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kendsleyauthor · 7 months

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🍂 Sanctuary + Mirror + Puzzle 🍂

Promptober 2023

Print / Trinket Universe (Kylian and Bluebell)

~1400 words

Warning: Dehumanization

Introducing new characters! Kylian is a rich, eccentric artist. Bluebell is a print who is unfortunate enough to catch his full attention 💙

@marydublinauthor 🌸

Kylian hadn’t created anything in weeks. He didn’t bother lamenting this issue in his social circle. They would simply click their tongues and remind him that he could continue living in luxury for the rest of his life without having another single creative idea.

They didn’t understand what it meant to have an overwhelming hunger to shape something—anything—and to come up empty day after day. As an artist who utilized numerous mediums, from traditional art to more complex pieces like puzzles—something should have been calling to him.

He wasn’t particularly personable at the best of times, but when inspiration was elusive, he could go months without being spotted in public.

His woodworking studio took up one corner of the ground floor. Ample light bathed his work surfaces—all of which were crowded and cluttered with half-formed pieces.

Cursing under his breath, he snapped a delicate piece of wood between his hands while the saw continued to buzz maniacally. It had started off fine. Intarsia was careful work, and though his technique was flawless, the outline of the owl he had envisioned was not turning out like he’d imagined.

As he switched off the saw, he caught the sound of the front door opening. His jaw clenched as he heard the housekeeper greet the cleaning service workers.

Not for the first time, he briefly considered the idea of setting up a studio separate from his home. Money wasn’t an issue. He simply preferred to avoid venturing to a different location to create his art when he could do it from the comfort of his home.

And that meant, twice a week, dealing with outsiders in his space. Two humans, and five prints. So long as they stayed out of his way, he wouldn’t have to snap at them, let alone look at them. They understood the protocol by now.

After another half hour of splintered attempts at a woodworking project, Kylian decided to vacate the studio before he destroyed one of the saws. Perhaps looking through some old sketchbooks would provide some inspiration.

Along the way to one of his messier studios on the second floor, he caught glimpses of movement. A normal person down the hall. Two prints dusting meticulously at one of the bookshelves. None of them dared to greet him, and he didn’t acknowledge their presence. Ghosts were meant to be invisible, after all.

“If you refuse to date, you should at least get yourself a Mercy print,” one of his colleagues had crooned a few months ago. “You could use the company. Let yourself have a little fun, for fuck’s sake.”

He didn’t have a Mercy print for the same reason that he never hosted social functions at his own home. The thought of having to entertain or be entertained by someone beneath him was entirely unappealing. He couldn’t understand why anyone would subject themselves to it.

The sanctuaries of his studios were more than enough to keep him satisfied—even when inspiration was out of reach.

As he approached the studio where he stored most of his old sketchbooks, he came to a halt in the middle of the corridor.

The door was partly opened. On its own, that wouldn’t have normally gotten under his skin. Perhaps he carelessly forgot to shut it after his last visit. But he’d enjoyed his solitude enough to sense when he wasn’t alone—and he was certain that goosebumps were rising along his arms for a reason.

Taking silent steps, he approached the door and peered inside. Light filtered through the sheer curtains across the wide window. Every bit of illumination seemed to concentrate on the slight movement in the studio.

Kylian held his breath, narrowing his eyes.

A print was on his desk, admiring herself in the mirror that he occasionally used for self-portraits. She was so absorbed in her reflection, she didn’t even notice him in the doorway.

Disgust roiled through him, culminating in a silent rage.

The cleaning crew knew to stay out of his studios. Under no circumstances were they to touch any of his work.

But he didn’t recognize this print—there was no way he could forget someone who looked like her. So she was new. Either someone had been negligent in warning her about his strict preferences, or she was a self-absorbed airhead who couldn’t resist a mirror even when she was knowingly trespassing.

Kylian nearly shouted for her to get the fuck out of there—perhaps he’d startle her enough to make her fall and break her neck. But he was taken aback by her odd appearance as she fixed her hair in the mirror.

Bronze skin caught the muted light perfectly, as though the sun was hellbent on caressing her. Her inky black locks were pulled into a high ponytail with different shades of blue yarn, the ends of which cascaded among the waves of her hair.

Strangely, she was wearing a dress. It appeared to be stitched from many different worn-out and frayed fabrics—also blue, blue blue.

There was something about her. A sort of aura that he’d never witnessed in a print before.

She dropped her hands from her hair, satisfied with the way it fell, and took hold of the sides of her skirt. Swaying side to side, she took delicate steps, flouncing to music that Kylian couldn’t hear. She was performing a subdued version of a dance. Her full lips, touched by a faint flush of color, parted with a wordless melody.

“La la-la, la-la.”

The same tune, over and over. Her dance became more daring, her feet tracing a fluid path in front of the mirror. Then she began to twirl, eyes closed, arms raising slowly over her head.

Kylian gaped. She was out of her mind. He began to wonder if she wasn’t from the cleaning crew at all—she might have wandered in off the streets. But he couldn’t stop staring, slack-jawed.

Her eyes fluttered open as she was making a final turn. Her gentle song broke off in a shriek when she spotted him. She came to such an abrupt stop, she might have sprained her ankle as she lost her footing and fell to a hard seat. The print gasped, swiftly covering her mouth as though to belatedly take back her scream.

“Mr. Hart!” She scrambled to stand and lowered her head in a bow. “I-I’m so sorry. Ever so sorry.”

Her accent was strange, almost as if she’d stepped out of a Western film. He could barely believe the twang in her voice was real—let alone believe that she was real. He didn’t say a thing as she apologized over and over. There wasn’t a single string of words that could encapsulate a response to the bizarre scene he’d witnessed.

The print snatched up her dusting rag and climbed down the table leg expertly. The skittering movement vaguely reminded him of a rat, and he began to surface back to himself. Still, he kept silent.

Her cheeks were flushed as she made her way to the door—and inadvertently, toward him. Her mismatched dress fluttered like flower petals in the wind as she skirted around him carefully, like he might decide to step on her for her insolence.

She’d almost made it to the hallway when he venomously snapped, “What’s your name?”

Her blushing face paled. “Bluebell, sir.” She gave an eccentric little curtsy with her ragged skirts, then hurried off.

Kylian pointedly shut the door behind him, hoping she’d feel the vibration of it. He took a seat at his desk, noting the tiny footprints in the dust and pencil shavings near the mirror.

Bluebell.

What a stupid name. It made her sound like a trinket. She had to have grown up feral, out in the wilderness where prints only knew how to name their children after plants. Strange that she wouldn’t have adopted a normal name now that she was existing in her proper station in life.

Then again, she was clearly inadequate at the job that her proper station in life afforded her.

Her strangeness seemed exponential.

And he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

He grabbed a sketchbook and flipped through it. Finding it full, he tossed it aside. He repeated the procedure five times before he found a blank page. He picked up a charcoal pencil and began drawing for the first time in weeks.

He gazed at his creation silently, equal measures disgusted with himself and enthralled.

Then he reached for every shade of blue brush pen within reach.

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bittykimmy13 · 2 years

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Ready or Not (GT)

A Print/Trinket Universe Story

In which Everly is a little too successful in distracting Micah from doom-scrolling.

Word count: ~3k

Characters belong to me and the lovely @marydublin5 💕

((More Micah and Everly))

Warning: Consensual fearplay 🌸

Touring was always a mixed bag. On one hand, Everly got to see more of the world than she ever thought possible. She got to see Micah ride the high of performing on stage. On the other, she more often than not had to play the role of the quiet, dutiful employee. She still had her moments with Micah, but they were nothing compared to the bursts of lazy days that staying in his home allotted.

One thing was certain. She could not stand the week leading up to a tour. While she was content to spend the days quietly prepping and spend the nights soaking in some relaxation, Micah was a live wire all hours.

He was a strange mix of pumped and nervous, as he always was just before a song drop or a tour. Album and song downloads for his latest drop had been astronomical, but he seemed to think that all of his talents would up and vanish right before he got on stage. He was ready—she knew that, everyone knew that. Now if only he could get the message.

It was nights like these that made her wish his usual self-assured attitude would make an appearance.

Everly was already dressed for bed—a silken tank top and shorts—lying facedown on one of Micah’s many pillows. Her chin was propped on her folded arms, legs kicking idly in the air. Micah was propped against the headboard. With each scroll through his phone, he only seemed to grow more agitated. He was still fully clothed from the day, too distracted to be even semi-engaged in their conversation, let alone change.

Everly propped herself up on her elbows. “What do you think about stopping at that alien-themed cafe outside Phoenix like last time? They were weirdly accommodating.”

“Mhm.” Scroll, scroll, scroll.

“Oh, and what about the museum in Atlanta? We’ll get a chance to stop by there, right?”

Lip bite. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

She huffed. “I’m about to strip naked and do a backflip off the pillow, are you watching?”

“Of course, babe.” His eyes didn’t budge from the screen.

Fed up, pushed herself to hands and knees. He barely seemed to notice her clambering onto his stomach, but he certainly noticed when she shoved his phone right out of his hand. His wide eyes finally landed on her, and he stared dumbly for a few seconds before uttering, “Wait, did you say you were gonna strip?”

“You know, I don’t think you deserve it.” She crossed her arms and kicked his wrist when he reached for his phone. “Nope. No. You’re not gonna touch that.”

Finally, he seemed to be more present.

He raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“Oh.”

To her mild surprise, he relaxed back and didn’t touch his phone. Something mischievous glinted in his eyes as he assessed her on top of him, leading to some kind of bizarre staring contest. She knew she had him when a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. She tilted her chin up and held her ground.

“Bossy,” he said. “You know, I almost miss when you used to be intimidated by me.”

Her stony expression cracked so she could scoff. “Me? Intimidated by you? When was that? Was I even there?” Lie. She could remember all too vividly how uncertain and bashful she’d been when they first reunited. But other than that…

“I beg to differ.” He moved his hand, but thankfully not for his phone. His fingertips traced her side. “You were skittish the first night we met—and a lot of nights after that, too. Sure you were putting up a tough front, but you, light of my life, were…” He pinched her hip. “Jumpy.”

She swatted his fingers off. “Please! You were too drunk to remember, anyway.” Dropping to all fours, she crawled up his belly, up his chest, closer to his face. “You, pain in my ass, have never been scary. At least not to me.

His eyes lit up brighter. “Wanna bet?”

“Oh, you’re trying to rob me of my paycheck now?” She laid face down and propped her elbows on his chest. If it was a game he wanted, fine. As long as he kept him checking his social media post analytics for five minutes, she’d happily play along.

“No money involved. I just wanna prove you wrong.” A fingertip traced her spine. “You’ve inspired me. I’m wondering how different things would be if I weren’t so… unbelievably kind and charismatic that fire night. Like… what if I had chased you down instead of the other way around?”

She laughed. “Yeah, right. You never would’ve caught me.”

“Oh?”

“Oh.” Her grin widened. “There would’ve been plenty of places to hide, and you were too drunk to do the most basic tasks of your job. So there.”

“Well, there’s plenty of places to hide here. But I’m not drunk, and I’d hate to have that advantage over you…”

“Even sober, you wouldn’t be a problem.”

He gave her a long look. A hand slowly wrapped around her waist, giving her plenty of opportunity to back out. “So, let’s go, then.”

Truth be told, she wasn’t sure exactly how he intended to prove his point, but she had all his focus, and she was keen on keeping it. She pushed his fingers closed around her. “Let’s.”

With that, he scooped her up and leaned over the side of the bed to set her on the ground. She stepped back, watching with a little frown as he laid back and covered his eyes with his forearm.

Then, he started counting.

“Fifty, forty-nine, forty-eight…”

“Hide and seek? Seriously?” When he ignored her and kept counting, she rolled her eyes. “Wow, are you sure you can count backward from there?”

He counted louder. “Forty-five, forty-four…”

She raised her voice. “Come on, that’s not enough time!”

Micah went on regardless.

A tingle shot through her limbs. Maybe it was the angle from the floor, or the way the countdown dwindled menacingly, but she started sprinting. Thankfully, the carpet was more than enough to silence her steps. She paused in the middle of the room and turned all around. Hiding under the bed or dresser felt way too obvious. Just about every piece of furniture she could reach would be searched first.

She glanced at the window and briefly thought about scaling the inside of the curtains. One twitch would give away her position, and she’d be a sitting duck for him to snatch.

“Dammit, Micah,” she whispered, having been ready for bed.

The closet door was ajar. The darkness inside was promising. She ran for it, reaching the shadows just as he neared the end of his countdown. The inside of the closet was stupidly massive. She couldn’t even see the end of it without the light on. And these were only his casual daily clothes.

True to his nature, Micah started dragging out the numbers playfully near the end, giving her plenty of time to decide on a place to hide. She found a narrow raised ledge behind a low rack of jackets. There was room for her to bolt if she needed to. She wasn’t cornering herself, she insisted, keeping her eyes on the exit route while she positioned herself.

She listened closely as he moved through his cavern of a bedroom. As she suspected, he searched all the obvious spots first. She even heard the sound of him moving the pillows, as though she would have climbed back onto the bed to trick him.

Although she felt mostly secure, her breath was still coming in quick bursts that she couldn’t explain. It was just a game. A silly game to keep his hyperactive mood occupied. And the fact that he insisted on being so corny about it only solidified that.

“Where did that unruly little print get to?” he called in a singsong voice.

Everly rolled her eyes, but she flattened her back against the wall when the closet door opened wider. His shadow darkened the entry. The light flicked on—a glittering chandelier in the center that threw rainbows in every direction. She held perfectly still, able to see his long legs stroll casually inside.

She found herself wishing that they had set some sort of time limit. He seemed to be enjoying his ability to drag this out.

Much to her advantage, he started his search on the opposite side of her. While he was occupied delicately digging through drawers, she formulated her next move. Carefully, she peeled herself away from the wall and tried to keep her legs from trembling with nerves.

While he had his back turned, she silently ran to the ottoman that separated them. There was no space underneath it—not that she was aiming to hide there anyway. She simply watched his shadow and waited until he was on the move again. Then she tactfully made her way around the side of the ottoman, keeping it between herself and Micah as he circled the closet.

If she could find a spot he had already searched, he’d have to give it up eventually. Her heart pounded like a drum each second she was exposed to the light, even though she had a healthy amount of cover.

A game, she reminded herself. Don’t be so serious.

Peeking around the side of the ottoman, she saw him on the far side of the closet now. He pounced at the space behind the shirts, shoving them aside like he meant to startle her. And although she was as far from him as possible, she still gave a little jump and covered her mouth to keep a squeal from coming out.

Without wasting another second, she ran to the set of low drawers he had already searched. Instead of handles, there was a gap at the top of each drawer, just wide enough for her to squeeze through. She scaled up to the second-to-highest drawer and slipped inside. She doubted he’d dig through his precious collection of ties and pocket squares twice.

As she made her way deeper and tried to bury herself as discreetly as possible, she didn’t realize how low the back of the drawers were. When she reached the end, her foot slipped off the edge, startling her enough to give a cry.

Immediately, she pulled her leg back up and covered her mouth, but it was too late.

The sounds of Micah’s searching stopped. She willed him to think the sound was just his imagination and go back to digging through pants pockets. But as it turned out, he was just as bad at obeying her silent orders as her outright demands.

“Evy,” he crooned. “This’ll all be much easier if you just tell me where you are.”

His footsteps slowly approached the drawers. It was as though each one of his movements was measured to make her heart pound harder. Despite herself, she grinned behind her hand and wanted to squeak at the thrill of it.

To her relief, he started with the bottom drawer and seemed to be making his way up. The low back of the drawer may have doomed her, but it could also buy her some time. If she waited for the right moment, she could slip down to the next drawer, all the way until he left.

She stayed coiled underneath the cool fabric of a tie and held her breath, ready to make her escape after he opened and closed the drawer directly beneath her.

But he was cleverer than she gave him credit for.

It was like he read her mind and knew where she was all along. He skipped the drawer beneath her and pulled her wide open. Light blinded her. She screamed and tried to scramble down to the next drawer, but it was no use.

“There you are,” he said, a wolfish grin in his voice.

She almost made it, but he yanked the drawer all the way open and caught her leg at the last second. It wouldn’t have made a difference. That didn’t stop her from squirming and kicking to free herself from his hold. He dragged her to the center of the drawer, but instead of plucking her up, he released her. She fell on a heap among his ties.

“Ugh, I’m too tired to run again,” she groaned.

“Not a problem.”

Apparently, he had no intentions of starting another round anyway. Not when he had her right where he wanted her. He removed the drawer entirely, making her yelp in astonishment. She dropped to a crouch to keep from falling over as he carried the drawer to the ottoman. He set it down on the center, then leaned down and braced his hands on either side of the drawer.

For a few moments, he simply stared. She was used to him towering over her, but the look on his face sent involuntary shivers up her spine. It was the same look he gave during photoshoots when he was instructed to play the bad boy. The dangerous boy.

Except here, she could almost buy it.

“I don’t take kindly to prints who ruin my ties,” he said. One hand lifted toward her, the back of a finger trailing her arm. “Now, what’ll I do with you?”

For all her tiredness, she couldn’t help but give it one last good fight. She bolted, hoping to take him by surprise. He was ready for that. He grabbed a lavender tie and unraveled it at a leisurely pace. She vaulted onto the ottoman and almost made it to the edge, but he stretched the tie in front of her like a wall to block her path.

She skidded to a stop just in time to barely bump against the barrier, but she lost her balance and fell backward onto her hands and butt. She scuttled back as he herded her with the tie.

“I think you’d look much better in this,” he said, his voice nearly a purr.

He closed the distance, catching her waist in the fabric and forcing her to stand. He looped it around her once, twice, his hands flying too fast for her to keep track of. She tried to wriggle herself free and duck away, but he pulled on both ends, tightening the fabric around her.

She panted. “Really fucking creative—” Her words were stolen as he lifted her with the tie. She shrieked and held on for dear life. As much as she trusted him, having her legs dangle over a bone-breaking fall was enough to make her doubt anyone.

He brought her up to eye level, looking utterly pleased with himself. “I told you it’d be easier if you just told me where you were.”

He carried her to the bed and deposited her on the pillow she had started on. When he climbed onto the mattress, he watched with blatant amusement as she struggled to unravel herself from the tie. Even without the tension of him pulling on the fabric, the slippery combination of her nightclothes and the silken tie did not make things any easier. It took her a good half a minute to get out of the snare. The moment she kicked the last of it off, she crawled hurriedly for the edge of the pillow.

“That’s my Ev,” he said affectionately. “You don’t give up, do you?”

She dropped to the mattress, but that seemed to be precisely where he preferred her. He adjusted himself, corralling her with his arm and torso. Everywhere she turned was him.

