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ceilidho · 9 months ago

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prompt: forced throuple au; Ghost decides that you and Johnny are his (part 5; ghoap x reader) masterlist

Give him blood and he’ll give you something new to chew on.

Except that isn’t the way it goes. Not this time at least.

He tries to talk Ghost out of it, but it falls on deaf ears. Blatantly ignored. The car barrels down the motorway under the cloak of night, a swell of stars overhead as the city falls farther behind. Radio shut off. Johnny thinks if Ghost had his way, the radio would’ve been pulled out entirely, just wires and an empty, black cavity in the dashboard, but it’s a rental.

And no one wants to deal with the paperwork involved in damaging military property. Not even Ghost.

Ghost won’t so much as glance over at him. Unaffected as ever, as if they didn’t just fuck. Johnny’s stomach hurts when he thinks about it. Even without her knowing, he’s broken his girl’s trust. Not for the first time; maybe not even the last. His guilt echoes not only that he let Ghost make him come, but that he liked it—that the buzz in his bones says do it again, please god, again, please let me come, I need to come, touch me, please—

He thinks about his girl, then turns to Ghost again.

In the pit of his stomach, Johnny knows this is wrong. In his rational mind, he knows it. If he were in a better place, he wants to think that he’d make a real attempt to change Ghost’s mind, maybe get him to turn around at the next gas station, but he can’t deny the excitement bubbling in his belly at the prospect of seeing his girl again after a week of nothing.

The silence has been eating away at him. Bits of his brain flaking away, moth-eaten. Checking his phone again and again to no new messages, getting the same voicemail message whenever he calls. Something flutters high in his chest, an itch he can’t scratch; it tells him to take off in the middle of the night, drive all the way back home and pound on her door until she’s forced to answer it, forced to talk to him face to face.

Again and again, he tries looking at it from her perspective—tries to empathize with her. What he would’ve done in her shoes had she allowed a coworker to grab his dick in front of a crowd of strangers. It’s more than fair, he thinks. His own shame leaks out of his pores in the middle of the night, sleeping on top of the covers because he sweats right through the sheets.

And yet, he keeps butting up against his own anger. Talk it out with me, yell at me, he growls into her voicemail, anger growing as the days pass one by one.

It’s the road that alerts him to their arrival into the city more than anything. More cracks in the asphalt, the car rattling over sewer depressions and potholes in a way that says home sweet home. Usually it’s a source of comfort, like seeing the silver lining on grey clouds or the iridescence in an oil spill, purples and greens catching the light. Not now. Now the road winds like descending into the underworld, each turn coming with a sinking feeling.

They park down the road from the flower shop, tucked just out of sight. A cool breeze wafts over his hot face when he steps out of the car. It nearly rocks him back. When he glances up, his heart stutters at the sight of her bedroom window, sealed tight now. Only cracked open during their sleepovers, when Johnny runs a bit too hot at night for them to sleep comfortably with the window closed.

“Should I…do ye want me to give her a call to wake her up?” Johnny asks tentatively, shutting the car door softly so as not to make a noise.

Ghost shakes his head. “We’ll let ourselves in.”

Johnny’s picked hundreds of locks in his time; he’s jimmied open doors with crowbars, set up explosive charges, used a good old fashioned ram from time to time—no stranger to the trade—but it feels decidedly uncomfortable with Ghost at his back, staring down at him as he breaks into his own girlfriend’s apartment.

“This is a bad idea,” he grumbles, turning the pick in the lock until he hears a familiar click inside.

Ghost doesn’t answer, just raps his knuckles against the back of Johnny’s head. A silent get a move on.

Her apartment looks the same but different when they enter it. His muscles remember the layout though. The pink couch in the living room with two dimpled pillows on either side, the footstool by the door, the stand with her shoes all piled in neat little rows, the vase on her kitchen island with a fresh new bundle of flowers, fragrant when he dips his head to take a whiff. He’s loved flowers ever since meeting his girl.

Ghost doesn’t try to muffle his footsteps for once. He rummages through her cabinets and drawers with all the finesse of a first time burglar looking to get caught. It smacks of intentionality. Johnny’s worked with him too many times in the field to know that if Ghost wanted to disappear into the darkness, he would. He’d be the thing creeping silently through the shadows, tread lighter than air, close enough to touch but never see.

So it’s more than deliberate when he noisily shuts a drawer. Baiting her out.

It’s no surprise when Johnny hears her creep around the corner from out of her bedroom. He’s tucked in the shadows of the living room, just out of the light, so he sees her first when she comes silently down the hall, whole body trembling with fear, the bat she keeps beside her bed drawn over a shoulder. Even her hands shake around the grip.

Of course she yelps when Johnny says her name, stepping out of the shadows, swinging wild. He winces when the bat smashes into a lamp, shattering it on impact.

“Fuck!” she screams, scurrying backwards into the wall behind her. Several framed pictures rattle against the wall, nearly knocked off their hooks.

“Noisy, isn’t she?” Ghost grumbles from the kitchen, tossing a bored glance over, unbothered by the commotion. He undoubtedly heard her creeping down the hall as well.

“What the fuck?” she gasps, chest heaving when she breathes. Her eyes dart from Johnny to Ghost’s massive form in the other room. Poor nervous thing. She must recognize Johnny’s voice saying her name even through the panic because her lips droop in a frown, more confused than petrified.

“Hen, it’s jus’ us—nothing to worry about,” Johnny coos, hands stretched out in front of him to show he means no harm.

It gets her to lower the bat, but only just, the slightest dip that has him darting forward to pry it gently from her hands. The ceramic shards on the floor will have to be swept up later, but he’s relieved that at least she didn’t step on any of them.

Up close, she’s just as pretty as he remembers. Pretty as pie. How could she not be? In the glow of youth still, not like it's been a decade since they last spoke face to face—only a little over a week. A sight for sore eyes, even though Johnny’s narrow when he stares down at her and thinks about the week of his texts and calls going unanswered. His jaw undulates, rage held back by the thin thread of her scent that wafts under his nose, making him lean into her.

Breathe in and out.

“Us?” she repeats, brow furrowing.

She glances over at Ghost again, the man still ambling around the kitchen, at home in her little one bedroom apartment like he visits her frequently. Like it’s his as well.

“Aye…Ghost wanted to come—Simon wanted to apologize…for the other day,” Johnny explains.

“You broke into my apartment in the middle of the night…so Simon could apologize for sexually harassing me?” she says, the disbelief smacking in her words.

“Hen, it's no' nice to say it like that—”

“No time like the present,” Ghost says, not ashamed in the slightest. “Heard you weren’t taking Johnny’s calls. Might not’ve had to do this if you’d picked up.”

Johnny doesn’t believe a word of that, but there’s no reason to call him out on it now.

He can see her wrestle with a trifecta of emotions competing for first place. Anger, embarrassment, and then, a smidge of worry holding up the rear. Aware of the fact that she woke up to two grown men, one practically a stranger, breaking into her apartment under the guise of having a conversation. His heart aches at the thought. The lion’s share of the blame rests with him, but still it’s her that suffers for it.

“You…you shouldn’t be here,” she rasps, flinching when Johnny lays a hand on her waist, towering over where she’s still cowered against the wall. Bat gone now, defenceless. Her pupils narrow to a pinprick. He almost tuts, poor thing. Scared out of her wits.

It feels so good to touch her though. Soft and yielding.

“‘Was Simon’s idea, hen, but, ah—” his breathing picks up when his fingers tighten on her waist and she squirms “—I was goin’ crazy thinkin’ ye were pissed for what happened last week. Couldnae get a wink of sleep—kept closin’ my eyes and seein’ your face. Nearly broke me.”

“I am pissed at you,” she snaps, temper getting the better of her.

“I ken, I ken,” Johnny coos, ducking his head until his lips graze her temple. “Simon’s sorry—we came all the way here so he could tell ye to your face, but fuck, hen, I’m sorry too—shoulda said something instead of standin’ there like a fuckin’ dolt—”

“You should’ve,” she interrupts, still fuming mad, an iceberg melting right in front of them. It makes his cock pulse.

“—Aye, hen, I’ve no excuse, none at all. Shoulda told Simon to fuck off and keep his hands to himself—”

“Careful, Johnny,” Ghost says warningly, finally stepping into the living room. He fills out the archway imposingly, almost forced to twist his body on an angle to step in.

Her eyes cut over to Ghost, narrowing, lips pursing. Johnny’s heart jumps in his chest. It’s one thing to see his girl again in the flesh, but to see her all righteous and on the verge of an argument—he could bend her over the back of the couch now, sink into the plush, delicate folds of her pussy, reacquaint himself with deep, languid thrusts. Heaven after not getting his cock wet in a week.

He flinches when he thinks about the last person to touch his dick.

“So you’re sorry?” she says to Ghost, her disbelief clear. Difficult to see why she wouldn’t find it hard to believe that the man that shamelessly grabbed her ass in broad daylight in front of a group of his colleagues and her boyfriend would now choose to apologize.

Johnny knows the answer is no when he sees the way Ghost’s eyes rove over her body, taking stock of her little cotton pajamas and her bare feet curling against the cold floor. Ghost tilts his head to the side, eyes travelling back up to meet hers. “Sure I am, bird. Don’t I look sorry?”

Neither of them answer that. Arguing with Ghost feels different, like inviting in danger. Moving too suddenly in front of a hungry dog, jowls loose and salivating for a bite.

He takes a step closer. “Complete pillock, wasn’t I? And now Johnny’s getting the silent treatment ‘cause of it. Just couldn’t bear another second of him moping around base on the verge of tears.”

Johnny frowns at that. His girl frowns too, but there’s something more to it. He wouldn’t blame her for not accepting Simon’s apology, if he could even call it that—nothing about it rings sincere, more like words spoken softly to call a kitty over—but questioning it feels worse somehow. Like detonating a bomb at two thousand feet above ground.

“…Okay,” she says instead, voice trembling a little. “Apology accepted. You guys can go home now.”

“Bird’s forgiving, huh, Johnny?”

Johnny preens despite himself. “Aye. She’s a good girl, Lt. Told ye so.”

Ghost nods. “That’s right. A good girl who’s gonna let us make it up to her ‘til we have to report back in forty-eight hours.”

“Wait, you can’t—” she starts, then cuts herself off when Ghost’s eyes flash.

He can’t help the way he shudders at the helpless look on her face. Downturned eyebrows, pretty lips slack with disbelief, just the slightest hint of a whine building in her throat that dies when it dawns on her that nothing short of calling the cops will make the two of them leave.

And she’s a good girl—would never call the cops on him. His perfect girl. Sweet as pie.

Johnny falls in love a little bit more when she presses her squeezed fists against her eyes and exhales. “Fine. I’m too—I’m going back to bed. We can talk about this in the morning.”

Ghost doesn’t react to her acceptance. It’s taken as a simple fact of nature—he says something and it happens. He speaks the world into being.

“I’ll take the couch,” he grunts, finally sitting down to unlace his boots. He looks comically large on her little couch—it’s more than likely that his feet will hang off the end, if not everything from the knee down.

Johnny already figured as much. No point in them driving all the way back to base when they both have the next two days off duty and there’s a perfectly serviceable couch for Ghost and the other half of her bed for him. He thought they’d have to convince her a bit more or strong arm her into it (a putrid thought; he’d rather have sweet talked her into the idea), but his girl always manages to surprise him in the best way.

On that thought, he looks over his shoulder towards the bedroom door, cock throbbing again at the thought of getting to hold his girl’s body against his. Touch starved dog. Mangy mutt, tongue lolling out at even the possibility of a pet.

Ghost must notice the object of his gaze because he sets him straight. “You can take the floor, Johnny.”

His tone brooks no argument. When Johnny whirls around, the words already on his tongue, she’s my girl, I’ve already slept in that bed ten times over, the sight of Ghost’s bare face, the mask now off, dangling in his hand like some scrap of fabric, makes him lose his train of thought. It’s not often he’s granted the luxury of seeing Ghost’s face—wide, clean shaven jaw, buzzed blond hair, old burn marks like a half-moon around his eye, nasty old scar slicing through his lips—and to see it now, here, makes something in him give.

Saturnine man with a wolf’s appetite. Ravenous.

It burns him that his girl looks slightly relieved at having the bed to herself. Irks him. Makes his jaw clench on a mean remark, half tempted to spit out something cross. Just because things have gotten complicated, now he’s not welcome in her bed? After the week he’s spent toiling, trying to make amends? Pleading desperately over the phone, stewing in guilt and heartache—Johnny knows she’s a good girl, but if he finds out that she’s replaced him with someone else in the week since they last saw each other—

Even the thought makes him see red.

