#* the scars are from when he was carried away by an eagle when he was a cub

[frogcat7-2]

(Click for better quality)

Here You also have an simplified version if you want to use it somwhere ;D

(Really You can do like whatever with my art, like everything, I don't care, I would actually enjoy seeing people get inspierd by my work, just credit it if You do is es simple as that)

I have also made this one 'couse I'm planing to use it on something 😏

#my art #design #erin hunter #lion #fearless #fearless bravelands #Brightforest Troop #prideless #fearless of gallantpride #gallantpride #titanpride #fearlesspride #FAV. character #bravelands #* the scars are from when he was carried away by an eagle when he was a cub

[ghostsvacuumcleaner]

Shades of Red

art in the cover by @ave661 and @shkretart !

chapter one | chapter two | ao3 | masterlist ✦ Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x civilian f! reader ✦ Summary: The sole survivor of a terrorist attack that killed over a hundred. The soldier responsible for saving her. He wants to help you, but his own trauma make him withdraw when he wants to get closer and intoxicate when he wants to remedy. He kisses your scars and hopes you'll runaway. He wants you to run away. But you won't. ✦ TW: NSFW, explicit, f!reader, little to none f! physical appearence descriptions, canon typical violence, mentions of abuse and trauma/PTSD, bit of gore, mental illness mentions, slowburn;

A/N: Hello girlies! This is the very first time I get the courage to actually post something I wrote. I've been reading y'all fics behind my screen for so much time now I figured I could start postingggg; so please be gentle with the feedbacks, but be also sincere ♥ also, English is not my first language and although I'm fluent, there might be a mistake or two along the way. Don't feel shy in pointing it out if you see any! Moreover, this will be a long ass one I'm pretty sure, but I might get myself some more courage to post my smut oneshots in some near future. Hope you enjoy! x

Chapter 1 - The Incident | 3.3k

There was ash in the air everywhere. That scenario didn’t frighten him – in fact, Ghost was absolutely sure that at that point in his life, almost nothing could fright him. He had seen much worse things before, he thought silently as he walked towards the building completely destroyed. There was debris everywhere – the building had not collapsed completely, but some parts did not survive the flames and now there seemed to be not even a little bit of life in that place. There were still small portions of flames spread through a few heaps of debris, a terrible smell of wood and burnt concrete; but nothing of that could be worse than the smells of dead, flattered human flesh that once or again invaded his nostrils.

His eyes rolled around in search of any record of life. In vain, he knew: there was no chance that any civilian had survived that. A cruel, dark bombing, a violent and destructive terrorist act. The only goal was to destroy any form of life that could inhabit there, and possibly it had been obtained without any further circumstances. When Price sent the radio search order to all members of the 141, he made it very clear that those efforts were in vain. They would find nothing. We lost today, he said. We could not foresee this, nor can we remedy it. It was a burden they had to cope with on a daily basis - the often inability to do something, to act, was a burden that a soldier should carry. It was part of the job.

Ghost pressed the point button in his ear. “Is anyone listening?” He asked, his eyes checking the entire perimeter of the building behind the skull mask that covered his face. “Have you found something, LT?” Soap answered, his voice hushed by the efforts. “No. I’m making an entrance, there’s nothing out here.” the lieutenant stated, kicking off a few remaining pieces of concrete from the front of his feet and laying the rifle in his hands. Ghost stood in front of the main entrance to the building – that place that should have looked like a reception at some point in the near past - and the movement of his boots against the ground caused the roof above his head to shake a little, and some ash particles fell onto his helmet. He observed the movement, standing still for a few seconds, only for warranty; he did not want to end up becoming one more of those burial victims. 

When the concrete whisper finally stopped stirring his ears, he entered. The lamp of his helmet lit up, and he looked around. His eagle eyes did not lose an inch of that entire perimeter, his ears attentive as those of a bat. He was looking for a sign, whatever it was: a presence, a scream, voices, calls for help. Anything. Anyone.

All he could hear were the sounds of the structure of the building, apparently ready to give in. Ghost tried to enter one of the apartments; his boots sole hit the semi-destroyed grinded surface of the door, and he broke in. He looked around. An enormous smashed chandelier rested violently against the bloody body of a child. 

Many people said Simon was the type of man to have no feelings anymore. That time, scars and trauma had taken from him all and every kind of humanity. He had become a soldier—one of the good, one of the invincible, but nothing aside from that. Nothing but a soldier.

Perhaps that sentence became so repetitive that at some point, he, himself began to believe it. His face remained motionless. The sound of the blood drops hanging on the floor filled his ears, and he snorted for a moment, pressing the point into his ear. “First floor, apartment 102,” he said, coordinating other operators to head to start collecting the bodies. 

His eyes went up to the ceiling, facing the huge blunt in the structure that caused the luster to fall. Maybe the parents' bodies were still there somewhere to be found, he thought. But that wasn’t his job, and unfortunately he didn’t have all the time in the world. He then traced his steps out of the apartment, looking around. As he kept going upstairs, the lantern lit up one hand or another thrown out of a pile of debris. Broken legs, the kinds of horrors that haunt the dreams of ordinary people. 

As Price had said and as he imagined to be fact, there were no survivors. Even when he reached the last floor, without any hope that he would find any movement that were not spasms of lifeless bodies, he tried. He tried to find someone, to do his job with all the mastery he could. His voice echoed through the entire floor, looking for anyone who could answer, but as expected, there was no response.

All that was left was the subsoil, the garage. When he came down the lobby again and found a portion of the staff dragging out some bodies, placing them in black bags, one of the doctors caught his attention. “Lieutenant. Have you finished checking around? Nothing up there?” The man asked, pulling his glasses from the tip of his nose. Ghost is negative. “No, nothing,” he said bluntly.

The doctor seemed to bite his own jaw with some strength, in disappointment. He has baffled. “You don’t even have to check down there. If those above didn’t survive...” he said, giving on his shoulders. Ghost watched him in silence for a few seconds, before finally answering, “Focus on your work, doc. I’ll finish my own.” He said in a nod before starting to push with his crude hands the stones that covered the entrance to the stairs that led to the garage.

His steps echoed. Ghost walked through the parking lot, passed pillar by pillar, checked every car. There were bursting pipes releasing hot steam, a gas leak as well he could tell – and he didn’t want to be there to see what would happen if some kind of ignition occurred. He hastened his steps. He took a deep breath; he was about to press his point and give up, claiming that there were no survivors, but a stifling sound interrupted his action. He looked around, looking for the source of the heavy breath and the little grumbling of pain he heard. His eyebrows cracked almost instantly and he turned around himself, looking around. All his senses were activated at that moment – he began to walk through among the few cars there, following the sound he had heard and then, a hand hitting the air dropped debris to the side of what seemed to be a body. He approached cautiously, throwing the light from his helmet’s lantern in the direction of the sound, and to his surprise, although not perceptible, there was the only survivor of the bombing: you.

A small, female frame shrunk from a pile of debris. Your hair was covered in ashes, your face - the dirty cheeks with the blackness of the material, your arms painted in the scarlet of your blood flowing freely to the ground, glass blades attached painfully to your soft skin. There was a cut down from the top of your forehead until the beginning of your left eyebrow. The completely messy strands of your hair fell against your face, opaque, bright. The expression of fear on your eyes turned into pure terror the moment they met his own, those small cold orbs inside the mask. You instinctively tried to move away from him, push your body away from those debris, away from that huge and frightening man.

When you threw your body to the side, all you could feel was your back against the cold floor, your left leg refused to work. You felt nauseous, stupid, your head turned. Your mouth trembled in a failed attempt to say something, the silence already lasted for seconds enough for you to fear his frame standing ever so tall and quiet. “Please don’t hurt me.” You managed to say, your voice engulfed in a cry that refused to go out. It wasn’t as if it was going to work; if he was one of the terrorists who caused this incident and really wanted to hurt you, then you were at his mercy and there was little you could do about it.

Maybe, if you were in a better mental and physical condition, you’d be able to identify that the rifle in the hands of the man in front of yourself was of a military model. That all his gear pointed out that he was an operator, someone willing to help. Your mind could not process all the necessary information about him at the given moment, although.

“I will not hurt you, lass.” He explained, and for a moment you felt your chest swell in air and it was hard to contain the immense desire to cry. The heavy steps of the man were made against your small, wounded body. He lowered himself, letting the rifle rest next to him quietly. You gulped in dry, still nervous with your eyes raised to his, now a little closer to you. He wasn’t looking at you — he was looking down, seeming to assess how hurt you were. “I’ll tell you what’s happening now. Okay?” He asked, slowly and calmly, his cold eyes now facing your own, visualizing your soul behind the cover of this hurt shell of yours. You stumbled, and he continued. “I’ll take that away from you, and I need you to help me helping you. Alright? You will be well. I just need you to hold your leg and when I push it over, you roll. Understood?” The man asked, his firm and deep voice being the first source of human contact you had since the lightning caused you to wipe out unconscious hours before. You came in for confirmation.

Ghost nodded back and raised his fingers, counting to three. Contrary to what you might have imagined, he didn’t need to do much to lift the huge concrete block that blocked his left leg from moving — he even had some ease in doing so. He held the concrete above his body, his arms backed over you, he sat down. “Roll.” he commanded, and you obeyed as you could. You leaned her hands on the ground and gave a boost; one of your hands instinctively went to the wounded leg, in an attempt to warm up the pain now felt by finally having released it from the rubble. You couldn’t hold a moan of pain, but he was quickly stifled by the sound of concrete hitting the ground when Ghost let it fall back.

You mentally begged that you could endure that. Your eyes were filled with tears, and a certain despair arose through your throat, your mouth. The anguish of finally feeling the unpleasant smell of the environment, the nervousness of realizing that very possibly, few other people survived that disaster, it was overwhelming your already troubled mind. 

Ghost didn’t lose a second in time; he finished positioning the rifle around his body and you felt his arms wrapping you by the waist and the folds of your knees, and he lifted it up with immense ease – it was as if you were featherweight. The gloves in his hands were rough against the sensitivity of your skin, but his touch was as cautious as possible. You could say without a doubt that this soldier of at least twice your height was doing his best not to hurt you any more than you’re already wounded.

“What is your name?” He finally asked, his rifle resting on his back, and you resting over his arms. He wasn’t looking at you – his eyes were fixed ahead, in the direction he was carrying you to, the exit. You answered, and he nodded in acknowledgement. “You can call me Ghost. I am a soldier, yes? We will take care of you.” He said in a clear tactical attempt to calm your nervousness down.

You sat down with your head. “Amelie Miller... Did you find her? My friend, she... did you find her?” You asked, your body trembled as you came to realize his eyes were now boring into yours.

He seemed to look for words that would not hurt you as much as the ones he had to say, but he for one, was not good with words or comforting.

“I’m sorry, girl,” he whispered, in a sigh. “there are no more survivors. You were the only one.”

~ x ~

Your head hurt. Everything hurt; body, arms. There was a blanket around your shoulders and a bottle of water still sealed in your hands. The look in your eyes was empty, blurred; there were a lot of people there. Many doctors, many operators - soldiers like Ghost. One of them wore a mohican, the other had thick eyebrows. The captain was talking to them in an isolated corner, the doctors were talking to each other about your condition, about what should be done from now on. There were agents from the British intelligence surrounding the site, and there were about hundreds of black bags stretched on the floor, closed. You still felt pain, although the healings now prevented blood from flowing freely through your forehead as before. The glass pieces had been removed from your arms, your face was clean now and even so, you never felt so dirty in your entire life.

Every time you dare to blink, you could swear that you would faint. Your hands were getting weaker, loosening around the bottle. The sudden sound of the bottle falling to the ground caught the attention of one of the men there – the captain. As far as you could realize, he called himself something Price.

“Miss.” He said, coming closer to you. Suddenly, there were eyes on you from every angle possible; all of the other soldiers turned to the ambulance where you were sitting now. You slowly raised your face to look back at Price, and he continued. “I’m not going to ask if it’s okay, this question is rhetorical. You need to be hydrated.” He was bowing down in front of you, taking the bottle he dropped and opening it, offering it to you. Your eyes checked at the bottle for a few seconds and your trembling hand finally grabbed it, drinking until the last drop you could - all at once. You could feel your throat burning, your skin seemed to be in living flesh. The appearance of your wounds was not as unpleasant as the feeling of having them, but you knew that all that would leave you some ugly scars.

You could not care about it now – in fact, couldn’t care about anything at all. Your mind was empty and you never felt so apathetic in such a distressful situation. 

“What am I going to do now?” You asked, in a whisper, your eyes completely lost. “I—what am I going to do...?,” you repeated, and there was nothing but an absolute feeling of raw pain and loss in your voice right at that moment, for as much as you tried to hide it.

Price swelled his chest, and his lips compressed into a line. “You don’t have to worry about anything now. We’ll take care of everything,” he assured. “The government has a great defense program for disasters like this, you won’t be without a roof,” he finished, trying to calm you down. You closed your eyes and shaken your head, but you did not respond. There was nothing to say, nothing to do; what could be done besides trusting that everything would go well? Trust that they would have a plan for you, a shelter, doctors, a chance of living after you were supposed to die in such a horrific way?

You didn’t even know if you wanted all that. Didn’t even knew if you wanted to be the only survivor. Surely not: at that time, you would rather have died among the other more than a hundred people who were now in black bags scattered on the floor in front of you. You felt so much - you felt gratitude for their work, for saving you, but at the same time you couldn’t help but to feel like a fraud for surviving while other died. Others that, somewhat, deserved more than you to live. There was so much in your mind now, but little that you could really synthesize and make sense of.

You drowned your face between your hands, unable to cry, but wanting so deeply to hide from them, from those men, from doctors, from the press, from everything. Wanting to be away from everything, wanting to be dead for once.

A little further away, Ghost observed you. His broad arms crossed, his posture relentlessly perfect as always. His eyes looked at your gestures, scanned your body —all those wounds, poor girl, he thought. Although he was sure there was no more of a heart in his chest, he felt comprehensive towards your emotions. The horrors you had lived in such a short space of time, the unbearable consequences that that meant for your poor mind. The trauma. The pain.

He could not help but think that he saw a bit of himself in you. Not a bit of Ghost – a little bit of Simon. A little bit of the little Simon who felt an immeasurable strain in his chest, a void that could not be filled. 

When the doctors finally helped you to get up in the ambulance and sit on one of the available chairs, your face turned over your own shoulder and you found his eyes stuck to yours. It felt intimidating in some way; perhaps the way his confidence didn’t allow him to look away while you stared at him, or something in the way he seemed capable of reading right through you like a good book of his. He was a savior to you, and somehow it still seemed his persona was conflicting with the one of a savior. He was something else, perhaps still a benefactor, but somehow, a very dangerous man.

There was not a single feeling in his eyes, quite the opposite. There was pure coldness, and yours on the other hand carried some gratitude and ingratitude at the same time. You felt grateful that he had saved you, but at the same time, felt angry at him for not having let you die. You entered the ambulance, and your eyes continued to lock a gaze against his until the moment someone closed the car door from outside.

Ghost turned his eyes at last, and saw Price approaching.

“Fuck.” The captain whispered, laying his hands on his waist, looking at all the misfortune that the incident had caused to that place. “How many bodies?” He asked, looking at Simon with the corner of his eyes.

“A hundred and two so far.” Ghost answered quietly.

“And have you found the bodies of the sons of bitches who did this?” Price said with some disgust and hatred attached to his voice. Ghost assented positively, which made Price crack the dust almost instantly into a distressed expression.

“Motherfuckers.” He grunted, turning to the rest of the team. Soap, who had been remaining in silence for thorough all the search, dared to finally speak.

“We have a lot to report, hm?” He raised his eyebrows, and received a Price assent in response.

“To the headquarters." The captain ordered, making his way to the helicopter that awaited for them, and they left.

#simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #cod ghost

[stray-kaz]

Stray : a Kaz Brekker x f!reader oneshot

A/N: thank you for this anon request/prompt for Kaz! This cat is a tortoiseshell breed, because they can be quite vicious and my family adopted one when I was a child and he was half feral.

Summary: You rescue a stray cat because it reminds you of Kaz: dark, scarred and a little prickly. (Established relationship).

The loud scattering of pebbles and high pitched angry yowl altered your course, sending you off towards the mouth of a dark alley. Once inside, you quietly freed the leather sap Kaz made certain you always carried on you, and crept up behind the larger of the two boys tossing stones at something just out of your sight. You swung the blunt weapon and brought it down hard on the side of his head, sending him staggering, holding his right ear. You knew it would be ringing something wicked.

The smaller boy turned to face you with a snarl, his teeth fading back behind his lips as he recognised you. You let the sap drop on its loop, swinging back and forth in front of his face.

“You’re Brekker’s girl, aren’t you?”

You could taste his fear.

“Yes. Now get lost before my worse nature takes over and I break your nose for the fun of it.”

The boy grabbed the sleeve of the taller one and pulled him away down the alley and back out onto the open street. After making sure they weren’t returning for another go, you knelt down and peered into the shadows at the base of the alley wall where there was something moving. Glowing yellow eyes glared back at you and you slowly made out the shape of a saturated cat, ears flat against its skull and its back arched.

You slowly replaced the sap and reached for the animal with both hands outstretched. First mistake. You hissed and clenched your teeth against the sharp pain of claws embedding in your skin and tearing back out. Sighing heavily, you pulled your hooded coat off and lunged, wrapping the furious cat in the heavy fabric. It hissed and spat, writhed in your grip, but you were just as relentless in not letting go.

