#beyond the dead stump

[flovey-dovey]

Concept design ahoy! The main-ish character for an original take on an A Hat in Time AU I've had for aaages and ultimately decided to make into its own thing because it worked out better that way.

His main inspiration is from the Helmaroc King from The Legend of Zelda: Wind Waker and The Snatcher. He's known as the Nabber (very original, I know) and the gist of the story is that he's the local cryptid and takes in a young abandoned baby girl he names Heather (like the flower) on a whim, and it's about their everyday life together in the Deadwood Forest, the goings-ons in the nearby castletown/village, the friends they make and the enemy they find themselves faced with along the way.

I'm quite proud of how it came out, and if anything I might shave off the glowy crest on his head, but I dunno. I gave it to him because I liked the idea, so maybe he can keep it. We'll see.

#my art #my characters #Nabber #Heather #Beyond the Dead Stump #btds #also gonna tag with #A Hat in Time #The Snatcher #Hat Kid #because I mentioned them kinda

[allthegothihopgirls]

ok so i'm completely up to date with twdu EXCEPT for ftwd season 3+, i feel kind of obliged to finish it now

#i've read all the comics #the whole main show (multiple times) #world beyond #daryl spinoff #dead city #gonna keep up to date with towl #+ive seen the stupid tales and origins stuff #but ftwd has had me stumped so many times #its so.... bad. #. #gothihop speaks

[bountycancelled]

(un)secret admirer

luke castellan x child of aphrodite!reader

tip me on kofi, if you feel so inclined

requested: nope, I'm just currently obsessing over pjo (aren't we all?) and Charlie bushnell is my pookie so luke is also my pookie (what about all the people he murdered– what murdaaaa?!)

warnings: none I believe!

content: probably ooc luke becusse I haven't read the books, I don't know if demigods even nap, I don't remember the movies and he's barely in the show lol, some cuddling, lowercase intended because fuck grammar, also I know demi gods are dyslexic i just dont gaf because i thought this concept was cute, that's all!

a/n: SEND ME PJO REQS! please. also this is short and I'm sorry, I've been having horrid writers block.

"I don't get what the big deal is." Lukes voice could be heard from where he sat on your bed, as you gazed at the piece of paper in your hand, pacing back and forth in your room as you analysed its every minute detail to the best of your abilities. "you get letters from the other campers all the time."

"I already told you Luke. this handwriting isn't the same as any other letter I've gotten, so that means it's from someone who's never sent me a note before, and I need to know who it is."

you had recieved a myriad of letters ranging from 'I think you're pretty' to 'I would sacrifice my right arm just to get a hug from you' during your time here at camp. beyond being drop dead gorgeous, you were kind, always wearing a charming smile on your face, and having the ability to comfort people with your presence alone.

that (coupled with the facts that most kids here had some kind of parental baggage and your kindness definitely filled some kind of void) meant that you recieved many a words from not so secret admirers. you were sure that you knew the identities of the people who had given you sealed envelopes and tightly folded papers, but you were currently stumped.

you were startled out of your staring contest with the scribbled ink by the feeling of Lukes arms around your shoulders as he spoke. "I'm sure you'll figure it out eventually, now can you please come back to bed? you know that I can't nap if you're not with me."

you sighed, letting him lead you back to your bed so that he could rest before you two inevitable of the two of you needing to help around the camp occured. you stared up at the ceiling as he slowly started to dose off beside you, before you gasped and shot up, effectively spooking him out of a peaceful moment.

"it's Percy!" you shushed Luke before he had the chance to complain about your sudden exclamation or the fact that you weren't letting him get a wink of midday sleep. "I mean, he's just met me, and one of my friends probably told him some stuff about me–"

"it's not Percy." Luke deadpanned, pushing you down by the shoulder from the upright postpone you were sat in to make you lay back down, and wrapping his arm around your waist. you were shocked into silence, because although Luke was an affectionate friend, he had never cuddled you while he was still awake. he would always wake up and discovering that he had wrapped around you in his sleeping state, apologising sheepishly while retracting his limbs.

after a few moments of stunned silence, you furrowed your eyebrows in confusion at his statement. "and how do you know it's not him, huh?" he simply blew air from his nose, tightening his grip around your waist.

"because it was me, sweetheart."

now that shut you up fairly quickly, as you bit your lip to try to hinder the giddy smile that wanted to form on your features. you opened your mouth to speak again, only to be interrupted by Luke placing a small kiss on the back of your neck.

"we'll talk when we wake up, alright?" but you weren't having any of that. "okay... but, before you go to bed. how long have you liked me? is this actually the first letter you've sent? why wouldn't you just tell me, you idiot. obviously I like you too. I know you said some stuff that you like about me in the letter, but I want you to tell me about everything you like about me, like every feature, every trait-"

Luke chuckled, sporting a big grin as you spoke. he would tell you all of that and more, he would do anything you asked of him, just as long as he got to hold you in his arms just like this.

#percy jackson #percy jackon and the olympians #percy series #pjo tv show #pjo x reader #pjo x you #luke castellan #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #luke castellan angst #luke castellan apologist #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan fic #luke castellan fanfiction #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan blurb #luke castellan x fem!reader

[wynnyfryd]

Trailer park Steve AU part 61

part 1 | part 60 | ao3

cw: mentions of canonical minor character death

Chapter 14

It's twilight by the time they make their way to Rick's place — gnat clouds swarming, sun dipped low, Lover's Lake an inky smudge beyond the blur of passing pines. Steve’s not totally sure how they got here, this dusty service road that's more pothole than pavement; one minute he's bitching about doomed love and double VHS, the next he’s taking the scenic route to a drug den.

There were some important moments in between, he’s pretty sure.

He’s also pretty sure he blacked out somewhere around the moment the morning news reported that an-unidentified-Hawkins-student-who-very-well-could-be-Eddie-Munson was found dead in his fucking trailer.

Kinda difficult to resurface from that one.

Feels like his soul’s got swimmer’s ear.

Even hours later — after Dustin and Max burst into Family Video talking a mile a minute about how Eddie was alive and they needed to use the phones; after Ernie stupidly gave a reporter Steve’s name, swearing up and down on the TV that his neighbor Steve Harrington was an upstanding young man who would never do something like this; after they spent an agonizingly long afternoon lying low and taking backroads to avoid the cops because the cops probably suspect Steve of murder now, oh god—

“It’s this next right up ahead,” Max says from the back seat. There's a map spread over the bench between her and Dustin, and Steve blinks himself awake; gives her a nod in the rearview.

Beside her, Dustin’s munching on Twizzlers he stole from the store — window down, easy slouch, just way too chipper for the situation at hand. "So Steve," he says conversationally, "now that you're a fugitive, does that mean—?"

Steve cuts Robin a pleading look.

Robin reaches back and smacks the little twerp upside the head.

"Ow!" Dustin whines.

"Shut up, please," Robin smiles.

Max makes a sound like she's trying not to laugh and checks the map again. "Right here," she says, pointing. "After that weird tree stump."

They turn onto another road that could be generously described as paved, once, several decades ago, and eventually, the winding path lets out onto a slightly nicer street. Aging but cared for, Holland Road is a crowded row of little lake houses, trailers and shacks with manicured shrubs and chipped fence paint, weeds growing through the sidewalks beneath pristine American flags. Steve pulls into the driveway of #2121.

It looks abandoned. Dark inside and out, a truck parked on the curb that's likely been there for a while, its tires sagging in a mulch of old wet leaves. There’s an autumn wreath on the front door.

“You sure this is the place?” he asks as they climb out of the car.

Max sasses him for questioning her navigation skills, Dustin unsuccessfully tries to land a revenge slap on Robin — a move that earns him a retaliation wedgie and a wrestling match he was never gonna win — and Steve pops the trunk and feels a hundred years old. Feels every bit the exhausted dad trying to keep the family road trip together as he grabs his nail bat and slings his duffel over his shoulder.

"You planning to spend the night?" Dustin teases from Robin's armpit, still bent double where she's got him in a headlock.

"No, just-" he drops the bag at their feet with a grunt, “doesn’t hurt to be prepared.”

Dustin’s eyes bug out. “Is that a can of goddamn bear mace?”

“Keep your voice down!” Steve hisses.

“You keep your voice down!”

"Should I just go ahead and choke him out?" Robin offers.

Steve considers it for a second: knock 'em all out, stuff 'em back inside the car. Go do this shit quietly by himself.

He rolls his eyes and puts his hands on his hips.

"You're no fun," she pouts, but she lets Dustin go.

Dustin grabs flashlights and walkies out of the bag, passes them around the circle. They take a moment to steel themselves — huddled together in the dark, shoulders tense, the creepy house looming ahead. Sharp shadows stretch toward them. Croaking sounds creeping from the edges of the lake.

Robin puts her flashlight under her chin like she's about to tell a scary story. "Alright, kiddos," she says in a deep, ominous voice. "Let's go rescue Steve's ex."

Stunned silence in the sudden vacuum her words create. Steve lets out a tired sigh. Dustin’s jaw is on the curb.

“His WHAT?” Dustin shouts.

Oh, my god. “He’s not my ex."

Robin rolls her eyes and says ‘sure’ under her breath, and Max turns to Dustin, laughing. “You didn’t know they were a thing?”

“We’re not—” Steve tries again.

“What were you trying to get them back together for then?”

She seems genuinely curious. Dustin seems three seconds from spontaneous combustion. “What was I WHAT?!” he yelps, limbs everywhere. Reminds Steve of Eddie so bad it hurts.

“Okay,” Steve interrupts, clapping them both on the shoulder; drops his voice to a harsh whisper. “In case you two forgot, we’re here to rescue Eddie.”

“Who you’re dating.”

Dustin’s voice is small, disconnected, his gaze far away. Like he’s shellshocked.

