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spooklies · 6 months

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# Fairytale - Yan!Mark Grayson x F!Reader

♡ ... › “Life itself is a most wonderful Fairytale.” - In which she comes to terms with a reality that doesn’t feel real.

── Words - 1.1K

♡ ... › Warning(s) - Graphic depictions of harm. Domestic abuse. Minor character death. Brief mentions of a panic attack.

── A/N - This is based off that version of Mark where he’s evil. No spoilers for that though! Think of this as an au of an au.

She figured the last of her friends were now dead as she watched their hideout burn from outside on the street, her knees bloodied from the concrete she slid on and her shoulder dislocated from the compact. Her friends didn’t scream – they were never given the opportunity to before he rigged the place to blow.

Opening her trembling fingers revealed a picture of herself from childhood. She stared into her younger counterpart's eyes, already knowing the way they viewed the world differed due to recent events. She lived in an apocalypse while her younger self lived every day as if it were a fairytale and she was the princess the story centered on. Except now there weren’t sparkly dresses or even flashier tiaras. Just death. Every street she walked on was a reminder of the kind of world she lived in with a dead body occupying every other mile. For a while, she was able to tell herself that despite all of this chaos, she still had people to keep her afloat and from drowning in all that grief.

But because of her, they’re gone now – dead from an explosion caused by her carelessness. They had warned her about going out and the risk she posed on their whole operation being found if she did. But Y/n had insisted she grabbed at least one piece of memorabilia before they hunkered down for an indefinite amount of time. If only she had listened. It wasn’t worth it, they were right. And she’d tell them as much if they were still around to listen.

She could only hope their deaths were quick and painless. But knowing Mark he would somehow find a way to draw out their ends in the worst way possible if only to prove a point to her. She found it hard to believe that a man she once loved was capable of such cruelty. It was as if a switch had been flipped the moment he and his father had that argument. The Mark she’d fallen in love with had become more rash, not at all caring about the consequences of his actions even if it meant those actions put her in harm's way. His new viewpoint on life was pessimistic whereas it was once optimistic. His trust in her had diminished into nothing and he’d become strict, not letting her do as she pleased if she didn’t have his permission to. He had explained that he’d made more enemies and that going out was dangerous since they most likely knew how much she meant to him.

After many arguments, she was forced to come to terms that the man she’d fallen in love with was gone. This new sinister version of her boyfriend contrasted too greatly with the sweet and selfless version she’d been in love with. All of the love that once warmed her chest lost its warmth and turned cold. Staring into Mark’s eyes no longer filled her with butterflies and instead made dread coil deep within her gut. Danger. Mark was dangerous, sure, she’d always known what he was capable of once he’d revealed his identity as Invincible. But she never once suspected that he’d use that power for bad – never once believed he’d use that power to make her life as well as others a living hell.

So she ran and never looked back. It had been a good six months since they last saw each other and she knew he’d find her eventually with all of the influence he now holds. She had just hoped he wouldn’t have gone this far and that the Mark she loved was still in there with all of that humanity that made him who he was.

Mark’s yellow uniformed feet landed in her peripherals, an eager skip to his step as he approached her and crouched down, his hand gently placed on top of her head. If she shut her eyes she could delude herself into thinking she wasn’t trapped in a nightmare and instead back to the time when everything was good in her life. When she was treated like a princess from a fairytale by the man who acted as her doting prince.

“Y/n…” He whispered lowly, his actions now mirroring that of an owner disowning their pet when his grip tightened on her hair. She winced, and Mark paid no mind to it. “Look where running got you.” She didn’t respond and Mark took that as his cue to continue speaking. “Aw, don’t be like that. Your friends were lucky to have survived this long, those who are part of the resistance die in worse ways than they did.” At the mention of your friends his tone turned ominous, a clear distaste apparent.

She tilted her head up so she was looking at Mark, mirth absent in a place where it was once believed to be forever stagnant. He showed no authentic sympathy for everything he’s done, though that should have been something she expected.

“You’re bleeding all over. C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up. I know someone who–”

She smacked his hand away and backed up as much as she could before her ankle was grabbed in a vice-like grip, Mark’s strength keeping her from moving any further.

“Y/n, you’re not going to make this any more difficult than you already have, are you?” He asked in that same sing-song voice, an obvious threat hidden underneath the tone that did not go unnoticed. She opened and closed her mouth, begging for her mind to get out of her thoughts but ultimately coming up empty. Mark made a noise of disapproval and grabbed onto her leg with both hands. “You’re lucky this is all I’ve done so far, I could have done so much worse by now.”

The crack her leg made when Mark split it in two was booming and was heard over the blood pumping in her ears and soon after she was screaming out in agony. Mark had his hand back over her hair, stroking it in downward motions as he hushed her as if she were throwing a childish tantrum.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?” He said softly. “Now imagine this pain but worse then you’ll know exactly how I’ve felt all this time without you.” If she was frantic before then she was beyond that now. She shook her head back and forth, letting out incoherent words between sobs. Mark watched on with disinterested eyes and then grabbed onto her other leg. Y/n tried to wring her leg out from his grasp before he inevitably broke that one too. But her attempts were all futile. She had passed out from the pain not too soon after her legs were both broken and when she came back into consciousness she was being carried by Mark through the air. The burning sensation that encompassed her thighs down was now a dull throb in the back of her mind as she cried silently in Mark’s arms. The picture that had cost her friends their lives nowhere to be found.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere mark Grayson #yandere invincible #yandere mark grayson x reader #yandere invincible x reader

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imagine-darksiders · 11 months

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What about Bowser and a preggo Y/N?

And why not? :)

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The frantic sound of bare feet slapping unevenly against cold, unforgiving stone echoes down the hallway, ricocheting off vast, stone walls and filling the oppressive space with the proof of your desperate escape.

Lungs heaving like a set of billows, you try your utmost to focus on throwing one foot out after the other, clutching an arm around your swollen belly in some futile attempt not to jostle the tiny life growing inside it as you lurch down the corridor, wincing with every step that pounds against the unforgiving stone beneath you.

Somewhere far behind you, from deep in the bowels of the fortress, a thunderous roar erupts into the air, chasing you through the doors that you've left swinging in your wake.

“Well-!” you puff down to your stomach, skidding around a corner and lumbering towards another set of enormous, stone doors, “He had to wake up eventually.”

It's always dark in the Dark Lands, but the lack of activity in the twisting hallways clues you in to the fact that night must have settled its oppressive weight over the fortress, driving the koopas into their barracks to sleep. You'd only dared to make this escape attempt hours after their ruler laid his mighty head down and filled his chambers with the deep, rolling melody of snores.

If anything, you're lucky to have made it this far, to have put as much distance between you and your captor as you already have. Any extra progress you happen to make is a delightful bonus.

It's been six months since you fell pregnant, and only two months since you fell into Bowser's clutches. Two gruelling months of trying to hide the growing bump beneath your dress's garlands. Two months of escape attempts, all in an effort to get your unborn child to safety.

So long as you're still here, in the fortress of a tyrant, the baby is at risk.

Every day since Bowser discovered he'd kidnapped a pregnant human, your future offspring seems less of a blessing, and more of a ticking time bomb sitting in your womb.

They're leverage. They could be used to control you.

Worse still, they could be hurt.

At the back of your mind, a tiny voice reasons that your assumptions are, so far, utterly baseless.

Much as it stings your pride to admit, you've yet to come under any fire from Bowser, or his troops. You're only too aware that a Koopa of his stature and power could have done far, far worse than keeping you here under lock and key, although that in itself you consider an unforgivable crime.

In actual fact, if you were questioned under extreme duress, you'd have to concede that he's been infuriatingly accommodating.

Even more-so after he finally used his brain and realised that you weren't diving into the bathroom to throw up because he'd accidentally over-salted the food he brought you.

If you thought he was overbearing in the first few months of your imprisonment, you were rather unpleasantly surprised to discover that he could get a whole Hell of a lot worse...

Another roar shakes through the corridor, powerful enough to nearly send you toppling off your wobbly feet.

There are plenty of aspects about Bowser you find troubling.

His unchecked jealousy, for one. The possessive rigidity of his hand when it's wrapped around your wrist. How he stubbornly deafens himself to reason and rationality if it doesn't align with his interests.

But there's one trait of his – one terrible, frightening quirk in his biology – that turns your blood to ice inside your veins.

It's that very same 'trait' that's chasing you through the endless hallways right now.

You know you only have yourself to blame for drawing him out.

The giant.

You can picture it now – Bowser, laying in his chambers, curling his tail up to feel the open air around it where once a warm body had been occupying the space. He must have woken to find you missing from his side and promptly lost what little self-control he's already barely in possession of.

You can feel it in the way his fortress quivers around all you now, as if afraid of its own king.

You once thought Bowser was already indomitable enough.

Then you saw what he can become, what he's capable of turning into with enough rage and power feeding into his temper.

You've only seen it happen once, and ever since, you've hoped with everything in you that you wouldn't have to see it again.

Yet judging from the way the ground trembles and the distant 'boom,' 'boom,' 'boom,' of gargantuan footfalls begins to draw closer, you fear you're about to be reacquainted with the very worst aspect of the self-proclaimed King.

Swollen and sore, your feet hum with a heat that stings at their soles, but still you push forwards, gasping for air that wheezes too thinly down your throat.

You won't let him take back to that room.

To that... that detestable nest.

Not least because you can't bear the humiliation of being fawned over and coddled for another, mortifying moment. At least before your pregnancy was discovered, you'd been allowed the illusion of privacy.

You were given your own bed chambers, you could sleep without the weight of the King pressing in around you like a slumbering mountain. You had time to yourself, albeit a few hours, where you could be free from Bowser's boundless attention.

Then, of course, you were found out.

Within less than a moment, what little 'freedom' you were so graciously handed was swiftly snatched back.

Much to your chagrin, you were removed from your chambers and moved straight into the King's.

Instead of simply watching you eat your meals with that daft, adoring grin stretching his muzzle, he started trying to feed you directly. The silver spoon always looked so ridiculous clutched inside his meaty paw. His big, bottom lip would stick out childishly each and every time you snatched the spoon away from him and reminded him sternly that you're only pregnant. You're not bed-ridden.

A sudden agony swells in your stomach and ripples outwards along each of your limbs, slowing you to a gasping stagger, as if your tiny passenger has finally decided to take umbrage with your lumbering motions.

Before you can gather your wits, you've opened your mouth to release a strangled cry, nearly falling to your knees as you grasp feverishly at your belly, eyes bulging in their sockets.

So much for only pregnant....

“Ah! Shit!” you hiss, stumbling sideways until your shoulder collides painfully with the solid, stone wall, “Gah! Not now, kid.”

Raking a hand through sweat-soaked hair, you grind your teeth together and suck a hissing breath between them, glancing at the path ahead of you through eyes bleary with tears. Another towering, stone doorway stands in front of you, large and tempting. You have no idea where it leads – this wing of the castle looks much the same as all the others that Bowser has tried to show off to you – but right now, forwards is vastly preferable to backwards.

You have to press on, even though your ligaments feel as though they're being wrung out, even though there's an invisible knife twisting into your side and causing you to cringe away from nothing, you have to press on.

Escape could be just behind those doors. Today could finally be the day you slip between Bowser's grasping fingers and reclaim your freedom. You might see Captain Skip again. She's loyal, oftentimes to a fault. Surely, surely she's still waiting for you on the docks, hatching a daring rescue attempt, knowing her. It's been one of the most troubling prospects that's been on your mind daily since you were first brought here. To see Skip storm Bowser's fortress with her crew, only to be cut down by the vastly superior numbers of troops heaving behind the walls.

You sailed across vast oceans with Skip and those sailors for months. They're good people with families and loved ones waiting for them back home in your kingdom. You'd do anything to spare them the fate that awaits them here, even if it means invoking the wrath of Bowser's colossal counterpart by trying to rescue yourself.

Setting your jaw with a firm click of teeth, you suck down a long, noisy breath and shove yourself upright off the wall, tottering forwards on your bare feet until you reach the door and slap both hands around the silver handles.

Shoulders braced, you move to throw the doors open, itching to get to the other side-

'WHAM!'

