#but my brain was like oh he's returned (undead) so like

[undermostcorgi]

drawing other people's dnd characters based on the image i made of them in my head and NOTHING ELSE because i'm evil

#my art #dnd oc #friend oc #bell #must stress again that this is entirely headcanon i doubt this is what he actually looks like LMAO #he keeps that mask on at all times so we have not seen his face and probably wont for a while #but my brain was like oh he's returned (undead) so like #what if he was a silly zombie lookin fucker who SLAYED. HARD #(i love how he turned out but i also. dont want to post it in the discord because i KNOW im so wrong about how he looks) #(and i didnt feel like asking ethan about it bc idk if he could really say yet) #(plus i really hate sending art to people specifically to ask for opinions ESPECIALLY of their own characters i get so scared) #(which is why i usually just draw my own characters lmao but i love my friends' characters so i wanted to try) #also something about it feels a bit unfinished? i didnt put a ton of effort into it since i really just made it for fun for me #i think his expression is just a bit flat but i didnt want to make it too exaggerated really so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ #also also sorry for long tags but this is slowly becoming an art blog isnt it LMAO #hope yall are cool with that i like having somewhere to post everything

[spacebarbarianweird]

The Dragon Made of Threads

Synopsis: Astarion is making a gift for you.

Tags: fluff

Read on AO3

Masterlist

Headcanons

Astarion’s mind doesn’t let him rest. 

The reverie is supposed to be a blessing, the only way for the True People to remember their long lives. But his long life was nothing but misery until  very recently and he keeps being dragged into the darkness.

Oh, Astarion was so naive to believe it could have been over by killing his master and having the “rebirth” experience on the grave. 

His past haunts him.

“You are tired,” you touch his forehead as if trying to sense fever. “You need some rest.”

“My sweet, elves can survive without trance for a week. And I am undead. I am fine.”

“You don't look fine. You have dark circles and your eyelids are puffy again. You need to rest.”

“No, I don’t!” He tries to sound confident but instead his voice resembles a rebellious teenager.

You are right, of course. The elves can survive without reverie for a week, the same way non-elves can make it through one or two sleepless nights. Then, the body and mind collapse. 

But entering the reverie… Reliving tortures and humiliation… Feeling the same sense of misery and horror and hopelessness… No, he can’t do that. Not now. Not ever.

You are ready to sleep - it’s the first time in a month that you sleep in the room, not in the tent - the thick curtains protect Astarion from the merciless sun. 

“Please,” you yawn. “Meditate.”

“I will.”

“Don’t lie to me, please, I know when you are dishonest.”

Astarion grins. “Oh, my sweet, I am no liar. I am going to reverie once you fall asleep. I just like watching you when the dreams take over you.”

“Astarion, when you say the truth your eyes are wide open. When you smirk, you lie. Listen, maybe I can do something? Something to make you… think about something pleasant? It’s been a year! There are a lot of good memories to relive. Let’s just find a way to point your mind in the right direction!”

A year of good memories. Well, a little bit more. Four months of having a tadpole in his brain, experiencing freedom and sunlight, falling in love, learning how to feel again, and how to be alive. All these memories are precious, even the ones he is embarrassed about. For example, using you in his own favor. It doesn’t matter you’ve forgiven him - it still hurts.

Astarion sighs and lies beside you. Your arms immediately wrap around him. The familiar warmth is so tender that Astarion lets himself slip away into the reverie.

He is indeed tired.

He needs to rest.

But instead of grasping a good memory, a pleasant or at least bearable, his mind collapses into the abyss.

Chained to the wall. Bleeding. Hurting. He can’t scream anymore. It’s an old memory from when he was still hoping. He begs for mercy but no one listens. Hunger. Pain. Blood. Again, again. 

The master is whistling, carving the symbols on Astarion’s back with a silver dagger. The cursed metal feels like melted lava.

Astarion doesn’t need to sleep, neither does the vampire lord. 

This is your life, forever. You are doomed. No one will save you.

No! No! It’s not true! It will end! It will take two centuries, two long and miserable centuries, but it will come to an end! 

Astarion screams in the past until his throat burns.

“Astarion! Astarion!”

He feels the warm hands shaking his shoulders. He returns to reality like a drowned man from the dark waters, numb and restless.

You don’t say anything and he collapses into your arms, crying like a lost child.

“I can’t… I can’t… I need to rest… But I can’t…”

His back… His back is still bleeding, he can feel it, but your fingers caress the scars. It’s all over. It’s been more than a year. He will never return to those dungeons. No one will ever mutilate him again.

You let him go and pick up the travel sack in the corner. 

“I bought something at the potion merchant. I think it might help.”

“Please, I - I can… handle…”

You take out a bottle with a golden liquid. 

Angelic sleep potion.

The only way to make an elf experience regular sleep.

“No.”

“Astarion, what choice do you have? One more day like this and you won’t be able to walk on your own. You need it.”

“No! I am not drinking this! My mind keeps bringing me real nightmares and I have heard  all about the creepy dreams and nightmares the sleeping mind can weave!”

“But it won't be reality! Besides, when a non-elf is exhausted like you, they don’t see dreams.”

“But I won’t be able to escape it. With reverie at least I know it’s a memory!”

You sit beside Astarion and hug him. “Please. If you don’t want to do this for yourself, do this for me. I can’t see you suffering like this.”

Astarion sighs. “You are manipulative, you know?”

“Learned from a professional”.

Astarion adjusts himself back on the  bed and opens the bottle. The potion smells intoxicating. “But I do this only for you.”

“And I am grateful for your sacrifice.”

Astarion drains the bottle and before he manages to acknowledge anything, sleep takes him.

He sees visions and images. Places and people. Some are familiar, and some are not. His mind weaves the dreams out of emotions, memories, and experiences. 

Astarion dreams of a dragon.

It’s an ancient species of dragons, otherworldly. A majestic creature capable of carrying a dragon rider on its back.

Astarion rides this dragon above the Trackless Sea. There is nothing but the water and open blue skies.

And the sun.

It feels like cat fur on his skin, gentle and warm. 

Astarion wakes up still dizzy with the unrealness of what he saw. 

And he feels amazing.

His body is rested, and his mind is clear. The dream was so vivid that Astarion would believe he was once a dragon rider if he didn’t know about the weird fantasies of non-elven dreams.

He looks at you, sound asleep in the bed. His. You are his. And he is yours. What a sheer amount of luck made you meet each other? And how lucky he is you chose him.

It is still afternoon, hours before the sunset and he knows too well you won't wake up till evening.

Astarion needs to occupy himself with something. He gets up, stretches his arms, and then sees your traveling cape on the floor. 

“Such a messy little thing”, he chuckles. Astarion picks up the cape and notices a hole in the fabric.

Astarion takes his sewing kit from the traveling sack. He loves repairing things for you - complaining all the way, of course - but he never lets you sew yourself.

And then the idea comes to his mind.

Instead of black threads, he picks the red ones. It takes him a few attempts to understand how to do that but then the stitches come naturally from his fingers.

A dragon soaring in the skies. A divine creature from other planes. A beast that came to him in his dreams.

Astarion carefully embroiders the body of the dragon, then the wings and a stream of fire from its mouth.

He still has a lot of threads left and he starts embroidering the other dragon on the opposite side of the cape. 

Then he notices something has changed.

The curtain is wide open and the moonlight streams inside the room. You sit beside him, smiling at his work.

“Oh, sorry, my sweet. I’ve been carried away…”

“It’s all right. I like watching you sew. But it’s the first time I see you making something like this.”

“Do you like it?”

“Of course!” you touch the embroidered dragons. “So real! I didn’t know you could do such things!”

“I- I’ve seen them. In a dream.”

The tender fingers touch his curls. “You’ve rested, haven’t you?”

“Yes. I have,” Astarion hands you the cape. “If you want, I can add more. I just need more threads”.

You smile and kiss him. “Of course, I do. Thank you.”

--

Tag list

@tugoslovenka @marcynomercy @wintersire @vixstarria @not-so-lost-after-all @ashiro20 @theearthsfinalconfession @herstxrgirl @starlight-ipomoea @micropoe10 @astarion-imagine-archive @veillsar @elora-the-slutty-songstress @fayeriess @lumienyx @tallymonster @caitlincat-95 @tragedybunny @valeprati @lynnlovesthestars @marina-and-the-memes @waking-electric @ayselluna @connorsui @asterordinary @darkarchangel96 @locallegume @brainfullofhotsauce @coffeeanddonutscafe 

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion romance #baldurs gate 3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion angst #astarion drabble #astarion short fic #spacebarbarian fics #astarion fluff #astarion comfort #baldur's gate post game #Valentine Day Fic Exchange

[johnwickb1tsch]

The Girl Next Door ~ 2

A Constantine x Reader fic based on this imagine. Part 1

Summary: John Constantine has a crush on you. He wasn’t going to do anything about it though, until you strong arm him into coming over for dinner. Little do you know, this paints a target on your back for the local vampire coven… Rating: Explicit, NSFW, but no dead doves...😮 Note: I got Constantine on my brain, y'all! 😆 I write about vampire hunters all the time, but never from the vampire perspective. This was new. I hope you enjoy!🧡

2. whoever drinks my blood has eternal life

In the end, he was too late.

Oh, he killed them all, wiping out the entire coven with his magical holy shotgun, and a handy spell that basically burned the remaining undead to a crisp around you.

But you were already half dead, drained and forced to drink their blood in kind.

You were well on your way to becoming one of the Damned.

John knew this, as he cradled your cold body in his arms, carrying you like a bride to the cab outside the warehouse. He knew it as he held you close in the backseat, reciting ancient prayers over your fevered brow, hoping just this once God might grant him a good miracle, and not forsake one of his children just because of an unlucky twist of fate.

Your only crime, as far as he knew, had been extending the mercy of your kindness towards him, and that should not have earned you this.

He barely thanked Chas for a job well done, carrying you bridal style up the stairs of your apartment building. Rather than return you to your bed, he brings you to his. He doesn’t know if the vampire who you must have inadvertently invited into your home died that night, and all his holy weapons are at hand in his own space.

He lays you down in his bed, wishing he’d washed his sheets more recently for you. He wishes a lot of things, in the interim hours that follow.

He can tell that his incantations are not touching the dark magic that is taking hold of you, and he knows that he should just put an end to it here and now. You are damned, and there’s no going back, and who knows what chaos you will reap with your new thirst when you wake?

He can’t bring himself to do it.

Looking down at you, huddled in a ball, trembling as your body is dying and remaking itself anew—he falls to his knees to talk to God, though his words aren’t exactly a prayer. “Our father, who art in heaven…fuck you. I hope you're happy, asshole. Another innocent who you should have protected, fucked over by your stupid games. Why? Why is it always the good ones? I hate you. Amen.”

He takes your hand in his, and only because you are practically unconscious in the fever-pitch of your transformation, does he let his eyes fill with silent tears.

One more soul he was too late to save.

One more weight upon his conscience.

He cries for you. For himself. For the impossible odds God and the Devil pit against humans, then punish them when they're just not up to the task. Flesh is weak, but They made you this way. None of it is fair.

Constantine has never actually been present at a Turning. He doesn’t know how long it will take, or how you’ll act when you come out of it. He has crosses and holy water to keep you in line if he has to…or maybe you’ll rip out his throat, and he will absolutely deserve it after what he let happen to you.

He wonders how the vampires knew about you. Did they watch through the window from some impossible perch, as you made love? Maybe he would never admit it out loud, but that was what that merciful night together had felt like, with you.

This was a hell of a reminder, as to why he couldn’t ever let anyone get close.

It never ended well.

Fully clothed, shoes and all, he spoons your smaller body with his arm around your waist, and waits.

***

When at last you wake, the first thing you are aware of is a heartbeat, right next to you. Behind you. Pressed against you. You hear it like a drum, thundering in your ears. There is a grinding pain in your belly. You are so hungry.

You do not recognize your surroundings, or the bed you lay in. A heavy arm is draped over your waist. You study the large hand upon the sheets, long fingered, veiny. Maybe you know that hand.

Slowly you turn, to find John Constantine beside you. He looks up at your through hooded dark eyes. He was dozing, but no longer.

“Y/n?”

You take a deep breath, and the smells that hit you: his aftershave, sweat, deodorant, dirty sheets, scotch whisky in the kitchen. Old Chinese food. But most of all, you can smell his blood, and it is the sweetest thing you’ve ever smelled.

You lean towards him, mouth open, hands reaching.

You don’t know that your incisors have lengthened to deadly little points.

Casually, John holds up a little crucifix between you. You feel it like a hand pressing back against you, and instinctively you flinch.

What is going on with you?

“John?”

You feel something long brush your lip, and you reach up to touch your teeth, finding the sharp points. Your eyes go half-dollar round as you nearly cut yourself with the tip of one.

“What happened to me?”

He sighs, and there is so much weight and sorrow in that one exhalation of air.

“I’m sorry, y/n.”

“John?” The panic in your voice starts to rise.

“Shh. Don’t get excited. It won’t be good.”

A rampaging new vampire was the last thing he needed on his hands.

“Those things took me,” you whisper, your hand covering your mouth. You start to remember what happened, those creeps who snatched you from your apartment, the impossible things you saw. They were monsters. Vampires. Things you only thought existed in folklore, books, bad B movies. And they’d told you a little about John Constantine too. That he was some sort of demon hunter, crazy as that fucking sounded, who clearly they wished to do harm to.

“Yeah.” 

“They took me,” you repeat with emphasis, still trying to understand.  

A longer pause, pregnant with lots of words you sense he doesn’t quite know how to say.

Again, he settles for, “Yeah.” 

“Why?” 

