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steviewashere · 2 months

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Baby, It's Cold Outside

Rating: General CW: Canon Typical Gore and Violence (Very Brief but There) Tags: Established Relationship, Eddie Munson has Nightmares, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Steve Harrington is a Furnace, Cuddling, Huddling for Warmth, Future Fic, (But it's Just Early 1987), Hot Chocolate, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Steve Harrington Takes Care of Eddie Munson

For the @steddielovemonth prompt: "Love is letting him put his cold hands under your shirt and only complaining a little bit."

💕—————💕

He was blissfully asleep in bed when a sudden cold shock to his back awoke him.

Steve yelped, “Jesus!” And turned around to see who had snuck into his house this early in the morning (it’s only nine) and came face to face with his boyfriend, Eddie. “Eds, what the fuck? Hello? Hi? What happened to those? Christ.”

Eddie didn’t even look sheepish when Steve met his eyes. He was ready to chew him out, but one look told him that Eddie wasn’t doing too well. His whole body was trembling, teeth chattering, breath leaving him in short puffs. He couldn’t even get any words out, he was that cold.

Immediately, Steve’s hackles rose. He tentatively scooted across the mattress to get closer to Eddie. But, it’s as if Eddie didn’t even notice him. His eyes were glazed over. There were tear tracks wobbling down his face. Eddie’s lips were bitten raw, chapped, and slightly purple. He was fighting with himself to try and stay focused with the moment, if the subtle jerks told Steve anything, but he quickly fell back into himself.

“Baby?” Steve ventured. “Did something happen?” He had a feeling he knew what. But his stomach turns at the idea of how Eddie even got over here safely. It’s January, for Christ’s sake. It’s freezing.

A small and sharp exhale left Eddie. He whispered, his voice a terribly awful rasp, “Nightmare.” And as the word left his mouth, his eyes began to tear up all over again. “You. Bats. Scared,” he relayed.

Steve nodded minutely in understanding.

There was one reoccurring nightmare that seemed to follow Eddie no matter what. He’d talked about it in full length before, but that seems to have made it linger in his psyche. Eddie swims down into Lover’s Lake right after Robin jumps in. Except, somehow, he makes it through the portal first. He always knows where to find Steve to try and save him from the demobat attack, even though his true self wouldn’t have (at least, not when this nightmare takes place). But the space between him and Steve’s body stretches longer than it’s supposed to. In turn, by the time he actually reaches Steve, he’s already dead. A demobat wrapped around his neck, more chunks than real flesh on his torso, his arms a mottled bleeding mess, pants chewed to bits and pieces, and his mouth filled with blood. Eddie recalls Steve’s face. Blood vessel broken, eyes glazed and far away yet still hazel brown, hair tacky to his skin, lips parted and bloodied, and pale. Already dead. He always claims the second worst part of the nightmare to be when Robin and Nancy finally reach the two of them. Nancy gasping under her breath, then turning around to puke. Robin screeching like she’s been stabbed, her words only sobs. And Eddie never knows how to comfort them, even if that’s not true in reality.

Which, if Steve takes in how Eddie came in now. To touch him, to sense. He can tell that Eddie came to see if…Well, if Steve was here and alive. What may have freaked him out again, though, was the fact that Steve was sleeping. And that’s why he had to touch him. Steve can deduce that pretty easily.

“Oh, baby,” Steve sighs. He opens his arms in silent invitation. But when Eddie doesn’t move, he voices softly, “Come here, honey. It’s okay. I’m alive. I’ve got you.”

Though it takes some thirty seconds of silent hope and prayer, Eddie eventually scoots in close enough to be scooped up. Steve takes him between his arms, squeezing him in as compact as he’ll go, wraps his comforter around the two of them, and lets Eddie stick his hands back under his shirt. He hisses slightly at the contact again, but they’re less cold than when he first arrived.

With the warmth and embrace, Eddie is brought to tears. In the silence of his bedroom, Steve picks up on only two sounds. His own breathing. And Eddie softly weeping and whimpering into his shoulder. He smooths one hand down his spine and the other over Eddie’s cold-to-the-touch curls. Shushing as quiet and soothing as possible in his ear. Kissing over his temple and his cheek, the skin freezing there, too. Using all his might, Steve manages to swallow back his own emotion.

The one thing he hates more than nightmares is the after effects that reduce his boyfriend to tears. Hates the aftermath with every fiber of his being, even if they do get to cuddle. He enjoys cuddling in nicer circumstances, though. This sucks. It hurts his heart to hear how Eddie cries.

When Eddie goes pliant, Steve wrangles them around so that he’s laying on his back and Eddie’s halfway on top of him. He lets Eddie tuck himself in close, nose pressed to the base of Steve’s neck, eyelashes fluttering against his skin when he blinks. His arms are loose, one tucked under his torso, the other splayed over Steve’s own, fingers underneath the t-shirt to trace the evidence left behind—that show that Steve actually survived. Steve leaves one arm wrapped around Eddie’s middle, the other cupping the back of his head, keeping him pressed.

Though, his stomach turns again at how Eddie even got here. “Eds?” He breathes into the silence.

“Yeah?” Eddie whispers, his breath tickling over Steve. Somehow also cold. He’s just chilled all around. Steve is able to hold back the shudder that teases his bones.

“How’d you get here?”

Eddie huffs. “I walked,” he states simply. “My van’s still in the shop, wasn’t an option.” He barely lifts his head, but Steve shoves him back down immediately. Get him warm, his brain supplies. “Why?” Eddie asks when he nuzzles back in.

“You’re so cold,” Steve murmurs. “You didn’t take a jacket.”

“Forgot,” Eddie drones, his voice flat. Tired. Still raspy. He had probably screamed when the nightmare finished playing. Steve aches.

“I told you, Eds. Call me first. I’ll come get you, baby.” He squeezes at Eddie’s middle. Bunches his fingers, tangling them loosely in Eddie’s hair. “Scared me.”

He feels Eddie swallow against his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he breathes. His next breath stutters, as if he’s gearing up to cry again.

“No, Eds, it’s okay,” he lies. “Don’t cry. It just worries me when you’re out there, vulnerable like this, practically freezing to death.” He soothes his hand up and down Eddie’s spine. “Promise that you’ll call me next time?”

Eddie only nods. He shuffles in closer.

Steve tilts his head sideways, cushioning his cheek atop Eddie’s hair. “Are you still cold?” He asks. Eddie’s nod against his shoulder is minute, a little hesitant. “Okay,” he mutters, “let’s go get hot chocolate and put you in front of the fireplace, alright?”

“Okay,” Eddie breathes. “Hold my hand?”

So, Steve does. Squeezing Eddie’s palm with every step down the stairs. He wonders how Eddie even managed a staircase in his post-nightmare dazed state, but realizes it would be futile to ask. At least he made it here, Steve has to remind himself, and he’s alive and he sought you out.

He plops Eddie down in front of the fireplace, quickly chucks a few logs in, and lights them up to let out a small, yet pleasantly warm flame. He maneuvers a blanket over Eddie’s shoulders, soothes his hands—which are warm and heavy—down the sides of Eddie’s neck. And excuses himself to the kitchen to make a couple mugs of hot chocolate. Steve makes sure that he’s loud when preparing them. Clattering the dishes. Slamming some of the cupboards. Noisily twisting and untwisting the cap on the milk jug. And reenters the living room, a steaming cup handed off to Eddie.

They sit in front of the flames for a few silent moments. Sans their slurps. This time, when Steve takes noisy sips—like he would do with his morning coffee—it doesn’t earn him a small Eddie snort. It doesn’t really get him anything at all. He sets their mugs on the mantle when they’re finished and tucks himself under the blanket with Eddie, wrapping his arm around his middle once again. He forces Eddie’s head into his shoulder junction. Rests his own cheek atop Eddie’s hair. And sighs.

Kissing his scalp, he murmurs, “I love you.” Seals it with another soft peck.

“I love you, too,” Eddie whispers in return. “Thank you for—“

“I’d let you put your hands under my shirt anytime, baby. No need for that.”

Eddie only sighs in contentment. And Steve relishes in the exact moment when he goes boneless against his side, making their sides conjoin in a single tight line, snoring softly into his neck. He’d do anything for Eddie, no matter what he asked.

💕—————💕

#stranger things #steddie #fanfiction #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddielovemonth #day 22

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hana-no-seiiki · 8 months

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childe babytrapping??? pls share ur thoughts and opinions on that <33

barks cutely 😋😋

// mention of noncon, babytrapping, murder, drugging.

please. i would have written more on this man if there weren’t amazing fics already out there (i really recommend this one where he’s the tsar and reader is a new fatui addition it’s super hot and reader def ends up f i l l e d) don’t fuel my addiction for him-

in any case childe, as many writers would agree with me on, is a family man. now this doesn’t matter what gender you identify with or what you were assigned on since birth. it’s his goal to fight you and eventually have you take care of at least a dozen children (his, yours, as long as they’re cute and obedient)

i don’t think this idea has been expanded upon that much but i like the concept of him simping over this one particular senior of his. not as ancient as his other co-workers but definitely not young enough to be as rowdy and loud as him.

you caught his eye with a display of controlled bloodlust that really instilled a drive in him. a sense of discipline. not so outwardly apparent whenever you two spar (you respecting his dignity not mentioning the bulge in his pants whenever he inevitably loses).

if you’re afab he just outrightly assaults you. most likely when you’re drugged while feigning that he is as well for deniability in case you frame him (he still needs his job for child support if ever). and if you’re amab he’ll probably adopt a kid and force you to pity/like them. if not have you impregnate a woman and then kill her after the child is born. but yeah you get drugged whatever is in your pants.

if you happen to be loyal to the tsaritsa, perhaps he’ll do a task she requires of him that will earn a favor. something like summoning a sealed god and dooming a nation for a chess piece perhaps.

if anything, childe is patient, knows his weaknesses and limitations, and is willing to do anything to improve on them.

if you aren’t able to love him . . . well, they never said that all married couples had to start off head over heels for one another.

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oftenwantedafton · 3 months

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The Perfect Girl - Dave Miller/William Afton x Female Reader

Chapter 1

Rating - Explicit

Warnings - none for this chapter

Summary: Dave Miller sees you hesitate. Perhaps reluctant to stay alone in the dark. Perhaps some sense of self preservation is finally kicking in, making you wary of following a virtual stranger more than two decades older into the recesses of an abandoned restaurant.

No one knows you’re here.

Anything could happen.

Also available on AO3

Fate brings you into the man calling himself Dave Miller’s path on a Monday afternoon.

You’re in line ahead of him at a kiosk at the mall, where a vendor sells bags of artificially colored and flavored popcorn. There are a variety of unusual offerings like chocolate orange and strawberries and cream and peanut butter and jelly, the latter dyed purple and yellow. That was a personal favorite of his.

You’re next. You take a step forward and Dave moves right behind. He hooks a thumb in one of the belt loops of his security guard uniform pants and fiddles with the heavy ring of keys. There are so many. He doesn’t even know what half of them are for, in truth; only concerned with the ones that matter.

He can smell your fragrance from here. Not some cloying perfume that older women seem to favor, but something fruity and vibrant. A body spray of some sort perhaps. He also detects a light floral scent from your shampoo. You’re not long out of the shower, he thinks.

You order Wacky Watermelon. The kernels are colored red and green. You rummage in your purse. A tidy little thing, compact, thin strap, single compartment. It appears you’re a little short on cash.

“I’ve got it,” the security guard says, stepping beside you, reaching for his wallet.

Your cheeks flush. Such a pretty pink hue. “That’s ok, I…”

“It would be my pleasure.” He smiles. It’s a large one, lips stretching over sharp looking teeth. A bit intimidating.

“Oh, okay. Th…thank you,” you stammer.

So now you are indebted to him. At least, that is how he sees it. You collect your bag of popcorn and smile nervously.

“I’ll treat you next time. I just got a job working over there.” You point to a clothing store for young adults. He can hear the music blaring inside from here. The mannequins in the storefront windows are currently wearing distressed denim leggings and cropped hoodies. The fashion of today’s youth is something that eludes Dave, but then again, he supposes every generation has their trends. He’s seen bell bottoms and leg warmers come and go. Earth tones and neon. Now this blatant exposure. A jarring mismatch of wanting to be covered but also exposing tantalizing amounts of flesh. And he was not supposed to look. Well.

You don’t appear to subscribe to that same sense of style. Your clothing is demure. Everything covered. Not too tight. Hinting at nothing. Leaving it to the imagination. He likes to imagine.

He nods and a piece of the dark hair that’s a bit untidy falls over his brow. He sees you swallow thickly. How lovely your throat is.

“So I gotta get back. I’ll see you around.”

Oh, indeed you will, he thinks.

