#(the colors are so close to real flag that it's hard to tell them apart)

[iovesia]

✧ ˚ ༘ ⋆ 𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐁𝐔𝐘 𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐘.

dark!kevin lomax⠀x⠀wife!reader.

𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔. you've finally had enough of kevin's lies and secrets, and you ask for a divorce. unfortunately, some secrets come back to bite as kevin threatens to leak compromising footage of you.

—⠀੭୧⠀warnings⠀· ˚ ༘⠀extremely dubious consent. heavy angst. hate sex. p in v. forced breeding. blackmail. revenge porn. infidelity. forced established relationship.

𝒙𝒐𝒙𝒐, 𝒋𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒆ִֶָ 𓂃 ⊹ this is a dark fic, i can't stress this enough so please read the warnings. i know a lot of y'all requested the blackmail/sextape trope with kevin, so i kinda combined all the asks into this fic— hope you enjoy ♡ !!

#. keanu reeves masterlist. | main masterlist. | request rules.

THE MUFFLED MELODY OF the record player echoed through your dark, and empty apartment. You rested the wine glass against the side of your head, letting out a soft sigh as you closed your eyes. The lifeless walls, that were painted in all the wrong colors, had begun to repulse you over the last few weeks. You spent most of your days trapped alone in this apartment, trying to keep yourself busy with any menial tasks.

Whether it be repainting the walls several times (only to receive no words of acknowledgement from your husband), or filling up the place with random plants— as a poor attempt to bring any form of life back into the soulless place you now called home.

At first, you couldn't bear to tell Kevin how much you despised New York. You missed the warm Florida sun, you missed the cool breeze on your face and the quiet roads when you'd drive to work in the early mornings— Hell, you even missed the tiny condo you and Kevin used to live in. It was small, there was hardly any hot water, and the neighbours were noisy as all hell, but it was home. And Kevin was actually around enough for you to be able to call him a husband.

"Jesus Christ," you mumbled to yourself, glancing upwards. The moonlight shone through the curtains, illuminating the clock hanging above the ashy fireplace. 3:07 am. You take a final swig of your wine, chugging down the last few drops, before slamming the glass hard enough on the coffee table that you almost smashed it.

The sound of keys jingling and the door creaking startled you from your thoughts. A murmured "damn" whispered from a masculine voice, as he tried to be as quiet as possible. You kept your eyes firmly focused in front of you, and almost as if on cue, your husband stumbled into the living room.

"Why are the damn lights off— Shit!" He jumped when he flicked the light switch on, revealing you sitting across from him, cross-legged on the leather couch. "Baby, you scared me, I thought you'd be ‘sleep by now," he lets out a small laugh, the southern twang leaking into his voice.

"Did you have fun?" Pain bubbles up in your throat, scalding, and you swallow. You knew where he was. It was the same excuse every night ("Sorry, baby, I have to stay late tonight at the office, this case is a real-pain in the ass"), and part of yourself wished you could just delude yourself into believing his web-of-lies. Yet, deep down in the crevice of your broken heart, you knew he was with her.

The red-headed Italian beauty, Christabella Andreoli. You'd been formally introduced once, at one of Kevin's bosses extravagant parties that he'd dragged you along to. You hardly missed the way she eyed your husband hungrily.

Her slender hand wrapped around his upper arm, her long maroon nails digging into his suit. With a cheshire grin hanging on her lips, she began to pull him away from you. "Hope you don't mind if I just steal him for a moment, just some shop-talk," she winks and you watch them disappear among the numerous figures of suit-cladded businessmen and lawyers.

That was your first red flag. Kevin promised you —crossing his heart— that she was just a colleague, who was a natural flirt.

"I don't know if I'd count shifting through endless piles of New York's city health codes fun," he smirks, taking slow strides closer to you. The couch dips as Kevin takes a seat next to you. He presses numerous little kisses along your shoulder, down to your neck. “I missed you, ba—”

“Just stop it!” You snap, rising from the couch as you slapped away your husband's hand. “Christ, Kevin! How stupid do you think I am?” 

You watch as Kevin’s face contorts to confusion, his brows furrowing as he licks his bottom lip. 

“Baby, what are you talking about?” He stands from the couch, still completely oblivious to the painstaking heartbreak written on your face. Kevin’s hand reaches for you, and again you slap it away, completely repulsed by the man who you used to crave.

“I want a divorce.”

THAT WAS TWO DAYS AGO.

After wailing, and shouting till the early hours of the morning, you locked yourself into your shared bedroom. Kevin begged and pleaded with you to open the door.

“Baby.. baby, please talk to me,” you ignore his muffled pleas. Sitting on the floor with your back to the door, you sob hysterically in your hands—  all the more crushing bits of Kevin’s heart. 

“Open the door, honey..”

At some point during the sunrise, the joyous early morning leaving a bitter taste in your mouth, Kevin had left the apartment. You wandered through the empty apartment, noticing the dishevelled couch where he frequently resided after a fight.

Since the fight, you’ve been seeing Kevin more in the last two days than the entire year you have been living in New York. When you once prayed for an ounce of his attention, you now avoided him like the plague.

Every attempt to touch, hug, kiss you was met with running in the other direction. You couldn’t stand to look him in the eyes— those dark, brown puppy dog eyes, knowing that he did all those things with another woman.

“Baby, nothing happened! I promise you!”

“Promises mean shit if you never keep them!”

THREE DAYS LATER, you had pondered the idea of looking into divorce lawyers. You prayed someone in New York would be willing to go against Kevin Lomax. His infamous reputation of having never lost a case, unsettled even the elites in the business, so your search was nearing fruitless.

But, Kevin is your husband (soon to be ex), surely he would grant you this last gift of mercy by just signing the papers— without the courtroom hassle.

You waited impatiently in the elevator, watching the numbers light up with each passing floor. Your heel clicked anxiously against the floor, as you held the pile of divorce papers to your chest. 

It was going to be over. Five years. Five years completely down the fucking drain. All because your husband couldn’t keep it in his goddamn pants. Or so you thought.

The silver doors finally opened, revealing the equivalent of the devil incarnate.

Christabella Andreoli.

“Mrs. Lomax, what a ple—”

“Don’t. Just.. don’t,” you interrupt, shutting your eyes as painful images of your husband and her begin forming in your mind. Christabella awkwardly clears her throat as she moves to the side, allowing you to pass her. “Do you know where Kevin is?” you ask, venom laced in your voice.

“He’s on the top floor, I’m going there now.”

“Great,” you quip with faux enthusiasm. “Do me one last favor —aside from fucking my husband— and hand him this.” You push the papers into the redhead's arms, her eyes staring at you with a similar confusion as Kevin did.

“Mrs. Lomax, I have no clue what yo—"

YOU DIDN'T EVEN NOTICE KEVIN sitting on the couch as you arose from your slumber. Kevin’s oversized law school hoodie and undies were the only thing covering your otherwise naked figure— an unfortunate habit you haven’t managed to break yet. Embarrassment bloomed in your face, hoping he wouldn’t notice (he did). You rubbed your tired eyes, shifting away from the lawyer. The pile of divorce papers lay sprawled across the coffee table, with the thick line at the end left unsigned.

“I’m not signing these,” Kevin sighs, running a hand through his black, slicked hair. 

“Kevin, we’ve been over this. I want a di–” you were rudely interrupted by Kevin reaching for the remote and switching it on. The TV static appears for half a second before cutting to what looks like CCTV footage. Labelled in the bottom right corner, this was footage of Kevin’s office floor. 

Squinting your eyes, the colour drains from your face as he fast forwards. Slowly fast forwarding to you entering his office, after hours, and the CCTV caught everything through his glass office doors. Every last second from you coming inside, kneeling down, and wrapping your lips around his cock.

Conveniently enough, the camera frame ends just above your head, preserving Kevin’s anonymity.

“What the hell? Where did you get this?! Why do you have this?!” The questions blurted out all at once, fury bubbling in your chest. Kevin was always one to fight dirty, but you never thought you’d bear victim to it.

“Security team is very amoral if you haven’t noticed.”

“So they actually gave you this footage?!” 

He smirks, pausing the TV on a particularly graphic frame. “Money talks. And I know those underpaid security people have no problem giving footage to whoever talks the most.”

“You know what? Keep this sick shit if you want, I’m done. Sign the papers, don’t sign them, I don’t care! I’m getting a goddam lawyer,” you whip around, hurriedly rushing towards your shared bedroom.

Kevin’s footsteps trailed behind you, loud and faster as he boomed “So that’s your big plan?”

You ignore his words, reaching for the first small suitcase you could find. Kevin enters the room, and slams the door behind him. You were too distracted looking for shirts to hear the quiet click of the lock.

“You think I’m gonna just let you leave?”

“Let me?” You barked, fists clenching and damn near smoke coming out of your ears. “You’re a cocky asshole if you think you’re letting me do anything. I’m leaving you, Kevin. We are over—”

A pain shocks your wrist as Kevin snatches it into a tight grip. You struggled against him, and with a huff, he pushed you onto the bed. Hastily, you try to crawl off the masterbed, only for Kevin to snatch your ankle and pull you back towards him. You feel his weight on top of you as he straddles you, both his hands pinning your hands down.

“Baby, I made a lot of mistakes..” the dark-haired man mumbles, his eyes piercing into you.

“K-Kevin, you’re hurting me—”

“But, you’re not leaving me. No, no, no, baby,” Kevin's lips met your neck, making your chest tighten as you kicked your legs to try and get him off you; but to no avail. “You think you’ll find a single goddamn lawyer that’s gonna help you when that tape gets out?”

You freeze.

“What did you say?” your voice was so quiet, he almost didn’t hear you.

“All the judge will see is visual evidence of you being a cheating whore— fucking another man in your doting husband’s office, no less,” Kevin smirks against your jaw as he continues his kisses. “Or at least that’s how I’ll make it look..”

“You sick bastard!”

“You’ll lose the rights to everything by a landslide, and you’ll be left with nothing,” Kevin sighs, faux-sympathy laced in his devilish voice. His head moves back and hovers directly over your face, his brown puppy eyes piercing into your teary, fury ones.

“Nobody’s gonna believe that,” you murmured, trying to sound sure, but deep in the pit of your stomach.. He was right. Kevin had all the money, power and connections to screw you over. 

“Baby, they’ll believe whatever I want them to believe,” he rests his forehead against yours, ignoring the tears that are brimming your waterline. You struggled once more, desperately wanting out of his grasp. 

“Baby, baby.. please,” Kevin’s hand trails down your torso, his cold wedding ring touching against you, making you twitch. Another devastating reminder that the man you love, the man you married, was holding you down and blackmailing you.

“You’re fucking evil—” A choked sob escapes your lips, simultaneously as his hand dips under your waistband. “Oh my Go—”

“Let me make it up to you..” his honey voice echoes in your ear. Your voice dies in your throat when Kevin’s fingers start to toy with your clit, and you hate the way your body reacts to his touch. Arching your back, you continue to squirm out of fear.. and desperation. Your body betrays you as you feel yourself getting wetter. “Let me make you feel good, baby, hm?”

“Fuck you,” you spit angrily, not before being interrupted by a measly gasp as his fingers continue working against your bundle of nerves.

“I love you so much, sugar,” Kevin pressed his soft lips to yours, only you kept yours in a thin line. Two fingers were plunged into your wet cunt, and you let out a small gasp, giving him the perfect opportunity to slide his tongue in and capturing your lips in a passionate embrace. “There’s no line in the world I wouldn’t cross for you.”

“I-I hate you,” you mewled weakly, biting on your lower lip to ignore the feeling in your core. Kevin merely chuckles, eyeing the way you bend to his will as he rubs your desperate bud faster.

Suddenly, the tearing sound of your undies made your heart drop. You purse your lips, stopping the involuntary moans from leaving your lips. The tip of Kevin’s cock slides up and down your cunt, before parting your pussy lips. 

“I-I hate you.. Oh fuck— K-Kevin..” you whimper, his cock stretching your pretty pussy deliciously. His slow thrusts were agonising, and made your head swirl, a warmth blooming from your lower region. 

“I’m gonna be around more, baby, I promise you,” he pants against your ear, his hot breath hitting your face. Stray tears fall down your cheeks and Kevin kisses them away. One of his hands letting go of your wrist, trailing down to the back of your thigh. He presses one knee up to your chest, allowing him to thrust his cock even deeper inside you— you swore you could feel him in your stomach. “I’m gonna make you so happy.”

Your toes curled with each thrust and your fluttering walls clenched at his words, only making you more ashamed by the minute. His laboured breaths mixed in with your own as he continued nipping your neck, leaving small love bites. 

“It’s gonna be you, and me.. and a baby.”

Your eyes widened at that, and immediately you tried to sit up, only for Kevin to push more of his weight down on you, keeping you firmly in your place. You were practically speechless, your bambi eyes frozen in shock. “Kevin, wait— don’t come inside—”

“Sh, sh,” he coos. “I’m gonna fill you up, mama. Don’t you want that?” You mewl at his sudden harsh thrust, the sound of skin slapping echoing in the room. Blinded by your tears and the overwhelming pleasure washing over your body, you nod weakly.

A sick grin hung on Kevin’s lips as he poured into you, and you let out a sinful moan as you clenched hard around him, mixing your cum with his. Panting, you don’t resist when Kevin traps your lips with his.

“You’re the only woman I’ll ever want,” he whispers your name sensually, you can’t help the chills that arise on your skin.

“And, I’ll be damned to hell before I let you leave me.”

໒꒰ྀིྀི ੭ ˃̵ᴗ˂̵ ꒱ྀི੭ — taglist : @desoolate @hamburgerslippers @alwaysinblck @emosludge @nwheregirl @beansricejc @sughcashsaiki @namjoons-crabssss @scream-queen-25 @slutforsoldierboy @hamburgerslippers @redhotelroom.

let me know if anyone wishes to be added !!

#dark.josie #nsfw.josie #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves imagine #kevin lomax x reader #kevin lomax imagine

[fbfh]

okay, pretty odd request and i completely understand if you do not feel comfortable writing it; you can totally scrap it! so i just got my wisdom teeth removed and i am pretty miserable about it. i was kind of wondering how our favourite boy leo might react. i feel like, as repair boy, he would be pretty bummed to not be able to just fix it right away, y’know? thank you so much, whether you feel comfortable writing for this prompt or not, i love your work and you are literally my favourite writer for leo💋

awww babes!!!!!!! I got my wisdom teeth out like maybe a year ago???? ish???? while it did suck it wasn't quite as bad as I thought it would be so I TOTALLY understand both how much it sucks and the i feel like shit Leo cravings.

okay okay so first of all Leo would not leave your side for a minute. he is so sweet and attentive and gentle with you while your coming back from anesthesia like a motherfucking walking lime green flag. like this. if he's still in college at MIT or wherever he's collecting diplomas like pokemon he will not HESITATE to ditch all classes that day to take care of you with or without his school's permission. if you cry on anesthesia like I do he will be SO FUCKING TENDER with you. he gets every possible caring for someone hack from his mom and from the internet and every resource possible to make sure you're happy and pain free and comfy. He brings you ice packs for your cheeks with tongs so he doesn't accidentally melt them with his hands (it did happen once. you both laughed so hard.) and he always makes sure you eat enough yogurt so your antibiotics don't mess up your stomach. he stays close to you, helps take care of your hair and skin, watches cartoons and movies with you. if you like having your nails done, he will SO give you mani pedis. even if you normally get acrylics or gel or whatever, seeing the slightly messy, sparkly matching nail polish in your favorite colors Leo tenderly and carefully put on your nails and toes makes you so happy every time you see it. he pets your head and peppers you with kisses and tells you how brave you were in a soft voice. he gets you a "conradulations on letting them steal your teeth" basket full of plushies and juice and intricate little coloring pages and crossword puzzles and stuff to keep you busy. He plays cozy video games with you and builds the most insane shit for you in animal crossing. you post it online and some people speculate that he hacked or modded the game to do that but nope. Leo simply loves you to the point of invention. If your swelling or pain is real bad and you're also a demigod he'll check with Will (aka the entire demisquad's informal PCP) how much ambrosia or nectar to give you to help you heal quickly and take the edge off. He holds your hands while you take little walks around your house or apartment a few times a day, like your recovery instructions say to. he makes you what he affectionatley referres to as "gourmet baby food", aka soups and soft pates and purees that taste better than most solid food. he relays all get well soon messages from your friends, including how percy joked that getting your wisdom teeth out means annabeth has less competition for the title of group brain cell wielder. your kitty Jackjack curls up on your lap as soon as Leo initially brings you back from the dentist and doesn't leave your side for a minute. every selfie you and Leo send the group chat has Jackjack curled up on your chest, purring and drooling contently. You have no idea how Leo makes something like pulling teeth feel like a spa vacation, but he makes everything into such a warm, cozy, happy experience. but you guess that when you love someone as much as you and Leo love each other, it's not too surprising.

#drabbles #leo valdez #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez drabbles #heroes of olympus #heroes of olympus x reader #heroes of olympus drabbles #tw: wisdom teeth #tw: dentist #tw: food #tw: surgery #BABES!!!!!! not even scheduling this. it's getting posted right now. #SENDING KISSES AND CUDDLES AND A SPEEDY RECOVERY!!! /p #<333 #also THIS IS NOT MEDICAL ADVICE!!! PURELY ANECDOTAL!!! #but when I gotmine out I was taking antibiotics like every 12 hours or smth #so every OTHER 12 hours(like in the middle of my antibiotics) id have a gogurt and it saved my tummy SO MUCH #check with a doctor obvs but yeah idk if it's common knowledge or not but it helped me a lot uwu #FEEL BETTER BABES ILY

[carlos-in-glasses]

Tagged by the lovely @cinnaluminum to share a WIP (which I’m aiming to post in a couple of weeks).

The section under the cut is a recognizable scene from a not-too-alternate AU fic where breakup-era Tarlos find themselves drawn back together.

Because there isn’t a universe that could keep them apart :)

My other completed Tarlos fics are here on ao3.

“That’s because everyone’s accepted the reality of the situation. Brutal as it is.” Carlos says this like he’s talking about the winter weather, something completely mundane and unchangeable.

Marjan doesn’t buy it for a second. She leans close to the grill between them. She’s not meant to, and she doesn’t care. “Are you talking about the 126? Or are you talking about you and a certain paramedic?”

“It’s important to know when a thing is over. When to move on. ” Carlos answers by way of circumventing the actual question, and looks out at the white road ahead.

“Give up, you mean.”

Carlos emits a little laugh at the audacity.

“We used to be a family,” Marjan says quietly, staring out of the window too. From her angle, the sideways snow obscures her vision, and she’s disorientated. In some ways, it doesn’t feel like she’s in the real world anymore.

“Call it a slightly estranged family,” Carlos offers, trying to put an end to this silly argument, if you could even call it that.

“Some more strange than others,” she whispers.

Carlos places both hands on the wheel, slowing up behind traffic. “I don’t think they will press changes, for what it’s worth. You’ll have to pay a fine, but you won’t be held. Not for long, anyway.”

“I already know what’s going to happen,” Marjan tells him snippily. “This ain’t my first rodeo.”

“Okay, Joan Crawford, calm down.”

At the same time, they both hold a silence and then snort-laugh. Marjan feels a little buzz that Carlos gets the reference, although finds it hard to imagine him watching Mommy Dearest, as much as it’s a cult classic.

“It means you’ll be free to go to Nancy’s hang tonight,” Carlos says. “I assume you are going.”

“Yep. We’ll all be there. She said she’s invited you.”

“She did.”

“So, you are coming too?” There’s strength in Marjan’s voice, like she’s trying to tell him instead of ask. “You should. It would be good to see you in different surroundings, you know? Talk to your face instead of the back of your head.”

“I wasn’t going to. I mean, it seems like overstepping. Because. You know.”

“Ah. That certain paramedic.” Marjan nudges his seat with her foot. “You’re as much part of our group as he is.”

Carlos squeezes the steering wheel and shuffles in his seat. Quietly, he says, “I’m not.”

This is a difficult thing for Marjan to hear. In a way, of course he’s right. Her contact with Carlos has been minimal compared to that with TK. She and the others had been adamant about not taking sides if they were both going to be so sketchy about what went down. But with TK being a former direct colleague, and more extrovert, he’s been easier to keep in touch with.

