#Resting Within Caves (OOC)

[phntmeii]

Hil

Im not sure if your taking requests for writing, but if you are I was wondering if you could do a slashers × S/O who is very strong but doesn't look it?

If that makes sense...

Like the S/O is very sweet, short and small, like she looks petite and fragile but it turns out she can easily lift extremely heavy things, or can punch really hard.

Like even harder or stronger than the slasher.

If you could specifically add Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair, (NBC) Hannibal and Will, and maybe Thomas Hetwit?

Sorry I don't know if that's too much to ask for, I just love your writing so much!

Being Stronger than Slashers .

[ SFW + Fem Terms]

Pairings: Bo Sinclair, Vincent Sinclair, Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham, Thomas Hewitt x petite!strong!Reader General Warnings: Descriptions of Gore/Blood, Violence, Slightly OOC, Descriptions of panic attack/episode, Manipulative behavior mention

A/N: ty anon for request <33 Back to slashers :) Sad I haven’t posted more of them literally in Halloween month but I’m working on it (last second lol) </33

Bo Sinclair

Absolutely turned on to the fucking max when he sees your strength.

Small, sweet partners was always his type. He just loves fulfilling the typical male stereotype of being a protector over his partner.

When he turned the corner, looking to finish off the last victim of the lot within his abandoned town, only to see something better.

He watched as you effortlessly were carrying the body of the victim over your shoulder like it was nothing. Head completely caved in, more of a mass of flesh and blood than an identifiable person. Your other hand held a bloodied hammer.

Bo was completely still, but not of fear. He was standing there like a man who had completely re-fallen in love again.

His eyes were shining as his grin grew wide. Approaching, he was nothing but prideful.

His voice was light with a chuckle, thumb brushing away the blood on your cheek. “Shit, sweetheart… Never knew a pretty girl like you was so… strong. I love it.”

Vincent Sinclair

Vincent was overprotective a lot of the time. He was insistent you were never near his work nor would you be involved when victims were in town.

He loved you too much to have you a part of him and his brothers’ work.

Vincent was slightly startled, hearing the door of his studio open. He knew both his brothers were out.

Seeing it was you, he approached, silently looking down at you. You could tell there was an air of disappointment at you being in his studio when he didn’t want you to be.

A ragged, strained voice spoke from behind his mask, “Why?”

With a shrug of your shoulders and a smile, you walked past him, further into the studio. “Bo said he needed a box in here.”

Watching you walk past, his eyes were hidden but widened as he watched you easily lift up a heavy table to look under it, scrolling past the items underneath it.

He approached confused but didn’t stop you. “Oh! Here it is!” Your arms held up a filled box of tools and parts.

Vincent followed you around curiously for the rest of the day like a shadow. He was completely fascinated by your strength, wanting to see it again.

Once you returned from helping Bo, Vincent couldn't let go of you. He kept his arms around you, head on your shoulder. His quiet, strained voice simply said, "Show me again... Please?"

Hannibal Lecter

Hannibal always held an air of curiosity about you. Your sweet nature was like an untainted part of his life. A woman so far from himself.

Hannibal’s curiosity was never-ending. He took advantage of his intelligence to learn as much as he could. Stalking, Manipulative behaviors in “therapy”, etc.

You were almost always at his place. He liked it better that way although it provided some maintenance when it came to his extracurricular activities.

Hannibal had been making another of his fancy dinners for the two of you. The presentation had to be precise and perfect. Presentation was half the work for him.

He absentmindedly spoke while you were cutting vegetables beside him, “I have not set the chairs. I will do so in a moment, my love.”

Immediately, you wanted to assist. You always liked helping out. “I’ve got it!”

Watching you walk away, he expected to finish his current task before going off to assist you. Instead, he looked up to the doorway to see you easily walking past with a heavy wooden chair in each hand, easily carrying the two like they were just a stack of papers.

A small smirk curled at his lips as his hands slowed in their work. He whispered to himself, knowing his eager curiosity was not wasted, “You are… a delight, my love. You will make for something truly wonderful.”

Will Graham

Will was someone who was vigilant and aware. His mind always raced a million miles an hour with tiny observations and connections.

There was something about you but he just couldn’t place it.

But, what was there to prove? You were sweet and kind, seeming so far from what he knew. That was part of why he held love for you—You weren’t him.

Will was in his head again, silently panicked by his own mind. It was torturous to live in a prison of his own violent thoughts.

You were someone who always noticed. Always could pick up when these episodes started.

Holding his hands and speaking sweetly to him to draw him back to reality, unfortunately, wasn’t working this time.

His eyes kept darting back and forth while his breath quickened. With him standing still, quivering, you had to make the choice.

With simple ease, you picked Will up bridal style, walking away with him.

It took him a moment to realize what happened, breaking out of being inside his head. His eyes just stared at you when he was placed onto his bed, sweat drenching his forehead.

He broke out into a small smile, absentmindedly licking his lips, as was his habit. "I... didn't know you could do that."

"Is it a bad thing?"

"No. It's... really attractive, actually."

Thomas Hewitt

Tommy was always a protector. Toward his family, it was evident. A given. Toward you, it was an inherent need.

The last thing he'd ever want is for you to be hurt, especially when victims come around.

He would lead you and Luda Mae into a room, having you two barricade it while him and Hoyt took care of the unfortunate victims who made their way to the wrong home.

You waited, albeit anxiously. And it only grew once you heard a loud thud followed by Hoyt's yelling.

"Goddammit, Tommy! The fuck are you doin'?"

Immediately you knew something went wrong. Despite Luda Mae trying to keep you in the room, you ripped away the makeshift barricade on the door and rushed out.

Tommy was on all fours, holding the side of his head. A man, you assumed one of the few victims, held a hammer in his hand. He quivered holding it, as if horrified by his own self-defense.

Without thinking, you grabbed the nearest chair, pulling back and cracking it hard against the man. Aimed for his head, he dropped to the floor unconscious by the impact.

You rushed over to Tommy's side, panicked. "Tommy! Tommy! God- Are you okay?"

His arm just instinctively shot out and held you to his body, protecting you in his mind. He opened his eyes and looked past you to see the victim with broken wooden pieces of the chair on top of him.

With his mask on, his expression was hidden. But inside, his heart warmed at how you were strong enough to protect him too. His own protector.

[corrupted-starcharts]

★ Good evening from Eden Islet Outpost. Cosmologist Raskol here– and I have some exciting news: the Outpost is officially operational, all buildings are finished and functional.

We are located on planet Etsyalac XIX, within the Mewonsa-Suw XIX system of Hicanpaav Galaxy. The crew and I are greatly looking forward to visitors! For now, I've put together a brief tour of the facilities...

((ooc: portal glyphs are provided in each screenshot for those with access to Hicanpaav; someday I'll figure out a fun/fancy way to present glyphs on their own))

Eden Islet Outpost

Galaxy 099 - Hicanpaav // Type: Lush

System // Mewonsa-Suw XIX

Dominant Lifeform // Korvax

Economy // High Tech, Struggling

Conflict // Intermittent

Planet // Estyalac XIX

Weather // Usually Mild

Sentinels // Spread Thin

Flora // Abundant

Fauna // Abundant; 10 Species

Resources // Star Bulb; Sodium; Paraffinium; Copper

The Outpost is located on one of a few islets within a small archipelago. Admittedly I have not yet been on many of the larger landmasses as of yet, but this end of the planet consists mainly of ocean, scattered islands of varying sizes. Ten species of fauna are found here; and very little lives on land - those that do prefer caves. Warm thunderstorms are incredibly common, but not extreme.

Teleporter Depot

Self-explanatory, perhaps. The Depot provides easy access to and from the outpost. Any cargo or salvage needing to be offloaded and sold can be taken here as well.

Eden Labs and Observatory

Our terrestrial science center. The laboratory on the ground floor is equipped for all sorts of study; currently the crew and I are studying Corrupted Sentinels, along with strange, exotic flora. On the second floor, you'll find our modest observatory, complete with telescope.

Eden in the Void Lounge and Cantina

A place for the crew and guests to relax and rejuvenate themselves. Food, drink, plenty of comfortable places to rest and chat.

Living Quarters

A pair of stone cabins bookend the Comms Tower; modest but comfortable living quarters for myself, the crew, and/or any visitors.

Greenhouse

Listen, I know I'm a bit of a grumpy hard-ass, but we do like to have fun here. Feel free to grab some Nip-Nip before you go!

Communications Tower

This is where the, er, 'magic'? Happens? This is where I send my broadcasts from while here. Should've just said that. The space is rather small and enclosed to help reduce interference, with easy access to the top and back down via short-range teleporter.

Ah, there's so much more I could show and talk about, but it seems this transmitter can only handle so much data. Well. It's such an oddly exciting feeling, having this place be finished. I'm certainly looking forward to hosting some fellow Travelers here someday. We'll be happy to have you!

Until then, may all your travels be safe and bountiful. Cosmologist Raskol signing off. -kkzzzkt-

[lycansfulgur]

[eri-baby]

chongyun crushing on a shy/dense noble fem!reader

a/n: this idea has been on my mind for a long time now, and i'm finally posting it! chongyun is probably very ooc, but listening to his character's voice-over's gave me the idea that he's just an earnest guy and i found that adorable.

i picture that chongyun first saw [ ] at a banquet where all the wealthy and influential were invited. she was quiet, reserved, rarely speaking to anyone. it was hard not to notice her when gossip about her was circulating all around the room. they called her a mist flower because she's "a cold person" and yet they appreciated her beauty. [ ] is expected to become one of the leaders of liyue in the future, maybe even one of the qixing, because of her family's influence and her being a well-educated young woman. chongyun ignored the rumors about her and respected her resolve to make liyue a better place.

from that day onward, chongyun wanted to know more about [ ]. they were similar, after all. chongyun and [ ] were both cold in the eyes of the public. he thought he would be able to get along well with her. he had nothing but respect for her.

whenever he had a comission, he asked clients or locals within the area about the noble [ ]. he discovered that [ ] often travels around liyue to personally watch over the state of each area. if anything were ever amiss, [ ] herself is the one who creates solutions and funds them. she shut down businesses that were swindeling people, found new jobs for the innocent workers involved, and earned back money for the victims. he found more admiration for her.

xingqui turns out to be somewhat childhood friends with [ ]. they spend time together every now and then. xingqui described her as a well-meaning girl who can never get her point across because of how awkward she is. she focuses more on the problem at hand and solving it rather than interacting with others which makes her come across as prickly.

chongyun was excited when he heard that [ ] had spoken about him. she asked xingqui about the young exorcist, and commented that exorcists like chongyun help maintain liyue's glory. it took him two months to stop centering all conversations around [ ]'s passing comment.

he has attempted to speak with her, even frequenting areas she was said to be seen in often, but the most he would get were glimpses of her before she scurried off or was escorted away by one of her chaperones. it disappointed him greatly that he never had the oppertunity to speak to her since he was so invested in her and her work.

i think he would barely realize his own feelings for a total stranger. xingqui and xiangling are sick of hearing about [ ]. they're scared of the day [ ] actually talks to chongyun. she's the only other thing on his mind other than training and exorcism.

he was disappointed and ready to give up on ever talking to [ ] after months of trying, until he was assigned to a comission in her estate. apparently weird things have been happening in her room. items have been misplaced, at night there were whispers coming from the closet, banging noises were coming from the walls. it caused her family great distress.

chongyun was, needless to say, stressed about making an appearance in [ ]'s household. how should he introduce himself? how should he speak to her? will he be able to speak to her? what should he bring? he bothered both xingqui and xiangling as he asked all these questions over and over again. xingqui was so annoyed that he finally relented, telling chongyun that lady [ ] is fond of the glaze lily flower. chongyun was gone before any of them could say another word.

the local florist in liyue harbor had not even a single glaze lily in stock. chongyun had to go all the way to a faraway town where a different florist was. he was lucky it was a colder day. with a boquet of glaze lillies in hand, he was ready to travel back to lady [ ]'s estate. on the way back, he passed by a little girl who was in tears. the little girl had dirt stains on her clothes but no injuries. she begged him to save a girl who had gotten trapped in a cave. the little girl was looking for her doll and she asked the girl, who's physical description matched [ ]'s, to enter the cave with her. the girl relented but inside they were attacked by a ruin hunter. the girl managed to get the young child out of the cave before rubble fell over the other entrance. it had been a long time but the girl still hasn't turned up.

chongyun immediatly dropped the glaze lillies in his hand and rushed to the direction the little girl pointed in. the cave had two openings, one of which had been blocked by rubble. chongyun went through the second one. he found at the other end lady [ ] fighting off a ruin hunter with her bow. chongyun finished it off for her.

he immediatly dropped down beside her and asked her if she was okay politely. she had no idea what to say, in fact she wasn't even expecting any help, and nodded quietly. he noticed that her ankle was swolen so he used his cryo vision to ease her pain. he quickly helped her up, even carrying her despite his fear of triggering his congenital positivity. he was lucky that the weather was cold and so was the cave, and that [ ]'s body temperature was also cold because of her vision.

"I am Chongyun, from an exorcist family. I was heading to your home, Lady [ ], to deal with the evil spirit in your room, until the little girl you had rescued stopped me and asked me to help you."

"I... see. We'll have to double your payment for saving me, Exorcist Chongyun."

"Oh, no! My services are free of charge!"

she became quiet and smiled to herself. he could hear her quiet giggles, making his cheeks heat up slightly. he worried about his congenital positivity.

both of them were somewhat awkward and dense. the truth was that they were both panicking. chongyun had no idea what to say and neither did [ ].

chongyun was the first to speak after a few minutes of awkward silence

"I'm sorry I don't know what to say to you."

"I have no idea what to say as well."

they both laughed together about being dense in social situations. from then on, conversation flowed somehow a little easier because they found that they had something in common. the more they spoke to each other, the more similarities they found.

it turns out that her reputation of being a cold person was a result of her being misunderstood. [ ] doesn't know how to say things other than straightforwardly, and when she panics she has a tendency to freeze up making her tense in conversations.

chongyun as well had a one-track mind. everything he did was to become a better exorcist, which made him terrible at conversations especially outside of the exorcism business.

she spoke about the responsibilities of supporting the nation of liyue and her dream of traveling every inch of their lands and waters because she wanted to be one of the pillars of liyue in the future. it was her dream to become a qixing, like ningguang, to support liyue's growth.

he shared his dream of becoming the greatest exorcist. he wanted to find an evil spirit or demon that wouldn't avoid his congenital positivity, and to be able to control his congenital positivity. his dream was to rid the world of all evil spirits as the greatest exorcist in all of history.

they each shared the hardships of reaching their dreams and their desires to reach their goals. it was everything and more than he imagined talking to her. he had always wanted this oppertunity to speak to someone similar to him.

they reached the outside of the cave only to be met with servants from [ ]'s estate. she was taken away from him and rushed back to her home while he was thanked for saving her. apparently there was no evil spirit in their estate, at least not a real spirit. they were abyss mages planning something terrible again and [ ] was the victim. her family sent servants to pick her up from this town, only for them to hear from the little girl about what had happened. chongyun was greatly compensated for his help. he didn't even get the chance to say goodbye to [ ].

weeks had passed without chongyun seeing nor speaking to [ ]. he sent her a "get well soon" present but received no response. each passing day made him more and more depressed, which xingqui was not used to. xingqui told him that [ ]'s family was probably trying to keep her away from the public and were being overprotective but it didn't make anything better.

aether came in with paimon and a package in hand. he had somewhat a smug smile on his face, having some awareness of chongyun's crush on [ ]. he said that he had been comissioned by lady [ ] to deliver the package to chongyun directly. without allowing aether to finish his sentence, chongyun took the package from the blond's hands and carefully opened it.

inside it he found a letter and a jade insignia. the jade had an intricate glaze lily symbol carved on it with other symbols chongyun could not recognize. he brought out the letter and read it.

Exorcist Chongyun,

I apologize for not sending you a thank you note earlier nor seeing you at all these past few weeks. I haven't found a perfect oppertunity to escape from my family until now. My leg is fully healed, and I can even run. Please be assured that your present and the glaze lillies you had intended to give me have reached me. The little girl I was helping gave them to me and said they were from you. Thank you for such thoughtful presents.

I am aware that you don't accept payments, so instead I have sent you this as a gift. It's an insignia that identifies colleagues of mine and allows them to enter into one of my private and personal cottage. Rest assured, there will be plenty of cold sweets for you waiting there and the cottage itself is kept cold.

Please see me at Guyun Stone Forest. The insignia will lead you to me.

From [ ].

he barely finished that letter and he was already out. as the letter stated, the insignia did lead him to the secret cottage. on one of the mountains, there was a contraption made of stone that he would place the insignia in and then a stairway would appear. it led him up to a snowy floating island with a cozy cottage.

[ ] was sitting on a swing supported by a tree and waved to catch his attention.

"Greetings, Exorcist Chongyun."

"Hey, Lady [ ]."

[elisaphoenix13]

This Dance Of Ours

Another Witcher fic, but I believe I got it out of my system (for now) so I can turn my focus back on my Marvel WIP's 😂. Still getting a feel for writing in this fandom so I apologize for any OOC.

Geralt woke up with a start. The feeling of wrong nagging at him as he sat up and looked around the small campsite. Roach stamped the ground in her unease and the Witcher could smell the metallic tang of human blood hanging in the air. If that wasn't alarming enough, Geralt finally realized what had been missing. A heartbeat.

A quick glance to the bedroll nearby confirmed his suspicions when he found it empty.

"Jaskier?" Geralt calls out.

It wasn't unusual for the bard to respond to the call of nature in the middle of the night, but considering Roach was uncharacteristically restless, Geralt knew something was wrong. Jaskier's lute was still strapped to Roach's saddle as well so it wasn't like the bard took off without a word. Geralt was always aware of his surroundings, even while he meditated or slept, but maybe it was because he was used to movement from Jaskier that it didn't disturb him. He got to his feet and walked over to Roach to calm her with a pet to her flank and then tried looking around the immediate vicinity. It was the night of a new moon so the forest was nearly pitch black, even for Geralt, so he had to assume that Jaskier didn't go far. If he couldn't see the campfire on a night like this, he wouldn't go any farther.

The stench of blood was also worrisome.

"I'll find him." Geralt says to his horse as he digs through the saddle bags for some potions and strips of cloth.

With another pat, Geralt grabs his swords, drinks one of his Cat potions, and follows the smell of blood as the elixir takes effect. He was better able to see when it did, so he was also able to catch more than one set of footprints just outside the radius of the campfire. He found blood as well. As he followed the tracks and the periodic drops of blood, Geralt wondered in the back of his mind how he hadn't heard Jaskier being attacked. Had he gone so long without adequate rest that he fell into a deeper sleep than he normally did?

Did Jaskier even get to call out for help?

Geralt didn't get a chance to think much more about it because the tracks led him to a cave that was poorly lit and narrow. He could hear voices from within, but as he silently walked in and made his way through the passage, he had yet to hear Jaskier. He was hoping it was either because the bard had somehow gotten away or he was here and unconscious.

Unfortunately, neither ended up being true when the passage opened up into a large chamber and Geralt carefully peeked around the corner to assess the situation. Normally, he would have strode in with his usual confidence but if Jaskier was there, whoever took him might use the bard as a human shield. His quick glance revealed that Jaskier was in the cavern, and that the guilty party for his kidnapping were bandits...the smell of blood was stronger than ever as well.

"You said he would come!" One of the bandits snarls.

"He will." Another bites back.

"Not before he bleeds out!" The first says while motioning to Jaskier's unmoving body.

Geralt decided it was best to step into the cavern if Jaskier's life was in jeopardy, and did so while drawing his sword. "You have something of mine."

He had counted five bandits while he listened to them argue amongst themselves, and they all turned to face him. Before anyone could utter another word, the Witcher scrunches his nose in disgust when the smell of urine overpowers the smell of Jaskier's blood. He looks at the bandit on the far right and regards him with a raised eyebrow when he finds the very obvious wet patch in his breeches. Bandits were notorious for being courageous in a foolhardy way, but this one clearly missed the memo.

"Don't worry. You'll be free of your embarrassment soon enough." Geralt growls out.

The Cat potion tended to make him look a little feral so Geralt wasn't too surprised. A lot of people would run screaming if they saw him like this. All but the bard that is.

"Give us everything of value you own and we'll let the bard go." The leader bargains and Geralt glares at him.

"I don't make deals with bandits."

"Then we'll take it off your corpse!"

Geralt dodged the arrow shot at him and focused on getting closer to Jaskier. The bard wasn't in shackles, or even in a cage, but he was alarmingly pale and barely conscious. It was no wonder they didn't bother. Jaskier was in no condition to move, let alone run, and there was a small puddle of blood beneath his leg where he was no doubt shot with an arrow. The situation only served to further anger Geralt and he used his Aard sign to send a blast at the group of bandits once he circled them out of Jaskier's range. He dealt with each bandit that got up and ran at him in preparation of their own attack but didn't get a chance to land and they were all dead within moments.

It was pathetic.

"...alt…"

Geralt sheaths his sword and looks back at Jaskier before rushing to his side and dropping to his knees beside him. He carefully lifts the bard's face to look at his eyes and ignores Jaskier reaching out to grab the front of Geralt's tunic. He hadn't even bothered putting his armor on in his haste to find Jaskier. Just some bandages that he started to wrap around the bard's wound. Fortunately it looked like the arrow missed anything fatal and would heal once Geralt got the bleeding to stop and Jaskier got some rest.

"Jaskier, what happened?"

"Got shot in the leg with a fucking arrow. That's what happened." Jaskier mumbles and looks up into Geralt's eyes as the Witcher binds his leg. "You look feral...like it…" he continues to mumble. "Makes me feel safe--OW!"

Geralt ties off the bandage. "It doesn't look like you're going into shock like I originally thought."

"No. Just hurts." He answers and groans when Geralt pulls him to his feet and wraps one of his arms around him. "As much as I enjoy our little excursions, being shot and then asked questions later isn't ideal. I told them they were wasting their time because you wouldn't come for little old me…"

Geralt let Jaskier ramble despite the fact that he was wrong. While the bard was always talking, somehow he knew this time it was to distract Jaskier from the pain. He figured he didn't need to deny Jaskier's assumption anyway since Geralt clearly did come to his aid, and instead led the way back to camp. With the bard's injury, they would have to find somewhere with a proper bed to stay so Jaskier could rest and recuperate, but the nearest town was a day's ride.

"Sorry."

Jaskier's sudden apology nearly made Geralt stumble in surprise, but he managed to keep his feet and finish the walk to the campsite. He silently helps Jaskier sit down against a tree before moving about to pack up their bedrolls and stash them in Roach's saddle bags, who look more relaxed now that Jaskier was safe.

"What are you doing?" The bard asks. "Going after the basilisk? I'll be alright here-"

"Jaskier." Geralt sighs heavily and the bard falls quiet as he walks over to help him back to his feet and over to Roach. "Come on."

"What? You mean on Roach? Oh, okay!" Jaskier yelps when Geralt helps him mount the horse. He looked even more surprised when Geralt mounted behind him after extinguishing the campfire. "Why are you…?"

"If you pass out, it'll be easier to keep you on the horse this way." Geralt grunts out.

"That...makes sense. Now that you mention it, I am a little tired." Jaskier admits.

