#translate that from dash speak and you get

[thatdeadaquarius]

About your language brainrot. I see your "Reader's writing can't match tyvat's long and flowery writing" and bring you "Tyvat isn't used to books over 50 pages long so a short story to the Reader is a whole dictionary to tyvat readers".

Seriously, have you seen how thin the books are? They don't wrote novels, they write short chapters formatted in the way really old stories are. As in, summarizing all the events down into one smooth story then adding a few quotes. Fanfiction writers are insane. They will willingly sit down and write hundreds of words at a time. To them, a proper modern day story of maybe, oh 10k words or so, would probably be like the Oddessy itself.

If we were to combine the two headcanons. It would end up as many historians being intimidated by this insanely long written scripture in the language of the forgotten.

I'm going to take this a step further and say that if the creator asked some people to proofread their things, it would establish a hiarchy of who is able to actually finish the book the creator read and who isn't.

NOW THIS, THIS IS MY FUCKING JAMMMM

I'm so sorry this is so old!! u probably all know this by this point that I've really slowed down as the year has gone on, but I graduated university and then got my first job so its been pretty crazy!

Sun: Reader (you/they/them)

Orbit: Headcanons-ish

Stars: dash of all the book/nerds of Genshin, heavy on Sumeru?

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: Cussing, 16+ Mature Audiences, Spoliers for Sumeru Archon Quests/Scaramouche, & Trigger Warnings: mention of shipping/characters shipping themselves with you.

Comment if any missed, please.

☆

FULL STOP.

THE AKADEMIYA, FONTAINE RESEARCH INSTITUTE, HAVE BEEN WAITTTINNGGGG ON YOUR ASS LMAO

You fall from the fucking sky like a 5 star, or pop out of the Irminsul or whatever

and immediately are mobbed by scholars. LMAO jkjk (not really, bc that's what it’d feel like)

can you even imagine the dread older stories(”the classics” to them), that was instilled in the poor students around Teyvat??

id like to think ur works are the most preserved over the thousands of years of Teyvat archeologists excavating them, in comparison to other authors (teyvat just likes you more, suck it William Shakespeare)

also, bc I cant resist language differences/world building I'm sorryyyy 😭 😭

the vocab of Genshin lang vs. ours, has significantly less vocabulary like their actual dictionary is 1/3 the size of ours type of energy

(Omfg all ur fanfics being considered like insanely long realistic romantic classics or tragedies like Jane Austen-level, and only the richest and biggest play companies put on plays about ur stories bc the script goes on for hours)

(ur plays only get put on for rlly big events bc of this, like Lantern Rite or like a Summer/Winter festival/your birthday, which is, yes, an international holiday)

dude the sheer power move of anything you’ve written being essentially “Journey of the West” to them, like Damnnn.

endless like adaptations, plays, Teyvat-short stories condensing it, (THEIR OWN FANFICTION ABOUT UR STORIES)

the power is, in fact, going to your head every time another scholar both deflates at how long ur stuff is, but also lights up bc they get to read it

speaking of scholars… you know who snatched you up first. you know. you don’t even need to read the next line.

Alhaitham.

sneaky bastard he is, absolutely manipulated, mansplained (and manwhored bc he knows he’s handsome, cheeky little shit) his way into getting you to sit down with him and interview you about both translating other classics, your own, giving your own analysis of others works and ur own, and picking ur brain apart of how/why you wrote urs, etc. its fucking endless,

Kaveh had to come rescue you bc u were starving to death after getting stuck with the Haravatat scholar in his office for nearly 7 hours of interrogation discussion about literature

and Alhaitham wasn't even nearly done, he’d informed you as you left that he already had another appointment for later conversation scheduled (how?? you don't even know ur own schedule??? you have a schedule???) and was looking forward to more of your “creative and enlightening input” :)))

(you’re never going to escape him, not even Nahida herself can save you from his stubborn ass)

On another note, Xingqiu is quaking when you agree to autograph his copy of your stories (of which he has all hard covers of the first edition translations)

Zhongli/Rex Lapis is known for having a near-lifelong passion for searching for your works specifically, and learning how to translate them better into Teyvatian vernacular

like the same way he can absolutely speak on Rex Lapis facts/rocks/adepti info, is the same confidence he speaks about knowing ur work lol

(yes he did also ask for several autographs and another sit-down talk about the works, tho a lot more sneaky then Alhaitham bc he just casually gets u guys into it during dinner)

Barbatos/Venti has written some of the most famous songs based on your stuff, he has his favorites too,

but he always claims the best songs are any that have been written in the story, like either when a character sings something, or there are like quotes from songs ur fanfics are based on lol

(he also demanded to hear what they actually sound like from you, yes, you have to sing them for him lol)

Venti also can surprisingly drunkenly ramble the entirety of at least one of ur stories, like, word for word lmao

(Diluc gave in and did give him a drink on the house for that one, just once, Venti doesn’t remember it lol)

(I forgot to mention, u guys still speak the same language, just like, different versions of it)

ur works being one of the few things all the Archons can freely talk about with each other, like it’s neutral ground bc they’re all fangirling about it lmao

Furina and Neuvillette have had like,, fierce debates over the decades about character dynamics and the general drama of ur stories, they’ve gotten into it enough they’ve stopped talking to each other for a couple days a few times lol

Albedo, Sucrose, Kokomi, Yae Miko, Ei, Raiden, have read every single work they’re gotten their hands on in Teyvat (it took them like a literal year or longer)

Albedo drew you fanart for every single story, bc he’s hyperfixated on everything related to you ngl,

Kokomi had commissioned smaller pocket versions of ur works (which later got popular thanks to Yae Miko) both the OG and the Teyvat shortened versions

THE HARBINGERS ARE THE MOST DOWN BAD LMAO

Childe has literally tried to recreate battle scenes from ur works lmao

and gets especially riled up about fighting someone who resembles any characters from them (esp villains, what a cutie)

You cannot fathom the amount of research throughout Teyvat that has been secretly or indirectly funded by Pantalone/Tsaritsa

from the experts to analyze them, to funding play companies to act them out, to actually excavating places to get more of ur stuff unearthed

(the Harbingers absolutely are the first group of people that got to read several of ur stories first bc of this, like the world’s most exclusive secret book club lol)

Scaramouche used to clown on Childe all the time about how he was too impatient to even “sit down and read the King’s classics”, and he was downright insufferable when he found out about Tartaglia’s habit of recreating battle scenes/that being what motivated him to fight sometimes lol

that being said, Wanderer surprisingly never forgot ur stories.

Even when his memories were wiped for a bit, he found comfort in these fantastical epics still sticking around, even when his old names did not

(he mayyyy or mayyy nottt have secretly namedhimselfafteroneofthetragicprotagonistsherelatesto- )

oh btw, Nahida also found joy and comfort in ur stories when she was trapped, they also helped her literally grow as a person bc she had ur stories to help her sort of process the world/what life was like outside of her dreaming prison 🥺💔❤️‍🩹

◇

OMFG

ANYWAY FULL TONE SHIFT LMFAO-

the ABSOLUTE SPIRAL-RED-STRING-CONSPIRACY-THEORY-BOARD ENERGY IF THIS WAS A BLUNT LANGUAGE AU LMAOOOO

like specifically how Teyvatians like to give all the context ever thru their words, but older deities/beings like you just do simple phrases that can have deeper meanings (whereas teyvat just explains all the meanings behind their words)

STOP there’s like an official display at the Akademiya and Fontaine Institute of red string theory boards 😭😭 (look what you’ve done to themmm LMAO)

for like every story of urs, INCLUDING THE FANFICS STOP

IMAGINE THE SHIPPING WARS IF U EVER WROTE ONE THAT WASNT EXPLICIT OR LIKE ONE OF THE MAIN ROMANTIC INTERESTS HAD CHEMISTRY WITH OTHER CHARACTERS HAHAHAHAA

that's actually what Akademiya scholars argue about the most viciously, it’s like politics you can’t just bring up ships from ur stories casually in regular convos 💀

(poor Cyno has to deal with a shipping war once a year bc someone always makes the mistake of reading ur work for the first time (without being told to not talk to others abt ships lol) and it starts an all out brawl in the cafeteria every time LMAO)

Also yes.

Cyno is a fanboy.

(he has read Creator x Reader-insert fanfiction.)

(As have most of the characters mentioned, and those not lol)

…

(I'm gonna make a whole Creator x reader fanfic post one day i stg lmao)

☆

an iced coffee? for me?? :0

ok but real talk…

wtf do you guys wanna see for new years!!

i didn't do a inktober/october days thingy bc i felt too unprepared (and bc id wanted to post that 1000+ followers eldritch au for Halloween)

but now i kinda wanna, at least for a few days :o

ill post a poll in a minute, so check it out!! but still, please feel free to comment some ideas here! :)

Safe Travels Deafening Dreamer,

💀♒

If you wanna join a taglist, DM me what for! "Pspspsss, please tag me for [All SAGAU posts, Only SAGAU Language AUs, diff fandom, etc.]!"

(If you ever wanna drop, just DM me! "No more taglists/[specifically this AU/fandom] please!")

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist / @thedevioussmirk / @the-dumber-scaramouche / @chocogi / @fallen-starr / @areaderofbooks / @devilangel657 / @esthelily

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Run Away To Me (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Blacksmith!Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Runaway Bride!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 4.8k

WARNINGS: Blood, wounds, being hunted/chased, medieval period-esc standards, arranged marriage insinuations, toxic family insinuations, angst, protective Johnny?, etc.

A/N: This series is so Lord Huron coded

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You rush through the low-hanging branches of the reaching pines, their green arms tearing at the once perfect and virginal white dress clothing your body; waves of delicate fabric like bird’s wings. Shredded and torn, you sob in large gasps while the shouting gets louder behind you—the pound of vile hooves along cobblestone. 

“After her!” Blood was rushing down a long slice in your palm, dripping to the verdant grass as you traversed the off-trial paths, the roads of animals and bandits—monsters in the night. 

Flashes of torchlight had gone out long ago, the rain slamming the ground with ancient purpose as the storm got angrier. Tree trunks slam into your shoulders, the wedding dress ripping away in strips as pine needles pierce the bare skin of your feet. Your shoes had slipped off as soon as you had started this mad dash. 

“She went this way! Quickly!” You run faster, shuffling down a long hill as mud gets packed into your flesh; infecting wounds with its slimy make-up. 

“Please,” your voice begs lowly, hiccuping out vowels as you drop to your knees at the bottom of a ravine before you sob and grit your teeth. Wading through the stream of chilled water, you dig into the ground and shove yourself up on shaking legs as rain pelts your head. “Please, I can’t go back.”

Even your thin clothes are heavy on you—body weighed down by terror and a desperate plea. Because what you said was true. You can’t go back. Can’t go back to the search party, can’t go back to the ceremony…and you can’t go back to the man you were supposed to marry. No, you’d rather face the woods. 

Scaling up the other edge of the ravine, you slam a bloody hand down to the rocks atop, pebbles flying past your face as a flash of lightning momentarily illuminates your field of view. Noises reminiscent of an animal carve their way out of your esophagus, teeth gritted as feet slip and strain. 

You heave yourself over and fight the weakness in your arms. Coughing, you pray the storm will wash away any trace of your charge to freedom—the blood and the tracks. With any luck, the hounds won’t be able to pick up your scent even with the strips of your dress left behind in the branches. 

Pushing away the water from your forehead, you stumble onwards on unsteady feet that pound with pain. Grasping at your gushing palm, you cry out as the burning pain echoes up your forearm.

“Whatever God is out there,” You speak in gasps, slurring the words as your dry throat grates. It’s all but lost to the wind in its great bouts of staggering attacks through the trucks of the trees. “Please, offer me sanctuary.” 

Lightning is the world’s answer, more streaks of light that make your soaked body flinch and shake even more. Yet, in that tiny second of light, there had been something in the far distance—a shadow. 

Your eyes peer harder, the calls from the riders suck in the back of your mind as they taper off as the search is re-routed. 

What was…?

Wooden sides, three separate rectangular shapes that stand firm in the rampaging elements. Your feet slide over the ground as you limp in the direction you’d seen them, the flesh of your body so cold that you had gone numb in the sheets of rainfall. 

A heart fills with senseless hope.

A homestead! With no other option, you take a deep, ragged, breath and continue on as quickly as you’re able; dress hanging off one shoulder. When you reach the front door some ear-ringing minutes later you’re barely standing upright—legs teetering and thighs shaking with dying vigor. 

Panting, your first banging to the wood is weak at best, barely a sound above the thunder and the slap of rain. You strangle a sob and wrench your shoulder back, landing three hard hits that act more like punches. Pain blossoms in your hand, but you continue striking the wood. 

There’s a loud ruckus from behind the blackened barrier, a yell, and before your knuckles can make themselves bleed from fear-filled adrenaline, the door is whipped open. A dim firelight spills out from a low hearth and you find yourself staring into the narrowed eyes of a man and his exasperated expression. 

There’s the beginning of a growl, heavy with an accented voice, “Now who in the hell is—!”

A strong jaw goes slack, brunette stubble stilling. Blue eyes like cobalt instantly peel back to show the whites, words strangled away in a sharp inhale. 

The man is in his late twenties, stocky, and clothed in a loose sleep shirt made of thin linen with black pants. His shoulders were near large enough to knock on the frame of the door as he stood in it, built with the strength of a boar and then some. His large, lightly-tanned hand on the door slackens as his eyes speedily dart down your disoriented form. Biceps the size of your skull.

Heart hammering, you stare for a moment longer, rain pelting your back and looking like a wet dog. It’s as if you’ve forgotten to speak beyond gasps for air, but your eyes implore enough for you. The stranger recovers from his surprise at seeing such a beautiful lone woman at his door with a clearing of his throat.

“...Christ, Dearie, you’re soakin’ wet out here.” He shoulders the door open wider without another question. “Inside, now, quickly.” 

You wrap your arms around your waist and speed into the shelter of the home, water dripping down to the wood as you shiver and your teeth clatter. Not for a second did you think if this might be safe or not, too scared of the riders and their hounds than anything. You wouldn’t allow them to drag you back to your husband-to-be. Not in a million years. 

Your voice is hiccuping as you speak.

“I…I don’t mean to i-intrude, I’m very sorry, Sir.” The man looks around his home before he spots a large bear fur by the messy bed in the corner—he rushes over and grabs it. “I ask forgiveness for w-waking you at such an hour.”

“Jesus, is that what you’re worried about?” Blue eyes crease at you as the heavy fur over your shoulders; your hands snap to catch it, the entire thing swallowing you as gaze up in confusion. The man frowns, staring back as water drips from your nose. “Let’s just focus on gettin’ you dry, yeah? You’ll catch your death like this, Little Lady.” 

A wide hand presses to the expanse of your spine, prodding you forward as you squeak at the sudden contact. You’re guided to a small chair in front of the hearth, plopped down and the sides of the fur are hiked up to your neck quickly.

The stranger kneels down in front of you, focused, and his tired eyes alight with worry. He makes sure the fur isn’t going to fall as he blinks over the state of your hands. He pauses, his large grip stalling at the sight of spreading blood. 

Your wound—you’d almost forgotten. 

“Now what’s this, then?” The brunette's words are quiet, very in-tune with your state as you try to catch your breath and shiver. It was like coaxing a wild animal. 

Blinking, you shift your hand farther under the bear's fur, bringing it to your chest. 

“I won’t be here long, Sir. I promise,” you try to change the topic, but quickly jerk your nose into the crook of your arm as you sneeze, bending over slightly as mud and blood stain your skin. 

Lips tighten along a square face.

“It’s Johnny, Miss.” The world outside rages on, blocked out by the four walls of this nicely sized home of wooden logs and boards. It was well-made with pine and cider, the large hearth in the back wall with inlets near the shuddered windows and various crudely carved pieces of art. 

Weapon displays lined the walls, various makes and models hung on pegs. Axes and swords, spears with red-leather shafts set next to halberds of black steel. You blink at them in slight concern, not used to being around weapons. 

Johnny, as he calls himself, sees this and quickly explains as he rubs at the back of his head, eyes crinkling. 

“Ah, Johnny MacTavish, the blacksmith, that is,” a small, rough chuckle echos out. 

You ease at that. 

“Mr. MacTavish,” you give your name and offer a kind, yet still anxious, smile. “I give my thanks for allowing me shelter. A-and the fur.” 

His gaze slips down to your hidden hand once more, face swirling with an unidentified emotion before studying your torn wedding gown.

“Well, I’m not one to leave a person out on my doorstep in weather like this. Certainly not a Lady.” His brow raises, head tilting. “You going to let me clean that wound a’yours or am I going to have to fish it out myself?” 

Your body tenses slowly, bare feet shuffling over the floor. Staring at Johnny, you gaze at the strangely cut hair atop his head and the messy strands that speak to a night of shifting on his bed. His face is honest and open to you, blinking in soft question as his head angles to the side with an easy twitch of his lips. 

“It’s really not necessary,” you try to chuckle but it falls flat, eyes red and heart still speeding. 

Johnny sighs and glances at the fire, blinking before he shifts to grab another log and toss it in with no concern for the heat of the flame that lap at his fingers. You watch his muscles bunch under his shirt and quickly look at your lap. 

“I’m not the greatest doctor out there, Dearie, but I can do good with washin’ out a cut an’ wrapping it.” You study him and nervously tighten your lips. Johnny’s face seems to soften, hands going up and wrists tilting as his knee stays connected to the floor; firelight on his face. A small smile blooms. “C’mon, I’m not that scary of a bastard, am I?”

