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anantaru · 2 years

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𝗗𝗘𝗘𝗣𝗧𝗛𝗥𝗢𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗚 !

˖˚˳⊹ deepthroating feat. childe : scaramouche : dottore : pantalone : zhongli : diluc : arlecchino x fem! reader from the 5.5k event special

˖˚˳⊹ warnings: nsfw : deepthroating : strap-on (arlecchino)

˖˚˳⊹ 𝗖𝗛𝗜𝗟𝗗𝗘

that low rumbling chuckle that escaped childe’s throat was almost sinister if anything, followed by the sight of your mouth full of his heavy cock, shutting you up in an instant. His hands would interlock themselves with the soft strands of your hair and snapping forward where he wanted to have his tip prod on the most, your throat. It’s so warm and firm, —he figures—, the way you’re flexing your muscles around his tip made a shiver run down his spine, he needed, no had to feel more.

Soft noises snapped himself back to reality once you hiccuped against his length, his pace lazy but steadily, not wanting to hurt you in any way either, you’ve been so good to him after all! Letting him just plunge into your throat like that was a gift from the heavens if he’s being honest. "you’re always so good to me." He’s repeatedly chanting this sentence with every bounce of his cock buried deep inside your throat. You were so full too! saliva dribbling down your chin and from the corners of your mouth while you breathed heavily out of your nose, hands slowly drawing circles over his thighs to reassure him that it’s okay and you can still take it. Like mentioned before, he wouldn’t want to hurt you in any way, you’re his love after all. <3

˖˚˳⊹ 𝗦𝗖𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗠𝗢𝗨𝗖𝗛𝗘

the wet noises replacing the quietness of the room you were currently in with scaramouche. Body nestled in between his thighs while you were kneeling in front of him. He’s sputtering in between harsh sucks of your mouth, almost losing it whenever you hollow your cheeks to coax yet another deep groan out of him. He has got to change whatever was going on right now, more so he absolutely disliked not being in control of certain situations. His eyes locked gazes with your own, "you know how much I hate it when you tease me." he was careful with his words, barely a whisper if anything.

you, of course, weren’t able to answer because of being stuffed full with his cock, only nodding frantically before rolling your eyes back at the harsh snap of his hips inside of your wet mouth. Your throat would always grab him like a vice, —the feeling was to die for—. The saliva that pooled out of your mouth coating your face as you resorted to breathing through your nose due to the inability of doing it any other way. Scaramouche was happy now, "that’s better." he‘s cooeing that sentence with an almost pseudo friendly tone, slapping sounds of his pelvis remotely hitting you were now bouncing off the walls with great ease. Who knows, maybe if you were being extra obedient today, he’d return the favor to you.

˖˚˳⊹ 𝗗𝗢𝗧𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗘

"just like that." dottore's rough voice was turned into a soft whimpering once he sheathed himself deep inside your warm mouth, "this is what you‘re made for." you were only able to hiccup against his length as a way to respond, bobbing your face up and down his heavy member while your hands found their way to his round balls, —that were eagerly waiting for some attention from you—. His features were almost heaven like: painfully intimidating eyes locking gazes with your own glassy ones. He was just way too big for your mouth to fit in, deperately trying to spread your lips further for his girth to fit but you still had some troubles.

dottore only laughed at your pathetic whimpering, thinking that all your hopeless attempts to satisfy you would come in handy somehow later. His hands were tired of your slow pace as they nestled in between your hair strands, grabbing a fistful of them and pushing you down on his length until you hit his pelvis, nostrils filled with the musky scent of him as you tried your best to breathe out without gagging around his girth. His dark and audible chuckle, —that was barely hearable to anyone—, brushing over your ears and making you shiver. He wouldn’t wait any longer and fuck your throat, lolling his head back whenever he’d feel you clench around his heavy cock. You weren’t exactly surprised by his harsh behavior but didnt complain either, far too turned on by the way he used you as his own personal cock sleeve. <3

˖˚˳⊹ 𝗣𝗔𝗡𝗧𝗔𝗟𝗢𝗡𝗘

Truth be told pantalone was rock hard all day, could barely wait before he can finally push himself deep inside your wet mouth. You were always so happy to please him after all! The first grunts fell off his throat at the haste intrusion of his fat cock in your mouth, setting up a lazy pace in the beginning. He wasn’t in for doing a lot most days since it wasn’t his job to satisfy his needs, it was yours. Today was different though, blame it on him being so fucking horny all day long but the second you circled your tongue over his girth and brushed over that one particular throbbing vein of his, he figured this just wasn’t doing it for him right now.

his balls were straining, tensing up and begging to spill his seed deep inside your throat, so he did the only rational thing in that moment, meaning he grabbed a fistful of your hair to push you against his twitching length. The way you moaned at the sudden snap made you gag against his girth, the man above you almost seeing white if it wasn’t for his immense self control. You were eagerly bobbing his cock in and out of your mouth before he grinded himself deeper into you, holding you still while his swollen tip prodded against your throat.

You knew what was coming next, it was almost a bad habit of his but pantalone loved throat fucking you more than anything. "open up open up." He’s chanting lightly, —with that smile of his—, which always managed to make you shiver against his hold. The brutal pace he was going for now made your throat straincgreatly. You were trying to wrap your lips firmly against his girth while both his cum and your saliva dropped heavily down the floor, staining the carpet underneath you. He could feel his balls tighten as the knot from deep inside his gut finally broke, spilling his cum in thick spurts into your throat, the warm feeling of his seed calming you down as warm tears spread over your cheeks in the process.

˖˚˳⊹ 𝗭𝗛𝗢𝗡𝗚𝗟𝗜

You know how thick his cock was, not to mention his heavy balls that would smack against you whenever he’d snap his hips forward into your warm mouth. The taste of his salty cum was coating both your tongue and throat, warmth filling your belly once it spilled down. Zhongli‘s eyes were scrunched shut, his cock heavily weeping inside of you and already making a mess while you eagerly played with his balls. It was almost unbearable for you to wait for him to cum deep inside your mouth and let you finally taste him! You couldn’t help it but grow addicted to his taste, it wasn’t too sweet but the saltiness was so easy on your tongue, dreaming about getting every last drop of the man that was hovering over you.

For a moment he pulled out and only left his tip in to retract himself to once more, —bury himself in your throat—. The quick movements were enough for you to get some taste of his salty pre-cum on your wet muscle, rolling your eyes back at it slowly covering your taste buds. "you‘re doing so good for me." biting that sentence out in an desperate tone, you did not know what made zhongli so riled up today but also didn‘t seem to care that he took it out on you. Truth be told you loved it whenever he was rough with you, —whenever he gritted his teeth when you circled your needy tongue over his girth—, that was way too big in the first place. Or whenever his body shivered and tightened once you shoot your eyes up at his gaze, watching him from under your lashes with all of his thick seed spilling out from the corners of your lips. Zhongli was sure he wouldn’t be that stressed after you were done with sucking him off so fucking nicely.

˖˚˳⊹ 𝗗𝗜𝗟𝗨𝗖

Diluc was a busy man, as everyone knew by now. Yet even he had his needs that needed to be satisfied but none other than yourself. He was currently sitting on his leather chair that was located in his office. It was cold and the lights were dim yet here you were sheathed in between his thighs, sucking him off while kneading his balls with your warm hands. He missed that feeling so much, couldn’t remember the last time you went down on him like that. You breathed deeply from the man groaning above you, couldn’t help it but rub together your thighs too because of the sinful sounds he‘d always voice clearly from past his lips. "keep going." the lust in his voice was unable to be ignored, all he wanted was to spill his seed deep inside of you while also continuing to fuck you in a brutal pace.

Diluc bit back a moan before snapping his hips forward to meet your pace half way, finding refuge against your scalp to guide you over his cock now and haltering his movements once his pubic hair tickled your nose, musky scent filling your nostrils while you hiccuped from his girth. Everything felt so warm, so wet and sinful inside of your mouth, —he figured—, almost being reluctant to become addicted to the feeling you inflicted on him right now.

Your innocent eyes were watching him through underneath your brows, eyelashes stained with warm tears that ever so escaped your eyes, coating your cheeks in the process. It didn’t matter how often you’d suck him off, it’ll always strain your throat in the beginning, he was so fucking big it wasn’t fair. Your eyes squeezed shut as he continued to fuck your throat like a toy, throwing his head back to feel you clench around his swollen tip. Diluc was sure after he spilled this seed deep inside of you, he’d be able to work more efficiently later on … or maybe he’ll actually spread you on his desk to fuck you for being such a good baby for him, he still needs to decide but ultimately goes for the latter.

˖˚˳⊹ 𝗔𝗥𝗟𝗘𝗖𝗖𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗢

If arlecchino decided to grace you with her body, she’d always go slow. Carefully exposing her figure for you, clothes dropping down the floor while she advanced towards your figure. For her, it wasn’t a choice, —but she needed to be in control—, wouldn’t want it any other way. It was always a matter of how you acted towards her as well though, not to mention that today in particular you weren’t obedient at all. Seemingly being bratty in front of her subordinates made her blood boil once she stood before you, a strap-on connected with her body which appeared sinfully and decorated her hips, reaching over to the soft curve of her ass. Archons, how you wanted to touch her right now, feel her up but arlecchino wasn’t in for it today.

Instead she advanced over to your face, prying open your mouth with her thumb to push herself inside of your warm mouth. It was way too big, you were desperately trying to spread your lips further before rolling your eyes back at the pleasure. "there isn’t a reason for me to play nice today." She’s calm with her voice, repeatedly prodding her tip over your throat to tease you, "right?" You groaned and looked up at her through half-lidded eyes, lashes fluttering innocently at her but she wasn’t showing any signs of actually being gentle with you now.

At this point you were looking like a mess, make-up smushed over your face while she was throat fucking you so sinfully with her strap on, couldn’t help it but focus on every little whine that escaped past your mouth, if something other than your saliva was able to escape in the first place. Arlecchino continued to fuck into you roughly, each time making sure she’d grind herself harder against your throat and not stopping until you were a whining begging mess for her, apologizing for being so fucking bratty earlier.

5.5k event special

do not! share, copy or repost my work. ✎ ©ANANTARU 2022

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin smut #genshin impact smut #childe smut #childe x reader #scaramouche smut #scaramouche x reader #dottore smut #dottore x reader #pantalone x reader #pantalone smut #zhongli smut #zhongli x reader #diluc x reader #diluc smut #arlecchino x reader #arlecchino smut

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gravehags · 8 months

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dreadful need in the devotee

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x f!Reader (Curator!Reader)

Rating: Mature

Tags: drunk reader, soft copia, general aching sweetness, slight horniness

Words: 1,670

Summary: Taking shots from Terzo is probably a bad idea, right? The cardinal helps take care of you in the aftermath.

a/n: This is the most self indulgent thing I have ever written. Reader has a thigh tattoo because I have a thigh tattoo and you know what this is absolutely about me and my needs. Thank you for coming to my ted talk.

