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leth-writes · 5 months ago

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hotd x oblivious reader

I’m thinking about a reader who’s kinda oblivious. They aren’t super aware of everything going on around them, they’re just confused as to why no one is getting along.

You’re really close with both team black and green, to the point that they’re fighting over you, but you’re not even aware of the actual conflict; you just think it’s petty interpersonal drama.

They’re over in the corner threatening each other with dragons and swords and you’re just… hanging out with Helaena, looking at butterflies and asking to pet her dragon.

the second you express interest in the dragons, there’s practically a line; you’re the most nervous with Daemon and Aemond’s dragons, for obvious reasons given their reputation, but Luke has a pretty small dragon so you grow closer to him through that. Rather than the size of the castle, Arrax is about the size of a particularly large horse, or maybe a big bear. More manageable when you know they can’t swallow you in one bite.

This drives a wedge further between Aemond and Luke, with Aemond outright glaring every time he so much as catches a glimpse at Luke. Not only did he take his eye, now he’s taking a bonding opportunity out from under her?! He’s pissed and challenges him to a duel. You still think it’s all fun and games, and you’re cheering for both of them, and they’re both trying to fucking kill each other, it’s pretty intense.

no matter who wins, you’re ecstatic, and you hug them both and kiss them both on the cheek. The blush that blooms on their faces and the almost goofy smiles that stretch across their cheeks are perhaps the only thing they’ve had in common in years.

Aemond totally uses his injury to ingratiate himself with you. It makes you feel bad for him, and while he doesn’t normally want pity, he’s fine using it to his advantage. Once Luke is out of the way, he reckons, he’ll be able to reveal his true self slowly over time.

Daemon’s also pretty likely to get into physical fights, though he sues his silver tongue to make you blush just as often. He really is quite sly, and he’s the only one to outright proposition you. He’ll get Jace to take you out for a night in the town, slowly working their way to the brothels, trying to sully your reputation just far enough that you’ll have to marry him. It worked for Daemon, after all, and he just wants you connected to him. He’s fully aware that he’s not going to be able to live without you. Having you tied to Jace is just the perfect way to keep you close.

Rhaenyra is also taking advantage of your oblivious and gullible nature. She definitely tries to take advantage of the fact that you aren’t able to catch on to her true intentions. She’s convinced you to cuddle with her by telling you she’s too cold, and that Daemon’s too busy, and you felt so bad for her you were totally willing.

She’s more straightforward, pushing Jace to try to court you. He’s fighting off any of your various suitors, and anyone who is trying to take advantage of your obliviousness to secure a connection to the family.

You’re targeted by people from all over, mainly because of your close bonds to the various members of the nobility. Everyone has to work together to keep you safe when it’s announced you’re willing to court some random lord. You think you’re in love, they need to convince you otherwise.

Daemon immediately gets to work sullying the reputation of that lord. Then, he murders them. He’s not above paying a prostitute to seduce them in a place where you catch the two of them in the act, ravaging your heart.

Aemond and Jace both try to step into that void. Aemond, who takes a slightly more subtle approach, asking you to ride on Vhagar, fails; Jace, under the advice of Rhaenyra, takes a more direct approach and is able to begin dating you.

Alicent practically loses it, seeing her child so defiled by Rhaenyra’s child. She’s trying to convince you to marry Aemond or Aegon instead. Aegon shows up naked in your room; you can’t miss that clue, after all. It doesn’t work, you’re convinced he just mistook your room for his. Your rooms look nothing alike, but Aegon’s too charmed to even mention it.

Finally, Otto steps in to prevent Alicent from snapping and attacking someone. He’s not willing to let his precious grandchild fall into the hands of one of Rhaenyra’s bastards, after all.

Viserys is informed, even on his deathbed, that you should be married to Aemond. It’s to secure the familial line, after all, and your children will surely be strong and loved, the perfect combination.

So, he announces that you will be married to Aemond, breaking your relationship to Jace. Jace is heartbroken, Rhaenyra and Daemon are ready to burn the castle to the ground.

Thus begins the fight of the century.

#yandere hotd #yandere aemond targaryen #yandere rhaenyra targaryen #yandere jacaerys velaryon #yandere aegon x reader #yander daemon targaryen #lethwrites #yandere alicent hightower

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daryltwdixon · 9 days ago

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So could you write a pretty angst-y fic where Joel and reader are in an established relationship and they've been settled in Jackson for a while, taking part in patrols and all. And one day, reader and Tommy go out on patrol and they're taking longer than they should to come back and Joel is anxiously waiting by the gate. Then he sees Tommy approaching on his horse with reader's limp body in his arms and a scared look on his face. Reader's been badly hurt while saving Tommy's life. Joel thinks he's gonna lose her but thankfully she recovers (so happy ending!!!)

Thanks! I hope you can understand the general idea, English is not my first language so bear with me lol

first ever Joel request :') thank you anon!!!! had this in the draft for the past few days

The air bit at Joel’s face as he paced near the gate, his boots grinding against the frost-touched dirt. The sun had started to dip, its light staining the snow a faint amber, and still, there was no sign of them. He glanced at Maria, who stood a few feet away, her arms crossed and her expression tight.

“They’re late,” Joel muttered, more to himself than her.

“Give them time,” she replied evenly, though her voice carried no conviction.

Every nerve in Joel’s body felt like it was stretched thin, pulled taut by the silence. He wasn’t the type to panic—he’d seen too much, lost too much that he'd grown a thick skin—but this was different. You were different. And Tommy... Hell, he couldn’t let himself think about it.

When the sound of hooves finally broke the stillness, Joel’s head snapped toward the horizon. Relief flickered in his chest, but it was fleeting. The sight of Tommy riding toward the gates, his horse kicking up fresh snow, sent his stomach lurching.

You were slumped against Tommy’s chest, your body limp as a rag doll.

Tommy’s face was pale, his jaw tight. “Open the gate!” he shouted, urgency sharpening his voice.

Joel’s feet moved before his brain could catch up, his heart thundering like a war drum. His hands felt clumsy as he helped Maria shove the gate open, the cold metal biting into his palms.

“What the hell happened?” Joel demanded, his voice rising as Tommy reined the horse in.

“She—she saved me,” Tommy stammered, his breath fogging in the cold. “Raiders. She pushed me outta the way, Joel. Got hit bad—”

Joel didn’t hear the rest. His eyes were locked on you, on the blood soaking through your jacket and the way your head lolled against Tommy’s shoulder. He reached up, his hands trembling, and carefully took you from Tommy’s arms.

“Jesus, no—no, no, no,” Joel muttered under his breath, his voice cracking as he cradled you against him. You were too still, your face too pale, and the warmth of your blood seeped through his clothes.

Maria was shouting something about getting a stretcher, about calling for a doctor, but Joel barely registered it. He carried you toward the infirmary, his steps uneven and frantic.

“C’mon, baby,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he pressed his face to your hair. “Don’t you dare leave me. Don’t you dare.”

The hours that followed were a blur of blood-stained bandages, hushed voices, and Joel’s chest so tight he could barely breathe. He sat by your bedside, his hands gripping yours like they were the only thing tethering him to the earth.

You didn’t stir.

“You’re gonna be okay,” Joel rasped, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. His voice was low, hoarse. “You hear me? You’re gonna be fine. I’ll kill anyone who says otherwise.”

Joel hadn’t moved from the chair in hours. His back ached, his legs felt stiff, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. The only thing grounding him was the steady, rhythmic rise and fall of your chest.

The infirmary was quiet now, save for the faint hum of the heater. The blood had been cleaned off your skin, the deep wound on your side stitched and wrapped. But the pale cast to your face still gnawed at him, clawing at the frayed edges of his composure.

“C’mon,” he murmured, his voice low. His fingers brushed a strand of hair from your face. “You’ve fought through worse, haven’t you? Don’t make me sit here and talk to myself like a damn fool.”

