#sven/reader

[solarache]

(＞。☆) love and rot

ruggie bucchi x reader. reverse comfort. graphic descriptions of violence

it is almost sweet, the way he softens his harsh edges around you, as if to protect you from the potential hurt, the way he keeps the parts he deems rotten away from you.

you see him be harsh around others, condescending at times but showing affection almost aggressively to his friends, which they reciprocate but it stops the second you enter his field of vision, running to you with a soft smile on his face and holding you gently as he 'traps' you in a hug, insisting on carrying your things and either listens to you talk about your day and everything that happened or babbles about his own, complaining about his teachers or dorm mates.

he avoids certain topics like his childhood with a grimace on his face, even though you assure him that no matter what he was like or had to do to survive, you'd still love him all the same, but you switch topics that he gladly talks about instead, still with a certain look in his eyes that slowly disappear as you assuredly hold his hand, squeezing it tight while still listening and engaging in conversation.

you can hear people, your classmates that you've seen struggle with potions in crewels class or fall face first during PE, call him names as if he is lower than they are, as if he isn't better than them in multiple aspects, even when he glares at them and bares his fangs in warning, they talk still.

they can't talk anymore when the same fangs he was bearing at them earlier are stuck in their throat, blood spilling everywhere as tears stream down that person's face, begging him to stop as if they weren't calling him a lowlife that will never make it in life earlier, begging him to stop as if they weren't talking all high and mighty and acting like they're better than him, a haunted look in their eyes after ruggie is finally pulled off, still crying.

ruggie is looking at you now, being dragged to his housewarden's room (since the headmage obviously can't be bothered to deal with this) with his ears drooping low and staring at you scared, as if you'll be disgusted by him and decide he's not worth keeping around, even though you desperately want to hold him in your arms, and assure him that what that person was saying isn't true and that they aren't any better than him.

you aren't able to do that, so you text him to come to ramshackle, since Leona will obviously be letting him off easy once he hears the reasoning behind ruggie's actions, and wait until you hear the familiar knock on the door.

he looks awkward, standing there as if he's a stranger, so you pull him inside and lead him to the privacy of your room, as grim is away with ace and deuce and the ghosts won't bother you there. ruggie looks more scared by the passing second once you enter, so you wordlessly open your arms to invite him into a hug, and say "we don't have to talk, if you don't want to"

he stares at you in disbelief, but you still have your arms out even as they're getting numb and wait.

he dives into your arms, head buried in the crook of your neck as he shakes, alternating whispering apologies about you having to see him like that, and saying that he will get to the top, even as you whisper sweet nothingness into his ear consisting of assuring that you still love him and agreements and encouragements about his goal, saying that you believe in him because you truly do. ruggie bucchi is someone that can achieve anything as long as he puts his mind to it, and he's never been more serious about anything as he's been serious about his goal before.

he falls asleep like that, in your arms, as you run your fingers through his hair, a motion he cheekily admitted to liking when you do it, and fall asleep doing so, the low vibrations of his purrs soothing and lulling you to sleep.

[carnalcrows]

ONCE UPON A TIME

DISNEY X JUJITSU KAISEN CROSSOVER MASTERLIST.

in honour of my blog hitting 2K followers, I'll be having an event!! (of sorts)

content warnings: 18+, smut, angst, top and bottom reader depending on the story, ftm reader in 1 fic, ftm character in 1 fic, flower language, too much plot.

status: about to begin

comment to be tagged!!

dividers belong to @edensrose

LAVENDER'S BLUE

Starring...

Gojo Saturo as Prince Charming,

and

the Reader as Cinderella

cast: Geto as the Evil Stepfather, Mimiko and Nanako as the Evil Stepsisters, Toji as the Captain, Shoko as the Fairy Godmother, Megumi, Yuuji and Nobara as the mice,[etc].

synopsis:

Your life’s never been a fairytale. With a cruel stepmother, two spiteful stepsisters, and no way out, you’ve learned to keep your head down and dream in silence. That is, until a reckless, too-handsome prince crashes into your world—one who’s just as desperate to escape his own.

Two strangers. One night. And a chance to finally run.

A WHOLE NEW WORLD

Starring...

Choso Kamo as Princess Jasmine

and

the Reader as Alladin

cast: Gojo as the Genie, Geto as Choso's man in waiting, Megumi as Abu, Gakuganji as the Sultan, Mahito as Jafar, Yuuji as Rajah, Toji as the military general, etc.

synopsis:

You’ve always survived with quick hands and quicker lies, never expecting more from life than the next stolen meal. But when a chance encounter pulls you into the palace—and into the orbit of a quiet, sharp-eyed royal—you find yourself tangled in something far bigger than either of you imagined.

In a city of secrets, maybe the greatest risk is letting someone truly see you.

UNDER THE SEA

Starring...

Suguru Geto as Ariel

and

the Reader as Prince Eric

cast: Yaga as King Triton, Gojo as Flounder, Nanami as Sebastian, Shoko as Scuttle, Kenjaku as Ursula, Kaori as Vanessa, Utahime as Grimsby, Megumi as Max, etc.

synopsis:

The sea has always sung to you. But it isn’t until you’re pulled from its depths by a stranger with eyes like ink and a voice that haunts your dreams that you start listening.

He doesn’t speak. He walks like he’s learning how. And something about him feels like déjà vu wrapped in salt and longing.

Three days. That’s how long you have before you lose him forever.

And he? He’s already given everything just to be by your side.

DAYS IN THE SUN

Starring...

Sukuna Ryomen as the Beast

and

the Reader as Belle

cast: Naoya as Gaston, old jjk dude as reader's dad, Gojo as Lumiere, Geto as Cogsworth, Shoko as the swan brush thing, Kaori Itadori as Missus Potts, Yuuji as Chip, etc.

synopsis:

In a quiet town where nothing ever seems to change, your life is far from peaceful. When your father is taken by a mysterious monster who demands you take his place, it feels like there’s nothing left to hold on to. At home, you’ve never known love or warmth—only distance and silence.

So, when the chance to escape comes, even under such dark circumstances, you’re left wondering if there’s more to this strange creature than what you’ve been told.

FIXER UPPER

Starring...

Toji Fushiguro as Kristoff

and

the Reader as Princess Anna

cast: Geto as Elsa, Shoko as Olaf, Megumi as Sven, Nanami as the Duke of Weselton, etc.

synopsis: In a kingdom frozen by a mysterious curse, you set off on a journey to find your estranged brother. With only a few trusted companions by your side, you venture into the wilds, hoping to uncover the truth behind the cold that has gripped your world.

Along the way, you’ll face challenges that test your strength and your heart, but nothing can prepare you for the secrets that lie ahead. As you unravel the mystery, you begin to question who you can truly trust—and whether you can break the curse before it consumes everything.

EVER EVER AFTER

Starring...

Kento Nanami as Robert

and

the Reader as Giselle

cast: Gojo as Edward, Nobara as Edward's daughter, Geto as Nancy, Megumi as Pip, Shoko as Queen Narissa, Toji as Nathaniel, etc

synopsis:

You were on the brink of your fairy tale come true—soon to marry a charming prince in a world of magic and dreams. But when a jealous spellcaster drags you into the harsh, unforgiving real world, your fantasy shatters. Lost and out of place in a city that doesn't believe in happily ever afters, you find an unexpected ally in a cynical man who has long dismissed such notions.

As he helps you navigate the struggles of this new world, you begin to question everything you thought you knew about love. Torn between the prince you were meant to marry and the real, grounded connection you start to form, you must choose which kind of love is worth fighting for.

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my works as I spend time, and I take genuine effort to do them.

[archangeldyke-all]

High school Sevika x Secret admirer Reader. Like Sevika keeps getting love notes from reader and she’s just like .. da fuq. She’s just too emotionally constipated to realise their love notes FOR HER. And reader (as well are) is so hopelessly in love with her.

okay OKAY this is so fucking cute i'm gonna make this the masc4masc childhood friends story too heheeh

lets just assume zaun has a underfunded shitty education system lol

men and minors dni

sevika keeps getting these stupid fucking letters.

they're written in glitter pen, usually on construction paper cut out into a heart. the handwriting is agonizingly neat, like whoever's writing them's spending hours getting their cursive perfect. they're always unsigned, and they usually contain some stupid, romantic compliment, like 'your eyes are the stars of my galaxy' and shit.

"whatcha got sev?" you ask as you catch up with her in the hallway, hipchecking her as she glares down at the latest of her growing collection.

this one reads 'sev, you're prettier than you let yourself think.'

sevika scoffs and crumbles the paper up into a ball.

"are there any other sevika's in this school?" she asks. you blink up at her.

"what?"

"like, does anybody else have my name? or is there a sev or a seven or a sven?"

"fuck are you talking about?" you ask.

sevika groans and shoves the note into your hands. "this!! i keep getting these stupid ass love notes. some poor sap's got the wrong fucking locker, or the wrong sevika, or something." she scoffs.

you don't laugh. sevika slows her walk to blink over at you.

you're... staring at her. almost like you're angry?

"what?" she asks.

you take a deep breath then shake your head. "n-nothing."

"nothing?"

"it's nothing." you insist, nodding. sevika glares at you.

"you're horrible at lying."

"and you're gonna be late to chemistry."

"so i'll skip." sevika shrugs and nudges your shoulder. "what's that look for?"

"you're so fucking stupid!" you shout. sevika jumps a bit. you huff, then smack sevika's shoulder as you storm down the hall. she jogs to keep up with you. "you-- you get these romantic, heartfelt notes, addressed to you, and you think; what? there's another sevika in school? you're fucking ridiculous!"

"wh-- you think these are for me!?"

"of course they are!"

"who the fuck would write love letters for me?!" sevika asks.

honestly, she's completely flabbergasted. you never struck sevika as the kinda girl who cares about stupid shit like romance, but apparently it means a lot to you.

"someone who likes you, you idiot! a-and you're probably hurting their fucking feelings by treating their hard work like garbage. this is like the sixth one you've crumpled up. you spit your gum in the first one." you huff.

sevika blinks at you. she didn't tell you about the notes until now.

you seem to realize this at the same moment, because your walking comes to a halt, your eyes stuck on something far away.

sevika starts to giggle. your shoulders shoot up to your ears. "shut up." you mumble.

sevika's laughter only grows. "oh, janna." she snorts and throws an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into her chest. "what, you gotta crush on me?!" she asks.

you glare up at her. "'y don't have to laugh about it."

"no, i'm not-- i just-- you're so fucking cool, you don't need to leave stupid notes in my locker, i already--" sevika cuts herself off. you giggle. it's her turn to fluster. "shut up." she demands. you giggle.

"c'mon. let's ditch and smoke under the bleachers." you suggest, tugging sevika toward the exit.

as you walk outside, sevika worms her wrist out of your grip and replaces it with her hand-- her fingers intertwined with yours.

"you should become a professional card maker."

"fuck off."

"i'm serious! they're impressive." she says. you groan.

"they're cheesy, i know, i just--"

sevika darts in and kisses your cheek.

you're so distracted by the feeling of her soft lips against your cheek that you walk face first into a low-hanging bar under the bleachers.

sevika cackles as you clutch your head.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@lavenderbabu @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@strawberrykidneystone @vkumi @fict1onallyobsessed @dvrkhcld @sweetybuzz25

@sluttysierraaa @snake-in-a-flower-crown @ruiwonderz @littlemisszaunite @biblicalcrybaby

@blackgaladriel @nightlyconfusion @dancingqu33n17 @losernb @p1nkearth

taglist!!

@sevikas-baby @ghostscandys

[gatorbites-imagines]

I definitely think he would 100% jump and knot, maybe only pissing when he’s knotted deep inside that way his scent soaks into your core other wise he’ll just Sven all over and leave hickeys and bite marks everywhere. I also think 70% of the time he’s a sub top cause he likes to fuck you but is also very much overwhelmed by the pleasure, love, and care he gets from sex with reader. I think he may not nest on his own but as soon as cat or mark does he’s cuddling up with cat boy mark due to the amount of you scent all over it and knowing what’s it’s like to be a hybrid like cat boy mark, maybe some dog/wolf boy mark and catboy mark stuff? Say they both go into their rut/heat while you are gone or out and so they use each other as stand in’s for the reader until he gets back. Dog boy mark would definitely be like another super lovey and involved parent if cat boy mark gives birth due to the babies having quite a bit of reader in them

Wolf Hybrid Mark Grayson 

I like to think Mark is a wolf hybrid, and Nolan is something like a Epicyon haydeni or Dire wolf or something. So thats what ill be going off. 

I agree with everything you have written. Wolf hybrid Mark would be more giddy and energetic than the others, hes audibly panting on the regular, with his wolf ears and tail summoned more than tiger hybrid mark has his. 

Wolf hybrid Mark would be embarrassed about his need to scent stuff and his territory. Reader counts under that territory, and Wolf hybrid Mark self isolates for a bit when he keeps wanting to piss on things, reader included.  

Would try to suppress this wants by humping stuff instead, whining and growling to himself as he just spills all over the readers work clothes or bed. Mark ends up fumbling to clean it all up, tail tucked between his legs in shame. 

He would be far from the only mark who would mark the reader up, so its hard to tell apart which mark left which hickey, but boy does wolf hybrid makr bite, lick and chew.  

One of the few marks that tops for the most part, but he doesnt just top reader, he also tops other Marks, especially tiger hybrid Mark. The two can be caught humping like animals inside tiger marks nest inside the closet. The scent can get pretty damn strong sometimes. 

one of the biggest Marks too, you know where. you would think he has three legs sometimes. at least he doesnt let it get to his head and give him an ego.

