#....... and a little bit to poppet but anyway

[monty-glasses-roxy]

I still think it's hilarious that in Meteors AU, literally every single person knows about the haunted pile of robot spaghetti that is Tangle, except for Roxy. Who has been unknowingly visiting them and staring them right in the face, for literally years now. She has no idea. Fucking Cassie's dad Eddie knows about them. The Sewerhell guys know about them. The fucking horsies probably know about them. DJ, who is too big to get anywhere fucking near Tangle knows about them.

But not Roxy. It's a mystery to everyone. Half of them think it's a denial thing or willful ignorance. They're completely wrong she genuinely has no idea they're there. Tangle has willfully made their presence known to so many of the others and have tried a hundred times over with Roxy but she just. Has no fucking clue.

If it's haunted, Roxy doesn't know it exists. That's just how it is. She can see Glitchtrap pulling puppet strings on Vanessa and the others, but she can't see the spooky spirit spaghetti. This isn't even just Meteors. She just has no idea. The guy is like glass that gives her a headache, she can't see them but wow does her head hurt after staring into the darkness outside the pizzeria for a minute. Strange. Weird, even. Bizarre, perhaps.

Why does everyone keep freaking out at the shadows?? There's nothing even there. If there was? She'd know! Even in Meteors with her almost complete blindness in the dark, she'd know! Roxy knows everything that's down here and nothing gets past her without her knowing! They must be seeing things smh smh such overreactors smh

#meteors au #meteors roxy #fnaf security breach #this half applies to other spooky guys like the nightmare staffbots... #....... and a little bit to poppet but anyway #yeah nsdndjd she has no idea #eddie seeing tangle for the first time and it holds a tentacle up over its mouth for quiet #and cassie already knows so she silently gives him a thumbs up like :D #oh my god he's so fucking confused #cassie what the FUCK are you DOING running up to it like its FINE?! #cassie????? have you lost your fucking MARBLES???? #why aren't we saying anything????? hello????? cassie #cassie what the fuck man #cassie and the minis warning literally everyone that wants to go down there about tangle and about how roxy apparently doesn't know #at this point tangle doesn't want her to know. they're Concerned okay? #they're just gonna have some tom and jerry ass beef with roxanne mark 1 instead #cause its fun and she's just sorta There #it's a silent agreement that roxy can't be told about them now though #tangle will make their move when they're ready probably #no one knows what's going on with that djdjid #'this might as well happen' but tragedy flavour vibes for everyone!!

[grlpartdoll]

Ok so this is Sort of. Part 2 to this but not really?? It's kind of more like a what-if marvel episode Lol. Soap falls in love with reader and he's the one to pick her back up !! Again 18+ only Pls!!! No filth in this one. Just pure fluff.

Anyway. Soap eventually gets tired of this dynamic. He's your best friend, has been since the very first day you two met. Simon doesn't typically keep you around his friend — but Soap wasn't exactly the type to be told no.

His barely concealed crush on you makes Simon irritated, but it doesn't make others raise eyebrows that much.

It's obvious why someone would fall for you — such a sweet girl, with the kindest, biggest heart around. It was only a matter of time before anyone around you did fall in love with you.

So, anyway, Soap has a pathetic, schoolboy crush on you, and when you're in the throes of sadness and self hatred because of Simon, he's the one to pull you out each time, just until Ghost gets his hands on you, and breaks you all over again.

The first time you sort of notice it is when you come back from a night away with Simon, where he fucked you proper and then left you to sleep alone in his room while he went to the gym.

You come to your own quarters bruised and sloppy and barely able to walk, and Soap practically explodes out of his seat at the realization that you'd been fucked and then dumped like some dirty rag.

So Soap runs you a bath. And it's a little weird, and a little awkward, at first, but he's your best friend, he'd never let anything bad happen to you as long as you're with him.

And sure. His pants make a tent while he washes you. But, "it's only natural, Bonnie. 'm with a pretty girl and she's sitting there, naked, lettin' me soap her. I ken only stupid men wouldn't get hard."

And unlike when you're with Ghost, you don't really feel like it's purely sexual. Simon might have genuine feelings for you — maybe, you don't know — but he'd never shown it to you except for when hes balls deep inside you, whispering about how much he loves you. You feel like Soap actually cares as he drains your bath, gets you all bundled up in a towel and rubs you down nice and slow.

He doesn't mean to, but he kisses a bruise on your shoulder. And you, because you can't really think and because Simon has you still so far into your head, don't even care to try to figure out what it might mean, that he's soothing over your bruises with his lips.

Soap helps you remove the little makeup you have left, cooing at you when you try to do it yourself that you're "jus' such a sleepy girl, let me get that for you, poppet,"

You don't ask how he knows every step of your routine without a single fault. Once you feel fresh and clean again, Soap gets you into bed, and because you're vulnerable and would do anything for warmth that resembles sleeping in Simon's arms, you ask him to stay.

He gives you one of those smiles you hate. You know he's concealing his emotions with a shit-eating grin only because he's given it to Simon when, in a heated argument, he's said something that hurt his feelings.

So Soap doesn't sleep with you. When he's gone, you think you'll cry for a moment, but you don't. Your body doesn't hurt as much, and your heart is just a bit less restless.

Soap, the next day, (or really, the next night, because you spend the day in bed and wake up at an ungodly hour,) makes you food, and doesn't force you to finish your plate. He's just happy to see you eat.

When you're done, he brushes your hair and braids it, and it's so domestic it makes your heart ache. You two go and run together. He pushes when he knows you can do better, but stops when tears threaten to spill over. He pushes you, but knows your limits intimately, and doesn't push them like Simon would. Simon would keep asking for more, keep demanding more of you.

Simon disappears. The days pass slowly, but surely, and Soap begins to catch your little broken pieces one by one. Carefully, he pieces you back up, and you start to feel more human. The morning training helps, and the days spent with Soap and Gaz and your own friends actually starts to make you feel slightly more human — less like a fucktoy that exists for Simon's pleasure.

You're in the resting hall with Soap one day, piecing together a puzzle while he scrolls on his phone, shopping for clothes for when he goes back to visit his mum during his break. You all have a break planned three weeks from now, where Price plans to halt activities for at least a month. And it's nice, to look forward to something, but you honestly can't help but think that you, unlike everyone else, don't have anyone to go back to. Just like Simon. And perhaps that is why you two belong together.

But then he makes an offhanded comment about how he's going to buy a blanket for you, because his car's heating is shit, and he's been meaning to get it fixed, but for now the blanket will have to do while you fulfill your passenger princess duties.

"What?" You make, a bit confused.

He gazes up from his phone, cocking a brow at you. "Thought you'd like it. To spend the holidays with me and my ma. Y'dont got ta. But I'd like to have ya' bonnie."

And you think that that's when you realise that maybe you could love Soap — Johny, and that maybe you could finally have something to go back to.

So you agree, and of course Johny is giddy. In his head, that's finally a step towards you two being together. That's finally a step towards making you his and treating you right. Once the three weeks are up, you pack up your shit and you don't look back.

Simon sends you a text when you're halfway to Soap's mother's house, music blasting, the multiple blankets wrapped around your top and bottom.

Simon : where are you?

Simon : you're not at the barracks.

Simon : your stuff is gone.

Simon : where are you?

You take a while to reply. Not because you don't know how to, but because Soap notices, and snatches your phone. And it makes you laugh for once, and you don't feel like having a breakdown.

Soap manages to snap a photo of him driving, and you grumpily pawing at him for your phone back, and sends it to Simon.

You don't hear from him after that.

Soap's mother is warm and kind and inviting when you're introduced, she holds your hands like her son in a freakishly similar fashion, and kisses the top of them after patting them multiple times.

You tell her your names four times, but she forgets, and instead calls you "love". It's not on her — Soap tells you. Shes forgetful. Tends to forget everything, including taking care of herself. Which is why he wants to come home — before she forgets him, too.

That night, after a warm homecooked dinner and a long movie with hot chocolate and marshmallows, you don't exactly mean to seek out Soap, but there's something about the cold, and you needing to be held, and thinking too much about if Simon is alright. You want to shut it all out.

So you slip quietly into his childhood bedroom, and then under his covers. Soap doesn't even question it, only wraps you all up and presses you up against his naked chest, his deep, Scottish drawl telling you to "Go to sleep, poppet. I've got you."

And he does. When you wake up, he's still there. And he's staring at you. And it's all so much, you feel like your heart might burst in your chest.

You want to kiss him. But you don't. You let him hold you, and pray that if nothing else happens, he might still remain with you after everything, even if you're not willing to give him your body, or your lips.

And he does. After you both shower, he takes you and his mum to a local breakfast restaurant and treats you both to the best food in town. Everyone there somehow knows him, (though only as Johny, and never as Soap) and he makes it his goal to make sure everyone he sees also gets introduced to you.

He wraps an arm around your waist, puffs his chest, and tells everyone you're his best girl, his golden girl, his four-leaf clover. Someone eventually asks about when they'll see a ring on your finger. And before you can retort anything, Soap tells them that he'd sooner or later do it.

You think he's joking. He's not.

He takes you home after a day of outings to small rural markets and an amusement park. That night, when you're in bed, laying next to him, you ask him if he meant that. If he'd really marry you, if it came down to it.

His response doesn't change.

You're not sure if that's why you kiss him. You just know you do. Because if there is one thing you do know, its that you love Soap — your Johny — and that he loves you.

TAG LIST :

@lilliumrorum

#john soap mactavish #soap mactavish x reader #soap x reader #johny soap mactavish my beloved

[pacificwaternymph]

"When's the last time you slept?" With witchcraft Scott being asked that by Joey? Or Cleo, whatever gets your brain juice flowing

"God, you look awful." Joey was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. Scott felt irritation curl in his gut at the casual way which the other witch just waltzed into his home like he owned the place. His fists clenched as he fought to keep from snapping at the intruder. "When was the last time you slept?"

"I don't see how that's any of your business," he sneered. Truce or not, he and Joey certainly weren't on friendly terms, and he didn't appreciate his space being invaded with such little notice. He'd been in the middle of brewing potions, a very delicate process that required exact measurements.

He was already on his fifth try thanks to the way his hands shook and his vision seemed to blur and double. He didn't need additional distractions.

"Did you need something?"

"Come to think of it, do you even have a bed?" Joey bulldozed right over him, as if he hadn't heard Scott at all. "I've been through almost your entire house and I haven't found a single pillow."

Scott bristled. Did this man not have any respect for privacy?

"Why do you want to know? Trying to get a taglock?" Technically, the terms and conditions of their truce forbid Joey from practicing curses or voodoo, or any of the magic that Scott practiced. But he wouldn't put it past Joey to try and find a work around anyway.

"Oh yes, because that went so well for me the first time." The firefrost witch snorted, rolling his eyes. "As if. I know better than to try to mess with you by now."

"Flattery will get you nowhere." Scott rested his hands on the table behind him. "What do you want?"

Joey sighed, long and dramatic, as if it pained him to reveal his purpose here. Scott just scowled at him, refusing to say anything else until his rival spoke first.

"Fine, fine. Since you're just so insistent." Joey smiled amusedly and reached into his bag. Scott tensed, hand already straying towards his wand, but the other didn't move to attack him. Instead, his hand emerged holding a small poppet. "As per our agreement, I need someone cursed. I still have to get back at Pris for the whole demonic alter thing. I even saved you the trouble of having to make one of these creepy little dolls. You're welcome."

He tossed the poppet over to Scott, who held up a hand to catch it. Unfortunately, he was a bit too slow, and the doll bounced off of his hand and fell to the floor before he could curl his fingers around it. He stared at it in defeat for a few moments, as if he could will it back to him with the force of his disappointment, before giving up and bending over to pick it up.

When he looked back over at Joey, the firefrost witch's grin had dropped. His brow was slightly creased, lips twisted downward in what could almost be considered concern, if Scott were stupid.

"What?" He snapped. Joey hesitated, for once devoid of any mocking remark, his usual condescension completely gone.

"Are... you okay? Like I know I was joking about it but seriously... have you been getting any sleep at all?"