Grumbling, she walked over to his chest and gave him a shove. He pretended to gasp in pain, which was worse than any other reaction he could’ve had. With a huff, she sat down and crossed her arms.

He grinned down at her. “Aw, don’t be a sore loser just ‘cause I scared you.”

“Honestly, I forgot about that part. I’m just mad you found me.” She shrugged. “But you didn’t scare me.”

“I did too.”

“You did not.”

“Really?”

He moved again—this time far more dramatically. He braced himself on his hands and loomed right over her. That dumb face made its appearance again—his eyes going dark and cold, mouth set in a sinister smirk. He breathed deeply and leaned down, looking ready to devour her, stubbornness and all.

Her heart skipped a beat—and it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. She backed up slowly.

“Game’s still on, then,” he murmured.

Everly laughed despite herself and plunged under the covers. She crawled frantically, trying to be unpredictable in her direction. His bed was stupidly massive to match his casual closet, so at least she had that to her advantage.

It would’ve been easier for him to remove the sheets entirely and find her in a millisecond, but she knew he’d find no fun in that. Instead, his hand slipped in after her, feeling around fruitlessly as she tried to make herself as small and invisible as possible.

She managed to evade him for nearly a full minute before he threw himself under the sheets. At once, he spotted her and grinned. She shrieked and tried to back away, but within seconds, he had her again. He scooped his hand around her waist and brought her closer to bury her under his affections.

His smirk was gone. He was all bright—peppering her with relentless kisses and nuzzles.

“Alright!” She laughed and writhed under his tenderness. It made her give in quicker than any cold eyes or smirk could. “You win!”

He buried his cheek against her and kissed up her arm and shoulder. “You win too, babe. All this attention from me? Good for you.”

She made a gagging noise, which only earned her more kisses.

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ymechi · 5 months

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The hidden creator

I had a plot bunny idea

TW: usual cult stuff, hints of yandere

-gn reader (I tried making it gender-neutral if there is a comment that is off please tell me and I will fix it)

EDIT: 14/11/2023 (changed some wording and other stuff nothing major)

Creator Reader Pov:

-You were just a regular person who one day woke up in Teyvat out of all places

-You realized you still had all your game features and figured it was one of the perks of being isekaied like in other isekai stories

-The whole thing is weird and why you were here, you had no idea

-After the novelty wears off you take some time mourning the loss of your previous life and the people you knew

-After that you try to get a semblance of a normal life like getting a job and trying to be independent

-Despite having a game system you do not want to be an adventurer or learn how to fight it's not for you

-You were previously an average civilian and raised as one it would be hard to become a fighter now

-Instead you gravitated towards creating things, you found an apprentice position in a clockwork shop in Fontaine

-It is fun and you get to tinker with gears and clocks, learning how various machines work and how to create your own items

-overall you are content

-Except weird people occasionally come by the shop you work at including the Iudex of Fontaine which had both you and the shopkeeper sweating the first few times

-Yet the man who insisted you call him by his name Neuvilette is really polite and nice to talk to, soon you warmed up to him

-You could not help the feeling as if you knew him from before, as if you forgot something, you were unusually fond of him.

-Your other "clients" if you could call them that were more intimidating, you had no idea what they were doing in this shop and it scared you

-The Fatui Harbringers occasionally stopped by the shop to buy a trinket or two before leaving, it honestly scared you and the thaught of running away to another nation had crossed your mind once or twice yet you liked your job and your boss and you made some good friends here so it was hard to leave

-Overall you were doing okay

-Except it seems the people here almost in a cult-like manner worship a creator that was never in the game lore

-It is said they resided in Celestia and not many people actually got to see them, not that it mattered for a nobody like you

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

Tsaritsa Pov:

-The Tsaritsa knew their so called creator was fake

-She knew she had to get rid of the fake creator as they and Celestia had caused irreparable damage

-Even if she had to stain her hands

-One day it happened something shifted in the earth, air, water- no the whole of Teyvat

-It happened so softly like a small snowflake landing on the ground

-She was hypnotized as if a siren was beckoning her she found you.

-You were their true creator

-You were wearing apprenticeship clothes tinkering with something in your hands and deeply concentrated

-She wondered if that is how you created the universe with careful and steady hands guiding and shaping it to your will.

-She wanted to take you away from this. . . small shop, yet she knew begrudgingly you were safe here, if anyone were to find out a sliver of your existence. . .

-You were safer hidden among mortals

-It left a bitter taste in her mouth

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

Neuvilette Pov

-It just happened one day, out of the blue, he could feel it in the shift of the waters

-The way Furina shifted and turned her head unable to sit still confirmed he was not the only one feeling this

-Something happened and he had no idea what exactly happened

-There was this familiar presence this comforting feeling, ancient old instincts waking up

-He followed it without thought until he came upon an in inconspicuous clockwork shop

-He was confused but did not hesitate to step inside

-Then he saw you and everything clicked

-It was you his creator his universe his everything

-You were back

-It seems in this incarnation you were just a human

-That was fine he was oaky with that as long as you were here

-His heart ached seeing you

-He wanted to hug and ask you to never leave again to always stay by his side, for you to comfort him after what had happened and console him

-He should take you way somewhere safer somewhere better not here-

-But weren't you safer hiding among mortals, a part of his mind whispered, no one would suspect you being here even the fake (he cursed them) would not think of finding you here, if he brought you back with him it would create more attention on you

-Attention that would cause you trouble

-He left with defeat on his steps

-It was later he would met the Tsaritsa and a deal was struck

-All for your sake

#genshin impact #sagau #self aware au #self aware genshin #neuvillette #the tsaritsa #fatui harbringers #fatui #cult au #slight yandere #I am too lazy to proofread it right now sorry for any mistakes #this was just some random idea tbh #the creator reader has no idea they are the creator they just wana tinker with clockworks #neuvilette genshin #when will we get more Tsaritsa lore mihoyo plz-#would you guys think that Pantalone would buy out the whole stock whenever it is his turn to visit?

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kiss-theggoat · 8 months

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Homesick

Thomas Sawyer x F!Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: After being dragged away from your home at the Sawyer house, you finally make your way back home with some especially exciting news.

TW: Mentions of violence, some blood

The way you ended up here, nauseous, sweaty, and exhausted on the side of a familiar highway was an extremely long story. Your long walk gave you time to reminisce.

The group came into town just like the rest. Hoyt on their tail and Thomas acting as an evil henchman, the only thing on his mind was you, waiting for him with a kind smile and warm hug. He begrudgingly loaded two girls into the car and slammed the door shut, splattering some blood from a previous victim. One of the girls was unconscious and bloodied, the other screaming and kicking at the door. Thomas was tired, and he just wanted to get home to you.

Lately he’d been letting his mind wander. Allowing himself to daydream and realizing that there’s nothing wrong with the little universe he’s created in his mind. He closes his eyes and transports himself to that world. You and him own a small house, cozy and filled with little trinkets he makes or collects for you, on a small plot of farmland where a wildflower garden that you planted thrives. He walks into the homely kitchen and sees you in front of a window, curtains billowing around your glowing skin, sunlight illuminating every part of your face Thomas loved most.

You were hard at work on a meal for the two of you. His heart swelled with the thought of indulging in something that you put your love into. He walks towards you and places his hands around your waist, feeling the soft baby bump there. Pride blooms within him and he-

“Dammit, boy, pay attention!” A thump to the side of the head yanks him away from you like a fish being pulled from the depths of the ocean. He hadn’t even noticed that the window had started to crack from the girl's struggle.

Meanwhile, you sat at home, cleaning yours and Thomas’ room while listening to the crackly radio that he’d found for you in town. You loved music so having it was a must, even if it was only a couple crappy radio stations. The only thing that distracted you from your task was the sound of a car pulling up to the house, crunchy gravel revealing its location. Tommy was home. You beamed, even though you knew to stay downstairs for a little while, until he sorted everything out. So, that’s exactly what you did. You say anxiously in waiting, staring at the door like a hawk and waiting for your love to hulk down those stairs like he always did.

But instead, the door slammed against the side wall, making you gasp and jump from your seat. You saw a man and a woman, both bloodied and panting, the man leaning against the woman and he definitely looked more damaged than she did. She hobbled downstairs, whimpering and crying. “We have to get out of here!”

You stuttered, but no words would leave you. She thought you were a survivor. A prisoner kept by the Sawyer’s. She reached forward and grabbed your hand, yanking you surprisingly hard for someone who seemed to have lost half of her blood. Next thing you knew, you were in a sputtering truck, tears streaming down your face and worry suffocating you. If they got away, where was everyone else? Was Thomas okay? What about Luda Mae?

As you walked under the relentless Texas sun, you realized, you still didn’t know if they were okay or not. You hoped with everything inside you that Thomas was safe. At least from your damage control, you knew the cops would never be a problem for him.

When you arrived in north Texas, you were questioned over and over and over again. Everyone was, but the only advantage you had over them was that you knew everything about the Sawyer household. The rest of the kids didn’t even seem to remember what Highway they were on when they got pulled over. The only detail they could give police was that the town they were in was near Austin. Which, in Texas, meant nothing.

You, on the other hand, slowly and carefully revealed a new piece of evidence each time, effectively leading the investigation towards the opposite side of the city. After the intense questioning, you were finally free.

The options you had were horrible. The cops were offering transportation. But, accepting their transportation meant leading them to Thomas. You had no money, no car, and had no idea where you were. But, through a few illicit activities, you gained access to a really, really shitty car that barely got you halfway home.

Which led you to where you are now. Sweating through all of your clothes, sunburnt, and one second away from blowing chunks all over the highway. That really shitty car had blown out on you, probably something with the radiator being baked in the hottest Texas summer in years. You felt like sobbing. You didn’t know if Thomas was okay, and if he wasn’t, what would you do with the rest of your life? Thomas had become your life. Especially now.

You flashed back to the first stop in your new shitty car was an equally shitty gas station, where you gathered some food and water through flirting with the geriatric cashier, and also stole a pregnancy test from the shelf as you left the station. You had suspicions of being pregnant after the third day of waking up with intense nausea, feeling like you were going to start sobbing if you opened your eyes too wide. Thomas had mentioned having a baby a few times, but you’d never actually put a lot of effort into trying.

As you sat on the dingy toilet, you watched the second pink line slowly materialize. You were a huge mixture of emotion, happiness that you had created life. A shared life with the man that you loved more than anything else in the world. But, you wished for nothing more than to run to Thomas and tell him, which you couldn’t do. You didn’t even know if he was even alive.

The walk along the side of the highway had started to look familiar, the highway getting smaller and the area getting more and more rural. You felt like collapsing, but needed to get home. The heat of the sun beat down on your poor cheeks and you could tell that you were sunburnt. Sweat dripped into your eyes, obscuring your view of the upcoming road sign. The fabric of your shirt grated against your sunburnt face as you wiped your eyes, but you saw the light.

Gas

N xt Ex

The rundown, faded red sign was like a sign from the heavens. You knew that the Sawyer’s station was at the next exit.

The little bell above the door jingled, kissing your ear drums as you entered your sanctuary.

“We’re outta gas.” Luda grumbled, flipping her magazine without even looking up at you.

You smiled, missing her so much you felt like tackling her over the counter. “Luda…” you said, tears welling in your eyes. You walked towards the counter as her head shot up.

“Oh my god, we thought we’d never see you again, dear!” She stands and walks around the counter, holding her arms out to you in a motherly embrace.

You cried into her chest, unable to hold it in any longer. You were so upset and exhausted, needing one thing right now. “Where’s Thomas?”

“Oh he’ll be so happy to see you…” she smiled, lovingly stroking your hair. “He’s been so upset this last week. He’s at the house with Hoyt, let me give him a call.”

You watched her dial the phone, waiting in excitement for your Thomas.

Thomas was in the basement as usual, sewing himself a new mask. His body felt numb, like it had this entire week. Without you, he realized he was empty. Nothing mattered. Life was worthless without you in it.

“Tommy!” The door slammed open, Hoyt standing at the top of the stairs. “Luda needs us at the station.”

Thomas stood, head down as he climbed the stairs. The entire drive to the station was silent and melancholy, Thomas staring out the window. Gravel crunched under the wheels as they approached the station, and even though Thomas was still in the car, he watched as the front door to the station opened. His heart nearly leapt from his chest, and he shoved the car door open before Hoyt even stopped the car.

You watched Thomas rush out of the car, moving the fastest you’ve ever seen in your entire relationship. The smile on your face made your cheeks ache, and when Thomas reached you, his strong arms wrapped around your waist and lifted you off the ground.

“Tommy! I’m so glad you’re okay! I was so scared, I’m so sorry that it took me so long to get to you!” Again, you couldn’t help but cry. The tears streamed from your face at the feeling of being embraced by Thomas. He was your home. He made you feel safe.

He shook his head and set you back down on the ground, holding the sides of your face to wipe your tears away, but his eyebrows furrowed in concern when he noticed how sunburnt you were.

“I’m okay, Tommy. I promise.” You whispered, leaning forward and resting your forehead against his. “And I have something to tell you.”

Thomas stared into your eyes and nodded slowly, letting you know he’s ready for you to speak.

“I’m pregnant.” You said, smile widening again.

You thought that Thomas’ heart might burst. His eyes went wide as saucers and he perked up, staring at you in shock for a moment. Once the shock passed, he pulled you into the tightest hug you’d ever received. Thomas moved a step back, staring down at your stomach with eyes full of admiration, his large hands gently touching the sides of your stomach.

You knew that Thomas would be the best partner you could ever ask for, and the best father your baby could ever ask for.

#slasher x reader #slashers #horror movies #horror fanfiction #slasher x y/n #thomas hewitt x you #thomas hewitt x y/n #thomas hewitt #thomas hewitt x reader

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comiicii · 1 month

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Backdrop: Life had been mundane until you met Clark Kent.

Pairing: clark kent x fem!reader

Warnings: None, probably some grammatical errors and a little sadness if you’re a sap like me.

A's notes: inspired by ariana grande’s new album eternal sunshine, i’ll be doing a series of one shots based on the songs. they’ll be in no particular order and will be written for other characters but some will be featured more than once if they fit the song i’m writing about. ‘we cant be friends’ has me crying whenever i watch the video and i tear up a lot listening to it so enjoy this train wreck of a story.

Word count: 3.8k

For as long as you could remember, life was nothing special. It wasn’t horrible but you woke up most days simply doing work and trying to advance your career. Your life was mundane and filled with memories of you alone after moving to Metropolis. That was until you met him. Clark Kent. You had bumped into each other on your way into the Daily Planet for an interview. Well, it was actually you bumping into his broad chest and him catching you before you hit the marble floor. The softness in his deep ocean blue eyes were what made your heart do something it had never done. It felt like a pull in your chest that you hadn’t felt before. As if the universe made sense. Once you finally registered his apologies, you came to your senses and tried to apologize for not watching where you were going. Then he smiled. Now your stomach fluttered. That was not something your body usually did when it came to people. After he introduced himself, it was as if the world had color to it again.

It would be an understatement to say that you fell for Clark Kent. You deeply fell for Clark. Words could not express the love you instantly felt for him. And he fell just as hard for you. When he revealed his true identity to you, it only solidified the endless bounty of your love for him since he was willing to trust you with every part of himself that he didn’t share with the rest of the world. Life seemed to finally be worth living and getting up for. Every morning you rose with the sun and slowly forgot about those meek feelings that used to fill your body.

It wasn’t hard for the two of you to make some of the happiest memories together. Your then-apartment had been littered with trinkets that marked your happiest moments with Clark. Like the teddy bear he won for you when he took you to a carnival in his Kansas hometown. Or the homemade picture frame that had a silly selfie Clark took of the two of you while at work. Once you moved in together, the apartment you shared was filled with more memories the two of you made together. As a house warming gift, he presented you with a beautiful pendant necklace with both your birthstones that came together to make a heart. It’s a necklace you wear everyday and became a reminder that someone loved you unconditionally. When he proposed to you atop the ferris wheel, the ring was designed to match the necklace. Your wedding was small and intimate with just friends and family in attendance on the Kent family farm. It was the highlight of your life to be marrying the man of your dreams.

Life wasn’t always perfect with Clark though. Sharing your boyfriend (and eventual husband) with the world was not the easiest task to undertake but when he came home to you, those insecurities subsided. But those pesky feelings still lingered. Feelings of being unwanted and insecurities plagued the back of your mind. Besides, the Daily Planet constantly wrote puff pieces of his alter ego - with a few being written by you. As time passed and the world became more cruel, it became harder to keep those thoughts hidden. Little by little, those insecurities reared their ugly heads that led to some of the lowest of lows in your life since meeting Clark. He didn’t seem to understand why you were feeling as such and justified his work that it was his life’s purpose. And you didn’t seem to understand why he couldn’t empathize with your feelings. You stood by him through thick and thin. Through the good, the bad, and the ugly that came with being Superman. You weren’t perfect either, though. You were an ambitious reporter and were climbing up in your career at the Daily Planet. Your work also came with some ugliness as you advanced in your career. This meant that the two of you were in the spotlight for your work. Two very different spotlights but spotlights nonetheless.

It hit particularly hard the one argument that ensued after he missed your first wedding anniversary. It was an important milestone that you had planned out for weeks. You had made reservations at the restaurant you had your first date on and he didn’t make an appearance until the morning hours of the following day. You had looked like a fool at the restaurant; patrons giving you looks of pity as you sipped on your water and twiddled your thumbs like a fool waiting for him. When he greeted you with a bouquet of lilies - the first drop of uneasiness touched your chest. You weren’t happy to see him. To see his sweet face you’d kissed good morning the morning before. To see his ocean eyes that carried such sincerity because he had broken a promise to you. He could see that he couldn’t avoid a fight with you because you didn’t look at him with love. Your eyes were filled with disappointment. The argument that ensued ended with him leaving for most of the day as you sobbed into your pillow. When he had returned you had awoken only to softly cry yourself to sleep again.

It took two days for the two of you to speak again and work through the argument. You both tried to be more mindful and quickly moved on from the unhappy moment. A part of you was content with the conversation and hopeful for what was to come with Clark. It wasn’t the first fight you two had but it was the first that hurt you so deeply.

Nothing could’ve prepared you for the day you had asked for a divorce from Clark. It wasn’t something you planned but it wasn’t something you hadn’t contemplated in the recent year after your third wedding anniversary. It had come out of your mouth after another argument that was going nowhere. You had argued about how you were growing apart - how you had taken time off after planning to go away for a small vacation just the two of you and he wasn’t putting in the effort. He had come home late but it wasn’t because of him being Superman. It was because he worked late with Lois Lane on a story after he had told you that morning he’d be home to go on the trip. You were prepared to forgive him if it was because of his Superman duties but this was the last straw.

