#is that a dreamscape in general thing?

[thereareeyesinsidethetrees]

Okay, so Ford and Stan's dreamscapes probably change when they start sailing (or after they've been sailing a while). This is sort of a headcanon for how exactly I think they change.

(Should probably note: the wheat field and stuff definitely have symbolism, but I didn't look extensively into anything like that when I made this. I was more interested in stuff like the swings and broken shack and what that all means...stuff you can figure out without having to google anything.)

Anyway, the actual headcanon stuff:

Stan's dreamscape is originally shown to be the shack, all messed up and hanging partly over an abyss. It's greyscale and has a sort of tv-static thing going on. There's an 8 ball moon in the sky.

I like to think that the forest changes to be a dock or something. Instead of the broken shack, you've got the Stan O' War II. Definitely not pristine or anything, but also not falling apart at the seams. The Stan O' War II isn't in danger of falling into the abyss and being lost forever. It's something that can be used to traverse it probably.

It's still got a monochromatic, tv-static thing going on, but there's a slight sort of color filter over everything now. Blue, red, some other color? I'm not sure. Red is more stan's color, but (especially considering weirdmaggedon) it doesn't tend to be associated with good things. Maybe just a warm color in general.

The moon is now a sun. It's to match Ford, among other things. You'll see what I mean in a second.

Oh, also the swings are still there and they've been fixed up :)

Ford's dreamscape is a seemingly endless field of wheat. You've got a massive (emphasizing that its bigger than it is in reality because woah isn't that interesting) broken portal looming ominously in the distance, plus swings and the first Stan O' War. The atmosphere has dirt or smoke in it. You can tell because the sun in the background is tinted reddish orange.

(Bonus: the field also has an image of bill burned into it. Considering how dreamscapes work, it makes me wonder if that had any effect on Ford's actual mind.)

Anyway- all that grime in the air probably clears up at least a little bit. The sun looks pretty harsh in Ford's original dreamscape, so it probably isn't as horribly blistering as before, if it's even still there. Maybe the sky changes.

Breaking my rule here- a starry night sky can represent a revelation and be "an expression of pure joy". Of course, it wouldn't be "pure joy" in this case, but he's definitely a lot happier than he was before. The revelation could be that he has a family that maybe (definitely) cares about him and he's not alone anymore.

Tiny bits of wheat are starting to regrow where bill decided to just. Burn a wonky crop circle into it.

The wheat field is still there, but it's not endless like before. It's more of a really big forest clearing, with trees surrounding it (I also broke my rule for this one- forests represent endurance, resilience, and hope). You got some nice green in there now.

Portal's still there, it's probably never gonna leave. But it's not hovering terrifyingly in the background anymore, it's more broken down than before. Probably looks like those pictures of abandoned buildings and such being reclaimed by nature.

Swings are still there. The Stan O' War is replaced by the Stan O' War II.

Those are all my thoughts (I'll be honest. A lot more than I was expecting to write). If you also have thoughts, I'd love to hear them (not pressuring of course, don't do anything you don't wanna do. I just like discussion, and this seems like something that could be real fun to talk about).

[skenpiel]

i had a cool dream i wish i could describe it but i dont think i could

[fleetingtemper]

when you get lost

possessive unhealthy behaviors! heavily implied yandere

SUNDAY

you were only supposed to be gone for a few hours, doing shopping around the dreamscape. of course, sunday would be damned if he didn’t assign designated oak family agents to closely accompany you all day. you are, after all, mr. sunday’s precious darling.

but he could only blame the incompetence of these agents for losing you. he will have to punish their families quite severely, he thinks to himself. this could only be an act of treason, sunday reasons.

his wings twitch in annoyance.

“i suppose any good pet returns to their master after they’ve realized what an unforgiving world we live in,” he muses

and would he be the head of the oak family if he wasn’t always correct?

there you were, shivering in his doorway, dripping like a wet puppy.

poor (y/n), he thinks. how likely of you to be entranced by street performers and wander off like a child. stars fill your eyes, struggling to take in all the gleaming lights. you are enchanted by these sights for quite some time, until you realize you are lost.

suddenly, the world wasn’t quite as beautiful.

you shakingly walk over to sunday, looking up at him through tear soaked lashes. he tsks before brushing your hair out of your face.

“my dear, how ever did you get lost?” his gloved hand caresses your hair. “i’m afraid i’ve been so careless with you,” how could he let you, a poor, stupid thing, leave his sights again?

“you worry me too much, my dear”

“i’m sorry—“

he pressed a finger to your lips

“as the head of the oak family, i must protect all of my citizens. including you.”

“you best not leave the estate at all.”

JINGYUAN

when jingyuan is informed of you never returning from your outing, he abandons the stacks of paper work at hand. he truly wonders if you just enjoy the punishment at this point.

you had fallen asleep at the base of a tree after a long day of entertaining friends and family. you just needed a break.

deep into your slumber, you felt a raindrop hit your face. groggily, you open your eyes to finally see rain puttering down upon your head. you curse silently before a loud clap of thunder surprises you. however, the thunder was quickly drowned out by the sound of hundreds of armor clanking towards you.

you rub your eyes, only to finally see yourself suddenly surrounded by cloud knights. your stomach drops. how long had you been asleep, you wonder anxiously.

oh no, jingyuan will be—

speak of the devil.

the cloud knights part to make way for the general himself.

the thunder crashing and downpour don’t feel as threatening now that he had shown up. and of course, with the lion.

he silently picks you up bridal style, and you do not dare fight it. you only just recovered your legs recently, after all.

“may i suggest that you take a nap in my sights next time?” ah, but he didn’t really mean that there would ever be a next time.

“yes, general.” you mumble

he gently, but firmly, takes your chin. “you need not maintain formalities, my love,”

“however, as your general, i do not wish to have to imprison you for high treason.”

your eyes widened. high treason?

he lowers his head until his lips are against your ears. “you are my spouse and it is your duty to be as such”

“you cannot absolve yourself of this duty for as long as the mara-struck live.”

VENTI

venti knew you were lost.

there was nowhere in mondstadt where you could ever wander off to where he wouldn’t know your every move. he admired your furrowed brow and how you chewed anxiously on your bottom lip. you were lost, indeed.

oh dear, it seemed as if you were about to walk through an area notoriously frequented by hilichurls and slimes. he thinks to himself that you’ll just have to learn your lesson.

he watches as the hilichurls take notice of you and alert the others.

he only watches as he watches one notch an arrow and lets it soar, narrowly missing, yet scraping your leg.

you yelp out in pain and he almost gets the urge to help you.

but maybe in a little while.

the anemo archon is amused by how you fumble to grasp your sword imbued with your (element) vision. he makes a face, revolted by the reminder of how one of his fellow seven had blessed you, his darling, with their power before he did.

finally grasping your sword, you swing at the hilichurls charging at you, knocking down a few. the pain in your leg makes it hard to fight but archons, you couldn’t afford to lose.

you stifle back groans as clubs bash against your unarmored back. you feel your head spinning from hours of dehydration and hunger.you swung violently at the monsters, not realizing the commotion your fight was causing.

how did that eye of the storm get there?

when you thought you had finished off the monsters, you felt a strong gust of wind knock you down. dirt and debris swirl around you, filling your lungs. you cough violently, eyes filled with fear at the storm in front of you. no way, you internally scream.

you reach for your sword but it is blown out of your weak grip several feet away. fuck, you had no option other than to crawl away.

just as you thought you were finished, an anemo imbued arrow soars past your head and right into the storm, dissipating it. you whip your head around to see venti, the drunkard bard you had befriended.

“are you alright, (y/n)?” he gazes at you worriedly. tears fill your eyes as you throw your arms around the bard, knocking him back onto the grass.

“t-thank you venti,” you hiccup, burying your head into his shoulder.

he rubs your bruised shoulder soothingly. blood stains his hands and he resists the temptation to taste you. how naive, he thinks.

to think you were so badly spooked by a little wind,

he couldn’t wait to see your reaction to dvalin.

[jellogram]

I'm surprised Mirrormask (2005) isn't more popular on tumblr. Like what more can you ask for?

Gorgeous and original art and design!

A darkside emo version of the protagonist with a punk haircut!

Cats with creepy little human faces!

These things, which are inexplicably all named Bob (except for one that is named Malcolm)!

If you like fantasy, early CGI, steampunk aesthetics, jazz music, dreamscapes, creative costume design, or generally weird movies then please watch Mirrormask (2005) I need everyone to know about Mirrormask (2005)

[moonsaver]

Bathing with (yan!)Sunday is surprisingly.. calming.

Of course when he proposed the idea, a colorful string of curses left your mouth, your face scrunched up from the sheer repulsion you felt from that idea. Sunday proposed it in order to "get on more amiable terms with each other", nevermind the fact your naked bodies would be practically pressed together.

But after a lot of convincing, pushing, nudging, and eventually the exhaustion catching up to you from the expeditions into the real dreamscape Sunday would occasionally send you to, you finally caved in.

The water is warm, almost burning, but still warm. The scent of lavender wafts and permeates the air, and Sunday is especially generous using his products with you. He makes you lean against him, your back pressing against his front, his chin resting in the edge of your neck, his soft hands warmed by the water gently rubbing your shoulders and massaging them, as he tells you just how tense your muscles are. He fills the quiet atmosphere with his own voice, talking about all the essential oils he's used, the fragrances you might pick up, the products he's generously lathering into your skin or hair. And it works. The lavender seems to gently untie and loosen all the agitated knots in your mind, the recurring nightmares about the "expeditions" into the real dreamscape finally letting you go of their grasp, the skin of your fingertips finally loosening, as your body relaxes from having been in that fight or flight mode almost constantly.

And you despise it, but you're too tired. You relax against him with a deep sigh, and he only becomes more comfortable, as his hands move down from your shoulders to wrap around your waist, pulling your body closer into his. If it's even possible – his body is more warmer than the water. His soft skin is almost like a pillow against yours, his wings gently fluttering on your eyes to shut. The wet edges of his hair cling to your arm, as he hums in silence.

This becomes, to your dismay, a daily practice. Well.. at least you've found one thing you like doing with Sunday, even if you're quite possibly in your most vulnerable state.

Sunday shifts to grab the shampoo bottle, and gently massages it into your hair, telling you all about his day in a hushed tone, the scent of sandalwood overpowering lavender as he does so.

Your vulnerability is absolutely enticing to him. You probably know it. He won't say it out loud, but he won't deny it either.

[akutasoda]

Heyeyey can I request boothill, Sunday and aventurine with a fem s/o who’s always on her phone? Like even when it’s charging or even when they’re cuddling she just has to be on her phone?

screentime overload

synopsis - how are they with a s/o who cannot put their phone down?

includes - aventurine, sunday, boothill

warnings - fem!reader (no pronouns used), fluff, crack, wc - 721

aventurine ★↷

↪he can be a bit of a fifty fifty when it comes to his phone. normally the only time he uses it is for IPC relevant things, messaging you or ratio and if he's really bored, mindless scrolling. his work can keep him rather busy and so he doesn't exactly have the time to sit around all day.

↪so he found it quite amusing to a degree when he noticed how absorbed you were in your phone. it really didn't take long for him to notice how you practically treated it as a lifeline because no matter where you were your phone was near aswell - more accurately near to your line of sight.

↪it did bring him some comfort in knowing that you would always see his messages because he could always take an accurate guess that you were on your phone and able to respond as quick as possible.

↪however he did find it quite ridiculous that sometimes he'd find you curled up by your charger, phone still in hand. surely you had other things to be doing? maybe you're phone needed a break from you eventually?

↪it didn't bother him per say, but he would prefer it if, when he saw you after a while, that you actually make the effort to pry your gaze from your phone and to him.

↪sometimes he can be quite the menace, especially when, in the morning, you wake up and search for your phone but don't get very far as aventurine would have you in a near death grip hug.

sunday ★↷

↪definitely isn't a phone kind of person. sure he has one but it's mainly for work or managing the dreamscape and most likely only had a couple of actual contacts - yours and robins. he probably could go very happily without his phone.