You carried the wriggling soggy beast underneath the nearest streetlamp, its pale light sputtering weakly in the rain. It didn’t illuminate much, but you were able to see the cat’s angry eyes glowering at you, patches of mottled black and tawny fur and a scar over one eye. You started to smile as the cat settled a little, ceasing to hiss and instead simply watching you warily. You knew precisely who this irate animal reminded you of. You carefully tucked a finger inside the coat and rubbed under the cat’s chin; it responded by closing its eyes and giving you a single, blunt purr.

You grinned.

“Hello, Cat Kaz” you said, scooping him up more solidly against your chest and ignoring your bleeding hands. “You’re coming home with me.”

As soon as you entered the Slat, Jesper took one look at what you carried and started laughing. He pointed one long elegant finger at the cat and raised an eyebrow.

“Good luck getting that past the boss, missy.”

You arched an eyebrow back.

“Getting it past him?” you replied. “This cat is him. Take a closer look.”

Jesper took a step and peered closer, and the cat reacted instantly, narrowing its eyes and spitting. Jesper jumped away and glared at you. You snickered at his hurt expression.

“See what I mean?” you said. “He only likes me. Go figure. Say hello to Cat Kaz.”

“Excuse me?”

You turned to face the shambling stairs, the direction the voice had come from. Kaz was standing halfway down, his eagle eyes travelling from your face to the bundle in your arms and back. His cane thunked against the stairs as he continued down.

“Missy here has rescued a cat” Jesper volunteered, your answering glower bouncing off him like rain.

Kaz raised his eyebrows and approached you slowly, the ease of his expression visible only to you. He stared down at the rescue, unreadable, then at you.

“We can’t keep that” he said firmly. “Your soft heart is what’s going to get you killed, in the end.”

You rolled your eyes.

“You’ll get used to him” you said, and Jesper smirked. “Now could you please help me out a little? Cat Kaz scratched me up pretty badly. I might bleed out through my hands soon.”

Kaz sighed heavily, but nodded and started over towards the bottom of the stairs.

In the tiny bathroom adjoining Kaz’s bedroom, he waited resignedly while you settled the cat in the pile of your coat at the foot of his bed. He refused to call it by the name you gave it. 

“Come here” he instructed, having waited long enough.

You glanced up and sauntered over to him, edging past him in the narrow doorway to jump up on the edge of the porcelain sink.

“Shirt, love.”

It was only in the soft silence of your own privacy that he ever called you by anything other than your real name. You obeyed, shimmying out of the fabric and buttons, and letting it drop to the tile. You held out your hands and watched as Kaz drew his gloves off. He frowned at the state of your marked up hands.

“Saving a stray was a stupid thing to do” he muttered, turning your hands this way and that under the bathroom light. “What possessed you?”

As he reached under the sink for antiseptic and finger bandages, you gently grasped his jaw and turned him back towards you.

“He reminded me of you” you said softly.

One dark eyebrow rose in question.

“How so?”

“He’s all dark and damaged and still worth saving. And underneath all the wet fur and scars, he’s quite a handsome cat.”

You released him and tipped your head to the side, smiling faintly. His expression remained flat and neutral, but there was a slight uptick to his left eyebrow that gave him away to you.

“How do you even know it’s a boy?” he asked.

You scoffed.

“Do you want to take a look and find out?”

Kaz conceded the point and set to work cleaning and dressing your scratches, his fingers moving nimbly, his touches cool and precise, not lingering until the very end, when he rested his bare hands on your waist, moving his thumbs back and forth over your skin.

“Were you smart?” he asked quietly, barely a murmur. “Did you have your sap?”

You nodded and leaned into him, knees open to either side of his hips.

“Yes. I’m always smart, Dirtyhands” you assured him.

He thumbed your rapid pulse, feeling it thrum in response to him and him only. He rested his forehead on yours carefully.

“Perhaps not” he muttered, and gently kissed you.

For a month, Kaz went out of his way to avoid Cat Kaz and leave his feeding and care to you and the rest of the Crows, but a month to the day you brought the cat home, you tiptoed into Kaz’s office and watched him work, the scarred cat curled up on a pile of files next to his right elbow.

“I know you’re there” Kaz called quietly, not moving to see you. 

He reached out a gloved hand and gently stroked down the mottled cat’s furry back. Cat Kaz purred and preened, pressing his tatty head into that hand.

“You utter one word to Jesper, and you’ll be sleeping at Fifth Harbour with the other reprobates” Kaz said calmly.

You wandered into the room then, turning to lean with your hands against his heavy desk.

“But what would you do in the night without me?” you asked, replacing his hand in patting Cat Kaz.

He glanced up at you then, the smallest of smiles twisting his lips.

“Oh, I think I’ll manage, love.”

Please tell me how it is! Comments and reblogs are fodder for writers!

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker x female reader #liss writes #shadow and bone fic #six of crows #soc fic

[delzinrowe]

Aftermath - Kento Nanami

WORD COUNT: ~4.2K WARNINGS: Some minor & major alterations to Shibuya Arc! No Culling Games in this fic. Otherwise no serious warnings. F!Reader SUMMARY: Three days after the Shibuya Incident in the midst of the aftermath Y/N is trying to sort out her emotions and deal with what happened. A/N: Feedback is always appreciated! If you want to be tagged in upcoming fics/drabbles, please let me know!!! Thank you, and enjoy <3 Considering there are alterations to Shibuya: PLEASE, keep your replies/comments spoiler free, to ensure the unaltered enjoyment of other readers. Thank you!

Curses had claimed Shibuya. Half the district was gone, reduced to ashes and debris. Thousands of human lives were eradicated, leaving nothing but pain and emptiness in the hearts of those who miraculously survived the tragedy.

The remaining sorcerers tried their best to evacuate those who lived too close to the newly created wastelands of Tokyo. There was no telling how long it would take to get rid of all the curses, if that was even possible. Therefore saving and protecting all non-sorcerers had priority.

Within record time Y/N had scouted through the rackages in search of any survivors and brought them to Shoko for treatment. It was a tiring task, not only physically but mentally. Seeing the devastating destruction caused by Sukuna, Kenjaku and the countless curses truly took a toll on everyone.

All it took was a few hours to save all the survivors. But this small win was overshadowed by the carnage left behind. Every sorcerer had returned to the Tokyo Jujutsu High grounds, even the ones from Kyoto decided to stay. Considering the immediate threat posed by the countless curses roaming the streets it was the most logical decision for everyone to stay and aid the Tokyo sorcerers.

Many of the sorcerers made it their daily mission to eradicate as many curses as they possibly could, it was their way of dealing with the losses. Among those was Y/N. After the incident she focused all her attention on the vile creatures, spending every minute on the battlefield. As one of the teachers at Jujutsu High she had always made it her priority to keep everyone safe. If going on a rampage and killing curses left and right was the only way for her to ensure no one else would be hurt, so be it.

Just after killing the last of the evil spirits in front of her she fell to her knees. The exhaustion of the past few days took over her body, but she fought against it.

“You can’t keep going like this, Y/N.” Nanami Kento’s voice sounded from a bit further away, as his feet slowly carried him closer to her kneeling form. The blonde sorcerer seemed exhausted as well, carrying scars and injuries from the massacre days ago.

“Sure I can. I have to.” She responded, but her words didn’t hold as much strength as she had intended. And when she stood up she realised how much her body trembled.

“When was the last time you slept?” He inquired with this slightly disappointing tone that made her feel aggravated all too quickly.

“For your information I slept last night.” By now he was standing before her, watching with eagle eyes as she brushed the dirt off her clothes.

“How many hours?” His question earned him an eye-roll in response. Why did he feel the need to act like this right now when he knew the current situation better than anyone.

She refrained from answering, knowing fully well that in her agitated state she might say something spiteful or mean that she’d regret later on.

“You cannot keep this up.” His voice now held a more stern tone as he tried desperately to get through to her. However, the more he tried to reason with her the more she resisted.

“I’m not a child, Kento, I can take care of myself. Thank you.” She had never raised her voice at him like this before, but his nagging really was not what she needed right now. While she knew that it came from a good place, it fell on deaf ears. She had lost too many people, had watched close friends be slaughtered like pigs in front of her.

“Obviously you can’t!” He yelled back at her when she had already turned on her heel.

“You’re a teacher, don’t you think you should be a role model to your students?” Y/N couldn’t see it but she knew that he wore a pleading expression on his face, simply with the way his voice sounded almost desperate to get through to her.

“I am!” Was all she shouted back at him before walking further away, out of his field of vision. She had to get away from him right now even if she knew that he only meant well.

Didn’t he understand that she needed this? That she needed to exorcize as many curses as she could? That she needed to make these streets safer for everyone?

Nanami knew her better than anyone. And he knew that she needed this, but not ‘to make the streets safer’. Not because Exorcizing curses was the simple job of a sorcerer.

No. Y/N needed this for herself more than anything.

Once she had walked further away, when she was out of earshot, she once more collapsed, physically and mentally. She dropped to her knees, not caring that the tiny stones on the ground would leave marks on her knees even through her pants, and balled her hands into fists. She made no attempts in stopping the tears that started filling her eyes, eventually rolling down her cheeks and dropping onto the ruined ground, which once was a bustling street filled with life.

Minutes passed in which Y/N cried without a care in the word if anyone saw her. The overwhelming guilt she felt caused her chest to tighten and burn as if it was on fire.

“Survivor’s Guilt”, is what Shoko had called it when she patched up Y/N’s injuries. “It’s the belief that you did something wrong by surviving when others didn’t.”, she explained it further. Y/N knew that it wasn’t rational to feel like this, but what did that help when she was convinced on a deeply emotional level that by surviving she truly did do something wrong.

“It’s not fair. So many talented and skilled people died, but I survived. Why? It’s just not fair…” She had argumented, but Shoko was quick to smack the back of her head, effectively capturing her full attention. The healer had made it clear to her that she didn’t survive for nothing, that people still needed her. It was enough to give Y/N at least some mental strength, but as soon as she had left Shoko’s infirmary she fell into the habit of not eating, not sleeping and using all her time to hunt down every cursed spirit she could find.

Y/N wasn’t sure how much time had passed, it couldn’t have been more than half an hour, considering the sun was pretty much still at the same spot in the sky. She frankly didn’t care all too much about it either way.

After wiping lazily over her face she finally stood up, skillfully ignoring that her knees felt like dough and her legs trembled. It simply did not matter, she felt as if nothing mattered. At the same time everything mattered.

By now she deeply regretted snapping at Nanami, he was the least person to deserve that. He had always been some sort of role model to Y/N. His moral code in keeping children safe and not letting the youth experience any misery greatly inspired her to become a teacher at Jujutsu High.

She decided to apologise when she saw him next. He’d understand her, she was sure of it. For now she just wanted to get out of here. Her strength was decreasing due to lack of sleep and nutrition. As skilled and talented as she was, she wasn’t arrogant enough to believe she could take on multiple high grade curses in her current status.

Her walk back to the next operating public transportation wasn’t short, giving her plenty of time to think of the exact words she wanted to tell Nanami during her apology and how she’d explain herself. Even though she knew that his maturity wouldn’t expect her to explain anything. He surely knew how she felt. She guessed that he was ridden with the same form of guilt that plagued her mind and heart.

Y/N paid it no mind to the unamused glares and frowns of disapproval she received from strangers on the train. She knew that the blood stains and tears in her clothes were bound to attract the attention of non-sorcerers. Sometimes she’d even jump at the chance to horrify some particularly judgmental bystanders.

“Don’t worry, it’s not my blood.” She’d muse in an assuring tone of voice while showing a smile that seemed far too friendly. Every time, without exception, it would earn a wide-eyed stare.

However, today she was not in the mood to provoke anyone. She settled for mindlessly watching the passing landscape, it was all a blur to her unfocused eyes. Only when the mechanical voice announced the next stop was she ripped out of her thoughts. Due to a quick message she had sent when she stepped into the wagon she was greeted with Ijichi’s soft smile.

The tone between the two had always been kind and casual, almost friendly, which was something Y/N deeply appreciated. Other assistants sometimes didn’t dare to pursue a friendship with sorcerers, especially higher grades. They claimed it was due to professionalism, but the truth was that the assistants didn’t want to get attached to someone who’d end up dying well before their time.

Ijichi, in his gentlemanly behaviour, held open the car door for Y/N. Behind his nervous smile was a wave of worry when he glanced at the countless cuts and bruises that littered her body. The dried up blood as well as the torn clothes only added to his inner turmoil. Yet, every time he brought up his concerns for her wellbeing she shot him down with a lazy attempt at reassurance. It never worked.

“Has Yuji-kun already talked to you?” He asked with an almost cautious tone after he slipped into the driver’s seat and ignited the engine. Through the rear view mirror he could see how she furrowed her brows in confusion. It was enough of an answer for him.

“He mentioned that he was looking for you.” Ijichi explained further but Y/N only shook her head.

“I’ll find him when I’m at Jujutsu Tech. Thanks for telling me.”

After these words the remainder of the drive was spent in silence. It wasn’t unusual for rides with assistants to be quiet. Most trips with Ijichi however, were spent chatting about missions and the current state of affairs. 

This time the assistant kept quiet. Perhaps because he wasn’t fully well yet either. Shoko had only allowed him to operate the car he was currently driving. Everything else was strictly off limits to prevent him from overworking. A trait shared by seemingly everyone and their mother in the sorcerer society.

The two of them reached the school grounds quickly and while absent-mindedly muttering a “Thank you.” Y/N stepped out of the car, heading straight towards Shoko’s infirmary to get her wounds treated.

The eerie silence in her mind, surrounded by the noise of nature in the form of birds chirping and leaves rustling, were all that filled the air, but not for long. Before she even made it halfway to her destination she was suddenly stopped by a voice yelling her name from a bit further away. It was a voice she had come to know well.

“What’s up, Yuji?” She asked as she turned towards him. The boy stopped a few feet away, despite seemingly running he was barely out of breath.

“Y/L/N-Sensei, you’re not forgetting about later right?” The pink haired boy almost seemed timid and hesitant but Y/N didn’t read into it. There was no reason for something like that at a time like this.

“About the little get-together later? I won’t forget, Yuji.” She had to force a little smile onto her lips as she reassured him. It seemed to be all the young student wanted to talk about as he quickly nodded and shot her a smile, that seemed far too out of place for the mindset she surrounded herself with at the moment, before he turned around and disappeared into the direction he came from.

Y/N didn’t like that Gojo was throwing a get-together at a time like this, just days after a devastating tragedy that caused pain and loss to so many people. Yet, another part of her could understand it somehow. Even though he acted like an idiot at times, she knew his heart was at the right place. She figured quickly that he wanted to bring them all together to strengthen the bond of the remaining sorcerers, ultimately making it easier to rely on each other. Perchance he even had a plan to deal with the curses, and most of all, the curse user formerly known as Geto Suguru.

With all this in her mind she finally made her way to Shoko. The breeze, that was far too warm for this time of the year, went by her without any recognition. All she could do was try not to get lost in her thoughts, her planned apology to Nanami still lingering in the back of her mind.

“You’re looking great again…” Shoko’s voice was filled to the brim with sarcasm.

“Thanks, always a pleasure to see you.” Y/N attempted to respond with the same level of mockery as she rolled her eyes, but her tone sounded more annoyed than anything else.

“Is that why you’re making it a habit to visit every day with new injuries? Y/N, you can’t keep doing that.” It was uncommon for the (now again) heavy smoker to show this level of concern for others. She was well aware that her fellow sorcerers could handle themselves well.

“Damn, I heard that before.” This time Y/N’s words were dripping with sarcasm. There was no ill-will in her voice, but Shoko immediately realised that she had more luck getting through a wall than her patient’s thick skull. With a sigh she simply decided to drop the subject.

Only mere minutes later all of Y/N’s injuries were healed, or at least taken care of and she left Shoko’s infirmary after voicing her gratitude.

“Should I pick you up later, or..?” Y/N didn’t answer the question that was yelled after. She heard it, but she wouldn’t acknowledge it. Why would it matter if Shoko picked her up for the stupid get-together? It came as a surprise that Shoko even cared about one of Gojo’s plans.

The sky had cleared up within the past minutes, allowing the sun to shine down on the scenery and dipping the landscape in a plethora of orange hues. However, the colour spectacle went unnoticed by Y/N, whose feet carried her to her assigned room. Out of courtesy, or rather practicality, the higher-ups had decided to offer the empty dormitories to the remaining few sorcerers. Considering the school was protected by barriers, this served as a means to keep them safe more so than goodwill.

Time passed by quickly, or maybe it didn’t, but Y/N was simply too caught up in her own thoughts. She could feel herself being dragged down once more, spiralling into the depths of her sorrow. She thought that maybe as soon as she reached the room the thoughts would dissipate, but nothing of that sort happened.

Seemingly like a zombie trapped in her own mind she undressed herself, showered, dried herself off and changed into a set of clean clothes. She settled for the only black dress she wore. Taking into account the circumstances it felt fitting to wear black, even if Gojo would possibly find a way to bring colour into everything.

Maybe this get-together was exactly what everyone needed right now. Maybe this was a chance to reconnect and move on. Maybe, just maybe, Gojo’s idea wasn’t too bad.

After checking the clock on her phone for the nth time Y/N to get going. Arriving early was always fashionable, wasn’t it? Besides, she knew that Nanami, as much as he disliked these gatherings, would most probably be there early as well. She’d simply take the time to talk to him and apologise. This way she had a chance of enjoying the rest of the late afternoon, possibly even with Nanami next to her.

