#Like- sure he Can say that kind of ominous stuff on his own- but I think it'd be really great

[bongo-clash]

Peacock Au Part 2

Okay so!!! Part two of this post about the DPxDC eldritch Danny fic that I'm now calling the peacock au lmao!!!!

(Chapter two of the fic under the cut) (Edit: You can now find part 3 Here!!!)

-

When the feeling of being just slightly dispersed settles onto the outer layer of his skin while he’s lying in bed, Danny knows what’s about to happen.

The thing is, he’s in his pyjamas. Sure, he could just stay in his human form for the summoning- because he’s done it before and it went fine- but he never knows who it’s going to be, and being spirited away to some college students’ dorm in his pyjamas is embarrassing. And sure, having something appear in the circle in the first place is probably enough that they’re not paying attention to what he’s wearing either way, but he refuses to bank on that. So, with a sigh, he allows himself the transformation, his human appearance falling easily away. 

It always feels more natural to be a ghost during rituals, probably because they’re summoning a ghost and not a human, but still, it’s different. He feels that little bit looser, maybe even a little more himself, though he guesses being a bit more glow-y is just nice generally, and the space decals that tend pop up as part of his whole light-show-summons are a homely touch. On the other hand, it does make it harder to take stock of his surroundings when he finally fades into view wherever he is. He can make out vague grey walls and floors, but that’s about it. 

Well, that and the man in front of him. Blond, taller than him if he wasn’t in the air, somewhere past his forties, wearing a beige trenchcoat and looking oddly terrified. Danny can see his hands shaking just a little. Does he know this guy from somewhere?

“Uh, dude?” Danny calls, going for something light. It’s annoying being dragged from the comfort of his own home, definitely, but this guy doesn’t look like some cult member, and if he’s alone and this scared it might mean he really needs the help. Danny can sympathise with doing stupid things in stupid situations. “You good? You’re not looking too hot there.”

He knows he’s using ghost speak, but it feels weird to use English in a summoning like this, and fortunately, Danny spies a translation sigil wrapped around the inner centre of the circle, so he knows it should be translating right back to the guy in front of him. Very handy for language barriers, he’ll admit- and it’s working, too, if the reply is any indication. 

“I was told you could- you could help with the pits?”

His voice is gravelly, and he can’t tell if it’s because he’s nervous, doesn’t speak much, a smoker, or all three. Either way, probably not Danny’s business, and right now he’s just curious about what the man’s talking about. “Pits? That’s kinda vague, man. What pits?”

“The Lazarus pits to, uh, to be specific. There’s a huge one cropping up under Gotham that’s not supposed to be there, and the local- I mean, the locals are getting antsy about it. I… heard you could take care of ‘em.”

Lazarus Pits. He’s heard of those, Clockwork’s mentioned them a couple of times. They’re natural portals that open when enough energy is built up, and end up stabilising into the ground instead of collapsing to help seep ambient ectoplasm into the air. They don’t work as actual portals after that, but it’s vital to keep at least a few around no matter how corrupted they can get through human interference, because it keeps the balance of both realms steady. Having too many around isn’t a good thing, though, and especially not in populated areas. It can cause ecto-contamination, which is a lot more dangerous when you haven’t been around it since birth (or if you aren’t from Amity). 

Speaking of which, it certainly is stinking up the place, now that he’s aware of it. Or maybe that’s just Gotham, he’s heard a lot about-

Hang on. Gotham. Weird potentially magic dude. He knew he recognised him! That’s John Constantine! Danny’s heard of John Constantine! Sam’s got her fingers in enough credible occult spaces that they’re at least vaguely aware of some of his endeavours, but if he’s in Gotham then that probably means he’s doing something for the Batman and, wow, Danny totally would’ve tried to go more professional for this if he knew this was going to be his first encounter with the Justice League,of all things. 

Well, he guesses it’s too late now. At least the guy’s not being too weird about it or anything. “Man, yeah, I’ve totally got the smell stuck up my nose now that you mention it. Do you get that as well? Since, y’know, you’ve probably dealt with a couple ghosts.”

“Uh… no, I don’t think so. But can you fix it?”

Dang, the guy seems stressed about this. Maybe he just doesn’t like being in Gotham territory? He’s pretty sure he’s heard of Batman having a thing about magic. “Sure I can.”

“…Will you fix it?”

Danny figures that if they already know about his status through his Zone maintenance duties, and he’s going to be helping the Justice League, he might as well show off a little bit. Assenting with a hum and trying not to grin, he puts his hands to the floor, and lets his ectoplasm reach out to the source of the smell, sending a flash of light across the ground as it goes through. When it twinges back a response, he closes his eyes, and his energy curls around it, threading through like needles to seams, and pushes it shut with a gentle nudge. Luckily, it hadn’t been around for too long- barely fully formed and not even corrupted by human contact yet- it would’ve be a lot more difficult if it had. 

He lets his hands rise up again after a long moment, looking to Constantine for a reaction. He can’t quite gauge what the man is thinking. “Alrighty, that should’ve done it.”

“Uh… cheers?”

He’s about to say something along the lines of ‘no problem’ or ‘you’re welcome’, but then he remembers he should probably warn him about the aftermath so he doesn’t freak. “The pit shouldn’t come back again, but just as like, a PSA: you might see more shades than usual hovering around for the next while. It shouldn’t be too big a deal so long as you leave ‘em alone, though, so don’t worry about it.”

For all that Danny’s trying to be considerate here, Constantine doesn’t look very considerated. “Can I- uh, yeah, great advice. ‘Appreciate it. But, can I ask just, y’know, what you are? Or not.”

“…Dude, what d’you think I am?”He replies, thoroughly bemused. Isn’t this guy supposed to be one of the League’s paranormal experts or something? He really should be able to recognise a ghost by now. “I keep your Lazarus Pits in check. You know, the pits of the dead?”

Okay, maybe a little rude on his side, but he thinks Constantine’s expression is a bit of an overreaction; he can see the sheen of sweat across the man’s forehead reflecting the light of the sigils. “Fair enough! Forget I asked- cheers for sorting out that pit, though. Uh, don’t suppose you’ll just let me go on my way or anything now.”

“Well, I mean, this was a favour for Batman, right?” He asks blithely, pointedly not paying attention to the way the man’s face keeps contorting. He swears Sam said he was more stoic than this. “I’m gonna go- ‘cause I’ve got things to do- but I guess if something comes up I’ll come to you? Or Batman, since this is his city and all. Don’t worry, I’ll let you know.”

Figuring there’s nothing left to be said, Danny lets the return sigil on the edge of the circle activate and punt him back home, wheezing a half-sigh and arching his back once the wispy image of wherever they’d been recedes. He probably looks exhausted after all that- no matter how recently formed the pit was, it still takes a little strain, and he’d just been about to sleep before he got summoned- but looking in the mirror on his wall for confirmation, he doesn’t find his usual face. Something twinges against where his spine should be, confirming its own previously unnoticed presence in the mortal plane. 

…He didn’t go ghost when Constantine summoned him, he used his true form. That must be why he looked so nervous that whole time! And, man, ghostspeak never translates over quite right in this form, either- the Ancients use a different dialect to original ghostspeak- the man probably wasn’t hearing what Danny thought he was at all. What if the only reason he wasn’t attacking was because he was terrified? What must Constantine have thought of him? 

Crap. He has to fix this. How is he going to find him?

#Peppered in some of my own worldbuilding about ectoplasm/the pits in DC there but Still- #I just thought it'd be Really Funny if Danny had absolutely no clue what he was saying was coming across so terrifying #Like- sure he Can say that kind of ominous stuff on his own- but I think it'd be really great #If no one knew when it was a translation error or if he meant it #If there's any mistakes in the please be kind I forget how to read when I'm editing- #Chapter 3's already done so I should be posting that either tomorrow or the day after!! #It'll pretty much be the conclusion to this whole thing but I've been talking to Bones and she's got So Many cool ideas #That I really want to make a part 4 for because they're really fun!!! #Either way this has been really nice to do!!! #dp au #danny phantom au #dp fic #danny phantom fanfiction #dpxdc #danny fenton #danny phantom #Bongo's Aus!!! #Bongo's Writing!!! #peacock au

[heliads]

inej ghafa x fem!reader?? I feel like things like this are missing on tumblr. kaz and reader are a duo and many consider them a couple but r likes inej and inej likes r. just something where kaz is tired of hearing his best friend talking about his other best friend and decides, in his own way, to play "cupid" so they can finally leave him alone. i really need to see kaz being "cupid's best friend" to both of them and being secretly happy for them (male-female friends exist, nobody remembers??)

male-female friends DO exist, speak on that anon

masterlist

“I think Kaz Brekker is going to kill me.”

This is not an unusual announcement to make in the Barrel. The fact that you’re saying this aloud to an empty room, although odd, is again not something that happens infrequently. Dirtyhands has a reputation for going after anyone who slights him, and he doesn’t accept apologies when he can take something a little more permanent, like a life. Many of his victims are prone to complaining via soliloquy.

The only difference between you and the dozens of Ketterdam residents currently pacing restlessly in fear of Kaz’s wrath is the response such a statement receives. When you make your pronouncement, instead of being greeted by the rustle of wind against the eaves or an ominous feeling in the pit of your stomach, you’re answered by the Wraith herself.

Inej chooses to respond to you instead of retreating back to the Slat to tell Kaz his latest fear campaign has worked, unlike how she’d treat anyone else. Although she wasn’t visible in the room, the second you speak aloud to the seeming emptiness, Inej appears in a flash of dark fabric, crouched on your window ledge, and says, “Don’t be ridiculous.”

You frown at her. “I am not being ridiculous. I think he actually means it this time.”

Inej rolls her eyes, slipping into your room through the window you’re pretty sure was locked from the inside when you were last here. “That’s just his usual friendly demeanor. You’ve known him even longer than I have, Y/N, you can’t possibly think that he means you any harm.” 

You grimace. “See, that’s what I thought too. I mean, I met Kaz when we were both kids, I’ve kind of taken our friendship for granted. He’s never so much as stubbed my toe with his cane.”

Inej frowns. “So what changed?”

“It’s happened a few times now,” you admit. “He keeps saying stuff about how something with me has got to change, and if I don’t get around to it, he’ll fix the problem I’ve created. He wasn’t joking, Inej. Whatever I’ve done, he’s not inclined to back down until he gets it sorted out, and you know how Kaz likes to solve his problems.”

Inej winces. “Kaz threatens a lot of people. You can’t take it too much to heart.”

“If you were there, you would know,” you grumble. “He seemed, like, genuinely unhappy. He said that my problem was starting to cast a pall on his reputation. He said I was making it his concern. Usually, he trusts me to sort out my issues, but this– this was different.”

Inej must be able to sense your genuine concern, because her expression softens and she walks forward, placing a soft hand on your shoulder. “I’m sure he doesn’t mean it. Kaz has a lot on his plate. You’re his best friend, Y/N, or so Kaz would say if he would let himself rely on anyone. He doesn’t want you dead.”

You lean into her palm. Just like always, it brings comfort like nothing else. Just like always, you can’t help but chase the warmth of her touch, wishing for more that you may never receive. Not as a friend. Not just this. “You’re his best friend, too. Have you heard anything?”

Inej shakes her head. “Not a word. I can ask, though. Discreetly, of course.”

You smile. “Of course. I trust your secret ways, you know that.”

Inej laughs, and pulls away after a heartbeat, although her eyes follow the place her hand had been for a while longer. “I think I’ll talk to him now. I don’t want you worrying for no reason.”

You let out a grateful sigh. “Thank you, Inej. I mean it.”

She flashes you a grin as she heads back towards the window. “Anytime, Y/N. One more question, though,” she adds, perched halfway in your room and halfway in the open air of the Kerch streets, “How did you know I was here? When you first said you thought Kaz was going to kill you, I mean, how’d you know I would hear it? I didn’t make a sound.”

You lift a shoulder. “I just did.”

Inej frowns crossly. “I need to know so I can improve my skills. What gave it away?”

You grin. “Maybe I didn’t know. Maybe I was just talking to myself.”

Inej scoffs. “You don’t do that.”

She says it with absolute certainty, the product of enough time spent watching from the shadows. “What if I knew when you were watching so I only talked to empty rooms when I knew you weren’t around?” You ask, laughing.

“That still brings us back to the subject of how you always know when I’m there,” Inej points out.

You wave a hand vaguely around. “I don’t know. Honestly. I just feel it, I guess.”

Inej considers this, still crouched on the window ledge, her heels over empty air, her knuckles brushing the cracking paint. You walk closer so you can get a better look at her. The midnight moonlight clings to her hair, her skin; it’s not just you who doesn’t want to let her go, or so it seems. Inej smiles at you, fond, and then she’s gone, disappearing into the empty night air. You surge to the window, but even after sticking your head out and looking around, you can’t spot one flicker of movement. She has simply vanished, as if from the very country itself.

You don’t know that you could respond any better to Inej’s question even if you were ready for it. You never have been able to put a proper name to the sensation you get whenever Inej is nearby. Some could call it infatuation, others could refer to it as a good friendship, but it’s more than that. Inej is the person you look to first in a firefight. Inej is the one you want to see when you have the day off, when you’re finally safe from a dangerous job. It’s her. Always has been.

You started looking for her in earnest the day you realized that the feelings you had for her were more than just platonic. After that, it was easy. Inej is not so pedestrian as to reveal herself in a shower of loose roof tiles, nor a kicked pebble on the street, but she is still human. If you really try, you can hear her in the quiet of perfect stillness. The brush of cloth against cloth. One held breath. Even secrecy makes noise, and you’ve memorized every way to tell it’s her when a shadow lingers nearby.

You don’t get a response until the next morning. You’re idling on the cobblestoned streets, pretending to wait for a friend but really watching the flow of pigeons from the Dime Lions’ club to the Dregs’. You tuck your face into your hand to hide a yawn, and when you look back up, blinking against the crisp wind, Inej is by your side, leaning against the railing of a bridge just a step or two away. 

“‘Morning, Inej,” you greet her. “Sleep well?”

She smiles, closing her eyes so she can tilt her head back and bask in the meager few rays of morning sun that have managed to break through the dense clouds that usually block out Ketterdam sunrises. “You know,” she says absentmindedly, “I really do like that about you. Everyone else just demands information whenever I show up. You say hello.”

You feel the corners of your lips flicker up in a traitorous smile despite your best attempts not to respond to the compliment. “Is it terrible if I ask for information on your conversation with Kaz now, then?”

Inej laughs, shaking her head. “No, that's why I’m here. I think you’re right to be scared, by the way.”

You freeze slightly. “You actually think he’s going to kill me? Inej, I thought you were here to reassure me that everything was fine, not confirm my fears.”

Inej ponders this. “I don’t think he’s actually going to kill you. Just shake you up a little, maybe. I think he was more mischievous than genuinely threatening.”

This doesn’t make you feel any better. “Kaz’s idea of a fun parlor joke is stabbing someone through the hand. I’m going to need a little more evidence of his support of me before I sleep well at night again, thank you very much.”

Inej shrugs. “I think it’s very unreasonable for you to want to feel safe around Kaz Brekker, but everyone has to have their dreams, I suppose. If you want an indication of his favor, though, he’s assigned both of us to a job.”

This does grab your attention. Kaz would only trust you with Inej on a job if he really believed in you. Of course, he could be sending Inej to kill you, but you don’t think she’d do that. Inej would never hurt you. She’s pledged that before, and you made the same promise to her. 

We all come to the Barrel for terrible, terrible reasons, and sometimes those reasons make themselves known in long and awful nightmares. Sometimes, when you wake up screaming, you need a friend who will never hurt you. Someone you can trust unconditionally. Sometimes, when one girl wakes up in a haze of bad memories, tears hot on her face, she needs another girl to hold her until the shaking stops. A girl to promise that there will be someone else in the world who will watch after her, who will keep the endless fears at bay. It was you for Inej, and it was Inej for you.

So no, then– if Inej was asked to hurt a hair on your head, she would not only refuse but protect you from other would-be assassins. The only answer is to then trust that this mission of Kaz’s is not designed to hurt either of you.

“Alright,” you say, shrugging your shoulders, “What does he want from us?”

He doesn’t provide you with an awful lot of information, that Dirtyhands. Inej tells you an address, a room, an object, and a time. You both head to your destination. There isn’t much security at all, hardly any passersby, so you’re able to slip in without difficulty. Once inside the designated room, you notice that there’s not much inside, just some simple furniture and a note on the desk.

The note you read with increasing indignance. Inej, who has been scouting out the room’s perimeter, glances over at you with concern when you fling the paper back against the desk. “What is it?”

“This is a trap,” you tell her, furious, “And it’s all Kaz’s doing.”

Inej furrows her brow, then softly pads across the room to pick up the note and read it herself. You can tell from the swiftly changing expression on her face alone what she’s discovering, having practically committed the note to memory yourself.

Dear Y/N and Inej,

I have had enough. Both of you have something that you need to tell each other. I have grown tired of both of you tiptoeing around it, so you won’t be leaving until I hear you say it.

K.B.

Both you and Inej turn in unison to stare at the door, but before either of you can start towards it, you hear the door lock with an audible click. You glance towards the window, but Inej shakes her head. “Locked from the outside. He must have specifically chosen this room and secured it beforehand so none of us can get out. It’s basically a holding cell.”

You yell some choice insults at Dirtyhands in general, but you only hear a soft, low laugh from behind the door, which is incredibly frustrating. You pivot slowly back to Inej, who is swaying slightly back and forth on the balls of her feet.

“Well,” you say as casually as you can, “I guess we have to say something to each other, then. That’s it, though, and then we can leave.”

“Yes,” Inej says evenly. “But what to say?”

You have a terrible feeling building in the pit of your stomach, something telling you that you know exactly what Kaz wants you to say to Inej. It might have something to do with the feelings you keep burying whenever she’s around, but the note said that both of you had to say this thing, and there’s no way that Inej could ever– she wouldn’t feel the same way, no. It must be something else, then.

“Any idea what Kaz would want from us? You’re pretty up to date on his motives,” you mention cautiously.

Inej looks studiously at the ground. “You’ve known him for longer. Maybe you would have a better guess than me.”

The floor receives your stare as well. It’s easier than looking her in the eyes. Easier than trying to make a guess as to whether or not she could possibly love you. Inej takes to prodding the door and window for possible gives, even attempting to see if the ceiling could be pushed aside to make room for escape, but no luck.

You plead weakly with her as she attempts to unscrew the hinges of the door with one of her knives. “Is whatever he wants you to say to me really that bad that you would go to all this trouble to avoid it?”