You spare a tiny chuckle, shoulders jumping as rainwater slips down your chin. Your shivering was still going on, and would until you got a change of clothes, but the warmth from the fire was helping tremendously. Already feeling was returning to your limbs. 

“Ah,” the blacksmith huffs a laugh, “there’s a smile. Now, let's have a little look-see shall we?” 

Under the fur, your hand lightly shifts, coming back into view, slit palm and all. Johnny’s eyes darken, face going serious behind his stubble. Brown brows turn in. 

“Now where in the hell did you get a—” Just as his gigantic hands were about to circle around yours, there was a violent knock at the door. 

You shoot up in an instant, jerking away from the blacksmith as he snaps his head to the front, eyes lighting. He stands up slowly as you back up a few paces, eyes frantically darting back and forth. The knocking starts up again and thunder peels from outside. 

Your form flinches.

“You can’t let them take me back,” you say quickly, breathing catching up in speed again. Fear burns your lungs and suddenly you’re ten times colder than before. “Mr. MacTavish, please, I can’t go back.”

Another round of knocking shakes the barrier. Blues eyes stare at you blankly, half-turned face pulled in visible confusion as Johnny’s jaw clenches. 

A voice echoes from under the door as the blacksmith once more lets his eyes linger down your battered frame; taking in cuts and the limp you carry. Muddy feet and water stained red. His hands twitch at his sides. 

“These are the guards of Lord Wilkin, would anyone in this home come to make him or herself known? It is of the utmost urgency!” You grow more fearful, head darting to find any other exit in this home but you land on nothing besides the windows. Your fingers shake with panic.

No, no, no.

Confusion gives way to deep concern.

A hand grasps your upper arm and you’re being hurried to the corner wall by the front door with fast feet and a firm, iron, grip. An accented voice mumbles quietly by your ear, “Keep quiet for me, Dearie. It’s alright, you let me take care of it.”

He stands you there and takes one last look at you, blinking, before grabbing the bear fur and pulling it above your head in a swift motion. There’s a quiet chuckle as you tense and slam a hand up to the brown material instinctually before Johnny darts around the corner and opens the door. You hold your breath and listen.

“Well, steamin’ Jesus, you bastards have any idea what time it is?! And in this damning weather, you show up at my door reamin’ on the wood like you’re the one who has to keep it anchored to the frame.” There’s a fast conversation of apologies and explanations that you can't catch above the yell of the rain.

“Does it look like I give a shite about a lost bride? Not my fuckin’ place to keep ‘er…I’ve seen nothing besides you…anyone out in this storm is as good as lost…” You listen and stay completely still, holding your breath as if it’s a prisoner in your lungs. 

You can hardly believe it. Why was this man…lying for you? A wounded stranger that had shown up at his doorstep in nothing but a tattered gown and babbling through tears. Anyone else would have turned you over—especially to your betrothed, Lord Wilkin. He owned these lands and held fiefs by all who lived here. Not a man to mess with, if your slit palm was anything to go by.

“Go on!” Johnny calls loudly, and the door closes a second later, the latch locking. There’s a moment of nothing, before the clearing of a throat and a soft call. “Well, they won’t be back, least.” 

He pops around the corner and smiles comfortingly. 

“Sorry about the yellin'.” You part your lips in innocent awe and you take a deep breath before speaking slowly.

“Why would you do that?” His expression tightens, crossing his arms over his chest. Under him, his large hips shift.

“Ya asked, didn’t you?” Your blank expression only serves to make him chuckle heartily, head shaking. Johnny hums, “I won’t press you about it all tonight, though I well should. You’re in no shape for it.” Cobalt eyes glance at the food before looking back up. “But I’m guessin’ you have a good enough reason to sneak off as I hear you did.” 

The very blood in your body heats with warmth.

You’re waved back over to the chair by the hearth. “Let’s get that injury looked at and I‘ll get you a change of clothes. You can take my place for the night,” eyes twinkle, “there’s no bed bugs in it, Dearie, knight’s honor.”

“What about iron shavings?” You call back softly, lips jerking up momentarily. The man’s actions had given you a large amount of trust in him. Johnny blinks in surprise at your joke, but a large grin grows moments later as you walk over delicately.

“Can’t say for certain, but I promise there’ll be no weapons under the covers. If anyone breaks in they’ll find my fists to be the first iron they get a touch of.” 

Your laugh bounces off the walls, hand coming up to cover your mouth in the picture of a cultured upbringing. Johnny chuckles in turn, looking smug. He liked your laugh, it seems.

“That was detestable, Mr. MacTavish.” You sit down, and Johnny kneels where he had been before—his hand outstretched where you carefully place your wounded limb. 

Immediately you feel the scrape of old burns and calluses, hands hardened by long hours of labor and intensive demands. You’re certain these are the hardest hands that have ever touched your skin, but it astounds you by how gently you’re being caressed and turned. People with far fairer flesh have never handled you like this. As if you would break apart with the barest of pressures.

Your breath stills as the blacksmith, with all the care of a butterfly, tilts your cut into the light and studies it, thumb absentmindedly brushing up and down your wrist. You hold back a shiver. 

“Ah,” he grumbles, still smiling yet more focused on your injury now. “It wasn’t that bad.”

You hum under your breath and try not to flinch when he wipes away a stain of mud near your wound. The blacksmith grunts to himself, gentle pressure at your flesh like the scuff of tree bark. But it wasn’t unpleasant. No, you thought, not at all. 

The two of you fall into a hole of soft silence, Johnny leaving for a moment to grab a bucket of water and bandages, saying in a mutter that he had plenty of the former to go around.

“Have a habit of burnin’ myself on my bad days, y’see,” he shimmies past, pausing before pulling back up the bear fur from where it had slightly slipped down your neck. “Comes with the job.”

Your face burns as he grabs what he needs, eyes stuck on your lap. You were astounded by the man’s ability to put away his obvious confusion for your care, how he was content to wait for answers until you were rested. It was honorable of him. 

Thinking back to Lord Wilkin’s guards at the door, your thighs shift over the chair. They’d be looking for you until they found you—be that days or months, it didn’t matter. The Lord wasn’t someone to let what he wanted get away from him. Like senseless beasts, your family would undoubtedly help. Your chest is stiff with worry. How would you get away with this?

The scene you’d made at the wedding wasn’t exactly subtle. 

Johnny comes back carrying a small bucket of fresh water, ladled from the wash basin, and a bundle of clean white cloth. 

“Alright,” he huffs, “let’s get this sorted, eh, Dearie?” The wound was very obviously a slice from a knife, anyone could see it. 

Johnny takes your hand once more and holds it in his palm, glancing up at you before dipping one of the cloths into the water and beginning to clean the cut. 

“Is it…bad, Mr. MacTavish?” You ask, worried about the likelihood of scarring. That would be the last thing you would want. The blacksmith looks up from where he pats the edges, the fabric already going red.

“Just Johnny, if it pleases you,” he smiles, hulking form seemingly all a facade to hide a cheeky and loyal Scot. “And…no, not bad. If you’re worried about a mark, don’t be—it’s deep but only at the beginning. A slight discoloration, no more.” His brows pull back, teasing, “You’ll not end up like me, at any rate.” Your shoulders ease back, and you let him work with a thankful comment and a giggle.

You watch and take in the way his jaw clenches and loosens as he works, completely focused as if he was fashioning an axe and not helping a complete stranger. 

“There’s no harm in scars,” you settle on saying, thinking over his last comment. Blues lock with your eyes, head tilting like a hound. Your face gains a slight heat to it and you stutter, “It’s just this one I’d rather not carry, Johnny.” Smiling warmly, you see the man’s lips part, his motions stalling for a moment as he looks up at you and blinks. “But yours suit you if…I’m allowed to say.”

It’s then that you realize that a slight flush has come to his cheeks, starting from under his stubble and leaking out to his cheeks like a red blaze—his gaze burrows deep with hidden fire that rivals the dancing shadows from the hearth.

Noticing, your own face burns all the hotter as the blacksmith quickly clears his throat, snapping his eyes away. Fingers once more cleaning your cut, he grunts out, neck now shifting to a blush of crimson, “...Thank you, Miss.” 

You stay in silence for the rest of the delicate process; the air heated and rolling with something. Electricity sparks when Johnny’s hands rub across yours, large enough to break you in an instant but acting like moss over a stone. You find yourself falling into a sort of comforted state you hadn’t felt in a long time—the fur over your shoulders and the tingle of skin-on-skin contact that expects nothing but offers all. 

“There,” Johnny says at last, and a part of you wants to cry when he pulls back, standing slowly. A firm but malleable wrapping is over your palm, a tiny knot tied in the middle to keep it from falling off. 

You bring it to your abdomen and blink, the other hand going to run over the material. 

“Thank you, Johnny. Truly. If I hadn’t found your homestead, I would have been lost.” The man rubs at the back of his neck, tunic bunched up by his elbows. 

“Gah,” after a second of bruising off the comment, he waves a hand while his wide chest puffs with pride. “It’s no trouble, really. Keeps me on my toes.”

Outside the storm continues to beat the walls, and the blacksmith can’t help but feel his eyes drawn to your dwarfed form under the large fur, the dripping water, and the weight of your gown. Based on the information from the guard, he had a decent story already forming in his head. 

A runaway bride and an angry Lord. By his own role as the fiefdom’s accomplished blacksmith, he should be turning you over. But your eyes had been flooded with tears when you’d pounded on his door; soaked in rain and mud—blood. No shoes. Freezing. 

You had looked so afraid, his heart had hurt for you, a strong need to shelter you stuck like a knife into his ribs. Johnny had seen much in his life, war, and death, but your desperation had stuck a cord in him. 

He’d keep you here with no charge, offer food and shelter, and do what he can to understand your situation. If not for simply hospitality sake, then because he had heard your laugh and had found it to be like a bird’s call in the wake of a dew-coated morning. Your soft skin like the wisps of fire from his forges. Your voice like a rippling spring. There was no way to describe the way he wanted to help besides to admit to himself that he was a good man. 

And, while cocky, the blacksmith had never once been self-absorbed.

He watches you rub at your damp cheek and starts out of whatever trance he had been sucked into. 

“I’ll…” Johnny rubs at his neck again, “I’ll get you that change of clothes, Bonnie. You just wait right here.” 

You stare at his back as he strides over, the fatigue washing back over you now that the adrenaline leaves in its stupendous sweep of heavy heartbeats. Anyone else would have given you up. Your face softens, seeing the quick dig of hands into the stack of clothes in the dresser. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” the man huffs, looking over his shoulder and shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Dearie, all I’ve got are my tunics and pants.” Black and pale cream linen is held up on display. 

“Oh,” you mutter, “I don’t mind,” your chuckle makes his lips twitch with care. “I would just prefer to be out of this…thing.” Your eyes glare down at the tattered gown, breathing softly. “Anything is perfect.”

“Well, then I hope you don’t mind the smell of fire,” Johnny hums. “Here you are.” As much as his insides twist to understand the story, making sure you don’t run a cold was more important. 

Your legs push you up and you walk over softly, gliding over the wooden floor to take up the articles and dig your fingers into the warm and easy texture, thin stitching, and cuffed wrists. There was a cut down the neck with a tied cord looped through, making up an ‘x’ pattern. 

“I would say thank you again,” you begin, “but I think you’ll be getting annoyed with how many times I’ve already said it.”

Johnny laughs, crossing his arms over his chest and setting his feet. 

“Ah, perhaps only a little.” Silence laps into a minute, and you study him with slow puzzlement, tilting your head. For a moment, the man wonders what he’s done. The blacksmith’s dark brows furrow, lips moving back. He looks down at the clothes again and starts with a wild blinking of his lids. 

“Oh! Hell’s bells, right,” Johnny walks to the other side of the room and swiftly turns his back to you with respect and a burning neck. He cringes. “Christ.” 

You laugh brightly, letting the fur fall to the floor as you undress and shimmy into the borrowed clothes. Your nose takes in the scents of metal and fire—fatty linseed oil used to protect a blade against corrosion. With the crackling fire, you slip the large tunic above your head and find that it falls heavily over you; far thicker than it seemed and very comfortable, ending at your lower thigh. 

But those scents make your head spin, rolling up the cuffs as you bring your nose to the collar and once more take it in with a slow breath. You hum and move, throwing the bear fur back atop your shoulders and grabbing your ruined garments from the floor before calling out to the rod-straight figure. 

“Johnny?” His arms lightly jerk, as if he’d been unfocused, but he doesn’t turn around. “Where would you like me to throw these?” 

The blacksmith delicately tilts his head to the side and utters with his eyes stuck to the side wall. “Bin by the door is just fine.” You look to the container holding scraps and other garbage to be taken out and drop the gown in before rubbing your cheek. 

Wide cobalt eyes stare at the clothes you wear heavily, jaw loose before he re-set it and averts his gaze. Johnny chuckles to ease himself and loops his thumbs into his waistband, embarrassed.

“Do you need anything else, then?” Your eyes blink with fatigue.

“No, I…I don’t think so.” Gazing at the home, your lips thin. Your family would have a heart attack if you even mentioned that you were staying the night at a complete stranger’s homestead. No protection, no way to beat off a blacksmith beyond a well-placed punch, and running from your betrothed. To say that you’d cause anything less than a heart attack would be generous. But Johnny felt different. Firmer in his emotions and intentions. Far more than the Lord. 

That was really all that matted. 

“Are you really sure this is okay,” you still ask hesitantly, gargantuan clothes atop your frame. Johnny is already nodding firmly.

“It’s my pleasure. I won’t be turnin’ you back out to the woods in a storm like this.” For whatever reason, the next words fall from his lips like an oath. “There’ll be no harm comin’ to ya as long as you stay under my roof.” 

Your hand burns with the memory of his gentle grip and your heart skips beats. You feel as if a great weight is lifted, even if only for a night. 

“Alright,” your words barely make it to air, and you grip the bear fur harder to stop yourself from kissing this man’s cheek, wanting to take him into a tight hug. 

Johnny takes a blanket from the bottom of his bed and shuffles over to the inlet below the shuddered window, sitting down while you slowly walk forward. 

“But, Little Lady,” you rest on the edge of the bed and look up to find him watching you intently, leaning back with a hand behind his head and the other on his stomach. The fire still crackles, the storm still dances outside, and the room is still tight with something you can’t put a name to. Like you’re caught in a trap of soft pillows and the scent of metal, you listen to the blacksmith with bated breath. “I’ll be needin’ answers…you hear?” 

Licking your lips, you nod tersely. “Tomorrow,” you agree. 

Johnny gazes off into your eyes, the runaway bride that had shown up on his doorstep and captured his attention like a bird made of a white wedding gown and panicked breath. He sneaks a peek down at your wrapped hand as you settle on his bed, burrowing into his furs and his covers—wearing his clothes. 

For some unknown reason, the smallest of blood stains makes his chest roll with bright anger. 

“Tomorrow,” he grunts through a tight jaw before he fights to turn his head away from you. It’s a long while before he sees any type of sleep, listening to the sound of your soft breath and the crackle of the fire.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[calisources]

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐘𝐀𝐋 𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒.

All sentences on these meme make references to royal balls, medieval ballrooms or regency, basically set during any period drama. You can change names, pronouns, titles and more as you see fit. Most of these were taken from different source materials found via google search. This meme makes references to masquerades, royal dances and partners.

Dancing, at its best, is independence and intimacy in balance.

Dance is the timeless interpretation of life.

Music does not need language of words for it has movements of dance to do its translation.

Masks reveal. They don’t conceal. Masks reveal your cravings, your passion, your deepest most secret desires.

It was you. I know it was you.

Look at me, Kia! Look me in the eye and tell me you’re not her.

And who shall you be once you don your grand disguise?

I don't like to hear you talk about yourself that way. Your scars do not define you, young lady. Your action do.

All the ladies must dress the same and the men have to find their partners. It’s a game of sorts. 

Even the smallfolk have their own version of the ball, at the steps of the castle.

Swoon, Dora. Every young woman deserves to swoon over the love of her life.

Dash it, Everton, how'd you know it was me?

A masquerade could have been a beautiful dance. 

 Oh, well. What's a royal ball? After all, I suppose it would be frightfully dull, and-and-and boring, and-and completely... Completely wonderful.

Each finds a partner, and upon the bell, we must change partner until we find the one we came to be. . .or the one we desire.

It has been a while since you gave me the honor to dance with you.

If the princess is not too occupied, I would wish for a dance, perhaps?

The Queen and King have to open the ball but the King is gone. No mind, I shall be in his place.

Sometimes in life confusion tends to arise and only dialogue of dance seems to make sense.

If we want our men to dance, we have to inspire them. 

 But with something more, something bigger, something that will give them a reason to want to dance.

But when balls are held for pleasure, They're the balls that I like best.

Will you be my princess for the Ball?

Keeping pushing, Andrei, and you and I are going to play a game.

Nothing like a ball to cheer a nation, give the old lords wine and the young boys the opportunity to find a nice woman and everyone shows up.

Where are you taking me? The ball hasn’t ended.

Royals is like a beautiful, broken angel: hard to look at, but utterly impossible to turn away from.

Attend the royal ball in all your glory and find out what fate has in store for you.

How many dances is one allowed before people begin to whisper?

You cannot behave like a brute. It is my duty to dance with every suitor. I am their princess.

I do not recognize you, my lord? Are you from these lands? 

It is bad luck to steal a princess.

Attend the royal ball in all your glory and find out what fate has in store for you.

There is nothing quite like dancing in the moonlight. It sets your soul on fire and your heart aflutter.