Tagging @anamelessfool come get y'all food

~~~

He’s never seen you like this before.

Granted, you’ve only been working at the abbey for almost five months so it’s not saying much, but he likes to think he knows you better than anyone else here. Over those five months the two of you have become close, particularly after Imperator directed him to assist you in your quest to curate the abbey’s art collection. It’s a daunting task, but your enthusiasm for the subject was infectious, as was the bright grin that always graced your features whenever you made some new, exciting discovery. Before you, he barely interacted with anyone else apart from his fratelli and Sister Imperator, and your presence has felt like a refreshing rain storm after a long stretch of sweltering, oppressive loneliness. He’s invigorated by you and your anxious energy, as if you emanate some sort of force field that draws him in.

Perhaps drawing him in in more ways than one.

Copia shakes off the thought and sets down his glass of chianti, returning his attention to what you are currently occupied with. Terzo has just passed you a shot of something dangerous Copia suspects comes from the Ministry’s own stills and you, having completely shaken off your mantle of shyness, accept with aplomb. Copia winces as you down the concoction, mirroring the slight gagging motion you make. He knows the stuff all too well, thanks to Terzo in their youth. Secondo roars with laughter behind him, two siblings clinging to his sides, while Primo sits in the corner smiling and shaking his head. You perform a deep, if wobbly, curtsy, an electric grin twisting your flushed cheeks. When Terzo pulls you in for an intimate side hug to murmur something in your ear as siblings around you laugh and cheer, a bubble of jealousy surfaces in Copia’s belly. Whatever Terzo says to you makes you blush deeper and roll your eyes, shoving him away as he laughs jovially.

What he wouldn’t give to make you blush like that for him.

Copia, mood slightly soured, turns to leave the area when in an instant, you are by his side.

“Cardinale,” you say, swaying slightly towards him with bright eyes. “Are you leaving?”

He reaches backwards to a bookshelf where he had placed his biretta and favors you with a soft, apologetic smile.

“Eh, sì. I think it’s time.”

For a moment you look devastated, then in a moment of panicked clarity, you place a hand on his arm.

“Me too,” you whisper conspiratorially. “Please get me out of here before Terzo gives me another one of those shots, that shit almost killed me.”

Your hushed confession makes him chuckle and before he can respond, you’re ushering him out of the room with your hand on the small of his back, making the tips of his ears turn pink. Once the two of you finally escape out the door and down the hall, you let out a dramatic heaving sigh and collapse against the cool stone wall.

“Cardinal,” you say, eyes focused on something over his shoulder.

“Sì, mia cara?” He chances the endearment he’s been dying to gift upon you from the moment you met.

You refocus back on him at his words and oh, the way your cheeks flush all the way across your chest. Take that, Terzo, Copia thinks triumphantly.

“Take me back to my rooms? I…don’t think I can find my way.”

He grins slightly and nods as you link your arm with his and he guides you further down the hall. Your journey up several flights of stairs and down several more hallways is quiet, punctuated by the occasional loud hiccup from you. He knows that silence from you all too well now - you’re contemplating something. You absentmindedly rub at the red wool of his sleeve with your thumb and more than once, you lean into him as if you’re about to say something.

But you remain silent.

When the two of you reach your rooms, you let out a dramatic sigh and turn to him with a pout.

“Help me,” you whine, gripping his sleeves and dragging him towards the door.

“Sì, sì, I will help you. Ah…keys?”

You fumble around with the small jeweled crossbody bag you brought to the party, doing a concerning amount of rummaging for such a small capacity item. Finally you emerge triumphant, presenting your room keys to him with a flourish. Delicately, he removes them from the tangle of your fingers and opens the door. You push past him only slightly in your eagerness to be inside the comfort of your own rooms, and the first thing you do is remove the heels you’ve worn for the evening, violently flinging them across the room. He winces as he hears something crash and fall.

“I was not built for that shit,” you grouse, now stomping barefoot into the center of the room, where you stand and sway for several minutes.

“Eh, bed?” Copia provides helpfully, gesturing to the closed door on his right.

“Damn straight,” you announce, stumbling slightly over to the door and opening it.

Copia’s been in your quarters before. After checking in on you one night and finding you crying and homesick, you had let him in and the two of you bonded on your couch about the inherent loneliness of the abbey. That was the first time you had hugged him, a deep crushing thing filled with so much emotion it nearly made him faint. He didn’t wash that cassock for a week after that, too content to smell your perfume on it til it faded to nothingness. He has not, however, been in your bedroom.

He follows you in and takes in the surroundings - it’s a decent size, with a queen bed in the center and a dark wooden dresser. The first thing he notices is the walls are covered in art - no surprise there - and he smiles at the subject matter. Devils, witches, and temptresses decorate ornate frames you had likely found in various storage rooms in the abbey. He may make a sister of sin out of you yet. He’s so lost in his thoughts that for a moment he doesn’t notice how you move to strip down in front of him. When he sees you begin to slide the straps of your dress down he starts with an exclamatory noise.

“Cara!” he shouts hoarsely, causing you to jump. “Not here!”

You look confused for a moment before he looks around behind him and spots a black sleep chemise crumpled on the duvet. He grabs it and thrusts it into your hands before ushering you into the adjacent bathroom. You don’t protest, but Copia does spot the mischievous curl of your lips as you shut the door behind you. When you have been safely secured away from his gaze he returns his attention to the room. Shuffling over to your dresser he begins to pick up and study the tchotchkes you have collected - various pointed crystal towers, a little ceramic pig, some kind of small animal skull, and – oh. Your perfume sits innocently amidst the clutter, the decorative bottle calling to him. Copia looks over his shoulder before picking it up and inhaling deep. He bolsters himself so he doesn’t collapse against the foot of your bed, but he feels almost as intoxicated as you are upon smelling its contents. He’s ashamed to admit how much it affects him, once again glancing over his shoulder as he adjusts himself through the abundant material of his cassock. Copia does not wear deviancy as easily as Terzo. He’s about to chastise himself for being a pervert when your bathroom door flies open. When he turns to see you, he exhales shakily.

Maybe he should have grabbed different pajamas.

You strut out towards him, the silk of your nightgown shining in the low light of the room, and give him what can only be described as a sultry look before flinging yourself on the duvet. His throat is dry as he regards you reclining on the material, writhing slightly in an attempt to get cozy, causing his thoughts to wander and darken. When you finally get comfortable, you look up at him from under your lashes and he turns slightly to hide the hardening of his cock. Your movements have caused the hem of your chemise to ride up your body, exposing the meat of your thigh and the large tattoo there to his gaze.

He didn’t even know you had a tattoo there.

“Eh, goodnight.” He moves to make a rapid exit from your bedroom but you grab his sleeve with impressive speed, pulling him back to sit next to you on the bed. Copia knows his cheeks are violently red as you take his gloved hand in yours and squeeze it. He looks at you askance and practically melts at the soft way you regard him.

“Il mio cardinale,” you murmur, and before he can say anything you’ve brought his hand to your mouth, kissing the gloved knuckles in an echo of the way he introduced himself to you all those months ago. All he can bring himself to do is nod and you smile warmly at him, looking more sober now than you have all evening.

“You’re always so good to me.” you say simply, making his heart swell.

“You’re easy to be good to,” Copia manages to whisper in response. The gleam in your eyes makes him feel exhilarated. Brave. The boldness you have inspired causes him to lean down and softly kiss your forehead, lips lingering on your skin.

“Buona notte, cara.”

He moves to pull away but you’ve got your hand on his cheek in an instant, brushing your lips to the point of his neatly trimmed sideburns.

“Buona notte, Copia.”

When he finally brings himself to leave your bedroom, and then your quarters, he is bursting with radiant light. He wants to sing, to scream, to cry all at once.

Take that, Terzo, indeed.

#cardinal copia x reader #cardinal copia x f!reader #cardinal copia #copia #the band ghost #the band ghost fic #rachel writes

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kaeyas-beloved · 5 months

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dust

Character: Albedo

— when chalk crumbs, all that’s left is dust

CWs: gn!reader (no pronouns), ANGST, hurt/no comfort, death (Albedo), could be read as romantic or platonic, I bullshit a research entry in this, spoilers for Albedo

val’s no sympathy november masterlist

He... he always talked about losing control. You never really understood what he meant by it, but you do remember the nights holding him tight and swearing that he would never fall to such evil. It just wasn't something he'd do, and your unwavering faith in him always brought him some form of comfort, even when he never believed you for a second.

"It's nice, to have someone place their trust in me that is."

But now, as you stand in the middle of the aftermath, smoke heavy in the air, buildings crumbling all around, any vision wielder that could fight congregating in the middle of the city and a pile of dust on the ground, you're left to wonder if there was any stopping what fate had ordained.

For a split second you could swear you heard nothing. When the arrow was fired and struck the threat to Mondstadt - struck Albedo, you remind yourself, he wasn't something, he was someone - you didn't know what to feel. You could feel the eyes of the people on you as you walked without thought toward the pile of powder. The pain as you scraped your knees on the concrete was nothing compared to the pain in your chest.

"The Chalk Prince... I see now..." you mumbled, hesitating to touch the substance.

"Why are you called the Chalk Prince? Don't tell me it's because you were created from chalk?" You'd asked one day while helping him in his lab, sitting not far from him on a stool.

Albedo remained silent, going back and forth between skimming through notes and adjusting the settings on his burner. "That is a conversation for another time. Now please, could you hand me two lizard tails? One blue and one red."

He never did outright answer you, but you remember him talking about how all living things will eventually and inevitably return to their original state. Maybe this is what he was trying to tell you.

The hand on your shoulder brings you back, but you can't bring yourself to look up at who it is (you later learn it was Kaeya, who had his own complicated expression). From there everything was a mess of colours and muddled words. You catch a couple apologies for your loss, people running to check on their loved ones and their homes, and discussions about what to do now. Nothing really sticks though, a case of looking but not seeing, hearing but not listening. You do, however, remember hours later being handed a wooden box, Albedo's name, birth and death date carved on the front.

“You were the closest to him. Klee also received something similar.” Fuck, you think, a fresh wave of tears coming along. Your heart breaks at just the thought of how devastated and confused Klee must be. Seeing the instant change in emotions, Jean quietly leaves you be.

The hardest part though was going through his office. It was a day you thought you’d never be prepared for. When you arrived you were proven right, stuck hesitating at the doorway.

You’d never again see him sat at his desk, documenting his findings or refilling his stock of alchemy ingredients. That painting in the corner by the window will forever lay unfinished and the small bed never to be slept in again.

His presence will slowly fade and there is nothing you can do to stop it.

With a heavy heart and tears in your eyes, you start the long and agonizing process of packing his things away. Beginning with his desk you put away various books, loose papers, displays and even the drawings Klee had gifted him over the years. You moved on to strip his bedding, then pack away his paintings. By time you reached the last bookshelf the warm hue of the evening sun was already illuminating the room.

Letting out a quiet yet shaky sigh you get to work again. Since the books were already in order you took care to keep them close to one another, taking off three or four at a time. Despite how gentle you tried to be though you managed to drop a few, the covers too heavy and slipping from your grasp. You’re quick to apologize even though there wasn’t anyone to apologize to. Still, it felt like you should.

As you collect the hardcovers and the loose papers that were neatly placed between the pages, a particular title catches your eye. Gentle setting what you gathered off to the side you begin reading through the research entry, which was dated about a year and a half ago.

During my research into the mysteries of life and creation, many documents from various backgrounds mentioned the potential of substances holding 'memories'. Some focused on the nature aspects, how trees and lakes remember what and who has affected them. Others however stated that all tangible beings can be included in this theory. Due to the evidence presented, as well as previous knowledge, I believe both are possible.

Molecular wise, it’s not out of the scope of reality, and it’s backed up in the biological aspect as well if heredity is taken into account. It raises the question of just how far alchemy can stretch the laws of nature, and if this can be applied to any and all substances that have been touched by human and nature's hands.

The moment you finish reading a tiny spark of hope ignites within you, and your body launched into autopilot before you could even think. Chalk is a substance. The chalk was him so it would have memories of him. I could bring him back! You start scanning for similar papers around the room and in his notebooks, hoping to find more clues; you collect the things you think you'd need to go through with this act of divinity.

Just as you're about to dump the first chemical that comes to mind you freeze. You... don't actually have any idea what you're doing...

No, you think, inhaling a shaky breath, I've watched him do these kinds of things so many times, I have to know something. You go to pour again yet stop once more; as the bottle trembles in midair you know deep down it's true, you don't know the first thing about creating artificial life, let alone alchemy.

The bottle thunks back onto the surface of the table and a new wave of tears begins to flow, though this time not because of loss but due to hopelessness.

Your legs are quick to give out from beneath you, your back leaning against the desk and as you bring your knees to your chest, sobs filling the forever quiet space, you manage to choke out your true feelings.

"Albedo... I don't know what to do..."

Tag list: (both regular and event exclusive): @spoopy-fish-writes // @that-enby-alien // @xenuuu // @kaeyaloml // @mariposa666haruka // @quackquackmfs // @kunikuzushiii // @genshin-impact-writings // @ventisweetheart // @lordbugs // @leena-shi // @ari-the-wr1ter // @xiaos-wife // @milkwithspiceyicecubes // @stygianoir // @francisnyx

@kaiserkisser // @multipleshadesofblue // @moloteco-real // @kithewanderingme // @scaramood // @ii-lily2 // @esuz // @kochothehoe // @cindywasneverhere

#val’s nsn #genshin x reader #albedo x reader #albedo x you #albedo x gender neutral reader #genshin x you #genshin impact #genshin fanfic #genshin angst #genshin impact x reader

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quitealotofsodapop · 3 months

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More assorted canon-compliant LMK hcs:

In addition to Pigsy being *passionate* about food culture; he despises food waste. Like, those tiktoks with the gross, wasteful "food hacks"? Instantly raise his blood pressure. He also has banned all instant noodles from the premises. MK got grounded once for hiding cup noodles in his room.

Tang hides snacks in his changpao/clothes like he's storing them away for winter. You shake this man and candy, oranges, and packets of jerky are gonna fall out of him like a pinata. His gut reaction to seeing someone crying/upset is to unpeel an orange and hand it to them, since fruit calmed MK down when he was little.

Tang wears his changpao/long tunic cus he wore it one time for a history class and he uh... liked it too much to return it. It's like a super-long hoodie, he found it so comforting that he never turned back.

