#there's lore behind it and everything but what you must know is that
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the prince [2]
✢summary: what happens when your husband brings home a son that is not yours?
✢tags: arranged marriage gojo satoru x reader, reader is a clan kid, she’s v traditional, obvious cat and jon snow references
✢tw: implications of cheating, mentioned abuse, misogyny ig, fanfic gojo, ooc gojo
✢ a/n: here's part 2! i'd like to emphasize that depsite this being a gojo x reader fic, the main realationships i'll be focusing on are y/n and the kids gojo brings home lmao. also im raw dogging the lore as we go so if there are any inconsistencies, please lmk. as always, have fun and lmk what you think!
i don’t do taglists.
part one ✢ masterlist
If it were up to you, you would have shut the gates of the Gojo estate as soon as the child entered the grounds, but your husband had given him the the maids so quickly that you’re sure they have spread the word around already. You could hear the rumors in your head. Gojo Satoru has brought home a child out of wedlock. Gojo Y/N is barren. Gojo Satoru has a mistress.
You expected Gojo to be frantic, stumbling over his words in explanation as to why he has a son- it was his son, there was no doubt about that- reassuring you about his vows remain unbroken, or whatever else but silence. You are silent too as you watch the child get scurried away by the estate staff to scrub the dirt off his face and to get a change of clothes.
Even as he is being escorted away from you, his cursed energy did not fade. You feel it like how everyone feels Gojo’s, but more raw and untamed. Whoever this child is, it is Gojo Satoru reborn again.
Silence. Silence is what took the Gojo estate into a chokehold as the maids finish bathing the child and then put him in a spare bedroom a good distance away from yours. The maids must think you resent him.
Satoru pretends like everything is the same as if the boy had been there since the beginning. During the first night, you watch with a blank face as the cake you've baked for him is eaten by the child. Neither the boy nor Satoru expresses their gratitude towards you. You doubt they even know you baked it.
To his credit, Satoru had treated the child better than you had expected. He is blossoming into fatherhood, you realize and you feel the rage and anger burn in your stomach.
He pats the boy's head and messes his hair, before pointing to his own messy mane exclaiming, "See? We match!"
Satoru had tried to include you in conversations with the boy, even daring to seat him on his right at meals. Satoru would blab after seeing the child gobble mochi. "Mochi is Y/N's favorite too!" He turns to look at you with a bright smile. "Right, Y/N?"
You want to point out that the boy had gobbled everything served to him, but you just give a brief nod.
At night, you sleep like a log- rigid, straight, and quiet. Satoru, on the other hand, remains comfortable, snoozing the day's exhaustion behind him.
Tonight will be the same as it has been for the past few weeks. You stare at yourself in the mirror of your vanity, wondering if your reflection is the perfect example of a foolish woman. How stupid of you to think he was different.
There was nothing but quiet as you prepare yourself to sleep, brushing your hair quietly. You hear the door creak but you do not turn and greet him with a smile like you used to.
“I expected you to be more emotional about this,” came Satoru's words beside you. Me too, you want to reply but held your mouth shut.
You had expected yourself to scream, and let your anger flow through your voice. You wanted to cry until your tears were dry and there wasn't any left. Neither you nor Satoru would be surprised if you use your technique against him in a fit of fury, and if you truly knew your husband, you know he'd take your anger like it was penance. You want to be the fire that burns him badly. But you did none of those.
You are as cold as their blue eyes. You are quiet.
You continue to brush your hair.
"Do you want me to get rid of him?" offers Satoru. "Just say the word, and I will."
You blink in surprise. You meet his eyes in the mirror. Satoru looks nonchalant in his posture with his hands in his pockets. But the fact that his glasses were nowhere to be seen tells you he is not joking.
Your ears recall the promise he made months ago. My wife, my equal. A promise to try, to try to be happy to spite everyone who was determined to make your lives miserable.
The sudden exhaustion hit you, your shoulders slumping from your previous postures. You lean back, letting your nape rest on the back of the chair. You stare at the ceiling, your head forbidding you to forget how the child looked like. White hair. Blue eyes. You hear Satoru sigh somewhere near you. You hear his footsteps come. From your peripheral, you see his figure beside you. A feather-like hesitant hand touches your shoulder. “I was not unfaithful to you.”
Satoru moves to kneel in front of your sitting figure. He reaches out to your head, and touches his forehead against yours. You find yourself looking up at his eyes, the same shade of eyes that he shares with the child. His hands cradle your face, desperate for you to believe him. “Please. Please, Y/N.”
You remain silent.
“You’re the only one I have left, Y/N, please.” He begs. There are tears threatening to spill down to his pretty face, and you find some sick satisfaction in them.
That is not true. Your husband has his clan, his estate servants, his high school friends, and his teachers. It is you that has no one but him. By your culture’s traditions, you do not belong to your clan anymore. You know that some elders have begun to doubt their choice in choosing you as the wife of Gojo Satoru with the obvious lack of children, but with the sudden appearance of Gojo-sama’s bastard child, they might annul your marriage by force- or, god forbid, cast you aside for another, more fertile woman.
You do not wish to share your thoughts, but your husband grips your head so desperately. You have made a god beg.
“I know.” You say. The child may be young, but he was old enough to walk and talk small phrases on his own. He must be at least two years old. The child is older than your marriage.
His shoulders immediately drop in relief before quickly detangling himself from you and wrapping his arms around your waist. He slides his head to hide in your neck and like instinct, you welcome him wrapping your hands around his waist.
"Where would you leave him?" You manage to ask, still not believing his offer.
"The cabin," he says. You can see the cracks on your husband now. You spot his hand making a fist inside his pockets, like it pains him to speak. “The one by Nagasaki, remember? I’ll send a maid and give him money every month. We can send him right now. The maids will not say anything outside the estate, not if I threaten to chop their tongues off. We can send him off with a caretaker to a cabin somewhere and leave him there. I- I can visit him a few times a year- just to make sure he’s fine.”
You blink. You did not expect Satoru to offer that. You let the fantasy linger in your head. You imagine the boy’s life so far- abandoned by his mother and unknown by his father. Children do not understand things the way older people do, so it is up to the adults to help and explain certain things. But he has not had an adult in his life before. Would you be happy if you were left alone in the cabin in the middle of the woods with no one but a caretaker for company? Better yet- will the caretaker even stay to care for him without anyone around?
That sounds incredibly lonely, you realize. The premise sounds all too familiar to you- an empty house with no one but servants. But this boy will only get one.
He needs people to protect him, but you are unsure if you’d like to. Your instincts tell you to agree, get rid of the boy before he becomes more of a threat.
“Satoru,” you say slowly, thinking of your next words carefully. “He is just child. He is no danger to me.”
You hold your breath, suprised to hear the words out of your mouth. From your lap, Satoru holds your gaze- piercing eyes trying to read your mind. If he caught your lie he does not show it.
"Are you sure?"
No. "Yes."
-
Hiroki. Satoru had names him Gojo Hiroki.
He spends most of his days inside the estate surrounded by maids or inside his room playing with the toys you off-handedly ordered the day after he arrived. The maids gush about him already, the older ones excitedly murmuring how the little lord acts so much like your husband as a child. You would be a fool not to agree.
Hiroki runs barefoot through the estate, tracking mud on precious tatami floors before a servant finally catches him. He likes people, likes the maids and the servants, and thus has migrated to the kitchen a few weeks after his arrival like he was addicted to places were people are the most. He draws. He draws so much it’s almost ridiculous. You could have a library full of childish scribbles.
Like your husband, he devours his dessert the best before any dish. He eats mochi, ice cream, cookies and whatever sweets there are on the table like it was his last meal. You recall one of the maids gasp as a drop of cream lands on your cheek when he slammed his fork in his cake.
Satoru is free in his affection for the boy, unexpectedly flourishing in fatherhood. He remains firm in his belief that children should be children and makes an effort to see Hiroki out. Satoru becomes known to sneak the child away from the estate to parks, to mini-vacations you begrudgingly join after Satoru’s incessant pestering. And of course- school. Hiroki made history once again when Satoru announced his decision to enroll Hiroki in a totally normal, public Japanese preschool.
You realize that Satoru was meant to be a father. And one good one at that. It brings you comfort that any children that he is at least good to his son after he confessed his plan to be a teacher after graduation.
Tokyo’s jujutsu highschool would be blessed with his presence, thought one of Satoru’s female seniors would disagree.
“Yo, Y/N-chan,” came a voice.
You twist your body over to the source of the voice, and your face lights up at the sight of a familiar face. “Getou-san!”
If Satoru's presence is an overwhelming force, making everyone and everything bow to him as if he is god, Getou is a dark, uneasy, slinking feeling. His cat-like features morph into a happy expression with a polite smile on his lips.
“Is there a mission today?” You ask as Getou comes nearer. Satoru would try his best to keep any of his classmates away from his estate, but there is nothing he can hide from Getou and Shoko. "Can I come?"
After you had let slip that you wanted to become a licensed sorcerer, Satoru had made it a habit to sneak you into some missions with Getou. You had fretted about the technical legalities and questioned the safety of the public when an inexperienced sorcerer like you enter the battlefield but Satoru merely shrugged and simply gestured to his best friend. We're the strongest!
Getou leans his shoulder on the wall. "Nope, not this one Y/N."
“I see,” you say, failing to hide your disappointment. Sometimes you wonder why you enjoy the missions so much. Was it the thrill of doing something you never would? Perhaps it was the freedom of it all, unleashing your power to poor curses who quiver beneath your feet?
Your ears perked at a familiar high pitched laugh, and your eyes immediately lock to the window where Hiroki soon runs across. He has dried soil on his feet. His pale hair is slicked back with sweat and it glistens against the sun like snow.
A maid forces a laugh in panic as she tries to catch him with his shoes on one hand.
Away from him. That’s why you enjoy it.
Getou follows your line of sight. “How is he?”
You glare at him. “How would I know?”
Everyone knows that Hiroki is a taboo topic if it’s within your earshot, lest they want the you in a foul mood. But Getou does not shy away from his question and only raises an eyebrow, calling your bluff.
“You’re telling me you do not know your own household?”
“The garden is his place,” you sigh., and admitting it felt like defeat. “He likes the grass on his feet and likes big spaces. He gets angsty when a room is too small.”
“Mmhm,” Getou agrees. “Did you know Satoru plans to enroll him in a daycare?”
Your eyes widen in horror. “In a- what?” You shriek. “He has a dozen of servants here willing to serve him-! Does he even realize the risk he’s putting the boy in? Assassins, curses, cursed users…” you trail off, remembering your own childhood. It was strange to be surrounded by servants but feeling so alone at the same time. “I see.” A daycare meant potential friends, friends that you never got to have. “Does…does the boy like it at least?”
“Me?” Getou barks out a surprised laugh. “Shouldn’t you know that?”
You glare at him. Getou meets your gaze unapologetically, almost as if he was challenging you. Finally, he sighs. “Have you ever talked to him at least?”
You roll your eyes. Your sharp tone echoes around the room. “And why would I do that? He is no concern to me.”
"He needs you."
"He does not need me," you snap, suddenly impatient for Satoru to come out of wherever he’s hiding so Getou and him can go. “He will resent me when he’s older, I know it.”
You have seen this same scene over and over again. Children and the wife of the husband do not get along. Both suffer at the existence of the other. This is the fate that Satoru had subjected you to. This is the fate you have set upon yourself when you refused to send him away. You wonder if your kindness will cost you one day.
“Well,” Getou shrugged nonchalantly. “You haven’t given him any reason to like you either.”
You opened your mouth to retort, only to be interrupted by Satoru.
“Getouu,” he whined, comically trudging towards his best friend with a hunched back. “Why are you so early?”
You see Getou open his mouth to reply, but you are lost in your head. You watch Getou ignore Satoru’s childish gimmicks, already dragging him out of the room and towards the door. You feel Satoru kiss your cheek before waving goodbye, but your head was in a daze mindlessly repeating Getou’s words. You feel shiver creep down your spine before shifting your gaze towards the garden where Hiroki’s presence was last.
-
thank you so much for reading guys! i’d love to hear all criticisms and suggestions for this universe <33 please lmk through comments :>
here’s my masterlist
#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru imagine#gojo x reader#gojo satoru x y/n#gojo satoru#gojo satoru x you#jujutsu kaisen#satoru gojo x reader#jjk#gojo imagine#satoru imagine
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The Only One
Dark - Duke Leto Atreides X f!Reader
Not Beta Read
PLEASE READ TAGS/DISCLAIMERS/WARNINGS BEFORE READING THIS FIC. THERE ARE DARK THEMES!
Summary
The duke needs an heir, or Caladan will fall under the rule of his enemies. There's one woman is capable of saving the planet...she's the only one.
Tags/Warnings
Disclaimers: This fic does not comply with canon, throw everything you thought you knew about the Dune lore out the window. The duke is (in my opinion) in character for this situation, despite the obsessive tendencies. There is heavy non-con in this fic, it's not for everyone. If you're sensitive to that sort of thing in fanfiction, please keep on scrolling thanks.
NSFW, non-con, rape, kidnapping, sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink, praise kink, lactation kink, pregnancy, blood kink, cockwarming, forced pregnancy, non-consensual bondage, porn with some plot, smut, creampie, body worship, pregnant sex, oral sex (f receiving), Dark fic, Dark Duke Leto Atreides. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT (that means that what you see in the tags WILL be in the fic, don't act surprised when you get exactly what you were warned about.)
Word Count: 6k
Prelude
After many years of trying for an heir, Duke Leto has begun to give up hope. Without an heir, the emperor threatens to give away his birthright, strip him of his title, and hand Caladan to his enemies. He has been given only one final year to produce a son who will carry on his family name.
While searching for someone who could give him what he needs, he happens upon a mysterious woman. The strange woman tells of a prophecy, one that Leto takes very seriously, because he has no other choice.
"In a village, not far from here, my lord, there's a girl. She is not of noble birth, but I have seen her future, and she will give you many sons."
Duke Leto, a kind and gentle man, would never hurt someone so innocent on purpose, but when faced with the choice of taking you, or losing Caladan to those who meant to oppress it, he must set aside his morality for the greater good...
The duke entered his chambers where you were suspended from the lofty ceiling, as he’d requested his men to do once they found you. A warm smile spread across his face at the sight of you, so beautiful, so scared. Leto stepped forward, nearly jumping when your head shot up and your tear-stained eyes locked on with his. He held one hand behind his back in a regal manner, holding the other out to touch your cheek as he closed in on you slowly.
“W-wh…” you cleared your throat, “where…”
“Shh,” he whispered softly, brushing his thumb over the soft skin of your beautiful face, “you’re safe now. There’s no need to panic.”
Despite his words, it was clear you were terrified, struggling to breath in a normal, even heave. No matter the fear you displayed in your eyes, the duke’s expression remained calm, and filled with adoration.
“I know you’re frightened. It is…expected,” he said softly, standing up straight and casually walking to his wardrobe. “Would you care for some wine perhaps? Or I can call for the doctor, he could provide you with a mild sedative?”
He turned to look at you, your head was hung downward once again, naked body trembling and rattling the chains that held you in place. He wasn’t a cruel man, though he suspected you thought he was. He’d never done something like this before, sending his guards out to retrieve a young woman to keep in his chambers indefinitely. A nearly inaudible sob escaped your lips.
“No need to cry my dear, you’re not in any danger,” he said, beginning to unbuckle his belt, the sound of the metal piercing through the room. “In fact, you’re going to be very well taken care of here. Do you have any idea just how lucky you are?”
You cried harder, sobs becoming even louder as you looked up at him again. He removed his shirt, revealing his warm, sunkissed skin. It was hard to tell, but he appeared handsome through the blur of your tears. You dropped your head again, your neck aching from the position you were in. Your arms were pinned behind your back, body bent forward at the hips, leaving your rear exposed and open. Your thighs ached, legs spread wide, forced open by a metal pole secured between your knees. The ache in your chest from your labored breathing was horrid enough, only made worse by the chains wrapped around you, keeping your torso held upward and parallel to the stone floor.