***

It’s Thursday. It’s pouring outside and the mall is crowded, people driven to find activities indoors. The pizzeria would have been very busy on a day like today, if it was still open.

He wanders the dusty rooms. Brushes fingers over the joysticks and buttons on the arcade cabinets. Draws back the stage curtains to view the animatronics frozen in place, waiting patiently for a future peformance. He’ll wake them again, when the time is right. He returns to the security office and surveys the monitors. There are intruders on occasion, but they’re rare, as the restaurant is actually concealed behind a wall, its existence forgotten. Those that do happen to stumble into it, well. They don’t live to tell the tale. So it remains hidden, secret. Like his real identity as the former owner of the establishment, William Afton.

He eases back into the office chair and it creaks loudly in the stillness. He can spare a few more moments before he returns to his actual job patrolling the shopping mall. How tedious it is. Assisting customers when they’ve locked themselves out of their cars. Giving directions, usually to the restroom even though there are mall directories everywhere. The occasional shoplifter. Reuniting lost children with their parents. That last task was especially difficult to keep a straight face during. It’s a waiting game, something to do to fill the in between times, until he can begin the work again. At least it gives him an alibi, an excuse to be near his old restaurant.

He’s thirsty.

The soda vending machines are empty, of course, the supplies of the franchise’s stock long depleted. No more Freddy Fazbear’s Fizzy Cola or Bonnie’s Bodacious Orange Blast. He’ll need to get something from one of the vendors in the food court. Perhaps you’ll go with him, pay him back as it were.

He has found you coming into his mind all week.

He’d seen you a few times during his patrol. Paused to watch you refold sweaters and organize pants hanging on a rack when he thinks you’re unaware. Sometimes he waits for you to notice and he waves and smiles. A softer gesture, no teeth. You wave uncertainly back.

The wheels drag across the floor as Miller pushes back from the desk and rises to his feet. It’s time to leave his beloved pizzeria. For now.

***

You’re in high school. Senior year. Eighteen, an only child. Parents divorced. You’ve just purchased your first car. Want to study Archaeology, specialize in Egyptology.

You’re babbling, alternating between nibbling on a chocolate bar and sipping lemon lime soda. Dave patiently listens to the prattling. He likes the way your glossed lips look wrapped around the straw, the suction you apply. He takes a sample of his own cherry soda and leans back. The metal cafe chairs in the food court aren’t the most comfortable, especially since his legs are so long, his six foot four frame cramped. But he’ll endure it, and gladly. The chatter and the discomfort pale in comparison to what he wants to take from you.

“How long have you worked here?” You ask him, taking another bite of milk chocolate.

“Two years, nearly.”

“What’s the most interesting thing that’s happened? Like, did you ever have to call the police or anything?”

“There are the occasional shoplifters. Nothing dramatic.” The security guard takes another pull from his drink.

You look a little disappointed. “Oh, okay.” The candy wrapper is empty. He can hear the ice rattling around in the nearly empty cup. Your time together seems to be running short. “Well, I gotta get back. It was nice talking to you.”

“Likewise. I appreciate the beverage.” He finishes his drink and dumps it into the trash bin nearby.

Dave accompanies you back to the clothing store. There’s no reason for it. You don’t need an escort or a guide. But it’s an excuse to be by your side a little longer. You’re wearing a different body spray today but this scent is equally as appealing. Vanilla. Warm and sugary.

“Have a good rest of your shift,” you say, stepping back into the store you’re employed at. Dave watches your thread your way between the shelves and the racks and he thinks he’s going to bring you into the darkness of the pizzeria very soon.

***

The following Sunday. Sunny, mild, the perfect spring day. The mall is less crowded, customers seeking the good weather outdoors.

Dave braves the music and enters the clothing store you work at. You’re leaning against the counter. He’s watched you wipe down the same clean space five times in as many minutes. Keep glancing at the clock, eager for the shift to end. You’re clearly bored.

The security guard joins you at the counter and leans. Narrow hips much higher next to your curves. Arms folded over a gray shirt with black epaulets. Long and lean. The heavy ring of keys jangling when he shifts positions.

“Is it me, or is today incredibly dull?”

“Oh my gosh, yes,” you agree immediately.

“What time do you get off?”

“Two.”

“I’ve got something to show you.”

The phrasing throws you off. He can feel you stiffen a bit beside him, your breath catching.

“I’ve found an old arcade walled up at the other end of the mall. Thought maybe you’d like to go explore. It looks pretty interesting.”

“Oh!” You exclaim. He feels the tension ease in your limbs. Back to trusting again. “That’s kind of neat.”

“Don’t tell anyone about it, okay? I don’t want people to find out. It’s just our little secret.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“I’ll come back at two to get you.” He pushes off from the counter, raking a hand through the dark locks that are just a touch too long.

“Okay.” You sound a bit uncertain. But the deal has been struck. It doesn’t matter if you’re a bit wary.

He’s got you right where he wants you.

***

Dave Miller doesn’t really need the flashlight.

He knows his restaurant by heart, of course; knows the placement of every machine and table and chair and counter. But he has to illuminate the path, for your sake.

You follow close behind him. He has a habit of stopping abruptly and you collide against his spine more than once. You don’t see his feral grin.

He beams the light around so you can see the remains of the pizzeria’s glory: the claw machines and the pinball cases, the partially stocked prize counters and the arcade cabinets.

“What’s behind the curtains?” He sees you looking curiously at the stage.

“Animatronics.”

“Like Chuck E. Cheese?”

Miller scowls. “A superior version. They copied Freddy Fazbear’s.”

“It’s a shame there’s no electricity. I would totally give some of these games a try.”

“Oh, there is. I just have to hit the switch. It’s way in the back near the offices. Are you going to come with me or stay here?”

He sees you hesitate. Perhaps reluctant to stay alone in the dark. Perhaps some sense of self preservation is finally kicking in, making you wary of following a virtual stranger more than two decades older into the recesses of an abandoned restaurant. No one knows you’re here. Anything could happen.

“I’ll come with you.”

Dave grins. “Follow me.”

#william afton x you #william afton x reader #dave miller x reader #dave miller x you #william afton #dave miller #fnaf fanfic

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bimoonphases · 1 month

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@wolfstarmicrofic March 27 – prompt 27: Expecto Patronum – word count 670

Expecto Patronum - The Patronus Charm is a powerful projection of hope and happiness that drives away Dementors

A part of Remus knew it had been a bad idea, but that part had been drowning for the past hours in the alcohol, the hate for all the Christmas decorations everywhere, the cold, the ache of the second full moon the wolf spent desperately howling for his friends, only to tear himself apart when they failed to show up.

So that part was pretty quiet when he stopped in front of the tombstone, shivering from the cold.

“Hey Lils. Hey Prongs,” he slurred, raising the half-empty bottle to his friends’ names. “Merry Christmas.”

He took a swig and swayed on his feet. The cold was getting worse, but he didn’t care. After all, he had lost everything he had ever cared for. Maybe he could just lie down by Lily and James and fall asleep there and never wake up. He started shivering, and a movement in the corner of his eye made him turn around.

“Fuck,” he groaned.

Not far from him, a hooded figure was hovering by a tombstone rapidly covering in frost. He should have thought about that, really. The Wizarding World was still in such turmoil it was only logical a place so important like Lily and James’s tomb in Godric’s Hollow would be guarded by one of the Dementors Azkaban could spare. Even their son, wherever he was, must have some around.

“They’re my friends,” Remus whispered, his teeth chattering.

The Dementor glided forward and Remus stumbled back as the cold seeped into his bones and distant voices exploded in his head.

“Remus… Something awful has happened…”

The bottle fell from his hand.

“It’s not possible… Sirius wouldn’t…”

“I guess he lived up to his family name after all. I’m sorry Remus, I should have seen it coming.”

He knocked his back into James and Lily’s tombstone. The Dementor crept closer.

“Pete knew he couldn’t beat Sirius in a duel, it doesn’t make sense he went after him!”

“Grief makes us all act in ways we wouldn’t normally, Remus.”

He fumbled in his pocket, searching for his wand.

“I know I’m not his godfather or anything, but can I at least see him? For his parents’ sake.”

“He’ll be safer with his blood family, believe me. Pick up the pieces, Remus. Learn how to move on.”

Remus brandished his wand. He knew the spell and he knew he had been able to cast a fully-fledged Patronus, who ironically was in the shape of a wolf. But all that had been before. His hand trembled.

“I don’t even know if I have anything left you can take,” he whispered.

The Dementor didn’t stop advancing. If Remus was being honest with himself, it didn’t make sense. Dementors were guards, they had no business attacking someone who wasn’t doing any harm, but maybe it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t be worse than what he had lived through in the last weeks. Maybe it would even be better.

But as the Dementor glided even closer, the wolf reared up his head somewhere inside him, survival instinct kicking in. Images flooded Remus’s mind, of the Forbidden Forest and his friends galloping by his side, of the same friends by his bed when he woke up in the Hospital Wing, of smiles, and laughter, and hand holding and warmth, so much warmth…

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!”

He braced himself against the tombstone while the silver form leaped out of his wand and chased the Dementor across the graveyard until it disappeared somewhere. Remus exhaled. Apparently, he wouldn’t die that day. He looked up to his Patronus as it padded back to him and froze.

“No…” he breathed. “Please, no…”

He had read about what shock and grief could do to the spell, but nothing in those books had mentioned cruelty.

“No…” he repeated, his eyes filling with tears.

He let himself slide to the ground, his back pressed against the cold marble of his best friends’ tombstone. In front of him, glittering with the silver light of the spell, Padfoot wagged his tail.

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fanatic-writers · 8 months

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Adventures in Baby Sitting

Chapter One: The Adventure Begins

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A/n: I have a lot of fun things planned for this series. A lot of it is going to stick to the basis of the show but I also want to add some fun filler-type fics here and there. Some slice of life if you will. If there is anything you'd like to see feel free to send me a message and I will try to incorporate it into the series. I hope yall enjoy this and I'm actually really excited to keep writing this.

Word Count: 1952

Pairing: (Eventual) Din Djarin x Mandalorian!Reader

Warnings: Canon levels of violence but it's very tame, unedited like everything cause I'm lazy lol

Summary: Reader is the Armorer's daughter and is also a foundling. She and Din have known each other for a long time but he was never quite able to break his shell. When the Mandalorians help Din escape with the child she is ordered to go to his ship to help him care for the thing.

You hadn’t seen him come in at first, focused on your work despite the assistance of the machinery crafting armor from beskar wasn’t the easiest task in the world. Although that was the least of your worries. You watched as Din, or the Mandalorian as he was simply called now, fitted in his familiar armor had taken his seat. You glanced up from your work as your mother joined him. She hadn’t beckoned you over, so you did your best to continue despite wanting to catch up with your old friend. The two of you had known each other for quite some time, both foundlings, however, the Armorer had taken you under her wing when the Mandalorian that had found you passed shortly after. You were still too young to take the oath when it happened, but your mother had come to show you everything about her job, from forging to leading. You had grown since then, sworn to walk the path and follow The Way, honing in your skills by making armor for the foundlings. She eventually raised a hand to call you over and you joined her. Standing beside her as she handed you the piece of beskar. “Imperial?” You mumbled looking to the armor-clad man in front of you through your visor. “How did you-?” “It does not matter how.” Your mother spoke up “It is back in its rightful place. I’ll be crafting a pauldron, bring it to the smelter and then finish up with your work.” You nodded, silently doing as you were told. You watched as the beskar melted down, your mother preparing her tools. It wasn’t long before your piece for the Foundlings was finished, and she was handing over the new piece of armor to your friend.

“You didn’t speak to him.” Your mother’s voice filled the room that had been taken over by silence as you cleaned up your workstation. “He didn’t wish to speak.” You responded as you pulled out a failed project from ages ago, preparing to melt it down and turn it into a chest piece for yourself. As part of your practice, the Armorer had wanted you to slowly craft your own armor set, knowing the leather that the both of you wore wouldn’t protect you in every circumstance. “You didn’t ask.” You could hear the smirk on her lips despite the golden helmet that covered her face. If you hadn’t worn a helmet of your own, she’d see the look you gave her, but you hoped she could sense your disdain for her meddling in your relationship. You knew she only wanted what was best for you and that she knew how you felt about Mando, that didn’t mean you wanted her to try and set you up with the guy. “He’ll return eventually, and we will speak.”

