#like a nap

[spontaneousful]

Furina's Nightmares

I saw this post, which was super cute, and started thinking about all of the different nightmares Furina might have, and the answer is too many. Furina needs some love, a hug, and maybe a hot chocolate, but let's pit her against some of her fears instead >:D

◇The Knave actually kills her

Instead of stopping when she realizes Furina doesn't have the gnosis, the Knave kills her. I think would go great with also waking up from the nightmare and dealing with it, because if she would have died there, she would have died miserable, alone, and for nothing, because Fontaine would still be doomed.

♡ Bonus: She has this nightmare while she's still the archon and is completely alone. Hurt no comfort. I would cry reading this, honestly.

◇She is trapped in the Opera Epiclese

The Opera Epiclese is the best physical manifestation of her mental prison. She lived there, worked there, and watched every performance/trial hoping it would be the one to bring the end. She could leave it for a while, but she always had to return. Everything bad happened there, except her meeting with Focalors.

♡ She is trapped on the stage and back into a never-ending performance

♡ She is trapped in her room in the Palais Mermonia listening to people gossip about her, or letting down the charade only for someone to walk in, or just stuck there, alone and scared, and unable to do anything

♡ She is stuck in the Opera Epiclese while keeping up appearances as Fontaine's God

♡ She has to watch everyone else enter and exit freely, living their lives happily while she is stuck there forever

◇She is all alone in Fontaine/Everyone died

Imagine, for a moment, if you will, that when Furina goes outside to find the prophecy is false, she only finds an empty city. Or, consider, everyone is fine one minute, and gone the next.

♡ She visits her favorite spots, like the place that sells her favorite only-sixteen-slices-a-day cake, looking for anyone or anything left behind in a pristine Fontaine. There is nothing left.

♡ Before her eyes, Fontaine rots as if it's been abandoned for centuries. Suddenly, she is back on the throne, surrounded by water.

◇Forced to be in an opera or play/Being a puppet

She's spent 500 years playing the part of a pretentious god, a little more acting won't kill her! She's so good at it, it's a shame to let that talent go to waste. I think this would be scary for her because, obviously she was acting non-stop for 500 years and she no longer wants to be in the public eye like that, but also I think she would fear being invisible as in no one sees who she really is, they only see the facade.

♡ She's in a performance in the Opera Epiclese and cannot escape the spotlight

♡ She is back to being the archon, but her body moves and talks without her permission, and she can see the strings attached at the joints, but no one else seems to notice

♡ She is on the stage, acting a character she doesn't act like, when suddenly it's just a normal day, but she can't stop acting and no one sees anything wrong. Tea time with Neuvi and she's spewing insults?? Watching a performance at the Opera and having over-the-top reactions to every little thing?? Another meeting with the Knave and she's just like, bestie, let's blow this place up??

◇Fontaine is flooded and she is at the bottom of the ocean

This one is inspired by her character teaser, linked at the end if you haven't seen it. This one is like her finding Fontaine empty, but the city is underwater. This could have just been a bullet point under that one, but I wanted to make it its own thing. I would like to propose a fear of drowning to accompany this one.

♡ She watches Fontaine get overrun by marine life. Plants start growing on/inside of her

♡ She tries to swim to the surface and get away, but she can never make it to the surface

◇Dissolving

She was terrified of the primordial seawater, and it did have an effect on her; the possibility that she could've dissolved has got to give her nightmares. Dissolving in front of everyone when she was so close to saving them has got to be a way to go.

◇The Oratrice Mecanique d'Analyse Cardinale kills her

Like the one above, she was so close to saving everyone and being free, but instead of the Oratrice only killing Focalors, it also kills Furina. Do the people of Fontaine still survive? Technically, everything could play out to where they do, Furina just wouldn't be entirely alone when she cries on her throne.

♡ Everyone lives and Furina has to watch them be happy, neither version of herself ever getting to live the quiet human life she wanted. Do the people of Fontaine care that she died? Do they remember her as a hero or a liar?

