#dead animals by train tracks

[conspiracydawg]

help I'm having rdr2 feelings again

#thinking about the way the game's theme of a time coming to an end extends to its ecosystem #the constant awareness of these intricately detailed natural landscapes being pushed out in favor of human landscapes #when I say natural landscapes I mean both the geological and the biological #the logging company storyline #the house building storyline #the lone bison you can occasionally find east of horseshoe overlook #dead animals by train tracks #the mt rushmore stand-in #the expanding ranch in the epilogue #the sensation of impending and inevitable tragedy as you wander through the intricately detailed world #the main story's tragedy is echoed and amplified by the ending world around you #it's so fitting that you discover the illness and have the animal vision in saint denis #an urban environment where the animal is out of place and on borrowed time the same way arthur is #yes I am listening to the soundtrack again what of it #me bitching #rdr2

[octoberdead]

#bird #crow #dead #dead animal #train tracks #trains #skeleton #mine

[sixosix]

SOMETHING HAPPENS | XIAO

summary verr goldet and huai'an playing matchmaker, basically

warnings wc 1.7k, this fic is xiao pretty much watching over reader in his very xiao way so if you’re not into stalking elements pls don’t read LMFAO + xiao having a crushhh

You’ve felt the looming presence of someone watching you ever since you’ve set foot in Liyue.

It wasn’t anything sudden—in fact, no ordinary human being would have noticed it. But you’ve been trained to deal with all sorts of animals, from wild Rishboland Tigers down to slippery Red-Tailed Lizards. You could sense the tiniest snap of twigs and freshly fallen leaves that could have only occurred from an interference.

And having dealt with animals for so long, you can safely conclude that whatever has been following you for the past ten days is definitely not an animal. If it were, it would’ve been some skilled predator that somehow disappears into thin air when you steal a glimpse. The only possible trace you could find is the barely discernible mark on the dirt.

It also helped your Vision gave you the blessing of being attuned to the wind and the shift of air from a heavy presence.

You thought you’d be dead by the fifth day of your stay—murdered by this newly-acquired stalker of yours, but nothing happened. You asked (politely, with a please) this person to reveal themselves and save you both the trouble, but nothing happened.

You even went as far as to throw yourself into the first hilichurl camp you saw to see if anything happened, yet while you were defending yourself against one, all of them fell to the ground limp once you turned back to them. You search for more camps nearby, but they’ve all been cleared—and all of them were freshly beaten as if your stalker made quick work once they figured out what you were up to.

“It’s hard to tell if you’re out to protect me instead of murdering me if you don’t show yourself,” you say to the empty field, hoping for at least one answer, but nothing happens.

You suppose all that matters is that it’s hard to feel lonely with the constant presence.

“You been hanging around Wangshu Inn lately?” asks the man you went up to. It is in case you weren’t alone in what seemed to be the beginning plot of a horror movie. At your reluctant nod, he snorts, “Well, aren’t you a lucky one? Or perhaps it’s the complete opposite if you’ve been up to no good and disrespected an Adeptus.”

You don't understand what this man’s point is. You’ve briefly heard of the term ‘Adepti’ floating around Liyue, but you’re not quite sure if it’s one person or something else entirely. Have you done something to offend any deities in Liyue? All you’ve really been up to is researching the wildlife and tracking down the stalker. 

“What does Wangshu Inn have to do with this?”

“Why don’t you ask and find out yourself?”

You frown. “It would save me hours if you just tell me now.”

“I already told you what I know, kid,” says the man to you, a full-grown adult. “But I suppose I can let you in on one secret: you’ve piqued the interest of someone.”

This man is crazy.

You sigh. You’ve only been hanging around Wangshu Inn for shelter, but the sun is setting a little too fast, and the warm lights and delicious aroma of their food are starting to speak to you—you suppose there is no other way.

Making your way up to an inn has never been more interesting.

While walking, you belatedly realize that you feel the presence of the stranger again. It’s stronger than before, says the winds, and they never lie with what they touch as they fly by.

You also take it upon yourself to ask the merchants and customers alike, calling yourself new and curious as to what they know about the Adeptus lingering around Wangshu Inn.

“An Adeptus? All I know is that this inn is hiding a mysterious secret, but none of us have really gotten to a point where we found more about it.”

A secret.

You’d really prefer if the man you met before weren’t lying, as you would want your stalker to at least be some sort of god than an ordinary human being who has been watching you for no other reason.

You mull this information in your head as you climb up the inn. And then your limbs lock in place once you hear a voice. It speaks to you, for some unknown reason—as if the winds have quieted down to make you listen. You’re not sure if it’s the rasp or the absolute command his voice demands that gets to you, but—

“The next person to come here will ask about me. You will say you know nothing about my whereabouts.”

Then, a new, feminine voice speaks up. It breaks the brief trance you’ve been under. “…Is this the same person you’ve been watching over for the past two weeks, Adeptus Xiao?”

Adeptus Xiao. Watching over…?

Yet when you pick up pace and hurry to the counter, it’s just a woman alone, wide-eyed as she looks at you as if you were the one acting stranger.

“Sorry,” you blurt. “I’m, ah… I thought…”

Were you really just imagining that? No. That’s impossible.

The lady smiles. “I’ve seen you around the Inn recently. My name is Verr Goldet, the boss here at Wangshu Inn.”

“Oh, yes, nice to meet you.” Embarrassed, you choose to stare at the cat resting on the edge of her desk. You wonder if that cat can sense your distress; it’s blinking up at you innocently, surely the eyes of someone who has witnessed what you’ve missed. “My name’s Y/N, and I wanted to book a room…”

Verr Goldet brightens, but you suppose anyone receiving a customer would be, too. “I see. Have you considered the room on our highest floor?”

“Not…really?”

She hums, then smiles like she's letting you in on a little secret. “You should. If not, then at least consider climbing up the stairs and see the view for yourself. Most of my customers book rooms solely for that reason.”

That does sound appealing, and you have time to spare. “I will; thank you for the suggestion.”

Pleased, Verr Goldet turns to her desk to assumably book you a room. In the silence, you find your voice, “Hey, boss.”

You look up, and Verr Goldet’s eyes are sparkling. “Hm, yes? Oh, your expression looks terrified.” She laughs, sliding a key across the desk and urging you to take it. “I’m just used to correcting people who call me ‘boss lady’. What was your question?”

“Well, I’m pretty new, and—I’ve heard something interesting about this place.”

“There are a lot of rumors about this place. You’d have to be more specific.”

She might either kick you out from where you’re standing or understand what you’re about to say. “Well, ever since I arrived here at Wangshu Inn I always felt like I was being watched over… and then a man I met outside from here told me that there’s an Adeptus nearby?”

“I see. So you’ve met my husband,” she smiles knowingly. “You’re not from Liyue, aren’t you?” You shake your head. “Usually, no one knows about this, but my husband must’ve caught it, too. You’re looking for Adeptus Xiao, and I have noticed that he’s been lingering a lot more recently. More so than usual—I’ve concluded it’s ever since you arrived.”

“Should I be scared?” Because you’re not. Your heart is pounding. It’s a little messed up, but the thought of someone so highly esteemed having noticed you sends a thrill down your spine.

“Of course not. Xiao is the slayer of demons—he keeps Liyue and, most notably, this Inn safe from harm. Of course, I can’t blame your curiosity: no one else has seen Xiao with their own eyes.”

“Am I correct in assuming my stalker could be this Adeptus?”

Verr Goldet laughs. “Why don’t you head up and find out?”

Breathtaking is the first thought that crosses your mind as you finally reach the terrace. You can’t hold back your elated gasp seeing the place from this height—the lanterns, the people, the scenery.

And then you say, “Adeptus Xiao, are you here? Verr Goldet told me you’d be.” She didn’t say it directly, but the implications were there.

The wind shifts as a presence materializes behind you. It’s an all-too-familiar feeling. Goosebumps arise in your arms, and it’s not from the breeze. You turn, and come face-to-face with the most beautiful man you’ve ever met.

Xiao clicks his tongue, his pale skin tinted red. “I did not ask for them to resort to matchmaking.”

“You heard that? So you’re not denying that you’re the one who’s been stalking me ever so creepily?”

“Do not disrespect the Adepti with your accusations,” Xiao quickly retorts, like it’s second nature.

But you now know that one of the Adepti has a little crush on you, so you hardly care less about that at this point. “I’d say that invading my privacy is more disrespectful.”

Xiao’s silence embodies a scolded puppy.

You grin, stepping closer. It widens as Xiao stares at you warily, yet doesn’t disappear. The moonlight brings out the color on his face. He’s beautiful and acting unbelievably adorable. “It’s nice to meet you, Adeptus Xiao. Thank you for protecting me during my stay in Liyue.”

It must’ve been the sincerity in your voice that has him clearing his throat, scrambling for some sense of control again. “It’s—It’s my duty.”

“To watch over one person in particular?”

Xiao glares weakly, caught red-handed. “Do not get so presumptuous.” He says, yet he hasn’t disappeared into thin air while talking to you, unlike what Verr Goldet says usually happens. That alone says a lot.

“It’s hard not to when you look at me like that.”

Xiao visibly startles, losing his calm composure by blinking. “How do I look at y—“

“I think I’ll be staying in Wangshu Inn for a little while longer,” you voice aloud, the grin on your lips never once faltering. “I’ll be in your care, Xiao.”

Xiao cannot, in fact, handle this, as his entire face goes up in flames, and he disappears into wisps of teal and black. You’re not too worried. You can still feel his presence, the way you’re already getting used to.

A/N OH MY GOD. A XIAO FIC. FINALLY. FROM SIXOSIX. SELF-PROCLAIMED XIAO MAIN... im shaking as i post this like im so nervous. and i hate this. but out of all the xiao fics i tried to write this one has been the one i actually completed without throwing out halfway through

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin x you #xiao x reader #xiao x you

[mistyresolve]

| Hostage - Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Word count - 1.9K

Summary - When y/n is taken hostage because she is their combat analyst and knows a significant amount of information in regards to the 141, Ghost goes ballistic. Driven by fear and anger he locates you and is able to rescue you but the fear lingers and he struggles to wrestle his feelings back down.  

Warnings/Tags - Violence and blood, allusions to a brief panic attack  

A/N - I’m thinking of doing an epilogue to this but I’m really on the fence  

Masterlist  ❤︎  Tag List Form

Ghost feared very little. Knew that very little could actually kill him, and even fewer people could do the same. He knew he wasn’t invincible, and someday his luck would run out. Someday his heart would stop, and his blood would run cold. He couldn’t run from the inevitable; thus, he welcomed death with open arms like one would an old friend. He didn’t have a death wish though. He was merely passive towards it. Sometimes he liked the thrill a brush with death gave him. It reminded him he was alive, that his heart did indeed beat like everyone else’s. 

When it came to you, it was an entirely different story. The very idea of you being hurt, and dying, scared the shit out of him. The thought of you leaving him behind plagued him. Even in his sleep, nightmares of you taking your last breaths in his arms would force him from sleep. He’d spend the rest of the night watching you sleep, watching your chest rise and fall, feeling the heat radiating from your skin. He feared for the day he wasn’t able to protect you. 

A day like today. 

“Ghost,” Price spoke slowly and low like he was talking to a wide animal. Which wasn’t that far off, “We’ll get them back, we just need more information. We can’t run in there blind and deaf.” 

Price might as well have been talking to a brick wall because all Ghost could hear was ringing. An incessant, grating sound that shrouded him from all sense and reason. He remained utterly silent, seeth in his own wrath. The wrath he was sure to bring down on everyone and anyone who stood in his way. The 141 was well aware of this and stood aside as Ghost stalked to the door, his shoulders rolled and taut ready for a fight. He had turned so wholly maniacal that even Soap was disturbed by the look in his eye and backed down. Ghost went AWOL, but the 141 provided as much support as they could. They were able to give him updates and new information over the radio, but they were never able to catch up with his unrelenting pace. Instead, they only stumbled over his messes. Their own anxiety and unease about the meaning behind it all grew. It was as if humanity abandoned him as he tracked—No. As he hunted down the men who took you, smelling their blood in the air and following the scent. Ghost spared no one. If someone wasn't giving him the information he’d slay them and move to the next. If the next person wasn’t giving him information fast enough they were executed.   

When he finally located you, you were in a warehouse, he communicated back into the radio for the first time to tell the rest of the 141. 

The captors had yet to start drawing blood, but only because they were trying a psychological approach. It had already been three hours. Three very long hours. You were a combat analyst, you weren’t a trained soldier like the 141. And you sure as hell wasn’t prepared for something like this. He didn’t let himself think too hard about the possibilities. He didn’t let himself think about the probability of finding you dead inside the warehouse. You had crucial information on the 141 that they wanted, and he could only hope that information was keeping you alive. 