The beauty of a ball is not just in its grandeur, but in the connections it sparks, the emotions it stirs, and the hopes it ignites.

Just keep your eyes on me. No one else here matters.

I shall keep dancing with you until you stop being stubborn and go speak with me. Or you rather have people whisper?

The princess looks beautiful tonight, does she not?

Father, please, you must dance as well. Your dull looks are making people bored.

You promised me a dance when you were better. Are you?

I've loved you at every dance, on every walk, every time we've been together and every time we've been apart.

I can feel people's eyes on me.

Every time I walk into a ballroom, I know they are comparing me to Daphne.

You both get to choose your passions and adventures, while my beloved is chosen by me. And now I must join them for a dance.

Are you planning on running away when the clock strikes midnight? 

If you do wish to go away, I know a spot, secluded enough.

You wish for me to go with you, alone, unchaperoned. I am a maiden, my lord. 

Aye, but I am no lord, sweet maiden. And these masks allow us some privacy.

This is my last chance to find a match on my own accord. If I don’t. The King will do it for me and I would rather not.

 I'm only a girl, not a princess.

Believe me - they're all looking at you.

 They're all looking at you.

You are requested and required to present yourself to your king.

 I do not even know if that beautiful slipper will fit But, if it does--will you take me as I am?

 It would be an insult to take you to the palace dressed in these old rags.

How charming, how perfectly charming.

When I go back, they will try to pair me off with a lady of their choosing. I'm expected to marry for advantage.

Oh. Well, whose advantage would this marriage be of?

I hope you don't find our kingdom too confining.

I am. An apprentice monarch. Still learning my trade.

Our prince seems quite taken with her.

She went straight for him. You have to appreciate her efficiency.

Walk into the room knowing you are the best. Shoulders back, chin up. Their attitudes will totally change.

You dance love, and you dance joy, and you dance dreams.

The ball is about to come to an end, and you have yet not told me your name. 

I thought we agreed we would remain strangers.

I’m afraid my true identity would put you in danger. 

Have you ever been kissed by a stranger at the end of a ball? If not, let me be the first.

Put him on all the invitation lists, he's a divine dancer.

I’m afraid I’m more used to swordfight than ballroom.

You will ruin your pretty gown, princess. I would not wish to step on your toes.

 Silly, I am a great dancer, no one ever steps on my toes.

No. Let them dance. Interrupting would cause a scandal.

One of these men will be my husband one day. What a thought.

The art of husband seeking at it’s peak, during royal ball season. 

Maiden beware, a gentleman can become a beast when the bell strikes.

[antimony-medusa]

Anyways, prompted by nothing in particular (lies, prompted by a scroll through the tag this morning, that was bracing), I think it might be good to remember the things we like about other people in the community.

For example:

BBH fans are some of the most consistently hilarious posters on this sight. Absolutely fantastic mpreg posting, and the art is incredible with your guy on the whole spectrum from creechur to in drag. He has the range. I hope your guy gets pregnant in canon for you, you deserve it.

Tubblings, you post some of the most interesting meta concepts out of moments I have sometimes been in stream for and entirely missed. You are always watching and always ready to take a throwaway line and go "let's unpack that" and bring something heartbreaking out of it. I love getting out of stream and checking up on what Tubbo is up to and finding a) hilarious clips of the creator being out of pocket, b) some new analysis of a tubbo moment that turns me into the crycat meme.

Wilburians, your ability to take like nine streams and *continue to make content out of it* is inspiring. Your guy may not stream, but by god you are keeping the flame alive and you will be ready when he comes back. Please come back, Wilbur, there are so many men you could flirt with here. Leave New York alone, Wilbur, come back and talk to your daughter.

Mariana fans, not only do you have simply fantastic photos to share of your guy looking like a butch lesbian, those enrich my dash every time, but also I have laughed at jokes in a language I don't speak because your guy is so funny and the clips you are make and share are so good. The "mariana unpacks period products" is sincerely one of the funniest things I've ever seen, thank you so much for sharing it.

Etoiles fans, your art is SO GOOD. Like oh my god the Etoiles art is like 100% a banger EVERY TIME. Which is as it should be, your guy simply is that cool, but oh my god, the art is so good. I don't have more words here I am just flailing at the camera. The art is SO GOOD.

Bagi posters, your cubito is one of the most compelling actors on the server, for real, and you are so generous with translating whole speeches done in languages I don't speak. I sat just transfixed during that whole conversation with Cellbit after they discovered their relationship, because the emotion in the argument was so real, and then I scrolled down and found a whole translation and went oh thank you, now I know what people were saying. I'm sorry Empanada lost a life, but your creator's response to it was one for the record books in terms of emotional reaction, and I have seen some fully incredible animations made of it. You take amazing content and make something even cooler out of it, and I'm always so impressed but what you're up to.

Now you go. Tell me something you appreciate about another sub-community.

[latenightdaydreams]

Hey i dont know if you take requests but i had an idea based off a song for könig

Bück dich befehl ich dir wende dein Antlitz ab von mir dein Gesicht ist mir egal bück dich

Which translates to

I command you to bend over Turn your face away from me I don't care about your face Bend over!

What if the reader was listening to the song without knowing what it means and könig decides to tell her and use it on her?

Song is Bück Dich by rammstein

Hello!! I do!

Bück Dich!König (fem)

MDNI🔞

MLM Version

Master List ✍🏽

>cw: fem/afab, p in v, rough sex

1.1k word count

.

.

Today is your free day, so you cleaned up around your room. You get dressed in leggings and a baggy shirt, putting your playlist on shuffle. Since most people were out of their barracks, you play your music loudly. Most people, except for König.

He’s taking long strides down the hall to make his way out to his office when the sound of your music distracts him. König stalls and looks around, trying to pinpoint where the music is coming from. He turns on his heels, quickly heading towards your room. The next song plays an older German metal band. Instantly, König recognizes the song playing.

König walks up to your door, banging his fist on the wood. On the other side of the door, you jump up and spin around. You drop the laundry that you are folding onto the bed and open the door. You're greeted by the icy stare of your 6’10 colonel. Quickly, you dash to grab your phone and pause the music.

When you step away, König enters the room. He looks around, noticing how you've decorated your room to be personal to yourself. You don’t realize that he’s standing behind you, so when you spin around, you gasp.

“Your music was very loud.” König’s voice sounds cold.

“I’m sorry, Colonel. I’ll turn it down.”

König takes two steps closer to you. The smell of tobacco and his natural musk hits you. “Do you even know what that song means? You don’t speak German, do you?”

“Um, no. I don’t know.”

A small chuckle leaves König’s lips as you admit you don’t understand the song. His eyes travel up and down your body, noticing how your leggings hug your thighs. The baggy shirt on you hides your curves, but your breasts are still obvious.

“It’s a dirty song, Liebing. Not exactly one you should blast on base.”

One of his large gloved hands reaches out and caresses the side of your face. You can feel your heart beginning to pound. His touch gently, different from the way he’s looking down at you. What you can’t see is the smirk underneath his sniper hood.

“He’s basically saying to bend over, your face doesn’t matter…” his voice trails off for a second. “Just bend over and get fucked.”

You hold his gaze and swallow hard. There is a clear growing tension in the room. König traces his hand along your jawline, noticing your shaky breathing. He is aware he is getting to you and it boosts his ego a bit.

“Would you like for me to demonstrate?”

“I—uh.”

König takes your bashful gaze and stumbles over your words as consent. His hands drop to his belt, undoing it, as he looks down at you. “Turn around.”

You do as he asks, grabbing you by the back of your neck and walking you to your bed. König gently bends you over so that your face is pressed into the soft fabric of your sheets. He crouches behind you as he pulls your leggings down. The sight of your blue cotton pants caused a wave of desire to wash over his body; he’s eager to see what you look like, smell like, taste like.

Since you cannot see him, he lifts his mask. Pressing his aquiline nose against the welcoming heat that is radiating from your sweet cunt. He takes a deep breath, savoring the smell. His tongue flicks out, licking your folds through the fabric of your underwear. Your legs squirm, every light touch sends a wave of euphoria throughout your whole being.

König grabs the fabric of your panties and pulls them down, exposing your wet cunt to him. He pulls his gloves off to be able to feel your soft skin. His hand grabs your ass, shaking it slightly before spanking you. Standing back up, he pulls down his mask, then pants, letting them drop to his ankles.

You grab the bedsheets as you feel König’s massive cock push against your tight entrance. A guttural groan leaves König as he pushes further into you. Your back arches as he buries himself deep, his size causing a bit of pain.

“Nein, you can take it.” König places a hand on your lower back and pushes your back down, sticking your ass in the air.

“Fuck, it’s too big.” You mewl, your hips rolling on his cock as he lets you adjust to his size.

“I know, but you can take it. Let me stretch your pretty little cunt.” He groans as he begins to rock back and forth in long steady strokes. His eyes glued to how massive his cock looks inside of you.

He leans forward, putting some weight on you and thrust quicker. Each time his cock goes in, a mindless moan falls from you. Your silky walls flutter around him as you struggle to adjust. How he has you bent over, he’s almost able to get every single inch of his ten-inch cock into you. Every time he fills you, he can feel your body tense and you whimper in pain.

“Mein Gott, you’re so wet. You can’t even fit all of me.” His hands move to grab your hips, his fingers digging into your supple flesh. As he thrust into you, he pulls you back to mee him. The sound of your moans would wake up the whole barracks if people were in.

König continues to mercilessly buck into you. Your eyes flutter back as you feel overwhelmed with a rush of explosive euphoria. With both your hands, you push yourself up in an attempt to run away from his cock. The orgasm builds up to be too much.

“Don’t run for me.” His massive hand comes down and pushes you into the comforters. Your face pressed into the comforters and you bite them to suppress the scream needing to be released. “Just let it out, cum on my cock.”

“König!” You cry out lifting your head. Your legs shake, your words borderline gibberish as you beg for him to fuck you. Beg for him to make you cum.

“That’s it, fucking cum.” König grabs a handful of your hair and pushes your face down as you scream out profanities. Your creamy cunt leaves thick streaks up and down his pink cock. “Look at you. A fucking mess for your Colonel, aren’t you?”

You nod as König forces your head to the side. He sees the hazy look in your eyes from experiencing such pleasure; drool staining the bed sheets as you breathe heavily. At this moment you look absolutely beautiful. The afterglow makes you look like a cum hungry angel.

“You want more, Engel?” König’s Austrian accent comes out thick as he’s consumed with desire.

“Please, please fuck me.” You beg, not even caring about the pain.

“That’s what I want to hear.” König has a cocky grin under his mask, he knows he has you wrapped around his finger. You’re addicted to his cock now and he knows he will be seeing you again.

[landograndprix]

「Feel the magic ๛ l.n」

part ix

✧.* while the fans question your friendship with Carlos, you and lando have never been better

✧.* they are my babies your honor 🥺 google translated spanish. this is a psa for the people who wanted to be on my taglist but never got tagged, i didn't forget or ignore you, I simply am unable to tag you and therefore removed you from the list feel free to ask me again so I can take a look at it. Taglist is open Love ya ❤️

✧.* prev part - next part

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y/nusername posted to their story

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y/nusername

liked by albon_pets, cecilemoulin and 189,673 others

username oh..you're coming home with me 😻

view all 378 comments

y/nluv how many cats did you see so far?

y/nusername at least one!

y/nluv that's so many!

Hannahh this is indeed heaven 😭

norry4 get dash, leo and lola a new sibling!!!

carlossainz55 saca los gatos de tu maleta (get the cats out of your suitcase)

y/nusername no puedes detenerme 😉 (you can't stop me)

carlossainz55 oh, puedo 😉 (oh, i can)

sharl16 just some shameless flirting in Spanish 💀

landorfour lando reading this 😐😐

yourfriend1 te convertirás en la loca de los gatos (you will become the crazy cat lady)

yourfriend2 ¿Cuantos te vas a llevar a casa? (how many are you going to take home with you?)

norrizz comments being hijacked by the spaniards 😭

cecilemoulin you're going to need a bigger house if you're going to adopt a bunch of cats.

landonorris we don't need another cat..

landoscar WE?! y'all live together already?

bott_ass c'mon dad, what's one more kid?

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y/nusername

liked by carlossainz55, landonorris and 203,102 others

y/nusername wedding season' 💍

view all 444 comments

hamilt44n 100% sure the garland in the last picture was y/n her idea 😂

yourfriend1 same dick forever season

lan4lan so is Carlos going to be your date to this wedding?

julieeeexo I've been a wedding where I got put with a date I'd never met before, nothing special going on if Carlos does end up as her date..

lan4lan Carlos and y/n actually dated though, it's weird

julieeeexo and they've been exes for a while without any of us knowing I think they're good.

carlossainz55 don't cause any trouble

yourfriend2 sabes que ella es la mayor alborotadora 🤪 (you know she's the biggest troublemaker)

y/nusername Por supuesto que sí, ha vivido con ello durante años 😉 (of course he does, he has lived with it for years)

yourfriend2 ¡Eras mucho peor entonces, pero todos lo sabemos y lo amamos! (you were much worse back then but we all know and love it!)

carlandooo yall worried about this wedding and Carlos and y/n being each other's date meanwhile I'm trying to figure out how I'm going to survive the day I'm going to hear y/n speak spanish 🥵

landonorris it's hot for sure

carlandooo STOP ITT 😭

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landonorris

liked by y/nusername, maxfewtrell and 627,672 others

landonorris let's gooo

view all 1,872 comments

norry4 jesus...

mrsnorris my day's been blessed for sure 🥵

y/nusername y'all seeing this? 👀

norrizz we definitely see this bestie 😭

maxmaxmax afraid you have to share your man with all of us :((

sharl16 I'm not a lando girl I'm not a lando girl I'm not a lando girl I'm not a lando girl I'm not–

landofooooour 😍😍😍

y/nusername now the question is: where was my invite, where was my front row seat to all of this?

y/nlandoo girlie, you and I both know you wouldn't let that guy continue working out if you were there

y/nusername you right..

lan4lan everyone: still asleep and hungover after last night's party. Lando:

y/nusername jesus christ

landonorris stop it, you're making me blush

norrizz 😭 😭

norrislando lmfao y/n acting like she doesn't see this man half naked everyday 😭

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landonorris posted to their story

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Feel the magic taglist: @celesteblack08 @mrsmaybank13   @cha-hot @judesgfirl @roseseraj @kissesandmartinis @jpg3 @amulhermaisfelizdomundo @marialovesf1 @silkenthusiasts @luvrrish @laneyspaulding19 @emily-b @formula1bby @buckybarnessweetheart @strawberrychita @iifloweringnightsii @buendiabebeta @jjsprobablywrong @babyvinnie @mishaandthebrits @hockeyboysarehot @ironmaiden1313 @justdreamersdream

Lando taglist: @beatricemiruna @simp-for-fictional-people @landossainz @christianpulisic10

Everything taglist; @thomaslefteyebrow @hopefulinlove @smoothopz @softboystarkey @honethatty12 @cixrosie @parkersmjs @ireadthensuetheauthors @celestialams @be-your-coffee-pot @heli991113 @kodzuvk @reality-is-a-con @80sloverry @bibissparkles @myescapefromthislife @lanando4 @elliegrey2803 @ravisinghs-wife

[chaosandmarigolds]

Tic-Tac-Toe

based on this!! amazing ask!!

.. -. / - …. . / -. .- -- . / --- ..-. / --. --- -..

To look at and to listen to is one things, something that would click immediately within your mind if you had seen it- however, to feel it is something you weren't fully aware you could do. Small taps on your thigh when you would be sitting next to him in the mess hall, laughing to one of Johnny's absurd jokes. Feeling the dashes on the palm of your hand as you walked through the corridors on slow nights.

- --- / -... . / -- .. -. .

Sure you had always known that the Simon Riley had a hard time saying things, he was a flirt to the random girls at the bar but to the people he truly cared about; it was like stumbling through a sentence was the easiest thing for him. So you had resigned to accept his nonverbal acts of affection. Allowing yourself to be content with soft kisses in lieu of words.

- --- / .... .- ...- . / .- -. -.. / - --- / .... --- .-.. -..

It wasn't that he was unaffectionate, quite the opposite, it was that he couldn't show it how he so deeply wanted to. The words would get caught in his throat and they would come out a half kidding banter, like a dig into the psyche. All the same, what he felt for you was something so deep and profound that not even he could dare put it into words. So he would maybe whisper them against your skin when he knew you were too asleep to even know he was awake, he would let his touch linger.

..-. --- .-. / -... . - - . .-. / .- -. -.. / ..-. --- .-. / .-- --- .-. ... .

You didn't think much of the taps, you summed it up to a nervous tic, or maybe something he found comforting. After all, since before you had been dating you always knew he liked to be moving some part of his body, if it be rubbing that frayed edge of his jacket or lightly tapping the palm of your hand.

- --- / .-.. --- ...- .

It didn't click, how he would climb into bed after a long day and how his hand would almost mindlessly move on its own, tapping the skin of your hip as he tried to squeeze into you as if you would vanish if he didn't. You didn't realize the important of the faint kisses on the nape of your neck and how they were oh so perfectly timed to be some sort of code.

Until it was a code.

.- -. -.. / - --- / -.-. .... . .-. .. ... ....

" Hol on, Hol on, /m gettin somthin."

You look to Johnny from where you were currently desperately trying to fix the radio, the thick smog limiting your sight and the burn of the gas in your lungs making it hard to breathe. With a heaved breath you push yourself up to stand and then sink back to your knees where Johnny had been trying to see if the truck's radio worked- a mission gone south left you and he, separated from Simon, leaving him in the building.