♡ Everyone dies and they blame Furina. They are returned to their oceanid state and they attack Furina. This one is clearly not thought out, lol, but why would you want everyone to be mad at Furina anyway

◇Time Loop

Furina gets stuck in a time loop. This one is Paimon's fault; she tells Furina about some of the light novels from Inazuma and the popular trope of getting stuck in a time loop, and Furina ends up having a nightmare about it. Okay, these could also just be a time loop story and not a nightmare, but for the sake of theme.

♡ She has a good life after everything that happens, lives to be old and frail and dies surrounded by love. She wakes up on the day she met Focalors. The time loop starts.

♡ She gets exposed as a fake god and suddenly she is back at the ceremony where she introduced herself as Fontaine's god. Every time things go awry in Focalors's plan, Furina gets reset to this point.

♡ Focalors's plan doesn't work, and everyone dies. Furina wakes up 100 years before the traveler arrives every time she doesn't save everyone.

[crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington]

snuggling in the sun...

[ettle]

Until next time.

[hinamie]

I don't want to regret the way I lived

[kalmiaclown]

I passed oyt and was blessed with a vision...

[lilacxquartz]

love you, love you, love you;

mr. crawling x reader

plot: some things are best expressed without the need of words — themes: spooning/cuddling, smut, maybe yan vibes — w.c: 1.1k

a/n: my first homicipher related fic. i want to try one for mr. silvair & mr. gap next, bc they were also my favs. this game has been taking over my life so much lately. like it’s been in my dreams, haaah.

masterlist • ao3

Mr. Crawling was always loud when he was excited within your company; his laughter filled out the vast empty spaces that were otherwise unadorned with familiarity. Whatever you once sought from those winding corridors was ever-fleeting, temporary, leaving you stuck within the confines of his company.

Yet, when he felt what you could only interpret as affection—that’s when Mr. Crawling then became different—quiet, soothing, kind but also… curious.

And when you would usually sleep, he would stand watch, knelt over the floor as per his usual stance but sometimes crouched near you, sometimes leaning back against the wall with his legs pressed up against his chest. He would watch you as his life depended on it, unwavering in focus and with eerie intensity. He would watch as your chest rose and fell, leaning close on occasion to catch the sweep of your breath and sometimes, he would trace the pad of his milky fingertips in long, languid strokes against your face. Always so delicate, so tender, but for the most part, quiet and even shy.

Having once caught a glimpse of Mr. Gap in your blanket space, however, set something territorial off for Mr. Crawling and he was never able to recover from such an invasion. The very idea that someone else was able to infiltrate what he deemed to be your space—especially someone who he disapproved of—wasn’t something he could stand for. Especially with the sort of trickster Mr. Gap was, he couldn’t bear to see you get hurt. It would kill him on the inside (and on the outside, too).

So, just as you were getting into bed to rest up once more, he too, slipped in under the covers with you. At first, you were startled as usual, turning to face him with confusion evident in your eyes, murmuring out some words in a language that he still could not understand. He repeated something back, the meaning lost and indecipherable upon your ears, though soon surrendering to emphasis using gestures instead. A hug to bring you closer, a reassuring pat on your head and a small, longing kiss over your nose.

You listened to his words again, repeating over and over like a broken record.

Perhaps he meant no harm, after all.

You turned your back to him and settled into his chest, finding that he was surprisingly warm for what he was. His taller frame encased your body, wrapping his ashen arms around your waist—accidentally brushing the fabric that sat over your breast—nicking the cloth ever so slightly. Your breath hitched in surprise and as though in sheepish realisation, he withdrew right away, terrified that you were upset with him.

You drew out a long breath, reminding yourself again, that after everything that has happened thus far…

That, Mr. Crawling does not want to hurt you.

That Mr. Crawling has only ever helped you.

So perhaps, right now, Mr. Crawling only wanted to be closer to you.

You relaxed your breathing, settling into his comforting shadow once more and allowed for his presence to envelop you. He repeated the soothing motions of his grappling arm, although he held onto you softer that time. His hands explored your body with a delicate touch, as though afraid of breaking you—of upsetting you again—his motions growing confident the longer that you didn’t protest. It wasn’t long before he, otherwise not disturbed by your lacking, conscious awareness, decided to explore further with you. Mr. Crawling’s fingers didn’t ask for permission that time, creeping beneath the clinging fabric, feeling your skin against his palms, inviting a pleased, almost delighted smile to curl on his lips.

