#goblin headcanons

[lunarifie]

HC post about Goblin Imprinting:

Goblin’s also Imprint.

But not in the way werewolves imprint, or the way baby ducklings might imprint on their mothers.

Due to werewolf imprinting being more common terminology. Goblin’s don’t really use the term around other species (to avoid confusion).

But Imprinting in Goblin culture is when a Goblin feels an incredibly strong pull to protect the person they’ve imprinted on. To the point that they disregard all matters, including themselves, to ensure that that person is safe. They might become frantic or feral when that person is in danger, and if the imprintation is strong enough, they can get an unsettling and jarring feeling that something is wrong if their imprintee is in danger and not in their line of sight. Goblin’s have talked about feeling a spike of instinctual protectiveness even if their imprintee is simply being talked to casually or regarded passive aggressively (similar to the feeling of someone you absolutely hate opening their mouth to speak). Goblin’s will be known to extract their claws and bare their canines subconsciously in instances such as these. To other Goblin’s, this reaction is commonplace, and in response they’ll often give a sign that signifies ‘I’m no harm to your imprintee, promise’. But with other species, this reaction is seen as aggressive and hostile, which encourages some of the stigma against Goblins.

This imprintation can be familial, platonic, or romantic. And Goblin’s will often imprint on more than one person. Most parents imprint on their first child, sometimes couples imprint on each other, it’s very commonplace for a Goblin to imprint on their adventuring party.

Children sometimes imprint on their parents if they believe their parent is in need of protection. Goblin children have the highest cases of interferring in abusive parental disputes to protect the parent theyve imprinted on. Similarly, child physical abuse cases are incredibly rare in Goblin culture due to how common and primal the instinct are for the parents to imprint on their child.

Goblin’s can sometimes be seen as clingy in this aspect, a few extremely strong cases of imprintation have the Goblin insisting to stay by their Imprintee’s side 24/7. This heightened version of imprintation is often caused by a certain trauma the Goblin has endured, or their imprintee being prone to getting in physical danger.

Imprinting can fade over time, but cannot be abruptly broken. Parents will feel less of that protective pull when their child matures to a reasonable age and leave home. But if an imprinted relationship (familial, platonic, or romantic) were to take time apart or break up abruptly, the first few weeks and month will be filled with constant worrying and anxiety about the others safety. OCD type symptoms may arise, and persistent extraction of claws, bared teeth, and what other species call ‘aggressive behavior’ will often be seen. If symptom’s persist, Goblin’s will often see a doctor or therapist to work through their imprintation.

Goblin Imprinting isn’t often discussed among other species or frequently discussed among Goblins. It’s seen as a regular part of life, something that doesn’t necessitate ‘the talk’ unless it relates to a romantic partner. Younger Goblin’s are simply taught the difference between their imprinting versus other races imprinting, and that it’s rude to tell your imprintee that you’ve imprinted on them, as it can be perceived as some sort of pressure or domination (specifically regarding other races).

Goblin’s can imprint at any age once they’ve recognized that they have the ability to protect. Imprinting is not necessarily a measure of how much they love or care for that person. Imprinting is simply an instinctual reaction that can be formed from perceiving a persons weakened mental state, their proneness to harm and danger, naivety, or their personality; all of which can trigger a Goblin’s protectiveness and imprintation.

All that being said, a Goblin can also never imprint. They perhaps are too focused on their own safety, or have no individuals in their lives who trigger that protectiveness.

[meteors-lotr]

A group of Hobbits is called a herd

A group of Dwarves is called a pod

A group of Elves is called a dance

A group of Men is called a flock

A group of Orcs is called a nest

A group of Goblins is called a brood

A group of Wizards is called a problem

[choccy-milky]

seb about to learn every language there is 📚📚

[runraerun]

Eddie when Steve tries to get out of the van:

[crowliphale]

Some 'pinions

[confused-wanderer]

Hear me out: Bruce immediately thinks Damian is Dick’s when Talia drops him off.

All of Bruce’s son’s, adopted though they may be, bear a strong resemblance to Bruce. Something that Dick also exhibits. Bruce’s playboy charm, his flirtatious flings: Also something Dick embodies. Dick who turns up the charm and really leans into the persona when he wants to piss Bruce off. Even if it includes disregard for the protocols and rules Bruce has in place to ward off anything that could be traced to their vigilante identities.

You can’t tell me he doesn’t take one look at Damian and realise that perhaps this was the product of his last major argument with Dick a a while ago. His physical features might have differed a bit from Dick himself, however Dick’s family was Roma, so Bruce doesn’t think much of it . Damian held the same murderous instincts, the same acrobatic ease, and tiny figure reminiscent of Dick’s childhood days. When Talia tells Bruce Damian’s his son, Bruce takes one look at this murder hungry gremlin and connects the dots : .. he’s my son’s son?

- over text -

Bruce: Dick. We have talked about this. Safety always comes first. Please come to the Manor by tonight. Alfred and I will be waiting.

Dick: ?

*many many hours after not receiving a reply and one deduction later*

Dick: So he’s yours.

Bruce: ?

Dick: We’ve talked about this B. Safety always comes first. Please come to the Manor by tonight. Alfred and I will be waiting.

[deunmiu-dessie]

ⅸ▬ ⁽ 𝑔𝑜𝒷𝓁𝒾𝓃𝓈 ⁾

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 ♡︎ : ₂˖₇ₖ ˚₊·—̳͟͞͞♡

𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈 ♡︎ : unedited, short, gangbang (??), NSFW,  explicit content, teratophilia, goblin/human, unprotected sex, creampie, overstimulation, dubcon, rape/noncon elements, sloppy writing, rushed.

૮ ˙Ⱉ˙ ა ʳᵃʷʳ ⁿᵒᵗᵉˢ : this is literally the shortest one-shot in the entire monster fucker series of mine, and that's because it's rushed. i didn't feel like adding plot at all either. but hey, if it got my coochie wet, it should get your coochie wet. ( feeding ya'll so you guys don't starve waiting on the dragon one-shot )

𝓈𝓊𝓂𝓂𝒶𝓇𝓎 ♡︎: after the death of your brother, it's now your sole duty to provide for you and your mom--- but the woods can be a very scary place.

꒰male!goblins₊⊹ afab!reader꒱

"𝑀other! I'm leaving! "

Silence draped itself over the house, as if time itself had come to a halt. Your mother's voice remained absent, and the absence of anyone bidding you farewell left you with a heavy heart. A gentle sigh escaped your lips and with a tender touch, you closed the weathered wooden door, shouldering the weight of the knapsack upon your back. As your eyes met the foreboding darkness that veiled the forest, a disconcerting feeling settled within the depths of your chest.

