#how tired was that border patrol guy

[shitpostingkats]

The most important part of the Altissia chapter is when they're being questioned by customs and Ignis looks at their party of:

1) Him 2) A college age punk 3) A man wider and taller than a fridge wearing no shirt and with several enormous scars 4) The actual crown prince of a neighboring country, making no effort to disguise himself

and decides their best cover story is

"✨We are students of the culinary arts.✨"

And it works.

[ily-sunghoon]

The Omen of Sterling | PROLOGUE

Pairing : vampire!enha x fem!oc

Genre of this chapter : vampire, surprise visit! (almost ends up as a dinner though!)

POV : Jestel’s

Words count : 1.8k

WARNINGS : wanting to eat oc..., mentioned of blood, hunting, slight argument, heavy content and world building, the boys kinda patriotic here if you squint [eagle voice] KHAAAKKK (let me know if i miss anything)

Note : thank you for the excitement! never would i thought that the simple character introduction would have over than 150 notes... i am very thankful, thank you guys... it means so much to me (feel free to send ask if you have any confusion about the character or world building!)

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST : @nshmrarki @capri-cuntz (let me know if you want to be added)

PROLOGUE: SURPRISE GUEST

“What is our feast for today?” Ricardo stares at the ceiling with boredom, waiting for dinner time, or hunting time—if I asked him to hunt today.

“What do you want to eat?” I asked all of them.

“Stray human.” Jasper answered easily.

“Well, unfortunately, they’re very rare. Almost never encountered, to be honest. They can only reach our kingdom if we brought them in, or they’re really really lost their way. It’s almost impossible to enter our borders.” Jusarlie sighed. Fake sigh.

“You’re learning how to breathe now?” Sarco laughed at Jusarlie’s attempt to fake breathing.

“I was bored, so I learnt how to do it.” Jusarlie answered sheepishly.

“It’s unnatural, try it again slowly.” Jasper guides him.

Jasper is a new member in our kingdom. He’s a new vampire that we found in the wood while we were doing a monthly patrol, we have no clue who turned him as one of our kind, so irresponsible of them. Jasper could’ve turned into a wild vampire and that’s not fun to handle. He was starving, lost his memory, and definitely very angry. Unfortunately for us, he is also very strong. It was a bit handy when we rescued him, but we named him Jasper afterward because it suits his face.

Well, he is now under our training. Good for my nation, since we’ve lost a lot of important people during the Red War, including both of my parents. So, to our advantage, Jasper is a really good start for us to build stronger soldiers.

Besides from the fact that he is a new vamp and his energy is over the limit, I’m pretty sure he’s already strong as a human. We’re all a little worn-out while training him, they always hand over Jasper to me and Hiael when they’re tired. With that strong gaze, I’m pretty sure he’s important to humankind. I wonder how they felt when Jasper disappeared.

“I want reindeer.” Saine finally speaks up.

“Reindeer sounds good.” Hiael nodded.

“We’re hunting after dusk.” I agreed with their request.

“Jestel, is that what I think it is?” Sarco stares down at the street, a bit far from us. I walked over to his spot and peeked at the big window.

There’s a human. Walking on the street like a lamb whose willingly walks into a wolf’s nest. Poor little baby.

“She smells unbelievably good. Is that normal? All humans smell like this?” Jasper asked.

To be honest, he’s not alone. My head is also spinning due to her smell. This is far from normal.

“I’ll pick up our dinner.” Saine looks so excited. He’s the best at deceiving people, no matter humans or vampires.

“Take me with you!” Ricardo is as excited.

“No, take me with you instead!” Even Jusarlie’s eyes are sparkling right now.

“Me!”

“No, you will instantly eat that human at the sight.” Jusarlie can totally read Ricardo’s behavior.

“Just because you love to read, doesn’t mean you can read my personality or behavior.” There you go, our youngest is kind of… bitter.

“Take note from your professor, will you? Read your books so that little undeveloped brain of yours could develop and work normally.” Jusarlie spat back. Oh, don’t worry, this is a normal fight in our house.

“Come again, Professor?” Ricardo scoffed.

“Maybe if YOU read your goddamn books, your little UNDEVELOPED brain could develop and work normally.”

“That’s enough, no one is coming with Saine.” I stopped their little argument.

They scoffed, totally annoyed at my choice. Saine nodded at me and quickly left to pick up our delicious dinner.

“Don’t give me those expressions. You’ll choose your favorite parts today.” I said without staring back at them who are giving me angry and sulky expressions.

Their eyes are sparkling again as they go back to excited mode. What a child.

The delicious, sweet, intoxicating, and irresistible smell is getting closer and closer as we wait in our living room. I saw Jasper was getting furious. Hiael is right next to him, ready to hold him down whenever needed.

“Hold it in, Jasper. Don’t let hunger wins over you.” I said to that poor new vamp. Must be hard for him to do that. He’s better than me, if I was a new vampire like him, I would’ve just run off to that human and sucks her dry. Huge respect for Jasper.

I can hear Saine opening the doors. Oh, we were so ready to strike until I saw Saine enter the house before the human does. It’s supposed to be the other way around. That’s odd. What happened? Does he not want to eat that human anymore?

I told everyone to hold their positions while I’m trying to reach Saine through our mind links.

Our dinner is clumsy enough to almost fall because her little foot tripped over our carpet. Luckily, Saine holds her steady, so she doesn’t bleed. Won’t be my fault if Jasper strikes at sight.

“Are you okay?” Saine giggles. Oh, interesting! I can’t contact him at all.

“All good, thank you.” She sounds a little nervous.

They entered the living room and the six of us were so ready to eat, but Saine quickly stopped us using mind links.

DO NOT, I SAY, DON’T YOU DARE! LET ME TALK TO JESTEL FIRST! Wow, he sounds very serious.

“Jestel, we need to talk.” Saine is smiling.

“About what?” I asked coldly.

“555.” He said the emergency code. How emergency is this?

“Alright,” I agreed. “Sarco, follow me. Ricardo and Hiael, you take care of Jasper. While Jusarlie… be polite to our guest.”

I hate you, Jusarlie said it through our mind links.

They followed my orders. Saine, Sarco, and I went upstairs to the closest working room for this emergency matter.

What could possibly happen?

“You’ve been acting odd. What is the matter?” I asked Saine.

“This letter will explain better than I do.” Saine gave me a letter. To my surprise, it was written in our ancient language. Old Krashovien.

I read the letter thoroughly with Sarco.

“She came with this letter?” I asked Saine again.

He nods quickly.

“I want to hear your opinions according to this matter.” I wait for them to speak up.

“Turn her to a vampire, duh? She’s the last Sterling. We need her.” Sarco, as usual, is a man of logic.

“No, no, no. Let’s train her first. Give her some free will, no?” Saine is a little opposed to that idea.

“The sooner the better, Saine. Human age so rapidly, we can’t lose a chance to have a Sterling for our nation.” Sarco frowned.

“Give her some time, Sarco, you heartless bastard. She just went through a lot.” Saine is showing his sympathy to her.

“Wake up, Saine. Just because she’s beautiful, don’t forgot the fact that she’s a Sterling, Saine. A fucking Sterling, she’s anything but a feeler. She’s far more heartless than I am.”

“It’s risky! Do you remember why Sterling left Krashoviel?” Saine still stands on his ground.

“She’s that child?” I joined the conversation again. Could it be?

“My father warned you, Jestel.” Saine said to me. “At least, let’s ask him first.”

“Fine. Let’s train her to our best, gain her trust, and finally turn her into a vampire. Done.” Sarco’s idea is still about turning her into one of our kind.

This is very confusing.

I called the others—except Jusarlie—to join us in our emergency meeting.

I looked at them with a heavy heart. “We’re haunting today. We will not eat our guest.”

“Oh, man!” Ricardo and Jasper are clearly annoyed.

“May I know why?” Hiael asked.

“Well,” I paused and showed them the letter. “Ricardo, translate it for us.”

“Dear, King/Queen on the throne of Sinflame. I, Tearle Sterling, gave this girl to your hand. She is my daughter, Iolana Sterling, the one that caused some trouble twenty-one years ago due to her sweet smell. By the time you read this, it means that all of Sterling is already gone and she’s the last one we have. Slevado and Axadel have been terrorized and tried to kidnap us a few times. Iolana is smart, she knows the basic history of Krashoviel. She speaks Old Krashovien. She is curious, keen to learn something new. She is also good at fighting with any kind of weapons, I teach her by myself. I left this girl to Krashoviel, you can do whatever you’d like to her. I’d rather have her end up as your feast than to be kidnapped and used as a weapon to tear Krashoviel apart. I miss my home. Sincerely, Tearle Sterling.”

“Who’s Sterling?” Jasper frowned.

“Unlock that at 3rd semester with Jusarlie.” Sarco giggled.

“They’re not some urban legend?” Ricardo is surprisingly dumb.

“Urban legend is crazy.” Hiael laughed at him. “One Sterling equals five Jestel.”

“Nice one, Hiael.” Jasper and the youngest laughed.

“He’s not joking.” Sarco’s serious face made their laughs disappear.

“Oh.” Jasper and Ricardo are kind of scared now.

“But she’s a human?” Jasper is still confused.

“Long story, ask Jusarlie later.” Sarco shook his head.

“So, we’re turning her into a new vamp? Who’s strong enough to be her host vamp? I’m not.” Hiael quickly retreats after his own question.

Every new vampire needs a host vamp. They need their host’s blood to be able to feel full. If not, they can be a little destructive and drink a lot of blood than a usual vampire. Just like Jasper. He needs five big bottles a day, while we only need two or three maximum, and no! It is not a small matter, they crave human blood almost all the time as well.

“Not me.” Ricardo shook his head too. “She smells so sweet it’s very sickening. Jusarlie is better than me.”

“He’s still talking with the girl?” Sarco asked curiously.

“They’re sitting next to each other!” Jasper couldn’t believe it too.

“We haven’t decided yet.” I answered honestly. “Her host vamp.”

“So… we’re going to train her first?” Hiael asked us confusedly.

“Yes.” Saine nodded. “We’ll see later, maybe she will also choose a host along the way.”

“It’s settled then.” I nod and stand up. “Hiael, Jasper, Ricardo, Sarco, you’re in charge of hunting. Fetch us a healthy delicious reindeer. Jasper, do you still remember how human food taste?”

“I don’t know?” Jasper is confused. Doesn’t matter, I’m pretty sure he still remembers.

“Great, you’re going to oversee the food. You can guide and order around our chefs and maids about the food for our special guest.”

Jasper nods hesitantly.

“Dismiss.” They obey my orders and quickly move to do as told. I went downstairs again with Saine.

“Apologize for making you wait.” I smile at our guest, Sarco is right. She’s beautiful. I offer my hand to shake hers, “Jestel Sinflame.”

“I should be the one who’s apologizing, Mr. Sinflame.” She smiles back at me, her eyes are smiling too. She shakes my hand, “Iolana Sterling.”

TO BE CONTINUED...

; YOUR CUTE REBLOGS AND COMMENTS MAKE ME FEEL REALLY GRATEFUL <3

; FEEL FREE TO HIT MY ASK IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTION ABOUT THE WORLD BUILDING OR CHARACTER!

© ily-sunghoon, 2024

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[thegreatestsandwich]

Namor telling the reader he loves them for the first time! I think it would be really cute and meaningful

I find everything I thought I lost before (Namor x f!reader)

Masterlist

Pairing: Namor x F!reader

Word count: 838 words

Summary: The avengers managed to bring everyone back after defeating Thanos, Namor had been saving his feelings for quite some time

Warning: Nothing really, well I really don’t think there is a warning, just fluff or my idea of fluff

A/N: Hey! I just want to say that I am really grateful that everyone is still keeping the love for Namor and Tenoch alive, plus I'm enjoying all the fluffy requests you guys gave me, so thank you so much!

Coments, Reblogs and Asks are happily received!  

Namor stared at his hands, completely frozen, not knowing what to do. He stood up and turned around, his eyes opening in fear, trying to find you anywhere across his cave. His hands were trembling but he force down the need to throw up as he began calling desperately at you.

“(Y/N)!” He screamed, moving inside his cave, throwing things out of his way. “(Y/N)!” He tried again.

Namora was the one who found him sitting on the floor, his gaze completely lost, she kneeled in front of him when she gave him the news. It wasn’t only you, it was most of his people.

It took him one year to be able to step inside of his home, it took him two years to be able to sleep on his bed, it took him almost four years to be able to sleep without nightmares.

The first years without them (without you) were the hardest for everyone as for him. The others were lost and even if Namor wasn’t in the right mind to continue helping them, he force himself to just suck it up and keep a strong façade.

At first, the others waited outside of their homes for the returning of the lost ones but it never happened. So they began putting altars in honor of the dead.

Namor almost broke down when he saw your name in one of those.

He became a bit secluded (even more than before), only going out to patrol the borders of the city or to help when his people asked him to. He began recollecting his food and bringing it to his home, not wanting to another one rob the job of you.

Then it happened, five years into your disappearance, he felt the waters go stiff, a part of himself growing in anger at the prospect that the surface-dwellers occasioned another fight that could affect the life of his people. He took his spear and without mentioning anything to the others he swam up with anger.

As his head manage to break the water surface, his eyes could see how some of them began appearing out of air. He frowned before that tiny voice inside of his head urged him to go back home, quickly.