Scott grit his teeth and glared, but Joey's expression didn't change. He wasn't falling for it. It didn't matter that the last person to ask that question in a similar context was... him, he wouldn't give away any weakness.

"I don't need sleep," he informed Joey. "I did away with my bed after you and Pris attempted to get my taglock."

Joey's eyes widened, posture loosening. "...Oh." His gaze flicked from side to side, looking mildly uncomfortable. "I... sorry, I guess."

"Don't be. If anything, I should be thanking you. After all, you brought to my attention a glaring vulnerability that my enemies could easily use against me. Thanks to you, I was able to get rid of it" Scott turned back to his brewing stand. "Now, what kind of curse were you thinking of?"

Joey didn't say anything, which was again, strange. After a few seconds, Scott glanced behind him to make sure he was still there. The other witch's mouth was pinched, his eyes welling up with pity. It made Scott's skin crawl.

"...It can wait. You should get some rest."

Scott barked out a laugh.

"I thought you were done with underestimating me. Do you really think I would listen to you of all people?"

Joey's shoulders rose, expression turning sour. "Well forgive me for being concerned."

Scott snorted. "You. Concerned about me?" He shook his head. "Alright, very funny. Who are you really? Is that you, El? Shelby? Tiff?"

"I-I am not any one of those pathetic excuses for witches!" Joey cried out indignantly. "How dare you! Is it so impossible to believe that maybe it is really me?"

"Yes," Scott deadpanned.

Joey turned bright red. "W-well- you-" He screamed in frustration. "Just listen to me, would you? You're of no use to me if you can't even think straight."

"I never do anything straight."

"Me neither, but that is besides the point. Look, you can't curse someone if you can barely keep your eyes open. For all I know you could accidentally grab the wrong taglock and then boom, I'm being lit on fire every time I step out in the sun again." He took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just... get some sleep. You look like you're about to fall over."

Scott bit back a traitorous yawn, as if summoned by the very thought. He couldn't go to sleep now- he just couldn't. There was too much that could happen to him while he was asleep. He wouldn't be able to defend himself if someone attacked him. Or tried to steal from him. Or cursed him. Joey was crazy if he thought that Scott would really trust his word.

"I'll call Cleo if you don't."

Scott froze.

"As if she'd pick up for you," he shot back. Joey smirked.

"She would if I was calling from your landline."

...Damnit.

"Alright, fine. Geez." Joey's face turned triumphant. Scott let out a low growl. "I'll go to bed. Now leave me alone."

Joey laughed. "I don't believe you. I'm staying right here until I see for myself you that you fell asleep."

"That is so creepy."

"I don't care. If you're going to insist on making yourself my only option for curses, then I'm going to make sure that I'm getting the best quality possible out of it. Now move, chop chop. Before you actually keel over." Joey gestured behind him to the empty hallway.

Scott grumbled and set down the poppet, but shuffled over to the door anyways. Joey led him down into the living room and over to one of the couches, before immediately sashaying off to the nearest closet and throwing it open.

The inside had extra blankets and linens that Scott never actually used, but Joey didn't even seem to see the dust that had piled up on top of them before he was pulling at one of the blankets and shaking it out.

Scott remained on edge as he watched Joey flit around the room, trying to look for something that could suffice as a pillow. He still didn't trust it. He couldn't believe a single thing that the firefrost witch said (no matter the small part of his brain that tried to convince him otherwise).

Joey definitely observed this, and rolled his eyes again. Scott remembered vaguely his mother telling him that if he did that too many times, they'd get stuck back there. He hoped that didn't happen. It would be a shame if Joey's eyes got stuck. They were quite pretty to look at, despite the aggravating personality of the person they were attached to.

The firefrost witch set a hand on his shoulder that burned, which Scott brushed off as his magic, and pushed him into lying down, propping his head with a cushion he'd pried off the other couch and throwing the blanket over him.

"I'll keep watch, or whatever. Nothing will happen while you're out."

"And how am I supposed to trust that?" Scott muttered, although his exhaustion was already sinking into his bones.

"Relax. Killing you in your sleep is hardly beneficial to me right now." Joey's grin was still the same arrogant, self-satisfied thing it always was. But the edges seemed... softer. Or maybe Scott really was just sleep deprived.

"Why are you doing this? Why do you care so much?" Scott turned onto his side. He saw Joey turn his head quickly so that his face was hidden, but he could have sworn he saw a flash of red across his cheeks.

"I don't," Joey said, voice sounding slightly strained. "It's like I said. I want only the best of the best. I can't have the quality of your curses be affected by your terrible self care habits, now can I?"

Scott hummed. He was sure there was a flaw in that logic somewhere, but he was too tired to figure it out. His eyes slipped closed, and he finally let himself fall into the depths of unconsciousness.

#my writing #i'll post this to ao3 later #witchcraft smp #wcsmp #ask game #writing prompt #smajor1995 #scott smajor #dangthatsalongname #joey graceffa #Soulfire

[esthermitchell-author]

4-year-old Jemima has just found Aziraphale's journals (Crowley knows they exist, but has never seen them), and demanded to have them read to her. Crowley, being curious himself, has been reading the more kid-friendly (skipping things like grave-robbing in Regency Scotland, et al) entries to her, while taking a stroll down memory lane through Aziraphale's point-of-view... until Jemmy asks him a very personal question about "the when story"...

"From what I've ascertained among the courtiers and other nobility, even Her Majesty the Queen has paid Master Shakespeare's company a visit upon their recent revival of Hamlet. Crowley's been better than-- We don't need to read that bit," Crowley muttered and glanced up from the journal page he was reading aloud to his daughter, unsure why the idea of Aziraphale seeing him as good still caused that anxious jump in his pulse. He found Jemmy watching him, her head canted to one side like it always was whenever she was curious about something. He didn't have to ask what she was thinking. Jemmy never left anyone wondering what was on her mind for long.

Now was no different. Meeting his gaze, she widened her eyes in that dramatic way she always did right before questions came spilling out and, in a tone full of wonder, whispered, "Fafa habs lossa ssthories 'n' pitters."

Crowley cocked one eyebrow at her, considering the pile of journals and scrolls she'd shown him. He'd known about the journals -- well, a bit, anyway -- but the artistic renderings of places Aziraphale had been, and especially the sketches of him, had been both surprisingly good and utterly sweet. "I guess he does, poppet. We've both been here a very, very long time."

Her green eyes widened even further. "Does you hab ssthories, too, lee-lee?"

Crowley wasn't sure how to respond, his gut roiling with anxiety. The stories he had to tell were largely not things he was proud of, or stories meant for his daughter's innocent ears. In fact, the only times in his whole damned life he ever did things he could genuinely say he was proud of, all involved Aziraphale in some way. So, taking a breath, he cuddled Jemmy closer and murmured, "I do. But your fafa tells them better."

Jemmy blinked at him, her eyes full of innocent wonder he'd do anything to protect. "How lowned hab you knowed fafa, lee-lee?"

A chuckle broke loose from him at that. It was a question he should have seen coming -- maybe he had, at that. Dropping a kiss on her forehead, he answered, "Since before the universe began, poppet."

Her mouth moved in a tiny, wordless wow as her little brain tried to calculate just how long that was. He knew she wouldn't even come close. He expected her to ask how many years that was. Maybe that was why the question she did ask surprised him so much.

"Was you lubbed him alla den?"

Crowley froze, not quite sure how to answer the innocent question hanging in the air. Had he loved Aziraphale from the Before? To his shame -- because he was pretty sure Aziraphale had loved him, or at least cared about him, even back then -- he couldn't honestly say he'd loved Aziraphale. He'd only had eyes for his nebula, and all the stars he helped create, back then. He'd barely noticed Aziraphale was there, at first, aside from someone who helped him start his nebula engine. He'd been such a self-absorbed prat, back then. After that, he'd noticed the blond, curly-headed angel hanging around a bit, but he'd done his best to distance himself, something in him trying to protect Aziraphale even then.

But love... Love hadn't come until later. The first time he might have been able to claim he felt anything approaching love was standing on the wall of Eden. Trouble was, he'd had no idea what it was, back then. He thought he couldn't love, for a very long time. Didn't explain how he went out of his way to find Aziraphale, to spend time with him and even protect him, when he could. He'd called it a game, at first, then the Arrangement. But it had taken until 1941 for him to realize what it was, and to be honest with himself that he was utterly in love with the angel.

"Not all of then, no," he murmured to Jemmy, resting his cheek on top of her head as her attention went back to Aziraphale's sketches. Most of them were of him, and there was no denying a loving hand drew every one of those images. Oh, angel. I did you so wrong, back then, didn't I?

"Thell me."

Jemmy's imperious demand had him blinking back to the present, even as her small hand patted the open pages of Aziraphale's journal with contradictory gentleness. "Thell me da when ssthory."

Oh, shit. Crowley winced. The story of that night in 1941 was not a child-friendly story. Not that anything much about war -- especially world war -- ever was. "Poppet, that was a very bad time. You don't want to hear that story. How about I tell you about the time fafa and I saved some kids, and some goats? That would be fun, yes?"

"No." Jemima folded her little arms over her middle, her brows drawing together and her bottom lip jutting out in a pout. "I wan' da when ssthory."

Crowley sighed. Of all the parts of themselves they could've given their daughter, why did he and Aziraphale both have to give her their stubbornness? He had no doubt she would hold onto that pout until he gave in, no matter how long it took. Even worse, she could ask Aziraphale. He and his angel hadn't ever nailed down the "when" of each of them falling in love. He knew Aziraphale came to the realization a lot sooner than he did, even if the feelings might have been there at around the same time. He didn't want his angel inadvertently hurt by their daughter's curiosity.

"Okay, poppet," he finally caved, closing the journal he already knew wouldn't have those events in it and laying it aside, before he latched onto a story-telling motif from one of his favorite television shows in the past. "Picture it: London, 1941. It was the middle of World War Two, and your fafa was getting himself in trouble, just like always..."

#good omens #good omens fandom #aziracrow #aziraphale x crowley #ineffable husbands #azicrow #aziraphale #crowley #ineffable spouses #fanfic #good omens fanfiction #antony j crowley #go fanfic

[melsie-sims2]

Hi Melsie! I spent yesterday reading your BACC from the beginning and I am hooked! It really makes me miss playing mine from years ago. I noticed a lot of 4to2 conversions in your game, but searching that hashtag is a bit overwhelming. I was wondering - are there any CC creators you'd recommend? 4to2 or otherwise? I've been out of the Sims 2 CC loop for a long time! Thanks!

Thank you so much for the kind comment!

I can certainly try to help. It took me a very long time to put together my mods folder and I'm STILL finding new stuff all the time! If I can help someone else save time and effort, I'm more than happy to!

The following are the big creators you've got to check out if you want a 4t2 game.

@miniculesim does amazing 4t2 hair conversions, although they haven't made any in a while. Still a good place to start! Here's the link to their 4t2 hair tag.

@platinumaspiration also has amazing 4t2 hairs but make sure to check out their other cc downloads, they've got a ton! Here's the link to their 4t2 hairs.

@skittlessims I've got pretty much everything by this creator and downloaded all of it from their Patreon. This Tumblr page is under construction so it may be awkward looking through it now but I'll link anyway.

@deedee-sims has a little bit of everything. I have pretty much all of the cc they've ever made. Here's a link to their download page.

@sims4t2bb Another blog that I use a lot! If it's been made, you'll probably find 4t2 build & buy conversions on this page here. They've even added Horse Ranch stuff! You can find the link here.

These creators are also highly recommended, but I don't have as much of their stuff, or they're not as well known.

@marja87 @rascalcurious @lordcrumps @lucilla-sims @linacheries @poppet-sims

I really hope this helps you out! Happy simming! 💚💚

#sims 2 #sims 2 cc #sims 2 cc finds #4t2cc #sims 4t2 #ts2cc #4t2 clothes #4t2 hair #4t2 buy #ask reply

[sasster]

Quick Visit

Alright how about something a little more plot relevant? If you see a typo, no you didn’t. Uhm, it’s a bit long. Enjoy!