The silence remained unbroken as Mr. Crawling continued his explorative focus on you; the quickly-building evidence of his need growing harder the longer he pushed himself behind your body, the repeated touches arousing something warmer within him. To both his surprise as well as your own—you were not repulsed, allowing him to creep even lower, below the skirt of the dress and up, brushing his hand up to your exposed skin and, reading into it—you communicated your consent from the moment you parted your legs, allowing him to get even closer.

Confidence surged in Mr. Crawling as he pushed himself into your hilt, allowing his hardened length to slip inside. Betraying the stagnant silence, he shuddered out a ragged gasp before giving into his own rising need; grinding himself into your sopping sex with steadily increasing fervour. His fingers clamped around the curve of your hips as he held you in place, slamming every last inch of himself deep into your core.

Ever touch-starved yet wanting nothing more than to surrender to the sensation of you, Mr. Crawling continued to drive his cock into your needy cunt, soon wrapping his winding arms around your body and holding on tight. He bucked intensely as you soon succumbed to breathless whimpers, incoherently begging for his name. Equally desperate whines rolled off the slip of his tongue as he found his lips pressed into the crook of your neck, dampening your skin with sloppy wet kisses—as many as he could give.

It felt overwhelming for you in a way to be worshipped like this but you did your best to keep up with such intensity, especially as the warm, tingling pleasure built up inside of you, too. You held on just as tight as he did, your hand seeking out his own—fingers weaving into his bony digits—interlocking and squeezing tight the closer you got, your grip and otherwise clenching need tightening simultaneously. To feel him losing himself inside of you was dare you admit, addicting, feeling him completely fill and stretch you out leaving you almost dizzied from the impaling force.

Mr. Crawling, like you, soon surrendered to the rolling bliss from the flick of his hips, feeling a surging warmth mount and rise, encouraging him to lose himself to the searing heat of the moment and you. Encircling your body in a possessive hug, he suddenly began to mutter out a new word in a strained mantra, again and again.

Given how desperate he seemed to be, you understood the meaning as ‘close’, especially as his actions grew more strained and less controlled.

“Close, close, close,” he repeated.

It didn’t take his chased release to catch up as his hips grew to a stutter, rutting out one final pump before melting into you. Mr. Crawling cried into your neck, spilling out the entirety of his overflowing love, feeling the pent-up devotion trickle down your thighs—yet not letting you move away—still retaining his claim on you.

Instead, he kept you even closer than before, not allowing you to part from him ever again (despite understanding your yearning for rest).

Words were never the problem, it seemed.

Mr. Crawling would have always found a way to… connect with you.

[greykolla-art]

Charlie: “I’m so glad my most villain-coded friend is at full power again! 🥰💕”

*throws this to you angst goblins like raw steak* ❤️

(No I will not do a part 2!❤️)

[otiksimr]

Ancient tree deer babysitting the grandkids

[pippynsworld]

It was a long day...

[lil-vibes]

narinder pulls shit like this everytime they dare go on a crusade without him

[olrinarts]

this one goes out to everyone else who's had their narinder take for-fuckin-ever to give them his personal quests

i deleted literally every decoration in my temple grounds and he was still just chilling

me: ffs why do you have no standards for your surroundings - oh

bonus text-free version below:

[smerfols]

Best nap position, I fear

[kaffkanya]

[monstera-modd]

DCxDP Crossover #2

The Space Worm

After a battle with a particularly tough ghost, Danny seeks refuge among the stars, hoping that his obsession will aid in his healing process. As he floats through the dazzling lights and passes by moons and planets, Danny finally finds the perfect spot! He trills and chirps in delight as he wraps himself around the metal structure, soothing his throbbing core. Closing his eyes, he indulges in the much-needed rest that Jazz always encourages him to take.

_________________

Constantine is going to kill someone (himself preferably).

Bleary-eyed, he reaches for his phone on the nightstand.