He didn’t even had time to speak as Namora and Attuma announced the re-appearance of the lost ones.

Everything was so overwhealming that he needed some time, he asked for help, told them to help the others, that he needed some time and they accepted without any question. Namor swam to his cave, tired and confused at what was happening when he saw you there, sitting on the floor completely confused at your surroundings.

“K’uk’ulkan?” Your sweet voice brought him back but he couldn’t move. Namor stared at you as if you were a dream and couldn’t help himself but to slap his cheek with force. “K’uk’ulkan!” You quickly stood up, stopping your hand. You were real, you were here.

“Pa’atik.” Wait. Namor gently spoke, making you halt your movements and look at him in confusion. “Justo... pa'atik.” Just wait.

“Ma'alobech? Ba'ax úuch. Ma' a wilik Jach ma'alob k'uj 'túun K’uk’ulkan, wáaj a yaax yaantal wenel ma'alob.” Are you alright? What happened? You do not look so good, K’uk’ulkan, have you been sleeping well?

He laughed at your observation. “Jach a culpa in wilo'obe' beyo'.” It is your fault I look like this.

“Bixi?” How so?  Your eyes couldn’t help but widened at the accusation. “Ba'ax ts'o'ok in meentik jump'éel ba'al?” Have I done anything?

Namor shook his head, “Tin tukultaj ts'o'ok u sa'atal.” I thought I lost you.

His hand gently touched your cheek, you could feel the anguish of them, it hit you so deeply that it brought tears on your eyes. Before you could say anything, he hugged you tightly against his body, you doubt for a moment before placing your hands gently on his back. “In yaakunech.” I love you.

Your breath caught in your throat. “Wáaj ba'ax?” What? You whispered.

“In yaakunech.” I love you. He repeated as his hands trailed upwards your body and held your face in them. “Táan jach cegado u, ba'ale' desapareciste tin k'abo'ob, in yaakunech, ma' je'el in K'astal a ka'a.” I was so blinded to see, but you disappeared in my hands, I love you, I cannot lose you again. Namor leaned his forehead against yours, closing his eyes and holding you against him.

You just stood there, watching him, holding him as his words echoed inside of you. He loved you, Namor loved you. His words made you cray in a way you thought never had cried before. You wanted to hate him for making you cry but you knew the truth and you didn’t have the nerve to deny it.

“I-In yaakunech xan.” I-I love you too. You whispered so quietly that Namor thought he imagined you say it. He couldn’t help but laugh, a huge smile forming on his face, softly dragging your face so he could kiss you.

[clangenrising]

Month 13 - Newleaf

Russetfrond scarfed down his morning meal and went over his responsibilities in his head. Sparrowpaw and the others were due for an assessment in their hunting and survival skills that he needed to design with Goldenstar and Yarrowshade. Patrols were mostly in order except for Mystique. He still didn’t like putting her into his schedule but Goldenstar had been clear that she needed daily exercise. At least she had agreed not to send the kittypet on any kind of Border Patrol, at his request.

It took him a while to balance out the patrols to accommodate her, shuffling duties around here and there, but eventually he had a solid plan. He stood, stretched, and sighed. Deciding to get the most unpleasant task out of the way first, he turned towards the elders’ den where a sleepy Ospreymask was sitting watch. If he hurried and took Mystique out now, they would hopefully get back before the dawn patrol returned. 

He stepped up to the den and flicked his ear in Ospreymask’s direction, saying, “I’ll take over.” 

“Thanks,” she yawned and slinked off towards the warriors’ den. 

Mystique stirred inside the den. Curled up in the back corner, she lifted her head and pursed her lips. She seemed to have been awake for some time although she still seemed tired and hollow eyed. Her thick fur was starting to tangle as her winter shed came out poorly. He wondered absently if she even knew how to properly groom herself or if she let her twolegs do everything for her. 

“Hey,” she said, “What’s up?” 

“We’re going out,” he said. “I want to get your exercise out of the way before it gets too late.”

“Oh, alright,” she stood, ears brushing the top of the den, and slipped up beside him with a soft jingle. He stepped out of the way and let her arch her back and stretch her legs.

“I figured we’d go to the river and you could swim for a bit or something.”

“Wait, really?” she brightened. 

“Yes,” he scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Just as long as you agree to come back when I say we’re done.”

“Yeah, of course,” she nodded. 

“Good.” He set off out of camp, confident that she would follow. The morning was still young. The sun had just started to banish the chill of night from the air and birds were singing to each other from the distant trees. He and Mystique walked in silence for a while, simply basking in the beauty of morning. 

Mystique eventually ruined it by speaking. “Hey, I wanted to talk to you about something.” 

“Oh?” He raised his brows skeptically. Hopefully it wasn’t another rendition of her ‘why does everyone hate me’ act. He’d heard from Branchbark all about her little incident during the Gathering and he wasn’t happy about it. 

“Yeah, um,” Mystique said, looking at the ground, “I’ve been thinking - About my brother and everything - and… I want to try and help you guys.”

“Pardon?” he nearly laughed. 

“I want to help,” she said, a little bolder. “Scorch is right, I’ve been way too passive. I may not fully understand what’s going on yet, but clearly you cats have a lot to lose and I want to help you. I was thinking maybe I could teach some combat drills or something? Y’know, help you hold your own.” 

This time Russetfrond really did laugh. “Yeah, right! We don’t need fighting tips from a kittypet.” The idea was completely absurd! Insulting, even!

Mystique frowned. “I’ll have you know, I’m better than most cats back in the city!”

“That’s not saying much,” he shook his head at the comedy of the situation. 

“I’m almost as good as Razor!” she insisted. “I bet I’m better than you! Hell, I know I am.” His shoulders tightened in offense. 

“Is that so?” he growled, puffing up his fur a bit. 

“Yeah,” she smirked and leaned down a bit to be more evenly on his level. “Try me and see.” 

“Fine,” he said, slowing to a stop. “Show me what you’ve got and I’ll see if your offer is worth anything.” They had stopped in the dip between two hills where pooling snowmelt had caused the grass to grow in thick and towering. It swayed above their heads gently, blocking out the rest of the world and nearly obscuring them from each other in its density. 

Russetfrond took a defensive stance. Mystique wiggled down into a crouch, tail tip twitching with eagerness. Russetfrond could already tell that she wasn’t taking this seriously - her smile was too bright, her gaze too scattered. This would be over quickly.

She moved in, tested his guard with a few swipes, and he danced easily to the side. He swiped at her ears with claws sheathed. Mystique ducked under the blow with surprising grace for her size and slipped into the opening he had given her. Her paws wrapped around his torso and her weight carried him off his feet and into the grass. 

They rolled for a beat, Russetfrond hissing and Mystique purring, and landed with him on his back looking up at her. He kicked out with his hind legs and she took the blow without a flinch, then whacked him sharply on the head causing his vision to swim. She snapped at one of his paws as he tried to swat her, twisted so the other swipe struck the back of her head, and rolled onto her side to avoid another strike of his hind paws. 

He rolled with her, onto his paws, and swatted her face twice, confident that, had this been a real fight, she would have been struggling to see through the blood. Mystiquer let out a mrrp of enjoyment and lunged. Her forepaws hooked around his neck and pulled his face into her chest before he knew what was happening. He struggled in the suffocating volume of her fur, unable to stop her as she rolled and flipped him over her body onto his side. Her hindpaws slammed into him, rabbit kicking over and over into his side. He hissed furiously and tucked his head to slam it up into her chin. She reeled, let him go, and he tumbled away. If this were real, he would be bleeding profusely from his flank, but for now he was simply panting heavily, struggling for breath. 

“That was-” he didn’t get to finish. Somehow she was on her paws again and barreling into him. His surprise let her take him to the ground again and she quickly pressed his face into the dirt with one paw. Tail bristling, he tried to rise but suddenly her teeth were in his scruff, causing his legs to seize instinctively. His cheeks flushed hotly at the predicament. 

“Alright!” he hissed quickly, “You win!” He needed her to let him go. 

“Told you I was better than you.” He could feel the shape of her grin against his fur. He forced his body to move and tried to wiggle out from under her but she shifted to put a hindpaw on his haunches, pressing him flat into the ground. His stomach fluttered, only serving to make him even more embarrassed. 

“You proved your point,” he growled, “let me up.” They were both breathing hard, her fur brushing his back every time she inhaled. 

“Say please,” she ordered smugly between breaths. 

“No,” he growled, his skin buzzing uncomfortably with some kind of energy. He felt dizzy. 

“Aww, come on,” she said, her teeth thankfully letting go of his scruff. He summoned his strength and rolled onto his back, paws ready to swipe at her if she tried anything else, but she just smiled at him and tilted her head, one paw raised as if they were playing a game. He found it hard to swallow. 

“You put up a pretty good fight,” she panted, flopping down next to him. 

“You too,” Russetfrond admitted begrudgingly, letting his arms go slack. The grass swayed above and around them, a world of lush green with a small glimpse of cloudless, blue sky. It muted the birdsong and the sound of the wind, leaving them alone with only their slowing breaths to listen to. 

“I won!” she purred, “I’d say I was more than pretty good.” He didn’t want to say it but he was inclined to agree. Neither of them spoke again until they had mostly regained control of their breathing. Russetfrond still felt dizzy though, dizzy and warm and hungry for something he couldn’t explain. 

“Wanna go again?” she whispered, like it was a secret. He knew he needed to say no. He knew that he was standing on the precipice of something very big and very exciting and very dangerous and that if he didn’t leave now he wouldn’t be able to fight the hold it had on him. 

“Alright,” he breathed, the edge of a smile daring to pull at his lips. He swallowed hard again. Mystique grinned wider than he’d ever seen, looking like she was hungry too. 

“Hell yeah,” she said. “Maybe you can try and pin me this time.” Russetfrond thought he would like that very much. 

“Don’t go easy on me,” he said, getting back to his paws. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she chuckled, swishing her silky tail around herself as she huddled into an eager crouch. 

“Good,” said Russetfrond. He jumped.

[acaciusbride]

A Breath Of Fresh Air ( Veracruz x AFAB!F!Reader )

Summary: you get caught outside after curfew. Luckily for you, Veracruz is open to … negotiations. (This is basically a transcription of a dream I had. Whoops.)

CWs: DUBCON / Overstimulation / Double Penetration / Impact Play (Slapping & Spanking) / Degradation / Rough sex / Anal play / Unsafe PIV Sex / Oral Sex (M!Recieving) / Squirting / Extremely dirty talk / Transactional sex / Bordering on Dead Dove.

Notes: please read the warnings and consume content at your own risk & responsibility. Credit for giving Veracruz his first name goes to @ezras--moon & @ariundercovers 🩷

You just wanted some fresh air. A breather from the stuffy house you’d been confined to with the rest of your group. Generally, when a militia takes over town, you stay out of their way.

You’ve never been the smartest; rounding the corner of the alleyway, you almost walk right into him. Not just any asshole with a gun, but the leader of the unit. Fuck.

Leandro Veracruz isn’t a patient man, not really. He saves all limited patience for his job, to keep control over his unit and appear to be the cold, calculated leader that he is. You don’t rise to the rank he holds at the age he is, without being a little ruthless.

You’ve heard of his reputation. The way he doesn’t seem to care about cutting down anyone who gets in his way. You’re certain there has to be some sort of driving motive behind how he is; it’s rare for people to be the way he is without motive, but still.

“You’re out after curfew.”

You know that he is, undeniably, a bad guy, but nonetheless, that heavily accented, dark tone sends a shiver down your spine for all the wrong reasons. Maybe it’s that stupid, primal reaction that makes you choose honesty, rather than trying to craft a feasible lie.

“I know. I’m sorry, I just. I really needed some air.” As soon as the words are out of your mouth, you realise how stupid you sound. It only serves to sink in further when he raises an eyebrow at you.

“You needed some air? After curfew? Did you consider maybe opening a window?” He’s tired; it’s late, and one of his people has come down with the flu, so he’s covering his patrol instead of sleeping. It’s made him a little more short tempered than usual. “You know you could be shot for this, yes?”

You visibly shrink in on yourself, and Leo almost feels bad. Almost. He knows what it’s like to be cooped up in a small space, can’t really blame you for wanting to get out, but the rules are the rules, and he has a reputation to protect.

“Are you going to shoot me?” You ask finally.

He shakes his head, rolls his eyes. “If I was going to shoot you, pajarito, I would have done so by now. I am going to have to arrest you, though.”

You shiver again, thinking of the overcrowded cells in the local station, the lawlessness that goes on in there. You could be assaulted, stabbed, beaten, and nobody would blink an eye. Absolutely not. Which leaves…

“Maybe we can work out some sort of compromise?” The way you say the last word, the way you pause before you deliver it in a somewhat suggestive tone, makes it entirely clear to him what you mean.

Leandro has absolutely no trouble getting women; he knows he’s attractive, knows the right things to say and do. He’s not above paying for company, either. It’s been a while, though, given the latest operation, and frankly? You offering as a bribe is entertaining him… entertaining him and intriguing him.

He looks you up and down, then nods.

“I’m sure we could come up with some sort of deal, yes.” A lazy smirk crosses his face as his hand moves to almost caress the cuffs at his belt. “Do I need to cuff you, or are you going to follow me quietly?”