And wouldn’t you know it, just like she had predicted, the blonde sorcerer stood outside the venue, glancing at the watch on his wrist. To no one’s surprise he wore the same white suit as always. He likely owned it multiple times to make dressing up in the morning easier, a simple fact she had never cared to think about before. Now it almost seemed hilarious to her. Nonetheless there was a frown on her lips. Knowing that she had to act like a responsible grown up and apologise for her earlier outburst left a bitter taste in her mouth.

“Kento! Hey.” She greeted him almost hesitantly, if he noticed the nervousness in her voice he didn’t show it. He simply greeted her back while turning towards her.

“Can I talk to you about earlier this morning?” What a stupid way to have phrased it. Of course she could, she evidently had the ability to do so. Internally she scolded herself instantly over her choice of words.

“If you want to apologise, there’s no need for it, Y/N.” Here he went again, being the ever considerate and thoughtful person she knew him as. The expression on his face was almost soft, something he only showed around a small number of people, which she considered herself lucky to be a part of.

Before she even had the chance to respond to him he spoke up once more, prompted by the uncertainty shown on her features.

“I’m serious. It’s a difficult time for everyone, we’re all on edge. It’s alright.” Nanami uttered with a tone so full of understanding that it almost blew her away. Then again, despite him being the youngest of the adult sorcerers, he had always been the most mature one and the voice of reason.

For a few short minutes a comfortable silence was shared between the two, until Y/N glanced over his white suit and remembered her train of thought from before.

“You decided to keep wearing that same white suit? Don’t you have anything different to wear?” Y/N’s almost playful glance revealed the nature of her words, there was no malice or ill-intent. She prided herself on being the only one who could get him to engage in conversations in a light-hearted manner.

“Why? Don’t you think it looks handsome?” Nanami’s response came quickly, eliciting a chuckle from her.

“Oh, it definitely does.” She replied back, unable to help herself from chuckling once more as she saw the slight smile forming on his lips. At this very moment it almost felt like nothing bad had ever happened.

“Y/N, there is one thing you have to do for me.” Nanami spoke up once again. Y/N didn’t pay too much attention to his somewhat more seriously sounding tone, that was simply his nature.

“You can't keep me from getting absolutely shitfaced drunk.” If this get-together was anything like Gojo’s previous festivities there would be an unlimited amount of alcohol provided. Even if the host of these gatherings never drank an ounce of it himself.

When Nanami didn’t respond or smile at her quick remark she straightened her posture and looked at him expectantly.

“You have to forgive yourself for everything that went down the other day.” He continued then, judging by his tone it was clear as day what exactly he was referring to.

Without any sort of warning a wave of guilt washed over Y/N. Her chest tightened at the reminder of how many lives were lost, how many people she couldn’t save. The destruction was terrible. But it wasn’t the source of her pain. Involuntarily her mind wandered to the corpses which had littered the grounds of the Shibuya station. Her lips started to quiver but she was determined not to give in to the tears. No other word was needed, no clarification or elaboration. She knew what he meant.

Nanami didn’t rush her in her response, instead he gave her all the time she needed by waiting patiently. Something she was thankful for, even if he was the only reason she needed time in the first place.

Y/N hardly noticed when the index finger of her right hand started to scrape at her thumb’s cuticle. Her head was turned away, gaze averted from him. A part of her knew that she had to forgive herself. In fact, she knew that there wasn’t anything to forgive herself for since she had done everything in her powers to save as many people as she could. She had done enough. But her heart did not agree with her head. In her heart she had failed the people of Tokyo. She had failed her fellow sorcerers. She had failed herself.

“You can be really annoying sometimes.” She responded after what seemed like forever, allowing a deep sigh to leave her lungs. ‘Mostly when you’re the voice of reason’, she added in her thoughts bitterly while turning her gaze back to him.

“Yes. Maybe.” His words of agreement were simultaneously out of place and so very typical for him, at least when he was with her. It was enough for her to crack an unwanted smile.

She breathed in deeply, once, twice, and another time.

“Okay.” She finally answered his previous request. Both of them knew that Y/N needed more time to actually forgive herself, but it was a step in the right direction. It was an unspoken promise that she’d attempt to do this for him.

Nanami only responded with a proud nod, barely mouthing the word “Good.”

The quick change in atmosphere had almost caused her heart to beat irregularly. A silence hung over them, but this time it was heavier than before.

Y/N needed to shift the mood again, she needed to uplift not only his spirit, but also her own. She knew that otherwise she’d be glum and gloomy during Gojo’s get-together. There had been too much tragedy within a short time, a killjoy was definitely not what any of the sorcerers needed.

“Since you’re forced to attend this get-together, when are you gonna start complaining?” She chuckled, a little forced anyways, as she asked the blonde sorcerer.

“Complaining about what?” It was Shoko’s voice that sounded from behind Y/N, making her turn around and face the healer with a smile. Although Shoko was never full of energy and happiness, she seemed even more dispirited than ever.

Y/N shrugged her shoulders, “You know, about Gojo’s obnoxious attitude, about our tone deaf singing when we get drunk, about music that’s way too loud. The whole thing, really.” It seemed obvious to her that Nanami wouldn’t enjoy any of these things.

Shoko’s brows furrowed, her head tilted ever so lightly and her lips pursed.

“Where do you think we are?” She asked Y/N. A question like this would usually have resulted in the female sorcerer chuckling and replying in an amused tone. However, something about Shoko’s tone made her hesitate.

Y/N turned around towards Nanami once more, ready to smile at him.

Except, he wasn’t there anymore.

In a split second Y/N’s entire world came crashing down on her as the realisation set in that he had never been there in the first place. Images of her fights in Shibuya flashed before her eyes. Imagines consisting of sorcerers dying in front of her because she had been too slow.

A ringing set in her ears, intensifying with each memory that surfaced. The sound became stronger when she remembered finding Nanami again amidst the chaos and rubble of the destroyed Tokyo district. She had watched him fight, she had yelled after him, she had attempted to reach him and aid him.

Y/N swallowed hard, slowly turning towards Shoko again. Her chest tightened enough to leave her breathless. With a bitter smile on her face she lowered her gaze. Reluctantly she forced herself to walk, taking one painful step at a time towards the row of outdoor chairs that were neatly set up in front of the closed casket.

She had saved lives and exorcised many curses in Shibuya. She helped search for survivors and consoled the ones that were left behind after the losses.

Alas, the only thing she would forever remember about that night was how she witnessed Nanami dying right in front of her, when she had been too slow to save him.

Without any form of communication she sat down on one of the chairs in the first row, right in front of Nanami’s picture.

She was soon joined by Shoko who sat down next to her, placing a warm hand on her thigh and rubbing it assuringly. The gesture went unnoticed by Y/N, whose eyes were focused on all the little details she could make out on the picture atop the casket. Details that blurred more and more when her eyes filled with tears upon realising that it was all an illusion.

The arguments, the smiles, the quick light-hearted banter she shared with the blonde man during these last few days. It was nothing more than a beautiful hallucination.

#stef writes #jjk #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen fanfiction #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #nanami kento #jujutsu kaisen #kento x reader #nanami x reader #nanami kento brainrot #nanami kento imagine #nanami kento scenario #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you

[katsu28]

Omg Kait that prompt list 🥺 what about the prompt “massage” with Rooster?🥰

nova my fellow rooster enthusiast ily, thank you for requesting <3

bradley "rooster" bradshaw x reader, 0.9k

Bradley tended to carry his tension in his shoulders, you’d noticed. All the stress from a long day at work, all the responsibilities he carried and the things he had to think about; everything built up until his body locked up and all he could do was muscle through it. 

It was a wonder how he didn’t crack under all that pressure. 

You found him sprawled out facedown on the bed today, lying so still you thought he was asleep at first. His shirt was cast off to the side, arms folded under his head as his body moved with his rhythmic breathing. He looked…tense. Tired. 

It wasn’t until you crept across the room to grab something quietly that he lifted his head, searching for you slowly. Even utterly exhausted, Bradley’s eyes always found you. The bags under his eyes were somehow worse than just a few days ago, which made your heart lurch.

You hated seeing Bradley so drained. Sometimes you wondered if his job was really worth the toll it put his body through. He would say yes, but one look at him had you questioning it. 

“Hey, you,” You said softly, smiling at him warmly. He managed a noncommittal groan, but not much else. “Hard day?”

Bradley heaved out a big sigh, slowly rolling spread-eagle onto his back. “That would be the understatement of a century.” 

“Need anything?” 

“Just you.” His hand reached up, out towards you, fingers wiggling in an invitation to come lay with him. You obliged immediately, all thoughts of what you’d come in here to get in the first place trickling away as you crawled up the bed, snuggling up next to him in the space he’d made for you. 

He sighed again, though it was more content this time. But even then, you could feel the stiffness of his shoulder under your head. 

“You’re in pain.” You observed, sitting up within a second. You noticed that Bradley grimaced with your sudden movement. 

“I’m fine, sweetheart.” He insisted, giving his head a ginger shake. “Just wanna lay with you, I’ll feel better soon.” 

“I think I might know what would help you.” 

“I appreciate it, I do, but I’m okay—” You rolled him back over to his stomach and swung your leg over him, taking a seat on his back right above his tailbone in one fell swoop. Bradley attempted to crane his neck to look at you once more, but you tapped the back of his head, a sign to stop moving. 

“Be quiet and relax.” 

“What’re you—oh.” The second your hands pressed into his shoulders, he positively melted into the bed under him, letting out an appreciative groan. “Oh shit.” 

You rubbed his shoulders silently, then moved down his back, admiring the way the planes of muscle contracted with every circle of your hands. Bradley Bradshaw had a very nice back. All the while, Bradley was practically singing your praises, moaning and groaning up a storm as you worked out the knots in his back. 

Had anyone walked into your place right now, they probably would’ve gotten a very wrong idea of what was happening. 

“Jesus, you’re good at this.” He mumbled, voice muffled by his arm. “D’you have, like, magic hands or something?” 

“Not the first time you’ve asked me that question.” You hummed, lips turning up into a smile.

Bradley snorted. “Guess I walked right into that one, huh?” 

“Guess you did.” 

When you were done, you leaned over him, pressing your lips over his warm skin soothingly. Every mole, every freckle, every scar got a gentle kiss, and by the time you were finished with that, Bradley was beginning to drift off to sleep. He managed to roll back over once you’d climbed off him, blinking at you slowly. His eyes looked hazy, fluttering shut with his impending slumber, but even so, he smiled at you almost drunkenly. 

“Better?” You chuckled, smoothing your fingers through his hair. Bradley’s trailed down the inside of your arm featherlight, pulling you against his chest with surprising ease for someone who was half asleep. 

“Hundred percent.” He murmured. His hand slid around the back of your neck to bring you in close to him once you were settled for the second time, mouth pressing against yours in a short and sweet kiss. Your hand caressed the curve of his jaw until he pulled away, moving up to thumb across his bottom lip tenderly. “You always take such good care of me, sweetheart. What did I ever do to deserve you?” 

“I believe it was the tipsy flirting at the Hard Deck that ended with your drink all over my shoes that really won me over.” You teased, giving his firm chest a pat. “Very endearing. Made me swoon.” 

“Oh, ha ha. Real funny.” He rolled his eyes playfully. “I told you, I wasn’t drunk, I slipped on a patch of sand.” 

“A patch of sand. Inside. Sure.” 

“The place is right on the beach, is it really that hard to believe?” 

“It is. Cute try though.”

#rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw x you #rooster bradshaw x y/n #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x y/n #bradley bradshaw blurb #rooster bradshaw fluff

[dysthymiia]

hybrid!dckz + as your boyfriends —

(this is most certainly NOT an excuse to write eagle!diluc i swear)

DILUC — eagle

he doesn't like to show off or spread his wings very much out in public. they draw too much attention, and even more questions. he often mentions how surprising it is to him the insuppresable urge of some people to want to touch them. much to his dismay, they're sensitive, you know.

however, one thing he absolutely adores to do as he embraces you is to curl his wings around you, like a warm, feathered blanket. to him, it is a way to protect you, and you find it quite romantic, which is an added bonus.

he lets you pet them on occasion, and even lets you brush them when he's too exhausted to do it himself, and you may take a bit too much fun in hearing his grunts and sharp breaths when you're just a little too rough with him.

CHILDE — fox

he's charming, annoyingly so. his ears twitch and his tail wags excitedly when he gets compliments on the street or pats on his head. he takes it in stride, and he isn't afraid to chat back with an endearingly shit eating grin and a prideful gleam of his eyes.

he can't sit still without your hands on him, or his hands on you, or your hands tangled with each other. he's rough with his affection, hardly knowing his own strength. faded bruises from tackles and pounces are common on your skin and childe only grins sheepishly when you mention it, kissing the bruises as if they were booboos.

he's a simple man, tamed by your arms around his scarred body. he holds himself close to you at all times, and you'd think it was him wanting to mark you with his scent, if he weren't so adamant he just liked your warmth. he'd sleep through hell or high waters, so long as he was where he belonged, purring in content.

KAEYA — peacock

unlike his oh so boring brother, kaeya wears his feathers with self called grace and beauty. he bathes in the awe struck stares and enchanted mutters, though he finds them, their sheer color, a bit out of character, something so eye-catching and standoffish upon someone so secretive and covert.

still, he hides them almost all the time, save for when they need to be groomed, which he takes great care in doing. it's not out of embarrassment or unconfidence that he keeps them hidden, it is rather that they're a bit too much attention, and a bit too much to carry around for a man as swift and silent as he.

he adores sharing his feathers, though, as he does by plucking one off and tucking it behind your ear, and he muses at how it compliments your hair, your eyes, the blush of your cheeks when he does it. it's a form of his rare and strange ways of showing affection, sharing his most bare form with you, keeping a bit of him with you always. it's cute, he's cute, there's no complaints.

ZHONGLI — dragon

he almost always keeps his tail and horns tucked away. it's cumbersome being likened to rex lapis already, he'd rather not fuel the fire by flaunting his dragon parts for the liyue streets to see. he's wanted to leave that life behind, after all.

he's trusted you, however, almost like a dragon would its mate, and you often see him out in his full glory when he's alone with you, and most especially in bed with you.

he's a primal man, and he's possessive to a fault more often than he'd like to admit. he takes silent pride in letting his tail curl around the length of your leg or the small of your back, letting the fur of its end caress your back or tickle your neck. he flushes when you point it out and draws his tail back for your comfort, but he can't stop himself from letting it creep back and nestle between your bodies as he sleeps.

#zhongli #childe #kaeya #tartaglia #rex lapis #genshin impact #genshin #dckz #hybrid #hybrid au

[verlaines-corner-archive]

Verlaine and Rimbaud appearance hcs

 -> Happy creation day Verlaine! I conjured these up and thought it would be fun to share them :]

Verlaine

☆ Face wise Verlaine has a more triangular, sleek face. High cheek bones, and a sharp but not particularly wide jawline. His nose is long with a bump on the bridge before turning up at the end. Feature wise it's all very fox like, you could say. 

☆ Paul has heterochromia, one honey brown eye and one sea blue eye [because canon can't fucking decide what it wants them to be]. They turn upwards slightly at the end and are thin. His pupils aren't circular, protruding in spikes around the edges. They vary in length and almost mimic an explosion. Paul's eyes seldom ever shine, usually remaining focused and sharp, yet distant, always carrying a certain hate and loneliness to them. However with those he cares for [Rimbaud and especially Chuya] they could be described as kind. Post SB they are no longer as hateful but more empty, melancholic [though shine sometimes when visited by Chuya - because fuck canon]. He has a beauty mark under his left eye.

☆ Paul's skin is warm in appearance, carrying a light orange undertone, and it is also quite warm to the touch. There are wrinkles by his eyes and slight bags, and his lips have an upturn at the end - casually he always manages to look amused. He has several scars along his body, including one extending from between his ring finger and middle finger all the way down his forearm to his elbow, along with circular scars on his back from the lab tubes and other smaller ones littering his skin. His skin is otherwise soft, and his nails are filed down. Paul also has several moles, including on just above his right hip and one on his left collarbone.

☆ Posture wise Verlaine stands tall, never slouching or anything like that. He walks fast and with confidence and grace, though sometimes the walking almost comes off as angry. His hair is a honeyed blond and very silky to the touch, falling to just below his mid back when down. It's wavy until the ends in which it’s more curly.

»»—— • ☆ • ——««

Rimbaud

☆ If I had to choose one word to describe Rimbaud’s appearance overall it would be gloomy. 

☆ Rimbaud has a more oval face shape but with kind of strong features. A more defined jawline, a slightly hooked roman nose with visible but not high cheekbones. His forehead slants back ever so slightly, his nose extending past his chin a little more than is typically seen. Profile wise he’s somewhat crow like.

☆ Rimbaud's eyes are an almost golden green, though are usually somewhat dark. His eyes are downturned and hooded, always somewhat heavy and tired yet despite that they carry an almost eagle like sharpness - a result of him being a spy. Rimbaud’s eyes have a dull glow to them, however they also hold a hidden tenderness to them, a melancholic gentleness that’s only ever visible when he’s away from prying eyes - whether that be alone or solely with someone he cares for.

☆ His skin is pale, a grey-white with pink undertones, and his cheeks and nose are always flushed due to the cold. He has bags under his eyes and crows feet. Rimbaud’s lips are a pale red and thin, usually kept in a straight line. When he smiles it’s small but loving, and he has dimples. Much like Verlaine he has a few scars on his body, though the most noticeable ones are a gunshot wound on his right hand and a long scar extending from his shoulder blade to his mid-back. His hands are calloused, but the rest of his skin - while extremely cold - is soft and pleasing to the touch.

