#spot the gremlin out of the bunch

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

AHHH hii angel thank you so much for responding to my last request, it was more than perfect!! 💗

idk if you'd do this because it's a very sensitive topic and i don't want to make you feel uncomfortable but i need a little bit of comfort and reassurance since my bday is in like an hour hehe.. but can i have a bucky with a reader who's attempting to lose weight by dieting and working out but it kinda goes downhill (i think you know what I'm hinting at), and she's like a bit insecure and compares herself to models. and bucky finds out and helps her.. and just a bit angsty but turns out very fluffy with cuddles and stuff. you absolutely don't have to write this request if it's too overwhelming, lot's of love, take care! 💗💗💗💗

- 🦢

my love hi!! you’re more than welcome, glad you liked it!! happy belated birthday, hope you had a great day!! I love stuff like this so it’s no problem. sending love, hope you’re well. thanks for requesting, hope you like it💌

SMALL CHANGES.

bucky barnes x fem!reader — angst & comfort

word count. 1073

warnings. potentially triggering content? mentions of dieting and working out. might be a hard read for some?

Comparison is the thief of joy. 

It's something you've always struggled with, the endless questioning of yourself, picking yourself apart in ways you believe you don't fit in. It's an easy habit to slip into but a difficult one to break out of. 

As of late, those feelings resurfaced - finding more and more 'faults' when you put yourself up against others. Models. It was as if you got sucked into a spiral of scrolling through images and doubting yourself, all of it leading to you curled up crying in bed. Always. 

No matter how upset you'd be, you'd still find yourself swiping up to see more - feeding that little gremlin in your mind. 

And after a little while, you decided you wanted to do something about those feelings - granted the reasoning behind it wasn't coming from a good place, but you'd be bettering yourself, and that's what you originally wanted.

So you changed your routine: waking up before six, secretly squeezing in an hour workout before joining Bucky on his morning runs, coming back home to have breakfast —an apple— then going about your day only to workout again once you get home. 

You thought food was the enemy, so you restricted yourself with crazy diets and regimes you hear about in Hollywood. You tried a water cleanse, a juice cleanse, keto, even fasting, but no matter how hard you thought you tried, your efforts would not be enough for what you wanted.

All it left you feeling was tired and crappy. No matter how much you hated your body, your body hated you more for what you were doing to it.

You thought you were being sneaky and secretive in the way you were going about it, but you couldn't be more wrong. Bucky, your boyfriend, knew something was running rampant in your mind: every dismissal of a snack you previously loved, every time he watched you dodge a mirror —or on the contrast of seeing you stare too long in one— all of it only confirming what he had hoped not to be true.

It's a sensitive topic, especially to bring up to a loved one. Bucky knew you weren't going to be forthcoming, so he wanted to take the first step.

You were in your shared bedroom, sorting through your dresser to find a clean pair of workout clothes - all of your others drenched in sweat from your previous workouts. 

"Hey, honey?" Bucky calls out, knocking on the ajar door. 

You turn around to see his sweet face, your own almost embarrassed from being caught. "Yeah?" 

"It's almost dinnertime. What do you say about going to that restaurant downtown? The one you love?" he asks, trying to scope you out.

"I have some stuff in the fridge. I bought a bunch of kale that needs eating before it goes bad," you reply, turning away, redirecting your focus to the clothes in your drawer.

Bucky leaves his spot in the doorframe, instead walking over to take a seat at the foot of the bed - behind from where you stand. "That's not food," he softly shakes his head. "Rabbits eat that. Let's get something good. What about a chicken sandwich? Pizza?"

"It is food," you reply. "Put on some pepper and olive oil, then bake it— it's good," you add, trying to convince him and yourself. 

He faintly sighs, resting his elbows on his knees. "No one likes kale."

"Maybe you're not cooking it right," you playfully protest, trying to distract him. 

"No, I cook it right," he stands up, walking to stand beside you. "We haven't gone out to eat for a while. I miss spending time with you like that."

You missed it too - far more than you'd ever anticipate. But you didn't want to slip up again. You already had a few times this week and you didn't want to make a habit of it. 

"I do, too, but I already ate. Maybe in the week?"

"What did you have?" he asks, craning his neck to look at your face.

You hesitate, not having an answer. "I can't remember."

He exhales weakly, your unknown confirmation making his heart sink. His hand reaches for yours, the act like he was pulling your attention back to him. "That means you haven't eaten," he utters, his tone soft - the meaning behind his words almost scolding. 

You feel cornered, and once again, you have no answer for him. 

His grip tightens, gently turning you back to him. "You need to eat, honey. Your body needs it... I know what you've been doing."

After hearing something you didn't want to, your stomach drops. Bucky knew.

"I should've said something when I noticed it," he shakes his head, feeling at fault. "You know you can't keep doing what you're doing?"

You nod meekly, avoiding his eyes. You did know that what you were doing was unhealthy, but you wanted to be like them. If they can do it, why can't you?

"Why have you been doing it?" he asks faintly, cocking his neck to meet your gaze.

"Are you telling me off?"

He's quick to shake his head, denying it almost instantly - both his palms reaching to cup your face. "God, no," his soft eyes bore into yours. "Of course not, honey. Never," he reassures, thumbs grazing over your cheeks. "I just want you to look after yourself."

"I do," you hesitate a response, the words delicate - almost inaudible.

"You don't," he mumbles. "The working out, not eating? You're hurting yourself," he pauses. "If you want to change, I can help you. But we'll do it the right way, okay? None of what you've been doing."

All you can do is nod, silently acknowledging your accidental wrongdoings.

"Just small changes," he leans in, pressing a kiss to your lips. "That's all you need, okay?"

"Okay," you faintly smile, agreeing to the help. 

"So," he starts, removing the placement on the sides of your face. "We're going to go out for dinner. And you're going to order whatever you want— whatever it is you've been wanting to eat," he pauses, noticing the hesitancy in your expression. "And we're going to order water instead of wine. Small changes."

The thought of ordering a meal you've restricted yourself from is enough to make your smile genuine. The idea of having your lover's support making it all that much easier.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Accidental Targ

Scene III: i told you to hold my hand! | Masterlist

Daemon Targaryen x Modern!Reader

Summary: After coming to terms with the fact you were in King's Landing some two thousand years before your birth, you get reunited with your friend and try to manifest your way back to the present. For the meantime, Harwin Strong is your bodyguard.

Word Count: 4k+

Warnings: fem!reader, time travel au, descriptions of reader's hair, incestuous gremlin!daemon, very sus and innappropriate boss-employee dynamics, low key sugar daddy!otto hightower vibes, crackfic, typos, etc.

A/N: GUYS I DID IT. I FINISHED IT 😫 Also, its come to my attention that perhaps the way i planned out everything geographically is ??? bad but no its not just roll with it AND!! remember yall voted for him ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ i have a feeling you didnt read the prompt fully but whatever HAHAHAA i honestly have no idea where i meant to take this fic, so ???? enjoy?? HAHHAAH

Shoot me if I ever say it again, but for now: gods bless capitalism, specifically for it desecrating a national landmark.

Where once I was one of the people who protested against the building of the High Garden Centre, girl, was I thankful that the old ruins of the fucking Red Keep laid there as a little ol' artsy featurette.

"What's that sound?" Daemon asks as we stand from our spot.

I turn to my side, never before so relieved to hear and see, no more than two blocks away, a rave spilling out of a club, the very one Libby and I were at before we got into this shit show. "That, my prince, is called EDM."

I hurriedly run to Libby's side to pick her up, but Daemon does that himself. He get down and pulls the blue haired woman on his back, and I help him. At the same time, I feel a buzz from my satchel.

My phone!

Daemon watches me as I frantically claw for my device. The amount of texts and call notifications that pop up on my screen is overwhelming. I decide to just let it go off and grab Daemon's arm, "come on."

We walk down from the ruins, shifting through the shrubs and foliage around it. I catch the sight a mall cop and feel agitated when he looks over. He couldn't care less though, the site was open to the public after all, and with a literal club being right there, we were the least of his worries.

We pass the rusty chain fence surrounding it, and draw near Harrenhal (the club). Once we're there, a bunch of men hoot and holler at me. I ignore them as they say something about my 'Targaryen' hair and it dawns on me they were probably calling me princess and lady because I was still in a fucking Targaryen era dress.

Still, I ignore the stupid fucks as they ask to see my pretty skirt, opting to walk faster instead. I was horrified by how loud and violent Daemon's scream was.

He shouted so gutturally that I couldn't understand a lick of The High Valyrian flaming out of his mouth. The vein on his neck popped out and I literally had to hold him back from charging and dropping Libby.

"Daemon, please!" I whimper, heart racing, "Libby's still on you-"

"Grab her and I'll fucking ram steel down- COME OVER HERE AND SAY THAT AGAIN. SAY THAT-"

Steel? I look to his belt. Fucking seven hells, he brought Dark Sister?

I look back at him with wide eyes, feeling nauseous now that I've caught how maddened he looked.

In a panic, I gently pat his face while pulling his arm back, "Daemon, please."

He doesn't look at me.

My voice gets softer and my eyes water, "Daemon, I beg you."

He huffs and clenches his jaw, still not sparing me a glance.

"We don't have time for them," I whisper and keep my hand on his cheek, "I'm just going to connect to the club's wifi from here, then I'll can call us an Ubor."

Daemon does not tear his gaze from the men, who eventually waddle away to whatever sewer they came from, still hollering bullshit as they did.

"Kesan daor nārhēdegon naejot nyetodha aōha irosh," Daemon mutters. I will not forget to slit your throats.

The relief that washed over me was unparalleled when I booked an Ubor set to arrive in 3 minutes. I whimper and rub my eyes, "okay, not long now."

Daemon finally looks at me, still visibly pissed, and adjusts Libby on his back.

I wipe my face, "we're just going to get in the c-" Fuck... I should probably prepare him for the car.

"Okay," I raise my hands, "we're going to get in a metal..." I motion to the space, "... there's going to be a- a- carriage? But with no horse... but and when I get in, you just get in with me, okay?"

Daemon's expression is now one of confusion.

I sigh and place a hand on his shoulder, "it's going to be okay."

His lips curl, "... OK."

I screw my eyes shut and shake my head rapidly, "I mean alright. Alright! ALRIGHT!"

Daemon takes in my visible frustration and nods slowly, "OK."

To be honest, Daemon was a pretty good Ubor passenger, save for the fact his sword nearly cut me, Libby, him and the fucking car seats when he tried to sit without removing his scabbard first. We were lucky the driver seemed to be used to... ren fair people.

He also seemed to be used to driving people to the ER. I was too relieved to think realize how fucked up that kinda is in the moment. Needless to say, I gave him 5 stars and an extra tip.

With Dark Sister in my grip and Libby in Daemon's arms, we finally made it to Lannister Medical Center.

The moment we get there, I run inside the ER and break down at the first nurse I see. I infodump everything, how Libby got attacked, how Harwin lost her, how some maesters tried to help us, how she lost a lot of blood, how I'm afraid she's going to die, how Daemon ended up carrying her, and I just keep going up until I saw Libby's blue hair scattered on a stretcher and the nurse told me to sit down.

I didn't have much fight in me left to argue, so I sit myself down on the bench. But then I see the nurse speaking to Daemon, who, seemed to be explaining what had happened, and I panic all over again.

Before I could stand though, another nurse was there to accommodate me. He did a checkup on me, asked me how I was feeling, and asked if I needed anything to calm down.

I told him I was fine and proceeded to answer his other questions. Daemon eventually came to my side and eyed him.

The nurse gives me a nod and offers a smile, "you seem to be physically well. Just let yourself relax. The doctors have your friend; they'll do their best to help her."

"Thank you."

The nurse nods again. He gives me and Daemon one last look before walking off.

I grab Daemon's hand once it's just the two of us. I look up and shudder, "we did it."

He looks down at me, violet eyes solemn. He brings a hand to my cheek and swipes at my cheek, "ȳdra daor limagon."

"I don't know what that means," I mumble.

"I said don't cry, pretty girl," he kneels in front of me, "worrying will not save your friend."

I stare at him, feeling my heart race and belly roll because of the look he had. He brushes my silver hair back behind my shoulders, only intensifying the flurry in my stomach. Just as I opened my mouth to speak, suddenly, my stomach growls. Oh.

Daemon turns his eyes to my belly as I clutch it.

"You want something to eat... prince?"

Daemon reaches a hand out, "lead the way."

I take his hand, grab Dark Sister, and hand it to him. He fastens his scabbard as we exit the ER and I go through my satchel, fishing for my wallet. Just before I get it, I remember that I blew most of my money on the Ubor.

"Fuck," I curse and turn to Daemon, "I don't have enough money."

Daemon rests his hand on his sword and simply stairs.

"I don't have coin," I clarify. I look around the road and figure our chances of riding a bus at this hour was nonexistent. I give him a look, "do you mind walking home with me?"

Daemon raises a brow, "as opposed to swimming home with you?"

I raise my brows and sigh, "Daemon-"

"Lead the way," he nods and points, "I am not one to tire easily."

I nod and slice through air to drive a point, "okay. No matter what happens," I reach out to him, "you have to hold my hand, okay?"

He looks at my hand then my face, his violet eyes sparkle with amusement. He chuckles but he links his fingers between mine (overkill if you ask me). I'm glad goosebumps don't form.

Daemon smiles softly, "you take me for a child, riña?"

"This child knows how to cross the street," I squeeze his hand harder than necessary and begin to walk off, "I'm not sure you do, kekepa." Grandfather.

Daemon laughs, full-on throwing his head back, "how hard is it to cross? You jus-"

His words go dry when an empty school bus passes us. He was so stunned by the yellow contraption, I had to tug his arm to continue walking.

Just then, a Megatron looking-ass truck drives down the street. I hiss and curse the 14 wheeler for emitting such horrible smoke, eyeing it as it drives away.

Meanwhile, I catch the prince's stunned reaction and almost feel bad for finding it funny. Almost.

We arrive at my apartment about 20 minutes later.

I press the elevator button and turn to Daemon, "don't put your arm between the door, okay?"

Daemon gives me a look.

The elevator opens and we step inside. Daemon gives me a look, "we have lifts you know."

I pull my head back, "you do?"

"At the wall," Daemon retorts as the elevator door closes.

"The wall?" I think for a moment, "ahh. You're right."

A beat.

I knit my brows, "wait, you've been to the wall?"

"Of course I've been to the wall."

The moment we get to my place, relief washes over me. I take my shoes off and scoop my hair in front, "fucking rip this dress off me."

Without a single thought between his brows, Daemon's reaches out to undo the ties at the back of my dress.

Just before he does this, I hear him walk in with his boots and nearly have a heart attack when he passes my threshold.

"OH, ABSOLUTELY NOT!" I turn and shove him back, "take your crusty boots off now!"

Daemon looks at me in bewilderment but walks back and doesn't protest as he removes his shoes. He places his shoes on the rack along with mine.

Not wasting time, he catches my arm and yanks me towards him. He spins me around and immediately undoes the back of my dress. I hastily begin to tug my dress down once I can.

He chuckles, "eager girl."

I rather literally jump out of my dress when I can. Pent-up rage overcomes me. I turn around and start kicking the dress away, releasing all my frustration and anger out on the thing. I curse 8th century Westeros and the Red Keep in particular and assault the object until I'm out of breath.

I proceed to jump onto my sofa and allow exhaustion to finally take over my being.

A second later, I catch Daemon's expression and realize, he probably thought he was going to get lucky when I asked him to basically strip me naked.

"Ahh," I get back on my feet, "sorry about," I point to the dress, "that."

Daemon says nothing as he steps closer. He reaches out for my hip and I swat his hand away. I shake my head, "this is my house."

He chuckles as I evade him on my way to the kitchen, which was not nearly as far as it should have been. The prince eyes the space, "yes. An impressive little room you've got." He follows after me, "I'd love to see the rest of it."

I look at him as I reach my fridge and open the door.

Daemon squints at the light that radiates on me. I cuss at the fact I only had cereal (no milk) and some vegetables that have gone bad. I grab the paper box and hand it to him. He blankly stares at it as I discard the vegetables.

Daemon's brows contort at he box, "it's cold."

I wash my hands, "yeah, refrigerators do that."

"Gra'-nola," he reads.

"Granola," I correct as I dry my hands on my shift.

I'm suddenly struck with the realization his grubby has have never seen antibacterial soap. I snatch the box from him and motion to the sink, "wash your hands."

Daemon turns to the sink and purses his lips.