There isn't enough self-restraint in the galaxy that could have kept the startled yelp from bursting out of your lungs. It's only half a second later that you cram a hand over your mouth, as if to stuff the sound back down into your chest.

A swell of scorching, hot air surges into the corridor behind you, reaching you in a terrifying matter of moments and rolling up the nape of your neck.

Blind terror seizes your mobility away from you and turns your feet to lead.

You're still facing the doorway just in front of you, stiff-necked and bug-eyed with one hand clenched like a vice around the handle.

In the reflection, a huge, distorted shape raises its fiery head.

Eyes of fire blaze hot within the cool, silver surface.

There's something inherently paralysing in realising you've been spotted in a game of cat and mouse. The tendency to freeze overwhelms you for a few, crucial seconds where you hold perfectly still, bound by some misguided hope that if you don't make a single movement, the predator behind you won't be enticed to pounce.

You don't remember how to turn and glance over your shoulder.

You know what you'll find if you look.

You can tell by the crashing bellow that rattles your brain in its skull that you're out of luck. There are no more barriers between you and your pursuer.

You'd moved too slowly...

The walls around you begin to tremble in a fast, unsteady rhythm, and the ground shudders under your feet, and still it feels as though someone has turned a key in your spine and locked your limbs up tight.

It's only when the shadow of two, pointed horns fall upon you and rise up the door that you finally burst back to life.

Kicking off the lead weights attached to your ankles, you tug at the doors with all your might. But stone is heavy. Heavier than you recall it being.

The doors scrape open an inch, and all of a sudden, they're struck from above with the force of a siege machine as something huge smashes into them, wrenching the handles from your grasp and scaring a strangled yelp out of you.

An all-too familiar burst of moist air breathes down on top of your head, billowing at the collar of your night dress. The moisture from his maw mingles horribly with the sweat that trickles down the nape of your neck.

Swallowing thickly, you crank your neck back, shoulders hunched, until your eyes land upon the underside of a mammoth wrist, bedecked with a silver-spiked cuff that glints menacingly when its points catch the meagre firelight.

Attached to the wrist is a mountainous hand sporting its own set of spikes. These however, occur naturally, in the form of terrible, foot-long claws that perch at the end of each monstrous fingers.

The palm is taller than you are, and sits flat against the stone doors, sealing them shut so firmly that nothing short of an explosion could ever hope to shift them.

God... You can hear his almighty chest heaving raggedly overhead, immense lungs straining to pull in enough air just to refill them with the oxygen he'd expelled hunting you down.

It's him.

Bowser, but not quite. A King who has temporarily sacrificed what little brain he possesses to give himself a massive boost in brawn.

Despite the inherent need to see the rest of the titan bearing down upon you, you lower your gaze to the stone at your feet with a shaky gulp and keep your belly pressed to the door, curling around it with a fierce if futile determination to put yourself between the baby and any supposed danger.

As if a few, scant inches of flesh could stop the King from getting to them if he really wanted to.

Regardless of your noble effort, a second paw – equally as enormous as the first - presses urgently in around you. Claws almost as long as your forearm slip around the front of your night dress, and with a hesitant care that you don't notice in the ensuing fright, you're carefully eased away from the doors.

You immediately have something to say about it. Predominantly, “No!”

It hurts you to twist and wriggle, but you do your best to try and slip free of Bowser's fingers as they curl around your legs and torso, leaving your arms and fists free to beat uselessly at the hard, yellow scales on his knuckles. “Put me down!” you spit in an attempt to sound authoritative, dismayed that the crack in your tone belies the effort.

As if in direct defiance of your demand, the monstrous King instead lifts you up, twisting his wrist around slowly until, at last, that massive, protruding maw rises into view, swallowing up the world around you with its inescapable vastness.

Slitted nostrils flare open and closed at a frantic pace, pulling and pushing at the sweat-dampened hair sticking to your forehead. Without skipping a beat, the colossus leans his snout in close, bringing you towards the sharp fangs that are too large for his maw to contain.

Your eyes flash down to them as your pulse starts to thrash, pounding at the walls of your skin as if your heart itself is trying to abandon ship.

Bowser has never hurt you...

Yet...

It's that 'yet' that flashes through your mind as you squeeze your eyes shut, bracing yourself for whatever punishment the King has in mind.

Surely he's reached the end of his fuse. Surely you've pushed him over the edge and he's at last going to do something so terrible, so painful, all of your misgivings about him will be justified.

So it comes as a shock, when, rather than fire or jaws, you feel the soft press of a snout against your cheek.

You'd open your mouth to gasp if it wasn't also being smothered by Bowser's thick, rubbery lips as he begins to snuffle gently at your face, checking you over for injuries...

Secured in his surrounding grasp, you toss your head from left to right, trying to escape the hot breaths that are puffed out across your head. All for nought, of course. The gigantic snout follows your thrashing and gives your mouth a last, hearty sniff before suddenly, it starts to move south, skirting over your dress until it comes to hover just inches from your belly.

Gradually, like the bars of a cage being pried open, his fingers uncurl from around you and he tips his hand back so that you're left laying prone in the cup of his palm, your feet just barely dangling over the edge.

All at once, you freeze in place, your eyes growing wide and round with alarm.

No... Not them... They don't deserve to be punished because of what you did... You'll take his retribution on any other part of your body, if he'll just leave your stomach alone.

“Please,” you whisper, wetting your lips and swallowing the acrid taste that builds on your tongue at the abhorrence of begging for the creature's mercy, “Please, it's not their fault I ran... Don't... don't hurt them... Leave them alone.”

The King gives you a look, then, his blood-red eyes flicking up from your belly to squint at you, brows of flaming orange drawing into a tight, indignant line across his forehead.

Bowser doesn't talk when he's like this. His vocal chords have been twisted and stretched out of shape, but he doesn't need the ability to speak to convey his message quite clearly through expression alone.

He's offended. That you'd... what? Assume that your kidnapper might be angry enough to make you face retribution for your actions?

Hell, the baby's own father had smacked you dizzy for the mere crime of expressing a desire to keep the poor child. How can Bowser think it's such a stretch for you to expect similar from the Koopa who took you captive?

Like a mountain pressing in all around you, the titanic turtle closes the distance between your belly and his nose. For a second, the alarm of having a jaw so large approach the baby growing inside you is enough to make you raise your hands as if you could stop him.

And then, with a care that doesn't at all befit his size, Bowser slowly lets his eyes slip shut and presses the very tip of his snout against your swollen stomach, the barest pressure, the lightest touch, warm and soft and entirely careful, as if he's aware of his size and knows the damage he could inadvertently cause with the tiniest effort.

“What... are you doing?” Bewildered, you can only gape up at him as you blink away the stinging behind your eyelids, brows twisted up in disbelief.

This behaviour is... a far cry from what you'd been expecting after he caught up to you.

Ever so gradually, the King's chest stops rising and falling like a maddened bull, his bristling mane flattens down slightly and his shoulders slump in apparent relief.

After a long, silent minute spent in apprehensive silence, the Koopa peels his eyes open once more and draws his snout away from your stomach, tipping it up towards your face instead.

Heavy-lidded, his smouldering gaze holds yours for some time whilst you busy yourself trying to catch your breath, hating how much your body is already relishing the rest.

Regarding you from beneath softly drooping eyelids, the King's dark pupils expand like apertures. A rumble works its way up from the bottom of his throat, more of an exhale than a growl, though the deepness of it still sends quakes through the hand you're laying in, sending tingles all the way up your spine.

You nearly jump out of your skin when the Koopa abruptly raises his head.

“Ah!” you exclaim as the world around you rocks, though it soon occurs to you that he's only turning himself around, a motion so mundane to him, but for you, standing a fraction of his height, even the most casual movement is dialled up to eleven.

Throwing out an arm, you reflexively grab onto one of his scaly knuckles, though he's quick to curl each finger securely over you once more, tucking you securely against his chest as he plods down the corridor, rattling the overhead chandeliers with every, thunderous step he takes.

It isn't long before the giant Koopa is shouldering his way through the doors to his bed chambers again, which have since become less of a chamber and more of a nest.

The silly sod must have gathered every pillow and blanket available in the castle and plopped them all down in an ever-growing pile at the centre of the room.

The worrier in you can't help but wonder if his koopa troops have been left with enough for themselves.

The King's bed, meanwhile, has been shoved to one side of the room, apparently no longer serving as an adequate resting place. You can barely see a solitary inch of floor beneath the mass of cushions and soft beddings.

This is where you've been holed up for the last month or so...

You can't rightly say you know how long it's been, you stopped counting the days after a while...

Your leaden heart sinks down to the soles of your feet at the sight of the colourful mess welcoming you back once more.

“Home sweet home,” you grumble under your breath.

Issuing a heavy grunt, Bowser drops like a lead weight onto one forearm, watching carefully as he lowers you down into the centre of the cushions and blankets, sliding you from his palm with a wordless croon of contentment.

“You're impossible,” you complain wearily, throwing a sharp glare at the King as he pulls back and settles onto his hands, a pleased smile stretching his maw, “Just how long are you going to keep me in this stupid den?”

Predictably, Bowser ignores your grousing and instead lowers his snout to nose at some of the pillows, those that have escaped from the greater mass, nudging them back towards the centre, towards you.

Rolling your eyes, you lay a hand over your belly and sink back into the nest, feeling the mountain of cushions shift and dip under Bowser's weight as he snuffles around the pile, ensuring everything has been placed back in its correct position before he finally pulls away, sitting back on his bulky haunches and giving the nest a last once-over, bobbing his head in a decisive nod that bounces his mane like fire in the wind.

Lifting his gaze to you once more, he chuffs at you, something firm and strict, drawing his thick, bushy brows into a frown.

The message is clear.

'Stay.'

“Like I'd be able to get anywhere now, even if I wanted to,” you mutter bitterly, wincing at a pulse of pain that rocks across the balls of your feet.

For a moment, Bower's furrowed brow eases apart and he casts a look at your face. You know he must see the weariness settled there, judging by the gentle croon he emits in your direction, bulbous shoulders slumping despondently.

Several times, he casts glances between you and the door, enough that you furrow your brow, tilting your head to one side and wondering why he isn't trying to lay down on the nest himself to resume your previous arrangement, the one you'd had before making a break for it.

At last, with a final groan in your direction, Bowser heaves himself about and hurries from the room as best as his cumbersome legs will allow, his spikes scraping chunks from the door's stony frame as he leaves.

At once, you perk up, staring agog at the open entrance.

Your heart nearly leaps in anticipation, astounded that the possessive koopa has just presented you with yet another chance to escape so soon after he's plopped you back inside his nest.

Thumping footfalls trail swiftly away from the room, but never quite disappear entirely.

You're torn, anxious. Your feet hurt something fierce.

“It can't be that easy...” you murmur aloud.

… Can it?

Despite your body's feverous protest, you grit your teeth and start to drag yourself laboriously across the cushions, inch by tantalising inch, never once taking your eyes off the door.

Sadly, you've only just managed to scoot yourself a few yards closer to the edge by the time you feel those pulse-jumping footfalls approaching the room again.

Heaving a defeated sigh, you slump into the blankets around you, your heart sinking like lead in water as Bowser comes thudding back into his chambers. This time, however, when he pokes his enormous head through the doors, you're taken aback by the sight of a very sleepy Junior dangling by the tail from his father's gentle maw.

“Oh, come now,” you cluck before you can catch your tongue, “You didn't need to wake the poor boy. He's had a busy day.”

Bowser merely huffs while the koopaling in question rubs at his eyes with a pudgy, little fist as his father slowly bends down and deposits him into the bed of pillows at your side.

“You tried to run again, didn't you?” he yawns, wriggling around on his belly until his head is pointed in your direction, blinking lazily up at you.

Grumbling under your breath, you retort, “And nothing to show for it but aching feet...”

“Maybe you outght'a stop runnin' then,” he suggests, and had it been anyone else, you might not have been able to bite back a sharp reply. As it is, Junior... Well. He's not a bad kid. You wouldn't be stuck here in his father's fortress if it weren't for him, of course, but you can't bear grudges against children, especially not those who are the product of their upbringing. You can't imagine Bowser has ever taught him that kidnapping is inherently wrong, after all. It took you many, many years to shake the 'lessons' your own father had tried to instil in you. By that time, you were older and wiser than Junior is now.