“I guess…they thought that you mean something to me.” 

After everything that happened, this hits you like a knife between the ribs, a long sharp blade aimed right for your heart.

“Do I not?” 

“Come on, I didn't mean it like that.” 

Yes he did, and you realize... that maybe he's just like all the others. 

At least he'd warned you. 

You just...had hoped, anyway, like the stupid little romantic you are. 

You look down, unable to meet his eyes. 

You kind of want to cry, but you're not even sure you can anymore. 

“I came for you as soon as I knew,” he says quietly, not liking this at all.

You nod, your lip quivering.

“What's going to happen to me?” 

The haunted way he looks at you rends your heart in two.

“We'll…figure it out.” 

“I'm hungry...I think.”

He nods gravely. 

“I was afraid of that.”

“What am I going to do?” 

“I'll...try to help you.”

Your eyes go to his throat again. The thought should be gross, but...you just feel hunger pangs, instead—and a confusing wave of desire.

He notices the focus of your attention, and looks uneasy about it. Your eyes have started to glow.

“Why don't we start with the wrist?” he deadpans, not enthused about your untried razor-sharp fangs in his throat.

You nod shakily, tears in your eyes. “I'm sorry,” you say. 

There's a flicker in John's soulful brown eyes, and though he says nothing, you feel his guilt as though it's your own. You feel it crawling over your skin, and it scares you. 

What is happening to you? 

“Come on,” he says gruffly. “Let's get this over with.” 

You've seen the movies, and you’re not a total idiot. But the thought of actually...biting him? And drinking his blood? It freaks you out, ok, even if every cell in your body is singing out for you to swallow him down. The smell of him. You'd thought it was intoxicating before. Aftershave, spice, and cigarette smoke. The smoke was good only because it ticked some deep buried memory box in your subconscious. But now...it’s like you can sense the strength of his very soul, in the smell of his blood, and you know he will nourish you. 

These thoughts come to you unbidden, and you don't even really know what they mean. Just... that they are unequivocally true.

You take his wrist, the blue veins there seeming to dance for your new improved vampire vision, as though you can see the blood pumping within them.

This is so fucking weird.

“You’re going to be really strong now,” he cautions you. Then, the corner of his mouth ticks. “So be gentle with me.”

Your eyebrows raise at the thought that you could actually hurt him. This big, strong man who threw you around not so long ago like you were just a doll. You’d loved that, truth be told. The memory is so sweet that it almost makes you want to cry again.

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

“You should do it now,” he says. “Because you’re just going to get hungrier, and young vampires when they’re hungry are at their most dangerous. I’d hate to have to—”

He cuts himself off before finishing that thought. Your eyes drift to his nightstand, the holy water, crucifixes, and a broom handle piece that has been sharpened into a nice neat stake. Just in case he has to shove it through your heart.

“Could you do that to me?” you ask quietly before you can stop yourself, still staring at the stake.

“I don’t want to find out,” he deflects. “So come on. Pull up your big girl panties.”

You glare at him, taking his wrist again. “I think I have a right to be freaked out about this.”

“Sure, but it is what it is,” he fires back unkindly. “You’re a vampire now. You have to drink blood to survive, and you’re Damned. Welcome to the club.”

You frown at him, your eyes flashing dangerously. You notice him tense, his attention flicking over to the stake on the bedside.

“You’re afraid of me now,” you marvel. 

“A little, yeah.”

“And I should be afraid of you? They told me what you are.”

“Let’s agree to have a healthy respect of one another, alright?”

You sit quietly, contemplating him. With his wrist in your grasp you can feel the thump thump of his pulse through your entire body, like bumping bass out of a speaker. It is distracting, and as you think about what you must do a warmth rises in you, a tingling rush of power that spreads from your fingers into his arm. It makes him shudder, his pupils suddenly blown wide with desire.

This feels good. Better than the fear, although you’re ashamed to admit, that had been delicious too.

You don’t know how you’re doing any of this. It’s just happening, and you let your new instinct take you, straddling his narrow hips to find his burgeoning erection straining against his slacks. You are still wearing the sundress those creatures took you in, and nothing but the thin cotton of your panties barricades the space between you and him.

He is so handsome, and strong. His blood smells so strong, and it fills you with an aching desire, wetness flooding between your legs. Suddenly the desire to bite him while he is inside you grips you like an iron fist, some ancient knowledge of arcane pleasure pulsing through your veins. You blink, the urge receding only slightly, and you do not know it but your eyes glow like coals. It’s strange, how your body feels cold, except where your skin is touching his. Your points of contact are almost searing, in comparison.

“Y/n…”

“What?” you taunt him. “You don’t want me now that I’m a monster?”

You can still hardly believe this is really happening to you.

“I think you can feel that’s not the case.”

Again, you sense his fear, cloyingly sweet upon your tongue. You like it, and that is the thing that brings you back to yourself. Wanting anyone to be afraid of you is so opposite your true nature that it shocks you.

“Fuck. I’m sorry,” you apologize again, squeezing your eyes closed.

“It’s alright,” he says in that deep voice of his.

It’s not. It’s really not.

“Just…can we get this over with, please?”

“Jesus Christ.”

“He’s not going to help you now, believe me. Just…go slow, ok? Don’t bite me too hard. I need use of my hand still, if you don’t mind.”

You let out a shuddering breath. It feels weird, and you realize…you don’t need to breathe? Taking in air is a reflex, but there’s no effect of your body processing oxygen.

Jesus fucking Christ.

“Okay. I’m going to do it.”

“Any day now.”

“Shut up.”

This is the thing that actually makes him smile, that slight curl of lips that is like a full-on grin for most people. Maybe it’s stupid—but it gives you courage.

You graze his skin with your new sharp teeth, and like a beachcomber searching for treasure with a metal detector, you just sense the sweet spot. You move as carefully as you can, pressing down into his flesh to make two neat little holes.

The spill of blood is divine, and you don’t have time to think that it’s gross. It fills your mouth and it is good, and you are so hungry, and you can’t get enough. The magic in this bloodletting rises like a tide, desire crashing over the both of you in a tingling, intoxicating rush. You feel everything, and there is no extricating the sexual pleasure from the gustatory. They are one and the same with this man, his delicious, powerful blood filling your mouth, his strapping body beneath yours, his hips bucking against you.

You feel his hand slide up your thigh, his thumb seeking the molten center of you. When he makes himself stop just short of your panty line you whine in protest, straining for his touch, but he resists your goading, his fingertips digging into your soft flesh. Perhaps you should be grateful, that he is strong enough to resist the pull of this magic between you, trying not to debauch you while you feed for the first time and everything is new and you have no idea what is happening. And yet, you can hardly think past how wonderful it would be to have his teeming erection buried inside you to the hilt while you drink him down.

You would tell him all this, but you can’t bring yourself to separate your mouth from the font of his delectable lifeblood. In fact, you don’t know how you’re going to stop, period.

It’s just so good.

John watches you through heavy lidded eyes, seemingly enjoying this as much as you are. Yet he has more sense of the situation as well, and when he tells you, “That’s enough, y/n,” an inhuman keening of protest escapes from deep in your throat.

“Y/n…” he warns again, his words thick with desire. “You have to stop.”

You close your eyes, telling yourself just one last mouthful.

That was two long sucking draughts ago.

Suddenly you feel a searing heat very near your face. Startled, your eyes fly open to find the crucifix there before you, and you hiss in answer, scrabbling back on the bed away from the holy item. With John Constantine’s blood on your lips you cower, shielding your eyes with a hand.

With a shuddering sigh he lowers the cross, sitting back against the headboard of his bed. He presses a tissue against his wrist, and your eyes are drawn to the crimson stains flowering on the wad of paper beneath his fingers.

What a waste, you think, before shaking the thought away.

Then the horror of what could have happened dawns on you.

You could have drank him dry, and in the heat of the moment you would have done it gladly.

Oh God. What have you become?

“I’m sorry,” you apologize again. “Are you ok?”

He actually has the gall to smirk at you, as though any of this could be funny. “Yeah. Not the first time I’ve lost a little blood.”

There’s some inside joke in that statement you don’t understand, though you sense the darkness of self-deprecation in it.

Somehow, you feel simultaneously sated, and horrible. With a whimper you curl up at the foot of his bed, closing your eyes against the world. You can feel everything. You sense the people in the building, the fragile sound of their juicy little hearts beating. Even outside, the life on the street, men and women going about their lives with no idea what lurks in the shadows, wanting to eat them up…

But most distracting of all, the sheets beneath you smell like John, and the lust in your blood has yet to abate, even if the feeding is over. You feel it marching across your skin like red-hot ants. The desire to crawl up the bed and press your bloody lips to his is real, and you fight it with everything you have, because you don’t imagine he’d appreciate that very much after what he’s done for you. The sour expression on his face did not match the size of the tent in his pants, that is for sure.  

You wonder, is it going to be like this every time you eat from now on? The thought does not thrill you.

“Hey,” he goads softly, and your eyes fly open to regard him. Again, your irises shine like lanterns, fueled by the roil of emotions warring in your heart. “Come here.” He holds out one of those beautiful hands to you. Hands that you had so relished upon your body, on your flesh, in your hair…hands with such thick, beautiful blue veins…

You’re not sure how he knows that you want to be held, but now you fear it too. You fear what you are, and your ability to control yourself around him. Because the truth is you still want him very much, and he’d basically told you point blank that you mean nothing to him. The thought weighs on your heart now like a thousand stinging needles, and you feel your eyes fill with moisture of some kind.

So, vampires can cry after all.

You touch a finger to the corner of your eye, and see it comes away tinted red.

You kind of want to throw up.

“Maybe…I should go,” you say sadly, sitting up. You’re certain you look as disheveled as you feel. Your hair is a bird’s nest. Your once pretty floral sundress is dirty and torn. No wonder he doesn’t want you.

“If…you want.” Why does he sound sad about it? Shouldn’t he be glad to see the backside of you? Constantine the Demon Hunter? If you’d been nothing but a one-night fuck as a human, he certainly didn’t want to spend time with you now.

 “You know you’re going to need a dark place to rest for the day?”

Is he actually worried about where you’re going to sleep?

“Okay.” You think you can manage that, in your apartment next door. Or maybe…you’ll see what happens, if you watch the sun rise. Maybe it would just be better that way. Are vampire suicides double damned? You’ve never really been a religious person, but he’d said it like it was A Thing.

It reminds you of what John had said earlier. “What did you mean before? When you said join the club?”

He sighs, reaching for a pack of cigarettes on the night stand. “I’ll tell you some other time.”

Feeling like you’ve now been dismissed, you slide from the bed, standing on bare feet. You should be sore, but your movements are lithe, liquid as a cat’s.

Something else to get used to.

You can feel Constantine’s eyes glued to you, and you dare to take one last look back, waiting to turn to a pillar of salt. He’s so handsome it hurts, even in his rumpled state, his cuffs rolled up his forearms and his tie loose around his neck. How do his soulful dark eyes seem to hold all the sorrow of the world right now?

“Bye, John.”

He just nods, and you let yourself out.

***

Much to your surprise, ten minutes before dawn, you hear a knock on your door. You know it's John. You can tell by the sound of his breathing, the sound of his heart beat. You can smell him, and it is a heady thing in your nostrils. When you do not answer he just lets himself in, the cheeky bastard. 

He finds you sitting in one of your thrift store chairs by the window, one of the only ones not broken in the mess the vampires who took you left behind. He does not like this, you can tell, by his hairline frown. 

“Hey.” 

“Hi.”

“Hate to tell you, but you're going to have to find a new way to get your vitamin D.”

“Ha ha,” you say, turning back to the window. A few people are out and about below. This city never really sleeps. 

“Hey,” he says again, crouching down by your chair. “I know this is a lot...”

The look you pay him is not exactly kind. He plows forward anyway.

“But take it from someone who's been there. Hell isn't a place you should be in a hurry to go.” 

You blink at that. He says it like it's so black and white, not a hint of uncertainty. Not faith. Fact. Once upon a time, you might have questioned his sanity. Not anymore. 

“Sounds like you've been.” 

“For about two minutes. It was enough.” 

“What was it like?” you whisper. 

“Pure agony.” 

Your eyes go wide at hearing that. 

“So...want to show me your bolt hole?” he asks.

Once upon a time you would have capitalized on the opportunity for inuendo with such comedic gold just handed to you for free, but you’re not in the mood. You just stare at him.

“John...You're a demon hunter. Why do you care?”

He tries to meet your eyes, but in the end can only look away. “Come on, y/n. Just…don’t give up yet, ok?”

He just feels guilty, you tell yourself, and you pry yourself from your chair with a sigh. You’re not sure what the point of anything will be, anymore. But maybe you’ll make an effort to go on, because he asked you to.

Sometimes, that’s all it takes.

“Fine.”

You figure the closet will be the darkest place in the apartment for you to hide.

#john constantine x reader #constantine 2005 #john constantine #constantine x reader #constantine x you #constantine x y/n #keanu reeves #constantine 2005 fic #john constantine x you #constantine vampire fic

[prince-kallisto]

I have to spit this theory out before I go back to sleep, but there’s an interesting emphasis about ghosts in the latest book 7 chapter? Okay not really it was just a few lines ANDJXJDJXJ but that’s not the point- 🤣🤣

Malleus rationalizes Ortho “waking up” by transferring his data and soul into a different body to being like a ghost that’s left its body to be in another vessel.

Crowley has a very fascinating connection the ghosts and the undead overall. Not only does he turn into a ghost in the prologue with the use of a transmutation potion, the manga implies that he has some degree of control/summoning capabilities of the ghosts affiliated with Night Raven College.

