#and the way it hinted the skull was coming back at the same time she got the necklace is perfect

[gilbertscarrot]

finally, finally finished reading the empty grave and now i don't know what to do with myself

[ozzgin]

Santa baby are you really there?!

*hears a voice in my backyard*

FUCK SKIN WALKER

- you make Yan skinwalker i’ll do anything to get a skin walker to love me … yes I am 100% mentally stable

I'm not sure if you had something horror-esque in mind, because my immediate idea was Reader accidentally getting cursed and continuing her life completely unaware with a ""dog"" everyone is freaked out by, but she finds it cute. So more like dark comedy vibes. You be the judge. :D

Disclaimer: I have changed the name to Shapeshifter as to not delve into potentially offensive takes on native folklore. Thank you for informing my European ass.

Yandere!Monster x Reader [Shapeshifter]

On your last hiking trip, you've stumbled upon a helpless, lost dog. Or rather, it stalked you down to your cabin and spent the night in front of your window. You didn't have the heart to abandon the poor soul and so you brought it home with you. Strange things have been happening ever since and no one knows how to tell you that the monstrous coyote-like creature might be to blame. You're oblivious to everything.

Content: female reader, dark comedy, monster romance, reader is cursed and proud

It wasn't your intention to return home with a new pet. Some might say it was written in the stars, this fateful encounter of yours. You had finished packing your supplies for a day-long hike, vehemently refusing to join your group of friends that would be guided around by a native. They’d warned you many areas of the mountainous forest were supposedly cursed or haunted, so you just scribbled the limits on your makeshift map and promised to stay on the main trails. After all, this was your chance to commune with nature. As the sun begun to set, you wondered if going by yourself was indeed a smart idea, given your lack of spatial awareness and difficulty to navigate maps. You flipped the piece of paper several times, deep in contemplation. Could it be that you’ve reached the forbidden lands? You quickly surveyed the area: based on the stuffed rag dolls hanging from old branches, and the animal skulls arranged in patterns among patches of burnt grass, it was very much a possibility. Perhaps the improvised slab that said “Stay away” in dripping crimson letters should’ve been enough of a warning, but you assumed they’d just been creative with trail markers.

You didn’t have the time to panic. Just as you were furrowing your eyebrows in a final attempt to decipher the map (at the time upside-down), your ears picked up a faint shuffle of leaves. Further away stood a dog, its glossy eyes fixated on your form. A lost puppy? It seemed to be on the larger side, but then again some breeds grow rather fast. You lowered yourself and patted your knees, whispering diminutives in an effort to call the animal over. It remained in place, staring quietly. Alright, then. You focused on finding your way back instead. Every now and then you'd turn back and see the dog, motionlessly eyeing you at a constant distance. Oh, dear. Was it lost? Frightening affair.

Back at the cabin you told the others about your discovery, with a hint of worry in your voice. You hoped the little pup had found proper shelter. You'd expected a similar reaction coming from your friends, but one of them suggested: "What if it was some shapeshifting monster? There's many legends and stories from the area." Everyone laughed and you joined hesitantly, mildly annoyed by the lack of empathy. That night you barely slept, twisting and turning under the heavy feeling of being watched. You woke up tired and nervous, dragging your feet towards the window for some fresh air. That's when you saw the same forest creature, fully awake and tall in its glory, positioned before your room. This was no coincidence. You had been plagued by the guilt of abandoning a vulnerable quadruped and you weren't about to continue as a passive observer. You strode out without a word and lifted the large dog with a huff, carrying it back in to figure out the transport logistics.

Thus started the unexpected companionship. To you, it's a lovely tale of two lost souls finding one another. Most people seem to disagree. Can you blame them? The rescued puppy you often speak of is, in the eyes of everyone else, a monstrous beast by all definitions. It resembles a coyote more than a dog, but even this description is too gentle. The fur is always raised threateningly and the protruding clusters of fangs remind one of the anatomical anomalies displayed in museums. The eyes, oh, the worst of all perhaps, bottomless depths that pull you in until you run out of air. The creature stares with the all-knowing gaze of a human. "Don't be rude", you snap at whoever dares to point these details out. "It must be a mixed breed or something."

Their persistence is truly ridiculous. You've even had guests run out in panic, claiming the dog stood on its back legs and whispered in a language unknown. Or that its shadow would morph into a grotesque man with claws and crooked antlers. Or that they've found it hunched over your sleeping form, its spine twisted outwards with jagged peaks breaking through the wild fur. Rubbish, all of it.

Strange things have been happening, no doubt, but your adopted fur-child has no blame to carry. You've been trying to distract yourself, going on dates and occasionally bringing potential suitors over. They all vanish overnight, nonchalantly leaving an empty, ruffled bed for you to wake up to. "Am I just unlucky?" You sigh, running your fingers through the coarse fur of your dog. It lowers itself under your touch, visibly enjoying the affection. For a split second, it glances out the window. By the time you come out of your depressed slump, the birds should've finished feeding on the remains. He made sure to tear and grind everything fine enough to not leave any marks behind.

That's how curses work, after all. He didn't expect, however, that you'd be utterly unaware of it. He has to give you the credit, not many people become stalked by an ancient curse and continue their life in blissful ignorance. Even more, for them to just casually pick up the haunting entity and bring it inside their home willingly...You're, uh, certainly a special one. Hence the change of plans. He was supposed to torment you into an early grave, but he's grown rather attached to your bizarre antics. And you do provide some damn good chin scratches. He's therefore satisfied with causing anguish and destruction to anything and anyone in your immediate vicinity instead. Since you've been complaining about the resulting isolation...

You wake up with a gasp, wiping your drenched forehead and checking the sheets. The dog is curled next to you, although its head is now tilted in your direction. "O-oh. It might be the loneliness talking...but I had the strangest dream." How troubling and embarrassing. Your beloved pet had turned into a deformed, monstrous man instead, pinning you down and hungrily grazing your skin with his sharp teeth. Your fearful protests eventually turned into shameless moans, your frail body at the mercy of the mysterious beast. It unfolded so vividly that your core feels sore. You stretch a sheepish hand towards your pet and abruptly stop halfway, noticing the marks diffused into your wrist, like violet smudges of watercolor. What the hell did you do last night?

The dog buries its head under the sheets and nuzzles its snout into your soft flesh. Heh. How many more disappearing guests will be needed for you to figure out your situation? He does find your obliviousness terribly amusing, as well as your willingness to clutch onto him despite his unsightly appearance. He was feeling particularly cheeky and thought of giving you a little scare, only to be once again taken aback by your neediness. He has to wonder who exactly is trapped in this situation, because your reactions to everything he does are frighteningly tempting. Maybe tonight he'll finally let you know, just as you're about to come undone beneath his heaving body. Something like, hmmm. "By the way, love, this isn't a dream." He could even add a little "woof" to tease you more.

[pen-and-umbra]

The second episode of the Remake, FF7 Rebirth, has proven to be a terrific experience thus far. SE obviously made a few big decisions here and there.

It is seemingly implied now that Jenova wasn't "brain-dead", and it is hinted that Sephiroth was addled during his breakdown.

It all begins with a strategically placed cut, when Sephiroth touches the door bearing the name Jenova and instructs "Cloud" to close the valve. The scene is merely functional for new fans, yet leaves a vacant space that Crisis Core players will quickly fill in with the inferred arrival of Genesis. Smart move that, leaving the interpretation to the player. Whether Genesis exists inside the Remake's continuity or not, the moment reads differently to each fan. Quite frankly, I was half-expecting “Cloud” to come across a banora apple, rolling on the floor, but I suppose that would be telling.

What's remarkable is that they give Sephiroth almost identical symptoms to those that Cloud has in the remake. Glitches and odd headaches superimpose themselves nicely over the original Crisis Core scene. And, as much as I loathe Tyler Hoechlin's acting in the game, he lends a tangible sense of rage to Sephiroth's disparaging remarks about Hojo and his experiments. You can hear the hatred, a touch of pity, and disgust directed at Hojo's work and the creatures he tortured. In Crisis Core, he refers to the test subjects as “abominations” with the same touch of bitterness.

Back to the point: glitches, pupil dilations, and headaches are visual cues for Jenovaroth's influence or proximity, as shown in the first part of the Remake. However, at this point, Sephiroth is still sane — cracking, but still himself — so the only agent who can exert influence on him is, well, Jenova.

Now, a widely established fan hypothesis maintained that Jenova was brain-dead or comatose. Bodily functions sustained, but brain activity plateaued. Rebirth, however, strangely suggests otherwise.

When "Cloud" returns to Sephiroth in the manor's basement for the second time, Sephiroth recites an excerpt from a journal purportedly written by Professor Gast: 

“The specimen, found in a strata dating back two thousand years, smiled with what could only be described as 'ethereal grace'… Though the truth eluded me at first, I later determined that she was an Ancient - or a 'steward of the planet', as they are referred to in legend”. 

Remembering the battles with Jenova Dreamweaver and Jenova Emergent, the creature is far from "graceful" or "ethereal". There is nothing graceful about her figure in the tube either, and she is not smiling. The game goes out of its way to lampshade the glaring contradiction by showing the flashes of Jenova’s fanged skull and grotesque body as Sephiroth quotes the passage. So how could Gast perceive her as such?.. The answer is most likely found in Jenova Dreamweaver's description given in Ultimania: the entity has the ability to induce hallucinations in individuals who come into proximity with it, which is further corroborated by Jenova Emergent description.

An ancient lifeform that Shinra Company has kept under strict confidentiality. Those who come into contact can have their conscience interfered as well as see illusions. Professor Hojo has dedicated half of his life to researching Jenova, and within the Shinra Company building's top floors lies a secret research center called the "Dome," where Jenova's cells are injected into lifeforms or machinery to conduct experiments. (Ultimania)

Gast even writes that “the truth eluded him at first”, but LATER he determines the specimen belonged to the race of Ancients, as if that answer was suggested. The implication is chilling: Jenova may have purposefully misled Gast in order to present itself as an Ancient. As Sephiroth later explains in the FF7Rb, Jenova is capable of seeing deep into one's soul and impersonating individuals you fear, love, or hate.

If ShinRA and Gast were determined to unravel the mysteries of Ancients and their Promised Land, it would make sense for Jenova to "scan" Gast and determine the best course of action: disguise itself as an Ancient in order to escape captivity in geological strata jail.

The scene in which Sephiroth reads Gast's notes is possibly the final time he is more or less himself, before Jenova's image intermingles with his for a brief moment. Again, I appreciate Tyler's voice acting in this particular section and the real rage he brought to it. Admittedly, I was concerned that with next-gen visuals, they would take a more gruesome approach, displaying Sephiroth conducting the Nibelheim carnage with sadistic pleasure, but they took a different route. Slow, zombie-like movements, and a glassy expression.

