#at least that's what the dollhouse WAS like

[misscrazyfangirl321]

topher & adelle: super hero au?

"Promise me," he says once, on a rare lucid day. "Promise me you won't use your powers on me."

Something twists in her gut. She's thought of it a thousand times: how easy it would be to slip into his mind, to rearrange scattered pieces and sew his thoughts into something new. All she'd have to do was make him forget the things he's done (and really, aren't those mostly her fault anyway?).

She reaches out, cupping his cheek, and he looks up at her with eyes soft and trusting. He knows what she could do now, but he isn't afraid. "Darling, I-" She can feel him, can feel the edge of his thoughts against her fingertips, and it would be the easiest thing in the world to follow that trail.

"You can't. Can't. Can't." He's slipping. She can feel it, can see it, and if she isn't careful, he'll bring her with him. "I have to fix this. I know there's a way, I just have to find it. And if you fix me, I can't. Adelle, please." He swallows. "It's me or the world."

You, she thinks. You a thousand times over.

But he is better than her; perhaps he always has been. And she hasn't been able to deny him anything for a very long time. So with one last brush of her thumb against his cheek, against his conscious, against the thoughts she'd give anything to replace, she releases him. "I promise, sweetheart."

She will not make him forget. His power has always been his mind: thinking, processing even faster than a computer. And now, still, those thoughts spin, clouded by the regret of a problem he never should have solved, muddied by the blood on his hands.

If only there was a way to fix him without making him forget. But minds are delicate things, and if she tries to take away the madness without the memory of what caused it, well...

It is, perhaps, a sign of sanity that he has shattered so thoroughly at bringing about the end of the world. To change that might turn him stone cold, and perhaps he would not care enough to make things right.

She will not fix him, but she will keep close by his side, and when he needs her, she will hold him close and whispers promises against his hair. Perhaps, just perhaps, this will be enough.

[victorluvsalice]

Valicer Multiamory Month, Day Twenty-One: Dreams (Multiplayer Wonderland AU)

We're heading into the home stretch of @polyamships's Multiamory March, and today's prompt is a nice simple one -- "Dreams!" And wouldn't you know it, I looked at that and went "oh, I could do something with the Multiplayer Wonderland AU for that." XD That's been a popular AU this month, it must be said... Anyway, here's Victor, Victoria, Emily, Alice, and Smiler all hanging out in Wonderland for a picnic via dream-spell, talking about how things are going in their various domains:

--

“So, how are things on the Moon, Emily?”

“Oh, excellent,” Emily responded, beaming as she picked up a blueberry jam sandwich. “Do you remember how barren it was when I first claimed it?”

“I do,” Victoria said with a nod, claiming a cucumber sandwich for herself. “Nothing but silvery sands as far as the eye could see.”

“Exactly! Which had a beauty of its own, yes, but now – now I’ve got a proper garden up there! With the most beautiful white flowers and blue trees! And there’s a village under construction – Alice, thank you so much for sending some of your gnome friends up to take a look at those cheese mines I found!”

“Oh, it was my pleasure,” Alice said, popping a fresh strawberry into her mouth. “And theirs too, from what the Elder tells me. Mining for cheese is much easier – and tastier – than mining for opals, after all.”

“I’m sure,” Emily tittered. “And they’ve been a wonderful help with fighting off those awful rat creatures. I keep trying to eradicate them entirely, but…” She sighed. “One more always pops up.”

“Unfortunately, psyches are not so easily cleansed as that,” Alice said sympathetically, eyes drifting to the bloodstains still marring the face of the weeping statue nearby. “Believe me, I know.”

“So do I,” Victoria agreed. “The Dollhouse is so much nicer these days, but I still have to deal with those horrible strangling veil monsters. They’re easily snipped up by my Scissors, yes, but…” She shrugged.

“At least destroying them is simple,” Victor said, sipping his apple juice. “I’m still rooting out an infestation of Nightmare Spiders in the Butterfly Jungle.” He grimaced. “I’ve been bitten twice so far.”

The others all winced. “Well, that’s not good,” Smiler said, setting down their lemonade in favor of taking his hand. “Things are pretty quiet on Smile Street right now – want me to come over with my Syringe? I bet a little Joy Serum would nicely counteract their venom.”

“And if that doesn’t work, a Vorpal Blade to the abdomen generally does,” Alice added, flicking her wrist.

“As I well know,” Victor nodded. “And I’d appreciate the help, but – tomorrow night. Tonight was supposed to be for our picnic here. And, uh, I don’t want to wake up mid-fight with a spider.”

“Me either,” Smiler admitted, pulling a face. “All right – tomorrow then. Not like it costs us that much to use the dream spell.”

“And it doesn’t cost me anything at all,” Emily added cheekily.

“No, you just have to spend all your magic on joining us in the real world,” Alice responded, giving her a little poke.

“Worth it.” Emily watched some Mock Sparrows fly by. “Though I would not mind if all of you could just live here too.”

“I don’t think any of us would mind that.” Alice leaned back, looking up at the perfect blue sky above, before smiling back down at her companions. “Maybe one day. In the meantime, who wants cake?”

[eveningdreams8]

(Miniature) couch restoration

I found this couch ( with a bunch of other things I didn't care about) for 2$ at a second hand store

Finding dollhouse miniatures is kind of rare around here so I grabbed it, I thought at worst it would be a cheap MDF off of AliExpress or something and I could repaint it, but once I scraped a bit of the paint off I was pleasantly surprised to find a nice wood finish!

There was at least 3 to 4 layers of paint through (⁠‘⁠◉⁠⌓⁠◉⁠’⁠) (white, gray, maybe white again and finally pink)

Out of curiosity I pried up the fabric which was obviously not the original, to find another unoriginal fabric and pried that up too and that was still not the original 🤣 matroshka doll of upholstery

After huffing 99% alcohol and paint brush cleaner for probably 5 or so hours I ended up with this

I left the back and seat of the couch rough as it would be covered in fabric anyway, it looks like that maybe at some point this got sanded in a few spots? I fixed it up by finally using my furniture repair markers as intended (mostly I don't think they had mini furniture in mind)

You can see on the left half where I tried different colours to see what would match best

Now new upholstery! I only had the original couch cushion seat so I decided to just redo the whole thing in silk of corse (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)⁠✧

I wanted it to look a little worn so I picked this really textured blueish green/cream dupini silk

From barbie would be embarrassed to have this in her house to Victorian centerpiece! Or well I would like to think so ;;;

[silhouettecrow]

365 Days of Writing Prompts: Day 337

Adjective: Gaudy

Noun: Dollhouse

Definitions for those who need/want them:

Gaudy: extravagantly bright or showy, typically so as to be tasteless

Dollhouse: a miniature toy house used for playing with dolls

[alteredphoenix]

Watching a Twitch streamer do Heaven-on-High runs and the fact that it takes place in a giant Japanese-inspired tower is reminding me of that one house level in Pikmin 4 and it's giving me whiplash.

[markleessodalite]

NCT Dream as Girl Dads

Headcanon: what would nct dream be like as girl dads?

content warnings: none that i can think of, its literally just how i think the members would behave if they had daughters so it should be fine unless you've got daddy issues (which is valid because so do i lol)

word count: 840

Mark:

Mark is completely enamored with anything his daughter does, whether it be big or small. Mark thinks that any little thing she does is a sign of who she’s going to be in life. She giggled at him when she was an infant? She must have a great sense of humor! She made him a fake lunch with her kitchen playset? She’s got the mind of a chef! She gets excited for the ride to visit grandma? She’s gonna travel the world one day! Mark as a dad can be summed up in one word– enthusiastic. His train of thought may be a bit idealistic (just because she likes playing on the swingset doesn’t mean she’ll be a pilot) but at least you know he will happily support her in whatever she does.

