#And then another cryptid soon appeared too

[puppetmaster13u]

As voted on, have a Tim from @phoenixcatch7 's Possessed Doll Au

#possessed doll au #batman au #Honestly I wonder what the other JL members think about Bats continuously bringing more kids up to the Watchtower #Oh hey Phoenix just a warning I have like 6 different art pieces queued up so sorry if it spams you #batman #tim drake #robin #red robin #I like to think that civilians noticed lil kid running/biking after their local cryptids and then noticed when he seemed to disappear #And then another cryptid soon appeared too #I am just saying there's some implications there without anything being exactly outright spoken about #Tim is a master of stealth and uses it to eavesdrop like most kids would lol #I like to think the ears on his head have built in recording equipment for spying lol #possessed puppet au #Idk whose talking it's up to yall lol #It'd be hilarious if this is the first time the league is meeting Tim lmao #art #sketch #ibispaintx

[forsworned]

That Keegan post you made had me clutching my PEARLS! Your use of words was so masterfully done! I really loved the new vocab I learned while reading your work.

Your depiction of the relationship was also so so nice. Very loving and attentive and just so sweet. I could tell they loved one another and had already established boundaries that they knew they shouldn’t cross. The ending was lovely as well, a great way to tie things up.

Thank you for writing it! I’m excited to see what else your lovely brain comes up with!

-🧢

Whispers in the Woods: A Stranger's Shelter ft. OfftheGridCowboy!Keegan Russ

Sypnosis: When Keegan finds you petrified, running for your life from creatures unknown to you in the Haunted Appalachia trails after sundown, he takes you in for the night. Things get a bit crazy...

Warning(s): Mentions of Sexual Content, Violence, Petnames (?), Blood, Supernatural Horror (?), Eventual Smut, Barely Proofread, Reader is 28 and Keegan is 30, Reader is also AFAB

Word Count: 7.5k (enjoy keegan lovers ;)

Author's note: Blue cap anon thank you so much for inspiring me to write for Keegan. Honestly, I really love how this fic turned out and I hope you do too. I am so sorry I took so long to reply to you but you seriously warmed my heart so sosososo much when I read your message. I did not mean to put you on the back burner for this long/ Just know I have put so much effort into this to provide you a solid work so I hope that is a good enough excuse to have such a delayed response. Also so glad that you learned some new words LOL that really tickles me tbh, but I want to work more with the relationship that reader builds with Keegan in general or with any character x reader I write. So please enjoy this :)

edit: i think it's lowkey not living up to my expectations but ummm fuck it we ball

Sparks fly as the firewood in the pit crackles, casting an orange ember over you and the stranger sitting in front of you. His eyes, reminiscent of the cool, blueness of winter are lingering on you, and his heavy, leather jacket drapes over your shoulders to shield you from the chilliness of the early April evening. With his black cowboy hat slightly tilted upward, you note the black bandana covering most of his face, adding an air of mystery to his appearance.

"You really shouldn't be out here." His voice edges a precarious tone, though you cannot determine if it's toward you or whatever lurks in the abysmal woods. Maybe it was both. Your fingers curl around the distressed tanned hide, fiddling with the stitching of the material. A shudder careens through the columns of your spine, goosebumps trail over your skin, and the fuzz across your neck rises briefly.

"Don't look. Don't even acknowledge it." He instructs, steadying his gaze on you as he tinkers with the butterfly knife in his gloved hand. "W-what?" You gasp out, eyes reaming as your quivering vision sets on the embers of the pyre. A sinister presence harks over your convulsing body, heart palpitating out of your tightening sternum. But as soon as it arrives it departs and you're left heaving for the oxygen that was stripped from your lungs.

"I'm not gonna ask you again, what are you doin' walkin' around aimlessly in these mountains?" He repeatedly latches and unlatches the metal object in his hands, his gaze fixates on you. Truthfully, you were lost. When the engine of the old Dodge that you inherited from your grandfather abruptly cut out as you passed through a dead zone, it was all hauling ass from there on out. Classic damsel in distress situation.

Your father and he had both warned you about the Appalachian mountains. How apex predators inhabited the woods, preying on the innocent, ripping flesh apart on sight, or disappearing into the ghastly woods to never return. But, of course, you wrote it off as fearmongering. Never had you experienced the soul-crushing, harrowing existence of unidentified, cryptids lurking within the lacunas of the evergreens.

"My truck it—" You start to say, but the sound of him exhaling loudly cuts you off and you glance up at him with misery strewn across your features. Doe-eyes glimmering from the wetness that was welling in your oculars as your lips tremble. He outstretches his arm to the lantern on the perched log, "I've heard enough."

He begins to get up, extinguishing the flame, smothering it with what seemed to be a bag of salt and you felt fear creeping back into your system.

"Come on." As the pyre's embers fade, the lantern's switch emits a squeak, coaxing the oil flame to life, while the blood-curdling shrieks send shivers down your spine, ringing in your ears. And as if on cue, you cling to his side and he lets out a soft huff, feeling your arm coil around his.

The inferno acts as a bulwark from whatever is skulking around the both of you in the obscurity of the night as you move through the forest. You catch glimpses of shadows trekking about, seemingly running away from you now. A stark contrast from the previous frantic sprint through the woods in your petite, white frilly prairie dress that was now tattered at the edges and puffy sleeves. Now, you were safe. At least you certainly hope so.

A tiny light enters your line of sight in the distance, and you can only assume that that is his home. But you were still heeding the noises and images being molded in front of human eyes. It was as if the veil was lifted here, a supernatural existence in the vast mountains and woods of the Appalachia. You don't know whether to be terrified or fascinated, but you keep quiet as he silently leads you down the desire path to his home that is etching itself a little more into the horizon.

Approaching the home, you begin to notice the clandestine features of the house. A zephyr sweeps past you and the distinct smell of lavender and sage gently brims into your senses. You visibly shudder as the steps creak under your weight, your arm remains tucked into his own as he fishes out his keys and unlocks the door. Like a gentleman, he gestures to allow you in first and he follows closely behind, shutting it behind him.

"Shoes off at the door." He directs, treading past you as he tosses another piece of firewood into the lit fireplace.

What the fuck?

Is he just not going to acknowledge the paranormal manifestation that incurred upon them just now? The shadows of unearthly skinwalkers who infest the woods, who are prowling out there now as they barricade themselves from the outside? What is stopping them from forcefully intruding into his home?

You finally catch your breath for a moment, still feeling your heart hammering against your chest before you speak. "Are we not going to talk about what we just saw?"

"Nope." He simply replies, from another room and you blink back in surprise. Then it sinks in.

Of course, how could you forget? How can you forget the rules of the Appalachia, that were engrained into you as a child?

If you see something strange in the wilderness, no, you didn't.

If you hear something call your name, no, you didn't.

If you hear screaming in the Appalachian mountains, especially a woman's scream, no, you didn't. 

If you feel something stalking you, do not run.

Never, ever, whistle at night. 

Never go into the woods at night.

Never leave your windows open at night, even in the summer and honestly, the list dragged on and on and on.

Most of it falls on deaf ears never believing in the legends, and yet, here you are shaken up by things you never thought existed in a stranger's home who found it in his heart to shelter you until what you suppose would be dawn.

A wavering breath escapes you as you take a long gander at the well-maintained colonial home. The timeless and heirloom quality of the home becomes evident upon analyzing the vast array of paintings and framed photographs adorning the walls, each depicting individuals with strikingly similar features—dark brows, thick lashes, and mesmerizing steely blue eyes that seemed to penetrate your soul. You can't quite make out the framed artwork through your muzzy vision, but it's eerie the way you can't quite pinpoint why the face was so recognizable to you.

Exposed wooden ceiling beams motion your eyes to the inherited items and the mounted deer skull above the hearth. The warmth emanating from it felt different, soothing, lulling your quivery limbs. You oblige and kick off your boots, padding behind him as he draws out his gun from his holster and places it on the mahogany table. He removes his cowboy hat, hanging it on the horseshoe hat rack adjacent to the fireplace revealing his tousled short black locks. As he begins to unmask himself, a small gasp leaves your lips, fixating on his newly exposed features. And he was goddamn handsome and unusually reminiscent of someone from your childhood embarked into the backlogs of your memory, but of course, you brush it off.

And although he hears it, he does not acknowledge it as one hand grips the wooden chair and the other runs over his dark stubble. He's pensive. The last thing he needed was some heretic woman living under his roof for Lord knows how long. At this point, he decides that you are his responsibility and he cannot shirk from that for that would be unbecoming of a man like himself and he was raised better than that.

He glances up at the painting of his father above the hearth and you take note of the reflective state. His daddy was the embodiment of a Cowboy. Gentlemanly, charming, nifty, and always genial, providing the best hospitality a person could provide. No way, he'd accept Keegan kicking you to the curb, leaving you out for those creatures to rip you apart. Plus, his father would simply rise from his grave and kick his ass.

"You hungry?" He pays no mind to your lingering, bewitched eyes as he moves to the kitchen and you like a lost puppy trailing behind him. "Got some leftover potato leek soup."

And as if on cue, your stomach growls and he glances at your hand over your tummy. You flush from the embarrassment of your stomach being that raucous. He cocks a brow at you and you can't tell if he's amused or annoyed. Probably both. "Go sit." He points his chin to the table by the fireplace and you pad back to the living room, the tempering sensation of the flames causes you to become drowsy. You loll your head to analyze his stature. His figure towers over all of the antique appliances in the kitchen, muscles flexing as he prepares to reheat the soup on the stove. Rolling up his sleeves to reveal his taut, tanned forearms to open the cabinet and pull out the loaf of handmade sourdough, slicing it evenly and efficiently before tossing it in the toaster.

His form becomes a bit hazy as you lay your head against the top rail of the chair, mesmerized by the allure of his broadened shoulders, and soft pink lips that all by hide the peeking tongue indicating his concentration in preparing you a homecooked meal. Keegan never has guests over, in fact, no one is ever daft enough to come running around this way anyways because locals know better and tourists are too scared shitless to even enter this part of the Appalachia. He likes it like that, away from everything and everyone, being able to maintain his family's ranch that was inherited by him at the ripening age of 18.

His mother moved out to the suburbs because the death of his father was far too devasting on her already weary soul to continue living her days out on the farm. But Keegan doesn't mind it. He handles the livestock with ease, providing care to the birthing cattle, and maintaining the operations of the facilities as a whole to keep his honest living thriving. It's all in a good day's work for him. So caring after you shouldn't be too much of a hassle right?

You're suddenly awoken to the soft clatter of the bowl being set on the wooden table, the savory aroma of potato leek soup, and freshly toasted sourdough bread. He sets a glass of water beside you before he pulls his seat adjacent to you with his food.

"Eat." He orders, waiting for you to take a spoonful of thick soup. You hesitantly lift the spoon before glancing up at him. He blinks back at you, realizing the weight of his indiscretion, and whisks the soup with his spoon before noshing on it as if to tell you that is not poisoned nor drugged. Your other hand takes the bread in between your fingers and he mirrors your actions, claiming a bite from his own and you visibly relax.

The soup is scalding to the touch, but you welcome the sensation when you get a taste of the heavenly whipped soup. Not a single lump, just the smoothest, most savory supping of such a simple hearty soup instantly heartening your disconcerting body right down to your unsteady hand.

"I'll fix your truck as soon as dawn breaks." He flashes a glance before breaking his bread and scooping it into his soup. "Make yourself comfortable in the guest bedroom." He gestures with his hand to the upstairs.

"Oh, I couldn't—" You begin to say, but he will have none of it.

"You're not going out there until the sun's out." He replies simply, as he lifts his glass of water and sips from it. You observe the way his Adam's apple oscillates under his stubbly throat and you swallow thickly when you realize he's gazing at you keenly.

Warmth spreads to your cheeks and your eyes are now following the pattern of the wood grain. "That's…very kind of you."

"'s just the human thing to do." And there is an emphasis on the word 'human'.

You begin to play with your soup, scooping it up and letting it fall back into the bowl. "Right." Your voice is soft as you try to block out the memory just moments ago.

He narrows his eyes as if to study you. "What's your name?"

You glance up at him, and you're almost a bit hesitant to tell him. You almost want to lie, but you decide otherwise. "[Name], and yours?"

"Keegan."

"Keegan what?" You press. He raises a brow at you as he chews on his bread.

"Russ."

Russ. An esteemed surname that was echoed throughout your household during your adolescence. Presley Russ was a handsome and genial man who appeared at your father's porch steps every so often, tipping his hat at you with that charming smile and those glacial hues that made your heart jump. He'd invite your daddy out for nights at the rodeo or sipping on Highland Gaelic Ales on the porch from the afternoon til midnight, biding his time between Maryland and North Carolina.

You never quite caught glimpses of his son when you were living out on the ranch before you moved out for college, but you did remember a time when you ventured out past sunset in the abandoned village in the Black Hills you knew better than to be in when your daddy had to travel to Wheaton for the grand opening of his old buddy, Presley's restaurant accompanied by his reclusive son who you never remembered the name of. But for God's sake, who was stupid enough to go treading alone around the same location as the filming of the Blair Witch Project?

But you were a skeptic at best until you heard the unrelenting repetition of your name being called which led you astray, causing you to stumble over your own feet and ultimately collide with a rock that rendered you unconscious. Soon enough, you felt yourself being carried back to your home in the arms of the Russ boy with the hardened steely gaze that intently stared down at the knot forming on your forehead. You had never shut your eyes so quickly and the sound of his soft chuckle, caused you to be even more embarrassed as you were being handed off to your worried parents who were more than relieved and thankful to have retrieved you.

Of course, you had to act like you were unconscious. It was already humiliating enough that you were old enough to know better, but being ferried by a cute boy like you were some helpless damsel in distress was just mortifying.

But that was long forgotten by you in hazy summer days during your teen years before you went off to college and moved out into the city. In reality, you had written it off as a dream, a hallucination concocted by that vivid and graphic imagination of yours. That was always the case with you and the Appalachia. Always the non-believer.

But part of you was hoping that maybe he didn't recognize you after all this time, and yet the way he is staring you down is beginning to feel like otherwise.

"Blair." He suddenly says matter-of-factly as he taps his finger at the table and nods again. "Blair." A small toothy grin creeps on his lips before he chuckles.

Your eyes reaming as your heart drops to your stomach. "What?"

"Black Hills, you're the daughter of the farmer right up in Garrett County."

You feel the warmth blooming on your cheeks. He knew. "I—How do you remember that?"

"Knew you looked familiar." He dives back into his steaming soup. "Was tryin' to figure out where I'd seen that necklace of yours." He juts his chin, pointing to the family heirloom that kisses your clavicle. It had been passed down for generations to the women in your family as a symbol of health, wisdom and longetivity. You feel for the 20k gold pendant with lilac and sage engraved into the soft metal.

He looks as if he's stifling another snicker. "Think you pissed yourself a little when I found you unconscious."

Now that gets you real flared up. The abrupt change in mood was beginning to wrack your nerves. You sigh knowing that at the very least you were in good hands. Familiarity begins to set in as he breaks the ice, creating a more comfortable atmosphere between you two.

"I did not!" You puff your cheeks out at him and he's tickled pink by your endearing, agitated reactions.

His gleeful grin only grows to his eyes. "Now, who willing goes into the woods by themselves when they know damn well what kind of activity breeds over there, hm? Gotta death wish if you ask me, kid."

You open your mouth to say something, but it clamps shut. You don't know whether to be abashed by the way his face lights up like the stars in the heavens above, or by the fact that he remembers that you pissed yourself a little through your favorite pair of khaki parachute shorts in a known marked area where people have gone missing. The stark realization of it being a tangible memory was mussing at your trepidation towards him. But he's teasing you now and it stirs a strange kind of desire in your lower belly as you uncomfortably shift in your creaky wooden seat.

Pushing your bowl away, you avoid responding by guzzling down your water and then calmly placing it back down.

"I'd like to get ready for bed now, if you don't mind."

He jovially raises his eyebrows as he munches on the last of his bread. The smirk still curled up on the corners of his pinkened lips.

He wipes the crumbs off his hands and thumbs either side of his mouth before he gets up, gesturing to you. " 'Course not."

You stand up and politely push your chair in as you track behind him up the croaking staircase. Your body is practically heaving with every step and by the top of it, you're feeling a bit winded. Keegan decides to keep his comments to himself as he ushers you down the grandiose hallway. The walls are painted ivory, and wall sconces are tapered candles on held-up aged tin nailed into the parapet. Hardwood floors are well kept, but the small divots in between the grain quickly reveal the age.

He jingles the knob to what you suppose is the guest bedroom, but it seems to be locked. His fingers fish into his pocket and you watch as he phalanges through the set and then finally picks out the antiquated rusty skeleton key. It's honestly a bit jarring that it requires a key to fasten the door, but at this point, if you're being kept away from the monsters lurking outside you'd be happy to be his little prisoner for now.

He pushes the door and it moans open, though much to your surprise it's polished and orderly. In the middle of the room is a wooden four-poster queen-sized bed, with a princess-like sheer white canopy that surreptitiously envelops the bed. The furniture is a bit more romantic with detailed carved patterns on the bookshelves that line up against the wall to the vanity that sat adjacent to the bed. The carmine curtains that drape over the large window, easily maneuver you to the balcony, and the soft calling of your name beckons you to open it…

A sturdy hand clasps over your shoulder and you jolt as you turn to him. He's shaking his head as he towers over you and you look so goddamn feeble with those damn bambi eyes of yours shimmering in the tiny sliver of moonlight that peeks out from the window. He tears his gaze away to tread over to the window, squeezing it shut with the velcro he sewed into the fabric and reinforces the window shut.

