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saeist · 10 months

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"how many times do i have to say it? no" nagi breathes out, barely even acknowledging your presence as he continues to play on his computer in his dorm room

with a loud huff, loud enough for him to hear even with his headphones on, you flop down at his bed, sprawling your arms around as you stare up at his ceiling

"c'mon sei! i'm literally almost legal but yet i still don't even have a first boyfriend, let alone a first kiss!" you complained, throwing your hands over you face

you see nagi shrug before retorting something along the lines of 'what does that have to do with me'

"nagiiiiii" you drag out, hoping to get a reaction from him. to which, you do get a reaction from him! his signature look of boredom.

"fine. i'll help you"

"yay" you clapped your hands

"only if you buy me 5 battlepasses and whatever i want on the nightmarket" nagi bargains

with a deep sigh, you agree "fine!"

after a bit of more complaining to nagi that you were infact bitchless for most of your life and you're getting a little desperate to get some action as you are a junior in college and two, most of your other friends that isn't nagi are in relationships which makes you a tad bit jealous that you are gonna die alone anyway without getting some any action

you don't know how you even got to this point of the conversation where whether or not nagi has or had been in relationships but here you are now

"so wait, let me get this straight.." you pause, holding your palm out as a way of making nagi pause whatever he's mumbling about, "you already kissed someone?"

nagi shrugs again, "it was only because of some spin the bottle shit reo made me play at some party we went to"

"so that makes you experienced then?"

"not really"

"but you already have your first kiss?"

"i guess?"

"then you are experienced!"

nagi gives you a puzzled look as he lies down next to you. "what do you want me to do then?" he asked, just so he can be done with it

"i want you to teach me how to kiss" you turn to look at him with a glint of your eyes that basically screams "i am determined to get the perfect first kiss with someone i will pursue"

nagi looks dumbfounded at your completely bizarre request. he looked at you like you just grew a second head

"what the fuck"

in the end nagi does eventually give in (not because you totally bribed him again into buying him an entire collection worth of items at his nightmarket and some battlepasses that could easily be around 3 months worthwhile)

so now here you were, seated across from nagi, ready to learn how to kiss and what better way to learn than to ask your best (and only) friend at your college!

"so do i just close my eyes or..?" you start, beginning to feel self aware at the situation that you brought yourself onto

"i'd prefer that" nagi retorts, making you giggle a bit because of how funny he sounded

"okay.. okay" you breathe, closing your eyes as you slowly start leaning in.

"... my eyes are now closed"

for the record, nagi didn't really mind nor care if you opted to opening your eyes while doing this whole thing but he just doesn't want to see you see him all worked up

"i'm leaning in" nagi warns you, so that you won't feel like he's being invasive or all that funky shit. basically he just didn't want you to get the wrong idea

and so, your lips meet.

"congrats, you got your first kiss" nagi casually says as not even a millisecond later, he pulls away and moves to the other side of his bed

"nagi! that was barely even a kiss!"

"how would you know if you never had it before this?" he retorts, making you heat up in partial embarrassment because it was true that you didn't have your first kiss yet and the other reason being which that he was technically your first kiss

"i-i just know, okay damn it!" you stammered, "let's do it again!"

"if you want to kiss me that badly just say so" nagi attempts to make a joke to lighten up the dampen mood but from what you think, he just worsened the whole situation

"haha very funny nag–" before you could even finish your sentence, nagi crashes his lips against yours.

instinctively you placed your hands over his chest to which he places them over his neck, giving him more room to suck your face off.

you may or may not have accidentally moaned in the midst of this activity you two were doing which prompted into something more

you were now laying flat at his bed with him hovering you. still not breaking the kiss whatsoever. his shirt long gone, now at the floor. everything was going smooth

that is until reo decides it would be the most perfect time to barge in to tell nagi about how he just got a new pair of soccer shoes that were issued at the latest soccer magazine

"nagi! you'll never believe what i just got! it's the one messi just wore at the cover of– JESUS CHRIST"

reo basically shrieked, shielding his eyes with said magazine.

you and nagi basically separated. your eyes dart to nagi's shirtless body and to reo who was looking between you and nagi. just in time for a hypothetical light bulb to pop up at the top of his head

"oh.. i'm just gonna" reo throws his thumb back at nagi's door and dashes out before yelling "be safe you two!"

when the door closes, you and nagi both sigh in relief that he was gone but the damage was done

"well.."

"uhh.." you fiddled with your fingers, unable to look at nagi in the eye.

"how was that then as your first lesson?" as always, nagi just seems to find a way to try and cut the atmosphere although this time, it worked.

"it was a splendid demonstration. i'll rate it a 8/10" you applaud

nagi crawls over to you with a small mischievous glint in his eyes. he traps you in between his arms as he stares down at you.

"just an 8?"

feeling a little frisky, and obviously enjoying what was going on earlier right before reo interrupted, you decide that maybe learning from nagi wouldn't hurt a thing or two

you throw your hands over nagi's neck before responding to him

"could you show me how you did that thing earlier with your tongue again? i couldn't quite get that" you say in a fake curious tone making nagi chuckle

"okay. let me demonstrate it to you again. thoroughly" nagi whispers before catching your lips with his.

you went to school with nagi's hoodie the next day and people (and reo) could only guess why

#blue lock imagines #bllk imagines #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #nagi imagines #nagi x reader #nagi seishiro imagines #nagi seishiro x reader #nagi scenarios #nagi x you #nagi fluff #nagi seishiro scenarios #nagi seishiro x you #nagi seishiro fluff #nagi seishiro #nagi #dont ask why im suddenly a nagi fucker

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fafnir19 · 5 days

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Genie's lamp

Lex strolled along the cobblestone streets of the small coastal town, soaking in the salty breeze that whispered tales of the sea. His summer holidays had brought him here, seeking respite from the bustling city life and his studies that had consumed him for so long. As he wandered, a glint of light caught his eye, drawing him to a narrow side street where an ancient-looking shop stood, its wooden sign creaking in the wind. Intrigued, Lex pushed open the heavy oak door and stepped inside, the musty smell of old books and incense enveloping him. Shelves lined with peculiar artifacts and trinkets stretched out before him, each item holding a hint of mystery within its aged confines. "Welcome, young traveler," a voice called out, drawing Lex's attention to a figure behind the counter. Declan, the shop owner, stood before him, his eyes twinkling with a hint of mischief. "Feel free to browse my collection. I must make a quick errand to the post office, but I'll return shortly." As Declan made his exit, Lex's curious gaze wandered over the shelves filled with curiosities from distant lands. His eyes landed on a tarnished Arabic lamp, its intricate designs whispering of tales untold.

As he lifted the lamp, a playful grin tugged at his lips, recalling childhood tales of genies and their whimsical magic. He rubbed the lamp absentmindedly, half-expecting nothing but a puff of dust to emerge. Lex's eyes widened in awe as he watched the ancient lamp in his hands start to emit wisps of smoke. His heart raced with excitement, a smile spreading across his face. The air crackled with energy as the smoke coalesced into a muscular figure, clad in black leather harem pants, standing with their back to him.

"Cool, a real genie! I already know what I will wish for! Ahm… what’s actually your name, genie?" Lex exclaimed, overcome with excitement. Turning slowly to face Lex, the genie's eyes gleamed with a potent mix of mischief and malevolence. "I am Jafar," the genie rumbled, his voice laced with authority "You will refer to me as Master, mere mortal." Confusion clouded Lex's features at the genie's command. "Master? What do you mean?" he spluttered, uncertainty tainting his tone. The genie's next words sent a shiver down Lex's spine. "Kneel before me and submit," Jafar commanded, his voice steely with power. Fear gripped Lex's heart, his instincts urging him to flee as he took a step back. With a shaky voice, he stammered, "I...I have to go." His heart raced as he made a break for the door. But before he could make it, an unseen force lifted him off the ground, tendrils of smoke enveloping him. Panic seized him as he felt himself turning to smoke, his very essence slipping away.

The laughter of the genie echoed around him as Lex found himself being pulled into the ancient lamp. Inside, the world shifted around him, his clothes transforming into exotic harem pants and golden rings adorning his limbs.

Panic surged through Lex as he pounded against the walls of the lamp, trying to break free from this strange and terrifying prison. Jafar, the genie, held the lamp nonchalantly, observing Lex's futile attempts with amusement.

"You're quite the spirited one, aren't you?" Jafar's voice dripped with malicious charm. "But fear not, the lamp's magic will soon calm you and make you more... impressionable." A strange calmness settled over Lex, his mind clouding with a soothing fog. "Relax, kneel," the genie's voice commanded, its tone both hypnotic and commanding. Filled with a strange sense of peace, Lex obeyed, his anxiety giving way to a bizarre sense of acceptance.

Lex's thoughts grew foggy, his will bending to the genie's influence. "It has always been your hidden desire to help others," Jafar purred. "What better way than to serve me?" Finding a strange sense of logic in the genie's words, Lex embraced the idea of serving.

Followed by the genie's revelations about Lex's yearning for confidence and independence hit uncomfortably close to home. "Your struggles stem from your desire to be strong, my dear Lex," Jafar continued, his voice a luring whisper. "You do not need to be strong yourself, but to walk in the shadow of greatness," Jafar's words resonated within Lex's soul. The genie continued, his voice like a hypnotic melody. "Simply follow a strong master, and you shall find your purpose." A revelation dawned upon Lex, a realization that perhaps he had been searching for guidance all along. Lex felt a strange sense of clarity wash over him and gratitude swelled in his chest as Jafar offered his help and guidance. So, Lex embraced the notion of relinquishing his independence and accepted willingly, to follow where the genie led with a newfound sense of purpose.