He didn’t realize he’d drifted off until he felt your fingers twitch in his. It was subtle—barely there—but it sent a jolt through him. His head shot up, his heart hammering as your lashes fluttered.

“Hey,” he breathed, standing so quickly the chair scraped against the floor. He leaned over you, his hand cupping your cheek as your eyes cracked open. “Hey, there you are. You’re awake.”

You blinked sluggishly, your gaze trying to focus on his face. “Joel?”

“Yeah, baby, it’s me.” His voice cracked, his forehead lowering to press against yours for a long moment. His breath was shaky, his hands trembling as they cupped your face.

Then—in a move that to anyone but you that knew Joel would be uncharacteristic—he kissed your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth—his lips lingering as if trying to will you back to life.

But the reprieve didn’t last. When he pulled back, the familiar furrow of his brow returned, and his jaw tightened.

“What the hell were you thinkin’?” he growled, stepping back just enough to meet your eyes. The raw edge of his voice sliced through the haze of your exhaustion. “Throwin’ yourself in front of Tommy like that? You tryin’ to get yourself killed?”

The gruffness in his tone didn’t surprise you—it was Joel’s way of dealing with fear. But the storm in his eyes made your throat tighten.

“Tommy—he… needed help,” you rasped, your voice weak.

“I don’t give a damn what the excuse is,” Joel snapped, his hand raking through his hair. He paced to the foot of the bed, then back to your side, his frustration barely contained. “You think I can just sit here and watch you—watch you almost…” His voice broke, and he turned away, rubbing a hand over his face.

Your heart twisted at the sight. Joel Miller wasn’t a man who wore his heart on his sleeve, but here he was, raw and undone.

“Joel,” you whispered.

He turned back to you, his jaw tight. “You don’t get to do that,” he said, his voice low but firm. “You don’t get to make that choice for me. For us.”

The weight of his words settled between you, and you reached out, your fingers brushing his hand. He hesitated for a moment before taking your hand in his, holding it tightly like it was the only thing tethering him to sanity.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” you murmured.

“Well, you did. You scared the hell outta me,” he shot back, though his grip on your hand softened. “Don’t ever do that again. You hear me?”

You managed the faintest of smiles, your lips quirking despite the ache in your body. “Bossy.”

Joel let out a low, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “Damn right I’m bossy. And you’d better start listenin’.”

For a moment, the room was silent except for the hum of the heater and the quiet, shaky breaths Joel took to calm himself. He sank back into the chair, his head bowing as he rested his forehead against your joined hands.

“You’re stuck with me,” you whispered, echoing the words he’d once said to you.

Joel huffed, "Got that right.”

When he lifted his head, his eyes were softer, though the tension in his jaw hadn’t fully eased. He kissed your knuckles again, lingering for a moment.

“I mean it,” he muttered, his voice gruff but tender. “Don’t scare me like that again. I can’t…” He trailed off, the words hanging heavy in the air.

“I’ll try,” you said softly, your fingers brushing against his.

“That’s all I’m askin’,” Joel replied, his lips twitching into a small, reluctant smile.

He stayed there, his chair pulled close to your bedside, his hand never leaving yours. And for the first time in hours, the storm inside him began to quiet.

#Joel miller #Joel Miller x you #Joel Miller angst #Joel Miller x reader #requests #the last of us #tlou #the last of us fanfic #Joel Miller drabble #tlou drabble #the last of us one shot

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elliesmainhoe · 9 months ago

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Hey there vivi, I think your work is cool <33 Wanted to ask what you thought of Ellie and girlfriend having IVF with both their genetics/eggs so they both have a biological child together. Know it’s not possible yet but im thinking about a Ellie with biological kid. Tmi but im ovulating so this is what im thinking ab rn. Not asking you to do a little blurb if you don’t want to, but wanted to know if you like the idea of Ellie and her kidd, ngl i think is interesting and adorable. Much love!

omg I fucking love this idea!!!! she would be so silly , I wrote some headcanons for this so hope you like it!!!!

ELLIE WILLIAMS HEADCANONS: YOU HAVE A BABY WITH HER (biologically)

okay let's say- distant future, lesbians can now have biological babies (yay technology!)

when you tell her that your pregnant girlie is gobsmacked, even though you two were actively trying. (aka raw dogging every night)

goes through a crisis, buys baby books, pregnancy books, looks into a ton of birth and labour options

shes prepared for everything, goes to Joel to find advice about taking care of a pregnant woman and what to do with a newborn

GRANDPA JOEL????

stop that would be the most adorable shit ever, him sitting on his porch, yours and Ellie's babe on his chest, giving you two a break

stopppp 😭😭😭😭

anyways getting off topic-

she's literally so much more a doting loser than she usually is (which is a feat in itself)

gets you all your cravings, chocolate? done. pickles? done. chocolate AND pickles together? fuck it she'll try some too.

loves decorating the nursery in your house

PAINTS A DINOSAUR AND/OR SPACE MURAL IN THE ROOM???

the nerd indoctrination is already happening.

her and Joel make loads of custom furniture, adjustable crib, rocking/nursing chair, changing station.

the nursery ends up looking so cute, with loads of earthy tones and greens but also an array of rainbow toys.

OMG THEY MAKE YOUR BABY A ROCKING HORSE??

shed be so supportive during labour

whatever birth method you choose shes so supportive, makes you a little emergency bag just in case you go into labour

loves skin to skin

after the birth, you're exhausted of course, so you're sleeping and she's alone with a newborn baby???

honestly thinks that the baby looks a little funky

when babies come out they're squished, red and all silly looking

they're cute of course!!! but Ellie is still hoping your babe grows out of the squished tomato, potato phase?

skin to skin is her favorite thing

having the baby laid on her chest is genuinely the sweetest thing ever

she 100% cries when your baby grows out of their first onesie

she's so sentimental, keeps everything your kid does or has

old dummies (pacifiers if you're American), baby toys that the kid doesn't play with anymore, the umbilical cord? it's in a ziplock bag somewhere.

wears the baby in those baby back pack things (I can't remember the name LMAO)

when the baby starts teething she's always making jokes about how you've given birth to a feral baby.

jokingly scolds the baby when they start biting when you breastfeed them

dresses the kid up in the funnies outfits

the baby's dresser is basically a fancy dress box by now. dinosaur costumes, teddy bear costumes, pirate costume?

literally everything

---------------

I now have baby fever. kms.

not proofread

she's the best mum especially with a newborn

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ghoulbrain · 8 months ago

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Animal Instinct

18+ 3.5k ghoul x f!reader. graphic depictions of violence, wound tending, hurt/comfort, established relationship, feral/protective cooper, cannibalism, blood, dirty talk, vaginal fingering. gif credit. read on AO3. written as part of the Saddle Up, Sweetheart verse, but can be read as a stand-alone.

When you're both ambushed by raiders, Cooper comes to understand the lengths he'll go to keep you safe.

This never would have happened if Cooper was still traveling alone. He would have been more aware of his surroundings, he would have seen the signs of an ambush long before he stepped into it, and he wouldn’t have been so focused on you instead.

It’s lazy to blame you, though. The fault is his. Without preamble or flourish he draws his revolver and starts emptying shots into the spill of sorry sons of bitches that decided they would ruin his evening.

Out of the corner of his eye he sees you move forward, weapon drawn. His lip twitches. Your grip is good, but your stance is horse-shit. If this is going to become a thing–you taggin’ along like this–he’ll have to show you how to properly fire a gun.

He refocuses quickly, stepping forward to keep himself angled between them and you. The ambush isn’t anything special: just a bunch of jumpy junkies with twitchy trigger fingers looking for their next score. He takes a shot to the shoulder, another to the sternum. He doesn’t feel anything but the impact and pressure of irradiated flesh being forced apart around the bullets. There’s no pain, not so long his system is flooded with chemicals.

It’s your cry of pain that sets his nerves ablaze. He fires two more shots–dropping the men who hit him–before he whirls around, a hot rush of fire rolling through him at the sight of you with a man pressed up against your back, one arm fitted around your throat while he crushes your wrist in his other hand, squeezing hard, keeping your gun pointed at the ground as he chokes you out.