It doesn’t escape your notice that he’s armed; a handgun, a rifle, and a wicked looking knife sheathed in his belt.

“No, I’ll be good.”

“Good answer.” He nods approvingly, beckons you forward. He leads you through the alleyway, through a back gate into the little house he’s taken over as base; his people are inside, but his command centre outside is set up in a tent. It’s a durable, triple canvas layer thing built to withstand pretty much any weather.

Lit by a lantern swinging from the roof, it’s a practical, spartan, and yet somehow still cosy place. It doesn’t need to be furnished or fancy; he’s got a table, a gun locker, a duffle bag, and his bed in there. That’s all he needs.

The bed is a foam travel mattress laid out on stacked and nailed together pallets. No point carting a proper bed around on deployment. It’s not the most comfortable, but it’ll do. It serves his purpose just fine, and given the circumstances, you aren’t about to complain.

You’ve seen him shoot people in the centre of town before. Seen the way his people handle things. The fact that he’s even taking this rather than just outright punishing you for breaking the law is a good sign… you think.

He puts both the handgun and the rifle in the gun locker, then turns back to you.

“Strip.” He moves past you to flop down onto the bed, folding his arms behind his head and watching you lazily. For a moment, you consider running. You’d have a head start. But then he’d probably find you, and definitely shoot you. Besides, this was your idea.

You take your time removing each layer, trying to at least make it look somewhat enticing rather than awkward. You never quite know how people in movies manage to make stripping down for sex look enticing. Maybe you’re just clumsy.

When you’re entirely bare to his gaze, he beckons you over.

“Come here, tímida, I’m not going to hurt you… much.” A wicked grin crosses his stupidly handsome face as you nervously do as you’re told, letting him pull you onto his lap. A tiny squeak leaves you when you feel how hard he is against your core, the rough material of his cargo pants brushing against your sensitive skin.

Fuck. You’re terrified of him, yes, but you want him, you realise. Badly.

“Much?” You raise an eyebrow at him, “I thought the deal was you don’t hurt me at all.”

There’s that wicked grin again, sinfully smug this time.

“I won’t do anything you don’t beg me for.” His fingers grip your hips roughly, making you acutely aware of how much bigger than you he is. That does absolutely nothing to curb the desire that’s starting to build in you; this was supposed to be a transaction, a way to get yourself out of trouble, but you’re starting to get the feeling that you’re going to enjoy this far more than you first expected.

“Is that right?” You manage a little smirk, lips parting in an embarrassingly needy moan when he deliberately grinds you down against the length of his cock. The very, very obvious length of him. Fuck.

His fingers wander inwards, splay across your thighs, thumbs rubbing across your skin.

“Careful…” he warns, but his voice is softer than he intended. Still, it does the trick, and you nod, pliable and submissive to his touch once more.

“That’s better…” He nods approvingly, keeps one hand holding you firmly in place while the other wanders almost lazily between your thighs, finding your swollen, aching clit and rubbing firmly. It’s not the touch of someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing, and briefly, a pang of envy strikes you as you think of how many other countless, nameless women have been turned to pliant mush under his touch.

“I’ll make it good for you,” he almost purrs it as he leans up so you’re chest to chest, “though it seems like you’re more than willing as it is…”

His fingers lazily drag through your slick, teasing your core, barely slipping inside. You whimper again, louder and needy at the feeling of the very tips of his callused fingers pressing inside you. You can feel your slick dripping onto his fingers, down his hand, coating his pants. Slowly, he presses his fingers in deeper, curling them enough to make you cry out, before he’s pulling them out, spreading your thighs wider, fingertips teasing your other hole, wet with your own slick.

You shiver under the touch, but you don’t flinch away.

“Knew it,” he almost mutters to himself, leaning in to drag his teeth down your throat. “Knew you were a dirty little whore. Bet you’re going to cum the second I slide my cock into this pretty little cunt.” He punctuates the last word with a sharp slap to your clit, making you cry out and flinch away. You don’t hate it, though, it just surprises you.

“Well? Are you just going to sit here and look pathetic?” His hands seize your wrists, drag your hands to his belt buckle and settle them there, leaving you no doubt as to what he wants you to do. You’d only been waiting for express permission, really, your hands making short work of the belt, unzipping his pants and reaching in to wrap your fingers around his cock, freeing his length from its confines.

You have to bite down on your lip to keep your jaw from dropping. Fuck, he’s huge. Thick and curved and fuck, how is he going to fit? You run your fingers up and down his cock, thumb teasing at the tip before you meet his narrow eyed gaze.

“Stop fucking around.” He almost growls it at you, yanking you closer to him again, lifting you effortlessly so he can wrap his hand around his cock and notch it at your dripping entrance. “Montarlo, bebita.”

Ride it, baby. Oh, fuck, how you intend to.

The words are surprisingly soft as he guides you down onto him, inch by inch, letting you sink down onto him slowly. Your lips part in a filthy moan as you wriggle your hips, flush against him now. Taking a moment to breathe, you start to move, knowing he won’t just let you sit still for long.

You lift yourself up, slowly at first, then sink back down, getting faster with each movement until you’re bouncing on his cock, a string of little moans falling from your lips as one of his big hands seizes a fistful of your ass and squeezes tight, then slaps, hard enough to leave a mark.

Your cunt tightens painfully around him with each slap, knowing an imprint of his hand will be left there. Just when the slaps are really starting to hurt, he draws his hand away, settles both on your hips and guides you up and down his cock, rough and needy as his hips buck to meet you.

When he’s got you in a rhythm that he likes, he moves to rub at your clit again, clearly rewarding you for doing something that he likes. Veracruz doesn’t bother pretending he isn’t enjoying this, the way your eyes drop closed, the way you tighten around him every time he rocks his hips up.

You move your hands to brace on his chest as you ride him, lost in the feeling of him buried to the hilt inside you. Fuck, he feels so good, you don’t even care about the circumstances in which you ended up here, all that matters is the overwhelming feeling of pleasure building in you as you ride him.

“Fuck, please, give me more,” you beg him, desperate and needy and forgetting your place entirely. He’s not a good man, is allowing you to think you’re in charge because it amuses him, but the idea that he isn’t giving you enough somehow? Fine. He’ll see whether you can handle him.

He seizes your wrists in one hand, pushes you backwards and pins you beneath him, caging you in. You whine pathetically at the sudden emptiness where he’s pulled out of you.

“Greedy little slut, aren’t you? I bet if I cuffed you to this bed and stuffed my cock down your throat you’d thank me for it, wouldn’t you?”

You whimper beneath him, rubbing your thighs together, desperate for some sort of friction on your aching clit, cunt pulsing with sheer need.

“But that’s not what you want, is it?”

You shake your head, and his open palm lightly collides with your cheek.

“Answer me. That’s not what you want, is it? So tell me what it is that you want, and maybe, maybe I’ll give it to you.” He drags the tip of his cock through your soaked folds, practising every step of self control he possesses not to just pin your thighs up under your chin and fuck you senseless.

“N-no, that’s not what I want.” Your cheek stings from the slap, but you love it, want him to be rough with you, want to feel him all over for days to come. And somehow, you know, that all you have to do is ask, and he’ll give it to you.

“Tell. Me.” He growls, leaning down to devour your lips in a heated kiss, knotting his fingers into your hair to yank your head to the side so he can suck a deep purple mark into the soft skin above your collarbone.

“I want you everywhere,” you tell him; he releases your wrists and immediately you move to undo his shirt, help him discard it before you drag your nails lightly up his back, “I want your beautiful fat cock stuffed inside me and your fingers in my ass. I want you to make it hurt, make it hurt so good I don’t want anyone else.”

Fuck. He practically growls at the words. Roughly spreads your thighs, hooks them up over his shoulders, lines himself up and plunges into you, making no effort to be slow, bottoming out almost immediately. The sting of your nails on the muscle of his back makes him think you’ve drawn blood, but he doesn’t give a shit. All that matters is the way your eyes roll back slightly as he fills you, the way your tight, wet little cunt seemingly sucks him in deeper, molding to every curve in his cock as your body adjusts to him again.

“Is that all?” Veracruz demands as he rocks his hips slowly, drawing another tantalising moan from your lips.

“I want you to keep going, even when it’s too much.” You reply, arching your back up to get closer to him. You don’t care whether he’s a bad man, whether he could kill you, all that matters is how he feels inside you.

“Greedy,” he pulls almost entirely out of you and slams back in, throbbing painfully at the obscene mewl you make, “fucking,” he repeats the motion, “whore.”

He slams into you, hard and fast, the tent echoing with the sound of skin roughly slapping together, your needy moans and his growls and grunts of pleasure. His teeth graze your throat, the curve of your tits, sucking greedily at your hardened nipples and biting down lightly. Almost without warning, you tighten around him, milking his cock as you gush and soak his cock, your slick dripping out of your abused cunt, down his cock, dripping down his balls as he fucks you.

“Fuck, that’s it, bebita, give me another one, go on~” he tilts his hips just so, the velvet soft head of his cock hitting your sweet spot with each and every thrust, making you scream out for him, soak him again, convulsing slightly beneath him.

“That’s it,” he groans, pulls out of you briefly just so he can flip you onto your front, pausing onto to stuff a pillow beneath you to prop you up at the angle he wants you.

“Fuck,” he draws it out into a long, drawn out groan as he sinks back into you, loving the way you feel on all fours, “look at you.”

One hand fists into your hair, yanking you up into position.

“You’re going to be a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

You’re still dazed from two back to back orgasms, but you nod as best you can. You hear the impact of his free hand on your ass before you feel it, a sharp crack that echoes through the tent.

“You answer me when I speak to you.”

“Y-yes. I’ll be good.” You almost whimper it as he starts to move, releasing your hair and rubbing soothing circles on your bruised ass.

You can feel your own slick still between your ass cheeks, unbothered when his big hands spread them gently as he fucks into you slowly.

“Does my pretty, pathetic little whore still want all of her holes filled?” His voice is slightly mocking as he teases his finger around the tight ring of muscle, making you shiver. “Is my cock not enough?”

“It is,” you whimper as he slams into you again, “but please… ‘m greedy, just wanna be filled up, please~”

You’re babbling, but neither of you care. You’re too cock drunk, and he fucking loves it.

“Such a good girl for me, you should have what you want…”

As he speaks, he presses a single finger into your ass, knuckle deep, slow enough to let you adjust. When you moan and try to press yourself back against him, wanting both his cock and his finger deeper, he chuckles low in his chest, draws his finger out only to press two back in.

You moan, loud, obscene, feeling so wonderfully, deliciously full as he starts to move his fingers in rhythm with his cock, scissoring them slightly to make you mewl and wriggle beneath him.

The hand that isn’t occupied with fucking your ass moves around to roughly palm at your tits, pinching and teasing your nipples as he fucks you, harder and faster, hand moving down to tease your clit.

It’s too much, but exactly what you wanted, tears springing to your eyes as you tighten and gush around his cock again and again, his fingers insistently plucking at your clit like a practised guitarist until you collapse on the bed, unable to hold yourself up.

“Please, I need~” you simultaneously want him to stop, and don’t, because you want him to come, want him to fill you up and make you ache with need.

“Does my little whore need something?” His voice is low, breathing slightly labored with the effort of keeping his own release at bay.

“Do you want to be filled with my cum? I’m not stupid, princesa, you can have it in your mouth or your ass, I’ll be generous and let you decide.”

Slowly he draws his fingers out of your ass, slowing his thrusts to torturously languid, giving you time to decide.

“My mouth, please,” you beg him, “I wanna taste you…”

He groans, pulls out of you and smirks slightly at the sight; your cunt is swollen from how roughly he’s fucked you, drenched in your own slick and fluids and his pre cum.

“Hands and knees.” He instructs as he gets up off the bed, beckons you to the edge of it as you obey, crawling to him on shaking limbs.

You part your lips obediently, let him feed every inch of his cock into your mouth, tongue flicking at the soft head briefly before you take him, nose brushing the soft curls at the base of him.

He moans, a loud, drawn out grunt as he rocks his hips. He’s so fucking close, you barely need to do anything, but you do, sucking him greedily, working your tongue around him as his fingers curl into your hair, roughly guiding you.

“Fuck, that’s it, bebita, my pretty little whore, you have such a filthy mouth, ‘m gonna cum down this pretty mouth, you’re gonna take it, take all of it…” he groans, trailing off into broken Spanish as his hips stutter, spilling hot, thick ropes of his spend into your mouth, down your throat.

Greedily you drink him down, make a show of licking him clean, and he groans in appreciation at the sight.

When he eventually pulls his slowly softening cock from your mouth, you look up at him with a slightly cheeky smile on your face.

“So… I’m guessing you’re not gonna shoot me?”

“No.” He agrees, and then a slightly wicked grin curves his face, “but I’m not letting you go, either.”

Maybe it’s the hormones, maybe you’re just cock drunk, or maybe you’ve never been the smartest. Either way, you look him up and down with a sleepy smile.

“Seems okay to me.”

Like you have a choice. Like you really mind, either way.

[fantasyworld4ever]

I would like to uno reverse and ask how the elves (yep, all the LOTR/hobbit elves you write for) would react to their s/o keeping them warm, whether it be with a blanket, an extra cloak, or even magically radiating warmth.

LOTR/THE HOBBIT ELVES REACTING TO THEIR S/O WHO GIVE THEM THEIR COAT/BLANKET WHEN ITS COLD.