For a second, I debate if he'd melt if he uses something antiseptic, but then figure I should still take my chances.

I prop the cereal on the counter and exemplify him how to wash his hands. Daemon, with slight reluctance, pumps some hand wash on his palm, opens the sink, and rinses.

I excitedly applaud him once he was done.

"A hand towel," he raises his dripping hands.

I look around even though I didn't have a hand towel. I shrug, "I usually just use my pants."

Daemon shakes his hands by the sink, "your pants?"

"Yeah. They're like clothes that you put on your-"

He grabs my shift and pulls me closer. He wipes his hands on it, "I know what pants are, princess."

I push him off and smirks as he dodges. I make a face, "well, I do so beg your pardon, your majesty."

The prince lets out a low laugh, "don't get too brazen, or I'll have you begging till you weep."

I quickly change the subject, "get that damned sword off your hip." I shoo him and rummage through my kitchen cabinets.

Daemon watches this and chuckles again. He tilts his head as he eyes my legs. He undoes his scabbard, sets it on my dining table, and pulls out a chair. He sits down just as I find a can of Sbam. Huzzah!

I grab a chopping board and open the can. A small smile spreads on the prince's lips as stares. But then, his expression drops when I shake, or try to shake, the processed meat out of the can.

I huff once I've succeeded, and I begin to cut the Sbam chunk, "you know this was in created during the war," I slice a piece, "it saved a lot of people from starvation."

"Which war?"

I freeze when he says this. I open my mouth then close it, unsure if recounting the details of world wars to him was a good idea, "you know what, never mind that."

Once I was done with the Sbam, I got a pan and heat it up. I get a plate and a loaf of bread, then place it on the table.

I click my tongue at the sight of his sword, "off the table!"

Daemon watches as I take Dark Sister and replace it with the plate and bread. I place the sword by the shoes and he takes the plastic wrapped bread. He feels the material and opens it, "what is this?"

"Bread," I retort, going back to my pan.

"No, I know that, but what's it wrapped with?"

I give him a quick look, "oh, plastic," I begin to cook the Sbam, "it's made of carbon... I think- I dunno- don't quote me on that."

Daemon opens the bag and takes a slice of bread. He pulls his had back, "it's sliced."

I beam and jump excitedly, "it is! It's sliced bread! Betty White is older than sliced bread! And so are you!"

Daemon ignores this as he sniffs the piece in his hand. He takes a bite then and makes a face, "why does it taste like that?"

"Like what?"

His brows knit and his eyes narrow, "like a pretender."

I burst into a laugh. I flip over the Sbam with a spatula, "imitation bread?"

"It wants so earnest to be bread," he pushes the loaf away and shakes his head, "but it clearly isn't."

I laugh even harder.

He snorts at my reaction. He smiles as leans back on his chair. A few moments later, he grows serious, "you ought to dismiss your royal baker."

Oh. My lips twitch and I chuckle under my breath, "ah, yes. My royal baker. Yes, I will dismiss my royal baker for making horrible sliced bread. Yes."

The Sbam was now cooked. I present it to him on a plate, "bon app-- ... I hope you like it."

Daemon leans forward to scrutinize the dish.

I press my lips into a line as I sit down next to him. I take a slice of imitation bread and fold in a slice of Sbam. I realize just how hungry I was after taking a bite. Through half-full mouth, I mutter, "it's good."

Daemon watches me and follows suit. He takes some bread and Sbam, then chomps.

I stop chewing. Wait, what if he gets an instant heart attack because his living fossil-self can't handle processed food?

He licks his lips and chews. I begin to grow more agitated as he makes a face.

"It's delicious," Daemon says, going in for another bite.

My agitation turns into shock, "really?!"

"Well, it's no roasted pork, but it'll suffice," he mutter between chews.

I let out a soft laugh and nod, "I'm glad it's enough for the prince."

"I'm honored the princess herself made it for me."

Aw, fuck. Who's gonna tell him?

There is a knock on my door. At the same time, my phone rings.

Daemon is alerted by the sound and I dash away to finally answer my phone.

"What is that?" the prince asks.

"It's my phone. Remember? You can call people with it."

Daemon narrows his eyes as I rummage my bag for my device. The knocking on the door gets louder.

I turn to the door, "just a minute."

I find my phone and feel my stomach drop at the caller ID. The banging on the door persists.

I answer the phone and head for the door, "hello?"

"Fucking hells!" the voice is worn and apparently worried, "where the fuck have you bee-"

"It's not you outside, is it?" I cut him off as I head for the door.

"What?! No! I'm in the fucking North, dammit! Your friends have been calling me nonstop, since fucking Sunday! -"

I open the door and my face falls. Standing before me is a man in a dark teal suit; his tie was loose, his stubble was thick, and he held what looked like a dozen bags in his hands.

"- You and Libby have been fucking missing for days! Where-"

"Mr. Hightower," I lower my phone as the man on the other end continues to chastise me.

Otto Hightower looks me up and down, then sighs, "out of the way."

Without another thought, I step back to let him in. He expertly slips out of his leather shoes then heads towards my sofa. He places all the bags on the coffee table. I follow after him.

I hear my name being shouted from my phone. I close the door and follow after Otto.

I listen in on the call again and I hiss when the voice pierces my ear drum, "Jon, calm down."

"CALM DOWN!? HOW CAN I BE CALM WHEN YOU WON'T TELL ME ANYTHING!?"

I begin to panic when Daemon walks over.

"Who is that?" Otto asks me. He notices Daemon, then makes a face, "who are you?"

I look at Otto, then Daemon, and dash over to the prince, grabbing his hand. I watch in real time the recognition and disbelief that floods the Targaryen's features as he watches the other slowly remove his tie.

"Libby and I got stuck in the ren-fair!" I reply to my phone.

"WHY DIDN'T YOU FUCKING CALL?!"

"MY PHONE DIED, JON!" I shout back a lie.

Otto's brow raises. He looks at me and mouths, "Jon?"

I ignore that and groan "LOOK! I'm fine! Libby's-- ... Libby's," I whisper softly, "in the ER-"

"THE ER-"

"I'M TAKING CARE OF HER!"

"WHY THE FUCK IS SHE IN THE ER?!"

"Libby's in the ER?" Otto mutters.

I raise a finger to answer my phone, "Jon, please. I'll explain everything tomorrow."

He screams my name and I have to rip my phone away from my ear again. I vaguely hear him rant about how I should explain why his sister is in the fucking ER.

"Jon, Jon, I love you but I have to go," I quip and immediately end the call. I turn on airplane mode and throw my phone on to the couch.

I release a breath and find myself pulling a smile as the man in the suit eyes me. He's about to speak, but Daemon beats him to it.

"What was that?" the prince asks, pulling me by the arm to face him.

I turn to him and make a face. It's Otto that answers for me, "her ex boyfriend."

I turn to Otto as he tilts his head and raises a brow, as if daring me to correct him.

I do, "my best friend's brother."

Daemon eyes Otto; the latter makes a face, "who used to your lover," he crosses his arms, "I'm offended you take his calls but not mine."

"And who are you?" Daemon hisses, stepping towards him.

Without missing a beat, Otto meets his gaze and scoffs, "who are you?"

Daemon's pulls his chin back and chuckles dryly. His expression screamed FUCK AROUND AND FIND OUT.

I jump in front of him, my back presses his chest. I give a nervous laugh, "Mr. High- Director- Mr. Director- sir. This is Daemon."

Otto watches as I grip Daemon's hands behind me.

"And Daemon," I barely look at him over my shoulder, "this is... my... employe-"

"Otto Hightower," he cuts me off, bringing his hand into his breast pocket, "Director and CFO of King's Landing Holdings."

I wince, fuck.

"King's Landing?!" Daemon laughs out loud.

Otto produces a business card.

"It's a company!" I turn around and wave my hands, "it's a company! An establishment!"

Daemon does not tear his eyes away from him.

"He's my employer!" I explain.

Otto offers a piece of paper between his fingers.

The prince looks at it and slightly pushes me away, "what's he doing here then?"

"That's hardly any of your business," Otto retorts, tucking his business card back into his pocket.

Daemon laughs and finally turns to me. He mutters something in High Valyrian along the lines of 'let me do something' and 'stabbing'. I frantically shake my hand and push him back.

He thankfully relents and I sit him back down on my dining table.

My relief is fleeting when I realize the only reason Daemon didn't refute was because Otto was trailing right after me. My stomach drops when I feel a hand on my back.

Otto is right behind me. He places a few of the paper bags he brought on the table. He opens them, "I bought you dinner."

I turn to him, intent to tell him he shouldn't have.

"Amongst other things," he adds.

Daemon barks, "we have dinner."

"How did you even know I was home?" I say at the same time.

Otto's eyes flick to him, to the plate of Sbam on the table. His face is blank as looks back to me. He decides to remove his coat jacket, "I suppose you'd-" eyes Daemon, "-also think a candle equal to a campfire."

"Mister Hightower," I helplessly mutter.

He hangs his jacket on the backrest. He turns to me, "and you were missing--"

My expression sours.

"-- what did you expect me to do? I obviously utilized my connections. I'm offended you'd ask me such a thing."

Daemon mutters something in High Valyrian again.

"Of course, I had come see you myself," he looks at me through his lashes as rolls up his sleeves. My eyes dart to his sleeve tattoos and arm veins. When I begin to scrutinize the hairs on his skin, I realize I've stared to long.

In a panicked frenzy, I begin to unpack one of the paper bags. He, himself, brings out a stack of food containers and places them on the table.

The smell alone makes my stomach grumble.

Otto steps away and comes back with plates and cutlery. He places one plate in front of me, and has a prolonged stare at Daemon before placing the other in front of Daemon. He says, "I would hate for prince Daemon to be reduced to eating Sbam for dinner."

My expression drops. Daemon does not move an inch.

Otto turns to me and pulls out the chair. I take a moment before sitting down, because, really, did I have any other choice?

Otto opens the containers one by one and my mouth waters as I see lobster, lamb, and lemon cakes. He serves me meat and veggies, "I would assume you're not hurt like your friend."

I watch as he places food on my plate. I gulp before responding, "I'm just... tired."

"Then, I would also assume you'll not be attending work tomorrow," he takes my hand, putting the utensils in them. He scrapes a chair to my side and sits down next to me, urging me to eat with a motion.

I look at Mr. Hightower, "oh no- I will! I will-"

"You won't," he raises a hand, "see to it you're well rested."

I turn to my plate, feeling a flurry in my stomach over his words.

"Are you not going to serve your prince?" Daemon cuts in, raising his brows.

The lamb I was about to eat drops back to my plate.

The two glare, as if willing the other to spontaneously combust.

Before anything else could happen, I stand and reach out to Daemon's plate. I squeak when both grab me by the wrist.

My throat tightens.

My heart races when Daemon stands, "release her."

Otto raises his brows and tilts his head, "sit back down."

I rip my wrists out of their grips. Thankfully, neither put up a fight.

They stare at each other for what felt like ages. My agitation rockets when I see my boss begin to fidget with his hands the way he did when he was annoyed and ready to do something drastic.

I give Daemon a panicked look and grab his wrist, "kostilus." Please.

Daemon clenches his fist.

I continue to beg him until he sits.

I squeak when he grabs my chair by the seat and pulls me towards him. He mutters, "kesan daor emagon ao va bona run." I will not have you near that thing.

I turn to Director Hightower; I could see his annoyance building.

Fuck.

"Miste-" "Enjoy your meal then," he speaks as he stands. He grabs his coat and points, "I've bought some first aid things. I'm sure your friend can help you put that away."

I move to stand but Daemon stops me. He looks up at Otto in disgust, "do mind the steel contraptions on your way out."

I snap at Daemon, eyeing him hotly. He places a hand over my legs, ensuring I do not evade him. I watch as Mr. Hightower heads for the door, and in a split second decision, I turn to the prince and kiss him on the lips.

He is evidently taken aback, but it only takes him another second to get into it. Once he's put his guard down, I rip away from him and chase after my boss just as he exits my apartment.

"MR. HIGHTOWER!"

Otto turns around. I huff as I meet him just outside my door, "I'm really sorry about him. He's... he's just like that."

"You're not responsible for the actions of others," he retorts, nonchalant.

"I know. But still-"

"You are responsible for the company you keep," he adds.

I brush my silver hair back, "and you're not responsible for my well-being."

He snorts and shakes his head, "I'm your superior."

I press my lips into a thin line, deciding not to get into this conversation right now, "that, you are, Director."

We stare at each other for a moment. I examine his well-ironed suit, noticing how he didn't bother to fix his tie or buttons any more.

"I'll-"

"Is he not-" Daemon kicks the door open.

My eyes widen, "DAEMON-"

"-fucking gone yet?!" he points Dark Sister in an offensive stance. I yelp when he swings his weapon and scratches the door.

Otto's fight or flight instincts kick in and he takes flight down the hall.

"DAEMON-" I scream. I duck down and grab him by the torso, "STOP IT!"

Daemon screams out in High Valyrian. He laughs and lowers his sword, "yeah, you better run."

[bones4thecats]

hello there!! I don't know if you write for anubis, but if you do can I request for anubis, Loki, qin shi Huang, and Tesla with a reader who have a Japanese porcelain doll-like pretty? She rarely talk and people often think she have a cold personality but she was actually shy and anxious (basically komi reader), thank youu!! :D

A/N: I have just started writing for Anubis, and other characters, you can find them on my Character List, which is linked on my Masterlist! Now, enjoy!

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🐶 Anubis had first met you because of a Gods' Council meeting, boring I know!

🐶 He watched as Zeus introduced you

🐶 Your quiet and seemingly cold personality actually got him to be centered around you, as he wanted to see you smile so badly!

🐶 He tried getting you to smile so badly, and when he noticed how sweet and kind you were to a child who passed you by when running up and down the temple stairs, his heart fluttered

🐶 Every other God in his Pantheon was after your beauty, but he was after your personality

🐶 Anubis looked at you when you hid behind him, since Zeus was ogling you, again

🐶 Whenever this happened, he'd pick you up and take you back to his home where he would lay his headpiece on your head and let you play with his hair

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🐍 You and him were polar opposites

🐍 Everybody is very confused and wondering what the hell went wrong

🐍 Loki was the gremlin of the Norse Pantheon while you were the angel of the Norse Pantheon, it just didn't add up

🐍 While many, including you, believed that Loki was just into your looks and teasing you for sheer fun, you all quickly learned that he did genuinely care about you

🐍 Whenever you got nervous and didn't wish to be around people, Loki would hold you in the air with him as he people watched

🐍 He also enjoys to speak, so you don't have to worry about him not liking your silence, in fact, he quite enjoys it!

🐍 Normally after he played a series of pranks, he'd hike himself in a tree and take a nap, now, he finds his new napping spot in your lap, causing you to get flustered and hide yourself

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👑 He adores your personality with a passion

👑 Qin is more of a social and extroverted person, so you being more of an introvert makes people question exactly how he managed to bag you

👑 And he loves to tell the story to anybody, willing or unwilling, to lend an ear for him to speak

👑 He had met you one day while walking through a market, and he watched you hand a fruit to a hungry child before paying for it, smiling as you patted their head

👑 It took a while, but when you guys got married, he showed even more care for you

👑 Qin would hold you in his lap, allowing you to hide your face in his neck whenever there were a bunch of people in a room

👑 He also enjoys having you design him new bandannas, and while he never wore them, as he feared they'd get damaged, he would hang them up in his and your room

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🧪 Tesla had been working on a special mechanism and called in one of his colleagues for some assistance on finding a special piece of machinery

🧪 He watched as he called you up and ordered the piece of metal, and he was wondering how much you knew about it all

🧪 And when you arrived and helped him place it in, giving short and very quiet recommendations, he realized how amazingly smart you were

🧪 Nikola and you connected on how much you enjoy quiet and calm environments

🧪 And all the time you guys spent together eventually led to you guys dating and getting married

🧪 Whenever he had to work, you would be either in the same room working on something yourself or at home doing something for when he got home

🧪 As he is a very busy man, he would be out of the house often, which he hoped didn't bother you, but, thankfully, it didn't

🧪 Your quiet personality and his stoic and quiet personality made a great mix, as whenever he was working, you'd just sit there and listen to his light comments as he worked

[janeyseymour]

A story where R is really self conscious about their mobility aid (a cane if possible). Maybe one of the middle schoolers says something rude. And mostly a lot of comfort from Mel

i hope this is good enough because i wrote it in between teaching a bunch of first graders and babysitting two little gremlins

Lean On Me

WC: ~2.5k

You had finally decided to bite the bullet and get your knee replaced after months of agonizing pain with a little nudge from your wonderful wife. You had hoped it would be replaced and healed by the time the school year started up again, but unfortunately that was not the case. You weren’t able to get it replaced until the end of July, and with class being back in session at the end of August, you’re still using the cane and you’re under pretty strict restrictions.

