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wri0thesley · 2 years

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loving you keeps me alive - reader x ghost!dainsleif, 4.4k

your little house in monstadt is cheap, and though there are rumours about why . . . you ignore them, much as you ignore the whispers that something is not quite right. instead, you think about the night-time; and the handsome blond man who comes to you in dreams.

cw: not sfw, minors dni. dubious consent. yandere behaviour, somnophilia, stalking, self-hate (dainsleif towards himself), haunting, non-consensual touching. cunnilingus, piv sex. manipulation, deaths mentioned in passing. jealousy. reader is afab, but no pronouns or gendered terms are used.

[a/n: my kinktober masterlist can be found here. dain my soggy soggy beloved]

Dainsleif doesn’t think he really remembered what living felt like, until you moved in.

Not that you can call this strange in-between existence ‘living’ - his time as a true mortal has long since passed. But as Celestia has cursed him to not move on . . . he has spent his years and centuries since then haunting these same four walls, unable to pass the doorway without finding himself bent over in pain. He has grown to know every plank of wood that makes up the little home in Monstadt - every creaking floorboard, the step on the stairs the landlord has replaced no less than three times because tenants kept simply putting their foot through.

Oh, others have tried to make this their home.

But Dainsleif values his privacy, and uses what little power he still has left to ensure that they do not stay for long.

The rumours of mysterious circumstances are not entirely baseless. Dainsleif spends his evenings whispering things into sleeping ears; pouring poison, until the former occupant of the home grows too tormented to do anything but investigate what Dainsleif is whispering about.

And so, the rumours have spiralled - the disappearances, the stained floors in ritual circles, the notes mentioning abyssal ruins and the Khaenri’an letters daubed onto the walls in blood--

Consequently, when you had come to view the property, the landlord had been terribly keen on pushing that the rent was - especially for this part of Monstadt - an absolute steal. Dainsleif had, at first, resigned himself to spending yet more of his evenings terrorising and convincing you to leave (why does nobody understand that this house ought to be left alone? Why does nobody understand that this is Dainsleif’s eternal punishment, and it is far better for everyone if he is allowed to wallow in it, entirely solitarily?) . . . when you had stuck your head into the bedroom, the room that Dainsleif spends most of his time in, and he had found himself utterly lost for words.

Your pretty face scrunches; a shiver grips you, making your shoulders draw in sweetly.

“It’s so cold,” you say, to the landlord - who forces a smile for you, and says;

“Well, it has been a few months since anybody has been in it other than to air it out . . . but a few rugs laid down and I’m sure it will be as warm and cosy as any home in Teyvat!”

You had not looked entirely convinced by his words, but you had let your gaze take in everything once again - and Dainsleif swears that your eyes lingered, just for a moment, on him.

“I’m afraid you might not find anything else in your budget this central to the city,” the landlord had said, and you had pursed your lips and thought about it - and, for the first time, Dainsleif had found himself hoping that you would indeed decide to make his home your own too.

You are not foolish.

You tell the landlord you will come back to him with your decision tomorrow, and return back to the home of the friend you are staying with - a fellow co-worker, at one of the little taverns in Monstadt that certainly does not pay as well as it should. You have heard tell that the owner of the Angel’s Share pays lodgings for his staff himself; lets them stay in the cottages bordering his own property if they wish (and lets them ride into the city proper), or simply rents apartments for them and takes care of most of the bills himself.

Not all tavern workers can be as lucky as the staff of that establishment.

Your co-worker is horrified when she hears that you have gone to visit that house; big eyes and scandalised tone as she whispers that everyone knows anyone who dares live there is fated to become obsessed with things far beyond their understanding and meet a grisly end.

But your family live too far out to travel into Monstadt every day, and you are a grown-up now, who wishes to pave their own way in the world - your job is a stepping stone, and you are unwilling to burden your co-worker any further, or continue to go into the tavern with a sore back from sleeping on her floorboards.

“You simply can’t!” Your co-worker says, begging - hands clinging to yours. “You aren’t from the city proper, you don’t know what has happened to anyone who has even tried to live there!”

“It was perfectly fine,” you insist in return, smiling. “A little cold, perhaps! But it will pass! There was no evil presence, no sudden need to discover what happened to Khaenri’ah--”

You pause. You do not know much about Khaenri’ah. But there is, suddenly, an inextricable desire to go to the library and discover more about it, just to see what it is that so entranced all of those other former residents. You push it down; there is no need to lend credence to what she is insisting.

“Everything will work out,” you tell her. “There is no evil in that house. It’s just lonely, and I need a home!”

You are right, in a way.

Dainsleif is lonely.

And - for once - he is more than happy to share his home with you.

As it turns out, there are indeed, several problems with the new house.

The first is the breeze; a cool draft of gentle wind that seems to follow you through the rooms and corridors, no matter where you go. It does not matter how firmly you shut the windows, or festoon them with velvety curtains of thick fabric you bought for a steal from the tailor because they were the end of the bolt remnants, the breeze is a constant. In Monstadt, you suppose that’s something almost to celebrate - proof the Anemo Archon is there, looking out for you - but you cannot help but be frustrated as the candle is blown out by nothing for the third time today and you drape yourself in your warmest shawls no matter the time of day.

(The breezes are Dainsleif, who cannot help but shadow you about the house; cannot help but stare at the way the light hits the lovely angles of your face, cannot help but wish to be with you no matter where you are. A swirling cloak past a candle puts it out; curtains flutter as he sighs and stands behind you and simply looks at you - as he longs to touch and caress and speak to you).

The second is, you’re sure, your mind playing tricks on you - thinking that the evil presence you so insisted did not exist is actually there. It’s a flash of blond hair in the mirror behind you; of one piercing blue eyes. It makes you start every time; hairbrush clattering to the ground, a perfume bottle being knocked off your dressing table in haste. Fear, when you catch it as you’re undressing for the evening and you let your garments fall to the ground and stand in just your underclothes. You should be comfortable showing your own skin in your own house, but . . . how hard it is, to ignore that constant feeling of being watched.

(Dainsleif is always half-surprised and half-delighted when you give a hint you can see him - when you whirl around with your pretty eyes all wide with fear. Oh, there’s something so intimate about him being allowed to watch you in these vulnerable moments - to see all of that lovely skin, unmarked and untouched. To know that you are more sensitive to him than any occupants have ever been before! Dainsleif wonders if this is not living proof that you were made for him).

The third is your absolute inability to bring anyone home.

You try, once - a handsome man spends his evening by the bar, chatting with you whenever he can, eager and smiling and sweet. He orders non-alcoholic specialties from the menu so that he does not lose his head; and when your shift is over, he flirts and asks if perhaps you and he could meet up together one day. You give him your address and invite him over for dinner the following night--

But the dinner is plagued by problems.

A lingering freezing cold draft down his back, tripping over nothing, his glass flying from his hand and shattering into pieces against the wall. As he leaves, desperately pulling his coat on, he tells you that he had always heard that this house was cursed, but this is living proof of it all.

(Dainsleif wishes he could comfort you, as he watches you fold in on yourself after the man has gone. He does not feel sorry for what he has done - your possible paramour has been scared away, and that is what is important - but he does feel an inkling of regret for causing you pain. Still. Perhaps now you will know that you need nobody else; Dainsleif and you, together in this little house, is family and love and enough).

There is one thing, though, that is most assuredly not a problem.

For, since you have moved into one of the most notorious houses in Monstadt, you have found that there has been a most fascinating change in the nature of your dreams.

Dainsleif does not mean to do it; the first time, he intends only to sit by your side. He intends to only watch the gentle rise and fall of your chest, admire the loveliness of your face in repose; but you are so, so beautiful. In your slumber, you are so peaceful and so lovely - he cannot resist leaning in, to study your features more closely without you shivering and pulling your shawls closer around you.

Your lips look so soft.

How long has it been since he felt the touch of another’s lips? In Khaenri’ah he was always too busy for such things; the life of the head of the Royal Guard was fraught with dangers, full of fears. He dare not get close to somebody lest they be dragged into those same things.

Here, there is nothing before him but eternity - so why should he not take a kiss from you, whilst you sleep?

He leans in. You breathe softly, lashes fluttering. Dainsleif presses his mouth to yours and revels in it. He steals the kiss from your beautiful mouth, lets himself get lost in the taste of your toothpaste that lingers on your lips. Lets his teeth graze against your bottom lip and tug upon it, for whilst you are sleeping, how can you argue?

Your eyes flicker open. They meet Dainsleif’s blue gaze - and, without a second thought, he presses a hand to your temple.

It is the hand that is ruined by abyssal rot; the one that serves a constant reminder of how he is something that does not deserve to exist. The rot has one, and only one, upside - it gives Dainsleif some little power of his own.

The fear that has blown your pupils wide seems to subside a little. Your gaze goes half-lidded, as Dainsleif pulls back and wets his own lips to murmur quietly;

“You are dreaming.”

“Dreaming,” you murmur to him in response, and you give him a smile that - were his heart still beating - he is certain would have made it cease to do so. “You’re beautiful.”

He may have been, once - but hearing it from your mouth, as you look up at him . . . Dainsleif smiles down at you.

“Not half so as you,” he tells you, and you laugh sleepily. He leans back in. Adoringly runs a thumb over the apple of your cheek, as you rest against his palm through the gloves.

“You’re cold,” you accuse him - and then, your lashes lay against your cheeks again, and Dainsleif feels - for the first time in forever - that perhaps there is something inside of him that is still human.

It is not enough.

A few nights later, he repeats the motions - only this time, he murmurs against your ear at the beginning that you are dreaming, and so when you awake to find the covers have been pulled down and those gloved fingers are slowly exploring your body, cupping your curves and delighting in the softness of your skin, you do not panic.

Dainsleif says your name, and you sigh; arch your back into his touch.

By degrees, he lets himself get carried away more and more - finds himself going further and further into the rot that has begun to infest his mind as well as his body.

Common decency tells him, as he slips your nightgown off a willing body, that he is disgusting.

As his gloved thumbs gently swipe over your nipples until they harden and you sigh out a noise that goes straight to between his thighs, he decides that it does not matter. He would be a monster a hundred times over for the sight of your face as he touches you; the vision of your eyes clouded by the whispers he has put there that you are only dreaming as you let yourself be taken and touched and adored by the man who visits you in your sleep.

“You’re lovely,” Dainsleif says, his voice dry, and you laugh a pretty sleep-laced laugh.

Days later, his fingers slip between your legs for the first time and he finds you slick and wet and hot. He cannot stop the surprise that flashes over his face, but you simply smile lazily at him.

“Finally,” you say, all indolent and lazily pleased. “Touch me more, please.”

(For you, all these occurrences are merely a dream; you wake up, the morning after, and you think of the beautiful blond man and how adoringly he touched you. You think of him when you get dressed, a faint smile on your face, and you do not notice the cool whisper of the wind or the eyes of a spirit lingering on you. The man in your dreams has come to be a friend more than anything else - and as the house will not allow you to bring home acquaintances without rattling and freezing, he is a most welcome one).

“How can I resist when you ask so nicely?” Dainsleif asks, through a thick dryness in his throat - and you urge your thighs apart for him, even as you’re already slipping back into that strange in-between land of not-quite-awake and not-quite-asleep.

Fingers gently swipe through the slick folds; gathering your wetness upon his fingertips, drinking hungrily in the way your hips twitch and your face moves and you let out soft sighs that make Dainsleif ache for the want of you. They brush over your clit and win a jerk that fascinates him; he repeats the motion, the thin leather of his gloves slipping and sliding on the wetness of your sex, and your pretty mouth purses into the shape of a budding flower.

Two fingers slide inside of you slowly; scissoring softly, stretching you open. Dainsleif imagines that those fingers are, instead, his cock - imagines how the heat that he can feel soaking through the leather would feel if it were to be wrapped around him so tight and silky.

This is what divinity feels like, he thinks; despite how he has been cursed to never achieve such celestial leanings himself, he can have a little taste of it simply by virtue of being able to touch you.

A few nights later, he kisses up the curve of your calves.

He scrapes his teeth across the softness of your thighs and breathes in the scent of you, heady and thick and rich and wanting. He kisses your mound - and as he feels your fingers tangle in the golden locks of his hair, he once more cannot bring himself to care about what a monstrous thing he is doing.

For your taste on his tongue is syrup-sticky and honey-sweet, as he drags the organ over your folds and drinks you in like the finest of ambrosia. As your thighs twitch and squeeze around his head, so soft and so warm that Dainsleif wishes he could stay between them for an eternity.

Dainsleif’s lips fasten about your clit; sucking, twirling with his tongue, urging you into more and more pleasure with the needy rhythm of his own mouth until he can feel how close you are in the way you tremble and the soft noises that are falling from your lips, begging whimpers that make him unknowingly grind the stiffness in his underwear against your sheets.

He pulls back before you can come - lifts his head, your hand still raking through his hair, and meets your needy blown-wide eyes.

“I love you,” he says to you, all ragged and desperate. It doesn’t matter to him that all he has for the proof of this are the nights he has spent touching you without you even knowing - all that matters is that you are there, you are his, you mean far more to him than any other mortal has ever done . . . you make him feel, if only for a few moments a night, as though he is something more than a ghost. “Tell me you love me too.”

You think you are dreaming.

Your body is heated and needy, your every sense inflamed and desperate, slick beads of your own desire rolling down your thighs to stain and soak the bed beneath you - but it is just a wet dream, is it not? Just a fantasy fuelled by the loneliness of your life.

Just a dream.

In your dreams, it seems perfectly natural to smile at the blond man who keeps making his appearances within them; who keeps touching you with such reverence. You have been treated with such porcelain carefulness by him, as if anything bad happening to you would be a tragedy that he could not bear - and so, too, it seems perfectly natural to murmur;

“I love you,” - even if it is only because you are close, hovering on the precipice of your orgasm, and you so desperately want to come.

And so, Dainsleif provides.

He keeps his head on the pillow of your thighs well after you have fallen back fully into your real dreams, letting the taste of your most intimate parts linger on his lips, and wondering if this is enough. Could he satisfy himself with just touching, just kissing, just mouthing against you and bringing you pleasure after pleasure?

. . . He does not think he could.

He thinks ruefully of the abyssal rot that flows through his veins like sickly ichor; of how once he was noble and brave and righteous, dedicated to defending those who he had sworn to protect. The Twilight Sword was a virtuous protector of Khaenri’ah.

How far he has fallen.

The Twilight Sword of centuries ago would take him out into the city square and have him strung up for his crimes. The residents he drove mad before you made his home your own, the advantage he is more than aware he is taking, the misuse of what little powers he has.

And yet, you are worth it. Yet he longs for you even more.

Fear grips him sometimes, when he watches you leave for work, that you may not return. What would he do if you left the house and never came back for your things; if you decided that enough was enough, and left behind cold draughts and smashed crystal glass and seething jealousy and the blond man who visits you in your dreams? He needs to leave a lasting mark on you.

He needs to ensure that you know that you are his.

He needs to claim you fully and utterly and completely.

So a few nights later, he finds himself bared. He finds his cock pressing against your entrance; as slick and warm and welcoming as it has always been, as you continue to look up at him with nothing but affection.

“Dream Man,” you tell him, and you laugh like the tinkling of a bell. “You haven’t even told me your name.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Dainsleif says, and he finds the courage within him to lean down and kiss you once more, until thoughts disappear from your head in favour of kissing him back. He ruts his cock through your folds; saturates it in a mixture of your own slick and his own silvery precome until it slips and slides, sensitive head brushing over your silky soft thighs. “All that matters is you.”

“You’ll make my head swell,” you murmur to him, but your arms come sleepily up to wrap about his neck. Your skin is heated against you, your skin so warm and so soft and so alive it makes Dainsleif ache down to his core. “Mm. Are you going to fuck me finally, Dream Man?”

Against his will, his cheeks heat; a flush creeps into them. In his day, such vulgar language would never have come from such a lovely mouth - nobody would dare be so open and forward with a man whose name they did not even know. It has been centuries, and you are certainly a more forward breed of person . . . but at his heart, Dainsleif was once a warrior of nobility, and he finds himself just a little scandalised.

“Is that what you want?” He asks, voice all throaty. You pout adorably at him - in your sleep, you are so much more open. In your dreams you are truly the purest, most free version of yourself. Dainsleif adores it just as much as he adores every other facet of you.

“Please,” you breathe - and Dainsleif lets the head of his cock catch on your entrance. His teeth grit as he splits you open - as he lets that same head slip inside of you, tight and hot and wet about him. He pauses, suddenly, and you whine--

But Dainsleif’s mouth opens, and despite how every molecule of him begs him to simply fuck you, he manages to shape words.

“Tell me you’ll never leave,” Dainsleif says, blue eyes - one shadowed and masked, one free and open - meeting yours. “Promise me.”

You are just dreaming - there will be no consequences, you think. What is a little white lie - even one that is a profession of love - for the sake of pleasure, when it is merely a dream? You sigh and smile and cant your hips up towards the handsome blond man who has haunted your dreams for months and you whisper;

“I love you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Dainsleif pushes himself inside of you; bottoms out in one gorgeous, deep thrust, until he fits perfectly inside of you and the two of you are joined completely. Dainsleif feels your heart beating fast against his chest as he drags you hungrily into a kiss.

