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whole lotta Kingdom Hearts-esque and Elden Ring-type stuff in this years anniversary story

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Ok this is just an idea, but who do you think would suit the trope s/he (reader) fell first, and s/he fell too late? it's just such an angsty idea i can't comprehend this gosh 😭😭

Oh, such drama! Such angst! But of course, I'll gladly deliver, Anon. Now, this actually made me think pretty hard, because let's be real- most of these people are probably very touch starved, because, you know, war. But I eventually came to the conclusion that it could be a few of our "less approachable/romanceable" leaders. So, our dearest Magoichi, Mitsunari... and honestly, I also decided to include Shingen (not saying he's unapproachable, we love our warlord dad). I chose him because he has great angst potential. So, happy reading! Well... not really happy, but hopefully enjoyable nonetheless.

💔 Too Little, Too Late - SB Imagines 💔

Ever since you met the one you fell so hard for, you felt nothing but affection. Sure, there were flaws, but you were willing to accept them, or try to help fix them if they could be fixed. You were loyal, devoted, and always willing to lend a hand. Hoping that maybe, just maybe, your efforts would be noticed and your love reciprocated. But it wasn't. Not until it was too late... but you aren't the one left to pick up the pieces.

💔 Magoichi 💔

Magoichi was always... fond of you. She didn't even realize it herself for the longest time- after all, relationships weren't exactly her forte. She had the Saika Faction to run, and even when she had time for herself between all those battles and price negotiations, she preferred to remain in solitude. Alone, as she was supposed to be. In her mind, at least.

She found you a bit strange, perhaps. Too good to be true. When she gave an order, you never hesitated and went for it. When she scolded you, you never complained and used it to become an even better soldier. Your skills with a rifle also weren't anything to scoff at. Really, you were a model member of the Faction. Always there, always willing to lend a hand. She appreciated it, as any superior would, though she rarely ever said anything out loud. Actions speak louder than words, after all. And she couldn't play favorites, nor allow herself to be anything but the strong leader everyone needs her to be. She had a legacy to carry.

But now, things are different. It all started innocently enough- she's been getting reports here and there that no one could find you. Of course, you always made sure to have all your tasks completed before sneaking out who knows where. And it happened only every once in a while, so there was no reason to worry. But slowly, it became more and more frequent, to the point where she just had to find out what was going on. Why would you sneak off like that? You were always more than content to spend your free time either alone or with the others- the Saika Faction was like family to you.

She feels your absence most of all, she realizes as she watches you leave from the encampment again, thinking that no one can see. It was like things got... grey, whenever you left. Dull, without that trademark friendly grin you gave her whenever she sent you out to do one thing or another. The way you'd pat your fellow warriors on the back and gave them uplifting words when they needed it. And the way your eyes softened when you talked to her- well, there weren't enough words to describe the feeling.

She hates this, hates this realization. That someone somehow bypassed the walls she built around her heart, and she didn't even notice. And she hates it even more at this moment, because the very reason she plans to follow you now is to check if you're not compromising the Faction somehow. Why else would you sneak off? The chances of you being a spy are small, of course... but never zero, and she owes the Faction at least this much.

Screw it all.

Magoichi makes sure to follow you at a good distance- your senses are not to be scoffed at, of course. You lead her across various paths, through a small forest, over a wooden bridge that's barely stable to walk on, and then... you get to a farm. A village is nearby, too. Everything around it has seen better days, but clearly, the place is still being tended to. There are crops, and Magoichi swears she hears some animals in the distance. But that's not what she focuses on, no.

She focuses on him. The kind looking farmer who looks to be only a bit older than you. You chat and laugh, with you giving him the same look you used to give her once upon a time. And he looks at you the same way. There is a certain... tenderness in the way you move, and the leader of the Saika Faction feels a strange ache in her chest.

You look happy.

And she has to turn away, feeling like a fool for the first time in a long while. Of course she missed all the signs, all the times you passed by her and "accidentally" brushed fingers with her, all the times you made a point to stay nearby after your tasks were finished. She never reciprocated... and so you eventually found someone who cares about you as much as you do about them.

It is a bittersweet feeling, this love. She looks at you one last time before heading back towards the hideout. It hurts badly, to finally let down her guard only to realize it was for nothing. But at the same time... it is strangely reassuring to know that despite her harsh exterior, someone still developed feelings for her, fleeting as they may have been. She knows they were true, this wasn't like that foolish vagabond that pestered her for affection. And she hopes that maybe, just maybe...