In time, he'll learn... You hope.

Before you can offer up a protest, the youngster grabs a fistful of your silk skirts and tugs himself towards you, dropping his round, yellow chin in your lap with a huff.

The bitter expression on your face contrasts the gentle hand you lay upon Junior's head, idly rubbing at the scales between his stubby horns.

“Still,” you add, softer, “At least I got some exercise at last, hmm?”

A soft whuff of air ruffles against your leg, all the response Junior provides before he promptly buries his face into your dress and devolves into an exhausted, clingy lump of koopa.

“Tired?” you hum.

There's a long pause before he huffs out a muffled reply. “No.”

Bowser must have plucked him out of a very good sleep. And, you suppose, it is the middle of the night... You'd have to be heartless to try and remove the boy now...

An almighty presence rumbles at your back, and the bed of pillows shifts as Bowser lowers himself onto his belly, curling his neck and head around to your right whilst his tail coils to your left, enclosing you in a semicircle of living, breathing scales.

Like the flip of a switch, the softer expression you reserve for his son hardens to something stern and unamused as you toss a withering glare up at the giant.

He's peering back at you through heavy-lidded eyes, and to your dismay, his nose is scooting closer and closer over the pillows, pausing every few seconds as if you'll conveniently forget to notice what he's up to. With Junior still settled in your lap, you can't rightly move away.

“Well,” you sigh, blinking over the expanse of the King's snout to meet his gaze, “I suppose you must be very pleased with yourself.”

As is typical when he's like this, the Koopa doesn't reply with words.

Instead, he softly bridges the gap between you both by pressing his doughy nose into your side, forcing you to raise your arm to grant him better access lest it become trapped against your body. Appeased, Bowser lets out a contented rumble, rustling the cushions and blankets underneath you.

Pulling a face, you mutter, “You're lucky your son is here to stop me from moving.”

You can't be certain, but you think you hear the quietest snicker emerge from the koopaling in your lap.

Then again, it could have been nothing but a snore...

#Bowser #Bowser x Reader #mario #super mario bros #Pregnant reader #fluff #mentions of abuse #pregnancy pains #Literally can't be mad at Junior it's impossible #kidnapping #possessive behaviour #giga bowser #human reader

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bookofbonbon · 2 months

Text

creatures from within the woods - aemond targaryen.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Reader.

Warnings: Kidnapping. Imprisonment. Paralysis. Witchcraft. Implied assault.

Summary: Aemond had often been warned about the strange and dangerous creatures from within the woods who looked like humans but, he just had to have you.

Word Count: 1049.

A/N: Old fic from over a year ago that I posted then immediately deleted.

Blood weeps from the open wound, an unnaturally steady stream of red flowing from the cut in your palm and pooling at the edge of the make-shift altar you arranged with what materials you had.

Chanting quietly to yourself, an uneasy feeling goes down your spine. You sense his presence before he makes himself known, body vibrating with the weight of each of his steps as he draws nearer to your cage, wait- no. Your chambers as he so kindly put it but, a gilded cage is still a cage.

When he enters, he does so quietly so as to not disturb you and you don’t allow him to either, remaining as distant and stoic as you always do when he’s around. The few times you did pay him mind however, you never showed him your true face, only the one you had carefully crafted for him.

Aemond's gaze wanders the apartment that was once occupied by his elder half-sister and her family, concern growing in the pit of his stomach when he notices that you’ve once again opted to eat little to nothing.

He thinks nothing this time.

“You’ve barely eaten since your arrival, I do not wish to see you harm yourself in this way. Please, you must eat,” Aemond pleads.

“I will,” you mumble, distracted. “Soon.”

You roll your shoulders, trying to loosen the stiff muscles in your arms - manacles weighing heavy on your wrists; you could’ve easily removed them but, you were drawing from them - as you watch your blood prickle as if a thousand needles moved through it before it begins a slow slither to the altar’s centre.

You were too weak to do this on your own.

Satisfied, you rise from your knelt position with a slight wince, still not quite used to the rigidity of human bones.

“You know,” you begin, rubbing at the shedding skin of your hands. “Your mother visits me some... she speaks oft of your visits to the Sept?”

Aemond nods, the gesture unseen but felt. In the same way that you could feel his longing gaze at your back; willing you to look at him so you may see the depths of the love he holds for you. He knew in his heart that once you did, all your resentment for him would disapparate.

“Yes,” he finds his words.

This was simply not the way he wanted or imagined things to be and they wouldn't have been if you had just come willingly with him when he found you in the woods.

“Tell me… what do your Gods whisper to you in the quiet of the Sept?”

Aemond’s eyes widen, surprised by the question but quick to answer.

“They offer me forgiveness,” he tells you softly. Careful still not to disturb the peace and, oblivious to the way your skin shimmers oddly beneath the moon's light. “They tell me in time that you will too.”

Your body stills, head turning slowly toward him with narrowed eyes. The wickedness that lurked beneath your beautiful face threatening to reveal itself.

Gliding inhumanly across the room, you leave the smallest of spaces between the two of you. Aemond’s gaze wide-eyed and foggy, unshed tears lining the edge of his eye as he peers down at you.

How pleased you were that you no longer had to wait. If you had to spend a minute more with the bumbling fool, you would sooner kill yourself than him.

Sliding your hands from the manacles, you reach toward him and caress the side of his face with your bloodied hand. The heavy thud going unnoticed by Aemond as he leans into your touch and presses himself against you, his forehead touching yours. He’s careful in his next moves, his nose brushing gently against yours, breaths intermingling for a few moments before he hesitantly closes the gap between your mouths and you allow him. With closed eyes, he presses the softest of kisses to your lips, savoring the feeling of your willing lips against his. But, with each second that passes his kisses grow hungrier, his lust making itself known as he presses himself harder against you - the young Prince too caught up in the moment to notice the odd tingling sensation starting in his mouth.

Pulling away from him, Aemond’s lips try to follow you until you press a firm hand on his chest. You feel the rise and fall of his chest as he remains dazed, eye still closed as he commits the feeling of your lips to memory. But the sweet moment is snatched away when you bring those same lips to his ear.

“Your Gods may forgive you but, I never will,” you hiss.

Aemond rears back, a cold feeling washing through him as you raise the fog clouding his vision and reveal your true self; a low hiss emanating from your chest as a forked tongue flickers out from between your lips and serpentine eyes stare back at him.

It’s only then that Aemond smells the blood on his skin and sees the red of your hand. His gaze following the bloody trail that drips from between your fingers and leads to the altar behind you. Horror setting in as he finds the socket of his eye hollow, the blue stone sitting in the altar's centre.

“What have you done?” Aemond roars, slamming you against the nearest wall.

He pushes his forearm into your neck but it isn’t you who begins to gasp for breath.

Body weakening, Aemond’s arm drops against his will, the limb too heavy to hold. He steps dizzily away from you, thoughts moving quicker than he could; his legs turning to lead as he dives desperately toward the altar. An attempt to stop whatever it is you've set into motion but, it's too late. His body ceases and he falls to the ground with a heavy thump.

Aemond had always been warned about the strange and dangerous creatures from within the woods who looked like humans but were not. But he couldn't help himself, he had to have you and, now with his head laid beside the altar, regret courses through him as he stares in unblinking terror as your blood finishes coiling its way around his sapphire and seals his fate.

All fics are my own work - I have not posted my work anywhere else.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters/places mentioned above.

Do not copy. Do not translate. Do not repost.

#aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #aemond oneshot #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction

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just-a-torn-up-masterpiece · 6 months

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i never thought you'd happen to me.

masterlist | boygenius masterlist

emily prentiss x reader

this seems angsty but i promise it's not; i guess it's just a little snippet of people being human, finding comfort in another

instalment for the song 'leonard cohen' | wc: 813

Two broken souls can mend once forged together, meeting right when you need each other most, to fix what once was broken.

Darkness bares itself to you, sinking its teeth in so deeply that it scars. And no matter how far you walk into the light, it will never leave you completely, leaving shadows in any space it can. You carry it with you like a familiar friend, choosing to feel the warmth of the light on your cheeks, keeping it at bay as much as it will let you.

It’s a burden of being human.

But when you’re shrouded for so long, burned enough times, it’s easy to begin to think that perhaps that’s all there is for you. Maybe settling for glimpses of shadows is what you have to do; it’s better than being dragged under at least.

Emily let the dark times of her past follow her in her shadow, each and every tainted memory that brought her to this day. The ones that carried her through her career, through each blow that knocked her down, each piece she had to desperately put back together time and time again. The ones that made her who she is, the chief of the BAU.

She settled for the darkness that came to her just as the sun forms a shaded patch beneath a tree. Sometimes she welcomes it, leaning into its comforting touch, as an old friend greets you with familiarity. It’s a way for her to know that there’s a constant, something she can turn to and know it will always be there.

And then she met you.

Like a piece falling into place, she found comfort in the sound of your laugh, the sight of your smile, the memorised contours of your face.

She let you see the ghosts that followed her just as you did with her.

She was nervous the first time she pulled you in for a kiss, a late night in her office over case files and small glasses of the burning tequila she hid beneath her desk. She swore you to secrecy and you laughed.

She likes to trust her gut, whether she enjoys it or not, and she desperately ached for her heart to be right. That the touches you provide her with in passing and the way you subconsciously search for her in every room, are signs of reciprocated emotions.

How she adores being right. She tasted the liquor on your tongue and felt the flush of your cheek beneath her palm, she smiled at the breath you let out against her lips when you parted for air and at the shy flutter of your eyes.

You were the optimism she’s so constantly ducked away from. She was the optimism you’d always yearned to find; the one you’d always heard of, settling to never find it, even resenting the mere concept.

Emily was the moon and you were the body of water best suited to reflect her light. Better together, shining back at one another in a way that defied the darkness around you. It was easy to focus on the beauty of your love, to let it take the lead. And whenever the shadows showed themselves at least you weren’t alone.

Just like the nights you’ve shared so many times before, you found comfort beside each other, that solid intimacy of naked skin pressed against skin. The air was still and calm. Peace, occupied only by your breathing. Your head rested against her chest with the echoes of her heart beating a soothing rhythm whilst her hand stroked through your hair.

You could tell she wanted to say something. It's a perk of knowing somebody so truly and deeply; recognising the hitch of a breath, knowing that it signified words that begged to be set free. She’d watched the stars out of the window deeply in thought, a constant smile making her cheeks begin to ache.

“I have something cheesy to say,” she sighed, you could hear the embarrassed grin in her voice.

“I think I’m sleepy enough to stomach it,” you returned, she felt your lips twitch amusedly against her collarbone.

“You have ignited something within me that I never thought possible,” she muttered with her words falling onto the top of your head. “It makes me feel weightless and free, as though nothing can touch me.”

She couldn’t imagine speaking words more true. In fact, she couldn’t imagine any type of happy life without you. No person or thing could ever take that place next to her; the spot reserved for you, that blossoming garden never short on sunlight.

“What’s that?” you asked, sitting up to meet her eyes with yours, hazel filled with adoration. Her gaze was honest and just like that first night you let her hold your cheek, leaning into the touch that felt like home.

“Hope.”

#emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x fem!reader #emily prentiss x you #emily prentiss fanfic #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader

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grayson1996 · 20 days

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Just a little ficlet I thought up! ***

“I miss my mom.”

The admission was quiet, but Dick saw Jason’s head snap up from his phone, gaze indiscernible as he surveyed Dick. Probably trying to figure out what brought the confession on.

“Ok.” Jason said it like a statement, but Dick could hear the question in it.

“I miss how warm her body felt when she hugged me. I miss being able to bury my head into her stomach and breathe her in…. I miss breathing her in. I miss having a mom and knowing what it’s like to be loved by someone unconditionally. I miss growing and having her there to notice.” Dick got quiet a moment, a little unsure if he should continue sharing, but he felt the need to anyway. “Sometimes I miss being the youngest. My cousin was a few years older than me, all my friends at the circus were. Hell, even the Titans were. I miss being the one cared for. You know?”