The first Halloween event further clarifies that ghosts are so abundant at NRC (yet still an uncommon sight to the rest of the world) because the campus is teeming with magic- to the point that even non-mages can see them. A lot of the staff under Crowley’s employment are made up of ghosts (excluding teachers and Sam)- such as the cooks, and have been implied to have been working for him for many decades now, as in Crowley’s personal story, he can’t even remember when he hired the chef from how long ago it was. The second Halloween event then directly shows how ghost possession works, as many of the students get possessed with their personalities and eye colors changing. And then there’s the whole oh Phantom Bride event in general 👀

Edit: there’s also the Ghost Cameras, which Crowley describes that people back then feared the camera because the photos seemed like ghosts when popping out from the frame. The fact that the camera can “capture” a part of a persons soul is forever fascinating and the way it’s directly tied to ghosts 👀

I’ve been wondering if Crowley so readily has ghost transmutation potions so he can regularly travel to the Netherworld aka the ghost realm. Since his ties run so close with the campus ghosts, then it makes sense that he would have these potions for the Netherworld. But now with Malleus saying this…couldnt ghost!Crowley temporarily use someone as a vessel while under the effects of the potion or (*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)

…I volunteer as tribute ANDJXJDBD no but actually!! I know there’s a lot more canonical ghost lore than this and how they relate to Crowley, but my brain isn’t fully working right now 😭 But with all the latest emphasis of Crowley having duplicates- magical protections in his Special Lessons, and a virtual simulation of him in the Magic Assault Event…👀 There is indeed a slight possibility of his ghost potions returning. The scene in the prologue heavily suggests that Crowley has an impressive control over his ghost form, as Grim is shocked at how Crowley suddenly speeds up- even faster than the actual Ramshackle ghosts. I feel like *someone* in general being used as a vessel feels more plausible every day…

And actually, we’ve been seeing recent representations of the spirits/ghosts of dead, such as Phantom Ortho & Ortho’s spirit, and the Knight of Dawn. General Lilia in his dream also calls out for Meleanor and Levan, asking them if they’re watching him and if he could join them, before slipping into darkness.

I still don’t understand how a ghost potion actually works ANXIJDHD- does Crowley just temporarily die for a moment or is it all just the superficial appearance and powers of a ghost without actually being a ghost? 💀 But in any case, I wonder if ghosts will be an ongoing theme, as both Book 6 and 7 have been emphasizing the loss of loved ones, so perhaps there is some connection here.

Idk it’s just very twisted wonderland that these characters have been going through a journey of acceptance at the loss of their loved ones and family, and Crowley is over here having the undead under his control, and is essentially “cheating death” by just casually switching from being a ghost to being alive 💀 and if the Great Seven portraits in his office can actually talk (a portrait in the prologue claims that why shouldn’t portraits be able to speak as long as they have a mouth), it’s essentially false representations of the dead speaking to him lol. So him potentially wielding his ghost form and using someone as a vessel technically isn’t that far off from what he’s currently doing in canon- the themes of death are so integral to his character yet he simultaneously treats these abilities as if it’s trivial 🤔 Anyway Crowley cheating death is foreshadowing to levan /j 🤪

#this was really incoherent and disorganized I apologize 😭 #I can hear a rooster crowing helppp 😭🤣 #kallistopost #twst theory #twst dire Crowley #twst spoilers #twst book 7 spoilers #dire crowley #twisted wonderland #twst

[ficnation]

“Your dad's an asshole” Part 1 - Carl x Reader

Request: “Carl x son of negan. Where they meet when Negan goes to get supplies for the first time from Alexandria and Negan’s son keeps flirting with Carl and Carl gets flustered and acts like he hates it, because y’know son of NEGAN, but eventually they go on a sort of date and kiss? Just fluff with a lil angst? Whatever works for you xoxo”

requested by @thatcucumberwhore

Word count: 2918

Pairing: Carl Grimes x Male! Reader

Warnings: usual twd themes (e.g gore, cursing)

A/n: It's a little bit different than the request, but I still hope you'll enjoy it :D There'll also be a second part to this which will focus more on the romantic aspect of Negan's son and Carl's relationship!

☁ 𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ☁ || ☁ 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐋 𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ☁

“Well, hello there,” the greeting that left your father’s lips was anything but friendly. The mere idea of it not being hostile to the people who killed so many of your men blew your mind.

You decided to keep your mouth shut when a glare of a blue-eyed man on the other side of the fence almost outmatched yours in its viciousness. You hopped out of the vehicle, yawning and murmuring something about having enough traveling for the next few weeks. There was nothing you hated more than sitting for hours in a metal can with nothing to do.

“Do not make me have to ask,” your dad said when no one moved to open the gate for him and your people. He shoved his hand deep into his leather jacket’s pocket and tapped his foot on the ground to hurry them up.

The blue-eyed man hesitated for a moment before sliding the gate open, but not without some resistance. “You said a week. You’re early.”

“How about you file a complaint, huh?” the words escaped you before you could catch them, gathering everyone’s attention.

A few of the Saviors whistled in amusement and appreciation. You quickly pulled the hood of your sweatshirt over your head with an unpleased groan and turned your head to the side, suddenly finding the trees on your left very interesting.

You didn’t get a kick out of people’s attention on you as your dad did. It was just one of the many differences between you and him. There were things you were confident in, but speaking up in front of a large group of people or getting applause for something you did just wasn’t it.

Luckily for you, the citizens of Alexandria didn’t dwell long on your words, and their fearful eyes quickly returned to your father. His smug grin already told you that he was proud of you for speaking up. You were his blood, after all.

When the distinctive growling sounded closer and closer, you could almost see the light bulb lighting up above your father’s head.

“Oh, Rick, come on out here.” He licked his lips in anticipation as he raised Lucille above his head and whistled. “Watch this.”

“I’m not a damn dog,” you mumbled under your breath, but obediently grabbed the bat out of your father’s hands, annoyance clearly visible on your face and in your voice.

The undead man stalked towards you with outstretched hands, excited to get a bite of fresh meat. You raised the bat over your head before swinging at the creature with an annoyed groan. The weapon hit it straight in the middle of its head. The barbed wire and force of the strike made a whole bloody mess of its brain. The blood and all the muck splattered over your clothes and the nearby car.

Negan burst into a deep chuckle at the sight. “Easy peasy lemon squeezy! My kid is doing some charity work for you here, Rick. You better remember that,” he said, winking at the man standing by the gate.

You rolled your eyes, handing the bat back to him and wiping the stray red drops off your cheek. Negan proceeded to give a cheeky little speech to the people from Alexandria, throwing a few threats their way and bowing at the end, almost as if he was waiting for applause.

He gave Lucille to Rick with a sly glint in his eyes before he stepped inside ASZ. He knew exactly what effect his actions had on that man. Rick Grimes was furious and afraid, but not for himself, for something far more important to him.

“Alright, let’s get this show on the road. See what kind of goodies you have in the cupboard.” Negan gestured for you to keep close while he walked further into the town.

“We put aside half of the supplies.”

“No, Rick. No,” your father butted in. He stepped closer to the man threateningly. “You don’t decide what we take. I do. Tell him, boy! Tell him how things here work.” Negan turned towards you with a proud grin.

Of course, he wanted to include you in his weird power plays. He was throwing your existence right in their faces for reasons unknown to you. You thought it’d be safer for you if they didn’t know about you being their enemy’s son, but your father had different plans, like always. It was a shame he didn’t at least give you a heads-up before playing them out.

“It’s always been like that. He’s the boss, he decides what’s his,” you spoke up, shrugging your shoulders. You weren’t going to give them more than that; you weren’t your father.

After that, Arat yelled out for your group to get a move on, and they dispersed, immediately getting themselves busy searching through the houses.

Your father weaved you off to go and explore, maybe help out his men if you were feeling petty. But you knew the rules—the crueler you were, the more things you took, the more Negan’s approval you got. It wasn’t your thing, so you just planned to walk around and check out some of the places there. You were particularly curious about what weapons and how many of them did they have, but you also did not want to participate in the scavenger hunt, so you decided to just let it be.

After not even an hour, you knew you’d seen every interesting place in Alexandria, so you followed one of the random Saviors group searching through the houses. You didn’t take anything from the buildings, just walked around, curiosity peeked by the big suburban homes. The place was nothing like the industrial Sanctuary. It was beautiful and cozy, with the light colors of the furniture brightening the rooms. You could’ve lived in a place like that.

While you were checking out the upstairs of the house, you heard a commotion and an unfamiliar voice downstairs. Without a second thought, you ran down the stairs to find your people being held at gunpoint by a long-haired boy around your age. You looked at him in awe. He looked badass with his bandaged eye and the steady grip on the weapon. He also looked like someone you could get on with. Damn, it was a shame that your groups were on some kind of warpath.

The teenager popped the safety off. “Put some back or the next one goes in you,” he threatened.

“What do you think happens next?” one of the Saviors asked, looking at the boy in amusement while you took that as a sign to pull out your own gun.

“You die,” he replied with so much confidence it was surprising.

“No, you die.” You pointed your gun at his temple, cocking your head, very entertained by the situation. You weren’t sure if the kid had the balls to actually kill your guys over the medicine, but you were curious to find out.

The brown-haired boy slowly turned his head toward you at the sound of the safety clicking. He stared you off with that pretty blue eye of his. For a second, you wondered if he wasn’t this settlement leader’s kid. If that turned out to be the truth, then the chance of you becoming friends dropped to zero.

“That’s a standoff I didn’t expect.” Your father’s whistling cut through the tension in the room.

You turned your head to look at him and Rick, that stood at the entrance of the room. The leader of Alexandria walked over to the two of you, glancing between you and the other boy. It was easy to put the puzzles together. The one-eyed boy was his son. It was an accurate guess, seeing the fear and uncertainty in the man’s blue eyes.

Rick called his son’s name, reaching for the gun in the boy’s hand. “Carl put it down,” he warned him, looking yet again at the barrel of your weapon.

“No. He’s taking all of our medicine. They said only half our stuff,” he protested, raising his voice. His hand holding the gun started shaking slightly, and your eyes quickly caught that sight. Maybe he wasn’t as brave and badass as you thought, or maybe your father traumatized him so much that his presence scared the boy.

“Really, kid?” Your father stepped in front of Carl in amusement. The whole situation was probably pretty entertaining to him.

“And you should go,” the boy continued looking Negan right in the eye. “Before you find out how dangerous we all are.”

You snorted amused. Shit, you knew that with this sentence, the boy just fucked up. If Negan wasn’t pissed before, he definitely was now. You let out an exasperated sigh, tucking your gun behind your belt. You stopped listening to the conversation between them, your eyes glued to the blue-eyed boy.

You didn’t even pay attention when your father stopped talking for a moment before he commanded Dave and the other Savior to take away all of Alexandria’s weapons.

Your heart started beating faster when you took a closer look at Carl, who scrunched his eyebrows in annoyance. The whole time you were there, he gave you maybe a glance or two, desperately trying to show you that you were the intruder here.

You noticed your father staring at you with narrowed eyes. He crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow, challengingly at you. His gaze went back and forth between you and the boy. When you finally met his eyes, he sighed loudly and shook his head disapprovingly. You rolled your eyes and scoffed lightly, turning around and walking away without sparing Carl another glance.

Your steps sounded too loud in the silent house, making you feel uneasy and a bit ashamed because of getting caught staring like a lovesick puppy at someone who was supposed to be your enemy. And damn, how did he manage to make such an impression on you? Why did you want to talk to him so much?

You sat by the little lake in the town, tangling your fingers in the cold grass and waiting for somebody to call you over and say you were leaving. You felt bored and out of place. You thought you would get out of the sunshine and rainbows town quicker. But it took a lot longer than you initially thought.

There weren’t many Alexandrians around the area, so you could let your guard down for a bit. The humidity from the water was refreshing, and you caught yourself breathing in deeply. If you could, you’d bring that lake back to the Sanctuary. It reminded you of your childhood and the days when your mom took you to swimming classes. However, the water there stank strongly of chlorine, so the air wasn’t as nice as this was.

When someone finally passed by you. It was Carl fucking Grimes. He walked right past you like you weren’t there, but you didn’t take it personally. He had no obligation to keep you entertained, and you knew that. You also knew that he probably didn’t want to have anything to do with you, but something drew you to him.

You waited until no one was looking before following him. If he noticed you behind him, he showed no sign of it for most of this short walk. His steps were long and rushed, and it should’ve been a red flag to you, but you decided to ignore it.

At one point, Carl stopped walking and looked around, searching for something. You noticed he was pretending. He did that to make sure you were still following him. And when he noticed you did, he scoffed under his nose. He kept walking, pretending like you weren’t there.

You noticed you were getting close to the edge of the town. There was no one in sight anywhere around you. Carl must’ve seen that, too, because he stopped and sighed, turning around slowly to face you. His expression had turned into a frown, and his eye had grown cold and angry.

“What do you want? Why did you stare at me, and why did you follow me here?” he spat the words at you, glaring daggers at you as if he wanted you to fall dead before his feet. He stepped closer to you, invading every inch of your space, forcing himself between you and the town. You took a step back, your back hitting the cold wall of the house behind you.

“No reason,” you muttered, trying to act nonchalant about it all. “Just wondered where you were going.” You tried to sound natural, which was hard, considering you were freaking out about being in such close proximity to him.

Carl stepped closer toward you, knowing you had nowhere to back away now. He glared at you again, and you flinched. “Yeah, right.” He scoffed once more. “Why does it matter?”

Your mind blanked at this sudden question, and you struggled to find an answer. “Well...” You glanced down at the ground nervously. “I haven’t seen anyone my age for so fucking long. I just thought we could talk for a while.” Your voice faltered at the end, your heart pounding against your chest. You swallowed thickly. You didn’t know what else to say.

