#would be better off for these folks being eaten

[lyledebeast]

August 15: Prey (2007)

And making a complete left turn from yesterday's horror movie . . . . wow.

This is objectively the stupidest film I have ever seen in my entire life. The premise is the dumbest rich Americans alive--an engineer, his new wife, and his bratty kids from a previous marriage--go to Africa for him to work and his family to "play." The playing involves going on a safari and bullying the tour guide into taking them off-road. Almost immediately, he is killed by a lion.

The family is left trapped in the safari jeep, which suffers increasing lion-related damage as the film drags on. 90% of the dialogue involves the teenaged girl wanting to get out of the car and bullying the new wife, who appears to be only character with a shred of intelligence. These two are saved from another lion attack by two African poachers, who immediately start skinning the lion they caught. They are poachers, but even though these tourist-y Whites have clearly caught them breaking several laws, they decide to help them find water. Naturally, they are killed by lions, one much more brutally and graphically than the White tour guide because 2007. Oh, the progress we've made.

Meanwhile, the father is offering a gagillion dollars to a big game hunter, who is maaaayybe Dutch?, to help him find his family. The eventually find his family, and they all act complete fools. As the are running towards each other yelling, the Dutch hunter spots a lion and . . . friends you Won't Believe what happens to him!

In spite of having a whole hunter to eat, the lions continue pursuing the obnoxious Americans like they share my frustration with them. One manages to trap the dad under the car (because everyone knows big cats can't reach). The smart new wife orders the children and husband to run for the trees (because everyone knows big cats can't climb!) while she . . . sets fire to the gas tank, immolating the lion and the jeep, the only thing standing between them and a gruesome death this whole time, at once.

Then they embrace tearfully and say, "Let's go home!"

They are still fuck off in the middle of the savannah with no map, and no one knows where they are. There are more lions. They are fresh out of locals whose job it is to sacrifice themselves on their behalf. And then the movie ends!

I feel robbed of the feast the lions deserved and that I deserved to see. Cowardice!

[ghcstao3]

soap who grew up with a grandmother who constantly warned him about all the kinds of fae folk that existed, how to tell if someone was something, how to avoid them and how to fend for himself were anything to happen.

as a child, he soaked up all of her stories with awe, keeping all the rules in mind. as a teenager, he’d secretly roll his eyes but go along with her words to appease her. obviously fae folk weren’t real.

as an adult, not seeing her so often, he kind of… forgets. the stories and rules stay dormant in the back of his mind, never completely lost, but they’re not relevant anymore—at least, so he thinks. it’s all been dumbed down to fae folk are bad, and that’s about all he needs. soap goes years without so much as thinking the word fae, and his life goes on just as normally as anyone could have anticipated.

or, well. as normal as it can get, being in the sas.

and then he’s invited to join an elite task force, and that’s where he meets ghost.

soap doesn’t think it’s too odd to regard ghost as strange right away, not with the whole mask and mysterious persona thing, but as he gets to know the lieutenant more, there are certain things that start to have soap on edge. that have him thinking about fae lore more than he has in years.

like how his eyes reflect light like a cat’s at just the right angle. or how sometimes the way he talks just sounds off, almost like he’s trying to mimic someone else. the first and only time soap sees ghost’s face, there’s something uncanny about it that he can’t quite put a finger on. the tells continue to add up as soap starts to really look, and while he could never say exactly what ghost is, soap is sure as hell he isn’t human.

but the thing is… ghost isn’t bad. not in the way soap’s grandmother had warned him fae folk would be, at least. sure, ghost is a damn good soldier who’s garnered quite the kill count through various honed, deadly skills, but he isn’t bad. or evil, soap should say—even with questionable decisions, ghost’s heart always seems to be in the right place. he doesn’t have bad intentions unless something involves getting revenge, and he doesn’t unnecessarily hurt people just for the sake of his own entertainment.

it’s all confusing for soap, to say the least. his conflicting knowledge leaves him wondering if he should be trusting ghost, even in spite of the plentiful times ghost has proven he’s trustworthy. soap wonders if he should say something, wonders if he should drop hints he knows, wonders if ghost would be dropping an act the moment he’s been made.

the conclusion is pretty anticlimactic, all things given.

ghost catches soap alone after soap has had his realizations, having immediately noticed something off about the sergeant—which isn’t right, because soap is the human. he asks if something’s the matter, soap spills everything, and ghost doesn’t even flinch. just tells soap that his suspicions are justified, because ghost is a changeling.

“you’d admit it, just like that?” soap asks, dumbfounded.

ghost offers a stiff shrug, and no further explanation. he leaves soap feeling stunned, returning to whatever it is changelings do in their down time.

as if that didn’t open a whole new can of worms. as if a dam wouldn’t burst, and a million questions would come flooding into soap’s mind.

maybe he should pay a visit to his grandmother some time soon. it’d be nice to know whether he’s now in danger of being eaten, or something. soap can’t remember.

and now somehow, for some reason, soap has a burning desire to get to know ghost even better.

maybe ghost is evil, despite all prior judgements.

(or maybe soap is just in denial about a few things. but one thing at a time.)

[appleblueberry-pie]

Im back with another yandere satoru request hehehe

So, I was wondereding what would happen if Satoru's beloved found out about his very unhealthy obession with her?

Hold on, lemme cook rq- So, instead of getting the fuck away from him (like most logical people would do) she decides to try her best to get him some help. Like, she'd confront him about his very distirbing behavior, (basically tearing down his entire facade and presenting it to him) and when he's begging her not to be afraid of him, not to abandon him, she tells him that she wants him to get help.

Heres where I kinda got a little stuck....the thing is...he would listen to her every beck and call, but would he really get the help he needs, or would he decieve her and trick her into beliving that he's getting better when in realitly he hasn't changed at all. (He's just alot more careful about what he does behind her back.)

Mkayyy, thats all folks. Thanks for coming to my ted talk.

You kept hearing noises from your backyard.

It woke you up. You couldn't really recognize what it was, but you really hoped it wasn't raccoons eating your berries again. You admit, your garden has many fruits and vegetables, but you certainly didn't want them being eaten. They took too long to grow! So, you got out of bed, threw on your robe over your night gown and quickly made your way downstairs to your backdoor.

When you opened the door and stepped onto the grass, everything seemed fine. Your strawberries were intact. Carrots still growing. No lemons dropped from the tree. But to the far right, you did see a familiar figure continuously puncturing another man's insides with a pretty dangerous looking knife thing.

Someone was in your yard.

Someone was being killed in your yard.

You're within distance of a killer.

By the time the realization set in, the familiar looking man had already saw you staring at him. It was Satoru Gojo.

You both stared at each other. It grew painfully silent and you took a step back, your eyebrows furrowing. You began hearing your heartbeat in your ears and began breathing faster. Your lips separated, probably to scream, and Satoru dropped the knife, immediately running over to you to shut you up in time.

When he trapped you in his arms, you tried to scream in surprise, but he already had one of his hands covering the entire bottom half of your face. "SHHHHHHHhhhhhh. shhhhhhhh. shhhhhh." His heartbeat thumped against your upper back and you tried to look up at him. He was already staring down at you with those big blue eyes and you tried to take his hand off of your mouth. "It's okay, baby. You're alright. It's alright."

Well, he didn't kill you, so clearly you didn't have to be scared. You still tried to talk and he tilted his head. "......you gonna scream if I let you go?" You shook your head. He stared down at you, as if he was trying to catch you in a lie. But then he laughed and finally loosened his hold on you. You took his hand off of your mouth and turned around. "...............Why are you killing someone in my yard?"

He says nothing.

You try to look back at the corpse and he blocks your way. "Fertilizer."

You avert your gaze and hug yourself. "For your tree."

"I already fertilized it two weeks ago. You were there. It doesn't need fertilizer until like a few months later." Satoru goes silent and sighs.

"Alright, babe. You caught me." He stalks closer to you and stops when he's directly in front of you.

"I killed him because he was a terrible waste of space." His smile was unnerving and you only felt more uncomfortable and confused. "What....?" "....He was useless. And he got in the way." The way he spoke made things a little awkward between the two of you. Did this have something to do with you and him? You hoped not. But with the way he said it, and the way he was staring at you began giving you confirmation that this was the case.

"He doesn't deserve you like I do." You inhale sharply and take a step back towards your door. "Satoru-" "No, I'm serious."

"You can't just....kill someone. He's dead!" His shoulders shake as he laughs at your statement. "You think I don't know that? That's the whole point. To die." You shake your head, "I-I need to get you help. This isn't okay. You shouldn't think it's okay to kill someone just to....I don't even know."

"To have you," He states. But you didn't hear. You were already back in the house to research different forms of treatment he could possibly receive. You didn't know what you were going to do with the body.

Satoru did plan to use it as fertilizer.

He lied to you for 12 weeks. And he hated every second of it. He never liked hiding shit from you. Which is why he straight up told you that he killed that dumbass from a while ago. You deserve better than some liar. But he'd be damned if he let some random take you away from him. So, he told you that he was going to the therapist that he been paid off and also killed.

He told you the body was taken care of and you didn't have to worry about it. After all, your tree leaves looked perkier than usual(he didn't tell you that either).

When you heard he was consistently meeting with his therapist, you let him take you out more often. You let him hang out at your place to have sleepovers if you had the time, and you realized that you might have a small crush on him. You shouldn't have a crush on a killer, but here you were. You should've called the police on him a long time ago(not like he'd get rid of them either), but he promised you he'd be good. And he has been. So you trust him.

Satoru learned to stop doing things like being a killer when you're around. It was smart to do it at night. But definitely not where you live. Probably the stupidest thing he's ever done. He should buy that house a few towns off. Everyone would be better off dying in there anyways, especially if there'd be no trace of them in the first place.

He's lucky you're gullible.

[mxtxfanatic]

Hm, I know I said at least in my first reading of mdzs that I felt like Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng were actually friends as kids, I would like to remind folks that the catastrophic breakdown of their friendship was not because of some misplaced care but because Jiang Cheng is a stagnant character whose whole role in the story is to be the one who never learns, changes, and grows past his insecurities and resentments. They were always going to fall out with each other, even if the Sunshot Campaign never happened, even if the Wen Clan didn’t exist as a subjugating force terrorizing the other clans, because no matter how much Jiang Cheng cares about anyone, he will always place his personal resentments first.

I’m so serious: reread the pre-fall of Lotus Pier parts of the novel (flashback extras included), and tell me how many times Jiang Cheng says something genuinely nice about or to the benefit of Wei Wuxian without prompting. Point to me places where Jiang Cheng puts himself on the line for Wei Wuxian that is not him distracting the Wen. Compare the number of unambiguously positive interactions they have to the number of interactions they have in total, and I bet you’ll see that the positives are laughingly scant. Most every interaction they have together, Jiang Cheng is being a negative nancy. He’s the type of friend who, if you said “Today is a good day!” would snidely respond back, “What’s so good about?” before loudly complaining about what a nuisance your happiness is. Jiang Cheng is the type of friend that tells you that everyone else hates you because you’re so annoying, and you need to do something about that because he also finds you annoying so you should be lucky he “puts up with” you. And all of this negativity can be directly traced back to the resentment Jiang Cheng feels caused by his own mother projecting her insecurities onto him. Jiang Cheng, who cannot grow, learn, or change, is unable to extract his own self from his mother’s insecurities, ending up inheriting them as his own, instead.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like teen!Jiang Cheng is some irredeemable monster (that is reserved for his adult self), but Wei Wuxian already shows signs of being tired of his attitude as kids. He snaps at Jiang Cheng rudeness in the lotus pod seeds extra. He constantly admonishes Jiang Cheng about his blatant disregard for the lives and safety of other people. Most of the time, Wei Wuxian won’t even engage in the petty little remarks that Jiang Cheng makes, just treating it like nobody had spoken at all. The only times Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian move as a unit is when they have a common enemy—like Jin Zixuan—but without that, they are only held together by the fact that…they’ve been friends for a long time.

And this kinda leads me back to the point about the yunmeng friendship not being able to withstand the test of time even without an outside conflict: I would place the point of no return for their relationship at Wei Wuxian killing the xuanwu of slaughter, not at the fall of Lotus Pier. Wei Wuxian is one of two individuals that killed a mythological bloodthirsty creature responsible for hundreds of deaths, spent a week in a coma from his injuries and lack of immediate care, and what does he get for it? Jiang Cheng shows up with soup gifted to Wei Wuxian by Jiang Yanli, except he’s eaten all the meat out of it. Jiang Fengmian gives the most lukewarm praise to Wei Wuxian for his achievements—which Wei Wuxian neither complained about nor called him out for—because they were both trying to be mindful of Jing Cheng’s insecurities, and Jiang Cheng still made it about himself. When Madam Yu storms in to yell about how Wei Wuxian is a “bastard child” and he’s just trying to show off, Jiang Cheng consciously and unambiguously sides with his mother. Wei Wuxian had to drag his feverish body out of bed—after just awakening from a week-long coma—to placate pity-party Jiang Cheng, and the only thing that makes him feel better is not promises of continued friendship but of servitude. Even if at this point Wei Wuxian was still viewing Jiang Cheng as a—admittedly caustic—friend, Jiang Cheng’s view had fully transitioned from “annoying friend my mother hates” to “the servant I need to keep in line lest he overshadows me.” If anything, the fall of Lotus Pier, the debt placed on Wei Wuxian by the Jiang leaders, and the subsequent war probably allowed their friendship to last longer than it naturally would have (remember, they are only united against outside forces).

All this to say that while Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian may have started out as genuine friends in their childhood, their transition to enemies has absolutely nothing to do with that care. Sometimes we fall out with people because we just do not like them as people. Jiang Cheng’s resentment prevented him from appreciating Wei Wuxian as a person, leading to the end of their friendship and their descent into eventual enemies. Not misplaced or warped care, just pure, undeniable resentment.