He slaughtered his way into the building, leaving nothing but carnage behind him. When he got visuals on you, alive, he nearly collapsed. Not completely unharmed though.

You were soaked from waterboarding. They had used ice-cold water, and somehow it was colder still. The big industrial fans hanging from the roof blew cool air, but it was only amplified tenfold for you. He could hear your shivering, see how your lips had turned a scary shade of blue. Your hair stuck to your face in wet clumps. Your hands were bound to a chair, your fingers curling into your palms in search of any warmth. Your eyes burned holes into whoever stood in front of you.     

“Where. Are. The 141. Hiding?” Your captor asked again, the same question he’s been asking from the very beginning. He forced your head back, getting ready to place the towel. He hadn’t gotten anything out of you yet, but he could tell you were breaking. 

You bit out a smile, although it was more of an act of you baring your teeth at him, “Go to hell,” Your teeth chattered, despite your best efforts. Before the captor could place to sopping towel back over your face he emerges. 

It’s almost as if Ghost was made from the shadows themselves with the way he seems to materialize out of them. The way they clung to him. He couldn’t remember losing his handgun, but at some point, he’d resorted to knives. 

You knew he wasn’t here for your blood but alarms and warnings went off in your very bones. They screamed, Danger! Danger!       

Ghost was every bit his reputation at this moment. His eyes were wide and unseeing. His movements were swift and snappy like elastics were snapping in his limbs. He’d taken his time when he dragged the blade across the man's throat, wanting to keep him alive to feel every ounce of agony at his life quite literally drained from him. 

The speed at which he moved in front of you almost made you think him inhuman. He uncuffed you and pulled you into his arms, squeezing you hard enough that you thought he was going to break bones. He was panting, almost unable to catch his breath. You could almost smell his fear; that and the blood that was surely hiding among the black dye of his clothes.  

You repeatedly murmured, “I’m okay. I’m okay,”  into his shoulder. Not sure if you were comforting him, or yourself. Both, you very quickly realized. As whatever came over him in those few hours of your life in danger, ebbed from his veins, he finally, finally returned to his body. Before it had felt like he was watching himself from outside his body, watching himself from someone else perceptive. Someone may have thought he wasn’t a mundane soldier, but a vessel for whatever god wished to experience true unchecked rage. 

But he was human.

He felt true terror today, and his body was starting to feel the effects of it. He kept repeating, “I’m sorry,” like they were the only words he could remember. His body began to tremble uncontrollably, and his skin felt too tight and itchy. You let him hold you, let him feel your heartbeat against his.   

The 141 arrived with a medic. Simon immediately stepped aside, allowing the professional to assess you. She’d immediately announced hypothermia and called for a medevac. She’d wrapped a reflective blanket around your shoulders and removed her own jacket and put it on top.  

Once Simon was completely and utterly sure you were in good hands, he’d stumbled to the wall, choosing a spot where he was obscured from your view. Everyone’s view. He’d fallen to his knees then, his strength leaving him. They cracked against the concrete, but he welcomed the sharp pain. He’d lifted his mask and thrown up. 

It had been a long, long while since he’d had a reaction like this. Where panic and hysteria claimed him. Guilt and self-loathing suffocated him. Filled his chest, and bubbled up into his throat.  

He let this happen. He wasn’t careful enough. He got too comfortable. 

And this was the result. 

It was his fault. 

His fault. His fault. His fault.   

He clenched his jaw, fighting back hot tears. He leaned his back against the wall, rested his arms on his knees, and let his head hang between his legs. If circumstances were different he would have crawled into the safety of your arms and begged you to make this feeling stop. To make it go away. It was a selfish thought, he knew that. Knew that you were one who needed comfort and reassurance right now. Knew that you needed him just as much, but he didn’t want you to see this. For if you looked into his eyes, you’d be faced with the reality that he truly had had no idea what to do. He came looking with no plan and hardly any direction. He’d once again gotten lucky by following breadcrumbs and whispers to find you.  

He almost lost you.  

You were alive, yes, but what if he’d come an hour later? A minute?  

The 141 knew where he was. Had watched him as he melted back into the shadows, but respected Simon’s silent request for solitary. They understood that he needed to wade through these emotions on his own and that no matter what they said or did wasn’t going to fix it. 

When he heard the familiar sound of a chopper overhead he forced himself to collect himself. Allowing himself 10 more seconds before remasking, and finding you. The medic and Price were escorting you to the front doors. 

“Simon,” Soap appeared at his side, Ghost jerked his attention to him, “There is nothing you could have done differently.” 

He didn’t say anything, but his silence was enough for Soap to understand that he disagreed. With that, he made his way over to you taking Price’s place at your side. 

You were still shaking but you held your head high with your shoulders squared. Simon could have cried at the sight. To see you were defiant in the face of it all was enough to ease the tiniest bit of worry from his shoulders. He knew you weren’t totally unaffected and it was going to take you years to repair the damages, but here you were walking out of this building on your own two feet. 

The medic tried to tell him he couldn’t come with but he downright refused to leave you, “Try and tell me no.”, and she must have known immediately she wasn’t going to win because she let him in anyway. 

He held your hand in his the entire flight to the nearest hospital, eyes darting about. He stayed at your side the entire time you were in the hospital too. He slept in the chair beside your bed, or at least pretended to until you drifted off into sleep, but was wide awake and alert for the rest of the night. Only leaving when Soap came for a visit the next day with clothes for him, telling him he’d take the next shift. Simon changed and came right back to the room. Only this time when he sat in the chair with the hood of his sweater pulled over his head, did he sleep. Finding some solace in knowing Soap was here too.  

Tomorrow he was going to have a meeting with Price about his insubordination. And about the ramage he went on. Tomorrow he was going to have to tell Price about how he’d completely lost himself, didn’t even remember half of it.   

Epilogue

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A/N - Price isn’t mad, he’s worried 

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley drabble #simon ghost riley angst #cod x reader #cod fanfic #cod ghost #simon ghost riley fanfiction #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #cod x y/n #mw2 x reader #ghost mw2 #mw2 #MistyGhosties

[eclec-tech]

Let's get into this "Tech is dead" thing...

Until someone from the show confirms that Tech is dead, I don't believe it. We've seen this before. Echo died in an explosion. Nope. Ahsoka fell when she dueled Vader. That didn't stick. Maul, Palpatine, Leia, Mace Windu...okay, that last one is still in the air. But my point is that we never saw a body. Face it. If they wanted Tech dead, they would have given him a shoulder wound. I lost track of how many times that proved fatal this season.

For starters, it would be a very bad move! Tech was probably the most loved character on the show even before they further developed his character this season. To remove him from the show would deprive a lot of people of someone who gives them a feeling of true representation in Star Wars.

Then there's Phee. That last "conversation" she tried to have with him was awkward and very specific. They animated him in such a way that he was obviously avoiding eye contact. He was uncomfortable. He didn't want to say goodbye. I don't think he knew how. It looked to me like they were setting us up for a reunion scene.

Now let's talk about Hemlock. Him being in possession of Tech's goggles is another reason I think he's alive. When he held out the goggles and said, "I'm afraid this is all I could salvage," it suggested to me that Hemlock has him. It doubly struck me since he had just used the term "fascinating" in the same spirit of scientific curiosity Tech had used earlier in the season with the Zillo Beast. The only way I can see Tech being alive but not captured in this scenario would be if there is a raging river or deep crevasse beneath the train and all they found nearby was the goggles. (Which means that, if he is alive, we will finally get that goggleless Tech we've been wanting to see so badly all this time.)

Let's not forget the most important thing of all. Tech is an incredibly capable soldier. He is resourceful, exceptionally well-trained, and was fully kitted-out when he fell. It's not hard for me to imagine him using a grappling hook and cable or other means to keep from falling to his death. He said it himself. He has the "ability to think clearly in stressful situations". And if Hemlock has him, he's going to need it.

All this gives me great hope for season three. If Hemlock does have Tech, he would have him transferred to Mt. Tantiss on Weyland. Now, Crosshair and Tech are together with other no-longer-Imperial clones. Omega is there with Nala Se, who wants Omega as far from there as possible. Nala Se is no longer in a cell, but working in a lab—under guard, but with access to equipment. Factor in Omega's clone sister and this has all the earmarks of an epic escape episode.

Fingers crossed.

#tech tbb #omega tbb #phee tbb #phee genoa #crosshair tbb #nala se #dr hemlock #emerie karr #the bad batch #the summit #plan 99 #bad batch spoilers #tbb spoilers #my two credits #bad batch season 3

[ofsappho]

THE KNIFE OF MUAD'DIB (Paul x OC!Reader x Chani)

Wherein na-Duke Paul Atreides is not the Bene Gesserit's only prospect for the Kwisatz Haderach. Raised by Paul's side as his playmate and servant, Chryse, the Bene Gesserit's cuckoo child, will forge a new future for her master.

(previously posted on AO3 as Themis)

PART I: JESSICA

Lady Jessica focused her intent gaze on the Reverend-Mother’s... gift. This gaze, to which the minutiae of observation was second nature rather than practiced pretense, followed the lines of the girl-child’s high cheekbones up towards large eyes that appeared to overwhelm the face they were set in.

She’d seen that look in those eyes before. Perhaps a thousand times over, a million times over. Reflected in the mirror back at her on Wallach IX, reflected in the shadowed eyes of the girls she barely remembered. The girls that one by one fell, until amongst a hundred girls there stood five Bene Gesserit.

Jessica’s skirt rustled against the floor as she stalked closer, circling the child, examining every angle.

How interesting.

Such control in the child’s bearing, belied by such fear.

Paul had always been fascinated with off-world animals in the filmbooks; the agrarian creatures that inhabited Caladan for over twenty generations bore no thrill to her clever son. Jessica had never understood his fascination as the filmbooks rendered such organisms dead to her. Mere simulacrums of life with soulless eyes.

Perhaps one such simulacrum stood before her now in the form of a human girl. “Reverend-Mother, does she have a name?”

“We call her Chryse. However, if that name does not suit you, Jessica, you may name her as you wish. It is of no consequence to us.” Reverend-Mother Mohiam’s demeanor certainly hadn’t changed in the slightest from the days when she served her overtly. When Gaius Helen Mohiam spoke, everything from her inscrutable countenance to the even tones of her voice commanded subservience. “You will not harm nor bring harm to the girl-child. It is our one order.”

Jessica watched as Mohiam brushed her fingers against Chryse’s jaw to tilt her still face up towards the sallow light of the glow-globe. Not even a muscle twitched in her smooth facade. Jessica wondered what sort of chaos lay beneath, whether the girl would be like the jagged rocks under the beckoning surface of Caladan’s oceans. Only a fool would dive into the dark water blindly.

There was no other option but to acquiesce. “You have my word. She shall not come to harm under my care or the care of House Atreides.”

“Good.” A look passed between them, lasting only a second. Within that second lay an eternity.

The Reverend-Mother strode from the room with an economical gait, not sparing another iota of energy to look back.

Jessica knew then the precise nature of this “present”.

How many men had failed in the making of the Kwisatz Haderach? How many years, decades, centuries had her sisters carefully tended the most sacred plant, a mind that could bridge space and time. If Paul failed -

She stopped that fearful thought in its tracks, held it in the cradle of her mind’s eye, then let it pass through.

The Bene Gesserit were patient like mountains were patient. Time was an endless resource. It was better to cultivate many plants of good stock than to nurture a small garden and watch as its leaves shrivel and diel. Chryse was not and could never be the Kwisatz Haderach. Perhaps that fact ought to have assuaged Jessica’s fear. Yet - if Paul should die while he was only eleven, the House of Atreides forever extinguished, the child seemed poised to become the next vessel to carry the bloodline of the Kwisatz Haderach. Only ten years old, and she had mastered the prana-bindu like an adept three times her age. Who knew what sort of terror she had been bred to create?

Her son had already shown promise even without her training. Paul might flourish, grow into a man, grow into the mind that the universe needed. That would never come to pass if Chryse supplanted him.

Mohiam must have felt some minute degree of affection towards Jessica. If she hadn’t, the Reverend-Mother would not have left the girl in her care. The blade was double-edged; the Bene Gesserit cared not for which of the two survived, only that one of them did. Motherhood had softened Jessica to the point where she felt some empathy for her poor charge. Not enough empathy to entirely stay her hand, but enough that she wanted the girl to live. Enough that she intended to lift the burden of killing her from Paul’s narrow shoulders.

“Come here, girl.” Once she was close enough that the Bene Gesserit-trained woman could stretch out a single, finely-boned hand and press her fingers to the weapon’s temple, she bade her stop.

Jessica brushed her mind carefully up against Chryse’s, wary of the mind traps the girl had surely been taught from birth.