“Jesus Christ.” Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. “I— Yes. No. It’s complicated.”

Max snorts at his answer, Dustin makes a series of faces like he's gonna need seven years to process, and Robin interrupts his crisis by waving her flashlight like a traffic guard, walking backward up the hill as she directs them toward the house.

“Why don’t we just go find him first?” she suggests, making a rainbow with her hands, flinging light through the grimy windows. “And then Stevie here can answer alllll your big gay questions.”

Steve glares at Robin. Dustin glares at him, narrowed eyes for a full ten seconds like 'yeah, you fucking better,' and then he takes off up the driveway hollering Eddie's name.

—

part 62

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#trailer park steve au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #max mayfield #dustin henderson #reefer rick #my writing #my fic

[falling-star-cygnus]

im still hung up on Adam hating seeing Lute cry if you couldn't tell

pr.2 of my previous Guitarspear fic❗ :D

basically- Adam's death was just a nightmare on Lute's part and he was actually only injured yes this is me being delulu

{The first man's palm is warm in his final death.}

{Lute shoots up in bed and chokes on a scream.}

{She can feel her chest heave, too hot tangled in her blanket and yet far too cold at the same time. Hot like the blood Adam left on her cheek. Cold like his hand}

{The exorcist slowly lowers herself back down onto the pillows, subconsciously brushing her fingers over her cheek to wipe away ichor that’s no longer there. Lute's heart is beating a mile a minute. She can feel it pulsing in her throat}

{The black and white feathers of her wings tremble, loudly broadcasting their presence and demanding to be soothed; the angel takes in a deep breath and closes her eyes}

{She was being silly.}

{Adam's cold hand on her cheek, his ragged inhales, the golden blood staining unholy ground, his final-}

{Lute throws her blankets off}

"Just a quick check,"

{She swears to herself, barely noticing her feet carrying her to Adam's quarters until she's gently pushing the door open}

{Adam's larger then life form is lying on his bed, facing the wall, and still.}

{Until a heaven-shattering snore disrupts the silence. Lute feels like she can breathe again}

{With a long sigh, Adam's lieutenant turns around to head back to her own room. The ache in her chest has lessened, thankfully, at seeing her boss alive and well. But somehow... it wasn't enough}

{Which was ridiculous, Lute was being ridiculous. What more could she possibly need? That was appropriate for someone of her status to ask for- that is. Obviously she couldn't just-}

{Lute is pressing her ear to Adam's chest before she's even processed she's entered his room.}

{The steady thump-thump-thump of his immortal heart is like a balm on her frazzled nerves. Her eyes close as a sigh of relief wracks her suddenly exhausted frame}

"huh- what the fuck? Lute?"

{Lute would like it on record that the sound that left her mouth at Adam's sleep-raspy voice was not a yelp in any shape or fashion}

"S-sir! I was just-"

{Just what!? Just listening to his heartbeat to reassure herself he wasn't dead? Just watching him sleep? She couldn't say that. Pathetic. She was being pathetic}

"You were just...?"

{Adam's not wearing his mask. Which makes sense, it's 3 in the morning and he was sleeping. Of course, the first man wasn't wearing his mask.}

{It's not like Lute was complaining about it, he was very attractive under his mask. He was attractive with it, if she was being hones with herself.}

"Just-"

{Lute can feel a familiar burn working it's way up her throat as Adam raises an expectant eyebrow. She can't meet his eyes anymore, her actions were beyond shameful. Beyond embarrassing. All because she was needy-}

"Ah- shit- tears... uh-"

{Nice, familiar, warm hands cup her face awkwardly. His thumbs clumsily try and rub away the salty tears that pour down her face unbidden. When had she started crying?}

{Lute can't really bring herself to care when those hands only further prove that her boss is alive in front of her.}

"C'mon Dangertits, don't cry! You're supposed to be badass!"

{It's so heart-wrenchingly close to what he had said to her on that day that Lute just cries harder. She can't get any words out, can't say anything to rectify her rather pathetic display. But- Adam almost died. Almost died in her arm. She's allowed to be upset damnit!}

"Fuck- uh- ah shit, Lute. Please? Please don't cry..."

{The first man is full of surprises tonight. First saying please and now dragging his lieutenant into his arms with a near frantic urgency}

{He holds her head gently to his chest, golden wings folding over the shaking exorcist in a protective barrier. That familiar thumping fills her ears again.}

{Lute can feel his hand card awkwardly through her silvery hair, the other resting on the stump of what's left of her arm. It feels... surprisingly nice}

"See? I'm- I'm ok, yeah? Takes more then some fuckin' cyclops with a needle to take the first man out."

{Now that Lute's not driving herself into a headache with sobs, she can hear the shaky notes of concern under his boasting. The hands pull her just a bit closer, and it's because of this closeness that she can hear:}

"...i hate seeing you cry."

{It's whispered so softly it's like a secret admission, like nobody but him was supposed to hear it; not even Lute}

"...so please, don't do it. Not for me."

{Adam buries his nose into the silver strands he's been finger brushing, moving his hand to hold the back of her neck instead}

{The exorcist's tears have died into sniffles, the expected headache raging inside her skull in sharp fireworks. Lute turns her head to the side, resting her cheek on Adam's shoulder and bringing her knees up to her chest}

{They stay like this for a good ten minutes or so. Until Lute is feeling tired enough to attempt sleep again and uncurl herself from her boss's comforting hold}

{The lieutenant doesn't want to leave his arms, embarrassingly enough. But she's overstayed her welcome and they both need their rest if-}

{Adam's wings drag her right back into him}

"Sir-!?" "Adam."

{Lute's jaw closes itself with a click as the first man cuts her off, laying back down on his side with his best friend in his arms}

"Just- Adam. Just for right now..."

{It's a rare show of vulnerability from him, drawn out from his lieutenant's tears. Lute can't bring herself to deny him anything, not when his arms and wings are holding her close like she's something precious}

"...Adam."

{They'll have to talk about- this- in the morning, probably. Whatever this is between them. Or maybe they won't. Maybe when Adam wakes up, Lute will have already fled back to her room. Maybe Lute will wake up in an empty bed far too big for smaller stature and tucked in a blanket.}

{Or maybe they'll wake up still tangled in each other, still with tears stains on their persons, still holding each other tight enough that neither Heaven nor Hell could pull them apart}

{Maybe they'll just be Lute and Adam. For a few more stolen moments.}

#GOD they're in love #ugh #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel 2024 #hazbin hotel fanfic #guitarspear #adam x lute #lute x adam #hazbin adam #hazbin lute #vivziepop #adam hazbin hotel #lute hazbin hotel

[professional-yapper]

Aonung x Albino reader? 🙏🙏

Burn

Aonung x Albino! Reader

Warnings: sunburn ig?, awkward Aonung (he can't flirt to save his life this is true James Cameron told me himself), teasing as flirting, the tribe they're from is giving cult x

"This is stupid, Vipka," you huffed, ducking under a branch as you followed your twin brother's ghostly figure closer and closer to the edge of the dark forest that your tribe inhabited.

"Don't be a wuss!" he called back, flashing you a sharp grin. "We might find something cool!"

You rolled your eyes. "Yeah, or we'll find something dangerous, get ourselves killed, and end up in the Nothing. Eywa's word is that we stay here, in the Dark, where it's safe."

Vipka rolled his eyes right back, bounding towards you, grabbing your arms and giving you a little shake. "That's what the elders say. If Eywa wanted us to stay here, she wouldn't have made me so curious about what's out there."

You gritted your teeth, but couldn't find a proper response to that beyond a muttered, "That's blasphemous." And you relented, following your stupid, reckless brother towards the edge of the forest.

Not that you were sure there even was an edge. After all, no one besides the elders actually knew. You and Vipka were only heading in the direction that the elders went in when they left the village for reasons you and Vipka weren't allowed to know.

It really could just be the forest, going on forever and ever, and you would keep going until you went crazy.

A silent prayer formed on your lips, to Eywa, who had cared for your people even after they had been foolish enough to burn their Spirit Tree down. All that was left of the centuries-old catastrophe was a charred old stump held in reverence.

Once, your uncle had whispered a story to you of tribes far away, where the sun shone brightly and their Spirit Trees grew strong, and they could even connect with their dead through the Trees themselves. It seemed fantastical to you, who had grown up knowing upon death your people would go into the Nothing and never be heard from again. Eywa's punishment for her disobedient children.

But after all... You wondered if it could be true. If you and Vipka walked far enough, would you find a tribe with no Nothing, with a Spirit Tree that grew and flourished and kept their ancestors safe?

You didn't know whether to hope so or not. Would you even be able to return home once the elders discovered yours and Vipka's disobedience? Perhaps Eywa would punish the tribe again. Maybe your family personally.

Once again you called for Vipka, but he ignored you and his pale, slender form disappeared into the trees, running now, fuelled by the adrenaline of doing something so forbidden.

Not that this was forbidden, just wandering through the Dark. But it wasn't really the Dark, anymore. The dark green of the foliage had bled away into a lighter hue, punctuated with bursts of colours. Flowers and plants and fruits that you shied away from, eyes wary as you picked your way through this new world.

You shielded your eyes against the strange light filtering through the trees, golden and hot against your skin, which was already taking on a queer pink tint that you recognised vaguely.

The elders were often this shade when they returned to the tribe. Vipka had overheard them calling it... the Burn?

You couldn't be sure, but you covered your flushed arms with your hands and kept going.

A squeal suddenly pierced the warm silence, and you froze, ears dipping and tail waving with brisk worry. "Vipka?" you called, taking a few stilted steps towards the source of the sound.

Another squeal, but definitely not Vipka. An animal of some kind. And voices. Loud, cheerful, calling to one another as they got closer, evidently following the squealing thing.

Hunters, maybe.

Not from your tribe, for sure.