In addition, the tank top Tang wears under his tunic was made around the time Pigsy first started selling noodles. Tang and Sandy came up with a few mock-up logo designs for Pigsy's food truck and the tank top was a concept for a "uniform". Pigsy begrudingly used the design for his business until a certain muddy toddler drew the logo seen today. Tang still treasures the tank top tho.

Pretty much confirmed, but MK created the logo for Pigsy's Noodles - hence the signature on the sign and why he was so adamant on getting it back from Spider Queen. More specifically, it was one of his *first* ever drawings. Pigsy was convinced the kid was scared of him somehow, with all the silent staring he did in the first few days. Then toddler MK waddled up to Pigsy one afternoon, happily showing off his drawing of a smiling pig holding a bowl of noodles. Pigsy cried. It's also how he learned MK's name.

Despite being pretty good at cooking learned recipes, MK is terrible when he experiments with food. His first few culinary creations made the "esteemed critics" (aka Tang and Pigsy) visibly ill for days. He had a MasterChef phase as a pre-teen that took years off of Pigsy's life.

Sandy is in a group chat for people looking for/willing to pet sit. Whenever the gang needs to go on a big adventure, Sandy organises stuff with his group to take care of his foster cats while he's away/is using the boat. He in turn pet sits for them in exchange for the occassional hot meal and change.

The "secret HQ" in Sandy's boat is still there. The MKrew just forgot about it. Sandy has re-taken the space to act as an isolation room for strays. He's not sure if Mei still has trackers in her friends.

Mei's dad bought her a bunch of the flashy tech and vehicles in the HQ as a birthday gift after she told him that her and MK were going to be superheroes together. He's a big nerd at heart.

Sun Wukong had the crate of Ginseng Fruit Babies cus he tried contacting Five Village Abbey to try another fruit, only for some commotion to cause a bunch of them to dislodge early - the "unripe" fruit fell and became little fruit fairies/yao. Zhenyuan was so mad that he made SWK deal with it. After Mo "babysat" them in "Pig Pong Panic", SWK managed to send the Ginseng Fruit Babies up to the Celestial Realm, where they now live blessing/terrorizing the imperial orchard (and being adored by their adoptive seven orchard fairy mothers).

Speedy Panda is it's own brand of convenience stores with a range of microwaveable meals (think 7/11 or Meiyijia). Jin and Yin bought a bunch of locations in Metropolis as part of their plan to demoralise MK. They have since been ousted for wasting company funds on the Food Wars incident. Pigsy is still pissed off at the delivery drivers for physically assaulting his employee/son.

After being attacked by the Speedy Panda drivers the first time, Pigsy gave MK a bottle of pepper spray as a safety precaution. No matter that his boy is super-powered, he's a worried dad deep down.

#lmk #lmk hcs #lmk headcanons #lmk pigsy #lmk tang #lmk dadsy #qi xiaotian #lmk sandy #lmk mei #lmk fruit babies #lego monkie kid

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blurredcolour · 11 days

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Hi! As one of the “ladies who Brady” I just want to say thank you for providing content for us Brady fans.

I’d also like to request some headcanons for how Brady would act when he’s jealous.

Feel free to get as spicy as you want.

Darling fellow Lady Who Bradys, what a joy it is to see our numbers swell of late!!! John Brady is getting the attention he so richly deserves 💙

So outside the super specific scenario I laid out in Parting Gifts, I feel like if he was able to directly interact with the source of his jealousy, Brady’s snark would come shining through.

Mature/explicit themes - 18+ below the cut (I got super carried away…)

Huge thanks to darling @precious-little-scoundrel for collaborating with me on this one

Typically he’s not a very insecure individual, but here at the ad-hoc reunion of men from the 100th with you on his arm he cannot help but feel old rivalries burning a little brighter

Goes to fetch the pair of you fresh drinks while you chat with a few friends you’d already met back in New York before you relocated here to Maryland for his new job

On his return, he is surprised to find you alone with that lush Jones from Arkansas with his strawberry blond hair and absurdly long eyelashes and it immediately raises his hackles

Comes to stand close to you, inserting himself slightly between you and the interloper as he gently sets the drink in your hand

“John Brady!” Jones greets him with exaggerated joviality and he acknowledges him with a tight-lipped, polite smile and nod “so glad ya took time outta yer busy schedule ter come ter our lil’ ol’ get together”

“So glad you managed to find the place, Jones.” Brady’s eyes glitter with a hard edge and you do your best not to choke on the sip of your drink you’d just taken

Jones, for his part, remains as blithely oblivious of the slight as he had proven of the finer details of navigation and drones on, continuing to shuffle closer to you and ask you all manner of intrusive questions until Brady decides he has a headache and it’s time to call it a night

Makes you wait under the overhang in front of the hotel as he dashes out into the rain to fetch the car, darting around to open your door despite the second soaking it earns him

“Thank you, Johnny” you smile fondly and kiss his cheek before sliding onto the leather bench seat at his side as he pulls out for home

At first it’s hard to discern, above the noise of the wipers squeaking across the windshield as they desperately try to fight off the deluge of water, but eventually you pick up on the fact that Brady is muttering bitterly under his breath

“…wouldn’t know a cardinal direction if it jumped up and bit him in the behind…man hasn’t dried out one drop since landing stateside, pickled as a fish…too bad he’s allowed to dress himself now, what an abysmal suit he was wearing…”

Subtly glancing out of the corner of your eye you can see his exasperated expression, cheeks inflated as though he were caught in some extended inhale

“Betcha make the yummiest roast, doncha sugar” he suddenly drawls in perfect mimicry of Jones and you have to desperately press your fingers to your lips to smother your laugh. “How would you know what a good roast is, you squirrel eating bastard” his scathing blow delivered to his absent enemy is your undoing, a giggle slipping past your defences and quickly drawing his gaze

“Sorry, Johnny, sorry that was just a really funny one” you apologize quickly

He huffs in exasperation and you lean in to press a soft kiss to his cheek, feeling him relax slightly under your affection as he turns down your back lane

“I’ll grab the garage door” you insist quickly as he pulls into the driveway and can hear his protests even as you climb out of the car, but pay them no mind as you unlock and roll up the door, sliding back inside and he pulls in

You know Brady very well. Know that the instant you get inside his hands and his mouth will be all over you, focusing solely on your pleasure and there’s something about his reaction to Jones that makes you think he ought to be the centre of attention for however long he’ll let you get away with it

And trapping him in the car while you do it seems like the perfect place

No sooner has he put the car in park inside the garage than your lips are pressing against his, hand coming to rest on his thigh

“Sweetheart what are you-” he mumbles against your lips but you silence him by sliding your tongue along his as your hand moved to the apex of his thighs to announce your intentions as you massage his hardening length

He exhales sharply through his nose, breath caressing your cheek, but he’s not pushing you away

As the windshield grows dry, the wipers let out an aggravated noise at the friction and you feel him grope blindly behind you to kill the engine

Work his fly open as you shift to kneel on the bench seat beside him, mouth tracing along his jaw to what you can reach of his throat, more than a little annoyed at the interference of his shirt collar

“Out…here?!” He pants a little and you find your lips curling into a smirk against his skin, the sound of rain thundering on the garage roof filling the car

He makes as though to pull your mouth back to his for a kiss but you slip out of his grip to lean over his newly exposed cock, eyeing your prize a moment before taking him into your mouth to coax him to complete hardness

“God…goddamn..!” You hear his strangled curse from above and are only encouraged further as he rapidly stiffens against your tongue

His hand grips your hip as you begin to bob along him, his grunts and heavy exhales causing the humid windows of the car to cloud with condensation

You wish you could see his face - the way his eyebrows knit together in concentration when he’s trying to stave off his own pleasure for the sake of yours

But that’s not the point this time

Sliding the hand that isn’t stabilizing you against the car door to cup his remarkable balls, you gently begin to massage encouragingly, feeling him shudder

He’s pulling at your skirt, grabbing at the flesh of your ass once he’s located it, before shifting his fingers to slide along your folds over your underwear. It’s not enough to really achieve anything beyond expressing his appreciation, but you whimper nonetheless and he bites off a sharp ‘fuck’, fighting his hips’ innate desire to thrust

You can feel his lower abdomen twitching against your cheek, know he’s close by the way high-pitched keens have snuck into his exhales

“Sweetheart I’m…”

“Mmhmmm!” You hum around him and a string of curses tumble from his lips before he shouts your name as ropes of cum paint the back of your tongue and throat

Sit back on your heels as you swallow, drinking in his dazed expression, his head flung over the back of the seat

Lean in to cup his cheeks and feather tender kisses across his face

“That was…” he sighs

“To remind you just who gets to eat my roast” you grin and he lazily raises an eyebrow

“Are you propositioning me, sweetheart?”

#answered asks #ladies who brady #thinking brady thoughts #john brady #mota #masters of the air

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themirokai · 2 years

Text

I saw this very cute raven video and it made me think Matthew the Emotional Support Raven thoughts. So please enjoy another 1200 words of fluffy Dream & Matthew ficlet. (My first one is over here.)

“Why is this dream so c-cold?” Matthew asked, hopping from foot to foot in the snow.

“It is meant for those who live in the coldest climes,” Lord Morpheus replied, looking around.

Matthew had to admit there was a lot to look at: a soaring snow-capped mountain range in the distance, a glittering frozen waterfall, the edge of a forest of beautiful pine trees. But he was starting to shiver. “D-don’t you th-think they m-might want to d-dream of somewhere warm?”

“That is not the purpose of this dream.” Lord Morpheus looked down at him. “Are you cold, Matthew?”

“J-just a b-bit.”

Lord Morpheus reached down his hand, palm up, in the gesture that invited Matthew to perch. With one flap of his wings Matthew gratefully flew onto Lord Morpheus’s hand and out of the snow. The Dream King lifted him up and placed him on his shoulder.

“Thanks, Boss.” The guy didn’t radiate warmth or anything, but it was much better than standing in the snow.

“You are welcome, Matthew.”

“So, uh, what are we doing here?”

“Wait,” Lord Morpheus said quietly, “and watch.”

Just then a dreamer stepped out of the woods and their jaw dropped at the vista in front of them. Matthew prided himself on the fact that he could tell dreamers from dreams in an instant now. When he first started this gig and was in a dream, it wasn’t always clear to him which of the cast of characters was the one having the dream. But now he’d been at it long enough that he could immediately sense who would be returning to the waking world.

The sun began to move. The sky remained bright blue all over, but the sun began drawing closer to the dreamer, staying the same size it had been, like you could cover it up with your thumb.

“There are places on this world, and others, where the sun is not seen for months at a time. I made this dream for the people living there,” Lord Morpheus said quietly.

The dreamer frowned at the approaching ball of light.

“Is this a dream or a nightmare?” Matthew asked in an undertone.

“A dream. Watch.”

Now hovering a foot away from the dreamer’s face, the sun seemed to give a soft, reassuring tone.

The dreamer frowned more deeply. The sun made another gentle sound, this one in the intonation of a question.

“What?” the dreamer said. “No, that’s weird! Go in the sky if you want to warm me.”

Lord Morpheus sighed and his shoulders drooped a little under Matthew’s feet. He gestured with two fingers and the dreamer became insubstantial and then disappeared.

“I - uh - take it that’s n-not what’s s-supposed to happen?” Matthew asked, ruffling his feathers against the cold.

“No. The sun is meant to enter the dreamer’s heart, to warm them and brighten their spirits through the days of darkness.”

“I c-could use an int-ternal sun right ab-about now,” Matthew said, shivering again.

Lord Morpheus turned to him. “You are still cold, Matthew.”

“S-sorry, B-boss. I d-don’t think-k ravens are m-made for this weather.”

“Hm.” Lord Morpheus held up his hand for Matthew to perch on and Matthew stepped on carefully.

With his other hand, Lord Morpheus made a pulling gesture and out of thin air produced a thick, red, woolen scarf. He quickly wound it around Matthew’s body. Matthew thought about mentioning that he wouldn’t be able to fly like this, but as soon as the scarf was in place, Lord Morpheus tucked him into the crook of his arm. Oh that was good. He already felt warmer.

“Better?” Lord Morpheus asked.

“Yeah, much.” Matthew quickly rubbed his beak against Lord Morpheus’s hand. “Thanks, Boss.”

“Good. Now, this failed dream.”

“Failed?” Matthew asked, looking around from his cozy perch. “It’s beautiful, Boss.”

“Yes, but its purpose is not beauty. At least not scenic beauty.” Lord Morpheus sighed. “None of the dreamers who have come here have accepted the gift of the sun. Be honest, Matthew, as a somewhat recent human, is it an unappealing or… a weird idea? Should I destroy this dream?”

“No!” Matthew squawked quickly. “Don’t destroy it! It’s a lovely idea.” He clicked his beak in thought. “I think people may be more skeptical… less trusting than they were 130 years ago.” Matthew stopped himself. Mentioning Lord Morpheus’s captivity was always touchy.

“Go on,” Lord Morpheus said quietly, “I believe you are correct.”

“Well, is there a way to show dreamers that this is really a good thing and not a trick or something that will hurt them?”

Matthew craned his neck to see Lord Morpheus’s face, and found him deep in thought. He took a deep breath and began to move the hand that was not holding Matthew.

Matthew narrowed his eyes as everything began to feel… nicer. The frozen waterfall seemed more glittery and there was a feeling pushing at his mind of safety and relaxation. Matthew frowned.

“Did you just… turn up the emotion on a landscape?”

“Dreamscape,” Lord Morpheus corrected, “and yes. You can feel it?”

“Yeah, it feels like it’s trying to invade my head.”

“That is because you are a creature of the Dreaming. It should feel natural to the dreamers.”

Matthew adjusted his position, which may have taken the form of snuggling into Lord Morpheus’s side a little closer. “So how long do we have to wait for another dreamer?”

“I can draw one in now,” Lord Morpheus said, gesturing again with his free hand.

Another dreamer stepped out of the forest and looked around in wonder, grinning broadly. This time when the sun began approaching them they gave a delighted gasp and when it stopped and gave its first hum, their eyes filled with happy tears. The dreamer reached out to the ball of the sun, then nodded enthusiastically as it asked its question.

Matthew watched as the dream sun traveled up the dreamer’s arm and then into their chest. The dreamer’s face was blissfully peaceful as they faded away back to the waking world.

Matthew couldn’t help a joyful caw. “You did it!”

Lord Morpheus’s smile was minuscule but Matthew could still tell that he was very pleased.

“I thank you for your assistance, Matthew,” he said, running his finger over Matthew’s beak.

“That’s what I’m here for!” Matthew replied cheerfully.

Lord Morpheus made a sweeping gesture and the space in front of them was suddenly the throne room. He stepped from snow onto stone and Matthew felt the temperature immediately rise.

He was quiet as Lord Morpheus began unwinding the scarf from around him. He wanted his wings free, of course he did, but… well it had been nice and cozy.

Matthew shook himself as the last length of scarf came away.

“Wait!” he cawed, seeing Lord Morpheus about to dismiss the dreamstuff that made up the scarf.

Lord Morpheus raised an eyebrow at him.

“Could I keep that?” Matthew pointed at the scarf with his beak.

Lord Morpheus regarded him with a curious expression and a subtle lift to one corner of his mouth. “If that is what you wish.”

“Yeah, uh, for the cave, you know. I think Eve might like it.”

Lord Morpheus smiled more broadly, then quickly schooled expression. “Certainly.” He folded the scarf over, making it much easier for Matthew to carry.