[genderfluid-insomniac]

age regression!reader with the harbingers

a/n: this was for a request on ao3 but I post all of my works on both platforms (still updating the ao3 one)

THIS ISN'T A SEXUAL THING!! IF YOU MAKE IT ONE I WILL BLOCK YOU!!

Pierro

Usually seems stoic and uncaring but you know him better than most people being his little. Pierro was very understanding and a tad confused until you explained it, wanting to help in any way possible and buying anything you wanted (and more if he thought you’d like it).

Best storyteller as he’s seen so much as both the royal mage of Khaenri’ah and the director of the harbingers; so whenever you want a story and he’s free from work all you have to do is ask. He makes sure you have proper health and won’t budge if you want sweets but you haven’t eaten a meal yet. A strict but very kind and caring caregiver.

If probably one of the most protective caregivers of all. of the harbingers given that he’s got a big target on his back for a variety of reasons (being Khaenri’an, top harbinger, war crimes, etc.). He never leaves you alone if he has to leave which is almost never since he’s rarely sent on missions and is the one the harbingers report back to, keeping you in a side room off of his office within view of both of you and checking on your from time to time between meal breaks.

Pierro loves how small you are in his arms and how your eyes are full of innocence when you are little, if he could keep you with him he would. He has tons of blankets to keep you warm from the cold that seeps in from the harsh weather and makes large fires in the evenings as he does paperwork while you play on the carpet with your crayons and plushies.

Il Capitano

Now as much as he seems tough and cold, behind closed doors you know he’s ironically one of the softest people you’ve met and has said that he’d kill for you if anyone threatened to hurt you in either state (little or big). Capitano keeps you as much of a secret as he can in fear of something happening to you and also away from Childe because, from his point of view, he’s a fighting-crazed maniac and doesn’t want little you to be corrupted.

You are one of the only people to see his face and it’s gorgeous including all the scars and burn marks, cupping your hands on his cheeks and giggling as the soft smile he wears just for you. He has a small team of soldiers that watch you whenever he has to leave and they secretly adore you, gentle expressions watch over you as you play with the toys that Capitano gave you and snack on local fruits while an abyss mage blanket is wrapped around you.

He adores your sleeping face or when you’re yawning after a long day and settling down for a nap, Capitano’s very glad his head covering hides his face because he’s smiling so wide and looking so soft. He has a hidden talent for getting you to sleep in seconds and all it takes for it to happen is to whisper comforting comments into your ear while rocking you.

This man’s voice is shockingly deep and wouldn’t tell anyone but can sing fairly well however he only knows basic folk songs or songs he’s picked up from his travelers. He will only sing if he’s 100% sure he’s alone and is mostly silent around the other harbingers so only his soldiers and you get the honor of hearing his voice.

Dottore

The doctor loves little you no matter what age you are but does have a hard and fast rule which is no playing in his lab. Ever. He acts like he doesn’t care about humanity but he's such a hypocrite as he would kill for you.

In his lab, there is a corner that is sectioned off specifically for you to be in with toys, blankets, plushies, spill-proof food, and drinks however the fencing surrounding the corner is high enough that you can’t climb over it, and thin but strong material. So you can easily see whatever your caregiver is up to but stay safe and out of harm in case anything happens.

If fussy then he’ll usually have a segment around to comfort you and attend to your needs if OG Dottore absolutely needs to do Harbinger work which both of you don’t like for different reasons. There are rare times when what he’s experimenting with or on something (like shield potions or enhanced foods) that he deems “safe” enough he’ll let you sit by him and color or fidget.

You have a lot of perfect tools for your regression that work perfectly because Dottore has done trials of what you like and what you don’t like. For example, your favorite blanket you have is a big Pyro abyss mage fur blanket that he made and keeps you warm with the mage’s abilities infused into the fur. Currently, you’ve seen him working on a cryo version for the harsh cold of Snezhnaya when you want to go outside and play in the snow but he’s yet been able to infuse a cryo-resistant effect which frustrates him to no end.

He has a strange talent for knowing exactly what’s bothering you before you know it given his knowledge of the human body and anatomy, preventing any meltdowns before they happen and keeping little you happy and satisfied.

This man is very protective over you knowing if someone finds out the second fatui harbinger had a soft spot for a human then you’re going to be a main target for his destruction and that cannot happen. Very rarely leaves you alone when you’re little and has either a trusted fatuus or segment be with you until he can get back.

Like in Sumeru, Dottore wanted to bring you with him but couldn’t due to his work having to be his main focus and secretly being worried about the traveler or Sumerian guards hurting you. He ended up leaving in the care of Arlecchino who agreed but under certain circumstances for her own mission in Fontaine and she often had some of the children from the house of the hearth care for you when she had meetings. (Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet adored you and sent you letters or “magic” gifts when you had to leave)

Columbina

This goes without saying but has one of the best singing voices of all of them and has put some of her soldiers to sleep by accident when they’ve overheard her singing to herself since her voice carries. You have been put to sleep by her voice and melodies countless times you’ve lost track and little you really like her voice. So whenever she can she’ll bring you into her office, placing you in a short walled-off area beside her, and humming or singing a favorite song while she works to reward you for being good.

Since she is the third harbinger no one really knows about her strength and that includes you, very rarely have you gotten glimpses of her power, and its always when someone threatens you or dares to question why Lady Columbina keeps a child at her side. Your caregiver shields you from the violence of the world because you’re her little one, her light among the darkness and she’s your mommy, your angelic caregiver who makes all your wishes come true.

Columbina, despite being one of the strongest harbingers, is very weak to your big cute eyes pleading for another blanket, toy, of sweet she brought back from a faraway nation and she of course bends to your wishes. At times you’ve babbled about how you have your very own fairy godmother who wipes your tears and rocks you gently whenever you get fussy. She spoils you rotten and has no shame in it, having your own room attached to hers that is baby-proofed but also filled with everything you could ever need. The room looks almost like it’s made of clouds with pacifiers hung on the wall for you to grab and everything organized in a multilayered box that contains the softest comfort clothes, pull-ups, clean wipes, and noise-canceling headphones for overstimulation.

Another one of the harbingers that is very protective of you and will not hesitate to kill others if it means getting her little one back in her arms. However, she’s pretty confident about being able to protect you; so very rarely will be brought to a meeting and sitting on your mommy’s lap happily napping or relaxing in her big coat. Some of her other colleagues aren’t fond of you being in the meeting while others are very fond of you and as a gift one winter solstice, you were gifted your own big fluffy coat resembling your mama’s coat.

Arlecchino

She isn’t one for gifts but will give you the necessary things like toys, blankets, and eventually other things from neighboring nations that she thinks your little self would like. Arlecchino has everything in themes of the ocean because of her love for her homeland and has everything organized in a somewhat kid-proof box with some stray blankets or toys out for you to play with unless you want others. Whenever you’re regressed (normally in Fountaine since that’s where she mainly stays unless sent otherwise) she pretends not to notice her children Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet giving you gifts as well. Little you is very shy and happy so when you’ve been given a gift you blush looking up at them and timidly murmuring a “thank you” to whoever gave you a gift.

One of the most protective people out of all the harbingers and if anyone decides to fuck with her little one, doesn’t resist killing that person and genuinely is wondering if they’re stupid enough to attack someone close to a harbinger. She mostly brings you with her but on occasions she can’t she keeps you in her office with her most trusted soldiers. You’re comfortable with your favorite blanket and toy all bundled up in the corner babbling about with the innocent child look in your eyes that she loves completely safe. On occasion, she’ll have one of the hearth children come and play with you, those are the days you really look forward to because you rarely get playmates aside from your mommy.

Arlecchino rarely leaves on missions but when she does she leaves you in the care of some of her soldiers along with Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet to take care of you. They seriously love you and take care of you like their own sibling; Lynette of course spoils you with deserts much to Lyney’s dismay who amazes you with magic tricks and Freminet who tells you all about underwater animals. When Arlecchino does take you with her she keeps you with her at all times unless she has to go somewhere where you can’t go or it’s dangerous. In that case, she tells you to stay put at the base until she gets back setting you up with all the necessities and ordering some of her soldiers in and outside of the room.

Sandrone

At first, Marionette thought she had everything down by using her mechanical puppets to take care of you but that proved very wrong when you had nonstop tantrums and cried about wanting your real mommy claiming that these puppets were emotionless (which was true). She then had you with her at all times, including when she locks herself in her lab for hours on end focusing on her research and you’re right beside her with a puppet to bring you anything you want. You’re quite happy since you’re near your mommy and you can play and nap like you want, getting attention from time to time and when Sandrone wants a break she’ll bring you into her arms for a quick nap or cozy affections.

Is similar to Dottore about the necessities as she can pretty much make or get whatever you need and does “experiment” on you and it’s not what you think. She creates different blankets, pacifiers, and comfort clothes using different materials and learns what you like and what you don’t like. Her little one has a number of different toys (quite advanced and new) that she invented and some of them shockingly can respond to your babbles.

Since she brings you with her, where she’s traveling if there comes a time when anything dangerous happens she’ll use her main puppet that she sits on to open a sizable compartment where she’ll put her little in until the danger is over and then bring you out when this is over. Comforting you if you get scared and pulling out a small music box that sounds like your favorite song, running her fingers through your hair, and silently rubbing shapeless figures on your back.

Tartaglia

Oh my gods, this man doesn’t stop giving you gifts and toys so you have to have a couple of chests full or you share them with his siblings. You do know about his harbinger status however your little self loves the cover status he uses for his siblings and he takes great pride in encouraging it when he plays with you, joyfully claiming you’re his biggest customer and going in for tickles as a reward for being such an amazing patron (even when he had to explain to your regressed self what patron meant). Childe has a small playpen right next to his desk but back enough so he could hold your hand if you wanted and you giggled and babbled bashfully at the large space given to you. His heart warms when you draw crudely done pictures of both of you and show him with a very proud smile like a new soldier winning their first battle.

Might be one of the very protective ones even if he acts aloof and if even one person makes a move or gives off a harmful intent, he’s not holding back if the other person threatens him or his little one for a debt release and is washing some of the blood off of his clothes before he comes to see you. When you’re regressed or your mind is fuzzy you’re not sure why he always has you with him or promises that you’ll never get hurt or harmed in any way as long as he’s alive.

We all know this man is always on missions and on some of them he can’t bring you with him which pains him to no end, hoping you’re alright and his little one is not missing him too much. Like the others sent his most trusted soldiers to watch over you and care for your needs, often hearing that his siblings joined you for most of the day and smiling at the thought of you happily babbling on about your excitement. No harbingers are allowed to even be near you, especially not Il Dottore and the only exception in the fatui now was Arlecchino and Pulcinella.

It should be no surprise that the 11th harbinger spoils you with treats from all different nations and most of them are sugary or your favorite flavors. You have a whole pantry of snacks and food to nibble on if you’re hungry, they’re also non-complex foods and stuff you can easily just grab and eat. Even though your caregiver is very sweet towards you he is strict in the sense of making sure you’re nourished and not just made up of sugar. Childe also doesn’t want you to get sick or cavities if he can help it. So sweets are mostly kept to when you’re good or if he comes back/home from a long mission (usually with you there) and you’re happy either way, your favorite foods make you more agreeable.

Childe absolutely had a hard bedtime that he makes you follow however it doesn’t mean he’s just going to leave in bed to fall asleep in the dark and go about his own. He lets you pick a story for him to read or make up as you fall asleep and quietly sneaks out once he’s sure you’re sound asleep with little chance of waking up. If you have a nightmare he’ll let you cuddle with him and talk out your nightmare so it doesn’t seem scary anymore.

Pantalone

You are so spoiled by him and your whole room is filled with stuff you asked for and also didn’t ask for courtesy of your caregiver. He had a smaller version of the formal harbinger coat made for you and instructed you to wear it when you were outside with anyone, taking extra precautions with the fur and buttons so you couldn’t take them off or chew on them. He has a whole separate wardrobe of outfits for your little self and it’s all in your favorite colors. All you need to do is point to it and he’ll get it as soon as he can or if it’s someone else’s he’s not going to take it cause it’s not sanitary but he’ll make an identical one from scratch.

The banker seems not that violet or caring to anyone given his impartial opinion and blatant lack of care in La Signora’s death however that’s cause he didn’t really have any attachments to his colleagues because that’s all they were…colleagues. You are his one exception, as his lover you’re his first priority obviously over the money and when you are in your little headspace he’s not taking any chances with you. He has you with him in his office diagonally behind so he can still see you while you happily play with your toys all wrapped in blankets in case anyone bursts in with intent to harm either of you.

Pantalone’s almost always never sent on a mission since he stays in Schneznyah to take care of the Fatui’s grand finances as well as the major Northland Banks around Tevyat and that means staying at the homeland to get all the reports as soon as possible. He’s very grateful he doesn’t have to travel and gets to spend more time with you by his side, however, when he does have to leave for a mission he will take you with him every single time and doesn’t let you out of sight unless it’s with his most competent soldier. Whenever you both travel whether it’s on a boat, carriage, on foot, in the air, or on the Fontaine waterways he’ll have you with him to play with a coloring book and if it’s a long travel distance he’ll have you take a nap(if you throw a tantrum then you’re going to get sent to timeout).

Getting you to eat can be a struggle since you much prefer to nap than eat even if you need it to stay healthy and when you do eat because of Pantalone still spoiling you you have a very rich pallet or rather very expensive pallet. He’s glad that when you get hungry you don’t get really fussy you get quieter and pouty hoping your caregiver would tend to your needs. Your favorite thing to do is eat breakfast or dinner with your caregiver's lap as you both finish your meals and Pantalone lists off what he has to do today, telling you to go get your favorite toys and blanket before he heads in to do paperwork.