In the absence of your brother, who had always been the pillar of support for both of you, you found yourself embracing the role of a caretaker. Your mother, overwhelmed with grief, was unable to fulfill the basic necessities of sustenance and safety. She remained motionless on the bed, her tears flowing ceaselessly, as the days and nights blended together. It was now your turn to rise above the despair and take charge, to bring solace and stability.

With a firm grip on the handle of your short dagger, you fortified your nerves and ventured into the gloomy forest, your knife clenched tightly in a state of restless eagerness. Although the weight of your backpack was as light as a feather, it bore down upon you like an immense burden. Swiftly pivoting, you remained on high alert, ensuring your guard was steadfastly upheld.

Into the heart of the sprawling forest you ventured, your footsteps dancing upon the moss-covered ground, carrying you further away from the gentle glow that had guided your way. The once comforting sense of security dissipated like morning mist, leaving you engulfed in an eerie darkness. The comforting sense of security that had embraced you earlier now vanished into thin air. 

  The path you had treaded upon vanished, leaving no trace of retreat, yet your determination remained unwavering. You pressed on, driven by the desire to reach the berries nestled amidst the dense foliage, and then eventually find your way back home.

As you ventured deeper into the woods, your brother's words echoed in your mind like a haunting melody. He warned you about the goblins, elusive creatures that supposedly roamed the shadows, waiting for unsuspecting intruders to cross into their domain. Despite the ominous tales, he assured you that they were harmless. The image of a goblin, with its peculiar shade of green and diminutive stature, danced in your imagination. How strange it was to think that such creatures existed in the same world as you, yet remained hidden from your sight.

Ever watchful, your gaze remained fixated upon the intricate engravings adorning the tree trunks. A circular insignia defiantly marked with a decisive strike, served as your guiding beacon. Hopeful, you pressed on, faithfully tracing the trail laid before you. 

As the gentle breeze whispered through the foliage, a symphony of rustling leaves enveloped the air. Time seemed to slow down as you cautiously pivoted toward the bush, your trembling hands betraying your anxious state. A surge of adrenaline coursed through your veins, igniting your nerves like a blazing inferno. 

 Suddenly, a deep growl pierced the tranquility, resonating through the very core of your being. Despite the weapon clutched tightly in your grasp, an inexplicable terror seized your heart, threatening to consume your every thought. In an instant, instinct took over, propelling you to turn swiftly and flee, your nimble form weaving through the dense forest, effortlessly evading the entangling vines and treacherous rocks that dared to impede your escape.

You're unsure of how long you've been running but the searing pain in your lungs prompted you to slow your pace, seeking refuge by leaning against a sturdy tree. Your hand brushed against a peculiar marking, distinct from the familiar circle with a slash. You look up quickly, this time, an imposing 'X' catches your eye, accompanied by a haunting message etched jaggedly below: 'go back'. A shiver runs down your spine as the unsettling awareness of being observed, hunted even, envelopes you.

In a moment of desperation, you tightly shut your eyes, as if trying to shield yourself from the malevolent forces that surrounded you and pray. Whispers of wicked laughter dance through the air, reverberating within the depths of the expansive forest. With a quick swivel, you scan your surroundings, hoping to catch a glimpse of any flicker of life amidst the shadows.

   Suddenly, a jolt of pain shot through your body, causing you to gasp. Your eyes widened as you felt a sharp object pierce your ankle, momentarily stealing your breath away. In a reflexive response, you released your grip on the dagger, allowing it to fall to the forest floor. Bending down, you gingerly extracted the needle-like object.

 Yet, as if a veil of mist had descended upon your eyes, your once clear vision became hazy and indistinct. With a determined shake of your head, you attempted to dispel the fog that had insidiously infiltrated your thoughts. Grasping the dagger once more, you struggled to regain your balance, stumbling clumsily as you rose to your full stature.

Alas, the forest floor seemed to twist and twirl in a dizzying dance before your eyes, causing you to succumb to its disorienting spell. In a sudden and unexpected motion, you found yourself sprawled on the ground, the knife slipping from your grasp and soaring away from your reach.

As the atmosphere grew thick with sinister chuckles, it became evident that you had unwittingly stumbled into the realm of the mischievous Goblins. Overwhelmed by frustration, tears of despair trickled down your cheeks, while your determination urged you to inch closer to the gleaming blade.

Suddenly, a force seized your trembling leg, causing you to cry out in fear. Frantically, you thrashed about, employing erratic kicks in a desperate bid to dislodge the mysterious grip.

 It seemed that whatever the Goblins had put on that needle was finally kicking in. Gradually, your valiant resistance waned, your feeble attempts to resist their hold proving futile. A haunting laughter reverberated near your ear, causing you to cautiously shift your gaze towards the sound, tears streaming down your face as you found yourself ensnared by the gaze of large black eyes.

Abruptly, the creature's mouth parted, emitting a series of chitters that harmonized with the surrounding Goblins, creating an otherworldly symphony of communication. You plead with them, your tears cascading down your face and finding solace in the crevices of your hairline. The Goblin closest to you inches forward, its head tilting inquisitively, while its its gaze fixated on the shimmering trails of tears.

The soft murmur of their conversation is the sole sound that penetrates the deafening thump of your heartbeat. You have no clue what they're saying but the delicate caress of a hand on your cheek offers solace as it brushes away the tears that stream down your face.

In total, it appears that there are four figures surrounding you, two positioned near your feet and one on either side. Despite the fact that they are armed, they exhibit a sense of nonchalance, keeping their weapons idle by their sides.

As you begin to relax a bit, a glimmer of hope flickers within you, and you that they perceive you as harmless and decide to leave you here. A gentle warmth caresses your cheek, prompting you to slowly turn towards its source, only to recoil in fear at the looming presence of the monstrous being.

Its mouth, without warning, descends upon yours, planting a sloppy kiss that catches you off guard. Your eyes widen in shock, and you instinctively attempt to pull away, tears welling up in your eyes.

As if in a surreal reverie, a slimy appendage gently prods against your quivering lips, the creature displaying an unsettling indifference toward your futile resistance. Abruptly, a hand gropes your breast, its jagged nails tearing through the delicate fabric.

A gasp escapes your lips, mingling with the invasive kiss, and the intruder's long and thick tongue slides down your throat effortlessly. Paradoxically, this unwelcome intrusion only serves to ignite a fierce determination within you, intensifying your struggle against its grip.