↪and so he truly doesn't understand why you're so attached to yours. at first he thought that you probably had something going on that needed managing, but when he saw you day in and day out staring down at your screen, he got slightly worried and confused.

↪it baffled him that you could actually spend so much time staring down at that screen but eventually he started getting more concerned that you were causing permanent damage to your eyes. he's the type of person who would tell you about the damage phones can do to you when he sees you laser focused on your phone.

↪in a similar way, he does find a slight comfort in knowing that if he needs to reach you he can. the one day you don't actually get his messages and respond very quickly is the day he panics.

↪sunday isn't exactly the keenest when it comes to physical affection, but when he does come around and finally gets time off to spend with you, he does not want you on your phone for that. if you get unlucky he might start contemplating hiding your phone.

boothill ★↷

↪another fifty fifty. he isn't exactly literate and so any messages are sent via voice recordings and such, this also probably means that he doesn't spend that much time on his phone in general - especially as a galaxy ranger who has bounties to hunt instead.

↪that being said, his phone gets put through the wringer alot. it isn't exactly his top priority in keeping safe when on a mission, so he either loses it or it gets very badly damaged to the point that sometimes you can't even tell it was meant to be a phone.

↪so he did struggle a bit to to comprehend how and why you spent so much time on your phone. he only started getting annoyed when he realised that your phone was robbing him from your affection and time. boothill did once threaten to eat your phone.

↪he still finds it very ridiculous that you spend so much time in your phone, especially when he has caught you multiple times using your phone while it's charging or when you really shouldn't be.

↪but he doesn't mind too much as long as you actually still give him some affection and don't spend that time with your phone in hand again - especially when he gets time to return to you after hunting a bounty or two.

taglist - @little-miss-chaoss, @frankiesteinn

[ceruark]

opening sequence

synopsis: you escaped to dreamflux reef thinking your captor wouldn’t be able to reach you, but your so-called savior lied to you. notes: yan! sunday x gn! reader. words: 1,424 cw: general yandere themes - brainwashing, and implied obsession, possessiveness, and abduction. disclaimer: major 2.2 story quest spoilers.

You spent nearly a year planning, making connections, figuring out who would keep quiet and who would tell on you in a heartbeat— nearly a year biding your time.

There was a booth in the corner of Dreamjolt Holstery that often went forgotten, so it was quite easy for messengers from the Dreamflux to overlook you when reporting to Gallagher. It wasn't hard to figure out what he was planning, and it was even easier to blackmail him using what you knew.

Take me to the Dreamflux, you demanded, or I'll damn us both.

He commanded Death to take you then and there. You disappeared without a trace, a few weeks before Robin did.

It was damn near impossible. But you'd done it. You'd gotten out.

The two months you've spent in Dreamflux Reef have been some of the best in recent memory. You spoke to strangers without worrying if you appeared too friendly with them. You roamed aimlessly, unconcerned with making it back to Dewlight Pavilion before a certain hour, or feeling the weight of a nightingale's unwavering gaze on your back.

For the first time since you met Sunday, you lived freely.

Hearing of the Astral Express's arrival only heightened your hopes. They never turned down a passenger, and if you asked to travel with them at the end of the Charmony Festival, you could get out of Penacony. You could escape his grasp for good.

The final step of your escape seemed all the more reachable when you heard through the grapevine that Gallagher was planning to lead the Express Crew to Dreamflux Reef. When you asked him if it was true, he confirmed it. When you begged him, for the umpteenth time, not to bring Sunday, he swore he wouldn't.

He lied.

The thing about being subjected to the gaze of the Harmony countless times is that, eventually, you become bound to it. In the Dreamscape, there was a constant tugging pressure in your head that reminded you your mind wasn't solely your own anymore, that reminded you of the person who had done this to you. The pressure would become more taught the further you wandered from him, a mental leash that ensured you stayed at his side.

The pressure dissipated completely once you arrived in the Dreamflux. You almost forgot what it felt like.

Almost.

You're sitting in a bar when it happens. You and the bartender watch, entertained, as a drunken Pepeshi guest attempts to play a game of Egyptian Ratscrew with other patrons who get him worked up just so he can bet higher and fatten the pot. He's just ran out of cards and is furiously yelling at the winner, a damning finger thrust in their face. You and the bartender laugh, and when you make eye contact with her, she winks at you.

You open your mouth to make a sly comment about the situation, but you choke on your words when a sharp pain stabs through your head. You double over, tumbling out of the barstool and onto the floor. The bartender and a few other guests run over to you, clamoring above you. Their words are static in your ears until the pain subsides.

Left in its wake is a familiar tugging sensation, far too loose for your liking.

Fear and adrenaline flood your veins. You shoot to your feet and push past them, your urgency enough to prevent them from trying to stop you. You rush toward the back of the building and shove at the back door that leads out into an alleyway.

You run for what feels like an eternity, but you don't feel the cord getting any tighter. If anything, it feels like it's getting even looser, and the mere thought terrifies you. You’ve changed directions several times now. How can he possibly be advancing on you?

In your frightened haze, you fail to recognize that there's a figure in your path, a figure that brightens at the sight of you.

You crash into them, sending you both tumbling to the ground.

"Sorry," you mumble, already getting to your feet. You don't have time to feel bad or make sure they're uninjured. You're ready to take off into a sprint again when a hand wraps around your wrist, and a melodic voice calls your name.

Your blood runs cold, and you slowly turn to face the woman sitting on the floor. Robin stares up at you in a mix of relief and worry.

"So you are here!" She exclaims excitedly, using her hold on you to bring herself to her feet. "I figured, after my own experience, that the same thing must have happened to you. Are you alright?"

Your throat goes dry. She doesn't know— she has no idea. Even if left unsaid, Sunday made it clear through implications that the worst of the Harmony would be reserved for if you ever said anything to Robin, so you never tried to. You don't have the heart to tarnish the adoration she has for him, anyways.

You force a smile. The thread unravels, growing slacker by the second. "I'm fine," you say, and you sound anything but it. You gently remove her hand from your wrist. "I have to go."

"Wait!" She catches you again by the shoulder, and urgency flares up in your stomach. You don't have much time left. "Can we talk? I could use a familiar face right now."

Your stomach sinks, and you place a hand on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "Later," you lie, "I promise."

Your hand drops to your side. You turn away from her, unable to look at her crestfallen expression.

The tension releases. A chill runs down your spine, and your mind feels fuzzy.

It's too late.

Only Robin's voice could make the devil's name sound beautiful to your ears. You turn just in time to watch him return her hug, one hand coming up to hold the back of her head gently, the other rubbing soothing circles into her back as she starts to cry.

His golden eyes pierce you, pinning you in place.

You tear your gaze away from him and look at your feet. The ground swims beneath them, swirls of pink, orange, and yellow contaminating the edges of your vision. The bone-deep terror grows muted as the Harmony hums in your head. You're euphoric, nearly hysterical.

Sunday releases his sister and pulls at the thread connecting you. Drunkenly, you stumble toward him, closing the few feet of distance between you. Your arms come up around his neck, and his arms snake around your waist, pulling you impossibly close to him. He presses a kiss to the side of your face. His lips tickle your ear when he speaks.

"Tell me," he whispers. "Was your disappearance planned by Gallagher?"

You know better than to try and lie in this state. "No."

He hums. His hold on you tightens. You can hardly breathe. "Did you ask him to bring you here?"

"Yes," you choke out. You bury your face in his shoulder. You can't bear facing him right now.

He sighs and presses another kiss to your cheek. "Dearest, you know I only want what's best for you."

You do know, and that's what hurts the most. No matter what he does to you, and no matter how much you suffer, you know he only has good intentions. You know, undoubtedly, that he loves you. Somewhere, beneath the meticulousness and the paranoia, is the charming, sweet man you fell for.

A sob escapes you. Behind you, Robin coos, moved by what she believes to be a heartfelt reunion between her brother and his lover. Sunday shushes you and brings one hand up to your head. Gloved fingers card through your hair, a comforting gesture.

"It's alright, dove." He gently takes your head between his hands and removes it from his shoulder, looking you in the eyes. "You and I will have all eternity to make up for the lost time."

There's not a hint of cruelty in his face, but something fervent— almost manic— gleams in his eyes. Your voice trembles. "What?"

He closes his eyes and presses a tender kiss to your lips. When his eyelids flutter open, rings of pink and orange surround his pupils.

"Rest now." He says against your lips, and your limbs grow heavy. You lean into him, and one of his arms comes up to support your back. His fingers dig into your spine.

"When you wake, we shall be one."

[toxicyeuriii]

I dont know about you.... but I was so bored and was thinking about Sunday, as per usual, so take these headcanons, I hope they are delish :^ i also mainly just did fluff, but im open to more... idk angst, but it wouldnt be as much, idk tho yet!!!

Warnings - none - pt1 - sunday x reader, headcanons, fluff, general headcanons, established relationship (??? Idk you choose), sunday is a cutie patootie I swear, pre 2.2 (i guess??)

☆ -----------------------‐-‐--------------------------- ☆

General headcanons-

☆ firstly, i believe in halovians having some things related to birds, like little purs, their wings flapping when happy or such, and instead of like chirping and whatever, they are keen on humming, collecting shiny things (does birds do that? Some i think idk) but what does these things do with sunday? Hehe

☆ if you ever make him a dessert or some tea, his wings would flap, and he would get sorta embarrased and humbly continue consuming the food/drink

☆ I firmly believe in sunday cuddles, like if you both are just laying in bed, he would just lay his head on your shoulder or embrace your face with his wings (idk if that makes sense)

☆ Hes a busy guy, but he tries to make time for you! And when he does, its either in the dreamscape, or just chatting and drinking tea /w pastries

☆ Speaking of which, I think he would enjoy sweet teas with a hint of bitterness, and not so sweet pastries, but still appetizing to him (pls tell me what kind of things he would like, i wanna see yalls opinions!!!)

☆ If he does get like annoyed, or is just feeling down, giving him space, but also listening to him and his thoughts would really help him out, he deserves a hug also :<

☆ And when he haves some moments of rest or even a day, he would be the type to still worry or thing about work, but you would like get it off his mind by either suggesting him to play his violin, you two just relax the whole day (example: massages etc), or again, just talk and appreciate eachother!

☆ And sometimes he is a bit unhinged but that okay, we love sunday and he should be president

☆ -----------------------‐-‐--------------------------- ☆

I hope those were good! If yall liked this enough and want more (im being sorta cocky lmao) im open to making some astral express sunday x nameless reader hcs, but we'll see! Hoped yall enjoyed the food! >:D

[bitter-me]

Hey ! I wanted to ask for a Caelus (if you write for him) x male reader. The reader is like Alastor from Hazbin Hotel (or Medicine Pocket of Reverse 1999 if you didn't watch Hazbin Hotel/not comfortable with it).

Just some general headcanon about how they would be together.

Ignore it if you don't want to write it !!

Have a good day/night.

Caelus General Headcanon

Caelus | M. Reader as Alastor [Hazbin Hotel]

----------

"Salutations! Good to be back on the air!"

----------

First of all, the whole Astral Express will be telling him to stay away from this guy called, the Radio Demon.

They told him stories, tales, legends, all in efforts of trying to keep their newest member away from such a powerful being. One they shouldn't anger.

He kept that in mind of course, but somehow when he met you face to face he didn't even think that you're the one he's been warned about. You're just so.. friendly. With that constant smile and old time-y humor.

Penacony is an interesting place after all, so perhaps this deer-like man isn't that bad. You seem friendly enough. Plus, he wanted to have friends in this new place.

The moment he found out who you truly are, he was skeptical and felt a little betrayed. Someone he thought he could trust is... actually the last person you should ever trust.. He cut all communication after that, he just needs.. a little space.. some time to think through all of that..

Over the course of a few days, maybe even weeks. You two became acquainted once more. Long-story-short, you two started dating! Knowing how the others might react, you two kept it a secret.