Jafar's words cut through the haze, revealing a truth about Lex that he had never acknowledged. "All your struggles stem from one simple truth you deny," Jafar's voice carried a weight of finality. "You are secretly gay, Lex." Lex's breath caught in his throat, his mind racing as he grappled with the unexpected revelation. Could it be true? Had he been blind to his own desires all along? “But... but I’ve never...” Lex's voice faltered, uncertainty clouding his mind. Jafar demanded, "Admit it. Say it aloud. Acknowledge who you truly are." Doubt flickered in Lex' eyes, but after a moment of hesitation, he said, "I...I'm..." his voice trembled before he took a deep breath and uttered the words, "I'm gay, Master." Jafar's laughter rang out, a mix of triumph and satisfaction.

"Well done, my obedient pleasure boy. Embrace your new self." Lex felt a strange mix of liberation and vulnerability wash over him as he acknowledged his hidden truth, sending ripples of change through his being. As the words hung in the air, a wave of acceptance washed over him, mingling with the confusion and fear that clouded his thoughts. Before he could dwell on his newfound revelation, Jafar swiftly sprung into the lamp.

Jafar's eyes danced with triumph as he took a step closer to Lex, his movements predatory and sinuous. With a swift motion, he caressed Lex thighs and member through the delicate fabric of the harem pants. A moan escaped Lex's lips as he felt the undeniable response of his body to Jafar's touch. The genie's dark eyes held a predatory gleam as he watched Lex' cock respond eagerly to his dominance. "That's mine now, right?" he purred, his voice dripping with power and desire. Lex's response was a guttural moan, a simple "Yes, Master," escaping his lips as he surrendered to the overwhelming sensations coursing through him. Jafar's grip on Lex's chin was firm yet gentle as he lifted his gaze, locking eyes with him in an unspoken command. "Show me your devotion," he demanded, his voice laced with undeniable authority. Feeling a mix of devotion and arousal, Lex knelt before Jafar, his hands trembling as he reached for the genie's leather-clad thighs.

As he sucked Jafar’s dick, his mind clouded with submission, a strange eagerness washing over him. The genie's deep chuckle filled the air as Lex' obedience pleased him.

As Jafar reached the heights of pleasure, Lex obediently swallowed every drop of his master's cum, savoring it with an appetite fueled by his submission. Jafar's dark laughter mixed with Lex's moans, creating a symphony of domination and pleasure within the confines of the magical lamp. Just when the intensity of the moment peaked, a sudden interruption shattered the moment. The shop owner's return brought a jolt of reality to the surreal scene unfolding before him. Declan's eyes widened in surprise as he took in the sight of the genie and the student, frozen in a moment of twisted bliss. "Ah, Declan, your timing is impeccable as always," Jafar's voice dripped with smooth amusement, his gaze lingering on Lex with a knowing look. Lex's cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and arousal, unsure of what would come next in this unexpected encounter between master, servant, and unwitting spectator. The air crackled with tension, a sense of anticipation hanging heavy in the magical shop.

Declan's voice cut through the silence like a sharp blade, "Jafar, I wish that you let the boy free!" His words held a tone of authority that demanded obedience. Jafar's eyes narrowed, but he begrudgingly complied, knowing he had to obey Declan's wish. "Your wish is my command, master," he hissed through clenched teeth. In a swirl of magic and smoke, Lex was released from the confines of the lamp, standing once more in the shop, his eyes wide with a mix of relief and confusion.

Declan approached Lex, his gaze filled with sympathy as he explained the gravity of the situation. "I arrived just in time. A few minutes later, and Jafar would have transformed you into a genie for good," he revealed, his tone grave yet comforting. Gratitude swelled within Lex as he realized the extent of Declan's intervention. He had been spared a fate worse than he could imagine.

Lex mind was still reeling from the whirlwind of the events that had unfolded and he felt a sense of overwhelming fatigue wash over him. "I think that's enough excitement for one day. It's time for me to leave," he mumbled wearily, ready to escape the bewildering events of the day. Yet, Declan's words halted him in his tracks, his gaze locking onto Lex with a mix of intent and purpose. "As you have already swallowed Jafar’s seed, you have gained magical powers that need to be trained," Declan explained, his tone unwavering. "You must become my sorcerer apprentice now."

Lex's mind reeled at the sudden shift in his destiny. From a simple student on holiday to now a budding sorcerer under Declan's guidance, his life had taken a dramatic turn.

Though Declan reassured him that Jafar's revelation about his supposed hidden gay desires was part of the genie's corrupting influence, a lingering sense of longing remained within Lex. The memory of serving Jafar, albeit under false pretenses, had stirred something deep within him.

As Lex embarked on this new chapter of his life, delving into the world of magic and sorcery under Declan's tutelage, he couldn't shake off the echoes of his encounter with the genie. The allure of power, the pull of submission, and the whispers of forbidden desires tugged at the edges of his consciousness.

And so, Lex's journey into the realm of mysticism and enchantment began, marked by the lingering shadows of his past encounter and the uncertain promise of what lay ahead as he navigated the path to becoming a powerful sorcerer and, perhaps, mastering the depths of his own desires.

#male tf #male transformation #servant #mystery #genie #genie's lamp #gay tf #submision #straight to gay

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shalotttower · 5 months

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Sweetcheeks

Title: Sweetcheeks

Fandom: Black Christmas (1974)

Summary: You've been getting these odd calls for several months now.

Word count: 2000+

Characters: Billy Lenz x Reader (female)

Notes: Yandere!Billy (I'm not sure if there's a point to specify it, seems like his normal state), stalking, voyeurism, explicit and degrading vocabulary, some regular Billy perversions, NSFW, noncon touching, implied noncon by the end.

You've been getting these calls from a stranger for several months, ever since you moved into the sorority house. When the phone rings, what you might hear is easy to predict: creepy panting accompanied by lewd remarks. There's a breathy, slightly raspy voice on the other end; Hello, sweetcheeks, whatcha got down them pants?

He calls you that, "sweetcheeks". Says your name as if it were the loveliest word ever. "Naughty girl," he croons, "let me lick your hot cunt". Nasty bitch. Angel. He has an extensive collection of nicknames, and keeps expanding it with every passing day. Some of them are quite creative, others made your skin crawl at first, but eventually you got used to his bizarre expressions.

He never gets tired of these calls.

The sorority girls named him the Moaner, because he does it quite a lot - moans. Moans and says obscene things, which make your face flush in a hot wave of pink.

"Did you think of me?" he asks.

Do you ever think of me?

"I could-" he groans those filthy words, and you want to wash your ears with soap, "fuck your brains out. Dirty whore. Your... mmm."

You slam the receiver down. It always happens when least expected. In the middle of a conversation with other girls, during study hours, when you're cooking or getting ready for bed, he calls. There's no pattern, so it's impossible to anticipate; normally you just answer the phone when there's no one else around or let others tell him to fuck off.

Today is almost the same as usual, with the only exception that you don't pick up.

What follows can't be described: the unbearable, insane trilling of the phone ringing without a pause. You don't want to go downstairs, there're finals, tests and assignments weighing heavily on you and no time to indulge the ever-breathing presence behind the line. So you don't. Luckily, a set of ear plugs from the local pharmacy helps a lot.

***

You don't bother answering for the whole week, yet despite your neglect he still calls as if desperate for something you can't place.

***

If only Billy could tell you how sweet you look when getting ready for bed. Through the attic floor cracks he sees every small detail of your routine, the room which is nice and smells of a woman - clean, soft with the hints of perfume, it makes him want to bury his face in your sheets.

If only Billy could tell you how exhilarating everything about you is. From the way you move through the day to the sound of your bare feet padding on the wooden floors in the evening. His favourite part is when you shake off your jeans; it's a clumsy movement which makes your ass wiggle.

Billy has a small box where he stores the pieces of your life. There's a receipt from the bakery, two pencils, a silver chain that broke off from your neck and he grabbed it like a treasure, a lip balm. You are all his, every bit of you in those little things you leave behind, even if you don't know it yet.

He knows so many things by now. What time you usually go to shower (late at night when all other girls are asleep), what you are going to wear in the morning (he saw you ironing a blue fluffy sweater and a checked skirt). He knows what's in each of your drawers, from cosmetics to panties, soft cotton that smells like laundry detergent.

The box is hidden carefully in the dusty corner of the attic. Sometimes he opens it, caressing the items you left so carelessly on the desk or bathroom counter - they burn his fingers.

You have a mole under your left breast, a beauty mark on your inner thigh. He also knows that you haven't been answering his calls for a week.

Engrossed in your books with sticky notes, you don't even pay attention to the ringing when he's trying so hard. Too bad Billy can't read, letters dance before his eyes, mocking him with their squiggly shapes; maybe he'd know what exactly is keeping you so occupied if he could. He heard some girls talking about upcoming finals but didn't understand what that meant.

Billy knows how to handle a girl who doesn't answer the phone, a naughty, mean girl who ignores him and gets under his skin like the itch he can't scratch, irritating, driving him crazy.

Patience is a virtue - that's what they told him in the looney house, but it must've been a lie. Patience won't bring you closer, he thinks, sitting cross-legged on the attic floor with a phone clutched in his palm. Patience won't help him touch you, lick your soft skin and hear you moan for him. In the cramped space smelling of old wood, dust and cobwebs, patience only leads to days crawling by like sluggish worms.

He knows how to handle the girl who doesn't answer his calls, but you do look tired, the shadows under your eyes are too heavy and prominent. Billy watches you rub your temples for the fourth time in an hour, yawning. He's seen this gesture before, saw you massaging the back of your head after reading for too long.