Renjun:

Gifts, gifts, and more gifts. Renjun’s daughter will always be dressed to the nines, even before she’s old enough to eat on her own– he’s got designer bibs at the ready. If she wants a dollhouse that’s 4 feet tall and takes up more space than her bed, she knows dad will get it for her (you told him to at least save it until her birthday, but he couldn’t wait). Renjun doesn’t see the harm in spoiling his little girl. Why would you not want to treat your daughter like a princess? However, Renjun is certainly not a pushover; his number one rule is bad attitude = no gifts, and he doesn’t tolerate brats.

Jeno:

Jeno is his daughter’s number one protector. No one is going to hurt his little girl on his watch. If any playground bullies push her out of the sandbox, it takes everything Jeno has to not lose it on the kid’s parents. In fact, he’s already… unpopular with the neighborhood parents, after he glared at a kid a little too hard for catching an attitude with his baby. It’ll get annoying when she’s a teenager and every boy at school is terrified to ask her on a date, but Jeno will say its good to be selective– because there’s nothing that would break his heart more than seeing his little girl in pain. 

Haechan:

Haechan is his daughter’s best friend. As soon as she was old enough to walk, he was planning all sorts of fun father-daughter activities. He’s gonna take her to the carnival, and the water park, and the mud flats, and the fairgrounds, and anywhere else that his daughter might want to go. Of course he’s going to raise her on good music too, and one of her favorite memories will be going to her very first concert with her dad. As she gets older it might take him time to understand that teenagers need privacy– she’s not so little anymore, and he can’t expect her to tell him everything she thought and felt like she used to. But that doesn’t mean he’ll ever stop being his babygirl’s best friend.

Jaemin:

Jaemin has very high standards for his precious girl. She’s the daughter of Na Jaemin after all– she only deserves the best! He makes sure she gets home cooked meals (and only the finest restaurants if they choose to go out), he takes advice from Renjun to get her the finest clothes, he only gets her bedsheets with a specific thread count and skincare products with specific ingredients. He may go a bit overboard sometimes, like when he tries to forbid her from seeing certain friends or from watching certain tv shows, but you know it comes from a place of care. He just wants the best influences for his little angel.

Chenle:

Chenle wants his daughter to be amazing in everything she does. He’s going to encourage her to pursue anything, as long as she’s pursuing something. He’ll have her enrolled in a variety of clubs and activities, he’ll help her study to get the best grades, he’ll do volunteer work with her so she can experience many different paths her life could take her. Sometimes you have to pull him back a bit when he’s putting a little too much stress on her, but he just sees so much potential in his daughter.

Jisung:

Jisung lets his daughter get away with everything, for better or worse. Jisung is not much of a disciplinarian… and it drives you a little insane. He just hates seeing his baby with tears in her eyes, even though you’ve explained that she’ll be fine in 5 minutes and move on to something else. She took a toy from another kid? Well… maybe we should just buy her that toy instead of scolding her. She’s refusing to lay down at bedtime? Well what if we just let her watch a movie with us? Jisung just wants his little girl to always be happy, and turning the dial from sweet dad to mean dad kills him. But he knows its his responsibility to raise his daughter, not just fawn over how cute she is. So he will turn into mean dad when he needs to. Begrudgingly.

[suiana]

i was playing this Roblox game and saw this funny thing so imagine a yandere! giant who just thinks humans are so cute!

you're a human and live in a world where humans co-exist with other species. merfolk, vampires, giants... you name it, you have it. in any case, humans are considered cute to other creatures because of how... fragile they are.

i mean, you can't really argue with that. humans really are much more fragile as compared to other species. soft flesh, shorter lifespans...

so when your giant friend confesses that he is in love with you, you visibly take a step back and say:

"um, you should find another giant to be with."

it's not like you were being mean or anything either. you knew that while most creatures found humans to be cute, not many of them would want to be with a human. you've been asked out as a prank by too many other species (especially faes). if he got with you... the both of you would be scorn by others. you're just doing him a favour and telling him to find someone else.

physically, he was also two to three times your size! it would've never worked out anyway. and you don't even like him like that! there was no reason for you to accept his confession.

he doesn't seem to understand your rejection though.

"aw, humans are so cute! don't worry, i'll take care of you!"

"no, what? i don't-"

"haha! come here darling!"

...you blocked him and ran away.

what? it was a normal reaction! anyone would react like that if they got chased by a big, tall, beefy man! thankfully, you managed to hide away from him for a good bit. that is, until today.

you were out getting your groceries until you saw this... this huge ass giant that looked like he was starved for days.

him. he found you.

you immediately tried running back into your house, but it was too late. the second he saw you, he sprinted in your direction and tried to get to you by poking several holes with his arm into your house. it would've have been pretty comical to watch if YOU WEREN'T THE ONE INSIDE THE HOUSE.

you know how hamsters always stare in fear whenever their human tried to pick them out of their cage all while cooing and smiling at them? yeah, that was you. except you weren't a hamster. and the smile on your giant's face was absolutely horrifying.

yes, there was a smile on his face. but the delirious expression and flushed cheeks made him look like someone who escaped from the mental hospital.

"darling! ah, why'd you run away? i searched everywhere for you... to think you'd be living in such a small house... do you like dollhouses?"

no. he was just comically large and you weren't.

"please- ugh."

you stare at him as he pulls his arms out of your broken windows, heart calming down slightly. ah, at least he was- wait, wait, wait! your mouth drops in a mixture of fear? shock? as he removes the roof of your house with one hand and grabs you with the other.

"much better. let's go back home now, shall we?"

he smiles at you, patting your head before throwing your detached roof onto your... house that looks like it got ran through.

damn it... you couldn't even stay scared...

your house that you bought with your own money got absolutely massacred! this is a crime! a tragedy!

he'll pay for his actions... you'll make sure of it...

"aw, darling! you look like a cute hamster now! you're rubbing your hands together like you're plotting something evil haha!"

damn him!

[lay-z]

dollhouse | 1 (prologue)

Based on personal experiences. This will be fun 🥰

Pairing: Cpt. John Price x AuPair!F!Reader Warnings/Info: 18+ MDNI | smut (male masturbation); humor; age gap; cussing

Synopsis: John Price needs a trustworthy nanny to take care of his precious baby daughter. Signing up as a host parent on an Au Pair agency website, he eventually matches with you.

When John finally accepts the fact that he can’t possibly do it alone any longer, he caves in and starts researching various Au Pair agencies. 

He reads reviews, experiences and even has Laswell investigate some of those agencies, before he eventually decides on one – Cultural Care Au Pair – and signs up as a host parent/family, looking for an international nanny. 

A whole process goes into signing up and getting approved as a host, a good amount of money and paperwork too, but John appreciates the agencies' effort to make sure the host families as well as the Au Pairs backgrounds are thoroughly checked. 

It took him long enough to accept that he will need help with his precious baby girl soon, so now he must make sure to find the most absolute trustworthy and perfect nanny for her. 

And it takes for fucking ever. 

His standards are quite high, he admits that; his Au Pair needs to have decent English skills and must have enough driving experience if she is to be trusted with his princess in the backseat, she needs to be in her mid-twenties at least and preferably has worked with children before. 

“A nice rack an’ bonnie face would be plus points eh, Cap’n?” 

John clicks his tongue in disdain and furrows his dark brows as he shakes his foolish Sergeant’s words from his head and keeps scrolling through profiles on his laptop instead. 

Oh, his bloody team of menaces had a proper blast when they found out their Captain is looking for an Au Pair to host; a young woman he’ll provide with a roof over the head and a weekly allowance in exchange for her services as a caretaker of his precious daughter. 

It does sound like the setup of a bad porn movie. He knows that. A single dad/military man looking for a young woman to live with him to take care of his child? 

He’s all too aware of how wrong it sounds, Thank you very much, MacTavish. 

Even this feels wrong somehow – checking out the Au Pair’s profiles, reading through their motivational letters, previous work experiences, hobbies, looking through their photos... 

John is sitting in his spacious living room, laptop perched on his lap again while he’s sitting in his favourite armchair, feet propped up on the matching footstool, browsing through profiles of young females, 17+.  