“Thanks, Boss.” Matthew took the scarf in his beak, bumped his head against Lord Morpheus’s hand, and took off.

Hey, did you like this? I had a lot of fun using a real raven for inspiration and I’d like to try something… if you send me a raven, I’ll write you a ficlet. Send me an ask or a DM with a picture or a video of a real raven and I’ll use it as inspiration for a little Matthew story. I’m excited to see what people come up with!

Update: the master post of my Matthew the Emotional Support Raven ficlets is here.

#mathew the emotional support raven #dream of the endless #lord morpheus #matthew the raven #the sandman #the sandman netflix #miro does sandman #mirokai writes #inspired by a video #send me a raven and I'll write you a ficlet #taking prompts #in a very limited fashion

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sorn-orlith · 6 months

Text

Making an Impact | 18+ MDNI

Shadowheart/m!Tav/Astarion CW: Impact play, undernegotiated kink

They had cornered him.

Tav, still throbbing from Abdirak's display of faith, was backed into a wall with two pairs of hungry eyes -- one crimson, one emerald -- pinning him in place. A wave of embarrassment overcame him.

They had seen him writhing, crying, begging for mercy only hours before and responded with praise. Shadowheart had asked whether Astarion had any thoughts about his display; Astarion responded that he had his hopes. Both of their faces twisted in a sick display of approval.

His cheeks flushed. "And --" he gulped. "What exactly did you have in mind?"

"Oh, don't be so bashful," chided Astarion with a smirk that had Tav feeling absolutely bashful in the moment, "I saw how you screamed for that cleric. You can drop your pretenses now."

In the moment, Tav had been riding the adrenaline high of infiltrating a goblin camp and encountering a master-torturer who demanded his supplication. Now, his senses returned to him, he could feel his guts turn with fear.

Fear? Or excitement? Shadowheart didn't give him time to decide. "Don't mind him; I knew you'd be shy." The Sharran closed in, her fingers tracing along the lines where fresh scars littered Tav's back. "But pain is a gift, remember. It keeps us sharp. Alive."

Agony.

His jaw clenched shut. In an instant she had whipped him around. Claws ripped down his back like knives, threatening to tear the shirt standing between him and his tormentor. Tav ground his face into the stone wall.

He didn't realize the moan in the air was his own until Astarion's dark chuckle followed.

"Come now, Shadowheart. You'll spoil the fun before it starts." A blessedly cool hand rested over the small of his back. "What do you say, Tav? Have you had your fill of pain for the evening, or are you greedy for more?"

"More." Gods, he wasn't even remotely himself. His body cried out for them to rip off his clothes and flay him, to take his pain and drink it in until they were sated to the last drop.

His eyes were closed, so the purr in his ear came as a surprise: "Oh, I was hoping to hear you say that."

"Come," said the other, her timbre as sweet as steel. Shadowheart nudged him back just enough to slide between him and the wall. He settled his face into the blessed soft of her neck.

Tav was dimly aware of his trousers being pulled down his legs, followed by his small clothes. The cool night air nipped at his exposed skin, and --

Ice. The first strike sent shock through his body like frigid lightening. Something wide and hard had hit him. Something created to draw out pain without damaging the meat underneath -- not that his body could register that nothing lasting was harming him.

His teeth grit together. "Very good." Tav felt the vibration in Shadowheart's chest more than he heard the words. Anticipation gnawed at his brain as he awaited Astarion's next strike.

He didn't have to wait long. An obscene smack rang through the night air, followed by the telltale sting of the impact. His head swam, his blood rushed to the afflicted area all too quickly. The next hit was one his body was keenly aware of.

On they tormented him, working his ass and thighs raw until a lovely throbbing began making itself known between his legs.

"He's excited; look at him." Her voice contained no mockery. Only satisfaction.

Astarion was, on the other hand, breathless for the exertion of the torture. "Hold him out of the way. I won't have my fun ended early."

Tav had hardly registered his own arousal hanging heavy from his pelvis until a hand snaked between his legs to cup his balls.

Her gorgeous hand protecting him, holding him --

"Good boy, shhh..." She squeezed. That was all it took. Tav's toes curled as he peaked, spend spitting against the stone floor. He would cry out had his vocal chords any substance left to them. Instead, ranger pressed his face into Shadowheart's shoulder to ride out his orgasm in silent bliss.

Another hand as sickly sweet as the one cradling his sex coaxes his own off her hip and down, down into her trousers into the slickness within. Tav gets lost in the sensation of her cunt on his fingertips. He rubs, massages at her lips when something hard presses in behind him.

Astarion's ice-cold voice sounded out in the darkness. "You won't believe me, but I do hope this doesn't hurt as much as I think it will. Your shouts of pain were ecstasy; I can't wait to hear what your cries sound like for pleasure."

#I'm going to need you all to apply some p*rn logic to this characterization thanks #nsft #mdni #shadowheart #astarion #shadowheart x astarion #shadowheart x tav #shadowheart x astarion x tav #astarion x tav #astarion x m!tav #impact #kink mention #long post

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stupid-sloot-headcanons · 2 years

Note

Yandere Alucard ( Castlevania ) NSFW headcanons

(Every time I write for Adrian I feel the need to remind ppl I've not actually seen the Netflix series yet, I just liked Symphony of the Night as a kid and I've been told I'm not too far off from his characterization in canon lol)

He hasn't felt warmth and love since he was with his mother, so encountering someone that provides any kind of affection or kindness to him without wanting anything in return will easily make him fixate on them. Maybe they're someone who wandered into his castle? He'll be a proper host and let them stay for a few nights, even if he's a bit cold at first. He's not used to visitors that he actually lets live.

Something about the way they act will lead to an odd feeling in his chest. It's not the hunger to feed on them, he knows that. It reminds him of the heartache he feels when he remembers his family, before he became alone. And he warms up to his Darling quickly after that, since he wants to keep on having this feeling whenever they're around.

In fact...do they really NEED to leave so soon? He can procure some food, clothes, and other supplies for them. And there are so many dangers in the area outside the castle. It would be best for them to stay here. He'll even help Darling deliver any letters they want to send to let people know that they won't be returning home for a while due to some unforseen events.

He slowly but surely gets more "touchy" and he notices there's a faint smile on his face sometimes when he's with them/watching them. He doesn't want to become a monster and hurt or violate them, but that craving to touch and taste more of them grows stronger every day.

He goes from peering in on them sleeping for a bit, to entering the room to stare at them, to sitting at the end of the bed to watch over them, to running his fingers against their cheek...to touching them more and more. They just feel so warm and soft underneath him, and so delicate compared to him.

He's a traditional romantic and would try to subtly court his Darling. Flowers, little acts of service like making their favorite tea or meal, small gifts and tokens of affection like snippets of poetry or a drawing of them. He also makes a little doll of them to keep in his room. If they find it, he gets a little embarrassed and apologizes if it made them uncomfortable. Still...do they like it?

Despite how gentle he can be with them, the instant he thinks they're in danger, the more his monstrous side comes out. He'll kill any intruders near Darling without a second thought, slaughter predator animals in the nearby forest that are stalking them in the shadows, etc.

What scares him most is when he lashes out if Darling tries to escape or argue with him about being trapped there. "Trapped?" They aren't a prisoner! He treats them so well, but they're talking like he's got them chained up in the dungeon. Why do they want to leave? Aren't the two of them happy here? When they do make a run for it or worse, try to attack him, he swiftly grabs them and doesn't realize that he's got a hand around their neck and that his fangs are bared. They look so terrified of him...It's a very Beauty and the Beast dynamic, if you can't tell lol.

He could never hold them down and noncon them kicking and screaming. That would make him feel like a true monster. I think he'd "force pleasure" on them instead, and thus would opt to try and seduce them first. If they don't reciprocate, he'd think hard on what to do and come to the conclusion that this hunger inside of him can't go away--he NEEDS them, and if he has to satisfy this urge then he wants to make sure they feel as good as possible while doing it.

He'll give them a bit too much wine or slip some special herbs into it, and once their face starts to heat up he'll carry them to his bed and let them sleep for a bit. They'll wake up from a pleasurable dream to him using his hands and tongue to worship every inch of them, and he'll apologize for doing this against their will. As much as he wants to fight it, he knows he's a monster. But one that's so gentle with his Beloved.

#.myshit #.adrian #.castlevania #yandere adrian #yandere castlevania #yandere adrian tepes #tw: noncon #tw: somnophilia #tw: dubcon

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belabellissima · 4 months

Text

flicker in the night - chapter 4

gift fic for @darling-archeron as part of the @acotargiftexchange

Pairing: Feysand Chapter Warnings: mentions of animal death from hunting, pelts Summary: In her dreams, there is a beast. With scales like a lizard, leathery wings at its sides, and fangs the size of her head, Feyre knows she should be terrified. But the beast is too bleeding itself dry, too busy fighting some invisible barrier to ever turn those slit pupils on her. Until, that is, she touches its blood on the walls, and it stains her fingers silver. Suddenly able to see her, her beast has no intention of ever letting her disappear from its sight again.

Meanwhile in the waking world, a stranger has come to her village, one with hair as black as night, and blue eyes Feyre would swear shift purple the second before she looks away.

But that’s impossible - magic doesn’t exist in the human lands.

So why do her fingers still sometimes shine in the moonlight?

Featuring a modified curse, an overabundant use of the word “salt,” and a human!Rhys with a twist.

Read from the beginning on AO3 or tumblr Read Chapter 4 on AO3 or below:

Feyre woke with a gasp, her heart racing in time with the beast’s - Night’s - footfalls as it had run straight for her. She could still feel it - he? That woman had called Night he - diving toward her, through her in the instant between sleep and wakefulness. Just like Tarquin’s had, pushing its watery head through his chest.

Night had seemed terrified for her. To be willing to fight off other threats yet run from the laughing woman, to force Feyre awake…

What was it Feyre was so afraid of? To have her mind conjure such a vivid dream, there had to be something. Her fear of starvation had never caused dreams before, and that had always been the biggest threat for her. For her family as well.

To her left, her sisters slept on, unbothered by the commotion of Feyre’s violent awakening. Feyre took a moment to calm down, shutting her eyes and pressing her palms against them until it sent lights sparking beneath the lids.

She sat up slowly, careful not to jostle the mattress or lift the blanket too much. Even with socks on, the floor was freezing, drawing an involuntary hiss through clenched teeth as she stood. There was only so much a layer of straw and feathers covered by threadbare rugs could do to insulate against a packed dirt floor. Feyre didn’t know how her father could stand sleeping on the dirty mattress in the other room, but she supposed he at least had the embers of the day’s fire to soothe the chill.

Feyre dressed quickly, pulling on her boots and grabbing her bow before leaving for the day. There was no reason to head to the Hale farm, not when she had no salt to pay with, so she headed out for the traps immediately. Only one was full with a thin, nearly skeletal rabbit, and after an hour of searching for tracks or bird calls, Feyre gave up on catching anything more and returned to the cabin.

Her sisters were both awake when she returned, Nesta already cutting up wild onions and potatoes from Elain’s garden to add to the soup pot while Elain melted snow for their water supply. Feyre joined them in silence, and they worked until their father finally woke. Feyre kissed his cheek in greeting after he settled into his chair, passing him his whittling knife and a fresh piece of wood.

“I’m heading to the shore later,” Feyre said as Nesta passed her breakfast. “Isaac’s father might be willing to trade milk, cheese, and eggs for salt, so I’ll be gone for longer than usual to get enough. I’ll sell the hides we have to the tannery first though.” It wouldn’t get much - they only had two. One from that morning, one from the day before.

Nesta passed Elain a bowl next as she said, “Pick me up some new thread, while you’re out. I need more in orange and pink.”

Feyre bit back her retort, nodding instead. “How much do you need of each?”

“Two orange, five pink.”

Feyre closed her eyes, carefully releasing her sigh quietly enough that Nesta wouldn’t hear it. There was no way she would have enough after selling the hides for that much thread. She might be able to get the two orange, but certainly not five pink as well. Not when she also still hoped to buy gloves for Nesta’s hands, though her sister wasn’t aware of that intention yet either. She could always pay the tannery to treat the hides and sew them into gloves herself, rather than buy them from the mercer, but that would cause so much extra work. Perhaps the slippers instead? Those had to be much easier to do - not that she’d ever done it before - especially if Nesta never wore them outside, and only used them to keep her feet warm around the cottage.

Then again, if she was to be at the beach getting salt, that meant hours of sitting there, watching water boil and occasionally scraping out the salt and filling the pot back up. It would at least give her something to do so she wasn’t sitting there bored out of her mind.

Feyre finished her breakfast quickly, gathering the clean rabbit pelts and the few coppers they still had saved from her last sale. “I’ll be back to pick up the pots later and drop the stuff off,” she said.

There was no answer, no farewell as she closed the door behind her and left.

The tannery was half an hour's walk away, far enough away that the smell of the tanning solution, rotting meat, and the waste generated from the process didn’t bother the townspeople. Feyre could smell it several minutes away, the wind blowing it directly at her.

By the time she made it to the building itself, she’d at least grown slightly numb to it, but stepping inside made it all come back, doubling in strength. The master tanner spotted her immediately, a smile crossing his aged face when he recognized her. He was one of the few people in town who was regularly pleased to see her, because she brought him some of the best pelts in town.

She was a good shot - the threat of starvation would do that to a person.

“Feyre,” the master tanner greeted her, wiping his hands off on a rag as he approached. He slung it over his shoulder when he was done, but didn’t reach out a hand to greet her. “Glad to see you. What do you have for me?”

Feyre pulled the two pelts out. “Two rabbits. It’s been… slow. You know how winter is.”

He nodded as he took the pelts from her, running his cracked and dry hands through the soft down. “Not bad,” he murmured. “I can give you ten coppers for each.”

It was more than she’d expected, and more than enough to buy the thread. But if she traded some of it back…

“How much if I want to trade them for two finished ones?”

He frowned. “I wouldn’t let them go for less than fifteen coppers each to anyone else, but for you…” he sighed, thinking for a long moment as he felt the fur again. “I could lower it to thirteen apiece, with the hide being the first ten.”

Six copper for two finished rabbit furs. One for each slipper. It was a ridiculously good price. The thread for Nesta would cost at least two copper apiece as well, and Feyre would still need one for herself to sew the shoes. Eight spools at two copper, plus the six for the rabbits…

Feyre had twenty six left. She’d have just enough left over to maybe get a loaf of bread as well, and still have one or two left over, depending on how much the baker was charging.

“Deal,” she said, giving the master tanner a smile. He returned it, then whistled at one of the apprentices in the back. Feyre counted out the six copper as he told the apprentice to bring out the furs, passing them over carefully so they didn’t spill on the ground.

