#I have entered the community I can’t claw my way out

[squidsinatrentchcoat443]

The furry art I promised

Fox

@usernameichoseonawhim

Ferrets (very cool never seen ferret furries before)

@im-a-sentient-magic-carpet

The other 4. I hope you silly little people enjoy them

[random-stardew-panda]

||•~The Worst Thing~•||

Harvey (SDV) x reader(female)

Warnings: Language, Violence, Death, Nightmares

Word count: 2.6k

Helloooo everyone! New blog dedicated to my rekindled Stardew Valley obsession. First fic obviously must go to my beloved doctor, you will be seeing him here a lot. I hope you enjoy and hope you don't hold my terrible grammar and probably terrible spelling against me 😅 I have no excuse. English is all I speak and I do it terribly.

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You’ve had an exhausting day, it was the end of the season and you had been fishing all day for the last fish you needed for the community centre and the ones you needed just were not biting.

“Finally!!” You squealed as you reeled up the last fish you needed, sighing loudly you stretched your limbs and groaned as your joints crack softly. It was so much later than you realised, it was already dark out.

You wandered through the town square, eyelids drooping, trying to stay awake when you passed the calendar and help wanted board and your eyes shot open as you rushed over and let your finger scroll over the date and you curse yourself. You had accepted a quest from Clint a week ago to kill 50 Slimes you hadn’t gotten around to finishing it, too busy trying to finish these fishing bundles, today was the last day left! You let your forehead fall against the wall as you look down at your watch, 7pm, you could finish and get home in time surely? You only had 7 left to kill, easy work.

“Harvey is always upset when I get home late…oh but I promised Clint. Uhg…one more late night won’t kill him, I’ll just give him some extra kisses. He can’t stay mad at me.” You giggled and slowly pushed yourself off of the wall and started making your way to the mountains and down into the caves. The trail to the caves felt extra long tonight, you splashed your face in the lake trying to wake yourself up a bit before you entered the caves.

You slash at the monsters in the cave, stumbling at the force behind your swing, you were panting and clinging to the wall of the cave. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea after all…You felt so, so tired…No. No! You only had one more left. You glance down at your watch, 12am…damn it really was getting late.

“One left. One more. I got this…I got this…” You mumble to yourself, repeating the sentiment that you could do this as you start climbing down the ladder, using the inside of your elbow, squeezing the ladder rungs between your forearm and bicep to help support your weary muscles as you climb down, shaking a little bit, two steps from the bottom you lose your footing and slip off the ladder.

“AH!” Your body hits the floor and your head bounces off the ground, you squeeze your eyes shut and lift a shaky hand to your bleeding head, the room feels like it was spinning. “Ow…” you lay there flat on your back on the ground for a moment staring up at the ceiling as a ringing filled your ears, it was at this point you hear the familiar squelching sound of slimes approaching.

With great effort and loud groans you push yourself up onto your hands and knees and are met with 5 slimes, using your sword to push yourself up to your feet you lunge at one of them slashing it in half, your vision is spinning and everything is blurry and out of focus you were cursing yourself, this had been a horrible idea. With every slash at the creatures you staggered trying to catch yourself, every hit from the monsters was causing worse aches in your muscles, cuts and bruises littered your body and you were getting to a point where you had embedded your sword into the ground using it to keep yourself upright leaning on it more than actually attacking the monsters, you desperately tried to kick the slimes away and with the hand that wasn’t white knuckling your sword you tried to swat away the insects cutting into your flesh with their sharp claws. The few slimes left leap up attacking you, smashing into your chest the sudden force knocks you back to the floor, you desperately try to reach out and grab your sword, your hand sliding down your sword slices your palm open as you topple over your head once again hitting the hard ground of the cave, you fall unconscious.

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Linus had seen the farmer go into the mines hours ago but he hadn't seen her leave yet, the farmer always took the path past his tent through the back of the mountains to get back to the farm late at night. He was getting anxious it was almost 2am he had a terrible feeling something was wrong. Linus walked over to the adventures guild and started pounding on the door. After several moments the door was yanked open and a very disgruntled Marlon was standing infront of Linus.

“What?!” Marlon growls a deep frown set in his features.

“I think the Farmer is in trouble. She is still in the mines…”

Marlon groans and turns back into the guild, leaving the door open as he reaches over the counter and pulls his sword up into his arms. He walks out of the guild, pushing past Linus, slamming the door behind him.

“That kid is going to be the death of me…let's go then.” Marlon sheaths his sword and rubs his forehead.

The two men head into the mines, every level was littered with dead creatures and exposed ladders, the farmer had definitely been here. They made their way down more levels of the mines.

“Oh Yoba!!” Linus yells as they round a corner and are met with an unconscious farmer being smothered by creatures, cave insects, slimes, even a stray cave crab was slashing at their defenceless body.

“Well fuck.” Marlon unsheathed his sword and starts slicing at all the creatures making quick work of them. “Get the farmer!!” He yells at Linus as he brings his sword down piercings the crab.

Linus grabs the farmer under her arms and starts dragging her body towards the ladder leaving a trail of blood in the dirt. Marlon quickly grabs the farmers sword off the ground and rushes over to the ladder. Marlon grabs the farmers legs and they quickly climb up to a level with an elevator. As soon as Marlon saw the elevator he grabs the farmer off of Linus and starts carrying her by himself.

“Is she okay? She doesn't look like she is breathing!” Linus is fussing over the unconscious farmer the entire time they are in the elevator. A loud ding sounds and the doors open to the main level of the mines. Marlon sighs with relief.

“Linus. Go get Robin to call the farmhouse. Call Harvey. Get him to the clinic. Tell him Y/n needs him NOW!”

Linus rushes out of the mines sprinting towards Robins house. Marlon follows behind him carrying the limp unconscious body of the farmer in his arms. Marlon kept glancing down at the farmers face he was trying so desperately not to show how alarmed he was. Everyone else was going to freak out someone needed to be to be calm and reasonable but tears filled his eyes as he thought about how injured his dear friend was, was she going to make it…? He shook his head and kept heading out the mountains. No, he couldn’t think like that, he was going to get them to the clinic in time and Harvey was going to save her.

Marlon was rushing past Robins house, the door was wide open, he was the chaos inside, Linus and Robin were practically screaming into the phone as they saw Marlon and the injured farmer rush past the house down towards the town. Maru was pushing past everyone in the hallway, shoving them out of the way as she rushed out to catch up to Marlon.

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*RINGGG RIIINGGG RINGG*

Harvey groaned and rolled over in bed to hold his wife and was suddenly aware of the absence of the second person in his bed he frowned and rubbed his eyes gently tapping around on the bed trying to find her.

*RINGGG RINGGG*

Harvey groans and flings his hand over to the nightstand and blindly feels around until the phone is in his hands.

“Hello?” His voice was gruff and tired.

“Harvey you need to get to the clinic now!!” He was met with Robins frantic voice and he sat up finally starting to wake up.

“Robin? Calm down tell me what is happening?”

“HARVEY NOW YOU NEED TO GO NOW. IT Y/N!” Robin sounded like she was about to burst into tears.

Harvey’s heart stopped, he looked up at the clock on the wall, 2am? She wasn’t home…? His mind was running through every single injury she had ever gotten. Every operation he has had to preform. Every single time he scolded her for staying out so late, for being so reckless. A horrible feeling of dread was starting to choke him.

“I’m leaving right now.” Harvey hung up the phone and flung the blankets of off him.

Harvey was practically flying out of the house, stumbling over his own feet as he grabbed a coat off the hanger and slid his shoes on without even tying the laces. He slammed the door behind him so hard it shook the wall slightly as he ran out of the farmhouse.

Harvey was sprinting towards the town square, towards his clinic, he was fumbling with the keys in his coat pocket. The cold night air was making his tears feel cold. By the time he reached the clinic he was out of breath and trying his hardest not to breakdown but his mind was racing with every horrible outcome. What kind of shape would she be in when she got here? He was pacing around the clinic preparing everything he thought he might need.

It took 10 minutes for Marlon to reach the clinic, Maru rushed in first and held the door open, the sound of the bell dinging caused Harvey to stop dead in his tracks and stare teary eyed at Maru, who looked equally distressed.

“H…Harvey…she isn’t breathing…” Maru has tears in her eyes.

Marlon entered the clinic holding the farmers limp body and he looked like he was about to start shaking and crying. Marlon places the farmer down on an examination table Harvey had already prepared. Harvey was looking wide eyed at Maru for a moment before he rushes over to the table and tries to take his wife’s pulse but he can’t find one, tears are streaming down his face as he stares at his wife, her bruised cut up body laying there in front of him. Maru was softly crying and Marlon was leaning in the corner of the room with an unreadable expression.

“No. No she isn’t…She can’t be.” Harvey climbs up on the table and starts doing CPR.

“Harvey.” Maru steps closer to him but he doesn’t stop, he leans down pressing his lips to his wife breathing air into her lungs.

“Wake up…wake up!” he is pushing down harder against her chest.

“Harvey.”

“NO! SHE IS OKAY. WAKE UP!” Tears are rolling off his cheeks as he keeps giving her chest compressions, leaning down trying desperately to force air into her lungs.

“HARVEY!” Maru yells at him with tears streaming down her face.

“NO SHE CAN’T BE. SHE…she can’t…” His compressions slow down.

“Harvey…” Maru puts a hand on his arm urging him to get down and he shoves her hand away.

He leans down collapsing onto his wife’s body and starts sobbing, he clings to her, wrapping his arms around her as tight as he can.

“Harvey…man you have to stop…” Marlon grabs Harvey’s shoulder and tries to pull him off.

“GET OFF OF ME!” Harvey sobs trying to shove Marlon away.

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Harvey shoots straight up in bed he tried to scream it came out as a strangled wail his voice cracked, his eyes were filled with tears. He was gripping at his heaving chest, gasping desperately for breath. His eyes were darting around the room as he struggled to breathe.

“Harvey…?” You softly whisper as you sit up in bed and place a hand on his arm softly, looking up at him with sleepy eyes you find his hand covering his mouth as he sobs, wide eyed and straight ahead.

“Harvey?! Are you okay? Sweetheart what happened…what's wrong??” You sit up higher on the bed and place one hand on his chest and the other gently on his cheek rubbing your thumb softly over his face whipping away the tears that were streaming over his cheeks.

“H…Harvey..? What's wrong talk to me what happened..? Harvey darling…?” Your voice was shaking a little full of concern

He doesn't even speak as he jerks forward and wraps his arms around you pulling you tightly against his chest as he cries hard into your shoulder

“oh!…Harvey…” you wrap your arms around his head holding him against you, gently running your fingers through his hair softly scratching at his scalp “shhh….shh it's alright sweetheart…it's okay shhh I'm right here it's okay…” his grip on you tightened clinging to you like you were about to disappear, like his arms were the only thing holding you to the earth.

“You were gone…” his voice cracks as he whispers softly continuing to cry into the crook of your neck. “You were…gone and I couldn't save you. I couldn't…” he is gasping for air as he sobs

“hey...hey shhh breathe…breathe I'm right here. I'm right here okay? I'm not gone. I am right here, you have me in your arms, see?” You squeeze him a bit tighter before cupping both his cheeks and lifting his head in your hands so he can look into your eyes

“You were gone y/n…you were g…gone…” he is clinging to you tighter it was a bit uncomfortable but you didn't say anything “You were dea-” he gasps and more tears fill his eyes as he looks into your face “You were dead! You…you were dead in my arms and I couldn't do anything to save you. You were in the mines and I failed you and you were gone. You were gone and you weren't ever coming back.”

You are running your thumbs over his cheekbones as you lean forward and softly kiss him.

“Harvey. I am right here. You need to take a breath and calm down, you are getting yourself all worked up. I am right here. I am right here. Take a breath honey…” you press another more chaste kiss to his lips before pulling him back into a tight hug.

“You're safe..?” He whispers quietly.

“I'm safe.”

“…You aren't going to leave…?”

“Harvey sweetheart. I'm right here and I'm never leaving you okay? Never. I'm staying here with you forever.”

“…P…promise…?” He sniffles quietly as his tears slowly stop.

“Harvey look at me. Hey look at me. I promise you. I promise I am not leaving. I know I'm a little…uh…reckless in the mines sometimes and I'm so sorry I didn't know it was upsetting you this much. I'll be more careful. I promise. Come back to sleep…” you softly rub his chest “I promise I'll be here in the morning too.” You kiss his cheek as he pulls you down onto his chest, holding you tight against his body, he sighs deeply as you snuggle up with him.

“I love you so much My Love…you mean the world to me.” Harvey sighs quietly as he squeezes you tighter. You kiss his cheek a few times softly rubbing your nose against his jaw.

“I love you Harvey. Always.” You softly trace invisible patterns over his chest as he slowly drifts off to sleep, you stay up a while after he falls asleep making sure he sleeps soundly. His arm draps loosely over you even as he sleeps he wants to feel you close to him.

“Goodnight Harvey...” You kiss him one last time, smiling softly and put your head down on his chest letting yourself finally fall back asleep.

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You can check out my other non stardew related stories at @random-writing-panda

[christinesficrecs]

do you have any fic recs for season 3a? i’ve been rewatching and i really like the storyline 🥹

Well, Post-3B is my jam but try these ones. 🩷

Don’t Speak by fatale | 68.9K 

The Alpha pack has systematically attacked Stiles and his friends for months, testing their strengths and weaknesses. When one of the Alphas goes after Stiles, he awakens in the hospital and realizes that something’s wrong. Very wrong. All sounds seem to hurt him, he can’t understand what anyone is saying, and when he tries to speak, it’s gibberish. How is he supposed to deal with the fact that he’s lost the ability to communicate with his dad and his friends?

Without his ability to talk, his sarcasm, and his wit, what does Stiles even have left? Enter Derek, the only one who seems to make it better.

Thunderstorms & Polish Lullabies by Whispering_Samir | 10K

The one where Stiles time-travels just in time to save Boyd and Derek from the Alphas, and manages to heal everyone, including himself, just a little in the process.

There’s Monsters at Home by calrissian18 | 83,575

How did you get past the wards?” Derek had put them up, with Peter’s grudging assistance, after the Alpha pack had made themselves at home a few times too many.

The guy pulled a face. “You mean the wards a five-year-old girl with the mental ability of a goldfish could deconstruct?” He blinked wide eyes at Derek. “Gee, I don’t know. It’s bound to go down as one of life’s great mysteries.

Derek despised him.

Forging Bonds by  mikkimouse | 27.5K

The loft was flooded, the water shimmering in the moonlight streaking through the huge windows. The twins held Derek on his knees, with his arms extended and claws out. Kali had Boyd, and she was dragging him toward Derek, and—

Stiles aimed at the twin closest to him and threw the Molotov cocktail as hard as he could.

Bake to Remember, Eat to Forget by  butyoureyessaidyes | 125.2K

The one where Stiles runs his own bakery, never locks the front door, and doesn’t know he’s part of a werewolf pack (until he does).

The Nightmare of my Choice by mirrorkill | 106.2K | Mature

Rogue werewolves and incubi and ghosts, oh my!: Life in Beacon Hills continues to be the epitome of weird.

Especially for emissary-in-training Stiles, who's being literally haunted by a parade of Beacon Hills' deceased, who are trying to compel him to embrace the darkness in his heart. His only source of comfort is when he's writing to an emotionally constipated Beta werewolf. When Derek Hale is your anchor to sanity? Yeah, weird might be an underestimation.

Stiles is well suited to the path of an emissary; in fact, something important about him has already been overlooked. Something that could have deadly consequences both for him, and for everyone else...

Wanted by Asterekmess (Livinginfictions) | 88K | Mature

With the Hale pack finally settled and safe, it only makes sense that something would happen to screw it all up. To top it all off, Stiles has to pretend to be Derek's mate, or face a pack of angry Alphas. He's doomed.

In this Darkness (It's You I Hear) by Kedreeva | 9.9K | Mature

Deucalion bites Stiles on the way out of town, and Derek finds him in an unexpected condition....

here is the deepest secret nobody knows by owlpostagain | 22.3K

“Derek,” Stiles groans. “You have me. You’ve always had me, you absolute moron, how many physically impossible feats of life-saving heroics do I have to perform before you get it?”

Where You Go To Rest Your Bones by allyasavedtheday | 6.4K

Derek feels him take a deep, shuddering breath and then Stiles disentangles himself – though he stays within the circle of Derek’s arms. “I missed you.” he whispers, looking at Derek like he’s expecting to be kicked out at any moment.