A sharp exhale leaves his nostrils and his eyes are on you again. "I totally can see why you ended up the way you did." He glimpses over your dirtied and frayed dress, skinned, bloodstained knees, and contusions running up and down your legs. God, he makes it so easy to feel self-conscious.

He licks his lips as he hovers his hand over the knob to his right, and signals you over. You begrudgingly stride over and you're just as impressed at the bathroom. From the massive mirror above the traditional wooden undermount double sink vanity to the wine-red clawfoot freestanding bathtub. Little golden trinkets pinstripe the rosy walls with the soft warm lighting of the hanging flowery ceiling light fixtures. You squint your eyes when he adjusts the radiance to a white glow with the dimmer light switch before he opens the drawers one by one.

"Towels, robes, spare clothes, toiletries. Gimme a shout if you need anything else."

You open your mouth to say something and his eyes playfully narrow at you. "—within reason, missy."

Your bottom lip reflexively juts out. You hate to admit it, but you were quite the spoiled child. Never receiving more than a gentle chide from your parents and always silver-spooned to the nines by your grandparents. The truck was an exception. More of a parting gift from your grandfather that was left to you for the sole purpose of memorabilia scored into every inch of the tarnished vehicle. You hope that Keegan is capable of fixing it since most parts were made by discontinued distributors and they were definitely not easy to come by as they were expensive.

"Christ, spoiled rotten, weren't ya?" He ribs, nudging you a bit and you frown at him.

"Was not." You childlessly retort, but the small smile on your face betrays your feeble attempt at contempt.

Fuck, she is so cute. Keegan thinks as he assimilates your hilly yet winsome appearance. Just as cute as he remembers when he was seventeen, ignorant of the malignancy that poisoned his father's lungs.

"Not as much as your daddy spoiled you." You shoot back and cover your mouth with your hands as his brows lift in half surprise and half revelry.

"Blair's got jokes now, huh?" The elicitive nickname indicative of your former years sends another rushing warmth to your face and you begin to shoo him out.

"I'd really like to be clean now, thank you." You cast a scowl his way and he's putting his hands up in surrender as he backs out of the bathroom followed by the bedroom.

"I take it that the lady needs her privacy now." He leans against the doorframe with his hands stuffed into his denim jean pockets that are dusty and darkened with wood ash and the smell of the campfire lingers on his skin.

"And her beauty sleep." You add on, folding your arms. His jacket is still resting over your shoulders and he chuckles at your Hello Kitty print socks. The way your hair was mussed up in the soft glow of the lantern lamp on the night table was starting to arouse him a bit.

Fuckkkkkk, you were so adorable. It might have taken every atom in his body not to bend you over the mattress and spank you for being such a dotty woman before pressing his cock past your velvety folds as he makes you apologize in the form of incoherent, dirty little whimpers.

But the thought is quickly dismissed as it's formed in the sullied cogitations of his mind.

"Good night, [name]." He murmurs in his husky voice yet there is a hint of mischief in his tone that sends a frisson up your spinal column.

"Good night, Keegan." You susurrate, as you slowly shut the door and his expression remains the same as your view of him narrows until it disappears behind the threshold.

"Christ." You mutter to yourself as you begin to get ready for bed, as you feel the rush of collywobbles in your stomach start to well up a craving for the cowboy. The time on your cracked phone screen reads 2:03 AM and a wave of exhaustion crashes over you at the realization. Had you really been out there for seven hours?

The warm water soothes your aching bones and forming scabs scattered across your body as you gently exfoliate your skin. Thankfully, Keegan had enough sense to drop off a first aid kit by your door before you slipped into the bath. You weren't looking forward to the sting of the antiseptic, but you were more than grateful to be alive and have all your limbs attached. As you close your eyes and let the sudsy bath take away your worries, a coaxing voice is entrancing you. At first, it begins as a hushed lull intermingled with what sounds like your name and a bit of white noise that makes your brain all fuzzy and warm, but it becomes audible. Forming coherent luring words that resemble Keegan's deep, raspy voice.

Drown, drown, drown.

And you promptly find yourself submerging into the tub and the stillness of the water is subduing, but something is instigating you to open your eyes. You push away the thought, taking in the tranquility, settling into the comforting sensation of weightlessness. And yet, the feeling is not leaving you. You internally sigh as you move your body to the surface, but you remain dormant. Your eyes shoot open and your blood runs cold.

Above is one of the most fear-inducing creatures that you have ever laid your eyes upon holding you down on either side of your shoulders with slender claws digging into your flesh. It resembles a caribou skull with elongated antlers but its eyes were a violent vermillion that penetrates your soul. Its body was dark, rickety, and harrowing. Bones astute against the matted onyx fur and its tongue hanging out of his jaw like it was ready to devour you. Panic surges through your veins as you thrash about but it drives its talons further into your skin and you shriek out in pain. Water enters your lungs, your heart is stammering at cardiac arrest speed and you're choking out for dear life. This is it. This is how you die and the worst part about it is, you couldn't even call out for hope from the man who saved you just moments ago.

But just as you're accepting your fate, the muffled sound of a gunshot pierces through the air and within seconds the skinwalker is incapacitated and then dead. Soon enough, you're being hoisted out by Keegan's strong hands, as you cling onto him naked, wet, and heaving for oxygen.

Water expels out from your esophagus and you're trembling even harder than you were before when he found you, grasping to him and he's immediately talking you down.

"It's alright, you're okay. You're okay." He soothes, one hand tenderly caressing your soddened hair and the other is gripping your body tight as he pulls you out of the tub. He wastes no time unplugging the drain and wrapping you in a large towel to cover your naked body. In all seriousness, Keegan didn't even take a second to gander at your naked form when he was gathering you out of the tub and he makes that clear that his sole objective was to eliminate the wendigo that trespassed into your sanctuary.

He could've sworn that he had locked up every single opening in the house as he does every single night. It was like clockwork to him ever since his father had shown him the ropes to the place.

"…Kee-keegan." You splutter out as you continue to clutch onto him and your body is saturating him with water. He doesn't care though, that was the least of his worries. Your eyes are reaming and glossy as you dare to peek down at the creature that was seconds away from letting you meet your maker, but there's nothing but ash on the tiled floor.

"It was—" You begin, peering up at his harking steely eyes and his jaw tightens.

"It's gone."

"I don't understand." You shake your head, trying to make sense of what just happened, but the soft clatter of the rifle hitting the bathroom counter delineates your scattered mind. "Oh. But—"

"Get dressed." He softly prompts and you shakily let go of his t-shirt and he hands you an eggshell-colored peignoir as he averts his gaze. He's cognizant of the post-distress and panic you're in, so makes no indication of reallocating himself away from you as you slip on the fabric nor does he provide an explanation for what just occurred.

And to be honest, you didn't want to know. There was nothing more disturbing than the encounter with death in the form of a mutated caribou that leaves you shaken up. Everything just seemed too difficult to wrap your little head around, so let him take care of you.

A fresh towel is on your head, soaking up the wetness tangled into your hair and you relax at his balmy touch.

"Thank you." You mutter as your eyes are cast downward, eyeing the imbued, darkened spots on his nightshirt.

He delicately hooks his index finger and thumb between your chin and lifts it upward as he dabs at your features with the towel. And then it lingers. His intense yet pensive gaze, his stout calloused thumb that is now brushing against your jaw shortly followed by your quivering bottom lip. His jaw ticks.

"I'll sleep in here tonight."

Your heart jumps rampantly against your chest. "What?"

"You almost died if it weren't for me."

"Yes, but it's not—!" You fall short of words yet again and you're tearing your gaze away from him. As dire as the situation was (and it was), Keegan cannot help himself from being just the tiniest bit entertained by your endearing little mannerisms.

"I'm not gonna sleep next to you in bed." He deadpans. Normally, he would let you stumble over your words, but exhaustion is seeping into his bones and even as a noceur himself he was in desperate need of some z's. "The armchair over there quite comfy."

You follow his eyes to the brown leather recliner that was beside the bed and then back to him.

"I'm tired, Keegan." You profess, leaning your head against his chest and he's absentmindedly rubbing circles into the small of your back.

"I know."

Typically, you wouldn't be this comfortable with a stranger but given the unusual circumstances that were currently trying to slaughter your ass, you found yourself seeking solace in him.

"Let's get you into bed."

And soon he's leading you back to the bedroom, his hand is still on the small of your back as you walk on wobbly legs. He peels off the comforter and you sink into the mattress feeling like royalty in your crisp, clean nightgown, in your large princess-like bed, surrounded by plush pillows as the light in the lantern flickers. It casts shadows over his dashing features. The flame turns his glacial eyes into a soft apricot and an expression flickers over his visage—concern.

He's harping over your safety and the intruder that happened to bypass his heavily guarded home. No tripped wires, no movement detected on his cameras, and not to mention not a single sound was made until he heard your thrashing in his room across the hall. If he hadn't been there in time—

"You saved me, though." You drone, shutting your eyes as you tuck yourself into the cotton sheets.

His hardened glare softens at your words and how you look at ease now. A testament to your full, unshakeable faith in him. God, you were so quick to trust, it honestly scared him a little for you.

He scoffs. "How can you be so sure that I wouldn't hurt you?"

"Because your father would resurrect and beat the absolute shit out of you if you even dared to think about harming me." You state with a sly smirk on your face.

Keegan's expression briefly falters before he lets out a snicker, acknowledging the truth in your bold proclamation. "Crafty little critter, aren't ya?"

You giggle as shift under the sheets. It's almost a bit disturbing how you are seemingly fine and brushing off the situation. "Maybe."

He peers down at you for a moment and the welcoming feeling of your radiance starts to crawl into his chest. Almost like you were right where you needed to be, in his home, in his bed under his safeguarding. He wants nothing more than that. It's almost a bit perturbing how you are seemingly fine.

"Go to sleep." You mumble.

"You go to sleep."

"No, you first,"

"Who else is going to shield you against creatures of the night?"

You pause for a moment. "Good point."

He smiles as he walks over to the armchair, gun propped up against his left leg as he sits to face you. You're already curling up in a ball, and your chest rises and falls at a tranquil pace.

"Good night, Blair." He feels his eyes drooping as his vision becomes bleary.

You chuckle at the idiotic nickname. "Good night, Cowboy."

The remnants of tiny, foolish smiles are left on your faces as you drift off to sleep in your respective spaces. The last passing thought that crosses your mind is Keegan's tender gaze and his fingers brushing against your lips. Keegan wonders what is making you so giddy before the world around him fades out.

As morning breaks, sunlight filters through the curtains, casting a gentle glow on the room. The spring breeze wafts into the wisps of your hair and your eyes flutter open. The seat in front of you is now empty and the balcony door is wide open, and yet you're calm as you rise out of bed. Birds are chirping and the incessant droning of cicadas buzzing loudly against your eardrums is merely white noise when you recognize the low rumble of your truck's engine pulling up. There is an urgency that surges within you and soon you're sprinting out the door, and the heat of the cobblestone stings at the soles of your feet but you don't care.

The engine cuts and Keegan climbs out of the truck, sleeves rolled up in his army green henley, and he's wearing a clean pair of relaxed, light-wash jeans that skim the leather of his Tecovas. He peers up at you with wintry hues, tipping his hat, and in that instant, you're transported back to your childhood—Mr. Russ, tipping his hat with those same eyes and that glorious smile that always made your heart race.

The resemblance was both striking and uncanny, but damn, you were totally not complaining.

"Mornin', little lady. You're up quite early." He puts his hands on his hips and he's no longer the stone-faced, vendetta-filled Cowboy that you met last night. He's your friendly Appalachian Cowboy who provides you the sweet, sweet southern hospitality with a charming smile and a bit of a North Carolinian twang that sets your groins on fire.

"Mornin', Cowboy. Fixed my truck, did you?" You lean against the French iron wrought railing with your ruffled hair and white nightgown, rippling in the slight draft that carries the healing scent of sage and lavender. The fabric forms around your body and Keegan notices how it traces the outline of your curves and how the sun is hitting you just perfect enough for you to look like a literal angel.

But it's still the unrelenting, disconcerting feeling that creeps up on him when he looks up at you so unbothered, airheaded with that buoyant grin on your face. Was it really just a facade?

"Fixed it good enough for you to get back on your way." He turns from you to the truck and then back to you. "By the way, where were you headed?"

"Back to the old man." You cross your leg over the other, waiting for his response. He watches as the skin of your legs peeks out from under the peignoir and it's a bit enticing.

"I didn't contact him if that's what you're askin'" His hand acts like a sun visor to block the light out of his sensitive eyes to take a good gander at you.

"I would hope not. Don't need to send him into cardiac arrest." You joke and you see his shoulders shaking a bit, suggesting a chuckle.

"Made you breakfast."

"Yeah?" You simper, leaning a little more against the railing.

He can't help the way his grin broadens as he peers up at your flirty form. "Careful now, can't have you comin' back home with a broken neck, can we?"

Shit. Shit. Shiiiiit.

Goddamn him and his pretty face. He's already heading inside as you're locking in on him, but Keegan isn't one to give you the satisfaction. He'll play the long game and he'll enjoy every minute of it. From the way you're sitting next to him at the table with your dress bunched up to your thighs to the way you sensually lick your spoon covered with cream and he's internally chuckling at the mess you've made on the corners of your lips, feigning gullibility to get a rise out of him. Admittedly, it's hot. He wants nothing more than to lick your fingers clean and sloppily kiss your sweet cream-laden lips.

Mmmm.

He doesn't say anything. Just enjoys his breakfast and keeps his gaze lowered like a gentleman. The company of a beautiful woman is enough for him on a fine Sunday morning like this.

You can only wonder what he's thinking as you act like a giddy schoolgirl who's trying to get the attention of her professor. Not that you had a significant age gap with Keegan, but in his original line of work there was a massive lapse. Being a retired Marine had probably mentally aged him over give or take 10 years would have been your best guess. And leaving the farm to his cousins in his absence probably impacted him even more, well, according to your gossip girl of a father at least.

He made trips down to NC every so often to check on his favorite, reclusive cowboy, sometimes tending to his facilities when need be. You never tagged along though. In your mind, you were a city girl who didn't mind dressing up as a cowgirl if she saw fit. So coming down from your city job, in the comfort of your sweet loft that overlooked the NOVA skyline didn't exactly make you miss the Appalachia trails.

Still, it is nice being back here with a somewhat familiar stranger in a home you had only seen the outside of because, for the majority of your life, you had so desperately tried to force out the rural in you. Call it toxic, but leaving the mountains always felt like the haze had lifted from your brain. It was unsettling to be here for too long.

"You're nervous."

You glance up from the runny eggs that you have been working on for the past twenty minutes. You give him a sheepish grin. "This place makes me nervous."

"Itching to go back to the city, huh?"

That elicits a small chuckle from you. "And what do you know about me?"

"Well, according to your father," He says in a knowing tone and you narrow your eyes at him as he gives you a coy smile. "you love the city too much to move back."

"I don't think I'm too good for it. Here, I mean."

"Didn't say that. The Appalachia isn't for everyone." He butters his toast and then munches on it and soon it vanishes into his mouth. The night before is washed away from your memory, but Keegan loses track of his thoughts as he stares at the leftover jagged lines embedded into your skin from a creature that he knew you wanted to forget. A glance at his watch and he's up, wiping his hands and mouth with the serviette that was on his lap before he places it on the table. "You ready?"

"You got somewhere to be?" You raise your brows, not quite ready to leave yet.

"Matter o'fact I gotta date with an employee from Tractor Supply Co in about an hour, and it's thirty minutes out."

"New livestock?" You sip at your coffee.

A sad smile graces his lips. "Yeah, my last eldest cattle just passed away a few weeks ago."

You frown. "I'm sorry."

For a moment you swear you saw him get teary-eyed, but he quickly shakes himself out of the grief, grabbing his keys as he downs his glass of ice water. He stops himself for a moment as you get up to push your chair in and he can't help himself from tracing his fingers over the claw marks on either side of your shoulders. You shudder from the remembrance and his touch.

"[name]," He starts to express but your mood sours.

"Stop."

His expression falters and so does his hand as he lets it drop to his side. You didn't want to remember any of it. He notices how you clutch onto your necklace and he drops the subject.

"Your trucks waiting." He takes your hand and deposits the keys into your palm.

You give him a tight-lipped smile. "Thank you."

You begin to approach your truck and you feel relief washing over you as you run your hand over the tarnished, rusted hood of the Dodge before you open the driver door. As you climb in you notice that all your belongings remain untouched. Scattered cassette tapes, polaroids, and the little Hawaiian girl that swayed with every movement still plastered onto the dash. The leather seats seem to have abrasions, revealing the cushion beneath, but you write it off as a bear maybe deciding to try and access your vehicle after you had abandoned it.

"…[name], ….[name]….!"

You're snapped out of your stupor, recollecting your thoughts as you glance over at him leaning his body against your truck. "I checked the vehicle, it's all clear for you to go. Should make it back alright."

"Why wouldn't it be if you fixed the engine?"

The look you give him is blank, free from concern and any worry that may have been left on your face from last night.

He nods, pushing his hands into his jean pockets. "Right, well, it was nice seeing you all grown up."

That provokes a reaction. Heat is rising to your cheeks and Keegan is standing there looking cool as ever as he takes off his hat and wipes the sweat off his brow before putting it back on.

"Thank you." You say with more feeling, only your eyes acknowledging the horrors of last night. And that's enough for Keegan.

"You take care now." He tips his hat with a good-natured grin and you snicker at his little cowboy bit.