“Maybe I should just take a month’s leave until I can walk without this damned thing,” you mutter to yourself as you’re sitting in Melissa’s classroom while she finishes prepping her room for this year’s upcoming little eagles. “I don’t want the kids to see me with this.” You lazily gesture to the cane that’s next to you.

“That’s up to you, my love,” Melissa tells you as she passes you by to hang a new Eagles sign. “But I do think that you’ll be incredibly bored while you’re recovering and no one is around.”

She’s right. You’ll be bored out of your mind if you decide to take off for a month- especially without her to keep you entertained. And you know that you hate having subs; if the principal would even be able to find a substitute for you this late into the game. So you decide that you’ll just have to tough it out despite the fact that you’re incredibly self-conscious of having to use the mobility aid at such a young age. You get stares while you’re just in the grocery store and hobbling around with your wife (she tries to insist that you stay home and rest, but you tell her that you like spending the time with her and that you need to stay at least somewhat active).

Development days come and go, most of your staff and team doing everything they can to make life easy for you- Ava even going as far as spray painting your parking spot in the front so that she knows not to rent out the space during the Eagles barbecue that she holds every year (both you and Melissa thank her for that). Janine and Jacob help you to set up your classroom while Gregory finds different workouts that are supposed to help it heal faster on top of the rigorous physical therapy that you’ve been attending. And Barbara is there to make sure that both you and your wife were well-rested and eating- offering moral support in any way she possible can.

And so, the first day of school is upon you. The redhead insists on carrying your things to your room, and she sets a chair outside of the door for you to be able to greet your students when they come in. As your old students run past you to get to their new teachers, they give you the biggest and warmest hugs, telling you that they hope you feel better. You see Melissa standing outside of her door, greeting her new students with the same gusto that she always does, and then she looks over to you. She gives you a questioning look, and you nod and smile in her direction- quietly raising your mug filled with coffee in a toast. She reciprocates your action and blows you a kiss subtly.

You hobble your way back into the classroom and take a seat at your desk while the kids settle in and do the morning work that is on their desk. After morning announcements, you have them all gather on the carpet and explain to them how this year is going to work. One of them raises a shy hand.

“What’s up, hun?” you ask one of the girls.

She asks you hesitantly, “Why do you have a cane? I thought only old people have a cane.”

You smile at her gently. “Thank you for asking, sweetheart. Mrs. Schemmenti had a knee surgery over the summer, and I’m still recovering. I’ll only need it for another month, maybe a little longer. But while I have it, everybody needs to be careful and gentle. I can’t walk around much either, so I’ll be teaching from my desk for the time being.”

Your class is overwhelmingly supportive of this, and they are so sweet about asking if you ever need anything or if they can help pass out papers for the entirety of the morning. This group is a bunch of love bugs who make you get well cards when you give them a bit of free time while you’re waiting to be called down to the gymnasium for the beginning of the year assembly.

You’re incredibly thankful that Ava calls your grade first so that you can make your way down slowly and find a seat before anybody else can swoop in- the last thing you need is to have to stand in the back because all of the chairs are taken. You’re pretty sure if that happened, your wife would riot for you, but that isn’t necessary.

You have your kids take a seat, Melissa slides in next to you and takes your cane to prop it up against the wall, and then you settle in for whatever ridiculous first day of school assembly will present itself this year.

Because you were the first ones in, you’re also the last ones out. It gives you time to get yourself and your kids ready to head back to the classroom for the small break they have before they head to lunch.

But when lunchtime comes, you get swept up in the sheer chaos of trying to get your students to the cafeteria in time so that you have your full lunch break. There are the little ones who are walking through the halls with their eyes wide and full of wonder, your kids who are walking at a fast pace that you’re having a hard time keeping up with, and then there are the older ones who couldn’t care less that you’re attempting to make your way through the halls without bumping into anyone. It doesn’t help that half of the middle schoolers now tower over you.

In a rush, one of them knocks the cane out of your hand with their lunch bag and snorts with laughter. “I thought canes were for old heads!”

Another one of them shouts that you’ve really let yourself go, and maybe it’s time for you to go into early retirement if you can’t walk around without the help of your mobility aid.

You stumble without the crutch there to lean on, and you nearly fall until Melissa has looped an arm around your waist and is helping to hold you up. You lean against her heavily as you try to steady yourself again. She turns to shout at the two who were making fun of you, but they’re already swept up in the sea of children that are all wearing the same uniform. She doesn’t know who to yell at, so she quickly turns back to you.

The student that is standing next to you looks absolutely appalled and picks up your cane immediately. She hands it to you gently. “Are you okay?”

You nod and gesture for her to continue walking. Your students do as they keep their eyes trained on you to make sure that you’re okay.

Once all of your kids are in the cafeteria and you see that they are all seated and eating or in line to get a school lunch, you turn. Melissa is still right at your side, her arm still looped around you.

“Go enjoy your lunch, babe,” you tell her gently as you take her hand away. “I’m just gonna sit in my room for lunch if you wouldn’t mind bringing my kids back down with you when the period is over?”

“You don’t want to have lunch with us?” the redhead asks you quietly.

“I don’t know if I can make it down to the staffroom, and then the lunchroom, and back today,” you admit softly. “My knee is really hurting from physical therapy yesterday.”

“I’ll be down with your lunch,” Melissa promises. She squeezes your hand gently before turning on her heel.

You settle at your desk, and despite yourself willing the tears not to spring to your eyes they do. You wipe at them furiously. The comments from the older kids really shouldn’t be affecting you the way that they are. And you really would rather not have your wife see you shedding tears over their idiotic comments- you know she’ll be roping Ava into a manhunt to see who it was anyway, and it’ll only be that much worse for the students if she catches you crying.

Your wife comes in with both of your lunches and an icepack for you- not that you requested one. You quickly wipe your tears as you hear her heels hitting the tile underneath of her, but she still sees it.

“Hun, does it hurt that bad?”

You turn to her with a sad smile. “No. I’m fine,” you lie through your teeth, but your voice betrays you and it cracks ever so slightly.

She sets your lunch in front of you and pulls up two chairs. She gestures for you to set your leg up on the second chair as she sits int he one next to you.

“Mel, you really can go enjoy lunch with he crew,” you tell her gently. “I’ll be okay by myself.”

“Ice,” is all she says as she takes a bite of lunch. She sets the pack on your knee, and you flinch slightly as the cool sensation ripples through your body, sending a shiver down your back.

You sit there, and she watches worriedly as you don’t make a move for your lunch at all. 

“Babe, you have to eat,” she says softly.

You shrug and wrap your arms around yourself. “I’m not that hungry.”

“My girl? Not hungry?” the redhead teases you. “C’mon.”

You don’t know what happens, but something within you snaps. “When I’m not burning nearly as many calories as I used to because of this fucking knee, I don’t get as hungry!” You burst into tears again. “God, I never should’ve gotten it done, and then I wouldn’t need this damn cane!” You throw it across the room in anger before curling in on yourself.

Your wife is up and retrieving it in seconds, only for you to throw it past her again.

“Babe,” she warns as she picks it up again.

“I don’t fucking want it! I’m sick of everyone staring at the young woman who has to depend on a god damn cane to walk!” you cry.

“Is this because of-” she starts to ask you, but you cut her off. 

“I’m sick of being stared at in the grocery store, or when we decided to go to Hershey and I had to use one of the wheelchairs! I don’t want the kids to go home and tell their parents that I’m some poor, crippled woman who can’t teach standing up!” you choke out. “I- I just want to be normal again!”

“So help those kids who pushed past you,” she grumbles before taking her seat back and wrapping her arms around you. She kisses you gently. “It’s all part of the healing process. You’ll be back to running around in no time, and you aren’t going to be in as much pain.”

“It’s going to be at least another month before I can walk without the cane,” you yell, frustrated tears falling down your cheeks.

“And you know I’ll always be here to lean on, your kids will clearly do everything they can to help you, and you know the staff here has your back,” she tries to comfort you.

“I couldn’t even properly take my kids to lunch,” you sigh, and you hate how whiny you sound.

“So I’ll take them and bring them back for you with my kids,” your wife tells you. “That way all you have to worry about is getting to and from the staffroom.”

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. “You already do so much for me.”

“And I will continue to do everything I can for you for the rest of my life,” she tells you with confidence. “When I said for better or for worse, I was serious.”

“I love you,” you whisper as the first genuine smile appears on your lips since the lunch incident.

“I love you too,” she mumbles as she leans in to kiss you. Then she pulls away and pushes your lunch towards you. “Now eat. I know you’re hungry.”

You pick up the fork and shovel some food in your mouth. So maybe you lied to Melissa when you said you weren’t hungry.

Come the end of the day, your wonderful wife picks up your kids and takes them out for dismissal while you ice your knee again. You see the kids off with a wave and a smile as they tell you that they hope you feel better soon. You’re given quite a few hugs, and a few drawings of you with the students are mixed in.

When you expect her to come back in once the kids are gone though, she doesn’t. And you can’t really leave without her because you can’t carry everything and navigate the halls with your cane just yet. You shoot her a text.

Did you forget about your crippled wife?

I’ll be down in a few, she responds quickly. Just chatting with Ava.

She’s telling the truth because the next thing you know, she’s in your room and grabbing your bags along with all of hers, and you’re heading out for the night.

“Why were you chatting with Ava?”

“Just had a few questions for her about this school year,” is all the redhead says. “Now let’s get going- you have physical therapy at 4:30, and then it’s an early night for the Schemmentis. I am wiped.”

The next morning, you and your wife are sitting and standing outside your classrooms getting ready to greet your students when two of the older kids come up to you. They hand you apology notes and hazard a glance at Melissa- they look terrified of her. She just folds her arms over her chest and smirks.

“Mel,” you sigh once they walk away. “I appreciate you defending my honor, but do not make two middle school boys look about ready to sh… their pants on the second day of school.”

“Nobody makes fun of my wife,” she shrugs. “Especially when it’s about something she’s already insecure about.”

“Is that why you were with Ava? You were looking at the security footage?”

Again, she shrugs. “Let’s just say, we’re having a school wide assembly next week about how we shouldn’t make fun of people who have mobility issues or any other sort of disabilities.”

[shadowskulls-blog]

Yk given how tall carmilla carmine is why do I imagine a 4’10 reader being either bratty or just annoying carmilla *they just have gremlin energy* or her being protective of them and don’t want them to get hurt and the only way she can handle r is by putting on a high place and can’t get down *the top of the fridge/kitchen cabinet is offically r’s spot*

😂😂😂 and the funniest thing is I am that height and I can see her just having a “I’m done” expression and just put someone there and walk away winning the argument

Sup, I'm back and now have motivation again, and I was scrolling through my inbox and found this, and I wanted to answer it, but instead of doing a story, I'm gonna give headcanons instead. I've never written headcannons, but I read them a lot, so yeah.

Carmilla Carmine x Short Reader (headcannons)

(Sfw) and (Nsfw) headcannons

One thing is for sure the reader has gremlin energy. Being this small and rather full of energy person. Carmilla loves it. It brings her spirits up every time you come by and make jokes

I don't know her cannon height, but I'd imagine it's in the 8 foot scale. Because tall women are very sexy. So she'd definitely pick you up from time to time. Not a whole lot, but sometimes.

Half the times when she does is to either put you on the fridge or a high place to calm you down or when you're being annoying.

Annoying in the sense where you couldn't stop making sex jokes, so she put you up there so she didn't get too distracted from her work or you two were arguing.

I can only imagine the reader going, "wha- Cammy! What you doing?! Carmilla! You can't leave me up here! Carmilla, please! Come back!" While trying not to fall off the fridge so you didn't break something.

And the entire time Carmilla just has the most "I'm done" expression while placing you up there and walking out of the room

And I can only imagine that 40% of time, Carmilla forgets she put you up there and Clara or Odette walk in to grab a drink and you're just up there, having the most scared or tired look on your face and going

"Please, get your mom so she can get me down, and so we can go to bed"

Being very small. Carmilla would be very protective. Making sure you were close by her at all times and also making sure you were with her. While also making sure to be gentle with you. But she also gives you angelic guns to protect yourself.

Lord knows you're deadly with a gun

While you two are in bed, she will always have you wrapped in her arms, her giant hands making it feel like you're wrapped in a cacoon, or it either looks like a koala hugging a tree. You don't even need a blanket because you'll always be wrapped around Carmilla

(Nsfw)

While having sex Carmilla will try her best to be gentle, but it fails most of the time. Sometimes, she'll go too hard or accidentally scratch you a bit.

Carmilla is most definitely a top, but you have to be the top most of the time. Because if you don't, I can only imagine the after shock. But, Carmilla is also a power bottom.

Either way, you're getting railed every time.

The reader is definitely a scratcher. So Carmilla's back or anywhere the reader was grabbing is probably scratched a bit.

(I like physical touch a lot, and that's the only thing you're getting about me)

So the reader is a hugger a bunch, hugging Carmilla's legs, body, neck. You just like wrapping your arms around her, honestly like me

The aftercare is her being very gentle while holding you close. Most of the time, you both will fall asleep right after, holding each other or take a bath together.

So yeah, I don't know how to do headcannons since I've never written for them. Overall I just say what I want to and don't give two fucks. I'm just here to supply thristy bastards like myself.

So, I hope that was a good first try. Also, again, I am so very sorry for not posting. Life just likes to fucks me over but, it does for everyone so this is the last time I'll bitch about my life

[monstersdownthepath]

A collection of Fey entities

A little different from my usual "a collection of..." posts. Making statblocks isn't my forte, surprisingly; I can, but ADHD Hellbrain kicks in and typically prevents me from actually finishing them, my energy and motivation running out typically by the time I need to select feats. A few of the creatures on this list are victims of that very phenomenon, but rather than letting them languish in my drafts forever, I figure I can share what I DO have in the form of lore and some basic ideas.

So, here's a bunch of fairies!

One of them I was going to write down, the Harvest Lords, are a concept I've developed too much for me to put here; they're a group of Archfey with proper domains and Boons, and thus will get their own post. Eventually.

Warnings: There are unsanitary themes in the Brughyorb Gremlin spot, as well as Totagoda. The final entry (Rotten Crick) deals with themes of animal death and allusions to animal torture, dealing specifically with sea life.

Brughyorb Gremlins (CR 1/2 Chaotic Evil Small Fey) are small, round, filthy creatures that are almost all mouth and stomach, resembling fleshy cauldrons when they fully open their mouths and scamper about on their arms and legs, and are thus also known as Cauldron Gremlins, Burplings, and Bowlbellies. Their grinding teeth and powerful jaws are best suited for plant matter (wood is a delicacy to them), but they won't hesitate to feed on whatever carrion they manage to find, even though the majority of what they eat isn't actually digested.

Brughyorb Gremlins hold most of what they shovel into their maws in the first of their two stomachs, where their pungent gut juices fester and melt their food into noxious sludge so malodorous it's actually acidic. Slow and unbalanced even when they're empty, they lay in waiting for an innocent passerby to cross whatever hiding spot they've holed up in before leaping out with a wet shriek, and when their victim inhales in order to scream in surprise, the gremlins unleash a horrific belch directly into the victim's face. Overwhelming nausea is the most common result of such a sensory assault (though especially unlucky ones may catch the fatal Filth Fever), victims disoriented not only by the scare, but their entire world becoming overtaken by an indescribably vile stink, preventing them from fighting back as the gremlin takes whatever it wants from them and scampers off into the shadows, cackling with terrible glee.

Though they're larger than most gremlins, Brughyorb Gremlins are just as cowardly and prone to fleeing whenever someone even moderately well-armed comes along. If a foe proves especially dangerous and their burps aren't cutting it, they'll loose the contents of their stomachs to form slick, acidic pools that carry an eye-watering reek with them to trip up and potentially even kill their pursuers, either immediately through acid damage or eventually through disease. Being directly disgorged upon is an experience so profoundly unpleasant that most beings subjected to it immediately switch careers into something that will prevent this incident from ever happening again... though the fact a Brughyorb's stench is nearly impossible to scrub away and lingers for many weeks means the horrible little beasts can easily track the scent of their past victims in order to get them again.