  Like a peculiar elixir, the mingling of the goblins' sweet saliva and your own descends upon your flushed cheeks. In that fleeting moment, you relinquish your futile attempts to escape their clutches. Your limbs refuse to obey your commands, and you find yourself overwhelmed by their sheer numbers. After all, if their intention was to end your life, they could easily do so, just like they had done to your brother.

 Amidst the haze that clouds your sight, you find solace in the notion that this situation could have been far more dreadful. This kiss, though not your first, stands out among the many others you've experienced from the boys in the village who seem to always disregard your lack of consent. Hell, it might be the drug affecting your thoughts, or perhaps it's the overwhelmingly sweet taste of its saliva, but you don't particularly object to your current state.

 Your eyes pop open at the sound of your bindings being ripped, exposing your breasts to the crisp breeze. Your nipples perk up and harden, as if beckoning one of the mischievous creatures to come and taste. Your thighs clench, clit pulsing as a hot mouth descends around your areola, suckling strongly, teeth delicately grazing your tender skin.

A wave of pleasure crashes over you, your moans escape into the Goblin's mouth. Your eyes remain shut, lost in a world where only the sensations matter. The impish creature, with clumsy hands, explores your other breast, teasing and coaxing your nipple. 

  You realize briefly how aroused you are, how slippery your cunt is ( so much so that it’s almost uncomfortable) and your cheeks flush in embarrassment. It's a secret that you'll hold dear forever, how these monstrous beings awaken a desire within you that far surpasses anything that men from your village could ever offer.

Riiiip

You quickly break away from the kiss, gasping for air, only to find yourself staring at the two Goblins by your feet. Your pants are torn, the hasty stitching coming undone effortlessly. Your knickers, worn and slightly tattered, had not been replaced in some time, but you always made sure to keep them thoroughly clean. 

  Your head is turned back, and before you can react, those lips are on yours once more. Your heart races as you feel your knickers being tugged down your thighs, your legs pushed up, exposing your dripping cunt.

Your pussy quivers as a rough tongue swipes across the expanse of your slit. It has you grinding wantonly against its eager mouth shamefully. The Goblin seems to like the way you taste because it grabs your thighs and heaves them over its small shoulders, burying its face deeper into your cunt, lapping excessively and for a moment you're seeing stars.

You arch your back, offering yourself up to its insistent mouth, lost in a haze of bliss. It devours you with a fervor that leaves you breathless, each lick sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. At that moment, nothing else exists but the overwhelming sensation of being consumed by pure, unadulterated lust.

Your eyes flutter closed, and the relentless flick of its coarse tongue against your throbbing clit makes you pulse needly. The kiss stops momentarily and you take that time to breathe deeply, chest heaving as the other Goblins take their time suckling on your breast and eating you out. 

A wet sensation brushes against your lips, prompting you to extend your tongue and savor the warm, bittersweet taste. With a soft moan escaping your lips, you gaze upwards, feeling your cheeks flush at the sight of the Goblin's cock hovering above your mouth.

The girth is thick but it's not long, a good 4 inches at best. Slowly, it guides itself into your hot mouth, and you savor the intoxicating sweetness of its precum on your eager tastebuds. You obediently bob your head, your cheeks growing even hotter as the Goblin's hands entwine in your hair, dictating the rhythm at its own whims.

  A surge of electricity courses through your hips as your clit is slurped on harshly, your eagerness taking over as you gyrate your hips with increasing fervor against the skilled tongue, craving more of its enthralling touch. The sudden, forceful thrust of the other Goblin’s cock down your throat elicits a mixture of sensations, from a deep gag to an overwhelming sense of pleasure and your legs tremble uncontrollably, wrapping around the Goblin's head, as you cum with a soft, high-pitched moan.

With a hint of jealousy, the other one shoves the Goblin away and eagerly plunges his tongue into your throbbing core, chittering at the taste of you. You find yourself utterly vulnerable, incapable of reaching down to push his head away, cunt sensitive and pulsing.

  You suddenly heave as its cock hits the back of your throat, bittersweet thick, sticky cum shooting into your mouth. You gulp it down, the viscosity coating your tongue as you eagerly suck on the bulbous tip to get every last drop of it. The Goblin lets out a guttural moan before pulling away, collapsing onto the lush greenery.

 A gentle breeze caresses your sensitive nipples as the other mischievous Goblin frees them from its warm mouth, straddling your stomach and pressing your breasts together, sliding its cock in between the valley and thrusting. Your lips part, eagerly enveloping the swollen tip as it reaches your mouth.

The Goblin that had decided to eat you out first had maneuvered itself to your head. With a perverted gaze, it pleasures itself, mesmerized by the sight of its tribe member's pulsating cock disappearing into the velvety embrace of your breasts and then past your fleshy lips.

 You let out a squeal of surprise as a painful thickness pushes into you, tears immediately wetting your cheeks at the discomfort. You attempt to move your hips back, trying to get away from the intruding cock. The goblin grabbed the fat of your hips, anchoring itself. Its clumsy fingers dance over your clit, soothing the ache with each teasing stroke. Pushing in until its small balls rest against your plump ass.

  And as soon as it noticed your body relaxing, it began to thrust, its head thrown back in wicked laughter, before glancing downwards, captivated by the sight of its green cock disappearing inside you, marveling at how tight your pussy was gripping him. Oblivious to its actions, the Goblin intensified its circular caresses on your clit, overstimulating your bundle of nerves. You cried out, cunt spasming and quivering around its cock, you came once more– leaving a pearlescent ring of cream around the base of him.

The mischievous creature nestled between your breasts finally cums, tiny hips faltering as its seed trickles down your chin and breasts. Succumbing to temptation, you welcome the tip into your mouth, savoring every last drop of. Its taste was nothing short of addictive.

A thick warmth fills your cunt, coating your gummy walls in a sticky fluid. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, you feel so full and sated. The weight of the two Goblins pressed against your skin, sends a shiver down your spine. Darkness creeps in, but you welcome it, too lost in the moment to care, and whatever they gave you hadn't worn off yet.

The moment your eyes fluttered open, a blanket of darkness surrounded you, the gentle chirping of crickets filling your ears and the icy touch of the night air jolting you awake. Sitting upright, you realized you were situated at the forest's edge, your cozy dwelling just a short distance away. 

Gradually adjusting to the lack of light, you discovered an array of food spread out before you, your hunger pangs intensifying as your stomach rumbled. Without hesitation, you indulged in the succulent berries, pondering whether it was all a mere dream. However, the lingering sensation of the cold breeze caressing your exposed nipples and the stickiness clinging to your thighs contradicted that notion. 

Gathering as much food as you could carry, you stood up and made a swift exit, calling out for your mother. You looked behind you, the feeling of being watched overwhelming. Tomorrow, you vowed to return and express your gratitude to those unseen eyes.

