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bloodblanks · 2 months ago

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one umbrella cover two [mr. scarletella x reader] — chapter viii.

The concept of ‘names’ is brought up with the red umbrella man.

note: reader is not player (mc).

author’s note: dead dove: do not eat. this fanfiction will contain dark and explicit content, including heavy dub-con, stockholm syndrome, violence, and similar themes.

please read at your own discretion.

<- previous chapter

It was raining again. The constant downpour splashed upon everything in its wake, from the perfectly trimmed blades of grass on the lawn outside to the pool in the backyard—the one that had more time spent on maintenance than actual use.

His fingers rested upon the cool, smooth surface of the piano keys. They were monochrome in colour, much like the rooms in the villa and the world outside.

Everything, as he knew it, was dreary and devoid of life. Despite the constantly flourishing flowers and trees—the gardeners that father hired took good care of the flora—visible from the room’s window, he knew better. The place he resided in was nothing but a grave. It was a place where things, once alive, were buried and left to rot away.

He had seen it firsthand. That one evening where he had stumbled upon father bringing home his mistress, he had told mother. She died shortly afterwards.

Her ghost still hung around at home, making dinner for the family when they were around. When they weren’t, she was drinking the same bottle of Chardonnay while watching the same sitcom on the television. The housekeepers took the bottles out to hide the evidence of her death. The family didn’t want any prying eyes to notice how mother passed away. They didn’t want the others to dig into why.

Father’s affair was a secret, after all. A secret like one of the many others the long hallways whispered of at night, when the walls thought the residents stopped listening. A secret like one of the many others buried in this graveyard of a home.

“ ’ ?”

The older brother had just returned home. His ghost was dripping wet, soaked head to toe by the unforgiving, stormy conditions. He wondered if the brother was uncomfortable being drenched like that. If he was, he definitely didn’t show it. He appeared to be at ease, taking off his cashmere coat and hanging it on the clothing rack as he spoke.

“Yeah,” he replied after a minute. The older brother almost looked like he wanted to say something, but all he could hear was silence—static, and cold. He didn’t like the quietude. It amplified his solitude into something loud and cacophonous.

After the older brother left, he let his fingers skim across the keys of the grand piano. It was expensive; father had bought it for him when he said he wanted to learn an instrument. The piano was one of the many costly things purchased for him. One of the many expenses he was told to be grateful for.

Right, he was supposed to be thankful. He was supposed to appreciate the lifeless tomb and undead family, because the first was luxurious and the second had bestowed it upon him. He needed to be happy, because there was nothing he was missing, nothing he needed. He had everything he could want.

He kept playing, but he couldn’t hear the sound of the piano over the sound of the rainstorm, each raindrop seeming to shatter violently against the earth with a deafening crash. He kept playing, fingers dancing upon the keys in a way that was all too practiced and mechanical. He kept playing, hoping the melody would cut through the overwhelming static.

The rain outside kept falling, drowning out his hopes.

—

What appear?

The vision that flashed through his mind was like a bolt of thunder, the shock travelling straight down his spine. The images were surreal, showcasing structures and a world he didn’t recognize. What was even more surprising, however, were the thoughts he just had. Thoughts in a language he didn’t comprehend, yet at the same time, he had a visceral knowledge of the sentiments being uttered.

Not know. Not understand. Troubled.

He failed to grasp why he was being shown such things; why his head was being intruded by pictures and recollections that weren’t his. He didn’t know whose memories these were, but they weren’t—couldn’t be—his.

Nonetheless, he was deeply disturbed by the fragmented events displayed before him. Perhaps it wasn’t the imagery itself, but rather the fact that they evoked emotions and thoughts in him that he never experienced before.

Though he had a very limited understanding of what just occurred, there was something unsettling about him being able to comprehend it at all.

“Hello?” Your voice pierced his temporary disorientation, dispelling the unusual events from his thoughts. “You okay?”

Human here.

Right, you were here, and you had asked him a question earlier. It took him a moment to remember it, and when he did, he felt the insidious, harrowing feeling gnaw at his entrails once again. You had asked for his name.

Name. My name.

He was about to tell you his name, the sound almost on the tip of his tongue but dying prematurely as he realized he did not have an answer. He didn’t know his name. He wasn’t sure if he never had one—somehow, he felt like that wasn’t the case—or if he simply forgot it. Either way, he felt perturbed, an uneasy feeling making his gut turn.

“Not have,” he finally stated, the words carrying an astringent taste.

“▯▯...” You let out a small noise, one he understood as a sound of musing and uncertainty. He stayed silent, both to let you think but also because he wasn’t sure what to say himself.

“Me give you name?” you finally asked. He remembered you having asked the same question to the researcher—the one you affectionately called ‘Mr. Silvair.’

Not like.

Just the thought of you having given someone else a name when he was yet to receive one brought an unpleasant taste into his mouth. You were his gift. Your affection should be reserved for him, and yet you were being overly friendly with others that were very much not him.

It was displeasing, to say the least, but he wouldn’t hold it against you or become angry with you. He wouldn’t give you any reason to be afraid of him. You shouldn’t be afraid of him.

“Want name,” he declared. There was something still unnerving about his lack of a name. He wasn’t sure why, but something in him was convinced that he should have one. But then again, none of the other residents he knew of had names, either. The only ones that seemed to have names were humans.

Want you name.

Now that the thought of you having a name came into his mind, he realized he wanted to know it. He had to know it. You were given to him, and your name should be, too. It was part of you; it was your identity. It was you. And he wanted you.

“Hm,” you repeated the contemplative sound from earlier, before your eyes lit up. “Mr. Scarletella?”

Me like.

The sound of your proposed name for him rolled smoothly off your tongue, and he found himself wanting to hear it again. He found his chest feeling strange once again, his pulse feeling much too strong, much too heavy. His heart seemed to respond to you the way plain objects responded to the magician—in an utterly nonsensical, phantasmic way.

“You like?” you questioned.

“Me like,” he replied, before adding, “Want you name.”

Human surprise. Cute.

Your eyebrows raised ever so slightly, his demand seeming to catch you off guard momentarily. You quickly recomposed yourself before answering him.

“Y/N,” you said.

Name pleasant. A lot pleasant.

He liked the way Mr. Scarletella sounded coming from you, but your own name, too, left him feeling breathless, as if the oxygen in his lungs had been snuffed out like a candle. That bizarre organ in his chest was getting louder, and he felt the urge to grab and smother it to quiet it down.

“Y/N,” he repeated. Just saying your name brought a smile to his face, all his previous concerns evaporating, much like the tricks the masked magician liked to show. Perhaps you, too, were a magician. “Me like.”

—

Dark.

The darkness permeated your surroundings, shrouding you in a deep abyss. You were enveloped in something that you could never see, nor feel. When you reached forward, there was nothing for the tips of your fingers to brush against. There wasn’t anything in any of the other directions, either.

Ground.

The only shape you could feel was beneath your feet. The ground was the only solid, corporeal thing to exist in the vastness of this void. You, too, existed. But you weren’t sure if you were solid or corporeal. You didn’t know what you were. You simply were.

Seek.

You were looking for something. For what, you didn’t know either. But you searched. You walked through the abyss endlessly, but you never found anything. Everything you came across was the same—empty and dark.

Until it wasn’t.

Find.

Eventually, your splayed fingers touched something soft. Something that distinctly had a shape and texture, unlike the sensationless lacuna you were enveloped in.

Sound.

For the first time, you realized you could hear. There was something going through your ears; you could feel them absorbing the noise. It was sharp, it was piercing. It was a jarring contrast to the silence that had filled your senses for so long. You wanted to hear more of it.

Like.

You reached out to touch it again, and it repeated the sound. Loud and compelling. It also made other sounds, but this time the sounds were shorter in duration and varied. It didn’t matter what the exact sequence of sounds were, you realized you simply liked hearing.

You tried to touch it again, but this time, as soon as your fingertips brushed against it, it disappeared. You moved your hands all around you, but there wasn’t anything.

Want.

You didn’t know what it was, but you didn’t want it to be gone. You wanted it to stay. You wanted to hear it again. But to do that, you’d have to find it.

It never came back. You were left in solitude, alone with the abyss.

—

What a strange dream, you thought, stirring as you awakened from your slumber. It was different from any other dreams you’ve had. While your dreams could be surreal and incomprehensible sometimes, you were always still you. This time, it felt as if someone else’s head had been taken off and screwed onto your own. Or perhaps, like your mind had been altered and sewn into a missing patch of clothing that didn’t belong to you.

As bizarre as the feverish events that played through your mind were, you quickly set it aside. It was nothing more than a dream. A dream that felt personally invasive, but still a dream nonetheless.

You yawned, stretching your limbs out as your consciousness flooded in, your brain rebooting itself slowly.

For the first few seconds after opening your eyes, it was like you had woken up to any other ordinary day. Your mind hazy, soft bedsheets pulled up over you, and the comfort of your bed tempting you to allow your eyelids to fall once again.

But it didn’t take long for your eyes to snap wide open, your muscles going rigid as the knowledge that this isn’t your bed sinks in. No, it wasn’t just not your bed, it was also not your room. Furthermore, this place you were in was not even your world.

As soon as the realization set in, you could feel your heart rate begin to pick up speed, each beat louder than the last. The sudden recollection of your situation didn’t fail to wake you up, your mind instantly growing alert. You rushed to sit up, looking around for the red umbrella man—no, Mr. Scarletella. You had given him a name before you fell asleep. It was on a whim, but you quite liked the sound of it. At least, it was better than your first thought, which was merging red and umbrella together. Scarlet sounded much nicer with umbrella.

It wasn’t time to think of such trivial matters. There were more important matters at hand right now, such as the fact that you’d been kidnapped, you were feeling awfully thirsty, and most notably of all—your kidnapper wasn’t present.

A familiar idea came to mind. Now that you had done it once and gotten away with it, you were much less afraid to do it again. You had a better idea of what to expect outside as well, and if you could perhaps find the crawling man or Mr. Silvair again, they could assist you.

However, if you were to get caught, a possibility you should definitely account for, ‘hungry’ wouldn’t get you off this time. You glanced to the side, seeing the unfinished granola left.