Inej stills, her hand still on the frame of the door. “You have no idea what he wants me to say.”

“But you do,” you counter, “Don’t you?”

“It’s about you,” she whispers. “It could be terrible.”

“If it’s you,” you tell her, “It could never be terrible.”

Slowly, carefully, Inej turns to look at you. Her eyes are wide and haunted. It occurs to you that maybe you were wrong, maybe she is here to kill you in some sort of way. She could hurt you without ever drawing blood. It would be easy at a time like this, with your entire body thrumming in the wild, desperate hope that the secret Inej must share is something that you have to tell her as well.

Her voice is quiet, barely even a sigh, when she speaks at last. “He knew that I love you.”

It is strange, how even with your mad hopes and prayers, you’re still absolutely consumed by the knowledge that Inej Ghafa loves you when it is finally confirmed aloud. You go completely quiet, mind racing with this incredible knowledge. Inej owes nothing to the world. She defies gravity, she defies nations. She gives nothing if she can take it, but Inej– Inej has given you her heart, free of charge, and it is the most lavish and lovely gift you could ever hope to own.

Whatever reaction Inej was hoping for, she must not find it in your awestruck face, because she abruptly turns to the door and knocks on it loudly. “I told her,” she says crossly, although you swear you detect a little bit of fear undercutting her words, “Now let me out.”

“Not yet,” you plead with her. “He can’t let you go yet. Not until I tell you that I love you, too.”

This time, Inej doesn’t turn slowly. Instead, it’s as if she’s crossed from the door to you in half a second. “Really?”

Inej never doubts herself, nor the information she gathers. Still, the look of pure joy on her face when you repeat your feelings makes her ask again, and again. You have no problem answering her. For once, you are not afraid.

The door clicks open. You glance towards it. “Footsteps on the landing.”

Inej lets out a quiet half-laugh. “Let him go. It would be sporting to give him a head start before we chase him down for pulling a stunt like this.”

You grin in response. “Still, I suppose we shouldn’t be too devastating in our wrath. Who knows how long we would have kept this a secret.”

Inej tilts her head to the side, considering this. “I don’t know. I’m rather good at finding out secrets.”

You arch a brow. “Is that so? How long do you think I’ve loved you, then?”

Inej beams. “Tell me.”

You impulsively reach out a hand, smoothing back a dark lock of hair from her face. “Since the very start.”

This is only the first of many such secrets. Inej has yet to learn just what made you love her, or where you were when you figured it out, or even perhaps how you learned to tell when she’s trying to sneak up on you. Until then, however, you have no doubt that she’ll commit herself to figuring out every intricacy that makes up the girl she loves. You. Until then, you welcome the challenge.

grishaverse tag list: @rogueanschel, @deadreaderssociety, @cameronsails, @mxltifxnd0m, @story-scribbler, @retvenkos, @mayfieldss, @eclliipsed, @gods-fools-heroes, @bl606dy, @auggie2000, @baju69, @crazyhearttragedy, @budugu, @aoi-targaryen

all tags list: @wordsarelife

#inej ghafa #inej ghafa imagines #inej ghafa x reader #inej ghafa oneshot #grishaverse #grishaverse imagines #grishaverse x reader #grishaverse oneshot #shadow and bone #shadow and bone imagines #shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone oneshot #grishaverse inej #grishaverse inej imagines #grishaverse inej x reader #grishaverse inej oneshot #six of crows #six of crows imagines #six of crows x reader #six of crows oneshot

[deepghostdreamerdream]

Our Future.. |Sebastian Sallow x Reader

Warnings : cursing

Themes : fluffy

Description: during sixth year, sebastian being exhausted taking all these classes at once whilst using a Time turner could be exhausting, but you can never be too tired to not turn it the opposite way....

Sebastian's POV

God I shouldn't have signed up for so many damn classes! I just got through herbology and defense against the dark arts, whilst also juggling charms and potions.

By the span of 1 month, he couldn't do it anymore. He was honestly thinking about returning the wretched thing back in again. But that was before he knew of its other purpose.

During potions, one of the newer assignments were to collect your own ingredients for the thunderbrew potion, and those take a minute to find, at least he will have the weekend to stay at feldcroft.

He's been staying there by himself since the incident with Solomon and with anne being gone as well, who else was gonna take care of the garden or the home whilst gone for school.

He would come every weekend to clean and tend the plants, and neighbors.

After class released, he ran straight out to the floo flame, not even bothering to talk to ominous and Y/N walking out as well.

It's true, he has been avoiding them since the end of fifth year, it's just... how can you come back from that. Like nothing happened.

He just needs his head clear, he's sure they won't abandon him... Will they?

He shakes his head as he finally takes In his surroundings, he's at his childhood home.

Some of the neighbors waving him at him, and shouting welcome home, while all he could do was wave back, he didn't deserve their kindness.

After a long afternoon of cleaning and tending, he decides to take a bath and gets ready for bed.

He plops on the bed that his sister once laid in, he could still smell her and Solomon scents in the home, he'll never forget them.

The time turner still hung around his neck, he lifts to examine it.

It really was pretty just by itself, and extremely powerful.. Sounds like someone he knew, he giggles and lowers the flame to a dim light to fall asleep to.

BY MORNING

Sebastian was still dead asleep by sunrise which was unusual since he's usually a morning person.

But that's not what wakes him up, what wakes him up was a pair of frail but strong hands grips him and holds him down, scaring the living shit out of sebastion.

He opens his eyes up to see a boy around his age about twelve or thirteen, pretty scrawny form, about 5'4, had hair just like his but more wavy and his eyes were familiar but couldn't point it out.

"Who are you! What are you in my bed?!" he yells in sebastian's face keeping a heavy hold on him, damn for a scrawny kid he was sure strong.

Sebastian manages to push the kid off of him and snatched his wand before he started to book it, forgetting his stuff and him only having his wand and the time turner.

He managed to run to the little valleys by the village, he was actually scared he ended up in someone else's house for a minute but that wasn't possible, it was his home.

The village was loud and full of people, he hasn't remembered the last time there was this many people in feldcroft. It kinda scared him, where did all these people come from?

Now his face was confused and angry, what the hell was a random kid thinking he could just barge in and yell at him saying that HE was the one trespassing, I don't fucking think so.

He cast disillusionment to sneak closer to the house and saw the boy come out of the home with something in his hands or rather someone.

A little girl not older than five, she had more olive skin than the older boy, her hair being the same brown and tucked in a ponytail, but the one thing that stood out to him, was that she had his mother's eyes.

Even the Same shape and color.

He was tearing up at the sight of practically seeing his mom in some way or another.

He wanted to get closer but then a woman was running towards them, she looked really familiar too.

"Finn! What happened?!" the woman grabs the little girl from his Arms and grabs him In for a side hug and kissed his head.

"There was a boy in my bed! One minute he wasn't there and then the next he was! I chased him out, I don't think he saw ellie when he ran." he finished and sebastian couldn't help but giggle, he talks super fast when he gets excited, just like Y/N.

But now that he was inching closer and closer by the more they were conversating, but something about the mother gets him thinking, she sounds awfully familiar too.

He takes a good look and then realized that this WAS Y/N.

His heart dropped when he realized as his brain connected the dots, he must of accidentally went to the future in his sleep.

He thought of something else, 'So, Y/N has kids in the future?' he couldn't stop staring at her because she was truly enchanting, she had this glow on her when she was with her kids, it made her more attractive even.

'She is so beautiful.' and right when he thought that, someone apparated in the middle of feldcroft and it looked like a older version of HIM.

He came running to the house, grabbed his son by the shoulder, just like Solomon would do to him, heh apple doesn't fall far from the tree I guess.

The father took him a few feet away from the girls to talk.

He was too distracted by watching himself and his son talk to each other. Ellie was picking up another aura around, just like her dad's but much lighter, more youthful.

Ellie began to thrash in her mother's grasp making y/n let go of her and follow her.

After having ellie Y/N figured out pretty quickly that her daughter would have her abilities, even showing her things she hasn't seen before.

But the one thing that ellie does, she can see and feel aura's, she can know who they are and to see if they are good or bad.

If ellie senses something she will want to reach out and follow whatever it is, and if someone or something was holding her back, she would throw a tantrum.

But as a mom, she did worry one day ellie might sense something she's not supposed to and it'll have a hold of her. She knows it's only been people and some ancient magic she had found but Y/N was worried of all her baggage will be placed on her children, especially their daughter.

Her son however had her personality, her son was all her except one thing, he had sebastian's overprotective nature and has his knack of never giving up, especially when it comes to his family.

She hadn't sensed any ancient magic In her son like she had with her daughter, in her mind she was thankful, he wouldn't have to go through the hardships of ancient magic like his sister will have too.

But she snapped out of her thoughts as she follows ellie around the valleys, she saw ellie heading up to the creak between two big stones.

Not long after she had found the younger sebastian, and again had got the shit scared out of him making his disillusionment spell disappear.

Y/N couldn't believe her eyes, she was looking at a 16 year old version of her husband. It was weird to think she met him at that age, but she shakes her head and heads towards him.

She grabs ellie from in front of him and just stares at him, whilst ellie keeps reaching for the younger clone.

Sebastian was so distracted by seeing his future self and HIS son that he didn't notice his own daughter sneaked behind him.

He couldn't help but stare at how breathtakingly beautiful y/n had grown to be.

'Is this really our future together?' hope glammored in his eyes, but he guess he must've been staring for too long cause she started to question.

Once y/n saw the boy that her son was ranting about, her nerves calmed down realizing this was someone she knew, but what was not good was that she met this version of her husband when she was 15, he wasn't supposed to be here, and he wasn't supposed to know anything about the future.

And he CANNOT let her husband see his younger version, one of the rules of the time turner I guess.

"Quick! When did you come from?!' she whispers as she crouches down to his level due to him still sitting, he's confused on how she figured out the situation but it was obvious cause the time turner was out on top of his shirt.

He answers, "uh the beginning of sixth year?" see if that would ring a bell, and turns out it did cause y/n smiles and says, "Just give it 5 turns to the left, that should bring you back to where you were." she smiles kindly as she starts walking back with the little girl.

"Wait! Can I see her? One more time?" sebastian asks in a desperate tone, he wanted to see his mom one last time.

Y/N immediately knew that he saw his mom in his daughters eyes, a trait she never would have thought of, but that's what makes ellie much more special.. so she sets Ellie down and let her run to sebastian.

He gets up before she crashes into his arms, even though he was still young, ellie was still so small compared to him, his little girl.

He lifted her to where he could really see her features, she was a very beautiful little girl, just like her mom.

And then he noticed that his older self and son were gone from the place where he last saw them.

He saw his older self go into the house, but his son stopped and looked in to see his mother and sister weren't there, but not long he looks up and sees his mother on the valleys.

Finn gets up to the top to see the boy he attacked earlier is holding his baby sister and his mom was just letting it happen?

"How do I do it?" sebastian randomly asks, making y/n laugh out loud, making her question, "What do you mean seb?" her nickname for him will always melt his heart, he knows it's not the most creative but it still wams his heart.

"I mean, How do I make this happen? A life with you and our kids, I want this to actually happen! Please tell me what I need to do!" sebastian kinda panics for a minute but calms his nerves when he hears his best friend laughing at him.

"You just need to be patient, let time take it's course, and maybe ask her to date." y/n couldn't believe she was giving her husband's younger self to get her younger self, ain't this one for the book of jokes.

"I think you should write her little love letters, those were always my favorites." he nods his head as she smiles then she takes ellie back into her arms.

"Remember sebastian, 5 turns to the left... Good luck." after she says that she starts walking away and finds her son spying on the both of them, she giggles and shakes her head, "Come on Finn!" she yells after making it down the hill past Finn.

Finn still hesitates to leave the boy all alone, not trusting but the last call of his mother made him leave.

Sebastian sees Finn Leave and smiles to himself, he really did have sebastian's overprotective nature when it came to his girls.

He takes a deep breath and turns the time turner the amount of times to return back.

And all of a sudden the noise of the village was as quiet as a door mouse, this seemed more accurate.

He ran down to his home to see if his stuff was there and low and behold it was.

He couldn't get the images of older y/n and his kids out of his head, his own kids!

'Wow.. I have kids' and they were beautiful and he couldn't wait till he can get that life, but now all he has to do is take the first step.

My dear charge, Y/n..

#sebastian sallow x reader

[gaonsguitarpicks]

XDINARY HEROES WATCHING A SCARY MOVIE WITH YOU

♬ all members ♬ gender neutral reader, likes horror movies ♬ fluffy cuddles

GUNIL:

He isn’t necessarily afraid of the horror movie in question, it’s mostly just the jumpscares.

He always wants to cuddle with you and if he can use the movie as an excuse then so be it!

He tells you other scary stories the movie reminded him of while laying in bed as some kind of weird bedside tales.

This makes you become the scared one instead…

He comforts you by reminding you that it’s okay because he can always protect you with his strong arms.

He holds you close to his chest and tightens his arm around you while you fall asleep.

JUNGSU:

After the movie ends, he pretends that the horror movie didn’t affect him at all.

But he was clutching your hand the whole time, holding onto you for dear life and freaking out at the jumpscares.

“Do you want to sleep together tonight?” you ask, out of concern.

“Sure, if you’re too scared to sleep alone, I don't mind,” he replies with the most relieved smile ever.

He needs to hold your hand, and when you accidentally let go while turning in your sleep, he wakes you up so you can keep holding his hand in a different position too.

Nobody is going out to the toilet in the middle of the night alone, not you, definitely not him.

GAON:

He only agrees to watch the movie because he’s a ManTM and he’s not afraid of scary stuff!

He watches the whole thing through his fingers while covering his eyes and screaming every time something happens.

He’s definitely the type of person who knocks the popcorn bowl over at a particularly bad jumpscare…

At one point you want to touch his hand to see if he’s okay and he almost jumps out of his skin.

You have to say in a very roundabout way that you don’t want to watch this movie anymore to save his pride and his poor heart.

He cannot sleep AT ALL but you can easily distract him with cuddles and kisses.

O.DE:

HATES the mere idea of a horror movie but he wanted to be a considerate boyfriend so he agreed to watch one of the “less scary” ones with you.

He has instant regret.

He pretends to go to the kitchen for more snacks or drinks, and stays there for half an hour, sits down for one minute then goes to the bathroom…

He plugs his ears when ominous music starts playing and starts mumbling worried advices to the characters.

After it ends, he makes you promise to never watch a scary movie with him again, and to compensate him for the emotional damages.

Yes, kisses and cuddles will be okay for a start, yes, a breakfast the next day in addition would be perfect.

JUNHAN:

He agrees to watch it with you because he doesn’t think it will be that scary - it’s just a movie and he knows that everything is fake.

He also has confidence to tune his brain out and think about other things if he doesn’t really want to watch it anymore.

He tries to rationalize the scenes but still jumps at jumpscares because those are very shocking. What can a man do about it?

He refuses to admit that the movie’s contents are still lingering in his head when it’s time to go to bed.

He smoothly suggests that you should stay over and you should sleep together, and hopes that his sudden invitation is enough of a pleasant surprise for you to not question it.

He calms himself down with you sleeping soundly in his arms, listening to your heartbeat, caressing your hair.

JOOYEON:

He agreed to watch the movie because he’s ManTM and he’s not afraid of scary stuff - version 2

SCREAMS THROUGH THE WHOLE THING - even when there’s nothing particularly scary happening.

When you make him stop, he starts attempting conversations with you and just speaks over the movie so he can only hear his own voice.

If that doesn’t work, he will simply beg you cutely to watch something else.

He can and will make it impossible for you to watch that damn movie, one way or another.

He claims you need to take responsibility for his trauma, puckers his lips and closes his eyes, waiting for you to kiss him.

#xdinary heroes reactions #xdinary heroes imagines #xdinary heroes scenarios #xdinary heroes fluff #goo gunil #kim jungsu #gaon #kwak jiseok #o.de #oh seungmin #junhan #han hyeongjun #lee jooyeon

[damnaation]

On Camera

A little borrower spy gets caught by an enemy operative.

Soft, safe, unwilling vore. Fearplay & mentions of digestion. Borrower prey with wings.

"If it were up to me, I'd just kill you. But Zor was insistent on getting some footage of the Phoenix. Don't ask me why, if things had gone according to plan you'd already be dead."

She writhed in his hand, her wings and lower body trapped in his fist but arms free to shove against his fingers. Not that it did anything, but it was certainly an interesting feeling.

The slash he'd gotten from the hidden claws on her wings last time still stung. He'd had to throw out that pair of gloves, too.

Luckily the camera wasn't too difficult to set up. He could manage with one hand.

"So small—it's almost hard to believe how much of a pest you can be. One little bird, causing so many problems for me." It's not like she's going to get out of this—he can monologue a bit. "Really, it's amazing. You borrowers are so tenacious."

"What're you gonna do to me?"

The first time she'd spoken since he'd caught her.

"Ah, so you can talk." He smirked down at her, getting a sharp glare in return. Cute. "Zor will get their footage. But they said I could choose how to be rid of you on my own. Really, I was planning on killing you, but now that I've got you I have to admit. You're quite the stunning specimen, little bird. And I'm fond of peacocks. Marvelous birds."

He hummed, pausing for a moment to ponder his options. The camera clicked and whirred, ready to start filming.

"I could keep you. Pretty little songbird in a gilded cage. Dress you up in little outfits like a doll—I'm sure someone would make them. For a price."

A pause. She didn't say anything in response, just gave him a tense stare.