He likes watching you when you think no one's looking, because then you're most honest. Just you.

Maybe Billy will let you rest. Yes, maybe...But his hands itch so much. Itchy-itchy-itchy when he holds the phone. He wants to dial your number again, listen to your breathing and tell you something that will make your voice waver in confusion, just like that time when he asked what sounds you make when touching yourself.

He strokes the cord and imagines when you'll finally start picking up again. You'll say your name and ask, "Who's this?" and Billy will laugh, because you're silly, so silly and should've known it's him all along.

***

When did it begin to snow?

You remember the sun peeking from behind the clouds a few days ago and now there's nothing but whiteness outside. White paths, white street lights and white flakes melting on the glass windows. The kitchen feels quiet today, walls drip with the evening chill which crawls inside your veins; it's a week before Christmas and the radio is playing jolly songs about sleigh bells and presents.

Something's been off lately.

Another pair of your favorite socks is gone; you bought five, but three vanished without a trace. Maybe you lost them, maybe they got mixed up with others' laundry. Yet you distinctly remember washing the two and putting them away in the drawer. Usually you're not that forgetful, but perhaps it's finals stress shows.

You glance at the clock - past six - the sorority house is mostly empty, everyone's either in the library or went home for Christmas. The last few hours passed in decorating the living room area with tinsel and ornaments, you even put a wreath on the door. A festive mood is slowly seeping in, and all that's missing is a tree. You know that one should be in the attic, Allison told you there's a lot of stuff up there. The house is old, and whoever owned it in the past had a lot of things, from clothes and books to trinkets, all stored away in cardboard boxes and plastic containers.

Sturdy and narrow, the attic ladder is hanging down to the hallway, beckoning with its crooked wooden rungs. Allison mentioned some odd noises coming from there sometimes. Probably rodents. "Go take a look, girl," she laughed and made spooky sounds, wiggling her fingers. "But don't tell me if you find something nasty, I don't wanna know about it."

Your eyes wander over the ceiling and stop at a small trapdoor. There are rusty hooks holding it closed, and you wonder if it's safe to go up alone. It's probably dirty, a real mess, but the living room looks empty and unfinished without a Christmas tree.

Just a quick look. As long as there aren't spiders swarming the corners it'll be alright.

Everything's dark up there, nothing moves and the sound of your quiet breath is the only thing breaking the silence. You pull a flashlight out of your pocket. Flick. Nothing. Stacks of boxes crowd the space, pressing together, on the side of a particularly large container is scribbled: BOX 23. You look through the labels - toys, photographs, china, books - dozens and dozens of them, some haven't been opened for years.

Dirty. Stuffy-dusty, Billy's saliva gets sticky, leaving wet stains on his sleeves as he wipes his mouth. He can see you from where he's hiding. It's hard to breathe. Harder when you bend over to open a box with Christmas decorations; you've got nice thighs. Nice legs. It's so good to have you here, sweetcheeks, you won't leave soon, pretty kitty. Dumb bitch. Sweet angel. You really should've stayed downstairs, in the warmth and light of the fireplace, instead of crawling up here into the darkness.

Into him.

You go through the attic space looking for something, and Billy thinks that your soft slippers will be covered in dust after you're done poking around, all filthy, so messy. But it doesn't matter, Billy will clean you up later with his tongue, and you can sit on his blanket while he licks your hot cunt till you scream.

Billy knows exactly what kind of sounds you'll make.

He's heard them countless times already.

A sudden clank makes you jump. Your heart flutters, but there's nothing except for shadows dancing on the walls under the ray of your flashlight. Maybe a rat? Oh, there it is. A green plastic branch of a fake Christmas tree is sticking out from the nearest pile, just what you were looking for. You tug at it, trying to free it from the clutches of old furniture and junk, but the thing is stuck tight.

Billy wants to grab you. Wrap his arms around your waist, press his face to yours and whisper in your ear that you shouldn't worry about the Christmas tree anymore, because now you're going to stay forever and ever with him. He'll let you stroke his cheek and kiss him softly on the lips before carrying you down the ladder to celebrate together. Billy will take care of it, he's always liked Christmas; there was a time when everything was different, a man dressed up as Santa brought gifts, he even remembers what he got - a shiny red truck and a candy cane.

The flashlight slips from your grasp and rolls over the dusty floorboards. You curse, crouch down and reach for it though the hole between the boxes.

The trapdoor shuts close with a loud thud.

Your hand freezes.

There's a breath. Not yours, it tickles your fingertips and the skin of your palm like a feather; it shouldn't be there - you scramble away from the darkness. Or try to. Something warm catches your wrist in a vice grip, pulls and next you're tumbling forward, right through the hole with Christmas ornaments spilling everywhere.

"Nasty piggy," says someone's raspy voice, "why don'tcha pick up my calls anymore?"

In the dim yellow of your flashlight too far out of reach, you can barely see anything, only glimpses of dirty auburn hair, brown eyes and a green stretched jumper.

It's not a rat in the attic, you think. It's not a rat, he smells like a wet dog and has hot lips which press into your throat. His hands shake as they travel up your sides, touch your breasts through the sweater, squeeze, and then he moans.

You've been getting these calls for several months now, from a stranger who pants on the other end of the line and makes obscene remarks. And you know him by voice, the one who likes talking filth and making you blush every damn day.

"Santa brought presents," he whispers in your ear. A hand slides down between your legs and cups your mound through the fabric. "Merry Christmas, sweetcheeks."

#black christmas (1974)#billy lenz #billy lenz x reader #shalott fanfiction #fanfic #slashers #slasher fanfiction #yandere #I'm late and I don't care #it's Christmas

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monstersdownthepath · 10 months

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Monster Spotlight: Onyvolan

CR 3

Chaotic Neutral Monstrous Humanoid

Adventure Path: War for the Crown: Crownfall, pg. 86-87

Y’know, Pathfinder borrows creatures from just about every mythological, folkloric, and religious sphere on the planet, and every Bestiary contains a generous handful of creatures based on existing properties with enough differences that most people who recognize them will go “hey, I know that one!” Cute homages and references abound in Pathfinder, something I DO genuinely enjoy... But this one? I think the Venn Diagram crossover section between “people who play Pathfinder” and “people who’ve actually watched Return to Oz“ (or read the original sequel books) contains maybe 7 people. While not the most obscure property or story Pathfinder’s ever referenced, it’s definitely up there! I enjoy that Pathfinder’s version goes all the way back to the original story’s first description of them, making their wheels keratinous appendages instead of the mechanical augmentations they were in the movie.

And god does it make these things weird. In the whimsical Land of Oz, the weirdness of the Wheelers is perfectly at home and almost entirely glossed over as just another example of the strange natives of an even stranger world. In Pathfinder? ... well, they also don’t have an excuse. There’s ZERO explanation of where these creature’s come from, why they exist, and why they do what they do! Not even a handwave explanation of mad wizardry, magical contamination, a bloodline curse, or alchemical muckery. As far as anyone care to tell, they’re simply forms of bizarre wildlife that have evolved--naturally, magically, or otherwise--to live in human cities. And only in human cities, unfortunately; their wheeled appendages make them quick as a pony (40ft movement) and quiet as a whisper (+10 Stealth!) on flattened ground, beaten dirt roads, and stone pathways, but uneven surfaces prove to be a bane to them. They’re Easily Hampered, and any difficult terrain they encounter costs them 20ft of movement per 5ft square, slowing them to a glacial crawl.

Onyvolan are curious creatures through and through. They’re intelligent as any human and can hold perfectly lucid conversations in Common, but their entire being and culture seems to revolve around being roving gangs of bullies, scavengers, and thieves. They squat in unused buildings and abandoned homes, roving out to scavenge what they can from any source they can, prizing junkyards and garbage pits to vandalize nearby structures, as well as find food, trinkets for their odd collections, and especially clothing, their alien mindsets causing them to prize clothes above all other forms of treasure; the more garish, eye-searing, and ugly, the better. Gangs of Onyvolan look like groups of hideously-dressed street toughs on roller skates, and they act the part, too. They seem almost instinctually motivated to bully and scare any Humanoid they come across, as if they were perpetually in the mind-space of being belligerent and aggressive teenagers. often surrounding victims on all sides and shouting, growling, hissing, spitting insults, laughing, and whooping until they’ve had their fun with the object of their attention and rolling off. Their Creepy Cackle is noted to be particularly chilling, any creature within earshot needing to make a DC 14 Will save to avoid being shaken by the sound, and though success on the save renders the victim immune to that particular wheel-man’s Cackle for a day, the monstrous creatures are almost never alone.

If feeling especially brave (typically, this means outnumbering their target 3 to 1), Onyvolans will tackle and trip their victims, their Nimble Charger giving them +2 to Bull Rush and Overrun maneuvers (for a decent +9) and preventing victims from making Attacks of Opportunity in retribution. Once on the ground, Onyvolans will pilfer items from their unfortunate victim, grabbing articles of clothing or bags of groceries in their sharpened teeth before running off, cackling into the distance as they skate away at speeds the average human cannot match. Unlike a great many city-dwelling humanoids with sharpened teeth, Onyvolan aren’t man-eaters or even murderers, preferring to keep their crimes to muggings or breaking-and-entering. Their two slam attacks, each dealing 1d8+1 damage, are more for discouraging guards or punishing people who don’t fork over their belongings than actual tools for murder, and Onyvolans are Cowards (as every single bully is), easily shaken by any creature trying to Intimidate them back and preferring to flee from fights than stick around and see them to their end.