He watches her as she turns around to retreat back to bed, more than a little displeased.

“Give Johnny a little kiss before bed, why don’t you, bird?” Ghost lightly suggests. Not a suggestion.

She freezes mid-turn. His expression dares her to put up a fuss. Johnny again nearly clucks his tongue, troubled on her behalf. Her spitfire nature is snuffed out easily under that stare. Grown men with experience in the field wither under Ghost’s stare. It’s no weakness of hers that she acquiesces time and again to his demands, glancing up at Johnny from under her eyelashes before shuffling over, pressing the lightest of kisses to his cheek.

“Better than that,” Ghost grunts, unimpressed.

His poor darling. Humiliated now. No skin off his back though. Johnny’s heart pumps double time when she presses her lips to his; soft petals that spread when he slips his tongue into her mouth, too eager after a week of nothing. Touch starved. Desperate to sink into her, lap his tongue over her lips and the roof of her mouth and press her jaw open to spit messily in her mouth. Take it, hen, every piece of me.

She rips her lips from his and dances away when he tries to get his hands on her, eyes wide, casting one last glance over at Ghost before hightailing it back to her room.

He barely resists going after her. Only Ghost’s stare roots him in place; his voice in Johnny’s head that rumbles, heel. I’ll tell you when to go.

He still doesn’t know what it says about him that he angles himself towards it. Bows his head to it. Moth to a flame that shocks him to the bone when he touches it.

Ghost tosses him the second pillow from the other end of the couch and takes the only blanket for himself. No matter. Johnny’s bivouacked on snowy cliff sides, chilblains blistering his toes for weeks; nights spent camped in torrential downpours, his tent on the verge of collapsing; windswept baysides chilling him to the bone. He can handle a pillow on a hardwood floor.

The ebb and flux of an ocean in his ear, and then Ghost’s voice from the couch: “I’ll take first watch.”

Whole body falling loose as if snipping a cord tethering him to the world.

“I’ll clean up the lamp in the morning,” he mumbles, vision already blurring. Ghost hums low in his throat.

He falls asleep with Ghost’s voice in his head, his girl’s taste still in his mouth.

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #soap x reader #ghost x reader #ghost/reader #soap/reader #ghoap x reader #ghost/soap/reader

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wowcatboys · 1 year ago

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I'm feeling so totally normal about Denji so like denji with reader who both are hella virgins trying to have sex for the first time

virgin Denji so sweet LOVE him

Warnings: 18+ Denji, explicit sex, AFAB pronouns/anatomy, Denji's POV.

dare et accipere.

Denji knows there’s not much he can give you.

He’s supposed to be listening to you, and he really, really wants to. Your voice is coming out in a low, gentle hum. It’s buzzing around his head like a late-night summer moth tempted by a flickering streetlight, but never quite landing. But your hand, your hand has landed. It’s resting on his knee and he thinks the warmth that’s seeping into his skin through his pants might set him on fire. Blistering, intense, somehow not unpleasant. But it’s enough to scramble his brain, to cross the wires a little.

So he’s supposed to be looking at you, listening to you, but he can’t stop thinking about how his room looks. His room, of all things. There was a time when he would have been so glad to have a girl in his room, he wouldn’t have thought about anything except girl and room and ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod and no amount of dirty laundry would poke through her feminine smokescreen. But you, you’re different.

His eyes flicker around the room: underneath you both, a mattress, the sheets just washed but freckled with permanent stains. On his nightstand a candle Nayuta made at school, allegedly smelling like warm vanilla (really, it just stinks like somebody forgot cookies in the oven). There’s a curtain, bought second-hand, fixed over his bedroom window with thumbtacks. Over everything a dusting of dog hair. And it’s enough for him, really, it is.

But he can’t stop thinking that you, you deserve new clean sheets, romantic music filling the air instead of the hum of an air conditioner, a whole damn department-store-section of candles. The weight of everything he doesn’t have presses into his bones. It digs its thumbs into his chest. He starts to think, what the hell, you deserve more than him—

And then your soft hand rubs against his cheek. His thoughts evaporate. Poof.

“Denji? What are you thinking about, honey?”

“Um,” he says, very eloquently. Denji goes completely pink. His hands won’t stop moving in his lap. He rips off a sharp corner of fingernail, lets it tumble out of his fingers and onto the floor. If he keeps picking at his fingernails, he’s going to start bleeding. That thought doesn’t save his cuticles. Denji squishes a loose tag on his index finger. He pulls.

You giggle. Your soft hands close over his, prying his fingers apart. Denji’s lips quirk. You squeeze him in your grip, and sigh.

“It’s okay to be nervous,” you tell him. You squeeze his chin between your soft, soft fingers and lift his chin until your cool breath fans his burning cheeks. The smile you give him is gentle, delicate, like a flower blooming. And god, his chest tightens. His heart hums in his chest, growling chainsaw-loud. The buzzing in his ears threatens to swallow him whole. “I’m nervous too,” you admit. “But I want it to be you.”

“I want it to be you, too,” he blurts out. Thank god his brain can go on autopilot sometimes because he feels so pleasantly tangled up, he has no idea how to form words right now. But, well, who needs words, anyway. Your eyes flutter shut, and you keep his chin trapped between your fingers. You blow a sigh out of your mouth, like somehow maybe your nerves will go out with it.

He knows he’s supposed to close his eyes to kiss—he knows that’s a rule that someone somewhere made up, and everyone is supposed to follow. But he can’t help it. He wants to watch you as long as he can. You’re starting to lean in. He catches the softest hint of your shampoo. Again, on autopilot, his hand finds your cheek. Denji’s rough thumb skims over your cheekbone. You smile then, so bright, and you timidly catch your bottom lip between your teeth, and holy, holy, holy shit, Denji thinks. A shiver shakes down his spine.

“You’re so pretty,” he murmurs. And you deserve everything, absolutely everything, but you’re here with him. Denji. With his chainsaw heart and his bare-walled room and his hands that don’t know how to touch a woman (yet). His hand trembles a little against your warm cheek. His throat’s dry, and so is his mouth, dry like cotton. He’s nervous, yes, because it’s you, and because it’s sex. He’s nervous but dear god he’s ready, the way his pants are too tight, almost choking him and the pounding in his chest all shout ready, ready, never been so ready. So it kills him to stop but ugh, you’re such a nice pretty girl. You really do deserve at least one candle.

“Wait wait wait,” he chokes. Your eyes fly open. Your spine straightens as you pull back, so fast and half-frantic you could almost call it ‘recoiling’.

“Did I do something wrong…?” There’s nervousness sticking to your voice.

“No,” Denji assures quickly, squeezing your hand. “Just hold on a second, okay? And close yer eyes again.” Your shoulders relax. The gentle, timid smile blooms back across your face.

Denji scrambles up from the bed. There’s a fluorescent pink lighter lounging next to Nayuta’s candle and he snatches it up. Flicking it quickly, he holds the flame to the wick and smiles lopsided as the flame catches. He lets the lighter clatter out of his hand back onto the desk. Denji plops back onto the bed beside you, catching one of your hands in his.

“Ta-da,” he announces. You open your eyes and he presents the lit candle with an enthusiastic wiggle of his fingers. You make a showy gasp and cover your open mouth.

“Wow! All for me?” You tease, and bump his shoulder with yours. He grins. Tease all you like, but you can’t hide how hard you’re blushing or the way that just one candle makes your eyes light up like a whole damn Christmas tree. Denji feels a warmth start in the center of his chest and spread out, all gentle-like. It pools in his stomach, his fingers, his cheeks.

“Well, yeah,” he says. “Anything for my girl.”

‘My girl’ makes you melt into him. You rest your head on his shoulder and sigh, looking up at him with those pretty-pretty eyes. He brushes a kiss right between your eyebrows, and lingers there a moment. Because yes he wants to sleep with you, and yes maybe he imagined losing his virginity as something sloppy, sweaty, pulled away from him quick and unceremoniously like a band-aid. But Nayuta is at a sleepover and you have nothing but time tonight, so why rush? Why not savor it?

(No. He’s not stalling because he’s nervous. No way.)

“This feels kinda sappy,” you laugh, rippling through the silence. Denji squishes your hand.

“Yeah,” he agrees, smiling lopsided. “It kinda does, doesn’t it? Who woulda thought I could be so romantic?”

“I like it, though,” you assure.

“Good,” he says.

“But I wanna have sex with you now. If that’s okay.”

“Oh,” he says. A beat passes. His brain is in total-meltdown mode. Not a single coherent thought to speak of. Autopilot takes control again and makes him inch closer to you on the mattress. You both ignore the squeaking. “Yeah, that would be awesome.”

You take his face in your hands, holding him still, and lean forward to gently push your lips together. It’s a quiet, sweet peck before you pull away. Once. Twice. On kiss three Denji flicks his tongue out to push against your lips and relishes in your quiet gasp. He’s kissed a handful of girls and he’s definitely read his fair share of dirty manga, enough to have good instincts. He lifts a palm to caress your babysoft face before dragging it back to tangle in your hair. His other hand finds your left breast and camps out there.

“Denji,” you sigh into his open mouth, in an airy kind of voice that goes straight to his dick. His fist tightens in your hair and he’s desperate, he’s got to taste you. He slips his tongue inside your mouth and curls it along the roof of your mouth. Denji licks a shuddering stripe across you. Your back arches, mashing your tit into his hand. He whines.

You chew on his bottom lip, timid enough that he barely feels your teeth. But it’s enough to make his hands tremble against you.

“Mmmmm,” he hums, deep and dark and low. The prick is enough to remind him he’s got hands and, oh shit, he should probably be doing something with them. He unwinds his fist from your hair, trails it slowly down your neck until you shudder into his touch. Denji’s hand cups your other breast. Experimental, he squishes them, savors how they mold to his hands.

“That’s…” you’re stammering, breathing your unsteady words into the inch of space between your mouth and his.

“Good, baby?” Denji double checks.

You nod before slamming your mouth back against his, almost splitting his lip on his needlepoint teeth. The sting makes him palm your chest again, probably harder than he should. But you make a sweet little desperate sound that he swallows whole, a keening note that he takes as encouragement. Timid, he runs his fingers along the firm shell of your bra, feeling where the material starts and ends under the thin fabric of your shirt.

“You can take it off,” you pull away from his mouth to whisper in the shell of his ear. And then, more firmly, “I want you to take it off”

Denji doesn’t need to be told twice. He snatches the loose hem of your shirt and pulls, yanking it off you so quickly it almost gets stuck on your arms. You splutter, teasingly.

“Can you take it off faster?” You giggle, helping him unsnare the fabric from your armpit.

“Can always try!” He says brightly, offering you a wide, cheesy grin. You roll your eyes. He finally gets the damn shirt loose and slides it quickly off your arm, tossing it over his shoulder.

“No thanks, I don’t need you to rip all my shirts to shreds.”

“Mmmmm,” he bumps his nose against yours, rubs against you affectionately. Denji’s calloused palms skim down your arms. His fingers tingle like electricity, like TV static. “I dunno, it seems like a good idea to me.”

You don’t answer. Instead, you grip his shoulders, steadying yourself before swinging a leg over his waist. Your knee brushes against his dick and he whines, full on whines, and he doesn’t even have it in him to be embarrassed. Denji sinks one hand into your soft thigh. His other spreads out over your spine, helping you balance until you’re comfortably straddling him. Your thighs, god, your soft, squishy, wonderful thighs, how did he get so lucky, squeeze against his legs, and the heat explodes across him like a wildfire. Tender, you press a light kiss to the top of his head and sigh. The inhale pushes your tits right into his face. He almost cums right then and there.

“Fuck,” he breathes. The word fans hot air across your collarbone and your skin explodes into goosebumps. Denji’s hands scramble across your back, looking for your bra clasp. You arch into his touch.

“Up,” you murmur into his ear, earning a shudder. “And to the left.”

He follows your instructions well and hones in on the snaps. Denji’s fingers tremble but it doesn’t stop him from unclasping your bra. His fingernails scrap lightly against your skin and right there, he’s got it. The bra snaps open, and you slip the straps off.

Denji’s seen your boobs twice. The first time, when you’d broken into an apartment-complex swimming pool and lost your bikini top trying to dunk his head underwater. The second time, you’d been sharing the bathroom, changing clothes. He’d made to (reluctantly) slip out as soon as you’d started unzipping your shorts but you’d given him a wink, squeezed past him, and locked the bathroom door. “I don’t mind if you stay,” you’d whispered against the shell of his ear.

He’s jerked off to both events multiple times but holy shit, this? With you breathing heavy, topless, and straddling him? Your hard nipples just inches from his face, your cheeks warm and blushing, you biting your lip as if to say I hope you like them? This takes the absolute fucking cake. He’s gonna be touching himself to this for months.