He speared the militiamen as casually as if he were spearing bugs, which is far more frightening from a narrative point. What jumped out was how they emphasized the possessed-like behavior: from snarling and flailing the book like a suffering person to an empty countenance and automaton-like strides, as if he was being beckoned. Which is what "Mother is waiting" implies.

The final segment of the Nibelheim flashback is likely the most essential as well. According to previous developer claims, Sephiroth's will took precedence over Jenova's, and he was in control — whether Jenova was brain-dead or simply of lesser willpower.  However, the Rebirth appears to suggest something different right off the bat. First, "Cloud" shouts, "I believed in you… No… Not you — whoever the hell you are!", highlighting the significant personality change and the resulting lack of recognition. But then "Cloud" sees Jenova's image superimposed over that of Sephiroth in a rapid, glitch-like succession.

In other words, he sees Jenova inhabiting Sephiroth's body as a vehicle to once again escape the confinements. Whatever that means, whether it suggests that Jenova is in control from the start, or whether Sephiroth is literally the greatest functional agglomeration of her cells, and therefore literally “becomes” Jenova. 

If Jenova's original body was severely damaged — either as a result of eons of incarceration or Hojo's tinkering — it stands to reason that, if she wished to carry out her plan, she would need a new body, one capable of moving at the very least. Perhaps Sephiroth, an able-bodied skilled Mako-infused fighter of considerable might, served as a better "vessel" than her original damaged one. 

But the crux of the matter lies elsewhere. The possibility of Jenova being conscious and influencing Gast is very terrifying. With the potential to affect others in close vicinity, she may have influenced the minds of the whole science team behind the Jenova Project, particularly those who had long-term contact with her tissue — Gast and Hojo. It could turn out that the whole idea to revive an “Ancient” was planted by Jenova in order to grow itself a powerful host. In fact, if it could "peer into one's soul," i.e. read minds and memories, it might have easily identified a pressure point to indoctrinate people who could forward her objective. It's one thing to inject tissue samples into an adult body; it's quite another to devise a plan to inject cells into a developing human fetus. Who knows. Perhaps Hojo is such an obsessed Jenova nutcase in large part because he fell under its spell; feelings of inadequacy and being overshadowed by his colleague may have offered a crack in his defenses.

One that Jenova easily took advantage of. After all, as Dirge of Cerberus implies, Hojo ended up implanting himself with alien organic material.

Again, Jenova's power to extract information from an individual when in proximity supports a bleak reading of the events leading up to Nibelheim's ransacking. A person who kept on carrying a photograph of his supposedly late mother and badgered others about his background, as suggested by Ever Crisis episodes, was literally wearing his weakness on a sleeve.

Perhaps the 30-something years of the Jenova Project were supposed to bring Sephiroth there.

Perhaps the chain of events had been nudged in that direction, starting from the very discovery of a derelict non-human lifeform. Nudged by an intelligence both cunning and incomprehensible. And that makes Jenova a much, much scarier presence in the remake than it was ever suggested in OG.

[jackactuallywrites]

Purely Professional

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Female Medic Reader

Rating: Mature (nothing too explicit but dick is hinted at)

Warnings: Ghost has a boo boo 😔 (blood, facial injury - split cheek and bruising)

Summary: You are the only medic Ghost trusts to treat him. Also you guys are friends with benefits!

Notes: Yes I do always headcanon Ghost with a broken nose. It’s HOT. Also I’m cleaning out the drafts

Word Count: 1,712

ao3 link

“He’s here.”

You didn’t need to ask to know who the other medic was talking about, nodding thanks to the medic as she left, and you quickly finished up with the young woman you were patching up, “You can take ibuprofen as needed, no more than two pills at a time, and space out the dosage to every four hours.” You wrinkle your nose, “I mean, you know how to take ibuprofen, just basic over-the-counter stuff. But come back if there’s any problems.” She nods, “Thanks, Doc.” You weren’t sure how many times you’d specified the difference between a combat medic and a military doctor, but at this point, it wasn’t worth the air, so you just nodded, gesturing for her to take her leave, “Anytime.” She grabbed the pillbox and made her way out of the room, leaving you to clean up the empty wrappings, tossing them into the nearby bin. You tore off the paper that was covering the bed, binning it as well and then rolling out another cover, making sure everything was fresh and clean. When you were satisfied, you walked out of the room into the waiting room, your eyes immediately landing on the one man who didn’t need to be named.

Ghost.

The intensity of his gaze was intimidating, his dark eyes glowering from underneath the skull mask as though he wanted nothing more than to take down every single person who dared to breathe the same air as him. At this point, the other medics had learned that he wouldn’t accept their help, refusing to utter even a single word until you were free. You leaned against the frame of the door that led into the hallway, beckoning him with a jerk of your head. He rose from his seat, seeming to dwarf everyone else around him as he walked through the room toward you, brushing past you without a word and striding straight into the open examination room, the cold silence seeming to emanate off him like a tangible aura, visibly affecting those around him, the other medics shrinking away from him as he passed.

You followed him into the room, closing the door behind you, “So, what can I help you with today, Lieutenant?” He sat down on the bed in the room, resting one forearm on his thigh, gesturing with the other hand to his face, consistently a man of few words. You stepped closer to him, “You’re going to have to give me a little more than that.” He grunted, reaching up to take off his helmet, setting it on the bed beside him, and then unclipping the skull mask, revealing the balaclava underneath. Finally, he pulled off the balaclava, revealing his clipped blond hair, and then his face, bruised and bloody, his cheek split open, blood already dried to his skin. His eyes, thankfully untouched, the black paint surrounding them unmarred, were on you, boring into your face as he watched you.

You didn’t waste time, reaching out to probe his face, your fingers gently holding onto his chin as you turned his head from side to side, inspecting the damage. It looked worse than it was; facial injuries always bled more, and though he tensed when you gently pressed his cheek, there was no sign of anything broken. After taking a moment just to be sure, you drew back from him, walking to the medical cupboard and taking out an antiseptic wipe, talking as you did, “You won’t need stitches.” He grunted, and you took this as permission to begin wiping the blood away from his face.

“So,” you began, always one to make idle chitchat as you worked, “who did you piss off this time?” Ghost watched you, his face solemn, searching your eyes before he responded, his voice barely more than a whisper, “Couple guys.” You smiled as you brushed the wipe over his split skin, “You know if you want to see me, you only have to ask.”

All the tension in his face seemed to ease then, his eyes softening as he looked up at you, “I know.” You took this as permission, gently nudging his legs open so you could stand in between them, closing the distance between you, allowing him to reach out in his own time, and after a brief moment, he did, his hands reaching out to gently rest on your hips, his fingers hesitant, still unused to the intimacy you shared. You cleaned up the rest of the blood on his cheek, giving him time to get used to your close proximity as you brought out a small plaster to cover his wound. In a moment of impulsivity, you pressed a gentle kiss to his damaged cheek, your reward his sharp intake of breath and the tightening of his fingers on your hips, pulling you closer toward him.

“You know,” you began, letting your hands rest on his shoulders, “the other medics are going to think you’re sweet on me.” Ghost let his face rest in the crook of your neck, his voice low, muffled by your shoulder, “I’m not sweet.” You smiled, letting your fingers trace over from his shoulders to the back of his neck, “No? What would you call this?” “Desperate.”

There was no mistaking the longing in his voice, the yearning, the way his fingers pulled you closer to him until your body was pressed against his. Already, his fingers were pulling at your shirt, just like he’d done so many times before, secretive fumbles in whatever vehicle or armoury was nearest, all beginning with some injury he only allowed you to treat, all ending with you wrapped up in his arms. You smiled, shifting one hand to stop his fingers on their insistent path underneath your shirt, “I think they’ll notice if I spend forty minutes in here with you.” Ghost didn’t seem entirely put off by the idea, his face tilting up as his lips began to move over your neck, gently nipping at the skin, his voice husky, “You love this being our dirty little secret, don’t you?”

It was impossible for you to lie to him; after all, he was special forces; no doubt he could sniff out every last secret of yours if he truly wanted to. His hand was already moving from your hip up to your cheek, forcing you to look at him as he pulled away from your neck, his pale eyes searching yours, “Admit it.” Every part of you seemed desperate to touch and be touched by him, and you held back a groan, “Yes. Which is why we can’t do anything in here.” His lips quirked in a smirk, “We wouldn’t want them to think you give this treatment to everyone.” You smiled, “I am supposed to be a professional, after all.” His thumb reached out to brush your cheek, “Couldn’t we both use a little unprofessionalism right now?”

The idea was tempting. Too tempting. You could feel those eyes of his melting away your resolve, and you shifted your weight from one foot to the other, biting the inside of your cheek, “What exactly did you have in mind?” There was a wicked look in his eyes, luring you into sin, to submit yourself to his will entirely, “What I have in mind would make too much of a mess and needs more time than we have.” You tilted your head to the side, curious, “So what do we do?” He was quiet for a moment, his eyes flicking over every single facet of your face, your eyes, your cheeks, your lips. He leaned into you, his nose bumping against yours, letting you feel that little ridge where it had been broken. His words were a murmur against your skin, softer than he ever seemed capable of, “I’ll be content with a kiss for now.”

It never seemed to make sense that a devil could be so sweet; you knew what he was capable of, you’d patched him up, you’d seen his medical records detailing what he’d been through, yet here he was, asking you for that simplest of intimacies. You obliged his simple request, leaning forward to press your lips against his, feeling the slight stubble on his skin prickle yours, his hand shifting from your cheek to the back of your neck, the one on your hip moving to the small of your back to pull you closer to him, encircling your body, his lips soft against yours, yet insistent, needy. He pulled away before you, leaning his forehead against yours, letting out a strained sigh, his hand moving from your back to his crotch, adjusting his trousers to disguise the growing bulge there. “The things you do to me.” His voice held some frustration, his fingers tightening on the back of your neck but loosening just as quickly, always in complete control of himself.

You could see the Lieutenant return, the way his back straightened, the grim determination returning to his lips. His hands fell away from your body, reaching for the balaclava and mask he’d put to the side, and you knew your time with him was coming to a close. You stepped back from him, tucking in your shirt, allowing him to resume that persona, covering his bruised face with the black balaclava and then finishing with clipping his skull mask back into place, his helmet finishing the transformation. All that remained of him were those soft eyes, out of place, surrounded by blackness. He reached up with one hand to tuck a loose hair back under your beret, his gloved fingers gently stroking against your cheek. “I’ll be seeing you.”