That’s when he sees the knife sunk into your thigh, blood soaking a wide crimson circle into your clothing around the knife’s hilt. In this infinitely long and horrible instant that your gaze meets his. The pain and fear in your eyes trigger something in him, and the whole world becomes both brighter and slower all at once.

Cooper aims, fires, but his revolver clicks emptily. He doesn’t reach to reload. Instead, he moves on pure animal instinct, bearing his teeth and charging with a guttural snarl.

Adrenaline mixes with the chemical cocktail in his veins and he moves faster than the man reacts, ripping his hands from you and throwing your assailant to the ground with such incredible force it dazes the man, his eyes glazing over. He roars in the raider’s face, spittle and yellow flecks coating his dirty skin, before he lunges, sinking his teeth into the pulsing jugular below.

He lends no thought to how natural it feels to bite into warm, living flesh.

Rearing up, mouth bloodied and full of viscera, Cooper winds his fist back and strikes the man in the face. His first blow hits his jaw. The next strikes his temple.

Straddling him, he doesn’t stop hitting. One fist after the other. He aims for the jaw, the temple, the high of his cheek. He misses and shatters his nose with a satisfying crunch, blood spewing from his nostrils to coat his knuckles. His jaw breaks with a pop. Broken teeth and bone slice flesh, mixing with gore and falling to the dirt in wet chunks.

The violence feels raw and good, like the first deep inhale of a vial or a hot wet fuck. He swallows the blood and meat lingering in his mouth and lets out a rough breath. Gritting his teeth he hits harder, driven on by the scent of blood and dirt. The gurgle of choked breaths. The slip of split flesh against his fists. It's all gasoline on the flames your peril sparked.

Cooper thinks of him stabbing you. Choking you. He thinks of your watery eyes, bright and terrified. He thinks of everyone he’s ever let down, ever failed to save, and he keeps hitting. Even when the man beneath him seizes. Even when he drowns in his blood.

Even when he dies.

Cooper is beating on a hunk of ruined flesh when he finally stops, drenched in the blowback of it.

Wheezing breaths saw from his lungs as he places one hand on the dirt road, lifting himself off of the mess of battered meat. He stares down at his knuckles where pain throbs with every heartbeat. It's a welcome sensation. Not because he deserves it, but because the raider did, and because he delivered. Destruction with his bare hands. Suffering where it’s meant to be found. He drags his tongue along the soaked leather of his glove and greedily swallows what collects on his tongue.

Heart thundering in his ears, Cooper stands, dipping briefly to pick up his gun. The grip slides around in his bloodied hand before he holsters it, cloudy eyes scanning for movement until his gaze lands on you. Down on the ground, clutching your wound, you look like a doe with a bum leg, your eyes blown wide and afraid. You look… irresistible. Not just as a woman, not just as his woman, but as an easy meal.

He takes a step forward, lips parted. The edges of you are blurry to his addled mind. The only part of you that’s in focus is the bright red of your wound seeping into your clothes. His memories of lapping the salt from your skin cross wires in his brain and all he can imagine is holding you safe and sound as he devours you.

“Cooper?”

The sound of your voice acts like a shock to his system that drags him back from the sweet coppery tang of warm, fresh blood in his mouth. He’s standing above you, closer than he realized he got. The sweetness in his mouth sours into putrid rot and he takes a step backwards, rasping out a cuss under his breath. He turns his head and spits, aggressively wiping at his mouth with his sleeve, smearing away blood and little chunks of flesh, abruptly and horribly aware of himself.

Shame blooms in his gut, unfurling all the way up to a tightness in his chest. He looks down at the mutilated body on the ground. There’s no head left, just wet gore soaking into the hungry dry earth below.

He completely lost control of himself. He spits, wipes, spits, wipes, rubs his mouth raw against his sleeve in an attempt to scrub away the taste and feel of it before he dares look at you again. He contemplates shoving a handful of dirt into his mouth just to chase away the lingering tang. He never wants to see you–to think of you–like that again. Like you’re just another hunk of meat.

Your touch makes him jerk away. He looks at you sharply, furious that you would come so close after what he’s done. What he could have done to you.

“Cooper–”

“M’not right,” he says roughly, taking hold of your wrist. You flinch and he realizes that he’s snatched the same wrist the motherfucker he beat into a paste had been crushing. He softens his grip, throat tight like there’s a hand squeezing it. “Fuck, would y’just–m’not right,” he says again, an edge of desperation in his emphasis.

“I know,” you say, voice tender, as if somehow he’s the one in need of gentleness. “I know. So come back. Don’t shut me out.” There’s more authority in your voice than you have any right to have in your position, shaking like a leaf while you touch his face, hushing him with such tenderness it fractures something in him that he thought long dead and buried under the weight of the last two hundred years.

Wish I could, he thinks, wiping his hand on his thigh. That you would look at him like that even now, as if he’s somehow still a man, eats at the very core of him. Makes him want to shy away, prove you wrong, and disappear into you all at once. He takes in a steadying breath before he clutches both of your arms, moving you to the ground.

“Easy,” he says, voice barely above a rasp. “Y’bleedin’.”

You’re holding onto his elbows as he lowers you, gritting your teeth against the pain. He focuses on your discomfort, on the risk you face, fragile thing that you are, to keep his mind far away from the abyss he walked the edge of while maiming the body behind him.

His first priority is to stanch the bleeding. His movements become practiced, hands that of a soldier. He uses a strap from his pack to create a makeshift tourniquet, twisting it around a scrap rod. All the while he’s hyper aware of your gaze on him and the shallow huffs of your breath, the way it catches when he pulls the binding tight.

“Hurts,” you say tightly.

“I know,” he says, drawing his knife. He lifts your blood soaked pant leg–don’t pause, don’t think, don’t breathe it in–and slices open the fabric. “S’about t’hurt a whole lot more. Gimme a count, I’ll pull it on three,” he tells you, bracing one hand on your thigh, the other gripping the hilt of the knife.

“Okay, okay,” you say, sucking in a deep breath. “One–”

Cooper yanks the blade free, startling a yelp out of you that carries into a pained groan.

“What happened to three?!” You ask sharply, fingers digging into the dirt.

He hurriedly smothers the wound with the cleanest cloth he has before he works on tightly wrapping the wound. “S’better when y’don’t know it’s comin’.”

“Asshole,” you breathe.

The faint twitch at the corner of his mouth is reluctant, as if there’s an invisible string tugging at it against his will. “Can’t be that bad if y’still mouthin’ off.”

“It’ll take more than a measly stab wound to keep my mouth shut,” you say, familiar playfulness slipping in alongside the strain in your voice.

“Don’t I know it,” he grouses, glancing up at you. There’s nothing reluctant about your smile. It’s the opposite of his, earnest in a way he’s long forgotten how to be. You’re making an attempt at comforting him, he realizes, looking back down to finish his work, removing the tourniquet once he’s satisfied with the dressing. “It’ll do for now. Y’need stitches.”

“I’ll be fine,” you say dismissively, shifting onto your knees.

He makes a skeptical noise in the back of his throat, sheathing his knife. “Would it kill y’not to be so damn contrary?”

“It might,” you say, catching the lapel of his jacket and pulling at him, bringing his attention back to you. He looks down at your hand, stained now with the crimson wetness spattered all over his coat. His clothes are soaked heavy with misery and blood, but it doesn’t dissuade you any. You touch his jaw with your other hand and lift his eyes to meet yours.

“Hey,” you whisper. You’re close enough that he should feel the ghost of your breath on his lips, but he can’t. Most of the subtleties of life are lost on a man so close to death. The only ghosts he knows now are those of his past. “You okay?”

Holding your gaze, he doesn’t answer you. Sometimes you feel like one of them, like another specter haunting him. The only difference is that you haven’t died yet.