Despite their foulness, their gut juice is an alchemical reagent highly prized by alchemists for its ability to break down and, with a bit of tinkering, ferment just about any organic matter, making them highly desirable for anyone hoping to create not just powerful acids, but potent fertilizers, fermented foods, or alcohol. Alchemists desiring the gremlin's gut juice, of course, rarely risk seeking it out themselves.

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Tintink Gremlins (CR 1 Chaotic Evil Tiny Fey) are also known as Nail Gremlins, Sharpener Pixies, Hammerlings, Nailbiters, Sharpies, and other such names. While most fey fear the touch of iron, Tintink Gremlins collect the substance in earnest despite being just as vulnerable to it as any other fey. Contact with cold iron burns and pains them, but rather than shrinking away from it, they revel in it, with many of them boldly wearing sharpened points of cold iron for the specific purpose of terrorizing and bullying other fairies, as well as protecting themselves from being bullied or terrorized by others.

Tintinks are obsessed with the collection and the sharpening of metal pins, tacks, screws, caltrops, and especially nails, pilfering such items from workshops, lumberyards, factories, and even homes. Loose items are of course the easiest for them to get, their tiny backpacks and leather aprons full to bursting with stacks of nails they sweep off workbenches, but they're also prone to using hammers, crowbars, and pliers sized for their tiny hands to wrench fasteners from whatever surface they're embedded in. Their hoarding slowly but surely destroys furniture, floors, rafters, and eventually entire structures one stolen screw at a time, fleeing only when the infested building collapses entirely.

Even when they're not destroying buildings, Tintinks are horrid menaces. Their wretched claws, coarse palms, and rough tongues can shave metal with the ease of a whetstone, and they use these to sharpen whatever points they get ahold of until they can pierce the thick leather of most common shoes or gloves... and they lay them out in preparation to do exactly that, cackling in wicked glee whenever someone impales their feet or hands on their sharps collections.

They are quite dangerous for a gremlin, capable of causing terrible wounds and even deaths if they're sufficiently motivated, but they are easily caught and removed by those who can take advantage of their fairy quirks. Their obsession with sharpening borders on an irresistible compulsion, and many Tintinks have been caught and exterminated by fey hunters leaving out piles of dull nails, bent forks, and chipped knives, which the gremlins cannot help but sit down among and work on, leaving them vulnerable to ambush.

----

Steraba (CR 2 Neutral Good Diminutive Fey) are also known as Honey Fairies, Porridge Pixies, Mice Fey, and other such names. They resemble miniature humanoids with mouse-like features such as dewy eyes, rounded ears, long tails, paws, or combinations thereof (sometimes to the point they're just anthropomorphic mice), scarcely larger than the pests they resemble. Despite their appearance, Steraba are not pests themselves and are in fact one of many helpful fey known as House Spirits, and can be a genuinely helpful force in one's home... if one forgives their tendency to pilfer easily-missed items left in their field of vision.

Steraba make their homes in mouseholes inside occupied buildings, living among families of mice (never rats, they despise rats) which they take great pains to keep safe, healthy, and out of sight of the mortals with whom they share a space. Their lives are spent going on frequent, exciting 'raids' with their mice families (whom they can both communicate with and easily train), scampering unseen through homes like a spy trying to avoid being spotted by guards as they run missions such as 'read the next chapter of a book,' 'steal the button,' 'get to the grain stores,' 'slay the attic spider,' 'push out the rats,' and other such objectives. Between missions, they engage in surprisingly elaborate crafting projects; anything inedible they steal is used to decorate their tiny homes, if not by itself, then as part of a greater project. Unknowing families may have entire miniature art galleries in their walls!

Like most House Spirits, Steraba dislike being seen or acknowledged, and spending too long looking at one or talking about its existence aloud with one's family or neighbors is a sure way to drive it off completely. Even more than this, harming a mouse is a grave insult to the Mouse Pixies, who may respond by pilfering valuable or treasured items with Mage Hand, performing acts of vandalism with Prestidigitation and mundane tools, and even causing painful or humiliating household accidents against repeat and grievous offenders. Treating the mice with the calmness and respect one would treat a neighbor, however, will see a household blessed by the tiny pixies who use their talents--magical and mundane--to slay more harmful pests, drive off more malevolent fey, and provide just as well for their "big families" as they do the "small families." A Steraba can magically turn a single grain into a whole loaf of hot bread or a bowl of nutritious porridge that's filling even for a Medium-sized creature, letting them stretch the most meager of food stores for days or weeks on end, and can conjure small amounts of honey, sugar, and jam each day to assure the meals are never boring. A Steraba who has lived in a home for many years and established a positive relationship with its big family may even begin gifting the mortals with pieces of art it has made, which act as good luck charms so long as the owner takes care to say it was a 'gift from my neighbor' if they are ever asked where the trinket came from.

----

The Filoxenia (CR 11 Neutral Medium Fey) are humanoid fey with golden skin and hair like stalks of wheat, so rare that it was believed there was only one for quite some time. These are fey many cautionary tales are spoken of, fey for whom the Laws of Sacred Hospitality are absolutes and generosity is the holiest of virtues. These fey take on the shapes of beggars, wanderers, and vagrants of various ancestries as they travel the world in the search of kindness, visiting the lowest muckrakers in their hovels, to the meager homes of farmers, to the mansions of nobles and royals to test their treatment of visitors. How, exactly, they perform their tests always varies, but it almost always begins with a simple request: Shelter, just for one night, and a meal of whatever the host can provide, just enough to let them see the next dawn.

The Filoxenia cannot be identified while they're in disguise, their own magic thwarting magical attempts to pierce it; the most reliable way to tell that you've encountered one is the gentle smell of honey and wheat which accompanies them, a scent they take pains to hide with mud and dusty clothes or, in rare cases, perfumes, but which they can never completely cover. Even if you know, however, it is in your best interest to play along and not allow it to sway your decision! Treating your new guest as you would any other is part of the test.

These fey exist to test mortals in their proficiency with and knowledge of the Laws of Sacred Hospitality, and each one has different means of both testing and rendering judgment. More lawful Filoxenia typically treat their task with the utmost of seriousness, and have a mental checklist they gradually move down during their stay in a mortal's home where failing even one step fails the whole test. More chaotic Filoxenia are much more likely to act as unruly guests, assessing the patience of their host, making gradually more unreasonable requests to see just how far the host is willing to go and rendering their judgment based on the host's breaking point; too soon (strict) or too late (lenient) and they fail.

The reward for passing their test is often simple but always beneficial; they may arrange for a parcel of valuable gems to be delivered to the host, repair flaws in their home, or magically enchant a tool or piece of furniture the host owns in a way which will always be useful to them. Impressing the fey may cause them to perform feats such as keeping the host's food stores full for a year and a day, blessing the host with a boon of good luck and health, grant them a useful magical item, blessing their livestock with health and virility, or introducing a helpful House Spirit into the home... but for all their potential blessings, their curses are the stuff of legends and horror stories.

Providing the bare minimum of hospitality is one thing (which earns the stingy host naught but a bowl of gruel or perhaps a new pair of socks for their trouble), but treating the Filoxenia poorly or, most damnably, rejecting their plea for mercy and assistance at one's doorstep? Such a host would be lucky if the worst thing that happened to them was the death of their livestock. An especially offended Filoxenia, such as one physically harmed by the host, can go as far as to curse an entire household to experience grave misfortune which, eventually, will lead to the death of all within in no more than a year.

----

Totagoda, the Uninvited Guest (CR 13 Chaotic Evil Large Fey) is a unique fey entity, an object of both scorn and amusement in the First World and a downright blight in the Universe whenever he deigns to enter it. He is a wild combination of a bloated toad and a gluttonous goat, standing on his back two legs as a man does, with three bulbous eyes always surveying the area as he searches for his next meal, the remains of which are added to the breathtaking tapestry of reeking stains over his clothing and skin.

Totagoda is a gluttonous, wretched beast of a fey, his primary modus operandi involving taking the shape of beggars, wanderers, and vagrants, hoping to gain invitation into the home of unsuspecting mortals who do not realize just what's standing at the door. Unfortunately, as one may surmise from his title, he is quite liberal with determining what qualifies as an 'invitation' into someone's home, with even strained conversation or simply holding a door open for too long becoming cause for him to push past his unfortunate host and slip inside. Only slamming the door in his face and refusing to speak will cause him to move on. Once inside, he takes a seat at the kitchen table and bullies his hosts into providing for him, often relying on the victim's fear or good manners (or both) to prevent them from seeking aid even as he wolfs down whatever food (or anything close to food) they can provide.

Victims of the Uninvited Guest quickly find themselves eaten out of house and home as his loud demands for food grow ever more violent and unreasonable, his monstrous form gradually revealing itself as he gorges himself. By the point he's revealed as a true and literal monster, it's far too late for his host, with him threatening their belongings, their health, or their very lives if they don't comply, the foul fey holding their treasured belongings or even their family members hostage to force their hand. When all the food in the house is exhausted, victims are forced into the marketplaces where they're expected to spend all their remaining money on a further banquet for the fey. Victims who can give no more may find themselves ensorcelled and forced to provide against their will, butchering their livestock, pets, or their unfortunate neighbors to feed Totagoda, until eventually he grows bored with the current fare and snaps up his host whole and alive with his massive tongue, moving on and leaving any surviving family members nothing but a destroyed home and horrific memories.

Sending out invitations to a party or celebration when Totagoda is stalking an area is a dangerous affair, because no matter the intended celebration, one can be assured it will end in tragedy and horror; many malevolent fey have, in fact, wielded the Uninvited Guest as a weapon by gifting him invitations to the party of a rival or hated enemy. When feeling especially peckish and shameless, he will use the public nature of taverns, restaurants, markets, and other such spaces where food may be found to barge in and begin stuffing his face, using threats, charming magic, or outright mystic domination against the owners, forcing them to ignore his crimes until they become too great to rationalize even with his spellwork clouding their minds. He prefers the 'thrill' of forcing his way into the homes of helpless mortals who cannot seek aid to feed him, using public eateries as a last resort, as he despises the concept of experiencing consequences (which is why he flees the First World as much as possible; he has made many enemies among Archfey and Eldest). Despite his considerable power and unnatural resilience, Totagoda is a coward and a bully, and at the first sign of any trouble (even trouble he could easily deal with) he is more likely to flee than fight, flinging his disease-ridden, acidic dung and unleashing nauseating belches at any pursuers until he can finally escape.

----

That Old and Rotten Crick, (CR 15 Neutral Evil Medium Fey), also known as Rotten Old Crick (and variants thereof), the Devil Fisherman, the Demon Angler, the Barnacle, Captain Hook, and a thousand other names with varying levels of fear or vitriol, is among one of the strangest denizens of the First World. Appearance-wise, he is a humanoid being, though not a hint of true flesh can be seen through the coverall-clothing of an angler that he wears; what isn't covered by clothes is studded with barnacles or coral growth. His vest is adorned by countless hooks, flies, whatever equipment he wishes to keep on hand rather than in his beaten up but magical tacklebox (the Artifact known as the Tomb of Karaphas), and extra parts for his Artifact-level fishing rod and primary weapon, the Tidepool Reaper. His face (if he has one) perpetually hidden in the shadow of his fishing cap, and he speaks with the smooth cadence of a devil and maniacal purpose of a daemon.

Nearly an Archfey in terms of power, Rotten Crick does not seek influence and remains outside of whatever political nonsense the others have going on... though his actions have a great many Archfey and even one of the Eldest furious with his very existence. Rotten Crick, you see, despises all life in the sea, especially the lives of any creature which could be called a 'fish.' His absolute hatred for all sealife has earned him a many enemies among waterway guardians and sea-dwelling fey, but just as many allies, though not for the reasons one may think; many stories circulate across many worlds of a mysterious angler approaching a fisherman or sailor with promises of rods, reels, baits, hooks, and nets which will assuredly catch enough fish to feed not only them, but their families and the families of their neighbors as well. Indeed, Rotten Crick has no animosity towards most mortal life, and is actually quite amicable, willing to help any down-on-their-luck man on the coast fish enough to live, or even make a business! There are rare stories of him going out of his way to save fishermen whose lives are endangered by the sea... but it is all for the singular goal of eliminating as many fish as possible and inspiring others to do the same. He will sit with other mortal anglers for many hours, fishing alongside them and making occasional, casual conversation, but anyone who knows what they're dealing with is advised to keep it casual, because any extended conversation with him will gradually turn towards alarmingly enthusiastic diatribes on how terribly fish suffer when hooked and dragged from the water, or disturbingly thorough explanations of the many deaths caused by sea beasts all over the world, in order to justify their torture and extermination.

He doesn't even eat any of his catches, enraged by the very idea of putting a fish in his body. If there is no one nearby to gift them to, he either abandons them on the shore to rot or, if feeling especially spiteful, slices them apart with fillet knives and hooks and leaves the disassembled bodies for the birds. He holds no love for creatures he calls "betrayers," which includes dolphins, whales, and seals, such unfortunates earning swift and terrible ends by his hands. Intelligent sea beings, especially merfolk, are in danger of torturous disassembly while still alive, as he draws sadistic joy from hearing their cries.

Why, precisely, he harbors such irrational hatred for sealife is something he has never explained to anyone who's asked, and likely never will. At the very least, any grand and far-reaching plans he may actually have to depopulate the seas of Golarion are slow going, if they're happening at all, held back by the sadism and hatred which drives him; it has been explained to him many times (primarily by daemons) that he could efficiently depopulate the seas by way of pollution, poison, and industrial expansion, but his hate is so great that he seems to prefer the more visceral, personal approach.

[gabessquishytum]

Leaning into Dream=weird gremlin to everyone else but Hob.

Hob is new in town and is out and about getting the lay of the land. He bumps into Dream and is instantly captivated. (And Hob meets him doing something weird - rearranging paint in a store into some order only he understands///at the check out line with only oatmilk, one cheese stick and pickled ginger in his hand basket.)

Hob desperately (tries to) strikes up a conversation; but other than look at him with a raised eyebrow, Dream doesn't really engage. Dream just walks away, while Hob cranes his neck to keep looking at him and is all distracted while he's paying.

What happens next,,,,if the Hob were living in a horror movie, would mean he's about to wake up dead --- every person he talks to over the next week cryptically warns him away from Morpheus Endless.

Hob: Is that his name? Morpheus 😍🥰

Random "Neighbor": You want nothing to do with that strange boy who lives up the hill and talks to birds........

Hob: He likes birds,,,, wait he lives up the hill?!? I live up the hill. 🤩

Hob has figured out that he and the pretty boy are more or less neighbors. He now just has to figure out how to turn Morpheus's attention to him.

I'm glad you're feeling better!!🤩🤎🩷❤️🖤

Yesss weirdo x guy who loves the weirdo. It's so good, isn't it?! Although if he wasn't immortal, I think that Hob would definitely be the first to die in a horror movie.

As it is, he decides that he's got to find a way to bond with his crush/neighbour... so he'll get into birds! He buys a bird spotter's guide and some binoculars, and he sets out to find his man! Before long, he comes across Morpheus sitting perfectly still with a bunch of ravens/crows/corvids of some kind, Hob didn't study his book yet. Being careful not to disturb him, Hob sits close enough to be companionable, and he... watches the birds.

It takes approximately 3 weeks of this routine, but it pays off. He sits down in his usual spot, and then Morpheus is beside him - dropping a handful of shiney objects right into Hob’s lap. And he offers a shy little smile too.

And Hob knows that he's totally (somehow) got his weird pretty boy <3

[cloakedsparrow]

The Batpups as Cat-Types

Upon coming to live with Bruce, Dick was like a fairly standard cat. He could alternate between cuddly darling and vindictive gremlin in the blink of an eye. One minute he’s snuggled next to Bruce while he reads the paper, the next, he’s holding eye contact while he pushes an expensive vase off a nearby table. He’ll be happily playing with one of the hundreds of cat-appropriate toys Bruce got him, then Bruce turns his back for five seconds and he’s somehow gotten himself perched atop the molding above the door. On top of this, Bruce had never owned a cat before so he did stupid new cat-owner shit like letting Dick wander around the neighborhood, where he caused tens of thousands of dollars in property damage and nearly got himself killed at least four times a day.