Ends up knotting other Marks in some kinda power display, like sinister Mark or 20/20 Mark. I feel like he spends the worst parts of his rut with other Marks because he tends to lose control. Or the other marks are there to hold him back so he doesnt accidentally maul the reader or knot him before hes ready. 

He always ends up being extremely apologetic cuz he does too hard, and acts “too nasty” in his own words. Aka, peeing on stuff, inside stuff... rubbing his spend into whatever or whoever. 

Wolf hybrid Mark is a good boy, he just gets too excited sometimes. When hes not rutting and reader isnt smelling like smex on legs, then hes fine and like all the other Marks. So, at least theres that. 

[amphibiahawks321]

Please do Male Reader x Elsa (Frozen)

Elsa : .......Chuckles this is certainly very sweet of you Y/N

[Shows a snowman Y/N made, Y/N made the snowman to look like Elsa]

M!Reader : Hehe, I tried my best to make it look like you!

Elsa : It's gorgeous Y/N....♡ Hm... I think I have something for you too

M!Reader : Wha–Really!? That's so sweet of you–.......Oh my

[A shadow reflection can be seen in the background, covering the sunlight]

Anna : Hey Y/N! Have you seen sven? Could've sworn i–....Whatchu looking at?–

[Y/N placed a hand on top of Anna's head and moves it to make Anna eyeing the thing Infront of her]

Anna : Woah....

[Kristoff walks up to Y/N and Anna with Sven next to him]

Kristoff : Found sven! Sighs... He was eating the locals carrots... again....

[Shows a bunch of carrots still in Sven's mouth]

Kristoff : Uhh... Why are you guys standing like–......Oh my gosh

[Kristoff and Sven stare at the thing In front of them, shocked, Sven dropping the carrots from his mouth]

Elsa : So, what do you think?

[She said with a smile, Shows a whole snowman statue of Y/N holding a flower]

M!Reader : i... i-i don't–know what to–Anna I wanna marry your sister immediately–

[butterbabyflapjack]

ＣＨＡＯＳ ＨＥＡＲＴＳ

[ PAIRING ] Messmer the Impaler x hornsent princess!reader

[ SUMMARY ] Messmer is feared throughout the land. Your world, his flame has razed; your family gone, yourself his prisoner. He’s given you every reason to hate him. So why does heat flood your veins at his touch? Doth your wretched heart crave his to come and claim you?

[ RATING ] explicit, 18+

[ WARNINGS ] enemies to lovers as an extreme sport, mutual pining, snake bites, light bondage, monsterfucker, inhuman anatomy, size difference, hurt and comfort, passionate sex, hate sex, dark romance, slow burn, minor character death, attempted rape (not by Messmer), canon typical violence and warfare, more tags to come

✧˖° read here or ao3

CHAPTER 1

[ AUTHORS NOTE ] Soooo I did not mean for this to be so long. I got carried away–I can't help myself. And I’m sure there's parts which are messy since editing chapters this long melts my brain so I hope you’ll forgive me <3 Enjoy!

This land was not always weighed by death. Not always wrought by ash and ruin.

The Impaler, Messmer, changed that. Inked his name to its cause. Proud, it seemed, to wear the flame-soaked flag his crusade waved in the broken halls of your people.

He changed a lot of things in what would become his land of shadows, and always in manners most cruel.

The people feared him.

You feared him.

Ear craned to whispers of his name.

You lived a sheltered, privileged life, despite your lust for ungilded freedom, and your father wouldn’t tell you the state of things, how close this war had gotten. He often told you nothing at all, in truth, beyond the length of your duties as a woman and sole daughter of his house. But you feared the worst–for yourself, for those around you. Feared that death was fast approaching, for something of it shivered in the air, made its mountain calm taste ashen. And what is calm, if not what veils the savage storm which lies beyond it?

Something was coming. Of this your nightmare’s warned, though it seemed no one would voice their shared concerns. Playing fool to the obvious, as though to hide from truth would keep it from ever finding you.

You needed your brother; your only and cherished sibling. Your kin and closest friend. Needed to speak with him about your worries, needed to salve them, but he’d been garrisoned near Rivermouth for nearly two moons, a sentry against the threat of Messmer’s men–but no longer.

Today was the day he finally came home.

Your heart swims with warmth at the notion, as for days and nights you’ve fretted he may never return.

He was practically your twin, your brother Sven. People often believed such was true, though you were younger. And his imminent arrival was your first thought upon waking. To embrace him safely your sole intention when throwing yourself from your dusky blue bed at the silver of dawn, wrestling inside the arms of your emerald overcoat. Slipping on dirtied shoes your father would be ashamed of with all the clumsy, stumbled excitement of an eager child.

Sven is home…!

You were anxious to see him, even if your intentions of doing so well before your father ineluctably found him were far from merely greeting him home.

With this in mind, you rushed from your private chambers. Down through the broad, stone-floored hallways of your family’s hold, and knew not how you knew his procession arrived, only that you knew. Perhaps it was the song of the field birds, or those of the surrounding pines; that small forest which surrounds your sprawling, mountainous city. Or perhaps it was merely his presence in the air, something clung to the leaves like dappled dew, but you knew; Sven was home. He was safe, and you meant to keep it so.

The chill of the outer courtyard couldn’t receive you fast enough as you rushed past servants and guardsmen out into the dawn. The courtyard filled with horned mounts and war carts, brimming with the sounds of armor and hooves, as inside the gates amasses your brother’s wearied men at arms. And when you see Sven slipping off his steed alongside them, you fail even to call his name. Something catching in your throat as you merely bolt toward his presence, with him too distracted loosing his horned steed’s bridle to see you bounding there. Informed with a breathless grunt upon you tightly seizing him that you’ve come to greet him, swarmed by a hug that might seek to wring him of his very life. 

After tensing in bewilderment, he laughed; his exhales shaking you. “Someone’s eager to greet the dawn.”

“I’d be eager to see you no matter what time it is,” comes your mumbling in his chest.

He clasps one solid arm around your far more fragile form, bronze armor twisting leather joints as he brings you to his ochre-draped chest. Holding you there for warm moments, before shifting his hold somewhat in effectively prying you off him.

He surmises you a moment, as though confused by such fierceness of emotion. Eventually smiling softly. “Good morrow to you as well, dear sister.”

“You’re home,” is all you can muster, like you can’t quite believe it still, and a chuckle harbors once more in his throat.

“I’m home,” he agrees, quite simply. “Had you room for doubt I would be?” 

To this, you withhold response.

He lacks the helm of his fellow horned warriors, of whom it seems what remains of his regiment’s traveled here. Donning instead a fabric mask he now pulls from his nose and face; dark, shoulder-length hair spilling past his crown of two goat-like horns, their curves spiraling toward the sunlight.

He seems to decipher your worries as you eye his men, as you eye him ; giving your chin a small pinch in the effort to snatch you from them.

“I’m well,” he assures you. “You worry far too much.” Glancing at the vine-twisted keep far behind you, he wonders, “Have you told father of my arrival?”

Your expression’s wry. “Has it been so long you’ve forgotten I’m not entirely witless?”

One corner of his lips quirks as his hand shifts to your hair, ruffling it up a bit despite your instant protests. “Happily, it has not. And I’m glad of it. I’d prolong his inevitable criticisms for as long as possible.”

“I’m rather offended you hadn’t told me of your arrival, however,” you point out whilst slapping his giant, armored hand away, to which his dark brows pinch incredulously. 

“I only just arrived! I hardly know how you knew it.” 

Pressing back your responding grin, you shed the skin of levity in favor of matters more severe; ones you’ve rushed here to find him for in the first place.

“Come,” you tell him, in the guise of welcoming him home. “You must be tired. And before our unfortunate father finds you, I have questions of your time at the blockade.”

And though Sven sighs, he doesn’t stop you–allowing himself to be pulled by one hand toward the keep whilst his soldiers behind him toil with horses and armament; some greeting family, others guiding their horses back home. 

“Of course you do,” he mutters, unenthused. “Though I assure you father’s relayed the state of things well enough.”

He hasn’t, and Sven must know that. Your father confides in you nothing. He loves not your gender, preferring you’d been yet another son, and nor does he love you were born without horns. He thinks less of you. Sven can’t deny this unfortunate truth. And he won’t worm his way from your questions by playing fool to it.

“I’d rather hear it from you,” you state, forcing tension from your tone. 

Past chamber after chamber, you drag him searching for one vacant of any eyes that might spot you. And though Sven’s much taller than you, it’s like he’s dragging his feet in some useless attempt to dissuade you.

“My, you’re slow,” you chastise, leaning more weight toward your aims, more or less lugging the tall man forward. “Have you suffered so greatly on your journey that you now walk as a feeble old man?”

He rolls his hazel eyes, though at your taunting, his pace rises to meet yours all the same. “I’ve only just arrived,” he complains. “Have we not time to tarry?”

No, you bite back from saying. Instead steering him inside a broad, open storeroom where you two can be alone. We don’t. 

The room is quite barren, many of its supplies shifted elsewhere in support of the war. And after glancing about in ensuring your privacy, you turn and stare up at your brother hard.

He looks at you with subtle perplexion. Meeting your solemn gaze as all lightness is slowly bled of him.

“What troubles you, sister?”

You’re not sure what to say. Knowing the words, yet somehow sure he will resist them.

In your troubled silence, he takes your arm in reclaiming your wandering gaze again, guiding your worry more toward his. 

“What is it?”

Your mouth presses flat before you manage to force the words out.

“We have to get out of here.”

A crease weighs his brow. “What do you mean, get out of here?”

“I mean it isn’t safe here,” you tell him with more insistence in every second drawn on. 

You steal another glance at the opened doorway beside you, before taking his hand to steer him deeper into the room, away from what prying ears might hear you.

“I’ve heard whispers,” you state, in a whisper all your own. Staring up with desperation, attempting to wring the truth from his dodging hold. “The Impaler…”

Sven’s forearm tenses, though you press on.

“He’s reduced Moorth to naught but ruin, has he not?”

Jawline growing tight, some faint darkness glints his eye in a way suggestive that he did not want you to know this.

“We’ll take the city back,” he says, but you won’t have his dodging.

“Father insists our paths of trade aren’t broken, but I’m not the ignorant simpleton he thinks I am,” you say, fearful and sullen. Determined for whatever ugly truth. “He’s incinerating everything, isn’t he?”

“Who?”

“You know who!” your voice now raises. “Stop treating me like some blissful, ignorant child!”

In his reluctance, silence follows, though you read him well enough. Know your brother better than anyone. And you see something beyond the stone-wall of him splinter.

“That’s why you’re here, then… Isn’t it?” you press him, as your nervous heart still trembles. “To defend these halls… Belurat far beyond them… There’s nowhere else to fall back to. He’s ransacked everything else.”

He doesn’t immediately respond. Instead studying you with the hesitance of not knowing what to say, how honest to be with you.

You demand full honesty. “Tell me it isn’t true.”

Through his tension, he says not anything. 

Biting the inside of your lip so harshly it stings, you take both his hands in yours, squeezing harder than you mean to.

“We have to go,” you insist in one breath, unblinking. Hushed enough to hide such treason from any walls that may have ears. “We have to leave the city. Now. We’d be fools to wait any longer.”

The line of his jaw turns to stone as he studies you. 

“And go where?” he wonders at last, voice bladed against you. “There’s nowhere in reach where Messmer’s flames cannot find us.”

You’re left without answers, for there are none for such an impossible thing.

“We’ll find a way through the shadow veil,” you insist in desperation; disheartened to hear his weary scoff. Gripping his hands still tighter to win his ear. “I’ll tear the bloody thing apart myself if I have to,” you persist, not knowing if you even can, if such a thing is possible. “I’ll–”

“Enough,” your brother halts you, with such uncharacteristic firmness it stills your tongue at once.

A flicker on his brow seems to regret his harshness of it, though he carries on unyielding even so. “There’s nowhere more safe than inside these walls. And even were there not, who are we to abandon our people here? While we ourselves flee for spurious safety in the night?”

Our people…

The notion ties labyrinthine cords inside you. For though you care for your people–our people–don’t want them to suffer Messmer’s wrath…

Some of your people’s practices are those of pure horror. Traditions and rituals with shamans–with people–you’ve always found barbarous. Beyond what one can bear. Impossibly cruel.

Still. Even with the bad, there is good here. Hundreds of innocent lives that might be snuffed out. 

But when it comes to their lives, or your brothers…

You choose your brother’s every time, without question. Over every single soul that elsewise exists.

You hold Sven’s gaze as obstinately as he holds yours. “I’m leaving,” you say. “Tonight. And you’re coming with me.”

He regards you still more discontentedly, as some thread inside him fails in tearing through. And when he pulls his hands from the unyielding strangle of yours, there’s the smallest smile forced to his lips that might’ve convinced anyone other than you. 

“I understand your disquiet,” he says. “Truly, I do.” He brushes back some hair behind your ear, as if this alone might cease this war inside you. “But such depth of concern is unfounded. Worry not, dear sister... Messmer’s forces will not reach our city. Nor will the Tower Settlement fall.” 

As you frown, his thumb swipes your chin as though to swipe the shape of it from you.

“You underestimate me,” he says, with a glisten to crinkling eyes. “I’ll protect you, as I always have. As you know I always will. In this, you can be certain. And with it allow this matter to rest.”

You merely scowl at him. “You’re… You’re being stubborn… pigheaded… I–”

He laughs before frustration lets you finish. Drawing you to him. Hugging your scowling close whilst he strokes the back of your hornless head with playful fingers.