“You don’t even realize that you are the most important piece to maintaining our way of life of Caladan,” he continued, removing his pants completely and letting them fall to the ground. “I have been unable to find anyone compatible. Perhaps it’s that my genetics are too much for the average woman to carry to term.” He stepped closer to you, cock bobbing heavily with every stride. “But you’re not average, are you my dear?”
“P-please,” you croaked, “I…I…”
“No no, not another word. You’re frightened now, yes, but you’ll soon realize the important work that you were made for,” he walked past you, running his hand along your arm and to your hip as he did. “The important job you’ll be doing for me…”
You whimpered, struggling slightly against your restraints but to no avail. The duke used to pride himself on being an honorable man, and even in this morally reprehensible moment, he felt justified in his actions. He didn’t always like what his duty called him to do, but knowing it was for the greater good, he would do almost anything.
“You see my dear,” he cooed, “you were found for me, a beautiful, fertile woman who is prophesied to give me many children…” he leaned into your ear, “many.” His tone turned to a low rumble. “So even though this may seem sudden, you will realize with time that you’re fulfilling your purpose…your destiny.”
His right palm splayed over the globe of your cheek, moving toward where your body was spread in two. He didn’t like hearing you cry, but he knew it was inevitable. No normal girl would consent to being abducted and restrained in a man’s bedroom, not even the duke’s bedroom. He saw your puckered hole, and he pressed his index finger to it gently, inciting a gasp from you, followed by the rattling of the chains. You cried out, begging him to release you, but your wails fell on deaf ears.
“I know you care about Caladan, our people. I know you care about the Atreides legacy, and you know…” he spit between your crack, letting his warm saliva trickle from your rim down between your folds, “you know I need a strong, healthy heir.”
Leto positioned himself behind you, using his hand to fist the fat tip of his cock at your glistening entrance. The metal pole keeping your legs spread for him creaked with tension as you struggled to close your thighs, a pointless endeavor. He sighed heavily, gliding his head between each crevice of your pretty little cunt, making himself slick with your arousal.
“You must think me to be a cruel man, but you’re mistaken darling. I don’t want to hurt you, and if you’ll relax this will be much less painful for you.” His breath was ragged with an almost animalistic desire. “You must understand, however, that I care far too much about the future of my people not to provide them with an Atreides heir.”
No matter how hard you tried to escape the flesh splitting thrust of his wide girth, your attempts were futile. A pained scream echoed off the walls of his chambers, followed shortly by the warmth of your blood against his thighs as he slapped them against yours loudly. He wasn’t trying to hurt you, but he wanted to get your first time over with, and not drag it out any longer than necessary. He slowed down after a moment, once your screaming turned to soft whimpers.
“You’re doing so well…” he huffed through his nostrils harshly “…I know this isn’t easy for you,” Leto leaned forward, grabbing one of your hanging breasts in his large hand, pinching the nipple gently, “b-but your body was built for this…it was built for me…”
“No, n-no…” you trailed off, feeling your head fall back down, neck aching still from the strain. A small moan left your lips, despite your attempts to keep it in.
“O-oh sweetheart is…is it starting to feel good?” The roll of his hips remained at a steady pace. “That’s wonderful, it will help with the pain, and your time will be more enjoyable for you if you can gain some pleasure from this as well, I don’t want you to feel misery if I can help it.”
“S-stop, please, my lord…”
“Shh,” he whispered softly, continuing to palm at your breast.
He leaned forward, pressing his lips against the soft skin of your spine. He could feel your tied-back hands fidgeting against his ribcage. His free hand moved to your left hip, holding it tightly to angle himself deeper.
“I’m going to fill you with every bit of me , every-single-drop,” he punctuated each word with a harder thrust. “I need to make sure you get it all, need to make sure it takes…mmph!”
Surely your noisy whimpers could be heard in the halls, yet no one came to help you. They all knew what was happening in there. You were to be the mother of the next Atreides heir. You would be made to bear child after child for the legacy obsessed duke. A breeding vessel for a desperate nobleman, torn between his kind nature and his need for the security and wellbeing of his people.
“The emperor will take everything I have if I can't secure my bloodline. He’ll give it t-to the…” he whimpered and gulped deeply, “Harkonnens, and I can’t let that happen to my people.”
You could hear nothing over your whimpers save for the wet slapping of his skin against yours as his pace quickened. You didn’t know what he was going on about - destiny, legacy, an Atreides heir? - He snapped forward again, a gravelly rumble falling from his chest. He moved to an upright position, letting your breast hang loosely once more. You wailed loudly, the feeling of his thick fingers leaving their impressions in the flesh of your hip.
“M-my lord, my lord…it hurts so…s-so-much-s-sir!”
“I know, but you’re taking me so well anyway aren’t you?” He looked down where your puffy little hole swallowed his crimson painted cock. “Look at that.”
His index finger touched where you were stretched around him, that little bit of skin that held onto his cock like it never meant to let go. You whimpered, chains rattling around you as your body involuntarily moved, only serving to sink you down further on his length once more. He could hear you hyperventilating, a panic-stricken whine punching out of your chest that he felt a tad guilty for inciting.
Until he remembered what your purpose was…the reason he’d had you brought to his castle in the first place.
He reached an arm around your leg, sinking the pad of his finger into the wet, bloody mess between the slippery lips of your cunt. In the sea of your arousal, he found the swollen bud that made your walls flutter around him. You gasped, and seemingly on their own, his hips slid forward, chasing that delicious feeling of your body finally accepting him, pulling him deeper inside.
“You like that don’t you?” He bit his lip, a breathy chuckle escaping through his teeth with the knowledge that he’d found a way to settle your terror, if only for a moment. “I promise, no matter how terrible this may be, that I won’t allow you to stay like this…and-s-suffer-oh-my…”
He felt your body squeezing tighter, walls contracting around his cock. He thrust forward again, shuddering at the way you were taking him, pulling him deeper, like your body was begging for his cum, like you needed him to feed your hole until you were stuffed and overflowing.
“Mmm-m-my-lord…p-please–”
Your tone was different now, more sultry and full of desire. It was good to hear you like that, moaning instead of crying, grunting with pleasure instead of pain. This would be so much better for you once you gave in, he knew that much. He could give you everything: make your body shake with orgasm after orgasm, clothes made from the finest silks, and comforts that were reserved for only the lords and ladies of Caladan.
“Your pleas don’t go unnoticed sweetheart, don’t think me cruel, I wouldn’t do this if the circumstances were different,” he huffed, breathing becoming more ragged with every glide of his hips. “I need you…Caladan needs you–needs-you-full-ah!”
The smooth roll of his hips slowed as his seed spilled into you. You felt it, warm and slick as it coated your insides white. You felt a sensation you’d never felt, rolling over your entire body and pooling in your core, causing your legs to shake and your mind to go blank. It was euphoric; a reprieve from the pain you’d endured for what felt like hours, but couldn’t have been more than several minutes.
Leto felt your pussy walls squeezing, crushing down over his girth in waves while you moaned. What a sweet sound, one that made him feel mental relief that he’d given you something in return for your suffering. His finger slowed around your hardened clit, letting you come down slowly from your high.
As your pleasured whines subsided, you thought he would remove himself from you, letting your hole relax after such an ordeal, but he didn’t. The duke stayed there, hips pressed flush against your rear, making no motion to release you from his hold. You moved slightly, but he gripped tightly on your hips, keeping you firmly in place.
“No, no darling, no.” His voice was calm but raspy, still settling after his climax. “I’m going to stay like this for a moment longer, just to make sure it takes. We wouldn’t want to waste it.”
He looked down, seeing the way your body had bled on his, coating his pubic hair in a deep red shade. He felt for you, truly he did, but once you realized what an honor it was to be in your position, he knew you’d find it was worth the sacrifice. Your breathing was slowing, going back to normal, and after several moments he pulled back, letting his limp cock fall from where it had torn you open.
You groaned, feeling yourself become empty all at once. Your head hung down, neck finally too tired to hold it up any longer. You heard the duke tsk behind you, his palms pressing against your cheeks and spreading them further. The sound of dripping cum on the floor echoed through the room.
“Let’s keep it all inside, sweet one, I need you to give me a son,” he pushed his spend back inside you with his finger, what little was still there and had not fallen to the floor.
You winced and hissed, the metal holding you in place rattling once more. His thick middle-finger slid in deep, Leto shuddered as your hole clenched in response. He could hear you crying, a soft, defeated sound he wished one day would stop. But he couldn’t expect that from you, not now as he broke you in for the first time. He expected you would be like this for a while until you were used to him, used to his size, used to the way he kept you as full as possible, as often as possible.
“Your body handled me very, very well darling,” he said, idly fingering you as he spoke, continuing to push his spend back inside you. “Looks like I’ve made quite the mess of you, but don’t worry, I’ll have you cleaned up in a moment.”
He kept true to his word, once he was thoroughly satisied he’d kept his cum in you long enough, the duke turned onto his back, positioned himself between your thighs, and propped himself up on his elbows so his lips could reach your cunt with ease. A gasp shot from your lungs, the feeling of his warm mouth enveloping your sore folds bringing comfort to the ache. You moaned, a sound that represented more than just sexual pleasure, but a sound that told him you were at least accepting your fate…for the moment.
He was right, there was no more fighting, and it was clear your words weren’t going to change his goal oriented mind. His desire to have an heir was stronger than his desire to act honorably. His tongue went flat, you felt it soothing the tear of your hymen, then dragging upward and flicking once it reached the peak of your folds. You exhaled a sigh, cunt throbbing in response to the way he lapped at you masterfully.
“You know not many,” he kissed your pussy lips, “can say,” another peck, “they’ve been lucky enough to carry such an important role for Caladan. Even I’m not as important as you are right now.”
His hand reached up and pressed against your stomach while his mouth continued to melt into your cunt, soothing you even more as he cleaned you. He never felt such pride as he did in that moment, knowing that this was a good effort, even if it didn’t take. The sheer amount that he ate from you, in combination with his already discarded seed on the floor underneath him, gave the duke a sense of relief to know that he was producing sufficiently on his end. It wouldn’t take long for you to give him a healthy child, if you were indeed the girl the old woman had told him about.
You whimpered still when his tongue would touch your wound, though it was always followed with the relief of him dragging it over your clit. He slurped quietly as he continued, not making an indication that he would be stopping any time soon, despite the likelihood of you being clean already. The hand on your stomach moved, reaching up and cupping your breast, holding it and squeezing softly.
“Oh, my lord, y-yes…”
Despite yourself, you couldn’t deny the heat pooling at the base of your abdomen once again. Was it even worth trying to deny the way it felt? He was the Duke of Caladan after all. If he wanted a hundred concubines tied up to his ceiling he could take them, and no one would stop him. You should be grateful it was he who took you, and not someone who might’ve been much more cruel in their claiming of your body.
He hummed into your folds, breathing heavily through his nose as he did. His hand slid over to your waist, gripping around you and holding tight. The vibration from his moans, and the brush of his peppery beard against your thighs was causing your body to near release once more. That would only be the second time in your life that you’d felt it, and you wanted it more than you could bear.
“Mm, let yourself go my dear, I only want you to feel good from now on, now that I broke you in a little.”
His mouth never left your cunt as he spoke, his words only serving to draw your next climax from your body faster. You felt it fall over you, warm and heavy, making your body melt once more, going limp save for the involuntary crashing of your walls around the emptiness the duke had left behind. He didn’t stop until he was sure you were fully satisfied, head hanging down again and breathing returned to normal.
With a grunt he rose from beneath you. You heard him padding on his bare feet to the wardrobe on the far side of the room. If you turned your head just a little you could see him, much clearer now than before. He looked at you as he put a loose cotton shirt over his shoulders, then leaning down to pull his trousers over his legs.
“You’re simply the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he said in a gentle baritone, moving back to kneel in front of you. “I do not kneel for many, but I’ll kneel for the mother of my children.”
You strained your neck to look at him once again. He cupped your cheeks to help you, seeing your struggle and feeling sorry for the part he played in your suffering. He kissed your forehead, feeling the salt from your sweaty brow upon his lips.
“I’ll return every day, at least until I’m sure you’re pregnant,” his lips curled into a compassionate smirk, “then I’ll let you rest while your belly grows.”
He stood, striding to the washroom and leaving you hanging there, like a prized animal on display. Before long, the same men who’d captured you returned, undoing most of your bonds, save for the ones holding your hands behind your back. They weren’t rough, just like before when they’d abducted you. You felt your entire body sigh, your bones and muscles feeling relieved to fall back into place.
You weren’t sure when exactly you’d conceived. It must’ve happened at some point between that first time when he tore you apart, and the following month when your period didn’t arrive when it should’ve. By then you’d become, not unlike, a piece of furniture in Duke Leto’s chambers, restraints much less restrictive and painful than your first meeting. Only a week after he’d broken you, you’d become more willing for him, crying less when he came to take you.
“I don’t want you to feel like a prisoner here, despite your situation, and since you’ve become so compliant, I think I can afford to make you more comfortable,” he’d explained.
And so he had you moved to the bed. Though you weren’t completely free. That was a risk the duke could not afford. So he had metal cuffs around your wrists, and chains that connected them to the stone wall behind the bed. You could move easier, but you could never leave.
When another week went by, two weeks after your torment began, he was swelling with pride, seeing you spreading your legs upon his entry into his chambers without prompt. You said you appreciated the silken evening dress he’d had the servants craft for you, the one that fell open on either side of your hips when you presented your cunt to him. He wasn’t supposed to love you - it wasn’t necessary for him to love you - but he felt himself overwhelmed with feelings he couldn’t contain every time he saw you.
Three weeks after that first meeting, you kissed him. It was clear he’d been holding back, allowing you to maintain some level of autonomy, despite having taken your body for himself so many times. He couldn’t, and wouldn’t, force you to be intimate with him if that wasn’t what you wished.
So it was a shock when he was several moments into fucking you, cock sliding wetly along your walls in a desperation to fill you with him again, and you grabbed his face on either side. His hooded eyes shot up, meeting with yours but then quickly flicking down to see your precious lips closing in. You closed your eyes, and so did he, and everything seemed to slow down for a moment, including the pace that he thrust into you.
The slow roll of his hips was heavenly, and was soon accompanied by the feeling of his hand on the back of your head, pulling you deeper into the kiss, gliding his tongue inside your mouth so he could taste you. The duke filled you faster than ever that night, being so engulfed in the moment that he couldn’t hold on any longer.
And now, it was just over a month beyond your arrival to Castle Caladan, you were sitting with the physician while he examined you, confirming that yours and the duke’s efforts had been fruitful.
The way Leto looked at you in that moment, was a look you’d never seen before. His dark brows turned up and stitched together, soft lips parted just before a smirk curled over them. He held your chin between his thumb and forefinger, the glossy sheen of tears apparent in his eyes.
“After years of trying to produce an heir, I finally found a perfect vessel, such a precious thing,” he cooed, touching your stomach before leaning in and finding your lips with his own. “My most wonderful treasure.”
Leto heard nothing else as the doctor murmured about you, voice seeming background to where his focus lied. Part of him was still shocked that the old woman was right. She told him in his search of her prophecy that you, a normal village girl, would produce many sons for him, and she was right.
That night, the duke did everything he could for you. His kisses were softer, less desperate and more deliberate. His hands didn’t grab your flesh as a means to hold you, but rather to feel you. And when he sunk his cock into you, he did so in a way that emphasized your pleasure over his own, angling for those spots that made your body quiver.
You may not have been of noble birth, but to the duke, that night you were his empress. There wasn’t an inch of your skin that hadn’t been brushed by the coarse hair of his bearded chin. He worshiped you, giving you an evening dedicated to only your satisfaction.
For many weeks he would come into his chambers and ramble on about how proud he was, and how well you were doing. He would whisper the most depraved, while beautiful, things in your ear about how the people of Caladan owed you their lives, and how he couldn’t wait until it was time to breed you all over again. All of that praise was nothing though, not compared to the way he looked at you after coming back from his trip to Arrakis.
When he walked into his chambers, and you were there on his bed, only a couple short months away from birth, he stopped dead in his tracks. He felt like the words were trapped in his throat, and his feet were stuck to the floor. All he could do was stare, and take in the beauty before him. You were simply radiant, pregnant belly full with his son, his heir; swelling breasts nearly spilling out of your dress.