There was no doubt that he would find you to finish what you’d started here, but for now, he was back to business, standing up off the table and straightening out his uniform. You crossed the room to open the door for him, allowing the outside world view into your privacy, not that there was anything for them to see. He stalked past you without a word, yet as he passed, his hand reached out to gently squeeze your arse, sending tingles up your spine as he left you wanting, trying hard not to look like a lovesick dog as you watched him go.

[ddollfface]

There's just something about... a silent yandere, who's constantly overthinking, that gives me an eerie feeling. You never know what they're thinking, but you know that something's brewing in that mind of theirs, and it sure as hell isn't anything good.

They're smart, no doubt, that was clear the moment you met them. The way they hold themselves just gives off an air of natural intelligence, something they were gifted the moment they spoke their first word. And they've kept that same energy throughout their whole life, until they met you, you, you.

The moment they met you, for the first time in their life, they had no idea what they were doing. They had no control over their breathing. Their heart pound through their ribcage in a rhythmic bum, bum, bum. Their palms become sweaty and the hairs on the back of their necks begin to stand, causing their brain to go foggy and all rational thinking to go out the window. No doubt, you were something different, something they'd never encountered before. And they had no idea what to do.

You made them feel weak in the knees, and they couldn't think of a way to stop it. At first, they thought to avoid you at all costs, only to find that an ach in their chest began to form. This feeling in the pit of their stomach opened up their heart, and it burned, searing through their flesh, and they began to cry.

What the hell have you done to them, Goddamnit! All rationality wasn't found and was replaced with an insufferable need to talk to you, to touch you, and to consume you. They wanted to know everything about you; why you don't you like math? What's your favorite color? Do you want kids, they sure want your babies, if only she had a dick...

What?

What the hell is wrong with them? They must've gone mad... but they're far too gone to rationalize what they're feeling, so they decided to follow along with their heart, ignoring the impending feeling in their head, telling them to run away.

As each day passes, they grow closer, and closer to you, finding more reasons to stay near. They found that they like you, everything about you. And now, instead of wanting to run away, she wants to be as close as possible. She wants to be your best friend, the person you turn to when shit hits the fan, she wants to be your girlfriend...

If only you'd wake up and realize that your friend in fact does not want to go on a date with Javier. That she is in fact not interested in Daniel, or Owen, or Chuy, or Carlos- Goddammit! Can't you get it through your thick skull!? She wants you, you idiot!

Who knew someone so smart could be so dumb. She surely didn't because sitting here, listening to you talk, she's realized that you're utterly oblivious. For the past seven years, she's been giving you hints as to her sexuality, but instead of taking the hint and waking the hell up, you've decided that she's unlucky in love... Yeah, right... You've taken her love life into your hands and have made the decision to set her up on multiple, and I mean multiple, blind dates with far too many men to count. Each and every time the topic comes up, she tries to divert it away from her barren, and honestly sad, love life towards something far more interesting like the haircut you got last week, or the recent Kardashian drama. But nope, you don't want to hear it, instead babbling on and on about some new guy you've met, who would be the "perfect" fit for her. If only you knew... Maybe there's something about the way you seem too enthusiastic about setting her up, or the way you know so much about these men, that gets her riled up to the point where her knuckles turn white and her smile becomes taught. You're completely oblivious to the storm that's brewing, going on and on as you take a sip of your warm beverage, sitting right next to her. Her eyes drift down to your lips, which haven't stopped moving since the two of you walked into the cafe. And, without thinking, she grabs your chin, smashing your lips together, nibbling at your bottom lip. Her tongue piercing rubbing against your upper lip, asking for an entrance. And at that moment- oh You get it now.

[renren-006]

Savior | Daryl Dixion x fem reader

plot: Daryl saved you, and you want to kiss your savoir warning: slight mentions of almost taken advantage of, violence word count: 1518 a/n: I just had to write this idea!

taglist: @rosecentury

Back when the world had just ended, and things were still unknown, you were wounded around Atlanta's wooded, less populated areas. You had run from your car that got overrun, remembering the screams of your parents and the harsh pain in your ankle after you fell from the car watching them. You still struggled on your ankle; hisses escaped your lips as you walked. You had not stopped long through the days to heal or to rest, not knowing where the next undead would come for your flesh. Your jeans were worn and dirty, your red shirt now had holes, and you desperately wanted a bath. 

The day Daryl came to your rescue was the first day you had fallen asleep next to a tree with the fire embers still cooling in the morning rays. You heard the crunch and woke with a startle; there were three men watching you, all eyeing your body like a prise. 

"Well, lookie here, boys, some fresh meat for us," one of them said, toying with his belt to hide the painfully evident erection there. All three of them had one. You didn't know what to do, had nowhere to go, and knew you wouldn't make it far with your ankle.

"Please don't," you said, your voice coming out louder than you intended, maybe preying someone would hear you. 

"Aw, look at her. She's begging. I want her first," the second man said, and the others shook their heads. 

"no way she's mine," The third said, pushing his friend back before strutting twords you.

"No, No!" you said, shouting; maybe even the undead would save you. "Please!" he came to you, and you struggled to push him off. The others were smiling, ribbing their pants, and wanting their turn. 

"Hurry up, man", the first man said. Wanting the man who was trying to get your belt off to rush. That was when an arrow went through the man's skull, making his body thud against the forest floor, and then the second man went down with a knife in the head. The man on top of you looked back and gave you just enough room for you to knee his body off you. The man looked angry as you went back further, your pants even more ruined from the mud. Thankfully, your belt was still on, and your pants only ripped slightly from his strength. The man went down soon after, and two men peered around the trees twords you. 

"Hey there, girlie?" one of them asked, the same face the men had before they died. The shorter one pushed him back, walking over to you, bending down by the man, and pushing him away so you couldn't see his dead eyes. 

"We ain't goin' to hurt ya," he said, his voice soothing you from wanting to leave. "We got ya know."

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," the taller one said. 

"He ain't going to hurt you either. hands off, Merle," the man sad

"I got it", Merle said, getting the hint that I wasn't to be touched by him at all. 

"I'm Daryl, that ma brother Merle. He won't get his hands on ya," Daryl said to you, holding out a hand; this seemed to be the first act of kindness this man had shown anyone in a while, and his face read it all too well.

"You don't save many people, do you?" you asked him. He shook his head, lagging slightly.

"Nah, normally we don't run into people. ya needed help, coulden't leave" Daryl told you, gripping your hand in his as he lifted you up. "You aint got no weapons on you?"

You told him, "No… I didn't prepare for the world to end." He nodded his head. Merle looked around, noticing a few of the undead heading your way.

"We gotta move." 

That started your journey with the brothers for a few months. It was just you two. They trained you on how to hunt and how to fight, and most importantly, how to piss Merle off, so he left you alone. Daryl also made sure your ankle was looked after, and in no time, it was better. Merlemeantt, no harm to you; he was just desperate for action you never wanted to give him. Daryl became your savior and bodyguard, making sure Merle understood that would NEVER happen. 

The three of you traveled until you met others who welcomed you into their small, little mountain-top community. It was you, the brothers, some sisters, and a man named Dale for a bit. Soon, the group grew and grew, but you only hung with Daryl and cursed off Merle. 

However, the time with him on the mountain made you aware of your attraction twords Daryl, the want you craved when you were near him. You were late in your 20's20s, having experienced college before traveling home to your parents just before the world ended. In those times before Daryl, you felt like you were younger, but now you feel your age, you feel strong. For the time being, you felt strong until your group had to pack up and leave because of a walker outbreak. 

Months later, you were entering the farm, your hands wrapped around Daryl as he rode into the grounds. You were mesmerized by how quiet and large it was here. While the others were setting up, you glanced over at Daryl, who was setting his tent up a bit away from them but not so far that he was secluded. 

"You got a tent?" Carol asked. You looked back at the woman. You didn't know what you were going to do. For the past months, you had slept by Daryl and Merle, but now, you were not sure what you would do.

"She with me," Daryl said, coming over to you. You looked beside you at the man who had apparently finished setting up and had walked over. "That good?"

"Of course," you told him, smiling; he nodded and walked over to Rick and the others.

"You both need to talk about your feelings for one another," Carol told you. "I can see it clear as day."

"Carol!" you said to the woman who had become a mother of sorts to you over the months. “I…cant”

"I think you can. I think you should," she told you, patting your back and going over to the others, leaving you thinking about how exactly you could even begin to explain to Daryl how Head becomes the soul man you wanted to be with for the rest of this apocalyptic world. 

It took you weeks and weeks to gain the courage, and only after he got shot did you tell him. He was lying in that recovery bed, not able to move a lot. You came in and sat beside him. 

"Whatcha doing in 'ere," He asked you as you sat down in the chair by his bed. 

"I…needed to tell you something…" You said to him, referring to the breakfast you had only a few hours earlier, which was being eaten away by the nerves. 

"What? Ya hurt?" he asked, concern spreading fast across his face.

"No, no," you told him, "I…god, I don't think I can tell you."

"Tell me what?" he asked, his southern accent so strong inside that room that it made your head spin.

"How you've been making me feel," you started, "I just didn't. I don't want to lose you, and after you got shot, I figured I might as well tell you before you died, and I never did."

"What are ya going on about?"

"I love you, Daryl. I've loved you since you saved me, and God, I love you even more since you've shown me how to be strong in this world", you rambled to the man in the bed beside you. Your hands were in your lap, and your eyes were glued to them. 

"Y/N," Daryl said in a soft tone you had never heard from him. 

"I know I should have told you you were the man who saved me, and you probably think I'm some kid to you", you said. Worry eating at you again.

"I don't think you're some kid." he told you, "I think you're a lot more than that."

"You do? You asked, eyebrows scrunched together. 

"That first night you spent with us, I didn't sleep cause I couldn't keep my eyes off ya," he told you, "I thought you were…blessed by a god or somethin'" he told you, holding your stare; there were tears in your eyes now 

"I don't think I ever heard you talk like that," you said, smiling through the slight tears brimming your eyes. 

"Ya won't again," he told you, pulling you down to him and kissing your lips so deeply. The door behind you opened, and then the person proceeded to fall into the door.

"Finally," Carol screeched. Smiles stretched over her face, as well as Ricks', who came to check on Daryl. Finally, you got to kiss your savor after all these months.

[bettyfrommars]

Ok idk if this will spark inspiration but fluff, playing fetch with wereworlf!eddie? 🐺 😭 OR something smutty with werewolf Eddie 😏 and he’s chasing you down

This is not at all what you were thinking, I know 🙃 but this is what came to mind, and I couldn't stop.

wolfman!Eddie x Reader

18+ONLY, it's 1959, mention of cultural bias and norms for the time, sexual tension, mature themes, no mention of she/her or y/n for reader, blood, hints to being cut with glass, reader puts up a tiny bit of chase, mention of the Frankenstein family, hints to future smut, but none in this (I might do more with this Wolfman as it gets closer to fall). wc: 2.2k

A/N: this was a quick write I had fun with last night. Please forgive any typos. Love you, thank you for the creative requests and for reading!