“I’ve heard tell of my being such,” he agrees, lightly. “Enough that I fear it must be true. The pigheaded prince, they call me.”

His embrace is comfort enough that your fears are near forgotten. Though it slips through your grasping fingers all too swiftly as he lets you go, with guidance toward the doorway where the two of you both entered. 

It’s obvious that he would see this conversation’s end, while you consider it hardly started.

“I also fear our father’s already loathe to’ve not addressed me,” he says, with this in mind, though with little relish. “I’m sure I’ll be his unwilling captive in the war room at least till dusk. After which…”

He pauses just before the doorway, turning you toward him with gentle hands.

“I expect you to sit with me at whatever feast he’s surely hosting.”

Your attempt at jest’s still murky with clouds of doubt. “A feast… I suppose your presence warrants as much...”

His eyes, even now, cast a sparkle. “Is that doubt on your tongue?” he ribs you. “My presence warrants several feasts, at least. Lavish ones, where the whole of the city stumbles home drunk from them.”

You look away, in no mood for his usual liveliness. And his fingers grace your upper arms in catching your gaze once more. Eyes passing between your worried ones.

“Be at peace, dear sister,” he says, with firmness reassuring, even now. “Leave worry with me. I won’t let ill befall you.” He gives your arms a squeeze. “Save me a spot at the table tonight, will you? Near some comely friend of yours. I could use a lovely distraction.”

You fight back the smallest smile in response. “I’ll have no part in you breaking some poor girl’s heart again.”

“Then I’ll take care not to break it this time,” he teases. 

As he’d guessed, you did not see your brother again till the world became swallowed by night.

Your father’s great hall is thunderous. Partiers laughing, people jeering, as though the only one worried is you.

How can they all be so ignorant of what death approaches?

You wish you could shrink from it; this jovial place. But you’re not one to cast aside a more pleasant reunion with your brother than the short one you shared this morning, so you stay, beside his and your father’s empty seats at the longtable as instructed.

As a man slick with sweat reaches toward you across the table for yet another leg of lamb, a darkened presence hovers just behind where you sit.

“Is this seat taken?”

The boldness, to ask such a thing of your brothers chair. Only a nitwit would speak such stupidity, and you turn to see said nitwit standing there.

He’s older, with a tangle of horns on his brow. A thin smile and small eyes, with teeth greased with the ale which surely prompted this.

Yet another, it would seem, after your affluent hand. As if your father hadn’t plans to sell you to whoever’s hand flattered his own most. 

“Yes,” you say brusquely, turning away more rudely than you mean, though you find it hard in that moment to care. 

You grab the flask of ale before you and suck it down as though you mean to drown in it.

Wherever is your damnable brother?

Wiping amber from your lips with an unladylike hand, you endeavor to breathe some fresh air. Standing up far too quickly, to the effect of nearly toppling over, and it’s no wonder you don’t often drink liquor.

Wavering your way from the hall, you make your way out into night. Out, through the courtyard, knowing not where you wander, only that you’d rid yourself of all raucous and smell of that festivous hell.

Ale warms your veins, yet you still rub gooseflesh from your arms as you wander in your long-sleeved gown up the stairway of the keep’s curtain wall, thinking to look out at the darkness beyond the sprawling city’s light.

The breeze is stronger up here, on the wall’s utmost walkway. Curling the length of your skirts in about you, tugged to and fro with the wind's invisible hands. And you stare outward, full of worry, not aware that you aren’t alone.

“Didn’t know I’d have such fine company.”

It’s a gruff voice which greets you, and you turn with a start, though it’s only a grizzled guard who addresses you. A graying old man with kind eyes and a knobby head of horns. Is your father so wanting of forces he’d pluck some greybeard from his bed to man the bailey?

“Apologies,” you say, “I didn’t mean to interrupt your watch.” Vacillating a moment, before adding, “I’d stay a while, if you’d allow it.”

His eyes crease as he smiles, pushing himself up off the half-wall he’d previously leaned upon.

“Stay as long as you like,” he says. “There’s naught much to look at. Boredom’s making me numb.”

Your attempt to return his smile falls short. “I fear I may fail to salve boredom, if that’s what you hope. I’m not presently much for conversation.”

He quirks a grandfatherly brow. “Long night?”

If he wasn’t so kindly, you might be aggrieved he’s still insistent on chatting away through the night. But as it were, you just sigh. Staring out into the darkness beyond the city. 

“One longer has yet to grace me.”

“Say no more,” he says, understanding. “The quiet’s a balm for such things.”

Relieved, you take him up on such advice.

You stay on the wall with this stranger who feels somehow a friend for some time. Likely longer than you ought to. And it thaws you, inch by inch, of that worry which clings; enough till you finally clear your throat to speak, to somehow return this man's kindness. Though as you turn to say a word, a flicker of light in the distance instead captures your focus.

Standing straighter, you're drawn like a moth to that faraway glisten. Watching as one glimmer turns to four. Then a dozen. Then more. Unable to turn away from whatever those pinprick lights are as they loom so far across the horizon, like stars dragged over ground. Asking the graybeard, “Do you see that…?”

You hear the old man’s armor shifting as he seems to adjust his gaze.

“...Aye,” he says at last. “I see it.”

You cannot look away. And how some flickers of light can distress you, you fail fully to grasp or name why. “What is it?”

Silence, as the graybeard beside you stares.

“...M’not sure,” he utters at length. Perturbed, a touch, it seems. “Though whatever they are… They're getting closer.”

Reaching one grizzled hand toward his neck, the old man grasps a silver looking-glass from where it dangles upon his chest, raising it in scanning outward. And with a glance at him, you wait with bated breath for word of what's seen.

“...Too dark to see for certain,” he murmurs, his tone more weighed than before. His eye staying glued to his contraption. “...There’s perhaps two dozen… N’whatever they are, they’re too large to rightly be torches…”

For stretching moments, he stares outward, as do you. Until finally he offers you his looking-glass, slipping its delicate chain off from round his neck.

“Take a look,” he offers, and in disquietude you do, not so much as thinking to decline him. Something raising every fine hair on your skin, though the reason eludes. 

You see…

…Flames.

The distance holds them small, in the palm of its night-drenched hand, though with every second passed they grow larger. Wavering midst the shadows, as if lumbering side to side; as though flame itself's somehow walking.

You peer past the lens to stare with the naked eye again. And it's then you first feel it. The ground come so slowly to life. A sensation so subtle at first you cannot hear the distant thuds which crescendo each minute vibration, more and more, til you cannot deny them. A sort of hum. A twisting of earth. More rhythmic with each second dragged on.

Despite how vague and far those groans of earth, whatever could be their cause flashes images of horror inside your mind. Of something you’ve only heard tell of; a wickedness only since dreamed. Of machines, gnarled and vast, designed with the fuel of bodies. Tall as any tower. Barred as any gael. Fashioned for death and the installation of fear in any soul hapless enough to look upon them.

Just its image painted in your mind inscribes fear in you now, as was its architects intention.

You stumble back a step, eyes growing wide in the darkness as you stare at those ever-growing flames. And though you lack any proof of their purpose, some piece inside you knows what they are. Why they’re here.

The looking-glass tumbles with a delicate plink from your grasp, while the man beside you’s expression draws confusion.

“What is it?” he asks, but you’re already running. Down the bailey’s length, down stairs, through the courtyard's growing dim.

Sven.

You hear the graybeard’s horn sound behind you, and though you should find relief in what little solace its call to your father’s forces might bring you, you cannot care. It matters little. For surely those golems grow nearer with every lumbering step, and there’s nothing you or your father’s dwindling men can do to stop them, not if all tell you've heard about Messmer is true.

The ground further shakes, undeniable in what it might bring you, as you enter the sconce-scattered castle. Fighting the length of your damnable skirts as you bound in through the hallways as fast as you can, as already panic clouds your vision.

Messmer will feed your bodies to his golems one by one. Impale all others. Leave your ashes to rot on a graveyard of spears, your tombs like a forest. Your corpses charred black, with faces frozen in whatever terror his flames found you in; whatever anguish his spear brought before the mercy of death.

You run still faster; in past the broad, opened doorways of the dining hall, where merriment’s paused in favor of scattered, flummoxed eyes and panicked questioning, though even that you find hard to hear.

You need to find Sven. Need to drag him to any place far from here. You have to protect him, as he always has you–even from himself if you must, and such is his dauntless, stubborn pride that you likely will.

There’s no stopping what may come, you should have dragged him from this place far sooner, you–

You're too late.

You were too late–dammit, you–!

Reeling as you turn one hallway’s bend, you're forced to shove your way past those filing into the corridors; servants, guardsmen, guests, all traveling with purpose or else questioning if you're under attack. And it's nothing short of a blessing catching eye of Sven's height lingering above the masses, as he likewise spots you; gaze alight with relief as he fights his way toward you.

Lodged within the crowds of mismanaged havoc, he takes your arm and drags you further into the keep, beyond the rising panic of those behind you. 

The ground further quakes. Iron chandeliers overhead further quivering. 

How close must they be now? Those colossal, wandering flames?

“I saw them,” you tremble as Sven further leads you, knowing not where he guides, too dazed to question. “I saw them, Sven. The furnaces. I–I couldn’t–they were so far away, but they–”

“I should have sent you away this morning,” he says, almost to himself, which does nothing to allay that viperous terror twisting through you. Sounding to wrest up whatever hope he has left whilst adding, “Though it’s not too late.”

It’s then that you realize he’s leading you in the direction of the stables.

You seize his wrist; stopping him in his tracks as his impatient, worried expression turns across one shoulder, his gaze alone questioning whether you’ve succumbed to sudden madness.

“I won’t leave without you,” you tell him, knowing already his intent. That he’d send you off and remain behind here. As of course he would, seeing reason to fight, though you won’t allow it.

This stubborn, stubborn man.

He doesn’t answer. Instead attempting to drag you on again, though you dig your heels in as sediment trembles from the rumbling walls all around you. 

“I’m not leaving without you!”

You don’t mean to shout, but you do. 

He looks at you as though you’re a war he’s already lost.

“I can’t leave while the city needs defended,” he argues, resolve fused to his every sinew. 

His valor is nothing short of infuriating.

“Then I’m staying with you.”

“No, you’re not!”

“Should you put me on a mount I’ll simply ride right back,” you protest, gaze growing wild. “You can’t make me go anywhere unless you ride by my side in ensuring it!”

His look is of utter frustration. But as horns blare and some distant, bone-deep tremor once more shakes the earth, inspiring a ripple of far away screams in the castle, there isn’t time to dissuade you. And with an agitated breath, he diverts course in leading up a set of winding stairs–those leading toward the hallway of your bedroom, where he guides you with swiftness.

“Stay here,” he says, ushering you inside your chambers. Seeming barely to accept such a compromise. “Bar the door. Remain hidden. I’ll return for you.”

The rapid beating of hooves and heels sounds far below your bedroom's balcony window, and too soon Sven's turned to leave, with you grabbing his wrist before he is able. “Don’t go! Don’t… Don’t go out there, Sven…!”

Tears burn your eyes, their threat overwhelming your lashes, and the resolve of Sven's own expression crumbles somewhat to see it.

He takes your face gently in his both hands while you plead with him once more, “Don’t go…” Steering you just a touch closer in placing a kiss upon your brow.

“Do as I’ve told you,” he bids, resolutely. “Allow no other entrance. I’ll return here as soon as I’m able. You have my word of this.”

And with this, he is gone. His warmth left on your cheeks as tears spill where his touch had been.

You staunchly refuse the cruel suggestion of your heart; that this may be the last time you see him. Uncertain how you’ll barricade your door with no lock on its innermost side, though you’re desperate to keep your mind busy, to heed Sven’s instructions. So with great effort, you squeeze yourself in behind your bed’s massive headboard, barely managing to shove it inch by awkward inch away from the stone-hewn wall. Shoving with all your strength until the mass of it blockades the doorway.

Time is as much a weapon as any sword. And as you wait for your brother's return, heart tangled by vines in your chest, you seek to pry yourself from terror enough to stumble out onto your balcony, where night wraps you up in its arms.

The song of steel and iron grows ever louder from down below. Your view half-concealed by the edge of the castle. Horns sounding more in the darkness. The rumble of beasts and mounts and men shaking into the ground. And your strained eyes grow wider upon seeing a haze of flame glowing just outside the city, bewitching the air to a blistering hellscape of dancing cinder and molten fog.

Such a harrowing sight overwhelms you.

Whatever has come, it is here.

Your hands grip desperately to the terrace’s balustrade as the world around you abruptly lurches in place, and with a vicious crack one section of walls round the city erupts into pieces, struck by some mammoth blow beyond what your vision can see. Stones tumbling like naught more than ash as a behemoth lumbers in through the wreckage. A mountainous cage of a being, weighed slow by its body of metal; stomach burning with the piled corpses of past feasts. Its silhouette singed against darkness, twisted by hundreds of arms reaching out through the bars of its belly; burned slow enough to long to be free.

You long to look away, yet can scarcely remember to breathe. The cities outmost towers growing brighter with ashes and flame in a nauseating dance of destruction that would see all before it laid waste, as behind the crushed path of each furnace, Messmer's forces are free to bleed in. 

The city you've known all your life slowly transforms beyond all recognition. Your sense of time broken, sands scattered to the wind, as you watch the growing onslaught in horror. Your pupils shrinking from a vicious, sudden trail of horrid brightness as tendrils of flame lick the air, weaving through it, met soon by a chorus of screams that grow shrill before melting. Lungs scorched in a firestorm that sets the very sky on fire, and you've never seen anything like it. Like a dragon assaults your city, though even they cannot wield such a vicious flame.