Yet.

“Come back to me,” you murmur. His vision refocuses, finding you closer than you had been a second ago. The warm pressure of your lips grazing his cheek makes him falter, wanting the tenderness of your touch so viscerally it feels dangerous to admit even to himself. “Stay with me.”

Your hand lightly cups the back of his neck, holding him without caging him. You move closer, settling in his lap, grounding him with the weight of your body against his. He moves at that, grasping your hips and squeezing.

“Stay with me,” you say again, the words as fervent as prayer. His own lips parted, he can taste the breath of each word, sweet and warm, the way a distant part of him remembers things like love could be.

Why? He nearly asks. You won’t.

He had thought himself immune to this sickly feeling. This sense of grief for someone who isn’t yet gone, but you rip it out of him. The truth of the matter is that the Ghoul should never have entertained your company. He should have left you where he found you and been on his way without ever casting a backwards glance. The Ghoul would have.

It’s Cooper who didn’t. It’s Cooper’s hands sliding up your sides, squeezing your ribs and pulling you closer, deeper. He kisses you hungrily, craving you the way the Ghoul can’t. The way a man craves.

I ain’t dead yet.

And neither are you.

Two hundred years of surviving for tomorrow has eroded his ability to exist in the here and now, but your touches demand it of him. Your lips against his bring him into the moment as he lives it. As you live it with him.

“I ever look at you like that again,” he says gruffly, swiping his tongue along his bottom lip, catching yours in the process. He moves you back enough to lock eyes with you. “You put a bullet between my eyes.”

Your lips curve in a bittersweet kind of anguish. “Like you’re gonna eat me? Because right now–”

He gives you a sharp little shake. “Y’know what I mean,” he says, startling the smile off your face. From day one he’s liked your wit, the cavalier way you face life, but on this matter he needs you to hear him. “You ever look at me, and I’m not there, you promise you’ll put me down.”

The set of your mouth turns to a flat line, your gaze somber, and you nod. “I promise.”

Some of the tension in his haggard lungs eases and he kisses you again, need shooting up his spine like a hot geyser. “That’s my girl,” he breathes, leaning back and bringing you with him, saddling you properly astride his lap, his long legs stretched out behind you.

You kiss him back just as hungrily, heedless of the blood and gristle between your melding bodies, and he’s forced to remind himself that this is the only world you’ve ever known. There’s no time before this, not for you. Your life has always been full of horrors, and for reasons he’ll never fully comprehend, you’ve decided he’s one that you want close.

He slips his hands under your thighs and squeezes, hiking your legs around his waist until you’re seated closely enough to feel the growing ache between his legs. You don’t miss a beat, grinding down against him so fervently his breath breaks into a low groan. Not even he can deny his humanity in this. You turn his blood hot and shock the deadened thump of his heart into thunder. You make him feel alive.

He’ll return the favor. He’ll turn his spit to wine on your tongue and make your whole body fucking sing.

Breaking from your lips, he uses his teeth to tug his glove free, letting it fall to the ground. His mouth feels sandpaper dry, but your lips are plenty wet.

“Open up for me, sweetheart,” he rumbles, parting your lips with the tips of his middle and index fingers. Your eager tongue slips molten wet between his fingers, your eyes hazy on his. He pumps his fingers slowly, cups the back of your head to keep you still while plunging all the way to his last knuckles before drawing them back. “That’s it… Get ‘em good and wet.”

It’s agonizing how easily you fall apart under his touch, and even more so how good you look doing it. Somewhat reluctantly, he withdraws his fingers from your mouth and with practiced ease maneuvers his hand down the front of your pants, curving his fingers to follow the contour of your pelvis until his fingertips slide through hot, wet arousal.

“Cooper,” you exhale, the pitch of your voice canary-sweet. If you have any care regarding the death that surrounds you or the blood between his body and yours, you don’t show it, nor pay it any heed. You’re focused entirely on him, lips parted on shallow breaths of pleasure. He strokes your clit in slow, deliberate circles, the rest of the world falling away the longer he watches your euphoria build.

Fuck, you’re goddamn beautiful. Why the hell you let a creature like him have you is beyond him, but he won’t let go. Not now. Not so long as you still look at him like this.

He swallows dryly, finally slipping his fingers into the welcoming heat of your pretty cunt. You’re soaked, his own personal oasis in the Wastes, velvet walls quivering around his toughened fingers. He angles the pad of his thumb against your clit and starts to finger fuck you in earnest, his cock throbbing beneath you.

“Fuck,” you keen softly. Your hands braced on his shoulders, you meet every thrust of his hand, huffing divine little sounds while he fucks you with his fingers, crooking them until he feels you shudder.

“Yeah,” he breathes, enraptured. “That’s it. Got y’now, don’t I? Ah ah, don’t get shy on me,” he tsks when your eyes fall shut. “Eyes on me, darlin’. Eyes on me,” he says, voice frayed. You pry your eyes back open and hold his gaze, your own heavily lidded. “Good, s’good. Y’close now, ain’t’cha, sweetie?”

You nod fervently, moans bubbling up instead of words, your sweet features twisted in the exquisite agony that comes just before climax. You roll your palms against his shoulders, fingers digging into the thick fabric of his coat. He wishes he could feel the bite of your nails on his bare skin, wishes it were his cock sinking into you, but all that wistfulness is erased the second you cry out, your back arching, your cunt squeezing his fingers as you’re pitched forward into the throes of release.

Cooper grits his teeth, baring them like an animal as he fucks you through the tremors, grabbing hold of your jaw to keep you from collapsing, to keep your eyes on him. You slide your hands up and cup either side of his face, yanking him into a messy kiss. He falls into it easily, slowing the thrust of his fingers as the aftershocks of your orgasm settle until his hand is still against you, fingers pressed in deep, savoring the feel of you.

You kiss him leisurely with tongue, teeth and barely sated hunger. Your bliss slows you, and Cooper is content to simply feel. Even the lingering ache of his own need is a welcome sensation in a world he so often walks through feeling numb.

After a time, he slides his fingers from your pants, wiping them absently on his own before wrapping his arms around you. You sink into him in turn, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. The sun has almost disappeared completely, and the chill of night is beginning to nip the air. All of this carnage will attract predators soon, but he finds himself unable to rush the matter. His embrace tightens.

“I love you,” you murmur.

There was a time long before his heart became an open grave that he would have been eager to return the sentiment, but hearing those three little words turns his tongue to lead. They flood him with memories of an era where love came naturally–the way only violence does now–and shooting a man in the head was the most abhorrent act he could fathom for himself.

These days, a headshot is a kindness.

His stomach is tight, a bile-like burn creeping up his throat. He screws his eyes shut, swallowing it back. To his relief, you aren’t tense with anticipation. Instead, you pepper butterfly light kisses along the scarred column of his throat, paying special attention to the nicks and scars along the way to his jaw.

You kiss him. He takes your face in his hands and deepens it, pushing into you until your back arches.

“I’ll keep you safe,” he whispers against your lips, the words both a promise and a prayer. Not to God–He gave up on God a long time ago–this prayer is for you. It’s what he knows. It’s what he is. No matter the monster that threatens you, you’ll always have one of your own to bite back. You’ll always have him.

Strained, quieter yet, he says, “I swear.”

Or so help me, I’ll swallow the bullet myself.

“I know,” you say, thumbs brushing over his cheeks. There’s a blissful kind of sorrow in your expression, but so too is there understanding. He kisses you, closing his eyes against the dry burn of them. He’s not sure he’s even capable of tears anymore. He’s been worn down to the bone by sandstorms and bloodshed. Nothing goes untouched by the misery of the Wastes. No one goes through it unscathed.

What he does know is that he will do everything in his power to see that you’re never broken by it.