How did you two meet? At The Reverie. You were walking through the corridors until some guy ran into you. How brash.. You were about to give him a piece of your mind. I mean—who in the universe has the audacity to do that to you? The Radio Demon. That is until.. you saw how pitiful he looked. Like a kicked puppy. So you decided to show mercy and leave the poor guy alone.

The second time you guys meet will be at the Dreamscape, more specifically the Golden Hour. He saw you walked out of the tailor and decided to approach you, apologizing for crashing into you and offered to treat you to some Penacony's delicacies as an apology.

Being the "kind person" you are, you accept his apology. This little apology is practically your first date.

He loves your radio voice, it has a certain appeal to it. He could listen to it all day. Even if he doesn't understand what you're saying, he will still listen just because he loves your voice.

If you tell him you have a radio program, he would listen to it all day just so he could hear your voice.

You became overprotective of the Trailblazer and so.. you sent one of your shadows to follow him. Doesn't matter what star system he's in, you'll make sure your shadow follows him and ensure your beloved's safety.

This unintentionally became a whole running joke amongst the Nameless, because no matter how many trash cans he digs through, how many times he goes through danger headfirst, how much he would do things out of impulse. Caelus never get sick nor injured. If only they knew..

Anyone who dares touch you will face the consequences, but anyone who dares touch Caelus will meet their maker.

You would sometimes send gifts with your shadows or in some rare occasion, you'll teleport to where the shadow was just to spend some time with your handsome boyfriend.

But whenever Caelus wanted to introduce you to anyone, you immediately disappeared without a trace. Where did you go?

The reveal of your relationship is filled with surprise and dismay from everyone. Caelus? Dating the Radio Demon? Did they hear that right? The Radio Demon?!

The first few weeks, maybe even months after the reveal they're still worried about Caelus. This is you after all! The Radio Demon! Why should they let their guard down around someone like you?! You could kill all of them in an instant! Especially with that smile of yours.. that uncanny smile that seems to be permanently plastered on your face...

But as time passes by, they see how you treat your beloved boyfriend and maybe.. just maybe.. you're not as bad as they originally thought..?

Will beg you to lend him your staff. He will also beg you to let him touch your ear/hair (?)

He will be your anchor, the one who will keep you grounded to reality and not go full demon mode on anyone. As much as he finds it hot whenever his boyfriend uses his powers to their fullest potential, he doesn't want anyone getting injured or dying.

He would spend a long time at the Data Bank just to learn about old history to impress you and would definitely try learning old slangs too.

He would 100% learn how to waltz just so that he could waltz with you at the Parlor Car. The phonograph plays slow music as the two of you dance along with the vast starie galaxy.

You're a demon, yes, but you're still an old soul. So he figures you would like these stuff more than let's say... Aetherium Wars. So he's going to try his best to learn these old time-y things just for you!

[legendofmorons]

Your honor, I humbly submit an idea that has not left me alone for a solid few months. Seriously. I can’t escape it.

Reader is a hero. Well, kinda. They are a hero in their dreams in the most literal sense of the phrase.

When they were younger, they had this incredibly strong love for the Legend of Zelda and Mario and all manner of games where you could simply help people for the sake of doing good. They weren’t too shocked when their dreams took a more realistic turn. As they slept, they felt like they were living a second life where they were the hero. They would go around solving problems, collecting items, and generally saving the day. Some nights, the dreams would be from different times, based on different adventures, or fighting different people.

Those dreams had always felt extremely real to Reader, yet they knew they were just dreams. When morning came, they moved on.

That was the norm until a strange portal appeared in front of them. The summer was coming and they had no better plans, so they threw caution to the wind and stepped through. When they came to, they found themselves clad in the same clothes they wore in every dream, surrounded by the items they had grown so familiar with adventure after adventure.

They had gathered their things, realizing they instinctively knew how to fight, similar to what had happened on that first night. They wandered the area, heroic persona seemingly taking control, heading towards a town and immediately solving problems.

In fact, that was how they found the chain, while attempting to solve another problem. Something told them to keep their name close to their chest and they weren’t in the business of going against their gut, so they listened. They used a nickname in a group full of nicknames.

A long while of traveling and growing trust (and one particularly heated story rendition where the reader just plain forgot to censor their name) and Reader had shared their name with the group. They were met with stunned silence which was, admittedly, not the reaction they were expecting.

As it turned out, each of those dreams became stories to these heroes, acting as a guide on how to act, what to try. In their eyes, Reader was a hero of story and legend, someone kids played at being.

How do you think the boys would move forward from this?

-VS Anon

Dreamscape

Pairing: Chain & reader

Rating: G

Notes: (Y/n/n) - Ypur nick name. I wrote the opening and then skipped the middle, I hope it's okay. I just really wanted to write the meeting.

Summary: You find yourself in the world of the dreams you played hero in, but apparently those dreams were more real than you thought.

Warnings: none.

Other: I saw you submitted something along these lines more recently. VS, do you want a second take on this? I am willing to do another take, haha. As always, if I missed anything, please let me know

-------

You have always had a vivid imagination, at least according to those around you. But you can't really argue. After all, your dreams used to feel like a whole other world. A second life of sorts.

You'd loved games where you played a hero. Legend of Zelda? Amazing. Mario games? Absolutely.

Over the course of your life, you built what would have been quite the legacy in your dreams. You had countless items and had even been blessed by a sages.

Summer hangs in the breezes, due to start any day.

So, when a strange purple portal with a spooky energy opens up before you, you go through it. You don't have much else going on, and don't imagine anything too weird coming of it.

A shield, that was gained from a forest. Wooden with metal enforced ages and a beautiful swirling design carved into it.

You emerge in a small clearing with birds song cheerily overhead.

In front of you is a pile of items. Items that you know, because you collected them in your dreams.

A sword, gifted by the ruler of a fairy kingdom. The blade is enchanted to never break and to absorb any malice.

A small stachel that clips to a belt that is a bottomless bag. Anything you put in there appears in your hand once you reach in and think

A small cluster of potions. One that heals, one that provides stamina, and one that protects from fire.

Even the small flute from your travels.

"What the hell?" You murmur, looking at your hands.

You realize then, belatedly, that you are in the same outfit from your dreams. The leather armor on your limbs and the breathable fabric comfortable.

This is officially Weird, with a capital 'W'. This- doesn't seem like a dream. Not at all.

Ypu gather your items, securing them as you have many times before. You brush yourself off and look around for more details.

The clearing you're in is nice. Wild flowers are scattered about and there's a rabbit at the edge.

A river runs through it.

Well, your best bet is to find a town or something, and you heard once that towns are often near rivers. So, in theory, if you follow the river, you'll be okay.

You head off, following the river downstream and hoping for the best.

-------

After two days of travel you have come to a few more conclusions.

First of all, you can fight. Like- really well. You fought of monsters that included a lynel, some lizards, and several bokoblins.

Second of all, walking for two days straight sucks but also you aren't as exhausted as you probably should be.

And third of all, this is definitely not a dream.

You're starting to wonder if this second life was ever a dream.

The third day you find a small town, but a town nonetheless. Thank whatever it is that looks out for you.

You make your way towards the store, hoping to stock up on arrows and food. You've accepted this is your life for the moment, might as well be prepared.

Unfortunately, while lost in thought you trip and stumble into someone. You are both sent sprawling to the ground.

With a groan, you rollout of them. You sit up and say, "I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

"I'm okay, are you okay?" A male voice asks.

You turn to look at him and nearly chokes. You find yourself staring at the Link from Skyward Sword.

Okay, this is a lot.

"Uh-" You manage eloquently. Blinking as you try to formulate some kind of response.

"Did you hit your head?" Another male asks, he has pink hair. That's another Link, the one from Link to the past and s several other games.

"I think I might have." You frown, pushing to your feet.

You look around the group and find it made up entirely of Links from different games.

"That's no good, you need a potion?" Asks Twilight Princess Link.

"No... Just a little dazed." You wave him off, "Ever since I walked through a portal it's been a little weird."

"You walked through a portal too?" Asks Wind Waker Link.

"Yeah... Why?"

"I guess you're supposed to help defeat the shadow." Muses what is probably an older version of Majoras mask Link.

"Maybe."

"Well, it's nice to meet you, I'm Twilight." The Link in a wolf pelt says.

"I'm Time."

"Legend."

"Hi, I'm Wind!"

"Wild."

"I'm Warriors."

"Hyrule!"

"I'm Sky."

"Four."

You know these are all nicknames, so you decide to give your own nick name. You have a feeling your real name will cause- a scene.

"I'm (Y/n/n)."

-------

Time can't stop thinking about the connections between you, (Y/n/n) and the hero (Y/n). You both have the same items, the same personality, and even the same appearances.

The hero you remind him of is legendary, chosen not by Hylia but by a deity before any remembered. A hero chosen Fierce Deity.

He comes back to the conversation in time to catch the tail end of your story.

"Ams then my friend was like "Stop hiding from them, they don't remember ypu tripping two years ago, (Y/n)."

"What?" Hyrule chokes.

"You're name is (Y/n)?"

About time. Fierce purrs from the void inside Time's mind.

"Uh- yeah?"

"You're The (Y/n)?!" Wind demands.

"Oh stars." Time mutters.

"I mean, maybe?"

"You're The one who slayed the hydra of Catan?" Wild blinks.

"Oh. I mean, yeah. That wasn't a big deal." You shrug, "It needed to be done."

"You rode a tornado!" Legend accuses.

"What? No I got swept up in a tornado."

"You knew the original sages before Skyloft even exsisted!" Sky gasps.

"Yeah?"

"You're the biggest hero ever." Warriors manages, sounding awed, "How are you unaware?"

"Uh...I didn't think that stuff mattered?"

"Are you kidding? Kids play games where they pretend to be you." Four says, looking horrified at your unawareness of your importance.

"Oh. Neat?" You say shakily.

This makes no sense, your dreams - if they were ever that - never seemed like you would be a hero of legend important enough to be known millenia later across different timeliness.

"You really don't know." Legend muses wryly.

"Glad I helped?"

"You are telling us all about your adventures." Wind informs you.

[hyvyinjie]

hi! Can I ask for a headcannon about Minamoto teru x childhood friend reader? Where teru is really over protective and gentle towards the reader. Reader is a lazy person, and often sleepy, the things he likes are reading comics and playing game in their phone. They also refuses teru's invitation to join the student council. Thank you! :)

why of course! it’d be an honor to grant such an ask. apologies for taking quite a while to do so—though i hope my work meets your expectations, wonderful nonie!<3

—LOST IN THE HAZE OF YOUR DREAMSCAPE.

featuring ; minamoto teru & you as our star.