...there will be another who will disarm her with such ease. She will be ready this time.

💔 Mitsunari 💔

It's all so... stupid.

The war, the way he has to constantly fight to be respected, the fact that every single day he feels like he loses himself more and more... he hates it. He wants to scream, but how many times did he do that already? How many times did he lose his temper when someone even dared to think of going against him? And where has that gotten him? What was it all for?

Nothing.

If only he had a shoulder to cry on right now. Someone to tell him that all hope is not yet lost. He used to have that. But he took it for granted, and now it's gone. He would like to believe otherwise, of course, but as he stares back at your grave, he is reminded of the painful reality he's found himself in.

He knew these feelings before you died, of course. The deaths of Lord Hideyoshi and Lord Hanbe were more painful than a blade in his heart. The grief and thirst for revenge was what propelled him forward since then. And he'd keep going until he took Tokugawa's head, and everything would be right in the world. It was terrible, painful... but also simple. To him, at least.

But this... this is different. It started with rage, like before, but then it changed into something new. This pain, it's quiet. Instead of a raging tempest, it's a gentle breeze, bringing back the sweet smell of what he once held in his grasp. A soft requiem instead of a battlecry. And somehow, that makes his heart bleed more profusely than anything else before.

It was spring when he first met you, he remembers. He didn't really have time to appreciate the blooming flowers, though. His lord was already dead by that point, and it was all he could think of. And then you showed up, dragging him back to reality by force. You weren't like the others, walking on eggshells as to not upset him even further, no. You fearlessly locked eyes with him, introduced yourself and told him it was an honor to be serving in his army now. He was upset that someone interrupted his moment of quiet, of course, but something compelled him not to unsheathe his blade this time. He still remembers how he just grunted in annoyance and dismissed you without a word. Why even bother?

But you were hard at work, nonetheless. Fighting, doing as you're told, even showing an aptitude for strategy. With each battle won, you rose through the ranks, until he had to see you basically every single day. He would never admit it, but he found your presence refreshing. You were honest - too honest at times - and he never felt like you had some ulterior motive, unlike with a certain someone that acted as his right hand. Terribly stubborn, too; once he showed that he at least tolerates your presence, you refused to leave his side, taking it upon yourself to guard him.

No matter how much he ranted about how he wants to kill Ieyasu, no matter how unfriendly or harsh he was, no matter how much he was falling apart and being a terrible leader, you stuck by. Watching, listening. And more often than not, you had something to say, too. Usually something uplifting. Oh, how he hated you for not letting him wallow in misery back then. How you tried to get him to move on and fight for something else than revenge, that he had potential to even surpass those he missed so dearly. How dare you say such things?

And so he constantly dismissed you, belittled you for your naive hopes for a better tomorrow, for trusting in him so blindly. However, that was just his fear talking. The idea of having hope and it instantly getting shattered by this war, by his enemy, seemed much worse than the pain he was already feeling. He knew that pain, at least.

Mitsunari kept refusing to acknowledge you, despite the mounting feeling in his subconscious that he cared. And before he knew it... you sacrificed yourself. For a wounded brother in arms, despite being wounded yourself. You bought him time and lost all of your own by that deed. He wasn't even there to see it... he just saw your body getting carried into the castle and heard the story from the other soldiers.

Only when he picked up your bloodied blade that day did he realize how much he's really been holding back. He didn't just care, he... he loved. And it wasn't just about the comfort you provided, it was about... well, you. Your smile, the way you'd tap the hilt of your blade whenever you were thinking, the entertaining anecdotes you told him about the time you were still training as a warrior. Oh, and rain, you loved the rain. You'd stand in the middle of the courtyard during thunderstorms with the biggest smile on your face and come inside only after you looked like someone threw you into a lake, shaking with the cold. It makes you feel alive, you told him. Like you can finally breathe.

He kept that blade, using it instead of his own since then. The blade is a warrior's soul, after all. But it doesn't make it much better. He still feels that ache in his chest, even though it's been months. When Lord Hideyoshi died, he could feel angry, he had something to work towards. But there's no Ieyasu Tokugawa to blame this time. Only a battered blade of someone dear, a heart full of regrets and affections unsaid...

...and the flowers he could only place near your headstone now.