#the ghoul #cooper howard #the ghoul x reader #cooper howard x reader #the ghoul x you #cooper howard x you #fallout fanfic #fallout #x reader #x reader smut #fem reader

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eowynstwin · 2 months ago

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Saw the AC 141 fanart you reblogged then immediately think about that animal crossing crack theory post here somewhere about humans being in extinction so the animals are keeping you safe in the island, and they're entertaining you with human enrichment activities they think you might enjoy. They might be misguided at times (the loan stuff), but they mean well. And that also explains why they cheer when you move their houses around bcs they think it'll keep you happy. Also, multiplayer is when they arrange a play date with other surviving human(s). T'was the greatest thing I've read this week.

So yeah, imagine COD AC shenanigans where you're the human, and 141 are your island inhabitants who never ask to leave the island.

the art in question

"Moved my bloody house again," mutters Ghost one afternoon, sulking on a beach chair beside Price as they (ostensibly) fish.

"Mm," hums the lion. "Mine last week. Better get used to it."

"Was by the river," the bear continues to lament. "Could hear the water while I was sleepin.'"

Gaz trundles up to join them, setting his box of fishing tackle down. "Sorry mate. Just saw this morning. River's filled in where you were."

Ghost sighs, very long and very loud, and slumps back in his chair. He longs for a beer, but Price had insisted on no alcohol on the island. It made humans screwy and weird, and increased their mortality ratings exponentially.

"I'm sure it ain't for no reason," Price murmurs. The line twitches, but nothing actually bites.

"Last I saw the human was burying a bag of money," says Gaz, extending his own fishing pole. "Not sure there's much of a reason for anything they do."

A low whir, gradually increasing in volume, interrupts the quiet of the day; the sea plane lands by the pier, and Wilbur hops out, followed by an extremely familiar horse.

"No," Ghost moans, "not that bloody numpty, please."

Soap catches sight of the group, brays excitedly, and runs down the beach.

"Fancy seein' you lads here!" he exclaims gleefully. "Heard there's room for me here from your human!" Gaz, the only one really excited to see him, throws him a high five.

"I want to leave," mourns Ghost.

Price snorts. "Good luck with that."

#answered #141 shenanigans #madi writes #low effort but i'm allowed to have fun dammit #also i haven't played ACNH in years #ac 141

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diejager · 6 months ago

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This is omegaverse related so please here me out… What about something different? What about…

Feral Omega?

I’m talking like, this omega isn’t your typical omega. This omega is downright dangerous, reports of Omega going feral but causes of harm to them due to some omega discrimination.

So what if, reader who is feral omega, is down right butchering enemies. And doesn’t hesitate to almost maul some alpha recruits if they want to mess with her..

Cw: omegaverse, feral!reader, violence, blood, weird pack dynamic, discrimination, protective behaviour, tell me if I missed any.

You were a ‘one-of-a-kind’ omega —spoken with utmost reverence by them. You were their strong and independent omega, whispered in crowded halls, mumbled in darkest nights, screamed in busy moments, and kissed to in warm and comfortable beds. You were anything but a strong and dedicated and reliable soldier, someone Ghost had grown to respect after a joint Op, then coaxed to rely on by the others when they saw how welcoming Ghost was and simply how skillful you were at your job.

You were small but spry, less bulky but flexible, weaker but resourceful. You were everything they sought for in an omega. You were so much alike Soap, yet molecularly different. Though it was every alpha’s dream of finding a soft and loving mate to provide and protect for, someone smaller and more fragile than their thick muscles and broad build, there was a thrill in being reminded that they weren’t always at the top, being grounded and brought back down from their high horses. Against all of traditional mating couples, your current age and time had demanded more equal partnering, a relationship where both parties stood on the same ground.

And Ghost and Price thrived on that, their employment demanded a level of independence from their mates and pack mates, the capability of standing on their own and manage grief and stress. That’s where Soap stood, an omega at it’s finest, strong and independent and emotionally knowledgeable, the glue to their pack, and Gaz, the stabiliser, the soft and gentle hand that reminded them of who they were.

Then you came bulldozing through their well-built dynamic: feral and wrathful, full of hate and anger for the world who had wronged you. When the military had rejected you for both your sex and gender, you’d worked up the ranks in the CIA with your blood, sweat and tears, starting from a fresh agent - a rookie - to an experienced one. You’d gotten so far that Laswell had eventually reach out to you, acknowledged by someone so powerful and partnered with The Ghost had gotten you the acknowledgment and respect you’d dreamed of.

It was a rough start with Ghost, but he learned to rely on you as much as you did him, you had formed a mutual understanding that only grew into fondness after meeting the rest of his pack. They were a functioning mix of weird and quirky: a leading alpha that was a big, soft bear, another alpha that was rough on the edge but caring, an overenergetic and fiery omega and a beta that represented everything you liked in one, calm, open-minded and smart. It was odd seeing you join them so often and continuously on Ops that didn’t need much of CIA intervention, but you all made it work.

You’d become a familiar face on base, a blunt and no-nonsense agent to new people, but cracked jokes and smiled with those you knew. Fiercely protective of your pack as much as they were with you. If Soap was a menace, then you were an omen, your deep frown and growling snarl, baring your teeth as a warning before you attacked. The world had taught you to bark and bite —and bite you did, a strong and dangerous one, leaving you bruised and roughed up, but your opponent gasping for life and battered.

Honestly, sometimes you were more trouble than it’s worth, but wouldn’t have it any other way.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @haven-1307 @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami @cassiecasluciluce

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senorboombastic · 1 year ago

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This One Song… PREDECEASED on SCENE PAROLE

Tell you what – we love hearing from artists when things go right. We equally love hearing from artists when things go dreadfully wrong. A song that was a piece of piss, written in 20 minutes? Or years in the making and a bastard to write? Whether it’s a song that came together through great duress or one that was smashed out in a short amount of time, we’re getting the lowdown from some of our…

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#Bear Bites Horse #Ben Garnett #Birthday cake for breakfast #Charlie Wyatt #Eeasy Records #PREDECEASED #Quicksand #SCENE PAROLE #SUNDAY SCARIES #Thee MVPs #Wayne Adams #WHAT DO YOU DO?

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luimagines · 6 months ago

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Doggo request 2: Isekai Reader who had brought their BIG boy dog? Like the ones that are almost as big as bears. I forgot the breed name.

Your wish is my command. Let's make it a Tiberian Mastiff. :D

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

"Ok, Hudson. Easy boy." You gently held the leash of the behemoth you called your baby.

The dog was the runt of the litter, but ended up growing into one of the biggest dogs on the planet. That's what you tell yourself anyway. In your heart and in his, he is just a little guy who wants hugs and kisses and for someone to throw the ball.

"it's going to kill us." The one you were told to call 'The Traveler' all but threw himself backwards when you brought your dog close to them.

Granted, most people tend to get a bit nervous when your dog steps onto the scene, but that's generally because he's huge, not because they're actually afraid of him. Still, you suppose you should have seen this coming.

"No, he's not. He's a sweetheart. Come pet him."

"No thank you."

"I'll do it!" The Rancher stepped forward with a bright smile on his face. You admired his instant bravery. It was a nice change of pace. He walked right up to the two of you, seemingly knowing his way around the creature.

Hudson sniffed his hand and his pants, letting the young man scratch his mane and his muzzle. You knew the procedure by now. It was impressive that Hudson hadn't barked yet. Maybe he was sniffing the fur pelt the man was wearing.

"He's a gorgeous creature. What did you say he was again?"

"He's a Tiberian Mastif, bred to hunt and guard against bears." You say proudly. Husdon had proved to be invaluable where you lived. He took his guarding duty very seriously and hadn't let you down since.

"I'm sorry, bears?" The boy with massive facial scarring seemed to light at the idea. "He's that strong?"

"I mean... I don't have bears where I live but he certainly scares off the coyotes and wolves."

"Wolves?" The youngest asks, hesitantly coming closer. He sneaks a pet onto Hudson's side.

"Someone better keep an eye on Wolfie then." The oldest with the scar over his eye, looks out into the distance.

"Wolfie?" You ask in question.

