A/N: Yeah, Edward’s and Haytham’s are slightly NSFW. Just beware of the Kenways.
31. (Ah Tabai)
The sight was quite comical, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip to contain your laugh. The normally intellectual and too-wise-for-his-own-good Mayan man was staring down at your gun like it had just grown a head. Granted, it was the newest model available and even you hadn’t gotten the hang of it, but he looked entirely lost. His hands were all over the silver metal, pausing once it reached the trigger.
“Careful there.” You chuckled, attempting to convey some kind of warning in your statement but failing miserably. “I don’t really feel like dying today.”
He only glared up at you for a moment, a blazing fire beneath his eyes as he looked back down at the offending object. Truthfully, you’d never seen him carry a gun. It was strange and unnatural, the way he held it telling you that he wasn’t very familiar with the item, especially this model.
“Do you even know how that works?” You asked, a smirk tugging at your lips and arms crossed over your chest. Ah Tabai was always confident in his work, but not to the point of cockiness. He knew his abilities and his limits, but for the life of you, you’d never seen him look so unsure.
“Of course I know how this works!” He replied back, clearly offended at your insinuation.
“Whatever you say, O’ Great One.” You winked, snatching your gun back from him. Oddly enough, he looked almost flustered.
32. (Arno Dorian)
You’d been stuck with him all day and it was only getting worse. It wasn’t that you didn’t like Arno, in fact it was quite the opposite, but he just seemed so different towards you. You had seriously thought that there was something between the two of you at one point, but then it just stopped. It might’ve been the smarter move to ask him what was wrong, but you honestly thought it best to give him space. If he wanted to talk, he’d talk. Only he didn’t; he only got more and more silent, even going as far as avoiding you outright most days.
So as you sat here, squished shoulder to shoulder in a small closet, each second ticked by ever slowly, the silence absolutely maddening. Finally, fed up with his behavior recently and completely sick of the deafening quiet, you sighed.
“Let’s just take them.” You muttered impatiently, moving to go. Arno snaked a hand around your arm, pulling your body flush against him.
“You are not going out there.” He replied rather harshly, keeping you tight in his grasp. It was infuriating, frustrating, and, you shuddered, absolutely divine.
“Chances are, we will most definitely be able to escape.” You argued, nodding a head in the direction of the door.
“And what if you’re wrong?” He questioned. “What if you are killed because you left it to chance?” Your brows furrowed, curious eyes attempting to look into his in the darkness. Unfortunately, the shadows covered the both of you, masking each other from the other.
“What the hell are you going on about, Arno?”
“Despite what you may think, I’m actually quite fond of you and I’d prefer it if you didn’t die.” He hissed, both arms moving up further to encompass you wholly. Honestly, you weren’t entirely sure what was wrong with him, but you really couldn’t mind too much when his sweet scent was overflooding your senses and his warm arms were forcing your head to rest against his chest.
33. (Shaun Hastings)
“You are honestly the biggest asshole I’ve ever met.” You deadpanned, looking back to Desmond to make sure he was okay. He seemed pretty drained from his last session in the Animus and Shaun wasn’t making things any better by keeping up a constant stream of complaints and sarcastic remarks.
“We have things to do,” Shaun crossed his arms over his chest, staring at you like you were a small child that needed berating.
“Shut it, Shaun,” you huffed, sending a reassuring smile to Desmond. He smiled back to you, rolling his eyes at the British man.
“I’m just being realistic here.” He defended himself. You scowled, marching past Shaun and dragging him by the collar with you. He was spouting off insults every inch of the way, turning on you with a glare when you finally stopped outside of the loft.
“Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you?” You ground out, hands on hips and eyes drilling holes into his head.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He sniffed, pushing his glasses further up on his nose.
“Shaun?” You asked, voice much softer.
“I haven’t got you to myself in weeks.” He grumbled, a soft hand resting on your hip. “It’s more than a little frustrating.” A genuine smile bloomed on your face, your eyes softening.
“You could’ve just said that.” You rolled your eyes, wrapping your arms around his neck. His other hand came up to press your lower back closer, eyes shining brilliantly under the bright lights.
“Oh, but where’s the fun in that?”