Dick saw Jason set down his phone and turn to face Dick head on. After a moment Dick turned as well and matched his brother’s gaze. The confusion that was there making way to understanding.

“Yeah. I know what you mean.”

Dick felt himself relax slightly at the reassurance, closing his eyes he sunk deeper into his living room couch that the two were currently occupying.

“I miss wearing clothes that weren’t replaced as soon as they got holes. And I miss dishes made with cumin and cinnamon. And I miss my dad. God, I miss him so much. He was so calm Jay, he always smiled, he always knew that things were going to be ok, you know? He sang all the time, and no one sings here.” Dick felt his throat close at the realization, not even realizing all this was weighing on his heart until he let himself feel it. “No one sings here, and sometimes I forget about all them. It’s like my life is on auto-pilot and I just don’t think about it. But then I remember and it’s like my body is ripping itself open from the grief and I can’t... I can’t- just”.

Jason shifted in his seat, pulling Dick toward him as he started to get worked up. Breathes coming out quicker than intended. Dick let himself be manhandled into an awkward sideways hug. Unsure of where all this was coming from. For a moment it was quiet as Jason held him until his younger brother let out a heavy breath.

“Sometimes I miss my old apartment. Stupid, you know? The place was filled with water damage and mold and my Ma and I shared a shitty lumpy 20 year old mattress that should have been torched years ago…. But it still was mine, and now it’s gone.” Dick felt Jason shrug, arms still wrapped around him. “I think what people forget is, that to be human is to find the good memories in bad. It’s how we go on. That’s why everyone says grief is a gift, it means you loved someone so much that you get to miss them.”

“That’s stupid.” Dick muttered defiantly, grinning slightly when Jason laughed. “Grief isn’t a gift, it’s the cost of getting to love.”

“Careful Dickie, your dangerously close to sounding cynical and that’s my shtick.”

“I didn’t say it was a cost I was unwilling to pay.” Dick pulled himself back, leaning onto the side of the couch to face Jason once more. “I just wish I had more time to save up before I had to cash in.”

Jason nodded, leaning back himself, though still watching Dick with a careful eye.

“You don’t talk about this often.” Another statement, one Dick knew to be true. He never talked about his parents, not since his current family started to grow.

“Bruce never talked about his parents, for awhile I think I thought grief was locking away memories until they faded into existence. When I realized that wasn’t the case you guys were here and I didn’t want to bring them up in case you felt like… I don’t know… I didn’t love the family I had now?”

Jason stared at him dumbly for a moment.

“That’s the stupidest fucking thing you’ve ever said Goldie and that’s including the time you tried to convince Wally, B was a vampire.” Dick snorted at the memory, which Jason smiled at. “Remembering what you lost doesn’t negate what you have, and the adage that time heals all wounds is misconstruing. It doesn’t mean the injury stops hurting, hell your fucked up knee acts up every time it so much as showers. Just because something isn’t actively gushing blood doesn’t mean its fine, doesn’t mean you don’t still need to take care of it.”

Dick let out a heavy breath, he had forgotten how intuitive Jason could be.

“Yeah. You’re right.”

“Course I’m right, I’m the only one of you fuckers who consistently reads books without pictures in it.”

Dick pushed him roughly but without any heat, dodging the pillow Jason tried to lob at his face in retaliation. For a moment the two tussled, feeling younger than they had in a while. Only stopping when a wayward elbow sent Dick’s lamp thudding to the floor. Slightly out of breath Dick nudged Jason with his foot, the joviality making way for genuineness.

“Thank you. For letting me talk about them.”

Jason gave him a small smile, one without the useful veneer of snark.

“Anytime.”

#dick grayson #bruce wayne #batman #nightwing #batfamily #jason todd #robin #batfam #dc comics #the flying graysons

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thedrarrylibrarian · 8 months

Note

hi!! I first off wanted to say THANK YOUU!! I came across your page abt two months ago when I needed new fics and I use your recs so often!! I was wondering, what are a few of your all-time favorite fics, if you had to choose? (:

Oh my goodness! I'm so glad to hear that you've been enjoying my blog! I can't believe I've been running this blog for 3 years today!

What a fun ask (I've been sitting on this so I could use it for today!) I really struggled to pick fics - or more accurately, not to pick ALL the fics! I picked fics that are my go to rereads - whether it's because they make me laugh or because they pull at my heartstrings, or because they're so hot, these are some of my personal favorites.

Cupboard Love by @shealwaysreads (4,184 words, rated G)

Cupboard Love: the psychoanalytic theory of an infant’s primary drive being food which, when satisfied, leads naturally to a secondary drive for attachment.

Harry’s life, and love, in food.

Still Warm, Still Warm by @tsauergrass (4,899 words, rated G)

Harry is up to something. Why else would he keep giving Draco presents?

Five Little Things by @bixgirl1 (6,197 words, rated T)

Harry was supposed to be good at this.

Headway by orphan_account (7,482 words, rated M)

“It’s called courting,” Draco spat suddenly, livid and red in the face. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand a single thing about it, actually Potter, since it’s formal, and there are rules, and neither of those are concepts you’d know anything about even if they took on human form and kicked you right in the fucking dick.”

The Exhale by spqr (7,506 words, rated T)

Hermione makes a soft, concerned sound. "Harry, look at this." She shows him an article with a photo, but the photo's not moving; it must be a Muggle newspaper. "NASA have just landed a rover on Mars. It's called Curiosity, and look, this is so--I don't know if it's sweet or sad, but--it's all alone out there, and they programmed it to sing itself Happy Birthday."

Nothing is wrong, but Harry starts crying.

Silverpoint by @tackytigerfic (8,836 words, rated E)

It seems fairly simple to you, but you know that you don't really understand love - how could you, after all? You've never known how to talk about it, but you've never had to before. Everyone you ended up loving has always understood. You've been able to show them, by fighting for them, dying for them.

That seems a bit much- after all, Malfoy just wants tea in bed and his cock in your mouth (not usually at the same time).

It's ok to love him, you reason with yourself - he doesn't have to know. No one ever has to know.

Quick as a Flash of Lightning, Unhurried as Eternity by @onbeinganangel and @babooshkart (10,000 words, rated E)

Can you fall in love with someone by simply watching them fiercely love another version of yourself?

The Way These Days Seem to Go (And Go) by @firethesound (15,230 words, rated T)

Stress baking isn’t a hobby Harry ever thought he’d pick up, but he’s surprised to find how much it helps him to get through those long months post-war. It keeps his hands busy, it keeps his mind occupied, and when Draco Malfoy steadily pushes his way back into Harry's life, it helps with that too.

Let him lead me to the banquet by @harryromper (16,066 words, rated T)

The worst part is Harry’s got no idea why Malfoy keeps sending him invites. He’s never replied to a single one. And if the whole dinner is as exclusive and sought-after as the Prophet keeps breathlessly reporting, then presumably the only reason Malfoy wants him there is in his capacity as the Chosen One. So, really, he can fuck right off. Harry doesn’t care about Draco Malfoy’s redemption tour. And he’s certainly not going to help him with it.

Draco Malfoy Absolutely Does Not Need to Be Loved by Harry Bloody Potter by @nv-md (18,153 words, rated E)

It’s not easy to be bonded to your childhood rival, turned fuckbuddy, who you also have extremely uncomfortable but repressed feelings for—just ask Draco Malfoy.

When You Kiss Me (What A Lovely Way to Burn) by @femmequixotic (22,167 words, rated E)

A drag fairytale of New York in which Draco wears red lipstick and Potter can’t get enough.

In the dark, the light by phrynne (32,203 words, rated E)

‘Potter… It’s Malfoy. Do you still want this?’ It started like that. Malfoy’s breath on his ear, his voice low, hot against his skin. Harry shivered, though he could feel the heat from Malfoy’s body just behind him, too close, but not touching him. Even if he could. For the rest of the night, he could do whatever the hell he wanted with Harry.

Clouds That Veil the Midnight Moon by @drarrytrash (36,733 words, rated E)

According to Harry’s personal narrative regarding the incident, he’d hooked up with Draco Malfoy for purely self-destructive reasons, or out of convenience, or by some unlucky accident. Looking at him, sprawled in the moonlight, Harry is devastated to recall that he’d hooked up with Draco Malfoy because he’s hot.

Draco is a secret werewolf and Harry is doing his best and they've got criminals to catch, darn it.

Boiling Point by @goldentruth813 (42,882 words, rated M)

After an Auror raid gone wrong, Draco ends up trapped in a dodgy safehouse with nothing but Harry Potter’s dubious company and a dwindling supply of food. With only each other and the walls surrounding them, they're forced to confront their past and their feelings which have long been threatening to boil over.

The Liars Department by @dorthyanndrarry (103,395 words, rated T)

This is a story about Harry meeting up with Draco Malfoy four years after the war. And a story about Harry, well, not hating his job per say, but it's not like he has much to compare it to and it seemed fine. His whole life seemed fine. Then Malfoy came along with and his flashy suits and fast car making everything seem dull in comparison, and Harry... Harry couldn't just leave well enough alone.

Grounds for Divorce by @tepre (122,217 words, rated E)

Malfoy finds a coin. Harry finds a letter.

A story about histories, a story about families. A story about a lemon tree somewhere in Upper Egypt.

What We Pretend We Can't See by @gyzym (131,086 words, rated M)

Seven years out from the war, Harry learns the hard truth of old history: it’s never quite as far behind you as you thought.

❤️ As always, if you find a fic you enjoy, please remember to leave the author a kudos or a comment! ❤️

Love forever,

The Drarry Librarian

#my favorites #my favorite fics #the drarry librarian's favorite fics #drarry #harry potter #draco malfoy #harry x draco #the drarry librarian #happy blog anniversary to me! 3 years!#blog anniversary

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lazywritings · 9 months

Note

hi there!! could i request hcs of buddha , tesla , and qin shi huang with a catgirl! s/o? bonus points if she’s also a goddess!! ty💕

Hello there ♥ Here you go!~

warning: slightly suggestive at some parts

Buddha

Buddha has always been known for being a big tease at any given time; clearly not being blessed with the ability of staying serious for more than mere seconds. He loves joking around a lot and catching you off guard with his flirting words – but there’s one thing that he even loves more; scaring you. The way you flinch when he suddenly appears behind you; tail and ears fluffing up while a small hiss escapes your lips – makes his heart flutter in adoration every single time. He knows that you will become mad at him whenever he scares you for fun but he also knows that a few kisses here and there will help you calm down again.

If there is no place where he has to be at a given time; Buddha will most certainly prefer to be out in the nature – one of the many things which you have in common. Your perspectives on how to spend a day outside couldn’t be any more different though. You were an energetic woman; always ready to go and eager to explore your surroundings while he was the kind of man to enjoy the tranquility of the nature itself. Whenever the two of you take a walk together and you end up walking in front of him, he will carefully grab a hold of your tail and gently tug you back towards him – his arms embracing you from behind to adjust your speed to his own.

Buddha cherishes the days where you decide to stay by his side in bed all day – your small body neatly curled up beside him while your head rests on his shoulder and your tail hangs loosely over his thigh. He often catches himself staring at you when you mewl during your sleep before softly starting to snore, your fangs faintly showing. He always has to resist the urge to kiss you awake during those times but sometimes you’re just too cute-

One thing that Buddha would never admit is that there’s one thing about you that drives him absolutely insane – your purrs. It happens every so often; while you relax, while he scratches your ear or back or while you find comfort. It leaves him with a cold shiver running down his spine and his thoughts drifting off to an unholy place that he had been able to avoid for even thousands of years.

Nikola Tesla

Right from the first moment he laid his eyes upon you Tesla had been intrigued by you – a deep desire of getting to know who or what you were rising from the deepest parts within him. During his stay in Valhalla he had seen all kinds of humans, gods and different beings – though there had been no one before who caught his interest like you had done. His first approach caught you off guard as he suddenly appeared in front of you – lips curled into a bright smile while his eyes were filled with curiosity. He took slow and small steps as he observed you from all sides, the hiss you let out as he grabbed your tail carefully causing him to flinch a little.