☆ Rimbaud's posture is usually hunched over, curled in on himself to preserve warmth, however when on a mission he stands tall, confident and determined. He walks fast and never dawdles. His hair is slightly curly and very soft, fluffy though always a little tangled. 

☆ Tl;dr: Dilf

#✧ library shelves ✧ #Rimbaud's may not be too accurate as I haven't read 15 yet #bsd #bungo stray dogs #paul verlaine #verlaine #bsd verlaine #rimbaud #bsd rimbaud #arthur rimbaud #analysis #kind of! #more just fun hcs but eh #I analysed their vibes #bsd hcs

[melestasflight]

837 words. Ard-galen witnesses Fingolfin's final stand. On AO3.

Before the gates of Angband filth and desolation spread southward for many miles over the wide plain of Ard-galen; but after the coming of the Sun rich grass arose there, and while Angband was besieged and its gates shut there were green things even among the pits and broken rocks before the doors of hell. The Silmarillion

A stubborn bush of yarrow swayed idly in the thick smog that stretched across the plains. Its stalks reached eagerly for the choked light of the Sun as if it had skin yearning for comforting warmth. A single, solitary soul it made upon the ashen field. A dainty whiteness rebelling amid the arid scars across the land, marking the path of terrible, fiery waves.

The mouths of Thangorodrim spat flames no more, but the ground shivered still, the charred stones jumping like carp in murky waters.

‘What new evil disturbs the earth now?’ One of the yarrow flowers cried out.

‘It is no evil,’ murmured the vulnerable seeds of grass trembling still beneath the dirt.

‘Who then? Is that not Oromë returned to roam these lands?’

‘None of the Valar, but the King rides upon Rochallor, his great steed. Yea, and wrathful he is, flying ahead as an arrow.’

‘The King? The elven King? The Wise?’ All the flowers of the yarrow stirred, shuffling in their clusters. ‘Here comes the one who summoned us from our long dream! Beneath his marching feet, our kin of old sprang to life.’

A clatter of hooves brought about a storm of winds, and the yarrow was turned to where the King gleamed as a star, clad in silver with his blue shield set with crystals. He smote the brazen doors of Angband, and the music of his horn awoke the dormant plains.

He called and called, his voice a taunt.

At last, the Dark One hearkened to his call, coming as a limb cut out of his Iron Mountains, uncomely and heavy. All of Ard-galen rumbled as thunder, rebelling against his discordant presence.

She breathed strength into the King, the soil rising and dipping, pushing and pulling his body away from Grond’s iron head. The land's breath steamed out in fiery gushes as the Hammer of the Underworld dredged deep wounds into the ground, and it hissed in pain.

The fighting went on night and day, the flowers of the yarrow closing and opening again, but the plains did not sleep, did not rest, and the yarrow rejoiced as the Dark One screamed. Seven times he shrieked in anguish, and each time the yarrow grew, its white flowers bursting open under the mighty song of the King. For the King’s strength was the strength of a mountain river, rushing and swelling with the melting snows under the first warmth of Spring.

But at last, the King fell even as he clove the foot of the enemy with his dying breath, filling the pits of the earth with his blood. Deep it seeped, trailing through rock and dust, reaching the roots of the yarrow.

‘Oh, despair!’ the yarrow wept. ‘Were that Yavanna was here to stretch her green limbs and choke this darkness, but she too has forsaken these lands!’

Ard-galen mourned, and her cries were so profound that they carried through Manwë’s winds up the mountain to the peaks of the Crissaegrim, and called to the King of the Skies.

‘Carry the King away, oh mighty Thorondor, for he belongs to us and not to shadow!’ the plains pleaded, and the great eagle bore the King's body high above the clouds, clawing a ghastly landscape upon the face of the enemy.

The Dark One limped to his hiding hall, and deadly silence fell once again. But death is not truly known to Ennor. An end is only a beginning.

‘Arise now, sisters, from the earth,’ the yarrow called in spite.

The grasses wailed in response, ‘What for, now that our King has passed? Oh, who shall guard our plains, now that his silver trumpets are silent?’

‘Our friend, the Prince, yet lives. A King now he will be,’ shook the yarrow with all its voices as one. ‘Arise now so that his sorrow is lessened. Arise, arise, so that his steps are swift when his battle is renewed.’

Voiceless whispers quivered beneath the dust, and the memory of Ennor was summoned.

‘The hero who alone braved the filth of Thangrodorim,’ squeaked the trampled seeds of a dandelion.

‘The Prince who chased away the dragon that scorched our leaves,’ joined the broken branches of a sage.

‘The King who shall avenge us,’ growled the roots of a dropseed grass.

A defiant bush of yarrow flowered before the Gates of Angband. And slowly, so very slowly, all but imperceptible to the eyes of the Children, mosses began trailing around it. And the seeds of the grasses soon began to sprout, and great ferns unraveled soon after. Last came the sturdy little flowers, poking their heads between the broken rocks as clusters of a rainbow on a rainy day.

Ard-galen, tho Anfauglith it was now called, grew again green, grasses rising even upon the Hill of the Slain, and no force of evil would quench its life fully until all the land was splintered and all its beings were released into Ulmo’s Great Sea.

In water begotten, all living things to water return.

Notes:

The common yarrow (lat. Achillea millefolium) is a plant that was frequently associated with war and battle in ancient times, and supposedly even Achilles took it with him to treat battle wounds, thus its scientific name. It has a wide range of medicinal uses, healing anything from burns, abrasions, fever, infection, and serving as pain relief. This knowledge is still well known among indigenous people in the US. It is a sturdy plant with a lovely scent that grows anywhere, including where you'd least expect it.

#fingolfin #morgoth #fingon #ard-galen #fingolfin's final stand #silm #silmarillion #tolkien #ficlets #my writing

[ricardian-werewolf]

Prelude: Over There

"So prepare, say a prayer Send the word, send the word to beware We'll be over, we're coming over And we won't come back till it's over Over there," - Over There, 1917. ***** Summary: Ravka, 1916, Kiribirsk. War has torn apart Ravka for two years. No one is quite sure who killed the old Tsar, Alexander III, but what is certain is that Fjerda and Shu Han are intent on bringing Ravka to unconditional surrender. For Olga Krylov, war is freedom. A chance to prove her worth while going up against First Army's inherently sexist and classist internal social circles. But it's who she meets one cold night in a mess tent that changes her life for something quite different - a fox in a Major's uniform. ***** CW/TWs: mentions of child marriage, violence, and overt discussions of smoking, famine and child-death.

******* Spring, 1916, Kiribirsk, last stop before the Fold.

Olga Krylov stared down at her dish of slop, and scowled into the watery depths. Clad as she was in the tunic and skirt of First Army issue, she adjusted the hooks and eyes of her collar, and popped them open. Here, behind the lines and next to the looming mass that was the Fold, no one would care if the good Sankta of First Army loosened her collar. She lifted her spoon, was about to dig around in the slop for a hopeful wayward pirogi, when she noted eyes on her.

Hazel ones, belonging to a Major of the regiment she’d so recently been attached to as part of her sniper squadron. His uniform was immaculate, though blood splattered the shoulder. It’d dried, stuck fast to the embroidered fronds of the front of it. She almost pitied him as his eyes widened. Like bullets digging into flesh, his pupils expanded.

He knew her. Hell, so did all of the First Army. She was their beloved Sankta Olga, the woman responsible for taking the lives of a whole battalion of Fjerdans with little more than her issued rifle and a few stick-grenades. All while she was crouched in a shell-hole filled with rat-water and surrounded by dead comrades. 

She returned to eating slop. Ensuring that she was somewhat neat in her way of eating, Olga’s eyes returned to staring at this silent major. Their staring contest broke when a man with a bushy salt-and-pepper beard and black hair sat down next to the major.

The man’s face was scarred, flesh cut with jagged lines from embedded shrapnel. There was a medal on his front denoting him a survivor of the first two years of this desperate war - an old boy.

“Dominik!” The major’s voice crowed, carrying with it a fragility that made Olga scowl. Majors were not supposed to be like this - though humanity was appreciated when with the Non-coms and “umpty-umps.” The old breed, the divides between the new and the old guard, all of it angered her. She was a woman, raised to sainthood for her actions, and was as unwelcome as gangrene. Except for a few press exposure pieces, she shot, killed, and slaughtered Fjerdans on her own time.

As for how she and this country had gotten to this point was a matter of rife and intense debate. Some had said that the Kerch merchant council had gone to the Fjerdans with a deal for trade - kill the Tsar - Alexander III, and invade Ravka. With the lecherous, traitorous Prince Vasily on the throne, Ravka would collapse and be wholly open to Kerch interests. There was another camp who argued it’d been Shu Han who’d sent spies to kill Alexander and cripple Ravka from the inside in order to regain its southern holdings. Either way, Ravka was engaged in fighting off a double-front invasion. A masterful pincer movement had taken either eagle’s head and was intent on tearing the throne, her people, and the state to pieces. 

Olga had been a mere child, a bride days away from her marriage, when Alexander had been killed. The famine in Northern Ravka had been an ongoing state crisis for the impoverished country, and the schools had been closed for months. Children dropped dead in the fields next to their starving parents, and mothers drowned their babies in order to save them from a slow death of malnutrition.

It was into this world that Olga had been brought to adulthood with the weight of a wedding band, a gold dress and the crushing pressure of the Kokochinik headpiece upon her raggedy hair. But the wedding had brought her something else as well - freedom. Her husband was a sickly man, older than her by a good 4 decades, and she’d taken her freedom however she could.

Her first kill was emblazoned on the walls of his country Dacha. Right under a Kerch Dekappell of the northern mountains blocking Fjerda, she’d poisoned him with his morning cup of tea, and slipped out. She’d turned over all of his Ravkan coins for soldiers' fatigues, and was in the notorious 34th regiment by the morning after. 

She raised her head. Dominik and the major were still talking.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” Olga purred. Somehow, she’d gotten to her feet and was now standing by their mess-table. Her own medals glittered in the oil lamp by her face. It made her glow like the fated Sun Summoner, turned her mousy hair into spun gold, and cut her chin in the manner of a marble bust.

“Sankta Olga,” Dominik coughed. The Major blinked, his hazel eyes wild-cat green. She smirked, leaned down towards them. “I’m afraid I don’t have the honor of knowing your friend’s name, Major Vertov,”. Doing this was grounds enough for her own punishment. She shuddered. Field Punishment number 1 was notoriously horrific - lashed to a howitzer wheel and held there in full kit for hours. Or maybe she’d get Field Punishment No 4. That was almost infinitely worse. Marching back and forth in full pack, with rifle, again, for hours. All while her commanding officer shouted at her and how much of a failure she was to the Ravkan state. 

“This is Major Nikolai Lantsov,” Dominik sputtered, and indicated the major. Olga saluted, knowing he was her superior. 

“Lieutenant Krylov. A surprise, to grace us with your presence.” Nikolai’s eyes were devoid of their spark now. His seriousness was like a mask. No longer did he crack jokes or bump Dominik’s shoulder. The shift in behavior and mood was startling to a civilian, but Olga merely let it wash over her. She returned the favor, relaxing in his company. 

“I hope I wasn’t disturbing your meal, sir,” she responded with a sharpness that she regretted instantly. Clearing her throat, she dug around in her pocket for a pack of Jurda cigarettes. She found one, and lit it with a match. “Want one, sir?”

“I don’t smoke,” Nikolai replied, sniffing. “Gaspers like that are for the boys. Not me,”

“Weren’t you one of us, once?” Olga’s tone was skating on extremely thin ice. Even the slightest amount of pressure and she’d be in irons before she can even hope to list off all of Nikolai’s titles in correctly descending order. 

He cracked a grin, at last. “You have a sharp way to you, Sankta,” he admonished as he took a cigarette from her crumpled carton. Yet, he didn’t light it. He began to peel the cheap and pulpy paper, and spread the crushed leaves out on the table with his pinky nail. Then, he brought out a razor and divided the leaf down further and further into smaller segments.

“Sir?” Olga asked, partially surprised at his words, and his actions. What kind of major do you have to be to take a cigarette and parcel the Jurda out? 

She turned back to watching the smoke pour from her nostrils in a steady, scented stream. The gas the Fjerdans had deployed in the field was wreaking havoc on Grisha powers and Otkazt’sya lungs in equal pain and misery. They’d deployed Jurda Parem to wreck The Ravkan Second Army forces, who were being pulled back on The Darkling’s orders and once more, First Army was throwing itself into the brunt of the chaos. The Fold crackled ominously. 

“Have you seen the new guns the Fjerdans are using?” Nikolai asked as he leaned forward. He brushed the Jurda away with a wave of his hand, and the smell of it filled the air like a miasma. “Their impact makes your ears hurt for hours afterwards. Some of the men are saying they’re firing them from behind the border.” 

“That’s over 50 miles!” Olga gasped, wheezing. She’d inhaled smoke into her lungs, which made for a coughing fit as the old sores on her lungs reacted. She coughed, hacked, and sighed. The attack passed, but the spinning and black spots danced in her vision for a few more minutes. “Here, tea,” a new voice called out. A voice she recognized with the close familiarity found in a sniper’s shadow. The voice belonged to a man with short cropped brown hair, dark blue eyes, and a hard face. Around his neck was a blue, hand-knitted scarf. His fingers were covered in finger-less gloves, and on his hand was the helmet he called a “brodie,”. He grinned, and sidled in next to her, throwing a snappy salute to both Majors. 

“And you are?” Nikolai asked, his charm once more sweet and flowing like a summer strawberry wine. The man grinned, showing chipped teeth. He offered his hand to shake, and the Ravkan that spilled from his lips was as fluent as any nobleman’s. 

“Will Bird. Sniper shadow to Olga Kylov, and Corporal in His Majesty’s Black Watch of Canada, 42nd Battalion, Canadian Expeditionary Force,” Will chirped. He took a cigarette from his own pack and let Olga light it. His grin never faltered. 

“And why are you here? This is the First Army. Most Sniper shadows are Grisha,” Nikolai replied calmly. There was an edge to his voice that reflected up and down the chain of command in the First Army. Underfunded, despised, and ultimately borne to bear the brunt of the fight, Otkazt’sya hated Grisha, so the Second hated the First and vice versa. It was a never-ending see-saw of guns versus Small Science and the power was never balanced fairly. Will continued to smile, though it became a grimace as Olga watched him turn over the question Major Lantsov asked, in his mind. Finally, he spoke, the smile becoming little more than at the corners of his lips. “I’m here because I want to be here. You all may hate me because I’m not Ravkan or whatever hell place you want to say I’m from, but I’ve fought as long and as hard as your men have.” 

“Have you?” Nikolai began, softly in a way that made Olga’s skin go cold with goose-pricks. The fox-prince with the gap-teeth that Olga remembered as her childhood imaginary friend was becoming quite the predator. She wanted to grip Will’s arm in her fingers and keep him from ending up being court-martialed. He settled down, and merely raised an eyebrow.

“No offense meant, Sir,” Will replied calmly. “None taken,”

Will smiled, and stretched his legs out under the table. All around them, the mess tent had filtered out. Men were too preoccupied with spending their last night before they crossed the Fold being distracted. Kvas, cards, brothel-women, anything. A skirt here, a bet lost there. Their voices rose all around them like some sort of prayer to the sins of a last throw of the dice; a spin of Fortuna’s wheel. All before the Fold swallowed them on the sunrise. Olga’s fingers twitched, reached for her wrist where four deep scars were carved into her skin - 4 trips. Two through to West Ravka, two returning.

Tomorrow would upset that perfect number. The Saints were testing her. By bringing the boy of her childhood to her mess hall, by putting her dearest friend across from him. Both men were going to tear each other to pieces for an imagined slight. Olga almost expected a duel to be issued, but scoffed. The idea of two soldiers dueling one another to the death felt… strangely out of place. 

“I’m going to bed. Goodnight Major Lantsov, Major Vertov, Corporal Bird. Rest well,” Olga stood, saluted smartly, and marched out. She didn’t see Will watch her go, his blue eyes fiery in the light of the lamps overhead. All that remained of her seat was the bowl of cold slop and a few, sad pirogi swimming in the greasy film.

The Fold seemed to grow darker, the shadows longer, and the night a little deeper as Olga headed back to her bedroll. She didn’t bother to look back once, and slid almost too easily into a deep, dreamless sleep. End of Prologue.

#harriet rambles #my fanfic #foxes and snipers #grishaverse #grishaverse au #ww1 au #Olga Krylov #Nikolai Lantsov #Dominik Vertov #long fic.

[tasavvur-e-jaana]

tw: mention of self harm

//

“Lacchu! Tumhe jisne qaid kar ke rakha tha woh police officer ka pata chala?”

“Nahi anna.” His eyes met unmistakably with the other man present, sitting close to Bheem, one arm around the gond warrior.

“Ram, shayad tum jaante ho iske baare mein?” The words shot up the youngest man’s throat, almost spitting out like a hiss from a spitting cobra - but he curbed them with a clenched jaw and pursed lips.

//

After his escape everything had been a sort of a blur for Lacchu. It was a blink of an eye and they were on their way back, with Ram rescued and Sita and Jenny and everyone else in the village, celebrating and rejoicing. All the while Lacchu had been getting to know the bond of Ram and Bheem and their story, slowly realising how much his anna had fallen for the traitor. Then came the story of Ram, of Sita, of Jenny, of Malli - the story of his own fading into nothingness. He always did have the penchant to underplay his role after all.