[Doc]

—

There are many things expected of the Roatus line — Things that extend beyond the scope of the responsibilities of the typical purple blood with land under their control. The city that surrounds the House of Restoration is as close to a utopia that an Alternian city can get without outright pretending the horrors that exist in its past and right outside its borders are imaginary thanks to these responsibilities.

The Restorer takes great pride in the care that went into making this a reality for the city and the love that continues being poured into it. Despite the insistence that his children are under no such obligation to maintain this peace, the pair of them have found great joy in giving back to the community they were raised within.

Among her self-appointed obligations, Marrie loved nothing more than her routine visits to the Church of the Divine Dreamer to acquire a very special friend and deliver him to his appointments with her father. Selfishly, she loved the opportunity to see The Dreamer herself, it is only convenient that she is lending a helping hand to the community at the same time.

She stands in front of the church doors, fumbling with something inside of her bag when those doors open suddenly. In their place stands the yellow blood that never regards her with kindness nor contempt, but muted neutrality.

Dressed down from his usual priestly get up, in a button up that she thinks flatters him, it looks like he is on his way out.

The prophet tilts his head when he recognizes who is standing before him, then he sucks his tongue against his teeth.

“Has it already been so long?” He asks, indicating the perigees stretch of time since last the marionette set foot on their grounds, gaze drifting to his nails that he must have suddenly realized needed his attention.

“Yes!” She beams back, gripping the strap of her tote bag with excitement that she felt no need containing. “I’ll have him back before you know it, Cylion!”

“You always do.”

“I’m nothing if not consistent!”

“Mmm,” he starts to step around her, suddenly less interested in the conversation, somehow. “Poppet will see you to the Dreamer’s room.”

Marrie, somehow, perks up even more at his words.

For as long as the young Roatus has been coming over to grab Little Friend, Nymira’s prophet always hovered somewhere nearby. She’d never even known him to leave the church grounds, now that she thinks about it.

Even now, standing in front of him, it is hard to reconcile with the fact that he is wearing plain clothes and apparently has plans for the evening.

She turns to face him again and opens her mouth to say something, but he is not finished speaking.

“Do not overstay your welcome. Do not make me reconsider where I place my trust.”

She fully intends on overstaying her welcome.

Marrie smiles and untangles her hand from around the bag's straps to give him a thumbs up.

“Wouldn’t dream of it!”

She pauses to laugh at her unintended joke.

The oneirocritic looks up from his nails to fix her with a look that says he got the joke, but was not as tickled by it.

“Good.”

With that he continues on with whatever errand he is off to run and Marrie is left to her own devices.

She wanders into the building, letting the interaction roll off her back like water.

Who is she to pass judgment on poor social skills, anyway?

It takes very little meandering for her to find her way around the church, she’d been through it a good handful of times since meeting Nymira, before she finds Somnia giving direction to a follower.

Somnia acknowledges her with a nod and continues speaking to the follower, a conversation she makes no effort to eavesdrop on as her attention it drawn to a painting of Nymira on the wall — Slumbering peacefully in a bed that looks more like a stage, beams of sunlight illuminate her image with extra care taken to highlight the ones that cradle her face.

Nymira, she thinks, is a marvel of a troll. Certainly one deserving of being a muse. But if these are the gifts she is accustomed to receiving, she worries her paltry offering will only pale in comparison.

She pats her tote almost self consciously.

“It’s new,” Somnia’s voice frees her from her insecurities, and she turns to smile at him, beaming bright enough that anyone would be forgiven for thinking she was trying to emulate the sunlight in the painting. Somnia continues. “Just put it up this evening.”

“It’s lovely! Say… Why does Cylion call you Poppet?”

Somnia shrugs, seemingly unperturbed by the sudden change of direction.

“Maybe he doesn’t want anyone to know that he actually likes me.”

Marrie laughs, finding it much easier to let her guard down around him. 

“But you’re so charming!” 

Somnia’s smug grin tells her that he liked that comment very much, but he does not make the effort to push the conversation further along, so she carries on.

 “Cylion said you’d let me up to see Nymira.”

He nods and turns to lead the way. It’s a quiet walk, one that features many more awe inspiring works of art that either depict Nymira herself or some abstraction of her, like her horns or her large fanning tail. Each piece is more enthralling than the last one, and not a single one depicts the Dreamer awake.

She recalls being told once that there was a rule against that, rendering her image sleepless. So while it is to be expected, it is a bit of a disappointment; Awake Nymira is Marrie’s favorite Nymira!

Upon making it to her room Somnia knocks on the door with a few quick raps before cracking it open and calling out into it.

“Mira, you awake? You have company."

Behind him Marrie watches stirring from within the room, followed by a very quiet voice.

“Company?”

“Well, I think she’s actually here for Little Friend, but she might entertain your company too if you’re quick enough.”

“Oh! Marrie!”

The excitement in her voice has the potential to send Marrie over the moons, instead she settles for rocking back and forth on her heels to quell the butterflies causing a racket in her stomach.

“I’ll be right out!”

Somnia closes the door and turns back to her.

“She’ll be right out.”

“I heard!” Marrie says a little too loudly, with enthusiasm that matched the godling.

Not long after, Nymira appears in the doorway, Little Friend along for the ride on her shoulder, with a big sleepy smile on her face. In an instant, she is wrapping her arms around her wooden friend and hugging her close.

“Hi Marrie!”

“Hi Nymira!”

Of course this is the favorite of her responsibilities, quite selfishly if anyone was to ask after it. She gives Nymira a squeeze of her own in return.

When they separate from each other, the godling looks around as though she’d forgotten something. It seems for a moment that she is a bit lost, even. Giving up, she drops her gaze to Somnia, for answers to her unasked question.

He shrugs.

“He stepped out,” he explains but not to any satisfying degree. “We can do whatever we want.”

Though he speaks in jest, one could almost hear the gears turning in Nymira’s head as she looks from him to Marrie.

“Can I show Marrie my room?”

“Knock yourself out.” Somnia waves a hand in the air and shrugs again.

Marrie feels her heart leap into her throat. Most of their interactions took place in the courtyard of the church under the watchful gaze of Nymira’s prophet, she’d never seen inside her room before!

With a delighted giggle, Nymira’s hand finds Marrie’s and she is already leading her inside her bedroom.

Her brother says nothing as the door closes behind them, and Marrie is shocked to find that he didn’t make the effort to join the three of them on the other side. He was content, presumably, to continue carrying out the chores left behind for him by Cylion.

It’s so weird, the young Roatus thinks, that trolls roughly the same age as she and Archie are in charge of such important matters.

Her father would never.

Before she knows it she is tugged along deeper into the room that is delightfully average for a god. It has all the makings of a regular bedroom — Books lay on shelves and upon an very unimpressive desk, but beyond that there is nothing special.

She didn’t know what she was expecting. She is tugged to a canopy bed that lives in the corner of the room by a large window, a placement that draws Marrie’s thoughts back to the painting of a sunkissed Nymira. The marionette hums happily as she takes her seat next to her.

Nymira sits in a way that sees both of their knees barely touching.

How unexpected!

“I don’t normally entertain guests in my room,” the godling admits sheepishly as her small companion makes quick work of crossing their legs and climbing up marrie like a jungle gym. “I hope it’s to your liking!”

“I’m just happy to spend the time with you.” Marrie assures, letting out a delighted laugh when Little Friend reaches her shoulder and affectionately bumps his head against hers. “I see Little Friend plenty.”

“Okay!”

Little Friend eagerly begins climbing around his large wooden friend while she basks in the warm gaze of a god. It doesn’t take him long to find his way to the opening of the girl’s bag and falling into it thus ending his little expedition.

His sudden tumbling reminds her of something and she perks up.

“That’s right! Nymira, I brought you a gift!” Offerings, as Marrie understands it, are typically filtered through Cylion. She fully intended on going through the proper channel, honest. But she also firmly believes that he deserves a day off too. “It’s nothing crazy, I promise.”

“Oh,” Nymira brings a hand up to her chin and tilts her head. “That should be okay.”

Marrie does not get a chance to fuss around in her bag before Little Friend digs up the small, delicately wrapped package.

“Thank you!” She exclaims, taking the parcel from his hands.

He salutes in return.

She then moves to hand the gift to Nymira.

It is wrapped in a black paper that looks almost iridescent in the light with small white specks of glitter that fall off in Nymira’s hand as she handles the package.

She giggles as she fingers the edges of the beautifully wrapped package.

“Like I said,” Marrie explains. “It’s nothing too special. I just saw it and thought of you.”

The goddess holds it timidly and starts to unwrap it like she’s never opened a gift before. She delicately slides a nail under the corner of the package to release the tape on one side of it and then pulls the gift out from the opening.

It’s so methodical, unpracticed, and unsure all at once.

In her hands she now holds a three pack of themed pens; The first is light blue with puffy white clouds littering it’s facade, the second has a clear casing that a sparkly slime looking substances lives within, and finally the third is deep blue decorated in stars with a cospringy star topper to make the whole thing complete.

Marrie watches as she enthusiastically takes out the black pen and turns it over in her hands to watch the slide slide around inside it.

“These are really very beautiful, but,” her smile becomes somber. “I don’t have anything to use them on in here.”

“Hm. That is a pickle— ”

Marrie is cut off before she gets a chance to wonder on it a little longer, not before Little Friend pushes a small journal out of the bag, patterned in the same as as the light blue pen.

“Surprise!” The marionette shouts, causing Little Friend to applaud with vigor from the bag. “It’s a matching set!”

“Marrie, this is all so lovely! Thank you so much!”

“I left a little note on the first page for you.. But you can write whatever you want in there!”

Nymira runs her thumb over the book to feel the raised edges of the clouds.

“Thank you! I will!”

#marrie #cylion #long post #coko writes sometimes #i would APPRECIATE INTERACTION W/ THIS ONE cause uhm #it’s basically the longest thing i’ve written all summer #much love #xoxoxox

[stesierra]

Another day, another book? How many of these do I have anyway? Anyhow, here's the first chapter of something. YA fantasy, probably.

As always, tell me if you want me to add you to my writing tag list. Or remove you from it!

The Many-faced Princess

Chapter One

Teshom, twelve years ago

#

The first time Ameryi changed her face, she was six years old. She made her nose round and her eyebrows big and bushy, like those of the priest who had sacrificed a dove to Raineli in honor of Ameryi’s birthday. She made her cheeks and lips as red as the dove’s blood. Then she ran to her mother, who sat weaving at her loom. Mama’s spicy scent — cedar and strong soap — washed over her, and she tugged at her long linen dress, which fell in a waterfall of folds from the golden girdle around her hips.

Mama glanced down at her, and her hands stilled on her work. Her brown eyes grew wide and frightened, and her bare feet twitched, chiming the golden bells that hung around her ankles. She said, “Ameryi?”

“It’s me, Mama,” she said, laughing. “Look at me.”

“Change back! Change back now and never do this again.”

Mother’s voice was shrill. Frightened, as it never was. Ameryi faltered, her smile fading, and she let her nose go back to its usual point and her eyebrows return to their usual thin line. Her cheeks returned to their normal light brown hue. “Mama, what’s wrong?”

Her mother seized her by the shoulders and pulled her onto her lap. Her hands trembled. She whispered into Ameryi’s face, “You must never do that. Never. Never. Promise me you won’t.”

The intensity of her voice frightened Ameryi. She patted at her mother’s hands. “I won’t do it again. I promise. I’ll pick something pretty.” She thought hard and made her face look like Mama’s, with its full pink lips and plucked eyebrows and golden eyeshadow.

Mama cried out, “No!” And her nails bit into Ameryi’s bare arms. “Look like yourself and no one else!”

Tears stood in Mama’s eyes, and that frightened Ameryi more than anything. Mama never cried. Ameryi let her face go back to normal, and moisture grew in the corner of her own eyes. “Why? What’s wrong?”

Her mother’s mouth trembled. Then she said, her voice clear and firm, “You must not change your face. It’s evil.”

“Evil?” Evil was hurting people and doing bad things. How could looking like someone else be bad?

Mama stared into her eyes. “It is a curse. A “gift” from Akihel, the god of tricks. They choose humans and make them faceshifters. Because of their love for chaos and no other reason. Do you understand?”