Marjan wants to rip away the stupid protective grill and wrap her arms around Carlos’ shoulders from behind. On her Instagram there’s a photo of them posing like that – which TK took in August when they were all at Austin Pride. Carlos was giving her a piggyback. They both wore matching mirror sunglasses that reflected the bold colors of the Pride flags around them. She’d felt so close to him, then.  

“Okay, well how about you come to Nancy’s, and if TK is there and things get weird, you and me can bow out early and go to Saxet Bar and hire a game. I’ll kick your ass at Scrabble.”

“I’ll think about it,” Carlos nods – not realizing just how true that will be. For the rest of the day, he’ll think about nothing else.

#WIP #fan fiction #Tarlos #tk x carlos #thank you for reading if you do :) #tarlos fic #mine

[italianpitbullartworks]

Something I found hiding in a sketchbook! Again with those Prismacolor pencils. I stopped using them after this year because I actually did not like them! You'll notice that this looks a lot like the 2005 wolf, just better anatomy. I realized that 2005 was kind of my last year for full body drawings and also the last year that I put a lot of effort into my art with creating entire scenes. I ended up ditching that and doing just tons of headshots because they were just faster and less work. It took me many years to break myself of doing only headshots as the bulk of what I produced.

.

Also again with the whole feeling like hyper realism was something I HAD to do. I felt trapped in that cycle where I had to do ONLY traditional art, ONLY hyper realism, and ONLY use big fancy brands of supplies because that's what people demanded from popular artists at the time. By this point in my art journey, I stopped doing things because I enjoyed them and all I cared about was what other people thought of my illustrations. That's a super toxic mindset to get trapped in 💔 My life through teenage years and most of my 20s was also depressing and toxic but we dont need to get into those details. I bring it up because your personal life DOES affect the quality of your work!

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This is also another example of expensive art supplies will not automatically make you some pro-level artist. Its VERY clear that I used very basic coloring techniques on this, the sketch itself was sloppy, and it was just thrown together with no real effort. It holds better anatomy than just a few years before it, but it was still extremely low quality. Its actually depressing to look back at old art and be able to see where it all derailed for me. Art was no longer fun. It became an OCD "chore" for me where I was constantly pushing myself saying "this is not good enough" instead of allowing natural growth to happen. I had bigger growth from 2001 to 2004 than I have from 2004 to about 2018!

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What you have going on in your head matters more than you think. I should have taken a break and sorted out my real life issues at the time. Instead, I chose the unhealthy route of ignoring them thinking that if I just ignored it, the problems would go away. They did not go away. They only got worse and turned into a decade long derailment. This is the part where I remind you PLEASE CARE ABOUT THE KIND OF COMPANIONS YOU KEEP. Not everybody is your friend for the right reasons. If your friends cant be supportive of you emotionally during tough times and all they have to say is negative things such as blaming you for being in a toxic, abusive relationship, they're not your friends. If all they say is negative toxic things blaming you for the way your toxic family treats you, they are not your friends. Be aware of red flags. Have a support group of close friends. Have people who you can trust to talk about whats going on AND take a break from projects until you have that sorted out! THERE IS NO SHAME IN TAKING A MENTAL HEALTH BREAK!

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Don't be stupid and push yourself to keep faking it. My biggest regret with my art is doing that. I pretended for years that I was fine, everything was fine, that I was happy. I had a lot of close friends at the time try to tell me that things were falling apart, but I didnt want to believe it. Young adulthood is hard. A lot of things can happen as you're trying to figure out what to do with your life. The one thing that WAS my fault was neglecting myself AND neglecting my projects. I cannot begin to tell you how many things have gone neglected since 2005 and its truly heartbreaking to face that now in the 2020s. Part of fixing that is publicly admitting these failures. The next step in fixing that is picking up the pieces of a broken past and now having supportive friends and a supportive partner. My art no longer has to suffer and my quality when I am happy is a complete 180 of this hot mess. Its hard to admit that my quality has sucked for so long, but its true!

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Your progress and growth in art will stop if you are constantly stressed. You will always be burnt out. The more you create during burnout, the more angry and frustrated you will become. Social media always demands (the machine of it, not the people using it) that you CONSTANTLY post and will make you feel like a failure if you do not have daily content or even hourly content. Go hang out with friends and family. Go on vacations. Go play videogames. Go outside! You dont need the internet 24-7. It will be here when you get back. Take👏mental👏health👏breaks👏. You are not a machine. You have needs. Stop ignoring them. Its so easy to get trapped in this endless loop and its very hard to get out of it 🧡

[dgrpprideflags]

abhorcoric flag from gundham

#submission #is this where i put these so they autotag? #thank you for the submission #danganronpa #gundam tanaka #gundham tanaka #abhorcoric #(the colors are so close to real flag that it's hard to tell them apart)

[prettyboykatsuki]

♡ GENSHIN IMPACT + HOW LOVE FINDS THEM ♡

➳ ft. kaeya, diluc, zhongli, tartaglia

➳ tags ;; tooth-rotting fluff, hurt/comfort, alcohol as a coping mechanism, a little angst but happy endings always, extreme kaeya bias ngl, spoilers for kaeyas story, nonsexual nudity, gn!reader 

➳ a/n ;; first time writing for genshin so if the characterization is funky.. my fault 

➳ summary ;; genshin impact characters and how i think love finds them when they find you 

ZHONG-LI

Sometimes, he admits to himself, it feels forbidden to love you. 

When love finds him, it is on the stairway of a small cottage, tucked into a corner of Liyue. It is quiet and unassuming, more importantly shared. A place you’ve decided to spend hefty mora on to live in. 

There’s a backyard and a space for a garden and there are sweet flowers that always seem to regrow after you pick them. On the walls are weapons and hunting gear but in the drawers are spare clothes and change. It’s got two stories but it’s not big. It’s a home, still. 

You’ve invited him inside, an adopted street-cat at your feet as you make dinner. Zhong-li is a working man, but he spends his days off here. You are an adventurer, strong with a big heart and bigger dreams. Your silhouette makes up all the shadows that dance on the wall and you sway to the beat of a soundless song. A smile makes the corners of your lips twitch up and you stir the pot of whatever you're making with boundless enthusiasm. 

Zhong-li would not wish godliness on anyone. He thinks about it often. Where Rex Lapis ends and where the human, the mortal Zhong-li starts is a blurred line. Humanity is a grieving thing. People live and are happy and then they pass and it is the only thing someone can guarantee. You will be born into the world tearful but you will pass silently - like a wind. 

Godliness means little is forbidden to you. Reality is something you fumble with in your clumsy hands and hope you can get right and humanity is a grieving thing. Always in that order. He knows there is no such thing as love that is truly forbidden - feelings like love and sadness and joy are things that cannot be settled by contracts or understood. They simply exist as if they are their own religion. 

Zhong-li watches you pick up a white furred cat and let it’s nose rest against yours for a brief moment. You hug it and sing to it like it is a child and when you’re done, you let it fondly nudge against your legs.

“Stop being bad and let me cook dinner,” you’ll say, like it knows. And maybe it does - Zhong-li thinks to himself that it might. It prances off and sleeps in the basket you’ve bought, covered in blankets and linens. He stares at you for a long while, his eyes dancing down your silhouette.

There is something remarkably human about love. Perhaps love is the one thing gods cannot truly get their hands on. This greed, this loneliness, this tender feeling - so soft it might fall apart in his hands. In all of his years of living, he likes to believe he has known love. For his companions and for his people. 

But this affection that soaks his bones, greedy and aching to be cared for, must be something only a human could get their hands on. He thinks he could only love you like this with his mortal body, his beating heart and dry mouth. With golden eyes that blink at you, curious to know what you’ll do or say next. If humanity is grieving, perhaps love is acceptance. Reconciliation. Maybe the reason no human complains about a short life is because they, at least once, have loved. 

He thinks he understands it briefly. If redoing everything meant he couldn’t be with you, even once, he would keep it all the same. What a sentiment. He smiles at you as you dance and the sunlight hits the bare skin of your thighs, buried in the expanse of your skin. He longs to be so close to you too. 

Remembering he can choose to be so close to you. That he can act upon this insatiable desire to be loved. It feels forbidden and unreachable. 

But it isn’t. 

He holds out his hand to you and you pause, tilting your head before taking it. He stands and wraps his arms around your waist and stares down at you with so much affection you falter. His lips press against the crown of your head. You’re warm and real.

When love finds him, it is just like this. Under the setting sun of Teyvat, harbored in his mortal body. 

TARTAGLIA 

You never wrap his wounds with care. 

The process is rough and not very quick. It must be comfortable for you to put your hands on him because you never seem to show him any mercy. He’ll enter your quarters with something like a wince. A wound - red and bleeding in his shoulder. He’s got his blazer dragged down his biceps, an uneasiness on his face as he drops into the room. You’re clearly busy doing something, but that’s never stopped him before. 

Wordlessly, he drops himself into the chair to the left of the little table in your room. He sits in it before dropping his head back, looking at you upside down. A frown etched into your features, eyes low and exasperated. You give him a look of discontent that he returns with a shit-eating grin. His heart stutters when you stand but he says it’s blood loss. You shut your book and place it on your bedside table. 

Underneath your bed is the first aid kit, which you grab - swift like ocean waves. He scoots back until he’s facing you. You stare down at him for a long while, brow furrowing. He gives you a dizzying smile. 

“You’re staring,” ― he proclaims, brunette hairs sticking to sweaty skin ― “Do you like the view?” 

You ignore him. Instead, you place your first aid kit with a slam onto the table and rummage through it. Nimble fingers quickly take out clear vials of alcohol, bandages, a pair of small scissors and some creams of your own making. He thinks you’re brilliant and he wants to tell you as much but the words feel too unruly, too soft spoken from his mouth. He stares at you for a long while, his eyes so forlorn by your lack of attention that you speak.

It’s a sigh first like the wave of a white flag. 

“Take your shirt off,” 

“Take me for dinner first at least,” 

You give him an unimpressed look. 

He replies by sliding his shirt off his shoulders with a little grunt. Worry plasters itself all over your face and you don’t make any attempt to hide it. He watches as you walk towards the opposite end of the room - grabbing a towel and a bowl of water. You clean the wound by pressing on it, even though it seems like the blood has dried. It’s rough - you’re rough with him. A sharp inhale of air makes its way through his teeth. 

You don’t apologize, nor do you want to. He watches as you clean the blood off and then inspect the wound for a long while. Afterwards, you mumble underneath your breath, speaking mostly to yourself than to him. 

“No stitches needed.. that’s good,” 

You sound so relieved his heart aches. There’s a brief moment of silence where neither of you know what to say and Tartaglia stares at you with soft eyes. There is always this longing feeling. A constancy to his need for your touch that brings him to his knees, weakens his resolve until he’s stumbling to your bedroom instead of going to see a doctor or a god. He needs you before he needs forgiveness or life. For him, loving you is an act one can only describe as selfish 

He knows this because he still comes to you like this, body bruised and battered. When your worry filled eyes look over his skin, he feels like a second rain has come. Your concern is it’s own addiction, intoxicated by it. It is selfish to want you to worry, even more so to make sure of it. 

But how else can he hold your love if not to make you look at it? How else can he know love if it’s not in the furrow of your brow or the way you push him so hard. When you get angry for him and at him. What is love if not a violence? If not teeth in the nape of his neck or your fingers on his bruises?

You rub alcohol in his wounds to clean them before taking your fingers and dipping them into a cream. It smells like mint, making his eyes water. You do this step with care, running your hands over fierce marks and scars with heartbreak written all over your eyes. 

Love must be a violence. It must be - this stinging feeling in the way you look at him like he is a dead man walking. Love must be a hurricane that rips through him. A storm, an uncentered and reckless devotion. He thinks, even if it was your hands who gave him this wound, he would ask you again to heal it. 

Tears spill at your lashes. He softens, smiles. 

“C’mere” 

You relent, give in. Exhaustion settling in your bones you let yourself be wrapped into his arms. He holds you to him, lets you be frustrated with him. He is too, would you know?

Love finds him like this, in your room. Begging you to look at him, getting drunk off the taste of your devotion. You squeeze his heart in your palms and he lets you. He would let you a hundred times over. 

KAEYA 

Sobriety is a fragile thing. 

It’s not that he doesn’t like being sober, but he spends most of his time around liquor. It’s comforting - the smell, the rush of heat - not scorching but warm, the dizziness. Kaeya doesn’t drink enough to have a drinking problem but more times than not, he wonders if there are answers at the bottom of a bottle. If maybe he chases the end of the pint, he can find answers on his own misery. 

Sobriety is.. fragile in that way. So easily he could drink himself to sleep but he has duty and responsibility. A life to live and sins to atone for but the laundry list of them just keeps growing larger. Bigger than his dexterous hands can cover for. It’s not that he’s miserable or lonely, but there is this lingering hollowness in his chest. 

On his fathers birthday, he sits on the rooftop and drinks. He takes about 3 days off, every year, just for this. He’ll sit on the rooftop of the tavern day of, legs swinging off the edge as the world becomes an array of color beneath him. His thumb is over the mouth of the wine bottle, and he moves it just to drink. 

The sound of your voice doesn’t startle him, but it makes goosebumps appear on his skin. He’s clad in a thin white dress shirt and it prickles as the breezes brushes by him. His chest is warm as you drop yourself down next to him. 

At first, all you do is sit silently. Leaning back on your palms, you watch the stars and constellations shimmer like they always do in Teyvat. He smells strongly of alcohol but it’s nothing to scrunch your nose at. He takes another drink. Unsure of how to handle his misery, his grief gracefully at all - he gives you a strained smile. 

“Has someone come to join me in my demise,” ― his voice is raspy when he speaks but he doesn’t miss a bit ― “How apt,” 

Wordlessly, you take the bottle from his hands. He’s about to argue with you to give it back but instead, he watches you take three long gulps before pouring the rest out. Shocked, he watches it drip down the tile and onto the concrete below. 

“Why’re you...” 

You don’t reply with words but instead, lay back and drag him down with you. He can’t help but wonder what you’re doing. He lays down anyway, back hitting the tile as he blinks. 

“How long do you plan on living like this?”

There’s no hidden meaning to your words. They are straightforward and laced with nothing but honesty. It makes him choke back a sob, the way you ask. Without much left to give, he cracks a barren smile. 

“What could you possibly mean?” 

Normally, you’d laugh at his despair. At his attempt at nonchalance. But you don’t, turning to your side to look at him. You reach your hand out to rest on his chest and he grabs your hand, shutting his eyes. Tears pool at his lashes but he laughs anyways. 

“Kaeya,” ― you say, rubbing his chest and scooting in close to him. He turns to face you, for real, for the first time ― “How long, Kaeya?” 

He doesn’t sob. Doesn’t cry or let himself be hurt. He gives you a misty smile and laughs as tears falls horizontal on his cheeks. You can hear his heart rate, erratic but slow. 

“When it feels like enough.. when I’m forgiven,” he tells you. 

“Whose forgiveness will it take? Dilucs?” 

He shakes his head, unsure. You press your hand onto his skin, golden even in the cold blue of night. His cheeks are in your palms, he shakes his head. 

“I don’t know,” he confesses. You sigh as you wrap an arm around his waist, loose. You bring his body to yours, letting your fingers rest in his scalp. In the nape of your neck, warm tears rolls down your shoulder. Your body is a safety like a brick house - like no wind or storm and disaster could ever take him from you. When he lets his cries turn into sobs, he mourns. 

A life he doesn’t remember but atones for. The only family he ever had. For Kaeya, love finds him like this - grieving. A loneliness tearing him apart at the seams, frayed and long forgotten. Love comes to him while he is in tatters, offering itself to him. 

“I forgive you, Kaeya,”― you repeat to him, over and over like an incantation ― “I forgive,” 

This is how love finds him, in your arms. Forgiven

DILUC 

He rests his head against your knee, body stiff after a long day. It’s a wordless evening - sky painted with a layer of pink and orange. It pours into the room in heavy waves, paints his pale skin with a warn shade of pink. His skin is warm from the heat as his shoulders slump in exhaustion. 

You drag your fingers down his scalp before letting them slip beneath the hairtie that keeps his red hairs up. You drag it slowly, carefully down his back until it’s free. Red and unkempt - tangled from days out in the wilds. You give it a quick brush through, a quiet sigh leaving your lips. 

There’s not a proper bathroom here - far out and away from the city. It’s an old house with an outhouse and dusty floors. After a particular difficult encounter with an Abyss Mage, you’d found refuge into the abandoned location. Without a bathroom, it would be hard to freshen up but you gave Diluc a playful half-grin. 

“I’ll wash your back if you wash mine,” 

He thought you were kidding but now the two of you are out by the lake. And this is too intimate for two people who are really only supposed to be working together. It’s too gentle, the way your fingers comb through his red hairs and the little bottled shampoo you keep in your bag. 

There’s something about the way you touch his scalp so careful that is too intimate. His shirt is somewhere inside, over the back of a chair. Pale skin that’s hot to the touch as your fingers work through each individual hair. A long, tired sigh leaves his mouth. 

“So much hair,” ― your murmur under your breath. A blush turns him hot. His father was a good man.. affectionate and caring and proper. But this is different. Too much, even ― “But it looks good on you,” 

You say it so easily. Just like how you touch him - unconcerned for what it means. For Diluc, the idea of romantic love is something awkward. It is clumsy and confusing. Love, has always been something that hurts, more than it has healed. 

But his head is resting on your thigh and you’re touching him like he’s precious. As if he’d break if you’re too rough with him. There is an intimacy in it. A well-meaning and innocent love in the shape of your fingers and how they drag against his skull. 

“...You’re so forward,” he tsks. You give him a gentle laugh, running your hands down his jaw and tilting his head back so he’s facing up at you. Your hands cradle his face with delicacy, thumb dragging across his jaw bone and admiring him. You’re being sincere, but he can’t meet your eyes. 

“You don’t like it?” you ask him. He grabs your hands and puts them away, huffing under his breath. He is childish like this, with you  and only you. No longer the Dark Knight or Master Diluc. Easy to jealousy and even easier to agitation, the kind of man who the world stops for seems to crumble at your feet. 

“No,” he replies, unusually dishonest. 

You lean forward until your arms are wrapped around his barren shoulders. He can feel your skin against his, the way your heartbeat sounds, the fanning of breath of his throat. It’s too much but he can’t move as your arms wrap around his shoulders. You know too much, see too much. There is something so all-knowing about the way you love him. How you tease him. 

Love is a worship when it finds him. You are the closest thing to heaven he has ever believed in - sheer bliss in the way your eyes linger on his silhouette. Diluc is a devout lover for you, a follower in your all-knowing religion of love. Of affection. He leans his head back again to look at you as you look down at him, smiling. 

“You’re troublesome to love, you know that?” he admits to you. You bend down to meet his lips in a kiss. Chaste. Holy 

A smile parts your lips that Dliuc finds himself mirroring. 

“Of course I do,” 

Love finds him like this, in your arms - skin to skin underneath the summer sun. Alone in the fields of tall-grass and wheat. Love finds him like a religion, so much devotion and prayer for you to keep him in your heart always. He knows he would do anything for you. 

#genshin impact x reader #zhongli x reader #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #kaeya x reader #diluc x reader #writing #formal #there must be mnat errors in this but its 5am and i am sleepy.. take it or leave it <3

[ps-i-dont-even-know]

Devil may cry parent headcanons

Dante

He probably is a fun dad but at the same time don't leave your kids with him, it would be a disaster

Will wake up to crying at 12 am and try to put the kid back to sleep, ends up with both of them watching tv instead

This man will do anything with your kid, they want to go to the park, sure he'll have to keep an eye on them. They want to see the movies, sure has to be below pg or he will never hear the end of it from the nightmares his kids have. Want to go to the zoo, sure he just needs to make sure they don't go into the exhibit.

He will play dress up and tea time with them. He will put on a dress and have them do his makeup just so he can go to tea time, and might start some beef with Mr teddy for stealing his cupcakes, but he will do it proudly.

He will try to do their hair in the morning for school, again he is not the best at it and will probably give them crooked pigtails, he's trying he really is.

Can't cook for shit, I'm sorry if you think he could cook please take a look at all the pizza box stored around his shop. Like he will take cooking lessons or watch cooking shows but dear god how do you set fire to milk.