+ small akane & aoi mentions.

ah, minamoto teru; the very embodiment of perfection—as he was hailed and as he carried himself with utter conviction.

a master of powers, a paragon of academic prowess, and a maestro in all things extraordinary. could there be anything he did not conquer?

yet, his persona, a labyrinth of complexities, as if harboring a multitude of souls within his very being.

now, here you arrive in his peculiar life—meeting with the intricacies of his existence.

when your paths converged, it ignited a tempestuous collision, a clash of peculiar forces.

initially, your mere presence held no sway over him. in truth, he perceived you as an encumbrance, burdened by your languid nature. for he, a relentless pursuer of flawlessness, demanded nothing less.

but lo and behold. fate—that cunning trickster—wove its intricate threads, meticulously mending the frayed tapestry of your connection.

through the passage of time, a tapestry of happenstance encounters and the subsequent flourishing of interactions—a nascent camaraderie took root. he slowly, but surely grew attuned to your idiosyncrasies, harmonizing with your rhythm. while the power to surmount every obstacle at your side eludes him still, he persists, striving to offer his utmost.

oh please have mercy on this young man—forever enmeshed in the whirlwind of his exorcist duties. and yet, even amidst the chaos, his devotion knows no bounds when it comes to those he holds dear.

one might assume that quality time would be sacrificed for the trivial, but fear not, for you found yourself on the fortunate side—the one he’d willingly carved out moments to be with.

initially, your encounters were fleeting, brief snippets of time. however, as the sands of time trickled down, these fragments transformed into meticulously planned sleepovers. he meticulously orchestrated these occasions, ensuring they did not encroach upon his demanding schedule.

your bond thrived during these cozy gatherings, or tranquil rendezvous, where he wholeheartedly immersed himself in your passions—comics and video games.

though not extensively versed in these realms, one might imagine that you—with your infectious enthusiasm to the field—was the catalyst for his exploration and understanding of the realm of entertainment. this was evidenced by the gradual increase in invitations to game nights and his newfound willingness to engage in discussions about captivating narratives. perhaps, you both even exchanged recommendations for comics, as kindred spirits often do.

as the both of you and the world grew older—it became evident that he honed his social skills; presenting himself as a complete package. every aspect of his being held an irresistible allure, captivating the hearts of women, and even some fellow men. many yearned and openly expressed their desire to be the chosen one by his side.

however, even amidst the clamoring crowd, his gaze remained steadfastly fixed upon you.

of course, as the old adage goes; with great power comes great responsibility—the price of his popularity gradually revealed itself.

certain students, teetering on the edge of obsession, noticed the distinct tenderness he displayed towards you, surpassing his general kindness towards all. seizing upon this perceived vulnerability, they occasionally resorted to devious methods, seeking to eliminate you from the equation, taking advantage of moments when slumber claimed you.

naturally, he swiftly uncovered their plot, intervening before they could execute their nefarious intentions.

needless to say, the number of such audacious attempts dwindled significantly. what exactly he did to deter them remains a mystery known only to him and his would-be victims.

still, worried that the possibility of a recurrence and his absence to intervene, he took it upon himself to practically implore—some might even say beg—you to join the student council. this would ensure that he, or even akane if needed, could keep a watchful eye over you with greater ease.

however, true to your nature, you steadfastly rebuffed each futile attempt to persuade you. despite his persistent efforts, you remained resolute in your refusal.

eventually, your golden boy relented, recognizing that his endeavors were in vain…but that was just because he found an alternative solution.

he encouraged—forced—akane to be the one to look after you discreetly whenever he couldn’t. only choosing to partially reveal his intentions to avoid alarming you at the time, as you were unfamiliar with akane’s existence.

or so it had been until he observed that you and the school’s vice president shared a rather unique bond.

although akane would occasionally scold you for being so excessively somnolent, mistaking it for you being irresponsible, hence, occasionally comparing you to the greatness of his lady aoi—teru—ever vigilant and mindful of akane’s every interaction with you, ensured that his usual brutal tendencies were significantly tempered. still—it remained a part of the deputy’s essence, defining his very being, just albeit subdued in your presence.

it could be surmised that akane once attempted to tease—or rather, foolishly inquire, about teru’s subtle yet perceptible shifts in behavior whenever you were involved.

“it’s almost as if you like them.”

in an almost immediate reaction—the president paused, slowly turning his head to gaze at akane, a shadow casting a smile that concealed the upper portion of his closed eyes.

the ginger-haired vice executive, feeling an ominous presence despite the absence of visible eyes, found himself sweating profusely as he cautiously added,

“—to the point where anyone could mistake you for family!"

sensing the gravity of his words, akane mentally vowed to never broach the subject again. he restrained himself from ever mentioning it whenever he witnessed the two of you together.

curiosity gnawed at you as you noticed his all-knowing gaze transform into one of horror whenever you turned your head, as if peering behind you; at none other than the pretty blonde himself, who seemed to be doing nothing wrong, merely proven to have been innocently smiling the whole time, or so he put up whenever you looked back at him.

oblivious to the truth, you always dismissed it as ‘akane’s peculiar moments of ptsd flashbacks’ whenever he saw teru.

however, let me share a little secret with you.

did you know the true reason behind teru’s death stare? no? well, do you wanna know?

then do allow me to spill it for you.

it was simply because akane, using the keyword; "like," insinuated that teru had a ‘liking-only level’ romantic feeling for you. the misconception provoked such a reaction from teru, for he wanted to correct that statement because he loved you, not just liked you.

seriously, can’t people let him finish what he’s saying?

[peggyao3]

Relic - Pt. 13 "Come not with a Sword"

PAIRING: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Unnamed Ambiguous FMC

SUMMARY: ✧ Dreams are messages from the deep ✧

A woman from the unknown comes to Feyd in his dreams and his nights become his days as he flees to the dreamscape to escape the nightmares that haunt his waking hours.

TAGS: Third person POV, she/her AFAB FMC, explicit sexual content, smut, vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, oral sex, Porn with Plot, Feyd-Rautha's black cum and big cock, Praise Kink, Body Worship, angst/hurt and comfort, drama, fluff, plans within plans, implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced abuse, Trauma, mentions of suicidal thoughts, Healing, Strangers to Lovers, falling in love, Vulnerable/ Emotional/Possessive Feyd, Feyd is a sweet baby who did nothing wrong and I WILL pamper him, nurture not nature, Stockholm Syndrome but in a consensual way, lucid dreaming, Implied/Referenced Cannibalism, murder, teaching the universe about feminism, female rage, Frank Herbert would frown, No actually he would kneel in front of me, putting the science and the porn in sci-fi, angst with a happy ending

WORD COUNT: 4.1k

A/N: I apologize for the delay, I've been thinking about the Kinktober prompts a little too hard 🥹 But chapter 13 is ready to be served and I want to thank everyone who takes the time to comment because that literally is the one thing that makes actually writing this instead of just playing it out in my head worth it 💕💕💕 I appreciate you so much.

CW: Suicidal thoughts, implied abuse, something like attempted suicide, but also… be not afraidt

Reposted from my Ao3 💕| Masterlist | Relic Masterlist

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

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Day 15

With the opening door breezes a cool rush from the hallway and in comes Lilia, her gold-speckled eyes like coins of color against the black backdrop as she tries to switch off her smile like one might try and fail to switch off the sun.

Mikhail's sharp jaw turns, lips quirked into a crooked grin as the handmaid's shape flutters past him. His cocky eyes drift to the swell of her ass beneath her white servant's robes, his longing glance cut short by the closing door.

"You're in a good mood." The relic ceases the tender rubbing over her healing port and the delicate layer of new skin under the inconspicuous, shaved patch.

"I thought you weren't watching, forgive me." Lilia misinterprets the woman's quizzical look and scrambles to place the stack of new whalefurs and blankets on the lower end of the bed.

"Wasn't I looking right at you?"

The handmaid counters with an openness that might have cost her her tongue with any of her former Lords or Ladies. "Well, sometimes when you're looking right at me, it seems like you don't see me at all." And she doesn't mean the way the hallowed family or the advisors and generals refuse to see her. She feels like she's a ghost to her Lady sometimes, those faraway eyes twitching in hypnotizing patterns like she's a lucid dreamer dancing through a waking dream.

"An old habit. I'm just… Dissociating. Practicing Harkunnin."

"Without looking at any tapes? I only saw you looking at them once."

The relic pulls one of the furs over her crossed legs on the bed. So soft. Her beloved and her new, eight-arm-legged friend will love them. She deflects quickly: "The new guard, do you know him?"

"Oh, uh, in a way!" Lilia turns to the vanity and wipes at an invisible stain with her sleeve. In the mirror, she catches her Lady's glance, this time anything but dissociated. It almost burns her, to be actually looked at by someone of higher standing, but it's a pleasant burn.

Both women are sniffing each other's lies out like a dog does freshly cut meat in the other room, but Lilia breaks first, throwing up her arms in a gesture of giggly defeat. Fine!

"Mikhail's my husband," the maid blushes and lowers her head. "He wants you to know that he's very happy with his upgraded chair."

"Your husband!" The relic exclaims with a bright jolt of her facial features. "Yes, he told me that three times already." She dismissively swats away the talk about the chair. "I couldn't help but notice the look on his face when you passed him. Looked like he wanted to eat you."

"Well, I hope so." Lilia's bold tone contrasts with the way she awkwardly sits down on the vanity stool, one wiggling leg crossed over the other and her chin buried in her palm.

The woman on the bed bursts out laughing and rubs at her eyes, reclining against the headboard. "I feared he was molesting you. If he was, I'd have shown him how we dealt with molesters on Earth."

"I assure you, my Lady, I can give as good as I can get." Lilia's features shift into something as feral as anything living on Giedi Prime is bound to become. Beneath the chiseled mask of unyielding subservience lurk the same baser instincts that incite any organism. The relic has no trouble at all imagining Lilia and her husband fucking each other silly in their sparse free time.

"Oh, good." Snickering, she points at her handmaid with a sweeping finger gun, the motion awkward in its silliness, misplaced among the radiation and murder. "You tell him."

"Mikhail can be all bark and bite until you get to know him. You just need to know how to pet him right," Lilia diligently explains.

"That sounds like Feyd, to be honest."

"Really?" The maid's bobbing leg freezes mid-air. Not only is it improper to talk about the na-Baron in such a demeaning way, it is also deadly. Her shoulders then drop— because it is also true, which almost makes her even more giggly because of the depravity of it.

"Yes, absolutely." The Earth woman's impish smile dissolves into thoughtful tendrils. "But it's not just that. There's so much more that I get to see." The talk of marriage spins the wheel of her thoughts further. "Forgive me the impolite question, but-"

"Nothing to forgive ever, my Lady!" Lilia butts in.

"I disagree, but… I can't help but wonder, did you marry because you were forced to?" 

"Oh, no." Trustfully, Lilia scoots closer to the bed, toes wagging and fingers drumming on her own cheeks. If anyone will understand her, it's the woman from old Earth. "We married out of love. Mikhail would throw a tantrum if he knew I told you but… I was the one who asked him to marry me." The ambers that are the woman's eyes spark to life with a golden glow. Nourishing sun beams. "And he said yes."

Something green then springs into bloom inside the relic's chest, a leaf to her tender sapling perhaps. Hope, she finds, tastes pink and yellow— cherry blossoms and lemons. A single goodness is enough to peel away her lurching belief that the universe of her people's descendants is inherently poisoned into badness.

"That is wonderful, Lilia. I'm so happy for you. I will make sure that nothing happens to you or your husband." I will make your life better.

The maid blushes purple, eyes lowered to her own knees.

"But that's our task, my Lady, to protect you."

"I don't think anyone can really protect me, but that's fine." She'll just have to adapt. The astronaut is unhappy with the course of her thoughts, the tender leaf ruffled by the winds that tug on it from all directions. She is almost thankful when her handmaid brings up the silly chair again.

"Sooo, about that chair." Lilia purses her lips with a jolly quiver of curiosity. "How did you…?" Her glance sweeps to the cryo pod before she lowers it shamefully.

An electric charge of wary caution prickles along the relic's nerves and she weighs her words with care. If this knee-jerk act of empathy on a desperate night is going to cost her the revelations of her secrets, she is going to hurl herself off that balcony.

Unknowingly, Mikhail saves her from the explanation, knocking then strutting into the room with his slightly o-shaped gait, toolbox in hand, folded chair under his arm.

"M'sorry Ladies," he drawls with an exaggerated extension of the last vowel. "I am to seal that ventilation shaft, confidentially."

Mikhail doesn't seem to give a shit about keeping the relationship to his wife a secret. He seems to give few shits about the proper tone in general. 

"Confidentially?"

"Yes, Ma'am. Na-Baron said so himself, eh." He taps the transponder button behind his ear, its placement quite similar to the relic's fine chip port.

Confidentially. So, the Baron mustn't know that his pet has been taking liberties and befriending the unwelcome guest. Feyd has told her of the many deaths, the many rebirths, Gholas, when he held her tight the other night. Memories embedded in the flesh, a scientific breakthrough lost to a universe's political machinations. It makes her sick as much as it fascinates her.

"You know how to seal a ventilation shaft?" The Earth woman questions with a suspicious lilt.