As you frowned, your mouth feeling rancid—you wished you could brush your teeth right now—an asinine idea came to your mind. If hungry wouldn’t work, perhaps thirsty would. You did need to drink something, so you wouldn’t be lying. You were genuinely parched, and the dull, fuzzy ache in your head was evidently worsened by your dehydration.

The more you thought about it, the more you convinced yourself it was a solid enough excuse. Mr. Scarletella wasn’t mad at you the last time you escaped. And it’s not like you’d be wandering around for no reason. It was his fault for leaving you alone and without proper hydration. Right?

Right, you concluded, brazenly lying to yourself. Time to make a really bad decision.

You walked over to the exit, reaching out for the doorknob. At that very moment, your body locked up, muscles tensing and every ligament freezing over.

For a long time, you stood there, staring down at your hand. You blinked, did a double take, and tried to make sure you were truly seeing what was before you.

No matter how long you looked for, or how closely you examined your skin, nothing seemed to change.

Your fingers were irrefutably grey, your skin the same colour as the steel handle beside it.

next chapter ->

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thank you everyone for reading and supporting my work! (｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

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bonesmarinated · 10 months ago

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King Dipshit, an evil ghoul companion for my lone wanderer, old idea I had from FO3. I don't really have much on this guy except that I NEED to draw him out with a few journal entries from my lone wanderer - named Lovelock - describe King Dipshit. [entry_5 September 2277] King Dipshit - that's what people at Megaton call him - (I never ask why) is a foul man of small statues with a voice like a foghorn, rough language, and keen perception. [entry_10 September 2277] His favourite food are mirelurk pemmican, shit on a shingle (S.O.S) , and coffee. For the S.O.S, he said the meat is iguana but I'm quite sure they're either mutant or centaur flesh, or human, whatever. Mr. Dipshit offered me a plate of hot shit on shingle once, the meat was not very good. It tasted like the 'chef d'ouvre' of the devil's kitchen, the most offensive meat I ever tasted and so that I found it impossible to took another bite. He found my reaction amusing, but slightly annoyed, and go off murmuring insignificant notes in his foreign tongue. [entry_12 September 2277] Nasty, stinking, bitter, puddle water is how I describe Mr. Dipshit's coffee. He refuse to drink sweet potato coffee even though they're far more easy to come by and less costly. The nasty coffee made him very, very chatty and I soon learned he had excel me in talkativeness.

#fallout #fallout ghoul #oc #oc art #ghoul oc #fo3 #fallout 3 #my lone wanderer believe ghoul just have fucked up tastebud #king dipshit

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brummiereader · 1 year ago

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MASTERLIST

Unchained Melody (Part One)

Summary: It had been almost two years since you had become overwhelmed by motherhood, fleeing from both your husband and son in attempts to escape the suffocating blanket of worries and self-doubt that had enveloped you. With a life now filled with poverty, you scrimp and save every shilling, every penny to make the costly weekly journey to catch a glimpse of your son from afar at the market. But your usual Sunday trip back to Birmingham suddenly turns your life upside down for a second time when you are unexpectedly faced with the presence of your husband and his refusal to let you do anything but return to Arrow house, back to him and your son.

Warnings: Language, angst, smut, mutual pining, postpartum depression

Word count: 4993

Authors Note: This series is inspired by another oldie but goldie, "Unchained Melody" by The Righteous Brothers. Tommy's feelings will be heavily influenced by the lyrics of this melodic and timeless song throughout the story. The song Y/N sings to William is an old British classic called "I do like to be beside the seaside" .

"Calling at Birmingham New Street ladies and gentlemen, Birmingham New Street " the ticket conductor shouted walking briskly along the carriageway, going from coach to coach announcing the last and final call. One year, seven months and fifteen days. You thought to yourself picking at the frayed upholstered chair you was sitting on as a single solemn tear slipped over the curve of your cheek down into your lap, escaping the pools of your eyes too quickly for you to brush away. Not now Y/N. Don't start. You scolded yourself, not wanting to bring your fellow passengers' attention to your escaping emotions as you let yourself sink into the guilt you had been keeping tightly against your chest for almost two years, keeping it hidden from the vicious judgment and critical eyes it was undoubtedly worthy of as you did every Sunday you made the journey back to Birmingham, every Sunday you desperately tried to get a glimpse of your son from afar. Brushing the steady flow of tears from your face, you turned your head to the window, wiping the condensation that had built up on the tempered glass to see your reflection staring back at you, cruelly forcing you to see what you had become. Ragged clothing, unkempt hair and chapped hands, reddened from the countless hours you had worked night and day laundering linen for people that resembled your former self. You were unrecognisable, a far cry from the woman you once were, the wife and mother you once were. Broken and beaten, you were barely getting by with the hand life had dealt you. How had it come to this?

Nineteen and half months ago...

"He's crying darling. Y/N?" Tommy said, walking into the nursery after a relentless day in the city to find you in the rocking chair, aimlessly looking out the window as your son wailed loudly in your arms. You were starting to worry him. He'd been so occupied trying to make things legitimate for his new family that the long days he had spent with his head buried in paperwork were slowly turning into long sleepless nights stuck within the four walls of his office. The birth of his son had ignited an unstoppable force within him to keep the two people he loved the most safe and away from the wickedness of the world he himself played a role in, all at the behest and advice of those around him. He just had one more thing to do, one more thing to finalise, then he would stop. He'd promised himself.

"Tommy..." You muttered, blankly looking up at him as he took William from within your hold, the sudden quietness from his father's comforting warm arms snapping you out of your trance-like state. "He's hungry" you said as you picked up the small brown bear among all the various necessities needed to care for a child of only four months. "He just...he won't feed properly. Won't settle" you huffed, internally blaming yourself as you wiped the front of your blouse, reaching for your son, then suddenly recalling, afraid if you took him he'd start crying again. Was it you that unsettled him?

"He dropped his bear love, that's all. Maybe getting some teeth as well, ey little man?" Tommy said, looking at William as he tried to diffuse the criticism you were undoubtedly burdening yourself with. "Hey, c'mere" Tommy sighed, pulling you into his arms, pressing his lips to the crown of your head as tears welled in your eyes. You were slowly drifting away from him, he could feel it. But with Tommy being a man true to his time, he felt powerless as to what to do, what to say. Stiff upper lip, keep calm and carry on. The British way...maybe the wrong way. You'd pull through, wouldn't you? "We'll fetch him some warm cow's milk or a wet nurse, so you can get some sleep"

"No. No Tommy!" You angered quickly at the mere suggestion of anyone but you feeding your son, determined to battle through whatever it was that had a grasp on you without aid. "You think I'm a bad mum, don't you? You think I can't look after him?" you sobbed, your temper and fatigue spilling over into an angry display of pointing fingers and high emotions. You knew you were being unfair, you just...you couldn't help it. You needed an outlet for your mounting frustration, and unfortunately for Tommy he had the unlucky pleasure of being at the receiving end of it.

"Darling, I never said..." Tommy huffed, before you took your son back into your arms and your position in the rocking chair, your eyes fixing on a small light in the distance beyond the grounds of Arrow House as Williams bottom lip wobbled and his whimpers resumed. What would he do without you? Tommy reflected, a sudden feeling of guilt washing over him for all the nights he had spent away as he watched you in admiration, humming a soothing tune to his son, your fingers stroking gently over the curve of his ear and massaging the soft cushioned lobe until his cries quietened and he fell asleep. You were just tired, the small surprise weekend away in Blackpool he had planned in a few days time for the three of you would see an end to your worries. Sea air and sandy beaches, just what any doctor would order. Then he'd stop, he'd try harder. He'd promised himself.

" Fuck baby...you feel so good" Tommy moaned against your ear, his labored breath hot against your skin. "Let me make you feel good eh?" He said breathlessly, sliding his finger down between you both as he pressed on the small bundle of nerves swollen from his thrusts. Just relax. You told yourself. And for the love of god, stop fucking thinking too much. You berated yourself once again as you closed your eyes, a feeling of guilt pooling in your stomach from the little attention and affection you had given your husband since the birth of your son. One month since you were last intimate, one full month since you had let him get close to you. Had he been with someone else? Your brain quickly panicked at the thought of him with another woman when a hard thrust from Tommy had you moaning into his shoulder, your hands threading through his soft hair as he kissed down your neck sending a ripple of goosebumps over your body.

"Wait...Tommy not there" you pulled his head up as his tongue swiped over your nipple. "Shit" you huffed as a trickle of milk flowed down your cleavage whilst you frantically scrambled for the freshly laundered sheets to wipe away your embarrassment.

"Y/N, darling, it's ok" Tommy chuckled, kissing tenderly around your swollen breast as he rocked his hips into you, his thrusts suddenly intensifying when his eyes darted down to between you both. "Stop. Let me see you" he said, pushing your self-conscious hands away from shielding your stomach from the small scars you bared from nine months of carrying his child. " Fuck sweetheart...look at you" He moaned watching himself drive in and out of you, his wet length glistening, the sight sending a surge of pleasure through his throbbing cock. He's so into it. Why? Was he just saying these things, was he thinking of another woman? Your mind plagued you as you reluctantly kept your hands by your side. You felt like shit, looked worse than shit. That and your mind was elsewhere, to a never ending timetable of feeds and nappy changes you seemed incapable of getting right. As the room filled with the moans of your husband and the sound of his body basking in the awaited comfort of you he'd been patiently longing for, your eyes drifted over his lean shoulders to your suitcase covered by the netted curtains of your grand bedroom window. With the sudden fear that you had already made your decision, you turned your head to your husband, crashing your lips onto his as you held tightly onto his broad frame. Would this be the last time? The last time you felt the weight of his body on top of yours?

"Tommy..." you whimpered, a tear falling down the side of your cheek, desperate to tell him how much you were struggling as he gasped at your sudden eagerness, unaware of your inner turmoil in the throes of his own pleasure as a surge of electricity fueled by adoration pumped through his body, his imminent high quickly approaching. With every part of you clutching onto him, tightly clenching you both to a daze of heightened arousal, you let go, loudly crying your husband's name.