There were no traps. Not even a token protest.

Chryse had fewer defenses than a newborn infant. Her mind was splayed out in the open; even the slightest whisper of Voice guaranteed complete obedience. The Bene Gesserit had truly forged a weapon of a girl. She hadn’t a psyche of her own - where there should lay a personality was instead filled with iron bars of mind conditioning. Jessica’s heart ached for her. No child deserved to live like that.

A moment passed wherein she further plumbed the depths of her mind. Jessica knew then that Chryse could never use a Voice of her own. The same breeding that had left her mind wide open had left her unable to Speak. But of what use to the lineage of the Kwisatz Haderach was a girl entirely unable to use the Voice and critically susceptible to it?

The vision came on suddenly, as the waves did against the shores of Caladan. A figure whirled amongst dozens of men as they fell to their knees. The lady knew those movements by heart even though they felt wrong. It was the Weirding Way, without a doubt. At the same time, every action was utterly alien. Chryse moved through the battlefield like a valkyrie of old with hands that created ruination with every twitch. Her deficit of Voice was more than made up by her complete mastery over the physical realities of others. Lungs collapsed inwards; hearts refused to beat; nerves froze. Blood. Oceans of blood.

Without meaning to, her fingers fell away from the girl’s temple in astonishment and the vision dissipated like morning mist.

The Kwisatz Mother had bred an abomination.

The laws of nature should have forbidden such a being from coming into existence. No doubt, she wouldn’t have without the careful guidance of the Bene Gesserit. What infinite combination of genes could produce a person who could bend human bodies to their will? A weapon to be wielded against the very molecules of anatomy? Chryse had quite a bit further to go before she would become the war goddess Jessica saw in her vision, but her raw talent remained a cudgel poised over Paul’s head and ready to end his life.

This was an unacceptable outcome.

Forgive me, Jessica thought; forgive me for what I must do. “You will never harm Paul Atreides. You will never allow harm to come to Paul Atreides. You will always remain loyal to him and never betray him in the slightest. You will lay down your life for him.” She swallowed down her guilt as she watched her Voice take root in the blank shell of the young girl’s mind. That Chryse was now freed from Bene Gesserit absolute control was a small consolation for the crime done against her. For Paul to live, this girl must be subjugated.

Her wide, dark eyes blinked. There it was - a tiny spark of life in her young, solemn face. Chryse was just a girl. A young one, at that. Innocent. Guilt ensnared Jessica’s heart and held it in a chokehold. The sisterhood had not completely uprooted her weak personality, but there was no doubt that their conditioning program left permanent scars. Jessica’s Voice would not have affected Chryse nearly as much without it.

The lady resolved always to be tender to the girl. At a minimum, she could improve the quality of Chryse’s life. Jessica told herself this as she called for servants to take the girl, bathe her, dress her, and prepare a chamber for her near Paul’s. Was it so selfish of her to want her son to live? At any cost? Paul’s new companion would always be treated well and never punished. There were worse fates. For the Kwisatz Haderach, the Bene Gesserit could commit any number of sins.

But Jessica knew her mind and herself. This was a blood debt that she could never repay.

Paul would be safe, and the girl’s powers would never be used against him. That would be her consolation.

-

Her palms smoothed over the muscled plains of Leto’s back. The Duke was her husband in all but name, and Jessica reveled in how he relaxed at her touch. At the school on Wallach IX, she’d learned everything but the warmth of trust and partnership built from deep, mutual love. There was no room in the lives of the Bene Gesserit for any kind of love besides the love of the sisterhood. It was this trust and love that had led Jessica to birth Leto a male heir instead of the daughters she’d been commanded to produce.

Leto reluctantly pulled himself away from her to pick through some papers strewn across his desk. “What’s this I hear about a new handmaiden joining our household?” 

Involuntarily, Jessica inhaled. “Ah, my new charge. Chryse. An orphan, Bene Gesserit trained but not suited to the task. Reverend-Mother Mohiam, the Imperial truth-sayer, has entrusted her safety to me.” She kept her hands out of Leto’s line of sight so he couldn’t see the tension in her white knuckles. Ever so slowly, the lady exhaled. Again, guilt. The guilt threatened to consume her whole.

Her husband had always been far too intuitive for his own good. “She is young.” Sometimes a conversation with him was like playing chess. Every word, every tone, every movement playing off those of the other. Jessica enjoyed such a conversation far more when the stakes were not nearly as high. Perhaps he knew even subconsciously what she felt, what she had done.

Jessica let the silence in the air hang.

Leto sat at his desk, his brown eyes never leaving her smooth face.

She conceded first. “It will be some time before the girl will serve as my handmaiden in truth, but is she not of an age with Paul?” Not quite a lie, not quite a truth. A certainty presented as a question even though she had already decided the answer.

With no other child from her in sight and no political marriage alliance contracted to provide others, her son remained at the forefront of his father’s concerns. “Paul must keep his attention turned towards his lessons. I trust you, Jessica. He cannot be distracted.” Leto was known to others as inscrutable and honorable. She could read every emotion that flickered across his handsome face. He was worried; that much was plain. He was worried about what the legacy he’d built and the enemies he made might do to his kind son. His only son.

Even though he would never know it, the solution to his worries was close at hand. “My love, every child needs a companion. There are no children of an age with Paul on Caladan and certainly none suitable for his station. I’ve seen his loneliness. I know you have too.” The truth in her words was undeniable. Only eleven years old, and Paul had never known a friend his age on Caladan. He glued himself to his filmbooks and the stories of Duncan Idaho and Gurney Halleck. Leto cared for more than just raising an heir. Jessica knew he loved Paul. He worried about his well-being. Her husband would grant her this wish. Check.

“What better place for a friend than a girl in his mother’s service? They won’t have to be parted for quite some time. And there is no better judge of caliber than the Bene Gesserit.”

His resigned sigh echoed in the quiet of his study. Checkmate. “You’re right.” Leto’s footsteps as he got up and drew closer to her were a comforting rhythm. She knew that rhythm by heart.

“I do tend to be.” The impulse to feel the rhythm of his pulse beneath her hands overtook her, and she let it. Jessica reached out to press herself to him. Her Duke responded in kind as he gently drew her arms around his neck and brushed his forehead against hers.

It was more than enough sometimes to breathe in the same air as her beloved. To know that she shared space, time, and life with him.

Leto pressed a kiss to her mouth. Without any further words, he left the room.

Her fingers pressed against her closed eyes as if to alleviate the burden she’d taken upon herself. All of this would be justified in the end. Jessica had to keep faith in that.

Reposting this unfinished dune fic i started during the 1st movie and orphaned on ao3! Seems as if there's interest. LMK if you want on the tag list.

#dune #the dune books #dune books #dune movie #dune 1 #dune part 1 #dune part 2 #paul atreides #chani #paul atreides x you #paul atreides x reader #timothee chalamet #lady jessica #paul x chani #paul atreides x chani #paul atreides x you x chani #dune fanfiction

[tsunami-of-tears]

Mission Accomplished

Poly+ ACOTAR Week 2024 - Day 4 (Adventure)

Cazriel x Healer Reader

Summary: Despite the Inner Circle’s best efforts, the throuple continues to fight their affection for each other. To help things along, Rhys sends the group on a fake mission (unbeknownst to them). Of course - everything goes horribly wrong.

Pairing Masterlist

Wordcount: 1.4K

Warnings: angst; violence; injury; animal attack.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ:

Reader

Weeks had passed since the incident with the love potion, and you’d given up on trying to figure out where it came from.

Despite the night of passion, your relationship with Cassian and Azriel remained mostly unchanged, albeit slightly more awkward. You were grateful to still be able to call them your friends - joking around with Cassian and your quiet chats with Azriel were your favourite parts of the day. 

You felt torn. You loved both males equally and didn’t want to come between their longstanding friendship. You didn’t want to have to choose between them. 

Their visits to your clinic had gotten less frequent, but Cassian insisted you needed some basic training. 

“Let me at least teach you some self-defence,” Cassian pouts at you for about the fiftieth time. 

You sigh, but smile as you roll your eyes. “Okay fine, it can’t hurt. But I’m no warrior, and I have no desire to be.” 

“I know, the only thing you’ve slain is my heart,” Cassian jests. “But,” he says, taking on a more serious tone, “I don’t expect you to fight in battle, I want you to be able to defend yourself if Azriel or I’m not around.”

————

Rhysand 

Mor waltzes into the office and throws herself on the plush couch. “Gods… They are even dumber than we thought,” she exclaims. “I really thought the potion would get things moving.”

Rhys runs his hand through his hair. “I know,” he agrees. “I’m sending them on a training exercise. Hopefully some time away will help them figure things out.”

————

Reader

You’re on your first-ever mission for the Night Court, camped deep in the forest of the Illyrian Steppes. 

You’d been informed that there were some Illyrian camps causing trouble in the area. You weren’t sure how your skills would help, but you were on standby in case anyone got injured. 

After a long day of hiking and scouting with little results, you’re setting up camp for the night. You stand over the small campfire, boiling water to sanitise your equipment. 

The loud crack of a branch breaking sounds behind you, followed by a low growl. 

You turn around slowly and find yourself face-to-face with a giant wolf. It’s enormous, towering over you. And those teeth… The sharp canines are exposed as it snarls at you. Your veins chill with fear and a sharp scream rips from your throat. 

You cautiously take a step back from the wolf, narrowly avoiding the fire. You don’t dare break eye contact. You try to stand tall, holding the only thing within reach - a ladle - brandishing it like a sword, like Azriel and Cassian taught you. 

You send a silent prayer to the Mother that one of your friends can save you before you become dinner.

————

Cassian 

Cassian sprints from the other side of the clearing at the sound of your screams, stopping dead in his tracks when he sees you wielding a ladle against the angry beast. The terror in your eyes strikes something deep within him, stoking the golden embers to life inside his chest.

His soul erupts in fury, and the deep need to protect. 

A battle cry sounds from Cassian’s lips as he charges towards the wolf with his knife out.

————

Azriel 

Azriel hears your scream before his shadows alert him of trouble. 

Adrenaline courses through his veins. The only thought in his mind is of saving you.  

He winnows straight to you. Right in front of the wolf. Within a second of his shadows dispersing, Azriel feels something sharp in his left side. 

He looks down and sees a hunting knife sticking out of his side, and a wide-eyed Cassian stepping back in shock.

————

Reader

You feel completely helpless as you watch the scene unfold in front of you. 

One minute, Cassian was hurling his knife towards the creature. The next, Azriel had winnowed right in the path of the blade. 

The wolf turns to look at the two Illyrians, who freeze under its yellow gaze. It huffs out a breath before turning on its heel and prowling back into the forest. 

Azriel shakes his head, hand going straight to the blade protruding from his side, “I can’t believe you stabbed me.”

“You practically winnowed into my knife,” Cassian exclaims. 

“Why didn’t you go for your sword? That knife would’ve bounced right off its hide,” Azriel bristles, irritation growing under his skin. 

You leap right into action, stepping in as the tension between the males starts to rise. “Looks like you did need me here after all,” you say, trying to diffuse the situation. “Azriel, sit on that log. I’ll just gather what I need.” 

Cassian stands back with his arms folded across his chest as you work on removing the blade and patching up the wound. 

“It’s not too deep, look it’s already clotting. It might just be a bit sore tonight, but you’re going to be fine.” You attempt to give Azriel your best reassuring smile. 

————

The rest of the night was strained. Both males were very quiet, only speaking in one-word responses. The silence was stifling, with the only sounds coming from the crackling fire and the scraping of cutlery on plates.

Unable to handle the creeping tension any longer, you retire to your tent early, leaving the males to work out whatever issues they have.

————

Cassian 

Azriel could hardly look at Cassian, and Cassian couldn’t bear it. 

His brother was staring into the dwindling fire, as he sharpened his blades. The sharp singing of stone on metal cut through the air between them. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened,” Cassian admits. “I was overcome by this need to protect. I was blinded by fear. I had to protect Y/N.” 

Azriel finally looks up from his work, his expression unreadable before returning to sharpening his daggers.

Cassian runs his hand through his hair. He figured Azriel deserved the truth. “Y/N is my mate. The bond snapped when I saw her standing there, holding that damned ladle like it would’ve done anything.” 

Azriel freezes, a mixture of confusion and shock in his eyes. “That’s not possible,” he says softly. 

“It’s the truth, I felt it.” 

“No… The mating bond snapped for me not long after I brought her to the Night Court,” Azriel states.

“How? We can’t both be her mates, can we?”

Azriels gaze is captured by something behind Cassian. Cassian turns to see what his brother is looking at and sees Y/N standing there.

————

Reader

You couldn’t sleep. 

You tossed and turned, replaying the earlier incident over and over in your head. 