“About?” he raised his eyebrow, waiting expectantly. You shrugged awkwardly.

“Whatever you want to talk about.” You tried to keep your tone light, hoping it would calm him down somehow. This was getting awkward and embarrassing fast. You weren’t used to people staring at you like they could read your soul with their piercing gaze.

“You’re pretty badass,” you blurted out nervously. You mentally slapped yourself for talking without thinking twice. Carl raised an eyebrow yet again, seeming unimpressed by your answer.

He stared at you, looking even more annoyed now than before. He opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again, shaking his head and letting out a heavy sigh. “Whatever. Just leave me alone, okay? You’re not welcome here.” With that, he turned on his heels and started walking away.

“Wait!” You shouted before you could think. He stopped and glared at you once again, this time with more malice than before. He looked ready to punch you. You gulped down some nervousness and continued speaking, trying to sound casual. “Look, I’m sorry I came after you. Like I said, I just wanted to talk.” You smiled sheepishly. “Can’t hurt to try, can it?”

Carl crossed his arms over his chest. He leaned against the brick wall beside you and studied you; his forehead furrowed in concentration.

For a while, neither of you said anything. You stood still, staring at each other intensely, waiting for the other to speak first. It felt like hours had passed before Carl finally broke the silence.

“Your dad is an asshole.”

You gave him a weak smile and nodded. “Yeah, he really is,” you admitted.

“A total douchebag,” he continued, but a hint of sympathy was hidden underneath the harsh words. You gazed at him in contemplation, but he wasn’t paying any attention to you. Instead, he stared up at the sky quietly. He seemed lost in thought.

“He wants me to be just like him.” You shook your head and chuckled bitterly.

“That sounds like the sort of thing a douchebag would do.”

The corner of his lips twitched, and you almost didn’t catch it. Almost. Your heartbeat sped up in excitement, and you grinned. You liked seeing him crack a small smile, even though it was barely there. It made you feel warm inside and helped you forget how Carl’s eye flashed dangerously at you just a few minutes before.

“You have a pretty smile,” you blurted out, surprising even yourself.

The boy looked at you quizzically for a minute as if wondering what the hell had possessed you to say something so stupid. But then the corners of his mouth curved upwards into a shy grin, and that was all the answer you needed. You felt giddy and lightheaded. Maybe because of the fact that he was still smiling at you or perhaps the fact that he hadn’t yelled at you yet. Either way, you were grinning foolishly at the boy you considered an enemy just minutes ago.

You watched him as he studied the clouds. He was handsome, and the way his long brown hair framed his face made him look almost angelic. His blue eye shined in the sunlight, but there was something more: it hid loneliness behind its surface. It made you wonder if he felt just as lonely in this world as you did. Then again, you didn’t know enough about him to be sure if that was true. So instead, you focused on the warmth spreading through your chest.

“Do you think this could work?” you asked suddenly, breaking the silence. Carl turned to you, eyebrow raised in question. “Well, I mean, if we became friends… Would it work?”

He frowned, considering your question carefully. “I’m not really sure.” He hesitated, “Maybe.”

You sighed, defeated. “Me neither. But it’s worth a shot, right?”

It took him a few moments before he finally agreed with you. “Yeah,” he said. “It’s worth a shot.”

You smiled widely at him, and he returned the gesture with one of his rare smiles. It sent an electric jolt through your body. You swallowed hard and tried to ignore the butterflies that swarmed your stomach.

@thatcucumberwhore @yttricuz @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @humanmistakes @twdeadlysins @donttelltheelff

#the walking dead x reader #carl grimes x reader #carl grimes x male reader #carl grimes x you #carl grimes #carl grimes imagine #the walking dead #negan x son! reader #carl grimes x negan's son

[halfghostwriter]

“You’re listening to Wraith Radio, your number one link to the living realm. I’m your host, the wandering ghost, Ellie Phantom. This week, we’re taking a tour of the cursed and creepy Gotham City. Longtime listeners will note that this place is nearly impossible to get into for us uninvited specters and spirits, but even longer time listeners will know my fun little method for getting around anti-ghost wards. That’s right, dear listeners, I’ve been playing human, and let me tell you, it may have been the best decision I’ve ever made.

Now, you all know how bored I can get playing human, what with the whole ‘being bad at being alive’ thing. I spend way too much time trying to remember things like how far a human body should be able to bend or how fast a heartbeat should go to have any real fun in my human form. In my defense, it’s not my fault my vital organs don’t work the way they should, that’s on the evil billionaire who made me. But anyway, I’m wandering through this place called Park Row, trying to practice breathing and blinking without needing to think about it, when all of a sudden this group of humans come out of nowhere, shooting each other.

Well, I love a good fight as much as the next ghost, so I get closer to them, try to see who’s on who’s side, who wants to put a bullet in who, when one of them grabs me and puts a gun to my head. So now there’s all this shouting, some threats get yelled out, and I’m thinking, ‘man… I am killing it with this human disguise!’ And it’s true, I was! They really thought I would die to a bullet! So I’m getting ready to phase out of this guy’s grip, maybe rough him up a little, when I see a bullet go straight through his arm. The guy drops me, and suddenly I’m hooked under this other guy’s arm, being thrown around like a potato sack.

And this is where it gets good. Because see, as fucked as my biology may be, I do have a damn good ghost sense. And this guy? He was about as ghost as any undead could be. Yeah, you heard me right, listener. The rumors are true. Gotham, as inhospitable it can be to any and all unwanted ghosts, does in fact have an undead population. Now, that’d be incredible on its own, but this guy? Folks, this guy was fucked. Up. You know that feeling you get when someone nearby gets punched in their core? That real quick ‘oh shit I gotta help this guy before they cease to exist’ feeling? Think that, but constant. Like this guy should be in so much unbelievable pain. And he’s throwing me around like I weigh nothing.

So I’m kind of freaking out, and I look up to ask this guy if he’s okay, and. Guys. You’re not gonna believe this. It was the Red Hood. He’s an undead. I know! It’s insane!

So he throws me to the side, kinda blocking me with his body while he’s shooting these people, and I think he told me to run at some point, but I’ll be honest, my brain just kinda stopped. Cause I’m not thinking about the fight anymore, now I’m thinking ‘holy shit, I need to get this guy to a doctor.’ I was actually in the process of starting to ask when one of the other guys’ bullets grazed me. So I decided against it.

Instead, I took out one of my spare inter-realm radios from my bag— always good to keep an extra in case the first gets destroyed— and one of the flyers for Wraith Radio with the airtime on it, and I snuck it into his pocket and disappeared.

And now, here we are, live on the radio, with— hopefully— Red Hood tuning in. So here we go: Red Hood, I am offering to bring you to the ghost zone doctors to get your core fixed. All I want in return is either an interview or a tour of your haunt, whichever you’re more comfortable with. You helped me out, stopping those guys from shooting me. Granted I would’ve been fine if they shot me, but you didn’t know that, so it still counts as a massive favor. I’m not gonna force you, obviously, but coming from someone whose unstable core almost melted her to death, I really think you should come with me. I doubt you remember much about the afterlife, what with the whole ‘being revived’ thing, but trust me when I say that getting an offer to go to this place as a human is rare, and probably won’t happen again. I will be waiting tomorrow at noon at the same place I was yesterday, hopefully not surrounded by people who wanna shoot me this time. Cool?

Anyway, back to talking about the city—”

————————

Jason stared at the glowing radio. He genuinely couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He remembered that girl, she was so scrawny that she looked like she could keel over at any minute. And apparently, she was some… horror radio show host? Sure, she pegged him as dead, but she probably said that about every interesting person she talked about on her show. And now she was going back to the same place she almost got shot? This kid was gonna get herself killed. Looks like he was going to have to talk some sense into her.

Part 2

#danny phantom #dp x dc crossover #dp x dc fanfic #danielle phantom #jason todd #thought it’d be cool if Ellie decided to share stories of her travels with other ghosts #she has a small rod that works as an ectoplasm-powered radio tower #she just gets to someplace high and starts broadcasting #if anyone wants to add onto this please do #wraith radio

[nnibarrel]

So... Trine 5: A Clockwork Conspiracy. My recent obsession. Let's go! I'll try to do it without significant spoilers.

Carefull, long post under the cut!

First of All. Amadeuses Kids! They grew up! UWU. They're such cute little young fireball casters. Omg, that's almost like watching your nephews grow, they feel so much like a family...

That game series has been with me since I was a child and as I remember Trine (part 1) was my first (real) videogame! And now when I play Trine 5 it cures my soul so much, right when I needed it. It's like... Has a Tolkien vibe for me. I mean in the sense that It's too fairy tail outside, it may look childish, but it has layers! I really like the plot, it hit me right in the heart and made me reflect. And I was struggling with dark thoughts on Future and Trine's perspective on the global world's problems made me smile and hope for the best... Really thank you, trine team, you're awesome :D Where there's people who share your concerns and put it in the work of art like that and make witty satire on it that's precious. I have returned some of my faith in humanity now. 

Well, maybe some people may not see what I saw or just won't feel such weight, cause my recent experience made me stump on it, so well I need to say that plot in general... Dramatic. I was impressed How it manages to balance at the edge of magical fairy tail and life drama (OR that's again me and my pains. Anyway...) STRONG twists and things at stake. Heroes encounter both global threat and personal challenges (all three of them, but poor wizard, he got it the most. But he's so silly old man, I'm crying) (Zoya, my girl, I love you...) (Pontius... You're just perfect, I'm proud of you, example of a real knight :D)

Character writing is amazing, they REALLY feel alive.

For example: Amadeus marries a woman after he became a hero and throughout the whole game series he mentions that, then he mentions their kids and, like i mentioned now, now we see how they grew up! And in fifth's game due to plot he misses his triplets greatly and in the forest three heroes meet a fox with three little foxes... And Amadeus is like "oh no, I'm a terrible father" 😭

And there's a lot of cute normal or giant animals in the game series, we're helping them and then they come up and help us. Such lightsome game, I can't/// Those animals... Uwu/// (Just a little detail but I wanted to mention that...)

What I like else about the narrative: humor :D For demonstration I just let Pontius to show himself:

And now when I've let out my shouts...

*sights* AaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAA. Another round, Friends :D

I. Worship. Those. Artists. They are geniuses. Screenshots speak for themself, I guess.

Design, artwork and effects... No, I can't describe it in words, again, I just pray on it. So damn enchanting. I literally dream to be like those artists who work on this series. (And that's a threat) When I think of it, well, maybe THAT magic inspired me to be who I am right now...

Magic observatory where's pictures of butterflies there and there... ARE YOU DESNAN, WIZARDS???

And those just killed me. Episode in a dark place with the sudden rays of hope... I was just. Aaaah... So beautiful both by art and location's story.  Replica of the second screenshot: "It's rare that ghosts are on our side. Usually we and undead are not on good terms." What did I tell you? :D Tolkien vibe!

So who got through my post till the end... Please, please get to know those game series. I didn't mention it at all above but It's also a genius of gameplay. It's a platformer with (some) fighting and (a lot of) puzzles. Also. It's thrice (:D) fun in coop.

AND. Music. Won't say much about it either but It's a genius magical masterpiece. I guarantee you: Trine soundtrack will find its way to your playlist.

P. S. Will I do fanart on trine? Maybe... Maybe... You know, I just have that strange thing: some stories are "sacred" in my brain so I can't Just sit and draw cause I'm constantly stressed out if it turns out bad or worse: not how I imagined it. Same with Tolkien books, btw. In fandom since childhood, (if you count that, if not - from adolescents and first steps to the internet) and no single drawing. (not single real drawing at least)

But! I have Nine Parchments fanart :D

Oooh. And. I have THEM in frame. Art from my friend who gifted it to me at postcrossing some time after we played Trine 4 (and then the whole game series) together! It was such a pleasant surprise!

The end. ❤️❤️❤️

#Trine 5 #Frozenbyte

[mymainwastoocluttered]

Project Zomboid (Rook Hunt)

Thank you for 1000 followers! Hope you enjoy the Horror Event!

NOTE: I only write for female reader but everyone is welcome to read it!

Horror Event Masterlist

Requested by the lovely @zozomind (hello again!)

Rook sighs longingly, missing his lover.

It’s been about a week or so since they both woke up in this world, and this is the first time they’ve been apart ever since that day. It had been a bit of a struggle for Rook to get used to not using any magic, but out of most NRC students, he’s one of the few who have sharpened skills outside magic control and athletics. (Y/N), his beautiful muse, had helped him with the transition, both from magic to magicless and from Twisted Wonderland to this world.

“I think this is the world inside a game I played long ago,” she had confessed that first night as they slept inside a tightly shut room, the footsteps of the undead their lullaby. “I know it sounds odd, but that’s the impression I had. Well, it’s not like it matters, at the end of the day, our objective is still to survive.”

Her tale was outlandish, but the blonde huntsman knows better than to discard possibilities, and the way her eyes lighten in recognition every now and then proves that her theory might have some merit.

Rook isn’t one for apocalyptic fantasies, despite recognizing the beauty they have, so he’s glad that his lover carries a lot of information in her beautiful brain. It had taken no time for him to settle, and today he’s proud to say that their progress is beyond impressive. His hunting skills adapted beautifully, and even now they sharpen as he takes his bow and aims an arrow at a zombie’s head.

“Bows are great weapons for zombie apocalypses,” she tells him when he finds one inside a random house. “They’re ranged and silent, and arrows are much easier to craft than bullets. If it’s you, I know you won’t miss. Remember to aim for the head.”