These creatures make for very strange encounters in metropolitan areas, wheeling in to harass and steal from the party before making a swift escape. Their relative harmlessness (in that they’ll beat you up but probably won’t kill you) and the low stakes they tend to involve themselves in (the most dramatic crime they’re stated to take is coordinated raids on clothiers and haberdashers) make them good targets for adventurers getting their own metaphorical wheels spinning, though despite their cowardice and the ruination that any amount of difficult terrain inflicts on them, one shouldn’t underestimate how punishing it can be to be shaken while surrounded by creatures that specialize in hitting people while they’re down. Just because you’re unlikely to die doesn’t mean you’re unlikely to lose and get all your clothes stolen, and few things are as damning to a beginning Wizard or Inquisitor as losing your big goofy hats. That’s practically like losing a class feature!

You can read more about them here.

#Monster Spotlight #CR 1 to 5 #Pathfinder #Dungeons and Dragons

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beesmygod · 10 months

Text

BLOODBORNE LORE Q+A PART 1: SETTING

*BLOCK "long post/" or "bloodborne" to banish these from your dash!!

my friend shawn has finished his run of bloodborne recently which i was SOOOO excited for and throughout the process he indulged whatever is wrong with me by asking me lore questions. he has now finished his quest and i can answer all his remaining questions in this post, which is also peppered with his commentary on his experience (good, funny). as always i write these posts to try to be entertaining to ppl familiar with bloodborne and ppl who are fandom rubberneckers. i understand you. i long to cater to you as one of you. come with me on this bloodborne adventure...[holds out a hand covered in some kind of weird grey shit]

he has many good questions and i have too many words so this must be broken up into so, so many posts. even then these are going to be so long and make me look totally insane. dont like it? keep scrolling bitch im reloading my flintlock pistol. your ass is grass in 1-3 minutes.

ALL OF THIS IS MY PERSONAL INTERPRETATION AND NOT!!! FACT!!!! I ENCOURAGE YOU TO COME UP WITH YOUR OWN READING OF THE TEXT BASED ON YOUR OWN EVIDENCE AND WHATNOT

---

THE HUNTER ASKS:

[sooooo smartly] i dont know.

the moon in bloodborne is one of the weirdest seemingly deliberate inconsistencies throughout the game. it has a bunch of bizarre qualities including the fact that it's a physical object that gets loaded in and its not part of a skybox that just gets switched during cutscenes. despite the inherent terror of the blood moon taking up so much space in our collective brains, it only appears in yharnam, the cathedral ward and yahar'gul. ive seen a lot of theories about why cainhurst or byrgenwerth have regular moons, but i think the more likely answer is that the blood moon is only affecting yharnam. these are also the only places where the tentacled amygdalas or, as they're known internally, "false gods" can be found.

these things

THE HUNTER ASKS:

eileen knows too! she knows about dreaming ("No more dreams for me. This is my last chance.") AND the doll. ("You still have dreams? Tell the little doll I said hello"). both were kicked out of the dream because they no longer hunt beasts, thus breaking their contracts. djura protects them and eileen hunts hunters.

at the start of the game you "sign a contract" with the blood minister and get a yummy yharnam blood infusion that gives you access to the dream. presumably, all hunters do or did this to join the hunt and the doll's dialog ("Over time, countless hunters have visited this dream.") reveals that the hunter's dream was once host to many hunters. they likely all dreamed before going mad.

THE HUNTER ASKS:

yeah check this out: if you line your brain with eyes, you have insight. get it. eh? ehhhh??

the witch of hemwick is PROBABLY not wearing eyeballs...fresh ones at least. pebbles are calcified eyes that have hardened due to whatever force causes blood to calcify in bloodborne world (leading to blood shards, blood gems, etc). VERY RARELY will they drop an actual eye, which the item description reveals was taken "quickly" before death or immediately after.

eyes are used exclusively to access the hintertomb chalice, which is of interest to the church because it appears to be where they get their church slaves from (more on this later). BUT the women of hemwick do more than eyeballs. they create bone marrow ash by burning corpses and. hmm. well.

you're right. there's no beasts here. there's no beasts where there's incense in the game, like the parts of the labyrinth that the church has explored (evidenced by the architecture and censures that resemble those in the cathedral ward) or entrances to upper cathedral ward/forbidden woods. a few characters mention that they're running out of it or that it's masking scents. its the reason why the suspicious beggar has to stand outside oedon chapel lol. he cant deal with the stinky anti-wolf smoke

you know where else there's no beasts? yahar'gul. and the only incense is found in the cells where they keep their meat for experiments. but there is an unexplained burning corpse or two in the middle of town.

if you break incense pots, they're full of bones. O_O oh shit i just noticed something lol: eileen's mask says "The beak contains incense to mask scents of blood and beast." YUCK!

the witches are not really educated and do not seem to partake in blood ministration as they are missing any bestial traits. it seems like they are "for hire" and work for both byrgenwerth and the healing church supplying parts from the graves they "maintain".

THE HUNTER ASKS:

it seems like they did once at some point in history and had to give up due to a combination of no more room to bury people and something going wrong with the corpses of yharnamites (more later!).

we know a little bit about yharnam funeral customs by way of eileen's crowfeather set which states that yharnam's treatment of burying the dead is considered a taboo and shameful act by outside cultures which leave their dead to "sky burials", a type of funeral ritual where the corpse is left for birds (like the fat ass crows in this game) to pick clean. those birds are eating so good lately.

perhaps the reason why underground burial is considered distasteful is due to the fact that the great ones were once buried underground by the pthumerians. the graves in the forbidden woods (including the forbidden grave) are, according to the art book, tombstones for great ones.

here are some ways we know yharnamites deal with corpses:

cremate them for profit

bury them

exhuming them for profit

just leave 'em there

lock them in caskets and run before they come back

experiment on them

chuck them in a hole and forget about 'em

fake iosefka does the last one. someone (her?) exhumed a grave near her clinic that was absolutely packed with corpses and they dug deep enough to find an entrance to the hintertomb. the player must enter the hintertomb through a chalice ritual, but this locations is either THE or one of the ways that the hintertomb was discovered.

the hintertomb is described as an auxiliary wing of the pthumerian labyrinth filled with "unceremonious" tombs. hemwick witches can be found here, likely looking for some fresh product to move. its where various people and organizations dump their trash. you can find piles of dead pigs, fake iosefka's failed experiments, some church giants left to die (presumably, they did not originate from there as they are already belled), and some other crap.

how do we know this is the entrance to the hintertomb? first, there's the amount of tomb mold blooming here. it explicitly grows only in the old labyrinth

second, they both share an environmental hazard unique only to them (and the nightmare frontier, whatever. IN THE REAL WORLD): POISON SWAMPS as a consequence of the decaying great one corpses.

i forgot the question. i think my point was that there are now so many bodies they're running out of things to do with them and its starting to be a problem. they are both taking things out of the labyrinth and throwing things in. yharnamites have a general disrespect for cultures and customs and it's really biting them in the ass

oh wait i remember. i was tying this back into the part about where the church gets their slaves from. all the church attendants and giants are pthumerians. the primary difference between them and their labyrinth counterparts are the lack of open slack jaw. and the fact the church pthumerians drop blue elixir.

Dubious liquid medicine used in strange experiments conducted by high ministers of the Healing Church. A type of anesthetic that numbs the brain.

---

the next part will also be...MORE ABOUT THE SETTING. until next time (later today)

#bloodborne #god its so much longer than i thought and im not even close to being done please tell me if i sound totally deranged #long post/#lore

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sarahowritesostucky · 4 months

Text

📖Alpha, Beta (& Omega)

Rated: Explicit

Chapter Rating: Mature

Word Count: 3619

Pairing: Steve x Bucky

Tags: a/b/o, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers, nobility/royalty au, alternate history, dom/sub elements, beta bucky, anal sex, oral sex, hurt/comfort, first time, age gap (18/29), domestic discipline, spanking, head of household, wedding night, Edwardian time period, m/f/m poly marriage

Summary: To save House Barnes from scandalous ruin, James must agree to a contracted marriage, accepting Lord Senator Steven Rogers as his Alpha, Husband, and Headship.

To read previous parts of this series first, got to the story's masterlist

8. A Fever

This Chapter: "Every triad needs their omega. Every alpha does.” “And you think I’ll just go ahead and pick someone?” “It’s your right as Headship.”

Bucky wakes the next morning to find Steve still asleep.

He spends a moment appreciating his face. Steve looks younger in his sleep—perhaps because the aging set of responsibility is gone from his features, his face absent the stern countenance expected of a Senator and Headship.

For the first time, it occurs to Bucky that Steve may have been through quite a lot already in his life. He is older than Bucky, after all. And on top of being thrust into the Senate at a young age, he’s also been in the military, A captain. And during wartime, too, Bucky realizes belatedly. It’s been over for a couple of years now, but maybe Steve had seen battle, or even horrible things. Bucky swallows and thinks that he actually knows very little about his husband, in the grand scheme of things.

It’s bizarre to be in bed with a near-stranger, to know that he’s married to, and has now been intimate with, a person he doesn’t know. Bucky takes a deep breath and carefully untangles himself from under the alpha’s heavy arm. Steve doesn’t stir, and Bucky goes into the tiny bathroom of their suite. He removes the only item he’s wearing: the marital wristbands that Steve had told him to keep on last night during their … their lovemaking.