Working the reception desk at a fancy hotel in the city had you fielding all sorts of strange requests over the years, but when Mr. Munson checked in, it was different.  

First of all, you were attracted to him which made you turn into an awkward mess.  You spilled your coffee on the ledger—had to clean that up—and then you asked him to spell his name twice, even though there were only a couple letters.  He was patient though, and charming in a mysterious way.  It’s 1959 and his suit is tailored, dark hair pulled back in a knot at the base of his neck under a gray fedora, and he wears a silver skull ring on his pinky.  It was rare to see a man with long hair in your time, in your circles, and so you stared at him a little longer than you should have.  

“Is this all I need?” He lifted the key by the metal fob and his eyebrow up to break you from your trance.

Flustered, you tried to remember which planet you were on.  “Yes, sorry, you have full amenities in your suite, living room, king bed, a 16-inch TV.  Complimentary breakfast starts at 6 AM in the dining room—”

“I have a favor to ask,” he stopped you, trying to be as polite as possible. 

He leaned in close, over the desk, and you check to the side to see that your co-worker, Janet, is busy with another guest.  

“Can you,” he glanced down at your mouth and then back to your eyes again.  “Would it be too much trouble for you to lock me in my room tonight? From the outside?”

Your first thought is, “I would do anything for you, Mr. Munson,” but then you wonder why he is asking you this, and the implication of what being locked in his room means.

Your mouth stuttered like a fish for a few moments, and then he continued.  “The moon is full tonight, you see, and I—-” he looked around again, straightening his shoulders, licking his full lips.  “If you could come around at 7:00 and lock me in, and then unlock it around the same time in the morning, I’d be much obliged to you.”

“Of course,” you finally answer, taking his key as he passes it back to you.  Your fingers grazed and you could feel the heat that radiated off of him.  “I’ll take care of you, I mean, I’ll take care of it, I’ll make sure you’re locked in until the morning.”

He adjusted his fedora, fixing a crooked smile on you.  “Have a good night,” he said, and then he winked, picking up his suitcase before turning to head down the hall to the elevators.  

You watched the clock as you checked in other guests early that evening, and when it was time, you made your way up to the 12th floor to lock Mr. Munson in his room, just as he’d requested.  There was a food tray in the hall next to his door, letting you know that he’d ordered room service.  You hesitated for a second at the door, leaning in to press your ear to the cool wood, to see if you could hear any signs of distress. The only noise that came was the low laughter of a comedy show on the TV.  You put the big key in the lock and turned it, and it made a loud metal on metal clanking noise.  You rapped your knuckle a few times softly, “all secure for the night, Mr. Munson.  Sleep well.”

Inside the room, Eddie was yanking his tie off, removing his cufflinks, and unbuttoning his shirt, staring out the window up at the gathering gloom when he heard the door lock.  He held his breath while he waited for what you would say, his head turned to one side, heartbeat strong in his neck, and then he exhaled, ready to wait out the rest of the nightmare with staunch resolve.

An hour later, a huge fruit basket decked out with cheeses and an expensive bottle of wine showed up for Mr. Munson.  A courier set it down in front of Janet at the opposite end of the counter while you were working on something else.  You heard the courier say Mr. Munson’s name, and then you watched Janet pick up the basket with both hands and head off toward the elevators.

“Where are you going with that?” You called after her, smiling your forgiveness to the other guests nearby.  You came out from around the desk and met her in the middle of the reception area.  

Janet was young and she looked very nervous, eyes wide as if she were about to be scolded.  “This came-came for M-M-Mister Munson and I was just taking it up to his—”

“Mr. Munson asked not to be disturbed this evening,” you told her.  “I’ll take it.  You check-in the Parson family, please.”

Janet handed the heavy wicker basket full of crinkly cellophane over to you without argument, and you stood there for a few beats, trying to plan your move. Finally, alone in the service elevator, curiosity got the better of you, and you decided to read the card inside the small envelope:

Dearest Edward,

I’m so please you’ve made the journey, especially under

the circumstances.  Excited to talk with you about what

I’ve been working on when we meet for lunch tomorrow.

Sincerely,

Lawrence Frankenstein 

A shiver ran down your spine.  Lawrence was the great great grandson of Victor Frankenstein, the one famous for reanimating dead tissue and reviving the first Monster. He was in town that week offering guest lectures at the university.  You slipped the card back in the envelope and tucked it back where it had been between the wine bottle and the banana.  

From experience, you knew that the courier was guilty of being late with the basket.  It should’ve been in Mr. Munson’s room by the time he checked in.  You decided you would knock and let him know about it, just in case it was something he had been expecting.

When the elevator dinged and you stepped into the hallway of his floor, you heard a crash, like a glass breaking, and your ears followed the sound, pointing you in the direction of Mr. Munson’s room.  With tension in your face, you stumbled to hold the basket in one arm while you found your skeleton key.  

In front of his door, you heard a strangled cry, as if someone were choking, and you strained to listen.  There came the sigh of heavy, labored breathing, and then something that sounded like a shoe hit the door with force, making you jump back, almost fumbling the basket.  

A bit of fear lodged in your throat, but you cleared it, and squared your shoulders.  You rapped on the door a few times, “Mr. Munson? I’m sorry if it’s a bad time, but a basket came for you.  I wouldn’t have bothered you, but it should’ve been here hours ago, and so I wanted to—-”

The other side of the door became eerily silent.  

You continued.  “I know you requested not to be disturbed, but I don’t want to leave this out in the hall where someone can take it, so here’s what I’m going to do—-” you waited for some type of acknowledgement, but nothing came, not even the sound of footsteps.  “---I’m going to open the door just enough to slide it in, and then lock you up again, okay? We don’t even have to see each other.”

Nothing, not a peep.

You closed your eyes and counted to three in your head, and then clicked open the lock and turned the knob with a creak.  You set the basket on the floor, about to push it in with your foot, when you glanced up to see the bathroom door was open.  The vanity mirror was shattered, and blood dripped down from the broken shards into the sink, as if it had been broken with a body part.  

Your heart raced, fearing for his safety, and before you could stop yourself, you were pushing the door open to step all the way in, knocking the basket over.  “Mr. Munson, are you okay? Do you need me to call the—-”

On your way to the bathroom, you heard the door shut behind you.

You turned, about to say his name again, but then what you saw made you shriek and stumble back, hand flying up to cover your mouth, the key plopping to the carpet. 

Mr. Munson stood in front of the closed door now, blocking your exit, but he was no longer the man you remembered.  He wore his shirt unbuttoned and untucked, suspenders hanging down the sides of his trousers, and his dark hair fell long over his shoulders, messy and wild.  His once chocolate brown eyes seemed to glow gold, pointed incisors jutted down into his bottom lip, and his body was covered in….

Hair? Fur? It covered his exposed skin almost entirely; down his hands that now had pointed claws for nails, and up his belly and chest to his neck, along his cheeks.  You noticed that his feet were bare, and they were also furry with the tips of slightly curled, pointed claws.

His chest went up and down as he heaved, gold eyes narrowing on you.  “You should’ve never come back here,” he growled, sweat glistening on his brow.  “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”  His eyes clenched shut, as if in a grimace of pain, and his head dropped back against the door.

Your brain lost all function for a moment and a few noises came out of your mouth, but no words.  A few drops of blood dripped to the cream carpet at his feet from the knuckles of his right hand.  You looked around at the broken vase shattered on the ground, and the way one of the sofa cushions had been ripped to shreds, and you gulped, realizing he would probably kill you.  Especially now that you knew what he was.

In a split second, you remembered the adjoining door in his bedroom that led out to the emergency exit.  It was locked to the guests, but you could open it with your key, and if you could manage to get over there before he—-

You took your chance, dropping down to grab the key, and then bolting for the other room.  Eddie followed, matching your movements. You were hyperventilating, trying to aim the key in the hole for the emergency door when he snarled and bound across the bed on all fours like a feral beast, breaching the distance in no more than a second.  

He dropped down next to you in a crouch, and then rose to full height, a low growl purring deep in his chest.  He had both of your wrists pinned against the wall above your head before you knew what was happening.  He bared his teeth, dripping with a string of saliva, his pupils pinned, searching your face.

“I can’t be trusted right now, like this,” he hissed, swallowing.  “With you.”

There was no mistaking your arousal, but then there was also a fight going on inside, a voice saying you absolutely should not like this.

“I won’t tell anyone that I know about you,” you promised.  “It will be our secret.”

Eddie shifted so that he was holding both of your wrists together with one hand while the other came down, one claw dragging gently across your cheek and neck.   You noticed that his pupils began to open, pooling black within the gold irises.  

“Do you want me to let you go?” He shifted his head back to look at you, running the tip of his tongue along one of his teeth, desire blooming in every pore, setting his hairs on end.  

“No, not really,” you mewed, exhilarated but also afraid of your desire. 

Eddie lowered his head, running his nose and his mouth against the side of your face and your neck, inhaling long sniffs, taking in your scent, making animalistic noises.  Your eyelids fluttered at the way his tongue darted out to taste your skin a few times, at the feel of the fur on his cheek that brushed soft at your jaw.

He let your arms go and you brought your hands to his shoulders, slipping them inside his shirt to rest on the sides of his neck, pinching the hair between your fingers, finding his gaze again. “Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Munson?”

“You can call me Eddie,” he scratched his claws along your jaw, thumb crossing down your mouth to pull your lips apart.  “And you can let me taste you.”

His eyes glowed like someone lit a fire behind them, and outside, somewhere nearby in the moonlit night, a wolf howled.

[epilogue-and-prologue]

Blue Moon

Fandom: The Lord of the Rings (movies) Ship/Pairing: Eomer x Reader (one mention of reader wearing a dress) Trope: Noble x Humble worker Note: IT’S SOTWK’s FAULT. We talked about Eomer’s hands and here we are. The title « Blue Moon » is a reference to the song « Blue Moon », my favourite rendition being sung by Ella Fitzgerald. Warnings: Horses? Word count: 1 595 Tag-list: @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @middleearthpixie @glassgulls @evenstaredits @fizzyxcustard @sotwk

There was something hypnotising about his hands.

The way his palm moved along the planes of the horse’s back. They were delicate. Deliberate in their care for the animal. Several times today, you had caught your gaze lingering a little too long on his slender fingers and their dexterity. Several times you had wondered what they’d feel like against your skin, in your hair weaving braids during a quiet evening. Those were fairy tales. You did not dwell on them, even when it kept you up at night; heat clinging to your skin, the chilly wind doing nothing to help your wandering mind.