During the time the gond man had thought of confessing to his anna the truth, the whole truth about what had transpired with him in captivity but he didn’t. He couldn’t. His anna was finally happy. And the scars too had almost healed now, hadn’t they? He could still hate Ram under the guise of him flogging Bheem which was not entirely a lie, he had enough fuel to loathe Ram for himself and on behalf of Bheem. So he carried it all within, only him and Ram the stakeholders of the secret of his suffering.

Ram had tried to apologise and he had outright refused, making him promise not to confess the curly haired man the truth. And that had been that. They steered clear of each other as much as possible. There was no point in stretching the facts so much that they become unwarranted fiction. It was too late anyway and the demons were his to deal with. The anger which had risen in him with the thoughts fizzed away at the last line of contemplation.

As the pain bloomed in his arms, spreading like the roots of a banyan tree in the ground through his veins and the very fibre of his being, his focus shifted entirely to it. The incessant, ghoulish mullings of his mind calming down. Hiding in the nooks and corners as the small birds do when an eagle enters the vicinity. Another cut, and one more, and one more followed, calming his brain. It was like meditating. The agonising, seething torment inflicted upon himself was his only source of solace for now.

#doodles fics #wip #rrr fics #rrr movie #lacchu #lacchu rrr #bheem rrr #ram rrr #rrr

[spookymultimedia]

Something There That Wasn't There Before

When Laszlo tends to Simon when he develops a terrible migraine after a near death experience the two become closer

Length: One-shot, 3,216 words

They were surrounded. The five believers had Laszlo and Simon surrounded in a street corner. Laszlo snarled out at the orthodox men despite shaking in fear. The leader pulled out a crucifix and kept Laszlo grounded from moving or flying off like a bat. It was like he was glued to the spot. His skin started to burn and he hissed in pain. Simon flinched and stared over his arm at the zealots, his blue eyes glowing. In a blink of an eye, Simon had materialized into the air and flew up on 6 wings that gave off a blinding white light. His head transformed into four faces, one of a ram, one of a lion, one of a man and one of an eagle. The ram was facing the humans and had many eyes surrounding his head. His body disappeared in the light of his wings. Laszlo only saw Simon's glory for a second before shielding his eyes from the light.

"LEAVE THIS PLACE!!" Simon shouted in a voice that came from everywhere. The men ran away in fear. Simon landed back to the ground, his light now dim and bearable. Laszlo looked at him in awe. The face of the lion glanced down at him, his mane floating around his face.

"Simon?" He whispered. The body trembled before contorting to Simon's natural form. Laszlo stood up and walked to him. His eyes were still glowing. His jaw was sore and the right half of his face was in horrendous pain that pounded into his skull. All he could see was white and everything else was blurry. There was a horrible ringing in his ear. He turned to Laszlo's voice, looking exhausted, and grew dizzy. He fainted but Laszlo's strong arms caught him. He blinked in shock while holding Simon in his arms trying to comprehend what he had witnessed. He pulled his body into a bridal carry and cradled Simon's head into his chest. His heart was still beating but he was warmer than any vampire should be. He walked around trying to find his dear Nadja and Nandor. Hair fell into his face as he walked. After a minute he found Nadja and went to her.

She spotted her husband and ran towards him, "LASZLO!! I was so worried about you- what happened??" She looked down

at Simon.

"He fainted, he shifted into this. . .this creature. I can't describe it."

Simon stirred awake but didn't move, being paralyzed by the pain. He grabbed onto Laszlo pitifully and closed his eyes. Laszlo looked down at him.

"Simon? Are you awake?" He looked down at the fellow. Simon was trembling, he nuzzled his shoulder. "We better take him home." Laszlo said softly and petted the soft hair on his head.

"I thought you hated him?" Nadja asked and started to make her way back to the house.

"He saved my life and I owe him one. After that, he's nothing to me." His eyes were stern.

"Such a gentleman," she purred. They found Nandor and Colin Robinson on the way home.

Simon was laying in a bathtub when he began to gain full consciousness. He looked up at Laszlo who was holding a flask of blood with traces of vodka in one hand and holding up his head in his other. He had taken off his coat and had his sleeves rolled up. He put the flask up to Simon's lips and he drank. His eyes blinked awake as his energy came back to him. He sat up on his own while Laszlo kept his hand cautiously on his cheek as if he was fragile. He leaned against his hand hand, still feeling the pain in his skull.

"Are you alright?" Laszlo asked once he finished the blood.

"My head," he mumbled and winced.

"What the bloody hell was that all about?" Laszlo scrunched his nose and helped Simon out of the tub. His eyes were drawn to a scar just below his chest. It was a rather large cross shaped one. Odd.

"What are you talking about?" He stood up and began to dry himself. His mullet fell down to his butt, and dripped against the floor. Laszlo blinked and looked back up at Simon's eyes.

"Back at the alley, you turned into this- this thing."

Simon looked up at Laszlo then looked away with his eyebrows furrowed. He wrapped himself in the towel and walked to a chair, a small puddle of water dripped behind him.

"Don't you remember?" Laszlo asked, exasperated and threw out his arms. Simon attempted to dry his hair. Laszlo couldn't stop looking at his scar. How old was it?

"All I remember is falling," he squeezed the water from his hair and leaned against the wall with tired eyes. "My crew tells me, I have this secret power that causes me to transform into this strange creature when I panic. But I don't really know why it happens. It just does." He groaned and rubbed his eyes.

"Does it hurt?" He stepped closer to Simon.

"Very much so," he sighed.

"You saved my life."

"I wasn't trying to save anyone, you selfish arse. If you think my intentions were personal you're completely wrong," he smirked, "If anything you saved my life."

"Don't be dramatic, you weren't dying. You would have been just fine without me." He crossed his arms.

"And yet you held me in those strong arms of yours and pet my hair." Simon smiled and slid onto the floor to dress himself from there.

"Because you had just saved my life! I couldn't leave you there!"

"Like I'd save your life," he rolled his eyes.

"You're welcome." He snarled. Simon pulled on his pants and attempted to stand up. He pulled his shirt over his head. He huffed and bent over, leaning against the wall.

"Are you quite alright?"

"I'm fine." He walked past Laszlo and made it to the parlor room before stopping and sitting back down. His ears were ringing and his head was still in pain. Nandor glanced up from his book and glanced back down. Laszlo followed him and looked at him.

"You're not going anywhere in that condition. Come now." He reached out his hand. Simon sighed and took his hand. Laszlo led him into the tiny empty room under the stairs that was free of any windows. He laid on his back and rubbed his eyes.

"You'll make it worse doing that."

Simon huffed at him.

"How do you usually recover from that?"

"I don't know, I haven't done that in centuries," he whined.

"So that's a rare occurrence?"

He nodded and held his head under a pillow. Laszlo shook his head and walked out of the room. Nadja found him in the hallway, "What happened back there?"

"We got cornered by those religious men that caught sight of us. We nearly died but Simon scared them off." He walked into the kitchen and grabbed a rag to wet. Nadja followed.

"Then why did he faint?"

"It's indescribable my beauty. He shot into the air and became this monstrous amalgamation and was bright as day. I thought I was going to die. He looked so unworldly."

"Simon??" She cocked her head.

"Yes." He said firmly and huffed.

"What's wrong with him?"

"He's in pain, he told me the shift might be an involuntary panic response of some sorts. I think he has a migraine from it."

Laszlo walked off to the tiny room and sat on the edge of the bed. He tapped the space beside Simon. He rolled over, clutching the pillow to his face and glared up at Laszlo.

"Come here," he held up the cool rag.

Simon made a small hiss and wiggled away.

"I'm trying to help you ungrateful fuck!"

"What is in that?" He narrowed his eyes.

"It's just water. It'll help with the pain, okay?"

Simon hesitated a moment before setting the pillow aside and sitting up. He slouched forward and held himself up with his arms.

"Now where does it hurt?" He asked in a softer tone.

"The right half," he mumbled.

Laszlo gently held his face with one hand and used his other hand to press the cool wet rag against his right cheek. He immediately relaxed and leaned against Laszlo's hand.

"That's more like it," he muttered. Simon sat still while Laszlo dabbed his face with the rag until he started to lean against Laszlo. Laszlo simply opened his arms and let him. Simon rested against his chest as he pet his face. He could hear Laszlo breathing. He was so exhausted and his chest was oh so soft and inviting. He nuzzled up closer when Laszlo wrapped an arm around his waist. He looked up at him and was met by Laszlo soft brown eyes. They seemed so genuine and full of care. He melted under his gaze. He hadn't been this vulnerable with Laszlo before.

"Feel any better?"

"A little," he admitted.

He set the wet rag aside and gently massaged his head. Simon felt something inside him flutter by his touch. He closed his eyes and started to doze off. After 5 minutes he woke up to Laszlo moving.

He looked up at him, "Where are you going?" He asked in a pitiful tone.

"I'll be right back darling. The sun is nearly up." He laid Simon down and pulled a blanket over him. Darling? Simon sat up and pulled off his shirt and tossed it on the floor. From the bed he could see Laszlo through the door. He hugged Nadja and kissed her on the lips. He said something to her but he couldn't hear her. She then left him with a smile. He then looked towards Colin Robinson and hugged him. He kissed him as well before letting him go. Colin walked toward the front door and Laszlo walked off before coming back with a thick black shower curtain. He placed it over the doorless doorway before shutting it and making sure the room was pitch black. He walked to Simon and returned to bed.

"How are we going to fit in the bed??" Simon asked. It was a pretty small king size mattress. Laszlo laid on his back and smiled up at him.

"Come here."

Simon blushed. Well, no one would know. He crawled over Laszlo and laid over his belly and chest.

"Comfortable?"

He nodded against his chest and straddled him a bit, trying to get comfortable over him. Laszlo hugged his waist and wrapped a blanket over them. He massaged his head until Simon fell asleep.

When Laszlo woke up, Simon's face was tucked into the crook of his neck and his legs were dangled over his tummy. He stretched his arms up in the air and lazily hugged Simon. He supposed Simon was eating this up. He probably felt like a spoiled kitty. Laszlo planned to throw the man out the moment he could. That was a promise. But not now. Not while he was this pathetic and cute. Besides, he was too cozy to move. He closed his eyes and listened to the sound of Nadja walking around upstairs, talking to herself. He fell back asleep to her voice. Colin should be home again soon, he thought to himself.

A few minutes later Simon woke up and forgot where he was for a moment. He looked around and looked down at Laszlo. His arms were resting on his back. He began to wonder if they had fucked. No, that couldn't be. Their pants were on. Simon stared at him. His hair was sprawled out on the pillow and face was completely relaxed. That familiar fluttering in his chest returned. He was so pretty. He couldn't stop staring at him. Yesterday morning then came into his memory. He blushed, remembering how Laszlo touched his face. It probably didn't mean anything. Regardless, Simon laid back into his rival's arms and nested into his shoulder. His hair smelled so nice. It smelled like Laszlo. He liked it. He fell back asleep in seconds.

An hour later Simon woke up to the sound of Colin taking a photo of them. He disappeared before Simon could chew the man out, leaving the curtain cracked open. Laszlo woke up too. He looked at Simon who was hunched over Laszlo. They both stared at each other for a moment. Laszlo's hands fell to Simon's waist, sending a shiver down his spine. His hands were propped up on Laszlo's shoulders.

"Hey." Simon said in a whisper.

"Hi." Laszlo mumbled. His hands petted Simon's waist idly. Simon smiled faintly. Laszlo's eyes were drawn once more to Simon's scar. It was probably nothing but his mind wandered still. He sat up with Simon on his lap. Simon's legs were around his waist and his arms hung onto his shoulders. The lips were close enough to touch. Laszlo could feel his stupid dick twitch in his pants. He bit back the impulse to kiss him.

Nandor poked his head into the curtain, "Good morn- are you two fucking??"

Simon quickly got off of Laszlo, "No!"

Laszlo Cravensworth sat up and looked at Nandor smirking and glared.

"I'm surprised you didn't leave while I was asleep." Laszlo said once Nandor had left.

Simon scoffed at him.

"How's that head of yours?" Laszlo sat up and stretched his arms up.

"Better," He picked up his shirt.

Laszlo nodded, "I suppose yesterday wasn't your first run in with religious men."

"What makes you say that?" He slipped on his shirt and sat next to him.

"That-that scar on your chest." He pointed below his chest. Simon's eyes lit up.

"Oh that. I got it when I was thrown into this vampiric form."

"Wait, you were wearing the cross?" He looked incredulously at Simon.

"Yeah, I was an Irish-Catholic Saint back in my day."

He raised an eyebrow with his mouth agape. He squinted, "You, a saint??"

"Hard to imagine, I know." Simon hummed out a giggle and placed his hand on Laszlo's leg. Laszlo widened his posture at the touch and relaxed.

"In fact I was Simon the Devious long before I was a vampire. I wasn't exactly respected because they didn't respect my translations of the text very much. A lot of my ideas were rejected. They just refused to let the men fuck each other. My entire orgy was completely censored for this holy ghost bullshit that doesn't even make sense. Sure they let a little kiss with Judas slide but no, no homosexuals in our texts they said. How boring."

"You didn't even believe any of it??"

"No it was just something I was forced into because my father was a saint and his father's father was a saint and so on and so on." He waved his hand around. "It was comfortable so I didn't find a reason to complain. But it was dreadfully boring." He placed his hand back down against Laszlo.

"After a hoard of vampires nearly killed me I miraculously survived. Vampires weren't welcome in such a catholic country, so I left for America."

"I see. Were you happy to leave?"

"No, it was quite traumatizing leaving everything I had known behind. I was on the top of the social ladder and then before I knew it I ran out of luck and was stuck on a ship with other poor immigrants who were sick and dying. It was quite a humiliating experience."

"I think you weren't humbled enough if you ask me," Laszlo smirked.

"Well what's your story? I've been quite vulnerable with you. It's only fair you return the favor."

"My story?"

"Yes, what were you like in life? What did you leave behind?"

"There isn't much to say. I was just a spoiled boy in a wealthy family." Laszlo's smile left him.

"Oh so you were humbled too?" Simon leaned closer smugly.

"Not quite. Dying was the best day in my entire life."

"Really?" Simon cocked his head. "How'd it happen?"

"Nadja crawled into my chambers and seduced me."

"You married your own maker?" He squinted at Laszlo

Laszlo nodded with a warm smile.

"I don't understand, you had everything. Social class. Wealth. Respect. A family."

"Nadja gave me the world. I didn't know what joy felt like before she freed me from that place. I was happier with a plain peasant girl for a wife than those bastard aristocrats."

"But don't you miss your family?"

"No. Not at all. Every minute with my father was hell." He closed his eyes let out a heavy sigh.

Simon wrapped an arm around him and Laszlo leaned into the touch. "Were you actually happy living as a saint?" He asked Simon

"It wasn't terrible, per say. I can't say it was living to exist in a perpetual state of faking guilt and prayer but it was comfortable and I enjoyed my studies and the texts were actually wildly fascinating. I didn't have any faith but it was fascinating. I have to admit I felt more free to be myself once I was thrown from grace."

"Oh."

"I'm sorry I asked about your story. I didn't realize it was such a sore subject." He turned to Laszlo and met his eyes. Laszlo leaned in slowly to kiss him. Simon inhaled sharply in surprise but quickly relaxed. The kiss started out slow but then Laszlo tilted his head eagerly and deepened the kiss. That familiar flutter in Simon's chest returned to him. He grabbed his waist and squeezed his hips, earning a soft moan from Laszlo. Laszlo's hands cradled his head as he explored his mouth. They ended up back in bed pulling each other closer. Laszlo softly scratched the sides of his neck, laying over him. Simon toyed with his tummy, wishing to embrace every inch of his body. They stayed that way for a while until Simon pulled out and looked up at Laszlo. "Fuck." He mumbled

"What?"

"I think I'm in love."

Laszlo's eyes grew wide, he kissed him again and then peppered his cheeks with kisses. Simon let out a childish laughter.

"Be serious." Laszlo teased.

"I am serious."

"You barely know me." He attempted to kiss him again but Simon moved away from him. Laszlo backed away.

"I want to know you more," Simon said as he pushed Laszlo up with his legs and straddled his waist. Laszlo gripped onto his thighs.

"You want to know my body more," Laszlo corrected and pressed a kiss to his neck.

Simon sighed in pleasure and closed his eyes. He pulled away again, grabbing his hair to hold him back. Laszlo bit his lip and held back a moan.

"I want to know you. I want to know why you like the shows you watch. I want to know what your favorite flowers are. I want to know what makes you smile."

"You have to earn that knowledge." Laszlo smiled at him.

Simon let go of his hair, "How?"

Laszlo shrugged, "Figure it out."

Simon sighed and shook his head, "Fine." He pulled away from Laszlo. "When can we meet again?"

"I'll find you." Laszlo petted his waist.

"When?"

"Sooner than you think." He pet the small of his back and let him go.

Simon cupped his face and kissed his forehead, "I'll see you then."