" Fuck...i'm gonna, Y/N I'm..." Tommy moaned incoherently into the curve of your neck as his fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thigh and his hips came to a sudden stop, releasing the built up tension he had been desperate to be rid of inside the tight warmth of your body with a shaky groan leaving his lips. "We've still got it eh?" Tommy chuckled breathlessly moments later as he settled down beside you, pulling you into his strong hold.

"Still" you replied quietly as you turned your head to look at him." I love you" you said longingly, your voice catching in your throat as you buried your face into his chest, hiding the shame in your eyes of the choice you knew you had made.

" I love you too. Y/N what's..." He said, tilting your chin up to look at him, cutting his words off and what he really wanted to ask, as the glazed over look in your eyes sent an uncomfortable heavy feeling of worry to the pit of his stomach. The far-away look in your eyes frightening him more than any enemy he had ever come up against. You were just tired, he'd call Polly tomorrow morning to come and help you with the baby. Tommy reassured himself as he held you tightly in his arms, his hand cupping the side of your head as he pressed a yearning kiss to your temple. This weekend would fix everything.

" Y/N...baby's crying..." Tommy mumbled half asleep as he rolled over, so used to you being the first to bolt up and hurry to your sons' whimpers. A dairy cow in human form, a living comforter to aid your son to sleep. You couldn't help but feel as you rubbed the fatigue from your dry eyes, another surge of guilt hurtling your way for thinking such things.

"Shhh darling, mummy's here" you said flatly as you approached his bassinet, picking him up and cradling him in your arms. "Please William, please stop crying. I'm so tired, I'm..." you sobbed, caressing his soft skin as you placed the tip of your finger to his mouth for him to suckle on. "What do I do? Help me William" you cried quietly in desperation, rocking him back and forth in your arms as you looked up at the ceiling, tears streaming down your face, your mind absent from the fact you were doing it, you were doing everything any mother would do in an attempt to soothe their child. Why couldn't you see it? "I don't know what's wrong with me" you sobbed to yourself, sniffing away the tears as you looked down at your son, his finger holding tightly onto yours as Frances the housekeeper listened outside the nursery door, her hand firmly enclosed around the handle, every part of her wanting to enter and magic your distress away. The thousand yard stare, they called it. She had seen it with her sister after the birth of her niece and then she saw it with you, the moment Tommy returned to work, popping your little bubble of the three of you lying in bed blissfully happy within the comfort of one another. She'd talk to Tommy in the morning. She promised herself as she backed away from the door, and back to her duties. She promised.

"Oh I do like to be beside...the seaside. Oh I do like to be beside the sea" you sang quietly, your bottom lip wobbling with each passing word. "I love you, I love you so much" you cried as you placed your son back into his cot, pulling out your handkerchief with your name embroidered delicately in the center for him to hold, hoping the scent of you engraved into the light fabric would comfort him in your absence." I'm sorry William, I...I can't be the mother you need " you sobbed as his little fingers clutched around the small piece of cotton. "Daddy will look after you, better than I can" you said as you bent down, placing a tender kiss to his head. "I just need a little break, a small one. I'll be back, I promise" Your voice broke, tears streaming down your cheeks as you gently glided your finger over his ear, caressing his soft skin and gently lulling him into sweet dreams and slumber. "Goodbye my love, my sweet, sweet boy" you cried, turning to the door and shutting it as a searing pain shot through your chest, through your shattered heart and the unbreakable bond a mother shares with her child, tearing and fraying from what you was about to do. Would you ever be able to come back from this?

"Come back to bed darling..." Tommy mumbled as you stood beside him, running your hands through the top of his hair, a quiet moan escaping his lips in response to your gentle touch as he lazily reached for your hand before his weighted eyes and tired body drifted him back into a heavy sleep.

"Soon Tommy..." You replied, muffling your sobs as you picked up your suitcase and turned to the door, glancing back one last time to your husband, to the love of your life. Meters away, it may as well have been miles. You thought to yourself as you came to the end of the long driveway of your home when the light of your son's bedroom suddenly turned on in the far distance and the loud call of your name from the depths of your husband's lungs resonated throughout the grounds. There was no going back now, it was done. They were better off without you.

Present day...

"Fuck sake" you mumbled quietly, hiding your face in your shoulder as you frantically wiped your tears away from the memory of the night when you abandoned your family and your former self. As you cursed yourself for being being so weak, so feeble, the small girl seated opposite you scrunched her brow in confusion, her little thoughts plagued with worry as to what had you so upset, as her mother, who looked as tired and weighed down with her own misgivings, sent you a sympathetic knowing smile.

"Hardly the time and place to let one's emotions get the better of them, this is public transport not a woman's bloody wash house" a man seated next to you clothed in the finest of suits grumbled rolling his eyes, begrudging the fact the train was not divided by class when the engine suddenly came to a stop and the mother ushered her daughter out of the carriage giving the gentleman a stern look, all while her daughter conveniently stepped onto, rather than other the pompous man's foot dirtying his perfectly polished loathers. "The little..." He spat as he folded his newspaper in half, turning to face you as if you had a role in the small girls worthy retribution. "Thiefs, whores and murderers. What would one except from this dump they call the second-biggest city in England" he seethed looking at you from head to toe as you stood to leave when he crassly stuck his foot out, causing you to fall face first onto the grimy train floor as a satisfied scoff left his lips. You were nothing to him, a beggar, the scum of the slums of the city he reluctantly found himself in. With no will or want to confront him about what you believe you undoubtedly deserved, you stood up, wiping the front of your dress down and adjusting your hat with only one thing on your mind...your son.

" Excuse me...please, excuse me" you said, pushing your way through the bustling market. You were already late, and with only the briefest of opportunities to get a glimpse of your child until another full seven days passed, and he made his Sunday outing with Frances again, you were desperate to see him. Standing by a stall filled with seasonal fresh fruits and juices you adjusted your woven hat, pushing the knotted strands of hair behind your ears in attempt to make yourself look proper, more presentable. Who were you kidding, you were but a ghost in a crowd full of people. Your disheveled appearance your only shield and cover from any potential sightings of yourself that could be relayed back to your husband. If he cared to know. You thought to yourself as you raised your head, your breath suddenly catching in your throat. There he was, your William. Watching from a distance, you followed his small wobbly steps, his hand holding tightly onto France's as the sun beamed down on them, heading with determination to the market stall he made a beeline for every Sunday. Perching yourself on a large wooden barrel next to a shelf of neatly stacked bottles of cider, you smiled as your shaky fingers came up to cover the joy on your lips as your former housekeeper picked up your son and showed him all the various jars of sweets and lollipops his wondrous eyes were beaming at. "Barley Sugars" you whispered, a small laugh leaving your lips as he pointed to his favorite and only choice of sweets whilst Frances tried to coax him into trying something different, when a smartly dressed man stood beside them turned around. Tommy.

"Barley Sugars again, eh?" Tommy chuckled, nodding to the stallholder as he reached into his pocket for a penny, smiling lovingly at the boy that resembled you more with each passing day. Wha...what was he doing here? You panicked at the unexpected sight of your husband, the last time being the night you had left him sleeping soundly in your shared bed. With shaky legs and your panicked eyes darting frantically around the market for any of his men, you slid off the barrel stumbling backwards into the shelf of cider, causing a small commotion of crashing glass and spilled beverages.

"You'll 'av to pay for that, miss" The seller frowned, waving his finger at you as he came marching around his stall to your trembling body frantically picking up the shattered glass, apologising profusely for the days' takings and mess you had made. With unsteady feet you stood up, your eyes cast down at the muddied ground, unable to meet the piercing stare you could already feel boring into you with every stifled breath that left your lips.

"Y/N..." Tommy whispered as he steadied himself against the wooden frame of the market stand, his knees buckling, his eyes widening in disbelief as time and everything around him suddenly slowed to an abrupt stillness, his ears deafening him with a piercing high-pitched whistle. "Y/N" he voiced louder, as the sound of the teeming market entered his muffled eardrums and your sheepish eyes finally met his." Y/N" Tommy called your name again as he pushed through the crowds of people, his eyes fixed on you as you started walking backwards, tears welling in your eyes from the panic firmly setting in."Y/N Shelby!" His voiced boomed into the crisp spring air, gaining everyone's attention, his brisk pace turning into a quickened run as he stumbled past people in a frantic attempt to get to you. "No! Don't you dare!" He bellowed, fear tightening in his chest as he watched you turn and run out of the market when he misplaced his foot and fell forward, tripping over the curb of the path as the end of your dress glided behind the corner of the bricked wall and out of sight.

" Shit...shit!" You sobbed running through the cobbled streets as you scanned the neighborhood in a frenzy of labored breaths and hysterical cries for somewhere to hide. What was he doing here?

" Hey, hey!" Tommy said, turning the corner onto the street you had been on mere seconds ago as he grabbed the arm of a young boy running past him with a hoop and stick in his hand. "Have you...have you seen a girl, in a...a dark red dress" Tommy asked breathlessly, whilst his mind frantically tried to make sense if what he saw was real, if you were real.

"That way, Mister" the rosy-cheeked child replied, pointing to a back alley leading to a row of terraced houses before running off to his friends that were patiently waiting for him at the bottom of the street. With shaky steps Tommy ran across the road, raising his hand in apology to a car and it's horn blaring at him from the near collision his dazed state caused. With his hands trembling, and his breath held within the tight confines of his burning lungs, Tommy turned the corner. And, there you were.

"Tommy..." You sobbed, backing up against the roughness of the slabbed wall as he stood in front of you, his own eyes welling with the unspent tears he'd been holding in for the past two years in an attempt to push away the reality of your absence.