He waves to you as you back out of his driveway and you glance over from your rearview mirror as his towering figure disappears and so does any anamnesis from the evening prior. Or at least, you told yourself that.

And that was April. Months have gone by and Keegan doesn't exactly expect you to keep in contact. He's even surprised to hear a, '[name], says hello, by the way.' from your father during their weekly check-in.

And he definitely does not expect to see your truck in his driveway when he's coming back from milking his cows for the day with his new set of eyes that's in dog form, wagging her tail in anticipation as she sits.

"German Shepherd, eh? Suits you." You simper at him, leaning against the pillar of his home with glossy lips, and a cutesy red paisley swing dress that just barely covers your thighs. Your boots are hardly broken in as they dig into the grassy field and your hair is a little disheveled in an endearing way.

"Name's Miley." He peels off his gloves, shoving them into his back pocket. He's completely taken aback by your sudden presence, though he's not one to complain about a pretty lady showing up at his door.

"Hey, Miley." You coo, holding your hand to her and she's immediately reciprocating your energy tenfold as she jumps up and down, causing you to giggle and pet her soft fur.

Keegan doesn't even need to say anything as he glances down at the German Shepherd and she's already sitting on the ground between you two.

"Miss me?" You ask, coyly.

"Could ask you the same thing, Blair." He tilts his head to the side, eyeing you suspiciously. Something was off.

"I was just in town."

"Uh huh."

It doesn't take long before the act drops and distress is carving into your features. Lips are trembling in fear as your eyes begin to water.

"Something's been following me, Keegan." Your body naturally falls against his chest and his breath hitches a bit at your contact and the smell of your perfume wafts into his senses.

Fuck.

mini taglist: @keegansshark @soapsgf @milkteaarttime

#call of duty #call of duty imagines #keegan p russ #keegan p russ x reader #keegan russ x reader #keegan russ smut #call of duty x reader #cod x reader #cod ghosts #call of duty ghosts #call of duty smut #keegan x reader #cod keegan #keegan russ #keegan smut #eventual smut #alternate universe #cod au

[naffeclipse]

Hey Naff! I just saw the ask about what Cryptid y/n would be and your response about a mothman one, and I present to you something I just thought would be really funny:

Following along the delicious obliviousness of the main fic, mothperson y/n just not having that sixth sense all cryptids have that lets them detect other cryptids or even demons. So they find the "abandoned animatronic" and feel bad about their vulnerability and obviously burnt state (plus are drawn to the glow of their eyes!) and approach asking if they might need help. They know this forest like the back of their hand, it would be no problem directing them somewhere a human settlement could help them!

Meanwhile the boys are internally like ?? are they not? Afraid? Why is this other supernatural entity talking so casually to a demon, can they not feel what they are?

And y/n is just like all proudly declaring how they are a very good hunter (of what they eat) and well respected in the woods and how nobody will get away with hurting them as long as the local mothperson watches over them, and smiles at them just super earnestly.

And so amused they just go along with it. Wondering when they'll eventually realize what they're dealing with. Because surely they will sense it soon, right? But then they don't, and Eclipse no longer wants them to, because this cryptid can very much fly away, and they find themselves really not wanting that to happen the more time they spend together.

Heya, babe! About this post, EEEE, I LOVE THIS! Oblivious Y/N strikes again in mothperson form!

That's so sweet to think of the possessed animatronic's pale eyes becoming a familiar and welcomed light in mothperson Y/N's life, and how easily they seek out the boys with their glow. It's also a bit of a strange role reversal with Y/N sleeping during the day and fluttering around at night.

Gah, I love the boys' confusion, too! They're not necessarily concerned or hostile towards another cryptid, expecting this one to become aware that they're much, much more dangerous than what their vessel appears as, so they certainly don't expect this polite offer from the mothperson to help them hide in the woods.

Then promising to protect them. That's new. Eclipse has no idea how to take the rather sweet cryptid except to follow them into their woods.

I imagine there are a few moments where the boys almost trip themselves up when Y/N returns with a varmint for their dinner and happens to not eat the heart. Either Sun or Moon almost comments about them wasting the best part of the innards before—whoops gotta keep that to themselves.

OH OH AND ANOTHER THING mothperson Y/N believes that they're the tol in the relationship friendship because the animatronic doesn't pass their feathery antennae in height, only to be proved very very wrong when Eclipse finally emerges and is taller than them.

#chaotik i'm kissing your big brain #augh love mothperson y/n #their wings and eyespots would be stunning and silvery #cryptid sightings #mothperson!reader #cryptid!eclipse #chaotikanvas

[scarletwritesshit]

🍣 Kotone Shiomi x Shinjiro Aragaki 🍣 The Dreadful Secret of Shinjiro Aragaki

Shinjiro was in no rush to return to Iwatodai Dorm. Wandering the streets alone in the dead of night was something that he was, in fact, rather used to. With familiar sights all around him, Shinjiro felt strangely at home.

He pulled the worn leather watch out of his coat pocket, unable to see it in the darkness of the streets. Once he wandered beneath the light of a streetlamp, Shinjiro stood still for a moment to read the time.

10:58 pm.

As long as he gave himself some time to spare before the coming of the Dark Hour, he otherwise did not have to worry himself sick about the clock

Regardless, he had a nagging feeling that perhaps, he should attempt to return to the dorms sooner rather than later. Kotone was surely going to scour the streets to hunt him down, whether he liked it or not. He knew what that girl was capable of, and was confident that she could hold her own, but he wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if she sustained even the slightest of injuries. God forbid another accident were to happen, it would be the final shot to Shinjiro’s heart before he would truly be unable to live with himself any further.

The more he thought about this plausibility, the further into despair his thoughts sank, so Shinjiro picked up the pace to focus himself on returning to the dorm in a timely manner.

With his hands in his pockets and his body slouched over, one could easily mistake him for a cryptid out for blood, when in fact, that assumption could not be further from the truth. Shinjiro wanted to prevent the chance of any blood being spilt, should him or Kotone get too careless. He took a deep breath and attempted to keep himself calm as he walked back to the dorms, but it would be a lie if he claimed that the lingering anxiety was not eating away at his thoughts.

Abruptly, Shinjiro stopped in his tracks when he heard a weak mew coming from down one of the alleyways. He remained as silent as possible for a moment, making sure that he wasn’t losing his mind and hallucinating. He heard a practically identical mew once again from the same direction, turning to look down the alley in response. The sight he was greeted with was a small, frail kitten.

It didn’t look like a lost pet gone astray. The kitten was weary of Shinjiro’s presence, had no collar, and appeared roughed-up and rather malnourished. In its current condition, he couldn’t just leave this poor kitten to rot. Shinjiro didn’t have it in his heart to ignore it, as he too, once found his life reaching such low points.

He crouched down and gently reached out his hand, attempting to show it that he was of no threat. It completely refused to approach him, but was most likely too weak to bolt away out of fear.

"It’s okay, little fella. I ain’t gonna hurt you," Shinjiro said, as gently as his rather rough voice would permit him to.

The cat sniffed his hand, but still backed up, clearly weakened with fear. Careful as to not startle it, Shinjiro gently took out his watch once more, moving it around until the light reflected just enough for him to catch a glimpse of the time. It was only a few minutes after 11, so if he was fast enough, he could at least secure the cat a meal to last it through the night.

"Hang tight. I’ll be back as soon as I can," Shinjiro whispered to it.

The cat looked up at him with helpless, desperate eyes, as if it understood his words, and even wanted to believe him, but its circumstances caused it to feel otherwise. Shinjiro stood up, and looked back at the cat one more time before bolting back the way he came down the sidewalk. Hopefully, he would luck out and a street market would still be open at this hour. Any of the popular restaurants in the area would be either closed or packed to the brim with guests, so there was no use in resorting to one of those. Though Shinjiro found the cat rather close to Iwatodai Dorm, he did not believe that he would have enough time to wait in a restaurant and be able to safely feed the cat. Especially with having to explain his late arrival to the others, Shinjiro would rather die than let this secret of his slip.

After some running, Shinjiro came across a sushi stall that still had its lights on. He silently prayed that someone would still be working, and its purpose wasn’t to serve as flashy light pollution.

He was in luck. An old lady was still tending to the stall, though it appeared as if she was packing up for the night. Shinjiro couldn’t see any other options in the vicinity that would have a chance at being open, so he had to try his luck at this stall right here and now.

"Please say you’re open, lady," he said, running up and slamming his fist down on the table.

"Goodness, me. Someone is hungry, isn’t he? I’m sorry dear, but I already put my equipment away for the day-"

"I ain’t worried about all that! I just need some fish!"

"Raw fish? Who needs raw fish at this hour?"

"I do! Er...my...friend does."

"Your...friend needs raw fish?" she asked, confused.

"Yes...they’re quite hungry."

"By any chance, would this friend of yours happen to be a stray cat?"

Shinjiro was left speechless. Of course, it was a little obvious, considering how he was specifically demanding raw fish, not a quick fixture of sushi prepared this late at night. Still, he was hoping that perhaps, he wouldn’t have to resort to exposing himself. Not like the woman would have a reason to collect any “dirt” on him, nor would she know anyone who would be interested in Shinjiro, but putting his true intentions into words still felt agonizingly awkward.

"Why didn’t you just say so, dearie?" she said, opening up the freezer and pulling out a slice of raw tuna.

"I-I’ll give you as much yen as you want! Just please give me the damn fish."

"Oh please, don’t worry about it. It’s not often a young gentleman as kind and caring as you shows up around these parts," she said, sliding him the tuna on a plate.

Shinjiro looked at the woman in disbelief for a brief moment, until she nodded her head in assurance. Shinjiro really did not have this much time to debate her, so he grabbed the plate of tuna and took off running back towards where he found the cat. He looked back for a brief moment and waved in thanks, before picking up speed.

"Stay safe now, dear!" the woman shouted to him.

Much to his relief, Shinjiro stopped to see that the cat remained in the same location where he left it. It was still visibly nervous, but Shinjiro didn’t have all the time in the world to gently coax it out. By now, it was likely nearing midnight, and there was a distinct possibility that Kotone had departed to look for him by now.

Shit.

Just a few minutes was all he needed.

He crouched down and presented the cat with the plate of tuna. It looked at him, and crept forward as if it fully intended to charge straight into the paper plate, but it held back. It was hesitant, still, to approach Shinjiro, even with a generous offering of food.

Come on, dammit. I ran halfway across town for this.

The Dark Hour was soon approaching and the fear of being discovered by Kotone was quite real. He tried holding out his hand to further encourage the cat, and it felt like forever before it finally gave into the temptation to sniff the tuna and devour it. Shinjiro breathed a sigh of relief, knowing that the cat had another shot at pulling through, even if it did roam solo on the streets. He wanted to take the cat back to the dorms with him and give it a second chance at a better life, though he knew that Koromaru would likely be rather displeased with the intruder.

Putting his thoughts aside for a brief moment, Shinjiro smiled, and as the cat chowed down, he once more slowly reached out his hand to pet it. He gently scratched behind its ears, careful to not overstep boundaries so soon, but the cat seemed to not mind him handling it as it happily ate away at Shinjiro’s generous offering. Maybe this cat wasn’t truly hostile or cowardly at heart, but rather, was being driven to the edge by hunger.

"There you are, Shinji!" a familiar voice shouted.

Uh oh.

Shinjiro froze, his hand still on the cat’s head. He knew all too well whose voice that was, and he was quickly becoming far too embarrassed to turn around.

"Making some friends without me?" Kotone asked as she ran up to him.

"I swear, it’s not what it looks like, dammit!" he said, forcing himself to turn to look at her.

"Hmm…looks to me like you’re feeding a stray cat."

That was indeed true. There was really no other way to put it.

"Listen...it was gonna die if I didn’t do anything, okay? Not gonna just give up an’ leave ‘em to rot."

"What about taking it back to the dorm with us?"

"Cant. Koro-chan wouldn’t exactly be very happy with me.”

Kotone thought for a moment as Shinjiro pulled out his pocket watch. 11:48, it read. The clock was ticking, and although the dorm wasn’t far away, Shinjiro stood up out of alarm.

"We have to get goin’," he said. "Don’t want to get caught out here alone during the Dark Hour."

"Or could it be that you don’t want me stuck out during the dark hour?" Kotone teased.

"Whatever you want to think," he said. looking off to the side. "We could make it back in a few minutes with time to spare, so we don’t gotta take off too fast."

"Thought you said we had to get going, unless you just wanted to squeeze in a little bit more time with the cat?”

Shinjiro looked down at his newfound cat friend, who had finished eating. It looked up at him with wide eyes, flicking its tail gently. If Kotone were not present, he would not hesitate to scoop the cat up in his arms and tuck it away in his coat.

He said nothing about his desires, though Kotone smiled at him. She walked over to pick the cat up, and Shinjiro held himself back from pushing her away out of fear that she would accidentally scare it off. It tensed up a little, but relaxed once Kotone sat down and allowed it to sniff her for a moment. Shinjiro was absolutely baffled at how quickly it warmed up to her

"Ha, it must’ve already smelled my scent on you," she noted.

That was indeed a plausibility, as Kotone was quite physically affectionate with him, to say the least.

"Maybe..." Shinjiro said.

Kotone held out her arms, inviting the cat to come closer. Much to Shinjiro’s surprise, it walked into her arms, allowing her to scoop it up. As soon as she got ahold of it, however, she shoved it into his chest. Instinctively, he gently held onto it, and Kotone looked at him with a triumphant smile.

"It already likes us, so why not take it home?" she said, not exactly giving Shinjiro much of a choice.

"But, Koro-chan..."

"He’ll be fine. He’s smart enough to fight shadows, so learning to leave a cat alone shouldn’t be an issue for him."

He looked down at the cat, and it looked up at him and weakly mewed.

"Guess I really don't have a choice now do I?"

"Nope," Kotone said, tugging on his sleeve, "now come on, you adorable thing, Iwatodai Dorm isn’t far from here!”

“That adorable thing was forcefully put into my arms, Kotone.”

“I wasn’t talking to the cat, Shinji,” she said with a smile.

It took Shinjiro a moment to fully process her words, but once he realized that she was referring to him, and not the cat, he shrunk his head into his coat as much as possible in order to hide the embarrassment that was all over his face. With eyes adapted to the darkness of Tartarus, however, no amount of blush was safe from Kotone’s watchful eyes, daylight or Dark Hour. Convenient for her, not so much for Shinjiro.

Left without a retribution for the woman his heart was so weak to, Shinjiro, couldn’t really protest her now, especially if he did still intend to make it back in a timely manner. He held the cat close to him as if it were his own child as Kotone lead them back to the dorm, with mere moments to spare before the dreaded hour struck.

#persona 3 #p3 #kotone shiomi #persona 3 femc #shinjiro aragaki #shinjiham #foolmoon #despite kotone not being in reload it only made my craving for shinjiham content even more intense

[saintunhinged]

Salutations! This one's going to be a weird one, so strap in. Imagine if, when Asra revived MC, they came back as an otherworldly, human-imitating cryptid who doesn't quite know how to Human properly. The only thing they remember is that Asra and Faust make up their Family Unit, and the only reason they don't attack random passerby on sight is because Asra Wouldn't Like That.

this was actually so fun to write. hopefully, you enjoy :) i haven’t proof read this yet

content warning : mention of death & violence.

On the outside, you appeared to be as normal as the next person, but you knew you weren’t. You knew it from the moment you opened your eyes. You didn’t feel the sudden urges you had were strange, but the look Asra shot you when you were preparing to act on something made that clear.

You vividly remember the suffocating smell of lavender and dried flowers filling your nostrils. Its aroma was almost overwhelming, and your ability to think of anything else but the scent was quelled. You immediately noticed your field vision being locked by a person with fluffy white hair leaning over you.

You knew nothing about him whatsoever, but his presence alone was enough to make you feel at ease.

“Friend woke!” You heard a tiny voice, seconds later another head appeared, but it was much smaller in comparison, and blue.

Asra knew something was up. Every little thing seemed to spark irritation within you, and sometimes he’d even find you sitting in positions that no human could manage. Asra wasn’t naive enough to believe bringing you back from the dead meant you’d be the same, he just didn’t expect to bring back what he brought back.

Despite your condition, Asra was more than determined to get you to your best. You indisputably had a lot to learn. Knowing Asra and his familiar planned to be by your side throughout the journey was the motivation you needed.

Time passed before you were going through life as would you in your previous life. Asra was patient in teaching you everything you forgot. Praising you when you did something well, encouraging you when you didn’t. There were still many things you didn’t understand, but you were trying your best. If not for yourself, then at least for Asra.

Every day you were learning. You preferred to stay to yourself when you weren’t with Asra. Usually, you curled up in the corner and stared off into nothing for minutes or even hours.

You never went outdoors. The first time you did, someone got hurt. Asra had taken you to town to look for ingredients he ran out of at the shop. He didn’t want to leave you alone, but there were things he needed to get done. Trying to kill two birds with one stone, he figured he could restock the shop and allow you the chance to reconnect with society.

That trip ended with Asra apologizing on your behalf for attacking someone who walked too close for your comfort. Though he wouldn’t openly admit it, the frown that played on his face let you know he did not approve.

The walk back to the shop was eerily silent. He dolefully sighed, “I shouldn’t have brought you out here.” His remorse was merited, but you refused to meet his gaze. His purple eyes stared at you intently and he shook his head, hesitantly stating, “Too soon.”

He let you isolate yourself for a few hours, giving you time to process what happened, but knowing you weren’t going to come to him, he went to you. That night, even though you were hardly responsive, he explained why your actions weren’t okay.