You’re pulled from your thoughts by hushed voices outside your tent. The mention of your name grabs your attention, and you still your movements to glean what the males are discussing. 

“Y/N is my mate,” says an exasperated Cassian. 

Your entire world slows on its axis. 

All thoughts eddy from your mind except one - your mate. 

You quietly exit your tent, walking towards the males around the fire, when Azriel’s words stop you in your tracks. 

“The mating bond snapped for me not long after I brought her to the night court.”

Both of them. 

Both males whom you loved with all your heart were your mates. 

Was this the Cauldron’s idea of a cruel joke? 

You walk towards them, your mates, and the glimmering bond between you starts to appear. You can see the two strands coming from your heart, connecting your soul to each of the males before you. 

As if they can feel your presence, they both look up at you. 

“Y/N” Cassian murmurs, your name a prayer against his lips. 

You touch your heart as you feel the deep longing flow down the twin bonds. 

“Both of you?” you whisper.

“It’s rare, but I’ve read about similar occurrences,” Azriel admits, rising to his feet.

“But, how am I supposed to choose?” You say. Tears well in your eyes and your lip quivers at the thought of rejecting either male. 

Cassian and Azriel exchange glances and a small nod. 

“Who said anything about choosing?” Azriel asks.

“I know it’s a lot, you don’t have to decide anything here and now,” Cassian chimes in, reaching for your hand. “We’d be honoured to share you, if you’ll have us both.” Azriel steps forward, taking your other hand in his. “It won’t always be easy, but I’m willing to try for you. Truthfully, there’s no one else I’d rather be bound with,” Azriel finishes, meeting Cassian’s eye. 

The tears that threatened to spill pool over the edge of your lashes. You nod earnestly as you send all your love down the bonds to your mates. 

You pull them into a tight embrace, your bodies fitting together perfectly, like the final piece to a puzzle, the answer to a question you’d been asking your entire life. 

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･

Tags ♡ @littlestw01f @impossibelle @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @the-wall-willow @xasael @lilah-asteria @saltedcoffeescotch @mybestfriendmademe @therealmoonstone

#poly+acotarweek2024 #poly+acotarweek2024 d4 #poly!acotar #cazriel x reader #acotar #acosf #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #a court of thorns and roses #acotar oneshot #acomaf

[optimist-pine]

Mercy

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Warnings: Animal death

Summary: Daryl watches you hunt and he's left with a question he can't answer.

Era: Season 2, the farm

A/n: Haha this was supposed to be fluff under the title Archer. It's flangst now... Whoopsie.

     Daryl doesn't know what drives him to do it. Maybe it's simply boredom. More likely though, it's his growing desire to learn - to study you, study your technique. Maybe he's already impressed and all that's left is to see you in action.

     That's how he finds himself following you into the woods on this freshly arrived morning. He keeps his distance but it's not very difficult to keep track of you, your pace and direction consistent and reliable. When you do stop he finds himself watching with rapt attention.

     The way you wait is as reverent as a prayer. Your stance never shifting, arms steady and strong, posture perfect. Images of those ancient marble sculptures cross his mind, their bodies crafted into fine-tuned instruments. If he didn't know better, he'd say that the forest has gone still; nothing - not even the breeze - makes a move. The world has gone quiet, like even the animals are holding their breath.

     Then your arrow flies and the earth returns to life in full force, that is, everything except for one rabbit who has become quite still. Your arrow has pierced its eye with extreme precision, but he's not surprised. Every piece of game you've ever brought back has been taken down that exact same way.

     You collect the rabbit, removing and cleaning your arrow before continuing on deeper into the woods. Daryl doesn't mean to follow, but something spurs him onward. He's never really cared much for art, but if that's what you are, call him a damn aficionado. He's fascinated. 

     It takes a little while, but you suddenly pause. He spots the reason why - a large gray squirrel clings to the bark of a nearby tree, tail twitching. You take aim, graceful and smooth. But then, like last time, you hold your stance for one breath, then a second, and suddenly the squirrel quirks its head and bolts. He expects you to show at least some disappointment, but you simply let down your bow and continue on.

     This happens a few more times; you find your prey, ready your bow, and then wait. Sometimes you loose your arrow and other times you practically allow the animal to get away. This time you have your aim trained on a rather large rabbit, probably a buck. It turns, ready to run, and Daryl can tell you aren't going to shoot this one, so he does. As soon as his bolt hits its target your entire body pivots.

     He immediately finds himself at the business end of your bow, but the sharpness of your glare currently feels like the larger threat. "Are you following me?" You ask, lowering your weapon. The glare remains, although it seems to be softening.

     You'll know he's lying if he says he isn't, but he doesn't want to admit that he is. "Why d'yuh wait, when ya got'um in your sights?" He blurts out.

     You place the arrow back in your quiver with a sigh. "You are following me."

     "Jus' curious." He shrugs.

     You look up to the sky. "Dunno... Don't like killing things." Your gaze lands on the dead rabbit laying a little ways away. "Figure I'll give 'em one last chance to keep on livin'."

     He lets out a snort. Hunting is a way to secure a meal, not some moralistic nonsense. "So, yer like a damn fairytale princess or somethin'?" He asks. "Bes' friends wi'the woodland creatures an'all that?" He waves his hands around for emphasis.

     Your face hardens. "It'd be different if we really needed the food." You say sternly, turning to stalk away, back towards the farm. He grabs the now-joined rabbit and bolt and jogs after you, but you're moving at a surprisingly quick clip, dodging branches and roots with ease.

     When he's nearly caught up, you stop suddenly and he barely avoids plowing straight into you. You whip around to face him and he instinctively takes a step back. But you're not angry, at least not in the way that he was expecting. He'd been prepared for a slap in the face, not the deep sadness in your eyes. "Feels like some sorta mercy I guess." You say quietly.

     He doesn't feel bad about what he said, but your answer catches him off guard. The world is as cruel and as harsh as it's ever been. It doesn't care who lives and who dies, and it sure as hell isn't handing out second chances. "Not much'a that goin' around righ' now." He replies solemnly.

     "I don't wanna turn into someone who loses that." Your voice is soft and almost pleading and it pulls at something buried within him.

     With a jolt he's thrown into his own past. He knows what that loss does to a person, how much of his life he's spent terrified of becoming that. You're beginning to make a little more sense now. "Yuh, won't." He assures.

---

     As time passes, when you do desperately need the food and mercy is barely a reality, Daryl finds himself fighting to protect yours. When the two of you hunt, he insists you take point, that you stick to the way you did things that day at the farm. He'll be right behind you, your backup, he'll do what you shouldn't have to. That part of you - that's something that can't afford to ever be lost. He'll do everything in his power to see to that.

#twd #the walking dead #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #twd season 2 #optimist pine

[rainybyday]

Twin au but they meet at the worst time

Maybe it was a team-up, maybe it was a solo mission. Whatever the case, it was Damian who was in charge of sneaking into the vents and to the control room to extract all of this new government-funded research that the batfam was tracking. They recently have moved their sights into Gotham and had made movement into capturing Hood which set the whole family off much to Jason’s annoyance. 

Nevertheless, no one messes with the family. 

What was supposed to be an easy extraction mission became something more when, as Damian was going back, caught sight of a boy strapped across an operating table. 

At first, all Robin could see was the clear sight of dismembering and the gory sight of blood and what appeared to suspiciously look like Lazarus water all around the room. The tools were unethically dirty and the boy was faced away with a y-shape scar across his chest. 

There was a live experimentation right under their noses. 

Angered but silent, Damian jumped from the vents down into the room. The lack of security was one of the reasons why Damian was allowed to go in alone so he wasn’t worried about being caught. He could only press his lips once he felt the skin of the teen and testing for his pulse. There was none and Robin was too late.  

However, it was when he turned the victim to face him was when the world turned silent.

In the League Damina remembered of a sibling he once had, a younger twin to be exact. For their first few years, they were together, both learning how to properly run, and speak and how to understand the history of their bloodlines together, to understand the future they both take responsibility for. It was when they both reach a certain age did they both got separated. 

Damian was supposed to be the heir of the Bat while Danyal was supposed to be the heir of the al Ghul. That was their birthright. 

Of course, it upset him when they had to be kept apart. No more star gazing or animal watching or late-night cuddles as they fight for more heat in the suffocating cold. It became more and more difficult as months pass by and the only form of communication that Damian had with his twin were the few bits that his Mother gave him about his twin's training.

“Danyal is working hard to become our next heir Damian, don’t distract yourself.”

So Damian could only cling to those words of his brother's health as he trained for another day, to become the next Bat.

At least, that was the point of his training until he turned seven.

Grandfather himself came to see him, he came to see Damian! Not the other way around! So Damian knew this was important as Grandfather wouldn’t have come to see Damian personally unless something happened. 

And happened it did.

Because Damian was supposed to be trained to be both the heir of the Bat and the al Ghul starting that day.

Which could only mean one thing. 

Danyal had failed or Danyal had died.

And judging by Grandfather’s expression it must be the second one. 

Danyal is dead.

Danyal is gone. 

His twin was gone.

Danyal, the twin he hopelessly thought and cursed fate about for leaving him to pass away was now in front of him. Danyal the twin he sometimes dreamt in the dark and would wonder if the person in the mirror would look exactly like him was lying across a table of metal being opened apart. His twin that he lost was being experimented on and tortured was right in front of him dead.

He lost his twin for the third and final time. 

Five minutes later, Robin came out of an exploding building with a body held close to his chest. 

#Danny Phantom #danny fenton #Damian Wayne #batman #batfamily #dp x dc #dc x dp #twin au

[jamieontheroof]

Random things I noticed while playing What Remains Of Edith Finch

There was a poster of the cannery that Lewis worked at on the boat.

2. Edith Jr wears what appears to be an engagement on a necklace. Whether this is her ring or her mothers is not mentioned.

3. At the start of the game, Milton's missing posters are EVERYWHERE. There is even a giant pile of them in a nearby lake.

4. The dragon slide that crushed and killed Sven is still outside.

5. As you walk toward the house, the music gets louder.

6. The swing that Calvin flew off decades ago is still looped around the branch.

7. There was a spare peep hole in the garage that didn't have any names or dates on it.

8. At multiple points throughout the game you can hear a train in the background, despite the fact that the train tracks are clearly destroyed.

9. There are multiple pots throughout the Finch house that looks like they have eyes.

10. One of the books the Finches possessed was 'King in Yellow', a book known for making anyone who read it insane.

11. The house sounds alive, or like there are people constantly moving around it.

12. Walters bedroom is painted with both ocean and train designs. One of the paintings is the old house that Odin tried to bring to America.

13. There are drag marks on the ground of Walters bedroom (most likely made when his drawers were taken out of his room.)

14. The entrance to the tunnels is hidden by a book called 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, a classic sci-fi story about a sea monster.

15. Molly's room is filled entirely with animal books.

16. There is a jelly fish on Molly's bed (possible connection to the monster??).

17. Molly has a chalkboard in her bedroom where she is a princess in an underwater castle and Sven is about to get attacked by a sea monster (slightly resembling the dragon slide).

18. As shark!Molly starts falling down the cliff, she passes a road where headlights are briefly scene.

19. When the monster gets back to Molly's room, the window that cat!Molly jumped through is still open.

20. There are still Christmas decorations in Molly's room.

21. The curse is 500 years old. That is a lot of dead people.

22. In Odin's viewfinder, it states "His [Odin's] daughter, Edie, is already dreaming of new Finch house" showing that even though her own father died not even a week ago, Edie has already moved on.

23. The house is filled head to toe with books about death, including two that Odin wrote.

24. Sven's shrine does not have a log painting like the rest of the family. His portrait is painted on a simple canvas.

25. Edie has a number of strange tapes in her room including one titled "conspiracy now".

26. The toys from Gregory's final bath are still in the bathroom.

27. There is an old bottle of alcohol in the bathroom bin.

28. A lot of Sam's photos are based on Calvin (a swing, astronauts).

29. All of Milton's drawings are based on the death. (Molly = cat, Barbara = pumpkin)

30. There are cigarettes and gin on Sam's side of the room he shared with Calvin.

31. Calvin already had bruises, Band-Aids and a cast on his leg when he died.

32. Sam blames himself for challenging Calvin.

33. In the story, Calvin doesn't fall. He keeps flying.

34. Barbara's birthday cake is still in her room.

35. Barbara is holding crutches in her portrait.

36. There are totem-esc styles statues of both Calvin and Molly

37. Barbara's outfit is over the railing.

This is the same way the Hook-Man falls

38. "Performance of her life" can also mean that it is the performance she is known for.