Once he found the ability to move again he slowly walked over to you, taking off his coat as he sat beside you.
“Look at you…” his voice trailed off.
“Hello my lord,” you greeted softly.
His hand reached for yours, and he was quickly reminded that you’d been a captive there, metal cuffs still wrapped around your wrists, rattling as he held you. He felt a pang in his chest, wanting desperately to release you. Every time the thought crossed his mind though, he worried you would run. You didn’t seem like you would try to leave, having become much more docile since your arrival months ago. There was also the glaring fact that you were pregnant, and it wouldn’t be easy for you to get away even if you managed to pass every one of the guards who might see you before reaching the doors of Leto’s home.
There was always that small chance though, no matter how slim, that you would leave. It was a risk he couldn’t afford to take.
He looked back at your body, eyes wide and trained on your stomach. The duke leaned in, kissing just above your navel, a satisfied hum escaping his lungs as he did. It was hard not to like him, and that was what you hated about him the most. The man was dedicated to his people, to his title, and his legacy more than anything. The longer you were around him, and the more time you’d spent under his care, the more you’d begun to understand your purpose within his walls.
The idea of the Harkonnens, or any other house for that matter, claiming the right to Caladan, should House Atreides produce no heir, was a frightful one. He broke you from your thoughts, eyes trailing up your chest and to your eyes. Your breath caught in your throat, he looked so handsome, lips slightly parted with a few stray hairs falling into his dark eyes. Despite holding you captive for the sole purpose of breeding an heir from you, you’d begun to fall for Leto Atreides, against all odds.
“My sweet girl, my darling, you’re doing so well, growing my child in your womb. I couldn’t have asked for a better woman to give me a son, to give House Atreides its heir,” he whispered, cupping your cheek, bringing his forehead to yours. “I’ve been disappointed so many times.”
“Thank you my lo-”
“No sweetheart, no, shh…” he pressed a finger to your lips gently before replacing it with a tender kiss, “you should be worshiped by Caladan, it's people…I want to worship you.”
His hand grabbed at your waist, pulling you against him into a deeper kiss. You felt his growing arousal against your thigh, followed by an involuntary rut of his hips. You whined, trying not to be bothered by the incessant ache in your chest, your engorged tits becoming too heavy and painful to bear. It was hard to focus on the duke’s soothing touch when you felt such discomfort.
He stopped kissing you, looking at you with concern, “are you alright sweet one?” His eyes trailed to your tits, “are they sore? Oh you poor thing.”
You nodded and whimpered, wincing as he pulled one of your straps down and pulled a heavy breast from its confines. Your puffy nipple had a bead of white sitting on it, threatening to trickle down the mound. His pink tongue darted out, lapping up the milk that nearly fell from your breast, and humming in approval of its taste.
“Let me help you my dear,” he said softly, leaning in and latching his mouth over your chest.
You gasped at first, the coarse brush of his beard stinging against the sensitive skin, but it very quickly gave way to a much better, more soothing sensation. You sighed in relief, feeling him suckling at your flesh, drawing out the milk that had been causing your breasts to swell beyond belief. He moaned against your skin, rolling his hips idly as he did. This was very unusual for him, to be so needy and desperate for you, clinging onto your body the way he was.
In the past, Leto would’ve just taken you if he wanted to, but with your body so soft and full with his child, he would resist. Of course he knew you could take it, you weren’t made of glass, but he wanted to give you nothing but comfort, emptying you instead of filling you with more than he already had in the past. He felt your hand reach up and grab the back of his head, delicate fingers massaging between his peppery locks.
“Mm, my darling, so sweet,” he muttered against your tit, a little milk dribbling down his lips.
You felt his hips moving more, now more deliberate before, as though he were accepting of his primal urges to find release, rather than suppress it, but still unwilling to ask you for help.
“It’s alright my lord, you haven’t…mmph…you haven’t been satisfied in some time. Do what you must.”
Even though he was trying to remain stoic and refined, your permission was all he needed to throw all that aside. With his free hand he tugged at his belt, keeping his lips pursed around your nipple as he did. You heard the unmistakable clanking and rattling metal as he found success, pulling the leather from the loops and tossing it to the ground. His dexterous fingers then made quick work of his pants, pulling them to his thighs.
Leto Atreides was a nobleman, not one to give in to such animalistic delights so easily, but something about drinking from your chest, and how perfect you were serving him and his house with your pregnancy made him feral for you. His hands were shaking as he tried to bring his cock to your hole. He’d done it so many times before, why was he struggling now?
“Sir…” you pushed him off your breast, biting your lip at the sight of him as he looked up at you.
His eyes were hooded, milk-drunk and heavy. The lips that had been suckling for a while were now pink, puffy, and covered in a white, glossy sheen. You lifted your leg, sliding yourself into a position that you were both parallel to one another. You wrapped your leg around his hip, angling his fat tip to your slippery entrance.
“You’re too precious, too g-good…oh…” His hips stuttered forward, opening you wide around his cock once again.
You hadn’t been with him in so long, your body had nearly forgotten how to take him. You winced, needing to readjust once again, but he was patient, holding himself flush against your hips while your walls moved aside for his girth. He let out, what sounded like, a low growl as he mouthed at your neglected tit. His hips remained in place, making no attempt to retreat, nor to glide in further. His cock rested there contentedly, throbbing every now and then.
He gulped, humming into your breast as he drank more, the ache in your chest slowly subsiding with every moment that passed. Eventually he moved his hips lazily, pulling back after a time before rolling back forward.
What the duke was feeling with you in that moment was more than a simple sex act. What he felt now was comfort, his cock buried in your soaking, slippery heat, and his lips pursed around your nipple. Leto swirled his tongue in a slow roll over your peaked mound, taking a moment to inhale several shaky breaths before going in for more.
The way he drew more and more milk out of you was causing your body to relax further, your walls becoming more open to his slow movements and deep strokes. A low moan escaped you, forcing his eyes to shoot up, still so dark in their feral hunger. You tugged his hair, forcing him to pull off your breast with a loud pop. Without hesitation, you kissed him, filling your mouth with a combination of your sweet fluids and the duke’s own signature taste
“You’re like no other. Not a day goes by that I don’t want to hold you close sweetheart…”
He brushed his nose against yours, eyes moving slowly from your lips, to your eyes, and back again. A swell of emotion poured through him, his desires going beyond just wanting to give you his seed, but it was something more. Your last name…it was wrong. He never wanted to take a wife, in fact, he’d vowed never to do such a thing, but you’d changed the very fiber of his being from the moment he’d found you.
“After my son is born, I’ll give you the best gift I can, the only gift I can give a woman of such importance…oh my…g…”
The duke lost himself, holding you tightly against him, though careful not to squeeze against your stomach too harshly. His choked moans vibrated against your chest while he filled you, pumping your body with his cum once again. You felt your own climax wash over your body, inspired by his own, drawing everything it could from him as it did, both of you a trembling, moaning mess.
He sighed with contentment after his mind cleared. He looked at you once more.
“I’m going to keep you,” he kissed your lips breathlessly, “I’m going to keep you here with me. I’m going to give you my name, and until the day I die you’ll be mine, my precious thing.” He pecked you again, and then pressed his lips to your stomach.
“I can’t wait to have your name, sir, and to be able to walk around the castle freely,” you said softly.
Leto’s blood ran cold.
Walk around freely…
Perhaps you’d misunderstood him, in fact, he was certain of it. He could see how his words may have been misconstrued. Evidently he would need to be more clear with you. The duke’s gaze darkened when he looked back into your eyes.
“My sweet girl.” He cupped your cheek and kissed your forehead. “Until the day you are barren, I cannot risk any harm to you, nor your body.” His words were chilling, but his gaze was warm.
“You’ll never leave this room, so long as I can help it.”
Duke Leto Atreides Masterlist
Main Masterlist
#duke leto atreides#duke leto x reader#duke leto#duke leto x you#duke leto atreides x reader#leto atreides x reader#duke leto atreides x you#duke leto atreides smut#leto atreides smut#leto atreides fanfiction#duke leto atreides fanfiction#dune 2021#dune movie#dune#dune fanfiction#dune fanfic#dune fan fiction#duke leto fan fiction#duke leto fan fic#oscar isaac#duke leto atreides fan fiction#leto atreides#leto atreides fan fiction#leto atreides headcanon#leto atreides x female reader#duke leto atredies x reader#duke leto atreides x female reader#fanfiction#fan fiction
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Hello I am back with more lore questions about your comics if u wanna answer 👀 (I looked back, but couldn't find this mentioned so sorry if I just missed it 😅)
I was curious since the comic starts after all the main plot stuff has happened: we know El is the Champ of the Alola League, but did she also do the island challenge trials like in the game or was she just traveling around with Hau while he did his? If she did do the trials did you make up a reason why the kahunas would let her, despite being well over the age limit for it? If she didn't was there some other motivation for her building her team up enough that she could beat the league when it was finished?
We're basically playing out the original story of SM with some changes!
Originally El just wanted a FUCKING VACATION and came from Hoenn after receiving a letter from her mom, to come to Alola and help her move into their newly bought appartement. But then Kukui busted through the door to welcome them and El's mom insisted on her coming with Kukui to get to know the locals while she'd continue setting up the place in the meantime.
El didn't have any of her old Pokemon with her, as she heard of the strict laws of letting "invasive species" into Alola and she didn't want to deal with the paperwork, especially since she assumed she'd only stay in Alola for 2-3 weeks at best.
Kukui showed her the way to Iki Town, talked about their customs, wanted to introduce her to the island Kahuna. When they couldn't find him, Kukui suggested he might be up Mahalo Trail, but stays behind in case Hala might come back from Hauoli City instead.
El checks it out, she meets Lillie, the saving-Nebby-scene plays out where Tapu Koko rescues Nebby and El, El unexpectedly receives the sparkling stone from Tapu Koko that Hala makes a Z-Ring out of. Due to the incident, Hala encourages El to partake in one of Alolas oldest traditions as a way to get accustomed to Alolas culture but also to welcome her into it and keep an eye on her, with Halas and Kukuis interest being sparked by the appearance of their deity. The fact that she's way over the age of regular trial goers is not a problem, Tapu Koko must have given her that stone for a reason so Hala simply follows the will of the Tapus and is interested to see how El's journey will play out.
El feels honored being so welcomed by the Kahuna himself and is also too polite to decline partaking in the island challenge, even though she wasn't really interested in going on anther journey and building a new team of Pokemon...wasn't this supposed to be a vacation aside from helping out her mom??
But her mother is surprisingly supportive of El going on the island challenge, as she feared strangers like them from Kalos might have a hard time fitting in and making friends with the locals. She's okay with El not being able to help out setting up the house, as in her opinion "You're doing your part by learning everything you can about the region and getting to know our new neighbors."
After getting to know Hau the next day during a Festival in Iki Town, El starts to feel more like Hala specifically put them together so someone would keep an eye on Hau while the old Kahuna is unable to. Babysitting it is then. GREAT.
But the innocent sweet little sunshine that is our Malasada Boy QUICKLY grows on El and she takes looking after him VERY SERIOUSLY and becomes the Mom-friend of the group. She downright enjoys looking after the shy Lillie and the joyful Hau while getting to see so many of Alolas amazing sights. She also greatly enjoys Kukuis company I might add...
Until she finds out he's taken. FUCK. GODDAMNIT. OF COURSE HE FUCKING IS AAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGG
"No Hau I'm not depressed. No I don't act strangely hostile towards Burnet what are you talking about nooooooo pass me the Malasada Hau. EW. It's BITTER. WHY'D THEY SELL THAT. I HATE IT HERE"
Don't worry, she recovers...
El really starts to get into the challenge after a while. She was never a fan of challenging Gyms and greatly enjoys the different Trials she gets to go on instead. Alola quickly becomes her favorite region for the lush beautiful nature, the incredibly kind people and the Pokemon she meets along the way. Her team is unbalanced, but that's what makes her grow more closely together with her Pokemon than any previous team she had before. Beating trainers is a challenge due to the many bug-and flying-types on her team, she has to strategize more than ever before to make it work and be able to defeat the Kahunas. Her Oricorio Sweets would become her Partner Pokemon in the end, when she survived multiple hits from Kukuis Incineroar, holding on to 1 HP multiple times because of how determined the little bird was and how much she loved her trainer, defeating Incineroar in the end.
(This was my OG Team, only Sweets and my Golisopod Titan made it into the comics in the end, her Decidueye and Vikavolt are on Mohn's Pelago, Fletchinder I'd actually still like to include at some point)
El didn't expect to stay in Alola. She didn't expect to build a new team or even join the League or becoming CHAMPION of all things... Let's be real, Kukui didn't really give her much of a choice in joining. After Hau and El finished their island challenge, it was more of a "might as well join the League I just finished building" from the Professor, since before it was built, the final challenge WOULD have taken place on Mount Lanakila anyway. But what surprised El the most, was the fact that, after winning, she was offered the position of Champion by Kukui at all. IF she would have won, she thought, surely they'd not let a stranger like her actually keep the title and defend it.
But NOPE. All hail Alolas first champion El I suppose.
And with this, it was clear that El had to extend her stay in the region. For an...unforseeable time.
#els alolan adventures#pokemon trainer#pokemon oc#mod#reply#Oh yeah and Team Skull was there too I guess Teehee#They are. Not really that important for this ask tbh LMAO#There's not much to say aside from El being confused but amused by the presence of Team Skull#Until she meets Guz and is TERRIFIED what the fUCK IS THIS GUYS DEAL
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Just a Dream
Azriel x Fem!reader
Summary: after a long day you come home to the house of wind to find Azriel having a nightmare.
Warnings: fluff, comfort, talk of nightmares, mentions of family and friend death, not too detailed, though, not proof read
Word count: 2.1k
a/n: Hello, God? It’s me again. I’m here on both knees to offer you some bbg Azriel content. This man is tormented, just the way I like them. First Azriel fic, and first ACOTAR fic in general, so please don’t kill me if I get any of the lore wrong (I read these books a while ago and barely remember the plot😅). This came to me in a dream. I’m just kidding. I’m gonna quit my yapping and go now. Minors please go away. Enjoy :)
It had been a long day. Your mission had taken longer than you had expected. Rhys, your High Lord, had sent you to do a routine check on the southern border, but of course, since it was your turn to do this check, a fight had broken out, one that you had to break up, and smooth over, and make sure wouldn’t happen again, and file a report for. By the time you were done, it was already dark out.
You double checked you had completed everything you needed to do, as well as make sure you had filled out that report correctly. Gods forbid you forgot to fill in one pesky section. Rhys would be on your ass about it for weeks. Finally, when you had double checked everything and grown too tired to care if you had forgotten something, you winnowed back to the house of wind, your home.
It was quiet, not even the noise of the house settling could be heard. You tip-toed your way to the kitchen for a little something to eat, your long and busy day allowing no time for dinner. You made yourself a plate, stacking crackers, cheese, meats, and fruits atop one another. The house provided a glass of cold water for you, and you took it, thanking the house silently.
You made your way up to your room. You didn’t want to stay in the kitchen for fear you would make too much noise. So you padded up the steps and down the hallway, but before you could make it to your room, you heard muffled noises coming from inside the Shadowsinger’s chambers. At first you thought it was the noises of a well spent night, but as you grew closer, something you had no choice in doing since to get to your room you had to pass Azriel’s door, the muffled noises were that of distress.
“No, no please! Don’t!” you heard the Shadowsinger call out. He must be having a nightmare, you thought. You did not know what possessed you to open his door and walk right in, but you did. You saw the Illarian sprawled out on his massive bed, blankets tangled around his legs and damp from sweat. His bare chest heaved and glistened with a sheen of cold perspiration.
You put your plate of food and glass of water down on the dresser, then slowly closed the door behind you. You did not want anyone to find you in here, but you also did not want Azriel's nightmare to wake the whole house. You were all aware he had them, everyone in this house had them, and occasionally one would be bad enough to wake the whole floor. The fact that everyone had them made the embarrassment more manageable, but it was embarrassing nonetheless. And you did not want Azriel to be embarrassed.
