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thatdeadaquarius · 3 months

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I have a random idea for some sagau crack loosely based on my dynamic with my friend so Im giving it to you because I have been enjoying your sagau language stuff :D

Imagine there are two readers that are two different people. Like, not as in clones they are just two separate people that are rlly good friends on earth. They both really like genshin and play the game, and they both have self aware teyvat citizens. Reader 1 is a whale. They invest a l o t of money on the game, have all the characters, and all the characters have five star weapons. They are like the usual sagau reader you see. They have used up so much money on getting all of the characters, and I mean A L L of them, best weapons, constellations and put a lot of care into it. The place where they really get to show off is their knowledge and love for the lore, and are really invested into it and read all of the artifact descriptions and books. They know about primordial one, the four shining shades, random useless facts about items and often rant to reader 2 about their theories. Their quest bar is always empty because they did them to check out the lore of the game, and are always searching for more lore. They basically play everyday and are always reacting and talking to the characters out loud, unaware that they can hear them.

Meanwhile, Reader 2 is a f2p who is only interested in the archon quest lore and the lore of their fav characters. Because they are f2p, their options are limited so there is some blatant favoritism. They choose their fav character to save up for, and then pull for them. After they get the character they want, they will no longer pull and save up from there. Because of this, they only have like 5 five stars and only have zero five star weapon. Their favourite character is their main(*cough* wanderer *cough*), and unlike reader 1 who uses all of their characters regularly, reader 2 sticks to this character for most of their gameplay unless they need to use someone else. However, reader 2 takes almost an entire month to finish building a character, because they go overboard with the artifact stats. You would expect to normally have a 50 180 crit ratio, but reader 2’s dps characters always, and I mean ALWAYS have 50 200 crit ratio or more. Like, their main (it doesnt have to be wanderer but Im putting him here anyways) has 70 and 200 crit ratio, is crowned, full 4 pc best in slot, and is even crowned and faruzan only needs like 200 er but reader 2 gave them 300. (Im totally not putting this here because this is what I did/j) Reader 2 is also the type to never speak while gaming, so the first time they spoke everyone turned it into a national holiday to be celebrated. They also play a lot less than player 1. Player 1 plays everyday while player 2 plays for a month straight and then takes a long break to wait for the content to pile up.

So these two gremlin besties are always speaking with each other, and are always on coop. Whenever player 1 needs help making team comps or building characters, they just ask player 2 for help. And whenever player 2 needs help understanding the lore of the game, they ask player 1. But all I can think abt is the first time they cooped. Imagine player 1 was using childe and then when the coop starts, both childe and wanderer are very confused as to wtf is going on. Like, childe is confused because he sensed a strange aura coming form them like whenever someone gets controlled by reader 1, and wanderer is confused because reader 2 seemed so excited that they were talking, but its just childe? Reader 2 always skips childe’s banners.

Thats it lol, hope this wasnt too long.

Not long at all! Or more like, I like long asks so feel free to share! :D

IM SO SORRY ITS LIKE MONTHS LATER TO GET TO YOU I PROMISE I LOVE UR STUFF AND AM SUPER EXCITED TO SEE IT,

IM JUST SLOW AND GOOFY 😭😭

Said friends in genshin like: ^^^

this kinda inspires me/reminds me of @mists-reading-nook soldier/poet/king post, you should check xe stuff!! Gave me brainrot to this day tbh, like im imaging how that “3rd King style of worship” would look like even now lmao ive been down bad 😭

☆

Sun: 2 Readers! (as desc. above), (you/they/them)

Orbit: Headcanons-ish

Stars: wanderer/childe, mentions of others i forgot to focus on any one character or nation :/

Comets & Meteors: Content Warnings: mild cussing language, & Trigger Warnings: none known.

Please comment if I missed any. /gen

dual symbolism everywhere, obv you both thought “for the twins” but it just kept getting out of hand the more the game updated over the months lol

like shrines/temples/churches showing up more often in new countries/areas and always identifying the same 2 gods

obv the for-the-lore player picked up on it first, and by the time the trickle-down effect happened, where characters/NPCs were outright talking about these gods, the 2nd was asking the lore knower to explain lol

the 2 gods kept getting referred to by a few names, like “The Soldier and the Scholar” or “The Sage and the Warrior” or “The Keeper and the Pursuer” etc.

after awhile of comparing both of your games, you realize that some vision users/gods tend to use the soldier/warrior/pursuer titles more often when talking about one of you, and the other gets the sage/scholar/keeper more often

u both get excited, maybe its bc you chose diff travelers or some other reason, but when u try and post abt it or otherwise ask other players u get a lot of negatives/”hasnt happened for me”s??

u both just think the games glitched or some dev is playing a prank on you two maybe,

it gets weirder when u both realize the lore player be over here getting random gifts from all the characters in the mail all the time

and just as grinding players like “ :’( my favs don't like me?? but they have the best artifacts and maxed friendship levels..”

they get flooded with multiple gifts from their main characters, most of which benefit the grind tbh lmao (like a bunch of cheaper materials or crystals to level up artifacts/weapons or to ascend that character = no more slaughtering every samurai on sight for their handguards or collected a fuckton of those blue layered mushrooms for wanderer)

god u were both grateful to this glitch ngl, it saved a lot of dumb misc tasks and was just a nice touch

no but the amount of confusion inside the game from when u first started playing together, like each of ur games began with stuff abt 1 god, then as u co-oped moved onto 2 gods (like said at the beginning)

the lore player is blabbing away like you do, which begins to be heard by the other player’s game world

like it starts as whispers in battle, then all the time, then a quiet convo in the background all the time, until they can just hear u out of earshot esp word for word when they focus!! at first the vision-users/gods got all excited bc their god was speaking!! finally!!! until I'm sure they heard narration that didn't fit/it was there sometimes even when their god’s presence wasn't?/voice sounded “off” to them/didnt fit their god…??

ok ik u were joking abt the national holiday,,, but I’m not. 😈

THE FIRST WORDS 2ND SPOKE BEING IN A PROPHECY, REGARDLESS OF WHAT IT IS THEY SAY.

Player 1, playing as Childe, steals a singular (1) sweet flower from Player 2, who has Wanderer out:

P2: “I seriously hate you. Listen to what I’m saying, I can’t stand you.”

(Wanderer panicking that its abt him- Childe freezing bc he managed to piss off a god that feels as powerful as his own- the PROPHECY LMAO- )

P1: “… you miss me.”

(everyone else: 💥vine boom sound 💥😦😨😰???)

P2: “I hate you.”

P1: “You miss me and you love me, why must we fight??”

(everyone else: 💥vine boom again💥🤨🫠??…)

P2: “I hate you-”

P1: “-we gotta good thing going on, you and I, why must we tussle??”

(everyone else: 💥yet another vine boom💥 💀💀)

(the absolute deep anxiety/pure confusion as the two harbingers heads just ping pong back and forth towards the voices lmao)

u two scare the shit out of any characters u do this with lol

they do get used to it as u talk, and the characters even manage to interact (thru hacking magical shenanigans and discord)

to send thank you gifts to player 1 for getting player 2 to talk more lol

along with sending copies of any lore books that player 2 has gotten that player 1 hasn't!

and it becomes common/tradition to exchange gifts like this to thank or appreciate the other god, like player 1 characters sending thank you gift copies of rare materials or ascension stuff that player 1 had that player 2 didn't (esp making sure to send during resinless hours lmao)

overall, 10/10, whats better than 1 god that plays one way? 2 gods that compensate for each other and now u have 2x the worshippers

(i wonder how meeting alternate versions of themselves would go, bc id like to headcanon that each of ur behavior towards them/ur unique influence has changed them a bit comparing, like they arent carbon copies anymore, not like they used to be…)

☆

hey sorry for slowing down guys!!

i just feel bad its taken me forever to get to these asks, so i wanted to take what time i could lately and charge thru them so i could spam post lol

I've also been working on fics! so that's delayed things by a lot, bc fics take longer to “respond to” than short asks or replies

my poor bsd fic

Anyway thank you so much for sending this in!!! I'm so sorry i took forever to get to it, and i hope u enjoyed response/my brain shitting this out lol

have a good weekend!! :D

Safe Travels Anon!!

💀♒

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 / @justinsomniachild / @nanithefuck / @questionotmystopit

@kiyomi-uchiha777

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ghouljams · 4 months

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Ok but… single dad!price playing with his kid??? Ngl that’d have me asking him if he’d want more 👀👀👀

You watch as a child runs(toddles) to Price, only to be scooped up and tossed in the air by the man. You'd be more worried except that the peals of laughter speak to this being a familiar experience. Similarly the bear hug that the child is caught in, and the way Price leans forward to tip the child over his arms and kiss their cheek with a loud smack, make you think this happens a lot. "Daddy that tickles!" comes through breathless laughter, as Price pulls them both up to stand straight. He shift the kid to sit against his hip, and gives him a short bounce.

"Where's your nanny bud?" He asks, wiping some crumbs off the kid's cheek. The little boy scrunches his face up and tries to wiggle away from his father's hand. You cover your mouth to try and hide the giggle that threatens to slip free. They're a cute pair, the kid looks just like him.

"She said, um, she said," The kid can't be more than three, doing his best at talking with all the starts and stops of still learning. He glances at you, and leans against Price's shoulder, cupping his hand to whisper. Price hums, and turns his head so the kid can talk in his ear with a small smile. He mouths a silent 'sorry' at you and you shake your head with a smile. He told you he had a kid before you started dating, you can't fault him for being a father.

"You can say hi," Price tells his boy when the kiddo pulls away. He bounces him on his hip again and the kid leans his head against Price's shoulder, suddenly shy. He looks at you under his dad's jaw with a small smile and gives a little wave. You wave back with a friendly grin. "I've gotta put 'im to bed, do you mind if-"

"Not at all," You tell him, following Price inside the house when he holds the door. He directs you towards the couch and you take a seat, waiting for whatever bedtime rituals this little family of two has to finish. You can hear the soft melody of Price's voice as he sings quiet lullabies to his child through the walls, and it makes you smile a little wider. When he comes back it's with tight smile.

"Thanks for waiting, I know it's not-"

You cut him off again, "It's no trouble at all, your boy comes first." Price hums, dropping down next to you on the couch. He loops an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close against his side. "You're a good dad," You say, just... well just because you know he worries about it.

"Tryin' to be," He sighs. You cuddle a little closer against him, pick your feet up to swing over his lap. His free hand drops to rest against your thigh, thumb swiping against your leg idly.

"You ever think about having more?" You ask, curious. It's not the sort of question you usually broach so early in a relationship, but watching him with his kid makes you feel a little...