💔 Shingen 💔

Hindsight is 20/20, as they say. Not that the Lord of the Takeda clan would know such a phrase. But that doesn't stop him from feeling the crushing weight of its meaning. He's not used to such emotions anymore. When he loses someone, he's sad for a while, and then he moves on. As a leader, he can't afford to dwell on such things. He needs to move forward, lead his clan and help it thrive.

Except this time, he can't seem to shake it off.

And so here he is again, on the battlefield where it began and ended in what seemed like seconds. There's still a few places where grass hasn't really grown back yet after the ordeals of battle, but nature has mostly reclaimed it. There's a soft breeze blowing, and the sky is fairly clear. It's... peaceful. And yet, there's an ache in his heart that not even nature's beauty can cure.

As he sits down into the soft grass, he can't help but think back on the first time you two met. It was thanks to Yukimura, he remembers. You and his young mentee had become friends, and so it didn't take long for you to be dragged over to meet the Lord. Yukimura ranted and raved about how amazing of a fighter you are, while you just politely stood behind him. He remembers how respectful you were the entire time. And it didn't take too long for him to recognize your loyal, honorable ways, either. You were a great soldier.

But there were things he didn't notice fast enough. Like how your clear, formal tone started to soften whenever he discussed strategy with you. How the first thing you did when coming back from battle was to go see him and report personally, even if anyone else could have done it. And that one night when he couldn't sleep and found you in the courtyard, staring wistfully at the stars. You gave him such a kind smile that day, and invited him to join you. So he did. And it was a night that brought great comfort to his weary mind.

Why did he take it for granted?

Time went on, and the day of that fateful battle came. It seemed just like any other that the Takeda clan faced. Armed with both wits and weapons, the troops were ready. Yukimura was getting riled up, while Sasuke dropped his casual attitude and braced himself for the upcoming fight. And you stood proudly right at the front, ready to break through the enemy lines. However, no one expected how wrong it could get.

An ambush. They tore into the left flank, and the situation turned an organized battle into a chaotic bloodbath. There was confusion, screaming, and soldiers were dropping left and right. And as Lord Shingen tried to get a hold of the situation again, he didn't even notice the bow aimed at his back. But you did...

...and the arrow that should have hit him hit you instead.

He won't forget that terrible noise, followed by the thump of your body dropping on the ground. Seconds turned into eternity as he spun around and saw you, clutching the arrow in your chest. He didn't even notice how your fellow soldiers went after the bowman right after as he knelt down. The world seemed to go silent, interrupted only by the sound of you struggling to breathe. There were tears in your eyes and your hands trembled like they never did before. But it wasn't fear of death he saw in your eyes. It was regret.

And then you spoke. It was hard to understand... but he managed. You finally confessed. How much you admired him, and how his very presence made your days brighter. How you loved all his little quirks, and just... everything about him. How much it hurt that you were so close and yet so far. And then you just... apologized and begged him to forgive you for such dishonorable thoughts. But that if you were to die that day, you wanted to die with nothing left unsaid.

He remembers how your hands were still warm when he gently took them into his, realizing with horror that... he didn't want to let you go either. When did you become so important to him, and more importantly, why didn't he realize it sooner?! In his mind, he cursed whatever god made him so oblivious.

But on the outside, he simply shook his head.

"There is nothing to apologize for. I couldn't stop such a feeling even if I wanted to. But I don't. So please... keep it close, until we meet again. And then let me share it."

He still doesn't know how he spoke so calmly. Perhaps he hoped that those tears would stop running down your face, or that the wound in your chest would close with his comforting words. But all he got was a look of relief, before you took a last, shaky breath.

He looks up at the clouds lazily drifting above him, letting the memories flow. He hears birds chirping in the distance, and a white butterfly lands on the nearby flowers.

If only you could enjoy this scenery with him.

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Whew, finally finished it! Many apologies for the delay. I felt super burnt out because of schoolwork, and these imagines gave me a bit of trouble.

Originally, Motonari was supposed to be here too (so the stories would be two scenarios where the reader lives, and two where they due), but after I wrote almost a 1000 words, I decided I hate it and that I need to practice writing him more before I do any scenarios with him lol. Our cold-hearted tactician will get his spotlight later, don't worry!

I have two more requests lined up right now, so I'll get to work again tomorrow.

Thanks for reading, and as always...

...have a spectacular day!