You had predacious desires, that was something you couldn’t help. With Asra mentoring you, you were getting better at keeping them at bay, and matter how strong your urges became, Asra believed in you; the last thing you wanted to do was disappoint him.

Usually, when Asra was running the shop you stayed upstairs in the room where you were most comfortable. Today was no different. You weren’t necessarily fond of strangers. On the rare occasions you came down to observe what was going on, trying to pick up on anything you can to improve your comprehension and communication skills, you kept your distance. 

You never paid any attention to Asra’s conversations with any customer in particular, but the sound of raised voices followed by shattering glass caught your attention. Your light footsteps carried you to the main floor. You weren’t sure what exactly happened, but you could put together the pieces. 

The aggressive energy circulating the room influenced your emotions. Your penetrating gaze locked on the customer who was creating a scene in the shop. The snarl forming on your face was unable to be contained, seconds later an animalistic growl came from your throat, quickly catching their attention.

To his surprise, Asra’s eyes flickered between you and the patron. Your name left his mouth in a pleading tone and your gaze snapped to meet him. Seeing the signs of an oncoming assault, he timidly shook his head. If you wanted to attack, he doubted he’d be able to stop you before you leaped at them. He trusted you to do the right thing. After all, control was what he wanted you to learn the most.

Sensing the danger they were probably in, the shopper was quick to see themself to the exit. On the other hand, Asra stayed where he was until you calmed down. When he was sure you had no intention of acting irrational, he met you in a tight hug.

You’d never forget the look on Asra’s face when you first pounced on someone. The mix of shock and fear that was replaced with disappointment was something you couldn’t stand to see again. 

Unexpected maybe, but since it was coming from him you didn’t quite mind his warm, rather comforting embrace. “Thank you.” He softly murmured. It wasn’t much, but you’d grown accustomed to hearing it. It meant you did something right, that was all either of you could hope for.

#asra alnazar #asra alnazar x reader #the arcana #the arcana x reader #asra x reader #asrathearcana #asra the arcana #asra the magician #the arcana asra #asra route #asra x you #asra x apprentice #asra x mc #asra x male reader #asra x y/n #the arcana x you #the arcana x apprentice #the arcana x mc #asra alzanar

[nerevar-quote-and-star]

I Didn't Know You Were Keeping Count — Part X: Swan

ao3

masterlist

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Author's note: The results of the poll are in! We're splitting this chapter right down the middle! Look for Swan, continued some time next week or so.

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Content Warning: Nothing special for this chapter.

#######

“There’s nothing to discuss so long as that traitor continues to lead an insurrection against the Empire.”

“With all due respect, General, the dragons pose a greater threat.”

“They’re a nuisance, but I wasn’t sent to Skyrim to slay dragons. I intend to put down this rebellion, dragons or no dragons.”

They had been going around in circles for nearly half an hour. Leara had to respect Tullius’s ability to give her the runaround. As a tactic against politicians and the Aldmeri Dominion, it was no doubt a very useful skill, but Leara wasn’t a politician, and as for the Dominion, well, that didn’t count, did it?

Across the room, Legate Rikke stood over the map of Skyrim; while she appeared focused on the flags marking Stormcloak movement, her attention was very obviously on the discussion between the Dragonborn and the Legion General. Leara didn’t know much about the legate, save that she was well-respected even by the Stormcloaks (or so she’d heard). What would Rikke say if Leara brought up the threat of Alduin? Unbidden, she recalled how that one Stormcloak general had scoffed at the idea. As much as she’d like to chalk belief up to an inside joke for Helgen survivors – and how morbid was that? – Leara was sure Tullius wouldn’t appreciate how serious a threat the World-Eater was. She couldn’t blame him. She hadn’t understood it herself, not until she was face to face with Alduin in Kynesgrove. Dragons meant something different in Skyrim than to the rest of the Empire. Dragons were not a symbol of Imperial sovereignty and Divine salvation. To the Nords, dragons were first overlords and later the stuff of legends. And those legends came back to burn the world to ash. Still. He was at Helgen. Tullius knew what they could do.

“Given the trouble that one dragon caused the Legion last summer, I can’t imagine the growing number of attacks is doing your troops any favors,” Leara said.

Grave, General Tullius looked at the leather folios stacked near the map. “Perhaps,” he said. Tapping a finger on the stack, he added, “But all accounts show that the Stormcloaks are just as affected as we are. The dragons are just another condition we all must reckon with. The legion can weather the winter, we can deal with the dragons.”

Legate Rikke pursed her lips but remained silent.

Leara settled a contemplative expression over her face, though inside she wanted to roll her eyes at the general’s bluster. She wouldn’t accuse Tullius of arrogance. No, he was too cunning a strategist for that. But his push to stick with the conflict as if the dragons were another natural phenomenon to work around was dangerous. The kind of dangerous that would see both sides razed by dragon fire. Leara inclined her head. “For everything there is a season. Am I right in my understanding that forward progress has been slow this year? Tensions will soon reach a boiling point and, forgive me, but the peace council may be able to circumvent any more unnecessary bloodshed.”

“Ulfric’s forces are stretched thin as it is, and soon his supporters will see for themselves the consequences of opposing the Empire,” Tullius said, his hand curling into a fist. “This war will be over soon enough.”

Legate Rikke coughed.

“Is it really so simple?” Leara asked.

Tullius’s fist tightened. “Of course, it’s not,” he sighed, “Look, Miss—”

“Just Leara is fine.”

“Leara, then. The Nords seem to put a lot of stock in you being ‘Dragonborn.’ I won’t pretend to know what that means here, but the Legate has told me that you’re some type of hero. But I can’t afford to depend on one person to take care of this war. Tell me, how can you enforce this proposed peace when it’s taken legions to get this far?” He pinched the bridge of his nose, and Leara wondered if Tullius was as tired as she felt. “If the Emperor would just send the reinforcements I’ve asked for, this business would be done with!”

Now that wasn’t simple. Leara knew that much. She remembered the legions mobilizing through Colovia and the West Weald when she was still in the Imperial City. Back when the war in Skyrim was just another topic to gossip about with customers. Maybe once did The Black Horse Courier run a front page spread on it, but that was when High King Torygg was killed, and the lines were first drawn. As a Blade, Leara couldn’t help but empathize with the Stormcloaks’ desire for free Talos worship, but at the same time, she spent years in Cyrodiil and in Alinor before that. She knew what the bigger picture was and it turned her stomach. People in Cyrodiil were more concerned about their backdoor than the northern frontier, and they had a right to be. If the Emperor diverted more men to Skyrim, then the line between the Imperial City and the threat from the Aldmeri Dominion would be weakened, and they couldn’t afford that.

And that was without the dragons to contend with.

“I can’t guarantee anything,” Leara admitted freely. “What I can do is advise using this peace council as a means to solidify Imperial support in Skyrim. If the Empire shows themselves willing to talk, then getting the people’s support will be easier.”

Tullius studied her for a long moment. Leara waited. He didn’t see the traitor that lurked just below her skin. Ulfric suspected it was there, but Leara prayed that the idea didn’t even enter Tullius’s mind. She was the Dragonborn, and she needed to be seen as such. Not as a Blades agent nor as a Dominion officer.

“We could use the breathing room – if you can pull this off,” he said at length. “Fine, we’ll come to this peace council, for all the good it’ll do. I still have my doubts, but who knows? Under these conditions, even Ulfric might agree to your little truce.”

“I doubt that, sir,” Legate Rikke said, face drawn. “He’ll be there. He won’t disrespect the Greybeards’ invitation, but he won’t come quietly.”

“He overestimates himself,” Tullius nodded. “That will be all, Legate.”

“Of course, General.”

Relaxing her shoulders, Leara smiled. From a pouch on her belt, she withdrew a card. “This has the details for the council,” she said, handing the card to Tullius.

He turned it over. “Two weeks. You knew I’d agree to this.”

“I was optimistic.”

Legate Rikke laughed. “You’ll need that if you think you’re going to get Ulfric to agree to anything!”

Leara only continued to smile as her anxiety over Ulfric wormed its way through her insides, squirming and gnawing.

·•★•·

Solitude was beautiful in high summer.

Winding her way through the Market District, Leara peaked at the open stalls from underneath the protection of her hood. The potent tang of salmon and other fish brought in by the morning boats wafted through the air; many were piled up in barrels and crates, but some were strung up on wire threaded between stalls where their scales caught the sun at high noon. But fish were only one of the many offerings of the Solitude market. Imports from High Rock, Cyrodiil, and the Summerset Isles glittered in the hands of merchants haggling with shoppers. It was a pleasant day and the streets were crowded with men, elves, and beast folk. It reminded Leara of a pale version of the vibrant Imperial City.

She eyed a line of shops, each with signs carved and painted in the classical cosmopolitan styles of the Heartland. Passing by a dress shop, she spied an ensemble not unlike one she recalled the Duchess of Colovia wearing to the Midyear’s celebration a couple of years before, peeking through a window. Next door were several tables displaying handcrafted leather bracers and jackets. Most were Nordic, but she spied the odd Nibenese or Colovian design in the mix. Solitude, or at least its merchant class, seemed to take many of its cues from the Imperials. Hopefully, this boded well for her hunt for a decent bookshop. She desperately needed to study some of these ancient Nord legends that were so intrinsically tied to being Dragonborn.

Although, as much as Solitude seemed to mimic the Imperial City, the lack of a common newspaper gave her pause.

Maybe she could blame that on the civil war.

Ducking through an alley, she tucked her cowl tighter around her mouth. Despite the pleasant weather, an absent breeze wound its way through the city, chilled by the Sea of Ghosts. But even if it were stifling outside, she’d keep her hood and cowl on. Solitude reflected the Imperial City in many ways, including the presence of the Aldmeri Dominion within its walls. She was too lax before when she infiltrated that party at the Embassy. And again, when she spoke with Ancano at the College. The Dominion was always watching.

Electricity teased her spine, and Leara shivered.

The familiar urge to run nipped at her feet. But no. She had come too far to run now. Even with the Dominion and Ulfric Stormcloak out to get her, she still had to think of Skyrim. Akatosh ordained it so.

Crossing the street, she slipped through the door to The Winking Skeever. Warmth and laughter pulled her in, inviting her to join the chattering patrons clustered around fish plates and bowls of mead. Her stomach twinged. Winding her way to the bar, Leara adverted her gaze from the platters of food on the nearby tables. Food could wait.

A gentle yip! brought Leara’s attention to the ground. Karnwyr slipped from under a stool, his tail wagging, and bounded up to her. “Well, hello to you, too!” Leara giggled, letting the wolf lick her hand.

“None for me, sweetness?”

The giggle petered out. “No, thank you. You reek of alcohol.”

Bishop snorted, a near-empty tankard in his hand. “There’s nothing else to do when you’re off doing gods-know-what.”

Karnwyr whined when Leara’s hand slipped from his reach, falling to her side. Clearing her throat, Leara settled on the barstool beside Bishop. “I’m done,” she said. “Tullius agreed to attend. We can leave Solitude in the morning.”

“I’ll be glad when we can put this prissy hole behind us. Their alcohol tastes like horker dung,” Bishop grumbled, throwing back the rest of his tankard.

From the other end of the counter, Leara caught sight of the innkeeper’s son, rolling his eyes, exasperation painting his face. Clearly, this wasn’t the first comment Bishop had made about the tavern’s alcohol menu.

“We’ll be back on the road in the morning.”

Bishop eyed her, his pale eyes trailing over the hood stained dark with dragon’s blood and the silver armor in desperate need of polish. “You’re done with that Legion guy?”

“Yes.”

Bishop’s mouth lifted into a crooked smirk. “Well, well, I can think of a few things we can do to pass the time till we head out again, starting with this.” He leaned forward, the scent of fermented honey and yeast curling from him into Leara’s nose as he tugged the cowl down past her chin. “My, but you do look sweet enough to eat, don’t you?”

Her chin between his fingers, Leara could do nothing but offer a weak smile. “Actually, I was planning on finding a bookstore.”

“A what? More books?” Bishop groaned, releasing her to scrub his face. “You’ve gotta be kidding me!”

“No, I’m quite serious.”

“Listen, darling,” Bishop said, resting his elbow on the counter. “It’s about time you got your head out of those books and paid attention to more important things.” He waggled his eyebrows. “Like me.”

“I do pay attention to you,” Leara said, patting his knee. Then she withdrew before he could snatch her hand in his. Standing up, she quirked her head to the side. “But I need to pay more attention to Skyrim.”

Bishop scoffed, but Leara ignored him as she slipped down the counter to where the innkeeper’s son, Sorex Vinius, stood pouring drinks. Leara waited quietly as he finished filling the tankards on one of the serving girls’ trays. As soon as the Breton girl whisked it away, he turned to Leara, raising a dark eyebrow. “Ah, Ormand, right? Here to order lunch?”

“No, thank you,” Leara smiled. “I was actually wondering if you could point me in the direction of a bookstore.”

Sorex nodded, “There’s a few options, depending on what you’re hunting for. There’s The Scholar Ship down by the docks, run by an Isabel Bourdon. That’s the place to go if you're looking for exotic, rare books. Then there’s always Bound to Please over by Radiant Raiment.”

“What sort of books do they sell?” Leara asked, not fancying a trip down to the docks if she could help it.

Sorex’s jaw slackened, “Uh, well, they specialize in—” He made a vague gesture, his eyes darting across the room before returning to Leara. She raised an eyebrow, and Sorex shrugged. “Spell tomes and, um. They specialize in,” he cleared his throat, “erotica.”

“I like the sound of that one!”

Leara winced as Bishop saddled up beside her. “I was looking for a more generalized selection.”

“Yes, of course you are,” Sorex coughed. “I’d recommend The Prints and the Paper. Run by an old seller from Wayrest, or so I’ve heard.”

“Really?” That piqued Leara’s interest. “Where is it?”

“Let’s go to that Bound to Please place,” Bishop whispered in her ear.

Sorex eyed Bishop, his brow creased. Leara couldn’t help but wonder how much trouble Bishop already caused the staff. And it was only half past twelve by the cathedral’s bell tower.

“‘round the corner from Bits and Pieces,” Sorex said slowly.

“Thank you,” Leara nodded. Then, grabbing Bishop’s wrist, she dragged him toward the door, Karnwyr bounding behind them.

“Woah, sweetheart! If only you were this enthusiastic in the bedroom!”

Leara hung her head, her hood falling over her eyes. And if she ran Bishop into the door jam as they left the Skeever, well, she wasn’t watching where she was going, was she?

·•★•·

The musky fragrance of leather covers and thick stacks of parchment teased Leara’s senses as soon as she stepped through the door. The Prints and the Paper was full of the warm dust notes that always hovered over old books despite best efforts. It wasn’t the Arcanaeum at the College, but there was a special kind of magic in a bookstore that stirred something homey and comforting in her chest.

Of course, Bishop took the opportunity to ruin it for her.

Naturally.

Picking up a particularly thick book on the Miracle of Peace, he snorted as he flipped through it. “What could you possibly want with any of this old stuff? There’s no pictures.”

“Well maybe if you learned to read,” Leara grumbled under her breath.

“What?”

“I said, some people use their imagination.”

Karnwyr sneezed, and Leara patted his head, absently. Taking the book back from Bishop, she set it back on the table where a stack of books on late Third Era High Rock geopolitics caught her eye. Topics ranging from the War of Bend'r-Mahk to the succession of the kings of Daggerfall stood out with bright gold and silver inlay on the spines. Other tables were spaced out along the central aisle, each piled high with books of various sizes and colors. In between a copy of The Real Barenziah and an anthology collection of 2920, she spied an expanded edition of The Annotated Anuad bound in a glossy black leather that could only be made from salamander skin. Leara swallowed, recalling a similar volume in Lord Varlarata’s parlor in Firsthold. Tearing her eyes from the memory, firelight drew her to the rest of the show room. There were rows and rows of bookshelves, tightly packed and dimly lit by scattered candelabras and wall sconces mounted at the ends of shelves. Leara eyed the fire with some hesitancy at its proximity to the books.

“Good afternoon! If you need any help, just let me know!” a wizened little Breton said, popping from between two stacks near the back. His overlarge spectacles gave his face a wide, rather goofy look.

“Yes, hello!” Leara said, practically sailing across the room from an exasperated Bishop. “I was wondering if you had any books on Nordic legends. I’m looking for the story of Olaf and the dragon!”

“Ah, yes!” the shopkeeper nodded. “I have a new edition of the Prose Edda edited by Viarmo that contains some rather fascinating annotations to the Olaf story!” With that, he disappeared between the stacks before Leara could mention anything about sightless creatures and old folktales.

“Well, that’s it, right?” Bishop asked, arms crossed. “You get your book and we can get back to more important things.”

Exhaling through her nose, Leara propped a hand on her hip. “And what do you call more important than the good of Skyrim?”

“The ‘good of Skyrim’? Please, sweetness, what does some old poem about a dead king have to do with the dragons flying around and eating people?” Bishop chuckled to himself, low and deep. But his eyes pressed into her, leering. Leara wanted to squirm. “Too bad Skyrim needs you as her savior. I could find a thing or two for you to do in my service.”

“Bishop, I don’t—”

The little bell over the door chimed, a light airy sound that was out of place in the thick atmosphere that threatened to choke her. But Leara welcomed it. She’d been avoiding the truth of her talk with Balgruuf and the plan to trap a dragon in his keep all week. It’d been painfully easy to distract Bishop from her near-confession with a kiss and a bit of heavy petting, but she could only stop him on the cusp of unbuckling her armor so many times before he snapped. Yet as much as she didn’t want to admit to the Dragonsreach plan, a greater part of her didn’t want to sleep with Bishop. Divines save her, she didn’t even want to kiss him!