39. There are spare portrait logs in the basement.

40. There is a fake window in the basement.

41. Edie's grave is finished despite her dying and then nobody else going to the house.

42. There is no grave for Milton.

43. Lewis' grave has a crown on it.

44. There are times wear it seems like you can hear sobbing (this one may just be me).

45. There is a box of Kay's old stuff in Sam's bedroom.

46. Odin has a park named after him.

47. This isn't a fact but I think this may be one of the funniest photos of the game (LIKE SIR? YOUR DAUGHTER IS SOBBING!).

48. Both Calvin and Dawn are on Sam's shrine.

49. Gus has a skateboard over his name.

50. Gregory has the soap bottle from his final bath in his shrine.

51. The music cuts out when Gregory isn't moving.

52. Same also blames himself for Gregory.

53. Gus never met his step mother.

54. Gus was crushed by the (totem) statues of his deceased relatives.

55. Dawn's light switch is the only one on

56. Most of the rules are about past deaths. (No playing outside without permission : Calvin, No answering door for strangers : Barbara, No messes after dark : Molly (???)).

57. Milton's garden has a castle (reference to the Unfinished Swan)

58. There is a small Sanjay shrine in the classroom

59. Edith JR did an assignment on her family history.

60. Lewis drew on his desk.

61. There is no death date for Milton on his peephole.

62. Edith JR wrote Milton's death date as 2003 (the year he disappeared).

63. The door from the flip book is in Milton's room.

64. Lewis' dream Palace is decorated with fish.

65. The gnomes scattered around the house are outside the original house in Edie's story.

66. The credits roll in reverse order.

AND THAT'S IT!! I had a few others I thought didn't need to go in.

#I didn't realise how much i wrote before making this post #it took me an hour to make this post #wroef #what remains of edith finch #game #video game #video game analysis #edith finch #edie finch #molly finch #dawn finch #calvin finch #sam finch #lewis finch #milton finch #barbara finch #gregory milton #kay carlyle #odin finch #sven finch #gus finch #walter finch

[nerdofspades]

Okay. DP x DC idea. What if the League met Fenton before they met Phantom. Not in a ghost fight. Not doing anything particularly weird. Just Danny Fenton trying his best.

When they first notice the ghosts of Amity Park they all get a little worried about it, but no one can beat out Batman's paranoia. Ghosts may not have caused too many problems outside of Amity yet, but he doesn't trust that to stay that way. So he researches.

He, of course, finds out about Phantom, but shelves his usual just-in-case-he-turns-evil plans until after he can get some ghostly experts to brief the League. He does some cursory research into Phantom's history and abilities, which of course drags up everything in the Amity News cycle and some references in both Ancient Egypt and Ancient Rome. (So Batsy gives up on the idea of finding out a human civilian identity. Kid's dead and his "life" has been lost to time until he decides to say something.)

But, more importantly, there are no good options for who to ask for lessons in ghost hunting.

First option: the GIW. Absolute morons who have never caught anything stronger than an ectopus, cause more damage to property than the ghosts, and have security so lax it doesn't even take Batman ten seconds to get in. Absolutely not. Not for the watch tower.

Second option: Vlad Co. Owned and operated by billionaire Vlad Masters who runs in the same social circles as Lex Luthor. He has better security than the GIW but the question with him is not whether or not he *could* keep the secret, but whether or not he *would.*

Third option: Dr.s Fenton of FentonWorks. They have the most cutting edge ghost hunting technology and the most published papers. But. Well. A brief survey of the town makes it very clear they are biased at best and bigoted at worst. Not something the League wants to associate with, but they are still the best of the bad options.

Or so they think until Bruce Wayne goes to open contact with them and notices the Fenton children. He knew about them before coming of course. Jasmine Fenton, top of her class with a full ride to Harvard and plans to major in psychology. Has historically been vocal about her distaste for her parent's work. Likely because of Danny. Daniel Fenton is a trouble maker barely scraping by in his classes that had an accident in his parents lab a year ago. Not the brightest and not well behaved, but by all accounts he's got a good heart.

And neither of then are very enthused about his presence in their home. Neither of them seem to care for their parents anti-ghost rhetoric either. Jazz tries to reason with them and Danny just rolls his eyes behind their back. And casually takes apart and fixes one of their inventions.

Bruce quickly makes a minor investing deal with the elder Fentons as cover and a quick way to keep and eye on their research and finds an excuse to get the kids out of the house to talk. Once out, he extends the Justice League's request for training with ghost hunting gear and a project to install anti-ecto security measures in their base(s). Danny is hesitant but agrees.

And Danny is so tired and so done with this crap when he's in the Watch Tower. (He's enamored with the space station for several minutes, but once he gets on track, the League think he's a mini Bruce. All business and telling them not to be idiots.)

He gives them a basic run down of what each item is and how to use it. Common ghostly abilities and power scaling. (Do not call him to consult on a blob ghost, ectopus, or other weak ghostly animal. But they are not to try and fight several of the stronger ghost. A fair amount of this tech will make their afterlives miserable, but won't actually do much beyond annoy them. Superman in particular should stay away from anything strong enough to overshadow. No one wants to fight a possessed Kryptonian.) He gives them plenty of thermoses, guns, nets, and specter deflectors plus some odds and ends for them to test out. And then he starts working on the shield, which he worked on with Tucker to upgrade so it would recognize his ecto signature as friendly (and a couple others like Clockwork, Pandora, Frostbite, and Wulf) so it wouldn't shoot him on the spot.

It would probably take several trips to get everything working properly, by which point Danny has likely made friends with a few League members. And a few of them have probably noticed something weird about him, but they ignore it cause he's a good kid and it's just a little weird. Won't hurt anything.

Constantine takes one look at the kid and is not seen again until months after he finally leaves.

But now they have working ghost defenses and they can protect people if a ghost tries to attack anywhere outside of Amity! (Yes, several ask Danny to install a shield at their personal hideouts as well. Batman tries to figure it out on his own and decides to just ask Danny for now. He'll figure it out eventually, but Fenton schematics are a pain and the power source doesn't look like anything he's ever seen before.)

Eventually everything is done and Danny goes back to his life with a large chunk of cash in his new bank account and a secure line just incase the league needs to consult with him again. Danny thinks that's the end of it until Batman shows up decked out in Fenton gear looking for Phantom.

Continue

#dp x dc #danny phantom #dc comics #batman paranoia #fanfiction #danny is so done with this and the league is not going to leave him alone #but he got to see the bat cave #and only the bat cave bruce will handle the manor personally once he figures out how the shield works

[erstwhilezealot]

Boot Worship

《NSFW》 《Minors DNI》

Simon Riley × afab reader (they/them pronouns used)

TW: BDSM with no pre-set rules, consensual degradation, no after care

Words: 4,026

Some trashy smut by yours truly. Simon Riley catches you pleasuring yourself while clutching his shirt in the locker room and pushes you into telling him you want to be degraded by him. Title is pretty self explanatory.

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Simon always found himself frustrated with the non-comabt duties of being a Lieutenant, the monotony of paper-work and sitting at a desk making him feel like a caged animal.

He was able to avoid this for the most part, until he took a nasty fall during a mission, injuring his arm to the point where he needed a month of recovery.

Despite plenty of grumbled complaints on his part, he was taken out of commission and, even worse, saddled with a platoon of privates to train.

They were fresh, they were dumb, and Simon found himself taking his frustration out on any one of them who stepped out of line.

One Private in particular had caught his attention repeatedly. He wasn't sure what it was, but he found his eyes finding them day after day, berating them every time they fell over or held their gun slightly off.

He knew it was unfair, but something about standing over them and shouting them down was satisfying to him. The way they would quiver under his gaze as he got into their face, a pink flush spreading over their face.

He made excuses to himself, pushing it off as frustration or wanting them to do better. But every once in a while the thought nagged at him that maybe his focus on them was a little more then work related.

Sitting in his office one evening, trying to get some work done he glanced up to see them quietly walking past, a small bag held in their hand.

Just the sight of them and his frustration bubbled up, wanting to follow them and demand what they were doing up so late, walking past his office and distracting him.

He imagined it, thinking of how they would look as he planted a hand over them on the wall, growling at them about sauntering around the barracks at all hours, distracting him from his work.

He imagined their whimpered apology, imagined leaning closer

"If youre so intent on distracting me."

He would growl,

"Then come into my office and make yourself useful."

The image of them under his desk, that same flush on their face as they sucked him off pushed itself into his brain.

He could feel his cock pulsing as filthy images of them letting him push his hand into their hair as they soaked his cock with their saliva.

He pushed himself back from the desk with a start. Jesus, where did that come from? He admonished himself under his breath,

That's your subordinate, you sick fuck

The thought didn't do anything to dull the uncomfortable pressure between his legs.

He rose to his feet, deciding a cold shower would dispel the unwanted thoughts.

He made his way down the hall, glad to see it was completely empty as he made his way to the locker room.

Rounding the corner to the locker room Simon heard a sound that stopped him in his tracks. A voice, their voice coming faintly from inside the locker room.

He got closer, straining to hear what they were saying and he stopped dead as he realized they weren't talking, they were moaning. Their voice coming out choked.

"Sir, please."

Their voice was low and breathy, he could tell they were attempting to keep quiet but the echo of the locker room carried the sound to where he stood, filling him with a fiery rage.

Deep down he knew that he had no business deciding what his subordinates got up to while outside his training but this didn't stop the stream of rage fueled thoughts.

Who did they think they were, fucking somebody somewhere they could be heard so easily? And calling them sir? He was their superior officer, not whatever nitwit private was shagging them against the lockers.

He stilled himself, waiting to see if their was a response. His pulse thrumming in his ears. He was going to tear them and whoever they were shagging a new one.

There was a long silence, then a little gasp from their lips.

Simon rounded the corner, his vision too clouded with anger to grasp exactly how inappropriate he was being.

From over the lockers he could see the top of their head. Sat on one of the benches, alone. Simon couldn't see the rest of their body but catching a movement of their hand he realized with a start that they were touching themselves.

He told himself he should leave, that this was inappropriate. They weren't actually shagging anyone so he should just leave them to it. Or make a sound like he had just come in and not heard them.

But he didn't.

He approached them, moving with a practiced silence. He could see them now, back facing him, sat on a towel on the low bench. They leaned back in a position that didn't look fully comfortable, their shorts bunched around their spread legs.

He could see their hand moving in quick circles, the exertion spreading a pink flush over their back.

And over their nose was a shirt,

His shirt.

The thought landed just as he realized that his locker hung open next to them. That he must've forgotten to lock it that day after training.

Another quiet moan from their lips,

"Please Lieutenant."

Him,

They were thinking of him.

He did not think, before he acted. Purposefully setting a boot down heavy enough for them to hear.

Your POV

A sound that could only be described as a squeak fell from your lips as you heard a footfall behind you.

Scrambling you attempted to secure your shorts around your waist, as you turned your head.

As your eyes locked on a white skull mask your already sinking stomach hurtled to the floor. Another squeak, whilst you struggled to shuffle to your feet, shorts bunched low on your hips.

Snapping up to what remnants of a salute you could muster, you stared at him, eyes wide, entire body burning.

"Sir-"

You began weekly

"What were you doing private?"

His voice was low, dangerous. He eyes you, his eyes dark and unreadable.

"I- I'm so sorry sir. I shouldn't have- I should've..."

He took another step towards you,

"I didn't ask for an apology private. I asked you a question. What. Were. You. Doing?"

You couldn't dare meet his eyes, fuck you were done for,

"I was... touching myself Lieutenant, sir."

"Touching yourself."

He repeated you in a low, level tone.

There was a long pause and you wished that he would just take the gun from his hip and put you out of your misery.

"While holding my shirt."

It wasn't a question. You squeaked as you followed his gaze to your hand, realizing you were still holding the shirt. Your first instinct was to drop it but wouldn't dare let his shirt touch the grimy floor. You resigned yourself to your fate,

"Yes sir."

"Why?"

The single question was the worst possible thing he could've asked. Again, a bullet would be preferable to having to explain your feelings to the brick wall in front of you.

"Beacause I ah- sort of... like you... sir."

It sounds so lame, so fucking juvenile. He was your superior officer and you "liked" him.

He clicked his tongue, his expression still painfully unreadable.

"You like me, so you sit here and touch yourself clutching my shirt. S'that right?"

You nod pathetically.

"I'm out here cursing and shouting at you about trigger discipline, and you like me. Why is that private?"

This was hell, you were in hell. And he was here to torture you. God, you thought him torturing you would be fun. You were wrong.

"I... I dunno sir I guess I... like, that sort of... thing."

"You like it."

God you wished he would stop repeating you.

"So you think about me... what, shouting at you while you touch yourself?"

"Uhm, well not particularly."

"Then what?"

Was he asking you your kinks?

"Sir I don't think-"

He took another step toward you, and you could smell the scent of his aftershave.

"What do you think about private?"