34. (Edward Kenway)
Okay, you could admit that it was funny in the beginning. You’d laughed along with everybody else when he stumbled onto the table or when he began yelling senselessly to the others in the tavern. But now that he’s barely on his feet, practically being dragged by you, you were definitely not laughing.
“You’ve had way too much alcohol.” You muttered, taking another large step as you attempted to pull the bulky man. It didn’t work out as you planned, your back smacking into his chest.
“There’s no such thing as too much alcohol.” He slurred, warm breath ghosting along the back of your neck. You shivered, much to your chagrin. The captain was attractive and he knew it. You always tried to act nonchalant about it, but it was getting harder and harder. Little moments like these were most definitely not helping your case any. “Ah, love, why must you wound me so?”
“What are you talking about?” You ground out, muscles groaning in protest as you took another step.
“I want you in my bed.” He said lowly, causing you to pause. “I want you beneath me as I fuck you senseless, my name on your lips.” Your eyes widened, a swallow working its way down your throat. Arousal pooled low in your stomach, his husky voice doing nothing to tamp it down. He laughed. “But you stubbornly refuse.” His shoulders attempted to shrug, sloppily accomplishing their task. Bloody rum, you cursed internally, glaring at Edward’s back as he walked away, his steps uncoordinated.
35. (Jacob Frye)
“Do I even want to know why there’s a dead body on my floor?” Jacob asked dryly, an arched eyebrow barely visible beneath the shadow of his top hat.
“Probably not,” you shrugged, taking another swig of your pint as you leaned back against the headboard of his bed, watching the man on the floor with a carefully placed mask. His blood was shining on the floor, the remnants on your blade still hot. It hadn’t been a particularly gruesome battle, but it wasn’t entirely enjoyable. Although, you mused, he definitely did deserve it. The man had been terrorizing London for far too long.
“What did he do?” Jacob asked, careful steps bringing him closer to you. He snatched the drink from your hands, sipping from it with a wink to you.
“Oh, you know, this and that.” You waved it off, glaring at your drink like it had betrayed you for allowing Jacob to drink from it.
“Real informative,” he drawled, setting the pint onto the nearby stand with a clank. “We’re going down to the pub while I have some Rooks clean this mess up.” His accent was thicker than normal, telling you that he’d definitely already been to the pub. Even if you couldn’t tell by his accent, the smell of alcohol was heavy in the air around him.
36. (Malik Al-Sayf)
In all honesty, you were exceedingly excellent at eliminating your targets. But you really hadn’t expected another mission so soon and you were definitely not in any condition to begin one again. So when you stumbled into the Assassin’s Bureau of Jerusalem, it wasn’t exactly surprising that you were bloodied and beaten. Malik cast a questioning eye in your direction, gesturing towards you with his good hand.
“Might I inquire what happened?” He asked, his tone laced with sarcasm.
“Very funny, Malik.” He had been well aware that you weren’t suited for this job but you were determined. It was very possible that your determination wasn’t the brightest idea at the moment, but you couldn’t care less. “Here.” You threw the feather at him, sighing when it floated gracefully down to the floor not two inches in front of you. You glared at the object, looking up to Malik and pleading silently for him to pick it up. He had an eyebrow raised at you, his gaze moving from the feather soaked in the blood of your target back to you.
“It’s not my job to retrieve it.” He stated. “And your mission isn’t complete until you hand me the feather.”
“I hate you.” You muttered, eyes still trained on the feather.
“That is a job for a-”
“If you finish that sentence I’m cutting out your tongue.” You threatened, a scowl forming on your lips.
“Novice.” He laughed, eyes shining mischievously.
“I hate you, Malik.” You groaned, dropping down onto your knees painfully.
“Sometimes I really question if you know what we’re doing.” His voice was the very definition of playfulness, the normal affection he’d always had towards you present.
“I do too, Malik, I do too.” You whispered, eyes closing. You didn’t need to open them to know he had shuffled over and picked up the feather. And you definitely didn’t need to open them to know he had smiled softly at you when he did so.