"A local wolf that seems to follow us where ever we go." The boy with pink hair speaks up. You really need to remember their names better. Didn't his start with an L? "Your dog wouldn't attack him, would he?"

"Oh, he might." You frown. "That would be a problem."

"I doubt it." The Rancher shrugs. "The wolf knows his way around. I'm sure he can take care of himself."

"Ok, well I don't want a wolf attacking my dog either." You put your hands on your hips. "That's a fight tot the death. Hudson won't give up easily."

"Wolfie knows better." The shortest- The Blacksmith, you remind yourself- tells you with another shrug of his shoulders. "Besides, you have all of us with you. We'll get between the two of them should anything happen."

You doubt that. This kid is small enough to ride your dog like a horse. "I wouldn't recommend it but I'll keep that in mind."

He seems to read your mind for a split second because he bites his lip as if he's thought of something that could get him trouble. "...Do you think he'll let me ride him?"

"Not a chance."

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #linked universe x reader #lu x reader #isekai! reader

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bogleech · 3 months ago

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I am thinking once again about plausible speculative mammals that would weaponize their parasites, and in my mind, one of them would live in North America alongside skunks and porcupines, completing a long overdue trifecta of funny woodland critter with a deeply unpleasant defensive strategy. CLOCKWISE: 1) A very large rodent that has its own alarmingly large fleas, like the real life fleas of mountain beavers. Most of its body is hairless with thick, wrinkled skin that discourages flea activity, so they're left with no choice but to concentrate in its big, bushy tail. A high concentration of blood vessels in the tail keep the fleas fed, and a low concentration of nerves keep them from being too irritating. When this animal gets upset it curls the tail over itself, spreading its fur so wide that the fleas feel exposed. Parting the fur of a wild animal is incidentally a surefire way to get a bunch of fleas jumping ship to you and immediately biting you. Now look at this mountain beaver flea next to a more normal size flea and imagine the pain:

2) A big ground-dwelling cousin of the silky anteater. A combination of long, course, tightly interwoven hairs and a thick underlying layer of fluff are impenetrable to most pests, but a bald patch of thick leathery skin on its back is an ideal attachment point for its specialized ticks, kind of like right whale callosities and whale lice. The anteater can sweat a thick, suffocating grease from this area that forces ticks to let go and scatter in search of another attachment point (LIKE YOU!!!! Leave wildlife alone!!!). Maybe It has pouchlike hairless underarms to serve as refuges for even more ticks, or ticks in their juvenile stage? If they co-evolved closely enough, the ticks could have developed an instinct to migrate up to the back only with their final molt. Maybe they're even as neurotoxic (to other animals) as Australia's paralysis tick? Maybe the ticks are also brightly colored, so predators can tell at a glance to stay away. 3) A desman-like animal, but maybe it's a marsupial or even a monotreme? I feel this one would have an unconventional symbiote; like how beavers have the only fur-dwelling beetles, sloths have their own moths and hairless bats have their own skin-dwelling earwigs. None of those examples, however, are parasites! As far as we know, all three of those insects just chill on those animals and possibly clean them. So what if this one had fur dwelling blister beetles? Blister beetles are a huge diverse group of beetles whose defensive secretions can severely burn skin, and accidentally ingesting a blister beetle can be deadly to even large mammals like horses. This guy's matted wool would be thick enough near the skin to shield it from its own insects, keeping them in the matted outer fluff, where they would maybe feed on whatever sustains beaver beetles (we actually aren't 100% sure! We just know it isn't blood!). If you make this thingy angry, it curls up like a pangolin, and anything that keeps messing around with the big hairball is probably going to keep pissing off, damaging or accidentally eating the worst beetles to ever do anything of those things to.

I also want to say I didn't think of names, but if one or all of these existed I wouldn't want them to get names like "tickbacked antsloth" or anything like that. They'd deserve their own original words like squirrel or fox or bear. But I think it should sound as nasty as they are to mess with. Like a vlykus or a thobb or a snentch. Probably any of these could be a snentch maybe. Nobody tell me if that's already an urbandictionary word for something worse, let me have snentch.

#animals #biology #art #nature #specevo #speculative evolution #sketches

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ohisms · 3 months ago

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✱˚｡⋆ ↪ 𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐂 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐒 𝐈𝐍 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐄 . ( a collection of lyric prompts based on various works by ashnikko . adjust phrasing as necessary , mature themes and language are present . )

attitude and the booze won't save you .

you fuck my life up then you say "my bad" .

you don't seem to see what a cliche you are .

repeat after me , "i'm over it" .

you don't ever cross my mind , what's a sheep to a tiger ?

i'm no prey , but i am pursued .

my best friend thinks that i'm a dumbass .

the world is burning and i laugh at the blaze .

on your horse so high , i swear to god i'm higher .

heard a rumor that you said you made me who i am .

i'm too healthy , wealthy , well fed .

i don't have the time to pretend you're funny .

self - made , self - paid , how dare you speak my name ?

i hate you so much right now .

you're not special , it's not cute .

hi , it's me , back again . here to remind you he's not worth it .

i slip up , i text you , i forget that you were so disrespectful .

they told me to be nice and i told them to bite me .

you don't want to see me bratty .

i put that teddy bear you gave me in a blender .

whiskey in my hip flask , nothing fruity .

i can see the desperation , i've got you right where i want you .

you can't stand to see me shine .

so lame that i'm your only claim to fame .

i like how you look when you really beg .

i need a new toy just to cleanse my palate .

it's gonna hurt , it'll sting .

only one strike , then you get the boot .

the only thing you seem to give me is sex .

you think you're the man , bitch please .

we both know it wasn't love , it was a big bad habit .

i only trust a fella for some light amusement .

unfortunately , you made the mistake of underestimating me .

you wish you could sway my attention .

tell me what you need .

there was potential in you .

i wanna make a couple bad decisions .

i'm no cinderella , but i like the shoes .

i do well for myself , nothing you do is extraordinary .

my dumb ass should be a little more cautious .

fuck a princess , i'm a king .

i say i won't do it , then i do it and i make myself sick .

you think you're worth all the fuss ?

to tell the truth , role models weren't around me much .

why am i such a sucker for a fuckboy's freckles ?

i say it's a no - brainer , now .

i'm crazy , but you like that . i bite back .

you already know i'm not shy .

what we did was childish , can we put this behind us ?

nothing was nice , but i loved every minute .

i don't give a fuck , i have more fun on my ones .

i've been predisposed to trauma since i was eleven .

you can keep the image of my butt as a souvenir .

being a bitch is my kink .

you're still taught the same shit .

i think she really likes me .

hide your back , she likes to stab them .

i hate that i'm so self depricating , more comfortable in bad situations .

i'm a little faded , you look like a fuckin' painting .

when i'm with you i have amnesia , got me without a mind .

i don't let a fucker on the internet tell me nothing .

this is all because you want to say you've done it .

i'm fresh out of patience .

you wish i missed you . back the fuck up .

i'm a sucker for a little devastation .

coulda , shoulda , woulda , but you did it .

i swear i'm not crying , the sun's just bright .

tell me why i need you over the next .

i'm eager to hurt more .

i swear my blue vibrator brings me more joy .

i gave your girlfriend cunnilingus on my couch .

you better stock up on tissues , jacking off to all my pictures .

fake it to the top .

typical of me to go and ruin the party .

i'm having the best time of my life .

i'm having the worst time of my life .

you look dumb now that i've come to my senses .

what do you really mean when you're calling me nice ?

you wanna hold a gun but they made you a pinup .

i forget that you're still so disrespectful .

your love is not impressive .

tell it to my manager , he'll tell you "pay a fee" .

now that i can think rationally , i feel so stupid .

everybody says they love me but i'm still brokenhearted .

it's like i need a babysitter , someone to come get me .

god made me pretty , you made me mean .

say you want my body , let me give it to you .

i'm not in your circle , baby .

i just wanna push you to the edge now .

your sad life is never getting better .

what are you mad at me for , huh ?