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I don't want to go into the Monad Charity House because I've spent a year and a half developing a very strong mental image of it in my head through thinking about it and reading fic and IK it's gonna be totally different. 😭

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― patchwork love

"hullabaloo" x you hullabaloo is jealous of your relationship with his survivor counterpart

Hullabaloo dangles his legs off the banister, back turned to the hallway as he overlooks the foyer below. He’s been here long enough that he’s given names to the stains on the walls. Not many manor guests roam the halls this late—unless they’re up to something, like he is—but the tedium of staring at stains and counting where the ceiling paint chips off is boring him to tears. Even so, he has no intention of leaving.

You’ll be out soon. He just needs to wait a little longer, when you’re sure no one will run into you on your way back. You’ve locked yourself away inside the library with the acrobat again. It’s your nightly little game that Hullabaloo caught onto a long time ago. You’re always the first to emerge, bringing back a stack of books in case someone asks. Mike lingers for a few minutes more before he slinks back to his own room.

Hullabaloo couldn’t guess who you were trying to hide your relationship from. Mike is far from the private type, and you’re not so afraid of manor gossip that you’d guard it this closely. He’s almost positive that these clumsy theatrics must be meant for him. Unfortunately, Hullabaloo knows Mike better than anyone, and he was the first to see through it all.

When the sound of the library door clicks open, Hullabaloo listens to you gingerly pad down the hall. He pretends he doesn’t notice your soft footsteps until they freeze behind him. Call it a hunter’s intuition, but he swears he can hear your heart leap from your chest. He drapes his makeshift shawl tightly around his shoulders, jumps off the banister, and lands in front of you with his torso twisted upside down.

“You’re late,” he greets, frayed lips stretching into a lazy smile.

Any surprise that might’ve held your features hardens into a furrowing look. “Why are you here?”

As he straightens his posture, you swat him out of your face, not particularly eager to see him. He should know this by now. But it’s just like Mike to cling at your heels until you finally toss him the attention he wants. And you suppose giving one Mike your affections is bound to get the other a little jealous sometimes. Their similarities run deeper than the likeness they share, too deep to be a charade, as much as your Mike likes to insist that “Hullabaloo” is just a dishonest specter of the manor. Specters will say anything to gain your trust, he thinks. He might be right. But you can’t help it. The shadows of Mike you see in Hullabaloo feel just like home. You have to shut out his advances at the first sign of them, otherwise you’ll confuse which one holds your heart.

Hullabaloo’s lips pucker into a mopey pout. “Can’t I worry about you staying up all night?” He points to his eyes, which are stained with streaks of ash. “Your eyebags will end up looking like mine.”

“I’m sure you’d love it if we matched,” you say. He humphs at your dull comment, having expected something a little pluckier. Your evenings with Mike usually leave you meek and daisy-eyed. You’re supposed to seem lighter on your feet with that hopeless lilt in your voice, even if Hullabaloo was the last person you wanted to be seeing. It’s subtle today, but you’re a touch more bitter than what he’s used to. So when you decide the conversation is finished and you turn on your heel, Hullabaloo leaps up again, somersaulting over you to block your path.

“You’re glum today,” he observes. “Is it because of ‘him’?”

His remark sours your already bitter mood. A tired scoff escapes you. “Mind your business.”

“When has saying that ever worked on me?” He grins and reaches over to pinch your nose, spooking an undignified squeak out of you. “Also, you forgot something. Anything involving your Prince Charming is my business. My name is Mike too, remember?”

Somewhere in the back of your head, a voice bubbles up to remind you not to believe a word Hullabaloo says. He’s just a phantom conjured by the manor. You have no proof of it, but that’s what your Mike believes, and it’s the only explanation you can settle on considering the circumstances. Obviously there can only be one Mike Morton. The one in front of you is just messing with your head.

“Maybe, but you aren’t my Mike,” you insist.

“That’s right!” he chirps, happy to agree. He isn’t put off by your comment in the slightest. If anything, he nuzzles closer into you for a doting embrace. Messy blonde curls brush against your temple, and the springs in his limbs contract as they reel you into his hold.

“Are you even listening to me?” you huff, tugging at the coils of metal where his elbows would be. You’ve learned from experience that any attempt at prying him off you never goes anywhere. Whenever you think you’ve shaken yourself loose, those springs snap back with twice the grip. Hullabaloo lets out a cheeky hum.

“I am, I promise! Your Mike gets on my nerves anyway.”

“I feel that way about you.”

“Why? We’re practically the same person!”