Your mother had finished her work for the day, but you weren’t done yet. The sooner you finished your own armor the sooner you could work on more sets for the foundlings. You remembered watching your mother work on other sets of armor, patiently waiting for the day your own would come. Eventually, you were gifted a helmet for when you took the oath but most everything else was made of leather and chainmail. It wasn’t until you were able to create your own armor that you had your own set. You’d grown out of that long ago though. Your hammer swung, the pounding of metal filling the room as you let yourself get lost in your thoughts. What in the hell was Din Djarin doing with Imperial Beskar? And if he had it did it mean they were back? You put your anxiety and fear to work, letting it strengthen your swings. If they were back, you’d need to be ready to protect the Tribe, to protect your small clan. You looked at the chest plate, the final piece you’d needed to complete your set, and smiled softly. You were rarely happy with your work but this one felt right, it felt finished. All it needed now was a coat of paint. You’d have to do that later though. Instead, you cleaned up the armory and put the pieces in their place for when you were ready for them next. After that was finished you slipped from the armory and made your way to your room. The one upside to living with the Mandalorian was that despite the overall lack of privacy provided by the tunnels and caves something as simple as a cloth over an opening was respected as a door and never moved.

You pulled the tarp open over the opening of your small room and got to work removing your leather armor and finally, your helmet, setting it on a ledge next to your bed made of a pile of fabrics and whatever could have been scrounged up. Despite the circumstances, you considered your room rather cozy and your bed comfortable. You lay down and pulled the blanket up to your chin, turning your back to the door should someone intrude for whatever reason.

Days later you had spotted the Mandalorian as he walked down the halls to the all too familiar armory, a smile gracing your lips upon seeing his return. You briefly make your presence known to him before slipping into one of the many side halls that connect to the maze you and your clan had learned to call home. You noticed that there seemed to be quite the commotion going on at the armory, so you made your way there, sure you’d heard Paz getting upset about something yet again. The older Mandalorian always seemed to be in a mood lately, so you mostly stayed out of his way. Your mother made quick work of dispersing the conflict and you joined her in the armory, watching her work. It was expected that one day you would take her mantle. Whenever it was, she retired you had to be ready to not only mold and shape Beskar into the best armor but also become a guide for the Tribe. Your mother had done her best to make sure you would be ready when she was gone, knowing she had left quite the shoes to fill. She was the one who made sure that everyone was safe, especially after the destruction of Mandalore. You stood, lost in your thoughts, along the perimeter of the armor. You moved expertly to the various points your mother had instructed you to go to long ago when you first began your training, making sure you had the best angle to view the work she was doing. It was rare that the opportunity came to make a full set of armor from beskar alone, especially all in one go. You stole glances at the Mandalorian who waited ever so patiently for his new set of armor. Once the pieces were formed you joined your mother in her work, shaping the metal to its final form and making sure that it would function properly. When she was pleased with the pieces you had worked on your mother had tasked you with the making of the whistling birds. You were sure your joy was evident as you began to work on your favorite thing to craft. You carefully placed each “bird” in its slot before handing your piece over to the Mandalorian. “You’ll have to show me your new set-in action.” You spoke as you set the piece on the table “It's rare I get to see my craftmanship at work.” Din nodded before taking the pieces and leaving for the room he rarely used, preferring the razor crest to anything here. You could hear your mother take a breath, preparing to speak. “Don’t start.” You mumbled, causing a soft, and rare, laugh to escape her.

You’d spent the rest of your day working on the finishing touches of your own armor. There wasn’t much paint to go around in the caves, but you’d managed to find a merchant in Nevarro that had some. Youd painted the edges of your armor a pale green, keeping the design rather simple. You wouldn’t have enough to cover the entirety of your set, instead settling for hints of color here and there. Your signet you painted a deep red doing your best to match your helmet. You finished off the rest of your detailing with dull blue accents. “Let's hope your paint has dried.” Your mother spoke from behind you “Din Djarin is in trouble. Put your armor on and meet the rest of us outside” You frowned and turned to her, it had been a while since you’d been caught in a fight. “You are no longer a child; this day would have come soon enough.” Your mother spoke before disappearing. You noticed the others running by, getting to the easy exit points. You quickly slipped your armor on stretching out a bit to make sure everything fit well before leaving in the same path you had watched the Armorer take. “You may need to fight your way there, but I want you on the Razor Crest. Whatever it is your Mandalorian has found is worth fighting for he will need help keeping safe. Understood.” Your mother commanded. “He’s not my Mandalorian.” You mumbled as you made your way out of the tunnel and into the light of day, or rather evening.

The fight had already begun by the time you had emerged from hiding. Most of the fire was in the middle of the street, leaving alleyways open and mostly safe. You ducked behind cover and moved in the shadows as you watched the rest of the Tribe come to Din’s aid. Despite his earlier qualms, you watched as Paz evened the playfield before spotting the Razor Crest. You booked it to the ship, noticing another form entering the hold. Frowning you picked up the pace, only slowing when you remembered you’d need to make a quiet entrance. You weren’t familiar with most of Navarro’s citizens, but it was hard not to recognize Greef Karga. “What do you think you’re doing here?” You asked the man, blaster at the ready. “I could ask you the same.” The man put his hands up, but you knew better than to trust his sign of surrender. You maneuvered so you were further into the hull of the ship, making sure his back was against the entrance rather than your own. “You could make this easy for the both of us and accept your defeat, but you look like a hard-way kinda guy.” Karga chuckled, shaking his head “Aren’t you a smart one?” His hands darted down to his blaster but before he could get a hot off you pulled the trigger on your own, shooting him in the chest. You watched as he flew back a bit before crumbling to the ground, an all too familiar Mandalorian facing you with a bundle in his arms. “Sorry to make a mess in your ship.” You smile at him under your helm, your blaster finding its spot at your hip. “We should go.” You made quick work of rolling the body out of the Razor Crest. “We?” Din asked, keeping the bundle of cloth close to him. “You think my mother trusts you to care for a living thing on your own.” You teased as you walked back over to him, trying to get a peek at just what was buried under all that cloth. “This isn’t your fight.” He contested, trying to find a way to get you off his ship. “It is now.” You shrugged, pushing past him and up to the cockpit.

#mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mandalorian fanfic #grogu #star wars fanfic #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian/reader #mandalorian/you #din x reader #din x you #din/you #din djarin/you #din djarin/reader

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etherealsdreaming · 6 months

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Assassins Finding Out Their S/O Is A Witch 💙

Altair Ibn La’Ahad

💙 When he learned; he wasn’t surprised one bit as everything added up, now making sense. All the late nights out, the strange herbs and things made and hidden away in your shared home. But unlike others he was more curious than fearful. In fact so much he would begin to ask questions, understand, and learn all the secrets to life, to the universe. To know that hidden knowledge. He wouldn’t be concerned about your safety knowing you have handled yourself quite fine before he met you and would find that Masyaf is one of the safest places for you where he’d be least concerned.

Connor Kenway

💙 He would be the one whose most accepting of it. Some of it is similar to what his own tribe’s beliefs and practices so he’d be the one who would help you gather materials for any spells/rituals. Even learning green witchcraft and herbalism himself. As for safety I wouldn’t think he wouldn’t be as concerned for yours seeing as the homestead is full of more trustworthy, openminded people who happen to know of Connors native and warrior like background; besides that others may see you as only a doctor. But he would warn you even on the request of Achilles in hopes you wouldn’t speak of it to others outside the safety net. But you always knew to never do such a thing.

Ezio Auditore

💙 It would depend on which Ezio we’re talking about. If he was his younger version; he would be open to it but still question your belief and the way you do things; especially if you believe in multiple existing gods. But after his meeting with Minerva he would believe there’s more to life than meets the eye. Therefore be more accepting and even curious; willing to enjoy the few moments when you open up and talk about it and even watch your work from afar. But if you aren’t in a relationship with him nor the type to fall for his charm then he may be afraid if he offended you and if you might curse him for it. Or he may ask you to do a reading on why he keeps falling into a cycle of never having love or if he ever will find love for that matter. But who knows maybe your cards indicated your future relationship together. 😉 Since it was a time when the witch trials occurred; Ezio would be fearful of your safety. You’d find him being overprotective and upset whenever you ventured out or did anything careless or in which would make you appear to be a witch. (Like if you were to heal people) But knowing you may do so anyways, to the least he would ask you to do so only near the villa and that he’d be the one gather ingredients himself.

Arno Dorian

💙 Although the witch trials declined considerably and even convicting a person difficult; it still worried him. Therefore he would still guard you from any suspicious people. On the other hand he will be confused as to why you believe yourself to be a witch. Yes, there are pieces of Eden with mystical powers. But this is different and he may appear unbelieving or not take it serious. That’s until you prove a point of his “gifts,” his abilities to see things that are not there or to witness memories through people and objects. You’d consider this his “third eye sense,” clairvoyance, or Psychometry. He would be surprised you know of it as he never told you. If not that he’ll start believing you more when he sees spells coming to fruition and your simple “knowing of things.”

#arno dorian #ezio auditore #altair ibn la ahad #assassins creed #connor kenway #ac headcanons #ac 1 #ac 2 #ac brotherhood #ac unity #ezio auditore headcanons #arno dorian headcanons #ezio auditore imagines #arno dorian imagines #connor kenway headcanons #connor kenway imagines #altair ibn la ahad headcanon #altair ibn la ahad imagine #altair ibn la'ahad

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sugarcloudsky · 9 months

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Hello it's my first time requesting so i hope i can explain it clear cause i suck at explaining :')) May i please request for a Espresso x shy, cute reader please?

Like maybe the reader is a secret admirer and always send him cute letters and sometimes flowers too :3 and one day he caught them leaving the letters/flowers for him (does that makes sense??)

I hope you're not mind of course :>>

「Spoonful of Sugar」

character: espresso cookie

wc: 2.4k

cws: possibly ooc espresso, but otherwise none

ok this took me so long to make sorry??? i kept restarting because i couldn’t get it right. i hope you like the final product ^_^!! i also focused more on espresso than reader here, since reader doesn’t show up until the very end. hope thats okay! <3

Right now, Espresso Cookie was experiencing something he was not expecting to happen to him today. Or ever, actually.

Just like every other day, he was preparing all his equipment and research data for another day of analyzing the Soul Jam at the Institute of Thaumaturgy. Another day of learning how the Soul Jam worked. Another day of studying ways to use the ancient’s Soul Jam to protect all cookies from Dark Enchantress Cookie and her forces. It was a grueling and difficult task, but one he was more than certainly up for. As long as he continues to pull all nighters, only running on at least seven cups of coffee, then he’s the most reliable worker you could ask for. This is Espresso Cookie we’re talking about, and with enough effort put in, his research will always lead to some kind of success.

Except this wasn’t exactly like every day. Unless you could count the unusually decorated envelope carefully left through the mail slot of his personal laboratory.

He had found the aforementioned mail on the floor in front of his door as he was preparing to leave. Normally, he would have most likely ended up tossing any kind of mail he received straight in the trash, but this one caught his eye. The envelope was a normal white, but after readjusting his glasses, he noticed it was... covered in sparkly stickers. At first he thought that it was sent to the wrong person, but his theory was immediately disproven when he saw his name was written in small cursive letters on the front. That is what stopped him from immediately discarding the letter.

Picking the letter up, he was about to throw it onto his desk to open later, simply going back to preparing for his daily work, but then he hesitates. The letter… it doesn’t look important, but it has still completely piqued his interest. It’s not every day that he sees a letter addressed to him, Espresso Cookie, all sparkly and decorated with cute little stickers.

He tries to tell himself that he’ll just open it whenever he gets back to his lab, however long that takes. Hours? Days? Who knows. The Soul Jam’s research requires his expertise the most. Missing even a single day of research could have dire consequences. What if the Soul Jam gets stolen? What if Dark Enchantress Cookie strikes suddenly? Anything could happen.

He sighs. It’ll only be a minute.

Espresso quietly sits down at his desk, pulling the envelope towards himself. He observes it for a moment, the silky texture of the envelope brushing against his fingers. The cute and glittery pink stickers catch his eye, as they all seem carefully and intricately placed along the white surface. But his name, which was written in slightly messy cursive, was the thing that stuck out to him the most. It seemed to be hastily written in a small red marker. Espresso Cookie let out a chuckle before he realized it.

Carefully, he tears it open. Inside he finds a single folded piece of paper gently tucked inside. The paper is creased in a very neat manner, he’s almost impressed at how perfectly square it is. He pulls the paper out and unfolds it, revealing what looks to be a letter of some sorts. He suspected such a thing, but reading the said letter was an entire different story.

It seemed to be a poem of some sort, and not just any poem, it seemed to be a love poem. A very cheesy and romantic poem, to be exact. If it was read by any person other than Espresso, they would for sure feel butterflies fluttering in their stomach and their face heating up significantly. The flowery words and the passionate language was enough to make almost any cookie’s heart throb.

At first, his only reaction was to stare blankly at the paper in front of him. He almost thought that he had misread all of the words written there. He immediately adjusted his glasses and squinted his eyes, only to realize that no, he did not in fact misread everything. This was an actual love confession, or poem. But there was one small issue:

The letter had not been signed.