As he begins to fuck you, slowly and deeply and earnestly, he lets himself imagine the tight confines of you moulding themselves to his shape until only he fits inside of you so perfectly and snugly. He thinks of how utterly he is claiming you; looks down at you in utter adoration, kisses you so deeply that it robs you of your breath.

You whimper and sigh and moan, thighs locking about his hips. Dainsleif does not remember the last time he felt so close to anyone.

You make him feel alive again.

“I love you,” he breaks the kiss to groan against your cheeks, your neck, the hollow of your throat just above your heart. “Never go. Never.”

You can think only of how good the stretch of his cock feels inside of you; how right. How handsome he looks in the moonglow.

Before this, you had never found yourself having any recurring dreams but nightmares. If you had beautiful dreams at night, they were always the outliers; one single dream to reflect and reminisce upon and wish you may one day be able to return to - but which you never did.

This man, though - all blonde and handsome, regal of bearing cloaked in black and navy with so much pain in his beautiful eyes that it makes you ache - has been a constant starlit companion for what feels like months.

“I won’t,” you promise again. “I won’t, I won’t, I’m yours forever--”

And as Dainsleif lets himself spill inside of you as your own body trembles and shakes in the throes of your matching orgasm, he thinks how true your words sound as he claims you for himself.

(He wipes between your thighs carefully, when you have fallen asleep, so you do not awaken to find you leaking his come. But that is only for the wasteful trickle that has escaped; the rest, he thinks with a warm glow, have settled inextricably inside of you as true proof that you are his).

The day after your dreams reach that nadir of affection, you leave the house to go to your job, and find yourself accosted by the co-worker that originally offered you a floor to sleep on, when you needed it most.

“I need to move out,” she says, with no other preamble. “The rent in my place is going up, and I’ve found the most darling little two-bed house just outside the Monstadt gates - if we split the rent, you’ll be paying even less than you are right now and you can finally get out of that draughty old haunted house!”

You think of all of the problems with the house. You think of the breeze and the unhappiness it seems to have when anyone else crosses the threshold--

And then, you think of the blond man in your dreams.

His fingers brushing your thighs, his tongue between your folds, cool breath fanning across your skin as he stares at you with abject adoration written clearly in his eyes. You think of the whispers that he loves you - and you think, too, of the promises you have made him.

That you’re his. That you will never leave. That you, too, love him.

They are just things you have said in your dreams; they would hardly stand up in any Fontaine court of justice. But you cannot shake the feeling that they mean more than that. You cannot shake the feeling that going against them would be a betrayal.

“No thank you,” you say, a smile on your own face, “ . . . it really does feel like home.”

#not sfw text #writing #kinktober 2022 #dainsleif x reader #dainsleif smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact smut #yandere for ts #dark content for ts #genshin impact posting

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catofadifferentcolor · 15 days

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Terrible Fic Idea #87: Percy Jackson, but make it MCU

Look, I didn't want to come up with yet another crazy PJO crossover, but here I am. Because instead of just coming up with the lightest, fluffiest, gayest PJO romance possible - which is what I wanted - I had to turn it into an MCU identity reveal fic too.

Or: What if post-ToA Percy Jackson was Peter Parker's caseworker following Aunt May's untimely death?

Just imagine it:

Tony Stark first meets Percy Jackson in the ICU of Metropolitan General the day after Peter and his aunt are caught in a terrible subway accident. May dies on scene. Even with his advanced healing, Peter is badly injured and taken to the nearest hospital - where it quickly becomes apparent he's Enhanced. It takes about 24 hours for the news to make its way to Tony, who immediately storms the hospital with the intention of taking Peter back to his Tower to heal-

-only to be told Peter's not going anywhere by the social worker assigned to the case.

This is remarkable for many reasons, not the least because the social worker is an unassuming, overworked 27-year-old wearing Finding Nemo socks and a faded Save the Oceans t-shirt. That the case worker - Percy Jackson - stands his ground in the face of Iron Man's wrath is even more remarkable, but Tony is forced to admit the kid has a point: he can't just let someone without any obvious connection to a minor walk off with said minor, particularly when that minor is Enhanced.

It takes Tony a couple days to get his ducks in a row, proving that he is not only able and willing to take in Peter, but is the one his aunt wanted to take care of him in the event something happened to her. During that time he has JARVIS research everything he can on Percy (lives in a Central Park penthouse owned by his long-time boyfriend, a successful music producer; volunteers for a NPO started by his best friend dedicated to restoring the wild; brief stint as the youngest ever on the FBI's most wanted, etc), but finds nothing to suggest he's anything other than a social worker trying to do what's best for his charges.

Percy becomes a semi-regular fixture at the Tower. At first it's just business, checking in on how Peter is doing and facilitating the foster care/adoption paperwork. Later it becomes something akin to friendship, with Percy being utterly unimpressed by Tony's fame but remarkably charmed by his inventions and philanthropic efforts. (He also comes to have strong feelings about the Rogues and their actions during the Civil War once he learns of them, helping Tony to see their betrayal for what it is. This alone makes him one of Rhodey and Pepper's favorite people.)

This goes on for quite some time - though I see this as happening post-CACW, we don't jump straight into the Infinity War, with there being several years wherein the Accords are ratified, the Rogues found and tried for their actions in the Civil War, and for the most part allowed to return to the Avengers on a probationary basis - until Thor finally arrives with news of Thanos' impending arrival.

Only Percy happens to be visiting when Thor arrives and the Avengers naturally have questions after Thor addresses him as Prince Perseus.

The truth of Percy's identity comes out in fits and starts (demigod son of Poseidon, saved the world a couple times, ascended to become God of Heroes, Natural Disasters, and Poison as well as Patron God of New York City; has been dating Apollo since he was fourteen; yes, is actually a social worker, albeit one who takes cases across the country to protect demigods and Enhanced), which is not helped by Thor (who can't help but comment on what he knows of Percy's heroics) or Apollo (who shows up after Percy texts an SOS but can't help but talk up his boyfriend either.)

The Infinity War still happens, albeit rather differently than in canon - perhaps Thanos turns out to be a disgruntled child or sibling of Gaia out for revenge, justifying Greek/Roman interference? But the details don't really matter as much as the identity reveal.

And... that's really all I have with regards to plot. But there should be a lot of character moments leading up to the reveal that hint at who Percy really is but which don't form a coherent narrative until the truth is revealed.

Bonuses include:

The softest, fluffiest romance possible for Apollo and Percy, with the pair more or less falling head over heels at first sight at the start of TTC, having their first kiss at the party at the end of the book, and dating throughout the rest of the Titan War. Apollo goes absolutely batshit insane when Percy goes missing at the start of HOO and breaks out of Olympus to crash the Senate meeting at the end of SoN and check on his boyfriend, and eventually gets made mortal for helping too much during the Giant War. The broad strokes of ToA occur with Percy fighting at his now-mortal boyfriend's side, and Percy ascends to godhood when Apollo regains his. There's some tension (Zeus is not happy about his firstborn son's choice of lover, fearing overthrow; Poseidon fears Apollo will end up breaking Percy's heart, but softens after Percy ascends and his chance of becoming a flower diminishes; many CHB campers think Percy's mad for dating a god, etc) but for the most part it should be as fluffy as circumstances allow.

Percy having been really obvious about his background, but in ways that seem reasonable ("How did you meet your boyfriend?" "I was at a really bad party when a friend ended up calling her brother to pick us up early. I fell in love with his car and then with him.") or like jokes ("Those sea turtles really seem to like you." "I like them too." "I guess they're kind of cute." "Excellent conversationalists too.") until the full truth comes out; and

Thor attempting to make up for blowing Percy's cover in dramatic (and hilarious) ways. This should include the gift of at least one native Asgardian water plant ("Dude, have you never heard of invasive species?") and end in a bakery's worth of Asgardian baked goods.

And that's all I have, though given the way this has been living rent-free in my head all week there may be more. As always feel free to adopt this bun, just link back if you do anything with it.

More PJO Ideas | More Terrible Fic Ideas

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m-y-fandoms · 7 months

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COMMISSION: Nagito Komaeda Dating Head-Canons + Small Drabble Sections

Word Count: 1.7K Words

Details: SFW requested and pretty gender-neutral. Established relationship, not just a crush or pining.

Path 1 - Despair/Island Killing Game:

Nagito definitely holds your hand or clings to you as you explore the island from the jump. If the Killing Game hasn’t started yet, he tries to make excuses for his neediness and desire to be attached at the hip. He senses the danger, that things are a little too peaceful, but he doesn’t want to weird you or anyone else out or spread a panic quite yet. Once it’s been announced and Monokuma arrives, he insists on escorting you to lunch and breakfast, on poison-testing your food. He cares very little for his own safety.

Definitely stalks you around the island and keeps to the shadows if you mention wanting space or insist you will be safe on your own every once in a while.

The illusion of choice would be a huge issue with him in the Killing Game setting with an S/O. It may not be healthy, but even when you think he’s out of sight or not plotting any crazy schemes/ideas,, rest assured he is already two steps ahead. He would do anything to make sure his bad luck cycle affects anyone but you and works over time, sometimes into the early hours of the morning to try and find Monokuma’s creator and the “traitor” that is surely among you all.

He insists on sleeping in your cabin or you in his. He feels better in yours, though, convinced his terrible energy and the dangerous aura that follows him around like a shadow has probably sunk into every corner of his own domicile. Anywhere he can call his own surely has to be haunted with misery and blackened with terrible omens of what’s to come. He feels at peace when he enters your safe space: your cabin decked out with items that are personalized to your talents and hobbies. He feels less alone, less burdened by the energy that surrounds himself.

When you blush and explain to him that it may not be appropriate for him to stay the night in your cabin, he brushes it off. He’s not even thinking about that kind of stuff, about the implications of a student sleeping over at their lover’s cabin. He wouldn’t even see himself as worthy enough to be more intimate with you in the first place. When he would hold your hand or cling to you like a human shield it was always for your good, not his own pleasure or to sate his own touch starvation.

“W-what do you mean?” Your face flooded with a warmth when he first suggested (more like insisted on) it. Your cheeks felt hot to the touch.

“Huh? Why do you look so flustered right now? It’s no big deal, really!” He displayed a crooked, paranoid grin. It was only your third night on the island and he’d already reached his limit. Watching you go into your room alone every night was stressful and tore away at him. How could he protect you if someone snuck in from the opposite side window, or if he couldn’t hear an altercation through the walls? The distance and limited time for reaction were just too risky.

“Nagito… I mean… you don’t think the others will, I don’t know, maybe judge us?” You put a hand to your face in contemplation, unable to meet his eyes. “Maybe they will think it’s weird… or that something inappropriate is going on here… usually two students aren’t allowed to spend the night together… if this were a regular school-“

“Oh well if that’s your concern, I can sleep on the ground! I was going to suggest laying in the bed with you, but that may have been presumptuous of me! If you’re uncomfortable-”

“I think you’re missing the point!” You cut him off, heart beating wildly at the thought of your boyfriend just crawling into bed with you every night. You’d never done more then hold hands, now he wanted to snuggle up in the dark wearing nothing but your bedclothes? It was a huge step. You feared the judgmental smirks of people like Hiyoko, the lectures on proper behavior from your more uptight classmates. People would whisper for sure. Some would confront you and want the details. Nagito was the black sheep of the group after all. Nobody was as close to him as you. You could already hear Ibuki and Akane teasing you, making up crazy scenarios of what they thought happened when you and Nagito spent the night together.

“O-oh, if you’re that worried about what our peers would think, I can understand! I would be embarrassed to be dating someone like me as well, but I will make sure they know nothing unbefitting of a ray of Hope like you happened! I’m just here to keep watch. I wouldn’t dream of trying anything!” He flashed a cheesy smile, holding his hands up in submission. It seemed like he wasn’t going to take no for an answer this time. You sighed deeply in resignation. He already stands outside the bathroom when you shower, so this wasn’t really that much further of a stretch.

He spends hours thinking about how he wants to kiss you, how he wants to touch your bare skin to his, even in the most ticklish or innocent of ways. He lets his mind stew over it, fantasizes, but never acts on his desires. He believes his filthy hands - cursed with bringing harm to others in order to bring luck to himself - could never defile your perfect skin, never dirty your soft hair. Even to ask for your consent to do so would be pathetic, embarrassing. Someone like him lived to serve, please and protect a glowing source of Hope such as yourself. This was bigger then him. You needed to survive, to bring change and Hope to the entire world.

If one day by some miracle you asked, begged him to touch you, to give you more the a vice-like hand-holding session, he could never deny you that request. The last of his restraint would break. His hands would shake, afraid to mess it up, to upset you. His mind would race. Even a small kiss would set his pale, clammy skin on fire.

It would set into motion another hyper-fixation, an addiction… obsession. He would know what true Hope tasted like when your lips touched his.

Nagito is definitely the type to kill others for the sake of his S/O. In canon, he offers to help the blackened, sets up traps and tricks to get people caught or assists in trials, but if he had someone to truly love him and love in return, I think it would set his crazy into overdrive. I would expect he would actually get a bit sloppier, too focused on your safety and happiness above all else that he doesn’t even care if he gets caught or slips up. It’s kind of like how some people in powerful positions or criminal organizations don’t want their family known or easily accessible. That’s an easy hostage, easy leverage. You have something to lose, and therefore you are weaker.

Path 2 - Hope’s Peak Academy School Life/Normal Non-Despair:

Nagito is constantly staring at you, taking in your beauty and radiance. He’s obsessive, constantly adjusting the buttons on your uniform or fixing a pleat that is out of place. He doesn’t even notice when his own tie or collar are loose.

He offers to do your laundry, fold your clothes, clean your dorm. Little favors that make your life easier feel like an honor to him.

When he does your laundry, he dives his nose into your dirty outfits and breathes deeply of your scent. He can’t help himself. Your aroma is like a natural pheromone to him. He will feel guilty, disgusting as he tucks a sock or pair of underwear into his backpack or pocket. He swears to himself he will return it to you… someday, once it’s lost its potency.

There’s a shrine of sorts to you in his own dorm room, which he never lets you enter. He always has an excuse: it’s dirty, it smells in there, he doesn’t want anyone seeing you enter such a lowlife’s room. He fears that if you see the extent of his love for you, his unhealthy obsession, that you’ll be scared away.

The shrine consists of strands of your hair, things he’s swiped from your dorm room without you noticing, photos of you printed out and framed (some photos, he was even blessed enough to be in with you!)

He plans at least one date night every single week. As soon as classes are over he spares no expense on taking you out and letting you pick whatever activity you’re in the mood for. He’s just happy to be there.

He dismisses your worries about him spending money on you, reassuring you every time that he has more money then he knows what to do with.

He’s of course made sure his class schedule lines up with yours perfectly. You think it’s just a coincidence that you get to spend so much time together! You knew he purposely picked some of the same elective classes, but didn’t realize the extent of his influence over his own class schedule.

He sometimes gets a little jealous of your classmates spending time with you, but lets those feelings be released in private. He doesn’t want to scare you away or ruin the privilege of being with you. He knows others deserve to bask in your brilliance and overwhelming energy too, knows that he can’t expect to hoard such a glowing Hope all to himself, but it bites at him. Of course everyone else wants you too. He’s delusional about your importance in the vast universe because he’s totally blinded by love. He will misinterpret someone letting you borrow a pencil as flirting or being partners in gym class as something more. He lets this manifest as sadness or trying harder to please you. He may sabotage the “competition” sometimes, but never let you catch on to his meddling.

He could listen to you talk about your hobbies and interests forever. He wants you to show him how to do it, tell him all the backstory, lore, origins of your hyper-fixations or passions. Spending nights on your dorm room floor listening to your favorite musical artists and just eating ramen would mean the world to him.

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infinite-orangepeel · 1 year

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EAGLESCOUT!STEVE/PERV EDDIE WIP EXCERPT FROM CH. 1

Capture the flag is all fun and games until it’s time to clean up the equipment and Steve is wandering through the woods trying not to infect himself with poison ivy like the better half of his troop did an hour ago. Now being treated by their resident Scoutmaster/Chief of Police–Jim Hopper–with calamine lotion and an eye roll.

He’s out on his own.

Strategically voyaging through the underbrush in search of the blue team’s flag. It’s the last one on his list and he’s dying to get back to basecamp to snag a refreshing post-win lemonade with the rest of the troop. Already salivating from the promise of tangy sweetness.

The sun is about to set. Sky blushing pink while the owls hoot from the branches of pine trees. Calling out to each other in harmonious song as the day comes to a close.

Steve’s back is sticky and warm from directing the game. His cheeks are flushed, exposed thighs bitten up by mosquitoes despite multiple reapplications of Deet, and his glasses keep slipping down the bridge of his nose from the slick sweat coating his brow bone.

To be honest, despite the itchy heat and craving for something ice cold down his throat, Steve looks forward to rare moments like this one.

In which he can breathe easily in the reverie of temporary independence.

No one to perform for.

