted your weight and tipped your head back - far too similar to exactly what he’d done when he pissed in your mouth five goddamn minutes ago - and opened watery zombie eyes on him. Cotton-brained, you stared. You no longer existed in the world regular humans lived in. There was only this, only him.
“Rules,” he said, his large body curving towards you to ensure his low talk didn’t carry. “No more pants. No panties. No bra. Your ass is mine, and I want unfettered access to it. Understand?”
You weren’t in a rush to respond, too drunk on the delicacy of his dick and the way it stabbed at your throat. His words buzzed in the decision-making part of your brain, but you ignored it and forced yourself all the way down on his cock, hungrily cutting off your own airway. He groaned, tightening his grip in your hair and jerking you backwards for the second time this morning.
Your mouth hung agape, and your chest spasmed with how hard you fought to suck in air. You didn’t want to think. Flip choking you out with his monster-sized cock was a much more straightforward path to not thinking, and you outright whimpered when he batted your hand away from reaching for him.
“Say you understand.”
“Hnng. I.. un…der…stand..”
His gaze was fire, and it burned you from your crown down.
“You want more?” You didn’t need him to nod for you this time. “Yeah? Want me to fuck this filthy mouth of yours until you black out?”
Alien noises erupted from your throat, and you felt your body surge towards him, straining to steal exactly what he asked. You even licked your lips when he finally let go of your hair and straightened upright, thinking he would deliver on the promise, but he cracked you so hard across the mouth that your head knocked straight into the sink.
It's funny, you thought; slaps don’t ever sound like slaps.
Bell rung, you held your swelling forehead and shook the stars from your eyes. He snatched you up by the chin, amazing you yet again at how goddamn fast he moved.
“Too fucking bad.” His tone was lethal, barely above a whisper, and what he said next proved everything you thought about him to be true. “You’re going to suffer for me, Puddin’, and you’ll be wide awake every fucking minute of it.”
Your lips trembled, and your eyes stung with fresh tears. You slumped back onto your ass and shrunk away from him, watching numbly as he stuffed his hardness back into the dark jeans and re-buckled his belt. You’d gone from some sort of fucked up euphoria to burning humiliation and icy terror - AGAIN - so goddamn fast that you couldn’t make a single sound - not a sigh, not a hiccup. Nothing.
“Get up. We’re going into town to get you something more appropriate to wear.”
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Shoegaze Classics - Ferment
Ferment - Catherine Wheel (1992)
Main Genres - Alternative Rock, Shoegaze
A decent sampling of: Noise Pop, Dream Pop
Oops, I got lazy and procrastinated the last regular "classics" review. Well, better late than never.
For my final entry on this retrospective, before I move on to my select few magnum opuses of first wave shoegaze, I wanted to cover another band that I feel I could recommend to most casual listeners of alternative rock. So today I'll be taking a closer look at the moonlit melodies of early shoegaze's gruffest band, Catherine Wheel.
The Band
Catherine Wheel formed in Great Yarmouth, U.K. in 1990.
They were probably the biggest band of the first wave not signed to Creation Records or 4AD, though Creation Records' Alan McGee certainly tried. Instead, they got signed to American label Fontana Records.
The band's lineup for the vast majority of its duration was Rob Dickinson on vocals and guitar, Dave Hawes on bass, Brian Futter on guitar, and Neil Sims on drums.
When referring to this band as "early shoegaze's gruffest band", I was especially referring to Rob Dickinson's vocals; less of the typical semi-androgynous, zoned out 20 something year old stoner dude, and more like your cool heavy metal uncle singing lullabies to you.
Rob's gentle but husky voice was often placed rather high in the mix when compared to most other shoegaze acts of the time, giving his lyrics more of a central focus. His general musings involve cerebral, abstract mystical-isms, while sometimes being the brooding, angsty kind of poet that was very much dominating the grunge music and alternative rock airwaves in the United States in the early 90s.
In fact, again I have to say that I would've expected these guys to be a lot more successful in the United States given what was happening overseas at the time. Much like Swervedriver, Catherine Wheel were a bit more hard-rocking than their other peers in the scene that celebrated itself, though not really in the same way as the former.
If Swervedriver's thing was shoegaze mixed with noise rock distortion and post-hardcore levels of intensity, then Catherine Wheel's sound was more of a kind of shoegaze rock and roll, more indebted to the hard rock of the previous few decades than other bands. A lot of their melodies have kind of a timeless feel to them.