Tesla had never been the kind of man who thought of romantic relationship as something important – he had never felt the need to prioritize anything besides his work or science – until the day you had agreed to be his girlfriend. Before he had always thought of love as a bothersome concept; something that would occupy time and plenty of his mind but thanks to you he learned for the better. He loves whenever you snuggle close to him, your ears lightly tickling his face as you lean against his shoulder – one of his arms wrapped firmly around your middle to hold you close while he scribbles down the next idea that comes to his head.

It is rare for you to wake up before Nikola, yet whenever you do he decides that staying in bed just a little longer might not be that bad. He is baffled by your silhouette in the morning whenever you rush from the bathroom to the drawer and back – the small towel merely covering your body while your ears and tail are still dripping wet, leaving a watery trail behind. He usually waits until you’re finished in the bathroom, for one because he worships your privacy and secondly because he knows that you’ll crawl back into bed with him to steal some cuddles before he leaves for the day. One of his biggest weaknesses is when you run your hands absentmindedly through his hair, lightly scraping his neck with your sharp nails while your head rests on his chest.

Another thing that always works for you to get him and his mind away from work is when you sit on his lap – your legs loosely hanging beside his hips while you bury your face in his neck, every now and then gently nibbling on the skin there. He will try to keep his calm demeanor upright but gladly fail the moment you start caressing his thigh with your tail.

Qin Shi Huang

The life as an emperor left ShiHuang with the perks of being straightforward and one who never saw consequences in his words or actions – no matter who was standing in front of him, he was sure he could handle every possible outcome. It was the same as you stumbled into him during a small stroll he took around the halls of the Valhalla arena. He carefully wrapped an arm around your middle to catch you from falling back from the impact, a soft laugh leaving his lips as he reminded you to be careful and watch where you were going. You were at a loss of words, the shock of running into a human making your limbs freeze as you stuttered a few words, trying to pull your tail from under his grip while your cheeks flushed in a crimson red, ears turning back in embarrassment.

ShiHuang had been with many women before but even he had to admit that he had never been with a goddess – especially such an impossibly cute one. Whenever you two were alone he took his blindfold off to take a proper look at you, his lips curling into a loving smile as he ruffled your hair before fondling your ears. You always felt nervous as his gaze lingered on you – cheeks often tinted in a crimson red as you played with the tip of your tail while trying to avoid his eyes. If someone asked him about it he would admit that he loves how embarrassed you get every time he stares at you and whispers sweet nothings to you.

ShiHuang loves taking long hot baths – they help him relax and clear out his mind at the end of the day but sadly you preferred short showers. The first time you agreed to join him he was laughing at you almost the whole time; the way you were flinching every time you touched the water just being too cute to him. He saw your ears and tail fluffing up as you carefully eased yourself into the water before he pulled you flush against his chest, gently nuzzling your ears with his nose.

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enemywasp · 11 days

Note

i want your billdip headcanosn i recently watched gravity falls and i see such potential for them but id like to hear otherintwrpretations

The JOY I got at receiving this ask!!! Billdip has been my otp for years I've got so many.

Dipper is obsessed with finding answers and intrigued by basically everything, which is of course what drew him to Bill.

Bill finds the Pines family in general fascinating, they're his playthings and Obsession in his own way. Pinetree is the only one who he's really focused on though, the way he talks back and is determined for answers entertains him more than anything

Dipper needs Bill, he's the only one he can really decipher and understand as he's been bullied and outcast his whole life.

He's also the only one who can keep his busy mind occupied

Bill keeps Dippers nightmares at bay as he's got a lot of troubles from his adventures, doesn't mean he won't give him his own little dreams on occasion with a special cipher touch

Bill teaches Dipper magic and runes, mostly out of curiosity but he ends up silently impressed at how much he is capable of as a human.

They fight and argue a LOT. They're at complete different ends of morality, and that makes them clash. Though Dipper finds himself less and less concerned by Bill's behaviour as time passes, and if Bill happens to gain a soft spot... who can say anything.

I think there relationship would be initially built on a deal, something that protects the rest of the Pines family for certain. But Dipper is Bill's. He can do what he want with him.

They do have soft moments, despite it all. Dipper sharing stories of humanity that Bill would never truly understand, and the demon in turn sharing tales of the past and the universe itself.

Bill initially just wanted to use Dipper and manipulate him through whatever means necessary but instead he fell hard.

Bills only capable of a very obsessive kind of love, anyone who gets too close to HIS sapling should be wary.

Dipper has a moral crisis about weekly, he's dating a demon. Who tried to destroy his entire family. But god he can't pull away and Bill makes some very compelling arguments.

If and when Bill would be able to get his own human form it would be built specifically for Dippers pleasure and want.

Being human does make Bill seem more human, though he is of course still himself sometimes he finds himself feeling a new kind of fondness he never knew before

Dipper also sometimes forgets until he pushes too hard and his demon side makes it clear where they stand. Bill will always be the more powerful one in the relationship and Dipper will always be HIS.

I think I'm going to leave it there for now. But I could probably rant forever about these two. I tried to keep this broad so I can definitely do more specific hcs in the future.

#billdip #headcanon #send asks!#proshippers please interact

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vgilantee · 1 year

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dear devoted delicate {xavier thorpe}

xavier thorpe x reader

requested: by my beloved julie @websterss <3

words: 2.2k

a/n: the reader is an outcast of an unknown type, but not a werewolf. i love werewolves, but because of some of the setup, it's gotta be a non-werewolf reader. also i went a little off-prompt but it's still the same in essence, and all the important bits are included, just shuffled up a little. oh and yes the title is a line from the song older, but i used it mostly because dear is a sweet petname, and butterflies have delicate wings. i think i'm clever. oh and if you're new here, i hate writing dialogue and it shows in this also if you want to see some really cool drawings of poisonous plants, send me an ask (please) because one of my favourite things ever are vintage botanical drawings (this will make sense in a minute dw)

warnings: n/a. just some sweetness. there is swearing though so idk if that counts as a warning

pronouns: she/her (maybe she/they? i can't remember if i threw in a 'they' lmao)

Once a month - sometimes twice if you were incredibly unlucky - you were kicked out of your room for two days while your roommate had a handful of her younger cousins over.

Before Nevermore, you loved the full moon. Now you had a love-hate relationship. You still loved the moon itself, but you never enjoyed showing up at your friend’s dorm, backpack over your shoulder and sleeping bag tucked under your arm, sheepishly asking if you could once again sleep on their floor. You could, in theory, go back to your room to sleep as your roommate and cousins wouldn’t be there, instead transformed into wolves and galavanting around the woods. But in your second month at Nevermore, you did that, and woke up to a room full of the less-than-dressed human werewolves, some of whom had chosen your bed to curl up on, with you still in it. Never again.

Full moons on the weekend were the worst. With no classes to occupy your time, you often found yourself moving from place to place around campus to find somewhere you could hide out before getting bored and moving on.

Xavier watched as you jogged past the archery field, headphones in and running shoes muddied. It wasn’t unusual to see you go past during club practice, though you tended to avoid it after a downpour. He’d asked you about it once, after seeing you in the library one rainy Saturday afternoon.

“My room already smells like wet dog at the best of times, I’m not going to add to that.” Your voice was light with humour; you adored Sofi and she always made sure to not bring in any smells with her. But the comment stuck with Xavier and the next time you were sat next to each other in Torture through History, he sketched out a wolf before moving his hand to bring it out of the page. You giggled quietly as the ashen wolf shook itself, small flecks mimicking water coming off, then curled up next to your hand. You had smiled down at it fondly as it fell asleep before dissolving into charcoal dust, leaving a light smudge on your hand. Xavier watched you and pretended not to notice the warmth that came to his face as you looked up at him, the fond look still in your eyes.

“Xavier, are you going to take your shot? Or you just going to keep staring at ‘em?” He shot up a middle finger over his shoulder before turning to follow its movement to see his club mates smirking over at him.

After ducking into Ash’s room to change into more comfortable clothes, you make your way down to the library. Ash was generally the most reliable for having space on their floor for you to crash, the thin roll-out mattress a permanent feature in the beanbag corner of the dorm.

On your way, you detour to your room to kick your muddy runners under your bed, though not before making an ‘I’m watching you’ motion toward a curled-up Sofi with a smile.

It wasn’t uncommon for couples to be hidden away in the library, especially not on an overcast weekend. But the Grimmstone library was the only library on campus that held an original copy of an 1800s toxic botany encyclopaedia.

After a few false turns with quick apologies to the interrupted couples, you finally found the right - and luckily empty - aisle. With your forefinger running gently along the worn spines, you made your way down the rows of books, glancing at the names of authors until you found the one you were looking for.

After carefully sliding the hardcover book off the shelf - nearly dropping it as the loose plastic dust cover slipped - you sat down at one of the desks lining the centre of the room and began flicking through. You flicked the book to the back, finger running down the yellowed page until you reached the name you were looking for: aconitum.

----

“Big scary werewolf and you’re afraid of a little butterfly?” You laughed as you wandered into Plant Toxicology with Sofi.

“It flew right into my face!” She waved her free hand in front of her, mimicking the butterfly’s movements.

“And you squealed!” As you laughed, Sofi gently hip-checked you, nudging you toward your usual desk, before laughing with a shake of her head and walking toward her own. You nodded hello to Yoko as you sat beside her.

“Alight, class. Group paper time.” The sounds of groans and heads hitting tables bounced around the room. “I know, I know. Now, rows one and three, turn around and give a little wave to your partner.”

----

You were hours early to meet your study buddy, but it was a non-issue. The time alone allowed you to make meticulous notes on the plant before worrying about formatting them into a presentable paper.

The notes you made were messy, quick dot points from the encyclopaedia that could make into a decent assessment. The paper was only short anyway, the first report of the semester that was more of a benchmark than a large percentage of your grade.

Headphones in, it wasn’t long until you found yourself with your feet up on the seat and book resting open on your thighs, reaching around your bent knees to occasionally take notes.

You were in the middle of triple-checking the spelling of a latin nomenclature when a flit of grey out the corner of your eye caught your attention. But as you turned your head to see what it was, all you could see was another couple darting down an aisle, whispering to each other. You shook your head with an amused exhale before turning back to your note-taking.

Just as you leaned forward to take a note, you saw the grey again. But this time, instead of a moment at the side of your vision, the grey moved in front of you just long enough to make out the shape of a butterfly before it landed on the tip of your nose.

Cross-eyed to stare at the charcoal insect, you pulled out the headphones slowly, trying not to disturb it. You knew it wasn’t real, recognising the trademark sketch lines of Xavier’s art.

Another pair of butterflies began to flutter in front of you, bouncing off of each other with tiny plumes of dust. You let out a small giggle and the bug on your nose darted away, flying right into the other two where all three of them exploded into a shower of dark powder onto the desk. Once the last of the dust landed, you turned quickly to look over your shoulders, dropping your feet to the floor, trying to find the artist.

You met Xavier’s eye as he folded his sketchbook closed in his right hand. His head was tilted with a smile as he made his way toward you, backpack slung over his shoulder.

“Howdy, howdy partner.” You wriggled your fingers to wave as he pulled out the chair beside you, dropping down and letting his bag fall to the floor. As he did, you noticed that Xavier’s pulled-back hair was a messy damp, the kind that comes with being caught in the rain.

“Started the fun without me.” He gestured lazily to your notebook and the two thick library books in front of you (at some point during your research you wandered back to the shelf and found a second book with information on the deadly plant).

“Wanted to make you jealous, of course.” You shot him a wink with a small giggle, turning back to your book just in time to miss the tips of Xavier’s ears go pink. “The butterflies were definitely a welcome distraction though,” you thanked, turning in your chair to face him fully, “I felt like I was going cross-eyed staring at these pages.”

“I’m happy to distract.” Xavier sent you a dopey smile and raised one hand to flatten down flyaways, and you bit the inside of your lip while ignoring the warmth that grew on your face. In your attempt to break eye-contact and hopefully get rid of the blush, your gaze flicked down to his mouth and caught him licking his lips.

Almost in sync, you and Xavier looked away from each other and as you looked over at the textbook, you heard him clear his throat.

“Okay, so,” Xavier broke the silence after a moment, “what have you got so far?”