"Well, business first. You have a performance to give, little bird."

~~~~~~~~~~

Red hadn't really been paying attention to what had been happening while he was recording. Or, rather, they'd been paying more attention to their surroundings than him. Trying to catalogue anything useful and formulate an escape plan.

Nothing came to mind. None of the objects small enough to move with trick were useful, and there were no convenient vents to escape through when he'd briefly released them to record the video for Zor—with a threat that if they tried to escape, he'd pluck their wings bare and stuff a pillow with their feathers.

Not very creative, but enough to keep her from attempting anything until she had a solid plan and escape route.

"Now. Where were we? Right—deciding just what to do with you." His grin felt almost hungry, hazel eyes scanning her appraisingly. Something deep in her screamed to fly, get away from the predator, but she stood her ground.

"Brave little bird, aren't you?" He murmured, leaning on the table and looming over them ominously. "How cute. I could just eat you up."

A sudden spark in his eye. They felt their heart drop out of their chest as he leaned closer, snatching them up in a tight fist.

"Well… that's an idea. You're certainly small enough. And it's not like you could escape."

They'd met other borrowers on missions who swore up and down that bigfolk ate borrowers. Red had always thought it was a ridiculous fear—humans could be cruel, yes, but that was incomprehensible.

Now, she was wondering if the reason it was so widespread wasn't a sign. If those borrowers didn't think her as ridiculous as she did them.

"You're insane." She blurted out, feeling her heart pounding in her chest. He'd seemed more than a little unhinged before, but this-

"On the contrary, little bird. I've thought about this for a long time. Since I learned about your kind, and heard stories. What must it feel like, to have that much power over someone? To be their entire world?"

He grinned, a little too wide and sharp for their comfort, before bringing his other hand up to flick their hat off. They gasped, flinching away—if he missed it would hurt. But all they felt was a rush of air and the sudden disappearance of the familiar weight of their hat.

"Th- the Agency knows where I am. They'll send someone for me." It was a desperate gamble, her voice breathless. She had no idea if they'd come for her—she'd lost contact, been captured by the enemy. She didn't even know if they knew what had happened yet.

"And how do you expect them to know where you've gone?" He purred, stroking their cheek with the back of a gloved finger. They let out a little whimper, wanting to pull away but unable to. "Face it, little bird. You're stuck. I'm the one with all the cards here. Now." His hold on them shifted, hand turning so they were almost seated on his fingers with their legs stuck in his grip but their arms and torso were free. Tugging at the hem of their coat he ordered, "Take it off."

Her hands automatically went to the buttons, before she froze. No—why make it easier for him?

Apparently her hesitance was a step too far, as he lifted her closer to his face, pulling sharply on the hem with his free hand.

"Either you take it off or I rip it off you, little bird." He snarled.

They unbuttoned the coat with shaky fingers, pulling their arms out before freeing their wings from the back slits and letting it drop to the table below with their hat. He hummed approvingly, gaze sweeping their tiny form before tapping their foot with a finger.

"Shoes."

She didn't resist this time, wiggling until she could reach the laces of her boots and untying them. His thumb pressed into her stomach from the position she was in, prompting a small gasp out of her when it twitched slightly. Almost stroking her leg. After a few seconds she toed her boots off, and they fell with tiny thumps. Straightening back up, she wrapped her arms around herself, trembling and not wanting to look at him.

He stroked their leg with his thumb again, before sliding it to flick at the hem of their blouse. They clutched at the front of it but didn't move to start taking it off.

"Pants or shirt."

Briefly glancing up at him in confusion, they shuddered at the intense stare he had fixed on them.

"You can keep one. Pants or shirt."

Small comfort. But after a few seconds of thought she let go of her blouse to ball a fist in the fabric of her slacks. He chuckled.

"Interesting choice."

And with that he slipped his thumb under the hem of her shirt, briefly pressing against her stomach with only the thin fabric of his glove separating them. A simple flick ripped it apart, tiny buttons popping free and scattering to leave the ruined shirt hanging from her shoulders. She bit back a gasp, heart skipping a beat at the effortless show of destruction.

Of course, he still felt it, judging by the low chuckle as he trailed his thumb up to their chin, forcing them to look at him. They swallowed nervously, feeling the press of their throat against his finger as they did.

"What a pretty little treat you are." He murmured, pushing the remains of their blouse off their shoulders with faux reverence. They shivered, feathers ruffling and wrapping their arms around themself in an effort to hide but he just pushed them out of the way with an almost hungry smile. "Now now, none of that. No need to be shy, little bird. After all, I'm going to have all of you soon enough."

She shuddered at the mockingly gentle way he handled her, gloved fingers lightly stroking her wings as he folded them flat against her back, carefully pinching her forearms between his thumb and first two fingers and lifting them towards his face. A terrified whine escaped her—the only thing she could force past the lump of fear in her throat—as he pressed her hands to his slightly parted lips in a mockery of a gentleman's kiss. She tried to pull away, trapped wings struggling to flare and tail curling tightly around one of the fingers wrapped around her body, but his grip may well have been steel for how immovable it was. The sickening warmth of his breath sent goosebumps down her spine and nausea roiling in her gut, her breath starting to quicken into desperate, terrified panting as she frantically cast her gaze around for anything she'd missed that might help her make one more daring escape from certain death.

Nothing. The camera was the only new object in the room, and it was still far too heavy for them to be able to use trick on, its light shining almost mockingly at them.

A wet heat pressed against their hands and they flinched, squeezing their eyes shut as a shudder ran through them. They knew what it was, they didn't have to look. But the warmth crept up to their elbows, the grip on their forearms vanishing to be replaced with a thin line of something hard pressing lightly against their wrists. Immediately, gruesome images of him biting down filled their mind, and whatever thin line of composure they still had snapped.

She was hyperventilating, pleading sobs nearly incomprehensible as she struggled helplessly against him—until the pressure on her wrists increased to the point she swore she could feel her bones creaking, and she went still, her only movement the shaking from her panicked, sobbing breaths. After a few seconds the threatening weight lifted, fingers gently stroking her head and shoulders as if trying to soothe her while he ran his tongue over the marks left behind by his teeth. And then she felt a tugging suction around her arms as she was pulled free, damp skin prickling at the change in temperature.

He hummed—a low, satisfied sound—before very deliberately swallowing. This close they could hear it, a quiet glk accompanying the bobbing of his throat and sending a shiver down their spine.

That's going to be me at some point.

"I'm surprised someone hasn't already eaten you up, little bird." He murmured, breath fanning against them as he brought them closer to his face and pressed a damp kiss to their stomach. "You're delicious. If I'd planned better I'd have brought something to pair you with. A sweet rosé would be perfect."

"Pl-lease-" she choked out, voice barely more than a breathless whine. Maybe she could bargain—not even for freedom, at this point she'd accept being a pet or a Zoraxis prisoner over this. "'ll do w-whatev-ver you wa-ant, J-Jun-niper-r."

He smirked, gathering up her hands again and stroking the backs of them with his thumb. "Anything?"

A frantic nod, their voice dying in their throat—he was egotistical, a bit of a megalomaniac, but as far as they knew not a murderer. If they could appeal to his ego, flatter him enough to make it worth keeping them around-

"I want to know what it feels like when you squirm, little bird." He purred, lifting their hands to his lips for another mocking brush before giving them a sharp Cheshire grin.

She could feel herself shutting everything out, the complete opposite of the hyper-aware, focused state she entered on missions. The only thought she had was that she would be another unrecovered body, another mystery never solved. If the Agency even existed for long after this. God, she hadn't even said goodbye. No headset, no backup, no way to tell what had happened. The only thing left behind would be her clothes, but those could be easily disposed of.

If they didn't think about it, the warmth was nice—they'd been shivering since they'd lost their coat and blouse, the room temperature more fit for humans than borrowers.

She kept her eyes closed and jaw locked tight—Red knew, deep down in the same part of her that knew the taste of the sky, that she would scream and plead for her life if she didn't. And she refused to give him that satisfaction.

Even as she felt the soft flesh at the back of his mouth press against her fingers, his tongue sliding against her bare skin, his teeth resting lightly at the bottom of her ribcage—too big to fit entirely in his mouth, her legs held in a firm grip.

His tongue curled around them, saliva soaking their bra, feathers, and hair until they clung uncomfortably to their body. A low hum echoed from his throat as he licked at their exposed middle before pressing them up against the roof of his mouth. Their breath hitched, heart skipping a beat as they started to squirm, panic welling up past the disconnected haze they were in. He hummed again, softer this time, stroking along their feather-train as if trying to calm them before swallowing around them. The saliva that had been pooling beneath them vanished as the muscles of his throat tugged at their hands but failed to drag them down, pinned in place as they were by his tongue.

Just get it over with, she wanted to scream, stop toying with me and just do it already. But if she tried to say something she didn't know what would come out. So she stayed resolutely silent, biting down the desperate pleas and sobs that wanted to escape.

She didn't have long to wait, though. He swiped his tongue over her face, leaving her coughing and sputtering, before gravity started to shift and she began to slide closer to his throat. His teeth inched from ribs to waist to hips, and a desperate, terrified whine escaped her, struggling once again in the last few seconds she had before her fate was sealed.

And then their hands pressed into the opening of his throat, and with a sickening lurch he swallowed.

The powerful muscles of his throat yanked them forwards, arms now trapped and their face pressed into soft flesh that seemed to ripple with his breathing. Their own frantic breaths echoed in their ears, heart racing almost painfully in their chest from terror and dread. They didn't doubt he could feel it, pressed against his tongue as they were.

At the time she'd thought his comment on how she tasted was either exaggeration or an attempt to get under her skin, but he was drooling enough that her slacks were almost immediately soaked to the point where his teeth rested just above her knees. The tip of his tongue trailed over her stomach, briefly playing with her belt before flattening against her hips and upper thighs.

For a brief, irrational moment they wondered if, had they chosen to keep their shirt instead, he would have paid as much attention to their legs as he seemed to be giving their torso. For some reason the thought made them flush and squirm.

He made a quiet noise that could be a chuckle, carefully unwound their tail from where it was coiled around one of his fingers—they'd known it wouldn't be enough to save them, but something about it had a grim sense of finality—, and almost lovingly stroked what little of their body remained outside his mouth before gravity shifted once again.

His tongue pressed them up and back, the entrance to his throat flexed, and he swallowed hard, powerful muscles finally pulling them down past the point of no return.

She felt his tongue curl around her feet and tail as he swallowed again, sealing her entirely in the hot, slick, tight confines of his throat. Overwhelmingly strong muscles forced her down with rolling waves of pressure, so tight she could barely move. Barely breathe, her lungs seizing in her chest in unadulterated prey-animal fear. She was going to die—might as well be already dead, with the unstoppable force of his body's autonomous movement dragging her towards the churning pit of acid that no doubt awaited her.

They felt lightheaded, the heat and terror and lack of air starting to get to them as his heartbeat sounded loud in their ears. If they were lucky, maybe they'd pass out from asphyxiation before they reached his stomach. Suffocation would be a kinder death than being digested alive, at least.

Just as she started to lose her grasp on consciousness, lungs burning and static growing at the edges of her mind, a tight wave of pressure began to roll up her body. Her arms were free—she'd reached his stomach.

As the tight squeeze slid past her head she gasped for air and immediately cringed, expecting her lungs to be filled with thick, noxious, stinking air, if anything. But—fortunately or unfortunately, she wasn't sure yet—it was breathable, hot and humid but without the sting of acid in her nose.

Through the static in their head they distantly heard what might've been a gasp, his heartbeat stuttering as they spilled into the empty cavity of his stomach. They lay there in shock for a few moments, muscles feeling limp as boiled noodles and lungs heaving to draw in as much air as they could, before they felt something pressing against them.

Digestion, muscles kneading and crushing her into churning acid, flesh dissolving and sloughing off bone-

She panicked, shoving against the encroaching press and flailing wildly as a terrified keen echoed from her throat. Far beyond the point of words, but if she caused enough of a disturbance it might force him to cough her up.

A low voice, sounds that they distantly recognized as words but couldn't understand in their terrified state. The pressing weight resolved into something more targeted, almost-

Almost like fingers pressing from the outside to toy with them, seeking out their body wrapped up in his.

Somehow, the thought of him denying her even the chance to die in peace was the final straw. The last frail strands of restraint she had snapped.

And she screamed.

~~~~~~~~~~

The stretch was just on this side of painful, a twinge like the feeling of swallowing too big a mouthful of food. Which, he supposed, he had. A few of them, in fact.

He pressed his fingers to his throat, shivering at the feeling of the little agent slipping further into him. Her taste still lingered, salty-savory and a little sweet, with something almost like woodsmoke running through it. Next time—and he intended for there to be a next time, the feeling was too intoxicating to only indulge in this once—he would be sure to have a drink; her feathers tickled the back of his throat and made it a bit difficult to get her down, but he'd managed. And the thought of her perched on the rim of a glass like an elaborate garnish was impossible to get rid of. He wasn't typically a fan of rosé, but he could made an exception for her.

God, he could feel her in his chest, the deliriously satisfying stretch tipping a bit closer to painful before-

He almost passed out at the feeling of her finally sliding into his stomach. That warm, fuzzy sensation of a good meal, magnified exponentially by the fact that what filled him had its own warmth and weight. A whole other person tucked deep inside him.

"Shit." He panted breathlessly, leaning heavily on the table and gently putting his hand to where he could feel her curled up inside.

And then she moved, and his legs almost gave out beneath him. The frantic fluttering of tiny hands deep in his core sending fireworks through his body, forcing him to grab the table tight just to remain standing. It astounded him just how sensitive he was, imagining that he could distinguish her individual fingers when she pushed against his hand.

"God. I don't think anyone could even notice you." He murmured, pressing a little harder to feel out her body beneath skin and muscle. "I could walk outside with you in there right now, and no one would be any the wiser."

The Phoenix, wholly and completely his, perfectly hidden from the world. Not a single sign as to her presence tucked away inside him.

She was trembling, a light fluttery feeling reminiscent of nerves. It sent sparks dancing through him, satisfying some dark, predatory urge in the back of his mind that wanted nothing more than to keep her there, a perfect little morsel only for him.

But unfortunately he had work to do.

A sudden beeping drew his attention to the camera—which had apparently been recording the whole time, judging by the light on the front.

… He was suddenly incredibly interested to see what it had looked like from the outside. And maybe, just maybe he would hang on to the footage. For his own personal perusal.

Apparently the beeping was a low storage warning. He stopped the recording, staring for a few seconds at the gallery thumbnail—the Phoenix, looking so very small on the table. His free hand drifted to his middle again, where he could still feel her slight, warm weight. She'd gone still, aside from the occasional trembling shiver.

"At least this time you'll stay put." He murmured a bit vindictively, pressing enough to feel her little form again.

She recoiled, the shaking growing worse.

And then a piercing shriek echoed from inside him, muffled but still loud enough to hear the sheer terror in her voice. He flinched, hand gripping his shirt tight in surprise.

As many times as Zoraxis had tried to kill her, she'd never sounded like THAT. He'd watched all the footage they had—no matter how grim or seemingly insurmountable the situation, she always maintained a collected, annoyingly playful attitude. If she were human, he'd characterize her actions towards him as almost flirtatious. Even his earlier attempts to capture or kill her had gotten the same response.

"... Phoenix?" He murmured, almost without realizing it.

She didn't respond, but he could feel her shaking like a leaf in the wind, curled tightly into a tiny weight inside him.

Something sour boiled up in his chest. He'd enjoyed her trembling, her desperate pleas, that infuriatingly collected attitude finally cracking to reveal the small, scared creature underneath. But this-

There wasn't any sport in this. She was terrified past the point of reason, near catatonic in fear. There wasn't anything he could do about it, though. He had a role to play, a part in Zor's plan. And with her finally out of the way he could do what they needed from him.

He would just have to leave her to straighten herself out on her own. Eventually she'd realize her place, learn that he'd decided to keep her as his prize. A pretty little bird in a gilded cage, safe and protected like her little Agency never would, far too willing to throw her into situations that should've killed her.

… Even still, his hand never strayed far from his middle for very long. After a while his little bird seemed to relax, uncurling from the tight huddle and going limp. Either she'd fallen asleep, passed out from terror, or completely given up, but at least she wasn't a tight knot of fear anymore. He could've purred at the feeling of her limp and relaxed inside him—hopefully some day she'd be this relaxed without the wordless terror beforehand.

#vore post #vore writing #soft vore #safe vore #unwilling prey #fearplay #i expect you to vore #ieytvore #< since I'm the only bitch here i guess i get to make the tag #vore story

[crowtrobotx]

o fearless girl-dad-Karl-agenda leader, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble could we have Papaberg and Lottie having a tea party?

bisenberg agenda and the girl dad agenda.... i have so much responsibility i don't know if i can handle this!! regardless, nonnie, i was feeling inspired by this adorable scenario and decided to write a little ficlet for you. c: I hope you enjoy!! Long live Heisendad. Tea Party Words: 1201 Characters: Karl Heisenberg, Original character (daughter) Wife also makes a brief appearance just to troll him bc I couldn't resist Warnings: None, unless you aren't cool with swearing Note: This is an escaped/mechanic AU because I felt like it

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Knees up to his chest and forced to wear a moth-eaten bow tie he’d found at the bottom of the closet, Karl Heisenberg had never felt more ridiculous in his life.

It had been a normal Sunday, one he’d planned on spending working on that puzzling noise coming from under the hood of his truck. But when Lottie had marched into the garage and loudly demanded that he attend her prestigious tea party, complete with lip wobble when he’d almost declined, he knew he was doomed. And so here he sat, a person who had once thought of himself as the very definition of rugged manliness, in a cluttered bedroom at the mercy of a six year old girl. Karl was afraid to breathe lest the child-sized chair fighting for its life beneath him finally gave way. 

His daughter sat across from him, carefully rearranging a hodgepodge collection of mugs and cups she’d stolen from the kitchen. There was a depressing plate of crackers with no toppings or sides sitting sadly in the middle. They didn’t own a fancy pot or teacups, so the whole production looked less like an esteemed gathering and more like the kind of set a community theater with a $3.00 budget might put together. The other two guests - Lottie’s ever present teddy bear, yet again missing an eye and covered in faded marker doodles, and what was once a doll given to her by Alcina that now lacked a head and whose arms had been replaced by pipe cleaners - stared back at him in silent horror.

Karl tugged at his collar awkwardly. “So, uh, what’re we supposed to be doing? This might blow your little mind, but your old man hasn’t exactly been to one of these before…”

Lottie opened her mouth to speak and then paused abruptly. “I don’t know,” she said at last. “But I think we’re s’posed to talk about stuff. Y’know, gossip.”

“Gossip?” Karl chuckled. “What kinda gossip you got in first grade?”

“Sarah from art class said that Veronica’s mom chased her dad with a golf club because he kissed our gym teacher,” Lottie said without even a hint of concern.

“W-” Karl nearly choked. “W-what? Are you fuckin’- I mean, Lottie, honey. Don’t think we should uh, talk about that.”

She shrugged. “I thought it was funny.”

“It is. It’s real fuckin’ funny.” He was absolutely going to have to snoop out if there was any truth to this information - he always hated Veronica’s dad. White collar prick. He steeled himself, willing his mind to stay in dad-mode and not shift into catty-bitch-Karl. “But we shouldn’t say stuff we’re not sure about, okay? We should wait until we’re certain before trashing folks to hell and back. It’s only fair.”