Jason was a loyal and completely domesticated house-cat who got tossed into the streets after his owner died. He adapted well for survival, but once he was brought indoors again, he was more than happy to curl up in a sunny spot and just vibe. He’d endured some trauma, so sudden loud noises or unknown individuals trying to pet him resulted in him hissing and darting under the nearest table or hiding behind the books on the shelves. Around those he trusted, however, he was a sweet, chill cat. Unfortunately, Bruce assumed all cats were gremlins like Dick, and that Jason would have the potential to be even worse due to being on the streets, and so responded as though Jason were a gremlin-cat whenever he did something unexpected. This led to a lot of misunderstandings and resentment.

Everyone assumed Tim was well domesticated due to living in a nice house before coming to them. In reality, he’d been taken away from his mother too soon and left alone in a huge house that he eventually discovered how to come and go from on his own. This meant that he was, in fact, a feral kitten who had just learned not to do certain things in front of people, lest they get angry at him. He did manage to meow and swat at Bruce until the man slept, ate, and bathed like a normal person, so Alfred and Dick didn’t feel too bad about their mistake in insisting Bruce bring the tiny feral beast into the house. He also made friends with a bunch of other feral kittens, so most of his feral shenanigans occurred with them, away from anything resembling responsible supervision.

Cassandra was a stray cat that followed Bruce home one day and then claimed the whole family as hers. She was good with them, but anyone else who tried to touch her (or the boys when it looked like they didn’t want it) pulled away a bleeding limb. Also, the family quickly learned that letting her food bowl go empty would result in her stealing any food left out, even a whole chicken or hamburger. She still caused less damage than Dick, so Bruce didn’t even bat an eye at half the shit she did. He did have to instill some long-forgotten survival instincts in her, though.

Damian was like that kitten in the Aristocats who paints but also hisses and spits and thinks himself a tough alley cat when he’s actually a pampered kitten. No one ever bothers to correct him and just generally ignores his more violent ways…or worse, thinks they’re cute. Tim gets sick of the little shit drawing his blood eventually and starts hissing back and swatting him whenever he tries it. Eventually, he calms down enough to do more painting and hissing than clawing, at least with the family. They call it a win and they all learn to live together.

[wizardsnorlax]

Ok so actually writing to get to the parts in the bullet points is harder than I anticipated, especially on mobile but I do have a bunch of ideas that I need to get out, here's the first post for anyone who hasn't seen it

After Uni Jon starts working at The Institute because he's desperate for evidence of the Paranormal

He becomes one of the hardest working people in the Research department

Sasha becomes the Archivist and requests Tim as an assistant but she also gets Martin and Jon because Elias insists she needs more hands to help with organizing

She does NOT like either of them

She views Martin as incompetent and while Jon is surprisingly good at follow up, his refusal to use a ladder causes more chaos than she believes he's worth

Prentiss bullies Jon instead of Martin and the knocking sends him into such a severe panic that Michael shows up

Jon gets dropped face first into the Archives

Cue Martin finally connecting the dots that this is the same scrunkly little gremlin from childhood

Martin offers to let Jon stay with him but Jon is so worried about taking up space in Martin's flat that he declined

Season 1 events continue mostly as Canon but with Tim learning the extinguisher trick

Tim still loathes The Circus because while Jon and Martin's childhoods are different, Tim still has a dead brother

Instead of the worm attack happening because Jon saw a spider, Sasha catches Jon climbing the shelves and her scolding him so suddenly makes him lose footing

Not!Them remains bound to the table for Season 2 events

Breekon and Hope take the table at one point

Sasha+Tunnel=finding evidence of old man

Sasha becomes convinced that Jon is gunning for her position, Tim starts thinking Jon is sketchy ™️

Michael "bullies" Jon and it makes the poor guy feel worse than when he was a kid nobody believed

Jon's joints are a bit more flexible than usual, it's probably nothing

Tim is increasingly worried about Sasha's new obsession and becomes super paranoid about Jon's reactions but Jon is genuinely interested in Sasha's exploration and not so secretly wishes he could go in with her

Jon takes several convenient lunch breaks whenever the cops are in the Archives (he has a massive record of trespassing and B&E lol)

Jon was taking a nap in a spot that doesn't get checked when he witnesses the brutal pipe murder, gives Sasha Georgie's address so she can be safe

Sasha goes through the season 3 ringer

Martin spends a lot of time protecting Jon from the cops because he's the second highest suspect

Anyway, I might have more later but this is the easiest way to get things out while I try to get things into plain fanfic format

[bopbopstyles]

I JUST WANT A LOVER PT.2

RATING: R/smut (graphic sex, nipple play, lil holding of wrists above head)

WORD COUNT: 4.3k (and like 90% smut just for y'all b/c i couldn't stop myself i'm a slut <3 also i did not edit this sorry not sorry)

CATEGORIES: one night stand!harry

PT. 1 | MASTERLIST | TELL ME WHAT YOU THINK

a/n: SURPRISE BITCHES!!!!!! y'all loved pt1 so much that i just couldn't help myself. perhaps not my finest work, but banged this out in like two hours for you all. luv u bunches, hope this is the happy ending you wanted (plus 95% smut including some JUICY lil thangs) XOXO thank you so much for the support of IJWAL — missed y'all <3

“I have a secret.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm,” he mumbled, slotting his lower body between yours. You could feel his cock brush against your center deliciously, and it’s like it hadn’t been inside you less than twelve hours ago from the way your body lit up. “I might tell you, but only if you’re really, really nice to me.” 

He nosed at your forehead with his nose, tilting your head back slightly so he could look directly into your eyes. You loved when guys could match you with banter, could be all fun and playful after a hookup. Otherwise it was just awkward. So, you played along. “Nice, hmm?” You said, lifting your hands from their spot on the sheets and trailing your fingertips up his sides. 

The way Harry’s body tensed immediately caught your eye, and you loved it. The fact that you had the same effect on him that he had on you did wonders for your self esteem, and encouraged the playful fire burning in your stomach. 

“Wonder how I could be nice to you,” you teased, splaying your fingers across his torso and and pressing gently into the skin, watching his abdomen muscles ripple under your pressure. 

“I could think of a few ways,” he breathed out, eyes darting all over your face. 

or

It's the morning after and they're both really into each other (still)

In the morning, you learned, Harry was far too chipper. You were usually a gremlin until you’d had at least one cup of coffee, at which point you reached everyone’s-favorite-neighborhood-grump status, and after at least two hours of being awake you were usually finally able to have a conversation without grimacing repeatedly at how much you didn’t want to speaking. 

So therefore, waking up to find Harry stretched out next to you scrolling TikTok with a smile on his face was not quite your favorite start to the morning. At least, on paper. But for some reason, when he looked over and smiled at you, you couldn’t help but think you might reach your nice stage a little faster this morning. 

“Morning,” Harry said, locking his phone and placing it on his bedside table. “Sleep okay?”

You pushed your hair out of your face and sat up, scooting backward until your back hit his headboard. “Apart from you being the hottest human known to man and roasting the whole night, yeah.”

He grinned at you. “Hottest, eh?”

You rolled your eyes at him. “I meant temperature-wise, you idiot.”

Harry chuckled and reached over to the bedside table, grabbing a glass of water. “Here, got this for ya.” He passed it to you, fingers brushing yours as you took the glass from his grip. Even though the two of you had sex last night, you couldn’t help but notice how warm and soft his hands were, and how they sent a shiver ripping down your body. 

“Thank you,” you told him, glancing around the room. Last night you’d only seen in the partial darkness, the only light while you’d been having sex coming in from the street—which was enough to see Harry in all of his glory, but not enough to make out the intricate details of his room. 

It was covered in art, you quickly noticed. Not framed, valuable, and hung art, but sheets of drafting paper with sketches on them, little napkins with drawings, and smaller watercolors. You could tell that there was a recurring style of drawing and painting across the papers, but not necessarily all the same—they could’ve been done by multiple people. In the corner was a record player, an old and nice one, you thought, and a set of speakers with too many records to fit in the storage unit he had. They were in stacks on the ground next to the turntable, spines out so you could see the name of the record. That, you thought, tracked with what he’d told you—that he was a musician and worked in a record store. 

At the end of the bed was his dresser, with the hem of shirts poking out from drawers and the top scattered with various items. Nail polish, a dish of tons of vintage rings, a couple of necklaces hanging from pins in the wall. A couple bottles of cologne, and a stack of books with a photo frame on top. Above the dresser was a circular mirror, and in it you could see yourself and Harry perfectly. In fact, a little too perfectly—your hair was sticking in all directions after having gotten wet in the shower and there was a rim of black from old mascara under your eyes you’d been too lazy to scrub off last night. Harry, on the other hand, looked perfect with his five o’clock shadow and pink lips begging to be kissed, hair tousled like it was meant to be like that. 

You ignored your reflections, enjoying your perusal of his room, and turned to see his desk on the other wall of the room, where two large windows by New York City standards stood, letting in morning light through heavy curtains. There were papers all over the desk, black ink scribbles scattered across them, and a stack of black leather notebooks in the corner next to a cup of black pens (all the same kind, he must have a type). A computer sat on the desk, covered by paper, as well as a very fun mushroom lamp that make you smile. 

“So?” You turned back to Harry, confused. “What’s your assessment?”

“Of what?”

“My room you were obviously just investigating.”

Oh. He had been watching you explore his space. “That you’re very artistic?”

He smiled, and then replied with a nod. “That’s true.”

“Are those drawings all yours?”

He shook his head. “A lot of them are my sister’s. She’s older, and sends them to me in a care package once a month. Her way of showing me the world around her. Been doing it since she was at university, so what’s up in a mixture of stuff from years. The others are mine.”

It was sweet, you thought, how close he seemed to be with his sister. “Is she an artist?”

“Nah, she’s teaching history. Unlike me, she decided that it was better to keep her artistic passions just for herself. She told me once that she didn’t believe in that whole idea that if you do something you love for your job you never work a day in your life. She told me’ It’s still work at the end of the day,’ so she just does it in her free time. Kind of jealous she can do that.”

You rotated slightly onto your side, able to look at him better “You can’t?”

“It’s funny, for a long time I never thought I’d do anything related to music. But then it was like it kept begging me to try it out. For a while I thought that my friends were playing a joke on me because every pub night I went to there was an open mic night.” You laughed at that, and he smiled at you. “And there was this feeling that the music was just spilling out of me. It would come to me at the funniest times, especially on the subway or when I was walking home, and I’d have to write it down or it’d never get out of my head. So I finally just decided to take it as a sign.”

“That’s really amazing,” You told him, meaning every word. He looked suspicious of your statement though. “To have something that you are that passionate about. I don’t think I’ve ever felt that way about something. Always wanted to. Thought there was something wrong with me, even, that I didn’t have a passion like all my other friends.”

Then, Harry did the sweetest thing you’d ever had happen to you during a one night stand. He reached up and pushed a strand of hair behind your ear that had escaped, his fingertips trailing down your neck as he withdrew his hand. It was like he craved your skin as much as you where craving touching his, with his chest exposed, his many tattoos on display. 

Finally, he spoke, and when he did, his voice was rougher than it had been before. “You’re not missing out,” he said. “Sometimes I wish I could shut it off. Would make life a hell of a lot easier.” 

His words were so raw, so honest. 

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat. “Isn’t this intimate for a morning after conversation.”

You laughed, pushing gently against his shoulder. “Hey, I thought it was cute.”

“Just what every man wants to hear first thing in the morning,” he answered, rolling towards you and propping himself up on his wrists so he was hovering over you. “I have a secret.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm,” he mumbled, slotting his lower body between yours. You could feel his cock brush against your center deliciously, and it’s like it hadn’t been inside you less than twelve hours ago from the way your body lit up. “I might tell you, but only if you’re really, really nice to me.” 

He nosed at your forehead with his nose, tilting your head back slightly so he could look directly into your eyes. You loved when guys could match you with banter, could be all fun and playful after a hookup. Otherwise it was just awkward. So, you played along. “Nice, hmm?” You said, lifting your hands from their spot on the sheets and trailing your fingertips up his sides. 

The way Harry’s body tensed immediately caught your eye, and you loved it. The fact that you had the same effect on him that he had on you did wonders for your self esteem, and encouraged the playful fire burning in your stomach. 

“Wonder how I could be nice to you,” you teased, splaying your fingers across his torso and and pressing gently into the skin, watching his abdomen muscles ripple under your pressure. 

“I could think of a few ways,” he breathed out, eyes darting all over your face. 

“Oh yeah?” You pushed at his right shoulder, forcing him back to his pillow and onto his back. With ease, you sat up and slotted your knees on either side of his hips. But you didn’t rest yourself on his body, instead you hovered above him, suddenly thankful for the pilates you’d become obsessed with lately, because your legs didn’t shake immediately. “Wonder if I could guess a couple of them.”

Harry’s eyes were wide, staring at you. His gaze was locked on your tits, which were uncovered and bare for him to see, and you loved the attention, the feeling of warm from his gaze on your body. “I think you might be onto something.”

“Hmm,” you hummed, gently lowering onto his bare cock and brushing delicately up and down on him, the friction making both of you moan. Then, you lifted right back up, hovering on your knees, with Harry staring up at you in disbelief. However, he didn’t make a sound, just watched you, mesmerized. 

You reached below you and held his length in your hand, running your hand up and down, watching the muscles in his jaw clench with every stroke. Then, you lifted his tip and brushed him against your slit, which by this point was most definitely wet. And you knew he could feel it. 

The sound that left his throat as you ran his tip along you slit but not inside it sent your brain into overdrive. You barely resisted the temptation to slip him inside, but you wanted to tease him, to make him beg to fuck you. That desire managed to help you hold onto your sanity as you slipped just the very smallest amount of his tip inside of you and then rose up out of reach. 

The man below you whined when you lifted up, his hands curling around your thighs and tightening. “Fuck,” he breathed out. “Fuck.”

But you weren’t done. You rested his cock flat on his hips and lowered yourself down, rubbing your pussy back and forth on his length, and letting yourself get lost in the feeling. Because you could come to this feeling alone—the feeling of his skin, the warmth of him, the way his tip notched in your clit and made you bite your lip delicately. Your head dropped back and your hands crept up your body, fingers pulling and kneading at your breasts. At this point any semblance of self-consciousness had left you and you were consumed in your own pleasure, in chasing your own orgasm regardless of who was there to witness it. 

In fact, if Harry’s hands hadn’t slipped under yours, you could’ve forgotten he was even there. But then his fingers crept under yours and pushed your hands off your breasts, and his own replaced yours. His fingers were rougher than yours, the tip of his thumb calloused from pressing down on his guitar strings, and you loved how it felt on your skin. The rough graze of skin on yours, and the way his hands were larger than yours and could hold more of your breasts in his hands. And then he started to knead them and your mouth dropped open a tad, just enough for a whimper to escape your throat. 

“Feel good, baby?” He asked, the pet name dropping from his mouth and melting into your veins, filed away for your fantasies later, once you were truly on your own. The way it sounded coming from his lips, the way the syllable left his tongue. 

His tongue. Your head perked up and you found his eyes, which were already staring at you. You wanted his tongue. You bent your head and down and his lips rose to meet yours, crashing together in the press of need and desire. His lips parted with ease when you brushed against them with the tip of your tongue, and then you had access to what you wanted. When his tongue touched yours, you curled your fingers in his hair and pulled gently, the feeling of being consumed by him taking over. Your hips were still moving back and forth, and you just needed more and more of him. It wasn’t enough. 

“More,” you mumbled, pressing your forehead to his, hands on his shoulders for leverage. 

“What do you want, angel?” A new pet name that you filed away.

What did you want? You thought about it for a split second and let the first thought that flashed into your mind take hold. When you needed to finish, the thing that always put you over the edge was a tad bit of pain. Your favorite, by far, when you were like this—touch starved and needy—was on your nipples, though. 

So you grabbed his hands, and maneuvered them so his thumbs and forefingers caught around your nipple, and pressed the together. The pain shot through you in a delicious way—not too intense, but enough to make your pussy tighten at the sensation. 

Harry let out a sound that you couldn’t place. Somewhere between a groan and a whine and the sound of your name. “That, hmm, baby? Like a bit of pain?”

You nodded so fast, not wanting him to stop. 

“Fuck, okay. Tell me if it’s too much, yeah?” You nodded once more, and then you lost yourself in the feeling. 

He varied the pressure, giving your nipples a break but then pressing harshly so it always felt like a jolt of pain—which is exactly what you liked. The surprise. It made your hips speed up in time, head lolling from side to side as breathy moans escaped your mouth, sounding something like his name. 