Now you’re going in circles. Hullabaloo’s distaste for the acrobat is something he’s never been very subtle about. You don’t care to ask how he can feel so bitterly towards someone he views as “practically” himself—maybe it’s because he understand him so well—but he’s right that their resemblance does tend to blur them together.

You see it in moments like these, when Hullabaloo clings to you tight and you can count the scattering of freckles that dot his cheeks. Each one mirrors the face of the acrobat you know. He even has that same dimple when he smiles. Although it’s not as visible under the stretches of his torn lips, you know every little divot that makes up Mike’s features.

His hands are warm, too. Compared to Mike, his fingers are long and spindly, and his skin is fractured like the cracks in a mirror, but the tenderness remains unchanged. Those touches of his leave an odd sensation roiling around the pit of your stomach. His hold feels different but so vaguely familiar.

Sometimes, your heart starts to waver. You nearly catch yourself thinking that even if you are just being tricked by a ghost, it wouldn’t be the worst thing.

“Wanna know how I can tell we're different?” Hullabaloo asks, unhooking himself from you. He rests his palms against your shoulders with a triumphant smile. “There's one reason!”

You suppose you have to take the bait. “What is it?”

Those lanky arms reach up to your face, dabbing a thumb to your cheek. His smile changes slightly, into something more rueful and bittersweet. “I'm not the one who makes you cry.”

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Carlo x Reader, but it's set in 1960s Bronx, NY-

-and y'all just got into an argument

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Fredrick x Fem Reader Smut

A/N: I think you can tell my first time writing character x Reader smut... I hope this is alright 😰 I'm so sorry I've been putting off on writing 💔 I'm currently getting ready for finals and my project mates are low key pmo-ing… Anyways, enjoy!! I'll try to get out more soon 😝 Smut down below! Scroll if not comfortable ෆ -Strawberry

Through the narrowed blinds, the moonlight from outside shone through. The cool air outside, a stark contrast to the heat within the home. On the bed, you and Fredrick’s limbs are tangled in the sheets. Soft sounds escaping your lips and the sound of skin slapping against each other fill the room as Fredrick is above you, nipping at your collar bone. Each touch was like feathers all over your skin, making you squirm around as you grip the sheets below you. Your head, turned to the side, with your eyes squeezed shut with tears coming down your face. Not ones of pain but instead pleasure.

“Fredrick…” your voice comes out hoarse from the constant pleasure making you moan out. Without a word, Fredrick just captures your lips with his own. Lightly pushing back into you as you go and wrap your arms around his shoulders. As he's above you, he begins to praise and give affirmations about you, his voice low as he speaks.

“So good…absolutely perfect for me. You yourself are like a music piece perfectly composed and playing beautifully…” he mumbled as he moved his hands from your chest to your waist. Fredrick’s hands, soft but slightly callused from playing the piano for so long, give your waist a light but firm squeeze as he thrusts back into you. You let out a loud whine which Fredrick captures your lips again. His movements become slightly faster as he parts his lips from yours. The heat between the two of you grows warmer as both of your breaths come out short and heavy as your activities continue.

“Beautiful, absolutely enchanting…you wrap around me so beautifully. Each time I thrust here,” he dick thrust up in a motion that made you cry out and grab onto whatever you can to ground yourself, the pleasure becoming blinding, “you always tighten up. If any other man were to see you like this, I’ll kill them,” it was meant to scare you a bit but instead you feel like your heart is soaring. Your nails dig into the composer’s back as your legs wrap around the other’s waist. Frederick uses his right hand and reaches down to rub the sensitive nub of nerves, lightly scratching and pinching.

After a few moments, your body tightens up as you release with pleasure. Frederick watches your expressions as you are cooking down from your high. He had stopped a bit ago but had started to thrust back into you, slowly before picking up the pace. You cry out as it begins to feel painful but so good. Your nerves are still sensitive from your high, making you tighten each time Fredrick were to thrust into you.

“I’m so close…” he whispers, latching onto your collar and leaving small bite marks and hickeys before giving one last hard thrust into you. You cry out and tighten your hold onto the other, holding Fredrick closer to your own body as you feel his cum pouring into you. You both are panting and coming down from your high. Sweat dripping down your forehead and your body’s sticky from the aftermath. Your eyes are closed as you breathe heavily from your chest.