You began backing up, preparing to turn and run like hell all the way back home. Vipka could keep going for all you cared, could be caught and eaten alive by the tribes beyond the Dark.

A large animal burst out of the undergrowth and you shrieked in fright, leaping back and colliding with something or someone, falling down in a jumble of arms and legs.

The animal veered away at your cry, thundering in a different direction.

"Damn!" the thing that had fallen down with you swore, shoving you off unceremoniously. "You scared it away, skxwang!"

"Fuck you!" you spluttered furiously, climbing to your feet and rubbing your lower back. You were angry. Fucking furious.

But then the strange Na'vi stood up, and you considered that it might not be a good idea to square up with him.

He was built like a tree. Broad and muscular and a weird shade of blue. Twice your size, at least. Could absolutely crush you into dust.

You didn't want to stick around and find out.

But before you could run, he grabbed your arm, pulling you back, staring at you hard with his weird pale eyes, dark curls plastered to his brow, entire body covered in sweat. "What are you?" he asked.

You shoved him in the chest, but he barely shifted, which was a solid blow to your ego. You were one of the stronger members of the tribe, and it scared you to think Na'vi of his size and strength were roaming wild out here.

Why would the elders ever come out here?

"You're one of those white Na'vi, right? From the deep forest on the other side of Awa'atlu?" he prompted, ears flattening as you kept quiet.

You stiffened. "How do you know that?"

"Your people- what do you mean, how do I know that? Your people come and talk with my dad all the time. You should probably cover up, by the way. You guys burn real easy," he added, tone almost friendly as he released your arm, seemingly realising it wasn't helping.

He knew? He knew of your people. He knew of the Dark. He knew the elders.

"But you're, like, my age," he continued, tilting his head. "I thought your people were all old and wrinkly. That's why you're white, yeah?"

You frowned. "Only the elders ever leave the Dark," you said slowly, wondering just how much you should tell this boy.

He chuckled, a surprisingly reassuring sound, even though he was holding a spear with the other hand. "What's the Dark? Is that what you call the place you're from?"

You nodded.

"So you guys don't see the sun much, huh?" he said carefully, glancing up at the blazing white spot in the sky above.

A swift shake of the head, and you didn't bother to follow his eyes. You could feel the sun well enough as is. Your skin felt flushed, hot, and it stung when you touched it.

Though the pink was a nice colour, you had to ask. "Is it poisonous?" you asked, trying to keep the distress out of your voice, running your fingers down your arm.

Another warm chuckle, and now he was looking at you with interest, which made your heart beat a little quicker. "No, you're just burning. Sunburn, you know? Cause you don't see the sun much-"

"Ever," you interjected briefly, stealing a glance above, at the great blue mass above you that went on forever, careful to keep your eyes away from the sun, though spots still danced in your eyes when you looked back at him.

He blew out a breath, curls jumping off his forehead briefly. "Okay. So you're from a freaky tribe where you've never seen the sun and live in the dark all the time, in the forest where the leaves are so thick the sun can't get through... What are you doing here? Did you run away?"

"Kind of?" you said, wondering what he was doing as he turned and scooped up a knife off the floor, then turned and started walking. Should you follow him?

"Are you coming?" he called back, gesturing for you to follow. When you caught up, he gestured for you to keep talking.

"I was following my brother Vipka. Leaving the Dark was his idea. He wanted to know where our elders go," you continued, tongue growing looser the more time you spent with this strange boy. Which might've been a bad thing. "Eywa cursed him with curiosity."

The boy nodded slowly, absorbing this. "And where's your brother now?"

"He ran ahead and I lost him," you shrugged. "But he'll turn up, either at your village or back home, if he gives up."

"I'm Aonung," the boy said briskly.

You told him your name, and he repeated it back to you carefully, grinning like it was an inside joke between you two.

"I'll take you home with me, then," Aonung shrugged. "My mother will know what to do. I- we can look after you till your elders return to my village." The tips of his ears flushed and you smiled, pleased with the sight, though you didn't know why.

"Sounds good," you hummed.

"Are all girls in your tribe as pretty as you?" he asked abruptly, looking straight forward as if scared to see your expression.

You blinked, then smiled again, wider, flushing, though you thought he probably wouldn't be able to tell since you were so 'sunburnt'. "Dunno," you chuckled. "I'll bring you home with me one day and you can see for yourself."

"I don't think they are," he said, glancing down at you and smiling, lips curling downwards.

"You haven't even seen them yet!"

"No, but I trust my gut," he said, slapping his abs with a proud look

"Oh, yeah? Was it your gut that made you run into me, too?"

"That- that was fate. Mother Eywa intended it."

"Or maybe Eywa cursed you with clumsiness. A deadly combination with how short-sighted you apparently are," you teased.

He gave you a little push, laughing. "Shut up! Why were you just standing there, is my question!"

You pushed him back, not bothering to put any effort into it, as the results remained the same and he didn't break his stride. "I've never been this far from home! I was taking in the scenery!"

"Taking in the scenery," he scoffed. "Take in this scenery." He got close to your face, which was probably meant to be intimidating but only made your ears drop bashfully, tail curling against your calf, suddenly shy as his nose almost bumped into yours.

He lingered for a moment, then seemed to realise his theatrics had gone wrong and backed up. "I mean- sorry, that came out wrong."

"No, it's okay, I like that scenery just fine too," you grinned, and he rolled his eyes in embarrassment.

"What?" you taunted, following him as he kept walking, more than happy to tease the hell out of him. "I thought you wanted me to take in the scenery!"

"Shut up."

"Make me."

I'm patenting this tribe actually, this freaky albino tribe, because I want to write lore for it. Let me know if anyone wants to read said lore. Enjoy anon! I had fun with the world-building!

#aonung #aonung fanfiction #avatar #atwow #avatar 2 #avatar fanfiction #avatar x reader #avatar the way of water #aonung x reader #aonung avatar #aonung x you #avatar x you #fanclan #avatar fanmade clan #avatar fanclans

[writefightandflightclub]

“Yes man” (Cecil Dennis {fuck me, how did I get here} x fem!reader)

Summary: Blurby McBlurbFace. Mainly chat, slight fluff, smut, pining / friends to lovers vibes.

18+ ONLY MINORS DNI

Warnings: alcohol consumption; drug use mentions (weed); smoking; dumbification of Cecil, I guess. Mommy kink if you squint. Public erections / handjob sorta, premature ejaculation / cum in pants. Mentions of dead fish but no fish were harmed. Actually, a surprising number of animal metaphors. Oops. Rimming I’m sorry that one snuck in very last minute Omg.

A/n: having a shitty mental health day (boo) and this Cecil blurb (whilst not my best) is my self-care ☺️ I don’t remember his character well aside from wet bloody cat boy, but I’m damn sure not rewatching that again so this will have to do 😅. Feedback appreciated! 🧡 (Is the rimming too much? 🙈) Not proofed and I’m almost positive autocorrect will have screwed me over.

Also totally inspired by @my-secret-shame’s meme and @foxilayde’s amazing blurb. I will not pretend to have had an original idea! 🧡

“Come onnnn, Cecil,” you whine, poking him in his soft belly with your index finger. He giggles lightly, almost like a hiccough. “It’s always me coming up with the ideas. What do you wanna do next?”

He turns his head as though in slow motion. Moves as if he’s underwater, this one - at least when he’s got food and several beers in him (which is most of the time). He looks up. Blinks at you; dumbly. “What do you mean?”

Eh. You’d really thought your statement had been quite clear.

You resist the urge to pinch his cheek and tell him It’s a good job you’re pretty.

“I mean, that I suggest things, and you go along with them.”

He blinks again. It’s like everything is just a little slower in Cecil’s world. Takes a little longer to filter through. It’s refreshing, in a way. He’s in no rush, and it encourages you to slow down too. To smell the roses.

Cecil is beyond easy-going, come to think of it. Goes with the flow like a dead fish. You’re pretty sure, in fact, that he’d go along with just about anything. With just about anybody’s hare-brained schemes, without once thinking through a single one of the potential consequences.

Scratch that - he probably already has done just that; which would explain a lot of the trouble he’s routinely gotten himself into since you’ve known him.

Though, you suppose, in a way that’s refreshing too. You always did worry too much.

Besides, he always seems to muddle through, somehow. Though quite how has you stumped. It’s hardly due to his charm or his smarts, now, is it? Even so, despite whatever attributes he is lacking in, you can’t deny that he must be doing something right. Trouble simply seems to slide right off the man’s back. Like water off a… well. A dead fish, you guess. What a versatile metaphor.

He blinks at you again. Maybe those big pretty cow eyes help, just a teency bit, to get him out of trouble, you would wager.

Look at him though. You’ve never seen anyone more relaxed. Practically horizontal as he’s hunkered down in the booth, seated next to you in the corner of your usual dive bar. Maybe there’s something to be said for all the pot and seedy hotel room fucks he indulges in. You bet his shoulders are inordinately loose. Maybe he really does have it all figured out, despite appearances.

As you ponder this, Cecil -eventually- makes a non-committal noise, before his bloodshot, glassy eyes flick back to the TV hung up on the wall. He is barely even watching it. Just letting it happen to him, like he does with most everything else.

That’s probably why you’ve never fucked him, you realise, like a bolt out of the blue. He’s pretty, sure. But you wouldn’t.

You don’t mind control - that’s not it. You don’t mind taking charge. But with Cecil? You think he’d take it lying down - a little too literally. If you’d ever suggested you and he fool around, you’d never know for sure. Never know if it really was his idea - a thought or desire he’d ever had before - or if he was simply far too agreeable and opportunistic to decline. So agreeable, that he’d let you ease your vagina up and down on his cock until you came on him. You were intrigued by the thought, sure. But you refused to go there simply because Cecil couldn’t come up with anything better to do.