You knew his low tone meant danger,

"You... degrading me... sir... calling me names."

"Names like what?"

Your voice was weak, the words hard to choke out,

"Like... you calling me, a- uh, slut."

Another long pause,

"Are you?"

"Wh-what... s-sir?"

"Do you think you're a slut? You, sneaking into my locker the one time I forget to lock it to get yourself off while you smell my shirt. Does that make you a slut?"

A whimper choked it's way up your throat,

"I... that is a bit um... slutty. Sir."

Another silence

"So you're a slut then."

Your breath caught in your throat, what was happening? He was supposed to be marching you out of here for a dishonorable discharge, not whatever this was.

"Sir?"

"Say it. Tell me your a slut."

Your stomach did a flip, pinned in his heavy, expectant gaze 

"I'm a slut... sir"

It came out as a question, as you tried to puzzle out what he wanted from you.

He sighed. Apparently that was the wrong choice.

"Like you mean it private."

God with every sentence he unraveled you mentally more and more. At this point you just wanted to run but his hulking figure blocked ant escape route.

"I'm a slut sir."

The words hung in the air, and you scanned his face, waiting to see if that was the right answer to this surreal game

"That's right, was that so hard private? How am I supposed to call you a slut if you don't even believe it?"

Your mouth opened and closed, air completely gone from your lungs.

"Is it just me you think about... or would you be touching yourself for any superior officer who shouts you down?"

"N-no sir. It's just you. You're all I think about."

He cocked his head, and with a panic you realized how that sounded. Like you loved him. You searched for the words to explain yourself, to remedy the damage. None came.

"S'that right?"

He closed the distance between you more, towering over you. His body was so close your legs started to quake a little.

"A slut just for me then?"

Tilting his head to the side, he placed a hand on your hip. The touch sending a jolt of electricity to your core. His fingers skimmed lightly over the curve, continuing to stare as if admiring it. You were breathless, your gaze only able to fixate on his hand as it made smooth motions over your hip.

"Seems a bit odd then don't you think? If you're supposed to be my slut, for you to be here, touching yourself without even asking. Helping yourself to my things."

His hand gripped your hip tighter and you gasped, his words settling on your chest like a brick,

"Seems like you might need to be taught to keep your hands off of things that aren't yours, hm?"

"S-sir... I- I don't understand."

He chuckled darkly,

"What's not to understand private? You said you wanted me to degrade you hm? So are you going to be a good slut and let me, or were you jus' playing with me? Cause' I don't take too kindly to being played with."

"N-no sir... I want you to."

"Then take these off."

His hands tugged at your shorts, still rucked halfway down your hips.

Your movements were slow and unsure, looking at him for reassurance as you hooked your thumbs into the waistband.

He sighed at your hesitancy, reaching out with a fluid motion and pulling them down around your legs. You gasped, the cool air highlighting just how exposed you were as you stood naked in front of him.

"Back on the bench again pet. I want to see what you've been doing to my property. And let's be quick about it, I don't like my time being wasted."

As if there was motor controlling your actions, you sat back on the bench with a small thump, kicking off your shorts from around your legs.

Staring up at him, you felt like a dog waiting for a treat, wanting his approval desperately.

"Spread your legs."

The simple command sent warmth pooling at your core. You didn't give yourself time to second guess as you did as he asked, pushing your knees apart.

"Feet on the bench pet. Need to see how wet you've gotten yourself"

God he didn't even have to touch you and you were already a pathetic mess for him, whimpering while you exposed yourself to him completely.

The silence was heavy as he cocked his head to the side, staring at you. Through you. Assessing your most private bits like a butcher about to slice into a choice cut.

After a long moment he reached out a gloved hand, still eyeing you as he reached two fingers to spread you open, leaning in to get a better view.

It made you feel like some sort of lab experiment. Him, fully clothed, assessing and prodding your naked cunt with a cold precision.

You gasped as two fingers slid through your folds, slicking his hand with a thin sheen of your juices.

He held it up, regarding how you had soaked his glove, expression ever unreadable.

"Fuckin' soaked yourself, haven't you? Just the scent of my t-shirt and you're dripping wet."

He hissed a breath through his teeth,

"Absolutely filthy."

You gave a weak nod. He could say whatever he wanted about you, just as long as he kept talking like that. Kept looking at you like he was going to devour you whole.

Coming towards you again, he held his hand out toward your face.

"Clean it off."

Your face burned as you wrapped your lips around the fingers, meeting his eyes with a look that you hoped was sultry, trying to ignore the fact that looking directly into his face terrified you.

He rewarded you with a small grunt from deep in his throat and your insides felt like they would melt out completely.

Shifting the fingers deeper into your throat, he cocked his head to admire how deeply they pressed into your mouth, the rough tips of his fingers brushing over your tongue.

You sat up, reaching for him, wanting to feel the solid expanse of his chest through his shirt. But his bear-like paw caught your wrist, pulling it away.

"Tch, pet. What makes you think I should let you touch me? Without even asking nonetheless? This about teaching you to keep those filthy hands to yourself."

You gasped,

"I'm sorry sir. Please forgive me."

"Are you really?"

He dropped your wrist, and you wanted to whine at the loss of his touch.

"You don't seem sorry. You seem like a filthy little whore. Fucking yourself off in the locker room where anyone could see you. Gripping my shirt, touching your little cunt that belongs to me. Then as soon as I even touch you, you want to jump all over me. Fucking slut."

A pathetic whimper left your throat

"Please sir, I'm sorry. I can be good, I want to be good for you."

"Not sure if I believe you love. Might need you to prove yourself for me."

He wrapped a hand through your hair, tugging  gently at the strands, tilting it to the side.

"But what to do with you hm? I'm sure this little throat would look good bulging with my cock, but you need to earn that."

"Maybe, since you're so desperate for me. You can hump my boot hm? Prove that little pussy is mine by grinding it into my boot while I watch."

Another dumb nod as his words turned you into a puddle.

His voice was low and husky,

"Get to it then pet."

You hesitated.

"Uh, here sir?"

"Where else?"

His tone was impatient, like you were a child he was explaining something very basic to.

"Shouldn't we go somewhere more... private, maybe?"

He laughed,

"Well pet, I don't think you thought of privacy when you were fucking yourself here, hm? 'Sides, if anyone walks in I'll tell them to fuck off. Or..."

He smirked at you,

"Better yet I could let them watch.  Let them see what a little whore you are for your superior officer. It's my choice isn't it? Since you are my slut after all. So. Get to it."

Knees shaking, you dropped down in front of him, the cement floor cold against your bare legs.

You looked up at him, dark eyes drinking you in as you awkwardly shifted yourself to hover over his boot, trying not to grip his leg too hard. His expectant gaze heavy as you gave a hesitant grind into the leather of his boot.

The material was smooth and hard against your soaking cunt, the seams around the toe cap dragging across the squishy flesh in a surprisingly pleasant way.

You rocked yourself forward, attempting to find a rhythm against the unyielding leather but struggled to find purchase without clutching onto the Lieutenant's leg like a child.

You continued to grind pathetically, not daring to meet Ghost's eyes as you made your sad attempt to fuck his boot.

A hand in your hair, grasping a fistful of strands loosely,

"Harder pet."

Whining pathetically, you desperately tried to work yourself against the smooth leather harder, the slickness between your legs causing you to slip, ass meeting the cement floor.

His grip in your hair tightened a little and your mind went fuzzy with the firm pressure of his hand tugging at your head,

"Mm, this is pathetic isn't it? Can't even fuck my boot properly. Thought you were my slut, hm? Guess I shouldn't bother."

He made a motion to pull away from you, and the horror of loosing his attention made all attempts at retaining your dignity fly out the window.

Upon instinct, your arms locked around his leg desperately. Your face pressing into the rough material of his jeans as you shoved your hips against his leg sloppily.

"Please sir... I- ah fuck- I can do it sir. Plese let me."

Wanton whimpers fell from your lips as you rutted your hips against him, focusing on nothing but your slick cunt sliding over his boot.

He chucked darkly, pursing his lips at you, almost mockingly,

"That's better pet. Look at how desperate you are for me. Like a bitch in heat, aren't you?

"Mm, yes sir. G-god I need it."

You kept going, your cunt making obscene squelching noises as your slick coated his boot almost completely.

Another tug at your hair, pulling so your chin pointed up at him,

"Look at me while you do that pet. Wanna see how dumb your eyes look while you grind into me."

You already knew they did. It was like every braincell you had was melting out from your aching cunt and onto his boot. 

"Yeah, that's a good sight. Dumb little pet, humping my fucking boot. Down where you belong."

His hand unraveled from your hair to move to the front of his jeans,

"Now, pet. I'm gonna get my cock out, and I'm gonna stroke myself off. And you're gonna watch, an' keep fuckin' my boot so I can use that pretty mouth to cum, yeah?"

You nodded, desperate hunger plain on your face,

"Yeah, I knew you'd like that. Fuckin desperate to swallow me aren't you."

You swallowed thickly as he unzipped his jeans, pulling out his cock and running a hand over the thick length.

It was like you were studying a fucking art piece, tracing each raised vein under the slightly red skin with your eyes. You wanted to touch it, to feel the soft warmth in your hands, to see how small they looked wrapped around it. To hear his soft grunts as he pressed it into your throat. But you didn't dare try to touch him again, contenting yourself to grind your aching cunt over his boot as he began to stroke himself with quick, languid strokes.

"This what you've been wanting pet? To be my little toy to make do whatever filthy little thing I please?"

His words were intercut with soft guttural grunts, his hand moving over his prick with precise strokes.

You gasped out an agreement, clutching to him like he was a god you were worshipping with each rut of your hips.

"S'what I thought love, greedy little thing you are. Don't worry pet, now that you've shown me who that little cunt belongs to I fully intend on using it. Whenever I like."

He accented his statement by shifting the tip of his boot to press up, further into the folds of your pussy, drawing a gasp from your lips.

His words sent another gush of heat coursing through you. Your Lieutenant, Ghost, wanted to fuck you. Wanted to use you in whatever way he pleased. The thought sent you into a near frenzy, thrusting against his boot with quick, needy strokes.

You both set your own wordless rythym,  him pumping a single, strong hand over the length of his cock as you kept pace with your desperate grinds of his boot. Your small gasps and his quiet grunts the only sound passing between you.

He leaned his head back, his strokes becoming shorter and quicker as you could see his peak approaching. A single, large hand shot out and gripped your hair, pulling your face towards him.

"Open."

The single word was all you needed to stretch your mouth wide, your tongue outstretched and waiting for him.

He looked down at you, his dark eyes hooded.

"Fuck you look perfect like that. Little slut all ready to swallow my cum."

He pulled your face closer to his cock, tapping the head of it against your tongue a few times, his pre already leaking into your mouth.

He hissed out a shallow breath as a few more strokes brought him to his peak, ropes of his cum painting your tongue and lips. His voice was choked as his cock twitched, grip on your hair tightening with his unraveling.

"S'a good slut. G'na swallow me yeah?"

You nodded, the movement brushing his cockhead lightly over your tongue causing him a final twtch as the last of his cum dripped onto your tongue.

He breathed deeply, watching you as you pulled your tongue in, his taste filling your mouth.

"Mm, that taste good pet?"

You gave a swallow,

"Yes sir."

He smirked,

"You haven't finished yet though. Look at this mess you've made of my boot. Absolutely soaked it "

He nudged the glistening boot toward you,

"Clean it up."

Your hazed over brain couldn't comprehend his meaning. You reached out with a tentative hand to wipe your juices from the leather of his boot.

"Stop."

He sighed,

"You really are like a dumb puppy aren't you? Need me to spell everything out for you? Lick. It. Up."

A flush filled your face. Stooping, you pressed your tongue to the tip of his boot, the tang of your arousel mixing with the earthy taste of the leather.

Planting a hand on either side of the boot, you lavished long strokes over it, not wanting to chance not doing a good enough job. You didn't stop to look back up at him until you were sure you had reached every drop.

Meeting his eyes, you saw his head cocked as if he had been admiring the sight of you licking his boot.

"That's a good pet."

He knelt to your level, tilting your chin to meet his eyes.

"And now, you're gonna go back to your bunk to rest. And you're gonna keep those filthy hands off of my things."

He leaned in close, his voice low.

"Cause' if you lay a finger on that little cunt. I'll know. And I'll fuckin' wreck you. Understood?"

You nodded weakly,

"Thas right pet. Course..."

He tilted his head,

"I might just wreck you anyway."

He rose, his boots retreating from your sight as you lay on the cold floor, still breathing heavily.

