Concerning your PLA!joe idea: I'm more curious to know what berry-picking God thinks of Hermitcraft. They wanted to see the world from a different perspective - and they get an entirely different world instead!
It goes a little like this -
Shortly after Joe Hills, the stranger on the brink of destruction that They had picked from another world to save Their own, finishes the last star on their Pokedex and scrawls in the last entry, They find Joe standing face-to-face with Them, a determined expression on his face.
"Well now, uh, Almighty Sinnoh -"
That is not I. My children are the ones who have earned the title of Almighty Sinnoh.
"Right," Joe says. "Not-at-all-Almighty-Sinnoh, then. Good, honestly, I'm not sure how I feel currently about the sort of creature that calls itself Almighty. I normally avoid getting in the affairs of gods? Unless the gods are gettin' in affairs of mine."
They tilt Their head as Joe collects himself.
"Right. As I was sayin', before I got interrupted... Uh, I've Sought Out All Pokesmon, as you said to."
Thy hast done well at this.
"And I went and finished off my Pokesdex, as well, since you were sayin' you wanted to see the world with your own eyes, and all that. And you did good, pickin' berries, and fightin' Pokesmon, and helpin' me finish out my last few pages."
They blink. They have not been praised before like this; normally, They simply... exist. When They are praised, it is not normally for being good at... picking berries. Or fighting Pokemon. Or any such thing. No, it is normally for Their creations that They are praised.
(Or, for Their creations that They are nearly overthrown. Perhaps the decisions of Their children sting more than they ought.)
Thank... you? They say, uncertain.
"Oh, you're welcome! Now, that wasn't my point, but I'm glad you appreciate the praise. Maybe we ought to go berry picking more often then! Or beating up more Pokemon who are mean to my babies. Not that I was tryin' to do that. My point bein'... I've done everything you've asked of me. And it isn't like I'm not grateful, gettin' the chance to see this place. It's a pretty cool place! And meeting all these Pokemon, it was pretty wonderful. But I want to go home now."
They are quiet, for a moment.
Thine world is dead, They say.
"Well, I'll see my friends in the next one. I promised Cleo, and let me tell you, big guy, you don't break promises you made to ZombieCleo."
Thou art alive because I intervened, They say.
"Er, well, to look at it my way - so are you? I mean, that Volo guy was talkin' a lot about overthrowing you, and your kids were being a bit - well, Dialga was all... lookin' like you."
They are quiet.
"...you know, if you're jealous, you can always come with me," Joe says. "I wasn't gonna bring most of you? I mean, I was gonna try to bring Typhlosion, he's been with me long enough that I think he won't do too well if I leave him here. But all the gods, or legends, they ought to go back to bein' legends, I think, and I catch and release a lot of other Pokesmon, too. But I'm only bringing one with me. And guess what? A Pokesmon party can have six Pokesmon. That leaves enough room for you!"
They... are quiet again, because They are a bit flabbergasted. They had not expected this.
Maybe, They think, They simply had not expected Joe Hills.
Very well, They say. My children are Almighty Sinnoh. They can protect this realm, as they have before. I wished to see the world with My own eyes. I shall travel with thee.
"Excellent," says Joe. "We ought to get lookin' for where my friends are settin' up for Season 9, then, Arceus - uh, you don't mind if I call you that, do you? 'Cause where we're goin', you're not really gonna be a god, y'know?"
I do not mind.
"Right. Then we ought to get lookin'. Uh, I'm not supposed to go invitin' people without askin', but I did that with Cleo, and technically you're kind of my pet, even if you're a god and you really, really aren't, so... Eh, I'm sure it's fine. Oh, let me make sure I get a copy of the Pokesdex! I want to show my friends. I can't wait to tell everyone about this..."
He's lit up more with joy than They’ve seen him, They think, still a little flabbergasted, as the strange human begins to talk once more about the friends from the world he'd been taken from (that he insists are traveling to a new world), and as the strange human begins to ask Arceus for opinions about something called a 'block palette' and 'pinball' and a 'house of horrors', and something about an HHH, and...
For the first time in a very long time, the almighty god who created Sinnoh thinks that, perhaps, They are in for something entirely new.
They are curious to see what it is.
Security Breach Headcanons for the animatronics meeting a Lion animatronic whose job is to wander and scan for threats
like thy witness, attempted kidnapping and thy capture the kidnapper and the Lion animatronic opens up and put the kidnapper inside of itself and waits until the police come and the lion lets the kidnapper out before it goes on patrol again.
Bonus if they fall for the Lion
credits to the original owner of this imagine ⬆
𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 : 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜💕 ˘͈ᵕ˘͈
🐻he thinks that you're amazing at your job but it kinda scares him cuz he thinks that you'll get hurt. don't get him wrong, he knows that you know how to defend yourself but it's kinda worried since you guys are friends ( and cuz you're his crush)
🐻¡damn! when you first appear at the pizza plex he was more than hooked when you lay eyes on him. not only that you had an already sexy figure but the police costume that you have made things more difficult ( in other words, it makes it hard for him to hide his blush and feelings).
🐻monty always teases him about his crush on you and would always give hints to you to notice Freddy's feelings.
🐻roxanne and chica help him as well.
🐻he got surprised, amazed, and more attached to you when he saw you in action when you captured a man that was trying to take one of the most little kids with him.
🐻he was worried about how the man was hitting you from the inside of your stomach.
🐻"¡¿ i-is he hurting you?!" he asked you while the man was still screaming from your insides." Nah...it kinda tickles" you replied.
🐻when the police took the guy with them, Freddy was more than flustered when you said one of your lines: "Bad boys will get punished~".
🐻BOY ONE DAY HE LITERALLY CALL YOU SOMETHING THAT NOBODY THOUGHT HE WOULD CALL YOU-
🐻he was talking with his friends after finishing one of their shows, you walk up to them after finishing your wander and went to say hi.
🐻while you were talking with them you started to feel hot about all the running and the clothes that you had on so you decided to take your jacket off ( you had a black shirt under it) and when you did, Freddy could not stop staring at your chest.
🐻you noticed how spaced out he was " ¿freddy? ¿darling are you okay?" you lean closer to him and it didn't help with the view of your chest. "e-excuse me mommy-SORRY tiddies? NO JEEZ-" GOD he was flustered as heck.
🐻monty was literally rolling on the floor from laughing and as well were the girls and Freddy was in the corner hugging himself while you would just stare at him confusedly.
🐻he confessed to you that midnight and now you guys had been dating for 5 months.
🐊well~ what do we have here~?.
🐊he stray thinks that you're hot.
🐊since I think this guy is such a tease, he'll try to tease you as much as he can but you're not playing nice with him.
🐊god...he didn't through that you'll be a hard victim to get flustered, he usually gets everyone around him flustered by just winking.
🐊but you are another thing.
🐊he laughs his ass off by watching you catch bad guys around.
🐊"¿can you do that with that little brat Freddy calls his son?" "hahaha...no".
🐊he likes to steal your cop hat, he tries to run away when he does that but since you're a lion you're obviously faster than him.
🐊one day you got tired of all his teasing and his jokes, "you're not able to get this bad guy caught~", oh..is that so? you through, you immediately took his arm and spin him around a few times until he fell on the couch of his room, you sat in his lap took both of his arms with all your strength.
🐊"¿what were you saying~? ¿, bad boy?".
🐊oh god...OH, GOD...
🐊it's official...you put a hole in one in his heart.
🐊chica and Roxanne will plan dates between you two so you guys could get closer ( even if you already were)
🐊alligator buy wants the police lion girl to pet him in the head
💅you're a security guard like Vanessa? that's so cool!
💅she likes your police costume and wants to wear it herself
💅you're so sexy ! no matter what change of clothes she puts on you.
💅she likes to do your make-up before you start your usual wander.so then you'll shock the bad guys with your sexyness
💅she starts cheering like a cheerleader when you caught bad guys.
💅she's secretly slowly falling in love with you.
💅she wants a blue prince ( or princess ) to protect her and you just fit that place.
💅so you guys start dating and she likes your protective nature, whenever you do something to protect her she starts squealing and gets a huge blush on her cheeks "¡that's my baby!" she'll scream.
💅roxanne ( at least in this fic) is like a big sister to her so when she finds out about you guys relationship she was more then happy to know that his friend is dating someone woth it.
🐺*sexy whistle* well hello there~
🐺she immediately get a liking to you.
🐺she will challenge to see how many bad boys you can catch in one night.
🐺she would want to wear your costume and see if it fits her.
🐺when you two start dating she'll show you off to everyone
🐺"¡look at my beautiful darling! isn't she cute?"
🐺she loves your dominant attitude
🐺the fact that you're a lion makes you even more amazing.
🐺loves cuddling with you.
-by sophie's request cavin
(hope you like it, got a little lazy at the end sorry😅)
Day followed night as it always does. Above the gently lapping waves of the high seas, curtains of the darkest midnight blue shifted almost imperceptibly to velvety purple, then brightened to a glorious pink betokening, ostensibly, impending delight. Slowly at first, then all at once, the sun rose above the horizon.
“Augh!” Edward Teach lifted his head from where it lay pillowed, quite comfortably, on Stede Bonnet’s perfect thighs. “Fuck off, sun!” he bellowed.
An offending ray of light had pierced the porthole of the cabin, stabbing its unwelcome way into the cloistered bedstead of the captain of the Revenge, where two pirates – one a gentleman, one a rogue – slept entwined.
Stede stirred. Without opening his eyes, he lifted a hand to pet soothingly at Ed’s hair.
“Hush,” he said. “It’s early. We’ve at least an hour, still. Draw the bedcurtains and come back to me.”
Ed grumbled, but he was helpless to deny Stede’s smallest request, so he rose and secured the curtain across the porthole, then pulled the bedcurtains snugly around the bed, careful to leave no chinks to let in the offending light.
“There,” Stede said, drawing Ed under the covers, tight against his side. “We’ll pretend it’s still nighttime. Nighttime’s my favourite.”
“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”
“You know why.” Stede’s eyes were still closed, but he flushed up prettily.
“Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t, though. Maybe you should show me.”
“Mmmm. Maybe I should.”
There was silence in the cabin for several long moments. Silence broken only by the sound of lips on skin, stuttering breaths, small gasps.
“No good,” Ed said, pulling away suddenly. “It’s no good. Not enough time. There’s never enough nighttime for all the things I want to do with you.”
“Busy old fool, unruly sun,
Why dost thou thus,
Through windows, and through curtains call on us?”
Ed had learned that Stede often conversed through the medium of recited verse, but he was pretty sure he hadn’t heard this one before.
“Must to thy motions lovers' seasons run?
Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide
Late school boys and sour prentices,
Go tell court huntsmen that the king will ride,
Call country ants to harvest offices,
Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime,
Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.”
Ed looked at him, unimpressed. “What’s that when it’s at home?”
Stede pondered. “Fuck off, sun.”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
“Darling. So you are. And considerably more concisely, too, well done.” He kissed him.
“Whatsit called then?”
“’The Sun Rising,’ I think. We’re not the first lovers to protest it.”
Ed’s eyes turned impossibly soft at the word “lovers.” Stede couldn’t bear it. He kissed him again.
As was so often their way, they lost themselves to each others’ lips, soft and wet and increasingly desperate. Hands wandered, tracing paths of love that quenched arid skin.
“I’ll show you something rising,” Ed murmured into Stede’s mouth. “Got it right here for you, mate.”
Stede shivered. There was no more talking after that.
Winter. What better season to cuddle with your green eyed, cat-like boyfriend that is still getting used to the magic affecting his very being?
As everyone surrounded their favorite dark blue haired parisian who's beauty can rival those of a fairy, the green eyed youngest member of the family nuzzled his head into her neck.
After the incident that happened last week, the family that stayed in the large mansion called The Wayne Manor, consisting of Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Timothy Drake, Cassandra Cain, Duke Thomas, Stephanie Brown, Bruce Wayne, and Damian Wayne, grew a dislike for the cold. For it made their resident magic user go into a deep sleep that they feared was death.
And so, the butler of the family, Alfred Pennyworth, suggested the idea for everyone to move to the head of the house's study, which had a fireplace that could warm them up.
Dick took a particular liking to the idea, as he dashed to his room, grabbed a bunch of soft pillows, blankets, and snacks and ordered his younger siblings to start making a pillow fort that is not too close to the fire to burn, yet not too far so Damian's beloved can still feel warm and cozy.
Currently, everyone is lounging around the fire inside the fort, making sure the girl with pink pajamas named Marinette is kept warm at all costs So she would not fall into hibernation.
No one knows when it happened, but the pets also joined in with the family as they enjoyed each other's company in silence.
Just comfortable silence around the fire as it snowed outside.
As the boys heard the purring of a cat, they just assumed that it was the cat named Alfred that did so, especially because the said cat was seated in his master's lap.
… But Marinette knew better.
After all, she was right beside him as he did so.
"Dami, did you just… Did you just purr?"
And like that, the comfortable silence became awkward, neither knowing how to react.
"I do believe he did, Miss. Marinette. Quite adorably too, may I add." Alfred the human confirmed as a fond smile graced his aging face.
The girl practically jumped from her seat into her lover's arms. "Omg Dami, that really was cute!! Ah! I'm sorry I moved! Are you still comfortable? You were just so cute I couldn't help myself" Marinette, unaffected by the bafflement of everyone else from the family, said while fussing over her boyfriend.
Damian on the other hand, was red faced with embarrassment, affection at his angel's fussing, and anger as he saw the look on his brother, Jason's, face.
Knowing he can't disagree with both Alfred and Marinette without disrespecting the former and hurting the feelings of the latter, he simply glared at his brothers, daring them to say anything.
Unfortunately for him, he was not expecting his elder sister, Cass, whom he respected more than most, to chime in.
This caused the rest of the family to break their silence and began teasing their youngest. Or in Dick and his father's case, gushing and documenting the adorable display by accessing the room's CCTV so thy can both have a copy of the moment. (unknown to them, Tim was doing the same but with completely different motivations)
Weeks passed, the incident almost forgotten by the family and only being reminded when Mari starts calling her boyfriend "My Dark Kitten".
Until Red Hood, in all his glory, just had to make his brother's life worse.
At first he started telling people how much he admired Dick, next he praised Tim's brain in front of the whole Justice League (really, that should have raised the flags for Damian), and finally he discussed how he was glad to have been taken in by the Batman, himself. (With this, even more so!)
It started off as a normal meeting at first, with the elder members talking about updates and how they can help the situation in paris to help the people heal from the emotional terrorist that they suffered from.
But then the current robin started urging people to get a certain class out of the city and have a vacation that he was convinced they needed.
Of course, none of the members of the JL (other than Wonder Woman and the Bat clan) knew that that class consists of most members of the Miracle Team but most of them already knew the identity of Robin and the Batfam and so Jason began his master plan.
"Aww that's cute, Demon spawn. Just admit you just want to see your angel"
The whole league froze (including Jon, who was also there), wondering if Red Hood had another death wish because he called Robin cute of all things.
"Tsk. What are you implying, incompetent bafoon?" Unsheathing his Katana, Robin glared at Red Hood. "I am nothing of the sort, you imbe-"
"So are you saying A was WRONG?" The ex street kid, mocked. "That your angel was LYING…"
And finally, with a smirk, unseen by the people without x-ray vision because of his red helmet, he finished with the nickname that would create chaos for years to come.
By now Robin was seething with anger. But he couldn't enact on his feelings because doing so would mean agreeing on the questions his adoptive brother pushed forward.
Around them, the entirety of the League was preparing themselves for a fight. Expecting the bat's youngest to attack the ex crime lord.