You quickly delved into giving him a rundown of the notes you had made so far, explaining ideas you had come up with for it. However, you made a point of not looking up at him. It was a little awkward at times, where you would catch yourself beginning to look at him but quickly found a drawing of the purple flower far too important to not look over at.

Neither of you noticed that the sun had set until the howls of classmates made their way from this distance, the sound causing both of you to turn and look out the window.

“Shit, I didn’t realise how late it had gotten.” During the week, there was an 8pm curfew, but over the weekend library hours were extended and they were a little more lenient with the time you had to be back at your dorm giving you until midnight to be back. There was just one downside to being in the library late.

“Oh my god we missed dinner.” Xavier sounded devastated at the realisation, and you looked over to see him with the back of his hand pressed dramatically to his forehead.

“You hungry?” It wasn’t long past dinnertime, but because of the routine that came with living at Nevermore, you knew the answer would be yes. “I may or may not have some snacks hidden in my dorm.” He perked up, and though he would never tell, he was more than a little excited to be spending more time alone with you.

---

Xavier sat awkwardly on your bed as you kicked off your shoes and began to pull a box out from under your bed. Pushing some heavy clothing out of the way, you pulled out a bag of chips and a couple of packets of sweets.

“It’s not really a dinner, but it’s food.” You showed him the food you had stashed, offering it weakly. Xavier scooched himself onto the floor, patting the space beside him and you sat yourself down cross-legged.

As Xavier pulled open the chip bag, you sent Ash a message saying you might be over late, but would try to be as quiet as possible. They sent back a thumbs up, and you shoved away your phone just in time for the chips to be held out in front of you.

Between the sweets and bag of chips, you and Xavier managed to talk about anything that came to mind as time quickly moved by. During your time, both of you got more relaxed, losing any vague semblance of good posture and leaned against the side of your bed. And maybe closer to each other, but only maybe.

Xavier pulled his sketchbook out of his backpack and leaned forward, listening to you talk as he drew. He hid his sketchbook from you as you tried leaning over him, giggling into his ear as you did.

You let your body flop onto the ground beside him, staring up leaning on your hand as he readjusted how he was sitting to keep hiding what he was drawing from you. Then he tucked his pencil behind his ear and held his hand above the page.

Lifting up with a rain of dust, a dozen small butterflies began to flit around your room. They bounced off each other, spinning in circles as they danced.

Much like the interruption of howls earlier in the evening, you are brought back into reality by the buzzing of your phone against the hardwood floor.

“I don’t mean to stop you from whatever you’re doing,” Ash skipped the greeting as you answer the call, “but if you’re sleeping here tonight you might want to think about showing up soon.”

“Hello to you too.” Sitting up properly, you watched Xavier as he turned on his phone screen and showed you the time, and you widened your eyes. “Oh fuck. Okay, thanks, Ash. Be there soon.” Xavier stood first, offering you a hand to pull you up which you happily took pretending not to notice the way he squeezed your hand shortly when you stood.

“I can walk you over if you want.” You were already shaking your head at the offer, knowing that you would be cutting it thin getting to Ash’s dorm and Xavier’s dorm house was in the opposite direction.

“No, it’s okay. I don’t want to be the reason you get in trouble.” He held the door open for you, leaning on the outer frame. As he pulled it shut his arm brushed your side.

There was a beat of silence as neither of you wanted to move. Although you had spent the night hanging out, the softness in that moment was different and not something you wanted to break.

Steeling yourself for a moment, you darted forward and kissed Xavier on the cheek, turning and beginning to walk away before you could see how he reacted.

Xavier watched as you moved quickly away, his cheeks and ears pink, He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times trying to figure out how to react. Once you disappeared around the corner, he let out a breath and sheepishly smiled to himself.

comments and reblogs are appreciated! as are asks about the fic!

rambles, feel free to ignore: this fic isn't… okay so i hold myself to very high standards which is a problem with my brain and things, and i need to stop doing that because i end up giving up on things that aren't perfect instead of appreciating that i have made something and it's mine and from my brain. again, a problem i need to sort out. but all this being said!! by my self-imposed standards this isn't amazing, and really i'm posting it as a "here! it's done! take it before i take it back and destroy it!" and that's only happening because it was a request from a mutual.

tl;dr: these rambles are more to say that i like this fic, and i'm happy enough with it, but my standards are so high that i don't think it's good enough. which is a common thing with creatives and just know that what you make is good because it's yours and you made it, and that's all that matters!

#char rambles #char writes #xavier thorpe x reader #xavier thorpe x you #xavier thorpe x y/n #reader insert fic #xavier thorpe fanfic #xavier thorpe oneshot #xavier thorpe blurb #char's mutuals #˚:✧｡• julie #xavier thorpe reader insert

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lux-ishii · 1 year

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We and the Mandalorians were wrong about the Darksaber.

The legends of this sword talk about how it's meant to unite all Mandalorians. For some, it's just a lightsaber, heirloom, fancy tool, or symbol of power. But in reality, it's something created with the use of the Force. Force is important here. If you watch Star Wars you know it exists no matter how much some characters will say they don't believe it is.

The Darksaber was never meant to be the symbol of power. It belonged to the first Mandalorian Jedi. Someone who unites two worlds that fought each other for centuries. It was the ancient Mandalorians who gave this saber a different meaning, but it was its creator and the Force that gave the Darksaber purpose.

All the bad/hating comments you can see about the Darksaber plot being useless, or wasted potential are blind to those facts. I will say it just in case, I'm not a fan of how the Darksaber ownership was carried, BUT I do see the bigger picture here.

Favroni didn't want the Darksaber to carry the brutal legacy of ruthless Mandalorians, they wanted to show the true purpose of the Darksaber, the peaceful, uniting one. And the truth is, if not for the Darksaber, all of season 3 wouldn't take place.

Let's say, Bo fights Gideon, and she gets the Darksaber. Din and her telling each other goodbye, he goes to Boba, etc, and wants to be redeemed. What now? Hypothetically:

He drowned in the Living Waters or died because of that Borg creature.

There was a war between Gideon and Bo's forces that weren't that successful because she herself never reached the full potential in that scenario.

Several members of the covert get eaten daily.

Nevarro is occupied by pirates.

Ang so on…

The Darksaber was in Din's hands for a reason, but it wasn't the reason to make him the next Mand'alor, because that is what was adopted over the years when Mandalorians tried to define their own rules of what it means to be a Mandalorian. Din got it for its real reason to unite himself and the others. To put him on a path with his fellow, lost Mandalorian Princess.

Bo and Din lived different lives. Yet, they both are Mandalorians. It is often mentioned how the two groups hate each other. We can even see the hostility on screen. There are constantly reminding us how Mandalore fell because of their own divisions. New Mandalorians, Death Watch, Maulorians, Resistance Warriors, Children of The Watch… Shattered like stars in the galaxy.

Bo-Katan was the first one to break the circle of the constant battle over the power of the Darksaber. We now know she didn't want to challenge Din Djarin for the saber, even if she knew at the stake was everything she worked for. Bo saw beyond the brutal nature of the Darksaber's legacy, beyond the tool that in its signature brought death and power. She saw a human behind it.

With that, the Darksaber lost value for her. She said herself, that she was not sure if that blade will be enough to unite them all. Bo lost all the glorification she had for that weapon. Back in season 2, she was confident that with the Darksaber she will restore Mandalore to its former glory, but now she knows the Darksaber is not special when it comes to power. Because it's people that matter.

Her refusal to take the blade, or challenge Din was a catalyst for restoring the actual way of Mandalorians. The way of unification. From now on, her and Din's life was bound by the Darksaber. Just like the first owner Tarre Vizsla was bound with Mandalorians and Jedi.

The Force will find its way, always. Even if they don't believe in it. But the blade itself rejected Din, on purpose. He never wanted it and it was not his destiny. However, because he got the blade, it triggered a chain of events that resulted in his and Bo's lives crossing together, this time for good.

At the point when it didn't matter to both Din and Bo, the Darksaber was nothing, yet it was everything. As time passed Din and Bo grew to know each other, respect, and understand. They, Mandalorians of two opposite ends, working together, spending time together, being a great team, being stronger together.

They both learn from each other what it truly means to be Mandalorian. And it's not bloody fights every night, it's not killing your own people over differences. It's the care for family, for their tradition, their legacy. It has always been the care about Mandalore and its people.

The blade united Bo and Din, which brings us to a bigger picture here.

The blade won't unite all Mandalorians. But it united Din and Bo, who now are examples for everyone else to see that despite their differences they can work together. It is the relationship that they both developed with each other that is an example for others. Their actions, and what they represent. Both of them see beyond the Darksaber, they see the value of the people behind them. They ditched the fighting nature the old way and restored the blade's true purpose, making Din and Bo the contrast of reason against years of wars that led them to this point.

TLDR; The Darksaber is now uniting Mandalorians not through power, but through real noble values that should be the core of the new age for the Mandalorians. Its (Darksaber's) conflict united two opposite souls that are now the fundament for the future of Mandalore. The weapon was never about power or death, and Bo and Din restored its former purpose even if they aren't aware of it.

#the mandalorian #mandalorians #tarre vizsla #din djarin #bo katan kryze #the darksaber #the mandalorian season 3 #dinbo #bodin #din djarin x bo katan kryze #bokadin #lux's analysis

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revenantlore · 4 months

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. queer gothic fantasy . ghoulish vampires . a grumpy man with a pet rat and a death wish never to be granted . the literal embodiment of sunshine . polyamory . snarky lesbian badass . necromancy and undead horses . a ghost dog . supernatural drugs .

Plagued by a virus spread from an experiment gone awry, never does a night go by where Ashmourne’s cobblestones and soil are not drenched in human blood.

Bloodthirsty monsters wearing the faces of the virus’s victims run rampant the moment the sun is drawn below the horizon and only death can stop them.

Much too quick and strong for any ordinary adversary to survive against, a small group of both willing and unwilling participants have been scientifically engineered to protect Ashmourne from the very horrors the scientists created.

Without these special few, the townspeople of Ashmourne would have far more to mourn than daylight itself.

. bram valdis .

With no regards to his health or safety, Bram delves straight into harm’s way with the hope of a miracle: an end to his suffering. His past is marred with as many scars as his body, haunting reminders of what he is, who he used to be, and what he can never be again. No more than a laboratory rat, an experiment, a mistake … something far from human.

His compulsions lead to a gruesome collection of blood drawn from the Fangs he has slaughtered, a memento of sorts, stored in vials lining the shelves of his bookcases. Less a symbol of triumph and more a way to calm the obsessive thoughts rattling through his skull. Not a night goes by where he doesn’t count each and every one, often to the familiar tune of insomnia.

A fear of intimacy and loss has left him bitter and alone for much of his life, but he dreams of one day finding a love alike that of the fairy tales that accompany him on these sleepless nights.

. halifax bertram .

After out-aging the dirty halls of Galloway’s Home for Unfortunate Children, Halifax and his younger brother, Pennant, were left to fend for themselves in search of a better, safer life outside the borders of Ashmourne.

Poor, helpless, and more than a little hopeless, their journey was wrought with danger and a quick end.

When Pennant is taken in by Ether as a potential experimental subject, Halifax bargains for his freedom in exchange for Fax’s, unaware of the consequences that await him.

Fax hasn’t spoken to Pennant since.

Not without want, but it is forbidden, if he wants his brother to remain safe.

. pennant bertram .

Painting helps Pennant hold on to hope, distracts him from the grim truth of his existence in the weary village of Ashmourne. When painting fails, there’s the withering garden in the forests beyond Dead End to keep him occupied. He’s determined to bring some life to it—a budding flower or a shock of green amongst the wilting leaves.

Ashmourne is a dark and dismal place, desperate for a spot of brightness, a spark of hope, and so is Pennant.

Not even death will stop him from making it happen.

. zay larosa .

Following in her mother’s and aunt’s footsteps, Zay offers psychic readings at The Dirty Rat for a negotiable price—often she will settle for payment in the form of a drink, and many of her clients would claim the drunken prophet’s readings are always more accurate when of a liquor-addled brain. Others would denounce her credibility as a prophet, usually when things go wrong—or, more accurately, out of spite, when they go just as Zay said they would when seldom is it ever in the client’s favor.