It’s even more bugging and tedious, because both host families and Au Pairs can only be matched with three profiles at a time – so no one can get overwhelmed, which means John is even more reserved with the matches he makes. Then again, the cards to find a good match are stacked against him as it is, being a single dad in his late 30s. 

He’s already figured out that most Au Pairs don’t want to work for a single dad, no matter how tame he looks in his profile picture, no matter how fancy his house is and no matter the fact that he will pay way more than the necessary allowance if it means his daughter is well taken care of. 

Bloody hell –  

John is about ready to call it a night again, log out of his profile and push this task to the next day, when your profile picture suddenly pops up on his screen, making him nearly choke on the sip of bourbon he just took. 

Your sweet smile, those sparkling eyes looking right at the camera, the way you’re holding that chubby baby in your arm, perched on your hip –  

He reads your name, says it out loud a few times and tests it on his tongue approvingly. 

And in a burst of vanity and rashness, John clicks on the ‘match’ button before he even realizes what he’s done and yet he doesn’t regret it once he’s practically studied your profile. 

It’s almost too good to be true, really. 

But then he looks through the other pictures you’ve uploaded to your profile; pictures of you with family, friends, at a café all casual and – there's that selfie of you in a white sundress, flashing another bedazzling smile and showing off a hint of your womanly curves – and John knows he’s in trouble when his cock gives a twitch of interest in his underwear. 

He shouldn’t be doing this; shouldn’t be looking at you with any other thought in his mind than ‘This could be a potentially good nanny for my sweet daughter’. 

“Fuck–” He grunts quietly, shifting in his seat as he sets his glass of bourbon down on the vintage side table to his right, because as much as he hates himself for it, he is currently looking at you with other intentions in his mind. 

The alcohol has turned his insides all warm and now the sight of you in that sundress is already burned into his retinas without his conscious consent; it’s not your fault, no – Gods, no.  

It’s the fact that John hasn’t seen a pretty and friendly-looking thing such as yourself in such a long time. It’s the fact that John wasn’t bothered to look at another woman since his ex-fiancée and mother of his child cheated on him and then disappeared to fuck knows where with another man. 

And now John’s large, calloused hand is already palming his half-hard erection through his slacks absentmindedly, working up that steady blood rush south while his eyes are trained on your picture, until they flicker briefly to scan around his dimly lit living room, almost expecting Gaz and Soap to pop out from behind the drawn curtains, pointing their fingers at their perverted Captain – laughing at him, because they were right in the end. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” John curses again, shaking those thoughts off his tired mind, because he needs this now and he’s going to indulge this once. 

Once. 

And then he will withdraw his match request with you before he loses all his self-restraint, because there is no way he can be trusted with you potentially living in his home. 

John keeps the laptop steady on his lap with his left hand while he rucks up his shirt enough to expose his buff chest and the dark coarse hair covering it and then he pops the button of his slacks open with ease, pulling the zipper down before his other hand dives past the waistband of his boxer briefs. 

An almost pained, low groan escapes his throat when he finally touches and frees his throbbing cock from his pants. 

He should feel ashamed by the sight of his leaking cockhead, knowing he’s getting this worked up because of an innocent picture of you – a young woman who has signed up on a website to help families take care of their children and definitely not to help some perverted single dad and soldier get off – but instead of stopping, he swipes his thumb over his slit and spreads the pearly slick along his thick length, using it as lube while he gives his cock two, three slow pumps. 

The musky smell of his own arousal hits his nostrils, and it only confirms the need to revoke the match again, to stay away from you at all costs, because he can’t remember the last woman who had this strong of an effect on him, but it was surely not his ex. 

John lets out another low groan when the image of you kneeling between his thighs and smiling up at him eagerly is conjured up in his mind against his will while he fists at his cock in faster and firm strokes, and then he finally lets go – lets his mind run free for a moment. 

He imagines what your voice might sound like, soft and angelic, perhaps a little raspy and sultry, calling him ‘sir’ or ‘Mr. Price’–  

His eyes flutter shut and his head lolls back against the headrest of his armchair, his chest heaves with a wanton moan, “O-oh... F-fuck –” 

And then, his blistering orgasm nearly catches him off-guard when the tension coils rapidly in his gut, his balls draw up taut, the muscles in his abdomen flex uncontrollably and John barely has time to cup his palm over his tip before he makes a complete mess of himself; thick, hot cum leaking through his scarred knuckles onto his dark happy trail while his hips keep bucking up into his own fist. 

Now, John is breathing heavy, his cheeks flushed uncharacteristically sheepish beneath his thick beard while he catches his breath and post-nut clarity begins to settle in. 

He feels like a complete degenerate and more than ashamed as he looks down at himself with a disdainful click of his tongue, poking it into his cheek as he assesses the situation. 

His cock is still hard in his grasp while his milky seed already threatens to dry up and become all sticky on his skin – so he needs a shower and another wank if he plans on sleeping peacefully tonight. 

John clenches his jaw when his eyes flicker back to the laptop screen on his lap, where your picture is still in full view, and his cock throbs meekly in his hand once more with a dirty mind of its own, and John exhales a huff through his nostrils. 

This is pathetic.  

It’s Friday, way past midnight, and Captain John Price has just knocked one out over an innocent, single picture of a beautiful woman on his search for a nanny for his daughter. 

No one could ever waterboard this information out of him. Ever. 

With his right hand a mess, John uses his weak hand to scroll, bids his non-verbal goodbye to your pics, albeit reluctantly, and goes back to your profile to un-match with you after his debauched deed just now. 

But then, his eyes narrow briefly before they widen, brows raising up to his hairline, when he realizes that he cannot take back his match request any longer. 

Because you have already accepted it. 

[celtrist]

RADIOMAID BAD END ROUTE

In these endings, it's more or less assumed Alastor has gotten out of his deal (if the route doesn't involve his owner)

Alastor is treated more as a toy than an actual husband, however, getting dressed up and playing with like one. Though, he prefers just his dress shirt and nothing more to wear most of the time. Alastor's room is full of toys that can be sometimes mistaken that he was one.

No one knows where Alastor is. No one but Niffty. She has him all nice and safe, locked away where no one can find him. Alastor was always fond of Niffty and her antics and after growing tired of dealing with everyone else, sought to at least give Niffty happiness to some capacity.

Alastor is more or less living in a doll house entertaining Niffty with her delusions. Always shackled with no way of escape, Alastor has more or less accepted being an oversized doll for the woman. He's more aware of her fanfiction and plays along with his role of being a "perfect husband".

While on the surface Alastor is simply playing house, he's also unfortunately victim to some of Niffty's more perverse ideas. Forced roleplays are not uncommon for Alastor to divulge Niffty with, even if those roleplays discomfort Alastor (with him in either position). It's also not uncommon for Niffty to leave him in more compromising positions and forget to clean up after herself to take care of her duties for the day.

But, it's all in the safety of the dollhouse, with Niffty happy enough for the both of them. So Alastor is at peace with all the misery that comes with it.

Yes. Alastor is practically living in the same room as Niffty's shrine to him, why do you ask?

As a little bonus to this one, this story is a good example of what a day could be like in the dollhouse! Of course, the original story has nothing to do with the official AU, but it was a good inspiration of how I wanted to approach Niffty's bad end!

[ronearoundblindly]

Wide Open Future (1)

Steve Rogers x agoraphobic!Reader

Summary: Steve saves you after the Battle of New York, but you don't want to be taken from your safe space.

Warnings for being self-indulgent, hurt/comfort that's not completed in this part, 'slow' burn (but it's not going to be super long in total), and none of those are actually warnings so much as content descriptions. Originally, this was a one-shot. Go figure. There are zero specification of male or female, ethnicity or size for this reader. WC ~2k

Life was fine until half of your apartment blew apart. In an instant, the whole outer wall evaporated, leaving you seven stories up, the floor (mostly) ripped out from under you.