He is very strict on bedtimes and the reason is that you have a habit of being clingy when he has to get up which is pretty early as he has a lot of work to do as a harbinger but carefully slips in a pillow in place of himself which usually work and sometimes it doesn’t. You’ll happily snuggle into your “caregiver” as Pantalone quietly gets ready and has a soldier guard your room in case you get up or any issues come up, instructing them to report if any problems arise. Going to bed is always fun as you’re piled under blankets and he’s always snuggled next to you and reading you stories he’s heard from across all of the world.

[jolalibrary]

this year's love.

simon ghost riley x f!reader

wc: 5.5k warnings: angst. fluff. smut. feelings. usual jo things. summary: And then you begin calling him Riley. It’s more flirtatious—more meaningful. Simon is when you’re soft, thanking him, when others are close and can hear you. Riley is when you’re leaning over the bar, staring into his soul and smirking so deviously it takes a lot to not kiss it off your lips. an: from the drabble where ghost 'dates' a non-militant he meets in a pub. this is dedicated to @yeyinde for reminding me why British pubs are adorable, and also to @guyfieriii because she hates my angst, but loves my fluff, and makes me want to write better.

simon ghost riley masterlist

He suspects he should stay away. 

As soon as he began to crave the sight of you. Ignoring the fact he’s heard This Year's Love by David Gray three times already—and he has only been here an hour. The condensation beads from his glass pools on the picked-at-bar mat, drenching his fingers and wrist. 

Not that he cares. 

Ghost—

Simon knows it’s all part of the charm. 

It has been since the day he turned eighteen and his boss at the butchers took him for his first pint. 

The place hasn’t changed since. Everything from the same ten to twelve songs which crackle through the worn and tired speakers. The smokey air, and discoloured, yellowing wallpaper. 

Things don’t get replaced either, the chipped glass ashtrays are the same as the ones he remembers. The same chipped mahogany tables with the ill-matching chairs and stools that are wobbly.

The scent in the place is familiar, a mix between festering ale and Mr Sheen, working men and cheap perfume, fust and smoke—both from the crackling winter fire and cigarettes—even if one hasn’t been smoked inside of it for years. 

The place, to outsiders, would look like any stone-walled pub on the corner of two streets they’ll never remember. Then they’ll step in, their eyes glancing over the peeling wallpaper, moth-eaten curtains (that never close) and the once-white nets in the windows, before questioning what they’ve walked into. That’s before they’ve noticed the white ball on the pool table is in fact another black ball and that the dart board triple 20 has been chipped out after Bald-Andy lost his rag. 

The pub has been a real gem to those who know what real diamonds are for as long as Simon can remember. None of the regulars care that the bar stools have burns from cigarettes being stubbed out, they don’t care that the musty smell doesn’t vanish even with Febreze and sheer will. It’s expected, just like how the bar is always sticky and the energy always feels right. 

Here, he can relax. 

When he’s home, he feels purposeless. A man with a map but no direction. But, he can unfurl his shoulders from his ears, even let his hood slide to the back of his neck. 

Because in this place, strangers aren’t welcome. It’s a local pub, for local folk. Those who wander in, thinking the pub on the corner of quaint and quintessential will provide them with a typical British evening, normally leaving before Freddie Mercury has reached the bridge of whatever song is on rotation. 

But, Simon isn’t just here for the bourbon or the ale, he’s not here because the wooden fire licks every wall of the place. He’s not here because it feels more like home than his actual home. 

He’s here because there’s one thing that has changed, and it’s you. 

You with a rosy, sweet laugh that usually accompanies a smile which makes his heart gallop. It calms whatever storm rages inside of him when you look at him—when you bore your pretty, fucking eyes into him before you lean over, hand on the beer pump as you call him Simon. 

Simon. 

His name has never sounded more serene than when it falls from your lips. The way you say it makes it seem less than ordinary, almost unique. Humour sways in your eyes, a glint he knows there’s more too—and wants nothing more than to explore. 

You’re a vibrant surprise in the middle of my mundane, and it took him all of five minutes to discern you’re both difficult and charming all rolled into one. 

And then you begin calling him Riley. 

It’s more flirtatious—more meaningful. 

Simon is when you’re soft, thanking him, when others are close and can hear you. Riley is when you’re leaning over the bar, staring into his soul and smirking so deviously it takes a lot to not kiss it off your lips.

Women haven’t tended to last here—except Tracy. Tracy, who like the urinal cakes, has been here since Simon’s first pint. Her lines had deepened in her skin over time, but her hair has remained that putrid blonde she tries to claim is natural. 

You, on the other hand, are far younger—kind, soft, unless someone gets lairy and then there’s a ferociousness to you that’s packed into something so small. He suspects you know what the men at the bar look at when your eyes aren’t looking, and it’s not the way you command the small space stuffed with offerings and glasses. 

He’d paid no mind initially. Tried not to, anyway. He’d decided it would be for the best. Then you’d bite back at Dave that you may be too young to remember a song,  but you could still get down on her knees without them creaking. 

He had smirked at that. 

Deciding his new seat at the bar, on the rickety bar stool was his new favourite seat. 

To this day, you always smell floral, but the accompanying scent with it changes. Sometimes you’re sultry, sometimes you’re just sweet. Each time he is able to return ‘home’ he’s never sure which one he’ll get—but it burns a place in his nose all the same. 

Hard to shift, difficult to smother, not that he wishes to do either. 

Their first exchanges were simple. Contractual. Another? Yes. Your usual? Yes. Then you had placed a deck of cards in front of him, a teasing smile on your face in the quietness of a Wednesday evening. 

Keep me company. 

It was difficult for him to grasp how soft your eyes were, how it made his mind blank and his heart both hammer and stutter all at once. 

Now, it’s normal. 

He’s used to it, fucking welcomes the way they land on him. He thinks about them on the plane ride home, how Alan—the chef who’ll serve anything off-menu for a packet of fags—makes a mean all-day breakfast sandwich. But mostly, it’s you. 

“You back for long, Riley?” 

“No.”

“Never are.” 

“You sound disappointed, sweetheart.” 

You always smile the same when he calls you that. Always half-roll your eyes before shaking your head, as though flirting with you is oh so wrong. 

Especially when you start it first. 

“What would you do if I was?” 

That’s new. 

His fingers pick up a crisp, watching you lean on the pump in front of you. The star earrings hanging from your ears, catch the bar spotlights, making it seem as though you’re literally glowing. 

But then, you are—to him at least. 

Someone calls for you, pint raised in hand—saving him from answering. You wink, and mumble you’ll be right back, the words lingering in the space you once stood. 

You’re too good for him. 

Too normal. Too unscarred and untouched. He suspects a bad thing has never happened to you. You’ve not plunged a knife into someone’s throat, not shot a moving target with a precision that most try to replicate on their controllers and headsets. 

For that reason, and that reason alone, he knows he should stay on this side of the bar. Even when it takes all of his self-restraint to do so. 

It’s hard though. 

More so when you give him that look—that one which makes his cock twitch and his thoughts turn feral. 

Because the nice girl from the pub may have a sweet, soft voice, but fuck he knows you’re anything but. 

You’re all red lips and righteousness, a siren and enchantress who chooses floral perfume to try and disguise the way your eyes undress him. 

Not that he complains. 

He’s done the same. 

Fucked his own fist to the thought of the noises you’d make and how you’d feel enveloped around his cock. 

Tonight he’d likely do the same. 

Winter is in full effect when he next returns. 

Snow was thick on the streets, the roads a horrid mix of ice, slush and asphalt. 

You’re behind the bar, Bald-Andy and his wife in the corner near the fire, and the crackling, gruff voice of Oasis is playing. You look up, lips smirking, eyes glistening. 

“The usual?” 

He considers it. Sweet, caramel and vanilla notes hit his tongue in memory. But he shakes his head, pulling out a stool, and sitting opposite you as your perfume greets him. 

“Surprise me, sweetheart.” 

You stand fully, hair falling around your face, making his heart lurch and his stomach burn. 

“Living dangerously, I see,” you say, turning your back to him as you pull at spirit bottles.

If only you knew. 

He suspects something sweet when you place the glass in front of him. The sound of it meeting the worn wood so loud, not that the other two patrons look over. As though it’s just the two of you. No one else. His eyes lift, hooking themselves into yours—unwilling to let you tear them from him as he tries to bury the aches of war and fighting. 

It’s caramel coloured, darker at the bottom of the glass than the top. Ice. So much ice. 

“Go on, try it, Simon.” 

And he does. 

It’s sweet, and zingy. It’s mellow but spicy, and he tastes the hints of ginger and rum as the cold hits his teeth. 

“What y’made me?” 

“You like it?” 

Yes. 

The tip of your tongue swiping across your bottom lip, watching you lean smugly. “Dark and stormy… the epitome of you.”

A groan leaving his lips, your laugh tasting of sunshine and happier days. 

A long moment stretches between the two of you, one that makes the air thrum and him having to shift his jeans. A continuous voice in his head, telling him no, telling him to put a stop to this now. 

He drinks it. He even orders it again. 

Time ticks fast—too fast. He wants it to slow. Ever since their first flirtation, if you’ve finished when he’s there—he walks you to your car. 

You drive something small, your entire backseat is always covered in coats, shoes and books. Something normal, and so typically you. 

He does the same tonight, hands in his jacket pockets, periodically scanning the area as you lock the big wooden doors of the pub. You shake them, ensuring you have, pocketing the keys before turning to nudge him. 

Simple. Soft. Each gesture in the short walk is always seemingly effortless. You don’t worry he’ll take offence, that he’ll shatter or snap. 

Not that he would. 

His arm lifting, letting your small hand slide around it for stability as the snow falls thick and fast. It paints the streets in a blanket that crunches under their boots. And there’s something about the snow landing in your hair, on the tip of your nose, even on your lower lip. 

He wants to brush it from your mouth, and trace the bow of your upper lip with his thumb. 

Because it’s all a contradiction. Snow makes you look innocent, something close to a character from a movie or a Disney film. And, you’re not any of those things. 

You’re snarky, huffed whispers and quick retorts when drunkards try to hit on you; you’re witty, funny and boldly brilliant.

So much so, he’s never sure why you work there. He knows you’re studying, knows you’re trying to better yourself. You’ve told him as much over a Pepsi Max in your hand and something stronger in his. 

He knows it’s odd to keep staring at you. Your eyes staring up, making your eyes seem wider and bigger than they actually are—pretty sure the flurries of snow, stars and moon are shining in them. But it’s his treat—his reward. The thing he thinks about when he’s knee-deep in mud or covered in blood, sweat and bruises. 

Your feet stop at your car, unlocking it—the beep and flash of your headlights casting light across the car park. 

“You back for long?” 

“No.”

Smiling, you lean against the rear window. “Never are.” 

It’s a pattern, a habit. An exchange that has become the norm for the two of you as much as hello and goodbye. 

Then, you sigh.

Something you rarely do, not to him—not with him. His brows knitting, tightening, heart thundering in his throat as you drag your eyes up his chest, and neck and land on his face. 

“Do you know how perfect it would be, if you grew a pair and kissed me in the snow, Riley?” 

Your hand slides into the handle, opening it as your smirk turns into a grin. One which is brighter than your headlights, the moon—hell, the fucking sun. 

“Guess I’ll have to wait for a shooting star, instead.” 

And, you laugh, leaning your back against the car—expression blended with vulnerability and searing heat that should melt the settling ice on your face. 

“Y��seem like the sorta woman to make me work for it.” 

“Oh yes, because eighteen months of will-they-won’t-they hasn’t been tedious enough.” 

He grabs your elbow, roughly pulling but finds you fall into him with far too much ease. The snow continues to fall, leaving soft cold kisses on his face, but he doesn’t feel cold. 

How could he? You’re staring up at him with the searing heat of the sun. 

“Y’want me to kiss you, Sweetheart?” 

“More than I want to go home and sleep, Riley.” 

His hand cups your cheek, warm meeting cold as he pulls your lips to his. Cold, soft lips slide against his, and he tastes the orange from your cordial swirling with his bourbon-covered tongue. Your car groans when he presses you against it, your hand clutching him with the same desperation as he’s flush with your body. 

Your cheeks are warm against his hands, eyelashes fluttering open as the two of you break apart. 

“You… you want to come back to mine?”

Yes. Fuck yes. 

But—

“Next time.” 

“Yeah?” 

His fingers brush down your cheek, and he nods. 

He got your number. 

For convenience. You tell him he didn’t need to come in and drink one of your piss-poor beer pulls just to get in your knickers. 

So he doesn’t. 

He doesn’t text when he first lands. He gives himself a day—a moment to shed the Ghost and become Simon. When you do you don’t reply with anything witty, just straight-laced—just like he likes it. 

A time. An address. 

He expects you to size him up at your front door, even bracing for a changed mind. You don’t do either. You let the door open, standing two steps inwards dressed in something lace and rippable. 

Fuckin’ fuck. 

It’s the only thought he has before he slams your door behind him, striding towards you and practically throwing you over his shoulder. 

You don’t taste like what he expects—it’s better. 

His tongue flattens against you, two fingers inside your warm cunt as you whimper. You reluctantly still clutching to the promise you’d made earlier. The one where you informed him it’ll take more than a few fingers and a skilled tongue to make you scream. 

So he sucks. Bites. Nips. 

He finds that squishy part, stroking it as your thighs twitch by his ears. 

It’s then he grants himself the chance to look at you, finding your lipstick spread in a way which seems deliberately chaotic—even if he knows it isn’t. Your lashes wet, eyes clamped shut as you try and try not to give in. 

So fuckin’ stubborn. 