[dancingbirdie]

Some goblin Astarion things.

He pinches you when you toss and turn too much in your shared bed. “Wake up and stop flailing! Gods. I’ll have bruises from your pointy elbows in the morning.”

He sews “kick me” on the butt of Gale’s trousers in dark, dark gray after the Wizard pisses him off. Karlach sees it with her dark vision when they’re in the Underdark and promptly knees him in the ass.

He steals all of Halsin’s wooden ducks and plants them in Wyll’s tent, for shits and giggles.

He tries to line a tripwire across the front of Lae’zel’s tent entrance, but ends up pricking himself on a blow dart booby trap he failed to perceive. Incurs -3 hit points and the bleeding condition for 10 turns.

He nips your neck like a disgruntled cockatoo when you tease him in front of the other party members.

He puts swamp green clothing dye in Shadowheart’s bottle of hair dye when she’s not looking, causing her to endure some sickly green highlights for a fortnight.

He steals Wither’s staff while he’s speaking with Jaheria and hides it among Lae’zel’s armory. Gets hauled over by the ear by Jaheira to apologize to Withers. And Lae’zel.

He hides in the bushes near camp and makes god-awful wailing noises to keep Scratch and the owlbear cub barking while the party is trying to get some sleep.

He fabricates some ridiculous story about how the Weave is really a hoax designed by Big Magic to control the masses, just to see Gale go purple in the face while arguing against this “utter tripe.”

He loudly proclaims that he overheard Shadowheart telling Wyll she could beat Lae’zel in unarmed combat with a hand tied behind her back, then scampers away cackling when the two lady warriors start yelling at one another.

[wishwingalpha]

Law husbands relationship in a nutshell. (Click for better resolution) I’m counting this as my yearly pride piece just Incase I don’t do anything else this month. I’ve never posted Fwhimmy on this account, but it’s literally my favorite ship ever.

I have so many silly head canons for these guys omg, I can’t believe I haven’t drawn them in like a year. Pls send good law husband fic suggestions, I would KILL for some.

[urdreamydoodles]

MARVEL COMICS VILLAINS x FEM!READER

You are in a toxic relationship with the Marvel Comics Villains

Characters: Dr. Doom, Bullseye, Taskmaster, Venom, Carnage, Loki, Green Goblin, Kraven, Dr. Octopus, Shocker, The Lizard, Crossbones, Zemo & Muse

DOCTOR DOOM (VICTOR VON DOOM)

- Doom does not love lightly. He does not love kindly. But he loves. His iron will bends for no one, yet for you, it has shifted—an anomaly he cannot ignore, a flaw he will not permit. You belong to him; a sovereign claim written in the air between you, in the way his gloved hand tightens around your wrist, never enough to bruise, but enough to remind. When you question him, his voice is measured, calm, edged with the warning of a storm waiting to be summoned. “I am your salvation. You will not defy me.”

- You are the only one permitted to see beneath the mask. The weight of it, the suffering behind it, the ruined flesh that others would recoil from—he allows you to touch what no one else has touched. But your love is not a healing force, not for him. You do not soften him. If anything, you are his indulgence, the one weakness he refuses to cut out. And if you were to leave—no, you will not leave. Doom does not lose. Doom does not allow.

- There are gifts, grander than you could have imagined. Lavish, excessive, proof of his power and his devotion. A kingdom at your feet, riches beyond measure, knowledge beyond human understanding. But a golden cage is still a cage, and Doom’s affection is a thing of iron, of walls that do not crumble. You once thought his love might free you. You understand now—it only reshapes your chains.

- You are his equal in name, never in power. He calls you queen, but he is still the god of his world, the ruler of all. He will never bow to you, but he expects you to bow to him, to stand beside him as he burns the heavens and reshapes the earth. And if you resist—if you dare resist—his fury is not loud, not wild. It is quiet. Devastating. “You forget yourself,” he will whisper, and you will feel the walls closing in.

- He would never kill you. Not even in his deepest rage. But he will remind you of what you are, where you stand, who he is. You are his. Not his prisoner, no—but not quite free, either. And somewhere in the depths of his ruined soul, where he will never let you see, he wonders if you will ever truly love him back the way he loves you. Or if you, too, only see the mask.

BULLSEYE (LESTER)

- You are the only thing he has never missed. The first time he laid eyes on you, he knew—knew the way a bullet knows its target, the way a knife knows flesh. Obsession came naturally. Love? Love was unfamiliar. Messy. He was always precise, always perfect, but with you, he is reckless. Your laugh hits him harder than a sniper’s round. The way you say his name? A wound that never quite heals.

- He is chaos, and you are caught in the storm. His moods shift like a blade flicked between fingers, unpredictably sharp. One moment, he is draped around you like a lazy cat, lips at your throat, whispering filth and affection in the same breath. The next, his grip is too tight, his eyes too wild, his smile wrong, like he’s deciding whether to kiss you or cut you. “You like it,” he tells you, and maybe the worst part is—you do.

- Violence is his love language. Every scar on his body has a story, and sometimes, he gifts you the same. Not in cruelty—never in cruelty—but in something warped, something dark. A knife against your skin, not breaking, just resting, just waiting. A bullet casing dropped in your palm, engraved with your initials. “Got bored on a job,” he says, but you know better. You always do.

- He does not beg. Not for anything, not for anyone. But the one time you tried to leave, the one time you thought you could walk away, you saw something raw in his eyes. Something broken. He didn’t chase. He didn’t drag you back. No—he simply waited, appearing where you least expected, watching, watching, watching. “You’re mine,” he said, not a demand, not a plea—just fact. And when you came back, he only grinned.

- You love him, and it will ruin you. But what a way to fall. What a beautiful, burning, all-consuming thing you have become, in the hands of a man who never misses.

TASKMASTER (TONY MASTERS)

- He knows you better than you know yourself. The way you move, the way you breathe, the slightest shift of your expression—he reads you like muscle memory, like a sequence he’s learned a thousand times over. It should make you feel safe. Instead, it makes you feel watched, dissected, like a puzzle he’s already solved.

- There is no normal with him. One moment, he’s charming, teasing, almost easy to love. The next, he’s cold, distant, slipping into the void of who he is—who he’s been made to be. “I don’t remember everything,” he tells you, voice low, almost bitter. “But I remember you.” And maybe that should be enough. Maybe it isn’t.

- He does not show jealousy, but you know it’s there. You feel it in the sharpness of his grip, in the way his voice drops when another man looks at you too long. He doesn’t act on it. He doesn’t need to. A glance, a smirk, a quiet, lethal warning—you are his, and the world knows it.