It seemed to appease his uneasy nature to come here. He would go in the early hours of the day, only to come back in the middle of the morning. To the outside world, he was a leader. Someone they could trust and follow into depths unknown. Here, he was only Eomer. You considered yourself lucky to have witnessed both.

Others were concerned by his willingness to spend so much more time with you instead of them. You had dismissed them easily enough, but the thought had lingered. Why was he only asking you to help him? A bucket, water, hay, a brush for the horse’s mane. You were not willing to fathom an answer, especially if it was the wrong one. Seeing him like this it made you happy enough. You were content with this, whatever this was.

From time to time, he would ask about your day and you would always answer the same things. Fine and good. Excellent, perfect or grand. Never would you have said what you wanted to say. That it was him who made those days fine, and good and excellent and perfect and grand. Until meeting him, working with horses had been your life’s dream, and you were fulfilled by it. When he was there, you weren’t so sure anymore. It felt as if all of him was completing what you had and did not know you were missing.

“What are you thinking about?”

Barely above a whisper, his question lingered in the air between the two of you, almost as if he had not meant to ask it aloud. He was still working his fingers through the hair, looking beyond the horse’s back, away from you. If he had looked at you, you could have traced a lingering hint of a pinkish hue on his cheeks.

A chilly breeze rose, and you had to tighten the cloth around your shoulder, crossing your arms close to your chest.

“Nothing important, Sire.”

A laugh echoed through the wooden box around you.

“Then why are you boring a hole in my skull with your staring?”

Your cheek felt warmer than they had been moments ago.

“I didn’t mean to disturb you, sire. If you need me to go, I… — No. Stay.”

Eomer had not meant for his voice to grow this loud. Nor to turn around so abruptly. The nerves in him, electrified by your eyes, led him to act so.

It had grown almost suddenly, this affection he had for you. First, you were something to behold. Once he discovered your face, your features, the way you moved and talked, he only ever wanted you to be near him when the mask fell off. When he could be himself and not who he was supposed to be. Second, you never pressured him into talking, going silent for hours on end, just being there with him and Lia. She was not his usual horse. He preferred not to overexert Firefoot, especially after the events he had seen on the battlefields. You were the one to care for her when he could not, even before he started mounting her. The mare had a gentler temper, dark robe and larger body. She adored you and if instincts served him right, animals were always the true tellers of someone’s nature. Thirdly, and lastly, your presence calmed him like no one else could. Except when you were threatening to leave. Or when you were looking at him, behind his back. He never wanted you to stop looking at him like that. When your eyes were observing and kind on him, his weary body and his weary mind, he felt that he could take on another thousand wars just to find you here again, safe and sound, watching him. He only hoped you could say the same about him.

“As you wish, Sire.”

The goosebumps on your arms and the way you protected yourself from the cold struck him then. With the winds of winter approaching, the weather had gone incredibly cold, and you were only wearing a thin linen above your usual dress and robes. He stepped out of the box, coming closer to you as he’d ever been. He grabbed for a cover lying around. Those were used for the horses but they’d have to do. He wrapped it around you, as tight as he could. It smelled of the stables and hay. A hint of pink shattered across his cheekbones in the morning lights. Your breaths were leaving your lips in hot clouds between you. The way he settled his palms on your shoulders, securing the cloth around you, drove a whole different kind of shiver down your spine. You could feel his fingers over the fabric, his overexerted hands catching some threads, before he took them off you, gently. You could not help the sharp inhale you took when he did.

“Would not want you freezing to death on my account.”

His smile did not reach his eyes, but you felt the warmth it procured you down to your toes. At a loss for words, you smiled in return, trying to hide your face. Your arms were still secured against your chest but your heart was not as protected as you had hoped it would be.

In a thoughtless step, Eomer leaned down and brought his lips to your cheek. He could feel the burn of them under his skin. The way you looked up at him, bewildered and hopeful, brows knitted together in confusion, only made his mouth ache for more. Still, he would not do it unless you said so. He had already overstepped and behaved un-gallantly enough. Hence his surprise when he found your hands gripping at his lapel, obviously not willing to let him go. A soft curve graced his mouth, a pleasant feeling growing in him.

“Can I…?”

Your vigorous nodding let him know exactly what he wanted. Only then did he pull you closer, his hands drawing you in, the warmth you felt from his lips and the tenderness with which his fingers nestled against your jaw below your ears, enough to make you forget about the world around. Delicately, his mouth danced with yours, eager to please and swift to do so. Soon, his wide hand drew you in, pulling you at the waist. Your fingers met his heart through cloth and flesh and bones, beating in a rhythm only known to you both.

“I…”

You bit your lip while you could see him observing you through hooded eyes, his fingertips sending shivers down your arms. He was tracing the hollow of your cheek with his knuckles, leaving you breathless once more. He looked as if he had seen the most marvellous creature in the entire world. You could not believe it was you on the other end of that fantasy.

“I… do not know what to say… I… — Then you don’t need to say anything.”

His fingers found their way down the length of your throat. He looked positively charmed, yet you pulled back, hesitant. What if this had been… just a fling? Just something he could do, just because he wanted to. No other reason. No feelings involved. What if he was playing with you?

“I will. — What?”

He chuckled at your incredulous expression.

“I will say something. — Oh.”

He brought you back to him again, kissing your cheek.

“I…” He kissed your nose. “…will never…” your other cheek. “…ever…” Your fingertips now. “…let you…” This was getting on your nerves and he knew it, smirking behind your hand. “…be seen by anyone else but me, in this state.”

The last words murmured against your cheek, to the shell of your ear, elicited a burning anticipation deep in your bones.

“My King, I would never ever let anyone but me see you in this state. — I don’t think anyone had ever really seen me before you.”

His candid answer surprised you. In a tender caress, he stroked your back through the fabrics of your clothes, not thick enough to keep his touch at bay. A thumb ventured below your breast, too close to be accidental. You inhaled sharply.

“And I will never let anyone else see me like this. If you’ll have me, of course.”

His declaration hit your heart at an arrow’s speed.

“You really mean that? I’m not just a… — You’re not just anything. You are the world and beyond. You are everything. I hope to be everything to…”

Before he could finish, you pulled him down for another kiss. This one arousing and passionate; desires trapped, finally meeting in the middle.

“I will. I absolutely will.”

A heartbeat passed in his arms, trying to keep your hands to yourselves.

“You were asking me to… — … court and eventually marry you? Yes. And you said yes, you cannot take it back now.”

Your laughter rang through him as it rang through the stables, enlightening the new day ahead.

[sunrayram]

im super interested in alastor’s and niffty’s dynamic in this au!! im not really sure how to word this question but do you have anything youve been thinking about with them, outside of him just being very protective/possessive over her, and her still being fairly loyal to him? any headcanons or ideas you have for the two of them?

Alastor has two whole friends before the events of canon, Mimzy and Nifty. Even though he'll never admit it, he desperately needs both of them.

I've gone into his relationship with Mimzy before, but she basically acts as the only person Alastor can really let loose around. Alastor only really has some genuine fun when Mimzy's around.

When it comes to Nifty, she's the closest thing Alastor has to family on this side of the mortal plane. Nifty is the first soul Alastor owned, and it was honestly a pretty painless affair. At the time, Nifty's ex-husband had still been alive in hell, and Alastor promised to keep her safe in exchange for her soul. The ex-husband has long since been dealt with, but Nifty has no complaints about Alastor still holding her soul. She once jokingly told him that it was likely in safer hands now.

here's some fun stuff about these two!

Alastor cooks, and Nifty bakes. Nifty is the only one who's allowed to go in and out of the kitchen with no complaints from Alastor, and they can spend hours there together, singing along to classic jazz from the radio.

Alastor is not allowed to just say whatever he wants on his radio show, since it's now a part of the Jackpot Casino. That means he has a lot of opinions built up that he's not allowed to share. If he's not yelling these opinions at Husk, he's passionately sharing them with Nifty. She thinks they're funny. Sometimes, she'll bargain with him. He'll be allowed to rant for an hour, and then she'll get an hour to read her latest fanfiction out loud. Only her sfw stuff tho, obviously. (She reads him found family fic as a not-so-subtle-hint of how she feels about him. It goes right over his head.)

Nifty and Alastor play a weird version of fuck/marry/kill when they have the same shifts at the casino. Nifty points out the people she'd fuck/marry, and Alastor points out the people he'd kill. It's fun, I guess.

Nifty really really wants them to get a pet. Alastor banned any discussion of dogs, and Nifty's slightly allergic to cats. She has a list she's been secretly making of animals she thinks Alastor would like. It goes as follows:

Possum: eats bugs. Frog: no fur, not dirty (?) eats bugs. Alligator: Alastor has an alligator skull. Might like them. Bat: eats bugs. Con: Might have rabies? Deer: Maybe some form of kinship. Pig: Actually pretty clean. Makes funny noises. Anteater: eats bugs.

Alastor loves collecting trinkets, which actually annoys Nifty to no end bc it means his room isn't clean/organized. He apologizes by bringing back little gifts whenever he goes out. He also keeps his collections away from areas Nifty frequents so it doesn't bother her as much.

Alastor has banned Nifty from gambling at the casino. The one time she tried, she lost almot 500,000 dollars in one night. Even Husk was horrified.

They're both a bit mad, but they like it that way. Nifty's one of the only people around who doesn't want Alastor to change. Whether or not that's a good thing ... ehhh who knows. But it's priceless to him.

[mamayan]

★彡CRINGE☆彡

Shit I think the KNY Hashira do or have done— this is for fun only, don’t come for me if these doesn’t perfectly align with you~

tw: none!

Water Hashira! Giyuu Tomioka

He talks to himself, like long inner monologues spoken only to like, a wall. It doesn’t make sense half the time. He’s working it out.

Laundry sniffer, he isn’t sure it’s clean until he smells it, and even then he’s confused because is it clean? He’ll rewash clothes because they might smell clean but he can’t remember if he wore it or not.

Tries to pet dogs that absolutely will bite him.

Sound Hashira! Tengen Uzui

Will lose his jewelry and act like someone hid it on purpose from him. Acts similar to a 19 year old who lost their vape at someone’s house.

He’s stained multiple tatami mats/futons with his nail polish because he didn’t let them dry before messing around.

Makes scary faces at children to scare them and then laughs afterward.

Fire Hashira! Kyojuro Rengoku

He will repeat aloud the thing you whisper to him so loudly it defeats the purpose of whispering in his ear.

Will shed everywhere and not clean up after himself. The equivalent of smacking the hair on the shower wall after washing but it’s his whole house. Sorry Senjuro—

Believes tickling is fun and everyone loves it, even when the person being tickled is on the verge of passing out/pissing their pants.