You took a moment to consider how best to wake him. He was thrashing slightly, his movements becoming more rapid, and he was crying out louder now. You needed to pull him from this dream, and soon. You chose to call his name quietly, in hopes that would pull him out of his torment, but your efforts were futile. You decided you were going to have to touch him.
You made your way to the side of his bed and sat. You turned to face him, so that your right leg was on the bed, bent at the knee, body facing the headboard. You gently took his hand in yours, then slowly began tracing circles on the top of it. This seemed to stir him just a little, but not enough. He was still squirming, eyelids twitching, still calling out in distress.
“Please, don’t! Take me instead. I deserve…” he trailed off. You began calling his name, starting quiet but getting louder. You were sliding your free hand up and down his arm soothingly, the other held tight in Azriel’s scarred hand. But your efforts were still not working.
You shifted your body fully onto the bed now, kneeling next to him, making sure you weren’t pinning his wings. “Azriel, it’s just a dream. Wake up. You’re safe,” you cooed. With your free hand, you cupped his cheek, trying to stop his shaking. “Az, wake up! Please!” Your pleading was getting louder, and you were scared you were going to be the one to wake the whole floor. “It’s just a dream. You are safe. It’s just a dream.”
In an instant Azriel sat up and frantically grabbed onto you. He was disoriented, upset, and panicky, but your words calmed him. “Azriel, you were dreaming. You’re alright. It was just a dream,” you told him. You smoothed away the hair that was stuck to his forehead with sweat. Cupping his cheek, you forced his eyes to meet yours. You searched those hazel depths, trying to gauge his understanding of the situation. “It was just a dream, Az,” you repeated, and did not break eye contact until he nodded that he understood. When he started to calm down you removed your hand from his cheek, dropping it down to the hand clasped in your other one. “Just a dream,” he murmured, nodding slightly.
You suddenly became very aware that you were in a half-dressed Illarian male’s bed. Azriel was one of your dearest friends, but that didn’t make the situation any less awkward. It’s not like you’ve never been in his room, or seen him without a shirt, it was just never both at the same time. Trying not to dwell on it, you asked, “Do you want to talk about it,” for which he promptly shook his head. “Would you like some food?” you offered, remembering the plate of food that still sat on his dresser. He looked up at you questioningly, so you slid off the bed, walked over and grabbed the plate of food, then walked back, presenting it to him with a half-grin on your face.
“Why?” he simply asked, growing increasingly confused.
“I just got back from my mission and didn’t get the chance to eat dinner, so I was gonna take this to my room so that I wouldn't wake anyone up but I heard you, so…” you trailed off. He nodded in understanding.
“So this is your dinner?” he asked, trying not to dwell on the last part of your sentence, the fact that he was talking and you heard him. It was your turn to nod.
“Ya, but I think my eyes were bigger than my stomach. You can have some,” you reassured, grabbing a grape and popping it into your mouth. You lowered the plate onto the bed next to him, then sat. Az took a cube of cheese and a cracker, then slid them into his mouth in one fell swoop. He chewed slowly, then swallowed. He was sitting up now, his sheets still tangled in his legs, but he seemed to be calming down a great deal.
“There was a fight that broke out at the border today,” you offered, trying to distract him further from what remained of his dream. “Right when I was almost done, too! I had to stay an extra two hours to smooth everything over. Ridiculous!” you exclaimed. Az breathed out a huff of amusement, a small smile making its way onto his lips. “Oh, you think it's funny?” you teased with an incredulous tone. His smile was starting to part his lips, and you couldn’t resist yourself, you smiled back.
“Thank you,” he said, picking up a strawberry and raising it to you in thanks.
“No problem,” you replied. You were about to stand up and leave, but he stopped you with a hand over yours.
“What did… what was I saying?” he asked you shyly.
“Oh um…” you were startled by his question slightly. You didn’t want to bring up a sore subject, but he was the one asking, so you guessed it was alright. “Ya know just the usual “no, please don’t”’s and the “take me instead”’s. Very chivalrous of you, might I add.” You wanted to lighten the mood a bit, but it didn’t seem to be working. There was a line between the Shadowsinger’s eyebrows, and his eyes were downcast. “You also said you deserved to go instead, but that part was a little unclear.” You didn’t mean to pry, but you were curious. And if Azriel thought he deserved to die instead of someone else because he deserved it, well you were going to have to fix that opinion real quick.
Az simply nodded. It did not seem like he wanted to elaborate on that last part, so you offered up one of your most common nightmares in hopes it would comfort him. “I often dream about my family being killed in front of me. That I am restrained or incapacitated in some way that prevents me from helping. And I always seem to offer myself in exchange for their lives. It never works, though.” His eyes were on you now, sorrow-filled hazel that glittered in the moonlight streaming through the windows. His fingers had taken up tracing lines on the hand of yours that was clasped in his.
“That's not your fault,” he whispered. You both sat there for a long minute. “I was…” he started, but seemed to think better of it. You placed your free hand over his, encouraging him to continue. He took a deep breath. “In my dream, Cassian was in trouble. He’s my brother, my closest friend, I couldn’t just do nothing. I offered myself as an alternative. Cass is so good, so much better than me. I guess I just thought… he deserves to live,” he paused, “more than I do.” he finished, and it took everything in you not to break down right in front of him.
“Azriel,” your tone was firm. “You are good. So good. You are amazing, and so so loved. And I know it was just a dream… but our thoughts influence them, and they influence us. Please believe me when I say you do not deserve to die in the place of someone else because it would be better, or because you are not good enough. You are.” Tears were threatening to pool in your eyes. Azriel was one of your closest friends, and your life would be incomplete without him in it. You lifted your hand to caress his cheek, pouring comfort and reassurance through your touch.
He nodded. “Thank you,” he said again. “For waking me up, and for your words. And for the food,” he added after a small pause. You gave him a small smile, and he returned it. You got up to leave, wanting to take a hot bath and change, but he stopped you. “Can you…can you stay, maybe?” he asked. You grinned, how could you not? You loved his awkwardness.
“Yes. But under conditions.” He waited for you to continue. “I stink, so I’m going to take a bath. And then I’ll come back in, okay? Give me thirty minutes.” he nodded once again.
You made your way to your room, plate of food and glass of water in hand. You quickly bathed, and ate, then changed into your sleeping clothes. You weren't going to lie to yourself, either. You were glad Az asked you to stay in his room. Both of you calmed each other down in a way no one else could. This was not the first time you had slept in each other's beds, either. Your relationship was strictly platonic, but Azriel’s cuddles were unmatched, and you always seemed to sleep better in his presence, the same going for him.
Once you were done bathing and changing, you made your way back to the Shadowsinger’s room. He had changed the sheets of his bed, and was now wearing a shirt. He sat propped against his headboard reading a book. You made sure to close the door behind you, then made your way over to his bed. You pulled the blankets back and crawled in, snuggling right into the side of him. He dog-eared his page in the book (an act that almost made you get back up and leave) and set it on his night stand. He sank down into his bed and wrapped his arms around you. And there you both slept, peacefully, dreaming of absolutely nothing.
#azriel#azriel fanfiction#acotar#night court#azriel fic#comfort#fluff#azriel fluff#azriel shadowsinger#fanfic#female reader
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GILDED DREAMS | SUNDAY
You do not protest the clear display of authority over the most minuscule of details. Maybe you don’t even care for things like that, maybe you even take pity on him for that fact. Whatever it is in the end, Sunday doesn’t know. Neither does he ask. Birds are born to foolishly oppose the safety of captivity, but some will walk into the cage willingly. For they believe it to be temporary.
Sunday’s gloves are stained with your divine blood.
Your name will be written in the holy scriptures by his own hand soon enough.
cw: 6.5k words; part one of two; fem!mc; nameless!mc; i'm not a hsr lore scholar; sunday get behind me i have a glock and nothing to lose except you;
To survive is to suffer. And crippled birds neither fly nor sing. All they are truly good for is to live a life of captivity. The only way to keep them safe is to build them a cage strong enough to protect them from all known predators. A prison of comfort, peaceful enough for them to forget their broken wings and settle down, with only sickeningly sweet scent of heaven in the air. Idyllic enough for it to become a dream.
Thus, Sunday dreams of eternal paradise in which no bird will ever get its wings clipped. In his gilded dreams, humanity’s life is free of misery. There is no survival of the fittest, for there is no weakness. There is no uncertainty, for there is no future. There is no suffering, for there is only Order. Or so the Dreammaster says.
And Ena the Order dreams of a paradise for everyone but Sunday, as he is a necessary sacrifice for the greater good of peace. One must be crucified for the sake of humanity, and Sunday is more than willing to become a martyr if it means he will finally obtain a cage big enough to contain anything and everything that could threaten his family. Or so the Dreammaster says.
To live is to dream. And you, Sunday decides, dream of nothing. For if you were, you would not have been roaming the halls of this maze. Yet Ena the Order sees none of your trespassing, and Sundays dares not to disturb Them with the news of someone so easily escaping their handmade heaven. Yet the ravens won’t stop screeching, the voices continue chanting. You do not belong here, so Sunday has no other choice but to take you out himself. That is the right thing to do. Or so the Dreammaster says. That is what he wants.
“Be not afraid.”
Your hand stops midair. The ribbons of your intricate sleeves keep swaying gently as your fingers tremble a mere inch away from the marble surface of the statue you were admiring. Then you shudder, dropping your arm limply at your side and finally look at him.
“Fear is the soul killer.” You agree easily, the light tremor of your voice betraying you by giving that very fear away. “I’ve been wandering these halls for hours, however. It is natural for me to expect the worst, Mister Sunday.”
You know him yet he remembers you not. So it must be your first time in Penacony, otherwise Sunday would have surely remembered someone like you. Someone who is capable of evading Order’s omniscience. It matters not, however. For he will guide you back to paradise with his own hand.
“I shall show you the way, then.” Sunday offers you his hand in an exercise of faithless chivalry. The white fabric of his gloves is yet to be stained with blood or soiled with the touch of the passing visitors he is forced to exchange pleasantries with. But soon it will be. He doesn't want it to. “If I may.”
“I would be eternally grateful.” You smile. “My family must be worried sick about me.”
There is nothing but kindness behind your voice and the light reflecting of your eyes can blind a sinner if they look at you. Sunday knows better than to trust the emptiness of words and fool’s gold of flattery for he is throwing those around on the daily. So when your palm presses gently against his own, he leads you to your untimely demise with no hesitation and all the remorse one could have, leaving you none the wiser to his true intentions.
Sunday half-expects to be stabbed in the back with some sort of a mythical dagger bestowed upon you by an Aeon who opposes the harmonious Order he is conducting under Ena’s blessing. He's waiting for you to try and snap his other wing right off his back to make sure he isn't even capable of dreaming of the skies. Yet nothing of the sort ever happens. It's a little unnerving, unsettling in a way that makes Sunday feel the phantom pains of things long lost. He wants to accuse you of treachery yet cannot. He wishes to call you a master of deception yet cannot.
Like a saint, you seem to trust him to help you find your way back. Akin to a sinner, it is him who rules over the silver of his tongue and the steel of his word.
Sunday knows he should dispose of you in the waters of the dream pool like he intended to do. That is what the Dreammaster would have wanted. Anything that is a threat to Ena the Order is a threat to his gilded dreams. And those who threaten the cage will inevitably draw a weapon against Robin. Yet he sees no ill intent in your eyes. Just concern for your family who you supposedly burdened with worry of your disappearance. And as it gradually dissolves with each step he takes to the exit of reality, a conflict in him grows stronger.
Standing at the crossroads, Sunday knows nothing. So when the time comes for you to fall back into heaven, he is there to catch you with a promise of never meeting again.
Too bad he never asked for your name. How miserable it is you never thought yourself important enough to give it to him unprompted.
Even in dreams people like Sunday are not exempt from suffering. To suffer is to survive. That is just the price you must pay for being tied to reality like a Charmony dove that has been chained to a metal ball and released into the wilderness. And Sunday may be the head of the Oak Family on paper signed with a bloodstained feather plucked from his own wing, yet he despises dealing with people from the IPC. All precious stone in only name and nothing else, Aventurine is positively infuriating.
In more ways than one.
“One of Astral Express girls disappeared from her room last night.” His smirk is full of poorly hidden mischief and something else that Sunday simply doesn’t care about. He may crave control over all that is his, yet he wishes not to claim someone like Aventurine as one of his own. “How perfectly aligned with your sister’s unfortunate death…”
The muscles of his back are strained. To dominate over his own desires is just as important as it is to rule over every single aspect of the dream that is this life. The gilded dream of Ena the Order must continue, and Sunday will not be the one to sabotage it. To dream is to live.
Sunday taps the railing, “Are you accusing me of kidnapping now?”
Soothing tone and relaxed posture, Sunday will continue his reign over the dominion of Control no matter what he feels or wants. There is no other way. Crippled birds neither fly nor sing, nor do they grow their missing wings back. And even if some foolish being deems them fit enough to recover, takes pity on them and nurses them back to health, domesticated birds will only use those hollow, mended bones of theirs to plummet right back to the ground.
“Just stating my observations.” Aventurine laughs, a noisy little snicker that pierces Sunday’s ears like a nail on the chalkboard. Then he waves dismissively, the lackluster wiggle of his fingers as he turns around to leave. Good riddance, if only eternal. “Good luck. Her Foxian friend is very fond of fried chicken. Me too, now that I think about it…”
Sunday remains standing on the balcony for another hour. There is no rush. He knows who it was that vanished without a trace, and he knows where to find you. But he cannot control someone like Aventurine so Sunday dares not making any irrational decisions. Unlike Aventurine himself, Sunday isn’t fond of gambling. Uncertainty is at the roots of all evil.
He leaves and goes about his business. A sinner to confess their wrongdoings to him; a passerby to shake hands with, a Masked Fool to dampen already soiled mood; a Nameless to throw him a passing glance of suspicion; Robin’s shadow that should not be there for now. If the vermin – a truly formidable man all things considered, yet simply infuriating – is watching, he will see nothing but a busy head of the Oak Family. If Aventurine has better things to do than to follow Sunday’s footsteps in a feat of uncharacteristic obsession, at least Sunday finished all his work for the day and could finally take a shallow breath of momentary relief.
The halls of the maze are empty as they should be, yet Sunday didn’t expect to find anyone there in the first place. You remain in the dining room, rooted next to a marble statue, fingertips barely grazing the cool stone. The ribbons are swaying side to side and the white of your clothes is stained with pinks, blues and purples right in the middle of your back. The colors bleed out from there and drip down the dress onto your skin.
“Be not afraid.”
“Fear is the soul killer.” Your trembling fingers falter and when you turn to face him, there is way more of those pinks and blues all over your heaving chest all the way from your neck. Sunday knows not of what happened and he dares not to ask; his harmonic tuning failed once, and he will not be deceived anymore. “Are you here to escort me back to the dreamscape again, Mister Sunday?”
Sunday swears that if Ena could see you, They too would be just as terrified as he is at that moment. “I’m afraid I do not follow, Miss.”
“Then I shall pretend I said nothing.” You shrug, Sunday’s outstretched hand is hovering in the air for you to take. You do. With no hesitation and all the faith of a religious fanatic, you once more let him guide you out of the painful reality and into a dream as if you didn’t just admit to fully comprehending this fact. “Please be mindful that I will wake up no matter what. Your gilded dream rejects me.”
Sunday stops in his tracks. His crippled wing is pressing uncomfortably to his side, smoothed over bone digging into his skin as a reminder that he cannot ever fly even if he was delusional enough to try to. Every breath is a labor of well-practiced habit and an effort of greatest heights. You’re patiently waiting for him to gather his control back into his tightly clenched fist, the one that is always pulled behind his back to the broken wing he could never repair.
The colors are still bleeding all over your dress as your chest rises and falls in odd intervals. You may have the patience of a saint, yet your fears all eat you alive. Fear is the soul killer. Or so you say. To suffer is to survive. To dream is to live. How can you live if you can never dream?
You furrow your eyebrows. The harmonic tuning has failed yet again. This time without even clouding your mind enough to put you to sleep. Yet your jittering palm keeps trembling in his hold as you exhale lightly, trying to shake off the vibrations of his halo. A delicate cross dangling from your neckless is staring back at Sunday with resentment that he only saves for the person who shot Robin and the Cancer of All Worlds which took away their mother and the scissors which clipped his wings so Sunday would never dare to escape. Or maybe it’s just his reflection looking back at him from the golden glow of the cross.