"We can start tryin' any time, sweetheart." Price rumbles low in his chest, the hand on your leg squeezes gently. You laugh at the joke, and his hand slips between your legs to press against you, firm fingers rubbing just where you like. You suck in a breath and try not to rock too desperately into the touch. "Already seen how good I treat one baby," He breathes, the firm pressure between your legs terribly distracting, "you want me to fuck another into you, all you gotta do is ask."

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coffeexafterxmidnight · 1 year

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The Token Human - part 1

So that Welcome Home ARG eh? Eh? You know it right, my followers? You should look into it some, it looks like it's shaping up to be something really, really good.

Anyway I'm a sucker for well-made evil children's characters in horror media so I tried to capture the ✨vibes ✨. I don't feel I succeeded, but oh well. Part 1 of a possible series? We'll see.

Reader [gender not stated] pov CW: Body horror, eye horror, size horror[?], creepy puppets, memory alteration, whump? ask to tag Part 2

Nobody else in Home was quite like you. But nobody in Home was quite like anyone else, either! Everyone was different, and unique, and special! That's what Wally told you when you first moved in. And he was right, like he always was.

But still. Nobody was quite like you. Nobody had hair like yours, on your head, on your arms and legs. Nobody had skin like yours, soft and squishy in a different way than everyone else. Nobody had eyes like yours or ears like yours.

Nobody had hands like yours. And you noticed that right away the first time you held hands with them in a game. You had five fingers total. They had four.

You were pretty sure you were human. Julie was human too, but… a different kind of human, you were pretty sure of that, too. Really, everyone just seemed to be… them. Frank was Frank and Howdy was Howdy, Eddie and Julie and Poppy and Sally and Barnaby were all themselves too.

And Wally…

Wally was your best friend.

That's why when he invited you to his Home, to prepare a surprise party, you jumped right at it. You were always up for a party! You were too big for most of the games they played but you could put up the decorations and light the candles on the cake and clean the hard to reach spots your friends couldn't! You were a perfect fit in Home-

Wally called your name.

"Be careful!"

Bit late for that. In your little thought train you stepped back and right off the little ladder you'd been standing on to clean. It wasn't a bad fall, the step ladder was built for your friends after all. No, it just knocked the air out of you. But it reminded you of something else.

Your friends… didn't really seem to feel pain.

"I'm okay!" You called out as the air returned to you.

Wally had been standing nearby with one hand over his mouth, but lowered it slowly. His smile returned, and he laughed.

"Silly, silly," he said between the distinctive sound of his amusement. "You were thinking too hard!"

Yeah, you were. You laughed with him and sat up. He stood over you now, his soft little hands helping you stand.

"What were you thinking about?" He asked. "Was it the party?"

You hummed, backtracking your thoughts. What had you been thinking about, really? What set that train of thought rolling…?

"I think I'm forgetting something again," you said, looking at him.

Wally tilted his head to the side.

"Silly," he said. "You're always forgetting things. What is it this time?"

"I don't know!" You said, smiling. "If I knew, I wouldn't have forgotten it, would I?"

You both laughed, but yours faded sooner than his. Your smile fell. What had you forgotten?

A door creaked and swung open. You and Wally turned towards the sound.

"Maybe," Wally said, "you forgot to eat. Let's go in the kitchen!"

"Okay!" You couldn't remember anything else you could've forgotten so into the kitchen with him you went.

It was a nice little kitchen, though Wally never seemed to use it much unless you were here. He didn't like anyone seeing him eat. In fact, other than apples, you didn't know what he liked to eat at all. He liked sweets, you knew that much…

As you looked down at the colorful kitchen table, you frowned. You didn't feel hungry, now that you thought about it. You couldn't remember the last time you ate but it didn't seem that long ago.

Maybe, you thought, running your hand over a scratch on the table, Wally was the hungry one but didn't want to say it. That didn't seem like him though, he was so open and sincere…

Your hand ran over and over the scratch.

"Hey Wally?" You asked. "What happened to your table?"

Everything seemed quiet.

You lifted your eyes up towards the wall. The quiet stretched on and on.

You had forgotten something. You had. You knew you had. It was close to you, slipping away from you like dangling strings every time you reached towards it.

It was close to you. Right there. So important.

What did you forget?

"Wally?"

You looked over your shoulder.

You looked up at him.

Your stomach dropped. With a gasp, you stumbled backwards, away, your eyes wide as you looked at him. Looked up at him.

Wally once proudly told you he was twelve apples tall. You, uh, weren't. You were taller than him by a lot. But now he was tall, taller than you, looking down at you.

He tilted his head.

"Is something wrong, friend?" He said. "You don't look well. Maybe you should… sit down…"

"Wally," you said. "What happened to you?"

His mouth curled up, and your gut churned. That kind of smile didn't fit on Wally's face. That kind of smile shouldn't be possible on his face. He was a puppet -

A puppet? What was a puppet?

Wally laughed. It shook his shoulders, every syllable moving them in a rhythm. As if string moved his shoulders, but he wasn't that kind of puppet so he couldn't-

What was a puppet?

He tilted his head the other way. Jerked it, really.

"You're thinking too loud, friend." He jerked his head to the other side. "What do you mean, what's a puppet?" He laughed, ha ha ha. "Silly, silly, silly. That's you. You're my puppet."

His pupils went wide, and it was horrible how familiar it was, the feeling of teeth clenching down on - not your skin not your flesh not your head or your arms or any part of you.

You were. So tired. Like the energy poured out of you into a tiny drain.

My fear, you thought, he's eating my fear.

When he stepped towards you, you heard the click of his shoes on the kitchen tile. Had you ever heard that before? Your mind spun, you stepped away from him again.

"Don't-" you started.

Your name comes from his mouth in a tone you've never heard before.

"I won't," he said. "If you promise to stay."

And you knew exactly what he meant. And you knew you would do anything you had to, so you could go home.

You ran for the door.

It slammed shut.

The handle was meant for puppet hands, not human ones. Your legs gave out from under you as you scrambled with it, nails scratching the wood behind it as you tried to open it. Behind you his footsteps clicked, clicked, clicked towards you.

He said your name again, so sweet, so hungry.

"You don't really want to leave," he said. "I don't believe that at all. I know how much you love it here. We'd all miss you so much."

His arm reached out. His hand, with four fingers, took your wrist and pulled it away from the door. You shook your head, your throat wouldn't make a sound.

"Hey now," he whispered. "No more mysteries this time, okay? Don't go digging into things you don't understand. And everything will be fine."

You felt the teeth again, biting chunks into your mind. The panic. The fear. The dread. Gone, gone, gone.

My memories - you thought. He's going to eat my memories, too. He's going to eat my memories and put me back at square one. I was so close. I was almost-

You took a deep breath and groaned. Your eyes opened to a strange place, one you didn't recognize for a moment or two. The evening sun streamed in through a window, onto the couch you laid on. You groaned again and covered your eyes with your arm.

"Where am I?"

A familiar voice called from another room. You lifted up your arm, and smiled. Of course. You were at Wally's Home.

"What happened?" You asked.

"You fell off the ladder!" Wally said. "You must've been thinking too hard again. You think too much, I think."

You laughed a bit. "Maybe I do. Falling off a ladder? That's a bad time to get distracted."

You frowned. Wally watched for a moment.

"Did you forget something again?" He said

You sat up fully with the realization.

"The games!" You cried. "I left the games for the party at my house!"

Wally laughed. Was it just your imagination or did it seem… relieved almost?

"You can get them tomorrow," he said. "It's getting dark. You should stay here for tonight. I don't want you to trip on anything."

You thought about it, frowning at the patchwork blanket draped over you.

It would definitely be bad if you tripped and hurt yourself in the dark, you thought. Wally was right, like he always was.

"Okay!" You said at last. "Thanks Wally." You smiled. "You're a good friend."

#welcome home #welcome home puppet show #wally darling #welcome home wally #welcome home fanfic #welcome home fandom #yes yes this is cringe I know BUT LOOK AT THE SCARY PUPPET #reader pov #gender neutral reader #could be read as #welcome home x reader #yandere wally darling #tagging for visibility #I didn't really intend for it to be that way but if I can see it I think everyone else can too

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lazuliamin · 4 months

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I saw this meme and had to recreate it with both trios

#link click #linkclick #my art #malpractice can be both hypocrisy and murder for hire if you want it to be #also we are reading it as guy (gender neutral) by the way

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kodi-time · 4 months

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Currently thinking about girldad!jean who calls you during your lunch break to show you the cute way he'd styled your daughter's hair for the day. You had to work a double from 7 to 11, so Jean had decided to take your daughter out shopping and then to get ice cream. Of course, since you wouldn't be there to do her hair, he had to do it himself. He put her hair into a simple half up half down with a pink ribbon. "Doesn't she look so cute?" Both Jean and your daughter are smiling and giggling, so of course you can't contain yourself from doing the same. "Do you like it?" The little girl beams at you through the phone screen. All you can do is continue to giggle. "You look beautiful, baby." Upon gaining your approval, Jean flips the camera back to his face. "I think I did amazing. Honestly, I'm getting better than you." You roll your eyes at him. "Don't get too bold now."

#attack on titan #kodi-time #aot x reader #aot fluff #jean x reader #jean kirstein x reader #girldad!jean #dad!jean #jean fluff #jean kirstein fluff #anime fluff #this is a need bro #i love jean kirstein #he's so cute #jean kirstein x gn reader #this is gender neutral asf so anyone can read it

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phonkscribes · 1 year

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"Did it hurt when you fell from heaven?"

Right as the they are about to descend off that cliff, thrown off that ledge, you are there. Your arm hauls them up with a certain strength to them, the sinews in your arms flexing. At that moment, they're unable to say a word, too busy taking in the sight of you as you utter your witty line or carry on as if it weren't an issue-- effortless.

Saving the Spardas asses when they don't expect you to. ft. GN! Reader

Dante

He's fallen off of cliffs and such before, whether it was due to a missed jump or simply because he's gotten knocked out of the air. Dante tries to not make a habit out of it, but it's not like he's doing it intentionally. The legendary devil hunter just happens to be a bit less patient than his brother, even after all these years. There's just some things that don't change, like his eagerness to fight demons, even if it scares him. He isn't mortal, he won't die if he's shot or stabbed, there isn't much that could kill him-- like falling and hitting his head. It'd just hurt if anything, but maybe that's something that you didn't know.

Or at least cared for.

A hit from the devil he was fighting has him thrown back with a grunt, the sound is distinct on your ears as you whip around to see his crimson jacket flail in the wind along with him in it. You make another slash at the devils coming after you to go and chase his flying figure. Dante doesn't see you, as he looks up to the sky, thinking about how he's gonna nail the demon good for that one. As he's cast over the edge, you slide on over, an arm extended and catching his ankle as he descends. The sudden grab has him out of his daydream and curling up to look at... you!