No one to stop him from humming a tune under his breath and stopping every so often to investigate a patch of blooming elderberries.

No one to chastise him for plopping an unwashed piece of fruit under his tongue and taking his time to savor the sweetness.

No one to point fingers and accuse him of gluttony.

Out here in the quiet, Steve can pretend all that exists are the mourning doves, rabbits running from foxes, and the subtle breeze kissing the lakeshore.

He’s content. He’s at peace.

He’s—

He’s choking on his spit at the sight of the terrible scene in front of him—two men dancing with Satan beside a picnic table.

Two men entangled in an inconceivable fashion.

Two men running their hands over each other’s skin; half naked.

Two men–

Together.

Together in the way that only a man and his wife are supposed to be once they’ve married in the church, sworn vows, and moved into the modest house at the end of the cul-de-sac beneath the weeping willows.

Steve racks his brain. Unfolds the information–the proof from the good book–that every belief he holds relies on.

The verse, he thinks–thoughts spiraling out of control, ingrained savior complex kicking in, What about the verse? Don’t they know it? Didn’t their parents warn them? It’s—Hebrews 13:4; ‘Let marriage be held in honor among all, and let the marriage bed be undefiled for God will judge the sexually immoral and adulterous.’

They’ve yet to notice him. As if he’s camouflaged amongst the pine trees. Khaki blending in seamlessly like he’s just another part of the natural landscape.

In a sense, he is.

The first of the two men sinks to his knees like he’s praying for mercy as Steve has done all his life in the back of the chapel. He gazes up at the other man like he is God. Like he alone holds the divine power to cleanse sin, turn water to wine, and carve Eve from Adam’s rib.

Except, Eve doesn’t exist in this version of the story.

Eve is nowhere to be found and Steve feels like he’s entered a parallel universe where none of the former rules apply. Where this strange subset of humanity has scorched the Earth, burned the devoted ones at the stake, and anarchy now reigns.

The second stands above him in the widened prideful stance of a known pariah who foolishly believes he can outrun impending rapture and escape eternal damnation if he is clever and quick enough on his feet.

Steve can’t see his face, because similarly to the vile act he’s committing, the man is concealed by a vexing darkness. Curly tendrils of wild hair obscure his identity.

It’s odd. Unlike anyone else Steve’s ever known. Overgrown and hanging well past his shoulders. It doesn’t make sense.

Only girls are allowed to wear their hair like that. Boys like this—boys like him get sent away for such infractions. Excommunicated for their betrayal to patriarchal norms.

Men are supposed to look like men.

This man does not.

This man seems to toe and test every line and boundary like nothing can touch him.

Steve tries to get his feet to move so he can turn and run and disappear into the forest like the rest of God’s innocent creatures–the field mice, the deer, the fish in the pond–find somewhere hidden to seek asylum and preserve his fragile righteousness.

But latent curiosity slithers around him like a serpent with a fatal bite.

No cure.

No remedy.

Steve has no choice. All logical thought abandons him and perhaps for the first time in his life, he allows himself to simply watch and feel.

The man who doesn’t look all that much like a man leans a ring-covered hand back onto the rickety table like it's his personal throne and feeds his–his—genitals to the parted lips of the first.

Steve brings a hand to his own gawking mouth, ducks behind a tree to better shield himself, and tries to stall his racing heart.

“Lemme fuck your throat, baby. Open wide—wider. C’mon now play nice for me. If you’re not gagging on my cock then you can take it deeper,” the man rasps out as he thrusts his hips forwards and ensnares his black tipped nails into the hair of the kneeling man like vicious talons, “Good boy–there we go. Someone’s learned their lesson since last time, haven’t they? Stay open for me, sweetheart—keep that tongue nice and relaxed.”

thanks so much for reading !! please let me know what you think, feedback is always motivating and helpful 🥰

taglist (message me to be added or removed at any time <3): @estrellami-1 @disastardly @ilovecupcakesandtea @the-redthread @asbealthgn @bestofbucky @vampireinthesun @carlyv @shrimply-a-menace @lordrrascal @jjoesjonas @malachitedevil @anxiouseds @gay-little-bitch @jhrc666 @pinkdaisies1998 @mcneen @perseus-notjackson @eiddets @corroded-coffin-groupie @three-possums-playing-human @stevesbipanic @plutoshelm @arkenstoned @indiearr @they-reap-what-we-sow @gleek4twd @bunnyweasley23 @livingoutload @a-little-unsteddie @novelnovella @rugbertgoeshome @neverlandwaitingforme @anglhrts @madigoround

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loosingmoreletters · 2 months

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Your s classes fics aew so good they've pulled me into the fandom again. Now gonna have to see how far the manwha is along! Hahha

(Also since I love your fics so much, I'm not sure if you read fics for fandom you write (I know some authors don't) but if you have any recs... 👀

Thank you!!!! I'm glad you enjoyed it and I hope you had fun with the current chapters!

And yes, I always have recs for fandoms I write because I usually only start writing once I'm truly obsessed or couldn't find a fic that hit quite the vibe I wanted.

Anyway! Fanfic recs! This list has a little bit of everything, I think!

never leave a trace by armed_teddy_bear The Han parents haunt Han Yoojin.

Last Forsythia’s Bloom by Lazlo (hinagikuhaven) Yoojin is hit by a fuck or die curse. Daunted by the knowledge of the cure that will force Yoohyun to make a terrible choice, Yoojin chooses to run away. warning for incest and dubcon

Slumbering Stars by FeltLikeWritingAndHereIAm The world ended when Han Yoojin’s brother died between his arms. Nothing will ever be the same, not even with a second chance.

Behind A Smile by Lazlo (hinagikuhaven) In hindsight, Yoohyun should have long suspected it. The abyss that laid behind his brother’s happy smiles.

does that mean by Frill Sung Hyunjae and Han Yoojin knew one another before the dungeons.

S-Rank Skill Poison Nullification! by chamsie Rather than getting famous for his taming skills, Yoojin accidentally becomes infamous for his ability to eat any and all poisons without dying.

and tomorrow may be something to look for by wovenstarlight Han Yoojin time travels instead of regressing. This causes some problems.

the ghost of you (will never leave me) by Sorbus Han Yoojin has skills geared towards the mind and lending or borrowing power. It only makes sense that if he has a skill to receive the memories of others alongside their power and skills, he could sacrifice his memories of others in return for some strength. Han Yoojin has a skill that lets him give up memories of someone he holds dear in exchange for more power. Things change, but ultimately stay the same.

Now We Have by Frill Han Yoojin can tame monsters. He meets Bak Yerim and Yoo Myeongwoo in a dungeon.

but i have promises to keep (and miles to go before i sleep) by Anonymous Of all the possible ways the Awakening broker could’ve scammed her, Bak Yerim never considered abandoning her in a dungeon as one of them. Stealing her money and never actually bringing her to a dungeon? Definitely. Taking her money and then reporting her to the authorities? Yeah. Going through the effort of bringing her here and leaving her? Wasn’t even a thought in her head. And yet here she was, completely alone in a dungeon. Well. Fuck. or, bak yerim ends up stuck in a dungeon and meetings a certain someone

My Sweetheart by armed_teddy_bear Bak Yerim finds the Han family’s home videos, featuring a young Han Yoojin and baby Han Yoohyun.

Isolation Training by armed_teddy_bear Han Yoojin kept a diary to deal with the stress of his separation with Yoohyun. While moving his brother’s things, Yoohyun finds it.

The Ghost That Lives With Us by Anonymous Hatred comes to Yoohyun as unnaturally as love, and just as intensely.

If love is the answer could you please rephrase the question? by theladyofcamelias Yoojin goes on a date with an old high school acquaintance. Everybody is perfectly normal about this in case you were wondering.

travel logs to you by flyingintherainclouds In which Han Yoojin has decided to live a quiet life, as requested of him by his dear brother, who anonymously deposits money into his bank account. He goes traveling two years after Yoohyun left, determined to come back whole. Still, he can't bear to leave without telling his brother, so he sends recordings of himself on his travels to him. secondary title: recordings to you, from my heart to yours

love me, love me not (love me) by Yersina “Hi,” Yoojin croaks into his phone. His stomach had been churning from downing too many healing potions in a row, so he’d been experimenting with just letting the coughs happen. Now he’s starting to regret that a bit. “I’d like to make an appointment.” He gives the nurse his information and stares out the window of his apartment while she looks up his records. “What are you coming in for?” “Hanahaki surgery.”

new dog's old tricks by snipsnap In which Yoojin doesn’t wake up at the broker. This changes everything. Or: being from the future gives you a lot of strings to pull. Yoojin is studying the harp.

[Final Repayment] by Frill “I…” Yoohyun let go of Yoojin’s hand. The curly-haired man stood there awkwardly before asking, “May I come in?” Yoojin stepped to the side quickly. “Come in, Yoohyun-ah. You’re always welcomed.” Yoojin was very confused when his dongsaeng appeared on his doorstep after 3 months of silence.

convention no. 138 by Yersina Yoojin strokes through Yoohyun’s hair once, and the clumps of dirt that fall from the action remind him of where they’re currently standing. “Yoohyun, why are you in a crater? What happened?” At this, Yoohyun untwists himself just enough from Yoojin’s hold to raise a handful of flames in Yoojin’s direction. “Hyung, I think I have magic powers,” he says solemnly. Yoojin stares for a long moment, long enough that Yoohyun clenches his fist, extinguishing the fire, and looks up at Yoojin worriedly. “Okay,” he manages eventually. “Okay. Sure. Yeah.” He was attacked by dinosaurs and his eleven year old brother has magic powers. That’s… this is fine.

Fighting with Fear by Turacin (Turacoverdin) When a raid of an S-class dungeon goes wrong and a conspiracy is revealed, the only option Yoojin has is to take care of it all himself. Unfortunately, he must violently kill fourteen people and an S-class snail boss to do so. The consequences of this are not what he expected.

You Before Forever by Vehemenace When Han Yoojin regresses, he isn't sitting in one of Haeyeon Guild's guest rooms. Instead, he finds himself in the middle of the streets of Seoul, disoriented, with the feeling of his brother's corpse imprinted on his hands.

#sctir #s classes that i raised #ask #fanfic recs #captainadwen

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fourraccoonsinacoat · 2 months

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Head Full of Ghosts | Chapter 4: Bumps in the Night

Pairing: Astarion x Dark Urge

Summary: Takes place during the events of Baldur's Gate 3 and explores the romance between Astarion and the Dark Urge, as well as the friendships and relationships she has with her companions. Plus, everyone gives shit to Gale about his cooking. Tags: Slow Burn, Angst, Pining, Humor, Violence, Friends to Lovers, Developing Friendships, Developing Romance, Spoilers for the Dark Urge and BG3 in general, Dark Urge as Original Female Character Rating: Mature (Will eventually be Explicit, just not there yet.) Current Chapter Count: 4/? Read on AO3 Current Word Count: 16,755

Author's Note: AND WE'RE BACK! I'm so sorry for not updating this fic in a hot minute. I ran into some gnarly writer's block going into the holidays and the new year, but I'm back on track. I even wrote two one shots featuring these two which can be found on my account. Please enjoy them, and this chapter, with my apologies. Thanks for sticking with me and these crazy idiots.

Astarion sat at the small round dressing table situated just outside his tent, fingers drumming idly against the worn wood as he leaned back in his chair. In his other hand, he held an open book outstretched in front of him, red eyes skimming across the pages.

Evening had settled in over the camp, bringing with it a chill in the air as the far-off rumble of thunder rolled in the distance. Candlelight flitted from a lantern he had set on the table, providing just enough light for him to feign interest in the words of his book. It was a collection of memoirs that had something to do with the dull and painfully tiresome life of an adventurer who had hunted a variety of beasts up and down the Sword Coast.

Or was it devils? Criminals, maybe?

Hells, he didn’t know. It was all terribly trite and uninteresting. The stories, if one could even call them that, were worth less than the paper they’d been printed on. At least they could burn the pages as firestarter for Gale’s cookpot.

Though…that was probably an equally ineffective use of the book. Gale was still a woefully dreadful cook, in Astarion’s opinion. Which was the only one that mattered, really.

The camp was abnormally quiet this evening, a stiff tension settling over them like a low-hanging fog that wouldn’t lift. The usual clamor and din of frivolous chatter and busymaking had been replaced by an eerie silence that was only broken by the pop and crackle of the central campfire.

Astarion could still hear Wyll’s accusatory bellowing reverberating in his mind. The vampire had burst into camp, alone except for an unconscious Eli who hung limp in his arms. He’d been calling for Shadowheart when Wyll came striding up, all pomp and lofty.

“What did you do!?” the warlock-turned-devil had demanded, reaching out as if to wrest Eli from Astarion’s arms.

Astarion had jerked her away from Wyll’s outstretched hands, snarling.

“I didn’t do anything! Get out of my way! Where is Shadowheart!”

He had tried to bully past Wyll, but the warlock grabbed his arm, working to hold him back.

“Where are Gale and Lae’zel? What in the hells happened!?” he’d berated.

Astarion wheeled on him with a vicious and manic grimace.

“Touch me again and I’ll become the monster you so desperately want me to be,” he’d spat with a low growl.

“What is going on – Nightsinger’s embrace!”

Drawn by the commotion, Shadowheart had approached and then stopped dead, eyes wide as they landed on Eli’s unconscious form. She directed Astarion towards Eli’s tent, waving off Wyll who had still been asking questions that weren’t helpful to the situation at hand.

“Lay her down on her bedroll. What happened to her?” Shadowheart asked as she and Astarion had approached the tent.

He explained about the encounter with the hunter and how Eli had charged the man just as he’d been taking aim at Astarion, resulting in a poisoned crossbow bolt to her shoulder. Despite the wound, Eli had surged forward, launching an Eldritch Blast ahead of her which took the man off his feet before he could reload for another shot.

Astarion had followed, cursing Eli for her foolhardy rush to play hero. The bolt had been meant for him, and if she got herself badly injured or worse during this debacle, he was going to be the one to have to explain everything to the rest of the freakshow menagerie back at camp. He was already on loose footing with the lot of them, the revelation of his vampirism having gone over about as poorly as he’d expected. Between the jabs, the glares and the threats, the only thing that had calmed everyone was Eli’s insistence that he was trustworthy.

Both Astarion and Eli didn’t mention the small detail of how he’d crept up on her while she lay in her bedroll, fully intending to set upon her while she slept. She had an odd definition of trustworthy…

The last thing he needed was for her to get herself wounded on his account. Which meant that was exactly what would happen, because when he got right down to it everything in his life amounted to nothing more than a shit stain in the annals of history. Nothing ever swung his way, so why not add to it getting the one person who seemed remotely okay with his existence killed?

Astarion’s jaw clenched as he stared at the open book in front of him, candlelight causing shadows to dance and flicker upon the page. He’d taken leave of Eli’s tent after laying her on the bedroll for Shadowheart to examine. The cleric had indicated she’d be able to heal the wound to Eli’s shoulder after they dosed her with an antidote.

Hesitantly relieved, Astarion had walked to his own tent, noting that both Gale and Lae’zel had returned and were currently engrossed in a conversation with Wyll as he questioned them for details about their trip to find Ethel. Ignoring the trio, Astarion had grabbed the first book he could find and set about making himself look busy in hopes they’d all just leave him alone after the events of the evening. He was agitated by the restlessness stirring in his gut, and every so often his eyes would flick to the closed flap of Eli’s tent which was situated across the camp from his own. The panic from earlier had settled into a vexed sort of impatience that sat heavy in his chest. His mind wandered to the other night, when he’d come upon Eli in the ruin and they’d sat together, talking. It had been…nice, just to sit and talk without all the tension and pressure of having to lure someone back to the mansion.

His nights in the city were always pressed by the driving need to bring some poor fool back for Cazador, less he be punished in any number of agonizing ways for his failure. The last time he’d returned to the mansion without a mark, Cazador had forced Astarion to peel the skin from the soles of his own feet and walk endlessly through the filth-infested kennels for three days. He’d trudged the same path, over and over, stepping on rocks and bone splinters and all manner of refuse and sewage. When he was finally released from Cazador’s thrall, he’d sank to his knees and howled out in wretched anguish, able to at last release the screams of pain that had been burning in his lungs for the past days as he wept silent tears and walked. Walked. Walked…

That had been only a week or so before the mind flayers captured him…

Astarion breathed in slow, not needing the air that filled his lungs but calmed by the action, all the same. He shoved the vile memories of Cazador and his enslavement down into a deep pit within himself and tried to think of other, less miserable things. The Barrel-Aged Callidyrran Eli had given him the other night, now tucked away in his tent unopened. It had been a strange thing, to be given something and told there was no expectation upon him to return the favor or provide any sort of reparation. He still wasn’t sure he trusted the gesture, but Eli had not brought the matter up since.

He wondered if she knew he couldn’t exactly drink the wine…or, well, not without adding a bit of blood, anyway. Otherwise it would just taste foul. Another side-effect of his condition. He vaguely recalled having enjoyed the drink once, and like all of his vague recollections he clung to that knowledge with a vice grip, desperate to not lose anymore of himself.