You're stronger than you know by Littleredridinghunter | 234.1K

Set at the end of season 2, Stiles survives his encounter with Gerard and his goons, but it isn't easy.

The pack are letting him down again, his dad is not speaking to him, his life is just generally falling apart.

Until he has to get a bronze dagger to kill a siren and his whole world gets flipped on it's head!

[froidefille]

Day 23: a crossover or AU fic

📚 All These Winding Threads by Anonymous

Draco/Harry, 35k, E

written for @hd-erised

Summary:

The tides of Draco’s accidental magic pull him under and leave him gasping. There’s a hungry ache that sits deep in his bones, growing worse every day. Soon it’s all he’ll be, a starving skeleton clawing at its throat. He needs a solution. Unfortunately, that solution looks an awful lot like Harry Potter.

I hope to God that Hogwarts Eighth Year counts as an AU because I just HAD TO include this fic. And while it’s still anonymous no less!

As you know from my day 7 rec I absolutely adore bond fics – and this one de-li-vers. It has all the elements of the trope – the forced proximity, the resulting change of dynamics, the h/c in between, the yearning later on!

The boys are actually pretty mature in this characterisation so they get over themselves relatively quickly (not without hiccups of course, not with our Harry dearest responding to Draco coming out as gay with "That's nice" xd Which is why I used the word mature; I guess you can be that and still completely clueless xd).

Relationship angst aside, we get to focus on the plot and the mistery of the magic exchange between Harry and Draco. And what an alluring take on magical theory it takes! It reminded me of Beholden by @faith2wood (which I have recced as my day 12 fic) and I mean it as a huge complement <3

One more aspect of the writing I have to highlight is the delightful way the boys feel each other’s magic is described:

His magic is a cool breeze on Draco’s cheeks.

It has his heart rabbiting, a sudden swell of magic rising in his chest. It’s less a roar this time and more a crashing wave, rushing up his spine and across his shoulders, drawing blood to his cheeks. He tries to breathe with it and finds he can—an easy breath that feels soothing in his lungs.

Potter’s magic, filling the air again now that he’s close, feels horribly like crawling into his bed at home.

His presence is like standing with your eyes closed in the warm spring air and still knowing exactly where the sun is.

And then they refer to it as „their” magic and suddenly they can feel each other’s emotions and SHARE DREAMS and I am melted into the floor. Now imagine the sex scenes with all the magic between them. You’re welcome ^^

Quotes and spoilers under the cut as I was live-commenting this fic as I was reading, I have to do this more often!

Thank you once again for the prompt @hprecfest and see you in the next one! (I'm pretending I am not a week late with these ^^)

“Draco.” His name, gentle and cajoling, chills him. It was his mother who said it last, wasn’t it? I love you, Draco, half caught on a sob as they passed each other between trials “Something has happened to your magic.”

Was that really necessary 😭😭😭

Where the rest of the world still feels a touch too much, this is a too much he craves.

Draco bby 🤍

Potter’s anger flares into the room suddenly and Draco shivers at the heat it sends over his skin. Finally. “Why do you keep following me around?” “As it so happens, I’ll die if I don’t.” Potter’s jaw ticks. “You know that’s not what I mean.” “Then use the proper tense, Potter. I know you’re a bit dull, but—” He has Draco by his shirt collar in the next second, and Draco can’t help but grin. “There you are.”

*Soft Dom!Draco has entered the conversation*

“What are you looking for in the Forest?” “You cry in your sleep.”

Communication skills at your finest Harry, good job xd

Draco is on the cliff edge again. His bed is behind him, lonely, safe. Cold. And in front of him, staggering, terrifying: Potter.

Jump baby jump!!!

„No one to tuck you in and tell you how special you are?” Potter’s face falls, silence with it. Draco feels a sudden chord of pain in his magic. He swallows down the need to fix it.

Yes, please, fix it!!

They don’t breathe a word of it during the day, but the bags under Potter’s eyes are finally fading. Now, Draco simply lifts his duvet in offering when Potter comes out of the bathroom and he crawls in without a word, always a careful distance between them, always a studied silence until they both fall asleep.

Oh my, the “all is normal in daylight as long as we don’t talk about the in between ” 😅

„He doesn’t want to be whole if whole means not with Harry.”

😭

[thenightfolknetwork]

I’ve been with my fiancé for over 8 years now. We’ve been friends for even longer and just last summer we had been planning our wedding ceremony. Now, his family hadn’t been the best supportively, not when he came out as gay, and especially not when he, a Sapio, started dating me, a giant. They then effectively disowned him after we announced our engagement. I think they might have had some weird hope he’d ’change his mind’ or that it was a ‘phase’. This was about 3 years ago now, and I can’t speak for my partner, but he admitted though it hurt, he was relieved to be away from them after all the abuse.

Anyway, the reason for this letter is about 7 months ago we had gotten word that his family had been in a serious accident and that his parents, sister and her husband had passed away and he was listed as next-of-kin and subsequently guardian for his 4 year old nephew.

Now, we never really talked about kids beyond some vague idea. But my partner wasn’t going to turn away the kid, nor did I expect him to. So, after the funeral service and sorting with social services, we brought his nephew home.

It has been an adjustment for all of us, getting used to having a kid around and him being in a new environment that’s more geared for my size honestly. and we’ve been trying to find a good child psychologist for him. but the main problem is… well, he’s afraid of me.

I can’t really blame him for that, after everything he went through, but it still hurts sometimes when he flinches when I enter a room or speak to him. Or how he looks ready to cry when I open my mouth. Even trying to hide when he sees me just reading a book. I’ve grown up in a mixed community, but the way the kid looks at me, for the first time in a very long time, I feel like a monster.

My partner has told me once when we were in bed that his ‘family’ had been filling the kid’s head with anti-nightfolk ideologies and even some rather… well, blood-libel comments. I think he was trying to comfort me as he noticed the way the kid had been a lot more skittish with me than with him. He has been trying to explain that a lot of the stuff his folks talked about was lies and really bad stuff, but it’s hard unlearning these sort of things. I had suggested we postpone the wedding, at least till things settle.

I have been trying to seem less ‘intimidating’, not smiling with my fangs and trying to look smaller than I really am. But I’m worried he might never not be afraid of me. And I never told my partner, but I’m afraid that he will be forced to pick between me and the kid, and I don’t want him to do that as I know either option will hurt him.

So I’m asking. Is there anything I can do to try and help seem less… monstrous to my nephew?

I'm afraid there are no quick fixes here, reader. Your nephew has been exposed to some seriously toxic ideologies from a very early age. That isn't the sort of thing you can fix over night.

I would caution against trying too hard to diminish yourself or your creaturely traits as part of this process. You want your nephew to be comfortable with you, not with a nervous caricature of yourself.

Instead, I encourage you to behave at home as normally as you can, being as friendly as he'll allow you to be and respecting his boundaries when he expresses them.

If you haven't already, talk to your partner about what your strategies are going to be to improve the situation. This is a long-term project that needs complete buy-in from both of you to succeed.

As much as possible, your partner should be exposing your nephew to the idea of difference, teaching him that it's OK to notice that other people are different than him, but that he still needs to treat them with kindness and respect.

There are so many more resources available today to help children learn about these matters, from books and films to websites dedicated to help you discuss these issues in an age-appropriate way.

Books like Paws, Claws and More, What's for Lunch? and My Daddy's A Mummy are a great way to start these conversations and to help introduce your nephew to these ideas in a way that is accessible for him. Talk to your local librarian for more recommendations.

The best way for him to learn to trust you is through spending time with you, drowning out the hateful ideas he's been taught through real, lived experience of being safe and happy in the company of people in the community. Make sure to set time aside for all three of you to spend time together, doing activities your nephew will enjoy.

Of course, his exposure to the creature community shouldn't start and end with you. If you can, consider getting him involved in mixed genus groups where he can meet liminal children his own age. It might be a bit of an adjustment for him, but it will a huge boon to him in the long run.

Finally, please consider seeking out some additional support for yourself during this process. This is a difficult, highly emotional situation, and you need to find people who you can talk to about it beyond your partner, whether that's to talk through possible solutions or just to vent occasionally.

Fortunately, reader, if there's one thing children are built for, it's learning. It will take time and emotional commitment, but with a little effort, I think you and your partner will be able to teach your nephew a kinder way of looking at the world.

[For more creaturely advice, check out Monstrous Agonies on your podcast platform of choice, or visit monstrousproductions.org for more info]

[weebsinstash]

SO TRUE Im trying to enjoy my Miguel fanfics but most of them are so out of character I just can’t 😭😭

I dunno if I would exactly say out of character (partially because I don't want to imply I'm some characterization expert or whatever when I haven't published Jack shit) since I feel like, there can be different themes or emotions or vibes the story is going for that may call for some tweaking, or like certain fics focusing on specific parts of a characters personality, like "I just wanted to write him being angry and how he mighr respond whils under stress" which is valid, but like

One thing I will say that I immediately noticed when I started combing through Miguel fics is, a lot of people make him WAY too verbose and eloquent. Yeah he's a genius, yeah he gets very serious in scenes, but my god the vocabulary some people give him, the way some people have him structuring his sentences. He's not as overly detailed and formal as some people like to write. Like this is a man who says shit like "well, I guess you're just going to have to shut up and trust me" to people he's trying to rescue and, again, even when he's chasing down Miles, he's huffing, "UGH you're so FRUSTRATING", like idk if you consider it canon but his after credits scene in Into the spiderverse literally has him meeting Spiderman 1967 who, MAKES HIM SO MAD HE DOES LIKE LITTLE HOPPY HOPS, like. This man is a DWEEB. He has a temper and threw a trashcan at a teenager! Mf literally loses it and says "¡ay coño!" over a Spider Society wide broadcast, my man livestreamed himself saying "for fucks sake" across the entire community because they didn't immediately understand which specific Spiderman he was asking them to chase the moment he asked them to "stop spiderman" and not specifying any further until, "for fucks sake, MILES MORALES 😤 he's entering sector 4!!" and also when Miles is hiding on that dude's back he's just sprinting up "he's over- on your-- TURN AROUND!!" and waving his arms around

like, he's an emotional person! He's not some like anime supervillain, he's not some demon lord sounding "it is unfortunate that you decided to behave in this manner" dialogue ass-- like I mean, I know there's only so many clips circulating online so maybe people are just. Gleaming the wrong context? Like I've seen a few "all Miguel scenes" videos on YouTube and none of them ever really capture the full context of any of the scenes, there's cuts for copyright, some people cut different parts, some clips are higher quality, but like, it really is different when you see the full movie cause I feel like a lot of people are just focusing ONLY on the parts where he's being, you know, scary as fuck. Like don't think i didn't immediately notice "oh holy shit Miguel actually put CLAW MARKS in Miles' shoulder", this man was literally chasing and diving for this kid, they were bailing out windows, there was a cat, and a t Rex, and idk, maybe I'm looking too far into it but you don't have to make him Ultra Serious to make him intimidating and scary. There's gotta be a balance I guess? I see too much of him being lowkey an edge lord and not enough of him being Just A Real Stressed Out Dude. Idk. I just keep finding written dialogue for him a little cut and dry sometimes, there's only a few things I've read where it stood out to me (like in "no more dry bites" where he's just stopping midsentence to huff "why are you being so-- ok you know what, fine--" *immediately changes tactics lowkey like a tantrum*

Like have you seen some of the concept art of him, they were originally debating giving him glasses and a 5 o clock shadow and have him looking more dorky and casual, like, the man has personality, he has depth, I want the third movie to peel his layers like an onion, I just KNOW there's gonna be a good ending for everyone 😤

I'm just sitting here and thinking like, yeah he's serious but he speaks in a very human way? Like, one thing he says to Miles is something like "you can't save them all, kid. Believe me, I've tried, and the harder I tried, the worse things got" or something along those lines, too lazy to pull up the clip, but like. Idk. Maybe I'm just overanalyzing and maybe it's just people wanting to go for certain moods but i just feel like way too many fics have him acting way too, not even serious, just kind of edgy. He's a serious guy but he still doesn't talk like he's some emotionless robot. He's gonna cross his arms. He's gonna put his hands on his hips. He's gonna roll his eyes at you. He may just even rage quit the conversation "ok, you know what, I gave you enough chances--" and just bites you because this is the quickest easiest option and better to put you out now rather than drag this out and get both of you worked up because He Is So Fucking Tired Dude

[sanddune57]

The first ability Grian really gets a handle on is Gems. It’s not one of the abilities that They want him to master. In fact They give him very little time with her power, but They aren’t around all the time and Gem’s cell happens to be just across from his own. As one of the few powers he can’t use escape, she’s one of the few he’s allowed to see on a regular basis.

Forcing his soul out of his body is a strange and unpleasant experience the first few times, but Gem walks him through it. Moving around without a body, sight and sound but no touch, is also strange. Not to mention phasing through objects. But it lets him talk to Skiz again, lets him talk to Mumbo again. (He ignores how obvious it is his friends have changed since they died).

Grian and Gem bond over what can dubiously be called their ‘freedom’. In their phantom forms, they leave the facility together. They can not sit with nonexistent legs, but they can see the sunlight filter through the trees. They do not feel the wind on their faces, but they can almost imagine how it would play with their nonexistent hair. Grian cannot go far. He doesn’t have the time. But Skizz and Mumbo join them when they aren’t by Cleo’s side. It’s the closest thing to nice anyone has anymore. (It’s so so far off)

——————————————————————

Tango is selfishly glad they’ve turned off his power. It brings his chances of escape nearly to zero, but it’s not like that was going to happen anyway. The collar subdues the hunger that’s been clawing holes in his stomach ever since he gained his super speed. Sure, it means he’s the least proficient with his power out of everyone, but that had always been the case. Not a lot of ways to get used to super speed in a cramped cell. At least he’s not accidentally punching himself in the face trying to push away a piece of hair.

——————————————————————

The Lifers work out a communication network of sorts. Cleo is held far away from Gem and Grian, but that only works to the Lifer’s benefit as Mumbo and Skizzes ghosts plus Gems astral protection makes convenient (if not ideal) bridge of information from one level of the compound to the next.

Martin is on the other side of the hall from Cleo, but he can hear them perfectly well regardless. He can not speak to them without being overheard, but by waving his arms in a coded yes and no, he can at least vaguely contribute to conversations.

Etho uses his mace and wind to chip a hole in the wall between his and Scott’s cell. It’s not much, small enough that their thin mattresses can completely cover it, but it’s enough they can talk to eachother. Etho helps Scott calm down when he can’t change back properly.

A mouse enters Scott’s cell, and he uses the small hole to escape through Ethos cell and out into the hall. They find his cell empty and put the whole place on lockdown. Scott is monitored 24/7 after that, and Etho is moved to an underground secure unit. Both are inadvertently cut off from the communication system of the others.

——————————————————————

Mumbo doesn’t have the heart to tell Cleo the reanimation will never work. He is mentally there just enough to know it never will, to know he is little more then a collective memory made flesh. But he feels distant as a ghost and muddled as a zombie. Everything else is hard to place.

He also knows that living and dieing in this place, spending what remains of his existence intangible or rotting, has changed him and Skizz even without the complications of unlife. But what if he admits his fate, that he will never be whole, and Cleo decides it is kinder to let him rest. He is terrified of fading away. And so he suffers in silence. (She never would. She would keep trying unless he begged her to stop, but he doesn’t know that)

==================================

So this kinda grabbed my brain in a chokehold so i wrote some. Not sure if i’ll expand on it ever but i might (if op is good with that). Hope you enjoyed!

I JUST HAD A REALLY COOL IDEA FOR AN AU BASED ON THE NEW WILD LIFE EPISODE. HEAVY(?) ANGST UP AHEAD AND ALSO SPOILERS TO SESSION 7 SO BE WARNED!

LIFE SERIES MEMBERS BUT THEY GOT THEIR POWERS FROM LAB EXPERIMENTATION!!!!!

Okay I'm switching to lowercase so I'm not just screaming at you guys haha

===============================

Imagine Martyn curled up in the corner of his cell, covering his ears bc he doesn't know how to block things out and everything is so loud.

Imagine Scott transforming from an aquatic creature back to his regular form, but he still has gills, and he panics when he can't breathe.

Imagine Jimmy turning in invisible for the first time and not knowing how to turn back, and he thinks he's stuck that way forever.

Imagine Ren transforming the first few times, but there's always something off about him. He looks eerie, like something from uncanny valley.

Imagine Scar not knowing his own strength and jokingly punching Mumbo, only to send him flying into the wall and causing his death.

Imagine Cleo trying so hard to get Mumbo and Skizz to act the way that they used to when she summons them, but it's never truly them. Something is always wrong.