#suggestive text #orange #what we do in the shadows #wwdits fanfiction #wwdits fanfic #laszlo x simon #laszlo cravensworth #simon the devious

[taughtequilibrium]

for the past handful of months, chase has been waiting with baited breath for the other shoe to drop. the first one had been dropped when robby joined cobra kai. chase has a horrible feeling that the second shoe is going to drop soon. robby's been more of an asshole lately; the comment to miguel at the drive-in a few days ago was another nail he drove in the coffin, more grave dirt shifted on top of the grave. rosalie had been the one to engrave the words the robby i grew up with into the headstone. ethan had left pretty much immediately after that nasty comment. he didn't know about miguel's clever plan to avoid a physical conflict by using the sprinkler system at the baseball diamond. he only found out about it the morning after. now that chase thinks about it, maybe it was better he left.

he's not even completely sure why robby decided to drop by his & calla's apartment pretty much unannounced, which they'd very recently moved into... literally six hours ago. the only thing that's been unpacked are the fridge, a few boxes of cutlery, the mattress in their bedroom, a side table, the tv is mounted to the wall. a few other random things, too. chase's clothes are still in boxes or suitcases, his closet barren. he's still wearing the flannel t-shirt he'd worn to school friday, which was yesterday. they don't even have a couch yet. he doesn't know where robby got the beer from. chase doesn't drink, nor does his girlfriend. there's not a single drop of alcohol in their apartment.

he doesn't ask why robby's carrying himself differently. he doesn't ask about his new clothes, the scar on his forehead, or his new friends, the very people who have repeatedly traumatized sam & ethan, or the different, colder light in his eyes. a part of him doesn't want to know. it's not his business what robby does anymore. he made sure of that.

ROMANS 6:12. therefore do not let sin reign in your mortal body so that you obey its evil desires.

I SIT DOWN FOR DINNER WITH MY DEAD BROTHER AGAIN. THE DINNER TABLE HAS UNEVEN LEGS, & IT REMAINS UNSTEADY IF ONE OF US PUTS TOO MUCH WEIGHT ON IT. I DO NOT MAKE A MOVE TO FIX WHAT HE BROKE. I DO NOT SPEAK. HE DOES NOT LOOK AWAY FROM ME. AS FOR MY BROTHER'S CORPSE, IT CORRODES A LITTLE MORE UNDER MY GAZE. ( I CAN'T LOOK AWAY. HE IS MY BROTHER, DESPITE, DESPITE, DESPITE. THAT BOND DOES NOT WARRANT REPENTANCE IN THE HOUSE OF GOD. IT DOES NOT MATTER IF I BARELY RECOGNIZE HIM ANYMORE, & IT DOES NOT MATTER IF HE'S NO LONGER WHO HE ONCE WAS. HE IS STILL WAS MY BROTHER. )

chase can't help the way his eyes flicker towards the coors banquet beer resting in front of robby's hand... one of the more cheaper beer brands in the valley. it's his uncle johnny's favorite. half-consumed, if chase had to guess. he's been counting the sips robby's made - an engrained, learned habit he'd picked up in his childhood because of johnny & shannon, & his uncle mike to a much lesser extent.

❝ it's a beer. calm down. ❞ @taughtpain immediately defends himself.

the reaction from chase is instantaneous. his fork & knife freeze above the take-out chicken he'd gotten from the diner down the street. his eyes lift up from the plate to meet robby's without so much as blinking. a wave of lightning-hot anger slices through chase's entire body, so much so that his shoulders tremble with anger. his expression even darkens for a split second before it smooths out again, & his facial expression back to cold indifference. the younger teen inhales deeply. thank god that calla isn't here right now, that his siblings, dads & mom aren't. calla's out with ethan, emma, hawk, cosima, charlie, light, harlow & a handful of their other miyagi-do / eagle fang friends. according to light, it'd been rather difficult to drag ethan out of bed, but he eventually begrudgingly went. given ethan's recent track record of not even seeing any texts, or replying, or even being seen in public, save for school ( & even then, that's been steadily declining ), chase considers that a significant win.

GALANTIANS 5: 16-26. the acts of the flesh are obvious: immorality & impurity; idolatry; hatred, discord, jealousy, fits of rage, selfish ambition, dissensions, factions & envy; drunkenness, & the like. i warn you, as i did before, that those who live like this will not inherit the kingdom of god. // since we live by the spirit, let us keep in step with the spirit. let us not become conceited, provoking & envying each other.

it's not just a beer, for several reasons. firstly, both of his parents are alcoholics. there's no sugarcoating that. cobra kai can't have fucked with his brother's head so quickly & so severely that he's forgotten that pivotal part of his childhood. secondly... it's everything that's happening. robby's change in personality, the karate war, the switching alliances, the broken friendships, the near karate fights that have almost broken out, ethan's rapid depressive spiral that chase can't seem to alleviate, try as he ( & every single one of their friends ) might.

his next words are way too calm, & they're said in an entirely blunt, matter-of-fact tone. ❝ yes, of course it's just a beer... & i am calm. you sound like your dad, so i guess i should start calling you that now. ❞ chase rolls his shoulders, looking very much disinterested. his tone remains indifferent.

❝ go ahead & keep drinking, johnny. let's both take a bet as to where that habit gets you. ❞ chase doesn't give robby a chance to rebut his words, & even if he did, he's not going to give a shit because he's already tuned him out, simply rising from the table. he's mindful not to bump into it because it's uneven. he walks past robby & into the kitchen to package up his leftovers, which he'll eat later, after he fucking kicks robby out of his apartment in a few moments. as it stands right now, he's completely lost his appetite.

#taughtpain #main verse: miyagi fang. #in character. / season 4. #yikes™

[coldcaseinvestigations]

The Batman Rapist

Britain’s longest-running serial rape investigation

A major investigation codenamed Operation Eagle was launched and as far as I can ascertain is still open, It has been identified as one of the most complicated investigations ever carried out by Avon & Somerset Police. It is still to this day the longest-running serial rape investigation.

The Batman or Bath rapist was described as being slim, in his 30s, 5ft 9 inches tall, clean-shaven, with blue eyes and a scar below his bottom lip. He always wore black clothes with a baseball cap showing the Batman logo. The cap is the reason that he got the nickname ‘Batman rapist’.

Avon & Somerset Police believe that the rapist probably had a very good knowledge of the Bath and Kingswood area as on occasions he struck more than once on the same night, whilst on other times he did not attack for a while, or at least no assaults were reported.

I do wonder if there could be a pattern established which would indicate that he only struck when he was not in a relationship or when there was no sexual activity in a relationship such as when is partner was unwell or maybe during her menstrual cycle.

The police put out several BBC Crimewatch appeals, one of which is shown HERE

Paul James retired from his 30-year policing career in October 2012 and is now a director of Arquebus Solutions Ltd.

Paul was brought in because of his specialist knowledge and qualifications including a master's degree in forensic psychology, Along with his team he built a profile of the rapist. They discovered some quite unique characteristics in the profile. The attacker would often target women who would park their car in the evening, after dark, in and around Bath.

He was looking particularly for women who wore tights and on one occasion when he found a victim was not wearing them he gave her some to wear, instructing her to be careful and not rip them. He then ripped the gusset of the tights himself and raped the woman.

I am sure that any good criminologist will agree this is a massive clue to the attacker’s identity as he clearly has a major fetish for tights. It definitely opens up a whole opportunity for anyone who may know or have known the male to come forward.

As highlighted in the Crimewatch video there were often huge gaps in the attacks but always the same M.O. He would find the woman in her car, open the door, jump into the driver’s seat, show the woman a knife, force the driver to move to the passenger seat and drive the victim to a quiet place. When he arrived at the site he would blindfold his victim using a women's hair band before raping her. He would then drive his victim home again before removing the blindfold and leaving the car.

One of the other very important points that really stands out is that he had a great and detailed knowledge of the Bath area, indicated by the fact that after one particular attack, he took a route down a very small lane not even known to many locals through an area called Monkton Combe.

Was he a taxi driver or maybe a local delivery driver? Do you maybe remember employing a driver with extensive knowledge of the Bath area between 1991 and 2000? How did he get to the point where he found his victims? Did he drive there, maybe in his taxi, leave the vehicle whilst he went and did his vile deed?

This chap clearly had some lengthy times when he was either away from the area or he may have been somewhere such as in prison. Some attacks literally took place many months apart with the first known attack being in May 1991 then the next not until October 1991.

On the occasion of the October assault, the assailant discovered his victim was not wearing tights so he gave her some to put on.

Did you know anyone between 1991 and 2002 who regularly wore a grey Batman Forever baseball cap? Did he suddenly stop wearing it? This assailant left his hat behind during one of his attacks, so do you maybe recall a male going out one night wearing his hat and returning without it? If you do then contact Avon & Somerset Police on 101, it is never too late to report serious crimes.

Of course, there is every possibility that this man committed other rapes where the victim was too scared or ashamed to report it at the time. Once again it is never too late, if you have been a victim of such an attack please call the police, they will deal with things discreetly and treat your evidence in the strictest confidence.

It seems unlikely the attacker was in prison during his years of offending as there is a DNA sample held on the police database and it has not been matched to anyone thus far. Obviously, all prisoners' DNA samples are held on a national database so he would almost certainly have been identified if he had been arrested since his last recorded offence in 2000.

There is of course the possibility that he may be dead or indeed have left the country as there is literally no record of such offending since 2000 in that area. However, there could be other reasons such as he has become involved in a settled relationship and therefore getting his strange sexual ‘kicks’ there.

Are you in a relationship with a man that you have settled with since 2000? Does he have a good knowledge of the Bath area? Maybe makes his living as a driver? Did deep and do the right thing if you think you know this man, he hurt, permanently scarred and frightened innocent women and he must be punished if he is freely walking the streets today.

I have a great deal going on at the moment including the work that you may have seen me talk about on my social media so bringing these cases to you is all the more important and all the more time-consuming so, I would appreciate it if you would take a few moments to did deep and BUY ME A COFFEE by clicking HERE

I have not yet put my work on Patreon or behind any other paywall but I do appreciate a little help and support to bring you good content, so please dig deep.

As always, if you want to reach out to discuss this case or any of my work or to get involved in the upcoming documentary series then please get in touch.

Email me:

[email protected]

or

[email protected]

My social media

Twitter: https://twitter.com/adams_jarad

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/coldcaseinvestigations/?hl=en

LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/jarad-adams-8360751b4/

[sekhisadventures]

I am You, Who am I?

Bastion, the Shadowlands

The Sha, the manifestations of the dreaded old god Y’shaarj. Even after his death at the hands of Aman’thul the heart of the void monstrosity continued to beat, breathing life into his final curse upon Azeroth. The Seven Breaths of Y’shaarj, manifestations of negative emotions.

Nitika had run afoul of them back in Pandaria, the encounter having left her with darkend marks of fur on her back akin to solid shadows attached to her very body… and whenever her emotions turned to anger, to despair, to doubt… those scars would burn and she would feel herself slipping away.

When Grimo refused to go and help with the Siege of Orgrimmar, when Grimo almost blew up half of Orgrimmar with a modified titan weapon, when Grimo tried to trick new members of Savage United into an exploitative contract…

… come to think of it Grimo set them off a lot…

… but it wasn’t JUST Grimo. It was also when Garrosh escaped the trial with the help of a rogue bronze dragon, evading justice for Carine’s death at his hands. It was when the Legion invaded and attempted to raze her homeland. It was when Sylvannas burned Teldrassil in an act of genocide not seen since the Scourge destroyed Quel'thalas.

But worse, she knew the source. It flared up worst when she tried to help the druids of Val’sharah fight back the Emerald Nightmare. When she tried to call upon An’she’s light in Vol’dun she felt it surpressed by the presence of what she later found out to be a c’thraxxi below the desert. When N’zoth escaped his prison under the ocean it felt as if her back had burst into cold flames…

The Sha may be dwindling, the heart of their master destroyed, but the scars… and what they represented… remained. A connection to the Void, to the dread powers that spawned them…

When it came time for her to enter the Shadowlands she found out about Bastion and their own battles against the Void, their ideals of purity and cleansing, and she wanted that… badly. She wanted to be free of the curse that had plagued her since Pandaria.

However… after weeks of working with them, she was no closer…

Bastion, the Temple of Reflection, approximately four months after Savage United and Avalon arrived in the Shadowlands

Nitika sighed, shaking her head as she walked through the hallways, accompanied by a young… well… a Kyrian man. Age didn’t matter much in a realm like the Shadowlands after all.

 “I don’t know Pelagos…” she frowned. She wore a black silken top that left her marks exposed, the trainers telling her she had to face these things before she could overcome them, along with a pair of white and black trousers in the Kyrian style, carrying her wooden eagle head staff that had seen her through so much in her time as a seer. “It just feels like I’m trying to find a candle-less kobold… like, I’m wasting my time. Four months and I still can feel the void at the back of my mind…”

“Have patience Nitika.” smiled her blue skinned friend, “I feel that way too sometimes and it can be frustrating, but I’ve been here for years now and I still haven’t ascended. Stuff like this can take a while, right?” he tried.

“But… I don’t have an eternity like you do Pelagos. We’re in the middle of a war, if we don’t stop the Jailer from escaping…” she shook her head, “I’m… scared… I’m afraid of losing control and hurting my friends… again.” she muttered. Sure Grimo may have deserved some of it, but she felt guilty after each outburst. She was a Seer, her duty was to heal others and guide them to An’she’s warm gaze… not to use their skull as a nutcracker for trying to get out of a major battle.

“Yeah, I understand… but I’m sure you’ll make it somehow. I mean, just having you around has helped me too.” he nodded, patting her larger arm.

She smiled back at the young-looking humanoid, then her ears perked, “Huh? Pelagos, did you hear so-..." she started as there was a sudden scrabbling of claws and a steward rushed towards them from the path leading outside, its feathers fluffed out from it’s body in a panic!

“Hooooo-elp! The Forsworn are attacking! They’re everywhere!” the small owl-like creature cried as Nitika and Pelagos looked towards the doorway leading outside. They saw several bursts of anima, heard screams and shouts echoing into the tunnels, and saw several figures with large black wings heading their way.

“Oh no! Nitika, we’ve got to send word to Elysian Hold! We can’t fight that may off alone!” shouted Pelagos as several more Forsworn, these ones wingless Aspirants, began to rush the tunnel entrance as the robotic guardsmen tried to block their path.

“I… w-we can’t! That’s the only exit!” she stammered, stumbling back as she gripped her staff, feeling her shoulders begin to ache. If anything it had only gotten worse since she arrived in the Shadowlands. Several other Kyrian began to come forward from deeper in the caves where the large reflecting mirrors were stored, keepers of the memories of the Ascended, but these were scholars. They couldn’t fight an angry mob and trained warriors! “Everyone! Get back into the caves and find some way of barricading the entrance! We have to try to hold out!” she called back, if nothing else she’d been in sieges before and knew what to do!

The scholars cried out at the sight of their fallen cousins, falling back immediately though several of the forsworn did manage to get hits on them as they escaped, their bodies blasted with bolts of raw anima energy until they made it back into the mirror chamber and were able to block off the entrance. Once inside, Nitika tried to focus on healing the injured but it seemed like An’she’s light was even dimmer than normal, her back itching and burning like she’d lashed herself raw and rolled in briarthorn bushes!

“An’she, hear me… please…” she whispered as the glow around her hands reached out to an injured aspirant… then suddenly flickered and faded, the taureness flexing her fingers and feeling… nothing, nothing but cold emptiness. “No…” she whimpered.

She tried again, focusing on the feeling of An’she’s warmth… and found nothing, like a wall was cutting her off… and again and again… and nothing… as she suddenly heard loud stomping footsteps as one of the defenders peeked through the gap in the barricades, then called back in a panicked voice, “They’ve got a colossus! They’re going to blast the barricade apart!” as several others began to cry out in fear, Pelagos standing at the ready… but knowing that one combat-trained aspirant wouldn’t stand much of a chance…

Nitika fell to her knees, shaking as she tried to force herself to calm down… “No… no no no no no… not like this… please An’she hear me…” she whimpered under her breath…

Then suddenly, the sounds of combat just… stopped…

Nitika looked around but found herself alone in the room… and next to her was… her…

 “Hello Sunny.” grinned another Nitika, her body shrouded in darkness, “I felt like it was high time you and I had a talk.” she said.

Nitika stared, then scooted away from her, “No. You have nothing I want. You’re just a chunk of the Void that I haven’t managed to force out yet.” she frowned.

“Tch, oh that’s just like you to assume the worst of us…” sighed the dark tauren, “But then, I’d know… I mean, you kept me pushed down all those years and still never managed to work out whats going on.” she rolled her eyes, frowning at the tauren. “Seriously now, you think that all of that pent up aggression is just because some Sha got ahold of us back in Pandaria?” she snorted.

Nitika glared. “There is no US! The Void is just trying to trick me, to confuse me and corrupt me!” she roared at her doppelganger, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“Well yes, that’s what the Void does… but that’s not what I’m doing. You still don’t get it huh?” frowned the shadow-taureness, shaking her large head.

Nitika’s eyes narrowed, the tauren trying to reach for An’she’s light to banish this apparition, but once again finding it out of her reach as the shadowy version of herself snorted at her as if able to tell what she was trying.

”Really Sunny, I’m disappointed in you. You know damn well that the Siege wasn’t the first time you wanted to just… let go. To stop being some good little healer kissing the boo-boos better… to show them just how bad the sun can burn someone. I’m not just some sha that dug its roots into you. LOOK AT ME PROPERLY DAMMIT!” she snapped.

Nitika was about to open her mouth, then paused and stared in shock at the sight of herself… and herself… and herself… and herself…

”Remember how much it hurt when those other calves made fun of us for being so bad at combat drills, or not even being able to hear a single whisper of the elements, or anything?” asked Nitika, except this Nitika looked barely older than eight, sitting cross legged on the floor in a short leather tunic and skirt that tauren children were known to wear.