Geralt hums and urges Roach forward, quickly finding the road and taking it toward the next town. Jaskier continued his rambling for the next half hour before his talking turned into mumbling and he started to nod off, but instead of falling forward like Geralt expected him to, his head lulled back. Jaskier's body followed, and Geralt soon found himself with the younger man resting against him and fast asleep. He did have to keep the bard from falling sideways at least once, and kept his arms somewhat rigid to keep Jaskier in place as he continued toward town.

Geralt wasn't uncomfortable with the situation like he thought he would be (and was prepared to be), but he was definitely concerned. He found himself looking down at Jaskier's leg more often than not to check the bleeding, but even if that had been easy in the beginning, it proved almost impossible once the effects of his elixir finally wore off. Even with his enhanced vision, there was only so much he could see on a night like this.

Makes me feel safe.

Jaskier's earlier words suddenly came to mind and Geralt's first thought was that the bard was insane. He had seen his reflection before after taking that specific potion and he knew it was a terrifying sight, but Jaskier...saw things in a different light. While most ran from him in fear, Jaskier ran toward him. Without fear and for protection and safety...and Geralt provided that. He couldn't help it after the younger man stepped right into his personal space, made himself comfortable, and wormed his way into Geralt's heart. Now he couldn't imagine life without Jaskier in it. Which was why he was insistent on finding even the smallest hamlet with a tavern or an inn.

As if destiny heard his wish, Geralt came upon a small town an hour later...if it could even be called a town. But it had a tavern and he rode up to it without hesitation and dismounted carefully so he wouldn't knock Jaskier off before he was ready. Geralt made sure he wasn't in danger of falling off the saddle while he went inside to ask for a room, and pet Roach.

"Steady. Don't let him fall." He tells her before heading inside and over to the barkeeper. "I need a room. Is there a healer here?"

"One is supposed to pass through in the morning." The barkeeper says as he hands Geralt the key after the Witcher pays.

Geralt nods and goes back outside, fortunately finding Jaskier as he left him, and carefully pulls him down. Since the bard was in no position to pull his weight, Geralt hefted him into his arms and carried him inside and up into the room, ignoring the curious glances directed at him. It was probably quite the sight to see a Witcher carry someone, whether they were injured or not, and Geralt wouldn't be surprised if it caused suspicion. Hopefully nothing would come of it, and they would be undisturbed.

He changed Jaskier's bandages once he laid him on one side of the bed, and when he was finished and washed his hands clean of blood, he looked at the other side of the bed. His attempt at proper sleep was disturbed and he was starting to get desperate for a good night's sleep before there was another djinn incident. When he thought about how Jaskier might react if he woke up to see Geralt sharing the bed with him, he sighed because he knew the younger man wouldn't mind. In fact, he would praise the decision and say something along the lines of "See? There's nothing wrong with the occasional indulgence of comfort."