Denji’s hands shoot to your breasts. For a moment, he just holds them gently, still, his eyes wide and cheeks cherry-red.

“Um,” he chokes out. “Baby, I dunno if I’m gonna last long enough to…”

You giggle all sweet, taking his face in your hands.

“It’s okay if you don’t,” you reassure. “We have time, right? I just want to make you feel good.”

Okay, you’re a certified fucking angel. It’s not the first time he’s thought that. But it is the first time he’s thought that while you’re half-naked on top of him, letting him feel up your chest. And despite the fact that oh, the way you said that just made him so painfully rock hard he thinks he could cum right then and there if his boxers shift the right way, he plans on showing you. That you’re an angel. That he needs you. That he loves you.

With a jerky motion, Denji maneuvers his hands back to your thighs and pivots you. You fall back onto the mattress with a squeal. Denji quickly scrambles over top of you, until his knees settle next to your thighs and his hands press into the mattress, just above your shoulders. Your doe eyes blink up at him. For a second he looms over you, committing the sight of you all laid out—all for him—to memory.

He leans in until his nose brushes against yours, offers you a butterfly-light kiss.

“C’mon, baby,” he breathes. “Wouldn’t be fair if I just laid back n’ let you make me feel good…”

He attacks your neck like he’s starving. The wet suck of his lips trailing down along your jugular tugs a moan out of your mouth and fuck, you’ve gotta stop making noises like that or he really is going to cum in his pants. Denji nips your skin, gently, of course. The sharp edge of his shark-teeth is enough to make you bleed. He doesn’t want that—a hickey or two, though? That could be nice, he thinks as he sucks the dip between your collarbones. Something dark purple, something in the shape of his lips that reminds you of him.

“Lemme make you feel good, too,” he rumbles against your skin. You squirm up against him, your thigh brushing his cock. He sucks in a breath and drops his forehead to the dip between your tits. His fucking nerves are on fire. Denji lingers there for a moment, waits for the heartbeat-throbbing in his dick to calm down.

He tries to think of the unsexiest thing he can, just to hold on. Paying taxes, bringing the dogs to the vet, pulling hair out of the shower drain. It only half-works because no matter how much he tries to think about something else, the smell of your body wash, the music of your heavy breathing, and the heat radiating from your naked tits coalesces into a mind-bending smokescreen. Fuck, you’re so sexy.

Denji fills his hands with your chest and licks a lazy stripe down the center of your torso. Your back arches into him. As he gets lower you tremble, quaking and moaning and oh, Denji thinks, I could do this all freakin’ day. His tongue stills against the barrier of your shorts (still on, unfortunately). He looks up at you. Denji raises an eyebrow, questioning, but your head is thrown back and you’re moaning his name—won’t stop moaning it between heavy breaths—so he takes that as an okay to pop the button.

Your shorts slide off you easily, and you lift your legs to help him tug the fabric off. Denji’s hit with the sudden scent of ‘girl’. He can’t describe it, but it’s a little musky, a little sweet. A little wet spot seeps through the thin fabric of your underwear. The sight of you in your panties generates a shiver that reverberates from the top of his spine, down through every nerve in his crotch.

He breathes out, shaky. Denji gulps. He’s not afraid, really, or even nervous anymore. His raging hormones vaporized every single feeling except the need to be inside you. It’s just that he’s dreamed of having you like this so long, ever since the first time he saw you, and he’s half afraid that any second he’s going to wake up in a tangle of sticky sheets. Still single, still a hopeless virgin, still no ‘you’ to give himself to. He could weep at the thought.

Denji shakes the thoughts out of his head. He leans towards your core, until he can feel and smell and holy shit, almost taste you. Carefully, he hooks his index finger in the bridge of your panties. You whimper as his finger brushes the hot skin beneath, skimming over your lips. He swallows a moan at the sound.

“Can I—”

“Yes, Den, please, just touch me,” you whine, lifting your hips toward him. He bites his lip at your desperate attempt for more friction. Just for a second he reflects on how lucky he is, on how badly you want him. But he’s not going to keep you waiting.

Denji tugs your panties down. He doesn’t bother to slip them off your legs. They hang crooked off your left ankle and you open your mouth, probably to tease him. You don’t get the chance—his warm mouth is on you before you can speak. Your quip melts into a deep moan.

Denji shudders between your legs. Your thighs bracket his head, squeezing tightly. He doesn’t mind the pressure. It keeps him grounded, a little, because holyfuck his head is spinning. Nothing in the world could glue back all the little pieces your pussy’s taste has broken him into. Perfectperfectperfect. His rough hands keep your legs lifted, trapping you at an angle that lets him lick you unrestricted. Experimentally, he slides his tongue from the top to the bottom. He tries to note which places make you squirm hardest. He tries, but fuck, he can’t make anything stick in his brain. So he lets his tongue take over.

It’s sloppy at first. Not that it matters much. Everywhere he licks and sucks turns you into a trembling mess, whining and fisting the sheets. He dips his tongue inside. Denji’s eyes roll back. Holy. Shit. You’re so warm he could just fucking live down here, pushing his tongue into you all day.

A few weeks ago you’d mentioned sex and Denji, determined not to fuck it up with his inexperience, clumsy hands, had called Kishibe. (Yes, Kishibe, and yes, ew. Asking for sex tips from that man was the weirdest conversation he’d ever had.) Despite the fact Denji doesn’t remember much of what the old man said (how is he supposed to think with his tongue in your cunt), he distinctly remembers this; pay attention to your clitoris.

Denji’s tongue maps the wet skin. In the back of his mind, he’s half-concerned he won’t find it. Gentle, hungry, he licks towards the top of your pussy, higher, higher, until—fucking ow. If the way you just pulled his hair says anything, he found it.

“Relaaaaaax,” he breathes against your hot pussy. You whine from above him. “I’m gonna go slow, okay? Lemme know if it’s too much.”

Closing his eyes, Denji says a silent prayer you won’t ever tell him to stop, because this may be his new favorite place on earth. Then he timidly closes his mouth around your sensitive knot. Encouraging, you gasp his name.

Denji takes his time, sucking softly. (It’s not a doorbell, kid, Kishibe’s voice rattles through his brain. When you’re eating a lady out you need to be gentle.) He savors the little whines his tongue shakes out of you. You’re writhing around his mouth like a live wire.

Timid, Denji removes a hand from your thigh and spreads your lips. If you’re going to take his dick (supposing he even makes it that long) he needs to stretch you out. Slowly, he presses his index finger into your pussy. He sucks in a breath as your muscles clench around him. The wetness, the pressure. Denji imagines the heat and the softness closing around his cock. He groans from somewhere deep, deep in his lungs. His nerves are spitting electricity.

“This okay?” He asks, mouth still flush to your cunt. You take a second to breathe and adjust around his finger before blowing out a breath.

“Yeah, it’s good. It feels tight but…it’s not bad.”

“M gonna put another finger in, ‘kay?”

You nod. His middle finger prods your entrance, stilling against the hot flesh for a second. Denji works it in, and yeah, he thought it was tight before, but now? The pressure against his fingers is almost unreal. A shiver tumbles down his spine. His skin explodes in goosebumps.

The last tidbit of information Kishibe gave him burns through his brain—make her cum before you get in, alright? Once you’re really fucking you’re not going to last long enough to make her feel anything. Denji needs to be in you soon or he’s going to be sitting there, sheepish , cum staining the front of his pants.

So he picks up his pace. He works his fingers in and out, gentle, but still fast enough that it makes you whine and clench around him. He moves around you clockwise and counter-clockwise, then his tongue starts spelling out the alphabet. And then once he’s through that and you’re yelling his name at the ceiling, but you’re not quite there, he starts his grocery list. He’s halfway through ‘seaweed nori’ before you unleash this noise, this deep, dark call that’s almost scary (but definitely sexy) and squeeze your thighs around his head so tight it makes his neck hurt.

“Denjidenjidenden, holyshit, that’s so good, Denji,” you scramble strings of curse words and his name. It’s an angel’s choir to his ears. Your body shakes like you’re about to fly apart. He can’t see much of you from where he’s trapped against your pussy but he doesn’t care, this is the best view he could ask for anyway. You’re perfect no matter what angle he’s viewing you from. He lets you ride the orgasm out, lets your breath start to steady and your thighs gradually un-vice from his head.

“Babyyyyy,” you whine. Your voice is so cute and sweet. It drags him from between your legs. He just has to look at those big, worshiping doe eyes you’re giving him. He presses a kiss to your lips and tingles at the way you lap up your own wetness off his mouth. For a virgin, you’re not shy.

“I…I wanna go down on you, now,” You whisper to him. Denji’s jaw tightens, and his eyes roll back in his head. His hips jerk, completely involuntarily, dragging his throbbing cock against your leg. Electricity surges through his limbs. It’s almost over, right then and there. You move to undo his pants and he lets you, but he grinds a warning through his still-clenched teeth.

“Baby, if you do that, I’m not gonna be able to uh, last long enough to…” You giggle and shimmy both his pants and boxers off in one smooth pull. The air hits his sensitive dick and he whines your name. Half-a-prayer, half-a-plea. Your name sounds so good in his mouth, he thinks through the haze.

“Okay,” you say lightly. “Next time?”

“Next time,” he says. Or at least he wants to say that, but then your hand closes around his cock and he can’t speak. He groans instead, shoving his head into the crook of your neck.

You breathe, deep, but your words quiver.

“I think I’m ready, Denji.”

And in his fantasies that’s the moment he sinks into you—the moment he fills you up, the moment that you become his and he becomes yours.

But he knows that tremble in your voice. It’s the one that haunted you when you asked him out for smoothies, (as a date, you’d squeaked after a second of silence). The one that colored your tone when you called him once, panicked, whispering that a guy might be following you home. You’re scared.

So he slows down, and he presses all his love into a kiss on the tip of your nose.

“Hey,” he says, taking your face in his hands. “It’s me, okay? Your Denji. Everything’s gonna be okay. If it’s too much we can stop right then ‘n there. Okay, peachy?”

And you giggle, because he only calls you ‘peachy’ when he’s trying to make you laugh. And suddenly, he makes everything okay again.

“Okay, love,” you nod your head. You reach down between his legs. When your hand finds his dick you give him a loose stroke before lining him up at your wet, soft entrance. The head of his dick brushes against your heat. Denji bites his lip so hard he almost draws blood. He makes a fist in your hair, careful not to pull, and you drop a feather-light kiss to the inside of his wrist. “I’m ready,” you say. This time your voice is steady. He knows you mean it. You’re ready.

Slowly, so slowly, Denji eases his hips forward. You suck in a breath as he just barely pushes in. He knows he needs to be gentle but holy shit. The head of his cock works into your core. It’s so warm and so, so tight. Denji’s head falls forward, his messy hair dragging over your face. The sensation is overwhelming, unbearable almost. Every single one of his nerves is in overdrive. It feels like they’re all poking into each other with a million needles but somehow it’s hot and it’s electric and it’s absolute bliss.

You’re vice-tight around him and Denji doesn’t even think he’s going to fit. Carefully, he inches it in, panting. Your pussy’s squeezing him tighter than he’s ever squeezed himself jerking off. Is this what it’s going to feel like every time? The thought sends a pins-and-needles shock through his entire groin and he moans, half a grunt, half your name.

“I—fuck—I don’ wanna hurt you,” he breathes, his fists white-knuckling the sheets. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah,” you keen back, almost breathless, boneless. “It’s okay, Den. I can take you.”

He gulps at that, and pushes his cock in. It takes every fucking ounce of restraint in his body not to start humping you like an animal because god. above. This is the best he’s felt, ever, in his life. And it’s better than he could ever have imagined, it’s better than any dirty magazine could make it look and sound. If this is sex then he’s never putting his life in danger again. He’s got to keep living on no matter what just so that he can come home at the end of the day and fuck you.

You’re mind-numbingly tight. Denji grits his teeth around your name and eases his hips back. It’s hard for girls, sometimes, he remembers, and there’s no way he’s going to let himself fuck you, hard, unrestrained, squash his virginity into nothingness. Not if it hurts you.

“This is good,” you breathe airily, and press your fingernails into his back.