“No.”

Her mother’s long nails had never seemed more like claws. They pinched her skin. “Faceshifters are evil, and we put them to death when we find them. So you cannot be one. You cannot, my little poppet. My tiny darling. You must be Ameryi, the daughter of King Uluric and Queen Emera. You must be a good girl. Then no one will kill you.”

Ameryi knew what death was. Death had taken Grandmama only a year ago, and Ameryi hadn’t forgotten. “If I change my face, I’ll have to go live with the gods like Grandmama?”

“No,” Mama said harshly. “The gods will turn away from someone loved by Akihel. You will not dwell in their perfect palace. You would wander as a ghost forever. Lost. Alone. Forgotten. Do you want that?”

Tears squeezed out of her eyelids and trickled down her face. “No! Mama, I don’t want to leave you. I’m scared.”

“You should be,” Mama said. Then she exhaled and kissed Ameryi’s forehead. “So you’ll wear only your own face, won’t you, my poppet? And you’ll never tell anyone you can change it. Not even your own papa or brothers. Promise me.”

Ameryi couldn’t see Mama anymore, not with the world blurry and watery. She said, “I promise!” And she meant it.

#

Teshom, the tenth day of spring

#

The beer at Desin's tasted like rat piss mixed with honey, but it quenched Ameryi's thirst. She sipped from her cracked cup, which the beerman had probably last washed a week ago. She'd seen him. When a customer brought their cups back to his corner full of jars and amphorae, he ladled more beer in and handed it to the next without even wiping the lip.

"Hey, Paivike!"

Ameryi ignored the raucous voice behind her. Gund wasn't who she was waiting for. She scanned the thin crowd of people who wandered the open floor and occupied the stools lining the undecorated limestone walls, but her quarry didn’t appear out of nowhere.

Gund didn't take a hint. He raised his voice to be heard over the crowd and said, "Hey! Paivike, it's rude to ignore an old friend." A callused hand poked at her shoulder.

She lowered her cup and turned on her stool, pointing her most nondescript face at him. The lighting in the bar was bad — a few spluttering oil lamps set out on spindly cedar tables — but even Gund’s poor eyesight could see from this close.

The big man blinked at her, the smile falling from his round face. He stank of beer and sweat, and his chin needed a good wash. Coal dust stained the hem of his threadbare tunic. "Oh, sorry. I thought you were someone else."

Ameryi smiled at him and toasted him with her cup. “No harm done. Enjoy your beer.”

As Gund stumbled away, she felt a brief flicker of regret. She hadn’t caught up with him for a month. She'd wear Paivike's face here next week and listen to all his gossip about the iron-workers of the city. But tonight she was a different woman, and Gund would have to wait.

An hour crept past. Ameryi nursed her beer until she was down to the sludgy dregs. Just as she was considering getting another, a lanky man plopped down on the stool beside her. He smelled of nothing but soap, and he hadn’t bothered to buy a beer. His grin bared crooked and yellow teeth, beneath an unfashionable mustache, and he said, “There you are, Lemma. Did you bring what you promised?”

Ameryi smiled at the man, who had refused to give her a name. “I did. Did you?” The rectangular bulge in the pocket of his stained tunic looked promising.

The man glanced around at the other bar-goers. “This isn’t a very private place,” he said doubtfully.

“Trust me, no one will pay any attention to us. They never do.”

He nodded. “Fine. Show me yours first.”

From a pocket in her raggedy linen dress, Ameryi drew a bangle of gold. It glittered in the light of the oil lamps, set with dozens of cut gemstones. The man hissed and snatched at it, but she yanked it out of his reach. “Ah-ah! You next, or you don’t get it. I didn’t steal this for nothing.”

The man scowled but produced from his pocket a tiny, thick book. An artist had carved the wooden cover with a beautiful face, neither male nor female, and bound the parchment pages with leather ties. Ameryi’s heart jumped at the sight, and her hands began to sweat.

“Give it to me,” she said. “It’s perfect.”

He handed the book over and grabbed the bangle from her hands. The book weighed so much for such a little thing, but it would fit readily in her pocket. She turned it over in her fingers, feeling the grain of the wood, and sniffed at the leathery smell of the parchment. Dare she open it here?

The man stuffed the bangle into his pocket. He nodded to the book. “If you get caught with that, they'll hang you.”

Ameryi scoffed and slid the book into her pocket. “You think I wouldn't get hung stealing from the palace? I know what I'm doing.”

“Hope so. I’d like to do business with you again.”

She offered him a wolfish smile. “Leave a message for me with the beerman if you ever find another book like this, and we have a deal. I can filch all sorts of things you might like.”

He grinned back and slipped off his stool. Without a goodbye, he vanished into the crowd. Ameryi rose from her seat and returned her cup to the beerman. She had what she needed, and it was time to sleep. Not at home, not yet, but the next best thing.

She strode out onto the narrow dirt streets. The full moon shone down to illuminate limestone buildings that towered above the streets of Teshom, some only three stories high, others as high as six. These flat-roofed buildings were as wide as they were tall, and dozens of doors divided them into shops and apartments for the denizens of the city. The stairways up to the higher floors climbed the outside of the buildings, narrow and steep and without railings.

At this time of night, hardly anyone walked the streets, and the stink of cookfires had died down, leaving the main smell horse manure, dust and the occasional puddle of human waste. Ameryi avoided anything that would soil her bare feet. She made her way a few miles north until she found a six-story building packed with small curtained windows and closed doors. The door she wanted was in the middle, six stories up. She mounted the narrow stairs that wove back and forth across the front of the building and began to climb.

The streets shrank beneath her as she scaled the building, and the few people who crept along looked like a child’s clay dolls. When finally she reached the top, she gazed up at the moon for a long moment. The stories said that it was Raineli’s palace, and that the goddess of fertility, children, and calm waters heard prayers more readily when the moon was high. But Ameryi had never had time for that goddess, and she had the feeling that it was mutual. Only one god made time for her, and that was Akihel, who had given her so many gifts. With a thought, she changed her face from her Lemma disguise to her Safin disguise, which she had worn out of the palace that evening. Safin had higher cheekbones and a snub nose and receding chin. Silde would recognize it readily enough.

She rapped at the door, which swung wide a second later. Silde peered out, a scowl set on her delicate face. In the moonlight, her light brown skin and brown hair looked washed-out, and behind her the room was a black shadow. She hissed, “You’re so late. Do you think I have nothing better to do than stay up worrying about you?”

Ameryi offered a winning smile. “Don’t worry about me, then. Just let me come in and lie down.”

Silde muttered something unflattering and stepped aside. Ameryi squeezed into the dark room. The two sleeping mats on either side of the room and the bodies that lay on them were dark blobs, but Ameryi knew the layout. She side-stepped the rickety table and stools at the heart of the room and found an empty patch of floor back near the dead fireplace. When she lay down on it, the limestone floor was rough against her cheek and bare arms. But she’d done this many times before, and the makeshift floor bed no longer bothered her.

Silde shut the door, plunging the room into complete blackness. Out of the dark, her sister Beriis whispered, “So did you get it?”

Ameryi grinned. “I did. I’ll show you in the morning.”

#

Teshom, the eleventh day of spring

#

The lightening of the curtains woke Ameryi. She stretched, working out the aches that had formed from sleeping on the stone floor, and found her maid disguise where she had left it in the corner the previous evening. She took off her other dress and pulled it on — a plain linen uniform dress, spotless, and a plain cap that fit over her hair. A modest pair of sandals covered her feet. Last, she transferred her new book into a pocket in her uniform. Its weight already felt like an old friend.

She wasn’t the only one dressing. Silde and Beriis prepared for the day as well, donning uniforms identical to the one she wore. Theirs were no disguises; they served in the palace as maids and had for many years. They all dressed as quietly as possible, so as not to wake Silde and Beriis’ mother and father. Not until they opened the door and stepped out into the dawn twilight did Beriis say, “You promised you’d show us this morning.”

“I will back at the palace,” Ameryi said, patting her book. “We’re running late.”

They scrambled down the stairs and through streets that were starting to wake. As they neared the palace, the houses turned to column-lined mansions, and the road grew tiled with black and white mosaics of sailors embedded in the ground. By the time they reached the small side door into the palace, the street bustled with servants heading in and out, carrying food and wine and rolls of purple cloth. Ameryi dodged among them and led the way up to the guards that framed the door. They wore iron scale armor and round helmets plumed with horsehair, and they didn’t even ask Ameryi her name before waving her by. Silde and Beriis followed her in.

The part of the palace they entered now was meant for servant traffic, but even here, artists had carved the limestone walls with lions and winged sphinxes. Ameryi ran her fingertips over the carvings as she led the way towards her bedchamber. The servants greeted her as she passed, calling her Safin, for they thought she worked there occasionally. She waved back, but stopped for no one.

Her bedroom was in the nicest wing in the palace, in a hallway lined with two dozen deep carvings of Raineli. In some, the goddess dandled babies on her hips. In others, she bathed, exposing perfect breasts and legs. Directly beside Ameryi’s cedar door, the goddess kissed Tuular, the god of storms and disasters, who must always be appeased. Ameryi dipped her head to the gods, but her hand fell to the bulge of the book in her pocket. Bringing it home did nothing to curry favor with either of those, but perhaps, just perhaps, it would please a third.

Her cedar door opened silently, and Ameryi slipped inside, followed by her friends. The drawn curtains left the large room in shadow, but enough light peeked through to show the elaborately carved storage chests that lined her walls and her makeup table and many ebony stools. Her enormous bed stood on six ivory legs beneath one window, covered with lynx fur and blankets. She’d arranged blankets in the shape of a sleeping body, the way she usually did when she snuck out at night. Her wooden headrest, padded with the softest cloth, awaited her head, promising her a comfortable sleep if she would just lie down.

When Beriis shut the door behind her and Silde, Ameryi doffed the maid disguise, putting the book on her makeup table, and walked naked to the nearest chest. She grabbed the fine linen nightgown that lay folded on top of a pile of clothes and threw it on. As it fell to her ankles, she strode back to her makeup table and snatched up her silver mirror, which was a single solid disk of polished silver, and stared into it as she changed her features. This was one face she couldn't afford to get wrong.

She made her dark eyes a touch smaller, her cheekbones lower, until her own light-brown face looked back at her. Her wide mouth smiled, her lips plump, and she formed her eyebrows back into their usual plucked shape. Her wavy brown hair she lengthened until it hung down to her hips.

Beriis clapped her hands and said, “You look perfect. Can we see the book now?”

Ameryi grinned. “Of course. Open the curtains, and we’ll take a first look.”

Beriis grinned back and ran around to throw wide the curtains in the back wall. The dawn twilight streamed in, revealing the delicate carvings of birds that fluttered across every inch of the walls. But Ameryi had no eyes for them. She plopped down on a stool and gestured for her friends to come over. They squeezed up against her sides and peered down at the forbidden book.

It wasn’t much to look at. The beautiful face on the cover could have belonged to a woman or a young man, but it belonged to neither. It was the first carving Ameryi had ever seen that depicted Akihel, the trickster god who had no gender, but it matched every time she had seen that face in her dreams.

Carefully, she opened the cover. The text inside was perfect and black, written in the old style without vowels. Ameryi sounded out the words in her mind and said aloud, reverently, “This is the tale of how Akihel stole the sun.”

Beriis leaned closer. “The entire book?”

Ameryi flipped through. “No. It’s just one of many stories. Here’s the tale of how Akihel gave fire to humanity.”

Silde’s eyes narrowed. “Akihel did something positive? The stories everyone tells never say anything like that.”

Ameryi scowled. “Well, this book has more truth in it than those stories. That’s why it’s banned. People want to believe the gods who say Akihel is pure evil. Never mind all the good they’ve done.” She flipped another page. “Here, this is the story of how Akihel made the first faceshifter. I bet it’s fascinating.”

Beriis’ eyes widened. “That’s just like you! Let’s read that one!”

"First, I'll fetch your breakfast," Silde said.

Ameryi shut the book. "Thank you, but don't bother. I'm going to bed. Your floor is too hard. Beriis, we’ll read the story together later. I promise."