Oh, his beloved girlfriend is so incredibly gorgeous when she smiles at him and bestows on him her knowledge! She had told him it all, all ways zombies could possibly work and how to figure out what type of zombies they’d be facing.

Zombies in this world have a terrifyingly good hearing, and some will be attracted even to the smallest noise. Those that still have eyes are also very much capable of distinguishing a living being. Their sense of smell, however, seems to be terribly lacking, and their rotting flesh is incapable of feeling even the most excruciating pain. (Y/N) had thanked her God for that, saying that zombies with a sense of smell were the worst and she did not want to cover herself in guts and blood just to be safe.

Another good thing is that they are what she calls “shamblers”: zombies that are silent walkers and retain their human-like appearance for longer. Moreover, they’re not in a world with mutated zombies, like lickers or even the molded. He has zero idea what they are, but he chuckles when he remembers how she made him promise to not face any zombie out of the ordinary before he left for this expedition.

Ah, there’s a hammer in the hands of this corpse, poor thing. At least they’ll go knowing their weapon will help others.

Rook leaving for this expedition is a subject they kept on disagreeing even as he put his feet out of the door of their “base”, as she calls it. The house had long been properly barricaded, and together they fix whatever they can to make sure their every need is met until they figure out a way to return home. Yet, the pace they do things would greatly increase if one were to be in the house at all times while the other goes out for supplies runs and hunting for clues on why they’re here and how to leave.

“But it’d be safer if we were together!” she insisted, handing him a bag with things he might need on the journey. The way she still takes care of him despite not agreeing with his choices warms his heart. She’s just so beautiful. “What if something happens? You’ll be all alone and I won’t ever know!”

“My dear,” he had answered then, taking her hands in his and kissing them tenderly, cherishing the blush that rises to her cheeks despite the age of their relationship, “There is simply not one thing in all worlds that will keep me from coming back to you. If it is proven that it’s too dangerous to be alone, then we will return to how we were. I promise you.”

He had then pressed their lips together before stepping out of the house, chuckling at the grumbling under her breath that reached his good ears.

Oh, how he misses his beloved gem, his breathtaking muse, his most cherished. He can’t wait to go home—he can already see it in the distance—and greet her with a kiss that will hopefully steal her breath away as much as her mere presence steals his. He’ll show her the fruits of his travels, the last two days he spent alone under the skies and away from her resplendence, and ask her for a kiss at every new item, knowing they can’t deny each other. He’ll take off his clothes and clean himself so they can share a moment together in the kitchen, make and eat dinner, and then share another one in the living room, bodies intertwined in comfort on the couch. He’ll kiss her once and twice and thrice and how many times it takes for her smile to make the stars blush in defeated awe, and then he’ll kiss her more to make sure those pesky stars know she is all Rook’s, and he is not a selfless man.

He’ll throw his bag on the floor and rush to the busted front door just in time to hear her scream from the bedroom.

#twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst imagines #twst x reader #x fem reader #rook hunt x reader #rook hunt #horror event 2022

[lunelfy]

The journey so far...

A snippet from Boone's journal, written from his perspective.

∙ Assimilated a parasite through my eye. Utmost uncomfortable I can say, could've at least considered putting it into my ear.

∙ Almost befriended an army of walking brains. They were uncannily friendly.

∙ Lae'zel thought I was a dragon, I felt deeply flattered, if she hadn't attacked me for that reason.

∙ Found a lovely lady inside a tube. She has a thing for tinky toys.

∙ Got confused whether to fight a devil or to jump out of a floating spaceship. We barely just made it, but, we made it. Lae'zel however disappeared as fast as she appeared.

∙ Found Astarion, he used my good manners to initiate a backstab manoeuvre. He was however blocked by my paladin's merciful aura. Now we are friends :]

∙ Found a Gale hand stuck in time and space. Behind the hand was an actual Gale. He's funny. I like him.

∙ Shadowheart is watching my back every move, baptizing me with approvals (until another lady comes along...).

∙ We clumsily fell through a hole in the ground, into a dungeon. Things that happen in the dungeon, stay in the dungeon. I'm talking about dead people. What do they call those, oh yes, corpses? What is dead should stay dead, especially walking skeletons.

∙ A mysterious book with a massive lock smiled at my Paladin's magic spark.

∙ We found an undead necromancer. He's friendlier than my well-behaved neighbours visiting the church. He rewarded us with some sentimental treasures.

∙ At a couple of more turning vases, we emerged above the ground. On our way to find camp, rest, and return to the dungeon where we found a booby trap that we are dying to dismantle (not by actually dying by it).

#bg3 #bg3 spoilers #bg3 gameplay #bg3 gif #bg3 screenshots #astarion #gale #shadowheart #boone #and alune is floating somewhere in space (i presume) as his guardian xD #gameplay

[hmdeath]

Hello!

So this is not a question but rather just me rambling and fangirling over Astarion, his story and especially your fic "Unravel".

I love it so much, really! You're doing such a phenomenal job writing it and I'm getting all excited whenever there's a new chapter!

So when I was on my way to work yesterday a song I used to love but hadn't heard in a long time started playing. It's also called "Unravel". It's actually an english cover of one of the openings from the anime "Death Note" by Jonathan Young (I love his music, omg).

And I was like "oh funny, just yesterday there was a new chapter of this really cool fic called "Unravel" as well."

So when I started paying more attention to the lyrics I thought that the song was quite fitting for Astarion and especially your fic!

I mean, of course not every line of the song is fitting! I thought about it like "what if the 'real' Astarion was aware of everything ascended Astarion did to Hikari and in general?"

So here are the lyrics:

Oh, can you tell me, can you tell me the way the story ends?

A monster in my heart, a ghost inside my chest

I′m broken down, the world around us surrounds my suffering

(He is a monster, he's but a ghost of what he was before. Also I believe A!Astarion is truly suffering, he has never been happy since the ritual. But there's also nothing he can do about it on his own, because it's just the way he has to be after it.)

You smile and laugh at me, but you don't see a thing

Damaged and broken as I am, I′m trying not to breathe

Unraveled, I'm not unraveled by the truth I finally see (Freeze)

I'm breakable, unbreakable

I′m shakeable, unshakeable

Unraveling since I found you

And now I′m turning to dust in a world that's twisted

Don′t come searching when I go missing

Close your eyes or just try to look away, don't want to hurt you

(Like... Hikari didn't have to return to him and spawn!Astarion probably wouldn't have wanted her to endanger herself even if it was so 'save' him, right?)

We live in the world someone else imagined

The ghost of what′s left of me all but vanished

Remember my heart, how bright I used to shine

(Okay, this is a bit of a stretch since he was undead before the ritual and his heart certainly didn't 'shine' that bright, haha 😂 but he did fall in love with her, so that's enough for me!)

Entangled in the loneliness

The memory of innocence

It's stinging me, it′s breaking me

The pain is spreading endlessly

I cannot move, I close my eyes

I try to breathe, I realize

I'm paralyzed, I'm paralyzed

Unravel the world

(Again, what if spawn!Astarion was aware. Maybe he is... Somehow? Or at least, he will remember when/if the pact is finally reversed and he is back to his former self.)

I′m not what I was then, don′t touch the infection

Entwined we will both die so stay away, and stay alive

(Same as above, she didn't have to come back to him. The infection could refer to the ascension and even to vampirism itself. Spawn! Astarion would never have wanted Hikari to be turned into a vampire herself.)

I'm breakable, unbreakable, I′m shakeable, unshakeable

Unraveling, I won't infect you

And now I′m turning to dust in a world that's twisted

Don′t come searching when I go missing

Close your eyes or try to look away, don't want to hurt you

We live in the world someone else imagined

The ghost of what left of me all but vanished

Remember my heart, how bright I used to shine

Please, just don't forget me

Just don′t forget me

Just don′t forget me

Just don't forget me

Don′t forget me

(I mean after all the shit Astarion's been through... Hikari (as his first true love) forgetting about how he truly was would be brutal 😭)

We live in a world someone else imagined

The ghost of what left of me all but vanished

Remember my heart, how bright I used to shine

Oh, can you tell me?

Oh, can you tell me?

A monster in my heart

And now there's nothing left

Sorry that this is so long 😂 but after my brain made all these connections to your story I couldn't stop thinking about it and I just HAD to let the brainrot run wild 🙈

I hope you're having a wonderful day and I'm really looking forward to the next chapter ❤️

WOW I LOVE THIS!!!!

I was definitely aware of the song - I mean how could I not be lol - but I'd never heard this english translation and he does it so well, first of all!! Second of all though OH MY GOD??!??!?!?! THIS IS TOO PERFECT???? IN EVERY SINGLE WAY??!??!!?

me waking up from the delirium of being disgustingly sick for the past 3 days to this glory:

#unravel #I am in a state of delirium and this is heaven #I am a being of illness and emotion

[needle-noggins]

Tell me about your OCs, Sav

And I mean all of them. Or else.

13, 28, 31, A, H

AAAAAH okay i'm gonna go slightly out of order to introduce whoever is reading this to my personal brain blorbos. Fair warning all of these are TTRPG characters, mostly my NPCs save for the first two!

A. Why are you excited about this character?

Fanny Paine - ohhhh my beloved Trigun cowgirl OC. I'm so excited to see how her backstory kicks her in the ass (and by backstory, I DO mean her childhood best friend-turned-EOM member Nova).

Sylvie - my tiefling phantom rogue!! She was a joy to play and an absolute bullet in combat. Lethal and impossible to hit. She also was part of the conflict, being a double agent for the big bad's Vecna cult. I spent so much time texting the DM in secret during our sessions as if the BBEG and Sylvie were sending letters back and forth, telling him our whereabouts, before he'd drop in some cult mooks and we'd knock 'em dead. So fun.

Brie - Shadow Sorcerer and Secret goddess of fire! She's from my first campaign but still relevant because I have two groups playing in that world. In one group we have a ranger who denounced his cult to the fire god, so it'll be really fun to reveal that his god is actually the half-elf barmaid they keep seeing in every tavern, and she's way more chill than he thought.

Iris and Humboldt - ah yes. My older (late 50s) human wizard/leader of the largest adventuring guild in my dnd world and her autistic gnome husband who.... looks like Jack Black in Jumanji and accidentally brought on the apocalypse in our first campaign. They're my light academia escapism blorbos now and all they do is sit around and study magic in the coolest city in my world.

Ron - New NPC the party adopted, and he's an amnesiac, kinda undead paladin with spore druid flavoring. The party recently discovered he's.... well, he's Oberon. Not sure how he got here, but the Warlock's patron is Titania. Of the summer court. Yeah, that one. One of the party's quests right now is to retrieve Ron's memories and return him to Titania, and maybe the warlock will get *her* husband back from the Feywild. However, some mysterious figures want Ron dead....

Oh fuck I could also talk about Keats, Tarovir, Vaemyx... AAH too many. But I'm gonna stick to these big ones, plus Tarovir and Vaemyx have massive spoilers for my players D:

H. What trait do you admire most?

Fanny - girl's got gut. She really is "shoot first, ask questions later."

Sylvie - Resilience? She almost died, admitted she had been a spy, and almost got killed by the party all in one day. And then her best friend, the only one who trusted her, died. Thank god she ended up happy.

Brie - she loves her friends and loves to have fun. She's chaotic good in the funniest ways. When I play her I just get to be stupid.

Iris and Humboldt - THEY LOVE EACH OTHER. SO MUCH. SAVED EACH OTHER BACK TO BACK WHEN THE ALMOST DOOMED THE WORLD. Seriously, I rolled Iris' portent rolls and got an 18 and a 20 the day they summoned the BBEG. If it wasn't for that, Humboldt would have failed his death saves.

Ron - man look, he's just taking it day by day. He's very tired. But at least he has a lot of patience.

13. What color do they think they look best in? Do they actually look best in that color?

Fanny - she wears mostly browns but has a blue undershirt. She looks best in blue!

Sylvie - blue and silver coded. Looks best in black and dark blues.

Brie - wears cream and blues, would look great in green!

Iris and Humboldt - blues/silvers and browns respectively

Ron - this man is covered in dirt. Like he deserves.

28. Would they prefer a lie over an unpleasant truth?

Yes - Sylvie, Iris

No - Fanny, Brie, Humboldt, Ron (he can't lie, doesn't like lies - he's Fey after all)

31. Who are they the most glad to have met?

Fanny - Charlie, her new friend who is an EOM reject. Fanny is a very protective momma bird.

Sylvie - her best friend, the elven druid Eldrid.... who died. It was really fucking sad, I miss that PC. They were in so many cahoots together.

Brie - the first party I ever DM'd, who adopted her <3

Iris and Humboldt - I could say each other, but really the party was the only reason they got together - they set them up on their first date!

Ron - He knows, like, 3 people.

[hungry-skeleton]

Person: oh, Ghost Roaster is your favorite skylander? Why?

My brain: okay apart from character design Ghost Roaster is legitimately such a fun and intriguing character. His backstory, when you really analyze it, is pretty tragic.

Ghost Roaster (or his original name, Olaf), was literally just a regular chef seeking out ingredients and ended up falling into the valley of the undead. This forcibly transformed him into who he is now, a skeletal ghoul. This isn't explicitly stated but it can be assumed that upon his transformation he was overcome with unfamiliar urges that lead him to eat an entire ghost village. The reason I say this must be what happened is because he was never said to be a bad or evil person before he fell in, his transformation is what gave him a taste for ghosts and this sudden change in his nature caused him to lose control of himself.

Following this he was chained for eternity so that all ghosts and spirits would know to flee from the sound of his ball and chain. I MUST point out how this is portrayed in game because it only exemplifies how sad his situation is. In game, they didn't make his chain float behind him like a ghost, instead they went out of their way to animate it grinding and sparking against the ground paired with nails on a chalkboard scraping.