Espresso Cookie practically scoffed when he noticed this. How could someone practically send their entire heart to this man, and yet not even end up signing it? He thought it was ridiculous. He promptly took a sip of the bitter coffee he loved before standing up, preparing to leave. After shoving all his belongings into a briefcase, he reaches for his doorknob to leave, but he hesitates for a brief moment. He turns around. Glancing at the letter he left on his desk, he ponders. Eventually, he sighs, pushing up his glasses before walking out the door and shutting it behind him.

He decides he won’t throw it out just yet. He needs to find out who sent it to him, after all. Such a bold letter sent to him obviously led him to wanting to know who sent it. Maybe it was someone he knew? Or maybe it was someone he never met before? Maybe when he does figure out who sent it, he could get to know them better…? Maybe it’s someone Espresso could really connect with…

Espresso shakes his head at the last thought. He didn’t have time for such affairs. He would merely do what he could to find out who wrote and sent him this letter, he would interrogate them, and that would be that. There was no need to ‘get to know them’. All of this was a waste of Espresso’s time. He didn’t need anyone sending him any kind of love letters.

Yet he could not deny the very light shade of red dusting his cheeks.

He clears his throat to recompose himself as the bright sun of the Créme Republic blinds him for a few seconds. Using his hand to shield himself, he continues to walk. He mutters and mumbles to himself, lost in thought about the small bump in the road he encountered this morning. Everything would be fine, he thought whilst shaking his head. This would not interrupt his work in the slightest. This should not interrupt his work. Nothing will change.

———

‘Everything will be fine. Nothing will change.’ came out to be somewhat of a lie.

Because Espresso Cookie had ended up receiving another letter the next week.

And the next.

…And the next.

He even received a small bouquet of flowers with one of the letters at one point, which he so kindly had placed in a small vase on his desk (he would glare at anyone who asked about it before immediately changing the subject).

So, Espresso Cookie did not really know what to do.

Each envelope he received was decorated the same as the last, with glittery stickers meticulously placed on perfectly and his name written on the front with the same handwriting each time. But every note he read was vastly different each time. They were all similar in the sense that they all were blatantly obvious love confessions. Yet, they all had their own way of making even the always stoic and tired Espresso Cookie fluster slightly, although he would never admit that to anyone.

It wasn’t until he felt himself smile at one of the letters he received that he realized he needed to figure out who was sending these letters, and fast. He needed to find out who was messing with his head like this. Who was making him feel such things. He hated it. He wanted to find out so he can finally get this whole ordeal done with. He wanted to find them, so he could tell them to stop bothering him and to stop making him feel this way with their stupidly butterfly-inducing poems. He hated it!

So, he had devised a plan. It was a simple one, really, which was something that was surprising coming from Espresso Cookie. He was relieved he wouldn’t need to ask anyone for help, especially Madeleine Cookie, because Espresso knew that Madeleine would never let him live this situation down.

It was simple: the person leaving the notes seemed to have always left them whenever Espresso was away, or when he was too busy to notice the note quietly being slipped into his mail slot. So, his plan of attack was to simply find out the time they usually come, and catch the person off guard. Catch them in the act, so he could finally find out who the mysterious admirer was. So he could finally have a word with them.

He crosses his arms, thinking about what he would say. He really wanted to scold them, to tell them to get lost, but he just couldn’t bring himself to. Not when the words on the paper written just for him were so loving and affectionate. Every note would only say kind and wonderful things about Espresso Cookie, admiring him, praising him, and more. The praises ranged from his involvement with the research of the Soul Jam, to himself. The parts that complimented his appearance is what flustered him the most, which irritated him.

So he waits. It had been quite a bit since the previous letter was sent, so he knew it would be coming soon. Espresso opted to sit down by his door, waiting patiently for the familiar little envelope to slide through the slot in his door. Since he had calculated the exact time when he expected the letter to flutter through the mail slot, he determined that it should be coming through just about… now.

…

But nothing came. That’s… strange.

He waited another few minutes.

Still nothing…

He expected to hear his mail slot clink as something slipped through it. He expected to open the door and be faced with the perpetrator. But the only thing he was faced with was silence.

This led Espresso Cookie to think. Maybe the person leaving these gifts for him finally gave up? Maybe they got tired of never getting anything back from him? A lot of ‘maybe’ questions began to pop up in his mind. At first they were simply thoughts of them finally giving up, but then it slowly turned into darker thoughts. Darker ones like ‘what if something happened to them?’ or ‘what if they got sick and are unable to leave their house?’

…What if they were attacked somehow…?

Espresso huffed at the thought, clearing his throat and readjusting his glasses. He shakes his head, reprimanding himself for worrying so much over someone he doesn't even know the face of. Yet he still couldn't stop himself from feeling even the slightest bit guilty. He just wanted to convince himself that whatever happened to you wasn’t his problem. The chances of someone being attacked and injured were very slim, the Crème Republic was far too littered with guards and police cookies to let an innocent cookie get hurt. So, no, he did not care that you weren’t showing up on time today. Not at all, nope. Not in the slightest—

The approaching footsteps cut off his thoughts.

Ah- someone’s coming… is it his landlord that he ignored all the time? Was it Madeleine coming just to annoy him? Or was it… was it the cookie he was waiting to see?

Has the cookie he had been waiting for finally arrived? If he opened the door right now, would he be met with the mysterious sender from the past few weeks? Or would he be disappointed to see someone he would rather not deal with at the moment? His plan was finally in full motion, but now he began to hesitate. Espresso didn’t know whether or not he should actually open the door and face whoever was there. As the light footsteps slowly grew closer, the man knew that he needed to make a decision, quickly.

Hand seizing the doorknob, he waits a few more moments until he hears the footsteps stop in front of his door. For a moment, there's only silence on the other side.

The moment he hears the cover of his mail slot move slightly is when he swings open his door at the speed of light. In front of him stood… you. You, a simple cookie, who was slightly shorter than him, and that was further amplified as you cowered and yelped in a startled manner.

Espresso recognizes you, he has seen you before. He’s usually noticed you on his way to the Institute during most mornings, as you’re usually seated by a fountain reading a book or scribbling on a piece of paper. It isn’t like he actually knew who you were or even spoke to you, but he knew you existed. You never bothered him or caused him trouble, so he never thought to approach you.

Standing in front of him now, with your face flushed red and your eyes wide, he realizes now that this is the closest he’s ever been to you. He takes a moment to examine you further. The clothes you’re wearing, the worried expression framed in your brows, your quivering lips, and your stiff legs. Your hands are quaking and you’re stammering apologies to him quietly.

Huh. He almost didn’t believe you were the one sending him all of those beautiful letters and lovely poems. If it weren’t for the fact that you were obviously clutching one of those said letters tightly in your hands, then he would have sighed and closed the door on your face.

But now… he knows who the perpetrator was.

…What should he do now?

“So it was you.” Espresso Cookie says bluntly. He watches as you flinch at the question.

“Ah— um, yes…”

Espresso waits for you to continue speaking, but you do not say anything else. You simply continue to hide your face from him as he stares at you blankly. Sighing, he readjusts his glasses once more.

“Shall we have a chat?”

“W— What?” Your face peeks out from behind your hands, and he can barely make out your flushed face once more.

Espresso Cookie looks at his watch, the hands ticking monotonously. He should have left the laboratory several minutes ago. Though instead of leaving you there stranded to continue his work, he decides to stay and chat with you for a bit.

He has a lot to talk about with you, after all.

#cookie run x reader #cookie run kingdom #crk x reader #fanfiction #cookie run x you #cookie run #x reader #espresso cookie #espresso cookie x reader

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deliciouskeys · 6 months

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@cozycornerkinktober's prompt #14: Forced feminization

Private Halloween (Homelander x Maeve)

Warnings: Rated E. Top the Homelander, for the most part, although definitely some sublander, whippedlander elements and some genderfuck in case the prompt wasn't a giveaway. Precanon, set in 2014. AO3 link. Directly inspired by my favorite non-HL picture of Antony Starr:

Homelander laughs. “You’re crazy if you think I’m going out in that. What do you think the tabloids would say?”

“That you’re a fun guy with a sense of humor, maybe?” Maeve exhales smoke from her vape. Their relationship has really soured over the years, and she’s pretty sure she’s just acting purely from a place of spite nowadays, testing to see how far she can go before he decides to call it quits. Apparently he’ll tolerate a lot. It’s like he’s really in love with her or at least whatever sickening twisted version of love that his mind is capable of.

“Maeve, be serious,” he says. Oh god is he actually pleading with her? Why can’t he just see that they have nothing in common, that she’s smoking to annoy him, and that she’s specifically chosen a costume he won’t wear so she can tell him how lame and cowardly he is?

“What am I supposed to be serious about? You wearing a cheerleader costume for Halloween?”

Homelander purses his lips. “If I wear this in public they’ll think I’m a pervert.”

“Good. They’ll be right.” She’s really pushing it. She better be careful lest he decide that it’s easier to laser her in half than break up with her. But the grinding of his jaw stops and to her horror instead of walking out in a huff, he puts his hands on the bed and crawls forward, insinuating himself between her legs, nudging them apart and rubbing his cheek along one of her inner thighs. She tries to draw back but he just follows her body.

“If you really want me to, I’ll wear it. Just for you.”

Jesus, he’s in this kind of mood today? The ‘I’ll do anything for you’ knight in shining armor mode? Maeve really doesn’t understand what he sees in her. She’s not only not trying to be a good girlfriend, she’s actively acting repulsive towards him. And yet here he is, looking up at her with puppy dog eyes so she’s actually tempted to pat him on the head even though he’s a 33 year old man whom she’s seen do despicable things while out on missions together. Whom she’d already firmly said no to on the topic of marriage, despite the fear that he might kill her for it.

“What do you mean just for me? In the bedroom?” It’s not a good compromise at all, but Maeve does want to see him wear the outfit.

“Mmhmm,” he mumbles, making a trail of tiny kisses up her inner thigh, getting close to her boyshorts. He’s hated boyshorts ever since he found out that’s what they were called, so she wears them every day to annoy him. But he’s stopped complaining. Whatever she tries to do to annoy him, he just seems to get used to ignoring. He’s infuriatingly adaptable that way.

“Okay, fine, put it on just for me,” she says with resignation.

Homelander goes into the bathroom to change. Of all things to be weird and shy about, he still doesn’t seem to like her watching him removing the top piece of his suit. As if she doesn’t notice the contrast between the foam padded uniform and the smaller, leaner version that emerges out of that stiff structured shell unless she sees the undressing happen in front of her. Maeve wonders if she should be thankful he has never complained about any part of her body, given how many hangups he appears to have about his own.

Homelander walks out of her bathroom, red white and blue uniform on, “USA” in bold bright letters across the chest (Maeve was kind enough to at least keep that theme consistent). He’s still smoothing out the pleated skirt. Maeve has to admit the feminine getup actually makes him look muscular and manly, because even though she got a large size, his biceps are something a woman would find hard to achieve, and his calves have an unmistakably male musculature.

“Where’s the wig?” she asks.

Homelander looks up at her with a deer in the headlights look. “I… you want that too?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Maeve says coldly but gets up off the bed. “Here let me help you with the makeup too.”

Homelander follows her back into the bathroom, looking a little bit lost, probably wondering why she wants all this from him. If none of the other hints Maeve has dropped about liking women have ever sunk in, she’s sure this one won’t either. She puts the wig on him, tucking his real hair into the scratchy cheap mesh, a blond long bob with bangs and falling just below the chin. It doesn’t look half bad on him, somehow, despite being a cheap Halloween item. Maeve makes him sit down on the toilet lid and picks up her minimalist makeup bag. He doesn’t move a muscle as she does his face. She finds it surprisingly hard to do it for someone else, all her motions feeling strange when not directed by a mirror image. But she enjoys watching Homelander sit there so obediently, ramrod straight, face impassive, only moving his eyes when she instructs him to look up at the ceiling to get his upper lashes done, or to smack his lips to spread out the lipstick.

He glances in the mirror as they walk out of the bathroom but doesn’t seem to have any opinion on her work.

“Now you can eat me out,” Maeve says, spreading herself out on the bed, taking her underwear off and tossing it on the floor. Homelander’s nostrils flare– it’s yet another thing she finds disturbing about him, the fact that he can detect her arousal and visibly inhales it deeply. At least right now they’re in the privacy of her bedroom, but he’s done it when they’ve been out and about, and she was fully clothed. She’s never called him out on it, because she’s not sure he’s aware others can see him doing it, or even that he’s doing it at all.