In retrospect, you did nothing wrong. You don’t even try to hide anything from him, laying your knowledge bare for Sunday to interpret however he wishes to. A sinner that has confessed to their wrongdoings is ought to be forgiven in the eyes of any deity. Yet has this so-called sin been committed in the first place? If you allowed him to baptize you not once but twice, fully comprehending it meant abandoning any uncertain future you humans seem to crave so much.
What is right and what is wrong? What is a virtue and what is a sin? What is an Order and what is a Doubt? Sunday knows not. But he needs to collect all his control and pour it into a cup for you to savor one way or another. If not a sinner, you are a saint. Ena the Order sees you not, so you must have been imprisoned by someone else already. And it is Sunday’s duty to free all of mankind of the shackles of turmoil and lead them to paradise.
For he cannot let you leave yet he cannot bring himself to kill you. Sunday can talk in riddles and try to manipulate your emotions all he wishes, yet you seem to reject the vibrations of Order without even trying. So how does one contain something they cannot control? How does a devout believer tempt a messenger of a foreign god?
“I cannot let you go.” Sunday’s voice is a little hoarse, he is not used to telling the truth. It most often than not leads to suffering, yet something tells him you will see right through him if he does lie. Maybe he has much less control than he initially thought. “You know too much.”
“All is fair, Mister Sunday.” It is not a response a sane woman should give. “However, may I be so bold to ask for a clean dress?”
But saints are all-forgiving, and ordinary people are not meant to understand their reasoning. For there is none. At least not with you. No reason and a heart pinned to your sleeve, bleeding color all over your skin. Sunday needs to know your name so he can search high and low for the Aeon who crucified you for Their own selfish whims.
“I shall pick the best one there is.” Sunday nods.
You do not protest the clear display of authority over the most minuscule of details. Maybe you don’t even care for things like that, maybe you even take pity on him for that fact. Whatever it is in the end, Sunday doesn’t know. Neither does he ask. Birds are born to foolishly oppose the safety of captivity, but some will walk into the cage willingly. For they believe it to be temporary.
Sunday’s gloves are stained with your divine blood.
Your name will be written in the holy scriptures by his own hand soon enough.
The dress is beautiful. And so is the next. And the one after that. And all the others that follow.
Ribbons and feathers. Intricate lace and weightless silks. Gold and diamonds. All never worn even once and kept neatly in the wardrobe of your bedroom. If your disapproving sigh is anything to go by, you don’t appreciate the excessive luxury, yet accept them just to hide them in your closet and put on the simplest of garments that he brought to you the day you entered the mansion.
Sunday cannot understand you, but differences are included in the natural Order of things. Reality is a lonely prison of misery, and Sunday returns there for he has no other place to belong to. Yet you seem to enjoy it as a long-awaited vacation. Way more than your family does it back in Penacony’s gilded dream.
Sunday doesn’t think your behavior is reasonable, yet he questions you not. You won’t give him the answer he is seeking, anyway. Your heart may be out there in the open, yet the pages of your thoughts are written with invisible ink and no amount of heat can paint them with life.
You have a habit of refusing things you deem unnecessary or excessive, your friendly exposition never wavering even under pressure of almost constant loneliness. Some days Sunday wonders what would happen if he doesn’t return here after all his tasks for the day are done, when Aventurine with his Nameless Foxian companion and her other nosy friends don’t breathe down his neck with accusatory air. He does not entertain such foolish thoughts; they would break his carefully crafted routine and Sunday is a being of habit. For habit is Order.
And so, against his better judgment of clipped feathers, Sunday returns. To your palace of a bedroom, with three light knocks and a little apology for intrusion. You are rarely there, so he is forced to look for you just as he is searching for the Aeon responsible for your fate. And when he does find you, all Order crumbles.
To live is to suffer. Your suffering is intricately woven into your every breath.
On Mondays you prepare a special dinner. It’s just you and him and a lonely candle on a little table on your balcony. The stars are dripping the color of your blood, the wine in your glass is untouched and you never eat more than could fit in a teacup. A life of such modesty is far too unfamiliar for the bird who was brought up in a cage of golden bars and silver spoons, yet Sunday doesn’t mind. He’s got other, more important things to worry about. For if the Dreammaster finds out about you, he will wish to dispose of you. And Sunday may have already sinned for the betterment of humanity, yet he isn’t sure if he is capable of turning saints into martyrs just yet.
“Won’t it be easier to just kill me?” You constantly disarm him with your questions. Some days Sunday isn’t quick enough to even imagine drawing a weapon to protect his mingled self.
“No.” Sunday answers a bit too quickly for his liking. “I mean you no harm, Miss [Name].”
On Tuesdays you clean. The mansion is spotless for it is empty, and there is nothing, but a thin coat of dust gathered around on the bookshelves of his study. You busy yourself with it even if you are told not to bother with such things. Sunday wishes to treat you as a guest despite the circumstances. All people were born equal and pretending that you are anything less than he is would going against what he stands for. His gilded dreams are not built on bigotry or injustice, only harmonious Order of happiness.
Your presence in the room is that of a dove on a branch behind a glass dome. All hollow bones and disarray of feathers, Sunday cannot ignore you even if it is what the Order would have wanted. Yet what the Order cannot see, that is all for Sunday to keep for himself; to hide under his pillow so it won’t ever be taken away from him by any collapsing dreams.
“Do you think me a madman?” He asks.
You laugh and shake your head in amused disagreement. Sunday wishes he could steal your laughter straight from your vocal cords to fill in the holes in his wings with it. He cannot. Yet would you let him if he asked with the utmost honesty? Only time will tell.
You are a willing participant of all and any conversations, despite allowing him to talk most of the time. You listen and ask questions, give your own opinion in bite size pieces that never overshadow his voice. His dreams are grand, and his plans are fragile, yet for all that is worth you take him seriously. A noble man with a heart which bleeds for everyone but himself, you call him. A kind person with good intentions which will pave his downfall for him, you say easily. A caring brother, who will always put his family first even if it is bound to strain the thin red thread that connects them to each other, you smile wistfully.
“A flightless bird which longs for the sky. That is what you are to me, Mister Sunday.”
His soul aches. All bruised and mattered. Sunday would rather you simply called him mad.
On Wednesdays you tend to the garden. Flowers are blooming here no matter the season. Even in reality Penacony is still a dream, albeit not dusted with a thin layer of gold and illusions. You move around the sea of color like a ghost, the white of your dress stained with soil and a twinge of misery.
You don’t think Sunday is mad and you understand his dream of peace, yet you never condone his drastic approach to things. The dreams in which you hold happiness in the palms of your hands simply do not exist. That is what you say to him, picking two stray peonies from the bush and handing one of them to him with the tenderness of a torn-up heart. The other gets its petals plucked one by one with a gentle touch of your fingers, and the pain of the missing parts of him grows with each one getting lost in the green of the grass underneath your feet.
No wishes ever come true in a gilded cage so people will always seek reality, no matter how painful it may be. Sunday thinks his wishes can only ever be fulfilled by a dream in which nobody will suffer anymore. There is simply no such a thing that cannot be obtained by a paradise he wishes to create for everyone with Ena’s holy rule. And you – the misguided messenger of a foreign god, a martyr for a cause which you don’t stand for – you also deserve your wishes granted to you. For everyone is born equal.
“What do you dream of, Miss [Name]?” Sunday wonders, watching you longingly collect every single petal from the grass, mend them together with the hues of pinks and purples and then tear the peony back into pieces.
“I dream of living.”
You look up at him with misty eyes, clouded with yearning and unshed tears. The colors float around your head like a halo. Maybe one of these days Sunday will finally find an answer in those scattered petals.
Thursdays you watch the stars. Time flies as the stars keep shooting from the sky like fallen angels, and you simply observe as they crash and burn. Your fingers twitch as if you wish to catch all of them, yet you ask for nothing.
Sunday comes, his back hunched by the growing weight of endless responsibilities and troubles. Yet when he leaves with his shoulders less tense and buzzing static in his chest, to return to his life of sacrifice that is necessary for the good of all mankind, he never forgets to ask what you wish for. Silence is the only answer Sunday receives, and the gentle sway of the ribbons in a summer breeze tells him he will regret ever asking this question when you finally deem it appropriate to indulge him.
The stars glow bright when you’re out here in the garden. Caged birds keep singing their woeful tunes. Thread and needle in your hands, you’re mending the hem of your dress, still refusing to wear any of those more extravagant ones. Your nightgown is not made for the outside and you shiver. The night isn’t getting any warmer, yet you ask for nothing. To live is to suffer, yet what is life if you only ever knew of torment.
A jacket he places on your shoulders does little, and whatever selfish wishes Sunday has must be drowned in the sea of shooting stars. For they will not be accepted. There is no place for them in this reality in which he lays his mortal body on a stone and holds the nails which he will get crucified with in his own two hands. Yet if the Dreammaster were here, he would have shared Sunday’s vision of the gilded dream that he is bending and breaking to his will just to make enough space in it for you as well. A paradise in which you stay here by his side forever as the messenger for him and no one else.
“I wish for nothing, Mister Sunday.”
Sunday knows it to be a lie. You whisper your true wish with the last breath you take before falling into restless, golden slumber. He will break this world in half to grant it to you, even if it calls for eternity of loneliness. A twitch of a broken wing, you’re almost weightless in his arms. Sunday does not understand why just yet. But he will.
On Fridays you play the violin. For once it’s his fingers that are stained with color. Sunday is staring at the canvas, hues and tones blending together with shadows and highlights to create a heavenly image of absolute divinity. He thinks it belongs to a chapel right where he gets down on his knees to confess his wrongdoings and pray for forgiveness, yet Sunday knows even existence of such a thought in and of itself is a mortal sin.
The melody is full of sorrow and the birds which you released from the cages are all perched on the pews of the chapel where you put them. They cannot fly, so they cannot escape and meet their end in horrifying loneliness. For now, you are here to catch them if they were to fall, so they can only sing along to the miserable tune of a violin in your hands.
“To live is to suffer. We must make peace with this suffering.” You put the instrument back in its case and lock all the birds back in their respective cages.
They do not resist, so Sunday is convinced you are implying that they’ve made peace with their suffering just like the two of you accepted yours. Yet when Sunday washes the pinks and purples of his fingers, he cannot help but think you are wrong. To live is to dream. And to dream is to slumber in eternal paradise, where no suffering can ever touch you.
The portrait he’s made of you will never do your beauty justice, but no icon could ever depict the true holiness of a saint. He will succeed eventually. You will have all the time in the world in his eternal paradise.
On Saturdays you dance. In a world less cruel, the one Sunday will create in the name of Ena, Robin is there to support your performance with the soothing voice of a Charmony dove. She is not, for you and him are stuck in miserable world where no wishes ever come true.
You would have been one of Penacony’s brightest stars, if only you weren’t chained to reality by those who do not deserve you. A twirl, the wind picks up your ribbons as you move gracefully to the melody of a tearful piano. And in a moment of fleeting weakness, Sunday asks about your shackles. And with a sway of your swan song, you share the tale of Istanai the Repudiation.
The Aeon who claimed you at birth and refused to let go even after They forsook your people, and you abandoned Their rusted prison. They are still following you around even after all those years even if They don’t want you. They make no sense for They reject all of it, along with anything else that They have ever touched. Even Their own children, the natural Order of things, any wishes or dreams; They abdicate everything and nothing, for that is the Path that They oversee. It is the Path you were born into and that is also the Path that you abandoned to pursue eternal Trailblaze.
“To live is to suffer. For you can keep nothing. Cannot wish to hold anything.” And then you admit, heat radiating off you in waves, “And I am only useful to this world for as long as I keep Their gaze on me.”
Sunday thinks you are wrong. Yet then the clock strikes midnight, and it marks the Seventh day. And on Sundays, you weep.
With your knees on the cold floor and hands pressed close to your heart, you keep praying in a tongue he cannot comprehend. The words fall from your lips hastily and desperately, as you beg for forgiveness in a language he does not know. Yet the things that Sunday does understand, all relate to the Aeon who stole your will and clipped your wings, chaining you to reality where the weak only get weaker and the strong keep getting stronger.
That is not the Path one should walk on, the loneliness of martyrdom for someone else’s sake is not a burden that should be bestowed upon someone but instead a choice one makes willingly. And you chose not your fate, yet suffer the consequences, nonetheless.
Maybe, Sunday muses kneeling next to you for a prayer. Maybe something simple like a dream is not enough. If They refuse to let you go yet condemn you for keeping them, Sunday can create something bigger than a gilded dream of illusion. Maybe a real paradise will be just enough to steal you away to a life that is worth living.
Your hand gently wipes a tear away from his cheek before it can fall and stain the floor of the chapel. It lingers on your fingers with deep red. One glove, then another. You are as warm as he imagined in the dreams he cannot keep, for he is the lamb of Ena and he is ready to be slaughtered if it means people like you – or Robin, or their dear mother – won’t ever cry anymore. The skin of your palm is smooth against his lips. It’s all Sunday can ever allow himself to have, and that is all that he will ever keep.
“You must leave tomorrow, Miss [Name].” He says, hands grasping your own.
A tear falls. This time it feels like you are weeping for him and him alone.
Maybe being a messenger of the Order is not the end for harmony of happiness, and somewhere in the realm of gods there is a spot for his own ideals as well. The Dreammaker may not understand or approve, yet when Sunday ascends to greatness of true holiness, on his first day he will free you from suffering. And on the seventh, there will be nothing but peace. For his gaze will never abandon you.
Sunday can promise on his blood on your hands.
And as it always is, crippled birds neither fly nor sing. They fall. Shooting stars and collapsing dreams, all Order has been forsaken as gravity pulls Sunday closer to his inevitable demise. His flesh and blood clings to him like the ideals he cannot ever atone for, yet in his noble pursuit of eternal happiness a sliver of selfish desire for comfort remains. So he lets Robin linger yet dares not to soil the purity of her embrace with the dullness of his touch.
A cage will always rust and corrode with time, falling apart at the seams. Gilded dreams are not meant to last forever. Nothing is truly eternal except for humanity’s striving to move forward into that useless future full of self-inflicted misery.
Robin’s breathless voice mutters something that is instantly lost in the wind and she pulls him closer. If Sunday were a better brother, a better man, a better person, he would have stopped all galaxies and frozen this moment just to let his sister descend this condensed and polluted air of his crumbling paradise like a stairway to heaven. He isn’t any of those things. So, he doesn’t even try. No miracle will happen if he does. A bird missing its wing will never catch flight right before hitting the ground.
And Sunday is nothing more than a crippled Charmony dove – a dying raven, truly – destined to roam the cage of his gilded dreams forever, for stepping outside signifies the end of Order and the beginning of Suffering. And he isn’t ready to die yet. He wasn’t ready.
To live is to suffer. To dream is to survive. With no cages and no birds in sight, Sunday accepts the inevitable.
“It is in human nature to reject usurpers, Mister Sunday.” Weightlessness of your voice envelopes all in bright light of heavenly warmth.
A feather. A ribbon. A silken touch of divinity confined in a painfully human vessel. If Sunday didn’t know any better, he would have thought he met face to face with some foreign man’s Goddess. Sunday knows better, however. So he closes his eyes and lets Istanai the Repudiation touch him. There are no rules he wouldn’t break to ensure Robin’s survival. And yet…
“I told you to leave.” Sunday is not used to repeating himself twice. His fingers tremble as he watches Robin take your hand and walk down the ladder he thought to be impossible.
“And as a human that I am, I rejected your order.” You smile. The light in your eyes is made of purest of diamonds and it keeps burning with holy fire. Sunday was foolish to think you would listen to reason and not your bleeding heart. “It seems we don’t have much time, so let me heal your wounds as I celebrate that my naïve soul has won for once.”
Robin, as all free-spirited birds are, is a creature of curiosity. She tilts her head and finds comfort on one of the floating ribbons, swaying on it like a swing. There’s a little ruffle to the feathers of her wings, yet she minds it not, opting to watch the two of you instead. Your eyes may be glowing, yet the sturdiness of your will is starting to wear off. Sunday isn’t sure whether it’s his silence that is making you doubt your decisions, Robin’s dedicated stare or your own thinning convictions. His guess is as good as any, but the most logical answer will always be him.