It was silent until the beeping came over the radio and it...felt so familiar yet you couldn't place your hand on it, it was like a deja-vu feeling within your gut- "It's morse code- God, I forgot that was still a thing."

Johnny looks up at you and then gives you a weak laugh, "Yea, hol' on," as he spoke he took out a pen and paper and began to scribble down the dashes and lines.

"Think it's him?"

"He's tha' only un' tha' knows it."

..- -. - .. .-.. / -.. . .- - .... / .--. .- .-. - ... / ..- ...

"Johnny?" It had taken the man a few seconds to write down the repeating message, then a few more to translate it.

"Johnny is it him? Is he okay?"

There was no silence, the hiss of the storm raging outside and the faint roar of gunfire from the battle you had just been ordered to flee. Yet everything was so slow, he wasn't speaking, he looked almost sorrowful.

.. / .-.. --- ...- . / -.-- --- ..- --..--/ ... --- / -- ..- -.-. .... / -.. --- ...- .

"He loves you. He said he loves you so much."

.. -- / ... --- (.-. .-.) -.--

"He's sorry."

(annnnway thats all! any feedback, comments or ideas you got trust me I wanna hear them! <333)

[heliosunny]

Yandere! Xavier x reader

Twisted sleeping beauty.

English is not my first language, please excuse me for that.

Some definitions are different from the ones in the game.

Have fun reading!

Once upon a time, there was once a peaceful country. No one knows what exactly happened as the civilians who live there were under a spell. The spell made them forget everything, including memories related to the royal family. Not a single soul remembers they once had a kind-hearted king and prince.

Y/n, a time traveler, got separated from her crew and landed her space ship on this foreign land. Her food already ran out, so she had to leave the ship behind and search for food. She stumbled across an abandoned castle. 'What is this place?' She wondered. The girl got inside, the place was left in such bad condition. Carefully, Y/n avoided the cracks on the stairs, thinking there might be food somewhere in this place, anything would do. Rather than risking her life hunting those weird-looking creatures for meat without a proper weapon in her hand, searching for left-overs in this castle had a higher chance for succeed. Speaking of the 'monsters' outside, the second she landed here, she knew something was definitely off. Y/n used up all her bullets on those surrounded her ship to prevent them from damaging the ship further.

'Where are all the people?' To think Y/n is the only one left makes her scared. She hates the thought of dying alone in a foreign land. Despite having checked every single room, no sign of life was found. That is, until she entered a room filled of strange flowers with white petals and star-like pistils. In the centre of the room lies a bed.

"Is that.... a man?" Y/n dashed through the plants, she had a feeling not to touch these things. The moment she got near the bedside, a scroll suddenly appeared in front of her. An invisible force made her grabbed the scroll, it lighted up and opened. Among the strokes on the surface of the paper, Y/n can only understand some of those which are [...... help ....... the ... prince..... curse...]. If only she had brought some translate device from the ship. The scroll burnt itself, leaving no trace of dust. "The hell? What am I supposed to do next?" Y/n sighed, the sound of her growling stomach signal her to keep looking for food or she might die of starving. She turned around only to find the door in which she entered was blocked by those flowers, now grown thorns on its stem. "Damn it, should've brought a knife.."

She sat on the bed and bumped into something. "What is it this time?" Y/n turned her head, she almost jumped after finding out there's about a man lying on the bed which was once empty. 'Is he dead?' She poked the man, once, twice.. no sign of moving. She placed her index finger under his nose, he's still breathing. 'Oh... so he's the prince?' She thought. Although she tried every methods possible to wake him up, nothing works so far. 'Could it be...' Her brain travelled to that one fairy tale she read 'Nope, not gonna happen.' She isn't going to kiss a strange man just to.. escape the place and possibly get some food.. Oh well, maybe she should try before finally giving up. "Here goes.."

It works. The man opened his eyes. "Y/n?" Y/n backed up, how does he know her name. "It's me, Xavier!" 'Who's Xavier?' It's all over her face, Xavier knew he made a mistake. He apologized, saying she looks exactly like a childhood friend of him. Still, that doesn't explain how that specific friend shared the same name as her. The growling sound coming from her stomach breaks the awkward silence. "You must've been hungry, come with me". The man named Xavier stood up from his bed, he made some weird gestures with his hands, the flowers opened a path for them both. 'That was cool.' Y/n thought to herself. Without facing her, Xavier smiled, he knew exactly what's going on inside her mind.

The moment they stepped outside, Y/n coudn't believe in her eyes. The castle which once cold and bleak now look like it's new. No vines, aged rocks, nothing, just brand new. The guards and maids are everywhere, they bowed the moment Xavier walks towards them. 'This is what will happen when I help the prince?' Y/n lost in her thoughts, so many things are coming up all at once. She tripped over his long coat without noticing and was caught by Xavier.

Xavier: You alright? Y/n: Y-yeah... Xavier then called a maid over to guide Y/n to the dining room, he said that he had other plans to do. Y/n nodded and simply went with the maid.

Night falls, Xavier hasn't returned. Y/n had a bath, a lavish meal, changed into a night robe. This literally is the best day since the moment she crashed here. Those monsters were still roaming outside, maybe Xavier is handling them. Eventually, Y/n got bored and sneaked outside. She changed into a more comfortable outfit and got to the top of the castle on her own. She was surprised she encounters no guards on the way here. The wind was blowing strongly, reminding Y/n of her home planet, sadly she couldn't return due to its destruction. A big howl woke her from the thoughts, followed by a bright ray of light.

"Couldn't sleep?" Xavier asked. His steps were quiet, so Y/n didn't notice him standing behind her.

"I want to see you." Y/n turned around to face the young looking man. She didn't know much about him, but he treated her kindly. That raises a lot of questions. "Is that blood?!" Now that she took a good look at him, not only some part of his clothes was torn, blood splashed almost everywhere. He's not even trying to hide the fact that he's cleaning the bloody sword on his hand.

"This? Yeah." Xavier answered nonchalantly, didn't even bother to look up to see the reaction on Y/n's face.

Y/n: Does it related to whatever is going on downthere? The monster and..

Xavier: What monster?

Y/n: The crouching thingy with claws? They're right... there?

She looked down, from where she is, there were plenty of them, but they vanished.

Xavier: You should go to bed.

Y/n: But..

Xavier: I'll answer your question in the morning.

After a restless night, Y/n sat on her bed as she couldn't stop herself from thinking of the eerie things she encountered the moment she got into the castle. A knocking sound, following by a female voice from outside told her to have breakfast.

Xavier: Y/n? You in there?

Y/n: Yeah, coming.

'Why is he rushing?' Y/n brushed her hair and changed into more proper clothes. She couldn't hide the tiredness from her eyes, but maybe he won't notice anyway. As expected from Xavier, one moment he was here calling out her name, the next moment he was already gone somewhere else. Y/n followed a maid, she's carrying some sort of tray with something covered in cloth. Xavier stood up when he saw Y/n entered the room. He ordered the maid to put the tray on the table and leave. "Come, sit next to me." Xavier pulled out the chair next to where he was sitting and gestured her to sit. Before she could ask, Xavier insisted Y/n to finish her breakfast first. Y/n was only able to eat half of what's on the plate. Her eyes wandered all over the place and stumbled upon some portraits on the wall with the face scratched off.

Xavier: That used to be the portrait of my father. I can no longer remember what he looks like. He loved himself and his family, so whenever he had the chance, he would hire artists to draw those.

Y/n: I see..

Xavier: As for the.. monsters.

Xavier seemed hesitate. He walked over to where the tray is and took off the cloth covering it. On the golden tray are some shiny crystals vary in different shapes and colors.

Xavier: They are called protocores. They are used commonly by soldiers to improve their combat abilities.

Y/n reached out her hand to grab one but was stopped by Xavier.

Xavier: They are also known as the core of the monsters you saw.

Y/n: Which mean the monsters are the people of your kingdom?

Xavier: You could put it that way. But, a protocore simply is harmless if it undergoes certain procedures.

Y/n: Then..

Xavier paused for a moment before continued: It's hard to admit, but my father's greed was the cause to the downfall of the kingdom.

The story of a king who loved his people and the greed for power lead him to foolish decisions. One important decision was to ask for the help of a witch. The king requested her to make his army the greatest of all, so the witch gave them mighty strength. The hearts of the soldiers were no longer human, they no longer experience pain or have the ability to express sympathy. They were bold, ruthless, everything to ask from a perfect army. But in return, they have to pay for a heavy price. Those who couldn't endure the strength coming from the protocore, which is now their hearts, turned in to monsters.

Y/n: So that's what happened..

Xavier: My mother sacrificed herself to put me under a sleeping spell, hoping one day someone would wake me up.

Xavier looked at Y/n tenderly.

Xavier: I took a stroll and found your ship. It's..

Y/n: I know... I don't think I'll be able to fix it without the necessary supplies.

Xavier: Then stay.. I believe you can fix it, of course, with my help.

There's no reason not to, Y/n doesn't know where to stay aside from this place. Xavier expressed himself sincerely and succeeded in gaining Y/n's trust. A week passed. Y/n adapted to the life here faster than she thought. Xavier and the others was kind to Y/n, but something feels off. She noticed the way the castle would change during the day compared to night time. How the maid and guards disappeared at certain times of the day. Aside from that, Y/n had a feeling of being watched all the time.

One day, while Y/n was digging up some 'scrap' around the castle, she found a path lead to the underground basement. She hates the dark but also hates to stay at this planet as much, she'd try anything to find materials to fix the damn ship. She misses her friends and probably so are they. Y/n doesn't hate the people here, they are more than kind to her. It's just the loneliness and the odd feeling this place brought her. 'What are those chains?' It was daytime but without the only source of light in her hand, she definitely wouldn't see a thing.

She stepped on something and it cracked, Y/n moved the light down to her foot to see some sort of skulls. Luckily, Y/n managed to cover her mouth before making any sound. 'The fuck?' Just as she was about to retreat, she heard a voice coming from inside.

"You came to draw my blood again?"

Y/n walked over to the owner of the voice, an old lady with both hands chained to the wall, surrounded by weird looking texts on the ground which seem to be drawn by blood.

"Who are you?" The lady's iris lighted up as if she'd found a savior.

Y/n: My name is Y/n.. You are.. the witch?

Y/n took a guess, maybe she was right, judging from the expression on the person's face.

Y/n: What do you mean by draw your blood? Did someone do this to you.

She let out a wicked laugh. "Dear, you don't know a thing. The monster you keep by your side.. he's-" Without letting the lady finished, a sword flew passed Y/n's head and sliced the witch's throat. Y/n dropped the light in her hand and almost tripped over. Rather than the pain from felling down onto the ground, she felt warmth surrounding her. "Xavier?" He nodded, he created a light orb inside his palm.

Xavier: What are you doing here?

Y/n: I'm just trying to find something that can fix my ship... Sorry.

Y/n didn't understand why she had to apologize. Maybe she was scared. 'Scared of what?' Y/n questioned herself but couldn't help but tremble in Xavier's arm. The two didn't speak a word after returning back to the castle. That night, before going to bed, Xavier decided to pay Y/n a visit.

Xavier: May I come in?

Y/n didn't answer.

Xavier: Y/n?

He had this uneasy feeling, Xavier kicked open the door to find Y/n not in her room. He looked out of the opened window, there's a vine lead all the way down to the ground, she must've glide down using it.

Xavier let out a sigh, he knew this day would come, but not expecting it'd be this quick. It wasn't a matter of time before Y/n discovered the whole truth he's been hiding.

Meanwhile, Y/n, who is at the basement, is trying to find more clues relating to the witch. The bodies was removed, no chains, no magic circles, no blood, no nothing. Just as she was about to give up, a wind suddenly blows her way. "Wind? At such place?" She turned back, some glowing texts appeared on the rock wall. There, she discovered the ugly truth, hiding from her. "That explains eveything."

Xavier: Had fun?

Y/n: Xavier!?

Xavier: Judging from the look on your face... how much did you know?

Y/n: You're the one who asked for the help of the witch?

Xavier: Well.. yeah.

Xavier took a step, two step, til he was able to corner Y/n, leaving no way out.

Xavier: Don't you want to know why?

Y/n: The witch left a message, saying that it was for your love. Why did you even blame it on the king?

Xavier: Y/n, my love..

His hand caress her cheek, but Y/n moved her face away.

Xavier: He is the man who ordered to kill her. I simply took my revenge.

Y/n: On the whole kingdom? Have you gone mad?

Xavier: YES! I can do anything for my Y/n. He and his beloved people must pay for taking away what I care most.

Once upon a time, there was a prince who fell in love with a peasant. He dreamt of building a strong kingdom for her to live in peace and devoted his life for her. Soon his father, the king, found out about this thwarted love. He ordered guards to get the girl, tied her to a post and burned her alive. "Such witch dares to charm my son shall receive the worst death". Witch? Xavier thought. Thanks to his father, he had such great idea. He went into the woods where the greatest witch live. "Are you sure about this? You'll have to pay a heavy prince, young man" She said. Xavier smirked, he had lost her, what could be worse? He gained an immortal body, an invincible power and one powerful curse to turn the people he want into the monsters called wanderers. Leaving only a small number of people alive, blessing them with immortal and erased their memories.

He revenged them. Now what. The witch came to collect the price she deserved. What she didn't expect, is that the prince had already prepare for a thing to encounter her spells. "Like what you see? I had to kill a dragon to get this sword. I won't kill you, yet." So the prince locked her down the basement. As he couldn't endure using such power in a long time, Xavier felt sleepier than ever. Each time he sleeps, the amount of time he spent in his dream was more than the previous one. He travelled the planet to find a cure, until he found an oracle in a dungeon. The one said that he'd fall asleep and woke up when the right person arrive. Searching for a clairvoyant is his next step. In the far future, Y/n will land on this planet. That's all he needed to know. He returned to his kingdom, met the witch. He controlled her to put a sleeping spell on him, while he himself wrote the scroll for the future Y/n to come and read. Everything was according to plan.

Y/n: You.. but I'm not the same girl, Xavier.

Xavier: You are.. you are just denying. I'll give you anything you want...

Y/n: I want to go home!

Xavier: This is your home!

Y/n: But I don't want th-

Before she could finish, Xavier moved in, his hand gripping her chin firmly. His touch was insistent, his eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that left no room for escape. Y/n’s heart raced as he leaned in, his lips brushing hers with a force that silenced her protest. The kiss was demanding, taking more than it gave. Her body tensed, a mix of resistance and shock coursing through her. When he finally pulled away, Y/n’s eyes were wide, her chest heaving with the aftermath of the unwanted contact.

“Stay....” he murmured, his voice softer now, but still charged with the weight of his actions. Y/n shook her head. "Then that leaves me no other choice.. I'm sorry.. But you can't escape from me." Y/n felt a strange power flowing inside of her, the next moment, she collapsed in his hands. "Let's start with making you forget this... then.. I'll give you an immortal life." He hugged her tightly "What's next, Y/n? How about I'll make you my queen?"

[dansemacabre]

are you stuck trying to decode the book of bill but you don’t want the keys handed to you? i was in your shoes literally three days ago! i failed and looked up codes on reddit (because a good grade in book of bill is a normal thing to want and a possible thing to get) but now you don’t have to!! here are some BOOK OF BILL CODEBREAKING HINTS designed to kindly shove you in the right direction!

my credentials are: one summer cryptography class i took in high school, autism, weirdly good pattern recognition (probably because of the autism), and a desperate need to make things make sense. sorry in advance if any of this seems patronizing. hints below the page break!!

general tips:

- A and I will become your bestest friends. like 99 times out of 100 any single letter is a or i. try those out first

- the apostrophe will also become your bestest friend- especially x’x, which will almost always be i’m (except there’s one place in the book where it is not. don’t make my mistakes.)

- themysteryofgravityfalls.com is SO so helpful. for non-symbolic ciphers u can lowkey put in codes and button mash caesar and atbash. godsend. devilsend? idk someone sent it and it’s wonderful

- call every phone number, visit every website. they bought those domains for a reason! i think!

- any list of numbers 1-26 is a1z26. like that’s simply a truth

cipher specific hints now !!!

RUNES (characters taken from norse runes)

- there is a key for this one in the book! maybe u spotted it right away but i did not lol, so look for an instance of 26 rune-y characters!

- the rune code on the inside cover is a graffiti joke- translates to a common thing people write on walls or carve into books made out of brain matter ig

THERAPESE (found in the last few pages during bills court-ordered therapy)

- bill’s picture is labeled in this section, so those characters translate directly to “bill cipher” ! once you have those, you can apply them to other instances of the code and go from there

- the rest of the names of the… things around him on the inpatients page are puns, titles, and/or weird words. they might look wrong until you have Every Character- trust ur key! use the rest of the instances of this code to find the missing letters first, make sense of it and laugh at the clever little joke later

BROSCODE (only two instances, found in journal 3 lost pages)

- the name is a hint by itself- this is stanley and stanford related! both stans use it once somewhere in the book!

NEWBILL (the most common symbolic cipher in the book)

- if you have journal three, the characters are VERY similar to a code there- not the same though, so don’t try and use that key. but like journal three, this code will (almost) always be bill speaking.