Homelander doesn’t put any effort into acting in any way female, but when he hooks her legs over his shoulders, buries his face into her folds, and starts sucking and licking her clit like she’d taught him all those years ago, it suddenly doesn’t matter. Looking down at him in the wig and silly cheerleader outfit she can suddenly pretend this is someone else entirely, even a different gender, and it’s an amazing turnon. Maeve leans back and moans in pleasure, and Homelander redoubles his efforts, unaware of her little mental infidelity. She’s soaking his face and he, good boy that he is, doesn’t pause much at all, sometimes running his tongue further down to slurp up what’s spilling out of her, drinking it up as if he’s parched. She’s sure he wants to bury himself deep inside her, but he knows not to make a move until her say so. That’s another bit of good manners she’s trained in him.

“You’re such a good girl,” Maeve moans out, wanting to grab him by the long hair and pull but thinking better of it since the wig will probably slide right off.

Homelander doesn’t seem fazed by the particular words she's using in praise of him and reapplies himself with more fervor, sucking on a large area while still flicking his tongue across her sensitive spots. Maeve’s eyes are hazy with pleasure but she still watches the pleated skirt slide or bounce a little bit whenever Homelander has to shift to rearrange himself. She comes loudly, gripping the sheets, squeezing his head between her thighs with crushing strength. Any mortal wouldn’t survive that kind of pressure but she knows Homelander enjoys getting his head trapped in this orgasmic vise of hers.

She was going to be cruel. She was going to put on a strapon and make him get up on her cock and bounce around on it. She was going to make him do a cheerleading chant in falsetto and spell out her name and any number of other ridiculous things. But when she looks down and sees those same puppydog, now eyeliner-lined eyes looking up at her not just hopefully but lovingly, she can’t do it. He’s so clueless and pathetic, she can’t even mock him like she wants to.

“May I?” he asks, and oh how dopey and hokey he sounds with that formal question, and she can’t deny him.

Homelander picks her up with ease, and seats her on his cock as he’s standing. Maeve doesn’t like the position– all the boring aspects of missionary, but none of the comfort of being on the bed on her back. Her feet don’t even reach the floor so she’s dangling awkwardly, held up by him, at his mercy, and with a constant reminder of how weightless she is in his arms. But she won’t tell him she hates it, because that would mean she’s lied about the five hundred previous times.

“Oh Maeve,” he says, hiking her up higher so he can bury his face into her chest. Maeve sometimes wonders if he’s a boob man but has tragically resigned himself to her B cups because she’s the only one strong enough to withstand unbridled sex with him. “I love you.”

Maeve cringes. Maybe this is the one aspect where he easily take on the traditional female role– pining for a connection, openly talking about love, naively hoping it will get reciprocated even though he’s been unquestionably rebuffed. She thinks about this as he lowers her down, easily sheathing himself into her relaxed, still aroused body, fucking up into her with ugly low grunts and inelegant jerky motions. But the wig is still on, and rather than look at his twisted, pained looking approaching-O face, Maeve chooses to focus on the blond tresses framing his face bouncing to and fro with each thrust. She focuses on the tremble of his eyelashes– already dark and enviably long to start with– now garishly enhanced with mascara. And for a moment she can pretend this is a stranger, an athletic, strong, but still feminine stranger, who’s giving her the ride of her life. Maeve can’t remember the last time she came on his cock, but she beats him to the punch this time, another orgasm rocking through her and causing her entire body to shake in his grasp. He notices and grins weakly, before returning right back to his pained, scrunched up face as his own pleasure hits him.

They lie side by side in her bed afterwards, and he doesn’t make a peep about her vaping, just all smiles and cocky little winks from time to time. She didn’t realize how happy her finishing around his cock would make him.

“You make a pretty woman,” she says, trying to reemphasize what it was that revved her up so much. “Maybe you should wear that every time we have sex.”

He snorts. “Didn’t know you were a lesbian.”

“I’m bi, actually,” she says, wondering what on earth possessed her to finally tell him bluntly. Apparently she feels intent on testing how much he’ll put up with from her.

Homelander pauses, mulling over her words, and she starts to regret them, growing apprehensive. Sometimes she forgets how easily angered he can get at others, and how much damage he can do when the mood suits him. But the long pause culminates with a simple “Good one.” He won’t listen to what he doesn’t want to hear, that’s a trait she should know well by now.

#cozy corner kinktober #homelander x maeve #maevlander #queen maeve #homelander #crossdressing #genderfuck #top the homelander #the boys #the boys tv #mystuff #fic

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verytallfox · 8 months

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THE SOUNDS OF NIGHTMARES EPISODE 4 OBSERVATIONS

CONTENT WARNING: Discussion of suffering and death of children, mention of suicide (none in super graphic detail, but you have been warned)

So tragically the Ferryman does not appear in the latest release directly. However, we do get more of Otto’s further violations of ethics. He’s getting less restrained with concealing his pursuit of the Nowhere and the Ferryman.

We also get a look at what will likely be the fairground in the upcoming third game! That was a pleasant surprise. I’ve seen a few theories that the entity described there, the man in the purple suit and his dummy, are going to be enemies in the game. I could easily see that happening!

I wonder if we’ll meet any of those children while we’re there or if they’re long gone (dead, corrupted, or escaped). It seems like they might have had an idea for how to escape the Nowhere, and I’m wondering if escape will be on the table for Low and Alone. I sure hope so. The kids torn between these two planes of existence could really use a win.

Also, it’s worth noting just how good Noone is at putting the pieces together once Otto comes clean. She states it pretty succinctly: even if he wants to help her, he’s still using her suffering to figure out how to break into this nightmarish world to save someone else. She’s a means to an end. I don’t think she has long until the Ferryman or whatever higher power he serves (more on that in a bit) comes to collect her. Her panic attack and despair were also both really painful to listen to. Poor kid.

Moving on from the episode:

I’ve seen more and more stuff on the mirrors and the theory that Otto is the Mirror Man. Lemme offer a slight alternative that might be connected or the same: what if he’s the hanging figure in the Maw? This is more of a what-if than anything. I’m going on the assumption that Otto will eventually succeed in reaching the Nowhere (which has been shown to have normal-ish looking adults here and there), get trapped, and take his own life rather than be corrupted.

This same argument can be applied to why he might be the Mirror Man: Upon reaching the Nowhere, either through the same means as the children or another supernatural means of entry he’ll find himself trapped. Maybe it will be whatever he uses to enter the Nowhere that corrupts him or maybe it will be getting stuck there for a prolonged period of time. Either way, the darkness wins in the ends.

Both are totally conjecture on my part! If he does appear, it would probably make more sense that he be linked to mirrors than the hanging guy.

Finally, onto the Ferryman! I think he does operate as a fully sapient being and I do think he’s either received or taken (perhaps by force) the power he has. He can move about the Nowhere’s interconnected planes freely. Also going off of another Tumblr poster @queen0fm0nsterz (hellooo, sorry to @ you your idea is so goddamn good), I agree that he wasn’t human to begin with.

I also agree that Otto is probably wrong to assume the Ferryman can’t reach him in his own world. At the very least, if anyone from the Nowhere could cross over it would be him.

I feel that the Ferryman does not control the Nowhere either (perhaps nothing truly does), he simply has access that most other residents do not. So is he as free as the monsters that live there can be, or is he subservient to something else? I don’t think his purpose is limited to the Maw. Honestly, I think it’s a side gig. He might not have ulterior motives but if anything it feels to me like it’s just to pay the bills figuratively speakinf.

I don’t think the Maw or the Signal Tower rule the Nowhere. They both have similar functions, just on different scales and in different environments. But they both exist to feed and feed on those with insatiable desires (presumably), and it feels like there are probably older things than them that exist there.

So in short, I believe the Ferryman has his own agenda and that he may serve something else. I simply just don’t know what that might be.

Anyway, thank you again for your post @queen0fm0nsterz !!! It was really thought provoking and I hope you share more ideas as the series goes on.

Very good episode overall! I look forward to the remainder of the series!

#the sounds of nightmares #little nightmares #the ferryman little nightmares #little nightmares 3

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cuckoo-on-a-string · 1 year

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A Year and a Day

My second piece for the Winter Solstice event!

Sandman fandom, Hob x fem!reader x Morpheus (implied future)

Warnings: language, brief violence, injury

*While you can enjoy this on its own - there's gonna be more. It's gonna be a drabble series in all likelihood.This is becoming my de-stress fic. Mostly fluff, and lots of shenanigans, so let me know what you think. <3

A Year and a Day (the first part of many)

The frigid evening wind cuts through the alley, and Morpheus feels it. He feels the cold, the broken asphalt scraping his palm, the blood cooling on his chin.

A year and a day of mortality.

He wonders if he’ll survive the first night.

As the curse had taken effect, and he’d hurtled into the waking world, he’d done all he could to aim for London. With his power bleeding away and his body closing tight around his severed awareness of the Dreaming, a single name flashed at the forefront of his thoughts: Hob Gadling. His friend. Although several mortals know enough of his nature as an Endless to be of some assistance, Hob is the only one he trusts to actually offer it.

If he does not escape this alley, however, he’ll never put that assumption to the test.

A kick lifts him away from the pavement for a moment, and he collapses on his side, coughing. The men above him loom like tall shadows, backlit by anemic streetlights. Two pounce, rifling through his pockets as he struggles to catch his breath, and he once again thanks John Dee for crushing the Dream Stone. It can never be stolen again. Never be abused. Though, apparently, he can still be parted from his power.

Once they determined he has nothing to give them, one of the searchers swears and kicks him again, this time in the back, and Morpheus arches, teeth gritted in a fresh wave of pain.

“Nothing. Man’s got nothing. No wallet. No cash. No phone.”

The third man, ostensibly the leader, stands closest to the street, pointing a knife to warn their victim against screaming in case Morpheus should recover the wind they’ve kicked from his lungs. He shakes his head. “Dressed like that? Whatever. Coat’s worth something at least. Looks nice. Check again. Rich assholes have hidden pockets – hollow shoes, you know, like on tv.”

The hands return. Rougher. Grabbing and pushing as they try to work his arms out of his coat without letting him up from the pavement. Still breathless, he bares his teeth, reaching for abilities stripped from his grasp. He can’t even sense them. His mind is mortal, too, at least as much as it can be, and he’s left to his assailants’ mercy as he fights to regain his equilibrium.

But he has a long memory, and he will remember their faces. They may not pay for their insult tonight, but they will in due course. He promises them silently. He promises himself.

A flash of light illuminates the alley. Two more. Three more bursts of sun. Like lightning without thunder, without rain or clouds.

All three men turn to look at the source just as a clear, feminine voice calls from the opposite end of the alleyway, “I just sent pictures with all your faces to my friend.”

The one with the knife manages three long strides before the voice stops him.

“If anything happens, my friend will show them to the police. Oh, and I just dialed 999, so I suggest you scarper.”

A suggestion. Through his pain, Morpheus smirks.

Highway robbery is an often romanticized but a less than rewarding career. It has always been thus, but desperation and idiocy lead men down familiar paths, from one eon to the next. These robbers freeze like deer when the woman flicks on her phone’s flashlight, giving the scene a more permanent illumination. More prey than predator. Aggressive when they had the upper hand, certainly, when it was three against one. But they hadn’t planned on an interruption, and now a third party they can’t threaten with their knives and knuckles has their faces. Their true colors leak through.

The quiet one who’s been searching him twists away from the light and runs.

“Fuck this.”

That’s the second.

The ringleader stands his ground long enough to make a weak pass at intimidation.

“Bitch.”

The woman behind the light shrugs, the tell-tale light lifting with her shoulders. “Twat.”

For a moment, Morpheus thinks the man will charge her. He angles his head down and spreads his feet, like he’ll take his chances and sprint over to stick his knife in her throat.

This time, Morpheus hears the phone’s camera app click, and the last attacker bolts after his friends. Too much evidence, not enough loot to justify the risk. An old tale often repeated.

The immediate danger has passed.

He has a destination in mind, but he finds himself struggling to rise. Every ache and burn lingers as he leverages his hands under his chest, pushing himself up to his knees and groaning from the effort.

Light steps approach. Not running. Not hesitant, either. Purposeful.

A hand with short, black nails appears before his eyes. He looks up, blinking away the runny watercolor blur from his eyes to find his savior of the hour, a small woman in a flower-print sundress – thick leggings below and a heavy sweater above to ward off the cool breath of autumn. A strange knight errant, but he is hardly in a position to choose.

Still, he does not take her hand.

Pulling himself upright inch by agonizing inch, he cradles his bruised ribs and offers a brief nod to express his gratitude. Though he is short on options, he is shorter on trust. Mortals are treacherous, often without meaning to be, and he is painfully aware of his vulnerability.

“I dialed but didn’t connect to 999,” she confesses, looking directly into his eyes, ignoring the wounds on his face or his ginger stance. “Do you need me to call an ambulance? Family? What do you need?”

He needs Hob Gadling. And possibly medical attention. In that order. How far can he depend on this little stranger to aid him?