Lottie gave no indication she’d been listening. He noticed she hadn’t deemed it necessary to put on a nice outfit herself despite insisting he don his “fancy clothes.” She wore her usual old knit sweater beneath her overalls, permanently stained from endless romps through the muddy woods out back or whatever projects she helped him out with. He felt rather overdressed, to tell the truth. She rummaged around on the floor, muttering incoherently to herself, until she produced a pitcher that wobbled precariously in her grasp. It was overfilled and practically as big as she was. Karl made to reach for it, freezing in place when he heard his chair creak ominously. “Tea, Papa?” Lottie said sweetly.

He nodded, not cognizant of what came out of the jug, so focused he was on not unintentionally destroying any more furniture. He still wasn’t forgiven for the incident with the porch swing, he was pretty sure. Karl slowly lifted the “#1 Dad” mug to his lips, and swallowed with a surprised flinch. He coughed awkwardly.

“Is this…. Mountain Dew,” he didn’t even need to ask. There was no other substance on earth with that unnatural neon green color. “I thought this was a tea party?”

Lottie huffed. “The tea is too high for me to reach! You people act like everyone around here is a giant. I can barely see out the window to scare the mailman when he shows up….” 

“You could’ve asked for help, Butterfly.”

“No,” she said defiantly, pouring herself a cup and splashing liquid across the plastic table. “I don’t need your cherry.”

Karl blinked. “You mean… charity—“

“WHATEVER!” Lottie threw up her hands in exasperation. “Ugh! This whole idea was a mistake! I don’t even know why I thought this would be fun. This sucks. Even Carlos said so.” The teddy bear gazed forward, dead-eyed. “Hon,” Karl started, leaning forward again only to stop with a FUCK when his shins banged into the table. “Jesus…. Fuck that hurt. Okay, what I was going to ask was why you wanted to do this in the first place? This ain’t exactly your style if you know what I mean.” Lottie sank down in her seat until all that was visible were two little messy buns peeking over the table. “I dunno. I saw it on TV. I think it’s supposed to be something little girls like to do but man, this is stupid.” Karl frowned. “You don’t have to do something just because you ‘supposed’ to. You know that. I do stuff I’m not supposed to all the time and look how I turned out!” Kris’s choked laughter from down the hall - of course she’d been listening - had him ready to shout something snarky back, never one to give up a verbal spar without a fight. But Lottie spoke again before he had the opportunity. “Maybe I just wanted to hang out,” she admitted with a twinge of embarrassment. “You’ve been so busy lately.” Guilt gnawed at Karl’s insides. He had been working longer than normal this week - business was good, but by necessity it meant he was away from home more often. Every time he felt like he’d gotten the hang of this Dad thing, it turned out he’d managed to mess it up again. Not on the level of his own abysmal upbringing, of course, but it was a nagging fear all the same. One that still kept him up some nights. In spite of his messy exterior, he was a proud man - and he was not going to let the title on his mug fall to some other asshole. “I’m… f-flattered you wanna spend time with me,” he said, searching for the right words and finding none. Lord, he was bad at this. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. Let’s do something you’ll actually like. You wanna go burn some of those leaves your mom made me take earlier instead? And we can bust into my good candy stash she doesn’t know about–” “Keep telling yourself that, babe,” Kris called again. “...instead of eating bland ass crackers.” Karl made a mental note that he would need to change his hiding place yet again. 

“Fuck yes,” Lottie bounded to her feet. “Oh, Papa, can we also torch that awful dress Aunt Alcina sent? Please please please–” “With pleasure, Butterfly.” Karl enjoyed a hearty laugh for a few seconds before the chair finally decided that it had had enough. 

#asks #karl heisenberg #resident evil village #heisendad #ficlet #karl heisenberg x oc

[mokutone]

I came up with another Tenzo HC that I think you'll like. We all know Tenzo likes reading about architecture, but what if he's also really into flowers and their meanings. So like Petunias are supposed to represent anger or being angry at someone. And then what if... Since ANBU just emotionally stunts our poor Shinobi, what if the way he learns to best communicate is by handing people the relevant flowers to express his feelings.

And we all love that HC of him growing flowers, what if the relevant flowers pop up because he associates that feeling with that flower? Like when it's a really really intense feeling, they just start growing.

Also, i know i share my HC with you a lot but i just feel like you always appreciate them <3

its so funny that u mention this bc just a day or two before i recieved it i was writing yamato and felt compelled to have him use a little flower symbolism! I didn't have him growing any flowers tho, just...ominously looming symbolism clinging onto a heavy thought.

i think this can be a really interesting HC to play with, especially when we consider how nebulous "flower language" is—like, for example the red spider lily has, apparently, the meaning of "elope with me" over here in the US, but in japan, the red spider lily is heavily associated with death, lovers separating, etc-you will see it in anime very often, i remember there was one i watched as a kid (hellgirl, i think?) that had them Everywhere and very ominously

and then there's cases where the flower is Supposed to have a meaning, but bc of how its practically used it has a different or even sometimes contradictory meaning,

for example the lily, in christian spaces the white lily is generally supposed to be indicative of innocence—which is probably why its used at so many funerals (symbolizing god washing out the sins after death and making the soul innocent once more, or something) but the fact that its used at so many funerals means that most people i know, when they see a lily, don't think "aw, how sweet..." we tend to go "oh god. the funeral flower." some even can't stand the smell of it

one of my friends gifted me a piece of jasmine incense he had got once for the same reason, that was a Strongly Funereal smell for him, but it was not for me.

then, there's also the individual meanings that flowers hold for people—

this is jewelweed, one of the most important flowers to me personally! it's native to most swampy, moist areas of the USA, it grows very fast, and tall, and spreads really quickly.

when i was a kid, we'd call this stuff "poppers" on account of how when you touch the green, dangling seed-pods, they would pop! like literally, they would explode, launching their seeds everywhere! here's a video of that.

I'm told that in the language of flowers In General, they represent motherly love, but to me, because of how i played with them as a kid, they will always specifically represent childish joy and wonder, as well as a certain amount of resilience due to how quickly and how well they take over an area (say hello to one of the few plants that can take on the invasive garlic mustard!)

this all to say, the associations between meanings and plants could be something that's really fun to play with—some of his meanings could be gathered from books, some of them could be gathered from the cultural knowledge he has access to, and more still could be developed from his own personal experiences with plants.

i'm not sure where i fall on how much yamato would internalize flower language...or i guess even what kind of flowers hed care about? i see him as somebody who tries to be, first and foremost, practical...

flower language is very poetic and mysterious, but there's practicality in mystery too—he's a ninja, after all, (and, ur right, given Anbu he seems to be a fairly repressed ninja at that) using symbols in order to communicate certain feelings could be very practical, if there are things that are difficult to say...

the only thing is that the person receiving the flowers from him would have to also know what they meant, in order for this to be practical...or there'd have to be a shared understanding of things related to the flowers.

anyway! ur right i did appreciate this, ty for sharing it

#yamswers #supervaca #if anyone else wants to dig into japanese flower language its called hanakotoba (花言葉) i think #i feel like because of the necessities of her profession ino would be far better at flower meanings than yamato #on account of the yamanaka flowershop supplying bouquets and etc #theres also the possibility that he associates certain People with flowers rather than feelings #like perhaps yamato sees dandelions and thinks abt naruto—on account of the hardiness and brightness of that little weed #but also the whimsical nature of it—how when it gets old its seeds are carried by the wind (+ naruto being a wind chakra user) #sakura obviously. sakura. i mean... #perhaps morning glory for sai...they can come in interesting colors and have a smooth graceful shape...but more than that they need a lot #of support—a morning glory is a vining flower...theyre Trying to get up high but they need to be able to cling to things #and metaphorically naruto sakura yamato and kakashi (and ino?) would be his trellis sdhgshdgsdg #the thing is i dont think hed be able to pin a flower on kakashi unless they had some specific encounter with flowers which was impactful #enough that that flower would forever be associated with kakashi #and on top of THAT. kakashi's name translates to "field scarecrow'' so surely it should be some kind of produce hes associated with #kakashi catches on to yamato thinking of flowers abt the kids and is like ''ooooh? do *I* have a flower toooo??'' and yamato #pats him on the shoulder and is like. nope. sorry. you're a rice field. #and kakashis like damn ok fuck you too buddy #yamatos like if it makes you feel better i dont think of myself as a flower either #and kakashis like ''well *i* could assign everyone on the team a dog breed theyd get along with the easiest so i win at w/e this game is'' #yamatos like ''ok whats my dog then?'' and kakshis like ''cat. actually'' and yamato points at him and goes ''see! you're just as bad!!'' #and kakashis like ''no see i have an excuse. you wore a cat mask for 10 years. when have you ever seen me in a rice field?''

[bosskie]

Molluck 'n' Slig Finnish Dub

It's been like two years since I did these dubs... I haven't still forgotten my project about dubbing all the Molluck having cutscenes in Finnish but this is only the second one so far... Well, gotta keep dubbing!

But yeah, this is a non-serious dub but I also altered some sentences to fit better into Finnish. So, here's the translation for the stuff I said:

Molluck:

FIN: "Kuinka tämä heikko, säälittävä, sivistymätön, orjan retale voi olla vieläkin hengissä?" ENG: 'How can this weak, pathetic, uneducated, schmuck of a slave still manage to be alive?'

'Schmuck of a slave' isn't easy to translate but I could figure out a good non-literal one.

Slig:

FIN: "En tiedä pomo, mutta se karmiva tyyppi on jotenkin yliluonnollinen, sen tiedän! En uskoisi sitä, jos en olisi nähnyt sitä omin silmin, kun parhaiden kavereideni mielet menivät jotenkin sekaisin ja he alkoivat ampua toisiaan. Pam pa-pa-PAM! Se oli järkyttävää. En tiedä pomo, mutta se kalja ei kai mene sillä päähän." ENG: 'I don't know boss, but that creepy dude is some kind of supernatural, I know it! I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't seen it by my own eyes when my best friends went somehow insane and started to blow each other away. Pew pe-pe-PEW! It was disturbing. I don't know boss, but maybe that one doesn't get drunk on the beer.'

There ain't a good translation for 'brew' in Finnish, so the best one is 'beer'. Well, it also makes this less serious but there ain't literally any better translation... Another one is 'uutos' but it sounds somehow too sophisticated here since the style of Oddworld language is slang and rough ect. But if these were meant to official, that would probably be still used. Oh, and yeah, I was having fun with that translation here.

Molluck:

FIN: "Kalja oli meidän vakuutuksemme, takuumme siitä, ettei mitään tällaista koskaan tapahtuisi!" ENG: 'The beer was our insurance, our guarantee that would prevent anything like this from ever happening!'

Slig:

FIN: "Mutta se tapahtui. Kaljojen olisi pitänyt jo hoitaa tehtävänsä, ellei heillä ole sitä mukanaan. Miten selität sen?" ENG: 'But it did happen. The beer should have done its work already, unless they have it with them. How you explain it?'

I had to alter that one sentence since it does explain better the thing here but it also sounds better.

Molluck:

FIN: "Ehkä kaljamestarin suunnitelma olikin täyttä paskaa!" ENG: 'Maybe the Brewmaster's plans was bullshit!'

Frankly, this is my favourite line. (Y) But yes, this did sound better but I also think that it does suit Molluck, I can see him saying a thing like this. Also yes, I did translate the Brewmaster's name or 'the title'. I'm not sure if it should be seen more like as a title or his name but here, it's more like a title or a 'nickname', being a 'beermaster'.

I feel like I do need more practice with this stuff but I accept this dub I did last night. My throat didn't enjoy this... The Slig was the worst one... Doing Molluck voice doesn't hurt so much anymore but maybe it's so because I have started to get more used to it...

I could do some other languages too, though they do require a bit more work. It's been told me that I pronounce various languages well, so it wouldn't be a problem. I have studied five other (natural) languages than my mother tongue, more or less. (I mean, I'm also studying programming languages; I'm a computer scientist.) One language I have wondered to try out one day is Italian since it's kinda my fourth language and the game does offer the translations, so I don't need to translate anything by myself! Che sollievo! (= What a relief!)

I can understand why OWI didn't do more languages than English for the audio (referring to those old games that had those 'basic' languages dubbed too). But I can kinda 'fix' that thing! I'm not saying that what I do is good enough to be official, though I have heard bad dubs in video games, but yeah, I'm just doing these for fun!

#oddworld #oddworld molluck #molluck the glukkon #molluck #chauffeur slig #oddworld soulstorm #fandub

[audioaujom]

26: Victim’s Memoirs [wrong end 3 ★4]

Corse Party Hub, next >

This is wrong end 3 ★4 from Chapter 1! If memory serves, this was originally a 3ds exclusive ending, but was added to the remastered PC version released a few years ago. The messed up/censored text will be translated at the bottom for anyone interested since I did alter it slightly from the original canon victim's memoirs.

Pairing: Ranboo and Tubbo

Word Count: 2332

Chapter TWs: Mind Manipulation ("Darkening")

--

“Hey, what's that?” Ranboo asked randomly, noticing a loose leaf sheet of paper tucked between some floorboards on the ground in the classroom he and Tubbo were investigating.

Tubbo shrugged, not really paying it much mind as he tried to rifle through some desks further away. “Dunno. Looks like notebook paper.” 

“I think there’s something written on it…” Ranboo couldn’t help himself, crouching down beside it and trying to get a better angle on the hastily scrawled writing.

“Read it to me.” Tubbo called, not looking up from the desk he had his face stuck in.

“What?” Unimpressed, Ranboo grabbed the page and stood up, walking over to Tubbo with a frown. “Why would I do that?” 

“I'm dyslexic.” Tubbo answered simply, looking up with a grin.

“That doesn't mean you can't read!” Ranboo protested, Tubbo checking the desk to make sure it was stable before hopping up on top of it and sitting down.

“What if I'm too lazy to do it, then?” 

“Somehow worse.” Ranboo glared, but it didn’t bother his friend in the slightest. He finally gave in, sighing, “Here. I'll read it first, see if it's too difficult for you.”

“You're the best.” Tubbo grinned even wider, letting Ranboo scan the page before passing it over to him.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — Let Our Parting Be But Temporary I send thee flowers, my beautiful flower, as thou wait'st eternal for my return; beautiful flowers thou canst see. And shouldst I e'er break free of this hell, and retake my place at thy side. These words I couldst never say and these feelings I couldst never give will all be laid bare for thee. — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

“Cool. Love poem. Odd place for it, but… who am I to judge?” Tubbo looked up, tossing the paper off to the side after Ranboo didn’t seem to want it back.

“Most of the papers in here are more… um… ominous and awful.” Ranboo conceded, wandering back to the front of the classroom to continue poking around. “Wonder who wrote it.” After wandering out of the first classroom and rounding the next corner, Tubbo noticed the similar looking paper before his friend and ran over curiously. “Oh! Maybe this is a sequel to that love poem.”

“That doesn't concern you at all?” Ranboo asked, despite the fact he was already hovering over Tubbo’s shoulder as he crouched down to pick the paper up.

“Of all the things here that could concern me, this concerns me the least.” The blank look he shot back over at Ranboo was met with an eye roll, the two looking over the paper at the same time.

“...fair.”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — Alas, the only flowers that bloom in hell are white as freshly fallen snow. So on a lark, thy heart—pure as a heart can be—I wish to stab with pins, and scatter the petals. Let the white flowers be dyed red by thee you poor, poor boy! — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

“What in the Edgar Allen Poe?” Ranboo laughed a little, an odd feeling starting to build in his stomach from the weird writing.

“No, but it kinda is!” Tubbo nodded approvingly, setting it back down on the floor with a laugh of his own. “In a horribly disturbing kind of way.”

“Yeah, because Poe’s stuff wasn't disturbing.” Rolling his eyes, Ranboo started poking around the rest of the classroom to see what else they could find.

“I wouldn't know.” Tubbo grinned, watching him look around before adding, “You poor, poor boy~.”

“Don’t joke about that, it’s weird!” Ranboo chastised, the two going back to their hunt in relative silence, only commenting about the occasional bodies, nametags, or particularly ominous bloodstains.

Eventually deeming this classroom empty, they decided to try their luck on one of the higher floors and quickly climbed the closest flight of stairs. Hunting around the hallways, they quickly both spotted another paper, looking similar to the other ones they’d found so far.

“...more?” Ranboo asked, a little nervous, both of them bending down to look at the same time.

“Looks like.” Tubbo nodded, finally starting to pick up on his friend’s worry. “You can go first.”

“How gracious of you.” Ranboo huffed, standing up with it but holding it out at a distance they could both see it from.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — woe is me woe is the me who never stopped loving thee even if thou choosest to move on i will always love thee forevermore forevermore forevermore foreverm woe is you you poor boy who has left me after carving thine name in both heart and skin i want to show it to thee to prove that it is thine and that i still love thee you poor boy you poor poor boy — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

“You know… normally I don’t mind poetry, but I gotta be honest, boss man, this is the weirdest shit I’ve ever laid eyes on.” Tubbo commented after a minute, Ranboo nodding instantly.

“It’s getting really creepy, for sure.” Tossing the page aside, Ranboo hugged his arms in a little tighter to his chest, glancing around to make sure there wasn’t anyone watching him as the hair on the back of his neck started to stand on end. “It’s starting to freak me out.”

“Starting to?” Tubbo scoffed, crossing his arms but also taking a quick survey of their surroundings. “I’m starting to think we’re the poor boys, since we’re being subjected to these things.”

“Always a possibility.” Ranboo trailed off, letting the paper drift back to the floor before heading towards the classroom they had just passed and poking his head in the door. As if looking for it, he immediately spotted the notebook paper in the corner of the room, with words hastily scrawled on it in the same light pencil as last time. “How many of these are there?” He complained loudly, his feet already carrying him over to the page.

“Only one way to find out!” Tubbo jogged past him, swiftly picking the page up and starting to read it.

“Tubbo, wait—!” Ranboo reached out to grab the paper from his friend—something about these pages was giving him a seriously bad feeling, but he was a moment too late as Tubbo angled it so they could both see and he gave in to his own curiosity.

“Too late!” 

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — didn't want to see your face, you poor boy your face is for no one but me, you poor, poor boy as you burn in the fires of hell, you poor boy i continue to live here, you poor, poor boy i am not dead yet, you poor boy let our par**** ** *** ***pora** y** *oor p*** b** — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Anything past the last few letters was completely caked with blood, the rest of the writing obscured by the still damp covering of red.

“You spoke too soon, Tubbo. This is the weirdest thing we’ve ever laid eyes on.” Ranboo spoke first this time, Tubbo agreeing quietly.

“Are you starting to get a really bad feeling?”

“If you mean the kind of bad feeling that would make me actually pee my pants, then yes. Yes I am.” Ranboo nodded seriously, though Tubbo chuckled a little at his awkward ramble. “These notes are getting really freaky, maybe we should stop reading them.”