When nothing came, Jon was practically shaking in fear while the meme "no one plans a murder outloud" was playing in his brain.
"Don't worry, Demon Spawn! Your anger is just making you more adorable! Aww~" Hood kept taunting.
By now, Batman continued with the meeting, ignoring his two green eyed children… and the rest of his children that started joining in.
Sigh why did he get the feeling that this was a petty revenge from three people that were constantly cleaning up their messes?
More time passed as the rest of the Bat family kept calling Robin Cute or Dark Kitten.
There was even one incident that Spoiler accidentally called him Dark Kitten while she joined Robin for patrol, which got confused looks from the rogues at first but then they started calling him that too (even if he wasn't currently dressed up as a cat).
Rogues calling him that got so frequent that he just snapped and yelled, "DO NOT CALL ME DARK KITTEN! I AM HER DARK KITTEN! ONLY MY BELOVED ANGEL CAN CALL ME THAT!!" Which became viral after a random civilian was able to take a video of it and posted it on multiple platforms.
And thus, when Damian finally dropped the mantle of Robin, and started wearing an assassin themed leather suit with a cat-eared hood, everyone already knew what his new name was.
Dark Kitten, along with Ladybug, became a power duo that was known to roam the land in search of different accessories while beating thugs and creating peace along the way.
Even so, people never really stopped calling him cute throughout the years.
And maybe… Just maybe… He has really gotten attached used to the compliment.
But don't tell his brothers that or you may end up in your grave a little early.
mars reads too much dreamnotfound fanfiction for their own good
a dreamnotfound fanfic recommendation list by your resident dumbass (me)
this took way to fucking long... i’m tired
below is a (very extensive) list dedicated to all my favorite dnf fics, ranging from quick one shots to 100k+ word monstrosities that devour the storage on my computer, forever incomplete masterpieces to ongoing works of art, you get the idea. i provided links for each fic/series for your reading pleasure. there will be no smutty/nsfw fics on this list, that’s just not my vibe lmao. this list goes in no particular order, and i’ll update it from time to time when i feel like it. now, without further ado, let us begin.
Heat Waves (complete) by tbhyourelame
(wtf else did you expect, looking at a dnf rec list?) amazingly well written, and while it’s not my favorite dnf fic it’s damn near close. in the midst of a brutal heatwave, a suffering dream comes to terms with the fact that he is desperately in love with his best friend. everything i could say about this fic has already been said by nearly everyone who’s read it, so if you haven’t yet caved into the hype, just go for it. you won’t be disappointed.
Gonna be around (completed) by georgescatcafe
(mc irl) my favorite dnf oneshot to date. just read it, i don’t wanna spoil for you :)
Inferno in the Sky (ongoing)by zairielon
(star wars au) an ongoing star wars au currently clocking in at almost 200k words. need I say more? everything about it absolutely slaps, each chapter is amazingly written, and it’s just good. also, can we just appreciate dream and tubbos dynamic in here? 10/10, amazing, must protecc. oh right, a summary: george, an exiled padawan turned engineer, must return to the jedi temple after attacks on it from an unknown assailant threaten the safety of himself and the other jedi.
Like Magic (ongoing) by KangarooKen, NotGra55 (Gra55)
(harry potter au) the unofficial official dnf harry potter au. we watch the young unlikely wizard pair grow up together throughout their years at hogwarts as they battle good old fashioned wizard racism. beautifully written, incredibly fun and suspenseful, and just an overall blast and a half.
GeorgeNotFound, Son of Poseidon, and the League of Minor Gods (ongoing) by Clichewho_69, Cygnvs, Trash_Kinggg
(percy jackson au) percy jackson au? check. “road trip” (technically quest but u get what i mean)? check. enemies to friends to lovers? check. this fic follows the plot of the lightning theif (albeit loosely), but everything is explained enough where you don’t have to read percy jackson to understand what’s going on. basically after moving to the usa, george gets taken to camp halfblood where he learns that a) gods exist. b) he’s the son of poseidon and c) he needs to prove that he didn’t steal zeus’s master bolt.
Protected (completed) by aenqua
(royalty/camelot au) my favorite piece of dnf media of all time. dubbed the official dnf camelot au, where dream is the heir to the throne and george is a servants son with a secret that couldp get him killed. these childhood friends grow up together and learn trust, love, and acceptance. (that summary did not justice to the masterpiece that is this fic) here’s the directors cut
The Hunter (completed) by HederEgo
(mc irl) a choose your own adventure fic with 13 different endings, where dream the hunter must kill george and stop him from beater the ender dragon. enough said.
The official dream team cowboy AU (series)(ongoing) by antsu_in_my_pantsu
(cowboy au) cowboys and outlaws horses and shit. and the big gay. it’s a cowboy au, what else did you expect? fucking yee haw (all seriousness this is a great read, i loved it so so so so much and i can’t wait for the final chapter to release).
This is a Drista moment, let's just accept it (completed) by Qekyo
dnf fic from drista pov. considering its unique perspective, it’s perfectly done. beautifully showcases a sibling relationship through drista and her memories/moments with dream, and it just works, y’a know? also drista supremacy.
Dear Dream (completed) by Qekyo
(wwii au) i don’t cry when watching/reading anything sad. translation: i’m a heartless bitch. however, this fic is the only exception. it caused me to cry so hard my mom walked in my room and asked if i was ok. ‘nuff said.
TECHNOlogical Wingman (completed) by Closeted_Bookworm
techno is the autocorrect ai on dreams phone, and he gains sentience. interesting concept, and the author fucking nailed it. great fic.
It Was Only a Fic (ongoing) by imagineitdear
dream starts reading a dnf fanfic (we’ve all been there buddy).
Teacher’s Pet (ongoing) by niyuha
(teacher au) in which dream is a high school english teacher and george is the new comp sci teacher in room 297.
Saltwater Secrets (ongoing) by earlgay_milktea
(mermaid/high school au) a great example of the shear amount of variety in fics this fandom has to offer. when i started reading dnf fics i would have never thought i’d find one about a mermaid george hopelessly crushing on his human friend, who happens to be his schools star swimmer. yet here i am, and i am far from disappointed.
Smash My Heart (incomplete) by dontrollthedice
george and sapnap are commentators for duper smash brothers tournaments, and george develops a crush on an up and coming smash streamer named dream.
roleplaying in the dark is harder than it seems (completed) by Alienu
laser tag. 10/10
solar system (completed) by quartzfia
(mc irl) george vists dream in pandora’s vault.
Ramblings of a Lunatic (completed) by jungkooksfic
ahh communicating through a notebook left on a shelf in a bookstore- what a perfect way to start a relationship.
Paint me like your French Girls (It's Charcoal, Actually) (completed) by Turtle_ier
(artist au) george is an art student, and dream is a model.
00:00:00 (completed) by isleofdreams
(soulmate au) 00:00:00 is the moment you meet your soulmate, as indicated but the clock ticking down on your wrist until the moment you meet. i’m not a fan of soulmate aus; this fic is the exception.
Blue Skies Smilin' At Me (completed) by kivy
(artist au) i don’t usually cry while reading stuff, but this brought me damn near close. george is a painting conservator and chats it is with the ghost of the artist if the painting he is working on. they fall in a love.
Current Location (incomplete) by hendollana
(influencer au) george simps for a hot american instagram model. who knew he’d actually follow back?
The Withering (series) (series ongoing, 1 work completed) by App1e_Juice
(mc irl) lore and world building and fight scenes and everything i crave. what’s not to love? something starts making the plants and crops around dreams village wither, and must team up with new friends to find the cause of the mysterious disease plaguing the land.
Minecraft, But You Can't Leave (complete) by facadecake
(mc irl) dream and george are sucked into their own private minecraft world together and must beat the game to escape.
Free The Game, Beat the End (incomplete) by goatgoatwasfound
(mc irl) a glitch in minecraft causes thousands of players from around the world to be trapped inside minecraft, with only one way of escape- beating the ender dragon. first dnf fic i ever read, and it’s still 10/10 for me.
Why don't you come a little closer? (completed) by lifeofandoms
george gets stood up by a date, and Dream pretends he’s the date to save george from the embarrassment. simply adorable.
lightning bug (completed) by saintachesP
(band au) while on tour, dream realizes his feeling for george.
Hold me closer (completed) by Treesofmyheart
(mc irl/dsmp) i just,, really like this trope.
Dizzy on caffeine (completed) by GleamingGreenGoggles
(coffee shop au) best dnf coffeeshop au i’ve read. periodt.
living a life of crime isn’t always easy (series) (completed) by itisjosh
(mafia/assassin au) stockholm syndrome except it’s not weird.
Inhibitions Make Interesting Situations (completed) by Ship_On_The_Sea
i pissed myself laughing. it’s just a dream and george being hilariously dense, flustered idiots. serotonin central.
thy eternal summer shall not fade (completed) by gracequills
(high school au) that moment when you recite shakespeare to your crush in your ap lit class instead of confessing (hate it when that happens).
All is Fair in love and Football (ongoing) by graciegirl2001
(college au) #1 favorite college au. in which george is a cheerleader, and dream is the football teams rising star player. this one gets extra points because of the amazing karlnap moments sprinkled throughout. *chefs kisses air*
online love (completed) by andbutso
(high school au) online classes go zoooooooom
Can’t help falling (completed) by isleofdreams
dream re-learns the guitar to sing to george on his birthday. beautiful. fluffy. amazing
dance in the rain and my arms (completed) by lazy_kitkat
george is a rain god, and dream is a wind god
Weather Boy (completed) by DaintyDiizzle
wouldn't you like to know, weather boy? (where dream can control the rain)
The color orange (completed) by anon
(mc irl) dream describes the colors of a sunset
Family Mode (completed)by Strawberry_flavoured_tears
they’re dads :,)
Breathing Room (incomplete) by papercranes
(band an) an amazing band au. the mad lad author wrote original songs for each chapter. above and beyond, mad props :). unfortunately, it’s incomplete
Piece of Clay (completed) by carbonbrine
(artist au) george is a sculptor and his sculpture comes to life- but oh no he’s hot.
Try (completed) by Not4typicalwriter
(royalty au) george must choose a suitor, but none of them are up to dream, his head knights, standards. or dream is hella jelly. also protective dream is perfect
When the Roses Bloom (completed) by HederEgo
(royalty au) close second for my favorite fic. go to royalty au for a quick serotonin bost. it’s all fluff and flowers and crushes, and i love it. criminally underrated.
Heavenstruck (ongoing) by dontrollthedice
george is dreams guardian angel, and dream want to find out more about him and his past life. bittersweet :,)
Bang and Burn (completed) by App1e_Juice
(spy au) george accidentally falls for target number 1 on sapnap’s secret agency’s hit list. this ones great, i love me a spy au :)
Can I get a uhh… (completed) by lemonskies
dream keeps pulling up to the drive through mcdonald’s that george works at drunk.
Pretty Stranger (completed) by anon
when looking for dream in the terminal, george sees a cute guy and decides to flirt.
Take my Hand (completed) by latinbias
(royalty au) another royalty au? poggers. surprise twists? double poggers. love this a lot.
seconds, minutes, hours, lifetimes (complete) by meridies
ROAD TRIP ROAD TRIP ROAD TRIP ROAD TRIP *inhales to compose herself* roadtrip au. unrequited love, ignored feelings, longing, pining, you know the drill. absolutely love this one, its the best roadtrip au i have ever read, in any fandom. (maybe cause i identify with it a little too much, but thats not important. whats important is that you read this fic. right now. im waiting).
Message redacted (complete) by justyouraverageloser
(text fic) dream asks for a girls number and realises hes been given the wrong number. however, an unexpected relationship starts to form between him and the stranger on the other end of the line.
the waves (completed) by anon
(mc irl) this fic was written by the same anon who wrote the color orange, which is up there on my fav dnf oneshot list. dream and george know they have a higher purpose. they don’t know where they came from, or why they are seemingly the only humans in the world, or how they feel about eachother, or even where the skeletons come from, but they are sure of one thing: they have to beat a dragon.
The Dream Doll (completed) by PeppDream (Pep_Pizza)
(voodoo i guess) i’m a real big fan of fics with really out there or unique concepts, so naturally this one makes the cut! i really liked it, it’s really sweet and made me think a lot about what matters to me in the world. george finds a strange doll in an antique shop, and would really like to just stuff it in a drawer and forget about it. sadly (?), the doll has other plans.
last updated February 6th, 2021
Sunflower || Morgott x Reader - Gender Neutral (short drabble)
I said I would write something and here it is, a short drabble, it’s been a long while since I’ve written anything properly so I apologise if it’s not perfect. Also I am mobile bound so sorry for typos, I will do my best to notice and fix them!! Now, enjoy! <3
Morgott stood leaning against his staff, under a tree in the shade from the bright sun, watching his consort run about the brush and trees, gathering golden erdleaf flowers into a small shocker basket they had apparently found somewhere. The omen king never understood how his little lover found many strange things, be it within the walls of the capital or out on their travels.
He hadn’t shifted his eye following the consort as they came running up to him, beaming with their collection. His lips twitched a bit into a rare glimpse of a smile upon seeing their expression to him, although it was extremely brief, “Was thy gathering fruitful?” He asked with a vague hint of amusement, his tail shifting some against the ground.
The consort beamed up at him still, practically glowing, “Yes! I gathered quite a few, now I can make what I wanted too.” They replied as Morgott raised a brow some, “And what might that be, sunflower?” He murmured the question softly, a large hand coming up as he brushed his fingers softly against their cheek. He had already made sure no one else was there.
The pet name threw the consort off, their eyes widened some as their cheeks and ears warmed and turned red, but then they just smiled softly, their eyes filled with a care that made the old kings heart swell some, “Well then, if I’m a sunflower,” they murmured softly, reaching up to place a hand upon his cheek. Morgott froze for a second, before he gently turned his head into their hand, their touch was so small, gentle, and caring.
“That must make you my sun.” His beautiful consort finished softly, causing his golden eye to widen as his own face grew a little red. He gave no words and instead leaned down, granting them a soft, gentle kiss of which the consort returned happily keeping their hand to Morgott’s cheek.
MY DUMBASS POSTED IT TOO SOON BUT HERE!
also sorry this is short asf
cw// one s*icide joke
“red!” you shouted.
“brown!” vinnie yelled, using his hands to cup the sides of his mouth.
“white!” jett shouted from behind you two.
you stopped walking, making vinnie stop as well.
“that car wasn’t white.”
“oh, we were talking about the color of the cars?! i thought that we were just shouting random colors.” jett questioned.
you rolled your eyes and continued walking while vinnie bursted out laughing. the three of you were on the side of a busy road, making your way to mcdonald’s.
“this sucks.” jett pouted.
“anything for the nuggets.” you spoke under your breath.
“YOU HEARD M’LADY!” vinnie turned around to face jett, walking backwards. “THOU DOTH ANYTHING FOR THEE NUGGETS!”
“well, sir vincent— thou wants to kill thy self.” jett joked.
“will you two cut it out?!” you involuntarily smacked vinnie, making the two of them jault, and continued walking. for the whole walk, the two of them had been cracking jokes and laughing about shit that wasn’t even funny— and you were wayyy to hungry to deal with it.
“thou apologizes..” vinnie hung his head down and slowed his pace so that he was walking behind you.
“don’t drop romeo!” you motioned to your pet snake who was currently resting on your boyfriends neck.
“i would never!” he acted offended and scoffed. you two could hear jett giggling behind you.
“that would be funny. imagine you drop romeo and he slithers into the street and gets ran over—“
“JETT!” you warned.
“sorry.” like a puppy in timeout, he ducked down and shut his lips.
“okay, let’s do car brands. make out the models, i go first.”