He will always be there for his kid to vent even if he doesn't know how to respond he will sit and let them rant about stuff, also trying to cheer them up because he doesn't want to see them sad

If they brought their homework to him he would be confused he can barely pay his bills i don't think he knows how to do math, but drama he will rock that stuff his acting skills are on point even if it's cheesy

Will waste all his money on the kid, toys, clothes, video games, you name it he will buy it and give to the kid

Remember how I said not to leave your kid alone with Dante yeah, he may or may noteave his weapons/devilarms around for the kids to grab them, like halfway of Dante walking into the main room and he sees ebony in his kids mouth he tricksters all the way to them and quickly grab ebony before anything bad happens, but the kid will start crying and he has to find something for them to mess with or he'll get a headache

He accidently devil triggered in front of his kid now depending on which one he get two responses and he's expecting screaming for both, but if its regular dt like humanish looking one, "woah, dad grew scales and wings, are you a lizard king?" Now its his Sin Dt he would get "Oo, daddys a gaint dragon" for both case they will proceed to touch his scales? And will be all over him trying to climb him to the point he literally has to switch out of dt so they don't get hurt. Also he's a heat source for winter if the heating doesn't get paid for.

If his kid comes out as any of the lgbtq+ he would be supportive and loves them for who they are, I also see him being apart of it too.(I know a few people see him as asexual I do too, as well as bisexual)

Vergil

Look this guy probably has no clue what he's doing, even if we wish he could've taken care of Nero (at least I do) he didn't and now he has another kid to take care

Please help him hold the baby, he can't properly do it at all, he's just holding them by their chest and staring at them with confusion as the child cry, "why won't they stop screaming?"

He will get the hang of taking care of the kid, but please don't leave him alone with them for long he still has no clue what he's doing half the time

"Hey can I hang out with (insert name) at the mall?", "Do I know their mom?", "Uh, no", "Do I know their dad?", "No" Then that settles it, you can't go", "But-", "No buts, if I don't know their parents you can't go, and that's finale"

Can he cook, probably but he's been in hell for most of his life and doesn't know what he's doing half the time. Thank god for cooking shows and book he at least tries a learn how to cook, and doesn't burn anything unlike someone else

He will read the kids William Blake or other bed time stories before bed time, and will do activities where they try to make up poems he has to thank Nero for the idea

Speak of Nero, if Vergil has a mission he will leave his kids with him, he's not trusting Dante at all. Nero absolutely loves his step siblings even if their like a few years younger than him, they will either play with the other kids at the orphanages or play Nero which consist of Video games, sometimes sword fights if they beg long enough, or just talk about the stuff their dad and uncle does that are stupid and make fun of them for it.

Also that one dad to try and help with math homework but makes the kid cry because they don't understand the problem and he's yelling at them "What's 2 x 2?" Its traumatizing please someone tell him to cool it or his kid is going to have problems when it comes to yelling and math, also complains how he didn't learn it that way as a kid, I promise you he was homeschooled.

Now his kids can vent to him but he has no clue what to do nor have much good advice but he will give what he knows even if it's not the best.

This can go many ways, this man know his kid is getting bullied he will go down to the school with the Yamato and threaten someone's life, give his kid the sword for them to deal with it instead, or use some brain cells and deal with it like civil people and we hope he chooses the last one

Now he's a little careful with his devil trigger and doesn't want to scare his kids, but its by accident really and he expects screaming, just like Dante he gets two responses. Regular dt and I'm going off of 4 because I don't think he has one in dmc5, "Dad, why didn't you tell me/us your secretly a bug, don't worry well keep you away from shoes." If its Sin Dt, "Wow, your a dragon this whole time, does this mean I'm also a dragon, where do you keep your stashed gold?", I feel like for his regular dt they will sometimes smack him with a fyswatter and he has to turn out of his sin dt quickly because they want to mess with the fire coming out of him.

If his kids come out as lgbtq+ he will be supportive and a little confused because he has no clue what it is. They have to explain what it means and what their sexuality means, he'll still be supportive and loves his kids no matter what they are

Nero

Out of Vergil and Dante, he's probably the one who knows more about taking care of kids since he grew up with them in an orphanage and takes care of them

I feel he's like a mix between Dante and Vergil, Fun dad but will put his foot down on somethings

If its a girl you bet he will go out to a store at whatever time it is and buy then pad/tampon when their monthly comes no questions asked he just knows. If its a dude he will give the talk, not just protection but what not to do, like when a girl tells him to stop he needs to stop, no advancing on or anything like that (I feel like the no advancing will also go for the girl)

Doesn't do favoritism, he hates that stuff since he technically dealt with it as a kid, if one kid ask why he loves the other more than them he will shut that down quickly and tell them he loves them equally and will move moons for them to both be happy

Best cook hands down, and will let his kids help if they want to but keeps them away from sharp objects. He will also take them out to dinner if he doesn't want to cook

He's decent with homework, and goes about it in a fun learning experience for the both of them, if they get an answer right they get a point that they can trade for something special later kne, if they get it wrong they will go over it again, but still get a point because no favoritism. He also help make a volcano, but also put a little extra pizzazz to it, and might have caused the whole kitchen to be a different color now.

His kids can vent to him, he will understand and try to help give advice for some issues, also takes them out of the house to do something they want to do to cheer them up

He will encourage his kids to follow what they want to do, play a sport? He will show up to every game, even if that means giving Dante his mission he will. A club? He will make sure they have everything they need for that club and be on time for it, be it art, book, yearbook, student council, etc. They want to do boy scout/girl scout, he will make sure he gets them a vest and help put pins on as well. He will be the number one supportive dad

As soon as his kid comes to him crying about how some other kid is bullying them he will be mad, he'll reassuring his kid that they are amazing first, then go to the school, if they don't do anything he will go straight to the parent and make sure that their kid doesn't mess with his anymore.

Will watch anime with them, if they agree that is don't want your dad into your stuff. But like he's absolutely into it, he seems like the person to like Bleach (this was not intentional I complete forgot that the voice actor for Nero also did Ichigo) or Cowboy Bebop. Maybe sailor moon but you won't hear him say it

Look he's really new to the devil trigger business, the only thing close he had was that ghost creature, so keeping this thing in check and not popping up randomly is hard. His kids reaction are, "You hair is longer, are you like rapunzel, oh wait you have wings and a crown your an angel. Oh can I braid your hair please," of course he will let them braide his hair he can't say no to a pouting face, they also will poke his wings to see if their real.

He will definitely support his kid if their aprat of the lgbtq+, will buy them flags, merch, you name it. He want his kid to feel safe and loved

Lady and Trish

Look I can't separate these two, when I first saw them I thought they were girlfriends, and I can't let that go. But these two would definitely be the fun and protective mom

So considering Trish and Lady are both females they definitely have to adopt of course, now Lady may not know if its half demon or full, but Trish does and she probably would help the kid when they get older since she knows about the demon body considering she has one, if its human Lady knows the most about the stuff going on when they get older and has I already planned out.

Now Lady has to be the protective mom because the shit happen with her dad she definitely doesn't want anything bad to happen to their kid, and Trish is like you do you kid if you get hurt you learn from it "its the demon way of raising" she says. Though she still will watch over them and make sure they don't get themselves severely hurt

They will buy their kid anything, and take them out shopping. It's like a spin the wheel of pay to see if they will pay for the stuff or put it under Dante's name for shits and giggles

Lady has to like keep her weapons locked up somewhere safe, unlike Dante, she's more careful with her weapons

If their kid is mad or something Trish will take them to some deserted area with some random stuff she found that isn't in use and have their kid throw it in the air so she can blow it up with her lighting, you know to blow steam off

Trish or Lady tell their kid the stupidest thing Dante has done or said, if they visit Dante please note one will scream if Dante says something about a soul, "I should have been the one to fill your dark soul with Light" and get the voice crack right too, he will look so embarrassed

Now Trish might not know anything about homework she'll support the best she can but Lady knows most of the stuff and will help.

Trish will tell their king everything about Hell, who's in charge, what creatures are there, the history of it all. Its a great learning experience until you tell them that the female demons kill the male after finishing mating

If they are out in public and some guy is hitting on their kid and their tell him no, protective mom mode is on. Mostly Lady has to stop Trish from frying thr guy, but Lady will give the man a price of her mind saying if he tries to do this shit again with her kid he will be going home with a foot straight up his ass. So now no man tries to hit on her

Definitely let the kids go venting to them, they give the best cuddled, some good advice, and shopping if they say someone's bullying them they will see that the parent deals with their kid.

They knew their kid was apart of lgbtq+, of course their supportive of who they are, they are dating of course. They will take them to a pride march in June

Kyrie

Look, LOOK, she is an amazing mom, so caring but also will put her foot down on somethings

Besides Nero she is a good cook and baker, while she doesn't want kids in the kitchen while she's cooking will will have them help with baking sweet

Reads bedtime stories and tucks her kids in and kiss goodnight (ugh my heart hurts I love this)

She will play video games with her kids mostly on the wii, she still the champion on Mario Kart and Just Dance no one has taken their spot yet, even Nero tries

Packs lunch for her kids and puts a note in it telling them that she loves them and hope they have the best day

She does worry about them from time to time when they go over a friends house, only because of what happened to her brother and then Nero she doesn't want anything to happen to her kids

Tells them not to climb the tree in their backyard, what does one of them do, they climb it and accidently falls down. She goes to them saying "You know I told you not to do it, and you did it anyways, you need to be more careful and listen to me. I'm not doing this because I'm being uptight I'm doing this for your safety I want you to be able to do the things you want in the future"

I feel like she's the same way with friends like Vergil, if she doesn't know the parents then you can't go out or over their house

She is really a good listener and help with advice, so venting to her is a really great idea also will ask about your feelings and how your doing someday, like she knows your in a sad mood

She also good with homework, I feel like she wanted to become a teacher as well as study for it, but instead stuck with taking care of orphans, so she probably homeschools her kids too

She also makes the kids clothes time to time, they have little sweaters or shirts that are soft and comfortable

She is so supportive of her kids if they come out lgbtq+, she doesn't care as long as their happy thats all that matters.

Nico

Now I love Nico amazing and pretty girl but don't leave a child with her, just like Dante it will be a disaster, but she probably would try to be a better parent than her since he technically wa this weird freaky man who experimented on demons or was weird.

Let's start with teaching the kid every swear word she knows and tells them to go up to Nero call him one of those names, she will hear her name being screamed and find an angry Nero going over to her as she burst into fits of laughter

Will be extra pair of arms when getting a tool they need for fixing the van, when Nero does understand what a Dohicky is

I think Nico can cook, its decent not bad or good, she did nearly burn the van down from trying to cook turkey.

She will try and cut back on smoking or at least not doing it when the kid is around because its bad for them, Nero scoffs because she nags him when he tells her to stop, but not her kids

Now her kids could bring homework to her, like he's good in math, engineering, and probably biology, but she'll act as if she never even seen the stuff in her life, because she wants to get her learn it and not her just giving them the answer. But if their kid is in a science fair I bet she will help make something totally child friendly(its not really), it kind of gets her and her kid ban from doing anymore science fairs.

She will teach then everything she knows about Demon, mostly the biology of it, and when Nero brings a demon part for his breakers, she goes in explain how she turns them into those.

Will tease her kids if they talk about their crush, she's a huge teaser so saying something about someone they really like or anything its a mistake, she will embarrass them in front of their crush, but she means well

If they try to change the channel of the radio she swats their hand saying the driver picks the music and the passenger has to sit and listen.

If she's busy with something she will let Nero and Kyrie babysit her kids, she trust them and the kids love Nero and Kyrie.

Tries to teach her kids how to drive when their of age to learn, but Nero and Kyrie won't let her considering how she drives and that the instructor is more legal to do it.

No but she will tease her kid a bit if they come out lgbtq+ too, of course she supportive I kind of see her being apart of lgbtq+ as well

*Bonus because it seemed reasonable to just put this one here like this*

Nero, Dante, Vergil, Lady, Trish, Nico

They will teach their kid self defense, and how to use a weapon. While they rather their kids have a normal life instead of a demon hunter for many reasons, they at least want their kid to take care of themselves if they find themselves in a situation where their life is on the line

#devil may cry #devil may cry vergil #dante devil may cry #nero devil may cry #devil may cry headcanons #dmc kyrie #devil may cry nico #devil may cry lady #devil may cry trish #devil may cry headcanon

[lizzy-williams]

𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫’𝐬 𝐏𝐞𝐭

🍎Warnings: dark!peter parker, manipulation, innocent!reader, smut, triggering themes, oral (male receiving), HOLY FUCK THIS IS WRONG. But holy hell... is it erotic 😏

🍎Read at your own risk!!! You’ve been warned, don’t wanna see it then don’t read it.

🍎Masterlist

🍎A/N: I am kinda in love with the dark!peter genre of fanfic, so behold the first of many 🙃 THE READER IS IN COLLEGE

“Professor?”

The voice was soft, but with an empty classroom, it was heard by the only one left in the room after his last period, his eyes averting his paper that he was grading.

As her eyes met his from the doorway as she made a soft smile, her bag slung over her shoulder as she held a few books in her hand, her demeanor calm and gentle.

“Miss [l/n], what might I be able to help you with,” the young professor spoke, a genuine smile crossing his face, setting his red grading pen down on his oak desk.

The girl peeked her head past the doorframe, hoping that the classroom was truly cleared out. She was shy, and if there was even one person, she would mutter out a ‘never mind’ and go back to her dorm and settle for the evening. But luckily the room was desolate besides the one person she truly wanted to see.

But Peter was more excited to see her than he should have been. [y/n] was his favorite student, and after things fell out with MJ, he was actually quite lonely. But [y/n]... she was perfect for him. She was brilliant, stunning, but most of all she was innocent.

In the smarts department she was a genius. But when it came to everything and anything to with adult life and culture, she was naive. And a teacher was always up for teaching the inexperienced by any means.

“P-Professor, I was just wondering if you could help me with this paper. I just wanted you to proof read and tell me what I can do to improve it,” she went on, slowly walking towards Mr. Parker’s desk.

“Yes, I guess, I need a break from grading anyways,” he acted thoughtful, even though grading papers was the last thing that he wanted to do.

“Thank you,” she gave a small smile, taking a seat in front of his desk.

But what made his breath hitch made him want to shove everything off the desk and take her right there.

As she bent down to unzip her backpack and get her folder holding said assignment, Peter could see right down her shirt, her breasts on full display, the white bra she was wearing being exposed.

I wonder what color her panties are, so fucking pure, I wonder what noises she’ll make when I-

“Mr. Parker?” [y/n] spoke, visibly concerned, snapping him out of his lust-induced funk he was in, making him blink.

“Sorry,” he cleared his throat, “please, why don’t you read it to me?” He suggested, resting his chin on his knuckles, his full attention on her.

“Oh, um, okay, yeah of course,” she laughed nervously, glancing down at her almost masterpiece.

But as she began to read the words in front of her, Peter was focused on something else more... distracting.

Even though only she torso could be seen over the top of his desk, his gaze trailed up and down her body, practically undressing her with his eyes, taking in every part of her, from the way her breasts looked against her sweater, or the way her hair perfectly fit her face, but most of all her lips.

He couldn’t help but think the most sinful things about them. What it would be like to kiss them, what they would look like wrapped around his cock or sucking on his fingers, or what they would look like if he came all over them.

He watched them as they moved, pronouncing each word with ease, the words she was speaking being practically unheard as she went on. And he didn’t miss the skirt that she was wearing when she walked in, perfect and white, something that just screamed “virgin”.

Time seemed to fly by as his thoughts drifted to sinful things, thinking about taking her on every surface in his classroom. On his desk, against the wall, even on top of the desk she sat at everyday in the front of the room.

“So,” she began to speak, Peter snapping into the real world again, “how was that? I think paragraph two was a little strange sounding, but does everything else sound okay?”

She was like an anxious puppy, emotionally vulnerable to criticism. But she was willing to take help if it would make her paper better. But that was in the back of the professor’s mind.

“It sounds amazing, you’re a really good writer, [y/n].”

This was the first time that the professor had used her first name, usually addressing her formally. It was strange to her, making her shift in her seat.

“I’ll tell you what. I have a special course,” he began, and of course, [y/n] always eager to learn, she perked up, “it a special one-on-one course. I save it for the smartest in each class.”

[y/n] was now completely focused on what he was going to say next, not knowing that this was the thing that would take a toll on her life as she knew it.

“That means you get a good grade on your paper there and even extra credit. It’s a little interactive, if you’re okay with that.”

[y/n] nodded hesitantly, Peter giving a smile that was hard to read, but the red flag went over her head, thinking that it was just another one of his friendly grins.

“Well, Miss [y/n], if you’ll take a seat at your normal desk, we can get started.”

She stood, making her way to her usual desk, taking a seat, Peter giving a shake of his head.

“No, no, take a seat on top of the desk, if you will,”

Without a word, she shifted, propping herself up on the flat surface, her hands folded in her lap, her legs swinging as her ankles crossed.

The position made Peter eager to get this going.

“Alright. Now, I’m going to do something, and I need you to understand that this is for a completely educational purpose, okay?”

[y/n] nodded, letting out a gentle “uh-huh,” before Peter got closer, a comforting expression visible on his face.

He nudged her thighs apart with his hands, treating her as if she might shatter. When he was finally positioned right where he wanted to be, he placed a hand on the small of her back, pressing her against him, her breath hitching, trying to keep the whimper she wanted to let out in her throat.

“I’m going to do something else now, then we can start the lesson,”

And without a response, he leaned in, his face going into the crook of her neck, laying a soft kiss. But one kiss turned into three, and soon the kissing turned into licking and nipping, the whimper now finding its way out of her mouth.

Meanwhile, Peter was in heaven. Her skin was as soft as it looked, her scent smelling like peaches and cider, and he loved the way her neck felt under the mercy of his mouth.

“Your doing wonderful, [y/n],” he muttering into her skin, the vibration making her arms wrap around him, similar to a hug.

He continued, and just before he stopped, me stuck out his tongue and licked a strip up her throat and up to her earlobe, before mumbling, “I think you’re ready to start the lesson now...”

Before she could respond, he pulled back, beginning to speak again, her arms loosening from his torso.

“Now this is a lesson that most people learn in college, but they never learn it the right way,” he began, her anxious gaze meeting his calm and collected one, “what I’m going to give you is a gift. An opportunity not many girls your age get.”

“W-What class is this for...?” [y/n] muttered nervously, “I don’t know if I want this-,”

Peter’s eyes darkened, not liking the sudden disobedience. And she was doing so good...

“You want the extra credit right? Would hate to see what it would do to your perfect grade if you missed out on an opportunity like this,” his voice was dark as he looked into her wide and frightened eyes, “don’t you want a good grade?”

[y/n] nodded, hating to think that there was ever a chance she would get a less then satisfactory grade in her favorite class.

“Good girl,” his voice softened, his hand running up and down soothingly as she began to lose tension, “I just want what’s best for you. You are my favorite student after all.”

[y/n] whispered a small ‘thank you’ but her breath hitched as she felt his hand drift farther up her thigh, up and under her skirt. With a small whimper, he touched her covered clit, making her jump.

She had never even touched herself there, the only thing close being when she would drive over a steep hill and she felt a strange feeling in her gut.

“What are you doing?” She anxiously whispered, Peter shushing her.

“Shh, this is the first lesson. Repeat after me. Pleasure is key.”

She silently repeated. She had never really had a class about something close to this accept for the sex talk they gave whatever many years ago in high school.

She felt so dirty. But what he was doing felt so good.

His actions progressed, pulling her panties to the side, his index and pointer fingers drifting across her folds. She whimpered, her nails latching onto his shoulders, her forehead now resting on his shoulder as she tried to wrap her head around what she was feeling.

“Look at you, your so wet... virgins get wet so easily...,” he growled, finding her clit quickly, making her grasp tighter onto him.

She felt as if she was in a movie. A dirty movie that her friends would sometimes put on. And every time, [y/n] would close her eyes during the sex scenes. But now it was like she was in one.

“I need you to slip off your skirt and your panties, alright? It’s time for another part of the lesson.”

Her nod was full of reluctance, but she did as she was told, her body betraying her mind. Peter watched as her clit was exposed, and absolutely hairless.

He felt like a kid on Christmas. All that time waiting, and finally seeing his gift. And it was just what he had asked for.

“I’m going to slip off your shirt and your bra now. This part requires you to be completely nude,” he said sternly.

Before she would absorb his words, her arms were pulled up, her sweater slipping off, her bra not too soon after. And unlike any other boy would, Peter removed it with ease with no trouble at all.