Imagine BigB being terrified when he summons the creaking for the first time, not realizing they're on his side and thinking they'll attack him.

Imagine Gem astral projecting as an escapism, talking to Mumbo and Skizz and "leaving" the facility, but she can't truly leave.

Imagine Impulse and Tango nearly getting to escape with their powers, their friends cheering them on from inside their cells, and just when they're in the clear, Impulse gets tranquilized and falls unconscious. Tango can't bare to leave his buddy behind. They both get collars that block their abilities and heavy monitoring after that stunt.

Lizzie feels bad about her power. She's tried to escape as well, but when she realized the blindness affected her friends, it freaked her out so much that security was able to catch up to her and take her back to her cell.

Imagine Bdubs sleeping diligently through every night and dealing with nightmares of the hell they've all been put through so his friends don't.

Imagine Pearl wishing she could fly out in the open air, desperate for that kind of freedom that she knows she will never have.

Imagine Etho trying to bring down his mace to pretend to hit Bdubs, and when he move to the side to dodge, it actually puts him in the way of Etho's strike. The absolute terror that fills Etho is so bad that he never jokes like that again, even if it barely hurt him.

Imagine Joel looking around and analyzing the rooms, thinking of how he could scale the walls with his ability to escape through an air vent, but he can never bring himself to do it because he refuses to leave Lizzie.

Imagine Grian being physically and emotionally strained trying to learn everyone's powers and how to properly use them, wishing he just had one of his own instead.

Imagine Skizz and Mumbo both dying (Skizz due to the intense tests and Mumbo due to the effects the testing had on Scar) before they had a chance to gain powers of their own. Don't imagine those powers being just what the group needs to escape.

===============================

I think I might write each of these as a one shot. That would certainly be a LOT of fun :) lmk what you guys think please!

[little-diable]

Give in - Halbrand (smut)

Written for my love @hidingsikki - sorry for forgetting about this. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this. Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Halbrand tries to talk the reader out of fighting. Pwp

Warnings: 18+, unprotected sex, there's a knife involved, power play

Pairing: Halbrand x fem!reader (1.3k words)

The atmosphere was crackling, one could clearly feel the rising tension between (y/n) and Halbrand. He was standing close, almost too close, breath clashing against her features like angry whispers of the wind, wordlessly able to communicate how the hot, red emotion thumped through his veins like wine poured down one’s throat. 

For the past minutes they had been going at it, spitting words that grew rather heated, and neither (y/n) nor Halbrand was thinking of stopping. It was pathetic, almost, and yet they weren’t able to think straight, trapped in their thoughts and emotions like they had been trapped on that very raft.

“I can’t! Why can’t you understand that? I can’t stop and I won’t. Not because of her, and certainly not because of you.” (Y/n) tried to push past Halbrand, though without any luck, his hand shot out to grasp her wrist, pinning her to his chest. Their eyes met like comets flashing through the night, projecting their every thought. 

“Let me go, Halbrand.” The man didn’t reply to her words, he kept staring at her as if he was trying to decipher the frown tugging on her features, not yet able to fully understand the signals her body kept sending out. Was it truly hate and anger? Directed at the one she had sworn to hunt with Galadriel by her side? Directed at him? For trying to talk her out of a mission that would most likely end with their lives hanging on a thread about to be snapped in half?

“You can’t fight battles already lost. You’re foolish, I won’t let you die out there.” Before she could come up with a snarky reply, she felt his lips pressed against hers. And for a moment she felt nothing but a sickly bright emotion she had never felt before, brighter than the sun burning down on Valinor, brighter than the lights that have guided her through the darkest nights. 

Halbrand pressed her against the wall of her chambers, hands gripping her waist to keep her close. No longer were hateful words burning on her tongue, no longer was her mind begging her to push the man she had been lusting after away from her. No, by now all she could focus on was the feeling of his wandering hands, how they explored her frame like wanderers mapping out an unknown island. 

A gasp rumbled through her as he pushed her gown up to her waist, gaining access to her core. Halbrand’s lips kissed their way down her throat, leaving marks as if he was set on reminding her that she belonged to him, and only him. Her moans were muffled by her teeth sinking into her lower lip, and yet her body wasn’t strong enough to hold back the sounds that begged him to keep on touching her.

“So ready for me, your body knows its palace, your mind should too.” Teasing words spoken against her neck (y/n) paid no attention to. Her thoughts kept focusing on the feeling of his fingers brushing through her arousal covered folds, lightly touching the bundle of nerves that pulsed in need. She’d give her all for the man, give up her very dream of defeating the one she had sworn to kill, foolish thoughts that will once end her life, and yet she couldn’t care about that. 

Another gasp clawed through her as two of his fingers entered her, preparing her for what was yet to come. He fucked her slow at first, giving her a few moments to adjust before he quickened his pace, teasing her to coax the most heavenly sounds out of her. Sounds that could no longer be held back by her teeth nor by her will to keep quiet. He commanded her, he guided her, he bound her to him. 

She tried to grasp his wrist, tried to push his hand away - desperate to feel his cock stretching her walls - though Halbrand wasn’t ready to stop his charade just yet. He let go of her for a moment, only to turn her around, back pressed against his chest. Her breaths grew shallow, caught in her tight lungs as the feeling of something cold being pressed against her neck caught her attention. 

“I could end your fight right now. Give in, give in to me.” His breath teased her skin, forcing her hair at the nape of her neck to rise. An angry huff left her, clawing through her like the scream that had left her on the battlefield all those years ago. “I wonder if I’ll be able to break you, you’ll bow to me, one day.”

She should have paid more attention to the words he spoke, should have listened to the warnings he spoke, and yet (y/n) couldn’t. She heard him undo his trousers, freeing his cock before he gave her feet a tap with his, forcing (y/n) to spread her legs. He spat in his free palm, gave himself a few pups and aligned himself with her heat. 

The night would end with tears dripping down her cheeks, tears he’d dry once he forced her to her knees, bowing before the one she’d follow till the end of their time. Halbrand pushed into her from behind, forcing a groan out of them both, moaning in unison. A moment so raw, a moment so intimate, both weren’t sure if they would ever be able to experience something like that again. 

Perhaps it was the sound of his blade clashing to the ground, perhaps it was the feeling of his cock pushing deeper into her with every ferocious thrust, perhaps it was the feeling of his calloused fingers wrapping themselves around her throat, whatever it was, it had its grasp on her, not daring to let go. Her body trembled, torn between the feeling of his warm body searching hers and the feeling of the cold wall pressed against her palms. 

“Look at you, you have no strength to fight me, how will you defeat the one you want to hunt down? You’re mine, and nobody else can have you. Let me ruin you.” Halbrand’s words were nothing but murmurs, drowned out by her whimpers, and yet - for the first time that day - she felt the weight of the syllables spilling from his lips like blood dripping from a soldier’s wound. (Y/n) tried to reply, and yet her mouth didn’t follow her mind’s command, keeping her lips pressed together. 

“You,” she whispered the word, eyes squeezed shut to concentrate on the sentence she tried to speak. “You will never control me.” 

A dark laugh rumbled through the man, eyes burning into her back. Of course he will control her, both were awfully aware of it, even though (y/n) clearly struggled to accept her defeat. Halbrand kept quiet, focused on his movements, his rough thrusts that perfectly teased her swollen spot, his grip on her throat, growing tighter whenever her walls fluttered around his cock. It was a mess they were stuck in, a mess both were simultaneously tangled in. A mess neither of them wanted to break from. 

“You don’t own me, Halbrand.” She pressed out her words, followed by a moan that clearly indicated her arising high. He let go of her throat to grip her sides, adding more speed to his thrusts. (Y/n) came with a low moan rumbling through her, teeth leaving marks on her lips. 

With a hiss rumbling through Halbrand, he came inside of her, allowing his heat to rush through her like the fires once burning in the South Lands. He didn’t let go of her, didn’t allow her to move, and with a kiss pressed to the spot behind her right ear, he murmured a low “I already own you”.

Please like and reblog if you’ve enjoyed reading this, come talk to me about my writing, let’s spill some tea or thirst over our favorite people. xxx

Use this link to join the taglist

[lunarbuck]

Reset - Three

Семнадцать

Pairing: The Winter Soldier x f!Reader

WC: 5.3k

He is carved from darkness. Hell's creation, a thing of nightmares.

Warnings/Tags: descriptions of violence, description of injury, fear, swearing

series masterlist | my masterlist | ao3 | @hydravictrix | fic playlist

AN: thank you @cwbucky for beta reading!!! Please let me know what you think <3

chapter 2 / chapter 4

Soldat

The ride back to the compound is quick despite my distracted thoughts. I am captivated by this new information about моя куколка’s family, friends, and life. It is more than I could have wished for. It is more than she would have granted had I asked.

When I arrive back at the compound, there is a pull in my gut; I need to see her. It has been too long. I wonder what Rollins has done with her during the hours I was away.

Before I see her, I need to check in with Pierce. He is probably back in his office after doing his rounds and checking in on his subordinates. 

I find him at his desk, typing something into his computer. Internet access has been restricted, people outside of Hydra’s compounds and residences can’t use it. This was done early on to prevent communication, but the resistance often finds ways around it.

Pierce glances up from his work and gives me a once-over when I enter the office. I’m still wearing my tactical gear and my weapons. He doesn’t like seeing me armed. He knows I am dangerous, that I could kill him if I wanted.

I won’t. Not yet. 

“Mission report,” he says, returning his eyes to the screen in front of him. 

“Intel gathered on the new SHIELD resistance leader Lucas Glover.” I rattle off what I’ve learned and explain what I took photos of. I leave out my visit to the SHIELD safehouse. I don’t mention what I have learned about the prisoner, even though the information would probably be helpful to Pierce. It is for my ears and eyes only.

“Good work, Soldier. Dismissed.” He waves his hand in the way I hate, flapping at me like I am a dog. I turn on my heel and head down the hall. I know I should remove my weapons, but I don’t want to delay seeing her any more than I already have. 

The hallways were cleaned recently, and my boots squeak against the waxed tile. I am surely scuffing it, marring its glossy texture. I turn corners, mindlessly making my way to her cell. I know I should question the way she occupies my thoughts. It is dangerous, she is dangerous, but I cannot stop myself.

I hear a loud thud coming from the direction of her holding cell, and the hair on the back of my neck raises. What is going on? I hear her scream, and my blood runs cold. I calmly walk down the hall toward the sound of fists beating flesh, trying not to speed up my steps.

When I round the corner, I see моя куколка on the ground, spitting blood. Rumlow grabs her by her hair and hauls her up so Rollins can strike her again.

“Fucking bitch,” Rollins grunts, shaking out his hand before crouching down to look her in her eyes. “If you’d just listen for once, we wouldn’t have to do this. All you had to do was be good.”

They can’t touch her like that; they weren’t supposed to fucking touch her. I can’t stand to watch it anymore, and without thinking, I close the distance between them and me.

I grab Rollins by his collar and throw him back against the wall. He lands with a thud but recovers quickly.

“Calm down, big guy,” Rumlow says, still holding onto моя куколка. His knuckles are split and bloody, staining her hair. “Nothin’ to see here.” I swing my left arm into place and roll my shoulders back.

“You defied Pierce,” I say, turning around to stare down Rollins. “You touched her.”

Куколка 

Rumlow’s grip on your arm is firm; it feels like he’s about to break your bone. You bring your other hand up and claw at his fingers, but it does nothing. He’s too distracted by the Soldier.

“I didn’t do shit,” Rumlow says, rolling his eyes. Rollins tries to come at the Soldier, but he is armed. His metal fingers deftly grab a knife from a holster on his leg, spinning it through his fingers before lodging it in Rollins’ leg. He howls in pain, and the Soldier rips the blade from Rollins, wiping it on the fabric of the injured man’s pants.

“You touched her,” the Soldier says. It sounds almost as if he cares, but maybe that’s because you’re concussed. Rumlow gives up his hold on you and tosses you to the ground. You land hard, and you’re too disoriented to save yourself.

The Soldier turns on Rumlow and quickly takes him to the ground, pinning him against the tile. It is clear that when the Soldier puts his mind to something, no one can stop him. Rumlow puts up a good fight but eventually gives in and relents.

“Get the fuck off me,” he grunts as the Soldier presses the man’s face into the ground.

“Never touch her again,” the Soldier says, voice cold. It makes you shiver.

“Fine, whatever, fuck off.” The Soldier allows Rumlow to stand then turns to you. Something swims in his eyes, some far-off emotion that you can’t name. He kneels down next to you and runs his fingers along your hairline, looking for the source of your bleeding. He holds the weight of your head in his hands, and you don’t fight it. 

Your body aches all over. There isn’t one place that wasn’t subject to Rollins and Rumlow’s beatings. The Soldier’s hands hook around your back and under your knees, lifting you up. He presses you against his chest, and you let your head fall against him. For the first time since your capture, you’re not worried about what will happen next. All you can think of right now is the warmth of the Soldier’s body against yours and the sound of his heart beating in your ears.

The Soldier brings you back to your cell and lays you down gently on the cot. Your vision blurs as he turns you on your side, curling your limbs up into your chest. He steps away, and your gut twists.

When he returns, you hear the rustling of his tactical gear as it falls to the floor. Beneath it, he wears black cargo pants and a black t-shirt. You try to focus on him, on his eyes, but you can’t. Unconsciousness creeps into the corners of your vision, and you let your eyes fall shut.

“No, no, you can’t do that right now ангел (angel),” the Soldier says, running his thumbs over your cheeks. The chill of metal fingers sends shivers down your spine, and you fight against the urge to keep your eyes closed. For a brief moment, you focus on his eyes. They’re striking, a shade of blue you swear doesn’t exist anywhere else.

He nods and moves away, dragging over a bowl of water. He dips a rag into it and begins to wipe the blood off of your face. You’re not sure where he found all of this. The water is warm, and you let out a gasp at the feeling. 

The Soldier smirks; it is almost a smile. 

Once he has cleaned the wounds on your face, he shifts and begins to undress you. He removes your shirt and pants but leaves your underwear, surprising you. He wets the cloth in the now murky water and cleans your arms. He starts at your shoulder and, with careful fingers, wipes at your skin. 

He is focused on the spot he’s cleaning, never letting his attention stray. His gaze burns, but you don’t move. The silence in the cell is deafening, and even though your mind is hazy, you know you have to try now. You won’t get another chance like this.

“What does it mean?” You croak quietly. The Soldier continues cleaning your hands, your fingers.

“What does what mean?” He replies quietly. The Soldier’s voice always surprises you. There there is something almost sweet in the gravelly sound.

“Ahn-gel,” you say, butchering the pronunciation of the word. He smirks and huffs out a breath; it is almost a laugh.

“Ангел,” he corrects, watching your face. He does not explain further as he shifts you to clean the other side of your body. “What happened?” He asks, cleaning beneath your fingernails.

You think back to this morning when Rollins came to your cell, how he’d cooed in one breath and tore you down in another. 

“Rollins came this morning, said you had the day off. He took me to that room with the chair, and I didn’t want to go, so I tried to get away. He didn’t like that, so he beat me. Rumlow showed up, and they put me in the chair. It hurt so much today.” The Soldier’s fingers pause on your abdomen.

“Why were they beating you when I found you?” There is a new gruffness in his voice, an urgency that hadn’t been there before. Bile rises in your throat as you recall the events of just a few moments ago.

“They wanted me to shower, they were tearing at my clothes, trying to–” your voice catches in your throat, and the Soldier shakes his head. He holds your face in his hands, so you have no choice but to stare into his eyes.

“They will never touch you again, ангел. Never.” Your eyes water; how did it get to this point. How have you strayed so far? His eyes scan your face. You must have a far-off look in your eye, considering the concern written in his gaze.

“Bucky,” you whisper, resting your hands on his wrists. The Soldier stiffens but allows you to run your fingers along his arms, up to his shoulders and neck, until you reach his face. Your fingers graze over his skin, his scars. He is carved from darkness. Hell’s creation, a thing of nightmares. At your touch, something in his eyes cracks. His lips part as your hands explore further up. You trace over his cheekbones, his nose, his brow bone.

“No,” he replies, matching your quiet volume. “Soldat.” His hands shift from your face down to your neck and shoulders until he’s holding you around your ribcage. His strength, his power pulses through his fingers, the hands that hold you and clean up could kill you in an instant.

“James.” His name comes to you as easily as breathing, as easy as living. The Soldier’s grip tightens on you, fingers digging into your ribs. He breathes deeply through his nose and shuts his eyes tightly. 