“DAMN IT JETT!”
Elden Ring fic
Warnings: strong language, mentions of past trauma, mentions of mild violence
Summary: The tarnish bothers her large grumpy husband on multiple occasions
Feedback appreciated, 18+. This is a fluffy chapter
Morgott diligently did paperwork. The sound of a knock at the door pulling him away enough to call out, “Thou may enter.”
He expected an advisor or likewise to come through the door. His quill did not stop its scrawling as he waited for the visitor’s inquiry or request.
“Good evening, my Lord,” came a sweet voice.
Morgott almost dropped his quill, shifting around.
The tarnished stood a few paces away, having removed her gloves and boots at some point prior.
Morgott gave her a long look, searching over her for the reason for her visit. Even though they had spent a night together there was still a thick level of apprehension about Morgott when interacting with the tarnished, despite all the ways she tried to alleviate the issue.
“D-Dost thou needeth…something?” He asked.
“Not particularly.” She answered, taking some steps to look around the room a bit.
“Hasn't thou thine owneth work to see to?” Morgott looked over at her quizzically.
“No.” She smiled simply, coming to a stop before the fireplace, “Can I wait here for you to finish?”
It was a simple request but drew a deep sigh from him. He stared forward for a long moment before murmuring as he turned back towards his papers, “If thou wisheth…”
The tarnished knelt down on the rug before the fire, getting conformable. Morgott sat on the floor, still needing to bend over the desk before him to comfortably write.
Her gaze was drawn to his heavy tail, watching as it twitched ever so slightly along the floor. When it inched ever closer the tarnished reached out and pulled it up flush against her lap.
The sudden contact made him stain his current paper with ink. He huffed out with annoyance, crumbling the parchment to begin anew.
Before he re-dipped his quill, he glanced back to see the tarnished affectionately petting over the fur of his tail.
Another sigh escaped his lips, feeling a confliction of wanting peace to work and genuinely liking the physical contact. He tapped a claw on the wooden desk.
He finally broke the silence, tone sounding frustrated, “Wherefore doth thee insist on spending thy free time with a horrid creature?”
“Looks are not everything.” She stated simply, petting his tail absentmindedly as if it were a cat curled against her thigh.
“Indeed.” He hummed, eyes not leaving his work. He scribbled away a time longer before speaking again, “Has't thou ever been hunted simply for thy looks?”
“Just for my looks?” She repeated in thought, “I’m not sure. Though I do know what it is to be hunted just for being what I am.”
Morgott stopped writing, looking forward silently to listen.
“I am a tarnished. From the moment I entered the Lands Between, many sought my head for that fact alone.” There was no ill in her voice, just stating facts. Her tone grew a bit more teasing as she added, “Or has my Lord forgotten already?”
He knew she meant their first encounter, or perhaps their second or third. They had faced each other on the field of battle more times than he liked to remember, it leaving a sour taste in his mouth.
“‘T'was foolish of me, I had not realized our interests were the same.” He murmured, true regret shadowing his words.
The tarnished heard his quill begin to scratch against the paper, deciding not to bother him anymore.
Morgott tucked fully back into his work, and as the night dragged on he suddenly realized the petting of his tail had ceased.
Overcome with curiosity, he shifted to see why the tarnished had allowed him so much silence.
There on the thick rug the tarnished was curled up, sleeping soundly between the warmth of the fire and his tail. She looked serene, golden hair practically glowing in the amber light.
Morgott smiled, turning back to his work, tail moving to coil around her.
Nights later, Morgott had worked into the night. It was not unusual for him, not liking to allow his mind to wander. He knew something was amiss the second he pushed the heavy door open, the glow of a candle greeting him.
The Lady tarnished sat on his bed, quietly reading as she waited for him, already dressed for sleep.
A heavy sigh fell from his lips, eyes glancing downwards from her.
The tarnished cocked her head, worry knotting her brow.
“My apologies, I am quite spent by this hour…” he murmured to her, leaning his cane against the wall before making his way over to the bed. He sat heavy, rubbing a tight muscle in his neck.
“I haven’t made any requests of you.” She pointed out, moving over to sit beside him.
“My Lady asks much, with few words.” Morgott chuckled softly, “Tis one of thy most wondrous ambitions…”
After a moment of silence, the tarnished gently placed a hand on his leg, his muscles instantly stiffening at the contact. He remained outwardly calm, despite not meeting her gaze.
“If his Lordship is tired, then I only wish to sleep beside him.” She spoke, “I was adverse to the idea of sleeping alone another night.”
“Adverse.” Morgott echoed, shifting into a laying position along the bed. The tarnished moved so not to be in his way. He draped a furred forearm over his face before speaking again, “Thy choice of aversions and fancies art most bewildering.”
He spoke more to himself than directing the statement at her. Nevertheless, the tarnished took no offense, cuddling up to his side.
Morgott didn’t move, only swallowing thickly as the tarnished wiggled closer to put her chin on his chest.
“I am a rare breed.” She smiled cheekily.
Morgott's lips curled at that, “Oh, thou art most indeed.”
The tarnished playfully smacked at his chest, “It was not supposed to be an unfavorable quality.”
“I hath said nay such thing to that end, simply did agree with my Lady.”
“His Lordship's tone betrays him!” The tarnish sat up.
His smile deepened, moving his arm from his face to pat the tarnished on her golden head. “Mercy, I begeth of thee.”
She conceded, laying back down. Unable to sleep on his back, Morgott rolled to his left side. This position ensured the least amount of horns impeded his comfort.
Just as he started to drift, the tarnished asked him a question, “Have you laid on your tail before?”
Without moving he answered, “Aye.”
“Does it get pins-n-needles like a leg or arm?”
“Is…is it ticklish?” He could practically hear the cogs turning in the tarnished head at that question.
Morgott groaned, pleading, “My Lady…sleep.”
She eventually quieted down, tucking against his back as sleep overtook her.
Morgott pondered over things, trying to find a reason for her constant want of his companionship. Finding no answers that pleased him he let sleep overtake himself well.
I pet thy head, foul beast, and I ruffle your hair, like I'm charging you up to go apeshit.
awrarwrwrrwrrrrff thsnk youuu i am falling asleep this very moment ty for pats i pass out now <3
“I’m not telling you again.”
If you’re still doing the sentence prompts?
CW: Vampirism, blood drinking, minor whumpee (OC is 17), captivity, referenced dehydration and starvation, forced turning, wishing for death, religion
1905, somewhere outside New York City
"Come here, little one."
The boy presses himself back against the cold stone wall behind him. There's a cuff around one ankle, dull iron, and a chain that scrapes the floor when he moves. He swallows, shaking his head rapidly from side to side. Dirty hair falls dull over eyes that sparkle vibrant green in the near-total darkness.
He can't see her.
But she can see him.
"No." His voice is a whimper, a nearly-animal whine, pure fear. "Please, please, please no, not, not, not tonight, not... not tonight, please."
She sighs, chuckling fondly, and pulls a match across her palm to light the lamp that hangs on a hook down here. The wick catches flame, and now he sees the pale, pale skin, the deep red lips. The predator's gleam in glinting dark eyes.
She crooks a long, sharpened fingernail . He can see the hem of her dress, lace-edged, the skirt that sweeps up to curve her hips, the narrowed waist, the high neck. He's stared at illustrations of the Gibson girl put up in shop windows in stores that sell to richer women than he's ever known. She's an echo right down to the soft, upswept hair.
Like a man with an expensive coat hiding a knife, he thinks, that he means to slaughter you with. She's a monster who looks like an angel.
"I'm not telling you again. I'm hungry," She says, and gives a little pout. "I want you to feed me."
He pulls his arms in close, shaking his head again. Tears already threaten. He's so tired, all the time. There is never time enough to heal from one bite before the next and the next and the next-
"Come now, little pet. It's just one last time." Her voice is gentle, but he knows they lie. They all lie to get their fangs in you.
"What, what, what d'you mean?" The boy has a thick country Irish accent, still. Fresh off the boat, they call him when he tries to speak to the boys his age in his tenement. Half of them have accents like his, or thicker.
Not that he'll see any of them ever again.
Not since his parents-
He chokes on a sob he can't quite hold back, turning at the waist to rub his fingers over the rough, cool stone. It helps. The motion, the texture, it helps. It calms him down, a little.
Everything here is wrong.
He misses home. He misses the green hills that were never so full of dirt ground in as the city streets are. He misses the air that didn't smell like offal day and night. He misses a world where it was all less overwhelming. He misses a world where his parents were alive to help him understand it.
"Oh, you're sad tonight," The monster wearing a woman's face says, taking the lamp off the hook and carrying it closer. The shadows dance off her cheekbones, they seem to give her a sneer rather than her soft smile. "Let Malorie be of aid to you. Tell me what you need, sweet boy."
"Can, can, can I have a-a drink? Miss?" His voice is hoarse from thirst, and he's parched. It has rained for two weeks and he's drunk the rainwater that leaks in through the walls, plus the few sips they give him each day. Food is a bit of moldy bread, cheese, maybe a thin soup. It isn't enough.
They don't seem to notice, or care.
But then food or water is something they left behind, isn't it?
"Hm." She steps forward, closer to him. Her eyes flash in the dark, reflect the bit of light, and he cringes back from her fangs as she smiles down at him. She moves to crouch before him, and sets the lamp down on the floor beside her. "Is it thirst that drives you, little one?"
"Please." His lips are chapped and cracked. He tastes blood, sometimes, and spits pink-tinged spit to blend with the soil beneath him. He tries to look pitiful - it's not hard to succeed. "Please. I'm, I'm so so so so... so thirsty, ma'am, just a cup, please-"
She looks down, unfastening the line of tiny pearl buttons on one sleeve, then rolling back the fabric to expose her wrist. A stray curl of dark hair falls down to brush her perfect cheekbone.
"Ma'am?" He can't understand what she's doing - none of them had ever started to undress in front of him before. "A drink, ma'am? Please?"
She looks up, and her eyes gleam like a cat's in the dark. Her teeth are very very white. He can see the venom shimmering on her fangs.
"A drink you want, you beautiful boy," She says, and he stares with uncomprehending horror as she moves her wrist towards her own mouth. "And a drink you shall have."
She tears her own wrist open with her teeth.
He gasps and tries to get up to run, but he's weak and dizzy and when she yanks at the chain that binds his ankle to the wall he goes down hard and lands with a thump, the breath knocked out of him.
While he wheezes air into lungs that won't take it, she pushes him onto his back and forces her wrist against his mouth, her other hand pinching his nose shut.
He cries out in horrified disgust against her cold skin and the thick brackish fluid that flows over his tongue. She stares down at him, avid, with huge eyes.
"Drink, sweet boy," She murmurs. "Quench your thirst."
He must drink or suffocate, and his body chooses for him. He swallows even as he gags, and swallows again, and she lets go of his nose so he can frantically pull in air, tears streaming to pool in the shells of his ears and soak into his grimy, dirty hair.
She is a blur through his terror, but her smile is written in stone in the yard beside a church.
"My turn," She says, and when she buries her fangs into his neck, the boy screams again.
And then goes limp as the venom takes hold, and the vampire begins to purr, her fingers gripped like claws into his shoulders.
There is no pain.
Only the fear.
I'm going to die, he thinks, and stares up into the darkness that wipes out even the lamplight. It seems like it's growing, within him and without.
His mouth is full of blood. It tastes better than it did when first she made him drink. The heaving of his stomach stops. He starts to swallow willingly, even eagerly. Nothing has ever quenched his thirst quite like this. It doesn't taste at all like he'd thought.
I'm going to die.
He wants to go home.
He wants more to drink.
He's so hungry.
He wants more blood.
When she pulls her wrist away, he whines and tries to grab at it, to pull it back. She laughs, swatting playfully at him.
"Not yet," She chides, wagging a finger. She licks her open wound and it closes. She laps at the remaining blood and he tries to sit up, to get some too, only for her to push him down again.
Agony hits, a bright stripe straight up his spine, and he arches away from the ground, throwing his head back and screaming loud enough to bounce off all the walls. It recedes, and then comes again, through his stomach this time. The throb moves to his hips, thighs, into his calves and all the way to his toes.
He curls into a ball on his side, but the pain keeps growing. It takes over. He can't feel the floor he lays on, only the constant spark of nerves blaring alarm. He feels like he is being crushed under a rock, burned by the hottest fire, stabbed with a hundred knives.
"Wh, what, what's happening-... t'me?!" He coughs, and then sobs as the action hurts more than anything else ever has in his life.
"You're dying." She picks at her fingernails, already bored.
He turns to look up at her as she stands, licking her chops like a cat. Tears run down his face, and every time he blinks the air seems pink-tinged. "What...?"
"That's your body shutting down. You know, you're very fortunate." She wipes a droplet of the boy's own blood from the corner of her mouth and then sucks her finger clean. "Very few people get to be born twice. I'll see you tomorrow night. I would prefer if you didn't call me your mother."
Before he can even begin to form a question, she turns to walk away, hanging the lamp up on its hook as she goes, blowing out the flame.
The pain ripples again, he is broken like a brittle shell against the shore. His very bones feel as though they're tearing apart inside him.
He's going to die here.
And he won't stay dead. His parents will wait in Heaven for a demon son who will never be allowed to step foot into Paradise.
He gulps in air, lungs burning, and tries to remember the prayer through his panic. "Our Father, wh-who art in Heaven, hallowed be be be Thy Name-"
His throat blisters even saying the words, and when he tries to cross himself, his hand shakes too much, his joints crack and shatter. He can feel it, he can hear it. They crack and reform, break and bend.
He screams until his throat is raw, until it bleeds, until his heart stops beating and blood runs from eyes and ears and from under his nails.
He whispers every prayer he's ever known when he can. He begs for salvation, he begs to be spared eternal bloodlust, he pleads for something other than damnation. He prays he'll see his parents in death and not become a monster like this.
His prayers are swallowed whole by darkness.
He dies, but he does not die for long.
Tag list: @mylifeisonthebookshelf @insaneinthepaingame @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @newandfiguringitout @astrobly @endless-whump @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @doveotions @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @cubeswhump @whump-tr0pes @downriver914 @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @nonsensical-whump @outofangband @what-a-whump
bow thy head and prey // an AU father paul turned theology college professor x f!reader fanfic [midnight mass fandom]
this is 1,000% dedicated to @star-spangled-man for putting this thought into my goblin brain and now i literally can’t quit thinking about it. so basically, this is all your fault miss ma’am. hope you enjoy. *shoots finger guns and slowly backs away into the darkness*
tags: @rothko-mirror (who suggested Theology as his subject in the first place which was fucking BRILLIANT for obvious reasons) / @girlwiththenegantattoo / @lovepollution
this is exactly the way i pictured him when i wrote this, if anyone’s curious. because HOLY FUCKIN’ HELL. I’D BE PISSED OFF AT HOW HOT HE IS IF I WASN’T SO BUSY THIRSTING AFTER HIM IN LITERALLY EVERY ROLE HE’S EVER PLAYED DAMMIT. your honor i’d like to file a formal complaint against this man. because of reasons. ......anywaaaaaay, here’s the fic hahaha.
THEOLOGY: the study of the nature of God and religious belief.
“when he’d call you up to his desk as he’d hand back assignments to the class, your heart would shiver with pleasure at his gentle smile that you decided was reserved only for you as he’d compliment you on your work. and he always complimented you on your work.”
It was starting to become a serious problem. A serious problem in the shape of a skyscraper tall man with a brilliant mind, thick locks of raven hair and eyes that swirled like golden constellations against the night sky. A serious problem that had long since begun to take ownership over your thoughts without permission. A serious problem by the name of Paul Hill, your Theology Professor at the private university you’ve been attending for three years, now.
