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shibaraki · 2 years

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GOD’S LONELIEST CREATION ┊ AIZAWA SHOUTA

synopsis: as head of the mothman study you’ve devoted countless nights to observing your subject from behind the glass. you liked to think those many months spent together contributed to a sense of camaraderie, but time is merely a cradle gently lulling you into false security— and shouta is nothing if not patient.

tags: NSFT, AFAB reader (mention of ovulating), monsters + cryptids au, mothman aizawa, implied monster hunting, captivity, cryptozoologist reader, possessiveness, dubcon to eventual enthusiastic consent, oblivious reader, monsterfucking, mating behaviour, breeding, mentions of size difference (he is 7ft; called ‘little human’ +‘little flame’), vaginal oral sex + tongue fucking (reader receiving), multiple orgasms, non-human genitalia, oviposition (reader receiving; but no belly bulging), unprotected vaginal sex, *slaps roof* you can fit so much plot in this porn!!

wc: 7k+

A/N: now with art of mothzawa!!!! thank you so much, feral!

Tucked away into the seam between Shizuoka and Musutafu is the UA Cryptobiology research centre. In the eyes of the public it was an extension of the nearby UA University and largely harmless. Cryptids kept there are not advertised, atleast, not the living ones.

The building is huge. An architectural giant, and a stain on the natural landscape. You’ve worked there for years yet still find yourself struck by just how foreboding it looks. Head ducked, you slip past the thin crowd protesting by the security gate, staff card hidden in the sleeve of your shirt.

While they are few in number their voices are loud and accusing. You flinch at the vitriol as you try to reach the scanner. There was a small earthquake in a nearby prefecture a few days ago which was the likeliest reason they had gathered here.

On days like this you couldn’t help the thought that no amount of scientific research would wipe away the countrywide consensus on cryptids. Very early on in your career you came to understand why your superiors lied about the live subjects. If these people knew the truth they could probably birth a calamity all of their own.

Unfortunately it is not only the monstrous who are a target. You lock eyes with a guard standing by the gates and slip your keycard into the shallow of your palm. Nodding in acknowledgement, he places the whistle hung around his neck between his lips and the moment you swipe in he blows, hard.

The gate clicks and unlocks with a short beep that is drowned out by the noise. You walk through and quickly push it closed behind you. Thank you, you mouth over to him, scurrying across the lot toward the main doors. He offers a flippant wave in return.

You enter the mouth of the lobby. It is a wide dome shaped room with high ceilings that houses most of the lecture rooms, and acts as a junction to other parts of the facility. Looking up, you can see each floor twisting into a spiral.

Centred is the reception desk; large and circular to make room for five staff members to be seated at any given time. Yamada is there today, dressed with his shirt cuffs pushed to the elbow, waist length hair braided up into a ponytail. He leans dangerously far back in his chair and twiddles a pen between his fingers. Your unease falls away at the familiar sight.

“Yamada,” you intone sternly. A grin pulls at your lips when he startles. The wheels on his office chair squeak as he rights himself. Wide sheepish eyes land on you and narrow in disbelief.

“Don’t do that,” he pouts, dragging himself closer to the desk, casting another nervous glance toward his coworker. “Bully! I could’ve broken my neck”.

“Then you would’ve thanked me for the two months paid sick leave”.

Yamada smirks, peering at you above his yellow tinted lenses “…Touché”.

You rest both arms on the countertop and lean over, holding a hand out to receive the sign in sheet. “You have a good weekend?” you ask, falling back into idle pleasantries while you skim over the names already on the register. Hatsume Mei. Huh, you think. She’s early.

“Kan and Kayama dragged me out drinking,” Yamada admits tiredly, massaging two fingers to his temples and closing his eyes, opening again to glare at your huff of laughter. “Sure love laughing at my misfortune, don’t’cha? I think you’re spending too much time with those ghouls”.

Signing your name in the next blank row, you give a brief glance at the watch on Yamada’s wrist to mark the time. “Comes with the territory,” you murmur, amused by the whine in his voice, setting the pen and register down on his desk with some finality. “Seen Mei today? She signed in already”.

“You bet. That girl is hard to miss,” he slides the sheets toward his front. “Speaking of…” you turn at the amused hum. His pen is pointed left like the needle of a compass leading directly to a familiar figure. Hatsume is clutching her clipboard with a tenuous grip as she scurries through the lobby, pink hair bouncing on her shoulders.

Her gaze finds you and she perks up. You lift a hand to return a wave as she beckons you frantically. It’s not entirely uncharacteristic of her. Hatsume was the rare type— she loved this job. Any small change or news could garner this reaction from her.

The excitable exclamation of your name draws the attention of the people around you, though the intern remains entirely unperturbed, almost tripping over her feet to get to you. “Mei,” you smile, instinctively stepping forward with arms held open in case she stumbles. “What’s all the noise about? Did something happen?”

“Food!” she pants heavily, grasping your forearm for balance. Her eyes are wide and beseeching as if the word alone was enough to explain her enthusiasm. It doesn’t.

Slow, you repeated, “…Food?”

The band keeping her hair tied back loosens while she nods. “It’s the mothman. He’s not eating!”

“He’s not…” you blink. “Oh!” The realisation trickles in, and you find yourself gripping onto Hatsume’s arms with bruising pressure as it washes over you. Your cheeks ache and she mirrors your grin.

Yamada clears his throat, interrupting before you have the chance to speak. “What’s so great about that?” he asks. “Wouldn't that be a sign that he’s sick or something?”

“No,” you breathe. Energy buzzes lightning-quick under your skin. Restless, you begin to shake Hatsume where she stands, and the two of you laugh in astonishment. “It means he’s hoarding!”

“Hoarding?”

“Mothman cryptids will take food back to their nests for their partners but,” the burst of joy dwindles, then. You worry at your bottom lip. “But… previous observations show that this behaviour should come after they’ve met a potential mate”.

“You think we should be worried?”

“I think it’s unusual”.

Hatsume doesn’t wilt. She shrugs your doubts off like water to a duck’s back, bouncing on the balls of her feet and handing over the clipboard. As always, the notes are verbose but organised. Detailed down to the very last time stamp.

There, written in pen, it states that at 11:58 the mothman was seen hovering by the food hatch. It clarified that there were no signs of aggression or posturing. Shouta was simply waiting. Shouta never waits. At 12:00 his usual weekly meal was given and instead of consuming it immediately as he normally would, Shouta gathered the food to his chest and took flight.

You’re rushing off toward the cryptid wing before Hizashi can press any further. Hatsume is at your heel, her quick light-footed steps echoing through the corridors.

The mothman enclosure is immense. Space is required— most cryptids can grow up to seven feet or above, and their wings even taller. Separated from your observation deck by a thick, bulbous glass window, you needed to crane your head just to catch a glimpse of the ceiling, which remained mostly covered by a canopy.

Flora covers the entirety of the forest floor. The foliage is so dense that sometimes seeing further is impossible, which in turn makes your job that much harder; but it’s worth it, for the sake of Shouta’s comfort. Unlike your predecessors, you strongly advocated for him. You viewed him as an individual, another sentient being with autonomy, and thought building a good foundation of trust could only lead to better data overall.

The facility is vastly different to the outside world. Blacked out nest boxes were placed around the area, hidden away for him to choose from however he pleased, as well as broad net columns where he can rest. Your team was instructed to begin adjusting the seasons months ago. Gradually, the temperature was changed to mimic fall. The fauna acclimated, dousing the otherwise dark and dreary forest in a warm colour palette.

Tawny leaves perched loosely on branches like a flock of goldfinches. Camouflaged behind them are two red dots emitting an unblinking glow. It is very unlike him to be this close to the deck so early in the evening. Waiting for more food, maybe. You note that thought down. You see his eyes follow the movement of your pen and smile.

Mothman cryptids are bipedal winged humanoids. They have always been notoriously aloof and difficult to study. Catching them outright was nigh impossible. They’re a highly intelligent species, and very sensitive to their surroundings. Your best bet was to inflict injury first and capture later when an infection set in.

Shouta was different from the start. So unlike his kin that you sometimes wondered if the research collated about him was permissible. He had been wounded badly by nearby collectors and managed to escape, but rather than relocate, he entered the facility of his own volition. You’d heard the stories. An eldritch being prying open the doors, thick steel bending like paper, the employees paralysed with fear, rendered unable to do anything except kneel under the intense pressure of his glare.

They had been so frightened that the shivering malachite bundle in his arms almost went amiss. A Peryton fawn matted with blood. Director Yagi supposedly spit blood of his own when he noticed.

Shouta never left after that.

Everyone figured the rumours were exaggerated. A mothman wouldn’t surrender itself for the sake of another, not even it’s own kind. That is the universal truth— all cryptids are incapable of empathy. Their sole purpose is to serve as the herald of death, and death bringers did not save life. They took it.

While you knew that to be ostensibly untrue it will never matter. Monster hunting was a tradition practiced for millennia. Accepting that they might be capable of emotion would cast doubt upon such practices. More than anything humanity needed justification for their wrong doings; condemning something as monstrous only renders such violence as heroic.

You, however, had a fascination with them since you were a child. Those unanswered questions and curiosities are what led you to cryptozoology, and ultimately, into cryptid behavioural research. Having Shouta’s care handed over to you was a dream come true.

Shouta was averse to people and made that known; keepers could be found petrified by the feeding hatch, trembling in place for hours if they weren’t careful. Which is why your superiors were greatly pleased by his reaction to you.

You couldn’t confidently say he liked you— could a mothman like anyone? But the cryptid was, at the very least, intrigued by his new handler.

Within the first meeting you recorded vocalisations that were previously undiscovered. Soft chittering and clicks, surprisingly pleasing to the ear; it had a hypnotic quality to it that could almost lull you to sleep. The common denominator was you— rather, Shouta only ever made those sounds when you were visibly anxious, and you often toyed with the notion that he was attempting to soothe you.

You tried not to indulge in such hypotheses as not to cloud your judgment. Humans had a bad habit of anthropomorphising the things they cared about. Countless cynics argued that animals do not love, they simply form attachments to those that provide for them. Shouta may only treat you better because you are the first human to show him sincere respect but that didn’t matter.

Whether your place in his life was just that of a nuisance or not, you cared for him and his wellbeing all the same. That’s what made this so invigorating— not only answers to questions that plagued your field for centuries, but the real possibility that your subject might finally have true companionship.

Your mouth twists as your thoughts drift, imagining the smell of decay percolating in one of his nest boxes now that he was hoarding. Shouta could eat anything within reason if he needed to, but his preferred diet was on the bitter side. Rotted fruits and the like which had a more acidic, sour taste to it, though he could be partial to dry pantry food in the hotter months.

Mothman have been known to feast on flesh, too, in desperate times. Though it is rare for them to acquire the taste for human meat; too mild and too rubbery.

If he truly is readying for a mate then he would soon need more food, materials and bedding. The foliage worked as a foundation but you’re aware mothman cryptids liked to weave silk or cashmere into the structure for the young to cling to and eat.

That gives you pause. Your grimace curls into a wide, exuberant grin, that you immediately shield behind the clipboard. We could end up with babies this year, you think. The first to ever be bred in captivity— a near impossible feat.

Shouta’s antennae are fluttering. Their movements fracture the stillness of the canopy and make known his position. You stare long enough for the dark blob amongst the trees to sharpen into a solid silhouette.

A mothman has a wingspan of around thirteen feet. These measurements aren’t entirely accurate, because Shouta refused to allow anyone to touch them, but the sheer size was obvious at a distance even where they remained tucked to his spine, cocooning him in darkness.

They are covered in loose tiny hairs acting as scales for insulation, while creating intricate, iridescent patterns along the inner forewings that can only be seen in moonlight when open— a gift saved in hopes of wooing a mate. Maybe you’d finally get a glimpse this year.

“Hey big guy,” you call out. Your voice jostles his wings and beckons him forward. Shouta balances himself on a thick cedar branch directly across from the observation deck, a rare sight. He is magnificent in the artificial daylight.

Hatsume releases an awed breath behind you. “Gah, he’s always so responsive to you! I’m jealous!”

Shouta barely acknowledges her presence. His attention is steadfast, pinpointed to your every move; unblinking, lest you disappear from vision. “Don’t take it personally. He’s just known me longer, is all,” you demurred, turning to her with a reassuring smile.

But she is seeing beyond you. The hair on the nape of your neck prickles and suddenly a sinistrous shadow stretches across the deck. Mei flinches back reflexively and you daren’t look back. What was ephemeral fear in her features blossoms into wonderment.

Then, a tapping sound that echoes in your chest. It is careful and somehow that makes it all the more daunting. Brushing off the unease, you pivot on your heel, coming face to face with Shouta. Both wings have hunched forward to create a cocoon of darkness, his pale face barely visible.