Obviously, in the emergency, no one took the elevators, and through your front door to the hallway, you heard people run for the stairs. They passed you by, but that’s because you didn’t know any of your neighbors. You didn’t move though. You couldn’t.

The sound…the sounds got worse.

Unearthly shrieks from floating, flying whales. Explosions that rattled you to the bone. Human screams, outside and in. Rubble from the other two stories above you crashed down, chipping away chunks of your floor with it.

Your couch teetered for a while before it finally caved.

Your kitchen island peeled away in bits: countertop, dishwasher, and then the sink plumbing.

For some reason, the worst was your books cascading off the shelves like synchronized swimmers into a sparking pool of ash.

You didn’t move though. You couldn’t.

It grew dark. The sirens never stopped.

You got thirsty, then hungry, yet you stay so, so still.

This has gone on for hours now. Life as you know it is over, and you remain curled at the foot of your front door.

All the electricity is out. Your fridge is off and your food spoiling, but at least water stops shooting out of the destroyed sink. There are no working clocks. Your walls are bare, and your phone long since slid down the slanted rubble to god-knows-where. There’s no signal by then anyway.

You don’t make a single sound. You can’t. You’d rather die here than leave. The dusty air is taunting you. You’ve shifted from hyperventilating to holding your breath.

“I’ve got something. Hang on,” you hear just as a spotlight sweeps across your living room turned paper mache dollhouse.

“Jarvis, can you get me the tenant listing…yeah, looks like…apartment seven-four-three…oh.” The voice says your name. “I’m going to move this off of you, ok? Can you hear me?”

The gentle hand sweeps a thick layer of debris off of your head and back. You chance relaxing your hands to look at the face of your rescuer.

Him.

“No,” you dryly whisper. “I live here. ’S my home.”

“The building isn’t stable. We have to evacuate you.”

“No,” you try to scream, but it’s too hard to focus. You’re fighting to back up out of his reach, but rubble lies behind you. Your ankle slips into a crevice, stopped by strips of exposed rebar.

Captain America grabs your shaking arms. “I’m sorry,” he keeps saying, “I’m sorry. You can’t live here. It’s not safe.”

You repeat yourself, too. “I can’t leave. I can’t leave.”

He talks, but it’s not to you anymore. He checks that you’re the last they’ve found in the building. People got trapped in the stairwell beyond a point, and they’ve been handled. Cap announces he’s going to “see this one through and call it a night.”

You’d rather die than leave. Out there is not livable. Out there is unsafe.

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

You don’t believe him.

“I need you to trust me, just for a little while, alright?”

“I don’t want to go—“

“Close your eyes for me. Please? Just close your eyes until we get there.”

“No, please, no.”

He has to pry your body a little straighter to get ahold of you, and your shaking becomes so violent he adjusts, using sincere force to pin you to his chest before getting a running start.

He jumps across the chasm of your building to land on what sounds like a metal ramp and calls for the Jarvis person to take him home.

Home? It’s not your home. 

“It’ll be okay, I promise,” he says against your temple.

You’re frozen, shaking so badly words couldn’t form if you tried.

“I swear to you it will be okay.”

You haven’t spoken since.

He set you down on a bed, but you promptly crawled to the smallest, darkest space you could find, a closet full of Converses and jackets.

Cap, in his filthy suit, tossing the cowl onto the dresser, simply asks if you’re injured since he can’t get to you. You won’t let him see. The most he can do is hand you a bottle of water and a watch from his nightstand to hold.

Time is still going, still moving, even when you won’t.

Steve is…tired.

What he knows from J.A.R.V.I.S. is very little and very simple: you rented that one apartment for years, it has a magnetic keycard entry for the building, a regular key for your unit’s door, and there is no record of you ever entering since your move-in day. Your utilities are 35% higher than the average in the area. Because you are there all day. Because you never leave.

Because, as you yourself said, you can’t leave.

Steve sympathizes, he does, but he had to make the tough call. He wasn’t going to watch you die. He couldn’t live with himself if he left you there. This is the next-best and now only option.

He’s exhausted and starving. Shawarma only goes so far when vaulting across sheer drops to help find survivors in spots too dangerous for regular emergency crews. Steve alone found thirty-nine men, women, and children. Tony, with jet-pack feet and metal-armor biceps, rescued somewhere in the range of eighty people.

Great. Give Stark a medal. Steve couldn’t care less right now.

That’s not true, exactly, but after back-to-back-to-back calls with shelters all at-capacity or worse, he’s in need of sustenance, a shower, and clean clothes.

First, he chugs two of the protein shakes his fridge gets stocked with. It’s never been by his choice—and he never thought he’d be quite this grateful for modern packaging,—but today’s the day. Next, he chances a sweep through his room, snatching up sweats and then barricading himself in the bathroom. Despite wanting to stay beneath the hot spray forever, Steve rushes, concerned that you’re hurt in a way that wasn’t obvious.

He brings you another water and one of the shakes. He has no expectation of you wanting it. At the moment, however, there’s no other food ready to eat.

He grabs another washcloth, warming it under the tap, and slowly wipes at your face and hands. You certainly look terrible but luckily have nothing more than minor cuts.

Lucky.

He doesn’t feel lucky, and he imagines you don’t either.

“I’ll find you some place better in the morning,” he promises. “I’ll be out that door—“ he points “—on the couch if you need anything. I know you don’t want to,” Steve adds quietly, lacing his voice with as much reassurance as superhumanly possible, “but make yourself at home. You’re going to get through this.”

Before he can push himself off the floor, you grip his fingers in thanks, and he hopes, he wishes, he prays for that to be true.

It doesn’t feel like enough. It never feels like enough.

It’s small.

That’s good for your purposes of adjustment, and the fact that he’s never there (almost never) helps, too.

It’s all his stuff, not your stuff, but your whole life doesn’t exist anymore.

Jarvis, which is actually an AI wired through the walls or something, arranges for you to see your therapist via video chat on an enormous projection in the bedroom.

There’s a bedroom and bathroom. Theoretically, there is a grand common room just outside the door but you can’t.

“I’ve been told they won’t move you until a permanent place is found,” Dr. Lucien cuts in. You were staring at the door again, wondering. “Temporary shelters are so crowded right now people are getting transferred back and forth to wherever there’re beds. I’m told it’s no trouble to let you stay.”

Would Captain America kick you out?

“That’s good." You try to be brave. "I can do that.”

You work remotely—that’s always been easiest—and it’s a weird time where you have both less and more to do because the city is still in chaos, meaning you’re at your computer when Cap knocks before entering his own room.

“Hey,” he says carefully, “I just need to clean up.”

“Of course,” you reply automatically. In your mind, you shrink the world down to just the yard-long desk and this rolling chair. You focus on your screen and everything is fine.

Hearing the shower is no different here than that muted, rushing sound that came from your neighbor’s place before. You’ve had people you know in your space without much incident for a long time; the problem is mostly out there.

Cap leaves immediately. You almost don’t notice at all until a plate is plunked down on the desk.

“I’m gonna rest here for a bit if you don’t mind.”

“It’s…” You can hardly look up, knowing that he’s watching, knowing he can see inside this tiny bubble world you’ve managed to illusion yourself into. “It’s your room.”

“Turns out the couch is not very comfortable longterm.”

You nod and shrug. From the list of tasks left to complete, you’ll be working for a while yet.

“You got everything you need?”

He doesn’t lean in to make eye contact, you notice. He’s patient.

With twitching fingers, you pull away from the keyboard and slowly turn, controlling your breath to not seem panicked.

“I do, Captain Rogers. Thank you very much.”

His eyes are…not full of pity like you expected. He looks like a host eager to please a guest, but that’s ridiculous when you are indefinitely trapped here, constantly invading his home.

“Call me Steve, and I’m glad to help,” he replies softly.

In situations like this, it would be customary to say ‘no, I’ll get out of your hair,’ ‘I’ll just leave you to it,’ ‘please don’t put yourself out on my account,’ but that’s the thing: you cannot get out. You cannot leave. You don’t want to. You never, ever want to, and in this specific case, it’s actually Steve’s fault.