You knew instinctually since the first day of class that this would happen; honestly, how could it not? Theology was your favorite subject, something you could spend hours upon hours discussing with the right company, and Professor Hill was certainly the right company.
You’re not sure precisely when you’d started packing up your things a little slower at the end of his class. Probably around the same time he started reciprocating your unwavering eye contact (you were always a bit of a “teacher's pet” to begin with, so this started out as merely a respectful gesture on your part) and engaging with you in class in a manner that, at times, felt like an intimate one-on-one conversation. When he’d call you up to his desk as he’d hand back assignments to the class, your heart would shiver with pleasure at his gentle smile that you decided was reserved only for you as he’d compliment you on your work. And he always complimented you on your work.
It wasn’t some generic kind of praise, either. No, you’d heard that praise directed at others throughout the semester. With you, he’d hold out your assignment and as your fingers would brush against his as you accepted it, he’d grin with pride and say something like, “amazing work, as always, Miss Y/L/N”, or “a fascinating perspective, Y/N”. You knew that you were visibly delighted by his comments, and it would always bring a blush to your cheeks at how glaringly fulfilled you must appear when he would commend your work, but it was a losing battle to hide the satisfaction of taking up some space within his mind.
Yes – it was, without a doubt, becoming an issue. Something that made you ache inside with a longing entirely unfamiliar to you. A longing that came before sleep as you’d close your eyes and imagine what his lips would taste like if he kissed you, or how comforting the warmth of his body pressed snugly up against yours would feel. You’d think of his big hands (good God, those hands) running over the slopes and planes of your body when you showered, feeling light-headed with your imagination alone by the time you’d shut the water off. You’d think of him when you’d see a couple walking past, hands intertwined, with stars in their eyes as they gazed at each other.
Quite frankly, the man had turned you into a simpering, heartsick little girl. He’d stripped away everything you knew, or thought you knew, about love and lust and a meeting of the minds. He was fascinating. You remember it like it was yesterday, the day he asked if you’d like to hang back from class and take lunch with him in the classroom so you both could continue the thriving conversation you’d been lost in. Your heart had nearly pumped itself out of your body and the most you could manage by way of a response was a crooked little smile accompanied by blushing cheeks and a shy nod. Little did you know how disarming the sight of you was to him at that moment, eyes twinkling with an eagerness to please that had him gripping the sides of his chair and clenching his jaw.
College professor or not, he apparently lacked any of his usual intellect when it came to you. He knew he shouldn’t further encourage you but was finding it next to impossible not to crave your time. He had become, without his consent, rather dependent on that sweet smile, the way you’d glow like the sun when your discussions narrowed in on a particularly existential topic, the way you valued his mind as much as he valued yours. Amongst other things. Amongst many other things.
He’d long since given up on trying to scold himself out of this equation made up of the both of you, and every day it was a little easier to forget that he was supposed to be the trusted educator, the one to put the kibosh on this energy pulsing with ever-growing vigor. Every dark thought that would flicker across his mind when you’d bite your lip in concentration during a test, or chance a glance at him during the quieter moments in class just to blush and quickly look away when he noticed would be swallowed up with an immediate guilt. You were here to learn, you were his student, for goodness' sake. Adult or not, you were trusting him to do what professors are supposed to do: teach. But riding on the coattails of that thought comes another that always unfolds, unbidden, and murmurs, “that’s not all I could teach her...”
The low timbre of his gentle voice jerks you back into the present along with a startled gasp that escapes your throat. You quickly look to your right and left and realize that every student but yourself is making their way to the exit. Your cheeks burn in embarrassment and you rub a hand over your face, trying to blink away the fog that’s settled over your brain during class.
When you lock eyes with him and spot the genuine concern etched into his face, you feel like you’re being doused with a bucket of ice water.
“Oh my God...I’m – Professor, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to drift off, there’s just – I've had a lot on my mind and – “
He holds up a hand gently, an understanding expression dawning his features. “You’re not being scolded, Y/N. Quite the opposite. I just want to make sure that you're all right. I don’t want you to feel that you can’t come to me, should you need to.”
You feel a shiver vibrate down your spine at the words “come to me”, quickly looking away from that penetrating gaze that always manages to make you feel vulnerable and entirely too exposed.
“I’m fine. I... I’m not sure Theology can help me very much with this particular issue, Professor. Thank you, though, of course. I appreciate it,” you mutter shakily, a breathy laugh following the statement while you quickly stuff your books into your worn-out bag in an attempt to unpin yourself from his scrutinizing gaze.
When you look up, he’s advancing on you with an expression you know, without a shred of a doubt, you’ve never seen grace his features, at least not when directed towards you. He leans down before you and places his palms flat against your desk, cocking his head to the side while his eyes drift across your face, and it feels as if all of the air has been sucked from the room at once.
“Then maybe I can help,” he murmurs with a voice like silk, his tongue darting out to quickly wet his lips.
You know your chest is completely giving you away with its rapid rise and fall, and it certainly doesn’t calm you when you notice his eyes wandering across your face as if he’s carefully cataloguing what he’s seeing now that he’s closer than he’s ever been.
Before you can utter a jittery excuse for your sporadic behavior, he stands upright and you feel your stomach swoop as if on a rollercoaster at just how tall he is above you. So – fucking - tall, with a presence so commanding he feels almost inhuman. You feel like a fly caught within a web far too intricate to maneuver through, far too close to its builder. Immobilized and drunk on the powerlessness.
You continue to stare straight ahead as he slowly walks to the classroom door, pulling the emergency shade down over the miniature window and locking the door. The click of the lock setting makes you jump as your mind tries to comprehend what exactly is occurring right here in front of you.
He makes his way to his mahogany desk and sits down in the cushioned chair that accompanies it. Leaning forward, he steeples his fingers in front of him, his eyes burning through your defenses as if you’re made of a tissue doused in kerosene.
“Let’s talk, Y/N. What’s troubling that enthralling mind of yours?” he asks, his voice ringing through a silence that’s only interrupted by your frantically thumping heart.
As if in a trance, your body moves of its own accord. You slip out of your chair, immediately becoming aware of the fact that your legs are shaking. You keep your eyes low, focusing on one step at a time, and only when you reach the edge of his desk do you lift your E/C eyes to meet his. His expression has shifted palpably, the energy in the room itself is charged and crouching in wait. For what, you’re not entirely sure. But you can only hope it begins and ends with some relief from this throbbing ache that’s nestled its way into your ribcage, haunting you like a spirit. You’re certain of one thing; only he can exorcise this entity lodged into your heart like a neglected splinter, growing more painful and more demanding to be noticed as every day passes.
Eyes that were once as golden as the setting sun have now bled into a rich, deep brown, pupils wide and penetrating. He uses a finger to gesture you towards him further, and you acquiesce without question, blood rushing through your veins like a river after far too much rain. You walk around the desk and come to stand in front of him with eyes lowered and heart pounding.
“Come here, sweet girl,” he requests gently while leaning back in his chair, long legs widening in a thoroughly distracting manner as he pats a hand against his strong thigh to coax you onto his lap.
Your heart is in your throat as you inch forward, but when you hesitantly turn your back to him to sit down properly, he grips your hips, spinning you back around to face him. He guides you forward to straddle his thighs in a way that makes your legs spread to accommodate the gap between his own until his grip tightens, pulling you into him and then down onto his lap as your hands instinctively reach out for purchase upon his shoulders. A sharp gasp rips itself from your throat when you feel your professor’s hardening cock nestle into the apex of your spread thighs, sending you reeling. He hisses, hands snaking their way around your back to pull you flush against his warm chest. His face buries itself within the space between your neck and shoulder and he inhales the scent of you like a drug, pulse spiking at just how lovely and right you feel, here in his arms.
“You're my favorite, you know,” he breathes into your ear, sending an eruption of goosebumps across your entire body that makes you tremble in his arms. “Always have been, even before I noticed your undivided attention. Even before I saw how your eyes would turn into a sky full of burning stars when I’d compliment your work. Even before you managed to slip underneath my skin and keep me up night after night after night.”
You feel as if your vocal cords have been snipped from your throat as you scramble to respond, but all that manifests is one hand raking its way up into the dark, silky curls you’d thought about so often, imagining how they’d feel under your fingertips as he’d press his mouth against your chest, stomach, right down to that place between your legs that would no doubt unravel you until there was simply nothing left of you to stitch back together. A sharp, burning need rockets its way to your center and your hips respond naturally as you gently rock against his crotch, and for the first time, you hear him moan your name into the atmosphere and it rattles your nerves deliciously. You’re certain at this moment you never want to stop hearing your name spoken this way.
“Can I help? Can I touch you, darling?” His voice is thick with lust as his hand splays against your ribcage, and the heat from his fingers scorch your skin beneath the shirt you’re wearing. It’s a fever dream, that this is truly happening, but you nod frantically, burying your face into the crook of his shoulder, unable to refrain from letting your lips place gentle kisses upon the warm skin of his neck. He smells like cologne and body wash, but it may as well be an aphrodisiac to you. He grunts and tightens his grip on your hips to grind your center against him again with more pressure, forcing a strangled yelp from your throat that immediately makes you flush in embarrassment.
All self-consciousness is drowned out jarringly by his right hand sliding from your hip and into your hair at the base of your skull and tugging firmly so that your neck is craning backwards to face him properly. Your peer at him through the lashes of your heavily lidded eyes, feeling out of body in a way you’ve never experienced before.
His eyes are dark pools of well water, unrippled yet brimming with power at the same time. He looks at you like you’re the answer in a way that makes you ache. It feels as if there’s a scratch being itched inside the caverns of your soul, coaxed out by his words, his hands, his eyes. Those eyes...
“Say it. Tell me, Y/N. I need to hear it,” he rasps, fingers scratching against your scalp as his grip tightens to tilt your head back further yet, baring the vulnerable column of your fragile throat to his hungry gaze.
You swallow thickly, trying to calm the buzzing inside of your brain and the electric current sizzling its way through every vein from your head to your toes.
“I... I want you. I want you. Please – please touch me. I’ve lost...I’ve lost so much sleep because of you. I can’t stop thinking about you and it burns, it fucking burns because you don’t – I never thought for a second that you’d want – “. You choke on the last few words, utterly overwhelmed as tears slip through the cracks at the corner of your eyes without permission, hot and wet and thick as honey as they leave tracks against your cheeks. They reach a boiling point as you feel his hot tongue slowly, gently, lap them up from your skin. You shudder in his lap again, feeling your body go lax, before you whisper a final plea.
“Show me, please...teach me, professor.”
You feel him become rigid beneath you and for one terrible second, panic ricochets through you, your mind instantly sounding off the alarms that you’ve done something wrong. The insecurity has no time to manifest fully, however, as his hand slips beneath your shirt to fully cup your breast, fingers dancing delicately over your hardening nipple before the other hand releases its hold from your hair and pushes the shirt and bra you’re wearing up to your collar bones so he can drink in the sight of you exposed and shaking upon his lap. He thinks this must truly be what God feels like, to make a creature like you shiver wantonly beneath his touch. He feels drunk on it, the desire to see you come undone. To teach you all he knows, and then some. With every whimper that slips from your pink lips, he comes a little closer to understanding heaven’s divinity in a way no book or lecture could ever come close to revealing.
His breath is uneven and even his own hands are trembling ever-so slightly as he grasps your chest in each hand, kneading the flesh there slowly while leaning in to rest his forehead against your sternum, his hot breath fanning across the cavern between your breasts. Your back arches naturally, and you're not sure if your body is pulling away or thrusting itself forward, but he grabs one of your hands from his shoulder and does the same with the other that lingers in his hair, quickly and without explanation pinning them atop each other at the wrists behind your back. Surprise flairs through your nervous system, but as if he knows, he loosens his grip just so and leans in.
"Trust in me,” he whispers hoarsely as his soft, warm voice gives way to his head lowering itself to steadily latch onto one of your nipples between two plush lips.
A whimper crawls its way up your throat as your hips respond by jerking forward, seeking to fill an emptiness that feels almost devastating, and you hear – no, feel – him chuckle darkly against the erect bud beneath his lips as the sensation ripples through you.
“Fuck, please, please, please,” you pant, far too gone to feel embarrassed anymore. Far too gone to even articulate what it is you’re begging for, but knowing that if anyone can understand, it’s him.
His eyes are feral when they meet yours. He looks like a man undone. But he releases your wrists from behind you and guides your arms to rest languidly across his shoulders, and both of your hands immediately find purchase in those thick, soft curls again, and tug. It takes no forethought to use this as a way to pull his lips onto yours in a bruising kiss filled with months of longing and lonely nights and living off of gentle glances and ambiguous smiles.
His tongue slips into your mouth and he tastes like caramel, a favorite snack he’d indulge in sometimes that was never not distracting to watch him consume, and when one of his hands slides down to unbutton and unzip your jeans, you mimic his actions with a trembling hand, reaching down to do the same to him.
You feel long, tapered fingers firmly, yet gently, enclose around your wrist after you palm his stiff cock through his jeans, just the feeling of it sending a shudder through you. His hips buck into your touch and he groans, eyes closing, sending a thrill through you, but then he gently pulls your hand away. The wings of the butterflies scattering inside of you freeze over and fall to the ground, shattering like glass in what feels like the ultimate rejection.
“I thought...you don’t want...?”
He brings his hands to your cheeks, cradling your face like you’re some precious, delicate thing under his touch, and he shakes his head quickly with his brows furrowed at having scared you.
“No, I do. I do very much want that, sweetheart. But I’d like to concentrate on you right now, if you’ll allow me. Let me make you feel the way you deserve to feel. Can you do that for me, pet? Can you trust me?”
Relief floods through your nervous system and it must show on your face, because he tilts his head and smiles at you with a tenderness so palpable it robs you of breath. His thumb gently traces patterns against your warm cheek, and he pulls you forward to rest his forehead against yours. He’s breathing heavily, just like you, and the excitement of affecting him this way is enough to make you release a breathy giggle. Your hand slides up his chest to cover his heart, feeling it pump steadily beneath your fingers as he hums softly, pulling back just enough to look you in the eyes, awaiting your consent.
You nod slowly, your hand traveling up to palm his own cheek, nails gently raking through the roughness of his kempt beard. He leans into your touch like a man starved, sighing and letting his eyes fall closed. You’ve never felt more powerful than you do now, perched here on your professor’s lap with your shirt rucked up and chest exposed. You’re beginning to realize that you hold more cards than you’d originally thought.
“Yes, sir. I trust you.”
When his eyes snap open to look at you after addressing him as ‘sir’, his gaze is practically searing.
“That’s my good girl.”
He’s on you then, all over you, lips and tongue and teeth invading your mouth as you exchange breaths. His arm twists its way around your back, pulling you into him until you’re practically molded to one another. His other hand makes quick work to help you yank your shirt and bra off and toss them aside carelessly. He can’t help but indulge himself with another look at you, then, and he pulls back for a better view. You feel his darkened gaze sweep over your chest, your stomach, the dips of your waist.
“Y/N... you’re so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, dipping his head down to suckle at your nipple again, making you whimper and reach up to thread your fingers into his locks, pulling him further into you. He groans at the pull of his hair while his fingers begin to lightly pinch and roll your other bud, making you shiver. The sound of heavy breathing invades your ears and you feel as though you’re a fire being kindled into an inferno. He alternates between both breasts, humming in pleasure at the taste of your silken skin as he licks, nips and kisses the expanse of your chest with veneration.
“Oh, God, professor...,” you hear yourself whisper as you let your head fall back in submission to his touch, and he responds with a low laugh against your skin that more closely resembles a growl.