Your hands, all smooth and soft, clutching your breasts, the pink of a nipple poking out between your index and thumb as your chest rises and falls as you fight calling out his name. 

He likes that you have convictions—it gives him something to break. 

His tongue swirling, knowing already what he needs to do to undo you. 

And then—

Simon—fuc-k, Simon.

It’s better than classical, better than whatever is number one on the fuckin’ charts. The sound of you coming hard, and fast, trying to bury it in a whisper than the scream you actually want to release. All of it is a better sound than his knife plunging into some unsuspecting op—because he will make you scream. 

He laps up every ounce you give him, your pleading whimpers and nails in his hair making him groan against your cunt until you almost snap his neck—or try to. 

“Take them off. Now.”

He doesn’t like orders.

He fucking detests them. He gives them. Normally loud and booming. But your voice, all sweet and high-pitched, trying to give stern eyes when your lashes are coated in tears he’s caused…

Your eyes widen when he stands naked. And he knows he’s big. 

He’s very fucking aware of it. He’s seen plenty of evidence to support the fact in the wild, surprised eyes of those who he’s dropped his trousers for. 

You now being one of them. 

But fuck, he fits in you perfectly. So much so, he wants to mould your insides to match him, to ruin you for every other person who thinks they stand a chance with you.

Because they don’t. 

But then neither does he. 

Not that he’ll squander a moment to fuck with heaven—to hear the cadence shift when he hooks your leg over his hip as he drives his cock into you all the way to the hilt. 

He coaxes another out of you, your tight cunt like a vice around him as your manicured nails leave scratches on his back. His tongue swipes across your jaw, before haphazardly capturing your mouth. 

You taste like mint polos and sex—a taste he is already sure he’ll crave. 

And he wonders to himself if you know how fucking perfect you are. If you have any idea of how stunning you truly are. 

Especially like this. Your body shimmering with sweat, each thrust making your breasts bounce as your fingers tease his hair at the nape of his neck. 

And then he wonders about something else. 

Something far from coating your walls in his come.

Would you fit in his life? 

Would you fit as well in it, as he does inside your cunt?

And then you’re clenching, hips lazily trying to meet his as you whimper, moan—

And then you scream. 

Not Riley.

But Simon.

Mission accomplished. 

It has become a habit. 

You have become a habit. 

He lands. He waits a day. He fucks you until you are raw, sore and breathless. His lips are on yours, hands still on your hips as he hears how hoarse your voice is. 

“You back for long?”

“No.”

But this no is different.

It’s tinged with half a teaspoon of regret and sadness. 

You hide your face when he answers now. Sometimes by slinging your arm to shield him from your eyes or by turning from him. It’s like you know he likes them. Likes being able to see each infliction of emotion in them—shimmering, dancing, storming across in front of him. 

Somehow, you’ve fit into his life too well—cutting yourself a hole, forcing your way in, and making it seem as though you were always there. 

Simon lets you be, too. 

You have one of his t-shirts, baggy, black and covered in your perfume. He finds he has one of your hair ties around his wrist, not even realising until he slides on a pair of gloves. Flicking it against his wrist as he thinks of you, something he only allows himself to do briefly.

Things have changed. Shifted. 

But the Earth hasn’t fallen off its axis and he’s not fucked up a mission. So he counts his blessings. He doesn’t know if he believes good things can happen to him, but he could be persuaded that he can have nice things. A belief he even starts to accept. A reality he begins to wish for, rather than keep at arm's length. 

You’ve left the pub. You hadn’t been working every night for a while. Your studies had ended—receiving a photo of a cap and gown without your face when he was in the middle of a desert. 

Now you’re working a better job, one you deserve more—it’s creative, more you. You make the world brighter, and better while he’s getting dirty and riding the world of darkness. You text him once, the day you got paid, that you bought him something nice.

Something he ripped with his teeth when he landed—much to your annoyance. 

You’re no longer the girl in the pub. You’re perfectly applied make-up he fucks off your face. You’re high heels and pencil skirts—and sometimes fitted trousers that hug your arse so beautifully, he’s almost a bit jealous. You’re the pink sky at night, laughter that warms his chest, and a smile he thinks about as he falls asleep. 

“What would my alias be?” 

Your hand slides over a plate to him. Cheese on toast. Nothing big, nothing major, but he stares at it all the same. Because you’ve made him something. 

You’ve been doing it for a while, and each time is as perplexing as the last. His brain is unable to figure out how, why and what he’s done to deserve it. Even if it’s toast, a sandwich, or a fucking meal. 

Because it’s something outside of sex. It’s outside of holding the back of your head as he fucks your throat; outside of him pinning you against the dark alleyway of the pub he first saw you in, making you both cold and warm all at once. 

Even if he knows—constantly turns it over and over in his mind—that this isn’t just sex. He’s not entirely sure what this is. Except…nice?

You take a bite of your own, the crunch filling the air, crumbs littering your top—his top. “My call sign.” 

Simon isn’t sure why he told you about what he did. You were in his arms, warm, smelling of sex, flowers and something sharp. And, it fell out of him. Still drunk off your cunt, lost in the tenderness of your fingers on his chest, playing it a pattern with your nails. 

Not everything. Fuck, he couldn’t tell you everything—wouldn’t. But you know enough. 

Enough for him to know you’re not running, that you still want him knocking on your door whenever he lands—whether it's morning, noon or night. 

Now, you’re making him food. Legs long, his black t-shirt skimming your thighs—all his. Looking ever so inviting, making it hard not to push you up on the counter and give your neighbours something to talk about.

“Egg.”

You snort, sharp and light. “Egg?! You’re fuckin’ rude, Riley. Egg? No, that’s shit, give me a better one.” 

“But, true. You’d shatter, you’re more yolk than shell, you.”

“C’mon, be serious.” 

He gives you a look, finding the one you’re giving him sultry, teasing—demanding. 

“Snow.” 

You stare for several seconds before you hum, crunching the corner of your food with your teeth. “Lemme guess because I’m oh-so-delicate?”

No—

It’s because you’re fucking perfect. 

Because you’re his favourite season and favourite moment.

On some deeper level, he suspects it’s because you’re pure. That you’re unruined. Untainted. Your body has no scars—except the one from chicken pox and one on your hand from a glass bottle shattering. But, that’s it. He’s kissed every inch of you to know, to be 100% sure. 

You’re Snow because each time he sees it, he thinks of you. Those red lips, all that fucking audacity and the way you kissed him, tasting as warm as bourbon and as sweet as sugar. 

“Yeh, ‘cause you’re all pure and innocent, Sweetheart.”

You laugh, richly. Head thrown back, perfect thin neck exposed to the air—to him. 

And he wants to kiss you. 

He wants to taste your laugh and smile, let his hands run around the back of your thighs and feel you against every inch of him. 

That’s when your eyes land on him again—all full of questions and spice. Your tongue drags across your plush bottom lip, wiping up the grease from the cheese as he swallows. 

His throat suddenly dry. 

Because the girl he met in the pub—the one standing before him—is standing in his t-shirt. Looking every bit delicious, good enough to eat and never come up for air. 

And he thinks—

Realises, he actually, might—probably—miss you when he goes back to Price. 

It’s stretched on for months. A year. 

He lands, uses the key you gave him and stamps the snow from his boots, half smiling to himself as he does. Whenever he gets here, he doesn’t wait, he finds his way to whatever room you’re in.

Sometimes he doesn’t get far, your body colliding with his. All curves in his hands and arms around his neck, and he’s not sure what the fuck this is, but he likes it. 

Loves it. 

It’s something like a song about falling in love and a peaceful Sunday morning; it’s those moments you see in movies that make your eyes swell with tears as he stares at you, wondering how on earth you’re so goddamn amazing. 

It’s familiar, and yet he has no idea what is happening next or why. 

Mostly, though, Simon knows it’s something because he said your name to Johnny. 

Not because he was dying, not because he was hurt. But in the middle of a normal conversation, one exchanged on some dark rooftop, stars twinkling, and eyes fixated on a building down a scope. 

Normally, he wouldn’t have answered. Would have ignored him. 

If y’could be anywhere, right now, Lt. Where’d y’pick?

He didn’t need to think. 

He didn’t say home. Because home wasn’t his place, the pub or even the fuckin’ city he’s always ever known. It’s wherever you are. It’s where your heart beats and your bed is placed; it’s where your annoying, shitty music taste is blaring and that sleepy smile is when he wakes up next to you. 

So, Simon said your name. 

Simple. Easy. 

Except it wasn’t simple or fucking easy. It was messy, and complicated. Because Johnny tilted his head, in that obnoxious way he does, demanding more information than he is ever prepared to ever share. 

‘Fuck off, Johnny, before I punt y’off the rooftop and tell Price you’d been a cunt.’

Because you are locked away when he’s here. You are chained inside his chest, the deepest fucking secret—one no one will ever fucking take no matter how much they dig, how much they push him too. 

You are his.

Something only he gets to enjoy—gets to see, hear and taste. 

He’s done all of that for the last hour. Getting some sick satisfaction from edging you until you’re pleading with him, begging him with every breath you have to let you come as you wriggle and wiggle, urging him to lift your legs—just like he likes it, how you like it, and make you see fucking stars.

Now, you’re barefoot. 

A different t-shirt of his hiding the welts he’s left, the growing bruises from the way he’d needed to hold you in place. Watching, observing—admiring—the oddness to your steps as you flick on the kettle. He’s always close—looming in the sun’s shadows across the kitchen he knows better than his own. 

He has to be. Wants to be.

You’ve not just carved a place in your life, but in his chest—his heart. You’ve seeped into his skin, into his soul, merging and bringing to life something he thought had wilted and died. He doesn’t care that he’s vulnerable, that he’s not jagged edges and sharp stares. 

“You wanna go out with me? Tonight?” 

You pause, tea bag in hand, looking over your shoulder at him as if he’d asked you to slaughter a pig, a child, a whole bloody family. 

The moment is tender, almost fragile. 

It trembles under the weight of his question and the silence of your thoughts. 

Then it stills—

“You don’t… you don’t have to do that…” 

“What?” 

Dashing the tea bag into the cup, you turn. Hips leaning against the counter, sigh falling from your swollen, pink lips as your arms fold. The air scented with that familiar smell your home always has—jasmine and pineapple, the sun kissing your toes and legs as your face shows thunder and rain. 

The air shifts, changing. It’s speckled in ice with a cold breeze punctuated by you suddenly not able to meet his eyes. 

“Date me. Change… this. I know that you… I know you don’t have time for that.” 

Except he doesn’t hear that, he hears me. 

He suspects you don’t say it to hurt him. 

But it does. 

It wounds—

It fucking burns. It’s on par with a bullet or a rusty knife, twisting and twisting until it’s hitting nerves and making muscles quake. 

It worsens when the kettle clicks, ready—waiting. It blows steam under your cupboards, billowing out around the edges before it rushes to the ceiling. Twisting, turning, desperate to escape the uncomfortable space between the two of you. 

But, he just wants to pull you close—impossibly close. He wants to cradle and fucking hug you, even if he never hugs anyone. Simon wants to tell you that he hasn’t been doing this with anyone else. That it’s been over a year of this, and even he knows it’s something. 

Admittedly, yeah, he didn’t think he’d have fucking time for someone, and then you came in and blew that all to shit. But, on some level inside of him, he knows they aren’t the words he should be saying. So silence fills the space instead. 

Doubling. Tripling. Expanding like foam and smoothing over crevices as you shift your weight from one foot to the other. 

And he knows he should just ask again. 

Softer. Maybe with a bit more emotion. Counting in his head. One. Two, fucking Three. 

Your body turning, holding out a mug you got him—big, black with tiny ghosts on it. Because you’d pestered and pestered to know what he was called. What his alias is when he shoots people. The mug made you grin when you handed it to him last time—tired of him taking your favourite. The one with a quote from a television show you keep promising to show him. Sarcastic. Almost makes his teeth show when he smiles. He almost does the same when he takes the mug, and you turn away from him. 

Now when he takes it, your eyes drop to the floor. To the space between the two of you.

The one which feels vast, and far larger than the bar ever felt.  

All Simon wonders is why there’s a pit opening inside of him—why it is filling him with a feeling he wants to cut out of himself. It’s not light or nice, it’s dark and twisty. 

Because he’s the same person who goes on stupid solo missions where the percentage of survival is low, and still fucking comes back to base with whatever was asked of him. He’s Ghost—a man who many fear. Who is often coated in more of other people’s blood than he is dirt. 

And yet this—

You.

Terrify the living fuck out of him. Not that he’s showing that. He knows he’s stood with a stiff back, and a face devoid of any emotions. 

“You said it when we first… Just… I know your job is important. I know you can’t commit and I respect—”

“Sweetheart.”

Your eyes meet his. Teeth biting your lip, arms crossing over your chest.  

And shit, he hopes to never see this face ever again. This nervous, unsure face that he’s put there. One which complicates everything and pulls on every string inside of him. 

You are an enigma, and he’s not even sure you know it. 

You’re something he never deserves, something he never thought he’d have, get, or keep. 

Yet, here you are. 

Someone who has seen every inch of him. Knows what he does. Where he goes. You even know brief moments of his past, the parts of him that he’d rather take to the grave. 

You are important. You matter. 

He’s falling—free-falling, in fact—and has been for a while, he didn’t even acknowledge it. Pushing it down, letting it sit with all the other things he doesn’t want to deal with. 

“Do’ya wanna go out with me tonight?” 

Each word hits you, strokes you. He watches as each syllable lands, your eyes reading him. 

“You back for long, Simon?”

His lips twitch. “Little bit.”

And then you smile. All devious and cunning, lips twisting as you unfold your arms and adjust your stance. “I think I’d prefer a takeaway. Keep you to myself, while I 'ave you.” 