You can do nothing but watch as fire tangles through buildings and streets. Your fingernails digging into your palms till the marks left behind may soon bleed.

Sven…

You… You can’t just stay here, sequestered in your room like this-!

You have to find him,

You have to help him–!

But if you leave, how might he find you amidst the chaos?

You have to stay here. He needs to know where you are when he surely comes back, for he will. He’ll come back. His word was given.

Villagers run through the streets as flame leaks its way its alleys; into the very reaches of your father’s keep, as its bailey comes crashing at the slam of a furnace golem’s gnarled excuse for a fist. And as your world shakes you hear Messmer’s men storming in through the courtyard. Hear the clashing of metal grow near. The screams of terror in hallways, all while fear tears through your bosom like an animal clawing to get out.

Where is your brother?!

It feels as though an eternity has held you breathless in its clutches, and as the sounds of war draw nearer, your walls feel to close in.

Footsteps soon sound within the corridor behind your shuttered doorway. Soldiers grunting, weapons clattering to the ground beside a distant woman’s shriek. And then the handle of your door’s taken hold of. The wood of it shuddered by what seems an impatient hand; rattled against how your bed keeps it fully from opening.

Your attention hones tightly toward it.

Sven…?

It remains as a thought, your throat’s tautness not letting you speak it. As you watch in a silence that would strip all reason raw while the door falls eerily still.

You’ve no time to react before your chamber’s entrance blasts violently open in a hailstorm of splintered wood and flame, whipping the room with embers as you stumble back and scream from the ruined blockade of your doorway. 

Snowflake cinders hang loosely in the air as your eyes strain through the rubble, and you know not the man who stands there in the wreckage, whose outline swirls amidst wisping smoke, though he’s wearing Messmer’s red. A pointed helm adorns his looming outline, its steeple skyward, and from his breadth a dripping crimson cowl falls lapping at his heels. Armored head to toe in blackened steel save the shape of his slowly smiling lips as he beholds you. And though you can’t see his gaze through the intricate, beak-like visor he wears, you you can feel his curious eyes scanning over your shape.

“Well… What have we here,” he croons above the distant hymn of bloodshed; that war below now muted by growing unease. “A hornless trollop all alone in her chambers… Tucked away, it would seem, just for me…”

His cruel lips curve as you instinctively falter from him, recoiling further toward the terrace at your back, even when its height would further trap you.

The man steps in through your doorway's ruin, unperturbed by anxious lack of welcoming him in.

“You aren’t quite as foul as the rest of them,” he observes, almost to himself. In no real hurry to approach you, as instead he makes a game of dread. Bits of broken wood twisting beneath his heavy, prowling footsteps as he draws ever closer, and though you glance to the ravaged doorway behind him, with him its gate its passage feels to shrink.

“Not the talkative sort?” he wonders, idly, with a falsely exhaustive sigh. “What a pity… I'd hear your tearful pleas, were it up to me.”

His drawing nearness springs a trap in you, and unthinkingly you try to flee. Though as you bolt in sprinting past him you find he’s far faster than you could have believed.

He’s snatched your wrist in his harshly armored grip before you can even flinch, his every finger steel and pointed. Flinging you without mercy onto the rubble of your bed as a cry tears from your chest, your body shaken as you tumble. 

“Such a morsel I’ve found myself,” he breathes, becoming feverish as a predator above prey. “You do look hornless… Though I’d be sure of it. Let us see if you have any defilements in places I haven’t yet seen, hm?”

Terror wraps fists around you, and though you scramble to get up, to run, he’s on you in an instant. The weight of him shackling you down against your ruined mattress on the floor. The snakelike scales of his ruby tabbard scraping up your kicking legs as he roughly straddles down your writhing form, and though you strike his half-masked face in desperation it does naught but scrape your fingers raw.

He laughs at the attempts to dissuade him. Snatching your wrists and squeezing until you fear your bones might crack.

“There’s that flame,” he croons, tone gleefully debased. “I thought for a moment you’d bore me. How long might that tiny flame flicker before tamping out, I wonder?”

With hungry hands, he grips and tears the flowing fabric of your gown at the seams, ripping it from your thighs as alarm makes you mindless, has you kicking out wildly in the attempt to be free.

“Let me go!” you scream, voice stripped by panic. “Let me go! Get off of me–!”

His breathy laughter’s a horrible thing. But all at once it’s frozen in his throat; locked away as his muscles all seize. Its cruelty marred instead to a painful choke, something congealed, as a swing of metal shears the air behind him, slashing through what seems his severed spine.

His form grows rigid with the realization of death. Wavering in how he pins you, before slumping down like a lifeless tree whilst your lungs are crushed beneath him. And though you fight to claw him off, his weight of steel proves too much for your waning strength.

Some hand seizes the cowl which drapes the dead man’s neck, tearing his body from you. And with a gasp of needed breath you’re overcome to see Sven, like a beacon above you; his red-slicked sword in hand.

Blood and ash fill the lines of his handsome face. Concern whiting his brow as he reaches down to take your shell-shocked hand.

There’s little time to coddle you.

“Are you hurt?”

Tension cleaves to every inch of you, though as you struggle to swallow, you also strive to nod your head. 

“I’m… I’m fine.”

The need to thank him once again for saving you, as it seems he always does, trembles past your mind with you too overwhelmed to fully grasp it. And Sven’s jaw is hard as he holds your trembling hand, his fingers weaving through your own.

“Come,” he says, not wasting words. Towing your stumbling fragility with him from the horror of your chambers. 

You haven’t made it far at all before the clamor of many footsteps resounding in these hallways soon assails you. And round the corridor's bend, just several yards before you, comes a cluster of soldiers in regalia you don’t recognize, so they must be Messmer’s men. Led by a knight in red like that of your bedroom.

Their party pauses upon sighting you, as does yourself and a stiffening Sven. His giant hand gripping yours more fiercely.

Silence, as time strips thin and the lot of you warily eye one another.

“You there,” the red knight says, his voice like brass. “You are the son of the false, impure king, unjustly throned in these lands, I presume?”

Shifting slowly forward, Sven secures himself one step before where you stand, stricken beside him.

“Would that I were,” he says, ever defiant. “What difference does it make?”

The knight before you slowly smiles, though its quick to fade away. 

“We’d make a sigil of your broken body in the courtyard,” he says. “I’d hoped to fell you outside. Alas, we must now drag you there, instead.”

The line of Sven's shoulders grows taut, before abruptly he shoves you from him, your hand stripped from his–pushing you further behind him.

“Go,” he orders, not glancing back. “Run.”

You tremble, and cannot move but to shake your head. Salt soon stinging your vision. Unwilling to obey him.

“No–”

“Go!” he shouts, yet still you cannot heed him. Will not heed him.

The red knight tilts his chin, gesturing three soldiers carry on before him. And already your brother’s sword is raised; knocking back one spear that would see him dead, and then the another. Repelling blows as each comes raining in, trading strikes through the bedlam.

He holds them off for much longer than any man rightly should, such is your brother, such is his mastery of sword. Sweat soaks his brow, blood spilling through his armor with every blow he fails to break. Felling two of Messmer's men as two more are sent by the man in red to take their place, and you're terrified he’ll tire before the end of them. 

You scarcely notice, at first, how beneath his steps bubbles forth a glowing pool of red.

You watch in pure horror as flames like vines slowly leak up through the cracks of the floorboards, tendrils of searching crimson, while Sven’s too caught by battle to heed them. And the moment you cry out for him to run is already a cry too late, as those flames burst forth with sudden violence. Flinging from their center a massive spear, pierced up from the very ground he stands on, as though formed from the shadow of his feet.

The spear flings forth with impossible strength, goring high into the ceiling like the shoot of a savage, crooked tree. It’s hilt still buried in the ground as its speartip thucks up high in the timber above you; piercing through Sven's middle, metal lifting through his ribs.

His body's rigid where he hangs, high above where once he'd stood fighting. And you forget what feeling even is as his body gradually falls limp. Sword slipped from wilting fingers. Clattering to the ground so far below his hanging feet.

All you can see is him and that spear he hangs on. An awful monument to a moment that will live with you forever. And you stare at this nightmare of him; balking backward. Stare, as your heart crumbles into pieces, and you can do nothing else. 

Sven…

You can’t find breath enough to even cry his name, though it trembles in the pit carved where your heart and lungs once lived.

Those soldiers still alive before you part within the haze that strangles your breath, making way as someone else approaches, though you hardly notice as you stand there. Defeated. Tears blurring your vision to a melted, burning thing. 

….Sven…!

He cannot hear those cries you fail to utter. And even should you scrape them from your chest, he’ll never hear your words again. Nor your larks. Nor your laughter. 

Just this once, you might've protected him. Just this once. Yet here you've failed him. 

“Do not prolong the inevitable,” a low, serrated voice condemns from midst your shrouded torment, and you blink away what tears you can, straining through grief to see a dreadfully towering man, so tall no common hallway could ever hope to hold him.

You’ve only heard tell of Messmer. That his hair is red as bloodied fire. That his eye, his only eye, is as gold as Marika’s sins. That two winged snakes adorn him, with agile minds and bodies it seemeth all their own. And yet even those two snakes now watch you, along with their wretched master. Their emerald eyes trained to your every movement, though you shift none.

You bite back your tears; anguish giving way to anger. Your jawline like glass, so hard and close to splintering, but still you’ll grit your jaw up at this red-maned savage as though on his neck you were clamping down, tearing the very life from him.

His captain steps forward, but Messmer’s lengthy, muscled arm raises scarcely enough to halt him in place, though his order's immediately heeded. And though his captain’s face lay hidden behind a snake-like helm so similar to Messmer’s own, you can sense the confusion which braces through him.

“Not her,” says Messmer, so low you scarcely hear him. And you stare, at this monstrous man, while he meets your gaze with what seems not an ounce of pity. 

His eye, you admit, is a strangely beguiling thing. Like a spell that might dissect the furthest reaches of you. Its gold so strangely brilliant, like a pinprick of flame, gnawing through the darkness.

“...Take her,” his deep voice at length breaks through the enchantment of his gaze, and you at once feel panic swell at such an order. “We couldst use another specimen for the storehouse.”

And then, he is gone; turned without another word said, as though he matters of much more import to attend to than whatever in any hell his decreed fate as ‘specimen’ might bring you.

You far prefer death.

When Messmer’s captain comes for you, obedient dog that he is, you immediately try to run only for your gown to snag you back within his clutches. And as he lifts you beneath one arm like a satchel of wheat, you snarl and you fight with every bit of strength remained in you; transformed into a hopeless, feral thing. Clawing at his legs, biting at his wrist despite his armor blunting every blow at him, until he slaps you so hard your vision blurs and all sound’s replaced by the ringing of your skull, your body hanging momentarily limp.

It does no good, your fighting, though you scream and writhe and fail to stave back tears as you’re carried from your father’s ruined castle.

The world outside is smoldering waste.

All is fire and ash. 

You see no one else left living.

You have nothing.

Nothing.

This demigod of flame has taken everything from you. Has burned away your heart to an ashen pit. And while you are still living, you will do everything within your power to gift him the very same.

[ AUTHORS NOTE ] f’s in chat for Sven, rip gone too soon 😔 I actually felt really bad killing him, but I wanted to give you a legitimate, visceral reason to hate Messmer so he had to go. Anyway thanks for reading! I’d love to hear your thoughts 💕

[munsster]

i'm so so obsessed with the winter in hawkins series!! i love a loser!steve and the kids pushing the steve x reader agenda

LITERALLY ME TOO! i am so glad u like it. truly nothing and no one compares to poor babygirl loser!steve. and now because i’m crazy, i came up with a billion headcanons for winter in hawkins au.

robin was obviously definitely the first one to notice babygirls longing glances (does that make robin olaf or sven in this situation…)

of course, steve was catching strays from dustin long before but it was all conjecture for like the first month

once robin pinpointed steve’s desperation and utter infatuation with you, she was hooked and intent on finding dumb excuses for the two of you to be alone

aka robin is the WORST instigator and only encourages loser!steve

yes, she thoroughly clowns on him, but her heart says steve x reader ftw

the rest of the kids find out because dustin will. not. shut. up! about it

again, thanks to auntie robin only fanning the flames

(they came up with a group name for their shenanigans: the secret society consisting of everyone who thinks steve is her prince charming OR the prince charming project for short)

(dustin uses the full name every time)

(the main points at meetings include planning your wedding, drawing your future children, and anything anti-brad)

speaking of brad, steve still remembers exactly where he was when you told him you got a new boyfriend

he cried in his car after work that day

robin was in the passenger seat

she cried, too

that was really what spurred loser!steve on

before that, steve was minding his own hopeless romantic business, but the introduction of brad put emphasis on the ‘hopeless’ aspect

honestly, steve’s just glad he still gets to see you every weekend for game night

brad is not invited to game night

you don’t think he’d come even if he was

steve hates brad

regardless of br*d, steve is not shy about complimenting you on anything and everything

sure, it makes him a little blushy thinking about how you’ll react

with that dazzling smile he adores

and yeah, theres a tiny wobble in his voice when he gets your attention

but you don’t seem to notice

and if you do, you don’t seem care

(you always notice, and you think it’s sweet)

“i like your hair like that”

“really? thanks, stevie!”