He stepped away, looking at his favorite student. Her hair was ruffled, her clit swollen as she stayed with her thighs spread, her breasts looking more perfect in person then he ever thought they would.

So many nights had he stroked his cock to the thought of her. The thought of what her body would look like. What sounds she would make. And most of all what she would look like on her knees.

“Absolutely stunning. Get on your knees, princess,” he pointed in front of him.

“Why?”

As soon as it left her mouth she wanted to stuff the word back in, the look in her professor’s eyes making her stomach tense.

“Get. On. Your. Knees.” He gritted, “I won’t ask again.”

She then scrambled to the ground, on her knees and looked up at him, her eyes pleading for forgiveness.

His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb rubbing against her bottom lip, her doe eyes attached to his wandering ones.

“Pleasure is key, remember? And because you don’t have a partner, you’ll be mine. Now the first part is with your mouth. I’ll show you how to do it to me. And then I will do it to you, understand?”

“Mhm.” She nodded, his hands reaching for his belt, unbuckling it slowly, her eyes glued to his hands.

As soon as he pulled both his pants and boxers down, stepping out of them, [y/n] was transfixed at the sight of such a falic part of the male body.

She had never seen one up close and in person before. It was flushed pink and twitching as if it had its own heartbeat.

“Take it in one of your hands,” and she did as he said, “now cup my balls princess,”

The instructions were easy enough. But it was hard to do. For her at least.

The contact to his cock and the sight of his favorite girl on her knees for him was enough to get him to cum on the spot. But he would rather cum down her throat.

“Open your mouth, [y/n].” He instructed, and she did as he demanded, tears almost forming, “now stick your tongue out,”

She looked so perfect like this. He was ready to make this angel a little less holy. To teach her that this was only something he could give her.

“So good for me,” he weaved his hand through the back of her head and in her hair, pulling her in closer, “put it in your mouth, princess, I’ll do the rest, yeah?”

She couldn’t help but lick it first before putting the tip in her mouth, her tongue swirling around it, hoping that she was doing a good job.

But she was suddenly jerked foreword, his cock going into her mouth, his tip poking at the mouth while she gagged. Tears welled up in her eyes, making Peter reach for her hand, holding it as he pulled back out, before sliding right back in roughly. Soon he set a steady pace, the girl below him desperately trying to steady her breaths.

Tears streamed down her face, her mascara ruined, her lips swollen, her hands holding onto his thighs to anchor him. She whimpered and whined against him, wanting to stop but the vibrations from her protest only spurred him on, fucking her face, his perfect little toy.

This was everything he had imagined and more.

“Such a good girl, just like that, you’re doing amazing - fuck -,”

A few more thrusts and he was right on the edge, his hand gripping on her hair tighter and his pace faster.

“I’m gonna cum, fuck, I’m gonna cum down your throat, princess, just keep going-,”

When the warm liquid finally oozed out, she began to cough in her desperation for air. He pulled out, grabbing her jaw as he came on her face as she coughed up his cum, sobbing as she gasped for air.

And even though she was almost choked to death by her teacher’s cock, she still managed to let out a rough whimper: “Did I do good?”

“Yes, [y/n], you did absolutely amazing.” He panted, his face flushed, “I think you’ve learned enough for today, we’ll pick this back up tomorrow.” He sighed, grabbing his pants and slipping them back on and the girl scrambled to find her clothes.

Soon enough she was fully dressed, grabbing her bag. But she was soon pulled back by her arm, now facing Mr. Parker.

“Remember, [y/n], this club is only for my best students. Nobody else can know, or else they’ll all want to join. We can’t have that...,” he said quietly, giving a sweet kiss to her forehead as she closed her eyes.

“Yes, Mr. Parker...,” she muttered, hugging him gently, “thank you for the opportunity.”

“Of course. You are my favorite student after all.”

#dark!peter #peter parker x reader #peter parker smut #peter parker #dark!professor!peter #dark!peter x reader

[yandere-romanticaa]

It was neck and neck, but this old man won! It's your time to shine daddy Lilia!

Yandere alphabet.

ft! Lilia Vanrouge. 💚

A - Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

Lilia is very touchy feely and he makes sure that his arm is at least around your waist if he's close to you - he can't help himself, you're just that cute! And I wouldn't describe it as intense per say, just a tad suffocating. He'll leave you be if he sees that you really need it but chances are, the two of you will be glued by the hip.

B - Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

That's a tricky question because Lilia is quite hard to pin down. If he does create a mess no living soul would ever know unless he just flat out tells someone. Chances are, he probably won't even need to lift a finger - everyone knows who he is so there is no point for his hands to get dirty.

C - Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Ah, he'd be such a tease, downright cruel even. He'll taunt them for not paying attention to all the warning signs and red flags, actively gaslighting his darling in the process. His words cut deeper then any blade and darling will have to learn that the hard way.

D - Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Honestly? Not really, no. He wants his darling to come to him by their own will, even if it is twisted in the end. It really doesm't matter to him in the end though as their happily ever after is pretty much here.

E - Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

It would take Lilia some time to fully open up to his darling. He's used to being the caretaker, not the other way around. But once comfortable he will open up his heart.

F - Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Lilia would enjoy it a bit at first but if his darling keeps being persistent he will be very upset. Why can't they just live out their lives in love and peace...?

G - Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

He treats it as both a serious matter and a game at the same time. He's curious to see at how his darling will fall for it and despite him messing around he will toughen up if need be.

H - Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Probably the first time Lilia had tortured them. His knowlege of the human body is.... erie, shall we say...

I - Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Why, marriage of course! Lilia wants nothing more then to spend the rest of his days with his darling. Wouldn't that be a dream come true? Oh, he'd love a family, with lots and lots of kids! He'd be the best dad in the world, he can already see it! With his ambitions set in motion chances are that this will be happening sooner rather than later.

J - Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

He says that he doesn't get jealous but really, that's just a lie. This old man just doesn't want to admit the fact that he fears that he may be boring to his darling and anything of the sorts. If he does get jealous, he just cuddles his darling until he gets better. The perfect payment, yes?

K - Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

He's the same pretty much all the time, he's protective and affectionate, very sweet too! Just give him some love and he'll go away....~

L - Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

Very old fashioned with a hint of playfulness. This old man knows exactly what strings to pull and there is no stopping him. Once his sight is set on his darling, it is endgame.

M - Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

He shows his true colours in a subtle way, no one really figures out what they are once it is too late.

N - Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Probably by taking away their privacy and then his punishments will get worse and worse. It really all depends on the severity of darling's crime and Lilia can get even stricter if need be...

O - Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

It all depends on darlings attitude. If they are kept line he will keep himself in line too.

P - Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

Lilia's endless patience is downright disturbing. He is like a spider just waiting to snatch up his prey and then tear it apart with no remorse what so ever. It also helps that he has all the time in the world to deal with pretty much anything so in case his darling ever tries to pull something, Lilia will just figure something out and stop them.

Q - Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

No. He'd tell himself that he could handle it, that he was used to death, but he could never get past this. Lilia is probably going to cast some sort of spell on his darling to ensure that their souls are conected for the rest of their days. The poor old man just doesn't want his heart to be broken once more.

R - Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

Guilt is something that Lilia almost never feels and that would be the case here as well. He is doing this for darlings well being, Lilia knows best! And he'd never let his darling go - once they're in his clutches, there is no getting out.

S - Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

If he is being honest with himself, he is not quite sure. He mostly blames it on his old age and the fact that he's seen so many humans dissapear in a flash, just like that. And if that were to happen to his beloved... He'd mourn for an eternity.

T - Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

A more sadistic side of him would enjoy such a display - please dear, don't stop. He likes to hear all the little noises you make, they're all just so adorable. ~

But if his darling starts giving him the cold shoulder, Lilia won't be happy about it. He'll poke them and scare them, until he can finally get some sort of reaction, even if it wasn't the one he wanted.

U -Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

Well for one thing, he is a lot more creative and fun than your average yandere. He gets away with his obvious stalking and his comments go unnoticed by pretty much everyone, even his darling. His magic is also something to behold and any person that at least has half a braincell would know not to mess with Lilia. He may be small, but he really can be dangerous.

V - Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Despite his cheery exterior, Lilia never actually shows any weakness. That is mostly because his darling themselves are his prime time weakness, along with Silver, Malleus and Sebek of course. The only real way to hurt Lilia would be to hurt those three but let's be real, darling can't even approach them. The last thing to do in that situation would be if darling starts hurting themselves but Lilia would take all the sharp objects away the moment darling just pricks a finger.

W - Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

On purpose? Never. Out of necessity? Definitely. You see, all Lilia wants is for his darling to be happy, and how can they be happy if he is being cruel? He's torn over this, but there are times when he just has to put his foot down and remind his darling of their place, no matter how much it may hurt them.,

X - Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

His darling is pretty much family to him so he'd go to great lenghts to ensure darling's safety. As for winning them over, he can get pretty cheeky but his flirting mostly subtle, blink and you'll miss it, but it still has that long lasting affect of keeping darling up at night. Just like how Lilia wants it.

Y - Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

Once Lilia realizes that he fell for someone he is going straight for the kill. You only get to live once, what is the point of hidding his affections? He will be a massive tease though~!

Z - Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

He does have a sadistic side but Lilia truly does not want to do this. He fell for his darling for a reason, he doesn't want them to just be a shell of their former selves. His ideal situation is that his darling remains mostly docile with just a hint of the rebellious fire he fell for in the first place. He can break his darling but he doesn't want to. So for everyone's sake, keep it that way.

Tags: @yourlittlerunt , @phantomness @pumpkiethepie, @twst-rose-prisms, @tsuisute, @delusional-obsessions, @teralavey, @minoux-x, @tiaragqueen

#yandere #yancore #twisted wonderland #yanderecore #yandere aesthetic #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere alphabet #twst x reader #diasomnia #lilia vanrouge #yandere lilia vanrouge #yandere lilia vanrouge x reader

[shyflameweasel]

The Circus is in Town

This takes from both this and this. Read with caution as there is blood in this.

It’s been few weeks since...the Thing in the alleyway. Maybe a month if you had to guess? You still have no clue what it even was. Curiosity lays at the edges of your mind, poking and prodding to look deeper into the mystery. Shaking your head to dislodge the stray thoughts, you don’t give them a chance to take root. Since that night you haven’t gone out at much as you used to, either by day or by night. Dark places and hideaways were avoided like the plague. (Sometimes you dreamed of floating hands shooting from the darkness to drag you back towards that nightmare.)

You had security system installed. Along with carrying both a knife and taser. A firearm seemed like too much. You’d briefly considered pepper spray but you’re not sure if it would even work without-

Shuddering, that thought’s pushed away (with all the others). You so wanted to believe that it was just your imagination. But with that photo- that damnable photo that you got so close to deleting but couldn’t go through with. Bringing certainty and dread that that night was real. 

So so often you wanted to throw that phone against the wall. Or just factory reset it to stop it from feeling like a brand whenever you held it. Often why you absentmindedly grab the phone for something, you’ll see or feel the crack and everything come rushing back.

Somewhere in your mind, a little voice in your head thinks that you were blowing things out of proportion. Another told it to shut it; isn’t it better to be safe than sorry?

But today...some friends had managed to convince you to get out of your sudden self-isolation. No one knew the reason why, no one would believe you even with proof. (You struggled to believe yourself.) When they said that you’d all be going out of town for a carnival was relaxing. Distance would mean less of a chance of a second encounter and have the benefit of soothing your fraying nerves.

Everything was nice...for awhile.

You don’t fully remember how, but your group had ended up lost. The roads unfamiliar and tensions were rising. Which soon gave way to arguments.

Which lead to a crash. Then darkness.

Fortunately, by some miracle everyone made it out fine with just some scrapes and bruising when you regained consciousness. Unfortunately, the car was in no condition to drive and no one had any idea where you were. The GPS seemed unable to lock onto the location.

Something felt...off. Like it was only the slightest thing off but you didn’t know what so it gnawed at-

Someone spotted a large circus tent in the distance. A tent meant people, people meant help. The group’s spirit rose, all except yours. That feeling was still rolling in your gut. They started towards it, joking around that at least they have some entertainment while waiting for a tow. You hesitated in following, that not-quite-right feeling thick in the back of your throat. It dawned on you why you felt this way.

It was the same feeling as the alley.

You didn’t want to go but what other choice was there? A wrecked car, no other soul for seemingly miles. As much as you hated it, there really wasn’t a choice in the matter.

Checking once twice thrice for your knife taser phone you followed. As you caught up with the rest, you placed your phone where the camera could see everything and hit record.

(Your information was already saved into the phone. On the chance that it was found, someone would know what happened to you.)

That feeling grew as you got closer to the ‘circus’, if you could even call it that. From far away it seemed decent enough but once you got closer details were starting to register. For one, there was only a tent. Nothing of the bright lights or rides that would be at a carnival, even the more shoddy ones had something to bring in a crowd.

Another red flag: dead silence. Not a single person or animal in sight. Not even the sound of insects broke the blanket of noiselessness. You held some slight hope that it was due to being in the middle of a performance in the tent. But if that was the case, wouldn’t there still be cheering form the crowd? Or music playing?

The others seemed to catch on to just how wrong everything felt. Like at the drop of a pin this stalemate would shatter into hell. Hands in pockets, grasping onto your only means of defense. False security blankets against the unknown. Apprehension settled alongside that feeling. Waiting.

Once close enough to the tent you could see that it was falling apart. The material was holey, like someone gave up half-way through with trying to repair it. In its sorry state it was so dirty and faded that it was hard to make out any of the original colors. Worryingly enough there were large dark spots on the fabric. Distance was making it hard to tell what they were but their color means that it wasn’t part of the original pattern.

Someone tried to make a joke about it being too early for Halloween. No one laughed. Another suggested that everyone walked back to the car and call for help instead (where it was safer.) It was shot down by a third saying that the GPS wasn’t working and that there was no reception. That paused the argument.

No reception? As if everyone had the same idea, phones were brought out. How...how didn’t you notice that? Were you so out of it back at the car that you never checked? (One of the voices piped in that it worked before.)

Hesitantly, the option of staying in the car waiting for someone to pass. No one said anything, they didn’t have to. After the crash the car had been flipped upside down away from the road. In addition it was already late afternoon. Whatever the hell was going on here, no one wanted to be in the area after dark.

So with all other options tried and debunked, the only one remaining was going towards the tent and praying for a miracle. What felt like forever but was only a few minutes you get within a few yards of the entrance. The curtain was open. (It wasn’t before.)

(Those splotches you tried to ignore before? Its blood. A lot of blood. One the tent and the ground. Out of the corner of your eye you could see a handprint. Instead of four fingers, there were three. Leading towards the entrance, six thin gorges, almost as if- one of the voices hissed at the other to shut up.)

Don’t think about it. It’ll only make is worse. Glancing at the others told you that while they hadn’t come to the same conclusion they still didn’t trust this place in the slightest. You couldn’t see into the darkness of the tent.

“WELCOME! COME IN COME IN THE SHOW’S ABOUT TO START!” rang from the flap. You flinched as it broke through the dead silence. No one moved. Whatever microphone they were using glitched and echoed their voice. It sounded much worse the second time when it sounded far less happy and far more angry.

‘CLOWN SAID COME IN.” Someone started crying and honestly you would be lying if you didn’t feel like that too. Something told you that you wouldn’t be getting another warning. Looking over, the others seemed to realize it too.

There was no escaping whoever was in the tent. One of the others puffed up their chest in false bravado and took the first step then the second and the third into the darkness. And one by one, everyone followed.

It smelled...stale.

Like despite the amount of holes in the place the air remained stagnant. If you weren’t so worried about the voice, you’d worried about getting sick. But underneath that stagnation there was this horrible smell. You almost retched as your foot collided with something squishy that released more of that foulness. If you make it out alive you’re going straight to a doctor. (You did your best not to think about what you stepped in.)

“STOP” the voice range out. Everyone froze. “CLOWN WELCOMES NEWEST PERFORMERS FOR COMING. IT’LL BE A BLAST FOR GRUNTS OF ALL SHAPES AND SIZES.” Performers? Grunts? What does that-

A light suddenly came on. Someone screamed about eyes. But to you the world went to static. Because standing right there. Was the Thing from the alley. Or at least, it was similar. (Something in you screeched to run and unlike last time, you couldn’t.)

Standing on a raised platform, standing under the beam of spotlight was a Thing. Only this one was wearing a metal mask. (Was the red shooting up from Its head hair or was it a wig? Your shuddering mind deliriously thought.) Stumbling towards the back of the group you belatedly realize what that eyes comment was about. Dozens if not hundreds stared back at you from the darkness.

The mask’s eyes seemed to move into crescent smiles. You felt your mind trying to break itself but you just barely held yourself together. Dots flash before your eyes as breathing becomes difficult.

In a blink (was it a blink or is your mind having trouble). It’s near one of your friends. “FREAKY.” Grabbing their arm with Its hands It looks closer. When they try to jerk away It just grips tighter and they yelp in pain. The others try to push It off them but It just bats them away as easily as swatting a misbehaving pet. “HAD SOME FREAKSHOWS BUT NEVER ONE LIKE THIS.”

(There was no microphone. This violently shaking monster spoke with distortion and echo in its voice.) 

Someone asks what It is. It looks at (towards?) them still holding the arm of your now shaking friend. “CLOWN IS TRICKY!” Finally letting go of your friend (they’re brought to the center of the group, arm starting to bruise.) It-Tricky-clown flourishes its hands (floating floating floating) “WELCOME TO THE CIRCUS~” in a sing song voice.

Before anyone could say anything, could do anything. It had a gun in Its hands. (There were no pockets just dark grey gunmetal green aND WHERE DID IT COME FROM) Pointed the gun towards the group. Fired. Half threw themselves to the ground. Myself and the rest were frozen in shock. There was no bullet...just a little sign with a bang pattern.

It roared with laughter. Like it had just seen the funniest joke in the world. That next moment the room exploded into deafening laughter. The shear volume brought you back to your senses enough to clutch at your ears. Trying to block it all out.

“BRING IN THE HELLCLOWNS!” It side steps a car that half your size, you knew without a fact that it wasn’t before. Skidding around your group before coming to a stop next to the Thing.

The door ope-DEARR GOD THOSE AREN’T CLOWNS!

A scream rips itself from your throat at the sigh. From the car emerges a dozen small flaming...demon Things. They seemed to honk when they moved. One grabs your wrist and does it burn. All but one of your friends are restrained. The remaining fiery devils seem to set something up.

The Thing in charge grabs the unrestrained, dragging towards a wheel the smaller ones made. It’s hard to focus with the pain burning through your wrist. The world blurs.

Thunk thunk thunk squelch

An ear piercing scream breaks through the haze.

Your eyes refocus on the wheel. It was slowly turning. Attached to it was your friend. And to your friend was a knife to their shoulder. The clown was holding knives. (Like the wheel was a dartboard and your friend was the bullseye.)

There must have been some kind of mechanism as whenever the wheel stopped, it would suddenly spin at breakneck speed. It felt like an eternity. Every time the clown hit them, the crowd would cheer.

Luck must have been on your friend’s side. 3 more cycle and a knife caught them through the eye. They were dead. (Someone was crying out of eyesight.)

The next to go went slower. That-that monster had Its minions crush your friend into a small box in some sick parody of a contortionist. Bones cracked and the screaming turned wet. It seemed confused with arms and legs. At least until It torn them off. They bleed out in a broken mess. (More crying, the sounds of retching follows.)

The third was quick but painful. A pie. It threw a pie at their face. Their face melted off and their neck burst open. (The minions pulled the bodies into the darkness. You have an idea of what you stepped in earlier.)

Throughout this your mind is brought back from its haze of pain with each wail of agony. Slowly unraveling you grasp the edges of your mind with scrambling finger tips.

Fourth was quickest. Forced and shot out of a cannon. The minions had set up a net that glints of metal and fire in the stage light. It goes off, force launching them through the net. Confetti and viscera rain from the sky.

(Someone screams why, why are you doing this! It’s reply bleeds through the growing fog. “BORED. A LITTLE VACATION FROM MY JOB. JUST GET TO UNWIND AWAY FROM NEVDA AND HAVE SOME FUN!” What...what was going on in Nevada?)

Fifth is shot with a balloon gun before being mauled to death by balloon animals.