- ok lowkey i think the best way to explain this is just to give you one answer. i cracked this by randomly guessing that the small writing by the galaxy drawing on the journal three page “a voice form the past” translates to “forget the past”. go from there my loves

- that being said. everything else from journal three uses the same characters, but a different code. haven’t cracked it yet. looking for advice tee bee haych. i’ll edit this once i find it out

- also: dipper uses this code in his section. that’s pretty helpful to get most of the rest of the characters!

now some page specific hints!:

silly straw page. Oh god

- damn that themysteryofgravityfallsdotcom sure is helpful! Anyway,

- the numbers code is Weird. but the number don’t equal letters. notice the spaces between number groups- pair the groups, try and add a dash somewhere within the first group and a colon somewhere within the second group. you’ll have to use your resources a little

- if that made zero sense: “uhvrxufhv” phdqv brxu idyrulwh ghhsob ohjdo wy vkrz ylhzlqj zhevlwh. ru brxu kxox dffrxqw

- sorry for the vagueness but i really don’t want to spoil this one- i got it spoiled but i think figuring it out on your own would be really rewarding and worth your Time

messages on your tv

- there are strange boxes on the bottom of the page. gonna be so honest don’t know how they mean anything at all to anyone but allegedly it’s a code! i’ll look into it. idk man

okay. i think that’s all i’ve got? please comment if u have questions for me or other folks on here or suggestions on how to sound less like a fucking nerd talking abt this shit. idk i love that people are set on cracking this book asap but i hope this helps ppl who prefer The Thrill Of The Chase and also like to feel smart and important and so very talented

[httyd-art-requests]

Hellooo!! I saw a drawing come across my dash recently by you that I believe was original art with your ocs?? I’m a big sucker for httyd ocs and I was wondering, how many do you have? Would you be willing to talk about them maybe??

YIPPEE I love talking about my OCs!! Thank you for the interest, I'm more than willing to talk about my little guys and gals <3 It's probably going to get long, sooo...

OC lore and art under the ominously placed readmore button. smile

Dreamer

The pair you (probably) saw the art of are my self insert, Dreamer, and his Deathgripper companion Draugr. Dreamer is a scholar and healer's apprentice who arrives on New Berk to study dragons in order to better heal them... except he's also terrified of them. Draugr is one of Grimmel's former Deathgripper minions who was stranded on New Berk after the events of (my alternate version of) THW. Dreamer nurses him back to health, and in return he helps Dreamer get over his fear of dragons.

Dreamer also has 2 Terrible Terror buddies, and they're also the ones who deliver all your asks to me :) They're called Terror Mail for a reason, hehe

Light Furies

I have a pair of female Light Fury OC named Eclipse and Sunny, who are a mated pair. Eclipse is melanistic and a menace to humans and dragons alike, and Sunny is the only dragon she likes having around her. Grumpy one × Sunshine one.

Eclipse was gravely injured in a fight to defend her territory from another dragon, and would have perished had Sunny not stumbled upon her. Sunny, a young female who recently left her flock to establish her own, refused to leave a fellow Light Fury to her fate- no matter how much of a hassle she insisted on being. And thus, Sunny slowly carved out a place for herself in Eclipse's cold, cold heart, and two of them remained by eachother's sides ever since.

I plan on redrawing them sometime soon, now that my style has changed somewhat

The Huntsman

The proverbial meat and potatoes of my OC roster. He has the most detailed story out of all of them, and he's one of my favorite OCs I've ever made <3

His name is Iskar, also known by his moniker as the Huntsman. He's the son of a dragon hunter who, after his father's fleet was burned down and pillaged by a mysterious warlord, was raised by the family of a blacksmith on a faraway island where dragons only exist in folktales.

Well, except for one...

Iskar's Night Fury, Warden, who was kept as a living trophy on his father's ship before it burned. Iskar formed a bond with the dragon, who then stole him away to save his life. The two of them have become inseperable, and Warden is part of the reason Iskar is feared across the Archipelago. As for the other reason...

Iskar also gets involved with Drago Bludvist, following a trail of rumors in an attempt to find his father again. Drago blackmails him into working for him, and Iskar becomes something like a personal attack dog and assassin for Drago. He earns himself a reputation and becomes a wives' tale across the Archipelago, and it isn't until he meets Hiccup, during Drago's siege on Berk, that he's convinced to take up arms against Drago and free himself. Iskar switches sides to help save Berk, gives Hiccup his own world map as a farewell gift, and returns home to his family after nearly 10 years.

In a sort of epilogue / theoretical second movie, Iskar takes his niece, Valorie, to Berk so she can learn to train dragons "the proper way". Needless to say, Berk is not very happy to see the man responsible for almost getting their island destroyed. Iskar acts as a translator between Valorie and the Berkians, as Valorie doesn't speak their language and Iskar does (on account of his travels with Drago), and through the course of their stay on the island, he successfully redeems himself in the eyes of the Berkian population.

Valorie

Okay she's not actually Iskar's niece. She's the daughter of Runar and Ylva, the blacksmith and his wife who originally raised Iskar, and the ones Iskar returned home to after he was free of Drago. They had her while Iskar was away working for Drago, and she was around 8 years old when he came back home, give or take. She grew up knowing him as Uncle Iskar, the globetrotter and explorer who occasionally came home to bring her cool presents.

She grew up with a Night Fury around the house, so naturally, she became fascinated by dragons and dragon riding- which Iskar definitely didn't help with, considering he engineered Warden's saddle to have a second seat right behind the rider's own.

She eventually bonds with a Stormcutter while studying under Berk's finest (Fishlegs), whom she names Windseeker.

Valhalla's Gate

Not a character, but an island Iskar discovers during his travels as a free man after Dragos defeat. Iskar is a cartographer by profession, thus the handcrafted world map he gifts Hiccup, which just so happens to contain directions to a hidden island Iskar has named Valhalla's Gate.

It's a dragon sanctuary through and through, built around and on the back of a sleeping Foreverwing which guards the island and all of its inhabitants. You can only approach the island on dragon back, similar to how you could only leave Vanaheim by smelling a certain way to trick the Sentinels in RTTE. A natural defense mechanism, if you will.

Iskar often takes detours on his travels to visit the island, and becomes well known by all the dragons that live on it. Hiccup also finds it thanks to Iskar's map, shortly after Berk rebuilds itself and Hiccup has to suddenly take on a lot of chiefly responsibilities- and what better way to deal with newfound responsibilities than to follow a mysterious map given to you by a guy who tried to kill you? Surely nothing can go wrong. Smile.

Conclusion

There's a lot more to say about all of them, but hopefully this about covers the important parts. I could go on about Ylva and Runar, Iskar's relationship with Eret and Hiccup, Dreamer's relationship with the Berkians, etc etc, but this reply is long enough already lol

I'm always happy to talk about my characters, so feel free to ask me stuff about them if you guys are interested! But, seeing as this is primarily an art request blog, I won't be talking about them much unless someone asks. That's what @wardenofdragons is for!

(He says, knowing full well he keeps forgetting to post on it)

[undyinglantern]

anyways,

it was

a good chapter

WAIT WAIT WAITWAITWAITWAITWAIT HOW CAN YOU JUST TEASE THAT ON THE LAST PAGE OF THE CHAPTER LIKE THAT

[crxss01]

hello!! may i request reader and e42 miles watching a horror movie together

— Night Of Terror

pairing ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝ 42!miles morales x reader

summary ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊ watching a scary during the night is bad, watching a scary movie with miles is worse.

warnings ✧˖ ° cursing, miles scaring you.

m. list, main m. list.

translations ✧࿓☾ princesa: princess, bonito: handsome/pretty boy, cálmate: calm down, solo era una broma: it was just a joke/prank, todo esta bien, chiquita: everything is okay, little one.

a/n . . ◟੭ hey, sweet anon! i’m sorry for making you wait so long, but i hope this makes up for it! enjoy!

"look behind you, dumb bitch!"

at this point you were yelling at the main character because she was acting stupid, even though you knew she was going to be the final girl because of plot armor.

"princesa, watch the movie." miles told you for what seemed like the hundredth time.

"i'am watching the movie." you complained.

"then stop talking."

you ignored him. "why are you following the sound!" you started hitting the bed from the anxiety you were feeling. "turn your ass back around and run the fuck out of there!"

"mami!"

"sorry," you apologized but then the girl acted up right on that moment. "don't go in there! stop!"

"mamita, please.." miles begged.

you didn't hear him, already lost watching the movie and you regretted picking that moment to really focus in it without your talking because a jump-scare scene happened, making you jump and pull the blankets up to cover your face.

miles started laughing at your reaction acting as if he didn’t flinch as well.

“you do know i saw that, right?” you raised an eyebrow.

“you didn’t see shit.”

you rolled your eyes, and went back to watching the movie. a couple of times you would speak and miles would tell you to shut up.

that irritated you, but you sat quietly for a few minutes just watching the movie until your bladder felt like it was going to explode.

"ok, pause it." you told miles, standing up. "bathroom break."

"it just got to the good part." miles groaned.

"pause it, miles." you warned him. "and you're coming with me."

miles paused the movie and glared at you. "i ain't going with you, man up."

"what happened to me being your princess?" you questioned.

miles rolled his eyes. "fine, i'll go with you. but only because i love you too much to stay mad for long."

"why would you even be mad for? i just spoke a couple of times."

"exactly, mami." miles stood up, walking in the direction of the bathroom with you. "it's so annoying."

“you get annoyed so easily.” you shook your head and walked inside the bathroom then turned to miles. “wait right there, don’t leave me alone.”

“ok, ma.”

you closed the door, leaving it six inches ajar and wen to the toilet to do your business. after doing so you washed your hands and dried them before going to open the door only to not find miles there.

“bonito, are you serious?” you groaned, thinking he went back to the bedroom.

you made your way to the bedroom, ready to beat up miles for leaving you alone in the bathroom. “miles gonzalo morales, you little piece of—” you started to say when you opened the door only to see he wasn’t there. “miles?” you called out and even turned on the lights to check if he was under the bed or something.

“miles?” you went to the living room, looking everywhere including the kitchen but there wasn’t a sight of miles. “you better show yourself right now!”

you started to think he might have left for some prowler business after a few minutes went by.

“really, miles…” you sighed.

“mami!” you heard his voice called out, but he sounded like he was in pain.

you immediately dashed to the kitchen where his voice had come from. there he was in his prowler suit, his stomach covered in blood and his mask off.

“what the hell happened?!” you asked, kneeling beside him.

“i was— i was attacked.” he started to say, heavy breathing and voice breaking.

“by who?” you started to freak out the longer you saw the blood staining his suit.

“it was… it was..” he couldn’t even speak.

“i’m calling an ambulance.” you went to stand up but then remembered the reason why he was in this state and kneeled back down. “no ambulance, right.”

your hands were shaking as you put pressure where you thought the wound was.

“who did it?” you asked him, tears threatening to fall from your eyes.

“it was…” miles sighed.

“stay with me, okay?” you encouraged. “keep talking.”

“it was… la llorona.” miles bursted out laughing.

you sat there in disbelief as you watched the boy you were just worrying about, laugh like a hyena.

“wait,” you put both hand up standing up. “that’s fake?” you pointed at his stomach.

“of course, mami.” miles chuckled, wiping the corners of his eyes as he stood up as well. “as if someone could ever hurt me that much.”

the anger started to build up inside of you and you started hitting miles, yelling and cursing at him for making you worry. angry tears also fell from your eyes and you couldn’t help it because why would he scare you like that when he knew how much you worried about his prowler life.

“cálmate, princesa.” he said, grabbing your fists in his hands. “solo era una broma.”

“you scared me, miles.” you buried your head in his chest.

“i’m sorry, mami.” he apologized. “i’ll never do something like that again, i promise.” he kissed the top of your head, wrapping his arms around you.

“never, okay?” you reminded, voice muffled by his chest.

“todo está bien, chiquita.” miles said.

after a moment the tears stopped along with the shaking and miles spoke again. “you want to get back to watching the movie?”

“no.”

taglist: @anikaluv @janaeby @queerponcho @laylasbunbunny @onginlove @all444miles @banqnaz @missusmorales @kamisama1kiss @fiannee @sp1dercunt @milesandcorysupermacy @loonalockley @dxille @miguelslefteyebrow @axeoverblade @iheartcats34 (if you asked to be added to the taglist and you’re not on here is because your @ didn’t appear!)

ʚɞ ⁺˖ ⸝⸝ reblogs are really appreciated!

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hiya!! I’m obsessed with your writing. You’re my favorite writer on here, I dream of your stories!

Would it be possible to request (either with Ghost or Price, I love them both equally) something like they were young love but he breaks up with reader cos he wants to keep her safe and thinks he knows what’s best for her. Then during a mission gone wrong, they need a safe house but somehow the enemy found out all the locations of their approved safe houses. He remembered her place is close by and tries his luck. Maybe she gets mad at him for making decisions for her or maybe he learns about her difficult past that happened without with. But with a happy ending? ☺️

Only if this inspires you! Thank you again for sharing your beautiful writings!

If You Bite My Hand Again

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: How dare he show his face to you after all of these years. How dare you still find it in yourself to love him.

WORDCOUNT: 6.6k

WARNINGS: Heavy angst, abandonment, arguments, mentions of death, blood, insinuations of torture & mental illness troubles, Simon's comic backstory, hurt/comfort, sort of suggestive?, anxiety attack, somewhat happy ending, etc.

A/N: This was really fun to write, lol, enjoy Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You never should have met him. In fact, it seemed like the universe had been adamant to make you not run into each other on that chilly October morning almost…well…it has to be more than thirteen years ago, now. So long. 

As you head to your kitchen and glance at the clock, the hands point to a perfect three-fifteen—an hour of pitch-blackness and whispering winds that dash past the musty glass of the windows. The thump of your footsteps blocks out the heaving sigh that falls from your mouth; rubbing at your eyes like a cat as great bags sag from tired flesh. 

The dreams weren’t uncommon. 

Simon still reigned supreme in the conjuring of them, ingrained into the sinews and pulled thin by a hand constantly working them—knitting a sweater of memories addled with age. Moth-eaten. 

As you snap on the light of your tiny and run-down kitchen, the bulb fizzing and the dishwasher still emitting that squeal as it always does, you think about him before grabbing a glass. Water hits and fills the thing up as your eyes blankly stare, fatigued but yet never more awake. 

The tremors in your hands persist.

You never should have met him.

—

Your feet take you to Primary, laces a mess atop your little shoes caked in mud and grass—you’d chased after a butterfly through the front yards, getting caught in your neighbor's bushes and having to slip your way out before she could rampage outside with her broom. 

It was no surprise that your face was lit with a bright smile, eyes shining like fire that your teachers had given you a special name for—“Ember.”

The very thing that could start a blaze over and over again as long as it still was alight.

Laughing and peeing out leaves from your hair; flattening out your uniform, you stride with pride ingrained into your body. Well, you did before you heard the soft sniffling coming from down the alley. 

Halting, your ears perk at the sounds, smile freezing as you blink quickly. Looking to your left, you lock onto the hunched figure of a boy. 

Perhaps only a year or two older than you, you stare in curiosity as he consciously paws at his cheeks, walking out of the alley in broken and odd strides. His uniform is ruffled, wrinkled, but not in the way yours was.

He must have fallen and hurt himself, you reason with a child-like frown pulling on your lips. Blinking at his blond hair, you get a glimpse of red-rimmed brown eyes.

The boy halts, looking at you widely, fear and pain emanating from his expression. You’re the first to speak, brightness still in your eyes but a deep innocence that comes with youth. All you saw was a boy your age in pain—that was strange to you. You knew what getting hurt was like; you fell and scraped your knees often, or hit your elbows on corners. Sometimes you would cry from that…did the same happen to this boy?

“You’re crying, aren’t you?” Brown-Eyes stares, hurriedly pushing at his face to wipe tears but only succeeds in making his face red from the material of his uniform. “Did you fall down? I do that pretty often—it’s okay, my Mum says you’ll be better after a hug and a kiss!”

You smile and stand straighter. 

“I,” the boy begins, sniffling. “I didn’t fall. I’m not clumsy.”

You tilt your head, confused. “Well…then why are you crying?” 

“That’s none of your business!” He snaps, brows pulled in as he comes forward on the sidewalk. Your face twists as you huff in annoyance. 

“My Mum says to treat everyone nicely. That wasn’t very nice.” 

“I don’t bloody care, do I,” you’re sent a scathing glance as he passes. “I didn’t ask for you to speak to me. Leave me alone.” 

Naturally, you follow after, cheeks gaining heat.

“You’re being mean! Apologize!” 

“Would you run off already?!” The boy shouts, and perhaps something fires in that small brain of yours—a thought and a semblance of self-realization at the shame that emits from his tone. A tight squeeze of vocal cords. 

He was ashamed. Ashamed you’d caught him. Seen him. 

Your feet slow back to a stop, watching him hurriedly continue on and hearing the quiet gasps of breath. After a moment, you grit your teeth and run the distance; seizing him around the middle in a hug of stubby fingers and tightly closed eyes.

The boy startles, body hardening and a cry escaping his lungs. “Get off of me!” He shouts, hands snapping down to yours and digging under your hold. 

“No!” You call, stubbornly. “My Mum says that hugs make everything better—”

“Stop talking about your Mum!” The boy stomps his foot to the ground, chubby cheeks turning crimson as he tilts his head back to look at you, tears still dripping off his chin. 

A stiff silence falls but like a green branch on a tree, Brown-Eyes’ form twitchingly loosens, his prying hands softening as you hold tight—digging your nose into his spine. He minutely flinches, but you only hug him more. 

You’re both late to the building, and your teachers are going to give you scoldings. But right now, on a chilled October morning, you hug this strange, crying boy and blink your fiery eyes up at him. 