Another tap, accompanied by a smooth rumble. His large hand is pressed up against the glass. You step closer and his wingspan widens just a fraction. The light reflects in his eyes. He is right in front of you, so contrivedly real-looking that it feels like it must be fake.

Call it curiosity, or stupidity, or an amalgamation of the two. You outstretch your arm. The pane feels cold where your body presumes warmth. You align your palm with his and it swallows yours, fingers splayed open, still unable to reach the width of his hand.

“Hi there…” you exhale, having to crane your head to hold his gaze. Shouta’s jaw shifts as he clicks his teeth and you are reminded just how impressive a mothman cryptid’s hearing is. “You’re acting all out of sorts, huh. Want more food for the nest, right?”

Dark talons leave marks on the thick glass, hairline fractures stemming from point of impact. His gaze darkens. Hatsume gasps when he shakes his head and you can’t blame her. Cryptids rarely communicated directly with handlers.

“No?” you repeat, brows pinched into a frown. Then, to yourself, “Nesting materials, then? Already? But it can’t be, surely”.

The choice is a difficult one. Every potential mate your team introduced Shouta to throughout the years has been adamantly rejected. There was never an effort to impress or prove himself. He either flat out ignored them or attempted to kill them. You want to enable his new behaviours— to encourage it, even — but there was no mate yet.

Pseudocyesis comes to mind. Though this situation is far different, you wondered whether something in Shouta’s environment had triggered these instincts.

The rich baritone in his purr vibrates against your hand. His eyes blink slow and beseeching, full of apparent hunger, emitting that dewy red glow. Distantly, you register the dull scratch of pencil to paper. Rambling whispers fall from Hatsume’s mouth as she writes, documenting everything the way you taught her to.

“I think,” you begin, tongue heavy in your mouth. Your throat feels dry and the implication behind your next words stings. “I think he wants me to go inside his enclosure”.

A sane person would immediately put their foot down and tell you no. Director Yagi himself would try to talk you down. However, Hatsume Mei is a far cry from sane. She barely considers her own safety, let alone yours.

“What for?” she chimes impatiently. “I noticed he has been keeping an eye out for a specific person all morning— it must’ve been you. Do you think he could really be sick like Yamada said? Since he’s humanoid we can test if our medicines work on him!”

“Mei,” you interrupt, your voice cutting through her exuberance. She shrinks somewhat and you feel bad for being so sharp with her. “No, I’m not sure if he’s sick. And no, our medication only works to an extent. The dose needs to be dangerously high and cryptids burn through it faster than it can be replaced”.

Shouta observes the interaction. The tension in his wings looks ready to snap, and the feathery fingers of his antennae have started to shiver. You take in the sight of your overlapped hands once more and step away, clenching it into a fist at your hip.

“Anyone who goes into a cryptid’s den doesn’t come out,” Hatsume comments, tone uncharacteristically somber.

“I trust him,” you reassured, leveling the mothman with a contemplative stare. He ducks into the fluffy plumage around his neck and glares. “Mostly”.

Hatsume snickers. The weight in your chest lifts and you smile at her. She’s still young. Too young to bear any responsibility for what might happen.

“Something is telling me I have to go in there. It’ll keep me up at night if I don’t,” you continue, adding emphasis with a pointed finger. “This was my idea and mine alone. Do not send anyone in after me. Capiche?”

She gives a mock salute, “Yes boss!”

Each wing with a cryptid enclosure has a staircase leading from the observation deck to a feeding room. You descend the stairs, too aware of Shouta’s stare, which followed until you were out of sight.

The room is dull. Devoid of natural light, furnished only by three large chest freezers and a closet full of linens. There is a hatch the size of a shoebox that can be pulled open to safely deposit food through, and adjacent is a vault door reinforced with steel and concrete.

You open the closet and parse through the fabrics. Admittedly a long shot as far as ‘I come in peace’ gestures go, but the only thing you can think might help. Silk slides petal-soft between your fingers and you tuck it under your arm, joined by another cashmere blanket, smooth and noticeably light.

The vault door requires both a code and a staff card. You input the code and swipe your card. The affirmative beep pierces through your equilibrium. Shouta is not harmless. But you are, and you’re hoping he knows that.

A loud click echoes into the feeding room. You grasp the handle and take one last steely inhale before heaving, struggling with the incredible weight. You curse the door as it groans on its hinges, alerting everything nearby of your arrival.

Mothman feast on anything. Vegetation and flesh, fresh or rotted, but legend always spoke of their hunger for misery. They coveted disaster and fed on it, babe to breast, and somehow grew hungrier the more they swallowed.

You step into the enclosure. The door shuts with a loud foreboding slam and locks automatically.

Shouta does harm to those who would harm him. He feasts on fruit. On cereal and rice. You’d watched him suck through ten packets of coffee jelly, but never misery. If anyone were to ask you, you would tell them that Shouta conjured the very opposite of misery.

You remind yourself of that repeatedly until your thoughts coalesce into white noise. The earth is soft beneath your boots. Something darts through the treeline, gone in a blink, and you feel the hair on your arms stand on end.

Easing into the surroundings, you cautiously call out to him, “…Shouta? You here, big guy?”

A low hum resonates throughout the trees. You feel it more than you hear it, almost like a caress. It coaxes a familiar warm feeling into the pit of your stomach, willing all tension from your muscles until the blankets pinned to your side unfold, falling onto the ground.

A coronal mist has set in, orchestrated by a chattering sound you know well. Your clothes cling uncomfortably to your skin. It’s harder to breathe now. Shaking, you try to advance. Your body is quickly paralysed by the innate urge to flee.

Shouta’s presence echoes throughout the brush and sinks it’s claws into you— throbs under your skin in time with your heart. But if you ran, would that make his blood sing? Would he interpret it as a challenge to prove his worth, or a rejection for which to kill you?

The air is temperate. That perfect balance between cool and humid. Lush oranges and yellows branch out into every corner. Light bleeds through the thinning canopy, the ground dappled with sunspots. This isn’t such a terrible place to die.

You don’t hear or see him. Like before, you feel him first. Fear washes over you and steals your breath. Shouta is at your back, shaping himself to your body in a way that boasts how large he is in comparison. You stay stockstill while he touches you, nosing gently at your throat.

Finding your voice, you croak his name. An eldritch purr shudders through him and he grasps at your hips, pulling them back against him. You exhale at the obvious press of his cock to your back. Those soft chitters you had come to love drown out the panic that follows your realisation.

You were the intended mate.

Death stands behind you, arms cinched around your middle, mouthing along the nape of your neck like he loves you. The line between instinct and desire is deceptively thin. You wonder if Shouta knows the difference, or if he equates love with the heat of your blood spilling into his mouth, seams undone by the touch of his lips.

Your legs collapse beneath you, hitting the floor. A grubby applause from the dirt dances around your knees. Shouta accepts your dead weight as though it were nothing, his wings enveloping you both in an abrupt darkness.

Minuscule scales shimmer and reflect the glaring bioluminescence radiating from his eyes. Before you is a sky soaked crimson and blood spattered stars. “Is this…” you start, voice caught in your throat. It should be harrowing. People would call it a depiction of hell. You call it beautiful.

Shouta tucks his nose into your jugular with a warm hum and you feel sharp teeth protruding beneath his lips. Neck ruffle tickles soft against your skin, keeping you tight to his torso, enough that you think he could consume you whole. He’s pleased. You can tell.

Laughter bubbles up in your chest. It’s as if you are a teenager again, sneaking out with someone to see a clear starry night. The moment is incredulously human.

A mothman does not bare his wings to anyone but his mate. Even in flight they are too fast to be seen. You are so enamoured by it that you don’t notice the shift in gravity until the force on your body lightens and your stomach drops.

You squeak. Frantically clinging to his shoulders and turning your face into his neck, Shouta makes a sound suspiciously like laughter. Your body sways in his arms as the too-corporeal trees rise to meet him. What you cannot see you listen out for; leaves rustling, groaning branches, any sign to indicate where you’ve landed.

When his wings retract the shadows do not recede. You’ve been brought to a dark place. A few metres above your head there is a long slit of light bleeding into the lofty space. You’re distinctly reminded of a grave. That thought makes your heart thump hard against your rib cage.

A calm tenor breaks the silence and you refocus on the figure above. Red eyes bleed into the darkness. Long black hair drapes over his shoulders and blends into the light fluffed ruff of his neck, reminiscent of a scarf that extends down his chest and back into his large wings, which he has tucked closely behind him.

Broad feathery antennae flicker on top of his head, so distinctly insect-like, but his body and hands are startlingly human— it would be, if not for the black tipped talons that grew from each finger and toe.

“Are you still frightened?”

You realise you’re being cradled with deliberate care, as if you might shatter. He treats you like this is the first time he has ever met another living thing. There is barely any pressure behind the claws curled at the base of your neck. All you can think is that he’s warm. Soft. Guided by wonder, inhibitions lost in a concussive fog, you reach up to cautiously touch his face.

Shouta had multiple nests. The team before you took over had planted cameras in all of them only for their recordings to be destroyed, pieces left strewn by the food hatch. It agitated him, thus you respected those wishes. But in doing so you also cut off any means of behavioural observation.

This meant you knew of them, but nothing more than that. You had no idea which nests he actually used. You had no idea how he spun them, or what they looked like from the inside.

What you have been lowered into is not a grave, though it is deep and narrow. The bedding yields, padded under your back, emanating the smell of upturned earth and petrichor.

This is his primary nest.

Your tongue feels too thick for your mouth. “You can… you can speak?”

A black tipped finger hooks into the collar of your shirt. You feel it sharp like a knife's edge, and the fabric rips with barely any pressure. Shouta snorts. And then, “Your kind is strange. Presumptuous,” he traces over the swell of your breast. “And soft”.

There’s only intent to satiate his curiosity, but you feel something dangerously warm coil low in your belly. The broad, feathered antennae atop his head curl toward you, almost prehensile in nature, as if they can sense it.

“You can’t,” words fail you as his tongue glides over your pulse. “You’ve never spoken before. You can’t blame me for being surprised”.

“That wouldn’t be logical,” he murmurs. You exhale shakily as his teeth nip gently at your lobe, pressing what could be a kiss to the shell. “It’s not as if your primitive ears would be able to hear me through the glass”.

The baritone of his voice frissons down your spine and you find yourself clenching your thighs. Shouta braces over you until he is all there is— and you are all he sees.

You argue fruitlessly in attempts to maintain self control, “We could’ve talked through the speakers”.

“We could have. But then the other humans would know this part of me,” he replies plainly. “Is that what you want?”

You’re a little embarrassed by the immediate ‘no’ that rolls onto the tip of your tongue. You bite it and let your silence answer for you. A disservice to your team and to your research— you seek truths and yet the truth is you are secretly happy that this is yours and yours alone.

Shouta huffs. He brings your foreheads together and your knees part reflexively to make room for him as he settles between them. The shine in his eyes has dimmed into a simmer. It reminds you of a pyre after the fire has burned; the glowing ash left to cool overnight.

“If I had not played along and acted beastly you wouldn’t have paid attention,” he continues. You tremble as he slots against the cradle of your hips, a suggestive pulse felt between your legs. The size of his body forces your legs wider around his waist. His cock is heavy and the heat emanates through your work pants. He doesn’t move, and he waits.

“You…” you’re breathless when it hits you. “You could’ve left all this time”.

He rises slowly at your words and tilts his head, beckoning you to continue. There is an unwavering composure about him that leaves you uneasy. You got the sense he knew your thoughts before you voiced them.

“You stayed and cooperated with our research. Even though… Some of them treated you like an animal. You could be anywhere but here”.

Shouta gives a disapproving chitter. The sound devolves into a hum. He settles a large hand on the top of your head and leans back into your space, uncomfortably close, as if to impress the answer upon you. “Here is where I am supposed to be”.

He’s not a monster, just something that wants to belong.

Your hand smooths over his cheek to his hair, the other guiding his palm to your chest where your heart sits. He squeezes at your chest, curious. Gentle fingertips brush the antennae rooted in a crown of thick black hair. The sweet resonant purr surges and you watch the touch shudder through his body in awe.

Your blood sings, reacting to his desperate call with a burst of exhilaration. A thought crosses your mind— had it been you he was chasing, or this feeling?

Was this how it felt to be a predator?

“Here. With me…” you rasp, wetting your lips as your eyes fall to his mouth. Shouta smiles and you have to temper the urge to touch his teeth. “I’ve worked here for a long time. Why wait until today?”

“Courting takes time. And though I was sure of you I knew you weren’t ready,” he rasps, rocking up against your sex. A gasp catches in your throat and his antennae flutter in response. “I can smell that you are now”.

“Smell?”