After a few moments of silence, you feel a kiss on your cheek before one soft one on your lips. You open your eyes a little to be met with a beautiful sight. Frederick smiles as he caresses the side of your face and kisses you again one last time as he slowly pulls out of you. You whine softly as you now feel the early weight inside you being met with emptiness.

“I’ll get you cleaned up, love, just wait here,” he whispers in your ear as he gets up and walks to the bathroom. You look at his back as he disappears into the bathroom. A tired smile across your face as you rest your head on one of the pillows on the bed, letting your eyes flutter shut as you wait for Fredrick to come back.

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How will this affect the trout(brainplayer) population?!

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Dodora truly is the envoy of sweetness.

Memory!Dodora was told that she died, yet the first thing she asked after learning that was if the player was okay 😭

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Rage, Grief & Other Quiet Explosions

(Emotional meltdowns that don’t look like meltdowns, but absolutely are)

 The “Smiling Too Much” Grief Your character’s entire world is on fire, and they’re asking if anyone wants more wine. That’s not denial, it’s an effort to hold the damn pieces together. Smile like a glue gun. Watch them crack.

The “Not Crying At the Funeral” Breakdown They don't shed a tear. They organize everything. Perfect speech. Perfect outfit. But a week later, they scream into the laundry basket over a missing sock. That’s the moment. That’s the eulogy.

 The “Silent Dinner Table” Fight No yelling. No slamming doors. Just chewing. Clinking silverware. The kind of silence that tastes like metal. Let the reader feel the air shrink.

 The “Polite but Dead Inside” Apology They say “Sorry” because it’s expected, not because they’re ready. Their voice doesn’t crack. Their eyes don’t meet yours. This isn’t healing. This is a peace treaty with no peace.

The “I Don’t Want to Talk About It” Detour The one where they ask about your day mid-sob. Redirect. Deflect. “Let’s not talk about me.” That’s rage choked by shame. Write it like it’s shoving itself into a smaller box.

 The “Obsessively Productive” Meltdown New projects. New hobbies. Suddenly they’re running marathons, baking sourdough, fixing the garage door. Because if they sit still for one second, they’ll break. Keep the camera on them when they finally sit.

The “Unsent Letters” Grief They write it all down. Every damn emotion. Then burn it. Or delete it. Or hide it in a shoebox under their bed. It’s not for closure. It’s to let the ghosts know they were seen.

The “I’m Fine” That Echoes Delivered too fast. Too sharp. You could bounce a quarter off it. “I’m fine” isn’t fine. It’s the dam cracking. Listen to the echo. Let another character hear the hollowness.

The “Hyper-Logical Rant” Rage They argue with spreadsheets. With perfect bullet points. Cold rage—like ice, not fire. “I’m not mad, I’m just saying…” But that’s a lie. They’re volcanic under that clipboard.

 The “Laughing in the Middle of the Breakdown” Moment That bitter, hysterical laugh. The kind that sounds more like sobbing with teeth. Let it come at the worst time. Let it shock even them. That’s emotion refusing to stay boxed in.

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we need more qinyi x y/n

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Bits about the Player in Sins Lighter Than A Feather and a callback to Leonid's words

-> referred to as an extraordinary soul alongside Nikki, bound to Nikki by a connection that transcends all existence

-> unlike Nikki, Player is exclusively called "a soul beyond the reach of judgement--unaffected by fate," and "otherworldly soul, equal to the gods"

^^^^which explains why Issor couldn't properly see our soul + judge us, and why we are the perfect person to serve as a neutral party to bargain for the future of North Kingdom -although Nikki isn't from Miraland either, the Player seems to have an extra layer of mystique (which might just be a wink to the real world/a slight fourth wall break 🤔)

I can't remember where this last screenshot (below) came from, but I do know it is from extremely early on in the game and is quite clearly Leonid speaking to the Player.

All the talk of fate in Sins Lighter Than A Feather reminded me of this early game line, and it is beautifully consistent! Nikki, successor of Leonid, challenging the grim fate of Miraland, chose us, the Player, to challenge her fate--a fact true since the very beginning.

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Sins Lighter Than A Feather is short but the lore in it is so good!

I love that it showed some of the other versions of Nikki, but specifically I love that the Nikki that was letting her gun pop made a cameo

Y'all remember her? Here's some of my old screenshots involving the darker power-hungry Nikki

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For some reason, last night I dreamt I was in the middle of a Romeo and Carlo sandwich

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So I've been planning a nightwatch x reader for a while now; I have the whole thing mapped out, and have been making tweaks and refining certain points...but I think I'm gonna put it on pause until after the new survivor Brynhildr releases.