You were a couple of yards away, how did you get here so fast? He could only watch as you used your other hand to start pulling him up by the leg as you swung him up back to the edge where you were. You almost fell in your self as you groan.

"Next time you take a swan dive, do it at the pool, yeah?", you huff, patting his leg as he got to his feet.

"Only if you're watchin' me, babe", he winked as he reached for Ebony & Ivory.

You could've slapped him, you really could've. Dante only chuckles at the way you frown for a moment before you go back to fighting, rolling your shoulders as you go. It's pretty hot, he thinks. The half-demon's glad he's got someone as strong as you are on his side, something that comforts him really, knowing that you've got his back.

Vergil

Falling doesn't scare him, he's done it before, but it's where he'll end up that tends to make him feel something other than adrenaline when facing his enemies. The first time he descended, it cost him his freedom, the last time he went to hell with his brother. Now it felt like a slight, a mistake made and he doesn't quite like those. The devils he was fighting now on behalf of joining Dante's little business were putting on a fight for once, with one of them even managing to knock him back a good distance. He had misjudged that and felt himself lose his footing on solid ground.

You'd seen him tip over the edge and in an instant you were rushing to his side, not that you were too far. With your devil arm, you dug into the side of the ledge and anchored yourself as you grabbed his arm. He had only stared in awe, shock that quickly subsided as he glowered. He was not one who needed saving, quite the opposite, even as you threw him over the edge to resume the fight.

Such raw strength... in a mortal, none the less. It was... curious. Where did such power come from, he had to wonder after he had dealt with your foes with a few judgement cuts. You managed to pull yourself up, rolling over onto your back with a long sigh.

"Thank you for that, though it was unnecessary", he had commented, looking at your prone state.

"You're welcome, you oughta watch your step next time", you joke as he offers a hand to help you to your feet this time.

"It will not happen again, I assure you", he says it with such a straight face, but you can tell that he's the slightest bit embarrassed.

Nero

You had just finished combing through your share of enemies, flicking your weapon to the side to clear it of blood as you look off into the distance. Nero was holding up well with Red Queen, revving her engine and ripping and tearing into the devils seamlessly. You could often admire how fluid he could be, like a duck bobbing and weaving through water. He looked like he didn't need your help, so you'd sit back and watch. Through the demons that surrounded him, he could feel your eyes on his back.

Nero would be lying if he didn't enjoy it when you were watching him, because in truth he had admired you too. Your skills and finesse were so badass and he hoped that maybe you thought of him like that too instead of how his uncle and father had seen him. Sure it wasn't too serious when he'd been called 'dead weight' but... it stuck with him. He wanted to prove that he could stand on his own two feet without needing their help, or yours for that matter. Ironic given his current circumstance. Nero had taken his eyes off of his opponent at hand to spare you a glance, spotting the fondness in your eyes and feeling a bit of color come to his face.

"Woah!", he'd been shoved, having nearly dropped his sword to steady himself, reaching a hand behind him to push himself back off the ground. Only to find that there was none supporting him.

You jumped in just as quickly as he was about to fall, appearing in front of him and grabbing the front of his shirt just as he was about to fly. You bring him in and step back, as he just looks at you for a second.

"... You do know that I would've been fine right?", he asks instead of saying thanks, a small smirk playing on his face as you stare at him for a second. Air hike... right.

"Would you rather I let you fall?", you're quick to respond as he just scoffs, shaking his head as he resumed where he left off with the devil.

He wasn't expecting you to be there, but he's glad that you care enough to come rushing for him like that. Next time he'll be the one saving you.

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messier-jin · 1 year

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Trust Me!

I’m here to elaborate on my touch starved Knives with a reader who has “physical touch” as their love language. It’s been a while since I wrote anything in English so I’m sorry in advance if I’m rusty...

I’m hope you’ll enjoy these headcanons!

Content warning: gender neutral reader, maybe OOC, physical affection, skin-to-skin contact, fluff in general.

Song I listened to while writing: Trust Me! by DREAMCATCHER.

Knives does not like being touched. Or more precisely, he never lets anyone touch him. You, on the other hand, touching is how you prove someone you care about them, reassuring them with your presence and gentle touches.

The first time where, out of habit, you reached out toward Knives to place your hand against his back, you did not have to time to come closer enough that he stopped you. “Don’t.” A simple word which sounded like a warning.

As frustrating as it was, not matter how much you wanted to pat his back, no matter how much you wanted to give him a hug, no matter how much you just wanted to even bump your shoulder against his, you did not. You were patient and accepted his boundaries.

Well, until one day, where you found Knives fuming, alone in a room. It was not the first time you ran across him, isolating himself as he mumbled things about his brother, humans, “that woman”... And with intimidating aura around him, nobody dared to come near, scared to lose a limb or worse.

But this very day, you decided to move. You called out his name in a gentle voice. And before he had the time to reject you, you extended your hand and tenderly patted his head, promising that everything would be okay.

And at this very moment, time stopped from Knives. His eyes were focused on you and only you. He felt the tension leave his body. He never realized how much he needed the comforting pat (not that he would ever admit it anyway).

From this moment on, Knives has never rejected your touch ever again. He accepts every touch you offer, and inconsciously leans into it.

Placing your hand against his back when you leaned over to grab something? Yes. Casual bumps on his shoulder? He accepts them. You playing with his hands and fingers when you’re talking with him? Please, do. Giving him goodnight cheek kisses when you head to bed? He melts on the spot. A goodbye hug each time you have to go working? He does not want you to stop.

Knives got used to your physical affection faster that he thought he would, quickly becoming addicted to it. He even complained that one time you were sicked and you were the one refusing to touch him to not give him your germs. “I can’t get sick. Come.”

With time, Knives would start to initiate the touches himself. Except that his ones were more daring, as I can picture him liking skin-to-skin contact (in a not sexual way).

Sometimes, when you go to bed, Knives follows you to lay down and has some rest, even if he does not need it as much as you. He slips his hand under the top of your pajamas to place it against your belly, gently stroking the skin there.

When he feels more comfortable with the idea, his hand moves up to rest on your chest, just above your heart. He just likes to feel your heart beating under his hand. And with your permission, he would lay his head against your chest to listen to your beating heart (with or without your top on, but this man has his preference for without because, once again, skin-to-skin contact). And if you were to gently play with his hair, caressing his scalp with your fingers at the same time, he would just melt in your hands.

(Also, if someone dares to come and bother you two during these kind of moments, Knives would destroy them on the spot, no question asked).

All in all, Knives would never admit how much he fell in love with your gentle touches, nor how much he actually craves your physical affection and seeks it when you’re not here to offer him any... But it’s obvious he loves it. After all, you’re the only one who can touch him.

#trigun #trigun stampede #trigun maximum #millions knives #millions knives x reader #gender neutral reader #knives x reader #trigun x reader #trigun stampede x reader #trigun maximum x reader #nai x reader #it can be read with any Knives in head really #because I think that all Knives are touch starved #this is really self indulgent because my love language is physical touch #and I think that Knives deserves comforting touches #I would kill this man with physical affection watch me #jin writes #and yes I had to put DREAMCATCHER in here so enjoy a gentle ballad from them #and I just remembered one of friends follows this blog so IF YOU SEE THIS DON'T JUDGE ME

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sweetbrier2908 · 6 months

Text

still my scenario of what happens if we can go back to the original timeline but i made it longer.

set in nightbringer timeline

mc's gender is not mentioned

You have made seven pacts with the seven most powerful demons in Devildom, and now what?

You got your power back; Solomon got his power back, and now what?

And now what?

"Your" seven demons are now happier than ever and are unaware that your pacts with them is only for you to return to a world where they do not exist. You love Devildom, but this is not your Devildom, this may not even be the Devildom you are allowed to exist. You love your seven demons, but these demons are not demons that you want to be with.

You are contradictory, obviously.

And now what?

You remember the reason why Nightbringer brought you to this world: "to find happiness", right? You were happy; you were truly happy. In this world, you have found happiness and you are sure that Nightbringer must be satisfied with the result by now. Satan has accepted himself as part of the family; the remaining six brothers have overcome the trauma from that brutal war and now accept themselves as demons—the most powerful demons in this Devildom.

And now what?

Your role here has ended. Just like the times you accidentally returned to the past before, the seven brothers, Diavolo, Barbatos, Luke, and Simeon—of this world will completely forget you; only the effects of what you did will be the only thing that is left behind. Have you made the people you love into the people you love now, you wondered? You don't understand. You don't know. Everything that has happened to you now is like a dream you cannot run away from.

And now what?

You feel scared.

You suddenly think of familiar faces and voices that you haven't seen or heard for a long time - faces and voices belonging to the demons and angels of the world you came from. How worried were they when you suddenly disappeared from their life? How long have you been here? Have they forgotten you? And you are afraid. You are always afraid. But at this moment, the moment you are about to return to your home, fear is like a tsunami coming, washing away all the words of self-reassurance that you whispered to yourself before, washing away all the stronghold of reasons that you gave yourself. The castle which you once built up in your mind crumbles, and fear occupies the desolate land of your soul. You are afraid. You are afraid that you have caused pain to those you love while pretending to be happy in this timeline. You are afraid that those you love have given up while waiting for you. Or perhaps there was a moment when you chose to give up on returning to them; or perhaps, for a moment, you forgot the despair they suffered. And you are afraid.

And now what?

You must return.

You need to go back.

You have no choice; you have no other answer.

You took advantage of "their" love, even though the formation of the pact between you and the seven brothers was based on free will; you still think that you took advantage of "them," the demons of the past, only to return to your demons in the present.

You did everything: helping the brothers overcome the pain of war, establishing Royal Academy of Diavolo, forging pacts with the seven most powerful demons—all of that, just to return to your timeline and your world.

Perhaps you are indeed Solomon's student, who is now standing in front of Diavolo and Barbatos, expressing his regret at "having to return to the human world due to some sudden works ". Diavolo once again expressed his gratitude as prince of Devildom, and Barbatos once again informed you and Solomon that the portal to travel between worlds was ready.

And there they are, behind your back. You had told them about this a few weeks ago, and you had said all sorts of goodbye. And there they were, looking at you. They stand there, and have no idea that this "unexpected return trip" is just a lie, a pathetic lie. You will return, as you promised, but not to this place—a place that belongs to an old timeline, a place that belongs to the past. But you will return; you mutter it again. No matter what, you'll keep your promise, right? Because you always keep your promises, isn’t that why they love you so much?

The portal is opened, and you turn around to see the demons of this world one last time. You know you must not be attached, sad, or sentimental. You are not allowed to, you don't deserve to. You do not belong to this world; you also don’t belong to these demons in the same way that these demons will not belong to you.