You look at him, and immediately bat that thought - the vagina all over cock one - away though, as you regard his complete lack of gumption. It’s tangible. Look at him now, for example. He’d seemed to like the way the air from his non-committal noise had filtered over the neck of his bottle, tucked under his folded chin. Indeed, he is now pursing his full, curvy lips, and blowing over the mouth of it until a soft series of “hoots” fill your booth.

You fold your arms and sigh.

You reckon that will amuse him for the next ten minutes at least, so clearly, once again, Cecil’s not the one coming up with a plan for the remainder of this evening.

It’s not that you ever really have to do anything with Cecil to have a good time. It’s just that, tonight, you’re antsy, and it’s making your thoughts wander in directions. Down below his zipper directions, so help you.

“Beer’s empty,” Cecil states flatly, finally noticing after sucking on the bottle for a mo, poking his wet pink tongue around the rim like the little wet cat boy he is. Cute though. Does things to you.

Anyway. You register his statement, but you observe that no action follows. He doesn’t look at all like he plans to do a damn thing about it.

You decide to test your theory, then. Your theory that Cecil’s simply a dead fish swept along in your river. That maybe he doesn’t even want to be here at all. Never did. That you are just another something that happened to happen to him.

“Do you wanna go get Mexican?” you offer, with ulterior motives Cecil is not shrewd enough to pick up on.

His eyes tick back from the captivating, shifting lights of the TV. “Sure,” he smiles softly at you, perfectly content, it seems - and yet, you are less than satisfied.

“See!” You smack the palms of your hands together in triumph, and he jumps. Pushes himself up a little straighter in the seat, his palms disappearing into the worn, lumpy upholstery. “See what I mean?”

He blinks at you blankly. Again.

Clearly not, then?

“You just go along with anything I say. We ate two hours ago, Cecil,” you complain, recalling the all you can eat Chinese buffet you and he had gorged on with two coupons you’d cut out of the newspaper. You drop your hands to your lap, dejectedly. You’re getting agitated with him, which surprises you, in truth. And still… there Cecil is. Unflappable. Calm. Constant. There are pros to his cons, for sure. “I just… I never know if you actually like what we’re doing, you know?”

“But. You always suggest things I like. So why would I say no?” He shrugs a little. “Tacos are good. I like tacos. I like…” he hoots into his bottle again as he says the word. “You-ooooooh.”

You hate to admit it, but his answer has you stumped for a moment. Cecil’s statements may generally be simple. Uncomplicated. But they can be oddly profound at times.

Christ. Maybe… Does the man actually have a valid point? Or, perhaps you’re looking too hard for meaning in his words - it’s possible. You feel like you’ve spent a lot of time lately looking hard at Cecil, perhaps to justify your bizarre and inexplicable feelings.

Possibly you’re even projecting. His seeming lack of independent willpower would certainly make that easy enough to do.

Maybe the man has a point though. Maybe he’s not as “easy-going” as you think he is. Maybe you’re just coincidentally so attuned to his desires that he’s never had cause to deny you. Maybe you are aligned with his desires. One and the same. “What if I asked you to do something you didn’t like, then?”

You slurp up the dregs of melted ice through your straw and Cecil blinks again as though it’s taking all of his processing power. Damn, though. You’re surprised that the fanning of those endlessly long cow lashes didn’t cause the curtains behind you to billow in the breeze they threw up. “Like what?”

You shake your head. Touch his arm to placate him. “Never mind, Cecil.” Christ. If he can’t even think of a single Thing He Wouldn’t Like, maybe you can safely stick to your dead fish hypothesis. It’s all the same to him. Just happening to him. He’s not choosing you.

That particular thought, when it arrives, niggles you more than expected, but you quash the growing agitation which rides in alongside it.

Meanwhile, Cecil looks around, quite visibly thinking. “I wouldn’t get up outta this seat,” he states adamantly, his voice croaked from all the blunts he’s worked through today. “I wouldn’t like that.”

You believe him. He’s practically sliding down to become a puddle on the floor. Dissolving into the bar furniture; becoming one with the upholstery.

Your lips curl up into a tender smile, remembering one particularly ridiculous night at Cecil’s. The night involving a 3am bong sesh, culminating in him genuinely believing he had merged with the couch, becoming a half-human half-upholstery monstrosity. He had waved the two huge, puffy couch cushions around as though they were his arms, and he’d grabbed you up in the middle of them like a grilled cheese, sandwiching you and taking you down to the floor where the two of you had rolled and laughed until you’d cried.

When the laughter had subsided to only the odd titter here and there, and you had lain on his disgusting rug almost nose to nose? That’s the first time you’d wanted to kiss him, and it turned out not to have been the last.

Fuck. You are rather fond of this idiot, aren’t you? How the fuck did that happen?

Engaged fully now though - slightly more lucid than your fond memory- Cecil sits up. Still slouched but this time over the table, his forearms bracing him against the surface. As he moves, you get a waft of his layered, stale cigarette smell. It’s… confusing, in its appeal. Should be off-putting, but you find, in fact, that it’s a comfort.

“No? You don’t wanna?”

With a rush of affection you link your arm through Cecil’s, and he slumps his head on to your shoulder as though it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You weren’t ready for the way his knotted curls brush your cheek, and it inspires a similarly dense and tangled knot to form in your middle.

“No.” It’s the most sure you’ve ever heard him sound. “I don’t wanna get up.”

“A minute ago we were going for Mexican food, Cecil.” There’s a beat. “That kinda involves movement, you realise?

He swivels his head towards you then, gaze all doe-eyed and pathetic, and the proximity of him parroting on your shoulder knocks you for six. “You mad at me or something, Hottie from Walmart?”

You snort. He doesn’t always pull out that nickname for you - how you’d been known to him before you had been known to him - but it always makes you sentimental when he does.

He shifts from you then, tilting his body towards you. Scrutinising you with apprehension in his sweet face.

Fuck him actually, and fuck his pouty beautiful kissable lips most of all.

You sigh, and you deliberately soften your face. He’s easy-going, sure, but he’s sensitive. Trouble slides off of his back, but other things… other things don’t slip off quite so well, and he often gets like this. Like he’s done something wrong, when he hasn’t.

You actively resist the urge to coddle him. To tenderly rake his somewhat grimy but beautiful curls off of his forehead.

You hardly want to examine the fact he brings out your… motherly instincts; but it doesn’t escape your attention that he always seems like he’s craving just a little nurturing. You want to take your thumb and smooth out the creases in his troubled brow.

“No, Cecil. I’m not mad at you. I’d tell you if I was and we’d talk about it.”

He nods.

You’re not mad at him. Really. And so, you take pause to wonder why this happy-go-lucky trait of his is particularly irking you today. “It’s mostly a good thing, I promise.”

“It is?”

“Yeah.”

He looks pleased for a minute and then: “Wait. What’s a good thing?”

You want to kiss his stupid mouth until he can’t think. Which you don’t think would take long at all, actually.

“That…” You think about how to phrase it, and it quickly occurs to you. “That. You’re my ‘yes man’.” He is expressionless for a moment, and you wait for comprehension to slowly crawl over him. “I mean, Cecil,” you take his clammy hand in yours. “That it’s always fun with you. I mean that you never shoot down my ideas. Even when you probably should.”

His face splits with a brief - goofy, but wholly endearing - smile. “You have fun with me?”

His big cow eyes go all soft and wet.

Oh boy. This idiot. If you didn’t have fun with him, even just sitting on his grotty couch, what other reason could you possibly have to hang out with him, huh?

You open your mouth to say as much before thinking better of it, but for once Cecil beats you to it.

“I have fun with you too, Hottie.”

It’s another one of those moments of levity that you’ve experienced surprisingly often with Cecil. One of those moments where everything feels a just little more profound. A little more magical. Sometimes, Cecil gets you in the gut just a little harder than expected.

Great. And now you’re thinking of Cecil all up in your guts.

“I should think so - I’m awesome. But, right now? All I’m saying is…” You tap your noggin. “Tank empty. No ideas. It’s your turn to decide what we do tonight? Okay?”

You search his eyes. His big, beautiful, sincere and secretless eyes. You silently ask the true question you want to ask him. I want to know what you want.

You’re not yet ready to admit the questions buried right beneath that one: do you want me back? Could you? Would you, Cecil?

“Yeah?” Cecil responds, unsure, and you immediately worry that you have, in fact, given him too much responsibility. His expression compresses in a frown of deep, deep concentration. Like he’s really wrestling with this.

You watch with bated breath, dying to see what he comes up with - if anything at all.

And then - aha - he finally has it.

“I could jerk off.”

“Wha-?” You playfully bat him in the arm, aghast. “Cecil!!”

“What?” A surprised, contrite laugh bobs in his throat.

“I mean.” You swallow. “How is that an idea for both of us?”

Oh that’s your problem with his idea?

That it’s not participatory enough?

“You could help.”

Your jaw drops open. “Cecil! I’m not gonna-” you switch to a loud whisper “-jerk you off!”

He blinks again, his eyes glinting with a gentle - ever so gentle - flicker of amusement. “You’re not a yes man,” he complains softly, his curly lips sneaking up into a curly smile. “Always shooting down my ideas.”

He bats his lashes at you and oh boy - even Cecil must be starting to figure out that you’re a sucker for those big, pretty brown eyes. Your one true weakness.

“That’s really what you want?” you ask, trying to keep things light. To keep your tone jokey and jovial, like always, despite the rising tremor in your voice. “It would involve getting up, you realise?”

He winks at you - a gesture which seems entirely unlike him and yet somehow works - and smirks down at his crotch. “Already am.”

“If you’re really so uncontrollably horny, why don’t you get someone else around here to help you, huh?” Your heart skips a beat. “Why me?”