Your mind is slipping through your hands like water. The crowd cheers louder ever louder. (They’re all flaming clowns)

Sixth...you don’t know what happened. It was one of those strong man gigs. Swing a hammer, hit a bell. Only...they didn’t. They swung and hit the monster square in the face. Mask landing with a thud in the deathly silent tent.

You took your chance.

Wrenching your arm out of the slackened hold (a wave of agony and the smell of burnt flesh violently turns your stomach) you shoulder check the other one to grab your last remaining companion. (If the inhuman scream followed by meaty whacks is to go by)

And run.

You keep running before your fraying mind catches up to you. Nothing looks the same as when you went in. (There. Was. No. Sky. Only red, not like a sunset bu- don’t think don’t think don’tthinkdon-)

Seventh is unknown. As you run in the direction that you’re so sure that the car has to be in, you’re jerk back. You were repeating not again over and over (you never know you were mumbling). A fight breaks out, you’re on the ground with their hands around your throat. Screaming that it’s all your fault. Your mind flashes to balloons bursting like guns, flying pies and bloody confetti.

(The voices argue, one crying and pleading for this to stop. The other hissing and snarls at the attack. The edges of the world go dark.)

You hear the horns growing louder.

As quick as you can, you pull the knife from your pocket.

And stab the seventh.

Seventh falls over clutching their gut wound. You run.

You get farther this time before something tackles you to the ground. It’s back and It is enraged.

Now that the mask is off you can see Its head. Similar to the other one in most ways. The head a sickly green. An exposed brain. Sweet smelling rot that’s too much. Half Its face is ripped, exposing teeth and muscles. (It does have hair)

It was dead. But it was still moving.

You didn’t hesitate, you grabbed your taser and slammed it down onto the gray matter as hard you could. (The smell, the sound it makes will haunt you. But you can just add it to the list.)

It stopped moving and you weren’t going to miss this chance. Wooziness took control as you stood up. Only a few steps were taken before consciousness left.

You woke up.

Apparently a car had come down the road and found the wreck. Took you to the closes hospital. Of a group of 8...only 1 was found.

Honestly everything felt like a dream with the painkillers coursing through your veins. Questions were asked that couldn’t be answered. All you could tell them was that the rest were at the circus with a clown named Tricky.

And when you were finally alone...you laughed. Laughed until you cried. Laughed until you hurled. Laughed until you could barely breathe. Until you sobbed. Sobbed for your friends. Sobbed for what you all went through. Sobbed as you had your answer after a month.

As you lay there in laughter filled waves of agony, with your bandaged arm (a handprint) and the hours of video of your friends being tortured and killed you found your answer.

Whatever they were, they brought suffering and madness. Some fractured part of your mind knew that this wouldn’t be your last time seeing them.

#madness combat #tricky the clown #*victory screech* #dear god this took forever #god clown!Tricky 0 #poor irl reader 1

[doodleimprovement]

CSAU :: Moonie Jericho and the Mysterious Case of the Moon-Jumper Mask - Alternate Ending

Or: “The extremely self indulgent 7 page fic were Nell gets to be more helpful and has some actual characterization” 

Yeahhhh this isn’t canon to the fic, but I wanted to write it because I can, at LAST give ya’ll Nell’s backstory for how they came to live in Subcon in the CSAU

Per usual, the “Coffee Shop AU” belongs to the ever wonderful @doodledrawsthings

Also, note: Both MJ and Nell use “they/them” pronouns, with MJ being “He/They” and Nell being “She/They” To keep things from getting too confusing, Nell will be “They” and MJ will be “He” 

Enjoy! 

--

Nell was honestly a bit surprised when MJ came to their home the morning after Halloween, sheepishly stating that the mask seemed ... stuck.

“Really?”

He nodded.

“Huh.. Come on in then. I’ll get some tea going and see about helping you out, hm?”

He walked into their house, taking a moment to actually look about the place- as he didn’t get much of a chance before- and took a seat in their small living room.

The ambiance of the outside followed inside, with the walls painted chestnut brown with warm yet bright pops of color on the windowsill and the various picture frames full of people he didn’t know. The curtain over the wide window was patterned with little pumpkins, which he found cute, and hanging from a few ceiling hooks were what Clover would call “Low-maintenance” plants. The dark colors match well with the room, making it feel a bit comfier than it otherwise might.

The couch he sat on was across from an armchair, and both were colored a warm orange, with an espresso-colored coffee table. On said table were some envelopes and a copy of “Better Homes and Gardens”

Huh, he didn’t peg them as a reader of those types of magazines. Then again, Clover was the one that knew Nell, not him.

They came back with two mugs - one was purple with the “Snatcher” face on it, and the other had a little grumpy ghost on it, with “I’m spooky before my coffee” written above the drawing.

They handed him the Snatcher mug

“Can I ask where you get all of this Snatcher merch?”

“My best friend is an Etsy fiend. Despite him living all the way in Nyakoto, he ships me Snatcher merch whenever he finds something fun. He’s a real character” they chuckled.

“Huh” MJ acknowledged as Nell walked around the coffee table and sat next to him

“Do you feel the mask?”

He nodded, his hand up at the edge, right where he felt it “When I pull, it just… doesn’t move”

“Hm..” they sipped. “When you try to take it off, how does it feel?”

“Like… it’s like a thousand little… things? Pulling at my face, I think?” MJ pulled up their mug and sipped the tea.

“Like… string? Thread?”

MJ nodded. “I think that's the right word, thread”

Nell puts down the mug as MJ takes another sip. “Let me see” they scooted closer to him, and he put his mug down and turned his head.

Their hands seemed to glow green as they raised it “There we go…” They muttered, hand immediately finding the mask’s edge, and seeing what he was talking about “... Huh, the threads… well, that's the right word. They’re… criss-crossed…”

Before he could ask if they could remove them, he felt a slight burning at the edge of his face and jumped

“Ah!”

“Sorry, sorry, but, that did work… Though, it means you might be here a while” they admit “I’ll need you to stay still, okay?”

“Oh.. okay”

It was... Not Okay.

A few minutes into Nell’s attempt at getting the mask off, they let out a huff.

“You can’t keep squirming”

“I- I’m sorry” He muttered “It's just, you know, hard to stay still”

“I understand that, but I don’t want to mess this up. I’d like to see your actual eyes” They muttered.

“I know, it just.. Weird feeling” He tried to explain.

“Moon” They pressed, but sighed “... You seem still enough when I’m talking to you, need a distraction?”

“I mean, I guess…?”

Nell sighed “Hm… How about I tell you how I came to live in Subcon? That’s a long-ass story”

“Oh uh, if you’re okay with sharing!” MJ tried to be polite. He knew that even Clover wasn’t completely sure why Nell came to live in the town, she just knew that “something happened” back at the coast where they were from.

“Nah. It’s been 5 years. That’s more than long enough” The nurse stayed focused on the magic threads, their magic seeming to thrum in his ears- sounding almost like the hum of a fan in the dead heat of summer..

There was a pause, before they took in a breath.

“When I was 19, I took a job in Nyakoto, and left my hometown as fast as the train could take me. I had a scholarship to a little nursing school there, and before my 21st birthday, I’d gotten a nice, decent paying job as an ER nurse for a hospital in the East Side” They started “The hospitals were all interconnected, so I ended up meeting different doctors and nurses while I worked, and sometimes was called to assist in other hospitals.

“I was.. 25, when I met him” They recalled, something in their voice seeming heavy. “We’ll call him Chris

“He was in residency at a hospital down in the Wesservale neighborhood. We met at a medical appreciation gala… He had something about him I couldn't place. . . A charisma, almost. A kindness. He seemed so eager for the future, so excited for what the next day might bring him. I’d never been like that. His optimism drew me in.

“We started dating the year after. Like with most relationships, everything seemed great. He was funny, kind, thoughtful, all of that stuff. He even went with me to pride stuff, which was pretty cool at the time.”

“Pride?” MJ chimed in. Nell couldn’t hide a chuckle.

“Yes. You’ve heard of the Nyakoto Annual Pride Bonanza, haven’t you? One of the biggest in the country”

“I have, yes”

“Good. Back to the story” Nell redirected “When I was 27, about a year and a half into the relationship, I realized, quite unhappily, that we weren’t actually very different, and didn’t really get along as well as we thought.. It's not that we argued, but.. We didn’t really… talk. I never spoke to him about my problems, I didn’t feel like I could, and that really made me realize that we weren’t actually all that comfortable around each other. So, when he came over to my place that night for dinner, I spoke to him, and tried to tell him that we weren’t compatible, and that I thought perhaps we’d be better off as friends.

“He convinced me that we just needed work, going on and on about all these plans he had for us. Trips, dates, things to look forward to, always looking toward the future, Chris did”

Nell paused again

“.. I really should have noticed how little he cared about happiness in the present.” They commented “Not a traditional red flag, but it was a warning nonetheless”

“Well, I mean, that’s not so bad”

“In a way, no” Nell replied “But when you think about the future so much, you forget the present, you forget to live, and your past just.. Ends up a horrible haze. Even the happy stuff is hard to recall”

MJ hadn’t thought of it like that

“But hindsight is 2020, and in the moment, I believed him. I wanted to believe those bright dreams of the future, and I let go of the fact that I did not even like to talk to him very much.

“... I tried to break up with him 4 more times in the 8 years we were together.”

Okay, MJ hadn’t been expecting that much time passing.

“By the time I was 34, we were living together, but barely seeing each other. From the outside it must have seemed perfect to everyone else. I think only Daph knew about my.. Issues, with Chris. I still never talked to him about anything that wasn’t the future, or how the day was, or.. Just, absolute nonsense.

“One night, after one more attempt to break up, I’d gone to bed defeated, and woke up at 3 in the morning while he was on the night shift in Wesservale.. I came to this… realization

“If I didn’t leave right then and there, I’d marry him…. and I’d …. I’d be stuck. He’d have me, and I’d be stuck for the rest of my life..

“So I grabbed everything I had in the apartment, sent a resignation email to the East side hospital I still worked at, left him a note telling him I was leaving, took my car and just… started driving”

“.. Did he call you?”

“I blocked his number.” They answered curtly. “Drove for days until I came across Subcon.”

MJ didn’t comment.

“I stayed at the Alpine Motel for a few nights, and when I was at the diner, overheard that there was an open position for the school nurse at the elementary” They continued. “I applied for it, and 3 months later cashed in my savings to put a down payment on this little place” They made a motion with their hand briefly “The rest is history”

“Well… If it's any consolation, I think that's a good reason to get out of the city”

Nell couldn’t hold back a laugh. There was something a little… sad, in it, but the laugh was genuine.

“Yeah, then again, every reason is a good one to get out of the city” They commented, and MJ had only just realized that their hands were now on the other side of his face. Nell worked quickly, it seemed. “Hm.. okay. On the count of three, I'm going to try to take it off, alright?”

“Oh, uh, wow, okay!” He replied eagerly, closing his eyes.

“One…” They slowly started, both hands on either side, their nails right at the edge of the mask.

“Three!”

MJ startled as Nell pulled, and a cold, sharp feeling spread over his body before it abruptly ended. When he opened his eyes. He looked at Nell, who had, in their hands, that damned mask.

His hands went up to his face, and he let out a relieved laugh as he felt his skin, glasses and hair “hah! Hahah! I’m human again! No more magic!” He raised his hands and leaned back on the couch “Sweet relief”

Nell let out a chuckle, putting the mask down gently “Finish your tea, I’m gonna grab you a damp towel. You have… paint? On your face”

His brow was furrowed, but he reached for the still-warm mug anyway as Nell got up and went down a short hallway.

He took the few moments that Nell was done to think over the story he’d been told, the exhaustion in the nurse’s voice as she told it. Was he really the first one to learn? It gave him a weird feeling right in his chest.

When Nell returned, she offered a small, damp towel… that had the “Snatcher” smile on it

“... How many of these do you have?” He almost laughed again, and they just answered with an amused smile and grabbed their own coffee cup.

MJ cleaned his face, seeing a candy-red color coming off on the purple towel. “Hm..”

“What?”

“Well uh, the color looks like the magic strings I was able to summon”

Nell Blinked “... Well uh, bring that up with Tim when he’s back in town. That’s a little out of my wheelhouse”

“Noted”

The two fell into silence, sipping their warm drinks and giving them some time to unwind

“Will you need a ride home?” they asked him, putting their mug down.

He hadn’t actually thought of that.

“Oh, uh, it’s fine”

They raised an eyebrow at him

“You live 20 minutes away and Luka isn’t here to … fly you home, per se” They laid out “I’ve got a car, I’ll drive you home”

He turned a little red to the ears “Oh.. Thank you”

“No problem, Moon” They smiled back at him. “I’m going to change real quick, then we’ll leave”

And with that, they left back into the short hallway, to what Moon assumed was their bedroom.

Nell returned a few minutes later, dressed in a loose blouse and skirt that went down to their ankles, a far cry from the tank top and sweatpants that he’d seen them in before. He supposed that it was more so not wanting to go out in Pajamas than anything else. She picked up the mask, wrapping it in a handkerchief before holding it out to him

“It’s chosen you. You have to keep it”

He just nodded, and gingerly took the troublesome thing into his hands.

The two got in their truck (Nell owned a truck??) and drove into town.

MJ took in a breath as they turned onto a main street, passing The Horizon. “So uh, Nell..”

“Hm?”

“About your uh, the story you told me.. I won’t tell anyone”

“I don’t mind if you do” they answered, eyes on the road

“What, really?”

“Like I said before. Five years feels long enough”

MJ’s brow furrowed “I’m still not going to say anything.. That’s a personal story. It’s not mine to tell”

Nell glanced over at him with an unreadable expression, before moving to turn on the radio. Lo-fi started, and it seemed they were right in the middle of a Billie Eilish song.

“.. Thank you” They ended up responding as the song picked up

”I know supposedly I'm lonely now.

Know I’m supposed to be unhappy without someone.

But aren’t I someone?” 

MJ didn’t say much of anything else once until they got to his apartment building

“Thank you, Nell. For everything”

“Don’t mention it” They gave him a small, but sincere smile “Get some rest, hm? The bags under your eyes are aging you”

MJ just laughed “I will. Don’t be a stranger, Mx. Buonacci”

The nurse gave him a lazy salute with a soft smile, before the window rolled up, and they drove off

Exhaling, he looked down at the covered mask, wrapped in a…. Snatcher-patterned handkerchief.

He couldn’t help but laugh.

#ahit #ahit coffee shop au #coffee shop au #moonjumper #ahit moonjumper #ahit oc #nell #ahit nell #backstory #antonia writes #this was fun

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Secrets ~ 3

Warnings: noncon sexual acts later in series

This is dark!Bucky and dark!Steve and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: A buried family secret comes to light thrusting you to the forefront of an old alliance.

Note: Finished this before work! Hope y’all enjoy.

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

There was a flurry of activity around the jet waiting on the tarmac. You sat in the car, still cuffed, trapped, as you watched the crew hurry. It was barely noon yet and you were exhausted. Barnes returned and slid in the other side. You ignored him and kept your eyes out the window.

“Shouldn’t be long before we can board,” He said. “You look unhappy, your highness. Is there any way I can help?”

“Uncuff me, let me go home and live my life,” You snapped dryly. “That would about do it.”

“Get it all out now.” He chided. “The king won’t stand for your lip.”

“‘The king won’t stand for your lip’,” You mimicked and grunted as you leaned a bit too heavily on your hands. “I really don’t care what he wants and I certainly don’t care what he thinks of me. All the better if he hates me.”

“This isn’t about feelings. He will marry you regardless of his personal bias,” Barnes assured. “It will be easier, however, if he has a reason to tolerate you.”

“Do you really live by the forgotten words just because they were written down?” You scoffed. “You know how absurd that is? I’ve seen the stories, he could marry anyone--”

“No, he can’t,” Barnes intoned. “Those forgotten words are not forgotten. The kingdom remembers the agreement. They remember how much we gave to the flagging country of Ecklun. They remember we were promised a princess.” He looked at you. “You. We paid our dues and we expect a return on it.”

You shook your head, finding it hard not to laugh sardonically. It was all backwards. This was the shit you read about in textbooks or fantasy novels. It was bullshit.

“Would it disqualify me to tell you I’m not pure?” You snickered. “To tell you I didn’t save myself for the king I never gave a second thought about?”

“It doesn’t bother me and surely not him.” Barnes shrugged. “He’s had his own fun, but I would advise you to not be so flippant about it with him. He is not one for cheek.”

“If I am who you say I am, I will do as I like.” You snarled.

“Very well. I can’t stop you. I can only warn you against it.” He pushed his head back and sighed. “You know your history, you recall how kings can be.”

👑

You sat on the plane in a plush leather seat, white and pristine like the rest of the interior. Barnes was across from you, eyes closed and arms crossed over his chest. Once you’d taken off, he’d quit checking his watch and settled into the flight without a second glance at you. You couldn’t do the same. 

Aside from your anxiety and anger over all that had transpired, your hands remained bound behind you and kept you from leaning back or getting comfortable in the least. You teetered on the edge of the seat and glared at him.

“What do you want, Duchess?” He asked without lifting an eyelid.

“Can’t you at least take these off?” You grumbled. “My shoulders are killing me.”

He shrugged and said nothing.

“You can’t expect me to sit through this whole flight like this.” You hissed. “Shit, you don’t treat me like a duchess or whatever you claim I am.”

His eyes opened sharply and he uncrossed his arms. He sat forward, his jaw ticked as he inhaled deeply through his nose.

“You will not use that language further,” He warned. “Understood. It is unladylike. Unseemly. I won’t tolerate it and neither will the king.”

“Language? I’m sorry I don’t talk in iambic pentameter.” You scowled.

“You know what I mean. No more shits, fucks, and all that.” He seemed disgusted by the words on his tongue. “If you feel the need to moan, pretend you are a child.”

“Oh, gosh, will do, mister,” You said dryly. He raised his brow and his nostrils flared. “If I promise to watch my mouth, will you undo these?”

He blinked and checked the time again. He seemed to weigh the option as he angled his head one way then the other.

“Well, I can’t have you arriving in cuffs, I suppose,” He stood and reached into his pocket as he neared. “But don’t think I won’t bring them back out if needed. You understand?”

“Yes, Mr. Barnes, I swear to be a good little duchess,” You quipped.

He huffed and pulled you forward as he reached around you to grasp the cuffs. They came free and he drew away. He backed up as he put the key back in his pocket and dropped the cuffs in the empty seat next to him. He leaned an elbow on the rest and held his chin as he watched you. You sat back as you stretched your arms in front of your, turning your hands and rolling your wrists.

“We have a lot of work to do,” He ran his fingertips along his short stubble. “A lot.”

👑

Time seemed to stand still. When you arrived, it was morning in Astrania, the rest of the day lost in the difference. A man in black led you down the steps to the tarmac, Barnes behind you, and another man. You were taken into the airport, away from the general public, and guided through the corridors meant for employees only.

Barnes came up to walk beside you. A sudden tide of displacement washed over you. It was all real. You were far from home, stranded, trapped, in a land you didn’t know. With a title you didn’t want. For a purpose you dreaded.

The man in front of you stopped short before a door and turned back to look at Barnes.

“Cameras are here.” He said curtly.

“Already?” Barnes frowned. 

“They must’ve seen the royal jet circling,” The man replied. “Apparently, they’ve been on alert since your departure.”

Barnes sighed and nodded. He unbuttoned the single button of his jacket and pulled it off.  “Just make sure you keep them away.” He opened his jacket and turned to you. “Here.” He tried to shroud your head in his blazer and you dodged it. The man behind you blocked you. “Come on. There’s gonna be at least a dozen photogs out there and you far from ready for an appearance.”

“Are you serious?” You snorted.

“The longer we wait, the more will be there,” He said. “Now come on.”

He threw his jacket over you and you caught it. It smelled like expensive cologne and sweat. He wrapped it around you so that you could barely see and grabbed your arm to guide you onward. Unsteady, unsure, you let him usher you ahead and a heavy metal door opened, a streak of light visibly past the hem of the jacket as you could barely see your own feet.

A buzz of voices and the shutter of cameras greeted you outside and you clutched the  fabric tighter. Barnes kept on, a few warnings to the vulture-like photogs as the way was cleared ahead of him by your stalwart escorts. A car door opened and you were angled inside quickly. 

You caught yourself on the seat and felt a nudge to move over. Barnes climbed in as you righted yourself and the door closed heavily behind him. He pulled his jacket away and shook it out as the tinted windows flashed with the cameras outside. He grumbled and folded his jacket in his lap.