Standing, crossing the small space of your kitchen as he cages you in. Your hand clutching his cheek, soft, gentle, and more than he fucking deserves. 

His head lowers, lips close to your ear as you curl your body into him as he whispers, all gruff and quiet so only you—and not a fly or spirit could hear—says, “I’ve always been just yours, sweetheart.”

Simon doesn't expect a response. More a kiss. Maybe even a roll of your hips.

It's why he doesn't expect the words, "I'd hoped so", or the way they make him feel like he's walking on air.

[hungry-tum-stuff]

Your character and their friends just ate lunch, but your character has a notoriously big appetite, and it's not long before they're hungry again. They feel silly saying so when their friends are still plenty full, so they keep quiet about it, intending to eat when they return home. Eventually, though, their rumbly belly gives them away, and their amused friends urge them to have a snack.

absolutely adore your writing & ocs btw

Thank you so much! It really means a lot to me when folks like my characters and my writing :D

For the first time in awhile, Buck had a weekend off.

This didn’t happen often. He usually only closed up his auto repair shop on Fridays and reopened on Saturday, but his buddies Lenny and Bruce, two of his regulars, had planned a fishing trip and invited Buck and Dante. Dante wasn’t on a case at the moment and Buck ran the auto repair himself, so he figured it wasn’t the worst idea in the world to close up shop and take a weekend to relax.

But it was also the weekend just before the full moon, which meant that Buck’s appetite was in full swing. Despite Dante worrying about it, Buck wasn’t going to turn during the trip. But he would sure as hell feel it coming.

Buck already had a pretty big appetite to begin with, being as tall as he was. He could clean his plate at any restaurant, he always took seconds, and he snacked frequently throughout the day. Now that he wasn’t a high school football player anymore and instead just beginning his thirties, his healthy appetite had left him with a strong physique and a soft middle. But during the days leading up to the full moon he just felt like a bottomless pit: Whatever he ate never seemed to be enough. Thankfully Dante was an excellent cook and had done enough research on werewolves to help keep his tummy quite satisfied, but when it wasn’t, it made sure everyone knew just how hungry he was.

During the drive up to the lakeside town his stomach had started to growl despite having eaten breakfast less than two hours ago, and as a result he’d had to endure Lenny and Bruce making jabs at him about his belly whenever it made itself known during the ride. They’d stopped at a diner as soon as they rolled into town, and were just now heading out to shop for supplies for their trip.

“That should keep Buck full for about thirty minutes.” Bruce teased, leading the pack down the street and towards the supermarket.

“Yeah well I’ll be full until dinnertime…” Lenny groaned, rubbing his stomach as Buck scratched his neck bashfully at the comment.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine until then too fellas.” He insisted, at which Dante raised an eyebrow in his direction. They’d all eaten a lot: All four men had gotten some variety of sandwich or lunch special with a side, and three of them were leaving the restaurant positively stuffed. And while Buck did feel fine, he also felt like he had enough room for a second course.

“I hope so, because we got a lotta shit to do until then.” Bruce said as he grabbed a cart. “Speaking of, Dante, you wanna find something for dinner tonight? Buck here tells me you’re a hell of a cook.”

“Oh yeah, no problem.” Dante agreed, smiling slightly at Buck.

“And we will find the rest of the shit for the cabin.” Lenny interjected, and they peeled off to hunt for their respective things. Buck tagged along with Lenny and Bruce because he knew they’d end up at the fishing counter, and he had to get some bait and tackle of his own. But not too long into their shopping, Buck felt that persistent ache begin to gnaw at his stomach again. He rubbed it discreetly and just hoped it would stay quiet as his friends were hemming and hawing over which bait was better and which hooks they should use, and the store was loud enough that any noises his tummy made weren’t too noticeable.

But once they rolled around to the food section to start picking up snacks, Buck found it much harder to ignore his tummy. It was definitely never a good idea to shop on an empty stomach, because now food was the only thing on his mind after walking through aisle after aisle of snacks, desserts, frozen treats, and everything in between. His tummy was already rumbling something fierce, but thankfully the hum of the freezers and whatever conversation Lenny and Bruce were having was enough to keep the attention off his noisy gut.

Eventually they regrouped with Dante by the produce section, flagging him down as they scanned for an open checkout lane.

“Wha’d you get for dinner?” Bruce called as they walked over to meet him, and Dante held up some of his ingredients triumphantly. Buck watched the package of raw chicken like it was a steak being waved right in front of him.

“I’m making one of Buck’s favorites: Chicken Scampi.” Dante proclaimed, only for Buck’s stomach to howl a terribly loud and hollow-sounding noise. He slapped a hand over his belly and chuckled nervously.

“Sorry, I s��pose I’m just really looking forward to that Chicken Scampi.” The other guys chuckled too, but Dante made sure to give him a pointed look that came across as worried.

“Well could you make it now Dante? Doesn’t sound like he can wait much longer.” Lenny joked as they got into line. Considering Buck’s stomach was snarling over the beeping of the cash registers, he was probably right.

“No, but I can get him a snack.” Dante insisted, piling his ingredients on the belt and adding a few extra bags of beef jerky on there with them. And as soon as they were checked out, Dante shoved them into Buck’s hands as Lenny and Bruce checked out their things.

“Eat.” Dante said sternly, standing beside the other. “This is your time off too y’know, so don’t worry about trying to follow our eating schedules. I know you hate being hungry.”

Buck tore open a bag of jerky and immediately stuffed as many pieces as he could fit into his mouth. Minding his manners, he did finish chewing before he got out a “Thank you, honey.” between bites. Dante just gave Buck’s belly an affectionate pat.

“Anytime. And don’t worry, I got enough to feed a family of ten, so make sure you eat you fill tonight.” Dante pointed at Buck sternly, as if he needed to be convinced.

“That shouldn’t be no problem at all.”

[justplainlovely]

Defending my new favorite ship again because why tf not

I’ll start by stating the obvious (cuz apparently it isn’t a given to some of the folks on here, which is weird, but okay). We DO NOT condone abuse in any form. With that said, an explanation is not an excuse and many folks, almost all I’d venture to guess, have been abusive at some point in their lives (I know I wouldn’t have been on the receiving end of so much abuse if that were untrue - hurt people hurt people). We also DO NOT condone racism. I get the feeling people assume malice on the Ghoulcy shipper side because of disgusting comments that were made long ago about Rey and Finn (which was a similar dynamic that, I’d argue, made more sense than a Lucy/Max relationship but that’s also my 🌈 heart shipping him with Dane). These disclaimers also extend to the villains, which Barb is one of. We DO NOT condone misogynoir here either cuz while I haven’t seen much racism on Lucy/Max, I have seen a surprising amount about Barb. Being a fictional villain does not allow for any kind of bigotry, NOTHING does, but I digress.

So on Ghoulcy, I’ll say this. The foreshadowing is layered heavily throughout the story. Whether they are intended to be friends or partners is up for debate, but the writing makes it quite clear that these characters are destined to team up, bringing us to the end of Season 1 when Lucy walks off with Cooper. I’m brought back to what Wilzig said at the beginning of the season, when Lucy was by herself camping and he warned her several times to go home before finally saying:

“The question is, will you still want the same things when you’ve become a different animal altogether?”

Lucy is very distraught at the end of the season after learning everything she does about her dad and Vault-tec and, for her to return to the vaults and live out her days there, with or without Max, seems like a stretch when things are all said and done. This can be poignantly compared to Persephone going to the underworld (in Lucy’s case, the surface world) - she has eaten the proverbial pomegranate.

This isn’t the only dynamic which Ghoulcy has been compared to, either. I have also seen them compared to Beauty and the Beast, which brings Max back into the dynamic often as a Gaston. Personally, I don’t see that, but if he turned out to be a villain it would be an interesting storyline and Aaron Moten could play it off very well. But bringing Max back in, something about his character to me feels very incomplete and I’m not sure if a love interest is the way forward for him. We only know one of his wants:

“I want to hurt the people who hurt me.”

And at the end of the season it’s like he seems less convinced by that, even though it’s hard to guess exactly what he’s thinking when he is knighted (something he should want, but judging by his expression he seems disenchanted by it) and finds Lucy has left. Part of the reason I ship him and Dane is because Dane has been a rock to him, one who he can probably trust with doubts about the Brotherhood. But returning to Ghoulcy, Cooper has been exactly where Lucy is before. He was betrayed by the one person he trusted most and what did he love most about Barb before they divorced (remember there was talk about alimony in the first episode - not sure how people forgot that):

“I know you always try to do the right thing. That’s what I love about you.”

Who embodies that better than Lucy, I ask you. (Cooper very well could still care about his ex-wife so take that with a grain of salt) But when it comes down to it, and we don’t know who initiated the divorce so it’s up for interpretation like any good story, part of Cooper died when he listened in on Barb’s Vault-Tec meeting just like part of Lucy is dying after she learns what her father did to her mother and Shady Sands.

“If my dad found out that I destroyed an entire community to save him... that'd break his heart.”

That is likely what’s on repeat for her when she learns about the city. And when Cooper offers her his company to New Vegas, his tone notably softens. I think when they first met, the vile things Cooper did to Lucy made her realize very quickly what she would have to do to make it on the surface. Cooper is intrigued, maybe even put off by, her genuine goodness. And it’s not just that, but he sees part of his past self and seeks to kill it any chance he can get. I’d argue that’s a large part of why he’s so cruel to her (him shooting the Vault Boy poster was more than just a fuck you to Vault-Tec). And likewise, Lucy shows him that embracing his humanity again is not so bad - whatever morsel he has left. It begins with trust, though, whatever they have. When she follows him, he has his back turned to her and is walking ahead with the dog. Normally, he wouldn’t put himself in such a vulnerable position, but he is showing her that he believes in her golden rule. Or more accurately that he believes that she believes in it.

Anyway, I dare not risk turning this into an actual essay. It’s already long enough. I’m interested in exploring other aspects that I might have missed if y’all have any thoughts.

[thenixkat]

also the president gave shoot on sight orders for the Joker. I dont think anyone would care if a superhero murdered the Joker who's orchestrating the mass death of thousands at this very moment, Nightwing. Get off yer fucking high horse

of course the Jokerization is randomly killing/dropping villains now. We can't have this ass pull have any real long term effects

faces

they got paid. so the doctor that diagnosed the Joker with a brain tumor was playing a prank on the Joker and didnt think it would go horribly wrong

folks making deals with that fuckin brainworm that i know is usually up to some shit

ok just spread the jokerness via tainted rain, sure, whatever

you were just fleeing from Joker the other issue why are you demanding being taken to him now? Fuck it, let Harley go to the Joker so he can rape and kill her, it's what she fucking wants right now. Let her get her dipshit ass killed.

also Dr. Langstrom is that Dr. Langstrom, the werebat. In this he turns when stressed.

there's a protocol in place for getting Dr. Langstron to calm his shit when he goes werebat. They shot him with some calming drugs

meanwhile, Harley is getting cavity searched for a 3rd time apparently by an overly gleeful lady soldier, cause sexual assault is funny when its lady on lady apparently.

Oracle calls in Huntress, a hero known for killing fuckers, to do whatever she feels necessary to save Robin and clear out some jokerized villains. Just dont tell Batman

jokerized, ugh, Killer Croc called dibs on some Robin wings

Nightwing you know better than trying to reason with the fucking Joker. Also staple gun

oh hey Batman put tracking devices in the costume upgrades he gave his allies. Gotta love that paranoid big brother bs. Someday folks are gonna get tired of that shit and beat Batman's ass

like that's rude as hell also fucking boob socks on the fucking bulletproof vest is a shitty art decision

i doubt Tim-Robin got eaten that quickly and Killer Croc is still fucking hungry. Tim's a decent-sized child, with plenty of meat

again, I don't think Tim-Robin is dead. An offscreen death in a miniseries that doesnt focus on him? I dont buy it

and even if he was he'd be back sooner rather than later

also since when does a superhero need to be sanctioned? I doubt Batman can keep every hero he doesnt like/wont bow to him out of Gotham

oh so now Nightwing is ok with killing Joker. It only took the Joker killing Jason, crippling Barbra, and killing Tim too. Damn, fuck you Nightwing

The Joker has to murder and maim multiple people that Dick is close to b4 dude would consider killing him. Man, I'd be pissed off at Nightwing if I lived in this world and had folks I knew murdered and maimed and the heroes only get serious when it gets personal

yeah, these heroes should have more enemies with the common people just for that alone. 'You had teh chance to stop a terrible fucker and chose not to. Repeatedly even tho the bodies kept pilling up' also the folks in charge with stopping the prison riot are …alive after getting sucked into a gravity well. B/c gravity wells transport fuckers to a pocket dimension instead of crushing the shit out of things in this world. They've been dodging the aquatic villains and murdering one villain who's power is he gets a new power every time he dies which is extremely unethical

Oracle switched positions and wants Batman to stop Nightwing from murdering the Joker.

let him kill the Joker and get him some therapy after, yall making this more of a problem than it needs to be

No shit Tim-Robin wasnt dead. They didnt even put a whole issue between the fake out and him being back

fucking bleeding hearted saps feeling bad about killing the Joker. Couldn't be me

Batman you should have let him die. Everyone the Joker kills after this is directly on your fucking head.

yall weak ass bitches. Everyone the Joker kills after this is on you all for reviving the fucker.

the put the Joker back in prison instead of just killing him. so he can escape again at some point for more adventures. Lex Luthor is the president, its not like he has fucking morals or that the global public doesnt want the Joker dead. Just kill him

and that's the end. There's no good reason for anyone involved to not just fucking kill the Joker

the villains dont like him, the heroes should kill him for the greater good and they'd actually be justified in this one case more than anything else, the world governments should want the Joker dead. No one benefits to the Joker continuing to be alive

[sarahsmi13s]

This Is How It Feels

whumptober day 5: hostage / kidnapping / held at gunpoint

pairing: beau 'cyclone' simpson x daughter!reader

characters: beau simpson, y/n simpson, reagan simpson, ncis: new orleans team, the squad breifly, hayden and frankie, everett north (oc villian), cameron north (deceased)

warnings: 18+ MDNI, language, kidnapping, torture, guns, blood, waterboarding, loss of will to live, oc character death, revenge killing, if i missed any please tell me!

word count: ~3.2k

a/n: this is for whumptober! please please please proceed with caution and use discretion, protect your peace

also if you are on the whump taglist but are not familiar with a character, you can skip it will not hurt my feelings!

also also, i do want to apologize for getting this up late got distracted while writing it so i finished it later than i had hoped

whumptober 2023 masterlist

summary: a parent's grief is strong and powerful and it can make you crazy, if the opportunity presents itself to get revenge... you take it

“Simpson!”