“Pleasure doing business with you,” she said, gently folding the furs the apprentice handed to her. They were just as soft as she’d hoped, and the leather side was treated in such a way that it hopefully wouldn’t wear away too fast. She’d have to warn Nesta never to go outside, not when there was no sole to really protect the leather itself.

Truthfully, it would be harder to convince Elain when she eventually got more for her. Nesta didn’t often go outside - it was Elain who gardened and visited what few friends they still had. Nesta sat on her stool when she wanted fresh air, but she didn’t go wandering outside of her visitations for work.

She left after that, hurrying as fast as she could to escape the smell and make it to the mercer before he took his break for lunch. The sun was high in the sky by the time she made it back into town, sweat dripping down the back of her neck. Townspeople were out and about all around, and Feyre belatedly realized it was the town's market day. A few nodded at her as they passed, focused on their own shopping and not much interested in conversation. She even saw Isaac for a brief moment from across the street, talking to a pretty girl who was clearly interested in him, if the way she was angling her head toward him was any indication.

She was halfway to the mercer’s shop when she heard the jingle of bells. She jerked her attention toward the sound, stopping dead in her tracks at the sight of a group of Children of the Blessed. One noticed her attention and began to walk toward hers, and rather than face her, Feyre ducked into the nearest shop.

There was a bell above the door that pealed sharply to announce her presence, but the woman running the shop - the town’s only woman grocer - didn’t look over. She was already with a customer, haggling the price of something with the man, and was flustered and obviously losing.

Feyre tuned them out, letting her eyes scan the piles of vegetables for sale. Her stomach rumbled, the small bowl of soup she’d had hours ago already worked off from her walk. She debated walking out, if only to spare herself the horrible feeling of staring at food and knowing she couldn’t eat it, but the Child of the Blessed was still hanging around, though it appeared her leader was calling her back. Just a few more moments until she could leave and go about her day, uninterrupted and unbothered.

And then the customer spoke loudly enough that Feyre could hear, and his voice made her curse under her breath. Before she could bolt again, he turned around, pulling up short when he saw her.

And then he smiled. “Hello, Darling. Couldn’t stay away?”

Fuck that Child of the Blessed for getting her into this situation. If she was still there, Feyre didn’t care anymore. She walked out anyway, ignoring Rhys as he hurried after her, jogging until he pulled up alongside her.

“What are the chances,” he asked, relishing in her annoyance with a visible skip in his step as they walked.

“Pretty high,” she retorted. “This is the only town in a day's walk. Where else would you be?”

He shrugged, picking at a spot of dirt on his collar when it caught his attention. “True, but to be in the same store?”

Feyre didn’t dignify that one with a response, hurrying faster through the main square. The Children of the Blessed had moved on to the other side and were hassling some other person, so if she could hurry…

“What are you doing today?”

Like she’d tell him. Feyre hoped if she stayed silent long enough , he might give up and leave, but it only seemed to make him more enthralled as he kept pace.

“Maybe I could keep you company? We might even have the same errands, if you’d tell me.”

Feyre rolled her eyes, then stopped short when Rhys held his hand out in front of her, a shiny apple in his hand.

“Hungry? It seems only fair.”

She wanted to say no, but her stomach chose that moment to growl again, loud enough that even Rhys could hear it. He grinned, teeth flashing white as he held it closer to her. Feyre glared as she took the apple, biting into it viciously as she continued walking. She hadn’t had fresh fruit in months, and the sweetness of the juice was enough to earn him a little good will.

“I have to visit the mercer,” she said. “My sister needs thread.”

“You have a sister?”

“Two.”

“Where are they?”

“What’s with all the questions?”

Rhys spun around so that he was in front of her, walking backwards. People who normally never moved for her jumped to get out of the way like it was magic, or maybe just self preservation. They knew he wouldn't move because he couldn’t see them, and no one wanted to be walked into.

“Maybe I just want to get to know you.”

Why? Feyre couldn’t understand it. She had thrown her shoes at him, insulted him, and generally made herself a menace to be around. She was well practiced at it after years of growing up the way she did, and most of the time even her family couldn’t bear to be around her in her more acerbic moments.

Rather than ask, Feyre moved around him, jogging the last few steps to the mercer’s shop. The mercer glanced up at her the moment she walked in, and unlike the master tanner, pressed his lips tightly together to hide his grimace. They hadn’t gotten along in almost a year, ever since Feyre had insulted his son by rejecting his advances. She’d already been meeting with Isaac at that point, and she had no interest in cutting that off for a permanent sort of relationship. He would have expected her to stop hunting, to let him provide for her, and that was simply something she couldn’t do.

She’d made a promise to her mother, and she would see her sisters taken care of before herself every time.

The mercer hadn’t been happy to see his son rejected, but her money and business was still just as good, regardless of any personal slights. But it didn’t mean he was happy about it.

Feyre could see it in his eyes - that judgment. There’s wild Feyre. Too good for any of us, and yet no good for anything but killing her own meal.

Feyre straightened her spine, threw back her shoulders, and narrowed her eyes at him. If he thought her prickly, she’d show him the real meaning of it.

“I need thread.” Feyre didn’t bother to make herself sound nice, nor wait for him to direct her where to go. She already knew where he kept the thread and the cheaper muslin fabric. The expensive material he kept out of reach of oily hands, but the plain cotton was free to grab.

When she dumped the spools on his counter without a word, the mercer looked at Rhys, eyebrows raised as if he expected him to reprimand her. At Rhys’ silence, the mercer huffed in irritation. Feyre didn’t know why he would expect it of Rhys when he’d never seen him before, and there was no reason to assume he had any connection to Feyre besides walking in at the same time as her.

“How much?” Feyre asked, already pulling out her money. She knew exactly how much it cost, knew she had enough. Eight spools at two a piece - sixteen coppers. Four left over.

“Thirty two coppers,” the mercer said. Feyre froze, hand still clutching a handful of the pieces.

“What?”

“You heard me,” the mercer said, folding his arms and leveling her with an unimpressed look.

“I only have twenty.”

The mercer shrugged. “Then you only get five, not eight. They’re four coppers each.”

Feyre inhaled deeply, reminding herself that lashing out would only make things worse. That the mercer was a merchant, and as such, had sway in the community. Not as much as the gentry, perhaps, and not as much as her father had once possessed, but enough to make life difficult for her if she caused him even more problems now. Problems he wouldn’t move past.

But still she pointed out, “Last time I came in, they were only two coppers each. Half of what you’re asking for now.” She wouldn’t have been able to afford them even if she hadn’t bought those furs for Nesta’s slippers.

“Inflation,” the mercer said unsympathetically. “Things are getting harder and harder to import from the continent with all the faerie courts over there rallying their armies. Who knows if they’re going to come after us. If they find a way through the wall, we’re all dead.”

Fear shot through Feyre, and she sucked in a breath. What were the chances? She’d dreamed of faeries for the first time in her life mere hours before, and here the mercer was discussing a potential incitement of war with them. The last war had been nearly five hundred years earlier, when the wall had been erected by those fae who’d sided with the humans revolting, demanding freedom from the tyranny of other, crueler fae. Armies congregating now couldn’t mean anything good.

“What?”

Feyre didn’t know who was shocked more - her, the mercer, or Rhys himself - that it was him Rhys who’d asked the question. His voice had dropped a few notes, the question, demand really, coming out like through gravel. And when Feyre looked at him, she saw a thunderous type of protective rage in his eyes. It sent a chill through her, the kind she often got when hunting in the night, long after the sun had gone to sleep and only the glowing eyes of prey could be seen in the moonlight, if it could even reach through the trees at all. The mercer must have seen it too, because he cleared his throat, face a little paler than before.

“The past few weeks,” he answered. “One of my suppliers mentioned it at his last drop off. The faerie courts above the wall have been spotted training their armies in full view of the wall. They want the humans to know they’re preparing for war. Everything is more expensive, because everyone is trying to stock up on anything they might need if they find a way through the wall and war really does break out.”

“And what of Prythian? What about above our wall here?”

The mercer shook his head. “Still silent, just like it’s been for the last seven years.”

The tension diffused as the seconds passed, Rhys clearing his throat and offering a bland smile to the mercer. “Thank you,” he said, dipping his head in a polite nod.

Feyre tapped her hand on the counter, recapturing the mercer’s attention.

“What if I give you salt next week?” she offered. “One full jar of your choosing to bring it up to three yards of fabric.”

The mercer considered her counteroffer for a moment, then said, “In addition to the coppers.”

Feyre bit her tongue to stop the first instinctive reply. Salt was expensive, and a hard product to get. To take her copper pieces too was cruel. Feyre could see it in his eyes - revenge for embarrassing his son had never felt so sweet to him. He’d probably give the money to him just to spite her. But what other choice did she have? Nesta needed the thread to earn money, and if Feyre tried to sell the salt herself like she was one of the town salters, they’d likely have those same people breaking into their cottage to “convince” her to stop through whatever means necessary.

Right as she was about to nod her agreement, Rhys spoke up.

“A full jar of salt is worth at least two silver, especially if you’re going to hand her the largest jar you have, like I suspect. With that amount, she could buy fifty spools of thread, even at your new price. Do you really think charging her everything else she has left is a good look for you? Seems more like theft to me.”

Something in the mercer's face shifted.

Theft was a serious crime, and one that could lead to the kind of repercussions Feyre didn’t want to think about. The kind that lost people limbs. Most of the time, it was the merchants that accused the beggars, but not always. In a situation like this, with Rhys being the one almost accusing the mercer, there was every chance the complaint would be taken seriously.

More seriously than if Feyre made the accusation. The town council had ignored her when she’d gone to them for help after her father had been attacked, with plenty of evidence. There was no chance they would ever listen to her here.

The mercer, face pale and beginning to look damp with nervous sweat, finally stuttered out, “Nevermind, actually. Just the salt will do. I’ll go get the jar.”

He fled into the back room a moment later. Feyre turned to Rhys, stunned. He was staring at the open doorway after the vanished mercer, a mask of anger settled comfortably on his face, a familiar one Feyre got the feeling he employed often. It was the look of a ruler, a king, glaring down at his lessers, and she knew that it wasn’t his words that had scared the mercer into a better deal for her. It was just that look.

“Thanks,” Feyre offered tightly.

Rhys smiled as he turned toward her, that mask of anger melting away to be replaced with a cool smirk. Nonchalance, like he’d done nothing special. She didn’t know why his anger hadn’t scared her, how she’d known that it wouldn’t be turned on her. “Of course, Darling. Anything for you.”

Feyre scoffed. “Does this charm normally work for you?” Because it was, unfortunately, working on her. The way his voice curled around the word, the way it fell so naturally from him, like he didn’t have to think about it at all. Like, despite her off putting nature, he still honestly liked her. Thought her charming, rather than rude.

She’d thought herself stronger than this.

Rhys grinned. “Yes, actually. Though I must admit I do enjoy the challenge here. Trying to figure out what you’ll like and what you won’t is the most fun I’ve had in years.”

She couldn’t let him know it was working. Feyre drew her brows together and gave him a look of disgust. “That’s pathetic.”

Rhys barked a laugh at that, throwing his head back with the strength of it, and despite herself, Feyre couldn’t help the soft smile it drew from her.

She was spared the embarrassment of Rhys catching her moment of weakness by the mercer returning, a relatively small jar held out to her already, as if he was begging her to accept it. Feyre had expected a jar three times the size, but the one he’d provided could easily be filled with only a few hours of work.

“Appreciate your business, Feyre,” he said. “Stop by whenever you can.”

Feyre didn’t bother answering him, collecting her thread and leaving the shop as quickly as she could, pushing the door open with her hip as she went. Rhys caught up to her in an instant,

“Let me go with you, Feyre,” he said, long legs easily keeping stride with her as she started heading back home.

“Thought you already were,” Feyre said, irritated that the mercer had called her by name, ruining her fun so quickly. Not that she liked Rhys calling her Darling.

“Not now,” Rhys corrected. “I meant to the shore. Let me go with you to collect the salt. Even a jar like that could take you some time to fill, and doing that on top of however much you needed originally is bound to take a long time. More hands would make it faster.”

“Not a chance,” Feyre said. She didn’t know if she’d be able to handle his charm for that long, and she liked the time alone she got from doing the work. It was peaceful sitting on the beach, even with all the other people around. They were strangers, and no one liked talking to strangers. She couldn’t enjoy that peace if Rhys tagged along, and she doubted she’d get very far on Nesta’s slippers if he kept distracting her with endless conversation. Besides, she’d never let anyone come with her before. Like hell she’d start with someone she’d just met.

No matter how pretty his eyes were, or how he defended her back in the mercer’s shop in a way no one had before.

“I’ve done this plenty of times on my own,” she continued.

“Ah,” Rhys grinned, “but there’s wolves in the woods now - haven’t you heard? I could protect you from them.”

Feyre glanced at him, annoyance curling her lip slightly at his ridiculously pleased face. He had no right to look that beautiful when he was being annoying, no right for those blue eyes of his to glimmer like sunlight on the sea. But he wasn’t wrong about the wolves, and she wasn’t keen on running into one the further away from home she got. The further she traveled from known terrain and the ways back to safety in an emergency.

“I’ll trip you,” she admitted blatantly. “If a wolf decides to show its face to us? I don’t have to outrun it. I’ll just have to outrun you.”

And Rhys just laughed at that, loud and carefree, either unaware or unbothered by the looks it gained from the other townspeople out and about on market day.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Feyre darling.”

Darling. Even knowing her name, he didn’t stop calling her that. Feyre shoved down the part of her that was pleased.

“And once we get there?” she asked, not letting herself dwell on it. “How much are you going to need?”

“None,” Rhys said simply. “I don’t exactly have any way to store it. There would be no point.”

Feyre looked away, unable to handle the sincerity when she knew it wouldn’t last. No one went out of their way to help someone with a chore that took over a week to complete only to gain nothing from it. There would be something eventually. Maybe he wouldn’t want the salt, but she would find a way to repay him.

“When can you be ready?” She hadn’t intended to head out that day, waiting instead for the next dawn to give her the most amount of sunlight, but if Rhys was ready to go immediately…

She could spend a night out in the woods if she had someone else to keep watch, who had already volunteered to foolishly fight off any wolves.

Maybe she should have tried the partner thing earlier.

“Feyre!”

The shout came from behind her as Isaac jogged up, his face flushed from the exercise. Back where he’d been, the blushing girl who’d been talking to him was anxiously watching, glancing between Isaac and Feyre. Poor girl, Feyre thought. Does he even realize you’re in love with him?

Maybe she should break things off with him. Feyre considered it for only a moment, then discarded the idea. He’d have to decide that, not her.