i was living good until your locusts and your plague hit .

forgive me for the nasty things i say when i'm wounded .

so you're scared of me now , huh ?

women hold the weight of the world .

there's something to be said for a bitch who can top me .

if nothing matters , then i'll be fine .

you hate me cause you hate yourself .

dust yourself off , girl , keep your chin up .

he says i'm a lost cause and he might be right .

i'm that "fuck up your life" girl .

i would crawl through broken glass to get home .

i play my life like a video game .

i think you've gotta do way more if you wanna please me .

what's he doing ? i don't need a brave knight .

i deleted your number .

i'm not shy , i'll say it . i've been picturing you naked .

legs getting tired , can we switch positions ?

you put a knife in my back but you'll never be the death of me .

i could squash you like a little rotten fruit .

you could never , 'cause you're not clever enough .

we were good while it lasted .

my baby calls me bossy .

i don't really need a man , but sometimes i want one though .

i can't even wear my skin without them asking where i've been .

i can make you call remember me .

stupid boy thinks that i need him .

hate me 'cause i'm beautiful , bitch i don't like you either .

i think you know you can't replace me .

who do i have to kill to make everybody love me ?

i try to think , but it's no use .

maybe we can love until we're dead .

this is not an invitation .

how dare i have private desires ?

now you're crying and you're shaking ?

nothing about you is attractive to me , now .

am i fuckable enough for you ?

i don't want you and i don't want your homie .

please don't think that the sex is gonna cloud my view .

can't believe i let your hand inside my bloomers .

tell me how my ass tastes , little bottom feeder .

you don't know your way around a pussy .

i want it , i win it . call it ambition .

i don't need the dick - i need magic , i need money .

i know you think about me in the shower .

i've got several dummies that wanna get on me .

this is so small in the big simulation .

go find another bitch to hoover , count the days until you lose her .

i know you think about me with your hand down your trousers .

you don't know anyone else like me .

it's a therapist you need .

#rp meme #inbox prompts #inbox meme #rp inbox prompts #lyric prompts #ohisms

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serpentface · 4 months ago

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Dragon folklore in the Imperial Wardin region

A dragon as depicted in Wardi, Wogan, and Cholemdinae folklore

Dragon folklore is broadly similar between the three collections of human peoples who have inhabited the region since prehistory. The details of their description vary somewhat, but the core traits are the same. These dragons are described as very large birdlike creatures (standing as tall or taller than a human) with bodies like eagles, a reptilian head (usually that of a crocodile or lizard), black feathers, and trailing tail plumage. They are sometimes horned, and Wardi variants are specified as having wattles like roosters.

All variants of this folklore associates them with storms, lightning, and wildfires. They are said to only emerge during lightning storms and intentionally set grass fires in order to hunt. Some sources ascribe them power over lightning itself, which they capture in the clouds and send to the ground with the beating of their wings. Others state that they are simply immune to it. In either case, they set their tail feathers ablaze in lightning strikes, and then fly low over the ground to strategically spread the fire. They completely surround their prey with wildfire, and then circle overhead in wait until it has succumbed to the smoke and flames.

They are usually characterized as killing indiscriminately as fire itself, eating anything they can capture whether it be wild animals, livestock, or people. They have no appetite for raw meat, and will only eat burnt flesh.

These dragons rarely come down to the ground, spending most of their lives in storm clouds. They migrate along with the rains and breed in grasslands during the peak of the wet season, with female dragons laying their eggs hidden in tall grass. Dragon chicks are born with completely white feathers, which are gradually singed black with every hunt. The darker a dragon, the older and more dangerous it is.

They are generally non-personified and regarded as wild beasts, though are sometimes given a particularly vengeful nature. Stories of mother dragons burning down entire villages or towns in retribution for the death of their chicks can be found region-wide.

Wogan folklore is an exception (though this is more an aspect of a broader animistic worldview rather than a unique quality of dragons themselves), in which the dragon is personified and credited with first teaching the people how to practice controlled burns for agricultural purposes. The Wogan dragon is a very powerful and dangerous spirit and communion with it requires wisdom and caution. Many stories describe people enslaving dragons or capturing their chicks order to utilize their power to destroy enemies, only to be annihilated with fire themselves.

A dragon as depicted in the folklore of the Hill Tribes, ft. an unfortunate horse

The dragon folklore of the Highlands has some connection to the aforementioned (particularly in their association with storms) as a product of centuries of cultural interchange, but stems from a wholly separate tradition brought from overseas, bearing much in common with analogous legendary creatures in Finn and Royal Dain culture.

These dragons are heavily personified, being wholly sapient and capable of speech, and are said to be either extremely long-lived or completely immune to aging (though not immune to being killed). They are described as very large birds with the wings and bodies of eagles, the spurred legs of pheasants, the wrinkled necks of vultures, and the head and tail of a snake. Dragons are almost always red, brown, and yellow in color, resembling golden eagles (like their father). They kill prey with their venomous bite, said to be the deadliest of all animals. They are uniquely menacing to people, having little to no interest in wild prey in favor of the tender, domesticated meat of horses and cattle (or humans themselves)

Dragons are all males, and all brothers. They are the progeny of the goddess Ariakh and her spirit husband, the King of Eagles. Ariakh reproduced with her husband twice- first in the form of a human, in which she gave birth to the Winds, her four eldest sons, and second in the form of an eagle, in which she laid a clutch of eggs that hatched all dragons. These dragons are smaller and less powerful beings than their older brothers, and they're ascribed a sense of profound bitterness about this.

They are jealous and vain in nature, constantly squabbling amongst themselves for rank and admiration and menacing humans to gain recognition. Folktales often center on heroes taking advantage of their competitiveness and insecurity in order to defeat them. They occasionally play neutral or positive roles in tales, where they assist human protagonists in exchange for sabotaging one of their brothers, gifts of horsemeat, or excessive flattery.

#folklore

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irisintheafterglow · 1 year ago

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don't even know, i'm talkin' nonsense

summary: on his way back from a patrol shift, your boss gets hit with a mystery quirk that affects his speech. you're the only one in the office who can help him (pro!bakugo x you).

wc: 2k

cw/tags: swearing cuz bakugo's here and he's angry, miscommunication-based comedy, idiot(s) in love, coworkers to lovers, a little bit of angst/comfort but it's just for the plot yk

note: i'm not sure where the concept of this came from; i was just listening to sabrina carpenter and was like,,,, hey i can use this. so have this! hope you like it :))

likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated <3

“Okay, go over it one more time for me. I think I’ve got it,” you reassure him, only to be met with a skeptical glare. “I’m serious; I think I understand it, even though it took forever.” You tap the whiteboard of the meeting room with the red marker in your hand, slightly tired from scribbling down as much as you could comprehend from your boss’ vague gestures. He exhales deeply, dragging a hand down his face, and gives you an impatient look. “Ready when you are."

“Fucking hell, I can’t believe this is happening to me.”

“I didn’t understand a word of what you just said,” you remind him and he shoots you a withering glare that doesn’t deter you in the slightest. “And don’t try to write it, since that clearly didn’t work.” You glance at the scribbled mess of letters scratched onto a yellow notepad of paper, Bakugo’s first attempt to communicate that something was off when speech was not working.

“I fucking know that! You don’t think I can’t remember that you have no idea what I’m fucking saying?” You blink at him, desperately biting your tongue to avoid bursting out laughing. Even though Bakugo had been hit with a quirk that was creating some very entertaining moments in an otherwise bland office job, he could still make his palms crackle dangerously in warning. “Remind me to fire you when I get out of this.” You can’t control your laughter that time and you let a snort slip from your throat, wincing when his scathing eyes stare menacingly into you.