“Yeah…” Tubbo didn’t mind the silence that hung between them after, understanding the anxiety Ranboo was feeling even as his was slowly overtaken by a strong, overwhelming curiosity.

If there are more, what do they say?

Scouring the rest of the floor was surprisingly uneventful, though it only served to grow the boy’s panic. Ranboo continuously fiddled with his hands while they looked around, the panic giving way to a slowly building dread that was heavy in his stomach.

Climbing the new flight of stairs felt like they were drawing closer to something awful, him hesitating before finally making it to the landing as Tubbo looked at him curiously.

“You alright?”

“This place, it… it makes me feel really, really bad.” Ranboo answered as best he could, Tubbo’s silence urging him to continue. “I don’t like it. Like, I know I’m not supposed to like some random haunted elementary school that feels like it’s in another dimension or something but I really, really, don’t like it.”

“I get it, but we can’t really do much other than continue exploring.”

Tubbo was right, unfortunately, so all Ranboo could do was trail nervously after his friend as they found themselves near a set of bathrooms right by the top of the stairs.

They both spotted the blood covered page at the same time, Ranboo freezing in place as his dread became so heavy he couldn’t imagine taking a step closer to it. He turned to say something to Tubbo, but the boy was already running forward to scoop it up.

“Alright, fuck it.” Tubbo called as he jogged over, picking the paper up and quickly scanning its contents. “I'm too curious.” 

“No, don’t—!” Ranboo reached out to stop him but was too late, Tubbo’s eyes going blank by the time he reached the bottom of the page. He carelessly dropped the paper to the floor, slowly walking back towards Ranboo with an empty expression.

“Tubbo? Are you okay? What happened?” Ranboo tried, watching Tubbo slowly shamble towards the stairs. He glanced back over his shoulder at the rather innocuous looking page, curiosity and concern driving him to walk over to it even as his gut screamed at him to run. “Is it the note? What did it—!” One glance at the half-obscured writing had his head pounding, his vision going blurry with strange dark spots. “Ah!”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — **U CA* **ST DIE Y*U **OR **Y AP***GIZ* TO ME W*** **UR DEA** *OU POOR ***R B** IM GOIN* ** R** **UR INTEST***S FR*M Y*** B**Y **U POO* *OY AND MAKE RED FLOWERS BLOOM A** ****AD A** *VER THAT WH*TE SKIN O* **URS YOU POOR POOR BOY TH** **NT EV** ** *BLE TO TELL WH* YOU A** AN**ORE ***N IM DONE WI** YOU Y*U P**R B** YOU *OO* P*OR BOY **U POO* *OY *OU POOR ***R B** YOU P*OR BOY Y*U P**R POOR B** Y*U PO*R B** YOU POOR POOR BOY — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

All he saw after that was black.

Ranboo was collapsed in a heap on the floor when he finally managed to pry his eyes back open, his head still distantly pounding as he groggily sat up and looked around.

“Tubbo? Are you here?” He called into the empty halls, a quiet wind whistling through broken boards the only answer he received. “Where’d you go?”

Awkwardly wobbling to his feet, he headed for the steps, remembering vaguely that his friend had been heading in that direction before he’d passed out.

What happened? Was it… the pages?

He continuously called his friend’s name as he slowly made his way down the steps, heading into the closest classroom after making it down to the second floor. Not finding anyone in there, he headed back towards the stairs to head down the other hallway, trying that classroom instead.

“Tubbo?! Tubbo!!” His cautious calling turned to a cry of relief as he spotted Tubbo sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, ignoring the dread that was building back up from the blank way he was staring off at the wall in front of him. Ranboo was quick to grab him by the shoulders, shaking him gently to try and get his attention.  “...Tubbo?”

“Poor boy… Poor boy…” Tubbo mumbled quietly, rocking a little in his seat and not even slightly acknowledging his friend’s presence. His voice was odd and flat, a strange darkened sheen having taken over his normally vibrant eyes. “Ranboo… You poor boy. You poor, poor boy.”

“Tubbo! What happened to you?!” Ranboo was completely panicked now, shaking his friend harder in desperation. “What's going on?! Tubbo!” 

The dull, humorless laugh that came out of Tubbo had Ranboo jerking back, his mind torn between screaming at him to run and crying out for Tubbo to come back to his senses.

“Tubbo! No, please!” 

The laughter turned almost inhuman as it pitched up, shrieking and hysterical as Ranboo backed away further with the feeling that something terrible and irreversible had happened to the other boy. 

How much time had passed since they’d gotten stuck in here? It had only been a couple of days at the max, but it felt like a horrifying eternity. Hungry, tired, and nearly desensitized to the constant and ever present violence and madness, it was like Tubbo had finally shattered from everything. The laughter died down, his head lolling forward as overgrown bangs hung in the way of his lifeless eyes. “...Ranboo?”

Ranboo’s head shot up as Tubbo sounded… normal. He wiped at his face—When did those tears get there?—and walked back over towards his friend hopefully. “...Tubbo?”

“Ranboo…” Tubbo seemed close to tears, Tubbo reaching out to grab his shoulders again as a spike of relief shattered the stone of dread.

“Oh thank god, have you finally come back to your senses? You have no idea how worried I w—” 

“Ranboo… you poor boy.” Tubbo cut him off, any semblance of himself gone from his tone in an instant. Dark, glazed eyes turned their attention to him, an unnaturally wide grin spreading across his face as he mumbled emptily, “You poor, poor boy…”

Horror crashed down on Ranboo like a wave, his heart and hopes smashed as he stumbled back a step. The laughter was back, gurgling and spilling out of Tubbo in gross waves, Ranboo’s panic overloading as he fell to his knees and clutched at his head in anguish.“I can’t… I… I can’t… take this… any… more…” He couldn’t see anything in front of him anymore, unsure if it was the mess of ice cold awful feelings that had overtaken his body or the strange dark mist clouding in from all sides, his own voice sounding foreign as all he could manage was to scream, “I CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE!!”

--

Translated Notes

Note 4/5

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — didn't want to see your face, you poor boy your face is for no one but me, you poor, poor boy as you burn in the fires of hell, you poor boy i continue to live here, you poor, poor boy i am not dead yet, you poor boy let our parting be but temporary you poor poor boy — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Note 5/5

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — YOU CAN JUST DIE YOU POOR BOY APOLOGIZE TO ME WITH YOUR DEATH YOU POOR POOR BOY IM GOING TO RIP YOUR INTESTINES FROM YOUR BODY YOU POOR BOY AND MAKE RED FLOWERS BLOOM AND SPREAD ALL OVER THAT WHITE SKIN OF YOURS YOU POOR POOR BOY<br /> THEY WONT EVEN BE ABLE TO TELL WHO YOU ARE ANYMORE WHEN IM DONE WITH YOU YOU POOR BOY YOU POOR POOR BOY<br /> YOU POOR BOY YOU POOR POOR BOY YOU POOR BOY YOU POOR POOR BOY YOU POOR BOY YOU POOR POOR BOY — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

#corpse party #corpse party au #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #writing community #ranboo #ranboolive #tubbo mcyt #victim's memoirs #bad ending #wrong ending #whump #angst #cross posted on ao3 #ranboo fanfic #ranboo whump #tubbo and ranboo #tubbo fanfic #tubbo whump

[miyu-writings]

Fairy Tail Reread 2023 part 1

I'll be rambling here about the first book.

I'm getting the hang of this so I apologize for the wonkiness right from the start. 😅

It's been one year since I read the manga so I'll be going into this as if I'd forgotten most of the story, yeah?

Okay, let's get started!!

So, we start with Siegrain and Ultear and the Council and it's pretty ominous. Especially how Fairy Tail is such a thorn in the side.

And then, Natsu and Happy. The introduction of the MC is quite silly because we're being introduced to this character who's totally KO after riding the train. And more silliness ensues. Very lighthearted feeling.

Then Lucy appears. We're introduced to our other MC. She's complaining about the lack of magical stuff at that store. And we're also introduced to another of Mashima's staples, a sleazy chara saying dumb stuff and a female character amping the sexiness to have some leeway or whatever. Not a great thing to say about Mashima if that's how he sees women... Then again, her "wiles" weren't useful here but, hey, the story is started after the short but kind of enough introductory notes about the charas.

Lucy got under the spell of the so called Salamander and I like that she's fighting it, but ultimately she succumbs to it. But is saved by Natsu. The quest for Igneel sure is a long one.

Natsu's face of "who the fuck are you?" cracks me up. And how he's tossed aside by the groupies is also pretty silly. You treat the MC like that, dude?

We're then introduced to another side of Natsu, the glutton. Lucy looks a bit disgusted and, tbh, me too Lucy, me too. And through the conversation we're introduced to the main space, the core of the manga - the guild of Fairy Tail. The conversation flows nicely and it introduces the charas a bit more, with OTT reactions happening too but that does make sense, in context, in some way. Also, the cringe in Lucy was at the top now at the beginning - being in the guild will erode it haha.

Lucy's wish/goal of being part of Fairy Tail puts her in danger but we're still seeing that she sees the warning signs (she didn't drink the wine) and then the veil is lifted about the whole trafficking operation. And Lucy is nearly branded a slave and her keys thrown away but Natsu appears! But the tension was slightly broken due to the silly moment of Natsu's motion sickness but it quickly snapped back to "serious business" mode. Or rather, Lucy's escape and recovery of keys and Aquarius - where we also get another basis to a core relationship - sending everyone to firm land. And now Natsu's jumping to the serious business and, surprise, surprise - he's Natsu from Fairy Tail. The real one.

Ass is kicked and the trio ends up escaping the cops (it's what they are) and going home.

The guild is not boring and makes the guys at the Council stay on their toes, that's what we get from the closing of the chapter.

As a first chapter this does open up a lot of possibilities and has a lot of potential. And then, we're about to step inside the guild and who knows what kind of wonders might come from it...

Chapter 2 & 3 (idk why but it's how it's coming rn)

Lucy's dream comes true. She steps inside Fairy Tail.

It's a different world, inside. And we quickly are introduced to some characters. Yay Gray! And Cana pointing out he's naked. Lucy starts to see that there's something odd in this place. And how her idols are pretty much human.

It's chaos, with everyone fighting. Poor Makarov... his kids do give him huge headaches.

But.

The heart of the story is shown here. Follow their own path, that's how the mages from Fairy Tail go.

And like that Lucy has joined the guild.

We're shown a bit more of Natsu's background and it really is sad, seeing little Natsu so happy with Igneel and then, loss.

Then we have the first mission: find Macao.

Lucy gets to show some more of her magic and the Vulcans are so lecherous, sheesh.

We get to see some fight scenes and here Natsu shows once again that, he can kick ass during battles. He's good at this shit. (Remember that, Mashima? You used to write Natsu like this!) And the moments of silliness again break the tension but the fighting is serious and Natsu kicks ass.

They recover Macao and return home. Family should be reunited.

The chapter ends in a very feel-good way and it's not a bad thing.

Lucy is our narrator and she hopes for good things in the future. It's a nice way to get started on this long adventure.

Chapter 4

One thing I liked about the anime was also how they always introduced Magnolia, the location and the guild of Fairy Tail (and the music is epic). We're kind of welcomed back to this place that we belong. This chapter starts with the location too. Well, Lucy's home, which is an important place too. And Natsu and Happy are hanging there already. The poor girl doesn't know it but her house is nearly their lair now...

We learn a bit more about Lucy and what being a celestial mage entails and basically is. And here's Plue, from Rave Master. I haven't read that (yet, maybe?) but these cameos and silly spirits did kind of disappear later on during the story. Not saying that they aren't there but to me it feels like it's more background stuff. I understand that it was because of the tone of the story, it got more serious. But I don't mind Plue.

Natsu invites Lucy to go with her on a mission. And we learn that this dumbass took a mission that was forbidden to his level.

Natsu, I love you but, you need to reflect more. I totally understand wanting to be challenged by stronger foes but, c'mon. xD

That's how you land yourself in hot water! I totally understand Makarov's stress though. He, like a good parent, wants to protect his family from unnecessary risks and troubles but what to do with such a rowdy and - I'll say it - crazy crowd?? Someone's going to get grounded.

And then, hey there, Gray!

I like Gray smoking. I totally understand that it sets a bad idea for kids because smoking irl is very bad for your health, lung cancer and any cancer whatsoever isn't good. But, Gray smoking to me, speaks of a bit of an oral fixation and, honestly, it connects him to Natsu. As someone who does ship Natsu with Gray, having Gray smoke means a lot. I totally headcanon him as stopping later on but he will fall back to the not-so-great habits in times of stress and turmoil. That's how Gray rolls.

And we're on for the first arc, the one that made me really go "yeah, I like this a lot". The Galuna Island arc!

#ft reread 2023 #fairy tail

[duhragonball]

Janwum III Update: 7827

Been a while since I checked in on this front, so let’s pull up a chair, swing it around to sit in it backwards, and discuss the state of this writing project.

Basically, I set out to do a big chunk of the 2023 apocrypha liveblog, and knock out 20,000 words in my fic in the same month.  I had a plan to write 645 words each day, figuring I could liveblog stuff and still have time left over to sneak in the writing.  Also, I keep trying to challenge myself to write consistent daily word goals, and I thought this would be the way to do it. 

But around Day 12 or so I got fed up with switching back and forth, and the GT posts were coming along so well that I decided to shift my focus to just that.  And now I’ve got GT liveblog posts queued up through the end of the Baby Saga, which leaves me just six days to finish the Janwum goal. 

Honestly, I think this worked out for the best, as I now have to average a little over 2k words per day, and I now have a clear shot to do so, where before I was constantly distracting myself with the other thing.  I guess I’m just not much of a multitasker.  Given two jobs with the same deadline, I’ll always try to push as far forward with one as I can go before tackling the other.  Fortunately, I took this into account when I planned the year, but I was just so eager to start the liveblog that I couldn’t wait until after I had written the 20k.  I should have just flip-flopped the order from the start. 

Also, punting a story 645 words at a time is kind of a pain in the ass.  If I’m not feeling it, a small word goal is going to feel just as agonizing as a longer one, and if I am feeling it, I’m just cutting off my own momentum.  I probably should have made sure to reach 10000 before stopping, but I pumped the brakes for a reason and I shouldn’t second-guess it now. 

In any event, critiquing GT has been very instructive for me, as I feel like I have a better handle on what works and what doesn’t in a fictional fight scene.  A big problem I have with writing Demigra is that it’s really unclear what he can and can’t do, and his power level is literally “strong enough to give your OC a hard time, but still lose.” It’s a lot like General Rildo, actually. 

Also, one thing I wasn’t counting on was how rewatching GT has taken me back to 2004-2006, when I first came up with Luffa.  I still remember looking up the “List of Vegetables” article on Wikipedia at my job to pick out her name.  I wanted more out of Dragon Ball, and GT had been such a disappointment that I realized I would have to write my own stuff to get what I wanted, and yet I couldn’t think of a way to continue the canon story that would satisfy me.  So I started thinking about making my own Super Saiyan, and realized the distant past would be a blank slate for me to work with.  And GT’s mishandling of Pan and Bulla had a lot to do with my wanting to make the OC a woman. 

Occasionally, I’ve questioned some of the decisions I’ve made with the fic.  It gets pretty dark and violent in places, but then I rewatch the stale, saccharine hijinks in GT, and I remember how fed up I was with it.  Not everything has to be edgy, but Funimation promoted GT with a lot of grim, ominous ads.  The dub narrator always sounded like he was about to tell local prosecutors how he disposed of the bodies.   But then the anime itself would always be Pan whining about some damn thing, and Goku saying he’s hungry again.  I wanted something with more bite to it, and it’s taken me umpteen years to make it happen, but I’m doing it.

Well, I need to get cracking.  I’ll see you later.

#janwum iii

[rants-about-opm]

Hiii

I saw your tumblr and I think it is pretty awesome!! I like it a lot!!

And well, even though I really didn't like that much the route the manga followed, with Garou not fighting the heroes, time travel, and all of that.

Not mentioning that I thought that the work before the redraw showed that Saitama was growing in empathy when he was THAT willing to listen to someone who asked him to kill him and it seemed like the manga was showing that sometimes someone can be a hero not just using violence against monsters but in another ways, like saving a person's heart.

A huge jump in comparison to when he met Genos.

You think that there would be more of Garou in future chapters in comparison to the webcomic?

Because... well

I think Garou did not learn much right now, well I mean, yeah! He learned a few stuff, but it does not feel like closure, more like a open ending.

Even if his soul somehow fusioned with his current self like Saitama did, none of them remembers anything.

(I said this last thing because current Garou was letting the others hitting him, and I think there was a panel when it said that the future Garou had something to do with it).

Hello there!

It's an honor to enertain you all and I'm glad you enjoy my ramblings!

I quite agree that these latest few chapters have been quite a doozy. A lot of faith lost and regained in such a short period of time. Although I can't say that I'm thrilled with the path thus far, I believe that those who opted out of the Fandom are really missing out.

If there's one thing I can say for Murata and ONE, it's that they know the story they want to tell, and they seem to understand the risks of the choices they're making. I have a feeling that a lot of these decisions that have made us uneasy will be given thorough reasoning in due time. But nonetheless, Im also a little disappointed that we lost Garou and Saitama chatting.

I assume that bit was retconned because it felt a little rushed, given Garou’s usually quite stubborn nature, but I agree that the alternative feels similarly devoid of intention. The only one who remembers what Saitama and Garou learned is Genos, and he has horribly mistranslated that forsaken future as a testament to Saitama’s perfected heroism, when in fact it was the culmination of his faults.

But to answer your question, yes, I do believe Garou will remain prominent to this story, because he still has much to teach himself and Saitama. The more I think about it, the more sure I am that the purpose of this whole time travel detour was to assure us of the inevitable. Two misguided gods among men, put on the wrong path and pitted against each other will only bring about that ominous future. The only other path is to learn, to come to understand what it means to truly be a hero. They both will figure it out in their own time, I think ONE just realized that that kind of growth doesn't start and end here. This couldn't be the moment Garou came through and chose for himself to change his ways, this couldn't be the moment Saitama set aside his thirst for battle and came to someone's aid.

Because neither of them are there yet.

#opm #opm spoilers #one punch man #garou #saitama #Murata #ONE #meta #asks #my asks #anime #manga #webcomic #rants #rants about opm #genos

[the-anonymous-vent-blog]

TEENAGERS can be dicks. Like some kids get adolescent egocentrism HARD. So my little brother, right?

When my dad bought our house, we bought it with the understanding that the study at the back would be changed into a bedroom for my little brother when he decided that he wanted his own space (he was sharing with my dad) well, he decided he didn’t like the study because it was away from the other bedrooms and we were like ok fine, stay in the living room I guess?