You weren’t the jealous type but even at work, it seemed like the two of you barely spoke as the years progressed. He got paired up with Lois for more stories and you didn’t like the sinking twist of your stomach whenever you saw Clark with her. They looked cute together and probably the office assumed he was sleeping with her given how flirty they tended to be (at least she was). The first time he noticed how much it bothered you, he assured you with his words and actions that he felt nothing for the reporter. He went as far as to give you a passionate kiss in the middle of the office, in front of Lois, as you bid him goodbye to go to an interview for a story you were writing. It had made you weak in the knees and you were close to pulling him into the archives room to continue the passion but you simply blushed and told him you loved him with the most love struck smile on your face. That squashed those insecurities for a while until you started noticing how close they’d sit together while brainstorming or how he began to stay later with her to work on a story. You tried not to be the jealous wife but you couldn’t help the green monster that was building on your fears and insecurities. The few times you brought it up afterwards, Clark was dismissive about your feelings. It hurt you. Hurt how little he seemed to care about your feelings.

From there, arguments were becoming more common. Filled with silence or one of you leaving the apartment for some time. It had become common practice to not speak to each other and eventually move on from the argument. You hated that your marriage had come to this point. After the last argument, you had left the apartment this time. You checked into a hotel and went to the bar for a drink. You looked at your ring and a tear ran down your cheek realizing that it didn’t give you hope. It didn’t give you the feeling you were hoping for because deep down, you knew that you couldn’t continue in the marriage if it wasn’t going to be mended. You had run the course of the marriage and it pained you. When you returned two days later, Clark was making lunch for both of you. He was prepared to go on the trip and put the argument behind. Your heart was racing because you didn’t want to do this. You didn’t want to end something you had hoped would never end but it had to end. You needed to be the one to make Clark realize that the two of you weren’t going to get the happy ending. Not with each other. You were prepared for him to be upset and yell and express every reasonable emotion. When you uttered those terrible words, he simply froze and you could see his heart shatter from the look he gave you because he knew you were going to see the divorce through. The day ended with you packing your things and going back to the hotel, retaining a divorce lawyer and hunting for apartments. You had managed to find a job as a journalist for a small paper and put in your two weeks at the Daily Planet. By the end of it all, all you gave Clark was a letter asking for forgiveness for ending your marriage. Detailing all the love you had for him was genuine and would always remain but that for now, your paths had to separate. You ended the letter acknowledging that the two of you couldn’t be friends but that you’d wait for that day to come. Wait for the day that he’d like you again. You’d wait for his love again.

Clark’s heartbreak was just about close to unbearable as he didn’t pull his punches during missions and even Bruce had to pull him back from time to time. He had clung to that letter you wrote him and cried so hard the day he received it. Beating himself up for letting one of the most important people in his life feel the need to cut ties with him. Letting you feel like you had to end your story together. You weren’t fairing much better. For the first few months, you were crying yourself to sleep almost daily. Life had become mundane and when you thought of Clark, it became sad and lonely. You hated the pain you felt in your chest that had spread to your whole body.

A coworker at your new job had seen how sad you were about your divorce and handed you an ad about Wayne Enterprises having technology that claimed to erase people from your memory. A part of you didn’t think such a thing existed but you knew Bruce wouldn’t build something if it didn’t work. When Bruce Wayne saw your name on the list of possible subjects, he reached out to you. Meaning, he paid a visit at your current apartment that was now closer to Gotham. You had known Bruce through Clark and knew of his alter-ego as well. Batman had actually saved you a few times when you were in Gotham chasing leads and doing interviews. When he first met you, Clark and you had been together for a year and had been invited to one of Bruce’s fancy charity events. He had seen how in love you two were. He hadn’t seen Clark so happy before you came into his life and he could see the adoration you held for the Kryptonian. Clark had even said to him that night that he was going to marry you. It warmed his heart to see how happy you two had made each other in such a short period of time.

You had ironically decided to have the procedure done on what would’ve been your fourth wedding anniversary. You looked down at the box that contained every memory attached to Clark. The receptionist had handed you a clipboard with a waiver to sign; giving Wayne Enterprises permission to move forward with the process. A nurse came out to call your name and you handed her the clipboard. She brought you inside and took the box of your memories. You sat down and took deep breaths, the nurse giving you a few minutes as she left to get he others for the procedure. You looked around at the room, it was meant to look comfortable given the severity of the process. There was a mirror on the wall to your right. You figured it was part of the original room and that maybe on the other side were boxes of other people’s memories.

On the other side of the mirror, Clark stood looking at your nervous self that waited for the technicians to arrive. Bruce had elected to do the procedure himself for his friend after informing him that you had signed up for it yourself. Clark had come in on the same day per Bruce’s request since he figured it was best for it to be done on the same day for the both of you. Clark had come in with a box full of memories connected to you. Pictures that he had of you and different items you had gotten him through the years such as the bracelet you made for him while he was away on a mission with the Justice League. You had put beads with your initials on the bracelet and just like you wore your necklace, he wore his bracelet. The box also contained a picture he had taken of you out on his parent’s farm the weekend he brought you home to meet Ma Kent. The box unsurprisingly contained a great deal of pictures of you that he took. Some silly ones, cute ones, romantic and his most cherished one was at the top of the pile. It was a picture of the two of you kissing on your wedding day. Clark had taken it himself with his digital camera he carried everywhere with him. His other favorite picture was one of you under the covers, smiling and looking so peaceful and happy as he took the picture, wearing one of his flannels. It was taken the morning after he proposed to you. You had a picture of Clark in your box that you had taken a few seconds after he took that photo. He didn’t want to put anything in the box and be selfish but he knew for it to work, he had to follow Bruce’s instruction. The one item that wasn’t in the box was the letter you wrote him after your divorce. The one that solidified your parting of ways. He gave the letter to Bruce and told him wished he hadn’t made you feel so hurt that you had to do this.

With that, the billionaire decided to tell his friend that this wasn’t the first time the two of you had gone through this procedure. Two years prior to the two of you meeting, you both had been together for three years and had a great falling out that ended the relationship. It was enough to bring the both of you, at separate times, to him and ask to have your memories of each other erased. Bruce wanted to tell you but the sadness reflected in your eyes was enough to keep his mouth shut. Maybe deep down you knew that this wasn’t the first time you wanted to erase Clark from your life. You loved him so deeply that the only way for life to move forward again, he had to be erased. Clark didn’t realize he was crying as he heard his friend recount the first time you two had come in and watched you play with the pendant necklace he gave you when you moved in together. He still remembers how nervous he was to gift it to you; worried it was not going to be your style. He remembers how his heart leaped when you squealed with joy at the present. His heart felt heavy knowing you still wore the necklace despite being divorced. It was bittersweet hope that maybe you’d be able to try again without having to do this. He wanted to break through the window and beg you not to forget him but he knew that once your mind was made up, you saw it through. So, he sat down and asked Bruce to erase his memories of your relationship. All Clark wanted was for you to be happy. If that meant erasing him, he would learn to live with that.

As you closed your eyes, recounting the countless memories you had made with Clark for the last five years, it was hard to hold back the few tears that wet your cheeks. Your breathing got heavy as Clark disappeared from your life. Your fingers reached for your necklace - the remaining piece of the love you were erasing from your entire being. You looked at the nurses beside you, asking with teary eyes if you could keep just this one memory for yourself. You softly begged them as one nurse held your hand and told you that it was going to be okay, that the process was almost complete. You took in a shaky breath and closed your eyes as your fingers cling to the pendant; feeling the final memory of Clark’s ocean eyes fade.

When you opened your eyes again, you were slightly disoriented but greeted with the kind face of the nurse. She asked if you were okay and you smiled. You knew whatever just happened, it worked because there was a lightness in your chest. It felt as though you were brand new. As you stood from the chair, you thanked everyone. Without noticing, Bruce Wayne had come in to the room to congratulate you on the success of the procedure. You thanked the billionaire and went about your day. You took in the crisp afternoon air of Gotham and headed back your apartment. Clark came out the building a few minutes after you.

A few years later, life was certainly different. You had landed a job working for the Gotham Gazette as the lead investigative reporter and had made a name for yourself. You were content with life but there was something missing. At night, you found yourself out on dates that never led anywhere. On the nights where it was particularly bad, you phoned your billionaire friend Bruce Wayne whom you grew closer to in the following years with working at the Gazette. He became a confidant for your woes and wishes of your life. Bruce had come to deeply care about you after you had the procedure. Part of the reason was because Clark asked him to look out for you since he wouldn’t be able to. He couldn’t help to grow close to you because you were that type of soul that brought a warmth and comfort he hadn’t felt since he lost his parents.

Clark had focused on his work in the following years of his procedure. He had struck a relationship with his coworker, Lois Lane. They had been together for three years but it wasn’t working. Mainly because Clark hadn’t felt he could spend his life with her. She was beautiful, smart, ambitious and just about everything he could ask for in a partner but there was something missing. He couldn’t put his finger on it and quite frankly it killed him to continue in a relationship he knew wasn’t going to end in marriage.

Bruce had invited you to his charity event to raise money for the orphaned children of Gotham. He always invited you since he knew it could be good for networking for you and every now and then, you would get a date out of it. Clark and the other Justice League members were in attendance for this event as they knew this was an important cause for Bruce. Clark had just broken up with Lois the week prior and had been sulking, He originally wasn’t going to attend the event but Bruce and the others convinced him that a night out would be good for him.

A couple of hours into the event and you find yourself feeling out of place. Especially with the dress you chose; it was from a thrift shop you had found in Gotham and it had more of a bohemian look to it rather than the posh aura the other attendees wore. Bruce had checked in with you a few times to make sure you were okay; knowing how intense the scene of the Gotham elite could be and assuring you in the process of how beautiful you looked. You found yourself at the bar, grabbing what seemed to be your fifth flute of champagne for the night. Your spacial awareness was starting to go so it wasn’t surprising when you bumped into a large figure at your side, spilling some of your drink on him. You were a mess apologizing to the man. You were expecting him to make fuss but it was a pleasant surprise when you heard him softly chuckling at you. You were flushed with embarrassment but when you stared into the eyes of the man, your heart stopped. Meeting his deep blue eyes spread a warmth the champagne earlier hadn’t achieved. His heart also seemed to stop upon meeting your gaze. Your eyes made him feel like he had finally come home after a long journey of searching.

To continue having you in his presence, he joked that you owed him a dance in order to make up for ever so slightly wetting the sleeve of his navy blue suit. Hearing the slight mischievous tone only made you laugh in agreement, a sound he already found addicting. When he pulled you close to him, you hoped he couldn’t hear how hard your heart was beating. As you followed his lead, you relaxed and he took the opportunity to ask for your name.

“Y/N.”

“Clark.”

#clark kent imagine #superman imagine #clark kent x reader #superman x reader #clark kent fanfiction #superman fanfiction #henry cavill superman #henry cavill superman x reader #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill fanfiction #dc imagine #dc imagines #dceu imagine #dceu imagines #eternal sunshine series

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lazydoodlesandfanfic · 3 months

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Fate's Plans (Wanda Maximoff X Male!Reader)

Characters: Wanda Maximoff X Male!Reader

Universe: Marvel, Avengers (Takes place sometime after AOU)

Warnings: Pregnancy, vague mentions of birth, bit of swearing

Could you write Wanda x male!reader, it’s just fluff really if that’s ok. Wanda and the reader find out they’re pregnant and the fic’s about their time throughout the pregnancy and after their child is born. Maybe the reader kinda freaks out a bit and Wanda finds it really funny/cute.

There were a lot of people who believed that finding true love was an act of fate. If it happened to you, you’d know immediately, and it would become a story to tell your kids and grandkids beside the person you were destined to grow old with. Wanda was one of those people. She believed with all her whole heart that her parents' meeting was fate, even if it meant that they would die young, leaving behind her and Pietro. However, she also believed that this fate wasn’t ever going to happen to her. Life was too cruel- why would life beat her down so hard so far just to throw her a bone now? And she was okay with that. She believed this so hard, that it actually took her a while to realise that she was wrong. Fate did have other plans for her, and the love of her life was already with her.

Wanda only realised it was you, was when she watched you excitedly calling her name repeatedly, getting a little quieter as you got close and closer, beaming as you proceeded to hand her a cloth bag that fit in her hand, and watched excitedly as she opened it, finding several stones, shells and even sea glass, and you went on to explain that on your PTO (Because you’d gotten injured on a mission and should have been resting) you’d gone to the coast with some family and gathered some trinkets because you thought she’d like it. She didn’t like it. She loved it, and she loved that you had thought of her and did this. That’s why immediately after, she asked you to dinner, and your eyes widened, not expecting that, before stuttering out an acceptance.

She was surprised it took her so long for herself to realise how special you were. You were an agent of SHIELD, and had been for two years, starting just a year after Wanda became an Avenger. Being young, and a rookie, you got a lot of teasing, especially from people like Clint and Tony, but you took it all in your stride and with a smile. You were always kind, eager to help, which on first appearance made you appear a bit of an airhead or gullible, but oh boy, was that wrong- Tony learnt that the hard way, when he tried to prank you by putting you in charge of checking over his security software for any faults, bugs, or cyber attacks, him already having it planned out for you to be overwhelmed and for FRIDAY to mimic an actual attack to scare you, only for you to handle it, and actually catch a bug in the system. All of which you announced to Tony in front of several other Avengers, including Wanda. Not long after, you ended up being assigned on a mission with Natasha, Clint and Steve, and come back with the three gobsmacked, and then tell a story of you being the most competent and well trained agent any of them had actually worked with. That kind of complimentary talk really boosts you up the ranks, it turns out, and soon Wanda was able to see it first hand.

But out of missions, you were that kind, slightly silly person. You always asked about her day, complimented her on her recent mission, and eventually, you began giving gifts- getting her coffee in the morning, then also a bit of breakfast, then snacks, and eventually your gifts moved from food and drinks to finding DVDs of obscure movies she mentioned wanting to watch again, or fixing things for her in your down time. Your sewing skills on her cardigans and skirts were far from professional, but they worked as intended, and it was a lovely gesture. Wanda practically slapped herself when she realised these were your ways of trying to show you liked her.

As soon as you two actually started dating, everything just clicked. Your acts of love and affection didn’t slow down at all, except now the coffee and breakfast was something you grabbed together, you kept her favourite snacks at yours for when she came over, and she did the same for you, and dates between you was basically anytime you two got to be alone together- which was whenever you two had time after work, or after a mission, where you two just cuddled and relaxed after it all. The only real problem was the part where you two would be at work and be teased by your team for being kids in love, but it was all in good fun. The team was fully supportive. They saw how happy you made Wanda, and how well you two clicked. It was worth the aww’s and teasing whenever you told each other you loved each other or shared a look across a room. This did get a little better though when you two actually moved in together a year and half into your relationship, though now the team would regularly question when you two were gonna get married already.

Imagine the team's surprise when Wanda announced that she was going on desk work for the next few months- because you two were having a baby.

“You know, there’s still time for a shotgun wedding.” Tony commented, walking past Wanda as she was sitting reading a mission report, also enjoying some baby carrots, the bowl balanced on her belly that had grown a lot the last few months.

“Not happening Tony. Knowing my luck, I’ll go into labour while saying my vows.” She commented, not looking up.

“You don’t even have to walk down an aisle or anything- we get you a white dress, get Y/N in a suit- can’t Captains officiate weddings? I own boats, that counts, right?” Tony questioned.

“Tony, we know you just want another party. I have no clue how you’re still functioning after what you pulled at the baby shower.” Natasha commented, coming in the room to give Wanda new forms, before taking the ones from her. “Now leave her alone, before I tell Clint.” She warned. Tony raised his hands in surrender, before leaving the room. “Now you.”

“I haven’t done anything.” Wanda defended.

“Other than you’re supposed to be working from home? You’re due any day now.” Natasha pointed out.

“Exactly- Y/N got dragged off to that mission the other day and isn’t back yet- if I go into labour at home, I’m by myself.” She pointed out.

“And if Y/N finds out you’re not following doctor’s orders, he’s gonna be irate.” She pointed out. Wanda knew she was right. Ever since Wanda had shown you the test results, you somehow became even more affectionate, even more loving, but also now protective. You always tried to not be overbearing on her and get on her nerves- she was the one actually going through it after all. You made sure her snack stash, which adjusted to her cravings, was always well stocked. As the pregnancy progressed, you switched chores- her doing any that she could do with minimal moving or while sat on a stool, and you did anything that would cause her any back pain. You set the nursery up together, you doing the painting, and Wanda put together most of the furniture, not having to do any heavy lifting thanks to her powers, though every few weeks you could come home to the nursery reorganised because she wasn’t happy about some aspects of it- the cot too far away from the door, the chair too far away from the cot, the cot and chair are too close together. Eventually she settled on a layout.

When Wanda entered her 3rd Trimester, was when you became a true worrier. If she showed any discomfort, you were by her side to try and help, and with every day closer to the due date, Wanda could tell you were getting more anxious- she blamed all the books and research you did pretty early on in her pregnancy, which led you down a rabbit hole about risks and worst case scenarios, though you didn’t want to talk about it with her- as to not worry her. That stress really showed when you found out about your current mission, and Wanda saw you actually raise your voice at Fury for sending you on it, knowing the situation. In the end, Fury could not reassign who was on the mission, but he did extend your leave after the baby’s birth by 2 months. Wanda promised to keep the baby in till you came back, and Natasha, Clint and Bruce promised to look after Wanda and also to keep Tony on a leash.

“Have you heard anything from them on how the mission’s going?” Wanda inquired, trying to change the subject.

“Got a vague text from Steve saying ‘nearly done’ early this morning, but other than that, nothing, but knowing how effective Steve, Thor and Y/N work together, I’m expecting them back tonight.” She told Wanda. “In other words, you have until tonight to get home, or I'm telling.”

“I can handle Y/N being a little annoyed at me being here- I want to see him as soon as he gets back, not a second longer.” Wanda decided, resting her head back in her chair. Natasha felt a buzz in her pocket, pulling her phone out, before grinning and putting it away.

“Well better get moving- they’re already landing.”

You were exhausted from the mission, but eager to get off the jet and get to Wanda. You didn’t like the idea on her being alone, both in the day and at night while due any moment- you heard a lot of labours start at night, and you’d had a nightmare while on your mission of Wanda waking up in the middle of the night with contractions, no one answering her calls because they were asleep, and an ambulance not getting to her for hours. You didn’t want that, so the best spot for you was by her side.

As soon as Steve landed the plane, you were off it, stripping off harnesses, belts and gear as you walked, rushing inside the building for the quicked debrief which you planned to mostly consist of ‘I’ll do the paperwork later’ talk, only to spot Wanda shuffling towards you, right beside Natasha, who sent an apologetic smile. You dumped your gear on the spot and ran to her. “You okay? What are you doing here? You’re supposed to be resting.” You fussed, taking Wanda in your arms, seeing her face for any discomfort- any sign she was having contractions or in labour- but she just smiled back at you.