You turned at the call of your name, spotting your friends waving to you from the front of a bar. “C’mon! We’re starving!”

Shaking your head, you jogged over. “You two, my goodness,” you laughed before you all walked in. “Are you sure we can even eat here? It’s a bar.” “We’ve eaten at the Hard Deck before,” your friend, Hayden, said as she walked over to a table.

“Okay okay, you have a point there. Just don’t try anything stupid, we’re all repping the school, but I’m also repping the Navy and my dad. So if any of you try to pull-”

“Relax, Simpson, I left my fake ID in California,” Frankie, your best friend said as she nudged you playfully.

“Simpson?” 

You looked up to see an older gentleman standing there with an apron around his waist. 

“As in Beau Simpson?” He asked, looking over your face quizzically.

You nodded, “Yes sir, he’s my dad.” The man chuckled, “Yeah, I know your dad, grew up down the street from my mama. I’m sure he hasn’t talked about me much, I’m Dwayne Pride – folks around here call me King.”

“Oh! Yeah, Dad did tell me about you,” you said with a smile and stood up to shake his hand. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.” Dwayne chuckled, “You can call me Dwayne…” He trailed off, brow arched as he silently prompted you to fill in the blank. “Y/N, I’m Y/N.” He smiled and nodded, “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N.”

You sat back down, but looked up at him. “Now, is your mama Reagan Autry?” You nodded, “Sure is!” He chuckles, “I knew they’d last. Anyhow, what can I get y’all to drink?”

Back in North Island, the squad was at Cyclone’s house for a little get together.

“Where’s Y/N?” Mav asked, sipping his drink as Beau sat down. “Oh her culture club is visiting New Orleans for Mardi Gras week,” Reagan said as she sat down on the arm on Beau’s chair.

“Now y’all are from NOLA, right?” Jake asked, relaxing back on the couch. They nodded, “Sure are. High school sweethearts at that.” He nodded, “That’s impressive.” “It is, because of all the hours and missed dates over the years because he’s such a hard worker,” she said, kissing the side of Beau’s head.

“I made up for it though,” he chuckled and squeezed her hip. “Yeah, you d-”

Reagan’s statement was cut off by Beau’s phone ringing.

He furrowed his brow and picked it up, checking the caller ID to see that it was Frankie.

“I better take this, excuse me,” he sat his drink down and stood before going out on the back patio.

He closed the door as he answered, “Frankie? What’s-” 

“Y/N’s been taken!” 

Beau froze, the breath being pulled from his lungs. “W-what?” Frankie was hyperventilating on the other end, “W-we were get-getting something fr-from the vending machine and-and-and some guy c-came up and t-took her. I tried to he-help b-but she-she told me to run.” 

Frankie sobbed, even though he couldn’t see her he knew she was pacing the hotel room 

“I-I’m sorry…” 

He had to remain calm, knowing that she would freak out if he did. “Frankie, Frankie, you need to breathe sweetheart. I know you’re scared, but I need you to listen to me. There’s a bar, it’s called the Tri-Tone, you need to go there and find Dwayne Pride.”

She sniffed, “W-Why Dwayne Pride?” “He’s an NCIS Agent, he’s the team leader down there and he can help.” She coughed a little, “O-okay…” He took a breath and glanced back inside, seeing his wife leaning on the wall and watching him carefully. “Frankie, I’ll try to be down there soon. Stay safe and be on alert.” “Y-yes sir.” 

He hung up and ran a hand over his face before turning to go back inside.

His eyes stayed on the floor as he closed the door behind him and leaned on it. “Beau… Honey, is everything okay? Is Y/N okay?” 

The concern in Reagan’s voice grabbed the squad’s attention and they looked over concerned.

“Uh.. She.. She was taken… Y/N and Frankie were getting something from the vending machine.. and–and some guy took her…” Beau looked up and met her eyes, tears filling his, “Someone took her…”

Reagan collapsed, Beau catching her just before she could hit the floor. “No! No! Not her, not our baby girl! Please,” she sobbed, her manicured nails biting at his shoulder as she clung to his shirt.

Beau couldn’t say anything as he held up his wife, trying to be strong for her and not break down in front of the squad.

But it was hard. 

I mean of course it was. 

You, his baby girl, in the hands of some stranger. It was his worst nightmare come to life.

Cold. Damp. Dark. 

Those were the words you would have used to describe the room you were in. The only light on in the room was a yellow bulb swinging in its cage above your head. The chill nipped at your exposed skin, having been stripped of the clothes you were in when you were taken. The room smelled of mildew, and you knew that any water ride you ever went on would remind you of this room.

Your arms were tied above your head, spread in a ‘Y’ to keep you from attempting to free yourself despite being in chains. Your bare feet scraped the rough concrete, your toenail polish being scraped off and leaving red, pink, and white streaks on the floor.

If you had to guess, you’d been there about 12 hours, if not a whole day.

The man that took you had only been in the room one other time and it was to tighten the gag in your mouth. It was a relief that was all, but you had a sinking gut feeling that he had something in store for you.

Your view of the room was awful, you could only see the staircase in front of you, the small window at the top of the wall letting in the moonlight and illuminating the assortment of instruments on the workbench underneath it. If there were worse things behind you, you couldn’t see it. But if what you could see was any indication, there was a reason you were here.

All you could do was pray that Frankie got help and that someone was on their way to save you.

“What do we know?” Dwayne asked as he came in, Beau and Reagan following behind him. “Any updates?” 

Chris and Tammy turned, heads tilted in confusion as to why they were there. But they continued when Pride nodded.

“We were just sent this photo anonymously, Patton’s tracing it now.” Sebastian put the photo on the plasma.

The photo was a newspaper being held by cracked manicured nails but the face in the background was too covered to be enhanced effectively. 

“However, there’s no way to determine-”

“That’s her,” Reagan spoke up, tears gathering in her eyes. “That’s my baby girl…” 

Dwayne looked from her and up to Beau, “Are you sure?” She nodded and held up her own hand, “We got a matching manicure before she left…” Reagan turned and sobbed into Beau’s shoulder.

“She was playing with her brothers when she was young and scraped her left hand on the brick wall, the scar never went away,” Beau added for more confirmation that the hand in the photo did belong to you.

Dwayne nodded, “Then there’s hope, it’s a proof of life photo.” 

All the Admiral could do was nod before holding his wife close and silently cry with her.

It had been 5 days since you had been abducted. 

5 agonizing days.

Beau was a wreck, he was falling apart with worry. With fear. Anything awful that came to Beau’s mind, it’s what they were doing to you. And it wasn’t getting better.

Because they hadn’t heard anything else from your abductor. Patton’s trace led them to a library computer, where they were able to obtain security footage but no one in the film looked suspicious. All the team could do was tell the library staff to keep a lookout for anything or anyone sketchy.

But other than that, they had nothing.

And they were running out of time.

“Please, stop!” You sobbed as the hot knife ran across your skin. 

The past four days have been non-stop pain. Even when you were given a break so your capture could do whatever, you were in pain. 

You felt like you had zero hope of getting out, of ever seeing your family again. You could only think of your dad, how he must feel. That he may never see you again, his only daughter, taken from him.

“No! He has to know the pain! The suffering I went through because of him!” 

Him.

That was all he ever referred to this mystery man as. Never said a name or anything other than ‘him’ or ‘he’.

“Who?! Who are you talking about?” You screamed before a fist collided with your stomach, the slick slap of his fist on your wet, bloody skin making you sick to your stomach. 

Your skin was littered with cuts, all ranging in depths and lengths but none deep enough to be immediately fatal. 

No.

It had to be slow.

Whomever this ‘he’ was had to experience the same pain your capture felt.

The man hit you again, smearing your own blood across your face and bruising your swollen skin. 

You cried out, begging for him to stop and to let you go as he walked away. Your voice was raw and broken, cracking as you desperately pleaded. 

“Let me go! Please! I just wanna go home…”

“My daughter never came home, why should I let his?” 

You blinked, not sure what he meant by that. 

“I’m sorry about your daughter… I am… but why inflict this on someone else? Why take someone else’s daughter away?”

He didn’t answer you and released the tension on your chains, sending you to your knees harshly and reopening the wounds on your knees. 

Grunting, he took long strides back over to you. 

You knew what he was after and you tried to crawl away, scraping your palms on the concrete. But you could only crawl so far and so fast. 

Your entire body throbbed and your blood made the floor slick. Your capture was faster than you were in your weak state. He grabbed your hair, yanked you back and grabbed you by the throat. Your yelp was cut short as he applied pressure, cutting off your air flow.

Weakly, you tried to claw at him, get him to let go, but he wouldn’t. He squeezed until your eyes rolled back and you passed out.

Beau paced the living room of his childhood home, waiting on Pride to arrive.

Dwayne had called, telling him they needed his help identifying a man and that they had a lead, a promising one.

He wasn’t given any other details, but even that was enough to give him some hope. It had been over a week, so this was gold to them.

The normally calm and collected admiral nearly jumped out of his skin when there was a knock at the door. He raced over and pulled it open, revealing the two agents behind it.

“King, Agent Gregorio,” he greeted, stepping to the side to let them both in. They nodded their thanks to him before they went to the kitchen.

“We’re gonna get right into this, Admiral, you and your wife have waited over a week for something like this,” Tammy said, with sympathy in her voice as she held the evidence bag and a printed photo up. 

Dwayne took the evidence bag, “This was in a book returned to the library early this morning.” He turned it to show the folded up notebook paper, the words, “FROM ONE FATHER TO ANOTHER THIS IS HOW IT FEELS” scrawled sloppily across the page in red ink and what looked to be blood droplets and a bloody fingerprint on the paper. 

“The blood is fresh, as old as this mornin’...” Beau didn’t have to ask, there was no other person whose blood it could be. But he needed the confirmation, no matter how sick it made him feel. “Is-Is it…” Both agents nodded, Tammy speaking, “Sebastian ran the print… it’s Y/N’s. The blood is her’s as well…”

Beau gripped the back of the chair to keep him from falling, Dwayne coming to his side to help him sit down.

“Do-do you know who sent it?” 

Tammy sat the photo down, “We were hoping you might.” He picked up the print and looked at it, recognizing the face instantly. “Yeah, yeah, that’s Everett North… His daughter, Cameron, was under my command a few years ago. She died on a mission.”

They nodded looking at each other, Tammy stepping out to call Chris and tell him to look up Cameron’s name. 

Beau runs a hand down his face, “He blames me for Forest’s death and is taking it out on my daughter…”

Everett sat in a chair, fiddling with a hose waiting for you to wake up. 

You were laying on the freezing floor, the only warmth being the pool of blood you were laying in. You weren’t sleeping so much as laying unconscious, passing out from the previous day's torment. You knew what today held, the same as yesterday. 

That’s what it was, a routine. Torture of all kinds day in and day out. Pain and suffering, that’s all it ever was.

You didn’t want to open your eyes, wake up to another day of this. You were sick, coughing and shivering as the cold basement plus your wet skin plagued you. Your wounds were infected. Your throat was raw from screaming, but Everett managed to pull them from you still. 

And you knew what was in store for you today… but keeping your eyes closed would only delay the inevitable.

You cracked your swollen eyes open, weakly trying to push yourself up. 

“They’re she is,” he gruffed out before getting up and turning the hose on. He puts his thumb over the opening on the hose, spraying you in the face with the freezing water. 

You could only weakly yelp before he was coming over and pulling you to your feet and dragging you to the table on the back wall.

“No, no, no, please, please don’t…” You protest weakly, still trying to fight him. 

“Stop fightin’, you know it's no use,” he said coldly before putting you on the table and strapping you down before running the cold water over your cuts and burns.

You whimpered, squirming to get away despite it being futile. 

He just laughed before covering your face with a towel and soaking it with the hose.

“Everett North, his daughter was Cameron North. Cameron was killed after her plane crashed and she was taken by the enemy. She was held and tortured for two weeks before her body was dumped back at the wreckage for search and rescue to find,” Gregorio started.

Chris was next, “After seeing her at the Tri-Tone and following her to her hotel, North abducted Y/N. She has been with him for a little over a week. But she isn’t trained like military personnel is, she’s only 18 and what Lieutenant North went through was intense and extensive. We don’t know if Y/N can handle it.”

“Okay, do we know where he lives?”

“Sebastian is–”

“I found it! I’ve got his address!” Sebastian shouted as he stood up.

With that the team jumped up and got their gear.

The moment the towel was yanked off your face you started coughing up the water you inhaled, lifting your head so you don’t choke on it again.

Everett started and ended with the same method. That's how you knew your day was over.

He unstrapped you from the table and watched you weakly roll until you fell onto the ground limply.

“Please… just kill me…” 

Your plea was weak as you continued to cough up water. You hated that you had gotten to that point so soon. That you could pull through for just a little longer. But you were in agony, body broken and bloody. You didn’t want your parents to see you like this.