So he's completely changed, succumbed to unknowable urges, and got chained for eternity but ohh no we cannot let him stop suffering!! So most skylanders become skylanders for some sort of heroic deed or special ability. So why was Ghost Roaster chosen? Well his flavor text provides 2 different reasons. 1, eon took pity on him. And 2, having a ghost eater on your side would be helpful. So Ghost Roaster did not become a skylander because he was heroic or powerful, he was taken in because eon felt bad for him and found his curse to be useful. Wow!! Fucked up!

BUT HE STILL CAN'T CATCH A BREAK! Because as implied by several other flavor texts around different medias, GR's fellow skylanders still don't trust him! Especially the undead ones, for obvious reasons. So after being taken in by a group because of how pathetic he is and getting avoided out of fear he then comes to realize that when he does actually do something good no one cares! This leads to the plotline of the comic Secret Agent Secrets where he, Boomer, and Voodood join the side of Spellslamzer after getting tired of being tossed aside for newer recruits. Ghost Roaster gets the most spotlight here as he is the most serious about joining the side of evil then the others (and rightfully so tbh!!). There is literally a point where Stormblade has him stuck and he essentially dares her to kill him since he doesn't matter. Goddamn!!! And after all that once he returns to the side of good what does he get for it! Not much! It'll probably happen again!!

Ghost Roaster is just such a wonderfully tragic and fun character I can't help but love him. Even putting aside his story his design and personality are just so made for me. I love this pathetic little ghoul so much and I want him to be happy.. But also since he's my blorbo I want him to suffer more

Me: I just think he's sillay

#Sorry im having blorbo thoughts #skela speaks #Skylanders

[cloudbattrolls]

It's Too Cliché

Crista Condyl | A Remote Beach | Present Night

Crista brooded over their coffee cup. Well. They sulked, more like, but let them have this. They deserved it. They needed it.

The wizard leaned back in the old but comfortable recliner. They were currently in a little rentable beach cottage they liked to return to when they could, since it was often empty. 

If it wasn’t when they got there, they could activate their ward on the place that made whoever was there pack their things and get going in a hurry, manifesting an illusion of whatever problem with the hive would get them going fastest by using their subconscious fears as a base. 

The little wooden building wasn’t the nicest place - hence why it was often empty - and yet another draft came whistling through the poorly insulated walls, but a few wards for warmth and protection made it safe and comfortable enough. They couldn’t do too much - didn’t want to attract attention from any other passing magic users, even if the chance was low. 

Or worse and much more likely, undead. 

Ghosts were easily kept out, but a horde of zombies was a slightly bigger issue.

They sighed, taking a sip of the hot beverage, just having poured it from the place’s coffeemaker. The blend was good, at least; they’d bought it with money from their last job. Nice and smooth, with tones of hazelnut.

Often they liked tea, but right now? Right now was a coffee moment, for sure and absolute certain. The heels of their lavender boots drummed against the floor as they considered their situation.

Two! Two crazy…attachments!

As if one wasn’t enough. At least the first one could just be put down to Catill being unfairly gorgeous and talented. Who wouldn’t be a bit smitten with a woman that impressive and a little frightening to boot?

But there was no way to explain away Kormut as anything but. That. 

Pale feelings. 

Ugh.

A blueblood! A ruddy blueblood of all things! Didn’t that cap it all. Granted, he was hardly typical…but still. He’d far outlive them. They could hardly go out together without getting looks for what a ridiculous caste gap there was.

Even thinking about that was crazy! Kormut probably didn’t see them that way at all. What a silly thought. They’d look so stupid if they told him how they felt.

‘Oh hello, Kormut dear, I’ve fallen in pale with you. Want to go out for dinner? Presuming we can get you to a restaurant without major injury or the food all spoiling on arrival.’

He’d be nice about it, but probably confused, trying to let them down gently. Ughhh, so awkward! 

Catill…

She’d made that little world for them, hadn’t she? Such a beautiful place…so well done, so well lit and that gorgeous sky, the detail on those lanterns…had she really meant it as…?

If she had - oh gods, what were they supposed to do? Try to impress her again? What if it failed? What if they were assuming too much?

Well. If they had, they’d just…laugh it off! That’s right. Everything could be laughed off. Haha, whoops, I thought you might be flush-flirting! With me! Haha, that’s sure a funny mistake I made, oopsie daisy, my bad. Please don’t rot my brain.

But if they were right…

Catill. Gathering mushrooms. Casting a spell. Moonlight shining pink and green on her white hair. That tiny little curled part of her horns that seemed so delicate. The way her face looked when she teased them…they wanted a closer view of that expression.

Crista coughed on their drink, hot brown liquid dousing the back of their throat and arcing back into their warm cream mug patterned with daisies.

Women, perpetually their undoing. 

Well, in for beetle, in for a caeger. Even if they were imagining things, might as well have fun, right? Plus, they had an idea…

They finished off their coffee and decided to retire for the night, but they knew what they’d do next evening, right after breakfast.

—

“Oh, boo.” They complained, down on their hands and knees among the beach’s rocks and tide pools, the damp sand clinging to their bare skin and clothes. “There has to be some somewhere! Right? Surely everyone didn’t take it all already…”

They squinted through their glasses, which were after all supposed to help with their farsightedness, and which they suspected might need a prescription update sometime, since they had neglected it for…almost a sweep. 

Of course, it couldn’t be anywhere that used an imperial database. That was the bother of it, and of so many other things. 

Oh, sure, they had fake IDs and the like, they could fog a mind or two…but you never knew what sort of mind readers, empaths, or nullifiers such a place might have on staff. They had a good read on magical energy, but their own psi being so weak, they weren’t much good at sniffing out how powerful someone else might be on that way.

“What are you looking for, fellow?”

They looked up, ears flicking in alarm as they startled from the sudden voice.

Oh, that was a tall oliveblood. 

They didn’t know greens got that gangly - well, gangly wasn’t the right word, this person was stouter and curvier than that. 

They had a nice voice, too, fairly deep and mellow, and their hair was…red, huh. Dyed, clearly, they could see the black roots, but red nonetheless. 

They also wore sunglasses, even though it was a cloudy night.

Well, whatever. Some people had things to hide, other trolls just liked the aesthetic, silly as it looked.

“Sea glass, seen any?” Crista saw no reason to lie; this person didn’t seem aggressive. 

Not yet, anyway. 

“Hmm, no, sorry.” They genuinely sounded a bit apologetic. “What do you need it for?”

“Uh.” They paused. “I want to make a sort of…miniature fountain thing…for a friend. I thought pieces of it would be good decoration, nice for lights to shine through.”

The midblood put a hand - with red claw polish - to their mouth as they laughed delightedly.

“Sweet thing to do! I’ll help you look if you do me a favor; you haven’t seen any trolls with jade pins around here, have you? Ones shaped like crowns?”

Crista shuddered. “Absolutely not, and if I had I’d scarper. Don’t ever want to tangle with those…people.” The rust said, with the clear impression that they would have happily used a different and far more negative noun.

“Smart! Now this one’s stranger, but bear with me; how about mannequins? Any clothes mannequins in places they shouldn’t be?”

Crista startled. “Thought that was just some urban legend rubbish. You’re telling me it’s true?”

“Not sure yet.” The tall troll said casually. “So you haven’t?”

“I’ve seen one from a distance in the woods one time…I thought it was just a prank.” They admitted.

“Maybe so.” Replied the olive amicably. “Either way, thanks. So where do you want me to look?”

“Uh.” Crista was surprised the olive was holding up their end of the deal, and blinked a few times. 

“Er, over at the other end of the beach would be helpful, I haven’t looked down there yet. Um, thanks.” They added as they gestured with a pointer finger, somewhat awkward but sincere.

“It’s nothing.” Said the green, laughing again as they turned and walked the other way down the strip of sand. 

Crista realized the troll hadn’t given their name, but well, they hadn’t given theirs either. Not that the carefree midblood seemed too fussed either way.

They kept looking, but only found a few small pieces, and sighed. At least they’d picked up a half-dozen nice shells, too…they brushed the sand off their hands and stuck them into the cold sea for a few moments, then shook them off.

The olive came back with - with - heavens, how had they possibly found that much? Sea glass of multiple colors glimmered in their hands, easily over a dozen pieces of it. 

“Wh -“ Crista sputtered, honestly a little jealous, adjusting their glasses to make sure they were seeing correctly. “How? Are you psychic? What’s your secret?”

The midblood laughed again. “Nothing very dramatic, I promise.” 

They handed it over, the smooth pieces pouring out of their darker-skinned hands into Crista’s pale ones as the maroon blinked in disbelief. The wizard put them in their sylladex with the others, noting that the other troll hadn’t answered their question. 

Definitely a strange one…but they supposed they shouldn’t question someone who had helped them for the low price of answering two questions.

The olive nodded cheerfully, then turned and began to walk away. Crista watched them go…then called out.

“Wait, I…what IS your name?”

“Djimin.” Said the troll easily. 

“Thank you, Djimin.”

They tipped their head with a fond smile, and then walked away further, vanishing from the maroon’s sight.

Crista looked up at the moons, the pink one a mere sliver, the green one soft and gibbous. 

Moonlight on white hair. Moonlight on water. Moonlight streaming through glass, as if it were a current unto its own, particle and wave and liquid all at once.

They hoped their idea would be enough.

—

Keeping the water starry had stumped them for a hot minute, but what did any wizard worth their salt do? Cheat. 

In this case, enchant the water to draw a reflection from water on whatever part of the planet was currently experiencing nighttime.

Said water flowed from a pot Catill herself had made from the clay they’d found and shared with her, looping up and back down into it in an infinite spiral. 

When she’d given it to them, it had been the first time their face had warmed because of the yellowblood…

Ack! So sappy. Why did she do this to them? 

Well. That wasn’t exactly a mystery…she was everything a witch should be. Powerful. Ruthless. Imperious. 

Beautiful.

Kind to them. Even though she was so much stronger. 

Crista looked at their own rippling reflection in the water. Not bad. Not amazing, either. So-so, but it was amazing what a little confidence and some magical talent did for you…

Among ordinary trolls. For her, it would require more.

They swallowed a sip of ordinary water from a glass, then prepared to speak the final spell to complete the piece they had planned. It didn’t do to go dry-mouthed in the middle of an incantation.

Everything was laid out on the worn wooden table in front of them, the old brown thing a bit rotted and worn by the sweeps and salt air. But it still held, and would for a while longer.

They looked at the page they had written it on, at the sea glass carefully placed in the appropriate sections of a magical array. Their maroon eyes wandered over the shells they had gathered, and the crystallized mana they had borrowed - from Catill - to aid in this spell and make sure they wouldn’t pass out after casting it.

Crista had even cleansed themself with saltwater beforehand, and said a quiet prayer to the spirits they hoped were listening.

One night they’d hear them again. Right?

“O éiríonn uiscí agus fite fuaite le chéile, ag éirí mar ghloine go scarann ​​tú arís…”

Gaelige. Of all the languages they knew - though many only in bits and pieces - it felt right for this spell. These were the words of making.

Words through which magic flowed, pouring through reality to mingle with the mundane and elevate it to so much more.

As they spoke, the simple clay container unfolded into a miniature fountain. It became three-tiered, decorated with small leaping cats and perching parrots, the baked earth turning a rich golden yellow.

The sea glass all melded together and adhered to it in decorative engravings in its many shimmering blues and greens, delicately accenting the animals’ eyes, along with the tips of their fur and feathers. The shell covered the edges of the tiers, in soft pearlescent and striped-brown hues.

The water itself could turn to starry glass with a simple command, capturing the constellation that its water reflected at the time. Yet it could also be returned to the flow and become its native shape again.

If someone who so happened to be skilled with light shined their power through the liquid…

It would radiate like a galaxy.

Crista breathed heavily, sweating with effort despite their preparations. Oh…that had taken…

They sat down heavily on the old recliner again. They could stay awake, but only barely.

Perhaps Catill would have to wait a little longer, just a bit…but what a present they’d have for her.

Something made by - and at its best with - both their talents.

Magic was better when shared, after all. 

#cloud writes #crista condyl #nyzere olorik #behold: magic and gayness #the drabble #squidward voice: down bad tonight aren't we

[dickfics69]

Emotional Motion Sickness | Part 5 | A Rickyl ficlet

Rick x Daryl

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8 | PART 9

AO3

My Daryl playlist

Summary: Daryl gets sick before a supply run, and denies it vehemently. He is a big tantrum baby. Rick is constantly worried and drama ensures.

Chapter summary: Carl find Daryl in the woods. They talk and Daryl lets down some of his walls. Daryl falls a sleep and has another nightmare. They arrive at the house.

AU: This fic has some timeline and plot-point changes. They are still in the prison and the second Governor fight never happened. He died in the first one and the last few months have been them adjusting to all the new Woodbury inhabitants. Rick and Lori broke up when Shane was killed, but Rick still lost his mind when she died. Daryl and Rick have just recently gotten together. Farmer Rick era is lot shorter than in the show. An original character is introduced for plot furthering purposes.