Elrond

Istg this poor guy will survive the cold for you

You don’t realize it’s cold but when you look over at Elrond he’s quite literally shivering from cold

You quickly deduce that the poor ellon has stayed out simply because you were

You chuckle fondly, finding it sweet as you drape a coat/blanket over him and he blinks at you in surprise

He tries to protest but you glare at him and he shuts up

Thranduil

No, just no. 

This man will refuse to take your coat

Anyway, he wouldn't even be out in the cold

If he finds it cold, there is no way he’s letting you go out

Legolas

Dude does not get cold

Have you seen him running through those snowy places?

Yeah, he's too jumpy to be cold

He will politely reject your coat if you ask though

Lindir

This poor sweet innocent baby 😭

He won’t wait for you to offer it, he’s gonna just grab it then apologize as he wraps himself in it

Literally freezing

He’ll be okay, he snuggles against you for extra warmth

Haldir

Dude patrols borders, he’s used to it

May actually fall asleep standing up in the cold

You just wrap the blanket around him and he’ll stir slightly

Poor bby, he’s so tired

He’ll hold you tight, swaddling you in the blanket too

Glorfindel

He will snatch your blanket quicker than you can say his name

He’ll apologize but he aint sorry at all

He is COLD.

Let him have the damn blanket xD

Feren

Sweet bby

He won’t say anything even if the air is a bit chilly

He’ll do his best to hide it but you soon realize just how cold he is

“Thank you, meleth.” He’ll smile at you as you drape the blanket over his shoulders but insists you both share it

Figwit

“My lady/lord, it’s cold” He’ll comment on the chilliness of the air as you stroll through the garden

No matter how many times you tell him to call you your name he will insist on using your title in public

When you give him your coat he looks surprised and tries to protest but soon gives in, wrapping it around himself

“Thank you, meleth…” He’ll whisper, his ears red

{Thanks for the request and hope it lives up to your expectations! Apologies for the wait. And as always, my inbox is open!}

[dizzybee03]

Something Sinful Happening on Sunday

A Beau “Cyclone” Simpson x OC (Ryan Reagan) story. #3 in the series

Warnings: slight smut (dry humping)

6 weeks, 42 days, 1008 hours, that's how much time had passed since Ryan and Beau’s first date. In that time the two had been together as much as they possibly could- between life as a police officer and Navy admiral that looked a little different for them than most couples.

 True to his word, Beau had been nothing but a gentleman and they had taken things slow and not rushed into having sex. Sure there had been lots of cuddling and making out like teenagers but there had also been many hours just spent talking until the wee hours of the morning.

Ryan’s work schedule was not normal and made it hard to plan normal dates since one week she may be off on Wednesday and Thursday while the next she may be off Friday and Saturday . Beau didn’t mind, he understood better than most what crazy schedules were like and was willing to meet up whenever Ryan was available. That meant the two met for lunch (almost everyday in fact) and a few evenings a week Beau drove to Ryan’s house to spend an hour or two with her after her shift. This week Beau had invited Ryan over on her Sunday off-he wanted to impress her with his culinary skills.

As Ryan pulled her 1970 black and gold El Camino into the driveway of Beau’s 2 story bungalow she felt the weight of the work week lift away. Work had been extra grueling this week and she was having a hard time shaking it. An evening with Beau was just what she needed though and she couldn't wait to get inside and be in his calming presence.

“Honey I’m home” Ryan said as she walked in the front door without knocking and closed it behind her.  “I’m in the kitchen '' Beau hollers in response. Ryan kicked her shoes off, placing them neatly under the bench in the entryway before heading towards the kitchen at the back of the house. Everything in Beau’s house had a place and Ryan tried to respect that when she was there.

“Smells heavenly in here” Ryan said, walking up behind Beau and wrapping her arms around his waist.  He turned around in her embrace kissing her softly on the lips before taking in her appearance. The circles under her eyes were dark and her small smile wasn’t quite as bright as it normally was when she said “try to ignore the fact that I look like a hot mess.  I had every intention of wearing something cute tonight but couldn’t find the energy to do more than throw my hair up and change into these old sweats.”

“Sweets you take my breath away no matter what you have on. Did you get your errands done this morning like you wanted?”

“No, not at all, I had every intention of getting up when my alarm went off and pretending to be a productive member of society but instead I slept until noon and then binged The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. I didn’t move off my couch until it was time to drag my lazy ass over here.”

“ I think you’re allowed to have a lazy day after the week you had. I know you're tired and stressed out.  Did you end up saying anything to Sgt Hollon about your concerns for Officer Roberts not being cut out for patrol?”

“I’m not sure she wanted to hear what I had to say but yeah I talked to her. I get that his dad is a big wig on the city council, but that shouldn’t matter when the kid continues to make big mistakes. I asked him twice last night if he had searched the suspect we were getting ready to transport to the jail. He told me twice that he had and yet when I searched the guy I found 2 crack rocks in the toe of his sock. Not to mention the fact that twice this week he failed to do an inspection of our squad car before our shift started….I’ve taught him to do this not only to CYA (Cover Your Ass) but for officer safety.  Luckily I didn’t trust that it had been done and went ahead to check the back seats. I’m glad I did too because someone had ditched a knife under the bench seat. It’s bordering on an officer safety issue. Not to mention the fact that he sucks at building rapport, can’t write a report to save his life and instead of de-escalating situations has a way of making them worse.  Last night  I thought about leaving my gear in the driveway and telling command to just come get it cause I quit.  Shit I’m sorry for just throwing that all at you.”

“Don’t apologize, that’s what I’m here for. Sometimes it helps to just get that stuff off your chest even if it just comes barreling out in a jumbled mess. ”Beau said while running his hands up and down Ryan's back.  I’m just sorry your week has been so stressful and that the department seems to be showing so much favoritism because this douchebag's dad is on the city council. Maybe…..”Beau started to say before being interrupted by Ryan’s mouth covering his own in a kiss that was meant to stop him from talking.

“I don’t really wanna talk about work anymore tonight” she said before kissing Beau again quickly.

He chuckled saying “what DO you wanna do then?”

“Well…..first I wanna eat whatever yummy goodness you’ve got in the oven and then I wanna cuddle up on the couch with you…….and maybe make out like horny teenagers”.

“It’s chicken parmigiana and garlic bread and you definitely make me feel like a horny teenager. I’ve taken more cold showers in the last month and a half than I care to admit” Beau said while fixing a plate of food and handing it to Ryan.

“I’d apologize but I’m really not sorry” Ryan said, smacking Beau’s ass before taking the food and sitting at the small table in the kitchen.  “How was golf with Solomon?” She asked.

“It was alright, like usual he kicked my ass. I’m honestly not sure why I keep agreeing to play with him. Sol wants to have you and I over for dinner with him and Muriel one night soon. I told him I’d talk with you and see what your next nights off looked like.”

The conversation continued to flow while they ate dinner and once the dinner mess had been cleaned up they settled in the living room. Beau turned the TV on changing it to the NFL RedZone channel saying “Chargers are playing the Steelers tonight, mind if we watch for a bit?”

“Nope, I don’t mind” the two spent the next half hour sitting side by side on Beau’s couch watching football. Ryan was absent-mindedly running her fingernails up and down Beau’s thigh. Twice Beau’s breath hitched as Ryan’s hand got dangerously high. Ryan shifted closer to Beau on the couch, his arm behind her back and his hand caressing the side of her breast. Silently Ryan turned and straddled Beau’s lap. Her hands went to his hair as she whispered “I’m gonna need you to kiss me.”

“I think I can handle that.” Beau said, his voice thick with lust. His hand that was  tangled in Ryan’s hair  pulled her head down so that their noses were touching, their lips seeking each other out in the most sensual kiss. It was as if their tongues were dancing the tango. The kiss was slow, but intense. Beau’s other hand was kneading Ryan’s firm ass. The sensation caused her to rock her hips back and forth. There was no denying how turned on they both were. Ryan could feel Beau’s impossibly hard erection underneath her as she continued to rock her clothed hips back and forth over Beau’s. Kissing down his chin and neck  Ryan moaned “God Beau I’m gonna cum.”

“Do it baby, you've got me close too” he said as the hand that had been on her ass came around and started palming her covered pussy. His thumb stroked her clit causing Ryan to rock her hips in a frenzied manner, Beau's own hips jerked up the faster that Ryan went bucking up one last time as he climaxed while Ryan leaned back slightly squeezing her covered breasts as she rode out her own high. Ryan slumped over Beau’s shoulder, tucking her head into the side of his neck chuckling. “What’s so funny?” Beau asked.

“Oh just the fact that it’s been long enough since I’ve had sex that you barely touched me and I came like it was my first time. Can you imagine how good it’s gonna be when we do this with our clothes off? God it’s almost sinful the way you make me feel.”

“Honey I think about it all the time. Now if you’ll excuse me I need to go clean myself up and change my pants because you aren’t the only one that came like it was your first time.” Beau said, rising up from the couch.

“Don’t take too long Admiral, the football game is almost over and then it’s my turn to pick a show.” Ryan said, pinching Beau’s ass as he walked off towards his bedroom. “Aye aye ma’am” he said, giving her a mock salute.

Ryan settled back on the couch chuckling to herself “we are such horny teenagers.”

[cosmica-galaxy]

Do the boys have friends? Who do they hang out with and talk to outside of the human? As cool and fabulous as they are, they can't spend all their time obsessing over the human; that's just plain unhealthy! You've got to have a healthy balance between all of your friend groups! ^v^

Yes, they do actually! All the alliance members have some units they talk to outside of the human's influence. Usually members of their own faction. Such as Vee talking to the tv woman and her bodyguards regularly or Camron talking to Malco or the newbie group he first arrived with. DJ has a whole battalion of friends and buddies he hangs out with regularly. Buddy has gotten to know a few units around the base. Primarily the main trio, like Camron. They hang out from time to time, but his priority is usually the human and the pack. But he's not glued to their side like I make him seem he is. He patrols the territory of the base and does routine checks for any mimic nests that get too close to the base border for comfort. He also oversees any other camera mimics that join the pack after all the main guys do. Pal visits his old pack regularly! He flies out from time to time to go visit them and check on how his older home is doing. It's natural for speaker mimics to visit old nesting grounds and it's akin to him visiting his childhood hometown before he moved away to join the human and the alliance. It brings peace of mind to him that his old friends and elders, as well as their new youngins, are okay and out of bombing range of the skibidis. His old home is also called "sanctuary" by the way! Fiend...doesn't really have many friends. It's mostly because he's pretty introverted and very intimidating to the units. Whom avoid him whenever they can. He's a lonely soul deep inside, but how he was raised combats the desire to reach out and befriend others. TV mimics are solitary and don't meet up or pair up with outsiders...well...typically. How he joined the human was because he grew tired of the lifestyle. TV mimics also don't visit their parents once they're older. They get pushed from the nest and they have to make a living for themselves and survive. It's a hard-knock life for TV mimics. But when the opportunity to change his desolate lifestyle came to him in the form of a strange group of mimics traveling with, and being LED by, a prey item...he decided to take the chance and change his fate. So now, he's friends with the human. Even if he won't admit it, he's friends with Buddy and Pal too. They all filled that deep cold hole in his heart and he would sooner die than admit it. But the human knows.

[talonslockau]

Forest of Secrets - Chapter 31

Chapter 30 || Index || Chapter 32

The sun was just beginning to light the sky as Fireheart plodded alongside Lionheart, doing his best to refrain from yawning. He had been assigned to yet another dawn border patrol, and between his heavy eyelids and the cold it was hard to keep moving. Still, he didn’t want to disappoint the mighty warrior beside him, and so he did his best to trudge along through the slush of half-melted snow.

“I don’t see why Tigerclaw has to keep sending four of us out on Riverclan patrols. I haven’t scented any intruders in ages.” He perked his ears as Mistspring groaned behind him, doing his best to suppress another yawn as he glanced back at her. “It seems Riverclan finally heeded Bluestar’s warning from the Gathering.”

Fireheart was grateful he was already bushed out to keep the cold at bay; none of the other cats could see the tingle of anxiety that laced down his spine at the thought of the Riverclan intruder, who he knew to be Silverstream. Thankfully, she seemed to have been keeping her word since the Gathering, and only meeting with Graystripe at Fourtrees.

“Or perhaps they’re just content with their own territory now that the ice is beginning to thaw.” Lionheart pointed out from beside him. “If it gets cold again, I’m sure they’ll start wandering across our borders once more. Crookedstar was also quite aggressive during the last Gathering, too. I can’t blame Tigerclaw for being cautious, given all of that.”

The ginger tom glanced down at the river, which was still held at bay by a layer of ice. Lionheart was right that it seemed thinner than before, more transparent than he remembered it. He didn’t dwell on it too much, instead focusing up ahead as they approached a border marker.

“I guess. I just wish we had something exciting to do, to break up the monotony. At this point, I’d almost welcome-”

“Fireheart!”

The entire patrol turned in surprise at the yowl that had cut Mistspring off. He blinked in confusion as Cinderspark bounded towards them, ice clinging to her fluffy pelt. “Cinderspark? What are you doing out here? I thought you were supposed to be guarding Brokentail this morning.” Once again, a tingle of anxiety raced up his back. Why was she here? Surely he hadn’t done anything else wrong-

“I went all along the border looking for you guys! You’re so hard to find sometimes, you know that?” She complained loudly, scaring off several birds in the trees above. He squinted at her, still confused as to why she was here, and flicked his tail for her to hurry up. “Anyways, Dewpaw says Princess wants to see you!”