Execute children without trial—

Stone Hashira! Gyomei Himejima

Forgets your height, asks for things that are impossible to get because he put it up way the hell up there.

His head pats are more painful than they are cute, it’s like he’s hammering your skull into your neck.

Will get ink stains on his robes/desk/etc. because he never puts away his stationary properly.

Wind Hashira! Sanemi Shinazugawa

Will threaten you within an inch of your life for one small accident (papercut) but will become enraged if you level him with the same treatment after he’s nearly killed himself with training.

Will mother hen you in the weirdest ways, like wiping your face with his spit to get the dirt off.

Won’t tell you something is wrong with your appearance in public, but will stare you down to give you the hint something is. He thinks it’s a universal sign. No one knows what the hell it means except him and maybe Genya.

Snake Hashira! Obanai Iguro

He comes up with some of the most clever and insidious jokes but tells them at the wrong time. Way too late or too early for anyone to catch it and then it’s not funny anymore.

Will let Kaburamaru shed wherever and will leave the skin. Unless it’s Mitsuri standing right there, he will not be cleaning it up. Has scared multiple Kakushi who thought they stepped on Kaburamaru and killed him.

Doesn’t take his shoes off when entering homes, etc. even if there’s no tatami mats. He only shows respect to Ubuyashiki and Mitsuri’s estates.

Mist Hashira! Muichiro Tokito

He bathes as needed, which in his opinion, doesn’t need to be all that often. Teenage boys are gross no matter how pretty they look. Natural body odor isn’t all that bad though, so he gets away with it.

He will hear you speak words and interpret them entirely however he wants. He will confuse himself because he swore he heard you tell him to go take a nap. You didn’t—

Will send the food back at a restaurant if even the tiniest thing is wrong.

Love Hashira! Mitsuri Kanroji

She will create full and detailed stories in her mind of people around her, and confuse herself because she can’t remember if she thought it for them or if they did it. Me too girl—

Cuteness is justice mentality: The cuter she finds you, the less wrong you can do in her eyes. Obanai

Like Kyojuro, sheds everywhere, 100% the hair on the shower wall sort of girl. She does clean up after herself much better than Kyojuro.

Poison Hashira! Shinobu Kocho my wife

She does no wrong.

Petty as hell and will absolutely make your stay at her estate miserable if you piss her off. You won’t know what you did, but you’ll find your food and living conditions plummet.

Can’t sleep if her pillow doesn’t smell like her, no sleep overs for this girl unless she brings her own bedding.

If she finds out you have a pet peeve, she will lay into it with passion and grit. Tengen loses his shit when he hears people sucking their teeth… Shinobu is happy to recondition him. It’s her way of showing she cares♡!

[90sbee]

I was dead, and then you came (back).

Leon S. Kennedy x Gn!reader. 0.7k words. Also on a03

There is no way you’re just human, though. No normal person would let him come back. No normal person would choose to act with such kindness, with this tremendous and fervent love.

Leon learned his lesson. You're willing to return to him. He can't help thinking about what a miracle that is.

So, I've been writing so much about this man it is about time I start posting all the delusions. You can blame @navstuffs for this mess since she was the one that encouraged me to keep on writing and start posting. Her fault, tbh.

Content: Fluff, basically him yearning under the excuse of a morning after. Mostly his pov. No use of y/n, some sprinkles of size kink I guess. It's just them being dumb for each other. I guess any older Leon works, though I had Vendetta Leon in mind (but you do you).

Warnings: Leon's mental struggles; some suggestive lines; rough sex mentioned but no smut. STILL, minors do not interact. +18 only. Also I'm not a native English speaker so, apologies for any mistakes.

Leon looks at you in awe. How could he look at you differently? With soft steps you traverse the distance between the bed and the kitchen moving calmly, delicate figure enchanting him.

He licks his lips, amused. He sits on the bed, stretching his arms as he keeps his gaze on you.

“What is it?” you ask once you return to his side, a cup of tea in your hands.

“… You’re breathtaking,” Leon muses, a smirk decorating his mouth.

The cup shakes slightly, obvious signal as to how you feel.

“Always the charmer, Kennedy.”

“No, I mean it,” he replies, piercing blue gaze as tender as a summer sky.

“If you say so,” you sip on your tea, sitting closer to him and he presses his face against your shoulder, eyes closed.

The agent is aware that this is a privilege: a man like him is not bound for the whole spectrum of pleasure, both the carnal dance of two bodies as well as the warm company that now brightens his morning.

You smell sweet still. Even after he spit in your mouth, even after he forced pretty tears from your eyes. No trace of the sweaty musk that should surround you both after such exhausting physical activities from the night before.

You’re magical. More than human, Leon thinks.

When he opens his eyes, he is greeted by the sight of a pinkish love bite on your neck. He fixes his eyes on it, on the oval shape it draws on your skin. Could he do it again? He wants to. Hell, he would beg to mark you like that again. Every mark, every bruise, every trace of tears as evidence that he was there. That he is still here, with you. You’re real. And most importantly, he is there to experience it. To reverence your existence and praise you as you deserve.

The affection in his thoughts must be too loud, as you look at him, a hint of comprehension in your tone.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Leon shakes his head, body moving forward, as if caught on the spot.

“I just… would like to do it again. I mean, like last night. But also maybe not just… sex. If you’re… okay with that,” he explains, trying to sound casual, as if his heart isn’t attempting to break free from his chest, destroying bones and lungs on its way out. As if he wouldn’t fight the biggest horrors in this world with just his bare fists for just the chance of a lifetime with you.

Leon pushed you away once. He won’t make that same mistake twice.

You smile at him, scrunched up nose and the gentlest glimmer in your eyes. No reply comes out of your mouth, but the kiss you offer him is more than enough of an answer for him.

He kisses you again then, trying to process this still. The notion that even after his fears had overcome his whole life, terrorizing his thoughts and destroying his most precious bonds, you’re still willing to try again. To forgive him, to help him build himself up from deep, deep into the ground.

If the soil had buried him and drilled pain deep into his skull, so be it. There was still hope now. He wasn’t a dead man. Not yet. Not as long as he had you.

You chuckle when you both pull apart after the kiss, your bubbly energy making his grey bedroom light up.

Leon wants to add something else. But when he looks into your eyes again, he senses that you understand. And when you cup his cheek, caressing his stubble with heavenly devotion, the teacup long abandoned on the night table, he is more than certain that you know.

There is no way you’re just human, though. No normal person would let him come back. No normal person would choose to act with such kindness, with this tremendous and fervent love.

You look at him in awe, chest burning with yearning. Gaze tasting his pink lips, savouring the pretty eyelashes and the early wrinkles around his eyes.  The display of your feelings must be too strong, since he chuckles, taking your wrist in his hand, kissing your palm.

“Penny for your thoughts?” he teases you.

And when you laugh, his stomach jumping with happiness after so long without being greeted with that divine sound, Leon is finally convinced: there is an angel in front of him.

If you've made it to the end, thank you. You're now legally required to tell me your thoughts (or not, I'm not a cop) 💜

[thesecretwriter]

more than just friends (part 4) – steve roger

pairing: Steve Rogers x female reader

warnings: angst – steve has a nightmare, fluff – sweet sweet floof and a little kiss from steve.

summary: It’s the middle of the night and you’re awoken by the screams of Steve. Making your way to him without hesitation is your first instinct. The small display of care lead things in a direction which assures a good outcome. Steve had always found comfort in you, even when it was something mundane.

word count: 1.2k

a/n: here’s part 4! hope you like it. more to come in part 5 – would you guys wants smut in that part? genuinely curious bc i feel like i haven’t emphasised the tension between steve and the reader.

minors/ageless blogs dni.

Masterlists

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

Steve finds himself in a room that resembled a 1940’s infirmary.

A nurse walks in with a clipboard claiming that she needs conduct a routine check-up.

Something’s not right…

He wakes from the bed and pushes past the nurse as the screams and shouts of the howling commanders echo from the door the nurse walked through. He needs to find them; he needs to help them. He ran out the very same door the nurse came from.

“Captain Rogers, wait!” the nurse’s voice fades as Steve finds himself now walking on the battlefield alongside Bucky – who looks like his usual 40’s self.

“I knew you always had it in you, punk” Bucky said as they marched across the battlefield together. Steve smiled at Bucky, knowing his friend was safe and at his side.

When Steve moved his gaze straight ahead of him, his surroundings changed.

He was now stood in front of a mirror with his post-serum self staring back at him.

“The great Captain America, God’s righteous man,” a menacing voice said behind him.

He turned around to find the source of the voice, however no one was there. When he looked back to the mirror, the red skull was looking at him in his reflection.

“Changing your appearance with that serum did nothing but show me how weak you are. How it took such a modification for people to actually listen to you,” The red skull mocked him.

Steve diverted his gaze from the reflection and clenched his fists to retain his anger, but a choked sob made his return his gaze.

There the red skull stood, with his hand around your neck causing your feet to barely touch the ground.

“Steve,” the broken tone in your voice made his heart stop.

Without hesitation, he began to run towards you. However, the ground beneath him seemed to move on its own, preventing him from reaching you.

The ominous laugh of the red skull along with the choked sobs coming from you was pure torture to Steve. He watched as a final squeeze caused all colour to drain from your face, and then the red skull let you go. You lay limb on the ground.

Steve woke up with a loud ‘NO’ leaving his lips and a thin layer of sweat coating him. As he took deep breaths in to calm himself, his room door opened to reveal you.

Even with concern etched on your face, Steve was relieved to see that you’re okay.

“I heard screaming,” you made your way beside him and sat on the bed.

It took a moment for Steve to say something, and you observed the way his hands were shaking, and his breaths were laboured.

“I-I had a nightmare,” his words were broken, and his tone held a hint of fear in them as he tried to maintain a tough exterior.

This wasn’t the first time you had come to Steve’s aid in the dead of night when he awoke from a nightmare, but it was definitely the first time in a long time since its happened.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” you ask him, knowing that this has worked in the past, however when Steve shook his head in reply you knew it was a bad one.

He reached out for your hand.

“Can I hold you, please? Like I use to?” he looked so vulnerable in that moment.

“Of course,” you replied and moved the blanket to lay beside him. His big hands tucked you alongside him, holding you close as if you’d disappear before his very eyes.

The room was silent as you both stared up at his ceiling, which was still decorated with the glow in the dark stickers you got him. The familiarity of being in his arms brought about the feelings you were trying to forget. Being with him like this felt normal, it felt like this is where you belonged.

After his confession of his love for you, things had been somewhat normal. Only this time you knew how he felt about you, but you and him knew he needed to overcome things before moving forward.