After he relaxes fully and the sniffling stops, you let go and smile brightly again, looking up into his open expression of innocent confusion. Whatever had happened, he must have fallen pretty hard, you thought, pulling out another leaf from your hair. You giggle and hand it over as a gift. 

The boy hesitantly picks it up and looks at it before turning back to you. 

“Call me Ember.” 

A pause. A hesitation. But your eyes shimmer and he relents with the memory of the hug in the front of his mind. Such a strange encounter. 

He speaks, looking away from you with flushed cheeks, muttering out as his tear streaks dry.

“...Simon.”

You walk together the rest of the way.

The reality was, if you had gotten caught by your neighbor, had snatched that butterfly—had even stayed in those bushes for three more seconds, you would have missed him. And if Simon hadn’t run out of his home crying, he never would have locked onto the burning reality that was with you. 

—

You put the glass to your chapped lips and take a long sip, throat bobbing as you take down the liquid with tears burning your eyes. Blinking rapidly, you swipe at the water at the sides of your mouth and shake your head, sighing. 

“Why can’t you leave me alone?” Your voice bounces off the walls, peeling paint and moving the dust stuck atop the fridge. “Damnit, Simon.” 

Today was worse than the others—everything building and stacking like some castle of misery and pain; windows too narrow to let in any light and your form stuck in shadows longer than an endless rope. There were just so many things that suffocated you now. 

And in the endless nights, the brain desperately looks for comfort. 

You hate that it only comes from the memories of him. 

“I have to go to work tomorrow.” Your subconscious reminds you as you blankly stare out the window above the sink, seeing the streetlights and the cone of warm light—it flickers every so often, a blinking taking place like the eye of a large, brutish, wolf. 

Work, then the grocery store, then back home to eat a tasteless dinner and fall back to sleep. An empty house with empty walls and empty memories. 

Your hands put the glass in the sink, coming back up to rub and dig into your eyes until the itch behind your flesh stops. A thump of a low pulse is felt in the thin skin, orbs of your optics moving before you pinch into the bridge of your nose and drop them with a slap of a hand to the counter. A harsh breath exits your mouth, but it’s quickly strangled away into a sound of ragged shock. 

Outside, under the light, the silhouette of a man leans heavily on the pole, feet shaking under him and face pressed into the shadows as his shoulders heave. You stare, wide-eyed, as your heart jumps to a rapid pace. 

“What the fuck?” Your mouth utters, watching the man push off the light and stagger with a heavy limp and a jerking body of immense stature. Whoever this guy was, he was out of his mind—and coming right for your front door. You startle to go and secure it, feet slapping the ground and face twisted. 

“What the fuck?!” Gasping, you re-check your locks and frantically look for something else—the stool where you place your keys meets your eyes. You grab it and place it as a barrier to the handle, tilting it on two legs and blinking quickly as whatever sleep-sheen that had been in your gaze leaves in one swoop of adrenaline.

Grunting wafts in from under the door, haggard inhales and a sudden slam of a body hitting the door. You stifle a scream and back up quick steps, slapping your hands to your mouth.

Sure, you might live in a shitty neighborhood, but no one had ever tried to just straight-up break in high or drunk off something. Your mind slashes to the knives in the kitchen drawer as the wall shakes again—something sliding down to the ground and a grunted whine. 

Just before you run off, you hear it. An utterance; a disruption of airwaves. A whisper, a plea. Your brain ceases to function with one foot back the way you came, hand on the frame with the knuckles tight. 

In one instance it all comes to a screeching halt. 

“Ember…” 

Who called you that anymore? The rare instance where you’d meet your classmates in the world they would mutter it; also be asked a few questions before they went on with their lives. You pause in your panic, slowly gazing back at the barrier and the stool like you’d just discovered you’re under the sights of a sniper. 

There’s a sliver of something that inserts itself into your brain. Fear or hope, you can’t tell. But that can’t be right. 

He left. 

“Ember!” You flinch, the deep Manchester accent grating your heart into shreds. No. “It’s me!” He says, followed by a horribly gritty cough. 

There’s a weak thump against the door, mumbled curses, and growls as if a wild animal mimicking human speech. You almost wished for that, considering you now knew the exact person behind the door down to his atoms. The brown of his eyes and the way his cheeks looked as they were stained with tears. 

His laugh. Simon’s voice. Everything.

Simon.

You’re rushing to rip the stool away with a clatter and a jerk as it hits the far wall, undoing the locks with shaking hands as you grasp the handle and wrench it sideways. 

His form slams to your feet with a loud grunt as the door hits the wall. 

“Fuckin’ hell! Mind your bloody—!” Whatever he said was lost to you as you stare at the bloodied form of the man you had thought you’d seen the last of. Tactical gear, terrifying skull mask, black on black with weapons galore. But that voice told you all you needed to know.

Simon Riley is alive and very much breathing. 

The same boy you still loved. 

The same boy who’d broken your heart.

—

After October the years with Simon seemed to strengthen. You always walked together in the mornings—or, at least, you always waited for him. The dawn of your friendship strengthened and hardened to an unbreakable amount of mid-day rays; vast and sunny. 

When he was sixteen he asked you to be his girlfriend, hand in his pockets and ache on his chin as he grunted out broken sentences. Stuttering and awkward. You’d smiled with your bright eyes and giggled before kissing his cheek—feeling his sigh and him melting into you with a grin of his own, unable to meet your eyes for a moment. 

Later, when he said he’d wanted to leave his apprenticeship at the grocery’s butcher shop and join the Special Air Service, you’d been along for the ride—anything to get him away from his father and brother. You knew what was going on, even if he was still so hesitant to allow you any glimpse of his home life.

When he’d shy away at the Halloween decorations of skeletons as if the skull would jump off the page and tense at loud cheering, you knew. You did what you could, but there was only so much for you to suggest or say without him shutting down. 

When you’d offered your flat as a safe space after graduation, desperate to help your Lover, he’d stared and blinked in shock; tilting his head at you before smiling softly and taking you into a hug. Wherever he went, he knew he’d always have a place by your side.

So, throughout his leaves of absence from the military, he’d come home to you—bruised and tired, but still the same Simon you fell in love with. You’d cook for him, tease at his shaved hair as he gave you those puppy-dog eyes, and talked him through your classes at University.

You would fall asleep on his chest, feeling the hard strength he was gaining and the way he held you tighter than he ever had; conscious of himself but not wanting to part with you. 

The love the both of you had was akin to a blaze of fire, and you often found Simon simply staring into your eyes in times like those—watching silently and rubbing his thumb along your spine until your face burned. 

He was always so gentle despite everything; you loved his perseverance, his drive to be good despite nearly every factor telling him he couldn’t be. Slowly but surely, he was forging his own life. 

In 2003 he managed to take a break from the military to get his family straightened out. His brother, Tommy, went to rehab—Simon stayed with his mother and a year later he kicked his father to the curb and out of his and his family's life entirely. Finally free. 

You managed to meet his lovely mum, still so bright, and even interacted with Tommy once he got out; went to the younger brother’s wedding in ‘06 and met Beth, his wife. When you saw Simon’s mother and the way she carried herself, you knew where your Love got his pride from. The two were so alike it was a sight to see. 

While it may not have been conventional by any standard, Simon proposed to you in the back garden of Tommy’s cheap wedding venue. Alone, so as not to cause a scene. Willow trees and a small stream of water. Fireflies. The words ring in your soul with every waking moment, and they will stay there until it all goes silent with the grip of death.

He didn’t want to use his mum’s ring—the one that holds so many bad memories for both parties. He’d used the gold from it though. Went to a man who bled him dry for money to have it re-cast. 

It was simple. A small, glinting, ruby pressed in the middle. 

“It was always goin’ to be you, Ember, yeah?” he’d muttered in his deeper voice, formal attire holding you both tight. “So…don’t make me beg too much, Sweetheart. You know the old lady’ll kill me if I get stains on my suit.” 

“Beg?” You responded, tears in your eyes but such a wide grin on your lips. The stars above you twinkle like the pupils of your eyes—the same burn still trapped. “Oh, Simon, come on, now.” He connects his forehead to yours, hand still in the middle of you and presenting the accumulation of all of his love. The other wraps your waist. 

He was shaking slightly. 

“I would never make you beg for my love, Brown-Eyes.”

You both share a breathless chuckle and lock lips, smiling like fools as he sighs into you. 

In a happy world, that would have been the beginning of a perfect life. A happy house. A happy wedding. Happy deaths. 

But something went wrong on one of his deployments. 

Missing for months, he came back…wrong. With a fiery temper and sharp snapping words—wounds on the outside as well as inside. His eyes were feral, like a dog held back by a broken chain carting around its feet. 

Simon never spoke about it—the missing days. The weeks. The months. 

You broke yourself over it, trying to help but not knowing what would make it better. Some days there were flickers of soft expressions, but it was as if he were dragging himself up from a pool so deep it was bottomless to show them to you. Simon rarely smiled. He rarely sent an affectionate glance. 

He didn’t let you touch him. 

And then he called the entire engagement off with a letter on your counter only holding four words. 

‘Don’t look for me.’ 

And then Simon’s mum, Tommy, Beth, and his nephew had all died. Been killed. And you were just supposed to move on? Live with that? There were times when you had breakdowns so bad you couldn't leave the house for days—the house that Simon and you had bought together. 

All of those years. 

All those vows and shared nights.

And he disappeared on you.

—

You have him sitting on the couch, watching silently from the chair across the room as he finishes wrapping his leg with the bandages from the first-aid kit you’d provided. 

More like chucked at his gut.

No one had said a word, and the air was as tense as a noose—choking any oxygen that traveled into your throat. Simon was getting blood all over your flat cushions, the crimson saturating the fabric as you sit rail-rod straight, hand clenched on your thighs. 

Simon’s avoiding your eyes.

“Take off the mask,” you hiss, pupils slits. If he wasn’t going to address it, then you were. Simon freezes, not breathing as his hands fall stationary around the bandages. 

“I’ll be fine in a while—”

“Take off your fucking mask, Simon.” You can’t help the way you snap, face burning with shame and hate. How dare he show up now, after all of these years of mourning him and the relationship you’d built as kids. Simon wasn’t just your boyfriend—your fiancé—he was your best friend. 

And all he’d done was left you a four-fucking-letter note before leaving you behind.

The geared man sighs silently, and you see his shoulders sag. His grip travels up as he straightens his spine in a fluid motion, pain medication working through him in waves of numbness. 

His brown eyes bore through you as if he were a ghost. Under the fabric, his mouth thins. “Ma’am.” 

Even his voice is older. More dead. How could this be your Simon?

Your heart bruises your ribcage as he grasps the top of his skeletal mask, gloved fingers peeling back the sown layers until you get the full image of a man more damaged than before. You have to stop yourself from sobbing right then and there; your throat going dry.

So many scars. Milky white and spread vastly—they weren’t pretty. Up his cheeks, down his brow line; even at the corner of his mouth and seeping down his neck. A crooked nose with damaged cartilage. Strangling a gasp, it comes out as a great expelling of horror, eyes going wide with shock. 

You hate how you want to rush to him, take his face in your hands, and try to brush them away as if marks on paper. But you don’t make any such movements beyond a hunch of your shoulders. 

“Not pretty, eh? Guess I should’ve warned you.” Simon rubs at his forehead, blond locks, hanging around his temple, and the black of face-paint stuck in his sockets. “Didn’t mean to fuckin’ drop in like this, Ember. Bloody bastard thing for me to do.” 

You flinch at the name, looking away as you’d been peeling back his skin with your eyes. “What are you doing here, Simon?” Anyone with a brain could hear the cracking hardness in your words. Face blank. 

He studies your features, taking in the changes and the bleakness of your expression. Brows furrow slightly before they go back to a state of nothingness. Simon glances around the room, finding the condition of things concerning but doesn’t show it. 

“Nothin’ you need to worry about comin’ back to you, Sweetheart. Just work.”

“It is when the bastard who abandoned me shows up years later, bloody on my doorstep. Stop acting so self-righteous,” you growl, snapping, “I should toss your arse outside and let them have you. And don’t fucking call me that.”

Silence descends, and your words echo. It’s like now that he was here everything hurt ten times more than when he wasn’t. 

“I never wanted us to end up like we did—”

“Bullshit!” You’re on your feet and stalking to him, pointing with your finger as he hurriedly stands up as well and looks down in shock as you press your digit into his bulky vest. “You shut your mouth, Simon Riley, and you let me explain something to you.” 

He keeps silent, mouth parted and scars shifting around his stubble. His hands slightly held out at his sides and hovering over your hips—not touching you but there just in case. Simon’s brown ords are carefully widened at your tight exclamation. The sound of his clearing throat enters the living room before you speak again. 

“I waited for you, hoped and prayed that you would show me at least a,” your throat bunches, but you push through. “A modicum of respect and show your stubborn self up at my door with apology flowers and a guilty smile on your lips. You know who took care of your family's burial plots, you fucking piece of shit,” his eyes flinch closed a bit, turning his head down as his breath hitches. “Me! You fucking disappeared!”

You know you shouldn’t be yelling, shouldn’t be pounding on his chest with a fist as if he was a door and you the knocker, but, dammit, it’s been years and he just shows up? Like this? Ten times the size he was—scarred and torn to shreds; laced with muscles and an expression of vacancy. Simon holds to your words, hanging off of them with a down-ward turned chin and eyes that lock with yours through pale lashes. 

“Maybe I-I did, o…or pushed some things that I shouldn’t have,” you hold back your tears, but your voice still wavers, tapering off like a line without a hook, “but I didn’t deserve that, Simon.” The first traitorous sob breaks through. “I didn’t deserve that.”

His eyes shatter into a myriad of kaleidoscope bits and pieces, brows flicking from one point on your face to another in quick slashes of guilt. But he still doesn’t touch you. Not until you tell him it’s what you want.

Simon opens his mouth but closes it just as quickly, unable to find any words that would even matter. You let your tears slip down your cheeks, dribbling off your chin. The man’s chest hurts, pulse thumping to mirror yours. 

“I waited for you and you broke me,” you whisper, mouth twisting with odium towards the man under your fist. “I wanted a life with you, Simon, no matter the trials.”

“I didn’t mean to…” The man trails off, clenching his jaw. You scoff, backing up a step and pressing your palms into your eyes. 

“But you did.”

“I had to keep you safe, Ember.” Simon’s fingers twitch outward, eyes frantically moving around as you sniffle and shakily walk away to the kitchen. He follows, desperately on your heels as your spine bows forward with resounding cries of anguish. “I...I wasn’t right in the head, I need you to understand I didn’t want this! I never wanted to fucking hurt you!” 

Your hand connects with the junk drawer, tearing it open and digging a hand inside as he pleads with you to listen. 

“If I didn’t leave I was worried I’d do something—!”

“Then you should have trusted me!” Your hands rip out the ring held on a small leather strap. The ruby glints where it always sits, held in tarnished gold. You chuck it at his chest and suck down breaths so you don’t pass out. “I would have listened! Gotten you help! We don’t abandon the ones we love, Simon! Not us!” 

Simon catches the object by slapping a hand to his chest, pinky finger latching through the leather cord before he jerks his limb back up. When he looks at the ring, he goes utterly still, gazing back up at you slowly. 

“We were supposed to be different,” you sob, trapping it behind your hands. He’s shaking, brows tight and lines along his face as he brings a free hand to run through his locks, gripping the strands for a moment and pulling. “Simon,” you say again, and he looks back at you with glossy eyes. “We were supposed to be better.”

“What did I do to you to deserve that,” he stares, his jaw is loose and he can’t stop clenching and unclenching it. You can see his heart working through his breast. Bloodied. Beaten by fists and slashed with knives. “What did I do to you?”

“Nothing,” he gasps, taking a step forward. “Fuck, Ember, you didn’t bloody do anything to me besides love me.” 

You sputter out, “Then why did you leave me here alone?” Your knees buckle and he darts forward, catching you under the arms as you wail out, shoving on his waist, “You never should have come back. Never should have come back.” 

He lets you push him off; lets you back up to the counter as Simon tilts his head higher to stave off the tears in the sides of his eyes. He’d known coming here was a bad idea, for lack of a better word, but after the Op went bad and all of his safe houses were compromised, he didn’t have a choice. It wasn’t to say he didn’t regret his actions in the past with you, or that he didn’t punish himself for them, yet at the time it was the only thing he could do to give him the sense that you would be better without him. Safe. 

After everything that had happened, he wasn’t in the right state of mind anymore. You deserved so much better. But hearing all of this…

Christ, could he have been wrong? Everything blurred; hurt. Hearing your sobs was like a knife to his heart every time, digging and cutting with serrated edges at the veins and pumping muscle, carving away flesh to shed the pounding redness to light. You held that heart in your hand and in his he held the ring—the ring he’d given to you as a promise of love and honor. 

A pact of loyalty. 

Simon doesn’t even realize he’s crying until the blurring edges of his vision make itself known. His eyes bore harshly, prodding into you as he makes known what he’s been broken since he first locked gazes with you again. The man’s voice shakes, accent deep and tight.

He asks the first thing that comes to his head.

“What happened to your eyes?”

“What?” You ask, incredulously, brows furrowed as your hand digs into the counter to keep you upright. Simon stares deeper, the sides of his eyelids wrinkling with a not-so-hidden sheen of great concern. Unbearable pain.

“What happened to your bloody eyes?” Where had the spark gone? That flare that grew and spread like fire that was the entire purpose behind your name. An unconquerable ache for life. 

You only watch him with a parted mouth and tear-stained lashes, sniffling. Simon tries again, taking a step forward on unsteady feet. 