What the hell did Eli get out of all this, anyway? Giving him gifts, vouching for him to the group, letting him feed on her, literally throwing herself in front of a crossbow bolt for him. It frustrated him that he couldn’t parse her intentions.

Astarion’s eyes darted back to her tent, noting that the flap remained closed. He set his jaw, grinding his teeth in thought.

“She’ll be fine, fangs, don’t worry. Shadowheart’s got it under control.”

Astarion’s head jerked in the direction of Karlach, who was standing a few feet from his tent, arms crossed as she peered at him with a small smirk.

“And, hey, if she does end up kicking it, we’ve got weird cryptic skeleton guy who says he can bring people back from the dead, easy-peasy.” Karlach gestured over her shoulder towards Withers with a thumb. “Not sure if I’d bet my own life on the creepy bone man, but it’s an option.”

Astarion frowned at the tiefling who simply grinned back at him. His eyes dropped back to his book.

“I wasn’t worried,” he said flatly.

“Ooooooh, okay. I get it.”

Astarion quirked an eyebrow curiously at Karlach’s reply, looking up just in time to see her wink.

“Wasn’t aware not being able to read was one of those vampiric side-effects, but not to fret. I’ll teach you,” she said, barely able to suppress a laugh beneath her words as she continued to smile with a knowing look that made Astarion shift in his chair.

“What in the hells are you going on about?” he barked, both a bit indignant and confused.

Karlach uncrossed her arms, placing one on her hip and indicating his book with the other.

“You haven’t turned a single page since you sat down,” she explained. “So, you’re either the most eloquently illiterate person I’ve ever met, or your attention is elsewhere.” She jerked a thumb towards Eli’s tent and Astarion scowled at her.

Heaving a frustrated sigh, he snapped the book closed and dropped it unceremoniously on the table. Taking that as an invitation to join the vampire, Karlach sauntered over and grabbed the other bistro-style chair at his table. She flipped it backwards, straddled it, and sat, crossing her arms atop the chair back and leaning forward.

Astarion watched her curiously, but said nothing as she situated herself at the table. He and Karlach had exchanged pleasantries and idle chatter since she’d joined their little traveling circus, but he didn’t really know much about her. Well, other than the whole engine-for-a-heart-so-she-could-break-people’s-spines-in-the-hells business. She seemed friendly enough, but Astarion knew all too well how easy it was to put up a sociable front.

“I’m just tired of all the accusations and suspicion,” he grumbled, pointedly not looking across the camp towards where Wyll was sewing up a patch in his leather armor. “It’s not like I’m Gale, treating our collection of expensive artifacts like his own personal candy store.”

Karlach chuckled and Astarion leaned back in his chair, expression softening just a touch as he stared at the flickering candle of the lantern.

“I haven’t done anything, I just exist. And that’s always enough to disappoint people,” he said, voice low and sharp.

Karlach hummed, considering his words for a moment before she spoke.

“Well, I for one am glad you’re with us, and I know that one is, too.” Karlach nodded her head towards Eli’s tent. “You did good today, soldier.”

Astarion eyed the tent thoughtfully, feeling a bit less dour than he had earlier. He straightened up attentively in his chair when he noticed the entry flap being pushed aside. Shadowheart emerged and, seeing both Astarion and Karlach focused in her direction, began walking towards the pair.

“She’s resting and should be recovered come morning,” she said, waving off Karlach politely as the tiefling rose and offered Shadowheart the chair she’d been using.

Astarion felt a tension he hadn’t even been aware of, ease from him as his posture relaxed.

“Told yah,” Karlach said, giving him another one of her unsettlingly knowing smirks.

“Well,” he said, shifting slightly under both of their gazes. “I’m glad.”

A look passed between Karlach and Shadowheart that Astarion couldn’t quite read. He frowned up at them, but they remained impassive.

“Come on, Shadowheart. With Eli tucked in for the night, we have free rein on the wine!” Karlach spun on her heels and started off towards the camp’s stash of supplies with Shadowheart strolling behind her.

Astarion watched them go, quietly mulling over an idea that had slowly begun to form in his head. He remained where he sat for a long while, uncertainty darkening the lines of his face, before he shook his head with a small grimace and stood.

Turning, he entered his tent, eyes casting about in the gloom for something…

_________________________________

Eli was starving.

She could think about little else as her stomach roiled, slowing churning its own acids around and around. She was past the point of uncomfortable hunger, her gut spasming angrily with a ravenous nausea.

How long had it been since she last ate? Days? A week? She wasn’t sure…

A sickly convulsion gripped her abdomen and Eli sank to her bare knees, heaving bile onto the cold and dingy stone floor. Sweat dripped from her forehead and neck as her body revolted against the lack of food. She vomited until there was nothing left, coughing and hacking as the last dry heaves calmed.

She leaned back and suddenly felt lightheaded, swaying where she knelt then toppling backwards. She felt the back of her head collide with a solid wall, the sharp pain a momentary distraction from the ache in her stomach.

Eli stayed slumped against the wall, too tired to do much else. She could smell the sour stink of her own stomach bile mixed with a dank and stale scent of rot and decay. Blinking against a darkness so deep that even her darkvision struggled to cut through, Eli tried to remember where the hell she was.

Her head was swimming, dulled by dehydration and vicious hunger. She was so confused…

Footsteps echoed from somewhere distant and a flighty panic stirred in her chest. She was afraid. Desperately afraid.

The footfalls grew louder, then slowed. She heard the abrupt ‘thunk’ of a lock and the angry screech of twisting metal as a cruel bright light tore into the darkness, pouring in through a doorway just in front of her. Eli held her hands up to shield her eyes and with a shock noticed how small they were. They were grubby, scratched and scarred. Nails chewed down and skin cracked and dry, but they were delicate, too.

The hands of a child.

A harsh voice snapped at her from the doorway and Eli tried to see who was there, but the figure was blurred; drowning in the intense light which surrounded them.

“Pitiful. I thought you little spider-blooded mongrels thrived in the dark.”

The voice was familiar. Haunting. It caused a wild sort of terror to hammer at her ribcage.

“Maybe now you’ll be more compliant.”

Fear, hot and vicious tore through her as she felt a hand grip her hair and yank her forward. Her shoulder cracked as it hit the floor, pain burning up her neck and down her arm. She tried to scream as she was dragged out of the dark room and into that blistering light, but her throat was raw and dry…

No.

No. No! NO!

Eli jolted awake, scrambling to get her bearings as her lungs burned with the soundless screams of her nightmare. Her breathing was ragged, catching in her throat as she sat up and blinked wearily, trying to chase the fog from her brain. A dull pain flared in her shoulder and she groaned, mind clearing with recollection as the day before returned to her.

Her headaches, the hunter, Astarion, the crossbow…

Eli peered down at herself, twisting slightly to try and get a decent angle in order to view the closed wound. Her armor had been removed, leaving Eli in her undershirt and a pair of camp pants. She pulled at the shirt collar, trying to see underneath and inspect her shoulder as best she could. An angry scar had bloomed where the wound had been, and she mentally made a note to thank Shadowheart for what she assumed had been the cleric’s work.

Rubbing at her eyes, the ghost of a dull headache still thrumming away at the back of her skull, Eli pulled back the ragged blanket that had been laid over her…then paused. She held the cloth up and away from herself, inspecting it curiously. She didn’t remember owning a blanket…and the scent… Sharp and citrusy, with notes of evergreen and a touch of smokiness. And beneath that…the stale scent of death, slightly rotted and stagnant. She knew that odor. It was one of the reasons she’d pegged Astarion as a vampire upon their first meeting, aside from all of the other obvious hints. He could try and mask it with rosemary and the tang of bergamot, but Eli would know the perfume of death and decay anywhere. The familiarity of it was unsettling, because try as she might, she couldn’t pinpoint why the smell of necrosis was such a balm to her.

Eli rubbed the worn fabric between her fingers, eyeing it closely. She could see careful stitchwork in various places along the edges where meticulous effort had been taken to patch fraying hemming. The texture of the blanket was timeworn and there was a distinct air of mustiness to it. It was old – very old – but comfortable. Eli felt a pang of affection as she folded the blanket and set it aside, cautious to put it somewhere where she wouldn’t accidentally step on it. She stared at it for a moment, thoughts sizzling in her head like small sparks that might set alight a larger blaze if she wasn’t careful. She frowned at herself and turned away, standing with a tired grunt and slamming those nagging and sentimental emotions inside a mental box that she meant to burry deep down within herself.

She seemed only capable of bad ideas these days. Best not to humor anymore.

Stepping out of her tent, Eli took a quick survey of camp. Everything was still, the night dark and deep. Their campfire had burned down to embers that glowed faintly in the gloom and Eli guessed the hour must be early in the darkness of morning. She walked towards the riverbank, stretching out her shoulder and rolling it back tenderly. It would be sore for a few days, she mused, but that was a far cry better than what could have happened had they not had a cleric with them.

Crouching, she cupped water between her hands and splashed her face, still trying to sort through all the thoughts whirring in her mind.

“A saucerer? Really?”

Eli flinched, surprised by the cool, easy voice. She turned her head, grinning up at Astarion who stood a few paces behind her, arms crossed as he leaned against a tree that was growing out from the bank.

“I can’t help it if your sense of humor isn’t as refined as my own,” she said, sitting back onto the sandy shoreline.

A bark of laughter escaped Astarion’s throat and Eli caught herself staring at the delicate hallow between his collarbones.

“Thank the gods for that. Puns are the lowest form of humor, darling.”

A depraved rush sped up her heart and she felt a flush bleed down her neck as the unbidden image of hands pressing down on his throat entered her mind. Astarion’s eyes narrowed at her, shining in the silvery moonlight. He smirked, no doubt noticing her piqued heartrate and the blush below her jaw.

“Happy to see me, my dear?” he purred, uncrossing his arms and stepping out onto the bank.

Eli banished the foul thought from her head as Astarion sat beside her, a brow quirked slyly.

“Happy to see anyone, considering.” She shrugged, ignoring the suggestion beneath his words. He didn’t need to know that her mind wasn’t envisioning the sorts of things he thought it was.

The Urge thrummed distantly in her brain but remained mostly unroused.

“Did you leave a blanket in my tent,” Eli asked, changing the subject before Astarion could make any more quips.

She caught the briefest flash of surprise flit across his expression, but it was gone just as quickly, replaced by a composed air of hautyness. Eli wondered if Astarion hadn’t meant for her to know he’d been the one to leave it.

“Well, yes,” he said, suddenly rather interested in attending to a smudge of dirt on his trousers, brushing at it. “I noticed that shabby excuse for a bedroll in your tent when I brought you back and figured between the blood loss and poison, the last thing we all needed was for the only rational person in camp – besides me, of course – to catch cold and die.”

Eli brought the back of her hand to her forehead, frowning with confusion as she held it there. Astarion gave her a sidelong look, expression guarded.

“What are you doing?” he asked with slight unease.

“Checking to see if I’m running a fever. I don’t think all the poison’s out of my system yet,” Eli said, giggling as Astarion’s frown deepened.

“You know, I am capable of being a thoughtful and decent person,” he chided with no small amount of irritation cutting through his words. “From time to time,” he added after a brief pause.

Eli just smiled back at him, amused by his fluster and bravado.

“I’m teasing,” she said, unable to keep a note of fondness out of her voice. “It was thoughtful. Thank you.”

Astarion returned his attention to the smudge, brushing away at the remaining dirt.

“Don’t go making a fuss about it. I owed you, anyway. For the wine,” he reminded her.

“You didn’t owe me anything,” Eli corrected him warmly.

She was finding it more and more difficult to tune out that bothersome feeling of affection growing behind her ribcage. But, she’d deal with it later. The company was nice in the small, calm hours of the morning. Especially when she considered the nightmares that were likely waiting for her back in the shadows of her tent.

Yeah. She’d definitely, absolutely turn those feelings off. Later.

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thegrayascendancy-if · 2 years

Text

The Gray Ascendancy is a fantasy interactive fiction game set in the world of magic that is as capricious as its very first wielders. It tells a story of revenge, court intrigue, age-old ache, self-determination and agency, with the player straight at the core of it all.

play on itch.io

FAQ

Magic bends to the will of the Six Sisters, what they share with humans is but a fraction of their power, an echo from the past when they lived and created history. A split between them formed the world you are in now, the world where magic is a powerful—and feared—tool, where mages were chased off into a small city of Riante after their recent attempt to seize control over the continent by taking over the Sunken Court.

But the mages shall prevail. Such is the resolve of the Gray Regent.

And then there is you.

Serving the fabled Gray Regent feels right. Your body remembers how to use magic, and this is how you get by. This is how you are useful to them. Their goals find response in you, some part of you finds them as good as your own. You are their will executed in the field.

It helps that you have no memories of how you became this way.

No matter. The preparations are well underway, and you are to thank for many of the successes, except for one terrible failure. Fixing this mess has you tossed right into the enemy backline, trying to lie your way into the graces of a prince whose reputation, deservedly or not, is almost as bad as yours. Your door into the Sunken Court.

You will ensure the ascension of the Gray Regency. Right?

Features:

customize your protagonist (gender, name, pronouns, weapon and their allegiances);

build relationships with six potential ROs and people that you meet along the way;

make meaningful choices that will shape the future of the continent;

rediscover what you once were, if you wish, or build upon the blank slate that you have become;

embrace your magic to the full extent you have yet to discover or reject it, for you are not a plaything for the Sisters long dead;

lean into the allure of being seen as a villain or work on your image in the eyes of the unforgiving public;

your past holds secrets, obviously; try to remember the most important one;

chose your side: old masters or new friends? Who exactly are you lying to when you promise them your help?

Gale Arnald le Tellier (m)

King Karon's oldest child and the one held in most contempt at the Sunken Court. Born of a forced alliance, along with his mother's infamy, he has inherited the touch of the Fourth Sister: depraved magic that steals and grants life essence. That what makes him a vulturous healer has also earned him distasteful reputation. For whatever reason he is well-mannered, patient, few would even call him kind. Gale often says very little—a habit of watching his every word at court and yet never being heard.

"The mage prince may be permitted to the palace, but he has no friends there. A convenient position, for us, that is, don’t you think?”

Arthur van der Garde (m)

The heir to the largest dukedom of Noyer, he is Gale's closest friend, and the only thing that has stopped it from turning him into a social pariah is his easy charm and, upon strict insistence of his father, rigorous mage hunter training. It is hardly possible to find a person willing to trust you less.

"The margrave is, above all, a hunter. Poisonous and two-faced. The latter is quite a commendable quality, but you hardly ever wish for your foe to possess commendable qualities."

Darla Belrose (f)

A spirited and ambitious knight: no one else could be appointed to guard the scorned prince, let alone volunteer for such an assignment. As the oldest child, she is eager to restore the position of her house, so perhaps she sees the prince’s journeys as the means to that end. Her cautious curiosity towards magic could be another reason...

"The knight may be young and her ambition simple, but it is one that can be achieved in many ways—and she must surely see it. I cannot tell if you are fit to make use of this."

Yvette (f) / Yves (m) le Tellier

The current Gray Regent and the youngest child of Gideon le Tellier—a man whose earlier conquest on the city of Rimehall has earned him the title of Usurper. Now sitting at the top of the tower in Riante, they claim the high goal of mage restoration, but you cannot help but notice the way their jaw clenches whenever King Karon’s name is brought up. That, and how often you seem to catch their gaze.

"I hope you realize what privilege it is to be able to speak to the Gray Regent directly and have their trust to such extent. Do not squander it."

Jax (nb)

Your handler and council. Although a mage themselves, their preferred trade is information and planning. Jax is seen by others as closed off and meticulous, though, you hear, they are the best one at the Gray Regent's disposal and easily have their ear. How you got the cream of the crop to assist you is anyone's guess, Jax certainly isn't willing to have such a conversation.

Mages of the Tower have avoided telling you anything about Jax.

Ianthe (f)

Not every mage is bound to the tower of Riante and some choose the remote corners of the continent to further their pursuits. Ianthe is one of such mages, and rather than appearing on your target list, she seeks you out herself. She claims to have interest in your magic and offers to solve the mystery that envelops it, but to do that she would need your cooperation and, going by the company you keep, secrecy, either of which you may not be as eager to provide.

Once you meet Ianthe, it is too late for any words of caution from Jax.

#interactive fiction #if wip #if intro #twine game #interactive game #twine #fantasy #romance #mystery #choice game #intro post

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tmbswhodunit · 4 months

Text

WHO DUN IT MBS CHALLENGE: Sirens of the Sea and Sky

Nicholas Benedict never told his friends the truth about what he was or where he came from. But when he discovered what his long-lost family was doing, he knew that it was his fault.

And that it would be up to him alone to stop it.

Nicholas had always feared the water and the hundreds of dark and terrible threats that hid beneath its surface. And yet, when he’d first realized the man sending the messages was Nathaniel, his own brother, he’d been ready to conquer that fear. To climb aboard the nearest vessel and sail towards the island, to confront his destiny and face his enemy once and for all.

His friends insisted it was too dangerous, but Nicholas knew what he had to do. The children were in danger, the world was in danger, and Nicholas was the only one who could save them.