He’s looking at you like he wants you but… he’s an opportunistic guy. Goes with the flow. That’s how things come to him; he’ll take his cigarettes and beers and fucks wherever and whenever he can get them.

He unceremoniously pulls out a rolled blunt and lights it up, the filter end pressed between his plush pink lips.

“No.” It bobs as he talks and he takes little, peppered drags to get the burn going.

“No?”

You blink at him dumbly now.

“No. I only want you.”

Correction. That’s the most sure of anything you’ve ever heard him.

He slips forward, exhaling his smoke into your mouth as his lips caress yours. “Come on,” he encourages. “Get going. Before my penis turns into a couch cushion.”

He kisses your laugh, and as his tongue slides hungrily against yours suddenly it isn’t quite so funny. Suddenly, you feel like maybe Cecil has the best ideas.

“Right here?” You reach down, and you smooth your palm over the clothed bulge at his crotch. “In the booth?”

“I’m already barred. Heh. What are they gonna do?”

You smile at him, licking your lips as Cecil bucks up into your hand, his head lolling back against the lip of his seat, and his pretty eyes fluttering closed.

He groans, as your fingers snake to tease open the button at his fly.

“Oops,” Cecil whispers contritely, almost immediately, his cheeks and his ears darkening with a deep crimson flush as he looks over to you. “I just… I…”

Oh God. He just came in his pants, didn’t he? Oh Lord that makes you inexplicably hot.

His big, pretty eyes are wet with apology. “Are you mad?”

“No, Cecil.” Poor baby. “I just think I should take you home and get you cleaned up, hmm?” You next words all run into one, as you struggle to get your new genius plan out of your mouth. “Mayberimyoualittlewhatdoyousay?”

Did you actually just suggest that you take him home to rim him? Good Lord.

He blinks rapidly, the colour in his cheeks flowering more, like a beautiful rose unfurling. “Y-Yes. I say yes.”

It’s a hare-brained plan, for sure, but you decide that for once,

you might as well just…

go with the flow.

It certainly works for Cecil.

#I bet I cave and watch it again #cecil dennis x reader #cecil dennis #Oscar Isaac

[cfcreative]

After your biggest self indulgent headcannon with the famed moon lesbians, I've wanted to ask you about your personal headcannons when it comes to the characterisation of both Aylin and Isobel.

In my experience in playthroughs, I feel like I got Aylin's character down pretty well. Bold to the point of recklessness, unyeildingly loyal to the ones she loves, loud and unapologetic but deeply rage full and stubborn.

But I'm pretty stumped on Isobel. I've tried getting extra dialogue from her before she's reunited with Aylin but I just feel like the one scene isn't enough.

What do you think about her character?

Oh, wow, my first ask! And about Aylin & Isobel, of all things. Genuinely delighted by this development.

(DISCLAIMER: I’ll never declare myself an expert on these characters. My reads on them are based on a healthy knowledge of writing, tropes, and speculations spinning off of personal experiences. Unless Larian has put it in the game or game related materials, it’s all headcanons. Cheers!)

I'll put a TL;DR up front (or my "thesis statement" if you want to get academic with it). Isobel and Aylin make each other "more human" primarily by being opposites in the way they express themselves. Aylin is bold, fearsome, and brash. Isobel is composed, sensible, and calculating (while “calculating,” tends to have negative connotations, I'm more leaning into it in a "she's a planner where Aylin is a do-er" way.)

I do hope you’re ready for a ramble, because I have been working on this on-and-off all day.

One of the most important things to keep in mind is Isobel was raised in a house in mourning.

The kind of epic grief Kethric would have gone through upon the loss of his wife would have forever altered the way he acted towards Isobel, beyond making sure she was raised as a Selûnite per Melodia’s wishes. The Kethric we’re presented in game is a fairly controlled man. He's unlikely to be the kind of person who would show his young daughter how deeply his sorrow wounded him; he'd keep his weeping behind closed doors. What distraught adults forget is that children understand and see way more than they're given credit for. Young Isobel would be acutely aware of her father’s pain, and the fact that he hid it. She was a child coping with her own sorrow, and would have looked to her father's example of how to deal with it: she'd learn she was allowed to care deeply, but she could not present that to others. Melodia's death also likely motivated Isobel to become a powerful cleric relatively quickly—a powerful enough cleric might have been able to heal her mother, might have spared her and her father this agony.

The Thorms, being a family of power and privilege in Reithwin, would have been treated by most of the people around them with formal manners, which would be isolating for a child. Everyone in Reithwin would frame Isobel as Kethric Thorm’s beloved daughter, a child without a mother, the devotee of Selûne. They would treat her with respect tinged with pity, never really knowing her... which would be even more isolating.

That's why Isobel is struck by Aylin so immediately (you know, aside from Aylin being a tall blonde sculpture of a woman). Every one of Aylin’s emotions are BIG and outward-facing. Most people approaching “The General” or “The General’s Daughter” would default to near ceremonial conduct. Dame Aylin wouldn’t see the need! Aylin cares strongly about justice, and defending the weak against the wicked, and everyone knows that about her in ten minutes of meeting her, tops. Aylin is passionate and sincere in that passion. Isobel would have been drawn to that, despite the fact that her upbringing still dictates composure.

You can also witness the emotion/composure contrast in the way Isobel reunites with Aylin after Kethric is finally dead. Aylin falls to her knees, picks Isobel up, spins her around. Isobel is overjoyed, but also more reserved. Her emotions are not in grand gestures but in the trembling of her voice—she’s trying to hold herself together.

(If you haven't seen it, there's a Devnote that specifically states that Isobel's delighted by Aylin's demanding people shove off and let her do unspeakable things to Isobel in private. Isobel scolds her angel for acting that way in public, but once those two are alone...)

This is where I circle back on “calculating.” Because it's not just in reuniting with Aylin that Isobel has had to hold herself together. She's been doing that for months....

Imagine yourself in Isobel's position before the start of the game. One moment you’re in your comfortable, warm home, trying to work out how to reconcile your devoted father and your angel, the two people dearest to your heart. Then you blink… and open your eyes in a cold, dusty tomb. It reeks of death. So does your father, who is telling you your beloved is no more. His lips are curling up in an ever-so-slight smile as he delivers the news. The sheer confusion and panic most people would feel in that moment would be overwhelming.

Isobel could have panicked and fled, but that tomb is filled with bones and Kethric is now the Chosen of Myrkul. Where Aylin would charge in and through, inherently trusting her own strength, Isobel would need to craft a plan. Maybe she would play on her father’s emotions until she found herself in a position to run. Maybe she prepares haste or hold person under her breath, or unleashed a well-timed "turn undead." In any case, Isobel is able to pull herself together and escape in such a way that her father cannot follow. She finds a familiar place and sets up a bastion of protection there. Rather than fleeing the Shadowlands altogether, which is what most people would have done, Isobel starts gathering information. She needs to know what happened to her, her family, and her lover. She needs to know why there’s Sharran magic literally everywhere. She is alone, trying to piece together a confusing story she was part of, and somehow the driving force of after she was killed.

Harpers arrive to deal with the threat of Kethric Thorm like they did a century before. Jaheira would have been a legend even when Isobel was a child, but Isobel makes the very conscious choice not to tell Jaheira her true identity. She doubles down on that when Tav and their companions come through... unless they have proof of who she is beforehand. (In this way Shadowheart and Isobel are hilariously in contrast: the Selûnite is a much better secret-keeper than the Sharran.) So I think that all covers "composed, sensible, and calculating" with regards to Isobel, but when writing from her PoV I think you would have a very rich inner dialogue in line with the ideals Aylin outwardly expresses: Isobel wants to comfort and protect the weak, she's loyal to the ones she loves, and feels strongly and deeply. Once she and Aylin are together again, Isobel's presentation shifts. Where Isobel is a grounding force for Aylin (thinking about how Isobel would have had to explain to Aylin why she was upset Aylin went on a month long walk without warning), Aylin pulls Isobel out of that carefully crafted shell of hers (thus my statement re: making each other "more human.") I haven't yet written any (complete) fan fiction for these two but this fic on A03 (fair waring: it's smutty!) really altered my thoughts as to what Aylin and Isobel could have been like prior to Isobel's untimely death. While I love to joke about Aylin ALWAYS TALKING IN ALL CAPS, there's something to be said for writing her along the lines of a courtly knight-errant. Aylin worships Isobel in a way people worship Selune; she's Isobel's most fervent devotee. Isobel is swept away by love at first sight, but still needs to navigate her father's delicate emotions and her own responsibilities. I firmly believe anyone writing anything in the timeframe of the game or beyond it needs to consider their past, even if they have no plans of writing anything of the sort.

I could probably go on for another um... 13 or so paragraphs (😅) but it's proooobably better if I wrap this up. I hope this gives you some things to think about, and helps a bit with whatever you're working on!

#hey hi hello i’m so sorry you asked about a hyperfixation of mine #because this is what you get #CF Answers! #(More Accurately: CF Rambles!) #dame aylin #isobel thorm #aylin x isobel #baulders gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #bg3 #headcanon #moon lesbians #nightsong

[aethon-recs]

Do you have some favorite fics that are fairly fair to Harry (for tomarrymort 😉)? Like fics where Harry isn’t utterly consumed by Voldemort? Often in some of the most popular tomarrymort stories Harry’s character/independence tends to disappear or be completely taken over. Don’t get me wrong, those popular fics do it extremely well, but I was looking for a slightly different flavor of this pairing!

Thanks for the ask, anon! I can definitely rec some fun reads where Harry maintains his independent streak and has a high degree of autonomy, regardless of however Voldemort is trying to influence him.

Hope you enjoy these and that there’s at least a few new ones in the list that you haven’t read yet!

*

A Darkness by Any Other Name by river_marrow (M, 21k, WIP)

Decades after the war ends, Harry is thrown through the Veil, and finds himself in an alternate reality where the leader of the Muggleborn uprising is the Dark Lord Voldemort.