He fills the tub and washes himself, blushing as he thinks about what they’d done, and feeling unsure about how vulnerable he’d let himself be. Steve seems like an okay man so far, but that could still turn out to be a facade, and Bucky doesn’t like being at anyone’s mercy. By the very nature of him being Steve’s Beta, he’s exactly that. Steve has absolute authority over him in their marriage, and it rankles Bucky’s nerve every time he thinks of it. Just because Steve hasn’t humiliated him yet doesn’t mean he can’t, or won’t.

A soft knock comes from the door. “Bucky?”

Steve’s voice, of course. “What?” Bucky says.

“Are you alright?”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, Steve. I’m fine.”

There’s a long pause, and then Steve opens the door the tiniest bit. He peeks in at Bucky.

Bucky scowls. “Hey!”

“Sorry,” Steve says. “I woke up and you were gone.”

“I’m just bathing.” The response isn’t as nice as it could be, but Bucky pushes his guilt away. “I’m allowed to do that, aren’t I?”

“... Yeah.” Steve’s eyes flick up and down his body in the tub, taking him in. “Are you … are you alright? This morning?”

Bucky grunts and nods, unable to help the heat collecting in his face. He knows that Steve is asking about last night, about whether Bucky is physically okay after their lovemaking. “I’m fine,” he says, wishing that Steve would close the door and leave him alone. “Just … I’ll be out in a few, okay?”

Steve looks at him for another minute, then nods. “Okay. Then we’ll get dressed for breakfast.”

“Sure.”

He shuts the door, and Bucky sighs and dunks his head under the water, feeling at odds with … everything.

As they get dressed, Steve reminds him that he should wear his wristbands. Bucky freezes where he’s doing the cufflinks of his shirt. “I—oh.” He hadn’t thought of it. He glances to the bedside table where he’d laid them after his bath. “I forgot,” he says quietly. He doesn’t want to wear them, is the thing. Pressing his lips together, he goes back to fumbling with his second cufflink. It’s the right one, so he’s been struggling to get it on, the damage to his left hand making the task difficult.

Steve notices and comes over to help, deft fingers closing it with little trouble. Bucky peeks upwards at him as he finishes and smoothes out the sleeve’s cuff. “Thank you,” he says softly.

“You’re welcome.” Steve goes and gets the wristbands, brings them back and slides them on, one and then the other. He clicks them shut in the back, the tiny ‘snick’ of the clasps somehow intimate between them. Bucky stares at them.

They’re simple: matte black, metal, about an inch wide. When Steve had first put them on him at their wedding, Bucky had been surprised that someone as rich and as prominent in Society as Steve would choose bands so simple. Bucky licks his lips and says, “Gold is more in fashion.” It comes out sounding like a question rather than a statement, and Steve chuckles quietly.

“Yes, it is. But I didn’t peg you as a gold sort of guy, or a trend-follower.” He raises an eyebrow at Bucky. “You don’t like them?”

“No, it’s not that. I … I do like them,” Bucky hedges. It’s not that he doesn’t like the way they look. He does. They’re simple and sleek, attractive, even something that Bucky might have chosen for himself one day. But it’s the “one day” part that matters. The bands feel heavier than they really are, weighing his wrists down with the ownership they represent. He knows he has to wear them. Being seen in public with bare wrists would be a huge impropriety on Bucky’s part—and shameful on Steve’s. “They’re fine,” he mutters, not wanting to talk about it anymore.

Steve seems to sense this, as he gives Bucky’s hands a squeeze and lets him go. “Come on,” he says, “Let’s get to breakfast. I’m famished.”

The ship serves first class passengers their breakfast in a different dining room than dinner. It’s on a higher deck, in a room that has lots of windows to let in the light. Bucky likes the room, but he’s felt mildly queasy ever since he got out of the hot bathwater that morning. He’s hopeful that a good meal will fix it. This time, when the server comes to take their order, Bucky doesn’t bother speaking up for himself. Steve orders for the both of them, as is expected.

Henry and Senator Mills are seated at a table not too far away. Bucky nods when Henry smiles at him in greeting. The server arrives and sets food out on the table, and Bucky reaches for the toast rack. It’s as he’s spreading butter and jam that he looks up and catches Steve looking across the room. He follows his gaze and frowns: Steve is looking at a young man who’s seated several tables away.

Bucky deduces the fellow must be an unmarried omega, if his size and attire are anything to go by. There is no collar around his throat, the neckline of his shirt high and modest instead. He’s sitting with a triad who are most likely his parents. Bucky bites his lip, glancing back to Steve, then back to the omega. The young man is … very attractive. He’s delicate, fine boned and sweet-cheeked, blond with blue eyes. Bucky himself would have noticed him in any ballroom, likely asked for space on his card, even.

But something about catching Steve looking at the omega has his stomach tying into knots. Steve’s looked at Bucky with obvious interest like that before. It’s disquieting to see him regard another in the same way. Bucky huffs and goes back to buttering his toast. He can’t keep himself from glancing over to Henry Mills and his husband again, watching the obvious love between the two. An alpha and his happy, pregnant omega.

He averts his eyes. “So, when do you think you’ll start looking for our Third?” he asks, completely aware of how this makes Steve’s attention shoot back to their table and to him.

“What?” He looks surprised. “Our … our Third?”

“Yeah.” Bucky chews a bite of toast, trying to ignore the queasiness in his stomach as he swallows. “That fellow over there is pretty.”

Steve follows his gaze back over to the omega sitting with his parents. He sighs and turns back to Bucky. “I suppose,” he says.

“Well? Are we going to socialize with that in mind while we’re on our trip?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. We just got married.”

Bucky shrugs. “So? Every triad needs their omega. Every alpha does.”

“And you think I’ll just go ahead and pick someone?”

“It’s your right as Headship.”

Steve groans. “Bucky, stop. I’ve got no intention of marrying anyone else any time soon, least of all a European, and certainly not without your consent.” He reaches across the table and takes Bucky’s hand—his lame one. Bucky’s eyes flick up. Steve is smiling wryly at him. “We’ll complete our marriage later,” he drawls. “You’re about all I can handle for right now.”

Bucky scowls and pulls his hand back. “If you say so.”

Steve’s smile slips away, his eyes losing their playfulness. “I do say so,” he says sternly, then sets into eating his breakfast. Bucky forces himself not to say anything else and instead focuses on choking down some fruit and eggs.

Choking down anything turns out to be a mistake. Bucky upchucks all across the breakfast spread not thirty minutes later, and a mortified Steve has to make apologies to the waitstaff before helping Bucky back to their stateroom. Bucky collapses on the drawing room’s settee once they’re alone, feeling cold sweat beading on his brow. “Shit,” he curses. “Do you think it was the smoked salmon? I think it was the salmon.” He’s never eating cold fish for breakfast again.

Steve is coming over from the door and seating himself on a chair near Bucky. He looks concerned. “You barely ate, so no, I don’t. I think you’re seasick, Sweetheart.” He looks him up and down. “You need to rest. I’ll have the servants bring Dramamine.”

“I thought this sort of thing happened on the first day,” Bucky complains. “Shouldn’t I have my sea legs by now?”

Steve laughs. He gets up and walks over to the room’s sideboard and pours a glass of water, bringing it back over for Bucky. “As someone who’s spent more than his fair share of time on naval ships, I can tell you that that is absolutely not true. I think I spent half of my first commission throwing up.”

“Never mind that this is a luxury liner and not some pirate ship.”

The edges of Steve’s mouth twitch up. “I’ve never been called a pirate before.” Bucky scowls and looks away, focusing on drinking the water Steve’s given him. He hadn’t been trying to make him laugh. “Don’t drink it too fast,” Steve warns. Bucky rolls his eyes. He does drink the water more slowly, though.

The fact that it’s a luxury liner they’re traveling on obviously doesn’t make any difference. Despite the fact that Bucky can’t actually feel any waves or motion of the ship, he still spends the next two days being sick as a dog. Hardly anything sounds appealing to eat, and he certainly can’t bring himself to leave the cabin.

It’s as he’s flushing the toilet from his latest bout of sickness that Steve returns to their quarters. He knocks on the doorframe and peeks into the bathroom. Bucky catches his gaze in the mirror where he’s turning on the faucet to splash water on his face. “M’fine,” he mumbles, knowing from the tight, pinched look on Steve’s face that he’s worried. “I’ll be right out.”

When he comes back out into the bedroom, he smells the sour tinge of Steve’s concern filling the room. Bucky wrinkles his nose. “I said I’m fine,” he repeats, though he doesn’t fight it as Steve takes him by the shoulders and leads him back to bed. “Ugh,” he huffs, feeling tired and pathetic. “Some trip this is turning out to be.”

“Sit,” Steve says. He helps him get propped up with some pillows before going to retrieve a steaming bowl of broth that he’s brought into the room.

Bucky eyes it warily. “M’not hungry.”

“The ship’s cook said this should be very easy to keep down. You need to eat something.”

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut. Steve is bringing the bowl over anyway. “I just need to lie down,” he says. The next thing he knows, the bed is dipping and a spoon touches his lips. Bucky inhales and opens his eyes.

Steve is sitting on the edge of the bed, the bowl in his hands and an expectant look aimed at Bucky. “You need to eat,” he says firmly. It’s not his Voice, but it could be. God, it could be. “Buck,” he says, looking plaintively at him. “You’re weak. Just take a few sips for me, alright? Just a bit. I need you to.” Bucky clenches his jaw in obstinance, but then Steve adds quietly, “Please don’t make me make it an order.” Bucky’s eyes must widen, because Steve nods. “Yeah, I know you don’t want that. So do it on your own, okay?” He nudges the spoon forward again. “Just a few sips at a time, c’mon.”