#ghost cod #simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost smut #simon riley #simon riley × you #ghost x reader #ghost x afab reader #simon ghost riley #ghost #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost smut

[animusicnerd]

Underneath This Moon

☾ Genre: Fluff ☾ Warnings: N/A ☾ Pairing(s): Lilia x GN! Reader ☾ Notes: Entry for @briarvalleyarchives "Wedding Day" Event!

“Do we really have to do a full wedding? Can’t we just elope?” 

You rolled your eyes at your lover’s complaints, pulling him along as the two of you continued down the dirt trail. Lilia pouted but nonetheless, followed your lead, relieved to be outside of the castle.

For the last couple of days, the two of you had been cooped up in your office. Going over piles of work on the wedding with servants and family dashing in and out of your office asking for your opinion on what food there was to be served or what flowers would be in the centerpieces. Truthfully, Lilia would rather go back to his own job, helping the new recruits train but he was not going to leave all the planning to you. 

He wasn’t sure how you did it all day. Staying inside your office, bent over the desk with your nose in either a book or a scroll. Hell, his back started hurting an hour into going over the guest list but you continued on without a single complaint while scribbling away into the checklist you had compiled for the wedding. He dreaded having to do it again tomorrow.

Lilia leaned in closer, his arm wrapping around and settling around your waist as yours went around his. Your first instinct whenever he did so. 

“We could do it right now~” he sang softly, giving you a mischievous grin on his face. 

Neither of you were planning the ceremony itself for no one needed to witness your vows. Your words to each other were enough to bind the two of you forever in matrimony. Most of the planning was for the party after. So really what was stopping the two of you from exchanging your vows now?

You stopped dead in your tracks, giving your lover a blank stare as he blinked innocently at you. For a few moments, you said nothing. Only keeping the blank stare on your face, simply looking at your lover up and down before saying, “No.”

Lilia’s shoulders dropped with faux disappointment but he quickly recovered himself as soon as he saw you walk away. His cheeks heated up as he caught your small smile, gently squeezing his hand before the two of you continued on your walk. 

The dirt trail softly crunched underneath your feet as you walked through the forest. Moonlight streamed through the forest canopy, illuminating your path to a destination unknown to both of you. Not many animals were out and about, it was past midnight after all, and they had other things to worry about other than two faeries taking a stroll. 

It felt… nice being outside after being stuck in your office for so long. Neither of you had taken much of a break, pausing only to eat but even then it was only for a short while before you were back to work. The fresh air was greatly needed and appreciated, though you would love it if the comfortable silence between you and your lover would have time to settle.

“My dearest love, the light of my life,” Lilia pleaded, gripping your hand tighter for dramatic effect, nearly on his knees as you continued to walk, “please let us just elope for I fear if I have to be asked once again what color the napkins will be, I shall die an early death.”

You chuckled, stopping in your tracks to see him on his knees, a playful pout on his lips as his eyes sparkled with mischief. He gripped the hem of your cloak and upon noticing you had stopped, he inched closer. The dirt crunched under his knees and you gave him a concerned look as pain briefly flashed across his face but he waved it off with a pleading smile.

After a few silent moments, Lilia’s grip slackened and his grip weakened. His pout turned into a frown as he sat on his legs. You were obviously taking joy in his misery. There was an amused look in your eyes as you smirked down at him. Both of you were aware he was joking, but he couldn’t help the heavy weight in his chest forming as you didn’t answer. Like you were actually considering whether to marry him or not. A tinge of fear flooded him but it quickly went away as you kneeled down in front of him, moving his grip from your cloak to your hands and spoke,

“You are the most annoying being that I have met. You have pushed my boundaries to new heights but never enough to make me uncomfortable. For that, I am thankful, so I shall declare this here and now.” Lilia stared at you with wide eyes. His mouth became dry, tears slightly welling up in his eyes as you smiled, softly squeezing his hands before you continued. “Underneath this moon, I declare you, Lilia Vanrouge, as my spouse. With these words, I am wed to you and am yours until the end of time.”

It took a minute for him to process your words. Love and warmth flooded through him. The fear from earlier had completely subsided and was replaced with joy as he finally realized your words. Your vows to him. He wanted nothing more than to wrap you up in his embrace and pepper as many kisses as he can to your face but he didn’t. 

Instead, he smiled and lifted your hand, brushing his thumb over your knuckles before pressing a soft kiss over them. His lips were warm and soft against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine before he pulled back gazing back into your eyes.

“Believe me when I say that annoying you is a talent I take joy in, my dear.” He let out a small oomph as you lightly smacked his chest, lightly chuckling before continuing. “Despite that, you still love me as much as I love you. You have been there for me when no one else has. Put up with my antics, pushed my boundaries as much as I have pushed yours, and cared for me when no one else was there. For that, I am thankful…” Lilia’s voice grew soft with every word, both of your hearts pounding in your chests as he spoke, still not quite believing this was happening. “Underneath this moon, I, Lilia Vanrouge, declare you as my spouse and with these words, I am wed to you and am yours until the end of time.”

#briarvalleyarchives #twisted wonderland #twst diasomnia #diasomnia #lilia vanrouge #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #diasomnia x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #lilia x reader

[marlynnofmany]

Kittens in Space

The first rule of keeping cats aboard a spaceship is don’t lose the cats on the spaceship. I know this. I know it better than the rest of the crew! I’m the Earthling here, the animal expert with actual veterinarian training, and I’m the one who brought them onboard. I told the captain with confidence that I could keep track of them.

Well, guess what I just did.

The problem was immediately obvious when I woke up. Every morning for the last few days had started with cutesy kitten pounces and thumps as they batted toys about the room. Sometimes I’d get a tail in my face; other times I’d hear a crash as they discovered how to reach another yet high shelf. Not once had I woken to silence.

Today I did. And as soon as I realized it, I sat up with a jerk to scan the room, my heartbeat loud in my ears.

Catnip mice and foam balls were everywhere. My shoes were still on the coat hooks; they hadn’t managed to knock them down yet. Nothing was swatted off the shelves. And no kittens lay on the floor dead after eating alien food, so at least there was that. But where were they?

I moved my feet toward the floor, disturbing a lump that meowed sleepily. Tapestry the mom cat was curled up on my bed; I hadn’t seen her. And now that I wasn’t jostling the blankets anymore, she curled back up for some hard-earned rest.

But no kittens. I stroked her tabby fur and looked for smaller balls of fluff, but found none. She didn’t seem worried. Hopefully that was a good sign. I stood and hurried to the bathroom.

My quarters were small, basically just the two rooms, since I spent most of my time with the rest of the crew. There really shouldn’t have been any good hiding spots that I hadn’t already blocked off. The bed didn’t even have space underneath it; that’s where my clothes drawers were. And I’d made sure the little fluffbrains couldn’t open those on their own, much less close them again.

They weren’t in the bathroom. Not in the closed-lid toilet, or the space-age shower stall, or the cabinet of supplies. Not in the trash can (again). They hadn’t gotten closed up in the foldable sink; I always left it sticking out of the wall. Where were they?

They couldn’t have gotten out into the hallway. No. Just not possible. I would have heard if someone inexplicably opened the door to my quarters without knocking, not that anyone would. Especially while I was asleep.

I told myself that there was no way they could be wandering the ship and getting stuck in the engine room. Mimi would notice animals hiding among his engine parts. Heck, the entire ship was bound to have someone around, ready to spot the furry little troublemakers, no matter how stealthy they were. I was pretty sure they resembled food on at least one homeworld. My crewmates weren’t the sort to hurt them, though; everyone knew full well that I had them here. The kittens wouldn’t be mistaken for pests.

Hopefully.

I really don’t want to announce to everyone that I’ve lost them, I thought, leaving the bathroom. They’ve got to be in here somewhere. What am I missing?

I surveyed the toy-covered room, trying for the umpteenth time to see catproofing opportunities that I hadn’t addressed.

Bed, bookshelf, other shelves. Bedside table with the lamp bolted down. Desk and chair. The litterbox was in the bathroom, with the food and water dishes along the wall beside me. There were no curtains to climb, and hardly any decorations, just the digital window with its chunky gold frame — someone’s secondhand idea of class — and the fake plants on the shelves. The bite marks on those weren’t new.

But the positioning was.  

I stepped closer, staring and second-guessing, and yes they were definitely pushed out of place. And now that I thought about it, the digital frame was slightly crooked too. That spectacular alien sunset with the planetary rings in the background was out of alignment with the corner of the room.

Like someone stepped on it. Now where would they—

I froze in place, feeling stupid. Ah. Right.

Ever look at something so often that you stop noticing it? I may have mentioned that this was a spaceship. Metal walls, plasticky floors, no real windows.

A ceiling covered in twisty pipes.

I hadn’t considered catproofing the ceiling; it was too high to reach (ha), and surely not the kind of place that kittens would hide.

But as I stepped onto the bed and brought my face up close to the lowest curve, I realized that the faint engine sounds I’d long gotten used to sounded an awful lot like purring.

There they were. All five of the fuzzy little bastards were snuggled into a happy pile among the pipes without a care in the world. They meeped sleepily when I stuck a hand in.

“I can’t believe you,” I murmured. They ignored me.

The air was warm but not hot, and the pipes were vibrating faintly. While Captain Sunlight had assured me that there was no radiation to worry about, I figured it couldn’t hurt to double-check. Sleeping on top of the things could easily be a different prospect from sleeping in a bed below.

“All right, down for now,” I told them, scooping up the kittens despite their protests and setting them on the bed. “Be good little fluffbrains and sleep here while I — no? No, of course not.” They were already tumbling to the floor with strident mews for food. Tapestry stretched and jumped down as well.

I sighed and got out the cat food. If I was quick about it, I could get out the door before they tried to follow me. That net I’d tried to rig up as a baby gate hadn’t stopped them crawling under.

“Good kitties,” I said, tugging my shoes on as they ate. “You behave yourselves. I’m just going to make sure your favorite new hiding place isn’t going to give you extra eyeballs or something. Maybe I’ll set up a new shelf there so you don’t fall on my face during the night.”

I slipped out the door just as the first kitten finished eating — appropriately enough, it was the gray shorthair who Mimi had insisted I name after him. There weren’t any green cats in the litter, so gray was close enough.

“Meeeeee,” declared Mimi-the-kitten as the door closed.

“Yup,” I agreed.