“Class is over, Miss Y/L/N.” He stands up abruptly with you in tow, latching his hands underneath the underside of your thighs to hoist you up upon his desk. He brushes your hair behind your shoulder to expose more of your neck to him before peppering kisses from your collarbone to your jawline with a steadily growing intensity. “And God isn't the one tasting you right now. I am.”
Your only response is a broken whimper, and you feel your mind beginning to gloss over, focusing only on the way his hand grips the back of your neck possessively while the other makes quick work of unbuttoning your pants.
“Lay back for me, little lamb,” he purrs into your ear before guiding you backwards against the smooth, varnished wood beneath you. You oblige willingly, letting your eyes close as he hooks his fingers into your jeans and wiggles them down your hips with your help until they slide down your calves enough for you to kick them the rest of the way off. Without a moment spared, he’s pulling your panties aside and letting his middle finger gently slide against your glistening crease, making you choke out a moan as your back arches off of the desk.
“So sensitive... you should see yourself right now, just like this. You’re ethereal,” he murmurs, almost as if to himself as his pointer finger joins in the gentle glide that has you digging your nails into the wood beneath you. The pressure is feather light and somehow manages to feel like too much and not nearly enough.
The pads of his slightly calloused fingers swipe upwards to linger at your clit and begin to slowly, almost lazily circle it at varying speeds. His free hand slides its way up your soft stomach to play with your breasts in synchronization with the patterns he’s creating between your legs and you moan his name, turning your head to the side, trying to control your breathing. He’s so unhurried, so obviously enjoying the ways he can make your body twitch and clench beneath his skilled hands. You’re a goddess laying here before him, and he intends to worship you so thoroughly you’ll never doubt your worth ever again. Not that he’d have any objections about proving it to you over and over again like he thoroughly intends to do.
He hunches his large form over you and slides an arm beneath your back to help cradle you and pull your body towards him enough to press his soft lips against yours, slipping his tongue into your hungry mouth with a groan as you whimper at the slowly but steadily increasing speed of his fingers. His touch against the stiffening little bud that’s sending out shockwave after shockwave of pleasure encourages you to wrap your legs around his lithe, slender hips and yank him closer. He almost loses his balance as you do, barely catching himself on a forearm next to your head while huffing out an affectionate laugh at how eager you are to be closer to him. He looks down at you with unabashed affection, revealing his pearly-white teeth in a smile so genuine it makes your heart swell.
Your nimble but shaking fingers begin unbuttoning his collared black shirt with sleeves that are pulled up to his elbows (a look on him that drives you positively feral) and he takes the opportunity of your distraction to his advantage and slides his fingers slowly into your achingly hot channel, making you toss your head back against the desk with an audible ‘thump’ at the sudden intrusion that has you trembling beneath him. He’s everywhere: outside and inside and all around as he begins to pump in and out of you, curling his middle finger to graze something euphorically sensitive inside of you while lifting his palm to grind against your clit as he does. The lewd sounds his actions create by pumping in and out of you overwhelm your senses and you throw an arm over your eyes in embarrassment and blinding pleasure, choking back a cry that morphs into more of a pathetic little mewl.
He feels his cock pulse at that sweet, desperate song you're singing, trying with everything in him to commit it to memory indefinitely, before grabbing your arm and yanking it away from your face to return it to your side. His eyes pierce into yours as he does this, never wavering, and you understand the unspoken order he’s given you: to keep yourself bare and uncovered before him. You bite your lip and clench your eyes shut tightly, nodding and panting out a broken “yes, sir”.
You hear him hiss something under his breath, leaning down again on his forearm to fully to rest his forehead against yours as he continuously works miracles between your parted legs.
“Do you have any idea what you do to me, Y/N? Hmmm? How many times I’ve thought about having you spread out before me, just like this? Watching you fall apart underneath me?” he rasps, his hot breath fanning across your face as you wrap your arms around his neck and cling to him as his fingers gradually slow their pace and then slip out of you. You whimper at the loss of contact, your pleading eyes snapping open in question as to why he's suddenly stopped.
“I want to taste you. Want to drink you down when you shatter under my tongue. Will you let me?”
“Fuck – please, yes, sir. Whatever you want. Take whatever you want. It’s yours. It’s yours,” you manage to respond through your strangled breathing, his words lighting you up like a sea of flames, his obvious captivation towards your body bolstering your confidence.
Without another word spoken, he’s lowering himself to his knees as if in prayer, strong hands gripping your hips and lifting you up a bit to pull you closer towards him. You can’t hold back from propping yourself up on your forearms to watch him, your visceral need to see his face between your legs controlling your anticipation.
His strong arms slide beneath your thighs to loop around them, coming to rest upon your lower abdomen, pinning you firmly to the desk to keep you from squirming away from him. The sight of him gazing directly at your sex has you instinctually closing your legs, but before you can, his hot tongue is licking a soft, long line from your opening to your clit. He groans as he does this, the taste of your nectar sending jolts of need through his painfully hard cock that’s straining itself in vain against his dark denim jeans.
Before you have time to even react to the blissful sensation of that soft, wet heat upon your clit, he yanks you closer yet and buries his face between your shaking thighs. Licking, sucking, consuming you like a starving man feasting on a delectable meal long denied to him. He pulls back enough to look up and stare into your eyes unwaveringly as he slips his fingers back inside of you and leans down to press his soft lips around your already throbbing clit, never breaking eye contact as he does. The sight alone makes you feel as if you’re drifting out of your own body, but then he speeds up, humming and groaning against you. His tongue circles and flicks and lathes while his fingers glide and curl into you at an ever increasing speed. You lose the strength to hold yourself up any longer and let yourself fall back onto the desk with a soft cry. He groans, long and low, and tightens his grip on your abdomen to trap you completely as your eyes roll back into your head at the intoxicating feeling of him feasting on you.
You feel all of the taut and trembling strings inside of you snap so suddenly that your mouth opens to cry out his name, but no sound comes. In those few seconds, his vibrating moans and the ecstasy of him devouring you like a predator with its prey fills the air until your hips fight him in pathetic attempt to escape as your voice catches up with the sensations tearing through your nerve endings. You scream. He releases one arm from pinning you down to reach up and clasp his free hand over your mouth, the muffled sounds of pleasure radiating from you driving him fucking mad as your thighs close enough to squeeze his head, pushing his fingers and tongue more harshly against you.
He milks your release until you’re choking on your own sobs, fists tangled into his thick hair hard enough to hurt, the overstimulation he’s forcing onto your body sending your emotions reeling into unknown territory. He finally releases your clit from his lips with a gentle kiss and his fingers slowly come to a halt before delicately slipping out of your soaking center, making you whimper at the aftershocks that follow.
He stands up, adjusting your underwear to cover you again and leans down quickly to wrap you in his strong, warm arms, pulling you against his firm chest as you shake against him, your mind still in a haze.
A hand comes to cradle the back of your head as he shushes you quietly, pressing delicate kisses across your face and whispering muffled praise that helps bring you back down to earth.
“You did so well, angel. So good for me. So perfect. I’m here, Y/N. I’ve got you,” he murmurs and lifts you up again just to plop you both back down into his chair while you tuck your face into his shoulder, breathing him in and wondering if all of this has just been an incredible dream you’ll soon wake from.
You feel his arousal through the cotton of your underwear and lift your head up to face him, placing a hand against his bearded cheek and letting your thumb gently glide across his lips, causing him to close his eyes and exhale at the sensation.
“What about you? I can – do you want me to...?” You whisper, letting your fingers tangle themselves again into the unruly curls you’ll never tire of playing with.
He chuckles affectionately and takes one of your hands into his own, contentedly bringing your wrist to his lips to kiss you there so softly that you feel your chest clench with a flurry of unspoken emotions.
"You’ve done more for me than I could have ever hoped. Even if it...this, ends here tonight...,” he confesses, his voice quietly taking on a vulnerable tone as his lips place kisses onto each of your fingertips with eyes closed. His brows are knitted together in unmitigated concentration, as if he’s committing every second to memory like it’s the last chance he’ll have.
Your heart swells inside of your chest as you gently pull your hand away to tilt your head and press your lips sweetly against his, tasting both him and yourself as you do, before pulling back to rest your forehead against his. You feel his breath catch in his throat in anticipation of your reply, and you smile, letting your eyes fall closed.
“Professor Hill,” you whisper with purpose, wrapping your arms around his neck and opening your eyes to look into his own that reflect a nervousness you’ve never witnessed from him before, “I’m yours. Do with me what you will.”
You feel his chest exhale shakily, freeing him of all his trepidations about the two of you, and his response is an achingly gentle kiss that holds a thousand promises you know, without question, he will keep.
I know this isn't great, but I wanted to write something. This is also my first Shigaraki image.
I woke up in a cold sweat. Picking up my phone and checking the time, it was 3:45 am. It was eerily quiet. I couldn't hear my normally loud neighbor that stay up till at least 5 am.
Slowly getting up and walking to the door, I hear a low thump and some whispering. Grabbing the hello kitty bat next to me and slowly opening the door with the bat raised. Looking around the apartment for the cause of the sound, I noticed the window was open. ‘I could’ve sworn I closed that’, I thought.
Going toward the window, I saw a shadow near the couch. Turning and going to swing the bat at the figure, they yelled, “Wait, Jesus Y/M it's me!” It was Tomura.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming over, you ass!?” I yelled back,” You scared the hell out of me!”
“Didn't mean to…” Tomura mumbled, looking out of place in my living room in the dead of night. Sighing, I motioned for him to follow me back to the room.
Putting back my bat and asking Tomura, “Why’d you come over? It’s late.” He looks depressed and tired. He continued to the bed and flopped down onto his back,”Couldn’t sleep.”
“You couldn’t sleep, so you broke in through my window?” I questioned, laying down next to him. “I have a hard time sleeping without you.” he mumbled sheepishly, moving to lay on my chest.
Petting his hair and humming a lullaby, he slowly stopped fidgeting and began to sing,”...Lullaby and good night, with roses bedight, lilies o'er head, lay thee down in thy bed…” He drifted off.
I couldn’t help but think how cute he looked asleep. He looks peaceful and content, only if he could look this happy all the time.
Djura somehow winds his way in Elden Ring.
He goes wandering off to Stormveil Castle and gets intercepted by Margit. But instead of initiating fight, Djura attempts to settle the dispute in a more pacifistic approach(and because Margit is, in his eyes, a beasty kind of dude, and Djura is all for beastie rights).
The two of them start speaking feverishly into the wee hours of... Margit eventually softens up. Mentions something about keeping an eye out for Tarnished(plural?). And then Djura gets an idea.
Later on, a Tarnished happens upon the area... And there atop the tower sits Margit, readying his magic-infused gatling gun...
How to survive getting isekai’d into Elden Ring: befriend the nearest Omen
The absolute weirdest fucking thing happened. Risotto, that strange Great One, was sitting quietly in the corner with his eyes closed. He seemed to stir, as if in a dream, then all of a sudden there was a flash of light. Most of them were caught in it…
In a split second, Djura was lying face-down in green grass, on a stormy hill in the middle of bum fuck nowhere. He stood up, looked around, and stood in awe at the winds whipping around him, and the life that Yharnam is so desperately missing.
Bushes and trees full of fruit, deer and sheep and strange long-tailed rabbits roamed the foliage. There were even wild wolves that approached Djura, sniffing, and Djura spent the next several minutes petting his favorite animals, wondering where the fuck he is. There was even a tortoise. Djura has only ever seen tortoises in picture books.
But the strangest thing yet was the appearance of a castle at the top of the hill, surrounded by zombie-like humanoids in medieval armor. Is this Cainhurst? But the lack of guns, relying on old-fashioned shields and rock slings, says otherwise. He needs to see where he is, so he chooses to approach the castle, perhaps find a guard tower for a vantage point. Djura sneaks past the zombies, through a tunnel, and into an opening on rampart, crumbling pathway…
“WHO art thou? Thou art not tarnished…!” A golden light appears on the nearby guard tower, and down drops a massive beast. Twisted horns one one side of its head like a Cleric Beast, but the face of a human. Thick robes over a thick body, and a large, scorpion-like tail. Absolutely a beast Djura can admire, but completely unlike the ones that roam Yharnam. It wields a staff, pointing it to Djura.
“Tarnished…? Look, I know I’m greasy and in need of a shower—”
“Spare me thy riddles! Speak thine ambitions…”
“I’m trying to get to a high vantage point to see where I am—”
“Thou seeks the Erdtree! Then I, Margit the Fell, will extinguish thy meager flame!”
And so Margit immediately starts with his long distance holy dagger bullshit. Djura yells and sidesteps, something that seems to shock Margit. Everyone who has come so far has rolled…
“Thou art a strange one! But no matter! Thou shalt be squashed like all lowly tarnished!”
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, LOWLY TARNISHED!?”
Margit closes the gap between them with a leap. He swings his staff, spins his tail around, frustrated that this little human is sidestepping every one of his fast combo attacks. And… frustrated that it’s taking more than a minute to quash him on their first meeting. This little human also will not attack him no matter the opportunity.
“Can we talk this out!?” Djura yells as he dodges another swing, “I don’t know what you’re so angry about! What the hell is a tarnished!? What’s a goddamn Erdtree?!”
Margit stops, midswing, but he keeps his guard up. A long, offended stare at Djura, “What does thoust mean, thou does not know about the ERDTREE?” He points to the far distance, the great golden tree that spans the sky. “Thy brain must be of oatmeal! Where was thoust born, in the dungeons of Praetor Rykards’ manor!?”
“I don’t know where I am to begin with!” Djura yells back, but he holds his palms up, “Look big guy, I don’t want to fight. I’m just trying to find my way home, with all the life around here I’m a long ways from Yharnam.”
Margit’s expression only grows more puzzled. He has never heard of Yharnam.
“See? Not from here. And I ain’t gonna do a thing to you.” Djura sits down on the ground, hands on his lap. “Cmon. Let’s talk. Fill me in on what’s going on here.”
“Truly, thou art strange…” Margit backs up, creating a substantial distance between them. He’s cautious— is this some sort of trick? He’s been met with stranger sights— such as tarnished wearing nothing but undergarments, coming at Margit with a demi human’s club. This human wears truly foreign clothes, a strange hat, shining leather, and unusual weapons, if that’s what they are. “Very well. All begins with the Golden Order…”
“—and now I, Margit the Fell, stop the tarnished early in their tracks, so that the Elden Throne may not be taken by their likes.” At first, Margit stood upright, his staff pointed at Djura, but as the lore went on, he sat down as well. Day turned to evening.
Djura, despite how detailed Margit’s explanation was, did not understand 80% of what he said. “I see now why you were so quick to attack me.”
“Yes. The tarnished are an irritating bunch, buzzing around as stubborn flies.” Margit sighs. “No matter how many times I stamp them out, they insist on coming through Stormveil with their clubs and swords and jellyfish spirit ashes…!”
“Hey, I get it. I try to keep hunters out of my yard all the time. It sounds like you need a big fucking gun for a big guy.”
“…What is a ‘fucking gun?’” Margit asks, uttering fuck for the first time out of his clean vocabulary.
"A gun," Djura takes out his blunderbuss, "Is an explosive little device that fills your enemies with lead! But the one I have in Old Yharnam is an automatic Gatling gun, meaning I only need to aim and my enemy is dead! Oh golly do I have to show you now. Come!" Djura takes out a roll of paper and a stick of charcoal, and Margit, tail politely tucked behind him, shuffles over to see...