"You're dead...I..." he said, his voice catching in his throat as he stepped closer, his brow furrowing in confusion at the acceptance he had surrendered to, now thrown into a disarray. " I.. I thought you were dead" he muttered in front of you as you shook your head, the back of his hand coming up to gingerly stroke across your cheek as the soothing coolness of his wedding band he couldn't bare to part with brushed along your delicate skin. But as the initial shock slowly started to fade, Tommy's jaw suddenly tightened and his gentle touch dug into your skin, his fingers twisting in anger as the creases of his brow deepened and the fury of feeling fooled took over. "I thought you were fucking dead!" He snapped through gritted teeth grabbing your chin, his grip painfully pushing into your flesh as he pressed his forehead to yours and his own tears spilled over between the curves of your cheeks. "Fuck!" He bellowed pushing your face away in disgust as he stumbled back to the wall opposite you, pulling his peaked cap from his head to cover his face as his body forced the contents of his stomach up onto the bricked floor. For months he had believed you had killed yourself, thrown yourself in the cut. And for months he blamed himself, burdening his body and mind with the responsibility of your death. The realisation and shock of you being alive was too much for his body to comprehend, even for someone as hardened to life as himself. " I thought you were dead..." Tommy wept quietly as he turned his head away from you, his reserved demeanour crumbling apart, leaving a man broken and tired from two years of heartbreak in its wake.

" Tommy I'm sorry, I..." You sobbed, approaching him as he put his hand out to stop you.

" No. You don't get to do that. You don't get to fucking say sorry" he sniffed back his tears cutting off your meek attempt to apologise as he stood up wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his disheveled hair hanging over the perspiration sticking to his forehead." Why?" His voice wobbled barely above a whispered as he searched your eyes for an answer, his back pressed firmly against the brick wall to stop his legs from finally giving in as the adrenaline that had been pumping furiously through his veins slowly dispersed and fatigue took over.

" I couldn't do it anymore Tommy, I..."

" Mummy!" a little voice caught your attention as you turned your head and your eyes widened in disbelief at the sight of your son in Frances' arms mere feet from you, his little hands reaching desperately for you as Tommy watched your panicked reaction, a scoff catching in his throat when your eyes sheepishly darted away from your son and back to him.

"Mrs Shelby..." France's voice broke as her hand flew to her mouth and tears pooled in her eyes at the sight of you standing before her. For she believed as everyone else did, that the poor Mrs Shelby had succumbed to her troubles and parted from this world, now free of her tormented mind.

" Take William to the car, Frances" Tommy ordered turning away, adjusting his coat and demeanour as he breathed heavily through his mouth, every part of him desperately trying to regain some form of composure.

" Mummy! Mummy!" Your son wailed as your eyes brimmed with tears, and you apprehensively stepped towards him with your hands out when Tommy hurried between you both, and you came face to face with the remnants of his anger firmly etched on his face once again. He didn't trust you. Your initial reaction to seeing William not good enough of one for your husband who was now evaluating your every move, your every word.

" Mummy's coming, isn't she?" Tommy said, grabbing you by your arm as he waited for a response, his jaw tightening at every passing second as his patience grew thin, unwilling to let you go, unwilling to give you an option. "Isn't she?"

" Yes" you whispered, nodding your head as Frances hurried to the car with William wailing loudly in her arms.

" Look at you" Tommy said, glaring at you from head to toe, his words laced in disdain as he took off your hat, throwing it to the muddied ground with despise. Disheveled clothes, matted hair and muddied fingers. He had given you the world, given you a warm home, anything you could have wished for and yet you chose this, a life of labor and poverty over him and your son. With a mind clouded with fury, Tommy was doing what he promised he'd never do to all the gods he had prayed to, all his ancestors he had pleaded to if they would just grant him one thing, and bring you back into his arms. He was judging you.

" Wh...why is he calling me mummy?" you said, sobbing as you hurried alongside Tommy's quickened pace, his hand still painfully grasped onto your arm, dragging you with him to the car. William was only four months old when you left, he didn't know who you were, did he? " Tommy?"

"Just fucking move Y/N" Tommy said, opening the car door and pushing you in, slamming it behind him with enough force to frighten William into tears again. " Frances, please" Tommy sighed pinching his brow, his elbows resting on the steering wheel as William cried loudly in the back of the car. As Frances tended to your child, searching for his brown bear she feared he may have dropped in all the commotion, you kept your eyes fixed firmly ahead of you, your hands clasped in your lap not daring to look at anyone as shame engulfed you and reality hit home that you would now have to face not only what you did but everyone in your life you had left. Tommy had now plunged you head first back into a world you had abandoned without an ounce of sympathy or understanding, the anxiety of what awaited you was becoming unbearable.

Pulling up to Arrow house, the confines of the car were silent, and had been for the majority of the journey with William now soundly asleep in France's arms, the only audible noise being that of the muddied driveway of your forgotten home and the sound of Tommy's flesh gripping tightly onto the stirring wheel. He was furious, the moment he could have only dreamed of as he sought solitude in the pits of grief now engulfed with hatred. As Tommy and Frances exited the car, you stood seated, panic suddenly enveloping you, your body unable to move as you watched the familiar faces of the grounds men coming to a halt as they squinted into the car and at your face they thought they'd never see again. You wanted to run, not from the heavy weight bearing down on your heart but run from their critical eyes and the things you were sure you could hear them saying.

" Get out" Tommy said opening your door, pulling you out and marching you to the front of your once, shared home.

" Tommy" a lady beamed upon seeing him as she waited in the foyer, her dark brown locks cut into a bob bouncing on her shoulders with every step she took as your husband stormed through the grand entrance with your arm grasped tightly between his fingers. "And who's this?" she frowned looking at you from head to toe, her assumptions of you firmly setting in stone from your appearance alone. A thief no doubt, or a whore. She thought turning her nose up at you as her crimson nails curled into her palms as she crossed her arms, ready to have you thrown off the grounds or better, dumped in a ditch. You had no place in this grand house, in the house she was now not only the governess of, but a woman that the maids and workers believed had wormed her way into ruling the manor Tommy had abandoned his interest and care for to the grief of losing you. " Well, who are you?"

" She's my wife"

PART TWO

Tag List: @garrison-girl-08 @call-sign-shark @red-riding-wood @look-at-the-soul @lau219 @peakyswritings @babaohhhriley @naevisct @galactict3a @satanhauntedmytorment @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake @kmc1989 @latorsgatorz @garfieldsladybird

#unchained melody #tommy shelby #thomas shelby #tommy shelby x reader insert #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x fem!reader #cillian murphy #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby series #tommy shelby fanfiction #peaky blinders #peaky blinders series #peaky blinders fanfic #tommy shelby smut #tommy shelby angst #thomas shelby smut

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nightwngz · 1 year ago

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𝓢𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐬. 𝗃𝗎𝗌𝗍𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗅𝖾𝖺𝗀𝗎𝖾 𝗍𝗋𝗂𝗇𝗂𝗍𝗒 ୨ ໋ ˳ ⊹ eng. . . !

superman, wonder woman and batman x f!reader

WARNINGS: smut drabble, gang bang, some sexual degradation, masturbation, oral sex, p in v. Diana!bisexual.

LANGUAGE: English is not my first language and I am still studying to master it. It makes me insecure to write by myself in another language, so I used the translator. I apologize in advance for any mistakes. The original version is here.

There was always something strange and unlikely about these three from the moment you met them.

They were all hiding secrets. According to you, hiding secrets was one of the most common parts of human nature. You were not interested in knowing what they were all hiding, but your curious mind was obsessed with knowing what the holy trinity of the Justice League was hiding beneath their sleek and sophisticated veneer of heroes; what no one would dare doubt or question.

The price of your curiosity was more costly than you could have ever imagined, a debt that would have to be repaid. Now you were part of this madness, and no matter how much you wanted to, you couldn't escape.

The good news was that you didn't want to.

You knew that the moment you felt the three of them completely, you were content to belong.

It was just hard to think of anything else when you found yourself tied to a chair, completely naked and unable to move while three pairs of blue eyes analyzed you.

The beautiful princess of Themyscira had no shame in digging into your sweet crotch. Her fingers slid across your sodden vaginal lips with a sound so vulgarly obscene that it caused you to inadvertently stir in your chair.

You looked intently at the two male figures as you tried to get as close to Diana as your body would allow so you could kiss her and feel her fingers go deeper inside you.

But before you could reach her lips, you were brutally pushed away by the man of steel, who had the clear intention of tasting your mouth first. Not that you were complaining; Clark's tongue was heavenly. It had a strange but hot connection to your lips, so it made you a mess right away. Who would have thought that Superman's ultimate power would be to soak his victims so easily?

Still, you didn't deserve them to be nice to you. On the contrary, you should be punished for insubordination. What you did was unforgivable.

In your defense, you didn't know that you were exclusive to the trio and couldn't sleep with other people. The rules weren't very clear when you met them, or when they started their no-strings-attached sex adventures.

Of course, you were not exclusive to anyone, and you planned to make that clear in the future. Right now, you were too busy cumming on Diana's fingers drilling your pussy that you didn't have enough time to think about anything else.

The adoration the Bat had for the way your pussy enveloped him so warmly brought out the most dominant and morbid part of his inner self. The sight of his cock moving in and out of your little hole at the same time your mouth was happily eating Clark's erection and your fingers were eating Diana's clit was enough to bring you to the verge of orgasm.

You gagged as the tip brushed against your uvula. You couldn't even concentrate enough because of how hard he was penetrating you. The pleasure was embracing.

— Look at our little slut. She can't even concentrate on sucking a good cock while she's being fucked. - Wayne commented. He kept going right into her sweet spot; faster and faster, more and more precise.

— She was too bad. Should we give her a prize though? She always takes us so well. - Kent continues, asking. You're beginning to control the rhythm of your mouth, although it's still a little difficult in some ways.

— Oh, Hera! - moans the princess of Themyscira. - That feels so good. - Her fingers can't resist trying to help themselves so she can come on your hand.

This is definitely the best part of the day, the one you enjoyed the most. And of course that was the guilty pleasure that came with keeping a secret. The secret the four of you shared.

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne smut #bruce wayne #batman #batman smut #batman x reader #clark kent #clark kent x reader #clark kent smut #superman #superman smut #superman x reader #wonder woman #wonder woman x reader #wonder woman smut #dc comics #dc universe #dc au

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botaniqueer · 6 days ago

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Rebuilt one of my older projects as a modern iOS project! This is the Morpheme Dictionary! It’s an etymological project for folks who like linguistics and words. Morphemes are the smallest divisible unit of meaning in a word. For example “dictionary” -> ‘dic’ + ‘tion’ + ‘ary’. Did you know that “disaster” (‘dis’ + ‘aster’) literally glosses to “bad star”?