“Don’t.” You rub your thumbs along his cheekbones, letting your fingers find the length of his brown hair. Before, you said that maybe in another life, he could have been beautiful. You were wrong. He is beautiful in this life; he is striking.

When the Soldier opens his eyes, there is something new in them. They are clear like a storm has passed. He draws his hands back up your torso to your face, cradling you in a way you hadn’t thought possible from the man. 

Something has shifted between the two of you. You’re not sure when it happened, when your hatred for this man changed, but you know it is dangerous. To be truthful, you’re not sure you ever truly hated him. What kind of person does that make you? How could you not hate the man that killed the person you loved? 

You’d thought the Soldier was a monster; maybe there is more to him than you realized.

“Sleep,” he says, tilting your head to rest on your threadbare pillow. “I will fix this.” The Soldier pulls a blanket over your body and helps you curl yourself in it. His hands trace the curve of your jaw before he stands to exit the cell. The lights turn off when he opens the door. 

“Goodnight, James,” you say quietly into the darkness.

“Goodnight, ангел.”

You dream of Steve.

“You look like such a baby in this one,” you said through loud laughter, pointing to a picture of young Steve Rogers.  

“I had a baby face, don’t be mean,” Steve chided, plucking the photo from your fingers. You pouted, and he kissed your cheek. “I’m not gonna let you look at these if you’re just gonna make fun of me. What happened to you being my sweet girl?” He asked with a goofy smile. You rolled your eyes and leaned into his side. He knew you were just kidding, but you still felt a little bad. 

“Let me make you dinner tonight to make up for it,” you offered, glancing up at your handsome companion. Steve wiggled his eyebrows in approval, and you burst out into another fit of laughter. 

It was so easy with Steve, so effortless. 

He picked you up and placed you in his lap, your legs wrapped around his torso. You looked up into his bright blue eyes and his big dumb grin. 

“You think I’m gonna forgive you that easy?” He asked with mock confusion.  

“Uh yeah, I do. In fact, I know you’re gonna. I can read you like a book Cap,” you replied, tapping him on the nose. Steve plastered on an exaggerated frown, but you were immune to the puppy dog eyes. Eventually, he relented and let you go shopping for groceries. He helped you carry them and everything like the gentleman he was. 

That night after you’d both eaten, Steve dimmed the lights and put on an old record of his. Soft jazz music played through the grainy speaker as you and Steve swayed to the beat. Your head rested against his chest, and he leaned down, pressing his lips to the top of your head.  

Steve hummed along to the song; the sound rumbled in his chest and tickled your ears. Some days, you couldn’t believe he was real. That he was with you. Some days, it was too good to be true. But then he’d pick you up, swing you around, and all those doubts flew away. 

“I love you, sweet girl,” he’d whisper against your hair. “I love you so much.”

You wake to pain coursing through your body. You’ll be feeling the lingering effects of yesterday’s beating for a while. Slowly, you push yourself up and lean against the concrete wall behind your bed. The cool material shocks your skin, but you don’t move away.

There is no evidence from the Soldier’s visit. He must have gathered his gear, the bowl, and your bloody clothes when he left. You notice a pile of folded clothes beside your cot, a t-shirt, and pants just like always. You must’ve been too out of it to notice.

You dress with shaky fingers, fumbling with the zipper on the pants, but eventually, you’re clothed. There is no food by your door, but you’re not sure you’d be able to stomach anything right now. 

Footsteps thud outside, and your heartbeat speeds up. The weight of the steps is familiar; it is the Soldier. He opens your cell door and steps inside, letting it shut behind him. In one hand, he holds a plum, and in the other, a small knife. He stares down at you for a moment before crouching beside the cot.

“It is the afternoon. I was instructed to remove your first meal of the day, but you need to eat.” Now that the Soldier is closer to you, you can see faint purple bruising below one of his eyes, remnants of a split lip, and blood along his hairline.

Without thinking, you reach up and brush the seam of his lips, feeling for the injury. You know that with the serum, his wounds heal quickly; these are recent. He must have received them this morning.

“What did they do to you?” You whisper, forgetting yourself for a moment. The Soldier does not move. He doesn’t remove your hand from his face. 

“Do not worry about me, моя куколка,” he says, shaking his head. “You must eat.” You slowly drop your hand and take the plum from his awaiting palm. The Soldier presses the small knife into your hand next, and you watch as the blade glints in the harsh cell light. 

You cut the plum into a few pieces, and the Soldier watches each movement. He surely is breaking many rules by bringing you food and a weapon; what does this mean?

“Was that because of me?” You ask, watching the bruises fade from his skin. You’d watched Steve heal many times, but it never ceased to amaze you. The Soldier sits beside you on the cot, and it sinks with his added weight. You place a piece of the plum against your tongue, letting the sweet fruit fill your senses. It’s almost too much, but it tastes incredible.

“No,” the Soldier replies. When you’ve fully cut up the plum, you hand the knife back to the Soldier, holding the blade in your fingers to offer him the handle. A voice deep in your mind, so deep you can barely hear it, screams at you for giving it back. You could’ve used it, hidden it, and tried to escape. Another part of your mind, this one much louder, knows that you never could’ve escaped using such a small blade. There are too many people in this compound. You never could’ve taken them all.

“Then why?” The Soldier wipes the plum juices off the blade before tucking it away into a pocket. You eat another piece of fruit.

“It is not important.” You nod and continue eating until the plum is long gone. You want more, craving the sugary sweetness of the fruit. When the Soldier sees you’re done, he stands and helps you up. “We need to go.”

For a moment, you think he won’t cuff you, but that thought is quickly extinguished when he pulls out the manacles. Your heart aches, but you’re not sure why. Did you really think that he would forget that you are his prisoner? That you are a member of the resistance? Your naïvete has seemingly returned with a vengeance. It is dangerous.

Once the Soldier has secured your wrists, he leads you out of the cell and down a familiar hallway. You know where he is taking you. The electrocution chair haunts your waking moments as well as your nightmares. 

When you enter the electrocution room, Pierce, Rumlow, and Rollins all stand around the chair. Rumlow and Rollins look pissed, but Pierce seems pleased. The Soldier stiffens at your side and guides you to the chair. He shoves you into the seat, and in an instant, Rollins is beside you with the rubber mouthpiece.

Pierce stands in front of you and takes the mouthpiece from Rollins, holding it between two fingers. “You’re strong,” he says, regarding you with suspicious eyes. “But you are not strong enough to fight this forever.” Rollins and Rumlow exchange a look that does not bode well for you.

“I’ll never stop,” you whisper, but you know you’re lying to yourself. You’ve already given up so much; you’ve already let the Soldier in. You’ve lost.

“If you want to live, you’ll reconsider.” Pierce doesn’t give you an opportunity to respond; he shoves the mouthpiece between your teeth and grips your jaw so you can’t spit it back out on him. He nods to his men before stepping away. The chair whirrs to life, and the torture begins.

You’re not sure how long it lasts before Pierce tells Rumlow to stop. Your eyes fall upon the Soldier, searching for what though, you’re not sure. You want comfort, and despite what he has shown you recently, you know that the Soldier cannot bring you that. Instead, he shifts his eyes to Pierce and nods.

The Soldier opens his mouth, and as he speaks, your head begins to throb. Your vision swims, and you find yourself unable to focus on anything other than Pierce. He motions to the Soldier then steps toward you. He grabs your chin, turning your head to look at him. “Lucas Glover,” he says with a smirk. Pierce gently removes the mouthpiece from between your teeth, and your jaw hangs open. You’re panting, unable to get enough air.

“Lucas Glover,” you repeat, though your tongue feels like lead in your mouth. The name is familiar, and a hazy face flashes in your mind. He knew Steve, this much you’re sure of, though why would Pierce care?

“Why’s she taking so long?” Rumlow asks loudly from behind Pierce, though you don’t shift your eyes to him. You can’t seem to get them to move away from Pierce’s intense gaze.

“She is working on it,” Pierce replies calmly. He crouches down in front of you, so he has to look up to keep eye contact. “Lucas Glover, you know him, right?”

As if not controlled by your own brain, your head nods. 

“Good. How do you know him?” You furrow your brow, trying to place Lucas in your memories. They float through your mind, showing you glimpses of a life that seems so far away that it couldn’t possibly have been yours.

“SHIELD,” you say quietly. Pierce smiles; it is not a kind thing. He nods, encouraging you to continue. “He was an intern. Very promising.” Though you know the man in front of you has not always treated you well, you’re happy he’s asking so nicely. He could hurt you easily if he wanted to.

“Do you think Mr. Glover knows anything about the remaining safe houses?” Safe houses. Something about that word makes you feel nervous. You sense a tugging in your gut, a need to tell him what you know.

“Yes.” You need to say more; the look Pierce gives you confirms this suspicion. Something about this feels wrong. You want to tell him the truth. It feels good when you do. So why is there a piece of you that wants to keep the information to yourself? Your head spins as you try to keep your mouth closed. You know you need to say something. You feel like you’ll explode if you don’t. Pain spreads through your chest, down your arms and legs. It licks at your fingers and up your neck.

“What do you know of the remaining safe houses? You’ve told me there are some in the midwest. Do you know anything more specific?” You bite your tongue, but it is a losing battle, and you’re not strong enough to fight anymore.

“Yes.” Pierce’s eyes scream more. “Chicago,” you whisper as relief rushes over your body, cool water to ease your pain. 

“Chicago,” Pierce repeats before standing again. Rollins approaches, tilting your chin and placing his thumb against your bottom lip, tugging it down slightly. Your jaw easily falls open, and he positions the mouthpiece back against your teeth. Your heart races; hadn’t you done well? You’d answered his questions. Why punish you more. Tears slip from the corners of your eyes, wetting your cheeks.

“Fuck,” Rollins groans, removing his thumb from your lip to wipe at your tears. He brings his finger to his mouth and tastes it. “Even sweeter than last time.”

The torture goes on. Your only relief comes with Pierce’s questions, though by the time the Soldier removes you from the chair, you are on the brink of unconsciousness. Tonight he does not clean you up. He does not make you promises of safety and security. He leaves you in the dark cell, and you cry for a man from lifetimes ago, one you will never see again.

You wake to his footsteps thundering down the hallway. The Soldier pushes your cell door open and steps inside. You shift on your cot to look at him, but your body aches with every movement. 

“You need to train,” he says, regarding you from the door. He does not make a move to help you up. What happened to the man that brought you the plum? That saved you from your beating?

You groan, pushing yourself up until you’re standing. For a moment, you stare down at your bare feet against the cold concrete floor. Maybe, if you closed your eyes, you could pretend that you were in the bathroom of your apartment. No matter the season or temperature outside, the tile was always unrelentingly cold. It was awful in the mornings when you’d just pulled yourself away from Steve’s warm embrace, but it was a comfort on days when you ran a fever and had to sit by the toilet.

Steve always took care of you when you were sick. He’d make you soup, get you ice cream, and wrap you up until you felt better. Gotta take care of my girl, he’d always say. If you don’t feel good, I don’t feel good. 

You wiggle your toes, lifting them from the cool flooring, and rock back onto your heels. After a long day of training, Steve would draw you a bath. He’d add lavender oil to the water and light you candles. He would massage your body with gentle fingers.

Steve’s fingers worked down your back, finding a new knot from training with Natasha. He leaned down and kissed your shoulder as he worked out the knot.  

“Did she do that weird spin move on you?” He asked, moving his lips against your skin. You were lying on your stomach on the bed, and Steve straddled your hips, sitting on top of you.  

You groaned as he increased the pressure of his fingers. “Yeah, but I kinda asked her to.” Steve chuckled as he sat back up. Once he worked out the knot, he let his fingers trail up and down your back, sending shivers up your spine. 

“You never learn, pretty girl,” he whispered. “But that’s why I love you.” He scratched your back lightly before moving up into your scalp. He always knew how to make you feel better.  

Metal fingers wrap around your wrist, and you’re catapulted back into your current reality. You stare up at the Soldier, his bright blue eyes glaring at you. “I will not repeat myself.” You drop your eyes and nod. He allows you a moment to dress properly for training before handcuffing you and leading you out of the cell.

“I didn’t eat,” you say quietly. The Soldier does not respond. “You said I need to eat.” He glares back at you and continues tugging you through the hallways. When you arrive at the training room, you feel your stomach cramping. You won’t have the strength to train if you don’t have anything to eat. Even something small would help.

The Soldier walks you to the center of the room, where he uncuffs you and gives you a once-over. His eyes rake over your figure until they reach your face. He reaches into a pocket in his pants and pulls out a small cloth bag, which he hands to you.

“Eat while I explain.” You tug the bag open and find a plum, this one slightly larger than yesterday’s. “Yesterday, you gave up the general location of a safe house.” Your heart sinks. You have very little memory of yesterday’s interrogation, and you don’t remember giving up that information.

You don’t respond. You take a bite of the plum.

“That location was enough for Pierce to put together an idea of where exactly the safe house is.” The plum is too sweet for what the Soldier is saying. 

“What does that mean for them?” You ask, running your tongue over your teeth.

“They will die. And Pierce will tell you all of this and more, but he will make it much more painful for you.” So he’s warning you, making the blow hurt less. Why?

“Why ruin Pierce’s fun?” You ask sarcastically. The Soldier is silent, and you watch his face contort. He’s thinking, mulling it all over. In the private of your mind, you have wondered why he shows you any kindness, why he bothers, but you’ve never asked aloud. 

“He is cruel.” The Soldier makes a face.

“And you haven’t been cruel?” You question, raising an eyebrow. You know you shouldn’t provoke him. He could kill you easily. The Soldier grips your wrist tightly with his metal hand, causing you to drop your plum. As if in slow motion, the Soldier catches it in his other hand. He brings it up close to his face, investigating the fruit.

“I never said that I have not been cruel,” he says slowly, shifting his attention back to you. “But the only one who can be cruel to you, моя куколка, is me.” The Soldier presses the plum against your lips. Your mouth opens just enough for him to position the fruit between your teeth. Sweetness coats your lips, your tongue. The Soldier watches you bite into the flesh of the plum, and heat sweeps through your body, settling in your belly.

He lowers his hands to his sides, releasing you from his grip. You both breathe deeply, and something shifts in the atmosphere. You drown in the Soldier’s blue eyes; they capture you and refuse to let you go. 

“James,” you whisper, and it is like he is struck by lightning. The Soldier jerks and shakes his head as if waking up from a trance. He stalks over to the door and types something into the screen that doubles as a keypad. 

A moment later, Pierce arrives at the training room.

“Good morning,” he says, regarding you with eager eyes. Pierce turns to the Soldier, and they exchange words in Russian. You wish you could understand what they say. The Soldier steps out of the training room, leaving you alone with Pierce. 

“Good morning,” you reply, keeping your eyes down. 

“You did well yesterday.” Your stomach turns; you don’t want to do well in Pierce’s eyes. “You are taking well to the programming. Have you noticed things getting easier?” 

Your gut tugs with an urge to tell the truth despite the fact you haven’t been shocked into submission. Even though nothing feels easy, you’ve gotten used to the pain. It’s almost normal now. Your fingers curl into fists, blunted nails digging into calloused skin. “No,” you say through gritted teeth.

Pierce frowns, but it disappears quickly. “When you worked for SHIELD, you had assessments, yes?” You nod, and at that moment, Rumlow, Rollins, and the Soldier drag someone into the training room. There is a fabric bag over the person’s head, but judging by the build and size of the person, it’s a man.

They pull him into the center of the room, dumping him at Pierce’s feet. The man doesn’t move, but he breathes heavily.

“What’s going on?” You ask, watching the bag move with each of the man’s breaths.

“Your information led me to quite the discovery; you helped more than you could ever have known.” You tear your eyes away from the man on the ground and find yourself seeking comfort in the Soldier. Blue eyes, frosty and nearly inhuman, stare back. They provide you none of the comfort you need.

“Who is that?” Your voice is shaky as you look back down at the man. His skin is covered in dirt and blood; his trip here must have been incredibly painful. His pants are torn in places, revealing a few wounds he must have received in a fight. He didn’t come here willingly, and he must not have known they were coming.

“If the Soldier has done his job, this should be easy,” Pierce says, looking at the Soldier. “He seems to think you have potential. I hope he is right.” Rumlow crouches down and unties the bag, pulling it off the man’s head.

Lucas Glover’s beaten and broken face makes your knees weak. You haven’t seen someone from SHIELD in so long. To have it be Lucas, Steve’s favorite intern, makes it that much worse.

“Lucas,” you whisper, fighting the urge to throw yourself into the ground to see if he is okay. You know he isn’t.