You hadn’t had this feeling in a minute, and you missed it. The all-consuming feeling of chasing an orgasm with someone else, of the combination of friction and pain, your absolute favorite that never failed you. 

“You are so hot,” he mumbled, quietly and almost to himself. But you heard it. 

And it happened to toss you right over the edge. The pressure on your nipples was too much and you could feel how hard he was, and the wetness of you made you slide right along his ridges and fuck it was too much. You crashed into an orgasm, a fire of glory that left your body quivering, fingers tightening on Harry’s shoulders. “Fuck,” you breathed out shakily, eyes opening after the shocks quieted in your system.

They found Harry immediately, his gaze on yours. “Good?”

“Mhmm,” you answered, twirling your fingers at the nape of his neck where his hair was. “You’re good at that.”

He chuckled. “I think you’re better—nearly came watching that.”

“Yeah?” You reached down and brushed your fingertip over his tip. 

His hips jolted at the touch, hands tightening from their new location on your hips. “Good lord, woman, gonna kill me.”

You cocked your head to the side. “I hope not. Was hoping to have another round.” You don’t think he realized he did it, but his tongue slipped out and wiped across his lips. 

“I’d be—fucking hell.”

You’d slipped him inside of you mid-sentence, so fast he didn’t realize it. And the feeling of him inside of you was absolute fucking heaven. You were still tight from your orgasm and dripping, and he was rock hard—the triple threat meant that your body shook ever so slightly at the feeling, your sensitivity making how good he felt send you into overdrive. Gently, you rose up, slipping your ankles onto the tops of his thighs to gain leverage, and then back down. 

The way he bore so deep inside of you made you groan, low and deep. And with that, you were moving without even realizing it—and then Harry was above you. 

He’d flipped you on your back. 

And with one look at his eyes, you knew there was no way he was going to let you move an inch. His gaze was ravenous, like a caged animal just freed. His eyes were devouring you, taking every morsel of you. 

Then, he started to move. 

His hips snapped forward and you cried out from how intense it was, the cry quickly turning into a flurry of moans and his name, falling from your mouth without pause as he fucked you hard. It was intense and delicious. His cock brushed so deep inside of you that it made your eyes roll back (not that you’d admit that to him), the pace he set forcing your hands to scramble across his skin to find something to hold onto. You ended up deciding on the duvet cover you’d slept under, hands above your head and fingers curled in the material, mouth dropped open in a silent scream that you couldn’t quite find the air for in your lungs because he was fucking it all out of you. 

“You feel so good,” he mumbled, yet another phrase in the mess of words leaving his mouth in that low, gravely, delectable voice of his. That was quickly followed by, “Your pussy feels like heaven” and “Never leaving, I swear to God”.

Somewhere in that train of words, you realized that he was bare inside of you. 

You had been the one to put him inside of you, but you had obviously been to fucked out of your mind to even realize it, because now he was completely bare inside of your pussy. 

“Harry,” you said. “You forgot a condom.”

The man, to his credit, immediately stilled inside of you. “Fuck,” he mumbled. “Didn’t—how the fuck didn’t I realize that? Would like to at least be conscious when I get to feel your pussy bare for the first time.” He looked at your face. “Now I understand why you feel so good. Fuck—um, can you grab one? In the drawer on your right side.”

You looked at him, looking at you, and felt the clench of your walls around his bare cock, and made an incredibly impulsive decision. “You clean?”

“Yes,” he answered immediately. “You?”

“Yes. And have an IUD. Keep going, please—just don’t come inside.”

“Fuck,” he said, and then he resumed his relentless pace. “Promise, angel—promise I won’t. Where do you want me to come, baby?”

“My tits,” you replied without a pause, and that made the gorgeous man above you groan harshly, one of his hands traveling up your body to tweak your nipple. You let out a squeak and then a moan as he continued, obviously using his newfound novel of your kinks to his advantage. 

“I love your breasts, goddamn,” he said, each word enunciated by a separate thrust. 

You could feel droplets of sweat dropping onto your skin, the sign of his exertion, and you loved the feeling. Loved watching him come undone above you. Craving him deeper, you lifted your legs and curved your calves around his hips, tugging him higher up your body and deeper inside you. Both of you groaned deeply, and then he did something you didn’t expect, but were immediately intoxicated by. 

He reached up to where your hands were curled in the duvet, and pushed your wrists together, and then wrapped his hand around them, holding your hands above your head. Most of his weight was in his other hand which was on the bed, so it didn’t put too much pressure on your wrists, but just enough to where you knew he was using the leverage to keep you in place. And it made your eyes flutter shut and hips arch up into him. 

The combination of all of this made his pace pick up, a stream of words falling from his mouth as he fucked you hard and fast and deep, just how you wanted it. You loved how talkative he was while he fucked you, something most men weren’t. 

Your second orgasm was rising quickly, rippling through your body and you couldn’t do a thing to stop it. You opened your eyes and looked up at him, those green eyes finding yours immediately. “Gonna come,” you informed him, pussy tightening as if on command. 

His grip on your wrists tightened and he fucked you harder, a brutal pace that had you calling out his name, not even thinking about the fact that he definitely had roommates, because all you wanted was your orgasm, and you wanted everyone to know he gave it to you. 

Just as you came, your orgasm ripping through you like an unstoppable wave, Harry pulled himself out of you and you dropped your legs immediately, knowing he was going to come. He moved up the length of you and you scooted down, out of breath and panting from your orgasm but wanting his come on your breasts anyway. He tugged twice on his length and then come was painting stripes on your skin, warm on your clammy skin. 

“Holy fuck,” he breathed, hovering above you, panting. 

You smiled up at him, and when his hands released your wrists you reached down, pushing a forefinger through the streaks of come on your chest. Harry watched in awe as you brought your finger to your mouth, savoring his taste—salty and delicious. 

“You,” he said, eyes on your mouth. “You are amazing.”

“You’re not too bad yourself,” you replied, gazing up at him, wondering how you would be able to give him up. You were addicted. 

Two hours later, after an Uber Eats delivery for some coffee and bagels which were consumed in bed before Harry went down on you again, pulling yet another orgasm from you, and a very heated makeout session, you were tugging on your coat in his room. Harry was pulling on a pair of pajama pants, and when he placed a pair of glasses on his nose you smiled. 

“Didn’t know you wore glasses,” you told him.

“Lots of things you don’t know about me.” He moved toward you and wrapped his hands around your hips, tugging your body into his. Your mouth met his with ease, a kiss more gentle than the previous ones dancing across your lips that made you smile. 

Stepping back, you said, “Thanks for breakfast.”

He nodded, and with another glance around his room, you followed him out of the bedroom and into the living room of his apartment. It was quiet—most likely his friends were either not awake still or hiding in their bedrooms. If you were his roommate, you’d definitely be hiding right now. 

The apartment was cramped, like every other New York apartment, but homey. Knick knacks and proof of life were scattered across all surfaces, random scraps of paper, a guitar pick here and there, some books, a plant or two. For a couple of guys, it wasn’t too bad. 

“So,” he said when you two reached the door. “I—uh—I had a lot of fun with you.”

You smiled at him, taking sincere joy in the awkwardness in his stance. He was so confident and forward all night and this morning, so seeing him like this made you grin. “I had fun too, Harry.”

He returned your smile, and reached down to curl his fingers in the top of your skirt. “Would you want to learn all those things about me?” You cocked your head at his statement, and then he quickly clarified. “That you don’t know. Like, over coffee.”

This man was asking you out on a date. A rarity for a one night stand. 

Even though you’d only gotten out of a relationship relatively recently, this man intrigued you. He was funny, kind, creative, and an absolute dream in bed. And he was fucking gorgeous. The banter helped too. You looked at him, studying the gleam in his eyes, and then nodded. 

��I’d love to.”

That made his smile grow even wider, and then he leaned down, attaching his lips to you in a kiss somewhere between sweet and full of desire, like he was remembering what your night held and was curious for the future. When he pulled away, he reached into his pocket for his phone. “Number, please.”

You typed in the digits as requested, and took it upon yourself to slide the phone back into his pocket, taking the opportunity to squeeze gently at his ass. It made him laugh, that laugh that lit up your body. “See you soon,” you told him, stealing one more kiss before opening the door and walking into his hallway. 

He stood in the doorway, shirtless in just a pair of pajama pants, hair beautifully ruffled, and watched you walk down the hall. The whole way you could feel his eyes on you, and it made your skin sing. 

Once you stepped onto the street, your phone buzzed in your pocket. Pulling it out, you glanced down to find an unknown number on your screen. 

“Free at 2?”

It was noon.

You laughed into the streets of New York before replying with a Yes. The future, you thought to yourself before setting off for your own apartment, was full of possibility. 

tell me what you think!!!!!! XOXO LOVE Y'ALL

[just-some-random-blogger]

Accidental Targ

Scene I: you guys into roleplay or what? | Masterlist

Daemon Targaryen x Modern!Reader

Summary: There was a party at the old castle ruins which raised the talk of an old urban legend. As the lore goes, upon the strike of midnight, for one whole minute, the arch, which used to be the entrance to the castle gates, would be a portal back to the height of the Targaryen dynasty. Of course, that complete and utter rubbish.

Word Count: 4k+

Warnings: fem!reader, time travel au, descriptions of reader's hair, incestuous gremlin!daemon, crackfic, typos. etc.

A/N: The lore of this is actually based off an urban legend from the high school i went to, which is like 400+ years old, thus the ruins and portal back in time HAHAHAH Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony @risefallrise @slavyanskiyahui @fan-goddess @daemons-kelitsos

The truth is, maybe I was a little too drunk to remember exactly what happened between the grinding in front of the DJ booth and game of dare or die, but I do know for a fact that I was incredibly lost. I recognized none of the landmarks that I stored in my head, and by the looks of it, I had wandered so far from the party I was now at the renaissance fair in town. Fucking Libby.

I pull out my phone from my tiny, glittery clutch bag and sling its gold chain around my shoulder. I go through my contacts and begin to ring Libby, heaving as I walked through the square.

The sound of the bustling people filled my ears. The night market was very much alive; it both gave me comfort and great anxiousness.

A bunch of people holler at me, calling me princess and my lady. I ignore them and continue in silence.

There was suddenly a wet squelching sound that snapped me out of my focus. I freeze in my spot, "fuck." I let out a groan and pull up the flare of my pants, "ohh fuckkkk."

These hot pink gogo boots were brand new! And now they were hot mess gogos, caked in fucking mud.

I tug up my shimmery and equally pink bell bottoms, doing my best to evade the rest of the mud in the area. I tread carefully, not wanting to further ruin my clothes or slip and fall on my ass.

I blow my hair out of my face. They really just had to add mud for the authenticity, huh? I comb through my silver hair after I get through the brown sludge.

Where the fuck is Libby?

I feel another wave of anxiousness creep up on me as I grow acutely aware of the people staring. I stand by the side of the street and stare at my phone. I release a breath and feel an ominous atmosphere thicken around me. I look around, catching a bunch of eyes staring back at me, and shift uncomfortably. I furrow my brows and clutch my purse and phone tightly, deciding I did not feel safe in this area. I begin to walk again.

I curse my phone when I see the no signal notification and cautiously put it back in my rhinestone bag. I adjust my leather jacket and wrap my arms around myself.

"Fucking hell, Libby," I mutter to myself as I muster courage to make it though the crowd so I can eventually get out of it.

I brush my locks back and wipe the sweat building at my nape.

I reach a less congested place and stand by a pillar next to a building. I observe the people in their old timey clothes and costumes, not a single other person dressed in modern clothing. I figure it was cause it was pretty late and they must be closing up their booths any time now.

I tug the collar of my silver halter top and turn to the side. Immediately, I spot a butch man, clad in armor and a cloak. I stare at him for a moment and think, wow, that's a really good costume. I find myself deciding he was pretty good looking too. I instantly look away when he catches me starting.

I clear my throat, wrapping my arms around myself. My jacket tightens around my arms. I clutch my bag in my chest again.

Wait, if he's dressed like that, does that mean he's, like, a guard or something? Maybe I can ask for his help to look for Libby.

I clear my throat and steal a look again, and to my horror, the man is making his way towards me.

In my panic, I shift and face the opposite direction. My flight response kicks in, but before I could bolt, he comes to my side and speaks.

"Speak your name and business, stranger."

I pull my head back and look to the man. He stares at me as brush my bangs away from my face. Why's he coming off so strong, "what?"

The man looks at me through his stupid helmet and furrows his brows, "speak your name and business," says he, rather threateningly.

Hold on. Is he for real? If this was supposed to be part of his weird-ass dialogue for his roleplay thing-- or, heaven forbid, a pickup line, dear gods, it was not about to work on me.

My initial response was to be extremely hostile, but after taking a deep breath I decide against it. I hit him with an uno reverse as raise a brow, "what's your name and business, soldier?"

His dark brow quirks at that. He says nothing for a moment.

His over-the-top golden cloak flows back, as does my platinum hair when a gush of wind blows. I make a face when I catch a whiff of something rank. I rub my nose and push my curls back behind my ear. I re-pin one of my golden clips to keep my tresses in place.

The solider shifts in his spot. "I am not a solider--" ok, not a soldier, "I am an officer of the city watch," he shakes his head, "Ser Harwin Strong," he raises his nose, "and my business is your business."

I pull my head back. My jaw slacks.

I clear my throat.

Why he kinda-

I sniffle, very much not at all expecting that response. Well, I guess maybe his pickup line kinda works... And well, I mean, he kinda cute so-

I tell him my name and then tell him I lost my friend after a round of dare or die and now I'm looking for her.

"Dare or die," he repeats rather seriously.

I shrug and shake my head, "it's just a stupid game."

He hums, "and your friend, she is as... strangely dressed as you?"

I raise a brow again, tightening my crossed arms, "says the man in armor and a gold cape."

Harwin makes a face.

I chuckle softly. Not expecting that, were ya?

I huff. Ok, my bad. I know these renaissance people really get into it, and, yeah, I mean, he was right. I was in a glittery silver halter top, hot pink bellbottoms and gogo boots with a leather jacket and a bedazzled clutch. I was an LSD trip. He had his schtick and I had mine.

"Yeah, no, eh," I look around, "she's in black skinny jeans and a fuchsia, like, off-shoulder situation. It's pretty hard to miss her, which is why I have no idea why I can't find her anywhere."

"Off shoulder?"

I turn to him as he mutters this.

I give him a look then motion, "yeah... like, it's cropped here," I move my hand by my shoulders, "and it has ruffles and-- OH! Also she has blue hair!" I raise a finger, "it's really, really hard to miss her."

Harwin looks at me like I just told him my friend was secretly Hannah Montana.

I am about to respond when suddenly we snap to the side as someone calls out, "Lord Strong." A man in a grey cloak nods at Harwin and turns to me, "you're looking for someone, yes?"

I blink at the man with a hood, trying to get a better look of his shadowy face. Immediate no.

I slowly nod though after he stares too long. I don't like the fact I can't make out his face.

Hood man tilts his head and walks off.

I stand still in my spot as he makes his way down an alley.

What the fuck was that? Tsch. Am I a dog? Did he honestly think I'd suddenly follow him just cause he tilted his head to the side?

I turn to Harwin and with a sour look. He looks back at me and tilts his head to the side. Not him too!

I huff in disbelief, "you want me to follow him?"

Harwin makes a face, "it would be wise if you do."

"Why?! What, is he-- does he work here?"

"In the marketplace," he looks around and shakes his head, "no."

I think for a second. I huff, "is he one of those people that do the lost and found things. Can he help-"

"OI!" a voice cuts me off. We turn to the side again and hood man is back. He quips, "do you want to find your friend or not?!"

Well why didn't he just say so?

I nod and shrug simultaneously, finding myself following after him this time around. The things I do for love. I mean, it's a renaissance fair! They... they're just a bunch of weird nerd guys that have never felt the touch of a woman.

I gulp. Okay, maybe not the soundest explanation as to why I think I won't get kidnapped.

For someone who wants to be followed, he sure moved like he wanted to lose me. I jog up behind him and grab his arm, "slow down! I've been on my feet for hours."

He slows then stops. He looks at the arm I was clutching.

I release a sigh, "do you have a name, manager?"

He turns from his arm to me with a scowl, "what?"

He pulls away just as I release him. I clarify, "do you work at, like, HR?"

He stares at me for a moment. I stare back, vaguely seeing his face from the shadow of his hood. He somehow looks familiar, like... like a less hot version of Matt Smith. He turns front and walks off again, "and what would HR be?"