His heart began to beat faster. “Princess? Did she say why? She’s not in danger, is she?” Suddenly a thousand possibilities were racing through his mind. Had Dustleap been right? Maybe his sister had tired of the forest life, after all, and wanted to return back to her Twolegs. Maybe he had expected too much of her, to hope that she could be as comfortable in a Clan as he was. Maybe-

“Oh yeah! Dewpaw also said to tell you that Princess was kitting, and you should come quickly.” Cinderspark answered brightly, seemingly oblivious to what she was actually saying. 

Kitting?

Princess was kitting?

He felt as though he had been shoved into the river below, his blood going ice-cold in an instant. “Princess- okay- she’s?” He stuttered out, his tongue feeling useless in his mouth. He turned to Whitestorm, the leader of the patrol, with a silent plea to let him return to camp early.

Whitestorm dipped his broad head smoothly in response, anticipating his question before he could figure out how to ask it. “Of course, Fireheart. Cinderspark, why don’t you finish the patrol with us instead? I imagine you already got someone to cover guarding Brokentail in your place.”

“Of course! It’s so boring and stuffy in camp, anyways.” She grinned and waved her tail farewell to Fireheart as the patrol began to slowly move on, leaving him to sprint back to camp in the cold.

It felt like an eternity before his paws finally found their way down the side of the ravine, though the sun still had yet to peek above the trees. He raced through the bramble tunnel to camp without a second thought - thankfully, there was no one choosing to leave at that particular time. 

Camp was largely empty, save for Bluestar, who was sitting by the prison and cleaning her face. His eyes widened at the sight. Cinderspark had managed to get Thunderclan’s leader to cover guard duty for her? He wondered how she would feel if she knew Cinderspark was currently on patrol and had no plans to return any time soon - but he didn’t dare approach, out of fear of what Bluestar might say to him.

Instead, he took a deep breath and trotted over to the nursery. Just as he was approaching, a gray tabby form emerged from within. “Fireheart! There you are!” It was Dewpaw, carrying some dirty moss destined for the dirtplace. “Princess has been waiting for you. She’s tired, but… well, you can speak to her yourself.” The healer apprentice quickly departed from camp, leaving him to nervously enter the den in her place.

It was dark inside, and it took him several heartbeats for his eyes to adjust. There were only three cats inside; his sister, Yellowfang, and Peppermask. All three looked at him as he approached, but his eyes were only on his sister. “Fireheart!” She purred weakly, her paws kneading faintly. “You came.”

“Of course I did.” He replied softly, reaching out to nuzzle her comfortingly. She lifted her head a whisker-length off the ground to accept it, but he could tell from her half-lidded eyes that she was exhausted from the kitting. “They’re beautiful, Princess - almost as much as you are.”

“Oh, you.” She glanced down at her belly, where several round shapes were squirming around in the moss. “Yellowfang says that three are toms, and the other two are mollies.”

He looked down on the newborn kits with wide eyes. “Five kits! That’s so many!” Even now as he looked down at them, he could begin to pick out their individual pelts - especially the largest one, which was a bright white compared to its darker mottled siblings.

“Yes, especially for a leafbare litter.” Yellowfang grunted in her usual grumpy demeanor. “She’ll need lots of fresh-kill to have enough milk for all of them.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll help you with that.” Peppermask chirped next to him. She nosed a half-eaten cardinal at her paws. “I went out and caught this as soon as I heard the news Princess was kitting. I figured you wouldn’t have time, what with being on the border patrol.”

He blinked at her gratefully. He hadn’t even thought of how hungry his sister would be, and while he was a proficient hunter any cat would struggle to catch prey in leafbare. “I’m sure between the two of us, Princess will never go hungry.” 

The kits crawled around as they searched blindly for a teat to latch on, oblivious to the eyes watching them. “They’ll need names, you know.” Princess mewed, interrupting the silence after a long, peaceful moment. “Good Clan names, to match the warriors they’ll grow up to be.”

Fireheart stared down at them, the pressure of the momentous task suddenly weighing down on him. It felt as though every name he’d ever heard had suddenly fled his brain as soon as she’d spoken. What was a good Clan name? There was his name, of course, but none of these kits were the same ginger color as him, not to mention it felt a bit pretentious to name one after himself.

His eyes followed the squirming of the white kit, nosing angrily against a dark gray sibling. “Well, uhm, the white one looks like a cloud on a sunny day. And the one next to it looks like a cloud when it’s about to rain. Maybe we could do something with that?” He suggested, though even that made his whiskers curl in embarrassment. 

“Those are my first and second born.” Princess mewed softly, leaning down to give them each a lick on their little foreheads. “I think Cloud and Rain sound like lovely names for them. He looks like a little cloud, and his brother is the rain that comes after a cloudy day.”

“Clan names for kittens always end in -kit, so they’d be Cloudkit and Rainkit.” Peppermask interrupted gently, her green eyes soft as she looked down on the kits in front of them. “What about the others? Do you have any ideas for their names?” She prompted the new mother gently.

Princess slowly looked over each kit, carefully pondering the question. “This little molly is the runt of the litter.” She said at last, gently sweeping her tail to point out a tiny tortoiseshell struggling to suckle. “I want to give her a strong name, one that will give her the strength she needs to survive. Maybe something after one of the Great Clans that Goldenflower’s been telling me about, the ones Tigerclaw and Lionheart are named after.”

Fireheart bristled at the thought of naming one of them after Tigerclaw, but if Peppermask thought the same, she didn’t show it. “How about Lynxkit, after Lynxstar of Leopardclan? She was one of their greatest leaders, and I always did love listening to One-eye tell stories about her.” Peppermask suggested readily, her green eyes focused down on the kits.

“I like that. Lynxkit it is, then.” She purred, as the little tortoiseshell squealed angrily at a calico kit knocking her over with a shove. “And this one - I want to name her after a flower, something as pretty as she will be one day.”

The two mollies stared expectantly at Fireheart, causing him to gulp slightly. He barely knew any flowers! He wasn’t a healer, after all, why would he know any flowers? He thought hard, trying to think of any flower names he’d heard before. “What about, uh, sorrel? Er, Sorrelkit?” He stumbled over his words as he recalled Peppermask talking to him about the flower moons ago, when they had found Windclan’s camp. She’d mentioned sorrel flowering, so surely it was a flower, right?

“Sorrelkit.” Peppermask nodded slowly as she pondered it. “It’s a bit unusual for a molly, but it’s a good name for a warrior. Any cat that meets her will surely know she’s not to be trifled with.” 

He sighed gratefully, glad that his suggestion wasn’t too absurd. There was only one kit left now - a dark gray tom-kit, almost black in color. “What about this one? Maybe something to do with night, or darkness?” He offered weakly.

His sister shook her head as she watched her kits tumble over each other. “I want to name that one after you, Peppermask, and your sister - Dewpaw is your sister, right?” The two warriors both nodded agreement. “You two have helped me so much since I’ve joined Thunderclan. I want to honor that, if I can.”

Fireheart squinted as he puzzled over that, trying to figure out how to combine the names. Depperkit? Peppewkit? Or perhaps something to do with how dewdrops looked on pepper plants, maybe? 

Thankfully, Peppermask spoke up before he could voice any of these thoughts. “How about Sootkit? Mom told me once that if she’d had a second tom-kit after Graystripe, they would’ve named him that.” Her ears drooped as she recalled the memory, but after a heartbeat she shook her head and nudged Fireheart beside her. “Plus, soot is what comes after a fire burns, so he can be named after you as well!”

“That’s a lovely name. Sootkit it is.” Princess purred happily. The kits at her belly were beginning to settle down now, falling into a dreamless sleep as she spoke. “Cloudkit, Rainkit, Lynxkit, Sorrelkit, and Sootkit. Lovely names for lovely kits.”

“Yes, yes, just beautiful.” Fireheart startled slightly as Yellowfang spoke up - he’d almost forgotten that she was there. “Now that they all have names, why don’t you two get out and let her get some sleep? It’s been a long morning, and she could use some peace and quiet.” The old gray molly yawned ferociously, showing off her namesake to all three of them. “And frankly, so could I. Unlike you warriors, I don’t particularly like getting up before dawn.”

He dipped his head respectfully to the healer. “Of course. You need all the beauty sleep you can get, after all.” He replied cheekily, quickly dodging away as Yellowfang gave him a hiss and a clumsy, half-hearted swipe. 

He and Peppermask quickly bundled out of the nursery, saying their farewells to Princess as they departed. The gray tabby beside him sighed contentedly as she glanced up at the quickly brightening light above them, her eyes slightly misty. “I suppose I should replace Bluestar on guard duty, since Cinderspark doesn’t seem to have returned with you.” She sighed wearily before giving him a slight nudge. “As for you, why don’t you catch a few winks before Tigerclaw gets back? He never seems to let you sleep for long these days.”

“Don’t I know it.” Fireheart muttered bitterly, even as he waved goodbye to his friend. He couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t been woken before dawn, either for guard duty or to patrol the borders. Just as he was about to turn and find his nest in the warriors’ den, he felt another cat amble up beside him.

He turned to see Yellowfang beside him, her copper eyes dark as she looked upon him. “Fireheart.” She mewed gruffly by way of greeting. “You should know that Clan queens typically don’t name kits before they’re at least a half-moon old. Before that, they tend to get sick, become frail, or just fade away with no cause, especially in leafbare.”

His fur prickled nervously as he glanced back at the nursery. “I- I guess I understand, but Princess seemed so happy…” He trailed off, suddenly unsure of himself. Should he have warned her? No, if any cat were to tell a queen such things, surely it would be Yellowfang herself. She’d had plenty of opportunities to interject, after all.

“The runt - the one you called Lynxkit, I believe - is so small, I don’t think she’ll survive more than a couple of nights.” The healer’s voice was low as she spoke, careful to keep it from drifting farther than the two of them. “I’m telling you this because if - when - it does happen, your sister will need your support.”

“I know - and I will.” Fireheart replied quietly. The implication that he was too mousebrained to know to comfort his sister in distress stung, but she had certainly been witness to some of his worse moments; he supposed it only made sense that she might think that. “I’m the reason she’s here now, and not under the care of Twolegs. I’ll do whatever it takes to take the best possible care of her, Yellowfang. I swear it on Starclan.”

The old healer grunted noncommittally in response, turning away for her den before he could say anything else. He watched her leave, his heart aching at the thought that he might never get to see any one of his sister’s kits again. He glanced up at the bracken ceiling that covered camp, sending a silent plea to Starclan above that all of Princess’ kits would survive and thrive.

As he found his way into his mossy nest, the warriors’ den devoid of the normal slumbering cats inside, he had to marvel at how much had changed in such a short amount of time. Less than a half-moon ago, he hadn’t even imagined having family in the Clan; now, he was already mourning the thought of one of them leaving to Starclan so soon. Snuggling down into his nest, he imagined being surrounded by his kin, each great warriors in their own right; and somehow, as he fell asleep, he could feel a faint warmth, almost as though they were really there.

[silkclan-gossip]

SilkClan – Moon 1 By Snakepaw 🐾

Hey there, it’s Snakepaw climbing my way up to the top—literally and figuratively! I’ve been keeping my ears open and paws busy, and trust me, there’s a lot going on in SilkClan that no one’s talking about. Good thing I’m here to break the silence. Let’s get into it, because things are getting interesting.

🌕 Major Events:

Twoleg Nonsense: While I was up in my favorite tree (don’t ask how high), I spotted a Twoleg playing with a kittypet near our border. I swear, it looked like they were trying to teach it to pounce. Good luck with that! The warriors brushed it off like no big deal, but something feels off to me. Twolegs and kittypets don’t just “hang out” for no reason.

Duskkit’s Breaking Point: Look, I get it—being treated like a helpless kit can be a real thorn in the paw. Duskkit is fed up with being babied, and I’m here for it. He’s especially tired of Minkpelt hovering over him like a hawk. Not sure if he’s got a plan to deal with it yet, but knowing him, he’ll blow up eventually. Can’t wait to see how that plays out.

🌿 Warrior Drama:

Larkweb Scares Off a Rogue: So get this: Larkweb basically scared a rogue out of our territory with just his words. Yeah, no claws, no bloodshed—just a stare and some threats. It was pretty epic. But what’s up with Basilstar? She looked like she was annoyed by the whole thing. Maybe she wanted some action? Who knows, but something tells me she’s not exactly Larkweb’s biggest fan.

Wisteriaspeckle and the Chicken: Wisteriaspeckle strutted into camp with a Twoleg’s chicken dangling from his jaws. I gotta say, it was a bold move. But he’s been acting kind of… distracted? I heard him mumbling about Saplingstar and StarClan. Maybe he’s feeling guilty about taking from the Twolegs, or maybe he’s just trying to impress someone. Either way, that chicken didn’t last long—tasted great!

Burrowfleck’s StarClan Musings: Speaking of StarClan, Burrowfleck has been off in his own little world lately. He had another dream, but surprise, surprise—he’s not talking. I saw him staring at the sky like he’s waiting for something. Whatever it is, it’s got him all riled up. And he’s still holding a grudge against Pondquill. Can’t say I blame him after last moon’s fiasco.