"I know my way around things, eh. Seen some things, done some things before I joined the troops."

"If it really needs to be done, let me do it!" The engineer quizzically ogles the electrical welder that Mikhail swoops out of the toolbox. 24,000 years later, and some tools haven't changed at all. She's almost yearning to get her hands around it, but Mikhail, whistling something low in his throat, disregards her prompt benevolently.

She hadn't seen to the ventilation hatch sooner, hoping that the being named Glugo would come for a secret visit once more. Now she is forced to watch Lilia's husband climb on the plastic chair (upgraded with an unfoldable flap to rest his legs upon) whose statics are not balanced to carry a standing man.

"The Lady said you were looking at my ass earlier, is that right?" Lilia has jumped up from the stool, sauntering over with a swing to her hips.

"So what if I— huurghh!"  She pokes the back of her husband's thighs, causing his ticklish hamstrings to contract into a twitch. "Ah! Woman-" 

Mikhail sputters a litany of curses in Harkunnin and Lilia has to grab a whole two handfuls of ass to keep the wiry guard from flying off the wobbly chair.

The relic can't help but laugh and laugh, even when her cheeks start hurting. So alien, that feeling, as alien as the colors green, pink and yellow have become.

"Give me an hour and I'll print you a ladder!"

So, love, after all.

It turns out, real love can be born out of any sort of wasteland.

Day 20

The engagement - canceled! How delightful! Things couldn't be going much better for Vladimir Harkonnen. Though there is room for improvement. His darling nephew still sneaks into the concubine wing with its single, occupied quarters each night. Vladimir hadn't expected Feyd-Rautha to recover from the blow of rejection so quickly.

No wedding! It's only a matter of time until the order of robed poison whisperers comes knocking on his orbit and demands that he make it happen. They might even want to install a witchy pestilence in his palace to observe the process. It puts him in the mood for good old-fashioned femicide, but for now he has bigger concerns.

Because Feyd almost looks happier than before and that is decidedly against the rules.

The Baron is nothing if not a kill-joy, and so he waits, half-afloat in a bog of oily bath water and self-complacence.

To kill her like the sorry graftling, that might be a bit much, though he had entertained the idea as early as when he first saw the needy gleam in his nephew's eyes when speaking of that woman. Wouldn't it be fun to have her killed and remade as a Ghola, the same flesh but unable to remember a thing about Feyd-Rautha?

No, no, no - The Baron needs to play his nephew like a fine instrument, as tempting as it might be to punch him like a drum with a stick. With well past 80 years of age, Vladimir is slowly growing tired of mind games.

If the Bene Gesserit are telling the truth, the woman has already had her rebirth. A mummy out of the ice. And she might as well be dead to him, the way she stays in her chambers as silent and unmoving as a corpse. That's all right with the Baron. He doesn't need to see the toy his nephew wets his dick with.

But a proper meeting is long overdue.

And so he waits and exhales herbal vapor into the soggy air, the only sounds being the drip-drip-drip of oily, steaming bath water whenever he lifts his heavy arm, and the pistons of his lung machine.

Then, a hollow rumble shakes the bath crypt's vaulted ceiling. The door opens to a rectangle of light from the hallway and a waft of cold air stirs the lazy molecules, quickly swallowed by thick, muggy air.

A figure cuts through the fumes, broad shoulders, dark eyes gleaming past the fog. So anxious that boy.

"Ah, there you are, my boy. You've left me waiting. Too busy to indulge your old uncle in a bit of your precious time?"

There are no guards, no slaves. Feyd-Rautha stands stiff as a board in front of his uncle's tub, knowing what it means. He offers no response.

"You've been spending an awful lot of time with your new toy." The Baron's neck wobbles as he tilts his head.

"So? What's a new toy if I don't play with it?"

Vladimir laughs and laughs until his lungs hurt from the rotting disease inside. The pistons of the bulbous breathing apparatus that hovers like a moon in his back jump up and down with wheezing jolts. "I'm starting to feel a bit neglected."

Anxiety is barely the right word to describe the crippling tightness behind her sternum when she walks down the bug-like bowels of the palace pyramid. After almost three weeks of being huddled up in the illusionary safety of her chambers, her advance down the hallway feels like she had just given birth to herself, more vulnerable even than she had been when the sisterhood freed her from her sarcophagus and she came out spitting the thawed, amniotic fluid.

Guarded by Mikhail, his presence does little to brighten her mood today. And then he stands still in the middle of the corridor, footfall stopping so that the only sound she's left with is her thundering heart.

"Ain't allowed to go closer." His jaws and neck are ramrod stiff as he jerks his chin to the far door. Tall and glinting black, it may as well have led to hell. "But you go. It'll be fine."

Fine is no word that agrees with her when she is invited by the Baron Harkonnen himself without a given reason. She didn't even have the time to have Feyd in the training hall informed.

"Okay," is all she manages with a small voice, not looking at her guard for affirmation. Mikhail is glad for it, because anxiety is ticking in the veins under his temples. He doesn't know what the Baron wants of his new Lady, but he knows of the dead slaves that are frequently carted from the bath chambers to the meat plants. "Please don't let anyone into my room."

"Yes, my Lady."

And so she walks with only a bobbing glowglobe left for company and her gun in its makeshift holster which sits snug against her waist, concealed by a jacket whose armpits have long grown clammy with anxious sweat.

Come quietly, don't knock, the note had said. Gingerly, her fingers wrap around the cold, bulbous handle and quietly push the door open, just a crack so she can slip through.

She finds herself blinded, venturing into the dense fog that nearly takes her breath away. It smells of herbs and metal, the scent so thick she can taste it at the back of her throat. Immediately, her jacket clings to her arms from the humidity. The sound of distant bubbling drones out her quiet footsteps on black, slippery tiles.

The room takes shape and structures emerge from the thick mist, an oval contour, a pale mountain, a person standing at the side. She parts the fog and freezes with a thousand little icicles in her chest.

Feyd-Rautha stands next to his uncle's bathtub, his tunic discarded, his bare shoulders milky and damp as oily, scented steam curls off them, muscles rolling as he turns to face the unexpected visitor. His teeth clench tight, a muscle snapping like a whipcord across his jaw.

Her poor beloved looks at her with such horror, she may as well have been the apparition of her own naked corpse. His hands are frozen at the hem of his trousers, pushed below his hip bones with just the top of his flaccid cock peeking out.

He is the minotaur at the center of a prison-maze and his woman is the gun with its cold muzzle pressed directly at his forehead. Fog slips from the bath chamber into his mind and the world begins to spin.

The woman's dumbstruck gaze sways slowly to the Baron who sits half-submerged in oily liquid. The top of his massive, fleshy chest wobbling just above the surface. Veins are stretched thin across the expanse of skin, each blood vessel leaving a purple imprint against his sickly pallor. Her glassy eyes remind Vladimir of his dear nephew's when he was still young and sweet, afraid and confused.

The Baron smirks, lifts one fat arm on the back of the tub with a playful bat of his fingers, rings clanking on the tiles, as if to say 'Hello, little pawn'.

Glass shatters in her eyes and if she could strike him down with anger, she would. The Baron's meaty finger twitches to his thickest ring that hugs his middle finger like a capsule and the fog around him snaps and ripples. A shield powered by a tiny Holtzman generator, and the first time she sees one in action. The hidden gun at her ribs taunts her with its uselessness.

Helpless like a fly in a web, she averts her gaze from the thick, white tarantula patriarch who mocks her with glinting, beady eyes below his saggy brows. She has no weapon, no tool to obliterate the devastation in her beloved's eyes, the humiliation that has burrowed itself so deep that neither fingers nor knives could claw out its festering tumors.

"Feyd…" Her voice dies with his cold, wet stare.

"Isn't my dear nephew pretty like this?" The Baron drones, stirring the waters with a gooey, fat knee. "But I suppose you've seen him already. Just remember that I've seen him more often." Seen him— and touched him.

Feyd snaps into a crouch, picks up his belt and tunic, long limbs turned into stiff, hard rods. With no sound besides his feverish breath, he rushes past her. The touch of tender fingers on his naked belly makes him jump like a wounded foal and he finds his voice, a low-pitched bellow that echoes off the cavernous chamber walls a thousandfold.

"Get away from me, woman!"

The door bangs open and out the fog bursts a haunted bull, stampeding down the corridor. Veins across his hands and arms are swollen thick from the humidity, blood races through them hard and fast as punches the glowglobe to shards. He slings the belt around his hips and yanks the tunic over his head savagely, his own blood running down his knuckles. Mikhail has wisely removed himself.

"Feyd, I'm so sorry, please wait, please let me—"

"I said get the fuck away from me!" His voice cracks, his uncle's laughter rings in his ears like death knells. The Baron has poisoned her now with an image she will see every time she lies with him, every time she looks at him. Her steps grow quicker. So do his.

"I didn't know what he wanted!" She pleads. "If I had known, I would have killed him straight from the door!"

"No one can kill him!" Feyd-Rautha spits over his shoulder, takes a sharp turn, away from the concubines' corridor, dizzy from the fog, dizzy from the rage. "I've tried, too many times!" Bracing himself against the wall, he runs onward, collecting dirt under his damp soles.

His darling calls for him. This time, he draws his blade and her little footsteps falter at his back. Immediately, his throat draws tight. Wetness blurs his sight and he wants to curl up, curl up with his blade, with his blade tucked against his tummy. His bloodied palm finds the panel to unlock his own chambers.

There is no peace there.

A tiny sob from behind him makes him jolt over the threshold. He doesn't want her pity, he wants her rage. He wants to die.

She is quicker than the closing door and bursts inside his room together with him. A quick glance across the large room, vaulted ceilings, glossy windows with the shutters half closed, the furniture hard and uninviting.

Despite Feyd's build and height, she manages to tackle him to the ground, or rather, he stumbles in his hysterical attempt to pull away from her. He rolls on his back, hand on her tummy in a half-hearted attempt to keep her from crawling over him.

"Please, please, please, you're panicking. I'm here!"

Yes, that's the exact fucking problem. She was there.

Feyd-Rautha laughs, tears streaking from his eyes to his ears, tongue peeking out between his blackened teeth. He presents his blade which gleams in tear-wet astigmatism. Real pretty. It would be even prettier embedded in his neck, dripping with his blood. His darling's belly rises and falls under his palm in quick fearful breaths. 

"What d-do you want with the blade? Please, put it down, please put it down, please—"

Oh God, it's not at all meant for her, she realizes when Feyd-Rautha points the glinting blade at his throat. It's meant for him. 

Her fingers lock like vises around his wrist, nails digging into the thin, white skin. Feyd giggles, biceps clenched as he guides the knife slowly to its soft target, free hand sprawled across her belly, twisted into the flesh. To push her away or to pull her closer; maybe both.

Is he really trying, or just trying to scare her? Her arms aren't really stronger than his, yet she somehow manages to drag the blade away from his jugular, clutching his wrist so hard, his carpal bones are bruising her palm.

"Stop this, stop this, stop this!" She yells with each hearty tug.

The sharp tip jerks down and scrapes over his collar bone, a little curve, a  crescent shape. Feyd gasps a wet little moan, giggling through his stinging tears as blood slips down his shoulder, warm and wet. His woman fumbles for something under her jacket and he finds himself presented with the barrel of a gun made of half-transparent plastic. He nearly goes cross-eyed before he starts laughing.

"Yes, shoot me, my darling!" Feyd-Rautha slurs hysterically, twisting his fingers hard into her stomach. He nearly grows hard from the idea of his rotten brain matter splattering across the gross tiles of this insidious room, finally delivered from evil. No one would be better to do it than the angel from his dreams. She'd have to burn his corpse afterwards, so the Baron can't have him brought back.

He still holds the blade, metal tremoring above his neck, now contained by only the counterforce of her non-dominant hand. Her clammy fingers fumble with the hammer of the gun. 