I huff and follow after him. The whole in-character thing was really getting on my nerves. I rack my brain for what HR's equivalent would be in this day and age. I shake my head, "I don't know... public servitude? Public Relations? Okay, no, that's PR-"

Hood man eyes me, "PR..."

I slow my pace as I think. He rolls his eyes and grabs me by the wrist, dragging me as he takes us off to wherever it was we were headed.

"Good government?" I said questioningly.

He snorts, "good governance, you say?"

I look up at him and find a small smirk on his lips, "well, actually, I said-"

He mutters, "I am certainly not one of those."

"... okay... ... Mr. Edgelord."

He shoots me a look but does not respond.

He takes me to a dark backstreet and for some reason, I didn't think it strange up until we entered. The place, I kid you not, was a brothel. From the moment we stepped in, there were people making out and getting way further than second base in front of my very pure, unwilling eyes.

This was it, wasn't it? Would it be in bad taste to say at least I died in a cute outfit? No, wait, you're right. It would be in great taste. Purr.

Immediately, my hand goes to my eyes and I choke out a squeak, "oh dear fuck, is this legal?!"

Hood man turns to me and stops for a moment. He drags me again, "are pleasures illegal where you're from?"

I peak through my fingers, finding that we were headed for a flight of stairs. "For fucks sake, this is the dangerous type of pleasures, sir," I struggle as I try to keep my eyes closed and opened all at once.

"How dull," he looks over to me once as we go up the stairs, "danger is a form of respite."

I make a face, "yeah well-" I gasp when I nearly miss a step. Hood man yanks me up so that I don't fall. I sheepishly look up at him and was about to thank him, up until I see a bunch of dudes going at it on the second floor. I cringe, continuing my train of thought, "--tell that to STDs."

"STD..." he mutters under his breath.

Hood man takes us to a room that is empty, save for a woman with long dark hair. She looks at us as we enter, then turns to our joined hands. Upon catching this, I pull my hand away.

Hood man turns to me then to her, "show her the girl."

The dark haired woman side steps and immediately I gasp, "Libby!"

I run up to the low bed she was laid upon. I brush her damp bangs back and she immediately groans.

"Your friend was drunk and nearly attacked by some men," the woman explained, "they backed off when I told them she was one of mine."

"Homaygosh," I look over my shoulder and pant, "I- thank you for helping her."

Her expression softens a fraction. She mentally notes the reaction.

I look back to Libby and adjust her pink top. "She's a ditzy drunk," I sigh, brushing her damn awful blue hair, "which was why I followed after her. I didn't expect her to come this far."

"Far you say. Where are you from?" the man asks.

"We came from the party in the old castle ruins."

"Party?" she says just as he says, "ruins?"

I turn to them and stand, "yeah, the old castle up the cliff," I point to nowhere. I look between them and huff when they look at me wordlessly.

The woman turns to hood man. They speak to each other telepathically it seems.

I release a breath, "okay. I get it. You guys are into roleplay. It was a-- celebration dance... event."

They turn back to me.

"Thank you again for helping her," I turn to Libby, back to the woman, "what were your names?"

I offer a smile to hood man as I introduce myself.

He does not offer me the same courtesy.

Hmp.

The woman places her hands in front of her, "I am Mysaria," she says and I smile at her. She smiles back then turns to him. We both look at him for a hot second.

Hood man does not respond.

"Okay then..." I shift awkwardly in my spot, "well, thank you, Mysaria and... sir...."

"What house do you belong to?" he utters.

"What," I pull my head back, "house?"

He does not clarify but looks at me expectantly.

I make a face and think for a moment. What does he mean? I am hit by a sudden realization. But surely he doesn't mean this? "Uhm... ... ... Gryffindor?"

"Gryffindor?" his face contorts in thought.

I nod slowly, "that is what you mean, right?"

Mysaria crosses her arms, "where does house Gryffindor hail?"

What?

My eyes pinch in confusion. I raise a finger, "like... which part of Hogwarts do they stay?" What the- "I don't know! This is entirely too nerdy for me to understand. Also, I was never really a potterhead."

"Potter head?" hood guy asks.

I roll my eyes and sigh, "okay," I wave my hands, "since we've already broken the forth wall and you've broken characters-"

"Characters-" he mutters.

"-can I borrow a phone? Mine says no service," I lean towards Libby and begin to shake her awake, "or if any of you are heading back to the city, can we just hitch a ride?"

Libby groans as I shake her.

I hiss, "girl, get your ass up."

The man scoffs then chuckles. He walks over to me, "girl, I think you are sorely mistaken."

I straighten up and involuntarily squeak when I find him right next to me. He is so close that I finally see the color of his eyes, even though the room was quite dim.

"OCA4," I blabber.

He knits his blonde brows, "what?"

I step back, cursing myself for remembering that stupid fact from grade 6 biology, "you- you have violet eyes," I gulp, "it's a recessive trait."

The man blankly stares at me for a second.

Great. I've really done it now.

He narrows his eyes then looks me once over. "Issi ao doru-borto?" he mutters. Are you stupid?

"Hey!" I raise a brow, "I am not."

His expression slips. He is evidently shocked, "you know High Valyrian?"

Mysaria's eyes widen.

I place a hand on my hip, "I'll have you know, I took High Valyrian as an elective, but everyone knows what doru-borto is."

I turn back to shake Libby again, but instead, I am snagged by the arm. Hood man yanks me towards him and mutters, "gūrogon nyke naejot se pryjata."

I twitch as alarms go off in my head. Instead of shaking him off though, my mind buffers at the barely recognizable words. I try to make sense of it and slowly translate, "take me... ?"

He tilts his head and completes it, "take me to the ruins."

I pull my head and arm back. He does not release me. I clench my jaw at this. I huff, "you can't miss it. Just go up th-"

"I want you to take me there."

I begin to get increasingly agitated, defensive, and tired, "look, sir," I place my hand on his iron grip and push him off me, "I really appreciate your help, but we should get goi-"

"You will not go anywhere with your companion unless you take me to the ruins which you speak."

I freeze at his words. I stare at him, taking in his stoic expression. His look was as serious as explosive diarrhea. I feel my entire body flush with dread. I look to Mysaria for help, but it was instantly clear by her expression that if there were sides, she was on his.

I shudder and pull the hand I had atop his, finding no point in trying to free myself from his clutch, "so what?"

His brows furrow. A challenge?

"I take you there," I word carefully, "and then I come back, and you let us go?"

He takes in my expression. He scans my hair as it slips from my shoulder. He looks at the golden pins by the top of my head then releases me. I rub my arm as he brings his hands in front of him. He shifts on his leg.

I clench my jaw, "well?"

"So be it," he retorts.

"So be it?" I scoff, "swear it."

He tilts his head and narrows his eyes. His lips curve slightly, "what?"

"I need to hear you say you will not harm her," I add, turning to Mysaria as I say this, "please."

Mysaria's face softens though she knits her brows. Hood man laughs and it makes me glare at him. Mysaria looks to the man as he says, "I swear."

"On your life," I quip mindlessly with an air of fake confidence though my heart was pounding. I was well aware that if he intended to do us ill, no amount of words would save us. Still, it was good to hear it.

In all honesty, I am surprised when he retorts with, "on my life and my honor."

I find myself shaking my head, "okay then."

"OK..." he repeats slowly.

I do as he says, since I don't really have much of a choice.

I lead the man, or rather he leads me out of the grimy establishment (my poor eyes), and then I lead him up to the ruins.

The walk is silent, as I am no longer keen on fostering any type of relationship with him.

He stays a few paces behind me but I can very much feel his lingering presence.

As I do my best to retrace my steps, I slower each passing 'landmark', or lack thereof. We pass a church that was way smaller in my memory, and the large oak tree I was looking for was nonexistent.

Eventually, I come to terms with the fact I was lost and just try my best not to show it as I navigate the landscape through instinct.

When I was about to fess up, I glanced upon a building I knew for sure had scaffolding when I passed it earlier today. See, aint no way they finished the renovations that quickly.

I pick up the pace, following the directions I remember taking and my breath hitches. My jaw drops and my eyes widen at the sight of the full blown fortress before me. What the fuck.

I let out a breath to calm myself but I can no longer mask my panic.

"Who are you really?" hood man mutters.

I snap to my side and clutch my chest as the man steps closer. He pulls me toward him by ripping at my dangling purse. I helplessly topple forward.

"Are you a dreamer?" he reaches out to my face and brushes my silver hair back, "emagon ao rēbās rȳ jēda?" Have you walked through time?

I pull away from him and swat his hand off, "don't touch me!"

He recoils as I glare at him and catch my breath. He pushes his hood down, revealing his face and long, alabaster hair tucked behind his cloak, "and why wouldn't I? Blood of my blood."

What? I pull my head back and wrap my arms around me as I step away. This man is insane.

"Ēza iā nādrēsy hen ñuha lentor issare āzma isse Gryffindor?" Has a bastard of my house been born in Gryffindor.

My body flinches when bells begin to toll.

He takes my panic to his advantage. He grabs me by my arms and forces me close. My boots skid as I come to an abrupt halt. My hands dart to his chest, "I-I don't know what you're saying."

He presses closer to me, uncaring of how my palms repel against him. The bells ringing put me further on edge.

"Where were you born, little dove?" he mumbles softly but I find malice in it.

I feel my eyes begin to water as my breath strains. I don't know why he asks me this, and I don't know why I answer, "K-King's Landing."

He lets out a deep chuckle and nods, "how many years after the Conquest?"

"What?" I shake my head, "why do I have to-"

"Kesrio syt aōha dārilaros epagon." Because your prince asks.

"Dārilaros?" I mutter lowly.

The bells stop ringing. Suddenly, I remember that stupid urban legend about the castle arch. Wait. I look at the man's face and risk looking over to my shoulder. As I turn my head, I see the locked gate with the same motif of the arch I went through as I chased after Libby when she was dared to go through the stupid thing.

I chuckle manically. No. NO. That's fucking insane. Realistically speaking, portals that open at midnight are not real! It's stupid! Nonsensical!

And also, yeah, if people say the ruins has an arch that'll take you back two thousand years, maybe don't go through it. I mean I didn't! I- I was following Libby! I-

He hums and nods, "kessa, dōna run, iksan aōha dārilaros," he brushes my hair back. Yes, sweet thing, I am your prince.

My eyes widen. Is he being for real? Be so fucking for real right now.

I open my mouth but I do not respond. Suddenly, it's like I'm back in high school, giggling with my seatmate over the pictures of the Rogue Prince. What the fuck.

He takes in my expression and smirks.

"D-Daemon?"

He howls in laughter, "very good-"

"What the fuck?!"

"-you know me even where you're from," he smirks.

"You're a really good cosplayer!" I wrangle out of his grip, "and this- this is a really elaborate set!"

Daemon the cosplayer lets me break away and I wipe my face as I snap some sense to myself, "I must be dreaming-"

"Mmm, a flattering thought," he laughs

"-I'm fucking roofied!"

"But, I assure you, I am very real."

I shudder as I pant and pace around. This can't be real. I look up to the wall. But this fucking castle is so fucking real. I grunt and walk over to it. I hiss and pull my hand back when I touch the stone; it was as if it burned me.

No. No. No! This is a renaissance fair! A- a medieval cosplay event! A fucking- a fucking-

"Gīda ilagon," he mutters, grabbing arm.

I turn to him as I brush my hair back in frustration. I whimper, "what?"

"Calm down," he strokes my arm, looking at the clip that slipped off my head, "I will not harm you."

I raise my brows at his words.

"After all," he grabs my clip and readjusts it in my hair, "what kind of forbearer would I be if I harmed my sweet little girl?"

I hang like a pirated CD, "I beg your pardon?"

He chuckles, stroking my cheek.

I feel an immense heat crawl up my face in realization, "y-you think--" I'm a Targaryen?!

Aint no fucking way.

I laugh nervously, "right."

That's why he's been helping me?!

"I must say, I am happy to know the princess lives in excess," he brings his hands to the collar of jacket and pushes it away. He takes in the glitter of my halter top and smiles when finds the skin of my shoulders, "very good."

I shriek and shove him off.

He chuckles as he recoils, raising his hands in surrender.

I wrap my arms around myself as he takes in the rest of my outfit. Oh my gosh, man doesn't know about plastic.

When his eyes dart back to my face, I realize he must think my golden clips were actual gold. I mean, thank you?

"I took you to the place," I quickly sputter, "I'm going back and leaving with Libby now."

He gives a lopsided grin, "I see no ruins before me, princess."

I shiver. I'm in danger.

Suddenly, I think about how Daemon was said to be misunderstood, that most of the things he did, historically, were out of love. He wasn't actually a bad person-

"You said you weren't going to hurt me," I mutter.

"No," he chuckles, "what I want to do to you doesn't have to hurt."

My eyes widen. I raise my hands, "Prince Daemon, please-"

"All in good time," he smirks and undoes the ties of his cloak by his collar.

My heart races, "no- please-"

"Shhh," he shakes his head and throws his cloak over my shoulders, "on my life and my honor," he ties the string around my neck, "no one shall touch a hair on your head," he smirks, "none but I."

[blacklegsanjiii]

Ooh what if sanji grew up with asl brothers somehow? like the orbit couldnt keep a kid around and dropped him off on goa and he ended up cooking for a bunch of feral boys who teach him that brothers dont always have to hurt

I have a lot of thoughts about ASL+Sanji. A lot. (There's so much under the cut, so much)

Sanji who's dropped off in Foosha and is just, jumpy and frightened and runs at every breath towards him. I feel like Makino would tell Luffy about him and when Luffy's first few approaches don't work he tells Ace and Sabo. Sanji who is staring at these three feral gremlins who keep showing up at his hiding spot and trying to talk to him and Luffy who keeps asking about his eyebrows and Ace and Sabo hitting Luffy making Sanji flinch and cower from them.

Sabo would probably be the first one to Sanji warms up to. Both coming from nobile families that hate them. Sabo could recognize the way Sanji holds himself from a mile away so they bond and then Luffy would be next probably. Especially if Sanji has started cooking for them.

Ace would probably be last because he has the hardest to form trust with and Sanji is still skittish and jumpy and he flinches all the time. Ace can't even raise his hand for a high five without Sanji flinching. One night when it's just them Ace asks Sanji if he's a monster and Sanji says no, he knows monsters, was almost killed by monsters and Ace is blinking at Sanji who says that all with so quietly and with so much hurt. Sanji is small and quiet and the best behaved out of the four of them but over time he becomes just as feral.

When Sabo "dies" the three of them are heartbroken and Ace and Luffy go to the extremes of over protectiveness for a while. Ace sets off on his little boat to become a pirate and Sanji is working under Makino who makes him set sail with Luffy because of his dream of the All Blue(effectively making Sanji the first crewmate which Luffy is so glad is his cook and his brother). I feel from there things progress normally, they pick Zoro and Nami, fight Buggy, pick up Usopp and destroy the Baratie.

I don't think anyone would notice that Sanji and Luffy are brothers and then in Alabasta when Ace is visiting Ace is talking with everyone Ace just drops the bomb that the three of them are brothers. Zoro is like trying to wring Luffy's neck and Nami and Usopp are yelling at the top of their lungs as Vivi, Karoo, Chopper and Ace watch. Then Luffy drops the bomb that Sanji broke his back on the last island and Ace is yelling at Sanji for not taking care of himself better and Sanji is yelling back about the avalanche and everything and Ace is just watching with such a pained expression on his face. He thanks the crew for taking care of his little brothers and apologizes for the handful that they are.

Things progress normally until Marineford where Sanji and Luffy manage to show up to save Ace. Like this is all going, they can't find their crew, their brother is going to be executed for being born. Sanji takes this way too personally because of what his birth father did and well if he couldn't give himself up at Thriller Bark for Luffy he will give himself up for Ace and Luffy fuck this admiral. Sanji throws his leg into the lava punch and it still hits Ace but it doesn't kill him.

Law suddenly has three brothers, all of which have been hit with fucking lava, the blond is losing a leg, the one that was supposed to be executed is losing his back tattoo and the one who punched a celestial dragon like a week ago has liquefied organs and the Red Force is following them after Marineford has been sunk???? Is that the fucking White Beard fleet??? Law is the theater for 56 hours before being able to hand these fucking idiots off and hopes he never sees them again.

Shanks and Marco are looking at their respective brat/brother/son/person and the third one with tilted heads and Ace and Luffy keep trying to climb into Sanji's head which makes Marco snap at them for, Luffy especially because of you know, liquefied organs. Ace and Luffy keep crying because Sanji lost a fucking leg for them and Shanks asks Marco if he knew there was another one and Marco says he thought the blond one was supposed to be dead.