Content warning: adult language, sickfic, mess, snot, bodily functions, hurt/comfort, vivid nightmares, adult content, 18+ for eventual smut (still deciding hehe

Word Count: 3.5k +

Always thank you to my bestie @dumbslxtclub

Chapter 5: I'm Stubborn and Brittle

Daryl held his pistol out, unable to stop his fever and fear from shaking the firearm. The immense pressure in his skull had evoked a throbbing in his eardrums that seemed to distort the noise of reality around him. He didn’t know what was out there. Maybe it was a deer? Maybe a walker. But the man rued his impulsive decision to leave his trusty bow behind, amongst many other things. The soft crackling of the woods continued, gradually sobering him up. With a sudden screech, two undead walkers came toppling towards him, faster than he ever imagined they could move. Daryl fumbled with the pistol, but didn’t trust his strength, so he grabbed a knife from his belt instead and rose to his knees, ready to stand, ready to plunge the blade through dark, thoughtless brains. 

*bang* *bang*

Two silenced gunshots echoed through the damp overgrowth, shocking the man out of his hallucinatory inertia. Two mottled, bloody bodies landed to either side of him, spraying undead crimson onto the fabric of his jeans. He half expected the presence of his boyfriend standing behind the gun, looking down at him with contempt and disappointment. But to his feverish surprise, there stood Carl. Carl. Carl, the thirteen year old man-child just saved the Daryl Dixon from becoming an undead zombie.

The boy stood there looking at the sickly man from a distance, his Beretta held up strong in front of him. Daryl struggled to articulate his words and could sense the worry pulsating from behind the gun.

“Carl…”

“Daryl! Oh my god!” The small man slipped down to Daryl’s level quickly, pocketing his firearm and reaching to check over the sick man’s body. “Are you okay? Are you bit?” His steadfast panic and vocal quality were not far from his father’s, an evolutionary concept that brought a small pit of warmth to the hunter’s stomach.

“Mb’kay, mb’kay Carl.” Daryl reassured, untucking his legs from underneath his body. “Ndo bites.”

“Okay, that’s good then.” The smaller Grimes replied, lowering his eyes and rubbing his palms along light-wash denim anxiously. Before either Carl or Daryl could say anything else, the boy sprang forwards and wrapped his arms tightly around the other man’s neck, avoiding tears of own. He sniffled briefly, retreating before the older man could return the affection.

“Why can’t you and my dad just act like goddamn adults?” Carl said exasperatedly, expelling pent up thoughts that had laid dormant for too long. “What dad did was really freakin’ dumb, but so is this! You dabbling in being walker bait now??”

“Carl, I-”

“Just shut up for a second, Daryl.” The boy was already on his feet, repeatedly painting a recurring image of loved ones passing their immense disappointment onto the ailing Dixon brother. ““Okay. You're not bitten, but are you okay?” 

Daryl shuddered a breath, fighting his emotions  for the millionth time that day. Carl was one of his favourite people in the entire world. A friend. A brother. A son. He knew on some level that Rick would maybe, eventually, begrudgingly forgive the shameful behaviour that Daryl had plagued upon them all. But Carl? The thought that he could ever let the boy down was too much for the hunter’s fever-addled mind to even consider. Looking into the eyes of the juvenile who had just saved his life, Daryl felt the familiar guilt-ridden burn forming a lump in his throat.

“I-”

“Daryl! I love you, but you look like fresh death warmed over. So please, for the sake of the run. Are you okay?” 

“Ndo, alright?! I feel like fucgking shit,” Daryl finally relented after hours of denial and withholding. He felt a fraction of his guilt leave a heavy leaden chest, like a jigsaw puzzle being carefully put away. The walls were down in front of another, his vulnerability set to be chewed upon by those who could see him for what he really was. 

“Jeez! Finally dude!” Pent up concern blasted out with a sigh, as Carl once again lowered himself in front of the hunter. 

“Mb’sorry Carl. It aind’t fair for us to argue in front of ya.” 

“S’fine Daryl.” Carl replied gently, grabbing the hand of his second father. “Look, I won't say anything to my dad, but you both really need to sort some shit out and pull it together!”

“I will, I prombise Carl.” He returned an earlier gesture and snatched the boy up in a tight embrace, relief flooding out of him with a wavering exhale. “Look, I kndow I ain’t been the best combpany today but-”

“I mean, if the curtains match the drapes.” 

Daryl knew what Carl had meant to say. If the shoe fits. It was an incredibly pure mismatch of speech that filled the man with fondness and melancholy alike. A boy forced to grow up too fast. He longed for Carl to have a childhood that he himself had never been privy to. But the boy had just shot down two fully grown undead humans. Innocence didn’t exist in this world. The muddled metaphor lingered at the front of Daryl’s brains, as he pulled away and stifled a laugh.

“Carl, that don’t meand what ya-hah th-hehink…ihit…h’Ngxxtsh…h’AAtchNGXshu…does.” A sentence rushed together with unanticipated irritation.

“Bless you.”

“Hmph.”

Another concerning whisper of danger echoed through woods, a harbinger of their mortal vulnerabilities. Daryl and Carl became completely motionless, muscles tensed with cat-like readiness. Aside from heavily congested mouth breathing, the only clamour to be heard was the new season drizzle percussing the fallen leaves on the forest floor. Carl went to move but Daryl halted him in an instant, a hand held up with a thousand warnings behind it. He was sick as a dog, but the man was still an expert in his field. When the air of danger had passed, the hunter gave the signal that all was okay and both he and the smaller man exhaled with a long breath, held in for a moment too long. Daryl stifled the urge to cough, the burning of infection etched hard into his throat. Danger could befall the two at any moment in time, and he sure as shit wasn't going to let a stupid cold be the cause of it.

“We gotta go now.” Carl whispered at a range only intelligible by lip reading. With a nod of understanding, the two of them were on their feet, moving briskly and silently through the wet overgrowth once again. Hands free from the heavy crossbow, Daryl brushed past the pocket of his coat, remembering the relief that lay inside. As stealthily as possible he cracked two tablets out of the forgotten blister pack, placed them on his tongue and swallowed them dry, as gracefully as possible. Daryl will-eat-raw-squirrel-meat Dixon loathed taking tablets, a plague upon him since childhood. No amount of delectable liquid could make the insufferable medicinal stones go down any easier. But at this juncture in time, they were a necessity and a privilege. He could feel the hard disks inching down his oesophagus, threatening to trigger his gag reflex and render the pharmaceuticals completely void of duty. But he pressed on, obligation keeping him distracted and moving hastily despite many an angry nasal protest. 

The grounding scurry back to the road felt far longer than the frenzied sprint away from it. It took a considerable amount of focus for the sick man to move his heavy legs in a coordinated fashion. But he got there eventually. Clean autumn daylight struck Carl first and then Daryl, eye’s adjusting to the clearing beside the road where the jeep was haphazardly parked. With a sickly squint, he registered Rick leaning against the driver's door of the khaki automotive, arms crossed in resentment and head hung with distress. Then he glanced down and realised several of the dead un-dead littering the bank of grass beside the car. Guilt surged as an obvious battle had taken place. Precise knife wounds articulated the heads of three of the walkers. Peri. A shamble of bodily matter was all that was left of the others, a trademark vignette of Rick’s Colt Python- loud and disgustingly destructive. A splatter of blood stained the fleece of The Deputy’s over coat, indicative of an avoidable struggle. ‘You almost fucking killed them, you piece of shit.”

Daryl stood fixed to the soil as Rick acknowledged him with a glare of towering rage. He gave his son a fatherly pat on the back as Carl moved out of site to rejoin the group. The older Grimes opened the driver's side door, about to say something, but shook it away and slammed the door on entry. Daryl knew where he belonged. 

Shivering from emotion, fever and exertion entwined, the hunter crawled into the back seat behind his lover, far beyond fatigued to say anything in miserable defence.  He curled up like a pitiful child, too exhausted to cry and too emotional to get on his high horse. Carl sat adjacent and watched him with temperate sympathy. Sympathy that irked him, made him feel helpless, weak, invalidated. He was irritable, ready to snap like a rubber band, if he wasn't so physically drained. The motor started and without anything to occupy him anymore, Daryl took inventory of his own symptoms. His entire head pulsated with congestion, shooting painful shockwaves at the slightest movement. Nostrils were quivering with rosy aggravated flesh and an ever present dull tickle was holding his nose at an unpayable ransom. His sinuses were blocked up beyond comprehension, leaving his air flow restricted to dry lips and a scratchy throat. A scratchy throat that continuously latched onto hooks of willful mucus, practically begging to be coughed up. The culminatory fever was arguably the worst of the sickly manifestations. Frigid shivers reverberated through bone and back, leaving the hunter yearning for a skerrick warmth long forgotten. The summit of ailments protested loudly, but Daryl’s eyes grew heavy and hot, daring the man to enter into quiet slumber as the hum of the motor lulled him into a drowsy limbo. Forehead  pressing against an icy window, the hunter finally succumbed to his own angry objections, and fell into a deep sleep. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wrists on fire with friction hung over his head, feet barely grazing the ground of the barn that had him dangling like a piece of meat ready to be consumed. A filthy rag was crammed so far down his throat that he could barely hear himself panicking. Screams of pain echoed around him, inside and out. The excruciating noises stopped and started suddenly, cruelly teasing the man who was slipping in and out of consciousness with them. He was not alone. A tangible evil stained the air around him. He did not remember capture, but even with eyes glued shut, he could sense a familiarity in front of him.

“Nicely done, son.”

“Piece of shit ain’t hard to hold down.”

“Take ya pick of weapons, s’time to have some fun!”

The distinctive voices of Daryl’s father and brother reverberated through the dingy barn, sending a shiver of primal fear down the hunter's spine.

“Oi crap hole! Open yer fuckin’ eyes, I wanna see the tears in ‘em when we beat the fuckin’ shit outta ya.” The paternal voice was right in front of him now, a drunken angry breath cascading over Daryl’s face. A force yanked the gag out of his mouth, a trail of saliva spilling down onto the hunter’s chin. 

“I said, open. Yer. Fuckin’. Eyes.” each grinding word articulated by a hard blow to the man’s stomach, leaving him winded and begging for air. But still he stayed blind to the torture awaiting him.

“Daryl, ya know what happens when I gotta ask ya a third time.” The voice was suddenly behind him now, instilling an instinctual fear in the hanging man. Realising that he wasn’t blindfolded, Daryl forced his eyelids open. A blurry sepia image of a man stood a hair away from his own face. After blinking a few times, the face of Rick Grimes came to focus a mere breath away. A sob of relief escaped a fragile man.

“Rick! Thank Christ! Please, please help me, my dad’s here, he’s gonna hurt me again. “ Ice cold tears streamed from tired eyes as Daryl as he reduced himself to a pathetic, pleading mess. But the monotone man just stood there staring down his victim. As Daryl made to plead again, an emotionless smirk painted itself across Rick’s face and an almost inaudible growl grated from the back of his throat.

“The fuck ya just call me ya worthless piece of shit?” Rick's mouth moved as normal but Daryl’s abusive father flooded out of his vocal chords, like a poorly dubbed foreign film. 

“He’s callin’ out for his lil gay boy fuck buddy!” Merle’s voice came flooding in from all around them but localised when Carl appeared behind the entity of his father. “Yer snivelling ain’t gunna work here, lil brother.” The tainted portrayals of Rick and his son danced in and out of focus, shifting their location with every frame of Daryl’s thought processes. 

The sudden wailing of an infant hammered through the space, a squirming bundle appearing in Rick’s arms. Judith. Oh god please no not her!

“No, no, no!” Was the only thing that parted the hunters lips.

“Don’t worry brother, we like the little bitch.”

“She’s a handy little lump for sure.”

Rick’s body unwrapped the swaddle, small arms springing out, desperately grasping for the open air. The infantile wail morphed into an inhumane, bloodthirsty guggle, as Judith’s face turned to unveil the nightmarish truth.

“Couldn’t save her could-ya son?”

“Never helped anyone in his life, Pa.”

“I think lil miss Grimes wants-ta tell ya something Daryl.” If he blurred his eyes, everything was fine, his love carrying his baby girl towards him. But there was nothing fine about this reality. His mismatched father stepped up close, an audible snapping emitting from the lump of flesh struggling in his arms.

“Time to repent, son.”