So he’s 15 now, still lives in the living room and now he demands that when he wants to be alone, that everyone else has to get out of the living room and go to their separate rooms. So this has been the backbone of many arguments.

We were eating dinner when my little brother asks if I want to watch a horror movie. Im about to agree when my dad comes out of his room. I’m in the kitchen so I don’t see this. LB(little bro) asks my dad if he’s ok and he says he’s just gonna get something out of the car, but he’s talking funny so I ask LB if he seemed ok. He said he was breathing heavy and his face was red so I’m instantly like, oh shit that’s a panic attack, but I don’t know how much my dad wants LB to know.

So my dad is at the tail end of it and he calms down and I suggest that he watch a movie with us instead of being alone. So I tell LB should watch something not a horror movie bc I’m not sure what kind of flashback my dad had so scary movie is not a good idea, but then LB all of a sudden doesn’t want to watch a movie anymore, but wants to chill out alone.

So Im like “ok fine, but dad and I are gonna watch a movie.” But LB isn’t having that. We argue for about 15 minutes, me telling him he can chill out literally anywhere else in the house, but that it isn’t fair to kick everyone out of the living room. And I remind him that this wouldn’t even be a problem if we fixed up the back room. So he’s like “you just want to get me out of the way” and “you don’t respect my privacy” and “I’m going through a lot of stuff” and “you never listen to me” etc…

So like my dad who is freshly off of a panic attack is consoling HIM. And he most difficult thing that happened to LB today is that he took a test in a class he currently has a B+ in so.

So like LB decided to go on a walk because we come to the conclusion that we’re going to watch 45 minutes of this damn movie and LB didn’t want to be here for it.

He comes back from his walk and we turn off the movie but he’s giving us the silent treatment. And he’s saying we don’t listen and everything and how we think he’s just a dumb teenager and how he’s a ship wreck, like saying all of these ominous deep things and when I asked him to elaborate, he says I won’t understand because I don’t listen.

Don’t get me wrong, this isn’t coming from an uncaring place, and I know it sounds like I’m invalidating his feelings, but he literally only gets like this when he is losing an argument or we don’t do what he asks. We do talk about his feelings, but the times where he’s actually communicating look very different than when he talks about his emotions when losing an argument or when he doesn’t get his way.

So like, guilt tripping me into not letting you push me around is bullshit. You want to talk about your feelings? Ok we’ll talk about them and I’ll help you the best I can, but I can’t do much when you insult me and communicate using needlessly ominous and vague language.

Like adolescent egocentrism is a thing and it makes me angry!

Like, dude, you had two options. Bedroom or living room and when you made the decision to sleep in the living room, you forfeited your “privacy” when you picked the family room and the room everyone has to walk through to get to the kitchen, what did you expect? I would understand if he decided to get the back room done and had to stay in the living room in the meantime, I mean yeah, then I would be more amenable to being kicked out of the living room bc it’s out of necessity then. But nope! He refuses for that to be his space or even consider it for the future and I really don’t understand what the issue is.

And he wants to start a YouTube channel and I’m not sure how he expects to do that in the living room? But ok, you do you kid. Anyways, just frustrated that he isn’t thinking of anyone else in this scenario and he attributes anything we disagree about to my having a bias against him for being a teenager. Like really? Dad just had a panic attack and you’re over here like guilt tripping us for watching 45 minutes of a movie?? Fuck that.

Goddamn, did this boy take lessons from Narcissus himself? He sounds like he's an insecure version of him.

#vent blog #vent

[absolutepokemontrash]

I come bearing a request! The Brothers with an MC who's really good at cooking and baking? Like, the stuff food blogs dream of. Master-level instagram pastries. Could compete with the chocolate guy if they put their mind to it.

👀 ooooo, I do love me some pastries-

(I know you have an *ahem* distaste for Lucifer, dear moot, so enjoy Lucifer acting like a bit of a dingus in his section!)

Lucifer

Oh, the human can cook. *insert asshole eyeroll here*. Great. Wonderful. Groundbreaking. That’s what’s got all his brothers acting like- what was that word Levi used? Simps? This human has turned six of the seven rulers of hell into a bunch of simps.

Sure, the human has near godlike cooking prowess. Sure, everyone looks forward to their day for cooking. And sure, everyone thinks the human’s pretty great.

Tsk, not him though. He’s a refined demon. Some silly food isn’t going to make him a lovesick fool… did he smell eclairs..?

Lucifer peered into the kitchen to see MC carefully taking a tray of eclairs out of the oven and letting them cool off on the counter. His favourite dessert… right there in front of him…

Due to not being a total moron, MC notices Lucifer and asks him what the hell he’s doing just standing ominously in the doorway. Lucifer makes up some bullshit excuse about reminding MC to do their homework and just leaves. Okay, game plan, he needs those fucking eclairs or he will spontaneously combust.

As he snuck into the kitchen that night, Lucifer took a moment to briefly wonder why he was creeping around his own house. He was the Avatar of Pride for pity’s sake! He could eat whatever he damn well pleased! Oh shit was someone coming- no? Okay, back to sneaking.

Lucifer crept into the kitchen, saw the eclairs, and all logic was thrown out the window. Time to eat!

“BEEL NO! NOT THE- Lucifer..?” “…” “…” “…you’re very talented, MC, do you mind making more of these?”

SOMEONE SNAP A PICTURE! THIS IS THE CLOSEST LUCIFER HAS GOTTEN TO BEGGING IN THE LAST THOUSAND YEARS!

Mammon

Ugh, stuck babysittin’ some dumb human, how lame…

As Mammon was throwing a “I’m broke and I’m stuck in a pact with a dumb human” pity party, the most heavenly smell entered his nostrils. Cooking… good cooking… was Barbatos visiting or somethin’? Nah, Lucifer woulda made a big fuss about gettin’ ready for Lord Diavolo. Huh, so what was goin’ on in the kitchen?

Huh? The human? The human can cook? Well damn, maybe this whole deal wouldn’t be so bad. Oi! MC! As payment for babysittin’ ‘em, he got to have an extra big share of- OW!

Did- did the human just hit him with a spoon?! Th-they can’t do that!

Apparently they fucking can. Mammon gets told to sit the fuck down and wait for the food like everyone else. He grumbles on the way to the dining room, but he can’t fully hide his excitement to try the food.

The food even looked pretty! How did they do that?! Magic. It had to be!

After everyone’s tastebuds were blessed with the heavenly substance that is MC’s culinary exploits, Mammon decides he needs to get on this human’s good side in order to receive more food! Maybe even find some way to make a profit or somethin’!

After weeks go by of trying to suck up to the human without looking like too much of a chump, Mammon eventually realizes… hey, this human ain’t so bad. They’re nice, they make him feel good about himself, they give him headpats… he’s really hit the jackpot here!

He’ll offer to help MC bake or cook, but beware, he will try and sample the food before it’s done. Don’t let him lick the spoon!!!

Leviathan

First thought? This human ain’t shit. Thought after seeing their food? WOAAAAAAAH! JUST LIKE THAT ONE ANIME-

He was unceremoniously cut off by Beel asking demanding seconds. Humph, fine, he doesn’t actually care about this dumb normie food anyway.

…well at least until Levi saw a little something something on TV that he just had to ask MC to try and make. He shyly knocked on their door and when they answered, Levi shoved the screenshot in their face and stuttered out a dinner request.

On the day MC was supposed to make dinner, Levi poked his head into the kitchen and tried to make it look like he was just standing in the same room as MC and not checking to see if they were making his dinner request.

Not that he’d blame them for not doing that… who’d wanna make some anime dinner for a yucky Otaku- OMG JAHSHSHABA THEY’RE MAKING IT! *fangirl squeals*

As Levi continues to commit the SIN of being in the kitchen at the same time as someone else, MC eventually just asks him if he’d like to help out.

“Here! Just keep turning the takoyaki.” “R-really? You trust me?” “Yes, Levi. You watched how they made it on your show, right?” “Yes! I won’t mess up! I swear on my honour as an otaku!”

All in all, it was a very cute bonding experience for the two. Now it’s a regular thing. Levi requests something for dinner or dessert, MC makes it, Levi helps out.

Satan

So, the human can cook. That’s nice. At least someone in this literally god forsaken house can.

He makes sure to thank MC every time they cook, then he makes sure to thank whatever deity is watching over him that Solomon wasn’t the human staying with them.

As the months progress, Satan realizes, he should learn how to cook better. I mean, Levi and Mammon were somehow both improving in their cooking endeavours, and if MC could teach those two, then he would be a breeze.

Satan walked into the kitchen and simply asked if MC needed any assistance with what they were doing. MC just slid him some garlic to dice and that’s how this mentor/student relationship was formed.

Satan was a star pupil, but Mammon and Levi weren’t above trying to sabotage Satan’s progress to get him to leave.

Here’s the thing, the sabotage worked, but it only worked once, and the two idiots didn’t stop to think that maybe they shouldn’t sabotage the meal they were going to have to eat later.

Well, cooking lessons continued uninterrupted after the ghost pepper incident…

Even when he’s ‘graduated’ their little cooking class, Satan’s always willing to lend a hand if needed. He also will slyly hand over some recipe books and cute baking supplies that he finds. MC should be prepared for lots of cat related things to come their way.

Asmodeus

The human can cook? Oh frabcious day! He’s saved from a life of his brother’s mediocre cooking! And the human’s so cute too! What a bonus!

Not only is the human cute, but their food is just so… aesthetic??? Pretty???? Omigosh he just has to get a picture for Devilgram!

For the first few months, MC’s relationship with Asmo consists of Asmo not at all subtly asking to take pictures of their food and post it to his Devilgram. Listen MC, his followers would just love it!

Being the saint-sheep they are, MC lets Asmo sit in whenever they’re making anything in the kitchen. And Asmo slowly realizes “hey, this cute human with the awesome food is actually pretty cool too!”

New Mission: Make the human fall madly in love with him so they’ll want to hang out more.

Whether the mission succeeds is up to MC of course. (I mean, I’m already smitten with him sooooooooo-)

MC offers Asmo a lot of the pastries they make, but the Avatar of Lust almost always declines. Listen honey, he’s on a diet- wait, don’t make that sad face! He’ll eat it! Look! It’s- it’s delicious…

Diet cheat day is now every day MC makes dessert. The feeling of bliss Asmo gets when he takes a bite out of anything MC makes is only second of the treats is second only to the joy he feels at seeing MC happy that he likes their food. It’s just so wholesome I can’t-

MC’s food Devilgram has almost surpassed Asmo in terms of followers and honestly- he isn’t even mad.

Beelzebub

Gasp! Lucifer finally got him the pet personal chef he’d always wanted! Thanks big bro! :D he’ll be sure not to eat this human!

On the first night MC was supposed to make dinner, Lucifer needed to hold Beel back from breaking into the kitchen to see what was causing that heavenly smell. It was, difficult… especially because Lucifer hadn’t slept in three days.

When they all sat down to eat, Beel practically inhaled everything and held up his half bitten plate for seconds.

We here at Stupid Headcanons incorporated recommend that MC have as many bodyguards as possible stationed around the kitchen at all times to ward off a hungry Beel. We don’t want him eating the ingredients and half-tempered chocolate.

A cinnamon roll through and through, he’ll eat everything MC gives him with a big ol’ smile on his cute little face. He’s not the best person to go to if MC wants advice or critique because the best thing Beel can usually muster is “it was really good.”

As Luke said in Lesson 5, Beel would make an awful food reporter. But we love him.

Similar to Levi, he’ll give meal requests on what to make for dinner. (At this rate, MC’s going to have to make some kind of list).

He kind of just waits by the door like a sad puppy whenever MC is making anything because he can’t get into the kitchen :(

Belphegor

The smell of freshly made chocolate chip cookies wafting through the house did reach the attic and it only fuelled his rage more. How dare the human win everyone over with cookies?!

After the attic incident, Belphie was won over with cookies.

Belphie just stands creepily in the kitchen doorway whenever MC is making anything and just makes shit really uncomfortable. Why’s he doing that, you may be wondering, well, he’s trying to calculate the energy needed to swipe the bowl of cookie dough and sprint to safety.

He never succeeds, mainly because once he gets to the bowl, MC already has the wooden spoon ready to smack him, so he just freezes mid-theft and slowly puts the bowl down.

“Oh my gosh, it says let the bread dough rest overnight? Let’s get a headstart and go to sleep now.” “Belphie what-” “I made a pillow Fort, come in. Let’s sleep.” “In the kitchen????”

How’d he make the pillow Fort without MC noticing? Years of experience. He’s trained in the art of- MC? What do you mean you can’t sleep right now and you need to get a head start on shaping fondant?

…he may have eaten the fondant while MC wasn’t looking… whoops… Beel may have rubbed off on him a little…

#Obey me! Headcanons #Obey me Headcanons #obey me #obey me! #obey me! shall we date? #obey me shall we date #obey me mc #obey me mammon #Obey me Lucifer #Obey me Leviathan #Obey me Satan #Obey me Asmodeus #Obey me Beelzebub #Obey me Belphegor

[absolutelyfizzing]

angels and demons

warren worthington x reader fluff

@shuckfaced-fangirl Hi! can I request a warren worthington x female mutant reader where her powers are shadow summoning? So I guess everyone in the school kind of views her as some sort of demon? With a lot of fluff? Thank you!!

Description - Y/N is a shadow summoner and is isolated from her peers. Warren helps her see that not everyone fears her and that she is worthy of affection.

warnings - its so fluffy. fem pronouns. some angsty stuff (isolation, depression, sadness), one innuendo, devastating fluff, warren being an angel. i tried to make it POC inclusive, please let me know if it feels restricting or excluding and i will edit it.

word count - 3700, i got carried away

A/N - im so sorry this took so long, i took a break from writing while i am working on moving to college. i will still be spotty for the next few weeks but hopefully, i will post a few more things in that time and then get back on a normal schedule. also, thanks so much for this request, i had a lot of fun writing it and i hope it is something you enjoy reading!

MASTERLIST

You walked through the halls with a lowered head. You knew that you made others uncomfortable and so you chose to try to make yourself as small and unthreatening as possible. You had been 'gifted' powers with which you could manipulate and create darkness. You were a shadow summoner. That wasn't a name that many found reassuring or comforting.

There were a few who could see past it and who was close to being what you might call friends but those people were few and far between. There were overwhelmingly more people who believed that you must have been a scary and mean person, that you were some sort of demon. This couldn't have been further from the truth if one were to look past appearances. Your shadow was larger and darker than that of your peers and it trailed behind you with a mind of its own, moving and growing without you even meaning for it to happen. Your hands were constantly covered in something darker and dustier than the rest of your skin, a deep and pure black. It trailed from the tips of your fingers and faded on your forearm so it looked as though you had just dipped your arms into a chimney or that shadows were crawling up your arms.

When you first got them, you thought they were sort of cool. They made you look sort of goth and that was fun. That feeling quickly faded when you saw how others, even your family, reacted. They said it was a curse from hell. You were barely convinced otherwise.

You sat away from others at the school during free periods. During lunch you sat alone and in the sun when you could, you hoped it might make others be less scared of you as it might make you look brighter but your shadow, dark and ominous, maintained a spot near you. You wore clothes that made you look more approachable to try to maintain that you weren't scary. Your brightly colored outfit didn't ever seem to work though, no matter how hard you tried.

You looked down at the food in your hands, the sandwich only half-eaten, and you noted your hands. They were so normal looking, your nails were well kept and you thought they were a good size. That they might even be a good size for someone to hold. The only thing was the unnaturally colored dust that seemed to cover them. It was a cool black, it glistened and sparkled in the sun when your fingers moved. It never moved or transferred to anything else, always stuck securely to your skin. You were distracted by the way your fingers seemed to shine when a shadow came near yours, wings outlined in it. You looked up to see a tall blond boy above you with curly hair and bags under his eyes. He nodded to a spot on the grass near you.

"Do you mind if I sit here?"

You shook your head and even scooted away from the spot to give him more space despite the fact that you were in a large field.

"Do you want me to move?" You asked gently, wondering if maybe he wanted this particular spot and you took it from him unknowingly.

"I mean, I think that would sort of take away the whole point of me trying to sit with you." He smirked and you felt blood rush to your cheeks. "I like your hands" He hummed and you looked at him in shock. When his eyes met yours you tilted your head a bit.

"They don't bother you?" You tried to speak softly.

"No, I think they're awesome. They make you look punk." He smiled and you felt the corners of your mouth tug up a bit too.

"I like your wings." You almost mumbled as you allowed your gaze to move to the large feathery wings behind him. They moved in the wind and you found yourself wanting to run your fingers through them. "They make you look like an angel." You smiled and he groaned dramatically.

"I'm trying to look grunge." He pouted and you giggled a bit. At the sound, he looked up at you and blushed a bit. "Maybe we should trade."

"If I could trade you I would. Everyone is scared of how I look." You gazed back at the grass.

"I'm not." His simple statement made butterflies erupt in your stomach and you smiled a bit. You looked back at him and made eye contact for a moment.

"What's your name?" You asked and he maintained his gaze into your eyes. It was the most contact or conversation with someone else you'd had in a long time.

"I'm Warren." He smiled a bit and stuck a hand out to you to shake. You looked at his hand in shock. Nobody ever voluntarily touched your hands. Most of them worried that whatever was on them would spread. You hesitantly brought your hand to his, purposefully giving him plenty of time to remove his hand if he felt uncomfortable. But he didn't. Instead, your hand reached his and he shook it before letting go as if it was no big deal.

"I'm Y/N." You smiled a bit more and you felt a giggle come out of you from the joy of realizing this wasn't a dream, that someone was trying to talk to you and they weren't afraid.

"Is my name that funny?" He teased.

"No, I just-" you paused to think, "it's been so long since anyone has done this with me."

"Talked to you?" He questioned, obviously expecting you to say no and explain what you meant. Instead, you just nodded and his heart clenched for a moment. "Well, you can stick with me then."

"I don't know if you want your reputation to take a hit like that."

"My reputation is 'the angry and damaged kid', I'm sure it can handle the breaking news of me talking to a nice and pretty girl." He reassured before he even realized what he was saying. You could have cried at the feeling that rose up in your chest.

After that day, you stuck to his side like glue and he took no issue with it. The more you got to know him the more you appreciated the fact that he had taken you in. With his help, over the coming months, he helped you develop a stable friend group. That group included people like Ororo and Jane who had heard rumors about you and never bothered to check and see if they were real. They apologized profusely, especially Jean as she felt like she could have easily found out that you were kinder than she thought with her abilities but just had never done so, and you gladly accepted, just happy to be within a group.