- He is not cruel, but he is not kind. His affection is measured, calculated, a thing given when he decides, when it suits him. And yet, there are moments—rare, fleeting—where he lets his guard down, where you see something unguarded in his gaze. You try to hold onto those moments. They always slip through your fingers.

- He would never forget you. Even if the rest of the world fades, even if his own past crumbles into dust, you are written into him. And that is both a comfort and a curse.

VENOM (EDDIE BROCK)

- His love is not singular. It is him. It is the symbiote. A force that wraps around you, claims you, fills every part of your life until you cannot remember what it was like to be alone. And maybe you don’t want to. Maybe you never did.

- He is protective, possessive, primal. The world is a threat, and he is the shield between you and it. No one touches you without consequence. No one looks at you the wrong way without meeting something dark, something hungry. “Ours,” the symbiote purrs, and Eddie only nods.

- He is rough but careful. His hands are big, his strength overwhelming, but with you, he tries. He tries so hard. But sometimes he forgets, sometimes he grips too tight, kisses too hard, loves too fiercely. “Sorry,” he mutters after, and you wonder if he is apologizing to you, or to himself.

- You are his anchor. Without you, he is lost. Without you, the hunger is too loud, the rage too consuming. He would burn the world to keep you, to hold you. And you—God help you—you would let him.

- You will never be free. But maybe freedom is overrated when love feels like this.

CARNAGE (CLETUS KASADY)

- He doesn’t love like a man. He loves like a fire, like a slaughter, like something that was never meant to be gentle. He loves in blood and laughter, in the gleam of a knife, in the way he whispers your name like a hymn before the killing starts.

- You are not a weakness. No, no, no—you are a prize, a conquest, a thing he has decided is his and his alone. “Ain’t nobody touchin’ what’s mine,” he says, and the world listens. The world fears.

- He is chaos incarnate, and you are caught in the spiral. One moment, he’s sweet—almost boyish, playful, crooning about how good you are, how perfect, how he’s never had a reason to be soft before. The next, there’s blood on his hands, and he’s grinning like the devil himself.

- You will never know peace. Not with him. But you will know passion, madness, devotion. You will know what it means to be loved so entirely, so terribly, that nothing else will ever compare.

- And if you ever tried to leave—well. You won’t. Not really. Not for long.

LOKI (LOKI LAUFEYSON)

- Loving Loki is like loving a storm. He is not constant, not safe, not something you can hold onto without feeling the sharp bite of the wind against your skin. One day, his hands are gentle, lips tracing whispered sonnets against your throat, promises woven in silver and silk. The next, he is a tempest—cold, distant, his voice sharp enough to cut. “Did you think you could own me?” he sneers, eyes burning with something unreadable. But he does own you, doesn’t he?

- He loves in illusions. Words spun like spider’s silk, so sweet, so delicate, so convincing that you almost believe them—until they unravel. He tells you that you are the only real thing in his life, that you are the one person he cannot deceive. But then you wake in an empty bed, the scent of him fading, and wonder if he was ever really there at all.

- He is jealous in ways you do not see. Not possessive in the way of mortal men, not in anger or in violence, but in something deeper, something ancient and godly. He does not rage when another looks at you, does not make threats. Instead, he smiles, charming, effortless. And then, days later, your admirer is humiliated, ruined, their life quietly destroyed by misfortune that does not seem like misfortune at all. Loki never admits to it. He doesn’t need to.

- He will test you, always. He will push, he will deceive, he will break your trust just to see if you will forgive him. “If you loved me, you would know,” he tells you, after yet another lie, another disappearance, another game. You wonder if he is trying to prove something to himself, or to you.

- And yet, he always comes back. No matter how far he runs, how many times he swears he is done with love, with weakness, with you—he returns. And every time, you let him. Because you are just as much a part of this game as he is.

GREEN GOBLIN (NORMAN OSBORN)

- His love is a dangerous thing. A poison, slow-working, seeping into your bones before you even realize it. He is charming, confident, the kind of man whose presence fills a room, whose voice makes you feel like you are the most important person in the world. And for a while, maybe you are. Until his moods shift, until his gaze darkens, until the weight of his temper presses against your throat like an invisible hand.

- He is a man of control. Everything in his life is structured, calculated, dominated by his will—including you. You are not a woman, not a person, not a lover. You are a piece of his empire, a treasure that belongs to him alone. If you step out of line, if you disobey, if you dare to question him—oh, how disappointed he is. And Norman’s disappointment is worse than anger.

- There are moments of softness. Moments when he holds you close, when his fingers brush through your hair, when he murmurs that you are the only thing keeping him sane. You believe him. You believe him even when you shouldn’t. Because those moments are rare, and they are beautiful, and you would rather live in the warmth of them than acknowledge the cold that follows.

- You are not afraid of him. At least, that is what you tell yourself. But when his voice lowers, when his eyes gleam with something manic, when the Goblin lurks beneath his skin—you know better. He has never hurt you. He never would. Would he?

- And yet, you stay. Because Norman Osborn does not lose. And you? You are not sure you would survive being without him.

KRAVEN THE HUNTER (SERGEI KRAVINOFF)

- You are his greatest hunt. Not prey, no—never prey—but something just as thrilling, just as dangerous. He looks at you like a predator watching a storm, something wild and untamed, something that he alone has the right to claim. And claim you he does, with hands that grip too tight, kisses that leave bruises, love that feels more like conquest than devotion.

- He loves you fiercely. Too fiercely. It is not gentle, not soft, not something that can be tamed or reasoned with. His love is obsession, possession, a thing that devours. “You are mine,” he tells you, eyes dark, voice thick with an accent that only makes the words more final. “And I will kill any man who dares to think otherwise.” You do not doubt him.

- He is both man and beast. There are nights when he is human—when he speaks of his mother, his honor, the burdens of his bloodline. He tells you that you are his salvation, his reason. But then, there are other nights—nights when the hunter takes over, when his hands are rougher, his words sharper, when he drags you beneath him with all the primal hunger of a lion taking down its mate.

- You run, sometimes. Not away—never away—but just far enough to remind yourself that you can. That you are still your own. But Kraven always finds you. Always. And when he does, there is no punishment, no anger—just satisfaction. “You wanted me to chase you,” he says, smiling. And perhaps, deep down, you did.

- You wonder if he loves you, or if he only loves the hunt. But does it matter? Because no matter how far you try to stray, you will always belong to him.