“He is no longer of much use to us,” Pierce says, nudging one of Lucas’s legs with the toe of his shoe. “Prove yourself.”

Translations:

ангел = angel

куколка (f) = little doll

принцесса (f) = princess

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[1987vampire]

Proxies x reader NSFW HCs

alot of these scenes will actually most likely end up in this story im writing lmao, so stick around if you want to see them fleshed out

Let's get the obvious beginner out of the way.

Toby is a tits man, Brian likes ass, and Tim is happy with whatever (he likes tits more he just doesn't want to be rude)

Now, let's start with Toby

Toby is the most submissive bottom you will meet in your life.

Has slipped a bit too far into subspace a few times, and you've had to stop immediately once you realized.

Motherfucker just wants to be dommed and dommed hard. Just tell him what to do, please.

Has the biggest fucking mommy kink (which contributes to his love for tits because the motherfucker will lavish those bitches like no other when given the chance)

Also has the biggest praise kink you will ever see. Has came embarrassingly fast because you called him your good boy.

99 percent of his knowledge of sex comes from porn so,, he's going to have to be retaught most everything.

Has definitely groped your tit too hard on multiple occasions because he thought it was the right thing to do.

Surprisingly good learner, though. Just wants to make you happy.

He's the best one for quickies out of all of them only because he cums extremely fast while still prioritizing you.

(He makes up for how fast he cums by how many times he can do it. Motherfucker will paint you white all over before his body gives out. Plus, his CIPA makes it to where he can't feel the burning in his legs as he fucks you for hours. Has literally kept going until his body gave out because you wanted him to.)

All the boys have very specific thoughts on oral. Toby will give or receive, whichever makes you happier, but when he's allowed to go down on you, it's like you're his last meal.

It's one of the only time's he'll disobey your commands because it doesn't matter if you've already came three times??? He's still eating, lady, shhh.

Tried to dom one (1) time. Not doing that again. Dude started crying half-way through because he thought he was hurting you and your feelings by ordering you around.

You had to pause and take a bath with him afterwards while he calmed down. He spent half the bath blubbering into your neck and apologizing more times than you could count.

Now, Brian is the exact opposite of Toby.

You asked to try and let him be the bottom a single time and he fucked you so hard you couldn't walk the next day.

A little shithead who loves blowjobs. Will give you head, but much prefers you on your knees with him stuffed so far in that he’s tapping the back of your throat and you’re gripping his thighs while he uses you for nothing more than his pleasure in the moment. 

Will mix degradation in with praise like he's been doing it his entire life. Has given you whiplash multiple times because of it.

He's so loud, too. Toby is whiny and begs, but this dude is in your ear with low grunts and groans, his voice spilling the foulest words he can think of.

Has you seeing stars while mumbling into your neck shit like "your pretty little pussy's taking me so well - like you were built to be my cocksleeve. Just a cumslut who takes whatever I give you. Look at you, all fucked out of your mind, pretty little baby. Can't wait to paint your fuckin' insides. It's what whores like you deserve."

He's also the best at aftercare, though. You normally have to take care of Toby after, and Tim does jack shit unless needed.

Brian, though, has his dresser packed with shit to take care of you with after. Will bathe you, dress you, tell you little reassurances, make sure you're okay.

He's also best at knowing when to stop. He can sense your hesitation as if he's the one feeling it.

Because of his dirty mouth, he's had to break off sessions early a few times. The biggest was when you started crying halfway through him fucking you missionary, and not the kind of crying he liked (because let's be real, this motherfucker loves to see you cry and beg to cum.)

He had called you a whore a few too many times through the session, and you had taken it a bit too close to heart (it was something that hit a bit harder than needed since you were dating multiple men at once.)

He spent the whole night cuddling you and reassuring you that he didn't really mean it. He loved you, they all did, it was just for the roleplay. "Stop crying, pretty baby, we're okay. I'm not actually mad. Let me see a smile, c'mon, doll."

Also, let me mention that because y'all are so fucking loud, Tim has banged on the door quite a few times trying to get you to calm down.

Tim made the mistake of grumbling to himself during dinner one time in front of you and Brian that 'you're so fucking loud it sounds like you're recording a goddamn porno in there.'

If you hadn't been choking on your food so hard, you might have noticed the sly grin that crossed Brian's face, though it was brought back later when he ended up filming you quite a few times from that night. It wouldn't be posted anywhere - fuck that, you were theirs, and no one else's.

(he did accidentally share a video of you cumming to the group chat all four of you were in on accident while sending cute pictures of the two of you. The mortification of hearing your moans come through the speaker of Toby's phone while he stared at it dumbfounded was enough for you to not talk to Brian for a whole week. It didn't matter if they had seen you like that before, it was still embarrassing!)

(Brian didn't tell you that the other two - Tim especially - had been sent worse videos than that.)

SPEAKING OF TIM.

Let's get started with this man. Tim is the laziest motherfucker known to man but it is nice. 

Really, he’s not lazy, he’s just tired a lot, and he doesn’t want to put the effort in the fuck you senseless when you’ve got two others for that. 

He prefers sleepy fucking where you’re both half-out-of-it and breathless. He enjoys both of you on your sides with him spooning you, his hips moving just enough to give enough friction for the both of you to cum after a while. You can and will fall alseep right after with him still buried inside of you.

Speaking of, what’s the best way to get y’all’s sexual tension out while still being lazy (besides just making you ride him which he does very often) ? Cockwarming. 

He won’t even just do it in bed when it’s the two of you. He’s shimmied his pants down just enough for his cock to slip out and pushed your panties aside (since you were only wearing an oversized shirt and underwear. I mean, what did you think would happen?) and made you sit on him in the middle of the living room while the other two were lounging around, too distracted to notice. 

However, if someone does notice (Especially in the beginning because you were horrible at hiding your flushed cheeks and heavy breathing from understimulation) he would not hide it.

“H-hey, y/-y/n, what’s-sss-s with the f-fa-face?” Toby had asked innocently one night while you were all watching TV together. You knew Tim was smirking behind you as he lifted the hem of the big shirt just enough to let Toby know what was going on. Boy blushed so hard and covered his eyes, smacking his face harshly in the process, and Tim and Brian snickered (because of course Brian already knew.)

Cockwarming also means that the second you finally - finally - start fucking, it’s over for the two of you in less than a minute, your fingers clawing at him as you finally get your release after hours. (the longest he’s made the two of you wait was four hours because we’re watching Toby’s favorite movies, we can’t interrupt him, now can we, darlin’?’

He’s also a huge fan of facesitting. Not the biggest fan of receiving blowjobs only because it makes him feel too vulnerable, but he could have you sit on his face for hours and not complain, his hands gripping your ass tight enough to leave bruises as he laved his tongue over your clit over and over. 

The only - only - times Tim has fucked you rough was when it wasn’t even really him. You had been half-asleep with your back to him one time as he rutted into you slowly when you suddenly felt yourself flipped so you were ass up with your face being pushed into the mattress, his hips jutting at a speed you didn’t know he could reach.

You didn’t even have to look back to know that Masky - his alter that didn’t show himself too often around you - had taken over. 

During getting fucked that time by Masky, you ended up so deep in subspace, trying to please the man you didn’t get too see that often that you let him him rip orgasm after orgasm from you until you couldn’t think straight and you entered a space where all you felt was pleasure, and you couldn’t even see straight.

You were brought out of it by Tim pressing a cold rag to your forehead, whispering sweet nothings to you as he tried to get you to come to, apologizing profusely for letting it happen. You had just grinned and - though your voice was thoroughly fucked up from screaming - told him to let Masky know he could do that again any time. Tim had gotten so flustered that he walked out of the room for a few minutes. 

Speaking of alters real quick.

Tim and Brian are the only ones to have them - Masky and Hoody respectfully, of course - and they come out around you very little. Hoody comes out more than Masky though, and you can tell the difference in how quiet Brian will get. 

Hoody and Masky have fucked you both separately and together (so have Tim and Brian but we’ll get to that in a second)

Masky loves you ass and prefers to have you in doggystyle over anything while Brian’s love for blowjobs is only intensified in his alter who will have you gagging on him until you almost pass out. He’ll give you a moment to breathe in just a second, just hold on a little longer, okay?

Hoody is almost always silent besides grunts that let him communicate with Masky. This is apparent even when you’re not fucking, and the three of you have to teach yourselves how to decipher the man’s made up language. 

Masky is quiet too, but will grumble to himself more than anything, calling you the worst name’s he can think of while he slams into you so hard that you don’t even have to move yourself to give Hoody a proper blowjob, his grip on your hips and force of his thrusts are enough to have you bouncing back and forth quickly. 

It’s not like you could really move anyways, not when Masky’s picking you up by your thighs and holding your hips up as he plows into you.

They love spitroasting but have definitely done double penetration even if you complain that you’re not prepped. Who cares? You’re obviously ready for it, look at you already cumming even though they haven’t moved. 

Now, as for threesomes and or foursomes

Nine times out of ten, Toby is too embarrassed to do anything in front of the other two. Maybe if you coax him enough, reassure him that nobody will judge, he might join in for the night, but it’s an incredibly rare occurrence. Watching Brian boss you around is enough to make him squirm. You were supposed to be in change, not him? But there you were with your tongue sticking out as you rolled your hips against Tim, ready to fit either of them in your mouth. The other can always take another hole. 

Toby not wanting to join doesn’t really both the other two though, and though it’s still not as common to have a threesome compared to one on one, Tim and Brian are always ready to share. Especially when you look so pretty whining into the air as you take both of them at once. 

You don’t mind if Brian takes a few photos, right? I mean, just look at you! This is a perfect moment to capture. Ignore the fact that you’re now Tim’s home screen, your pretty tits out in the open as his cock is buried inside of you, Brian’s hand gripping the flesh of your hip. Why wouldn’t he want to see it all the time?

The same applies to them as their alters. Spitroasting is their absolute favorite, though Tim prefers it if you ride him while you slobber all over Brian instead of him having to use his energy to fuck you into oblivion. 

They love double penetration as well, but once they tried to fit both of them in your pussy instead of one in your ass and you came so hard that you passed out. It’s brought out on special occasions after a l o t of prep.

really, overall. you have a boy for whatever mood you're in and you're literally never horny because the second you mention it someone is on top of you.

[spacedykez]

ao3 link

As requested, dragon bros! Uh- it got dark, but I hope this is what you wanted. Disclaimer: I’ve never really written fWhip and Joel but I tried my best? Also, this is better if you imagine them as Deadly Nadders. It just is.

(Credit to @/lil-kat2002 for the story idea!)

@lil-kat2002 @alsmp-headcanons

It had all started off as just a normal day.

Jimmy was minding his own business as usual when the server’s vampire decided to mess with him. It was instant and seemingly completely random; one moment he was flying along with the wind rushing along his outstretched arms and ruffling his hair and the next, he was surrounded by smothering heat.

“What- why am I in the Nether?” Jimmy demanded, glancing around and instantly beginning to panic. He couldn’t be here! He wasn’t good with extremes! And the Nether was the most extreme of any kind of heat. How had he even gotten here!?

“That would be because of me,” Jimmy glanced up to see that not only was he in the Nether, but he was trapped in a small blackstone cage. Observing him from outside it was Scott, fangs bared deviously and watching him with a concerning expression, like a cat observing a mouse.

Jimmy automatically jumped backwards in fear, already feeling the nauseating effects of the heat begin to set in. His vision blurred and he swayed on his feet as Scott crept closer and closer.

“The little dragon can’t handle a bit of heat?” Scott taunted unsympathetically, tilting his head as a hawk would.

Jimmy clenched his teeth, simultaneously fighting his body to stay conscious and fighting against Scott’s attempts to scare him. “I can handle it just fine!”

“Doesn’t look that way,” Scott replied, stalking closer until he was up against the bars. Jimmy felt his stomach twist, not with nausea, but with fear. He inched backwards, his wings spreading defensively. They quickly hit the bars, unable to spread fully.

“Poor little dragon, can’t fly?” Scott asked innocently, his smirk betraying that he knew full well just how trapped Jimmy was, and exactly why Jimmy was trapped.

Helpless, Jimmy desperately pulled out his communicator and, fighting his swirling vision, carefully typed H-E-L-P-enter. Scott noticed it quickly and swiped the device, but not before Jimmy had hit those five keys. “No calling for help! You’re mine, Jimmy, you’re trapped.”

Jimmy prayed to anyone looking down on him that the message had been sent and waited with his eyes shut tightly for Scott to attack him.

Scott, with his skinny frame, slunk easily through the cage. He pushed Jimmy over, sending him tumbling to the ground, and Jimmy backed away from him as much as he could, which wasn’t very much at all. “No! Go away! Stopit!”

“But why? You’re so much fun to play with!” Scott teased, slipping back outside and dancing gleefully across the netherrack. “What should I do with you now that I have you all to myself, hmm?” 

Jimmy growled defiantly, despite the heaviness setting into his limbs. “You can’t do anything to me!” 

“Oh, can’t I-” Scott began, but he was interrupted before he could finish. He was thrown across the ground by a flying figure swooping down seemingly out of nowhere and tackling him. 

“BAD VAMPIRE!” the figure screeched, descending madly on him, claws ripping and tearing.

“This is completely ruining my clothes, fWhip! Now I’ll have to fix these claw marks- THESE ARE VINTAGE, YOU BEAST-” Scott shrieked as the wyvern uncaringly mauled him. 

Meanwhile, a black shadow landed atop the cage Jimmy was in and ripped through the stone. Jimmy looked up at the creature descending on him to see Joel tear open the top like it was nothing. Joel scooped Jimmy up by the wings and dragged him upwards.

Joel clutched him tightly to his chest with one claw and wrapped his wings around Jimmy, then hopped down and waddled awkwardly over to fWhip.

As Joel made his way over, fWhip panted heavily and hopped backwards off of Scott, who scampered to his feet and ran away as fast as he could. The vampire’s pale skin was painted with blood from the many cuts fWhip’s claws had made, staining his torn clothes. fWhip spread his wings wide and roared angrily at Scott as he ran. The vampire jumped and sprinted even faster. “That’s for messing with Jimmy!” fWhip called.

“Yeah! No one torments our little dragon boy but us!” Joel added, squishing Jimmy even tighter.

“YOU’LL REGRET THIS!” Scott screeched back angrily. Joel and fWhip glanced at one another unamused and took off after Scott, catching up easily to him.

“What was that, tasty little vampire boy?” Joel asked. Scott went even paler, proving that such a feat was in fact possible, and gulped.

“Nothing, Joel.” Joel grinned, his large, sharp teeth showing.

“Don’t come messing with Jimmy again, you hear me?” fWhip threatened.

Scott nodded and fearfully replied “Yep, yes, I hear you, yep!”

“Good,” fWhip said, satisfied with the amount of fear he could smell on Scott. The wyverns landed and smugly let Scott dash away.

“Joel- lemme go-” Jimmy grunted, feeling his breath be squeezed out of his lungs by how tightly he was being held. Joel released him and he slid to the ground, stretching his squashed wings. “Thank you.”

“Are you hurt!? Are you okay!?” fWhip rushed over to Jimmy and checked him over, prancing around him and worriedly examining him. 

“I’m fine, fWhip! No need to be such a mother dragon!” Jimmy replied indignantly. fWhip huffed unhappily, but let Jimmy be.

Within seconds, Jimmy began to sway again. “I’m- tired… the Nether makes me feel bad.” fWhip slithered down and curled his body and wings around Jimmy, silencing him with a tail over his mouth.

“fWh- fWhip-'' Jimmy started to protest, but was interrupted by a yawn. fWhip’s wings curled protectively around him and his eyes started to shut. “No-” He stopped again as another yawn wracked his body. 

“Aw, he’s so cute,” Joel crooned. Jimmy was too tired to protest, drifting off into a peaceful sleep.

“He is!” fWhip agreed, stroking his tail along Jimmy’s spine. Jimmy relaxed, stretching peacefully and sneezed, a bit of smoke coming out of his nose. fWhip hummed the tune of a draconic lullaby and Jimmy curled closer to him, settling down to sleep.

“He’s so precious,” Joel said. fWhip nodded in agreement. Joel’s snout furrowed. “Scott’s going to die.”

“We’ve got to put Jimmy in the nest first,” fWhip pointed out cooly. He curled his talons around Jimmy’s body and stretched his wings, lifting himself into the air. Joel took off after him and they swooped away through the Nether, easily navigating the terrain. It helped that Scott hadn’t gone very far from the nearest portal- he was a cowardly vampire after all.

fWhip got to the portal first and attempted to land inside it, smacking the frame with his wings as he tried to fit into it while keeping Jimmy off the ground at the same time. “Joel! I can’t fit!”

fWhip snorted and slowed, hovering midair to talk to him. “Pull in your wings, silly.”