It’s all but a distraction—the booze, the nameless women she beds, the hours and coins wasted away in games of cards and dice, all teetering on a risky bet her prophecies fail to correctly foretell—while a thirst for vengeance gnaws ever-present at her heart.

Her father was slain by a man Zay only knows by appearance alone, an unmistakable scar clawed across his face by her hands alone, and she is determined to find and kill him—all the more reason to snatch a glimpse into the futures of strangers.

. athios forsyth .

Haunted by the memories of a murder he didn’t mean to commit, Athios recedes into a life of isolation to avoid facing the truth behind the event. There are no consequences for the crime, no evidence that it ever happened—not when his victim rose from his grave at the touch of Athios’ own hand—except for the ceaseless guilt.

In the accompaniment of Ambrose, a dog whom is neither here nor there, Athios tends to the graveyards of Ashmourne, both with the intent to maintain a pristine appearance and to experiment with his ability to raise the dead.

His curiosity comes with more consequence than he bargained for when he messes with the restricted graves of Fangs and unleashes a new horror upon Ashmourne.

. zacarias bane .

All hopes of affection were surrendered the day Zacarias discovered himself incapable of touching another person without being thrust into their deepest, darkest memories without mercy.

Yet … Bram and Athios seem to somehow be exceptions to this rule.

The two men become a mystery Zacarias is determined to solve, temptation and desperation fueling his quest for an explanation while he suffers through nights of listening to the ceaseless passion of strangers below his rooming above the local brothel.

#my oldest and most belovèd wip and therefore naturally the one i have struggled with the most #wip : mtd #wip : mourn the day #vampires #gothic fantasy #dark fantasy #writeblr #writing #wip masterpost #wip intro #wip introduction

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slavicviking · 1 year

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A fashionably-late Valentine Steddie lil’ thing set between seasons 2 and 3

(Ao3 version linked in the replies)

Though he vehemently denies it later, it’s a joint idea. Literally. They’re high off their asses in Jeff’s garage turned hung-out spot, Eddie being the highest or maybe just the loudest of them all. The idea itself is severely simple, probably more than a little bit mean - born out of childish bitterness and, on Eddie’s part, a deeply internalized and terribly unrequited crush from forever ago - one no one dares to mention but one they all know about anyway.

At midnight on the twelfth of February they’re sitting on the floor of Jeff’s garage, giggling like madmen, and it seems like a great idea.

Steve Harrington, former King of Hawkins High, makes an easy target, too - both for an impossible crush and The Idea, which, in retrospect, Eddie admits started out as a mean-spirited prank. A revenge on the down-low. Because King Steve was never the one to shove into a locker or offer a swirly in a disgusting high school bathroom - no, he was too good, too untouchable for that. Steve Harrington always watched on the sidelines, hair perfect and not a wrinkle on his polo while others did his dirty work.

Perhaps that is an exaggeration. Perhaps it often felt that way anyways.

It felt like that less and less every week, just as Steve’s bruised eye and swollen cheeks looked healthier and Harrington himself seemed on the right track to graduate though with no girlfriend or the usual ragtag group of friends in sight. Whether it was willingly - unlikely, he thinks - or not, Eddie doesn’t know and stubbornly denies wanting to know.

Despite all this, or maybe because of it, Harrington remains an easy target, an almost perfect punching bag that represents everything Eddie and his friends despise. Add a tragic backstory, an unfair fallout of sorts, and they would be forced to admit the former basketball captain is a person and not only a vague projection of their own insecurities and an echo of the shitty high school experience - and that would defeat the purpose of The Idea.

The Idea is supposed to be something silly and inconsequential, maybe a little mean, but otherwise harmless.

They - Eddie, Jeff, Gareth and Grant - make a conjoined nightmare of a card, powdery glitter splattered over the front page, a cluster of terrible one-liners inside, more often than not with a backhanded compliment or two interwoven somewhere. It looks catastrophic, which is precisely as the artists intended.

It’s Eddie that gets chosen to slip it into Harrington’s locker on Valentine’s Day and he does it quickly, nerves jittering. Gareth is on the lookout and even though the corridor is empty, Eddie still feels…off about this. Sitting at the usual Hellfire Club lunch table an hour later he recognizes the feeling as guilt and that - that he finds extremely annoying, most of all. Kind of conceited of Harrington to occupy his thoughts like this, positive or negative, at all hours of the day. He considers going back to the locker to try and retrieve the card but he knows it’s most likely too late. And damming.

Two or three hours later Eddie thinks that, well, perhaps he worried for nothing because he sees Steve as he’s making his way to the van, sun beginning to set, and Harrington’s grinning and there’s a spring to his step that hasn’t been there before. Worst of all, he’s coming Eddie’s way.

“Munson, hi!”

Is this where Eddie earns a new shiner? Gets his kneecaps kicked in? If so, Harrington’s smile and reddened cheeks feel odd at the very least and unceremoniously unfair but, still, remain a sight to behold. Eddie is only human after all.

“Hi?”

Harrington halts by the concave bumper of the van, hands shoved into the pockets of whitewashed jeans, smile lingering. It’s entering Uncanny Valley territory, making a beeline for the Twilight Zone.

“I got your card,” and, oh, from the left pocket emerges the hideous thing, some of the glitter falling on the pavement. Steve gets a forlorn look on his face as though the loss of the shiny plastic is actually quite tragic and, hey, it’s been a weird day, so maybe it is.

Eddie should probably say something, the self-preservational part of him, albeit, admittedly, small, screams at him to deny, deny until he can no longer strain his voice. Play dumb. Deny. Run away? Just - anything. “Um.”

“Nancy saw you drop this in,” Harrington shrugs half-heartedly, red splotching his cheeks even further. Eddie is not sure if Nancy Wheeler is not, in fact, the scarier of the former ‘it’ couple. She doesn’t seem like the type to hatecrime her way through whatever this is, but stranger things’ have happened. He glances around but the curly-haired reporter does not appear out of thin air. If anyone would posses the ability to do that, it would be, no doubt, Nancy Fucking Wheeler.

‘Local Freak outpranked by an Adonis reincarnate’, he can almost see the headline, too.

“Not gonna lie, I wasn’t expecting this, but it’s kind of cute, you know, and-” Harrington pauses, seemingly made aware that Eddie, amidst it all, has yet to say anything at all. Like a deer caught in headlights, Eddie produces a strangled sound, fingers twitching around the door handle. Steve’s shoulder slump and the smile turns sour. “You didn’t mean it, did you?”

That. Is a lot to unpack.

The sheer idea that Steve Harrington would actually be delighted to receive a Valentine’s note from another guy, an Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson of guys, is preposterous at best. His sixth sense, tailored to any potential signs of an upcoming cruel teasing from a classmate, is not tingling as strongly as the situation calls for it. Steve doesn’t seem like someone who would engage in some twisted prank war, though, he sounds concerningly genuine instead and that, Eddie thinks, might be scarier.

To know you could have had a chance if you tried but fucking it all up.

“It’s mean,” he finally says, pointing to the card. I’m mean, he means to confess but he doesn’t know if it’s more for his or Harrington’s sake.

“I know, Nancy told me, but-” Steve sighs and, good god, he can vividly imagine Wheeler sitting Harrington down and explaining every compliment-clad insult and exaggeration, and it doesn’t sit well with him at all. Eddie likes attention. He’s seeked the attention of the man in front of him, though unwilling to admit that to anyone but himself, for a good portion of his life in Hawkins. But not like this.

“Then why-?” and Eddie doesn’t know how to end this sentence. Why did you come here? Why aren’t you angry? Why-?

“Dunno. I kind of hoped- Well, I thought that maybe it was your way of flirting, or something.” With every word, Steve gets smaller and smaller, shoulders hunched forward. It’s a terrible thing to witness. “Which - stupid, right? You didn’t- Well, we can just forget-”

“What if I did?” Words tumble out of Eddie’s mouth before his brain has any time to process it but if there’s even an inkling of hope that he can fix this, that Steve is saying what he thinks he might be saying, as otherworldly as it seems- “Mean it. What if I would like to mean it?”

A complicated look passes Harrington’s face, eyebrows drawn together, lips formed into a miserable pout. “Would you?”

“Would you?” Eddie shoots back meekly, waiting for it all to fall apart, just as it is expected to, but Steve simply nods, once again shattering the carefully-curated Munson doctrine and some of Eddie’s personal walls.

“I mean, you’re cool, man,” and that, Eddie knows, is a bold-faced lie but it makes him feel comfortably warm and buzzed so he’ll allow it. Steve’s fingers twidle with the card. “You’re not afraid to be yourself. I like that.”

Eddie’s not against improvisation, in fact, generally he quite likes it. But this, now, he would love a script to follow. He doesn’t want to hurt Steve, and he doesn’t want to hurt himself either.

“I believe I have greatly misjudged this whole situation. I’m sorry,” Eddie winces, slipping the disastrous Valentine out of Steve’s grasp, holding it in the air between two fingers. “I’d like to request a special case of tabula rasa, if you’d let me.”

“Tabula-?”

“-rasa. A second chance. A re-do and all that shit, man,” he gestures to nothing in particular. He sways on his heels, wound up. “I don’t know you, dude. But I would like to? If- yeah.”

Steve looks infinitely softer, rigid lines of his shoulders curving downwards. Smiles.

“I’d like that, too.”

#steddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie munson

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solitary-traveler · 2 months

Text

Star-Crossed Hearts

Zhongli has lived for thousands of years.

And he's always watching his beloved be ripped away from his grasp.

Notes: Hi, I wrote this when I was knee deep in my Zhongchi phase. So like, a year ago-

Art credits: Qing11502143

Warnings: None

Zhongli has lived for thousands of years.

He watched how the seven nations far and wide united to form the world of today. How that world forfeited the deities that used to protect them and their respective land. He scrutinized as humans progressed to a new era, without the need of gods and visions.

He watched with a satisfied smile.

He doesn't feel bitter resentment or anger to the mortals who casted him aside, as he was first to vacate his seat from the heavens. He slowly realized that the world he's grown to know was no longer the same as it was before. His people became independent, no longer needing guidance and protection from the gods above.

He had long fulfilled his duties.

But he continued to overlook his nation- the one he made with his own hands- as it developed without him. It was painful, yes, but he couldn't help the twitch of his lips when faced with his country. He was proud of Liyue, now a bustling city without the hindrance of a god.

Zhongli has lived for thousands of years.

Being a god, it's one of the privileges that comes with it. To never age. But is that really considered a privilege?

He's seen how every person he loved was forcefully torn away from his side. How his heart shatters and rebuilds itself, losing pieces as more people come and go. So instead, he wraps his heart in obsidian to help numb the pain.

It was fitting for him. The Geo Archon with a heart of stone.

But under his vigilant gaze, he saw how a heart of stone is still a heart nonetheless.

Because somehow, that hardened heart crumbles and turns into dust, swept away by the raging winds as he watches the love of his life jump into the arms of another.

Charming, witty and sly. The name Ajax has been engraved in Zhongli's memory and etched into his heart. He fell for that crooked smile and his silly way with words. He loves the way he always reeked of something metallic, sometimes minty and sometimes just straight up blood. He loves the way his barely noticeable freckles show themselves under the scorching Liyue sun. How his sunset dyed hair becomes a star, guiding Zhongli in the dark with its bright shade. He loves him from head to toe, with every beat of his heart.

He loves him, but Ajax doesn't.

And he has to watch as he becomes happy with someone else.

But that doesn't mean he would stop loving him. Gods, can he even stop loving him? Every day, he finds something new to fall in love with, maybe a mole he's never seen before or a scar that refuses to heal. There's just so many things to love about Ajax. And he’s willing to write all of those things if it meant he could immortalize the one he loves for the world to see.

Because Ajax can’t live that long.

Because he is human.

And like other humans, they perish. But Zhongli isn't scared of that. He's lived long enough to know that people always come back. He'll just have to find Ajax again and fall in love with him. Even if he's never going to be the one to occupy that heart of his. Even if all he does is watch him, because that's the only thing he is permitted to do.