Your forced companionship has come to its inevitable end. Yet just like the day you two met, Sunday is at the crossroads yet again.
“Robin first.”
There are no protests, just gentle swaying of ribbons, a warm glow of pale pinks and purples, and Robin’s hushed voice humming a tune. She looks livelier, well rested, the shadows under her eyes dissolve under the shimmer of divine rejection. Your hands are hovering over hers, almost grazing the skin yet never daring touching it. As if you too, thought yourself undeserving. It made no sense, yet Sunday had no right to question the natural Order of things. Istanai the Repudiation refused to give Their children up, even if They abandoned them first in pursuit of eternal rejection.
A song stops. A couple of grateful words fall from Robin’s rosy lips. You nod politely, a smile returning to your face with a bit more brightness. You offer him a place to sit, a fleeting glance cast over your shoulder. Sunday has half a mind to follow in your footsteps and refuse, yet he does not. He is tired, wasted efforts and unyielding dreams quivering under the weight of reality, all he truly wishes for is to collapse for good. With his missing wing and shuttered principles. How long has it been since he took a proper breath?
Sunday takes a seat. Like a holy dove that you are, you hover near him from your own heavenly branch. Never touching and always lingering, yet the heat of your skin burns him just like divine flame would scorch a sinner. The light under your fingertips rejects his wounds and exiles his exhaustion, it bends his will and breaks his bones. And if letting go or Order meant keeping you by his side for the rest of his life – however long it may be – then Sunday wouldn’t mind a life of sin of a different kind. And if you were to cross this distance and touch him, he would ask you to stay. Yet you don’t.
To live is to survive. To dream is to suffer. Your mind is somewhere far away, and the ache of his bones makes Sunday feel like he is being reborn. From a dying raven to a Charmony dove with all his wings intact, capable of flying on his own.
“So it is true that your kind cannot be manipulated.”
You shiver. Sunday’s back is throbbing. There’s not a person here but a cat. Cursing you with a heavy gaze of his eyes.
“It’s not nice to sneak up on people like that, Mister Elio.” You chastise him gently, pulling away from Sunday and taking all your holiness away. It is only the sheer power of self-control that allows him to not reach out to tug you back into him so your sunlight can burn him alive. Such earthly desires matter not if you two are soon to separate and never meet again.
The cat – Elio – huffs, unamused by your demeanor. You pay it no mind, your ribbons dissolve into thin air until only two remain. Neither do you answer Elio’s question. Simply gather your holy blood with your own two hands and let it all spill yet again through the stigmata on your palms.
“May heavens be kind enough to let our paths to cross again, Mister Sunday.”
His bones keep aching. The restless feathers of his wings flutter even if he wills them to stop. He can surrender his halo to you and despite it being all that is truly his to own in this life, it would never be enough. Deities require giving up all mortal possessions before devoted worship could be possible and what else can he offer to you if not himself?
Sunday has no time to ponder that question. He doesn’t even have the time to say goodbye to you properly. As gilded dreams are not meant to last forever, and this one too is taken away from him by something he cannot control.
“[Name]!” Himeko seems inhumanly comforted to see you safe, pulling you in a tight hug. And considering she wholeheartedly supported the young Foxian woman threatening to pluck his wings naked for taking you hostage, it is only logical for her to do so.
A brooding man – Dan Heng, if Sunday’s memory doesn’t fail him – stands awkwardly a little behind the two of you, while the aforementioned Foxian lady and her eccentric pink haired friend share a collective sigh of relief. You hesitantly pull away and take a hurried step forward, ushering them away before they can notice anything – anyone – else. You are far too kind for your own good and someone ought to exploit it eventually. At least it won’t be someone like him. It is far out of reach of Sunday’s capabilities to shackle a bird born of paradise.
The cat laughs. Sunday hates cats. You cannot cage them, yet they can snap your wings even if you are perfectly fit to fly on your own.
And so, the cat does.
Sunday’s bones are still aching even when he shakes hands with Kafka. Such is the nature of growing pains. A lot of misery is in Order.
#sunday x reader#hsr x reader#hsr imagines#honkai star rail x reader#sunday imagines#honkai star rail imagines
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Anakin Skywalker X Padawan Reader
This was purely selfish, but I couldn't get it out of my head. I don't think there is a demand for these sorts of fics. Anyway, this takes place during the Revenge of the Sith. The reader is Anakin's Padawan from the Clone Wars. When she hears that Anakin is fallen to the dark side she decides it's a great time to confess her feelings. (she is legal and he didn't know her as a kid) (I'm not exactly well versed in Star Wars lore so apologies in advance)
Warnings: Kissing
You were not entirely shocked by Obi-Wan’s words. The chancellor's words about the Republic's corruption had drawn you in too. But No way Anakin was a Sith. You had been beside him the whole war. No way he would turn his back on you or Obi-Wan or his life.
Maybe that was your heart speaking. You could feel darkness clouding him but could still feel him well enough to find him. You landed your ship and walked out. The planet's heat bit at your skin and your eyes burned.
You felt him acknowledge your presence and your stomach filled with nerves. Anakin had been through a lot in his life and you saw how people often treated him. You knew there was a chance he was so far gone that killing you wouldn't be an issue.
But your heart held so much hope you were rooted on the path in front of you. You had tried to be a good Padawan, tried to avoid attachment. But avoiding attachment to him was almost impossible. Everything about him puts you at ease.
He emerged from the shadowy arch onto the bridge you had landed on. His hood was drawn and you wanted nothing more than to rip it off. You wanted see his eyes while he broke your heart.
“Anakin.” You broke the silence and the hurt was already palpable in your voice. He moved towards you, coming close and grabbing your shoulders.
“You have to understand. The corruption, all of this war, everything it’s -”
“All lies, Anakin. Palpatine is playing everyone, I don’t trust him.”
“The power is necessary to bring balance to the galaxy. It’s necessary to save you.” Anakin’s voice was dark and it caused you to shudder.
“I don’t want you to be the chosen one.” You whispered raising your hands up slowly and pushing his hood back. His eyes were varying dark shades of red.
“Who do you want me to be then?” He snapped. Everyone always needed or wanted him to be something, you were no exception.
“Mine.” You barely got the words out. This confession was going to doom you, yet you knew if there was a way, any chance of bringing him back, you had to take it. His eyes flared.
“I must master death to keep you alive. My dreams - I won't lose you like my mother.” You could feel his mental blocks fluttering.
“You saw me dying surrounded by lava.” You waved a hand around. “So save me.” He thought about your words for a moment.
“Not even the Sith can master death, they can move bodies, do you really want Palpatine inside me?” You raised a brow and he gripped your shoulders tighter in anger.
“No, but I - I can’t go back now.” You felt his mind move back to the control room behind him. All those separatists dead.
“Don’t judge me if I don't mourn for them.” You knew you should be more serious about things, but that’s just how you were with Anakin. They could be in the thick of battle still telling jokes.
“He wants me to go kill the younglings,” Anakin whispered.
“Good Luck.” You snorted and his eyes flared. “Anakin you cried like a baby when you held Senator Amidala's kids for the first time. You can do a lot of things, but killing children isn't one of them.”
“Why are you so sure of me?” His voice was breaking and you could feel his emotions radiating off of him more freely.
“Because I love you.” You felt his arms slacken and moved towards him. Grabbing his face.
“The code-”
“Had never stopped us from misbehaving before.” You watched the war raging in his mind. You decided to go for it, worst case you would die but at least you would know what it would be like to kiss him. You pulled at his face and raised up on your tiptoes. He didn't make it easy for you, but then again he never did.
Your lips crashed against his and you felt his arms wrap around you tightly. His head bowed to you and he kissed you back. The attachment forming between you was all-consuming. It took all of you and you could feel his memories and mind pressing against yours. He felt everything inside you. All your emotions about him. There was no space to feel self-conscious as his own love poured against you. Tears spilled down your cheeks and he gripped at your flesh through your robes.
Mine - Be mine Anakin
Your mind kept saying it over and over and over again before you realized he could probably hear it. His kisses were harsh and consuming and you could feel them in your soul. There is nowhere you wouldn't follow this bond. You prayed he would be kind, if only for your sake, and return to the light.
A splash of lava washed up on the edge of the bridge as chunks of rocks slid into it. He broke the kiss abruptly.
“Time to save you.” He motioned towards the ramp of the ship. You went inside and like every mission over the past three years, you resumed your usual positions. His eyes were their usual rich brown and you felt your muscles relax. You took the first easy breath in a long time.
He chose you.
“You have a stowaway on this ship.” He said. You stood up and moved in front of Anakin, lightsaber drawn. A move he repeatedly tried to get you to stop. But at the end of the hall, Obi-Wan’s figure revealed itself.
Anakin struggled with his master occasionally and you hoped that this didn’t set him back. He needed time to rest before coming to terms with everything if he was going to stay in the light. After that, they could lecture him.
“Master,” Anakin said in a neutral voice.
“Anakin.” Obi-Wan greeted him with a broken voice. Anakin moved past you and moved towards his master. Obi-Wan grabbed Anakin’s face looking into his eyes before making a choking sound.
His arms wrapped around Anakin tightly.
“My boy, my son.” The tears were evident in his voice. “I failed you. Anakin -” His voice cut off as Anakin hugged him back.
“It wasn’t your fault, master.” Anakin was crying too.
“It was, it is. I should have- I was so focused on doing everything by the code, I forgot some of Qui-Gon’s most important rules.” You decided to resume your spot steering the ship giving them a moment. “He tried to tell me of corruption, I didn’t see it till-”
“Master no one saw it. I let you down and I’m sorry.”
“It is behind us now.” He released Anakin and patted him on the back. You looked over your shoulder and watched as he tried to compose himself. Tears were streaming down your own face.
“Not you too,” Anakin said moving towards you.
“Dad moments kill me.” You mumbled wiping the tears on the back of your hands. Anakin took his seat and motioned for you to come sit on his lap. You didn't need to be asked twice. You curled up in his lap, tucking your face into his neck. Obi-Wan took your spot.
“I haven't slept in a very long time.” You yawned “I’m sorry if I doze off.” Anakin only kissed the top of your head. He was just happy to be trusted to hold your sleeping body. To be trusted to watch over you.
#anakin skywalker#anakin x reader#anakin skywalker x reader#Revenge of the sith#Star wars#Star wars fic#Anakin Skywalker fic#anakin skywalker imagine
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Once again thinking about the fact that "Vecna" doesn't actually know the lore behind Vecna. We also know, though, that he sees just about everything. So he must know that they call him Vecna.
So what, is the guy just sitting there in his childhood home like:
"Vec-na? Is that...me? Are they referring to me? What is a 'Vecna'? Is that a new slur? You know, back in my day they would just call me a faggot."
It's even funnier if you consider that he might have a surface knowledge of DnD by osmosis, and that he might know that "Vecna" is a character from the game.
So then he'd just be sitting there like:
"They...named me after a role-play game villain? Am I a joke to them? They realize this isn't a game, right? This is reality. Have they lost their collective grip on reality? Do they actually think I'm this character come to life?"
Dustin: Vecna is the Mindflayer's 5-Star General
Vecna in the UD Cerebro: Child. I am begging you to take your antipsychotics.
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q!tubbo, fred, and how far are you willing to go?
So I have THOUGHTS about the lore today :D
FIRSTLY:
When watching the stream, I was so convinced that the letter Fred left asking q!Tubbo on a date was fake, a trap by the federation. But now, realising that it was actually genuine, it was a real desire they expressed, and q!Tubbo never lost faith once that he meant that invitation, breaks my heart. I don't know when Fred realised that their feelings may be something other than just friendly (if they even are completrly), but I bet the movie date and q!Tubbo's endless kindness and patience towards her is what made them want to push a bit further. I wouldn't be surprised if Fred forgets about the Federation, what they have done, and what their position means, when they're talking to, thinking about, or simply with q!Tubbo. Because he never treats him as "Federation Worker WA02". They're Fred. They're someone who exchanges letters with a curious, kindhearted, chaotic engineer, using flowers to communicate things too large to put into words on a page. That's who they are when picking up the letter where q!Tubbo says yes to a date, telling him to pick him up whenever.
But then, like with q!Pierre, q!Quackity comes and kidnaps him, and that stark reality returns. Because to the other islanders, he is a Federation employee, working for an organization that has hurt, tortured and manipulated the people of the island to the point of memory loss and trauma. In q!Pierre's case, Fred was DIRECTLY involved in what happened to him, and to q!Quackity, he is the symbol of what took everything from him. They don't care about what Fred may be like away from the office, he is an employee of the vessel of their worst nightmares. This isn't usually a problem for them, he defaults to the persona she must adopt as a high-ranking employee, with no fear and curt responses that don't reveal much.
Until they bring q!Tubbo into their threats.
And that shakes them up, something in them twists. Not him, he has nothing to do with any of this. Fred says that every time, cuz to them, q!Tubbo is the part of their life that is untainted by the things he has done as a Federation employee. He's the boy who taught him what a friend was, who always wished he was healthy in every letter he wrote, who promised to protect him with what little he had cuz he cared. They have never seen q!Tubbo as anything other than kind, patient, and understanding. He needs them to stay separate, both for q!Tubbo's safety, but also his own. Because they think the moment q!Tubbo finds out what he has done, he thinks he'll leave. Why would someone as kind as him stay by his side after finding out they're a monster?
But q!Tubbo isn't exactly what Fred thinks he is, either.
The same boy who excitedly showed him Wall-E in the cinema, who picked flowers to give him every time they wrote, is also the one who laughed down the barrel of Cucurucho's gun pointed at him, before making his escape. He's snuck into the Fed office multiple times and broken into all its parts, he's broken several rules and continues to do so without a care. HE WENT TO THE NETHER !!! HE LAVACASTED A FED BUILDING!! MAJORITY OF THE ISLAND CURRENTLY WANTS HIM THROWN BEHIND BARS AND HE DOESN'T CARE !!!
Quackity (the cc) had said during the Brazil meetup streams that following events would push the people of the server to see how far they would be willing to go. And I can so clearly see how this would factor in for fred and qtubbo's arc.
Fred has been convinced by q!Quackity that q!Tubbo now hates him. But he doesn't know that, despite q!Quackity trying everything, q!Tubbo refused to be angry at Fred. His faith in them is unwavering TO A FAULT. And he has said before, he does not CARE whether Fred has hurt people or harmed them, because that's his friend (cough cough partner). He knows Fred better than anyone else, and would not think to abandon him through anything. And if he's done bad things? q!Tubbo would not care, he'd probably be willing to walk down into hell with Fred's hand in his if it came to it. Who's to say, to get Fred back, q!Tubbo wouldn't snitch to the Federation? Anything to get the one he cares about back. He promised to protect them. That's how far he's willing to go. Even if it means everyone on the island hates him even more. If it's Fred, he's willing to do it.
q!Tubbo would be willing to burn all his bridges if it meant keeping him and Fred warm.
i was kinda disappointed with the lore today cuz i had hoped it would be more qtubbo centric, but i guess shit must havebeen shifted around cuz tubbo is travelling and it wasnt the best convenience for him but PRAYINGGGGG they do something with this and qtubbo gets his true neutral/villain arc for fred toxic yuri coded frubbo are so real to me
#qsmp tubbo#qsmp#fred qsmp#qsmp theory#qsmp lore#qsmp character analysis#frubbo#fredbo#i went a bit insane with the lore analysis can you tell frubbo have consumed my mind
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Ghost Camera: The Connection between Dreams & Reality
I cannot stop thinking about how strange the Ghost Camera is as a concept, and the very little lore we get about it is so fascinating. It’s to the point I have several posts planned to talk about it haha! I’ve begun watching the EN translation of Book 7, and I completely forgot that Yuu was able to take a Ghost Camera photograph of Mickey. I have a feeling that this photograph will play a role later in the story, because Ortho begins to establish a connection with Mickey, the mirror, and different worlds.