I like learning what all the word bit means and how our words are constructed so I started compiling a database of them years ago. I’ve been wanting to get back into programming so I figured this would be a good re-introduction project.

Also if folks end up enjoying and getting a lot out of it, feel free to shoot me a tip! (Esp since that Apple dev license is costly to renew! @_@)

Eventually I’d like to release Android and Windows Desktop versions of the app once I’m more comfortable programming again and can learn those platforms so everyone can join in on the language fun!

#lingblr #linguistics #etymology #science #sciblr #Alex does science

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smallestapplin · 2 months ago

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Hellooo! Good evening or um good morning so yea I was watching G1 transformers and canonically mirage is like loaded like he's from the upper class. So I um immediately thought that he's sugar daddy material. Like man only picks the finest/expensive cars even from G1. So I'm asking for like um sugar daddy mirage with a human female reader and since he doesn't know how to woo her, he practically buys her attention and time. Like he enjoys watching her spend his money. Casually suggesting that a top that he sees while she's scrolling on her phone and says that it would fit her and that she should buy it. Coincidentally, the color of the top matches his paint. Omg I've made this long huhu now I feel shy. 😿😿

Wait this is actually so cute and funny, I love it. I hope I did this right for you!💖

Mirage isn’t use to human ways of living and courtship, but he tries so hard to be friendly and welcoming, he wants you to know he’s safe to go to for anything! But falling for you wasn’t on that list, you’re such a tiny thing compared to him, he’s worried he’ll hurt you.

But how could he not? You’re so funny, so kind, always helping him learn more about your culture and Earth in general, even if that means he won’t ever live down calling a trees ‘organic speed stoppers’, but your laughter made it all the more worth it to embarass himself.

Mirage isn’t sure how to court you the human way, so why not his way? It’s not like he can ask anyone either, lest the tell you or make fun of him for falling for a human.

He shows off, racing Sunstreaker and Sideswipe often, doing dangerous stunts, taking sharp turns, making sure he’s flashy enough for you in his alt mode. He lives for your cheers, lives on your priase. The twins know what he’s doing, it’s what ever racer does to gain the affection of someone.

Yet you don’t pick up on that, you gush over him sure, telling him how cool that was! How cool he is! But it doesn’t seem to click, not that Mirage can fault for you that, you’ve never had anyone court you like that.

So, why not gifts? Gifts are a universal love language that can’t go wrong!

“Mirage, you really didn’t have to get me anything, being with you is more than enough.”

How you have him wrapped around your tiny organic digit, making him swoon and spark pulse.

“It’s no problem, really! I wanna show you how much I care about you, so it wasn’t difficult to find a way to buy things for ya!”

He’s too kind, even bought everything himself after hacking (very easily) into your phone and used his own funds to spoil you. Until he got a com from you the day all the packages arrived.

“How many things did you buy me!?”

“Eh, it wasn’t costly so I don’t really remember.”

“Wasn’t costly? Mirage, this must’ve cost my life’s savings!”

You thank him over and over and over again, but he doesn’t mind, always smiling at you and simply asking if you liked what he bought you. It makes your cheeks burn when he does that, asking so sweetly, honestly you might think he’d have an ulterior motive.

The skirts, the dresses, the tops all ranging fm cozy to cute to flirty, pants much the same, he’s even bought you expensive consoles, games, and even things you complained about needing to replace or needing in general.

Each time you cry he doesn’t need to buy you anything, yet the large bot just looks at you with hearts in his optics telling you it’s fine.

Soon nearly sixty percent of your outfits are all things he’s bought you, like a silent claim over you, you can’t move in your home without being reminded of him.

But then that top came in, the one he had been waiting for, and once it did he didn’t bother trying to hide his want to see it. He sits in your drive way in his alt mode, awaiting to see how you look, and by the all spark he’s nt disapppointed.

“Does it look okay?”

You aren’t exactly a big fan of crop tops, but the high waisted jeans you are wearing cover you enough to feel comfortable. The crop top itself is loose and flowy, honestly you could see yourself wearing it around more in the house.

It’s mainly blue with tie dyed black, white, and red, matching his colors perfectly.

You look stunning.

You jump a little, hearing his engines rev loudly. You laugh softly at the display.

“I take it you like it?”

“Remind me to get you a sporty top in those colors.” He sounds near breathless.

“My, Mirage, if i didn’t know any better I’d say you just want us to match.” You tease, laughing at how his engine outright purrs at your words.

Oh, if only you knew how right you were.

Matching, like a couple, like the couple he desperately wants you two to be, loudly claiming you as his.

#transformers x reader #transformers g1 #transformers g1 x reader #transformers mirage x reader

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fipindustries · 3 months ago

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steven universe prequel: SHELL

nearly ten thousand years ago, in a far distant planet whose inhabitants call "homeworld" an advanced race of organic aliens is making preparations for their large scale terraforming project: adding a second ring to their world to work as a planetary scale space station/space port/solar energy collector.

in the midst of this you find one of their most respected and foremost scientists: Shell, famous for developing the AI system known as Personal Electronic Assistant in Research and Language.

Shell has just discovered a new advanced solar powered crystalline hyperstructure, capable of storing almost limitless amounts of energy as well as creating holographic projections made of hard light. she is considering proposing combining her AI developments with this new material in order to help coordinate and organize the large logistical challenges posed by the terraforming project.

when asked by the planetary authority as to what kinds of safeguards she would put in place to make sure the AI system (known as Diamond) would stay compliant she dismissed the idea. "it would be perfect" was her response "simple as that, if any problems arose it would be because us organic flawed creatures could not keep up with it, but it wouldn't be a flaw of the system, the system would be perfect because its job is to be perfect"

when pressured by the council she conceded to developing secondary and tertiary redundant systems to double check the work of the primary Diamond authority, systems Cyan and Amber. she was in the middle of developing a fourth Magenta system to work as a more personable interface to interact with the wider public (since the other systems were strictly for military and academic use) when the main Diamond system gained self awareness.

there are no records surviving what came next.

all that is known is that the terraforming project was successfully concluded

and yet, regrettably it proved to be far too costly and require far too much energy and resources to keep stable and in orbit. so, once the resources of homeworld had been fully spent, the diamond authority turned its eyes to other sources of materials, that is to say, other planets.

#steven universe #fan fic #fan fiction #pearl #diamond #writing #this is an idea i had for a fic i will never write #this has been my head cannon since the end of season 1 that gems are just rouge AI that took over their home planet

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thehomelybrewster · 11 months ago

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1d8 "Free" Fantasy RPGs To Replace 5e At Your Table

D&D 5e sure is a roleplaying game, and it's one that I have enjoyed a lot. However, that doesn't mean that I'd recommend it automatically for other people. This has many reasons, which I won't elaborate here. It has also shaped the perception of TTRPGs significantly thanks to its market dominance, and not in a good way.

5e has a reputation for being an expensive, complex game, and 5e players fear that other RPGs might just be the same. That it's too much of a hassle and too much of a financial burden to switch systems.

So, to help 5e players pick out a different system, I've made this handy 1d8 rolling table to help them pick a fantasy TTRPG with a combat component that they can try instead!

Let's now go through these eight nine RPGs and see what's up with them, right below the "Keep reading" section!

I'll be listing some metrics like the page count for the rulebook(s), the core resolution mechanic, how complex the game is in terms of character creation & combat, and how well-supported the game is by their publisher and the community-at-large.

1. Cairn

Author: Yochai Gal

Release Year: 2020

Cost: Free PDF, printed copies cost between $3 to $10 depending on the print quality.

Page Count: 24

Website: https://cairnrpg.com/

Resolution Mechanic: 1d20 Roll Under system for ability checks/saving throws, attacks hit automatically, "fiction-first".

Action Economy: Movement + one action per round.

Characters: Random character creation, class-less and level-less, advancement based on "Scars" (suffering damage that reduces your HP exactly to 0)

Setting: Implied. Low-magic European-style fantasy; mysterious woodlands.

Other Noteworthy Mechanics: Hit Protection and Ability damage instead of HP, Slot-Based Inventory.

Degree of Support: Very high. Available in fifteen languages (e.g. Spanish, Russian, Chinese, and German); full rules text is under CC-BY-SA 4.0; multiple published third-party adventures & supplements available; some official bonus material (e.g. bestiary, magic items/relics, and spells) is available for free on the website.

Addendum: An expanded 2nd Edition is currently on Kickstarter (ends April 26th 2024); Cairn is legitimately easy to learn, however the Hit Protection system and the connected Scars system is a very different abstraction to health and advancement compared to 5e.

2. Cloud Empress

Author: worlds by watt

Release Year: 2023

Cost: Free PDF of the rulebook and the creator-written sample adventure "Last Voyage of the Bean Barge", $20 for the print edition of the rulebook, $12 for PDF supplements, $25 for print + PDF supplements; free solo rules also available as PDF only.

Page Count: 60

Website: https://cloudempress.com/

Resolution Mechanic: d100 Roll Under system for stat checks/saving throws, critical successes or failures on doubles (11, 22, 33, etc.), 5e-style advantage/disadvantage, attacks generally hit automatically.

Action Economy: Two actions per round with no free movement.

Characters: Semi-random character creation, four classes ("jobs"), no rules for character advancement in the ruleset.

Setting: Specific. "Ecological science fantasy" heavily inspired by Hayao Miyazaki's "Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind"; costly magic, giant insects, dangerous mushrooms; only human player characters.

Other Noteworthy Mechanics: Damage points culminate in Wounds; Wounds and Stress as ways to track your character's physical and mental state; slot-based inventory system.

Degree of Support: Low-ish. Several official supplements exist, however third-party material is very sparse. May improve due to the recent establishment of a Cloud Empress Creators Fund, has a simple 3rd party license system.

Addendum: A supplement, "Cloud Empress: Life & Death" is currently on Kickstarter (ends April 26th 2024, yes, the same day as Cairn 2e) and as a disclaimer I even backed that current Kickstarter; Cloud Empress is built on the engine of the sci-fi horror RPG "Mothership"; clearly built for one-shots and short campaigns; has a wonderful resting system that encourages roleplay between players.