“I think… the more I talk to my therapist about my trauma, the more it subconsciously plagues my mind,” he explained.

You moved your gaze to look at him.

“Has it been helping you? Talking about everything?” you ask curiously.

He nodded his head in reply.

“Its putting life into perspective for me, making me realise all the rights and wrongs…” he trailed off as though he had more to say, the conflicting look in his eyes confirmed this.

You moved closer to him and let your hand cup his face, so he was now looking at you.

“Y’know you can talk to me, right? Even if its something about therapy or mundane things,”

“I know,” he said with a sigh and let his eyes move from your eyes to your lips.

“I saw something that reminded me of you today,” you changed the topic to ease his mind.

“Yeah? What was it?” he was curious.

“A golden retriever,”

Steve raised a brow at your words and even in the dimly lit room, he could see the smile on your face.

“I was at the park, and he ran over to me, completely knocked the air out of me. Then there was this little black cat. And you’d assume the dog wouldn’t like the cat or vice versa, but the cat warmed up to the dog and he proceeded to play with the cat, in such a gentle manner,”

Steve loved when you rambled on about everything and anything. It brought ease into his mind.

“So, you think I’m gentle?” is what Steve was getting from what you were saying.

“Pretty much, it reminded me about how you are with me… or any of us. You’re a good leader with a strong will to do the right thing, but you’re also the gentlest giant. When I get hurt on a mission, you make sure to handle me with care,” your hands draw patterns on his clothed chest as you distractedly complete your sentence.

“Is that how you see me? Even after…” he trails.

“Yes, even after everything. What I’m trying to say is despite everything you’ve been through, you’re still a good person. You’ve been a good person from the start,”

His chest vibrated in laughter.

“This started off with me reminding you of a golden retriever and ended with you saying the sweetest thing about me,” he leaned over you and kissed your forehead.

“Just trying to fulfill the part of my being your…” you stopped yourself short, not thinking before speaking.

He smiled at your words and looked into your eyes, seeing the panic.

“By being more than just a friend,” he completed your sentence.

And ever so gently, he brought his lips to yours. Capturing them in a sweet kiss which spoke and expressed every emotion the two of you shared for each other.

tagging those who reblogged/commented:

@paarthurnax59 @terry2227 @sweater-bee @niffala @superforgottensoul @haruvalentine4321 @steve-language-rogers @slxttyro @themrsrogers @smhnxdiii @loumaaria-blog @buckywifey @themrsrogers @moonstruckbirdie @nana1000night @borkybawnes

[pixiesfz]

Kyra Cooney-Cross x reader

plot: kyra, a midfielder decides to date a defender on her team, what happens when she takes a big fall on her debut.

warnings: swearing, injuries

It was your girlfriends second week at Arsenal and you had never been any prouder, she was working her ass off in training and everyone could tell her debut was coming soon.

Nobody was as excited as you when Jonas started hinting at her debut game, not even Kyra herself could reach your excitement.

"I wonder what your chant will be?" you asked yourself as you ate dinner the night before the game "babe, we don't even know if I will play" Kyra told her "it would be stupid not to" you shot back and reached out for her hand

"I just want to finally play a game where we are on the same team," you said as Kyra squeezed your hand "We will, I just don't want to get my hopes up" You nodded your head as you agreed with the girl.

"My hopes are already up"

"Oh I know" Kyra smiled before a waitress came up and asked for your drinks, both just getting a soft drink

"You're starting tomorrow" Kyra pointed out "I hope Jonas takes me off at least once, my head started to spin last time"

"I think that was because you skulled a full bottle of Powerade before hand" Kyra pointed her eyebrows at you.

"Katie threatened to drink it while I was gone it was only fair" Kyra watched you complain about your fellow Irish teammate with a smile

She loved your passion no matter whether it was about a pop artist, your love for dogs or in this matter football.

You loved the way you felt when you kicked the ball underneath an attacker's feet and saved a goal that could've been kicked.

Kyra loved that about you,

She loved you.

Squeezing your hand one more time, you both thanked the waitress when she came back with your drinks.

After dinner you both went back to your apartments and crashed into your beds to sleep before the game.

When you woke up in the cold English air, you checked your messages to see a message from Leah

Lee Lee: I think you'll be a happy girl today

You stared at your message, what could it mean

Y/N/N: Leah it is 7 in the morning I cant deal with mind games

Lee Lee: You'll find out (;

You rolled your eyes before grabbing your kit and tying your hair up into a slicked-back ponytail, grabbing your keys, and driving to your girlfriend's house to pick her and Caitlin who lived in the same building.

"You ready?" you asked the two as Caitlin nodded her head and yawned and Kyra held a smile which looked close to a smirk, you brushed it off before grabbing Katie.

"Where's your big smile?" Katie asked as she sat in the front seat which you furrowed your eyes at before Kyra sent a kick at her seat and Caitlin pulled a face at the Irish girl "what?" you asked

"It's just that usually your more cheery" she shrugged her shoulders "Haven't had me Powerade yet" you pointed out "don't skull it this time babe" Kyra laughed from the back.

The group of four made it to the ground before heading to the rooms, you laid on the floor trying to crack your back until you heard your girlfriend chuckle.

"What?" you turned to her as she had her hand over her mouth "you really haven't looked?" she said behind her hand "Y/N your a bit daft" Katie said, standing next to Kyra before pointing to the sheet of the starting line up that had some scribbles on it.

It was in the midfield so you knew you hadn't been put off but you still looked at the pair before walking towards it.

That's when you saw it.

Midfield: KCC

Opening your mouth you made a small squeal before running to the girl "You're debuting!?" you yelled which she nodded at and you brought her into the biggest hug "I'm so proud of you" you whispered in her ear before kissing her cheek.

"Surprise" Kyra smiled before turning to Katie "you are a terrible secret keeper "I forgot it was a secret" she defended herself before walking over to Beth who was laughing at her.

"This is going to be a good game" you promised your girlfriend before you all walked out.

You took in the cheers when you all walked out, leaving Kyra at the end so you could hear the cheers louden at the sight of her as news had gone out about her debut.

Playing Leicester City had been fine, you had stopped a couple of goals and hadn't played any dangerous tackles which was better than you could say about Katie "You McCard take it down a notch" you teased your bestfriend who glared at you.

You were Happy, your girlfriend was debuting and she was playing really good, making you and your teammates proud, It wasn't until the near end of the first 45 minutes that something had happened.

A player from Leister City came behind Kyra as she got the ball, kicking in front of her ankles making the girl lose her footing and fly in the air before her arm landed on the pitch.

A loud "Fowl" came out of your lips before you ran towards the player, pushing them forward "Are you dumb, literally dumb" you didn't give a chance to let the player replied before you verbally assaulted them again

"Of course you are dumb because obviously you don't know how to play football if you're throwing in tackles like that, stupid-"

"Y/N!"

You finally turned your head to Kyra who was still on the floor as she lifted her head to the ref who held a yellow to both you and the Leicester Player.

Your breath hitched as Katie patted you on the back "Nobody's blaming you" she whispered before you went off and met the eye of Jonas "I'm sorry" you whispered before you looked back to the ground of your girlfriend who was now walking off with her arm being held by one of the medics with tears in her eyes.

"I just wanted it to be perfect for her" you admitted to Jonas who just shook his head "She'll be fine, and how she's played she'll be on the ground again"

Kyra made her way to the side line and to the tunnel before mouthing "nerve" to you and you rolled your eyes before turning to Jonas "she popped her nerve!" you said and he shook his head again "don't make me regret putting you out there again"

You were let on again half way through the second 45 minutes before you were put on in defense, but it was different now.

The girl who tackled Kyra was now playing in forward and you were on her, she got the ball and you acted quick, getting the ball from her and kicking it away, before 'accidentally' misplacing your foot infront of hers, causing her to fall just like Kyra did, except she was lucky.

The refs blew the whistle before running up to you again, you plead your 'case' but they didn't care and pulled out another yellow. Your teammates and Fans called out in distaste and disagreement to the ref but you smiled when you realized you could go see Kyra.

You ran off past Jonas and into the tunnel to go see your girlfriend who quickly realized what had happed "you didn't" she started but you pecked her on the lips before sitting next to her

"worth it"

[spacemagicandlaserswords]

Feral Hunter

I wrote most of this in a reblog but thought it deserved its own post as my unwieldy response took on a life of its own, which they have a tendency to do. I’ve added more to it as well so there’s some new extra ramblings on one of my favourite ideas/headcanons/theories for season 3 of The Bad Batch. 

Give me Feral Hunter. My kingdom for Feral Hunter. Completely unhinged, vengeance fueled, feral Hunter. He can go on his Joel Miller/The Mandalorian/John Wick/Liam Neeson in Taken/The Punisher arc, as a little treat.

I've been trying to figure out why I love this idea so much. I think it's because we never really see any of the Batch actually, properly unleash. Sure, they're unconventional and a bit bonkers in their approach but they're still a very well-oiled machine. When they're on a mission, they all know exactly what they're doing, what their roles are, and where their squad mates are. Even when they improvise on the fly, they all adapt fairly easily and smoothly. Everything is still all rather professional, smooth, and efficient. Like they're all operating on muscle memory, which they basically are given how many countless times I'm sure they've trained and done missions together.

Even when the Batch is fighting their way through Kamino, they still operate with that same smooth, efficient, hyper competent professionalism. Despite their unorthodox approach, there's still this sense that they're contained. Never throwing off the shackles and being completely unrestrained. The full unbridled force of their abilities and skills simmering just below the surface, waiting to be given free rein and just obliterate everything.

There's a little hint of this in the opening scene of episode 2x14 'Tipping Point', where the ARC Trooper in Echo comes out to play. But oh, how I would love to see more. From all of them, but especially Hunter. 

Look at his face. Look at that expression and all those emotions from Sergeant Stoic himself, who is usually fairly reserved and contained. Dorito Bod Bandana Space Dad on the warpath to get his ad'ika back, cutting a swathe through the Imperials, leaving a trail of bodies in his wake, and taking out anything and everything that even thinks about getting in his way. Hunter goes full Space Rambo mode, ruthlessly taking out Stormtroopers, blood dripping off his vibroblade, eyes wide and deranged, as he turns into a complete animal. His half tattooed skull now completed by the blood of his enemies covering the other side of his face. For extra angst, when he finds Omega, she doesn’t recognise him. The figure standing in the smoking remains of the door to her cell looks like Hunter. Is wearing Hunter’s armour. Is holding Hunter’s vibroknife. But that’s not Hunter. That’s not her buir. Not anymore. And she’s afraid of him. We get a little hint of this at the very end of season 2 and oh ho ho, I am so ready for more. I am so ready for Hunter’s descent into vengeance, revenge and rage. Not just Hunter either, I’d love to see the rest of the Batch unleash as well.