37. (Jacob Frye)
The day had been filled with a never ending line of annoyances, ushering themselves in one by one. Simply put, it was exhausting. And out of all the infuriating things to happen that day, none was worse than your current predicament. You glared down at the offending material, the stuffy layers causing you to shuffle in place as you clenched your jaw, your grip on Jacob tightening to the point of pain.
“If you just relax, you might find that you even enjoy it.” He laughed between his smile, somehow still appearing grandiose. At least he didn’t have to wear a flipping dress, you fumed, pulling at the coarse material, the corset digging painfully into your abdomen.
“Have you ever been in a corset?” You hissed.
“I can’t say I have.” His smirk widened as the both of you bowed respectively to whatever pompous asshole approached you next.
“Well, let me tell you, it’s not fun.” Your words were dripping with venom, wishing for nothing more than to drop down in your comfy bed and forget about the world for a few hours.
“I don’t think they’re supposed to be fun, love.” He whispered, lips against your ear.
“Obviously not.” You scowled, a hand smoothing out the vibrant colors. You hated it, felt entirely helpless in it. It made you feel stripped of your armor, of everything that made you an Assassin. With these layers of clothing, you might as well be another clueless woman looking for a man to marry.
“Besides, you look quite good in them.” He winked, eyes purposely raking down your body in a show of theatrics. Oh, you were so ripping these clothes off. And, you smirked, you were so ripping Jacob’s clothes off too.
38. (Haytham Kenway)
You’d never seen him like this; eye blown wide, chest puffed out, lips parted, and teeth shining. The room had long since been abandoned, the two of you the only occupants save for a rickety old desk, barely in commision. It was frightening, the absolute feral look in his eye, but at the same time, it was intoxicating.
The smell of old spices and fresh mint swirled in the air around you as he took a confident step forward, the hat on his head moving slightly as he breathed you in. You were too enraptured to do anything but stare, arousal stabbing you like a dagger to your gut. He didn’t even have to touch you, sparks already flying at the electricity in his stare. But when he did touch you, you couldn’t help but moan, smooth skin moving along smooth skin. He wasn’t gentle as he shoved you back, parting your legs with a rough shove to your knees.
Both of his hands were hooked behind your legs, pulling you against the very evident bulge in his trousers.
“Haytham,” you breathed, a hand trailing down the hard planes of his chest. You could feel the heavy thrum of his heart beneath, the beat speeding up at your touch.
“You look absolutely delicious.” He growled, lips centimeters from yours. He was purposefully teasing you, moving away whenever you pushed forward to connect your mouths. It was torturous and sinful, your body burning with an animalistic need for him. “What do you want?” His breath caressed your ear as he spoke, hands jerking you even tighter against him. You couldn’t help but squirm, attempting to sate the need for friction.
“You,” you whispered roughly, “I want all of you.” He only smiled in return, teeth glinting dangerously.
39. (Ezio Auditore)
Messing with Ezio was way more fun than it should be. You were quite sure that you’d annoyed the Master Assassin to no end but you couldn’t help it. His expression when he got mad! He’d try to be all intimidating, but he never was in your eyes. Hell, he only made it worse when he tried to act all angry. But, you looked to him with wide eyes, each heavy breath causing your chest to brush against his, you may have taken it just a teensy bit too far.
“Ezio?” You cursed your tone, wishing that you sounded more confident and less nervous. He was looking to you like he was a minute away from devouring you or strangling you, and you honestly didn’t want to find out. It was supposed to be a harmless prank; flirt a little, wink a little, lure him into the bedroom, then bang, leave him there, running off to go finish your mission. Only, you shuddered, Ezio definitely didn’t look like he’d be letting you run off into the night like you planned. In fact, you weren’t entirely sure if you’d survive this night.
“You’re not leaving, bella.” His voice was pure sin, each syllable rolling immaculately off of his tongue like he held the world.
“I didn’t mean to-” Whatever you were planning on saying flew out the window, along with your resolve, when his hand began a slow descent, leaving desire in its wake.
“Trust me, we won’t be leaving this room for a very long time.” The lust clouding his beautiful orbs scared you, his touch moving ever lower.
“Why,” you cleared your throat, hoping to bring it back to its normal level. “Why’s that?” You feigned innocence, the smirk on his face being absolutely illegal.