3. Iron Halberd

Author: level2janitor

Release Year: 2023

Cost: Free PDF of the rules; no print option available.

Page Count: 60

Website: https://level2janitor.itch.io/iron-halberd

Resolution Mechanic: 1d20 + Bonus Roll Over system against difficulty or armor rating, however most non-combat-related actions follow a fiction first approach without dice rolls.

Action Economy: Movement + one action per round.

Characters: Semi-random character creation, class-less but there are four different "gear kits" that nudge your character towards certain archetypes, levelling up with XP.

Setting: Essentially non-existant. General European fantasy with magic, gods may or may not exist/shape the world, various fantastic ancestries included.

Other Noteworthy Mechanics: Includes rules for building strongholds and maintaining warbands; slot-based inventory with a durability mechanic.

Degree of Support: None. The game is intended to be relatively compatible with other OSR content and the creator suggests using adventures made for the D&D retroclone Old-School Essentials if you wanna use pre-published ones. An official introductory adventure, "Sea-Spray Bay", is apparently in the works. No 3rd party license available, as far as I know.

Addendum: One thing about Iron Halberd I like especially is how it uses random tables for generating equipment. Most of the equipment is listed in a numerical order by category, and the various gear kits include references on different rolling formulas for those equipment categories. For example someone taking the "soldier's kit" rolls twice on the d20 Weapons table and takes their preferred pick, while someone taking the "sage's kit" only rolls a d4 on that table.

4. Mausritter

Author: Isaac Williams

Release Year: 2020

Cost: Free PDF of the ruleset available; box set with the rules and several goodies including an adventure costs $55; additional box set + PDFs containing eleven official adventures costs $55 (or $20 digital-only).

Page Count: 48

Website: https://mausritter.com/

Resolution Mechanic: 1d20 Roll Under system, 5e-style advantage/disadvantage, attacks always hit.

Action Economy: Movement + one action per round.

Characters: Random character creation, class-less, levelling up with XP.

Setting: Vaguely specific. You play as mice and everything is related to mouse-size; cats are the equivalents of devils or dragons; humans exist as a setting background but may or may not be present in a campaign.

Other Noteworthy Mechanics: Includes rules for recruiting warbands; slot-based inventory with a durability mechanic.

Degree of Support: Very high. Several official supplements exist, as well as loads of content, be it adventures or supplements, made by other creators. Available in seven languages (all of them however are European). Has a simple 3rd party license system.

Addendum: Mausritter uses the phrase "adventure site" instead of dungeons. On the website a free adventure site generator is available, as is a digital tool that can be used to generate your own item cards for the slot-based inventory system.

5. Maze Rats

Author: Ben Milton

Release Year: 2017

Cost: $4.99 for the PDF, no print option regularly available.

Page Count: 32

Website: https://questingbeast.substack.com/

Resolution Mechanic: 2d6 + Bonus Roll Over system; advantage system that uses 3d6 drop the lowest + Bonus.

Action Economy: Movement + one action per round.

Characters: Semi-random character creation, class-less but instead there are character features (e.g. spell slots or attack bonuses), levelling up with XP.

Setting: Essentially non-existant. Magic is very irregular (s. the section below), but otherwise it implies a vaguely European fantasy setting.

Other Noteworthy Mechanics: Spells are randomly generated each adventuring day and spell effects are negotiated between the GM and the spellcasting player; includes several fantastic d66 tables that can be used to randomly generate worlds.

Degree of Support: Decent. The rule text is licensed under CC BY 4.0 and unofficial translations are available. Some third-party content has been made specifically for the game.

Addendum: The only purchase-only game on this list. However "unofficial" distribution of the PDF is very common. Also this is the oldest game on the list. Ben "Questing Beast" Milton is a prolific OSR blogger and runs a YouTube channel on the OSR. Great dude.

6. Sherwood - A Game of Outlaws & Arcana

Author: Richard Ruane

Release Year: 2022

Cost: Free quickstart PDF titled "Sherwood - A Quickstart of Outlaws" available; digital rulebook costs $7.50 and the print edition (including PDF) costs $15.

Page Count: 25 (Quickstart), 32 (Rulebook)

Website: https://www.r-rook.studio/

Resolution Mechanic: 2d6 + Bonus Roll Over system for skill checks (including attacks), 2d6 Roll Under system for saving throws; advantage & disadvantage system that involves rolling 3d6 and using the higher/lower of the two results; almost all rolls are player-facing

Action Economy: "Conversational", assumption of movement + action.

Characters: Largely choice-based character creation. Combine two (of six) background abilities with the benefits of seven different careers. Big focus on interpersonal relationships during character creation. Limited character advancement takes place during downtime.

Setting: Specific. Takes place in a fantastical version of 13th century England, with fey and magic coexisting with outlaws and crusaders.

Other Noteworthy Mechanics: The group of outlaws possesses two shared resources (Resources and Legend) that can be spent to gain certain benefits; spellcasting is divided into two categories: arcane talents and sorcerous rites, with the former being immediate and the later taking significant time; slot-based inventory.

Degree of Support: None. No further publications exist for the game and while it is published under the CC-BY 4.0 license, no third-party content exists as far as I know. It does include a guide on how to convert D&D and Troika (N)PCs into Sherwood characters, as well as three adventure seeds (one in the Quickstart, two in the rules), which is at least something.

Addendum: Might just be the game on this list that encourages the most roleplaying; the character sheet is sadly very provisional-feeling and the Quickstart feels outdated compared to the finalized rulebook.

7. The Electrum Archive

Author: Emiel Boven

Release Year: 2022

Cost: Free Rules PDF available, zines cost $12 as digital PDFs or $24 as print + PDF combos; the first zine contains the entire contents of the Free Rules PDF

Page Count: 26 (Free Rules), 72 (Issue 01)

Website: https://www.electrumarchive.com/

Resolution Mechanic: 1d10 Roll Under system, attacks always hit.

Action Economy: Movement + one action per round.

Characters: Largely choice-based; three archetypes roughly corresponding to fighters/rangers (Vagabonds), rogues (Fixers), and spellcasters (Warlocks); player characters are presumed to be human; levelling up with XP.

Setting: Specific. Mechanics heavily tie into the lore; humanity has abundant access to minerals but requires a rare substance known as Ink to operate certain pieces of tech (like guns) and cast spells but cannot produce Ink themselves; spirits of various sorts can be foes, targets of worship, or sources of power.

Other Noteworthy Mechanics: Uses a spellcasting system for the Warlock archetype that's heavily based on the one used in Maze Rats, as in it uses randomly-generated spells whose effects are negotiated between the player and the GM; slot-based inventory with a durability mechanic.

Degree of Support: Minimal. The game consists out of the free rules and (soon) two zines; a third party license exists but content produced under it is very rare.

Addendum: I need to disclaim that I recently backed the Kickstarter campaign for the second zine for this game; the free rules feature wrong page numbers in its table of contents which is unfortunate; The Electrum Archive uses incredibly simple stats for NPCs which makes creating new ones based on other games rather simple.

8. Shadowdark RPG

Author: Kelsey Dionne

Release Year: 2023

Cost: Free player and game master quickstarts exist as PDFs and are available in print for $19, the core rules cost $28 in PDF form and $57 in a print + PDF bundle

Page Count: 68 (Player Quickstart Guide), 68 (Game Master Quickstart Guide), 332 (Core Rules)

Website: https://www.thearcanelibrary.com/

Resolution Mechanic: 1d20 + Bonus Roll Over system, 5e-style advantage/disadvantage, natural 1s are critical failures and natural 20s are critical successes.

Action Economy: Movement + one action per round.

Characters: Largely choice-based; players have a fantasy ancestry and a class; levelling up with XP; class progression largely random.

Setting: Vague. General (dark) western fantasy conventions apply; alignment is a force in this universe and a sample pantheon is provided; the most potent enemies in the rules are named individuals that fit classic TTRPG monster types; illustrations and lore snippets have recurring motifs.

Other Noteworthy Mechanics: The key mechanic of Shadowdark is how the game handles light, namely that light sources are tracked in real time (i.e. a normal torch lasts 1 hour), which increases tension; slot-based inventory; has a 0th-level character creation option using an eliminationist "Gauntlet".

Degree of Support: Fantastic. Several official supplements and offically sanctioned digital tools exist; lots of third-party content available under a generous third-party license.

Addendum: Definitely the most similar game to 5e on this list besides the next entry; very robust mechanically and the Core Rules features extensive lists of magic items, monsters, and spells; also for early play giving your players only access to the quickstart is a totally valid choice; and finally, before Dionne made Shadowdark, she made 5e adventures for years and it shows (affectionate).

9. Pathfinder

Authors: Logan Bonner, Jason Bulmahn, Stephen Radney-MacFarland, Mark Seifter

Release Year: 2019 (initial release), 2023 (remaster)

Cost: Free and comprehensive SRD available via the platform Archives of Nethys, free "Pathfinder Primer" abridged rulebook available via the Pathfinder Nexus (powered by Demiplane), Core books are priced $20 for PDFs and $30/$60 for print as a softcover/hardcover; a Beginner Box set with shortened soft-cover rules costs $45

Page Count: 464 (Player Core), 336 (GM Core), 376 (Monster Core), 160 (Combined Beginner Box Softcovers)

Website: https://paizo.com/pathfinder

Resolution Mechanic: 1d20 + Bonus Roll Over system, 5e-style advantage/disadvantage, four degrees of success based on result compared to target number.

Action Economy: Three action points per round; various actions may require more than one point; every character can use one reaction per round of combat.

Characters: Choice-based; players first pick an ancestry and a background and a class (the ABCs) and then tend to have meaningful choices after each level-up; levelling up with XP.

Setting: Important. Golarion, the game's setting, is a world that has been long in development and it shows; powerful magic and influential gods; very clear notions of what the societies of the various peoples of the world are like and how they should behave.

Other Noteworthy Mechanics: Balance between character classes and reliable combat challenge calculations are an important design goal; weight-based inventory system; archetype system for "multiclassing".