Their sound is also distinctly nocturnal, even more so than most other shoegaze bands. Ferment and Chrome are LPs meant to be listened to on night walks and bus rides, especially the latter.
EPs happened. Then came the debut record.
The Record
Ferment is Catherine Wheel's journey into the foggiest recesses of the half-waking, half-asleep mind, with loud, opaque walls of sound and glistening electric guitars.
The production of this record has a very washed-out quality, like the entire record was given the acid wash treatment. If that's your kind of thing, you'll love this record. It certainly lends itself well to the "heavy rocking slumber" quality of Catherine Wheel's general musical aesthetic. That being said, one or two tracks here may sound a bit flat by modern production standards.
The record opens with "Texture", a menacing 6/8 splattering of radioactive glowing guitar chords creating a radiant, moonlit shoegazing mosaic. A very bold opener with possibly the most aptly titled song for a shoegazing band ever.
"I Want To Touch You" is, also true to its name, a nervously erotic track that is both enticing and surreal. There's about a hundred ways that a track with this title could go wrong and turn into failed-seriousness or something off-putting, but somehow this ends up working really well with its breezy melody and flashy guitar leads over tingling shoegaze drones. It's a certified banger.
If ever there was a song worthy of the moniker "shoegaze" in its most literal interpretation, then that song would be "Black Metallic". The drowsy-eyed, cerebral introspection of this behemoth of a song is communicated through sonic timbres of pleasantly tender abrasion, perfectly capturing what it would sound like to be quite literally lost in a labyrinth of your own thoughts while staring absently into the apparent abyss of one's own shoes. "Black Metallic" is a masterclass in evoking a state of mind for the listener through well-crafted, gorgeous guitar soundscapes. This is probably among the first two or three tracks that I'd recommend to any of the uninitiated.
Sadly, my one major gripe with this record is that it starts with the excellent three track run that I just mentioned, and then never comes close to picking up that momentum again. And at 38 minutes onward of mostly by-the-numbers shoegaze-alt. rock, the record becomes a bit of a slog to get through.
Mind you, by-the-numbers shoegaze is still something I could very comfortably put on and just vibe to, enjoying it for what it is, but the promise of the first three tracks leaves something to be desired from the rest of the record. Ferment is honestly one of the most front-loaded rock LPs that I can think of.
The title track "Ferment" is fairly transcendent for me until it gets to that effing jumpscare at two minutes and forty eight seconds in (maybe I'm exaggerating for most listeners, but that shit certainly made me jump).
Unfortunately, much like Drop Nineteens' Delaware which I reviewed much earlier on in this series, Ferment is more of a record that I recognize as a classic because of its importance to the scene and the reputation it holds versus my own personal enjoyment of the project as a whole.
I can see why this record really does it for some folks who like their shoegaze loud and heavy, and I do really love those first three tracks and "Black Metallic" in particular is probably one of my most played shoegaze tracks period, having graced me with its blissful textures on many a zero-sleep bus rides into uni after pulling an essay all-nighter (cuz I'm trash like that sometimes). But the rest of it just never lives up to what it could have been for me.
But like I said in the Drop Nineteens review, a lot of shoegazers love this record. So again, I implore you to listen and form your own opinion. All in all, this is still a solid record by my tastes, but then I'm also very biased in favour of shoegaze as a genre of music.
What Came After That?
Catherine Wheel is yet another shoegaze band that did not survive of the turn of the century, though they did release four more records in the 90s.
Truthfully, I'd definitely recommend their sophomore LP Chrome over the debut album, because I feel that it's a more fully-realized project, with a track listing that flows better and contains overall better songwriting ("Black Metallic" notwithstanding).
The only real reason why I didn't opt for covering the follow-up record instead is because I wouldn't exactly call Chrome a shoegaze record in the primary sense; more of a heavy, dreamy alternative rock record with its roots in the scene, with roughly three or four actual shoegaze tracks here and there.
After dropping three more records, Catherine Wheel disbanded in 2000. I haven't really checked the rest of the records out, but going off of the RYM genre tags at least, it would seem the band never really put out another full-on shoegaze record.
Rob Dickinson released one solo record in 2005 after the group disbanded. Nowadays, the dude seems...very much into cars? Not exactly what I would expect from the usual shoegazing crowd, but then there was that one Lush song on their last LP.
Brian and Neil went on to form their own indie band called "50ft. Monster", which funnily enough immediately calls to mind the similarly titled PJ Harvey single. Again, haven't bothered to check this out yet.