But it was necessary.

She feared the day when she would believe sleeping with him would be a necessity, too.

Suddenly, the air was too warm, claustrophobic, and Leara realized that, yes, she could suffocate in her hood. She busied her hands by pushing it back from her hair, avoiding Bishop’s intensity with forced composure.

“Sweetheart, I—"

A throat cleared nearby. “Forgive me for intruding, my lady, but I believe you are whom I am looking for. Are you the Dragonborn?”

The jolt that rocked through Leara was so violent that she was stunned when, a moment later, she realized she was still standing. Her mind had wandered too far, she needed to come back. Karnwyr growled, his side pressed into her leg. Bishop scowled, and for a fleeting heartbeat, she thought it was directed at her. But no, it was toward the voice. Wrenching around, Leara locked eyes with a tall man wearing gleaming knight’s armor. Very out of place in Skyrim, but, she mused, perhaps not so much in imperialized Solitude as it would be in Whiterun or Riften. His dark hair was swept to the side, neatly combed and totally untouched by sweat or exertion. He had to have muscles. He couldn’t wear a heavy suit of armor like that without them. But somehow Leara doubted this man did much fighting, real or otherwise.

And . . . he just asked if she was the Dragonborn.

“Yes, I am,” she said, tone thin. For once, could she go somewhere without people somehow automatically knowing she’s the Dragonborn? “And who are you?”

“Oh brother, that is just great,” Bishop groaned.

“My lady,” the knight took her hand, bowing over it, “my name is Casavir. I have been searching for the Dragonborn for some time now, in hopes of aiding you in your journey to keep the dragons at bay. I would like to offer my assistance.”

Leara gaped at him, her hand caught in his as her mind tried to catch up with his proposition. Assistance with, with the dragons? Wait, Casavir? The name tugged at something in her memory – and then she recalled a golden quiff and a snobbish voice telling her about being arrested just for performing a bit of on-the-nose magic in the Solitude streets. Darren. Winterhold. Of course. That unfortunate little mage whose nose met the business end of Bishop’s fragile masculinity. Yes, she remembered now. He mentioned Casavir as being offended by his good fun.

Recalling Darren’s definition of ‘good fun,’ Leara concluded that Casavir’s ego was as delicate as Bishop’s. Yeah, no thanks. She didn’t need that hovering over her shoulder. There was enough to deal with when it was just Bishop whining in her ear.

“If it isn’t everybody’s favorite white knight,” Bishop sneered. “I was not expecting to run into you here, but the irony of it all definitely suits you. What brings you to a bookshop of all places? I think you’re looking for that other one, the spicy one.”

Clearing her throat, Leara made to pull her hand from the gloved grip, but Casavir held on. The glare he shot Bishop was anything but chivalrous. “I merely wish to assist her, much as I imagine you are doing now, Bishop.”

Bishop scoffed, suddenly too close to Leara’s shoulder. Air closed in around her. It was still too warm. “Do I look like some nerdy clerk to you? Listen up, she doesn’t need you. Go help someone who wants your holy righteousness, it’s not wanted here.” With that, he latched onto her arm.

Casavir drew her other hand closer to him, and Leara felt caught in a tug-o’-war between two children. “At least with me her moral aptitude wouldn’t plummet to the flaming depths of Oblivion, which I’m sure in your company, it has been sorely tempted to do!”

“You think a little too highly of yourself, Paladin!” Bishop laughed, cold. “With you along, she’d get so bored she’d sprint and dive headfirst into those flames, anything to make her feel alive—”

“That’s enough, both of you,” Leara heard herself say. Akatosh, but she sounded far steadier than she felt! She needed to lie down. Or at least get out from the streams of hot air blasted her from both directions. “Now, if you would be so kind—” She pulled at her hand.

Casavir dropped it. “Forgive me, my lady. I—”

“And here it is! Viarmo’s annotated Prose Edda, bound right here in Solitude by our own Bards College!”

Free of Casavir, Leara yanked herself away from Bishop to meet the shopkeeper. The old Breton buzzed to the counter, a large volume bound in emerald-dyed leather. It had to be several hundred pages in length. The cover was embossed with runic flowers and interconnecting lines crisscrossed with geometric precision. This was properly Nordic in its entirety. It was beautiful. Leara traced a thin finger lightly across the pattern in awe. “How much?”

The twinkle in the clerk’s eyes was amplified by his spectacles. “New release, forty septims!”

Air strangled in Leara’s throat. “Forty . . .?”

The shopkeeper beamed.

Well, that was more expensive than she anticipated. Still, she recalled books made with similar craftsmanship and significance going for twice that in The First Edition in the Imperial City. Three times that on a good day, if Lux Hebenus was in the mood to haggle. “That’s,” a lot, but then, if she didn’t get any other books, it might be justifiable. And besides, she quickly reminded herself, keeping up with Bishop cost her a great deal more than forty septims! If he could waste money on booze and bail money, she could buy a book. “I’ve got that right here,” she said, fishing her coin purse from her satchel.

Forty septims. Well, she was going to miss dinner reading anyway.

“Thank you, miss! Will that be all?” the shopkeeper asked.

The soft smile Leara offered him hardened when she turned around to find both Bishop and Casavir missing. Sitting primly beside a table overflowing with cookbooks, Karnwyr blinked at her and smiled, his tongue hanging. The bell over the door hadn’t rung, so she was sure they were still in the shop somewhere, probably in the stacks. She entertained taking Karnwyr and her new book and just skipping out, but quickly decided against it. As much as she didn’t want to get between whatever in Oblivion was going on between Bishop and Casavir, she remembered all too well the visceral hatred that twisted Bishop’s face at the mere mention of Casavir’s name. Then there was what happened when she left Bishop alone with Alec to consider. Sure, Alec annoyed Bishop, but it was nothing compared to the disdain he’d shown back in Winterhold. On top of that, Alec was just a bard; there wasn’t much he could do against Bishop’s ire but cry. Casavir was apparently a knight, and had a known history of arresting people who bothered him. Sure, Bishop got on her nerves too, but money for his fines was not in her limited budget. Besides, an uneasy feeling prodded her, if she couldn’t bail Bishop out, the threat of his exposing her as a former Dominion agent hung over her head. As much as she feared Ulfric Stormcloak’s anger, the wrath of the Aldmeri Dominion was far worse. If they found her, if they caught her . . . And weren’t they already hunting her, anyway? The last thing she needed was for the Thalmor to realize that the Dragonborn Blades agent and a known deserter from the war were the same person.

Bile clawed at her throat. Leara swallowed.

It was best to keep her thumb on Bishop.

“I think I’ll just browse if you don’t mind,” she said over her shoulder to the shopkeeper.

“Of course, of course!” he said, jovial. “There’s a bit of work I’ve got in the backroom, but please call out if you need anything!”

“Thanks,” Leara nodded, already beelining for the shelves. Where were they?

Karnwyr squinted at her, then shook as head. Leara sighed. “C’mon, boy.”

The shelves were stacked high to the ceiling. Passing by a ladder, Leara wondered if the old Breton had an assistant who stocked the top shelves and retrieved books for customers. She used to do that. Maybe if she survived, she could do that again, if being a living legend didn’t work out. Fingering a copy of The Eight Divines, Newly Revised, she again contemplated her idea of becoming a priestess of Akatosh. There was a comfort in religious ritual and piety, but there was a danger, too, if history was worth believing.

Her expression soured. She knew that, too.

A murmur of voices plucked at her ear. Down the narrow aisle and around a corner, she followed the charged hum until she was just out of sight.

“So that’s it. You want to know all about the Dragonborn, don’t you?” Bishop was saying. “You must be getting pretty knotted up if you’re lowering yourself to talk to the likes of me!” His laugh was coarse.

Casavir’s huffed in indignation. “It has nothing to do with her!”

“Oh, you can cut that crap out right now because you and I know both know damn well that there’s nothing else you’d want to discuss with me!”

There was a low growl – Casavir? “I am watching you, Bishop. I do not trust you, and neither should she.”

Karnwyr squinted at her, and Leara cast Muffle over the two of them just as a low whine rung itself from the wolf’s throat.

“Shh!” she cautioned, finger to her lips though there was no chance of either man hearing them. Karnwyr lowered himself to the floor, his head on his paws.

“Are you serious?” Bishop was saying. “That’s all you’ve got? You must be the hundredth lust-filled, lick her boots, sing her praises maniac that’s tried to warn her off me.” There was a pause; Leara could imagine him shaking his head in contempt. “Funny though, that’s exactly what I’ve told her before, to steer clear of you.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“She knows what you do to people who cross you funny. She’s been around. And when we’re done here, I’ll tell her more. I’m going to make her see that you’re not half the saint that you pretend to be.” Bishop’s voice lowered, direct. “You’re the worst kind of liar, Casavir, and do you wanna know why? You’re so desperate for people to accept the image you put on that you convince yourself that what they see is the truth. You’re a brown-noser who can’t put his vices to bed. Tell me, when you look in a mirror, what do you see? I bet you’ve even got your reflection brainwashed.”

“Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth!”

What in Oblivion? What in the realms of the Princes was going on between them? Leara sank to the floor, her Muffle spell hushing the clank and thud of her armor hitting the wooden slats. By the Nine, what?

“No, no way, this goes way deeper than that. There’s not an ounce of honesty in those eyes.” A dark chuckle. “Go on, make your little proposal. She’s too good for you, and she’s gonna see straight through that mask you put on. If – if – she says yes, I know how this’ll go. You may begin the night as this ‘saint’ paladin. But the man in you will want that wench in his bed, just as any red-blooded man would.”

What the bloody Hell?

“How dare you speak of her that way!” Leara barely registered Casavir’s enraged tone. Her mind was whirling. What were they even talking about?

She didn’t want in anyone’s bed! She didn’t even have her own bed. She wished people would stop trying to get her in theirs!

A warm tongue caressed her shaking hand, then a soft head pushed up on it. Reflexively, Leara began scratching behind Karnwyr’s ears. The wolf’s big brown eyes were on her, wide and warm. Constant, caring, comforting. Leara sucked in a breath, and held it, and then let go. She did this three more times.

Bishop was still talking. He was always talking.

“Don’t show off like another one of her sycophants. She doesn’t need you or anyone else to jump between her and a dragon’s teeth. No, she’s more than capable of defending her own honor. Your lust blinds you to that fact, and to the fact that she’s too much woman for you to handle.” Was there a compliment in there somewhere? Or was she a tool used to emasculate Casavir? “No,” Bishop continued, smug, “what she wants is a man who’s not afraid of making the hard decisions, who will do what must be done. She wants a man who’s a sight more honest than anyone who wears a temple’s cloak on their shoulder. A man who carries himself like some kind of standard for others to look up to—”

Leara was on her feet and out of the shop before either man even realized she was there.

·•★•·

“There you are, sweetness. I was wondering where you got off to.”

Leara didn’t turn away from the well. At the sound of footsteps, she simply sighed and continued to stare into the abyss below. So dark, so deep. Like the Void.

“Fair warning, Sir Dickwad is coming over.”

Was he? Ice crept along the weathered stones from her hand.

“My advice, ignore him. Actually, better idea, let’s walk away now—”

“My lady, forgive me for intruding,” Casavir’s lower timber cut through Bishop’s like an axe. “There was something I wished to discuss with you.” A pause. “Away from intruding interlopers.”

“What is it?” Leara asked, not caring whether Bishop was there or not. Casavir seemed to already have told him anyway, if she understood their exchange in The Prints and the Paper. Bishop knew what Casavir wanted and seemed keen to degrade him for it. And while she wasn’t overeager to humiliate others, the implications of their conversation, the idea that she was just another pretty face whose only enduring quality was to tempt men to destruction, was unsettling. Was that why so many men were obsessed with her? Because they saw her as some seductress like, like Mephala? A spider who, once she had a fly in her web, drained them of their youth and vitality until all that was left was a decayed husk.

And men wanted that. Men wanted that.

“I know we’ve just met, my lady,” Casavir said, unaware or uncaring that she was frozen. “But I want to request your company at a ball being held at the Blue Palace, here in Solitude. I am still new to Solitude, and so I am unfamiliar with the local customs. I was hoping you could offer me some guidance.” Leara watched as ice crawled down the inside well shaft toward the water below. Would it freeze solid? “If you choose to decline, I understand.”

Despite his insinuations in The Prints and the Paper, the urge to spite Bishop seized Leara with the cold fury of her own Frozen Façade spell. The ice in the well cracked and hissed. “Yeah, all right, I’ll go.”

“You what?”

Leara rounded, her hands pushing against the well. Apparently, Bishop hadn’t left, and Casavir didn’t really care about ‘interlopers’ as much as he put on. That made sense. These two seemed especially crafted by the Divines to antagonize each other whenever possible.

“You delight me, my lady,” Casavir purred. He made to take her hand, but thinking better of it, merely bowed – at the bloody waist. “I am overjoyed that you have accepted my request.” Then he shot a smug side-eye at a spluttering Bishop. “May I suggest acquiring a ball gown?”

“What?” Leara said, the implications of her acceptance catching up to her.

“I don’t know, Casavir. Personally, I can’t see you in a dress, but if that’s what you want—”

This time, the glare Casavir shot at Bishop was full-on and filled with poison.

“There’s an excellent shop here in Solitude, called The Jewel,” he said, focusing back on Leara.

“I can’t possibly afford—”

“I am told they have an extensive collection of gowns fit for the noblewomen of Haafingar,” he pressed on, as if not hearing her. Leara’s mouth snapped shut. “I am certain they will have one that interests you. I have already informed the owner of the ship that I will compensate her for anything you wish to purchase.”

“You did?” Her voice was faint.

Casavir’s smirk was shining and suave. “Am I correct to assume you are staying at The Winking Skeever?”

Leara nodded. “Stalker!” Bishop coughed into his hand.

Casavir ignored him. “I will be there at six to escort you to the ball. Until this evening, my fair lady.” And then he really did take her hand and kissed it and Leara wanted to throw up. But she didn’t.

It wasn’t that Casavir saw her as a seductress. No, no, it was worse than that. He saw her as an object, a way to one-up Bishop in whatever Divines-forsaken rivalry the two adolescents had going on.

Leara blinked and then closed her eyes. One heartbeat, two, then ten. She opened her eyes and Casavir was gone. She barely registered the distant sound of his armor clanking, drowned by the steady hum of the crowd as Bishop quickly dominated her vision.

“You’ve really gone and done it now, sweetness,” he said, arms crossed.

“Have I?”

“Yeah, and would you like me to tell you why, or will you continue to throw away my advice like trash?”

She already knew. “Enlighten me.”

“Do you know what Casavir is? He acts like some holy saint who’s the gods’ gift to humanity, but he’s still a man. I don’t care how he justifies the lies he tells himself: He can’t deny his manhood.” Bishop caught Leara’s hands in his, tugging her closer. “You’re the kind of woman that gets a man’s heart beating and the blood flowing. He’s not going to be able to lie to himself about that. So, you better be ready when he breaks.”

Was that a warning? “If you’re worried about me, then why don’t you go too?” Because lack of invitation never stopped him before, she thought, recalling Alec’s performance in the Palace of the Kings. To her surprise, she found herself missing Ulfric, of all things! But, she quickly reasoned, better the threat you know than the one you don’t.

Laughter burst out of Bishop, loud and aghast. “No! Hell, woman! Do I look like some sissy-pants noble? I’d rather walk off the dock than get roped into attending that sort of thing!”

Karnwyr hmphed, and Leara remembered Bishop’s behavior at the performance. Yes, it was best he didn’t come. All the better that his absence was of his own choosing!

“C’mon,” she said, gently disentangling her hands from his. “I need to go get this dress. The sooner, the better.”

“And here I thought we could get a late lunch. Damn paladin ruining perfectly good plans,” Bishop groaned.

Her thoughts turned to the Prose Edda safely tucked into her satchel. Yeah, she could agree with that.

·•★•·

Bells twinkled overhead when she opened the door.

“Hello and welcome to The Jewel,” greeted an Imperial woman in a linen gown cinched with a gold rope. She was light and airy, her face pale. If a breeze swept through, Leara was certain the woman would blow away on a wisp of cloud. “My name is Victoria. Are you the Dragonborn?” Leara barely accented before the woman, Victoria, clasped her hands together. “Casavir informed me that I should be expecting you. Welcome.”

Proof of Casavir’s surety that Leara would agree to this whole ball thing would have been disconcerting if she wasn’t already put off by Victoria’s porcelain nature.

Bishop whistled. “I’ll be damned, that bastard played you like lute!”

Victoria’s smile grew brittle as her eyes slid from Leara to Bishop, and then fell to Karnwyr between them, “Ah, how precious,” she said, clearly thinking Karnwyr was anything but. “I’ll have to ask your companion to take your dog out. It’s our policy, you see,” she said, placating. “No wild animals.”

If a wolf could look unimpressed, Karnwyr did.

“Are you serious?”

Leara wanted to echo Bishop’s disbelief, but she knew better. Lower-end dress shops than this in Daggerfall, Evermore, and the Imperial City had strict no-animal policies. She wanted to kick herself, wishing she’d thought of it and spared herself and Bishop the embarrassment. And Karnwyr.

“It’s fine,” Leara said before Bishop could press the issue. If he shattered Victoria’s serene façade, Leara got the impression the woman would cut him like glass. “You and Karnwyr head back to the Skeever. I’ll finish up here and meet you back there before Casavir comes by. Trust me, dress shopping would bore you to tears,” she said, ignoring Victoria’s sharp inhale.

Bishop rolled his eyes. “Yeah, whatever, ladyship. Let’s go, Karnwyr. I know when we’re not wanted.”