“You know why,” he spoke against your send, each word being felt more than heard. Oh, you were in so much trouble. But with his skilled touch, you couldn’t be too upset about it.
Annoyance was evident on his gruff features as you poked him once again, hoping to get his attention. He steadfastly ignored you, eyes watching Edward across the pub. You poked once again, harder this time, smiling when he looked towards you. His lips were straight across the dark skin of his face, the candlelight reflecting brilliantly off each one of his features.
“I’d ask you not to do that, but we both know you’d just do it even more.” He stated dryly, eyes beating down on you.
“Nice to know you listen.” You grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest. “I have been speaking to you this whole time.”
“I know,” he replied, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at his lips. You gasped in a mocking manner, a hand on your chest.
“What’s this, Adéwalé is actually smiling for me?” Your tone was dripping with sarcasm, a wry smile on your face.
“You’re not as funny as you think.” He huffed, mirroring your stance.
“I think you’ll find that I’m very funny.” You sent a pointed look in Edward’s direction, the blonde captain nearly tripping over his feet. “If you spent a little time worrying about blondie over there, you might notice.”
“He is the captain.” Adéwalé said, his tone sounding almost final.
“And you’re the quartermaster, good for the both of you.” Both hands flew up, gesturing wildly. “But I’d like to speak to you, Adé, and you make that exceedingly hard when you don’t take your attention off of Mr. Captain.”
“Why?” He asked simply, surprising you somewhat. A smile bloomed on your face, this one much softer than before.
“Because I enjoy talking to you.” He seemed at a loss for words, watching you with guarded eyes. “Problem?”
“No.” He shook his head, a small smile returning. You always did love it when he smiled.
So, I’m not exactly a fan of zombie apocalypse stories, for the most part. But do you know what’s been rattling around in my brain as a fun twist on those kinds of stories?
A setting where zombies are a strange, new, unnatural form of undead, and the main ally that humanity has in the face of them are other types of undead, because people who are already dead are immune to the zombie virus.
Ghosts pick up weapons and hold them tightly as they struggle to stay solid those few moments longer. They are unafraid to come close to ensure every strike counts, because they have no flesh to damage, from the assaults of the zombies themselves or from their own artillery. Some fight out of affection for their still-living descendants, while others simply claim that a world with only the dead would be a boring one to haunt.
Vampires stalk the perimeters of the settlements at night, like sheepdogs guarding their flock. Their night vision makes them the finest sentries once the sun goes down, and their superhuman speed and strength sends them tearing through any stray zombies that draw too close to the walls. They claim that they protect the humans out of concern for their food source, nothing more, but some seem to harbour a little fondness for ‘their’ humans, all the same.
Wraiths are so similar to their cousins the vampires, but it’s fear, sorrow, and grief that they feed on, and there’s never any shortage of that. Trembling hands of militia still in their presence, their breathing steadying as they take their shot. Those who would cry well into the night or suffer nightmares sleep more soundly once one walks past their home. They bring what comfort and support they can to the living in these dark times, though some wish they could do more.
Ghouls. Oh, the ghouls. At a glance, they look like fresh zombies, lurching corpses that do not rot, but they are stronger, smarter, and work together in packs to take down prey rather than swarming mindlessly. Tamed by other undead, they eagerly hunt zombies, easily overwhelming their weaker, virus-created mirror. For how useful they are, however, humans still give these tame ghouls a wide berth, and few can blame them.
NejiTen is probably one of the most realistic OTP in the Naruto Universe. They trusted and believed in each other and their skills. They would have been the couple to just have just naturally fallen for each other. They weren’t forced and they didn’t show interest in anyone else really. Their relationship would have been very casual and respectful. Honestly Seeing them with other characters would have been rather strange and “unnatural ”
It is really sad that Kishimoto killed one of the most skilled ninjas for Hinata-Sama to end up with Naruto and for what? COMPLETE AND UTTER BULLSHIT. After Neji’s death nothing changed. Poor Team Gai lost a friend for literally nothing.