“Then I’ll land on Jimmy!” fWhip protested. 

Joel glided down and landed next to fWhip, who was still flapping aimlessly. “Here, give him to me.”

“How?” fWhip turned to him skeptically, clutching Jimmy tighter.

Joel opened his wings and awkwardly turned them into a sort of basket shape to hold Jimmy. fWhip tilted his head confusedly. “How about that?” Joel offered.

fWhip flew upwards and carefully lowered Jimmy into Joel’s wings, landing and observing as Jimmy curled comfortably into Joel. “Well, it works!”

fWhip squeezed into the portal and was teleported through to the other side, turning as soon as he was through and waiting anxiously for Joel and Jimmy to come. They were through the portal only a few seconds after fWhip, but it felt like hours. “You made it!”

“Yep, we made it,” Joel confirmed, letting Jimmy slide off his wings and into fWhip’s waiting talons.

“Great, we can go to my nest,” fWhip said. Joel nodded and tilted his head to the sky, indicating to fWhip to lead the way. fWhip clutched Jimmy tightly again and headed off in the direction of the Dragon Mountains. Joel followed and they arrived quickly, swooping into the small opening at the mountain’s base with ease. 

fWhip slowed his wingbeats and lowered himself to the ground, uncurling his talons as he landed to let Jimmy rest on the ground. He slipped a wing beneath Jimmy’s body and curled around him. Joel landed next to him and laid down alongside him, covering Jimmy with a wing and draping his tail over fWhip’s.

“Aw, Jimmy, our little dragon boy,” Joel hissed affectionately.

“You’re not Scott’s little playtoy, are you? You’re our cute little dragonboy,’ fWhip agreed.

A rumbling began in Joel’s throat and fWhip copied him. The dragons began to purr and Jimmy murmured something in his sleep. They cooed at their smallest friend and held him tight. He was theirs and no one else’s.

“I think our vampire deserves a little visit from us,” fWhip commented after a while of nesting. 

“Yeah, the little man should have a bit of a punishment,” Joel said, a growl creeping into his tone. “Cheeky guy thinks he can take our Jimmy.”

The wyverns took flight and dove out of the opening of the mountain, leaving Jimmy safe in the highest peak, where only a dragon could go. They flew south to Scott’s lake, landing atop the roof of the darkest building, where the vampire lived. fWhip climbed down the wall, peering inside the upstairs window, where he noted Scott lying asleep in his coffin. He inhaled and spat acid on the glass, dissolving it, then carefully slunk into the room.

Scott’s eyes jolted open as the wyverns entered, leaping out of the coffin with superhuman agility and landing facing them. “What are you doing here!?”

Joel grinned, teeth fully bared. “Taking revenge. You didn’t think you could mess with Jimmy and get away with it, did you?”

Scott blinked and backed away. “No, no, I-”

“I’d advise you to run,” fWhip said with mock cheeriness, a clear threat behind the words.

Scott turned and started to listen-

-he never got far. Wings flew into the air as the wyverns leaped after him, and the vampire was descended upon. Anyone nearby that day could hear only screams and snarls, and returning to the room where it happened will show bloodstains coating the walls.

It now forever serves as a reminder; never mess with a dragons’ treasure.

[hashtagartistlife]

IR hunger games AU

pt 4/???

pt 1 | pt 2 | pt 3 | pt 4

bonus comics under the cut + some more exposition 

bonus cut 1: 

bonus cut 2: 

Recap of the story so far: yuzu gets picked as tribute for the hunger games. Ichigo manages to volunteer in her place. Rukia gets drawn to replace yuzu, and ichiruki end up being the tributes for district 12. 

Ichiruki then meet urahara, their mentor, on the train to the capitol. On this train they may or may not have a conversation regarding the fact that Rukia saved Ichigo’s life as kids, and that they have consequently been dancing around each other for years now. I reserve the right to add more to this section later. Either way, they are awkward at best and frosty at worst as they enter the capitol. 

At the capitol, they meet their stylists, uryuu and orihime. They are new stylists, who only graduated last year. This is their first official stylist job. This in itself is not that surprising, as district 12 was unpopular and often stuck with the inexperienced or not-quite-so-talented stylists. However, though uryuu and orihime are inexperienced, they are the furthest thing from untalented or unpopular - since they had been students, they have been somewhat of a rising star in the styling community. So, everyone is surprised when they both (separately) apply for the district 12 styling job, because they really could have had their pick. 

Ishihime were both born and raised in the capitol, but their childhoods were far from the lavish, glamorous lifestyle commonly associated with capitol citizens. If the capitol had a caste system (which they do — it’s just unspoken, is all), they would be on the bottom rung — orihime grew up under her brother in as close to poverty as what you can get in the capitol, dreaming of the glitz and glamour of the upper crust life. Ryuuken, meanwhile, is very rich, but for whatever reasons uryuu ran away from home young and has been surviving on his own since. The fact that they both clawed their way up the ranks to become hunger game stylists out of pure talent and tenacity was a novelty for everyone, and contributed to their rising stardom. 

Ishihime hadn’t met prior to their appointment as district 12 stylists, but they HAD heard of the other— it was a pleasant surprise to both of them that the other had also applied for the job. Though they only meet on the job, they click instantly and develop an easy working partnership to create a sensation with ichigo and rukia’s opening ceremony outfits. The outfits had a fire + ice theme, based on the fact that district 12 was a mining district (coal > fire, diamonds > ice). 

Orihime applied to the district 12 job because of Ichigo— she saw him volunteering for his sister on TV and maybe fell a little bit in love with him, with the idea of him— how romantic, how heroic of him, how noble to be able to volunteer for his sister like that— the same age as her, and so handsome, too, she wants to be by his side, she wants to help him, she wants to make sure he looks his best at the games so that he can maximise his chances of returning to his sister… as stated previously Orihime grew up entrenched in the capitol mindset so she is not yet aware of how fucked up the whole system is. Uryuu, meanwhile, nobody is particularly sure why he applied for the job… he said something trite about wanting to use his skills where it’s most needed, how he likes a challenge, but orihime wonders if that’s really all there is to it— outwardly, he’s the picture perfect new graduate, enthusiastic, happy, proud of his job— but there are moments when they are being applauded for their latest creations when she thinks his expression goes a little sour… it’s always fleeting and gone so fast that she can never be sure however 

Ichiruki, meanwhile, are the talk of the town. What with their stunning entrance at the opening ceremony and rukia’s public confession, all they have to do now is ride this wave of popularity all the way through the games for an easy win— unfortunately, they are both terribly bad at knowing how to manipulate this situation to their advantage. They both understand the gist of urahara’s plan — act like they’re falling in love— but neither of them understand WHY or HOW this will work. Why would the audience be invested in their falling in love? What exactly do they want to see? HOW do they act like they’re falling in love? (and, in Rukia’s case— how much of it should be pretend, how much of it is real?) 

Enter Rangiku, the previous district 12 stylist. She and gin grew up in one of the districts, both hating the games and the capitol, until one day at 14 yrs old, gin said to her ‘i’m gonna make it so that you don’t have to be afraid of your name being called at the reapings no more’, volunteered as tribute, won the games, and promptly disappeared from her life. 

Years later, rangiku sees gin on tv as the new host of the hunger games. She’s stunned and infuriated— she thought they both hates the capitol for what they did to the districts and now he’s WORKING for them? What the hell is he thinking? So rangiku packs up and moves to the capitol— her plan is to try to see him, to talk things out, surely there must be some kind of misunderstanding— but gin is all rich and famous now, and very heavily guarded, and she’s a nobody. There’s no way anyone will let her within ten feet of gin at all— so, rangiku decides she’s going to have to join the circus to talk to its head clown, and becomes a stylist. 

Unfortunately, even as a stylist, she can’t get a word to him edgewise— and she’s starting to suspect that maybe it’s not that she can’t get to him, but that gin is actively avoiding her. She COULD climb the ranks until he can no longer avoid her— she is very good at this stylist gig, much to her surprise— but she doesn’t have the heart to do the backstabbing and bribing necessary for that. She is constantly warring between ‘I cannot pour my talent into something this morally bankrupt’ and ‘but maybe if I do my best, I’ll give my district’s kids a fighting chance’. 

Eventually, by the time ichiruki step up, rangiku is so sick of having to dress kids up nicely for slaughter that she hands in her resignation, gives up on gin, and is getting ready to move back home to her district. That is, until she sees what an absolute record-breaker ichiruki are becoming, and start to hope again— that maybe, this year things will be different. That maybe, they will be different. That maybe, at least one of ‘her kids’ won’t go home in a coffin this year, will instead require outfits for a victory tour instead— a victory tour that is accompanied by their stylists… and the host. 

So, rangiku comes back in an unofficial capacity to help ichiruki refine their act a bit more. But with less than one month left till the games commence, will what they come up with be enough to carry them through the entire games? And, even if it does— what will happen if at the end of it all, the two people who remain are ichigo and rukia— when only one person gets to return home alive? 

Very unrelated point, but: ichigo apologised to rukia for grabbing her wrist post-tribute interview. Just wanted to clarify it is NOT alright to grab at people under any circumstances— ichigo did it in the heat of the moment, but when everything was cleared up he apologised for it. Had to mention this somewhere because it bothered me so much while drawing this installment— Ichigo you have NO room to be scolding the reporter for grabbing rukia, you did it not too long ago yourself! Having said that, that’s probably why he’s being very touchy about this— it was something that had been a sore point for him too very recently. 

To be continued! 

[garden-ghoul]

after reading laurence’s great posts on the white palace I decided to do a hallownest travelogue (I have never read a travelogue so I know nothing about the format) and lee asked me to post it. days 1-7 below the cut.

DAY 1: THE PASS

A message for higher beings (I suppose, those coming through the pass from the high cliffs): "Beyond this point you enter the land of King and Creator. Step across the threshold and obey our laws. Bear witness to the last and only kingdom. Hallownest." No mention of what the laws are. I wish I could remember where I was before this. Did they have laws?

I battered down a great door and stood at what seemed to be the head of a bridge--once a bridge, because not much remains of it any more. In the distance I could see a collection of round, regular stones, and someone standing among them, so I jumped down and headed there.

The bug is Elderbug, and the stones are Dirtmouth. He says the residents of the town went down into the well and disappeared. The kingdom--Hallownest--"draws" them. "Creatures turn mad and travellers are robbed of their memories," he says. I have nothing to lose then.

I rested on the bench for a while, looking up at the blackness above and thinking about it. I have never met anyone but myself before today, but the bug who stood vigil with me seemed very lonely. I couldn't stand being in one place for so long. I want to see the kingdom. I want to see as much as I can and understand what a kingdom is.

DAY 2: THE MAPMAKER

On the way to the well I saw a sign that said mapping supplies would be available soon. I decided to go down for a look and come back soon to make sure I didn't miss them. A map! A map seems like a wonderful thing to me: a record of where you've been, something that can't be scoured away by the wind. If only the cliffs weren't so blurry in my memory.

I jumped down the well and immediately met another bug, though they didn't seem to notice me until I stood right in front of them. Then they charged me and cracked my mask. Another bug who stood weeping in a mass of hollow nests at the top of a massive hoist shaft, which I was pushed down by a flying creature. This put me in a cavern that clearly led somewhere interesting but would require a little fancy problem-solving to get through. After a little trial and error I learned to strike downward and bounce off the spikes!

This whole place is made entirely out of rocks that look like they were once bugs. I also found a statue charged with what that plaque called "soul," the substance that charges living creatures. Does that mean the statue is living too?

A second bug attacked me--I have been trying not to hurt anyone, but they blocked my path at every turn, and would try to get close and hurt me with their claws. After a terrifying interval of dodging and cutting, I managed to wound them badly enough to keep them from following me. They spat out a fragment of a mask, as if in apology.

As I emerged I heard someone humming. It was comforting; somehow I thought no-one who hummed like that would try to hurt me. But I was still cautious as I peeked out. And it was a bug working on a map! I had to meet him! I only wish I knew a way to communicate with these bugs. They make sounds that form words, but I can't do that. That aside, the bug was very friendly, and he exchanged a map for some shell fragments. I'll have to see if I can collect more of them, if they can get me maps! He says I can go to Dirtmouth and buy a compass from his wife, Iselda. His name is Cornifer, a cartographer--a mapmaker--and I've never felt anyone understood me as he does. I sat by his side watching him work for a long time and he was happy to tell me about his work, what goes into making a good map, and some of the other places he has been.

I left when he stopped speaking to focus on his work; I thought I shouldn't disturb him any longer, and I was itching to get a pen and make my own records. I got a little lost on my way back, was attacked several times--I saw a little bug seemingly trapped and was trying to get around the larger bug, which /would/ keep hitting me... and then it hit me one too many times. I felt like I had cracked open. I felt like I was spilling out into the cavern like a cracked egg. I've never seen an egg before. And then I woke up on the bench in Dirtmouth. Disconcerted, I looked to Elderbug, but he only told me about Cornifer and Iselda's shop, as if he hadn't noticed anything. As if everything up until now today was just a dream. But I can feel something inside me is broken. I am afraid. I need some time to collect myself before I visit Iselda.

DAY 3: MORE NEW ACQUAINTANCES

When I went to get supplies from Iselda, I realized that my shell fragments ("geo") were gone. I still have my map, and the mask shard, and my nail... This is making me really uneasy. I went back to where I remembered breaking open to see what might be there. I found a shadow of myself, high in the air, staring blankly at something only it could see. It hurt me too when it touched me. I was afraid. I hit it. Unlike a real shadow it seemed solid. When I hit it again it dissolved and went into me, and the feeling of brokenness seemed to be healed. On the floor was my collection of shell fragments. I had no idea what had just happened, but I had to leave quickly before the large bug that broke me last time came back.

I found myself in a cavern with glowing crystals, and someone singing. She was a bug named Myla, who wanted to sing with me, and to share the beauty of the caverns with me. I wished I could sing with her. Instead I stood for a while trying to understand how she chose what to hit with her sharp pick. I think her purpose is to fragment small pieces of crystal that can be more easily transported. I wasn't able to find out whether they can also be exchanged for mapping supples, but I took some with me just in case.

With my geo returned, I headed back toward Dirtmouth--I got sidetracked by the "Black Egg Temple," where a bug named Quirrel stood staring at an enormous black egg inset with masks. He too is interested in exploring unknown places, and says Hallownest wasn't always so filled with activity. I showed him Cornifer's map, and he pointed out some things he's seen so far that might be worth visiting. It seems he came down from the pass not too long after I did. I left him minutely examining the egg with his fingers, as if it were a language he could read by touch. I was impatient to finish my map.

Unfortunately, before I can buy mapping supplies I will need a lot more geo, 320 geo to be precise. I'll need to find a lot more of those strange rocks before I'm able to finish my map. I wanted to ask to borrow Iselda's pen and ink, but I have no way to make myself understood. I'll just have to find geo. I'll rest on the bench and thing about it.

DAY 4: THE CAPTIVES

The old bug at the top of the hoist shaft is no longer crying. It seems he's acquainted with the little grub I broke out of that jar yesterday, and he was so grateful he gave me a little geo. I thought, maybe he'll give me more if I find more of those grubs, and I had seen one on my way. Unfortunately I wasn't able to reach it, so I went looking for others.

I managed to find one before I was again trapped by hostile bugs and forced to fight my way out. I visited a hot spring Quirrel pointed out to me to sooth my nerves. I didn't know what a hot spring was, so it was a wonderful surprise! Warm white pools of soul, gently misting into the air. I filled my mask with it. The sound of the soul-water falling is so wonderful that I stayed for quite a while before I ventured back out again.

The caverns here are so full of strange creatures--but all creatures are strange to me. Shining translucent flying bugs filled with orange liquid, enormous drilling bugs that burst out of the ground without warning, a huge bug sleeping peacefully--and dozens, hundreds, of metal trail markers, signs, statues, doors, and contraptions. I couldn't guess at a tenth of what they're all for! It's thrilling!

Too thrilling, perhaps. While trying to dodge three or four flying bugs to get to another trapped grub, I was cracked open again. It's less frightening when I know I'll be able to get rid of this broken feeling, but still not pleasant. I'll take some time to rest at the bench in Dirtmouth where I woke up.

DAY 5: THE QUEST COMPLETE!