He raps his knuckles on the wood. “Little though it may be…”

Steve chugs a glass of water on his way to the bed—which you’ve made diligently every morning and changed the sheets twice now—and stretches across the half closer to the door. You’re comforted by the fact you didn’t steal the exact spot he sleeps in on top of bogarting his quarters.

You use his desk, you have clothes in the closet which Jarvis had someone bring you, and you etched out a corner of the bathtub rim for wash products. You’ve for sure done enough to invade already, so you stay silent and work while Steve falls asleep, snoring lightly.

You deep clean the bathroom one day when extremely restless, and although he insists you did not need to, Steve beams with gratitude.

You do a little more around the room, and a little more, and a little more.

The single room and en suite bathroom become your oasis, and—as promised—a safe space that you thoroughly dread leaving. The dread includes leaving Steve Rogers.

You know that all of those things will lead to another tragic episode once you have to move again. It makes you do more in hopes of being essential, of being needed to stay.

Steve pops his head in.

"Would you...would you want to watch a movie with me tonight? I checked out a few--well, I guess you'd call them 'classics' now--from the library, and I thought...maybe..."

With one flash of a smile, your oasis grows to two rooms. Life just might be fine again someday, just as he promised.

[Next Part]

A/N: I'm probably going to regret not just completing this before posting.

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @yiiiikesmish @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp @rogersideup (tagging you because this kinda reminded me of your series Late Night Talking which I love so much!) @rogersbarber @blogbog710 @yenzys-lucky-charm @thiquefunlover63 @ashesofblackroses @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn @late-to-the-party-81 @bigtreefest @mistressmkay @astheskycries @veryprairieberry

[defectivevillain]

this wallpaper glistens

pairing: Brahms Heelshire/Reader, minor Malcolm/Reader

reader's race & gender are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors are used.

You're Brahms' new babysitter. What you expect to be a laughably easy job quickly turns into something much more complicated.

word count: 2.3k | ao3 version

warnings: canon-typical blood/violence/stalking, non-con kiss (on the forehead)

author's notes: the pacing of this fic is a bit rushed, but it's fine.

also, the title is from dollhouse by melanie martinez because it fits too well.

You’re starting to think the Heelshires didn’t offer you nearly enough money for this. As you stand in the stately halls of their home, you have to second-guess why you came here. Sure, you need the money and your job search recently hasn’t been successful. But does all of that justify caring for this doll, Brahms—one the Heelshires adamantly treat as a real boy? You don’t think so.

Regardless, you’re here now—and you’d feel guilty for leaving the Heelshires’ home unoccupied in your departure. So, like it or not, you’re stuck here for a few weeks: until the elderly couple returns from their vacation. That excuse had been a bit confusing—when you asked them about their plans, they were strangely tight-lipped. But you weren’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth: as you agreed to get paid thousands of dollars for doing virtually nothing. 

At least, that’s what you thought. Then Mrs. Heelshire had given you a list of absurd rules… and you started to question things. They started off with innocent tasks, like reading Brahms a bedtime story every night and dressing him each morning. But they quickly grew strange and inexplicably strict. You’re not allowed to leave him alone or cover his face; you have to kiss him goodnight each night; and you’re forbidden from entering the attic. The Heelshires leave soon after they list these rules, leaving you with no rational explanation for this strangely humane treatment of an inanimate object. 

Now, you’re left alone in the house with nothing but a creepy doll for company. You have to admit it—the thing is unsettling. His eyes are sculpted wide open; his hair is weirdly realistic; and his clothes are reminiscent of a schoolboy’s. You immediately decide the Heelshires’ rules don’t mean a damn thing: the doll isn’t real. And you’re not going to do things you’re borderline uncomfortable with—kissing him goodnight, for example—just for their sanctity. Besides, they made no indication that they’d be monitoring your behavior—instead simply trusting you to comply. 

The thought brings a sarcastic huff to your lips. You roll your eyes and pick up the doll by the arm carelessly, walking into the nearest drawing room and placing him in the armchair. Taken with a strange sense of spite, you pat the doll on the head sarcastically before promptly exiting the room and closing the door behind you. 

Now, you’re just left with one question: how are you supposed to spend your time here? You settle for exploring the house and looking for entertainment. The library looks particularly promising, and you spend quite a bit of time simply looking around in there. 

When you emerge from the library, the clock strikes 6 p.m. and you realize you’re growing hungry. Frowning, you head out to the kitchen—only to find the door to the drawing room cracked open. That’s strange. You know you left the door shut, promising yourself to leave the doll in there and never return. Frowning, you glance into the room—only to find things exactly as you left them. Dismissing the strange occurrence, you head back to the kitchen and begin to make yourself dinner. At least, that’s your plan… until you notice the refrigerator door is slightly ajar. You shake your head in disbelief, shutting it and promptly scolding yourself for attributing any significance to the sight. 

Your first night passes without much fanfare. You wake up the next morning to find the door to the drawing room shut, which is a welcome and relieving sight. You must’ve just been paranoid earlier. Everything in the house looks exactly the same. (Although, why should you have expected otherwise?)

You split your time between reading, watching television, and making meals for yourself. It’s all horribly mundane, and if you weren’t getting paid for it, you think you’d be complaining. But you are getting compensated—as you’re reminded by the arrival of Malcolm one day, a man who seemingly works with the Heelshires. He gives you your first week’s pay and some groceries, before staying for some conversation. You have to admit, it’s rather nice to have some company. And Malcolm seems nice enough. The “no guests” rule does flit about in your mind, but you manage to push it aside. Malcolm leaves with the offer to call him if things ever go awry. 

Left to your own devices once more, you walk about the house in boredom. The drawing room door is exactly as you left it- Wait. You see a shadow pass across the ground in front of the door, as if there’s someone moving inside. Unnerved, you try to move away—only to hear the unexplained sound of music growing louder. There’s no one else in the house… and you haven’t played music since you arrived. Confused and a bit concerned, you remain standing in front of the door for a bit. Then, out of nowhere, the door slowly creaks open. 

The first thing you notice is that Brahms isn’t in the armchair anymore. Instead, he’s positioned with his back facing you—as he faces the open window. Swallowing past your growing unease, you decide to retrieve a blanket from your room and throw it over him. Then you firmly close the door and promise yourself not to go back. 

But it doesn’t seem to matter what you do: the doll keeps moving, as if it has a life of its own. When you walk past the drawing room after a mid-afternoon snack, you’re shocked to find the door open once more. And even worse, Brahms is standing in the doorway with the blanket fisted in his hand. You flinch in surprise as you’re greeted with the sight, your heart racing quickly. Brahms is still and unmoving. You crouch down and look into his eyes, which dispels any of your doubts. It’s just a doll. So why is this happening…? 

Is this some sort of karma for not enforcing or following the rules? Maybe the Heelshires are crueler than you thought, and they’re playing some sort of joke on you. You’d think they would have better things to do, but what do you know? Shaking your head in disbelief, you come to the unfortunate conclusion that you need to start treating Brahms as if he’s a living child you’re babysitting. Then, maybe, this weird behavior will go away—and whoever’s watching will stop messing with you.  

In the next week, you become the doll’s unofficial caretaker—doing everything from feeding and dressing him to reading him a bedtime story and kissing him goodnight. You’re not particularly happy about that last part, but you don’t want to take your chances and trigger any more pranks or jokes. After all, that’s really the only rational explanation for the doll’s movements. Besides, that conclusion puts your mind at ease. You don’t want to think about any of the other possibilities, because they’re both disturbing and increasingly fantastical. 

For a while, things are normal. Malcolm begins to stop by more frequently and the two of you get to know each other. He’s a pretty nice guy—and just about the only human company you’ve had throughout your time in the home. You’ve noticed that Brahms—or, moreover, whoever’s monitoring your behavior—always seems to act a bit restless when Malcolm is around. It must be due to the rule against guests; but, honestly, you’re not sure if Malcolm can be considered a guest, since he works for the family. 