With a backward glance at Leara, Karnwyr followed Bishop out the door, his tail between his legs. Leara watched them go. Bishop didn’t look back. The bells twinkled as he and Karnwyr left, and then Leara was alone with the dress designer.

For all that she enjoyed pretty clothes and sparkling jewels – just as any self-respecting Altmer, half-elven or otherwise – the prospect of being alone to be fitted for a gown to attend a ball she didn’t particularly want to attend was almost as daunting as the coming peace negotiation between General Tullius and Ulfric Stormcloak. Perhaps more so, given its immediacy.

“Shall we?” Victoria asked. Wagging a dainty finger, she led Leara deeper into the shop. It was a large room, about as big as The Prints and the Paper but all the more spacious for its lack of bookshelves. Windows set high in the upper walls filtered in pale afternoon sunlight. It must have been around two o’clock, Leara thought, as she took in the gossamer drapings and gilded decorations. There was neither rhyme nor reason to the opulent décor, as was usually seen in places where folk tried to emulate the rich while lacking the refined tastes of the aristocracy. The most sensical aspect of the room was the various dress mannequins, each adorned in a gown more extravagant than practical.

A stray thought went back to the blue lace number folded carefully in the bottom of her bag When did she buy that, fifteen years ago? Ten? No, eleven. When she was in Camlorn.

Victoria sailed over to a mannequin outfitted with a heavy gown, its full linen skirt was a dove grey, overlaid with cobalt silk and embroidered with golden lace and delicate bows. Its bodice was set with golden embroidery and capped with small, off-the-shoulder sleeves. Victoria traced the pink sapphire nestled in the dip of the sweetheart neckline. “I had it designed specifically in the likeness of the Blue Palace. My own rendition.” Her voice was dreamy. “Jarl Elisif herself will be wearing the original. This is just a show model. Would you like to browse my finest dress collection?” she asked. “Everything you desire will be given to you, compliments of Casavir.”

The Dominion instilled in its agents a statuesque poise that was only breakable by their superiors. More and more Leara found herself retreating into that familiar state of frosty distance. “Certainly.”

There were dresses in deep jewel tones and in floral pastels. Several had lacy trim, while others were embroidered with metallic gold and silver threads. A startling white piece was studded with white crystal and mithril thread over the bodice; displayed across from it was a crimson piece with a silk bodice and overskirt so black that it matched the Void night in Alduin’s scales. To look at it sent a chill down her spine. Silk was a prominent feature. “Imported from the Summerset Isles,” a smug Victoria sniffed, as if the King of Alinor bequeathed the material to her himself. Leara’s lip curled in distaste; the full skirts and bustles were enough to incur ridicule from the echelons of Altmer society. The tightness of the bodices was another matter entirely. Having a slim waist and narrow hips, Leara knew she would fit into any one of the dresses she chose, but the majority of Solitude’s female populace consisted of powerfully built Nords and willowy but short-waisted Bretons. Who in Oblivion were these dresses even for?

Unwitting, the Blue Palace piece drew her attention. She’d seen Jarl Elisif at the Embassy party. The girl was lovely; after all, she was known as ‘the Fair’ for a reason. Yet the would-be queen’s soft curves and full chest would be positively distorted by one of these gowns. Divines, these dresses weren’t meant for the women of Skyrim. What the Oblivion kind of circus was this fiasco?

Leara trailed past dozens of dresses, lingering just long enough to take in how each piece was absurd in its excess in its own way. There was a dress so brilliantly yellow that Leara could think of nothing but the yellow roses in the Queen’s garden at Castle Daggerfall. Another was of such rich forest green that it would have blended into the vales of the West Weald without issue. The pink was too much, a rose blush touched with the pallor of death. The lavender was little better: Once Leara thought of death, the cascading shades of purple, fading from dusk to dawn, reminded her only of electric arcs and rigor mortis.

The longer she looked, the more dismayed Leara became.

“Perhaps one of these?” Victoria offered.

Leara found herself faced with a pair of dresses in deep emerald and sapphire respectively. Identical save in the color of their crushed velvet weave, the skirts lacked the evident bustles that were so prominent in the majority of Victoria’s designs. Golden thread in delicate twirls curled up the bodice from the waistline, reaching across the velvet as creeping vines. Over the Imperial designer’s shoulder, Leara spied the same gowns in ruby and amethyst, dark and vivid. As excessive as they were, there was a certain majesty about these dresses that the others in Victoria’s collection lacked. Caressing the midnight sapphire with a tentative hand, Leara wondered if it was the sameness of their design, like Victoria had settled on one pattern so beautiful that she needed to make it four different ways, each a cardinal point on its own.

“They’re beautiful,” she admitted.

Victoria’s expression of satisfaction was more a sparkle than a beam. “I’m pleased you think so! The sapphire was meant to be Jarl Elisif’s last season, before the ball was canceled.” Her shining eyes shuttered. “What a horrible business, it was! That barbaric Stormcloak murdering such a lovely boy as Torygg! It’s a waste.”

Bile burned at Leara’s throat. Not the sapphire, then. Nor the ruby, she decided, eyeing the Imperial quality of the blood ruby and the aetheric gold. The amethyst was tempting. Cool and enticing in turns, from the velvet dusk to the threaded streams of dawn, it was positively royal in its entirety. Perhaps too much. She was the Dragonborn, not a princess or a Jarl’s wife. Though she almost sneered, if only to herself, she couldn’t see any self-respecting woman in Skyrim choosing a dress from this shop because they wanted to.

She didn’t want to, but she was still doing it. Given how Casavir viewed her, Leara supposed she wasn’t expected to have much self-respect anyway.

“The emerald,” she settled.

“A perfectly wonderful choice!” Victoria simpered. The sapphire was placed back on the hanging rack, as none of the four jewel dresses were on display. The emerald draped over her arm, Victoria led Leara to the back of the showroom. A short hall cut through the back to a room with a screen and a stole. Bolts of fabric were stacked against the walls, filling in gaps between side tables cluttered with sewing implements like thread and needles. A screen dominated one corner, opposite a full floor-length mirror.

“We’ll need to fit the gown, though you appear quite well proportioned, I must say!” Victoria giggled. “My, but doesn’t Sir Casavir have fine taste?”

Fine taste, as in fine taste in women. And ‘women’ in this case meant Leara, singular. She almost grimaced.

Victoria ushered her to the screen, and Leara hurried behind it with mixed relief. The dress was pushed into her hands, along with a shift and stays that Leara certainly didn’t pick out. There was a pair of sunkissed slippers, too, and a bone corset she was certain was an adolescent’s size. Trepidation clung to her muscles as she began stripping off her armor. It came off easily, unstrapping and stacking together in a comforting familiarity. Then her pants and undershirt went, and suddenly Leara was cold. What was she doing, trying on a ball gown she couldn’t afford for a ball she didn’t want to go to?

Leara pulled on the shift.

The corset was its own challenge, but Leara didn’t spend years of her life in Alinor and High Rock without learning to tie a corset by herself. Somewhere beyond the screen, she heard Victoria call out, asking if she needed help, but Leara didn’t answer. She’d been dressing herself since before the woman had even been born, thank you very much, and if Leara could do nothing else, she would continue to do that until age or dragon took her!

Stays in place, Leara stepped into the dress and pulled it up. It was heavy in a way her armor wasn’t, yet not unbearably so. It was cool and stifling and hot and freeing all at once. She tried to cinch the back closed, but unlike the straightforward practice of the corset, the dress’s ties proved far more complicated.

Victoria appeared as soon as Leara called for her. Her hands, making quick work of the ties, had Leara bracing against the wall as they were pulled to a near-constricting bind. As she knotted the ties, a faint and toneless humming whispered from Victoria’s lips. Leara gasped for breath. “Must it be so tight?” she asked. A morbid curiosity begged her to nick a measuring tape and wind it around her waist. She was already on the small side. What’d this do, shrink her measurements to the single digits?

How unnatural.

“It’s the fashion,” Victoria said matter-of-factly as if corsets were meant to suffocate rather than support.

The fashion where? Leara wanted to ask but didn’t.

“There,” Victoria declared. “That is a fine choice! You look stunning, marvelous, absolutely breathtaking! You will have all the men falling at your feet!”

Leara wondered if her face matched the hue of her gown.

Suddenly she wished she’d had lunch, if only so she could have something on her stomach to actually throw up.

Well, there was plenty of opportunity to fall apart before the night was over.

#oc: leara roseblade #last dragonborn #skyrim #bishop #karnwyr #casavir #general tullius #legate rikke #fanfic #ao3 #i didn't know you were keeping count #tes #the elder scrolls #mod post #solitude #grand crystal ball

[afterhourswjay]

Hi Jordan! Saw ur requests are open so could I request wanderer x reader angst to reverse comfort? Maybe wanderer was having another episode and puts all of his stress and anger on the reader, then he said smt like "i never want to see you again" or something along the lines of "fuck off" 😭. Reader left their shared home and Kunikuzuchi just starts having crazy thoughts (abandonment issues 😍⁉️) then its all just some misunderstanding bc reader just went out to buy some food/blankets (for kuni) or just cool off before coming back to support wanderer. Gender neutral reader is okay and normal teyvat AU too 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻 HDJSJFKDK I HOPE THIS ISNT TOO LONG

Hi, hello, welcome in!! I hope your doing well. I just wanna say that really love this request and would love to write it for you! Thank you so much for sending it in 😊😄

Why don't you just fuck off??

It appears that Wanderer, or Kuni as you call him, isn't having that great of a day. How to remedy this problem??

Characters: Wanderer x Reader Requests are open, feel free to send some in!! Warnings: Kuni is kinda an ass, Kuni goes through a relapse, hurt/comfort (i think, is what this is classified as), angst, fluff

"Why the FUCK do you even care?! Your no better than anyone else, always wanting something from me! Why don't you fuck off?! You can't care about something that you don't know ANYTHING ABOUT!!! I don't want to EVER see you again!"

You'd made an attempt to plead your case, but Kuni wasn't hearing none of it. He was simply screaming what came to his mind first, without thinking. He had a look on his face, somewhere between dazed and crazed, and quickly retreated to his room. Once the door slammed shut, you debated what to do. Either, you could follow him and reignite the argument that just finished. Or, you could go and get some stuff to hopefully comfort him with when you get home.

You move with purpose, getting your stuff together and then you leave. The door slams shut behind you, causing you to wince. Oops. You make your way to Liyue Harbor. Your goal is to buy some super fluffy blankets, and some ingredients to his favorite food. You remember how when you were a child, your mother would make some of your favorite foods to help cheer you up. Hopefully the same would work here.

You weren't gone for more than a half hour before you started making your way back to the home you shared with the puppet. You'd settled on getting him a blanket with a lovely mix of Mondstadt and Inazuman design, and you decided on getting his favorite foods. You know that home cooked meals are the best, but you want something that he can eat as soon as he's feeling better. With that you start making your way home. Anytime someone tried to stop you for a chat, or to ask for help with something, you were quick to refuse - stating that you needed to get home soon and that you'll stop by the next time you saw them. Once your home comes into view, you basically sprint the rest of the way there. You struggle a bit with the knob, but when the door finally swings open your greeted by the sight of a disheveled Kuni standing there in the dark, looking similar to a cryptid.

"K-kuni? What are-" You don't get to say much before you're practically tackled to the ground. You let out a quiet yelp as your head bounces off the door with a smack and your right hand comes up to protect your face from the giant hat. You can't hear much over the ringing in your ears, but you can tell that Kuni's saying something over and over. You let out a quiet sigh and drape the blanket over him, gently carding your fingers through his hair. He slowly calms down, and you can finally hear what he's saying.

"You didn't leave me..?" He sounds so confused and in awe at the same time.

"No, I didn't."

"Why??"

"Well, cuz I love you."

"You... You still love me??" He pulls away to look into your eyes, tears still trickling down his cheeks. You brush them away gently with your thumbs

"Relationships come with ups and downs. Especially when one of the people in said relationship have been through a lot."

He takes a deep breath in and lets it out, significantly calmer. He gently pulls the blanket closer, inspecting the designs. He seems to like it. "Let's just... stay here for a minute?"

"Yeah, but we still have to talk about what happened." You settle down against the door, pulling Kuni further into your lap and resituating the blanket around the two of you.

#jays thoughts #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x gender neutral reader #wanderer x reader #wanderer x gn reader #genshin impact reader has a vision #jay chats about genshin impact #jay squawks

[wickedsrest-rp]

The metallic wail heard round the world—or at least, heard over the township of Wicked’s Rest. The skyquake, the first of its kind in this part of Maine, brings the entire town to a stop. Cleanup efforts from the mineral ooze catastrophe are finally concluded, and the next strange occurrence is hot on its heels. It seems that this place will never truly know peace. 

The sound, like the rusted hinges of a heavenly gate the size of Mount Everest being opened, lasts for about five seconds, then fades, then spins up again for another round of deafening, unexplained phenomena. It continues for about half an hour, and seems to happen once every day or two. There have been many theories offered by the local media, some of them more earthly-bound and others pointing blame at the Null Impact Crater and Zilch, the cryptid believed to reside there… but no one can be certain. Is Zilch phoning home? Are we about to be invaded by a superior alien race? That’s certainly what some Resters think, including but not limited to the Good Neighbors. New homemade signs are appearing all over town every night, warning people to stay away from the impact crater and the Flat, claiming that both are clearly dangerous and a part of something larger going on. And, well… they certainly aren’t wrong about the danger. 

A very well known and well loved Rester, Jedidiah Hodge Sr., is missing. The local man is owner and operator of Red’s Eats, a long-standing shack restaurant that has been serving ‘Maine’s #1 lobster roll’ for over fifty years. His employees and family are confused and upset by his sudden disappearance, claiming that he started acting strangely just before vanishing. They have no idea where he might have gone, as he “has always been dedicated to this restaurant and to serving the people of Wicked’s Rest the best damn lobster they’ve ever had.” Authorities are looking into it. 

There has also been speculation from several sources of questionable repute that one Blake Sheffield, a member of the local board of selectmen and organizer of monthly town hall meetings, is pushing for the resources spent on these missing person’s cases to be allocated elsewhere, claiming that we “can’t keep wasting time on these people that want to just wander off into the woods. We all know how dangerous the woods are.” This pivot away from ‘helping thy neighbor’ seems in stark contrast to the fact that it was Blake herself who organized the temporary shelters for Resters displaced by the ooze. By all accounts, she seems to have undergone a full personality shift. And she’s not the only one.

It wouldn’t be Wicked’s Rest if some enterprising people and groups weren’t quick to market the skyquakes. Should you go see the sky splitting open? Probably not. But the “photos of the skyquakes” are selling postcards like crazy (no, the skyquakes are not visible), and the township has erected several “listening stations” around town where the acoustics are best. 

A strange symbol is appearing on things across town, seemingly painted onto surfaces. It’s round with what looks like a mysterious face in the middle (if you squint?), and it’s most frequently being sighted around the Abnormality, though there have been reports of it in more far-flung parts of town, too. No one knows what it means. Speculation abounds. Is it some teenager’s graffiti tag? The mark of a new cryptid? Installation art? Those who have spent time around or in service of demons before will be filled with a supernatural dread when near these symbols.

A recent ghost tour went incredibly wrong, and the woman running it, Helene, turned out to be a ghost in the process of gaining strange abilities. While she’s been destroyed and answers to a lot of questions were destroyed with her, those on the tour won’t soon forget what they have seen. Survivors are few in number and those who didn’t make it are trapped in the crystalized goo we’re all familiar with. But this time, it is not so easily shattered. The town is trying to avoid bad PR by reminding everyone that the waivers signed before the tour did cover this.

The skyquakes have been confusing the local wildlife – some species and creatures are frightened and may be leaving town entirely, while others are scared to the point of uncharacteristic aggression. House pets and supernatural monsters alike may become threatening whenever the sky booms.

There’s been an influx of doomsday prepper types from the outskirts of town, taking up residence in the Common and other parks to try and convince passers-by that their reckoning event is the correct one. Because yes, of course there’s a few separate groups with ideas that challenge one another. Hopefully it doesn’t escalate.

The Good Neighbors may be more than they seem. While it’s surely full of well-intended neighborhood watch types, its leadership might have other ideas. Some people are going missing and it’s usually presumed to be connected to the strange behavior others are exhibiting, but the Neighbors have been weirdly tight-lipped about a few of these disappearances. Will your character investigate or get caught up in their the Neighbors’ secrecy? [Send us a ModMail if interested in this longer-term plot – a few characters can be involved, but first come first served!]

#potw #plot of the week #season 2 #original rp #established rpg #town rpg #supernatural rpg

[enbyofentropy]

You're grandpa loved his farm, it was his own slice of peace when the world got to crazy, and the city became too much, but even so, there was a special place in his heart reserved for the sea. His best friend was the local fisherman, Willy, and as they grew ever closer, Willy would take him on trips out to sea, sometimes for months at a time. It was during this time he befriended the merpeople, the sea creatures and all the not-quite-cryptids that ran the night market. However, as time went on, his strength slowly failed him. The fishing trips were one of the first things to leave his life as it took more and more of his waning energy to run the farm. All too soon he had to move back to the city to get his affairs in order and say his goodbyes. It was in that final year that he gave you the deed to the farm. You were too young to open it, and even if you hadn't been, you wouldn't have understood the significance of it. Soon, you too grew weary of city life, finally opening the letter your grandfather gave you, all those years ago, moving to the farm he held so dear. You seamlessly assimilate to rural life, finding friends in almost everyone, and in one, a lover. Your grandpa sees this, from his place embedded in the fabric of the valley, with the merpeople and the junimos and the not-quite-cryptids that roam the forests and mines. He sees the joy and love that flood his old farm, in a way that it never had when he had lived, sees the hope and budding family you have created. When he goes to his friends, the merpeople, hoping to bargain for one of their most precious and prized shells he knows he will never be able to offer it as himself, the last this he wants is for you to think he is just another overbearing grandparent, desperate for the continuation of his lineage, no, he just wants you to be happy, and he wants to do everything he can to help get you there. He can only appear in the rain, when his aura is scrambled by the many conflicting forces of magic and nature, as any other time you would recognize him, but when you do take the pendant he offers, his heart swells with pride at the person you've grown into, a leader of the community and a wonderful person. He watches the wedding from the shadows, to scared of ruining it if someone sees him to attend with the crowd, full of so many familiar faces from when he lived, and as he watches you kiss your new spouse and put the pendant around their neck, he knows you are happy. And he is happy.