I know it may sound like I'm not a big fan of this band based on the score I end up giving this record, but I'd be lying if I said there weren't more than a few great gems in this bands discography. Both of their first two records have a small but pretty loyal following, so I'm gonna strongly recommend you check both of them out and see if either of those records tickles your fancy. Regardless, "Black Metallic" at least is basically god tier shoegaze.
7/10
Highlights: "Black Metallic", "Texture", "I Want To Touch You"
#album review#music review#list#indie rock#shoegaze classics#alternative rock#shoegaze#90s#1992#catherine wheel#ferment#rob dickinson#brian futter#neil sims#dave hawes
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whats ur fave piece of surkie lore? or ur fave piece of her char design? (or both) :3c
im gonna yell at u but u also brought this on
......OKAY SO, i swear to god this is the most self indulgent shit but I gotta give a teensy bit of context first.
Surkie goes into enw as effectively a drk+rpr since rpr for her is more of an augment onto her preexisting classes? She doesn't use a rpr jobstone nor does she have a proper avatar, as she kind of just got dragged to Drusilla after she summoned a voidsent into her. That voidsent was Diarmuid Ua Duibhne, something she'd actively researched and sought out due to his supposed status as one of the very first voidsent who might have sympathy to her plight to restore the void with Cylva.
This is Diarmuid, btw:
His size is very fluid and he just kinda hangs out in Surkie's head. He's got a more humanoid form that looks like a devil trigger out of DMC and remembers what he used to look like as a mortal, but that's not something he ever shows to anyone.
Reaper is a compromise between him and Surkie due to their vastly different fighting styles (her being a drk main, him...well when he was alive he often used a sword and a spear in tandem with each other and had two sets so 4 weapons in total, the tails kinda echo back to that). So while Surkie is still dominantly a drk, stuff involving Diarmuid involves summoned scythes and whatnot since them learning something together was better than trying to find a balance between existing styles.
This is all to say that at the end of enw, in order to keep her alive, Diarmuid ends up partly fusing with Surkie to get her back to the Ragnarok, and they're kinda stuck together now. She's half voidsent now, it's fucked her up fundamentally, he's stuck on the Source, and now Surkie has a Devil Trigger.
Like. Seriously. It's in part designed after Diarmuid and his humanoid form, but also in part inspired by her dark knight glam from post stb-enw, which ends up getting destroyed - which is this set below, main piece being the Behemoth King top. Reason being is the Sin DT forms are based on suits of armor, with Dante's being more european armor while Vergil's is clearly samurai armor.
She lost this armor set at the end of ENW after it kind of became her identity. It got worn down from how she channels aether - which she wasn't even aware of doing, but it was what in part destroyed her first and favorite spear, nearly destroyed her Captain's naginata, and then decimated her armor. Granted, what dealt the final blow was the fight against Zenos, but her aether warped the plate so heavily that it was unsalvageable. It's what ends up leading to her post enw look with the Troian gear, which was tailored specifically to her insane and uncontrollable aether.
But this also means it's easy for her to suddenly swap into that voidsent form/DT.
She gets a hang of slipping in and out of it and she winds up fighting MOST OF THE 6.X BOSSES ON HER OWN. Initially it was just because I'm Fucking Gay and I wanted her and Barbariccia to go one on one (*COUGHS*), but then it led into her being the only one to take on Rubicante, and then ofc it just fit to have her go after Golbez on her own. As that DT. Rest of the team joins her for Zeromus, but regardless she still just went stupid crazy DT form against these guys and walked out of it alive.
..............................................................................and this form is also responsible for an uh. Incident. that results in their fifth child, Tseren, whose bio parents are surkie and ysayle.
because Someone's a bit of a monsterfucker.
and they don't learn about this until the Rubicante fight where Ysayle was going to get involved in the fight, but he refused to fight her on the grounds of her. yknow.
gg surkie
BASICALLY I GAVE MY WOL A DEVIL TRIGGER AND IM NOT CHANGING IT
#writing#ffxiv#original#final fantasy xiv#wol#surkie#surkukteni#answered#answered wol questions#answered wol question#stardustdiver#i remember when i drew that too because it took me hours to draw it#complicated but also wrist was killing me#hi im dying ty for sending in the ask completely unprompted
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🎵 Music Tag Post! 🎶
Thank you @marlowe-zara for the tag!