Skipping to Dressrosa Ace and Luffy meet Sabo who is there to help on behalf of the revolutionary army and Sabo is pointing at both of them and they're both pointing at him. Sabo asks where Sanji is and if he's alive and Luffy is like "yeah, he just fired on Big Mom's ship, traffy sent him to Zou because Mingo hurt him but he's fine!" And Ace is like "Sanji's fine, he has a metal leg now but-" and that makes Sabo hit both of them with his pipe and yell at them for not telling him anything even though he didn't have his memories and Ace and Luffy yell back at him for being dead.

Thank you for coming to my Ted talk

[1oddboi1]

I made a character :D

It's a sona for the Divine Mortals AU. I'm not a bishop or anything, I'm just here. I'm a funky little duder ·:3

This was one of my first ventures into the realm of character design, I'm pretty happy with it

I'll just explain it under a cut, Imma yap for a bit

The animal I picked was the blue RED sea dragon, or glaucus atlanticus as I first heard of it

Cool guy ^

These puppies are pretty cool if I do say so myself. They're a type of sea slug (already a good start) and can EAT the nematocysts (stinging cells) from stuff like jellyfish and use it as their own through their cool little finger things... I can eat poisonous and/or venomous stuff to GROW STRONGER!!

The eyes were the one thing I knew I wanted from the get go. If you couldn't tell from my pfp, I like biblically accurate angels, they're cool. Also I made a joke that I had a bunch of eyes and decided it was canon lmao. I tried not to go overboard with it, there's only the eight you can see here, and decided not to put eyes all over the body. There's only eyes in places that would benefit an animal, front, back, and the tail to make up for the blind spots

The spiky things on the head are cerata! The little wiggly finger things in the pic. I can use them to show emotions, up for happy, down for unhappy, wiggly for various things

Oh! And the red mask shape is a reference to my discord pfp AND my old "brand". I mean, I still use it so maybe it's not old but whatever

I'll just list off some other stuff: Young adult, quite tall despite little guy energy (6'5). ABSOLUTELY a little gremlin, I'm in chaos cult after all. Scatter brained af, can't keep a train of thought. Basically, he is me, I am him, we are one

Uuuuh... Lore wise I don't have much. Only concrete thing is that one day I just said "forget this" and clawed my way out of the ocean evolution style. Maybe I'll draw that

Anyway, that's it. Idk how often I'll post him or how long it'll be before then. I still got a bunch of Brear stuff to draw... And write... I'm gonna finish that story if it's the last thing I do!!

[morelikeravenbore]

🦋 Writer Interview Game

Thank you for tagging me @theladyofshalott1989! Everyone go read her Like Moths to a Flame series pls (it's on my to-read list and I'm really looking forward to it!)

When did you start writing?

I've been writing for as long as I can remember. When I was a kid, I used to hand write entire novels lol. At school, they'd assign us a little writing project and I'd show up with like 28 chapters, ongoing. I remember reading one story aloud once and the whole room was dead quiet after, and one girl goes: "whoa." anyway, eventually they were like, hey I think this kid is gifted (or autistic LOL but why not both.)

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write? 

Not really haha. My brain really goes: HEY WE REALLY REALLY REALLY LIKE THIS ONE THING AND WE'RE NOT INTERESTED IN ANYTHING ELSE. I mean, I do enjoy reading non-fiction, and I love the classics, but mostly I like fiction/romance/light fantasy stuff. 

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often? 

Nah. I just write like me. I guess the HP series had a huge influence on me since I was SO obsessed with it, which is probably why I write past tense/third pov limited. Sometimes I'll re-read a lot of Austen and end up using a bunch of old timey words in my next chapter, but mostly I just write and it comes out sounding like me. 

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space? 

I don't have one. I write 99.9% of my work on my phone wherever I happen to be. My brain is chaos but it works for me. (Right now I am writing this on the beach while my dog digs holes beside me.)

What's your most effective way to muster up a muse?

It's kinda rare that I can't find a muse. Usually I just burn myself out, so reading, resting and rotting helps restore my creative energy.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

HahahhA y'all this is too personal for me *sweats* but yes: grief and shitty parents. No, that does not surprise me. I also seem to have a thing about orphans and red heads.

What is your reason for writing?

I don't know how to stop.

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

With fanfic, when people tell me my characterisations of canon characters are spot on, or when people tell me my original characters feel like canon characters, hehe.

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

I don't want to be thought about by my readers at all, which is why I'll always write as an anonymous gremlin. And as far as my characters and stories go, I honestly don't give much thought to it. People are free to think what they like, it doesn't really bother me.

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

Getting inside my characters heads, I think. Understanding their motivations and writing them as real and flawed and human as I can.

How do you feel about your own writing?

Honestly, I love it haha! Sometimes I might cry for three days believing that I'm absolute garbage, but that's just life innit. Mostly, I write because it's one of the greatest sources of joy in my life and it just makes me happy.

Np tags: @galaxiasgreen @lyworth @gingerlegacy07 @sloanesallow @thesuperiorfeeling

[randomtheidiot]

Warriors Rewrite AU-Firestar.

It’s him!!! The funky little guy!!! The skrunkly!!!

FEEL FREE TO USE WITH CREDIT, BUT PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, CREDIT ME FOR MY DESIGN.

-His voice claim is Atlas from Bioshock because it was canonically fucking designed to be the voice of a scrappy underdog leader figure and it’s funny to imagine such a loud and serious manly-man voice coming from such a small and effeminate looking cat. Also funny accent go brr.

-I do not like Abyssinian cats, they are ugly and gross. Firestar is a tabby because I said so. Do not question me on this.

-Instead of him leaving twolegplace on a whim, I’ll have it so that he doesn’t like twolegplace at all and the reason he doesn’t run away sooner is because he doesn’t know there’s something else out there. Also, the reason he doesn’t know his mother is because he was a sickly kitten and he had to be bottle fed.

-He’s tiny. He’s an itty bitty little guy and he lives with a bunch of beefy ThunderClan warriors. He’s just a little skrunkly scrimblo.

-The spot on his chest is one of them “leader marks” that everyone seems to like. Not sure if I’ll keep it.

-His entire bloodline is full of fat, soft-looking cats like Cloudtail, Squirrelflight and Jayfeather, (you heard me right) but because of all the constant stress in his life, he’s always forgetting to eat and groom himself. That’s why he’s so thin and spiky.

-His fur practically glows like fire in direct sunlight, so when he’s out doing something important, he just sorta… lurks in the shadows like a creep. He has a habit of just appearing behind people.

-Because he’s so fierce looking and battle-scarred, kittypets don’t really like him that much. Him scaring off Princess that one time was not an isolated incident. Ironically, they’re much more friendly towards Sandstorm because of how soft she looks, with them openly approaching and chatting with her when she’s younger.

-There’s actually a point to me making him more outwardly scary and abrasive. It puts him at odds with the respected, affable Tigerclaw who could’ve never killed Redtail because he’s just so darn nice. Tigerclaw is a polite smooth-talker, Fireheart is sassy and has a thick accent. Tigerclaw is a strong, noble and handsome warrior who always does what’s right, Fireheart is a scrappy little gremlin who’s always breaking the warrior code. Tigerclaw was born here and we all trust him, Fireheart is a foreigner and he does not belong. Every time Fireheart tries to warn everyone that Tigerclaw is a murderer, he looks like more and more of a conspiracy theorist.

[titlemewickedwonderland]

Ghoul Game Night - Dewdrop

Summary: As the newest member of Papa's ghouls Y/n is dragged into a game night with her ghoul pack mates to get to know them! A little game of spin the bottle and truth or dare ends up becoming one hell of a night to remember!

Fandom: Ghost Band

Pairing: Dewdrop x Ghoul!reader

!Warning!: Sexual innuendos, dirty talk, sexual tension, oral fixation. Slutty Dewdrop

Workshop!

The bottle was cool under her touch as Dew handed it to her. She stretched to allow it to rest on the clear spot in front of her before she flicked her wrist to let it go spiraling round and round. She bit her lip as she waited with bated breath to see just who she was gonna be playing this game with. She'd heard of the game 7 Minutes in Heaven before but from how the guys described this game...well there would be no hiding away for this game night and she flushed darker thinking of all the things these guys would dare each other to do. She just hoped they would have mercy on the newest member of the pack; a part of her seemed to know that it may not always be like that - she could only hope to get someone that wasn't Dew or Swiss since they had shown their...wilder traits straight off the bat but now that she thought about it the quiet ones may be something to watch out for - she shot a look between Rain and Mountain on either side wondering if they were as bad as the outwardly wilder ghouls when behind closed doors or if they were pretty chill like Aether.

The bottle finally slowly and she looked up expectingly to the lucky or unlucky fellow she'd be partnering up with her heart leaped a bit with intimidation when she caught the firey orbs of Dew's eyes. Why couldn't Satan have been merciful and allowed her first round to be with Aether out of all of them? Aether was safe. He was kind. He wouldn't make her do something stupid. But no, she was paired with Dew. Maybe if she was super lucky Dew would have mercy on her but the glint in his eyes told her he wouldn't, that sadistic little gremlin.

Licking her lips nervously she played with Dew's blanket that now suddenly felt too hot over her lap. "Well, looks like it's on you Dew...Will you have me do truth or dare?" she asked softly hoping that her eyes portrayed her hesitancy to do a dare even when her gaze flickered across the room nervously.

"Don't forget doll...whichever one he chooses for you...he'll have to do the opposite box." Swiss smirked from where he was lounging back on his palms watching with evident amusement.

"Who knows? Maybe he'll risk giving himself the lesser evils and you'll be stuck with something you don't like." the multi-ghoul added with a snicker.

Dear Lucifer those two would be the near death of Y/n no doubt. The Ghulah met the fire ghoul's eyes again and tipped her head slightly silently asking him what he wanted to do.

He stared her down without blinking before he took a prolonged breath as if trying to draw out the tension and then spoke up. "I choose for you to do a truth."

Y/n breathed a sigh of relief as everyone whooped in excitement, but their reactions didn't make her feel too safe even when she thought about it. She gulped and stared over at Dew who was preparing to pour a shot with raised brows as if anticipating her to back down. Hell, she didn't even know the question just yet! She waved him off and squared her shoulders.

"I'll do it. Pick it out." her bravo crumbled slightly as Rain let out an encouraging purr and bumped her shoulder a bit with his encouragement making her blush further with the contact as he spoke.

"You won't be acting like that if you knew who wrote the truths and dares..."

"Eh? What do you..." Y/n looked over at Aether who was sliding the two boxes towards Dewdrop.

"The girls wrote them out...Do you think we're bad? You haven't hung out with the girls...they're some sadistic dirty-minded bunch." he told her with a shake of his head

Dewdrop's smile faded a bit when he remembered and he groaned dropping his head. "Shit, I forgot they wrote that shit." he grumbled before throwing back the shot of burning alcohol that was meant for the newbie knowing he'd need it more than her most likely.

Setting the glass down with a thunk he dug his hand into the black box that was labeled 'Truths' before unfolding it; a smirk gracing his angular features as he read it briefly to himself

"What was the first thing you thought of when you saw me naked for the first time?."

Y/n's eyes widened and Swiss lost it beside Dewdrop howling with laughter. "That's Sunshine right there!"

The Ghulah buried her face into her knees as her ears tinged pink as she listened to the protests of surprise and laugher of the others around her.

"Wait you saw him naked already? When'd you do that?!" Aether spluttered.

"I-In the shower." Y/n bit her lip glancing up meekly. "I-I accidentally walked in on him as he was getting out of the shower..." she confessed

"And? Gotta answer the question doll." Swiss grinned before reaching for Dew's empty shot glass. "Or we can pour you-"

"Hot." Y/n swallowed slowly meeting Dew's eyes from across the circle. 'I thought you were hot...made me hot...I-I liked the tattoos you have...a-and you have a very agile build but...I could see that you possessed some muscles beneath that - like an agile cat I guess; strong in an underestimated way...and I um...I didn't realize you had pierced nipples." Y/n bit her lip looking down at her toes peeking from beneath the blanket.

"Did I turn you on?" Dew's gaze hooded a bit even when his grin turned a little feral at her flustered state

"Ah-AH! She already answered her truth. Now, petal, go ahead and draw a dare for Dewdrop." Mountain's baritone broke the tension and got everyone bad on track as he felt his little companion getting a bit tongue-tied and flustered.

Clearing her throat Y/n reached over to the red box that had been slid over towards her and picked one off the top. She read it in her head and her ears flattened slightly as she covered her eyes. "I-I can't..." she stammered mortified.

"Eh, must be another Sunshine one then." Swiss nodded sagely

Y/n peeked up at Mountain as the big guy rested his tail around her waist. and leaned down to bump his forehead against hers with a low purr.

"Can you...?" Y/n blinked sheepishly up at him and he plucked the white folded strip from her trembling fingers.

"Of course, petal." he replied before looking down at the written text. He blinked before raising a brow and looking up at Dew who was watching with narrowed eyes. "Use my fingers or hand to show me how you enjoy oral sex."

The fact Mountain said it so bluntly and with such a straight face made Y/n whine and cover her face with her hands mortified; shit if only Dew had chosen a dare for her maybe she'd have been able to get that dare and she'd just drink a shot. But Dew had drawn the metaphorical short straw not that he seemed to mind it as his sharp-toothed grin widened.

The little fire ghoul crawled across the space toward her and grabbed her wrist to pull her hands from her face. He nudged her legs until they fell open and he got comfortable on his knees between them. Her ashen skin was tinged pink and her eyes were wide as she tried to control her panting. She never imagined eye contact could be such a hot trait as he never broke hers. His closeness had made her skittish as she scooted backward until she felt Rain's frame lean over her from behind; blocking her escape. She whimpered as Dewdrop reached for her hand again and slowly raised it up between them.

And then he opened his mouth; showing off the sharp fangs and the long inhuman tongue like a two-pronged snake before lowering his head - Y/n's fingers slipped past his lips and into the wet hot heat of his mouth. His eyes stared down at her while his tongue slipped between and around her digits before licking at the tips of them causing her breath to hitch as her eyes focused heavy and wanting on the way her fingers appeared and disappeared into the fire ghoul's mouth. The wetness of his saliva left her fingers glistening in the light as he pulled back to the tips; his lips kissed each wet digit before nipping at her fingerpads causing her to squirm. When he descended seconds letter at a slow torturous pace Rain groaned from behind the Ghuleh. The groan turned into a full-on growl of arousal as Dewdrop opened his mouth wide enough to show his turned-on packmates the glide of Y/n's fingers rubbing up along the soft wet heat of his tongue.

"Shit firebug. You thinking of someone's cock right now when you do that?" Rain commented watching Dew's eyes fluttered slightly at the sound of his aroused words and close his lips back around Y/n's digits causing her to whine when she felt the pressure of his mouth as he sucked.

"Hmm." Dewdrop hummed before pulling off and licking his lips. "Maybe." he grinned lazily while resting Y/n's hand against the heat of his cheek and turned his head slightly to nip at her thumb.

"Okay..." Y/n's dazed expression said it all if the scent of her sweetness permeating the air between them didn't point a red neon sign above her head how turned on she was right then.

Dew grinned and licked a stripe up along her exposed wrist. "You know where to find me for the real deal, sweets. If you're interested." he winked before letting her go and watched as she sagged back into Rain's chest

"Damn Dewy, give a warning next time," Swiss grumbled and readjusted himself as subtly as he could as the little gremlin walked with a teasing sway of his hips back to his spot beside Swiss and plopped himself onto the multi-ghoul's thigh.

"Aw, jealous Swiss?" Dewdrop grinned lying a teasing kiss to the other's cheek.

"Oh just you wait until this game's over; we'll see who's fucking jealous, firelily." Swiss gripped his thigh in a promise.

"Well...that was a show." Aether agreed clearing his throat and looked around the rest of the pack who all held some sort of dazed look in their ways from their little show. "Who wants to go next?"

Shit, with that kind of start...the game may be turned into something else completely. Satan below only knew their little Ghuleh could turn a whole pack of ghouls into something so unseemingly and she didn't even know her power over them yet. The game certainly was turning into something far more interesting than anticipated - Aether will have to thank the girls with a spa day or something after tonight.

Auth. Note: Check Workshop hub for alternative episodes of Ghoul's Game Night with your favorite characters!