So, under the cover of night, he snuck out of the cabin, found an abandoned fishing boat, and rowed out towards the island.

Nicholas trembled with every stroke, doing his best not to look down into the dark murky waters, which he knew were crawling with poisonous jellyfish, sharks, piranhas, sea serpents, venomous eels, and every other dangerous underwater creature imaginable. Of course the trained beasts wouldn’t stop him from coming to the island, but Nicholas knew if he tried escaping or turning back…well that would be another story.

Still he rowed on until he came to shore where he knew his brother’s men would be waiting for him.

They surrounded him at once, binding his arms as tightly as they could to his sides before they searched the boat and dragged him up the shore towards his brother’s lair.

Four large stone walls surrounded his brother’s fortress. The place seemed nearly impenetrable, though Nicholas knew that when it came to his brother, the trouble was never about whether you could fall into his traps.

It was whether you could get out.

The men roughly dragged him through the corridors until they finally arrived at Nathaniel’s office.

That’s when Nicholas saw him again.

Nathaniel.

There was no mistaking him: his cold and menacing presence, his shark-like grin, his terrible predatory eyes that seemed to glow in the darkness of the room.

“Hello Nicky,” he cooed, his voice sounding sickly-sweet despite its threatening aura.

Nicholas gulped at the sight of his brother’s lair, which included large tanks filled with electric eels and piranhas that turned towards Nicholas the moment he entered the room. The hunger and viciousness in their eyes seemed to mirror Nathaniel’s own anticipation as he looked over his brother.

“I’m surprised you were brave enough to come up here alone. Impressed really. Though I must say I wasn’t happy with what my men found in your boat,” noted Nathaniel.

“You know how I feel about nets Nicky.”

“It was fishing boat!” Nicholas protested.

“I didn’t search it before I took it!”

“I suppose I could give you the benefit of the doubt,” mused Nathaniel.

“Or,” he suggested, as he grabbed hold of Nicholas and forced his head over one of the tanks.

“Perhaps I could introduce you to some of my pets. I’m sure they’d love to eat, I mean, meet you.”

“No, no, Nathaniel please, I promise didn’t come here to harm you! I came here to see you again.”

“Is that so? Well now you’ve seen me. Is that all?” asked Nathaniel, shoving his brother’s head closer to the tank, where the creatures inside were eagerly waiting, their mouths open and their hungry eyes fixed on their incoming meal.

“No,” admitted Nicholas.

“No, Nathaniel, I wanted to ask you, to beg you, to please stop this. Stop hurting these children, stop trying to destroy the world! I know how cruel life has been to you, how unfair it all was for you, and I’m sorry! I’m sorry for the part I played in it. Do whatever you want to me, but please don’t hurt anyone else. You don’t have to do this. This isn’t who you are! You’re better than this Nathaniel; I know you!”

Nathaniel roughly flung his brother on the floor next to the tank.

“You don’t know me at all,” he scoffed.

“As for doing whatever I want to you, believe me Nicky, I indeed to.”

With these words, Nathaniel grabbed his still bound brother with super human strength and dragged him down the hall.

Nicholas shivered against Nathaniel’s icy touch, but he knew there was nothing he could do to escape, not while his arms were tied at his sides.

They walked through a series of dark and cold underground passageways until they came upon a secret lair, connected by what seemed like miles of underground rivers and pools that spilled out into the bay.

There Nicholas saw a red-haired woman, with eyes that glowed just like his brothers.

“Impossible,” he whispered.

“She… she can’t be…”

Nathaniel smirked when he saw the reaction on Nicholas’s face.

“Did you really think I wouldn't be able to find anyone else like me?” he asked, flinging his brother forward.

Garrison examined the form of the man that had been thrown at her feet.

“Is he…” she asked, her eyes shining with a greedy hunger that matched Nathaniel’s own.

“Yes. He’s one of them. The last of them,” confirmed Nathaniel.

“And with our combined powers, there’s so much we can do to him. We could brainwash him to do whatever we want for the rest of his life. We could feed him to our pets. Or perhaps we should keep him as a pet. Our very own little songbird.”

“I like that idea. We could make him sing for us,” suggested Garrison.

“Use his power for ourselves.”

“Keep him in a cage,” mused Nathaniel, his eyes glowing with delight.

“No,” whimpered Nicholas.

“Not a cage! Nathaniel why are you doing this?” he cried.

“You’re my brother! You’re my family! I’m sorry! I love you! Please…please…”

For a moment, Nicholas thought he saw a hint of compassion in his brother’s face.

But it vanished as quickly as it came.

“Take his memories,” Nathaniel ordered.

“I can’t stand the sound of him crying.”

Garrison raised her arms.

“No, no, no!” begged Nicholas.

“Nathaniel, I don’t want to forget you! No matter how much you hurt me, or how much I hurt you, I never want to forget! Please, I can’t lose you again! For so long, I’ve missed my family, I came here for my family!” sobbed Nicholas.

“How can you take that away again so easily? Did I really mean so little?” asked Nicholas, his voice weak and terrified as he squeezed his eyes shut and prepared for what was about to happen.

But the memory wiping and the pain that was sure to accompany it never came.

"Stop," ordered Nathaniel.

Garrison lowered her arms.

No one said a word.

Then Nathaniel spoke.

“You think this is easy for me?” he asked.

“Do you think accepting that this is what I am, that this was my destiny, was ever easy for me?”

Nicholas was too scared and choked up to answer. It took everything in him to open his eyes look up at the monster in front of him, reminding himself that it was his brother, Nathaniel, underneath it all.

“For heaven’s sake,” muttered Nathaniel, cursing under his breath as he lifted his brother to his feet.

“Help me untie him.”

“Untie him? Are you out of your mind? If we untie him, he’s going to kill us!” objected Garrison, taking a step backwards away from Nicholas.

“He won’t. Trust me, he won’t. Just help me untie him,” sighed Nathaniel.

“You're sure about this?” asked Garrison.

“After everything we've worked for?”

Nathaniel took a long look at his brother, who was still shivering and shaking with fear.

“Yes,” he confirmed.

Garrison sighed and reluctantly began helping Nathaniel untie his brother.

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” she muttered.

“Nathaniel?” asked Nicholas.

“What are you doing? I don’t understand.”

“I thought I was finally strong enough to let you go, but I’m not,” answered Nathaniel.

“I was angry. I’m still angry, very angry, but none of this was never easy for me Nicky. Losing you was the hardest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Then don’t lose me,” begged Nicholas.

“You don't have to do this. Destiny can be rewritten.”

“You know that's not possible.”

“Our parents managed to do it!”

“And look what happened to them.”

“Nathaniel please,” begged Nicholas.

“Stop what you’re doing. Come home.”

“Home?” asked Nathaniel.

“Yes,” said Nicholas.

“Our home. We can build a new one together. One that has room for both of us. The home our parents always wanted for our family. The home that we wanted for ourselves too, once.”

Nathaniel contemplated his brother’s offer.

“Nicky,” he began, his voice shaking with emotion.

“I-”

But before Nathaniel could finish his sentence, a loud and terrible BOOM was heard from above.

Nathaniel, Nicholas, and Dr. Garrison rushed upstairs only to see a volley of cannonballs flying over one of the large stone walls that protected Nathaniel’s lair.

“We’re under attack!” shouted Garrison.

“By whom?” asked Nathaniel.

But their question was immediately answered when the MV Shortcut came crashing through one of their walls.

“IT HAS COME TO OUR ATTENTION THAT THE PEOPLE IN THIS FACILITY HAVE BEEN OPERATING AN ILLEGAL BUSINESS AT SEA WITHOUT PAYING TAXES AND ARE DOING SO UNDER A FAKE NAME!” announced Noland into his megaphone.

“Prepare to face justice!” declared Cannonball (the man not the actual cannonballs), who had in his hands the legal papers he intended to serve them.

“Hey Mr. Benedict. Woah! Who is that?” asked Kate, as the four children ran outside to examine the damage.

“How do they not know who Captain Noland is?” asked Jackson, crawling out of the nearby blueberry bush where he and Jillson had been waiting for their cue.

“Didn’t they meet him before?”

“No, that wouldn’t have been until season two,” Jillson explained.

“What is going on here? What happened?” asked Nathaniel.

“I’m afraid the perimeter is no longer secure sir. He’s broken the fourth wall!” yelled Jeffers, as he ran to join the others, huffing and puffing as he did so.

“Actually, we were the ones that did that,” clarified Jackson.

“No, he means literally,” explained Jillson.

Then Noland threw down his nets and dragged Nathaniel, Garrison, and Jeffers aboard the ship.

Nicholas gasped at the sight of poor Nathaniel and Dr. Garrison, trapped inside the nets.

He’d never seen anyone look so paralyzed with fear.

“Don’t worry. I’ll save us sir,” promised Jeffers, twisting and turning as he tried to escape (but only succeed in getting himself more tangled up in the net).

“For your crimes, you must walk the plank!” declared Noland as he fitted them each with a pair of water wings.

“Captain Noland,” begged Nicholas.

“Please, this is my brother! Can’t you show him mercy?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Noland gravely.

“The sea doesn’t show mercy, and as Captain, neither can I. It’s the only way to survive out on these waters.”

“It’s alright Nicky,” said Nathaniel, with a mischievous gleam in his eyes despite his apparent resignation.

“If this is the price of my sins, then it is a price I must pay. But before I do, would it be alright if I said a few final words?”

“Of course,” said Noland.

“It’s standard protocol to let a man have his last words before walking the plank.”

Nathaniel gave a wicked grin.

“No,” whispered Nicholas, realizing what his brother was about to do, but it was already too late to stop him.

A grand piano rolled itself across the deck.

“Where did that come from?” asked Constance.

A single spotlight shone down from the crow’s nest, its glowing golden light resting on the piano.

Everyone fell silent.

Nathaniel sat down and began to play and sang a tune so beautiful and melodious it felt like the world was standing still.

“It’s…the final Curtain,” he sang.

“The final show. My time is up now, I have to go.”

“He’s…actually not that bad,” noted Reynie.

“In fact, is it just me or this...”

“...the most beautiful song I’ve ever heard,” said Sticky.

The others agreed, mesmerized by the loveliness of the song.

“Consumed by my own villainy and pride, now there’s no one left to stand at my side,” sang Nathaniel.

“Time to walk the plank, back to the sea. Its dark and shadowy depths, the only home left for me.”

Everyone wiped a tear from their eyes.

“But with this song, your attention do I take,” sang Nathaniel, with a villainous smile.

“A perfect cover for my grand escape.”

“Wait what did he say?” asked Kate.

“Did he just say escape?” asked Constance.

“I’m afraid so,” said Mr. Benedict as the music swelled and Nathaniel dramatically stood up from the piano and stretched out his arms.

“You see children, I’m afraid my brother is no ordinary evil school headmaster trying to take over the world.”

Soon all the children saw what Mr. Benedict meant, as magic blue sparkles began to surround Nathaniel and Sailor-Moon-ish magic girl transformation music filled the air.

Nathaniel’s legs fused together, and soon in their place was a dark blue merman’s tail.

He drove into the water.

“A SIREN!” yelled Noland, frantically grabbing for his harpoon gun.

“That’s how he was able to dazzle us with the magic of musical theater and make his escape!” realized Sticky.

Noland aimed his weapon, but it was too late.

Nathaniel disappeared beneath the waves.

“I knew it,” Noland gasped, tears in his eyes.

“I knew they were real. They didn’t believe me. They all said I was crazy, deranged, driven to the brink of insanity by “ocean madness” and flashbacks from the war, but I knew. I knew what I saw that night. I knew what really killed those men.”

“I never doubted you for a moment sir,” Cannonball assured him, as Noland reloaded his harpoon gun.

Dr. Garrison leapt into the air, going through her own magic girl transformation, until she too turned into a siren with a glittery orange tail. Then she dove headfirst over Nathaniel's shark infested moat, and made her way to the ocean.

“Wow!” said Jillson.

“Dr. Garrison was a mermaid and a recovering alcoholic!”

“A true #girlboss,” agreed Jackson.

“She even jumped the shark literally!”

“Though we’re all doing that metaphorically,” said Jillson.

“Why didn’t you shoot her sir?” asked Cannonball, as Garrison swam over the horizon.

“It took her nearly a full minute of girl power music to transform, surely you had enough time to get a shot in.”

“And dishonor myself by shooting someone in the middle of their magic girl transformation?” asked Noland.

“I may seek to rid the seas of these terrifying and vicious beasts, but even I wouldn’t dare stoop so low. A man has got to have a code, or we become no better than the monsters we were born to destroy.”

Cannonball nodded solemnly.

Then Jeffers leapt into the air, attempting his own magic girl transformation, but he only succeeded in face planting onto the deck and knocking himself out.

“Huh,” said Reynie.

“I guess he was just a regular guy.”

“Who cares about Jeffers?” asked Sticky.

“Dr. Curtain is a siren! An evil merman that brainwashes people and lures them to their deaths!”

“It makes so much sense!” exclaimed Reynie.

“That’s why Dr. Curtain was able to use music to make the Whisperer’s messages so powerful!”

“And why he refused to serve anything other than seaweed salad in the cafeteria!” added Kate.

“And why when we snuck out to the woods to send a message in morse code that one night, we caught him wading in the water and staring out at the horizon, muttering to himself that one day he would free those imprisoned down below in the eternal darkness and call upon his armies to rise from the ocean in support of their true king. Then at last, the creatures of the sea would enslave all of humanity, ushering in a reign of cruelty and terror that would last a thousand years!” gasped Sticky.

Constance shrugged.

“I can control water with my mind too, but I don’t say weird stuff like that, so I just thought Curtain had mental problems.”

“If only it were that simple,” sighed Mr. Benedict.

“Wait…” said Reynie.

“Mr. Benedict…if your twin brother is a siren, then doesn’t that mean that you’re a siren too?”

“Impossible!” exclaimed Number Two.

“Mr. Benedict can’t swim!”

“And he refuses to get near the water,” added Rhonda.

“When did you guys get here?” asked Kate.

“We’ve been here all along,” said Number Two.

“Really?” asked Sticky.

“No, we stole a submarine and snuck in during Curtain’s song,” explained Milligan.

“But regardless of how and when we got here, there is no way that Mr. Benedict is some sort of sea monster!” exclaimed Rhonda.

“It’s true,” said Nicholas sadly.

“I’m not a siren like my brother, but I am something else. Alas, I’m afraid I now must tell you the truth about my heritage. My mother was a siren, yes, a terrible and cruel, yet beautiful, monster of the sea who lured sailors to their deaths with her music, but my father was something else entirely, though he was also gifted in song. His species had many names. Some called them angels. Some called them songbirds, sirens of the sky, but in truth, my father, he…he was a birdman.”

“A what?” asked Kate.

“A birdman,” explained Mr. Benedict. “You know how merpeople have tails instead of legs? Well, a birdman has wings instead of arms. And that’s what I am.”

Magic pink sparkles began to surround Mr. Benedict as more magic girl transformation music filled the air.

Soon his arms were replaced by a pair of white fluffy wings.

“You see…” said Mr. Benedict sadly, his giant wings drooping with sorrow as he spoke.

“There was once a great and terrible war. The noble and virtuous birdpeople of the sky who sought to protect humanity fought against the dark and villainous sirens of the ocean who sought to wipe out humanity and take the earth for themselves. My parents were some of the greatest rulers and fighters in the battle. It was once prophesied that the two of them were destined to destroy each other in order to win the war for their respective side. Their species were natural enemies in every way, and they never meant to fall in love, it should have been impossible, but sometimes love comes in the most beautiful and unexpected of ways. They thought they could rewrite their destinies and build a life together. And they did, for a while. My father built me a nest next to the bay, where my mother had a small reef for her and Nathaniel. Birdpeople and merpeople (or sirens, whatever you’d like to call them), naturally fear each other from birth, so they wanted us to get used to one another. At first, Nathaniel and I were scared of each other, but eventually, at the encouragement of our parents, we began to play together. Nathaniel would swim to the surface and bring me shells, and I’d find pebbles and sticks for him. At night our parents would sing us lullabies. My father’s voice was very loving and gentle, and my mother’s voice was beautiful, haunting and frightening in some ways, but very beautiful. And when they sang together, it was the loveliest sound you could ever hope to hear. But our happy family didn’t last long. The other sirens and birdpeople discovered us. When they did, the sirens branded my mother a traitor, and wanted to kill me and my father and kidnap Nathaniel, to raise him themselves in order to make him into the ruler my mother failed to be. A powerful tyrant without mercy or compassion who would wipe out humanity and the birdpeople in the name of the sirens. The birdpeople were a bit more understanding, but remained firm in their promise to protect humanity. There was a spell, one powerful enough to banish the sirens to the darkest depths of the ocean. A spell that would have affected all sirens, my mother and brother included. The birdpeople did succeed in casting the spell and winning the war, but they did so at a terrible price. It weakened them so badly that the rest of the birdpeople are gone now. I’m the last one alive. The rest of the species is extinct. My father died too, but not because of the spell. He vowed to have no part in it if it meant banishing his family. So he cast his own spell, to protect my mother and brother. But that spell too cost him everything. My father, he…I’m afraid he flew too close to the sun. Literally and metaphorically. You see, it was foretold that my parents would destroy each other and win the war for their side, and they did, but not in the way either of them were expecting. My father died because of his love for my mother, and my mother died too, in way, because she became a different person after loving my father. The sirens succeeded in their goal of wiping out the birdpeople, and the birdpeople succeed in their goal of saving humanity from the sirens. My parents couldn’t escape their fates, no matter how much they loved each other.”