🐾 Snakepaw’s Gossip Corner:

"You know what’s been bugging me? I keep feeling like I should be doing more around here. Yeah, I might be young, but I’m not useless. At least Posyclaw is cool enough to listen when I talk about it on patrol."

"Oh, and did you see the way Duskkit snapped at Minkpelt? I swear, he’s going to lose it one of these days. Bet you a mouse he makes a scene soon."

"I overheard Wisteriaspeckle, Burrowfleck, and Posyclaw having a pretty tight conversation by the stream. They’re getting really close, but what are they planning? Makes me wonder if they’re up to something big."

Relationships Rundown:

Crush Alert: Word around camp is Minkpelt has a thing for Pondquill. Seriously? That guy? Well, Minkpelt’s always been a stickler for rules, so I guess they’d balance each other out. Whatever happens, I’m keeping an eye on this one.

Posyclaw, Wisteriaspeckle, and Burrowfleck: This trio is tighter than a thornbush. They’re always whispering about something, and I don’t trust it. Either they’re planning something, or they’re just best friends who love a secret. We’ll see.

Basilstar vs. Larkweb: Tensions are still thick between these two. I wouldn’t be surprised if we see a showdown soon. Just saying.

That’s it for now, clanmates! Stay on your toes, because things are only going to get crazier. Until next moon, keep your claws sharp and your secrets sharper.

– Snakepaw 🐾

[izzysarchivedblogs]

Actions Speak Louder Than Words -> Accepting All Memes // sometimes, you stargaze on your buddy's roof together with pizza, and need to lay your head down, don't ya @crisispider -> rest, sender rests their head on receiver's shoulder. - for Clint

YOU EVER JUST FEEL TIRED? That's a question that's been on his mind a lot. Knows for a fact that may be the mid to almost late forty blues kicking in, when he's been doing this for the better half of two decades. The argument could be made that he has been doing this for longer. Since the day, he ran away for the circus at a crisp age of eleven. That one day could be the argument made when this started.

Not anything that had to do with the Bartons, their parents' death, the orphanage, the man who fostered them the government checks. IT WAS RUNNING AWAY TO THE CIRCUS. He could say it was further down, the day that Buck Crisholm showed up and put a bow in his hand. If there were more recent events to reference for that tired feeling, he would need more fingers on his hand to count them. Have to be a mutant.

The other question that had been on his mind was WHEN DID HE GET OLD? There's the rational, literal answers that he could come up with. Logic there being that he was human and aging was a natural process, but it was meant more than he was the second of the new avengers to ever join. He was there before there had even been more than ten avengers.

Now he looks out and sees so many teams, so many superheroes; new and old, and so many avengers out there. That's where this old feeling was kicking in. He was Avenger number seven. NOW LOOK WHOSE ALL THERE.

Clint would hate to say that, but as the years went on and decade two stretched on to whatever year he was on now; he came to prefer the smaller work, street level stuff, and vigilantism although he didn't wear a mask, which maybe he should've; should be. It's too late for that.

TONIGHT HE HAD BEEN OUT WITH SPIDERMAN. Doing a patrol, partly together and partly not, they had ended up working together and taking care of your common run-of-the-mill, NAH, SPIDEY, I'D AGRUE THESE GUYS ARE D-LISTERS, as they took down a trio of TWITTER CALLS THEM C-LISTERS and let the cops sweep them up.

There's an ache in his bones, but he's snorting at some dumb comment that Spiderman said. Clint knows the guy under the mask, one of the handful few to know; he remembers that time and asking him to unmask, everyone else had. He can only hope that leap of faith he had asked the man to take felt like it was worth it, that it had paid off, and hadn't left him with any regrets. HE GOT THE WHOLE SECRET IDENTIY THING. Wonders if he should have cared about that more himself, sometimes regrets not.

Clint would die than give that up, and he knows when he's clad in red, the only name coming out of his mouth was SPIDER. ❝ Hey, good web-slinging tonight, whaddya say my roof in like ⸻ ❞ He looks at his wrist, there was no watch. ❝ NOW, and I get a pizza on it's way? ❞ ASKED AFTER A GOOD LAUGH.

That's how they had ended up here, on his roof. His feet dangling over the edge, as he had gotten up to sit on the wide concrete half wall that served as the border of the roof top. A beer in his hand, and freshly brought up pizza. SPIDERMAN'S STILL SPIDEY and he knows he had gotten here first. ❝ SHOW OFF! ❞ He had called him when he had opened the roof door, than locked it behind him.

❝ I locked the door, no one should be able to come up here, Spidey, if you wanna breathe a little more. ❞ He informs him, knowing the rules but wanting to offer that PETER can take the load off too. It's just them, pizza, and a pack of beer. They eat, in well, neither of them are particularly silent individuals, but it's light conversation and quieter laughs.

AT SOME POINT, the other superhero leans his head against his shoulder as they sat on the roof and talk, shoot the shit, and among other things. Clint goes silent, heaves out a sigh and ever so slightly leans in to show that he doesn't mind. What are friends for if not to let off the weight on their shoulders?

There's a sigh let out, and Clint knows that it doesn't come from himself. ❝ Yeah, I feel that one too, buddy. ❞ BIG INHALE, THEN EXHALE. A sigh and he thinks their breath sinks. Let the moment sit there as looks out onto Brooklyn. He knows Pete's in Queens, but that's a ways to sling on back. Clint'll probably offer up his couch if that's too much. Grab a spare change of clothes and duffel to stash the suit; wouldn't be the first time nor the last time that someone has changed on this roof.

Head starts to turn, to look at the other hero for a moment, ❝ When'd we get so old? ⸻ You know my doctor tried to talk to me about slowing down. ❞ One of the most absurd thoughts he had ever heard of. Especially considering what all Clint had in life, which was himself, his doctor, and Kate Bishop also a superhero and Hawkeye. Why slow down, and how could he ever stop?

Look at the goddamn world, how could he stop? He couldn't, thinks he'll be using his bow and skills to fight when he's old, going blind and hearing aids won't even help him being deaf, with long silver locks of hair; still playing Hawkeye. ❝ Could you imagine? ❞ He laughs, trying to bring the conversation back up.

❝ Actually, could you imagine any doctor saying that to a speedster? ⸻ That'd be like telling you, you can't lay your eggs in webs. ❞ OH GOD. CLINT THAT'S WEIRD. ❝ Spiders do that right? ❞ At least he said that to Peter of all people, he's pretty sure that Jdrew would maim him or shove him off the roof.

Way to ruin a moment. Just going to cover up that embarrassment with a sip of his beer, try to get back on track. Shovel more pizza into his mouth.

❝ You, uh, alright tonight? ❞ Peter did, in fact, lean his head on Clint's shoulder and if that isn't some universal sign that even he with his poor friendship skills should see as maybe a sign to ask that question. HE COULD JUST BE TIRED LIKE YOU.

[smokeclan-oc]

Beetlestrike - deep brown tom with black leopard spots

Family: Snareleap (father), Ospreyswoop (mother), Leopardtail (younger brother), Rabbitleap (younger sister), Locustwing (younger sister) Gender / Sexuality: tom / gay  Personality: super humble, says im sorry a lot, always feels like hes in some cats way, always offering to help out where he can, awkward abt how talented he is, always is like “well its how snareleap taught me” super shy abt it Backstory: Born to his parents when they were young, Snareleap and Ospreyswoop did the best they could as parents. Beetlestrike was trained by Snareleap as an apprentice, earning himself the position of fellow fighter, and will take over his fathers position when he retires. Grandson of the leader, Beetlestrike doesnt do any wrong. He’s a really solid warrior, and when a clanmate is asked about him, they probably say he’s a really *nice guy*. Always offers his warm nest to those returning from a moonhigh patrol, and willing to hunt for a tired warrior, he even offers to take out apprentices if their mentor is preoccupied.  Ideal Partner: the trouble maker like squirrelflight, or maybe the like kit of the bad guy now a warrior Position | Clan: Warrior | Brookclan

Leopardtail - pale orange leopard spotted tom

Family: Snareleap (father), Ospreyswoop (mother), Beetlestrike (older brother), Rabbitleap (sister), Locustwing (sister) Gender / Sexuality: tom / bisexual Personality: jokster, troublemaker, problem child for SURE, often punished by being sent to the apprentice den to sleep, the senior hanging out with freshman Backstory: Often referred to as the *oldest triplet* since his pelt is only a little darker than his sisters, Leopardtail was the troublemaker. The irresponsible older sibling, he’s been punished regularly as an apprentice, and even still as a warrior. Leopardtail learned the warrior code by breaking it. Chasing prey too far over a border, getting in arguments at gatherings, and sneaking a bite of food during a hunting party, Leopardtail learns the hard way.  Now a warrior, earning his name a day after his siblings as punishment, Leopardtail is watched closely by the deputy.  Because he’s a troublemaker, he’s popular with the apprentices and kits. He’s often asked  to assist with training sessions, both to keep him sharp and so some cat can keep an eye on him..    Ideal Partner: the goodie two shoes, the other troublemaker, he’s basically greystripe so like gimme silverstream? Or Firestar? Position | Clan: Warrior | Brookclan

Rabbitleap - pale brown leopard spotted shecat

Family: Snareleap (father), Ospreyswoop (mother), Beetlestrike (older brother), Leopardtail (brother), Locustwing (sister) Gender / Sexuality: she-cat / bisexual Personality: people pleaser, would love to be a mom, would be so damn good at being a full time queen fr tho, really sweet, always says yes Backstory: Middle child Rabbitleap was peacemaker between her older brother and younger sister littermates. Leopardtail likes to learn the hard way, and Locustwing cannot imagine having to learn the warrior code by breaking it. Rabbitleap is the middle of the road warrior. She was punished once as an apprentice, and that was for chasing a mouse over the border into Frostclan territory, even if she didn’t get caught.  As a warrior, Rabbitleap loves the forest floor rather than the water. She often will climb the trees in their territory, dreaming of a diet of exclusively furry creatures.  Still, she remains loyal, especially for her siblings, even if she could be swayed into another clan. Ideal Partner: gimme a Whisperclan Thrushclan frostclan anyclan warrior who seduces her and they have kits and she joins his clan, or give her a gf who brings her into her clan, *and they were roommates* Position | Clan: Warrior | Brookclan 

Locustwing - cream leopard spotted shecat

Family: Snareleap (father), Ospreyswoop (mother), Beetlestrike (older brother), Rabbitleap (sister), Leopardtail (brother) Gender / Sexuality: shecat / Herero - questioning Personality: goodie two shoes, always follows the rules, really clever, a little sassy but only when she’s right Backstory: Youngest of her litter, Beetlestrike mentored Locustwing, and trained her to be a very skilled warrior. Always following the rules, she plans to follow in her older brothers pawsteps of becoming a response warrior. She cannot stand the way that Leopardtail acts, and they fight often about him disrespecting the warrior code. If it were up to her, she would have exiled him.  Sharp as a thorn, Locustwing is a pleasure to watch hunt or fight. Skills passed down from her father to her brother, now to her, making her a polished warrior. She is an ideal mate for any handsome young warrior. Ideal Partner: the deputy, the deputy’s son, the leaders son, son of the clans queen, best friend of either brother Position | Clan: Warrior | Brookclan

[arts-of-berdengguhit]

Omfg dark choco is creepy god I hope those two didn't get hurt when dark choco was able to turn back to normal

Oh they'll be fine~! xD Hehehee... heh.

I planned on drawing this but that'll sadly take time ;-; So I wrote down a lil fic after what happened to that. I hope I wrote this, well, not perfectly but at least nicely x//x;;

(here’s a teaser pic xD I managed to doodle something eheh)

~~~~~

With a worried smile, Dark Choco softly started, "Everyone decided to remove the eye."

"Y-your Highness…?!" Crunchy Chip's chest tightened hearing the news. "I-is there no other way?!"

The young Prince chuckled. "Why so worried? They said I'll be asleep during the operation--" He said proudly, until Crunchy interfered.

"How can I not worry?! There's surely another way!"

"Mind your voice, Crunchy Chip," The Prince ordered, asking the other man to stay calm. "There is no other way. You saw what it did to me," Clutching both his own hands, "this should be dealt with… and fast. Besides, it was entirely my fault everyone is in panic…"

"Your Highness…"

"I don't want anyone getting hurt because of me… I don't want that, Crunchy… I don't want to hurt dad… You."

After the heartfelt chat, Crunchy had no choice but to agree… And hope for the best.

~~~

After a week of painful waiting, on a silent, snowy dusk, Crunchy was patrolling the borders quietly. For not so long he saw a figure, a figure he longed to see. "Y… Your Highness? Dark Choco?!" His smile stretched from ear to ear, rushing to him as fast as he could. "I'm so happy to finally see… you--" Crunchy's gleeful spirit melted fast as soon as he saw Choco's appearance. His left eye covered in bloody bandage, this image of him was the complete opposite of what he imagined to greet him. "W-what happened, Choco?! What is this…?!"

The Prince didn't answer, he only held Crunchy on his shoulder heavily and said, "Take me to the border's end."

The shorter man felt how heavy Choco's hand was, he was obviously tired. "Huh?! No! Answer me! What's going on?! How was the operation?! Choco, please--!"