When Malcolm reaches out to kiss you one night, you don’t stop him. Maybe it’s because you’re lonely in this house; maybe it’s because you’re bored. Or, hell, maybe it’s just because you’re starting to like him. Safe to say, you certainly don’t object to this new development—and soon, he’s backing you onto the bed of one of the guest rooms. 

Before things can escalate much further, however, the lights in the room flicker. You freeze; when they return moments later, the doll is lying on the bed next to you. You immediately flinch and Malcolm does too, the two of you quickly getting off the bed as any romantic tension in the air promptly dissipates. Both of you are weirded out by Brahms’ sudden appearance—a feeling which is only further amplified when you enter the main hall to find a message written on the floor. 

“NO GUESTS” is written in a troubling crimson hue. You only need to take one more step forward to recognize the coppery scent of blood, combined with the scattered corpses of rats from the traps laid around the house. Nausea stews in your gut; fortunately, Malcolm seems to have enough self-preservation to realize he shouldn’t be here, as he takes one look at the display and promptly flees the scene. You don’t blame him—and, honestly, you wish you could do the same. But the moment you take a small step towards the entryway, you recognize the uncanny sensation of breath hitting your neck. You whip around, only to find yourself staring into brown eyes behind a doll mask. 

A man stands in front of you, with dark messy hair and sweat-sheened skin. Your ears are ringing as you recognize the porcelain quality of the mask secured over his face—it’s horribly similar to the doll’s sculpted face. The man stares at you for several moments, tilting his head to the side and regarding you with interest. Your heart is thundering in your chest as you make the connection that has been eluding you this entire time: this man is Brahms. Brahms Heelshire isn’t dead—he’s been alive this entire time, residing within the walls of this house. And he’s standing in front of you. 

You immediately try to back away, but he swiftly reaches out and clamps a hand on your wrist. Then Brahms pulls you towards him, his hand rising to hold your jaw as he stares at you with an uncomfortably scrutinizing gaze. For several seconds, you’re frozen beneath his grip: entirely pliable as he studies you. 

What happens in the ensuing moments is a blur, as you’re easily manhandled into following behind him as he sneaks through the walls of the house until you’re somehow standing in the attic. The Heelshires’ rule immediately comes to mind: Never go in the attic. They knew about Brahms the whole time, didn’t they? Are they even coming back to the house? How long will you be stuck here? 

Immune to your frustrated thoughts, Brahms leads you towards his bed and silently gets under the covers. Then, he stares up at you expectantly. You look down at him in disbelief. Honestly, you’re still reeling from the thought that Brahms is actually alive—and has been hiding in the walls this entire time. You can barely comprehend that, let alone whatever the hell he’s doing right now. 

Clearly growing annoyed, Brahms yanks you forward and onto the bed—to the point where you have to shoot a hand out to catch yourself from falling into him. You’re now positioned over Brahms awkwardly, his hand on your collar tugging you closer to him. He’s staring at you expectantly, before he reaches out with his free hand and points to his forehead. You feel a shiver roll down your spine as you realize what he wants: a goodnight kiss. 

You’re not sure how long you hover there, fighting off your fear and apprehension, before Brahms grows impatient and harshly tugs you towards him. You quickly kiss him on the forehead and lean back, pretending not to notice how tightly he’s still holding you. 

In hindsight, it was foolish of you to think you could leave after tucking him in. Because somehow, even after you’ve complied with the rules, you haven’t done enough. You try to enforce some distance between the two of you, but Brahms growls and his grip on your collar tightens until he’s pulling you down again. A bolt of pure fear runs down your spine as you’re deftly maneuvered into a reclined position on the bed, lying next to Brahms.

Your heart is roaring in your ears and you’re breathing hard. If Brahms senses your anxiety, he doesn’t seem to care—as he instead breaches the distance between you and promptly fits himself against your side. His arm stretches out to wrap around your waist and you choke on a shaky breath. You can’t so much as adjust your posture even a minute amount, because he’s pushing you back into the mattress with an absurd amount of strength.

You’re not sure how long you lie there, staring up at the ceiling, before you chance a glance at Brahms. His eyes are closed and his breaths are calmer—he must be asleep now. You still have no hope of escaping: even a small shift in your positioning is enough for him to press into you further. 

It’s growing late, but you know you won’t be able to sleep at all. You’re only growing more restless as time passes, waiting for the inevitable moment when Brahms grows bored with you and kills you. After all, that was the entire reason behind his confinement, wasn’t it? He killed a friend at a young age; and his parents trapped him here in order to keep him from going to jail. 

The reminder is enough to send a renewed fear crawling up your chest. You don’t realize you’re crying until there’s a calloused hand wiping tears from your cheeks. Somehow, in your distress, you must’ve woken Brahms. He turns to the side and looks down at you for a long moment, before leaving inexplicably closer. Quick as lightning, he’s reaching down to press a goodnight kiss to your forehead—his porcelain mask almost cold against your skin. Then Brahms stares at you for several minutes. You’ve never felt such a stiff and oppressive silence before. 

Finally, after what feels like far too long, Brahms settles back in and closes his eyes once more—leaving you to your conflicting emotions and the uncompromising darkness. You’re not sure of much right now, save for one thing: it’s going to be a long night. 

thanks for reading! <3

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[sdmsims]

being annoying and thinking out loud here..

i've been at this for 6 years (or at least, that's how long this blog has been around for) and the way the general culture around modding has shifted is kinda. sad

like i sound like a broken record and many others have the same sentiment, but modding discoveries and advancements from today would've made people in 2018 shit their pants... and instead of it being harnessed for unbridled creativity, it just... sits.

modding has become a job now for people. a community that was built by hobbyists has turned overwhelmingly capitalistic, especially with the rise of SL sellers jumping to ts4 to make a quick buck with no real passion for the game or its community.

when modding becomes a paycheck, it also becomes stagnant. people are afraid to take risks and start things they may never finish and do things out of the ordinary, because that doesn't sell well.

and the most frustrating things is... people keep enabling this. yes, there's more and more people vocally upset about the increasing 'de-hobbyfication' of modding, but the community around the sims is huge, and considering how we see more and more SL brands flocking to get their fill... there's definitely a non-zero number of people who are allowing this to continue with their wallets

the sims 4, for all its flaws, is the most malleable sims game in my opinion. if you have a desire to learn and a goal, you can mold the game into whatever the hell you want - and that's amazing. it's the type of game with the type of freedom to expand on and change whatever that i dreamed about since i was a kid playing mysims. it can be just a dollhouse, a dressup game, a shitpost simulator... but it can also be whatever you want if you have an idea, some time, and patience.

so... despite it all, i encourage everyone to just create. make stupid meme tshirt recolors for yourself and your friend's inside jokes, convert your anime boyfriend's model parts just so your simself can make out with him, dig deeper and deeper into the paths that hobbyists of the past have forged to create something new and weird that caters to nobody but yourself

create what you want to see and what makes you happy, no matter how 'small' it is

[son1c]

i had another "plot" dream last night and it was kind of insane? like, first of all, starline was in it. and, basically, in my dream, he was still alive but instead of creating surge and kit to kill sonic and tails, he had a different plan. and it was kind of... a lot LOL like it was very much giving "guy with way too much time on his hands".

what starline did was basically create this like, dollhouse of a town in a very remote part of the world (it was specifically a snowy mountain, this will be relevant later). and he altered the memories of the people living there so they didn't remember sonic as the world hero(TM), but rather Their Small Town Hero who just so happened to live there and be awesome. the vibe was very... hallmark meets horror.

cuz starline ALSO kidnapped sonic, but i guess he knew he wouldn't be able to kill him? so in order to "get him out of the way" he just used the warp topaz to make him think he lived in this mountain town and also he reallyyyyy loved snowboarding (not a difficult thing to do, since he DOES love extreme sports and going fast down a snowy cliffside already agrees with his personality).

so like, months go by and no one can fucking find sonic right. he's just dropped off the face of the earth. and his friends are starting to get worried because yeah, sonic disappears sometimes. but never for this long and never without letting at least tails know he's alright. and it's especially bad because with sonic gone, now eggman is causing trouble, and it's exactly what starline wants. he is Winning.