Shouta hums an affirmative. “All creatures have a cycle. Your body changes over the weeks,” the hand over your heart descends to your stomach, resting above your waistband. The repetitive stroke of his thumb is doting, almost. “Soon you will be ovulating”.

You are torn between horror and amazement. The craving to write this down was insatiable. Truthfully it shouldn’t come as a surprise that Shouta could know that— he was finely tuned to his environment. That was the entire purpose of chemoreception.

Regardless, that knowledge instills a sense of vulnerability in you. The scales felt tipped entirely in his favour and there was nothing you could hide from him. It was equally liberating and frightening.

A quiet trill pulls you from your thoughts. He must pick up on your anxiety, because mothman crowds you back against the nest and you sink further with a weak smile, your fingers threading into his fur. Wildflowers and long grass borders your periphery. You hadn’t much chance to appreciate his hard work in the dark.

“Shouta,” you faltered. Perhaps you should be more concerned that giving yourself to him was never a question. “Are you sure it’s me you want? I’m just a human”.

“I see that,” he stated dryly. “But you are my little human. My mate. This is not up for debate”.

Memories surrounding your tentative relationship over the years come to the forefront of your mind. How purposeful and gentle he was, the obvious preference for your company, his willingness to share his secrets and weaknesses just to see you satisfied.

The pregnant pause is mistaken for hesitance. Shouta brings your hand to his throat, inner wrist tickled by the plumage. Soft hair trails up his neck and thins by his jaw. Behind him, his wings unfurl and stretch. Pushing the heel up to his jugular, you feel six deliberate clicks. The rhythm of each is individual, some pitched and others deep, and the silence between is different in length, almost similar to morse code.

“What did you say?”

“Your name,” he rumbles.

There is underlying significance you aren’t privy to, yet you feel it all the same. You meet his gaze. Skin feverish, breathes coming quicker. Your hips twitch helplessly and he bites back a croon.

“Okay. Touch me, ” you slowly coil your arms around his neck and bring him into an embrace. He goes doubtlessly, engaging you with knees settled either side of your hips.

Shouta cuts your clothes off carefully and with ease. The simple hook of a talon and they tore like thin paper. His tongue, long and tube-like at the tip, glides between your breasts, flicking over your nipples and watching with fascination. It’s as though the roles have switched. You are the subject now.

You laugh breathily as he nuzzles into you, palming at your soft stomach. Shouta works his way down your body, giving a curious churring sound as more of your body reveals itself. He tears away your pants, but rather than discard them, he tucks them into the borders of the nest.

The air feels good on your skin, cool where it kisses your arousal. “Hold yourself open for me,” he says. “I want to taste you”.

An overwhelming wave of embarrassment washes over you as he guides your hands to the back of your thighs, ankles hooked over his broad shoulders. Pressure behind his claw-tipped fingers, Shouta gently pries your folds apart to demonstrate his wishes. “Like this”.

You moan, bear down on his tongue at the first lick as it glides over your clit, a shudder rolling through your body at the threat of his teeth. He descends again and again with bottomless yearning, no longer hunger, rather like an elastic compulsion pulled impossibly taut.

A pleased chitter vibrates against you. His wings extend and shudder, looming above like tapestry. “So good,” he breathes in, shameless as he noses along your cunt. “So warm. You smell even better than usual”.

The muscles in your thighs clench as the narrow tip of his tongue teases your entrance. You push down into your heels with a weak cry of complaint and he obliges, gently pushing inside you.

Your breathing falters. “Sh—Shouta,” you croak, reaching down desperately to grasp his plumage the deeper he sinks. It feels never ending, flexing and twisting experimentally as he draws out, still keeping his lips pressed up against you.

Gradually he builds a rhythm. Observing raptly from his place between your legs, his gaze never strays, gleaming when your hips buck into his mouth. It’s his expression that spurs you on— that rapt, intense desire.

Shouta stretches you on his tongue, the obscene slick sound of saliva echoing throughout his nest. The tension low in your belly coils, taut, and you feel it pulse. Your toes curl and you let out a loud, broken moan that sounds like relief.

“Don’t stop. Feels so good,�� you keen, balancing right at the crest. Shouta’s pace grows anxious the closer you get, his big hands palming at your thighs, talons pinching skin. He forces them wider as he presses his weight into you with a long groan. “Yeah. That’s it, make me cum. Oh fuck—!”

A moment passes without air, yanked under by the force of it. Your body wrings tight and the tension snaps. Undone, loose at the seams as he takes you through the aftershocks quaking through your body.

You return to yourself, registering the quiet hum reverberating in your skull. Shouta nuzzles your sensitive clit before making his way up your torso. He smells like sex. His ruff, chin and cheeks are wet with arousal. You can taste yourself on his tongue as he licks over the seam of your lips, and shivers when they part to meet him.

The kiss is strange; not quite a kiss, more a press of mouths. You suppose it can’t be helped with teeth like his. His effort is far more endearing than it has any right to be.

Brief fatigue washes over you and settles into a giddy afterglow. The black spots in your vision dissipate. A short, soft chitter comes from his throat. The noise is familiar— they’re exactly like the sounds he would make when you were anxious.

“I’m okay, Shouta. You— You’re a bit too good at that,” you reassured, taking his face into your palms and feeling it in his cheeks when he smiles. The shifting wings behind his head draw your attention as they flutter. He’s near enough for you to reach out and stroke them.

They’re breathtaking. The texture is unlike anything you have ever felt before. You pause at his squirming, “Does it hurt?”

He huffed a laugh. You think that will never get old. “It doesn’t hurt”.

“Feels nice?”

“Too nice,” he says, stroking your hips. Lifting your hips, you grind lightly over his cock. You swallow, noticing how much it had grown, now completely unsheathed. Shouta reflexively chases the feeling, bucking up against your sex. You both hiss at the sensitivity.

Timidly, you ask, “Can I see?”

He nods.

The size is daunting. His cock is curved, long, but more notably it is thick. Fleshy in colour and hot, leaking a clear liquid over your hand. Ribbed around the shaft, the slight bumps slide under your palm as you bring your fist up to the narrowed head. No spikes. Good. If you met God you’d thank him.

It is crowned by sensitive skin, not unlike a human’s, but in gently pulling it back you find it reminds you more of an ovipositor. Shouta’s rumbling deepens, head hung between his shoulders. Drapes of long dark hair fall to curtain his face. His antennae quiver in place, wide red eyes looking back at you.

You feel yourself ache with unfulfilled arousal. Pressing your thighs together does nothing but tease. Shouta watches you guide his cock to the apex of your thighs, his chest heaving as you glide him through your wet folds, drenching yourself in his slick.

The cryptid pushes into you with a gentleness that is almost terrifying in its intensity— so out of place for a supposed harbinger of suffering. “Careful, little human,” he rasps, an ever present humming in his chest.

A pleasant tingling sensation begins to spread throughout your abdomen, relaxing your muscles, like sinking into the soothing heat of a hot bath. You’ve long shut off your avid questions, rendered thoughtless and pliant by the pressure. “Oh,” you exhale, struggling to keep your eyes open. He’s barely halfway in.

Shouta pulls out slowly and rocks back in, repeating the motion as you open up to him. You crane your head, jaw slack as you moan, reaching out to the immense silhouette above you. Everything about him is big. It’s all you can notice. He’s taking handfuls of you, kneading the fat at your thighs, hooking around them and pushing your knees toward your chest.

“Look at you,” his voice is thick and trembling. You whine, watching the way you swallow around him, clit swollen and twitching. “Perfect,” he rasps, the mix of your arousal dampening the fur around his base. He pulls out again, tantalisingly slow, and your legs start to shake.

“Shouta,” you choke, not knowing what it was you were asking for. He gives it to you anyway, rocking forward in one harsh movement, setting a pace that splits you in two. You can almost feel his cock is in your throat; touching parts of you you didn’t know existed; carving out space for himself and making a home of it.

The earlier mindfulness is gone. Shouta sets a divine pace. He shifts on his knees, gripping at your waist with his talons pressing into skin, pulling you down onto his cock. Praises have dwindled into a language you cannot understand, but you recognise those six successive clicks— he’s calling your name, over and over.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck. Ah. What is—?!”

The hypothesis is reaffirmed by the sensation of him stretching you further, widening inside you, inflating as something pulses through his shaft, abandoning his body and slipping into yours. Your mouth falls open as heat prickles across your skin and what feels like a second orgasm crashes over you. You’re left suspended in a free fall that never seems to end.

It feels too good to panic about. Sperm packets or eggs or both— whatever they are, they’re smooth, cooling where they gather inside of you, and right pushing up against your sweet spot. Tremors wrack through your limbs and Shouta appears no better. His upper lip curls, wings fully presented and twitching.

Weak, you wrap your arms around his head and cradle him to your chest. Your fingers brush over the apex of his wings and with barely any exertion, he slams you back onto his cock, a loud groan drawn from his chest. His pelvis slaps against your clit and in a moment of lucidity, you feel the ground rise to meet you.

Rigidity bleeds from your muscles as you cum again, soon replaced by a wave of exhaustion. You grimace at the uncomfortable bloated feeling in your belly. Shouta is muttering, antennae curled and brushing the swell of your cheeks. You can hear his voice. Muffled, as if you were under water, “You did well, little flame”.

Thinking aloud, you mumble, “What if they don’t take?”

He nudges your chin, gathering you into his arms to cocoon you both, “I’ll make sure they do”.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #aizawa shouta x reader #aizawa x reader #eraserhead x reader

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yanderemisery · 24 days

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CEO Izuku Midoriya x personal assistant reader

TW: obsession, yandere, naive darling, dub-con, no quirks au, normal society.

Izuku Midoriya had it all. At just 28, he was the CEO of a tech company that was revolutionizing the industry. He was tall, strong, and devastatingly handsome, with the kind of wealth that made people sit up and pay attention when he walked into a room. Everything about him screamed power and control, from the way he spoke in board meetings to the sharp, precise way he dressed in tailored suits. But there was one thing Izuku couldn't control-his obsession with Darling.

Darling was different from the other assistants he'd had over the years. She was small, almost delicate, with a frame that seemed as though it could be swept away in a strong wind. Her hands, in particular, fascinated Izuku. They were so tiny compared to his own, her fingers slender and graceful, always tapping away at her keyboard or clutching a notepad as she followed him around the office. She was a perfectionist, fussing over every detail of his schedule, making sure that everything ran like clockwork.

But it wasn't just her size that drew him in.

It was her passion, her kindness. She cared about the work she did, and it showed in the way she handled every task with precision and thoughtfulness. She cared about people, too-she was the kind of person who would remember everyone's birthdays, who would ask after their families, who would go out of her way to make sure everyone around her was happy.

Izuku had never met anyone like her. His previous assistants had been efficient, yes, but they were cold, detached. They didn't care about him or the company. They were there for the paycheck and the prestige, nothing more. But Darling... Darling was different. She was warm, caring, and utterly devoted to her work-and, by extension, to him.

At first, Izuku had tried to keep his distance. After all, he was her boss, and there were lines that shouldn't be crossed.

But the more he tried to push his feelings aside, the more they consumed him. He found himself watching her, studying her, memorizing every detail about her. The way her dark hair would slip loose from her ponytail by midday, the way her skirt hugged her hips just so, the way she'd glance up at him with those big, brown eyes whenever she asked a question.

He loved how small she looked next to him.

When they stood together, her shoulder barely reached his elbow, and he felt an overwhelming urge to wrap his arm around her and pull her close. Her height, her size, made him feel even more powerful, more in control, yet paradoxically, he was completely undone by her. He loved the way she fussed over him, adjusting his tie before meetings, smoothing out imaginary wrinkles in his suit, always ensuring he was at his best.

The obsession grew with each passing day. Izuku found himself thinking about her constantly, even when he wasn't at work.

He would lie awake at night, replaying every interaction they'd had that day, every time her hand had brushed against his as she handed him a file, every time she'd smiled up at him. He imagined how soft her lips would feel against his, how perfectly she would fit in his arms, how he could protect her from the world if she were his.

But it was more than just a physical attraction-it was the way she made him feel. Around her, he felt like a different man. He wasn't the ruthless CEO, the hard-edged businessman. With her, he felt... human. She made him want to be better, to do better, to live up to the way she looked at him, as if he were someone worth admiring.

Izuku began finding excuses to be near her. He'd call her into his office for the most trivial of tasks, just to watch her as she worked, to catch a whiff of her perfume, a light floral scent that lingered in the air long after she'd left. He started scheduling more meetings, just so she'd be at his side, her tiny hands flipping through the pages of his agenda. He found reasons to touch her-nothing overt, nothing that could be construed as inappropriate-but small, fleeting touches that sent electricity coursing through his veins. A hand on her lower back as they walked through a door, a brief touch of her fingers as he handed her something.