Slowly, Bucky parts his lips. Steve’s shoulders sink in relief and he smiles gratefully as he delivers the spoon to his mouth. “There you go. Good boy.” Bucky flushes, but parts his lips again for the next spoonful, and the next, eyes locked on Steve’s as he feeds him. “How is it?” Steve checks.

“Fine.” Meekly, Bucky asks, “Would you really order me to?”

Steve inhales slowly. “Yes. I would have.”

“You’d use your Voice? Threaten to punish me?”

“Yes.” Steve cants his head. “Does that bother you?”

“Of course it does!” Bucky scoffs. “So, what? Are you just gonna order me around for our whole married life?”

Steve frowns. “Well I hadn’t planned on it, but you know as well as I do that it’s my right as Headship. I have authority in this marriage.” He watches Bucky’s reaction carefully, then adds, “I’ll only ever use it over you if I feel like your well-being is in danger, if you’re going to hurt yourself or someone else, or if you get sick, if I feel that you’re being disrespectful to our union in public, or that you’re making poor decisions for yourself."

"Oh is that all?"

"But I’ll always try to give you leeway. I know you’re coming into your majority, and I know you want independence for yourself.”

Bucky huffs, though he can’t argue against anything Steve’s said. Most Headships would be much stricter, would feel free to structure their spouses’ entire lives. Bucky’s lucky Steve isn’t like that, but he still hates the authority the alpha has over him. “I guess I don’t have any choice,” he mutters.

Steve just looks sad that that’s his response. “It’s my responsibility, Bucky. Don’t hold that against me.” Bucky grunts and says nothing. He meets Steve’s eyes again, opening his mouth for more soup. Steve sighs, and delivers it.

After the second day of his illness, Bucky spikes a fever and Steve sends for a physician. Bucky isn’t quite delirious, but he’s definitely not in his right mind when the doctor arrives and examines him. He informs them that Bucky isn’t merely seasick, but actually sick, and he prescribes a tonic and strict bed rest until they reach England.

“Nothing worse than sickness spreading on a ship,” he tells Steve seriously. He’s spoken only to Steve since arriving in their staterooms, dismissing Bucky as subordinate, an invalid, or both. “No exertions for him. If he needs anything, get it yourself or have it delivered. You have servants?”

Steve nods. “Yes.”

“Good.” The physician nods politely at Bucky where he’s lying in the bed. “Get some rest, your Lordship.”

Bucky hums a response at him, his feverish state making him much less annoyed by the doctor’s dismissive attitude than he otherwise would be. “Kay,” he says. He watches as Steve bids the man goodbye, then returns to the bedroom. He sits on the edge of the bed and lays a hand atop Bucky’s.

“I’m sure it’s just a bug,” he says. “Nothing to worry about. We’ll do just as the doctor says. I’ll take care of you.”

Bucky smiles, thinking muzzily that Steve is so sweet. He’s so handsome, and yet he’s kind and cares about Bucky, as if he has no idea that Bucky’s socially inferior and so badly damaged. “Thanks,” Bucky whispers, body shivering in another bout of feverishness. “S’cold,” he complains, trying to sink further into the bed.

Steve snaps to attention and is immediately pulling the blankets up higher to better cover him. He puts a hand to his forehead, frowning as he feels his temperature. “You’re burning up,” he says. “What you really need is ice water.”

Bucky moans pitifully at that idea. “No, Steve. Oh please don’ do that. M’so cold.”

Steve pets his face. “I know, Honey, I know. But we’ve got to get your body temperature down.” When Bucky whimpers, Steve hushes him, promising him treats for his good behavior. “I’ll have Sharon bring you up a piece of cake, after,” he says. “Would you like that?”

Bucky shakes his head, still worried about the prospect of ice water, but he says, “I guess,” after a long minute. “… Chocolate?” he adds hopefully.

Steve smiles. “Of course. Here, let me go ring for what we need.” He leaves the bedroom to ring the little bell that will summon one of their servants. Sharon arrives only moments later. Bucky can hear their conversation through the open doorway.

“Sir?”

“James’ fever has worsened.”

“How can I help?”

“Fetch a basin of cold water and cloths. Fresh sheets as well. And Sharon?”

“Yes?”

“See if you can find a piece of chocolate cake? … It’s important.”

“Of course, Sir.”

Their conversation stops, and Bucky hears the door of the suite snick open and shut as Sharon leaves. The next thing he knows, Steve is returning to the bedside. “Alright,” he says. “Sharon's getting what we need.” He looks Bucky over, frowning at how out of it he seems. “Bucky?”

“Hey,” Bucky slurs, thinking about the conversation he just heard and how Steve had said the cake was ‘important’. The thought makes him smile muzzily. “You’re nice,” he says. “Takin care a’ me.”

Steve smiles down at him, pinched, and reaches to swipe the sweaty hair away from his face. “That’s how I know you’re out of it,” he murmurs. “If you’re saying sweet things like that.”

Bucky whines and presses his cheek into Steve’s palm. “Nn. You’re a’good Alpha,” he slurs, eyes slipping closed. He feels so fuzzy. Having his eyes closed is better. “Hm. You get cake, too.”

Steve chuckles, and the sound is very nice, making Bucky smile with his eyes closed. “Okay,” Steve says tenderly. “Okay Buck, we’ll both have cake. Keep your eyes closed now, okay? Get some rest until Sharon comes back.” His hand is stroking Bucky’s face. It feels nice.

Bucky hums tiredly. “M’kay.” He drifts off, feeling shivery, and sick … and safe.

Steve cares for him for the rest of the trip, and by the time they’re one day from arriving in port, Bucky is feeling much better.

He also feels strange around Steve. His fevered memories aren’t the clearest, but he knows that he was open with Steve in a way he normally wouldn’t have been, when he was in the midst of it. And he remembers how tender Steve had been, taking care of him, bathing him and feeding him and fetching him everything he needed. He feels torn. He’d liked how close they’d been, is the thing. And now that he’s almost back to normal, he doesn’t know how to express his gratitude to Steve, especially since the last coherent thing he'd done to the poor guy was be nasty to him over breakfast. He doesn’t know what to do, now.

“Thank you,” he winds up saying, on their last night on the ship, when he’s lying in the bed and Steve is changing into his night clothes.

His hands pause on the buttons of his shirt and he turns. He looks surprised that Bucky is thanking him. They haven’t spoken much since Bucky’s fever waned and he regained lucidity. “You’re welcome,” he says, smiling a little. “It was hardly a burden to care for you.”

The way that he says it makes Bucky feel warm inside. He lets his eyes draw up and down Steve’s form, admiring the way his body looks in the fine clothes that he’s taking off, the bowtie that’s loose about his collar and the glimpse of his chest that’s already bared from where he’s gotten his shirt half-undone. Bucky licks his lips, feeling another type of heat start to stir in him. “You’re a, um, a very good nursemaid.”

Steve chuckles. “I’m glad you approve. And I’m glad you’re feeling better. … You are, aren’t you?”

“Yes, very.”

“Good, that’s good.” He’s still undressing, undoing the last of his buttons and pushing his suspenders off his shoulders. They hang from his waist as he slides off his shirt, all of the muscles in his back moving enticingly as he twists to drape the shirt on the valet stand. “I was worried there for a moment,” he’s still saying lightheartedly. “Knew it might be serious when you started complimenting me and offering me cake.”

Bucky’s eyes are glued to him when he turns back around, and the alpha pauses, noticing his flushed cheeks and parted lips. He stills with his hands on his trousers. “Bucky?” His mouth curls knowingly. “What are you thinking?”

“Just …” Bucky licks his lips, eyes dragging over Steve’s chest. “That you look good.”

“Oh you think so?”

“Yes.”

“Hm." Steve takes a step closer to the bed. “Still giving compliments," he murmurs, amused. "Might have to check to make sure that fever’s really gone.”

"Yeah," Bucky breathes. "Yeah maybe you should."

Holding his gaze, Steve undoes his pants and steps out of them, pulling his underwear off as well. He straightens and stands there naked, his eyes going heavy-lidded with interest. “How much better are you feeling?”

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ilikeyoualive · 1 year

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Wendigo Simon "Ghost" Riley HC's

Warnings: Mentions of Cannibalism (duh), Possessiveness, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Wendigo's are their own warning really

Word Count: 724

Tagging @resident-idiot-simp because Wendigo Ghost Supremacy.

And, if your interest is piqued by this AU, feel free to check out my Main Masterlist!

My personal headcanon is that Wendigo's tend to be hoarders, although that particular instinct has been heavily repressed by Ghost due to a mixture of intense military training and sheer willpower. However, even though Ghost won’t randomly collect things that catch his eye in the field or on base, he still allows himself to covet essential items such as his tactical skull mask, his numerous skull-themed balaclava, and his favorite mug.

Seeing as they are particularly territorial of the things (or people) that they consider theirs, it’s kind of a big deal when they start giving and/or sharing stuff with others because it’s a sign of kinship and/or affection. So Ghost will randomly offer to make his team members a cup of tea when he’s making some for himself, subtly sharing with them. But he only does little things that wouldn’t be recognized as the affectionate gestures that they were unless you know him well.

So, for example, after the “Alone” mission in canon Ghost would simply let Soap keep the knife that he had found in the unfortunate Shadow that had crossed the Ghost’s path. To do this, Ghost probably just wouldn’t bring up the knife at all once everything has settled down, which in itself is a subtle indication that Soap has permission to keep it because if he didn’t want Soap to have it then he would bluntly ask for it to be returned.