Your eyes meet Lucifer's ruby eyes; you cannot see any emotion in those eyes. Somehow, Lucifer is sure that you will never return to him, at least in this world. He once heard you call his name in such a familiar and strange way that it tore his heart apart. You said you would return—to return to that beloved name that he could never compare to. Perhaps it's because of his fantasy, or because of the absolute trust he places in you, or because he loves you so much that he can't bear to expose your clumsy lies; he hopes, hopes, hopes you will come back.

Mammon cannot look straight at you; he never could, nor could Mammon in your world. Is he trying to hold back the tears that he never wants you to see? Or does he know that as long as his eyes meet yours, he will never be able to let you leave? But you know he is always looking at you, always like that.

Levi lowers his head, Satan waves goodbye to you, and you can see tears forming in Asmo's eyes. Beel gives you the saddest look that you know would haunt you in the back of your mind, while Belphie buries his face in his twin's chest.

You look at them one last time, as if you would never see each other again. And perhaps that is the truth; you never will. Your image in their minds will be erased once you return to your timeline. That's how time works. That is the law of time and space. They will be happy until they see you again. They will be happy without your memory until you see them again.

You don't want them to see you cry. You will meet your demons again. Soon, as soon as you return to your own time, you will meet them again—or rather, thousands of years later. You will meet them again and return to the place you always called home, as you promised. “I'll see everyone again soon, I promise.”

And you turns around.

Solomon wraps his arms around your shoulders and leads you through Barbatos's time-space portal. When this gate leads you and Solomon back to the Human World, Barbatos in your-world will open another gate to bring you and Solomon back to the old timeline. You don't know how Solomon and Barbatos in your-world communicated with each other, but perhaps there are things you have to live long enough to understand.

You hardly remember very well all that happened after you and Solomon passed through the gate, even if you had done this countless times before. Solomon holds on tight to you while you keep your eyes shut. You feel dizzy and tired. You feel like you are walking through countless gates of a tunnel without any light. Solomon holds you tightly in his arms, leaves you nestled in this thick cloak, as if he let go for even a moment, he was scared that you would disappear from his life one more time and he couldn't bring you back. You don't know how much time passed, and Solomon stops. He still doesn't loosen his grip on you. Then, you can hear his whisper, "…Are you ready to go back?".

You cannot answer Solomon. You feel sweat trickling down your temples as your spine turns cold. You don't know; are you ready to go back? Are you ready? Are you worthy of returning? Fear once again takes hold of your mind, like a monster is swallowing you whole. Are you worthy of returning? Are you worth it or not? You remember the first day Nightbringer took you to the past. In that timeline, the strange look they once gave you are still a horrifying nightmare that haunts you to today. What should you do if they forget you again? Or worse, what should you do if you and Solomon can never return to the timeline you belong to? You don't know, and perhaps you would have let fear overcome you if Solomon hadn't once again tightened his grip. You open your eyes and raise your head, facing Solomon's smokey purple eyes. Just like you promised your demon brothers, Solomon also promised that he would bring you back.

You take a deep breath, and maybe you're not ready, and maybe you never will be, but you always keep your promise.

“Let's go, Solomon.” You slightly nod to the sorcerer, and Solomon gives you the confident smile he always wears as an assurance. You close your eyes again, and you hear Solomon begin to mutter the teleportation spell, and you feel yourself begin to fall.

One.

Two.

Three.

You think you are used to teleporting like this, but it turns out you can never land properly.

You fall straight on top of someone.

You slowly open your eyes, and what you see was the familiar ceiling of the student council hall.

You look around, and the demons in the room stare at you in disbelief.

There are the emerald green eyes that stare at you in disbelief.

And before you can identify whether you are truly returning home or still sticking in the past, a pair of arms tightens around you, and there is a trembling voice: “You're back…"

Somehow, you know that you have truly returned.

You hear your voice trembling too.

"I'm back.”

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imaginethezeldaverse · 9 months

Text

The Desert's Moon (Ganondorf x Reader) (NSFW)

Welcome, welcome to the 100 follower fic I set all those polls for! You all chose and waited so patiently, so please allow me to give you the winner: a good fic with our big bad guy, Ganondorf (Tears of the Kingdom version). This will be nsfw, and just to be safe, be wary of any spoilers below the cut, okay? For this fic I'm running with an idea that was dropped in my inbox - initially I had planned to make it a simple headcanon post, but since he won, I'm writing it as a full blown fic instead. Thank you all for voting, it sincerely means a lot, I cannot believe even more of you have followed me since then. The comments and appreciation from you all truly makes my day. 🥹 As for the theme: you are inexperienced (we'll even say virginal) and Ganondorf here is going to be your first. Let's explore that together, shall we? Reader is gender neutral for all to enjoy. I sniped some fictional Gerudo language from here because I mean Ganondorf is a Gerudo man...he definitely should be able to speak the language.

Ganondorf is intimidating, this much is true. His demeanor exudes power in all things he does: fight, lead, and even fuck. He's had many a partner, his skills as a lover growing with each encounter of his past. He is not unfamiliar with experienced partners - and he will show you the patience and slowness you deserve.

The key is for you to be honest with him. Should you try to front as though you are experienced in sex, just know that he can see right through you. Ganondorf's read on body language is exceptional - so the slight shake in your body or the quiver in your voice is an immediate alert to him that you aren't what you're trying to portray yourself as. To your benefit however, he'll most likely find this cute. You attempting to be brave and take him head on is adorable, even though you have no idea what you'd be getting into (or really what would be getting into you). Being upfront however is not without its loss - you'd gain his respect and potentially a chance to call him an equal, he likes the idea of a long-term partner who can be honest with themselves as well as him.

For a man of his size and status, he's quite gentle. He offers to hold you first in your nudity, get you used to feeling his body against yours. Ganondorf will most likely seat you in his lap, with your legs splayed open over the length of his hips and thighs. Should you shy away or find yourself embarrassed by the less than polite way you're sat on him, he'll simply chuckle, reiterating that this is to acclimate you. His hands will find a place on your thighs, unmoving, but present. "Touch me anywhere you'd like," he offers, the rich amber of his eyes meeting your own. Setting the pace in your favor will help ease some of your apprehension. Your hands explore the planes of his body: his adept, powerful hands; the sizable, muscular curvatures of his forearms and biceps; over the thickened bands of his shoulders and down to the broad expanse of his chest. He's a mountainous man in size and that alone has you a tiny bit afraid, but you also can't deny that being able to trace your fingertips over the patterned tattoos that stretch across his muscles doesn't elate you.

When your hands finally cup the wide angles of his jaw, you find the pluck to once more lock eyes with the Gerudo chief. There's something unreadable swimming in them: whether it's tenderness or restraint you aren't wholly sure. His arm wraps around your lower back, bring you ever closer to him in a swift push. Your hands remain on his face, lips inching closer. Ganondorf doesn't kiss you. No, he wants you to be the one to take the honor of taking the first step. The world talks of his lust and greed for power, and make no mistake, the rumors are very much true. But this - intimacy with you - Ganondorf knows better than to rush. Taking you by force serves him little, and there is humanity in him still that bars him from wanting any harm to come to you. To feel your body yearn for him willingly only makes that much sweeter. Your breaths mingle momentarily, your heart pounding in your chest until you finally take the plunge and seal the gap. You're chaste in your kiss, timidity holding your tongue. No matter, the sensation of his thick digits roaming over the curve of your ass has you gasping enough against his mouth for him to coax you into a deeper kiss. Unbeknownst to you, your head tilts naturally, angling so that you can continue the kiss comfortably. You let go of his face, your fingers sliding into his long vermillion locks. There's a sound vibrating at the back of his throat that hits your ears so pleasantly - the simple soothing sensation of your hands in his hair delights him, so naturally he wants you to know it. The kiss builds heat, your body slowly beginning to want his hands to move beyond your backside. You lean into him, pressing your chest to his and linking your arms around his neck. The smile that curls his lips upward is something you can feel, and you almost smile back - but his hands that have now occupied a space on your hips are dragging your body over his lap. Ganondorf parts from your mouth, watching you bite your lip as he slowly grinds you over what you realize is his length beginning to grow rigid beneath you. Breaths slowly starting to come in shudders you snap your eyes shut, focusing on how his length slides teasingly over where you biologically know he's going to be soon enough.

"Do you feel me?" he purrs, dark tiger eyes trained on your flushed features, "Do you feel my want for you? My desire?" Your thighs are seeking one another to lock this feeling between them, but his hulking mass keeps them widely separated - your center at the mercy of his ministrations. Seeking purchase, your nails dig into his shoulders, earning a pleased rumble from the man. His lips find the hollow of your throat, easing pointed kisses and gentle bites to your sensitive flesh. Soft moans sound angelic to Ganondorf's ears; with ease he lifts you into his arms, your legs still very much wrapped as best as possible around his torso. Smooth, crimson silks caress your back as you're laid across the stretch of his bed. He doesn't stop kissing your body, only proceeds to move down it. Your collarbone, your nipples, the softness of your stomach: all places his lips tease and touch. He drinks your whines and whimpers in as though starving, an innate need to hear your voice call out to him ever growing. Still, he keeps slow. Rough finger pads glide down your body, stroking and fondling a pathway until he settles on his knees, with your legs splayed open by the sheer width of him. Those kisses that traveled now dot their way from your knee and inward. Your breath hitches, you know where he's going...you desperately want him there. As he reaches closer and closer, you shudder out, "P-Please...Gan..." Those initially amber slits, now ochre with hunger, slide up to see your face. Your cheeks are stained with reddish hues with your chest rising and falling faster than before.

"Is there something you need?" the timbre in his voice makes somewhere your stomach clench. How is it just his voice makes you feel this way? What kind of spell has he cast on you? Though your mind tries to wrack itself with answers, it always circles back to the lips that are nipping at your inner thighs. He places a kiss just close enough for you to feel his breath over your sex and you swallow thick with the gasp that tries to free itself.

"Your...mouth..." says you in a shaky whine, "Please..."

Like satin and fire, his chuckle is both suave but with the promise of something vile. A strong grip parts your legs further, holding you wide open. You try desperately not to look at how he drinks your nudeness in, fearing that you seeing the sheer lust flashing across his strong features will have you curl into yourself.

His mouth descends.

You gasp sharply.

Hot and wet is his tongue against your opening, circling your responsive flesh, his eyes never leaving your face. Ganondorf watches on as his silver tongue devours you, each lap and suck at you surging pleasure through your limbs. With one last scoop at your hole, he drew back. There was a question at your lips when you felt him retreat, but before you could even get a word out, you felt his finger carefully slide into you.

"A-Ah!" you mewled, then hissed. Given the size of him overall, even his fingers were substantial in filling you somewhat.