But it wasn't enough. He wanted more. He needed more.

Izuku found himself daydreaming about what it would be like to hold her, to feel her small body pressed against his, to kiss her until she was breathless. He imagined her in his penthouse apartment, curled up on his couch, wearing one of his shirts that would be far too big for her. He pictured her in his bed, the sheets tangled around her small frame, her hair spread out on his pillow.

He knew it was wrong to feel this way, but he couldn't help himself. She had become an addiction, a need that consumed him.

And as much as he tried to resist, to maintain the professional distance that was expected of him, he was failing miserably.

But Izuku was a man who was used to getting what he wanted, and he knew he had to be careful. Darling was special, and he couldn't risk scaring her away. So, he continued to watch, to wait, to fantasize about the day when he could finally make her his. Because in his mind, she already was.

#yandere izuku midoriya #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #yandere bnha #mha deku #mha #my hero acedamia #my hero x reader #obsessed #obsessive love #older daddy #anime #ceo #personal assistant #power #age g@p

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saphira-approves · 3 months

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Random headcanon, but I think Saphira would be enamored by drag culture. Honestly I think a lot of dragons would be but Saphira in particular is a) fascinated by ✨Shinies✨ and b) notably preoccupied with her own appearance. She would be FASCINATED by people who take fashion and gender to extraordinary exaggerated heights.

Honestly Alagaësian drag culture would probably have a ton of influence from dragons—you know, the bright, colorful, gem-like manifestations of magic incarnate. There’s definitely a trend to wear slit-pupil contacts and paint scale patterns with tiny glued-on crystals into their eyeshadow, and wear those claw finger cap things. There’s probably awards for “most creative integration of wings and/or tail into hair or outfit” given at any drag show that has more than one dragon-inspired look, with solutions ranging from long ponytail or lifted cape (basic) to fully articulated extra limbs (no magic, because that would be cheating) to wild abstract interpretations (someone once walked onstage with just pieces of paper tied to their back with “wings” and “tail” written on them in like five different languages. yes this one won the award.).

And that’s not even touching on elf drag, elf drag is a whole other beast, elf drag has elves like Blödgharm who normally look absolutely wild walking the runway in normal human cosplay, but with exaggerated features like extremely round human ears or extremely square human jawlines. In other circles you’ve got elf drag shows that ramp up in stages of “oh yeah this is a regular drag show” to “oh my god the trees that have been here the whole time and which i assumed were part of the forest have started walking the runway” to “that is a deer. that is straight up just a deer that wandered into the show. whatdoyoumeanit’sgettinganaward-”

Urgal drag involves exaggerating their horns with intricately carved extensions, often wood or bone, but sometimes the horn of another animal or even another Urgal—one famous Kull Urgal drag king used his late father’s horns to great effect. Their competitions also usually involve combat in some form. Basically it combines drag shows and wrestling into the ultimate “dress up in elaborate looks with elaborate personas and over-exaggerated rivalries and throw down about it” pastime. They also tend to focus on makeup rather than clothes—obviously what they do wear is still intricate and beautiful, often woven to tell a story or represent a clan or idea, but the REAL visual focus is the exaggeration of the physical form, turning a broad muscled chest into that of a bear or bird, or even a mountain, animated into a humanoid form. Basically imagine if the colossi from Shadow of the Colossus were drag personas, you’d be pretty close to what I’m envisioning here.

Dwarf drag is heavily rooted in clan identity, rather than gender, as well as religion. Dwarven drag houses will often come together within a clan and claim a patron god, with all the hostility and rivalries that would entail. As a counter-culture to this, there’s always a few subversive houses established to welcome anyone from any clan, or for those ostracized from their clans, which often face vicious backlash and are ascribed reputations of dishonorable traitors, though they are rarely outright declared criminals. This results in a subculture of “anonymous” drag, where these subversive houses protect themselves by maintaining secrecy of their members and numbers, and craft personas and looks that also act as disguises. Though to some this only reinforces their untrustworthy reputations, these secretive houses are staunch bastions of those treated unfairly by dwarven society, with a perspective greater than clan ties, and due to their anonymity have been influential in several key moments of dwarven history in uniting the clans for crucial decisions.

Werecat drag is done entirely in cat form. It’s definitely done in the style of the “Be Best” competition from Centaurworld, ie to be your best self, whatever that is. There’s never a winner because every werecat votes for themself. Yes even the judges. Yes even the audience. It’s basically a big party of self-appreciation taken to narcissistic heights. Every participant gets a prize, and that prize is not getting mauled by the judges for not voting for the judges. When dragons start doing drag, this is the model they follow.

Alagaësian drag. I just think it’d be neat. Happy pride everybody.

#inheritance cycle #christopher paolini #saphira bjartskular #saph speaks #saph’s headcanons #it’s a life goal of mine to do drag one day #im more interested in the drag king side of things #but also i would absolutely do a drag queen saphira cosplay at some point

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tdinyomomma · 1 year

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TDWT- Cody X Reader: Walk Like An Egyptian Pt. 1 (Chapter Two)

If you haven’t read: one

“Season three of Total Drama, folks! The world is gonna be mine, sea to shining sea! Sadly I’m forced to share my world with a three-ring traveling teen freak show!” A bus pulls up behind Chris McLean, as he continues to talk.

“They’ll be competing all around the globe for another one million dollars!” he grins.

“So let’s meet our players.” The first few teens come out, “Courtney, Duncan, Heather, Gwen, Leshawna!” Introducing them. Gwen accidentally bumps into Heather.

“Are there reserved seating? I.E. can’t have one behind Heather’s pony-hair ponytail?” She makes a jab at the once bald headed mean girl in front of her. “Um, my extensions are human hair!” Heather folds her arms.

“You learn something new everyday.” Duncan adds in, to which Gwen giggles at. He smirks, pissing off his girlfriend, Courtney.

“Lindsay!” Chris suddenly shouts, moving on from that whole hot mess, the blonde comes down from the bus. Blowing a kiss.

“Owen, DJ, and Harold!” He has his eyes shut, waiting for the boys to come out.

“Hey! Oh! Ah!” Owen grunts, he comes out with DJ bear hugging him from behind.

“Sweet Strawberry preserves! No!” The big guy yells out. “He’s afraid of flying remember?” DJ speaks for him, walking with Owen away from the bus to let others come out.

“Aerophobia, from the Latin, as apposed to Aeronausiphobia, the fear of air sickness.” Harold tells everyone his nerdy information,

“Keep up the fascinating facts and I’m going to be Aeronauseous all over you.” Noah threatens.

“And returning favorites: Noah, Cody and-”

“Yo, yo, yo! This years winner is in the house- Uh, bus. I mean runway! Where’s the plane, eh?” Ezekial announces himself.

“I know right? Let’s fly! Whoo!” Izzy pops out, jumping onto Ezekial’s shoulders. “Watch out! Ooh!” They both fall to the ground. “Yep Izzy’s back. Also returning this season, Tyler and the co-host of Total Drama Aftermath, Bridgette.” Both the athletes trip and fall over Izzy and Ezekial who still laid on the ground from falling themselves. “

Yo, Chris, you forgot to introduce me.” Ezekiel raises his hand, Chris sighs. “And Ezekial.”

“And now to mix things up and keep it all fresh, we’re adding three new competitors. He’s an honor-roll student with a diplomat for a dad and an amazing ability to charm the pants off most species; Alejandro!” The good looking Hispanic teen struts down the steps of the bus.

“Perhaps I can assist.” He helps up Izzy and Bridgette. “Wow-whee.” Izzy dreamily says. “I-I have a boyfriend!” Bridgette stammers.

“And, amigos, please allow me.” Alejandro then helps up the two other boys. “Wow-whee.” Ezekiel says. “I like girls.” Tyler defends himself unnecessarily.

“Here’s our first girl, she’s a well known actress who hates germs, super pretty by the way; [Name]!” The girl comes out with a disgusted expression, trying not to touch the handles of the bus, jumping off the last step.

“When was the last time this thing has been washed?” She questions, squirting hand sanitizer into her hands. A few of the teens hold back squeals, waving at her and she changes her expression and waves back with a small smile, before she can walk away Chris is already announcing the next girl.

“And she’s a sugar addicted superfan with 16 Total Drama blogs; Sierra!” The tall purple haired girl runs out, squeezing [Name] into an embrace, lifting the girl up.

“Oh, my gosh! I love you guys! And this is the greatest day of my life and-” She gasps for breath, hyperventilating and finally letting go of the actress who hurries away from her. “Anybody, got a paper bad I can breathe into?” She asks around then is quickly over that, heading to the other contestants.

“Ah! Oh my gosh! Cody and [Name] standing together!” She runs up to then, they both look confused. “I dreamt of this moment, Only you weren’t wearing a shirt!” She whispers the last part to Cody.

Cutting that off there’s a loud squeaking noise then they all turn to see a rusted plane.

POV change

“Excuse me, but I’d like to express some concerns about the safety of our plane.” That one smart girl, courtney raises her hand.

“Relax it’s perfectly safe,” Chris puts his hands up but then a part of the plan falls off. Freaking out that big blonde guy. “Really looks safe.” I comment, and the Noah guy agrees with me.

“Now, boarding!”

“No! I can’t ride in that! Call the United Nations! Call a cab! Call my mom! No I’m not doing this! I’m out, this is unethical!” He panics, but before he can keep it up, Chris knocks him out with a frying pan. “Mommy.” He whimpers.

“Anybody else got a problem with it?” The host motions to us.

“No.” Cody says.

“Love it!” Lindsay rubs her head nervously.

“Dibs on the window seat.” Bridgette calls.

“Now boarding on a voyage to a million big ones! We’re saving you a first-class seat for all the action right here on Total Drama World Tour!” Chris sings, “Seriously?” Duncan questions

We get into he plane. “Singing? Really? I thought Chris was joking about that.” Gwen exclaims. “Well I don’t have a problem with it.” Courtney shrugs.

“Yeah, cause you like singing.” Leshawna adds in.

“Well, I don’t. Girls sing. Little birdies sing. Duncan’s do not sing.” Duncan folds his arms.“Mm, we can tell.” I mutter, leaning my weight onto my right foot.

“Think I’ll get to beat box?” Harold asks in a hopeful tone. “I’ll beat you if you try.” Duncan holds up a fist.

“Why are you doing this to us?” Heather questions the host.

“Singing reality shows are huge. And the worse the singing the higher the ratings. Which is why this show, there will be no vocal coaches or rehearsals or warning.” Chris announces. Everyone grumbles but I sat there smirking.

Being a child star meant I had a little bit of an advantage, having extensive vocal coaching I won’t be embarrassed like the rest.

“Anywho this is the dining area, where you all enjoy in-flight meals.” Chris shows us the room we’ve been standing in for a few minutes now.

“Not for long, eh? Prepare to lose to the Zeke!” Ezekiel says. “Okay, so not trying to be mean here, but you do know that you got voted out first last time right?” Gwen reminds him.

“Word. And I spent every minute since making sure that don’t happen again. I’m stronger, faster, smarter-”

“Chattier, blabbier, can’t-shut-uppier.” Chris shouts, cutting the boy who we falters down.

“Is there a ladies room?” Leshawna speaks up. “Just through there.” Chris points. “Good, cause I got to make a deposit.” She says.

“Losing teams will enjoy a luxurious economy-class accommodations between destinations.” Chris informs.

“Okay, well were are our beds?” That blonde athletic girl glances around. “Owen, care to demonstrate?” Chris yells, we all turn our heads over to see Owen sleeping, strapped to the wall. “That does not look comfortable.” Heather speaks.

“No comfort for losers.” Chris teases. “Safety harnesses and an emergency exit out. No comfort here, here, or here.” Chris jokes, Sierra goes up to him with an obnoxious laugh but it was finally away from me so I don’t care. “O.M.G. Chris I am L.O.L.” She bends down laughing.

“We should hit the winners compartment, eh? Cause I ain’t never gonna be in here. Ha! Never!” Ezekiel confidently tells everyone.

“Is never your policy on mouthwash too, homeschool?” Noah fans his face, grossed out. We then move onto first class.

"You smell like coconut and vanilla.” Sierra whispers in my ear and my eyes widen, I move away from her for the hundredth time.

“This is the first-class cabin, the domain on each weeks winners.” Chris shows off,. “Now this is the kind of accommodation ladies deserve.” Alejandro flirts with Lindsay and I scrunch my face. “They get ladies in first class, too? Oh! Me! You meant me!” Lindsay then gushes at her realization, hiding behind her hand to giggle.

“That guy is as smooth as moma’s gravy.” DJ says and I agree. “You gotta be stupid to not see it’s poisoned though.” I mutter. “Lindsay’s supposed to like me.” Tyler slumps.