“Figured me being here meant having people around, so even if I went into labour, I wouldn’t be alone.” She pointed out. You sighed, your shoulders relaxing, the comment actually soothing that horrible thought that had been haunting your dreams. It was almost like-

“Have you been reading my mind again?” You asked her.

“Only when your thoughts are so loud, I can hear them without telepathy. You worry too much, my love.” She told you, resting her hand on your cheek.

“And now that you’re home- go take her home before we have to have Bruce deliver your kid- I’m not sure if Bruce could handle that stress. I’ll handle the debrief and Fury. Enjoy your last few days of peace for the next few years.” Steve commented as he walked past you both. You jokingly saluted him, and did as told.

As soon as you got home, got Wanda settled and got the chores done that needed to be done, you joined your girlfriend in your bed, putting on one of the old DvDs of an old sitcom Wanda loved that she got you addicted to as well. “Tony giving you any trouble?” You asked.

“Other than wanting us to have a shotgun wedding so he can get as wasted as he did at our baby shower? No… how did he even get that drunk?” Wanda asked.

“If I had to guess… Thor and his flask of Asguardian alcohol. But then again I wouldn’t put it past him to figure out where we ordered our chocolates and got alcohol laced ones and ate them all to himself… can you imagine him getting drunk at our daughter’s Christmas Nativity? Or her toddler ballet classes?” You humoured, making Wanda laugh.

“Oh, I think you mean our son’s Christmas Nativity and his toddler ballet classes. This, is a boy.” She said, tapping her stomach.

“Hmmm, I still think for a girl, little Wanda Jr.” You told her, leaning over to kiss her bump.

“If it is a girl, we are not calling her Wanda Jr.” She grinned, and you hummed. “You sure you’re okay with Pietro for a boy?” She asked.

“Of course I am. Has been since we talked about it 6 months ago. Hell if it is a girl, we can have Petra, or something.” You suggested, wrapping an arm around her. “I wish I could have met him. I bet he would have been the best uncle… and also he’d join Tony in the shotgun wedding idea.” You commented, making her chuckle.

“Yeah, he would… I think he’d love you though, he’d want us to marry just to gain you as a brother.” She added. “Anyway, one episode, then bed, I’m tired from looking at paper all day, and don’t lie to me about being tired yourself.” She told you. You agreed to that, but ended up falling asleep not even half way through.

However, you did wake up to Wanda shaking your arm. “Hmm? Yeah? Need water? The bathroom?” You asked on autopilot, before you became more aware of your surroundings, realising Wanda was already out of bed… a bed, that was wet.

“Get dressed and take me to the hospital- my water broke.” She told you, keeping her voice low as she brushed her hair out before clipping it back. You stared at her, processing her words, before it clicked. Hospital. Water. Broke. Labour. Baby. Now.

“Oh fuck we’re doing this!” You announced, jumping out of bed, rushing to grab clothes from your drawers to get dressed, while Wanda watched you, happy in her pyjamas, slippers and dressing gown as you hurried to get half decent, before grabbing her to-go bag from the chair in the corner, taking her by the arm and escorting outside to drive her to the hospital. “Let me know when you feel a contraction- have you felt any yet? Have you timed them? Your water breaking means it’s gonna speed up.” You requested as you drove.

“Had a few in bed- thought they were braxton hicks, but then my water broke, so I woke you up. I wasn’t timing them, but I will now- hold on.” She said, her voice becoming strained as she grabbed the door and your arm, and you pulled over and looked at her. “No, drive! Contraction!” She ordered.

“Oh! Right, sorry!” You apologised, taking off again. Wanda already knew this was going to be an experience, and a story to tell later with you right there.

Boy was she right. From getting there, to getting her checked into the maternity ward, all attempts to hold back on being dramatically worried was forgotten. At all times, you had some sort of contact with Wanda, whether that was holding her as she walked around, letting her squeeze your hand through contractions, rubbing her back to help with pains, or hugging her and telling her she was doing amazing, you were there. You were there every step of the way, all attention on her, checking in on her, making sure she was as comfortable as she could be, and being a rock. You made the whole thing go as smoothly as they could, and Wanda was thankful for that. She wasn’t sure she could do it without you. But eventually, it was over, and she had her baby in her arms. She looked over at you, sat beside her, arms leant on the siderails, looking at your daughter, mesmerized, before looking up at Wanda. “She’s so small.” You whispered, making her smile.

“Get over here and hold her, you dork.” She told you, shuffling over as much as she could so you could partially lay with her, taking your daughter in your arms, and looking down at her, before once again turning to Wanda, this time kissing her head.

“My girls. My beautiful girls, my whole world.” You told her, and she smiled, resting her head on you as you got comfortable with your baby, who was sound asleep in your arms, like she’d been the one doing all the hard work. “I knew you were a girl. Dreamt about it all the time- my little girl who looks just like her beautiful mom.” You told the baby in your arms.

“So, what are we naming her? And don’t say Wanda Jr.” She questioned.

“Thought we already agreed? Petra, right? Unless you want that as a first name, in which case, we could do what Clint did for you and name her after him. What’s the female version of Clint? Clinton?... Cli-”

“Don’t finish that thought, you’re too sleep deprived. Petra’s fine.” She told you, already seeing where exactly you were going, even if you didn’t. “Anyway, you should probably go tell the others- let Tony know a shotgun wedding is no longer an option but he can throw a party anyway.” She told you.

“Alright, I can do that. Want me to put our baby down to sleep so you can get some rest? I’ll make sure they don’t come around till late morning.” You told her, kissing her head as she nodded, and you put Petra in her cot beside Wanda.

“And as soon as you’re done, get back here, I want more hugs, even if it’s cramped.” She told you, getting a playful salute like how you had done to Steve earlier, before you grabbed your phone to step out and share the good news. Wanda rolled onto her side to look at her daughter, reaching out to put her arm into her cot, running a finger across her cheek.

Hope you like it! I wrote this in about 2-3 hours in one sitting so if there's mistakes please let me know. If you have any questions, please send them in!

*Not my gif

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A Wise Pair of Fools: A Retelling of “The Farmer’s Clever Daughter”

For the Four Loves Fairy Tale Challenge at @inklings-challenge.

Faith

I wish you could have known my husband when he was a young man. How you would have laughed at him! He was so wonderfully pompous—oh, you’d have no idea unless you’d seen him then. He’s weathered beautifully, but back then, his beauty was bright and new, all bronze and ebony. He tried to pretend he didn’t care for personal appearances, but you could tell he felt his beauty. How could a man not be proud when he looked like one of creation’s freshly polished masterpieces every time he stepped out among his dirty, sweaty peasantry?

But his pride in his face was nothing compared to the pride he felt over his mind. He was clever, even then, and he knew it. He’d grown up with an army of nursemaids to exclaim, “What a clever boy!” over every mildly witty observation he made. He’d been tutored by some of the greatest scholars on the continent, attended the great universities, traveled further than most people think the world extends. He could converse like a native in fifteen living languages and at least three dead ones.

And books! Never a man like him for reading! His library was nothing to what it is now, of course, but he was making a heroic start. Always a book in his hand, written by some dusty old man who never said in plain language what he could dress up in words that brought four times the work to some lucky printer. Every second breath he took came out as a quotation. It fairly baffled his poor servants—I’m certain to this day some of them assume Plato and Socrates were college friends of his.

Well, at any rate, take a man like that—beautiful and over-educated—and make him king over an entire nation—however small—before he turns twenty-five, and you’ve united all earthly blessings into one impossibly arrogant being.

Unfortunately, Alistair’s pomposity didn’t keep him properly aloof in his palace. He’d picked up an idea from one of his old books that he should be like one of the judge-kings of old, walking out among his people to pass judgment on their problems, giving the inferior masses the benefit of all his twenty-four years of wisdom. It’s all right to have a royal patron, but he was so patronizing. Just as if we were all children and he was our benevolent father. It wasn’t strange to see him walking through the markets or looking over the fields—he always managed to look like he floated a step or two above the common ground the rest of us walked on—and we heard stories upon stories of his judgments. He was decisive, opinionated. Always thought he had a better way of doing things. Was always thinking two and ten and twelve steps ahead until a poor man’s head would be spinning from all the ways the king found to see through him. Half the time, I wasn’t sure whether to fear the man or laugh at him. I usually laughed.

So then you can see how the story of the mortar—what do you mean you’ve never heard it? You could hear it ten times a night in any tavern in the country. I tell it myself at least once a week! Everyone in the palace is sick to death of it!

Oh, this is going to be a treat! Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had a fresh audience?

It happened like this. It was spring of the year I turned twenty-one. Father plowed up a field that had lain fallow for some years, with some new-fangled deep-cutting plow that our book-learned king had inflicted upon a peasantry that was baffled by his scientific talk. Father was plowing near a river when he uncovered a mortar made of solid gold. You know, a mortar—the thing with the pestle, for grinding things up. Don’t ask me why on earth a goldsmith would make such a thing—the world’s full of men with too much money and not enough sense, and housefuls of servants willing to take too-valuable trinkets off their hands. Someone decades ago had swiped this one and apparently found my father’s farm so good a hiding place that they forgot to come back for it.

Anyhow, my father, like the good tenant he was, understood that as he’d found a treasure on the king’s land, the right thing to do was to give it to the king. He was all aglow with his noble purpose, ready to rush to the palace at first light to do his duty by his liege lord.

I hope you can see the flaw in his plan. A man like Alistair, certain of his own cleverness, careful never to be outwitted by his peasantry? Come to a man like that with a solid gold mortar, and his first question’s going to be…?

That’s right. “Where’s the pestle?��

I tried to tell Father as much, but he—dear, sweet, innocent man—saw only his simple duty and went forth to fulfill it. He trotted into the king’s throne room—it was his public day—all smiles and eagerness.

Alistair took one look at him and saw a peasant tickled to death that he was pulling a fast one on the king—giving up half the king’s rightful treasure in the hopes of keeping the other half and getting a fat reward besides.

Alistair tore into my father—his tongue was much sharper then—taking his argument to pieces until Father half-believed he had hidden away the pestle somewhere, probably after stealing both pieces himself. In his confusion, Father looked even guiltier, and Alistair ordered his guard to drag Father off to the dungeons until they could arrange a proper hearing—and, inevitably, a hanging.

As they dragged him to his doom, my father had the good sense to say one coherent phrase, loud enough for the entire palace to hear. “If only I had listened to my daughter!”

Alistair, for all his brains, hadn’t expected him to say something like that. He had Father brought before him, and questioned him until he learned the whole story of how I’d urged Father to bury the mortar again and not say a word about it, so as to prevent this very scene from occurring.

About five minutes after that, I knocked over a butter churn when four soldiers burst into my father’s farmhouse and demanded I go with them to the castle. I made them clean up the mess, then put on my best dress and did up my hair—in those days, it was thick and golden, and fell to my ankles when unbound—and after traveling to the castle, I went, trembling, up the aisle of the throne room.

Alistair had made an effort that morning to look extra handsome and extra kingly. He still has robes like those, all purple and gold, but the way they set off his black hair and sharp cheekbones that day—I’ve never seen anything like it. He looked half-divine, the spirit of judgment in human form. At the moment, I didn’t feel like laughing at him.

Looming on his throne, he asked me, “Is it true that you advised this man to hide the king’s rightful property from him?” (Alistair hates it when I imitate his voice—but isn’t it a good impression?)

I said yes, it was true, and Alistair asked me why I’d done such a thing, and I said I had known this disaster would result, and he asked how I knew, and I said (and I think it’s quite good), that this is what happens when you have a king who’s too clever to be anything but stupid.

Naturally, Alistair didn’t like that answer a bit, but I’d gotten on a roll, and it was my turn to give him a good tongue-lashing. What kind of king did he think he was, who could look at a man as sweet and honest as my father and suspect him of a crime? Alistair was so busy trying to see hidden lies that he couldn’t see the truth in front of his face. So determined not to be made a fool of that he was making himself into one. If he persisted in suspecting everyone who tried to do him a good turn, no one would be willing to do much of anything for him. And so on and so forth.

You might be surprised at my boldness, but I had come into that room not expecting to leave it without a rope around my neck, so I intended to speak my mind while I had the chance. The strangest thing was that Alistair listened, and as he listened, he lost some of that righteous arrogance until he looked almost human. And the end of it all was that he apologized to me!

Well, you could have knocked me over with a feather at that! I didn’t faint, but I came darn close. That arrogant, determined young king, admitting to a simple farmer’s daughter that he’d been wrong?

He did more than admit it—he made amends. He let Father keep the mortar, and then bought it from him at its full value. Then he gifted Father the farm where we lived, making us outright landowners. After the close of the day’s hearings, he even invited us to supper with him, and I found that King Alistair wasn’t a half-bad conversational partner. Some of those books he read sounded almost interesting.

For a year after that, Alistair kept finding excuses to come by the farm. He would check on Father’s progress and baffle him with advice. We ran into each other in the street so often that I began to expect it wasn’t mere chance. We’d talk books, and farming, and sharpen our wits on each other. We’d do wordplay, puzzles, tongue-twisters. A game, but somehow, I always thought, some strange sort of test.

Would you believe, even his proposal was a riddle? Yes, an actual riddle! One spring morning, I came across Alistair on a corner of my father's land, and he got down on one knee, confessed his love for me, and set me a riddle. He had the audacity to look into the face of the woman he loved—me!—and tell me that if I wanted to accept his proposal, I would come to him at his palace, not walking and not riding, not naked and not dressed, not on the road and not off it.

Do you know, I think he actually intended to stump me with it? For all his claim to love me, he looked forward to baffling me! He looked so sure of himself—as if all his book-learning couldn’t be beat by just a bit of common sense.

If I’d really been smart, I suppose I’d have run in the other direction, but, oh, I wanted to beat him so badly. I spent about half a minute solving the riddle and then went off to make my preparations.

The next morning, I came to the castle just like he asked. Neither walking nor riding—I tied myself to the old farm mule and let him half-drag me. Neither on the road nor off it—only one foot dragging in a wheel rut at the end. Neither naked nor dressed—merely wrapped in a fishing net. Oh, don’t look so shocked! There was so much rope around me that you could see less skin than I’m showing now.

If I’d hoped to disappoint Alistair, well, I was disappointed. He radiated joy. I’d never seen him truly smile before that moment—it was incandescent delight. He swept me in his arms, gave me a kiss without a hint of calculation in it, then had me taken off to be properly dressed, and we were married within a week.

It was a wonderful marriage. We got along beautifully—at least until the next time I outwitted him. But I won’t bore you with that story again—

You don’t know that one either? Where have you been hiding yourself?

Oh, I couldn’t possibly tell you that one. Not if it’s your first time. It’s much better the way Alistair tells it.

What time is it?

Perfect! He’s in his library just now. Go there and ask him to tell you the whole thing.

Yes, right now! What are you waiting for?

Alistair

Faith told you all that, did she? And sent you to me for the rest? That woman! It’s just like her! She thinks I have nothing better to do than sit around all day and gossip about our courtship!

Where are you going? I never said I wouldn’t tell the story! Honestly, does no one have brains these days? Sit down!

Yes, yes, anywhere you like. One chair’s as good as another—I built this room for comfort. Do you take tea? I can ring for a tray—the story tends to run long.

Well, I’ll ring for the usual, and you can help yourself to whatever you like.

I’m sure Faith has given you a colorful picture of what I was like as a young man, and she’s not totally inaccurate. I’d had wealth and power and too much education thrown on me far too young, and I thought my blessings made me better than other men. My own father had been the type of man who could be fooled by every silver-tongued charlatan in the land, so I was sensitive and suspicious, determined to never let another man outwit me.

When Faith came to her father’s defense, it was like my entire self came crumbling down. Suddenly, I wasn’t the wise king; I was a cruel and foolish boy—but Faith made me want to be better. That day was the start of my fascination with her, and my courtship started in earnest not long after.

The riddle? Yes, I can see how that would be confusing. Faith tends to skip over the explanations there. A riddle’s an odd proposal, but I thought it was brilliant at the time, and I still think it wasn’t totally wrong-headed. I wasn’t just finding a wife, you see, but a queen. Riddles have a long history in royal courtships. I spent weeks laboring over mine. I had some idea of a symbolic proposal—each element indicating how she’d straddle two worlds to be with me. But more than that, I wanted to see if Faith could move beyond binary thinking—look beyond two opposites to see the third option between. Kings and queens have to do that more often than you’d think…

No, I’m sorry, it is a bit dull, isn’t it? I guess there’s a reason Faith skips over the explanations.

So to return to the point: no matter what Faith tells you, I always intended for her to solve the riddle. I wouldn’t have married her if she hadn’t—but I wouldn’t have asked if I’d had the least doubt she’d succeed. The moment she came up that road was the most ridiculous spectacle you’d ever hope to see, but I had never known such ecstasy. She’d solved every piece of my riddle, in just the way I’d intended. She understood my mind and gained my heart. Oh, it was glorious.

Those first weeks of marriage were glorious, too. You’d think it’d be an adjustment, turning a farmer’s daughter into a queen, but it was like Faith had been born to the role. Manners are just a set of rules, and Faith has a sharp mind for memorization, and it’s not as though we’re a large kingdom or a very formal court. She had a good mind for politics, and was always willing to listen and learn. I was immensely proud of myself for finding and catching the perfect wife.

You’re smarter than I was—you can see where I was going wrong. But back then, I didn’t see a cloud in the sky of our perfect happiness until the storm struck.

It seemed like such a small thing at the time. I was looking over the fields of some nearby villages—farming innovations were my chief interest at the time. There were so many fascinating developments in those days. I’ve an entire shelf full of texts if you’re interested—

The story, yes. My apologies. The offer still stands.

Anyway, I was out in the fields, and it was well past the midday hour. I was starving, and more than a little overheated, so we were on our way to a local inn for a bit of food and rest. Just as I was at my most irritable, these farmers’ wives show up, shrilly demanding judgment in a case of theirs. I’d become known for making those on-the-spot decisions. I’d thought it was an efficient use of government resources—as long as I was out with the people, I could save them the trouble of complicated procedures with the courts—but I’d never regretted taking up the practice as heartily as I did in this moment.

The case was like this: one farmer’s horse had recently given birth, and the foal had wandered away from its mother and onto the neighbor’s property, where it laid down underneath an ox that was at pasture, and the second farmer thought this gave him a right to keep it. There were questions of fences and boundaries and who-owed-who for different trades going back at least a couple of decades—those women were determined to bring every past grievance to light in settling this case.