You and Warren had developed a reputation. He was overly protective and gruff while you were overly nice and empathetic. You balanced each other well and if you were honest, you were in love with him. That always felt weird to say, you'd never been in love with anyone before but every second you spent with him made you more and more sure of your feelings.  

When you and Warren were together, you would daydream about what it would be like to be in a relationship with him. Being held by him and wrapped in his wings. Getting to play with his unkempt hair. Holding his hand.

Sometimes he would try to encourage you to hold his hand. He would hold it out to you when he was helping you jump down from somewhere high. He would ask you to hand him things and then make decisive contact as he took it from you. He knew that it meant a lot to you, you practically gasped and blushed every time he did it. He had never met anyone so touch starved. He wanted to give you all the affection that you craved.

Unfortunately, Warren was rather oblivious, especially towards things like feelings and emotions. He had no clue that you had any interest in him, even though he hoped you did every day. If he wasn't so attached to your friendship, he might ask you out. Instead, he tried to maintain a friendly distance so he didn't cross any lines while also being as affectionate with you as he could be. You followed a similar path.

The person caught in the middle of this was poor Jean Gray. she had watched you pine over each other since you met and had heard every thought that went through both of your heads. She knew you would never complain or ask for help about anything so she liked to keep tabs on your thoughts every once in a while to make sure you were okay. Still, she tried her best to not listen very often or when you were thinking about anything very personal, she honestly did. But she was a romantic. All she wanted was for you two idiots to get together but you were both oblivious. She decided, probably 3 months into you becoming friends, that she had to do something about it.

She was sitting on your bed while you sat across your bedroom on your small couch. She fiddled with her thumbs while she tried to ignore your constant thoughts about Warren, his hands, his wings, his smile. She was exhausted. she took a small breath while she planned how she would try to say this to you.

"Do you want to know what I heard today?" She called and you looked up at her from the book you were pretending to read.

"Do you mean heard or 'heard'?" You laughed and she rolled her eyes.

"Either." Then she tilted her head. "Both."

"Yeah, I wanna know! What's it about?" You asked while leaning forward in your seat. Jean always had the best gossip to tell because she could literally hear it.

"Warren." She stated simply and watched your reaction. You flushed and stopped breathing for a moment.

"Wha-" you stuttered, "what about him?"

"That he has a thing for you." she winked and you flushed even more.

"You're lying." You assured, a questioning look on your face.

"I'm not and I'm tired of watching you two longing after one another while the rest of the school watches." She smiled and your heart picked up.

"I thought I told you not to look in my head!" You scolded but you weren't actually all that upset. You knew that it was very hard for her to control.

"I cant help it! Both of you think so loud. And I wouldn't have to anyway, Ororo mentioned it to me the other day and she definitely cants read minds." She giggled and you smiled a bit.

"Does he actually like me?" You almost whispered in disbelief.

"Yes! He's been obsessed with you since you started talking."

"But like he would want to actually go-"

"Y/N, I swear to god. If you don't go and talk to him right now I'm going to have a fit." She laughed and you glared at her.

"Okay okay fine, I'm going," you grumbled as you stood and walked toward your door. "If you are wrong I'm gonna be so upset with you."

She just laughed again and you started to walk down the hallway. You thought he might be in his room or outside. You decided to check his room first.

You knocked on his door but you were met with silence. You tried the handle and it moved.

"Warren?" you paused, "I'm coming in," you warned and pushed the door open. When you looked inside, he wasn't there. You took a moment to gaze around his room, it wasn't the first time you had been in there but every time was a bit exciting as you got to see all of the things he had that represented him. He had a boombox and a CD collection on his dresser. Some of his clothes were thrown around his room haphazardly and some of his drawers were open. You looked at the wall next to you where he kept photos that you took. You would carry around a camera or take pictures on your phone of everyone around campus. He always asked for them and then printed them out so he could hang them up. He had even managed to get a couple of you. You smiled a bit before heading back into the hallway, closing the door behind you.

You instead moved towards the door to get out onto the lawn where you thought he would probably be. He often sat under the big oak trees or on the roof if he wanted to get away from people. When you made it outside, you looked around for him.

"Y/N!" you heard him shout. You turned to look for him and saw his silhouette flying from the roof. You paused to admire him and his wings. He always looked so angelic to you. So powerful. You thought about how your power emanated darkness. That you would never appear angelic to someone and would more likely look like a demon. You looked down at your hands for a second, a habit you had when you were thinking about your powers. They sparkled a bit in the sun but it did little to quell the distaste in your mouth.

Suddenly there was a shadow in front of you that was not part of the darkness that surrounded you.

"Y/N?" he asked gently. "Are you okay?" he tried not to startle you. Being empathetic wasn't something that came naturally to him, but he tried extra hard around you. he noticed the way you were staring at your hands. The growth of your shadow as you thought about your powers more. He moved to touch one of your hands but you flinched back a bit. He brought his hand back and looked at you with concern. "Whats wrong, angel?" He asked lightly and you looked up at the pet name. He had started calling you that soon after you became friends. You thought it was out of irony but he really was convinced that you were some sort of angel. He also loved the way that your eyes would light up when he said it. You stared at him for a moment in silence.

"Do I scare you?" You asked quietly and your voice shook. He looked surprised by your question and you were surprised too. You didn't know why you were suddenly getting emotional. Why this was now all you could think about. Why it had to come up now when you were trying to express your feelings for him. Instead of responding he reached out to your hand, holding onto it when you let him, despite flinching away slightly. He started to walk, leading you toward the same tree you had met under. Once you both reached it he sat down and looked up at you, waiting for you to sit down too. You did, maybe a bit farther away from him than you needed to be.

"Do you think you scare me?" he asked genuinely and you took a second to think, looking back down at your hands which were now pulled back into your lap.

"I scare me," you stated simply and paused.

"That's not what I asked."

"I don't know." You mumbled. "I think I freak everyone out. Including you I guess." Your voice was quieter than you meant it to be. you really hadn't thought about it in a little while. It had been on your mind plenty when you first started talking to him. You were extra conscious of not pushing him to be around you or near your shadow. You knew that he would move away if he needed to but you also had so many memories of everyone around you fearing you, running from you, telling you that you were a curse. Instead of responding he held his hand out in between the two of you, palm up. You knew that he was inviting you to take it but that he wouldn't push you to. Instead of taking it, you placed your hand near his on the ground and he left his next to yours, not trying to take it if you didn't want him to.

"You don't." He let out, sounding sure of himself and slightly pained. "You don't scare me." You looked at each other. He had tears in his eyes. He was never one to get emotional so you were surprised. "Do I scare you?" he questioned, already knowing your answer but trying to prove a point.

"Of course not." You sighed.

"You have a lot more reason to be afraid of me than I have to be afraid of you." he looked at your hand again. "I'm the one who has a rough history, I'm the one who is angry and has a reputation of being aggressive."

"But, Warren, your mutation is-"

"Mutation has nothing to do with it, Y/N." he sighed. "You have control over your abilities, I have control over mine. The only difference between us is our personalities and I have never had any reason to fear you or dislike you. You're the kindest person I know and everyone in your life who has let you think that there was something wrong with you was terrible. And that was on them."

Your hand reached for his and you laced your fingers together. He squeezed your hand and ran his thumb over the back of it.

"I love you." The words came out of your mouth faster than you could think and you sucked in a breath, almost hoping he didn't hear you. When you glanced up at him he had a gentle smile on his face. He brought the back of your hand up to his face and kissed it before placing it against his cheek.

"I love you too, Y/N" He reached out for your waist and pulled you toward his lap, giving you plenty of time to give him a sign that you were uncomfortable. Instead, you put your leg over his waist so you were straddling his thighs. You held one of his hands in between you and fiddled with his fingers, admiring how your hands contrasted with his. Somehow, him holding your hand made it seem less out of place. You almost felt pride.

You were suddenly surrounded by warmth and shadow, the sounds of the quad around you becoming muted. You looked up around you and his wings were wrapped around the two of you, closing you off into your own little world. You felt the urge to reach out to them but you had never asked. You had never seen him let anyone touch them and you didn't want to make him uncomfortable.

"Go ahead." your eyes snapped to his in shock.

"Warren, you never let any-"

"I want you to," he admitted and it was true. He had thought many times about asking you to run your fingers through his wings. He would never complain about it but they were a little high maintenance and also sensitive. He never let anyone touch them because most people weren't gentle or he didn't trust them. He knew though that you were the gentlest person on Earth and that he could count on you to be careful.

At his reassurance, you smiled a bit. You reached a hand out to the part of his wing next to his shoulder. You both gasped a bit when your fingers made contact. Warren was a bit surprised at how sensitive they were to your touch and it had been a long time since anyone but himself had touched them. You were entranced by how soft they were. The feathers were delicate and there were so many. You were very careful in how you moved your hand along his wing, looking at him often to see if he was uncomfortable. As you were carding your fingers through his feathers, one came out. You gasped slightly horrified that you had hurt him.

"Hey, it's okay!" he rushed out as he saw your panic. "They just sort of... shed sometimes." He almost seemed embarrassed. Feathers would come off occasionally and he would often have to brush through them himself to release all of the loose feathers, sort of like brushing your hair. He reached to pick up the feather and held it in front of you for you to take. You gladly did and you twirled it in your fingers. "Maybe sometime, if you wouldn't mind, of course, you could help me brush through them?" he asked quietly and you smiled.

"Yeah of course. They seem like they might be a lot of work." you were touched that he trusted you to do that and you thought about how hard it must be to take care of them by himself when they were so big and most of his wings were behind him.

"You should see what it's like to shower with them," he grumbled and then his eyes widened at what he had said. He hadn't meant it to be an innuendo but now he was worried he offended you. Instead, he looked into your eyes and you fell into a fit of giggles.

"I might have to take you up on that offer." Your gentle gaze made him blush. He had never felt this comfortable with anyone. This safe. He decided right then that he would do anything you ever asked of him.

After that day, you and Warren became the cutest couple at the school. You were opposites in multiple ways and your relationship was more wholesome than any of your friends could handle. You got more confident in yourself and your abilities and he allowed himself to be more vulnerable. everyone agreed that you were a match made in heaven.

#warren x reader #warren worthington x reader #warren worthington imagine #warren worthington iii #warren worthington the third #warren worthington iii x reader #warren worthington fluff #warren fluff #warren imagine #x men #x-men #x men imagine #x-men imagine #x-men x reader #x men x reader #x men apocalypse #x-men apocalypse #ben hardy #ben hardy fluff #angst

[feanorianethicsdepartment]

Alright, I read your recent post and need to know - what is your interpretation of Maglor’s relationship with the twins?

askjdhslkjag my biggest self-inflicted problem in this fandom is that my take on maglor, elrond, and elros' relationship is so intensely detailed and specific i am forever tormented by none of the fic i read ever quite getting it right (from my perspective; i’ve read plenty of fic that presents a good interpretation on their own terms, it’s just never mine.) it’s simultaneously way darker than the fluffy kidnap dads stuff and nowhere near as black-and-white awful as the anti-fëanorian crowd likes to paint it, it’s messy and complicated and surrounded by darkness, and yet there’s also a sincere connection within it which mostly serves to make all those complications worse. angry teenage elrond is angry for a great many reasons, and the circumstances around him being raised by kinslayers account for at least half of them. there’s lots of complexity here, and i don’t see it in fic nearly as often as i’d like

(warning: the post... feathers? i already have an internet friend called faeiri this could be awkward - anyway, the post she’s talking about includes the line ‘everyone is wrong about kidnap dads except me.’ this post follows on from that in being as much a commentary about why various popular interpretations of both how the kidnapdoption went and the way people subsequently characterise the twins just don’t work for me as it is a setting out of my own ideas. i’m not really interested in getting into discourse here, i’m just trying to get my thoughts down. i’ve read fic with these interpretations before that i’ve liked, even, don’t take this as a Condemnation, aight? also this turned out long as hell, so i’m putting it under a cut)

i can never buy entirely fluffy depictions of kidnap dads

which isn’t to say i don’t read them! sometimes all i want is something sweet, for these kids to get to be happy for once. it’s not like i think their time with the fëanorians was completely devoid of laughter

it’s just. the pet names, the special days out, the home-cooked meals, it can get so treacly it stops feeling like the characters they are in the situation they’re in and turns into Generic Found Family #272

it soaks out all the complexity - which is the thing i am here for - and acts like oh, these kids were never in any danger, they were perfectly happy being abducted by the people who murdered everyone they knew, there’s nothing possibly questionable about this relationship at all

and... yeah. that’s not the characters i know. that’s not the context i know they belong to

i just can’t forget the circumstances that led them to meet

rivers of blood, the air filled with screams, a town ablaze, a woman choosing to die. every interaction the three of them have is going to proceed from that nightmare

(sidenote: i tend to hold it was maglor that raised the twins, with maedhros looming ominously in the background not really getting involved. it’s mostly personal preference, i’ve been in and out of the fandom since before this kidnap dads thing blew up and when i joined that was a perfectly standard reading)

(also the cave thing was a dumb idea, old man, if only because it implies beleriand had streams safe enough for children to play in at that point. the way it separates the twins from the third kinslaying is also something i don’t particularly vibe with)

probably my least favourite angle i’ve seen on the situation (edged out only by ‘maglor was actively abusive towards the twins’ which no no no no no no no no NO) is the idea that maglor (and/or maedhros, append as necessary) took the twins specifically to raise them

like, i get where it’s coming from, but it makes maglor come off as really creepy

(i have read fics where it is indeed played off as really creepy, but that’s not a maglor i have any interest in reading about)

(’mags 100% bad’ is just as facile a take to me as ‘mags 100% good’)

even if you’re saying maglor took them in because they had no one left to take care of them - i highly doubt they were the only children the fëanorians orphaned at sirion. idk, it always makes maglor seem much less sympathetic than i think it’s meant to

i prefer to think of it as more... organic? something that evolved, not something that was preordained. them growing closer gradually, the twins finding an adult who might maybe be on their side, maglor becoming invested in them almost by accident

and then the twins are so comfortable with the second scariest monster in amon ereb they frequently sass him off and maglor’s gotten so used to not hurting them he’s not even thinking about it any more. no one’s quite sure how it happened, but they’ve made a Connection

‘wait aren’t they a murderous warlord of questionable mental stability and a pair of terrified small children who’ve lost everyone they ever knew? isn’t that kinda fucked up?’ yup! that’s the point! complexity!

another idea i don’t like is the idea that maglor was an objectively better parent to the twins than eärendil or elwing

other people have talked about this already, i won’t rehash the whole thing. i will say that while i don’t think elwing was a perfect parent - someone so young, in such a horrible situation, i wouldn’t blame her for screwing up - i do think she (and eärendil) did the best by them they possibly could

this is one of the few things they have in common with maglor

something i come across now and again is the idea that sure, elwing and eärendil weren’t abusive or horrible or anything, but they were a couple of basically-teenagers with so many other responsibilities, there was only so much they could do. maglor, on the other hand, is an experienced adult who could take much better care of the twins

and...

first off, it’s not like mags doesn’t have a job. he’s a warlord, he has a fortress to help run, military shit to handle, lots of other stuff that needs to get done to stop everyone from starving or getting eaten by orcs. i feel like sirion had enough of a government there was plenty of opportunity for elwing to take days off and play with her kids, but in the fëanorian camp nobody really has the time to chase after a couple of toddlers, least of all one of the last points on the command network. they just don’t have the people any more

(seriously, the twins getting a formal education with tutors and classes and shit is a weirdly specific pet peeve of mine. this is a band of renegades, not a royal household; if there’s anyone left with those kinds of skills they almost certainly have more important things to do)

more than that, though - well, a quick glance through my late stage fëanorians tag should tell you a lot about what i think maglor’s mental state is like at this point. he is so accustomed to violence death means nothing to him, he’s lost most of his capacity for genuinely positive emotion to an endless century of defeat and despair, he hates everything in the universe, especially himself, he’s only able to keep functioning through a truly astounding amount of denial, and he covers it all up with a layer of snark and feigned apathy, which he defends aggressively because he’s subconsciously realised that if it breaks he’ll have absolutely nothing left

(maedhros, for the record, is... i’d say more stable, but at a lower point. maglor may interact with the world mostly through cold stares and mocking laughter, but at least his mind is firmly rooted in the present)

(on the other hand, at least maedhros lets himself be aware of what they are and where their road will lead)

which... this doesn’t mean maglor doesn’t try to be kind to the twins, or rein in his worst impulses around them

there’s just so little of him left but the weapon

he stalks through the halls like a portent of death and gets into hours-long screaming matches with maedhros and has definitely killed people in front of the twins

not even as, like, a deliberate attempt to scare them, but because when you solve most of your problems by stabbing them it’s pretty much a given that people who spend a lot of time around you are going to see you do it at least once

and sometimes, he curls up in an empty hallway, and weeps

... suffice it to say i don’t think elwing’s the more preoccupied, or the less mentally ill, parent here

just. in general, the fëanorians aren’t cackling boogeymen, but they’re not particularly nice either

no one has the energy left for that. not these isolated and weary soldiers at the end of a long losing war and the beginning of the end of the world. they don’t really bother to guard the kids against them escaping. where else are they going to go?

the sheer despair that must have been in the fëanorian camp after sirion, the knowledge that the cause cannot be fulfilled, that they are utterly forsaken, that they’re really just waiting to die -

it can’t have been a happy place to grow up in, under the shadow of loss and grief and deeds unrepentable, and the slow march of inevitable defeat

they would have had a better childhood if they stayed in sirion, raised by people who knew how to hope

but that isn’t the childhood they had. and despite everything i’ve said, i don’t think that childhood was an entirely awful one

yeah, see, this is where the other side of my self-inflicted fandom catch-22 comes in. just as much of the pro-kidnap dads stuff comes off as overly saccharine and simplified to me, i find much of the anti-kidnap dads stuff equally simplistic in the opposite direction

the idea that maglor and the fëanorians never meant anything to elros and elrond, that they had no effect on the people they became at all, that it was just a horrible thing that happened when they were children, easily thrown in the rear-view mirror...

that’s even more impossible to me than the idea that life with the fëanorians was 100% fluffy and nice

like, i’ve seen the take that elros and elrond hated the fëanorians from start to finish. they were perfect little sindarin princes, loyal to their people and the memory of doriath, spurning every scrap of kindness offered to them and knowing just what to say to twist the knife into the kinslayers’ wounds

... dude. they were six. hell, given their peredhelness, mentally they could easily have been younger

what six year old has a firm grasp of their ethnic identity? what six year old is fully aware of their place in history? what six year old would understand the politics that led to their situation?

don’t get me wrong, i can see hatred in there. but something else that doesn’t get acknowledged alongside it often enough is the fear

some of the stuff i’ve read feels like it gives the kids too much power in the situation. they’re perfectly happy to talk back to and belittle the people who burned down their hometown and killed everyone they ever knew, like miniature adults who don’t feel threatened at all

and, like, six. i can see them going for insults as a defensive measure, but it is defensive. it’s covering up fear, not coming from secure disdain

(and a lot of those insults sound, again, like things an adult who’s already familiar with the fëanorians would say, not a scared child who’s lost almost everything. why would a six year old raised by sindar and gondolindrim know what the noldolantë is, let alone what it means to maglor?)