“Mmmmmmm,” Denji moans, pushing back into you. Words are impossible. He rocks his hips back-and-forth, back-and-forth. The way it’s tugging pretty little noises out of you is divine and shit, he can’t help thrusting into you a little faster, a little more greedy. You feed his passion by screaming his name. Your pussy squeezes around him. Denji gulps. The tightness is bunching up in his abdomen, deep and low inside him. It’s coming—what, it's been like a minute, tops?—but he can’t stop it, the pleasure’s fucking smashing through him. It’s tidal-waving through his limbs, rippling everywhere but collecting in his groin. Denji moans your name, tries to warn you, “baby, baby I’m gonna—” and then he’s jerking out of you, sudden and almost severe. His fist closes around his dick, pumping, and he’s cumming. Hard and fast and thick and all over your pretty tummy.

He can’t even be embarrassed because what the fuck this feels sosososo good, it’s fucking unimaginable and he is never, ever, ever going to jerk off again. It’s sex, with you, only sex all sex forever and ever sex. Denji whimpers your name, clinging on to you like you’re the only thing that might stop him from exploding right out of his body. Everything’s all tingly and his nerves are static and his vision’s white and, just, fuuuuuuuck. There’s no words to describe this. But he hopes the way he’s whining into your neck and his whole body’s writing tells you plain and clear how good you make him feel.

After the lightbulb-flash of that orgasm, he’s completely jellybones. Denji collapses, thankfully, far enough to your left that he only flops on your arm and doesn’t crush all of you. You giggle, giddy with sex and love. You snag his boxers from the corner of the bed and wipe the cum off your tummy with them, and shit, he really should’ve gotten you a towel but he literally cannot fucking move. You snuggle up underneath his arm and he accepts you, pulling you into his chest. Despite the dusting of sweat, despite the smell of sex, despite your wetness slicking both your thighs, he can’t get close enough to you. He squeezes you, plants a kiss to the top of your head. You both settle in, tangled in his bedsheet, and let your breathing even out.

“Thank you,” you hum after a while, nuzzling him. You’re so sincere it makes his heart melt in his chest a little. Because, what could you ever thank him for? You, sweet you, beautiful you, angelic you? He should bow at your feet just for letting him breathe the same air as you, let alone touch you. He’s about to say that, but you sigh and he knows you’re not done speaking yet so he waits. You walk your fingers along his naked collarbone, just basking in the warmth. “For making that so good for me.” He squeezes you tighter to him, nuzzles into your neck affectionately. “And for, um. For giving me your first time. I know it’s not a big deal for a lot of people, but it felt really special. This, I mean,” and you sigh, and he presses a kiss to the warm, inviting skin of your neck. “...us.” You finish. Denji couldn’t agree more. He’s glad you’re good with words, because him…not so much. But it feels good to hear the way you feel, spoken plainly, put out on display. He feels the same.

“Aw, baby,” he murmurs, and pulls you into him. He wriggles up, maneuvering until his nose presses into the skin of your temple, and his words breeze gently over your ear. “I’m glad I got to do it with you,” he says, and seals his words with a kiss. “Forget my first time, y’know? I’ll give you every single thing I have.”Denji knows he can’t give you much—not everything you deserve, at least. But giving you all of himself seems like a good place to start.

#chainsaw man/reader #chainsaw man x reader #chainsaw man #chainsaw man headcanons #denji x reader #denji/reader #nsft #denji chainsaw man #csm #denji #you know what? they did pretty good for their first time #I'm proud of them

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annaisabookworm · 1 year ago

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Going to the Eras Tour with Theodore Nott head cannons.

A/n this is my first time ever writing so I’m really nervous but a little excited!

“Oh cara Mia….” Theodore’s jaw drops and his eyes turn into cartoon hearts he becomes a golden retriever when he sees you step out of the hotel bathroom in the outfit you’ve put your blood sweat in tears to, you’ve worked on it for MONTHS and learned how to sew for it.

Oh and he tells you. He won’t shut up about how good you look for FOUR HOURS your face is flushed and so so so red and he just chuckles

When you get to the stadium you of course bring all your bracelets that you’ve spent moths making and you bring hundreds of them on binder rings and Theodore’s honestly shocked to see how popular you get as soon as you show up outside the stadium

Every single swiftie compliments your outfit within minutes it seems your hundreds of bracelets have been traded and people regardless give you so many bracelets theodores arms become covered in them aswell some even ask if they can get a picture with you and you smile and nod

When you get to your seats on the floor theo smiles and laughs at your jaw drop shock

“What you didn’t think I’d get the best for mia cara” he says kissing you and giving you the biggest grin ever.

“theodore we’re in the freaking front row” your in a total state of shock it’s a bigger deal to you than if he were to be proposing.

If the day couldn’t get any better after you posted a photo of yourself at the eras tour TAYLOR FREAKING NATION reposted YOU. Theodore knew how big of a deal this was since you’ve been hyper fixated on the eras tour for weeks

You SCREAM the absolute LOUDEST during the man because during your time at Hogwarts (you’re currently a sixth year) you’ve faded a lot of unfair sexism (theo would never-) Theodore however just sat down during that song seemingly knowing his place

It’s safe to say this was the best concert of your life and you cry tears of joy during every song and lose your voice for a week after.

Theodore gathers confetti in the merch bags(he bought you everything even though you told him not to) for you while you savor the last moments

Your feet start to hurt because of the gorgeous boots you’ve worn for three hours and he picks you up as your a paper weight and carries you all the way back to the hotel despite your protests

It’s safe to say that’s the best night sleep you’ve ever had and the best night of your life

Theo is so in love with you and has the biggest smile ever on his face for you while you cuddle with him in the hotel.

In the moring Theodore is awoken with the loudest happiest scream you’ve ever had. You’ve never been so happy tears fall down your face of joy and you silently unable to speak bc of your voice show with your shaking hand the notifications from Taylor mother freaking Swift. On your Instagram is a photo of you and Theodore smiling the happiest you’ve ever been and there is a like and comment from TAYLORSWIFT13 saying “OH MY GOD I LOVE YOU! ❤️” and Theodore’s jaw drops. He knows you’ll never shut up about it ever again

“oh Merlin, you’re gonna marry me now that Taylor Swift liked a photo of us aren’t you” he says teasingly and you nod laughing silently

The end <3

#taylor swift #the eras tour #theodore nott #theodore nott x reader #first fanfic

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abbysbasement · 4 months ago

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this is an interest check for a longform thing i post at a later date [read in a noncommittal audhd tone] because i kind of have passion to partake in the fandom experience again and want to write kink content now [not all gross like this] for the later release [please read the content warnings] thanks love yall bye

FLIES —

CONTENT TAGS:

will i get ran off this app, this is for the real freaks only, fem!reader, dubcon, dark!ellie (?), ellie is stalker (infected) adjacent, tentacle sex, ellie has a dick made out of cordyceps fungus, odd coloured cum, vaginal pen (r!receiving), oral sex (e!receiving), aphrodisiac usage, sex-pollen adjacent, canon tlou universe adjacent –parallel reality where ellie aligns with the fungal infection instead of humanity–, bondage elements, the mycelium from the tlouhbo universe exists in this fic instead of spores, [this is not tlouhbo ellie or ellie from tlou1, and that is the only parallel with the hbo universe, this takes place in an alternate version of the tlou2 timeline, really self indulgent and gross honestly, graphic sexual content, impregnation, oviposition (of the fungal kind), DDDNE

ellie williams but tainted by the end, cordyceps tangling and twining around the base of her brain, the infection spreading through her nerves and carving her psyche, painting svelte features with an unconscious danger, a wrought twist of bulging veins coalescing around a right eye that pools with blood. this ellie williams isn’t infected, she /is/ the infection, the one god of this world, with an owlet head that wrings around in the small dark, pierces through each noise, lips twisting in satisfaction when they find /you./, you won’t notice the oozing of gore, or the sinuous growths teeming from a high cheekbone in the dim, flickering warehouse light, muddy yellow bulbs teeming with flies creating dirty, pallid illumination, blurring how she stands comforted in the mycelium, enhancing an almost kiddish mischief and the charming snaggle of a tooth that quiets your gut’s latent fear. so you shut it up, and trust her, from your curiosity, or desperation, and because the apocalypse has been so, so long.

“how did you know I was here?” you’ll say; just making conversation, holstering your pistol, stepping closer into this room, into this darkness, over coils of mycelium that shrink and flinch underfoot.

your folly.

“I could feel it.” and her voice will be soft and warm, like fresh leather. A friendly smile and a steely, glazed over leer takes you in.

“I think it was fate.”

It was like a moth to a flame; spider to a fly.

#500 words>#ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x reader smut #abbusiness as usual soon #be normal in my ask box about this plz #the tags are longer than the actual fic lol #expect the full in tminus-1.5 week if the vibes are right

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cetaitlaverite · 4 months ago

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Anything to Anywhere

Masters of the Air - Bucky Egan x OC

masterlist is here <3

02. A Great Story

As Stella was leaving the ATA hut, having completed her debriefing and picked up her next chit, Bucky Egan was dawdling in the grass. He had his flight suit on and his hat in his hand, squinting into the morning sunshine as he walked in idle circles.

Stella furrowed her eyebrows. She’d been under the impression that only the air executive of the inbound Yank section, the 100th Bomb Group, had arrived. Their planes certainly hadn’t. So what business did an air exec Yank with no crew, no plane, and no mission orders have wearing a flight suit?

Her confusion about the entire affair was the only thing propelling her feet towards him. She lifted a hand to shield her eyes from the sun as she slowed to a stop before him. She had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze and squinted to look up at him. “You off?”

Bucky mustered a small twist of his lips which might have been construed as a smile by someone more generous. “Waiting for my driver. Got my first mission today flying as observation pilot for the 389th.”

So he was deliberately seeking out combat flying with a different unit while he waited for his boys to arrive. Stella frowned. “Why?”

He scoffed a laugh. “Wanna get a taste of the action. How can I send my boys out there if I got no idea what I’m sending ‘em into?”

Stella hummed her acceptance of this, shifting her stance in the grass. She was trying to make herself appear taller, unsettled by how he towered over her. She wasn’t used to feeling quite so small - at five feet and eight inches she wasn’t the tallest woman she’d ever seen but she was far from the shortest, and besides, there was something about flying that drew short men like moths to a flame. Many of the airmen she’d met so far had been her height or shorter. She wasn’t best pleased that Bucky didn’t fit the role description set out in the script.

“Any advice?” Bucky asked next.

Stella gave a sour smile. “None. They don’t let me fly combat.”

“It’s dangerous,” Bucky acknowledged.

“So’s flying broken aircraft,” she fired back. “So’s landing a Lancaster Bomber with no hydraulics. But I’m not too frail and soft to do that.”

“Oh, I don’t think anyone’s thinking of you as frail, Finley,” Bucky replied, grinning.

“Most unfortunately, most men consider all women as frail,” Stella informed him bitterly. “I fly a bomber better than any male pilot I’ve ever seen take off from this base but they won’t let me cross the Channel. I fly so much better than my fellow male ATA pilots, in fact, that sometimes they pass their chits onto me. But god forbid anyone sends a woman into combat. God forbid you mighty men let anyone else have a turn.”

Bucky held his hands up in mock surrender. “Hey, I didn’t make the rules.”

“No,” Stella acknowledged, “but you benefit from them, which makes you my enemy by proxy.”

The distant buzzing of a jeep and the crunching of stones along the path interrupted their conversation. Both parties turned in the direction of the noise and frowned.

“Well,” Stella said decisively when the jeep came into sight, “good luck and all that.”

“Yeah,” Bucky replied distractedly, his eyes set firmly on the jeep coming to whisk him away. “Thanks.”

“Let me know what it’s like after, won’t you?”

This drew Bucky’s attention. When he looked down at her he found wide, earnest blue eyes staring up at him. He stared at her silently for a moment, waiting for the instant her face contorted back into a smirk, but it didn’t. She just waited patiently for his answer, gazing up at him like a puppy awaiting a treat.

“Yeah,” Bucky replied at length, still distracted but now for an entirely different reason. He shook his head to clear it and painted on a smirk. “Sure, I’ll tell you. But you gotta tell me your name.”

“You know my name.”

“Finley,” he complained, drawing out the vow sound at the end of her name. He tipped his head back and shut his eyes into the sunshine. “You’re killing me.”

Stella laughed. “If you tell me a good story about your very first mission, I’ll tell you my name. But it’s got to be a good story.”

“A good story,” Bucky echoed, grinning. “Sure. I’m sure I can do that.” He turned to her with a mischievous look in his eye. “What do I get for a great story?”

“An interesting fact about birds.”

Bucky barked a laugh. She was constantly surprising him. “I was thinking something more along the lines of a dance.”

Stella scoffed. “Absolutely not. I barely even know you.”

“You don’t gotta know a guy to dance with him!” Bucky protested.

Stella shrugged. “No dance for you, Major Egan. You can take the bird fact or you can leave it.” She began walking backwards away from him, heading off to prepare for her next ferry chit. She laughed as she watched him fight to find something to say, then tilted her head to the side and offered a smile before turning on her heel and picking up her pace.