oh he melts

whenever you compliment him back, he takes diligent notes

one time he wore the same shirt three times in one week just because you mentioned how it complimented his eyes

he also got a big head when you told him his sailor outfit makes him look dashing

sometimes the kids write out lists of really good and not at all embarrassing pick up lines

sometimes these lists suspiciously wind up in steve’s glove box or tip jar

one time a list appeared in his wallet

it’s weird that they practically pickpocketed him but it’s weirder that they had access to his wallet and didn’t take the twenty

robin has a secret scrapbook dedicated to you and steve

it has secret pictures (courtesy of el), ticket stubs, cute stickers, and random receipts

if you couldn’t already tell, everyone is very normal about the situation

steve gets to know you so well that you actually start saying things in tandem

he knows your ice cream order, your coffee order, what temperature you like the thermostat, the name of your first pet

he’s never been good at memorization but it feels so easy knowing it’s all attached to you somehow

he will often bring you random little flowers that seem so small in the palm of his hand

it makes him feel very proud when you tuck them behind your ear

even more so when you let him do it for you

one late summer night, steve hosts a sleepover

OR the kids begged and begged him to either ask you on a date or let everyone use his pool for the night and watch a scary movie and stay up really late and eat junk food

so because he’s a loser, steve hosts a sleepover

and his heart flutters when you show up on his dimly lit doorstep with a gaggle of children behind you

they push past the two of you and barrel straight towards the back door

you warn him, saying you’re pretty sure only two of them brought towels

he chuckles and assures you that they do this every time and he already has a stack set out

you laugh in response and he thinks this is what a heart attack feels like

just imagine how he survived the rest of the night basking in your company and the soft moonlight

you sat next to him during the movie and fell asleep on his shoulder and he swears he’s never been so still

and the movie was really scary

steve wishes brad wasn’t such a dick

especially because he’s made you cry now on a handful of different occasions

steve’s flattered that he’s the first one you call, but he’s heartbroken hearing your choked sobs through the receiver

it’s kind of like a routine the way you always apologize for dumping everything on him and the way he tells you he’d do it any time

for you

at this point, he doesn’t care how desperate he makes himself seem

he really cares about you

steve likes you, and brad could spare a couple teeth

but he knows you love brad blahblahblah que sera sera whatever

he should’ve asked you out when he had the chance instead of sulking and pining

robin still has hope three months into the relationship

she knows for a fact steve still has a raging crush on you

those big brown eyes give everything away

and the way he gushes about your phone calls and your cute sweaters

something happens and i’m head over heels

steve has your gift picked out a month before the holiday season

little does he know, you’ve got his picked out, too

“i saw this in a shop window and thought of you…”

“i remember you mentioning that you wanted one…”

they really are just two losers fated to fall in love

sigh

more like this

masterlist

[trainsinanime]

Trains in Miraculous Ladybug - The Season 6 Tram

Part 1: The Metro Train

Part 2: The Metro Station

Part 3: Startrain

Part 4: The Gare du Nord

Part 5: The Bus

It's a new season, and we got a new art style, new trains, buses, cars, villains and anxieties in the world of Miraculous Ladybug! Mostly trains, of course!

At the end of season 6, the right person got elected mayor, which immediately transformed Paris into a wonderland of walkable urbanity and plentiful urban transit, even more so than before. That's literally canon. As part of that, the city has gotten trams. A lot of them. And they're weird. Time to restart this series of posts that I thought I'd finished long ago!

This will only focus on the trams we see, because there's just one episode out yet, "The Illustrhator". This will contain spoilers for what happens to the trams there. There is also a new bus that we see very briefly, but I'm hoping other episodes will tell us more about that.

The Vehicle

The trams we see are single four-axle vehicles. Yes, four axles, we do get to count them.

The design looks like they're individual small wheels rather than connected axles, which is a common design that has its advantages and its drawbacks. The floor tram is entirely at one level, seemingly about 30-40 cm above rail height.

We do get to see its interior as well. Nice big windows, different seating layouts, a big wheelchair area, and readers for Navigo RFID tickets at all doors. And, interestingly, fold-down seats, which are a feature on older Paris metro rolling stock.

We get a tiny hint of the inside of the cab as well. According to the display, we're going forward, and we're on line T3A towards Porte De Vincennes. And we're going 70 km/h.

There is actually a real-life Paris line T3A that does terminate at Porte De Vincennes (where you can change for the T3B), and I want to talk more about that, but before we can go there I need to talk about the rear of the train first. It has an open platform!

The rear platform

Don't worry about it being raised in the air here, that's just because the tram is currently falling down because the bridge is collapsing.

But don't worry, that is not a supervillain thing, the bridge just did that on its own, that's perfectly fine…

…right? The characters treat it like it's perfectly fine that this bridge just partially collapses without any supernatural interference, but, uhm, I have concerns. Questions even. Frankly I'm far more worried about that than about any supervillains. Alya and Nino later interview the mayor, and they completely ignore that a city bridge collapsed while a tram was going over it.

Sorry, I keep getting distracted. The rear of the tram has an open platform, which looks silly, is silly, is completely unrealistic, and I love it! See, while I am not aware of any trams like that, unless you count partially open ones like the San Francisco Cable Cars, but those are not quite the same.

However, there is a precedent for this platform, because Paris has a long history of city buses with such platforms. A good example is the Renault TN series

Picture from Wikimedia Commons, taken in 1950 by Sven Goliath, published by the Stockholm Transport Museum Commons

These were mostly a thing in the 1930s, but then got brought back in limited numbers in the 1960s after a Saviem SC10 had an accident that destroyed most of its rear, and RATP decided to be funny while rebuilding it. Later Saviem built these busses in series.

Picture from Wikimedia Commons, Tumblr won't let me link to the actual page there but it's on the Wikipedia article, taken by Sauvabus (bus historical association), published under CC-BY 4.0 international

All buses since then have put their engine at the rear, which has a lot of benefits, but also means it's right where this platform would go, so this has fallen out of fashion. Today you can only experience it when the one private transport museum near Paris has its monthly opening day, which is something I really need to visit one of these days. Here's a video showing the experience:

So there is precedent for this rear platform. Does it serve any purpose? Not really. Is it fun? Absolutely! And that's all it was on the Saviem SC10 as well, really. I love this platform. It's historic, it's quirky, it's fun, it's great.

The show definitely aims for a retro-futurist vibe now, seen e.g. in cars, like this modern take on the Citroën DS:

This modern take on this 60s and 70s legendary classic is what the modern DS brand should do, instead of their array of generic boring SUVs. Anyway, I'm not going to go too far into that, if I start talking about the cars in Miraculous Ladybug I'll never stop (yo is that a modern Peugeot 504? They literally modernised Aphrodite from Only Murders in the Building!). But I will say that this detail matches nicely.

The Infrastructure

Look at that station! Gorgeous! The designers of this show have created a tram stop in the style of the famous Guimard metro entrances, with their beautiful Art Nouveau design. That's amazing. I wish real tram stops in Paris look like that.

As for the tram stop itself, it's a low floor island platform with walkways to the sides, which matches modern standards for new tram stops worldwide. The track has gras planted on it, which is also common and popular, as it helps absorb noise, water, heat and pollution and it just looks nice. Yes, side platforms are more common, but this is still what a modern urban light rail network can and should look like. The only thing unrealistic about it is how pretty it is.

It should be noted that there's no overhead lines here, so the trains are powered by batteries, probably. That, or hydrogen, but a hydrogen tram would be a supremely bad idea, nobody would ever build something like that…

…except for Hyundai for some reason.

God that thing annoys me by its very existence. Hydrogen is expensive and will remain expensive for the next few decades, and this is what you're spending it on? A tram!? Trams should run with overhead wires. That's the good thing about a tram, you know where it's going to be, so you can put a wire there to give it power, and then you don't have to worry about batteries or hydrogen storage or whatever…

Sorry, I got distracted. Anyway, no overhead lines is realistic, and if they ever say, "it's a hydrogen tram" in future episodes, that'll be realistic too, even if it shouldn't be.

Instead let's look at this!

Closer…

Yeah! They finally fixed the metro map! The old one was an unholy mess of lines that didn't match anything (which I complained about before), but this one clearly has the Seine flowing through Paris as it should, with the island in the middle. The transport lines on it don't seem to match anything I can recognise, neither Metro nor RER, but let's just assume they are the new tram lines that happen to go this way.

Compared to the real thing

Real-life Paris abandoned trams in the 1930s already, being a negative trend-setter there. It didn't help that trams were limited to lower top speeds than buses were at the time. However, since the 1990s, trams have made a huge comeback in the Paris region.

(Aside: Note that I say the Paris region. There's only really one tram line in Paris itself (plus a few stops from the other ones). Where Berlin or London absorbed most of their suburbs at some point in the 20th century, Paris didn't, so the actual Paris part of the Paris region is surprisingly small. That's why Paris has both far fewer and way more inhabitants than e.g. Berlin, depending on what you count.)

Anyway, the tram lines in Paris mostly serve the suburbs, providing tangential connections from one suburb to the next so you don't have to take the metro or RER into the city centre, change at fucking Châtelet-Les Halles, and ride back out again. A unique feature of the the tram network is that each line is separate, with its own tracks and maintenance facilities, and at times very different technologies used. Most of the tram lines don't connect to other tram lines at all, each line is just out there doing its own thing. And since they're out in the suburbs, as a tourist you're unlikely to ever see one if you don't go looking for it.

The exception to that is the T3, divided into T3A and T3B, which runs in a 3/4 circle around Paris along the outer boulevards. The final quarter is where rich NIMBYs live, so it'll be a while until the circle gets closed, I fear.

This actual T3 is run with long bi-directional vehicles with no open platform anywhere in sight, and pleasant but considerably more boring stations. It does have green track (meaning with grass) in many places, though, and it has overhead wires.

In Paris, the trams are used as very long buses (with some overlap with really tiny metros) in underserved areas. Serving areas outside the city core is really the main thrust of Paris transit development at the moment, with a 200 km metro extension, the Grand Paris Express, being built exclusively to better connect the suburbs. This mega project is one of the coolest things happening in public transport anywhere in the world at the moment. The trams augment this.

I do actually think that some trams in Paris's city centre could make sense, to replace the busier bus routes. And there are definitely thoughts about that, but with all the money going towards doubling the size of the Metro, I don't think we'll see that very soon.

The verdict

I like that tram. I don't think it's what Paris would actually have, a longer articulated bidirectional model without a rear platform would make more sense, but I love the quirkiness of it. This season is off to a good start.

[isawritesshit]

jjk men as disney princes/other male love interests

images taken from various pinterest users. borders created by @anitalenia.

Synopsis: Pretty straightforward! Comparing JJK men to various Disney characters and their relationships with their s/o :)

Warnings and Content: written generally for fem!readers but i feel like it can be taken in any way; overall just fluffy stuff.

Characters: Gojo, Geto, Toji, Nanami, Yuta, Choso, Sukuna, Itadori, Megumi

Author's Note: Hello lovelies! I've returned with my first headcanon post. I hope y'all enjoy it! If you haven't watched any of the character's respective movies you definitely should if you get the chance! I apologize again for falling off the face of the earth (again). I'm on a break from my studies, so I have more time to write. If y'all have any asks or want me to continue any of my other stories, you know where to find me :)

Word Count: ~1.6k

gojo: naveen

y'all saw this coming.

like it was probably your first or second guess let's be real.

gojo has lots of expectations put upon him that he would rather not adhere to/just wants to be able to do his own thing.

the personality lines up pretty well. he's a cocky lil shit sometimes but he genuinely cares.

okay but SPECIFICALLY getting into though

think about this. naveen was only ever a prince to everyone around him. lottie only would've wanted him because he's a prince. dr. facilier only wanted to trick him because of his influence as a prince. even tiana's judgement at first was biased because he's a spoiled rich guy.

however, when he's not seen as a prince, he's able to have fun and relax. he discovers more about himself, and we sympathize. tiana falls in love with him when they're fucking frogs for gods sake, so she falls in love with naveen and not prince naveen.

i think we can all agree that if gojo were to have a long-time partner, it would be someone that sees past him as being the strongest sorcerer. someone he could cut out a separate life with. so it was upon this that i based my decision.

also lowkey, the scene where naveen set up a little date for tiana and was going to propose to her is gojo-coded to me and idk why. i could see him getting flustered and all that cute shit before trying to propose.

geto: kristoff

i'll admit this one didn't hit me at first, but i slowly found myself thinking this makes sense.

let's think about this right?

like sassy, hardworking man doing what he got to do to survive? right, right?

but he has a soft spot for those he cares about ofc, his found family and gojo sven.

also both are estranged from most of society both by circumstance and choice.

bet then idk just something about the scene where he immediately sees that anna might be in danger and he just rushes his ass over and across a frozen fucking lake.

idk

like it could be said for any of the characters listed, but i think that geto wouldn't admit or want to realizes that he cares that much for you until you're put into danger like that.

which sounds bad buuut at the end of the day when you're finally safe and the two of you are together he doesn't want to hesitate to show his affection for you.

both of them are just chef's kiss.

lmk if you agree.

toji: flynn rider

i know i keep saying here me out but HERE ME OUT-

there's just something about a hot criminal yk.

anyways, i was never thinking of this all along, but when i made this connection it sort of surprised me.

like, he would never approach your relationship romantically at first. there would only be something in it for the both of you before he realized he was royally fucked aka falling in love with you.

i feel like the only difference is just toji's over grumpiness but isn't flynn's cynicism almost similar?

furthermore, i think they both became the way they were because of the way society set them up to be with their born circumstances. but with the right person, they're willing to begin to go against that and what they had thought previously about themselves.

idk maybe i'm making a reach with this one.

just let him be loved.

nanami: shang

no brainer in my opinion.

both these bitches are GETTING DOWN TO BUSINESS.