I visited the old grub on the way to meet my shadow. He is very generous, and the little grubs are very happy. I'm happy to free them, even if it means getting broken open a few times. It's unpleasant, but not the worst thing.

On my way I also discovered that when bugs are killed, geo sometimes drops from them. I would never kill bugs myself, unless I have no other choice--no matter how set they seem on killing me--but sometimes they run foolishly into other things while chasing me. And I really do need the geo.

With the old grub's gift I had enough, so I hurried back to Dirtmouth to trade for the compass and a pen and ink. I've been sitting on the bench for some time filling in Cornifer's map. He hasn't been to as many places as I have! I'll show him tomorrow, and we can compare notes! It also makes it clear which places I haven't been yet, so I have a good idea of where I want to explore next. I am a little wary of going near the Knight's Cave, as Cornifer calls it, but he managed to get through there without being spotted, so I should be able to. Also lots of places I can see are very interesting, but I can't get there yet. I'm particularly intrigued by the long vertical shaft I can see through the metal grilles on the floor. I wonder if I could lever something free with my nail?

DAY 6: THE KNIGHT

On the way to see Cornifer, I stood for a while in the hoist shaft admiring the mechanisms. A little hard to stay out of the way of the flying bugs, but they aren't going for me on purpose, at least. There are old barrels and carts full of... stuff. I'm not totally sure what it is. Some discrete objects, some goo. But the giant wheels connected to the lines that must have moved the platforms, those are wonderful.

I showed Cornifer what I'd filled in of his map, and managed to communicate that I didn't mind him copying it. He said he'd rather find out for himself, and take his time. I like him a lot.

I decided to head east to see about the three unknown passages over there, stopping in at the hot spring on the way. One had a toll machine with a stag head on it, and since I had the mapping supplies already I was curious enough to pay the toll. The mechanisms here are wonderful! The toll machine disappeared into the ground, replaced with a bell, and the grille over the tunnel entrance slide down. How many mechanisms in this kingdom are still working? Would the hoist shaft come into motion again if I could get the wheel back into its place? I rang the bell and a stag appeared. He told me he would carry me wherever I wanted to go. It turns out he knows a secret, quicker way back to Dirtmouth! He said it used to be much fuller of travellers.

He recommended I rest, but I still had more to see in the Crossroads, so I asked him to take me back. There's a bench in the stag station too.  I can make note of it in case I ever am too tired to make it back to Dirtmouth. Iselda did have those bench pins... Maybe I can save up for one.

Of the unknown passages, one was very dark and crumbling. Too unsafe to explore unless I can find a light. The other led to a large storage area, maybe. Huge vaulted ceiling, and the distant sound of footsteps that puzzled me until I realized there was another floor. There were a few of those charging bugs, so it was a terrible surprise when the massive knight Cornifer mentioned dropped from the ceiling and started attacking me. I had to dodge them until they smashed the floor under us--I fear they squashed themself in their own armor when they landed. Lying next to them was some kind of small decorative sculpture and a chest with a huge amount of geo. I went back to Dirtmouth to buy some pins for my map. One for benches, and one to mark the location of anyone I meet. They all have such interesting stories and perspectives. One day I'll have seen enough that I'll have stories too. Although I suppose I won't be able to tell anyone anyway.

DAY 7: THE TEMPLE

On my way back from the Knight's Cavern I saw some strange torches. Yesterday I was too eager to get back to Dirtmouth to investigate, but after a rest I felt full of energy and decided to go. Cornifer had left his spot below the hoist shaft. I wonder where he is now.

The torches belonged to a place decorated with the masks of many, many bugs. Inside is a bug who calls himself the Snail Shaman, who said my face is strange and empty, and my nail is a wicked looking weapon. The people of Dirtmouth didnt think so. Or maybe they did. Are they afraid of me? The Snail Shaman said something has drawn me into Hallownest's corpse. I suppose it's true. He said I need his help, and offered me a "nasty little spell." I took it to be polite, since I don't need to use it if I don't want to, but he tricked me. It knocked me out and he trapped me, said I couldn't leave until I killed a beast in the temple. But it was only a bug. They're all only bugs. Why do they want to kill me? Why would the Snail Shaman do this? What a horrible place that temple was. Full of bugs pursuing me. I killed one in my panic, by accident, and there was the large bug too. I don't like the feeling of being tricked into killing. I don't like the Snail Shaman. He said the poor beast must have been terrified of me. I don't like him. I really, really don't like him. I ran out of the temple as soon as I could and went back to Dirtmouth. I wanted to ask Elderbug to talk to me so I could think about anything else. But he was lost in thought and hardly seemed to notice me.

[mrpenguinpants]

Diluc: Comfort HCs

Oh no worries anon! We’re getting through everything and I can just see the top. I’m not sure if people saw it - probably not - but my entire blog has devolved into “See this genshin character? Animal.” and I refuse to have another cat character so I’m making Diluc a hawk.  

Apparently (maybe) Diluc’s bird is a nightingale [voicelines]. But I don’t really see Diluc the kind of guy to serenade you at night in secret because your father doesn’t approve of your marriage.

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Today’s appreciation post goes to fulltimeventisimp. Tumblr throws a goddamn fit when I try to tag people (even though I literally have a tag list but that’s apparently not good enough) so I hope you see this^^ You’ve been so nice and caring to me I feel so soft 😭 and I hope you’re doing alright! I’m remembering to take breaks and rest  💕💕

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Semi Part 1: Relationship HCs [I would read this just for the last point]

Diluc Ver: Jealous HCs

[Masterlist]

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[taglist]  <- if you want to be added, please read this first.

@hanniejji​  @mikeysbike​ @unionwitch​ @musekala​ @twistedsunnshiii​ @stanzastic​ @akaasea​ @xoneaboveallx​ @adoring-ghost​ @asheseiler​ @childelover​ @dilucsz​

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Diluc: Comfort HCs

Diluc has always had either an aloof or professional persona based on who he needed to talk to. In both cases, no matter the subject or how Diluc talked, there would always be some sort of forced distance so no one would mistaken it as familiarity or friendliness. There were only a two cases where he felt comfortable and those were with close friends and his staff. The third case being Kaeya but Diluc prefers to not acknowledge him and stashes that folder away. Even with friend’s such as Jean or Elzer, he could never really relax and let his true feelings slip until you burst into his life. Literally. “An unexpected outcome of an experiment,” is what Albedo had told him but regardless, since you entered his life he’s let himself regress into his younger days and let himself take for once.

Maybe that was why you had gotten so used to Diluc’s touched starved self that, when it was suddenly gone, you were feeling uneasy. Lately Diluc seemed to be spending longer hours at his desk or working at the tavern. You knew that he was just busy and there wasn’t any underhanded reasoning behind it, Diluc wasn’t that kind of guy. But did he seriously have to spend every waking moment, day or night, talking to the same people? When was the last time you saw him for more than two minutes? Diluc isn’t a big fan of idle talking but would it seriously hurt just to catch up? You didn’t even get together to have your weekly chess matches too.

You didn’t consider yourself a very clingy person and you knew what a relationship with Diluc was going to be like so why were you getting so bothered? You decided to take the situation in your hands and go visit him at the tavern only to see him so busy at work. It both made you a bit huffy, you wanted to storm in there and drag the man away from his work so he could stop trying to speed run life - not like that would ever happen because the second hand embarrassment would make you dissolve into the ground and you could never show your face to Diluc if you actually did that - but also making you more upset. Here he was, working and running his business, and you couldn’t go at least a couple weeks without seeing him. You ended up turning around and going home to scream into your pillow and sleep the heavy feeling away.

Your inner turmoil seemed to seep out into the open that Kaeya felt the need to bring it up. As much as Diluc dislikes Kaeya around you, he really does care about you and he still does owe you for the troubles he gave you when you first started going out with Diluc. He catches you while you’re off running errands and manages to coax you into getting some lunch with him. You’ve been bottling up your feelings so much that when Kaeya shows some concern you let it all pour out. At this point you don’t care if it’s Kaeya of all people you’re confessing your feelings to, you just want to get it off your chest because the man you’re in love with doesn’t seem to notice you’re actually there and it’s making you feel insecure about yourself. Kaeya gives you a sympathetic smile and tells you not to worry about it, he’ll personally knock some sense into Diluc.

Diluc’s been hard at work on another possible Fatui plan and business with the winery that he can’t help but feel that he was missing something. Was he overlooking something? He had planned this for a while so everything should be perfect. It wasn’t until Kaeya himself had to walk in, press his hand on the tavern counter, and call him an idiot that he realizes that he had been so wrapped up in his work and personal duties that he completely neglected you. He quickly passes his duties to Charles with a quick apology, throws his coat on, gives Kaeya a very strained thank you, and he’s out the door to find you. He’s already lost so much so he’ll be damned if he looses you. Not right now. 

You gave him the key to your home after a few months of being together, in case his he needed to temporarily hide should his night activities get the best of him. He’s already at your door in seconds as he quickly unlocks and steps in. 

“Beloved?” he softly calls out to not accidently scare you but he receives no reply. It’s dark inside but he can see your shoes at the door so he knows you’re inside somewhere. He softly closes and locks the door as he hangs his coat up. Carefully running a hand down the fabric and beside your coat as he looks around your small home. He’s always felt it was warm even when you weren’t here. The “home” he has will always be the place he grew up in but after everything that’s happened, he feels a bit alienated in there so he always appreciated that you lent him a key.

He catches the sound of some shuffling and follows the sound to see you under your blankets. He breathes a quick sigh of relief that you weren’t in any danger as he carefully circles around your bed before gently placing a hand on your back. He’s never been good at words or communicating his feelings so he’s at a bit of a standstill. Despite his reputation of being a nobleman of high esteem, you’re his first serious relationship. As far as he’s concerned you’re going to be his only relationship for that matter.

“I...apologize for my recent behaviour. It was never my intention to hurt you. I ended up letting myself get too blinded to see you were in pain and that was my fault. You don’t have to forgive me now but won’t you let me see your face my love?” he asked in all his awkward pose, put him in front of massive event and he’ll perform with flying colours but put him in front of his partner and he stumbles over his worlds like a new born fawn. But it seems to bring a small laugh from you as you peek from under the covers. 

He smiles softly as he sees your ears flush pink. No matter how many times he calls you that you always get so shy, he adores it. But he can feel the guilt rise up in his chest, you’ve always been there to support and reassure him that he was doing everything right. That things were going to be okay when he re-took his father’s business and you would be with him every step of the way. So in the best and awkward way that Diluc can manage, he tells you this. By the time he’s done he can feel his own face start to pink but it’s made you feel better so it was worth it. 

“Feeling better?” he smiles softly as you nod up at him as he lays down beside you, opening his arms in comfort, “Good, come here.” 

You shuffle closer to him as he holds you. It’s been awhile since he’s held you like this and even without realizing it, he’s missed this. Just you and him together, basking in each other’s presence. No work that needed to be attended to. No Fatui trying to cause him any more trouble. It was a safe place and one he didn’t want to let go.  

“What if we got married?”

There’s a beat of silence. 

Then a thud. 

You end up scrambling and falling off your bed face first. It’s a bit silent as you give off a pain groaned and climb back up and he can see your face has exploded red. He can almost see steam coming off as you try and nurse your nose. He blinks a bit at you taken aback as you stutter and scream into your hands as your brain seems to process what he just asked. You lift your face from your hands to look at him, somehow go even redder, and scream louder into your hands. He’s not sure if this is something he should be offended or concerned about but the weight he had been feeling earlier starts to fade away as a new and familiar feeling bubbles up. For the first time in half a month, Diluc let’s out a laugh as he tries to console you as you manage out a yes.

---

Gripping my writing hand why is no one stopping me? Diluc you’re literally acting like Childe rn. [if anyone is confused ahem Childe: Fiancé HCs (should be in my masterlist)]

Also, I continue to look away from the lore. Kaeya and Diluc are not on the best of terms but if they can have petty rich lady wine talk then Kaeya can walk in and call Diluc an idiot.

I was serious when I said that I researched hawk behaviours. I have learned the internet is horrible in telling me how hawks behave. But I did find this and I found this hilarious:

In the case of the red-tailed hawk, for example, the pair soar, screaming at each other; then the male dives at the female, who may roll in the air to present her claws to him in mock combat.

[plush-rabbit]

Tragedy

Word Count: 2.8K

A/N: It makes me really sad that his Father’s favorite things were his family and that he just wanted them to be happy

Each step of his is slow, his heels clicking against the floor as he walks to his room, his body still on high alert, his mind full of chatter and noise that had echoed in the room large enough to still fill soldiers. His mind is still full of destruction, buildings crumbling under him, the screams of his- Tomura closes his eyes tightly and takes a sharp breath, pausing in the middle of the hallway, his hand coming up to cover above where Father should be. Somehow, it feels sick- sicker than usual at least. He continues onward, his steps quickening subconsciously, an effort to push the past further away, to drown out the noise in the distance, but no matter where he goes, it follows him.

There’s no use dwelling on the past, wondering if things might have been different or if he would have ended up different if it weren’t for that night. If it weren’t for that picture. If it weren’t for him and his selfish want to be a hero. It was a child’s dream, something naïve and something so raw and filthy that he now pays the price for it.

He stands at the closed door, a faint sound from the inside, a song too low and muffled by the wood for him to make out and his hand is curled into a weak fist, ready to knock, pleading that you’ll allow him entry. It’s his room. It’s your room. It’s a shared room and yet, he still feels as if he doesn’t belong.

You’re on the other side, waiting for him, and he can only force himself to muster the energy to stand. His knuckles rap against the door, and he waits for a moment, a second that drags on and on, until he hears your voice, allowing him entry. When he enters, his eyes land on you. Your back is propped up by pillows, your phone in your hand that is put aside and a blanket that covers your bent legs. You’re comfortable, laying in bed, and waiting for him, your smile soft, only to break when he stands in the doorway, holding the door with his hand while the one is pulled close to his chest.

“What’s wrong, Tomu?” Your head tilts and the blanket curls at the bottom of your ankle as you move to the edge of the bed. Your legs swing over and you walk up to him, your hands already raising to cup his face, but he moves away. “Tomura?” Your voice is small, as if you’re tending to a wounded animal and he realizes that this isn’t the first time that you’ve used this tone before. “Hey, come on,” you plead, as your hand rests on his shoulder and he has to shrug you away to close the door. “Talk to me,” you ask of him, and he can feel your eyes as he locks the door.

The bed dips under him and it is free of anything uncomfortable. It isn’t like the hard dirt that he’s known for the past few months, it isn’t a bed with springs digging into his back, and it isn’t a bed surrounded by four walls with his old figurines. It’s a new bed, soft and alien to him.

You stand in front of him, crouched to your knees and your hands resting against his thighs. He knows he should tell you something- you’ve teased and chastised him enough about how communication is important in a relationship, but he doesn’t know what to say. What do you say to a person who believes you are good, who wants to see the good in you that they ignore everything else about you? What do you say to a person who looks at you with endearment and understanding?

He doesn’t want to cry. He shouldn’t. It’s not like him. It isn’t him. “I’m tired.” his voice cracks and he looks at you for a second, his bottom lip teased between his teeth and his head lowering almost immediately once he catches your eyes.

“Oh honey,” you coo, and the space beside him is taken, as you wrap your arms around him, your hands lifting off his shoulder for a brief second, only to latch back onto him. “Is touch okay?” He nods, unable to answer. He feels your hand thread through his hair, untangling the few knotted pieces and scratching at his scalp. “It’s okay, Tomura. No one’s here, it’s just me and you.”

It’s just you and him. There’s no one else. It’s him in your arms as you shush him gently, slowly pulling him closer to you. You mutter soothing words to him, pulling him slowly further into the bed. The pillows soft as they cushion his body, his hand held and knuckles kissed and he lowers himself, his head resting on your chest.

“You can hold my hand,” he says, watching as his bare hand is interlaced with yours. His hand is calloused, scarred and imperfect, and it fills your hand perfectly, overlapping and watching as your fingertips brush over a faint scar between his knuckles and the webbed part of his hand. You’re much warmer than he remembered, and without his gloves, you’re softer too.

“And you can hold mine,” you reply, a hand curving to brush his hair. “You can hold mine anytime you want.” He knows you’re being sweet to him because of how vulnerable he is, and he wonders if it were any other time, if it were someone else even, if you would be as kind. “What happened, Tomura?” You press further and exhaustion is heavy on him, dragging along him and opening old and new wounds. “Talk to me, honey.”