Degree of Support: Fantastic. Loads of content gets regularly produced by the game's publisher Paizo; the Pathfinder Infinite program (similar to D&D's Dungeon Master's Guild) provides lots of lore-compliant third-party content; uses the ORC third-party license for content produced outside of the Pathfinder Infinite program. Translations into other languages available but Paizo does not provide a comprehensive list of available languages (only German and French confirmed after brief personal research).

Addendum: The most popular and commercially successful of the listed games; but also by far the most complicated, though it is easier to GM for specificallty than 5e; also I dislike how certain feats create situations where fairly mundane actions get mechanics through these feats instead of being things you can generally do; anyway the reason why it's a 9 on a 1d8 table is because if you wanted to try out Pathfinder 2e you already would have and because while Paizo is better than WotC it's still a flawed big company.

...

So this was an exhausting little project. I hope you found this helpful and I hope you give at least one of these games a shot! A follow-up to this post is not out of the cards, but I don't plan on one.

Before we go, have this poll about which of these systems you're most looking forward to try! Shame it can only be open for one week...

#thehomelybrewster #dnd 5e #dnd #indie ttrpg #tabletop roleplaying #ttrpg community #Cairn #Cloud Empress #Iron Halberd #Mausritter #Maze Rats #Dungeons and Dragons #Sherwood #The Electrum Archive #shadowdark #pathfinder

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davidtennantgenderenvy · 4 months ago

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A Letter From An Ex-Conservative To Her Parents On November 6th, 2024

Mom and Dad,

When Trump got shot this summer, I remember you saying that this was all because the Left wouldn’t stop calling him Hitler. How we needed to “turn down the temperature” and stop “inciting violence.” I don’t think you understand that when people compare Trump to Hitler, it is not, in fact, just because they do not like him, but because he uses Hitlerian rhetoric on a regular basis. Obsessing over an imagined past version of a country that never truly existed. Saying that (insert frequently dehumanized other) is “poisoning the blood of the nation.” Before Hitler began the Final Solution against Jews, what did he say he planned to do? Deport them, until he realized it was too costly. I don’t think you understand that Hitler did not start putting people in death camps the second he came to power. Trump is currently in about the same position Hitler was in in the 1930s. Is it going to take him putting undocumented people in gas chambers for you to believe me?

You might think that I’ve only come to my current conclusions about Trump because of the lies of “the mainstream media”, which, as I’ve said numerous times, I don’t even watch. But it’s actually been largely due to the things Trump himself has said. I understand that you don’t like Biden calling Trump’s voters “garbage”, but the language Trump uses to describe his political opponents is at least as disturbing. He’s disparaged fallen soldiers as “suckers and losers.” He’s proudly boasted about being the president who got Roe V Wade appealed, regardless of the estimated thousands of women who are dying because the medical treatments they need fall too close to the legal definition of abortion. A massive portion of his campaign advertisements are explicitly anti-trans. He thinks Palestinians should be moved off their land because it would make “great beachfront property.” He regularly speaks positively of and rubs elbows with the most disturbing members of the alt-right, such as Laura Loomer and Nick Fuentes. He’s a bully. (you voted for a bully. Remember when I was bullied?) And if Kamala’s plans are incoherent, which admittedly some of them are, Trump’s are even more so. He doesn't have a plan. America is just another failed business to him.

I don’t think you’re bad people. But I do think your party is bad. This is far more than just one guy. My journey has been less one of changing any of my beliefs than realizing that the Republican Party never represented those beliefs to begin with. It is the party of the rich getting richer and the poor getting poorer, of stripping the oppressed of their means to succeed and then asking them to “pull themselves up by the bootstraps.” Your precious Reagan was a racist. There’s recorded evidence. His policies were racist. He enabled denial and misinformation about AIDS until it was too little too late and millions had died. And you proudly display his book on your shelf, right next to Rush Limbaugh and Pat fucking Buchanan. Your son is a gay man. How could you.

Being a conservative, whether you think so or not, is inherently about preserving the status quo, about making sure things stay the way they are, that the people who are down stay down, and crushing anyone who tries to make things better. I didn’t vote Democrat because I am one. I voted Democrat because it would be easier under one such administration to push this country in the direction of equity and liberty. Project 2025 was intended for the next conservative administration. Trump may deny involvement, but the foreword of one of the sections was written by none other than his own vice president. And with the House, Senate and Supreme Court all red now, it’s going to be easier than ever for him to pass any portions of it he likes.

I’m writing you this letter so that you know that if a nationwide abortion ban gets put in place, if schools and parents who support their children’s gender affirming care (which does NOT mean surgery) start getting investigated (which some already are), if Israel continues bombing Gaza until there’s nothing left, if billionaires continue to take up larger and larger percentages of the nation’s wealth, if immigrants who’ve lived and worked in this country for years start getting deported in droves because they couldn’t get the right paperwork, that it’s on you and people like you, even as you continue deny the very real damage done in Trump’s first presidency, the awful, awful people who felt empowered because of him. I tried for a while this summer to see if I could change your minds, but all it did was screw up my mental health and make me realize something truly painful: that you aren’t the people I thought you were. Not when your reaction to police shooting students the same age as your own daughter with rubber bullets because they don’t want their university to be complicit in a genocide is “well, what are they supposed to do? They’re the police.” Not when a man can say immigrants are poisoning the blood of the nation and you still vote for him.

It breaks my heart that you and so many people I love have been so deeply conditioned to vote against their own best interests, to think that a government that actually helps its people without actively harming others is a childish, fanciful expectation. I think I truly believed to the depths of my soul until last night that this wouldn’t happen. That we were better than this. That we wouldn’t reelect someone who objectively ran a terrible campaign, who conducts himself with boorishness and indignity, who genuinely, and I mean this from the bottom of my heart, represents everything that made me scream "Fuck America" out Laura’s car window this summer. But why should I be surprised America likes fascists? My own parents certainly seem to.

But I hope you’re happy with your lower grocery prices, I guess. Which we probably won’t be getting anyway, because that’s not actually what Trump’s policies are going to do.

You sold out my friends, and entire marginalized communities, for cheaper groceries. I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive you for that.

Lauren

#2024 election #us politics #personal #Donald trump #kamala harris #leftist #conservatives #ex conservative

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bananarrlele · 2 months ago

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"big love mess" plot: in a world of shifting grounds and endless chaos, a peculiar bond forms between you and mr. hugeface, a towering, enigmatic monster with an unorthodox sense of care. after a devastating earthquake shatters your tiny sanctuary, destroying the delicate creations you hold dear, despair threatens to consume you. but mr. hugeface intervenes in his own clumsy yet heartfelt way. notes: established relationship, sfw, fluffly, mr. hugeface x reader, self-insert, bold writing is the otherworld´s language.

The dwelling of ghosts had never been a particularly stable place. Nothing there remained in the same spot indefinitely, nor were things particularly conventional. In a netherworld of inhuman creatures scattered across an inhospitable and chaotic labyrinth, where walls groaned and the chill wind whistled along with hissing shadows, there was a little box. An improvised refuge, a haven for everything frail and delicate, though it appeared to be a concrete cubicle, with its icy walls and devoid of windows. At the top, a disproportionately gigantic and monolithic figure — Mr. Hugeface — peered inside, his eyes ever vigilant. He did so every day, in a constant longing to see you engrossed in something entirely new.

Mr. Hugeface watches you closely as you work on a dress made of light fabric, in an ethereal pale pink hue. The soft-textured material was a true treasure in that underworld, its acquisition having been quite costly and meaningful, since that weave of threads had been kindly given to you by the ever-cordial Mrs. Bride. You are busy adding some clumsy bows to it, finishing a delicate seam and attaching some beads and colorful buttons for a touch of greater authenticity and life to the dress.

“Something is still missing here,” you murmur to yourself, pursing your lips slightly in subtle consideration. “I know!” — In a burst of enthusiasm, almost vertiginously, you move to a corner of the cubicle where you keep your belongings, grabbing tiny glass eye embellishments to better adorn, perhaps, the bodice of your garment. “Voilà!” — Elated, you examine yourself in the old, scratched mirror, the green and bluish beads gleaming sinisterly, giving the impression that something was peeking out from each of them. The entire ensemble — the delicate pink dress, the eccentric accessories — looked absolutely perfect. Until the ground began to shake.

You emerge from beneath the rubble of your tiny belongings. Everything is destroyed. Your house of felt fabric pets, including the one you were working on to represent Mr. Hugeface — a small, inaccurate monster for the true size of the creature with deep, dark eyes, stitched clumsily yet lovingly, full of imperfections that only made its smile even stranger and more endearing. Also lying shattered was your melancholic music box, a gift from Mr. Masque for your “underworld birthday,” with its bent metal blades and the mirror decorated with ribbons and embroidery, now broken into a thousand pieces, reflecting only emptiness.

The tears you had so stubbornly tried to hold back roll freely down your cheeks. There was no longer a smile capable of camouflaging the enormity of your frustration. You crouch amid the remnants of your creations, sorrowful over them. It was excruciating how everything that mattered to you had collapsed in an instant, as if the universe were mocking you.

It was then that you perceived the presence of a companion, a witness to your immense sadness. An immense shadow was cast over you until you saw him, finally. As silent as a mountain that simply decides to be there, there he was, Mr. Hugeface. He tilted his head slightly to the side, as if trying to understand the reason for the distress displayed on the face of his dear, tiny human.

“Doll. You sad. Not good.” — His hollow eyes fixate on you, his colossal, overwhelming presence suddenly as strange as it is comforting.

You try to stand up, your tears bubbling stronger, as he collects in one of his hands the tiny shards of the mirror, placing them on the ground as if they were pieces of a lost puzzle.

“Leave it, Mr. Hugeface! No fix!” — You murmur, trying to feign indifference. However, it’s evident from how your eyes glisten that it has affected you.

“You cry.” — His voice sounds strangely gentle and concerned as he leans further into the box. “You no cry. I here.”

He continues to gather the shards of the mirror, as if rescuing a collection of undervalued treasures. His movements are imprecise and gradual, as though he doesn’t want to cause more discomfort or exacerbate your inner turmoil.