"Shhhhh," Ganondorf hushed your seizing frame. A hand came to your thigh, his thumb stroking in soothing circles the same time his opposite finger exited you, "Relax, my va'ina, you'll need to be much more open if you plan to take me." Your body shudders as you breathe, willing yourself to relax yourself in his ministrations. Having already gave you some slickness there, his finger meets less resistance than normal. His eyes roam your figure slowly, watching all of the small shivers and shakes that begin to build as his digit steadily works in and out of you. A spark of want pulses up your hips, with each coax of his finger you felt tiny rivulets of desire multiply inside you.

"Ganondorf..." came your gentle plea. This feeling was slowly starting to feel inadequate, your hips moving ever so slightly to try and chase the sensation of fullness. Chuckling at your urgency, the Gerudo chieftain withdraws his finger - adding another and sliding back into you. Eyelashes aflutter, you mewl at the sensation of being filled once more.

"There we are," he mused, smirking at the way you're snatching your bottom lip between your teeth. Gradually his fingers stretched you open, separating minutely as he fed your body each stroke. As soon as you had acclimated, you found yourself once again needing more. His hand, though making you feel good, was simply proving not to be enough. Ganondorf recognizes this as your features scrunch with some frustration. You need him, don't you? You need more than just two measly fingers to give you the passion that you seek.

"Your body seeks more than my current attentions I see," he says matter-of-factly, withdrawing his now very wet digits.

You turn your head away to blush, being read like an open book made your body burn with some embarrassment. Yet Ganondorf understood. He lifts your leg by your calf, pressing a kiss into the muscle there. "No worry, I'll give you everything you seek." He sits upright now, towering over your supine frame, a hand at each of your knees. You know what comes next, and though you tremble under him, there's a fire in those eyes of his that keeps you brave. Fingers descend upon his. He catches your gaze, doe-like and nervous, but no sign of withdrawal within them.

"You'll go slow, won't you?" you ask him, your heart mere seconds away from jumping out of your chest. There's an expectation for him to laugh at such an innocent, if not naïve question - but he surprises you when his hand takes your chin between two large fingers and keeps your eyes to his. Softness unlike you've ever seen in him stares back at you. "I wouldn't dream of bringing you harm, va'ina, you're safe with me." His words bring you comfort, allowing you shut your eyes in readied bliss. To reflect this, you spread your legs further apart, "Then I am yours, Ganondorf."

His lips find yours, hungry in its kiss. As his tongue melds against yours, he slips a hand down to grasp himself. You feel the slight shift of his body on yours, strong thighs flush to the backs of yours. He parts from the kiss, though his face remains close, "Ready?" Unable to trust your voice, you simply nod. His muscular frame surrounds your body, encasing you in his warmth. With your hands braced on his shoulders, you inhale sharply when he presses into you. Considerable length and girth stretch you far more than his fingers could even attempt. He's slow, methodical in his pace. So much so that he stops, just past the head of him, the second you tense in his arms.

"Breathe..." coaches Ganondorf, his voice showing the tiniest hint of strain. Though shaky, you try to follow his advice, and it calms your body enough for him to advance. Your mouth drops open from the pressure, hands gripping his shoulders for purchase as another inch fills you. The man above pecks loving kisses to your face as he sneaks a hand downward. He revels in the pleased gasp you let out when his fingers stroke your sex, "That's it...open up for me..." With him steadily plunging into your depths and the deliberate tease of his hand at your most sensitive area, you recognize that same spark from earlier.

Want. Need.

He slides in further still, about at halfway down the whole of him now. His hand doesn't relent on your flesh, easing over you with the intent to build the ecstasy he knows you're absentmindedly chasing. Ganondorf has every intention to bring you to rapture, but again - at your pace. There's a tremor in your thighs that shakes against his hips, he gives you more of him; but the noise you let out this time is a moan muffled only by the barrier of your bitten lip. He grins at this, supply your body with just a bit more. No reaction this time - you were getting used to him. His fingers stroke you for a few more counts, this being just enough for you to take him all the way to the hilt. You keen slightly, so impossibly full and almost dizzy from how overwhelmingly large he feels inside of you.

"Stay with me, love" he whispers, his opposite thumb stroking your cheek. The deep octave of his voice and the tender caress soothe you enough to lean into his touch. Ganondorf captures your lips once more, this kiss slower than the last. His hips remain still though his tongue ravages your mouth, and it pulls a licentious moan from you; the knowledge of him locked deep inside you as he kisses you so fervently has you yearning for what you know you want most. His mouth moves into your neck, and without hesitation your fingers bury into his fiery mane. There's a slight withdrawal of his hips, and you welcome the feeling now, the minor shift of friction feeding into a feeling at the most basic level of your instincts.

"More," your quivered voice speaks in his ear, "P-Please."

He's touched at your politeness, though it's unnecessary. You are a being to be worshipped in this regard, though you didn't realize it, you would never need to beg from him. Touching his forehead to your own, Ganondorf rumbles deep in his chest, pulling almost all of the way out of you before sliding all the way back in. "Nnngh, yes..." Ah, all he needed to hear. Adept hands place themselves at two points: a fist near your head for steadying, and a hand bracing underneath your back to keep you there. Leisurely, shallow thrusts easily evolved into deep, harder strokes. Your body would transform - blossom from tightly wound and tense to fully open and wanting.

The Gerudo male knows you're fully spellbound by your lovemaking when your nails begin to bite into the muscle of his shoulder blades - a most welcome pinch of pain. He's fully working you into you now, his hips immovable pistons to fuck you fully now. Your sweet and soft moans were climbing in crescendo, his name tumbling in slurred syllables off your honey covered tongue. Unable to stop himself now, Ganondorf growled into the junction of your neck and shoulder, pulling your body as flush to him as he could.

"Ah, ohh, mmf! Ahhhh G-Gan," you whined, clinging to him, "My body's on fire...I nghh I...!"

He feels you tightening around him, his pants are harsh as they dampen your skin, "Let it happen...let me have all of you." With only a few strokes of him you fall apart in a scream, your body winding up impossibly tight and then loosening entirely. The orgasmic pulse of your slickness around him milks him with an ungodly grip. He fucks you as fast as your body will allow, a few resounding claps against your flesh combining with the cries of your slight overstimulation that finally bring him to his own end. His strong fingers dig into you as he cums, hot and fast, in a wildly indecent roar. Your hands hold him in his place on your body, welcoming every drop of the licentious liquid that he spills inside of you. His hips begin to slow, still sliding in and out of your now sopping hole, and though you were already long finished, you moan at the sensation of his cock pulsing and feeding your body even now.

When he finally can take no more, he pulls from you entirely in a rough grunt. You feel the weeping of his seed from your entrance, but you are far too exhausted to care. Your body hums in pleasured bliss, but your limbs, so worn from a use you'd yet to experience until today, feel akin to lead. Never an issue, however, as Ganondorf carefully maneuvers you both so you can rest comfortably: with you at his side. His fingers traced the curves and lines of your body in silence, your hand and head rest at his chest.

"Gan...?" your voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes lazily move to you. Your heart flutters with candid bravery, "...I love you."

He smiles at this. Fitting words for a connection as deep as this. His hand covers your head, pressing you closer to his chest in a protective maneuver. Ganondorf is anything but vulnerable...but even a man as mighty as he isn't incapable of feeling.

"You have my heart, va'ina. You are mine as I am yours."

You hum contentedly, happy to fall asleep in the arms of the man who loved you.

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carlyraejepsans · 22 days

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for real WHERE does the idea that [utdr humans] are nongendered so that "you can project on them" come from. their literal character arcs are about NOT being a blank slate to be filled in by the audience

i think i understand the assumption on some level for undertale, because there is a very intentional effort to make you identify with the "player character" in order to make your choices feel like your own (the beating heart of undertale's metanarrative lies in giving you an alternative path to violence against its enemies after all, and whether you're still willing to persue it for your own selfish reasons. YOUR agency is crucial).

of course, the cardinal plot twist of the main ending sweeps the rug from under your feet on that in every way, and frisk's individuality becomes, in turn, a tool to further UT's OTHER main theme: completionism as a form of diegetic violence within the story. replaying the game would steal frisk's life and happy ending from them for our own perverse sentimentality, emotionally forcing our hand away from the reset button.

i think their neutrality absolutely aids in that immersion. but also, there's this weird attitude by (mostly) cis fans where it being functional within the story makes it... somehow "editable" and "up to the player" as well? which is gross and shows their ass on how they approach gender neutrality in general lol.

but also like. there's plenty of neutral, non PCharacters in undertale and deltarune. even when undertale was just an earthbound fangame and the player immersion metanarrative was completely absent, toby still described frisk as a "young, androgynous person". sometimes characters are just neutral by design. it's not that hard to understand lol.

anyone who makes this argument for kris deltarune is braindead. nothing else to say about it.

#this is a very difficult topic to discuss imo because on Some level I don't completely disagree with people who make that argument for chara #in SPIRIT. if not in action. like my point still stands characters can just Be neutral. and if that level of customization had been intended #well Pokemon's been doing the ''are you a boy or a girl'' shtick for ages. no reason why that couldn't have been included as well #but i do feel that we're supposed to identify with chara within the story. not as in chara is us but as in we are chara #and i think someone playing the game without outside interferences and (wrongly) coming to the conclusion that chara IS literally #themselves in the story. and thus call them by their own name (the one they likely inputted at the start) and pronouns #will be someone who grasped undertale's metanarrative more than someone who went in already spoiled on the NM route who thinks of chara #(and on some level frisk as well) as completely separate from us with independent wills and personhoods at any time #who treats them as nonbinary. even if their approach is more ''appropriate'' to a gender neutral person #systematic error vs manually changing every measure to fit what you already think is going to be the correct result. ykwim?#of course this opens a whole new parentheses while discussing the game outside of your personal experience #because even if you DO see chara as a self insert then they are a self insert for EVERYONE. women men genderqueer people #i don't call chara ''biscia'' even though that's what i named the fallen human in my playthrough. neither do i use they because i also do #if you're describing the character/story objectively in how they are executed then you're going to talk about them neutrally #because you ain't the only sunovabitch who played the darn game sonny #so like. either way you turn it. even in the most self insert reading you'd STILL logically use they/them so ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯ git gud #answered asks

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4e7her · 7 months

Text

october writing prompt #16 - "who's there?”

character: floyd leech, twst

contains: yandere themes, gn reader, reader is yuu, this is literally just a chase scene

"Knock knock knock!"

Floyd's voice is cheerful and clear, doing anything but matching the scenario that you find yourself in.

Ramshackle is dark and decrepit as always, but worse still in the night. Wind howls and creaks run through the house, but you can't make out the footsteps of the eel-mer behind you. It's terrifying, not knowing how close he is. You pray that it means he's downstairs still.

The faucet drips from the sink steadily, and you hide shaky breaths behind the palms of your hands as you squeeze yourself as far back into the bathroom as you can, trying to hide yourself from view.