Unfortunately, Soap still recalled how Ghost had said that he would like the knife back during the whole mess that was “Alone” and would totally approach Ghost privately to try and return it to him. Though Ghost wouldn’t move to take it, merely leveling poor Soap with that empty stare of his until Soap lost his nerve and beat a hasty retreat. The bizarre and nerve-racking experience would lead Soap to never try and give that particular item back again, but he does start carrying the knife with him on missions.

Due to the typically uncontrollable/untamable nature of his particular species, Ghost’s instincts are the hardest to repress, which makes hostile and bloodthirsty his default state of being. But with people that he sees as his (the 141, essentially) the urge to eat them decreases a significant amount, but that only makes the instinct to possess them all the worse. It’s a trade-off that Ghost is more than willing to make though, because he likes his team alive.

One of the pros of being seen as one of Ghost’s “possessions” is, first and foremost, that if he were to go into a feeding frenzy then you wouldn’t be on the menu. There’s also the simple fact that he’s easier to direct toward a target (or targets) while his higher brain function is switched off in favor of mindless feeding, which usually only happens when he’s “fatally” wounded in the field.

Not that he can actually be severely injured or killed by anything other than fire, that is. So Ghost is able to heal from wounds that would be a death sentence to a human and even other supernatural creatures because he only actually has one thing that can do serious damage to his person and since the fact that he’s a Wendigo is kept under lock and key -along with the knowledge that the supernatural exist in general- that means that most people wouldn't think to bring a flamethrower to a gunfight.

Ghost’s mind is dark and more than a bit twisted due to being a Wendigo for longer than he had been a human, so I see him as having a bit of what I like to call “Hannibal Mentality” where he just kinda wants to possess people and keep them with him forever. His way of doing so? Eating them.

Not, like, while they're alive mind you. But say, Roach were to die on a mission with Ghost, who would be compelled to eat Roach’s body since he doesn't have bodily functions that cause him to produce waste, so whatever he eats is quite literally with him forever. It would be challenging enough for him to simply give Price the dog tags instead of keeping them for himself, but there would certainly be no body to give to relatives or next of kin.

#cod cryptid au #cryptid tf 141 #headcanons #modern warfare ii #call of duty mwii #call of duty modern warfare #cod mwii #cod mw 2022 #mw2 2022 #cod modern warfare #simon riley #ghost #wendigo ghost #wendigo simon riley #ghostsoap #ghost x soap

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akariamai · 11 months

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Briefing Room

Part 1, Part 2

Pairing: Steve Rogers x android!reader

Word Count: 2076

The day was spent waiting for any new prospects on the situation, leaving Steve unable to sit still for even a moment. Under the circumstance, you did not know, he was justified to acting in such a way. It is his first job back on the field since he was under the ice. He wasn’t used to waiting around doing nothing. He was always a man with a plan, but at the moment, he was a fish out of water.

“Would you like to sit down, Captain Rogers?” He was hovering over the table you were seated at. Frown line encapsulating his face, his eyes scrunched up as he stood in his red, white, and blue costume. The situation must’ve been dire to make him act in such a manner.

His shoulders sagged a bit as he snapped out of his thoughts. He shook his head, refusing your offer, “No thank you, [Reader].” There was so much riding on finding the man who stole the Tesseract and all anyone could do is wait around for the machines to do their job. He was not used to being in such a predicament.

Throughout waiting, many of the agents would walk up to him in awe. A war hero in the flesh. Captain America in the twentieth century. Physically, still young. To many, it was a dream come true; a living legend in real time. To Steve, however, he wished to be back in his apartment spending the day with you. Instead, he was twiddling his thumbs, unable to prevent another power-hungry man from disrupting the peace.

Agent Coulson, when he wasn’t busy, walked right up to Steve and began an actual conversation with him. Unlike the other agents, who just stared or awkwardly glanced at him, Coulson began to rant about the set he’s collected throughout the years. “I mean, if it’s not too much trouble.” You accessed your database on the set he’s mentioned, finding a small group of history buffs and Captain America enthusiasts grant on about how rare and expensive searching for every piece of the collection. It only showed you the dedication Agent Coulson poured into acquiring his collecting, in near mint condition as well.

You found it strange for the tendency of humans to hoard a particular set of items. It led you through a rabbit hole of the collecting of coins, stamps, shoes, dolls, etc. It was all so bizarre to learn. You needed more time to learn more and perhaps teach Steve about such tendencies.

“No, no. It’s fine.” Polite as always, Steve was. While Steve was used to children being fans of the Captain America persona, Agent Coulson didn’t seem so bad.

“It’s a vintage set. It took me a couple of years to collect them all. Near mint, slight foxing around the edges, but...” Coulson’s rant was about to continue until it was interrupted by another agent.

“We got a hit. Sixty-seven percent match. Weight, cross match, seventy-nine percent.”

“Location?” Agent Coulson at once went into work mode. No longer was he the awe-filled man that adored the man next to him but a ready-to-work agent of SHIELD. He switched so seamlessly, impressing your robotic mind. Coulson was a professional.

“Stuttgart, Germany. 28, Konigstrasse. He’s not exactly hiding.” You did not know who he was or what the agents were searching for. You were completely in the dark, by the orders of Director Fury, and will continue to do so until you were either considered worthy or could not be kept away from the situation.

“Captain, you’re up.” Steve nods, preparing his mind and body for a battle that had yet to come. The last time he fought uprooted his existence to a new century. The people he had once trusted were gone. He was going to be alone on the battlefield with the eyes of SHIELD judging his every move. They had expectations for him and he was unsure if he could fulfill them. He had to bear the exaggerated fabrications of the history books as his story was dramatically Americanized into fantasy.

“Stay safe, Captain.” You muttered loud enough for his ears to pick up. Human life is a fragile and short. You did not want Steve’s story to end so soon after being free from the ice. He was slowly learning to live once more, and it would be unfair for it all to be taken away from him again. “The world still needs a hero.”

It has been a while since Steve had left and no one has reassured you the mission is or had went well. They ignored your presence like you were a bystander and perhaps, in their eyes, you were. The entirety of SHIELD moved like a lifeless machine. Each person acting like moving parts without the essence of lifeforms. Their movements were more robotics than you.

An agent, you did not know or recognized, walked up towards you. “Move to the briefing room.”

You nodded and was about to ask if they could walk you there but they walked away angrily. You didn’t know the way there. It was your first time in a helicarrier and you surely did not have access to the floor plans. So, you wandered around aimlessly until you found the room.

There you found Steve, Dr. Banner, an unfamiliar man dressed in strange clothing, and unnamed agents in the room. Steve, from your perspective, was watching a sort of broadcast on a monitor. As the monitor goes black, the group just stand there in silence.

You walked closer to Steve, scanning to see if he had any injuries he probably hid from SHIELD. Steve was the type of person to hide his injuries, waiting for everyone else to be checked before him. It didn’t matter if he was heavily injured, his teammates would always be checked before him. You managed to find several light bruises that probably weren’t light when he got them. His healing factor was fascinating.

Dr. Banner broke the silence, “He really grows on you, doesn’t he?”

“Loki’s gonna drag this out. So Thor, what’s his play?” Steve didn’t even notice your presence. He was too busy trying to piece together a puzzle you could not know. Loki and Thor... gods of Norse mythology. You had not gotten to show Steve mythology yet. You’ll be sure to go over mythology from all over the world.

“He has an army called the Chitauri. They’re not of Asgard or any world known. He means to lead them against your people They will win him the Earth. In return, I suspect, for the Tesseract.” You had never heard of the Chitauri before. The word was a complete mystery. Nothing popped up when you searched through your database.

Steve looked aghast, “An army? From outer space?” There are an infinite amount of universes, with vast galaxies top scientists haven’t even discovered yet. From unexplained objects moving in the sky to crop circles, it’s no wonder a small percentage of people believe in extraterrestrial lifeforms existing somewhere in the galaxy.

“So, he’s building another portal. That’s what he needs Erick Selvig for.”

“Selvig?” The man you learned is named Thor asked.

“He’s an astrophysicist.”

“He’s a friend.”

“Loki has him under some kind of spell, along with one of ours.” You were confused of this conversation. You didn’t have all the information the others had. Portals? An astrophysicists. Spells? What could it all mean? There were pieces of the puzzle within the conversation but without preeminent information, it was unsolvable. You were left in the dark, with only your robotic mind to try to piece it together.

“I wanna know why Loki let us take him. He’s not leading an army from here.”

“I don’t think we should be focusing on Loki. That guy’s brain is a bag full of cats, you could smell crazy on him.”

“Have care how you speak. Loki is beyond reason, but he is of Asgard, and he’s, my brother.”

“He killed eighty people in two days.”

“He’s adopted.” You didn’t get it.

“Iridium, what did they need the Iridium for?”

Iridium is one of the rarest elements on Earth as it can be found in sediments by rivers and a thin layer exists in the Earth’s crush. It is thought meteors and asteroids, containing high levels of iridium, had caused a huge dust cloud creating said layer.

“It’s a stabilizing agent.” Tony Stark, the billionaire who announced to the entire world he was Iron Man, and Agent Coulson walked in.

“I’ll fly you there. Keep the love alive. Means the portal won’t collapse on itself, like it did at SHIELD.

Tony turned to Thor, “No hard feelings, Point Break. You’ve got a mean swing.” He turns his attention to the Iridium, “Also, it means the portal can open as wide, and stay open as long, as Loki wants.” Tony, then, turns to the crew dramatically, almost as he is putting on a show, “Uh, raise the mid-mast, ship the top sails. That man is playing GALAGA! Thought we wouldn’t notice. But we did.”

You whispered to Steve, “I’ll go over video games later.” Steve was glad you were with him. He had a feeling he would need all the help he could get to understand the meaning behind the conversation that was speeding along.