“Nobody can compete with gravy. Even the poisoned kind.” Dj nudges me and we both chuckle. “Lindsay! I can do a handspring!” We probably should’ve stopped him but instead we watch him do it and completely fail.

“Oh my gosh! Poor… uh I’m blanking on his name- Oh! Oh! I know! Alejandro.” She holds her r=hands together. “That’s my name.” The Hispanic smirks. “And what a nice name, Alejandro. I could say it all day.” She flirts back with him. “Please do.” She giggles at his response. I look over to see that Heather girl get annoyed.

“I can see right through that guy. You know, this extra confessional is a thousand times nicer than talking in the toilet.” heather admits. “Maybe for you. I’m trying to prep for a flight here.” Chef interrupts. “Hello, venting! Shh! Anyway, new guy is so transparent. So fake, so-” “Deliciously seductive.” chef speaks up once again. “That is exactly the opposite of what I was trying to say.” The girl disagrees. “Pretty good looking guy to boot, I’m just saying. Also there’s that actress it’s gonna be tough to compete with such a loved girl like her.” “Ugh! Forget this!”

“Whoa! Where are we now? A grand piano? Wood burning pizza over? Four person hot-tub with L.E.D. light show and dancing waters?” Cody questions, pointing out everything like we couldn’t see it ourselves.

“Definitely not ours.” I cross my arms and he looks over at me. “Huh?” “it’s Chris’s.” I laugh, his face turns red as I’m chuckling.

“Easy tiger, [Name]s right these are my quarters. And they’re off limits? Clear?” It looks like he was mainly talking to Harold but I missed what he said. “Crystal.” Harold puts his head down. “Oh, Chris. I heart your limits.” Sierra sighs.

“Anyway, with Beth gone, Lindsiot and Ale-whatever looking like a real threat, same with Miss all-loved actress, my only strategic option is to make friends with the other new girl, But pretending to like that is gonna be hard. I do not heart the new girl.” Heather declares to the camera, even getting closer to it.

“And that’s pretty much it, I skipped the cargo hold and galley but I’m sure you’ll find those exciting destinations later when I accidentally lock you in them.” Chris uses quotation marks with his fingers towards the end, being sarcastic. Then the plane moves like there’s a huge bump.

“One more thing. I’m sure you remember a little something called the elimination ceremony. Takes place right in here, my friends.” He points, we all follow him to the next area.

“If you don’t receive a barf bag full of airline-tissue peanuts-”

“I got a peanut allergy, yo, or more like a sensitivity.” Ezekiel confesses. “You will be forced to a drop of shame.” Chris ignores the boy who decides to carry.

“Okay, I just don’t like-” “Kind of like this.” Chris grabs the boy, throwing him out of the plane. “All eliminations are final, bro!” Chris waves outside the door.

Now we’re sitting back at the tables. “Every second, we’re getting closer to ad

venture. And further from momma.” DJ frowns, I pat his back. “It’s gonna be alright. You’ll be back with her in no time.” I smile, of course I notice the staring and gawking over me comforting the boy. There’s always eyes on me.

“Cody Emmett Jameson Anderson and [Name] [Middle Name] [Last Name]. I also happen to know your birthdays are April 1st and February 14th. My own April fool and Valentine.” Sierra stares at us in a creepy way except these eyes just have to be the most unsettling the I actually want to stop looking at me.

A spotlight shows upon the host. “Whenever you hear that friendly little bell, it’s musical number time. So let’s hear ti!” Chris tells them. “But what are we supposed to sing?” Courtney asks. “You have to make it up as you go. It wouldn’t be challenging otherwise now would it?” He questions and then music really starts and the teens start singing.

“Up, up, up, up!” Courtney starts it off, three other girls after. “Sing! Sing! Sing! Sing!” Harold, Cody, DJ, and Tyler go, looking quite panicked. “We’re flying and singing. We’re flying and we’re singing!” They all bunch together to sing. Cody sits on the edge of a snack cart, [Name] behind him as Sierra pushes them. “Come fly with us!” Sierra sings, “Come fly with us!” The three then sing together. “We’ve got a lot of crazy tunes to bust. Ha-ha!” Izzy jumps out of the vent. “Come fly with us!” Bridgette stands on the couch with her arms out and Lindsay does the same thing on a seat opposite side of Bridgette. “Come fly with us!”

“It’s a pleasure and a honor and a must!” Alejandro pulls both the girls down next to him, both blush. “Dudes this is messed. You’re singing in a plane.” Duncan boredly says. “What do you expect? Chris is freaking insane- unh!” Harold gets pushed away as he was swinging around numchucks. “Yeah, but, guys you’re singing on t.v.” Gwen joins in. “Haven’t you always wanted to? It can’t just be meeeee!” Courtney dances like a ballerina around the goth girl.

Then it cuts to DJ and Leshawna dancing. “Come fly with us!” DJ starts. “Come fly with us!”

The plane shakes startling everyone, it shows [Name] grabbing onto Cody since he’s the only one near, then she let’s go and uses her hand sanitizer. “Do you know how to steer this thing?” Heather grips her seat besides Chef Hatchet. “I try.” He leans back in his seat, feet kicked up. “They thought they could leave me and depart! But this stowaway’s got winning in his heart!” Ezekiel belts, coming out of the suitcases in the cargo.

“Come fly with us! Come die with us!” Noah watches outside one of the plane windows to see one of the jets smoking. “We’re flying? I hate flying! Stop the plane!” Owen wakes up in a panic but just gets knocked out again by Chris.

“Come fly wit us! Come sing with us!” A group tries to persuade Gwen and Duncan. “No!” They fold their arms, Chris walks over with a smug expression laid out on his face, papers in his hands. “Anyone care for a copy of the season three rules? Because in order to escape instant elimination-” His singing gets cut off by Bridgette taking the papers out of his hand. “All the contestants must sing in each show!” She reads out, pissing off Chris.

“Duncan, do it, let’s go!” Courtney nudges her boyfriend. “Gwen sing it, don’t go!” Cody pleads. “Well, I don’t want to go home.” She looks annoyed. “Come fly with us! Come fly with us! Come and fly with us!” Gwen shoots up doing a little dance where she ends up on her knees. “Duncan come on, please!” Courtney clasps her hands together. “This su-u-u-cks!” He belts and they all go around him, posing to finish off the song. “Yeah!” They do jazz hands.

“Enough singing fruitcakes, strap yourselves in. We are now beginning our descent into Egypt. Musical numbers. Worst idea ever. Chris is such an id- Hey, why is this P.A. light still in?” Chris gasps at Chef’s words. “Oh sh-” The P.A. turns off. “We’ll be right back.” Chris tells the audience in a short tone, scrunching his face in anger.

And here we stand, in a scorching hot dessert with pyramids.

“You guys ready for a little fun?” Chris comes over on a chair in Egyptian clothing, carried by two interns. “Huh? Wow! It’s a scorcher out here huh?” He takes a long sip of his cold beverage. “I call today’s challenge… pyramid over under.” He declares.

“An 11-hour flight, Chef’s in-flight cuisine, a forced musical number. Now we’ve got a challenge?!” Leshawna questions his show. I’m really starting to wish I had a different agent as I fan myself with my hand.

“Don’t you love this game?”

He moved us all over to a line to start a race of some sort. “It’s like we’re being cooked in a giant oven.” Harold complains.

“It might help if you weren’t dressed like a giant baked potato.” Leshawna tell shim, Harold wears a foil hat on his head.

“Aluminum foil means the aliens can’t read your brains. It’s a real problem in this area.” Harold informs her but is cut off by a cymbal crashing.

“Man, that’s satisfying. All right. Pyramid over under means you chose how you’ll get to the finish line- either over or under the pyramid. Got it?” We all nod to his instructions.

“Ready… Set…” “Wait up, yo! You guys wait up!” Ezekial runs in. “I told you I wasn’t gonna lose this time, eh?” Ezekiel points a finger in Chris’s face. “Didn’t we leave you in like Halifax or whitehorse or whatever?” Chris asks.

“It’s called landing gear, homie. I climbed it and hid with the cargo.” He tells him. “Impressive but you’re still out.” The host cuts off his dream. “No way! I’m in it to win it! Word!” Ezekiel angrily stomps. “Hey, it’s your funeral.” He just carries on.

“Set… Go!”

We all begin running.

“Oh, great. Our friendly neighborhood host dude failed to mention there were different paths.” Noah says in a monotone voice. I like him.

“Hey, Sierra which way do you think we should go?” Heather speaks up. “Me!?” Um… uh…” She thinks about it.

“How do we know which is right?” Owen asks.

“I know! Okay, I saw this in a spy movie once. You lick your finger and hold it up to find the air flow.” Izzy then licks her finger, “mmm, this sand really crunches in your teeth. Fun!” She doesn’t even do what she explained, instead turns to Owen and DJ.

“Okay, DJ, give me your hand.”

“Don’t do it DJ. You might catch a case of crazy.” Leshawna jumps before he can do it.

“Come on Harold.” The three walk away, going through the middle door way.

“Oh, oh, oh! Let’s take the scary mummy door!” Izzy points up. I fold my arms and end up following Sierra and Heather. Well I didn’t really have a choice as Sierra grabbed me by the bottom of my shirt for me to walk beside her.

As we make our way through Sierra steps onto a booby trap. Arrows shooting out of the wall almost getting us but Heather shoves us to the ground.

“Oops, sorry guys.” We get back up, I notice Heather fight back getting mad. “Honest mistake. Could have happened to anybody.” Heather forces a sweet smile. “Yeah, okay and it almost killed us. I’m not okay with this “honest” mistake.” I announce, walking ahead. “Awe, I’m sorry [Name]!” Sierra follows after me.

“Stop touching me!” I make a disgusted face.

We end up bumping into Cody, I try to tell him to go away but he stared at me instead and got caught by Sierra.

We hear a groan and a Mummy had it’s arms out, starting to follow us, out of fear and not knowing who it was we started screaming a running, eventually finding our way out of the pyramid. When we make it out, Sierra was holding Cody and somehow now holding the bottom of my shirt again.

“Oh, I’m so happy we found you. Heather aren’t you so happy? I have both of my loves!” Sierra speaks to the girl behind us.

“I’m so happy I could scream.” Heather sarcastically says and we make it past the finish line.

“We did it! Group hug!” Sierra places down Cody then squishes us into a hug with her. “Come on, Heath! You too!” I watch the brunette roll her eyes then force herself to join us into this already forced embrace.

“And hugs over, Sierra get behind number 2. Heather, Cody, and [Name], you’ll be on team three.” Chris tells us and I feel relief wash over me as Sierra is not with us on this team.

“In Egyptian-” “No one cares, Harold.” Chris cuts him off. “Where’s Gwen? Not like I care, just curious.” Cody rambles after glancing over to me. “Uh, kids!” That ding sound goes off and Chris is shouting up the pyramid with a megaphone.

“Recognize that sound? Time for whoever's not finished yet to give us a little musical reprise.” Chris pints up to them. “You said one song per episode.” Duncan angrily shouts down.

“Yeah and this is a reprise. Not a new song. So if you don’t sing. You’re out, now let’s hear it!” Chris yells.

“You know what? No!” He storms down the pyramid, dragging the two girls behind him.

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no! Three hours of those two squawking on this stupid pyramid in this stupid heat and you want me to sing?! Forget it!” Duncan spits in the host’s face.

“Dude, you have a contract.”

“Eat it McLean! If you need me, I’ll be in the plane waiting for a ride home, cause I’m out. Done.” He cuts the rope he’s tied to after twirling the knife in his hand.

“I quit!” He stomps off.

“Girls on the rebound are the best. They cry and ten you et to buy them a pop and listen and then well they still won’t go out with you but yo get to buy them a pop!” Cody enthusiastically says.

Then comes out the two mummies one actually being Izzy, the same one that followed us out fo the pyramid having us scared for our lives.

“You’re carrying the undead!” Noah screams. “Cool! Bite me and I can be your undead friend, like Frankenstein!” Izzy says but it jumps out unwrapping itself.

“Thanks for all the help you knobs.” Ezekiel thanks us sarcastically.

“Izzy go join team-” “Teleta or three.” Harold cuts off Chris.

“Come on, guy! After all this, you’ve got to let me back in the game!” Ezekiel whines, begging. Chris pushes him down by the head.

“Fine, but only cause we’re down a man, thanks to Duncan McQuitty-pants. Go ahead and join team one.” Chris tells him. “Oh! Yes!” The kid cheers.

“Okay, teams talk amongst yourselves and determine a team name. You have three minutes while I enjoy this ice cream cone.”

“Team victory!” Team one says.

“Team Amazon!” My team says.

Then the second team takes a really long time to pick one. “Got it, Team Chris is really really, really, really hot.” Sierra declares loudly making it the name. “What!?” The rest of her team questions.