“Oh no no no, your dad has to feel the same pain I felt.”

You look over your shoulder, “M-My dad? What did my dad do to you?” Everett reaches down and grabs your hair, pulling you up to your knees.

“He killed my daughter, I’m only returning the favor,” he hissed, yanking down to put you on your back.

You yelped, your head making contact with the ground. “My dad would never do that!” He kicked you across the face, “Shut up! You don’t know!”

You went to retort but you could hear movement upstairs.

And that’s when you felt your will to live enter your body again. 

“Help! I’m down here, help me!”

You could hear the flurry of footsteps to the basement door and Everett pulled you to your feet.

He held most of your weight and pointed a gun at your neck as the door flew open and agents ran down the stairs.

“Everett North! NCIS put your weapon down!”

“Come any closer and I’ll shoot her!”

Everything suddenly became blurry, the voices around you muddling together. You didn’t know exactly what was happening but you could only assume it was shock or your body finally letting go and relaxing because you had a chance of living.

But before you learned the answer, everything went black as a gunshot rang out.

The first thing you noticed as you woke up was the incessant beeping of a heart monitor. Next was the fact that the lights were off. Then it was the weight of a large, calloused hand in yours.

“D-Daddy?” You rasped out, attempting to squeeze his hand. 

Beau’s head whipped up, “Oh, baby…” “Daddy, I-I’m so sorry,” you nearly sobbed out. “Shhh shh baby girl, no, it’s not your fault. It’s never your fault.”

All you could do was nod before you started coughing. 

He was quick to react, getting you a cup of water and offering it for you to take, afraid that if he tried to help he’d send you into a panic.

You take it and sip it carefully before giving it back to him. He grabbed your hand, “I’m so glad you’re okay, sweetheart. I’m so sorry this happened.” You shake your head, “Not your fault… he-he blamed you… but it’s not your fault.”

He smiled gently at you before pushing hair behind your ear and kissing your forehead and you sent him an identical smile. “What matters is that I’m okay… well that I will be okay.” He nodded and kissed your hand, “Yeah, you’re gonna be okay. It’s gonna be okay.”

taglist: @valmare @fanboyswhore9 @bradleybeachbabe @cassiemitchell @startrekfangirl2233 @horseshoegirl @nightowlalltheway @86laura11 @kmc1989 @mayhemmanaged

hi, if you're seeing this and are currently not on the taglist and would like to be please fill out the taglist form -> whumptober taglist

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so if you want to be added check out the masterlist and read that carefully and fill out the form -> whumptober 2023

[bitchyfoxymama]

Valentine’s Day - Wanda Maximoff x F!Reader

Warnings: Smut, burnt food, Valentine’s Day, use of Wanda’s magic

A/n writing this on Feb 13 bc I work a double tomorrow at work and can’t post much so I’ve set this to post on Feb 14! Happy Valentines Day y’all

…

It was Valentine’s Day and lucky for you, no missions and no paperwork. You had a plan in motion, you had been scrolling through the Fenty x Savage website last month when you came across a gorgeous dark maroon lingerie set, Wanda’s color.

What better way to spend Valentine’s Day night than showing it off to your beautiful girlfriend. While she was distracted in the kitchen cooking a lovely dinner for the two of you, you changed into nothing but the lingerie set and a little on the nose but a trench coat.

You step out into the living room of your apartment and her here humming a Sokovian folk song.

“Wanda my beauty, I have one more present for you,” you let the words fall from your lips sultry.

“драга, could it possibly wait until we have eaten?”(Draga) She says without turning around.

“Oh this will definitely want to eat something,” you mumble out, “Well it is definitely something you’d like to see before we eat because you wouldn’t want it to get dirty.” You say louder this time while untying the thin belt of the trench coat.

She turns, spoon in her hand, and soon clatters to the floor once she sees you with your hands on your waist showing off the lingerie you are wearing.

“дефинитивно не желим да мој оброк пропадне”(i definitely don't want my meal to go to waste) she says as she roughly grabs you behind the head and kisses you. All the attraction and lust are in that one kiss. She uses her magic to pull the trench coat off you.

“Jump драга,”(detka) she commands, as she carries you to your dining room table and lays you back down. At this point your cunt is glistening from the dominant way she’s being with you. She once again uses her magic to rip away the lace underwear as you whine. “I’ll buy you a new pair later,” she flicks her wrist and both of yours are now held above your head, held together by her red magic.

You have to bite your lip to hold in the moan that wants to escape as she gently blows cold air onto your naked cunt.

“Oh no мала голубица, I want to hear those beautiful sounds fall from your lips,” she says before diving into her favorite meal. She licks up your pussy, swirling her wet, hot tongue on your little bundle of nerves as her nose rests in the hair just above. She keeps her eyes on yours as your face scrunches up in pleasure. You desperately wish to run your hands through her hair and ride her face but tonight she’s in control.

She runs one of her slim fingers through your folds collecting your slick, “would you like to taste how sweet you are драга?”

You mewl out a response before opening your mouth and accepting the tangy flavor that invades your senses. She dives back in and feasts on you as though tonight is her last day and you are her last meal.

“F-fuck Wanda, s’good, don’t stop,” your hips begin to close on her head but she stops you by using her hands to slip under your thighs and holds them open.

She brings her tongue to your entrance, licking and slurping. The sinful sounds only bring you closer to your own orgasm, and when she sticks her tongue inside you, you are a goner. Even with your hands pinned above your head you move your hips and begin to ride her face, causing her nose to continuously bump against your clit.

She brings one arm from your thighs as she removes her tongue, she lubes her pointer and middle finger with your slick and thrusts them into your gently. Her mouth going to your clitours, kissing and licking the little bundle of nerves. Your moans are music to her ears.

She curls her fingers inside of you, hitting that sponges spot your fingers can never reach. You arch your back and moan and she fucks you with her fingers.

“God, Wanda I’m so close, so close baby,” you moan.

“Oh? Are you мала голубица? Then let us get you there,” she says, kissing you as she continues her thrusts, her thumb going to rub fast, tight circles on your clit. The coil of pleasure builds, until it finally snaps and you become undone on her fingers. She releases you and you wrap your arms around her neck, deepening the kiss by slipping your tongue into her mouth, you can still taste yourself on her tongue.

It’s the smoke alarm and post orgasm clarity that pulls the both of you out of your little world.

“Fuck the Paprikesh!” You sit up quickly and try to stand but your legs almost give out.

Wanda wipes her lips with one finger while going to hold you with one hand, “That’s ok драга, I’ve already had my meal and a delicious one it was,”(detka) her words cause you to snap around and blush. With a quick flick of her wrists the burnt food is gone and the smoke alarms turn off.

“Now it’s time for my dinner,” you say as you walk back towards her.

[shadowmaat]

Someone Else's Choice

Corrie Week Day 3- You Shouldn't Be Here

-

"You shouldn't be here, clone! This bar's for workin' people, not freeloaders!"

Hound had taken note of the drunk earlier, but hoped he'd be able to avoid a confrontation. Ah well. He took a sip of his cider, using the moment to get a better look at the Tholothian in the mirror behind the bar.

Tall. Broad. Facial markings indicated they were part of the Delvers Guild, those who "dove" into the lowest levels to retrieve scrap and any other salvageable goods they could find. You had to be fearless to do that over and over; Hound didn't envy them.

The smart thing to do would be to apologize and leave. He'd done it plenty of times before; all the Guard had at some point. Even the frontline troops had been driven out of places.

But he was tired and frustrated after a long shift. Grizzer had eaten something off the ground and gotten the shits so bad he'd had to take her back for Nudge to tend. All he'd wanted was a drink and a meal before hitting the rack. But now there was this. Again.

"You're right," he said, putting his bottle back on the bartop. "I shouldn't be here."

The Tholothian blinked at that, clearly having expected an argument.

"Yeah!" they said. "So why don't you get your sorry ass outta here and go back to your pampered suite in Republica?" A finger jab emphasized the command.

Hound turned on his stool, regarding the drunk up close. They stepped back, fists half-raised and ready for a fight. The other patrons watched to see what would happen.

"We only have barracks in the Guard," Hound said, keeping his tone light. "But you're right, I think they were suites at one point until the government came in and stripped everything down to the 'crete to make room for us. They even took the windowsills." He couldn't quite hide his smile. It was a long-running joke in the Guard that there hadn't been a single rug or rivet left behind for them. And there were outlines in the faded paint that showed where the windowsills had been.

The Tholothian scowled at him. "If you think I'm gonna feel sorry for you-"

"No, no, I understand." Hound shook his head, still using his Friendly Voice. "We've come in and taken over places we don't have a right to, and taken jobs that could have gone to hard-working citizens."

The latter was an outright lie, but it was one that a lot of people believed and denying it only made folks angrier.

"But the thing is, we don't have a choice."

The Tholothian scoffed, spitting out an insult in a language Hound half-recognized. Others nearby were also muttering under their breath.

"You have a job, right? Delver?" Hound gestured at the person's tattoo. "That's a tough thing to do, but it's honest work and you get paid well for it when the delving's good, yeah?"

The Tholothian puffed up with pride. "Ten years in the Guild. Three dives in Dacho."

Hound didn't need to feign being impressed. The Dacho District had been the scene of a catastrophic industrial disaster, and even millennia later was rumored to be dangerous and possibly even haunted.

"Now imagine you didn't get paid for it," he said. "Even Dacho. Instead you get food vouchers to be used at an approved list of places that might take them if they're in a good mood. You get forms to fill out if you need to replace your gear. And you can barter for anything else, as long as it isn't categorized as Guild property, which includes your toothbrush."

He was bordering on sedition at this point, even if it was all truth as recording in public record. If anyone caught vid of this and reported him he'd be dead even before Fox could kill him. But as futile was it was, he had to try and make someone listen. Just once.

"My tooth- Hey, I bust my ass for that shit and put my life on the line! I'm gonna get paid my fair share!"

"You're right. You will. And I celebrate you for it." He raised his bottle in salute and took a last swig of his cider. It had gone warm, but it was time to be leaving anyway.

"If you'll all excuse me." He slid off his stool, careful not to make any sudden moves. "Our friend here is right; I should leave you all in peace."

He dug into one of his pouches and scooped out the handful of coins he'd salvaged from the change tray of a vending machine in the Senate. He placed them on the counter next to his cider. There was a small circle of silence around him, watching his every move.

"I hope you all have a good evening." He gave them a Jedi-like bow and headed for the door. Sweat trickled between his shoulderblades, but no one tried to stop him. Fuck. He should have just kept his mouth shut and left like he was supposed to.

As the door whooshed closed behind him, he heard the Tholothian's voice raised above the background noise of the bar.

"What th' fuck d'ya mean I can't trade my fuckin' toothbrush?"

[simslegacy5083]

NSB (Straud Legacy) Gen 9 Ep 91: Waffles in the Park

Noemi had a fine time with Luigi’s folks, but she was much more nervous about introducing her new boyfriend and baby-daddy-to-be to her parents.

They had talked about traveling to The Ridge before she got pregnant but could never find the time. Now that they were “on the clock”, Luigi hunted for a place to meet them nearby, and was delighted when he discovered that his favorite waffle chef would be at the café in Myshuno Meadows soon.

Noemi’s parents had been divorced for ages and she was sure they would behave well together in a public setting. At least as well as they ever did.

She met her mother’s judgmental comment about her extra curves with a forced smile, as Luigi tried and failed to set her father at ease with a joke.

They did much better when they traded off.

After Gilbert’s gruff rebuff of his humor, Luigi greeted her mom in a much more reserved and formal way. She made a big deal about complimenting her daughter’s “charming and handsome young man”, helped along no doubt by the opportunity to show herself as friendlier than her ex.

Likewise, Gilbert hadn’t failed to notice his daughter tense up after Shannon sniped at her and swept his baby girl into a big protective hug.

As Luigi led Shannon over to Anderson and talked up the chef’s “Waffles with Love and Hershey’s Kisses”, Gilbert and Noemi hung back and caught up. Luigi greeted their chef like an old friend. They’d met a few times now as Luigi made a point of swinging by whenever the other sim setup shop in the city or near campus. 

Anderson smiled when Luigi gushed that he’d been looking forward to his delicious waffles for days, telling him he hoped they lived up to his expectations!

Once they had all settled at the table with their fresh meals, Luigi placed a hand on Noemi’s thigh under the table in a gesture of solidarity. She had asked to be the one to broach the topic with her folks, and she gave his hand a grateful squeeze before announcing:

“Dad, Mom? I have some big news. We weren’t expecting it, but we’re having a baby. I’m due shortly after graduation.”

Shannon spoke first, “Well, I guess no “little surprises” was an unappreciated perk of the geriatric lesbian you were with before this.” Noemi blinked back tears as her dad gave his ex-wife a dirty look before turning to Luigi. “You planning to stick around and treat my little girl right son?”

Luigi only got as far as “Of course, we…” before Noemi cut him off: “are taking things one step at a time. Right now, that means focusing on graduation.”

Noemi’s mom rose, her plate half eaten. “I’m not going to sit here and cheer you on as you bumble into another reckless relationship. How long have you known this guy? You’re just going to end up leaving more whiny voicemails about the latest loveless marriage you jump into and refuse to leave.”

“Nice, real nice!” Luigi shot back, unable to hold his tongue. “Your daughter is caring and dedicated, and some of us love her for that. If you can’t bear to show a little respect for her or the dead, then don’t worry, nobody will be calling to burden you. We’ll be better off without your hurtful comments.”

Gilbert gave Luigi an amused smile and fatherly shoulder squeeze before wandering off the porch, heading in his ex’s direction.