Well, it didn’t take long for me to lose what little patience I had. I snapped at both women and told them that my decision was that the foal could very well stay where it was.

Not my most reasoned decision, but it wasn’t totally baseless. I had common law going back centuries that supported such a ruling. Possession is nine-tenths of the law and all. It wasn't as though a single foal was worth so much fuss. I went off to my meal and thought that was the end of it.

I’d forgotten all about it by the time I returned to the same village the next week. My man and I were crossing the bridge leading into the town when we found the road covered by a fishing net. An old man sat by the side of the road, shaking and casting the net just as if he were laying it out for a catch.

“What do you think you’re doing, obstructing a public road like this?” I asked him.

The man smiled genially at me and replied, “Fishing, majesty.”

I thought perhaps the man had a touch of sunstroke, so I was really rather kind when I explained to him how impossible it was to catch fish in the roadway.

The man just replied, “It’s no more impossible than an ox giving birth to a foal, majesty.”

He said it like he’d been coached, and it didn’t take long for me to learn that my wife was behind it all. The farmer’s wife who’d lost the foal had come to Faith for help, and my wife had advised the farmer to make the scene I’d described.

Oh, was I livid! Instead of coming to me in private to discuss her concerns about the ruling, Faith had made a public spectacle of me. She encouraged my own subjects to mock me! This was what came of making a farm girl into a queen! She’d live in my house and wear my jewels, and all the time she was laughing up her sleeve at me while she incited my citizens to insurrection! Before long, none of my subjects would respect me. I’d lose my crown, and the kingdom would fall to pieces—

I worked myself into a fine frenzy, thinking such things. At the time, I thought myself perfectly reasonable. I had identified a threat to the kingdom’s stability, and I would deal with it. The moment I came home, I found Faith and declared that the marriage was dissolved. “If you prefer to side with the farmers against your own husband,” I told her, “you can go back to your father’s house and live with them!”

It was quite the tantrum. I’m proud to say I’ve never done anything so shameful since.

To my surprise, Faith took it all silently. None of the fire that she showed in defending her father against me. Faith had this way, back then, where she could look at a man and make him feel like an utter fool. At that moment, she made me feel like a monster. I was already beginning to regret what I was doing, but it was buried under so much anger that I barely realized it, and my pride wouldn’t allow me to back down so easily from another decision.

After I said my piece, Faith quietly asked if she was to leave the palace with nothing.

I couldn’t reverse what I’d decided, but I could soften it a bit.

“You may take one keepsake,” I told her. “Take the one thing you love best from our chambers.”

I thought I was clever to make the stipulation. Knowing Faith, she’d have found some way to move the entire palace and count it as a single item. I had no doubt she’d take the most expensive and inconvenient thing she could, but there was nothing in that set of rooms I couldn’t afford to lose.

Or so I thought. No doubt you’re beginning to see that Faith always gets the upper hand in a battle of wits.

I kept my distance that evening—let myself stew in resentment so I couldn’t regret what I’d done. I kept to my library—not this one, the little one upstairs in our suite—trying to distract myself with all manner of books, and getting frustrated when I found I wanted to share pieces of them with Faith. I was downright relieved when a maid came by with a tea tray. I drank my usual three cups so quickly I barely tasted them—and I passed out atop my desk five minutes later.

Yes, Faith had arranged for the tea—and she’d drugged me!

I came to in the pink light of early dawn, my head feeling like it had been run over by a military caravan. My wits were never as slow as they were that morning. I laid stupidly for what felt like hours, wondering why my bed was so narrow and lumpy, and why the walls of the room were so rough and bare, and why those infernal birds were screaming half an inch from my open window.

By the time I had enough strength to sit up, I could see that I was in the bedroom of a farmer’s cottage. Faith was standing by the window, looking out at the sunrise, wearing the dress she’d worn the first day I met her. Her hair was unbound, tumbling in golden waves all the way to her ankles. My heart leapt at the sight—her hair was one of the wonders of the world in those days, and I was so glad to see her when I felt so ill—until I remembered the events of the previous day, and was too confused and ashamed to have room for any other thoughts or feelings.

“Faith?” I asked. “Why are you here? Where am I?”

“My father’s home,” Faith replied, her eyes downcast—I think it’s the only time in her life she was ever bashful. “You told me I could take the one thing I loved best.”

Can I explain to you how my heart leapt at those words? There had never been a mind or a heart like my wife’s! It was like the moment she’d come to save her father—she made me feel a fool and feel glad for the reminder. I’d made the same mistake both times—let my head get in the way of my heart. She never made that mistake, thank heaven, and it saved us both.

Do you have something you want to add, Faith, darling? Don’t pretend I can’t see you lurking in the stacks and laughing at me! I’ll get as sappy as I like! If you think you can do it better, come out in the open and finish this story properly!

Faith

You tell it so beautifully, my darling fool boy, but if you insist—

I was forever grateful Dinah took that tea to Alistair. I couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen the loophole in his words—I was so afraid he’d see my ploy coming and stop me. But his wits were so blessedly dull that day. It was like outwitting a child.

When at last he came to, I was terrified. He had cast me out because I’d outwitted him, and now here I was again, thinking another clever trick would make everything well.

Fortunately, Alistair was marvelous—saw my meaning in an instant. Sometimes he can be almost clever.

After that, what’s there to tell? We made up our quarrel, and then some. Alistair brought me back to the palace in high honors—it was wonderful, the way he praised me and took so much blame on himself.

(You were really rather too hard on yourself, darling—I’d done more than enough to make any man rightfully angry. Taking you to Father’s house was my chance to apologize.)

Alistair paid the farmer for the loss of his foal, paid for the mending of the fence that had led to the trouble in the first place, and straightened out the legal tangles that had the neighbors at each others’ throats.

After that, things returned much to the way they’d been before, except that Alistair was careful never to think himself into such troubles again. We’ve gotten older, and I hope wiser, and between our quarrels and our reconciliations, we’ve grown into quite the wise pair of lovestruck fools. Take heed from it, whenever you marry—it’s good to have a clever spouse, but make sure you have one who’s willing to be the fool every once in a while.

Trust me. It works out for the best.

#the bookshelf progresses #fairy tale retellings #inklingschallenge #four loves fairy tale challenge #four loves fairy tale challenge 2024 #the farmer's clever daughter #theme: eros #story: complete #this one was *so much fun*#i was grinning throughout the brainstorming process #faith and alistair just *loved* telling me their story #and especially in the first scenes i kept stopping just because i was having so much fun with the lines #maybe it's horribly boring to read but as a writing exercise it was fantastic #i love these two so much #i haven't had this much fun since writing last year's epistolary story

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dovithedarklord · 3 months

Text

Stucked - Part 2

You're trapped in a game and a new threat is lurking.

..............................................

Pairing: John "Soap" MacTavish x reader

Tags: Mentions of death, Mentions of blood and gore, Blood and Violence, Sexual Scenes, Alternate Universe, No use of Y/N, Not Beta Read, AFAB Reader

Trigger Warning: Contains violence, blood and smut, and some dubcon. Please, keep that in mind!

⚠️MDNI⚠️

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Author's Note

I watch too many horror movies, so I thought I write a part two for this small story.

I have some more ideas for this, so I might write a few other parts for this.

Have fun! :D

Part 1

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You raise the glass to your mouth with slow movements, and as you take a sip of the whiskey resting in it, you can barely register how the liquid is burning down your throat. Because it's much more interesting to study the man in front of you, laughing with peaceful glee, who, although exudes the role of the innocent host with every pore, he cannot deceive you anymore.

The more you think about it, the more certain you are that you weren't imagining it when Johnny deviated from the script a few hours ago and whispered something in your ear that he shouldn't have done according to your experiences so far. Although the events of the previous night could have served as a warning sign, you’re now sure that something has changed. Somehow, the thread of the story slowly drifted away from the usual path and began to flow in a direction where you have no idea what will welcome you at the end. But one thing is clear. That you won't let this satanic place screw with you. You will fight and outsmart it, even if you have to try a thousand times over.

"Oh, this house is so beautiful, Johnny! I envy you so much that you managed to buy it!" Pam blabbers excitedly, and the warmth of the alcohol permeates her voice, which makes all her enthusiasm fall out much more loudly from her red lips. If she knew that this man was looking for an abandoned cabin in the middle of nowhere, hundreds of kilometers from civilization, so that he could indulge in his bloody hobby in peace, she wouldn't be nearly so cheerful.

"The credit is not mine, one of my friends found it." Johnny notes modestly, and a wide smile appears on his mouth, which you know is his only sincere moment during the entire evening. Whoever this friend was, whom he had referred to so many times during dinners, he hadn't paid his respects so far. And you know that in a game like this, every word the characters utter has weight, each one could be a vague hint to another clue. But you haven't been able to figure out the identity of this unknown friend just yet, and it occurs to you that maybe this little detail is what’s missing to make the picture complete. But you don't have time for that now. You have more important things to do.

The key hidden in your pocket almost burns the skin of your thigh, and every single nerve of yours tenses in anticipation, waiting for the story to reach the point where you can finally jump into action and move forward to discover what this little trinket opens. Because you're convinced that if Johnny hadn't distracted you earlier, you wouldn't have died, and would found something vastly valuable. And now you're not going to let anything hold you back before you expose what's behind the door.

Rebecca's phone rings, and she excuses herself with her usual panicked stuttering, only to rush out the door into the embrace of the dark night. And this means good news, because it seems that despite the oddities, everything continues as it should. And for the first time, you're glad that this nerve-wracking, repetitive drama is happening once again, because it gives you a chance to regain control. At least you hope so.

And you fix your eyes on the man silently, who is deep into a lively conversation with Pam, because the alcohol is almost gone from the bottle, and it's time for him to leave. And you follow his every move with unmoving attention, in case you find something that might indicate that he will deviate from the script again. Of course, you know that when he takes on his less likable persona and tries to kill you with one of his many creative methods, he becomes frighteningly unpredictable. But until you get there, he's like a tame lamb. As far as appearances go.

"What's the time?" Pam suddenly asks, and you snap out of your sinister thoughts to look at her in bewilderement, because this dialogue should happen much later. Normally she decides she had enough of the night's fun only when Johnny has long since retired to his room. "Jesus, it's that late? I better go get some sleep if I don't want to look like a corpse tomorrow morning!" She yawns, after checking the time on her phone's screen, and you've seen every single movement with which she stands up and stretches out her tired muscles a dozen times, but still, as she throws you a last "good night" and sets off towards the path leading upstairs, your chest fills with icy shock.

Because this way something that has never happened before takes place, and after the disappearance of your two companions, you’re left alone with the man, who waves goodbye to the girl, only to turn all his stressful attention to you a second later. And you just stare at the long-empty stairs, frozen in surprise, as if the steps could answer what the hell is going on here.

"What's wrong, Bunny?" He inquires, and you carefully shift your gaze to him, as the dread slowly crawls under your skin to envelope your conciseness. Although the game initially lulled you into a false sense of calm with how slyly it followed the main storyline again, but now everything continues to change yet again. And due to the rampage of the doubts that arise in your head, you're unable to put the broken pieces of your sanity together and figure out what should you do now that you’re stuck with the enemy who you know is just waiting to gut you like the prey you are.

"I…" You stammer nervously, and your tongue rolls in your mouth with such clumsiness, as if the leaden heaviness creeping into you from terror would paralyze it as well. And it's probably the case, because for a few torturous seconds, you only gape at him with the elegance of fish, before your body is able to recollect itself enough to form coherent sentences. "I just thought she would stay a little bit longer." You hesitate, forcing lightness into your tone, and your mind tries to gather the facade of calmness with desperate speed, because when you see that characteristic, almost pitying shadow pass over the man's face, you know you have fallen into a trap.

"The driver needs the rest too." Johnny remarks simply, and although there is still a remnant of the friendly smile at the corner of his mouth, the cold glint moving into his eyes kills all warmth from his expression. And you know that look all too well to realize you have to flee as soon as possible, because it's usually the last thing you see before he takes your life with his own hands.

Your body moves almost instinctively, and you spring up from the festive table so suddenly, that your chair cries out with a loud creak as it slides backward on the floor from your momentum. You grab the plates stacked on the middle of the table with shaking hands, and you concentrate with every fiber of your being so that your behavior does not encourage the man sitting on the other side to do anything rash. But he just cocks his head to the side lazily and watches you with interest, and even though your eyes are strictly trained on the crumpled napkins, which you hastily pile on top of the cutlery, you can feel his penetrating gaze burning the sensitive skin of your face.

"I’ll clear the table." You declare, and you don't give him time to object, because you’re already heading towards the kitchen to get away from him as fast as possible, since every cell of yours can feel that the storm is approaching, which will strike if you stay next to him. "I'll wash these up! You can go to bed!" You throw it back over your shoulder, and you're unable to expel the desperate quaver that settles in your voice, because you know that you fled from him like a chased animal, and you only dare to hope that he doesn't attach more importance to it. Because even though he seems like a very real person, he's just a fictional character and doesn't have enough self-awareness to properly evaluate your behavior. Or that's what you try to calm yourself down with.

And as you step into the embrace of the empty kitchen, with a soft sigh, you blow out the air that has been trapped in your chest, straining painfully against your ribs until now. You stumble to the counter, and it's almost a strange miracle that nothing falls out of your hands, even though you're gripping the goddamn cheap china with such force that your palms start to ache. You quietly slip the plates into the sink and anxiously peer back behind your shoulders as they land clattering on the metal. Because every little misstep can alarm the enemy, and now you need a minute of precious solitude to work out what the hell is going on.

But nothing else comes from the living room except the warm light of the crackling fire in the fireplace and the motionless silence. A few more nerve-racking moments pass, until your paranoid mind finally calms down and you believe that you don't have to be afraid of Johnny coming after you just yet. And when you’re finally able to tear your frightened eyes away from the door, you turn back to the sink, trying to muffle your panicked panting. You feel the nervous breakdown slowly creeping up on you, and wild dizziness moves into your head, as you realize that last night set in motion a series of events that will slowly tear apart the fragile certainty in which you have navigated yourself somewhat confidently until now. Because even though this place is cursed, it has consistently followed its rules so far, and you have been able to progress in it despite the many pain-filled miseries you had to suffer through. But now something went very wrong, and none of the thoughts running through your head can find an answer to what could have been the little mistake that started this avalanche.

Resting your palm on the cold stone of the counter, you try to pull your mind back from the edge of hysteria, and your fingers grip the cool marble with desperate strength, as hovering on the verge of crying, you try to fight the calmness back into your body with a few pitiful breaths. Because even though every single nerve cell of yours screams and strains against consciousness, you cannot allow yourself to panic now. This is exactly what the game wants. For you to get confused, make a mistake, and die, over and over again, until one day you dive so deep into this nightmare that you won't want to leave because you won't even remember what's waiting outside. It may be trying new ways to crush you, but you must not let it win. That would mean your fall and possible eternal torment.

You need time.

You open the faucet quickly, and as the lukewarm water caresses your fingers, you feel that confidence slowly returning to your battered brain. If you pretend to clean up after the party like a helpful guest, you hopefully drag out this ridiculous task just long enough for Johnny to get tired of waiting and leave. You need him to disappear, because as long as he's out there lurking, you have no chance to investigate further. And you must not forget that your number one priority is to find clues. And no mean tactics can dissuade you from this. Not even when despair seeps into your bones like a contagious disease.

As you slowly get to work, you mechanically start listing the steps you need to take in your head. You have to go back upstairs and get into the room that the lock hides from you. You have to be on the lookout because you're not sure if it was Johnny and Pam's steamy moment or your own attempt to open the lock that invited the masked killer. Maybe the death flag was activated because you weren't fast enough. Every time you take too long to get to the next safe spot, you die because your clumsiness gives one of your attackers enough time to find you. As if the game would punish your failure with this. But even if you're quick, you can't be completely sure that he won't show up again, so you have to be prepared to defend yourself. If you don't manage to open the lock in two tries, you have to hide and see what happens, so that…

Out of nowhere, the distinctive, woody scent hits your nose, breaking you out of your planning in an instant, but you’re unable to react in time, because when you feel the burning heat of the body snuggling up to you, your hand holding the sponge freezes with the distress of a trapped animal. You forget to breathe from the stunned shock creeping into you, as you see huge hands spread out on the counter from the corner of your eye, blocking your way of escape, as if he knew that your first instinctive thought would be to run. But even if you wanted to, you wouldn't be able to act fast enough, because the moment the man's hard muscles press against your back, you know you have no chance of fleeing, and this painful realization short-circuits your brain.

"My hardworkin" wee Bunny... Ye left so soon." Johnny murmurs, and you feel his deep voice resonating through his chest, because suddenly all your nerves can only focus on the tense proximity with which he presses himself up to you. "Ye didnae just want to run away from me, did ye?"

Anyone would think that it's just kind, friendly interest, but your ears can sense the dangerous edge behind his words, with which he tries to force out the reason you left him alone in the living room so unexpectedly. The soft gurgling of the water echoes in your head like a deafening noise and drums on the metal like an ominous melody, deepening the raw fear moving inside you. What is he doing here anyway? Why didn't he go to sleep already?

"No... I just... " You stutter softly, and even to yourself the whimper that comes out of your mouth seems pathetically weak, but you’re unable to pull yourself together because the panic is awakening with too much force. "I didn't want you to be left with the cleaning after you've already thrown the dinner together." You finally bring yourself to speak, and you hastily swallow the terror rising in your throat, which leads the bitter taste of stomach acid in your mouth.

And you don't like the low, malicious chuckle that sounds next to your ear, because every single hair on your back stands up as you feel the air fanning over your neck in small waves from his amusement. You don’t dare to move, because the danger is too close, and you're afraid that every reckless act will lead to your death in the next moment. And even though you know that you'll get back into the car and start all over again, you can't get rid of the doubt in the back of your head that tells you, from now on you can't be sure about that either…

"It's okay, this will do too." He hums casually, as if giving himself permission to engage in what was born in his twisted mind. And you frown in confusion, because you’re unable to understand what is that he wants to achieve with this. If he wanted to kill you, he would have done it already, and although he's no stranger to playing with you before the main event, he has never resorted to such tricks before. This is different now, this is some threatening new twist that you’re not prepared for.

"What do you mean?" The instinctive question bursts out of you, because the uneasiness arising in your mind creeps onto your tongue much sooner than you could suppress your curiosity. And for a moment it seems as if he might hesitate, because for a few agonizing seconds, nothing happens. But before you can feel the relief that maybe he’ill stop playing this horrible game, you feel the light touch of his nose caressing the sensitive skin behind your ear, and it makes your heart jump in fear.