Beriis shook a finger at her. “I’ll hold you to that! You never finished the last story you promised to read me.”

“Then we’ll do that one, too. Now please leave so I can get some sleep.”

Once her friends had trooped out the door, off to perform their maidly duties, Ameryi tucked the book into one of her chests, where no one would find it. Then she sprawled on her bed, laid her head on the wooden headrest, and fell into a deep sleep.

#

Ameryi had only slept a few hours when her mother, Queen Emera, sailed into the bedroom and cried, "Good morning, darling! The day is well underway. What are you still doing in bed?" Mother threw wide the curtains, letting the bright sun stream in. The bells on her ankles chimed gaily, and her many-layered linen dress trailed along the floor. Artisans had dyed it the finest purple, a dye created by crushing sea snails, and the source of much of the Lemmerin City-States’ wealth, Teshom included.

Ameryi groaned and hid her face beneath her blanket.

"None of that," Mother said, and she gently peeled the blankets off the bed. She smiled down at Ameryi. Her brown face was delicate, with golden eyeshadow and rouged lips, but her long black hair was graying. "It's time to rise, or you won't have time to get ready before the court today."

Ameryi sighed and rubbed sleep out of her eyes. She was glad she'd remembered to put on her own face. "I just wanted to sleep in. We don't have court today. It's Ashaday."

Mother clucked at her. "Normally, yes. But today we have guests from the Asirtinsan Empire, and your father is holding a special session for them. And he wants all his children to attend."

"The empire? What do they want? They sent an ambassador? Do they want us to give them tribute?"

Mother leaned close to smooth her hair out of her face. "I don't know. You'll have to get up to find out." She frowned suddenly. "Why do you smell like cheap beer?"

Ameryi forced herself not to stiffen. Damn. She should have bathed before bed. She should have thought of this. “I just had some last night. It wasn’t cheap, though. It was the finest the kitchens offered.”

Her mother shook her head slowly, staring at her. “No. You’re lying to me, aren’t you? You sneaked out last night. You must have.”

Ameryi offered her a puzzled smile. “Why would I sneak out? There’s nothing but poor people out there. Hardly worth talking to, don’t you think?” She calculated the words to appeal to her mother. But Ameryi knew that the people outside of the palace often had the best stories.

Her mother slashed a hand through the air. “Don’t lie to me. I’m your mother. You crept out. Probably in some disguise you convinced your maids to bring. I should replace them. They give in to your wild ideas too easily.”

“Mother—”

“No. Don’t start. Just tell me the truth. Did you change your face last night?”

“Of course not. I swore I’d never do that.”

Mother paled. “When you were six. When you did it for the first time. But have you really kept your promise all these years?”

“Mother, why would I ever want to wear someone else’s face? Aren’t I your beautiful daughter? I’m happy as I am.”

The queen leaned close and grabbed Ameryi by the shoulders. Her fingers bit in like claws. “I hope you’re telling me the truth. I hope you haven’t forgotten what will happen if your father ever finds out.”

Ameryi covered her mother’s hands with her own. “Father would execute me as a faceshifter. Just like anyone else caught with Akihel’s blessing. I know that.”

Mother’s eyes filled with tears. “Do you? Do you realize how painful it has been keeping this secret? Knowing you are at risk every moment of the day? Please. My darling. For your mother’s sake, never change your face again. And I pray you did not do it last night.”

Ameryi squeezed her hands. “I love you, Mother. I’ll never break your heart.” She meant it. She had no intention of ever getting caught.

Mother took a shuddering breath. “I pray so. But dress now. Your father is expecting us soon. And we’ll see what the empire has to say.”

@anonymousfoz

@moremysteriesthantragedies

@elizababie

@sm-writes-chaos

@bellascarousel

#writeblr #fantasy #writing #writers of tumblr #creative writing #writers #The Many-faced Princess

[wolfeyedwitch]

Auction of Evil, Part 2

No. 1 A LITTLE OUT OF THE ORDINARY

Adverse Effects | Unconventional Restraints | "This wasn't supposed to happen"

Have some pining and miscommunication. (Also some medical inaccuracies. I tried, but I am not a doctor.)

CW: dissociation(ish?), Bailey's crappy headspace, offscreen non-con drugging, sedation, asphyxia/hypoxia, adverse drug reactions (more explanation in tags)

Masterlist

---

I am ice. I am stone. I feel nothing. 

Bailey repeated the words to themself silently as Slipknot summoned them to the stage, bringing them to heel with a click of their fingers. 

It was Bailey’s mantra now; it had been since… since it happened. By the time of the auction, Bailey was numb to their surroundings. The last thing that they had truly felt was Slipknot’s… displeasure, when they found out that Bailey had been holding back in their fights against Foxfire. 

The punishment had been severe, but Bailey had become used to those by now. It seemed they couldn’t do anything right anymore; punishments were the norm rather than the exception. That hadn’t been the worst part. 

The worst part was the collar. 

It was slim. It sat beneath the neckline of their suit, not even disrupting their silhouette. It was still obtrusive enough for Bailey to feel it every time they swallowed. 

A constant reminder of their new position.

If you’re going to act like a misbehaving dog, little poppet, then I’ll treat you like one. 

Bailey’s hands shook at the remembered pain, the shocks licking up and down their nerves.

No. No, they weren’t going to think of that. They were stone. 

Stone didn’t care that it had disappointed its mentor. Stone didn’t care that its mentor was determined to get “at least some use out of you, after all the work I put in”.

Stone didn’t care who it was sold to.

Nothing would break through Bailey’s self-imposed numbness. They would survive; nothing else mattered. 

That certainty splintered when Viper brought Foxfire down to the stage, carelessly dropping them like so much baggage. 

Bailey’s breath caught at the sight of the hero limp and unmoving. Were they…?

“And as a bonus, I’ll include custody of the hero Foxfire to whoever wins the bid on Poppet,” they heard Slipknot say. 

Their breath came unstuck from their throat at the confirmation. Their The hero was alive. Foxfire was more valuable alive than dead.

For now.

Bailey ignored the sounds of Slipknot playing auctioneer above them. They focused solely on Foxfire. 

The hero looked… well. Not good, because they were far too still and silent to be good. Foxfire’s personality was as bright and vivacious as the blue fire they named themself after, as the trails left by their own teleportation powers. Seeing them so quiet was unnerving, unnatural. But physically, they looked unharmed. 

(Of course they were unharmed. Heroes weren’t like villains; they looked after their own. And anyway, to the heroes, Bailey’s disappearance wouldn’t have been something worthy of punishment anyway. It would have been worthy of praise. Bailey had no reason to be worried about their nemesis, even beyond the fact that they shouldn’t be worrying about their nemesis.)

Foxfire stared sleepily back at Bailey. Their hazel eyes, usually so bright and mischievous behind their dark mask, looked hazy and dull. They blinked once, twice, eyelids moving slower each time.

Then the eyes didn’t reopen. 

Bailey bit back on their cry of alarm. Nothing good would come of the villains knowing they cared about the hero. At best, it would bring mockery. At worst?

At worst, Bailey would be painting a target on Foxfire’s back. The hero was already going to be sold to the same person as them. If their buyer knew about Bailey’s sympathies, they wouldn’t hesitate to use that as another way to force Bailey’s cooperation.

Bailey wouldn't be helping Foxfire that way. They needed to keep calm, and keep silent. 

Foxfire was fine. Foxfire would continue to be fine. They were just unconscious, drugged with whatever concoction Viper had used. 

It got harder and harder to convince themself of that as they watched Foxfire’s breaths become ever shallower. 

When they could no longer see the hero’s chest rise and fall, Bailey couldn’t hold it in any longer. They had to say something.

“Slipknot, they’re not breathing,” Bailey said quietly.

The hand on Bailey’s neck tightened in a silent warning. 

A warning that Bailey ignored. 

“Slipknot, they’re not breathing,” Bailey repeated, louder this time. 

Their collar activated. Every muscle in Bailey’s body went rigid as electricity coursed through them. Even after the collar deactivated, they still twitched and shook with the after-effects.

Slipknot wanted them silent, and was willing to enforce that behavior through whatever means necessary. If Bailey were smart, they’d shut up and do as they were supposed to.

If Bailey were smart, they never would have been in this situation to begin with. 

“They’re not breathing!” Bailey shouted. 

Foxfire’s lips were starting to turn blue as their body starved of oxygen. Whatever Viper had used, the hero was reacting poorly to it.

“You want to sell custody of a hero?” Bailey continued. “That’s gonna be hard to do if the hero is dead!” 

They twisted in their mentor’s grip to look up at them, hoping to appeal to something, anything, that would make Slipknot listen.

A discontented rumble emerged from the gathered crowd. 

Slipknot stared down at Bailey with amused disdain. When they spoke, it wasn’t amplified for the crowd to hear. These words were just for Bailey.

“You care about if they live or die, poppet?” Slipknot scoffed. “I knew you were weak, but this?”

Bailey just stared pleadingly at them, not daring to speak further.

Slipknot smiled at them, expression devoid of kindness. “You think this would make any difference to them? They're still a hero, little poppet. You know what they'd do to you."

Bailey swallowed hard and nodded. They did know. Captured villains didn’t last long in hero custody—only as long as it took for the heroes to get the information and satisfaction they wanted out of them. Bailey had seen the scars their teammates had from close calls and narrow escapes. 

Bailey wouldn’t be thanked for their actions here. If Foxfire lived through this, they wouldn’t hesitate to capture Bailey. They would pay for their actions against the heroes, and the punishment would undoubtedly be worse after this. After they’d shown that they cared, revealed that vulnerability for any villain here to exploit. 

Maybe it was selfish to want to make sure the hero they cared about admired would survive. Wanting to keep their the hero alive even knowing that Foxfire would be hurt. Would be hurt because of them, something they’d been trying so hard to avoid in their fights. 

If that was selfish? Then Bailey was selfish. 

“Please,” they said. 

Slipknot raised an eyebrow, then shook their head. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” With that, they shoved Bailey forward.

Bailey collapsed to their hands and knees, but quickly recovered enough to crawl towards the unconscious hero. They stared down at Foxfire’s limp form, unsure of what to do. 

Think, Bailey, think!

Okay. Foxfire wasn’t breathing. They needed oxygen. Bailey had oxygen, and they knew how to give rescue breaths. 

They could do this. They would save Foxfire, no matter what repercussions it brought. 

Bailey tilted the hero’s head back and pressed their mouth against Foxfire’s. Their cheeks heated as they remembered a scene they had imagined, where this same motion had happened for very different reasons. They ignored their embarrassment; they could blush about this later.

For now? Bailey kept going. They ignored how Slipknot resumed the auction; they tuned out the sound of villains bidding on them. All that mattered was Foxfire, and the terrible intimacy of breathing for another person.

---

Taglist:

@heathenville @nonbinary-disaster @kim-poce @whump-world @dolls-circus @pickleking8 @ghostfacepepper @cupcakes-and-pain @badluck990 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @extemporary-whump @whumpwillow @multiple-characters1-acct @sunflower1000 @fleur-alise @equestrianwritingsstuff, @scp-1296 @livingforthewhump @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @suspicious-whumping-egg @kaiwewi @lelly-belly @neuro-whump @newbornwhumperfly @whumpthisway @whumpcreations @wicked-whump @heart4brains @myhusbandsasemni @how-to-be-a-hero @kixngiggles @kurochan @whumpsday @extrabitterbrain @pattonvirglsanders @neverthelass @we-write-as-one @elrysdoesstuff @whumperflies-and-roses @ha-ha-one @whatwhumpcomments @ramadiiiisme @towerlesskey @emmanemanemm @pigeonwhumps

#whumptober2022 #whumptober 2022 #no. 1 #adverse effects #with bloody outstretched hands #noncon drugging #sedation #forced sedation #bailey's crappy headspace #bailey the villain #bailey aka poppet #bailey is pining #zera aka foxfire #zera the hero #hypoxia #rescue breaths #dubious medical knowledge #basically zera has an adverse reaction to sedatives and stops breathing #so bailey breathes for them #in case the cw was confusing that's the explanation #dissociation #bailey is not okay #villain whump #auction of evil #auction of evil au #hero whump #hero villain whump #hero whumpee #villain whumpee #supervillain whumper

[recusant-s-sigil]

Imagine you’re Luxu for a second. Your master/father (figure?) has told you that your role is to watch over the future until you die, pass on the Keyblade he gave to you, and keep tabs on a box. He also told you that you couldn’t interfere with events. Except you’re clearly the wrong person for the job, being as impatient and concerned about others as you are. So what do you do?