Zhongli has lived for thousands of years.

And he's always watching his beloved be ripped away from his grasp.

("One day", he proclaimed to his friend Venti, as they downed another glass of firewater together. The Teyvat of today has some strange tastes when it comes to wine.

"One day, I will stop falling in love with him")

-----------------

“Zhongli, I got suspended today" Childe laughs as he flops onto the fresh patch of grass. He pivoted his head to shift his gaze to the man beside him, who quietly lays down beside him with an unreadable expression.

They were currently resting in a field of green. This little valley was like their getaway, a place they go to when they want to spend some time together. This also happens to be one of Zhongli's favorite spots, for its breathtaking scenery and for a memory he's quite fond of.

(“See Zhongli! Told you you look better with silk flowers” Ajax beamed as his gloved fingers carefully placed the flower crown he made on Zhongli’s head. Zhongli just smiles, his amber eyes narrowing in delight.

“I think it looks better on you”, he thought as the words rested heavily on the back of his throat. Never to be spoken out loud.)

Zhongli sighs in an affectionate manner, "And why would that be?"

He has a guess as to what happened, but he wants to hear it straight from the others lips. He wants to hear Childe tell the tale. He's got a real talent for storytelling, his words bewitching anyone who dares listen. Zhongli happens to be one of those people.

The ginger grins from ear to ear, and beckons him to move closer. He starts narrating, filling the surrounding air with wonder and awe.

And throughout it all, Zhongli stares at him with his lips slightly curved, his eyes crescent shaped like the moon above.

Oh it seems like he's falling again.

After Childe finished his short anecdote, he drove his fist into the sky as if he was punching the air. "And that's how I fought a gang and survived" he huffs, a victorious aura emitting from his body. He flashes Zhongli a toothy grin that sends the archon back to the olden days, when he would open his door and be greeted by Ajax, covered in all kinds of cuts and bruises.

("This is getting unbearable" Zhongli chided as his pointer finger applied ointment to one of the bruises in Ajax's back. Ajax hissed—probably from the pain— before letting out a low chuckle. "Yet you seem to tolerate me, Zhongli. Why is that?"

Because I love you was left unsaid. And it was better that way.)

Zhongli groans. It seems that every reincarnation he meets ends up being addicted to the adrenaline rush provided by battling. One they definitely inherited from the original. He doesn't know if that's a good or bad thing.

He reached out to Childe and his fingers instinctively brushed past his cheek. Zhongli can feel the softness of his skin, and leaves him with the urge to touch it even more. Realization hits him like a freight train. What is he doing?

The brunette felt heat rush to his cheeks and he pulled his hand back without a warning. He laid flat, his body facing the stars to avoid whatever expression Childe has on his face right now. It doesn’t work though, and he instead feels an intense look coming from his side.

“You shouldn't get into too many fights. You might end up getting injured" he snapped in a gentle way, his voice dripping with concern. He regrets letting his instincts take over. But he can’t control them when it comes to Childe. It becomes really troublesome sometimes.

A few seconds later, he can hear clothes rustle from his side. Then he catches a glimpse of Childe's silhouette. Pushing aside the remorse he felt from his actions earlier, he decides to take a quick glance. He shouldn’t have done that though, cause his pulse just skyrocketed. The soft glow of the moon bounced on Childe’s pale skin, his usual color dulled down by the night. It made him look soft. Ethereal. Zhongli’s mind automatically ingrains this view in his memory like a painting.

Because Childe is a work of art. And Zhongli will gladly be the painter who gets to preserve his beauty.

"You don't have to worry," Childe says, dragging the older man back to reality. Zhongli blinks, and sees a hand extending towards him.

A hand is extending towards him.

Zhongli blinks again, and he completely registers how Childe's hand is in his hair.

Childe's hand is in his hair.

A small squeak forces itself out of Zhongli's mouth as his eyes widen the size of teacup plates. He's not a stranger to physical contact with Childe, but none of them as intimate as this. It feels nice. It gives him a moment of comfort, his problems washed away by the tides of his touch. But he doesn't want it. Because he shouldn’t have it.

It’s like a drug to Zhongli. One taste, and he won’t be able to run away.

And that scares him.

He needs to run away.

"l'll be fine" Childe continues, and there’s something new in those ocean eyes of his. Zhongli can’t make it out. It’s something entirely new. Foreign. He can feel his chest constrict.

No.

Stop.

Stop looking at me like that.

Stop looking like you care the way I do.

Zhongli hates this. He hates how Childe can just say something and Zhongli will end up short circuiting. He hates how even a single look can send Zhongli into a spiral.

He hates how one side this is.

He hates how he has to go through this over and over again. He hates how he loves Ajax so much he lets himself go through this over and over again.

He hates it.

He wants to take off and bolt away from this situation. But Childe's touch is keeping him grounded. He's still ruffling his hair, and looking at him like he's precious.

He's not that precious. He'll never be precious.

All throughout his life, he’s never been precious enough for Childe to willingly choose him.

He's merely an option. A second choice.

Zhongli gulps and closes his eyes, letting the feeling of Childe ruffling his hair sink into his mind.

But what if…

What if this Childe chooses him?

He exhales.

He lets his mind wander. He lets himself dream. He lets himself hope.

He hopes that they stay like this forever. He hopes that he will be chosen.

He hopes that Ajax will finally be his.

When the hand is abruptly pulled away, Zhongli snapped open his eyes only to see Childe glaring at him with a scrunched up nose.

“What the hell, what shampoo are you using? Why is your hair so smooth?" Childe curses, a demanding look crossing his eyes. Zhongli stops, and he laughs. And he keeps laughing. Not because of the remark Childe gave, but because of how he was about to plummet into another abyss of doubt.

He was about to fall for his own trap.

He laughs until his voice is hoarse.

He caught himself hoping again. When he knows he shouldn't hope.

But it's Ajax.

So he lets himself have hope.

Zhongli stops laughing and sits, so both him and Childe are on the same level. The younger man has his eyebrows raised, probably questioning Zhongli’s sanity. With a puff of air, the brunette bows his head.

"My apologies Ajax I got a bit carried away." He smiles and gestures into the wind. "I use a brand called Aloe. It recently came out, only available in our local area. It’s really effective in removing oil and other sediments from the hair. This causes it to have a smooth result and—"

"Wait nevermind. I don't want to hear it" Childe cuts him off and raises both his arms in an "I give up" manner. Zhongli chuckles. "You just don't want to listen to my ramble, do you?" He teases with a knowing smile.

Childe face instantly flushed. Adorable.

"I just don't want to hear a rant about shampoo for 3 hours, okay?" Childe remarked, lowering his hands to return back to its original position. "At least not right now" he whispers. Zhongli nods. Talking about shampoo right now would just ruin the mood that they have. And frankly, he doesn’t want it to be ruined.

So he just decides to tease him further.

"But you look so bored when I talk about anything".

"You know I’m not" Childe whines and slightly nudges Zhongli’s shoulders, "Your stories are really interesting".

That's the same thing all the other reincarnations say, yet he never gets tired of hearing it. It never fails to make his heart stutter. It’s always pleasant to hear when the one you love likes something about you that most people can't stand.

“But I wonder…” the ginger mutters. He looks at Zhongli, his gaze probing. “How strong are you physically? Like in a fight?”

"Average", Zhongli simpers.

And that's a lie. I mean, he's been called the "God of War" at some point.

This comment makes Childe's sit perfectly straight, an air of challenge materializing out of nowhere. Something tells Zhongli that his words weren’t believed.

"Alright, let's test it"

And in a swift motion, Zhongli is tackled to the ground by Childe, hovering over him.

The older man yelps at the sudden movement. He was not expecting this. Not at all. If anything, he was expecting the boy to demand that they have a sparring contest. Not to push him to the ground. Childe's hands are on both sides of Zhongli's head, and those damn blue eyes are staring straight at his own. He had the stupid cheeky grin that never fails to give Zhongli a heart attack.

Though, a heart attack would be nice right now.

Because he doesn't think he can face this.

Not when Childe is literally on top of him.

Zhongli feels as if all the blood in his body is transferred to his face. He just silently prays the atmosphere is dark enough so that Childe won't see his expression. He was sure he was red. So he wishes he won't see how red he was.

"Did I catch you by surprise? Or are you really that weak?" the ginger teases. He seems oblivious to the fact that Zhongli is flustered right now.

Good.

Zhongli's lips parted, about to say something, but he closed them again.

Being in close proximity with Childe is never a good thing.

His breathing hitches.

He won't be able to hold back if they stay like this. He might end up wrapping his arms around Childe's neck and pull him closer to his body. He might end up holding him and never letting go.

And he’s afraid of that.

He's afraid he won't be able to let go when he should.

But maybe..

Maybe this is what Childe wants too.

Maybe he wanted this, for him to be held tightly and never let go. For him to end up in Zhongli's embrace, tangled in the arms of one another.

Does he want this?

Does he want the same things I do?

But before Zhongli’s instincts take over again, Childe falls to his side with a huff. Zhongli blinks and blinks.

He almost did it.

Oh my god he almost did it.

Zhongli tries to still his breathing, he didn't realize how fast it became.

He almost made a mistake.

He almost lost himself.

Trying to recover from his shock, he turns to his side to adjust and further calm his nerves.

But he regrets doing so.

Because Childe is also looking at him. Gazing at him with those eyes.

Eyes that seem to flicker with affection.

Zhongli's breathing hitches again.

Why?

Why does he keep looking at him like that?

Zhongli ponders and ponders until his head hurts. But he couldn't think of a rational answer.

Is it because Childe likes him back? Is it because Childe also cares the way he does?

Zhongli inhales. Then he exhales. And he thinks for the first time in his life, he finally gets to have Childe.

He finally gets to call Ajax his.

Oh how he wishes he could finally do that.

"Ah right, I forgot to mention" Childe starts, breaking eye contact with Zhongli to look around for a moment before gazing back at him (Something he does when he's nervous, Zhongli notes). "I can't make it this Saturday. I have a date with Lumine"

And Zhongli's heart falls apart like a fallen empire.

Of course.

How can he forget about the irrefutable fact that Childe will never jump into his arms?

"You asked her out?" He hates how his voice sounds so strained right now. So broken.

Yeah! She said yes. Though her brother looked like he was about to kidnap me and dump me into a river" Childe cackles, making a motion of wrapping something and throwing it away.

They are never going to work.

He was bound to watch, just watch as his beloved falls for anyone but him. Because that's how it is.

Because fate made sure Childe would never fall for him.

Zhongli shakes, just a little. Barely noticeable even.

They were never meant to be.

Childe took notice of how Zhongli has gone unusually quiet and that his expression looks a little forlorn. He scoots closer and taps his shoulder, "Hey, are you okay?"

It doesn't hurt.

It's not supposed to hurt.

So why does it hurt?

"I know it was sudden of me to cancel but I'll make it up to you."

After having been rejected over and over again, his heart should've been numb to the pain.

It should've.

Yet why does his chest hurt more than it should?

"Maybe next week?"

Is wanting to be with Childe so wrong that the universe won't let them be together?

Even for one lifetime?

Is wanting to be with Childe so forbidden?

Zhongli looks at Childe and forces a smile, even when all he wants to do is to run far away from this place.

I love you.

"Yeah, next week seems great"

-----------------

Zhongli has lived for thousands of years.

He's watched the world around him advance, learning a lot from all those years of being alive. He even knows history like the back of his hand.

He's a far cry from stupid.

Yet when it came to Ajax, he was reduced to a pitiful state. All the rationality he has is thrown outside the window. Away from him. And all that remains is his heart. Beating, waiting patiently for the one he loves.

Zhongli has lived for thousands of years.

And he's going to live a few thousand more.

But he knows he'll always find Ajax, and fall in love with him again.

It’s a cycle he subjected himself to.

A cycle of wanting someone you can’t have.A cycle that involves continuously loving the same person.

Until he can’t anymore.

Even if all that person does…

Is break his heart all over again.

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact fanfic #zhongchi #childe x zhongli #tartali #genshin zhongli #genshin childe #zhongchi brainrot #tartali brainrot #tartali fanfic #zhongchi fanfic #tartali oneshot #zhongchi oneshot

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