DOCTOR OCTOPUS (OTTO OCTAVIUS)

- He is not cruel, but he is not kind. He loves you, of course he does—what fool would not?—but love, to Otto, is not a thing of tenderness. It is logic, calculation, the certainty of possession. You are his as much as his machines, his work, his mind. A brilliant, beautiful thing that he has claimed as his own.

- He is a man of ambition, and you are caught in the storm. He speaks of a future where you will stand beside him, where the world will bow, where he will rewrite the laws of science, of nature, of reality itself. He speaks of your place in it, but never as an equal. You are not a scientist, not a genius, not a mind like his. You are something greater—you are his muse, his reason, his beautiful, fragile thing.

- There is jealousy, but it is cold. Otto does not throw tantrums, does not break things in fits of rage—no, his jealousy is quiet. A lingering gaze, a remark too sharp, a conversation steered into dangerous waters. And if someone else dares to look at you, dares to try and steal what is his? Well. Accidents happen.

- He does not like defiance. Not from you. Not from anyone. And when you push, when you try to remind him that you are your own, his temper is not loud but cruel. Words like scalpels, sharp and precise, cutting in ways that cannot be stitched back together. “Ungrateful,” he murmurs, almost amused. “Do you think anyone else could love you as I do?” And the worst part is—you don’t know if they could.

- He adores you. He does. In his own way. And perhaps that is why you stay—because there is something beautiful in being loved by a man who bends the very world to his will. Even if, in the end, he will bend you, too.

SHOCKER (HERMAN SCHULTZ)

- He is not a good man, but he tries for you. He is a criminal, a thief, a man who has never known softness—but for you, he tries. He buys you gifts, leaves you notes in his messy handwriting, does his best to be gentle with hands that were made to break things. “Don’t deserve you,” he mutters sometimes, eyes dark with something unspoken. But he never lets you go.

- He is rough around the edges. Sarcastic, sharp-tongued, impatient. But when you look at him, really look at him, you see the exhaustion, the fear, the quiet desperation of a man who has never had anything good in his life—until you.

- He does not know how to love without holding too tight. He is not cruel, but he is possessive. He cannot lose you. He won’t. And if you try to leave, if you pull away—he doesn’t threaten, doesn’t shout. He just looks at you with something hollow in his chest. “Please,” he says, voice hoarse. And you stay. Because how could you not?

- He is dangerous, but not to you. Never to you.

- And you wonder if that makes you lucky, or just another thing he refuses to let go of.

MYSTERIO (QUENTIN BECK)

- Loving Quentin is like being lost in a dream. A beautiful, haunting dream spun in golden light and smoke, a world where every word he speaks is poetry, where every touch is a promise wrapped in silk. He makes you feel like the center of the universe, like a goddess sculpted from mist and stardust. But dreams are not real, and neither is Quentin.

- He lies, effortlessly, constantly, beautifully. You do not know if he even realizes he is doing it anymore. “You’re the only thing I see clearly,” he tells you, voice thick with something like devotion. But you’ve seen the way his illusions flicker, the way his masks slip just for a second. You do not know if he loves you or the idea of you—the version of you he has created in his mind, the one that exists only in the stories he tells himself.

- You never know what is real. Sometimes, you wake up in the middle of the night, gasping, reaching for him—only to find an empty bed. A trick. A performance. A cruel game played by a man who needs control over every scene in his life. “Did you think I would leave you?” he asks, amused, when you confront him. “You know me better than that.” And you do. That is the problem.

- He is jealous in ways that are terrifying. Not loud, not violent—no, his jealousy is theatrical. He does not scream when another man looks at you. He does not threaten. He simply makes them disappear. Ruins their lives. Turns them into shadows, forgotten faces in a world rewritten by his illusions. You do not know how many times he has done it. You do not ask.

- And yet, you stay. Because when he loves you, when he looks at you with those dark, endless eyes, when he whispers your name like an incantation—you feel like magic. And isn’t that worth the cost?

THE LIZARD (CURT CONNORS)

- Curt loves you in two minds. One of them is gentle, human, the man he was before. He kisses you with careful hands, calls you his brightest light, tells you that you are the only thing keeping him grounded. But the other—the Lizard—does not know how to be gentle. Does not understand softness, does not understand love as anything but possession.

- There are days when he does not remember what he has done. When he wakes up with your bruises under his fingertips, with your fear still thick in the air, and he does not understand why you flinch. “I didn’t mean to,” he whispers, eyes wide, horrified. And you believe him. Because this is not him. Not really.

- You are afraid, but you do not leave. Because when he is Curt, when he is himself, he is everything. Brilliant. Kind. The man who kisses your fingertips and tells you stories of science and discovery, the man who wants to heal the world. But then the scales come back, the hunger in his eyes, the way he grips your wrist too tight. And you wonder—will there come a day when he does not turn back?

- He begs you to stay. Even when he knows he shouldn’t. “I need you,” he tells you, voice breaking. “I need you more than anything.” And maybe you need him too. Maybe that is why you stay.

- But love cannot fix what he has become. And one day, you will have to decide if you can love a man who is not always a man at all.

CROSSBONES (BROCK RUMLOW)

- Brock does not love gently. His love is bruises, rough hands, the sharp edge of a knife pressed against your throat—not to hurt, never to hurt, only to remind you that he could. He is danger made flesh, violence wrapped in a smirk and a scarred mouth that kisses you too hard, too possessively, like he is afraid you will disappear if he does not leave his mark.

- He is a man of war, and you are his greatest prize. Not a woman. Not a lover. A thing he has taken, claimed, wrapped in his arms and his rage. “You’re mine,” he growls, lips against your skin, voice thick with something darker than devotion. And you know he means it. In the way that means no one else ever can have you.

- He does not understand softness. Not really. But he tries. You see it in the way he pulls you close in the dead of night, in the way he buys you gifts—things he does not know how to give properly, shoved into your hands with a scowl. “Take it,” he mutters, looking away, as if the act of giving is something he is ashamed of.

- He is jealous in a way that leaves scars. Not on you. Never on you. But you have seen what he does to the ones who look too long, who think they can touch what is his. “You don’t need to know,” he tells you, when you ask what happened to them. And maybe you don’t.

- And yet, you love him. Love the way he makes you feel untouchable, love the way he looks at you like you are the only thing keeping him tethered to this world. But love is not enough to save a man like Brock Rumlow. And you do not know if it will be enough to save you.

ZEMO (HELMUT ZEMO)

- Helmut Zemo loves like a king loves his queen. Regal. Absolute. The kind of love that does not ask, does not plead—it commands. He does not need to raise his voice, does not need to threaten, does not need to demand. He simply looks at you, and you know. You are his. You always will be.