"Put the blade down, or do I need t-to shoot your fucking hand off, Feyd?" She pleads and his eyes snap up with sudden fury, mouth twisting into hardness, eyes spilling over with shiny tears. His arm flexes, pulling her clenched hand right with him in its pathetic belief that she could stop him with the strength of her body. The black-hot tip kisses his neck.

The relic snaps the gun up and points it at herself, the muzzle cold and grounding against her damp temple.

Laughter fades at once. Feyd-Rautha's brows furrow and his grip slackens, deeply disturbed. "My darling… What are you doing?"

"Drop the blade right now!" 

He obeys without thinking, weapon clattering across the tiles before his palms find her hips, clinging to them in fear. "What are you doing with that gun? Stop that— You c-can't leave me."

"And you can't leave me." With a deep exhale and smoldering eyes, she places the gun right next to Feyd's knife, a tiny click of plastic on marble. His fingers clench, his belly where she's seated jumps with quick breaths. 

"I still love you," she sighs and Feyd-Rautha's entire body goes slack. Maybe that's what he needed to hear all along. "Of course, I still love you!" 

Her voice cracks, her shoulders slump. Crying, she throws herself over him, forcing her arms around his neck to serve as pillows for his head. Cheek to cheek, she kisses his tear-streaked skin. Feyd's arms slide home around her back, holding her to him like a blanket.

"I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," she murmurs. "It's okay. You're my love and nothing could ever change that." Brief laughter tickles his ear. "When I woke up, I thought I belonged nowhere. But that's not true, because I belong with you and you belong with me. I think I've been floating through space for 24,000 years just to get to you."

He is so ashamed. He never wants to come back out of her embrace.

"I'll find a way," she promises, a sweet whisper against his ear. Already, the gears have started turning in her head and her interface twinkles like a shooting star to make a wish. "We'll kill him."

Feyd wants nothing more than to believe her. His fingers trail up her spine, to the nape of her neck. His flesh burns with vile memories. "Can you— Can you still touch me and make it go away?"

"Of course, my love. I will make it go away. I'll make it better." Her voice trembles from the decision she's made. "I will make it all better."

Come not here in the sun! Come not with a sword! Come not crying over a naked corpse! Come not with a disturbed mind!

- Druth (Hellblade)

A/N: To distract you from your killing fantasies, I think this is the right time to mention that Lilia and Mikhail are my lovely bestie's and my OCs in Dune disguise and I love them so absurdly much, your honor 🥹❤️

FEYD TAG LIST

@nostalgichoya, @forgedfromthestars, @sweetiee-o, @missbingu, @minedofmoria

@sebastianswallows, @charmingballoon, @flower-frog, @welliah, @aoi-targaryen

@coastalcowgirl35, @esolean, @szapizzapanda, @tatertooted, @sunny747

@ughdontbeboring, @meetmeatyourworst

[macabr3-barbi3]

dream a little dream (of me) - chapter 4

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

With new abilities comes fun- and some new problems.

SLOW MOVING BUT WE'RE GETTING THERE FOLKS- have a healthy dose of both plot and angst bc I have no self control hehehe

Those that asked to be tagged (if I missed you or tagged by mistake I AM SORRY AHHH)! @fraugwinska (MY LOVE MY DEAR MY MUSE 💛) @aconstructofamind @littlebluefishtail @spottypug @dennsfz

@bishiglomper @ivebeenthearchersstuff @martinys-world @minamilinaqueen

Tags: Dream Sex; Dreamsharing; Vaginal Sex; Rough Sex; Light Bondage; Dreamwalking; Clone Sex; Threesome - F/M/M; Tentacles; Overstimulation; Angst

Comments and feedback are always loved and appreciated thank u and enjoy 🫶

In the weeks following Alastor ripping his stitches open, you are careful to avoid his dreams- and his bed- so that he can properly recover this time. After his wound heals, when Alastor starts stepping out for errands away from the Hotel again, you start practicing your newfound abilities.

You nap in your own room at times when Husk is off duty and start small- knocking over bottles on the shelf while he speaks with Angel or Charlie in his dreams. Loosening his bowtie so he has to fix it when it starts dangling off his throat. Replacing the alcohol in his glass with various juices and other liquids- and okay, maybe replacing all of the vodka with water was a step too far, since that’s what eventually made Husk start looking around the lobby in suspicion in his dreams. You just hovered on the outer edges of his consciousness, hidden in the shadows of the lobby and watching, messing with things a bit.

Niffty was next, and under any other circumstances you would have felt bad about conjuring a wave of roaches from the closet she was about to open; the little cyclops had a blast though, pulling out her tiny dagger and stabbing away as she was carted off down the hallway, giggling maniacally. It was during this dream that you realized you could vanish, blend into the background of the dreamscape as easily as Alastor shifted into shadows. Niffty had no clue you were there as she rode the wave of bugs into consciousness.

There was only so much that you could really test without the person knowing about it- you didn’t want to try your luck with Vaggie or Charlie without knowing the extent of your abilities, so you finally cave and ask Alastor for permission to enter his dreams to practice some things; simple conjuring, your disappearing act, just generally testing how much control you really had. He also offered up use of his pocket dimension to test the range of your power, which was the first thing that you did together.

Technically with this knowledge you could have figured out a room in the hotel that would prevent you from being close to anyone as you slept. But who wants to climb those extra sets of steps? Better to just stay in Alastor’s room, you figured.

So here you were, in Alastor’s dream version of the bayou, a clearing in the forest laid before you. “The first thing that we should consider,” he tells you, “is that you may not be the only person with powers such as you have. If this is the case, it’s pertinent that both of us learn to distinguish between what is created by the dreamer’s own mind, and what is conjured with your powers. Duplicate this,” he demands, and when he holds out his hand he has a book that he transfers to you before turning around. You concentrate on it, manifesting an identical copy in your opposite hand. Last second, you swap the hand that holds each book before Alastor turns around and takes them back.

He inspects them closely before he gives you back the one that you had created. “It’s very subtle,” he says with a hum, “but if you look and feel closely you can find the differences. Whether that is a matter of your current lack of experience or a side effect of your powers we’ll have to determine.” You run your hands over both of them, actually inspecting rather than just holding them, and can’t find anything different between them. When you tell Alastor this, he simply provides something else for you to duplicate; a silk robe.

This time when you create yours, you take a moment to feel beyond what is in your hand and you think you know what he’s talking about; there’s something a little less corporeal about it even though it’s solid in your hands, the edges almost a little fuzzy if you look too closely. You focus a little harder to see if you can fix that and the lines of the robe sharpen. Satisfied, you have Alastor turn around again, and this time he looks pleasantly surprised.

“Good girl,” he says. “You’re a quick study.” You repeat the exercise a couple more times, the items increasing in size from a radio to a log, finally stumping Alastor with a duplicated taxidermy raccoon- you bring them both to life, and they scamper about between Alastor’s legs before running off into the bayou, evidently vanishing with a snap of his fingers and then yours.

“Excellent,” Alastor commends you, and you glow with the praise, facing away from him still from having turned to watch the raccoons. “We both can tell how to tell your items from those created by the dreamer- now we’ll see if there’s any distinct difference between the dreamer themselves and, say, a duplicate created as a distraction.”

Your inquiry as to what he means is answered when you turn around to face him, and instead of one Alastor there are two.

The pulse of heat in your core at being caught in two of those predatory gazes was distracting, but you could put it aside. “Got it. So am I trying to figure this out just visually?”

The Radio Demons speak in unison, twin smiles in place. “You may touch, if you think that will help.”

You let out a nervous breath and approach, reaching out to the one on the left and trailing your fingers down his arm, focusing hard. You repeat the action on the demon to the right, and you can tell immediately that this one is the clone- its different from when you created duplicates, but there’s still something that almost tingles under your fingers when you touch it that gives it away, where the real Alastor hadn’t given off a similar sensation. Just to be sure, you run your hand over the expanse of its shoulders, noticing the way that the demon beside you stiffens ever so slightly, eyes narrowing and smile going tense at the way you’re touching it.

An idea clicks into your head- wicked, devious, something that Alastor would surely disapprove of. But with such an opportunity presented, how could you deny the whim?

You stand in Alastor’s space, much closer than you would normally allow yourself, and crane up on your tiptoes to get in his face. “This is the decoy,” you say confidently, and the one that stands behind you speaks instead of the true version.

“What makes you so sure?” Even the voice is ever so slightly off, a tint to the tone of the voice that you only pick up on because you’re listening so closely. “Choose your words carefully, dear, lest you insult me.”

You shrug, tone nonchalant. “There’s just something about this one,” you say towards the real Alastor, stepping back and circling around him, letting your fingers trail along his coat sleeve. “It doesn’t feel quite as… real as you do.” You turn to face the duplicate, startling a bit when it’s closer than you anticipated. “I think I’ve had enough practice touching you in your dreams to know the real thing.”

“Is that so?” Alastor murmurs behind you, and it takes everything in you not to turn at the sound, lean back into him. “Well then, perhaps you’d care to make a little wager?”

“Maybe.” You feel your shoulders stiffen when he presses against you from behind, chest against the expanse of your back and hands settling on your waist. “What do you have in mind?”

Clone Alastor brings its hands up to cup your face. “If you stay convinced that I am the real Alastor,” it whispers, face coming to one side to whisper tenderly in your ear, “then you win. Your reward can be whatever you would like.”

“However! If I manage to break your conviction and change your mind,”  Alastor says from the other side. “I win. And if I win, my reward is that you allow me to experiment and test your abilities- both within and outside a dream- to my heart’s content.”

“Hmm.” You could always just lie, you supposed- what way would Alastor have of knowing that you were telling the truth? He couldn’t tell now- this would be an easy win for you. And maybe getting to see Alastor get a little jealous would be a nice bonus. “I accept. I’m pretty convinced though.” Just to really sell the point, you press your hands against the chest of the clone, run them over the fabric, tilt your head up to look into its eyes.

Alastor huffs behind you. “Very well. Perhaps you require a reenactment of the things we’ve done in dreams thus far- just to be sure? Make sure that you really recognize the touch.” His hands come up from your waist to cup your breasts, shirt vanishing at the contact and his thumbs brushing softly over your nipples. Your breath leaves you in a shaky exhale, the duplicate stepping ever closer and bringing its lips down to meet yours. 

There’s an underlying current of static to the kiss, something that doesn’t happen when you kiss Alastor. It’s not unpleasant, and you moan into it, playing it up just a tad for the benefit of the demon that stands behind you, letting a soft tremble take over your body that wasn’t entirely for show.

“What do you think, darling?” Alastor drags his tongue up the length of your neck, sharp teeth nipping at your jawline. “Still convinced?” He sucks on the soft skin, almost too hard before pulling back with a kiss to the tender spot. His nimble fingers pluck at the sensitive peaks of your breasts, chest pressing further into the front of the duplicate who licks into your mouth with intent, biting gently at your lips.

“Perhaps you need a bit more to really cement your resolve,” it says into the kiss, bending to nuzzle at your neck on the opposite side from Alastor. “It would be unfair to expect you to guess without all of the same experiences.”

Despite the sensations of pleasure taking over your body, you still find the energy to snark at him, “not guessing. I know.” And twist your fingers into the soft (but not as soft) locks of the clone’s hair, dragging it closer to your skin and grinding your hips against his and the growing erection that you find there.

Snaps sound in unison and their clothes disappear to wherever yours had gone, and a hot length of hardness presses against you from either side- Alastor against the plush curve of your ass and his clone against your pelvis and hip. “By the time I’ve finished,” they say, the static that hisses between them by your head making you dizzy with arousal, “you won’t know anything but my name.”

There are hands sliding down your body then, Alastor slipping a finger into your wetness while his clone thumbs at your clit, both of them gently rutting against your soft skin. You let your head drop back onto Alastor’s shoulder, and the menacing grin that you find on his face forces a shaky exhale from your mouth. “S-seems like a lot of work to change my mind,” you murmur, and he steals your mouth in a bruising kiss.