“Aw gee wiz Mr. Benedict, that’s a total bummer! I’m so sorry,” said Reynie.

“What happened to your mother?” asked Constance.

“Well,” said Mr. Benedict.

“My mother knew that if the rest of the sirens ever escaped captivity, I would never be accepted among them because of what I was, and she didn’t want Nathaniel to grow up among a race of people who would only encourage him to use his power to destroy and conquer. She didn’t want them to turn her son into the monster that she once was. So after our father died, instead of raising us in the ocean, she did what she thought was right and left us to grow up here, among humans. I tried to make the best of it, but Nathaniel, he always wrestled with the desire to control, destroy, hunt, and kill. He could never get rid of it. I suppose it’s only natural, given what he is, but perhaps if I had done more for him, if I could have done something to change our fates, then maybe,”

Mr. Benedict broke down in tears, his wings drooping lower than ever.

“It’s not your fault Mr. Benedict,” comforted Sticky.

“I just wish you would have told us,” said Rhonda.

“So what now?” asked Reynie.

“Now?” sighed Nicholas.

“Now my brother could be anywhere in the ocean. Maybe a part of him is truly repentant of what he tried to do, or maybe he’s gone to claim his birthright, rallying the remaining legions of sirens to his cause. I suppose I’ll never know.”

“In the meantime, we ought to evacuate the island,” suggested Milligan.

“Oh, and Kate, by the way, I had some repressed memories come back and I think I might be your dad, and possibly a marine biologist/secret agent who works for the government. I’m sorry it took me so long.”

“That’s alright,” said Kate.

“As long as you’re not secretly a mythical creature too.”

Milligan smiled and the others laughed as they went off to help evacuate the island.

Then Nicholas stood alone on the beach.

He looked out over the water, and slowly approached where the waves met the sand.

His instincts had always driven him away from the water, but now his love for his family was stronger than his fear.

He cautiously dipped his toes in, and at once, several little fish swam up to him.

Nicholas whimpered, but the fish didn’t attack him.

They simply stared at him, as if they had come to greet him.

“Oh…hello,” said Nicholas softly.

“I’m not sure if you know my mother or my brother, but if you do, could you please tell them that I’ve missed them?”

“I missed you too.”

Nicholas looked up to see Nathaniel’s head, just visible above the surface of the water, as if it were beach ball floating on top of the waves.

“I’m sorry Nicky. I’m sorry for everything, but I can’t stay here. Not anymore. The world would only see me as a monster now, and I supposed they’d be right.”

“No, no, Nathaniel, you’re not a monster! You’re my brother, you…you can’t go,” protested Nicholas.

“I have to Nicky. The ocean is where I belong. I don’t want to destroy the world anymore, but this is a part of myself that I’ve misused and hated for far too long. It’s time I learned to understand it,” explained Nathaniel.

“But before I go, I need to tell you something. Many years ago, I found an abandoned egg. A birdman egg. I knew the poor child inside would die with no one to look after him, and given that I was perhaps the only man or siren on the planet who knew how to take care of such a rare and strange creature, I took him in. Raised him as my own.”

“You found another birdman?” asked Nicholas.

“But I thought that I was the only one left.”

“So did I,” said Nathaniel.

“And yet there he was. A tiny egg, alone on the beach. My son. He hatched about fourteen years ago, and I've cared for him ever since. He loves the birds, the trees, the clouds, the sunshine, and everything else I despise, and yet,”

“and yet you love him,” finished Nicholas.

“Yes,” admitted Nathaniel.

“But I never told him the truth about what he was, and I never taught him how to activate his wings.”

“Nathaniel…you didn’t,” said Nicholas, his voice shaking as he realized what this meant.

“You didn’t…you didn’t put him in a cage, did you?”

“What? No, Nicky, no, I merely used my powers to ground him. To keep him from flying,” explained Nathaniel.

“I know how it sounds, but I worried that if I let him fly, then maybe one day his instincts would compel him to fly away, up into the sky where I couldn’t follow. Where he might fly too close to the sun, both literally and metaphorically.”

“Just like our father,” said Nicholas.

“But now, he has you,” said Nathaniel.

“Someone who can fly with him, someone who can protect him, someone who can teach him the sky. Now I must go back to the sea where I belong. Perhaps one day our paths will cross again.”

“I hope so,” said Nicholas.

“And Nathaniel, if you find our mother, could you tell her that her son misses her?”

Nathaniel nodded.

“I will Nicky.”

And then he was gone.

Nicholas walked back to shore and eventually did find his nephew, who took the whole “your-dad-is-a-siren-who-left-to-find-himself-and-you’re-actually-a-birdman” thing surprisingly well.

“I actually figured out Dad was an evil merman a long time ago,” he explained.

“We used to watch this show together, “H2O: just add water”, about these Australian teen girls who could turn into mermaids. And Dad would always complain that the characters never used their powers to lure men to their deaths. He said it was inaccurate representation and was super passionate about it, but he also always kind of acted like the girls in the show. Like, when he got angry and water randomly boiled around him or he accidentally froze something, he’d play it off and pretend it was “the wind”, but it was really obvious that he had evil merman powers. He wasn’t good at hiding his abilities, and the tanks of dangerous sea animals he kept all over the house really didn’t help. His speeches about humans being parasites that polluted the ocean and deserved to be slaughtered were also a pretty big tip off.”

Nicholas nodded.

“I guess he was weird, but everyone on the island was a little strange,” added SQ.

“My dad’s friend Dr. Garrison was better at hiding her powers, but I always knew something was up with her. I also think his security guard Jeffers thought he had mermaid powers. He’d wave his hands around the automatic water fountain and try to act all mysterious, but it was pretty clear the poor guy was just delusional. Oh, and then there were those other employees, Jackson and Jillson, who were always talking about their connection to “the land beyond the story, where the readers see us all” but no one really knows what they were talking about.”

“What about you?” asked his uncle.

“How are you doing?”

“Better, now that I know the truth about myself,” said SQ.

“But what about my dad? Will I ever see him again?”

Nicholas looked out over the water.

“I’m sure we will. You shouldn't take his departure personally. Sirens don't typically raise their young for very long, my mother was the same way, but they do remember and feel connected to their family. I'm sure he'll come back. Sirens are seasonal migrators. Your father grew up near these waters, he’s bound to return next year.”

“But what about Captain Noland?” asked SQ.

“And his nets and harpoons?”

“Oh,” said Nicholas.

“I wouldn’t worry about that. Noland may be a fine shot, but I doubt he’d be able to aim accurately when listening to your father’s song.”

“That’s true,” agreed SQ, as he and his uncle soared up into the clouds.

On the shore, Jackson and Jillson watched them fly off into the sunset.

“Do you think the author knows how to end this fic?” asked Jackson.

“No,” said Jillson.

“But I think we do.”

“Absolutely!” exclaimed Jackson.

“Hit it!”

#the mysterious benedict society #tmbs #who dun it mbs challenge #nicholas benedict #nathaniel benedict #fantasty elements? in our fandom?#its more likely than you think

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asmrbrainrot · 18 days

Text

The Gator Boys & The Moon Witch Ch4~

Slivers of the misty moonlight slipped in through the cabin window, scattering glowing fractals of light across the kitchen. Tonight had been…wild, to say the least. It was touch and go for awhile, but Timmy did surprisingly well under the pressure, and the two even managed to get Bodie (The man’s name, as she had figured out) back to his own bed where he was now sound asleep.

The younger gator on the other hand, did no such thing. Since Bodie had been stable, Timothy busied himself with any task he could find, no matter how trivial. Only now, had he found himself with literally nothing more to do than sit and wait. Esther placed her broom basket, (containing one sleeping Bella) in the corner of the room, glancing over at Timmy. The boy sat on a worn down old sofa, dark bags circling his sleep deprived eyes. The boy looked… well just terrible to be quite honest. But aside from the physical exhaustion it seemed that being left alone with nothing but his thoughts was eating at him.

Esther took the liberty of sitting down next to the fatigued youngster. “You were really brave, y'know.” She commented, “even if your plan wasn’t exactly-” she trailed off as stifled hiccups escaped the young man. He had been bottling up for what felt like forever, and now he had nothing to distract him. He drew his hands up to his face in a vain attempt to dam the river of emotion. A gentle touch guided them away. Timothy gazed up at the woman, watery, amber pools of remorse met deep, mahogany eyes. “Is my- is he?” He faltered, “is he gonna be okay?” The woman paused, studying the boy’s downcast expression. “He ain’t out of the woods yet, but the worst has passed.” She reassured, “We caught it in the nick of time too.” The halfblood seemed to calm somewhat at the women’s words. “He’s lucky to have you ya’know.” She commented, giving the boy a nudge with her shoulder. Despite her efforts this only seemed to worsen Timmy’s mood. His leathery tale wrapped around his legs, (which where now in the fetal position.) “No, um he-he’s really not.” He hiccuped, finally succumbing to the flood of emotion that he had been holding back for some time now.

Quiet, shivering sobs escaped the halfblood, as he cupped his face, ashamed. Esther placed a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder as he wept. Careful not to overwhelm him, she let the gator cry it out. Cry away all that poison that had been hurting him, all the guilt weighing him down. After what felt like hours Timothy was finally able to catch his breath. “I’m so sorry sweet pea,” she cooed, “I can only imagine you’ve got about a dozen bees in your bonnet right now…but you’ve got to understand this isn’t your fault-” “But it is!” The boy shot back, swatting the woman’s hand away, “He’s got shot because of me! Because I was being stupid! If I had just been more careful then maybe…” Timothy withdrew a little, Bodie would have tanned his hyde for snapping so rudely at anyone, let alone someone who had been so kind. “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to- you've been so kind! And I just…” he faltered, observing Esther’s expression, “You didn’t deserve that, I’m sorry.”

The woman watched Timmy’s expression fall once more. “I was out fishin on the far side a’the swamp… didn’t tell Bodie where I was going, an when he came lookin for me, we were ambushed…'' he explained tearfully. Esther listened, she understood the feeling. “Exactly, ambushed.” She reaffirmed, “Listen we’re both plum wore out. Why don’t you get some sleep and we can sort this out in the morning?” “But what about-” “Dont worry I’ll watch over him.” Esther interjected. The boy nodded, still unconvinced but to tired to protest. Curling up on the couch the young man quickly nodded off. Esther withdrew a soft cotton blanket from her bag, placing it over the sleeping halfblood. “One more thing…” she mumbled. Squatting down to the broom basket, the witch gingerly scooped up the sleeping Bella, before placing her at Timmy’s side. The sleepy pup looked up at her mom, glassy black eyes protesting the move. “I’m sorry baby.” She whispered, “but he needs you right now.” The little fluff ball gave a begrudging huff before settling down at the boys side. Although neither Esther nor Timmy took notice of it, a small smile crossed the boy's face as he snuggled just a bit closer to Bella.

#gator boys #🐊🌙✨#Timmy #obsidian lantern #angst #Timmy angst #asmr roleplay #hurt/comfort #the gator boys and the moon witch #gator boys belongs to obsidian lantern #mage bunkshelf #siren son asmr #capitalmaudios #fanfiction #my fanfiction

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trashlie · 8 months

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[‼️FP 237 spoilers] with nol's walls all the way up shin's "if you won't let me have you" is our only hope now <///3 tbh i had a strong feeling that nol would be extremely stubborn (after all, it's not just dieter and alyssa/"being like his father" that are preventing him from letting her in; the biggest reason remains yui) so i was actually hoping that shinae would be the initiator, that she'd back him into a corner and really push for it. but i swear to GOD if she shows up with a confession and he hits her with the "your feelings are your responsibility not mine" I WILL FIND A WAY TO TELEPORT INTO THE COMIC AND KILL HIM. LIL BUDDY JOIN ME. NOLAN PREPARE FOR DEATH 😾💥😾💥😾💥 i'm just HOPING that he's all talk and once shin shows up all his resolve crumbles ;; but it's starting to look like he's gonna need the time in jail to clear his head, sit with his feelings, read nessa's letters, and then yujing's article will probably make him see that there is hope, that things can be turned around, and maybe then he'll be willing to make alliances. but god i would HATE for them to part on bad terms i would HATE to see shin getting hurt again <///3 this girl has put up with SO MUCH she has given SO MUCH of herself to him and nothing is coming back she has been going through all stages of heartbreak how much more is she gonna have to endure i just UARGGHHHGHHHH.

-frustrated lil anon 😾

the thing is there is a big flaw in nol's thinking that someone needs to point out to him please. it's understandable that the stronger his feelings are, the closer they get, the more scared he is of what could happen - what yui could do -, and that he wants to prevent a tragedy at all cost. but boyo. guess what. YUI HAS ALREADY TAKEN INTEREST IN SHINAE REGARDLESS SO IT'S TOO LATE. whether you cut shin off or not, she is still in yui's trap!! she's actually *worse* off without you, so might as well join forces!!! GRRRRRR i'm seriously so frustrated. -lil anon 😾

GOD!!!!!!! /GOD/ Listen Lil Anon I am RIGHT THERE WITH YOU. All the way with the frustration, too, and it's so difficult because YES. I get him. I UNDERSTAND!!!! But HE DOESN'T HAVE THE WHOLE STORY.

I firmly feel like, yes, it is up to Shinae and her pure determination to tackle this, and I'm hoping he is all talk, or rather, I'm banking on the way he crumbles in her presence and how he can't stick to his guns because of her. I need them to sit and have a GOOD, HONEST conversation and I'm really afraid of how possible that is with the pace we're going at ;A; Like afkjalfkjaklfjkaf lemme lmao try to organize my thoughts.

Basically Nol lives with this fear that HE is a terrible mistake, a terrible monster, that he caused his mom's death and is responsible for all the bad things that exist as a result of his existence and caring for anything. Like, I am 300% sure that this mindset was drilled into him when he was institutionalized, that they basically took this child and brainwashed him into believing that his entire existence is a mistake because things would be so much better if he didn't exist.

He lost his mom. His father doesn't seem to love him. He's all alone. He probably said some awful things to his mom, before losing her, so it was easy to convince him that she died because of him, that he's like this poisonous gas that destroys everything it touches. But here's the thing. This is all he knows! He knows Yui is terrible - to him! He knows Rand is cruel - to him! He feels like he's a burden, a mistake. When Nana tells him how worried Rand was, Nol can't believe it, figures it must be because it's yet another mess for him to clean up, or because of his precious heir.

Nol may know that Yui played Alyssa like a puppet, but he very much thinks Alyssa's current situation is the course of her own choices, that she must've wanted to be famous, to impress Yui so much. He doesn't realize that she very much is trapped in this career.

He doesn't know that Yui has manipulated Kousuke for the entirety of his life, that she's drugged even her own son! He thinks everything she does is for his benefit, because she loves him, because she hates Nol the terrible bastard child born to her husband's mistress.

When he sees Shinae at the formal, clearly against her will, Nol believes it's because of him. I think that was the moment he remembered what happens when he cares about people, why his relationships were supposed to be fake, why it was supposed to be about him helping others and not himself. The moment he started to care about people and seek relationships for himself, he put them in danger.

Compare this to how he talks about Alyssa, how he never mentions her as one of the people he cares about, how he even brushes off the idea of her visiting him in prison. He doesn't feel responsible for her in the same way he does for Shinae being there.

It's not even that it's about Yui, exactly, but that it's about HIM, and that he cared about her, that because that friendship meant something, because she means something, he put her in danger.

Except, we know better. We've seen this story from an objective standpoint that Nol doesn't possess. Consider this: Nol only knows that Shinae was at the formal against her will, that Yui gave her a job at the company behind Kousuke's back. He doesn't know about Kousuke's birthday.

I need Shinae and Nol to talk because Nol's fears are VALID and I think we can see that Dieter can tell Nol's fears are not unfounded, even though he doesn't know what it is he fears. He just knows that he must, that bad things happen. But, right! Bad things have already happened! And they're going to keep happening! Nol is terrified because he only knows this small part of everything, and that this small point indicates it's because of him. But what happened at Kousuke's apartment wasn't about Nol. Even if Nol feigned losing interest in Shinae it wouldn't matter, because Yui is already invested. At this point it is no longer about Kousuke OR Nol. It's her OWN interest.

Shinae needs to be up front with him - tell him that first off, it's her decision to make, not his, he can't keep choosing to push people away without including them. But more importantly, she needs to tell him about the birthday incident. Tell him what Rand told her, that she'll never be able to escape from Yui's clutches, that she's already invested. Tell him about the offer, that Rand is urging her take it and use it for her benefit.