Noemi buried her head in her hands over her plate. “Ooof. Mom does care; she just has a really hard time dealing with surprises and being pleasant to family. Dad will probably talk her into leaving an apology voicemail before we get home. He was always the best at dealing with her, even after he decided he didn’t want to deal with her full-time anymore.”

Luigi leaned in and gave her a kiss on the top of her head, before sitting back down and popping another forkful of waffle into his mouth.

“Well, it wasn’t the most successful lunch in history, but we got the job done, and in record time!” She laughed and picked up her own fork. “True! I was wishing it would be over quick, and here we are free to finish this lovely meal in peace.”

The pair did just that before tossing their trash and deciding to take advantage of the beautiful day with a relaxing stroll through the park.

View The Full Story of My Not So Berry Challenge Here

[evolutionsvoid]

Imagine you are a bird, fluttering through the forest. Zipping through the air with your usual grace, navigating the twisting branches and shrouds of leaves. Finding your way around these woods is a breeze for you, but your sense of direction isn't the thing bothering you right now. It is a rumbling stomach, whining for food. Though your elegant wings give you mastery of the sky, it also burns through your fuel incredibly fast. You need to eat, but what is there to satisfy your appetite? Foraging on the ground is a risky situation, there are many agile and hungry predators down below. Instead, your eyes look to the branches, hoping to spot something tasty. Up there it will be much harder for fang and claw to reach you, especially on the thinner tree limbs. And then you see it! There! Like a lighthouse on a foggy night it cuts through forest's shadow! Fruit, vibrant and succulent! This tree is rife with it, more than enough to fill your belly! You find a free branch to perch upon, right next to a ripe looking meal.

As you hop closer to inspect your meal, the branch bounces and sways. You do not fear it breaking, at least not with your light body. It is better that this branch be precarious, as it means larger hunters cannot approach. A quick look over shows the coast is clear, and your lunch is ready to be served. But as you are about to plunge your beak into the bright colored flesh, the branch shifts bizarrely. Before you can react, something lunges at you and fangs cut through feather and flesh. In an instant, you are crushed and swallowed. "How can this be?" you ask, except wait no you don't you're dead. Okay, before bird you dies you ask yourself "how can this be? I checked my entire surroundings for sign of a possible threat and detected not a thing!" Well to that I say, hold on, I don't think birds talk like that. Yes, I know birds can't talk, I mean if you translated them into our kind of talking, they probably wouldn't sound like that. Bird you would probably be like "SQUAWK! IMPOSSIBLE! SQUAWK!" Ah no, it wouldn't talk like a person and bird at the same time, that is just silly. Now bird you might be thinking- oh forget it! A bird landed on a branch to eat fruit and got eaten instead! You ask what could do that, and I say let me tell you right now!

So one would think that the thing that ate the bird crept up on it while it was investigating its meal, but in truth, it was there the entire time! Bird you, I mean, the bird we followed didn't realize it was already on the branch when it landed! Our subject for this entry is a crafty one, as it uses camouflage to hunt. But if you think the bird would have been safe if it perched on any other branch, you would be wrong! The creature is already there, waiting for its chance to strike! But how? Is it that fast, able to zip from limb to limb in order to pick off prey? Or is the whole tree infested with these nasty predators? Well, no, there is no group of hunters haunting this tree. It is, in fact, one single creature, but one with many arms! Or I guess you could say "heads," since our mystery predator is a kind of hydra!

Due to it being a member of the hydra family, some folk call it a "Wood Hydra" or a "Branching Hydra," but I tend to stick to the name the locals of the region give it: Ladon. It has the usual anatomy found in hydras, with the many beaked tentacles mimicking serpentine heads while the true one lies at the center of it all. It has clawed fins and a long mantle that has stretched into a slithering tail. What sets it apart from its brethren is its gnarled look, where its body and tendrils are covered in twisted, knotted growths. Add in a brown coloration, and you could mistake it for an old twisted tree if you squinted real hard. As the other names suggest, this comparison is intentional! Ladons are ambush hunters, as was shown with the whole bird thing I tried to do. While some other hydras may hide themselves in shadow or burrows, the ladon chooses to hunt in plain sight! What it does is find a tree that shows promise, one that would attract a variety of prey. While each ladon's preferences may vary, the typical choice is a fruiting tree, be it actual fruit or mast. Such a food source ensures that someone is bound to show up, lured by this tempting bait. With its tree selected, the ladon will coil its long thin body around the trunk, aligning itself just right so that it flows with the natural shape of the tree. Next, its beaked tentacles will snake out and entwine themselves around branches with fruit on them. These tendrils target the most bountiful limbs, and are sure to wrap themselves tight so that they practically melt into the bark. Once settled in, the ladon will change it colors and skin texture to better match the tree it is camping out on. When this is done and all has grown still, the hydra practically vanishes before your eyes! I swear I could watch one set itself up on a tree and still have a hard time picking it out when the disguise is fully deployed! It is incredible at how they blend in so well! But it makes sense, because this is how they get food! When a critter lands on the branch or climbs up for some fruit, the tendrils go on high alert. They are incredibly sensitive to movement, not just from the prey but from the branch they are coiled on as well! The ladon uses the bouncing of the branch to pinpoint where its prey is, and also how to move its tentacle so that its presence isn't detected. Thinner branches should have a lot of bend and give to them, but ones supported by a tentacle will be much hardier than usual, which could tip the victim off that something is wrong. However, the ladon masks this by having the tendril follow the natural movements of the branch, letting itself droop or flex with the weight of the new arrival. It is waiting for its prey to get caught up in its meal, and then it strikes. The beaked tips of these tentacles lash out with blinding speed, spearing prey on its claws and then crushing them with a powerful grip. It targets smaller prey like birds, squirrels and monkeys, any critter that would be found clambering about the branches. Since prey is not all that big or strong, the swift "bite" of the tentacle and strong grip is enough to dispatch them. Once this is done, the prey is "swallowed," sent down the hollow core of the tendril where muscle contractions and internal suckers slowly move it down to the true mouth. This method of eating means it doesn't need to uncoil from the tree to feed, which also means it doesn't have to blow its cover every time it snags food. It will simply sit there for weeks on end, eating anything that comes to its precious tree. Old tales claim that a ladon will latch onto a tree and never let go, remaining with it until one of them dies. Some even say death isn't enough to part it from its hunting spot, as they swear its locked muscles will keep the corpse clamped onto the trunk until decay or outside intervention finally pries them off!

While their method of hunting is certainly ingenious, it does cause some obvious problems when it comes to dealing with locals. It turns out, many other species like fruit trees, species that are way bigger then a little songbird and more armed too. Folks who go out to gather fruits and nuts in the woods may be in for a shock when the tree they decide to pick from fights back. When it feels threatened, it will use its tentacles to snap at foes, biting at them like a hidden viper. The gnarled protrusions can even harden too, making their limbs spiky and painful if they whack you with one. With this, ladons are often seen as minor threats or pests, with people quick to scare them off or dispatch them if they latch onto a popular tree. However, some folk actually like this behavior! I have heard that certain orchards actually keep ladons around, because they help eat other pests that may gobble up their precious crop! And when it comes time for picking, these creatures actually let the owners collect their fruit unharmed, as they have developed a kind of agreement. The orchard owner will let them have their tree and eat all the birds and squirrels they want, even throwing some extra morsels their way from time to time. In return, the ladon doesn't perceive the farmer as a threat, and thus lets them work on the tree without attack. Don't think, however, that that means any person can just pick from this orchard for free, as the hydra is only accustomed to the usual orchard workers. Any intruders will be met with biting tentacles, and that is just the way the farmer likes it! Extra security for their crop! It is pretty clever, though I feel it can be a bit mean. Yes, you don't want people picking your orchard clean, but couldn't you spare a few apples for a hungry soul? That might just be the dryad in me talking, but I feel such trees provide enough that this bounty can be shared! But then again orchards are usually businesses, and I recall businesses aren't exactly the sharing type... Chlora Myron Dryad Natural Historian ------------------------------------------------------------

“Ladon”

Oh hey hydra! Would you look at that?

[ratcandy]

I have a question that's been bugging me since I read musings! I'm sure it's probably obvious, but- was Sozo already being infected with cordyceps before or after he ate the Menticide mushrooms?

Ik his rlly bad itch were from cordyceps spores, but I have been curious if him eating the Menticide mushrooms worsened that process (ie would he have been fine but the Menticides somehow ALSO rooted in him) or was it jusr purely him getting hooked on the drug?

Sozo was infected before he ever ate the menticide! The cordycep spores are airborne, so the moment they touched his exoskeleton, they just had to extend hyphae inside that was It For Him.

aka He was pretty much doomed the moment he set foot in Anura

BUT eating the menticide certainly did not help matters!! I think the Menticide either 1) Is the cordyceps-adjacent thing, and is an opportunistic pathogen (capable of living without a host but will infect if given a chance). So it infected him via spores but ALSO screwed him over upon ingestion, OR 2) Was just drugging the shit out of him as he ate it which didn't do wonders for allowing his body to fight off the cordyceps, AND/Or, 3) The cordyceps and menticide have some sort of mutualistic symbiosis going on

In Musings I sort of hinted that this is something menticide/the cordyceps (if separate things) only does to insect folk, hence why followers/the Mushroomos themselves are not infected. And also hence why there aren't many insect folk present in Anura.

(Though I know there is at least one insect follower form,,, and they probably should also suffer pretty bad, but this is why I also suggest perhaps the menticide and cordyceps are different - though perhaps mutualistic - organisms? Because if the insect followers can eat them/be near them but remain uninfected, that may be due to them not being in Anura, and therefore not getting Got by the cordycep airborne spores)

For mutualism I think the cordyceps cause their host to start eating the menticide, which seems to thrive upon being eaten, which then also allows the cordyceps to better infest its host. Which would explain why we revive Sozo via the parasite on his head (the cordyceps) but he returns to "normal" when deprived of Menticide. Like he's still infested by the parasite but he's not Drugged anymore

Does that make sense? I hope so I'm answering this in the middle of class and my ideas are sort of cluttered and not solidified, though I can say for 100% certainty my intention in Musings was that he was already infected before eating the Menticide

[blasphemousgoggles]

Strange Mr. Qi Part 2

A Mr. Qi x Reader, I might have to make more parts.

Warnings: Mr. Qi is the warning (Stalking)

Edit: Part 3 Added

He’s blue. Not in a sad way but in the way that he is literally blue. Now you had seen many things before, all sorts of strange monsters but you had never once seen a blue man. Other than that time Clint had to drink one of those Joja Colas for a commercial and got food poisoning but that's besides the point. You highly doubt that Mr. Qi would be drinking those liquid abominations. While strange you suppose that he was at least a very lovely shade of blue, a beautiful pale blue that you can see in the sky or maybe in an aquamarine from the mines.

He was tall enough that you had to crane your neck to look at him, his hair was a deep purple just above his shoulder and his hands were clasped behind his back. You couldn’t see his eyes due to them being covered by his amethyst lenses. He dressed very extravagantly, he wore a sleek button up and slacks, the fabric of his clothes looked like space itself. Blue, green, and yellow stars were glistening in and out of existence, a bit like a Christmas tree. To top it off he was wearing a wide brimmed hat that appeared to be made out of the same cloth of his outfit. While not traditionally, he was… really pretty Oh. Nah. Not happening. It's the weird stalker blue man, my guy. Walking red flag but blue. Why are you like this, out of all things to think about? Why. Get that thought out of your head. Better yet don’t think. Perishing the thought, you quickly avert your eyes away from him, he most definitely noticed that you hadn’t greeted him yet.

“Er- yeah, you too I guess…” you sound way too shaky man, pull yourself together then you can ask some questions. His smile widened and you can see the pearly whi- OH BOY does he have sharp teeth. You break out in a cold sweat, why are his teeth like that? It makes his grin look so much more menacing than it should, like you feel like you're gonna get eaten alive with those teeth. Please stop smiling. “Tell me do you know why I singled you out?” You frown, honestly you had no idea. You shake your head. “You've got the 'spark'… that's why I singled you out.” What. You furrow your brows “Spark? Sorry I don’t understand what that means.” Clearly he finds your confusion amusing because he starts chuckling. “What spark? The conduit of mystery, of art, of exploration… People like us have a responsibility to keep the world alive, to give folks a taste of the extraordinary. He then bent down to look at you better. “You see, kid, the world's like a bowl of rice. It's got substance, but it ain't worth nothin' without a good, zesty sauce. That's where we come in.” He gestures. Did this guy just compare you to a sauce? And you're now noting that he calls you kid a lot, why? He can’t be that much older than you. He continues to speak, “Didn't you ever wonder who put those treasure chests in the old mine shaft?” Now that catches your attention, you look at him quizzically, “Yes I have, but why would you leave them there?” he grins much more normally now, his voice deepens “I like to give people surprises. You'll understand someday. Just keep doing your best and never give up.” He straightens up and looks down at you. That was actually pretty motivating, your nerves were calming down just a bit with the added distance. “Thanks. I think. I mean I appreciate your- uh faith in me. Your quests made me feel more entertained in a way and you showed me that there's more I don’t know in the Valley.” Mr. Qi smiles softly, he looks as though he's about to say something so you quickly add “Also, I have to ask you some questions. I am a bit confused on a few aspects.” Mr. Qi doesn’t turn to look at you but he tilts his head to your direction and raises an eyebrow. “How did you get my information? Like on the club card you somehow got a photo of me and my full name. Are you keeping track of me somehow? What's the point-” He places his pointer finger on your mouth and shushes you like a child. Rude. “Dear, I can’t answer all of those questions right now, it would ruin the intrigue and excitement.” He smiles and removes his finger away from his mouth and points to a bear shaped machine. “That can answer one of your questions however.” with that he waves you off.