Behind her, Bucky’s shoulders heaved as he let out an almighty sigh. “Fine!” he called after her just as his jeep pulled up beside him. “I’ll take the fact!”

“It costs a great story!” Stella reminded him over her shoulder.

She disappeared around the corner of a building before he could reply.

The next time Stella saw Bucky Egan he looked world-weary. Gone was his bright grin and that mischievous glint in his eyes. Instead, furrowed eyebrows and a frown slumped over the bar, his beer safe in the circle of his arms. There were still lingering red marks on his face from his oxygen mask, still what must have been blood crusting along his hairline.

Hesitating in the doorway to the officers’ club, Stella considered her options. On the one hand, she could go over and talk to him, but she didn’t really know him yet, and he didn’t seem like he wanted to talk - not that that had stopped him when the roles were reversed the other day. On the other hand, some of the other ATA pilots were sitting huddled around a table in the corner and if she went over now the chances were that Bucky wouldn’t even notice her.

Stella fiddled with her fingers as she weighed each option in her head, one of her feet tapping at the floor, before she decided to slip over to the table in the corner with her friends. It would be awkward, she decided, to go and sit with Major Egan.

Stepping in that direction, Stella adjusted her jacket and prepared to move as quickly as she could as inconspicuously as she could.

“Finley!” called Atley from behind the bar. “Beer?”

Stella cringed. She froze where she was, mid-step, like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar. In her peripheral vision she watched as Bucky turned to look at her, that harsh furrow still in his brow.

“Um,” Stella hesitated.

Bucky raised a lazy hand. “On me,” he informed Atley, turning back to face the bar.

Stella gritted her teeth and swore under her breath. Now she had no choice but to go over and sit with him.

She ambled over, taking as long as she possibly could to give herself time to think of what to say, but when she got to the bar she came up empty.

Bucky didn’t look up at her, just kept on staring into his beer. Finally, Stella said, “You know what you look like?”

Humouring her, Bucky glanced up. “What do I look like?”

Stella smiled. “You look like a man in need of a fun bird fact.”

Mercifully, Bucky cracked a grin, but still he objected, “I didn’t tell you a good story.”

Stella shrugged. “I asked you for a great story in exchange for my fact, if you remember correctly, but I’m feeling generous.”

Bucky stared at her for a moment, considering her, before inclining his head in the direction of the bar stool beside his. As soon as she sat down Atley placed her beer in front of her, which Stella took a long draw of, before she turned to Bucky decisively. “Thank you for the beer. Do you want the fact?”

He’d been watching her the entire time, she realised when she met his eyes. She raised an eyebrow and he laughed, rolling his eyes. “Absolutely. Hit me with the fact.”

Stella sat up straight and smiled wide, pleased with this response. “A bird’s eyeballs take up over fifty percent of its head.” She stared at Bucky, smiling brightly, waiting for a response. After a moment, she added, “For comparison, a human’s eyeballs take up five percent.”

Bucky watched her for a moment longer while she sat there staring at him in anticipation of a reaction. Then he chuckled to himself. “That was a great fact, Finley. Thank you.”

“You are so very welcome.”

“What is it with you and birds anyway?” he asked around a sip of his beer.

Stella shrugged. “I like them.” She considered the foam at the top of her beer and then added, “I also like butterflies. And planes, obviously. Things that fly. But birds are my favourite.”

Bucky turned his body away from the bar so he could face her entirely on his stool. He rested one elbow on the bar and perched the other hand on his thigh. “What about penguins?” he asked, leaning towards her conspiratorially, as though he was sharing a secret.

“Penguins,” Stella echoed with furrowed eyebrows.

“Yeah,” Bucky replied easily. “Penguins. You say you like birds ‘cause they fly, so what about penguins? They don’t fly.”

Stella stared at him, waiting for his next comment, but he just kept on watching her, awaiting her answer. And, slowly, Stella started to smile. Penguins. He was right, there wasn’t a single type of penguin which could fly. Their incredible ability to swim, in fact, had cost them their ability to fly.

She shook her head, turning to her beer. “I like penguins,” she informed him.

“But they can’t fly,” Bucky said.

“I know they can’t.”

“Then why do you like them?”

“‘Cause they’re funny looking,” Stella said, arching a brow at him sidelong. “And I like the way they waddle. I met some penguins once - king penguins, in Edinburgh Zoo back when I was a little girl. Incidentally, Edinburgh Zoo was the first zoo in the world to successfully breed king penguins.”

“Which ones are king penguins?”

“The ones you’ll be imagining in your head,” Stella explained. “White on the front, black on the back, with bits of yellow and orange at the tops of their chests.”

“They your favourite type of penguin?”

“No. Rockhopper penguins are my favourite. Those are the ones with the yellow eyebrows.”

Bucky clicked his fingers in recognition. “I know the ones you’re talking about. Those little guys who’re always short and a little fat.”

Stella grinned. “Yes! Those ones! I think they’re funny.”

“What’s your favourite type of bird?”

“Hummingbirds,” she answered immediately.

“What’s cool about them?”

“They’re the only type of bird that can fly forward, backward, sideways, and upside-down. And they fly fast, up to sixty miles per hour. Their wings beat about seventy times per second during regular flight, but they can beat more than two hundred times per second when they’re diving.” She smiled, sitting up straighter on her stool. “If I was a bird, I’d be a hummingbird.”

Bucky was grinning. “And what type of bird would I be?”

Stella hummed as she mulled this over, tapping her pointer finger against her chin. She eyed him curiously, considered his size and the few characteristics of his he’d shown her so far, before deciding, “White bellbird.”

His eyes sparkled. “Why’s that?”

“They’re the loudest.”

Bucky barked a laugh. “Finley, you’re killing me here. What’s it gonna take for you to extend an olive branch?”

Stella shrugged, taking a casual sip of beer. “Not sure. I’ll have to get back to you on that.”

Some of the other ATA pilots must have spotted her, then, for they started calling her over, as if they thought she hadn’t seen them when she’d come in. Turning to them over her shoulder, she called back that she’d be over in a minute, then turned back to Bucky. “Those are my friends, who very much do exist, contrary to popular belief. You can come sit with us if you want.”

Bucky smiled to himself and turned back to the bar. “I was about to head off anyway.”

“To the pub?”

“Yeah.”

“What have they got that we don’t?” Stella challenged playfully.

Bucky rolled his eyes as he downed the rest of his beer and pushed himself to his feet. “Women who’ll tell me their names, for a start.”

“Oh, where’s the fun in that?” Stella replied with a scoff. She followed his lead and got to her feet, too, then picked up her beer and started to walk backwards in the direction of the table of ATA pilots. “Have fun.”

Bucky laughed. “Yeah, I sure will.”

With a shrug, Stella turned and sat down with her friends, and Bucky disappeared out the door.

“New American?” one of her fellow ATA pilots, Jessop, asked as she sat down. He had one eyebrow raised, his head tilted as he looked between Stella and the door Bucky had just left through.

“Indeed,” Stella confirmed. “A major. Just flew his first combat mission today in observation for some other American regiment at some other base.”

“He’s been sat over there nursing a beer ever since we came in about an hour ago,” Jessop replied, settling back into his chair but not releasing his raised eyebrow. “Wondered what was the matter with the fella.”

Stella brushed this away. “He’ll be fine. He’s gone off to chase skirts down the pub.”

“You reject him already then, Fin?” asked one of her bunkmates, Alice, from beside her.

Stella rolled her eyes, lifting her beer to her lips for a sip. “If I was interested in sacrificing my hard-earned reputation over a man I would’ve taken Jessop up on his offer back in 1940.”

“I knew you fancied me, Finley!” Jessop cheered.

Stella rolled her eyes. “You knew nothing, you lying bastard, now sit still and drink your beer before you wear it.”

The gathered pilots chatted idly about the chits they’d flown today. Stella had been sent to a nearby base which was short of ATA pilots of its own to ferry a damaged Spitfire to a repair depot and had then picked up a freshly repaired Bristol Blenheim to fly back. Her day had been long, she said, but not difficult. Nonetheless, she headed off to bed prematurely, seeking a warm shower before the other female ATA pilots in her hut stole all the hot water.

#my writing #ata #masters of the air #masters of the air x oc #masters of the air fanfic #masters of the air fanfiction #john egan #john bucky egan #bucky egan #john egan x oc #john egan fanfic #john egan fanfiction #bucky egan x oc #bucky egan fanfic #bucky egan fanfiction

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bloogers-boogers · 8 days ago

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Angel Dust: Satan?

Lucifer: contrary to popular belief, no, gross. We’re brothers of wrath nothing more, nothing else.

Angel Dust: Nifty?

Lucifer: are you insane??

Angel Dust: Answer short king

Lucifer: NO.

Angel Dust: Mammon

Lucifer: seriously?

Angel Dust: *arches a brow skeptic*

Lucifer: no!

Angel Dust: any incubus?

Lucifer: a few

Angel dust: juicy~, the queen?

Lucifer: Angel. Thats my wife.

Charlie: Ex, actually….

Angel Dust: *shrugs* you never know

Lucifer: *groans* yes

Angel Dust: Eve

Lucifer: this goes the same for Lilith. I would not go into further details

Angel Dust: *mischievous smirk* Adam

Lucifer: ….

Lucifer: Do I have to answer all of these??

Angel Dust: looking quite suspicious right now, short stuff

Lucifer: *rolls his eyes* yes. It was just one time! At a meeting… okay, let’s skip to the next one!

Vaggie: wait, which on-

Angel dust: nice. *smirking* Alastor

Lucifer: the bellhop?! I would fuck Adam twice if I could skip fucking that asshole. Literally.

Charlie: *disturbed* daaaaaaaaaaad…

Lucifer: no! Absolutely not!! Absolutely disgusting

Angel Dust: Vox?

Lucifer: Who?

Angel Dust: Carmilla?

Lucifer: Did.

Angel Dust: What? Really??

Lucifer: complicated

Angel Dust: okaaaay, now I have to know. Zestial??

Lucifer: Did.

Angel Dust: oh god, this is amazing. Okay, okay. Any of the ars goetia?

Lucifer: yes. Won’t say their names for obvious reasons

Angel Dust: Noah

Lucifer: huh?

Angel Dust: y’know, the guy from the boat ?

Lucifer: *wincing confused* the guy… of that flood on earth, the one that ascended to heaven after dying that Noah???

Angel Dust: yep, that dude

Vaggie: *annoyed* Angel, now you’re just naming people you remember from the bible, how in all hell can Lucifer, the devil, trapped in hell fuck a guy that literally lives in he-

Lucifer: did.

Vaggie: what

Lucifer: finding angels to fuck with is as easy as finding a nun fucking a priest on a confession booth at church. I fucked a few

Angel Dust: *laughing in disbelief*

Lucifer: I mean, it wasn’t so hard to fuck your ex boss, he’s all ‘saint’, ‘THE man’, and ‘perfect’ until I bend him over and made him suck my-

Charlie: OKAY!! Dad, we get it. Lets— *breaths hardly* let’s just finish this already or not finish at all

Angel Dust: wait, wait! I still have a few

Charlie: *GROOOOANS*

Angel Dust: how about Valentino? He brags alot about royalty ‘having done that’

Lucifer: who?

Angel Dust: moth guy, tall, purple, an complete dick, bald-

Lucifer: the pimp overlord?

Angel Dust: Pretty much

Lucifer: fuck no. I believe Lilith did once tho… for… punishment reasons

Angel Dust: excuse me, how the FUCK are those punishment reasons

Lucifer: she didn’t do him, it was mostly a trench fork up his ass doing all the work

Charlie: *crying in Vaggie’s comforting embrace* omygoodness

Angel Dust: Again. How is that a punishment???

Lucifer: is this over? Can I go???

Angel Dust: no! I need to know a few others!! And I have questions!!

Lucifer: *sighs tired* can we just skip to the questions?

Angel Dust: *upset but shrugs* alright. Out of everyone mentioned who did you enjoy the most fucking?

Lucifer: *opens mouth*

Angel Dust: that isn’t your wife or Eve *quickly adds*

Lucifer: *shuts mouth*

Lucifer: *thinks for a few seconds* okay hear me out. As much as he’s bratty, arrogant and an asshole he makes it up by being a good lay. Adam.

Angel Dust: was he a bottom

Lucifer: I would not answer that

Angel Dust: *smirk* so you bottom

Lucifer: *pissed and falling for the bait* did you not hear?? I bend him over. I made him fall on to his knees and beg for IT,CRY AND PLEAD FOR MY MERCY. CRUSHED HIS INSIDES AND I WILL DO IT ALL OVER AGAIN TO PROVE A POINT

Angel dust: *smiles proudly* okay~ next question! How many bottoms, switch and tops did you fuck?