Nol cannot see beyond his fear because it's all he knows, he has nothing to contradict it or prove otherwise. But I need him to listen to Shinae, because while she probably can't fully change his mind - it's so deeply ingrained in him at this point - I think she can at least show him that her danger doesn't change regardless of whether she's near him or not. That even if he left her now and never looked back, it wouldn't change the hold Yui has on her. The problem is, can logic even combat his inherent believe, this psychologically deep fear he has?

But still, I want her to. I want him to read those letters in the Bible before he goes to jail because frankly I CANNOT TAKE the idea of them parting without resolution, parting with her still feeling like she's being thrown away, him needing to sit in prison pathetically yearning for her to realize how badly he cannot fight this. I need him to crumble in front of her, to realize that he cannot actually deny himself, that he cannot turn away from her ;A; I need him to be HONEST with her! She's already heard him in the alley talking to Lil Buddy, she knows why he pulls away. I want him to straight up tell her how scared he his, so that she can counter him.

Wouldn't it be worse, to leave her in the dark? To leave her behind and pretend that everything will be okay? AUUUUUGGGGHHHHHH

IT'S JUST SO FRUSTRATING BECAUSE I UNDERSTAND HIM BUT HE'S WRONG AND I DON'T KNOW HOW WILLING HE WILL BE TO LISTEN! I DON'T KNOW HOW WILLING HE'LL BE TO ACCEPT THAT SHE'S BETTER OFF WITH HIM THAN WITHOUT.

Like.... at this point I'm really banking on Shinae's pure determination and maybe like... having to actually convince him because I know if she so much as initiates a kiss, he is going to CRUMBLE his brain is going to shut off he is SO touch starved and full of want and SO in love with her that the moment she initiates anything his resolve will melt away and it's OVER IT'S OVER.

But also I need him to read the letters from Nessa and see how badly Nessa wanted to protect Rand, and how he didn't let her. And how it ended up. Because Rand did what Nol is trying to do and it still didn't protect Nessa. Shinae doesn't deserve any of it - not what Yui would put her through but also not what Nol is putting her through. The Yui aspect can't be stopped, but he CAN stop the other so ALKJFALKFLAJFKAFJK ALKFJKLAFKFAJF FRAFLJ GRRRRRRRRR LAKJFKJFJKRJKRJ LIKE /SCREAMS/

I hope he reads the letters and realizes that it isn't something that will just pass. It wasn't for Rand. Even after he lost her, years later he still carried that Bible filled with her letters with her love with her desire to protect him, with the photo of their son. Rand never moved on. Even though he pushed her away and tried to be the responsible man, he never moved on.

Be for fucking real, Nol. You think you can do that? You know you can't do that. Rand never moved on, Nessa never moved on. Does he think Shinae could?

I want her to go in guns blazing. I want her to go in mad, I want them to argue because at least when they argue they're a little bit more honest, they say the things they might not if they were calmer and thought about their responses. I want her jealousy and insecurity to come out when Nol tries to shield himself with "I have a girlfriend" and I want her to remind him he said it was fake and he resents her. I wan her to look him in the eye and ask if he can really throw it all away, if he wouldn't have any regrets if he gave up and left her. I want him to fail to answer and instead tell her that maybe he can, who knows, maybe none of this is really real. And I want her to kiss him and prove to him how very real it is, how very much they both want it, and how very much they need each other.

They can have a heart to heart afterwards ;A; She can tell him about the Kousuke birthday party nightmare fiasco, remind him how Yui manipulated her and took advantage of her desperation, tell her what Rand said, that Yui will never let her go, tell him about Yui's offer. I want her to hold his stupid face and tell him that the only thing denying his feelings and pushing her away can do is hurt her more because regardless, she's trapped. She can't get out of her contract, she still has to face them! I want him to see that even if he can't get around his own paralyzing fear that that doesn't have to be the only option. He can leave. He can disappear. He can go away - as long as he doesn't sever that tie, as long as she still has contact. ;~;

Cos look.... I don't think we, or Shinae, could handle Nol leaving without resolving things. Even if it was a "he leaves and in prison he realizes he was a fool he can't do this he can't leave her like that", can she really handle him doing this? He had his opportunity to leave - twice. He could have left for jail and never stepped foot in her presence ever again, but he still went to her. And after they talked she told him he could leave, that she wanted closure. But he stayed.

He stayed and they talked and they shared moments and she told him all about her most painful straw, about why being thrown away by him hurts so much. He stayed and he almost died and she almost lost him and while the city was asleep they found comfort in their least favorite place together. While everyone slept they flirted and finger danced and danced and he hurt her again and how can he leave after that how can he push her away. He told her that what they did wasn't "just friends" that it was something more and all but told her to come back when she'd figured it out and she has and if he tries to push her away when she finally comes back I will KICK HIS ASS. Because if he does that how can she ever accept him back after? ;A; How can he shatter her heart over and over again and ever come back into her life? ;_________________;

So PLEASE I hope she can convince him, if only by refusing to let go, by convincing him of why he's making a mistake.

;A;

SCREAMS

#I Love Yoo #ILY Brainrot #ILY FP #ILY Spoiler #Lil Anon #ILY Anon #Nolan Oliver T. Lochlainn #Stalkyoo #Aegi #Shinae Yoo #HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH SCREAMS #I'm gonna try and do my 236 thought dump but listen #i was full of soooo much dread and i still kind of am but not as bad anymore and i don't feel AS despairing #still kinda tho cos Nol is SO unpredictable but i just!!!!!#i feel like the Nol/Shinae talk has been hyped up too much to not happen but i'm also afraid of his resolve #i need Shinae to be assertive #i need her to take what she wants instead of letting him lead #i need her to fight back because THIS ISN'T HIS DECISION ALONE #she knows the risks (not really but kinda) and if she chooses him if she chooses to be a team THEN SHUT UP AND LET HER #;A;#I JUST ALFJAFKJJAFJKAFKJAFJKJAF #HOWLS #STOP HURTING HER SHE DOESN'T DESERVE IT #AND STOP HURTING YOURSELF #they NEED to have a heart to heart #he may not be able to talk about what makes him a monster in his eyes but she can at least dispel the 'logic' that it's related to him #that it's that witch and that whatever choices they make it won't change the outcome #that they need to be TOGETHER to get through because they're so much more vulnerable alone #i keep thinking about how Yui could use them against each other and alfjakfkjafjaf hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh HATE IT