We see Mickey through a mirror, which only happens when Mickey is asleep and dreaming. Ortho claims that the mirror in Ramshackle may be an accidental Viewglass, where you can communicate with a person from far distances. The reason why I think this it’s because the mirror seems to be connecting to a dream realm, NOT in Mickey’s reality. It technically is haha, because the style of his room is reminiscent of the classic Mickey cartoons. But it’s still his dream, so Mickey’s corporeal body is sleeping. We know this because Mickey quite literally begins to vanish when he wakes up in his own “real world.” The properties of the Ramshackle mirror are very special, but that’s for another day (*ﾟ▽ﾟ*)
So if Yuu managed to get a photograph of Mickey with the Ghost Camera, which explicitly captures people’s souls as well, this means that Mickey’s soul is what travels to this dream realm as he sleeps.
Of course, this is all very wishy-washy haha, but it’s a basic foundation to the idea I want to elaborate on: The fact that the Ghost Camera could be the connector between not only worlds, but dreams and reality.
Magic is definitely a bit unreliable when it comes to theory making, but it’s significant that Book 7 is heavily building up magic and lore revolving dreams, and Silver with a Unique Magic like “Meet in a Dream.” If the Ghost Camera can capture the soul of a being, whose from another realm, and is DREAMING, this could be huge! We don’t know the extent of the Ghost Camera’s powers, as there’s a lot about its history that Crowley is hiding from us. The Ghost Camera was around since before the age of video, but it seems like not many functioning Ghost Camera’s are left.
Ortho remarks that the previous owner of such an old camera must have taken great care of it to be in such a good condition- the previous owner being Crowley. This is true, because if Crowley’s claims of the Ghost Camera being invented when Ace’s great great grandmother was a child, this camera is in a perfectly functional condition at LEAST for 100 years, if not far more, like 150 years. Considering how small the camera is, this is very impressive that all the mechanisms and lenses have been maintained for this long, and can still print pictures perfectly in full color. Of course, it’s enchanted with magic, but it’s notable the camera existed before video.
Crowley himself states that the camera is enchanted with special magic to make the soul photography possible- but isn’t it also possible that Crowley could’ve added another property to the camera? He’s so adamant about Yuu capturing everyone’s lives, to be left behind as “Memories: Fragments of Remembrance.” The students, their behaviors, building soulbonds/friendships, the school…everything has to be captured with this camera that HE gave himself. There has to be something that he’s planning with the souls captured by the Ghost Camera, which then must connection with how the school is destroyed in the endgame.
The novel also brings up the idea that everything was an “illusion.” Of course, it could just be Yuuya lamenting on the tragedy and horror of the destruction of the school and potentially lives, but magic is also a thing, making this potentially literal. The Ghost Camera can replay events that happened in the photographs, with the people in the photographs taking a corporeal form outside the photo. These forms aren’t “real,” so they could count as an illusion.
I’m not sure where I’m going with this haha, I feel like I have all these pieces but I can’t articulate how they fit together. It’s hard to predict just what Crowley’s plans are, no matter how hard I try haha! But again, Crowley having possession of an item that can capture a person in their dreams…(Don’t make this about Meleanor and Crowley, don’t make this about Meleanor and Crowley-)
Hey what would happen if Meleanor was photographed with the Ghost Camera 🤪🤪🤪 Could she be brought to “life” through the photos 🤪🤪🤪
Jokes aside, I think the “soul,” “dreams and reality,” and “imagination” will become a key parts of Book 8, and I feel like through Book 6 and Book 7, TWST has been elaborating so much more about the extent of the power of dreams, and the properties of a soul and a heart. And with the set up for connection between worlds, the Ghost Camera could potentially have the ability to bring these characters and concepts into the world of Twisted Wonderland, or at least reconstruct the Twisted Wonderland boys and certain events, by playing out the events in the photographs over and over again.
What’s even more interesting is that I recently made an analysis post, based on the theory that the Major Arcana tarot cards connect to each character via that countdown art.
Crowley’s tarot card, since his countdown number is “1,” is the Magician. Feel free to read that analysis post if you want more in depth analysis! But what’s interesting is how the Magician is explicitly designed to the connector between a world above, and world below. It’s most commonly seen as the “unification of the physical and spiritual worlds.” And isn’t this interesting if this tarot card theory is intentional? That Crowley, the man who speaks of imagination being the key to magic, who gave Yuu the Ghost Camera, who put Yuu in Ramshackle Dorm to live in…he and the Ghost Camera truly may be the connector to worlds and realities far beyond Twisted Wonderland. I will definitely be elaborating soon on the potential of this idea with Crowley 👀🐦⬛
#BACK ON THE GRIND FINALLY!!!#I feel like I suddenly got hit with so much inspiration at once haha!#I’m happy to be theorizing again#twisted wonderland#twst#twst theory#dire crowley#twst dire crowley#twst Crowley#twst ghost camera#twst Mickey#kallistopost
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I'm just. Idk man.
Obviously they want us to trust that everything is okay behind the scene by bringing back Chayanne and Tallulah like "See? They're back! And theyre doing lore!! So dont worry!" And i want to believe that but I don't understand why they can't just. Make an official announcement. Not make people guess what they mean. Stop the entertainement train for 2 seconds to actually confirm that changes happened.
Why is the returning of previously unpaid employees with no actual confirmation that they are paid now treated like a fun lore moment? Why is every important decision always announced in such an indirect manner? Why do we have to guess their intentions and make a leap of faith every time something new happens?
I mean I know the answer, this is to keep the fans hooked, not reminding fans of the studio's mistakes and let the streamers who put all their eggs in the QSMP basket (ha) continue creating interesting content on the mostly empty server... but why does this take priority over contacting the people that were exploited?
They could have had both. They could have had this "the show must go on" attitude without ghosting all the victims. They could have tried to make it less public without relying on the fans'past attachment to the project to keep trusting them.
We are not privy to any detail, but if we had had confirmation from ex admins that they were being heard and would be solving things privately, i would have accepted it and trusted the process. But alas, that's not what happened... (maybe it's happening rn but our last update was apparently from sunnys admin 4 days ago saying that they had no update, so you know)
#qsmp neg#qsmp admin situation#qadmin situation#qsmp crit#qsmp discourse#tagging them all so ppl who want to enjoy it can avoid it#but god i really am not capable of enjoying any of this rn
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could you maybe do a shadow milk cookie x beast!reader......... for a possible plot you could maybe do reader getting corrupted and upon getting sealed away getting separated from shadow milk cookie,,,,, maybe reuniting after the seal is broken?? sorry if this doesn't make sense, you don't have to do this request if you don't wanna!!
AN: So, I actually... haven't... played the new update... SO I DONT REALLY KNOW THE LORE THAT WELL. I did a quick Google search and I think I got it? And I know what the seals are ☆ ALSO, I KNOW THAT THE SEALS DONT ACTUALLY DO THIS, BUT LETS JUST PRETEND FOR THE PLOT. Anyway, I decided on some small angst. (But if you want a fluffier version, just request it. I wont be mad or annoyed or anything like that bc I seriously would love to make a fluffier version of this plot!!)
Shadow Milk Cookie x GN! Beast reader. ONESHOT.
Warnings: Slight angst, possession
-Same-
It's been an awful long time since you were last awake. Did this even count as sleeping? Does being sealed away count as being asleep?
"Heyy. Wakey wakey!"
Who's voice is that? It sounds familiar.
"Come on, doll! You're making me worried.."
They sound upset. Wait, why are there voices?
"You are alive.. right? You didn't crumble away?"
I think I'm free...
You would flutter your eyes open. Everything was blurry, and your head hurt. Somebody was poking your face, but their hands were cold. Not the most welcoming of scenes, but whatever.
"Oh, so you are alive! That's a relief. I don't know what I'd do without you!" The person was leaning over you, and they held a big smile.
They seem familiar... but who are they?
You would smack their face away from yours and back away from them.
"Ow! Don't you know hitting your lover is mean?" The cookie would put a hand on his face while glaring at you.
What did he just say?
"Lover?"
The cookies face would turn sulen.
"Yeah... You remember me, right?"
...
Nobody said a word.
"Doll, I'm all for jokes, but this isn't funny."
He would just stare at you for a while with an annoyed expression before his face suddenly perks up into a smile.
"Oh I see, you're just confused! It must have been confusing awaking from such a long nap. Here, why don't we go on a walk to clear your mind?" The cookie would take your hand and start taking you for a walk. He didn't wait for your input.
"No, you don't understand. I have no recollection of you."
He'd only hum while cheerfully walking.
"I don't even know your name."
"Yes you do~" he would chime, still wearing that deranged smile.
"I do not-" you would snatch your hand out from his grasp and stop walking.
"..." He wouldn't say anything to you, only stare at the ground. His smile feel instantly in that moment.
"You really don't remeber... do you?" He asked you, not bothering to turn towards you.
"I don't."
He sighed before finnaly facing his body towards yours, though, he just couldn't bring himself to meet your gaze.
"Shadow Milk Cookie. That's my name. We used to be close but.." he paused before sighing. "I guess you forgot about all us!" He would have a crazed smile on his face.
"Look, I'm sorry that I don't remeber you, but there really isn't anything I can do about it,"
Shadow Milk would laugh before finnaly meeting your eyes. He would stare deeply into your eyes, that smile never leaving his face.
"Oh, but there is! Don't worry, dove, I'll make sure you remeber. Just stay still..." He would take one of your hands and begun to spin you around.
"Hey! what are you-" Shadow Milk would stop spinning you and put a finger over your mouth, shushing you.
"It's okay doll, I'll take care of you. Just let me guide you, all right?" He gave you an annoying grin, to which you glared at, but ultimately said nothing to.
"Ah yes, this is how I remeber it. You always were so obedient." He would step behind you and place both of his hands on your shoulders.
"You may not remeber me, but I remember everything about you," he would whisper into your ear.
You'd tense up, feeling his breath on your neck.
"Yeah, this is how you would always react. You really haven't changed..."
Shadow Milk Cookie would step back infront of you and trace his cold fingers along your facial features.
"And your face is the same as well." He had a ore faraway look in his eyes, as if he were reliving some other moment. He never let his smile falter though.
"Shadow Milk... were we really close?" You would ask him.
He couldn't help but snicker.
"Oh yes, soooo close."
"..."
"Want me to show you how close?" He held onto your chin, making you look towards him.
"Your answer doesn't really matter. I would have done this anyway."
Shadow Milk closed his eyes and pressed his lips against yours. It was a short kiss, but one full of longing.
"You have no idea how much I've been craving you. It was torture being away from you for so long. You can't expect me to let you go just because you forgot some things~"
A twinge of pink would dash your cheeks from the prior kiss. It should have felt forced and strange yet... there was a feeling of familiarity that made it feel nice.
"Oh how I've missed your cute, silly, blushing faces! There must have been a part of you that liked it then! Maybe I can make you remeber after all."
Shadow Milk would hold onto your wrist and begin walking with you again.
He held that psychotic smile once more while staring into your eyes.
"But even if I can't make you remember, I certainly won't allow you to forget."
Fin~
#cookie run kingdom#crk#crk oneshot#shadow milk cookie x reader oneshot#shadow milk cookie crk#shadow milk cookie x reader#shadow milk cookie#shadow milk cookie oneshots#crk x reader
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Do you have any favorite books or comics that you'd recommend?
Superhero comics or in general? I'll go in general, haha:
Our Dreams At Dusk by Yuhki Kamatani
This is the book series I'm most obnoxiously recommending people. It's influenced me ever since, Lunar Boy is a direct homage to this short series in many ways. It talks about the lived realities of being queer and Japanese in Japan- the queerphobia, the mental health struggles, the relationships (romantic and platonic) in an in depth way. It opened my eyes to what the queer narrative can be, and I'm forever grateful for it. This story is so good it actively ruins all other queer media for me, haha.
Superman Smashes the Klan by Gene Yang and Gurihiru
This is the book I most successfully recommend to people. What can I say that I haven't said many times before? A reimagining of the classic Klan of the Fiery Cross arc from the classic Superman radio show, empathetically revitalized. A story that actually acknowledges and understands Superman as a direct immigrant allegory?? Where he relates to a Chinese American family being targeted by the Klan?? I love it, and many people have picked up how I'm influenced by it! You don't need to know anything about Superman or his lore, this is a very accessible story for newbies. If you want to know why I love Superman, this is it. This story is so good it actively ruins all other Superman media for me, haha.
Salt Magic by Hope Larson and Rebecca Mock
One of my recent all time favorite graphic novels!! This story is everything I love about fairytales perfectly told in the graphic novel format. When a mysterious woman curses a family farm by turning their water supply into entirely undrinkable salt water- Vonceil must embark on an adventure to uplift the curse that hangs over her family history. Also Rebecca Mock's art is INCREDIBLE.
Homunculus by Joe Sparrow
Shortbox, the publisher for this comic, is retiring soon so order this book now! Or any books from them that you fancy (discount code here)! From the indie scene, Homunculus is a beloved short comic about a machine with growing sentience witnessing the end of the world, and what comes after. The style is lovely and the story is deceptively simple! It's heartbreaking by the end.
Berrybrook Middle School Series (Awkward, Brave, Crush, Enemies) by Svetlana Chmakova
This series is the reason I wanted to make middle grade graphic novels, and is in my humble opinion- the best in the business. Each story is self contained, with a cast of recurring characters that all go to Berrybrook middle school. It covers a wide variety of young experiences in an empathetic way that doesn't feel like you're being talked down to. It's a book series that nurtures the children it's for. I cried reading Brave, and Crush is such an important book that I'm ecstatic that kids get to read.
The Weight Of Our Sky by Hanna Alkaf
If you liked my Who Is Superman: A Private Interview with Lois Lane comic and want to learn more about the historical context behind it- I recommend The Weight Of Our Sky by Hanna Alkaf. It doesn't cover the same history (this book is about the 1969 race riots in Malaysia), but it's such an eerily similar incident that I felt myself reflected in it. Hanna is an incredibly vivid writer, and she handles so many topics with sensitive care. She highlights that historical events like this need to be remembered, and how fictional stories can breathe new life into an increasingly forgotten history. Also Hanna is so nice.
A Monster Calls by Patrick Ness (original idea by Siobhan Dowd)
One of my all time favorite novels, with hauntingly beautiful mixed media illustrations by Jim Kay. I love how this book covers grief in such a messy and fantastical way- showing how its young protagonist has larger than life feelings he's trying to contain from the looming eventual death of his mom's illness. This book is special because it was conceived originally by Siobhan Dowd as she was going through terminal cancer, in collaboration with her editor and Ness. It feels like an intimate experience, and this heavy feeling of grief carries the whole book in a memorable way.
Those are my fav books off the top of my head! Happy reading :>
#askjesncin#booklr#longish post#i miss having time to read novels i should do that again before work piles up#[proceeds to read cape comics instead]
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I've been really curious about this, who are your top ten Yu-Gi-Oh characters?
Hello! 🌷 Usually, I only have a few favorites. So, aside from the first three, the rest is constantly changing. I'll try to put them in order (all under the cut).
♡. 10 ── Carly Nagisa (5Ds)
What's not to love about her? She's funny, pretty, and a complete mess of a person. She gets in all sorts of trouble, all because she's trying to make a living. I like it when she gets screen time.
♡. 9 ── Noa Kaiba (DM)
He was my favorite as a kid, so I still have a special place in my heart for him. His story made me cry. He did not deserve that. He only wanted others to understand him. You're valid, Noa.
♡. 8 ── Yusei Fudo (5Ds)
It's rare for me to favor a protagonist. That's how you know he's good. This man is a blessing to Yugioh. He has a natural charisma that's impossible to ignore. He's perfect.
♡. 7 ── Bandit Keith (DM)
...I think. I have mixed feelings toward him. I don't even know why he's on this list. I keep going to him in games where Kotsuzuka is not there. So, that must mean I like him, right? I'm confused.
Cross Duel showed me he can be really nice to you if you help him win. I appreciate how he helps other duelists fortify their decks, using the themes they originally had instead of giving them a completely new deck. He cares.
While there's no excuse for what he did to Kotsuzuka and the boys, the fact that, behind that 'bad guy' front, there's a sad, broken man makes me feel bad for him. He deserves to heal.