That had been what drove Geralt to kick off his boots and collapse heavily onto the other side of the bed with a sigh. Jaskier had already seen the best and the worst of him so this was nothing in comparison. He'd be more careful about staying aware of Jaskier's condition though. He wouldn't let anything happen to him while he had anything to do about it.

~~~~

Jaskier woke to the feeling of his trousers being removed and rather than panic immediately, he first looked to see who the culprit was. He definitely wasn't expecting it to be Geralt though.

"As flattered as I am, could you hold off until I'm in considerably less pain before you try...what was it you said? Hide your sausage in my pantry?" Jaskier says and Geralt looks at him for a long moment before smacking the bard's uninjured leg.

"I need to clean your wound. Shut up and behave." Geralt growls.

Well that certainly wasn't the response Jaskier was expecting. He thought Geralt would glare at him and toss him off the bed for being a pest. But since he had reacted like this, it made Jaskier very curious about what was going on in the older man's head.

"Ow. Way to hit a man while he's down." Jaskier complains.

"How's the pain?"

"Not as bad I suppose. It just throbs." Jaskier sits up and watches Geralt wrap his leg in fresh bandages. "Geralt? Have you slept?"

"Yes. Now lay back down." He replies and pushes Jaskier down. "The healer said you need to rest and drink that." He points at the cup sitting on the table by Jaskier. "It should help with the pain and stave off infection."

Jaskier sits up again just enough to grab the cup and swallow the contents before coughing at the bitter and foul taste. "Oh gods, it's like drinking the guts of a rancid fish."

"It is rancid fish."

"Wh-What?!" Jaskier gawks at Geralt and he huffs when he finds amusement in his eyes. "Oh yes, very funny, pick on the bedridden bard. See if I help you next time you get hurt!"

"Rest. I'll bring food."

"Bread, cheese, grapes, and ale?" Jaskier asks hopefully.

"Stew and apple juice."

"Really Geralt. I'm not a child." Jaskier bemoans as he lays down and stares at the ceiling. "At least make it grape juice."

"You'll get whatever I bring you." Geralt grunts.

Geralt throws a blanket over Jaskier before he stands up and leaves the room. The fact that the older man was showing such gentleness was a surprise to Jaskier. Not just with the blanket, but how he had tended to his wounds. He was so gentle that the younger man was just now processing that his hands had been big and warm...and that Geralt had applied a soothing salve. It only made Jaskier wonder if maybe the Witcher would always be that gentle with him. No matter the reason for the touch. Especially with the jest he made earlier.

And then there was what Geralt had said last night. You have something of mine.

No matter how much Jaskier told himself not to look too much into it, he couldn't help the giddy feeling welling up in his chest. He prided himself in being one of the very few people that knew Geralt well, and he knew the older man wouldn't say something like that just because. In fact, he would go out of his way to deny any sort of friendship with Jaskier. But what he said? It was intimate.

When Geralt returned with their food, he held out the tankard. "Don't say I never do anything for you."

"I would never."

Jaskier took a swig of his juice, fully expecting apple, and was pleasantly surprised to find that it was grape.

He's a big softie.

[pomegranates-and-blood]

νοσταλγία (Chapter 1)

(Gif credit to @kikuthestrange​)

νοσταλγία Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader (eventual)

Summary: This is a retelling/romantization of the Greek myth of Persephone’s abduction with Ivar as Hades and you as Persephone. The Reader character is a Byzantine woman, follower of the Greek Pantheon/Religion, and a devoted follower of Persephone. This takes place after 5A, but the universe of this is a little changed in relation with the series, of course. Thank you for giving it a chance, hope you enjoy!

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: As usual, mentions and descriptions of blood, death, torture, injury and people being burnt alive. Mentions or allusions to rape. If there’s anything else I didn’t mention, please let me know. Fair warning that the Reader Character may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but please give her a chance.

A/N: Um, idk. Hope you like this, and again, really sorry if this is OOC. That is one hell of an insecurity I have when I start writing for new characters, but I really hope I’m not messing Ivar or any of the others up.

You are focused on the blending of some herbs to help the pain of some of the warriors, when a round metal shield is dropped at your feet. You raise your eyes from the snake engraved on the old metal to the Saxon, giving away nothing except a small twitch of your mouth.

But you know what that symbol is. It is a mark of the Attics.

“Most of the Greeks are dead,” He states, certainly, viciously. Your eyes fall closed, and you heave a sigh. “And I will personally see that the survivors are hunted down.”

You knew this was going to happen. The Varangians cornered Stithulf into the confine of these walls and yet last night he sent a hunting party, the best of the best within his Arab mercenaries.

You knew he wasn’t going to try and kill Ivar the Boneless or his brothers. No, he was going to take revenge on the people he deemed failed him, the people he deemed owed him a victory.

And it makes the whole ground cave under your feet, the realization that it is done. That the last of the Attics lie bloodied on the unforgiving earth. That their faith in you, their love for you, was their downfall.

Just like Narses’.

“I always knew you Christians were just as bloody and cruel as the worst of us,” You say instead, looking down at the shield again and picking it up with trembling hands, “You slaughtered hundreds of innocents.”

“If you had fought for us…” He starts, but you interrupt him with a glare. Some things don’t change even if you get far from home: all it takes to stop an army, to make a man like Stithulf hesitate, is a heathen witch.

If only their God hadn’t taught him to fear yours, the world would be so different.

“We’d all rather be dead than slaves to a Christian.” You hiss out, curling your fingers over the cold and bloodied metal. And you mean more than this battle, this war not your own that regardless you lost; no, you mean Byzantium, and the home you left behind.

“You could have avoided all of this, Greek.” He insists, the scar that runs from his neck to his uneven sideburn stretching around the smile he offers.

For a moment you imagine letting your hand run a knife deeply through that scar, open it again and see it pour red and victorious blood. Trace with a knife over every scar, so that he only remembers the torment you brought him.

No, that’s wrong. Trying to hide the grimace at your own thoughts, you shake off the shame and stand up. Holding on tightly to the shield, you feel you carry the weight of thousands of Greeks on your hand.

And because you were taught speaking things helped make them real, you promise, “Our Gods live on, and the worship of them is not something blades and blood can smother. Quieten, yes, but never silence.”

“You will die for your pagan ways, you know this, don’t you?” He asks, stopping you for a moment at the…honesty in his voice.

“I do not fear death,” You answer, and when you walk past an open window that looks over the foreign and cold horizon you add, quiet enough that only the Gods may hear you, “I welcome it. Let Hades summon me home.”

“I have reached an agreement with the Vikings,” Stithulf calls out, voice loud and echoing in the halls. You grip the shield tighter. “There will be…negotiations tomorrow.”

Your mouth smiles and your tongue runs with dangerous words before you can stop yourself, “You will sit and talk with the same men you scoured the world trying to kill?”

“I know when I am defeated, Greek. Something you lack.”

You say nothing else, the defeat finally setting over your shoulders and all you can do to keep appearances is to keep walking and pretend the tears are not clogging your view as you walk past unfamiliar halls, on unfamiliar grounds, with the weight of unfamiliar and familiar ghosts over your head.

Spending the rest of the day, almost till the sun sets, taking care of some wounds and fevers, you can almost pretend to yourself that the life you give here, the damage you heal here; can start to make up for all the death you and your mistakes have caused.

You raise your head from your work on the stitching when strange rhythmic sounds reach your ears.

Metal on wood. Dragging sounds. Metal on wood again. Something dragged again.

The door to the barren and almost empty home you are using as a makeshift infirmary opens, and the silhouette of Ivar the Boneless stands on the doorway.

Your heart pounds in your ears, and the warrior with his injured skin under your fingers hisses a breath when your needle pierces deeper than intended into his skin. You mumble an apology in Greek, but keep your eyes on the King.

“You don’t need healing.” You quip quietly in his language, rising to your feet and motioning for the Greek you were helping to remain in his seat.

To be honest, you don’t know why you stand up, why you straighten your back and raise your chin. You can pretend to be as tall as you wish, as strong as you wish, but everyone in this room knows if the Varangian wants you dead you will be so.

“I wanted to talk to you.” The Viking offers, forced nonchalance as he approaches. His legs don’t seem to work normally, and the contraptions around them are like you never saw before. The healer in you notes they look…painful.

He gets close enough you can see his handsome face clearly in the candlelight, but far enough you don’t feel threatened. The King remains standing, straight and proud, by one of the wooden pillars.

His pale eyes, you note in the now clear view the candles provide you, switch to the warrior sitting a few feet behind and then return to you. You resist the urge to play with your fingers.

“Why?” You ask, retrieving with trembling hands one of the linens you will use as bandages for the wound on the Greek warrior’s back.

“I’m…curious.”

“So am I,” You reply, rolling the needle you use for the stitches between your thumb and forefinger as you study the man. “It is not every day that I find myself meeting with a Viking King.”

“So you know who I am.” He states, and you cannot know if he is disappointed, proud, or a mix of the two.

“Of course I do,” You answer without hesitation, “And I also know it is not me who you are supposed to be meeting.”

“I wanted to talk with you, witch.” He insists again, reminding you of a spoiled child, but also showing you that, either for the foreignness or something entirely him, the Varangian is uncertain on how to talk to you.

It almost makes a smile curve at your lips, and your impulsive heart wants you to send the warrior off and talk with this strange man, this…Ivar the Boneless.

“I…am busy,” You answer instead, returning to your stitching. If your hand trembles a little and you cause a little more pain than you intended as you finish up the last of the stitches, no one can blame you. “I must tend to the wounded, Varangian.”

“A smart woman would know better than to deny me.”

“I never claimed to be smart.”

“Are you always this insufferable, woman?” He snaps, anger rises in his voice, making the warrior you are standing behind tense under your fingers as they wrap a bandage over his back and ribs to keep the wound from infection.

But you, past the fear, feel a small smile start to curve at your lips when you find the pale eyes of the Varangian King.

“I try.” You reply with a shrug, but a growl is the only answer you get.

You watch with wide eyes as the Viking unsheathes a small knife from somewhere in his chest and, instead of throwing it like you would expect, he flips it so that he grabs onto the blade instead of the handle.

His fist clenches around it, eliciting a sharp breath from the King and blood that drips between his fingers.

“There,” He grunts, opening his hand and letting the knife clatter unceremoniously to the wooden floor. He returns his piercing pale eyes to you and his mouth almost bares in a snarl, his nose furrows in cold anger, as he speaks, “Now you have to tend to me.”

So the rumors were true, he is actually crazy. Although you doubt a man that can topple Aelle, that can conquer York, is crazy.

No, he is clever. If maybe too angry and arrogant, he is still cunning. That thought alone reminds you to keep your guard up.

A part of your mind begs you to be sensible about this, not to do anything stupid, but you finish wrapping the wound on the warriors back with skilled fingers, and tap his shoulder so that he stands. Ivar the Boneless keeps his eyes on you, defiantly and terrifyingly, as he watches you move. You turn your attention to the Greek and nod as goodbye, “Go, I will be fine.”

The man looks between the Varangian and you, before putting his right fist to his heart, his left arm bent behind him in a goodbye and a sign of respect to you.

“Anassa.” He mutters in farewell, and you watch him go wondering how many days will it take for him to also die because of your mistakes.

And as the door closes behind the Greek, you notice truly how engulfing the darkness and the defenselessness are. The city moves on around you, but all that reaches the small cabin you are in is the faint sounds of a stray horse or farm animal. The Saxons wouldn’t want the heathen witch to be near their soldiers, after all, even in a city that was never theirs with barely any civilians on it.

All that means you are all alone and defenseless, with a Viking known for his cruel and vicious ways. Gritting your teeth and fighting to keep your heartbeat from drumming away in your ears, you turn back to the Varangian and motion for a chair near you.

He doesn’t move. Of course he doesn’t, because no one in this cursed land listens to a damn word you say.

His hand still drips red to the wooden floor, and you pointedly look at it where it rests on his side and back to his face. The King only cocks his head to the side, eyes narrowed.

“You speak many tongues,” The Varangian states, not even a question, “Our language, the Saxons’, but I don’t recognize the other one.”

“Greek,” You reply, “I am not from here.”

“I noticed.”

With a shrug, you state, “Probably why you haven’t killed me yet, isn’t it?”

But the Viking doesn’t answer. Instead, he limps towards you, but where there should be -to a sane woman, maybe- a threat, a danger, you only find your heart beating with the same fast pace it did when you were about to cross a dangerous and wild stream by Eleusis’ forests. A hint of fear, a hint of curiosity, and much more than a hint of freedom.

The rage of the stream deafened you, uncertainty beat quickly on your chest…but your bare feet still continued running towards the water.

You keep your eyes on his.

“You are…outspoken, witch. Are all Greeks like you?”

“You should lower your eyes when men are speaking.” He advises with more than a little anger in his tone.

You hear faintly of Sieghild’s mocking scoff, and you stand up from your chair and stalk to Narses in a few strides, keeping your eyes on him. A sick part of you is trying to test him, to dare him into laying hands on you to shut you up.

The lies would come easier if he did.

“I cower before no man, my love.” The endearment drips with poison, and the twitch in his expression tells you he is aware of it.

There’s rustling of armor, and out of the corner of your eye you catch sight of Lysander straightening to his full height, the mantle of the soon-to-be Anax of Sparta set well over his shoulders as he walks calmly towards you.

For a moment of distrust and panic, you think he will take the side that wants to silence you, but your cousin stands next to you, although slightly behind, offering you his support. His hand is comforting on your shoulder.

“You may do things differently in Attica, but in Laconia our women are not slaves,” Lysander promises, voice dripping authority and more than a slight threat, “Descendant of Theseus, aren’t you?” He breathes out a chuckle, “You will have to venture into the Underworld like your ancestor to make a woman of Spartan blood cave.”

You breathe out a laugh, “No.”

“So you are not afraid of me.”

You look into his pale eyes and wonder for a moment. What is there to fear? It is true his fame precedes him, even if you choose to ignore his name, his truth. Rumors of madness, ruthlessness, unpredictability, rage, cruelty; they all are kept safely in your mind, to torment you faintly with exactly the kind of beast you try to dance with.

But you remember the time that mad man in the flimsy boat offered to take you to cross the Aegean, and how the threat of pain and death and cold all hung over you like shadows; and yet the curiosity of what lay in the realm of what if made you still get on that feeble boat. You have a feeling it is the same kind of stubborn and reckless curiosity that makes you offer the King a small smile.

“I learned long ago not to fear any man, Varangian.” You answer, motioning with your hand to his injured one, hoping for response this time.

The Viking’s eyes are defying as they challenge yours, but you refuse to lower your gaze. He sits by you on one of the chairs, movements graceful and confident as he discards the crutch he uses to walk by the table.

After a breath, he offers you his injured hand.

You don’t hesitate, even if a part of you tells you that you should, and take a seat at his side, working instinctively as you start wetting a clean cloth in some water infused with honeysuckle and goldenseal.

Taking his hand and opening the rough fingers to your sight and touch, you clean off the blood and hope silently that you are not the one responsible for Ivar the Boneless getting an infection for a stupid wound on his hand.

“Why are you and your people here, if you are from the Mediterranean?” He asks suddenly, but it doesn’t startle you like it should.

With a deep breath and keeping your eyes on your work, you offer, “The obvious answer would be attacking your city, my King.”

“And retreating.” He points out lowly, not biting into your taunt.

Lifting your eyes to his, you search his pale gaze for a few moments. You offer him sincerity in exchange for his calm, “The Christians were going to surrender, we knew this the moment your army arrived. We had no interest in this war of yours.”

“Then why fight in it?”

“Obvious answer, my King?” You ask around a smirk, and the man’s eyes darken as he leans closer. A finger underneath your chin threatens you as much as a sharp blade could, and you swallow past a dry throat.

“Careful.” He cautions, and his lips curve around a smile as dangerous and poisonous as it is enthralling and tempting.

“Our commander agreed we aided the Saxons in exchange for their army’s help in our homeland. With my-…with the commander dead the Greeks were called to retreat.”

“But not you,” He points out, still uncomfortably close. “You didn’t retreat.”

You wish you had an answer to his unspoken question. But you don’t. You could have run with Galla and the others, you could have forged your own path with Sieghild away from battle, the Gods know you have done so before.

You could have, but still you fell back to the Saxon city as if survival was to be achieved only by acceptance of defeat.

“A lady ought to have her secrets, I’m afraid.” You answer instead, lowering your eyes back to your work. Although you can sense the young Viking wants to demand more, because of course he does, he remains silent.

______

Hi, thank you for reading! I really hope you are liking this so far, and that it isn’t boring lol

Again, thank you so much, and I’d love to hear from you!

[mka1098]

I’m Gay Panicking But It’s Fine - A Solangelo One-Shot Fanfiction

Thank you to @windbyfire for letting me use your fanart !

Might be a bit of OOC it's my first Solangelo piece; they are just too cute for me not to try and write them. Also, I'm straight (feel free to make fun of me like my friends, I take all the hits) so my attempt at gay panic is just not great. I just tried to think of my friend when they gay panic. Haha, hope you guys like this piece, and here's the link to the podfic/audio version

Audio listen along: https://youtu.be/xRLTIr6ZqwE

I'm Gay Panicking But It's Fine by Mka1098

Nico is a generally petulant, cold-faced, and stoic person. He smiles only during the darkest and latest of nights and barely grunts a word at people. His expressions are perceived as less than friendly and perhaps the only people who weren’t afraid of him and his ghost powers could be counted on one hand. (Percy, Annabeth, Jason, Hazel, and Renya). So it was a total shock to him when the golden-haired Will Solace bounced next to him right as he was leaving his cabin at 2 PM in the afternoon.

“Uh… hi?” He says in the quietest voice. Will smiles brightly at him.

“Hi, Nico.” The blonde says. Nico frowns. He feels as if he’s being smirked at. And oh, it is not a welcomed feeling, not for him. Enough people believe they can mess with him and those said people were sent right to Will’s own wing.

“What do you want?” He asks with a bit of bite in his tone. Will shrugs.

“Just wanted to say hi.” He says evenly. Nico scowls at him.

“That’s it?” His tone is harsh. “You just wanna pop over here and say hi? For no reason?” Nico says snarkily. Surprisingly, Will doesn’t run and scream in terror; he doesn’t start to shake either. Instead, his smile seems to grow infinitesimally bigger and he shoves his hands into his pockets.

“Yep.” He pops the P of the word before turning sharply left and away from Nico. The blonde doesn’t even look back at the confounded boy he had left standing. Instead, he smiles at some of the other campers and heads into cabin 6.

Nico stares back at him dumbly, even as he disappears into the cabin. “What the Hades?” He mutters quizzingly to himself. Nico crosses his arms tightly on his chest. There are some other campers, gossips for sure, who are staring at him. They are murmuring hush whispers while clearly pointing at him. He sends them a murderous glare; the point gets across and they scramble away quickly. Nico sighs. Sure being dark and broody is helpful when one wants to be alone but there are times when he doesn’t want to be alone. Alas, how on this earth is one supposed to make friends when they have the appearance of a walking skeleton. Nico keeps walking towards the mess hall. He needs food; he needs it now. His stomach shouts at him to hurry up. Hm, if only Jason was here then maybe he’d believe him that yes, the Nico Di Angelo does still run on sustenance-- well, something other than happy meals.

Few campers are still in the mess hall when he arrives. They stick to their own tables, their only sibling. Nico has no sibling, not any that are here at least. Sitting down, he summons plain salted noodles, slightly butter and light garlic; diet coke rather than water. He sighs as he smashes a forkful into his mouth. Pasta’s great and all but he eats it because they are simple carbs. Plain pasta isn’t overpowering, it isn’t too earthy or meaty or lettuce. It’s just enough to keep him upright. Nico sighs again as he finishes half the bowl, quickly getting sick of the dish. As he scrapes the rest of the pasta into the fire, he wishes he had a friend next to him.

-

“Welcome back.” Nico groans as the harsh light attacks his eyes. He attempts to get up but is shoved, gently at least, back down. “You just woke up; it’d be awful if you fainted again.” The voice chuckled. Nico’s eyes register just enough to see curly blonde hair next to him. The figure is wearing a white coat and holding a clipboard; it’s Will.

“What happened?” Nico says in a slight snarl.

“Shadow travel,” Will responds dryly. “Did you know you have a limit on distance and time?” He asks with an innocent voice but his eyes are letting on more than he’s saying. “It seems to me that your body uses a lot of energy to travel around that way and it lowers our blood sugar significantly.”

Nico scowls at him and blinks at the feeling of a hollow ache within him. “Yes, I did know that.” He says. Will makes a half-smile, half-smirk.

“Great, then I’m going to need you to manage your shadow traveling a bit better,” Will says. “I will come up with exact rules soon but know it’s going to be more limited now.”

Nico feels fury well up inside of him. “Not over my dead body.” He growls. Wills chuckles at his threat, annoying Nico even more.

“One-” Will puts a finger up. “-if you were a dead body then I did my job wrong. Two, as if you’d go so quickly. And three, doctor’s orders.” He says firmly, leaning in. Nico crosses his arms indignantly.

“And what if I don’t listen?” He snaps.

“You will.” Will sounds so sure of himself. Nico’s eyes darken.

“And how do you know that?”

Will leans in; he leans in very much. Nico gulps subconsciously and for a moment is shell-shocked by the smug look on Will’s face. His eyes are full of bright lights and mirth. His mouth is pink and completely sure. Nico never really talked to Will before… well yesterday when he had randomly said hi when Nico woke up. He had always known the blonde, how could one not and vise versa. He knew Will was smart and capable and a wicked good doctor; Nico just didn’t know how commanding and snarky he was either.

“Oh, I have a feeling.” With that, Will leans back and rips off a piece of paper, and hands it to Nico. The boy stares at it; it has times and measurements. “Your rules,” Will says easily. “Doctor’s orders.” He leaves with a flourish of his coat and Nico is left still on the bed with shouted orders to rest.

Nico is surprised-- pleasantly surprised. Everyone at camp is afraid of him and his ‘scary’ powers. But Will is not. It’s a nice change. A hint of a smile appears on Nico’s face. He actually listens for once (because he is not Percy Jackson)

-

“What is that?” Nico stares at the cards in Will’s hands. He shrugs. Nico scowls at him deeper. “What is that?” He repeats.

“Mythomagic cards.” Will smiles brightly; Nico wants to put on sunglasses. “I was playing with a couple of my patients when I remembered that you used to be a huge fan of the game. That was how you identified Dionysus right?” Will teases. Nico feels his face warm up, something that never happened before. Indignantly, he turns away with a huff. “Huh? Don’t like it? Mm… could’ve sworn you still liked the game; oh well, see you later then.”

Will only takes about 3 steps before Nico caves. “Wait,” Nico calls out quiet but Will hears and spins around as if he had shouted at the top of his lungs. “I- I still like the game, okay?” Nico says, trying to act hardened but it wasn’t working as well as he was hoping it would.

“Perfect!” Will says with a grin on his face. “Come join me.” He puts a hand out between them. Nico stares at it. What? Noticing that Nico didn’t move a muscle, Will quirks an eyebrow up. “Huh? Too much for you to handle?” He teases. “Sorry, just say it.” He brings his hands back to the pocket of his sweatshirt but smiles welcomingly for Nico to follow him. Nico frowns before giving in and following the blonde. He still catches the smirk residing on Will’s face.

“You don’t need to look so smug; I still like the game,” Nico growls. Will tilts his head to the side.

“I hoped so.”

They enter the hospital healing wing and there is a group of kids in clean white robes that seem to light up when their eyes catch on Will. They are young-- ages 9...10...11...12 perhaps. “Dr.Solace!” They chorus before even noticing that Nico stands next to him. Will smiles brightly; he looks almost like an angel of medicine with the sun shining through the window. “You’re back!” The kids continue. Will laughs and leaps onto one of the empty gurneys. Nico walks and stands awkwardly next to it. The kids don’t spare him much of a glance-- he wants to melt into the shadows to escape but finds that the wing is so lit up with light the nearest shadow could barely cover his entire hand.

“I am!” Will says, eyes Twinkling. “And… I brought a friend.” He presents his arms out like a magician showing his newest trick. The kids stare at Nico. Nico stares back awkwardly. Uh… what is he supposed to do now? He waves; a tight forced smile is on his face. The kids look at him intently and then back at Will. They smile, a move Nico did not expect, and nearly giggle out. What on… what? “Guys…” Will says with a head shake. Nico looks at him with a head shake. Is there a blush on his face or has Nico forgotten breakfast again? “-don’t laugh. This is Nico.”

A kid falls over, chortling. “Oh… we know.” He says mischievously. Will sends him a hard look. The kid turns back to Nico and thrusts a stack of cards in his hands. “You’ve ever played?” Nico looks at the cards… amateur set.

“Yeah.” Nico grunts. The kids here are all too young to know his past-- they don’t know what these cards mean to him. “Course I do… I’ve got seven of these.” He continues. The kid’s eyes widen like saucers; the other kids gasp dramatically.

“No way!” The kid lights up like a firework. “That’s so many! I only have that one of everything. But I do have two Apollos!” The kid explains.

“No, you don’t! You don’t have Athena.”

“It didn’t come with!”

“That’s no excuse.”

Nico is confused and stares at the bickering kids, unsure of what to do next. WIll seems to have noticed his discomfort because he leans over slightly. “Tanner, he’s one of Ares’s kids. Lara’s mom is Athena. They like to fight a lot but they’re friends.” He explains. Nico quietly nods, observing as Lara and Tanner begin to shove each other's shoulders. Will allows them to fight for a minute longer before cleaning his throat and stenly glaring at them. Lara sheepishly takes her hands off of Tanner’s shoulders. “That’s enough; do you want to start the game now or what?” Will smiles, holding his cards up. Nico copies the motions, inspecting each player carefully.

“I’m ready to win.” Lara brags. Without meaning to, a rare smirk raises to Nico’s face; it feels equally foreign and nice.

“That’s funny because I’m sure I’m going to win,” Tanner shouts at her. Lara stickers her tongue out at her.

Nico lowly huckles, hiding it behind his stack of cards. Will seems to be the only one who notices it. The blonde looks at him with a smile and eyebrow quirk. Nico scowls. “What?” He snaps.

Will shakes his head. “Nothing. Just nice to see that look on your face.”

Nico stares at him, unsure of what he means. So instead of worrying about it, he resorts to slamming these kids at Mythomagic. No one knows it better than he does.

“Woah! How’d you do that?” Lara shouts at him when Nico unsurprisingly wins. He shrugs.

“Easy move.” He says lazily. Lara glares at him but it’s nothing like her older sister’s stare so he’s not fazed at all. “You’ll learn it in time.” He all but teases. She snarls at him; he slightly grins back.