"I love yer scent." He breathes, and the moan that escapes from his mouth sounds almost longing, when he buries his face in your neck and takes a deep inhale of your hair. And you can only hope that you imagine the shiver that runs through his body. "So sweet. Full of fear." He grumbles, and goosebumps rise reflexively on your back, as you feel the burning touch of his lips on your skin, which makes you light-headed for a moment, and the world starts spinning with you from confused panic.

"Johnny, what the…" You gasp and try to make eye contact through the glass of the window in front of you, but you regret it soon enough. Because when the gaze of his reflection flashes on you, you see nothing but darkness in them, as if the deepest recesses of hell have moved in those beautiful, vivid eyes. In the yellowish light filtering in from behind, he looks like an inhumane shadow as his strong figure towers over you, and you feel pitifully small in the embrace of his body swelling with strength. He would be able to break all your bones with one light movement, like a twig dried in the summer sun. You know, because he already did. Not just once.

And this is enough for the first wild desire to escape to wake up in your body, and when you try to break away from his suffocating proximity with a frightened step, he only presses himself even closer to you, and you involuntarily hiss as the sharp edge of the kitchen counter bites into your stomach. And the horrified realization strikes you, that the hardness that slowly pushes against your lower back is not the product of your imagination.

"Shh, calm down." He coos, with an almost condescending edge in his voice, as if he would want to soothe a terrified child, but you can see the twist of a cruel smile at the corner of his mouth, which makes him look more like a predator that has found its prey. "We're just playin' a little. Ye need to relax too." He states, and you don't like the way a wolfish grin creeps onto his face, enjoying the way your eyes slowly open wide with terror.

Before would be able to register it, one of his hands begins its lazy exploration, and as his long fingers travel along the bare skin of your arm, you shiver from the feigned tenderness with which he touches you. Like a gentle lover trying to ingrain the fine lines of your body onto his memory, but you know him better than that. You know what kind of bloodlust lurks behind that handsome face, you know what kind of beast nests in his chest, which can burst out at any moment and tear your throat open to paint his teeth crimson with your flesh.

"Stop it..." You finally find your voice, and although the wavers from the fear that crawls into your stomach, it rings just loud enough to draw his attention to the fact that you might have started to defy him. But even this little courage fades away when you feel his large palm slide onto your stomach, and as his fingers teasingly caress the top of your pants, the plate you've been clutching falls out of your hand with a reflexive movement, so you can grab his thick wrist in alarm before he could move forward with whatever he wanted to do. The porcelain breaks into a thousand pieces with a deafening clatter, splitting the deceptive silence of the night in two. And for a moment, time freezes, the rustle of the wind blowing outside falls silent, and the shining of golden light reflected in the window fades. As though the continuity of the game would break for a minute. As if you've disrupted something important with your rejection.

"Stop what?" He tilts his head to the side, and although you see a completely innocent expression appear in the dim reflection for a moment, you can make out the disgusting vileness that shines in his eyes. "I'm not doin' anythin' you wouldn't need, bonnie." He says, as if he honestly wouldn't understand what he did wrong by appearing in this godforsaken kitchen.

You're about to open your mouth to protest further, but his free hand finds your neck with such suddenness that all the fleeting sounds of your defiance boil onto your throat at the warning squeeze of his fingers. And even though he doesn't cause pain, it's just enough of a threat to drive the spark of resistance out of your limbs by forcing them into automatic obedience. Because a whole new kind of worry takes over you when he closes every millimeter of the already miniscule distance between the two of you, as though he would try to merge into one with your paralyzed body, and because of the helpless shock, you allow him to continue with this sick game as he pleases.

His hand, which wanders over your stomach, crawls under your jeans with nerve-wracking sluggishness, and you cringe at the roughness of his palm, which only elicits a lustful growl from him. He smooths his mouth on your neck with a wet kiss, and you’re unable to tear your eyes away from the scene unfolding in the window, as if you were just watching a movie, and you wouldn't even experience first-hand how his tongue slowly traces the faint line of the vein running under your skin, in which your desperately racing pulse continues to pump fear into your body. But as you feel his hand suddenly move lower, and his fingers skim along your clit hidden in your underwear, then you tense up with an instinctive shock and try to pull away from him a second later.

He must really enjoy your thrashing, because he thrusts his hips forward with a grunt full of pleasure, and as his cock presses against you, the throaty moans escaping from his mouth burn your skin along with his hot breath. And as his fingers start to write small circles on the sensitive bundle of nerves, and he begins to grind himself against you through your clothes with feverish movements, like a fucking, horny dog, then the anger flares up inside you along with the heat that awakens between your thighs. Because this dirty, perverted scumbag isn't going to distract you from getting out of here with this damn stunt. No matter how troubling it is when the first suffocating wave of lust rushes through your treacherous body.

"Stop, you motherfucker!" An angry cry breaks out of you, and your hand finds a piece of the broken plate in the sink, and you grab it with such speed to stab it into the man's arm emerging from your pants like a venomous snake. He lets go with a painful roar, and this gives you just enough opportunity to break free from his arms and back away from him with hasty steps, fixing your eyes sparkling with poison on him.

However, his surprise doesn't last long, because he pulls out the piece of porcelain pierced in his hand amid colorful curses, only to throw it on the floor, shaking off the angry red drops of blood slowly emerging from the tiny cut. The whole ordeal doesn't seem to be more than a passing inconvenience to him, because the next moment he has that godawful smirk on his face again, which makes your stomach shrink to the size of a tennis ball. But you don't give up, you look for the knife, which is lying on the counter in the exact same way as usual, and grabbing it, you raise it in front of you angrily. This is the first time that you try to fight instead of running away, and the adrenaline rushes through your body with a force that you have never experienced before in your life.

"Look at ye, how brave ye have become!" He exclaims amusedly, and as he takes a few slow, menacing steps towards you, like a big cat ready to attack, you hastily move to the other side of the table in the middle of the kitchen, hoping that this is enough of a barrier between the two of you. "You've let me play with ye so willingly so far... But it's okay. I like how fiery ye are!" He continues his rambling, and you can feel the patronizing edge in his voice, as if it would amuse him and fill him with pity at the same time that you think you finally have a chance to hurt him. And your brain is too busy with your escape, slowly dragging you out of the kitchen, to understand what an impossible statement is hidden in his words. Because then you would have to face the fact that he's not as unaware as you thought.

"Shut up." You snap at him with clenched teeth, and you focus on him with every nerve because you're afraid that if you lose sight of him even for a minute, he'll throw himself at you and you'll lose all your chances of survival. Even though the logical side of you knows that it would be easier to let him kill you and start this horror again. But the pulsation of fury is too strong in you to yield to the deceptive lure of the simpler path.

"I wanted to taste yer pussy. But I think I'll have to settle for yer blood for now." He taunts cruelly, and now you know that this whole wicked game was just another tool to torture you. Because he always wants the same thing, no matter what cunning methods he uses. He wants to enjoy the sight of your lifeless body. "Maybe next time." He promises, and he charges towards you so suddenly that you just blindly swing your hand clutching the knife at him, and even you yourself are surprised when you succeed in slicing the strong line of his chin in the heat of the moment.

He hisses as fresh blood gushes out in the wake of your attack, and you gain just enough advantage to start running like a frightened doe, bolting desperately from the kitchen's threshold. You run across the living room, out of breath, and from the stress hormones raging in your body, you almost tear the front door open to stumble into the cool night. In your panic-stricken brain, it occurs to you that this will be a bad idea, but you have no other option, you have to trust that the darkness of the forest will hide you from the madman, whose pounding footsteps can be heard behind you, as you rush forward in the thicket and get swallowed up by the tangled cavalcade of trees.

Your pulse thumping on your eardrums joins in as the background noise for your sprint, and your lungs start to burn slowly, as the cold air gnaws at your trachea in the middle of your rush. The leaves crunch under your sneakers, and you don't even realize how the branches dig into your face and tear at your hair, because you have only one goal in front of your eyes: To get as far away from Johnny as possible.

But your escape attempt is short lived, because two hands reach out from behind one of the trees so swiftly that you don't have time to dodge it. They loop around your waist with a vise-like grip, and your mouth opens to a frightened scream, but when you try to free yourself from the shackles of your attacker, you almost feel your ribs crack, as the strong arms wrap around you tighter, pressing you to a massive body with deadly determination.

You glance back in terror, and when you see the skull-like mask, it's too late. One of his hands lets go of you, and even if you had a momentary chance to get away, it immediately disappears when the hunting knife sinks into your stomach. You let out a startled whimper as the agonizing pressure builds when he slowly twists the blade inside you, and you feel the warm, red liquid bubbling out of the torn flesh.

You fall to the ground like a rag doll as your attacker releases you from his grip, and you sprawle out in the mud coughing up blood as the pain shoots through your every nerve. And through the blur of the ever-increasing blood loss, you only dimly perceive how a familiar figure appears next to the masked man, but even hovering on the edge of unconsciousness, you recognize Johnny's cheerful laugh, with which he pats the other killer on the shoulder.

"I almost got her!" Johnny laments, and with your weak and foggy brain, you can't comprehend the inscrutable emotion in his voice. "Never mind. Next time, it'll be different!"

And when the darkness envelopes you in its weightless embrace, you have the last fleeting thought that this game is taking more and more fatal turns.

~ ° ~

Gasping in alarm, your eyes open in the back seat of the car, and you smooth away the cold sweat from your forehead with shaking hands, as you realize that you're back at the beginning of the game once again. Surrounded by the chatter of your two companions, you try to overcome your disorientation, because dizziness invades your head in a way you've never experienced before, as if you've brought a little of the horror of your previous death with you when you restarted this misery.

And when the dull pain in your stomach hits you, you pull up the thin material of your T-shirt in fear, and your brain goes blank for a fleeting moment when you see what is waiting for you there. A palm-sized black spot spreads across the soft blanket of healthy skin, and you're pretty sure it's not just your imagination playing tricks on you when you recognize a skull slowly taking shape in it. Like a carving of a cruel reminder, so you don’t forget who ended your life this time.

It doesn't make any sense... you've died twenty-four times, yet this is the first time something strange appears on you, as though the game would try to convey something. As if your killer had marked you with his signature... But why?

But you don't have time to ponder on this any longer, because the car stops, and you pull your shirt down in panic to cover the new sign, before it catches the eyes of the two girls and they start asking questions. You could explain yourself, but at this point, you're not entirely sure if it wouldn't start something with another set of fatal consequences.

The girls hop out of the car in the middle of their excited conversation, but you stay put, trying to overcome hyperventilation and regain some semblance of your composure. You need to be more careful, you made no progress yesterday, and if this continues, you will never get out of here. And you can't allow that. Never.

However, when the door opens and Johnny's cheerful figure appears on the doorstep, you know that nothing is going to be all right. Because behind him, a tall figure, whom you have never seen before, slowly emerges from the house. The light of the autumn sun shines golden on his dark blond hair, and although his face is half covered by a black medical mask, you still recognize the threat in the unfamiliar man. Because as those dark eyes settle on you, as you hesitantly step out of the car, every single fiber in your body screams at the same time: RUN!

But you know you can't run away. You're forced to go further in this hellscape because that is the only way to get out. And whoever this new stranger is, he won't stop you. No matter what happens.

120 notes · View notes

mrsdesade · 5 months

Text

My Precious (headcanons of Loki comforting you in his own ways)

Timeline: unknown

TW: no one

Pairing: Loki x fem!y/n

Notes: this is for anyone who needs comfort and a gentle lover who is always here for you, enjoy your meal sweeties 🤍

"In this vast cosmos, you are my constant, the North Star guiding me through the realms. And I'll be yours. Never forget that."

his charming whispers would echo with sweet promises, assuring you that in his heart, you're the most precious gem.

in moments of darkness, he would create illusions to show you again your favorite memories, hoping to bring a smile to your face.

"Loki, what's your favorite thing about me?"

"Your unpredictability my dear; like the shifting winds, you keep me intrigued."

he'd surprise you with handwritten notes, each filled with poetic expressions of his love and admiration.

he would playfully steal kisses, leaving you blushing and breathless.

Loki would use his magic to create a sanctuary where you could escape the chaos, finding solace in each other's company.

his mischief would take a romantic turn as he arranges candlelit moments under the stars, declaring his affection in subtle gestures.

during sleepless nights, he'd stay by your side, sharing stories from unknown realms.

he would gift you trinkets from distant lands, each holding a hidden meaning that only the two of you share.

when doubts cloud your mind, he'd assure you with a touch, his eyes revealing a sincerity that goes beyond his mask.

Loki's laughter would be your favorite melody, and he'd find joy in creating little mischief that brings a sparkle to your eyes.

"Oh Gods...the way your eyes light up when you're truly happy."

during quiet moments, he'd express his vulnerability, allowing you to see the depths of his emotions and insecurities.

Loki's love would be a unique experience, with surprises around every corner, making each day an exploration of passion and connection.

he would use his shape-shifting abilities for making you laugh.

"Your laughter is a symphony, and I aim to be its most avid listener."

in times of sorrow, he'd wipe away your tears with a gentle touch, promising to mend the wounds with the magic of his affection.

he'd compose love letters in ancient languages, showcasing his intellectual prowess as a unique expression of his devotion.

Loki's wit would shine through in personalized riddles and puzzles, turning mundane moments into playful challenges.

as a gesture of protection, he'd subtly use his magic to shield you from the rain, ensuring that not a single drop touches your skin.

"If I could, I'd rewrite the stars to tell our love story."

in moments of self-doubt, he would be your loudest cheerleader, boosting your confidence.

he would craft enchanted jewelry imbued with his magic, symbolizing your bond and serving as a constant reminder of his unwavering affection.

Loki's mischievous grin would soften into a tender smile when he watches you achieve your goals, proud of you.

he'd weave spells of tranquility around you, creating moments of calm where the troubles of the world can't touch you.

"In a universe of infinite possibilities, I chose you, and that choice is my greatest triumph."

That's it! Hope you find the comfort you needed; and writing fluff for him is always a pleasure for me! Kisses 💋

#loki laufeyson #loki series #marvel #loki season 2 #loki headcanons #loki fanfction #loki x female reader #loki x y/n #loki x you #loki x reader #loki fanart #loki #marvel fanfiction #marvel mcu #writers on tumblr #my post

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kendsleyauthor · 6 months

Text

✨Forlorn + Delight✨

Promptober 2023

Print / Trinket Universe (Xander and Grayson)

~2000 words

A sequel to Rabbit. The aftermath of Xander kissing Grayson isn't all sunshine and rainbows-- at least not a first. 😉

@marydublinauthor 🌸

Just ‘cause.

Those two words pulsed through Grayson like poison—Xander’s off-handed explanation for his viciously protective behavior. Just ‘cause. Sealed with a kiss. Twenty-four hours later, Grayson couldn’t settle on precisely how to feel.

Enthralled? Insulted? Terrified? Starving for more.

“Grayson?” Everly waved a hand in front of his face.

They were sharing a snack on the metal rigging high above the stage. The chunk of soft pretzel had gone cold by the time they reached the top of the rigging, but the privacy was unmatched. More and more these days, truly taking a breather meant finding a spot where no humans could bother them.

Everly cocked her head at Grayson, chewing thoughtfully. There were circles under her eyes—more than usual. “Are you okay?” she asked before he could ask her the same.

Grayson eyed their surroundings. The stage looked impossibly small down below compared to the enormity of the stadium. Tomorrow night, the venue would be packed with nearly a hundred thousand screaming people. His throat tightened at the thought that he might not stick around to witness it.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore.” Grayson wasn’t sure how he managed to form the words, but there they were. Out in the open for Everly to gape over.

“What?” she breathed. “What do you mean?”

“I…” He pursed his lips, the words eluding him now. “I never should have stuck around this long. That was a mistake.”

“What are you talking about?” Voice shaking, Everly set her food aside and leaned closer to him. “We need you. Everything you’ve done to keep the Rebellion fund hidden—it’s incredible. No one else can do that.” Her breaths quickened. “What happened? Are we in danger? Grayson, talk to me.”

He put a hand on her arm to calm her. “It’s nothing like that,” he said hurriedly. “It’s… it’s him.”

She frowned, faint understanding flooding her features. “What did he do?” Her voice dropped to a whisper, but her tone sharpened like a vengeful blade.

Grayson was briefly entertained by the mental image of Everly luring Xander to her level so she could deck him across the face. He nearly laughed. No, it was more likely she’d have Micah do the honors. He’d never say no to her. Hell, Micah might even punch Xander of his own accord if he knew Grayson’s feelings were being toyed with.

“He didn’t hurt me,” Grayson said. “I just… can’t be around him anymore.”

“You don’t have to share his room,” she said hurriedly. “We’ll figure out another arrangement.”

“He’ll still be around,” Grayson muttered.

Her shoulders slumped. The mourning in her gaze was unmistakable. While she was desperate to keep the Rebellion fund strong, he knew she was already imagining what it would be like to not have another print on the tour with her.

“I’m sorry,” she said, squeezing his hand on her arm. “I thought… I thought he was safe. Micah said he trusted him with his life. After all this time together, I thought you trusted him, too.”

“I did. It got messy.”

Fresh guilt sparkled in her eyes. “Please, will you just… just finish out the tour? Everything will fall apart if you leave suddenly. At least think about it.”

He sighed. He felt so silly, putting his own lovesick feelings above the work of the Rebellion. But he could focus while Xander loomed in the background. If anything, the funding might be even more airtight if he managed the money remotely.

“I’ll think about it,” he murmured, though he’d already made up his mind. “Can I bunk with you tonight?”

“Of course. Do you want me to go with you to get your things from Xander’s room?”

“No. I’ve got it.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

The upside to having a sulky image was that no one questioned when he decided to hole himself up on the bus all day. Xander stared at the ceiling, jaw clenched. Photographers would be crying into their pillow if they knew about the broody expression they were missing out on.

Stupid, he can’t stop thinking. Stupid, stupid stupid, why did you do it?

A ping indicated that the door was about to slide open, set off by a remote electronic key.

Grayson.

“Fuck,” Xander whispered, squeezing his eyes shut for a second. He didn’t move, but he didn’t bother pretending to be asleep, either.

The door swished open. Small footsteps entered the room. Not a single word was spoken.

Xander had never been one to cave in a situation like that. Xander had never put himself in a situation like this.

“‘Bout time,” he muttered despite everything. He turned his head, searching the ground.

Grayson, wearing the same clothes from last night, climbed the steps to the desk beside the bed. He began gathering his belongings. Clothes, notes, sketches, and tiny circuits were scattered across one corner of the surface. Although Xander always muttered he was free to use the entire space, Grayson’s things never moved past an invisible line he had made for himself.

The sight of Grayson stuffing his things into bags made Xander’s heart stutter uncertainly.

“Where were you last night?” Xander asked.

“Backstage,” Grayson answered crisply. “Pulled an all-nighter.”