13 songs I've been listening to lately - in no particular order *oops, I have way more than 13, but to be absolutely fair, I added some as strong recommendations & most listened to after the main song listed
Stay With Me by In Flames (good if you want something slower but you still love them!, also look up Where Dead Ships Dwell, Ropes, Follow Me, Cloud Connectsd, Metaphor, Forgone Pt 1 & 2, The Quiet Place, Come Clarity, State Of Slow Decay, I Am Above, The Truth, My Sweet Shadow, We Will Remember, Only For The Weak, Free Fall, Alias ... just listen to them)
Last Resort (Reimagined) Falling In Reverse (seriously, listen to this!)
THE DEATH OF PEACE OF MIND by Bad Omens
A Sailor's Tale by Orbit Culture (Mast of the World, Red Fog, From The Inside, The Aisle Of Fire, Open Eye, The Planck Distance, Halloween, Sorrower, & See Through Me are also listened to A LOT!)
Year Zero by Ghost (I love them, Papa is a babe, Witch Image, Cirice, Rats, He Is, Hunter's Moon. Bible, Watcher In The Sky, Call Me Little Sunshine, Faith, Waiting For The Night, & so many more are real bangers)
Anomaly by I See Stars
Torn Apart by Avatar (Bloody Angel, Going Hunting, The Dirt I'm Buried In, The Eagle Has Landed, Dance Devil Dance, Child, Secret Door, Valley Of Disease, Colossus, Smells Like A Freak Show, Hail The Apocalypse.. too many to choose from)
Atlantic by Sleep Token (also see Granite, Jaws, Sugar, Rain, Nazareth, Aqua Regia, Take Me Back To Eden, & of course The Summoning)
Måneskin feat Tom Morello - GOSSIP
Behemoth - Versvs Christvs
Chevelle - Envy (with Vitamin R, The Meddler, An Island One Ocean, The Red, Face To The Floor, Closure, The Clincher, Bend the Bracket, Piñata, Piistol Star (Gravity Heals),
NieR Replicant OST - Ultimate Weapon
Godsmack - Awake/Alseep
.
Yes, I went way overboard with some artists. No, I'm not sorry 😆
When it comes to music, I can listen to most songs, but sorrynotsorry, if it's "Top 40", it's not for me. I'll listen to opera before I listen to pop/r&b/rap. I could and have listened to In Flames all day and not get sick of them (seeing them again next month, super excited!)
Tagging: @airlocksandaviaries @z-is-very-tired @invadericee @threefill @melrocks21 @mallory-x @sans--seraph @themesandimages @fleabaggotme @augbesian @hardly-an-escape @missmacfire @ryal-is-reading @historyandqueershenanigans @rrcenic @kcsandmanfan @rey-jake-therapist @theniceandaccuratebookshelf
& anyone else that would love to play 🤘
#music tag#in flames#falling in reverse#bad omens#orbit culture#ghost#the band ghost#i see stars#avatar band#avatar#sleep token#måneskin#behemoth#chevelle#nier replicant#nier replicant OST#godsmack
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hi! if you've seen this post on another blog, i apologize. i promise it is not spam, i am just trying to find as much information about this as i can with limited resources (and i, quite honestly, do not feel like typing out this behemoth of a paragraph in new ways 50 different times /lh /nm). i'm looking for some advice regarding a relationship issue occurring with my and my partner, and even if you don't have any advice, just reading over it is greatly appreciated. :)
so me and my boyfriend are both neurodivergent (i have autism & adhd, he just has adhd) and we both have different hyperfixations right now. i am someone who struggles to communicate when it comes to things i am not fixating on at the moment, that aren't special interests, or that i don't know much about, and currently we don't have the same hyperfixation right now. i'm also experiencing burnout and taking in new information is probably not a good idea right now, including much about their fixation.
mine is one that means a lot to me, and i actually associate a lot with them and happy times with them, but they are starting to associate it with bad times, and while they enjoy it, they don't fixate on it very much, and haven't for a while. they'll make sure that i know that while they aren't as into it anymore, they still love to hear me talk about it. my brain tends to hear that and see it as "i don't like it any more, and i never will again, and i really don't care to talk about it".
on the other end, my boyfriend is fine with enjoying their fixation on their own, but constantly feels as though if they talk about it, they're doing something wrong, and that there will always be a language barrier in between us due to it. they are down and determined to want to just "suck it up" and just throw out their interests all together and just try to make themselves enjoy mine again, but i asked them not to for their own mental health.