Lucifer: 50 bottoms, 22 switch, 1 top

Angel Dust: I have a feeling that one top was Lilith

Lucifer: you’re correct. Can I go now

Angel Dust: so a dom-apple daddy when fucking in wedlock and a submissive husband with mommy wife ~

Lucifer: do not ever call me or Lilith that ever again.

Angel dust: who would you fuck or fuck again if given the chance to?

Lucifer: *deeps breath* okay. Hear me out again.

Charlie: Dad. If you say Adam again all my respect for you will be 30 feet under this hotel in split seconds from that sentence and I will ban Angel Dust from choosing games for game night for eternity

Lucifer: *closes his mouth* *opens his mouth again* I was gonna say Lilith but now my mood is ruined because I would totally fuck Adam again if he didn’t despise me that much or tried to kill you, and well— ..now dead I guess??

Charlie: *pinches her nose and groans even louder*

Lucifer: he has a nice ass okay?!! I cannot rank that ass lower then ten! He was meant to be a pillow freak

Angel Dust: so I’m banned from choosing? Great.

Lucifer: besides, your mother fucked him too! And that was after the fall. Like, three thousand years ago. Why aren’t you upset at her??

Charlie: *astonished* because I didn’t know!!??

Lucifer: *slow blinks* oh. Well now you know!! *throws confeti at her* ta-daaaaaa!

#random shit post ☆#im so burnt out rn this is all i came up with 😭😭

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cryptidwithaninternetconnection · 7 months ago

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The LATEOTW Eldridge AU

an AU I want to explore for Light at the Edge of the World when the main story is finished and we all take a break :] /nf

@sagehyperfixates @the-excellent-papyru @tabsters

in which most of the main cast (including most, if not all save for a few side characters) Minus Casper, Circe, and Raptor are Eldridge horrors, some in disguise, most not

Claire: Uses a disguise the most, still Kaos’ chosen but in the way of an older god adopting a younger god, most aware of human emotions, most comprehensive true form (classic mess of eyes and wings, a few teeth thrown in along with the occasionally seen tiny violet that Casper gave her human form) when distressed, a few eyes open up around her body, usually under the “main eyes” but occasionally found on the back of her hand, on her shoulders, arms, etc.

Akiva: on a scale of Claire to Gaia and Kaos on the scale of comprehensive true form, Akiva is right in the middle, if you don’t look at them for too long you’ll be fine, but stare too long and it will appear that everything is clipping into itself like a poorly rendered video game, a tangle of moth wings and antennae, and quietly screaming yet sewn-shut mouthes, the only one unstitched and biggest being the one you hear, the others fall silent under Gaias influence. Uses a disguise always, even if nobody is there, they won’t risk Casper seeing their true form. When distressed, their form flickers and one can see the silhouette of moth wings behind them.

Camryn: on the higher scale of incomprehension, Casper has never seen her true form in any time frame due to how Camryns true form molds to be uncomprehendable to the viewer, everyone seeing something different and equally distressing. Uses a disguise 90% of the time, treats it like a bra where she only wears it when company (Casper) is around. When distressed, Camryn’s eyes shut all the way, skin crashing into skin and melding her eyes shut, even though their mock eyes, Camryn still finds this process uncomfortable

Delphi: A mix of cat ears and tails, one sometimes sees bat wings, her true form looks like someone spawned in a lot of Minecraft cats and their all entity cramming into each other, Casper sometimes hears cats meowing near Delphi, even if Ghost (Delphis familiar) is nowhere to be seen, Casper usually chalks this up to hearing things or Ghost hiding. When distressed, one can sometimes see the tips of cat tails poking out from under Delphis human skin.

Ember: Right alongside Kaos and Gaia, her true form is various things on fire and cramming into each other, the screams of mortals she’s controlled being heard if you get too close, her hypnotism working by luring someone close by either faking being a nice-smelling candle, or by flirting in her human form, having no clue what she’s saying and having the least firm grip on human emotions of the group, excluding Gaia who just. doesn’t care about humans because of what the scientists did to Lucia. When distressed, Embers mock eyes can turn purple in some lighting, people chalking it up to messy lighting

on that Topic, Gaia! Her form is a large collection of plants and swirling human souls trapped and clamoring for room, all plants oozing and dripping with chlorobrene, a chemical found in all living things, which when “polluted” can turn into a sort of poison that mind controls conscious beings named “Biomaline” when distressed, Gaias human skin can start to ooze biomaline as a defense mechanism, Gaia having to force it to come out clear to pass it off as sweat.

now for Kaos! Not much to say for this fella, pretty much unchanged from the original au, enormous humanoid form that’s complexity made of a galactic concrete-type substance, arms alone being the size of large skyscrapers. Kaos does not have a human disguise as of writing this, but if they did, it would flicker in the form of the eyes starting to ooze a galactic goo type thing.

The story I have in mind so far:

so I think this would mostly play out in similar ways, possibly minus the Phoenix Society Headquarters due to the beyonders not needing to actively conceal themselves and just using advanced disguises. Possibly much more angst in the form of Casper feeling alone sense none of these weird people seem to get how primally scared they are of dieing, either this weird group is suicidal (not unbelievable) or something isn’t right,, but what?

I think the story’s first real thread could go along the lines of Claire’s human disguise freeing Akiva from their prison (maybe the scientists knew of Akivas nature and made a cage specifically for them) and Casper walking into the facility like normal, albeit the other two acting more awkward and disconnected, Claire never having interacted with a human before, let alone a human young! Akiva being awkward because huh?? Humans can have young?? Humans can be not terrible?? Both are pretty suspicious of Casper initially, avoiding them somewhat, but an incident that led to Casper breaking down and screaming about what happened to their family and spilling all the gorey details, Claire can’t help but sprout a few eyes, all of them crying, Casper not noticing due to a lack of glasses and blurry and tearful eyes, Claire and Akiva end up making a pact above an asleep Casper to claim the kid as their chosen, giving way for Kurayami, who doesn’t change in this AU, albeit not being inclined to leave Casper alone as much.

let me know how this looks!! I like this a lot Ngl :>>

#light at the edge of the world #eldrich horror #tw Eldridge horror #Found family but make it several uncomprehendable beings adopting a traumatized human child #Eldridge AU

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introverted-imagineer · 2 years ago

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Renegades (Part 2)

Warnings: Language, Violence, Religious Themes, Romantic Themes.

‘You cannot ignore me forever, young one’ he said so philosophically.

‘Yeah? Well I’ve been doing it for all these years so far’ I snarled back

‘And yet, you end up here, in this unhappy place, you can’t escape fate Y/N, it has come to you’

‘You aren’t real, you are an illusion, a ghost, a figment of my imagination’ I sternly retorted, more to convince myself more than anything.

‘People travel great lengths to find me Y/N, I see all, yet people do all to see me’

‘Then why don’t you go annoy those people’

‘Who are you talking to?’

My body jolted at the sudden interruption, abruptly sitting up to find Leif in the same spot as last night, only standing with a curious and concerned look on his face. ‘Nobody…just myself’ I whispered, burying myself into the blanket. I could sense Leif sitting there, that puzzled look of contemplation on his face. ‘I forgot you were there’ I mumbled, more to myself than Leif. I could hear him smirk at the comment.

That was a rule when I was young…when he first started to appear. Mother put it down to the side effects of the flu…but his visits became more frequent as I grew older. Frightening as he was, his eyes sewn shut, his lips the colour of liquid tar, pale and hooded like a lost soul in the night. His presence however was never as petrifying as it seemed to others. Although nobody else seemed to be able to see him, my mother shook in her boots whenever she caught me talking to him. ‘You are not well Y/N, there is nobody there’ she would say soothingly, calmly brushing my hair back. Looking back though, I think she was more afraid of me than him. The rule was set in place when it became too frequent and too much for her. Never ever let anyone know anything.

‘Are you going to kill me now?’ I whispered, my eyes averted to the floor so as to not look him in the eyes. That look of his, so painfully intriguing. It would be less troublesome to keep my eyes averted than to find myself encapsulated in his gaze. I could see his feet freeze in place as his feet pivoted in my direction. ‘I won’t’ he said under his breath to himself as he busied himself by adjusting the axe in his belt. It was comforting, even if he didn’t mean for me to hear, but that only applied to my existence confined within these walls. On the other side…that was a different story.

‘Am I the only one left?’ I timidly questioned, my only ounce of protection being the blanket I desperately wrapped my body into. He took in a deep breath, one that encapsulated the whole of his body as it heavily moved up and down. He turned around as if offended by the question. ‘Maybe you should just focus on yourself’ he huffed as he reached for the door, slamming it shut behind him. The board jiggled behind him as I could hear the wooden plank slide back into the place where Mother Brynhorn had done before.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•

I hated this place, I hated everything about it. From the windowless rooms that served more as torture chambers, to the mice that scuttled through the gaping holes in the stone-cracked walls, to the daily routine of silence and prayer that made one's knees cripple each day. But most of all, I hated the people. The evil, cruelness that radiated the walls. Christians, they called themselves, a people living truly under God’s rule.

But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you.

Love, however, did not apply to farm girls who saw things that others could not…

Outside this existence, I was just a daughter to a humble family. Christian, rural, a child amongst many. The youngest of brothers, a welcome blessing to my mother as she had said. Father had not too much to say on the matter of having a girl, but there was one thing that was undeniably true. Once I was born, my father barely ever touched my mother again.

‘Danger comes to you my child’

‘Didn’t I just tell you to leave me alone’ I snarled as the poltergeist stood in the corner of the room.

He didn’t say anything, just stood there, looking into my soul through his. He didn’t need eyes, he clearly had something more powerful. But as mother says…it’s not real.

‘The God’s have sent me to you, it is no choice of mine, nor is it yours’ he murmured in a tone that sends shivers down my spine.

‘Well you just tell the Go…’ I begun to lecture, before I looked up to see his presence disappear. A piercing screech scraped across the outside of the door making my teeth chatter. The door flung open to reveal Leif stood there, another man by his side watching over.

‘You must come with me’ he sa himid quietly, a sensation of dread in his voice. I grounded my feet flat on the floor, clutching onto the lumpy mattress as I adamantly shook my head in disagreement. ‘you must’ he said, taking a step forward. I took in a deep gasp as anxiety and panic took over. Whimpers came out as I stuttered, pleading to be left alone. Dying alone in this room of starvation, cold, eaten alive by rats was more desirable than facing the Vikings on the other side of the door…their King in particular whose brief encounter was enough to haunt my dreams forever. I could hear Leif inhale a deep breath, his strong hand then clasping onto my upper arm, prying my body from its place, practically storming out the door and down the corridor.

My terrified cries of pleas went unnoticed by the Greenlander, his counterparts loitered up and down the corridor, laughing at my cries of distress. Leif however had his gaze fixed upon the task at hand. Taking me to my death.

I collapsed to the floor with a loud thud, the door to the grand hall slamming shut behind me as Leif took a step back from the large circle of Vikings stood in a circle around the ceremonial throne. My body shook as it collided with the cold wooden floor, my teeth sounding as they slammed together chattering as my chin shook. My state of despair was pleasing to the Vikings as they roared in laughter, downing sacramental wine as if it were water. A muffled shout sounded from the ceremonial throne. I slowly looked up to find Elder Aefentid tied to the seat, his mouth gagged by the ropes that usually rested around his waist. His look mirrored my petrified state.

‘Well, I didn’t expect to see you here young one’ that deep haunting voice taunted. The Vikings in the room went silent, standing to attention as the doors to the hall slammed shut. Every eye in the room was fixated on the man behind me. I kept my head down.

His footsteps loud, paced forward incredibly slowly, coming closer and closer to me as I sat knelt on the floor with my eyes glued to the floor. I body jolted as a gentle brush of fingers danced on my head. His thick finger swirled the locks on top of my head, wrapping them around his finger. ‘And yet, here you are’ he noted, as if it were a grand performance. His body slammed to the ground, as he knelt next to me, clutching my neck within his palm, forcing me to look at Elder Aefentid. His petrified eyes looked back at mine. I let out a wail, letting out a deep cry. The King chuckled to himself, wrapping his other arm around my body, pulling my body into his embrace as he placed his lips upon my temple. ‘Shush, shush, shush’ he cried, performing to the spectators around him. His cruelness not escaping me. His grasp around my throat slightly tightened threateningly. ‘Tell us child, who is the man in the chair?’ He beseeched. Hot tears fell down my cheek as I tried to shake my head, but the King's hand held onto my neck rigidly, trapping my face where it was. His clutch tightened even more, stopping the already weak airflow from travelling to my lungs. ‘I will ask you again, who is the man in that chair?’