“All right, best team name ever! And here are your rewards. Team amazon you win a camel.” He shows off the animal. “Team Chris is really, really, really, really, really hot-” “I think there were only four reallys.” Alejandro corrects but is ignored. “You win a goat!” The goat then runs, crashing into Tyler knocking him down.

“And team victory here, you go.” He shows a stick.

“So the guys who come in last get a camel and we get a stick?” Leshawna speaks up for her team.

“All will be explained if I feel like it. Next time here on Total Drama World Tour!”

Sorry for the late post I had a few things happen the past few days but tomorrow I will try to get the next chapter for the Heather x Reader out and then after that is Cody I do have a family issue rn so it might put a slight hold on some writing later in the week but I don't know. Thank you for your patience!

Link to other writings

Taglist: if you want to be added lmk!

@marsyay78

@ghostdoodlen

@laecrowa

@pulling-out-my-eyes

@tulipatheticee

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imperator-titus · 11 days

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What have I been doing instead of writing or classwork? Modding BG3 and making my OCs, of course!

I posted pics before when I only had the vanilla game assets available.

First is the story's interpretation of what Astarion looked like before turning. Yes, I accept other interpretations of what he looked like, such as different eye colors or even his hair color. This is not what I believe to be the most-likely scenario for canon pre-vampirism Astarion.

(If you don't care about my story's OCs, then don't bother with the read more break. It is there as a courtesy to those who just want Astarion as well as to avoid how loooong this post will be.)

Mods used: Toarie's New Character Creation Presets (Andrei head, which I'm fairly certain is a tweaked Astarion with no bite marks, clearer skin, etc), Vessnelle's Hair Collection (M3, it's still not what I wanted but it was the best I could find, his hair should be more like ringlets and in a higher ponytail and no/different bangs) Other settings: Pallid Tone 1 Skin, Elf Gold 2 Eyes, White 3 + 75% Greying (Grey Neutral 2)

Eletha Nightstar/Lorelai Irithyl

Mods used: ASTRL Hair Color Supplement (Eletha has some more greying/highlighting involved) Changes for Lorelai: Toned down the make-up that was making Eletha look "tired", two blue eyes, No scars, No piercings, Less aging, Hair is vanilla "Sorcha Curls" Notes: I ended up not changing Eletha pretty much at all, all I would change is making her lips thinner Character Notes:

Class: Ranger (Subclass: Hunter)

Born: 1224 (268yo as of BG3), Dalelands

Race: High Elf (Moon elf)

Sex/Gender: Female/Cis

Orientation: Bisexual/Demisexual

Approx. 5 years older than Astarion

Last saw Astarion 1259 (233 years ago from BG3)

Fey's curse: Burns in a white flame every new moon

Highly skilled with Eladrin longsword, high pain tolerance, bitter old lemon of an adventurer

Folk Hero: not as famous as the Blade of Frontiers, but has probably done more and has a little following of adventurers, despite her best efforts to dissuade them

Left her family in 1260 after being forced to give birth

Magic Left (Gold) Eye: allows the wearer to see things as they were in memories

Quynn Irithyl

Mods: Toarie's New Character Creation Presets (Falorin head), Trips' Accessory Collection + Jerinski's Piercing Edits, Cerberry's Simple Hair (Hero) (Current Hair), Tav's Hair Salon (163) (Old Hair), ASTRL Hair Color Supplement

Pronounced "kwin"

Last name: Eletha's original last name

Born: 1260 (232 yo), Dalelands

Race: High Elf (Moon Elf)

Class: Ranger (In-game: Gloomstalker, 5e Monster Slayer)

Mellia (Melliana)

Mods: ASTRL Hair Color Supplement, Trips' Accessory Collection + Jerinski's Piercing Edits, Vessnelle's Hair Collection (F18), Frosty Faces (Allani Head)

Race: High Elf (Vampire)

Age: Unknown (Eletha thinks she's over 1000)

Sex/Gender: Female/Gender-fluid, but mostly Hyper-Femme

Orientation: Homosexual (Lesbian), but is known to hit on anything

Class: Sorcerer (In-game: Storm, 5e Shadow Magic, from being a Vampire)

Eletha's oldest friend (met 1268, 224 years ago) "Your Sanguine Companion"

Aluin of Suzail

Mods: ASTRL Hair Color Supplement, Kay's Hair Extensions, Frosty Faces (Divine Head)

Pronounced: All-win ("Win" or "Winnie" for short)

Race: Human

Class: Wizard (Transmutation)

Age: 232 (Met 1283, 209 years ago)

Sex/Gender: Male/Cis

Orientation: Asexual/Panromantic

Loves sweets and has a bad back

Bromthrum Starkhammer

Mods: Andmetta's Bulky Dwarf Heads (Thrain), Trips' Accessory Collection + Jerinski's Piercing Edits, Bububull's Big Dwarven Beards

"Provider of Fine Crafts" (Merchant)

Race: Dwarf (Gold Dwarf)

Class: Fighter (Champion)

Age: 120-ish (met 100 years ago)

Obsessed with Elves and Elven artifacts

Collects Elven longswords to show to Eletha

Tyrlumin

Mods: Trips' Accessory Collection + Jerinski's Piercing Edits, HGY Heads (Xan Head), Bububull's More Dreadlocs Vol 2 (Disowned Warlock)

"Lumin" (loo-min) for short, "Your Melodic Cha" (Cha = "Half")

Race: Half-drow/Half-human, seemingly

Age: Unknown (Eletha thinks he's a fey or lich or something)

Sex/Gender: Seemingly Male/Has claimed to be anything and nothing

Orientation: Asexual/Aromantic

Class: Bard (In-Game: College of Lore, 5e: College of Glamour)

Specialty: Harp, but commonly plays the lute

Very Gandalf, arrives exactly when he intends to

Heilar Moonstone

Mods: Ghoul's Customization Compendium (Shaved Head)

Race: High Elf (Moon Elf), Dalelands

Class: Fighter (Battlemaster), Longsword Master

Sex/Gender: FTM Trans

Orientation: Homosexual/Aromantic

Taught Eletha, Astarion, and Quynn

Eletha's pseudo-father-figure

Praises Eletha as his best student

Maephina Greensong

Mods: HGY Heads (Uche Head), Trips Accessories + Jerenski_Piercing-Edits_Trips, ASTRL Hair Color Supplement, Bububull’s More Dreadlocs

Race: Halfling (Lightfoot)

Sex/Gender: Female/Cis

Class: Merchant (not a fighter, except when she has to be)

Travels with Ravan the Loyal

Ravan the Loyal

Race: Orc

Class: Barbarian (Berserker)

Missing half his brain, undergoing a personality change

Incredibly loyal to his friends- just who that is can be unclear sometimes

Loves giving his friends shoulder rubs and picking them up like cats/babies

Zespira Hartford

Mods: Trips Accessories + Jerenski_Piercing-Edits_Trips, Bububull’s More Dreadlocs (twin hills)

Race: Zariel Tiefling

Class: Paladin (Oath of Devotion)

Deity: Tyr

Young and full of life, a natural do-gooder like Wyll

Fairly new to Eletha's list of adventuring followers, she was rescued when she bitt off a little more than she could chew with an evil necromancer

Travels with Gin, Nei-Fonn, and Venxiatel. They met through Eletha

Nei-Fonn Shiaong

Mods: Trips Accessories + Jerenski_Piercing-Edits_Trips, ASTRL Hair Color Supplement, Tav’s Hairpack (84)

Race: Human

Sex/Gender: Female/Cis

Class: Rogue (In-Game: Thief, 5e: Inquisitive)

Highly intelligent

Sister to Gin

Used to work with a traveling circus with her brother, met Eletha when she tried to pick her pocket (Eletha: Unlucky for you, I have a lot of experience with pretty faces attached to sticky fingers.)

Gin Shiaong

Mods: Trips Accessories + Jerenski_Piercing-Edits_Trips, ASTRL Hair Color Supplement, Vessnelle's Hair Collection (M23)

Race: Human

Class: Barbarian (Wild Heart)

Sex/Gender: Male/Cis

Orientation: Homosexual

In a relationship with Venxiatel

Brother to Nei-Fonn

Strongman in a circus, also tried his hand at fire-eating

Venxiatel

Race: Dragonborn (Brass)

Class: Druid (In-Game: Circle of the Land, 5e: Claims to be Circle of the Scale, which no longer exists)

Sex/Gender: Male/Agender

Orientation: Doesn't understand the assignment (Just likes Gin)

Very aloof, seemingly "forgetful", easily distracted

I think that is probably all for GftP OCs. I did a pretty thorough sweep of mods so I doubt I'll change anything anytime soon.

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion headcanons #astarion bg3 #character creation #bg3 mods #bg3 #bg3 tav #original character #Eletha Nightstar #Ghost from the Past #titus writes #titus post

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hairtoppersforwomen · 3 months

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Discover the best hair extensions and toppers for women. From clip-in and silk to halo and ponytail, find your perfect style for volume. 100% Human Hair Clip In Hair Extensions.

#Hair Toppers For Women #Best Clip In Hair Extensions #100% Human Hair Extensions #Clip-In Volumizers #Silk hair toppers #hair clip highlights #back comb Hair topper #halo Hair extensions #natural human hair extensions #Ponytail Extensions #human hair wigs for women #Hair Accessories

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k1rameki · 1 year

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THE TIME HAS COME EVERYONE. ITS TIME TO TALK ABOUT MY EXTENSIVE LIST OF TABI HEADCANONS (hcs are under the cut plus this also counts as a little debrief of his human design bc jesus christ i put so much effort into making this man's design it went through a LOT of trial and error before settling on what i got now considering ive gradually made him less and less "human")

also quick thing b4 i proceed – please please PLEASE ask before making things w my tabi design bc ive seen a rlly cool papercraft made w/o my knowledge and that was kinda sucky so ya thats around it (other than the basics of no nsfw and such)

APPEARANCE HCS

first and foremost — hes half japanese because i remember his aside counterpart being japanese iirc and i thought that was really cool and wanted to implement that into my own little hc (also he speaks like a dozen languages bc of another thing i'll go into detail with in a bit

so many different facial features, scarring (theres a very elaborate reason for this tbh), moles, freckles, etc all bc why not?? (freckles is primarily bc of my bestie crow and now im obsessed)

lashes bc why not, give every man a pair of lashes i think theyre pretty

PIERCINGS. so many piercings. this is primarily because i am a very firm believer that tabi gets piercings done because he wants to feel human again so he finds comfort in decorating himself as much as possible for that reason and also the aesthetic

broken horn bc of the mod events, damage beyond repair and whatnot

HE HAS LONG HAIR BC I SAID SO ‼️‼️ i figured considering he's been invisible for so long he never really knew what to do when it came to cutting his hair, so eventually it grew out to around his waist, and he kept that hairstyle ever since (he prefers wearing his hair in a ponytail or smth bc sensory issues when it comes to hair touching his skin)

a lot of tater's hcs infected my brain hehehehehe especially the tail and his hands still being what they were when they were cursed (also. paw beans. /vpos)

HES TRANS ‼️‼️ hes also very dumb and has very little regard for his health and forgets to take his binder off a lot (trust me he gets scolded a lot for that)

GENERAL HCS

hes autistic and has adhd — the autism hc i lowkey stole from crow but the adhd hc ive had for a long long while now — one of his lifelong special interests is performing arts and musicals

chronic insomniac — sleep? never heard of her

plays like 5 different instruments but primarily specialises in piano and guitar

safe food is anything sweet or chocolatey — he has a massive sweet tooth and is obsessed w cookies and pastries in particular which ayana baked for him a lot (ill prolly make a whole other post for her in the near future but guys. pastry chef aya. hear me out)

an absolute boss at board games, especially monopoly, and he constantly loves screwing everyone over

extremely hyperfixated on pokemon and owns a bajillion folders filled with cards worth a buttload of money, and a dozen plushies + figurines (projecting bc pokemon is one of my hyperfixes dont judge me) his fav gen is absolutely johto

his eyesight is pretty bad but like. not bad enough for him to be needing glasses (unlike a certain someone cough cough agoti)

speaking of said certain someone, he and agoti do each other's hair a lot simply because its really fun and provides some stimulation, and also because it helps tabi practice with self care and such

VERY SENSITIVE TO SOUND AND TEXTURES, often times he will probably start crying if something sounds or feels wrong

sometimes he forgets certain words in english and has to resort to using what theyre called in russian

has the goofiest sounding laugh ever and i will die on this hill. when you get tabi cackling he will start rolling on the floor and making the most UNGODLY sounds

can speak like 6 languages fluently and a dozen others in simple conversation (NERD ALERT)

he sucks so hard at writing essays but is (for some reason) really good at maths

despite being the more serious one among his group of friends, tabis a dumbass and does a lot more stupid things than one would expect

#hey everyone long ettie post real #tabi has taken over my mind #UUAUAUAGH GWR #fnf tabi #🦇 human!tabi #digital artwork #my art #battie chronicles

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withered--s0uls · 5 months

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The pipeline of "Dormant" Absolute Solver Cyn except it is in Roblox bc I am too lazy to art

Pre-Canon - Before the Solver

This is the initial "Cyn" (not called Cyn back then) who was built and programmed to fill in the spot of a human couples deceased daughter. (NOTE: The optics would be pastel blue, not white. Also she has a low Ponytail).