Can you just imagine Wrecker properly unleashing? All of that strength and power finally freed as he rips limbs off Stormtroopers, snapping necks and crushing skulls with his bare hands. The crumpled, pulverised bodies of his enemies discarded behind him as he rages down corridor after corridor of whatever Imperial base they’ve infiltrated. We got a hint of how damaging Wrecker can be when his chip activated but that was chip controlled. This would just be pure Wrecker. 

We see a little more of this in Crosshair's actions and you could also argue that this is chip controlled. Or if his chip has actually been removed, then Crosshair’s actions are definitely still clouded by his Imperial mindset and blind delusion that the Empire is right. Right up until it all goes horribly wrong on Barton-4 and he finally wakes up to the reality of his nightmare. Either way, that unrestrained part of him is still there. The amount of rage and anger that must be building up and festering inside Crosshair is eventually going to explode. When he snaps like he did at the end of 'The Outpost' then there isn’t going to be an Imperial left without a blaster bolt between their eyes. When Hemlock ends up dying (he better), my bet is on Crosshair taking him out and getting revenge. And it won't be pretty. He'd shoot him execution style at the very least. 

I'd love to see Tech (shut up he's alive) completely lose it and finally snap off every ounce of his carefully crafted control. I've written about this before but Tech's combat is exceptionally efficient and precise. He only ever uses the minimum number of shots or moves to take out an enemy because he doesn't need to expend anything beyond what is necessary. Complete economy of form. His combat style is very contained, almost like a mirror of his personality and character. Can you just imagine him snarling and growling like a beast, teeth bared, eyes dark, face distorted in rage, as he slams a Stormtrooper's head into a control panel desk with enough force to crack their helmet and shatter their visor. 

I mentioned above that we've seen a tiny bit of this slightly unhinged quality from Echo. There's another little hint of it when they're all in that training simulation on Kamino.

This gifset from @starqueensthings shows this perfectly, especially the above gif. I love the line they wrote at the top of their post as well, which I'm going to quote in part here: "I’d like to introduce my scomp arm TO YOUR JUGULAR WIRE." This perfectly encapsulates the unhinged quality lurking in Echo. He just leaps onto the back of what looks like the Kaminoan version of a B2 super battle droid and then proceeds to flail and stab madly before plunging his scomp arm into the battle droid's chest and ripping out the droid version of its jugular. Absolutely unhinged behaviour. The absolute madlad.

Now picture Echo finally snapping and doing this to a bunch of Imperials and just absolutely annihilating them. There is so much in him that is screaming to be let out. The general batshittery that comes with being an ARC Trooper. The insanity and chaos of coming from the 501st and Torrent Company. The unconventional, yeet-the-reg-manual-out-the-airlock, bonkers existence of The Bad Batch. Plus all that trauma, fury and rage of what has happened to him, what was done to him, and everything that he’s seen, experienced, endured, suffered, and survived. When the last few frayed threads holding Echo back finally snap he is going to go completely postal.

Is it healthy? No. Is it "good"? Probably not. But my god, would I love to see it.

The Clone Wars has a history of tackling and portraying difficult, multilayered and nuanced topics and we've seen that in The Bad Batch as well. More recent Star Wars series, such as Andor and The Mandalorian, have also had a real interest in showing the murky areas that exist between the good (Republic) and the bad (Imperial). There's been a particular focus on showing that there's a lot more grey than we think, rather than the pure dichotomy between cliched black and white. That sometimes there is no right or wrong decision. That sometimes everything is awful and everyone is stuck in a shitty situation from which there is no way to escape unscathed. In order to make it out alive, lines are going to be crossed. The battle of good vs evil takes on a new edge and the line between good and bad gets very murky.

That quote about how “You either die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain” comes to mind. In this instance, the Batch are still fighting tooth and nail for each other but their sacrifices and actions are starting to take them to much darker places. It’s a classic example of good people being driven to do bad, awful, terrible things when those they love are in danger and they will do whatever it takes to save them.  

The whole 'deeply flawed parental figure seeking vengeance' is a popular trope at the moment as well so Feral Hunter would make sense narratively for a number of reasons.

Will we actually get it? Probably not. And even if we do, it'll probably still be a watered-down kid friendly version.

But oh, just imagine if we did.

[blueywrites]

What version of eddie are we getting in the new fic? Secure, insecure, confident, loud, quiet?

Ahhhh, I love that you asked this question! It inspired me to whip this up for you. Not sure if this is exactly how it'll appear in the final draft, but here's a little sneak peek at the first time you see Eddie in New Skin. Oh, and, let me preface this by saying... appearances can be deceiving. 😉

In the short time you’ve been working at the diner, you’d grown used to the sight of broad-shouldered Harry and the repetitive sound of his thick bull hands scraping the spatula slow and even as he works the cooktop. So the sight that greets you now as you shuffle into the kitchen after Sherry is quite jarring.

Before the cooktop stands a man who is both shorter and thinner than Harry but somehow far more imposing. He’s angular and jagged, frenetic in his movements: booted foot tapping tile, elbow jutting sharp as he jerks the spatula, a wild mess of curls shaking as his head bobs exaggeratedly. And the sound of the kitchen isn’t at all soothing in his presence. There’s some kind of tinny howling coming from him, some unholy noise that nearly makes you halt at the threshold of the swinging doors before you realize it’s coming from underneath his hair and not from him, exactly. You quickly spot the thin cord running down to the tape player clipped to his tight dark pants, though the handkerchief swaying at his hip— old and spilling loose threads, black and white and emblemed with eerie skulls— has your nerves kicking up again just as quickly.

Sherry’s voice is hoarse from smoke and age but, to your surprise, not filled with even a hint of the same nerves as she greets the man. “Afternoon, Ed,” she says, sounding almost fond as she shouts to be heard above the music. 

Almost instantly, the headphones are jerked down to hang around his neck, and when the man spins abruptly from the cooktop to face you both, your chest clenches again. Yet his voice is brash and warm, mouth split wide to flash his eyeteeth as his gaze finds your coworker quickly. “Afternoon, Sher,” he says, mimicking her fond inflection, a teasing grin dimpling the corner of his plush pink lips. “How’s my best girl?”

Your eyes quickly dart from him and Sherry and then back, face frozen so as not to reveal your reaction: a mixture of wariness and confusion since he looks almost thirty years younger than her. Sherry just rolls her eyes and purses her lips, crackled with deep pink lipstick. “Yeah, yeah. We’re all your best girl, aren’t we, Eddie?” It’s said with long-suffering sarcasm like this exchange is akin to slipping on an old pair of shoes— worn in and comfortably molded to one’s foot. 

The man, Eddie, doesn’t reply, though his smile does widen. Sherry nods your way but addresses him. “This is the new girl. Be nice,” she warns, wagging a gnarled finger.

“Whaddya mean, Sher? I’m always nice.” Eddie huffs through his nose, showily stretching his arms above his head and holding his clothed elbows as his eyes slide to you. Yours dip to the dark stains beneath his pits, the evidence of his toil and sweat that begs the question of why he’d be wearing long sleeves if he’s that hot. “Hello, new girl,” he says lightly, and his voice hums like there’s a secret joke he’s holding back from laughing at.

The cock of his hip, the sharpness of his limbs, the narrowness of his waist where the apron is tied hastily, the stretch of his ribcage against the dirty long-sleeved shirt, the tilt of his lips— it hits you suddenly what he is, just as suddenly as you’d realized that Sherry and the girls are bleating goats and Harry is a gentle bull.

This man is a coyote.

[tavyliasin]

Abdirak - Migraine Comfort

As more of my dear darlings are suffering from the agony of headaches and migraines, another little treat. Though, be warned, this one is a little more...well, Abdirak flavoured.

CAUTION - Do not attempt this as a migraine cure, obviously. I did a little research on pressure points and flavoured it more with the style of Loviatar's Priest.

“Dear One…” Cool eyes swept across your face, scarred brow creasing into a frown. “You are troubled.” You weren’t sure entirely why Abdirak was the one you had ended up in front of, but if anyone could understand the intensity of the pain, it was him. You nodded. “Migraine. Again.” “Pain without purpose…” He shook his head, rough hand coming to rest for a moment on your forehead, guiding your eyes to close. “The body has many rivers through which pain can flow, opening one may release the flood from here. Would you like to try?” You nodded again. You’d try anything at this point, it was too much, the pressure felt like your entire skull was on the brink of rupturing. A gentle touch on your upper back helped to guide you, as he assisted you in laying down on a surprisingly soft couch. “Keep them closed, Dear One, but the light must remain for me to work.” A cool damp cloth was pressed over your eyes and brow, a subtle hint of magic weaving through to keep it cold even on your heated skin. “Stay there, I will be but a moment.” His footsteps receded, barely audible as he kept every sound to a minimum. For your benefit, apparently. When he returned, you could hear a small side table set down beside you, and the scent of leather drifted closer as he unfurled the pouch of tools. “Now, let us begin. Let this pain relieve you of the other, allow it to flow from one point to the next.” Abdirak cradled your head lightly in one hand, lifting it slightly from the cushions. The pain was bright, flaring like a candle being lit, short and careful needles piercing just below your skull on both sides of your neck. “Endure it, it will not last.” His voice was a warm comfort in a dark whisper, creeping into your mind and driving the pain back towards the needles. “Good. Breathe, slowly now.” He rearranged the cushions, laying you down again slowly so the needles remained but were not pushed or irritated. The warmth of his touch travelled now from your shoulder to your wrist, lifting your hand, a slight massage to your palm to soothe you before the next blood could be drawn forth. There was no needle this time, instead it was a thicker spike, still wickedly sharp, driven directly through the soft pad between the base of your thumb and index finger. Your voice could not be stilled this time, crying out in the shock and searing heat of the pain, the feel of muscle pierced by the slender point. “Let Loviatar hear you, Dear One, that she may trade one pain for another.” There was a smile to his words, but no malice. You were almost certain that had you looked, you’d see a small scar at the same point on his hand. What he said before, about the flow of pain, you could feel it now. Like the fresh wounds drew the nerves down in a line, the pressure trickling down your fingertips with the hot blood that dripped on to the floor. Abdirak remained by your side for some time, waiting for everything to pass, for your agony to ease. Soothing words distracted you, slight adjustments ensured the pain would not cease in its flow until it was gone. You weren’t even sure when you drifted to sleep, everything had been removed and healed before you could wake. For his part, the priest seemed satisfied. Pain had been given purpose, Loviatar offered the prayer in your suffering…though perhaps it was seeing the relief on your face as your symptoms lifted away that truly left him content. It was always so hard to tell, but either way you were glad your exhausted feet had carried you to his door.