Will laughs and forces Lara to put her cards back in the pile. “He’s a big fan of the game, don’t take it personally.” He tells her. Tanner looks back at Nico with wide and impressed eyes.

“Really?”

Nico feels awkward-- never once has anyone looked at him in awe. Why was this kid doing these? What did he want from him? “Uh- yeah. I have most of the extra packs. You know, it’s fun.” HE babbles out, wanting to melt into the ground. Tanner leaps up onto his gurney.

“That’s awesome!” He cries. “Can you play with us more?” He asks. His eyes go big and wide and Nico finds it in himself to not shut him down with a harsh no. tanner looks excited, Lara looks interested and Will looks smug. Nico snarls at him.

“What’s got you all happy and sunshiny?” He asks. Will just keeps smiling, still looking like a medicine angel or whatever.

“It’s nice seeing you have fun. I’m so used to you groaning in pain on one of these.” He motions to the gurneys. “You should play with us more. Lots of the kids love the game.” Will asks. His smile seems welcoming. Nico is still unsure if he should or shouldn’t agree. “Besides… how else will those extra card packs come into use?” Will teases.

Nico decides that he’ll agree to play with him more often. “Touche.” He mumbles and Will knows he’s won. The kids are a bit loud for his taste but the game is fun. It’s nice playing with people who love Mythomagic almost as much as he does. And Will… he’s nice… a little too nice but not awful. He’s a nice friend. Maybe…

When Nico leaves the hospital wing to retreat into his own cabin to nap the day away, he leaves with a new ten-year-old fan, a planned gaming session next Tuesday, and Will’s touch lingering on his shoulder. He buries himself in his four blankets and knocks out for twenty hours.

-

He admits… it’s weird having a friend-- at the same time, it’s so nice. Will is friendly and bright; slightly annoying but sometimes it makes him smile in a way that makes him also want to bury himself into the ground. How could a person look so sweet yet not disgusting? It didn’t make sense! The last time a person had smiled like an angel and been cute without being awful was Percy and Nico didn’t need another round of that.

“Hey… Will, can you- do you think you can help me with something?” Nico says, very nervously. The feeling’s very odd for him; he’s more brooding than awkward on a day-to-day basis. The young patients behind Will seem to giggle slightly. The blonde smiles back at him, looking as golden as his father in a tiny way.

“Yeah… with what?” He asks, leaning forward on the gurney.

Nico opens his mouth to respond but is distracted for a second. Who on Gaea’s earth gave Will arms like that? They’re strong, that’s clear but not overly muscled and big. Lean but firm and oh dear Zeus, why can’t Nico stop gaping at them. Why are they so gorgeous? Why are they so distracting? Oh gods. Nico swallows and forces his eyes away from the view. If Will had noticed him staring, he certainly doesn’t show it. His smile is as serene and pleasant as ever. Nico swears his face isn’t bright red but it may be.

“Um- Per- my dad wants me over for dinner and… I don’t know, I wanna make a good impression on my step-mom; she’s not trying to smite me so I think it’d be nice.” Nico admits, fighting the urge to shadow travel away. God, he’s so awkward. Nico blames Will’s newfound arms for the feeling-- technically though, Nico had been awkward since he called out Will’s name while walking slowly into the room.

“Yeah, of course!” Will smiles brightly.

“Really?”

“Definitely. My shift’s wrapping up anyway so I have the time.”

“Oh.” A smile sneaks its way up on Nico’s face. He hates it. “Thanks.” He says meekly. Will shrugs, calling that it’s no problem and that he’ll meet him at his cabin in about ten minutes.

When Nico closes his cabin door, he questions his own sanity.

He further questions it as Will explains which fork is which and which spoon goes where. Oh if he thought his arms were a distraction before then it was the entire center star of a solar system now. With his doctor coat, most of Will’s arm had been covered and only the forearm showed and a sliver of upper arms-- now his entire arm is on display and Nico’s mouth is basically probably drooling. It’s all lean muscle and beautifully tanned skin.

“Nico? Hello~?” Will waves his hand in front of his face and Nico jumps about a foot in the air. Will snickers; Nico does not.

“I hear ya, salad, soup, all that,” Nico growls in an attempt to hide his gaping. Will chuckles and folds his arms over his chest. Huh, wow… biceps-- very nice. Nico feels dizzy.

“Great, then I will be on my way then,” Will says easily, walking towards the door.

Everything in Nico’s mind and body screams at him to not let the boy leave. He steps up and puts a hand on Will’s shoulder and wow, it’s an equally terrible and glorious idea. He jerks back like he’s been burned; Will takes notice and looks at him like he’s gone insane. He probably is a third way there.

“I- I need help picking something nice to wear.” Nico blabbers out, a very unlikely thing for him to do. “Pure emo black probably isn't the best impression.” He continues like an idiot. He secretly asks for the earth to open up and swallow him whole. Then again, he could probably have that arranged if he really wanted it to happen. “I don’t know what to do, you know…?” Cue awkward grin. Cue facepalm. Cue Will’s weirdly cute head tilt.

“Well your father is Hades so I don’t think she’d really mind this-” Will looks him up and down; Nico’s face becomes red. “-ensemble. But I do get where you’re coming from. I’m thinking… nice but still My Chemical Romance?” Will teases him. Nico scowls at him. “I kid-- actually no I don’t.” Will makes a quick turn and thrust open Nico’s closet. It’s a total mess and explosion of black clothing. He’s unsure if he should be embarrassed or not. Either way, he is. “This… not bad...this one is actually better-- okay, I got one.” Will throws his newfound sartorial choice. Nico catches it in his hands and looks quizzingly at them. “Nice non-ripped jeans, striped black and white button-up… just wear black sneakers and comb your hair out of your face a bit,” Will instructs him.

Nico nods. “Not a bad choice.” He laments. WIlls rolls his eyes and scoffs.

“I’m gay-- course I have some style. What’s your excuse?” He says snarkily.

Nico can only blink back at him. Gay, gay, he’s gay. Oh of course he’s gay! His inner monologue is stupid. I’m gay, he’s gay. Oh my gods, we’re both gay. I could date him! I wanna date him? Do I? No! I don’t! Maybe? Yes? No? He has great arms… it wouldn’t be bad. And a pretty cute smile-- plus he’s gay. Wait… why is he staring at me with that look? Nico opens his mouth but no words come out. Wills starts to full-on laugh. He’s laughing, oh my gods, I’m dead. It’s cute… AH, I’M EVEN MORE SCREWED! Wow, his arms… I should watch him do his blood tests one day. Nope...that’s weird. But would it be hot? Probably…AUGH!

“Are you okay?” Will gasps in between his chuckles. Whatever is happening in Nico’s mind is the mental equivalent to a keyboard smash.

“Yep,” Nico says, preparing to shadow travel. He steps backwards into the shadow and begins to melt away.

But much to his shock, Will’s eyes widen and his hands shoots out, grabbing Nico by his hoodie sleeve. Will drags him back into the light and aggressively points a finger in his face. His expression is a mix between worry and lots of anger. He’s never been like this before. Nico is shocked and weirdly intrigued.

“You’re not getting away with that-- not from me at least.” Will scolds him. Nico stares at him blankly. He’s mad… it’s lowkey hot. Uh- should I be breathing right now because I don’t think I am. I mean, he’s a doctor he could fix me. NO! BAD IDEA! I’ve never seen him so mad. Or mad at all. Huh. Huh... I don’t think my brain is functioning. “-as your doctor… it is an order.” Will finish but Nico caught only 10% of what he said. Nico gulps, not out of fear but out of… well he doesn't even know.

“Noted,” Nico says dryly. Will huffs and nods, looking at him with a fierce glare. It’s now he understands why Percy gets that stupid dazed look on his face when Annabeth is yelling at him. He’s really hot right now and I don’t think that's okay. Nico wants to shadow travel again but it would probably be risky. Not that he doesn't want to see angry Will again, it’s more so… he’s already pushed it.

“Good,” Will says haughtily before leaving the cabin.

Nico stares out his window till Will’s curly blonde hair is no longer visible. He then falls into his bed, face-first into a pillow. He blinks into the pillow-- and does so for a very long time. His brain is fried and it is because of Will.

I’m panicking

-

“I need your help.”

“Really?”

“Yes! Please help me now!”

“Okay, okay, what for?”

Nico looks around him and then back at the IM. “I think I’m panicking.” She raises a brow at him and drily says, no duh. He glares at her; Renya isn’t phased in the slightest. “But really-- I feel like my heart is about to explode.”

“Is your heartbeat really going that fast?” Renya questions. Nico throws his arms up in the air.

“Maybe? Probably not?” Nico sighs and drags a hand down his face. “...I saw Will.” He admits.

Renya’s face turns into an interested smile. “Go on.”She says. Nico feels his face heating up and the following urge to jump into an ice bath. Gods, he hated blushing like a ten-year-old girl.

“Everyone was going swimming…” He continues. The smirk on Renya’s face grows. “-and I decided that maybe I should go too, you know, for fun.” He mumbles.

“Nice to hear you’re not hermit-shelling yourself.” Renya teases. Nico glares at her. SHe only shrugs.

“But-” Nico points up a finger. “Will and his sibling decided to go swimming in the lake too. Which I guess makes sense or whatever, everyone in camp is burning up today but I still wasn’t expecting it.”Nico ignores Renya’s snickers.

“You didn’t realize that he: as a part of the camp, was going swimming in the lake?”

“Shut up!”

“You literally called me to freak out over this.”

Nico just nearly swipes at the message. “I discovered his arms a couple weeks ago and I couldn’t look at him the same; now I’ve seen him without a shirt and I can’t look at him, full stop. He’s hot-- like really hot. Literally looks like his dad; what do I do?” Nico walks around in a circle in his cabin, tugging at his hair in a frenzy. “I stared at him for a complete minute. I don’t think I breathed or blinked or moved at all. Just- I stood there.” He continues.

“Nico,” Renya says seriously. “You’re panicking.” She deadpans. He turns to scowl at her. She raises a brow in defiance.

“I know that!” He cries out. His eyes catch to the uncovered window where there is a perfect view of bare-torso Will ran by. He is silently laughing, hair flying back and eyes nearly closed. Nico gulps and his brain pauses for a minute or two. How are the campers around him even functioning!? It’s like watching a piece of art but not in an objectifying way. “I’m gay panicking but it’s fine.” Nico sputters out. The words are a total mess that falls in front of him. Renya cackles like a witch.

“Will walked by?”

“Yes!”

Nico grabs a blanket from his bed and huddles it around his body. He groans loudly and falls to the ground. Renya’s eyes trail down with him, quietly witnessing his breakdown. She doesn’t even make a sound as he mutters deliriously about how Will is affecting him and that his brain is now melted.

“You know, it may just help to tell him you like him. Might stop the panicking.” Renya offers. Nico glares at her from the ground and forces an arm out to wave around madly.

“What part of-” His arms are now a helicopter rotor. “-this makes you think I could confess.”

Renya rolls her eyes. “You’re an emo-depressed boy, not an emo anxious boy.” She says drily.

“I could be both!”

“But you’re not.” Reyna chuckles. “It’s fine to tell him you like him. He’s not as blind as Percy; he’s as gay as you are so that means he knows what he’s doing. You’ve said it before, he’s very clearly smirked while you blushed. Why not tell him? Will’s not the type to lead a person on. He probably is just waiting his time and having fun with it. It’s more torturous for you than him.” Nico makes a sound of pure gay panic for an impressibly long time. Renya allows him to do so. “I gotta go soon.” She looks off the IM for a second and nods. “However, you still need to at least consider it.” She points at him threateningly.

Nico nods meekly from the floor and watches wordlessly as the IM disappears.

If anyone is able to die from gay panicking, Nico’s unwilling trying to accomplish it.

-

Nico wants to die but he can’t seem to turn off his mouth. The words he was spilling weren’t the ones he had practiced with Renya but Will is smiling at them nonetheless. He’s sure the red on his face has taken over and he’s become a tomato head. Nico feels miserable and thanks all deities for making sure no one else is walking onto the scene.

“-so yeah that's kinda what I wanted to say...yeah.” Nico prays for his father’s realm.

Will lets out a laugh and if it wasn’t so horribly sweet and cute, Nico would have shadow traveled away. “That’s very nice and brave of you to say,” Will says. He leans out and presses a kiss to Nico’s cheek. Nico nearly falls over. “And I like you too. But I’ve been waiting for you to make a move since you started staring at my arms like a lifeline.” Nico gasps and points at Will accusingly.

“You noticed?”

“How could I not.”

Nico glares at him harshly. “I don’t like you no more.” He mutters. Wills sighs but with a smile on his face. He opens his arms and closes them around Nico’s form. Nico is shocked by the fact that he is still standing. His inner mind is frozen still. “Oh.” He says dumbly.

Will chuckles, the sound resonates lowly and vibrates from his chest to Nico. “Does this make up for it?”

Nico scowls but doesn’t deny anything. His heart is beating much faster than it should but it’s kinda okay with him. He decides that, yes the hug makes up for the torture Will put him through: freaking arm tease. It’s warm and comforting and he really likes how Will smells.

“Yeah. It does.”

Awe... aren't they just so cute? I wrote this pretty late at night so my own speech patterns ended up slipping in. By the way, the emo-depressed/anxious boy thing is literally a thing I put in from my own personal conversations. I have a very wonderful NB emo anxious depressed boi in my life. I hoped you guys liked this story and found it either funny, cute, or slightly relatable...maybe. - Mka1098

[thetradeway]

Session 49 21 Aug 2021 - Faceless Jim

Duncan is at Matthew and Sophie’s house, so we’re just waiting for Ed (who is with us this week! He is back from the festival with a lurgy, which may or may not be covid. “Several people I was… Well, I was in a car with, have got it.” Duncan: “You can say ‘cuddle puddle’, it’s okay.” He did see Devin Townsend though.) and Mina.

Matthew: “Terrible things happened last week!”

Sophie, remembering: “*Gasp* Oh yeah! Not to anyone important though.”

Ardvack has no face, which was stolen by this creature:

Joe has edited Ardvack’s token accordingly:

We’re in the Underdark, as a reminder. Does Ardvack want Kessler to fashion him a face out of something? Ahleqs pats him on the shoulder and reassures him that we’ll fix him when we get back to the surface. Kessler wants to, in her spare time, work on a way of making Ardvack a face. He bandages himself for now, and casts Disguise Self so he looks like he still has his face. Matthew is able to edit the token and switch between his faces.

“Don’t investigate me too much.”

Tarragon Investigates for mushrooms, and finds two types that could be useful in herbal recipes, so she makes some cuttings and stores them away. One is green and seems poisonous; she could use it for her contact poison. (It’s like the ones you get in Fallout 4.) The second is blue and called a Nightlight mushroom; if you burn it, it releases a relaxing smoke; she could use it in her Relaxing Bark recipe.

Gideon’s ring says that the drift globe is trying to lead us east.

We decide to take a long rest; during it, Ardvack gives Gideon the stone of Shar that we found.

Tarragon makes Kessler some contact poison for her crossbow bolts. She can add a d6 poison damage on ten crossbow bolts - but the poison loses potency once it’s exposed to air, and is ineffective after 1 hour.

Kessler manages to make a slightly creepy leather face for when Ardvack’s illusion drops. “But I haven’t got a chainsaw. I’ll have to make do with a wood saw.” She will make him a better one when we get back to town. He takes it with two fingers and inspects it. He looks her dead in the face and says thank you, and tries to surreptitiously put it in a pocket.

We move on.

We make Perception checks; Tarragon rubs mushroom spores in her eye (nat 1). Gideon notices bones on the floor around us. They’re from creatures rather than humanoids; he makes an Investigation check on them but he’s not sure what exactly. He thinks maybe something medium-sized, possibly canine.

Have the bones been gnawed on, Ahleqs wants to know? He makes an Investigation check as well, but he can’t see any chew-marks.

Have any been cut cleanly? Kessler, Tarragon and Melaina see that some look half sheared, half smashed; it doesn’t look like a weapon was involved. Whatever did this ripped its victims apart; they are of various ages but some are pretty new, and they are clean of meat.

Uh oh.

The scenery starts to change. The large mushrooms begin to thin out, and the place grows more cavernous. The ceilings get lower, and there are stalactites and stalagmites. Kessler, Melaina, Gideon and Tarragon hear clicks and little scraping noises from multiple directions.

Gideon, with rising horror: “Some hideous creature dripping with ichor!”

We listen for more sounds as we move, and they seem to be getting more frequent. Gideon thinks we should check to make sure we’re going the right way, and uses the ring to illuminate the drift globe again. It rushes ahead of us and down into an area of huge stalactites and stalagmites; he extinguishes the globe.

Ardvack: “When I die down here… First off I’m sorry, for literally everything. But I was wondering if I could entrust to you… Carl. It was always my aim to find a cleric who could cast True Resurrection on him, so he could go back to his own family. I want you to promise me you will do your best to find someone who can bring Carl back to life so he can live a full life.”

Kessler wants to know if Ardvack can promise us that Carl wasn’t a murderer. He was bitten by a snake, Ardvack says. He was a woodsman. He didn’t look like a murderer.

Ahleqs points out that if Ardvack dies, we’re not getting out of here either.

Gideon spots some skeletons up ahead. “I fear I’ve made a grave mistake…"

Sophie, OOC: “Pun intended.”

Gideon makes a Perception check - a 12. At the end of the cavern in the direction the globe was pointing, is a large creature with a vulture like head with a carapace and razor sharp claws.

Gideon, eyeing the hook horror: “How important is this wizard, exactly?”

Ardvack realises that without the wizard, we can’t get out. We were teleported down here… Oh, it turns out that once we get back within the wards (where we teleported in) they will know we’re there and teleport us back.

What are we looking at? It’s a skeksis, isn’t it?

It’s a skeksis.

Ahleqs: “… Maybe it wants to talk?”

Joe: “Tarragon and Melaina, would you like to look behind you?”

We turn. There are two more behind us.

Initiative time…

Faceless Jim is up first.

(Duncan thinks Joe is sick of this campaign and is just throwing monsters at us to see how long we’ll survive. Joe: “I asked you if you wanted to go to the Underdark, Duncan, and you said yes so I have no sympathy with you.”)

Faceless Jim’s computer takes a shit, so he has Joe cast Eldritch Blast for him. Both hit for ten total damage. The creature ahead of us emits a hideous screech.

Then one of the things gets a go… It’s the fourth one, that we didn’t know was there. Oh good!

Gideon, who hasn’t turned around yet: “Oh, there’s two!”

It towers over Ardvack and foul smelling drool drips onto him.

Ed: “Does it purr and roll onto its back?”

It does not do that.

One of the attacks is a nat 1, but the other hits and it starts to peck some of Ardvack’s scalp off.

Tarragon hears a thumping noise behind her as one of the others attacks her, but both miss.

Before Ahleqs’ turn, a fifth one appears.

Me: “He is! He’s trying to kill us!”

The newcomer thinks the Grease Wizard looks delicious. It misses as well, fortunately.

Ahleqs casts Shatter. “Why are there so many?”

Joe: “Because they hunt in packs.”

“… Clever girl.”

Joe will let Ahleqs soil himself as a free action if he wants. His muscles are too clenched, unfortunately. Next round, perhaps.

One attacks Melaina and hits, and then it’s her turn. She Bonus-Action-Disengages and retreats into a corner to attack the one in melee with Tarragon. 16 hits. 37 damage! It screams and wobbles.

Ahleqs: “… And dies?”

No, but it looks rough.

Kessler uses one of her new poisoned crossbow bolts - a hit and a natty 20. Noice. Including the poison, 45 damage. Noice! It wavers on its feet and throws up a foul substance right next to Gideon.

Gideon: “Augh! Why!”

Tarragon Thunderwaves the two closest to her. The injured one is pushed away.

Joe: “That one’s having his worst ever day.”

Tarragon, brightly: “Good! I’m glad to have been a part of it.”

Carl is up, but Matthew has to go and collect pizza from the door. Once he returns, Carl dashes recklessly up to one and does a Slam attack. It hits, and the thing is looking tatty; Carl decides fuck it and goes for a bonus action grapple attack; but the thing is bigger than him, and may escape automatically. He gives it a go anyway. He does grapple it, but it has advantage to escape on its turn.

Is the river water, or methane, or what? It’s water? Okay, dwarven combat roll! Gideon lines himself up to get two of them in his sights, and uses the ruler to prove he can hit them both. Both fail the save for Aganazzar’s Scorcher!

“I do 28 roasting damage to these chickens!”

He gets a how-de-do-dis on the one Carl’s grappling - its feathers catch fire and it crumbles into ash. Carl gives Gideon a gauntleted thumbs up.

Ed, absolutely delighted: “Wait wait wait, I got my one liner cause they’re birds!

“I knew this would be a poultry affair!”

Gideon takes a badass sip from his magical ale jug. He is very pleased with himself and puts his hands on his hips.

(Welcome back, Ed.)

Another ninja one appears.

Ardvack, resigned: “Yep.” He drops his Disguise Self spell, and is attacked and pecked by one of the hook horrors.

Joe, entirely too pleased with himself: “What you doing, Ardvack? Apart from being digested.”

He Misty Steps the fuck outta there, and turns for an Eldritch Blast. It emits some high pitched clicks and the others respond; Kessler takes an Attack of Opportunity as it tries to retreat, but misses. It dashes to the back of the cave and is gone.

The two near Tarragon both attack her. Tarragon: “Bring it.” They do, and both hit. Tarragon, surprised but not especially inconvenienced: “Oh. Ouchie.”

Ahleqs does Eldritch Blast on one of them. How-de-do-dis! Yay! “I turn it into chum!”

Now a semi-professional coward, and aware that these things will have to kill a good number of his friends before they get to him, Ahleqs stays where he is.

Melaina hides and does Sharpshooter; 11 just misses.

Kessler steps up to one and punches it in the jaw. She goes for an Animal Handling check to try and tame one, but rolls badly.

Tarragon Rages and goes for an attack with her quarterstaff and rolls a nat 1. Butterfingers: You lose your grip mid-swing and your weapon goes flying (15 feet) away in the direction of your target. She looks over her shoulder to see who noticed; at least Ahleqs and Melaina, possibly Ardvack as well.

“… Well, shit.”

Carl goes for a Slam attack but misses. Gideon goes for an Acid Splash.

Joe: “Not until you do the voice!”

Ed, in Gideon old-man voice, as requested: “Acid Splash!” He moves, and turns his token around - and is genuinely alarmed to see Ardvack, faceless, standing behind him.

One gets a Nat 20 on Carl - he is Frightened of them for five rounds (Joe rolls on the crit table), and he takes 32 damage from just the crit, and then 6 more on top.

Another goes for Kessler but she reaction-Shields.

Faceless Jim again, and after some deliberation he looks in his mirror, re-assesses his face, pockets the mirror again, and does an Eldritch Blast on the one that attacked Carl. He rolls a one and a two on two d10. He basically pets it a bit too hard, like a kid with a cat. Ardvack bonus-action Healing Potions.

The one behind Tarragon hits her twice again. She’s raging so it’s halved to 12.

Ahleqs casts Shatter on that one, at level 3. “BLAAAAAM! Get Shattered, son!” (The somatic component for that spell is gang signs, it turns out.) It hits, and bits and chunks fly off. He has to roll a d20 (he’s been forgetting to do that) and rolls a nat 1, so he has to roll on the chaos table. He casts Levitate on himself.

Melaina rinses and repeats. 16 to hit for 32 damage! It looks rough!

Kessler once more tries to tame the one in front of her, beginning by punching it. The punch connects, but the taming attempt does not. She punches it again.

Tarragon goes bear and rips one apart, going to town on the innards. She lumbers toward the remaining two hook horrors, in melee with Carl and Kessler.

Carl is Frightened so he runs away, and the hook horror closest gets an Attack of Opportunity. 14 hits for 12 Piercing, but he has enough Hit Points to survive it. He runs to hide behind Ardvack, his gauntleted hands on Ardvack’s shoulders. (Bearing in mind that he is both broader and considerably taller than Ardvack.)

Gideon goes for a brilliant Dwarven tactic - the flank! Or - wait, no. He could always summon Rusty…?

We wait, while Ed has ideas. He could do flumph delivery on his spell! Wait, he can scurry - "such as only a dwarf can perform" - so he can properly place his cube, and Thunderwaves two hook horrors. Both succeed the save - and the bones nearby are scattered by the spell to reveal something shiny.

One is very injured and tries to run - Attack of Opportunity from Kessler and Gideon. Kessler’s hits, but Gideon swings with his magical tankard and misses with a nat 1. He rolls on the crit fail table - Sidestepped. Swap places with the target and make a DC 14 Dex save - on fail, you fall prone. The target has gone, and Gideon makes the save. Phew.

Ardvack doubles down and tries again. Eldritch Blast, one hit and one miss. 8 Force damage. He bonus action potions again.

Floating shop boy can’t do much so he stops concentrating on Levitate (even though it was involuntarily cast) and does Eldritch Blast as well. another hit and another miss. Ardvack, with his skinless face: “Attaboy!”

Melaina steps behind some stalagmites and hides with a nat 20, becoming basically invisible. She then misses with her attack. “Bollocks.”

Kessler turns her attention to the last remaining hook horror and warns it that it can end up like its mates, or it can be her steed. It makes some panicky clicks, but none are returned from the gloom. Kessler rolls her third 7 on Animal Handling.

Ardvack, calling from further away: “Just buy a horse!”

Kessler hits it for 7 Thunder damage and winds up the second shot which is a nat 20. Stunning blow: Max damage, and the target must make a DC14 CON save. On fail the target is stunned. It makes the save.

Bear Tarragon goes full Revenant, picks up the hook horror and shakes it until bits fall off. “And then I eat the bits.”

That was the last of them; Gideon goes immediately for the shiny thing he saw. “Gimme. Gimme gimme gimme.”

It’s a wooden ring carved with mice. He wants to cast Identify; have we got ten minutes? Sure!

It’s a Ring of Warmth. While wearing this ring, you have resistance to cold damage. In addition, you and everything you wear and carry are unharmed by temperatures as low as −50 degrees Fahrenheit.

Ed, suddenly realising something: “We’re ticking too many boxes - finding rings in caves, oh no!!!!”

We take a short recess for hit dice and tea.

Ardvack does not cast Disguise Self again. We all make Insight checks, even Bear-Tarragon. Anyone above a ten knows we have ticked over to the next day. We are now on the 2nd of Eleasis, in the year 1492. Ardvack reanimates some of the bones and calls the resulting minion Beverly. He is a boy.

Sophie, pinging something on the map: “Joe is this a mushroom? It’s all veiny and weird and I don’t like it.”

Melaina roots around for stuff, and unearths a leather roll of papers, quills, seals, sealing wax and so on. Joe: “I like to think that some poor diplomat has been ripped apart down here.”

Gideon reactivates the drift globe, and we follow. We continue through the caverns, in a general downward direction.

“You can travel at a slower pace and sneak…?”

Gideon, immediately: “No!”

Tarragon can be a bear for up to two hours; she remains so for as long as she can, but reverts back after a while.

We start to hear water. Ahleqs casts Mage Armour.

We are led to a bottleneck, and then a giant cave full of bioluminescent plants - ferns, and flowers, rather than mushrooms. Even the water glows a strange blue. We see a stone bridge crossing a subterranean river which crashes down from a waterfall. On either side of the bridge are two pillars made of skulls.

Ardvack, crossly: “Well this is going to go swimmingly, I assume.” He tells Beverly to cross the bridge - the eyes light up in all the skulls. Necrotic energy bursts from them, right at Beverly.

Gideon, waving: “Bye, Beverly.”

How many HP does Beverly have? And what’s his Dexterity? Not enough. Beverly is dust.

Ardvack turns to us with his skinless face. “You’re welcome.”

Hmm. Who’s next?

Could we wade? The water is glowing, so that’s probably not good. It doesn’t look too deep. Ahleqs wants to know if it’s magic. He makes an Arcana check - a 7. He has no idea. Ardvack takes the Help action.

Joe: “Look at Ardvack, making friends. Someone should have ripped your face off years ago son.”

Ardvack: “… I spit at God.”

The water is likely just glowing from minerals or something. Ahleqs does Eldritch Blast at the pillars; no damage. Melaina and Kessler look at the bridge: they remember when Beverly set foot on the bridge, the pillars adjusted to aim at him. They see burn marks across the bridge where other creatures have been struck before.

If one of us can get across maybe there’s an off switch? Melaina calculates how far she can jump, and aims for a boulder in the middle of the river. The sockets of the skull stay dark and the pillars do not move.

Could we use a mirror to reflect the beams back? Ardvack thinks it won’t work; there will be a mirror and an evaporated person.

Melaina estimates a four foot depth in the water. She can’t jump because she has no space for a run up on the boulder, so she steps in and wades square by square. “Does anything happen?” The skulls stay dark and the pillars don’t move.