#sdv #stardew valley #sdv grandpa #sdv marriage #sdv headcanons

[torscrawls]

Tourist repellant

This is for Dannymay2022 day 4: Videotape.

What can I say? I just love me some cryptid Danny. The A-listers will think twice before picking on him for at least a week.

Also available on my AO3

--

"What's this?" Kwan asked as he bent down to pick something up from the sidewalk. He turned it over in his hands and raised an eyebrow in surprise. "A camera?"

And it was; an old digital camera with a small crack running up the side of the display.

Star came up beside him and leaned in to get a better look at it. "Some tourists must have dropped it."

"Let's see what's on it!" Dash said excitedly as he snagged the camera from Kwan's hands with a big grin on his face.

Kwan gave it up without a fight, it wasn't worth it, and besides; now his curiosity was piqued and he wanted to know too.

 Dash fumbled with the thing for a few seconds before Paulina heaved an exaggerated sigh and held her hand out for it. Dash sheepishly handed it over and she deftly turned it on with practiced motions and Kwan was reminded that she was responsible for the cheerleaders social media accounts.

 Paulina spared a quick glance around at the three of them before hitting play. The display showed a stranger standing in front of the town hall, smiling broadly. 

 Someone behind the camera said, “Where are we?"

 The person's smile grew even more as they made a little jump and yelled, "Amity park!"

 "Wow," Star said dryly, "nice to see someone who's excited to be here." 

 Kwan hushed her just as the person behind the camera started talking again, "So, Marie, what are we doing here?"

 Marie did a small twirl before spreading her hands wide. "Well, Alva, I’m gonna talk to grandpa!" 

 Alva started laughing behind the camera. "Well, hopefully! Let's see if the rumors are true." 

 It cut to another take where the earlier named Marie was sitting under a tree in the park, the sun seemed to have just set and her earlier broad grin had dimmed somewhat as she stared intently at her phone. 

 "Sooo…" Alva started. "Not going too well?" 

 Marie heaved a heavy sigh as she lowered her phone. "I don't get it! I can't find him anywhere! Not even any other ghost to ask if they know him." She groaned and tilted her head back to shout, "I want that damn recipe!" 

 Alva broke out into laughter again. "Maybe he's hiding from you! He did take it to his grave!" 

 "Hey! Don't joke about that!" Marie said as she lounged to slap the person behind the camera on the arm but her smile was visible, even on the small display on the camera. "I'm sure he—" 

 Marie broke off as her eyes landed on something to the right and behind Alva and the camera. "What's that?" 

 "Huh?" Alva asked and the view panned over to show a cluster of trees and bushes and as Kwan leaned in closer to the display he could make out something moving in the dark shadows. The edges of the video started fuzzing out and Kwan wondered if the screen might have been more damaged than just the crack. 

 "Hello? Is someone there?" Marie called out and the rustling abruptly stopped. There was a sudden, almost blinding, light that cast the surrounding trees in sharp relief; their new and sharp shadows seemed to writhe on the ground. As soon as the light appeared, it vanished again, and the camera took a few seconds to adjust to the darkness which now seemed even deeper.

 Star made a noise of protest and leaned back. "Fuck no, that's so creepy." 

 Dash laughed. "You live in a ghost town, Star! Don't tell me you're scared?!" 

 Star scoffed at him as she flipped her hair in his face. "Ghosts aren't scary. But they usually don't go creeping around in bushes." 

 Kwan made a noise of acknowledgement, she did have a point, but his eyes stayed glued to the video where Alva now had gotten up from the ground with the camera and was slowly approaching the dark bushes with Marie barely in frame to one side. 

 The camera jostled, and Dash let out a "eep!" which made Paulina laugh, but it became apparent that it had only been Marie nudging Alva to get her attention before pointing and saying, "Over there!" 

 Kwan looked at the screen in dawning horror as the camera focused on two bright green dots that stared back out of the darkness. 

 The two people in the video froze but even through the small speakers on the camera, Kwan could hear their breathing picking up. Marie seemed to muster her courage first as she hesitantly called out, "H—Hello?" 

 Alva jostled the camera as she turned slightly to her companion with a swear and a, "You idiot! What are you doing?!" 

 "What if it knows gramps?" But even as she said it, Marie sounded unsure of herself.

 As they argued the thing in the bushes moved, captured by the slightly tilted camera, and Kwan watched with dread as the two green dots were revealed to belong to a black outline in the shape of a human. It seemed to glide towards them through the bushes, not disturbing them at all as it approached. And the closer it came, the more static the video became. It wasn't the cracked screen that was the problem.

 “It’s not glowing,” Paulina said faintly and Kwan frowned at the apparent non sequitur, before he realized what she meant; despite having ghostly green eyes, this thing’s body wasn’t glowing like all the other ghosts.

 Kwan had thought that they had gotten used to creepy stuff happening; what with their near daily ghost encounters and all, but this was something else. This was real. 

 "Are they going to die?" Star asked as the figure stepped–floated–out of the bushes, going right towards the two unsuspecting tourists who finally seemed to realize that it was approaching and quieted down.

 Kwan shook his head, both to answer Star's question and to try and shake himself out of the uneasy feeling that had descended over the group. "We would have heard about that on the news…Right?" 

 No one answered him and Kwan realized that Star, Paulina, and Dash were all holding their breaths with their eyes glued to the screen. He reluctantly followed their lead and focused back in on what was taking place in the recording.

 Marie spoke up with a shaky voice, "He—Hey Alva, turn on the flash." 

 A beam of bright light turned on, aimed like a beam from the camera, and Kwan held his breath. Praying that the light would shed some proverbial light on the thing and put some of their fears to rest, answer some of their questions. He couldn’t have been more wrong.

 The first thing he registered was that it was a boy about their age in jeans and a light shirt, the second thing was that he had green smeared all over his face–a shade of green that the four teenagers from Amity Park were intimately familiar with.

 And the last thing that Kwan noticed was that the boy looked like… 

 "Fenton?!" Dash exclaimed, too loud considering how close their heads were over the display. "What is that freak doing now?!" 

 "Shhhh!" Star hushed him, a hand coming up to cover his mouth halfheartedly. 

 "Are you okay?" Alva asked and Fenton tilted his head to the side with a confused expression, but didn't answer. The static obscured most of the video now and seemed suspiciously centered on where Fenton stood. 

 "Do—" Marie broke off. "Do you need help?" and Kwan admired her bravery. He would not have stayed in the situation this long.

 There was the sudden sound of something heavy hitting the ground behind them and Marie and the Alva screamed at the same time as Dash and Star did. Fenton on the other hand whipped around faster than the camera could catch, through the static it looked as if his eyes were shining green again for a split second. 

 The camera shakily followed his line of sight into the dark trees for a split second—not picking up anything—before panning back, but by then Fenton was already gone without a trace. 

 "What the fuck?!" Dash exclaimed and Kwan couldn't help but agree. There hadn't been enough time for him to run, the light from the camera made it impossible to hide close by, and besides, there hadn't been any sound of him moving through the underbrush. 

 Fenton had simply vanished. 

 Like a ghost. 

 The video slowly regained its focus as the static leached out of it. As if Fenton had been the source of whatever it was that had been screwing with the video quality.

 "Well," Marie said after almost a minute of silence, and even though she seemed to try and speak casually the panic was clear in her voice. "I'm out of here." 

 Alva made a noise of agreement as the video shifted to focusing on the ground and the sound of rapid footsteps. After a few seconds Alva asked, voice breathless but still managing to be slightly teasing, "Aren't you gonna ask him if he knows your granddad?" 

 "Fuck no!" Marie snapped back. "If grandpa is getting buddy buddy with shit like that, I don't wanna meet him again!"

 "That's it then." The video cut off. 

 The four of them stood in silence and Kwan’s thoughts were racing as he looked around his friends. Dash looked pale, Star was slowly shaking her head, and Paulina was staring at the display with a thoughtful expression on her face.  Kwan didn’t know what to think about any of this–the sight of Fenton’s glowing green eyes wouldn’t leave his mind. As far as he knew, there was only one reason people had eyes that glowed like that. “Is–Is Fenton dead?”

 Paulina looked away from the screen and asked, voice far too calm for the situation, “Didn’t he leave school early today? Has anyone seen him since?”

 Dash paled even further. "Well. Fuck."

#dp #dannymay2022 #dp fic #danny phantom #phic #my writing #cryptid danny

[corviisquire]

Corvid late night thoughts/rambles time. Just some lore ideas regarding Ranne, art ideas for the future, and other random things on my mind. Pardon the spelling errors.

I want Ranne to have a friend, despite them being not the most likable personality wise. Ranne is a middle-ranking god of winter and birds, specifically crows and other birds of the corvid family (I have a bird obsession and it is not hidden well). Ranne has a cool color palette and I plan on finalizing a reference sheet for them soon with more black accents to convey the bird theme. Back to making a friend for Ranne, I want this other creature to have a warmer color palette while still being desaturated to go with the theme of this story/world. Ranne is very androgynous representing and I want this other character to lean towards a more masculine androgyny. Ranne has metal armor and wears a knight like helmet/mask and I want this other character to have a more natural raw material-like armor, leather and fur. I want a contrast between these two characters. Ranne, cold and rebellious and reserved and full of sinister energy, and this other creature calm and stable and friendly. This masculine creature will most likely have an earthy appearance. I’ve talked a bit about Ranne’s lore before and how I either want them to make a mistake or get a little too mischievous and is forced as punishment to gaurd a sacred forest for a thousand years OR the lone wolf Ranne becomes friends with another god (this earthy masc creature concept) and the friend dies in a war between the gods and Ranne gets angry, rampage and kills, and as punishment is forced to guard a forest for thousand years. THEN AGAIN, if I don’t like how earth creature man is turning out design wise, I will go with lore option 1. If he looks cool is sparking joy, lore option 2. This was hella long my bad gang. 

Art ideas for the sleep token fans: you know, the TMBTE creatures? Amazing designs, love them. I will drawing all of them eventually (I have drawn a few but not all). I was also thinking… with if other albums had creatures too? TPWBYT has a couple various fish designs, the aquatic creature we see in the mini art book that came with the TPWBYT vinyl so I probably won’t touch those but what about Sundowning? I defiantly won’t do a creature for each song but maybe for The Offering and Blood Sport. This is just a fun idea and an excess to draw Sleep Token style knight cryptids. 

Personal art ideas: I will make drawings of all my characters (chibi style) and stickers will happen. It will be far into the future though. 

#art #thoughts #ranne my beloved

[justsomerandomfanfic]

Hi, could i get a matchup for Lotr, Gotham, Stranger Things and Disney (cartoon)?

Pronouns: she/her

Sexuality: heterosexual

Zodiac/MBTI: intj, sagittarius

Appearance: long black hair, black eyes, 187 cm, very pale skin and i'm builded like models on 60s fashion illustrations, for some reason i always look like i'm sad

Personality: mix of a kuudere and hinedere personality: introverted, calm, quiet, reserved, sophisticated, polite, snarky, witty, sarcastic, blunt, honest, apathetic, intimidating, morbid, unfazed

Likes: art, plants, animals, philosophy, thanatology, literature, serial killers, insects and bugs, witchcraft, classical music, goth music, classical gothic literature, history, forensics, criminology, anthropology, psychology, mythology, books, animals (especially cats), nature, tea

Dislikes: can't think of any. i care only about things i like

Hobbies: science, learning new things, knitting, sewing, gardening, cooking, baking, playing chess, taking long solitary walks to secluded places, reading, writing, drawing, general handicrafts, dollmaking, cryptid hunting

Thanks!

Hi! Thank you so much for requesting a matchup! I'm sorry for the long wait! <3 I hope you enjoy it

---

Lord Of The Rings;

Aragorn:

🗡 You met Aragorn when you joined the Fellowship, having an extensive knowledge of witchcraft, some of the others in the fellowship were a bit anxious upon you joining, finding you pretty intimidating, but Gandalf trusted you and that told everyone else that they could trust you too

🗡 Aragorn was one of the members that didn't fully trust you in the beginning, though as he observed you, he found you to be quite introverted and calm; you found Aragorn to be quite charming when he needed to be and thought he was an astounding leader; though it did take time until you and Aragorn began courting

🗡 He had a broken heart that needed mending and you were the right person to sew up that heart of his, though for you it was a bit hard to open up to the man, you did so, finding that taking long walks with him during first watch was very calming and even fun for the both of you; learning about one another really helped your relationship grow

🗡 Aragorn found you to be very sophisticated, and he loved how much you loved the history of things and even learning new things, so when Aragorn offered to teach you how to sword fight, you couldn't say no; and you on the other hand, loved how Aragorn treated you, he was kind and understanding, treating you as if you were a queen, you deeply admired that kind of respect

🗡 Only after the battle and the end of the One Ring, did you and Aragorn marry, the ceremony was beautiful and everyone was there; in the end, you and Aragorn ruled over the lands of his fathers, as king and queen

---

Gotham;

Jervis Tetch:

⏱ You met Jervis in Arkham, being his nextdoor cellmate, you found it easy to talk to him, especially since there was a small hole in the stone wall between your cells; you found the man next door to be intriguing, his talents of hypnosis made your spine tingle with excitement at the thought of a possible escape, you knew well that he was an intelligent man and he would find a way out in no time

⏱ You knew you didn't belong in Arkham, you were a queen, someone not to be messed with, you knew you had to get out soon, or you would go crazy; so as the days and hours pass by, you and Jervis get closer and closer, even to the point that you and him go back and forth about your hobbies

⏱ It gets to the point that Jervis promises you that he'd get you out, he told you about his plan with Jerome and Jonathan, you were getting out with him no matter what; "Tick tock goes the clock, and we'll soon be free. Once we get out of this asylum, I'll be the king and you'll be my queen"

⏱ And Jervis kept that promise, helping you escape and running off with you, Jerome, and Jonathan; hand in hand you couldn't stop the smile and laughter to fill the air, Jervis found your laughter beautiful, like an angel in disguise

⏱ During your time out of Arkham, you spent your time with Jervis where he showed you how he used his hypnosis, and when things were on the down-low, you'd both spend time reading or even drawing peacefully in your hideout; you both were soulmates, as you were cellmates, ready to take on the world

---

Stranger Things;

Eddie Munson:

👹 You met Eddie when you followed your friends Steve and Robin into the boat house, there with Eddie pinning Steve to the wall with a homemade shiv, you thought, 'Wow, who's this guy?'; though it did take you a long while until you came out of your shell to have a conversation with him

👹 But when you did, Eddie was practically head over heels in love with you, calling you all the nicknames you could possibly imagine, babe, my love, my queen, the list goes on and on; Eddie loved everything about you from your morbid sense of humor to your witty comebacks that could rival Steve's own

👹 After saving the King of D&D from those Demobats, and after Vecna was defeated, you and Eddie moved away from Hawkins, since Eddie was still being looked after by the police; there you were able to find jobs and a quiet apartment where the two of you baked together and listened to music

👹 You both would watch tv together when you both get a telly, and watch crime shows or have the history channel going on in the background as you teach Eddie how to knit or play chess; Eddie would do anything for you, and even on your birthday or anniversary, he'd buy you a new book or a new plant

👹 You and Eddie are the most perfect match, always there for one another and helping each other during hard times; Eddie had the ability to bring you out of your shell and you did the same for Eddie, both making each other better people in general

---

Disney (Cartoon);

Prince Naveen:

🪕 You never thought you'd be at your best friend's, Charlotte's, La Bouff's masquerade party, you weren't really one for large parties, and dressing up in giant ballgowns and such; though Charlotte was prepared and got you a dress that you actually were pretty comfortable in and it was in your favorite color

🪕 Though you did have to hide away when the party became too much, bumping into your other best friend, Tiana, before finding a quiet bedroom to sit and read in; though, you never knew you'd find a talking frog there either, (no books you read on witchcraft never did explain that to you)

🪕 Long story short, now you were a frog, you really regretted kissing that frog that calls himself Prince Naveen, it was hard to believe that he was cursed to become a frog and all that but by the end you believed him; and before you knew it, you were trying to become human again just so you could get back to your life

🪕 But, you never thought, like going to parties and turning into a frog, that you'd fall in love with Naveen, but you did; from dancing in the starlight to Ray's beautiful song, to teaching Naveen how to cook... It was inevitable

🪕 In the end, with the power of true love, you and Naveen turned back into human beings, living both your lives as prince and princess, listening to music, cooking and baking together, and just spending time together; life was beautiful

---

#matchup #match ups #cute #fluff #slight angst #x reader #x female reader #request #requests open #requested #anon request #gotham #jervis tetch #jervis tetch x reader #disney #cartoon disney #prince naveen #prince naveen x reader #lord of the rings #lotr #the lord of the rings #aragorn #aragorn x reader #stranger things #stranger things s4 #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader

[naffeclipse]

Heya Naff!