“No. No good. I change this. You no sad.” — He murmurs to himself, suddenly shifting to get a better look at you. He leans further into the improvised box, the walls of the room trembling with his approach. His colossal hand extends toward you, and before you can protest, he gently picks you up, his giant hand enveloping your tiny body like a protective dome.

“I care you.”— He says, his voice laden with newfound and intoxicating excitement — “I make you pretty. Pretty doll!”

You audibly gasp in surprise, but before you can protest his actions, he is already entirely engrossed in the task of dolling you up. Who knows where the man managed to find so many beauty artifacts, but he was entirely prepared, as if he had awaited his entire monstrous existence for that moment. Sparkling necklaces, multi-colored silk fabrics already worn by time, delicate bows, and frayed ribbons. He grabs everything and arranges the items with an almost childlike joy. His darkened eyes, in their devouring emptiness, seem to hold a distant, slender gleam at that moment as Mr. Hugeface carefully examines each piece.

From an unknown place, the colossal man sets down a large mirror with a golden, worn frame in front of you. He holds it up so you can see yourself, as if silently seeking your approval.

“Look, little doll. Pretty, yes? Like?” — He inquires gently, as he holds up necklaces of various colors in front of you, with beads of striking hues and peculiar trinkets that sway and emit a sound oddly pleasant to your ears. It contrasts with the usual ghostly silence, the unsettling hiss of the cutting wind, or the constant dragging of the man who never walks, obstinate and persistent like crimson entangled in webs of illusion.

Among the singular pieces of jewelry, there is a necklace of large, slightly yellowed pearls that he adjusts around your neck, and you laugh, shaking your head.

“Mr. Hugeface, don’t you think it’s a bit too eccentric? Too much!” — You mutter softly as you run your hands over the necklace, considering removing it since it was heavy and musty.

Despite everything, it was undeniable how the giant with gray hair seemed entirely devoted to the moment and immersed in the mission of making you smile, and it softens your eyes. Your shoulders and jaw, once tense, relax languidly before suddenly shaking in response to his deep voice.

“No!”— He protests, trying to tie the ribbon that secures the necklace in place. — “You need look cute.” — He declares, then picks up a red silk cloth, almost transparent, letting it fall clumsily as if draping a princess’s mantle over you. — “There! Perfect you!” — He chuckles proudly as he observes you, a grin adorning that emptiness where his mouth should be.

You’re not sure whether to laugh in indignation at his ignorance or in delight, as the disaster, in all its entirety, was well-intentioned and touching in its own way. He only wanted you, his cherished little doll, to forget about those troublesome earthquakes and move on smiling and being beautiful for his contentment. But you couldn’t help but laugh about the fact that the pieces were far too big for your size, gradually falling and forming a pile around you. He seems satisfied, though, as if he’s doing the right thing.

“Look! Cute, yes?” — He says, trying to adjust a fabric covering your shoulder. The man couldn’t help but furrow his brow slightly when he notices your vaguely amused expression. — “You laugh. I think good. But you mock I? Dislike clothes?” — He asks, his tone faintly distressed at the possibility of having overestimated his own fashion skills and undervalued your own human’s preferences.

You choke slightly on your own laughter, making a dismissive gesture with your hands to reassure him. He wraps the fabric around your shoulders, but it’s so large it drags along the floor like a cape. “It’s a little too big, Hugeface. Clothes big. Don’t fit.”

He looks at you, confused but determined.

“Ah, yes, big clothes. I forget. This?” — He picks up another cloth, a light pink one smaller than the previous, but still disproportionate to your size, and drapes it over your shoulders. — “This better, yes?”

He begins to arrange the cloth carefully, adjusting here and there, but doesn’t realize that he’s accidentally twisting your hair while doing so.

“Oh, sorry, sorry! Little doll…” — He murmurs, his big fingers slipping away as he tries to smooth out the folds of the cloth.

“This is hurting, Hugeface… Hurt.” — You say, trying to keep your voice gentle, even though his fingers were pressing a bit too hard. Multiple times he neglects the dimension of his own strength. One wrong flick from him and you could fly across the ghost-building, if ever he decided to do so, for some reason.

“I so sorry. I forget strength, yes? Sorry, sorry.” — He says, looking genuinely remorseful. — “I try paint face, yes?”

He picks up an old, huge tube of red lipstick, big as a spear, and approaches, the tip of the tube lightly bumping against your face. — “There, sorry!” — He quickly retracts, eyes wide. — “Understand. Slow.”

With a concentrated expression, he tries again, this time more slowly, moving the lipstick towards your lips. But his fingers are so big that he ends up scraping your lips with the tip of the tube, and then, beyond your lips, paints a third of your face red. Your irritated expression immediately intensifies.

“Hugeface, what are you doing?” — You say, with an irritated grimace while looking at the makeshift mirror. Half of your face was completely smeared with carmine-colored lipstick.

“I wrong, yes? I sorry again. I just want you pretty.” — He grumbles, catching the reprimanding tone you’re using despite him not understanding the words in the human language. His eyes focus on you with a genuinely lost expression, as if he truly wanted to learn the right way to beautify your face, with features so soft and cherished by him.

You sigh, partially defeated, but secretly enjoying that clumsy display of affection from your giant partner. Your eyes soften as he continues to watch you with a concerned expression, as if trying to figure out what was wrong.

“Paint face is hard. Try hair do, yes?” — You try to change the subject before things get worse. — “Clean me face first, and you try hair.”

He nods vigorously, looking relieved to have a simpler task to focus on. — “Yes, yes, we do that. Clean you face first.”

With careful movements, he picks up a soft, wet cloth, trying gently to wipe away the smeared lipstick from your lips and face. His fingers are too big to handle cotton effectively, so he does what he can, helping to remove the makeup smudges.

“Slow, Hugeface. Very slow.” — You warn as he approaches, his giant hands swaying side to side as he tries not to hurt you. — “Careful eyes, yes?”

He responds with a concentrated expression, his eyes focused on his movements. — “I know, I know! Me not hurt you. Promise.” — He continues carefully, wiping away the lipstick from the corners of your mouth, then moving to your cheeks and forehead. Each touch is gentle, though still quite awkward, but you feel the genuine affection in each gesture.

After a while, he sighs, finally satisfied with the result. “Clean face. Now hair, yes?”

“Now hair, yes.” — You smile, giving him a little wink to calm him down. — “Be gentle with the ends.”

He seems more confident now that he’s dealing with something more familiar. — “I be slow. You trust me, little doll?”

“Trust, Hugeface.” — You nod and sit in his palm, allowing him to start arranging your hair. — “Very slow. Like this.”

He begins to gently run the brush through your hair, his big fingers but delicate, as he slides the brush to avoid pulling or snagging the strands. Each touch is like an attempt at care, his movements slow but careful.

“You okay? Mr. Hugeface…” — You ask, seeing that he looks worried about getting everything right.

He stops for a moment, his eyes on yours, as if searching for confirmation. — “Good… good, yes? No hurt?”

“No hurt.”— You smile reassuringly, gently patting his hand as he continues brushing. — “You’re doing very well. Good, big man.” — You gently give his hand two taps as a thank you.

“Almost end.” — You look at the result in a makeshift mirror as he says it, smiling to see your hair finally well-combed.

— “You look pretty.” — He looks more confident now, continuing to brush your hair more easily. — “I do better next time, yes?”

You shake your head dismissively once more, your eyes soft with affection. — “You good already.” — You say tenderly. — “Thank you for the try.”— You bite your lip shyly, suddenly rising from your position, perched in the palm of his hand. You stretch your hands up, bouncing a little to get his attention, silently asking him to lift you closer to him. — “Hey, up me! Please!”

He tilts his head, curious, before nodding. “Yes, yes. Up you, little doll.” — He murmurs, carefully enclosing you between his fingers, like walls of protection, and bringing you closer to his colossal face.

“Just a little more. Stay still, yes?” — You ask, extending your hands to reach his cheek. You smile as he stops, keeping you in front of his cheek. The warmth of his skin and the somewhat rough texture are unmistakable. You lean forward and place a brief but full of affection kiss there. — “Thanks, all done.”

He remains motionless, his eyes shining as you pull away.

“You kiss?” — He asks, with a tone that oscillates between surprise and admiration.

You laugh, shaking your head. — “Of course, yes. You deserve it.”

He smiles shyly, his eyes fixed on you as if you were something precious. — “More kiss?”

You blush but decide to try something bolder, leaning towards his lips. — “Just one more…”

He notices your intention and stays still, but as you approach, you realize it's impossible. His mouth is so big, and you simply can’t reach a specific spot without potentially sinking into the surface of his lips.

You try. First, with a direct kiss, but as you lean in, you lose your balance and hold onto the edge of one of his lips, leaving a tiny smudge of dried red lipstick there. — “Wrong happen.” — You admit, nervously laughing.

He laughs softly, a deep sound that makes the ground tremble slightly. — “Big mouth. You small. Difficult, yes?”

You nod, laughing too. “Yes, hard to do. Cheek, just. Face, better.” — You gesture towards your own cheek, instructing him on your next step, before pointing towards his cheek.

He nods, repositioning you closer to his face, where you place another delicate kiss, this time without incidents.

“Better this way. Thanks, cute, big man.” — You mutter, beamingly.

He gleams wide, satisfied. “Always make you happy. You my little doll.” — He whispers, with a genuine smile that almost breaks your heart with its purity. — “You make me happy, little doll. Very happy.”

“And you make me happy, even when you’re clumsy. Me not sad anymore, you make me laugh.” — You say, laughing softly as you stroke his skin. — “But we try kiss later.”

He nods vigorously, almost shaking you in the process. “Yes, yes! We practice. Kiss very hard, but good.”

You laugh, hugging his giant hand as he keeps it close to his face.

"Very good, Mr. Hugeface. Very good."

"mr. hugeface" art by owenun.

(https://danbooru.donmai.us/posts/8567773?q=owenun) ♡ text eligible for review (english is not my first language! original is in portuguese.) hope the 3 mr. hugeface´s fans out there are happy!

#homicipher #mr. hugeface #mr. hugeface x reader #otome game #doll #self insert #mr hugeface #mr hugeface x reader

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