but i def think the whole thing playing out between duty and heart would be an interesting dynamic for Nanami's character.

especially when talking about the SECOND MULAN MOVIE WHICH EVERYONE IS SLEEPING ON.

like i'm immediately thinking about the scene in the second movie where everyone thinks shang is dead and then boom he hops out all hot on a horse looking all disheveled and shit

then that got me thinking about season 2 nanami y'all know what im talking aboutttt.

plus having someone to challenge him but also introduce him to new concepts and ideas?? we all know he need dat.

anyways i love hot hardworking men.

yuta: aladdin

idc what anyone says this is the MOST accurate one.

both these dudes was in the TRENCHES when we first meet them, doing what they could with given circumstances.

but when it comes to getting what they want? setting out a goal and achieving it, whether that be to be with the girl he wants or save jujustu fucking society? yes ma'am he'll make sure it gets done. (even if they need a little help sometimes but that's besides the point-)

anyway, i think just the way he would treat you compared to how aladdin treats jasmine would be so similar idk. that sort of boyish shyness that he can get around you while still being able to impress everyone around him with his skillz.

brotha just wants to impress you doh.

he would do anyyyything for you.

choso: tarzan

barking for both of them i swear-

anyways, whole thing i was going after with this was the whole two worlds, one family thing yk? i feel like there are a lot of similarities with both tarzan's and choso's characters for it to make sense?

like he's been caught up in the curse world for so long, that when it comes to you, he needed/wanted to delve more into his human side.

he wants to know your interests, things that are important to you. bonus points if you were to be a jujustu sorcerer because you're supposed to be studying/exorcising curses.

choso really has to make a choice between you and his goals as a curse.

ofc, he's gonna choose you.

also, if we wanna get into to details. the scene where tarzan looks at jane? YOU KNOW WHICH ONE I'M TALKING ABOUT!!

yeah.

sigh anyways.

this one might've gotten a little too literal but i like it.

sukuna: adam (da beast)

okay.

yes the immediate connection was that they're both always angry i will admit.

but let's sit down and tinker with this mmm k?

everyone around both of them fear them. they were both cursed for the great power that they held.

now let's sit and imagine that we replaced him and you into belle and adam's situation? you cannot tell me that shit wouldn't pan out in a similar fashion.

i can irl that attraction to sukuna would not come immediately, but over time. learning about his past and him learning what's important to you, all of these things would contribute to your relationship.

but how could you love someone so terrible? so vile? someone who lived their life tormenting others?

now they said that to belle too.

but people, even monsters, can change under the right circumstances.

anyway, that got really serious.

but on a side note y'all were definitely having stupid arguments starting out just like in beauty and the beast.

and imagine if for whatever reason you saved his life.

oh brother he would never want to admit it.

of course, he would later be thankful for it.

belle and adam are probably my favorite disney couple also, so i liked diving into this.

itadori: hercules

THESE BABIES.

off the bat let's look at the similarities shall we?

both freakishly strong. both determined with a goal/called destiny from a long lost family. both new to the hero game and went through intensive training. both had cool mentors. both sweethearts.

but omg the way that hercules is so DOWN BAD AND IN LOVE with meg ugh. itadori is the same with you when you both meet fr.

and obv they are both extremely awkward but it's really endearing. aww.

but omg they would go BLOW FOR BLOW with any bitch that dare mess with y'all. whether it be some random ass man on the street or sukuna or a curse, itadori can FIGHT.

and we've seen the same thing in the hercules movie too ofc.

i think personality wise they are both similar matches which is why i made almost an instant connection between these two.

but they're also afraid of a lot of things too. they want to complete their goals but don't want anyone around them to die as a product of that. i feel that itadori's mind would think about that constantly with you, similar to how it happens with hercules in the movie and trying to save meg's life.

anywho

megumi: robert

okay now.

if you're thinking to yourself

who's robert

i need you to go get a disney plus subscription or on some random pirating website

and WATCH ENCHANTED

ONE OF THE MOST UNDERRATED DISNEY MOVIES EVER

and then come back to me and agree with me :)

now obviously it's kinda hard to compare like 15 y/o megumi to a fully grown, single father/divorce lawyer, but i feel like what that story represents in that relationship is sooo good.

megumi's had a very practical/cynical view on life since he was a child, as his circumstances forced him to. he does what he does to take care of his sister and still wants to look after her even after gojo comes around.

robert is someone who's also very practical and takes those views into everything to make sure he's making the right decisions for himself and his daughter. when his daughter asks for a storybook, he gives her a book on successful women. when asked why he hasn't proposed to a woman he's been dating for 5 years, he just wants to be sure in case anything falls apart.

but then you/giselle come along and completely break those realist mentalities, almost instantly. you don't encourage him to let go of what's important but rather view what's important through a happier/more positive lense. through those lenses, he falls for you, even when he never planned to.

like megumi's been through so much, but someone that could rework all of that and get him to relax would be the best thing for him imo.

anyway probably a weird one to end off on but yeah.

how many of y'all agree with me or are there any other ideas y'all had? 🥺

[thepinkpanther83]

And They Were Roommates (Pt.3)

Chapter Three: “Awful Documentaries”

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Masterlist

Find me on AO3.

Read this story on AO3.

Previous Chapter: Chapter Two: “Our First Day” Next Chapter: Chapter Four: “Band Practice”

Click "Keep Reading" below the cut to read. 😘

Chapter Three: “Awful Documentaries”

Back at the house, unloading groceries became its own form of domestic theater. Eddie carried everything inside like he was auditioning for a strongman competition, dramatically refusing help or a second trip. You watched him shuffle through the doorway, arms overloaded, face scrunched in defiance of basic physics.

“I’m not making two trips, I have my pride,” he grunted, nearly dropping the spray cheese.

“You also have salsa dripping on your jeans.”

“Worth it.”

Once the chaos was contained… cereal boxes stacked, produce tucked away, and the sad lime nestled like a precious artifact in the fruit bowl, you stood in the middle of the kitchen and turned to him.

“So. You wanna help cook or just continue being a menace?”

Eddie raised a brow, looking way too smug for someone who thought Pop-Tarts counted as a food group. “Oh, I absolutely wanna help.”

“You’re not allowed near the stove.”

“I said I was sorry about the eggs-”

“You threw an eggshell into the pan.”

He held up his hands. “Creative interpretation of rustic cooking.”

You shoved a cutting board at him. “You get veggies. No heat. Careful with sharp knives.”

“Ah, yes,” he said, taking the board and dramatically placing it on the counter. “My time to shine.”

To his credit, he chopped the mushrooms with the fierce focus of a man pretending this was a culinary competition show. You diced onions beside him, occasionally glancing over when his tongue peeked out in concentration, finding it endearing.

Somewhere between seasoning the chicken and sautéing the veggies your way, Eddie started humming Dio again under his breath. Not the lyrics, just the guitar riff. Somehow, it made the moment... cozy.

Lunch turned out edible… shockingly so. You plated two portions, handed him one, and then headed to the couch while he fussed with drinks.

The TV flickered to life as you settled in, flipping to some random streaming documentary. Something European, subtitled, and definitely made on a shoestring budget.

You were a few bites in when Eddie wandered in, plate in hand.

He flopped down beside you, chewing, and squinted at the screen.

“What the hell is this?” he asked around a mouthful of rice. “Is that dude wearing... a pigeon on his head?”

You didn’t look away. “It’s a Finnish documentary on abandoned amusement parks.”

“Why?”

You shrugged. “Why not?”

Eddie leaned back, pointing his fork accusingly at the screen. “I swear that guy just said something about ghosts.”

“He did,” you replied. “They think the carousel is haunted by the spirit of a disgruntled ride operator named Sven.”

He paused, then nodded like it made total sense. “That tracks.”

You nudged him with your elbow. “You mocking my documentary taste?”

“I would never,” he said, eyes wide with faux innocence. “I’m just saying, if you start watching weird documentaries when I’m around, I reserve the right to narrate them.”

You arched a brow. “Narrate how?”

Eddie cleared his throat dramatically, voice dipping low. “In the shadows of Eastern Finland, where reindeer outnumber people, and haunted teacup rides whisper your name... Sven awaits.”

You snorted, nearly choking on a bite of chicken. “You’re an idiot.”

He grinned, totally unbothered. “An idiot who makes a mean sautéed mushroom, thank you.”

“Mmm. Jury’s still out.”

You kept watching, shoulder bumping his every now and then. He didn’t move away. Neither did you.

Outside, the light was shifting, casting long gold bars across the floor. It was quiet, easy, that sort of weird contentment that sneaks up on you when you’re not looking for it.

And next to you, Eddie Munson… chaotic, ridiculous, Eddie Munson, was just… there. Close. Comfortable.

A moment passed. Then another.

And then he muttered, low and amused, “I still think Sven’s a vampire.”

You turned your head just enough to catch the way the fading light caught the edges of his profile. The sharp line of his nose, the unruly curl of hair brushing his jaw. He was still staring at the screen, but there was a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, like he knew you were looking.

"Vampire?" you echoed, nudging him again. "Based on what?"

Eddie gestured vaguely with his fork. "First of all, Sven? That's a vampire name if I've ever heard one. Second, an abandoned amusement park? Classic vampire lair. Third-" He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "...dude haunts a carousel. That's not ghost behavior. That's eternal dramatic flair."

You couldn't help it, you laughed, shaking your head. "You've put way too much thought into this."

He shrugged. "I have a gift for spotting the undead."

"Oh yeah?" You tilted your head. "Who else have you spotted?"

Eddie's grin turned wicked. He leaned back against the couch, stretching his arm along the cushions behind you, not touching, but close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating off him. "Well," he drawled, "there's the old lady at the laundromat who definitely doesn't cast a reflection-"

"You're terrible."

"...and the guy who runs the comic shop downtown? Absolutely a werewolf."

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. "You're making this up."

"Am I?" He wiggled his eyebrows. "Then explain why he always closes shop during the full moon."

You opened your mouth to retort, but the documentary chose that moment to cut to a slow-motion shot of a rusted Ferris wheel creaking in the wind, the subtitles ominously declaring: "And so, Sven's spirit lingers... waiting... watching…"

Eddie gasped, pointing. "SEE?! That's vampire narration!"

You threw a throw pillow at him.

He caught it with a laugh, pulling it against his chest like a shield. "Admit it. I'm right."

"You're insane," you corrected, but there was no bite to it, only amusement.

You barely had time to react.

“Don’t disrespect Sven,” Eddie warned, eyes glinting with faux-serious menace. Then he wiggled a finger into your side.

You squeaked and twisted away from him with a laugh. “Hey! Don’t start something you can’t finish, Munson.”

That was all the encouragement he needed.

He lunged, playful and reckless, fingers already poised to wiggle again. “Oh, I can finish plenty…”

You shrieked, ducking under his arm, twisting onto your knees to escape. But Eddie was fast… annoyingly fast, and the next thing you knew, he was chasing you across the couch in a clumsy, tangled scramble of limbs and laughter.

“Call that vampire a ghost again,” he challenged between wheezes. “See what happens.”

“I will fight you,” you warned, breathless and laughing.

“I welcome the challenge,” he said, eyes wild with mischief.

He lunged. You dodged. You tried to block him with a pillow, but it was too late… he tackled, you flailed, and the both of you went down in a tangle of limbs and denim and way too many throw pillows.

When the chaos finally stilled, Eddie was half-sprawled on top of you, his hands planted on either side of your shoulders, hair falling in a messy curtain between you. His chest rose and fell with shallow, breathless laughter… but then something changed. The space between your bodies crackled.

You were close. Too close.

You were suddenly aware of the softness of the couch beneath your back, the way your leg was hooked around his thigh, the steady heat of his breath on your cheek as he loomed over you. He blinked down at you, lips parted in a grin that faltered, just slightly. Like he wasn’t sure what happened, or what to do with it now.

For a heartbeat, neither of you moved.

Then his stomach let out a monstrous growl.

The silence shattered like glass.

You both exploded into laughter, Eddie rolled off onto the floor on his side, clutching his ribs. “Oh my God, that was so close to being smooth.”

You wiped tears from your eyes. “Yeah, if your idea of smooth is crushing me to death with a pile-driver tickle attack.”

“Hey, don’t knock the classics,” he said, flipping onto his back, eyes on the ceiling. “That was an elite maneuver.”

You snorted, pushing yourself upright and reaching for your now-abandoned plate. “Elite maneuver, my ass.”

“It could’ve worked,” he muttered under his breath, mostly joking.

Mostly.

You ignored that… with great effort, and went back to your lunch, letting the warm lull of post-laughter stillness settle over the room. The documentary continued playing, the subtitles trudging along beneath solemn narration as the screen cut to grainy footage of a rusted Ferris wheel groaning in the wind.

Eddie leaned toward you again, watching. He squinted. “You ever wonder how many tetanus shots went into making this thing?”

You didn’t look at him, just smiled around your fork. “It’s vintage. It adds character.”

He shot you a look. “So does lockjaw.”

You giggled, shaking your head. “It’s weird, yeah, but I like this kind of stuff. Always have.”

He blinked at you, a little surprised. “Really?”

You shrugged. “I used to watch stuff like this all the time when I couldn’t sleep. The weirder, the better.”

Eddie sobered a little, eyes softening. “What, haunted carousels lull you better than counting sheep?”

“They kept my brain busy,” you said quietly. “Easier to focus on ‘Sven the Carousel Vampire’ than... y’know. Real stuff.”

Eddie was quiet for a moment.

Then, “Yeah. Yeah, I get that.”

He didn’t joke this time. Didn’t twist it into something silly. He just let it be true, his voice warm and sincere.