we both have trauma regarding people not taking our interests seriously, or not being able to share them in a healthy way, so we're struggling a lot with trying to find ways to communicate and talk with them in a healthy way. we both have the wish that we could just fixate on the same thing at the same time, like we did before with mine, and be happier that way and have less issues, but i'm not sure if that's going to happen for a while now.
i tried looking into resources about this, but as you could probably expect, there are none. so, i'm trying to go around tumblr and ask for advice from fellow neurodivergent people and see if they can help. neither of us want to hurt each other and are aiming to make it equally fair for both of us, but its just extremely hard for us to know how to do that without help. i would reach out to a therapist, or a counselor, and a. i am in the process of getting a temporary counselor, and b. because of my current home situation, therapy isn't a very feasible option at this moment.
i appreciate you taking the time to read this, and i apologize for the garishly long message. i know this probably sounds childish but its a lot of the only things we have right now due to my home situation, so we're trying to find ways to help it as best as we can.
i hope you have a great day, and both me and my boyfriend greatly appreciate you taking the time to read this.
Hi there,
This situation is very complicated for me to give some advice. I’ll post this anyway in case anyone has any advice.
I’m very sorry I can’t help. But I’m hoping someone can share some advice.
Thank you for the inbox. I hope you have a wonderful day/night. ♥️
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@panharmonium recently gave me quite the shout-out for my Bookends-verse, so I thought I’d post a series of snippets from various in-progress works for anyone interested. :)
Enjoy!
ᓚᘏᗢ ᓚᘏᗢ ᓚᘏᗢ
“This should be illegal,” Obito grumbles, glowering at the school. He’s slumped back on the bench, hands stuffed into his leather jacket’s pockets, looking as mutinous as Kakashi feels. He hums his agreement, too tired to use words.
“Finally. We agree on something,” Obito mutters under his breath. He nudges Sasuke with his elbow. “You’re grounded, by the way.”
Sasuke’s head snaps to Kakashi. Occasionally, Obito’s commitment to zero follow-through has its benefits, and it’s often in moments such as these, where flagrant threats are bandied about like a wooden sword, that Sasuke turns to Kakashi for certain assurances. Namely that said threats are empty and not to be taken seriously.
It’s a shame that Kakashi has been dragged out of the comforts of his bed and into the cold on Sasuke’s behalf. He offers his unsuspecting companion nothing more than a solemn nod.
Sasuke’s eyes bug out of his head. If Kakashi’s not careful, he may find himself on the receiving end of one of Sasuke’s threats. Those are real and not to be underestimated.
ᓚᘏᗢ ᓚᘏᗢ ᓚᘏᗢ
Without looking up Kakashi politely asked, “Can I help you?”
“When is Naruto going home?”
“He’s only just got here,” Kakashi replied softly, his pen skating purposefully across the paper. Only when he’d finished did he look up. He stared dispassionately at the shiny, black nest of hair staring at him, while the remainder of Sasuke’s head lay facedown on the table.
“What’s up? Didn’t sleep well last night?”
As was often the case, Sasuke’s answer was no answer. Putting his pen down, Kakashi dragged his glasses off and perched them on top of his head. He leaned back in his chair and assessed the work that lay before him.
“Why are you way over there?”
Sasuke bolted up ramrod straight and twisted violently in his chair to - and Kakashi could only speculate since he couldn’t see his face - glare at Naruto squinting over at them.
ᓚᘏᗢ ᓚᘏᗢ ᓚᘏᗢ
“Show me.”
Iruka beckoned him inside and led him hurriedly over to the coffee table where a mess of papers lay scattered. “Here,” he said, barely letting Kakashi get a good look before he tapped impatiently at a spot on the paper. “See? That’s me!”
Kakashi blinked down at the drawing, then Iruka. “You’re kidding, right?”
“Are you blind?” Iruka shoved the paper in his face and pointed. “He has a scar across his nose!”
Kakashi squinted. “I think that’s supposed to be blood?”
“Not much better!”
“Iruka,” Kakashi said, very deliberately taking the paper from him and setting it down on the table, “if you’re really concerned, call the kid’s parents. Call me again and I’ll tell Naruto and Sasuke where you hid the Playstation.”
ᓚᘏᗢ ᓚᘏᗢ ᓚᘏᗢ
There was no time to warn Sasuke about the chaos he’d just unleashed by opening the door. It only took the dogs one second to catch a whiff of Rin and all hell broke loose.