“Thank you.” He scrutinizes her, frowning, and she bears it unflinchingly, waiting for him to choose his course. Her squared shoulders and tilted chin suggested she’ll help him down whichever path he chooses. His pride rages against the idea, but his very mortal body feels like it may collapse if the breeze pushes any harder.

He cannot call to mind everything he would know about this tiny hero if he were fully himself, but a whisper of an impression lingers. An extra sense. The three men jumped him before he could pick up anything from them, and all he’d gathered during the assault was the anxiety and anger fueling their rage. But now – now he has a moment, and she has a core of moonstone. A fixed, determined thing all but glowing with dreams and hope.

Decided, he speaks quietly, wary of the new hurts along his abdomen, careful not to aggravate them further. “I am trying to reach the New Inn. My friend, Robert Gadling still owns it, I believe.”

Her eyes light up, and she presses half a step closer. He nearly flinches away, startled by the spark of enthusiasm.

“Hob?” She lifts her phone.

She has Robert Gadling’s name in her phone as “Hob Goblin” and something sparks in his chest that isn’t jealousy.

As she waits for the call to go through, phone pressed to ear, she says, “I was actually on my way there. We’re just a couple blocks away. I’ll help you, but I should give Hob a head’s – Hey! Hob, I – No, I’m fine. There’s – Yes, I’m sure. I just ran into – Hon, I love you, but shut the fuck up. Sorry. Yeah. Bumped into a friend of yours, and he’s a little roughed up. Asked for you, so I thought I’d bring him to the New Inn. Wanted to give you advance warning… Okay. See you in a minute.”

The endearments course naturally through the dialogue, and he wonders what he has missed in Hob Gadling’s past year. But when she hangs up and stashes the phone away in her messenger bag, she gives Morpheus a brilliant smile, like all is well and they’re simply on their way to visit a mutual friend.

“Alright. Let’s get you to the Inn. Would you mind leaning on me?”

The nature of the question makes it easy to agree. He lets her pull his arm over her shoulders, and one little hand settles on his back, like she has the strength to support them both if he stumbles.

They work their way down the quiet street, and she doesn’t fight the silence. Their steps and breath mingle with the hoots of nightbirds, distant arguments, and the occasional passing car. She does not ask him why he is on his way to the New Inn, though she clearly had plans of her own with the owner. She does not demand he waste his breath assuring her he is well when he clearly is not. They walk together, and she makes sure he does not trip and fall on the way.

It is appreciated.

When they reach the New Inn, Hob meets them at the door, eyes wide but unsurprised when Morpheus manifests out of the gloom with his small, colorful crutch.

“It is you.” He rushes out to assume the savior’s burden and helps Morpheus into the empty bar. It’s well past closing, he assumes. “I thought it might be, but I wasn’t – what happened?”

Morpheus glances sidelong at the young woman lingering near the door, and she catches the look, quickly straightening with a fresh smile for Hob and excuse to disappear on her lips.

“I’ll head up now. You two must have… a lot… to – let me know if you need anything.”

She moves to the back of the establishment and slips through a door marked “Private.”

Morpheus turns his look on Hob as the man pulls a first aid kit from behind the counter. His son died in a pub brawl, he recalls. The kit is extensive, and while Morpheus is glad to know he does not need a defibrillator or some of the other supplies contained within, a newly-familiar warmth blooms as he considers his friend.

His injuries, though painful, are not serious enough for a hospital. Hob assures him no ribs are broken after a careful series of pressing touches over his chest, back, and sides. The former soldier finds no evidence of internal bleeding, either.

“I’d suggest we go anyway,” he says, apologetic as he sorts through his collection of salves and bandages, “but I don’t think you have an ID or, you know, the kinds of things they’d ask about. In a hospital. And I doubt you want the police involved.”

“No.”

“Right. Okay. Right.” He flounders, clearly unsure of himself as he tries to care for the entity he still knows so little about. “Well, this should be good enough. We can sort something out down the line if…”

The silence pulls taught over the rustle of Hob’s work, and the whole man’s face is bent in concentration. Morpheus can see the thoughts ticking over his open face. Wondering if he can ask. Wondering what to ask.

“What happened?”

What indeed. There is another story, a long one, one he will not share at this time. He does not feel he has earned this punishment, and he will not give another room to comment.

“A curse.”

“What?”

“I am mortal, Hob Gadling. For a year and a day.”

“That’s…” Hob has to stop and think before new words will grow on his tongue, and Morpheus takes the initiative to press ahead.

“I had thought I may ask for your assistance during this time,” he explains. His eyes turn towards the ceiling. “But…”

Hob snaps back to himself, shaking his head and overflowing with reassurances. “You’re more than welcome to stay! I have a guest room in my flat. She doesn’t live with me. Not really. She’s in the smaller flat, and – uh – yes, you are more than welcome to stay. Please.”

So Hob has not taken another wife. It would be a strange arrangement for a courting couple as well, and he fixes on the topic as a distraction from the way his heart beats in his bruises. “Who is she?”

Hob murmurs her name with a smile, flicks his eyes to meet Morpheus’s, and clears his throat. “Well, she’s a friend. We met online, playing games during the pandemic, and she was on the other side of the Atlantic, so I started staying up all hours just to make sure I caught her.”

Adjusting his position in his chair, he leans in, full of a story, and despite the terrible evening he’s had, Morpheus finds himself falling back into old habits. Here they sit in a tavern, the Endless listening to the immortal man’s continuing life story.

“It was just so easy with her. Talking. Playing. Just enjoying ourselves. And then, about three months ago, she told me she was coming to England for work. Asked if I’d like to meet. And I had the empty flat, and I thought… why not? So here she is. Here we are. And,” he chuckles to himself, a smile pulling his face into its sweetest shape, “I don’t really know what to do with myself.”

Morpheus doubts that very much as he holds the man in a steady gaze.

It is strange.

He cannot know her as he would usually know a mortal, but she treats him with the ease of a friend, and as soft creaking above reveals her as she goes about her business, he feels the lines of a story twisting into new forms, as they had many hundreds of years ago when a foolish mortal declared in the presence of Death herself that he wouldn’t die.

Well. He has a year and a day to understand.

#winter solstice writing event #longest night stories #morpheus x reader #hob gadling x reader #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus x hob gadling x reader #ace!reader

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faterpresources · 1 year

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Wɪᴛᴄʜ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ Hᴏʟʏ Nɪɢʜᴛ - Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 1 : Sᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇ Oɴᴇ - Sᴇɴᴛᴇɴᴄᴇ Sᴛᴀʀᴛᴇʀs

A collection of random lines compiled from the game Witch on the Holy Night (Mahōtsukai no Yoru ,also known as Mahoyo) Feel free to change the pronouns in order to better suit the parts involved. Warning: some crude language

❝ You're in a foul mood today. ❞

❝ I'm like this every day. ❞

❝ You're not mad, are you? ❞

❝ You could have woken me up.❞

❝ He/she wasn't very talkative.❞

❝ Oops. I think I broke him/her. ❞

❝ Oh well. At least it's not boring. ❞

❝ What's happening in twenty minutes? ❞

❝ I guess this means you got the call. ❞

❝ Am I really this angry for no reason? ❞

❝ Your jokes and metaphors aren't helping. ❞

❝ You're a real piece of work, you know that? ❞

❝ And none of that answered my question: why me? ❞

❝ … There sits atop that hill a haunted house. ❞

❝ I'm bad at faking smiles. But I'll do my best. ❞

❝ I can't imagine any other reason you'd call me. ❞

❝ The cat gave me one of his leftover deliveries. ❞

❝ …Not that it has anything to do with the, though.❞

❝ Another world in the mountains doesn't sound so bad. ❞

❝ What am I doing? I'm leaving for my job, that's what. ❞

❝ You do know that this window isn't an exit, don't you!? ❞

❝ Do we really have to go there? Why can't dead stay dead? ❞

❝ Oh, dear. Would you stop glaring at me like that already? ❞

❝ Let's not. Even I can think of a few mundane explanations. ❞

❝ … Even mosquitoes have the grace to buzz off eventually. ❞

❝ Wow. Not only did it break, it vanished without a trace… ❞

❝ I'd like a nice uneventful dream for two hours, thank you. ❞

❝ Hey, you're scaring me, __ . I was joking. Go easy, okay? ❞

❝ Life without electricity… I don't even want to imagine it. ❞

❝ By the time time I got back, it had vanished without a trace. ❞

❝ Something came up this morning, and I was called into school. ❞

❝ If this was all a joke to you, perhaps I should just go home. ❞

❝ It's the lack of something between your ears that's dangerous. ❞

❝ Yes, they called me at home about an hour ago, out of the blue… ❞

❝ I don't know if he/she just lacks an imagination or never uses it. ❞

❝ … Whether good or bad, this too shall pass, so the saying goes.❞

❝ Yes, but he/she has… how should I put it? Difficult circumstances. ❞

❝ Looks like I've still got a long way to go… Go ahead, laugh it up. ❞

❝ Look. Let me spell it out for you, because you're just not getting it. ❞

❝ Guess I'm one to talk. I came from a pretty traditional household myself.❞

❝ I'm more worried about the person doing it than their reasons, personally.❞

❝ Hmm. There are a few things off about that. Maybe we should break it down. ❞

❝ They made me show this transfer student around, and it took up my whole day. ❞

❝ Well, he/she was a weirdo all right. You two would probably hit it off great. ❞

❝ … Oh my god, I almost died. Who would put an exit here!? This is dangerous. ❞

❝ Well, it is a haunted house, I suppose. It's too large for just the two of us. ❞

❝ I personally would have just gone up to them and asked them what they were doing. ❞

❝ Nope. He'd heard of them, but this is apparently his/her first time visiting one. ❞

❝ He/She's almost -what would you call it- feral? Like a boy/girl raised by wolves. ❞

❝ If I got mad every time you broke something, there would be no end to the fighting. ❞

❝ I couldn't care less about him/her. I'm just worried he'll/she'll screw up somehow. ❞

❝ About that. Do you wanna tell me what the hell is going on? Because I have no clue. ❞

❝ The universe seems determined to keep me from having the occasional luxury without you.❞

❝ Most people can't handle your scowl. It wouldn't hurt you to be a little more tolerant. ❞

❝ Huh, I had no idea he/she was into that sort of thing. He/she had a great sense of humor. ❞

❝ … Looking back on it now… It's like my whole life has been one disaster after another. ❞

❝ Oh, I know. I just wanted to save some time. But thanks. I'll be more careful from now on. ❞

❝ Sorry, but I'm not in the mood for pleasantries. Time is short, so let's get this over with. ❞

❝ Really? That's a relief… I really mean it. It's good to know you're not good at everything. ❞

❝ I believe in you and all, but I'll say it again. Be nice, okay? Can you at least try to smile? ❞

❝ It's rare to see you so judgmental. It is really worth getting worked up over someone like that? ❞

❝ Wait, wait. I didn't mean to laugh. This is not a practical joke. We could really use your help. ❞

❝ I wanted to ask - why are you so angry? Is it your line of business? Or does it run in your family? ❞

❝ Do you have any idea why a man-sized cat…would be riding around town…delivering meals to people? ❞

❝ Maybe if you didn't ask so many questions, we'd be done by now. It's a miracle it's still light out. ❞

❝ I thought it was clear that if either of us got food we would bring enough home for the other person! ❞

❝ I could be wrong about this, but you seem upset about something. You're not a morning person, are you? ❞

❝ Ugh, what is it about today? Is it just my luck, or what? At this rate I'm due a temple visit, just to be safe.❞

❝ That makes sense. I don't know why you'd want to do it that way, but I get it's a faster way to express yourself. ❞

❝ A delivery cat riding through neighborhoods in the evening. Sounds like something straight out of a fantasy story. ❞

❝ It's not your imagination. I am angry and anyone could see that in my eyes. It's easier than trying to make conversation. ❞

❝ I already know I'm not the friendliest-looking person in the world, but I can't just make myself smile at the drop of a hat. ❞

❝ People here don't normally enter and exit through windows, okay? You should probably remember this information for future reference. ❞

❝ Anyway… he/she at least seemed to grasp most of what I told him/her the first time around, so I suppose he's/she's not a complete idiot. ❞

❝ By "last time" you mean… The time you went into the city and ate sushi but only came back with a plastic full of convenience store food? That time? ❞

❝ I hate him/her already. He's/She's my sworn enemy and I haven't even met him/her. Sorry, but I couldn't care less about his/her extenuating circumstances! ❞

#Mahoutsukai no Yoru #mahoyo #type moon #Witch on the Holy Night #rp meme #roleplay meme #roleplay ask meme #rp ask meme #ask meme #sentence starters #writing prompts #dialogue prompt #visual novel #original

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phantasmiafxndom · 1 year

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Tokyo Revengers: Hybrid Au Info [02]

Next up, cat boys! This is the same kind of info post as the first one, just with a different group of characters. I resisted the urge to put more... nsfw stuff in all of them jskhjgs.