“It’s got four big ol’ barrels, chock full of bullets, see? You load ‘em up through here… and then it goes gratatatatatatatatatata!” Djura emphasizes with drawing a dotted line of bullets and scribbling over a stick figure of a hunter.
“What sort of incantations does thine use for it…?”
“No magic needed! Just a little bit of gunpowder and a spark. And you hardly have to lift a finger! Just sit there and let it do the work for you. Well, you still have to aim it, but you know…”
Margit carefully picks up the drawing, studying it. Much detail is crammed into the mechanics and inner workings of the Gatling gun, which surprises Margit considering the low-effort stick figure in the corner. He brings his hand to his chin in thought, and his thick tail raises and settles down slowly like a curious cat’s. Djura is incredibly tempted to pet it, but this beast has dignity and probably doesn’t want to be treated like one.
Margit gives the paper back to Djura. Then he brings his claws together, a holy light manifesting between them, and in an instant, there’s a fucking magical Gatling gun before him. “Is this thy so-called Gatling gun?”
Djura’s jaw drops. “It took me MONTHS to build my Gatling gun but it took you only two seconds!?”
Margit takes the handle and aims for the sky. He cranks it, the barrel churns, and flying bullets of holy manifestation spark into the sky. Djura claps. “Yes, that’s exactly how it works!”
“I may make some modifications, but this… will prove useful. Thank you, and… I apologize for comparing thy brains to oatmeal. Thou art brilliant and creative in the mind. I must also thank thee for thy kindness.”
Djura beams. “That truly means a lot to me. Thank you!” He takes off his hat and bows. Margit bows back, respectfully.
But suddenly, there is a loud stomping sound fast approaching. Djura looks behind him, and Margit stances himself with his new gun.
A white, Eldritch abomination clambers over the wall, six limbs and boney wings and an octopus-like head. “DJURA! THERE YOU ARE!” Risotto, in his true form, shouts. And on his back are the others from Bloodborne, when the strange flash of light occurred.
Margit looks dumbfounded at the sight. Djura approaches, “Hey— WHOA!” He’s scooped up by boney, six-fingered hands and placed on Risotto’s back.
Risotto looks down at Margit. “Forget anything you may have just seen, Fell Omen. Farewell.” Risotto leaps away, with Djura on his back waving goodbye. Margit waves back. He will miss the company of a kind human who harbors no ill will or fear towards him.
“So uh. What happened to you guys?” Djura asks the other characters once they get back to their own dimension. He demands no explanation from Risotto, though.
Valtr is eating from his helmet. It’s upside down and filled with boiled prawns. “I found myself at a shallow, misty lake. I met a blackguard who offered me this meal if I could kill a few… giant, mud-spitting lobsters around the area for him. They were awful, but this meal is worth it.” He says, passing a prawn to Yamamura.
Yamamura shivers. “I was surrounded by mad, dancing women in a village of flowers and windmills. It was terrifying! I hid in a barrel until Risotto found me.”
Eileen shrugs. “I woke up to beautiful stars underground, trees, wildlife, and rivers. I sat and watched the lights the entire time. …until these strange, blue spirits with the most annoying arrows I’ve experienced started sniping me.”
Brador groans. “I was chased around by giant crows and dinosaur dogs all fucking day. The sky was red. Walls were on fire. There was a dragon. There was a giant poison swamp. There were more dragons. Worst day of my goddamn life.”
Adeline pipes up. “I found myself surrounded by pretty crystals and books, and met a nice woman named Ranni! We had tea together and her friends are nice too.”
Maria remains quiet, eyes downcast, sitting with her arms folded in her lap. Adeline asks, “What’s wrong, love? Did something… oh dear, you are hurt! How have I not noticed?! What happened to you?” She comes to Maria’s side.
Lady Maria shivers, her clothes torn and singed away by some sort of red poison. “What happened to me? She happened to me. Her name is Malenia, Blade of Miquella. And she has never known defeat.”
After exploring all of Limgrave, plundering new armor, upgrading their sword, and hyping themselves up, the Tarnished approaches Margit’s arena with renowned vigor. “This is the day. I will beat that old Omen in! I’ll show him!” They hold their spirit-calling bell dearly. “And my sweet, sweet jellyfish will show him too!”
They pass through the mist. But Margit is not standing before them— instead, Margit is mounted on the nearby high rise, and in his arms…
“FOUL TARNISHED! DOES THOU KNOW WHAT A GUN DOES!?”
The Tarnished squints. “What the fuck is a gun—”
And so holy daggers are rapid-fired at the Tarnished and they’re immediately met with the YOU DIED screen. Margit’s familiar voice rings out, “Put these foolish ambitions to rest…”
The Tarnished decides it is best to explore and level up a little more, then.
Does the Millennial have any artistic skill? Whippin out the Ukulele or drawing a friendly portrait were all par for the course when I went to college—
The Millennial has a singular, most exceptional talent, and at first, the Count did not see it quite so well. He had presumed that the Millennial was simply gifted in everything and that their knowledge was so vast, that of course they had done everything at some point or another. But as time went on, and their friendship flowered, as the Count was able to see the Millennial in more intimate moments away from others, he began to understand precisely what the talent actually was.
The Millennial was a constant flux of adaptation.
There was not a setting that seemed to make them feel flustered or out of place. Dignitaries, the King, even emissaries of the church--nothing discomfited them. There was no ritual or habit they didn't immediately observe and duplicate, and when it came to artistic endeavors or crafts, always, whenever being shown something, they would nod thoughtfully, make some comment about how the process was similar to something else, give it a try, and then immediately acquire the skill. Perhaps not perfectly, but well enough to impress everyone looking on.
It was enchanting and astounding to behold.
From playing the lute, to dance steps, to weaving, it didn't matter. The Millennial seemed to pick it up with remarkable speed. The wood workers building a new stable on his estate were plagued daily by the Millennial, whose grasp of shapes and angles was legendary. With a stick and fresh soil, the Millennial would plant strange figures and till the earth in shapes and calculations, then they'd raise their head with a smile and declare whether or not something was correct and would stand the test of time.
The Smith got daily visits too, as the Millennial looked on at each strike of the hammer with unwavering focus. Occasionally, they'd get to have a try, and even the Smith was surprised at their swiftness of comprehension.
They had a writing tool they carried with them, and the Count had learned they were never to be allowed near his salon, for they would inevitably find some book or letter and scribble strange graffiti in the margins. To preserve his papers, he had acquired a bound volume of blank pages for them, and sometimes he would see them scratching the strange tool over it, but what was in it seemed to be a secret.
Once, he had asked to see, and the Millennial, for the first time in all their acquaintance, had gone ruddy in the face.
"Uhhhh. No. No. It's butt shit. You'd go blind."
As he had stared at the inscrutable emotions on that strangely ageless face, trying to parse out the words and determine what they meant, the subject of his scrutiny turned redder still.
"Look, Count Dude, it's private, magic, gobbledygook shit. You wouldn't get it. It wouldn't make any sense. I promise."
"Dost thy calculation appear within?"
"I mean yeah I write and stuff, but no, it's just stuff you wouldn't get."
As he looked on, brow furrowed, the Millennial had dunked their face almost completely into a goblet of sack wine and not come up for air for some time.
And so his curiosity grew. Weeks upon weeks were spent, waiting for the papal encyclical regarding the Millennial. There was of course, the business of his lands and estates, but all of that paled compared to the obsession growing within him to uncover the mysteries of the Millennial. They became his constant companion. He would take them everywhere, and above all his other advisors and secretaries, he valued their sometimes cryptic and incomprehensible opinion over all others. But always, his eye would catch on that book, tucked into the Millennial's pouch, or sticking out of their pack, or in their hand, with the writing tool folded up inside. A perfect, beautiful day could be unfolding, a horse ride beside the river, the Millennial could be gathering all the plants they liked to pick, butterflies and birds abounding, and yet, always his mind would snag on that worn spine and hold.
Every time he'd tried to sneak a peak, it was as if the Millennial's senses were much agrieved and would alert them instantly. They began sitting with their back to
rocks or walls. They took to hunching over the book as if to guard its contents from all sides. Once, when they were being shown archery by one of his armsmen, the Count spotted the book lying beneath the Millennial's outer tunic, discarded to the side. Unable to resist, he'd gone over to it, and beneath the pretext of properly caring for the Millennial's items, with which they were so careless, he'd attempted to catch a glimpse. As if they were a hound being petted backward, the Millennial bristled and immediately relieved him of his burdens.
He'd tried to relieve their secrets from them via wine, good humor, wagers, even deception, and it never mattered. He could not lay hands on that book.
It began to weigh heavily on his thoughts. Of course the millennial had secrets and hidden motives. Of course they did. Some day, they'd move on from their time with him, to some new landscape, some new time perhaps, skipping over reality like a pebble on the water. To even contemplate that, hurt. Each day, the pain of that thought would grow. To think that to the Millennial, he was just a moment, when to him, the Millennial had changed his life--it awoke a strange distemper in his breast.
He did not want to break the Millennial's trust. He did not want to breech the boundaries of their companionship. He did not want to be the sort of person that the Millennial often warned against in all their lengthy lectures on the way the world had come to be constructed in the future. He did not want to be that person. And yet it was painful, to know that there were some parts of this incredible person, he was never to be allowed to see.
Every year, the Count would hunt within the woods on his estate. The hunt was always scheduled for the warm and sunny times of year, and often provided a much needed distraction from matters of state and so forth. This year, the Millennial would be along, and the entire affair would be made anew, forever changed by their delightfully meddlesome presence. The Millennial, however, didn't seem very enthused.
"So you chase a fucking deer and shoot it."
"That is the way of hunting, Do not the people of thy time do thusly?"
"No dude, we’ve got farms and shit, and we don't shoot them."
This caused him some confusion. Farms? For deer? Could it be that the Millennial had absolutely no experience with hunting? This seemed impossible. Then again, the Millennial seemed to eat hardly ever. Perhaps, in their world, food was something that wasn’t as necessary.
For days, as preparations were made, the Count found his mind spinning with imaginings he could scarcely countenance. If anyone knew his thoughts, he’d be stripped of his lands and sent to the block. Anyone but the Millennial, that was. Sometimes, of an evening, they would sit beside the fire and entertain such musings, and never once did the Millennial fail to surprise and entertain him. In fact, sometimes, they even wrote down the things he asked or invented in their book...
The book he was never allowed to read. But perhaps it was in some foreign language? Some script no man yet knew?
On the first day of the hunt, the Millennial spent most of their time at the camp. On the second day, they vanished. Disappointed to his marrow, the Count felt the spleen rising. When the party returned to the tents, and found the Millennial arranging a selection of flowers and making notations in their book, he turned on his heel and went to sulk.
It was that night when he heard the strange sound. It woke him from a sound sleep--the sound of a deer bleating. Thus far, there’d been no game, and he’d been despairing of the entire trip, but this sound renewed his hopes. Rising from his slumber, he shrugged into his clothing and grabbed a bow. Creeping through the silent camp, past his sleeping guards, and into the nearby treeline, he prayed that at last, there would be something to show for it all. Clouds swept past the moon, and in one sweep, illuminated the world, raising shadows up on all sides, and the hairs on the back of his neck.
The sound of the deer came again, from just before him, banishing his doubt. Sinking low to the ground, he secreted himself in the undergrowth and drew an arrow. Placing it to the bow, he moved aside a branch, and stared out into the clearing. The sight that met his eyes was like nothing he’d ever seen before.
The Millennial was there, and on a stump, had placed their plants. As if seated at a table, stood a fine buck, daintily tasting what was offered. The Count blinked, but the scene remained before him.
In a soft voice, the Millennial murmured to the animal, and it seemed not at all concerned. What magic...science had been used? What witchcraft of demeanor or grace of comprehension had this Millennial, to so seduce a wild creature?
“You are the best boy, yes you are. Look at you. You have fuzzy antlers, yes you do. Forbidden felt. Look at those ears...” they crooned, furiously sketching in their book. “There we go...You’re so handsome! I’ve got it all right here. Great big cinnamon roll.”
So astonished and captivated was he, that the Count forgot about the arrow and bow. He forgot about the hunt. He forgot about the world. When at last the buck had finished his repast, he gave a single bob of his head, and trotted from the clearing.
The Millennial was grinning ear to ear, and the Count could scarce believe what he had witnessed. Shaking himself free of his trance, he rose to his feet and stood open-mouthed.
As if they’d always known he was there, the Millennial ticked their head his way. “Sup, Count?”
They were so glib, so completely relaxed, and for some reason, he found it maddening. Slinging the bow over his shoulder, he stomped into the meadow and thrust his hands on his hips.
“What dost thou write?”
The Millennial’s brows rose. “You wouldn’t--”
“Be this thy grimoire? Forsooth, thou hast bewitched a wild creature. Sayest how, or for thy treachery, I shall take thee to His Grace the Bishop!”
That impish face seemed to harden, and immediately, the Count regretted his admonishment, or the passion behind it. He had questioned, and broken trust, just as he had never wished to do.
“Yeah?” the Millennial challenged, standing to their full height.
“Nay. Forgive me my distemper.” He pointed the arrow at the book clasped firmly in the decorated hand. “I do chafe at the thought that thou wouldst keep secrets from me. Do not my actions recommend me to thy favor? May I not be privy?”
At once, the face cracked into a wide grin. With a laugh and a sigh, the Millennial ran a hand through their blood red hair. “Shit bro, it’s not that deep. I’m just super embarrassed.”
The last was the only word out of which he could make any sense. When this occurred, his chosen reply was to frown. At the look on his face, the Millennial at last relented. Plucking the writing tool from the book, they split the spine. With a deep gasp of breath, they turned the book to him, and squeezed tight their eyes.
The Count could feel his features tugging and deforming into a grimace as he stared.
“It’s fugly, yeah?”
The Count swallowed and tried not to laugh, for as enchanting as the Millennial had always been to him, the revelation that they were in fact terrible at something, was somehow just as endearing.
“Thou art not an artist.”
“Don’t come for me like that, Count. I can’t take it.”
The Count poked the image with the tip of the arrow “Be that a unicorn and a pan?”
Dream SMP Recap (August 11/2020) - Maybe this is why you shouldn’t do musicals
Tommy performs a solo of Hamilton while held at gunpoint and wins over Dream with the power of music before war breaks out over a horse corpse after a rendition of “Blitz” by Technoblade leads to murder.
Meanwhile, Fundy hatches an evil plot and steals the throne of the Dream SMP kingdom with Jack Manifold’s help before getting into trouble over a kidnapped bee. Tubbo becomes a lawyer, be careful.
L’Lawyerberg is founded...L’awyerberg?
The server also gained a new member: Quackity!
A large portion of the day’s events take place in Shakespearean English.
Fundy (August 11 is the correct date)
Tommy (Quackity segment)
- Fundy starts off in his underground base.
Fundy: Me is at thyn’t base
Fundy: Otherly speaking, that which is owned by myself
- Fundy meets Tubbo on the Prime Path. He puts back on his L’manburg outfit, and Tubbo declares him no longer a rebellious teen
- They go over to Tommy’s home, which has been turned into Hell, and Tubbo builds Dream. Fundy shrinks Dream significantly. They then proceed to the L’manburgian docks before heading back.
Tubbo: “Where is Jack Manifold?”
Fundy: “Where isn’t Jack Manifold?”
Tubbo: “That’s the question on everyone’s mind.”
Fundy: “Who is Jack Manifold?”
Tubbo: “No, everyone knows who Jack Manifold is, just where is what we really want to know.”
Fundy: “...Why is Jack Manifold?”
- Fundy carves Herobrine into Skeppy’s leaf roof before making it a creeper
- Fundy tells Tubbo about his evil plan. He’s been researching law, and has come up with a plan to use a law from the Netherlands to gain legal ownership of any property they want. They decide to steal the throne.