The vessel of his partner held up the tiny walker who took no pause before biting repeatedly into Daryl’s exposed shoulder. A howl of agony muffled as he willed himself out of consciousness. Accepting fate, he hung there like pathetic prey, allowing a tiny jaw to tear him to shreds over and over again. ‘Finally getting what you deserve.’

~~~~~~~~~

“Daryl…Daryl, wake up!” Carl tentatively nudged the volatile man’s shoulders, bracing himself for an explosive transition to waking life. A few shakes later and the sleeping man started to exhibit signs of waking.

Coming to, the hunter opened his eyes in daze, foggy with confusion. Thoughts collided together like a hammer to nail, jolting the man upright in his seat, hands coming to his face to rub away residual sleep and drool. Daryl stared unfocused on the seat in front of him, absentmindedly rubbing at his shoulder, trying to soothe the pain that had bled out into reality. Horrible words and grotesque images tumbled around in his brain, regressing the man into fearful rumination. The taste of blood spread over his tongue as teeth chewed anxiously into dry lips. His mental state was like that of a terrible hangover; paralysed by otherthinking and unable to stop the harrowing stream of consciousness that possessed him. Finally there was a break in the chain of dissociation, as a cold water bottle nudged the side of his leg. 

“Here, drink. We’re almost there.” The pubescent voice was music to Daryl’s ears, as he separated the nightmare from reality. Dissecting his subconscious was a painful task for later on when he was alone. For now, the calming voice of Carl Grimes was where it was supposed to be and that was enough for the hunter to breathe easier. Metaphorically, of course.

“How long was I… y’kndow?”

“Half an hour maybe. I was gonna wake you sooner but looked like you really needed it. Sounded like it too. You snore y’know?”

“Hmph.”

Crap. He had not intended to sleep for that long, or at all for that matter. Sleep wasn’t high on Daryl’s list of priorities normally. Always the last to fall and the first to rise. Waking up to Rick’s body warmth and steady breathing had definitely helped the man’s crusade against rest, but nothing could cure the hellish images Daryl had to endure whenever he switched off his mind to reality. Napping was a stone cold never. An embarrassed flush crept up through his already rosy cheeks. He felt pathetic and weak. Two feelings that had never been very welcome to Daryl. Another tap on his arm stopped the hunter from additional self loathing.

*You good?* Carl signed with his hands, a useful skill that Carol was slowly teaching them all to use in times of danger or, you know, concealing illness. 

*Yes*

*Feeling any better?*

*Yes*

*Really?*

*Yes.*

Okay, so Daryl only really knew how to sign one word, but it was all he needed at this moment. But for once in this bleary day, he wasn’t lying about his condition. He really did feel better. The jackhammer in his head had been dialled back to a low grade hum of pain. Fluid continued to occupy his lungs, but the need to expel it had lowered greatly. He was still disgustingly congested, but the continual tide of dripping snot had dried up somewhat, giving his ailing nostrils a break from the constant contact. Most relieving though was the simple sensation, or lack thereof, of needing to launch into a barrage of sneezes every five minutes. Daryl praised modern medicine and took a much needed sip of water.

“Alrigh’ we’re almost there. Looks like a thunderstorms a comin’ so we gotta make this quick and smooth. Y’all ready?” Rick’s commanding voice drew the eyes of all the passengers, he was taking the lead on this mission. Rick Grimes’ natural apt for leadership was a palpable force that Daryl was in awe of. The man had led them through victory after victory, unifying them all with wisdom and grace. Daryl would follow him anywhere. There was a bitter edge to The Deputy’s voice as he barely acknowledged the sick man behind him. The hunter had fucked up, and he knew he deserved every icy glare and remark that could be conjured and spoken. Still, penance hurts like a bitch.

The dark trees sallied past the window finally breaking when an expanse of iron wrought fence became visible. They were in the right place. The car veered to the opposite side of the road and was then parked in a dripping overhang of cyprus trees, well hidden away from threat.

They exited the vehicle one by one, knowing exactly what they had to do. Gathering around the trunk of the vehicle they all grabbed the necessary requirements for a successful raid. Empty duffle bags, silencers, water, trail mix, etcetera. Daryl went to grab his crossbow and found himself turning into Rick in the process. A satisfying physical connection, loaded with cascades of unsaid feelings. The pair were torso to torso, both wanting to lean in for more but resolving for far less. A bruised hand moved to grab Daryl’s in a show of affection, maybe to utter: hey, we’re okay. But it quickly pulled back into a fist of annoyance as RIck walked silently away, sending another aggrieved shiver down Daryl’s spine.

“Oi, Daryl.” The bearded man beckoned his poorly partner over to where he was stood, looking up at an old road sign, messily painted with words that read:

TERMINUS

SANCTUARY FOR ALL

COMMUNITY FOR ALL

THOSE WHO ARRIVE SURVIVE

“The hells that ‘bout?”

“I don’t know…” Daryl turned his head to look at Rick who was staring at the sign intently, rivers of unspoken words tumbling behind calculating blue eyes.

“Sounds too good t’be true”

“Yeah…but what if they got food? Better shelter? Doctors? What if…I can find a better place for us?”

“Ndah Rick, ya can’t thingk like that. The prison’s ours, it's safe, it’s hombe. Comb’on we gotta get mbovin’.” Daryl made to move, but his partner remained glued to the haphazard sign, a keen rumination bubbling through his subconscious. Words of comfort were not the hunter’s speciality, so in a bold action of normalcy, Daryl reached out and gently grabbed the back of Rick’s neck, softly running a thumb over some loose curls. A meek smile appeared in the corners of the Deputy’s mouth, as he came out of the momentary trance. Rick grabbed hold of the strong arm that supported his head and they both basked in the other’s glow of affection. Why couldn’t it always be this easy?

Three meaningful words danced adventurously on the tip of Daryl’s tongue. Three small words that might fix a mountain of mistakes. ‘I love you.” Daryl just say it!

“Hey, we gotta-” Was all that came out, riddled with hush and congestion. 

“-I know, I know.” Rick begrudgingly broke away from Daryl’s grasp and focused his attention to the group. “Alrigh’, the gate’s pretty locked up, so we jump the fence-”

“-Peri already picked the lock dad.”

“What? I didn’t tell ya t’do that!”

“Dude, chill, it’s fine.”

“I-”

“You were taking forever dad, what was so special about that sign?”

“I..er, s’nothin Carl-”

“Is it another group?

“Nah, it ain’t nothing.” The leader lied, trying to ignore Daryl having a coughing fit behind him and unite them as a group again. “Okay, com’on we gotta focus. Michonne said that house is pretty far into the woods, so we gotta be quiet and fast. I’ll take the lead, then Peri, then Carl and Daryl last. There’s gonna be a lot of walkers, so you see any you take them out silently. No guns. We move in silence, are we clear?” The last part of the speech was directed at Daryl who was trying to soothe a stubborn tickle in his nose. They all nodded in agreement.

“This is risky, but Daryl was right, we need a win today.” Rick picked up his empty duffle bag and moved first, a convoy following behind. Daryl brought up the rear, praying to some sort of deity that he could get through the next hour or so without dealing with any sort of involuntary bodily disgustingness. He detested the pity that had been forced on him all day and refused to let his illness humiliate him anymore, or worse, get anyone killed.

#rickyl #rickyl fanfiction #rick grimes x daryl dixon #rick x daryl #daryl x rick #daryl dixon #rick grimes #fanfiction #twd fanfiction #twd #the walking dead #daryl needs a hug #the walking dead daryl #twd rick #sick #sickfic #sneeze fic #sneeze kink #sneezing #illness #hurt #hurt/comfort #angst #angst with a happy ending #stubborn daryl #eventual smut

[the-wild-ego]

Hello! :3 if the ship writings are still open I'd like one with the Septics please! My personality is a little shy but I love learning new things, reading, and helping people :)

Hello! My ship recs are still open! I'm enjoying doing these while I take a break from my big pieces. If you haven't read 'Little Darling' or 'A Voidless Cry' then I totally recommend you check them out.

As for who I ship you with, that'll have to be Robbie. The sweetie who needs a sweetie. Your personalities compliment eachother well, as he comes out of his shell when he's around you. And he's always ready to stick up for you, because you are his person. He doesn't quite understand emotions, but he knows you mean a lot to him. However, because he's unlikely to express his emotions, it can lead to a lot of self consciousness and loneliness;

Robbie sighed, staring at the pale face in the mirror. His heart did not beat, his blood did not run, he felt no pain... So, why be called 'undead'? Doesn't that mean, 'not dead'? He didn't understand much about himself, just that Henrik and Marvin created him. And Robbie knew he cared about them. He also knew that he cared about you. Yes, the most beautiful being he has ever witnessed. The way you talked, the way you moved, the way you lived so freely. He just couldn't relate to that.

Walking out of the restroom, that he couldn't even use, he went straight to you. The warmth of your body calling out to his always-too-cold skin. The smell of food in the kitchen, food that he could eat, told him your location. Always moving. Always loving and taking care of him. Why couldn't Robbie feel these things, too?

"Y/N..." Robbie mumbled, wrapping his arms around you from behind, resting his head against you. The soft tone of his voice alerted you and you promptly turned around to return the hug. The ground brains you were fixing Robbie could wait a little longer.

"What is it, sweetheart?" you asked softly, running a hand up and down his back as you hugged him. It was something that comforted Robbie, especially when you applied pressure. It made him feel warm. Something he's only felt with you.

"I-I..." Robbie huffed a breath, redness tinging on the corners of his eyes, offering insight to his frustrations, "I see, hear, smell, taste, 'nd feel physically, Y/N."

"Of course you can, Robbie. You were human once." you smiled gently, pulling back just a bit more. You knew where this was going, most of the time Robbie was cheery and playful. However, recently he's been more in tune with his emotions. Namely sadness and frustration.

"Why can't I feel? Feel emotionally?" Robbie frowned, knowing that statement wasn't exactly true. He felt things, on a smaller scale than humans. Yet, he was still learning to differentiate and control those emotions.

"Oh, Robbie..." you hummed, ruffling his hair a little bit. You understood him, you really did. His quirks, his interest, the void emotions. It never got to you, you loved him, "You'll learn, I promise. Emotions are tricky and a lot of the time, your emotions overlap with one another and it makes it even harder to understand them."

"That didn't answer my question. Emotions are stu-" Robbie started again, pulling away from you. You were quick to pull him back in, though. For a kiss, quick and sweet. You loved how bashful he got everytime you gave him affection.

"Was that stupid?" You quirked a brow and Robbie shook his head, "I know it's hard for you, sweetheart, but I need you to understand something, okay?"

Robbie nodded his head this time, lifting his sleeve-covered hands to rub his cheeks. It's how he focused on the more important things you had to say.

"I love you, Robbie. And I know deep down that you love me, too. Even if you can't find that emotion yet... I promise I'm not going anywhere, okay?" you comforted him, taking one of his hands and kissing his palm.

"Thank you, Y/N..." Robbie trailed, smiling softly at you. Taking a deep breath, he spoke again, bringing a deep warmth to your insides.

"I promise I'll learn to love you, too."

#robbie x reader #robbie the zombie x reader #jacksepticeye ego x reader #ego x reader #ships open #ego ships #anon asks

[silvertsundere]

Silver Talks AniManga (19/03/23)

biggest thing this week is me starting to catch up to UU only got through 30 chaps (in about 3 hours) cause I grossly underestimated just how much text it was gonna have it's good tho 👍

Undead Unluck Ch1 to 30

I greatly underestimated how long it'd take to catch up, I only started at midnight of this sunday, I thought because it was an action series it wouldn't take that long but I was clueless. But anyway, it's good, I can easily see how it managed to get through the cancelation danger gauntlet and how it's become fairly popular. My friend Mega had already told me beforehand that the first couple volumes are quite crude and lewd, and he was right, but I've seen a lot worse. Also the pacing is quite fast but it didn't bother me at all, tho I was reading everything back to back instead of weekly so maybe it would've been different. Anyway the last arc I read before stopping (Unrepair) was good and finished setting up the intro to the series I feel. Now we know what the main plot is, how this world works (mostly), we got to know a lot of the cast, the goals of our protagonists and antagonists and how they clash with each other. The best chap so far was 20, it was a colour page chap and it introduced one of the Big Plot Points for the series, also Juiz is just super cool too. I think I remember seeing that Andy and Fuuko join the baddies later? but I don't remember for sure so we'll see. Which also speaking of, Fuuko is very cute. I expect to have finished catching up before I do this again next week so look forward to the rest of that I guess.

Dandadan Ch97

been a while since the last full action chap and it slapped that last page was very pog. tho hype for when okarun finally rejoins the fray

Kaiju 8 Ch82

didn't expect such a nice chap for a side chara, that was good. hype for next chap with that ending tho

JOJOLands Ch2

wao the newest instalment of jojo is here but honestly it's too early on to really have any opinions on it, evil giorno is nice tho. at the end of chap 1 I said the person they were gonna rob was gonna be a returning chara from p4 or 6 but sure as hell didn't expect it to just straight up be rohan lol

Tokyo Underworld Ch34

damn yomi being brained for once impressive, tho just a few pages later he fucked up and almost got killed so it balances out

Jojo: Hol Horse/Josuke Spinoff Ch14

we got the spinoff's first stand rush pog. should only be 2 or 3 more chaps left til it's over but it's been a nice little diversion

Ichigoki's Under Control!! Ch15

what a terrible chapter, introduced a buncha characters and situations that never happened, since it's getting canceled and didn't get to actually do them. seems like it'll end next chap at least so that's good.

The Ichinose Family's Deadly Sins Ch17

damn I was gonna say "alright it's good to see ichinose has a clear goal now for the characters to follow" but then it hit me with that twist at the end again so uh nvm. not really a fan of the "it was all a dream" thing but we'll see how it goes

Ginka & Gluna Ch26

all that just for the baddie to run away? eh.... feels like quite the waste of such a cool concept for a power

Fabricant 100 Ch14

not as good as the last few chaps but p decent nonetheless

Jiangshi X Ch9

mostly action, showing off how powerful the dad is, still expect him to die soon tho

Tokyo Demon Bride Story Ch27

well things got solved quite nicely didn't they. I had anticipated this outcome originally, but with how much they were building up to a fight I had discarded it. anyway if ichigoki is really ending next chap then this should have 2 or 3 more chaps left.

Witch Watch Ch101

decent chap, was a throwback to this old spell

SPY x FAMILY Ch77

it was nice to get a lloid chap after so long, and with him actually doing his job nonetheless, I think that's a first

Blue Box Ch93

xmas? my sister in christ it's march

oh ok fair enough. anyway good chap like usual too, nice to see yumeka's character developing

Cipher Academy Ch16

a good chap but I'm also a hoe for murder mysteries, tho that twist at the end was very good 👀

Mashle Ch148

very funny chap, didn't expect something like this lol

Sakamoto Days Ch111

cool number pog. but anyway, wonder how much longer of this backstory is left, not that I'm not enjoying it tho, the gun throw was great

The Elusive Samurai Ch102

damn setting up some worrying implications for our protags in case they lose. also I figured they weren't going to fight ashikaga right away, and the ending proved that, shame they gotta fight that girl tho

Akane-banashi Ch54

a nice cooldown chapter after the intensity of the last few ones, but a good chapter still, setting up the next competition and goal for akane also I don't think I've ever said it in these but..she's so cute.. love all the little faces she makes

#silver talks animanga