”Remember how angry we were at Carine’s death? How badly we wanted to call upon An’she to burn Garrosh to charcoal for killing our chieftain?” asked Nitika, this one still in her old novice seer robes that she’d first donned a month before she’d ever met Grimo and the founding members of Savage United.

”Remember how sickened we felt when Theramore was destroyed? How badly we wanted to find the goblins who dropped the bomb and drag them to the crater and force them to admit what they’d done?” asked Nitika, but a Nitika fresh off the heels of the war with the Twilight’s Hammer cult, her lower eyelids still dark from how hard it had been to sleep after defending Wyrmrest temple. If it hadn’t been for Krag’thar and Mola’raum she may not have made it through the months that followed.

”Remember the War of Thorns? Seeing what Syvannas did? Teldrassil? All those innocents? Night Elves who’d never so much as raised a weapon against us at all? Who were unable to fight? Civilians and children who couldn’t defend themselves?” asked Nitika, this one dressed in a torn set of robes, their eagle staff caked with fresh blood that she knew came from a Night Elf sentinel she’d swung at out of blind panic during the invasion… she swore she could even smell the smoke from the burning buildings for a moment.

She blinked, and it was just her darker self again, ”The Sha are darker emotions made manifest… but they don’t spring from nothing. The Breath of Y’shaarj gave them shape, but they can’t exist without those sorts of thoughts fueling them. Nobody called the sha to you that night… but you.” she said cooly.

Nitika stared, the pieces falling into place, ”You’re… me.” she whispered.

”Heh, took you long enough Sunny.” grinned her shadowy clone, ”Can’t just kiss away all the wounds and make them better. Sometimes, you need to cut out the tumor to save the victim. Gotta get rid of whats causing the pain before you can cure it. Tell me, those Forsworn out there… as violent as they are, they do have a point don’t they?”

Nitika nodded slowly, ”Giving up who they are, everything they are… its… terrifying… some of the Forsworn sided with the Jailer, but the rest… they’re just scared and confused, they don’t want to forget who they are…” she replies in a soft voice.

”Confused and scared…” echoed her reflection, ”Like, say, a tauren who realized they really wanna just slap Grimo’s whenever he starts being an ass but feels oh so guilty about those thoughts? Those marks the sha gave you aren’t actually doing anything anymore, even the pain you’re feeling from them is all in your head. You just convinced yourself they were because it was easier than admitting the truth.” she replied.

Nitika nodded slowly, realizing why she’d never been able to exorcise this darkness from herself. Why it endured even after the destruction of Y’sharrj’s heart. She may as well try to cut off her own arm. ”You were… always me.” she whispered.

”Like An’she and Mu’sha. Light and Dark, Sun and Moon, Night and Day… Dawnhoof and… Darkhoof.” the other Nitika nodded back, grinning.

Nitika felt something stir in her then, almost akin to two heartbeats for a moment, and then suddenly there was a tremendous crash as the forsworn’s mechanical weapon broke through the barricade as she returned to the present. Pelagos was bracing himself as the other aspirants cried out, the forsworn jeering and taunting them as the construct raised its hand and charged a burst of anima followed by a tremendous explosion as it released its payload.

Nitika blinked, both of her.

The blast of anima slammed headlong into a sudden blockade! A massive wall of glowing golden light and swirling blackness, the attack dissipating as if it never was as the construct suddenly fell to its knees and shut down, having spent all of its anima in the attack.

“N-Nitika?” gasped Pelagos, seeing the glowing wall disappear and turning to his friend… and for a moment wondering if he was seeing double, then realizing that in a sense… he was.

“Well… yes…” shrugged Nitika, her body glowing with An’she’s light, a pair of massive golden wings growing from her back. It was hard to tell because they were all gold, but if one looked close, they could see they were eagle wings.

“… and… sort of?” added Nitika, her body chalky grey, a pair of shadowy tendrils coming from her hips as she hovered nearby.

“Pelagos, could you… keep this a secret for now please? I need to figure out the best time to tell everyone…” asked the golden Nitika.

The shadowy one snorted, “Oh for… yeah sure Sunny, right in the middle of a fight is the BEST time to ask that! Focus on the Forsworn!” she snapped.

Pelagos’ head snapped back and forth between the two of them, then the aspirant shook his head and turned to face the stunned attackers, “… Alright. Whatever. Just hold them back! An explosion like that probably woke up all of Bastion, we just need to keep them busy!” he called.

“Right!” replied both Nitikas as the golden one let lose a blast of golden flames at one of the forsworn attackers, the other flexing her fingers as two of them fell to the ground as motes of shadow erupted around their heads.

The combined might of Pelagos and the pair of taureness wasn’t enough to defeat the Forsworn, but they were able to force them to a standstill. When Pelagos became injured, Nitka’s light-self healed his wounds. When the attackers grew too many Nitika’s shadow-self attacked their minds, forcing them to turn on each other or flee in a panic. Whenever the opportunity presented itself, Pelagos lashed out with his own powers, sending blasts of anima energy into their foes!

Soon the sounds of combat came from outside as well as defenders from Elysian Hold made up of the Ascended and no less than two dozen adventurers who joined their ranks when the pathway to the Shadowlands was secured attacked the Forsworn from behind, trapping them in the tunnels between them!

Within a half hour, the Forsworn were defeated… and into the caves strode the only other one of Nitika’s allies who had joined the Kyrian forces. Dareley Steelhammer rushed in, a kyrian-forged spellblade at the ready as he looked around, “Nitika! Oi! Ye alright lass?!” he called out. He’d known she’d come here today… and since he hadn’t seen the seeress outside…

Nitika eeped, and in a sudden woosh she was one person again, no golden glow, no shadowy form, just a taureness… “I-I’m right here Dareley! Thanks for the backup, that got… rough…” she chuckled nervously, she really wasn’t sure how a paladin would react to something like having a void-double.

“Aye, that was quite th’ attack… had one o’ th’ stewards run all th’ way ta th’ hold and as soon as he was tellin’ the guards that big explosion went off! How the bloody fel did ye survive that?!” he asked.

“Well…” started Pelagos as Dareley turned to face him, Nitika locking eyes with the aspirant and shaking her head frantically, making shushing motions with her hands. “Er…” he glanced back at her and Dareley’s head turned to see Nitika idly wiping her staff clean and whistling innocently, “… just… luck. It must’ve gotten damaged before it got here and the blast missed us completely!” he nodded.

Dareley glanced around, noticing that there wasn’t any structural damage… a blast like that should have caved in the whole room. Dwarves learn very very early what can and can’t cause cave-ins… part of living in a mountain. “… right… well, at least yer both okay lad.” he nodded to Pelagos, “Lets see ta th’ wounded aye?” he nodded, turning towards the scholar kyrian who had been hurt in the attack.

This worried Nitika too, but it seems that the rest of them had gotten the message to keep mum for now. It wouldn’t stay that way forever of course, sooner or later something would slip… but for now…

“(Whassa matter Sunny? Afraid of what he’d think?)” whispered a voice in her ear.

“(Dareley is a good man, but… he’s a paladin. The Void… I mean…)” she whispered back, “(I dunno, I’d rather feel it out first if we can.)”

“(Oh? So we ARE a ‘we’ now?)” asked her darker side in her mind.

Nitika chuckled, “(Like An’she and Mu’sha right?)” she replied, heading towards the exit and stretching, then blinking as she felt over her back. The markings were still there… but they didn’t hurt anymore…

Next Story

Previous Story

#warcraft #warcraft roleplay #adventuresinazeroth #fanfiction #shadowlands

[xtruss]

How Yellowstone’s Animals Survive a Catastrophic Flood

The flood destroyed homes and bridges, and threatens the region’s economy. But the animals are doing just fine. This story is part of a group of stories called ‘Down to Earth’. The biodiversity crisis, explained

— By Benji Jones | Jun 17, 2022 | NOVA—PBS

Floodwaters in Gardiner, Montana, near Yellowstone, on Thursday, June 16, 2022. David Goldman/AP

Yellowstone National Park turned 150 in March. In all of those years, it’s possibly never seen a flood as bad as the one this week. Record-breaking rainfall, along with warm weather that melted snow, turned the park’s rivers and streams into punishing forces that tore apart homes, roads, and bridges.

Park officials ultimately evacuated more than 10,000 visitors on Tuesday and the Montana National Guard rescued dozens of people from campsites and nearby towns, according to the Associated Press. There have been no reported deaths or extreme injuries so far, though homes were destroyed, and the floods could leave a scar on the region’s tourism-dependent economy. The northern portion of the park experienced the brunt of the damage and it could remain closed for months.

Flooding along Gardner River tore up part of Yellowstone’s North Entrance Road. National Park Service

A washed-out bridge in Yellowstone’s Rescue Creek. National Park Service

Catastrophes like this that harm humans and their livelihoods often impact wildlife as well, such as forest fires that destroy koala and kangaroo habitat and extreme heat that bakes marine life.

But this doesn’t seem to be the case here. According to wildlife officials, most of Yellowstone’s animals, from its iconic wolves to the elks they eat, are likely doing just fine — though there are a few exceptions.

Bears and wolves don’t mind floods. Neither do their prey.

Few animals in the US are more iconic than Yellowstone’s gray wolves, which trace their history back to a famous reintroduction campaign in the 1990s, when wildlife officials brought 31 wolves to the park.

Yellowstone’s 100 or so wolves can likely tolerate major flooding, as can the park’s other top mammalian predators, including grizzly bears, according to Douglas Smith, a senior wildlife biologist with the National Park Service, who works in Yellowstone. These animals don’t tend to den or travel near rivers, and their offspring are likely at least a few months old, making them less vulnerable, he said. (One visitor spotted a grizzly and two cubs in May. They’re very cute.)

A gray wolf on the road near Artists’ Paintpots, Yellowstone. Jacob W. Frank/National Park Service

Some of the animals that wolves and bears eat, like elk, moose, and deer, are also probably doing fine, Smith said. They could even benefit from the flood because the deluge of water gives the plants they eat a boost.

Meanwhile, massive herds of bison have simply taken to the roads to avoid the rising waters, as one TikToker documented.

Water Birds are at Risk, But They, too, are Designed for This

Birds of prey like ospreys and eagles are incredible hunters — they can spot fish in the water from hundreds of feet away, and then dive bomb them (which looks pretty metal).

But that only works if the water is clear, and right now it’s not. Floods wash loads of sediment into rivers, making them murky. “The ospreys can’t see the fish,” Smith said. “Ospreys may be severely impacted as they depend almost entirely on fish.”

Ospreys are skilled hunters that can spot fish from hundreds of feet above a river. Here, an osprey carries a fish in its oversized talons on March 12, 2022 in Ponte Vedra Beach, Florida. Jared C. Tilton/Getty Images

Birds that nest near the water, such as trumpeter swans and loons, may also face challenges as the water encroaches on their newly laid eggs, Smith said. “It could be complete reproductive failure,” he said, meaning that their eggs may not hatch. As soon as next week, wildlife officials will fly a plane over the park to check the status of the nests, he said.

But waterbirds also have strategies to withstand floods, as you might imagine. In one of the park’s lakes, wildlife crews saw that water is starting to breach the nest of a swan. “What she [the swan] is doing today is adding nest material to build the nest up to keep the eggs dry,” Smith said. “It’s going to be a race against the water.”

A trumpeter swan takes off from a pond in Yellowstone National Park. Jacob W. Frank/National Park Service

While it’s not ideal, losing eggs one year is not a major problem for most water birds in the park, he said. “Their whole ecology is to ride out bad years, where you get nothing,” Smith said of some of the park’s avian species. They often live for a few decades — loons, for example, can live past 30 — giving them plenty of opportunities to produce offspring in a year with better conditions.

A Drop in Visitors will Likely Help Wildlife

Last year, Yellowstone had its busiest June on record, with nearly 1 million visitors driving and hiking through the park. That traffic is essential to the local economy, bringing in revenue and supporting thousands of jobs in the park and its neighboring towns.

The recent floods put this economic machine at risk, as the park may lose visitors this summer. But while that’s a problem for people, it may actually be a boon for wildlife, said Mark Boyce, a professor of ecology at the University of Alberta.

“The benefit is that there will be fewer people disturbing wildlife,” he said by email. “Traffic disturbs the animals, pushing them farther from roads later in the day.

It’s not roads themselves that tend to disrupt wildlife, he added, but people and traffic. And those disruptions can be costly for some animals, his research suggests, by making them use up energy to avoid people, that might otherwise go toward things like reproduction.

Climate Change Could Push Animals Past Their Limits

Animals in Yellowstone, like in many places, have evolved to withstand dramatic changes in the environment — they’re used to flooding in the spring. “Although the runoff this year is extraordinary and record-breaking, mountains are known for big runoffs every spring,” Smith said. Bears, wolves, and other animals, he added, “are used to having uncrossable streams and rivers.”

What is concerning, however, is that these extreme events seem to be happening more often, likely due to climate change. Since 1950, spring rainfall has increased by as much as 23 percent in April and May (though it’s down in June), according to a big report published last year. The park is also getting warmer, the report found.

And this could have consequences for wildlife (as well as for people). In the past, any 10-year period would have a few good years, a few average years, and a few bad years for wildlife, Smith said. And now? “We think the quotient of bad years is increasing because of climate change,” he said.

So, while wildlife is likely to remain resilient in this disaster, we should also recognize that resiliency has its limits. The big problem for Yellowstone’s animals isn’t one bad flood. It’s that there could be many more extreme weather events in the years to come.

[murasakispace]

Adam/Shindo Ainosuke X Male Reader

Author's note : Adam needs a bit of love, don't you think? A little love that doesn't imply to hurt Tadashi. It doesn't prevent that it is certainly crap. English is not my main language and it must be awful.

Warnings : NSFW, spanking, degradation and all the BDSM pack.

You were a newcomer, a rookie here. In S. You had the time to watch the local legends fall from their safe sky on the large screens. The most incredible was the race against Langa. Well... You were still wondering if his name was really Langa. Maybe you misunderstood, hidden in your shadows. First Joe, then Cherry and finally Adam. You had to admit their style was eclectic. Even them had to learn again. They were believing themselves as gods because they were the founders of a clandestin course. It made you shrug a little while you were observing them.

People were people. Here, in S, freedom was at its most powerful. A place were no one could say, order to someone something he doesn't want to do. Everything was ruled by skateboard and the people's talent. You were quite happy of that. Because of an accident years ago in mountains with your motorbike while you were heading to the summit so as to practice snowboard. You had the ambition to reach the Winter Olympic Games in half-pipe. You fell from a cliff and you miraculously landed meters below with broken ribs instead of your backbone.

During years you suffered and your dream of medals in the Olympic Games was gone, vanished into the air. Your well-known recklessness almost hurried you in your grave. In the hospital, you spent the last three years to reeducate with an omnipresent pain in your back, anger against the people who had forgotten you when you would have given them your soul if they asked for it an ended alone. You nearly lost your mind when you woke up from coma and nothing appeared in front of you. You weren't able to see anymore. Time went by and you found yourself offered the chance to remedy to your blindness. But it doomed you to wear particular sunglasses every day of your life. A little cost considering what you've been through.

You suffered. You were still aching but less than these last month. Moreover you felt better each day passing. Only eternal scars remain. And to be here in S got you like you were free as much as before your accident. And you would thank Adam for this. Yet, you meant nothing, watching the same scenes which were playing in front of your eyes.

You were sitting on your motorbike far behind the last people composing the crowds ahead of you. Actually, the last time you came at S was when Adam had been defeated. Since then, you weren't coming as often as you should now. Everything was more peaceful and Adam abandoned this bad habit to smash people in the face with his own skateboard. Of course, the blue-haired show-off would never stop to make his little shows and big entrances. You don't think that one day his "hey bitches and bros and non-binary hoes" would leave your mind so easily.

Yet, even if you admired Adam as an remarkable skater, you wouldn't prevent yourself to hate him for everything he was aside all of it. He was "in love" as he told to anyone who would like to hear it with his partners of race. It was nothing like love. You didn't know how you manage to not go through the crowds to slap him right in the face. He didn't understand. He wouldn't anyway. Love is sweet, a fluttering sentiment which set upside-down your guts and your soul. It wasn't how you remembered this wonderful thing.

Anyways, Adam had been defeated by a rookie that you had the power to crush on a snowboard. Even if he was talented, had he the talent of someone able to go in the Olympic Games? You didn't think so. You had yourself a modified board. And right now before the attended race between two opponents, you were as if you were playing on the half-pipe near the start of the race.

You were jumping even higher than this little rookie and executing figures in air that were turning sick some of the people gathered in your audience. You were hearing the slight gasps of awe coming from several girls watching them. Even Langa applaused you in the distance with an annoying smile. That little group comprehending Shadow, Reki, Langa, Miya and the others was sincerely uselessly noisy. Though, they were sometimes giving you back a smile you had long forgotten it was existing. But you didn't care anymore. You were busy with your "switched back flip with nose grab" and to make people applause even louder around you.

They were kind and cute because even if the trick wasn't so hard, doing it on a skateboard was something else. And it earned you the nickname of Eagle in S. You were impressive to say the least and people were clearly stunned. What you didn't expect was to attract the boss' attention here. Adam. Actually, his little grieves left you as if you were like marble.