‘E..El…Elder Aefentid’ I choked out in a whisper. The King shook his head, his eyes averted to the ground, dissatisfied with the answer to the question he so desperately sought. ‘He is the leader here’ I whispered. The King's demeanour changed from one of dissatisfaction to genuine pleasure as his mouth broke into a grin, a deep laugh emitting from his stomach. The King stood from the floor, his hand unclasping from my throat, using my head to hoist his balance from the ground. The Vikings around him joined in with his laughter as the King paraded around the circle. ‘THIS MAN, A LEADER!’ He cried to his subjects. Their roars of laughter emitting even louder. However one stood apart from all the others, quiet, stone-faced, impassive. Leif Erikkson stuck out like a sore thumb.

Canute walked up to the constricted man in the ceremonial throne. Elder Aefentid, yesterday a powerful malicious leader, today a prisoner in his own home. The King mockingly ripped the rope from Elder Aefentid’s mouth, his neck whiplashing at the speed and strength which he did.

‘YOU VIKING SCUM, GOD WILL SEE TO IT YOU ALL ROT IN THE DEEPEST DEPTHS OF HELL’ he screamed, his throat slightly raspy in his delivery. The Viking King rounded the throne, looking undeterred by his verbal assault. The King stood there, leaning against the side of the throne, his arm extending, pointing his finger directly at me. ‘You speak old Norse, tell me what your leader said’ emphasising the term leader in a tone of disparagement. I could feel my jaw drop from beneath me, while my muscles clenched and my throat closed. ‘What. Did. He. Say?’ He demanded, taking a step forward between each word toward me.

‘He urges you to seek Christ’ I retorted. The King seemed sinisterly pleased. ‘THIS MAN CLAIMS TO SERVE GOD’ he cried to the Vikings. This seemed to spark a different response. Instead of a roar of laughter, the Vikings responded in anger, grunting and yelling. The King walked toward Aefentid, reaching into his shirt, and pulling out a bejewelled crucifix tied to his neck. I could swear his eyes popped out of his skull at the thought of Christian Vikings. The King chuckled at Aefentid. ‘KING ÆTHELRED WILL HAVE YOUR HEAD FOR THIS’ he cried.

At his threat, his attention was captured by everyone in the room, even Leif Erikson directed his gaze toward the bound man. ‘Æthelred’ The Viking King repeated, lowering his gaze to look directly into his prisoner's eyes. ‘What did he say child?’ His voice called, not breaking contact with Aefentid as they stared at one another. ‘H..he says the King will seek justice…’ I stuttered out. ‘FILTHY LITTLE VIKING BITCH’ Elder Aefentid cried, leaning to the side in order to catch my gaze, making sure his words penetrated my very soul. The Viking King turned around, all eyes in the room now directed at me as I sat on the ground in the middle of the room. ‘And?’ The Viking King questioned, his hands gesturing toward me. ‘He is displeased with me’ I whispered.

The Viking King simply nodded, standing back up to his tall figure, grasping the rope from the ground, and shoving it violently back into Elder Aefentid’s mouth. ‘While I am displeased myself…’ he spoke, directing his gaze between Leif and me, his disappointment more directed at Leif. ‘Your speaking our language is very….opportune’ he said, scheming as he spoke. I could see out the corner of my eye Leif’s chest rise and fall deeply, whether it was out of relief or frustration I didn’t know. ‘Your life will be spared for now, you will spend your days helping me …refine my knowledge of the saxon language’ he said, wiggling his finger satisfied with his cunning plan. ‘But if you should be unsuccessful, or deceitful, you will suffer a fate worse than death’. His plan struck me to my core, I was a farmer's daughter, now a postulant, now a teacher to a Viking King. Which of the three was worse, I couldn’t be sure, but I was terrified at the thought of spending my days alone with the Viking King. Elder Aefentid continued to scream profanities and muffled screams at the occupants of the room, but his cries went unnoticed by the Vikings as they busied themselves. Behind the throne, out of nowhere, he appeared again. The hooded figure stood solemnly beside the throne, unnoticed to everyone else, nodding his head at me.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•

A new beginning had dawned on the Monastery. I was so used to silence, that even the sounds of people talking outside in the corridor put me on edge. I had not seen any of the sisters or brothers since Elder Aefentid sat in his mighty chair, only he was puny.

I spent the days confined to my tiny windowless room. When the King demanded it, I was escorted to the Monks Library where the King required me to translate words, and passages and teach him to communicate in the Saxon language. So far, it had been fine, but The Viking King, Canute, made sure I knew what was at stake. He was always armed and made it known he had no issues punishing his property. I was still a servant, a prisoner, the only thing different being the man who demanded everything.

It seemed an age the since the Vikings had first come. Some days it seemed there were more, other days less. The Viking’s clearly weren’t here for a sabbatical, nor to raid. The Monastery seemed however, a convenient stop in their greater plans. As time went on, their faces became more familiar. Sometimes they’d leave as a group for days, others would go individually. Leif Erikson seemed to have disappeared altogether…

While King Canute had demanded I help him refine his knowledge of the Saxon language, from our first private meeting it seemed clear that he didn’t really need all that much help. His intention was unclear, but there was something sinister about his presence as if he were probing for something more valuable than language. As each session went by, the King was more curious about concerns of the Monastery, the fields around, and why nobody else seemed to live anywhere near here…how often travellers came through. I spent more time answering questions than I did teaching him anything.

The King sat concentrating as he studied the symbols and texts of parchment that the Monks spent their days so delicately scribing.

‘Tell me child, what is the relationship between your leader and King ÆTthelred?’ He asked cautiously. ‘I don’t know, the sisters aren’t allowed to converse with the brothers’ I muttered. The King turned around, coming back to sit at the grand table in the middle of the library. ‘What is your connection with the Saxon King?’ He probed. I almost wanted to chuckle at the absurdity of his question. ‘I don’t understand?’ I whispered, my shoulders tensing as his nostrils flared in an unsatisfied manner. ‘I mean, do you work for the King?’ He said, reaching his hand across the table, clutching my wrist and squeezing it tightly. I could feel the blood flow to my wrist stop, my wrist turning pale under Canute’s clutch. ‘He comes here for communion and spiritual cleansing occasionally…only the Monks have been in his presence’. His grip loosened, but the clutch on my wrist remained. ‘The Queen comes sometimes too, but only Mother Brynhorn is permitted to speak with her’ I exclaimed. ‘Who is his Queen?’ He questioned, his grip tightening again, cramping my hand. My fingers curled into themselves, rigid and stiff at the pain. ‘Queen Emma of Normandy’ I seethed out in pain between clenched teeth.

His grip released as he smiled pleasingly to himself. ‘Normandy was founded by Vikings, did you know?’ He said more as a statement rather than a question. I shook my head. The truth was, I did know this as Elder Aefentid had cast cruel words at the Queen, but keeping this information withheld was likely to stop more questions and threats from King Canute. The King shot up from his seat, pushing the chair across the room behind him.

The door slightly opened, and a familiar face crept in. As our gazes connected, it was evident the shock upon my face, as his at mine. Since the grand hall, Leif Erikson had seemingly disappeared. Our concentrated stares were broken by Canute rising from his seat at the table. I stood to attention as the King’s chair scooted against the floor with a loud scrape.

‘Ah, Leif Erikson, just in time, please take the prisoner back to her room’.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•

Leif Erikson spared no mercy in escorting me back to my small room. His hand clutched my arm as he strode two paces ahead of me as he walked down the corridor, dragging me alongside him. He constantly clutched the hilt of the axe on his belt.

When we arrived at the boarding wing, Leif roughly opened the door, taking a look around to see the Vikings still watching him. He thrust me forward, shoving me onto the lumpy mattress. A few of the Vikings stood watching, chuckling to themselves as they prompted his vulgarity. ‘Good luck with that one Greenlander’ they called, lifting their goblets in a cheers motion, throwing a surreptitious suggestive wink in his direction. I could feel my heart beating fast, their euphemism did not escape me. The Greenlander nodded his head, stepping into the room cautiously, and closing the door behind him.

I scurried back on my hands, retreating into the corner of the room, clutching the bottom of my skirt so as to somehow create an extra layer between us. Leif took a deep breath, his eyes glancing up and down at me. His eyes captured mine, but his face showed no emotion. I could feel my body shake. He gently reached down, undoing the belt that sat around his waist, loosening it, and untying it slowly string by string until it came off. ‘P…please no….I….I….I’ve never’ I stammered. He lifted his eyebrow quizzically. As he took a step forward, I let out a yelp, closed my eyes, and cradled myself in a protective state. The end of the bed dipped as he sat down on the edge, he let out a loud sigh as a rustling noise emitted. I sat there, cradled into myself waiting for him to pounce, lay his hands on me, or even say something. But it was just silence.

His hair was tasselled and knotted, coming out of the bun I remembered it had been in before. His face was smeared with dried mud that cracked on his forehead, indicating a level of stress as his brows creased. His clothes were uncomfortably damp, chafing against his body. His gaze locked to the floor, seemingly defeated, yet relieved at the same time.

We sat silently, I sat there looking at him trying to piece the puzzle together of how he ended up in such a state. It had been weeks since I had seen the Greenlander, as Canute constantly referred to him as. He sat there, his elbows leaning on his legs, sitting there, solemnly content in the silence. ‘Leif’ I whispered, being careful not to move nor startle him as he sat silently in a meditative state. He let out a grunt, shaking his head slowly as if to say please.

‘I wouldn’t do that to you’ he whispered, wiping his sleeve across his nose as his neck dropped further down.

He sat in silence for longer, the room becoming darker as the sun set outside. I gently got up from the bed, circling in front of him, kneeling on the floor between his legs. Up close, his face was one of utter exhaust. His eyelids dropped as he tried to hold his eyes open. He could barely acknowledge my presence as he sat there, his body swaying as if it were about to buckle beneath him. I gently reached up to the collar of his damp coat, gently untying the strings, trailing down his chest until the fasteners were undone. He sat there rigidly, not saying a word, not making a move. I gently ran my palms under the fabric of the coat, my hands pressed against his solid, large shoulders. I pushed against them, almost revelling in the feeling of the sheer tightness of his skin. I ran my palms down his arms, sliding the coat off his body, gently peeling it from him. His shirt underneath, although still intact, was ripped and muddied. Whatever activity Leif Erikson had been up to, it wasn’t a leisurely trip. His arms limply fell from their resting place on his thighs as he allowed me to slide the wet coat off his arms, freeing him from the constricting material. His chin tilted only slightly, enough for our gaze to connect again through his drooping eyelids.

Nothing needed to be said though, his exhaustion was clear. I gently grasped onto his shoulders again, pushing him down into a laying position on the mattress. He let out a gentle sigh of relief, grateful for even the comfort of the world's lumpiest old mattress. I grabbed the blanket from the end of the bed, draping it carefully over his body.

By the time the blanket had draped over him, Leif Erikson was solemn in slumber.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•

‘Y/N you’re sick, you need help’ my mother pleaded with teary eyes.

‘You promised it wouldn’t come to this, you swore we’d never tell’ I screamed back, scuttling along the floor and gazing up and my mother in fear.

‘I couldn’t keep it from him, he saw you, this is the best thing for you’ she breathlessly exclaimed, crawling toward me pleading.

‘It’s time to go Y/N’ My father sounded from the other end of the room sternly.

‘Please…Please don’t do this, it doesn’t need to be like this’ I screamed. But he stood there, firmly in place, firm in his hand, firm in his decision.

‘They are already here Y/N, you are going’ he said sternly, stiff in his body language as if to say this conversation was annoying more than anything.

I could feel my head hit the back of the wall, there being nowhere else to escape to.

‘She’s in here Father’ he called, turning around to greet those once strange eyes, but now so familiar. ‘Elder Aefentid, we are so grateful, our daughter needs more help than we can give her’. My father's tone changed so matter of factly as if he were a helpless man trying so hard to help his daughter. I couldn’t help but feel this was all too convenient for him. In his clutches, Elder Aefentid stood in the room, a bible in his clutch, a crucifix held firmly in his grasp.

‘Do you see him now child?’ Elder Aefentid questioned as he cautiously tip-toed into the room. Of course, I could, he hadn’t left all day, only stood there warning me that my fate was to unfold. I shook my head ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about father…’ I whispered through teary cries.

‘DO YOU SEE HIM NOW CHILD?’ He screamed.