Violate the Master’s direct order and body-hop through the ages, learning to imitate—no, to become your current body to such a degree that you start losing your sense of self, just a little. Your personality is made up of bits and pieces you’ve collected over the eons. You brush it off, you would’ve changed over time anyways with new experiences and interactions. That’s what you tell the mess that is “yourself”, anyways.

Your current body was a loner, standoffish. Kept to himself. Perfect target. You’d started possessing the outcasts and abandoned, easier to assume their roles or invent an entirely new persona for them that way. You still had to observe their mannerisms to pass as them, but it wasn’t as much work.

His Your name was Braig, before you had your heart ripped out and the Sigil placed in your anagram. You, as Braig, somehow managed to get into Ansem the Wise’s good graces and became a guard and apprentice. These days they call you Xigbar.

You wouldn’t be able to fulfill your role if you’d actually become a Nobody; that (non)existence defeats the whole purpose of possession. So you waited until the opportune moment to insert your heart back into “your” body.

“Mar” something had a familiar air to him. The youth’s heart was ancient, like yours. You’d gotten a feel for how different hearts shone in the many you had to release from your victims. It had been an age since you felt that special light of a Daybreak Town wielder. Well, there was Ventus, but he didn’t count. Based on what the old coot had told you, it was obvious he was from the Age of Fairytales.

Same with the only lady of the Organization at least until Poppet came along. It was odd that they found Larxene in the same world as Marluxia, but you put the thought aside. No need to focus on such coincidences when your role was nearing its completion. The scapegoat was finally here in the one thought to be the Child of Destiny, and that meant the Keyblade War would happen again. And you would live to see it again, but not before your “death” and subsequent recompletion at the hands of the true Child of Destiny.

The Graveyard was the same as when you’d left it over a decade ago. Of course it was. Why wouldn’t it be? Time does not touch this place.

You told Luxord to find the Box. Not because you’d lost it, that’s just silly! He’d confronted you in Thebes later, immediately calling your bluff. That’s what you get for dealing with a gambler, you thought to yourself. But you took comfort in the hope knowledge that the Box would be safely back in your care by the time or directly after the Keyblade War was over.

Your old companions, in all their colorful, animal-themed glory, coalesced from the dust and wind. They gathered around you. All were exactly as you remembered them in personality and mannerism, from Aced’s insistence he knows what’s going on to Gula’s quiet and pointed observations. It was nice to see everyone again, but you’d changed. Ira pointed out as much: “Is that you, Luxu? You look different.” Looking back on it, if your Master had simply given you all roles which matched your strengths, none of this would’ve happened. But he chose the wrong roles on purpose, you recall with a roiling in your chest, in order to create conflict and allow Darkness to feed on it.

“I hope you like long stories,” you’d said, before explaining everything as concisely as possible. You conveniently left out the Master’s true intentions. They didn’t need to hear that part. When the tale was done, the horror settled on your friends’ faces behind their intricate masks. They hid their identity with them, as you had with your semblances through the years.

“It’s still me, underneath it all,” you’d told Invi. But was that really true anymore?

#Moon Speaks #Meg Writes #Luxu #Braig #No. II #Xigbar #Master of Masters #Ira #Invi #Aced #Gula #Whoops didn’t mean for this to be a fic #It was just gonna be some character exploration! How’d it turn into this #Sadly no Bragi but he wasn’t really important for this #Maybe I’ll do a final mix of this and add Luxu’s time as him in somewhere #character exploration

[calico-kiwi]

The Coffee Trials

Chapter 3: Operation: Begin Skye’s Ridiculous Coffee Trials 2.0 Where We Recreate Our Favorite Beverage From Scratch Without a Recipe (and possibly think of a shorter name) is a go!

Fandom: Maribat (Miraculous Ladybug x DC)

Tags: Tim Drake/Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Original Character, fluff & Shenanigans, no plot & no update schedule

Work Summary: Both Tim Drake and Marinette Dupain-Cheng are incredibly successful and busy people. Two people who both view coffee as their lifeblood. When they find themselves needing each other to obtain ultimate coffee rights at their favorite cafe, two total strangers become allies. And friends. And perhaps eventually… something more.

Chapter Summary: Tim and Marinette reconvene at the cafe, where they both agree to participate in the second Coffe Trial. It's there where the trials officially begin. But Skye, always full of surprises, has yet another (unintentional) twist.

Links: ao3 work, ao3 chapter, First Chapter, Previous Chapter, Next Chapter

Read below the Keep Reading!

It had been less than 24 hours since Tim’s, strange but albeit somehow unsurprising, interaction with Skye and Marinette at the coffee shop. He’d been thinking about it all night. And, oh wow it was daytime now. Then yeah, he’d been thinking about it all day too.

He’d gotten a text sometime late last night from Marinette confirming her number and wishing him a good night. Immediately, Tim saved her contact as “Marinette (coffee thief)” and proceeded to raid the house for any available snacks.

It wasn’t until it was once again time for Tim’s nightly visit to the cafe that he’d finally come to a decision. He walked in to find Marinette already sitting in what he assumed was her regular spot talking to Skye.

As soon as the young barista noticed him, their face split into a smug smile. “So what have you decided?” She said it like she already knew his answer.

“I’ll do your silly little second Coffe Trial,” he says, noticing the way Skye’s eyes light up. “ If Marinette agrees to it too. I mean, I beat your first one. I’m sure I can beat this one too.”

“Excellent!” Skye says with a clap of their hands. “Marinette already agreed to it and said she’d go through as long as you did. We can start tonight.”

Marinette snorts from her spot on the couch. “You really have a flair for the dramatic. That last sentence sounded so ominous I’m almost scared for my safety.”

“Almost scared is not fully scared, and so I take your confidence in my ability to not put you in active danger with a bow,” Skye says, ending their retort with an over-exaggerated curtsy.

Rolling her eyes Marinette simply tells the barista, “Ok you theatrical ninny.”

“Ninny?” Tim questions with a barely repressed smile.

Marinette blushes. “My, uh, erm, the first way I learned English was from someone who���d been in Britain for a considerable amount of time, and was a bit of an… outdated old source.”

Tim decided not to comment on the way he saw Mari ever so slightly flinch and discreetly glare at her purse, which sat on her lap. Who was he to judge someone else for being a bit crazy and/or eccentric?

Hell, he throws on a costume and uses a grappling hook to swing across buildings with the adoptive father who dresses up like an emo and depressed bat at night. And that was putting it mildly and barring a whole lot of just as if not more crazy shit.

“Anyway,” Skye says, while wiping down tables “how would the two of you like to proceed?”

“Oh! I have a quick question before we start-“ Marinette replies. “Where exactly will we be making The Motherload? I’m assuming you’re not offering up the cafe’s equipment to us.”

Grinning, the barista pauses her cleaning to place both hands (one still holding a rag) on their hips. “That’s an excellent question, poppet!”

Tim raises an eyebrow and scoffs. “Poppet?”

Raising their hands up in a show of surrender Skye teases, “Hey, I ain’t the one who started using random British words, but I’ll sure as hell jump on the bandwagon.” Her gaze slides over to Marinette, who’s shaking her head.

“Answering your question though, you can make it wherever you please. As long as it’s not in here. Whether it be at one of your guys’ places, or a random cafe you’ve decided to rent out or comondeer, it can be wherever. The drink itself isn’t super complex, so I already know you guys own the required equipment”

Marinette nods before looking over to Tim. “So,” she starts, “how do you wanna do this?”

“Well, seeing as there are no negative consequences when asking for a hint, why don’t we get this week’s hint now? We can brainstorm after and just hang in the cafe the rest of today,” Tim suggests.

Marinette opens her mouth to respond, but before she gets the chance Skye starts waving their arms around frantically. “WOAH WOAH WOAH! No negative consequences?! Did I not mention the consequences?”

Tim narrows his eyes at the barista, and Marinette can clearly be heard in the background saying, “Oh for Gods’ sakes, tu petite merde .”

Skye’s eyes go wide, and she pales slightly. “I-“ Her lips purse. “I didn’t mention the penalty?”

“NO!” Tim and Marinette cry out in sync, looking exasperated.

“Guys I’m so sorry I swear I thought I’d told you there was a price for getting hints. It must’ve slipped my mind when I made the slides and when I was telling you guys.”

Tim sighs, but after running a hand down his face he says, “Well, what’s the penalty for a hint?”

Skye goes back to wiping tables as she tells them, “In exchange for receiving a hint, you have to spin The Wheel of Punishments. Which, as the name implies, is a wheel loaded with various punishments. The punishments range from challenges to scavenger hunts, tasks, and quests.”

“I’m almost scared to ask,” Marinette interrupts hesitantly, “but what do you mean by quests?”

Tim chimes in, adding, “If Skye’s the one making them, they’re gonna be ridiculous.”

Skye grins, mysteriously reassuring, “Oh, you’ll find out soon enough. So, you two still want a hint?”

Marinette and Tim lock eyes, and after Tim gives a shrug, Marinette answers, “Why not?”

Tossing the rag onto the next table they were about to clean, Skye starts skipping towards the front counter. “Perfect!” they exclaim. She hops over the counter and ducks behind the register. The sound of cabinets opening can be heard, before Skye stands up, this time holding a colorful wheel akin to those found on game shows.

“Come one, come all! Step right up and spin the wheel!” Skye makes a grand gesture, sweeping her arm towards Tim and Marinette as they walk over to her. “So, which of you two lovely fellows would like to spin The Wheel of Punishments?” 

Looking over at Marinette, Tim asks, “May I?”

She smiles at him (those definitely aren’t butterflies he’s feeling in his stomach. nope nope nope. probably just his body reacting to the lack of caffeine) before offering, “Go right ahead.”

Taking a breath, Tim steps up to the wheel. He notices that it’s somewhat small. The diameter couldn’t have been more than the length of his phone. Despite that, it was divided into 16 different sections which alternated between the colors of the rainbow. Each section was labeled with one of four letters: C, S, T, or Q. Following each letter was a number.

“Each letter,” Skye starts to explain, “Represents one of the four categories I mentioned earlier. C is for challenges, S is for scavenger hunts, T is for tasks, and Q is for quests. The number represents the specific objective. I have a numbered list of different challenges, a numbered list of different scavenger hunts, etcetera etcetera. Go ahead and spin, then I’ll tell you the objective of whichever you land on.”

“Alright then,” Tim mutters under his breath. He tentatively reaches out towards the wheel before spinning it. They all watch, transfixed, as the wheel starts spining and then begins to slow. Finally, the dial lands on a red section labeled Q#3.

“Which one’s that?” Marinette asks eagerly.

Grabbing her phone from their jeans pocket, Skye replies, “Let me check!”

Not even a moment later, Skye’s lips split into a devilish smirk. She looks up at the two (now very concerned and slightly alarmed) participants of The Second Coffee Trials and pretends to innocently bat their eyes.

“Oh how wonderful!” they cheer, obviously amused.

“I’m actually so scared now,” Marinette whispers; to which Tim nods.

“Every hint comes with a price; you’ve chosen risk, you’ve rolled the dice; a quest which may lead to adventure or woe; to lands beyond, you must go; there is an action which you must do; while bringing me back irrefutable proof.”

“There were absolutely zero actual directions in that,” Tim points out.

“That’s because I’m not done, you impatient swine,” Skye huffs out. “May I get a drumroll please?”

Marinette obliges, lightly drumming her fingers against the counter.

> Next Chapter

AN: Forgive my many spelling mistakes, I have the horrible tendency to only write for this fic in the dead of night. i have this fic on ao3, but I realized I never posted it to tumblr as more than a link. if you wanna keep up with it, but dont wanna subscribe to it on ao3, just ask to be added to the taglist either through this post or an ask to my blog and I'll keep you updated!