Not only was he sticking to you but he also was quite insisting in his behavior. You didn't like him at all. It may have been the second or the third night that you came on the half-pipe of S. No one challenged you that time. You just shrugged your shoulders and were going on the way to leave this place. The pressure, the people gathered here, the races and the clear lack of delicacy from them made you get away from here. A sort of repulsion ordered you to go away. A skatepark would be big enough to allow you to do the same show for any passerby. After all what was the point of tiring yourself by skating if no one could applause for your demonstration of pure talent. And today, several nights after Adam's defeat, you were leaving S for good this time. It has no point for you to stay.

Yet, Adam didn't want the same. He was observing you before Langa. So he caught you up while lights were dancing around him.

"Mmh... What a wonderful little bird I see here. Don't be scared my dove, I'm not going to bite you." Adam said both loudly and sensually, thus it made crowds look in the same moment towards you.

A heavy silence has just fallen onto the crowds. You have heard the wheels of Adam's skateboard behind you. And he came, leaving his hand on your hips, getting you closer and closer to him. You could feel his hands roaming and doing delicate circles on the fabric of your clothes. Such an intimate action while you could almost feel his head rest on your shoulder. He made a little comment about your scent. Does this man have really no shame ?

"Aren't you tired of your own bullshit, Adam? Losing once wasn't enough to bring humility in you?" you snapped back while the man gazed at you.

"Never, my sweet, stubborn little dove" Ainosuke whispered in your ear while his hands were circling around your waists.

His sweet, gentle, poisonous tone was near to give you shivers. You weren't able to discern within yourself if it was a sort of trespassing desire that was boiling in you or a fire of rage and the deep will to smash him with your skateboard. Probably both. Let's agree on the fact that this man was a living invitation to luxury and rough love. You were just a little smaller than him but strong enough to make him comply and kneel in front of you like a slut. You clicked your tongue and forcefully escaped from Adam's treacherous embrace.

"Alright Eagle. I challenge you into a beef" Adam called behind you.

"Carry on" You answered back while the crowds become immediately silent were watching you with great interest.

"A race. You and me. Right now. The loser become the slave of his opponent." Adam added with his usual disturbing smile.

For one of the first times since you were coming in S, it was one of your first beefs. Moreover, with the boss of all that mess. And finally, it involved something hidden behind all of this display. And you liked it. Why not enjoying fully the race and the aftermath. You used the back extremity of your skateboard you hit Adam in the belly and making him move backwards. You were almost ecstatic. You walked calmly until the start line, put lightly your skateboard on the ground and set your foot on the deck while you were waiting for Adam to come. Obviously, he made his way towards you.

"Mmh... I'll enjoy to turn you upside down after this race" Adam sensually whispered.

"Your self-confidence will kill you one day, filthy man" you replied with a dry tone.

"Let's say that now that I've lost my Eve, the only person in S having my attention is you my little dove. Be ready, I'm not going to be easy on you"

These last sentences would the death of you. His magma-like voice was burning your insides. How can someone warm you up so efficiently? That was a mystery. But you liked it. Adam was well-known to be kinky. You hated a little yourself at that time. You were falling for an insane guy who is now targeting you. Obviously, it was not in a romantic way. Yet, Adam remained a reachable fanstasm. And you were apparently one of his. The green fire came rapidly, thus the start of the race.

Adam became fastly the first. You forgot about everything and just tried to have fun. You were skating as if your board was a part of yourself, dodging rocks and Adam's attack. You knew very well that he didn't change that much after his first defeat here. He even did his little thing of holding you close to him with the sort of horns on his skateboard.

" I love the movement of your hips, so agile, so smooth, I can't prevent myself to wonder what it will feel like to love you fully until you will ache for attention under my touch. You are a snowboarder too, right?" Adam asked more or less.

"You could say that. But I'm not like that kid. I prefer half-pipes. Besides, you have really no shame, haven't you? Anyways, goodbye."

You increased your speed and left Adam behind. You were jumping the cliffs where the turns formed the shape of a snake with the lights in the night. While you were flying, you were shining with more and more complicated figures and graceful landings, making you significantly ahead of the blue-haired holy creature named Adam. He managed very quickly to catch you up. A little smile was playing on your lips. That was funny to see him a little bit in difficulty.

You were provoking him. That was unbelievable and remarkably bold of you to do so. You annoying smile was allowing to build desire and longing in Adam's heart. He was the king and yet, a little dove was playing with him shamelessly. Adam was so mesmerized by your own race that he barely realized he was in the factory. The screams of the people gathered in there dragged him from his thoughts. He saw you fly until the finish line and cross it. You win against him. A huge silent welcomed him.

"One of the first things you have not to lose when you run is your own concentration. I don't know what happened to you but it doesn't prevent that you weren't really skating. So for the beef, I cancel the slave thing." You declared when Adam went towards you.

You turned your back to him and headed to your motorbike followed by the blue-haired man. You didn't want to stay any longer. Adam's footsteps were soft behind yours.

"How can you cancel the slave thing, as you called it?" Adam demanded.

Seeing that he didn't have any answer, Adam reached you to catch your shoulder and make you turn to look at him.

"Because I'm the winner" you responded with a threatening tone.

"So having me doesn't interest you?" Adam questioned with a spark of deception.

"I didn't say that" you replied with a playful half-smile crossing your lips.

You were surrounded by darkness and no one cared anymore about you. For the people, you were remedying with your little issues about the beef. Nothing very interesting for them. Your hand climbed Adam's tensed thigh before going backwards to his ass and caressing it shamelessly. You heard the man getting a heavier breath and mumbling sinner sentences in your ear. You didn't even move when he came closer to enjoy the caress.

"Adam... You are such a slut... Look at you, you sound like a virgin discovering sex" You told with an incredible amount of heat on your voice.

You left your fingers coming down on his half-hard dick and rub it lightly. Just enough to give shivers to the man.

"Horny, aren't we?" you carried on while Adam was melting under your touch.

It was only simple caresses yet the man in front of you was letting himself go as if you were escaping and he won't have anymore opportunities to have you so close.

"More" demanded Adam while he has finally what he wanted so hard.

But you stopped here, creating frustration in the man.

"There's a love hotel down Crazy Rock. Come with your Grim Reaper costume." You requested with an overbearing tone.

Adam ordered to Tadashi who wasn't present in S that night to bring him to this place and the black clothes he was wearing against Langa. Once arrived in the building, he headed towards the receptionist who led him until the room. The space was dark and very classical for a love hotel but it was enough to arouse Adam. He felt as if your hands were still on him while he was changing his red costume. The memory of your hands trailing down his back to reach his ass and caressing it shamelessly was still unbelievably strong in his mind. Then he felt the touch join his cock, gently but still enough to make surrender to your touch. He desired you so much right now. Once he wore his Grim Reaper clothes, he laid down the mattress. He let himself go to the warmth he was feeling. He already wanted you so hard. He thought he was still dreaming when he felt the sudden touch of your hand on his neck.

"Ready to cum due to a shameless imagination. What a dirty little pet we have here. Were you planning to touch while you would wait for me? " You whispered in Adam's ear, getting him to have goosebumps.

Your fingers went down along his spine then reached the start of his ass. You were riding him from behind, each of your legs apart Ainosuke's body. You spanked his cheeks violently when you see you wouldn't get your answer, making the man moaning of both pain and pleasure.

"Use your tongue. You still have one, right?" you picked up after this unwanted silence.

"Yes" mumbled the submitted man.

"Louder. I don't hear you."you commanded.

"Yes"

He was speaking at the volume you wanted to listen. Loudly but not enough to disturb people out there.

"Better" you acknowledged with a neutral tone.

You got away from the position you have over Ainosuke. You were looking for the bad you brought with you. In the corner of your eye, you remarked the presence of a mirror. It could be useful but not now. You were secretly impatient to play with the king of S. You glanced at him and couldn't prevent a half-smile on your face. His hips were slightly higher than what would be normal. The blue-haired man was aching for your touch. Unhappily, it seemed sometimes you weren't as mean as some of masters with their human pet when it comes to tough, rough and painful but delicious sex. Well... It didn't matter actually. Your beautiful puppy lying on the mattress would love it anyway. You sincerely enjoyed the fact that this natural dominant male was completely under your control.

"Get up and kneel. Be rid of your clothes and keep your eyes on the wall. If you look at me I leave you here, tied and with a toy in your ass until you faint. Is that clear?" You ordered with a severe voice.

You didn't get any answer immediately.

"Yes". You heard behind you.

"Yes who?" You added.

"Yes Master" Adam ended while he just worked to be in his knees over the blankets.

The man got rid of his suit not so quickly. The fabric was comfortable and smooth, suiting perfectly his body. The memory of your touch was almost disappearing with him leaving aside all the clothes. He ended naked on the bed, his pale skin revealed to the air. He kept his eyes locked on the wall and he didn't have any access to the mirror to watch what you were doing. He only heard some noises somewhere behind him. Adam was shivering litghtly because of anticipation. He didn't want you to be kind with him. The rougher the better. Anyways, love and pain were both the faces of a coin, right? He submits but you serve.

Ainosuke felt your hand climbing along his leg and rest a few seconds on his thigh. You slided a lubed toy in his hole. You went as deeply as you could without bruising you pet and without leaving without any sensations. His insides were slightly stretched enough to emphasize the rubbing which you started from a few feets away.

You had the time to change in a black leathery pants and high boots, all black, with an open shirt lazily flying along your sides. After that, you were just watching Ainosuke's nakedness from behind. He was well-shaped. You couldn't say more. And this beautiful insane man was craving for your attention. You knew the effect the toy had. The more Adam was holding back his moan, the more the toy is going to make him lose his mind. You knew very well that the man had a certain endurance. Yet, it had no effect when the right points within his body were touched and loved.

You were still gentle. You could be more cruel and less careful about your little pet. Adam knew it very well. He was sure he looked like a little virgin taking pleasure for the first time but the thing inside of him suppressed all of his strength. He was grunting and moaning like a whore and he loved it. But it wasn't enough. It wasn't you.

"More..." Breathed the man while his whole body was totally shaking.

"More? Really?" you asked while you were enjoying the frustration on Adam's face and the red hue on his cheeks.

"Inside me... Touch me..."you went to caress Ainosuke's naked ass before spanking it another time.

"You have no permission to cum, dirty pet. I'll punish you otherwise."you warned with a threatening tone in your voice.

The heat was slightly consuming the blue-haired man and pleasure was way too heavy for him, almost choking sometimes. You would be the death of him if it carried on.

"Please..."Adam silently begged while you were heading to an armchair not far away from the display in front of you.

Were you sadistic? Probably. You had one of your legs hanging on the side of your seat and watching Ainosuke fighting the destroying pleasure inside of him. You were so desirable. No one would ever say the contrary. It was only the start for your adorable pet. But it wasn't enough for you.

"Come here." You commanded with a monotonous but commanding tone in your voice.

You saw Adam moving to reach you. He stumbled on the few meters he had to make to come at you. He knelt in front of you but it sounded more like he wasn't able to carry his own weigh. He was looking up at you with eyes tainted of pleasure. He caressed your legs as any good cat would do to please his master and get some food or any touch. Your hand reached his chin and you lift it without any delicacy. A few more and Adam was going to surrender and leaving himself being overwhelmed by pleasure. His red eyes were blurry and full of lust and you locked yours on his. Your hand went in his hair and you brought him closer to you.

"Take it. And do it well, slut" you requested with an overbearing tone.

You felt shaking hands roaming over your leather pants and undo the belts resting on your hips. His fingers freed your half-hard dick but he was too slow.

"Faster" you ordered.

Adam put his finger on the skin of your shaft, then his lips. You hardly held back a grunt of pleasure while you were feeling his hot mouth around your cock. That was divine but not enough. You settled your fingers in Ainosuke's hair and pulled it closer.

"Come on, slut"

The blue-haired man wasn't slow but it wasn't fast enough and it frustrated you. You ordered him for more speed and he did it. Adam was all focus on your pleasure, worshipping you with his tongue and his lips. It was warm inside his mouth. You wanted to dirty your sub with your seeds and make him feel like a doll in your hands. Besides, you increased the speed of the toy inside Adam's ass. He was fighting tou bring you pleasure and not to cum. His whole body must ache but you didn't really care. You wanted more. You helped a little Ainosuke with his movements. His tongue was caressing you shamelessly, and he was all focused on you. You were almost fucking his throat.

"You are really a whore my pet. Worse than a dog in heat. Loot at you"

You led his eyes to the mirror not far from you. Adam moaned when he saw the image of himself. The red hue on his cheeks while he was taking your cock into his mouth. The sight was mesmerizing. Then, lower, the pre-sperm was dripping from his own sex. Adam wasn't able to suffer it anymore and the last image had been the death of his limits and he cummed lankily on the ground. His muscles all tensed relaxed in a few seconds. He spilled his white liquid everywhere at the bottom of the armchair while he was moaning with your shaft still in his throat.

You raised your hand and gave him an echoing slap which made the blue-haired man fall on his back, covered of his dirty sperm. You perceived Adam hard cock raising between his legs.

"Kinky whore. You are not even able to handle it, right? Such a disobedient little puppy. You'll be punished, you know that, aren't you?" you threatened with a sweet voice, penetrating under Ainosuke's flesh.

You were watching your pet getting up from his position on the ground.

"Be happy that I'm not going to order you to lick it, silly kitten. On the bed, now. Twenty whiplash, and if you are not obedient, I'll double that number. Understood?"

"Please Master, no!" Adam surprisingly begged with and hoarse voice to you.

"This is the cost for your insolence and disobedience. It could be a hundred so take what I allow you" You replied without any softness.

You gave the order to your dog to be astride on the bed, on all four. Adam settled over the blankets and stayed still. The man heard you get the tool in your hand. And without telling him, he felt a painful burn on his ass, followed by your hand which rubbed it. Ainosuke heard himself grunt to the sudden soothing caress.

"It was the first. I won't be that kind after. Count them. At any mistake, It'll be thirty"

You blowed him again and your sub was counting but it was painful and red traces were appearing on his skin. You weren't soft with him and appreciated his delicious reactions of suffering and adoration. The toy was still in his ass, driving him crazy from both inside and outside. Adam wasn't able to keep up anymore and at the end on the punishment, he fell over the blankets, naked, full of shame, pleasure and love. He was crying due to the overwhelming amount of feelings. His shaft was so hard that it was painful and he wanted freedom from you. His pants were perceptible in the silence of the room. The blue-haired man felt your hand on his ribcage and forcefully turn him on his back.

He saw climb over the mattress and settle near him. Your finger roamed over your pet's belly and touch his nipples, making him shiver and grunt. Your softness was welcome for Adam. His body was aching due to tension and slaps but pleasure was still present in his blood and adrenaline was keeping him conscious. Suddenly, the toy Ainosuke had in his ass had a different movement, more intense, more rubbing and making him moan loudly.

"Did you seriously think it was ended?" you questioned with a playful tone. "No. Of course not".

You got up and put yourself in a riding way. You pushed your shaft inside Adam's mouth and start to fuck his throat again. Fingers curling down the sheets and becoming white. Your sub was testifying of this pleasure. And you were too. Your hips were getting faster and faster and Adam's eyes were rolling backwards while pleasure was burning him. You were silently moaning and keeping your features still but it was hard when your little pet's tongue was that agile and smart to find the areas able to make you shudder. It felt like eternity till you finally cummed inside of Ainosuke's mouth. Your sub swallowed everything and as a reward you ordered him to change of position and to rest on his belly. You removed the toy from his ass and caressed it softly.

"Master..." called quietly Adam.

"Mmh?" you responded with distance in your behavior towards him.

"Please. Fuck me." begged silently the man.

Where was Adam, the king of S, almost undefeated? Where was the show-off, the insane guy? You knew very well where he was. He was subdued to every of your desire now, drunken by pain and pleasure, knocked by envy. He wanted you in the simplest way. The incubus became the innocent virgin and you were his master. Nothing was left from the skater man that you met at the nightfall. He was just a body aching for softness after a hardship, pleading for quietness now. And more sincere than he never had been until tonight. He needed you.

"Please Master..." whispered again Adam.

But his begging stopped when Adam felt your dick against his hole. A slight moan escaped from him and you started to bury yourself in him. His insides were warm and comfortable but so tight. The rubbing was divine and you could help yourself but start to fuck his ass very slowly to push him to worship you. Adam had his hips hanging a little in air as you were thrusting to give you both an amazing amount of pleasure.

"P-Please Master... More..." moaned Adam while you were almost hitting his ass.

It was so nice to see the man so submitted to his needs coming from you. You couldn't help yourself but started to thrust more and more quickly and fastly. The sound of your flesh against each other was echoing in the room and you liked it. You got rougher and rougher but it was still nice and finally, you let yourself be. You felt Adam's hole tightening around your shaft for the second time. Your hands slide down his hips to find his own sex so as to apply languid caresses. It was too much for him and his muscled yet thin body sank on the bed and you followed him in his climax not long after him.

You were panting heavily and your pet was actually nearly fainting. You took him into a warm embrace and rubbed his skin to soothe him. You didn't have the time for a real aftercare because he fell asleep immediately. You would wait him to take a needed shower. For the time that you had, you left him be.

Adam had been a wonderful sub. You were happy. But you didn't have the intention to stay with him. If he wanted you, then maybe you should have a more serious and deeper conversation. But now, it wasn't what you wanted.

#sk8 adam #anime #anime boy #bad guy #ainosuke shindo x reader #sk8 ainosuke #shindo ainosuke #sk8 renga #miya chinen #sk8 miya #matcha blossom #sk8 scenarios #sk8edit #bxb #male reader #villain #lovers