Once I was sure the latch wasn’t about to pop loose, I took long strides toward the engine room. My heartbeat was totally calm and normal; why do you ask?

~~~

The ongoing backstory of the main character from this book. More to come!

#my writing #the Token Human #humans are weird #cats #kittens #life with cats #haso #hfy #eiad

[secret-engima]

Kumo Thoughts

So this will hopefully be quick but the most common take I see for Kumo in the Naruto fandom is that it's a overly militaristic hellhole (pardon the language) that kidnaps and forcibly breeds any bloodline it can get its hands on and like.

I get it?

the Naruto ninja world is absolutely messed up enough to accommodate a village like that. Especially with- *waves at Kiri*, *waves at ROOT*, *waves at Ame*, *wa-*. But I feel like personally I think that's. The shallowest take? Like if that's how you wanna world build it! You can! Lots of angst and interesting subterfuge down that way.

But we seen in canon that shinobi who live in Really horrible villages do tend to go missing-nin en masse; Kiri is the poster child for this, but Iwa and Suna both have some ... pretty noticeable defections. On the flip side the only REAL Kumo missing-nin we see, iirc, are the Kinkaku brothers.

From The First Shinobi War.

Like- what are things we know about Kumo *really* from the show/s?

and the one everyone harps on in worldbuilding- they tried to kidnap Hinata and Kushina.

HOWEVER. The rest of the things we know about them are:

2. Their Raikage is allergic to doors. He refuses to acknowledge doors. He can and will smash through any wall, window, or other non-door entity in order to exit or enter a room when at all possible. This is not the behavior of a Strict Rigid Militaristic Man this is the behavior of a feral gorilla someone stuffed in an office and expected to do paperwork. Which, granted, A is fully capable of doing his paperwork, by all accounts he's actually really good at running his village. But again. This man is allergic to doors or manners and anyone who is willing to arm wrestle Senju Tsunade to get medical assistance for his own men can't be all bad let's be real.

3. Killer B exists. I feel like he alone is enough evidence against the "military breeding program hellhole" fanon but to break it down. This "brother" of A is not actually his brother. In canon, B is literally just- *some kid*, AT BEST a cousin of the previous Jinchuuriki but that is not confirmed iirc, that was among several other kids that were all lined up and told "we need a new Jinchuuriki and A needs a fighting buddy, run at this training dummy and see if you can help him decapitate it" and when B was the one who succeeded they went "congrats you're his brother now, here's your complimentary octopus monster". And like everyone just accepts this? Not a SINGLE person calls B as a fake brother or points out that he and A are not actually related. Not to mention B has the strongest and most stable relationship with his Biju until Naruto and Kurama work out their bromance, and B was rocking that friendship with his biju *years* before Naruto even knew Kurama was a Thing That Existed.

4. B is also beloved by his village. BELOVED. The people adore him and his weird rapping nonsense. And yeah there's flashbacks in the anime to that not being the case when he was first introduced but B was actually able to work on changing their minds. You really think "small feral child rapping at civilians to make them warm up to him" would have flown in Kiri? In Iwa who canonically keep abusing their jinchuuriki to the point of running off? Nope. No sir. B is also allowed to have a team of his own, and seems to not only be an accepted member of the village but also a much trusted and beloved one who is even allowed his own team? Even Konoha doesn't have that good a track record lbr. It took Naruto face punching the guy who just committed genocide on the entire village for Konoha to go "you know what? We like you now".

5. One of the only other jinchuuriki we see that has fully mastered their Biju state and is on good terms with their Biju while also not being a missing-nin (or brainwashed and then immediately dead) is ALSO a Kumo ninja. Namely the holder of the Two Tails. Now on the wiki it says that she was put through a "detestable" training program but we all know how inconsistent Kishi is with... everything worldbuilding ever. And if we go off behavior alone from the brief scenes with her, Yugito Nii is?? Really stable??? And solid with her Biju??? She gave her pawprint for an Uchiha child's book of cat paw prints for crying out loud.

6. throughout the entire show, Jinchuuriki are consistently treated as the lowest class citizens. In basically every village. Naruto in Konoha, Kushina cried when she realized Minato was going to make Naruto a Jinchuuriki and put him through what she went through growing up as one so you know she didn't have a great time either, GAARA is his own entire dissertation on Jinchuuriki treatment and stability, Fuu was raised by the village leader of her village but had zero friends and was canonically super lonely and isolated, Han and Roku straight up ran away from Iwa because of whatever they were put through, a maneuver only repeated in another village by Utakata from Kiri. But in Kumo we find two jinchuuriki who have mastered their biju, are well respected by their peers and fellow citizens, and are basically treated like any other really weirdo ninja from the village barring needing to be monitored with bodyguards in B's case, which is mostly because he keeps running away to go train under rap artists so you can understand why A is ready to go frothing at the mouth feral at his brother sometimes.

All I'm saying is that if even the village's "monsters" are treated that way, why does everyone stick with the fanon that they're a breeding, bloodline stealing hellhole?

Imo it would be WAY more fun to world build Kumo as the feral mountain ninja-mandalorians of the Elemental Nations, who have a reputation for bloodline theft because they keep finding Actual Strays, Refugees from other villages, and Illegitimate bloodline children and going: YO ANYONE GONNA ADOPT THIS? and not waiting for an answer. Your a missing ninja from Kiri and you're fed up with both them and missing-nin life and want to come work for us? Great. Oh you also have a valuable kekkei genkai that can be inherited? Awesome have you heard of our red light district and child support program or better yet our tax deductible program for marrying one of our lovely civilians and raising a family here where no bloodline purges will ever happen ever. Oh you're a stray Uzumaki on the run from bloodline hunters? Well we may have been involved in destroying Uzushio (depends on your fan interpretation since canonically we do not know which villages did that other than Not Konoha) but we also have hot food, good housing, high ninja standards of living, and free weekly entertainment in betting when our Raikage is going to launch his desk at his brother like a high speed missile because B's rapping got too cringy.

Let Hinata's and Kushina's kidnapping either be the exception to their usual playbook of how they acquire bloodlines (hey it's not their fault if the other villages can't keep it in their pants/can't inspire loyalty) OR have it be seen, culturally in Kumo, as something more akin to a rescue mission. Yes these two girls are useful and have useful bloodlines, that's tactically wise, but also have you SEEN how Konoha treats their jinchuuriki? They have seal master princess and are treating her like a dog on a leash! And literally everyone knows what the Hyuuga do to their own kids if they aren't main branch, and we can't rescue any of those kids without their eyeballs exploding and them dying but hey we can snag the heiress and then any kids she has won't have to be branded so-.

Like I feel that would be so much more INTERESTING? Instead of having Konoha be the only "nice" village and make this weird tonal dissonance for how the "nice" village has the most incompetent leadership (Sarutobi) and underground atrocities (Danzo and Orochimaru) while every other village is Horrible All The Time For Everyone why not have Kumo be actually Really Functional and treat their shinobi and Jinchuuriki well and their horrible reputation is *mostly* (not entirely, because. Ninja.) be cultural clashes between the feral mountain ninja and Everyone Else and propaganda from the other villages who would like their shinobi to STOP DEFECTING TO KUMO PLEASE. WHAT DO YOU MEAN THEY HAVE DENTAL.

Seriously I feel like there is so much more you could do with that angle than just "yet another shinobi village that is Bad and Awful and Needs The Power of Friendship yet somehow has this really stupid goofy jinchuuriki man who loves his brother and his village shut up don't think about it".

#Secret Engima Rambles #naruto #naruto worldbuilding #ninja economics #naruto economics #kumo #naruto kumo #long post

[mlm-writer]

For Kinktober’s Sake (Wade Wilson x M!Reader)

Pairing: Omega!Wade Wilson aka Deadpool x Alpha!Male Reader Rating: Explicit Words: 1545 POV: Second Summary: Since the mutations, Wade cannot go into heat anymore, but that will not stop him from getting rawed by his alpha boyfriend in a rut. Note: For the prompt ‘knotting’.  See my kinktober 2022 masterlist here. Tags: omegaverse, 4th wall breaking, established relationship, if omegas get hot then alphas should get cold I actually do make the rules around here, breeding kink, buttplug, dirty talk, consent and no mention of mpreg

The coffee pot was empty and equally empty mugs sat in the sink. With the late morning sun teasing the tips of your toes, you laid spread out on the sofa, eyes trained on the anime you decided to binge today. It was just any other lazy Sunday, when you felt something change in your body. It was so subtle, at first you thought the eggs you had for breakfast had gone bad. Then, Wade passed behind you and stopped dead in his tracks. “You’re going into a rut,” he stated as a matter of fact. 

“Huh?” You replied very intelligently, as you ripped your thoughts from the storyline. You then realised you were  a little colder than usual and something was itching underneath your skin. “Oh… yeah. I should make arrangements before it hits full force tomorrow. I didn’t know you could still smell ruts.” You paused your anime and sat up to text your boss that you were not going to come in next week.  

“Oh I didn’t say? My nose is fine, it is just my own hormones that got fucked over by all these mutations.”

“Your hormones and your face,” you quipped back, smirking without taking your eyes off your phone. 

“Wow, low blow,” Wade replied, while leaping over the back of the sofa, so he could sit next to you. “So… I know I can’t go into heat anymore, but if I buy a big bottle o’ lube and stretch a lot, will you let me spend your rut with you?” He wrapped his arms around one of yours and pressed his cheek against your bicep. 

You put your phone down and looked at him. “I don’t know, Wade… I can get a little uh… not myself, you know?” You avoided using something like ‘aggressive’ or ‘animalistic’; it would have only turned Wade on and encouraged him. 

Wade let out an annoyed grunt and let go of you. “Please, spare me the cliché shit!” He exclaimed, before putting on a mocking tone. “I don’t wanna hurt you! I am dangerous!” You sighed when Wade climbed into your lap. He did not smell like an omega, but in your pre-rut, the neutral smell was quite welcoming. You wondered if he never had that distinct smell or if he had the mutations to thank for that. “Please, I promise I will be a good boy. Besides, you could tear my whole body in two and I’d still survive. Did I tell you I was just a head once?”

You put your hands on his hips to stop him from grinding into you like a horny little pup. “Babe, I know you’re a glutton for pain, but I am more concerned about you seeing me differently once you have seen me in my rut.” 

You stared your boyfriend down, letting him know that you were serious about this. His expression softened, indicating he was done with joking around for a second or two. “Don’t worry pookie poo. I’m so in love, you can have so many red flags that you could start a business and I will still love you.” 

That was as serious as Wade could get. He started rubbing himself all over you as if he could scent you. “Come on, give in already so we can get to the timeskip and the people get the filthy smut they came here for. It is kinktober, you know?” Wade whined into your neck. 

“Wade… It is September.” 

—

The texture of the thick blanket on top of you was awful, but you were so, so cold. A hunger sat deep within your gut, but it was not time to address it yet. When nuzzling Wade earlier brought you no relief, you had the suspicion that your body might never be satisfied without the omega hormones, so Wade was out making a last minute run. The anticipation of his return only made you feel worse. You wanted him and you wanted him right now.

You shivered and pressed your nose in the blanket. It smelled like Wade, but didn’t calm the rut itching underneath your skin. Your situation was nothing but torture. You smelled Wade coming into the apartment and tossed the blankets towards the other side of the room. You all but ran to the door, having to duck out of the way when your boyfriend opened it. “Oh he…” 

You did not let him finish his greeting. The delectable scent of omega was on his skin and you needed to inhale it. You slammed the door closed and pushed Wade against it. Your ice cold body found relief in Wade’s body heat and the omega hormones he had generously dabbed on his neck. “You’re fucking cold,” Wade complained. If he was an omega in heat, he would have loved your icy skin. 

“Shut up, I need to fucking breed you,” you growled against his skin. You knew your boyfriend was having the time of his life, when you roughly pushed him onto the bed. You took your hoodie and sweatpants off, cock already hard as a rock. Wade matched your urgency and undressed as quickly as he could, before grabbing one of the many huge bottles of lube you bought. 

You put him on hands and knees and put your face between his asscheeks, grabbing the buttplug he had worn while making his errand run with your teeth. “I can’t believe you wore this to the pharmacy,” you groaned, after you tossed the buttplug in the direction of the blankets. When you plunged your fingers inside him, Wade moaned wantonly. His voice entranced you, as you fingered him further open, adding a generous amount of lube on his already slicked up hole. “I can’t wait, babe, I need to fuck you.” 

“Then do it.” Wade said it so casually, but his words were like gasoline on a fire. You rubbed your thick cock over his hole, getting it slick as well. The first thrust inside Wade’s tight hole was so much stimulation all at once, it took everything to hold back from pushing in further and knotting him right off the bat. “Fuck yeah, that’s it. Come on, fuck me like an animal, alpha,” your slutty boyfriend groaned out. 

It was the final push that set the ball rolling off a very steep hill. You wanted to take it slow at first, but the hormones clouded your mind. You put an arm around Wade and pulled his body up so his back was pressed against your chest, while you fucked him deep. His skin got hot so quickly and the heat was an amazing relief to the chill that the rut put you in. There was nothing on your mind, but driving your hard cock deep inside Wade. Your knot pushed at his entrance, but did not yet breach it. 

“Fuck yes, use me. I’m your omega toy,” Wade screamed into the room, his eyes rolled back and his mouth hanging open a little. You needed him. You started thrusting harder, trying to get the knot inside him and pump him full of your seed. “Ah! Fuck! More lube! Ow, more lube!” You groaned in frustration as you needed to let go of Wade to fulfil his request. Wade fell face down onto the bed. You could see him breathing violently, while you grabbed the lube and nearly emptied it over your knot. You pushed Wade down further, until he was lying prone bone on the bed. 

“Lie still, my omega. I’m going to breed you full. You will take my knot.” Wade whimpered under your voice. He was keening, while you pushed your cock inside him up to the knot. You pushed harder and harder, while the sounds coming from your boyfriend indicated he was in the grey area between pleasure and pain. 

“Oh my god, yes!” Wade screamed when your knot popped it. You immediately rutted into him, moving your knot inside him as much as you could. Wade was howling, already coming from the friction with the mattress. You were not done though. “Come on, breed me!” Wade demanded, his face cycling through five different expressions, all of them showing you he was hungry for your load inside him. “The writer doesn’t have forever! Do you have any idea how hard it is to write 31 sex scenes without getting repetitive as fuck?” You had no idea what he was talking about, but something deep inside you told you he was right. However, writing 31 sex scenes without getting repetitive was not the only hard thing right now. 

You pushed as deep as you could inside of your omega. His walls contracted around you and his delectable heat sent you over the edge. You cursed as you bent your body over his. Your entire body shook with the relief of scratching the itch your rut created. You rolled to the side, bringing Wade with you, forced to be the little spoon, while your knot kept you tied together. You let out a sigh, snuggling into his body heat. “Rest, Wade. I’m not done with you.” 

Wade chuckled and patted the arm you had around his waist. “I know, sweetcheeks, but, for the sake of kinktober, the writer definitely is.”

#wade wilson #deadpool #wade wilson x reader #wade wilson x male reader #deadpool x reader #deadpool x male reader #male reader #kinktober #kinktober 2022 #marvel #marvel x you #marvel x reader #marvel x male reader #Marvel x Y/N #ryan reynolds