Depending on what more we learn about her, if my one speculation turns out correct, she can strengthen a weak point in the story and it will end up longer than it originally was. And even if my speculation isn't true, I believe her existence will still enhance the fic tremendously

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Hello! May I please request Richard sterling x childhood friend reader!!

Absolutely my love<3 if I’m being honest I feel like I write for Richard better than anyone else, but you all can be the judge of that! This was from November and I’m so sorry I only got to it now.

-Angst-

"The place where it started and ended."

Contains; fluff; angst; bad ending; reader doesn’t make it; Canon Richard;

Richard met you by the creek as a young boy, from then on you have been best friends. Friends share secrets, but some aren’t always meant to be told. Now he must tie up some loose ends.

Richard loved playing by the lake before he was brought into the family.

That’s how he met you, after seeing how lonely you were sitting by the waters edge skipping rocks.

After that fateful day, you’ve been attached to each other.

Even after he was taken in by that rich family. He would still make time for you.

Sparring, walking, talking, anything you wanted.

That lake would be the meeting spot for a lot of late night rendezvous.

Whispers and silent laughter would be forever embedded into the water.

But after a few drinks and a slip of the tongue, Richard had told you his terrible plans.

When he realized it was too late, he now had to do what he feared.

“___! Get back here. NOW.” He yelled after you, chasing you across the moist grass.

Your heart was pounding in your ears, trying to get away as fast as possible.

You never believed he would hurt anyone, he was always so gentle. Or maybe you’ve been a fool.

The truth hit hard, and it started to make sense.

How his step-sister would often get injured, or worse deathly ill. How his step-family would sometimes not be heard of for a few days.

The cruel things people would do for money. How far he’d go just to make sure he achieved his goal was despicable.

He was going to kill you.

With no remorse.

And it broke your heart.

You loved him, and it was even more of a slap in the face because all the things you’ve gone through was just dumped down the drain.

The years you’ve wasted. The time you spent. If only you could have seen what a manipulative, heartless, man he was behind that beautiful facade.

The thin snow crunching under your feet as the wet grass made a splat sound under you was loud. But not enough to draw attention.

Richard grunted and ran faster, lunging at you and tackling you to the ground.

A hand over your throat, and another digging into the ground next to your head.

“It didn’t have to be this way. We could’ve worked together, but knowing you, you’d blab to the police.” He huffed out, breathing heavily.

“I could just tell them that you’re insane, that you’ve lost it. Though, there is the off chance that they’ll believe you, so I’m not going to risk it. This ends here.”

Your fingernails dig into his wrist, pleading with him, while your vision blurs from the growing tears. “Richard please, what about us? Do I mean so little to you? Has greed clouded your judgment to the point of blindness? Where is your rationality?”

He grips a little tighter, “Before I was a replacement I was a poor little boy with nothing to my name. Now I have an opportunity, a big one. And I will not let it pass me. Even if I have to make sacrifices, even if I have to do the worst thing imaginable. Just know, this hurts me more than it will hurt you.”

Your eyes widen as you realize what he’s about to do, legs kicking and hands tearing at his clothes while you scream for mercy.

Yet instead he takes a deep breath and the care in his eyes is gone. He looks at you like another bug and lifts your neck up only to slam it back onto the ground repeatedly. Letting the sickening crunch of your skull being smashed into the snowy surface fall on deaf ears.

He didn’t stop until he recognized the familiar feeling of blood splattering onto his face.

Blinking a bit until he regained his senses.

“I’m sorry, my love. But it had to be done. In our next life, I will find you. And I will fix this.” He mumbles while dragging your lifeless corpse to the lakes edge and dumping you and the evidence in. Leaving only a small blood trail that will melt away in the morning.

This was definitely a bit dark, but I feel like it’s fitting. Nothing with Richard is nice, at least not on the surface. There’s always an underlying darkness to the things he does. Which makes it hard to tell if he’s being genuine.

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I started thinking about Lies of P again yesterday oh God someone help me oh God

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i love reader. idc if she’s a bimbo or a crybaby or a little unhinged. good for her tbh. i love her in all shapes and forms. she is barbie. she is a doctor and a student and a barista and she can take five dicks at the same time. what a beautiful world we live in.