“Sorry, I am so sorry,” you laugh quietly, attempting to subtly wipe a tear from your eye. “It’s just that…that time it was a dolphin.” You scrunch your face to avoid laughing again and try so hard that it makes your stomach hurt. Your boss continues to stand there, absolutely mortified, while you add another animal to the list of sounds that have come out of his mouth. Since he re-entered the office after a seemingly normal patrol shift, the noises of a bear, horse, mouse, tiger, monkey, a bird you couldn’t identify, and now a dolphin had exited his mouth in place of his scratchy voice. You thought it was a sneeze, the first time the bear roar had echoed through the office, but were equally perplexed when you asked him to sign a form and the only answer you received was high-pitched squeaking.

“There’s no fucking way,” he’d muttered under his breath when you first explained to him what you thought was happening. It became all too real as his face paled when you played what your phone recorded as his “voice,” which only came out as the insistent hoots of a monkey. He was used to receiving weird looks on the street, especially when civilians realized that they were walking next to one of the top Pros in the country, but it dawned on him that they may have not heard his usual voice when he barked at them to move. “And you’re the only one in the office right now?”

“I have no idea what you’re saying,” you inform him carefully. “But, if you’re wondering if anyone else is here to help you, there’s not.” You can only imagine what kind of colorful expletives he yelled by the unrelenting scream of bird noises that left his mouth. “And I was about to leave, so if you want me to stay and help–”

“I don’t need your fucking help.”

“Oh, great. You’re a horse now,” you deadpan, understanding from his facial expressions alone what he was trying to communicate. “Well, if you don’t need my help, have fun explaining to the guys why you sound like you swallowed a zoo.” Your boss’ face turns bright red at the idea of showing up to dinner with his old classmates in his current state. He fires off a single, precise shot at the rubber door stop before you can exit the meeting room, effectively locking you in there with him until you sort out how to fix him. “So, you do want my help?” You turn to look at him with a knowingly innocent smirk, delighted to find him seething in place but reluctantly nodding. “What’s the magic word?” A single horse neigh echoes through the meeting room and you head to the whiteboard. “Alright, let’s get to work.”

You spent the next hour and a half playing a ridiculous game of charades with Bakugo after the alarming discovery that anything he tried to write would become illegible scribbles. You figured that it was just an effect of the Quirk itself, which seemed to give the user the ability to communicate with different animals without being understood by humans. If an eavesdropper managed to figure out what they were saying, the words would become unreadable on the page for further secrecy. Despite inconveniencing your boss and preventing you from leaving the office on time, it did serve as an important tool in the Quirk-stealing weapons trade you’d been investigating. The only issue now was to figure out where Bakugo was hit.

“So, you’re walking down 25th.” A nod. “And make a right on Pine?” His palm hits his forehead in frustration. “No, no, not right. A left, towards 24th.” Another nod. “And that-that alley, by the coffee shop with the good strawberry milk teas?” More aggressive nodding. “That’s where you got hit? With the dart?” He slams his hand on the desk, nodding furiously. You stare at him, slightly in disbelief as you pull out a rolling chair and slump into it. “How the hell did you get pulled into that alley?”

“Someone was screaming for help and I’m a hero so I go help them, I don’t fucking know.”

“Dolphin again,” you smirk and he rolls his eyes. “But, really. You don’t ever go that route since it’s too out of the way from where your patrol ends. What were you doing on that side of town?” He pauses, his mouth drawn into a tight line and his eyebrows drawn as he searches for an explanation in his brain. Truth be told, he had no idea what possessed him to take that route back to the office. All he could recall were snapshots, little Polaroids of information that, if he pieced them together, made a relatively cohesive explanation. He’d snapped at you unfairly, a common snap of his temper, but the hurt on your face affected him more than he was willing to admit. Something bothered him about your tense expression and it continued to bother him when he was out of the office and kicking villains into the dirt. It seemed like instinct was the only reason why he headed in the direction of the cafe with the strawberry milk he knew you liked. “Well?”

He blinks at you once, twice, and then stands abruptly and swings open the door. You watch him through the room’s tall windows as he enters his private office briefly and exits with a cardboard drink holder. A minute later, a plastic cup with the taut seal unbroken is unceremoniously set in front of you, along with a large straw to suck up the extra strawberry bits he knew you always ordered.

“What is this?”

“What does it look like, idiot?”

“I know it looks like a drink, but why did you get it for me?” His eyes widen with the idea that you could understand him again, but you’re quick to shut him down. “And no, I can’t understand you yet. Right now, you’re a tiger.” You half expect him to launch the other drink, something brown sugar looking, at the wall; instead, he pulls out the chair next to you and stabs his straw into the plastic, gesturing for you to do the same. You obey hesitantly, eyeing him curiously as he avoids your questioning expression. “Thank you.” He huffs, something you’ve learned is the only response he gives to gratitude. “You really didn’t need to do this.”

“I hurt your fucking feelings, of course I needed to.” You’re staring at him again, you and your pretty eyes and kind smile and uncanny ability to withstand even his most fiery temper tantrums. He’d discovered his feelings for you months ago and it was like a speed bump was put in front of him every time you were near, always making him trip or say something stupid. Bakugo was never known to be good with his words or his feelings, but you made him feel so warm inside that he’d be a fool to deny what it was. “I guess it’s good that you can’t understand me right now because I can vent about how stupid you make me feel.” You hum, a fond glint catching in your eye.

“That’s a new one. You’re a chicken right now.” You laugh and he can feel his forehead get airy, like he’d chugged three sojus. What he felt was sweeter, though, without the bitter taste that always followed alcohol. To him, you were pure light.

“Makes sense, ‘cause I’m too much of a dumbass to tell you how much I care about you. Fuckin’ idiot.”

“You sure have a lot to say, boss. Go on and let me pretend I’m on a poultry farm.” You take another sip of your drink and close your eyes, appreciating his unexpected gift. “A much needed vacation, in my opinion.”

“There you go again with your stupid sarcasm and your stupid laugh. You’re insufferable, you know that? Always making me run around in circles because I don’t know what I’m fucking doing around you.” You raise your eyebrows melodramatically and nod at him slowly, still having no idea what he’s trying to communicate. “You’re lucky you’re pretty because if you were anyone else, I’d fucking deck them right now.” Your attention shoots to him but gives no indication that you comprehended what he just said, so he goes on. “I wanna take you out to dinner sometime, but I think I’m a little too proud to admit how much I like you. Fucking hell, you don’t know what you do to me.”

“Hey, boss?”

“The fuck do you want?”

“The Quirk wore off,” you breathe, in complete shock from what he just unknowingly confessed to you. You’d be less surprised if he’d told you that he murdered his way up to the top three. “You started speaking normally when you said,” you pause to try to slow your racing pulse in your ears, “that I was pretty.” You sneak a look at him out of the corner of your eye to find him bright red and mirroring your wide-eyed expression. “I guess the effects wore off pretty fast?”

“Yep,” he forces out. “Must have.”

“You really think I’m pretty?”

“It’s why I got you the fucking drink, stupid,” he mumbles, still examining the shiny wood of the table. “Didn’t want you to be sad.” An idea pops into your head and you shrug, leaning nonchalantly back into your chair. You can feel his eyes watching you, reading your body language.

“I know something that would make me less sad.”

“Oh, yeah? What’s that?” You shrug and let the corner of your mouth turn up, brushing a stray blonde hair from his face. You didn’t think it was possible to turn such a deep shade of pink and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t amused by how miserable he looked.

“Take me out to dinner,” you reply, chuckling at the way his nostrils flare. “Repeat all the stuff you said while you were speaking zookeeper. Beside the love confession, of course. I understood that pretty well.”

“God, you’re ridiculous,” he mutters, grabbing your hand and dragging you out of the office. “Next time I get you that strawberry milk, you’ll be there with me. Then we’ll both have that stupid quirk.”

“Mmm, great. We can both tell each other how much we like each other while speaking dolphin.”

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#bakugo x you #bakugo x reader #bakugo x y/n #bakugo katsuki x you #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x y/n #mha x you #mha x reader #mha x y/n #bnha x you #bnha x reader #bnha x y/n #mha fluff #bnha fluff

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