You'd think with any luck he'd get bored of searching and just leave, deciding you a waste of his time, but you knew that Floyd wouldn't. Not with you.

There's a creak from out in the hallway, closer now, and you hear him.

A knock on the bathroom door.

You try to hold back the yelp you make, but it doesn't work. Floyd would've known where you were even without it, you think, but you tremble and curse yourself internally anyways.

"Now, that's not how you play." He chides as he opens the door, the hinges squealing until they come to a rest. He's barely illuminated by the candlelight in the hallways, making his toothy grin all the more intimidating. "You're supposed to ask who's there, little shrimpy."

[click here to go to masterlist.]

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8-dermestid · 3 months

Text

it's like as if somebody was gripping my throat

relationship: eyeless jack x reader

word count: 6.2k

links: available to read on ao3

warnings: canon-typical violence

M. Eerie National Park is one of the most boring places to work. You hike the trails to make sure nobody is trying to stay after hours, clean up garbage, and befriend the local cryptid.

Nobody knows about that last part except for you.

(like/reblogs are greatly appreciated, requests are open ✷)

“—Shocking news for M. Eerie National Park. Another victim, twenty-one-year-old Penn State student Ryan Sheppard, discovered on the property—”

You dig into your food, tuning out the broadcast as you scarf down your lunch and prepare for work. You rinse your bowl, toss it into the dishwasher, and move into the bedroom to change out of your pajamas and into your uniform. You pull up your cargo pants and pull on a green collared shirt with the M. Eerie National Park logo embroidered on the pocket. After deodorant, you pull on your hiking boots, grab your jacket and bag, and leave towards your car.

She’s a beat-up old thing, but she gets you to and from work without too much trouble. It’s a short, red, rust-damaged Honda Civic. Your car’s engine is strong, and it, other than the external imperfections and duct-taped-on mirror, has treated you well, and you’ve never felt the need to trade up.

(Nor the want, being a park ranger hardly gives you enough money to keep your head above the water, but you love it, and working an office job sounds worse than pulling all your toenails out at once with rusty pliers.)

The car sputters to life, rumbling beneath you in her comfortable and familiar way. You look down at the radio—the clock reads 14:37—you’ll be on time for the start of your shift. The drive isn’t exciting, and you’d take your boring drive over a three-hour drive to the office any day. Your job is so easy, too, a simple routine you follow every day—go in during the afternoon, hike the trails before closing, watch for lost folks and garbage, and close up the park. It’s easy, so easy that your job is almost dull. You walk into the break room, your lunch in your non-dominant hand, and stumble into a meeting.

“Oh. Hey guys.” You hesitate, creeping over to put your food in the fridge. Usually, the break room was empty, and Leslie, your superior in the standard uniform with her beat-up clipboard, was marching back and forth like a drill sergeant.

In the kindest way possible, you hope she retires. She’s been working here for so long and managing everything that she deserves some R-and-R. Leslie is the backbone of the team, and one would have to pry her position from her cold, dead hands (even then, it would still be a fight), but she should consider passing the job to someone else.

You plop down in one of the three empty chairs. Two of your coworkers transferred to another park (quite suddenly, too, no two-week notice or anything). It’s not good, especially considering they were the only other people working your shift.

“Alright, we can wrap up this meeting with a quick problem,” Leslie begins again, waving quietly to you. “Guests have been reporting stolen items more than usual, lots of jackets, gloves, boots, ooh—food, too,” Leslie jots something down on her clipboard, “To be honest, I think people are just misplacing things and blaming it on the wildlife, but if you see anything, just radio me, and I’ll come to help you sort it out.”

You nod. People leave things where they shouldn’t be all the time—you can't count the number of times families wake up with ransacked coolers because they leave them outside unprotected.

Leslie sighs, “And—look—there have been more than a few teens sneaking off into the woods before we close. Please, I don’t want another 24-hour challenge incident on our record. Keep an eye out for them. I mean it.”

Everyone affirms, whether with a nod or a “Yes, Leslie.”

The team filters out of the break room, and one of your coworkers (with wild, dark hair and stickers nearly smothering the Molly on her nametag) bounds to your side like a deer.

“You think it’s a bear?” She asks. She’s practically bouncing off the walls despite Park Ranger being the least thrilling job on the planet.

You shrug. You don’t carry the same energy that Molly does. She is just a wee sixteen-year-old at your side working her first big girl job, and any excitement at this middle-of-nowhere park is a godsend for her.

“Well, it could be a bear. But, I mean, a bear wouldn’t be stealing men’s jackets or boots.” she suggests, “Maybe not a bear, or maybe it’s those kids again… Remember the kids from a few weeks ago?”

Oh. Oh, of course, you remember those kids. Three of them, two girls and some in-between kid, all seventeen and seniors at the local high school (local being the closest high school, which was thirty miles away) that Leslie caught trying to stay overnight for some silly internet challenge. One of them, the in-between kid with the flattest hair you’ve seen in a while, brought an Ouija board because of some weird internet gossip about your park. It was strange—super, duper weird—because the couple (apparently, maybe? You aren’t sure) ditched the third girl to make out under an abandoned deck. Leslie only caught them because the third (a taller, more heavyset girl with colored hair) was terrified of some tall, slender man who scared her on the internet.

“God, don’t remind me.” You finally say. You still remember the three of them yelling at each other, Leslie dragging them out by the collars of their shirts like scruffed cats after they got caught (because one of the girls was a crybaby, their words, not yours).

Leaving the break room and finally feeling the sun this morning, Molly waves you goodbye and starts jogging down her favorite trail. She’s got energy for miles; if she were older and wiser, she could compete with Leslie.

Speaking of, Leslie pats your shoulder. Her grey hair shimmers in the sun, and she, with wrinkles showcasing her long and fulfilling life, smiles down at you.

“Afternoon, kiddo. You doing alright?”

You nod, more focused on the heavy workload you have in front of you.

Leslie pats your back like a coach would to her favorite player, “I know Josh and Ryan quitting hasn’t been easy on you.” Her voice is too solemn for a work transfer, “I’ll be working tonight, too, if that eases you.”

You perk up, half with relief and half because working with Leslie is the best. It’s comforting to have a superior like her around when people start getting wild in the woods; she’s good at grabbing people by the scruff and dragging them out, kicking and hollering.

“You can take care of the Southern Reach, yeah? You’re a big kid—you can handle it.”

You’re more than just a kid, but between her being near retirement age while you are fresh out of college—you are a kid in her eyes. You nod, already unhooking your heavy flashlight from its carabiner.

“That’s the ticket. I’ll take Northern. We’ll meet back up here for closing.”

“No, no, I’ll handle closing.” You persuade, “Come on, Leslie, I can handle closing a big gate. Just handle Northern and go home.”

She debates it, rolling the idea around in her mind before conceding. “Alright, kiddo. Just this once, though.”

At first, with the sun just touching the horizon, your checks go well, and you clean up a few empty beer cans along the southernmost trails. Your trash bag is light, which is a plus. You don’t need to pull your flashlight out until past seven in the evening when the moon peeks out behind you. You find an empty can of soup (chicken-noodle but with star-shaped pasta instead of noodles). The top looks messily cut, as if with a knife, which isn’t at all uncommon.

Except, well, this can has a pull tab disregarded by the previous user. You turn over the can in your palm, examining the shredded metal and paper label, and toss it into the bag with the rest of the trash.

Further, closer to the center of the trails, there is another disemboweled can. You pick up one, the lid is also ripped off, the pull-tab forgotten about, yet this soup can has more than half of it ripped off into a swirly shape, almost like someone was desperate for something to eat. It’s Campbell’s, not Grandma’s cooking.

There’s another can further into the woods, more shredded than the last, with a deep dent in the center; the can was clean, too clean, which is both weird and disgusting. Dogs shouldn’t eat this stuff concentrated—too much sodium.

Another one; there is a streaky, black substance marbling with some soup still sitting at the bottom of the can; another, and more of that black slime. You carefully pick up each one and add it to the bag. The next can has more of that substance—almost too much. The smell is putrid. It burns inside your nose, and you get a whiff of formaldehyde or something that reeks of death.

You keep traveling into the woods, finding more debris and litter, an old chewed-through sleeve, a jacket, and a glove smattered with that syrup-y oil. There’s something wet beneath your palm, and thank the stars you chose to bring your gloves this morning. It’s red, with a black slime marbled in it. It’s sticky between your fingers, and it smells awful. You follow the trail of red and black with your flashlight.

The source is the mangled carcass of a hiker wearing a high-vis vest. You suck in a breath and reach for your walkie-talkie. It’s sickening, and you can’t stop looking at the body as you radio for your superior.

“Leslie? Leslie, you there?” You plead, hands shaking and mind racing. Of all the people you want to pick up, it’s her. She’s been working here since before you were born—maybe she’s found a mutilated person in her time working the trails.

The silence stretches for an eternity until you hear a familiar voice on the other end.

“Hey, I’m here. What’s going on?” She asks.

“Uhm, I don’t know,” You make the mistake of looking at it, at the remnants of a man, at the carcass before you. “I don’t even know what could do something like this.” God, it makes you sick, but you can’t look away.

“Come on, talk to me,” She barks, her voice firm with years of seniority, “What are you seeing? Talk.”

You swallow. “Some hiker got attacked. They’re not responsive,” You mutter into your little plastic lifeline. “I’m off Trapper’s—I don’t know—Christ, I’m going to be sick.”

“...Okay,” Leslie replies quickly, “Are you safe?”

You don’t know the answer to that question. You swallow a lump in your throat as you look frantically for movement in the dark woods. Leslie says something, but you can’t hear it over the sound of your heart hammering away in your ears. You see movement between the trees, the primal part of your brain attempting to identify any immediate danger. Everything is spinning, it reeks of death, and Leslie’s voice is staticky because of the shitty speakers.

“Answer me! Come on, kiddo, where are you?” She shouted, her voice laced with harsh static.

Your flashlight flickers, and you hope whoever ordered these flashlights has something horrible happen to them. Something rustles in the bush. The only thing you have to protect yourself is a bag of loose garbage and your shitty flashlight. Leslie is shouting so loud you can only hear half of her words. Whatever emerges from that bush will eat you alive—you’re sure of it.

The stench of death gets heavier as a figure crawls out from beneath the foliage, wearing a dark hoodie and a blue mask. There’s blood and guts caked under their fingernails, and they look filthy and smell worse. They lock eyes with you and try to stand, stumbling and letting out a near-inhuman cry. You hold your heavy flashlight like a baton—all it’s useful for, considering the lightbulb works when it wants to—as the masked stranger lets out a wheezy breath and crawls towards you.