“Please, Sweetheart, d…don’t, don’t…” He can’t finish, the leather cord intertwined into his fingers as he comes closer. “Don’t tell me I took it away. Not my Ember. Not my Girl’s fire.”

Your eyes are so overflowed you can’t even see him as he hovers over you, fingers coming up to brush your cheeks as his mouth is open in hard pants of breath. “No, no, no. Fuckin’ bastard, not me. Not over me, please.” It’s like Simon’s not even talking to you but rather himself. 

He mutters in fast sentences, eyes panicked. “You were supposed to be better off—‘posed to move on. Why didn’t you? Why didn’t you find someone else?” 

“You’re an idiot, Simon. An idiot,” you sag into his neck, nose digging into his pulse as he quivers, legs having to reset themselves. His heat melts into you as your body gives out with a final sob, “It was always going to be you.”

His arms snap around you like a vise, dragging you into him as he breaks and stifles his whimper on your scalp, breathing right by your ear; gasping for breath. 

“M’sorry,” he mutters, so silent below his sniveling stutters, “M’so sorry, Sweetheart. This is all my fucking fault.” 

You shake into his chest, face nuzzling and desperate to smell his scent again—tired from all the yelling and fighting. It was still late, you still needed to go to work tomorrow…but Simon. 

Oh, Simon. How could he be so…him?

Your sobs are quieter than his, tiny cries that make the man’s arms tighten around you every time. Hands coming up, you can’t stop the way you want to hold him; how you wish to keep him close to you and push him away all at once. How dare he? 

How dare he still make you love him after all he’d put you through? 

Simon sags to the floor with you in his hold, head bowed and trying to gasp down his vulnerability as tears stain your shoulder. It’s as if the realization that he’d made a mistake had broken him back down to when he was young, past hatred of messing up infesting his brain like maggots. A fear of it, even. 

The man presses quick, panicked kisses to your neck as his breath hitches every other second, rocking you back and forth. 

“Didn’t mean to do it,” Simon utters. “Didn’t mean for it to hurt you—” 

He breaks off and you realize that despite the years Simon’s mind was still very much fragile when it came to home life. You blink and take a deep breath, unable to get out of his unrelenting grip. 

Your hand travels up to find the back of his head, spreading through his hair and massaging his flesh. When things got bad you used to do this with him. Give the man something to focus on so he could pass through his hysteria quicker.

Simon’s ribcage bangs against yours, nearly hyperventilating with how he’s trying to hide his small grunts and whines.

“Simon,” you clear your throat, trying to calm yourself down as seriousness sets in your tone. “Simon, breathe.” 

Your ears twitch, noticing him listen to you as he takes down a long gasp of air and breathes out in puffs on your neck—hot and humid. 

“Ember…”

“Shh,” interrupting, you shush him in tiny whispers, still rubbing at his head. “Brown-Eyes, just sit here, okay?” You feel a jerky nod, his fingers squeezing your flesh off and on as he mimics your own lung pattern. 

It’s a few minutes before he goes completely still again, and you feel the burn of shame from his face in your clutch. The relationship was strained—or whatever you could call this—but you never wanted to see him in pain. Never.  

You knew he was better when he sighs deeply, completely going limp in your arms; great weight leaning into you as you lean back to the cabinets to help with the pure might of his physique. With a slow hand, you un-velcro his vest and his gear, letting it hit the floor with dull thumps and clatters. 

He doesn’t protest, doesn’t move to help or hinder. You would give anything to know what he was thinking. 

“M’sorry,” Simon whispers and you respond accordingly, softly.

“You’ve already said that, Love.” He grunts, taking in a long, deep breath. 

“Need you t’know it.” 

“...I do.”

“Okay.” You close your eyes and stave off your anger at everything happening right now. While it would feel better to yell at him until dawn, what would that even achieve? Everything had needed to be said, had been. And you’d never felt lighter than at this moment. 

You knock your head against him, the both of you panting for breath and hands vibrating with leaving adrenaline. Sweaty and twitchy. 

“You never should have done that, Simon.” Whispering, you sigh. “I needed you. I needed you here. With me.” He stays still, but you feel his lips press deeper into your pulse. You’re practically in his lap, back to the woodgrain. 

In a moment of weakness, or pure longing, you pull his head back and situate your hands at his cheeks, looking over his scars and his broken skin as he lets you move him how you wish. His half-lidded, red, eyes stare—grip around you not letting up. 

Simon doesn’t speak as, unprompted, you kiss the shattered bridge of his nose; you only feel the fluttering of his lashes as they tickle your cheeks. 

“I was scared of myself.” He mutters. “After they died…” His family. “I didn’t want to put you in danger, Ember. Not you.”

“We would have figured it out, Simon. You know that, deep down, you do.” Brown eyes find yours as you tilt his head. 

“You sure?” He asks, desperate for an answer even though he doesn’t know himself. 

Thumbs run up and down his stubble. Your face creases, “...I don’t know. But we could have tried.” 

Simon’s eyes close tightly, and his face tilts to press his lips to your palm, quivering breath exhaled with the strength of an open balloon. Your ring was still stuck in his digging grip, and it was never going to leave for the rest of the night. 

“Yeah,” he whispers, gravely voice lax. 

Studying him now, in this light, knowing he was so afraid of what he might do if he got into an episode, you were stabbed with agony in your heart. To be that afraid of yourself to that magnitude was nearly unimaginable to you.

Nearly. 

“What now?” You ask lowly, the last remnants of tears drying as Simon opens his eyes slowly, looking back at you. 

“Don’t know.” He admits. “I have to leave.”

“I have work tomorrow,” you relate. Your teeth find your lip, biting it. 

A small awkward chokehold captures the both of you. The reality was that both of you were akin to strangers again—such was the curse of lost years and trials you’d faced along the way. 

Brown-Eyes and Ember were dead, yet you still called their names like phantoms of sleek black fabric and chained recollections of a boy with red cheeks and a girl with muddy shoes. The walks to school were there, the dates, and the late nights spent in good company. Touches to skin and open-mouthed kisses. Fireflies that whizzed and the glinting of gold as wind ran through the willows.

Dark corruption stained the faint idea of happiness; of a good world. This was not reality. It was some joke of an existence. 

If life were fair, Simon Riley would have never grown up in that house—his father wouldn’t have latched onto his brother and done dark deeds to wrap the little brown-eyed boy in red tissue paper and barbed wire. A present and sheen of mild sociopathy; separation of any pain or torment. A fighting boy. A boy born with blood on his hands and stuck behind his eyes every time he swung a fist. 

It was a curse to love him. And it was a curse that burned your soul with his very name. 

“Are you going to go?” You ask, eyes blank but yearning for what little comfort you can grab. It had been so long.  Simon blinks, his head still in your hands; body not moving.

He knows he should. He isn’t sure if there’s anything left for him here or not. 

Simon connects his head to yours and you still. “Do you want me to?” 

“Do you love me?” You blurt, blinking at him and confused. Simon’s lips part. “Or if you walk out that door do I plan on never seeing you again?” 

You're about to open your mouth and continue before his own slots perfectly against it.

You gasp lightly, taken aback but in no way opposed. He still felt exactly the same, flesh still tasting metallic and tinged with violence down to his DNA; raised with survival instincts as his greatest ally. Until you. 

With you survival became secondary. 

Your hands go to card through his hair, latching and lightly pulling as Simon’s body shivers; growling against your lips in a dance of heated flesh and damp cheeks. Hearts hammer with the restraint of years. 

“I would never make you beg for my love,” he murmurs between lapsing passes of his mouth, open kisses and dark glances. “Tell me where you want me to be.”

You whimper against him and he goes back in, pressing the base of your skull to the cabinet as hands grip and slide, kneading your skin. 

“Tell me,” Simon whispers. Pleads through grunts. “Ember, tell me.”

“Here,” you admit brokenly, pulling him closer to you as you’re lifted and placed on the countertop. “I need you here, Simon. I need you with me.” 

Fingers capture your chin, keeping your head angled up as your eyes beg. Lips bush with every word, gazes wild as if two leopards locking jaws over a kill. 

“Fight to get me back.” Brown sparks with purpose, a small puff of air hitting your mouth as eyes darken over. In this moment, you do not know if you’re dying or living. “Make it right.”

“Affirmative.” Simon moves his head back, taking your ring and looping the cord around his neck, he keeps it there as you watch, breathless. Your face creases with question. The man’s lips flicker when he sees this, coming back and grasping your hips as you instinctually latch to his waist. 

“I’ll give it back when I’ve earned the right for you to be called mine again. Seems I have work to do, Sweetheart.” He kisses you once more, firm and true. “First, I’ll ‘ave to figure out if my Girl can get her spark back, yeah? I’ve proper gone and fucked it up.” 

That night you lay in the heap of limbs and sheets that couple the both of you together. In the morning the questions would start, and Simon knew you’d take nothing short of the truth. 

And he’d give you it. All of it. 

Because Simon Riley knows well enough that you don’t go and bite the hand that feeds twice. Certainly not when it was you. Certainly not when it offers a love he would never hope to find again, in this life or the next.

So you keep the other close and sag into a deep slumber, not to wake for a long, long time. 

And you’d both never slept better

TAGS:

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[middlingmay]

German Gale AU Part 4

Links to Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Despite the note and despite being addressed as Herr Cleven instead of Gefangene, as soon as they’re out of sight of John, the military police shove a bag over his head, bind his hands, and drag him around in a dizzying, disorienting series of twists and turns.

His heart is beating jackrabbit fast and in the privacy of his own head Gale can admit that he’s frightened. That he’s going to be thrown in prison. That they’re going to lock him up and throw away the key. That they’re not going to listen to a word he said because they’re said in imperfect English spoken with a German accent.

He searches for the regret, for wishing he’d stayed on his father’s farm in Germany, but it’s not there. Not even a shadow of it. All he can think of his John, bloody and hunted amongst the cabbages. John knocking a man to the ground for him. John and him side by side in a mad dash out of the country. And John willing to stand between his own army and Gale.

So no, he doesn’t regret anything.

Eventually, after a winding car ride and being dragged to and fro for a bit longer, he’s sat none too gently onto a chair and the bag is whipped off his head. The restraints stay on.

What begins is an endless litany of the same questions asked in different ways over and over again. Gale is hungry. He’s tired. He’s afraid. They won’t get a translator and let him speak German.

“What is your name? Who are your parents? Where do you live? What do you do? What do your parents do? Are any of you supporters of the Nazi Party? Does your farm supply any members of the Nazi Party?”

And Gale has to tell them about his father: about how he sells secrets and information to the Nazi’s; about how he tells them the whereabouts of Jewish people, Slavs, Romani, political dissidents, deviants—anyone the Nazi’s wanted to remove from their vision for the German nation.

They ask Gale for names and he doesn’t know any. They rhyme names off to him and he doesn’t know any. So they fetch a thick file and show him a series of photos.

Most of them are strangers, but he’s able to point out a few that look familiar. One in particular makes him stab the grainy photo with vigour.

“Er war auf der Jagd nach Major Egan.” / “He was hunting Major Egan.”

The Officers shared a look, but at long last they seemed to believe he wasn’t a German spy. His restraints are taken off and a glass of water is handed to him and he gulps is so greedily, water trickles from both sides of his mouth.

But if Gale thinks that’s the end of his interrogation, he’s very wrong. An all new kind begins.

They grill him on whatever information they can wring out if him: when these Nazi’s came by; how much they paid his father; did they drive there? Did they stay over? What did they eat for dinner? What did they like to drink? Did he overhear anything of value? Did they mention any names? Any places? Any odd sounding words or phrases out of context? Any dates or time frames they visited a lot or were more absent than normal?

By the time they were done, Gale was slurring his words, could barely speak a word of English, and was practically asleep sitting up.

They put him in a cell - it’s bright and airy and has a comfortable bed, a light, a table, even a plant, but it’s a cell all the same. They have to do some verification, they said, and they leave him with a plate of chicken and potatoes and a pitcher of water.

For the first time in a long time Gale feels like crying, but he’s so tired and dehydrated and hungry, his body can’t spare the water.

In the morning he’s woken by the loud clanging of his cell door opening. They have fresh clothes for him—plain and definitely not a prison uniform—and Gale is beyond grateful to see a towel and some basic toiletries. They lead him to a room where he can shower and get clean and change, and then he’s hustled into a room with the same Colonel from the day before.

Gale entered the room German, but not a spy. He left German and a British spy.

He was to be part of a network—of real and fake spies—that’s job was to flood the German intelligence with false leads and floods of information to check and cross check and verify. They didn’t tell him why, but just that he would use his contacts in the resistance network in Germany to this end.

He would have a ‘handler’, and man he would only know as Hausmann, who would give him the information and tell him what to do with it.

They give him a choice—a shit one, but a choice. Go to jail for the duration of the war until a trial could be brought, or work for them.

Gale accepts, but asks, “John. Major Egan. I can…write to him?”

But the Colonel shakes his head. “No, Herr Cleven. You’ll have no contact with the Allied armed forces beyond whatever messages are relayed to you through your handler.”

Something in Gale breaks a little at that. He’d hoped John would have been an ally—a friend even—and in the privacy of his own imaginings, something more after John’s confession on the ship. But here that hope was killed.

“Will you tell me…if he…”

Being a pilot is dangerous. Everyone knows that no matter what side they fight on. They would throw John straight back into action and Gale might not ever know if anything happens to him.

They don’t answer him.

In short order he’s given new papers and a new name, and he’s put into a room with a young woman with a pot of something viscous and dark and comes out with black hair. A pre-packed suitcase is shoved into his hands, and he’s on his way back to Germany before nightfall.

It takes Hausmann a day to contact him. He knocks on the door of Gale’s accommodation - a sparse, tiny apartment. He’s a Nazi’s dream—clean, neat blonde hair, smart spectacles, and a smug line to his mouth that Gale thinks a man or two would like to do something about.

Gale wants him to deliver his instructions and leave, but Hausmann seems happy to loiter. He unearths a quarter bottle of schnapps and tries to find out as much about Gale ask he can without asking anything directly. Gale is certain he doesn’t let anything of note slip through—he’s petrified of slipping up and getting thrown in jail or worse. But somehow Hausmann ferrets out John’s name.

“I’ve heard of Major John C. Egan of Manitowoc Wisconsin.”

Gale blinks at him.

“Former Luftwaffe,” Hausmann smirks. “The leader of the 100th Bomb Group stationed in Thorpe Abbotts, Norfolk, England. So beloved by his men, they collectively wrote to Colonel Neil Hardin to request he be removed as Air Executive so he can return to the skies with them. Dark hair. Curly, I believe. Blue eyes. Freckles. A moustache last I heard. A rather large, imposing individual. Roguishly handsome. Has successfully dodged the blue tickets the Allies are so fond of, so far.”

Hausmann is almost laughing by the time he’s finished and Gale cuts him a vicious look and darts up from the table. His clenches his fists and Hausmann holds up his hands.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean anything by it. We are… of a like?”

Gale hates him, he decides, but he can see why Hausmann is a spy. He can read people effortlessly, and his insightfulness has Gale on edge.

That is, until…

“You want to contact him? I can help with that.”

Gale’s heart jumps, but he doesn’t trust this Hausman at all. “Why would you do that?”

Hausmann passes him the schnapps and Gale refuses. Again. “I think it would benefit you and I to be friends, Gale Cleven. They don’t care if we get out of this alive; just that we make as much trouble for the Nazi’s as we can before we’re killed. But I didn’t let the Luftwaffe kill me, and I won’t let a German army that can’t see they’re losing the war kill me, now. If either of us want to get out of this alive, we’re going to need each other. So—truce?”

He holds out his hand and when Gale takes it, it’s soft and smooth. Gale wats to rip his own hand back, but makes himself shake on it. Getting out of here without a bullet through his head and back to John may very well depend on it.

“Truce.”

[lipglossanon]

Power Outage/Candles

Las Plagas!Leon S. Kennedy x fem!reader - NSFW

warnings: 18+ minors DNI, monsterfucking 😏 , dirty talk, nipple/breast play, mommy kink, lactation kink, breeding kink, biting, unprotected sex, creampie

not proofread ✌️

EDITED 31 JAN 2024: replaced the Google Spanish translations with the italicized text

Anything in italics is Spanish, but as I can’t properly speak it thought it better to do it this way

With a loud crack of thunder, the lights in your place go completely out. Sighing out loud, you climb up from the couch and go grab your emergency lanterns and radio from under the cabinet. Thankfully your phone still has plenty of battery, but the less you use it the better, hence the lanterns. 

You glance out your window and see the streetlights are also out signaling that the whole block is probably out of power. Biting your lip, you look out over to Leon’s place. On the plus side, he’s out of town because of work. He’s told you enough that you know he could be gone for just the night or an entire week depending on what happens. 

Pouting to yourself, you miss his voice and his tight hugs, not to mention the nastiest sex you’ve ever had in your life. 

With another sigh, you grab up your things and head off to your bedroom. Might as well head to bed a little early. You brush your teeth with cold water before changing and climbing into bed. Glancing at your phone, you see it’s only a little past 9pm but without much else to do (and you really don’t want to waste the batteries in your lantern), you close your eyes and do some deep breathing exercises to lull yourself to sleep. 

It certainly works as you suddenly wake up, feeling on edge as it’s still pitch black  in your room. Throat feeling dry and scratchy, you decide to get up and grab a bottle of water from the kitchen. You swing your legs out of bed but pull them up quickly. The sudden intrusive thought of something under the bed makes your hair stand on end. 