“Hello,” Rhys broke the silence first. His smile was tight, and the dappling of shadow across his face from the trees above them made it look like he could command the dark. Like he chose to have it paint his face like that, a perfect study in chiaroscuro. The eye in shadow was tinted purple again from the lack of sunlight, but then the breeze shifted the leaves a moment later, sending the shadows scurrying off his face. The eye returned to its normal blue.

She was clearly overly tired, her brain coming up with tricks of the light, hallucinations to prompt her to rest.

But resting wasn’t the problem - the problem was the dreams. How every time she woke after one of them, it felt like she’d really actually been doing all those things. Like it wasn’t made up, but she was really stalking the halls of some underground fortress, where fae were being held captive.

Where beasts couldn’t break free.

It was almost too fantastical to believe.

Isaac glanced between the two of them. “Who is he?”

Feyre supposed that answered the question of if Rhys had ever actually made it to the Hale farm to ask for Isaac’s tutelage in trap making.

“My name is Rhysand,” Rhys said. Feyre slanted her eyes at him. A nickname for her, but a full name for Isaac? They didn’t know each other nearly enough for him to make that distinction, to have her call him by a familiar diminutive. And yet he’d done it anyway.

Perhaps that was why he called her Darling - he called her by a nickname because she did the same. Nevermind that he’d chosen to give her that name in the first place.

“He’s going with me to get the salt,” Feyre said when it became clear Rhys wouldn’t add more.

Isaac frowned. “I thought you worked alone. That’s why you’ve never let me come on a hunt with you.”

“I taught you traps, Isaac. That was as much as you were ever going to get.”

Rhys smiled, feline and politely threatening. “Ah, Isaac from the Hale farm, I presume? How do you know my Feyre?”

Feyre almost choked on her own breath, and swiftly delivered an elbow into Rhys’ ribs. She wasn’t his anything. They’d only just met. She was only allowing him to come on the trip with her in case she needed to run and get away from a wolf too big for her to shoot.

Rhys must have felt her blow, but he didn’t react. Didn’t flinch or let his smile weaken as he stared Isaac down.

Isaac shifted uncomfortably. “She gets her dairy and eggs from me. Pays with salt.”

Among other things, she didn’t add. She had the feeling Rhys already knew. But it was also confirmation for Feyre - he’d talked to his father and they’d agreed to give the partnership a chance. Fresh milk, eggs, and cheese every morning, in exchange for enough salt for the animals to lick.

Rhys hummed, unimpressed. Silence bloomed.

Feyre cleared her throat. “Will you deliver until I get back? Nesta and Elain will need it, even though I can’t pay until after.”

Isaac nodded, stilted and uncomfortable. “No problem,” he said at last, backing away with one final fleeting look at Rhys.

It was strange the way all these people were reacting to him. Seemingly terrified of someone Feyre considered a nuisance at best. He wasn’t threatening, and despite being annoying at times, didn’t make her feel like she was in danger of anything except being flustered if she wasn’t careful.

“Run along,” Rhys said, voice smooth as velvet. “Your girl is waiting.”

Isaac turned his back to them, shoving his hands into his pockets as he retreated to the girl he’d been talking to. She smiled, relief fluttering across her face at how Feyre didn’t follow. How Rhys brushed his elbow against hers. Feyre turned from the scene, lightly shouldering Rhys out of her way.

“I’m not your anything,” she hissed as he fell into step once again beside her.

“Sure you are,” he said. “You gave me my breakfast yesterday, did you not? You’re my salvation from hunger and loneliness on this journey to the sea.”

Ugh. “That line isn’t going to work either.”

“What line will?” he quipped. “What line did Isaac give you?”

Feyre whirled on him, her finger coming up to point at him while she reamed him out, but Rhys leaned into it. Her finger pressed firmly against his chest, and her resolve faltered long enough for the finger to become her whole palm on his chest, keeping him a few inches away.

Even with the chill of the morning still lingering, Rhys’ body was warm. She could feel his heartbeat under her hand, a steady thump-thump, thump-thump that matched her own heart beating in her chest.

“I…” Feyre retracted her hand, cheeks burning. “I don’t remember. It was a while ago. It doesn’t matter.”

She turned again, fleeing down the path that led to the cottage, clutching the strap of her bag to keep her fingers from straying again. Finally silent, Rhys followed her all the way back home.

#acotar gift exchange #acotar fic #feyre archeron #rhysand #feysand fic #bela writes #secret santa #flicker!fic

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honeymelonpm · 2 years

Note

oh dear lord you write age regression so perfectly it actually puts me in that headspace 😍

can I request anything with moon boys forcing regression on a reader with ADHD ? only if you're comfortable.

~Daze~

Characters: Marc x Reader

Warnings: Age Regression Themes, Reader has ADHD, Eating Difficulties.

Summary: Reader is having a tough ADHD episode.

Requested by this beautiful anon!

A/N: I also have ADHD so this became quite self indulgent sorryyy. 🤍

"Mmm," You hummed quietly in response, even though you hadn't processed a word he had said.

The sight of Marc's hand cracking open an egg into a white ceramic bowl replayed in your mind on loop, keeping you in a trance.

The faint sizzling of the frying pan reached your ears, as you attempted once again to read the book in front of you. Your eyes darting to the beginning of the paragraph once more.

Your usually busy mind was struggling to comprehend anything, and you felt a wave of dread consume you when the sight of a book about Ancient Egypt didn't give you the instant excitement that it usually did.

It only took a matter of moments for you to completely zone out, not paying any attention to the book in front of you or the harsh clinking of dishes.

Marc tucked a finger under your chin, tilting it so you could see him, "Are you okay baby?"

You hummed again, not thinking too much about the question.

Scraping the sides of the pan with a spatula, Marc poured the scrambled eggs into a small, orange bowl, decorated with small pyramids that Steven had bought for you from the gift shop.

Replacing your book with the bowl of food, he pulled an old kids fork decorated in ABCs from a draw below the counter and placed it beside the bowl.

Your stomach growled at the thought of food, but as the steam rose to your nose, your appetite completely disappeared.

"Do you want some sauce with it Honey?"

You thought for a moment, hoping that any ounce of hunger would encourage you to eat it, "I don't want it." You whispered.

Brows knit together, he titled his head and lowered himself to you, "What do you mean you don't want it, I asked you before and you said yes?"

Stomach dropping at the realisation that you didn't pay any attention to his question before, you felt a pit of shame and embarrassment hit you.

"Um..." Your voice wavered as you struggled to keep the tears welling up in your eyes from spilling over.

Marc didn't wait for your erratic breathing before he took you in his arms, his hand keeping your head against his warm chest.

"I-i'm s-s-"

"Shhh shhh," Marc hushed, rubbing your back to keep you from your overbearing thoughts, "It's okay baby, it's okay."

Listening to his heart beat helped you to steady your breathing.

"You're tired baby it's okay, is it just this food or are you not hungry at all?" He asked, as if he hadn't been listening to the grumble in your stomach for the past ten minutes.

After a few hiccups, you spoke, "It's just hard to eat sometimes."

In any other situation, you worried that people would find your inability to focus and regulate your emotions annoying, but the three men that took care of you loved nothing more than caring for you and doing things for you when you just couldn't think.

Marc slipped his hand under your thighs, gently lifting you up from the stool and carried you over to the large bed across the room.

He set you down, your back resting against a pile of pillows, before taking large strides back to the kitchen.

All three of them had become familiar with your eating difficulties. It wasn't that you didn't want to eat, but every now and again you would find yourself unable to swallow a mouthful of your once favourite food. So to ensure that you were still satisfying your hunger and getting all the nutrition you needed, they had stocked up on breakfast drinks. Chocolate, banana and other flavours that you could choose from.

Returning from the fridge with a chilled chocolate drink box in hand, Marc swiped his laptop off of his desk on the way back to you.

"Here you go baby," placing the laptop in front of you, Marc peeled the small straw off the side of the box and pierced a hole on top, passing it to you.

Taking it in both hands, you relaxed into the pillows when the familiar taste reached your tongue.

"Do you want to watch a movie?" He asked, scrolling through the video files he had downloaded on the laptop for you.

"We can watch Monsters Inc, cars..."

Skimming through the names of the files, one caught your attention, "That one!"

"Elf?" He asked, "But it's not Christmas yet."

"No, that one." You pointed to the file above.

"How are you not sick of this movie yet, I swear you watch it everyday." He muttered, clicking on it.

"Steven likes it," You muttered with a smile, remembering how Steven always imitates George's Tarzan call.

When the screen loaded Marc shimmied back next to you with a sigh as he prepared himself to sit through 'George of the Jungle,' for the fifth time that week.

#fanfic #moon knight #marc spector #steven grant #jake lockley #x reader #age regression #adhd #comfort #request #asks

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cinnabun-faerie · 1 year

Note

I once saw an ask for Scions reacting to WoL who doesn't return from the fight in Endwalker. So might I request the Scions reacting to finding the WoL's personal journal after they don't return? It's log entries and drawings from all the expansions from A Realm Reborn up until Endwalker. It tells things like their carriage ride to the city state they resided in, the first time the heard Hydaelyn/when they got the Echo, to meeting the Scions and by association the twins. Just personal entries of everyone they met and everything they did. There's even little charms and gifts from some of the people and little portraits of the people they've encountered and the places they've seen.

I just need the Scions to react to the final message, presumably written preemptively before the final fight, as the WoL contingency and final words should they not make it out in the end. It states how happy they were to have met all of them, how they changed their life and had the chance to change theirs. And that they will meet again, either in this life or perhaps the next. And that they were honored to have been the Scion's very own Warrior of Light.

I hope this isn't asking too much.

Scions React to the journal you left behind after you didn't come back from the fight in Endwalker

A/N: Damn. So we are breaking hearts and causing tears today, eh? Alright, I'm down with that. My heart is shattered on the floor. Excuse me as I put on my 'Sad songs playlist'

Honestly though, thank you very much for this ask, Anon! ^-^

As they're connected, you can find the previous ask here : WoL doesn't return after the final fight in Endwalker

Warning: ANGST, Heartache, already established character death, mourning, breakdowns

FFXIV taglist: @missnella-nova @shippyprincess @healersadjust @thai @lumeriadeborel @obscene-tevene @losingmymindinglitter @gudaworks @midromiell @kanouizumi3104 @msrussian

If you'd like to be added to the taglist, you can comment here on the original post !

Alisaie

She would not want to touch the book. She hated that you were gone. She hated that she couldn't save you like you had saved her so many times. It would take her months for her to even hold the book in her hands before setting it back down. She was not ready yet.

When she was finally ready to see what you had written, she would decide to pace herself. She could only read so much before she'd breakdown into tears. Once she got to the end, reading your last message, she would scream out a painful cry. Alphinaud would be beside her in an instant, lending his shoulder for her to cry on.

Alphinaud

He needed to read the journal. For him, it was as you were still with him. But yet it was a like a final goodbye. He would find comfort in the telling and retelling of your adventure. Despite the tears in his eyes, he'd smile when you'd say how proud you were of him. To mean so much to you, it was truly an honor.

"Goodbye, my friend."

Estinien

Once he had his hands on the journal, he went where no one else could find him. He just needed to be alone to mourn the loss of you. To know of your journey from beginning to end by your words written meant everything to him. With every word, he could hear your voice in his head as if you were telling him yourself. It was amusing to see your entries of when you met him. Ever the shining light, you were. His hand would grip the pages when he'd read your last entry, where you expressed how much he meant to you. When he heard the sound of tearing, he loosened his grip and checked for the damages.

G'raha Tia

He would know of your journal as you told him where it was before you both had left on your journey. It's as if you'd known all along what would happen. You knew you weren't come back. His heart hurt at the mere thought. But you had wanted him to take the book. And though it was in his hand, he would hesitate to open it. But eventually, he would and he would cry when he reads each and every page. His fingers would trace the letters on the pages where you mention him.

When he'd get to your final page, his hands would be shaking. To have been so important to you, meant to much to him. He was just thankful that he got to be apart of your story. And he'd make sure your memory would live on through him and your stories.

Thancred

He wasn't sure if he could read your journal. It was painful enough to know that you were gone. But after talking with Y'shtola & Urianger, he would decide to read it. Reliving some memories of you were comforting. You always had this ability to make him smile, no matter what. It gave him the strength to continue on, to fight on. He'd carry your memory with him forever. And no matter what, you'd be right in his heart.

When he'd read the last page, he let out a side and a chuckle. You had a way with words. And to know that he was everything to you as you were to him, he was thankful.

Although you will not be able to see me, just know that I will forever be by your side. Fight on, my lights.

"Even in the end, you are the hope that we need."

Urianger

When he's given your journal, he holds himself up in a room in the Waking Sands to read passage by passage. And before he could get to the very last page, he would close the book. All he has left of you is here in his hands. He just wasn't ready to let you go yet. And thus he'd re-read story after story. However, one day he would decide to brave the last past. His heart would ache as he read that he and the others were your light that kept you going.

And with a shaky breathe, he'd whisper, "Thank you, Y/N."

Y'shtola

Once she'd cease her work of trying to find a way to see you again, she would read your journal. She would read section by section over time. While a book could be re-read many times, she didn't want to do that with your journal. Perhaps she knew that it meant truly that you were gone and there would be nothing more. Your story would end.

No matter how long it would take, she would eventually make it to the final passage in your journal. She'd take a deep breath and brace herself. As she would read your words of how much she and the other Scions meant to you, tears would slip down her cheeks.

#ffxiv #ffxiv reactions #alisaie leveilleur #alphinaud leveilleur #estinien varlineau #g'raha tia #thancred waters #urianger augurelt #y'shtola rhul

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imaginarianisms · 3 months

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Before going into further details, I want to mention that in order to allow the actions below, you just have to leave a like on this post and to please not reblog! By liking this post, I’m going to assume that you have read my rules and got a basic understanding of my portrayal of the muses that are available by reading through my blog pages. I also take it that you are interested in interacting with my muse(s) to develop possible relationships ( positive or negative, platonic or romantic or otherwise ) with them. It’s required that we’ve have to have interacted in order for you to like this post - this is for Ask/RP blogs only, personals, do not like this post.

Go on, punch that ❤︎ button, I won’t bite, I promise! By liking this little beauty, that means you all are okay and are giving me full permission with the following from yours truly:

🌹 Write completely random starters and mention you in them.

🌹 Write headcanons about our characters, depending of course on the bond between them and tagging the other mun.