You grip the flashlight so hard your hands are shaking, taking careful steps back to maintain some distance between both of you. Their approach doesn’t stop. They reach and grab at your leg and pull you to the ground. Your head is spinning as it collides with the damp earth, and you feel two hands digging into your abdomen, sharp nails scratching and attempting to burrow into your stomach. You shout as their ice-cold hands scrape across your body, their claws raking across tender flesh.

You thrash and try to push them away, but they hold you down with one hand and remove their mask with the other.

You always said you’d know what to do if you were in a slasher flick. You always called the protagonists stupid for freezing up in front of certain death, never thinking about what it felt like, knowing you were probably going to die. You look them in the eye—more so what’s left of them, staring into two tar-filled sockets where their eyes would be—and unable to do anything.

You lay back, each breath barely making it in and out of your lungs. They stop, hands still pressed firmly against you. They crane their neck, probably just as surprised as you for simply giving up. They tug your shirt back down, pressing a palm over it and smoothing the fabric with their palm.

It reignites something in you because before either of you can register what’s happening, they’re squealing in pain as you hit them upside the head with your flashlight. You scramble away, pulling yourself to your feet and running blindly to the main trail.

You don’t stop, even after the demonic cries die out under the sound of the beginning storm. You push and push yourself until you nearly collide with Leslie.

“Stars—! Kid, where the hell were you? What the hell happened to you?”

She shines the light across your face, then brushes a leaf from your coat. It’s hard to think about speaking; Leslie knows you’re trying.

“Hey, it’s okay. Come on, I’ll drive you home, kiddo.”

“But the—”

“Don’t worry about it,” She says as softly as she can, “You’ve done all you can do. Anything about you that I should be worried about?”

You pat your abdomen, a few lines of brown blood staining the front. You shake your head, and Leslie holds off on grilling you for details.

✷𓃞 ✷

She drives you home in her big pickup truck (she even went through a drive-thru and got you something to eat on the way home). She pats your back as you dig through the bottom of the bag for scraps.

“Don’t think about coming back tomorrow—Partly because you’ve been through hell tonight—but also because there’s going to be an investigation. Look—take it easy, maybe go see your doctor, don’t come back until at least next Tuesday.”

Leslie pulls over to the side of your street and pulls out a box of cigarettes. “I mean it, take it easy. You do enough work while you’re on the clock; don’t worry about anything—I have people that can cover your shift if you need more time off.”

You nod, gathering your things and walking towards your house, digging your keys from your jacket to escape the rainy weather. You shut the door behind you, and Leslie walks towards her truck, a thin line of smoke trailing behind her.

You open the door, and a warm puff of air welcomes you home. It’s quiet and dark, leaving you on edge from tonight’s incident. Instead of relaxing—like Leslie practically ordered you to—you drop your bag at the front door and book it to your computer. It hums to life, and you punch in your password and open your web browser. Surprisingly, being attacked by a person-shaped thing did not perturb your furious web-searching.

Creature in the woods near me

Masked creature, person that tried to eat me?

Blue man— you hastily hit backspace as Blue Man Group auto-fills in your search bar.

You keep trying outrageous combinations of words, eventually finding a near-defunct blog with a picture of the freaky humanoid that almost killed you.

EYELESS JACK. Well, the name fits. At least you’ve finally got a name for that face. You read through this article, which recounts this woman—a hiker-slash-rock-climber, to be more specific—coming into contact with a human-ish guy. They had a few photos of deep claw wounds that scarred over pale on her dark skin. You jot down the name, continuing to dig into the incident recounted by this woman.

You pause and close all your curtains and turn off all the lights (and you get yourself a drink to keep yourself awake). Sinking into your chair again, you continue the deep dive into this Eyeless Jack fellow, feeling like a detective from some once-popular show that wasn’t that good. You keep searching—jotting down leads for your search—until the sun is peeking over the horizon, and you can hardly keep your eyes open. Eyeless Jack has been around for longer than you first believed—they’ve probably been terrorizing after-dark visitors of your park for years, right under your nose.

Are there more missing-person cases? Did any of your coworkers who quit unexpectedly actually have a reason? God, this journey to the weirdest parts of the internet has left you with more questions than answers.

You look down at the big sticky-note pad you used for notes. It looks like you fell off the deep end with your feverish scrawling, smeared ink, and lots of quick notes about disembowelment, kidney removal, and even cult activity. You think this may need another night of internet excavation to answer those (and inevitably, come up with more, even crazier, questions). Based on a few accounts of unwanted kidney removal in their sleep, you think about getting something to eat—

—and staying as far from your bed as possible.

✷𓃞 ✷

You can’t even eat breakfast without being tempted by your thirst for knowledge; it’s unbearable. You don’t even want to think of spending more than a few days at home. Hopefully, the police hurry up and finish so you can start your investigation.

You quickly rinse and dry your empty dish, filling a glass of water and flopping onto the couch. Surfing channels and finding something mindlessly entertaining will probably take your mind off things.

The news is boring—talking about the recent storm off the southern coast—and some cooking show. A history documentary—about someone you don’t care for—a jewelry channel, another news channel, and a kids’ show.

(Tempting, but no.)

The local news, though not mindless, is entertaining. There’s an over-top camera view of the park. Dozens of police cruisers and K-9 units are parked—and you can see your car, your old, rusty girl in the lot—Cops are infesting every corner of your TV, some moving into the woods toward Trapper’s, others lingering to talk in the view of the helicopter. It cuts to a news anchor recapping the incident from last night. They think it’s a bear attack. Leslie says it was a bear attack. Your coworkers say it was a bear attack, and Wildlife Removal will deal with it.

They don’t know anything—Jack tore into that hiker like a wild animal—and left the poor guy’s insides all over the forest floor.

You don’t stop watching the news until they start talking about the weather, where you only half-listen. There’s going to be a storm tonight. The teams at your job are probably going to try to recover the body and bring it to the morgue before it starts raining.

You turn off the TV after that. You examine your abdomen, five short lines across your belly where their claws made contact. You decide to go to the bathroom to clean and dress them.

“Better to be safe than sorry.” You tell yourself.

After a few cotton balls soaked in alcohol and big bandaids later, everything is clean enough and about as well-dressed as you can, considering your supplies.

There’s not much to do at home, and trying to take your mind off things with your usual hobbies isn’t working. You even try scrolling mindlessly online, but you can’t stop thinking about last night.

Why did they stop—and so suddenly?

You lift your shirt and brush your thumb over the bandaids on your belly, the skin still too hot and tender. Maybe you were just lucky, stupidly lucky. You pick up your home phone and dial Leslie’s number. She at least deserves a warning about what’s out there.

“...What are you doing?”

“Leslie,” there’s some strain in your tone, “Hey, Leslie. How are things?”

“You’re calling about work? You’re supposed to be on vacation.”

Yes. Yes, you are.

“I know, but—Look, it’s about last night. I know you specifically told me not to do any digging, but—”

“Kid,” She cuts you off. You can picture her frustration as she probably rubs at her temples, “Tell me you did not do that.”

Yes. Yes, you did.

She sighs dramatically. “You work too hard—even when I order you to stop thinking about work, you do it anyway.”

“Look, it wasn’t an animal. It was a guy.”

“...What.”

You pull the phone from your ear. You probably do sound crazy. And you will continue to sound crazy when you talk about what you found online from defunct blogs from 1999. No matter how you try to spin it—every time you start talking—you can not come up with the words to explain that the scary internet creature is real. Leslie will not believe you, and who the hell would?

“...Nevermind. I have to go. I have, uhh, laundry in the dryer.” You mutter.

“Well, feel better, and stop going on the internet—you’ll scare yourself out of your skin with stuff people make up for fun,” Leslie sighs, then her voice goes soft, “I mean it. Take care of yourself. We’re thinking of you, kiddo. Oh, and Molly says hi.”

You swallow a lump in your throat. “...Well, let Molly know I said ‘Hi’ back.”

“Will do. Okay, see you next week.”

You hang up.

✷𓃞 ✷

It’s damp. The fallen leaves are starting to rot and turn mushy under their boots. Jack tears through another can with their claws and downs a mixture of soup and soaked-through chicken. They drink, grinding the sinewy chicken and too-soft between their teeth, swallowing harshly and curling up at the taste. Police swarming the woods like ants to fruit has been awful; Jack is tired. Everything burns, they’re tired of running, and they’re still so hungry.

Other foods are necessary to Jack’s diet—they can’t live off meat. They need carbs and stuff—but if Jack has to spend more time seeing faces, they will start digging for their kidneys. They collapse underneath a fallen tree, curling up like a woodlouse. If the police find them, Jack just hopes it’s quick.

They can hear men shouting somewhere nearby with their big, angry dogs.

Jack falls asleep there, eventually, and they don’t know what time it is when they wake up, just that it’s dark out again, and it’s so quiet.

They survive off stolen clothing and soup cans between stays at the manor. Though their vision is gone, Jack still lives with psychosis (one would figure getting their eyes melted with hot tar would prevent visual hallucinations). Eating human flesh, though a taboo solution to their symptoms, allowed Jack to clear their mind and function.

Jack sunk deeper under the heavy log when they heard footsteps and a whining dog.

“I know, boy.” A man says, coughing as the air smells of cigarettes.

Jack’s nose burns at the smell. The dog sniffs at the earth and knocks aside a pile of leaves with its nose, whining and howling. The officer kicks aside the leaves and sighs.

“...Alright,” He says, the metal bits of the dog’s vest clicking together as the dog grows restless, thrashing against it.

The man hunches down, the sound of a plastic bag crinkling in his palm, muttering something to the canine.

“Atta-boy. Come on, Chester, it’s damn creepy out here.” With the tug of the leash, the officer and his canine retreat out of the woods.

When the two are out of earshot, Jack squeezes out from under the log and feels around in the dirt, sniffing the air and only smelling wet earth. Their chest tugs in a sickened sort of way, and they sink back into their hiding place and curl up into a ball. The rain picks up again. Wind howls and thunder crackles in the sky, rattling the earth.

Their new jacket, which they snatched off an unsuspecting hiker, was Jack’s only protection from hypothermia stealing the heat from their digits. Jack breathes into their palms, hot air flowing across their stiff fingers (which Jack promptly stuffed into their underarms to warm them up).

The wind doesn't hesitate to rob Jack’s already-deprived body of what little it has. Jack can’t stop thinking about how hungry they are—and how they see faces melting in their periphery whenever their mind wanders. They pick at the raw edges of their sockets in a measly attempt to soothe. It doesn't work. Nothing works anymore, even when Jack can consume human meat. After only a few hours, Jack’s skin is already itching with the need to keep consuming, to keep eating, to stave off their psychosis by any means necessary. They tug—and tug, and tug, and tug until they’re shaking—at their raw skin, where hardened pitch meets seared flesh and patchy brows. It’s unbearably cold, it’s so fucking cold, and going back to that hellish manor sounds like paradise right about now.

But that’s not an option.