"Bat, if the world isn't on fire, I swear I'll curse you ten ways to Sunday!"

The call goes silent—par for the usual with Batman and phone calls.

"There's a massive spectral entity encircling the Watchtower."

John curses the day he ever got involved with their shit in the first place.

"...I'm on my way."

________________________

"This is awesome!"

Batman grunts as Flash smashes his face against the glass in the viewing dock, trying to catch a glimpse of the glowing worm. ("What? It has no legs, Batman—thus, a worm!")

Batman's glare hardens. "Constantine is on his way. Until then, no one makes loud noises that could draw the creature's attention to us."

"Did he say what it could be, perhaps?" Wonder Woman asks. She had been sitting at the end of the table but now stands near Flash, looking out into space.

A ping on one of the screens announces Constantine’s arrival. Superman, pacing silently, flies over and lands just as the doors slide open, revealing Constantine, who looks like he got dragged through Hell and back—twice. He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like a curse meant to banish hangovers.

“Alright,” he sighs, stepping into the room. “I’m here. Where is the bloody emergency?”

Batman, ever the efficient one, gestures toward the massive viewing window. Constantine follows the motion, and for the first time, his usual deadpan expression falters. His cigarette almost falls from his lips.

"Bloody hell," he mutters.

“Right?!" Flash chimes in. "It’s a worm! A big, glowing, space worm!"

Constantine doesn't respond immediately. Instead, he steps closer to the glass, eyes narrowing. The creature is massive, coiled protectively around part of the Watchtower’s exterior. A strange, rhythmic hum reverberates through the hull, though it’s unclear if it’s coming from the worm or just an auditory illusion from its sheer size.

“Looks spectral,” Constantine finally says, rubbing his chin. “But… it’s not actin’ like a typical ghost. It’s just… resting.”

Wonder Woman folds her arms. “Could it be intelligent?”

“Most ghosts are,” Constantine mutters. “Even the dumb ones.”

Batman’s voice cuts in. “If it’s intelligent, we need to figure out its intentions before taking action.”

Superman frowns, his X-ray vision scanning the creature’s form. “There’s something… odd about it. I don’t sense hostility, but there’s definitely something going on with its heart.”

Constantine stiffens. “Its core?”

Superman nods. “It has a fluctuating energy source. Almost like…” He hesitates, then looks at Constantine. “Almost like a ghost that’s injured.”

That gets everyone’s attention.

"Injured?" Flash repeats. "So, what? This thing came here to take a nap?"

Constantine curses again, louder this time. “You bunch of blokes just let a massive, injured ghost curl up around your base without knowin’ what it is?”

“I tried to scan it,” Batman says, voice tight. “It’s unlike any spectral entity we’ve encountered before.”

Constantine sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Right, fine. Let’s do this the old-fashioned way.”

He raises a hand, fingers curling as he murmurs in Latin. A faint golden light pulses from his fingertips, stretching toward the glass. For a moment, nothing happens. Then—

A tremor shakes the Watchtower.

The worm stirs.

A low, warbling trill reverberates through the station, and suddenly, a pair of massive, glowing green eyes snap open.

Constantine stumbles back. “Ah, shit.”

The entire room tenses. Batman reaches for his belt. Superman prepares to engage.

But before anyone can act—

The worm blinks. Its form ripples, shifting, distorting, and then—

A human shape peels away from the massive ghostly coils, floating weightlessly in the vacuum of space.

A boy.

White hair, black jumpsuit, glowing green eyes filled with exhaustion and confusion. He clutches his chest as if it pains him, his breathing heavy.

Then, through the comms, a weak but familiar voice crackles through the static.

“Uh… hey?” The boy—Danny Phantom—gives a sheepish grin. “So… this isn’t where I parked my spaceship.”

The room is dead silent.

Flash is the first to speak.

“Holy crap. The worm talks.”

Constantine groans. "I hate this job."

-Danny the green worm

[hinamie]

unconditionally

[idliketobeatree]

i'm living the dream, in the dream, i'm buried alive two bed grave, one bath, car in the drive mirrored covered windows block the light feeding back reflection distorts life cut connection — jesca hoop