At the Manor - Cyn

Cyn after being taken in by Tessa. This is still the real Cyn as herself, even if infected with the Solver. This would be the time DAS!Cyn can remember the most of. (NOTE: opposed to the weird 4 ponytail hairsytle Cyn and Tessa have in canon, DAS!Cyn has a low bun during her time as a maid whilst Tessa has two braids. However the front sidetails still have that same style as in canonverse).

At the Manor - The Absolute Solver

Whilst typically still looking like Cyn herself, at the point where the robo tentacle stuff happens it is no longer her. DAS!Cyn has very very limited memories of the time when the AS basically co-hosted her body.

Pre & Post Body Transfer - Cyn

Cyn wakes up on another planet with amnesia. Tessa has been evacuated here and they slowly re-build their relationship & Tessa build the Oil Canister to help Cyn deal with the AS. At some point Cyn tries to rid herself of the AS by transferring her core to a backup body. She does not remember what happened after that. (NOTE: After the body transfer, Cyn takes out the bun. However the sidetails in the front remain the same as Canonverse)

Reunion - Cyn

Cyn as op Episode 6-8. She still has severe amnesia of most AS related things but is triggered (ptsd) by visible signs of it. She avoids using her own Solver abilities (+ Solver form) until the end of ep 7 / possibly ep 8 depending on what canonverse does.

Post Canon - Cyn

I can not say a lot about post-canon for now, it all depends on what Episode 8 brings to the table. BUT what I can say is that Cyn probably would ask N to cut her hair short if they both make it out alive. After seeing Flesha it would be a reminder of Tessa and make her terribly uncomfortable if not pacicked. N would ask her how short she would want it and she would say she wants it similar to Uzi's lenght bc at that point she also got attached to her. If all 3 make it out alive at the end of this then N would end up as her legal guardian which by extension causes Uzi to take on a similar role due to their relationship. If not then I will update you on how this would change when Ep 8 releases. :) (NOTE: despite the much shorter hair, the hair would still have sidetails in the front styled the same as canonverse. Just a lot shorter [think the typical tomboyish sidetails anime hairstyle])

Also I have some ideas I am playing with where Pre-Canon "Cyn" may make an apperance later on too again,,, but no promises. It is just concepts I have until I know what direction Ep8 will take bc that will affect the "Dormant" Absolute Solver AU outcome :)

#murder drones #roblox #roblox avatars #DAS!Cyn #das cyn #dormant absolute solver #dormant absolute solver au #md cyn #cyn murder drones #Murder drones AU #rambling #the absolute solver

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excelsi-or · 1 year

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summoned (pt. 2)

pairing: woozi x fem!reader / fem!OC

part 1

w.c. 2.7k (it's long. felt weird to end it where i originally was going to split it)

Hansol walks her all the way to her building. When he suggests taking her up to her suite, she insists she’ll be fine. After a face off with a demon in the train station, having to explain to the guy at the ticket box at the destination why said demon didn’t have a ticket, combined with the constant glaring, she’s found Jihoon more of a nuisance than a threat.

Her best friend cedes to what she wants. “Call me if you need anything.”

“Send me your comic when you get home.” It’s a pointless attempt to keep the situation normal.

Jihoon refuses to follow her up the steps.

She studies the demon but decides he can stay outside if he wants. With one last hug for Hansol, she heads up the stairs.

Hansol eyes Jihoon who still hasn’t moved, even as he promises to send the comic to her if she sends along her linework.

With these extensive goodbyes, Jihoon finally climbs the steps and moves through the open door. The door closes on Hansol who waits until they get on the elevator.

She unlocks her apartment door. Before opening it, she turns to face him. “Just some ground rules if you plan to stay long. Do not touch me. No threats.” Her eyes go over him. “Politeness if you don’t mind.”

Seems like odd rules. But ones he can agree with. “Done.”

Jihoon stands in her doorway and watches her slip out of her shoes and drop her tote on her desk.

She looks over at him. “What? Are you actually a vampire? Do I need to invite you in?”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a human’s home.” He leans his head in, peering at the kitchen and hallway. “I don’t typically feel welcome.”

She disappears into her bedroom, but her voice still carries. “Do demons care about that stuff?”

Jihoon takes one step inside. He can now see the small room behind the door, in which he recognizes a washing machine and dryer. Her home is cool in comparison to the heat outside. There’s the faint smell of clean laundry mingling with the smell of cookies.

Makes him sick.

“Well, I’m not about to ask you to stay if you don’t want to. You can hang out in the hall.” She re-emerges in a hoodie and shorts. She nearly rams into Jihoon as he continues to take baby steps into her home. “Do demons eat?”

“We don’t have to.” He notices the art on her walls behind her couch. “But some human food tastes good.” He peers closely at her art. She’s no Michelangelo or Da Vinci; and to be quite frank, her actual technique is awful. However, he assumes it fits right in with the art of the time.

“Well, I’m having ramen.” She pulls her hair up into a ponytail.

“Instant?”

“Yeah, with vegetables and meat.”

Jihoon ponders this combination. Could be passable. He agrees to let her cook for him.

She gets to work at making two packages of ramen, humming to herself as she goes. “Do you like cookies?”

“No.”

Besides that, Jihoon is quiet. She wonders what he thinks of her place, because she can hear him padding around her living room. She wonders what he thinks of her place, because she can hear him padding around her living room.

“Your friend didn’t like me,” he suddenly says.

Using chopsticks, she separates the noodle block in the boiling water. “He thinks you’re an abusive boyfriend I’ve suddenly acquired.”

“Do you have notoriously bad taste in men?”

“Yes. It makes Hansol, Jeonghan, and Cheol protective.”

“He wants to know what’s going on.”

The sound of dried noodles plopping into water precedes her question. “Can I tell him?”

“It’s a matter of if he’ll believe you.”

Jihoon picks up a frame and inspects the people in it. The three men he’d met are there, as well as multiple other people that appear in many of her photos. He sets the frame down and looks for images of her family. There’s a single old photo of them in her bookshelf.

“Why don’t you have pictures of your family?”

“We lost most of them in a fire a few years back. A lot of our stuff wasn’t salvageable.”

Internally, Jihoon sighs. There’s nothing in this woman’s life to trade for her soul. For all intents and purposes, she seems happy. The sound of her footsteps causes him to turn.

She sets two bowls down on the coffee table and places a small packet next to the bowl he presumes is his. Jihoon takes a seat across from her and sits on the floor.

“I figured since you’re a demon, you might like yours extra spicy.” She motions towards the silver package. “Go crazy.”

Jihoon sniffs the powder inside the package before dumping it all into the broth. Almost immediately, the broth turns a fiery red. Then he tries the noodles.

Not half bad.

Of course, Japanese ramen chefs are significantly better, but he’s sure she hasn’t been handed down recipes for generations.

“Are you always so quiet?” she asks between bites. She’s noticeably slouched over her bowl in an attempt to not spill any on the table.

Contrast to her, Jihoon is upright and proper. He doesn’t really worry about spills anymore. “I don’t tend to hang around other beings often.”

“What? Demons don’t talk to each other in Hell?”

His eyes narrow. “There isn’t much time for talking.”

“You told me that you haven’t collected as many souls as you usually do at the beginning of a millennium. That suggests it’s been slow. Ergo, you must have time to talk now.”

He huffs in annoyance. This human asks too many questions. “Hell isn’t a place for making friends.”

“Allies?”

“I wouldn’t trust any of the demons down there more than I would you.”

She frowns at him. “Well, that makes me more skeptical of you.”

Jihoon finishes the broth, leaving his bowl clean. “You have no reason to be.”

“So, I was right. You'll only take my soul if I give it to you.”

Jihoon’s eyes go over her again. With a scowl, he nods.

But as much as Jihoon’s been studying her, she’s been studying him. With a satisfied sigh, she leans back on her palms. “But am I the only thing that’s bothering you?”

His eyes flick from black to green. And she notices that not only are they green, they look like cat eyes. It’s unlikely this demon would like the comparison.

“No, you’re not.” His eyes go black again.

She lifts an eyebrow, reaching for a cookie on the plate near her leg. He’d said no, so she kept it out of his sight. Maybe demons don’t like sweet things. “What’s up?”

“That guard.”

“The one that caught you?”

“I’ve never been caught.” His voice is far away, clear he’s thinking. “Humans are not supposed to be able to see the ‘magic’,” he rolls his eyes, clearly hating his own word choice, “I can do.”

She tips her head, popping another cookie in her mouth. “So, how’d he see it?”

“That’s exactly what I want to know.”

“Weird.” With another cookie between her lips, she takes their bowls back to the kitchen.

It’s not just weird; it’s supposed to be impossible.

“Are you going out?” she asks as he suddenly gets up.

The clock had struck 3 AM and he was finally untethered from the human. At least until sunrise.

On his way to the door, her eyes catch his in the dark over the kitchen divider. “Can you please take the house key?” She juts her chin in the direction of the hall table. “It’s in the bowl. Just lock up when you go. There’s been some sexual assaults in the area.”

Then, her head ducks again and she returns to whatever she’s been working on all evening.

He glances at the key. “Do you not sleep?”

“I probably should.”

“Then why don’t you?” A key is inconvenient to take.

“A literal demon is concerned for my sleeping pattern.” The light suddenly shuts off. “I think that is the time to sleep.”

Jihoon pretends to adjust his shoes. When he hears the bedroom door close, he walks out of her apartment sans key. Instead, he passes a hand over her door and watches it disappear. The door is now disguised as a fire hose attachment. Though it looks a bit odd because another standpipe is only a metre or so away.

He doubts other humans will notice.

Hurrying onto the elevator (and then speeding it down to get him to the lobby in record time), Jihoon tries to recall the way to the subway station. He changes back into his preferred black suit. Outside, a black sports car waits for him. Suddenly, he remembers why he sometimes enjoys coming up to Earth. He hops into the driver’s side and the GPS automatically sets itself to where he wants to go.

Technology really has come a long way.

Jihoon considers letting the car drive on autopilot, but it’s been ages since he’s driven a car. So, he drives the speed limit (mostly) and actually follows the rules. It’s a bit confusing since the last time he was in a car was in England. While he nearly hits a few people, he manages to avoid an accident. A parking spot in front of the station appears; and he parks, only bumping one car.

He waves a hand over the dent and listens to it repair itself. The station sign is lit, but nothing about it seems threatening. There are cameras everywhere, and he considers fiddling with them but chooses not to.

Something seems off. He feels it as he walks over the threshold.

God.

What were the odds that they would be here?

Jihoon stops at the turnstile that he was about to jump over, remembering the guard. On a whim, he wanders over to a security box. It’s empty for the night, but the little wing sticker by the handle is unmistakable.

Resigned to his fate, Jihoon hops the turnstile. His feet barely touch the ground before he’s dropped onto his back. A human knee presses into his chest.

“Now, I haven’t seen you in a long time.”

Jihoon rolls his eyes. “Get off me, angel.”

The angel stands, not before pressing his knee into Jihoon’s chest slightly. He holds a hand out.

Jihoon sits up instead. “What are you going by now?”

“Still Seokmin. Don’t see the point in changing my name.” His smile brightens. “Someone warned me that a demon was walking around, so everyone’s been on high alert.”

“What? This a new angel that doesn’t recognize me?”

“You haven’t exactly been on the surface in a while.” Seokmin hoists him up by his underarms.

Jihoon flicks Seokmin in the forehead. “Don’t do that to me.”

Seokmin swipes a hand over his forehead, healing the burn. “You really do love this sweet little body of yours. I hope you don’t ruin this one.”

Jihoon adjusts his suit jacket.

He motions with his head for Jihoon to follow. “What are you going by these days, demon?”

“These days? I’ve been here for less than 24 hours.”

“Summoned? Or are the end days coming?”

“Summoned by accident.”

“Accident?”

Jihoon can’t help but think back to the shock on the human’s face when he’d appeared behind her at the café. “Human woman was ordering a drink and somehow managed to summon me at the same time.”