BUT! eventually shadow is able to track down sonic ??? somehow. i think he was able to get information from rouge via her connection to g.u.n. about the town. anyway. when shadow finds sonic, sonic has no fucking idea what he's talking about, and he's also annoyed because there's gonna be a snowboarding competition soon, and he's totally icing the vibe, man. so the only way shadow can get sonic to listen to him is if he beats him in a snowboarding competition ???

like i said it felt VERY hallmark LOL. also something was sonic was talking in a british accent for some reason ??? i think it's cuz when he lost his memory in idw, he had that strange posh accent for some reason. it was very silly. anyway

[circeyoru]

Demonic Companion

[Alastor x Human!Reader]

Let's switch it up, this time you're the human and Alastor's back to his demon self

Part 1 (here)

Part 2

Others have an imaginary friend, and you think you got a demon from Hell

You didn’t even do anything, at least it wasn’t your fault. It was your friends’. They wanted to try summoning a demon after watching it on the internet since it looked fun and scary. It doesn’t actually happen, summoning an actual demon, so everyone was fine with it

Except you, of course. You objected, screamed and shouted ‘no’, even saying that there will be consequences. Though guess since everyone was a kid, no one really thought ahead, even when one did -aka you-, there wasn’t much of an arguable point to give out. You’re a kid, they’re a kid, so no authority, that’s the problem

So when an actual demon was summoned, what’s the next step? The demon, or Alastor, as he introduced himself was also known as the Radio Demon. Now Alastor offered a deal in exchange for whatever you and your friends wanted, he’d have your souls. Your friends were quick to agree, except for you, again

What did your friends want? The newest dollhouse, the toy car his parents wouldn’t buy for him, a giant fluffy soft toy bear, and a makeup set. Children, right?

You had unknowingly become the sole survivor of the weirdest and most nerve-wracking kidnapping in the city. How did 4 kids vanish, yet only one remained in an apartment? Your answer that no one believed was the work of a demon from Hell

You tried convincing your and your friends’ parents that, even the police, none believed. All the while Alastor would watch from the shadows and laugh at your attempt. As you grew up, you learned that there was no use and the suvivor’s guilt changed to numbness and indifference. It was your friends’ idea to summon a demon and accept deals without question, so it was never your fault

Though surprisingly, Alastor had stayed by your side since that summoning. He’d pop up from time to time to offer a deal to you, only later on did he give it a break and the two of you got to know each other

When you were of age, you got curious and asked Alastor about your friends’ souls that were in his care. Alastor causally stated that they weren’t worth your time, though he answered, that they were turned to his many shadow minions that serve him. You had asked him kindly if you could see them for a while moments

The second you did, you scolded them and shouted at them. Not caring they couldn’t even react or say anything back. In the end, you dropped to your knees and cried, because deep down, you still missed them. They weren’t bad friends but that stunt they pulled was not worth losing them

Alastor comforted you in his own way until you got over it. “Smile, my dear! You’re never fully dressed without one!” 

You lost count of how many times he said that to you and you questioned it once, well, more like snapped at him that a smile was just a smile, nothing more. Then the moment after had to be one of those intimidating ones. A smile, in his opinion, is a weapon, lets the people around him and his enemies guessing and thinking that he has the upper hand

Still though, above all else, he was the only person that was constant around you, never changing and always by your side. To that you’re grateful for

The relationship between you two was labelled as beneficial. The first time you heard it, you thought he was waiting for you to mature and do things to you, his radio track scratched so hard glass could break. He immediately denies it and says he has no interest in the romantics or sexual side of things. No, he was interested in entertainment, dark ones that would sate his boredom, and that’s what you were to him

At least, until you find yourself a romantic partner

A dainty soul that you had a crush on from middle school. You’d talk to Alastor about them for hours with the shy blush you had whenever you mentioned encounters or moments between the two of you. Your interest grew when you were of aged, being more confident -thanks to your intimating demon friend- and talented.  You had already caught the eyes of other individuals, both men and women, you were just that good!

The radio glitch moment came again when you told the joyous news to Alastor

He had been patiently waiting your return home so the two of you could have that movie night to start off the weekends, something he loathed but managed because you were there. He thought you were in trouble since you were late, but he waited since if you were in danger, he’d know. While you didn’t sign a contract with him, he still protected and cared for you. You would have questioned if he didn’t always say, “Oh, the entertainment you provide. You’re also my gateway to Earth! The poor souls around you for the taking.”

He opened the door for you that night when he heard you dropping the keys, you thanked him quickly and got in, locking the door behind you. You were surprised he was here since you thought you had time to calm down from excitement! Oh well, now that he’s here, no harm done! He’d be happy for you, maybe even relieved, since you wouldn’t be treating him like your diary to rant

“Ohh!! Alastor! The best thing happened to me just now, well, not just now, just now, it’s more like after school.”

“Did someone die?”

You paused in your smile as you froze, “What? No! Gosh, no!” Your mood returned as you grabbed his clawed hands, cupping them as you got close to him, “I have a partner! Like those ones from the ‘picture show’, you know!? Oh, right, no touchy.” You let go as quickly as you held him, missing his outreached hand that tried to hold your hand again, he loved your warmth on his. You turned your back to him as you ranted on, “My crush, now, lover! It’s like those cheesy movies! This is the best day of my life!”

Didn’t you say the best day of your life was Alastor coming into your life? Alastor’s smile was more forced as he listened to you. He hid his hands behind his back, clenching them hard as voodoo symbols appeared around him, more and more as your attention was away from him

“Isn’t it all great?” You had turned around with the biggest smile, oblivious to the rage your demonic friend was hiding. “Oh, I should ask, how’s your situation with Mimzy? You guys a thing?”

Ah, that lie he told you. He wanted to learn more about your romantic preferences but disguised it as him asking for advice on how to woo a demon girl with modern taste. He honestly never even thought about expressing feelings, not after spending so much time with you

“A work in progress, my dear!” Alastor lied. He’d never love that demoness that only came to him when she was in trouble. Not like you, the good and the bad times, you’d go to him, share with him your thoughts, and he can talk his mind to you. It wasn’t like you could betray him with another demon, you weren’t even in Hell! So he felt more at ease with you

“That’s good to hear, I’d love for you to find your happiness since you’ve been helping me so much.” Your heartfelt words melt his dark heart. Just why did that crush of yours hold your heart instead of him? His thought paused as you let out a sigh of relief, “After all, you must have better things to do than visit me up here, without a contract and all that. I think I can handle things from here.”

Were you cutting him off? 

“I have a date tomorrow and I need to be super super ready! It’s a date with my crush now lover!” You hyped yourself up, “So we don’t need have movie night for tonight, or ever. No need to put you through torture, watching a picture box and all.”

Alastor’s silence was a sign of his rage and disbelief. He didn’t think it was torture, it was just masking his excitement to sitting beside you. How he could hold you close when the time pass, how he could feel your warmth beside him, how he could actually relax from his persona and facade

“Is the news too much for you?” You got in front of him, tilting your head. So cutely

“It’s late but, congratulations, my dear!” Alastor beamed, a clapping soundtrack played from his microphone cane. “I knew you would have any soul you wish with that personality of yours! Why, if you could convince a demon such as I to stay by your side without a contract, no one alive can resist your charm!”

“Flattering as always.” You laughed along. You were entirely oblivious to his growing jealousy and envy, and he wasn’t even from the Envy Ring! “You can go back to H-”

“You know what we should have? A feast in celebration of you, my dear, finding love!” Alastor interrupted when he sensed you trying to push him away. Not on his watch. “Now, while you take a nice long bath, I’ll prepare us a meal fit for the occasion!”