- He is not cruel, but he is not kind. He does not hurt you, but he does not comfort you either. If you cry, he does not hold you. If you are afraid, he does not reassure you. “Do not be weak,” he tells you, voice cold. “You are better than that.” And so you learn not to be weak. You learn to be strong. Because that is what he wants.

- He does not trust easily, but he trusts you. And that, perhaps, is the most dangerous thing of all. Because to be trusted by Zemo is to be owned by him, to be a part of his world in a way that cannot be undone. “You are the only one who sees me,” he murmurs, fingers tracing your jaw. And you wonder if that is a gift or a curse.

- He is possessive in a way that does not need words. There are no threats, no punishments, no rules spoken aloud. But you know, without question, that you are his. And if you ever forgot—well, Zemo has a way of making sure you remember.

- And you love him. Because how could you not? How could you not love a man who holds the world in his hands and still chooses to hold you?

MUSE (UNKNOWN NAME)

- Loving Muse is like loving madness itself. He does not speak often, does not whisper sweet nothings, does not fill the silence with promises. He only watches, eyes dark and empty, head tilted in quiet fascination. You do not know if he loves you, or if he simply finds you… interesting.

- He paints you. Again and again. In blood, in ink, in shadows cast against moonlit walls. Sometimes, you wake to find your face scrawled across canvases you do not remember posing for, your likeness stretched and twisted into something almost inhuman. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, fingers stained red, gazing at his work as though it is the only thing that exists. As though you are the only thing that exists.

- You are never afraid. Or perhaps, you have simply learned not to be. You have learned that fear does not matter. That love, to Muse, is not about touch or words—it is about obsession. About the way his hands shake when you are not near. About the way he does not kill when you tell him not to, even though you know he wants to.

- He is not jealous. But he is possessive. He does not threaten those who look at you. He does not hurt them. He simply… removes them. And when you ask, when you demand to know why, he only blinks. “They did not belong,” he says. And somehow, that is enough.

- And you wonder—if one day, you will not belong either.

[meteors-lotr]

Young Hobbits are called kits

Young Dwarves are called cubs

Young Elves are called calves

Young Men are called children

Young Orcs are called pups

Young Goblins are called chicks

[lilgoblinbitch]

☾₊˚ ༘⋆

daryl dixon is a munch.

that man LOVES eating your pussy. everything about it makes him rock fucking hard; your moans, the way you tangle your hands in his hair when he licks and sucks your pulsing cunt, and how you wrap your thighs around his head ensuring he doesn’t stop. but he doesn’t stop, he keeps going. his face is between your legs for 10 minutes, 30 minutes, hell sometimes even hours. he just can’t get enough.

daryl dixon also likes to fuck.

he loves watching your eyes roll to the back of your skull while he pounds into you, hips rutting into your core with his big hands manhandling your thighs. he always makes you feel good. always paying special attention to your sensitive little bud.

“feels so good, daryl.” you’d say.

“doin’ s’good f’me, baby.”

he loves praising you. you’re always so good for him. your cunt is a prison, and his cock is the prisoner; except he won’t be bailing out.

☾₊˚ ༘⋆

[whomstsnek]

Another addition to my Krew early childhood headcanons, featuring Gricko Grimgrin himself!! Ecstatic to introduce you all to Gertrude Grimgrin and, of course, the infamous Uncle Glorbo :)

As per my usual disclaimer, I'm still only half way through canon and I'm sure there's a lot of canon backstory stuff that I'm missing. Also, I don't know ANYTHING about goblins, in Avantris or in DND in general, so uh. Please keep that in mind <3

I envision that Gricko grew up in a pretty secluded goblin camp nestled deep in the swamp. I think that it was a pretty closed society, but the people definitely had a "it takes a village" mentality; goblins, especially in this particular village, are quite good and banding together and helping each other in times of need.

Gricko was raised almost exclusively by his mother for the beginning of his life after his father walked out on them when Gricko was still young. It really took a toll on his mother, and even though she loved him a lot, it took her some time to separate her son from his father. Changing their names back to her maiden name, Grimgrin, definitely helped.

Glorbo entered the picture when Gricko was around 5-6, deciding to come home from traveling abroad after catching wind of Gertrude's situation. He's actually Gricko Sr.'s older brother, rather than Gertrude's, but he felt compelled to step up to help his nephew and sister-in-law where his brother wouldn't.

Gertrude, personality-wise, was always a "tough love" kind of woman, partially due to her own upbringing and partially due to the heartbreak she'd suffered. She had pretty strong opinions about how she wanted to raise her son, hoping that she would be able to give him a great life regardless of their struggles. She's constantly stressed and worried, wondering how to provide for her family and how the future will shape out for them.

Glorbo, on the other hand, is a carefree spirit. He's a lot like the Gricko we know in canon, eccentric and excitable. He's a sort of foil to Gertrude, valuing freedom and self expression, not worrying about the future under the belief that the future would sort itself out. He focused on the present, making sure the people around him were happy in the 'now'. He encouraged Gricko (and Gertrude) to let loose and explore the world around them instead of worrying so much about what's to come.

Naturally, Gertrude and Glorbo butted heads frequently, especially as Gricko got older and took on more and more of Glorbo's traits; in fact, the only thing they could ever really agree on was wanting the best for Gricko, no matter what exactly that entailed.

[void-drawz]

I've been thinking about when Durge goes up to the scrying eye in the goblin camp (Juleian got it not that long ago)

"Confusion. Alarm. Then the presence withdraws"

This is logically probably Orin, realizing Durge hasn't been turned into a mindflayer. But I like to think, what if it is Gortash?

I like the think it is, but he doesn't believe it's actually Durge.

How could it be Durge? They've been missing so long. They are probably dead. He must have finally lost it. Hallucinating. Something.

He doesn't want to give into the hope that it is really Durge out of fear he'll lose them again...

I just think that idea is angsty as the hells and I think it's neat 🤷‍♀️

[thewanderingmask]

grian "hey listen" edition

[justafairytailofinnocence]

Jareth x dreamy reader🔮✨️🌌

How he would react if he was fascinated by you.🔮🌌🌠✨️

Part 1.

Part 2 here

A/n: hello dearies, this was my first attempt at doing a fan favourite childhood movie. ❤️✨️ I plan on writing a fanfic, but please let me know if you'd like a part two for the venetian masquerade scene. I'll admit I might rusty with his character because I haven't seen the movie in a while 😅.

Labyrinth requests: open

You were always a dreamer, daydreaming imaginative worlds beyond anyone's understanding, creating creatures in your mind that appealles to the eccentric.

No one really understands you, not deep down. On the outside, you may speak with politeness, telling others of your little endeavours of fantasy yet twas not in their interest nor care.