Tony stood in front of the monitors and questioned, “How does Fury do this?”

“He turns.” An agent replies. You didn’t quite catch her name.

“Well, that sounds exhausting. The rest of the raw materials, Agent Barton can get his hands on pretty easily Only major component he still needs is a power source. A high energy density, something to kick start the cube.”

“When did you become an expert in thermonuclear astrophysics?” She asked.

“Last night. The packet, Selvig’s notes, the Extraction Theory papers. Am I the only one who did the reading.”

“Does Loki need any particular kind of power source.” While Steve did not full grasp the conversation, you had helped him tremendously with understanding a bit of astrophysics. He might be able to catch up with two of the world’s greatest's minds but he could pick up certain phrases of the conversation.

“He’s got to heat the cube to a hundred and twenty million Kelvin just to break through the Coulomb barrier.”

“Unless, Selvig has figured out how to stabilize the quantum tunneling effect.” The phenomenon, that is the quantum tunneling effect, is essentially when a particle, with less kinetic energy than the barrier its penetrates, is able to penetrate through a potential energy barrier. The odds of the phenomenon to happen is one in a hundred billion. If Selvig found a way to heighten the possibility, even a smug more, it would be known throughout the scientific world.

“Well, if he could do that, he could achieve Heavy Ion Fusion at any reactor on the planet.”

“Finally, someone who speaks English.”

“Is that what just happened?” Steve asks you as Tony and banner shake hands. There is a mutual respect for one another.

“It’s good to meet you, Dr. Banner. You’re work on anti-electron collisions is unparalleled. And I’m a huge fan of the way you lose control and turn into an enormous green rage monster.”

Dr. Banner looks down before muttering, “Thanks.”

Once you see Nick Fury walking into the room, you try to move behind Steve, not wanting to be kicked out. “Dr. Banner is only here to track the cube. I was hoping you might join him.”

Steve caught everyone’s attention, “Let’s start with that stick of his. It may be magical, but it works an awful lot like a HYDRA weapon.” Loki’s staff was so reminiscent of the weapons he had faced in World War II, he believed it couldn’t be a coincidence.

“I don’t know about that, but it is powered by the cube. And I’d like to know how Loki used it to turn two of the sharpest men I know into his personal flying monkeys.” Mind control?

“Monkeys?” Thor questioned, “I do not understand.”

Steve was so excited to understand something fully in this conversation. Obviously, he would have to ask you questions later when he was finished, but he was proud to have gotten it alone. “I do! I understand that reference.”

“Shall we play, doctor?” Tony asked.

“Let’s play some.” Dr. Banner and Tony walked out together and everyone else dispersed as well.

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mmikmmik · 16 days

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Starting ToQger and OOO is really satisfying because they both have such smart, well-executed worldbuilding. When you watch a lot of iterations of formulaic shows/franchises, you start to notice the craft, in a good way.

The whole thing in OOO where the main Rider can transform/get additional transformation modes by using Core Medals, which are literally part of the Greeed and can be stolen from them when they're injured, creates stakes within all the battles between the Greeed and OOO, and it immediately gives the other Greeed an intense personal beef with Ankh and OOO for fucking with their stuff. The audience doesn't fully understand the Core Medals yet, but we can see from Ankh's diminished state that they must be important. (I think this does have some danger of falling into the issue I had with Ex-Aid, where the plot stakes revolved around transformation items, so they kept taking fun toys away from the heroes with very little actual impact on things like character development or personal goals, but so far that's not happening.) In general, the show about desire is doing a great job giving the characters things they want and are believably motivated to fight for. Themes!

Meanwhile in ToQ they established that at this point, the regular MOTW Shadows can use their gimmicks to be threatening, but go down pretty easily once the ToQgers work out ways around those. But the Shadow Line leaders like General Schwarz are almost impossible to injure in direct combat, much less defeat. But the Rainbow Line trains are much more powerful than the Shadow Line trains! So it all comes together - the ToQgers aren't in constant danger and can relax in their daily lives because they're safe on a Rainbow Line train. General Schwarz focuses on military power, natch, so he's being smart and tactical by trying to soup up the Shadow Line trains (and also he fucking loves trains). The ToQgers must leave the safety of their trains to restore Dark Stations to normalcy, but the Shadow Line doesn't have Shadow Cell Phones to use to call backup (get on that, guys) so there's not a huge chance they'll encounter a Shadow Line leader there. The Dark Stations can't hold off the ToQgers, but the ToQgers don't automatically know where they are, so the other Shadow Line leaders can spam Dark Stations and collect darkness until the ToQgers trip over them and they aren't just completely wasting their time. Within the fun little Bright Colorful Imagination Trains vs Dark Spooky Steampunk Trains setting, everyone has sensible goals that they're pursuing rationally.

No one is doing things Just Because. No one is bizarrely ignoring a huge massive problem for themselves that recurs in every episode. There's not really any "well, it's not clear why they're doing this, but there's no plot holes or anything and I can think of a few potential explanations so I won't worry about it". We love to see it.

#we're not far in so ooo has lots of time to disappoint me (though i'm not expecting it)#i already know toq is perfect though

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wri0thesley · 2 years

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3 or 48 yan ask list zhongli 🥹

i liked 48 better, so--

(cw: yandere content, one mention of death/injury, neutral reader)

“Don’t test me, darling.”

Zhongli maintains an air of civility around all proceedings. He’s polite - not overbearingly affable, but certainly he endears himself to everyone he meets with his stories and his charming, lilting voice and his elegant manners.

“Oh,” other people whisper to you, when they realise exactly what the man is to you. “How lucky you are! How handsome he is. How well-read. How clever and distinguished, and blessed with the favour of the Archons, too--”

And it is all you can do to smile back at them, though you feel as though you are drowning in the praises for him. They do not realise that, for all of Zhongli’s demeanour when in public, behind closed doors he is a very different man.

There are people you are no longer allowed to associate with. Items of your wardrobe you are no longer allowed to wear. Things you are no longer allowed to do, without the man himself by your side. Zhongli holds your freedom captive in nothing but some words you had given him but lightly, never knowing just how heavily they would weigh on you when the God of contracts came to call.

Zhongli kisses you because you had once said to him, with a smile, that he could kiss you whenever he wanted - you had never dreamed that there’d be a time his lips felt like a death warrant. Zhongli touches you because you’d once said to him, with a sigh, that you never wanted him to stop - never dreaming that his hands would grow to feel like chains. Zhongli loves you because you’d once said to him, breathless and hot and coming down from the peak of ecstacy, that you would love him for as long as you were breathing--

Never dreaming that he would take you quite literally.

“Your escape attempts are growing tiresome,” Zhongli says to you from the doorway of his home. “Must I remind you every time of just how many terms of our arrangement you’re breaking when you do these things, my dear?”

“I never agreed to any terms or conditions,” you say to him, though the words have long gone stale in your mouth. It doesn’t matter how you insist upon it; Zhongli looks at you with that unbreakably penetrating gaze and reminds you that verbal contracts have existed since the dawn of time.

“You know how I feel about that line of excuse,” Zhongli says. “And you know, too, I would happily draw you up a physical contract that goes into our obligations in far more detail.”

(He has brought this up, time and time again; but you are not a fool. A physical contract would only feel as though it were signed in blood; would only be a tangible reminder that there is no escape in sight).

“I’m going to leave you,” you say - and Zhongli crosses the room in three long strides, reaching for your wrist. Something clatters to the ground; but Zhongli does not spare a moment for the expensive looking trinket you had taken from his bedroom (a room that is like a cave of exquisite wonders; Zhongli collects and collects and collects, and though he gives many things away, he acquires them at an even quicker rate) as it clatters on the floor.

“If you had wanted material goods,” he says, “You know I would never deny my most precious treasure any other fancies that struck you.”

Your jaw sets.

“Where does my freedom rank in precious commodities?” You ask him, with barely disguised vitriol - and Zhongli raises his eyebrows, gently tugging your hand closer to him.

For one bizarre moment, you think he is going to bite you. You have noticed what seems like the flash of fangs, once or twice; and the thought that flashes across your head is that he is going to slash the veins in your wrist and leave you to bleed out here on the floor of his home and nobody will ever find you or know what he did to you.

But he does not bite.

Instead, he presses a kiss, slow and lingering to the palm of your hand. His breath feels warm on bare skin - but his honey-gold eyes, when he looks up into your own, are anything but warm. He drops your wrist, letting you clutch it close to your chest as if his kiss has branded you.

“Don’t test me, darling,” he says, with slow, terrifying certainty. “There is sanctity in a contract. You will not win if you decide to play games with me.”

You thrust your chin up, your entire body trembling. Zhongli stands rock-solid steady; there is not an ounce of hesitation in him. His stance is relaxed but powerful; a predator who knows that the prey is already in its clutches, and all he has left to do now is to spring the final trap and you will be a mouse in the claws of a hawk.

(A jewel in the talons of a dragon).

“There are always cracks,” you say to him. “There is always a loophole.”

Zhongli smiles and dips his head low, pressing his forehead against yours. He brushes his lips softly against your own, and you think it may be the only soft thing about him.

“You poor, poor thing,” he breathes. “I have been at this long enough to ensure that my contracts are watertight.” Fingers gently curling around your jaw, as he regards you with tender adoration that makes you feel nauseous. “My darling. You are not getting away from me.”

#yandere zhongli #yandere genshin impact #not sfw text #yandere for ts #drabble #ask game #these are from an older ask game i was just struck with inspo for this one #genshin impact posting #writing

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