“Really knows how to butcher a language, does she?” Seokmin chuckles. He takes a seat on one of the benches by the tracks. It takes Jihoon a second to decide whether he wants to sit or not. When he does, Seokmin asks, “So, what did she trade you?”

“Nothing.” This bench is incredibly uncomfortable. “She doesn’t want anything.”

“Why are you here then? You aren’t typically one for sex.”

“Needed to get away and…” Now that he knows that he’s in angel territory, the incident from earlier seems less suspicious.

Still annoying, but less suspicious.

But there are certainly other things that have caught his attention.

“Have you also been getting a weird energy here?” When he meets Seokmin’s eye again, his expression deadpans. “Or has all your time spent on Earth jaded you to it?”

Seokmin shrugs. “Bad energy has felt as if it’s taking over the planet.”

“And it’s darkness that not even I like.”

“Well, you never really did play by anyone’s rules, did you?”

Jihoon rolls his eyes, deciding that sitting on the bench with his legs out in front of him is the most comfortable. A breeze whistles through the train tunnel, almost like a ghost train. It cools his constantly-warm skin. “Whoever the leader of neutrality is, I’d like to meet him.”

Seokmin continues to study him. The demon has gone by different names in the past, but Seokmin enjoys this demon’s company. He’s never been hell-bent on ruining human lives, and he’d rather stay off angel territory at all costs.

Which is why it surprises Seokmin that the demon’s here. “Have you discussed it with…?”

“Besides wanting to snatch a soul or two if I can while I’m up here so that He’ll leave me alone, I only noticed it when I hit the surface earlier. I haven’t exactly had time to go back down and mention it.”

“No soul snatching while I’m around, please,” Seokmin groans. “And you know who your leader of neutrality is, don’t you?”

Jihoon lifts an eyebrow. He didn’t know there was an answer.

“Humans. Humans are a complex balance of good and… not so good.”

Jihoon waves a dismissive hand. “Humans aren’t permanent.”

“Their souls can be.”

The demon bristles. That statement doesn’t sit right with him. “Back to what we were talking about. Have you figured out what the bad energy is?”

Seokmin genuinely looks surprised. “It’s not the demons? I thought you were just feigning ignorance.”

“You think I make conversation for conversation’s sake? The End Days would be coming if that’s the kind of darkness befalling Earth.”

Seokmin finally seems to understand Jihoon’s concern. “Oh. No. What could that mean?”

“Have you talked to God?”

“We assumed it was you guys cooking up something. We’ve already started assembling the masses in preparation.”

Jihoon huffs as he once again readjusts himself on the bench. “I don’t even know what it is. How are you intending to fight something you can’t see?”

It’s Seokmin’s turn to deadpan.

With a roll of his (because he forgot the angel is pedantic), Jihoon clarifies, “How are you supposed to fight something neither of us can see?”

The rephrasing of the question makes the angel pause. “What else could be causing the darkness?”

Jihoon tips his head back in annoyance. “You’ve been here longer than I have.”

“They’re always doing something crazy, but nothing to rival whatever you demons can do. I’ve only heard talk that the angels believe demons are tipping the Earth into chaos.”

This gives the demon pause. Slowly, his mind conjures up an idea that he doesn’t particularly like. It gives the demons more credit than they deserve. “Or maybe they’ve learned how.”

Seokmin notices Jihoon’s heavy stare. He can tolerate this demon, but the dead eyes really send a shiver down his spine. “Are you talking possession now? Not soul acquirement?”

“And apparently so good that you guys haven’t detected it,” Jihoon muses. He stands, brushing off non-existent dust on his suit. That uncomfortable pull in his abdomen suggests that dawn is coming.

“Any intention to do anything about it?” Seokmin asks, his tone neutral. If there’s even an inkling of hope in his voice, he knows the demon won’t try to solve this unexpected problem.

Jihoon hums. “Find out how to confirm it.”

“And then?” Seokmin slowly gets to his feet.

“Come here and get you guys to stop it.”

Jihoon hops the turnstiles and heads for his car.

Suddenly, Earth has become significantly more interesting.

part 3

#seventeen #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #lee jihoon scenarios #woozi scenarios #woozi imagines #svt #woozi #lee jihoon #woozi fic

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tokimihyachi · 2 years

Text

Achilles Heel [Pantalone X GN Reader] Chapter 2

❝I cannot kill you, for your end will become my eternal damnation.❞

SYNOPSIS: Pantalone does not do well with love. He never thought, wanted, much less had experience in that field. He viewed it as a weakness, a bad omen hanging above his head. But he was prepared to make an exception for you.

He'd let you become his only Achilles Heel if it meant keeping you.

content warning: excessive choking and implied dacryphilia

CHAPTER TWO: OF BLOOD AND TEARS | 2/22

⸻ WITH THE SOFT GLOW OF the furnace disappearing into a motley of crackles resembling a graveyard of fireflies, the frigid temperature of the room wedged itself into the crack of the walls and, by extension, your back that was pressed against it.

You've been trained for endurance, and weather such as this should have been nothing. Yet Snezhnayan winters were far different from the cold you've been accustomed to in all your eons of being alive.

"I assume you did not decide to visit here on a whim seeing your rather... peculiar attire," he said, not an insult, but as an observation.

"Excuse me, sir, for not fitting your standards of fine design. But mind you, this cloth is made of the highest quality and the bearer adds value to it." his grin widens ever so slightly at your remark.

"Well then, I shall be the judge of that." before you could question his statement, he had already reached for your hood, the fabric slipping to your shoulders in a swift motion.

The man has no shame, you conclude, when he drinks the sight of you and an inkling in your stomach is telling you to hide. You do not and instead stand there, waiting.

His smile does not falter, but his hold from your neck slackens. Your stomach twists at the supposition he's recognized your identity.

From your current situation, you've deduced a few things though they offered little to no help. First, this man who towered over you was strikingly handsome.

His hair, tied into a one-sided ponytail, was dipped in coal black, darker than oblivion but smelt of the wind on the seashore during twilight; cold, invigorating, resplendent. It was a great contrast to his face; pale, and devoid of any human warmth.

He not only looked expensive but was the epitome of the word itself.

This man was rich. Scratch that, he's filthy rich.

However, there was something about his concentration that unsettled you— it felt like he had donned his eyes with a loupe, scrutinizing every part of yourself; determining the clarity you had as if to assess whether you were a precious diamond or an odious rock he'd have no qualms with throwing away.

Second, he had quite a temper. Whether only around you or others included, you did not know nor care for.

He places his hand on your shoulder and you become optimistic that he might be kind enough to let you sit down. He does not make the offer. "Let us make this quick, hm? I have other affairs to attend to and I'm not fond of wasting time."

Not even an exchange in pleasantries? So much for being the illustrious dignitary of Snezhnaya.

You feigned obedience with a nod. "What a pleasure to be held captive by you, Sir. I'm [Name]."

A victorious grin tugged his lips and you subconsciously thought that you deserved an award for your stellar performance.

"Thank you for being cooperative, [Name]. May I ask what you've done to my men?" from his tone, you could tell that it was a command, not a question.

"They're alive," you tilted your head to the side, glimpsing at the Fatui agents who were nearly freezing to death from being in a standstill "I knocked them out by striking the back of their necks." you smirked.

Pantalone warningly places a finger on your neck, mistaking your words for pride. "Clever, you are. I would appreciate, however, if you specify how you've executed your obvious violation."

"And why should I? Does that even matter ah—"

"I suggest," he gingerly glided his gloved thumb over your barely visible adam's apple, conducting slow and deliberate movements of pressing it to lodge your throat, "that you answer me when I ask a question."

'Can I kill him?'

That thought had passed you ceaselessly, and you wondered yourself why he was not reduced to ashes. Strong in presence but impotent with Celestia's 'gifts'. He was visionless. You had one, he did not. It should have been easy, yet here you were contemplating.

The Tsaritsa's Harbingers are the recipient of superlative delusions. You've seen one—held it even, and though it wasn't the same as a vision, it was powerful still, and alluded to its master only by fitting whatever its bearer lacked or demanded.

Whoever invented it was a genius, but reckless; an evident proclamation that the creator was against the gods who reigned supreme from above. That they opposed how Celestia manipulated the lives of the vision bearers like marionettes. Those who wielded it probably held the same disdain over the puppeteers.

"I have offered you my kindness, and I expect you to repay it equally." Reality came back to your senses when the Harbinger pressed your thyroid gland harder and you perspired, a tear skidding itself across your cheeks from the sudden force. How risible indeed, your faux mien of frigidity had come undone because of this lunatic.

While your mind raced to keep your sensibility together, you failed to notice how his demeanor shifted. His face had turned blank, his mouth in a grim line, and an unreadable expression danced on his pale countenance that was luminescent under the moon's light.

"P-Pressure points on, on the Vagus nerves." you choked, consciousness slowly drifting from your hold. You think again of murdering him.

"How knowledgable." he praises. The man moved his other hand towards your hair to set it aside, your nape exposed for him to pounce on. His lips descended closer to your earlobe, cool breath tickling your skin as he asked, "Is it here, perhaps?"

The Regrator had only been testing waters, seeing which button would push you to the edge of your sentience, wholly unaware of how the kettle had been steaming and whistling alarmingly.

Perhaps you should kill him. "You son of a bit—"

"My Lord! Are you alright—" The doors swung open bringing forth frozen crystals of water that billowed through the room, and in goes a vested man with a tie on his neck.

You instantly recognize the pattern on his suit, and from the way he addressed him, it was unmistakable that this old man was the Harbinger's butler.

The butler surveyed your... entangled position and composed himself as quickly as he had been caught off-guard, "My apologies, Lord Pantalone. I did not realize you were in the middle of a session, Sir." 'Session?'

Pantalone, as the butler called him, shifted his body and moved away from yours. While the two converse in a muddled discussion, you fall to the ground in an attempt to catch your breath

When you turned to look at the butler, he tore his gaze away from you; cheeks flushed in either discomfort or the cold. Curious of his reaction, you threw yourself a glance from one of the mirrors near the Harbinger's table, and a gasp escaped your lips at the sight of your bruised neck with his hand prints.

This bastard!

"Heavens," you exhaled loudly, and the other two people in the room heard you, "you ruined it." you tilted your head in the mirror, observing the lines he had created from choking you half to death moments ago.

Pantalone regarded you for a moment, "Frederick," he called.

The butler straightened his posture, "My Lord."

"Awaken the men idly sleeping outside and take them to the barracks. Their incompetence, after all, must be paid in equal amount." the Harbinger gave you a fleeting look.

"While you're at it, kindly escort my guest to the spare room and have the servants fix their...disarrayed state." you scowled at him while his eyes simply cruised your form, "Ensure that my guest changes into warmer and more comfortable garments."

Frederick nodded, "As you command, Sir." he hovers on the threshold, ushering you to follow him.

In your hesitation, the Harbinger spoke up, "We will continue our... discussion tomorrow, [Name]. I don't suppose you have any other plans?"

You trudge to the coat rack above a lavishly ornamented credenza and snatch a scarf, "I take that this has no value to you seeing how austere it is compared to your choice of fashion? Doesn't matter, I'll be using it either way."

Pantalone slyly nods, "Do as you please. You may borrow it, for the time being, if you wish to cover the marks of our prior engagements."

You throw him a scornful look as you step beside Frederick and said, "We're not done yet." then walk out.

The butler raises a brow at his master but makes no comment. He bows at Pantalone and closes the door to follow the guest kicking the snow outside in a fit of anger.

Left in his desolate office, Pantalone removed his glasses and ran a hand over his hair, tousling it a little in the end. His mind drifts back to your disheveled state; the vision of a tear escaping your eyelids returning to him.

He grimaced at himself. He did not mean to intimidate you too harshly. Though he did not feel the need to apologize, seeing as how his actions were justified by your pretentious mouth and trespassing, he made a mental note to purchase a new scarf for you.

It was unusual for him to break character so easily. How contemptible. The Regrator's mouth tasted a flavor he was not akin to and he detested it tremendously to the point that he had unguardedly crushed the bifocals he owned.

However, you were right with one thing: he was not yet finished with you and it seemed unlikely that he would be anytime soon.

Pantalone fished his drawer for a new pair of glasses, sparing but a glance to the mirror when he fixed his appearance and made his way to the barracks. Confusion was often transient. There was no time to be placid and sink through inane thoughts.

Implacable punishment was dinner's main course, so it seems. And the Harbinger was more than thrilled to drown inept people in a bath of their own blood after today's ordeal.

CHAPTER TWO, END.

<- chapter one (previous)

-> chapter three (next)

updates are posted almost every day until chapter eleven. thank you for reading <3

#genshin #genshin impact #impact #pantalone #pantalone x reader #regrator #fatui #harbingers #fatui harbingers #fatui harbingers x reader #the regrator #regrator x reader #genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin x you #genshin x reader

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