✷𓃞 ✷

Tuesday finally comes around, and you can return to work.

You pack two lunches today. Your bag is just leftovers in a takeaway container (dinner from yesterday), and the other is a sandwich with a few slices of Swiss cheese and meat (far more meat than you’ve ever used at once). It’s got other things on it; you aren't going to give some hungry person—who’s probably been living alone in the wilderness for who knows how long—a boring sandwich. Too bad if they don’t like mayo (Well, you hope they like mayo, lest they rip you in two for the offense of a condiment on real-people food).

You fill your water bottle, grab your keys, and head out the door.

Leslie’s truck is humming outside. Your car is still in the lot at work. You were not in any condition to drive after, and Leslie would not have let that happen. She moves her bags as you climb into the passenger seat. You set down your things on the floor, trying to conceal the second lunch you made.

“...Glad to have you back, got everything?” Leslie asks.

You nod, jingling your keys.

She flicks her turn signal to the left and drives onto the road, turning right onto the main road.

The car is quiet, except for the radio playing old 80s hits, thick with the tension that you almost died the last time you went to work.

“You can work wherever you want today. Molly’s willing to work with your plans. I can imagine not wanting to do trail walks after, well, you know what.”

“I’ll be okay,” You say, ”I’ll do trails today. Not a problem.”

Leslie grips the steering wheel tight. “You’re sure? After you know what, I figured you would want to quit,” She turns left, “I wouldn’t blame you.”

“No. I’m a little shaken up, but I’m okay.” You say, looking out the window.

Leslie makes some noise like she knows you’re lying. Your brush with death should have turned you off from any outdoorsy work, but here you are, making lunches for the thing that tried to rip you open like an orange. Maybe your too-empathetic and hopeful parts hope this sandwich helps them out. Everything you read about them was far from pleasant—Some of it didn’t seem real.

“A mixture of blood and hot tar poured into the eye sockets.” You recall.

This stuff about Eyeless Jack you read felt like fiction, but what you saw that night was real. God, it sends shivers down your spine, makes you feel ill—you don’t know what you would do if put in that scenario (blinded, abandoned, and left to die in the woods with an insatiable hunger for human flesh? Jack has been active for years, all alone, you think, you’re not sure how you would last even half as long).

“...Did they find anything?”

Leslie sighs. “No. But it’s an animal, so it’ll return next time it’s hungry. We’ve got more people on watch. Hopefully, we can get Wilderness Removal or Animal Control on it, maybe kill it if we have to.”

You hope not. Leave the critter that keeps eating people alone; they should just leave a plate of food out.

“Maybe don’t try to hunt down the wild critter-person like an animal.” You think. The rest of the ride is silent. You pull up to the park and see Molly chatting with a guest. She spots you looking out the window and waves, delighted to see you again.

“I wanted to give you this in case anyone tries giving you trouble.”

She passes you a black cylinder that’s roughly four inches tall. The button on top and the spray nozzle tells you it’s pepper spray.

“...Thanks, Leslie.”

“Anytime.”

You pull on your coat and leave your lunch in the fridge, taking the other out. Then, you jog over to your car and abandon the pepper spray in the cup holder; you hope that this choice won’t get you killed tonight, but you need to start on a good foot.

Your day-to-day rhythm comes back to you. You warmed yourself up on the more populated trails, picking up cans and directing folks about. It’s sparse, only seeing small groups unfazed by the recent killings (perhaps through ignorance or a belief that death is beneath them). The dread is heavier when you walk an empty trail that’s usually lively with people, even during the day, when dangers lurking in the bushes are more visible. As the sun creeps across the sky—and lower towards the horizon—fewer and fewer people choose to risk hiking after dark, lest they get disemboweled like the last guy who tried.

By 19:00, it’s empty. There’s nobody around other than you. But you know they’re still out there, listening to your every movement (and every breath and every hitch).

You scan the edge of the woods where they’re probably hiding, carefully stepping over the foliage while you intentionally stray from the carefully manicured path.

The trails are well-kept. The landscaping crew works diligently and takes pride in their work, keeping them free of debris and roots that would make the footpath a challenging terrain. Beyond the edges of the dirt roads, however, the forest is wild; vines writhe and twist along the floor, every plant fighting for sunlight in the undergrowth, with bigger-than-your-head leaves and trees wearing thick coats of creeping ivy. You witness the cycles of life and death within this delicate ecosystem—young trees climb higher and higher, growing larger and larger; insects feast upon the trees, rely on the trees, live and die by the trees; the trees, after centuries of life, die and rot; the lichen and insects feast on the rotting wood and refresh the cycle anew.

It makes you feel small and insignificant, as the world around you lives and dies without even noticing your existence. It’s like being surrounded by other people’s ideas in a museum, thousands of other people, forgotten by time, remembered by their art, or their shoes, or their stories through other people’s mouths.

Your boot slips on slick earth before you can continue your mental spiral about your insignificance as one among billions. Your boots squeal against pulpy mud and you nearly slip down into a strange recess; the earth is slick with that same slime, though it is more grainy and pus-like in texture. You follow the streaks in the muddy ground, where it slips underneath a large, rotten log.

You shine your light underneath, spotting a shivering, cobalt-blue mask underneath layers of jackets and stolen fabrics.

Maybe they’re sleeping, and waking them up (though with the promise of real people food) may upset them enough to maul you like a bear and eat you for lunch instead.

They shift and wiggle into the recess they carved out for themselves, hearing some shuffling outside of their burrowing. They suck in a deep breath through their nose, and the smell of human sears the insides of their lungs like smoke. They hunch a little bit, curling into a more upward sitting position, sniffing the air, inhaling once, twice, then a third time until they have that scent burned into their hindbrain. They can’t stop drooling, salivating at the thought of finally feeling okay again, having something to cut through the smoky, blurry feeling. They hear shuffling, their prey slinking back as they curled forward. They can’t suppress the growl that rumbles in their throat, teeth licked behind the mask. They don’t move like a person in preparation for a chase. Jack slips out of their nook, their body curled forward and arms hanging limp.

Jack reaches up and peels the mask like a second skin, revealing tar-filled sockets that bore down at your scent.

Jack lurches forward like they’re on a leash, sinking their claws into your arm and digging in, etching out five deep grooves, each weeping a stream of blood that makes Jack’s mind run wild. Without thinking entirely, Jack pulls your arm forward and sinks their teeth into your bicep, leaning their body weight against you, knocking you both to the floor. There’s kicking and screaming, high-pitched whining as Jack’s teeth tear through skin and sinew, coating your arm in blood and spit.

You cry out, trying to pull their steel trap of a jaw out of your arm—managing to loosen their upper jaw, and by shoving them away with the heel of your palm, you manage to rip out their lower jaw, too.

They shiver, licking their teeth over and over again. Feral, animalistic delight rattles their whole body; they’re giddy at the taste of your blood, but they hold some restraint at the sound of their name.

Your breathing is frantic, and your heart is hammering in your throat. Jack’s breathing slows, and they quit licking their teeth. You’re not sure where to start. You hold your breath as Jack’s tar-filled sockets bore down into yours. Their breathing is heavy, and there’s saliva dribbling down their chin. You squeeze your arm, your skin clammy with blood and sweat, while Jack stays still above you.

Your mouth is nailed and twisted shut like you’re at the morgue. Jack doesn’t finch as they, strangely again, don’t tear you to shreds like the last guy. You sigh, which comes out as an exasperated laugh, your chest squirming like a bucket of mealworms as Jack’s warm, blood-soaked breath enters your nose. Their hair is long and matted, greasy and cool-brown in color; their skin is a deep gray like the living dead, bulked up by layers of stolen sweaters and pants to keep warm.

“I, uhh…” You start, “I brought you a sandwich if you want it. I didn't know what you liked, so I just put a little bit of ever—”

Jack’s knee presses into your ribcage as they climb over you, feeling around on the ground for your bag. A wheeze rattles from your throat, and they dump your belongings onto the forest floor unceremoniously, sniffing the contents like a tracker hound.

They pinch the bag between their claws, disemboweling the brown paper bag, the contents hitting the floor with a wet thud.

You watch them eat, tearing through plastic and paper with their teeth, eating with no sensibility nor dignity. The sandwich is shoved into their mouth and swallowed in about fifteen seconds, and a crushed bag of potato chips you forgot at the bottom of your bag perishes, too. They crack open the plastic container full of your dinner and hesitate, neck craned in your direction. It takes a few moments to find them, but Jack finds the metal utensils you packed for yourself, showing the container to you.

“Oh, well, yeah. That’s mine. My dinner, I mean. You can have it if you want.”

They shake their head in a fit.

They push it in your direction, a flatly affective expression on the remainder of their face, but their body language pushes your cold leftovers on you with a lot of force. You gingerly take the container from their claws, crack it open, and eat. Jack listens attentively to you, sockets trained on you, on the sound of metal utensils clinking against your mouth, the sound of you swallowing your meal. Their hands squirm and play with the dirt and leaves, excited to share a meal of leftovers with somebody they nearly killed twice. Your arm is throbbing as you carefully feed yourself, your jacket’s sleeve shredded. Hopefully, your emergency fund can cover a trip to the hospital for however many stitches you’ll need, as well as the antibiotics you’ll be taking (or paying for amputation if this gets infected, but you try not to think about that as this demonic forest creature is enraptured by you eating supper with them). You scrape the bottom of the container, not missing a single morsel.

They move their hand under their chin, and you recognize what Jack is doing. You took a few classes in uni, so you pick up on the ASL as soon as their hand collides with the other in a neat thank you.

“Oh! You’re welcome,” You say, “Was it good? I was worried if you liked mayo or not.”

They grin. It’s small, subtle, and hard to do with the tar seared to their skin, but there’s a quiet peek of teeth as they chuckle at being understood. They like mayo.

You laugh, too, exhausted and relieved. After so many restless nights worrying about getting your organs surgically removed in your sleep, you’re looking forward to a restful night after the day you’ve had. At the hospital, because you’re arm is looking pretty ugly.

“Look, I think I have to go.”

They tense up.

“I won’t tell anyone about you, I promise,” You sigh, trying not to look down at your bloody limb, “They’re still looking for you, though, so be careful. If you need food, I can try to sneak you some from Lost & Found.”

Jack pats at their pocket, pulling out an old, beat-up phone. They pass it to you, and you type out your number and put it into a contact.

“I’ll, hopefully, see you soon?”

They shrug. It’s probably for the best that they don’t make any promises. Jack walks into the treeline, eventually disappearing from view.

#can also be read as: domesticating the feral they/them at your job #mewrites #eyeless jack x you #eyeless jack x reader #eyeless jack #creepypasta eyeless jack #creepypasta fanfic #fanfiction #creepypasta #mecreepy #x reader #reader insert #gender neutral reader

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