[Part 1] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6]

. . .

Matsuno Chifuyu — Shorthair Cat

Physical

Black-furred, triangular ears that are highly sensitive, both in terms of hearing and contact. Likes to be petted more than he’ll admit.

Long tail with matching short, black fur. It puffs up when he’s agitated and he doesn’t appreciate people touching it. Its movements give away his emotions easily, especially irritation and fear.

Sharp teeth and nails. While he’s not the strongest, his claws are capable of doing some serious damage.

Significantly more flexible than a normal human, and can hold highly uncomfortable-looking positions for long enough to be a bit eerie. He’s not exactly aware of this, nor how odd some of his comfortable resting poses look to humans.

Behavioral

Strong prey drive— when things move, his eyes are following, and the instinct to pounce on or bat at said moving object gets embarrassing.

Fairly territorial, especially toward other hybrids, but can be far more accepting once he sees someone as part of his group. Likes to be close to a select few, but tends to be standoffish toward strangers.

His purr is rough and somewhat low and comes out quickly whenever he’s relaxed and feeling safe. It’s usually coupled with the instinctive urge to knead at the nearest soft surface, but he’ll only let that happen when he’s half-asleep and too out of it to resist the impulse.

Doesn’t trust easily, humans least of all, but still has some highly shameful fantasies about living a comfortable, spoiled life.

. . .

Hanemiya Kazutora — Tiger

Physical

Small, rounded ears with an orange and black, striped pattern. They’re fluffy on the insides and soft-furred, and he’ll flinch away if anyone tries to touch them.

Long, thin tail with a matching pattern of black and orange stripes. It’s fairly sturdy, but he’s used to people pulling it and being rough.

Teeth and nails are much stronger and sharper than a normal human’s. His claws can do a lot of damage, which doesn’t mix well with his constant tension and tendency to lash out at anyone or anything that gets too close.

Keen senses, especially night vision and smell. Dislikes loud, bright, crowded places, and gets agitated when overwhelmed.

Behavioral

Has a distinct awareness of his “territory”, and doesn’t like having to leave it. New places make him highly uncomfortable, and as a result, more prone to lashing out.

Possessive and territorial over anyone he gets attached to— though he’s never had anyone to be attached to before.

As an “exotic” species of hybrid, he’s been kept as more of a trophy piece than anything. The isolation made his mental state fragile, so now, he can’t handle unfamiliar situations or much socialization. Terribly attention-starved, nonetheless.

Very playful, though his definition of “play” tends to be rough. Needs a lot of mental stimulation and entertainment.

. . .

Kokonoi Hajime — Siamese Cat

Physical

Relatively large, graceful, triangular cat ears in a dark shade of brown, almost black. Extremely soft-furred and delicate, with a texture resembling fine velvet. Petting them will result in a purr— one that he’ll make every attempt to hide.

Long, slender tail with pale, off-white fur toward the base. The white quickly fades to the same dark brown color as his ears. The tail is very thin and fragile, and pulling it hurts horribly.

Very sharp nails that naturally grow in points. Sharper teeth than a human, with particularly notable canines.

Rough tongue. He has a habit of leaving it poking out of his mouth a bit, though he’s rarely aware he’s doing it.

Behavioral

Can make a variety of meowing, mewing, and “chirping” noises… and they tend to slip out involuntarily when he wants attention. Prone to talking a lot, in general, especially a nervous habit.

Shy with new people and environments, though he’ll do everything possible to hide how nervous he gets.

Has the classic cat-hybrid purr. His is fast and high-pitched, sounding somewhere between frantic and highly affectionate. Physical affection is guaranteed to draw out the sound, though he’s endlessly embarrassed about that.

Needs a lot of sleep. Is not getting anywhere near enough. Tends to be too stressed to rest properly, even when he knows he should.

#Tokyo Revengers #TokRev #Chifuyu #Matsuno Chifuyu #Kazutora #Hanemiya Kazutora #Koko #Kokonoi Hajime #Info #TokRev Hybrid Au

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hana-no-seiiki · 1 year

Text

YANDERE CASHIER x HOST CLUB WORKER! READER

GUEST IS GOD SERIES BLURB

Reader is Gender Neutral

status: edited

Ynaël was not having the greatest time of his life. He had taken overtime so that he could earn more money and therefore leave his excessively religious parents faster.

Living with them was a drag. His lungs were basically filled with smoke from all the incense they’d burn. All his academic achievements lay to rot as they’d never turn their attention away from their god.

His lack of sleep was apparent on his visage, but did little to hide his attractiveness. His crimson eyes shone despite the horrid amount of hours it had been kept wide open, his fluffy hair remained silky despite the few days he’d miss a bath.

Really, if he weren’t stuck in the worst parts of the city he would have probably been scouted as a model.

That was where you came in.

Your boss had entrusted you with the task of scouting for new victims he could add to his employment. Like you were going to help that creep. Still, you couldn’t imagine the things he’d do if you came up empty handed for the nth time so you’ve been watching over this cute cashier the past few days.

You had flirted with many clients, had been ‘employee of the month’ for years now. But you still couldn’t handle actually approaching normal people. At least in the host club, you knew the clients you’d meet would be there for you, but with regular old joes?

Nope. All that confidence and charm you’ve perfected just vanishes.

You took a deep breath in and decided to just wing it. What’s the worst that could happen? You trip right in front of the door, after taking just one step in?

Yeah, yeah that happened.

As you groaned in pain, you watch as Ynaël stared at you. Unmoving.

Oh he’d be a great addition to your team.

You continued on with your operation by… by not interacting with him at all and just plain window shopping.

While staring daggers right through him.

Ynaël wasn’t a stranger to people ogling him. But you were kind of adorable with how you’d immediately panic the moment he even began to tilt his head.

You seemed to be well put together despite your personality saying otherwise. Your fashion sense was impeccable, unlike many of the people who came through here. Ynaël even bets that you were at least wearing two designer pieces. He’d gotten used to spotting those with all the rich kids he goes with at University.

At last you finally approach him, and the cash register.

With an abnormally large amount of condoms and other contraception based items . . . and a pack of mint.

You . . . must have an incredibly lucky significant other . . .

“That would be 549.99.” After a while of silence and no money being handed to him, he peeled his eyes off of the large amount.

You stared at him. Almost jealous at how effortlessly handsome the guy was.

“Ahem. Keep the change.” You drop a whole stack of bills and scurried off.

Baffled, it took him a while to spot the business card you left as well.

The Guest is God Host Club Welcomes You.

You must be using those items you bought for your job. No wonder you were basically boring holes into him with your eyes.

He knew Host Clubs didn’t really involved anything sexual, but he guesses that someone as stunning as you probably had a lot of clients incapable of keeping their hands to themselves.

He supposed that with a cutie like you working there he should try it out right?

I mean, this stack of cash has to go somewhere . . . he could probably just earn what he needs to move out later on.

Yeah. Yeah! He’ll do just that.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagine #yandere imagines #yandere one shot #yandere fic #yandere original character #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc imagine #oc x reader #original character x reader #yandere fiction #guest is god #the guest is god

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bloody-bee-tea · 7 months

Text

BeeTober 2023 Day 5 - Passing of time

Albedo comes to with a groan and immediately wishes he wouldn’t because there’s white hot agony all over, burning him alive and making it hard to form a coherent thought.

He tries to blink his vision clear but there’s a veil over it and it takes him a moment too long to realize that it is probably blood. Albedo still tries a few more times until he at least can make out some things around him.

There’s white all around and Albedo puzzles over this until he remembers that this is probably Dragonspine. It has to be, right?

He wrecks his brain, trying to remember what happened but it’s all in bits and pieces in his mind.

There was his laboratory at some point, and a loud explosion and noise, though Albedo isn't sure about the order of things. Did an experiment of his gone wrong?

Albedo closes his eyes, trying to take a deep breath but something is stopping him from doing so. He tries to raise his arm, wanting to check his chest but not even that is working.

He blinks his eyes open again, surprised to find that things have gone dark around him. It makes no sense because it was just blindingly white but when he spots a star in what he assumes to be the sky he realises that it has turned night.

This is not good. He’s losing time, it seems, and he still doesn’t know where he is or what happened. He tries for his hand again but when he still can’t move it he turns his head.

It turns out he’s on the ground, flat on his back and he feels a bit better having figured out his own position even if everything else is still a mystery. The agony is still present, filling every part of him but Albedo thinks it’s been so long that it barely even registers anymore.

It takes him a few tries, blinking his eyes rapidly before his vision finally focuses and he sees why he can’t move his hand.

Makes sense, he thinks, with the stones burying him. It also makes much more sense why he can’t seem to take a deep breath because everything from his ribcage downward is crushed, apparently. Huh. Maybe he’s not in enough pain after all, Albedo thinks and despite the spark of worry he loses a bit of time again.

It’s light again when he can focus next time and he’s unsure if it’s a blessing or a curse that he’s not human. The agony is still there, as is the stone on top of him, and he figures a normal human would have long died. Not so Albedo.

It barely matters to his body that he can’t breath properly and that he’s steadily leaking blood still—is that another thing to worry about?—and that most of his form is probably nothing more than a shapeless mush by now.

Albedo would prefer if he stopped feeling pain at some point, though, because the agony is making it hard to think.

He still doesn’t quite remember how he ended up here, but the snow around him reminds him yet again that he must be on Dragonspine and that means help is a long way out. People don’t tend to look for him when he leaves for one of his expeditions to Dragonspine and it’s not as if he’s still in his lab where people would go first.

Kaeya might come for me, he thinks but between one blink and the next, between light and dark, that thought is lost as well.

The passing of time is strange for him; he knows that time must pass based on the fact that sometimes it’s day and sometimes it’s not but it doesn’t feel like it at all. He’s still crushed, he’s still trapped and he’s still in so much pain that his mind is hazy.

At one point Albedo remembers that he has a geo vision—something that should potentially help him with the stone crushing him into the ground but he can’t muster the strength or concentration to access that power. He doesn’t even know if the vision is still with him or if it’s been crushed like everything else.

This is not good at all and the despair he suddenly feels is enough to even overshadow the pain. What if this is how it’s going to be from now on. He’ll stay here, body crushed and broken, unable to do anything, neither decaying nor rotting and definitely not dying.

Albedo thinks he’d definitely prefer death over that.

The thought brings a spark of anger with it, because he was supposed to do things, still; Klee is not nearly old enough to look after herself and he still hasn’t finished his Master’s assignment and Kaeya—

Albedo was looking forward to seeing where things with him might go and now he’s stuck on this mountain, neither dead nor alive and it’s unfair. It’s unfair enough that the spike of his blood pressure—of the little he has left and is he regenerating blood perpetually?—makes him pass out again.

It’s dark once more when he comes to and there’s a sound in the air, something Albedo can’t quite place. It drifts in and out again and by the time he realises that it’s his name he hears it’s already light again.

Albedo opens his mouth, trying to call out to whoever it is calling his name, but he’s not sure his mouth is even moving. There’s certainly no sound coming out of him and he distantly wonders if the seeping of his blood will be enough to alert anyone to his position.

It probably isn’t, Albedo thinks desperately and he wonders if the people looking for him will leave without ever finding him, dooming him to haunt the mountain as a ghost made of agony. He wonders if he’ll be a beating heart forgotten in the snow, like Durin and the thought of joining his brother like that is almost comforting.

Comforting enough that the next shout of his name has him flinch, making his body light up with pain. He thinks he lets out a groan, or maybe just a silent breath but he can’t be sure.

Albedo closes his eyes and concentrates on his ears for a change, trying to figure out what’s going on around him.

His ears work better than the rest of his body, it seems, or maybe the wind is just strange in this part of the mountain, because he can hear quite clearly.

“Kaeya, it’s getting dark again,” Albedo hears someone say, and he has a hard time putting a face to the voice.

“I don’t care,” Kaeya’s voice gives back and Albedo likes to imagine that he might be worried about him.

They have to be looking for him if they are shouting his name, right?

“It’s dangerous in the dark,” the other voice insists again and a face flashes in front of Albedo’s eyes.

Bennett. That’s Bennett talking, he thinks and that gives him a little comfort. At least Kaeys is not going to freeze to death on this mountain with Bennett in tow.

“It is, so if he’s out there somewhere, then he’s in danger, too!”

“It’s been so long, though,” Bennet cautiously says. “Maybe—”

“Shut up,” Kaeya snaps at him and Albedo wants to chastise him for being mean to Bennett. “I’m not leaving before I find him.”

Albedo can’t move a muscle in his body but he can identify the stubborn streak in Kaeya’s voice. He’s not going to leave here and he won’t let Bennett leave without finding Albedo.