“You could’ve at least told me you’d be working all night to avoid me. I thought something had happened to you.”

“Something did happen to me.” Grayson threw him a side-eyed glare.

Guilt crawled beneath Xander’s skin, though he didn’t let his mask twitch. Had he completely misread the situation? He thought for sure that Grayson had feelings for him. Yet there he was, scowling and packing up his items like he couldn’t stand to be around Xander for a second longer.

Xander sat up, scoffing defensively. “So, you’d rather sleep on a crate backstage than come in here and talk about this?”

“You’re the one who walked away!” Grayson threw a shirt down into the gathered pile. “And besides—what’s there to talk about? It was a joke, wasn’t it?”

“A joke?” Suddenly, it began to make sense. Grayson assumed that Xander was leading him on. Xander’s face flushed—he hated when he had to spell things out for people. “You think I’d put myself at risk, kissing a print, for a joke?”

“You and Micah have made out on stage plenty of times. It’s all fun and games for you—kissing someone you don’t really want.”

“That was back when I didn’t give a fuck, and Micah would kiss anything with a pulse for attention. Before Everly.” Xander stared hard at Grayson and shifted his legs over the side of the bed to lean closer to the desk. “That’s got nothing to do with…” Us. He couldn’t bring himself to say it. Us.

“Whatever it was, you didn’t mean it,” Grayson said resolutely.

“I don’t do anything unless I mean it.”

A wry laugh shook through Grayson. He tilted his head back to regard the ceiling. “I know you by this point, Xander. Even if you wanted that kiss, this isn’t going anywhere. Is it? You’re not going to put yourself in danger to make something out of this—whatever this is. Am I wrong?”

Xander was not prepared for the desolate look that was sent his way. Grayson had the exact same look in his eyes when Wyatt had broken up with him months ago. But Xander couldn’t bring himself to answer right away. Grayson was right, in some capacity. He wasn’t sure if he could live the same way that Micah and Everly did.

Grayson’s expression only dampened further. “I can’t do this anymore,” he announced quietly. “I’m going home. Wyatt will let me stay for a while, especially if I keep working on the Rebellion fund from the apartment.”

Blood running cold, Xander found himself at a loss for words all over again. He thought Grayson was only relocating his belongings to a different bus. Not that he was leaving the tour altogether.

Despite everything, Grayson was willing to go back to living with his ex, so long as it meant helping the cause.

He couldn’t recall a single time he’d seen Grayson make a decision that truly made him happy—and apparently, staying in proximity to Xander was the worse choice.

“You know what?” Xander blurted, frustration winning out. “It’s about fucking time. Micah never even asked me if I wanted to be your glorified bodyguard. Guess he figured that I already gripe so much, what’s one more thing?”

Grayson went absolutely rigid, then turned away. Even as he continued to pack, folding his shirts with meticulous detail, Xander kept a glare on him. He saw a tear slide down Grayson’s cheek, and he severely regretted every decision that had led to that tear.

“No… No, I’m sorry.” Xander swallowed hard. “I didn’t mean that. I’m just… I don’t know.”

“What happened to not doing anything unless you mean it?” Grayson snapped, his voice thick. His hands shook. “Why can’t you just say you were fucking around with me? Why do you have to make this so hard? It’ll be easier if you tell me that it meant nothing.”

Xander reached out, gently grasping one of Grayson’s hands to pull him away from the aimless motion of folding. Silence enveloped them as Grayson slowly lifted his gaze.

Xander didn’t have to close the distance. He didn’t have to lay his feelings out in the open. But he was doing it. Neither of them could chalk up this contact as a spur-of-the-moment reaction. His movements were slow, and delicate, unlike his split-second decision to kiss Grayson backstage.

He gave Grayson a gentle tug closer to the edge of the desk. It wasn’t a command, but an invitation.

Grayson shuffled forward, observing Xander with a guarded stare.

“Can I kiss you?” Xander asked softly.

The air charged between them. He looked squarely at Grayson, searching for any sign that he was too intimidated to say no. But the desire in his gaze was unmistakable, buried under layers of aggravation with Xander.

Grayson’s voice trembled. “Yes.”

Xander tilted his head and brushed his lips against Grayson’s cheek tenderly. From there, it was all too easy to cave into their hunger for each other. Grayson was less chaste, kissing Xander’s lips feverishly. For a moment, Xander held still for him, basking in Grayson’s affection.

They broke apart, eyes meeting. Everything else melted away, and all Xander wanted was more.

His hands surrounded Grayson, fingertips feeling along his body. Xander gently plucked up the hem of Grayson’s t-shirt. Grayson put up no resistance, raising his arms. The moment his shirt was discarded, Xander promptly closed the space again and began kissing his torso. He swept his hands behind Grayson, transporting him to one of the pillows on the bed.

Grayson fell back on the plush surface, breaths heavy and eyes fluttering shut. Xander crushed his lips against Grayson’s chest, acutely aware of the tiny heartbeat fluttering maniacally under his kisses.

“Still think this is a joke?” Xander asked, his breath hot against Grayson’s skin.

He expected a quip in return. Instead, Grayson croaked, “Is this anything? Can this be anything?”

Pausing, Xander pushed himself up on his arms and looked down at his pillow. Grayson looked utterly vulnerable laying there—and it had nothing to do with his size. His eyes begged for a clear answer, desperate to not have his heart broken again.

“Do we have to decide right now?” Xander murmured, annoyed by the cowardice that held him back from a clear answer.

Disappointment filled Grayson’s dark eyes. “But if I leave…”

Shuddering, Xander leaned down. He could have easily smothered Grayson’s uncertainty with more kisses, but he nuzzled his face against Grayson’s body instead.

“Don’t leave,” Xander whispered.

His hope dwindled with each passing second of silence.

And then Grayson whispered back: “Okay.”

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cutiecorner · 4 months

Text

♡ Little Gotham: The Penguin and Mr. Freeze ♡

Trying out a new style of post to give the run down on how characters are in the dadfred & babybat universe (aka little gotham)! which has basically turned into an agere au lol.

The defacto caregivers of arkham

They kinda naturally took on uncle figure roles as the oldest of the bunch (freeze being ~50 and Penguin being ~60)

They both care deeply for the regressors/flips (riddler, ivy, harley, scarecrow, twoface, perhaps joker) in their own ways

Penguin is a much more permissible carer than freeze - he has no backbone when it comes to little ones. Staying up all night? Seems like a proper soiree! Sundaes for dinner? He does love cold treats! Wearing his suits? How positively en vogue!

Freeze is more of the rules guy. He's very logical and wants everyone to make wise decisions. The kids take great joy in melting his heart and making him read stories and such

They both love to tell stories. Penguin likes to recount operas he's seen (complete with singing) and Freeze knows the Nutcracker and a lot of Grimms fairy tales by heart

Penguin is good at winding the kids up. He knows how to get them excited and playing

Freeze knows how to wind the little ones down, he's the best at getting them to nap or relax

Penguin takes care of pigeons in his cell, and let's the regressors name them

Freeze sculpts things, he'll make trinkets for everyone to play with

When not in arkham, penguin loves to give lavish gifts to his little friends. He keeps track of things they want and surprises them with it when they're out of arkham

When freeze is released he comes back frequently to visit and also writes letters to everyone

Penguin loves to dress the kids up and bring them to parties. He will not hear a WORD admonishing them, they are precious little cherubs who can do no wrong, he's sure that table was begging to be set on fire

Freeze will meet up with folks individually and check on how they're doing

The Penguin is most fond of the riddler, Freeze is most fond of two face

Penguin and freeze call the regressors "the children" (even when not regressed)

Individually, penguin uses the nicknames prince(ss), darling, angel, fledgling, and chickadee

Freeze uses the nicknames, my dear, little one and snowflake

#agere #fandom agere #agere fandom #dc agere #batman agere #little gotham #agere headcanons

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theresattrpgforthat · 3 months

Note

Hello! Do you have any fairytale/disney-esque ttrpgs you could recommend?

Theme: Fairytale Games

Hello there friend! I sure do! We've got a really nice selection here to look at - and don't forget to check out the previously recommended!

I’ll Be Taking That, by porchlightdusk.

You are a goblin, and you are what you hold close: discarded trinkets, unloved baubles, desperate comrades. These precious bits of flotsam give you courage enough to rummage through the treacherous alleys and howling wastes of this world. Venture out from whatever miserable hovel you sprouted and seek the shiny things of the world, oh little chaos beast!

I'll Be Taking That is a tabletop roleplaying game in which a narrator and several players tell the stories of rambunctious goblins in a harsh world. Play is rooted in narrative choices and collective, chaotic joy, supported mechanically by a lightweight inventory-as-skills action resolution system and overflowing random generation tables. IBTT is built on Caltrop Core by Titanomachy RPG and draws heavily on the philosophies of Powered by the Apocalypse systems, among others.

This is a game that situates you into the fiction very well in just the first few pages. Chaotic nonsense is definitely encouraged in this game, and I can feel the undercurrent of mischief sprinkled throughout the book. Trinkets are a core tenet of this game - you will accumulate them as you adventure, and risk breaking them on your worst failures. Your attachment to these trinkets will also rise and fade. If you want a game that lets you embrace your inner gremlin, you might want to check out this game, although be aware - it’s still in development!

Witchblood: Pulp Fantasy Fairy Tales, by Rose on Mars.

The Woods… …are dark and deep, but they are not lovely. Inch by inch, they close in on the villages of humanity. And in those encroaching wilds dwell the witches. Ancient, primeval, creatures from before the First Eve and still potent today.

In this world, where life is brutish and short, you stand tall. You are a witch's grandchild, or a disinherited noble, or a scion of the good folk. You are part of humanity, but also apart from it, by your own choice or otherwise. You are caught between the expectations of your birth and your own needs and desires. Run from your past, or chase it. Love freely, or not at all. Stand between the hearth and the wilds. They may not call you a hero, but your name will live on ever after.

Witchblood is a roleplaying game about who you were, who you are, and who you will become. Take on the role of a self-determined, tough-as-you-want pulp fantasy protagonist wandering a world of bloody -- but not always grim -- fairy tales. Wield the powers of birthright and destiny. Explore the darks of the forest and brace yourself against the bite of the wind. Do what’s right, or just what’s right for now.

These are the woods through which Little Red voyaged through; this is a fantasy world that might remind you of The Black Cauldron, or the brambles summoned by the witch in Sleeping Beauty. Character creation involves choosing options that look like classes, as well as pairing together identity tags that can be rated from 0-5, as well as pairing opposing Qualities, also rated from 0-5. You will roll d10s according to your Identities and Qualities.

This is a game where combat and conflict are expected, and stories can be expected to turn darker before becoming lighter. If you like traditional fantasy alongside fairytales of witches and darkness and danger, Witchblood might be for you.

Nexalis, by Cezar Capacle.

We invite you to step aboard your enchanted vessel and set sail on the ethereal ocean known as the Nectar. Nexalis calls you on an awe-inspiring journey across a universe filled with countless uncharted islands, each teeming with unique cultures, mysteries, and magical phenomena.

Nexalis is an otherworldly realm where islands drift amidst an endless cosmic ocean of magical plasma, the Nectar. The Nectar, pulsing with vibrant, ever-shifting colors, mirrors the celestial patterns that guide adventurers on their thrilling journeys. At the heart of this sea lies the Celestial Nexus, an entrancing vortex of astral energy that births islands and renews the world in a constant cycle of creation.

As you journey through the Starbound Isles and the shimmering Nectar ocean, you will encounter vibrant cultures, awe-inspiring landscapes, ancient relics, and enigmatic secrets. Guided by celestial constellations, you will brave untold challenges, learn valuable lessons, and forge lasting bonds with the people and places you encounter.

Nexalis is a bright fantasy game, a genre that focuses on themes of wonder, exploration, and camaraderie. It showcases a vibrant and diverse setting, filled with colorful landscapes and imaginative creatures. Stories in Nexalis tend to be character-driven, often revolving around personal growth, discovery, and the building of relationships.

If you liked movies such as Treasure Planet or Atlantis, this might be the game for you. The magic of this place feels ancient and yet unlike traditional fantasy. The gameplay is guided, meaning that you’ll cycle between two different modes, depending on whether you are in a high energy scene or moments of reflection and role-play.

On the Way to Chrysopoeia, by NessunDove.

On the Way to Chrysopoeia is an epistolary roleplaying game written by Morgane Reynier and illustrated by Marion Bulot. Together with a partner you will be writing a four-handed adventure, first by inventing its two protagonists and then by leading them on a legendary journey. It’s a different way to make up a story in your head: you’ll be reinventing objects and places you see every day, turning them into crucial ingredients for a Great Work of alchemy.

Reality itself and your daily life will bleed into your characters’ fictional journey. What if your favorite museum was the headquarters for a league of mad scientists? What if the path you’re strolling along lead to an unknown city…? The journey is narrated through the exchange of letters between two characters: the Master and the Disciple. They walk the way of the Athanor— the alchemical Crucible, the pot where explorers melt their research and experiences. Each one is the keeper and judge of their partner’s progress.

This is a great option if you don’t have a large play group but you have someone with whom you’d like to play with who lives in a different time zone. One of you plays a Master, the other a Disciple. The Disciple is on a quest. The Master is stuck at home, due to age or infirmity. The goal: to find Chrysopoeia, a mythic city full of hope and magic - although the specifics are up to you. This is a largely interpretive game, so if you like writing and world building, this is a game for you.

The creator of this game has also created a game called Chrysopoeia & All Around for group play at a table, borrowing from Lasers & Feelings!

Stormwild Islands, by Gizogin.

Welcome to [Stormwild Islands], a tabletop role-playing game. Set in the Stormwild Islands, a cluster of islands in the middle of a perpetual, continent-sized storm, this game explores the aftermath of a generations-long war and the magical damage done to the world as a result.

In terms of genre, [Stormwild Islands] fits most closely with “gaslamp fantasy”, an early industrial setting with a great deal of magic. Spellcasters are commonplace, and they work alongside new innovations like steam engines to create a world that changes very quickly. Golems - humanoid constructs with minds and wills of their own - have been instrumental in bringing about this new wave of industry, but their use in the war and their newfound push for independence might be even more significant. Alongside all of this is a world of spirits, otherworldly creatures who think and act according to completely different rules, and mixing spirits with humans or golems tends to cause all kinds of clashes.

This is a game for the folks who like moving little guys around on a map, especially if you’re familiar with games like D&D or Lancer and you don’t want to stray too far from the familiar. The cycle of play will fluctuate between combat and narrative moments, so expect your characters to be all about fighting their way towards victory. If you like combat and kicking butt, this looks like the game for you.

The player’s guide as linked above is free to download, but if you want the Gamemaster’s Guide, you’ll have to buy it.

The Fae Team, by Almost Bedtime Theatre.

Two years ago, a crack squad of the Sun Guard’s Human Intervention Division was sent to prison by the Faerie Court for a crime they didn’t commit. These woodland creatures promptly escaped from a maximum security stockade to the Faerie Realm underground.

Today, still wanted by the Sun Guard, they survive as freelancers. If you have a problem, if no one else can help, and if you can find them, maybe you can hire… The Fae Team.

The Fae Team is a role-playing game inspired by The A-Team television show, but puts the players in the roles of skunks, weasels, frogs, etc. and gives them magical powers before sending them through a gargoyle-generated portal into the human world to solve problems. As one does.

The rules of this game depend on a two-stat dichotomy, similar to Lasers and Feelings. You choose a number between 2 to 5, with a higher number indicating that you are good at calm and precise actions, while a low number means you are better at wild and physical actions. There’s also plenty of bits and pieces to make your character unique, such as your faerie gift, and the item that your characters carry around.

A session of this game can be fairly episodic, with an NPC contacting the group for help and giving them a mission that requires entering the human world. While the mission (and its complications) are expected to be generated by the Story Guide, the players are encouraged to describe the world around them and create elements that they get excited about. If you want a game that is lighthearted and magical, check out The Fae Team!

Sunderwald, by Long Tail Games.

In the center of the kingdom of Realm, there exists a dark and unsettling forest. It is known as the Sunderwald.

This is a game about how the woods change us, and how we change the woods. It features a complete, stand-alone game with character creation, enemies, advancement, the whole deal. It is also a legacy tabletop roleplaying game. During play, you will physically and permanently modify this book. Do not be afraid. Scar. The. Book.

The fact that this book is meant to be manipulated and modified makes it feel somewhat akin to a wizard’s grimoire, or a magical artifact. This is a book that asks you to make your own pieces of the world, and might also feel like a kind of achievement system by doing specific things with the game.

While most tasks appear to be resolved with a d6, playing the game involves so much more than rolling dice. Your characters have descriptive skills, might take upon themselves physical and mental scars and consequences, and will grapple with their inventory, wound threshold, background and magic. If you like unfolding a mystery together, if you like manipulating physical objects, and if you like fairy stories or tales like Alice in Wonderland, you might like this game.

Games I’ve Recommended in the Past

Hearts & Ravens, by Martian Machinery.

We’re All Mad Here, by Shanna Germain.

Wanderhome, by Possum Creek Games

Jack Kills Giants, by Andrew White.

#tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #game recommendations #dnd #asks #fairytale games

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sunny-fox · 6 months

Note

I wonder about pet SAHSR what about Aeons as a pet if you okay with doing it if not you can ignore this request

Ooh I've never thought of this idea before!!

There will be a part 2 for this -

Pet! SAHSRAU (Part 4)

Warnings: cult behaviour, possible spoilers for Aeons' stories, mention of death (Akivili)

Notes: characters turn into animals, highly possible out-of-character, they/them pronouns for all Aeons, Sunny has very little understanding of the Aeons' backstories 🥹

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

Golden Retriever! Akivili who's extremely curious. They used to explore the universe with their followers before their death, but now that they have been granted a second chance to live, they want to explore this world with you! Akivili acts quite friendly towards humans, especially children - you've never seen them bark at or bite anyone. Akivili loves car rides as it is the closest experience they have compared to rides on the Astral Express. Each time you say something along the line of "Let's go on a car trip", Akivili immediately stands up straight (if they had been lying down), tail wagging furiously in joy.

Norwegian Forest Cat! Nanook who just...destroys your home. They're the Aeon of Destruction, after all. Nothing is safe from Nanook's teeth or claws: they'll chew or scratch on almost everything. Keep your important documents or trinkets in cupboards, plastic boxes, drawers - basically anywhere that Nanook can't reach easily - lest they turn into pieces the next day. But exclude their destructive behaviour, and you'll find that Nanook is actually not much different from the other pets. Though they may seem a little tsundere (just like Pom-Pom) and pretend that they don't like cuddles, Nanook still constantly seeks recognition from you. They want to know if you think that they're the best pet you've ever had.