That quiet stretched again… but this time it wasn’t awkward. It was comfortable. Like an invisible blanket you’d both pulled over yourselves without speaking.

Eddie shifted closer, just a little. His arm brushed yours, and this time, he didn’t move away.

“Alright,” he said eventually. “Next time, you pick the movie. Even if it’s got... tragic accordions and sad French people wandering through rainy streets.”

You laughed softly. “Oh, you’d hate that.”

“I’d suffer through it for the cause,” he said, flashing a grin. “And maybe if you’re lucky, I’ll do a dramatic reading of the subtitles. In character.”

You turned your head to look at him. “Which character?”

Eddie’s voice immediately dipped into something low and husky with a French accent. “Pierre, the jaded poet who lost his heart to a mime in Montmartre...”

You burst into laughter. “Stop, I can’t eat when you do that.”

He smirked, smug. “That’s what I’m here for. Culinary sabotage and emotional support animal.”

Your eyes lingered on him a second longer than they should’ve.

He noticed.

Neither of you looked away… Until you did, the thoughts and doubts clouded your eyes as you cleared your throat and sat up on the couch, setting your plate aside.

The moment stretched, fragile and electric, until Eddie exhaled sharply through his nose and flopped back against the cushions with exaggerated drama. "Alright, alright, I'll spare you my award-winning French impression. For now." He shot you a sidelong glance, the corner of his mouth quirking up. "But only because I'm still recovering from your vicious assault earlier."

You rolled your eyes and scoffed, but couldn't fight the smile tugging at your lips. "Oh please, you started it, and you were the assaulter, not me."

"Technicalities," he waved a hand dismissively, then stretched his arms behind his head, the movement causing his shirt to ride up just enough to reveal a sliver of toned stomach. "Besides, I think we both know who won that round."

You raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? Because I seem to recall someone screaming like a little girl when I got him in the ribs."

Eddie gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. "That was a strategic retreat! And I'll have you know my scream was manly and dignified."

The documentary's narrator chose that moment to solemnly declare, "And so the carousel stands silent, waiting for riders who will never come," the melancholy tone clashing hilariously with your current conversation.

Eddie blinked at the screen. "...Okay, that's just depressing." He grabbed the remote and quickly changed the channel, landing on some cheesy early 80s action movie. "There. Explosions. Much better."

You shook your head but didn't protest, settling back into the couch as the sounds of gratuitous gunfire filled the room. Eddie shifted beside you, his arm brushing against yours again, warm and solid. Neither of you mentioned it nor moved away.

The afternoon stretched on like that- comfortable, easy, the kind of quiet companionship that felt both new and familiar all at once. At some point, Eddie got up to grab more drinks, returning with two sodas and a large bag of chips balanced precariously in his arms.

"Snack reinforcements," he announced, dropping onto the couch with enough force to make you bounce slightly. He popped open his soda with a satisfying hiss and took a long drink, his throat working as he swallowed. You quickly looked away, suddenly very interested in your own drink.

The movie played on, but neither of you were really paying attention anymore. The light through the windows had turned a dim golden with late afternoon, casting long shadows across the floor. Eddie's fingers tapped absently against his knee in time with some imaginary beat, his rings clicking softly against the denim of his jeans. You found yourself watching the movement, mesmerized by the way the fading light caught the silver bands.

"You're staring," he said suddenly, voice low and amused, though he didn't look away from the screen.

You felt your cheeks heat. "Am not."

"Are too." He finally turned his head, meeting your gaze with a smirk. "Admit it. You're captivated by my natural charm and good looks."

You snorted. "More like trying to figure out how you haven't accidentally impaled yourself on all that metal yet."

Eddie pressed a hand to his chest. "Wounded. Absolutely wounded." He shook his head sadly. "And here I was, thinking we had something special."

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help smiling. "Shut up and watch your movie."

He grinned, unrepentantly, but turned back to the screen. His fingers still tapped that same rhythm, though, and after a moment, you realized it matched the score of the film. Of course he'd be keeping time with the background music. Of course.

The credits eventually rolled, the room now bathed in the deep oranges and purples of sunset. Neither of you moved to get up. The comfortable silence stretched between you, broken only by the occasional crunch of chips or sip of soda.

Eddie was the first to speak, his voice softer than usual. "So. What's the verdict?"

You glanced at him. "On what?"

He gestured vaguely. "All of it. The groceries. The cooking. The..." He waved a hand between the two of you. "This."

You considered for a moment, then smiled. "Not bad, Munson. Not too bad."

He returned the smile, something warm and genuine in his eyes. "High praise coming from you." He stretched, his arm brushing against yours again as he settled back. "Guess that means I get to stick around then, huh?"

You nudged him with your shoulder. "Guess so. Someone's gotta keep you out of trouble."

Eddie chuckled, low and rich. "Good luck with that." He tilted his head back against the couch, looking at you through his lashes. "But hey, at least it'll be fun trying, right?"

You smiled at him, agreeing wholeheartedly but chose to keep it to yourself.

Later That Evening…

They never quite made it to dinner prep.

Around seven, the growling stomachs and spent energy from the impromptu tickle war won out, and after Eddie declared he was ‘emotionally unfit to cook anything more complicated than toast,’ you both opted for takeout. Not just any takeout- Chinese. From a menu you found tucked behind the breadbox, yellowed and slightly greasy, like it hadn’t moved since 1983.

The kicker? The house also came with its own rotary phone.

You were drying your hands with a dish towel, looking at the phone nervously. “I don’t think I’ve ever used this thing more than a handful of times,” you said, fingers hovering above the numbered dial like it might bite.

Eddie leaned against the counter, arms crossed and grinning. “You just gotta spin it, sweetheart. Like a very delicate torture wheel.”

You snorted, dialing with exaggerated care, misdialed once, swore under your breath, then got it right on the second try. He watched you the entire time, arms folded, smirking like it was the most entertaining thing he’d seen all day.

“Operator,” he whispered dramatically, “get me General Tso.”

You placed the order, hung up, and turned around to find him still watching, head tilted just slightly, like you were doing something infinitely more interesting than making a phone call.

“What?” you asked.

He just smiled. “Nothin’. You’re cute when you swear at inanimate objects.”

You threw your dish towel at him.

Nightfall settled gently, the kind that hums softly against the windows and slows everything down. Dinner was eaten lazily on the couch, containers open between you like a shared secret, both of you reaching for crab rangoons at the same time, mock glaring when your fingers brushed.

Afterward, Eddie retreated to his room with the excuse of “guitar therapy,” and you padded next door to yours, armed with a book you only vaguely planned to read. You curled up in bed, window cracked, night breeze slipping through like an old friend. You got maybe three pages in before it started.

Faint, then rising… the unmistakable sound of chords. Not loud, not obnoxious… just there. Persistent. Familiar. Like a heartbeat echoing in the next room.

You stared at your book. Read the same paragraph three times. Gave up.

The playing continued. Loose, bluesy noodling, a wandering sort of sound that felt unhurried and raw. You laid back, arms folded behind your head, and just… listened. Eyes closed, book on your chest, face turned toward the ceiling, the music seeping into the space like it belonged there.

You didn’t realize you were smiling.

You didn’t realize you were thinking about him.

Not really. Not in any way you were ready to unpack.

It was just… nice.

In the next room over, Eddie sat cross-legged on his bed, hair falling into his eyes as his fingers moved slowly across the strings. He wasn’t trying to impress anyone. Wasn’t playing fast or flashy. Just something soft, something with feeling, something that had crept into his head while you were laughing on the couch earlier that refused to leave his mind.

He didn’t even notice how often he looked at the door.

Didn’t clock the way his thoughts kept drifting back to you. The way your smile stuck with him like gum on a boot. The sound of your laugh. That tiny crease between your eyebrows when you were focused. The feeling of your long legs tangled with his on the couch earlier. That very specific moment when everything could’ve tipped in his favor if his stomach hadn’t betrayed him.

Eddie paused, let out a breath, then picked the melody back up. He didn’t know what it was yet. Just that it reminded him of you. It wasn’t love. Wasn’t even a crush.

...Was it?

He shook the thought off. Played another note. Then another.

In the next room over, you turned onto your side, hand under your cheek, and let yourself fall asleep to the sound of Eddie Munson playing something soft and unknowingly just for you.

Who loves Eddie Munson, show of hands! 😂 Let me know if you want to be tagged! And to which fandom. (Bayverse TMNT, Vegeta, Eddie Munson).

@justalotoffanfiction, @yorshie, @jackalope-in-a-storm, @v1per1ne

Masterlist

[thetempleofthemasaigoddess]

She is completely alone. Berryess. Homeless. Without friends or family who care for her. The police are after her, and when a kind, handsome stranger offers to hide her, neither knows their lives are about to change forever...

💙💙 💙💙 💙💙

*****

Moodboard for my OPLA Cabaji x reader headcanon fic Being part of Buggy's crew and developing a relationship with Cabaji would involve...

[theemporium]

please Sirius with best friend reader, he gets jealous that someone asks her to the ball, so they have a fight and she's also angry with him bcus he didn't ask her first. idiots in love, happy ending pls

thank you for requesting!🖤

.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

“I’M NOT KIDDING!”

“HOLY SHIT!”

Each and every exclamation felt like nails on a chalkboard to Sirius as he watched you sit amongst the other girls, a wide grin on your face that you couldn’t wipe off your face even if you tried. And you had been acting like such for the better part of the last forty minutes. 

And Sirius was losing his patience.

The Yule Ball had been all everyone had been talking about. Between the decorations arriving for the last few weeks and the new flush of students from France and Bulgaria, it was all anyone could focus on. What mattered more then who was going to the ball together and who was getting rejected?

Sirius, just like everyone else, had been excited about the ball. 

Until you had come running into the common room, rambling away about how some Durmstrang boy had swooped in and asked you out—some boy that was clearly known in the group considering each of the girls’ reactions. And it irked him.

No, it fucking pissed him off and he couldn’t understand why.

“Do you think—” 

However, you cut yourself off when you noticed the way Sirius rolled his eyes and scoffed for what seemed like the hundredth time in the last five minutes. You shot the girls a look before you moved closer to your best friend, your eyebrows furrowed together.

“Are you okay?” you asked, taking the seat next to him on the couch.

He flashed you a false grin. “Of course. Everything’s fucking peachy, why wouldn’t I be okay?”

You frowned a little at his snappy tone. “Merlin, who shoved a stick up your ass?” 

“Nobody,” he grumbled and waved you off. “Go on, don’t let me distract you from what stress Steven wants to see you in.” 

“His name is Sven,” you corrected and, for some reason, that only pissed him off more.

“Like I give a flying fuck anyways,” Sirius muttered under his breath, looking everywhere but at you.

“Seriously, what has gotten into you?” you asked him, a little pissed off yourself now as you turned your body a little more to face him. “Just yesterday you were asking me to help you choose dressing robes and now—”

“Now I’m not going!” Sirius blurted out, catching you both by surprise.

“What?” you shook your head. “Why?!” 

“Because!” he stated simply. 

“Because what?” you pushed further. 

“Because I wanted to go with you!” Sirius exclaimed, a little breathless from his own confession as he stared at you. And then his voice dropped a little softer as he continued. “I wanted to go with you but you are now going with him.”

Your face softened. “Sirius—”

“No, I get it, it’s—” he took a deep breath and gave you a strained smile. “Just leave it, okay?”

“You’re an idiot,” you murmured fondly.

“I already know,” Sirius sighed.

“I wanted to go with you too,” you told him.

“I know you—” Sirius paused mid-sentence, frowning a little as he processed your words before turning to you. “You what?” 

“I wanted to go with you, Sirius,” you repeated, trying to bite back your grin as you took in his puppy dog expression. “You were just taking your damn time to ask.” 

“You could have asked too,” he muttered out defensively before he let out a breath. “You would have said yes?” 

“I still would,” you shrugged.

“And dump Sven?” 

“In a heartbeat.” 

“Oh baby,” Sirius grinned and quickly jumped up to his feet, holding his hand out to you. “Just you wait, this is gonna be the best ball invite of your life.” 

You raised your brows in amusement, letting him pull you up. “Is that so?” 

“Mhm,” he nodded as he pulled you closer. “Gotta make sure everyone in this damn castle knows you’re my girl.” 

“Just don’t leave me waiting too long or I’ll really have to go with Sven.”

.

[lazyneonrabbitt]

MarchWeres NSFW prompt

Body Worship

Daryl Dixon x Reader | Slight smut 🔞

Even after all the time you spent at his side since meeting each other in Alexandria, Daryl still felt insecure around you in private. He had such a hard time control of himself that he barely dared to get intimate with you unless there was not sven a sliver of the moon visible during the night.

You fell in love with his human self before learning about his other half.

You never left him, even after he scared you by suddenly shifting into his beast shape to save your life. But still his heart raced and a cold sweat broke out whenever you tried to be intimate with him. His mind would flash with images of you meeting a violent end by his claws.

You could feel the tremble in his body as he laid turned away from you after his claws and fangs came in uninvited and he got scared.

"Daryl? Hey, please look at me." You went to wrap an arm around him and pushed through this time, not pulling back as he twitched and tried to hide away at your touch. "Nahw. Bad idea."

His voice held a tone that told you he really did have a hard time keeping his other form at bay. He was fighting it with all he had, if he redirected his attention to you he'd change.

"I'm not scared." Your hand trailed from his arm up to his shoulder and neck, stopping only to scratch at his beard.

Daryl couldn't help but let out a content growl at the touch but quickly curling even further into himself when he realized.