A Dead Man's Guide to Reliving Your Youth by @officialsporkintheroad (M, 139k, WIP)

After dying in the Forbidden Forest at Voldemort's hand, Harry is returned to his 11-year-old self with no memories of his life before, just a vague sense of doom and weird knowledge of the wizarding world that he can't quite explain.

All For Show by @cannibalinc (E, 43k, complete)

When Harry discovers he's a horcrux, he strikes up a deal with Voldemort and starts calling the shots when it comes to wizarding world politics.

draw me after you (let us run) by @toast-ranger-to-a-stranger (E, 215k, WIP)

Harry tricks Voldemort into a vow (guaranteeing the safety of Harry’s loved ones, in exchange for giving up the prophecy), but then Harry runs away before he has to fulfill his half of it.

Harry James [Redacted] by @duplicitywrites (T, 23k, WIP)

Harry gets thrown back in time to when his parents were in school. He tries (unsuccessfully) to keep a low profile, but ends up drawing the attention of a certain rising Dark Lord.

No More by @vdoshu (T, 34k, complete)

Harry walks into the forest, faces the Killing Curse, and wakes up on the train platform in Limbo. And he decides that he’s done listening to Dumbledore, and will forge his own path from here on out.

One Year In Every Ten by @saintsenara (E, 114k, WIP)

A series of gruesome murders 10 years after the war has Harry and the rest of the Aurors completely stumped, until Harry figures out how to bring Voldemort back from beyond the Veil in exchange for his help in solving the murders.

tempor · al | ary by @being-luminous (E, 16k, complete)

In which a young Tom Riddle travels into the future and discovers Voldemort has won and Harry is very happily in a relationship with him.

They, of Riddle Manor by riddlereading (M, 16k, complete)

Just one thing goes differently when Tom goes to Riddle Manor intending to kill his muggle relatives, which then sets off a sequence of events that result in Lily surviving and Harry growing up (with a happy childhood) in Riddle Manor.

Wings of Ash by IceLynx (M, 31k, complete)

Harry consults on a missing persons case for the Ministry. The former Dark Lord Voldemort, who is now living under Harry's supervision in Grimmauld Place in the form of a snake, helps him crack the case.

*

#tomarrymort #tomarry #harrymort #aethon recs #tomarry recs #tomarrymort recs #harrymort recs #hp fic recs #ao3 recs #fanfic recs

[yuhi-san]

I sat my ass down and put some meta thoughts into word that have been swirling in my head for ages for @tristampparty day 9 Brad and luida

Because i wont be finishing the planned story on time, soo

Brad, Luida and ship three went in completely blind when it came to how to handle vash being an independent pant. They had nothing to go off on and as far as they knew, independents were a theoretical possibility but vash was the first one they encountered (not even luida had the clearance to see anything that could contain mentions of tesla). Vash isn’t really human but he isn’t like a dependent plant either.

I made a post about how that regarding how vash initially seemed to go through a human lifecycle a lot faster, until they realized he just stopped aging at a certain point.

The other thing I wonder is, do brad, luida and at least some of the others know about tesla?

The answer is, im sure it will never come up in canon. And I guess people are inclined to say, no way would vash ever open up to anyone about it.

But I think brad and luida know. Not much. Maybe just that there was an independent before them and she had died from the experiments done on her. Just these two things is all vash ever said.

Because see, in stampede vash came to ship three when he was still very small. It became his home, he actually bonded with all these people, they are like family. And he was still very young when the traumatic loss of his arm happened.

It changes the dynamic between him and these people a lot compared to trimax and 98.

Vash doesn’t have a regular prosthesis but a cybernetic one (or three if you like me follow the hc that his legs are prosthesis as well). also there is metal and hardware (?) on his chest and stuff. But even

My point is, those aren’t things he got from patching himself up or went through shabby surgery in a back alley or something of no man’s land.

 Initial surgery when luida brought him back aside, that must have been ‘experimented’ with vash to some degree because they knew nothing. Can he get sick? How does he response to medicine, to painkillers? To anesthetics? Vash bleeds but does he have bloodtypes like a human? What are they supposed to do when he lost his arm? Give him a bloodtransfusion like they would with a human and hope his body wont reject it? Throw him in a plant tank and hope that the plants can do for him what he does for them?

And even if they were kind and patient and understanding and reassuring about it, there must have been so many moments where it was literally just trial and error because they simply had nothing to go on. It must have been so scary for vash.

But especially with his arm (and possibly his legs). It’s an cybernetic arm. There are cables and shit directly connected to his body. It’s not a regular stump he has, it’s a port, its hardware embedded in his flesh.

And surgeries are scary, especially for kids. Its normal to be afraid of them. But vash must have been beyond terrified by the mention of it. Far, far more so than could be reasonably explained as a normal reaction. So I think vash told them because he was too terrified, too afraid, didn’t know what else to do or say. A hysteric outburst more likely than calm communication.

(“There was an independent before us. They experimented on her. She’s dead.”)

It was terribly for everyone involved.

But, like even if vash didn’t tell them.

At some point, he made the conscious and active decision to trust this people so unconditionally. Despite his rocky start with them and what had transpired with the blackbox, they could reassure vash that he was save and no one would do him any harm.

Vsh trusted them enough to let them put him under, take a scalpel to him, change his body irrecoverably but he would come out of it alright, wouldn’t endure any unnecessary pain by their hand.

Like, if you think about it like that, after the horror of what happened to tesla that shaped him and nai so much, vash found it in himself to trust these people with what then and possibly still might be his biggest trauma. And like rem had promised, he didn’t end like his sister

#i cant get enough of luida and brad and vash building trust and care for each other #more of vash and ship three! #tristampparty #vash the stampede #brad trigun #luida trigun #tesla trigun #trigun #trigun stampede #tristamp #trigun really is a special kind of brainrot #never pulled contributing to fanevents through #never wrote like 80'00o words fanfic for it #no end in sight

[drakeanddice]

Finished the season of Mausritter last night. Everyone survived the Battle of Big Stump, but we lost some allies along the way. The Last Chancers (the old glory-hound regiment from Fox Cross) were wiped out almost to a mouse. The AutoMice leader and command structure was taken prisoner for later experimentation by the City Mice. The walls of Big Stump were burnt to a near ruin and the spirit of the Stump (a strange fey abomination sealed away in the dead tree) is stirring. Worse, Fennel's plan to assassinate the Cat Queen Azura did not come to fruition; his poisoned arrow hit, but failed to affect her to the extent that was planned and the follow up shot posed a difficult choice. "Whoever you shoot next will die. Do you kill the Cat Queen or the Marauder Rat?" And Fennel decided that it was better to assure the end of Clooney Splitjaw. So down he went.

We got a neat medals at the end of Star Wars scene following the battle with the assembled survivors of the army that the Wayfinders led to victory. Azura leaned in to each in turn as she settled medals over their necks.

"Birch, valorous marshal and captain by blood and toil of the battlefield, wear your rank with pride. We name you First Sword of the Stump. May tales of your valiant heart echo, and may we requite your love one hundred fold."

"Bindi, flame of innovation, burning when all hope fades. We have seen your leadership among those with no stomach to fight. Urchins became an army. The gates burnt but never fell. We name you Firebrand. What is burnt may sprout anew. May we never forget."

"Fennel. Archer, rootwalker. The next time you draw a treacherous shaft, steady your hand, and DO. NOT. MISS."

Smash cut to credits.

Next week we decide on whether to switch over to Beyond the Wall or Slugblaster for our between seasons interlude. Either way, it's going to be weird teens getting into situations and I'm stoked.

#indie ttrpg #ttrpg stuff #ttrpg #osr #mausritter #on to the next one

[flovey-dovey]

The house of the Night Hand Man was full of things. Colorful baubles that each glistened a different color, fifteen sets of silverware that didn't match, three couches, nine cabinets, bottles, woolen socks, jars upon jars of lost pennies, dishes, pots and pans (though he hardly ever cooked), various books from various points in time and even more various genres, chandeliers kept more for their ornaments than illumination, and so on and so forth.

But there was a room in the large and opulent tree-castle that had nothing in it at all. Just one very lonely window and a lamp with no switch. In the summer the view from the window showed nothing but the western sky and its own assortment of twinkling jewels. In the winter, it welcomed the pale light of every winking moon.

Nabber loved spending time in every room of his castle if it pleased him to be seen in it, but this solitary room he kept to himself, all alone at the end of a long hallway that wound through the whole trunk up to the very top. Nobody could see the bags under his eyes there, or hear the tired whimpers from a wayward unpleasantness.

Nabber's daughter looked down that hallway, listening quietly, hearing nothing but the distant whisper of the crisp autumn wind, seeing nothing but darkness and feeling nothing but her own curiosity growing with every glance. She saw her father drift like a shadow and disappear into that dark hall once or twice. Sometimes briefly, other times for hours, but always with a frown he might've thought she couldn't see. For one reason or another she never followed him to find out what he was doing.

The horror of the forest always smiled at her as he tucked her in, but sometimes in a way that made her wonder if something was actually somehow wrong. She smiled back, but it vanished after he'd gone.

Curiosity at its limit in her tiny form and tired of the nicks and knacks that kept her company, Heather slipped from her bed five minutes past the stroke of twelve and crept slowly across the thick carpets through the sleeping castle. At this hour, all the world was seeped in shades of blue, purple, and sea green. She only hesitated for a moment at the looming entrance of the mouth of the hallway that seemed to eat up all the color inside it. Then she puffed out her chest and marched up the slight slope of the pitch-black tunnel. It reeked of old wood and dust, at the precipice of enough fear to turn back.

But she didn’t. Her feet walked on.