#kiwi shares their thoughts #kiwi's got a pen #maribat #mlb x dc #shutterbug #timari #dc x miraculous #dc x miraculous ladybug #dc x mlb #timinette #timinette fanfic #timinette fic #miraculous x dc #miraculous ladybug x dc #timinette fanfiction #timari fic #timari fanfic #timari fanfiction #shutterbug fic #shutterbug fanfic #shutterbug fanfiction #maribat fic #maribat fanfiction #maribat fanfic #tim x marinette #marinette x tim

[egomeister]

NICKNAMES

SEPTIC EGO EDITION

SYNOPSIS: Nicknames they call you

ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ-

Antisepticeye

I genuinely cannot imagine this man calling you by a nickname, he doesn't strike me as the type, maybe he would teasingly use some of the more classic ones, but that's all it is, teasing. He has his own ways of affection, pet names aren't really one.

Chase Brody

He calls you bro, buddy and dude, he's just a little bit insecure ngl and doesn't want to say anything that would make you uncomfortable, he calls you babe or baby once tho and never lets it go again.

Marvin the Magnificent

His nicknames are actually pretty cool, at the beginning of your relationship he calls you bunny or rabbit because obviously, magician, but once he starts to understand you more he'll call you either clover, spade, diamond or dearheart, based on cards (different cards have different personalities)

Dr. Schneeplstein

His nicknames are all German, they just slip easier for him, liebling and schatz are his basic two (darling, treasure) but will eventually start calling you maus and perle (mouse, pearl) though it can depend on your personality.

Jameson Jackson

JJ can't verbally give you nicknames, but he's uses names like dove, poppet, love. Is he English? Who knows, probably not, but he gives pet names like a victorian anyway.

#antisepticeye x reader #chase brody x reader #marvin the magnificent x reader #dr schneeplestein x reader #jameson jackson x reader #tufts septic egos

[monty-glasses-roxy]

Okay so Castaway AU is a Jurassic Bark (Roxy x Chica x Monty polyship) AU where it has a similar setup to Sims 2 Castaway in that everyone was on a boat and a freak storm separates everyone onto three different islands. Basically, all of the animatronics from SB, Vanessa, Gregory and Cassie spread out over three islands, though this is subject to change in that, it'd be a lot to cover. Anyway.

This would take place in a universe where they're all furry people, with Vanessa being a rabbit, lioness, or a cat, Gregory as a cat and Cassie as either some kind of spaniel dog, or a mutt of some kind, or possibly a coyote or something I dunno haven't got that far.

Almost everyone was on the boat to celebrate Freddy's birthday. Roxy was there because Bonnie was nervous hanging out with the bear he has feelings for on his own and begged her for almost a solid month to come with. He now owes her several meals, video games and fuck knows what else but she's here and that's what he wanted. They're adopted siblings in this btw as they are in most things I do like this. Gregory is Vanessa's adopted kid so when Freddy invited her and DJ, naturally, their kids were invited too. Cassie was invited because Gregory went behind Vanessa's back and asked Freddy if he could invite his bestie and this bear has never said no to a child in his life. Everyone else? There for Freddy.

The focus would be on the first group, Chica, Monty, Poppet (a Mini Music Man), Roxy and Cassie. Chica wakes up on a beach all alone. She panics, and starts to search for someone, anyone else. The boat is washed up, upside down on jagged rocks nearby, but she doesn't think to check it, her brain scrambled and assuming that the others must have washed up somewhere like she did. She searches the beach up and down, before entering the gloomy looking forest. She finds some food and gets jumpscared by the local wildlife a bit before running into Monty.

They're so excited to see each other. They'd met on the boat and hit it off instantly, talking about this and that for at least a few hours before the storm hit. As it turns out, Monty had been swimming around the island searching the beaches for anyone else while she'd been in the forest and he hadn't seen anyone. He thought he was gonna be on his own this whole time, he's so relieved he's not! He explains that the island is fairly small and the two of them return to searching for the others.

They come up empty handed, but have a much better idea of the layout of the island now so that's nice. They head back to Chica's beach where the boat is, and start gathering up everything they can before night hits. They find all sorts of things washed up on the beach from the boat, along with driftwood and seashells that are helping lift the mood. The tide is out when they hear a noise coming from the boat they were gonna check in the morning.

Poppet is standing on top of the boat, whistling his little heart out to them. The two rush over and figure that someone else is still in the boat and Poppet had managed to get out to find help. Poor lil guy is beat up from his efforts and is frantically trying to show them where this person is... and after some serious struggling to get Chica into the boat, it's discovered that it's Roxanne, who neither of them really know all too well outside of Bonnie. Turns out, she was below deck the entire party and that's why Chica didn't even know she was there, and she's been baking alive in the underside of this boat in direct sunlight all day so yeah with her thick coat of fur? She's melted.

They're heavily relying on the boat not exploding with the lights on to get Roxy out since it's dark out. When they finally get her out, she's taken down to the beach, given one of the hammocks that Monty and Chica built earlier, a coconut or something to drink from and some fruit to eat. She's just glad to be out of that fucking deathtrap they call a boat that she didn't even want to be on and she's stuck here with fucking heat exhaustion from. Instead of being mad about that though, naturally, she's way more concerned about her brother, who she'll eventually return to making threats about murdering if the storm didn't already.

Come morning, Chica and Monty go and search the boat for supplies and anything they might be able to use, while Poppet keeps the fire going and Roxy... sleeps because fuck mornings. When she wakes up, she goes off exploring, searching for any sign of Bonnie or Poppet's siblings she can possibly find. She finds a ledge over the ocean that she can distantly see another island from and wonders if maybe the others wound up over there... and also a small storage container on the beach nearby. She heads down onto the sand to investigate and after discovering it's not completely on dry land, rather than walk through the shallows to it, she makes a lasso out of vine or whatever else she's got nearby and spends like... thirty minutes trying to loop it around the box and then drag it out of the water.

Curiously, Roxy opens the container and falls the kid she remembers seeing Gregory playing with a few times. Roxy has no idea what to do, and struggles to wake her up before rushing her back to the others. Roxy put her in her hammock, gives her coconut water, fruit and Poppet lends her his brother's plush bumblebee he found on the boat. It takes a few days of cold, damp leaves on her head and under her arms to cool her down, and a lot of water before she makes her recovery. Almost instantly, she takes a shine to Roxy, who's wandering around the island most of the day, and howling at the top of her lungs in the hopes her brother can hear her.

As Roxy's attention is dragged back to those that are still here though, she tries not to get too close to Cassie... and fails miserably. The kid was on the boat on her own for goodness sake! There's no need to worry about her dad surviving but she's still hoping and waiting for him to find her. She sits on that rocky ledge with Roxy, watching the horizon for her dad on a boat to take her home while Roxy howls for Bonnie to still be alive. She tries to howl with her and is almost immediately, unknowingly to both of them, taken under Roxy's wing as she helps her howl louder and clearer than she was before.

There's a lot they can do here but I've been writing this for ages so imma leave it and go do something else for a bit lmao see ya

#fnaf security breach #fnaf castaway au #jurassic bark castaway au #it doesn't really feel as shippy now ngl #anyway there ya go guys! castaways!!

[mothgodofchaos]

Poppet

He’s a bastard and I love him. Also, this isn’t my fault that I’ve been brainrotting this concept for literally days. Definitely in the horror category.

Antisepticeye x GN!Reader if you squint?? TW: knife, blood, bite, puppets Words: 954

You sit at your computer, doom scrolling on Tumblr for what feels like ages, post after post, nothing scratching your brain the way you wished it would. Post, post, reblog, like, post, like, post, reblog, reblog… An endless loop of mundane, trying to add a little bit of something interesting as you lay in bed, trying to fall asleep. But then a particular art piece catches your eye. Puppets… You always hated puppets. Their oddly human quality that just was slightly off. Mannequins were even worse, but puppets were a more constant fear. Your screen glitches as you click on the art, and the puppet slowly begins to move, as if someone is manipulating the strings. You’re fascinated, trying to see if it’s a gif, or perhaps a video and you just didn’t notice. Green claws pop into view, the puppet slowly starting to look like a stereotypical man in one of those old silent movies. He seems to be screaming for help, but you can’t hear him, even with your volume at max. A piercing screech comes through the speaker of your phone, causing you to throw it across the room. A mechanical giggle, seemingly getting louder, coming from all the electronics in your room. The same hand reaches through your computer screen, grasping onto your desk, crushing the solid hardwood into dust like it’s nothing. You scream, which just makes the giggling louder. The lights go out, and you scramble for a flashlight. The green figure continues to slowly crawl out of your computer screen, the only other light source in the room. Glowing claws and tattoos catch your attention, distracting you until you feel like you’re being watched, looking slightly up to meet a pair of glowing eyes and a mouthful of sharp teeth. You try to break for the door, the cackle following you as you run through your house, mocking your every movement. You feel it constantly around you, as if you’re just not quite fast enough to lose whatever is chasing you. You’re not, but this is fun, instilling the fear into you that he feeds off of. Why not make his meal just a bit more sweet with a little bit of a chase, oh how he loves playing games. He always liked playing with his food anyways. You get to the front door, just to be met with the same grin again, blocking your exit. You try to go for the back door, just to be met with a knife to your throat. Your breath hitches as he giggles right into your ear. “Gotcha~” Staying perfectly still, you close your eyes, waiting for the perceived inevitable, just to be met with a disgusting lick up the side of your neck, buzzing into your skin. He purrs, fangs barely grazing your skin. “I t’ink I’ll make ye my poppet, how’s t’at~?” He coos you as he takes a bite into a neck, releasing a cry out of you as you squirm, trying to not make it worse while also looking for an escape. The blade presses into your neck a bit harder, a warning to stop squirming. He pulls away, stepping back to obscenely lick your blood off his teeth. Trying to run again, you find yourself unable to move. “I said yer mine now, poppet~” Your arms move as if being pulled by strings, his hand flexing as he watches you with amusement. Fingers dancing as you move side to side, as if he’s the one controlling your movements. You try and scream, only to find your voice and ability to move your mouth gone. You can only blink and move your eyes, but wonder to yourself if that’s something he’s letting you keep for his amusement as well. He walks you into your living room, sitting on your couch, hand still flexed. Tears roll down your face, which he gets up and quickly licks off, humming contently. You can feel him feeding off your fear, and as much as you don’t want to give into it, you can’t help but feel trapped. He’s made you become everything you ever feared. “T’e name’s Anti, yer poppetmaster~” Green strings appear from his fingers as he flexes his hand, connecting to your wrists, ankles, all major joints, keeping you in the air on display in front of him. He glitches around you, inspecting his new plaything very carefully. “Ye’ll do nicely in my collection, yer much stronger t’an all t’e rest o’ my poppets~” He pulls you in by your waist to him, and in a flash of green you’re on a stage. You look around you, the slightest control of your head, still lacking the ability to speak. You see a doctor, a younger looking skater dude, a superhero, a magician, but you notice two spots are empty. Green strings are attached to all of them, all in various states of fear, the cackle returning to echo around the auditorium. You feel tugs as you’re pulled into one of the two empty spots, the one in the middle still left empty. “Apologies, let me introduce ye t’ my favorite~” The same man from the art before lowers down from the rafters of the stage, tired, seemingly saddened by the sight of you on the stage with him and the other men. He nods to you, before hanging his head, eyes closed. “Ye might beat him in terms o’ favorites, we’ll see t’ough~” You try and struggle still, given a bit of autonomy to squirm mid-air, still handing by your puppet strings. Anti walks over to you, holding your chin tight, forcing you to look at him in the eye. “Ye have an audience, let t’e show begin~!”