“Nothing with you is ever work, darling,” he whispers when he pulls back, another finger added to your slick cunt, his fingers crooking against the soft bunch of nerves and making you gasp and arch. The clone drops his head from your shoulder trail nips and kisses down your chest, his tongue circling a nipple and sucking lightly. “I think of it more like an investment in my personal entertainment- and pleasure.” 

You feel the way you clamp down on his fingers at that, and the clone scrapes his teeth against your sensitive breast- you whimper, reaching down to pull its face up so you can meet his mouth as well. When Alastor growls behind you, you ask, “what? Equal screen time is only fair.”

His smile turns treacherous. “You’ll want to keep that in mind, dear- I plan to hold you to it.”

With that his fingers leave you, arousal dripping to the forest floor as his hands come to your shoulders and pull, the same moment that the clone grips your legs and lifts, automatically wrapping them around your waist so you don’t fall. You’re left in the position of some kind of odd bridge between them, left staring up at the stars through the canopy of the trees in the bayou, the questioning of it dying on your lips when the thick cock of the clone pushes into you- slowly, relentlessly, not stopping until he’s buried to the hilt inside of you with his claws digging into the flesh of your hips.

If you hadn’t already been aware that the demon behind you was the real one, the way he hisses through his teeth would have given him away- Alastor can feel it, you know he can, the tight grip of your walls clenching down on the clone’s length somehow happening in duplicate on him, his hands tightening their hold on your upper body where you lean into his chest. And this, at least, doesn’t feel too different from the real thing; the second Radio Demon fills you perfectly, hips pressed flush to yours before pulling back and bucking forward again, a shock of pleasure that ripples through your body and forces a cry from your lips. The angle of the way they’re holding you pushes him right against the sweet spot inside.

When a couple of claw tipped fingers come down to press against your clit in soft circles you’re done for, the strength of your orgasm causing you to whimper and drop your head back against Alastor’s chest, body tensing and shaking as the clone rides out the waves of it. You wait for his release but it doesn’t come- no flood of heat inside of you or spilling onto your exposed skin. Your eyes open, watching the clone through blurry eyes and trying to raise your head up.

Your body is shifting then, shadows emerging from both demons to effectively flip you in the opposite direction, clinging to the duplicate’s chest now as Alastor presses his erection against you again, a couple tendrils of darkness wrapped securely around your waist and legs to support you from below. “What-”

“It’s not a fair game if we don’t both get a turn,” says the Alastor in front of you, grin dangerous as he whispers against your forehead, and you’re being entered again, faster this time since you’re already slick and open and ready for him. The force of it punches the air out of your lungs, exhaling wetly into the chest of the dream manifestation before you.

Claws dig into you, sinfully delicious little marks that you know will appear on your body when you awaken. “Or two turns,” comes Alastor’s staticky voice behind you- or, maybe in front of you? With your eyes clenched shut and your focus so completely on the pleasure being wrung from your body, you can’t quite tell where it’s coming from, which one of them is speaking. You had thought there was a difference in the way they sounded but-

“Maybe three.” 

“Four, even. Equal screen time and all that, like you said. Until we’ve had our fill and you’re absolutely certain which of us is which.” This is accompanied by a sharp thrust of Alastor’s hips, the slapping sound of skin overwhelming in the relative quiet of the bayou. It’s loud and lewd and arousing as anything as he fucks into you, your cunt clamping down with a fierce single-mindedness to keep him inside of you, even as the wetness it creates eases the slide out and back into your body.

“What do you think, dearest?” You can’t even tell which one is speaking any longer, your mouth lolled open against the bare chest of the clone who sweeps a comforting hand over your hair as the real deal fucks you into a cock drunk stupor. “You’re still sure which of us is the duplicate?”

“Y-yes,” you manage, but only because you know that when you started the dream version of Alastor was in front of you. You dig your fingers into his neck and moan, high and unashamed, and feel claws pierce the skin of your hips, a rumbling growl tearing itself from Alastor’s chest. “I- I would know the real thing anywhere- this,” you say, with a forceful, intentional clench around him, knowing you’ll regret this when you wake and all of the aches and bruises appear on your real life body, “is a p-poor imitation .”

He snarls, and you see the shadows of his antlers grow in your peripheral vision. “This poor imitation is going to make you cum, sweetheart, how does that sound?” 

“Like a challenge.”

His laugh is dark, one of the shadows coming up from below you to push and grind hard against your clit above where you’re speared on his length. “Th-that’s cheating!” You cry out; the feeling is intense, almost too soon after your last orgasm, pleasure that teeters on the edge of painful . The clone holds you tighter against his chest, soothing touches to your back and head as you’re made to take the cock inside of you and the tentacle thing that plays you with a mindless conviction. “Oh, God, fuck -”

“You forget that I play to win,” he says simply, his speed increasing, and another tendril of shadow slips into you alongside his cock, narrow and squirming in a different rhythm. “The method matters little if the end result is what I want.”

You choke a little when this orgasm hits you, vision darkening on the edges as your body seizes in his grasp, jerking uncontrollably as the force of it slams into you. Again, there’s no spilling of warmth inside your pussy, Alastor’s release once again postponed for whatever reason.

They pass you back and forth like this for a couple more rounds, each time growing more fervent and rough in their handling of your body while they are inside you, only to brush your hair back from your face and whisper sweet, filthy words into your ear while you cling to their arms and your sanity. Your body is drenched in sweat, inner thighs coated in the evidence of your arousal and orgasms- limbs trembling with the effort to keep your head up and your eyes open. You can’t tell them apart by touch anymore, a hand on your body at any given time as they switch your position and pass you between each other, your mind completely gone as you cum another time, body twitching with the pair of them holding you through it.

Immediately after, you lose the comforting presence on either end of your body when both of them step away from you, another couple of tentacles wrapping around you to keep you still as you pant and shake, body weak and trembling. “Alastor?” They’ve both slipped into the shadows, a whirl of noise in the space around you, and when you open your eyes they’re rematerializing- and fuck, you’re already so overly stimulated that you can’t tell them apart by sight alone either, vision still blurry from the power of your last release. The shadows make a sort of shelf beneath you, allowing you to drop your head back into the gentle embrace of something soft and billowy.

They speak in unison now as they approach. “Final determination now, darling,” they say, a hand on either hip. “Which of us is the real thing?” 

The wager is the last thing on your mind as you turn towards him, desperate for the more solid connection that the real Radio Demon provides in the dream scene. “Alastor,” you whine, reaching for him, digging your nails into what you can reach if his arm. “Please-“

His smile is devious when the duplicate disappears with a puff of smoke and he slots himself between your legs, pushing forward with a sharp snap that has you keening, head falling back as his claws push into the plush flesh of your hips. “It would appear,” he murmurs, “that you’ve lost the wager, dearest- you’ve changed your mind.”

“Don’t care,” you cry out, grip ironclad where you hold him, spare hand coming up to hold his shoulder like a vice. “Please, Alastor, I’m- I can’t go again, please.” Your body is aching and sore, muscles trembling from how many times they’ve tensed and released and shuddered through an orgasm at his hands. You don’t think that you can do it again; it might honestly shove you from the realm of the dream with how overwhelmed you are.

“Darling, darling,” he whispers, drawing his hips back and pushing forward in a steady rhythm, letting his hands run over your hands wherever he can reach and letting a tentacle reach up to rub at your sensitive clit. “You’ve got one more for me, I’m sure of it. Cum for me one more time, sweetness- let me feel you after taking us both and show you much better the real thing is when I flood your cunt with my release.”

Your stomach swoops with sharp arousal- you’ll never get enough of him talking like that, all traces of the prim and proper Radio Demon gone when he’s desperate to orgasm, buried inside your cunt with no radio filter and no thoughts in that lovely head but to drag you over the edge with him. An edge that, currently, is far too close and threatening to destroy you. “Al- Alastor, please, I can’t,” even as the tension pulls ever tighter, the tentacle at the apex of your thighs unrelenting in its focus, legs shaking uncontrollably where Alastor has wrapped them around his waist, his own steady rhythm stuttering. 

“With me, sweetheart,” he says, and the words are tinted like a plea, like he needs it. “Cum with me-” He bends down over you, tongue sliding against yours in your mouth before he turns, teeth sinking into your neck as he spends himself with a muffled groan against your skin, pulses of wet warmth inside of you that have you crying out into the silence of the bayou when your own orgasm tears through you.

You’re shattering- splintering into fractals of consciousness as you’re torn from the space of the dream. 

You don’t immediately wake though- pleasure jolts through you with the force of an arc flash but somehow you’re still asleep, flashes of something zipping by you as your- spirit? Soul? Whatever you currently were, you were catching glimpses along your peripheral vision as you moved; scenes of Alastor’s dreams, moments of his life, his face non-smiling and dark, covered in blood, a bullet hole between his eyes, and there was his mother again, as she had been in the first dream you had seen her.

You feel like taffy, being stretched and compressed hundreds of times over the span of what couldn’t be more than a few moments. You don’t think these are things that Alastor is currently seeing or dreaming about, which means that somehow you’ve gone further into his consciousness than his dreams- you might even be in his subconscious, you think, as you see snippets of a memory with Husker, eyes angry and hurt; Niffty, dirty and bloodstained as Alastor offers her a hand; yourself, the way that he had seen you in the dream with his mother, eyes wide and frightened when you had stepped on the stick that gave your position away.

And then there’s more of you, moments that he had apparently been observing you when you weren’t aware. It’s from his own point of view, eyes dropping down to your hand where it rests on Angel’s forearm at the bar, tracing the line of your arm where it’s draped affectionately over Charlie’s shoulder. He’s watched you everywhere, scenes of yourself in front of the fireplace in his room, curled up on a lobby couch, sitting in the main office with plans for guest events laid out before you, an irritated crease in your brow. You see yourself sleeping in the bed in his room where he had apparently stood over you, a clawed finger reaching out to brush your hair back from your face; there’s a rumbling of speech that you can’t make out as he says something and you stir in your sleep, face going slack with a small smile taking over your features. 

The scene fades, and the sharp pleasure of your explosive orgasm returns with force, your eyes opening in reality with a choked off cry as your body trembles with the aftershocks of it, hand digging into Alastor’s arm where he lays next to you. The overwhelming feeling fades finally, and your muscles go slack against the mattress, finally turning to look at him.

His eyebrows are creased in concentration, smile still present but a bit strained. “Where were you?” He asks softly, and when you cock your head a bit he clarifies- “I was awake. But you were… elsewhere, it would seem.”

You don’t think he’ll appreciate you being in his mind like you were, but you don’t have many other options as far as figuring out what the fuck that was. “I think I was… in your head? Like your thoughts and memories. Sorry,” you add as an afterthought. “I didn’t mean to- I’m still learning, I don’t really understand what happened-”

“You were in my mind despite my being awake?” Alastor doesn’t look upset at the revelation- rather, he looks intrigued. “It seems that your power is changing- how entertaining!” He jumps up from the bed, the clothes he had fallen asleep in rumpled and wrinkled. He doesn’t seem to care as he starts pacing around the bed. “This is all speculation of course, but it would seem to me that the excessive stimulation in my dream has caused another bond to form with your powers- no longer just between your physical and dream forms, but between your powers and the real world. Fascinating!” His grin is wide, manic when he looks back at you. “And what perfect timing, now that I’ve won a wager that allows me all sorts of rights to experimentation with your powers and abilities. We’re going to have such fun with this, darling-” He continues to ramble and you watch him pace as he does, one turn allowing something to catch your eye.

A bruise on Alastor’s collarbone- where you had held him in the dream, your thumb digging into the skin that covered the bone, apparently hard enough to leave a mark. None of the marks you had left on him in the past had ever manifested like this in the real world; his theory about the links between your dream self and reality seeming more plausible, if you could inflict something physical on him from a dream.

Might as well tell him now. “Alastor,” you interrupt him, and rise from the bed to stand before him, brushing your thumb over the discolored flesh. “Look-”

His eyes go dark, dials flickering when he grins down at you. “Another mystery to experiment with,” he says. “We’ll have to determine if the ability to leave physical alterations is limited to just myself- since you spend the most time in my dreams, I would presume your powers have developed a sort of bond to my mind- or if you could do this to others.”