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lady-myrcella · 2 months

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Hello everyone! I’ve been a lurker of the Dragon Age fandom for years now and I've decided that perhaps I should try and give back. Here is a quick fic I wrote about my Surana and Alistair after the Connor quest.

~~~~~

After a day of rest at Redcliffe Castle at the behest of Bann Teagan, Neria and her party set off for Denerim.

The rest was a welcome lull after the events of the prior days: the siege of Redcliffe by walking corpses, Lady Isolde sacrificing her life for that of her sons, her childhood friend Jowan collaborating with Teyrn Loghain and poisoning Arl Eamon, and, of course, the revelation that Alistair was the bastard son of King Maric.

It was all taking a toll on her and she needed time to be alone with her thoughts.

While her team recuperated at the castle in their own unique ways, Neria couldn't help but sense a restless energy emanating from Alistair. Despite allowing herself a moment of solitude for the first time since the Battle of Ostagar, she felt his restlessness tugging at her consciousness during their fleeting interactions, and it vexed her. One day of rest would hardly endanger their mission to save Arl Eamon. His condition remained stable, and their party required a well-deserved break.

The feelings did not cease even now as they traveled. She felt Alistair’s eyes on the back of her head as they walked. She felt his intensity up until they set up camp for the night.

----

After the evening meal was finished, and the camp duties divided up and completed, the party conversed around the campfire for a brief moment before splitting off for the evening.

Morrigan secluded herself by her fire, busying herself with the brewing of health potions to replenish their dwindling supplies. Sten, his countenance solemn and brooding as ever, honed his sword. Alistair sat a short distance away by his tent, deliberately faced away from the warmth of the fire, allowing the flickering light to illuminate the pages of a tome that absorbed his attention. Leliana remained close to Neria, her fingers softly plucking at the strings of her lute. Neria noticed that Leliana had reconsidered Morrigan's earlier suggestion of composing a ballad to immortalize the events that had transpired in Redcliffe.

As Neria sat by the campfire, a chill wind swept through the camp, causing her cloak to flutter and tug at her frame. Kane, her Mabari, nestled his head by her feet offering some comfort. She obliged him with a gentle scratch behind his ears.

Her thoughts swirled with the memories of Redcliffe. She felt deep sadness over what she allowed to be done to Lady Isolde but there was little choice. The blood magic ritual was a terrible but available alternative to killing an innocent child.

Interestingly, what was distracting her the most was Alistair's revelation of his true heritage. Alistair and her had become comfortably close since Ostagar, maybe too close. She relied on his company and playful banter to get her through the difficulties of their travels. He was quickly becoming Neria’s confidant and dearest friend, perhaps the only true friend she has ever known. The bond they built battling alongside each other strengthened with each passing day. Yet, she couldn't help but feel a sinking feeling in her gut that Alistair's blood would tear them apart.

And now he was displeased with her, though she could not figure out why. Since setting up camp Alistair’s mood turned introspective. He barely looked at her while they ate supper and immediately retired to sit by himself as soon as he had the chance.

Neria understood now that her initial suspicion was not correct. It was not their delayed departure in search of the Urn of Sacred Ashes that had upset him. Perhaps, she thought, it was her own reaction upon learning of his secret parentage that had caused this shift in mood. She didn't react kindly to this important piece of information being concealed to her, especially since Loghain most likely knew of it himself, but she didn't blame him after he explained his reasoning and accepted his apology.

His current dismissal of her made her feel invisible for the first time since her early days in the Circle.

Leliana began to hum a soft tune that took her out of her thoughts. Neria realized she needed to be alone and clear her mind. She stood and eyed a dirty log at the edge of camp to sit on. Kane whined, reading her mind. What an intelligent dog.

“It's alright Kane, you can stay warm here.”

A grumble of pity followed and Kane thumped his large head back onto the ground near the fire.

Neria wandered off. It certainly was cold sitting so far away from the campfire.

She thought, not for the first time, to make her own fire away from the others like Morrigan. And again she thought against it.

'A leader is someone who has the capacity and the will to rally people to a common purpose, and the ability to inspire confidence,' was something First Enchanter Irving once told her, 'a person who gains the trust and loyalty of their followers by working alongside them.'

Making such a public display of sitting off in a corner like Morrigan, away from her companions would not inspire confidence or loyalty. She needed to be present to hold her little group together. She wished the Circle trained her better for something like this. The Circle had taught her little about the intricacies of interpersonal skills, save for First Enchanter Irving's wise quips and by observing the covert social games he played to ensure that Kinloch Hold ran smoothly.

Irving was another sore spot in her chest. She couldn't deny it any longer—Irving had orchestrated her recruitment into the Grey Wardens, knowing full well that she would assist Jowan in his escape. The Templars didn't want any more mages outside of the Circle, and this was a way to pressure them into allowing one more to help stop the Blight.

Neria put her cloak’s hood up and closed her eyelids, focusing on an invisible spot between her eyes and began a meditation practice that had been instilled into her by one of her teachers in the Circle. It was taught for moments precisely like these—as a respite from the torment of incessant thinking, which only brought forth pain and uncertainty. She could not afford to slip into a state of mind detrimental to her stopping the Blight.

Just as she began to lose herself in the depths of her inner stillness, a voice startled her out of her concentration.

“I want to talk about what happened. At Redcliffe.”

Neria looked up, straining her eyes in the dimly lit night to discern Alistair's features in the darkness.

“What's on your mind, Alistair?”

"You allowed Lady Isolde to sacrifice herself? Through blood magic?!" Alistair snapped. His voice trembled, disbelief seeping through every syllable. "How in the Maker's name could you possibly make such a decision?!"

Neria sat in stunned silence at Alistair's outburst. She had never seen him so furious, had never seen such anger in his eyes. A storm of emotions swelled in her chest and washed over her in waves—shock, fear, sorrow, and finally anger. Did he truly believe her to be heartless? Had he really spent the past two days nursing this conviction, believing that she just callously chose to sacrifice Isolde? Could he not comprehend the immense pressure she had been under, considering all they had been through?

Unable to remain silent, her pride surged forth. "And what alternatives did we have?" she retorted, her voice laced with annoyance. "Should we have condemned an innocent child to death instead? Is that what you propose?"

"We could have sought aid from the Circle of Magi! We should have exhausted every other option before resorting to blood magic —that much is clear!"

"We’re Grey Wardens, Alistair! It’s our duty to use any means necessary to stop the Blight, even if it involves blood magic. Leaving Redcliffe and going to the Circle would have jeopardized the lives of every citizen of Redcliffe. You know that!”

In the tense silence that followed, Alistair's expression wavered. His voice lowered as he continued. "This is the Arl's wife we're discussing," he noted, the words hanging in the cold night air. "What do you think he'll say when we revive him? I simply can't comprehend how you could make that decision... I... I owe the Arl more than this."

Neria’s chest tightened as Alistair's words echoed through her head. She glanced at the campfire in the distance, its embers casting fleeting flickers of light into the dark sky. She internally berated herself. With Alistair’s last remark, she understood now— the reason behind Alistair’s strange behavior since Redcliffe, his outburst. She recalled fragments of tales Alistair had shared about his childhood, his relationship with Arl Eamon.

Alistair was abandoned by Eamon at a Chantry for Templar education at the age of ten. He lashed out at Eamon back then, refusing to speak with him during the Arl's infrequent visits. Eventually, Eamon had stopped coming altogether.

It was clear that Alistair still harbored guilt and shame over his outburst towards Eamon when he was a child. Alistair, the lonely boy told all his life he was an inconvenience, still criticized himself over his natural and justified response to being sent away.

Their return to Redcliffe had not merely resurfaced his old wounds; with Isolde's death, it had made them bleed anew.

The fight went out of Neria as quickly as it came. She could forget her pride if only towards a man so amiable as Alistair. Drawing in a deep breath, she readied herself to respond. Her mind raced to figure out what to say.

"Alistair, I... I had no choice in becoming a Grey Warden," Neria began delicately, "To be fair, it was either joining the Wardens or facing the consequences the Templars had in store for me after aiding in Jowan's escape. I will forever be grateful that Duncan was there and willing to conscript me, saving me from my mistakes. I may never understand what he saw in me, but... I will forever be grateful."

I sound so foolish, Neria thought. She sensed Alistair's confusion, his uncertainty at her sudden change in tone and direction. She averted her gaze, noticing her fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of her cloak. She interlaced her hands in her lap and continued, her eyes fixed upon the ground.

“What I mean to say is that I did not choose to be a Grey Warden, but I will do my best. I did not want to make the decision on whether to sacrifice Isolde, but at that moment, I saw no other viable option."

Memories of Redcliffe clawed their way back into Neria's consciousness: the looming stone walls of the castle’s audience chamber, blood coursing from flesh to stone, absorbed by an ornately woven carpet. She could feel her emotions tightening her throat as she continued.

"Lady Isolde's sacrifice weighs heavily upon my heart, and I understand your anger regarding my decision, I do. Yet, in that moment, you have to understand, I had to weigh the lives of an entire village against the life of a single woman."

As she paused, Neria felt tears welling at the corners of her eyes. Embarrassed, she brushed them away, hoping they went unnoticed. She knew Alistair was looking at her now, truly looking at her. He was smart enough to see through her words, to understand that she was not only trying to convince him but also herself.

"It's difficult to accept, I know, but as Grey Wardens, we will forever be confronted with impossible decisions—decisions which I now am coming to understand define our order. That is the burden we must bear it seems."

By the time she looked up again, Alistair's anger had faded away, giving way to a weariness mirroring her own. He sighed, shoulders slumping in defeat.

"I understand, Neria. It's just... witnessing Isolde willingly offer herself in that ritual, and knowing our part in it…"

Alistair looked at her, his eyes searching.

"Maybe you’re right. Maybe it's just that, I find myself looking for a clear path, a definitive right and wrong. But the world isn't that simple, is it?” he admitted. "Still… I don't want to lose myself amidst all of this. I refuse to become like Loghain or, well, anyone who willingly resorts to blood magic."

A brief pause lingered as Alistair studied Neria. His tone softened, and a faint trace of a self-deprecating smile played on his lips.

"Perhaps I shouldn't be so quick to question your decisions," he conceded. "It's easy to judge when you're not the one making the choices... and I've let you bear that burden alone, haven't I? I apologize for pestering you about it. You did what you had to do. Let's put this conversation to rest before I make a bigger fool of myself and put my foot in my mouth even more."

With those words, Alistair bowed and murmured a quick goodnight before walking toward the crackling flames of the campfire, leaving Neria to the company of her thoughts. The wind, a gentle whisper, swirled around her, and teased the edges of her cloak.

-----

As dusk fell on the following day and the customary chaos of establishing camp subsided, in the quiet between travel and sleep, Alistair extended to Neria a single rose.

“Do you know what this is?”

#alistair theirin #alistair dragon age #dragon age surana #warden surana #dao #dragon age origins #dragon age fanfiction #alistair x warden #alistair x surana #alistair x female warden #dragon age alistair

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apneicodette · 1 year

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Corvus corax II

ᴛᴀʙʟᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛꜱ

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪ -> ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪɪɪ

A scaramouche x [gender netural] reader story

♫ J’ai pas fait semblant, je te jure. J’ai jamais dit non, j’ai juste. Laissé le temps courir, partir, venir, mourir, courir, partir, venir, et mourir ♫

"I received news from your soldiers that you acquired my assistance?" An angelic voice came from an elegant woman with long rosy pink hair, she resembled that of a mermaid.

"Divine Priestess. You sure took your sweet time getting here," Scaramouche said bitterly.

"Well, this unexpected snowstorm did prove to be a difficult travel for your soldiers, not to mention that one couldn't breathe through their mouth."

"Oh, so he made it? Impressive. I'll be straightforward with you, Kokomi, I'm not here for idle chit chat."

Kokomi grinded her teeth at Scaramouche, who had very little to no care for his people. "Of course, I don't want to waste your time here any longer, my Lord."

"I'll pretend you aren't mocking me just this once for their sake," Scaramouche unwrapped a blanket to reveal the raven he had been carrying in his arms. Kokomi gasped at the sight.

"A raven? But I thought all of them were terribly massacred."

"I had thought so too. However, it seems as though one managed to survive. But not without being harmed. I managed to stop the poison from getting anywhere near their heart, but only someone with your expertise can fully rid them of this poison."

"Yes, of course, I'll gladly do so. Seems to be yet another effect of black magic. " Kokomi carefully picked the raven off Scaramouche's hold and placed them on a flat surface, "You poor thing, do not fret. The pain will only be temporary."

Scaramouche gave Kokomi space, distancing himself. He had saved the raven purely out of impulse.

The truth was,

He saw a little bit of himself when he witnessed the Raven's begging.

The times he had begged his mother to not toss him aside.

"Please don't leave me! I swear I'll be better, I'll become better!"

But when he begged, no one saved him.

So he saved you, his raven.

It didn't take too long for you to wake up. The immediate soreness rushed through your body. You held your head as you felt a headache coming in.

Though your eyes were blurry, you could make your surroundings you were in an infirmary of some sorts. But most importantly, you weren't home.

Your memories started to flood back in. They were dead, you could feel it. You were alone.

"So you're finally awake."

Your eyes shifted to the doorway where the man who saved you stood.

"Who are you?" On guard, you still had no clue of this man's intention regardless of his helping hand.

"I was expecting a 'Thank you', but I did hear you Raven's were quite the bold ones when it comes to strangers not of their Lord's."

"You didn't answer my question." You carefully demanded.

"Well, to put it simply, I'm your Lord." He crossed his arms.

Your Lord? But that would mean. Now that you looked at him, he awfully resembled the Raiden Shogun. Oh.

"You're her son."

He shoulders tensed at your realization. He sighed, rolling his eyes from you to the bandages on your stomach.

"That I am. Seems your injury has been healing quite well. " he placed a hand at his chest, playing with the fabric. You eyed his strange actions.

"If you have taken place, does that mean the Shogun has stepped down?"

"She died."

Your heart sank. "She - she died? Is that why she didn't come to save us?" You talked more to yourself than to the man in the room.

"The events happened just a mere day before your family's incident. It's such a shame. You all were supposed to be my army."

Your headache was starting to hurt. What now? What now? What now? What now? What now?

"Calm yourself, you swore to me, remember? I don't need a brainless fool by my side."

You were still in shock that all of this had occurred, this- it was too much.

"Ugh, clearly you are still recovering. I will have someone to check on you for the time being. I'll give you some time to think, but when I return, I expect a true Raven to be here"

-☆-

The morning air felt unusually cold, as you waited at a food vendor in Inazuma City for Kujou Sara. Last night thoughts lingered in your mind.

"Hey, you alright?" Kujou Sara woke you up from your thoughts.

Huh? You were confused as to how you exactly made this bench you and Sara sat on in front of a small pond with Koi fish swimming about. Was I that deep in my thoughts?

"Yes, sorry I was just zoning out."

"So, what did he talk to you about? Did he confess his undying love for you?" Sara practically gagged at the idea.

"Nothing really just something about scouting the area near Kannazuka island."

Sara nodded taking a bit out of her egg roll. "Didn't you say you have something to tell me?" You asked.

"Ah yes that. I just wanted to ask a personal question, if you don't mind that is."

"That depends on the question, Sara."

"Do you like Scaramouche?" You almost choked on your food.

"No." You managed to cough out.

"Well you sure answered that quickly, a little too eager to shut it down if i do say so myself."

You gave her a deadpanned look to which she lightly laughed at.

"That couldn't have possibly been your question, stop messing with me, your jokes are not funny."

"Oh but you laughed when I fell down the stairs." Sara sarcastically said.

You covered your chuckle at the thought.

"Wow!!" Sara exaggerated.

"Now see, that was funny." You both smiled at the memory.

You both relaxed in the silence eating your food. You've grown close to Sara during your few months living and working in Tenshukaku, often checking on each other regardless of different positions.

Though you denied it you did trust her and valued her opinions even though they annoyed you or you disagreed with them. However, at this very moment.

She was lying.

So this is how it is. So this is how it is.

You both were lying.

Sara broke the silence in disappointment, "Do you even know who you are?"

"Do not patronize me." You immediately retorted.

"Can't you believe it's been almost 4 months, and you still haven't told me your actual name?"

"What are you getting at, Sara."

"You've thrown your life away and gave it to someone who is just keeping it stored away."

"Such poetic words, it almost touched my heart truly."

"I get it, you've lost so many-" that was it.

"Don't kid yourself, Sara, you don't get it. You never will, but I've never antagonized you for it. So what? Let me throw my life away. You are not responsible for my actions. Don't waste your time on me when I make my decision. I chose this."

"You do love him… don't you?" Sara's eyes stayed on yours. And all you saw was pity and regret.

"This conversation is over."

The koi fish scattered away as you stood up, taking your leave back into the city. Sara did not call out for your name, not that you expected her to.

You were in a rush back to Tenshukaku purely out of frustration, you didn't usually get upset that easily at least not with Sara.

You were on edge.

What did she really want to say? It felt like she was testing my current mindset. And clearly, I have failed. The trust is no longer there. She won't confide in me anymore. Could she be-

You were abruptly pushed back when your shoulder collided with another.

"Oh, so sorry, dear." A lady grabbed your arm apologetically. You turned to look at the said the Lady. No way.

Lady Guji of Narukami Grand Narukami Shrine.

Also known as Yae Miko.

"It's not a problem. What a rare occurrence to see you far into the city Lady Guji. What brings you here?"

"Ah, just a change of scenery. Working two jobs as Chief editor and Head shrine Maiden, a woman like me surely needs a break, don't you think?"

"Yes indeed" Lady Guji's way of speech was always hard for you to read, it's as though she is an open book with no words written on it.

"You look so gloomy dear, it's been quite a while hasn't it. That last time we've truly interacted was when I visited your family." She clasped her hand on yours as a means to say her condolences.

"I must be on my Lady Guji" you broke off from her hold, bowing and continuing your walk.

She called your name.

"Whenever you seek answers you know where to find me."

You gazed behind your shoulder as you watched Lady Guji walk off.

She is heading in the direction of Kujou Sara.

-☆-

In a discreet room in Komore Teahouse, four guests hold a heavy discussion.

"Raven's are very loyal Sara, they were soldiers and messengers for the Shogun herself. And now only one remains. They aren't just loyal because Scaramouche saved them but because it's their job" Shikanoin Heizou explains.

Sara groaned in frustration as Yae Miko hummed.

"Oh detective, it's much more than that, surely you have realized that?"

"Miko enough of your literature input." Sara barked.

"Sara you can't deny they clearly have something between them that the public eye can't see, maybe even they themselves can't see-" Yae Miko took a sip out of her tea.

"-Regardless, your relationship has cracked after your inputting"

"Which is why I told you not to engage so brashly," Heizou added.

"Yes, I get it, I fucked up. However, I do not regret it one bit. They are obviously very detached from themselves. I simply want to help."

"Relax, Sara, one might think you're the one in love-" Miko teased, though it only upset the ex-general.

"Enough of these games Miko. I had enough about them. The whole purpose isn't about Raven, it's about Scaramouche and bringing him down."

"Alright alright, slow your horses Sara. Raven may not be the whole purpose but they surely do play a part" Heizou defused the rise in emotions.

"With what exactly?" Sara calmed herself.

"Well, Divine Priestess? You've been unusually quiet when you're the one who hosted this meeting?" Miko gestured to the unspoken guest.

"Apologies everyone, I'm just soaking in the many possible outcomes of this rebellion" Kokomi placed the tea she was holding for a while down.

"Of course, because this could always backfire on us at any time. Which might very well cost us our lives" Heizou reminded. Everyone nodded in acknowledgement.

Kokomi cleared her throat.

"There is one factor we might be able to exploit from our Raven's existence-

their heart."

-☆-

You trashed everything in your room. Glass shattered on the floor. Curtains dragged to the floor.

You were sweating, as your chest was burning up. Your brain screamed at you as you gripped the edge of your vanity table. You couldn't even bring yourself to look at your reflection out of fear on your appearance.

It felt like darkness was cloaking you, suffocating you. Constant whispers of wanting to kill and commit multiple bloodsheds flew into your ears as you told it to "shut up" which to no surprise did not work.

Frequently, Kujou Sara's name was brought up. You always talked big on doing what you must. But the morbid description of putting an end to her clawed at you. She was your friend, after all.

I always seem to contradict myself. You laughed at yourself.

You wanted to rip your skin, you couldn't take it.

You heard your name being called from behind you.

"You're aware when I said this room is for you to do as you please, I didn't mean to turn it into a dumpster." You lifted your eyes to see Scaramouche through the mirror, blurring out your image. You hadn't realized he welcomed himself inside.

"Lord-"

"Don't you ever get tired of calling me that? It's just me and you. You know my name use it."

"I didn't mean to Kuni" he softly sighed as he walked up closer to you resting his hand on the top of your chair.

"I don't know about that, you seemed to make sure to destroy every fragile item here. Mind telling what's the issue?"

"It's nothing."

"Don't lie to me"

"…"

"It's quite embarrassing for me to have to fetch my own soldier when they should've arrived at the said time." He complained but he didn't really seem to care that much about the matter.

"It won't happen again"

"I would hope not. Now-" he grabbed your hair pulling it off your face.

"-Who is the problem?"

"All of them," you answered.

He hummed. "I should have expected as much. Well, there is nothing we can do at the movement. What do you say we just act it out till the moment to strike arises."

"Yes sir"

Sir? You never really called him as such. And it was off-putting for Scaramouche. He chose to ignore it.

"... I never liked that Kujou girl anyways."

He pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket wiping the sweat off your face with it.

"Now we have work to do, dear. Don't worry about the mess, I'll have someone take care of it."

You slowly stood up from your chair with the help of Scaramouche pulling your chair out for you.

"Calmer?" He asked.

You nodded. You peeked through the now wide opened windows thanks to you. "The snow is finally drying up."

"The cold still lingers so make sure to wear your coat, I'll meet you outside."

"No, wait." You called out.

Scaramouche stopped at the door, awaiting your response. "My coat is on the bed, I just need to put it on. So might as well go down together" you swiftly made your way to your bed to put on your coat.

"Well then, hurry up, would you?"

Scaramouche held the door for you, as you walked out together.

And the voices were gone just like that.

#genshin impact #fatui #yandere scaramouche #yandere scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x reader #scara x reader #scaramouche #raiden shogun #kunikuzushi x reader #kunikuzushi #kujou sara #Spotify

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catofadifferentcolor · 9 months

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Terrible Fic Idea #58: Percy Jackson x Criminal Minds

While perusing the PJO tag for the first time in ages, I stumbled across yet another crossover I never would have thought of trying - and which, naturally, hasn't escaped my head. It managed to mash together the worlds of PJO and Criminal Minds... and so, naturally, I thought: if I were going to write this crossover, what would I do?

Just imagine it:

Everything follows canon - until MoA. There Percy plays off the judo throw in New Rome to avoid starting a war with the Greeks, but after they're alone on the Argo Percy tells Annabeth that he doesn't appreciate 1) being blamed for his disappearance, as if Hera had asked him if he wanted to lose his memories and half a year of his life, and 2) being physically attacked by his girlfriend outside of weapons practice.

Naturally, Annabeth doesn't take this well and doubles down on her position, and the two fight like cats and dogs throughout MoA and HoO. By the time they reach Akhlys, Percy is hardly inclined to listen to Annabeth at all, and so doesn't stop poison-bending.

It's not obvious at the time, but not stopping fully unlocks Percy's divine powers. He's now immortal, like Chiron, but not a god. It's also rather the final straw for Annabeth and Percy's relationship.

Because he doesn't immediately realize he's immortal, Percy goes on with normal human things like high school and college - attending both at Camp Jupiter, which is better equipped to handle demigods than the average mortal school. It's only after he starts grad school at nearby Stanford University and gets a lot of comments on how young he looks does anyone start realizing what's happened.

Fast forward to about 15 years after HOO, when Percy has joined the BAU - because even immortals have to pay the bills somehow.

In my head I picture this to be S8/S9 of CM, largely because I enjoyed Alex Blake's character and think she'd be a good outsider POV for the story I want to tell, but dealer's choice.

Percy proves to be the BAU cryptid. His primary and secondary school records say unsub in the making... then he double majors in marine biology and classics in college (because everyone who survives four years in the legion or slays a particular number of monsters gets a classics degree when they graduate by default). Then he goes on to get a doctorate in psychology from Stanford... and swim twice for Team USA in the Olympics. He once went on vacation in the Keys and found the wreck of a lost Spanish galleon free diving. He's polite and mild mannered and goes nowhere without at least three knives on his person and a week's worth of survival gear. When he's tired, his reports sometimes slip into Ancient Greek or Latin. He may be a Hellenist and speaks of Hell as a place that he's been.

Percy is, in short, unfathomable to his profiler colleagues. They like him, but every new thing they learn about him only complicates the profile they're definitely not putting together.

He's been in the BAU for about 18 months before they receive reports of a serial killer's dumping ground in the Oakland Hills, not more than a mile from Camp Jupiter. The victims are all in their late teens and signs indicate all were killed in a ritualistic way. Most of those the investigators can identify are runaways.

Once the BAU is on site, Reid determines that someone is trying to recreate an obscure Ancient Roman sacrifice.

More importantly, Percy realizes that, yes, these are definitely the bodies of Roman demigods - and not one of them was killed by a monster before they could get to camp. In fact, he's pretty sure there's a secret entrance to camp not 100' away from the oldest body.

It's this last point that causes Percy to lead his team to Camp Jupiter. This is a revelation in itself and should answer many of the team's questions about Percy but give them twice as many new ones.

It should also be perfect timing, as they arrive just as praetors Frank and Hazel were thinking of reaching out to Percy, as he's the only real investigator either camp has. They're not aware of most of the murders, as it's not unusual for one or two demigods every year to be killed after leaving the safety of camp, but the last three victims went missing in the last three months under odd circumstances.

(One was a granddaughter of Apollo who'd talked about wanting to join the Hunters of Artemis, and when she disappeared everyone assumed that's what she did, only for the Hunters to visit later claiming she never showed. The most recent was a daughter of Bacchus who hated the regimented life of the legion and wanted to transfer to Camp Half-Blood where things were a little more their speed. Most the others were legacies or the children of minor gods.)

They set up shop in Percy's house - in part because CJ has no police force beyond the legion, which houses their main suspects - in part because Percy's house is built like a Roman temple on the edge of the temple district and no one would dare sneak into it.

(The demigods have been actively treating immortal Percy as a god, because if deification worked for Nero, they can make it work for Percy. And a deified!Percy could only be good for them.)

In the end it comes out a grandchild of Hecate/Trivia was sacrificing other demigods to their ancestor in hopes of obtaining more power - they should be just powerful enough to disguise their actions with the Mist but not much more, and intensely jealous their ancestor handed already-powerful Hazel more power during the Giant War.

Bonuses include: 1) Thalia and the Hunters showing up to help, as do Nico and Will. This should be an intensely confusing family reunion to watch from the outside given that two are immortal. Extra bonus points if the BAU recognize Nico from some wildly successful paranormal investigative channel on YouTube and are shocked to find out all the ghosts are real; 2) Will calling Percy "mom", on account of the fact he's been dating Apollo for the last five years now - Apollo's longest relationship ever - though Percy refuses to consider marriage or children until fifty years have passed; and 3) One of the BAU being tangentially involved with the mythological world already - Hotch had a relationship with a disguised Justice before meeting Hailey and their child is at Camp Jupiter? Reid has just recently met a disguised Athena at a conference and is now worried he'll arrive home to a baby on the doorstep?

And that's all I have. As always, feel free to adopt this bun, just link back to me if you chose to do anything with it.

More Terrible Fic Ideas

#plot bunny #fic ideas #percy jackson and the olympians #heroes of olympus #percy jackson #pjo #hoo #criminal minds #crossover #percy x apollo #trials of apollo #toa

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