She kept a hand on the smooth bark of the wall, the other holding on tight to her bravery. Finally at the top, she didn't at all expect to find her father there all alone, surrounded by none of his favorite things. The silhouette of his feathery back slowly rose and fell as if in sleep, limp as a pile of old clothes on the floor in the nearly deafening quiet. He looked smaller than usual.

Nabber hadn't expected her to find him there, either. He could usually hear a doormouse skittering across a field on a blustery day, but it took two tiny hands lighting on his beak to jostle him from the heavy daze he'd fallen into. His eyes dragged open and looked like deep wells with only the barest flicker of color rippling at the bottom. Truthfully, she found her way there by chance.

The great wraith's body heaved with breath and his weary and thin expression softened- or did it?- when he caught sight of her big, bright eyes, like gemstones twinkling in the dreary hollow. The moonlight was bright that night but kept at bay by a gossamer ashen purple curtain. The rustle of Nabber's feathers Heather's ears, soft as they were, as he swept himself around her and claws combed through her unruly brown locks. The corners of his mouth lifted in a forced smile that made his face creak like a graveyard gate. Nabber, though exhaustion of seemingly every sort clung to his bones, spoke in as fine and merry voice he could muster. "Oh... Hey, kiddo... Can't sleep?" He chuckled airily and fended off a yawn. "Yeah, me neither..."

~~~

Hmm... The pose and perspective didn't quite turn out the way I intended, but I do like the end result anyways.

#my art #my writing #my characters #nabber #the night hand man #heather #beyond the dead stump #btds #stellan zephyrus endymion #stellan #stell #this became a mini-fic what the heck

[importantchaosgiver]

The Mystery Is Solved

Summary: It all clicks for (Y/N). Why the animatronics moved the way they did, why no one could find bodies. But she had yet to confront the real man behind the slaughter. She was not anticipating that the answers she wanted for so long were right in front of her...

Warnings: Mentions of spring lock scene, blood, fighting, spoilers, weapons

******

No one's POV

(Y/N) had hit so many dead ends in this investigation, it was abnormal. Most of her colleagues would've given up, especially with a case as long as this one. But not her. (Y/N) could feel the answers. She was almost there. It was at the tip of her tongue! But she was missing something. Something vital. Just beyond her reach. It annoyed her. She was so close to it!

She sat at her desk, her face in her hands, rubbing her tired eyes. It had just reached 10:30pm and she had already spent the majority of the day in her office, trying to figure out what she was missing. But she had gotten nowhere. As she stood up to gather her things and go home. She paused. On her desk laid out the pictures of the children. These pictures were taken with a person dressed up in a Spring-Bonnie suit. Brand new. They all smiled, but the pictures were taken individually. (Y/N) picked one up. The child was a young red haired boy called Fritz. Her eyes scanned the picture and spotted her was holding a hook....... like a pirate. Like....... Foxy!

(Y/N)'s eyes widened. It was even in the same place! Now she saw that, she looked at the others. Susie, Jeremy and Gabriel all had characteristics that matched Chica, Bonnie and Gabriel. As for Cassidy, (Y/N) was stumped, but this couldn't be a coincidence. She saw the man wearing the Spring-Bonnie suit in all these pictures. This had to be the link! She then thought back to the scene back in the 80's. She looked throughout the entire building. Nothing was found. Not even the air vents showed any signs. But there was one place they never checked. One place no one bothered to, because why would they mess around with robotics? It all made sense! She knew where the children were........ and she was too late. She had to tell Mike. (Y/N) grabbed her coat and ran out of the deserted station, most officers having already gone home. She had to get to the pizzeria!

She got into her car, speeding to the pizzeria, skidding to a halt outside. She discarded her coat, making sure her gun was loaded before slipping inside. Upon arrival, she saw a more battered version of the Spring-Bonnie suit. But the way it moved proved someone was inside there. Mike was on the floor, unconscious, Abby beside him, crying for him to wake up. The other animatronics making their way forward.

"Stop!" she shouted, making everyone pause. (Y/N) raised her gun, pointing it at Spring-Bonnie. He laughed, the mask making his voice distorted and robotic. "So, you finally figured it out. Took you long enough," he cackled. She didn't look impressed. "You covered your tracks well, I'll admit. But surely you didn't think you could get away with it forever," she spat, her hand steady whilst aiming. "You're smarter than the other cops. I remember seeing you for the first time back all those years ago. Maybe you're not just a pretty face after all," he sneered. (Y/N)'s gaze hardened. "Not a man enough to show your face...... Steve? Or whatever your real name is?" she asked. The man took off his mask, smiling smugly as he tossed it onto the floor. It was Steve. No..... William Afton.

"Do you honestly think you can stop me?" he chuckled darkly. The animatronics all looked at her. They were following his orders. "What you did to them was horrific. What you are still doing is even more barbaric. I won't let you take another life," she swore, cocking her gun. He raised his knife. "One cop against four animatronics and me. The odds aren't in your favour, (L/N)," he said, holding out his arms. Her eyes flickered over to where Mike had finally woke up. His eyes locked with (Y/N); a plan burning in his eyes.

"So be it," she said, taking a shot. But it didn't cause bad damage. William stumbled back due to recoil, but the exoskeleton and fiberglass shell protected his body. He scowled at her, going forward, his knife ready, batting the gun from her hand. (Y/N) moved back, grabbing his wrist, stopping him. She then shoved him back. Not hard enough for him to fall over, but enough to make him stumble. Abby then stood up, holding a drawing in her hand. William saw, going to stop her, but (Y/N) grabbed his wrist again. "I won't let you hurt her," she seethed. William glared at her, moving forward and stabbing her in her thigh, making her cry out in pain, falling down. The knife was buried deep in the thigh, cutting through a lot of muscle and tissue. The pain overwhelmed her senses, making her hearing and sight dull down. She faintly heard shouting, pained grunts and whimpers. (Y/N) felt someone grabbing her, putting an arm over their shoulders and hoisting her to her feet, half dragging her away as crashes and sparks flew. Her vision blacked out when she felt fresh air hit her face....

Some days later...

The first thing (Y/N) experienced when she came to was the feeling of someone holding her hand and a slight tingle and numbness in her right thigh. She groaned, slowly opening her eyes, letting them adjust to the lights of a hospital room. Once she got her bearings, she turned to look to the side. Mike was sat there, holding her hand, Abby beside him. "Hey, you're finally awake," he said gently. "You were asleep for ages," Abby butted in. "How long for?" (Y/N) asked, her voice slightly croaky.

"Two days," Mike said, handing over a plastic cup filled with water. She drank it gratefully. "What happened? Where's Afton?" she asked. Abby left to get something to eat. "He was spring locked inside his suit. He'll be dead," Mike said gently. It was silent for a minute. "(Y/N) there's something you should know. When Afton stabbed you...... your condition was bad," Mike explained. She raised an eyebrow. What exactly did he mean?

"The doctors stopped the bleeding, but you developed septicemia. They...... they had to amputate the leg," Mike said gently. (Y/N) froze, lifting up the blankets to show her right leg was missing. Nothing more the bandaged stump. "Oh my god," she whispered, looking at it. "The doctors said you were lucky to pull through," Mike stated. (Y/N) put the covers down, still a little shook. "What can I say?" she muttered, looking at him. "No one can get rid of me that easily.....

I always come back..."

*****

Two parts in one day. Hope you're liking this. I'm going to do a bit of (Y/N)'s backstory next time. I know this may seem like the end. But more is coming. If you got any theories or any suggestions about what might go on, feel free to comment. I hope you enjoy.

#fnaf freddy #fnaf bonnie #fnaf chica #fnaf foxy #fnaf movie #fnaf #vannessa fnaf #william afton x reader #william afton #steve raglan x reader #steve raglan #michael schmidt x reader #mike schmidt #abby schmidt

[adelaidedrubman]

wip. w. wildfr. wipfire. whatever

h-hi. i was tagged by my friends my loves my dearests @cassieuncaged @socially-awkward-skeleton @corvosattano @direwombat to share some. some wip, thank you! i am still biting my nails about publicly sharing wildfire but. feeling empowered by spite + bullied and goaded by zak so. a widdle wildfire. warnings for canon typical violence and johnjess typical obnoxiousness

“My God —” his voice found a way to drill into her ears, garbled and drowned out by the hitch-pitched drone that lifted from her spine to pierce through every fold of her brain and make it tremble against her skull. “Is it really that easy for you?”  Her fingers curled around the coarse fleece collar of the nameless blonde man’s shirt, draping his corpse over her waist and across her back to absorb the sudden rush of gunfire from her right. She tilted her head and hunched her shoulder to keep the radio pressed against her ear as she propped herself back up by her elbows to peer over the length of her rocket launcher and aim at the peggies to her left. 