‘Y/N’

I bolted up with a scream. I could feel my limbs unstick from one another as the feeling of cold sweat engulfed my body. The room was black, the floor cold beneath me, the only break of light coming from a single candle. The orange hue gently lit the face of Leif as he sat on the bed, his eyes full of unease.

‘You were yelling’ he said matter of factly, his tone clearly masking confusion. ‘I wasn’t yelling?’ I said questioningly, but I had known this to happen before. ‘You were yelling’ he said again in a much calmer tone, the light flickering in front of his face. I took in a deep breath, taking in every crevice of his face, the way his jaw chiselled, tensing and relaxing as his throat bobbled as he took in a deep gulp. I nodded curtly, as if to say I know, but I don’t want to know.

Leif sat on the bed, his legs over the side as he sat at the head of the bed. ‘How did I get here?’ He solemnly questioned, grazing his fingers over the mattress as the blanket lay gently across his lap. ‘You tell me, you were awfully tired’ I whispered back, shrugging my shoulders as he looked down at my place on the floor. There was something intense about his gaze, the way his eyes flickered up and down my body, a sense of curiosity and uncertainty as we sat between the flickering of orange. It was improper for me to be alone in here with him, but knowing there were plenty more Vikings on the other side of the door, I can’t lie in saying I wasn’t grateful for Leif’s presence.

His demeanour changed as he directed his gaze back to the floor, uncomfortable with the obvious query that loomed over us both. Where had Leif Erikson been all this time? Whether the details really mattered, but why he had come back, that was the mystery.

‘I will leave’ he whispered gingerly, slowly playing with the loose thread of the blanket that draped over him. His movements were slow, unwilling. When he rose from the bed his knees cracked beneath him, a gentle seethe of pain emitted from his teeth. ‘You’re hurt’ I breathed, getting up abruptly to steady his frame as his legs slightly wobbled beneath him. ‘I am fine’ he said as he stiffly straightened his rigid back, that cracking as well. ‘Just stay’ I whispered abruptly as I grabbed onto his biceps. As I stood there, only the smallest gap between us, his body towered over mine, his head dropped naturally as I looked up to meet his gaze. His eyes flickered, as mine did his. An eeriness of caution, waiting for the other to do something. But one thing was clear, I wasn’t willing to move, nor was he. ‘I um…’ I stuttered, as my fingers seemed to linger onto his skin much longer than was friendly.

*SLAM*

My palm flew to my face as I let out a shriek, my body jumping in fright at the sound of a pound against the door. Leif Erikson didn’t seem to even startle. My hands flew from him as I took a step away. The murmur of slurred singing in old norse could be heard as metal clanged against one another. Leif strode toward the door, poking his head out as I silently shook in my shoes, awaiting whatever the Vikings were doing. He silently closed the door, pressing a finger to his lips as he turned toward me. ‘Too much mead tends to bring out the lively side of Vikings’ he whispered in amusement. His smile seemed suppressed as he let out a long breath through his nostrils. I smiled back gently, tilting my lips just enough to show I appreciated his attempt at humour in my state of scare.

‘Maybe I should…’ he trailed. I simply nodded. ‘I would appreciate it’ I said. Leif quietly untied the fasteners of his belt, letting the tight fabric fall to the floor. I gently sat down at the end of the bed as he uncertainly took a seat at its head. The light flickered in the pitch-black room, only offering glimpses of one another.

I could feel a tingle deep within my stomach. My brain was telling me all the things I should know. This is improper, this is immoral, this is a disaster waiting to happen, and God will punish me. But something deep within my body shook, an urge I couldn’t shake. Like a roaring fire in my stomach that set my heart alight. I could feel the rhythmic pounding of my heartbeat turn to pulsate so strongly that radiated down my torso all the way down to my legs. I squeezed my thighs together, a poor attempt to suppress that pulsated between my legs. I could sense a tenseness as the blanket shifted beneath me. I glanced down to find Leif’s fingers nervously digging into the bed. My body involuntarily shivered as if something shot down my spine. ‘You are cold?’ He whispered, breaking the tense silence that encapsulated the room. ‘A little’ I whispered back, digging into the blanket with my fingers. Leif reached down to the ground and grabbed his coat, only to let out a dissatisfied breath. ‘It’s still wet sorry’ he said defeatedly.

The room retreated into silence again, the only sound emitting being a gentle sizzle of the flame as it burnt the candle. The feeling of desire was uncomfortable, but the obvious silence of awkwardness was unbearable. I gently grabbed the blanket from Leif’s side, draping it over both our laps as a symbol of peace. Leif seemed taken aback but relieved at the notion of not having to sleep on the floor.

The mattress was thin, our arms and legs pressed against one another tightly as the width of our bodies overcrowded the tiny bed. I could hear Leif breathing, as he could probably hear mine. Just as short and nervous as each other.

‘There is no need for any more nightmares Y/N…nobody is here but us’ he solemnly whispered. I could feel the tears prickling in my eyes. The sincerity in his voice had a gentle shake to it as if he was nervous but his desire to say it was more important than the thought of making a fool of himself. It was as if another entity had taken over my body, without thought, fear, or contemplation I felt my hand reaching down beneath the blanket, scuttling underneath the surface blindly until my fingers finally found what they were looking for.

As cautiously as my shaking fingers were, our fingers entwined loosely, as if neither of us was certain that this was okay or not. But even in their loose entwined grip, neither of our hands moved until sleep took over.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•

#vikings x reader #vikings valhalla #vikings imagine #vikings #leif x reader #leif eriksson

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bonefall · 2 years ago

Text

THE BONEFALL DOTC NOTES

Because I can't keep my mouth shut and the Erins can't be trusted to write a good super edition.

So to start with, I'll remind all the kitties: The Bonefall Rewrite is a Fix-It Redux of the Warrior Cats series, attempting to keep major events the same while reducing or eliminating pointlessly uncomfortable aspects. It generally has Four Goals;

To make a more thematically consistent WC series, with consistent cat politics and a conclusive anti-authoritarian stance.

To grow the culture of the Clans, including building the groups they interact with into full societies in their own right.

To expand on supernatural elements, by giving StarClan more powers, renovating the Dark Forest, and even making entities that exist beyond the Clans.

To be cool as fuck. Totally radical additional action scenes, Bodacious familial drama, gnarly battles with cats retaining fighting styles. I'm fallin' ASLEEP! Won't SOMEONE blow up a bulldozer already?!

This is relevant because these principles apply heavily to all other arcs; but this is the one arc that I have promised to not stay faithful to.

That means that I will not feel bound to preserve major events of DotC. In any other arc, a major character death would be preserved and I would simply try to strengthen it as much as possible. Here? If I say Turtle Tail lives, she's LEAPING out of the grave like baby's first necromancy. If I say the Medicine Cat's Vow is completely different, Moth Flight is tripping over herself to do it for me.

Dawn of the Clans is the very origin of the Clan society I care so much for writing, and a point of endless frustration for me as a long-time fan who bought and read the field guides as they came out. I refuse to allow so much of the basis of the Clans be poofed into existence by StarClan.

I'm gonna write the mythological origin of the Clans that I always wanted, and utterly obliterate as much of the sexism and abuse apologia this arc is known for as possible. Chainsaw time.

Below the cut:

1. Events I DO want to keep 2. Big Redux Thoughts

Let's talk about the events I DO want to keep.

Clear Sky is the Antagonist

He's playing the role he was meant to. I have no desire to even try to "fix" his ridiculous 'redemption arc.' This is a controlling, brutal coward who covers up his insecurities in violence and tyranny. Skystar is the basis of the Might-Makes-Right culture that comes to be from this point on.

The Battle of Fivetrees

In the Bonefall Rewrite, there were once five trees at Fourtrees. The First Battle is integral to the mythology, and will involve a five-Clan battle of some kind.

Additionally, this site was now also an ancient shrine of some sort; the First Battle killed so many cats that it summoned One Eye.

One Eye and Star Flower

But... One Eye is now a God. One of four seasonal deities, along with Midnight, Rock, and Sol. Chronologically, this is his next appearance after Hollyleaf's Century. It's important to the rest of the rewrite that he is killed in this incarnation by a cat who is Tribeborn, not Clanborn, as he goes on to haunt the Tribe in the future as a result.

Star Flower serves him in a high position of some sort, but if she's the daughter of his vessel, a demigod, or a nature entity like Brokenstar hasn't been decided yet. In any case, she is safe and being expanded significantly.

River Ripple and the Park Cats

We're gonna have to see what River's super edition decides for him. We'll have a look at what it adds to the lore, what it subtracts, what it does right, and what we're nuking from orbit.

If his super edition makes the Park Cats show up as villains, I'm goring it like a bull. I am trampling it like a tap-dancing horse. I am preemptively blowing up the idea with my mind.

The Park Cats are, in any case, going to become a full culture that humans destroyed in some fashion.

Gray Wing' Adoptions and Asthma

He will be keeping all of his adoptions, especially of Thunder. In fact, I do not want him to have biokits. There's no need. He raised Pebble Heart, Sparrow Fur, and Owl Eyes. 4 kits is enough; Slate did not also need babies.

He is also keeping his asthma, retaining smoke damage.

Redux Ideas, both confirmed and tentative.

The Sun Trail

To begin with, the Tribe was not overpopulated. That is not the reason why they left nor the reason why they were starving. I'm rejecting an 'overpopulation' narrative on the face of it. These cats are too coded as people for me to ever accept it in this series.

Disgusting to see this idea in a series already teeter-tottering on the edge of being pro-eugenics by way of being so abelist.

Instead, there was a blockage of some sort in the Tribe river, the one that starts in the mouth of the cave. Drought lead to famine; it was beyond anyone's control.

Clear Sky and the Sun Trail Pioneers were seeking the water at the end of the dry river heading south. The Sun-scorched riverbed was a Trail.

Thunder has Three Legs; Jagged Peak Died

Clear Sky kicked his brother out into the wilderness for breaking his leg, an injury that should not have been deadly, because he hated the idea of 'burdens.' He condemns him to starvation. This is something that needs immediate consequence.

Gray Wing and Storm leave with him to keep him alive, but leaf bare claims him regardless. Storm's kittens are born weakened by the stress of this ordeal; Thunder, the only survivor, has a leg missing in the exact place where Jagged Peak broke his.

When Gray and Storm return seeking help from Clear Sky, he rejects his kitten in front of everyone. It's cruel irony, like the Stars are trying to teach him a lesson, and he rejects it.

THIS is when the Clans split, as the group fractures between the cats who refuse to accept their leader's cruelty, and those who stay in the bounty of the Forest and play by Clear Sky's rules.

I may be willing to spare Jagged Peak. But, narratively, I think it is stronger for Thunder to functionally take all of his roles and axe the redundant character.

The Medicine Cat Vow's Origin is Completely Different

In a nutshell; Moth Flight and her kittens were the original medics. The other Clans tried to steal them to have their own medics. In response, they went willingly, but vowed to each other to never have family to serve medicine above the Clan.

Generations later, during the exile of SkyClan, this Vow was corrupted, completely flipped on its head to justify controlling medicine cats who did not abide the personal vow, to shut them up about the Exile of SkyClan. It was not created in its modern form.

This law, in fact, directly creates Ripplestar's rebellion.

The Great Unfridgening

Of Bumble, Turtle Tail, Bright Stream, and Storm, at least three will survive.

Bumble is confirmed. If you want to kill her again you'll have to kill me too. I'm considering Turtle Tail still dying to retrieve her kittens from their abusive ex, so Gray Wing can adopt the kits and raise them with Bumble as a godfather.

Of Bright Stream and Storm, I'm considering both of them staying alive. They can get some foundational roles.

River Ripple Can't Just Hide

Bothers me that River Ripple is able to avoid carnage by staying behind the river for the most part. ALL FIVE CLANS will have to take part in the Battle of Fivetrees. He won't like it, but River's Clan WILL get dragged into it, kicking and screaming

Slash Gone

Society has progressed past the need for Slash's rogue group. It's One Eye's Cultists or Clan Conflict, or it's NOTHING. NO MORE RANDOM ROGUE VILLAINS. NO. NO.

Will some of Slash's rogues show up? Sure. As One Eye Cultists. And if they're organized they're organized under Star Flower. No more creepy ass Slash and his "promised bride," ick, ew, gross, no.

#Bonefall DotC #Bonefall Rewrite #LETS' GOOOOOOOOO #COME AT ME ERINS #IM READY FOR YOUR SUPER EDITION TO ROT ME INSIDE OUT #YOU CANNOT KILL ME IN A WAY THAT MATTERS #You may pitch ANY wild idea you so choose. I will listen.#We're ripping DotC apart like a pack of hyenas girlies #Pass me an organ

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