Tarragon asks Carl if she can climb up on his shoulders as she would be swept away in four feet of water; he gives her a thumbs up and crouches down. Kessler doesn’t yet have a jet pack, so what will she do?

Carl ventures across, ignoring the boulder and wading right from the start. He lumbers slowly; he’s not a raging cadaver right now. He sets her down gently on the other side.

Matthew OOC: “So I assume Ardvack is eaten by the river monster…?”

As we pass through, we see that the water is perfectly clear. We can fill our water skins if we want. We do.

Gideon and Kessler are still on the other side. Gideon wants to swim. Kessler wants to jump at least halfway, and swim the rest.

Close up we can see that the skulls are carved from stone. Gideon uses his stone cunning to tell us that it looks like Duergar work.

“Oh dear. The Grumpy Dwarves, we call them.”

Ardvack is going to evaporate someone when we get back. He moves three squares and is told “Stop right there!” by the DM.

Here is what happens: There is a 40 foot-ish high ceiling here, with stalactites. We pass through two columns, and something makes an attack: a tendril reaches down from the ceiling and grapples Ardvack. Does 24 hit Melaina? Yes? She is also grappled then. As is Carl, and Gideon.

It then reels Ardvack in - he is raised 25 feet in the air.

It’s a roper!

Ed, OOC: “He’s ‘orrible! Get rid of him!”

We roll initiative…

Ahleqs goes first. After his customary scream, he casts Shatter. “That’s a good spell! BLAM!” He throws his gang signs. It makes the save and takes five damage.

Kessler hits with her poisoned crossbow bolts. Carl makes an attempt to break free from the roper’s grapple, but fails. He makes a breathy, dusty, dry sound.

Gideon wants to cast something, and can do so while grappled, so he goes Fireball. “How dextrous can it be? It’s literally nailed in place!”

Joe: “You say that; it rolled an 18.”

Gideon: “You bitch!”

He hears other screams up there. “Oh no, I think it might have fried our wizard!” He looks at the drift globe; it wants us to continue on through this cavern. He hasn’t cooked our quarry. Phew. For some reason, we never follow up on the screams.

Tarragon runs up to Melaina to hit the tendril grappling her, but misses. Two more tendrils try to grapple her, but miss.

The tendril holding Ardvack lifts him higher, and the roper bites him for 19 piercing damage. Matthew, OOC: “I imagine you all see something pierce me and come out the back.”

Melaina tries to break free. “Bazinga. Twelve! A mighty twelve.” The roper rolls a nine, so she’s free! She moves away and hides - but just before she rolls to hide, she is told to hold that thought.

“I don’t like the sound of that.”

Joe: “Does 18 hit you?”

“*sigh* yes.” She takes four piercing damage, as a maggot type creature hangs from the ceiling onto her head, and gives it a good monch.

She’s at Disadvantage now, with her lovely slug hat.

Ardvack goes for a Shocking Grasp, but rolls a nat 1. (He is having yet another terrible day.) Crit fail magic macro: Not quite what I meant. The target of your spell becomes resistant to the damage type of the spell for 1 round.

Ahleqs makes a Perception check; “Ohhhhh, God.” 15 - high on the ceiling above him he can hear shuffling sounds. He calls up: “No, thank you.” He casts Fireball. The roper fails and takes 30 points of damage. “And is killed. And is killed…?”

In the flash of the fireball, we see that some of the stalactites are quivering and shaking.

He rolls his d20, but is fine.

Carl is still grappled. He wants to grab hold of the tendril and pull back, digging his heels in and trying to pull it off the ceiling. He rolls high, but the roper rolls higher with a nat 20. Dammit.

Kessler shoots with her crossbow. A hit and a miss.

Another Piercer drops down and narrowly misses Ahleqs. He gives it a kick. Gideon is up. “Well then.” He does Aganazzar’s Scorcher again and hits. “I burn ye!”

Tarragon runs forward an smashes Ahleqs’ piercer with her quarterstaff, showering Ahleqs with goo. He uses Tides of Chaos on his Dex check and his hair falls out again. Tarragon heals Ardvack with Healing Word at third level, for which he is not grateful. A piercer falls on Tarragon and hits her for 4 damage, and then a tendril reaches down and grapples her.

Another tendril reaches down and misses Kessler. A third grabs for Ahleqs and gets him. Ardvack is bitten by the roper; he throws up his breakfast in its mouth. It reels Tarragon in.

“I hope I give you the shits!”

Ahleqs is hit by another piercer. “It hits me square in my self.”

Melaina shoots for the roper. “Bollocks. Eleven.” She bonus action hides again “So that my worm friend doesn’t see me.”

Ardvack casts Shillshsldgksdkghsdglhjjhh and bonus action Flaming Blades it. “That much [damage].” Eighteen total, jabbing around in its gullet.

The stone part of the roper is cracking, and weeping some sort of ooze between the cracks.

A maggot drops past Kessler and splats on the floor. “I laugh.”

Ardvack: “Quick! Kessler, Animal Handling check! Make it a mount!”

Ahleqs: “Fuck it, I’m gonna do another Fireball.” The roper fails the save and takes 34 fire damage. “Oooh, hello!”

It is pretty heinously wounded now, and it uses its reaction to drop everyone who’s grappled. Ardvack and Tarragon are going to take some falling damage. Carl refuses to let go of it; he fully intends to pull the roper off the ceiling or pull the tendril off the roper.

Carl makes a STR check - an 11. “Awwww.”

Kessler shoots with her crossbow again - 17 misses, both times.

Gideon does Aganazzar’s Scorcher again, and the roper fails the save. How-de-do-dis!

“I scorch it like Doctor Octopus’ laser beam and it drops down but doesn’t hit anyone - conveniently - and it plops down on the ground.”

We squish the remaining Piercers, as they can’t do much once they’ve dropped. Carl uses one to kill another one.

We’ve solved Joe’s roper puzzle, but there’s still no sign of Ava, or of the wizard.

We take a short rest, before we halt there for this week.

[lycansfulgur]

//Razor asks you to be his lupical, do you accept? 

[calamitousrpg]

SIGN UPS ARE NOW CLOSED

The roster’s updated; ring names pinned to the front of the SR as sign up slips make their way into waiting hands. Most are voluntary, nobody questions when a couple of slips come in from a single person, an entry is an entry.

The slots are filled quickly, name after name streams in and the chosen champions give themselves a few days to prepare, every behind the scenes arrangement is made and on SRS day, the champions find that they’re treated like royalty. There’s unfamiliar faces leading those nominated to decorated tunnels that surround the sandy ring itself. An armoury offered with the exact amount of requested equipment – large trunks with the champions’ names are found as the weapons housing.

Inside, the order of events –

Before it can be read, a rumble from the Slaughter Ring’s caves has everyone looking up, for a moment, it’s mistaken as the crowd outside roaring and jeering to see blood. It still could be, the energy of the Slaughter Ring carries right across the North; one of the most anticipated events of the year always brings the crowds. But this rumbling is closer, like a train reverberating up the tunnels at an unrelenting speed.

Some of those with more adept senses are already backing out of the armoury – shaken for just a moment before there’s an echoing whisper that reaches the champion’s ears:

                       “Here’s your warm-up before the first round, champions.”

And the Southside ceiling collapses, no chance to process the recognisable tone when the competitors are finding any exit they can as rocks from above threaten to come down and crush them; jagged, purposeful chunks of stone that intend to do a little more than harm.

As fast as it comes, its over.

If adrenaline wasn’t already running through the veins of every champion, it certainly is now; glances are thrown suspiciously in every direction, most are looking for those who didn’t make it out; there’s less bodies standing there in the wings of the ring. SRS organisers are near enough rushing at them, checking for casualties, ushering the designated groups to their private wings organised in factions before they are to put feet on the sand.

Everyone that’s still holding their match roster notices – as if by magic, those missing and likely beneath the rubble of the armoury are also absent the fight line-up. (It doesn’t take a genius to work out how organised a sabotage it had been.) Everyone has their own theories; perhaps an eradication of those districts attempting to put additional champions in their ranks, though, something darker sits in the minds of some where they swear they’ve heard the ghost-like voice before.

There’s eight names struck out; casualties before even the SRS has begun. Most bring the champion count down from the usual four and at a slight disadvantage as a group – however two names stand out above the rest; if only for their notoriety:

Prince Quintus “The Pirate” Zander of the Forgotten and Tranterdor ‘Troy’ “The Lover Man” Dazzoth of the Dominion.

Mourning isn’t an agenda within the Slaughter Ring and its likely that their names would be announced as losses at the end of the SRS. Only the Champions seem to be aware of the tragic accident that sets up the Slasher for a questionable start.

Another voice cuts through the Slaughter Ring, this time, from overhead speakers:

Welcome to the one-hundred and twenty-first Slaughter Ring Slasher, citizens of Calamity. We apologise for the delay, but Round One shall begin shortly, above you you’ll find the line-up, alongside the standings for how each Champion is pitted; we promised you blood; we always deliver. 

A pause, a shuffle on the speakers, before:

There has been a slight change to the Champions, but nothing to worry about, the Knockout’s will commence forthwith. [END] Static silences the voice.

Tradition stands; the Knockouts, a head-to-head, show of strength that acts as an opener – one rule; get your opponent to concede, if they don’t, then knockout is putting it kindly.

Bring on the blood.

ROUND ONE

I. Valerie “The Mistress” Sylla vs. Aslyn “Chaos Wolf” Bishop II. Lorelai “The Missing Half” Mackie vs.  Josiah “The Ill-Advised” Maxwell III. Corvina “The Hellcat” Alkera vs. Demitri “Honeypot”  IV. Cardelle “Ace of Spades” Mackie vs. Liliana “Khanivore” Solar  V. Max “The Valkyrie” Roper vs. Ariel “Atlantis” Tarren VI. Boone “The Unawakened” Morris vs. Axel “Thor” Reyes VII. Dayanara “The Piranha Queen” Lighcrest vs. Esme “Scarlet Witch” Darcy VIII. Bram “Mac Rhys” Mackie vs. Jack “Legendary” Davenport IX. Garrett “The Dark Wolf” Kaelstrom vs. Ragnar “Fenrir’s Claw” Lothbrok  X. Izyk “The Exiled” Vissar vs. Azarius “The Souleater” XI. Kondor “The Trident” Tarren vs. Ripley “The Ripper” Bell  XII. Jasper “The Daring Chicken” Dalton vs. Alistair “Adonis” Adams XIII. Oberyn “The Viper” Cortes vs. Azagi “The Fury” Rabaz XIV. Mike “The Mad Wolf” Fothergill vs. Evan “The Hurricane”  XV. Jake “The King’s Guard” Juarez vs. Lobo “Sad Moon Moon” Vasquez XVI. Hazel “The Vigilante” Warren vs. Rhysand “Star Boy” Darkwood

The names are called in order, I - XVI and is the fastest way to determine who makes it to Round Two. The Crowds are cheering and the Champions who didn’t sign themselves up to begin with are less than happy about the forced participation since their names are already plastered bold across the callboard. 

Bets are being placed; Kochba is being slid into all the conman’s hands and wars have every ability to be waged on the sands. The losses earlier in the night sit unpleasant in the back of the Champion’s minds, a strange occurrence that reminds how dangerous the SRS is; how easy life can be taken, even for immortals. There’s no way someone in the ring planned the sabotage; cheating their way to victory this year?

Eradicating the competition and leaving district representatives short Champions; less to defeat, but those who were there, know that everyone in the backrooms were accounted for; as at equal risk; suicidal to cave a room in with those responsible within it, surely?

The SRS is only fun, right, Champions? 

Better get ready to R U M B L E....

ADMIN NOTE: SRS day is HERE. Everyone who wants to be is gathered in the Slaughter Ring; the ringside seats are packed, there’s bustling from every angle, all trying to get the best view of the sandy ring itself, the Champions are in the wings preparing to watch; front row seats to their comrades and competitors fights. Heat and tension as the anticipation hits peak for them. 

Champions can thread their fights, discuss in your pairs results or if you want that randomised too, please let us know, we’ll dice roll success/fails on hits/punches or whatever your pairing lead to! Or, you know, if your Champion retreats/runs and is deemed a coward. Whatever. ;) You can also thread being in the Champion wings with other Champs whilst you wait for your fight to go. 

Then of course, everyone else in attendance can spectate, discuss around the ring, maybe ponder why the standings suddenly changed and names went missing dun dun dunnnn. But everyone will eventually notice that there is uneven champion reps due to the accident as they look at who’s left in the ring. This justifies why there’s extra champs in other districts... to you know... fill numbers... suspend your disbelief... 

Any questions, please let us know! Also, update us on victors for the next rounds (and you know, if ... they’re still fight-able...), we’ll open up the event discord channel again as we do during events and you can discuss and place your bets ooc on people too if you want. All for fun y’all, we love you, peace ! 

R.I.P. Troy & Quintus. (We’re off to a good start with Nova at the reigns.)

This next part (round) will drop 18TH FEBRUARY 18:00GMT ! Please keep us updated with where you’re at results wise by then, or if you need more time! 

[gaygent37]

Calling the Wolf Within - JayDick

I had a lot of hope going into this. I got 4k words in, and just lost interest, so here you go. As per usual, no porn :/ because it would’ve taken another few thousand words to get to that actual porn, and a few thousand to wrap it up afterwards, and that was too long for me. So I scrapped it and wrote the other werewolf fic instead. Also it just started getting strange.

5,021 words, JayDick, werewolf Jason, human Dick, human Tim, almost kidnapping, almost Stockholm Syndrome, almost mating calls, almost explained why ‘almost’ towards end, fluff, borderline crack at time, h/c, no idea why Tim is there, OOC Tim, it’s a mess

For the past week and a half, Dick would hear shuffling in the woods behind his cottage. The first couple of times, he took it as a family of rabbits or raccoons looking for a place to live, but when the heard a tree crack and fall, Dick knew it was something much bigger.

His neighbors said it could be a bear or perhaps a mountain lion that had come down from the mountains. So Dick called the local ranger to take a gander.

“I dunno what to tell ya, kid,” the ranger said, shaking his head at the tree and the large muddy footprints that appeared last night. “Ya see these tracks?” he asked, pointing to the paws in the mud. “I grew up in Wyoming, so I’ seen my share o’ wolf tracks. And if I were to guess, I’d say it’s one hellava wolf ya’ve got there.”

“W-Wolf?” Dick asked faintly. “But Mr. and Mrs. Hanks said there are no wolves in this area.”

The ranger nodded and tipped his hat. “There ain’t.”

Dick nodded slowly, like the ranger was making complete sense. “Okay, so there’s a huge wolf coming around the woods and making a mess near my house every night. What do you propose I do?”

“Wolf of this size?” he chuckled humorlessly, nodding at the tracks. “Ain’t no shotgun in the world that could make a dent in this thing, so I’d move the hell out. Well, that or call in the military. This is way outta my jurisdiction.”

“But you’re supposed to deal with these kinds of things in this area!” Dick said in frustration. “You can’t expect everyone to just move out when there’s a problem to can’t handle! Think of something!”

The ranger stood and scratched his head. “Well, I gotta friend a state over who specializes in catching these kinda beasts. He might have an extra-large bear trap or two?”

“Yes!” Dick said in relief. “Please call him.”

“You got it, kid.” The ranger stepped away for a few minutes to call his friend.

Dick shoved his hands into his pocket with a sigh, looking around the forest. He could see his cottage no more than thirty paces from the fallen tree and the tracks. There were also snapped branches and a dried bloody trail leading to a chicken carcass, more signs of the large animal that had popped up throughout the past week.

Dick shivered slightly and glanced over at the ranger, who was laughing into his phone. Suddenly, he shivered, a chill running over him. Dick glanced around again, but nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary in the sunny forest.

“Good news!” the ranger said, jogging back over. “My friend said he could come with a couple of his huntin’ buddies! Bad news, they can’t come until the weekend.”

“The weekend?” Dick asked. “That’s- That’s not for another four days.”

The ranger gave him a shrug.

Dick took a deep breath. “Okay. I- I guess I’ll just pack some stuff and go stay at the town inn until then. I don’t want to be up here alone when there’s that giant… whatever it is, running around.”

The ranger smiled. “That’s the spirit, kid! Want me to give you a ride into town?”

“Nah,” Dick said. “I need to do some packing first. I’ll head over first thing tomorrow morning.”

Dick awoke to the sound of his downstairs window breaking. Immediately, his hand went to his phone, which was charging on the bedside table. There were several more crashes and the banging of pots clashing, the sound of something very large moving through Dick’s tiny kitchen.

Dick slid off his bed and rolled under it in one smooth moment. He dialed 911 immediately and pressed the phone to his ear, his breathing erratic and loud. His eyes were pinned to his bedroom door, which was cracked open slightly.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“Someone broke into my house,” Dick whispered.

“Okay, and where are they now?”

“In my house,” Dick repeated, barely daring to speak.

“And where are you, sir?”

“I’m- I’m hiding, under my bed. Can you- Can you please send a squad? With guns.” Dick tensed even more when he heard the bottom stair creak, louder than it has ever creaked before. “Please.”

“Is there only one person?” There was another creak. The second step. Then a third.

“I don’t know!” Dick hissed. “They’re- They’re making a lot of noise, and they’re coming up the stairs!”

“Okay, stay calm, sir. I’m going to-” Suddenly, there was loud thump, right outside his bedroom door. Whatever it was, had jumped eight entire steps up to the second floor. Dick shoved his phone underneath him and pressed his hand tightly to his mouth, not even daring to breathe.

His bedroom door was nosed open. Literally nosed open. The first thing that appeared was a huge snout. The nose twitched a couple of times before the rest of the beast entered the room as well.

Dick’s eyes grew wider, and he felt like his heart was going to pound out of his chest in fear. He could only see the huge paws of the creature, but it took up all the space in Dick’s room. Its tail knocked over Dick’s lamp, and the glass of watch he always set by his bed.

A soft growl filled the air and the creature shifted, stretching down so that its head was pressed against the ground. Golden eyes met his, and Dick let out the tiniest of squeaks.

The last thing Dick heard when he fainted was the emotionless calls of “Sir? Sir? Are you still there? Please stay on the line. We’re sending someone over right now.”

“…look! You scratched up his face!” There was a growl and a snapping of teeth. “Damn, that’s gotta hurt… Oh, wait, I think he’s waking up!”

Dick blinked his eyes open slowly, feeling dizzy and disoriented. The first thing he saw was the smiling face of a young teenager.

“Hullo,” the boy said. “You alright?”

“Where the hell… am I?” Dick asked, looking around. Everywhere he looked, he just saw jagged stone.

The boy gave a light laugh. “I couldn’t tell you,” he said. “Some cave in the middle of nowhere, probably.”

There was a snuffle and a growl from somewhere behind the boy.

Dick craned his neck and peered behind him. His eyes widened, and he tensed. The largest wolf Dick had ever seen was curled up lazily against the opposite wall, its head resting in its paws, and it was staring at Dick.

“Oh my god,” Dick said hoarsely. “I’m having a nightmare.”

“That’s what I thought too, at first,” the boy said, strangely cheerfully. “But you’ll get used to it.”

“What?” Dick asked, staring at the teen like he was crazy.

“Oh, I should introduce myself,” the boy said. He held out his hand. “I’m Tim.”

Dick stared at Tim’s hand for the longest time. He looked over at the wolf again. Then, he took Tim’s hand. “Dick… my name’s Dick,” he said very slowly, unsure of what was going on.

“So, where are you from, Dick?” Tim asked.

“Um… Brighton Springs… in Pennsylvania,” Dick said.

“Never heard of it,” Tim said.

“It’s a small town,” Dick said absently. “Wha- What about you? What are you doing here?” He kept a cautious eye on the wolf.

��Los Angeles,” Tim said.

“California?”

“Yup,” Tim said. “My parents were in Pittsburg for business, and I tagged along. Didn’t know I’d be kidnapped by a giant wolf though.” Tim laughed.

“Wait, you were- you were taken by- by that too?”

Tim nodded.

“And- And you’re not freaked out by it?!” Dick exclaimed.

“I was,” Tim said. “I’ve been here two weeks though, so I’ve had time to get used to it. Besides, Wolfie isn’t bad at all.”

“Wolfie.”

Tim grinned. “Yeah. I couldn’t keep calling him ‘it’ or ‘the wolf’. And I don’t think he really minds anyway. Isn’t that right, Wolfie?”

Wolfie yawned and flicked his tail.

“Oh my god, I’m stuck in a cave with a giant wolf and a crazy kid,” Dick muttered. “What the ever-loving fuck.”

“Hey, I’m not a kid,” Tim said. “I’m seventeen.”

“Seven- You look no older than thirteen!”

Tim gave him an annoyed look. “Right, and I guess you’d assume I also attend high school and nerd out over video games with my friends at lunch.”

Dick blinked at him. “…Do you not?”

Tim threw his hands in the air. “Oh my god, the people of this world! I’ll have you know that I’m in my sophomore year of college! At Cal Tech!”

Dick squinted at him. “And you still named the wolf… Wolfie?”

Tim huffed. “I- Okay, fine, it’s a stupid name! My parents never let me have a dog because my mom’s allergic, and I’ve always wanted one, and I wanted to name it Doggie, so sue me if I’m living my childhood dream a bit!”

“That’s not a dog, Tim. That thing can eat you up in one bite!” Dick said.

“But he hasn’t!” Tim shouted.

“Doesn’t mean he won’t!”

“Holy shit, Wolfie, you’ve picked up the most annoying person ever!” Tim yelled. “You get him out of here, or I’m leaving!”

“You know what? I don’t want to be here anyway!” Dick fumed back. He stood up and shoved Tim out of the way and started storming towards the exit.

In a flash, Wolfie was on his feet and in front of Dick in a threatening stance, lips pulled back in a growl. He snapped his teeth at Dick.

“Wha- What’s he doing?” Dick said, taking a step back. Wolfie took step forward.

Dick stepped back again. Wolfie continued to follow, growling and snapping his teeth. “Tim, call him off!”

“He doesn’t listen to me,” Tim grumbled. “Besides, you yelled at me, so I don’t think I’m going to help you.”

Tim sat down, crossed his legs, and produced a bag of chips from somewhere. He popped it open and started eating, watching as Dick was slowly being cornered against the cave wall.

“S-Seriously, I- I think he’s going to eat me!” Dick whimpered, his back pressed tightly against the cold stone.

Wolfie opened his mouth wide, and Dick screamed, his knees giving out as he curled up in a ball, waiting for the inevitable.

Suddenly, there was a heavy floomph of air and fur tickled Dick’s nose. He waited a few more seconds before opening his eyes.

He was still curled up against the wall, but now, Wolfie was sprawled in front of him, on his back, giant legs up in the air.

“What’s- What’s he doing?” Dick asked, pulling himself in tighter.

“Making sure you don’t try running away again,” Tim said, licking his fingers. “And asking for belly rubs. He likes the spot under his chin the best.”

“Huh?!”

“Rub his belly,” Tim said.

Dick stared at Tim like the boy was crazy. But Tim did not seem like he was kidding, and the way Wolfie was lying, it really did seem like a dog waiting for belly rubs.

Wolfie turned his head towards Dick, his golden eyes wide. And holy shit, he looked sad.

“Stop- Stop that,” Dick said weakly. “I thought you were going to eat me.”

Wolfie let out a whine and wiggled even closer.

Dick stared at him for a couple more seconds before giving in to the puppy-dog eyes. He placed his trembling hand on Wolfie’s stomach, pushing down several inches of fur, which were surprising soft.

Very tentatively, Dick moved his hand back and forth. Wolfie gave a rumble of pleasure.

“Oh my god, he likes it,” Dick said in a near-hysterical voice.

“Told you,” Tim said smugly, opening his second bag of chips. “Get the spot under his chin.”

Dick looked over at Wolfie’s head, which was arched back in response. “Er, how? I’m stuck here.”

“Climb on top of him,” Tim said. “And use both hands.”

Dick was not keen on the idea of climbing onto Wolfie’s stomach, but after another brief stare down with the sad golden eyes, Dick uncurled himself and slowly put one leg over Wolfie’s stomach, straddling him.

Then, Dick slowly pulled himself up until his legs were behind Wolfie’s front legs, and he could comfortably reach over and scratch under Wolfie’s chin.

Dick took a deep breath and reached forward. Suddenly, he was slammed down flat against Wolfie’s chest, his face pressed into the soft fur. He could feel Wolfie’s giant legs wrapped around him.

“Aww, he wants a hug,” Tim laughed. “Lucky you, Dick. I’ve never gotten a hug before.”

Dick struggled, trying to put himself up, but Wolfie’s hold was strong. Eventually, Dick gave up when Wolfie did not seem to move. So Dick just lay there, half-scared, half-confused, with his ear pressed to Wolfie’s heartbeat.

The steady ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dump, eventually lulled him off to sleep.

It took a bit of getting used to, but like Tim said, he got used to it. Mostly.

Four days into his capture, Dick awoke to his face being gently licked by a soft tongue. “No…” he groaned, pushing away Wolfie’s snout.

Wolfie snuffled and licked Dick again, this time, getting under his neck.

“That tickles,” Dick grimaced, his eyes still stubbornly screwed shut. “Go wake Tim first.”

“I’m already awake, dummy. You need to get up and make us food. I can’t cook for shit.”

Dick groaned and rolled over, pulling the blankets over his head, burrowing deeper into his bed. His “bed” consisted of large scraps of very soft material and larger, thicker scraps for blankets.

Wolfie hooked a paw around Dick’s waist and turned him over like it was nothing. Dick whined, but he eventually sat up and got breakfast going.

Dick had no idea where all the household items or any of the food was coming from. They just appeared out of nowhere, when neither Dick nor Tim was paying attention. The perishables were still cold.

“Bacon! Bacon! Bacon!” Tim chanted.

“Okay, okay,” Dick said with a laugh as Wolfie nudged him all the way to the fire pit.

Breakfast did not take long to cook up – as much bacon as either of them could take, and a large helping of eggs. Wolfie had the habit of nipping at the their fingers for bacon scraps, which would have terrified Dick before, but now, he found it endearing.

It was strange how quickly his mindset changed in four days.

“Hey,” Dick said after swallowing the last of his eggs. “You’ve been here for nearly three weeks now, right? Did you ever take a shower?”

Tim gasped, his eyes lighting up. “Can we go to the swimming hole?” he practically squealed.

“Swimming hole?” Dick asked, glancing at Wolfie, who usually curled around the two of them during breakfast.

“Yeah! There’s this huge swimming hole by here. A waterfall and everything!” Tim said excitedly. “I’ve been there a few times so far, to wash and then swim.”

“That… That sounds perfect,” Dick said. It also sounded like a way to scout his surroundings and gauge where the hell he was.

Not long after breakfast, Dick found himself standing in front of a large pool of water that very gradually became deeper, deepest at the waterfall.

“Wow,” Dick said.

“I know,” Tim said, already splashing into the water. “It’s fucking cold though!” He ran out of the water again, laughing.

“Get in here!” Dick said, splashing water at Tim.

“Hey!” Tim ran back in, sending a wave of water crashing into Dick.

Dick dunked himself under the water before coming up. “Hah! You missed.”

Wolfie lay down at the edge, content in just watching. At some point, he fell asleep. That was when Dick grabbed Tim and pulled him in.

“I’m gonna go climb the waterfall,” he whispered.

“Wh-What?” Tim asked, confused. “Why?”

“Duh, to see what’s up there. To see how far away we are from anything. Maybe I can signal help or something,” Dick said.

Tim looked completely baffled. “Are you crazy?” he asked.

Dick’s expression darkened. “What, you think we can actually stay here with that wolf forever?”

“Well, I-”

“Grow up, Tim, this isn’t some fantasy world. He kidnapped us. I’m going to climb that waterfall. And you’re going to distract him if he wakes up.”

With that, Dick dunked himself under the water and started swimming towards the base of the waterfall. Up close, the roar of the water was louder, but it was not a particularly large waterfall, only about twelve feet up. The rocks that made the wall were at a convenient slant. The only issue was that they were mossy and slick.

Dick pulled himself up onto the first rock, shivering as the air hit his wet body. Still, he continued climbing. A couple of times, his foot slipped, but he was nearly to the top.

Suddenly, he heard Tim yell, “Wolfie, no!”

Dick turned around and saw Wolfie leap from the shore into the water, completely clearing Tim’s head. Dick gritted his teeth and climbed a little faster.

Just as he was about to reach the top, Dick looked back down and saw Wolfie at the base of the waterfall. His front legs were on the bottom rock, but he made no attempt to climb. He just watched Dick with those sad golden eyes.

Dick had to turn away. Finally, with quite some effort, Dick made it to the top of the waterfall. He was very disappointed to find just more forest all around him. For a second, he considered running away, but he thought about Tim – the city boy who could not cook, ate nothing but chips, and was an all-around mess of a human being – and he could not bear to.