“It is,” she answered plainly, glancing back to the blurs of human forms scattered and closing in behind her to twist at the waist and fire her last few bullets in their direction, hoping they struck.  “Tell your big bwother to make his stump speeches even scawrier next time — I’m sure it’ll make the canon fodder he sends out harder to kill, if he —” she pulled the trigger to an empty clack of metal, hurrying to rip her axe from the ground to hurl at the woman storming her right without lifting her thumb, sending her voice to the depths of her chest and half-faking hoarseness before she spoke again, “if he gravels his voice a bit more.”  “I mean taking a human life,” the static of his voice grew clearer, as if the origami thin metal foil of the speakers folded tighter and sharpened to better reach her ears. “Do you never even stop to think about it? What it means to rip the earthly ties from someone’s soul and offer it for judgment to a power beyond your control?”  She kicked a leg up just in time to strike the peggie storming her from behind in the crotch, flipping onto her back and clasping her bullet shield corpse to her chest like a lovingly cradled teddy bear as she crawled sideways to retrieve her axe from the woman’s skull.  “I think a lot about what it would feel like to kill you,” she mused idly as she swung to bury the axe’s blade into the stomach of the stumbling man, then pulled back to jerk it free. “But I can’t dwell on that now — I’m good, but not do this one-handed good.” “You really care that little?” he pressed, the deep boom of aerial gunfire in the background nearly drowning him out.  “About you?” she asked, fumbling a hand along the corpse to feel for a spare gun. “Sure.” “About innocent people,” he supplied with a satisfying crackle of the speakers beneath the weight of his anger. “Not just the ones you’re slaughtering now, but the ones you’re condemning to death with your actions.” “I didn’t fucking send them out here!” she snapped, daring to sit up for better vantage, propping the dead weight of the body up beside her. “That’s on you.”  “Then I suppose it makes no difference to you that you’re killing people who only want to save you? Who have no intention of taking your life in turn?”  She rolled her eyes, hunkering behind the corpse as the next round of bullets whistled through the air — how many times had they been through this exact argument? And how many more bliss bullets could these fuckers have? “If I had the fuckin’ benefit of a stockpile of tranquilizer bullets and a massive underground torture dungeon to keep people in, maybe I’d be in the ‘take one prisoner for every ten I bleed out and turn into roadside sculptures’ business, too,” she retorted between peeking over her shield’s cover. “Until then, I’m in the ‘doing what I have to do to not get dragged back to the torture dungeon’ business.” A fading of gunfire, winding down until the only sound she heard was the harsh, steady ringing in her ears. She raised her head to lock her eyes on the source of the shots. “Oh, what a clever observation.” His overdone sarcastic laugh betrayed a manic edge. “You know who in my so-called ‘torture dungeon’ would get an absolute kick out of your irreverent wit?”

sending a mandatory tag to @henbased and no pressure tags out to @afarcryfrommymain @josephslittledeputy @florbelles @g0dspeeed @unholymilf @belorage @cassietrn @galaxycunt @8bitpizzacoupons @strangefable @shallow-gravy @roofgeese @direwombat @inafieldofdaisies @corvosattano @socially-awkward-skeleton @shellibisshe @blissfulalchemist @deputyash @confidentandgood @captastra @voidika @just-another-wasteland-merc @poetikat @stacispratt @orionlancasterr @v0idbuggy @jackiesarch @quickhacked @strafethesesinners @firstaidspray @clicheantagonist @henbased @nightbloodbix @thedeadthree @miyabilicious @simplegenius042 + like/unlike HERE to opt in/out of wip day tags!

#did i ever mention i fucking hate writing action? #wip

[honey-minded-hivemind]

I have an au that matches the tone of my ❄Fallen Snow🩸 AU and it's branch-off AUs...

It is the 🌙Silent Night🦋 AU...

Mutants have wings, besides their mutations (or if their mutation was wings, they have an extra pair). Wings are sacred, vital, to mutants, as a symbol of new beginnings and being able to free themselves from horrible situations.

But they don't like humans, and any who try to protect humans or don't want them dead are treated harshly, if not exiled or "re-educated".

Reader is one of those mutants.

Maybe the others liked them in the beginning, maybe they disliked Reader from the start, bit either way, Reader disagrees with their world view, even to defying them... And then Reader is locked up, possibly chained, and tortured over their choice, being forced to take whatever is given, and trying to hold on to their beliefs, to their innocence, their own sanity. They handle about a year of it, until-

When they were being hurt, one if their wings is broken, and suddenly everything comes crashing down.

Reader is left broken inside and out, now knowing how far the people they thought were good would go, that even what they consider to be a sin is willingly done by them, while the platonic yans realize they just crossed a line they never were supposed to cross, that they swore to never cross...

Reader takes a few weeks to try and piece themself together, now that they were released from the cells, and the moment they're alone and the world is quiet-

They run.

And they don't look back.

They end up chased, yet as they reach a ledge, they know they can't fly, and that they can't go back with their abusers, the very people who claim to now "care"... Yet when they take a step back-

The ledge gives under them, and they fall over, leaving their fate unknown...

(They survive, but when they reach an abandoned cottage/cabin, they realize their wounded wing is likely beyond repair after the fall, and that if thry plan to hide, to live, they can't have their wings... So they cut them off, leaving the bloodied, stumped remains in the old, worn shed, along with the tool used to cut them off...)

(I'm going to make a first post/part one for this, okay?)

#honeycomb thoughts #platonic yandere marvel #yandere platonic marvel #platonic yandere marvel x reader #platonic yandere xmen #yandere x-men #yandere platonic xmen #platonic yandere #platonic yandere x reader #platonic yandere xmen evolution #🌙Silent Night🦋 AU #platonic yandere xmen evolution au

[heartfullofleeches]

Hella weird but I want Devlin to chase me, like if it’s just an intense game of tag or I’m genuinely trying to run away idc I want that man full on sprinting after me while I’m running away from him. Sounds like a fun adrenaline rush idk

The ride is unusually quiet. Your partner with his rambunctious and unruly self had hyped up the outing up until this point, eerily quiet as his eyes focus on the road. How well that attention spared was beyond you as you were fairly certain he didn't have a driver's license mainly due to the fact he's been alive nearly as long as vehicle transportation itself, but its better not to sweat the small things. He keeps a hand on your leg the entire drive, mindlessly tracing patterns along your thigh muscles. That mischievous grin of his returns as the car breaks to a stop.

"We're here~"

The happy jingle in his voice can't mean anything good, but you pop your seatbelt and follow him outside out of the trust he longed for and you felt you could give. Devlin grabs a bag from the back and your hand as he steps off road and into the treelining. He kisses the top of your hand as he closes your fingers around a flashlight.

"I'm so exciting, babes. No matter what, just remember you'll be safe- as long as you stay close to me and don't pass the blue trees when we get there."

That's definitely comforting. "What are we doing out here?"

That impossible smile only grows. "You'll see."

Devlin leads you into the wood. There's not much on your walk besides trees and rocks, until you come across the stained walls ejected around the forest floor. Vegetation and the hands of time had done their damage, but you could make out what looks to be spray paint art. The tiny monuments gradually incress in size till you're facing down small cobble huts throughout the area. Devlin stops in what appears to be the heart of the field and spreads his arms.

"Ta-da! Cool ain't it?"

You look around, airsoft goggles abandoned by a tree stump. "Is this... a paintball field?"

"Yup. Built right over the cemetery in the town I grew up in. Had some quality fun when was open. Probably the reason it closed too. Yellow eyed devil is what they called me. So fucking lame."

"I'm glad you showed me a part of your past, but is sight seeing all we came to do?"

"Nope."

Devlin snatches your light and tosses it into the trees. He pulls off his coat and lays it over a wall.

You back away as he streches. "I'm confused.."

"I'm gonna hunt ya down, silly. Just a little bonding experience and a way to relieve all the stress I got from watching you mingle with others. Most importantly, it'll be good to see how fast you can run if you flake on me and I have to drag your cute ass back where you belong.

He's dead serious about this. Some warning would've been nice, but the only way out is if you play alone. "What are the roles?"

"You try to make it back to the car without me catching you. It's pretty much a straight line besides the baracades so whether that's an advantage is on you. I'll give you a ten second head start. If you win, I'll do whatever you say for the night. If I win.... well- you'll see soon enough.

It probably would've been best to calculate your chances of winning, but it was clear he was getting antsy. "Alright. I'll play along. You better not be a sore loser like you were when we played operation."

Devlin looks ready to burst from excitement. "Scouts honor. We start in five."

You face the starting point, counting off in your head. You hear Devlin pacing behind you as you get in position. On the final number, your feet sink into the soft earth as you take off. Your countdown continues as you sprint down the path, seconds ticking by until the chase begins. Glancing over your shoulder, you see that Devlin isn't even looking in the direction you're heading. As the second countdown finishes, he takes a knee - running off to your right.

You make up for the wasted time by kicking your flight into second gear. Wasn't the best idea to put all your energy in at the start, but he was up to something and you knew it. Just keep looking ahead and pushing forward. The trees off the path were two dense for him to make it through and somehow catch you. There was probably a trap somewhere or-

Devlin cleans tree leaves out of his hair as he steps onto the path. The fall hurt his ankle, but with a few rolls of his foot it's good as new. You stop dead in your tracks, flinging yourself behind the nearest wall before he can spot you. That bastard was in the trees - waiting for you. You knew he was fast, but that seemed impossible. You peak around the wall to see if he's noticed you.

"Anybody ever tell you how hot you are covered in sweat and afraid?"

Devlin leans over the wall, winking at you as you look up. Grabbing the closest thing to you, you throw a small rock in his general direction as you race off in the direction you came. He catches it and hops over the wall.

"Oh you play dirty, huh? Here I thought I would have to go easy on you."

Your chest burns as you make distance from him as fast as humanly possible. He's gone off road again when you check, but this time you catch a glimpse of him through the thicket of trees right before he bursts out again in front of you. You pedal backwards and into one of the area towers, crawling beneath the glass free window to make it to the otherside. Devlin is already there and covers your mouth before you can scream. He pins you to the wall and celebrates his victory with a kiss to your sweaty skin.

"Looks like I won. I think it's time for the real fun to begin."

Devlin picks you up and sits you on the window sill. You catch your breath as his hands paw your thighs, tongue rolling over your salty skin.

"Another... round."

His ears perk up in tune with his lecherous smirk. "Oh?"

"I... wasn't- ready. If you win, I'll give you... an entire week of doing whatever you want."

Devlin backs off you, the flames of adrenaline rekindled in his eyes and burning brighter than before. "Oh, Y/n. You have no idea what you've just submitted yourself too."

#Carried away cause he my... fifth wife #yandere oc #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere scenarios #yandere insert #yandere headcanons #male yandere #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere blurb #yandere drabble #yandere x y/n #yandere x darling