Greyhound! Lan who still has their hunting instincts. The "prey" / gifts that they bring to you are quite...unusual. You've received pebbles, wild fruit, branches, leaves and whatnot ever since Lan came to your home. Those were the "normal" gifts. Sometimes Lan brings home clothes from your neighbours' clotheslines and pieces of cardboard (you don't even know where they found them). You scold them every time they bring your neighbours' clothes to you, telling them you're lucky that your neighbours don't start a fight with you due to said problem. Eventually Lan stops giving you anything except for pebbles, as you always give them a pat on the head when you receive pebbles and polish each one properly before keeping them.

Himalayan cat! Yaoshi who still doesn't get along with Lan. They often get into fights with each other. These fights could end in two different ways: Either Lan would win and Yaoshi is forced to leap into your arms to avoid getting bitten, or Yaoshi wins and chases Lan all over the place till they hide behind you so that they wouldn't suffer from another swipe of Yaoshi's claws. You immediately decided that their living areas had to be separated once you realised that their peaceful relationship / play-fighting was a mere facade, as Lan and Yaoshi try - well, used to try - their best to tolerate the other when they were in the same room with you. But when Yaoshi is alone with you, they're quite gentle and often demands attention. They love it when you stroke their fur and sing them to sleep each night.

#pet! sahsrau #hsr aeons #hsr akivili #hsr nanook #hsr lan #hsr yaoshi

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treasure-planet-zine · 1 year

Photo

IT'S TIME!

The Treasure Planet is exploding.... and our PO's are open!

Now's your chance to grab all the goodies you can carry! See all we have to offer on rattlethestars.bigcartel.com or look through our bundles below!

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Ethereal and untouchable, the legend speaks of untold treasures waiting for those brave enough to go beyond the mere story…

2. Treasure Planet Map | Book bundle | $20

The first physical proof of the Treasure Planet’s existence. For some, this trinket is enough to sate curiosity, to proudly display on a shelf. Some, however, yearn for more…

3. Treasure Trail | Merch bundle | $30

These bits and bobs have been clearly lost in transit, but that makes them no less valuable! Follow the trail to discover Flint’s full treasure…

4. Flint’s Ship | Flat bundle | $35

The last loot of one Nathaniel Flint, a precious collection of valuables that never quite made it to its resting place. Enough to spend the rest of your life content, if one’s sensible. But what adventurer is sensible?

5. Treasure Planet | Full bundle | $50

The greatest collection of treasure in the entire universe. Flint has worked hard his entire life to obtain all this precious cargo - please make sure to wave your thanks at him when you ferry your goodies past him!

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We have three stretch goals to reach over the course of our great escape!

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#Treasure Planet #Treasure Planet zine #zine #Jim Hawkins #Long John Silver #Captain Amelia #28th #November #2022 #November 28th 2022 #11th #December #December 11th 2022

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9w1ft · 1 day

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fam…. wow, what a year.

in the summer, i went to karlie’s birthday show, and on the way back i stopped through santa monica and pacific palisades just to soak in the rich kid ambiance, and well, no, actually, i wanted to check out jennifer meyer! because, well, idk. inspiration struck. it’s such a fun kaylorverse brand! and i thought, if enamored enough, i might be convinced into buying a tiny heart ring or charm or something, but they had just gotten in one of something recently and when i saw it i immediately knew i would be talked into it.

…so i picked up this tiny necklace from jen meyer. for obvious reasons.. i couldn’t help it! it spoke to me!!

fast forward to a handful of weeks later and taylor is… wearing evil eye jewelry! several pieces! more than several pieces!! even an evil eye stud!! and i come to deduce later on that the first time she wore the bracelet was the day before karlie’s birthday concert. which is a true coincidence that i love, because, it’s the day @taylorrepdetective and i happened to arrive in LA. and so today, reflecting on the eye theory as i do, i was thinking today about how my life changed shape, because of all of these things.

for april 18th is, as you may know, eye theory day! the day @swift-79 and i finalized and i posted the og eye theory post, back in 2019. also known as the eyepocalypse, discovereye, the start of many things.

today marks the four five year anniversary. it’s pretty wild that we’re still kickin it five years in! and it’s become a sort of tradition for me where i like to post a little something personal in honor of the day. so allow me to continue this one gratis.

second part of my story is that a little over a year ago now, i went to opening night of the eras tour with @theprologues and the day after the concert, on my way back, i stopped through scottsdale and walked through all the boutique shops and souvenir shops and picked up a trinket. a ring that called out to me, for…obvious reasons.

i mean, how could i not?? to commemorate a wonderful trip to meet a dear friend, and for all the eye theory things that happened on opening night!

and it’s been a year since then and i’m one of those people that just doesn’t take jewelry off, so it’s been on my finger for all this time. it was a snug fit, and silver, so it both wasn’t coming off easily and wouldn’t be leaving a green ring on my hand or anything, so i have kept it there. for a little over a year now.

but the other day someone was asking me about it. and i was like oh, i got this in arizona and so i went to adjust it to show it off because the center stone was off to the side and when i twisted it i noticed a mark on my finger, an indent, for having worn it so long.. and i sorta laughed to myself because, you know, there is an indentation. in the shape of an eye.

so i decided to take the thing off for a sec and let my finger breathe and so i take off the ring and notice— the shape of the ring has changed.

what once was centered, has now fully to morphed and warped the right side. 🙈🙈 c’est la vie.

i only write this out to say that, it had me thinking. about all the fun we had for this fourth turn around the theory, all the dear friends i have met, all the tour outfits, the accessories and merch?!… all of the little connections we have made over this… thing 😆 it had me thinking about how there are always going to be these fun little moments in life where the universe winks at you and, and how if you can manage it, it’s a charmed way to live, really. reminded me of the time i lost karlie’s gem on my swarovski evil eye bracelet at rep tour tokyo! that is to say, when the going gets tough, it can still be fun. if you work to give yourself permission. as one might say…there are cathedrals everywhere for those with the eyes to see 🥴

it didn’t really occur to me until this week just how close the release date is to the eye theory anniversareye ☺️ and i’m not sure what this countdown is for but it’s running out so close to when the op was posted five years ago so i decided to post around now :) not to say any of it was anything more than accidental. but hey, laughter is the best medicine, is it not?

so omnom, i say! omnom!

and so today, on ts11 album release eve,

i implore all of you (and myself) to open our hearts juuust a crack,

and keep on the lookout for the gold nuggets that are going to be there. assume taylor will perjure herself a bit during this trial, relax, allow yourself the enjoy what we get, like nobody else truly can.

and so eye enter into evidence…

literally a bajillion things let’s be real like oh my god

our tarnished post of eyes, my indentations, shaped like…occulations,

our talismans and charms.

the tap, tap, tap of me selecting bert memes, my veins of bloodshot pink.

all’s fair in love and…

poetreye.

#all eyes on us #happy anniversareye 🫶

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harrytheehottie · 27 days

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THE FIVE TIMES YOU KNEW: 2016 PART TWO

🌟 read part one🌟 masterlist 🌟 share your thoughts

feels good to finally have a part two out. this is a story that I really want to see through so although updates may be few and far between its a universe that im always thinking of and I hope you enjoy even after waiting weeks! months! years! truly thank you for reading anything I write this is just for fun!

Harry was a mess.

His mom called him in the middle of the night. He was sleeping and didn’t hear it. He wondered what he would’ve done if he had been up, instead of waking up to 3 missed calls and a text from his sister telling to call when he wakes up. Harry immediately had a pit in his stomach. He had a dream about this very thing happening. It was more of a recurring nightmare as he spent more time away from his family. There would be an emergency of some kind and he would be unable to work around his demanding schedule and make sure he was able to make it back home. The dreams were at their worst while Harry was in the band. Now, he knew he was in a better position - Jeff would move mountains to get Harry to where he wanted to be. And right now, he needed to get to Brooklyn.

He was out of bed and in the car in record time. Opting for a pair of gray sweats and one of the first hoodies he could find. It was very early, the smog was still covering the sky, the usual LA traffic was nonexistent. It was 7:12 when Harry got to Brooklyn’s apartment. Harry took a few deep breaths before heading to her front door. He didn’t let her know he was on the way but he almost needed this version of events to happen. Harry knew that at any moment his mom would be calling him up again and he needed someone else there with him.

Harry walked up those steps a little amused at the situation before knocking on the door in quick succession. He heard a faint ‘who is it?” and moments later Brooklyn opened her door.

“Harry? Are you alright, why are you up so early?” She asked. She was wearing a t-shirt that cut her at the middle of her thighs with just underwear underneath, so he hoped. He knew she definitely wasn’t expecting to see him just from that alone.

“I… I had this bad feeling and woke up to a missed call and a few texts from my mum and my sister and I just knew that I shouldn’t be alone.” Harry knew about the doctors appointments and different tests that were being run back home and he buried himself with work to occupy his time.

Brooklyn moved over to open the door wider and let Harry in before going in to hug him. Harry's body perfectly engulfed Brooklyn. He needed this. The familiar feeling of her and her apartment and the way his anxieties seem to disappear whenever he’s around her. Harry takes in the look of her apartment as the early morning sun beams in through the curtains. Brooklyn’s house was cozy and lived in, the closest thing he’s been able to find as ‘home’ since he’s been in LA. She has pictures of her family and friends, her favorite artwork littered around the walls, trinkets on most surfaces, there’s color and life in this place. A stark difference to the usual ‘modern’ homes he’s used to with beiges and creams.

“Do you want coffee?” Brooklyn asks, pulling Harry out of his mind. “I was just up to make a cup before I heard the door.”

“Uhm… yes, please. Al-”

“Almond milk and two sugars. I remember,” Brooklyn interrupts before he could finish letting her know his order. He would be lying to himself if that moment didn’t mean something to him. “You’re the best.” Harry says before taking a seat on the couch as Brooklyn went to the kitchen. He took his phone out, took a deep breath and called his mom back.

Harry was in the living room looking tense on the phone, Brooklyn could hear the familiar Northern Accent of his mother, she is yet to meet the woman but has been present for many phone calls. Brooklyn had the two coffees in her hand and put them on the coffee table as she sat next to Harry and waited for him to be done on the phone. She tried her hardest to not pay any mind to the conversation, paying close attention to his reactions on the phone. The way Harry was playing with his knuckles, moving his hair from one side to the other. The nervousness that he shared, he got off the phone, saying his goodbyes and love you’s to his mom, he took a deep breath and kept his eyes down on the ground shuffling around in his seat. Brooklyn could feel his nervous energy afraid of what he was going to share with her from that phone call but she knew it wasn’t her place to ask. But when his eyes met Brooklyn’s, the soft greens meeting her deep brown, he broke his silence.

“It’s Robin… he’s sick.”

Harry was staying at Brooklyn’s for over a week now. The first night he went back to his place to get a bag of clothes and immediately turned back around to go to hers. He was trying to figure out what to do. Obviously, there was only so much that he could do but support his family through it all. Brooklyn quickly became his confidant. The friendship that they were building went through its first hardship. Harry was in LA to work on his solo album before he had to move back to Europe to begin filming Dunkirk. He wanted to immediately get on the first flight home but Brooklyn with the help of Jefff was the one to talk him out of it. After a week of doing nothing but working out and trying to write all of his ideas on paper. Harry was finally ready to get back to the studio.

They were playing their own version of ‘house’ she was staying in her room and made him sleep on the sofa. He was adamant that he still wanted to stay over on the third night, Brooklyn invited Harry into her room.

“Do you want to sleep in mine?” She asked just as they were finishing dinner. They ordered takeout from their favorite Italian restaurant.

“What?” Harry was almost taken aback by her question. They’ve never done that. Not platonically or ever romantically.

“I’m asking you, if you want to sleep in my room?” Brooklyn spoke again with a sense of calm in her voice. She could feel the fire hot blush creep up through her body as she repeated her sentence.

“And where will you sleep?” Harry quirked a brow.

“In my bed?” She repeated herself. She knew what he was getting at. Always being one to never not be in the mood to be a little cheeky.

“Is this your sly way of finally asking me to come to bed with you?”

“To sleep.” Brooklyn scoffed at him finishing his sentence for him.

“In your bed?” Harry poked again.

“Yes.” She said firmly.

“With you?” Harry was laughing again. Brooklyn threw her hand towel at his chest. Harry successfully pushed her buttons. He felt light for the first time.

“I’m going to bed. If you want to come with you can come. If you’re just going to make innuendos you can stay on the couch. Good night.”

Brooklyn stood up from her chair and began walking up the stairs towards her bedroom. She was wearing her usual clothes to bed: a baggy tee and sleep shorts. Harry waits a beat before following her up the steps trying his hardest not just to run up there. He respects her and their friendship too much to do more than just the flirty banter. He loves getting a rise out of her - the face she would make when she’s annoyed at him. Her big brown eyes rolling at him would cause her nose to scrunch but he could still see that smile that she was trying so hard to hide.

He was still in that fog from the news about Robin. Everyday was spent thinking about how he was going to be off on a movie set soon and not be able to easily be there for his family. He was only in LA for another week and a half before he had to get back to London for a photoshoot and then straight into prep for Dunkirk. It was going to be intense. Emotional. Devastating at times, but right now, he was okay - more than.

With the comfort of Brooklyn.

“Do you think you two would ever?” Callie asked before taking an exaggerated sip of her drink. They were out to lunch and Brooklyn was always hyper aware of the eavesdroppers around them to the point that it almost felt like they were speaking in codes.

“No. I’ve compartmentalized those feelings they’re kind of not there anymore.”

“Kind of not there?” Callie laughed, “You’ve shared a bed for the last two weeks and he’s been living at yours for almost a month, I think the feelings are very much still there.”

Brooklyn rolled her eyes - this was a conversation the two friends have had ever since Harry came into their lives. Brooklyn knows it's because she admitted to her friends that she had a crush on him early on but what girl in her early 20’s around the world doesn’t? But the more their friendship grew the more she pushed those feelings to the side. “Boys and girls can be just friends, Callie. Plus he’s having a really hard time so he’s staying at mine. That’s what friends do.”

“Whatever you say”

“Cmon just tell me what you’re thinking.,,”

“Maybe you should ask yourself why he, with so many friends in this city, went to your house first. And decided to stay there. During a time where he has a lot going on.” Callie reached her hand across the table for yours, “Look Brooklyn, I don’t want you to get in too deep and get hurt, again, because you aren’t being true to your feelings. It’s okay if you like him - you just have to let yourself tell him.”

Brooklyn let her friends' words resonate. She didn’t say much else after that regarding the topic of Harry quickly changing the subject back to work and Callie’s friend drama that didn’t involve her. She knew she would have to confront her feelings at some point. Was it really that weird that Harry decided to come to her first and not Jeff or Ben or any of the other guys in LA he’s known for a lot longer? We were still friends and nothing happened between us even when we were in the same bed. She was just being a good friend.

They were cuddling.

In the middle of the night their bodies moved closer and now they were tangled up together. Their legs intertwined as Brooklyn’s head rested on Harry’s arm like a pillow. This was different. She felt at ease the sounds of Harry’s breathing lulling her back to sleep. The warmth of their bodies proximity to one another. It felt right in a way. So, Brooklyn let herself fall back asleep, the early morning sun just peaking in as she dozed back to bed. It wasn’t until she felt Harry shifting next to her that her eyes slowly opened again. She thought about this exact scenario multiple times embarrassingly enough. And maybe it was the conversation she had with Callie yesterday or the reality of everything hitting her in the moment of them actually doing something that goes beyond the platonic friendship line but she was sure that if Harry asked her to do it again, she would in a heartbeat.

“What are you thinking about?” Harry asked in his low tone the sleep still evident in his raspy voice.

“How long have you been watching me?” Brooklyn looked up at him to meet his gaze. Harry was sitting up on the bed, his back against the bed frame.

“I’ve only just woken up.”

“You look rather comfy for someone who just woke up… you’ve been staring at me for hours.” Brooklyn jokes as she stretches her arms out for a yawn. Her eyes meet the clock to see that it’s a little past 9. “Shit. I’m going to be late. I promised Callie I’d help her in the morning. Did you turn my alarm off?” Brooklyn almost jolted out of bed looking for her and should’ve been plugged in right next to her. “Harry, where’s my phone?”

Brooklyn looks up at him waiting for him to start shuffling around the bed to find the phone but he’s not moving a mischievous grin on his face as he quickly showed the phone that he had in his hand was actually hers.

“Harry… give me that back!” Brooklyn tried to wrestle the phone out of his grip. But Harry was quick, doding Brooklyn’s attempts with a playful smirk on his face.

As they tussled for control of the phone, laughter filled the room. It had been a long time since they had goofed around like this, just the two of them. But as the playfulness faded, Brooklyn and Harry found themselves in a surprisingly intimate position, their faces inches apart.

Suddenly realizing the closeness of their bodies, Brooklyn and Harry pulled away awkwardly, their cheeks flushing with embarrassment. Harry cleared his throat and quickly got out of bed, “Erm… I’ll go make some coffee?” Harry said trying to break the tension between them.

As Harry left the room, Brooklyn sat there, feeling confused and a little disoriented. She couldn't deny the strange fluttering sensation in her stomach at their close proximity, and she wondered if there was more to their friendship than either of them had ever realized. The conversation with Callie coming to the forefront of her mind.

But for now, Brooklyn pushed those thoughts aside, focusing instead on Harry's offer of coffee. As she heard the sound of the coffee machine whirring in the kitchen, Brooklyn couldn't help but smile, knowing that no matter what happened, she always had Harry by her side.

Harry was on his way to his first studio day since he got the news. There was a song that was nagging at him over the last couple of weeks that he couldn’t wait to flush out with the boys. He tapped his fingers along the steering wheel to the familiar tune that’s been haunting him for day, lyrics echoing in his head like a broken record. As he made his way to the studio, the melody grew louder, almost drowning out the sounds of the bustling city around him. It wasn't until he sat down at his keyboard, fingers poised to start composing, that he realized the source of the song. "Brooklyn saw me, empty avenues," he whispered to himself, the words finally making sense. It was as if a light had been switched on in his mind, illuminating the inspiration behind the melody that had been plaguing him all morning. Harry closed his eyes, letting the music flow through him, each note a reflection of the emotions swirling inside him. As he began to write, the words poured out effortlessly, each line a tribute to the girl who had unknowingly saved him over the last few weeks, Brooklyn, with her kind eyes and gentle smile, had been a beacon of hope in his darkest moments. It all came spilling out of him.

And as the song took shape, Harry knew that this was more than just a melody - it was a tribute to the power of love and connection, a reminder that even in the emptiest of avenues, there was always someone willing to light the way.

#tftyk #harry styles writing #harry styles fic #<3 finally !!!!

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