“Well,” He bemoaned. “That does change things.” He shifted on the seat. “Driver. Go on.”

“What do you mean?” You asked.

“Your arrival will be a headline by the next hour,” He explained. “That means we have even less time to get you… ready.”

“Oh, such a tragedy.” You snipped.

“Trust me, duchess, while you insist on making a mockery of this, you do not want to face the media without preparation,” The car began to move and ran his fingers through his dark hair. “They will tear you apart. What matters is their perception not your intent.”

“Ah, is that your job then?” You wondered. “You’re supposed to make a lady of me.”

“I am to educate you,” He insisted. “A tall and no doubt foolhardy task,” He growled. “But my king gave me an order and I will do what I can to mold you into at least a semblance of a lady.”

👑

Lush green fields turned to rolling hills. You watched the scenery, almost forgetting where you were and why. The picturesque countryside awed you and sent a chill through you. It truly felt like you had stepped back in time; even as if you had arrived on an entirely different planet.

Trees planted in careful lines closed in around the road and led to a row of tall hedges and you stopped before a gate of curled metal, topped by sharp points. It opened after the driver gave a short honk. The long drive was laid with mosaic stones and curved before the rounded steps of a great mansion. The double doors at the top were decorated with golden knockers and the handles were wrought and twisted elegantly. The car came to a halt and Barnes, as was his habit, checked his watch.

Your door was opened by the driver as Barnes climbed out the other side. He rounded the vehicle and beckoned you towards the steps. He walked beside you and you could sense him watching you from the corner of your eyes. The doors opened as you approached the stairs and liveried servants appeared from the other side as they welcomed you with eager smiles.

“All is prepared duchess,” He gestured ahead. “The palace has been readied for your seclusion. You are the only task left.”

“What a welcome,” You sneered. “I might be unlearned in the habit of nobility, but I don’t think it is usual for one to speak to a duchess in that tone.”

He smiled and took your arm, hooking it through his as he urged you up the stairs.

“The king has permitted me full reign in your training,” He said as he guided you through the open doors. “He will forgive me my own missteps if I can prevent your own.”

You dragged your feet as you entered the vast foyer. The floor was of white marble veined with gold, the decor shared a similar color scheme, and portraits hung from the walls, vast likeness of women in garb dating from the earliest medieval periods to the last century. You detached from Barnes and looked around.

“This is the Palace of Regia,” Barnes explained from behind you. “These are your foremothers. The queens of Astrania, each of whom took their pre-marital seclusion here. Each who married and served their kings proudly.”

You recalled the tradition, common to many countries but mostly retired since Victoria reigned over England and much of the globe. You turned back to Barnes and blinked.

“How long?”

“Two weeks,” Barnes answered. “Two weeks to ready you for the king’s presence. You will be taken to the capital at the end and attend your engagement party so that you can acquaint yourself with your future husband. Your wedding is scheduled the next week.”

“Engagement party? Wedding?” You echoed. “That’s… three weeks. Not even a month.”

“Yes, so we should get to work.” He neared and grabbed your shoulders. He pushed them back. “Stand straight.” He poked your chin up with two fingers. “Head high, shoulders back.”

“What are you--”

He rounded you and his hand gripped your waist and squeezed. He shushed you and ran his other hand up your spine.

“You must hold yourself like a queen. Mind your posture, your highness.” He said.

You pulled away from him harshly. “What are you doing?”

You were shocked as you felt a slap on your ass and he swiftly caught your hips and drew you back to stand before him.

“I am trying to save you a lot of grief.” He said. “Stay.” He bid as if you were a dog. He released you and came around in front of you. “As I said, head up, shoulders back.”

He stared until you obeyed. You sighed and stood straight as you could. He grinned.

“Let me tell you, Duchess, the cameras, the public, they will judge you even more harshly so you want to give them as little ammunition as you can so that they cannot turn their muzzles on you.” He girded and grabbed your arms, adjusting them before his hands settled on either side of your neck. He tutted. “You cannot hang your shoulders like a hunchback.”

“I don’t--”

“You do.” He insisted. “Now,” He removed his hands and walked backwards until he was near the wall. “Walk to me.” You squinted and he lowered his chin. He chuckled and waved his hand to beckon you forward. “Come on.”

You rolled your eyes but took a step. He hissed. “Keep your head up. Shoulders straight. Don’t sway like that.” Each footfall had another comment until you were right before him. He gestured you to turn around and he kicked your feet closer together and again touched your hips. “Let them know you’re a woman but do not flaunt it. Walk as if there is a string running straight through you. Lift your feet.”

He nudged you and you began to walk again. He followed not far behind and you heard his displeased grumbles. He fixed your shoulders, your hips again, told you to keep your feet closer together, head up! 

You were growing more and more annoyed by the second. You were tired. You hadn’t even had a chance to register everything. You were in a palace, marching beneath the eyes of dozens of dead queens, far from home and all you had ever known. It was all so foreign, so different, so startlingly unfamiliar. You hated it.

“Enough!” You spun to face him and he stopped short. “Holy shit! I haven’t even--”

He grabbed your hand and smacked it like you were a child. “Language.” He warned.

You tugged your hand back and gaped at him. “What the fuck--”

He took your hand again and smack it harder. “Your highness, let us not be children.”

“Don’t touch me--” You tore yourself away. “You’re fucking crazy.”

“If you insist on acting like a child, I will bend you over and spank you like one.” He said. “Now, stand straight.” He crossed his arms. “And mind your mouth.” You stared at him, stunned. He raised his brows and nodded to you. “Don’t make me count, Duchess.”

#steve rogers #bucky barnes #dark steve rogers #dark bucky barnes #dark!steve rogers #dark!bucky barnes #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #dark steve rogers x reader #dark bucky barnes x reader #dark!steve rogers x reader #dark!bucky barnes x reader #fic #series #au #secrets #dark!fic #dark fic #mcu #marvel #royal au

[someguynamedstevewrites]

My Roommate is an Apparition: An Apparition A-Pink-ciation of Culture

Based on characters created by @reddpenn

From the diary of Lily:

------------

When I was little, I used to talk to my stuffed animals all the time.  They were my soft, cuddly friends who were always there for me, and even though they never spoke a word, I always imagined I could hear what they wanted to say.  Even as an adult, I still treat inanimate objects like they’re people too.  In fact, everyone does at some point or another in their adult life.  Anyone who has ever argued with their car that refused to start knows what I mean.

But recently, I realized that sometimes people can do... well the opposite. That sometimes we don’t treat people (who are actual, real people) like they’re people.  It’s not something we consciously think about, but it’s more like we forget that, well, people are people.  I know this sounds really dumb, but I felt like I needed to write about this after a... well after an “argument” I had with my roommate.

I’ve lived with my roommate for a few months now, and I thought I had gotten to know them pretty well.   They like to watch cartoons (like, seriously LOVES them) and we had worked out a TV viewing schedule to make sure that we got along together.  But the other day, I realized that I wasn’t necessarily treating them like they were their own person.  I didn’t mean to do that, but it just kind of happened, and...

...well it gets really complicated because, technically, they aren’t a person.

I mean, they aren’t human; they’re an apparition.

It made me think about all those stories about monsters and ghosts.  Like a ghost used to be human, but then they died, and their spirit became a ghost.  Do we still treat the ghost like the person they were when they were alive?  Outside of a few exceptions, the answer’s a definite yes.

But what about an apparition? It’s kind of like a ghost, but it’s not. I mean, it’s not the soul of someone who died or anything. They just sort of exist. (Would Slimer from Ghostbusters be an apparition or a ghost?).

------------

So anyway, reason I’m bringing this all up is because of what happened last weekend. I was channel surfing through the Cable Guide and as I’m flipping through, I pass by Boomerang (you know, the cable channel that spun-off Cartoon Network to hold all the older cartoons?) and all of a sudden, my roommate appears out of nowhere (literally) and practically grabs the remote out from my hands.

“Hey! What gives!?” I say to them.

They immediately change over to Boomerang and my TV screen is suddenly filled up with the color pink. At the same time, my roommate starts “doot-ing” along with the song and goes, “Doo-Doot! Doo-Doot! Do-Doot-Do-Doot-Do-Doot Do-Doot-De-Dooooooooo-Doo-Doo-Doo-Doo-Doooot”. I have no idea what they’re doing, but then the cartoon starts up and it’s the Pink Panther.

Rhetorically, I go, “What’s this?”

“Pink... Panther...” my roomie says.

And then I make my first mistake by saying, “Huh. Never seen it before.”

Now if I had been paying attention to them, I probably would have seen the face of shock they were making. “You... NEVER... saw it!?” They gasped.

“Nope. Must have been before my time,” which was totally true. I mean, I later found out my Dad used to watch it when he was a kid. It wasn’t on TV when I was growing up. (Why am I defending myself for not watching a specific cartoon?)

Anyway, roomie asks, “Watch... with me?”

And then I, being a total dumbass, say, “Nah. Think I’ll get some dishes in,” before getting up and walking away.

If I had stayed put for just a few seconds longer, I would have heard them asking, “...please?” (In case you’re wondering, they told me about that later.)

------------

Yes, I hurt its feelings.  Yes, it was insensitive.  Yes, I am sorry.  But like I said, the thought didn’t even cross my mind back then.  As far as I knew, as long as my roommate had their cartoons, they were happy.  It didn’t occur to me that they cared about anything other than the cartoons themselves.

For the next week, my roommate made sure I knew, now and forever, that this was not true.

My first clue that they were mad at me was later that evening when I went to the living room to watch my usual shows.   It was my turn on the TV, and usually I have to pry my roommate away so I can watch what I want to watch. But that night, the instant I walked into the room, they changed the channel to what I wanted, put the remote down on the couch, and left the room without saying a word.  I thanked them, plopped myself down, and went straight into couch potato mode.

This should have thrown so many red flags in my head, but for some reason, it didn’t.  Maybe I was being too self-absorbed at the time? Maybe I was just tired and thinking, “Aww man, I gotta work tomorrow!”?  No matter the excuse, mistakes were made, and I started paying for them the very next morning.

My “haunting” kicked off with waking up to find most of my rock collection missing.  I have a particular affinity for pretty rocks and gems (I’m kind of a rock nerd) and have my favorites out on display.  But that morning, the only rocks that I could see were the pink ones.  Someone had pilfered almost every pebble from every pedestal to perturb me.   (I saw a chance for alliteration and took it! So sue me!)  I was still waking up and too tired to care about it at the time (me making excuses again) and had work, so I got ready to go and left.

Now I’m not sure how they did it, but my roommate did something to my car radio.   I turn it on and all I get are tunes by Henry Mancini.  Fifty percent of the time, it was the Pink Panther theme, twenty-five percent was the theme from A Shot In The Dark (I had to use Soundhound to figure out that one), and the rest was a mix of some of his other work.   It didn’t matter what station I tried changing it to!  Although I did learn that Mancini composed Baby Elephant Walk, so that’s something.

By now, I’d already figured out what was going on (roommate did it), but couldn’t really do anything about it because I still had work to go to.   As if the daily grind working at an art supply store wasn’t hard enough, I had to work while having the dang Pink Panther theme stuck in my head all day.  Not even the music that played over the store radio could get rid of it.  (Given the quote un-quote “music” they play over the speaker system, I eventually considered it a good thing.)

Then I came home, and that’s when things REALLY escalated.  First words out of my mouth after I walked in was, “Hey, I’m hoooOOOOOLY~!”  Every single wall in the apartment, from the living room, to the kitchen, to the bedroom, and even the bathroom...

PINK!

All of them were painted PINK!

Like strawberry frosted doughnut pink!

As I’m gawking at the interior design sugar rush nightmare, out walks my roommate from around the corner.  Immediately, the first thing I noticed was that they had feet. (Normally, they don’t have feet; they just kind of “hover” or “emerge from the ground” or something.) They had their eyes closed, head held up, and made a point of showing off these noodle legs they had constructed by skipping every other three steps.

They were doing the Pink Panther shuffle.

They walk out of my line of sight and I run over to have a word with them, but by then they disappeared.  I look around and all I see is more and more pink.  From behind me, I hear a mix of snickering slash wheezing.  Like you ever hear of this cartoon dog named Muttley?  They were laughing like him.  And of course, I turn around, and the only thing I see is more pink!

------------

I knew that my roommate could be ornery at times, like that time I tried to get an idea of their daily routine by setting up a webcam, but this...

I mean, where did she even get the paint?  (Upon reading back here, I realized I referred to them as a ‘she’ even though I’m not sure if they are a ‘she’ or not.  Yeah, I can edit it to a more neutral pronoun, but something tells me I ought to point this out instead of editing it, for some reason.)

I was half tempted to get back at them by painting the walls back to their original color (they do sell paint by the gallon where I work, and I get the employee discount), but realized they’d just paint(?) the walls pink again.  Like I’d turn around after thinking I finished only to find the work I did completely undone.  I could just picture my roommate doing that and finding it hysterical.

Anyway, tacky as the pink walls were, I didn’t get too angry about them.  For starters, my lease agreement said that I couldn’t paint the walls without landlord approval.  But my lease agreement also acknowledges that my apartment may be haunted.  If the landlord ever brought it up, I’d just tell them the “ghost” did it.  Second, these pranks my roommate was pulling were kind of amusing and didn’t really bother me that much.  (I mean sure, I wanted my rock collection back but I doubted my roommate would have thrown them away.  They know how much they mean to me.)

The one thing I was putting my foot down on was that I wasn’t going to ask my roommate what was wrong.  I got the hint, sure, but I wanted them to know that if something is bothering them, they need to, y’know, actually say something instead of leaving spooky pink clues.  They were being a butt, and my hope was that when they saw how much the pink wasn’t bothering me, then they’d finally open up.  This went on for about a week with me going about my daily routine only to be surprised by the occasional pink interruption.

Like on Wednesday, I go to the fridge to get something to drink, and all I find in there is Pink Lemonade.  It actually wasn’t that bad, but I have no idea how my roommate actually got it given that they never leave the apartment.  Thursday, I get a notification saying a package arrived, and find my roommate used my debit card to order the entire Pink Panther cartoon series on DVD.  And earlier on Tuesday, I got a call from my landlord asking if I knew why someone had called in an order, in their name, to have Owens Corning insulation installed.  In case you weren’t aware, that’s the pink insulation who has “you can guess who” as their mascot.

------------

So, Friday rolls around, and by now, the entire apartment is pink.  Like EVERYTHING.  The furniture, the electronics, the toilet, the sink, the appliances, the TV, and everything in between has been made pink somehow.  I’m not sure who out there still makes pink toilet paper, but apparently my roommate has either some special powers I don’t know about yet, or they got connections.

At this point, since my roommate had yet to approach me about “The Pink-ening”, I began playing the reverse-psychology card.  I came home and got to making dinner.  While some of this was a bit more expensive than what I usually spend on food, I figured it was worth it if it meant getting my roommate to talk to me.  My menu included delicious smoked pink salmon, some crab linguine with a nice amount of pink to it for a side dish, and some mashed red potatoes that turn out nice and pink if you got the right recipe.  To wash it down, I picked up a glass of pink lemonade from the fridge, and in the freezer, some strawberry sorbet.

I get down to eating at my pink table, with a pink wooden chair, pink napkins, pink silverware, pink glass of pink lemonade.  It took a little more effort to put this together, but I made an exaggerated point of showing off how good this pink meal was and how much I was just enjoying all this pink.

About halfway into my meal, I get a feeling that someone’s standing behind me.  It’s hard to put into words how you know someone’s there especially since my roommate doesn’t really eat or breath.  It’s like the hairs on the back of your neck become sensitive like cat whiskers and can just... feel that someone’s there.  Usually sends a chill down my spine when that happens, but this time, I was ready and waiting for it.

“Care to join me for dinner?” I say without turning around.  If I had, they probably would have vanished on me again like they had been doing all week.

“Looks... good...” they say in their ever so familiar by now raspy voice.

“Got something you want to talk about?” I ask between bites.  There’s a brief pause as my roommate thinks to themselves.

“...yes,” they finally answer.

“Okay.  Pull up a chair!  It’s been a while since we just, y’know, talked and stuff,” which was true.  

The instant I said that, I realized that even before the “week of pink” began, we hadn’t spent a whole lot of time together outside of our usual TV time.  I had long since figured out that my roommate wanted me to watch Pink Panther with them, but I just thought they wanted to show it to me to show off how (subjectively) good the cartoon was.  Only then did it hit me that they wanted me to watch it with them because they wanted to watch it together with me.  It was like they were hoping for some roommate bonding time or something like that.

Now, it wasn’t like we weren’t talking to each other before this.  I greeted them whenever I saw them, and let them know whenever I came home or was leaving. but we hadn’t actually talked, like... “talk-talk” in a few weeks.  Instead, the conversations over the last few weeks were like the kind of conversations a person would have with their pet cat or pet dog.  Like you’d talk to them, but not really expect an answer from them.

I had been treating her like a pet more than a person.  (Did it again!  I’m thinking I’ll ask them later what kind of pronouns they’d like me to use, or if they’ve even given any thought towards gender or anything).

My guess is that my roommate picked up on this themselves, and just like a disobedient pet who is bored, lonely, or other, they made a mess of the place.  Maybe they were thinking that if I was going to treat them like a pet, they would act like one too?

Of course, I didn’t mean to treat them like that.  I don’t think anyone really does mean it when they do.  It just kind of happens without thinking about it.  The whole reason I’m writing this down here in you, diary, is so that I can make a mental note slash reminder to be careful of doing that kind of thing.  It’s especially important to remember when interacting with other people, like my co-workers or the store customers.  (Unlike my roommate, they can’t get on my case by making my entire apartment pink.)

------------

Now where was I?  Oh yeah, our talk.  I think I remember the most important bits of it.  It went something like:

“So, whaddya wanna talk about?” I ask between bites of food.

“Pink...” they say to me.  I wait a moment, expecting them to say “panther” after that, but it when it doesn’t arrive, I step in.

“Yeah!  Pretty amazing what you did with the place!  I didn’t know things could even get this pink!” which was one-hundred percent true.

“...Thank...you...” they say with a smile.  I can tell that was not the answer they were expecting as I could have swore they turned and blushed.  Although I couldn’t tell because of how pink everything else was.

“Although,” I add, “I don’t think the landlord is going to like the apartment being this pink.  If it stays like this, they might kick me out.  And we wouldn’t want that, right?”

Now my roommate, the apparition, actually looks shocked for a moment.  The thought hadn’t entered their head, and for a moment, they looked a little scared.  “N-n-n-no...” they stuttered.

“Well, I’m sure together, we can get this place back to the way it was before the next time they have an apartment inspection.  Whenever that is,” I reassure them.

“Yeah...” my roommate nods.

“Say I got some time off this upcoming weekend.  Want to watch some Pink Panther with me?”  (Oh my God, you should have seen the smile on my roommate’s face when I asked this.)  “I see I have the DVD collection now, apparently,” I say with a wink, “and we can even watch the movies together too.”

“...movies?” they ask.

“Yeah, the Pink Panther was a movie first before it became a cartoon.  It was a live-action movie, but... well some of it’s like a cartoon here and there.  Lots of slapstick comedy that I think you might like.”  They were practically beaming and agreed immediately.  

After Friday’s dinner, we watched some of the cartoons (which are actually pretty funny) and for the upcoming weekend, we’re doing a Pink Panther movie marathon with cartoons mixed in to spice it up.  I also found out that my roommate doesn’t just watch the cartoons, but actually knows a thing or two about them.  Like how Friz Freleng, one of the directors and creative minds behind the original Looney Tunes cartoons, was involved in the Pink Panther’s creation along with a new studio after he left Warner Brothers.  I don’t know how my roommate came to know so much, but it’s pretty cool.

Anyway, I got me some sweet, pink treats to snack on during the movie marathon.  The apartment is still pink as can be, but my roommate said they’ll take care of it once the marathon’s over.  Exactly HOW they plan to take care of it, I have no idea.  Oh well.  No use pinking too hard about it.

(HA!)

#my roommate is an apparition #Tulpa #fanfiction #reddpenn #Pink Panther

[felidaefighter]

What Fate Cannot Burn

[Written before Niki had the news broken to her by the Syndicate; starfate is a platonic soulmate/best friend relationship, coined from @ufuckingpastry and their amazing fics! My wonderful friend and beta-reader @voidofthestars​ also has amazing fics with the term!]