Preston looked out onto the calm, and stray river as the petals form the nearby trees began to fall. He had heard of far off worlds, and planes that contained strange, or unnatural things to his world. Though this, was something else entirely, as the morning sun slowly rose behind the mountains. He had finally taken some time to finally relax, and let his mind wonder freely, as he let out a low sigh. “Such beauty.” He whispered to himself.
Fame is strange and unnatural, and I’m grateful for it mainly because it has put me in a position where I can actually do something positive for the world. I am going through some personal things that have been really intense and hard lately, and I just want to say thank you for any support I have received.
Your antagonist has a weird dream and keeps seeing something that was in their dream over and over again that entire day. What was their dream? What do they keep seeing? How do they react to the strange, unnatural continuity of symbolism?
I try to get out of the bonds in annoyance as I was tied to a post nearest one of the bridges overlaying the sickeningly serene lake. I have never seen unfrozen snow before since now..this hot spring weather felt to strange and unnatural.
How did they get it to warm here!?
I look around. The spoils of the caravan was piled around with strangers going though our things.
"Hey watch it! Do you know how much that is worth?"
One of them smashes the goblet on the ground just to be a ass so I do not comment when they sort though the goods anymore. I was not the only one Father and the Siern took alive. Many were tied up and bonged near by and a large man came picking though them.
"This one will take to the treatments quite well I think.."
"Go ahead and take him..he isn't worth that much.."
One of my friends is dragged off screaming.
"Good I need more replacements right away..." He paced off in a mood. From what I have over heard some of them were in a hostage situation and preparing for war. I was probably
there was a fucking furry convention in a hotel in canada where syrian refugees were assigned temporarily living & naturally everyone would thought this would have been a disaster but the syrian kids started coming out to play with the fursuiters and both the kidsand furries were having a blast and prompted the freaked out parents to come and take pictures of their kids smiling with these strange ass unnaturally colored animal suit people & this is the absolute wildest heartwarming story ive ever heard im so glad those parents get to see their kids play and smile after whatever horrors they’ve been thru.
“Lovesong” by the Cure….. ha.. you sap. (1st part is set in the time b/t 4a and 4b and second part post 4b).
He was always calling it magic.
She was always correcting him.
This so called “land without magic” seemed to be filled with a magic of its own kind. Without a shred of doubt, Killian had a habit to be baffled by the strange things that filled this land he was trying to shape his new life in. (He knew the irony of that statement considering just how long of a life he’s had thus far.)
Lately it was music.
More specifically, it was sitting in Swan’s spectacular yellow vessel listening to this world’s music.
The variety! It could be almost overwhelming if he let it. Smooth to harsh beats. Strange almost tinny, unnatural voices to the crooning of a man’s voice who Swan simply named “Frank.” There were instruments that he could somewhat recognize that must be similar to the ones back in his home-realm, and ones that he could not even put a name to or understand the manner of which they were played.
It was bloody cold outside.
He often loathed to ever admit a defeat to the weather, but this time he acquiesce to the harsh chill in the air when his lady Swan asked if she should keep the car “running.” The question had only given him a slight pause, but he quickly inferred her meaning of allowing her vessel to keep piping in the hot air into its cabin.
Another plus side to keeping it “running,” was the control he had of the musical offerings of the mysterious magic- no, technology- that Swan called a radio.
Killian had to reach across himself to reach the circular knob that twisted to and fro that turned the crackling sound into something resembling coherent noise. He couldn’t settle on anything in particular, and his arm was starting to feel the burn at holding it at such an awkward angle.
Xorn: I’m a healer. Wolverine: With a skull mask? Xorn: Can’t have the Alpha without the Omega. Cyclops, Wolverine, Emma Frost—I can sense a strange unnatural blockage within each of you. Describe your problems more fully so that I can seek out the root cause… Cyclops: My optic blasts are super weak and they’re recharging so slowly… I used to be able to fire blasts powerful enough to knock down vault doors one after another. Now it’s taking me days to recharge after a single blast. Wolverine: My healing factor is shot. I should be able to recover from any injury in a matter of minutes. Not so much now. My friggin’ fingertips haven’t grown back after twelve hours. Emma: And mostly I’m just bored.
E is for Extinction no. 2 (2015) Chris Burnham, Dennis Culver, Ramon Villalobos, and Ian Herring