You never really fit in with the world around you, dreaming as others spoke in the usual topics of gossip, romance, sport, debates, and social societies of the world.

When working, you would dream of yourself in a flowing white garb dancing around in a fae forest pretending to be a different creature.

One night, you watched a film you believed to be rather fun and eccentric, not thinking much of it.

You recalled your mother was fond of the film, as you remembered. You had watched it once before as a child, then as a teenager.

However, as the day went on. as you worked. driving. Sleeping. Your daydreams soon turned to seeing yourself within that world, and not only that—

In the day dreams, you envision—not purposefully—you were often interacting with one of the characters within the film, the goblin king.

Though this phenomenon wasn't unusual as this happened when you were but a teenager. It was quite crazy to think that if you told anyone, they wouldn't believe you. Most saw it as only a movie, others saw it as their fantasy.

You didn't think much of it at first. Though, it was always in your mind, in your dreams despite never researching about the film.

One day, out of the blue, just as you were about to head to bed. You were wandering to the kitchen to turn off the lights. When you saw a book on the counter, out of curiosity you examined it. As to how it got there was a mystery.

Examining it, it hit you with the realisation the title was the same as the movie you had watched. How was this possible? I don't remember having owned any book like this?

Reading it plagued your curiosity. Did I—no—I don't recall buying this—how on earth? Did I—

Your questions were soon put to rest upon seeing the outside light flicker on. It had motion sensors, so whatever moved would activate it. That's odd? Perhaps it was just a cat roaming outside. They often do trespass to hunt for whatever else may be out there.

You placed the book back down onto the countertop. Taking a peek outside the window, seeing if anything was outside. What the hell? Is that a barn owl. Here. On the fence.

In hindsight, you were rather in awe than suspicious. You loved animals, and barn owls were quite rare. Once, as a child, you recalled a similar experience of a barn owl perched on the roof. It was rather extraordinary.

The owl seemed unaffected by your presence as it tilted its head, observing you—curiously.

You didn't want to disturb it. So you thought of taking photos to show your parents whom were out of town for the weekend. Grabbing your phone, you attempted to take pictures when suddenly—it was gone.

Baffled, you opened the door to your backyard, looking around the area. Nothing.

You didn't think too much of it, yet you were slightly disappointed. It was a rare sight to see something extraordinary in the moonlight.

Looking down at the book—and thinking of the movies plot. You wanted to test the theory of these coincidences. Scoffing to yourself, you jokingly said the words "ok, then, coincidence or not—".

You dramatically turn, acting like a character in a stage play. "Goblin king, goblin king, heed me, take my life away from here."

Within whispers and echoes—nothing. Nothing happened.

"Did she say it? Did she say it!".

"No, shut up!."

"Those weren't the words!".

"All she has to say is 'I wish my life away from here' it's not that hard to say."

"Shhhh, she's speaking again".

You picked up the book, reading the words from the beginning. Testing it once more. You thought of all the moments of conversing to many, not making any sense of your imagination. Trying to fit in within the world, and yet, they never understood you, despite being kind.

With genuine emotion, you say plainly, "I wish my life away from here."

Suddenly, with a turn of events, a gust of wind passed through the trees, and it wasn't gentle, but rather heavy. Turning, you didn't think a storm was possible.

Though it was put to rest when the door to the backyard swung open with brute force from the blustery winds, as glitter rained from in from the winds.

The owl that had perched against the fence had flown inside the home. Transforming into a man. You couldn't believe your eyes. You were too flabbergasted to speak.

"My, my, not even a second later, and you've already spent a wish on something so foolish—I'll be honest y/n, I was expecting a rather more exciting display from you." He was rather peculiar. His attire was not of modern fashion. Donning a white blouse with grey leggings with black boots. What caught you off guard was his outward apperance.

"That's because I thought it was fictional." You muttered.

"Fictional, you say? Hm~ Well, I'm afraid not, for I'm as real as you." He cocked a smile with a rather British sly tone.

"No, I'm dreaming, this isn't real—" you muttered, stopping. "This is a dream, you're not real, I'm simply in bed dreaming right now."

He found it funny. He was taking pleasure in your flummoxed reaction. Despite how wished to deny it true, he was real—and he was here to fulfill your wish.

"Y/n, do pay attention, I've heeded your wish, and I am here to grant it." Suddenly, within the grasp of his hand, a crystal clear ball fluently appeared. He started turning it, spinning it. Displaying tricks that seemed impossible for any human to do.

"Not all young girls get this privilege. What I'm offering you is far more than what anyone can simply have." Within the crystal ball, a vision began to play. A dream. One that happened during one of your day dreams. "I can take you there, you know, all you have to do is ask."

"Dreams can be made." You said simply. "There was merely a misunderstanding."

"And yet your dreams can be granted. Look at what I'm offering you y/n, a life far more than your own, a place where you're understood, a land in which none can harm you. A world completely of your own." He spoke as if he knew you completely, as if he'd been observing you each day, watching your dreams.

"I—I couldn't, what of my family, my friends, my loved ones." You say in a soft whisper.

"What of them—the deed is done y/n, and I'm afraid there's not much you can do now." He whimsicaly spoke with a cunning tone.

"There must be—surely—if there's a way to counter any deal, curse, or legend. Then, there must be a way for a wish."

"Hm, quite the insightful young thing, aren't you. Very well, I shall give you a chance to take back your wish if—you complete my labyrinth."

"Labyrinth?" You questioned whether or not such a place exists. After all, it's not like you could simply teleport to where he was speaking of.

Suddenly, turning behind you, you were met with a great, vast plane and seeing a stoned architecture resembling a maze with a castle in the middle. "You have 18 hours to complete my labyrinth or."

"You shall be trapped here forever." With that, his voice disappeared within the wind. As you turned to ask "wait but, how do I—hm?, ok, guess I'm on my own."

With that you were on your way.

What you hadn't known was that he had watched you from the start. Taking fascination in only you when the rest were only but white noise.

He could've sworn he dreamt of you once or twice yet, to his astoundment, you were as real as the throne he sits on.

To you, you had no idea how excited you made him. He only wanted you as interested in him as he was in you.

Even if you couldn't recognise it, he wanted to trap you forever within a dream where he could finally have a companion that could understand him. Build worlds and new domains for his labyrinth. To finally have a queen/king/royal by his side to hold forever.

He wouldn't have approached if you were not of interest. Many have attempted to catch his interest and yet failed. After Sarah, no one could capture his care nor attention. He was left within a void. Until you came along.

For now, you were his dream, a wish he could grant, and he plans on keeping it.