Fundy: How go’st thy?
- At the castle throne room, Tommy joins the call to briefly shout at Tubbo that Shroud is coming back on Twitch before leaving.
- Fundy turns around and finds himself face to face with Dream, who is standing there menacingly.
- Fundy kills Tubbo and Dream kills Fundy
- After returning to the castle, Tubbo and Fundy have the idea to put on a Shakespearean play. Dream is there with his pet dog. Tubbo assigns Dream the role of Macbeth, since he kills a lot of people.
- Dream kills Charles. He’s getting into character. Fundy congratulates him on his successful audition.
- Tommy joins the call to ask why his base has been turned into the Nether. Fundy and Tubbo tell him that they’re doing a show.They quickly build a theater stage near the Community House.
- Skeppy joins the call and they fill him in on the plan too.
- Jack Manifold has transformed into Dream. He turns back into himself and arrives at the Community House.
- They begin the performance of Macbeth. Tommy ends up lip-reading for Tubbo and Fundy by speaking behind them while they nod their heads.
- Dream and Skeppy ride away in a boat together, leaving them with no audience. Tommy frantically performs for Fundy before swapping to his own part, then back to Fundy again.
(The only person in the audience now is Tubbo)
Tommy: (at rapid speed) “As whence the sun 'gins his reflection, shipwrecking storms and direful thunders break, so from that spring whence comfort seem'd to come, discomfort swells. Mark, king of Scotland, mark: No sooner justice had with valour arm'd, compell'd these skipping kerns to trust their heels, But the Norweyan lord surveying vantage, with furbish'd arms and new supplies of men began a fresh assault.”
- Dream, Jack and Skeppy return to watch. Dream pays Tommy a diamond. Tommy continues performing Macbeth solo.
- Dream is enjoying the performance so much he starts having a heart attack
- Tommy points out they would get much more money if they did Hamilton instead.
- Tommy performs a full solo of “Alexander Hamilton” from the hit show Hamilton. Dream shoots Tubbo to death off the stage. Tommy continues the performance, unfazed.
Thunder1408 from up yonder, hath fell to their death.
Skeppy from up yonder, hath fell to their death.
(Tommy keeps rapping)
- Tommy and Tubbo sing while getting attacked by zombies. As they finish the song, Dream throws them several diamonds.
- Tommy tells Tubbo and Fundy that they’ve just started the showbiz business! Skeppy comes over and asks if he can invest. They decide to name it “Pathway.”
Tubbo: “We’re being told to do Heathers. What’s ‘Heathers?’”
- Dream comes over to meet them at Tommy’s Nether house. He offers to fix Tommy’s base for five diamonds. Tommy pays him and he gets to work.
Tommy: “Dream seems to be my friend now. Have I convinced him with the power of song?”
Tubbo: “Well I mean, not until you try to get your discs back.”
- Jack comes over and Tubbo murders him for being against the showbiz business.
- They discuss the future of the showbiz business as an asset to L’manburg. They start thinking of other musicals to do. Tommy only knows Little Shop of Horrors.
- Tommy tells them that they should do a flash mob to promote their new business. He suggests singing “Blitz - Parody of “Blank Space” (has swearing) by Technoblade to appeal to the Technoblade fan club -- namely, Dream and Skeppy.
- They chase after Skeppy and Jack and start a flashmob by aggressively singing Blitz at them. Tubbo then murders Skeppy.
- Fundy leaves. Tommy and Tubbo speak with Skeppy, who is furious.
Skeppy: “I have something you guys can never have.”
Tubbo: “Good spirit?”
- Tommy and Tubbo head to Skeppy’s house.
Skeppy: “Where are you? I’m gonna burn it.”
- They ask what it is that Skeppy has that’s so valuable.
Skeppy: “It’s labelled ‘Spirit...’”
- Skeppy is holding a piece of leather. Tubbo realizes, but Tommy is confused as Dream freaks out in chat.
- Skeppy was going to invest the leather into their business, but not anymore. Skeppy says goodbye. Tommy and Tubbo decide to join Dream’s side to keep him favorable to the showbusiness.
Tommy: “There’s another war, and me and you aren’t...”
Tubbo: “Aren’t what? On the L’manburg side?”
Tommy: “No, we’re on the Showbiz side now, Tubbo. That’s our new side.”
- They meet with Dream, who is still working on Tommy’s base.
Dream: That is the remains of my horse :(
Dream: Its like your disc to me
- An explosion goes off at Tommy’s house as Skeppy sets off a creeper and dies. Tommy tells Skeppy to give them Spirit
Skeppy: “Listen, I’m not looking for another war, okay? I just -- I came after the war, I came when it was all peaceful! I’m not here to start the war!”
Tommy: “Skeppy, okay okay -- here’s a better way of phrasing it: get it out, or we’re going to destroy everything you ever once loved.”
- They threaten to get rid of the number 14, then chase after Skeppy. Tommy shoots and kills him.
Skeppy: Yes my lorde
Dream: Can I have my dead horse’s leather please
- Dream is still placing dirt.
- They bicker with Skeppy some more at Skeppy’s house. Tommy and Tubbo decide to hold him hostage. Skeppy asks why they even want the leather. Tommy replies, to gain Dream’s trust.
- Dream tells Skeppy that he would kill both of them for the leather. Tommy and Tubbo start running to L’manburg. Skeppy invites Dream to speak with him and says that he doesn’t like them. Dream asks for the leather.
Skeppy: “You remember everything that we talked about a couple days ago, where I’m like ‘that was uncalled for, why did you go to war with them? Like, that was stupid, they didn’t even do anything wrong?’ I take everything I said back, you were COMPLETELY in the right, they were idiots, you should’ve blown up MORE of their house! I take everything back, they’re fucking-- Come to my house, I’ll give you the leather...can we go to war again? Is that on your mind?”
- They negotiate over the transfer of the leather, suspicious of the other scamming them. Skeppy knows they might just log off, and he wants them dead now.
- Dream tells Skeppy that he does have something important to them:
- Skeppy suggests they trade the leather for the two discs.
Dream: “Skeppy, it’s too valuable!”
Skeppy: “More valuable than your horse? Huh, wow, shows how much you care--”
Dream: “Equally valuable! Equally valuable!”
Skeppy: “So if it’s equal, it’s an equal trade then. I’ll trade you right now.”
- Dream says he’ll trade Skeppy one of the discs, but Skeppy insists on two.
Dream: “Well, it only matters really to Tommy, but Tubbo is like Tommy’s...son? So.”
- Skeppy says he’d settle for one with added riches. Dream says they should return to his house, but on the Prime Path Tommy and Tubbo come running to attack. Skeppy dies and respawns at Dream’s house again. Dream kills Tommy and the battle continues just outside Dream’s house between Dream, Tommy, Tubbo and Jack Manifold.
- They join a call together. Dream tells Tommy that he hasn’t given anything away yet, but he’ll trade one of the discs for it.
Dream: “Because I NEED my horse’s leather back! It’s from my horse’s dead body!”
- Part of the deal is that the disc can’t be damaged. He’ll give away Cat.
Dream: “Tommy, I HAVE to do it! One disc!"
- He doesn’t care who he gets the leather from. Tommy has one day to get the leather back from Skeppy, but Tommy says that he’ll be visiting Tubbo the next day and can’t spend the day at war.
- Dream leaves and Tommy goes to negotiate with Skeppy. He pulls out the ultimate weapon -- Skeppy’s tweets.
- #skeppyisoverparty and #tommyisoverparty both start trending on Twitter.
- Tommy and Tubbo admire Dream’s handiwork on repairing Tommy’s house, then continue negotiating with Skeppy.
- Tommy and Tubbo realize that it would be a lot easier to take the disc back from Skeppy than Dream and tell Skeppy to give Dream the leather.
- Skeppy tells Dream he’ll give him the leather for two discs. Tommy tells Dream he has his approval. They go back and forth over one vs. two discs.
- Tommy invites Skeppy back to VC.
Tommy: “Skeppy, meet Big Q!”
“Skeppy?! SKEPPY?! Remember when you invited me on a video and I said no?!”
- Quackity tries his best to intimidate Skeppy. It doesn’t work. Skeppy leaves to continue working on his house.
- Skeppy rejoins the call to hear Tommy and Tubbo say that Quackity’s been in juvie for 41 years. They talk about the leather again.
Skeppy: I am here anytime you want to talk, Dream. There is a reason you went to war with these idiots. Remember that. Thank you.
Dream: “Skeppy...I want the leather! Do you have sympathy? It’s my dead horse, okay? My horse died, and then Sapnap took the leather from the ground.”
- Tommy and Tubbo watch through the window to watch Dream and Skeppy negotiate. Dream explains to Skeppy that there have been multiple wars on the server over the discs, and he wants control over them. There’s no point in burning them, because you would lose all trading power.
- Dream would never trade Skeppy both, but he’s willing to give one. Skeppy asks for Netherite, but Dream doesn’t have any to trade. He used up his resources for the war.
- Skeppy agrees to the trade for one disc. Skeppy gives Dream Spirit, and Dream gives Skeppy Cat to put in his Ender Chest. The deal has been done.
- Fundy and Jack Manifold build a little house on the roof of Eret’s castle just above the throne room to claim the throne.
- Tommy asks when Dream will whitelist Quackity. Dream says right now and does so.
Tommy: “Okay so Quackity’s not joining L’manburg, but he can be our dirty little crime boy...Our man on the inside!”
- Quackity joins the call. He’s out of juvie after 43 years. Tommy tells him that Quackity can’t join L’manburg, but they can do the cartel instead. Dream says Quackity could also join his side. Quackity weighs his options.
- They meet Quackity at Spawn. They get to the Community House and Dream throws Quackity several diamonds. Quackity thanks Dream for helping him.
Dream: “You’re very welcome. We try and get everyone to feel welcome and at home here at Dream Team SMP.”
- Tommy tells Quackity not to bond with the green bastard and starts walking down the Prime Path. Ponk comes over as well. Dream takes off all his armor.
- Quackity doesn’t want to take sides right now. Tommy fills him in on the war.
- Tommy shows Quackity his basement and puts Quackity in prison. He tries to put Dream in prison too, but Dream’s too quick and evades.
- Tommy notices a mark on Quackity’s face. Dream says it’s a battle scar from prison. Quackity is upset that Tommy keeps asking about his conditions.
- They show Quackity through the sewers.
- Ponk murders Jack.
- Fundy meets Eret at the second tower to show him the scuffed redstone doors.
- Then, Fundy shows Eret what they’ve done at the castle, fencing off the throne as Fundy and Jack’s new territory. Fundy explains law in the Netherlands to Eret while they sit at a coffee table
- Eret asks if, were he to build a house above Fundy’s little cottage, he would then own that territory.
Eret: “I think the turns have been tabled, Fundy.”
Fundy: “I think the turns have been coffee...tabled, if you wouldn’t mind.”
- They go back down to the throne and Eret says he doesn’t think this is how it works, as he still has the crown on his head.
- While Fundy struggles with his king skin, Eret builds a platform above the house at build limit, therefore reclaiming it as his territory. While he’s occupied, Fundy takes the entire throne and moves it slightly to the left.
- Punz tells Fundy that he’s fucked up. Tubbo joins the call to inform Fundy that there’s a cartel now. Punz tells Fundy that he’s killed Beenis, the original bee.
- Tubbo informs Fundy that Eret is summoning Herobrine while Fundy hides Pog the dog behind a wall. Eret finds him quickly.
- Punz joins the call to tell Fundy that he has evidence of Fundy murdering Beenis. Tubbo says he can be Fundy’s lawyer.
- Fundy puts on his king outfit. Punz and Tubbo come to the castle. Tubbo leads them all to court. He is a lawyer. They argue about who should go in the jail hole and the death hole.
- Punz tells Tubbo that he clipped evidence from his security cameras. He explains that Fundy broke the hive and it must have died.
Tubbo: “Be careful, I’m a lawyer.”
- Punz shows the evidence of Fundy breaking the hive. They debate whether the bee would have died.
Tubbo: “Oh my god, be careful I’m a lawyer.”
- Fundy says that he didn’t kidnap it, he didn’t kill it and he does not have it. Tubbo declares the first strike and asks Punz why the bee was outside. Punz says the bee usually comes back.
Tubbo: “Be careful, I’m a lawyer! Did I mention it?”
- Fundy says the enchants on his pickaxe included silk touch. Tubbo shoots Eret with an arrow.
Tubbo: “I am a lawyer! Be careful!”
Tubbo: (shooting Eret again) “Yeah you can. You can rename a corpse. Be careful, I’m a lawyer!”
Tubbo: “Punz, how sad are you that he’s dead on a scale of 1 to 10?”
Punz: “Just typing his name reminds me of all the memories we had.”
Tubbo: “How many memories is that? I need a number, so I can know how many, how many, how many...yeah. I’m a lawyer, be careful.”
- Tubbo makes a rough estimate of 200 and flicks another lever.
Tubbo: “I’m a lawyer, be careful!...be careful, I’m a lawyer!”
- Tubbo asks if Fundy has any valuables on him. Eret offers to hold onto anything, so Tubbo shoots him again.
Tubbo: “Be careful, I’m a lawyer, Eret! Be careful, be careful, I’m a lawyer. Yeah, I know you didn’t, and that’s why you should be careful, ‘cause I’m a lawyer.”
Tubbo: “Be careful! Be careful, I’m a lover! -- I mean lawyer. Wrong one.”
- Fundy asks to make a claim.
Tubbo: “You’ve got one lever left. Be careful, I’m a lawyer.”
- Jack Manifold arrives in a king outfit. Tubbo promptly shoots him.
Tubbo: “Jack Manifold! Be careful, I’m a lawyer!”
Tubbo: “Hey, hey, you don’t talk to him! Be careful I’m a lawyer but I’m out of ar -- Punz, do you have any arrows? ...Thank you I’m a lawyer, thank you I’m a lawyer.”
“Guys! Be careful, I’m a lawyer!”
“Hey! Be careful, I’m a lawyer, I’m a lawyer. How much camera in -- the -- is there?...Okay, well you can’t leave that cell, so we’re gonna have to if this doesn’t work -- be careful I’m a lawyer, Jack Manifold. Be careful. Be careful I’m a lawyer! Be careful, Eret, I’m a lawyer. (he shoots Eret again) No no no, that was just a lawyer shot.”
“Everyone be quiet, I’m a lawyer! Okay...so order in the lawyer! Order in the lawyer, everyone.”
- Punz suddenly murders Fundy. Tubbo tells them all to be careful, he’s a lawyer, as Fundy looks into his Ender Chest and sees the beehive there. Tubbo asks if Fundy wants to sue Punz, he’s a lawyer.
Jack: “Tubbo, Tubbo...so what do you do for a living?”
Tubbo: “I’m...I’m...I paint...sofas.”
- Tubbo declares them all L’Lawyerberg. They’re doing independence again. They all head back to the castle, having created Dream SMP’s newest law firm.
this is a oneshot i wrote with @lee-by-thy-side ‘s wonderfully fun group of cultist reject™️ ocs for @scungilliwoman’s gift exchange! if you haven’t read about Jules and the gang, i highly recommend it- fell in love with them while working on these gifts.
People she grew up with: her friend’s parents, teachers, even the waitresses at restaurants; they were all being indoctrinated or violently killed. Her favorite trees in the woods of the mountains were burning, the wolves that she’d once loved as if her own pets dragging innocent victims to their demises. The decimation of the county was systematic and organized and everywhere, so very in character for her father.