🌹 Tag other muns with their urls in pictures/videos/audios etc. that somehow represent our friendship or the unique bond between the muses.

🌹 Spam your askbox with any of my muses whenever, with any verse I have in mind. However, you can also suggest any verse or plot idea as well.

🌹 Talk to the other mun OOC or IC.

🌹 Contact the other mun via IM or discord whenever something new related to their character crosses the mun’s mind.

🌹 Send memes, inbox starters, turn asks into threads, request to plot with you.

🌹 Tag and/or @ you in random starters.

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🌹 Talk and/or to you via tags, instant messages or asks, if I don’t have your Discord.

🌹 Answer and/or reply to any of yours asks, text post or open starter anytime.

🌹 Invade your inbox at ungodly hours whether it’s IC or OOC, with an idea.

🌹 Contact you to plot or to set pre-established relationships. My muses need friends, enemies, old mentors, old friends/fling/colleagues, people they work with now, people they stumbles upon… there are many possibilities, no matter the verse! I’ll talk to you but please talk to me, too. I don’t bite!

🌹 Writing spontaneous headcanons, drabbles or anything else about our muses’ bond which could pop up in my head.

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🌹 Be friends that have fun roleplaying and being dorks together.

🌹 Liking your starter calls.

🌹 Chill about the alien invasions and fangirl and finish each other’s conspiracy theories.

🌹 Showering you with love, chocolate, hugs and cookies!

🌹 Plotting and crying screaming and suffering with me.

Finally, by you liking this, I, in return, give full permission for you do all of these things but also be aware that I know your muse(s) and have read your own rules. Don’t be shy to come by and like this post, throw a meme at me or come and prod my IM space at any time.

Also, by liking this post you are saying that you have;

🌹 Read my rules.

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By liking this post, I am okay with the following:

🌹 IC asks and inbox invasions (also chill about alien invasions and the zombie apocalypse too and a bunch more tbh.)

🌹 Liking my starter calls.

🌹 Random Starters.

🌹 Plotting and suffering.

🌹 Random little gifts be it drabbles, drawings, aesthetics or anything else. ( I will love you forever and shower you with chocolate, affection and love tbh.)

🌹 Tagging me in stuff that made you think about our muses.

🌹 A simple chat over IM or Discord if we're close.

Any of these I am just thrilled to do because that means that you enjoy rping with me as much as I do with all of you wonderful and talented people! Thank you all for reading this, I’m looking forward to interacting with the wonderful writers out there and their magnificent muses! Stay safe, I love you all! — Sincerely yours, with all of my love, Angie ♥

#( permanent starter call. )

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ariel-seagull-wings · 8 months

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THE DRESS THAT WENT INTO A WALNUT

@themousefromfantasyland @professorlehnsherr-almashy @tamisdava2 @natache @princesssarisa @softlytowardthesun @the-gentile-folklorist @shelleythesapphic @faintingheroine @lord-antihero @lioness--hart

(Greek folktale)

There was once a King who had ten sons, and how proud it made him feel!

“I have ten sons!”

He would boast at every opportunity, as if he were saying he was the mightiest ruler in the world.

But it was not only his ten sons he took such pride in. He also liked to boast about an apple tree which stood in his garden, a lovely tree with spreading branches which produced great red apples so delicious that there were no others like them in the whole wide world.

If ever a guest arrived on a visit from some other kingdom, there were two : things he never failed to do: present his ten sons to the visitor and offer him a gift of his marvelous apples.

But there came a year when every time he sent his servants to pick apples, they would find not a single ripe fruit on the branches. The king was beside himself with worry, and in the end he decided to consult his royal counselors.

“My lord the King”, pronounced the eldest of them.

“The answer seems quite clear. Someone has been coming in the night and picking all the ripest and the reddest of apples. You must set guards to keep a watch on them and catch the thief.”

Set guards? Why guards, when the king had ten brave sons? How brave, we shall soon see.

And so he ordered two of them to go that night and watch in secret, to find out how the red apples were so mysteriously disappearing.

The two young princes buckled on their golden swords, took up their tall spears and proudly went to keep a night watch on the garden.

They were standing in the shadows when suddenly they heard an evil hissing, and a moment later they spied a hideous monster lumbering towards them.

The moment they set eyes on it, the princes were overcome with fear. It never crossed their minds to draw their swords; they just took to their heels like rabbits.

“Father!”

They gasped, the moment they got back:

“There’s a terrible creature, a huge monster that comes at night and eats your apples up!”

“Then tomorrow four of you will go and kill it!”

Ordered the King. Yet even though there were four of them next night, the moment the princes saw the monster they were frightened out of their wits and ran back to their father with terror.

The King was far from pleased, but the monster had to be dealt with and so he decided to send all ten next time.

The following evening the princes all set off, but on the way they set down to talk the matter over, and decided not to go in search of the hideous creature after all. Instead, they went into a tavern where they ate, drank and danced the night away. In the morning they returned to their father and told him that the monster stealing apples from the garden was so huge and horrible that a whole army would not be able to defeat it.

The king was sitting on his throne, fuming with rage, when who should appear but Carrot-top. This was the scornful name the king’s sons called a young lad with red hair who worked in the palace kitchens.

“Ha! Ha! Ha!” roared the king when he heard that Carrot-top had come to announce that he intended to slay the monster, a creature not even his ten bold sons together could destroy.

He gave him a bow and arrows and told him he could try, yet far from admiring the brave fellow’s daring and wishing he could kill the monster, he hoped that he would not come back alive. What really madened him was the thought that if the kitchen boy could slay the beast, it would be a mortal insult to his ten fine sons. All the same, he ordered the princes to follow secretly and see what happened.

Now when night fell, the boy went to the garden, lay in wait and the instant he saw the monster coming shot off an arrow at it. He hit the monster in the back. It let out a howl of pain, but before he could take aim again it dragged itself away and disappeared into the dark.

When daylight came, the brave lad spotted the monster’s footprints and decided he would go in search of it. But he had not gone before he ran into the King’s ten sons instead.

“I wounded the beast.”

He told them.

“And now I’m off to track it down and finish it.”

And with these words he began to follow the pawprints in the earth and the drops of blood which had trickled from the monster’s wounded body. The ten princes followed close behind, but not too close!

The trail ended by a well, and the bold young knew the beast must have its lair there.

“Lower me down.”

He told the King’s sons, without a moment’s hesitation. The ten princes cast sidelong glances at each other as if to say, ‘Let the monster devour him and have done with it’, and they quickly tied a rope round Carrot-top’s waist and

lowered him into the well.

At the bottom there was no water at all, but a cave instead and in its depths lay the monster, huddled in a ball. Quick as a flash, Carrot-top loose another arrow which hit the creature squarely in the head and left it lifeless.

“You’ve saved me!”

Came a voice behind him, and turning in surprise he saw a maiden as fresh and lovely as a mountain spring.

“How did you get down here?”

He asked her in a wondering voice.

“Do not remind me of it.”

The maid replied.

“I am an orphan and have no one in the world. I fell into the hands of evil men, who beat me cruelly and dragged me off to be sold as a slave in the bazaars of Anatolia. On the way I managed to escape and clambered down this well to stop them finding me. But I could not climb out again, and the next day at dawn that monster came. It had a human voice and promised it would not devour me, but neither would it let me go, for it had always longed for the company of a fair maiden. I have been here for seven whole days and nights, but now at last I have been saved.”

“Up you go, then!”

Said the young man, and tugging on the rope he shouted:

“I’ve killed the monster, and I’ve found a maiden down here in the well. Pull her out first and then let down the rope for me.”

“But are you sure they’ll pull you out as well?”

The maiden whispered.

“And why should they leave me here?”

“I cannot say - but something tells me that is what will happen.”

“I shouldn’t think so. After all, they are the King’s sons. What would they have to fear from me?”

“If they are good men, nothing. But you have killed a fearsome monster, and if they are wicked they may well be afraid of you. Since I owe you my life, I must tell you how to save yourself if they do indeed abandon you down here. Very soon, two rams will come, one as white as snow and the other black like coal. Jump straight onto the white ram’s back and it will bring you out. But if you mount the black one, you will be dragged into the deeper ends of the earth. Take this walnut: inside there is a wonderful dress that resembles the heavens with the Sun, the Moon and the Stars. Guard it well, for it may serve you in time of need. Don’t forget.”

“I shall remember.”

The ten princes threw the rope and Carrot-top tied it to the maiden’s waist, and he asked the King’s ten sons to pull her up.

They pulled, and then cut away the rope, so that Carrot-top couldn’t come up.

Then, they threatened the young maiden.

“Do not tell anyone what happened or that will be the end of you. Like it or not, you’ll do exactly what we tell you, but it will all turn out for your own good, since you’ll be married to one of us and become a royal princess.”

“But the young man! You must pull him out!”

The maiden cried. But all in vain. The princes wouldn’t hear of it and dragged her cruelly away.

When they got back to their father’s palace, they told him boastfully how they had killed the monster and released this lovely girl it had been holding prisoner in the well.

“And as for Carrot-top…”

They added:

“The monster gobbled him alive. But now, father, we beg you to decide which of us will marry this beautiful maiden.”

“My sons…”

The King replied.

“Words cannot describe the joy you bring me. You are indeed ten fearless princes, and worthy of great honors. And do not waste your tears on Carrot-top - the lad was looking for trouble and he found it. As for this maiden here, whose loveliness outshines the sun, she is worthy to be made a queen, so I shall take her as my bride.”

The King’s sons exchanged sullen glances at these words, while the girl’s heart sank into her shoes. But she was not about to admit defeat.

“Your majesty…”

She said,

“I shall wait for the young man whom I love, and if he is fated to never return, then I shall never marry.”

The King was stunned by her reply.

“Seven times I have been wed.”

He told himself.

“And no woman ever turned me down before. Does a mere slip of a girl now think she can refuse me? But let her speak her piece, for I shall make her mine, regardless of her wishes.”

At that very moment, down in the well, Carrot-top saw two rams emerge from a cleft in the rock. One was white and the other black. He took a leap at the white ram’s back, but it swerved aside. While he was still in mid air, the black ram slid between his open legs, and in an instant he found himself sitting on its back and being carried deeper and deeper and ever deeper into the bowels of the earth. After a long, wild run it brought him into the kingdom of the underworlds. There, outside a city, the ram set down the lad and disappeared.

The underworld was strange, but beautiful. The sky was the color of rose petals, the clouds sea blue, the sun was a sparkling diamond and the trees resembled giant flowers of every hue. The city that spread out before was like something out of a fairy tale. He made his way towards the nearest house, a neat, well cared-for little cottage and the door was opened by a kindly old woman. The young man asked for a drink of water.

“Alas, we have no water in the city.”

She replied.

“A monster nobody can kill has dried the springs up with its magic tail, and our chief soothsayer tells us the water will only run again if the monster devours the daughter of our King.”

“So what have you done about it?”

Asked the lad.

“What else would we do, my son? We didn’t want to die of thirst, so in the end we tied the poor girl to a tree which stands by the great spring on that mountain over there. Now our only hope is that the monster will somehow take pity on our innocent princess.”

The moment the brave Carrot-top heard these words, he ran off up the mountain to the spot where the princess had been left, and hid himself behind a bush. Night fell and the monster came. The lad had kept his bow strung all this time, and he shot an arrow. It struck the monster in the belly, but could not pierce its scaly hide. He aimed again and hit it in the head, but once again the arrow bounced off, as if it had struck a rock.

“Let's try to hit him in that magic tail of his.”

The lad then said, and drawing his bow a third time, he planted an arrow in the tip of the creature's thrashing tail.

That did the trick! The hideous beast sank lifeless to the ground, and as it did the strings began to flow again. Carrot-top ran over to the princess and untied the ropes that bound her. He helped her down the mountain, as far as the first houses in the city, then said:

“Now I must leave.”

“No, come with me to the palace.”

The princess begged.

“My father will want to meet you, and give you the reward which you deserve.”

“But I don’t belong here.”

Said the lad.

“I must make my way back to the upper world.”

“Why go to the upper world? Your King up there is evil. We have no evil men down here and everything is more beautiful. Now you have killed the monster, there is nothing in our world to give us pain or sadness.”

“It may be as you say, but my country is up there, and that is where I wish to go.”

And with these words he left the princess to make her own way back to the palace.

Next day, the King’s heralds came crying through the streets:

“Whoever killed the monster must present himself immediately at the palace, for our royal master desires to give him his daughter’s hand in marriage.”

But the brave young man was in love with the fair maiden of the well, and when he heard the king was asking for him he went back to the old woman’s cottage and begged her to hide him.

When three days passed and no one had appeared, the King sent his heralds out a second time, but again without result.

So then he set them out for a third time, to shout these words:

“Our mighty lord the King wishes to celebrate the rescue of our city and his daughter and so he invites you, one and all, young and old, to feast at his expense in the great square by the palace.”

But when the people came and the food was served, soldiers were out in force among the crowd and made sure that no one tried to take home anything to eat. This is how they caught the old woman, just as she was slipping a slice of pie into her bag. They ran to report the matter to the King.

“Go to her house immediately.”

He ordered.

“Arrest the man you find there and bring him straight to me.”

The soldiers rushed to the old woman’s cottage.

There they found the red-haired boy and marched him off to the palace.

When the King set eyes upon the fine young man they brought into his presence, he knew at once that this must be the hero who had killed the monster.

Just to make sure, he called his daughter in and she recognized her rescuer at once.

Then the King said:

“I promised I would give my daughter to whoever killed the monster - but to you I give my throne as well.”

“Most reverend Majesty…”

Replied the young man with regret.

“I am carrying the wedding dress of the maiden who awaits me. She is the girl I wish to take for my wife, and I desire neither a throne nor kingly powers. But if you wish to offer me some other reward, then all I ask is that you tell me how to reach the upper world.”

Now the King was a kind man, like all the people of the underworld, and he admired the bold young fellow for giving such an answer. Yet at the same time he was sorry he could not persuade him to take his daughter’s hand in marriage, for the lad was not only bold and fearless but seemed to have a noble soul. But as for how the King could help him, he did not know.

“It is a hard task you have set for me.”

He replied.

“But perhaps my seven wise men can be of some assistance. Let me take you to them.”

And so the King led Carrot-top through the palace until they reached the chamber of the seven wise men. Seeing that all of them were present, the King announced:

“I wish to ask a favor of you, gentlemen. Can any of you tell this young man how to reach the upper world? It is who saved us from the monster’s curse, and now we must pay him back by helping him return to the place where he belongs, for he feels himself a stranger here.”

“If only I could be of help…”

The first wise man replied.

“But, alas, I must confess I do not know.”

“Neither do I, to tell the truth.”

Added the second.

“Nor I.”

Responded each in turn.

“We must consult the seven great books.”

The first one finally decided.

“Go through them word by word.”

The King commanded.

“Leave not a page unturned, for some way must be found.”

And he left them to find an answer in the seven great books, while the young man stood waiting anxiously.

“I’ve found it!”

One of the wise men suddenly exclaimed.

“Look, it says here: ‘The upper world can only be reached with the help of the fresh killed snake.’”

“In other words?”

Enquired the lad.

“There are no other words. That’s it.”

“And that is all you’re going to tell me?”

“But that is all the great book says.”

Replied the wise man; and Carrot-top left the chamber looking very disappointed.

He walked and walked, not knowing where his steps were leading him, till in the end he was overcome with weariness and lay down beneath a tree. High up in its branches he could see a nest of baby eagles.

“Kaa! Kaa!”

He suddenly heard the young ones cry in fear - and not without reason, for a snake was slithering up the tree and making rapidly towards their nest. It did not have time to do the eaglets any harm, though, for the brave lad brought it tumbling down with an arrow through its lifeless head.

Moments later, he heard a rush of wings and two great birds hovering over him. They were the parents of the eaglets in the nest above.

“Aah!”

They croaked angrily.

“So you’re the one who keeps on coming here and eating up our chicks so we can’t have any children!”

And they swooped down, talons bared to claw his eyes out.

“No! No!”

Cried the chicks.

“This brave man just saved us from the snake!”

The two eagles looked down and saw the fresh-killed snake. Then they opened wide their spreading wings to make a shade for the young man to sleep beneath, for they could see he was very tired.

When he awoke, they asked if they could be of any service.

“Yes.”

Replied Carrot-top.

“If it is in your power, I would like you to carry me to the upper world.”

“That is no easy thing to ask.”

Replied the eagles.

“But when we see that serpent lying dead, we feel we owe the favor to you. Climb on the back of one of us and we shall carry you. But when you hear a “Kra!” you must jump across to the other eagle’s back. Like that, we’ll get some rest during the flight and will find the strength to take you where you want.”

The young man mounted one of the eagles and they soared into the heavens. They had been flying for some time when he heard a “Kra!” from the eagle he was seated on, and he jumped across to the other eagle’s back. A similar length of time had passed when he heard another “Kra!”, and he hopped across again. Twelve times he changed his seat before they reached the upper world, and when at least they landed, the eagles left the red-haired lad within walking distance of a city.

When the two great birds had disappeared from view, he took the road that led into the town. Having arrived, he did not know where to go, but at last he walked into a tailor’s shop and said:

“Will you take me on as an apprentice, master? All I ask is a little food to eat.”

The tailor let him in and made him his assistant. The lad worked hard and well, but the beautiful maiden of the well was never far from his thoughts.

She, meanwhile, was still a prisoner in the palace, and every day the King kept pestering her to marry him.

“You will become a Queen and live cradled in wealth and honors. What else could you possibly want?”

He reminded her time and time again. But the lovely maiden always thought of the young man she adored, and searched to find a way of escaping from the King, whose attention became daily more unwelcome.

“Listen, my lovely one.”

He said to her one day:

“Ask whatever you wish from me, and even if you set the most impossible task in the whole wide world, I'll do it for your sake, just as long as you promise to become my wife.”

When the girl heard these words, her face lit up with hope and she replied:

“Yes, there is one thing I long for, but I don’t know if my wish can ever be fulfilled. I want to be married in a wedding dress with a thousand pleats, embroidered with the sun, the moon and all the stars in the wide heavens, and yet so delicately woven that it can fit inside a walnut shell. And one more thing: I wish the man who brings this gift will become my loving husband.”

“At last!”

The old King cried.

“Now I shall make you mine, for I, and I alone, can carry out your wish.”

“But if by any chance you can’t? And if another comes who can, will you give me your solemn word that you will let me marry whoever presents me with the wedding dress?”

“I give you my word!”

Replied the King, certain that no one else could make her such a gift.

Having said this, the King sent out a proclamation announcing he would cut the head off every tailor in the kingdom unless, within three days, one could be found to sew for him a wedding dress which had a thousand pleats, embroidered with the sun, the moon and all the stars that shine down from the heavens - and all this fit inside a walnut shell.

Next morning, a great cry of despair went up from every tailor’s shop throughout the land. The tailor who had taken on young Carrot-top as his apprentice sat weeping hopeless tears. His wife wept, too, and their children wept along with them.

The first of the three dreaded days ticked by, and the second was drawing all too soon towards its close, when the young man told them:

“Weep no more. Just bring me walnuts and a little brandy and in the morning we will pay a visit to the King and deliver him the wedding dress. Then neither you nor any tailor in the kingdom will come to any harm.”

They ran to fetch the walnuts and a flask of brandy, adding in some almonds and a pot of honey for good measure.

Yet the tailor could not set his mind at rest, and when evening came he watched in secret to see if his apprentice was working on the dress. To his dismay, he saw instead the young man breaking open almond shells and walnuts, munching away and swinging from the brandy flask. Shaking his head in despair, the tailor crept back up to bed. The next morning, his last one on earth he feared, he went down to the shop to find his assistant fast asleep.

“All is lost!"

Groaned the tailor, and the whole family burst into tears once more. Their wailing woke up the young man. He washed, straightened his clothes and calmly told the tailor:

“Come on, it’s time to take the wedding dress to the King.”

“What dress? Have you gone mad? Where is it, then?”

“Why, where else would it be? Inside this walnut shell, of course.”

He took the maiden’s walnut from his pocket, opened it and drew out the dress. It shimmered in his hands, lovely beyond all belief. The tailor was beside himself with joy, and the whole family flew into each other’s arms, sobbing with relief.

Carrot-top folded the dress back in the walnut shell and put it in his pocket once again.

“But I am the one who should present it to the King!”

The tailor protested.

Now the tailor was not an evil man, of course, but the young fellow was learning from experience, and he thought:

“I didn’t take the King’s ten sons for bad men, either, but look how they left me down the well.”

And so he took another walnut from his pocket and gave it to the tailor, saying:

“Here you are, then. But we shall go to the King together.”

He added.

When the appointed hour arrived, the King was waiting anxiously in the palace. Beside him stood the lovely maiden, who could not wait to see whether the brave young man would come with the walnut shell that held her wedding dress.

Sure enough, a moment later the heralds sounded their trumpets, the great doors opened wide and into the palace stepped a tailor and her rescuer with his shock of fiery red hair.

The maiden’s face lit up with joy, while the King turned deathly pale.

“How did you get here, young Carrot-top?”

He gasped.

“I thought you had been eaten by the monster.”

“Your Majesty, it was I who killed the monster, not the princes.”

“How dare you say such things to me! Do you realize what you could be made to pay for insulting my brave sons?”

“No, King, you are the one who should be made to pay, and richly too.”

The maiden interrupted.

“For the truth is, it was this young hero who slew the beast and saved me when I was imprisoned in its lair.”

Then she told the King all that had happened, and how the ten princes had forced her to keep silent.

When the King heard the truth, he turned upon his sons in fury.

“Get out of here!”

He screamed.

“Let me never set eyes on you again!”

And he ordered his soldiers to drive them from the palace there and then.

“And what brings you here? You haven’t brought the dress, by any chance?”

“Oh yes, indeed most reverend sire.”

Replied the tailor, handing him the walnut with a deep bow.

“Thanks be to God!”

The King sighed in relief, happily fondling the walnut which the tailor had presented him.

The young man then asked boldly:

“My Lord, I hope you will allow me to offer this fair maid a walnut, too?”

And without waiting for an answer he quickly gave the lovely girl the walnut which was in his pocket.

The King broke open the nut he had been given by the tailor but there was nothing but a kernel in it, and a rotten one at that.

The girl then opened hers, drew out the wedding dress and threw herself at the young man’s arms.

“What’s going on here?”

Spluttered the King, ready to burst, he was furious.

The maiden answered calmly:

“You promised me that I could wed the man who brought the wedding dress I asked for. Here is the dress. And here is the man who gave it to me, so give us your blessing now.”

And with these words she took her hero’s hand and led him before the King.

Now whether he was too proud to go back on his promise or, more likely, because he had no other choice, the King agreed.

“You have my blessing.”

But he muttered it so low they hardly heard the words. Then his voice rose from a murmur to a scream:

“And as for you, you so called tailor, I’ll tear you limb from limb!”

“Not when we have chosen him as our best man.”

Replied the young man firmly.

What could the King say now? He stood there a long moment, completely lost for words. He thought and thought, then finally made up his mind.

“I have grown so used to always getting my way, and here I am, defeated in my turn. Well done, the pair of you! And I say this from the bottom of my heart, for it was your virtue and your love which got the better of me, two words I never knew the power of till today. I wish you both a long life and happiness, and I say it now in all sincerity.”

He stood there for a moment and then added:

“Rule with wisdom and with kindness, for I give you my throne as well. I have grown old. I have been slow to realize it, but at least I have done so when the time is right. And now, all speed! For tomorrow there shall be a royal wedding!”

A wedding there was, and they feasted and danced for nine joyful days and nights.

“I was at the wedding, too,

Dancing and feasting nine nights through.”

#greece #fairy tales #folk tales #folktales #folklore #fantasy #literature #inspiration station

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roamwithahungryheart · 3 months

Text

(Going insane over Ted & Rebecca again so I decided to post the entirety of chapter 6 of One More Goodbye here because of reasons.)

The day began on a bright note. The sun finally peeked through the rain for the first time in a week, the birds singing in its warmth. Waking early, Rebecca rushed through her morning routine, rehearsing the words she wanted to say to Matthjs when she arrived in Amsterdam.

As she pulled her suitcase through the front door and slipped into the cab waiting outside, the sky began to turn grey. If her mother had been with her, she probably would have called this an omen. But Rebecca didn’t believe in that sort of thing. She trusted her gut. The most she was ever willing to admit was that her intuition was never wrong. She prided herself on her good instincts, and they were too strong to ignore this time.

Rebecca walked into Heathrow airport with deliberate slowness. Every step she took gave her more time to convince herself that this was the right thing to do.

On her way to the terminal, busy travelers weaved around her as she stopped to scan the departures board. She groaned as she caught sight of her flight number.

Flight Delayed.

Rebecca’s skeptical inclinations temporarily left her. Perhaps there was such a thing as a bad omen after all.

In an effort to keep herself together, she headed for the nearest coffee shop. She had been so preoccupied with making her flight on time that she skipped breakfast. Had it been an ordinary morning, she would have had a leisurely breakfast of tea and toast. Whenever she traveled, she only had time for coffee.

As she waited in the queue, she took a moment to admire the determination of the mothers herding their children through the gates. She considered whether to make a snide remark to the man in front of her who was loudly complaining about his order, however, the impulse left just as quickly as it came. She didn’t need aggravation from a stranger ruining her trip and her mood along with it.

Then, in between sips of black coffee, she ran through the questions that she hoped seeing Matthjs would answer.

Was this enough? Was he enough?

After all the time and effort she'd invested in their relationship (if she could even call it that), Rebecca never thought that it would be anything but wonderful. But that was in the beginning, when she was still wrapped up in the romantic idea of being with someone who’d rescued her. The reality had proven to be less than ideal. She didn’t think they would ever come this far. She never intended to. And yet, every time she drifted away, Matthjs had a strange way of drawing her back in. Sometimes she loved the uncertainty of it, but other times it made her stomach turn. The possibility that she had once again given too much of herself to someone who gave her too little in return gnawed away at her.

Snapping out of her fixation, Rebecca tracked her flight again.

She had to leave.

Releasing the handle of her suitcase, she stood, intending to walk away. But she only managed a few steps before her feet were anchored to the floor. She felt a seismic shift take place deep within herself. Even her breathing changed. A jolt of electricity shot through her body, forcing her to turn around.

“Of all the airports in all the world…”

Rebecca exhaled softly. “Hello, Ted.”

In an instant, everything else fell away.

He looked just as he did the day he left Richmond.

Rebecca explored every detail of him as subtly as she could, unable to tear herself away.

Ted had never been good at subtlety, and so she knew by the way their eyes toyed with each other that he was doing the same.

Painfully aware that they were standing in complete silence, Rebecca took it upon herself to break the moment, even though she didn’t really know what to say next.

“Are you here for business or pleasure?”

“Henry's birthday. We took a little trip to Manchester, stopped by the National Football Museum. Got one of them trophies they make at the gift shop, y'know? Henry Lasso - 'Man of the Match'. He had a blast.” He looped his thumbs through the straps of his backpack, adjusting it awkwardly. “Got a two and a half hour layover here though, which is why…”

“Sounds lovely.” Rebecca faltered then too. “Obviously apart from…waiting around in airports is hardly exciting.”

“Tell me about it.”

Rebecca watched his hands as he moved. There was no ring on his finger. She glanced a bit more intently to see if there were any tan lines where a ring may have been, but she couldn't detect any.

“How’s Michelle?”

“She’s okay, yeah. Back there with the birthday boy showin’ off his gifts on FaceTime.”

Rebecca expected to see Michelle sitting next to Henry. When she followed Ted’s eyeline, Henry was sitting alone, legs swinging back and forth as he talked animatedly on the phone.

“Ah, so you’re…”

The words left her mouth before she had a chance to stop them.

“D-I-V-O-R-C-E-D. Oh, yeah. One hundred percent. No take-backs. We were gonna share Henry’s birthday, but she wanted us to have some father-son bonding time, y’know?” He scratched his forehead, letting out a half-laugh. “Sorry, I don’t know why I’m tellin’ ya all this.”

“It’s okay, Ted. How are things in Kansas? Nice to be home, I’m sure.”

“Yeah. Yeah it is.” They locked eyes again then. “Although this is sorta home too.”

Rebecca’s breath caught in her throat.

“Shoot, I’m talkin’ your ear off here and you need to hop on a plane.”

“Actually, I changed my mind. Would have been completely pointless anyway.”

“I hear ya.” Ted motioned to Henry. “Y’know, since y’aint goin’ anywhere, if you wanna come over here for some squished birthday cake and soda then by all means-”

“Thank you, but…you just enjoy time with your boy.” Rebecca grabbed her suitcase. “Tell him I said happy birthday.”

Ted’s eyes glistened. “Yes ma’am.” He gave her a small wave. “Good to see ya, Boss.”

“Good to see you too, Coach Lasso.”

#ted lasso #tedbecca #ted lasso fic #ted lasso fanfic #ted x rebecca #ted lasso x rebecca welton #ted lasso fanfiction

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