Albedo needs to alert them somehow if he wants them to return to the safety of the city. And with Kaeya on the mountain, who is even looking after Klee at the moment?

The thought of Klee being on her own, of Kaeya being stuck on this mountain sends a jolt of panic through him and it gives him just enough energy to focus back on his body. So far he’s concentrated on his right arm—it’s the one he uses most, after all—but now he extends his focus. His left arm isn’t completely trapped like the right one and Albedo uses that tiny little spark inside of him to press his fingers into the ground.

It doesn’t feel like much, doesn’t feel like anything at all and of course it’s not enough to summon a complete isotoma but he knows he did something when there’s a golden glow.

It vanishes after a few precious seconds and with it Albedo’s strength and he can just hope that it is enough.

“Did you see that?” Kaeya asks and Albedo wants to weep.

I’m here, he desperately thinks, hoping to somehow imprint his thoughts onto Kaeya but he can barely keep his focus.

Just that little bit of movement had cost him everything and he can’t even keep his eyes open anymore.

“I didn’t see anything,” Bennett gives back, his voice growing fainter with the second and if Albedo could he would cry.

“There was something. Go back if you want, but I’m not leaving before I checked it out,” Kaeya replies and his voice in contrast is getting clearer by the second.

He must be coming closer, right? He must find Albedo, he must end this agony, there’s no other choice. Albedo can’t contemplate what it would mean if Kaeya leaves now.

“Captain, I don’t think—holy fuck!”

“Albedo,” Kaeya’s voice breathes out, and Albedo wants to frown at the tremor in it.

They found him, right, they must have, so why does Kaeya sound like that? Albedo wants to open his eyes, check if they are really there with him, but he’s tired. He’s so tired and getting his lids to open requires more strength than he has so he contents himself with listening to Kaeya’s voice.

He could die to worse sounds.

“Albedo, can you hear me?” Kaeya’s voice asks and it sounds close and scared and that last part is enough for Albedo to flutter his eyes open.

Kaeya is not supposed to be scared.

“He’s alive,” Bennett says. “I’m going to heal him, step back.”

“No, don’t,” Kaeya rushes out and Albedo wants to cry out. Healing means less pain, so why would he stop him? Doesn’t he know that Albedo is nothing but pain? “The rock—if you heal him before we move it, he’ll just be crushed again. Where’s Noelle?”

“She—Captain, everyone else returned to the city already,” Bennett carefully says and Albedo thinks that everyone else was really smart.

Nights on Dragonspine are dangerous and it is night again, right? He tries to look at the sky to check but everything around him is dark again and Albedo figures he must have closed his eyes again and he doesn’t think opening them once more isn’t worth it.

“Well, we have to do something, we can’t just leave him like that! Albedo, do you hear me?” There’s barely controlled panic in Kaeya’s voice and Albedo would love to reassure him that he’s listening but his body isn’t cooperating.

“We have to get that rock off him, no matter what,” Kaeya decides. “Bennett, be ready to heal him.”

“What are you going to do?” Bennett asks and it’s a good question, Albedo thinks, because even though his body has long gone numb he can still feel the excruciating brittle cold that suddenly engulfs him.

“Everything shatters if it’s cold enough,” Kaeya presses out and there’s an ominous crack in the air.

Albedo tries to open his eyes to see what Kaeya is doing but it feels as if his body has turned to ice. He’ll just have to trust that whatever it is is helping him.

“Get ready,” Kaeya pants, the cracking growing more frequent with every second.

There’s the sound of something akin to glass splintering, followed by the absence of pressure on Albedo before there’s a small explosion and then Albedo is certain that his body has been replaced with agonizing white-hot fire.

It’s bad enough that a scream is ripped from his throat and he loses time again, his mind unable to comprehend what is happening.

“Just a moment longer,” he hears Kaeya’s voice through the blood rushing in his ears and the pain slicing through his brain and Albedo clings to that.

Kaeya is there. Kaeya is promising him that it will stop.

And it does stop, but it feels as if it takes an eternity. When the pain recedes, Albedo finds that he can open his eyes again.

“Albedo, can you hear me?” Kaeya asks again and this time Albedo manages a tiny nod.

It seems to have been the right answer because the relief is clear on Kaeya’s face.

“Bennett, can you do it again?” Kaeya asks without taking his eyes off Albedo and Albedo can’t find it in him to look away either.

“Gimme a moment,” is Bennett’s answer and Albedo sees Kaeya nod.

“You’ll be alright, Albedo, you hear me? I’ve got you, you’re going to be fine.”

Albedo trusts Kaeya, trusts his voice, trusts him with his life and so he manages a small smile before everything goes dark.

~*~*~

When Albedo comes to it’s to softness all around him and a careful hand engulfing his. Albedo’s mind is hazy, but he does remember that the last time he was awake things were radically different and his inquiring nature wins out over his exhaustion.

He opens his eyes and isn’t met with a starry night sky or the burning sun but instead with a wooden ceiling.

Albedo blinks at it for several times before he finds it in him to turn his head and he’s not quite surprised to find a slumped Kaeya next to him.

It’s his hand holding Albedo’s and the warmth rushing through him is almost enough to send him back to unconsciousness.

He’s back home. Kaeya has found him, has saved him and Albedo is back home.

Albedo manages to squeeze Kaeya’s hand and it’s enough to wake him up. He shoots up, his eye big and scared but when he finds Albedo looking back at him he deflates.

“Albedo,” he breathes out and carefully squeezes Albedo’s hand back. “How do you feel?”

“Shit,” Albedo croaks out, surprised that his voice manages even that much and he panics when he sees tears gather in Kaeya’s eyes.

“You scared me,” Kaeya admits, carding his fingers through Albedo’s hair. “Does anything hurt? Blink once for yes and twice for no.”

“No,” Albedo says, stubborn as anything and it’s enough to make Kaeya chuckle, though his voice is wet.

“Stubborn bastard,” Kaeya mutters. “Though I guess I should be thankful for that, otherwise you’d probably be dead by now.”

Albedo’s memory is still trying to catch up to everything but he remembers with sudden clarity how he passed out at the unfairness of leaving Kaeya before they could even try to define this thing between them and he needs for this to never happen again.

“Love you,” Albedo manages to get out, forcing his body to give voice to his thoughts in case something else happens and Kaeya doesn’t know.

The though is unacceptable to Albedo.

He regrets his choice when the tears spill over but he figures it’s okay when Kaeya smiles at him.

“I love you, too, but you need to rest more. I’ll be here, I promise, but you’re still weak.”

“No pain,” Albedo reminds him again, kind of amazed by that himself after what must have been days of constant agony.

“That’s good, but it doesn’t change the fact that you’re weak,” Kaeya gives back and cups Albedo’s cheek in his hand. “So sleep some more. At least enough to converse in complete sentences, okay?”

It’s a reasonable demand Albedo guesses but he remembers how he lost time in the mountain and he’s not keen on doing it again. Some of that must have shown on his face because Kaeya’s gaze gentles.

“It’s okay. You’re back home, and I’m here. Nothing will happen to you. You can sleep, I promise.”

“Stay,” Albedo still says, as if Kaeya would ever lie to him but Kaeya doesn’t seem offended at all.

“I will. I’m right here.”

It’s enough reassurance for Albedo and he almost immediately falls into a deep sleep, secure in the knowledge that when he wakes up again, things will be right again.

#bt writes #genshin impact #kaebedo #albedo #kaeya #bennett #angst #serious injury #trauma #blood #love confessions #rescue #hurt/comfort #homunculus albedo

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all54321 · 1 year

Text

The Spell of Silence

Grian joins Hermitcraft still as a Watcher. He still split from the ones who turned him, but he still acts as one even solo. Scar discovers and it doesn’t go well for him.

This is the first AU that isn’t really Scarian. I tried, of course, but the way I made this AU and the direction I was taking it… it just didn’t seem like a possible option anymore, not for this AU at least. I made a different/generally darker AU where they do get together, but that’s a whole other thing. Scar does kinda have a crush on Grian still, so… there’s that? His love quickly turns into hatred though.

Grian is pretty evil in this au, but in a more passive sense. He just doesn’t care about so many things that he should care about. The life games though, he goes fully unhinged with them. Like, have you heard his laugh in 3rd life?

—————

Grian rubs a hand over his face, this was not how he saw today going. He paces a few feet away from where Scar lays on the ground, unconscious. He’s not worried, he’s… he just doesn’t want to deal with this at the moment. Grian especially doesn’t want to deal with this if the spell doesn’t work. He casts a glance at Scar again, he also doesn’t know what he’ll do if his spell has… side effects. It shouldn’t, but it’s not like he’s tried to do something like this before.

A quiet groan pulls Grian from his thoughts. He leans over Scar, “Scar? You okay?”

He slowly opens his eyes, eyebrows furrowing in confusion, “Grian… what…?

“How are you feeling?” Grian prompts again, wanting to make sure he’s fine. He may have little regard for what happens to others, but he doesn’t want to permanently hurt any of the hermits. It could also blow his cover if Scar doesn’t recover from this.

Scar stares up at him in confusion still, as if trying to piece the last few moments of his prior consciousness together. After a few seconds he seems like he does because he bolts upwards and backs away from Grian. “You- you were…” he trails off, clearly unable to form the words. Scar still tries, as shown from the increasingly more horrified look on his face.

Grian sighs in relief, “good, it worked.” Considering how little time he had to prepare the best spell, this worked pretty well.

Scar refocuses on him, “w-what?”

“You’re not going to say a word about what you just saw,” Grian says, all traces of warmth gone. “Literally, you are unable to say anything.”

Scar doesn’t say anything, clearing trying to test if that’s true. His horror returns full force the longer the silence goes on. Grian’s rather impressed by this, he didn’t anticipate the spell working this well. After a while Scar swallows, his voice full of nerves and resignation, “why…?”

“Why what?” Grian asks, curious, before immediately realizing, “ah, right, the spell. You can’t clarify.”

“That.”

“The spell?” Scar nods, so Grian continues, “so you can’t tell anyone what you know now. The only other option is to forcibly remove the memories from your mind, but that has a chance to completely shatter your mind, and I’d rather not do that.”

And Scar’s back to looking horrified.

“Now,” Grian adds, “I’d recommend pretending like none of this happened so no one asks questions. I will take my chances with the memory altering spell if you leave me no choice.”

Much to Grian’s surprise, the horror fades from his eyes. Less to Grian’s surprise, it turns into anger. “You… what are you!?”

“I don’t think that’s relevant,” Grian replies easily. Anything Scar learns can’t be shared, that doesn’t mean he needs to tell Scar anything.

“And why not?”

“It’s not important for you to know.”

“It’s not like I can say anything anyway, what’s the point?” Scar angrily snaps.

Grian scoffs, “I don’t need to tell you anything. You barged in here first, I don’t owe you an explanation.”

Scar just glares daggers at him for a few seconds before respond, “why are you doing all of this?”

A grin spreads across Grian’s face, “why? Because it’s fun, of course.”

“Fun? You consider that fun?”

“Chaos is always fun, I thought you guys knew that.”

“You literally-“ Scar falls silent.

“What better way to cause chaos then those games?” Grian says gleefully, knowing what Scar was going to say. “All of you crumbling into fear and paranoia, fighting each other to come out on top, killing without mercy, betrayal. So, so many fun things that don’t happen here on Hermitcraft.” Scar takes a step back at Grian’s passionate response, nerves not even hidden. “I create those games because I can’t do any of that stuff here.” Grian pauses as he realizes he’s doing exactly what he said he wouldn’t. He shrugs the thought away as an idea comes to mind, “you know,” he begins, voice dropping low and edging on a purr. “Wouldn’t it be fun if in the next game I let you keep your memories too?”

“Next?” Scar whispers, taking another step back.

“Of course, why would I stop making those games, I have so many more ideas.” Grian approaches Scar, enjoying his fear, “two is far too low of a number.”

“Get away from me,” he mutters, any heat behind the words lost to the fear that’s taken over again.

“You’re free to leave whenever, I’m not stopping you,” Grian replies, only pausing when he’s right in front of Scar. “I don’t really care what you do as long as you don’t elude to what’s happened here today.”

“And- and if I do?”

“I’ll take my chances with that memory altering spell. So it’s really in your best interest if you keep silent,” Grian says, grinning widely.

Several expressions flit across Scar’s face before panic and fear take hold again. He takes a couple more steps away and, after Grian doesn’t follow, turns tail and flies away on his elytra, spamming rockets to get away faster.

Grian watches the slowly disappearing sparks in silence. This is a little annoying, he’s not too fond of Scar holding this knowledge, even if he can’t use it. It doesn’t help that he’s somewhat fond of the terraformer, because it makes him want to try less risks with keeping this under wraps. Well, he’ll just have to keep an eye (or several) on Scar to make sure everything is fine.

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