With a sigh, Dick turned around again, standing at the top of the waterfall, looking down at Tim. He gave the boy a little wave. Wolfie gave a whimper and a howl, patting the rock he was hanging onto. Dick understood that Wolfie wanted him to climb back down.

Dick gave a tiny smile and shook his head. “Watch this!” he called. He back up a few steps, took a running start, and leapt off the edge.

He did a total of two flips before hitting the water perfectly. It was quite exhilarating. Dick did not get a chance to enjoy the moment because he was suddenly being propelled toward the surface, his body being pushed by the nose of an extra-large canine.

Dick laughed as he broke the surface, allowing Wolfie to swim him back to the shore.

“Dick!” Tim said, splashing over. “Are you okay? I thought you were going to break your neck doing that!”

“I was on the dive team in high school, Timbo,” Dick said, sitting up. “I’m fine.”

“Well, I didn’t know that! It was scary, but also kind of cool.”

Wolfie obviously did not agree. He nudged Dick further onto the shore with rough flicks of his nose. When Dick was a good distance from the water, Wolfie started sniffing and licking him all over.

“W-Wolfie! That’s- That’s completely unnecessary,” Dick said. “I’m fine!”

Wolfie ignored him and continued with his sniffing and licking, occasionally letting whines from his throat. Finally, Dick succumbed to the mother hen treatment, just lying there and allowing Wolfie to turn him this way and that, checking for the tiniest of scratches.

When Wolfie was at last satisfied, he let his head drop down by Dick’s body, his eyes boring into Dick’s, sad and vulnerable.

“Look, you made upset him,” Tim chided. “He thought you were going to get hurt.”

Dick sighed and gave Wolfie a wry smile. “Sorry about that,” he said, patting Wolfie’s head. “I’ll tell you next time.”

Wolfie moved his head from side to side.

Dick raised his eyebrows. It was the first actual response he had gotten from Wolfie.

“I won’t do it at all next time?” he said slowly.

Wolfie huffed and moved his snout onto Dick’s legs, demanding more pets.

It was the full moon, the first one since Tim or Dick had been taken.

In the middle of the night, Dick was nudged awake.

“Stop it, Timmy,” Dick grumbled, pulling the covers closer.

“No, Dick, get up. I want to show you something.”

“’m sleeping.”

“Please, Dickie. You’ll like it.”

Finally, after some more grumbling and insistence, Dick opened his eyes. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the scant bits of moonlight that filtered into the cave and to register the face hovering above his.

It was not Tim.

Dick blinked several times to make sure he was not dreaming. He turned his head to the side and realized that Tim was still asleep in the bed next to him, cocooned tightly in his blankets.

“Who are you?” Dick asked. He slowly sat up, looking around the cave. Wolfie was nowhere to be seen.

The strange man grinned took Dick’s hand. “I want to show you something,” he repeated.

“Huh?” Dick, still not fully awake, stumbled to his feet, tugged along by the man. “Wait, who are you? Where’s- Where’s Wolfie?”

It was bizarre for Dick to be exiting the cave without Wolfie trotting behind him or Tim chattering loudly by his side. The moon was large and bright above them, lighting the way.

It was then that Dick noticed that the man was also completely naked, running barefoot through the forest.

“Hurry up, Dickie!” the man would occasionally turn and say.

“How do you know my name?” Dick asked, though none of his questions were ever answered.

Dick felt like they had been running for miles by the time they stopped. Dick had no idea where they were, nor did he have any idea who was leading him. Perhaps it was just a very realistic dream.

“Look,” the man said, pointing in front of them. Dick gasped softly when he saw the cabin. It looked like a rich person’s vacation cabin, three stories tall and very large. “Do you… like it?” the man asked.

Dick looked at him. “I don’t- I don’t understand,” he said. “Who are you? What is this place?”

“Home,” the man said with a smile. He stepped closer. “Home, Dickie.”

Dick got a good look at the man. He was a bit taller than Dick, with black hair and blue eyes and a deliciously sharp jawline. The rest of his body, which Dick may or may not have been admiring to distract himself from the burning of his lungs, was just as attractive.

“Is this your house?” Dick asked.

“Mine, yours, Timmy’s, ours,” the man said. “I want to show you the inside.”

“I don’t- what?” Dick asked, having no choice but to follow the man.

The inside of the cabin was gorgeous as well. The rich, dark wood gave the cabin a warm feel to it, and it was comfortably furnished as well. But the man ignored all of that in favor of pulling Dick up the stairs.

He pulled Dick into the first room on the second floor.

“What’s this?” Dick asked, looking around. It looked like a typical master bedroom.

“It’s our bedroom,” the man said proudly.

“…I’m sorry, did you say our?”

The man nodded.

“I don’t get it,” Dick said helplessly. “Can you please just tell me who you are?”

The man’s smile faded a little. “I’m your mate.”

“Mate?”

“I’ll take care of you and make sure you’re safe and happy,” the man said. He stepped forward, pulling Dick closer by slipping an arm around Dick’s waist. If Dick were not beyond confused by his situation, he would not have minded so much.

“I don’t even know you!” Dick said.

The man leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of Dick’s jaw. “You know me,” he whispered in Dick’s ear. “I’ve taken care of you and Timmy.”

Just like that, it clicked, though it made no sense either. “You’re- You’re Wolfie?”

“Jason,” the man said. “My name’s Jason.” The kisses trailed to Dick’s cheek, edging closer to his lips. “I’m a werewolf.”

“Werewolf… like- like vampires and werewolves,” Dick said, unable to wrap his head around it.

Jason pulled back, his expression puzzled. “N…o? Just werewolf. I don’t know any vampires. They usually congregate in the South.”

“Oh! How convenient,” Dick said as a hysterical giggle bubbled up his throat. “I was kidnapped by a werewolf who now thinks I’m his mate.”

Jason stepped back this time, his face contorted in a frown. “I didn’t kidnap you,” he said, his voice low. “You called me.”

“What?! That’s ridiculous!” Dick said. “Why- Why would I call you?”

“I don’t know,” Jason snapped. “You sat at your window every time for two weeks, calling to me! You told me to take you away.”

“I would never do that!” Dick said, a chill running through him.

Jason looked hurt. His arms crossed in front of him, defensive. “You did, though.”

“No, I didn’t,” Dick insisted. “I had a good life, and I didn’t need someone to ‘take me away’ from it. All you did was ruin my life by kidnapping me!”

Jason recoiled, stepping backwards again. “You don’t want to be my mate?” he asked.

“No!”

“Fine.” Jason turned and started walking away.

“Where the hell are you going?” Dick demanded. “You’re just going to leave me here?”

“You can have this place,” Jason growled. “I don’t need it anymore now that I don’t have a mate.” He stormed down the stairs, heading for the front door. “I’m going back to Tim.”

“He’s just a kid!” Dick shouted. “Even if you didn’t kidnap me, you certainly took him!”

Jason jerked the door open and turned for a second. “I did not! He found me! He followed me! He threatened to tell authorities where I was hiding if I didn’t take him in!”

“What?” Dick asked. “But- But why did he lie then?”

Jason just gave him one more withering glare before slamming the door behind him. Dick ran to the window, and all he saw was the flash of a large wolf’s tail before the dark forest was all that surrounded him.

That night, Dick tried to sleep, but he could not, tossing and turning on the couch. The next night, it got worse. Dick could not even find a comfortable position to lie still in. The third night, Dick spent pacing, exhausted but unable to rest.

Something just felt wrong. He just felt distinctly uncomfortable everywhere, despite it not being physical. Dick felt like he was going crazy.

On the fourth day, Dick crawled into the bed on the second floor master bedroom and sobbed for an hour straight before falling asleep. He slept through the night for the first time. But the next night, he kept waking up. By the end of the week, Dick could not sleep at all again.

He had taken to sitting by the window, staring forlornly out into the forest. Dick had no idea what was bothering him so much, nor did he know what he was searching for.

At the start of the second week, Dick propped the window open, his head resting on the windowsill as he stared into the forest.

“I miss you,” he whispered to the silent trees. “I’m lonely. Please come back.”

Not even the breeze answered.

Dick felt warmer than he had all week. The warmth was surrounding him completely, and Dick reached out for more, his hands grabbing fistfuls of the warmth and pulled himself closer.

Then the warmth moved, curling tighter around Dick. It made him inexplicably happy.

Dick’s eyes snapped open to find that he was pressed against a very furry mass. There was a large paw curled around his waist as well, keeping him close.

Dick pushed himself up as much as he could. “Wolfie?” he whispered, recognizing the dozing wolf. He also recognized the cave he had spent much of the past month in. On his other side, Tim was sprawled on his chest, starfish style.

Dick smiled, unable to help the flood of relief that ran through him. He was back, like the past week was just some terrible nightmare.

He lay back down, snuggling even closer and fell asleep again.

---

The second that morning broke, Dick was shoved awake by Tim.

“Where the hell were you?!” he demanded.

“Wha…?”

“You disappeared in the middle of the night, and Wolfie was worried sick! And he was depressed without you here. And I missed you too, you idiot!”

Dick sat up only to be hugged tightly by Tim. He patted Tim’s back and looked around the cave, his eyes lingering on Wolfie, who was sitting by the entrance, his tail flopped over his eyes.

“How… How did I get back here?” Dick asked.

“Wolfie brought you back,” Tim said. “He’s just been moping around the cave all day and night, and then last night, he just perked up and took off into the forest. When he came back, you were asleep on his back.”

“Oh,” Dick said, looking back at Wolfie. He extracted himself from Tim and hesitantly walked over there. “Hey,” he said, sitting down next to the wolf’s head. Dick took Wolfie’s tail away. “I’m sorry I worried you. I don’t… I don’t know if you can understand all of what I’m saying when you’re… um, in this form, but thank you. For coming back for me.

“I don’t really know what going on, but I just know I missed you a lot. Timmy too, but…” Dick trailed off, looking into Wolfie’s golden eyes. “Do you know what I’m saying?”

Wolfie stared at him. Then, he raised his head and licked Dick’s cheek.

“Okay,” Dick said. “I guess I’ll talk to you more when you… I don’t know, change back or something?”

He got another lick.

“Alright then,” Dick said with a small smile. He sat down and leaned against Wolfie’s side, finally feeling at peace.

[pandorasvalley-rpg]

MISSION #002: Save the Miners

Cian was the first to get out of the car. He looked around the mines as if he had never been there before, the immensity of the whole cavern which stretched out left and right for a full kilometer. Small caves entrances were connected to the main cavern, camps were set up within it, most miners slept there, few returned home during the night. 

“We’re here for-” 

The foreman who was tapping away on his tablet shook his head. “No, not now, mine collapse, dealing with a virus of some kind, I can’t deal with whatever you’re selling now.” 

Cian was slowly joined by by the rest of the crew.

“Come again?”

“Collapse, virus, don’t have time for you, sa? Get going.”

“We can help.”

The foreman shook his head. “We’ve contact the armies, they should be here-”

“- in a few hours. Exactly. Let us help.”

“They won’t be here at all,” Neela said, walking forward, presenting her tablet. “Explosion in Dust, decoy?”

“Shit, probably. Vale. We’re helping. Show us what’s happening.” 

IT IS TIME! for mission 2! Which takes place in the Mines, and a few of you have received pre-intel from me before hand, which you can use as much as you want throughout the event ;) During the event the character of Kennedy Maddox will be supplied with some more information, and every Friday I’ll drop some additions. 

We’ll start interactions tomorrow evening after i’ve posted the first plot drop!

ABOUT THE MINES: The mines supply all of the Valley, there are several huge caverns and caves, all of them included a control tower, from which androids are programmed and directed. The mines included iron, but also other precious metals. 

SIDE MISSIONS:

- Meg & Beckett: secure cavern 1, bring the miners to safety. Meg suggested taking this cave and taking Beckett with her for some reason.

- Cian & Kenna: while surveying the area in the main cavern, the two of them get questioned by miners and on-site representatives of both armies. 

- Stanford & Remi: going after the miners stuck in cavern 2, they fall upon a group of crazed androids. But to destroy them would mean bringing down the already damaged ceiling. 

- Zay & Neela & Eshir: The androids have been compromised, but there is a control tower in cavern 3 that should allow the program to be reset. If just they can get through a half collapsed cave.

- Gabriel & Cyrus: finding a group of twenty miners is one thing... and somehow it is the hardest thing, especially if the two of you clearly have some feelings for the same person? 

OOC time: give or take 3 weeks IC time: the whole situation takes a few hours.  Please tag your threads with pandorasmission002 !

[ziracona]

hi can we pls have some uhhhh 🅱️uentin Smith headcanons, and some killers hcs if you want! I also lowkey hc Jake and Claudette to both be some degree of autistic, I imprint like a baby bird on my fav characters so I hc both Jake AND Quentin to be trans, and Quentin and Meg are ADHD infodump pals. Literally sitting around the cabin taking turns talking about something they love while the other is sitting there... no thoughts... head empty... they r supporting each other

Nice! And Claudette is canonically autistic according to her archives description as far as I can tell, and I’m so glad! You should check out @askthedreamwalker if you’re interested in Quentin art bc their Quentin is trans and they have really nice art! Also u right as hell about Quentin and Meg. He gets v excited and Meg and he can special-interest back and forth for hours One person is pitcher, pouring information into empty pitcher2, then the other takes a turn and pours back into first pitcher. Info dump support friends. Heaven.

And hells yeah, I love son boy! Idk if you mean ILM headcanons or general, so I’m just gonna go with gen. 

Quentin’s got a big sense of justice. Not okay with people getting away with terrible shit, which makes the realms extra unbearable (somewhere in the distance Yui and Tapp are like ‘cheers mate’). Holds people very accountable. Boy is very fair and got upstanding character. Expects people to operate with like bare minimum decency and ain’t about to let that shit go if someone wants to be a bastard. Last person ever to let a killer get a pass for going around murdering people in-realm and would hold them extremely accountable and be v willing to kill one in a fight and view them with disgust and righteous anger, but also be one of the first people willing to forgive a killer if they genuinely reformed, or got thrown to the survivor side by the Entity and actually chose to shape up and proved they meant it. He has a huge sense of justice and righteous anger, but also believes in forgiveness and second chances. (Within reason. If any of the particularly bastard killers like GF or Nightmare or Clown showed up with a completely ooc change of heart they will never have anyway, Quentin would be like “…listen. …There are some things only God can forgive…U gotta take this one to him…and away from me. Forever…”. Boy got those high-quality standards 👌

Used to be kinda high-strung, but then his life was a living hell for so long that he ran out of energy entirely and now he has no choice but to be mostly chill. If he gets a burst of energy, the old excitement power switch flips back on and he is both way more talkative and active, and happier. Unfortunately he is usually so worn out he’s about to drop.

Got a bit of a martyr complex. The fact that literally locking himself in hell with his worst nightmare worked does not help. Feels massive guilt over the fact that the Nightmare is in the realm bc of him, but is still kind of glad bc it means he’s not out there murdering his family. Hates that he feels that way because he thinks it’s kind of wrong. Views being stuck in the realm as sort of penance for having brought Krueger unintentionally. Afraid to tell other people it’s his fault because he’s scared they would never talk to him again, and the idea of losing his friends and complete isolation here is unbearable. Feels guilt over that choice, because he feels like he’s in a way lying to them, and that if they would hate him if they knew the truth, they have a right to. Boy loves his friends hard, but does not trust them to forgive him, or to trust in him, so he’s not always completely honest about not just that but anything he’s struggling with. Very sad dumbass. Suffers alone because he’s afraid to ask for help, and/or does not think he deserves it.

Really loves the other survivors and would do anything he could to protect them. Dies in the majority of his trials because he battles endlessly trying to keep the others from being the ones who die. In a way, he’s trying to make things up to them, but he would absolutely do the same just because he loves them, and did for a long time before he ever figured out Krueger and him being taken was his fault (not that I personally think that’s a fair way for the boy to view it). Optimistic externally, struggling internally. Absolutely refuses, ever, to give up, but is always right on the threshold of having a breakdown. Pushes the others to find a way to escape and tries to give them hope. Takes a lot of shit. Will not fight back much if teased just be like -__- and moves on. Doesn’t let people boss him around though, and will always do what he thinks personally is the right thing. Extremely forgiving. (Except to himself.)  Snark boy if opportunity presents itself. Can I offer you a shot of adrenaline in this trying time boy? the rest of the time.

Gives people the benefit of the doubt. Not a hoe. Would commit to a s/o very dedicatedly. Also not the kind of asshole who would cut down on time w friends when in a relationship. Boy’s love is not a zero sum game. Would die or kill for Laurie. Loves Claudette and learning botany tips from her. Thinks she is pretty and admires her kindness and skill and refusal to let the world change who she is, and wishes he was more like her. Has not told her that. Is a lot more like her in that regard than he thinks he is. Pretty damn good in a fight bc he always gets back up. Determinator. Still in love with Nancy and loyal af. Misses her a lot. Does not open up about himself as much as people think he does. Misses his dad and Nancy and his dead friends a lot, especially Jesse. Doesn’t actually talk about his problems much. Just suffers in silence because he doesn’t think he can ask for help.

Takes his faith seriously. Prays a lot, and struggles with feeling completely abandoned by God, but won’t give up on that either. Tries hard to believe he cares and things will change. Dedicated to trying to make sure that regardless of what his friends believe in, they are okay. Very sad and alone but tries to not think about that. Tries to help friends stay hopeful. Is both baby and badass sass boy in one package. Fight hard, love hard, someday will get to sleep for a whole year. 

If you are nice to him once, will assume that means you are friends now. Genuinely cares deeply for every single survivor at the campfire. Wants to protect people. Constantly suffering bc that’s impossible here. Really just wants everyone to be okay someday, including himself, and simultaneously kind of feels like he no longer deserves to be okay in the end at all. Tries not to think about that. Massive guilt issues. Bottles it up. Loyal as hell. Would die for his friends so much it actively worries them and they’re like “Quentin…please. Quentin-stop—stop. You’ll die again. I swear to god Quentin! I can die this time! Quentin!!! Come back here right now!” But he never comes back. Big sibling energy. Regularly people be like “Damn u could make a pretty fine lil brother out of this” and then they do. He loves so hard. Please be nice to him. He’s always trying so hard and never thinks it’s enough. He works so hard.

Triggers include being grabbed by his hair and jerked around, losing his necklace, the cave, and the Nightmare within 15 feet of someone he loves, so homeboy has just, a lot of bad days. Is playing a fun game called ‘I will absorb trauma forever and not get help for it and then one day it will kill me’. Needs to learn to depend on his friends.

Good sense of humor, enjoys reading and music. Will talk way too much about things he likes and not notice he’s done it and then feel bad. Dumbass sweetheart, will think he’s doing a great job flirting and be proud of himself when he did not, in fact, do a suave job, but it’s cute. Tries hard. All the time. At everything. God he tries.

I would do killer hcs too but this already so long and I cut like half of what I initially wrote rip. I have too many thoughts. Head full. : ( Here’s just a few little ones:

Myers does not like working for the Entity. It tried to pull a fast one and be like, “Yes tis I, another voice in your head,” and Michael was like “Bitch it’s my head. I don’t know you!” and that did not work. While Michael very much would love to kill Laurie and get inner peace, working for the entity provides 0% daily Michael needs, and he hates it. Sometimes he just does what the fuck he wants and gets in trouble (homeslice is the only killer who can kill survivors with no mori and no perk for it. Michael cannot be controlled). Does not like being here at all. He doesn’t cause the Entity a lot of trouble like Krueger does, so it doesn’t consider him a problem killer, but they do not have a ‘Ah yes my favorite killer’ kind of thing going. Michael hates the spider-monster. He is so tired of everything at this point. Boy is suffering. Would fight the Entity if he knew how. Has been hurt by it before, and does not like that, because it takes longer to heal than he is used to.

Myers has a few times had his home area be close enough to the campfire that he could see it in the distance, and he watches them when that happens. For hours. He is lonely, but does not realize that, and probably never will. He does stand there and watch them, being sad and not realizing he’s sad at all. It’s the closest he ever gets to human interaction aside from killing people in trials.

The Entity hurts Max sometimes, not because he has done anything wrong, but because injuring him without providing even a way to prevent it keeps him peak feral and afraid, just like it wants. No time to recover or learn or grow. Just anger and pain and fear.

The Entity promises Rin a lot of things. Not because it has to, but because it enjoys the taste of her suffering. One of her addons is paper cranes, one of 1000 to make a wish, as the description says. I’ve always interpreted that to mean it likes to screw with her and offer her things like that she can do between trials, in the moments of lucidity she occasionally has when completely alone. ‘Make 1000, get your wish,’ but every time she hits 999, it blows the ones she’s made away, and she has to start over. Unclimbable hill. Just to watch her struggle. That kind of thing. Intentionally tends to send survivors her way it knows she would dislike killing the most, just to watch her have to do it against her will and bask in the horror of what she cannot make herself not do.

[sultrysirens]

Story Time

Out of nowhere I decided to share a bit of my story as a fanfiction writer, starting with my original introduction into the profession. It’s going to be a long one, but hopefully, and inspiring one. Skip if you’re not interested.

NOTE: This includes spoilers for certain anime and fandoms. If you don’t know Dragonball Z or Inuyasha, specifically, you’ll be quite lost.

The Beginning

How everything started was just through surfing the net. Back then my interest was Dragonball Z. I was 14. I had only had the internet for a few months, so everything about it was new. This was 20 years ago, now, back in 2000. I used Yahoo! for all my searches. Google had not yet been born. Fanfiction.net was the main hub where all these amazing stories were birthed, and yet at this point I had not yet found it.

What I found, first, was a fanfiction writer who had a website. Geocities, I believe. I can’t recall how I found it, exactly, except that I had only just learned about Bulma and Vegeta getting together and thought they were an amazing couple. I looked up art, and it led me to this site. I can’t recall the site’s name anymore, but I remember the tagline for it was something like, “Bulma and Vegeta’s Cove.”

One thing I can distinctly recall is a small gif in one corner of the main page, displaying a chibi Vegeta with a microphone in one hand, going between 2 or 3 singing poses. It was cute.

This site was coded in such a way that it linked directly to fanfiction.net, displaying the owner’s many, many, many fanfictions in an embedded window. The stories were largely explicit, included sex and, in a few stories, rape, all of them AUs from all the rest. But each had a singular goal: Bulma and Vegeta’s romance, how they ended up getting together.

Some of the stories I remember very clearly. Others have faded. Some were modern AUs, one included dimension-hopping via a magical device Bulma created and recharged every 24 hours (sound familiar, anyone?), and some were painfully OOC but in very sweet ways.

I devoured these stories. There must have been two dozen, with most of them multi-chapter works. And, eventually, I started to notice the format with these stories, how it seemed to be a miniature explorer window within the website. Eventually, I clicked on the mini website and was given a full introduction to fanfiction.net and its massive breadth.

Back in those days, fanfiction.net (or FF.net, as it was usually called) allowed explicit content. And this I looked for very directly. I enjoyed the “lemons” more than anything, easily reading the most ridiculous stories just for the porn therein.

Eventually, I figured it out. I understood fanfiction and what it meant. And though I’d only been using a computer for a few months, I started writing.

It was a painful process at first. Think back to your first months with a keyboard and how difficult it was to get used to the format, how to move your fingers. I had to stare directly at the keyboard to write anything and it was a pain, a slow-going endeavor of passion.

My first fanfictions were Dragonball Z, unsurprisingly. I made a few silly ones, a few serious ones, a few sexual ones. At 14, with no grasp of the anatomy of sex, I was writing porn, using the porn I’d already read as resources. I didn’t know what a clitoris was, but I knew ladies apparently went nuts when men tongued them, so that’s what I wrote.

Eventually I got my first hit: Temptation. It was a Bulma/Vegeta story. I don’t remember it very clearly, and this is probably for the best. The plot, as I recall, was Bulma getting sick and Vegeta having to be her nurse for a time. Eventually she got worse and worse, until she recognized why she was sick: she’d cut herself one night with a device that’d had a compound on it. I can’t recall what the compound was designed to do, but the short version is it made you feel weaker and sicker until you increased your physical activity to burn it out.

This led to wild sex. Like, very wild sex. For hours. My lack of experience evidently was not a consideration; I was given compliments by the dozens. I’d done good.

And now I was addicted.

The Second Hit

I was 16 now. We’d be moving out of my childhood home soon, but I didn’t know this yet. I’d been spending a lot of time with my sister, who was 26, and soaking up Adult Swim shows on her cable. Inuyasha was my new obsession, as well as a liberal amount of Trigun. I lived, slept, ate, and breathed these shows. My head was constantly alight with ideas, concepts, and desires. I wrote near-constantly.

Through this, I managed my second big hit: Transformations.

It’s been a long time, now, and I can’t recall the beginning as much as the ending. I think perhaps I called it something else at the start.

The premise was simple: Kagome, the main character, suddenly transforms into a half-demon, a hanyou, after a demon bites her in battle. I remember that initially I was just writing bullshit; I had no filter and didn’t edit or delete anything. What I wrote got posted verbatim. And, at first, it was cringe-worthy.

I can distinctly recall two things: first, Sesshomaru -- Inuyasha’s full-demon elder brother -- caught Kagome’s scent and investigated and had difficulty resisting her. She was a half-wolf demon, and he was attracted to that. Earlier she and Inuyasha were together in a cave, and her transformation had given her a tail -- which she didn’t like. She chased it, trying to catch it and rip it off.

That’s when the accusations started coming in.

Out of nowhere, and totally unexpectedly, I was getting a slew of comments accusing me of copying another popular fanfiction. I’d legitimately never heard of it, and I had to search it out. I remember reading the first chapter or two and feeling surprised; they were very similar, to the point where I couldn’t blame anyone for thinking I’d copied it.

This was a case of great minds thinking alike, or so I said at the time. I was amused more than anything, but it was clear the accusations weren’t going to stop. Eventually I deleted the story and started over. I’d learned a bit in those few chapters I’d posted and decided that I didn’t really want the events to unfold the way they had, so starting over sounded like a great idea.

And it was.

Now came Transformations as it remains today. The beginning is the same -- Kagome is bitten by a demon and transforms into a half-wolf demon -- but the events following take a different turn from the original.

It was a monster of a hit. I got multiple comments and reviews on every chapter, and I can remember doing this thing for a long time in which I threaten the readers at the end of each chapter with various weapons, only to have the weapon backfire somehow and hurt and/or kill me. The readers seemed to enjoy it, and soon they were suggesting new weapons for me to use.

I loved it.