(... i’m just ranting about this one fic that’s been ruffling my feathers for five years straight now, aren’t i)

i mean, i write elrond as the world’s angriest teenager, who snipes at maglor pretty much constantly, but the thing about angry teenage elrond is that he’s angry teenage elrond

he’s spent long enough with the fëanorians he has a pretty secure position within the camp, and he knows that maglor won’t hurt him from a decade and change of maglor not, in fact, hurting him

but as a small and terrified child abducted by the monsters his mother had nightmares about? he fluctuated wildly between ‘randomly guessing at things to say that wouldn’t get him killed’ ‘screaming at maglor to go away in words rarely more complicated than that’ 'desperately trying not to do or say anything in the hopes of not being noticed’ and ‘hiding’

(and i don’t think the twins were never in any danger from the fëanorians, either. quite besides the point that before they started orbiting maglor nobody was really sure what to do with them... well, they wouldn’t be the first children of thingol’s line the minions took revenge on)

(fortunately for them, maglor did, in fact, take them under his wing. by this point even their own followers are shit scared of the last two sons of fëanor, nobody’s going to mess with their stuff and risk getting mauled. tactically, it was a pretty good decision for a couple of toddlers)

more to the point, i feel like a child that young, in a situation that horrible, wouldn’t reject any kindness they were offered, any soothing touch in a universe of terror

in a world full of big scary monsters, the best way to survive is to get the biggest scariest monster possible to protect you. that’s how elros rationalises it when they’re, like, eight, mentally, but at the time they were just latching on to the only person around them who seemed to care about them

that’s how it started, on their end. two very young very scared children lost in a neverending nightmare clinging tightly to the lone outstretched pair of hands

as for maglor...

i’ve called mags evil before, but i see that as more of a... technical term? he is evil because he did the murder, he remains evil because he won’t stop doing the murder. hot take: murder bad

but that doesn’t make him, like, a moustache-twirling saturday morning cartoon villain. he is deeply unhappy with the position he’s in and the person he’s become, and he’s always trying not to take that final step over the edge

it’s not that i can’t see a maglor who is abusive or manipulative or who sees the twins more as objects than people. it’s just that that characterisation is one i am profoundly uninterested in. i do occasionally read fic with it, but it never enters my own headcanons

horrible people can do good things!! kinslayers can do good things!! the fallen are capable of humanity!! people can do both good and evil things at the same time, because people are complicated!! maglor is not psychologically incapable of actually taking pity on these kids!!!!

it’s... again, complexity. the fëanorians straddle the line between black and white, which is a lot less sharp in the legendarium than it’s sometimes characterised as. it’s what draws me to their characters so much, why i have so many stupid headcanons about them. pretending they fall firmly on either side of the line is my real fandom pet peeve

and, like, this moment? this sincere connection between a bloodstained warlord and two children who will grow up to be great and kind in equal measure? i may not entirely like the direction the fandom’s taken it recently, but that beat, that relationship, it still gets me

so no, i don’t think elrond and elros’ years with the fëanorians were an endless cavalcade of abuse and misery. i think there was love there, despite the darkness all around them

an old, tired monster, and the two tiny children it protects

maglor never hurts the twins, not ever, not once. his claws are sharp and his fangs are keen, if he so much as swatted them he’d rip them in half. instead he folds down the razor edges of his being, interacting with them ever so carefully. he has nightmares of suddenly tearing into their skin

seriously, the power differential between them is so great, maglor so much as raising his voice would break any trust they have in this horribly dangerous creature. fics where he does corporal punishment always get the side-eye from me

the mood of their relationship is... i find it hard to put into words. melancholy, maybe, like a sunny afternoon a few days before the end of the world. three people who’ve lost so much finding what respite they can in each other as the world slowly crumbles around them

there are times when it feels like the three of them exist in a world of their own, marked out by the edges of the firelight. maglor telling stories of the stars, elros giving relaxed irreverent commentary, elrond getting a few moments to just be, all their troubles kept at bay

they are the last two lights in a world sunk into darkness, the last two living beings he does not on some level hate. he will tear his own heart out before he sees them in pain

he teaches them to ride, he teaches them to read, he gives them everything he still has left. the twins should never have been in this situation, maglor probably isn’t entirely fit to take care of them, but it is what it is, and they take what love they can

(maglor depends on the twins emotionally a bit more than any adult should rely on any child. he’s still very much the caretaker in their relationship, but that relationship is the only one he has left that’s not stained by a century of rage and grief. he’s obsessed with them, maedhros tells him frequently. maglor’s standard response to this is to try to gouge maedhros’ eyes out)

(that particular darker side to their relationship, where maglor’s attachment to the twins turns into a desperate possessiveness - that’s not something i think i’ve ever seen in fic. which is a shame, it feels much closer to my own characterisation than the standard ways this relationship gets maleficised. darker, in a different way than usual. horribly compelling in its plausibility)

however you want to read it, i don’t think you can deny this is a relationship that defines elrond and elros’ childhood. they were raised in the woods by a pack of kinslayers, the text is quite clear on this

but i’ve seen a lot of talk about how elros and elrond are only sirion’s children. they are completely 100% sindarin, they love and forgive eärendil and elwing thoroughly and without question, they identify with doriath over - even gondolin, let alone tirion. the fëanorians - the people who raised them - had zero effect on the people they grew into and the selves they created

and that, more than anything else, i find utterly unbelievable

look, i get what this is a reaction to. a lot of the kidnap dads stuff paints the fëanorians as elrond and elros’ ‘real’ family, and i’ve already talked about what i think of the idea that maglor-and-possibly-also-maedhros were better parents than eärendil and elwing. i think it’s reductive and overly optimistic and just a little too neat

but to say instead that elrond and elros held no great love in their hearts for maglor, no lingering affinity with the fëanorians, no influence on their identity from the people they grew up around, none at all? that after it happened they just left it behind and resumed being the same people they were in sirion?

that strikes me as just as much an oversimplification. it sands down all the potential rough edges of their identity, all that inconvenient complexity that stops them from fitting into any well-defined box, and replaces it with a nice safe simple self-conception i find just as flat and boring as declaring them 100% fëanorian

we can quibble over who they call ‘father’ (i personally find that whole debate kinda petty) but denying that it was actually maglor who was the closest thing they knew to a parent for most of their childhoods, and that that would, in fact, affect the way they thought of themselves and their family, elides so many interesting possibilities out of existence

(i’m not even going to get into the most braindead take i have ever heard on the subject, namely that because their time with the fëanorians was such a small fraction of elrond’s total lifespan it was like being kidnapped for two weeks as a toddler and had no greater significance than that. do you not understand what childhood is????)

like, i tend to think of elrond as a child as being very loudly not-a-fëanorian. elros is more willing to go with the flow - hey, if the creepy kinslayer wants kids, elros is happy to play into that in order to not be murdered - but elrond is very firm that he’s not happy to be here and he doesn’t belong with them

(this is after they get over their initial terror, of course, when they’ve realised they won’t be fed to the orcs for the tiniest slight. even so, elrond only really gets shirty about it around people he’s comfortable with, whose reactions he can reasonably guess at. naturally, the first person he does it to is maglor)

elros calls maglor their father exactly once, when they’re... maybe early preteens? this is because elrond hears him do it and immediately loses his shit. they have a dad, elrond says, in tears, and a mum, and any day now their real parents are going to come to pick them up and take them home

... right?

it gets harder to believe as the years roll on, as their memories of sirion fade, as they find their own places within the host, as maglor watches over them as they grow. elrond still mentally sets himself apart from the fëanorians, but it’s more of an effort every year. life in the fëanorian camp is the only one he’s ever really known. he can barely remember his mother’s voice

then the war of wrath starts, and the fëanorian host drifts closer to the army of valinor, and the twins come into contact with non-fëanorians for the first time in forever, and it becomes clear just how obviously fëanorian elrond is. he always insisted he wasn’t like the kinslayers at all, but he dresses like them, talks like them, fights like them

the myth cycles the edain tell are almost completely unfamiliar to him, he barely remembers the shape of the songs of lost doriath. even these sarcastic commentary and subversive reinterpretations he made of maglor’s stories - those were still maglor’s stories! he’s been trying to guess at the person he was meant to be, but it’s growing nightmarishly blatant how little elrond ever knew about him

instead, the people he was born to are as alien to him as the orcs of morgoth. he is a fëanorian, through and through

... yeah, elrond (and/or elros) having an absolutely massive identity crisis upon being reintroduced to his quote-unquote ‘true kin’ is another angle i’d love to see in fic that i don’t think i’ve ever come across. all those potential grey areas around who they are and who they’re supposed to be sound utterly fascinating, and i think it’s the complexity i hate to see elided over the most

i really, really doubt they could effortlessly slot back into being eärendil and elwing’s children. not when they’ve been surrounded by, lived alongside, been raised by the people who were supposed to enemies for most of their lives

they just don’t fit into that box any more. they can’t

speaking of eärendil and elwing, while i do agree that they both (especially elwing) get a lot more flak than they deserve, i don’t agree that therefore elrond and elros were never the slightest bit mad at them and fully forgave them for everything with no reservations

because, well, they were left behind. elwing had no other choice, but they were still left behind; it led to the world being saved, but they were still left behind. all the best intentions in the universe don’t erase the weeks and months and years of waiting, of a hope that grew thinner and frailer until it finally quietly broke

that’s a real hurt, and a real grievance. even if the twins rationally understand that their parents were making the best out of their terrible situation, you can’t logic away emotions like that. it’s perfectly possible for them to know they have no reason to resent eärendil or elwing, and yet still harbour that bitterness and pain

(i did write a thing once where elrond loudly rejects eärendil as his father in favour of maglor, but something i didn’t add in that i probably should have is that elrond later regretted doing that)

(not like, several centuries later, when he’d grown old and wise. two hours later, when he’d calmed down. but he was still legitimately angry at eärendil, because the one thing angry teenage elrond was not lacking in was reasons to be mad at the adults around him, and before he could figure out if he had anything less furious to say the hosts of the valar left middle-earth behind)

(it’s another element to the tragedy of the whole thing. in that particular story, which is mostly aiming for maximum pain, the only thing elrond’s birth parents know about their son for thousands of years is that he hates them)

(and he doesn’t, not really. you can’t hate someone you’ve never known)

not that i think they couldn’t ever make up with their parents! fics where elrond and his birth parents work past all the things that lie between them and form a functional familial bond despite it all give me life. i just don’t like the idea that there’s nothing difficult for them to work past

i don’t like the idea that elrond and elros would naturally, effortlessly identify with the mother they last saw when they were six and the people they only vaguely remember. i can see them doing it as a political move, i can see them going for it as a deliberate personal choice, but i can’t seeing it being immediate and automatic and easy

no matter how great a pair of heroes eärendil and elwing are, that doesn’t change the fact that to elrond and elros, they’re at most a few scattered memories and a collection of far-off stories. and so long as the twins stay in middle-earth, they’re never going to draw any closer

compared to the dynamic, multifaceted, personal, and deep bonds they have with the fëanorians - who, and i know i keep saying this but i think it gets tossed aside way more casually than it should, are the people who actually raised them, their birth parents must feel like a distant idea

and that’s why i can never buy interpretations of elrond as 100% sindarin, a pure son of doriath, with no messy grey areas or awkward jagged edges to his identity. given everything we know about his life, it seems almost cartoonishly simplistic

honestly it seems like a narrative a bunch of old doriathrin nobles trying to manouevre elrond into being high king of the sindar or something would propagate. it's neat and nice and tidy, something that’d be much more convenient for everyone if elrond did feel that way

but i just don’t see how he can. this narrative is easy and simple in a way real people never are, it ignores all the forces pulling him apart. elrond being uncomplicatedly sindarin with the life he lives and the people he's close to - that doesn’t make any sense to me

which isn’t to say i think he’s 100% noldorin, from either a gondolindrim or a fëanorian perspective. (i find it a little more believable, given, again, who he grew up around and who he hangs out with, but it’s still a bit too reductive for my tastes.) it’s also not to say i couldn’t believe an elrond who made an active choice to emphasise his sindarin heritage

it’s not how i think of him, but it works. i don’t have a problem with other people interpreting the complexities of the twins’ identities differently

i just have a problem with people acting like it doesn’t exist

in general i think there’s a lot untapped potential that gets left behind when you declare the twins, separately or together, as All One Thing

they’re descended from half the noble houses of beleriand, and they have deep personal ties to most of the rest. they belong to all of the free peoples even the dwarves, somehow, probably and i feel like that was kind of the old man’s point? so many peoples meet in them, to say they wholly belong to any one species is probably an oversimplification

they sit at a crossroads of potential identities, and rather than narrowing down their worldviews to one single path, they take the hard road and choose all of them. that’s what you need to do, if you want to change the world

and, to bring this back to my ostensible topic, in my estimation at least this mélange of possible selves does include them as fëanorians! it’s not overpowering, but it’s certainly there, and the adults they grow into long after they’ve left the host still bear influence from their childhood

nothing super obvious, nothing that wouldn’t stand out if you didn’t know what to look for, but there’s something almost incandescent in how fiercely elros reaches out for his dreams

there’s something almost defiant in elrond’s drive to be as kind as summer

as for who they publically claim as their family... honestly, it depends. while it’s usually more tactically prudent for elros to connect himself to his various human ancestors, on occasion he does find a use for his free in with the elf mafia, and elrond, code switcher par excellence, is famously the son of whoever is most politically convenient at the moment, which is rarely, but not never, maglor

(in the privacy of their own minds, well, eärendil and elwing may have been the parents elros was supposed to have, but maglor was the parent he actually had, and elros doesn’t particularly care to mope over what might have been. elrond, for his part, figures that after all the shit maglor has put him through, the least that bastard owes him is a father)

but honestly? i think before any of their mountain of identities, before thinking of themselves as sindarin or gondolindel or hadorian or haladin or fëanorian or anything, elrond and elros identify as themselves

they are peredhil, they are númenóreans, they are whoever they make themselves to be. that’s how elrond finally resolved his identity, figured out who he was and found something past the pain and the rage

he wasn’t doriathrin, or gondolindrin, or falathrin, or fëanorian, or whatever else. he was elrond, no more and no less

and that person, elrond, could be whatever he chose to be

... elros came to a similar conclusion, with much less sturm und drang that he’s willing to admit. being able to go ‘hey, i can’t possibly be biased towards any one of your cultures, because i’m descended from all of you and i was raised by murderelves’ makes it a lot easier to unite people around your personal banner, turns out

the stories other people tried to force on them shattered into pieces, and the peredhel twins were free to shape themselves into anything they could dream of

and as the new world struggles alive, these lost children of an Age of death begin to bloom into their full glorious selves -

i just. i love the poetry of that. despite every single shadow that hangs over their past, despite all the clashing notes pulling them apart, they harmonise it all into a greater, kinder theme, determined to make their world a better place in whatever way they can

they fail, of course, but so do all things. the inevitable march of entropy doesn’t diminish the long millennia they (and their descendants) held onto the light

and their growing up in the fëanorian host definitely had a huge effect on the noble lords they became. you can see it in elros’ loud ambition to create a land of happiness and hope, elrond’s quiet resolve to heal all the hurts inflicted by this marred reality

it wasn’t a perfect time by any means, but neither was it a nightmare. it was what it was, a desperate existence at the edge of a knife where, nevertheless, they were loved

even after years upon decades upon centuries have passed, it’s hard for the wise king and the honourable sage to separate out and identify all the conflicting emotions swirling around their childhood. they never knew eärendil or elwing, true, but they also never really knew maglor

not as equals, not as adults, not as people who could truly understand him. he disappeared into the fog of history, leaving only childhood memories of razor-sharp, gentle hands

it’s messy and it’s complicated and getting any real closure would be like shoving their way through a thornbush with bare hands even if elrond could find the shithead, and yet at the core of it all, there is light. not the brightest of lights, maybe, but an enduring one

that contrast, above all, that note of warmth amidst the shadows, is what fascinates me so much about their relationship. three screwed up people in a screwed up world, finding a little peace with each other

and the fact that somehow, it does have a good ending - the children grow up magnificent and compassionate and just, they become exemplars of all their peoples, lodestars of the new world born out of the ashes of the old - that makes it seem to me like this relationship must have contained some fragment of happiness

but, fuck, all the darkness that surrounds that love, all the tangled-up emotions its existence necessitates, all the prefabricated self-identities it can never slot into - nothing about it is simple, nothing about it is easy, and i find that utterly enthralling. especially how, despite everything, that flickering light never goes out

well, i don’t think it does, anyway. my take on this relationship is both complicated enough no one else ever quite gets it right and well-defined enough every single ‘error’ in other people’s interpretations sticks out like a kinslayer in rivendell

it is an entirely self-inflicted problem, i will admit. other people are allowed to interpret those complexities differently from me, and it’s entirely my own fault i lack the :waves hands around nebulously: to write my own hypothetical fic on the subject at a pace faster than glacial

still, though. i do wish there was more fic out there that engaged with these complexities. a lot of the common fandom interpretations of this relationship just sweep it all away

#ask #my terrible headcanons #elros #elrond #maglor #elwing #earendil #feanorians #niphredilien #yellow feathered faerie #putting your old url in the tags for archival purposes #post nyanyannya askbox clearout #ironically it turned out almost as long as the songfic that clogged up my askbox in the first place #and it is DONE #fuck this took forever to write #stayed up late just to get it out the door so i don't have to think about it any more #this is a long ramble and i'm pretty sure the end is just me repeating myself ad nausem sorry #i'll admit to a certain pro-feanorian bias in my interpretation #but i also don't want elros and elrond to just. live in a neverending horrorshow for decades #the silm's cruel enough we don't need that #narratively i feel like elrond being All Of The Elves is a good mirror for elros being All Of The Humans #but it didn't really fit the angle i was going for #bleck #let's see how many followers i lose for this