Kakashi had to give Sasuke credit; he managed to keep himself upright, even as he was trapped in the center of the pack’s stampede. Amidst the barking, Rin gave a cry of alarm, seeing Bull bringing up the rear, and in a blink of an eye Kakashi was there to deftly sweep Sasuke up into the air before his behemoth of a dog could flatten him like a pancake.
The dogs pawed at Rin with a frenzied excitement, competing for her attention, their antics bouncing off the walls, filling their much too small apartment with noise. In Kakashi’s arms, Sasuke smacked his hands over his ears.
“Hey,” Kakashi scolded, raising his voice and punctuating the command with a sharp whistle. It went unheard thanks to Rin’s repeated insistence to each and every one of his dogs that they were, in fact, ‘the best boy.’ All lies at the moment.
Shaking his head, Kakashi put Sasuke down a safe distance away. “Come on,” he said with tired exasperation, pulling the dogs off Rin. “You’re acting like you haven’t seen her in years. Don’t encourage them,” he directed at Rin, shooting her a look. “I’ve already got a noise complaint. I don’t need another.”
“I thought you said this place was dog-friendly.”
“It wasn’t for the dogs,” Kakashi muttered in an undertone, glancing at Sasuke.
ᓚᘏᗢ ᓚᘏᗢ ᓚᘏᗢ
“I am appalled by your attitude,” Madara said rather pompously. “Do you realize I could have Sasuke arrested?”
“I do. In fact, I’m one step ahead of you.” As Kakashi said this, he turned to Yamato, who looked at him questioningly from the kitchen. “I have one of Konoha’s finest here now to give Sasuke a demonstration of how our criminal justice system works. What do you think, Madara? Should I have him cuff Sasuke and take him for a spin in the backseat of his squad car? Or maybe we should make some wanted posters, huh? Set him loose and let the people decide his fate?”
Madara clucked his tongue in disgust. “Be serious, Kakashi.”
“I am serious,” Kakashi insisted, feigning innocence. “He’s right here if you want to talk to him.”
Yamato’s eyes bulged and, despite the half wall between them, he backed away, wagging a warning finger at Kakashi. “Do not hand me that phone!”
Kakashi ignored him and brought the phone back up to his ear, catching Madara declaring, “I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.”
“Really? Because I have 45 daytime minutes that say otherwise.”
ᓚᘏᗢ ᓚᘏᗢ ᓚᘏᗢ
“How many college girls do you think Sasuke’s dated”
Sakura frowned down at the shirt in her hands, taken aback by Ino’s question.
“I don’t know. I think he’s gone on a couple dates.”
“You don’t talk about that stuff?” Ino asked.
“We don’t not talk about it,” Sakura said carefully. She picked up the finished stack of clothes and walked them over to the dresser. “You know how Sasuke is. He’s really focused on his studies.”
Ino joined her, cradling a small mountain of socks. She dumped them into the open drawer. “You’d think he’d have lightened up a bit.”
Sakura smiled to herself and shook her head. “Not Sasuke.”
She pushed the drawer shut and turned to Ino. She was watching her. Smirking.
“What?”
Ino eyed the dresser behind Sakura. “I thought you said this was temporary.”
Sakura let out a sound of exasperation. Best friend or not, she’d had enough of Ino’s commentary on this particular subject for one day. “What do you suggest I do?” she demanded. “Dump them on the floor? Most of his clothes are at school. He won’t mind.”
“I know he won’t,” Ino said smugly.
A knock at the door saved Sakura from having to respond. She marched across the room, ignoring the triumphant look plastered on Ino’s face, and pulled open the door, relieved to see Kakashi.
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Sorry if you've actually mentioned it and I missed it but is the mind control story going to be a one-shot?
Ideally!
Hopefully!
Please!*
*Directed to the merciless scribbling gremlin that lives where my self control should be.
In all seriousness, it is taking every ounce of restraint I have not to give in to yet another behemoth writing project and do something entirely insane on top of the Barking Harker story.
Like, say, scratching out a legit collection of post-Dracula scary stories involving the Drac Attack Pack developing into a reluctant occult detective crew. But surely I wouldn't sabotage myself like that. Surely I have enough common sense to not throw myself into another bottomless pit of narrative fixation. Surely.
Ha.
Ha ha.
#what's that one Sandman story? the one where some bastard imprisons and abuses a Muse#and Morpheus takes revenge by cursing the man with infinite endless ceaseless Inspiration#so that he loses his mind in a never-ending spiral of ideas on top of ideas#because I am feeling That#my writing#dracula#the parasite#arthur conan doyle#bram stoker
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