Just had this little idea snippet pop to mind and I thought I’d share it with you cuz it’s kinda reminiscent of Lack of Light and I guess a little of Cryptid Sightings too.

So, what if Y/N for some reason or another ends up in a dark cave, not in any danger, but maybe just there to destress and have some calm, quiet time. Then they hear an ominous voice (Moon or Eclipse probably), but never see whom it belongs to. They make rather interesting conversation and despite Y/N’s curiosity, the voice warns that it's for the best Y/N doesn’t know what they look like, lest their appearance frightens them.

Over time and many more visits they become good friends. Y/N is always one to confide in them about their troubles and hardships, and the ominous voice replies with comfort and advice. Reversely on the rare occasion the voice opens up, Y/N is able to cheer them up with a lighthearted kindness and maybe some humour thrown in. 

Eventually Y/N gets curious enough and the voice's owner is revealed. They are indeed a little unsettling to say the least, but Y/N is able to remind themselves that this creature/thing is their friend and the encounter goes smoothly. 

From then on Y/N is also adamant of giving lots of hugs and cuddles, no matter how scary they seem. And tho the creature doesn’t say it, they do appreciate it.

Idk, I’m just soft for making friends with something scary / otherworldly that doesn’t get much love otherwise ^^ with a touch of secret, almost imaginary friend when you don’t have any others

But yeh, that’s all for now :) Hope you're well and have a lovely day/night, dear Naff <3 PS: haven’t gotten to CS chapter 19 yet, but hope to soon. From the little I know of you making people cry or something, I’ll be sure to have some tissues or a pillow at the ready :’) /lh

Hey, Piixel, I love this idea so much that I wrote a little something based on it! I hope that's alright! (If for any reason you want me to delete it, say the word and I will.)

Umbrage Embrace

Shadow Monster!Eclipse x Reader (SFW)

You can’t speak. You bury your face in your hands, arms scraping against the bark of the willow. A terrible tremble falls over you as the gush of tears leaks past your defenses and down your cheeks. It doesn't matter that it’s pitch dark in the forest save for the barest splatters of moonlight nor that you hide away. You will not see Eclipse. He, however, sees you.

Word Count: 3,800~ Warnings: Anxiety and hurt/comfort.

A/N: This is based on @piixelpaint's ask which you can read here! (you're already here.) Their idea inspired me so much that I had to write a little something for it, and I do love creatures who hide and give comfort and maybe wish for a little comfort in return but are terrified of scaring away their human beloved. Eclipse fits this type of monster perfectly. I also was in a headspace of wanting to address some anxiety and explore some sweet hurt/comfort! Enjoy!

#shadow mosnter!eclipse #eclipse x reader #ao3 link #lack of light #okay piixel you don't understand how much i love this #when you sent it in i almost responded to it immediately but then i stopped and said to myself “this deserves a proper fic” alsdjfalsdf #i hope you like it #i did make a little change of it not being in a cave so I hope that's alright #anyways i hope you have lovely day/night too *mwah* #FORGOT THE LINK AHHHHHHH #IT'S THERE NOW

[violetstormms]

Fantasy Fics

*Fantasy Fics: General fantasy, could be literally anything. Are you a vampire stuck traveling with some handsome vampire hunters? A princess who has befriended the jesters? How about a monsterhunter with a totally not a monster companion? This and more belong here.

When the rust settles in by Chex_Nyx

 archiveofourown.org/works/40069428/chapters/100351104

When the world falls apart, humans have to pick themselves back up and do something about it.

You were a nomadic type of person, moving from community to community as you worked on their solar energy and their robot workers. You were one of very few people who could do this work, you were very highly respected. Also, very highly sought after.

On your way home from helping a community, you’re being pursued by a gang of undesirable people and you had no intent of helping them.

Hiding in a building for the night, you happen across an old bot, seemingly broken. You decide to scrap it for parts, that is until the damn thing wakes up. Now you feel guilty about wanting to gut it’s parts. But what’re you suppose to do with a 9-foot-tall celestial robot? Take it home?

That seems to be what it wants.

  Cryptid Sightings by NaffEclipse

 archiveofourown.org/works/42053349/chapters/105586443

Perhaps this would scare a person, being all alone in the woods in the dark, but not you. You’re too intertwined with the paranormal and inexplicable. It’s in your blood. That doesn’t mean your heart won’t pound with terror when you face something with fangs and hungry eyes for flesh, but you don’t run away, and that’s what matters most.

You will face the monsters.

Cryptid!Sun/Moon x Cryptid Hunter!Y/N (SFW)

  Sleuth Jesters by NaffEclipse

 archiveofourown.org/series/2985345

“If I may, Detectives, I believe that the score is set at a tie on how many times you’ve both let me slip away under your watch.” You grin at the sun and moon like faces of your opponents in this game of cat and mouse. The narrow slice of Detective Moon’s gaze becomes threatening, where Detective Sun curls and uncurls his fingers in anticipation of whatever scheme you’re concocting.

  Detective!Sun & Detective!Moon x Vigilante!Reader (SFW)

  Jesters and Dragons by Robin_Green

 archiveofourown.org/works/42538845/chapters/106847178

The main character is the 4th princess of a large kingdom. Her younger brother, the golden child, is gifted two magical construct jesters modeled after the sun and moon on his 14th birthday. While wishing that they had been gifted to her instead, the main character ends up running into the jesters at every turn, turning her into a blushing stuttering mess as they flirt shamelessly with her.

Fluffy fluff fluff fluff. With a smidge of angst.

  -Oh, Fragile Desire by MolecularMachine

 archiveofourown.org/works/44062149/chapters/110788449#workskin

One sleepless night, you find a cold, unwound corpse of an animatronic at the bottom of an old well. Somehow, despite everything, you will help.  Clockpunk au.

  Coiled Around the Fine Line Between Love and Fear by CrazedAuthor

 archiveofourown.org/works/44362618/chapters/111571051

For an independent study in your Master's class, you and several other botany students travel to another country to research the plants in the region. It is very free-form! Too free-form, in your case, as you eventually find yourself wandering into a dangerous section of wooded mountains and soon become trapped and injured by a landslide. Thankfully, your savior comes in the form of two giant snake-men: nagas named Sun and Moon. They take you back to their cave where you must spend several months recovering before you can rejoin civilization again. The main problem? You have a terrible phobia of snakes. The secondary problem? They don't really know what humans need and, in Moon's case, don't like the idea of a human living with them.

But destiny appears to have a pretty sick sense of humor when these creatures you can't even look at suddenly start vying for your affection. And the very thing you fear finds a way into your heart.

  Two Hunters and a Bloodsucker by Robin_Green

 archiveofourown.org/works/41628903/chapters/104419116

My life is good for what it is. Except that I’m dead. Well, undead. I’ve been undead for about 15 years now, and I haven’t aged a day.

Being a vampire hiding among humans can be difficult at times, mainly dealing with sunlight and avoiding mirrors, but I manage. I’ve been living and working in this little town as the town blacksmith for about 7 years now, and I’ve become a full-fledged member of the little community here.

I thought I had been doing a good job hiding my presence among the humans, but one day two of the most well-known vampire hunters came into town. If they find out what I am, they will kill me, but both of them have become intent on becoming my friends and maybe more. How can I keep myself from being discovered when two hunters are trying to romance me?

  Bug Love by TheOHNOCorral

 archiveofourown.org/works/41425437/chapters/103884804

Sun and Moon are what remains of a vast pantheon of gods. Only able to save themselves by making a pact with each other and binding their bodies together and the moon and sun themselves. They watch over what is left of the vast forests they once protected. They know that one day they will waste away, unable even to hold on to each other.

Now here you are. Things haven't gone exactly the way you'd hoped but you've got another field position and it's looking up from there. Now if you can manage to keep catching bumble bees, not eat anything poisonous, and make the mortgage, you'll be fine.

Curious that you always catch more bees than anyone else on the study. Curious that you never get ticks, or chiggers, your bag never rips open, you've never been stung, never fallen in the woodland brush. You think you're just lucky for a while. Then you step on that hornet nest. Well. You'd always had a thing for local cryptid lore.

  Nagas of Fazbaru by BaconlySwiss and JGDraws4

 archiveofourown.org/works/42387309/chapters/106444641

You're hellbent on getting to Northern India to study the ancient ruins of Fazbaru, where strange things are rumored to have and are happening there. This is an expedition of a lifetime, and luckily, your journey is going in full swing.

  Sometimes a family is a child, a grandparent, and three cursed dolls by PeppermintStraws

 archiveofourown.org/works/40972053/chapters/102679986

There are many times where one's blood related family might not care for them in the way you know they should. There are times in which your blood related family forget about you once you've grown old and frail. And there are times in which you are separated from the only family you have. However, all of these people have one thing in common, and that's a need for friendship, companionship, and someone to tell them "I love you" in a way that truly matters.

This Fic will also not contain any romance, especially not between the boys and you. Oh, and this shifts between the view of grandparent!reader and child!reader. Additionally, they are different people, I just did both since I couldn't choose just one to write about.

  Stars in the Darkness by Robin_Green

 archiveofourown.org/works/42025509/chapters/105513126

You find yourself living in a cabin in the middle of the woods. After cleaning up the mess from the previous occupant, you find a broken statue that seems to have been living in the forest, covered in moss and lichen. Deciding that it would be wise to put the statue back where it belongs, you fix it up and lug it out through the trees to place it back in its home. This pleases something living in the darkness of the trees, and little gifts start appearing on the porch of the cabin. The creatures in the dark seem to like you. You should be careful not to do anything that would anger them now that you have their attention.

  To Be Hunted by Celticwolfie

 archiveofourown.org/works/45802168/chapters/115264918#workskin

You are a lone werewolf that had been accepted in to this small farming community. Everything was fine and peaceful until a vampire rolls in. After taking care of the threat, two hunters are called in. Now you need to balance finding out what vampires want and trying to keep the hunters at a distance. The questions is, are you going to be successful?

  Thing on your swing by SourTomato

archiveofourown.org/works/45595288/chapters/114730450

Yay cheap housing!

Why is it so cheap? Probably has something to do with mushrooms!

  Celestial Sundown by clutterspace

archiveofourown.org/works/48356314/chapters/121962010#workskin

There was something slumped beneath a tree, and you had no idea what it was.

The sunlight shone brighter where it laid, despite the leaves above not differing from any of the other foliage.

It was such a small thing to notice in comparison to everything else, but it brought a small hysterical giggle out past the lump in your throat as it finally clicked in place what you were seeing.

It was a god.

────

You are a peasant living in the middle of the woods, Sun is the god of day you brought back home with you, and Moon is the god of night tucked away in the Celestial Realm.

[papirouge]

okay a little tinfoil hat thoughts here on my end. You know how every place on Earth has a folklore/mythology of some sort like fairies or water spirits or what have you. What if those creatures are real, whether they're demons or another species of creature like how cryptids are. It'd explain some things for sure especially why more and more people under this secular society are becoming more depraved and unstable, they weren't human to begin with. I mean like we need to turn to Jesus and against all the worldly junk Satan lures us in with. And otherwise I think that it's a sign our world as we know it is coming to a close soon, that Jesus is coming and the rapture isn't too far away. Keep praying and I pray for you too sister!

Thank you anon💛

They're definitely real, and their both demons & cryptids. I think the nuance between demons and cryptids is that cryptids may be a form of demons specifically living in secluded spaces (desert, forests, cave, etc. - where demons who've been cast away go wander) and take the appearance of wannabe-animals (dog, wolf, deer, etc.)

I remember a story in a niche new age french radio I heard years ago (when I was a nolife teen fascinated by UFO) of an old military french man said he and his troops met a very odd looking man while they were deployed somewhere in the Sahara in the 70s. He literally came out of nowhere. That man had an abnormally dark & thick skin, craved-like deep wrinkles, extremely tiny, and the military said the skin of the sole of his feet was so thick it looked like callus - but like, a few inches thick😲 Since they quickly realized the man didn't speak french nor arabic they proposed to him a cigarette as way to create a cordial contact. The odd looking man accepted the cigarette, but to the utter surprise of the militaries, he didn't smoke it from the butt, but rather on the burning side(??!). The military man who told the story said that while smoking the odd man had an expression on his face of extreme pleasure.... After finishing the cigarette, the odd man left, and they never saw him again.... Idk if such encounter counts as cryptids, because as weird look that man was, he was still kinda humanoid, but since he was made of flesh (he physically could touch and smoke the cigarette) he most likely would not be a demon either (demons are on a whole dimension and cannot materialize their whole body in our realm. They can only do a few stunt such as slaps, moving/crushing objects, etc.). So maybe a fallen angel ; residuals of the time of the Noah where humans started copulating with demons and stayed in the desert ? I think that's what Muslim culture call djin. I know a channel of a Muslim girl retelling stories of djin and what's really striking is how they seem able to come in & out of our realm, and physically interact with humans, give objects, have houses, etc. So I think they're no average demon but a form of fallen angels who can't travel across the human and spiritual realms. That's a very uneverving thing when thinking about it...

And yeah, I already made a lengthy post about fallen angels that story of a girl who was half mermaid (her mom made a pact with mami wata to get pregnant) and how the pastor of the church she went to seek help to couldn't help her because she wasn't humans (you can find the post if you dig in my #papiconspiracy tag). After that I got anon telling me how unloving it was to refuse to save that girl, but at this point, it wasn't about "not wanting" to save her, but rather that we cannot save her. Fallen angels are not humans therefore they can't be Saved. God can't save demons.

I don't think you need to be half demon to be extremely wicked (demon possession can totally do the job) though, but extremely wicked humans can still be Saved.

#answered #papi conspiracy

[helicrazy]

🍆

The copters always had the simplest way of letting the other know when they wanted to interface. It was either a look, a touch, sometimes an exchange of words, or fully throwing themselves at one another. The latter was always the easiest option for Vortex.

He finds Blaze roaming the halls of the Combaticon’s mansion. At first, he approaches all casually. Then once he’s close enough he grabs and shoves the cryptid into the wall. Pressing his body and weight against them while sliding a leg between theirs to keep them spread apart. His mask retracts revealing his classic grin. Lucky him the other appears to be in the mood to receive, or this would have turned into a brawl with the winner topping.

Blaze didn’t even need to ask what the teal and purple copter was doing. It was very obvious what they wanted and he is happy to oblige. The only problem was that they were out in the open, with other mechs that could potentially turn the corner and get an explicit view. A kink he isn’t exactly fond of but it didn’t look like Vortex was going to budge anytime soon. So frag it. His valve panel clicks open as he mumbles a ‘make it quick’ under his intake. 

Besides, the chances of the other Combaticon strolling down this certain hall, at this certain point in time in this enormous house, seemed very low. 

The teal copter slides his servo down their frame and then traces his claws around the rim of the valve. Teasing a little before sliding two claws in to spread them and begin pushing in and out. With a click, his spike releases from its cover already throbbing. Giving a soft moan when the outlier grabs and starts to stoke it. 

With his face so close he couldn’t help but aim for the antenna on the side of their helm. Licking and nibbling on it as another claw enters the valve. Pumping faster and harder into it once the fourth one joins in. Even with all this effort, he’s only getting small noises from Blaze in return. Something Vortex has gotten used to, but today he felt like messing around. 

Releasing the antenna he purrs into their audials while his claws cruelly thrust away into the soaking valve. “You going to beg for me~?"

The outlier huffs while dropping his helm onto the teal shoulder plating. Claws drag down Vortex’s back as his other servo rapidly strokes the hard spike. Even so much as trying to pull it close to his valve, spreading his legs out farther, just to get the point out. Begging? Unlikely. He’ll bite down on his lips if he has to so it’s guaranteed that nothing comes out. 

“Piece of work as always.” Vortex hums. Claws still pumping away in the valve, but the moment it seems like Blaze is close to overloading he slows right down. Even pulling his claws out completely to hear the cryptid whimper at the emptiness. Don’t get him wrong he wants it bad too. With Blaze squeezing and tugging his spike he’d like nothing more than to screw them up the wall. The damn mech pulls the same stunt of slowing down their movements when Vortex’s charge is high.

With one copter being too stubborn to give in and the other fully set on teasing until he gets what he wants, it’s become a game of who will lose patience first.

The hallway gets filled with light moans, whines, and cooling fans roaring to life. Both their helms are resting on each other’s shoulders. Any servos not occupied with interfacing equipment are engraving their claws into the other’s armor plating. Blaze’s valve is soaked with lubricant dripping out as Vortex’s claws were still at work. His spike desperately twitches as it spills out small amounts of fluids onto them. Making a total mess of one another both pleasurably and painfully. 

It’s only when the teal copter faintly catches a moan of his name does he fully stop. Frag it. It’s not a lot but he’ll take a small victory over nothing at all. Claws pull out to grab and lift one of Blaze’s legs around him just as his spike gets released. Then wastes no time adjusting himself beneath the needy valve. Purring into the audials of the outlier as he teases the tip in ever so slowly. Feeling them shake and whimper makes him want to drag this out as long as possible, but Blaze deserves this.

But just as he’s about to slam his whole length the sound of a loud and angry voice echo through the halls. Causing him to freeze on the spot as Blaze buries their face into his neck. Hoping to cease existence at this very moment.

“Seriously?! In the fragging halls!” 

Vortex just stares back. Then responds by lifting his middle digit before plunging himself into the wet valve. 

There’s no going back now. 

#photobombingcryptid #{{ These keep getting longer and longer #I'm not complaining tho it's fun #and these two are 👀 }} #Not Safe For Bots