“Really?” You asked while Alastor was pushing you to your bedroom, “But you don’t have to.”

Alastor’s shadow twisted as he fought back the urge to scream at you, to take it back, don’t cut him off from your life. “I insist, what are friends for? It’s only fair that I, your long-time companion, share your joy in this delightful surprise.”

Note: There's part 2 cause it was way too long. In the making so will be up later on~ Question, do you guys like fluff or angst or both?

〚Ծ_Ծ〛

Circe Y.

MASTERLIST

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Request for basically the shrunken down s/o incident but with the Fontaine girls (Lynette, Furina and Navia) and March 7th from HSR

(Genshin Impact/H:SR) Lynette, Furina, Navia, and March 7th with their S/O being shrunk

Lynette picks up S/O, gently, staring at them curiously as her ears twitched.

(Lynette) "What happened?"

(S/O) "How am I supposed to know? And why are you picking me up by my shirt like I'm a cat?!"

Her tail swished for a brief moment, giving away her amusement.

(Lynette) "I'm not sure."

As funny as she finds it, she immediately finds every contact she knows to figure out what was going on with S/O.

All the while, Lynette had a hat on, with S/O underneath it.

She would have left them at home, but considering there were cats everywhere, that was not a good idea.

Once she learned that they would return to normal after a few days, she has them in her hands 24/7.

(Lynette) "...You're cute when you're bite sized like this."

(S/O) "I am NOT a cat toy, Lynette."

She's mildly concerned, but as long as she was watching over, nothing would happen.

Furina laughs at the sight of her pocket sized loved one.

(Furina) "What a splendid trick! Since when could you perform such a logic defying ability?"

(S/O) "N-Never!"

(Furina) "Hah!....Ha...Oh, you're serious."

Her smile vanishes quickly as she scoops up S/O into her hands.

(Furina) "Fear not my tiny beloved, for nothing will bring you harm!"

(S/O) "I-I'm not sure I trust you to handle me carefully!"

(Furina) "Nonsense! Come, we shall find Neuvilette to cure you of this!"

Which she learned, this cannot be cured, at least not instantly.

They would just have to wait it out.

Well, it's a good thing Furina is not beholden to anyone, as she sits at home and watches S/O.

She has tiny water familiars the size of S/O play around with them to pass the time.

(S/O) "I feel like I'm in an aquarium right now..."

(Furina) "Oh, is that something you'd like to go to?"

(S/O) "When I'm this size, no. I feel like you'd feed me to the fish."

(Furina) "Why do you have no faith in me, my dear?"

S/O stared at the fish currently circling them.

(Furina) "Playing with you, and using you as fish food are quite different things!"

(S/O) "But I bet you're wanting to see what happens with your vision, aren't you?"

(Furina) "N-No!"

(S/O) "..."

(Furina) "...Maybe a little-"

Navia blushes slightly at the small S/O currently on her table.

(Navia) "You're...SO CUTE!"

(S/O) "Not the word I would've chosen-"

Navia makes them yelp as she scoops them into her hand and rubs them against her cheek.

(Navia) "SO TINY! Oh my gosh, you're adorable!...W-Wait, how did you get that way?!"

Navia rushes around like a madwoman, trying to find a cure or someone who knows about this kind of thing.

Meanwhile, S/O has a full bodyguard detail outside their room, and around the table they're on.

(S/O) "Alright, even you have guys have to admit this is a little overkill."

(Bodyguard) "S/O, you know better than any of us that trying to reign Miss Navia in is a fool's errand."

(S/O) "...Fair point."

Once she learns that the duration will run its course for the next few days, she spends this time creating the smallest macarons in existence, solely for S/O.

She has them use dollhouse furniture so they have somewhere to sleep and eat.

(S/O) "You're having fun with this aren't you?"

(Navia) "Well, I can't say this is the worst thing we've done together!"

(S/O) sigh "Well, thank you anyway for taking care of me."

(Navia) "Oh please. I'd do this even if you were normal height!"

March 7th stares silently at the tiny S/O standing on her bed, looking panicked at their predicament.

(March 7th) "..."

SNAP!

(S/O) "D-DID YOU JUST TAKE A PICTURE OF ME!?"

(March 7th) "You're right!"

She immediately gets in frame of her phone to take a selfie with her tiny S/O.

(March 7th) "Okay, NOW let's see what the heck is happening!"

Of all the people to tell her S/O's affliction, it was Pom-Pom.

And that this wouldn't last more than a few days at worst.

Thank the Aeons.

That meant March could live this up!

The entire time, March is taking pictures of S/O, giggling lightly.

(S/O) "For the record, if this happens to you-"

(March 7th) "Then I'll be as adorably pint-sized as you!"

(S/O) "You can at least show a little more concern!"

(March 7th) "I am! It's why no one else is allowed in this room! I bet Caelus would use you to go dumpster diving."

S/O shuddered at the thought, the smell was already bad but being this small...

(March 7th) "You're much better as a paperweight!"

Despite her teasing and carefree nature, there was truth to her words.

She violently rejects entry for ANYONE to go into her room while S/O is in this state because she's worried.

But, this would be a fond memory down the line she felt!

[ssahotchnerr]

so this is kind of heartbreaking but it's so 🥺🥺 at the same time, here it goes:

As a kid - and even now tbh - i used to have nightmares 24/7 for no apparent reason and I can't stop thinking like what if ellie had that? Like she sleeps in her little bed but always wakes up crying because of her nightmares 🥺🥺

At first you and Aaron have no idea what to do but comfort her and let her sleep in your bed for as long as she wants, saying it's a small phase and it'll pass (since maybe you or Jack or even Aaron had it when you were kids) but it just doesn't

He'd be so worried 🥺 taking his baby girl to every doctor he could find, asking Reid all about it and taking notes (literal notes, pen paper notes 😭) and trying everything

But the only thing that helps is holding her until she stops crying 🥺

My heart is broken but the thought is out 😃

omg 🥺

at first, you and aaron think it's just one of her famous excuses to sleep in your bed - due to her past history - but very soon it becomes very clear that's not the case 🥺 like ellie will already be sleeping in your bed, a nightmare wakes her up, and she's nearly inconsolable. she scrambles on top of aaron and clings onto him for dear life, and it then takes her ages to fall back asleep afterwards 😭

but yeah, you both think it'll run it's course and be over soon; jack had bad nightmares for a while - after foyet :( but those dreams at least had a clear reason as to why they were occurring. but for ellie?? you can't seem to figure out the reasoning at all. even asking her about them makes her super upset :(

and she's just soo exhausted some days due to the lack of sleep she's getting. she's more grumpy throughout the day - which is soo unlike her since she's the happiest little girl there ever was 🥺 has meltdowns over the tiniest things, falls asleep amidst playing with her toys. you peer into the playroom one day, and ellie's zonked out on the carpet in front of her dollhouse :( <3 plus she's so much more clinger than usual - she's either glued to aaron's or your side, and wants to do everything with you.

and aaron 🥺 worried is an understatement. he stays awake at night anticipating her waking up in terror, and he feels sooo incredibly guilty when he's away. he barely gets sleep those nights; knowing back home, ellie is going to be waking up all afraid and there's quite literally nothing he can do about it. and the fact he's the one who gets her to calm down when he's home too :( he fully knows you can manage without him of course, but he still feels like he's letting her down :( just the fact that the nightmares are simply continuing make him feel as if he's letting her down :( he wishes more than anything he could just take them away from her, resolve them, so his ellie bellie can be her happy, rested self again 🥺

the two of you are seeking out all the advice/help possible. you talk to numerous doctors, specialists, the team (more so reid), and try alternating ellie's daily routine. she doesn't watch the same shows, read the same books, maybe switch up her diet, in attempt to find what the trigger may be. in addition, you really try to relax her before bed: a warm bath, warm milk, cuddles, a nightlight, putting on soft music/a sound machine to fall asleep to. 🥺 just trying anything in order for her nightmares to stop :(