Niki and Fundy don’t want to call themselves starfated, thinking it too cruel with their pasts. But someone has to break the news about Wilbur’s revival to Niki. They have a chat.

     Fate, it seemed, had always been against Niki and Fundy. Perhaps that was why they had always danced around their courtship, never solidifying anything as pale, never calling themselves starfated. The two had grown up together, embraced by the blackstone walls of L’Manberg. They had fought for their freedom and pets together, they had survived famine together-- they had, despite all their hurt, forgiven the traitor who raised them together. They had campaigned together, side by side, sharing ideals and morals and an understanding that they refused to color. They had also watched everything they’d been raised as, the ideals they were taught, had believed with all their heart, crumble with the walls to reveal the harsh truth of what was buried underneath, deeper than the TNT that waited amongst its foundations.

    Manburg did horrible things to its people. One of the worst things it did was destroy the pale courtship of Niki and Fundy. Fundy, coddled yet abandoned, desperate for love with no cornerstones to ground him, stayed loyal to the place that had been promised him, rather than its ideals. Niki fell the opposite way, and had screamed to the sky as the trust for her moonstruck-companion evaporated into the sky with the smoke of the flag she had sewn with her own two hands, with the symbol of everything they had ever fought for. Even the steady, parental hand of Eret could not calm the pain she had felt as she lost the relationship she never dared to name to a tyrant’s command. Eret could never understand. Only those in L’Manberg knew true betrayal. As it had always been.

    After the war, L’Manberg just wasn’t the same. And neither were two of its youngest citizens. Not just for the way that Niki couldn’t so much as look at Fundy without seeing the burning flag, or the way that Fundy couldn’t look at Niki without knowing she truly thought he would be so willing to side with Schlatt. Because Wilbur was dead, and Wilbur had been everything. Wilbur had been the embodiment of L’Manberg, and he had killed it, just as he’d killed himself. Because he was Fundy’s dad and Niki’s friend and he would rather destroy himself and the nation he had built than let them have it. Neither of them really knew who to blame or where to turn. But they didn’t turn to eachother. No matter how much their hearts ached and how they could read one another in a single glance, even now, they turned away. Fate had never been kind to them. They refused to give it one more thing to tear away.

    Even amongst the crowd after Dream had promised annihilation on L’Manberg, they didn’t speak to one another, didn’t make eye contact. And as the next day they watched their home, the place that bore every footprint and memory from their childhood, turn to rubble beneath their feet, they exchanged not a word, but a silent understanding as the two stood together and Niki herself burned the last roots they had to the doomed nation that would never again fail them as it had so many times before. Together they mirrored one of the men who had raised them, and saluted in heavy silence as a final goodbye.

    And with no more roots to hold them to a place they could no longer call home, Niki and Fundy parted. Niki tried to tell herself she didn’t care where Fundy had gone, and in time her moonstruck feelings were buried under the mountains of rage and grief and resentment that had piled on over the years with no true outlet. To Niki’s surprise, she found a companion who shared not just her resentment, but her childhood home-- it seemed that she and Jack shared a quartz-colored heart, so they claimed themselves a duo and started working together. It was nice. It was almost starfated. They shared goals and even acknowledged it as courting.

    But as Niki started to find herself and move on from the endless pain, no longer focusing on the harm of others but on the healing of herself, she found what everyone who seeks a cornerstone relationship eventually finds to be true: When resentment for the same thing is the only thing shared, there can never be true peace or trust or understanding between them-- not when one moves on and the other sits in their pain and anger. After a heartbreaking discussion, Jack and Niki ended their courtship, all the more pained for having known it as such. Niki’s pale heart sang for the loss of Jack, and she found herself missing the quiet understanding that she and Fundy, even at their worst, even angered to the core at one another, had shared. It was a feeling that could not be replaced. She ached for all she had lost, but knew she could not sit in her pain. She moved forward. She found ideals that suited her and were not thrust upon her. She harvested wheat, made flour, made dough. She baked.

-----

    Niki had stopped work on the city for the night, closing the door to her own living space within the cavern walls and sighing. She put a kettle on the stovetop, preparing to relax. Most of her day had been spent acclimating new refugees from other areas of the land into the city, cataloguing how many of the pre-made apartments had been taken and attempting to calculate what would need to go into the expansion. The city and citizens were getting used to one another, so to speak, and Niki was rather proud of how beautiful it all was. The only thing they really needed more of was chunks of ice; caves were kept at such a consistent temperature that any baking or cooking needed an outside interference, since they couldn’t just open a window to cool off their apartment. Niki was so wrapped up in her thoughts about the day that she almost didn’t hear the short, timid knock on her door.

    “Coming! I’m coming!” She called, rushing up to the door. In her defense, she hadn’t exactly been expecting visitors-- she opened the door and stood in minor shock-- especially not this one. “Fundy…?” Niki asked softly, surprise coloring her words. Ears flattened back against his head and fidgeting with his own padded fingers, Fundy stared at the ground, hardly even glancing up at her. “Hey, Niki.” She… she didn’t know what to say. This was the first they’d spoken to one another in what seemed like years. She knew what to do, though. Niki opened the door wider and stepped aside. “Please, Fundy, come in!” Fundy hesitatingly stepped inside-- he finally looked at her, and it was with such a pure expression of feeling lost that it made her almost want to take him into her arms, run her hands through his fur and soothe his aches-- a feeling that startled her, that she hadn’t felt since she broke off her alliance with Jack.

    She couldn’t bring herself to do that, though. It had been too long and there was too much unspoken. Instead, she decided on practicality. “What brings you here, Fundy? Do you need a home? We still have a few apartments that aren’t taken,” Niki said, attempting to anticipate his needs. “Nooo, it’s not that…” Fundy replied, drawing out his words, and Niki gave the fox hybrid a patient smile. He’d always had trouble articulating bad news-- that was okay. She didn’t have anywhere she needed to be for the rest of the night. She gestured to the sofa, and Fundy took a seat, sitting on the edge as if he didn’t belong and might need to bolt at any second. Niki was grateful she’d started making tea; there wound up being just enough for one cup each. She handed one to Fundy and his ears flicked in silent thanks.

    Niki sipped her tea as Fundy stared straight into his. “I wanted to find you because, well, I think… I think you should know.” Niki gave a soft questioning hum, encouraging him to continue. “So… y’know Wil… my dad… your friend… he died…” Niki frowned a little. If it had to do with Wilbur-- her heart ached, and she felt a kinship with Fundy in that moment. She knew. She did. “Yes,” Niki answered quietly, “I know. It’s been-- it’s been a long time since his death. It’s been hard. What happened, Fundy? Has something new come up?” Fundy’s yellow eyes flicked up and met Niki’s own, filled with grief and confusion. His gaze softened, remembering that they had, in fact, been-- almost been. He relaxed a little more into his seat, but he kept his hesitant and uncomfortable expression.

    Foxes don’t like to go in straight lines when they travel, and neither did Fundy like to speak in one. “So… something happened, at the prison, with Wilbur’s ghost… he was there with Tommy… and Dream…” Niki stiffened a little bit at both the names, and decided to hold off on her confusion about a ghost. “Because Dream has this revive book, right? So Dream… he threatened to Tommy to bring Wil back… apparently Sam fucked up…” Niki furrowed her eyebrows, desperately attempting to not become aggravated. It was a lot of non-information. “Fundy, what are you saying right now? What happened?” She asked, needing clarity. Fundy sighed, straightened up, and looked at her with a sudden focus to his gaze. “Dream… Dream brought Wilbur back. Wilbur is alive again. Tommy and Tubbo and Ranboo have all seen him-- I told Phil and I think he might be with him now.” He stared at Niki, tail twitching nervously.

    Niki was frozen. She held her teacup in a strange, mid-sip position, as if time for her had stopped before she took the action. “Wilbur is… back?” She asked, voice shaky in disbelief. “How?” Fundy shrugged helplessly. “I… the revive book, I guess. It’s real-- apparently Dream guinea pig-tested it on Tommy and it’s real. And now Wil is back. He’s alive again. Good ‘ole… Wilbur…” Fundy trailed off as it sank into both of them. Wilbur. God, what had he become? In Pogtopia? The dark ravine where the resistance gathered, the desolation that drove him to destroy his own home and force his father into an assisted suicide. Wilbur, when he had died, was not the man they knew and loved growing up in the safety of L’Manberg’s blackstone walls. Niki set her teacup down and watched it grow cold.

    Screwing together her eyes, Niki took a deep breath to steady herself and made a decision. She picked her teacup back up and took a sip-- it wasn’t yet lukewarm. Fundy, seeing her do so, did the same. “I don’t know how I feel about that,” Niki finally admitted. “Yeah,” Fundy agreed-- there in his voice was the telltale shake of an almost-laugh, done in nervousness, and it dawned on Niki that it was a family trait that he shared with Phil. “Phil will be happy, at least,” She posited, and Fundy agreed. “Yeah. He seemed hopeful. Wil-- he said Wil lied to him about the elections. I don’t really… know what that means.”

    Niki put a hand on Fundy’s shoulder. “Maybe… maybe you aren’t the only one who just wants his dad to be proud of him,” Niki offered with a small, empathetic smile. Fundy let out a very strange noise that was partly a sigh, partly a groan, and partly a sob. “I guess.” But she could tell he knew she was right. “Wilbur is…” Here, Niki tried to piece together her own thoughts. “Wilbur is a very complicated man with very complicated morals and relationships. He was our friend, and he hurt people-- but he was hurting too. I don’t know what death is like. I don’t know what being dead for so long would change him to be like.” Fundy, despite the somber mood, was relaxing a little-- and Niki, to her own surprise, found herself doing the same. He enthusiastically agreed with her description of complexity. It was definitely true.

    Niki took another big, courageous breath. One step at a time. She knew how to do this. “But if there’s anything I’ve learned lately, it’s that we cannot stop living our lives because of something like this. We can’t let ourselves become overwhelmed and paralyzed because of one big emotion. It isn’t good for us. It isn’t good for anyone.” Her grief, the loss of L’Manberg. The rage at Tommy and the feeling of entitlement, that if they just got an apology they could move on-- but not before that, never before that. The ache she felt, that shooting star that almost could have been before Jack sank himself so deep into rage it made him mad that she wasn’t drowning in it too. All of it came pouring out of her in that moment, like an overflowing cup that had finally finally been allowed to spill over. She might have been crying. Fundy’s eyes, too, shimmered with the same pain and understanding.

    “What do we… what do we do, then?” He asked, voice ragged as if he’d been holding back the tears that were now being blinked away for years (he had). “What do we even do? What can we do?” He nearly shouted it, desperation leaking from his voice. Niki sniffled, wiped away her eyes, picked up the empty teacups and brought them into the kitchen. Fundy followed, a familiar feeling to it all. “We can… well…” She set the cups down gently, turning to Fundy. He looked ready to listen to anything, about then. Gods above, the two of them had missed eachother more than they’d ever be able to put into words, huh.

    Suddenly, Niki smiled warmly, and Fundy picked up the nostalgia on her mind. “Do you remember, way back in the old days? When L’Manberg had its walls?” Fundy looked at her inquisitively, but his ears were perking slowly as realization started to find its way into his head. “I remember a lot of things from back then,” He said-- and it was true, they both did. The phrase pale danced around her head, the word starfate itched at her heart. “When I was stressed out,” She recalled, opening cabinets and drawers and handing things to Fundy-- who was arranging things in a specific way, but didn’t seem to realize he was operating on muscle memory or he would’ve known where she was going with it-- “Or when I wanted to create something. I would go down to the docks, because--”

    “Your bakery,” Fundy realized. “I do remember that.” Fundy looked down at his paws, realizing he was mid-measure and, subsequently, losing his place. “Oh god I think I fucked it up,” he muttered under his breath-- and Niki laughed, pleasant and happy. “You were doing fine, Fundy. It’s the last scoop of flour,” she reassured him. As Fundy muttered about the quality of the cake and Niki started measuring the other ingredients, she tried to clarify what she had initially been getting at. “For a long time, I was swallowed with anger,” she explained. “Anger about everything that had happened, because it was so unfair. But it wasn’t anyone’s fault. There was nobody to be angry at. The only person it was hurting was me.” And Jack. Jack’s own anger was hurting him, too. She swallowed down the broken shell of quartz that memory made her feel.

    “So you just… stopped being angry?” Fundy asked, genuinely trying to wrap his mind around it. Niki shook her head. “I don’t think it’s quite like that. I just needed to focus on myself, instead of what others had done. Do what I like and try to think for myself instead of just believing everything everyone else told me to.” What Wilbur had told her. What Wilbur had told them. She shook her head a little to clear her thoughts. L’Manberg had been good, but… it was never perfect. Not the way they were taught it was. “I guess I get what you mean,” Fundy said, and Niki felt enveloped by the sense of understanding that came with being with Fundy. He knew her just as she knew him, and even limited in their words they could communicate to one another what they meant. Even after all this time, it seemed they wouldn’t fall apart that easily, that they were two of the same according to fate.

    “It seems hard, though,” Fundy said, setting a glass bowl on the counter. Niki furrowed her eyebrows again thoughtfully. “It is hard. It’s better than being miserable all the time though.” Fundy jiggled the bowl as Niki poured the mixture, evening it out so it would cook properly. Fundy opened the oven door, and Niki slid the cake in. “I guess I am pretty tired of being miserable,” Fundy agreed with a hesitant chuckle. “That’s the spirit!” Niki exclaimed, grinning at him. Fundy laughed properly this time, three short bursts that sounded from his chest, and grinned back at her. “Hey, if you say so. It’s not much though. It’s really, really not.”

    “Nooo it’s good, it’s a good start! You have to start somewhere, Fundy,” Niki encouraged, and Fundy just shook his head, laughing ever so slightly. “I dunno, I mean… kinda hard to do when I don’t have a home and none of my friends talk to me anymore and Wilbur is suddenly alive again.” Niki looked at him sympathetically. “You could start by doing something that makes you happy. What do you like doing, Fundy?” Fundy stared awkwardly around the kitchen. “...Eating cake,” He offered with a hesitant giggle. Niki giggled in turn. “Well,” Niki said, “Lucky for you, if you stay here for a little bit you can do that pretty soon.”

    “I don’t know what I’m going to do after that,” Fundy said, turmoil in his heart too easily stirred, “But yeah. I’d like that.” He absently started wiping down the counter, old routine still embedded into them both, and Niki stared at him, gaze lingering for a moment. Looking at him now, she could see how his ginger fur didn’t shine the way it used to, how his ears were in a constant flicked-back state of distress. They’d both been uprooted when L’Manberg was destroyed, but it seemed he may have been left far more unmoored than she had. She wanted to groom his fur. She wanted to hold him until his tension was gone and his ears perked up bright and happy. She wanted to get rid of the ache in her chest and the ache in his. She wanted to get rid of the way her heart sang moonlit songs around him, despite it having been years. She wanted-- she wanted him to stay. Just for a little bit.

    Niki started to get out the frosting. “Stay here for a few nights,” she said unprompted, “In the city I mean. While you sort out your thoughts. I know I’ll need to sort out mine too. Maybe--” And here, she hesitated-- “Maybe we can try and sort them out together.” It was an invitation of vulnerability that neither of them had in a long, long time. Fundy stopped what he had been doing to stare at her; Niki vehemently ignored his gaze to continue focusing on the task at hand. He thought for a moment, and she hoped desperately he wasn’t thinking about the implications. “I’d like that,” he finally answered, quiet and truthful. “That would-- yeah. That would be nice.”

    “Well,” Niki said to fill the awkward silence that had sprouted after that, “One thing at a time. First you’re going to help me frost this cake when it’s ready.” Fundy laughed and agreed. And Niki thought about what she’d said to Jack, and what it had really meant. Baking again. Trying to heal despite it all. And she thought about the fox hybrid next to her, who, despite all his troubles, was baking too. L’Manberg was gone forever-- it was never coming back. Even if Wilbur did. And, well. Neither of those things had been quite what they had seemed. Places were gone and people had changed. Some for the better. Some for the worst. Some just… different, in inexplicable, unattainable ways. In ways that couldn’t be reached.

    But Niki was slowly realizing that not everything was gone. Fundy was still here, in her kitchen, baking with her. And in as many ways as she couldn’t figure out how to feel about Wilbur being alive again, she was grateful for one tiny thing about it. That it had brought Fundy to her doorstep. That she could share cake with someone who shared a quartz-colored heart with her. Maybe-- maybe it was fate.

    With the quiet hum of the oven being the only sound in the small apartment, Niki leaned against Fundy’s shoulder, feeling the soft fur of his neck against her cheek and hearing it squish against the fabric of his jacket. Fundy carefully put an arm around her and placed his chin on her head. “Yeah, I missed you too,” He murmured. Niki let out a heaving sigh and let herself sink into the warmth. And they still couldn’t call themselves starfated-- not after everything. Not yet. But for a moment, tucked away in a small apartment, hiding in the rising scent of cake and the warmth of an oven, they could feel it; they could know it. They understood one another. And, just like when they were kids-- for now, that was enough.

#mcyt fanfic #niki nihachu #fundy #long post #dreamsmp #they write #it is slightly angsty but i think it has a sorta happy ending at least

[houndsharkk]

alright alright, do yall want my dreamSMP headcanons?? keep in mind that i only watch a few of them

/dsmp

Possible TW's: trauma, manipulation, death, suicide, overdose; the basic dreamSMP stuff, unfortunately.

ok here we go:

Dream - a separate entity from DreamXD, though they are related; perhaps XD is from another universe? anyways, Dream was possessed by a 'Dreamon' at a young age, making him think that things like manipulation are ok simply because he didn't know any better. he says he's trying to get better, but is he? no. this is just another trick to make Tommy think he can change. Jacob Sheep horns are slowly growing (sheep-hybrid thanks to his mother, Cpt. Puffy). Him becoming family with George and Sapnap made him realize that he can make his own family, an idea which he twisted and turned into manipulation. In his words, paraphrased, he "did a bad thing but for good reasons" which were "bringing the server together"; he wanted to be a family with him in control, a dictatorship, a hivemind.

Drista - Dream's sister, more related to XD than Dream is. somewhat OP but has morals unlike her brother.

George - Mooshroom hybrid!! Has a little mushroom crown and cape because he thinks of himself as royalty (he isn't) - has little horns and a little tail. Misses Dream the most out of the Dream Team, but somewhat afraid of him. Wants 'the old dream' back, which was partly a persona and partly Dream learning about found family. He tries not to get involved with politics or the server after the events of the first wars, because he's scared. Sleeps through things as an excuse. Awesamdude's kid - doesn't tell anyone.

Sapnap - Dragon hybrid - has small horns and a tail, with burn marks at the base of them. His hands and feet are clawed and burnt. He also wants their Dream back, but understands that he was always corrupt and has mostly gotten over it. Wants to help with the Egg but, like George, doesn't like getting involved with big things on the server. He's ashamed of his dragon heritage, covering up his head burns with a headband and covering his horns with his hair; he hides his tail under a cape and wears gloves as well. Sapnap has unnaturally orange eyes, which he would change with contacts, if they didn't melt anytime he tried. Battle-scarred and hungry to start fights and sever friendships out of boredom. Badboyhalo's child.

Callahan - Cervitaur (deer-centaur). Distantly related to Puffy, Captain Sparklez, and Schlatt. I will admit, I have never watched him, and I don't think he's ever been too involved in server politics? Just a simple deer man trying to live his life.

Awesamdude - Creeper centaur thing (he and Callahan are... cousins? i guess?). Incredibly insecure about his morality and the fact that George doesn't talk to him much. Thinks he's a bad person. He becomes a father figure to Tommy through his Sam Nook persona - slowly gaining his confidence back through his real estate and his (illegal) adoption of the gremlin. Badass. Runs the prison by himself because he feels the need to prove himself, and he doesn't know anyone that would be up to the job.

Alyssa - inactive :[ probably human

Ponk - Human!! One of the few humans on this server, actually! He quite likes building and terraforming; he makes very aesthetic builds (see; war campsite). He and Sam are close friends. Ponk is also a parental figure to Tommy, but is closer to the fun uncle. The three of them steal together and then Ponk and Sam cover for Tommy because who could accuse them of lying?? Hesitant to join in with politics.