You weren't having this tonight. You were going to love him in whatever shape he'd end up in. Using all your strength you managed to roll him back enough for you to entirely straddle him, taking the blanket off his top half with it.

There was panic in his bright blue eyes, his partially agape mouth showing sharp teeth. You chose to ignore it all and grabbed at his meaty chest and side. All those years settled in the community as it was now did his body good. "You have no idea how pretty you are." You pawed at his chest and stomach, feeling the muscles tense even under the healthy layer of fat that built up over the years.

When you reached back to squeeze at his thighs he groaned at the roll of your hips. The tent in his boxers was clear as day, pressing against your core. You were sure if you kept grinding on him just a little longer he'd be done for, but you weren't going to.

You leaned back down to trail kisses over every scar on his body, starting at the one over his eye, "I'm the luckiest woman alive, having you at my side." and moving down with each kiss. "My big, strong protector." By the time you reached the waistband of his boxers Daryl was a growling, panting mess underneath you. "Let go. I'm not scared."

You kneaded at his hips and mouthed at his still clothed cock, nuzzling against the muscle and feeling him twitch against you and with a buck of his hips and a long winded growl he came undone.

His growling didn't stop. He had lost focus and you were getting what you wanted.

His growling over time changed to scared, low whines when he was close to being fully turned, curled into himself again and keeping his claws tucked away under him. He almost looked small, despite taking up over half of the bed.

"Daryl?" He raised his brows at the call of his name, looking up at you with sad eyes. You watched his eyes trail over your body before moving back up. "Hey, look at you. My handsome beast." You went to rest your hand in his fur but he flinched at your touch again. Still you kept your arm outstretched and placed your fingers at the side of his jaw, softly carressing his cheek.

"I love your grey fur, you old man." You giggled at your own words, leaning closer to him and press a kiss between his ears. "Will you roll over for me?" Your hands roamed each part of his body you could reach, but he still shook his head in denial.

You kept running your hands over him, dkwn his arms to finally grab at one of his paws and pulling it from underneath him. He had stopped resisting, you realized. "My, what big paws you have.." You smiled and pressed your thumbs into his pawpads, feeling the rough skin underneath your soft fingers.

Daryl finally moved on his own and sat to shake out his fur, gaining even more mass now that his scruff wasn't flat against his skin anymore. Now you got to have a good look at him for the first time. No fights to be had or people to be saved. Just the two of you in the safety of your home.

"You're so pretty like this, Daryl." With your hands on his cheeks you reached up to kiss his snout, then the side of his mouth and his jaw before burying your face in his neck. You could pinpoint the exact spot of the little X that adorned his skin even with fur covering his body and playfully bit at the spot, earning you a satisfied noise thst made you press yourself against him entirely.

Two large clawed hands grabbed you at your waist, easily encasing your lower torso entirely as he let himself roll onto his back with you on top of him.

You felt the swell of his knot press against you but decided to ignore it for now. Now wasn't about having sex with him, now was for showing how much you loved him in all of his forms.

"Are you finally agreeing with me here, Dixon?" You sat up on his stomach that even in this form kept the soft protective layer over his strong muscles. "Yeah, you are! You big softie." Ruffling his chest fur and laughing softly at his dismissive grumbles must have been the highlight of his evening. Daryl had kept this side of him strictly for combat, always believing you didn't really want him this way. Believe you preffered his human side and he couldn't even give you that most of the time.

But yet here you sat on top of his large, monstous form with a smile on your face and the clear scent of arousal coming off you.

Only now, with your hands trailing each mark on mis body with your fingers, pointing out each little detail that you loved about him he felt like a dumbass for never seeing your point of view before.

"I like these." You said softly, fingers gently brushing over blackened bits of fur where his tattoos were. "Do you think they're still there if I'd shave your fur?" The growl he let out was a clear answer to your suggestion. You were never finding out, and that was okay. You laid back down on top of him and kissed his cheek.

"I love you, Daryl. All of you."

[blushblushbear]

Hi, so, I really liked your headcanons about the boys sitting on the reader's lap so I really wanted to ask for your headcanons for the opposite (the reader sitting on the boys lap in this. If you want to do it, of course.)

GET READY TO SIT ON SOME LAPS FAM!

Nimh: FLUSTERED. He's beet red, covering his face, very twitchy, just a flustered MESS. He's not pushing you off though-- but he WILL get more flustered the more you cuddle up to him, just be warned.

Volks: Also flustered. Trying to play it cool. Failing. Keeps looking away then looking back at you rapid fire. He both can't look and can't look away. Get cuddly or give him a kiss and watch him turn red all the way from his neck to the top of his face

Kelby: surprised and a little flustered but very excited! Immediately puts his arms around you and pulls you in for a kiss.

Eli: Another person whose happy to see you in his lap. Pulls you in and starts nibbling on whatever he has access to. You can't just plop yourself in his lap and NOT expect to have hands and a mouth on you! Wanna cross the lap bridge, you gotta pay the kiss toll!

Anon: Freezes up at first but eventually puts his arms around you. He's very adverse to someone else being the one to initiated physical contact, but he's surprised how little he seems to mind with you. Easy does it though, he's liable to get overwhelmed and not in a good way if you don't take it slow

Garret: Is immediately happy to have you there and pulls you right into a bear hug. Hope you weren't planning to make this a quick sit cause you're not going anywhere!

Dmitri: Goes all Pepe Le'pew about it. Immediately has his hands on you, kissing up your arm till he gets to your neck and face, pulling you in close, whispering sweet nothings into your ear. What, you can't just offer him such an invitation and expect him to NOT take it!

Ichiban: Gets SO SO SO cuddly. Leaning on you right away, arms around you, snuggling into you. Y'all are gonna be like this for a while, so get comfy

William: Also pleasantly surprised! Holds you but doesn't have his hands all over you the way some of the other dudes do. He does however take your hand and kiss the back of it while giving you and wink and inviting you to get more comfortable in his lap.

Myx: Pulls you in for a big excited hug, kisses your cheek and bunch, welcome to loving town! Population: the two of you!

Stirling: Surprised but not displeased. Is has his hands on you but is much more coy about it. A gentle but steady hand on your hip, a finger running a feather light touch along your spine. Come closer won't you, he usually doesn't carve the heat, but he suddenly is in desperate need of your warmth...

Scale: It's not often someone gets the drop on him like that. Or drops on him like that... the surprises is probably why he feels so flustered. Yeah--- it's defiantly that and not anything else! Oh, his hands? Oh uh, yeah-- y-yeah he can hold you he guesses. I mean, since you're already here--- HIS FACE IS NOT THAT RED SHUT UP

Sven: Another excited hugger! BRING IT IN DARLING! It's the biggest bear hug from the most lanky arms lol!

Cole: Freezes up at first. You definitely surprised him. Once he processes what's happening though, he gets the most wicked grin on his face. His arms slink around you and he pulls you in tight, his head resting on your shoulder as he looks up at you with a look that's just as hungry as it is crazed. 'Hello my love, didn't expect you to drop in. But since you're here, why not stay a while, dearest?' as his arms around you grip tighter.

Poe: Quietly flustered. Very surprised. Not sure where to put his hands. they end up in yours and he melts a little as he looks deep into your eyes. You always know how to make him feel so sentimental out of nowhere...

Cashew: FLUSTERED AND RED ALL OVER! Stammering a bit, not sure where to put his hands, they're kind of moving around awkwardly finding a place to land that is familiar but not just coping a feel. Very excited but he doesn't know what to do. Kiss him now and you'll probably end him lol

Seth: Just ends up excitedly chuckling as he pulls you in. If ye wish yourself free, you must answer his riddles three! And better hurry, his teeth are feeling hungry and your neck is looking pretty bite-able!

Reece: Might not fully notice at first. You settle into his lap and he fully lets you, adjusting himself to accommodate your presence. It's only when he finally breaks away from what his been working on that he notices you're in his lap and so so very close. Now he's all flustered, but he can't say he minds...

Logan: Another excited hugger. Maybe not as bear huggy as the rest but he's definitely pulling you in and holding you. You're probably about to get covered in kisses too so, watch out I guess lol

Aki: Happily surprised! Oh ho, what's this?? he didn't even need to catch the bunny! The bunny just hopped right into his lap! his arms go around you and he's going to find the most ticklish place on your neck to kiss you, then kiss you there until you cry from laughing!

Haru: Well, well, well-- isn't this a treat. To what does he owe the pleasure? One of his arms snakes around your shoulder in an instant and the other is raising the back of your hand to his lips. The whole time his eyes are all over you, probably making a mental list of where on you his lips should end up next. You just entered the fox's den and you're not getting out any time soon...

Fuyu: SURPRISED. FLUSTERED. FROZEN. But the moment your hand touches him he begins to melt. He's not sure what to do next but his arms go around you on instinct and he's pulling you in, nuzzling into your form and enjoying you warmth. He hates how much he's putty in your hands when you get affectionate but he also doesn't.

Ace: Happy, surprised, excited, a little flustered, not sure where to put his hands first! One arm ends up around your neck and pulls you into a flurry of cheek kisses. He's not gonna hold you hostage like some of the other guys will, but all the same, stay a while yeah??

[fandomnerd9602]

Being Hers

Elsa x Knight!Reader headcanons

You were a knight, trained from a young age to protect the crown.

Around her age, Elsa found herself drawn to you even through the fear of her powers. She was in love with you from a young age and yet the fear of her powers kept her away from you.

She found herself sneaking out of the self imposed exile of her room just to sneak to the training grounds to see you as you trained with the other guards.

For most of your life growing up in the castle, you felt someone’s gentle eyes on you. You’d see a streak of platinum blonde hair peering around a corner. Anna would often giggle, she knew exactly who it was.

Anna would try anything she could to get Elsa to talk with you. She even slide a ‘do you like Y/N’ note under Elsa’s door once.

When the time came for Elsa to take the crown, you were named Elsa’s bodyguard. Despite having seen her a couple times, the sight of her beauty took your breath away.

What you didn’t notice was that her breath had hitched at the sight of you in your armor.

‘Your majesty’ you bowed to her.

‘my knight’ she bowed back.

And then came the frozen lake incident. Anna ordered you to look after the people of Arendale along with Hans. You saw through his facade.

It was you that defended Elsa against Hans when Anna made her sacrifice and subsequently saved both herself and Elsa.

Elsa’s heart was finally open and yet she was still a little shy around you. Even in the comfort of her study while you stood at the ready, she could only steal little glances at you.

‘I’m at your side always, my queen’ you tell her.

‘please’ she gently asks you, ‘when it’s just us, call me Elsa’

‘of course…Elsa’ the sound of her name on your lips made her shutter a little.

It was the combined efforts of Anna, Olaf, Kristoff and Sven that finally got Elsa to admit her feelings for you.

Elsa professed her love for you while you and her were in her study.

‘Y/N’ she found her throat dry, ‘I-I can’t have you as my bodyguard anymore.’

‘I’m sorry, my queen?’

‘I-I wish for you to be mine.’ Elsa stutters, ‘I love you. I know it goes against every oath and every vow you’ve taken but-’

You close the gap and kiss her gently. Despite the supposed chill of her powers, you found her touch, her lips, to be extremely warm. Her arms wrap around your neck as yours wrap around her waist.

Elsa giggles in delight, ‘I’ll take that as a yes?’

‘I love you Elsa’ you whisper against her lips, ‘I don’t care what oath or what vow, you’re worth breaking them’

‘Maybe we can make some of our own vows some day’

The idea sounded fantastic.

[lespaulchen]

One of the most beautiful stories I've ever read. I'm not exaggerating that this work should be officially published. It's so beautiful it literally left me speechless and the heart-warming ending almost brought tears to my eyes. I feel guilty for not leaving comments while reading. But… First of all, it took me forever to read since I don't speak German well-enough (I guess my level would be between B1-B2), and I wanted to read without translation, merely with a dictionary. And at the same time I "controlled" what translator does to the original. Good news is - the story doesn't lose that much through translation, so those who don't speak German may use it, and I strongly recommend it as "Dreadlocks und Vokuhila" is a dream-work. When you start reading, you really can't stop. Chapters are so masterfully constructed a reader feels like they'll die if they don't see another one, just until the magnificent final. It's a story one'd love to go back again and again, to one chapter or another, not necessary chronologically. And I promise to @woodswallow, the author, to keep coming with the comments!

There's so many things I loved about this work it's impossible to list them all at once, I also don't want to make spoilers, but just have to mention some moments: Paul advertising the guitar shaped air-freshener. Playing with the kite. How nervous I was when Sven was going to tell about who broke the guitar. I was honestly "no no no, don't do it, don't it!" all the time. The sad moments during bad weather. The reconciliation. Paul's secret place and what happened there. The WHALES. Oh my God… Paul waking up after the very cold night. Sven being so trusting and pure. Paul being a really good friend, against all odds, almost like a big brother.

I've always loved the stories that take place when the guitarists are in their late 40-ties, 50-ties. I became a Rammstein fan on 2011 and didn't look back too much when it comes to the muscians' former appearance or relationships. But this story made me to. I realized how beautiful and necessary for this work it was to have our guitarists so young, still barely famous, but also not bearing such a big and sometimes difficult history of relationship. At the beginning I also couldn't get used to Richard's former name, Sven, even when I write about the story now, the first that comes to mind is to write Richard. But soon I realized the name Sven works perfectly here. He is so youthful, shy but trusting, with the name Richard came more self-confidence, pride, maybe even some arrogance.

But what is one of the best things about "Dreadlocks und Vokuhila" - a reader doesn't even need to know the guitarists or care about them. The story will make you love them all by itself…