What is he supposed to say? What should he tell you? Does he have to? Would you be angry at him if he doesn’t? Would you pull away from him and would he be the cause of the failed relationship? He isn’t ready and perhaps he’ll never be ready to say it outloud. As short as the time frame was, he’s over it. It’s in the past. The screams and blood will always taint his skin no matter how many times he washes his hands, but it’s in the past. He’s accepted it. But he can’t tell himself the same thing about you. He wants to tell him that you wouldn’t leave him, not this far into the relationship, not after everything that you did and ignored, just to be with him, but it’s different. You may not be perfect, but you’re perfect for him. To him, you’re his everything. He wants you and he wants you to accept everything that he is.

“A lot of things resurfaced about my past,” he speaks slowly, testing the waters and when you press your lips to the top of his head, allowing for him to continue, he does so. He rises above, his knees straddling your body and your hands cup his face, brushing back his hair that falls like a white curtain separating the both of you from the outside world. “Kiss me, please,” he croaks, lowering his head, until he can feel your breath on his lips.

It's a rush of emotions, one where he falls onto you, gasping as if he’s dying, choked breath followed by tears that slide down his cheeks and linger on his tongue. You’re caught by surprise, your noise of shock muffled by the kiss. He lowers himself, his hands free of cloth, except for one wrapped in bandages, but he touches you. He lets his fingertips roam over your body, to touch against your neck and feel every small movement, the soft inhale, the way your spit travels down your throat, the beating pulse that is erratic and pounding under his fingertips. His hand hurts, aching with every harsh movement, warmth leaking out and if it weren’t for the thickness of the bandages, he's sure red would have stained the both of you by now. Your hands move from him, pulling down his hair, leaving him in a whining mess, and you hold his with your hands pressed and curled onto his back. His hands never leave you, dragging down your body, a piece of your clothing crumbles, tearing at the seams and leaving your collar ruined. When he pulls away, your face is heavy in a flush, your eyes wide and dazed but holding some semblance of rationality behind them. Pink flashes out to wet your lips and he goes to capture you in a kiss once more, so desperate to feel you but when you turn your head, he meets your cheeks.

“Tomura,” you whine, your hands back on his head, cradling him until he pulls away, his head turning, face burning in shame at the rejection. “I need you to talk to me first.” You turn away and your cheeks are heavy in color, and your smile isn’t one that he’s used to. “Please.” It isn’t you begging, it isn’t you on your knees pleading and crying for him to share himself, but it’s enough for him to make his mind dizzy and rest his head on your shoulder.

“Later,” he says, and he can feel your disappointment by the hitch in your breath. “I promise. Just- Just kiss me, please. I don’t wanna think for a while.”

Your hand is soft compared to his skin, running past old scars, past his skin that is dry, and you move past his ear, burning hot to cup the back of his head and pull him into a kiss and that’s all the acceptance that he needs. Your body bumps against his, and while you are gentle, he is in a frenzy, ready to rid himself of emotion and just give in to you, and he lays above you with burning eyes. He isn’t sure what to make of it, to feel your body so soft and giving and it makes his itch. A burning desire to scratch infects him, ruins him to his core and he’s left choking against nothing, his body collapsing beside yours and his hands clawing towards you like a child scared of the dark. His nails run down his neck, and old wounds are opened, leaving him with bloody hands and poison that runs through his body and forces him to turn away from you.

“Tomura,” you coo, your hands over his arms, pulling him to see you. “Sweetheart, you’re safe, you’re safe.” You repeat it as if it’s the only thing that can hold him together, as if anything else said to him would cause him to fall apart before you. He’s cradled against your chest, and his hold on you is tight, nails digging into your arms and he’s alone with you for a moment. “You’re tired,” your words are said in a soft whisper and he can only nod. “Don’t rush yourself. You went through a lot-” your hand flutters over where his hand is bandaged, held together by a brace and it hurts in the worst possible way- “just take a breather, okay? You’re allowed to rest, you’re allowed to feel good.”

He is destruction, a burning sense of desire to watch the world crumble away, leaving only things that his comrades care about. And leaving you for him. He could care less about anything else, he just needs you at this very moment. You hold onto him, letting your lips press against the top of his head and he’s realized that he’s still in his suit, his shoes still on and dirtying the bed with the dirt beneath him.

“I’m getting the bed dirty,” he says and for the moment, that’s the only thing that matters. The bed you share with him is ruined by him. “I didn’t mean to,” he says without emotion, a blank slate for him to fill in and when you move away and shift yourself away from him and he looks at your wounded, so fearful, so resentful of everything that bubbled up, and he’s reaching out towards you, his hand latching onto yours while the other nudges against your thigh.

The corners of your lips tilt into a sad smile, and you hold his hand, bringing it up to his lips to kiss softly at his knuckles that have been ravaged by his life. “I’m not going anyway,” you murmur against his skin. “Let me just help you change.” His hands are left empty, nipped by the cold air in the room.

It’s an intimate moment as he watches you fix your hair, your smile faint, but there as you fix yourself. The back of his hand is rubbed against his nose as he watches you untie his laces, his shoes removed and placed on the floor below the bed. In a brief moment of realization that he should help you, he shrugs off his jacket, letting it fall beside him, uncaring as it slips over the edge of the bed and crumples onto the floor. He struggles to unbutton the top of his shirt, fumbling with his fingers, the button catching and slipping and frustration starts to bloom. There’s a seed planted that he could just decay the shirt, but then your hands replace his and he’s left staring at you, watching as you slowly and delicately unbutton him, his shirt removed and his body chill.

Scars and bandages are wrapped against him, fresh gauze that is wrapped around his side, stuck to his skin and with his chest bare, his skin pricks with tiny bumps all over. “I’m cold,” he says, his mouth pulled into a frown.

You give him a soft hum and push yourself close to him, your lips pressed over a scar that curves around his chest. Your hands are pressed against his stomach, and with your touch, he feels vulnerable, as if it's his very soul that is bare and not him. He isn’t sure what to make of it, what he’s supposed to do as you kiss over every wound that decorates his body, your lips against his rib cage, and his heart beats faster with every kiss. He’s exhausted, but he forces his eyes to stay awake as you kiss him, as you let yourself hover over everything that he is, kissing his scars and brushing the tip of your nose against the edge of the gauze and he can only muster half a laugh, smiling at you, his hand combed between your hair as you look up at him.

“Let’s go to sleep, okay?” You rise and unbuckle his jeans for him, and he helps you shimmying out of them, his mouth pulled into a thin line when you pull down and accidently brush the rough material against a bruise.

The mattress cushions and molds to his shape as he sinks down and it’s much too soft for him. He isn’t used to something like this and yet, when the blanket that smells like spring covers against him, tucked under his chin and your arms that circle around him, everything is lifted off of him. Every overbearing weight, every hate and sadness is lifted from him and he’s left with exhaustion and the desire to just touch you. He turns around, his body close to being bare and his legs entangle with yours, and he buries himself into you, his eyes halfway closed and slowly, he pecks at your collarbone, his lips sticking to you and his breath is shaky and warm as he pulls away.

He wishes he could tell you what he needs to. He wishes that he could tell you everything, and that it wouldn’t change a thing and yet, he knows better. He knows you’d comfort him, give him the love and care he so desperately needed when he roamed the streets. He knows that you cradle him and treat him as if he were someone made out of porcelain. He needs you to think of him as someone strong, as someone who had gotten through life’s cruelty with only scars on his skin, not the repressed emotions of a child who was too scared to talk and reached for his mother’s arms.

“I got you Tomura,” you say his name as if it were something pure and sweet on your tongue, and he yearns for it. Your hands rub away the goosebumps over him and there’s a sort of light feeling that wraps around his heart. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? It’s just you and me.” His eyes are heavy and he focuses on how your chest rises and falls, how your fingertips tap against his body and circle over a smooth strip of skin that was once a scar, now healed. “I’ll be here for you.”

[cdroloisms]

originally i just wanted dream to recover, preferably in the syndicate. but after today's quackity lore? he deserves to fuck shit up for a bit. let him get his revenge. tommy got his revenge on dream, techno got his revenge on l'manberg, dream deserves to get revenge on quackity and sam! then he can recover after that lol

(context: ask was sent on march 16th and i am very. very late.)

but YEAH !! logic brain says revenge bad and cycle of violence will continue BUT emotion brain wants c!dream to go crazy go stupid !! go beat them up honey we’ll be here with juice boxes and fruit snacks when you’re done <3 

i wrote this while looping casino royale by derivakat for (checks time) something like 12 hours straight so uhh,,, yeah LMAO have some of c!dream going apeshit bc honestly he deserves it (/hj)

tw: implied torture, abuse, mentioned injuries, suicide, murder, explosions, death, violence, dark portrayals of c!dream, c!quackity, and c!sam, emotional distress, prison arc, pandora’s vault

Sam is uneasy long before he enters Las Nevadas - Quackity’s terse, serious-sounding string of texts he’d woken up to had sent his heart racing before the country even came into sight, and he’s pretty sure the pit in the middle of his gut since Dream escaped a week ago won’t disappear until the prisoner is either jailed or dead at his feet. Still, the city hardly does his anxiety any favors - each step within its limits feels a bit more like walking to his own death, the silent storefronts and looming, boarded up casino seeming to watch his every move, making him pick up his pace to move a little faster and avoid their judging gazes.

Stuck in his head as he is, it’s not until he’s halfway to the meeting place that he realizes how eerily quiet the place is - Las Nevadas has yet to be a particularly busy country with the casino yet to open and their recruits usually doing their own thing in the meantime, but still there’s usually at least one of them lingering on the city grounds, between Fundy’s work on his yacht and Foolish’s construction and whatever Slime does, usually involving an immense amount of following Quackity’s every move. The city as it right now feels much more like when it had been no more than a secret of his and Quackity, months spent with just the two of them working to make Big Q’s vision a reality. There’s something uniquely unnerving about it, like stepping into a ghost town, and Sam’s unease only grows.

“Sam!” Quackity calls from the base of the casino - Sam shades his eyes from the sun as he jogs over. Even from this far, it’s clear Q is displeased - his lips are flat in a small frown, skin taut from where the corner of his mouth is pulling at his scar. His tie is slightly askew and shirt rumpled - he looks disheveled, eyebrows narrowed irritatedly as he taps at something on his communicator. Sam smiles slightly, hollow.

“Hello Quackity,” he responds simply, drawing his trident and bringing it to his side. “You said we needed to meet?”

“Yeah,” Quackity’s voice is distracted, and he mumbles a curse as he jams his finger particularly hard against the communicator screen. “What is up with everyone today? They sent me these- weird fucking messages  and then we get here and nobody’s here-”

“Who?” Sam’s lips press together. “You mean like- Fundy? Or Foolish?” They seem to be the ones that Quackity got messages from most frequently, if he remembers right. He doesn’t know for sure - usually, Quackity handles the social side of managing Las Nevadas.

“Fundy, Purpled, Foolish, Slime-” Quackity makes a vague, affronted noise. “All of them! Where the hell are they?”

Sam pauses.

“Q, when did Slime learn to use a communicator?”

“That’s the green one, right?” Both of them freeze, whirling around to the voice behind them, seeing nothing but the empty, arched doorway of the still-locked casino. “Naïve. Easy to fool.” The voice pauses, barks a sharp, quiet laugh. “Made my job easy, at least.”

The voice is familiar- too familiar. Sam doesn’t think he’ll ever get that cadence out of his head, not after months after months spent in the prison, hearing it in every possible tone and form. Quackity’s shoulders are hunched up to his ears, teeth bared in a snarl.

“Dream- I fucking swear- where the hell are you?”

“Aw, not so brave when the other person can actually fight back, are we?” Dream’s voice is lilting, mocking, and Sam’s hands tighten on the trident. “Fine, I’ll show myself. I’m not like you- no need to extend this game any longer than necessary.”

Dream slinks out from the shadows, wearing all black and covered in netherite armor, seeming fiddling with a small, grey thing in one hand. HIs stance is wide, torso pulled close to the ground - instead of a mask, his outfit includes a hooded black cloak that pulls down over his face, barely offering a glimpse of his eye glaring from underneath it.

“I’m giving you three seconds to tell me why the hell you’re in my country,” Quackity growls, sword forming in his hand, blade still crusted over with old blood, “And I’ll make your death half as painful as it’ll be otherwise.”

Dream laughs, high-pitched and unstable. “Please- what are you gonna do with that thing?” Quackity stalks forward with a low, wordless yell and Sam only barely manages to snag him back by the wrist.

“Watch it, Q,” Sam mutters, looking closer. Sure enough, there’s a faint, reddish haze rising from Dream’s body, only barely visible, interspersed with some lighter blue wisps. Strength and Speed. “He’s got potions.”

“Outmatched, aren’t we?” Dream cocks his head to the side, a tight-lipped smile visible under the hood’s shadow. “What a shame. I was hoping for a good fight.”

Quackity curses at him, loudly, but mullishly stays in place instead of lashing out like earlier, and Sam hisses a small sigh of relief. He looks back over at Dream - under the sun, he looks worse than ever, armor doing little to hide the gaunt edge of his face, limbs skinny and shaking. His hands tremble, wrists kept close together, as he continues to move the thing within them from hand to hand, small and grey and smooth from what he can tell in flashes between scarred and calloused fingers. He’s still favoring his left side slightly, but his eyes are cold and clear as they follow his every movement, clearly lucid and intelligent. Unfortunately for them, Dream is the best of fighters at the worst of times, and he has no doubt that with potions on his side and themselves relatively unprepared for battle, any fight with him won’t go particularly well.

Negotiation it is, then. “Why are you here, Dream?” If they stall long enough, then the rest of the server can come to back them up, and then even Dream won’t be able to fight back for long. He and Quackity can figure out what to do with him once he’s safely back under their control - for now, they have to play things safe. He pulls out his communicator carefully with one hand, trying to avoid drawing attention to his movements. “I doubt you’re here for a housewarming visit.”

Dream waves his hand slightly. “Something like that-” he bares his teeth in a small smile. “How about a housewarming gift, instead?”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Quackity bites, aggressive in a way that speaks of how threatened he feels, and the pit in Sam’s stomach only grows. Dream’s eye seems to glow as he turns and presses his hands to the nearby wall; when he pulls them back, there’s a stone button fastened on the quartz.

“Say, Quackity,” Dream’s voice is too light to be anything but forced levity, rolling his shoulders back to try and hide the way his entire body has begun to shake even more violently than before. “How much TNT do you suppose it took for Wilbur to blow up L’manburg?”

Sam gasps, low and harsh through his teeth, a quiet, breathless no falling from his lips. Quackity’s head shakes, eyes widening in fury and denial.

“No- no what the fuck did you do- Dream what the absolute fuck did you do-”

“Eleven stacks of TNT, to blow up that country to kingdom come.” Dream laughs, directing his wild, manic expression to look them in the eye. “The amount of TNT hooked up to this thing is ten times that.”

“You’re a liar-” Quackity rushes forward, sword raised, “I’m going to fucking kill you-”

Sam grabs him, again, ignoring his yells to look at Dream, who’s still standing, seemingly unruffled, one hand hovering over the button that’ll spell doom for them all.

“That’ll kill all of us,” he tries to reason, panic clawing up his lungs, “You’re on your last life. You can’t-”

“And what, Warden, makes you think I give a single goddamn fuck about that?” Dream’s voice cracks, slightly, and for a moment Sam almost thinks he’ll break, that he can press the point until the other backs down - but Dream is nothing if not stubborn, and within seconds he’s composed himself again, looking at them with a determined set to his jaw that Sam recognizes well enough from Quackity’s visits to know that he won’t back down. “Everyone else is far away from here. I made sure of that. It’s just you, and Quackity, and me, and I’m pressing this button if it’s the last thing I do. Call it a parting shot, will you?”

Sam pulls at Quackity, wrist still locked in his grip. “Q, we have to leave.”

“I’m not letting him destroy this place Sam, are you out of your fucking mind? This- Las Nevadas- it’s everything- I’m not letting him take this place from me not again-”

“He’s going to kill us all, Quackity,” he throws a water bucket at his feet, charging up his trident. The sign taunts him at the edges of the city borders, far too far away for any of them to even hope to reach. “We have to go now-”

“Say your goodbyes,” Dream taunts, and there’s a quiet click. Sam smells the faint, smoky smell of redstone being activated, hears a hum growing in volume from the ground beneath him. He looks over to Dream, who has a hand pressing the button to the wall, fever-bright eyes wide and wet as he stares at his own hand before shutting them with a soft, almost serene smile. “And see you in hell.”

The world goes white.

[Dream was blown up by Dream.]

[Quackity was blown up by Dream.]

[awesamdude was blown up by Dream.]