#antisepticeye #anti #anti x reader #antisepticeye x reader #septic egos #henrik von schneeplestein #jackieboy man #chase brody #jameson jackson #marvin the magnificent #TW: knife #TW: blood #TW: bite #TW: puppets #electric limeade #schneeple steeple #comic escapee #sad dad #silent cinnamonroll #nyan magician #chaoswrites

[twinkinspector]

good morning to everyone on the dash! i have a witch storytime for you

context: my mother is a very very devout christian lady, but she’s really into the ~gothic aesthetic~, so she runs in similar circles to witches and occultists and stuff. she’s obsessed with ghost tours and bones and generally kind of weird stuff, but whatever, she likes what she likes! she doesn’t know i’m a witch or pagan because even at my ripe old age of 26, i’m still scared of my parents. i literally haven’t even come out to them as bi yet.

the actual story: a friend of my dad’s found a really weird doll. so we’re not off to a great start. i would post a pic, but it’s creepy and gave me bad vibes, soooooo i’m not gonna. (just look up poppets.) poppets are very similar to (BUT NOT THE SAME AS) the media’s portrayal of voodoo dolls. they’re used in sympathetic magic, which means they’re used to represent another person. they’re often used in healing and benefic magic, but they can also be used for hexes and curses and malicious stuff too – which is where the general population’s minds usually go. being absolutely clueless about that, my parents took the doll to the store they own. multiple employees were like “yo we do not like that doll, get rid of it” and shit, but my parents just blew it off. but then all the machines stopped working in the shop 🥴 my mom (thinking she was doing the right thing) put the doll in “time-out” behind the building. i guarantee that just pissed off the energy BUT she didn’t know any better. so they fix the machines, right? and then the NEXT DAY, they break again. at that point, my mom’s like “okay we have to do something about this” and contacts A PRACTICING WITCH (so so so so proud of her for this) who tells her what to do. she also asked my uncle (he’s a pastor) and he told her to burn it, bury the ashes, and pray, which is....... almost correct. but anyway she told me about it last night and i was like “i know a little bit about this, here’s what i would do” and walked her through the steps of returning it to where she found it and shit. i’m gonna make her a protection charm if i have time before i go visit this weekend too. her witch friend is giving her a few different types of cleansing herbs to burn, so i may help her with that too!

but yeah, i’m really shocked at how she handled it. it was SO respectful and really warmed my heart and reinforced that she (probably) won’t disown me when i finally tell her that i’m a witch. she said she’s going to the local metaphysical store and even asked if i wanted any crystals uwu!!!!!!!! so precious, i just..... had to tell someone idk thanks for listening

#evening witch hours #witch storytime

[loosiap]

1) Mhairdreadsband blue band replaced with TS3 Midnight Hollow Skinny Dreads from TaylorSims

Poppet’s v2 V1 colours; all categories; polycount 4,3k

teen-elder (original ages): DOWNLOAD MEGA | SFS

child-elder: DOWNLOAD MEGA | SFS

2) Mhairdreadsband dark band replaced with TS3 Dreads Long from Sinneblommen

Poppet’s v2 colours; all categories; polycount 4k

teen-elder (original ages): DOWNLOAD MEGA | SFS

child-elder: DOWNLOAD MEGA | SFS

Credits: EAMaxis, Rented-space, Trapping, @taylors-simblr, @Sinneblommen, Poppet-sims

EDIT 2023.10.16 I made a mistake… I thought Taylor’s SkinnyDreads recolour is in Poppet V2 colours but it’s actually V1! Yes, I saw that colours don’t match the rest of my hair but sometimes recolouring hair is a bit tricky and may give different results in shades and I thought this is the case here (ノ‸ - ). Plus I never used Poppet’s V1 hair so I didn’t realize myself fast enough nor anyone pointed out my mistake. Anyways, sorry about that. I’ll make this default in Poppet V2 once I find recolour for this hair in said colours (or make it myself)

EDIT 2023.11.21: I updated the replacements to contain as little resources as possible making files smaller.

#sims 2 default #sims 2 hair #sims 2 #DR:dreadsband-m #poppet v2 #poppet hair #taylors-simblr #sinneblommen #DR-hair #DR-Mhair #ts2 defaults #3t2 hair

[thessalian]

Faerun!Alisaie vs the Circus

But first, some wandering around Rivington

Blacksmith: Hey, I can tailor a weapon specificially for you! How do you like to kill people? Would you ever turn a blade on an ally? Tell me about your inner killer!

Alisaie: ...Oh for fuck's sake. It's Orin again, isn't it.

Orin: *taking her proper shape* Better hurry it up, poppet. Gortash is watching. *poof*

Actual Blacksmith: *wandering out of a nearby house* You! You attacked me!

Alisaie: *sigh* Sir, you are concussed.

Dice: *roll low but with a +22 to Persuasion checks, that doesn't matter one tiny bit*

Actual Blacksmith: ...Right. Fine. Just ... go away anyway; you're giving me a headache.

And, after finding a cave

Wulbren: What were you sneaking around in there for? We're friends since Moonrise Towers, remember?

Alisaie: I was walking into a cave, Wulbren. I didn't know you were in it until I tripped over actual civilisation.

Wulbren: Huh; fair. We really should have a code for that hatch. Anyway, we want to blow up the Steel Watch. You in?

Alisaie: I will stop the Steel Watch, but with the tremors and everything else, I'm not hatching a plan that involves the potential death of civilians! Plus those Gondians you're bitching about might not be acting on their own free will! Look, just ... remember that I talked my way into Moonrise Towers, got you out with a minimum of killing, and got you into the Last Light despite the Harpers being kind of paranoid.

Wulbren: Fine, but I'll have the boom ready when you come crawling back.

Wyll: Sir, she has done the impossible with very little in the way of support--

Shadowheart: Can I hit him? I want to hit him.

Alisaie: Being right is the best revenge, when it comes to people like him. Let's just go, okay?

And, still heading in the general direction of the checkpoint

Danzo: Something's been stopping my pigeons! My letters keep going missing! I am upset about this for ... business reasons! Yes! Just that!

Alisaie: I have a feeling I should be more concerned about this than I am, but I've been dealing with other people's bullshit all day and I'm fed right the fuck up. Still, I will go and find your letters, because I am an altruist and also frankly because money would be a good thing right now, since Gale wants to go shopping.

Gale: It is not. Just. Shopping! And after you promised Raphael--

Alisaie: Wait. What? I haven't even talked to Raphael since he told us about Astarion's back-scars. And even if I had, do you really think I wouldn't just tell him what he wanted to hear and do my own thing anyway?

Gale: ...Ah. Right. Well. I ... have no idea where that came from, then. Sorry. ...So ... pigeons, you say?

Commander Lightfeather: I order my forces away from the temple roof! They never come back from that area!

Alisaie: So something up there's eating them. Do we think it has anything to do with the circus? I mean, there's obviously something weird going on in there, since they're still advertising Dribbles the Clown and I am still lugging around a fucking clown torso...

Gale: Actually ... I have a feeling it might be something ... else.

And sure enough...

Gale: Tara! Good to see you doing so well! Clearly keeping well-fed!

Alisaie: *a-HEM*

Gale: Oh. Right. Please stop eating the postmaster's pigeons.

Tressym: Oh, fine.

Alisaie: I really feel like I should be opening these letters and lying about who opened these letters. But ... nah. Somebody's grifting someone around here and the end of the actual worlds trumps someone getting grifted.

Gale: What if it's about the end of the actual worlds, those letters?

Alisaie: Then we will find out about it later and deal with it at sword-point, same as we do everything else. Now lemme just give these back to the postmaster and then back to camp. You need to hit the books again and I need Karlach for a thing.

Gale: What, you expect something to need bludgeoning?

Alisaie: Nah. Dead clown means investigating the circus. Whether we need to beat up another doppelganger imposter or just a recalcitrant test-your-strength machine, or even if we don't need to hit anything, doesn't matter. Karlach doesn't have a lot of time left and you know she's going to want to see a circus.

Gale: You are altogether too kind. But ... what if I want to see a circus?

Alisaie: I know you. You want a book way more than you want a potentially evil clown.

Gale: Huh. That's true. Very well.

And, on the way into the circus

Klaus: My minion doesn't like you. No circus for you!

Alisaie: *bats eyelashes*

Klaus: ...Oh, all right.

Shadowheart: You are good.

Alisaie: It was either that or point at Karlach and ask if it was wise to disappoint her.

Karlach: *bouncing up and down* Circus! *squeeeee*

Wyll: That might have been fun to watch, but this way is better, true.

Zethino: Test the bond of your love!

Alisaie: Want in?

Shadowheart: Okay ... just ... quietly so you don't blow my rep.

One dreamscape later

Zethino: Your love is beautiful!

Alisaie: My lover is, sure.

Shadowheart: *bluuuuush* You're not so bad yourself.

Karlach: You two are so cute!

Wyll: *quietly to Karlach* I'm going to fight like the hells that hurt us both to make sure those two get a happy ending. Are you with me?

Karlach: *quietly* Damn right.

Akabi: Try your luck!

Alisaie: *spots the cheating* You, sir, must have some stories to tell. A djinn with a fabulous voice and immense power operating in a little circus in Rivington.

Akabi: *flattered, and too distracted to nudge the wheel* Well. Yes. I hail from the--

Wheel: *stops on jackpot*

Akabi: You cheated!

Alisaie: Ah, no. I neutralised your cheating. Big difference.

Akabi: You want the jackpot so bad? FINE!

Alisaie: *poofs*

Shadowheart; Wyll; Karlach: What the--?!?

Shadowheart: You bring her back right now or gods help me I will break you and your ridiculous beard!

Alisaie: *from behind them* Um ... flattered, but ... I'm okay.

Shadowheart: Are you all right? Where did you go?

Alisaie: Jungle full of dinosaurs.

Wyll: And yet you look decidedly unmauled. Good show.

Alisaie: What, you thought I fought them? Fuck no; I snuck to a good spot to use an arrow of transposition, poited past the whole mess and found the portal out. Oh, and Akabi? *holds up Nyrulna* Thanks for the grand prize.

Akabi: *is piiiiiiissed*

A little further on

Karlach: Your clown here's a jerkbag.

Alisaie: Our clown here's an imposter. Hey, TEABAG! Your jokes are as old as fancy Baldurian wine but haven't aged nearly so well!

'Dribbles': HAIL THE ABSOLUTE!

'Dribbles'; Animal Tamer; A Couple Of Others: *start killing the guests*

Displacer Beast: Oh, come on! I would have been doing this too if you hadn't wrecked up my cage so I couldn't break out!

Alisaie: Ugh. Well, at least I got some time on stage.

Stabnation: *ensues*

Back at camp

Karlach: Shouldn't we have said something to that ringmaster lady about the corpse we found?

Alisaie: In the morning. I think I did a little too much altruism today and--

Vlaakith: KILL ORPHEUS AND BE MY GOOD LEFT HAND FOREVER!

Lae'zel: GET FUCKED!

Vlaakith: *poofs*

Lae'zel: I do not like emotions; they are confusing.

Alisaie: Look, you believed one thing your whole life and it got turned upside down. No shit you're somewhere between angry, bitter, and grieving. No one here's going to judge you for that.

Lae'zel: ...Is this ... 'the mortifying ordeal of being known'?

Alisaie: Yep. Now get some rest. If you're going to fuck with a god, even a weakling god, you need some sleep.

Dreamtime

Emperor: Oh. Hi. Sorry. Got distracted. Elder Brain is pissed, and struggling. They're having a hard time controlling it without Ketherick's stone.

Alisaie: So we need to get their stones fast and put an end to this so we don't end up servant to a freed elder brain, which is probably just as bad as being servant to enslaved-by-death-god-assholes elder brain.

Emperor: Given any more thought to being more like me? I mean, you know we're not monsters...

Alisaie: Look, I know you're a people. I know I'd still be a people. Thing is, I don't think I could deal with the dysphoria and dysmorphia and a whole bunch of other dys-es that would ensue if I changed that much.

Emperor: *sigh* Very well. Oh. Shit. Need to focus. And so do you - on getting some rest. You've got things to do tomorrow ... involving ... why are you carrying a clown corpse?!?

Alisaie: You used to be an adventurer. Didn't you ever end up with something entirely stupid going on that you couldn't explain to most people without being looked at like a lunatic?

Emperor: ...Fair enough. Now, follow your own advice to Lae'zel and get some rest.

#Faerun!Alisaie #Thess liveblogs Baldur's Gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 spoilers