Dark Choco was silent, no question was answered again. "To the border. Please…"

At that moment, Crunchy fell silent and followed the order. "Caramel Arrow should have assisted you, you know… Or at least, that old man, the second watcher, is it? Heh. Funny guy." Feeling the heavy atmosphere, he tried to add some ice breaker, but nothing worked. Choco has changed, he felt…

A silent walk by the snowy rocky pathways, finally, the border. They both stopped and looked far as their clothes fluttered with the cold winter breeze. "Your Highness," Crunchy started, "What really happened? Why are we here?", so very desperate for answers, he hoped for something, event just a hint.

Choco, again, didn't answer, instead he gave him a small knife, saying, “Cut my hair...!”

Crunchy was hesitant, but his mind right now is telling him to do what the Prince ordered, no questions, so he did.

His Highness just looked at Crunchy with a worried big smile, eyes teary, and only said, 

tears rolled down his cold cheeks and left, never to be seen again.

The wolf man’s knees shook, falling down on his knees, “Dark... Choco...”

~~~

To be continued (I guess?)

The end part, I had that drawn days ago, it’s just so nice that I can finally talk about more of this since I’ve finally materialized my thoughts in a form of a fic xD

Thanks so much, anon! You’ve done so much for me and this ship ;v; Long live this ship! 😭🙏💕💕

[thespiral]

INTRODUCING THE 80S DOCUMENT... a comprehensive doc on this funny mentioned-only raider faction that is incredibly fucking cool and a crime no one has mentioned them yet

this is more or less a compilation of different canon, semi-canon and fanon references! most of it taken from the hearts of iron 4 mod old world blues, joshua sawyer's simple and sprinkled some fanon from my head in here as well. this is to hopefully make other people aware of these guys!

a MASSIVE thanks to my partner alex for helping me write this up, the tops server members for lore council, esseress and everyone else who i rambled on and on about these guys. thank you so much

you can find the document here!

(and also under the cut!)

The 80s are a gang of raiders that operate along the Northern California 80 Freeway, mostly in the region northeast of the lawless, uncontrolled city of Sacramento. They occupy their own territory stretching between New California and the shores of Great Salt Lake, bordering the land of their longtime enemies the White Legs.

They are known for raiding frontier towns for supplies, kidnapping people, their tireless pursuit of enemies and for their occasional use of motorcycles. They are rightly feared for their ability to cover large areas of land with very few men using said motorcycles. They have recently spread out over a larger area, notably the I-80, due to the collapse of the Nevada Desert Rangers and the NCR's inability to patrol or keep tabs on the territory.

History

After the bombs desolated the country, the 80s began as a group of people that banded together out of necessity and trekked through the I-80, believing that the highway had to lead somewhere safe. The early origins of the 80s are muddled by word of mouth and mostly forgotten, but they fully coalesced into a raider faction when others learned to fear them.

The first peak of the 80s’ was reached when they took Sacramento for their own. For the first time, many 80s began to settle down and build a raiding community, often attacking smaller settlements in the area. These transgressions eventually led to the New California Republic expanding and securing its borders by taking Sacramento back, forcing the 80s out of the city.

The 80s then tore through Nevada, following the I-80 and launching massive raids on almost every community they came across for supplies and equipment, including NCR cities such as New Reno or Vault City. This led to even greater notoriety and, despite having been mauled by the NCR, drove fear into the heart of the Republic as they made their way to Utah.

Currently, the 80s have mostly settled in Wendover, expanding it into a town. Most of their conflicts lie with the neighboring White Legs, and they await the opportunity to strike back at the NCR and reclaim Sacramento.

Culture

The 80s primary philosophies are that other 80s come before all else, that the enemy of their enemy is their friend, and that settling down is the opposite of freedom. They value a wild and free lifestyle, cheap thrills, mechanical and driving prowess, and the road. While some communities support them along the roads, they are their own priority above all, and many relations with other groups are sustained through physical threat.

While all 80s can be defined by a few common traits, most of them are decentralized and spread across various chapters. Each has their own rules, hierarchies and banners. Some chapters are nomadic, while others settle in towns they have conquered, and others live in self-made settlements by the road.

Identification between each chapter varies from chapter to chapter, with the most common traits being tattoos, body art, patches on armour and jackets, and so on. While in-fighting between chapters is common, the 80s are generally extremely close-knit compared to other raider factions. In most chapters, higher-ranking members wear red or blue I-80 road signs, while regular members wear the more common green signs, and initiates and hangarounds have no signs.

While most 80s are born into their respective chapters, the 80s will occasionally take on new initiates that are young or have potential when it comes to driving and repair skills. An initiate, or hangaround, mostly runs errands for fully-fledged 80s until the others have decided they are eligible for an initiation ritual. Most potential initiates have to go through a ritual to prove their worth, such as salvaging a motorcycle and making it their own.

Economy

When the 80s started out, they were disorganized and originally had to rely on raiding to get by. During their early years, raiding was quite profitable in the wasteland, and this time period would later be called the golden age of raiding. As time went on, however, theft and slavery became unsustainable as societies grew, and many chapters of the 80s were forced to turn to other means of survival.

Using their vehicles to travel greater distances faster than any other society could manage, many chapters of the 80s turned to drug trade, gun running, package delivery, caravan running and trading. Many chapters have become their own communities, and some have settled in certain locations to farm. There are still active raiding chapters, but in the present they are few and far between.

Despite no longer solely relying on raiding, some chapters still intimidate weaker communities into giving tribute to them, having no issue doing so with their vehicles. They also charge a travel tax on all outsiders that would cross their roads.

Military and Technology

The 80s are well-known for their expertise in and quantity of vehicles ranging from the common motorcycle to the large semi-truck. The 80s scavenge, repair and even build their own vehicles, and almost every member at least has their own motorcycle, as a common initiation rite requires new members to salvage their own bike. They also find and use old schematics to improve upon their designs, or create their own from scratch.

Most 80s make their own equipment when they cannot scavenge, from tires and tools to homemade fuel. Many bikes have been made to run on ethanol and other biofuels, while others run on energy cells, fusion cells, or any energy source that’s available.

Using these vehicles, the 80s utilize speed to break through enemy walls in battle, and often overwhelm their opponents before they can truly attack. They rely on hit-and-run tactics, and as a result have great offense and poor defense. For example, one common attack involves holding out a machete while driving by the enemy; destructive, but leaves the rider open for many attacks.

The most commonly used weapons are anything close and decimating. Many 80s carry shotguns, automatic guns and throwable explosives that are relatively easy to use while riding.

Politics and Diplomatic Relations

The cultural tenet of the 80s coming before anyone else carries into their politics. Little of the outside world affects their internal politics or laws (or lack thereof). They are somewhat hypocritical in that they believe in freedom for themselves and no one else. The 80s have no one leader, and overall are decentralized as a faction.

Each chapter has their own subset of laws, or none at all. While most 80s are close-knit, there is currently infighting between chapters as they debate on whether to settle down or continue raiding. Some believe that settling down goes against what the 80s stand for and would be abandoning their origins, while others believe they won’t stand a chance against other factions if they continue to raid.

The 80s are relatively cold toward other factions, with few allies and many enemies. They are generally neutral toward other raiding factions, such as the Jackals or the Vipers, but would put aside their differences for the sake of attacking the greater enemy, such as with the Great Khans or the Powder Gangers. No matter what, however, they will make it clear that they are their own priority.

The New California Republic is one of the 80s greatest and most powerful enemies. From the very beginning, the 80s and the NCR have fought each other as the 80s raided civilians and the NCR tried to stomp them out along with other raider factions. This culminated in the NCR taking Sacramento and forcing the 80s to leave for Utah, marking the NCR as the 80s’ worst enemy. Any 80s would not hesitate at any opportunity to get back at the NCR, no matter how petty or who they would have to ally with.

After the 80s were forced to travel to Utah, their territory began to border the White Legs’, and they frequently intruded on their land. This has led to many skirmishes between the two factions as they compete for their own territory.

While Caesar’s Legion does not have much presence in the West, many 80s have heard of this new threat against the NCR, and most who have are eager for any potential ally to get back at the NCR for Sacramento. The 80s know little of the Legion or what would happen to them if the Legion was successful, but are willing to do anything if it meant victory.

References

https://fallout-archive.fandom.com/wiki/Simple_organizations#80s

J.E. Sawyer’s Fallout Roleplaying Game

Hearts of Iron 4: Old World Blues

And all the other people that helped contribute to this document

[kingandfireheart]

Lucien Vanserra Sass Appreciation Post

For more serious Lucien content see my other posts:

What the fuck is happening in the Autumn Court series Part 1 (Eris) and Part 2 (Lady of the Autumn Court)

What stories are left: Lucien

When Lucien introduces himself:

"Lucien," my captor said quietly, the name echoing with a hint of a snarl. "Behave."

Lucien went rigid, but he hopped off the edge of the table and bowed deeply to me. "My apologies, lady." Another joke at my expense. "I'm Lucien. Courtier and emissary." He gestured to me with a flourish. "Your eyes are like stars, and your hair like burnished gold."

When Lucien is intrigued by Feyre:

"Well," Lucien said, his remaining russet eye fixed on me, "you don't look half as bad now. A relief, I suppose, since you're to live with us. Though the tunic isn't as pretty as a dress."

When Lucien wants to know if Feyre thinks he's hot:

"Thank you for the meal," I said. It was all I could think of. "Won't you stay for wine?" Lucien said with sweet venom from where he lounged in his seat. I braced my hands on my chair to rise. "I'm tired. I'd like to sleep." "It's been a few decades since I last saw one of you," Lucien drawled, "but you humans never change, so I don't think I'm wrong in asking why you find our company to be so unpleasant, when surely the men back home aren't much to look at." At the other end of the table, Tamlin gave his emissary a long, warning look. Lucien ignored it. "You're High Fae," I said tightly. "I'd ask why you'd even bother inviting me here at all-or dining with me." Fool-I really should have been killed ten times over already. Lucien said, "True. But indulge me: you're a human woman, and yet you'd rather eat hot coals than sit here longer than necessary. Ignoring this"-he waved a hand at the metal eye and brutal scar on his face-"surely we're not so miserable to look at."

When Feyre leaves their first dinner together:

He gave a distant nod and motioned for me to leave. Dismissed. Like the lowly human I was. Lucien propped his chin on a fist and gave me a lazy half smile. Enough. I got to my feet and backed toward the door. Putting my back to them would have been like walking away from a wolf, sparing my life or no. They said nothing when I slipped out the door. A moment later, Lucien's barking laugh echoed into the halls, followed by a sharp, vicious growl that shut him up.

When Lucien notices Feyre checking him out:

Lucien paused, and I found him smirking at me, making the scar even more brutal. "Were you admiring my sword, or just contemplating killing me, Feyre?"

When Lucien is a sarcastic motherfucker:

“So is this what you do with your lives? Spare humans from the Treaty and have fine meals?” I gave a pointed glance toward Tamlin’s baldric, the warrior’s clothes, Lucien’s sword. Lucien smirked. “We also dance with the spirits under the full moon and snatch human babes from their cradles to replace them with changelings–”

When Lucien describes Amaratha perfectly:

"What happened to the magic to make it act that way?" Lucien let out a harsh laugh. "Something was sent from the shit-holes of Hell," he said, then glanced around and swore. "I shouldn't have said that. If word got back to her-"

When they run into the Boggee:

"I heard its voice in my head. It told me to look." Lucien rolled his shoulders. "Well, thank the Cauldron that you didn't. Cleaning up that mess would have ruined the rest of my day." He gave me a wan smile. I didn't return it.

When he gives Feyre a title:

"Are you a warrior, though?" Would you be able to kill me if it ever came to that? Lucien huffed a laugh. "Not as good as Tam, but I know how to handle my weapons." He patted the hilt of his sword. "Would you like me to teach you how to wield a blade, or do you already know how, oh mighty mortal huntress?

When Lucien just needs someone to spar with:

“Do you ever stop being so serious and dull?" "Do you ever stop being such a prick?" I snapped back. Dead—really, truly, I should have been dead for that. But Lucien grinned at me. "Much better.

When Lucien and Feyre spend quality time together:

Over the next three days, I found myself joining Lucien on Andras's old patrol while Tamlin hunted the grounds for the Bogge, unseen by us. Despite being an occasional bastard, Lucien didn't seem to mind my company, and he did most of the talking, which was fine; it left me to brood over the consequences of firing a single arrow. An arrow. I never fired a single one during those three days we rode along the border. That very morning I'd spied a red doe in a glen and aimed out of instinct, my arrow poised to fly right into her eye as Lucien sneered that she was not a faerie, at least. But I'd stared at her-fat and healthy and content-and then slackened the bow, replaced the arrow in my quiver, and let the doe wander on.

When Lucien diagnoses Faerie problems perfectly:

A brush of ice slithered across my nape. "He would be that brutal?" Lucien studied the wine in his goblet. "You don't hold on to power by being everyone's friend. And among the faeries, lesser and High Fae alike, a firm hand is needed. We're too powerful, and too bored with immortality, to be checked by anything else."

When Lucien is told to Back Off, so he exacts his revenge:

Lucien's russet eye was bright, though the smile he gave me didn't meet it. The face of Tamlin's emissary-more court-trained and calculating than I'd seen him yet. "I'm unavailable today," he said. He jerked his chin to Tamlin. "He'll go with you." Tamlin shot his friend a look of disdain that he took few pains to hide. His usual baldric was armed with more knives than I'd seen before, and their ornate metal handles glinted as he turned to me, his shoulders tight. "Whenever you want to go, just say so." The claws of his free hand slipped back under his skin. No. I almost said it aloud as I turned pleading eyes to Lucien. Lucien merely patted my shoulder as he passed by. "Perhaps tomorrow, human."

When Lucien hides:

"I had to go sort out some hotheads on the northern border-official emissary business," he said, setting down the hunting knife he'd been cleaning, a long, vicious blade. "I got back in time to hear your little spat with Tam, and decided I was safer up here. I'm glad to hear your human heart has warmed to me, though. At least I'm not on the top of your killing list."

When Lucien and Feyre become friends after he tells her how to trap a Suriel:

Another riddle-and another bit of information. I said, "It's a good thing that while you have superior hearing, I possess superior abilities to keep my mouth shut." He snorted as I took the knife from the table and turned to procure the bow from my room. "I think I'm starting to like you-for a murdering human."

When Lucien is day drinking and living his best life:

“Would you like me to grovel with gratitude for bringing me here, High Lord?" "Ah. The Suriel told you nothing important, did it?" That smile of his sparked something bold in my chest. "He also said that you liked being brushed, and if I'm a clever girl, I might train you with treats." Tamlin tipped his head to the sky and roared with laughter. Despite myself, I let out a quiet laugh. "I might die of surprise," Lucien said behind me. "You made a joke, Feyre." I turned to look at him with a cool smile. "You don't want to know what the Suriel said about you." I flicked my brows up, and Lucien lifted his hands in defeat. "I'd pay good money to hear what the Suriel thinks of Lucien," Tamlin said. A cork popped, followed by the sounds of Lucien chugging the bottle's contents and chuckling with a muttered, "Brushed.”

When Lucien is incredibly casual for a guy going to an orgy:

What?”

Lucien laughed. “Yes—all those female faeries around you were females for Tamlin to pick. It’s an honor to be chosen, but it’s his instincts that select her.”

“But you were there—and other male faeries.” My face burned so hot that I began sweating. That was why those three horrible faeries had been there—and they’d thought that just by my presence, I was happy to comply with their plans.

“Ah.” Lucien chuckled. “Well, Tam’s not the only one who gets to perform the rite tonight. Once he makes his choice, we’re free to mingle. Though it’s not the Great Rite, our own dalliances tonight will help the land, too.

When Lucien is the mom friend:

"You look . . . refreshed," Lucien observed with a glance at Tamlin. I shrugged. "Sleep well?" "Like a babe." I smiled as him and took another bite of food, and felt Lucien's eyes travel inexorably to my neck. "What is that bruise?" Lucien demanded. I pointed my fork to Tamlin. "Ask him, he did it." Lucien looked from Tamlin to me and then back again. "Why does Feyre have a bruise on her neck from you?" he asked with no small amount of amusement.

When Lucien loves drama:

"Accountable?" I sputtered, placing my hands flat on the table. "You cornered me in the hall like a wolf with a rabbit!" Lucien propped an arm on the table and covered his mouth with his hand, his russet eye bright. "While I might not have been myself, Lucien and I both told you to stay in your room," Tamlin said, so calmly that I wanted to rip out my hair. I couldn't help it. Didn't even try to fight the red-hot temper that razed my senses. "Faerie pig!" I yelled, and Lucien howled, almost tipping back in his chair. At the sight of Tamlin's growing smile, I left.

When Lucien bolts:

“I had to keep my hands clenched at my sides to avoid wiping my sweaty palms on the skirts of my gown as I reached the dining room, and immediately contemplated bolting upstairs and changing into a tunic and pants. But I knew they’d already heard me, or smelled me, or used whatever heightened senses they had to detect my presence, and since fleeing would only make it worse, I found it in myself to push open the double doors.

Whatever discussion Tamlin and Lucien had been having stopped, and I tried not to look at their wide eyes as I strode to my usual place at the end of the table.

“Well, I’m late for something incredibly important,” Lucien said, and before I could call him on his outright lie or beg him to stay, the fox-masked faerie vanished.

When Feyre goes to a party:

"Cauldron boil me," Lucien whistled as I came down the stairs. "She looks positively Fae." ...

I squared my shoulders, disinclined to let him see how much his words or voice or sheer well-being impacted me. Not yet. "I'm surprised I'm even allowed to participate tonight." "Unfortunately for you and your neck," Lucien countered, "tonight's just a party." "Do you lie awake at night to come up with all your witty replies for the following day?" Lucien winked at me, and Tamlin laughed and offered me his arm. "He's right,"....

"So there's singing and dancing and excessive drinking," Lucien chimed in, falling into step beside me. "And dallying," he added with a wicked grin.

When Lucien plays a prank:

"I also remember you telling me how witchberries were harmless, and the next thing I knew, I was half-delirious and falling all over myself," I said, recalling the afternoon from a few weeks ago. I'd had hallucinations for hours afterward, and Lucien had laughed himself sick-enough so that Tamlin had chucked him into the reflection pool...."

When Feyre gets drunk of Faerie Wine:

“Tam would gut me if he caught you drinking that.”

“Always looking after your best interests,” I said, and pointedly chugged the contents of the glass. It was like a million fireworks exploding inside me, filling my veins with starlight. I laughed aloud, and Lucien groaned.

“Human fool,” he hissed.

But his glamour had been ripped away. His auburn hair burned like hot metal, and his russet eye smoldered like a bottomless forge. That was what I would capture next.

“I’m going to paint you,” I said, and giggled—actually giggled—as the words popped out.

"Cauldron boil and fry me,” he muttered, and I laughed again.”

When Lucien is hungover and third-wheeling:

Lucien kept rubbing at his temples as he ate, unusually silent, and I hid my smile as I asked him, “And where were you last night?” Lucien’s metal eye narrowed on me. “I’ll have you know that while you two were dancing with the spirits, I was stuck on border patrol.” Tamlin gave a pointed cough, and Lucien added, “With some company.” He gave me a sly grin. “Rumor has it you two didn’t come back until after dawn.” I glanced at Tamlin, biting my lip. I’d practically floated into my bedroom that morning. But Tamlin’s gaze now roved my face as if searching for any tinge of regret, of fear. Ridiculous. “You bit my neck on Fire Night,” I said under my breath. “If I can face you after that, a few kisses are nothing.” He braced his forearms on the table as he leaned closer to me. “Nothing?” His eyes flicked to my lips. Lucien shifted in his seat, muttering to the Cauldron to spare him, but I ignored him. “Nothing,” I repeated a bit distantly, watching Tamlin’s mouth move, so keenly aware of every movement he made, resenting the table between us. I could almost feel the warmth of his breath. “Are you sure?” he murmured, intent and hungry enough that I was glad I was sitting. He could have had me right there, on top of that table. I wanted his broad hands running over my bare skin, wanted his teeth scraping against my neck, wanted his mouth all over me. “I’m trying to eat,” Lucien said.”

When Lucien drops one of the best lines in the book:

"I see," I lied, not quite seeing at all. Lucien chuckled, sensing it, and I glared sidelong at him. "You've been noticeably absent again." He used the dagger to clean his nails. "I've been busy. So have you, I take it." "What's that supposed to mean?" I demanded. "If I offer you the moon on a string, will you give me a kiss, too?"

When Lucien doesn't know what is coming in the future:

Downstairs, Lucien snorted at the sight of me. "Those clothes are enough to convince me I never want to enter the human realm." "I'm not sure the human realm would know what to do with you," I said. Lucien's smile was edged, his shoulders tight as he gave a sharp look behind me to where Tam was waiting in front of a gilded carriage. When he turned back, that metal eye narrowed. "I thought you were smarter than this."

When Lucien admires Feyre's attitude:

“Don’t you understand what Rhys is?” “I do!” I barked, then sighed. “I do,” I repeated, and glared at the eye in my palm. “It’s done with. So you needn’t hold to whatever oath you swore to Tamlin to protect me—or feel like you owe me anything for saving you from Amarantha. I would have done it just to wipe the smirk off your brothers’ faces.” Lucien clicked his tongue, but his remaining russet eye shone. “I’m glad to see you didn’t sell your lively human spirit or stubbornness to Rhys.”

When Lucien is a fashionista:

Lucien had gifted both to me—the dagger during the months before Amarantha, the belt in the weeks after her downfall, when I’d carried the dagger, along with many others, everywhere I went. You might as well look good if you’re going to arm yourself to the teeth, he’d said.

When game recognize game

“Cursebreaker,” some murmured. “Blessed,” others whispered.

I made a show of looking surprised—surprised and yet accepting of the Cauldron’s choice. Tamlin’s face was taut with shock, the Hybern royals’ nothing short of baffled.

But I turned to Lucien, my light radiating so brightly that it bounced off his metal eye. A friend beseeching another for help. I reached a hand toward him.

Beyond us, I could feel Ianthe scrambling to regain control, to find some way to spin it.

Perhaps Lucien could, too. For he took my hand, and then knelt upon one knee in the grass, pressing my fingers to his brow.

When Lucien is scared of Amren:

“I think Amren would probably deny that she feels any affection for us—”

“Amren is a bedtime story they told us as younglings to make us behave. Amren was who would drink my blood and carry me to hell if I acted out of line. And yet there she was, acting more like a cranky old aunt than anything.”

“We don’t—we don’t enforce protocol and rank here.”

“Obviously. Rhys lives in a town house, by the Cauldron.” He waved an arm to encompass the city.

When Lucien is a little murderous:

“You’re working with that prick,” Cassian cut in, whatever catching-up now over, apparently. He moved to Mor’s side, a hand on her back. He shook his head at Azriel and Rhys, disgust curling his lip. “You should have spiked Eris’s fucking head to the front gates.”

Azriel only watched them with that icy indifference. But Lucien crossed his arms, leaning against the back of the couch. “I have to agree with Cassian. Eris is a snake.”

When Lucien volunteers to go on a quest:

“You will be going into the human territory,” Rhys warned. “I can’t spare a force to guard you—”

“I don’t need one. I travel faster on my own.” His chin lifted. “I will find her. And if there’s an army to bring back, or at least some way for her own story to sway the human forces … I’ll find a way to do that, too.”

My friends glanced to each other. Mor said, “It will be—very dangerous.”

A half smile curved Lucien’s mouth. “Good. It’d be boring otherwise.

When Lucien makes a friend

“Not for long—not if Vassa has anything to do with it.”

“You sound like an acolyte.”

Lucien blushed, glancing at Elain. “She’s got a foul temper and a fouler mouth.” He cut me a wry look. “You’ll get along just fine.”

[theladyofbloodshed]

I don’t usually talk about ships and stuff, but I agree with you on why Elain is uncomfortable around Lucien in sf and dude it’s so weird like I find the whole dynamic of that supposed “love triangle” weird, it just feels off and makes Lucien look like a comic joke.  Like your having this guy come to the River house,every winter solstice with gifts for this girl ,who ignores him and is actively thinking about fucking another guy in the same house as him,over and over again and it seems like the whole ic even knows that Elain and Azriel want to fuck each other. So, what really is stopping you from just putting an end to the whole thing and making Elain just reject the bond or whatever, why keep putting him through all that. It’s weird that she hasn’t put a stop to it. Which is why this might seem far-fetched but after reading the scene when cassian was talking to Lucien like shit in ACOSF and Azriel was saying Lucien is not good enough for Elain , now I honestly lowkey think that those are just what SJM thinks herself and she is using this mating bond stuff to punish Lucien for what happened in spring court, that and the fact that she’s obsessed with Azriel and wants everyone to suck his dick because what other reason is there? Lucien deserves so much more than SJM, its actually appalling at this point and this is coming from someone that only cares about Nesta in this books, it’s like if you are tired of his character, then just dump him in the human lands and leave him there, stop forcing him into weird situations like this. 

I know. I don't think Elain "owes" Lucien anything, but equally from his POV: she has spoken to him publicly and privately, has kept his gifts, is overcoming a broken-down engagement and trauma. At no point has she conveyed to him "no, I don't want gifts from you, please leave me alone".'

Maybe she doesn't understand the significance of mate bonds - but Azriel does. Sneaking around while Lucien is asleep in that house is so gross. I kind of want e/lriel to happen just so a bond snaps with Gwyn and Az too and Gwyn and Lucien are like "ew no thanks, you two can have each other" just for the sheer drama lmao.

Rhys putting his foot down is the best thing that character has ever done imo - but that's because Rhys knows just how crucial Lucien is to like the whole of Prythian.

I did make a post about the Blood Duel here but essentially, if Azriel attacked Lucien: Autumn would get involved (you know Beron wouldn't let it slide even if Lucien is exiled), Spring would likely be involved, Lucien has the mortal land backing, Helion would turn against the NC. Lucien is the most valuable male in Prythian. The only thing tying him to the Night Court is Elain and Rhys very well knows that.

SJM assassinated his character. Book 1 Lucien was the best. I hope he realises soon that he is worth ten of the IC and lives his best life with his band of exiles, unbothered and care free. He'll be high lord one day. My man was on border patrol with Spring with company, his manners are exquisite, he can fish with his hands. He walks past females and they're like this