But nights like these, sitting around a campfire in the lawn of Hope County prison that she and her fellow ‘cult rejects’ have taken refuge in, with the fire warming her aching muscles and the stars bright and visible despite all the carnage- she was reminded of how it could be beautiful. For a second, she could close her eyes and remember when the woods were not a place to fear angels or kidnapping or gunfire, but somewhere to explore. When the county felt like a breath of fresh air after the hustle and bustle of Atlanta. Packed dirt under her feet, pine needles in her fiery red hair, and her voice hoarse from laughing so hard as she chased after her friends- that was what Hope County was supposed to be. The shitty small town of her late childhood that she adored but had to leave; not out of forcefulness, but so she could grow and see the world. It was supposed to be like a snow globe, somewhere she could eventually come back to and find everything basically the same as she left it- a short refuge in the storm of the real world.
But now it wasn’t. Now it was hell.
Tony’s voice is what eventually gets her out of her thoughts. “You good, Julie?”
Mar waves a hand in front of her face, incidentally blowing smoke into her eyes that brings her to her feet. “Yeah what’s- whoops, sorry dude.”
“Hey, you should be flattered! My Dad always said smoke follows beauty.” Liam winks at that, making the rest of the group huff and exaggeratedly roll their eyes.
“No, no- it’s fine! I’m fine. I was just thinking about stuff.” After looking at her friend’s expectant gazes, she sighs and sits back down, eyes still stinging slightly. “Y’know-“
Before she can continue, Sharky’s stumbling out of the prison door, package in hand, with Hurk Jr. sprinting (aka, mall-walking) behind him to catch up.
“Aye- Jullio, uh, Julius- JULES!” He practically falls onto the ground next to her, thankfully protecting his bulky gift by gripping it close to his chest. “Hurk and I, we uh-“
“WE GOT YOU A GUITAR!”
Boshaw is back up on his feet instantly, guitar momentarily forgotten as he confronts his cousin. Their argument is mostly incoherent, but Juliard is used to their banter enough to pick up the main part. “I thought you and me agreed we’d do it together-“
“- I know but c’mon man look at how bummed she is with her crazy daddy and all that-“
“- well now I’m sad-“
“A guitar?!” Jules finally interjects, her blue eyes shining as she cradles it in her arms. Despite the scuffs and scratches, all the strings were still in tact- it just needed to be tuned. “This is amazing- thank you!”
Sharky and Hurk turn from each other to face her, looking rather bashful at her praise.
“Aw, well we knew you needed a lil’ pick me up and you’ve always been so good. Your momma’d be proud.” Jr. beams, cheeks flush in the firelight as Boshaw drags him to an empty spot in front of the fire.
“So…you gonna play?” The ex-con asks, taking off his hat shyly, as if he was ashamed to ask. But of course, that was the whole reason they brought it to her in the first place- the duo were sick and tired of that peggie bullshit on the radio. And lil’ Julie was the perfect target for musical distraction.
However, the red-head looks almost anxious at the prospect of playing in front of everyone- especially as the sight of her with a guitar is starting to draw in crowds. “Ohh, I don’t know. I’m kinda rusty to be honest-“
“Lies” Mar retorts, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’ll throw that thing into the fire if you-“
“NO! No, no- I’ll play, I’ll play.”
Maria smiles, clearly satisfied as she stands to drag Jules into the prison where they can listen from behind the safety of closed doors. The angels were not going to be paying the prison a visit tonight.
The group of refugees and guards follow, their precious melancholy temporarily dispersed by the promise of good music. Only when all the doors slam shut and the crowd gathers in front of her does she realize just how many people are listening; desperate for an escape from the Reaping.
“What do y’all wanna hear?”
There’s a bit of grumbling and a few odd shouts for classic rock, hymns (this gets a few boos), and pop until Liam’s voice chimes over the crowd. “Play what you’d want to hear.”
Oh. That’s almost sweet.
Juliard can feel her pale cheeks flush as she nods and begins to tune the guitar.
What do I want to hear?
She closes her eyes again and thinks of her grandparents. The gentle feeling of a wooden comb through her hair as Granny Wilma carefully worked out the knots, softly singing old nursery rhymes she never seemed to get tired. Papa Otis- so strong and generous despite his old age, so willing to help others before himself. And then she opened them again and looked out at the crowd; they were exhausted, hungry, and desperate for peace. They needed help too, and music was something she could give to them.
“I will take good care of you. I will take good care of you-” As the young girl sings she makes sure to make eye contact with as many people as she can, the lyrics a message she wants each refugee here to internalize. Whitehorse, Tracy, Tony, Liam, Mar…all of them. The weight of their suffering feels heavy on her shoulders, and her hands start to shake.
“-so stay with me. Hold my hand. There’s no need to be brave…”
Her father would hate that lyric. He would hate what she’s doing, right now. Giving hope to the hopeless, granting a reprieve to the weak- it was everything he detested. Jacob would say she’s encouraging their failures. The thought only makes her voice stronger.
“And we’re not out of the tunnel. I bet you though there’s an end.
“Stay with me. Hold my hand. There’s no need to be brave.”
Her mother’s voice cuts through her focus, just for a moment. She can feel warm arms wrapped around her torso, the smell of lavender, her breath tickling her hair tucked behind her ear.
“It’s all just a bad dream, baby. You don’t have to worry, or fight, or cry. I’m here, Julie. I will protect you.”
“I’ll be brave.”
The warmth fades and she’s back in the prison.
“I’ll be brave.”
Jules’ hands aren’t shaking anymore- they’re strong and sure as she continues to play.
“I’ll be brave.”
Hey, I was wondering if you could drop some sebchal fics recommendations? I'm new to the fandom and honestly kind of clueless on where to start, so a little list will really help! Thank you 💗💕
You came to the right person, I swear my head feels like a fic library sometimes... Let me warn you, there will be rated E fics in my recs so think about checking the tags!
So, I think it's good to start with Anney's fic! Her Sebcharl fics (and her others actually) are absolute masterpieces. I put the link straight to her profile, but you have to read "An evolutionary theory of soul" and "Modern warfare" in priority.
The other evident author is of course Meova who writes a ton of quality sebcharl as well as finalframe!!! And while I'm at it, here's warriorbarne's profile, because they wrote quite a lot of sebcharl fics...
It seems like a good idea to also give you the link to the Sebcharl secret santa fic exchange 2021 BUT I must warn you about the fic with the Evil Space Mold, this one TRAUMATISED ME 😭 You can also find some good recent sebcharl with the tag sebchalday22
With you I'm in real danger by Jean___Ralfio is another gem. It's simple, you have Seb as a bookstore owner and Charles as a pornstar...
Us First by peargasly (jamb) is a fic that is not finished yet, there are only three chapters to go, but it's SO good! I'm screaming with every chapter... Basically? King Seb x Jester Charles, with twitch quartet shenaninga as a bonus (and a bit of angst....)
Teacher's pet by anthonyjanthony and sobraniee is another pretty famous one... It's a classic Seb teacher and Charles student which is pretty amazing.
Before the beginning and after the end by Tianvette is the time travel sebcharl that made me cry, I hope that's enough to convince you to read it (happy ending guaranteed)
Une tasse d'amour s'il vous plait by sobraniee is THE fake/pretend sebcharl you need to read! It's an au where Seb works in a coffee shop though, not in F1. If you want a fake/pretend where they are f1 drivers, then go for I wish I could keep you in amber by Meova!
Confetti by Wellthisdidntgotoplan is a very cute fic where Charles gets obsessed with Seb after he learns he's getting a divorce.
Everything I do, I'm gonna think of you by misonikomi is summarised by the author as "Charles is Bella Hadid, if Bella Hadid used to kart and was also a bit disillusioned with modeling, and Seb is still Seb," and it's freaking amazing! (And it has a second part that’s just as great!)
Love thy neighbour by etherealallure is a really adorable one where Seb move into a new appartment and is neighbour with Charles! 100% fluff!
Another great one is an orphan work, let me give you 50k of bdsm Sebcharl with Undisclosed desires, and it has a second part, And then you kissed me.
Okay this list is getting way too long so I'll just finish with Cherry by sobraniee again (yes I really love that author, okay?) a cute smutty fic where Charles realises he likes to wear skirts x)
This is the self promo moment where I tell you to check out the rest of my sebcharl fics if you haven't yet XDD
I hope you'll be able to find some fics you like in the middle of this 💕
So I may have had another dream about our dearest champion Radagon, and this time? Him indulging you in the need to be chased. Him hunting you, taunting you, knowing that you take pleasure in how much bigger and stronger he is than you are. And how your body shivers with delight at the thought of being caught by him.
"I know you are here, prey. I can hear thine heartbeat growing ever faster. I can taste thine arousal on the tip of mine tongue. Albeit faint, what a delicious taste it is, dear pet. Why do you hide from me, little dove? Why do you flee every time I grow closer to thine body? Is it because thou are afraid? Afraid of what I would do when I finally caught up to thee? Afraid of all the pleasure I could bring you that would make thy mind and body break? Or... Perhaps it is the thrill of the hunt that makes thee hide? I can hear thy labored breaths, I know what drives that little head of thee mad with desire and lust. You can not run for long, dear prey. And know that when I've caught you, and I will catch thee, I wish to savor thine cries and prayers that only I can hear and answer. Let me savor thee, taste thine arousal upon mine tongue and fingers, relish in thy cries of pleasure until thou can no longer take any more. Let me treat you to a day that thou will never forget."
AAAAAAA I CANT GET ENOUGH IVE HAD THIS DREAM TWOCE NOW 😭😭💞
Hoo, that is so much fun, oh my goodness... Oh lord, the enemies to enemies-who-fuck to lovers vibes this gives are immaculate, I adore it 🥴💕🙏
Elden Ring fic
Morgott/female tarnished/child ocs
Warnings: strong language, very mild combat violence, use of training weapons
Summary: The Royal family takes a day to be together and enjoy the summer.
Morgott carried three watermelons out into the garden, his children trailing behind excitedly. The Lady Tarnished followed, accompanied by Boc and Petra. The family had planned a whole day together, taking the opportunity to get the children a healthy dose of summer sunshine.
They went to a large grassy area surrounded by hedgerows and metal fencing. Morgott placed the watermelons in the water of a nearby fountain, Magnus standing on his tiptoes to look over the lip at them.
The small boy reached out with little grabby hands.
“We must wait, my love.” The Lady soothed, petting through his dark curls.
Magnus made a little sound, “But I like them.”
“They will cool in the water while you play.” The GodLord smiled, “Go work up an appetite.”
Magnus reluctantly conceded, padding away to join his siblings.
The adults sat around a heavy stone table, Boc breaking away to scamper over to the children. Maddox was only seven but rivaled the seamster in size. He wiggled his butt for a moment before pouncing on the demihuman, causing them to topple to the ground together. Maddox giggled like mad, tail flicking.
“M-Master help!” Boc cried out from beneath the child.
“Maddox be kind to Boc.” The tarnished warned, “He can’t rough house with you.”
Maddox rolled off the other, Boc standing. The seamster straightened his clothes, brushing away dirt.
“Uncle Boc, did someone eat your tail?” Maddox asked, eyeing the others much shorter tail.
“Goodness no!” He exclaimed.
“Then why’s it so small?” Maddox quirked a brow.
“Not everyone can have bountiful, flowing tails like you young Lords.” Boc smiled, gesturing to Maddox and Magnus.
“I don’t!” Matilda chirped.
The children played together, chasing Boc in a game of tag, while the others chatted peacefully. That is until a little tug came to Morgott’s robes. He shifted to look down, seeing Magnus pulling on him.
“Hm?” He inquired.
“Papa.” Magnus’s orange eyes were big, “Can you fight Mama?”
“Thee wish to see us duel?” He reiterated.
Magnus nodded, clinging onto the other’s robes.
“If thy mother will humor me…” Morgott’s attention shifted up to the Tarnished, “We have been requested a sparring match.”
“Have we?” The Lady tilted her head.
“Only if it is agreeable.”
“It has been a long while since we had a good duel.” The Tarnished mused, “Still have some fight in you, old man?” There was a giggle to her teasing.
Morgott scoffed, “Old man?” He stood, brandishing his cane.
“So a duel then?” She smiled, adding, “I’ll have to change my dress and fetch a training blade.”
“Go, my Beloved.” Morgott waved her away, Magnus jumping excitedly beside him.
The GodLord and Morgott faced off in the center of the grassy area. The tarnished wearing a much lighter and tactical outfit, brandishing a blunted blade. Morgott removed his heavier overrobes, his trusty cane in hand.
The children sat off to the side, anticipation glittering in their eyes as Petra kept them at a safe distance.
“No magic.” The tarnished warned.
Morgott nodded, “Aye.”
He readied himself, taking on a defense stance, waiting for her first move. The tarnished was most used to using a staff, but was not unfamiliar with a blade. Sparring matches with her husband were used as training and a way to synergize, even if it might of tapered off in recent years.
The Lady bowed, Morgott echoing the gesture.
She jumped forward, starting the duel.
The Lady Tarnished moved gracefully, aiming well placed strikes and dodging away nimbly. The pair was quite evenly matched, Morgott’s blows were much slower but he could more easily tank through her hits and deliver much stronger counter attacks.
They were determined, an almost calmness overtaking them. It was always a sight to behold, their discipline on the field. Even though they were the royal couple, covered in finery and surrounded by castle walls, it was all won from a long journey of battle.
Morgott’s fair wife was as deadly as she was beautiful, and he never forgot that fact.
He may of allowed her to soften his heart, however. Made painfully clear when her blunted blade found its mark over his chest.
Pushing it a bit to emphasize her point she smiled brightly, “I suppose I win then.”
“It does seem so.” He grunted. Unable to hold a grudge over a well fought duel, he flashed her a toothy smile.
“Yea, mama wins!” Maddox hopped, raising his hands in the air.
“Thank you, for thy belief in mine skills.” Morgott grimaced.
“I wanted you to win!” Magnus hollered before getting pushed down into the grass. The boys wrestled away.
“I think it’s time for some watermelon.” The GodLord announced, attempting to change the subject. It worked well, the boys forgetting their squabble, jumping to their feet.
“Yea!” Magnus almost vibrated with excitement.
The boys were ravenous, clawing and biting at the melons like caged tigers. The parents learned that the children enjoyed the experience much more if they were allowed to tear apart a full melon. Being able to sink their teeth and claws into the thick rind was almost cathartic to their more beastial nature. Magnus especially loved the whole experience.
By the time the boys had chewed into the melons, eating the sweet red flesh in messy mouthfuls, Matilda had hardly breached into the white layer of rind. She made a sad little whimper, falling back on her butt. Matilda was much smaller than her brothers, claws more blunted.
Seeing his daughter struggle, Morgott made his way to her side. He picked up the watermelon, straightening up to full height. Matilda stepped back, clinging to his cloak. Morgott dropped the watermelon, it busting into multiple pieces against the ground. Hearing this, Matilda excitedly toddled forward. She picked up a chunk, taking a big bite.
Morgott smiled, seeing his wee one begin to purr happily. Matilda turned a bit towards him, offering up a hunk of watermelon. Morgott took it gently, murmuring, “Mine thanks.”
The children gorged themselves until they could eat no more. Quite exhausted, the three flopped down in the grass for a nap. Their fur was sticky with juice, little fuzzy faces a mess but content. The Lady Tarnished giggled at them, knowing the bathes later would also be a spectacle. Morgott and the Lady sat on a bench together; watching as the sun began to dip on the horizon, casting the glow of the Erdtree more orange-gold. She leaned against him, feeling his arm wrap around her. He sighed, days like these meaning more to him than any wealth or riches.
Things were better…good even.