Eventually the story ended at 64 chapter, but back then my chapters weren’t nearly as long as I write them now, and the final chapter was just a family tree of sorts leading the characters from Feudal Japan to modern day. It was a great, beautiful monster and I had drawn dozens of pictures to go along with it.

It was actually through this that I decided I needed a better place to post my art and thus discovered DeviantART.com. That’s been my main art gallery ever since, around 16 years now (I believe I created it in 2004, a year after I started the fic). If you go there and head all the way back to the first images I posted, you’ll find all of that art remaining even today.

It’s...pretty bad. X’D

But the story doesn’t end there. I wanted my fic to have a greater reach, so I started looking for more websites. I found MediaMiner.org, which was appealing because it hosted both written works and art. And once Transformation was finished, the story concluded, I found I couldn’t quite let it go.

So I did something I’ve not done since: I created an alternate ending.

Titled Changing Lives, this story picked up after chapter 28 of Transformations and went a different way. It treated the story of Transformations as just that: a story, written by Kagome, which Inuyasha read while she was gone one day. He was thunderstruck by it, given it so clearly screamed “I love you” and was full of romance -- and sex.

This led to them getting together, but soon thereafter, tragedy struck.

Kagome was kidnapped on her way home from school. By the time Inuyasha found her, she’d been gang-raped and discarded.

The story very deeply included time travel and revenge aspects from that point on, and I can also recall giving the character Miroku a reincarnation as a detective. He was put on the case, and with Inuyasha’s help, had all the men arrested -- there were seven of them.

Then they started dying.

Inuyasha wasn’t doing this, but he was happy to allow it to happen. The detective did his job per the law, trying to keep the criminals safe as they started dropping like flies. The killer left notes written on the cell walls in the criminal’s own blood, though I can’t quite recall the sequence anymore.

What I do remember is this: the first one read, “He touched her first.” The rest followed that sequence, killing the men in order -- second, third, fourth, etc. I remember one said “hurt her”, one said “made her cry”, and so on.

Eventually, the truth was discovered: Inuyasha was killing them, but not “young” Inuyasha. “Old” Inuyasha. The one who’d lived through the centuries. And his story was the most tragic of all.

In his time, Kagome had been raped and her rapists arrested, as normal. Then, years later, they were freed, having served their time, and immediately they tried to track her down. She was pregnant at the time with Inuyasha’s child. When she saw she was being chased, she jumped down the well back to his time, and the men followed her.

They traveled through time with her but had no idea. They killed her there, then climbed out, and Inuyasha arrived too late to help. But the men were there, confused and lost, and the blood of his wife and child were on them. He slaughtered them all.

But now the well had ceased functioning. He couldn’t return to her time. And, at first, he was just...sad. He mourned. Then, with time, he began to plan. For five centuries, he planned.

His plan was to keep Kagome from ever getting raped. Alas, he failed in this, so instead he decided to get pre-revenge and kill the men while they were imprisoned. He succeeded, but along the way grew...exhausted. By the time he murdered the last man, he had little will left to do so.

But he finished it. For her.

Then he showed himself to Kagome and Inuyasha, explaining what had happened. And he wished them well.

Changing Lives was significantly shorter than its predecessor, only 35 chapters, but I felt it was the better story, overall. I never made art for it, I don’t think, but it was more emotional.

To Present Day

I kept writing, on and off, ever since. Any time I got sufficiently involved in a story, my mind immediately began making my own stories for it. Movies, shows, video games; nothing remained untouched by my mind. I made stories for Labyrinth, Dragon Age, Trigun, Spyro, Jak & Daxter, Naruto...the list went on. I started posted on a third site, adultfanfiction.net (comprised specifically of explicit stories), and I started existing solely on my stories and the feedback I received from them.

I got better. And better. And better. I started looking back on my first stories, my first “hits”, and cringed at the horrendous grammar and articulation of my youth. But it was nostalgic as well, bringing back fond memories of writing on my home computer before we had internet and then rushing to my sister’s with a 3.5″ disc to post them via her internet.

I had a friend around this time, named Leila (Lee-lah), and drew and wrote together. We came up with original stories and though we never really posted them, we had so much fun it didn’t matter. Mostly we talked and drew together, and while I considered myself the better artist, I considered her far better at clothes designs.

Then...a dry spell. I went into college at age 20 and there I met my husband, Eric. He was 17 at the time. And he introduced me to so many more worlds than I’d known before, including the aforementioned Jak & Daxter series and the Sims 2.

Years passed. I still wrote from time to time, but it wasn’t such an obsession as it’d been before. If I had a good enough idea, I’d write it, but I tried to keep my things to oneshots. I posted many such stories on adultfanfiction.net, and I generally got positive reviews and ratings. In the meantime we were more addicted to World of Warcraft, us two and a few friends, and we played that often.

Eventually I slowed down. Time blurred together. I had a lot of good stories, but no major hits. Then came Megamind, and with it, an interesting idea that a lot of people took a liking to: Megamind as the indirect hero, and Metro Man as an abusive spouse of Roxanne. I titled it Bad to be Good, and it was an incredible story.

I started counting words with this one, only posting chapters when they reached around 6,000 words.

The story was a very serious one. It struck cords with a lot of readers, one in particular saying it helped her through some similar times with her abusive husband. We eventually became friends and remain to this day. (She since divorced him, so don’t worry about her. ♥)

Ultimately I never truly completed that story. I remember getting up to 12 chapters and then having difficulty figuring out how to proceed. I used to open the Word document from time to time, check what I’d written, and try to edit things or continue it, but it never really took. Eventually I abandoned it, but luckily the 12th chapter was a softer ending of sorts, so my readers were satisfied.

Then came the Marvel films and, with it, a resurgence in an activity I’d long since stopped participating: roleplaying.

The Crazy Train

It started simple enough. The Avengers just came out, and I was starting to see Facebook RPs popping up between the characters. Curious, I tried to find the pages in question but couldn’t locate them. I did, however, come to find out that there were dozens of pages dedicated to the main characters, alone, with dozens more popping up by the month.

Eventually I stepped in. I’d grown to love Loki’s character and subsequently found he had a canonical wife, Sigyn, but hadn’t found any pages for her. So I made one. Without checking with the other RPer, I just threw myself into a Loki page and, thankfully, that Loki accepted his “wife’s” presence.

We had fun. And our group steadily grew. A Thor, another Loki, and Odin, a Sleipnir, and a whole slew of original characters joined the ranks. I, too, began adding more pages to my roleplays, starting with Narfi and Vali -- Loki and Sigyn’s twin sons.

At the start, these two shared a page. Then, when it became increasingly obvious that people had their favorite of the two boys, I separated them. Funny enough, Vali started off as the clear favorite (he was flirty AF), but Narfi steadily became more so.

Their relationships grew. They both fell in love. They were both tricked by a succubus, giving each an unwanted child at different intervals. Narfi soon had a family of his own, as his lover had an adopted daughter and he was given a daughter of his own.

We spent years here, six or seven I think, just roleplaying with one another. Our group grew and shrank as people joined our circles or left it. There was drama in and out of the roleplay setting. Friendships were forged and abandoned. At one point a Thor page (titled Fatty Thor) targeted me for my roleplay choices and tried to get his followers to harass me. Eventually he left, deleting his page, and our RPs continued without him, never addressing his disappearance.

Then Ragnarok struck -- but not the film’s Rangarok. No, this was worse. We were impatient to have the event occur, me in large part because the mythology says that Vali slays Narfi during the sequence and I couldn’t wait to put all that pain into writing. But what really kicked this off was a friend’s page getting repeatedly deleted.

Sleipnir.

In this RP setting, Sleipnir was a fully intelligent horse capable of speech and even transforming for short periods of time into a humanoid form. He fell in love with a half-demon woman and they had a son together, a centaur named Grani. And then his page kept vanishing.

Initially, we believed the page was reported because there was a rape sequence between his character and the half-demon, though -- and this is imperative -- the two RPers had discussed this in detail before agreeing to the RP. A great deal of thought went into it before they started the roleplay.

And yet, Sleipnir’s page went down.

The RPer made a new one, and that too, went down a short time later. This was disheartening for her, and though we all did our best to help, even creating the page for her in case it was her account getting it flagged, the pages kept getting deleted. The only cause we could work out was that Microsoft just came out with a Sleipnir program of some form and were removing all other pages with that name regardless of content.

So we kicked off Ragnarok and wrecked our Facebook RP world, killing off some of the characters and leaving others behind. We moved platforms, taking our remaining world to Gaia Online, but it wasn’t to be.

Though the RPs increased in quality while there and we created avatars for each of our characters and it definitely helped the process, we just couldn’t keep it up. We were too disheartened for our friend and how things had ended on Facebook.

Slowly but surely, our RPs died. We tried just once more by moving to a new forum called Valucre, but we couldn’t quite get steam going there, either. Eventually all of the RPs died, most of them without conclusions. In some ways, we mourned the loss.

But our remaining group, a total of four of us, remained friends for a great while longer. Three of us, in particular created this very blog some years later with the purpose of posting all of our NSFW works here.

Art, writing, roleplays, etc; this blog was meant to be a joint page to display all of our wicked wiles.

For several months we didn’t post much. Kyone did the most posting during this time, art for her favorite yaoi couple of the time, both NSFW and SFW, and it was moderately popular. Then came my contribution: The Dancer.

The Resurgence

To this day, I’m not sure what really got me back into TMNT. I know I was tired of RPs but wanted the stories to continue, and thus did I begin writing fanfictions again after years of never touching them -- or, at least, never posting them.

The Bayverse movies kicked this off. I’d always loved TMNT, since I was a kid, but the Bayverse films put them in a new light. They weren’t anthropomorphic turtles under 5′ tall anymore, naked 100% of the time. They were tall, big bois, more humanoid, and more like hybrids. I loved them. I wanted them.

I wanted them to be loved.

At the start, I was under the false belief that they didn’t get much love -- i.e., no romance. I especially believed Raphael didn’t get much affection, being such an angry and brash character. Oh, how wrong I was, lol.

Thus did I start with Raphael.

At the beginning I was inspired by a story written by another page, @teradoration, featuring a merman. I wasn’t too interested in the story, personally, as it’s m|m and I’ve never enjoyed those types of stories, but the inspiration came from the fact that it was a multi-chapter work -- on Tumblr.

So I decided to write some porn.

Initially, the idea was to make a short story, something like 10 chapters. I put thought into it, into the character I wanted to create and introduce, into her appearance and history and passions. I considered Raphael, his personality, and crafted a character designed to intrigue and challenge him. Then I looked at both popular and unique character tropes and the kinds of characters I’d made and turned in another direction.

Thus was Jocelyn born, a half-black, half-Polynesian ballet dancer with blonde hair and freckles. And, at first...it was a dead story. No one saw it. No one liked it. No one took a chance on Jocelyn.

For nearly a year, I wrote chapters to an empty audience. I tried not to let it get me down, but the consensus seemed clear: no one was interested in reading it. Still, I’d started it and come to love the characters very dearly, and so I continued. For my sake, for their sake, I continued.

Then came my first big break: tmnttrashcan. If you’re wondering why I didn’t @ that one, it’s because it’s been deactivated. But this amazing woman found my story, loved it, and began sharing it. And because her blog was one driven by reblogs and gifsets, it was far more popular than this one despite its younger age.

And thus did The Dancer begin drawing attention, fans, and feedback. Thus did I finally feel as if this labor of love was validated, that I wasn’t posting just for me anymore. People were enjoying the story, and in return, I poured more effort and love into it.

This is how I thanked my readers: with better content. More drama, more emotion, more love, more heartache, more sex, more everything.

Even before this happened, however, my head had continued the story far into the future. I made a sequel -- The Dragon -- before I’d even had a concept of The DJ. But in this sequel I’d begun laying the groundwork for something in between the two, and through this I began creating Lisa.

With Lisa, I wanted to create a character that fit more securely with the next turtle on my list: Michelangelo. Rather than opposing the turtle in many ways, as Jocelyn does with Raphael, I wanted Lisa to mesh very easily with him.

The DJ had begun.

For a time, tmnttrashcan’s admin and I were fantastic friends. We talked often, over text and over voice chatting. I told her ideas I had for the future, plans going years down the line both in and out of the story, and even let her read what I’d written of The Dragon thus far. She loved it, every last word, and heaped praise at me.

I loved this woman very deeply. I’d tell her as much from time to time, and she echoed the sentiment.

Then she simply...vanished. She stopped talking to me, stopped responding. Eventually I asked her if we were no longer friends. She never answered.

It was heartbreaking.

Soon thereafter, I was also left behind by Kyone. She unfriended me. And then Tumblr decided to ban all NSFW content, so in order to preserve this blog, I was forced to delete all her NSFW art. And when she went further and removed herself from the blog, I went further too and removed all of her posts. But it wasn’t easy.

It’s been a few years since then and I remain heartbroken. We’d been friends for over a decade. I saw her grow up (we met when she was 16), saw her graduate, saw her go through schooling and jobs and hard times. Between her, myself, and Fluxx, we’d amassed a mountain of great times and greater stories. We’d been a sisterhood in all but blood. We’d even called ourselves such.

To this day there remains a hollow place in me. In short, I’ve been jaded. My whole life, I’d seen this pattern repeated: I make a friend, we become close, then they abandon me, usually within a year or two. But with Fluxx and Kyone, I’d truly believed this pattern had finally been broken. I’d believed I finally had friends for life.

Between the loss of tmnttrashcan and Kyone, however, I learned a hard lesson: not to trust so deeply.

This was repeated twice more before I gave up on sharing. With Blue Blood, twice I made a close friend, got to the point of talking near-constantly and voice chatting. Twice I shared previews of what was to come. Once I even told the entire story, everything, every last detail I have planned to the end of the series. And twice, after hearing so much of the tale, the friend vanished from me. They stopped responding. I was talking to air.

It hurt.

By now you may be wondering why this is included in my fanfiction autobiography. Well, because it spurred me on. If I can’t keep friends for long, then I’ll keep my own company. I won’t let myself down. I decided to focus on my stories, for in this I am always the most important person. I am the one who will never be abandoned. I am the creator, the god, of the worlds I shape for the entertainment of others. Readers may come and go, as much a slave to their interests as I am, but I remain. For those who stay and those who arrive later, I remain.

There is a power in this which cannot be matched, but more so, there’s an enjoyment and responsibility. My stories are unfinished but demand an ending from a slew of followers. And so I keep writing, even though the stories are largely complete in my own mind. I know how they end. I know how they intertwine, how they connect. I know the backstage dancers, how the plot lines link together, where each thread is leading; my readers do not.

And so I continue writing, even as I remain cautious about how much I share.

To The Future

What comes next is largely unknown, even to me. I have many, many, many stories, both in original settings and fandoms. I work on some of them from time to time, in between trying to focus on my bigger hits. Sometimes I just open one and begin reading what I’d already written, refreshing my memory and contemplating where I want the story to go.

I’ve considered other forms of storytelling as well. Otome games have my interest, specifically, because of the nature of them; a single protagonist and multiple love interests with their own unique tales to tell. I love that format and have tried crafting numerous stories for them, but they’ve yet to gain any real ground.

This is partly because it’s a huge undertaking. It’d require more than myself to get them made. I can do art and writing, but I know little to nothing of coding. I’m unsure how I would turn words and images into a novella-type game. Originally I wanted Fluxx and Kyone’s help -- Kyone because I felt her art is better than mine, and Fluxx because she has experience coding. I tried to get them involved. They did not get involved.

As far as otome games are concerned, I am alone.

But this is fine. I am a better writer than anything else -- better than I am an artist, a gamer, or a friend, based on my history. So I’ll continue to write. And if I never truly create an original story, if I never get published, if I never receive royalties for my years of painstaking effort, then so be it.

I made people happy. I made people gush and scream and keyboard-smash. I made people laugh and cry. I made people fall in love with that which I love.

That’s enough.

I’ll see you soon with more updates. My stories are not yet finished.

- Nightshade

[nymphl]

Lie to Me - Hux x Reader x Ch. 15: Reliance & Mistrust

A/N: Hello there xD Well, this time I’m ahead of schedule. I’ll see if I can keep the updates here thrice a week. I think it’s best to update what’s already written at once here, before I get caught up with my schedule and other real-life things and all. So here we go xD 

Story Summary: Falling for the enemy… That’s probably the stupidest thing you’ve ever done. Letting him live… for he should be dead. And you should’ve been the one to kill him. You had him, right there… and you let it escape through yours fingers. He lived. And now only the time could tell if you made the right decision — more likely wrong — by saving the amnesiac General of the First Order and telling him he was your husband. [Hux x Reader - Hux x You]

Warnings for the entire story: Will contain at times; graphic violence, sex, drugs and manipulation, coarse language and OOCness.

AO3 Tags: from enemies to lovers; eventual romance; memory loss; fake marriage; fake marriage becomes real marriage; rebellion; married couple; canon divergence; slow burn romance; politics; rebel alliance; resistance; first order; OOCness; eventual smut; eventual sex; power play; power dynamics; syndicate; lies; you lie; Hux lies; Hux backstory; manipulation; political alliances; political betrayals; secret organizations; tros fix it; anti tros; nobody likes general pryde.

Wordcount: 5747

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YOU HATED IT.

And you should hate him…

…for his cryptic…

…cold…

…unfeeling…

…kriffing …

Behavior.

Instead, you hated yourself.

You hated that it hurt.

That you let him hurt you…

…emotionally and physically…

With the pain came the anger…

…strong…

…fervent…

…unstoppable…

However, your mind worked differently when you were furious. You became much more reclusive. Focused. As you were right now. Instead of lashing out, you did take greater care with everything you did.

Tightened your hold on the blaster, you did your best to control a pained hiss. Your arms seemed on verge of falling off as you waited for him to finally tell you to stop. To be in this kriffing position for so long, waiting for his instruction, was torture. And he knew it. Otherwise he would not have you going through the same simulation so many times. As you managed to get through the next phase of the staged attack, he would set you up for another round, till you were almost begging him for mercy.     

As if you could…

Outside bedroom affairs — which, you thought would not happen anytime soon —, the General hated when you begged. And you did not want to be seen as weak. Even if it would render you another lecture on not showing your weakness unless out of necessity — you wondered if that would be the way to get him to talk to you again.

Honestly, he was talking to you. But only what was necessary. Your husband was gone. In his place, only a General was left — and this General could be harsh when he wanted. 

Your worst nightmare.

Biting your bottom lip forcefully, you held the blaster firmly between your hands and waited for the targets — Imperial Troopers — to leave their hideout before you could fire. This time, however, there was something different. One of them — one of the targets — was hurt. You knew it was not true — apart from being a make-believe situation, the targets were not even real beings —, but even so, you lowered your arms.  

“How did you manage to get us here?” You breathed out in your speaker device. Apart from the VR glasses, you had your earmuffs firmly in place. The glasses set up the parallel reality and the earmuffs kept the outside sounds at bay.

The Crystal Cave indeed had training facilities that were more than adequate in your opinion. This was different from any simulation room you had seen before; instead of a practice field in which teams worked together towards some goal, you were alone and unmoving. The targets came to you and you had to shoot them before they could reach you in your own hideout. If your avatar got hurt, it would be the end for you. Luckily, you managed to escape their blasters twice now.

As expected, he did not answer your question. He seemed very focused on the targets ahead — even if he did not participate in your training, he had no avatar for himself, he too could see whatever you saw through your glasses. It was all it took for you to take a deep breath and let your attention slip somewhere else.

Even if he was a jerk, you felt safe with him.

It is… you did not let your mind drift to the last time in which he had his hand wrapped around your throat…

You were very tired; physically and mentally exhausted — every single person you knew worked overtime. The new disease in Dantooine continued keep you — and your peers — on edge. In no time, the number of alien dead would surpass the number of those who died in the last few days; even the most talented physicians in the planet were worried. So far, in pediatrics almost ten alien kids had died — in your shift. You had no idea if you could trust the data provided by those in charge. And as much as you understood they were merely trying to prevent some sort of collective hysteria, at least you and your coworkers were entitled to know. Everything you had found out was your own doing.

Shaking your head, you tried to focus your attention on your surroundings. You knew this place — this part of the cave. You had been there once with Aurra Sing before, when you were in your late teens. If your husband — the General, you quickly corrected yourself, there was no need to keep indulging your thoughts of that lie; he had figured out everything — thought it was adequate at best, it was because the First Order was… otherworldly.

A shudder ran down your spine.

He was fine now — more than fine, if you were to be honest, his physical condition was flawless —, so why would he still linger? Why not go back to the First Order?  

Honestly, you were not sure if you could trust him.

His negative answer when you questioned him about you being a bait to attract and defeat — that was important — the Resistance had you relieved.

Now…

…now you were not so sure.

“Fire.”

His voice, so detached and whispered through the speaker device, had you shivering. He was right behind you, quite but not touching. The last week living in the Cave he barely got within an arm of distance from you — always distant, always in his own mind. Having him this close now was… almost weird. Even when you trained — and for the maker, he made sure you trained hard every day and he could be as intense in your training as he was in your bed; your ardent lover had vanished, in its place, there was the business-like General — he would keep his distance. The last time in which you were in his arms, you were crying and asking how you could trust him, only to get a vague answer.

It was difficult to trust him — or get even near to it — when he barely interacted with you. How could he expect you to follow your krifing instincts when he barely looked at you? When all you had were a huge pile of doubts that only got bigger? When he was vague in his answers? For whenever he answered one of your questions you had another ten springing in your mind.   

You snapped your attention back to the targets, but nothing seemed to have changed in their previous stance. You furrowed your brows, but he paid you no attention.  

“Now,” he spoke again, this time his voice was firmer than before.

You had no reason to shoot when they were not moving — they were not attacking — and seemed to be paying some sort of medical care to one of theirs. Your moral convictions prevented you from attacking any hurt being — real or not, enemy or otherwise. The General was the living proof of that. It was simply beneath you and everything your father — your mother and Aquilla — stood for. However, you quickly realized your mistake as one of them — who was previously stretched out on the floor and apparently hurt — rose to his feet and opened his hand. A grenade lay in it, ready to be launched.

Without waiting for your move — you sincerely did not expect such plot twist —, the General opened fire against them — his avatar flashing before your peripheral vision —, knocking out all four targets quicker than your eyes could follow.

Next, he pressed a button at your left, shutting down the transmission before the grenade could go off. Your glasses darkened, forcing you to remove them. As you were greeted by the strong light in the simulation room, you had to blink a few times to get used to the new sight before your eyes. Honestly, you did not know which was worse: the light or the General’s judging eyes.

Not really ready for the reprimand of your life, you took your time to remove the earmuffs, letting them rest around your neck.

“I am sorry?” you tried, unsure on what to say. Besides, what could have you done? You certainly did not expect the targets to fake a situation — in a simulation! — just to attack you shortly after. Your first instinct was to always believe a hurt person — how else could you save lives if you did not believe your patients in the first place? You knew they did not qualify as such, but your point was still valid.

At least it seemed in your mind.     

“Your naivety almost got you killed.”

You pursed your lips into a thin line. You expected him to call your action one of compassion, not ingenuousness — and honestly you did not know which was worse in his eyes. You even opened your mouth to say it was only a make-believe situation, but you figured out it would do you no good. Apologizing would not do, as it would be seen as another act of weakness in his eyes.

“Who runs this part of the Cave?”

The General narrowed his eyes at you; he certainly did not see that question coming. With his hands entwined at his back, in what you called his General posture, he walked away from you; his shoulders set straight.

“I do.”

You furrowed your brows. It simply made no sense. No one in their right mind would simply abandon this place, only for the General to take it under his control, that much you were sure. And only one person crossed your thoughts at the moment: Aurra — and her precious Syndicate, of course.

“Aurra Sing gave up this place for me. In its entirety.”

At least you were sure of the first part; the second made no sense whatsoever. You did not know the details of their partnership, but you were sure she would not simply give up a Crystal Cave, that was so closely related and so important for the Jedi she hated so much that easily. Something smelled fishy.

Everything about him smells fishy.  

“Why?”

How?

“She already controls the Jedi Enclave, the Imperial Outpost and the Mining Outpost, giving up the Cave did not seem to bother her that much.”

You gaped. Besides the unlikely gesture or deal — that did not seem anything alike the Aurra Sing you knew —, it had been days since the General last spoke that much to you, that he even deemed you worthy of his stare. Shaking your head, you concentrated on the topic at hand: the Cave had training facilities unlike any other in Dantooine. Why would Aurra— you stopped mid-thought. Of course…

“She doesn’t truly know about the simulation rooms.”

The General snorted. You took a few steps closer to him and folded your arms at your chest. Contrary to your expectations, he did not step away.