♡. 6 ── Ryou Bakura (DM)
The anime doesn't do him justice. The more I learn about him through other fans and Duel Links, the more I like him. He's a precious cream puff who likes spooky stuff and is treated terribly by almost everyone. He deserves better (friends).
♡. 5 ── Divine (5Ds)
This man is terrible in every way, and that's the point. I hate that his character was designed to be hated. He gets no backstory, no redemption arc, no nothing. He's just there to be blamed for every bad thing that's ever happened. I pity him. He's the worst. I love this guy.
♡. 4 ── Thief King Bakura (DM)
PLEASE give this guy a break. He has gone through enough. The way he pulled himself back up after all that tragedy is impressive. Imagine how one skillful Thief became a Pharaoh's major threat. A Thief who brings up important moral questions that society seems to ignore (deliberately). He deserves to be heard.
♡. 3 ── Kiyoshi Takaido & Satake (DM)
They share third place because I can't have one without the other. I automatically started loving them because they're close friends with Kotsuzuka. I like that they care about him. These guys have so much potential to explore, and it's a shame we see so little of them.
They're not 'Keith's lackeys'. They're duelists in their own right. They have ambitions and aspirations. They just didn't get to be in the spotlight.
♡. 2 ── Yami Bakura (DM)
Sometimes switches places with Takaido and Satake but usually stays in second place. He's wickedly perfect. From his gorgeous design to how he pretends everything is part of his plan, even though he's literally dissipating into nothingness. He has the nerve to make empty threats that he never carries out. And I love him for that. No one can deny that he looks cool when he shows how evil™️ he is.
There's something beautiful about this ancient evil spirit dedicating his existence to fulfill his objective - all while showing us that he can enjoy normal human activities, like playing games. The complexity of his character captivates me. You can study him for hours, and it will still take you a while to figure him out due to his confusing lore. I like reading what other fans have to say about him.
The way he makes others suffer causes me to have mixed feelings. Sure, I love angst. I just wish there were some feelings involved.
Seeing him make enemies with almost everyone he crosses paths with makes me think he wants to keep everyone away, and that's sad. I want him to care about someone other than himself. I want someone to care about him.
♡. 1 ── Ghost Kotsuzuka (DM)
Yes, that one guy who's known for using Zombie-Type monsters. That short, spooky 15-year-old who walks around hunched over pretending to be a ghost, not realizing he's too cute to be scary. That naive boy who trusted the wrong person and then was unlucky enough to cross paths with the main antagonist. He's my favorite.
I love him. The way his eyes light up when he talks about the things he likes is adorable. I could listen to him gush about ghosts for hours.
His character tends to be frustratingly misinterpreted and overlooked. It's sad that some people think of him as nothing more than collateral damage to Yami Bakura's 'mischief'. He deserves better than that.
When you see past his 'side antagonist' role, you realize he's a precious little guy who's trying his best. Behind that ghostly, mischievous smile, there's a lost youth looking for guidance from a 'big bro' figure he can look up to, whether he realizes this or not.
Despite the differences in his characterization between the manga, anime, and games, one thing remains consistent. He grows into someone who wants to prove he can duel by himself.
But what does he get? Nothing but pain. Betrayed, deceived, ending up dead or lost in the darkness, condemned in almost every canon, with only his sentient Duel Links data to remember him by.
He only wanted to duel.
---------------------ꕥ
I'll stop here. Otherwise, I'll be talking about Kotsuzuka for hours. Thank you so much for the ask! ♡ Sorry that it took a while. I was struggling to organize what I wanted to say for some of the characters, and I wanted to add some art :3
Keep in mind that I've only seen Duel Monsters and the first half of 5Ds, so there are many characters I don't know yet.
#yugioh#yami bakura#ghost kotsuzuka#kiyoshi takaido#satake#bonz#Bandit Keith#Yami Bakura talk#Kotsuzuka talk#Bandit Keith talk#Yugioh talk#Duel Monsters#yugioh sid#yugioh zygor#Takaido#yugioh fanart#fanart#my art#yugioh 5ds#yugioh bonz
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zaros showing listener the flowers and telling them things about the flowers when he catches them in the garden one day 😆
𝐇𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐭 ꨄ Zaros
˜”* ❝𝘽𝙪𝙩 𝙄 𝙝𝙤𝙥𝙚 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙩 𝙬𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙜𝙚𝙩 𝙢𝙚❞
⎯⎯ ୨ ୧ ⎯⎯
ꜱʏɴᴏᴘꜱɪꜱ: ʏᴏᴜ, ᴢᴀʀᴏꜱ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴇᴄʀᴇᴛʟʏ ꜱʜᴀʀᴇ.
⎯୨⎯ " " ⎯୧⎯
You were sitting in a field of flowers. It seemed weird but it brought you peace. That day, you had been put under so much pressure. It felt like the only way to escape.
Normally, when you’re in this state, you don’t want anybody seeing you. This is a moment of weakness, something so rare for you. On top of that, it was apparent that you were crying a bit. Not a total mess, but definitely shed a few tears because of how stressed you were.
You heard some movement in the flowers, it scared you but you knew if you turned around, well. You stayed still thinking maybe, just maybe the person behind you would see that you’re sitting there and walk away. Sure enough, a tap on the shoulder. You sigh and turn around before seeing–
“What are you doing out here?”
Zaros.
Great, he’s probably going to mock you or some such.
“Is it wrong to want some time outside?” You reply. You tried hiding your shaky voice but Zaros knew you.
“Well,” He almost sounded like he was going to say something insulting before he dropped it, “Would you like me to tell you about some of these?”
He knew you were on edge and needed to calm down. Zaros could spend hours ranting about you but he would drop anything and everything to help you. After all, he was the only person who knew the real you.
“Yes, please.”
He sat down next to you and pulled your head towards him. If this were any other day, he would be going on about how you must feel leaning your head on ‘such a leech-like him’ but not today. Never on a day like today.
“This flower field is quite extraordinary. Normally, you see a lot of the same flowers in one garden but not this one. This one has so many different kinds like,” He picks a flower from the ground, “This one.”
“You really just took that from the ground?” You asked, laughing a little.
He rolled his eyes at you.
“This white lily. It represents purity, peace, and I think… life? Here, hold your hand out.”
You hesitated but did as he asked. He was so gentle with you in this moment.
“Hold this flower. I’ll give you more and we can make a little bouquet out of the ones I give to you.”
He went digging for one of those yellow mimosa flowers.
“Maybe they aren’t in here.”
“No, I know there’s at least one in here.”
You smiled, “Why are you even trying to find this one?”
“It represents elegance, respect, and friendship.”
“Awe, are we friends?”
He ignored you and kept looking for it.
“Ah, I found it! Here you go!” He placed it in your hand.
You looked at the two flowers you had in your hand and smiled, they were so beautiful.
“This right here is a Gladiolus,” He explains while showing you a tall pinkish-red flower, “It represents remembrance and strength of character from what I remember. It also looks a bit like a sword, right?”
“It’s pretty.”
He motioned for you to hold the flower, and that you did.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
As time went by, he handed you more and more beautiful flowers while explaining the meanings of some of them. He was shocked to see a few of them there and explained some ‘lore’ about them.
Before you knew it, it had been hours with just you and Zaros.
“Okay, I think you need a Daffodil,” He said as he added it to your pile of flowers. At this point, there had been so many different flowers lying on your lap and around you.
“What’s the Daffodil supposed to mean?”
“New beginnings.”
New beginnings?
“I think I have enough here.”
He looks at your pile and nods.
“One more though.”
You roll your eyes at him but not in the annoyed way. This was the one time you were with him and felt kind of… good.
He hands you a red rose.
You didn’t think he’d give you one since he kept avoiding red flowers. You knew why though.
He didn’t even bother explaining. He just started making the bouquet out of all the flowers while reciting what they resembled.
“Meadowsweet, protection. Hyacinths Purple, regret. Red rose… Dand–”
“Red rose, love.” You interrupt him.
“Of course, you know that one.”
You laugh and help him make the bouquet which ended up being huge.
-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈
FIRST ZAROS FIC! this was so incredibly fun and difficult to write. i love zaros and the listener sm. ty for requesting !
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"Things are tough out here, so it's a good thing we found you, huh? Come on. My name is Arrowseeker. Don't worry, I'm the leader up here. We've got warm dens, fresh prey... I think you've held your own long enough!"
Summitclan Chronicles (abbreviated as SCC) is a roleplay based in the Adirondack State Park on a fictional mountain peak. Adorned with its own long-abandoned trails, edged by road and river, and well-populated by ferns, berries and trees, the mountain sets a perfect stage for a small population of feral cats to suddenly become something new, unique and special.
This roleplay heavily features themes of community, mutual aid, character building, story progression and slice of life exploration; it seeks to dig deep into what the daily life of a Clan would truly look and feel like as a culture, as a friend group, as an identity and as a living unit made up of individuals that grow and change as they interact.
We open in 2024! Keep an eye on this blog - we'll be answering asks, posting advertisements and diving into what this roleplay actually tastes like when sampled. Until then, these are the basics you'll need to know about that coming opening:
Acceptances will only be offered to those who have a DMable Discord account, as the roleplay is based entirely on discord with resources hosted on Google Docs.
Every player will only have 1 character at a time. In order to have a new character, the old one must die or permanently leave the clan.
After the Grand Opening, the roleplay will become semi-public; new members will have opportunities to join as new kittens, loners/strays, or as a part of a band of strangers as part of a wider plot. People who do not get accepted during the Grand Opening are able to opt in for getting contacted down the line for such opportunities (so long as their application was acceptable).
Most of Summitclan's lore is a secret. As an observer you'll be privy to a few select shared things, particularly: holidays, a few landmarks, and their base belief system. People with characters that do not have a True Name (aka warrior name) will not have access to the lore until they get their Name and, until then, will have to learn the lore organically from those who have access to it.
In Summitclan, your legacy lies before you. There is no single arching plot to bump or nudge your story; only naturally-occuring events and situations brought on by other players. Everything that happens in the roleplay is the result of strings being tugged in the complex web of clan and mountain peak living. No matter what you do, your character(s) will leave cats behind who will be affected by them, sometimes cats they've never met. Will their names be said with chins held high, or in hushed, fearful whispers?
Good luck, mountain-dwellers!
#warrior cats#roleplay#wcrp#firestar#frostpaw#nightheart#adirondacks#erin hunter#warrior cats roleplay#hiking#nature#art#traditional naming#postraditional naming#worldbuilding
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HAPPY 5TH ANNIVERSERY TO
CHARLIE THE CURSED PHONE GUY
MAY HE STAY WITH US FOR ANOTHER FIVE AND BEYOND!
and now a special message from the man himself.
"Well, Well, Well... look how far we've come huh? Genuinely, honest... And Truly."
"Five years ago I was made and cursed the world of tumblr with my presence, time sure does fly! I've lost a few friends, but gained plenty more in return!"
"I wouldn't even be here today without them, now granted I'm not gonna name EVERYONE! But I am gonna name a select few and tell you how they've impacted me... AHEM..."
"First and foremost the man the myth and the legend the one who is the reason behind everything, the man where if he didn't exist I wouldn't exist!"
"Henr- ... we all know I don't mean him we're talking about real people."
"If your name isn't listed, it isn't because the mod dosen't care but it's because he's a dumbass and these are the ones that came up at the top of his head when writing this post, totally not a forth wall break."
@directdogman
"The Creator of the DSAF/Dayshift At Freddy's Series Direct Doggo himself, sure okay I was a late edition to the fandom.
but it is fully thanks to DSAF 3 and him that I even exist, what can I say about doggo other then what has been said before one thousand times? He is a man of many skills and many talents."
"He is creative, smart and genuinely an inspiration to everyone in the community of both DSAF and Dialtown... no matter how much time has passed, I will personally continue to respect the man I owe everything to him. So thank you doggo genuinely for your support and your amazing games."
@cook-ie-chip
"One of my oldest friends in the community, I've known you since almost the start! we have alot of memories together, some laughs, some cries! you also created my blue prints
(though in lore they were written by henry and will) let's look past that! You remind me of how things used to be a long time ago, and I'm glad to still know you even now."
"and with any hope I'll curse you for many years more."
@lazy-charlie / @chuck-the-fanboy
"I remember how we met, you found me and we both realized we had the same name, and so I decided to charge you extra for like a pizza party lmao."
"But ever since that day we have only grown closer and closer... to the point your apart of the roomba fazbender family [no you will get no discounts] ..."
"You've done so much for me over the years though, you helped create the Roomba's we have here today, you drew some of our lovely walrus friends!"
"AND ... ough... Okay Okay I'll be honest you made Chuck The Fanboy originally a joke just to tease me with, but over the years he's grown on me... DO NOT LET HIM HEAR ME SAY THIS, but he's like a lil bro... and if anything happened to him I'd be devastated."
@clownsuu / @not-robert
"... well well well if it isn't the shadow in black and the big buff zombie, what can I say about both of you?"
"Hmm... Clownsuu here teases me, has DRAWN ME MPREG, HAS DRAWN ME EMO, IS THE REASON WHY THE EVIL VERSION OF ME EXISTS!..."
"and yet life wouldn't be the same with out him, jack is... an anomaly someone I met because someone thought he was stealing me! HA no one can steal this perfect face~"
"Gotta say though, all jokes aside... life just wouldn't be the same without him, alot more boring you know? I must admit he is someone I will never forget, you've also drawn photos of a few of my walrus I still have hung up in my office, I appreciate you for absolutely everything you've done."
"And don't get me started on Robert that big buff baby, I've put him in just about every costume under the sun, and yet he still puts up with me and stays still no idea why. But it's because of him my restaurant has expanded so much, from a bowling alley, a karaoke bar and dumpsters full of meat."
"Don't tell Robert this he'd likely call me an idiot, but guy's one of my best friends genuinely thankfully he's immortal so I'll never worry about losing him but ... the thought still scares me."
"Never change Robert."
@weirdozjunkary
"You turned me into a furry... I got nothin else to say I just had to point that out."
"..."
"..."
"Okay, fine you did alot more then that, you introduced me to bedlam someone who can FINALLY truly be a sponge to my cursed and chaotic behavior, honestly I'd hope so considering he's the god of chaos."
"I only met him recently but I'd fuken fight his version of god for him ... seriously don't tempt me I will kick that old man's ass."
"I'm glad to have bedlam in my life and hope I know him for many years more."
@an-artist-place-for-extra-art
"you simp for the evil version of me I..."
"I have no words for you..."
"I just question... why?"
"though honestly? never change, I care for you just the way you are, your amazing."
"Alright, Alright enough of the mushy stuff and forth wall breaks it's messing with my circuits and servo's ahem..."
"The most important thing about this day is one..."
"I'm so fucking cool"
"two"
"I AM NEVER GOING ANYWHERE HATERS, FIVE MORE YEARS AND BEYOND OF ME!!!"
"and three... and most important lore wise"
"HAPPY 50TH ANNIVERSERY TO ROOMBA FUCKING FAZBENDERS!"
"50 YEARS THIS PLACE HAS BEEN OPEN WITHOUT ANY DEATHS JUST A FEW INJURIES AND I'LL TAKE THAT WITH STRIDE!"
"AS THE ULTIMATE FUCK YOU TO FREDBEAR'S AND FAZBENDER ENTERTAINMENT!"
"THE GUY WHO IS A LITERAL ELDRITCH HORROR AND EATS SHOES WITH HIS BOOTLEG RESTURANT LASTED LONGER THEN ALL OF YOU SUCK IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!"
"... thank you... genuinely out of pocket with full seriousness..."
"thank you everyone for sticking around none of this would be possible without you, and I HONEST AND TRUELY can't wait for another five amazing years."
Moderator Monnie: And happy anniversary to everyone from me to all of you!
Have a fantastic day! and thank ya'll for reading!
#charlie the phone guy#charlie the cursed phone guy#dsaf#dayshift at freddy's#mod monnie#mod post#important#very important post#Happy Fifth Birthday Charlie!#Happy 5th Anniversary Charlie!#Happy 50th Anniversary Roomba Fazbender's (Lore)#Happy Fiftieth Anniversary Roomba Fazbenders (Lore)#Long post#Very Long Post#forth wall break basically the entire post lol
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