BadBoyHalo - Demon. Very, very tall demon. Large. Pretty wholesome. I honestly don't know what else to say about him lmao I haven't been paying attention to the Egg much. He and Skeppy are a thing though. Wishes his son would stop killing people's pets to start wars.

TommyInnit - He doesn't know what kind of hybrid he his, but he isn't human. His eyes change color with mood, going from a light grey to an extremely vibrant cobalt blue. He believes he may be part raccoon, or part bird(?) on Philza's side. Phil wasn't around during his childhood; Tommy only knew him as the hero from the strories that his older brother Wilbur told him. Philza killing Villain!Bur cemented his heroship, which is why Tommy sees him as a father figure. Wilbur never told him that he (Phil) was their father. Tommy is actually part siren, but his gills and fins haven't appeared yet. His PTSD is triggered by Dream, blackstone, tnt, people asking for his armor, and a few other things. An extremely traumatized kid. Best friends with Tubbo.

Tubbo - Sheep hybrid. His horns started coming in during Schlatt's presidentship, making him think he was a goat and following in his footsteps. In reality, he's Captain Sparklez's son; related to Schlatt yes, but not at all like him. He likes headbutting the people he loves, including his best friend Tommy. Wholesome, but still a chaotic being of destruction. He and Ranboo are also very good friends!

Fundy - Fox shifter; unlike most of the other hybrids on this server (other than Techno), he can turn into an anthro fox. Canonically transgender! Son to WilburSoot and Sally the Salmon (another shifter). Wilbur was an amazing father while Fundy was small, but started neglecting him during the Presidency, when he really needed a father. The two grew apart further during Pogtopia, and Fundy still tries to refuse his father's attempts at redemption. Despite this, Fundy and Ghostbur, even though they've had arguments, have a better relationship. Fundy is even one of the people who are attempting to bring back Wilbur. He sees Phil as a somewhat father figure despite him trying to be bitter towards him. Very involved with L'manburg and DreamSMP poilitics, but has taken a step back since his dad's death. Fundy also canonically misses Schlatt and wants him to be proud of him. He picked up smoking from him.

Punz - gonna be honest, I have never watched Punz.

Purpled - Enderdragon hybrid. Like Sapnap, but purple lol. Use to have a healthy rivalry with Technoblade, but doesn't talk to him anymore. A bit reserved. I don't watch him either idk if you could tell.

Wilbur - Bird hybrid, like Philza; his wings were clipped by Dream when he first began fighting for independence. Good friends with Technoblade. Wilbur was an idealistic person, and he was probably the most loyal member of L'manburg. He was so upset about the betrayals, he thought of them not as betrayals to the country, but to himself. When Schlatt took over, he began to panic. His perfect nation was being ruined, his nation, HIS nation. He thought of it as his and his alone; all those other people? They were side characters. L'manburg his unfinished symphony wasn't his anymore. It scared him. He began planning to take the country out because, well, if he can't have him, then no one can. He manipulated Tommy, making him go along with his plan, slowly becoming more insane and destructive. Deep down, Wil still loved his family, and his country, and his lost lover, but that didn't matter to him anymore. After blowing up L'manburg (the first explosion), Wilbur broke down. He realized what he had done, he'd become a bad guy; he'd worked with Dream. He asked his father to kill him. And so Philza did.

Ghostbur - Wings work again. Ghostbur pretends not to remember, he pretends that he's changed in death, but he remembers all of it. The bad memories hurt him now, more than ever, and he just can't deal with it; so he doesn't. Water makes him melt, and that includes tears. He's trying so hard to be a good person, he's trying so hard to be a good father, a good brother, a good friend. But it isn't working. He's still, though unintentionally, hurting people, and he feels so bad about it.

Schlatt - Ram hybrid. Brother to Puffy and Jordan (Sparklez). Schlatt is a smoker and an alcoholic, and a power hungry dictator. Or well, that's the persona he puts on. Schlatt, in reality (still /dsmp) genuinely does not give a fuck. He didn't care what happened, because he knew that people disliked him. He knew for a fact that he would be killed. This is why I believe he offed himself. He planned his stroke, or heart attack, the fandom doesn't seem to know which. He probably ingested some bad protein powder or poison or something, maybe he drank himself to death, maybe he OD'd and then drank, we don't know. But it seems unlikely that someone like him would let his body give out like that without a reason. Oh yeah, and he and Quackity were married at some point, but it was too short to really mean anything.

Ghlatt - Ghlatt, though still addicted to alcohol and various drugs, feels bad about being a bad person in his life. He thinks that it's a good thing he died, that the server benefited from his death, and that he shouldn't have become a ghost. He's right, of course, but I like to think that he's regained morality. Maybe now, in the afterlife, he can work on himself. Ghlatt isn't strong enough to take a physical form, so he borrows Ghostbur's occasionally.

Skeppy - Some sort of Diamond Ore man?? I think he's human. He and BBH have a thing. I don't think I've ever watched a Skeppy DreamSMP stream. Uhh Egg?? Egg. Badlands boys woo.

Eret - Herobrine is his cousin. Like. Yeah. That Herobrine. Anyways, they're a king, and they're more of an Awesomedude morally grey type character. Her only interest is survival, and I respect that. I haven't really paid much attention to him though. Their crown has bi flag colored gems on it :]

Jack Manifold - Jack Manifol! Jack Manifall~~ Jack Manifall.. off bridge!! Jack Manidrown :} OH SHIT- (i dont watch him)

Niki - Human. Wears Wilbur's old coat. Though she did go through a tough spot after Wilbur's death, she now runs a flower shop with Puffy. Dyes her hair often. I don't watch her either.

Quackity - Duck hybrid; wings were clipped upon his joining the server. His face scar was canonized :] Alex genuinely liked Schlatt, but realized he was being mistreated so he joined Pogtopia. He felt bad about it though. I don't have many headcanons for him to be honest.

Mexican Dream - ok am i the only one that wasn't into this arc?? i didn't even watch any of it. i saw him like once and was like "oh this is just a bit" and left wtf. was he important???

Karl Jacobs - Time Traveler man; human. Karl is slowly losing his memory due to his travel between timelines. The more he does it, the more he loses. I look forward to seeing this progress. Are he, Sapnap, and uhhh someone else actually engaged?? I like that headcanons :] I don't remember who the other person is though.

HBomb - Cat maid.

Technoblade - Piglin shifter. Techno is softer than he seems, and he genuinely enjoys the company of Ranboo and his friend Philza. Technoblade met Phil after saving him from wither skeletons in the Nether, making short visits to the Overworld until he built up an immunity. He likes the cold because it's the opposite of his terrible home dimension. Techno really did want to help Tommy, but their ideals clashed too much for it to work out. Very destructive anarchist. Though, he is pretty chill nowadays.

Antfrost - Cat shifter. So I lied, there are three. Uhh wizard!! I like that HC!! Wizard catboy go brrrr. In reality, I don't watch the Badland Boys often and I haven't seen any of the Egg plot so idk what's up with him lol. I like to think that before the Egg, he and Fundy were friends.

Philza - Wings were beat up during the explosion; he tried to protect Wilbur with them, but still ended up failing. He's the father to Wilbur and Tommy, with Techno being an old friend of his. He canonically really likes cobblestone. Phil tries his best to be the dad, but his morals are all over the place. Lately, he's unofficially adopted Ranboo, helping him with his uh. Issues.

Connor - Human in a Sonic onesie idk i dont watch him

Puffy - Sheep Hybrid. Sister to Schlatt and Jordan, mother to Dream. I really don't know tbh; she's everyone's adoptive mom. She's what Philza and Awesamdude wish they could be.

Vikkstar - Human. Has he?? Done anything?? Ever??

Lazarbeam - Isn't he a gingerbread man or something.

Ranboo - Half Enderman Half [REDACTED]. I dont have headcanons for him tbh I just accept his canon. May be related to XD?

Foolish Gamers - A literal god. He can revive people, but it takes one of his lives. Uhhh he's really good at building what.

Hannahxxrose - I don't watch her :[ I should though

Slimecicle - CHARLIE SLIMECICLE. Slime hybrid obviously. New to the server, very scared [/j] and confused. Doesn't know what's going on and that's ok because he's funny I like him

I got really tired of this towards the end oops

#/dsmp #/rp #tw #tw death #tw manipulation #tw suicide #tw overdose #dreamsmp #dream smp #headcanons #head canon #dream #dreamxd #drista #georgenotfound #sapnap #callahan #awesamdude #alyssa #ponk #dropsbyponk #badboyhalo #bbh #tommyinnit #tubbo #fundy #punz #purpled #wilbursoot #beet's rambles

[whumpinggrounds]

Defiance - SOW

i meant to get to a few of the summer of whump prompts but i’ve been weirdly busy and it got away from me...anyway, this is all i’ve managed so far. it’s a very isabella kind of defiance.

tagging @shapeshiftersandfire and @killtheprotagonist

CW: pet whump, lady whump, aftermath of conditioning, migraines, intimate whumper, mentions of noncon, mentions of physical abuse

After the dinner party, Miss Mara is different. Happier, more relaxed. She touches Isabella more often – fingers on her arm, on her face, tugging her in for kisses as her pet is cooking dinner. It used to be that Isabella couldn’t get enough touch to satisfy, and now it seems that wherever she goes in the tiny little box of an apartment, her owner’s hands are on her. Not that Isabella minds that. Isabella likes that. She likes it. She does. 

Isabella is perfect, after all, perfect after her little…retraining incident. Whenever Miss Mara asks her something, whenever Miss Mara reaches for her, she finds her Box Babe pliant and pleased and smiley. Isabella is pliant and pleased, and it’s not hard to be smiley when her owner is so good to her.

Sometimes, when they’re kissing, Jamie’s indistinct face, her scratchy voice, will flash in Isabella’s eyes or echo behind her ears. Then Miss Mara’s hands slide under Isabella’s shirt, or her fingers turn mean, and the image of Jamie’s red hair dissolves. There’s no harm in a mistaken memory, a mistaken image, Isabella tells herself. There’s nothing wrong with not telling her owner that her incorrect impulses haven’t exactly stopped.

If Isabella is honest with herself, it goes deeper than that. It isn’t just that she doesn’t think there’s any harm. It isn’t just that she wants to be good, that she doesn’t want to be hurt. There’s something between her and her owner now, a jagged wrong edge that grates at Isabella’s perfect cheer.

But Miss Mara doesn’t notice that. Days pass and Miss Mara’s good mood continues, bright and unstoppable. She goes out with Miss Violet on a work night, comes home way too late and sparkling drunk. She makes Isabella come so hard she sees stars. She eats Isabella’s dinners and praises them til Isabella is blushing burning pink with pride. She takes her pet to the nursery – their first outing that isn’t straight to the facility – and lets her pick out a few plants to keep on the windowsill, for some color in the apartment, for something else to do while Miss Mara is at work.

Isabella picks yellow flowers like trumpets, and a plant with strange, fat green stalks fringed with spikes, and something small with flowers that are purple and starry and cluster close to its leaves. Miss Mara pays at the counter for three pots and promptly forgets about the little plants, but Isabella doesn’t. Isabella spends hours staring at them – their familiar shapes, the smell of earth, the smooth, living feeling of a petal between her fingers. When she smells their bright blooms, something aches behind her eyes.

Six days after the dinner party, Isabella is cleaning the apartment. Top to bottom, it takes about half an hour, given that she goes through the same motions every day. She waters her row of plants, hand moving in circles so the dirt is soaked evenly. She knows how to do that. In the back of her head somewhere, Isabella already knows how to do that. She knew which flowers to choose and how to repot them and where to place them so they’d get the most sun. Miss Mara doesn’t notice her sure movements, quiet confidence, thinks it’s the same good old training as always.

It’s not. There’s something in Isabella that’s more than training now. There’s a new set to her jaw. The bruises on her body have faded, the vicious welts and lines of scratches. Miss Mara has smacked her around but it’s not enough to get the fear back in her. There’s something in her that’s pushing back against the fear, that might even be stronger. When Isabella’s last chore, the dishes, are finished, she sets them out to dry instead of toweling them off straightaway. For once, she has something else to occupy her time.

Taking a deep breath, Isabella walks around the kitchen counter to the wall opposite the couch, the wall where Miss Mara’s pictures hang. She plants herself in front of them, eyes squeezed shut to brace herself. Then she opens her eyes, and she looks.

The first picture is Miss Mara as a kid, a tiny kid who’s grinning so hard her eyes are squeezed shut. Her black hair is chopped in a straight bowl cut, and a familiar tenderness runs through Isabella, almost makes her lose her resolve. Quickly, before her strength deserts her, Isabella moves on.

The next framed photo is Miss Mara and her parents. She’s wearing a long red robe and holding a piece of paper in front of her. There are flowers. She’s outside, and it’s sunny. She’s a teenager and she’s smiling; she and her parents are smiling. When Isabella looks at them, at the faces of Miss Mara’s parents, the needling pain returns behind her eye. Good. Isabella focuses harder, tracing her eyes over the father’s strong jaw, the mother’s purple glasses. She even scans her eyes over the words on the piece of paper – she was discouraged from reading but they didn’t break her of it, not all the way.

Unbidden, words are coming to her mind. High school graduation. With it come other memories – a green robe, sun beating down, grass underfoot. Not from the photo. Something else, something that hurts. Isabella closes her eyes and tries to chase the feeling, tries to push it. She’s never done this before, but she squeezes her eyes shut and tries hard to want the memory into being. It’s slippery; it’s running from her, but beyond the electricity and the white rooms and the needle in her arm, there’s something else.

A face flashes before her – two faces. A man with a neat gray beard and an easy smile, a woman whose eyes are flashing, busy, looking everywhere at once, mouth ever half open. The pain that comes with the faces is blinding, blinding. Isabella staggers, sits down hard on the floor, tries to hold the images in her mind. They slip through her fingers, slide away from her, and Isabella wants to curse or cry. The only thing that keeps is the beard, the beard and the outline of the woman’s curly brown hair. With one hand, Isabella’s hand comes up to finger her own wavy dark locks.

And she doesn’t stop. Isabella takes breaks, and cleans, and practices signing, but over and over she comes back to those photos, the row of them. Sometimes she makes it through just one or two, sometimes she gets through all five in one long aching row. Miss Mara’s toddler photo never evokes anything, but the longer she stares at high school graduation, the more Isabella thinks she can hear a voice droning names, the smell of new cut grass, the feeling of a hard plastic chair beneath her.

The next photo in the line Isabella’s titled Dog Picture because it’s just Miss Mara with her arms wrapped around a black lab who’s trying to twist around to lick her face. When Isabella looks at the bright eyes, the pink tongue, she can picture a different face around them, a different body, a big lanky golden one with a tail like a waving flag.

Isabella spends a lot of time with Dog Picture.

Fourth in line is nicknamed other graduation picture, and this time it’s not the paper or the people that trigger Isabella, but the building behind Miss Mara. It’s all sharp, imposing white marble edges, stairs leading up to big double doors, and if Isabella pushes past her pain, she thinks she can smell old books, can feel exhaustion tugging at her senses, see a table scattered with papers. Library, her brain tells her. That’s the library. Much fainter, behind the library, there are other things – long tables full of people eating, a room with a hundred chairs or more, sitting at a desk with a sheet of paper, circling numbers on a list of answers. Isabella gets hangovers from this picture, long throbbing headaches that make her feel weak. She looks at it anyway, saves herself up for it. Her head hurts but something about the pain makes her feel more real.

The last picture in the line on the wall isn’t part of Isabella’s memory exercises. The last photo is of Miss Mara and Miss Violet. This, Isabella looks at for different reasons. She examines it up close, from a distance, from one side and then the next. The two women are smiling wide, arms wrapped around each other. They’re both well-dressed and beautiful and there’s water behind them, some big nameless water like a river or maybe a lake. Miss Violet’s looking at the camera, grinning like mad, but Miss Mara’s eyes have slid away from the dark eye of the camera and towards the woman beside her. Miss Mara’s eyes are on Miss Violet, and they’re shining, and Isabella’s owner is beaming as if she’s found something perfect, precious, singular.

Isabella wonders if Miss Mara has ever looked at her like that. If, on the nights she spends with Miss Violet, Miss Mara slaps her girlfriend, holds her by the throat. Lately, Miss Mara’s been dressing Isabella in tank tops and tiny shorts, smiling when Isabella trots around the apartment half-naked. She’s been tugging Isabella toward her with a finger looped through the collar around Isabella’s neck, and she doesn’t care when she does it from the wrong angle and Isabella gags. Some nights, in the middle of a movie, she’ll guide Isabella between her legs without saying a word, without looking away from the screen, and afterwards she’ll just leave her pet there, kneeling on the floor.

Isabella wonders if Miss Violet knows all that. She looks at their picture and thinks probably, Miss Violet doesn’t.

The thought of Miss Violet burns in her head, and so Isabella doesn’t just study photographs. She sniffs every spice in their cabinet and examines every shirt in Miss Mara’s closet. Most of it does nothing, but there’s enough to give her hope. There’s a yellow sweater Miss Mara doesn’t wear very often that makes the pain in Isabella’s head flare, though there’s no memory that comes with it yet. The green tea bags in the pantry make Isabella wince, especially when she dares to steep one and taste what comes. She still drinks every drop.

Oh, and the first time Isabella makes chicken pot pie, the taste of the crust in her mouth makes her weep, right there at the table with Miss Mara. They hadn’t eaten it since, but now Isabella pushes, now she asks, and when she focuses hard, she can almost see the outline of a tall brunette woman with her father’s jaw.

All of this, Isabella practices, repeats over and over, almost obsessively. She can’t write it down, so she signs it to herself in the mirror, trying to imbue each shape, each movement, with memory.

I have a father and a mother and a, a, an older sister. I had a high school graduation. I did. I did. I think I did. My father has a strong jaw and a beard, and my mother has curly brown hair, and my older sister might have both. We have a dog – a yellow dog, and Miss Mara and I went to college together, and someone…someone used to drink green tea.

It’s nothing. It’s nothing, it’s hardly anything, but Isabella can’t stop. Through pain and persistent sickness in her stomach, through fear of Miss Mara and Handler Collins, Isabella digs into her memory, teeth gritted against the ache in her skull. It’s so easy – so easy when she’s surrounded by reminders, by triggers, by remnants of a life that lie like little time bombs all around the apartment. For months, Isabella has been resisting the persistent tug of memory, and now when she leans into it this hard, the results are more than she’d ever hoped for. A life. Isabella had had a life. It’s confusing and terrifying and some days she thinks about abandoning it, but that’s not what she wants. Isabella wants – she wants –

She doesn’t know what she wants, but every time she uncovers some new truth, she feels something close to joy.

None of this she shares with Miss Mara. It’s hard enough convincing Miss Mara to try chicken pot pie again. There’s a suspicious jut to Miss Mara’s chin when Isabella says she’s ready to try again. Her owner knows more than she’s letting on, more about why it hurts so bad to eat, but whatever it is, Miss Mara isn’t sharing. There are things Miss Mara knows that she won’t share and Isabella has a hard time thinking about why, about what that means. It seems big. It seems significant. It seems like another thing that owners aren’t supposed to do that Miss Mara’s doing anyway.

Isabella feels strange, emboldened, newly brave when she thinks about what she’s keeping from Miss Mara. It’s wrong and she knows that, but Isabella can’t bring herself to stop. Not after Miss Mara handed her over to Collins, not after Miss Mara lied to Jamie. Something has snapped. Some line has been crossed. There’s no going back now. She’s already broken. She may as well break all the way.

And most nights Isabella still sleeps with Miss Mara, still cries out Miss Mara’s name in bed. Most nights they talk over dinner, and they laugh together, and when Miss Mara puts her arm around Isabella, Isabella leans into it. There are flowers on the windowsill from Miss Mara. The clothes on her body, the collar on her neck. Miss Mara isn’t bad, she’s not. Isabella smiles into her kisses. Miss Mara’s still her owner. Isabella’s still her pet.

But now she has secrets, real secrets, secrets that have weight. It’s wrong and it’s disobedient and she’s a bad, bad pet – but Isabella can’t stop carving out space in her head that is hers alone. It feels too right, too wrong, too important, too real.  

#lady whump #pet whump #whump writing #whump #defiance #summerofwhump #summerofwhump20 #caretaker turned whumper #intimate whumper #aftermath of conditioning #migraines #mentions of noncon #mentions of physical abuse #bbu #box babe #wru #lost cause jude