“She does.”  

Then…?

“Aurra Sing doesn’t care about simulation rooms,” he said, taking two steps closer. It was enough to set his shiny boots barely an inch away from yours. “However, she isn’t aware this Cave has some old, albeit functional ships.”

It simply made no sense.

You shook your head. You did not know what that quick mind of his was working on, but you did not like it not even one bit. You did not trust Aurra…

…and you were not sure you could trust him either.

In spite of his words, in spite of your foolish heart that wanted so bad to believe him — to believe he had feelings for you —, your mind… your guts… told you to stay wide awake when near him. 

I trust him with my life…

A shiver ran down your spine. His involvement with the Resistance and the Syndicate at the same time made no sense at all. And made it very difficult to trust him. How could he be loyal to two distinct factions — with very different beliefs — at once?

I am loyal only to myself…  

You shook your head. You even reached out to him, but not sure if you should touch him or not, you entwined your fingers in front of your lap.   

“I don’t want you involved with her.”

And part of me wants you away from the Resistance now.

The fact that General Organa had not contacted you yet, made it all the more difficult for you to trust him.

His response was immediate this time, “I know.”

Then… why?

You even opened your mouth to ask him to clarify this issue, but his leather-gloved finger over your bottom lip made your freeze in place. It was the first time in days… It was the first time he touched you. Willingly. Sometimes he would fix your posture in your training, but that was not a lingering touch. Unlike this very one. He cast a sideways glance, directing your own eyes towards the point over his shoulder. Before you could say anything, his lips fell upon yours in a.. kiss.

You could not even describe it.

Mechanic?

Cold?

Thought-out?

Everything but passionate.

If his words made no sense to you before, his actions felt even more absurd. Either way, you sighed against his lips and kissed him back, holding onto him for dear life — you were touch-starved, which was laughable considering you spent five years without… getting any action. He seemed determined to keep it — the kiss — in a… professional level. His usual voraciousness was gone.

It was a relief when he broke apart when the lights went out and the two of you were left in the dark.

You could say now you missed the power shortages in Dantooine. At least it was something completely predictable, contrary to the General’s cryptic behavior. The growing doubt that gripped your heart and did not seem about to let go seemed to only increase.

“What was that?” you asked, but quickly shook your head. “She’s watching everything, isn’t she?” This time, you spoke in Ryl, your voice no more than a whisper against his lips — you were still in his arms, still holding onto him, still waiting for him to kiss you properly. Yearning for it. Even if she knew and spoke the language to perfection, you doubted any of her henchmen — if any of them was in the Cave following you, which was probably the case — knew.

He nodded.

“I just don’t understand…” you spoke in a rushed tone, trying to clear your mind of any doubts before the lights flickered back — part of you wondered if that was not staged by him; to act as if he was being watched to get you to believe Aurra was the enemy —, but it was very difficult. His shady decisions had you on edge. “Why would you do what she wants?”

“Why not?” the General replied. His lips moved over yours in a small caress that had you sighing against him.

In your current state — in your heart’s current state —, it was very difficult to say no to him. Unlike his kiss, his fingers ghosting over your clavicle — but never getting closer to your throat; he seemed very conscious how he snapped last time — was anything but mechanic. His lips moved from yours to your cheeks and then your jaw… running the length of your skin towards your chin and finally stopping at your chin.   

“It’s just…” You shut your lips when he started unbuttoning your shirt. You blinked. That was absolutely not the best moment to engage in intimacy, but you were so… needy right now. If you thought about using sex as a way to get the upper hand in this relationship before, now you knew you could never be as good as him. “How long till the power is back?”

“Two more minutes.” You shuddered as he parted from you and removed his own black shirt and brought you back to his arms. You were about to comment it was not enough time for the two of you to… do anything properly — the lights were about to flicker in and the cameras would record everything —, but his lips were on your ears, “She’s just found out about the ships and she’s going to destroy them.”

“But I thought…” You closed your eyes as he sat you over the balcony where you put your training devices and settled between your thighs; your legs automatically wrapped around his waist. “You’re making absolutely no sense.”

As his lips fell over your throat and he kissed it lightly, you knew you had lost your ability to think. He did not take his time there, however, going back to your mouth and brushing his tongue against your bottom lip. He merely teased you, not kissing you for real. You groaned in frustration.  

“Please.”

You were conflicted.

Part of you wanted — needed even — to go further with that. Needed him. Realistically, you knew it was all a game to deceive Aurra — or deceive you, you did not know anymore —, he knew what you wanted — he always seemed to know — and he was using sex as a tool to… — you swallowed, because you hated how truthful the word rang — to manipulate you.  

“So easily distracted…” the General finally silenced you with his lips. As the lights flickered in again, you could not be gladder that he was finally kissing you for real.             

A disappointed sigh left you as soon as you closed your eyes in the darkened bedroom.

Your bedroom.

Not his.

You were alone.

Not with him.

After bestowing you with a mind-blowing kiss, the General took you to your chambers. Part of you thought — you were hopeful even —, that the two of you would finally get physical.

Tsk.

All he did was to drop you onto the mattress and turn on his heels. He just left you alone. For a few minutes, you just stood positioned on your elbows waiting — hoping — for him to come back. Right now, it did not matter that he was using sex as a tool to manipulate you, you just needed it.

Now… as the lusty cloud left you — after you took matters into your own hands — you were glad he did nothing. You were glad he left.

At the same time, you were angry.

With yourself.

For the maker!

How could you be so stupid? You were never this irrational — gullible and stupid — with Aquilla. It is a fact that Aquilla never used sex as a tool… However, being married to an alien — and having sexual relations with them — was completely different than with a human — there was always extra care involved and twi’leks saw marriage was something sacred — not a lie to toy with. What you meant was that Aquilla would never tease you and leave you… wanting.

Perhaps next time you saw him you should tell him that.

If he said last time you kept comparing the two of them, then you should take comparisons to the next level. You wondered how long it would take for that nonchalant mask of his to fall after you told him Aquilla never teased just to leave you… unsatisfied.

Shaking your head, you tried to clear your mind of everything. Honestly, you were horrified you could think of something so mean. The General had issues — several, actually — and your childish behavior could — would — worsen them.

You closed your eyes and pulled the blankets to your chin, falling into an uneventful slumber shortly after.

It was middle of the night when you woke up by yourself. A nightmare about the General leaving you for good — without looking back — haunted your sleep. Your swallowed, but it was raspy. Your throat felt dry.

You sat on the bed and reached for the bottle, only to have it handed to you.

If the situation — if you did not feel so numb because of the dream —, you probably would have been startled. Instead, you accepted the bottle and drank the water in big gulps. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and looked at him in the darkened bedroom.

He was sitting in a chair close to your bed, completely focused on his datapad. The sound of his fingers working on the screen had you blinking a few times. Even if you had just woken up by yourself, you were still struggling to stay awake.

You bit your bottom lip and shook your head. So many questions you wanted — needed even — to ask, that you could not afford to sleep right now. It could — and would — come later.

“What was that earlier?” Your voice was small, unsure as you started. “Why are we really here?” You cast your eyes to your lap. Your body was covered with the softest fabric you had ever touched. The sheets were very pleasing to the touch. Even after a week living in the Cave, with sheets like that and a bed way bigger and comfortable than yours, you could not say you were happier here. You were very happy in the Cave in the first time you visited it, after your small adventure with the General. And even if you knew his demeanor had nothing to do with the place, you did not want to live in a place where he seldom spoke to you — in a place where he only kissed you because cameras would capture it. Your eyes widened when the thought hit you, “Are there cameras in this room?”

The corner of his lips tilted slightly upwards — which set your heart into a frenzied beat —, but his answer came quickly, “No.”

A relieved sigh left you. Honestly, you did not need for Aurra Sing to watch whatever you did in that room. Or even the General. That would be beyond embarrassing. You did not know about him, but you did mind being in the spotlight.

As you saw the lingering shadow of a smirk on his lips, you froze.

“You know.”

His lack of answer had heat touching towards your face… gripping it. That was the perfect time to compare him to Aquilla.

No.

You shook your head.

There were far more pressing matters. This… whatever this was… Is… — you had no idea anymore — could wait. You had to question his decisions concerning this very night. His touches — even if welcomed — came out of nowhere. He was using sex as a means of distraction. You were sure of it. If you yourself thought about it before — even if you did not act on it, you planned it —, the General would act on it; he was not above such machinations. What’s more, he proved for the second — third? you were no longer sure — time you were his to do as he pleased.

Easily distracted…

What bothered you was the fact he was right. The feeling of being beaten in a game you planned to play in the first place did not sit well with you.

“You manipulated me through sex.”

He shifted his attention to you. His piercing, impossibly blue eyes focused on your face. There was no need for a loud answer, for his orbs told you enough.

You bit your bottom lip.

“You think I am easy to manipulate.”

He did not look anywhere when the next words left his lips, “I know it.”

His answer knocked the air out of your lungs. You sat rigidly in your bed and tugged the sheets to your chin — you felt stupid for taking your clothes off. You would not feel so vulnerable right now if you put on something before you drifted to sleep.

But that was all.

It did not hurt you. His mean words. His cold demeanor.

By now… you were almost used to it. You felt so numb right now nothing he could have said would make you feel any worse.

“What are you doing here?”

Unlike last time, now he took his time to reply. You just sat there watching him type something on his datapad in silence. He was no longer looking at you — which was somewhat a relief —, his attention solely focused on the device.       

How long were you here? you even wanted to ask but gave up shortly after. You could deal with everything right now, but not with the fact of knowing he had seen you — watched — as you pleasured yourself and sighed his name — imagined him doing things to you.

You shook your head.

“My…” You closed your mouth — addressing him as my Lord when you suspected he may have caught you doing the deed was far too embarrassing —, and tried again “Armitage?” you asked, your voice wavering this time, you were not really sure what to call him. Going back to your usual my Lord would not do, not with all the memories of that first night in the cave… Calling him your husband was an even greater absurd. But would he find it weird if all of a sudden you stopped addressing him formally or he would welcome it that you called him more intimately?

Besides, going back was not what you had in mind. If you wanted to move on with him, with you wanted to have a real relationship with him, you had to get closer… Your heart sped at the thought, but you knew it to be truthful: you had to start trusting him.

Right…?

You rose to your feet and cast a look at his datapad. It took you a while to recognize what he was doing and where he was doing it — for you were seeing everything upside down — but as you realized he was staring at some sort of files concerning the First Order, you felt an irrational fear gripping your heart.

Trust him with my life…

He chose that exact time to ask you to repeat the symptoms you had told him earlier when you told him about your day at the Hospital. You furrowed your brows, but recited them nonetheless, “It’s like a common cold, except that those infected with it are dying in three days-time. They’re afflicted with nasal congestion, fatigue, coughing and high appetite. What does it have to—

You stopped yourself. He would not answer to your question. And you were afraid of his answers. This conversation had you leaving the bed and looking for your clothes in the dim-lighted room. If you were to have that conversation — or any sort of conversation — it would absolutely not do to stay naked.

He cast a glance at you, his eyes narrowing as he watched your covering yourself from his prying eyes. Very conscious of his rapt attention, you wetted your lips and sat back on the mattress, pulling the blankets to cover yourself, “They seemed to have acquired a new taste for human flesh out of the blue as well.”

There was a moment of silence between you as his fingers stopped working on whatever he was… working. His eyes remained on you the whole time as he seemed to contemplate the new bit of information you just released — something you did not tell him before and that you regretted telling now.

“You’re not returning tomorrow.”

And there we go…

You felt highly stupid for saying that. So far, only two of the infected alien species showed any sort of addiction to human flesh — out of several! You thought that you were particularly safe. Not to mention, you were responsible for taking care of the children — and they rarely represented any danger.

Not to mention… He did not seem to care about you.

To love you.

Did it really matter if you died or lived?

And if he wanted you alive, was it because he felt something for you or because he thought you could be useful?

“Listen,” you started, biting your bottom lip. Convincing the General you were out of danger would be a difficult task, but you were willing to reason with him either way. Then you furrowed your brows, curiosity — mistrust — taking over you. You almost said that Aquilla would never ask you to stop working — to stop helping others when they needed you most. But should the words leave your lips, you would regret them forever — like you regretted reveling the whole truth that day. You shook your head and said, “Why are you so interested? You’re not even a doctor.”

He narrowed his eyes at you — it was as if he knew your traitorous thoughts —, but instead of giving you a direct answer, he opted to ask, “What do you know of the Kryto virus?”

You furrowed your brows. You simply hated how cryptic he was sometimes.

It did not make it any easier to trust him.

For the maker!

Your doubts were bordering on paranoia. For the first time, you realized that him knowing everything — and not telling how he figured out everything — was a heavy burden. His silent, offended even demeanor — and what did he have to be offended about when he lied to you as well? — prevented you from trusting him fully. It prevented you from letting go of the past — look at how many times you compared him to Aquilla in a short spam of time! — and truly moving on.

Trust him with my life…

As if…

Not even ten minutes ago you were sure he was manipulating you through sex. He was hiding something from you.

Loyal to myself and to you…

For real?

If he could lie about believing — buying — your own lies, why would he say he truth his loyalty?  

“What does it have to do with—” You stopped midsentence, realization finally sinking on you, “Oh.”

“Oh, indeed,” he replied, handing you the datapad. He was reading some sort of article related to deadly viruses released by the Empire in an attempt to destroy the New Republic, of them was the famous Kryto Virus, a bioweapon responsible for taking the lives of millions of aliens back in 7 ABY.

You were a mere toddler when it happened and the subsequent Bacta Wars, but the misery you saw taking over the very planet in which you lived now would be forever marred in form of your father’s frown whenever he looked at you or you listened to him crying himself to sleep at night.

The mere thought of something of such scale taking over the galaxy again made a cold shiver ran down your spine and a deep, horrendous fear grip your very heart, squeezing it mercilessly. 

Clearing your throat, you handed the datapad back to him. All traces of sleep had left you and now you were wide awake and very much frightened. Subconsciously, you reached for his hand and entwined your fingers together. When you realized what you were doing, you were ready to pull away, but he tightened his hold over you lightly.

You will have to follow your instincts.  

For the first time his words started making sense to you. The paranoia was leaving your system. Understanding flooded you. He did hide tons of stuff from you, but if he did have anything to keep from you — concerning the disease at least —, he certainly would not show you the article, would he?

With his left hand only, he started typing something else in the flat screen and shortly after you were staring at several sketches. It showcased a Dantari with some red spots on the face and body. Each spot had a brief description that matched exactly the symptoms the patients at the Hospital displayed.

Instead of asking the obvious question, instead of putting the blame where it was due — paranoid! you were paranoid —, you said, “So… you have all of your accesses to the First Order database?”

You bit your bottom lip as you waited for his reply.

“Mostly.”

You took your time to voice your next question. You were really not sure you were ready for his answer — whatever it may be.

“Did you know it?”

“Possibly,” he replied, his eyes focused on you. When you looked down at your joined hands, he used his thumb to caress the inside of your wrist. His touch burned your skin, so you quickly disentangled your fingers and moved away from him. Your action made him straighten his back. “I have not regained all of my memories, so I do not know.”

The thought of his lost memories — he would not and could not know, for he knew nothing of his past before the attempt on his life — should make you feel relieved, but you felt even tenser now. Without knowing, he could be the very responsible for this new development in Dantooine. It is, if he coordinated the invasion of your planet, he could also have orchestrated this new virus, right?  

Not for the first time you wondered if you did the right thing by saving him. And even if it hurt you beyond imagination the thought of how empty your life would be, you could not help but ask yourself if you were not in the wrong right now.

“Have you ever lost your memories?”

He narrowed his eyes at you.

There was moment of absolute, sepulchral silence. You thought you forgot how to breathe; your heart was beating madly inside your chest as you waited for his answer. When it came, you were left agape. 

“You should sleep,” he said, getting on his feet. You were not sure if his face was that expressionless or if you were imagining stuff. 

He moved his fingers over your temple, placing a strand of hair behind your ear. Before he could caress your face, however, you snapped his hand away.

“Is there any cure in any of these articles?”

He had his eyes narrowed, but he did not comment on your sudden change in behavior. He retreated — both physically and emotionally —, looking for his leather gloves in the dressing table in the other corner of the room.

The silence was almost unbearable as he placed his blaster in its holder. You wanted to say something, your throat even burned with it, but you felt unable to even open your mouth.

“Do you trust me?”

…with my life.

You bit your bottom lip. You wanted to say yes. You wanted to be as sure as you were when you told General Organa just a few days ago, but could not.

For the maker!

You swallowed.

He grabbed his coat and headed for the exit. He had his hands clasped on his back when he spoke without even casting one last glance at you, “Do not wait for me.”

A/N - And that’s all for today. I’ll see you on Wednesday xD

[ffxivimagines]

FFXIVWrite 2019 | Prompt 27: Poor Unfortunate Souls

FFXIV Write 2019 | Prompt #27: Palaver | Rating: T

Warnings for: SHB spoilers, very possibly OOC emet, vague body horror (very vaguely creepy mer designs), Emet/WoL, general Emet-Selch related psychology

((If anyone would like continuations or to yell about the detailed designs I have for this, feel free to message or send an ask!))

Emet-Selch knows himself to be a rather generous individual. He has a gift, the power to spin countries into being, and uses it to help others. He charges a price, of course. Any self-respecting witch would do the same. The lawfulness of his contracts is known, each of them fulfilled to the last letter. He is fair with his terms. An eye for better hearing, a name for the ability to shapeshift, a voice for legs. That kind of thing. 

He has seen many an unexpected customer wander into his city, but the champion of Hydaelyn? He’s positively tickled. He flicks some poor, unfortunate specter aside and dismisses them without thought. It wouldn’t do for him to welcome such a prestigious traitor with his home in such disarray.

He does not hurry to greet them, but it is a very near thing. He covers his lack of regular nonchalance with a quick summoning. “Lahabrea.”

His fellow Amaurotine slithers out from Zodiark-knows-where and grins, rows of teeth peeking out from betwixt his lips at the expression. He doesn’t mind how his scales scrape against the walls (and Emet-Selch buffs those! He aims for authenticity since exile and he would suffer no immature immortals ruining it!) when he slithers forward to rest against the smooth surface of some nameless, faceless statue. “What is it?”

“They are here,” Emet-Selch replies, “and wish for a deal. Do not interfere.”

“Your Pers─”

“They are not deserving of that name,” he hisses. “Begone with you and take Elidibus with you. Sentimental fools, the lot of you.” Lahabrea shrugs and swims his way down the halls, cutting out via a window with a powerful flick of his tail. For a snake, he is so very prone to fits of unadulterated affection. Even more so toward Emet-Selch’s ex-intended. 

What a pair they’ve become; an exiled architect and an ostracized sentry of the state. He only wishes he had the person who forced this upon him stuck at his side. They could suffer together through the eons while the world completes its sundered death throes. Him and his actualized lover. 

The one coming to see him, only a handful of times Rejoined, cannot compare. 

They speak to him with hesitance and confidence bundled into one and glance all too openly at his many fins and stiletto-like claws. He can see the tremor in their gossamer aether where it ebbs and surges against his own. It’s too gentle, to intimate of them to let it loose in that way, but they do not seem to notice how they instinctively reach out toward him. Searching. Seeking. 

He will not allow them any of him. They are wholly undeserving of even so much as a fraction of his devotion.

He draws his aether back inside and allows it to burn hot inside his core. It would not be the first time he has spat out boiling water or allowed himself to flare brilliantly. His photophores light as if in warning, a low glow lighting his face eerily when he answers their query for his assistance. “What is it you desire that Hydaelyn has not yet given you? Beauty? A lack of chronic pain? Your true memories?”

“Mortality,” they respond, following after him and struggling against the current he creates. Ah, they’re so small like this. A truly pitiful being. “I know you can grant it to me, Hades.”

He frowns and looks down at them, snagging a long line of octopus eggs as they pass through one of the many caves among his domain and drapes it about his neck and robes as if playing at mortal fashions. There is not a bit of care in his voice when he warns, “Now, that’s a dangerous wish. Are you so keen to squander what little favor Hydaelyn has given you that you would forsake your fate for a Spoken princeling?”

They flush from their cheeks down to their chest, even their fins flicking about in agitation at his guess. “Yes,” they confirm. “What will it cost?”

“Well, only your heart,” Emet-Selch says, “which is a small price to pay, really. I am an exceedingly reasonable man.” He snaps and unfurls the length of a shimmering, golden contract before them. “All I need is your signature right here─” he instructs, tracing a line with one taloned finger “─on this contract and I can begin.”

“A heart, only?”

“Your heart, yes,” he clarifies. “Given willingly. You’ll have it back the moment the contract terms are completed.” He hands them the contract and they read through it. He can all but hear their brain attempting to process Amaurotine language and chooses to play the part of lawyer to break it down section by section. By the end, he’s tired and dead set on keeping them within his grasp (which is to say, within the Tempest. All those on land are far from his reach unless he is in the mood for a masquerade). It’s a shame they aren’t quite what he can trust with his beloved’s memories quite yet. Maybe one or two more Rejoinings and they would have been a passable vessel for such knowledge. In the meantime he asks, “Do you accept?”

They flounder before accepting and signing with a flash of aether from the tips of their fingers. “Three days. You’ll give me back my heart in three days.”

“As soon as the contract is fulfilled, yes,” he agrees. “Now, be grateful. I’m giving you a chance at mortality like your dearest little… what is its name again?”

“G’raha.”

“Like your G’raha,” Emet-Selch continues. “I do believe you’ll find it lacking, but never let it be said that I am not, at least, kind.” He sorts through a great number of materials, tossing potables and herbs into a cauldron of sorts, and pays no mind to the worryingly acidic taint to the water that is a result. Hydaelyn’s champion simply sets their jaw and watches him brew them the curse fit to steal their heart and grant them such a handicap as true mortality. They can already bleed. What else could they wish for? Death? A want to grow old? Wrinkles are passé among that society as much as they are among Amaurotines.

He reaches toward them and they press their hands to their chest when their heart jumps. He would have it as collateral at the least. It’s a foolish endeavor, their want to court and live with that Allagan prince (nevermind how Emet-Selch had allowed his family such a thing as the schematics for that empire) but he does not break his word. He’d hold their heart until the contract is fulfilled one way or another. 

If they manage to have their love reciprocated, he will give them back their heart and watch the Allagans crumble just to bring them despair. If they fail, well… he can keep all of them. It’s a win-win situation when either outcome will have them come crawling back to him like the imitation immortal they are. 

He pulls, rending their vital aether from their chest and watching their magic short circuit at the loss. They could die without, but that is none of his concern. It wouldn’t break the terms and he would still have what he wanted. With something like their heart, he could find the remaining pieces of them and slot them all together by force. The vessel may have perished, but he is not above making them a new one (a better one, the one that matched him in size and prowess). 

He inhales, consuming what they’ve given, and the cauldron fizzles, aether settling down into a stable curse. “Come here, little one, and let me grant your wish.”

They do and he watches them change. What blasphemy it is to discard their semi-blessed form for something so wretched as legs and a need for air. Their fins run ragged, thin membrane melting into the waters while bones merge and shift, until the thing before him is some combination of man and immortal. 

They struggle, a hand already wrapped about their throat for need of oxygen, and he allows them a breath of it in a current to sweep them off to the nearest beach. He settles down and watches, day by day, as they struggle against the growing stagnant aether in their body, limbs leeching of all color and veins turning golden. He watches them press closely to that princeling and kiss him, believing it to be a solution to their need for love, but he simply stares at them and asks if he knows them. 

They had dragged him from the depths and imbued his soul with their own aether and he does not know them? Emet-Selch laughs to himself. How frail mortal minds are to be manipulated by a lack of that same life-giving aether. Only someone like his Persephone could doom themself so thoroughly. 

He watches them transform back and rises from the waters to collect them. “Have you had enough fun, little fool?”

They quake at the reality that they’ve failed, but their heart rushing back into their body is more of a concern when it sets recognition filtering through their princeling’s eyes. He reaches for them, attempting to take them back and to give them the love he holds, but Emet-Selch simply snaps. 

They vanish from the land and the Allagan empire falls the very next turn of the century, a newborn immortal nestled among the halls of a necropolis oblivious to that which they’ve left behind. “Dearest Hades, have I been gone all that long?”

“Only a few millennia, nothing much. Elidibus has missed you.” He offers a hand when he asks, “Would you like to visit him?”

They smile, happy and oblivious, and take his hand.

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