Your hands freeze on his chest. “What do you mean, ‘others?’ I don’t- I’m not doing anything like this with anyone else.” 

“No need to worry, dearest, I didn’t mean the more intimate aspects! I merely meant markings in general- say, if you were to cut someone with your claws, or take a bite from them. Would that manifest in the real world?” His antlers expand, green stitches appearing at the edges of his smile. “Imagine the ease of being able to kill someone in a dream without ever having to be in the room! Oh, the possibilities are thrilling-”

“I’m not doing that.” You let your touch fall from his skin, taking a step back at the clear delight on his face in thinking about you killing someone. “That’s… that’s not what I’m here for, Alastor, I don’t want to use my power like that.” 

“You would rather waste your potential? Regardless, we had a wager, my dear, one that you lost- it was made in a dream but it’s still binding. For the sake of experimenting you’ll do whatever I ask of you; that was the condition, was it not?” Something green glows in his hands- not a chain like you had seen on others with a legitimate soul deal, but something like a rope, a leash. He tugs on it gently, enough to make you lose your balance and stumble forward where it pulls at your wrist.

This was the Alastor you had seen in the first dreams of his- ruthless, bloodthirsty, angry. Gone was the softer version of him that you had come accustomed to, the one you had glimpsed in the dream with his mother, in the memories you had seen. You needed to get away-

No sooner had the thought come than there was a blast of light from your palms, startling Alastor into releasing the cord that tied you to him. Your steps falter backwards and put space between the two of you, no time to think about what had just happened; the hurt look in Alastor’s eyes is the last thing that you see before you turn and bolt from the room.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/54459367/chapters/142955671

[mywifealhaitham]

𑁤 Sunday x gn!reader headcanons!

a/n: mfghhhh angel boy ♡ ok he has me in such a chokehold save me sunday.... send me sunday requests I'll eat them up!!! or honestly any hsr requests also very light penacony quest spoilers

banner by tyoookozuki on twt

- Sunday is always super attentive to you, pretty much puts your needs above his everytime. outside his eyes never wander far from you and he always makes sure you're only really a beckon away

- this might be because he's a little protective and possessive but with some.... recent events you can't really blame him! he also loves you dearly

- honestly I think he's really flexible with his ways of showing love he'll just do whatever to please you whether it be giving you expensive gifts or helping clearing out paperwork however his personal favorite is physical touch

- he loves caressing your body, leaving little soft kisses in his wake. his fingers almost find them in your hair interweaving them with strands of your locks or his hands will be intertwined with yours brushing his thumb gently across the backs of your hand

- kinda a sucker for more meek and sensitive partners. it works both ways because if your someone who's more prone to having your emotions control you he's a perfect anchor with his calm attitude and smooth voice grounding you back to reality

- oh he definitely takes you on dates in the emptier parts of penacony far away from prying eyes. sadly due to his status pda is never really an option but he makes it up by patting your head and the amazing dates he brings you on in private

- I'd like to imagine he has a more teasing and adventurous side, probably formed by constantly being a public figure and being forced to hide all those feelings. however you make him feel free and he shows it while you lightly walk through a new upcoming dreamscape area, his hand pulling you through as giggles and light hearted conversations fill the air

- definitely calls you his love, his darling, his dear y/n, his little dove.... his in general. maybe it's because I'm projecting but this stuff gets me crazy weak in the knees. and he means it too, you're his dear little thing and he hopes his yours too.

[lalalian]

I always think to myself, "I'm out of ideas... I'm out of actually cool, creative ideas, will I have to shut all my shit down? How am I supposed to continue posting if I've got nothing..." but then, the next second I'll come up with something that genuinely could be a whole ass dr

...

here's a dump of some of the drs I've been wanting to make into filled scripts for awhile now, but I haven't even started designing the scripts for them yet.

Some of them are literally just titles, but idk I just know I can work with it yk?

since I finished some prototyping hw today, I'll put in a little more effort sectioning this post

some of the ideas in question

cloud catcher: steampunk reality based on a cloud city, you've got a job as a cloud catcher, your job is to catch and sell different kinds of clouds, have a cloud shop

inedible edible cafe: inedible things here (in our OR) would be edible in this dr.. Initially I only wanted to include slime as a dish, but now I want to make dishes with different ingredients, like puffy sticker cereal or sum shit

shifting school dr: okay so this actually was a trend on shifttok for a sec, it was called a 'mysterious school' idk why. anyway, this school was supposed to be it's own dr, but I think i may include it in my dreamscape dr

magitech engineer dr: ngl this idea was in the fucking basement of my mind-- ain't nobody gonna wanna shift here besides for someone that actually likes crafting things. idk i just feel like it’s a niche idea

number magic: uh so no, that's not the title for this dr-- I just really wanna make a dr with this kind of system. idk I was just in world lit class and I realized the poem I was reading was repeating the number 5. we were supposed to analyze the poem, but my dumbass just started daydreaming... anyway, next idea

fantasy cosmetic makeup maker dr: so like imagine handmaking make up with like... mermaid pearls or like ground unicorn horns (sourced ethically of course-- unicorns will shed their horns like baby teeth throughout their lifetime. I cannot imagine depriving a unicorn of its horn... imagine doing that... what a psycho😨) you could make like a mermaid line, a sky beauty line, IMAGINE THE PACKAGING. STOP. WAIT. FLOWER KNOWS. AHHH.

guardian flame: I have so little down for this DR lmao 😭😭 essentially like you're some sort of being that's been assigned to protect another, probably someone who isn't as strong as you. the kinda oddball part about your drself in particular is that you have to go to school to train how to be a good protector, but like you've already got a person you need to protect. nobody is assigned to protect anyone until affffftteeerrr graduation, but ur stuck with an idiot

futuristic skater/futuristic biker: self explanatory! I also wanted this to be in a high school setting. this idea stemmed from me just wanting a high school futuristic dr, cuz like yk I was curious about what high school students would need to learn. what would be considered important to learn about? would all students be taught about how to make technology we would find difficult to make today? what about psychology class? what new theories would arise? what would students think about our generation (in our CR) today? would they think we're stupid, crass, or selfish? anyway, initially I just wanted to go to school and walk around... but, I had a dream about living in the future, more abt that in the next idea (this idea is getting long). Instead, I think I wanna deviate a bit from what I would usually do here and in literally every other school dr I have-- I want to experience what it'd be like to be a... deliquient? idk, growing up i kinda just was just that quiet girl that listened to her parents... soooooooo why not do smth different? I'm still not gonna drink or do drugs tho, boooooooo ik so boring 🙄🙄 oh also I was gonna have a group of friends that were also skaters or bikers and compete in definitely legal biker/skater competitions

futuristic entertainment district: anyway more about that dream, essentially everyone was wearing these levitating rocket boots that looked a lot like roller skates (they had those wheels at the bottom of the shoes). the city was like a huge pot hole filled with stores on the side, but like it seemed like parts of the land was broken apart and floating around-- even those had advertisements and people singing and dancing on them. like this pot hole city was filled to the brim with advertisements, shops, stores, entertainment places, literally I remember that there was a huge section of like idol shit. there were a lot of people darting around the place using those levitating boots I was wearing, but there were also futuristic floating cars. imagine cyberpunk but if it was located in a big ass pot hole. yah, that. idk i just wanna explore

dystopian futuristic dr: similar to cyberpunk in the fact that it's a world dominated by companies; I want to join an underground group that wants to overtake the gov and make the world less ass

singles inferno - introvert ver: I actually have all the contestants scripted + designed a script for this DR, but I haven't worked on this script in a whiillleeeee. I wanna be song jia. not literally, but like I want to have her charm, yk? ok so the introvert part-- a lot of the game will take place in a group chat room. you do challenges in-person and in this chatroom to get a date, sometimes it's a random date, but most of the time it's like your choice. very heavily inspired by a game called picka!

a minecraft roleplay dr: I know at least one of yall cringed so hard at this, trust me, I knooowwwww-- but I really want to be like the next aphmau or smth. oh except I don't want to make kid vids, tho I'm sure yall knew that right. I want to recreate aethergarde academy in minecraft (ALSO ALRUNA TOO OMFG) but then I also wanna do other things that aren't dr related. idk I just know that this DR's gonna be sooooo fun. I haven't even decided on a channel name yet 😭😭

...

uh so I prob got more, but these were just the ones that came to mind

I'll prob make a part two when I'm lazy with posting

if anyone wants to use these ideas, please do credit me! if one of yall see someone using my ideas without credit, plz plz tell me, ty!

[moonsaver]

Okay, wait, you know what? Yandere Sunday is terrifying.

Not physically. At least not until you push the very hard boundary he's kept.

Its very subtle when he eyes you. Whenever he comes up to you it's just casual conversation, pleasantries, and a few tidbits about some of the main tourist attractions. Nothing out of the ordinary.

He's terrifying in his status, aswell. The most important man on Penacony, almost too many things rest on his shoulders. A distant, fake warm gaze that he seems to put on to politely appease other people. He's well aware it creeps you out when he's talking to you. However, a bit into the conversation and he.. likes it. It's refreshing. Having to constantly read between the lines, find out someone's true intentions, negotiate constantly, and on top of that be polite for the sake of reputation,sharp and pointed words masked behind well-wishes.. it gets tiring. For once, your conversation seems to ease him. His fake smile is slowly taken over by a small, but real one. Oh, dear.. you have to leave? What a shame. You should check out the dreamscape. Him and The Family have worked very hard on it. He's sure you'll like some of the tourist spots he's personally recommended.

The dreamscape is lively and bustling, the wide expanse of it almost bizarre. Careful, or the crowd will sweep you away before you know it! And suddenly there's the Bloodhound family guards that are helping you so graciously, out into a variety of secluded and serene spots,which you remember Sunday having mentioned in the conversation..

And well, there's this feeling. Something's watching you. It's not the giant eyeball with the strange memory sales, unfortunately. And the feeling follows you around everywhere. Even when you were sure you were alone, in some or the other secluded spot. You ponder for a moment if it's just the guards keeping their eyes on a newbie who might cause trouble, but they seem disinterested and not engaged unless necessary. Certainly, even their gazes can't feel this heavy?

Of course, how would you know? Watching you flutter about is apparently a satisfying past time, according to Sunday. A stoic and unchanging face, many things circulating behind his eyes. Your uncomfortable face is.. strangely fascinating to Sunday. Something feels abnormal in the space between his ribs. He loves having you in his sights, the comfort of knowing where you are, what you are constantly doing.. isn't it romantic, too? He's essentially taking care of you. If anyone asks – well.. You're one of his guests, personally invited by The Family to Penacony. It's his responsibility to make sure of your well-being, no?

And oh, dear.. you don't look so well. You haven't been sleeping, have you? Its the first thing Sunday comments on when he sees you at the bar, face in your hands as your sleep-deprived mind makes you dizzy. You do understand it's essential to sleep well, not just to function efficiently, but for your general wellbeing? Its alright, he understands. He can deploy further safety measures if you feel your security is compromised. He hopes, "you do not mind the continuous pestering of the Bloodhound family guards", do you? They'll keep you company in The Reverie, and The Dreamscape, too. A danger to you poses a danger to every guest, please do comply to these.. compromising circumstances, will you?

And, unfortunately for you, reports just came in. Looks like investigation has to be done, and your stay in Penacony has been extended! Don't worry – just talk to him directly, and let him know if you have any problems. Oh? You need to be locked up in your room for a certain part of the investigation? That's a shame. Perhaps he can just finish up his work a bit quickly and keep you company? Hm? Oh, no, dear. He can't just command them to not do that. Oh? No one else seems to be getting investigated? Well.. they're quite important figures, you know! Whole planets need to stop their work for them to have a day off, and besides.. You're probably in more danger than them. Of course.. you wouldn't think being alone with Sunday of all people would have been a safer option, would you?