You blow out a breath and then quickly stand up and move away from your bed. Chiding yourself for being so jumpy, you carefully make your way out of your room and down the hallway to the kitchen. Grabbing a bottle of water, you peek through your kitchen window but see nothing out of place. You make your way back into your room, but have that eerie feeling again making you hesitate at the threshold. 

Deciding to just grab your phone and head back to the kitchen, you slowly step past the doorway. Snatching your phone off the nightstand, you turn and see a pair of eyes staring at you from the corner of your bedroom. 

Screaming, you throw your water bottle at the intruder and bring your phone up to dial 911 as you make a dash for your doorway. 

“Wait,” a familiar voice speaks as you feel a pair of warm hands envelope your waist. 

“Please, let me go,” you whimper, brain still in flight mode, thrashing in the strangers grip. 

“Baby, you’re okay,” a soft kiss is dropped to your neck making you shiver, “you’re fine, I’ve got you.”

“Leon?” You whisper.

“Mmhmm,” he nips at your neck, “‘m sorry to scare you, was gonna surprise you.”

“I thought someone had broken in,” you let the tears fall as he spins you around to face him, “I-I thought—“

“Shh,” he murmurs, brushing his thumbs under your eyes to wipe away your tears, “I promise nothing will ever happen to you. Besides,” he smiles at you, mouthful of sharp teeth, “I’m the scariest thing around here and I’ll never hurt you.”

You laugh through your crying and pull him into a hug, “You have to make it up to me.”

“Yeah?” He coos, “what does my pretty girl want?”

“Cuddles,” you sniffle and bury your face in his chest, “want lots of cuddles.”

He grins happily, “Okay.”

Pulling away, he leads you back to your bed, flopping down on the mattress before tugging you down and into a hug. You tuck your face into his neck and sigh as he wraps his arms around you. 

After a few minutes he shifts restlessly before pulling back to look down at you sheepishly. 

“Can I take your shirt off?”

You bite your lip but end up giggling anyway, “I guess you can.”

He slips your shirt off and buries his face between your breasts, mouth kissing your sternum. 

“Mmm my favorite way to cuddle,” he rumbles, and you can feel his hands shifting against your back until the sharp point of claws are scratching at your skin. 

Goosebumps make your nipples pebble and he sighs as his mouth latches onto one, softly suckling the hard bud until you’re whimpering and pulling his hair. He lets go with a pop and moves to the other one, sucking this nipple just as roughly until you’re tugging his hair. 

“Leon,” you mewl into the cool air of your bedroom, clit throbbing as he teases your stiff peaks. 

“Love your tits,” he whispers, eyes blown out as those inky black veins crawl across his face, “they’re my favorite pair of tits ever.”

You snort a laugh at that, “Thank you?”

“Mmm,” his eyes droop as they move from your face down to your breasts, “I mean it. Sexiest fucking tits. Wan’em in my mouth all the time.”

You gasp as he squishes them together so your nipples are side by side, his mouth eagerly sucking them at the same time. He runs his sharp teeth over them, careful not to cut you, but it shoots white hot pleasure all throughout your body to the point your toes curl. 

His long tongue wraps around both nipples before flicking across them, making you keen and press your chest into his face. Groaning, Leon sucks your nipples into his mouth and doesn’t let go until your pushing at his forehead. 

“S’too much, Leon,” you whimper, nipples puffy and sore when he lets go of them, “it’s too rough.”

He moans, “Let me be rough tonight? Wanna see if we can get you to squirt from your sexy tits.”

A gasp leaves your lips and Leon goes back to sucking and biting your swollen nipples. 

“Bet you’d make a sexy mommy,” he rasps, rocking his hips against your lower legs, “sexy mommy titties leaking milk everywhere.”

“Leon, that’s so dirty,” you mewl, pulling his hair so he stays close to your chest.

“Mmm, you’d be my little mommy, giving me all your milk,” his rough tongue lathes across your hard nipples making your cunt ache. 

“I-I can’t,” you keen as he bites both hard buds at the same time, “can’t produce milk.”

“Not yet,” he chuckles, voice going into that low silky octave that has your thighs clenching, “I can make you a mommy. Breed that little pussy.”

Feeling like Leon needs a taste of his own medicine, you laugh, “You wanna knock me up, Leon?”

The change is instant. It’s like you blink and the next thing you know, Leon has you pressed down into the bed in a mating press. Your legs are pushed up, knees pretty much at your chin as he rips your panties in half, the tattered underwear laying against your thighs. His cock is out and dripping against your bare slit. 

He presses inside your pussy making your eyes clench shut. 

“Leon, Leon, it’s too big,” you whimper even though you’re rocking your hips up, trying to work more of his cock into your sopping wet pussy, “g’nna stretch me out.”

Leon growls and fucks himself further into your cunt making you wail at the feeling of being so full, “Take it, stretch that little pussy out on my big cock.”

Panting, you reach out to grasp at his broad shoulders, nails digging into his skin making him grunt. 

“We need to serve you,” he mumbles into your neck, “We would kill for you. Die for you.”

“Leon,” you gasp out, tears dripping down your temples from the overwhelming stretch of your cunt, “I’m sorry, I d-don’t understand.”

“Don’t worry,” his words echo strangely, as if two voices are speaking, “I’ve got you, little mate.”

He bottoms out with one more grinding thrust making you choke on air, pussy spasming like crazy around the stretch of his big cock. You inhale shakily, feeling like the tip of his dick is in the back of your throat. 

“Too full,” you whine at him, “Leon, please.”

He leans down and chuffs against your hair before nosing his way from your hairline down to your mouth, kissing you before his teeth overcrowds his mouth. 

He huffs out a pained whine as his mouth splits into that joker’s smile you’ve grown fond of seeing. Reaching up with his blackened hands, his claws slice your shirt to pieces until it flutters away. He sinks his teeth into your bare shoulder with a low growl. 

You keen as the pain turns into pleasure, vision going a little fuzzy on the sides as his venom seeps into your body. 

“There you go,” he murmurs, “make you feel so good.”

His black claws grip around your waist, lightly scratching the skin as he pulls out until just the fat head is splitting your cunt open. With a grunt, he buries himself balls deep inside your pussy, ramming into the opening of your womb but instead of pain only pleasure bursts like fireworks behind your eyelids. 

“More,” you whimper, hands scratching at his arms, digging into the inky black skin, “Leon, need more.”

He snarls gutturally, pulling out just to hammer his cock back into your squelching pussy, scraping across the spongy spot in your cunt that just makes more slick gush around his thick length. 

“Perfect pussy,” his dark timbre makes your nipples stiffen, “give you my seed. Share las plagas with you.”

Your pussy clamps down harder as he mumbles a mix of English and Spanish under his breath. His eyes have darkened so much the blues are practically little pinpricks of light in his face. 

His huge cock keeps grinding along your g-spot as the fat tip batters against your cervix, making you squeal and clench down on him with every thrust. The sound of your skin slapping fills the background under your pants and moans paired with Leon’s feral sounding growls. 

He pulls completely out of your pussy making you whine. Flipping you over, he mounts you from behind, grabbing your wrists and pinning them down next to you to your head. 

“Oh, god, Leon,” you choke out, eyes rolling back as he plunges his cock into your sopping wet cunt. 

At this angle, he’s fucking you so hard that your clit rubs against the bedspread making your pussy walls flutter around his dick constantly.  You feel his teeth sink into the opposite shoulder from the first bite and you wail out as your orgasm rushes through you unexpectedly. 

“Pretty perfect mate,” he rasps, voice splitting into that double octave again, “gonna breed you, breed this little pussy deep.”

You shudder and shake, cunt sensitive from cumming while he fucks you through the aftershocks. He shifts his hips down, letting his cock rail against the opening to your womb so much you start to drool against the sheets. 

“Please, please, Leon,” you mewl pitifully, fingers clasping at the bed as he pins your wrists down harder. 

His balls slap against your clit from the back as he pistons his hips into your pulsating cunt. Between that and rubbing your pudgy clit against the bed, you feel another climaxing ramping up. 

He snarls and gnashes his teeth right next to your ear and you keen back at him. Picking up the pace, he jackhammers into your soaked hole, jostling you and making the mattress creak. Grinding his cock deep into your cunt is enough to have you cumming again, clit throbbing as you squirt around his dick, almost pushing him out of your pussy. 

“Mate,” he purrs in approval, vibration rumbling through his chest so hard you can feel it against your back. 

He snaps his hips hard and buries himself against your cervix as he cums inside your pussy, hot spurts of thick cum shooting out to paint your walls white. Your cunt flutters and milks his throbbing cock as he spills his sticky cum into you. 

“Mmm, so perfect,” he licks and nuzzles at this bite marks on your shoulders.

Mewling, you can only clench purposefully around his cock as it kicks inside your used cunt. He licks across your neck and across your chin to swipe the wet muscle against your parted lips. You suck weakly on the tip and he groans, dropping his full weight down on you so he can thrust his tongue inside your mouth as he finishes filling your pussy. 

“‘m tired,” you mumble once he pulls his tongue away. 

“Sleep,” he coos into your ear, “I’ll take care of you.”

Humming, you let yourself drift off. You wake up only a few hours later, cleaned up and dressed in different clothes. There’s soft light coming from the few scented candles that Leon lit and placed around your room. 

Speaking of the man in question, he’s softly petting across your head, twisting your hair with his fingers before running his palm down your arm. You’re tucked into his neck, lying on top of him. 

“You okay?” 

“Mmhmm,” you nod, “you?”

He chuckles, “Oh, yeah.”

You feel yourself drifting off again and try to fight it. 

“Shh,” he squeezes you in a hug, “I’ll be here in the morning.”

You nuzzle against his neck before kissing his Adam’s apple, “‘kay.”

It doesn’t take long for your eyes to shutter and sleep to overtake your thoughts. 

divider: firefly-graphics

[wolfjackle-creates]

Bring Me Home Arc 2 Part 16

Happy WIP Wednesday everyone! Sorry I missed last week, but I think I should be good to get back on track going forward. Finished making most of the baby things I want to make for my soon-to-be nephew, so I'll be able to spend more time writing than crocheting again.

Story Summary: Tim and Danny are both neglected by parents who care more about their work than their families. They deal with this by spending too much time online and find each other playing MMORPGs. They keep up their friendship as Tim becomes Robin and Danny becomes Phantom and don't bother keeping secrets from each other.

First, Previous

Word Count: 1.4k

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An hour later, all eight of them were ensconced in the theater in Sam’s basement with a few pizzas and salads spread around them. Wulf again refused any and the rest dug in.

“All right, Tuck, we need to figure out what Walker’s up to. Can you ask Wulf?”

Tim watched as Tucker asked and Wulf responded. Then Tucker burst out laughing and slapped his knee.

Tim’s eyes narrowed. He wouldn’t.

Sam scoffed. “You have no idea what he said, do you?”

“Not a clue,” Tucker admitted.

Tim groaned.

Bart cocked his head. “Give me five minutes, I’ll be right back!”

Before Danny could even finish asking, “Where are you going?” Bart was gone.

Conner grabbed another slice of pizza and said, “He’s off to learn Esperanto. Hang tight and he’ll be right back.”

“How can he learn a language so fast?” asked Sam.

Tim swallowed. “He’s a speedster. His normal is faster than our brains can comprehend. He slows himself down so he can interact with us mere mortals. He’ll be back.”

Sure enough, in less than ten minutes, Bart was back among them. He repeated Tucker’s question. This time, when Wulf responded, the ghost was understood.

“So, Walker is pissed at Danny,” translated Bart. “And he totally wants to ruin your entire life and drag you back to his prison in the ghost zone. Apparently he and his guards are overshadowing a bunch of the people you’re close to in the town to trap you in their web of lies.”

Danny groaned and buried his face in his hands. “How do I fight against that? I can’t just soup them all! I don’t even know who all is overshadowed!”

Cassie butt in then. “We know some of them. Dash and your classmates are definitely overshadowed.”

“Your reputation improved thanks to the other night,” commented Conner. “That might help mitigate Walker’s plans.”

“Doubt it,” said Danny. “Most people think I’m a menace. One night of good publicity won’t turn them around. Especially not with my parents there to dirty my name.”

“Let’s prepare a press release,” suggested Tim. “I bet the Young Justice team could get themselves on the local news. And if we speak up for you, it might help.”

Danny exchanged looks with his two friends. Tucker shrugged, “Couldn’t hurt, dude.”

“Fine,” bit out Danny. “What else?”

Conner looked at Wulf curiously. “Bart, does Wulf know how we can get his collar off?”

“Oooh, good question.” Bart asked, but Wulf shook his head as he answered.

“Will he let me look at it?” asked Tucker.

“I might be able to help, too,” added Tim as he stepped closer and reached out to touch.

Before he could actually touch the collar, though, Wulf snarled at him and jumped back several feet. Tim held up his hands in apology and took a step back himself. “Sorry!”

Bart grinned at him. “He said don’t touch it.”

Tim grimaced and nodded. “Think I got that.”

Tucker was already typing away on one of his devices. “I’m gonna try something. Might help.”

And that’s when Wulf screamed out in pain and fell to the floor clawing at the collar.

“Shit!” shouted Tucker as he rushed forward. He managed to plug his device into a port on the collar. Electricity arced back along the connection, causing Tucker to yelp in pain and drop his PDA.

But a moment later, there was a beep and the collar fell to pieces.

Wulf looked down in shock, then up at all of them. “Mi libras?”

“You’re free, dude,” said Tucker.

Bart added something in Esperanto.

Wulf grinned at them, sharp teeth shining in the light. “Mi libras!” Then he turned and disappeared as he jumped through the wall.

Conner groaned and collapsed backwards. “Jerk couldn’t even stick around long enough to help us after everything we did for him.”

Tim sighed and sat down as well. “Well, we’ll figure it out ourselves. Just like we always do. So, operation Fix Danny’s Reputation. We’ll start with talking to the press. What else?”

“Can we write up op-eds describing what really happened in some of his ghost fights?” asked Cassie. “Set the record straight?”

“What if we make you easier to reach?” added Tim. “Get a number the police or the mayor can reach you at so you can show them you’re willing to work with them instead of just on your own?”

“Do you think that’ll work?” asked Danny.

Tim shrugged. “Worked for Batman. Don’t see why it wouldn’t help you.”

Danny sighed and rubbed a hand down his face. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

“Great,” said Tim. “I’ll send out some emails asking for interviews. And then we can start working on the op-eds. How about we split into three groups, Danny and me in one, the rest of you can split up how we like. Then we can go over the major ghost fights that have happened and write tell-all articles that don’t run the risk of spoiling Danny’s identity.”

Conner shrugged. “Sam, wanna work with me?”

Sam grinned. “You betcha.”

Bart disappeared and reappeared next to Tucker. “Tucker and I will work together, too!”

Cassie moved until she was next to Conner. “I call working with Sam and Kon.”

“Great. Now, Tuck, do you happen to know the best contact info for local reporters?” Tim pulled out his laptop and powered it on as he spoke.

“Give me five minutes and I’ll get it for you.”

Fifteen minutes later, Tim had sent out a dozen emails asking for interviews. As he and Tucker were working, Danny and Sam had gone through which ghost fights would be the best to write about and divided up the attacks between the three groups.

Once he was ready to start on the articles, Tim sat down next to Danny. “So, what are we starting with?”

Danny grinned. “We’re going to go over my first fight. The one with Lunch Lady. She wasn’t bad, but caused a lot of clean up for the school and wasted a lot of resources. Most people still don’t even know that was a ghost attack.”

“Great, let’s get started.”

Tim had heard about most of Danny’s fights before, but being next to him in person definitely made a difference. They were sitting with their arms pressed against each other so they could both see the computer screen and add or delete bits as they went. It was nice.

They’d been working for a few hours when Sam’s parents came down.

“Children!” called her mom.

Tim wasn’t the only one to hide a grimace at the term.

Jeremy Manson continued, “The mayor has instituted a curfew for the city due to all the ghosts. No one is allowed out on the streets after nine PM.”

Pamela Manson giggled. “And it’s nine PM now! So looks like you’ll all be staying here. Tim, dear, be sure to tell your father how seriously we took your safety. I don’t want any of you leaving the house until morning.”

Tim turned on his gala smile. “My dad is in a coma, I’m afraid. But I’ll be sure to tell Bruce just how considerate all the people of Amity have been.”

Jeremy let out a forced laugh. “Of course, our mistake. We wish our best to your father, as well. I hope his prognosis is good?”

Tim blinked at him. “He’s been in a coma for months.”

Pamela giggled again. “Of course, we knew that. Right, dear?” She smacked her husband lightly on the arm.

“Sure did!” he agreed. “Well, I hope to hear news of his miraculous recovery. I’m sure he is getting the best of care.”

“Of course he is,” agreed Tim. “I wouldn’t put up with anything less.”

A few more giggles and well wishes, then Pamela and Jeremy made a hasty retreat.

Once they were alone, Conner looked at him with concern. “Tim—”

“I’m fine, Conner.”

Before anyone else could try and say anything, his email beeped. Tim took the excuse and read it over. The most popular morning radio talk show wanted to have the Young Justice on. Tim grinned.

“We’re getting up early, guys. Radio interview at six AM.”

Cassie laughed. “I can do that, can you?”

Tim shrugged. “I just won’t go to sleep. Easier to stay up that late than drag myself out of bed that early.”

Conner shook his head. “You and your family are insane, Rob.”

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s get back to work.”

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Next

This is where I definitely go off the rails of what happened in the show. But that's half the fun of an AU! Hope you like it.

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