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cheesus-doodles · 1 year ago

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Star-Crossed by Choice: Chapter 2

Yandere Raihan & Leon with Champion Darling

Pokemon SwSh and SV Crossover

<< Chapter 1

Masterlist

Home. It used to mean something to you - you still vaguely recalled a warm, loving house back in the quiet backwoods of Postwick, a place to which you could once retreat away from the world. Somewhere where the weight of expectations on your shoulders didn’t exist, where there were no prying eyes watching your every move, waiting to pounce on a moment of weakness. Somewhere you felt safe, where the creak of a door opening didn’t send you straight into a panic attack. The word had lost all meaning to you after Raihan and Leon, no matter how much the two tried to convince you that you had one with them.

No, you didn’t have a home, was the sole thought that raced through your head again and again, almost as if a desperate prayer to uncaring higher beings. But it didn't matter what you thought or what you felt, even if your voice worked like everyone else’s. Raihan’s question had been entirely rhetorical as they always were, and no one knew that better than you.

Yet even outside of your turbulent thoughts spiraling out of your control in your mind, the panic was taking a physical toll on your body. Every breath you took felt heavier and heavier, and you started to heave under the pressure - it was too much. Everything was too much. The noise, the eyes, their eyes; your world was collapsing around you. Your ears throbbed, the bustle of the growing crowd, eager for a taste of excitement in the usually sleepy town, mixing and mashing into a white noise over which you could only hear the pounding of your heart. The pressure of gazes, uncaring and distant and hungry for nothing more than the entertainment you provided. Your chest tightened. You couldn’t breathe.

There was nowhere left for you to go except back to a past you couldn’t run from.

‎

Nemona glanced back at you worriedly. For all the months that she had known you, spent together both in and outside of classes, she had never once seen you in such a wretched state. Your chest heaving with the exertion of taking a simple breath, it was obvious to anyone with working eyes that you weren’t reacting well to the arrival of the two men for reasons that were currently beyond her. The healthy flush of color that graced your skin just a few minutes previously throughout the course of dinner had now faded, giving way to a shade of ashen gray that she had only previously seen on a Greavard.

A crunch of gravel, a single step in your direction, and the switch in the student council president’s attention was immediate, orange eyes whirling back forward to land on an unbothered Raihan, the man not looking the slightest bit concerned despite your paling complexion. Of course it was a shock to learn more about your past, and there was still too much she didn’t know, but now was definitely not the time to pry for answers. “Don’t come any closer,” the Champion-ranked trainer warned, finally retrieving one of six Pokeballs hanging from her belt and tossing it to the ground. She would not stand for any further boundaries being crossed - and if it took a defeat in battle to have these two leave, then so be it. With a guttural cry, Pawmot materialized and seemingly grasping the situation at hand, instantly put itself between its trainer and Raihan, both paws raised.

The uproar of the crowd faded away, giving way to nervous glances shot between bystanders as they realized what was unfolding, the town once more returning to an uncomfortable silence: a battle right here? In the middle of town? This was way too close for comfort for both watchers and the buildings around, and Nemona was well aware. Any missed or misdirected attacks could easily cause untold levels of hurt and damage, but did she really have any other choice?

Yet despite having her Pawmot out, neither Raihan nor Leon seemed the slightest bit phased, simply opting to ignore her issued challenge, though the purple-haired former champion at least paused to glimpse at the newly introduced Pokemon. Pawmot soon lost its aggressive posturing, turning to look at its trainer confused: without an opponent to fight, what now? But neither Nemona nor the silent world had any answer, and the agonizing tranquility only continued. Without the usual rustle of flags or the shifting of dirt beneath their feet, every second seemed to stretch into eternity, and all those orange eyes could do was watch the Dragon Gym leader stroll closer with every stride, his eyes fixed solely on you, the rocks stumbling and tossing behind his feet an ominous foreboding of what was to come.

It took but a single heartbeat for everything to turn on its head. Taking her eyes off the approaching man for a moment to check on you was enough for Raihan to breeze past her outstretched arm. “Wha-” Whirling around only to be faced with the sight of his back, the sudden change left Nemona reeling back at the surprising speed, and she unconsciously staggered back a step. What had just happened? But despite her worries, all the prohibitively tall man did was sweep you straight into a hug, letting out the breath that he had been holding as he ran one hand through your hair, pressing your face firmly yet ever so caringly into his hoodie as if to hide you away from the world - the plain relief washing over his expression a far cry from the previous sharpness of his gaze.

Then those crystal blue eyes turned on her, and for that instant, Nemona felt like she was staring straight into the wild eyes of a Salamence. “Aww come on, what kind of fun is that?” Raihan broke into a full grin, letting out a chuckle as he reached out to playfully poke Nemona in the shoulder, the ferocious look disappearing as if it had never been there. The heavy tension that had blanketed the area lifted, and as if on cue, the wind started up once more, a refreshing gale that brought a breath of fresh air down from the mountains and through the dusty streets. “Don’t look so serious, it’s not a good look to have ya know.”

Leon chuckled, his posture visibly relaxing as he ran one hand through his purple locks. Shaking his head fondly as he rested one hand on his hip, the former champion turned to the quiet crowd. “Sorry about that, folks. Didn’t mean to disturb you in the middle of your lovely evening.”

A pause, the uneasy mob glancing around at each other briefly before the mumbles started up.

“I’ve been to Galar and I still have your league card, Leon! Could I get your signature please?” Someone called out from the midst of the people, and whatever was left of the serious situation evaporated into the rapidly darkening sky, the gathered mass slowly but surely dispersing of their own accord. Nemosa was left, standing alone and staring stunned at what had unfurled in front of her. What on Arceus’ green earth was going on?

‎‎

You looked so small next to him, Raihan mused, watching your hair parting and falling back into place as his fingers ran through. Then again, you always had looked tiny next to his lean, lanky form, even more so when you didn't have all this fabric covering you up. Looping his arm under yours to better support your limp figure against his own, the sight of your eyes dilated and trembling was enough to bring a sense of adoration rushing through his system, his heart soaring - it was you. Against all odds, it really was you. His little lover, his precious gem. He had found you again. The last of the sun rays danced across the orange sky as the sun sank beneath the horizon, the pastel colored clouds a fleeting memory of an eventful day, to which the tanned man let out a hum, turning his face up to bathe in the dying light. It truly had been a beautiful day; the same kind of gorgeous dusk it had been when Leon had been toppled from his throne by a little dark horse, the same kind of looming night when Raihan had first brought you home with him. Today would be a new memory made, he supposed.

A slight twitch, and his attention was back down and focused on you once more, watching as you begin to stir awake from the little vacation you took from reality and from him. Releasing the hand he had resting on the back of your head, the Galar gym leader allowed you to pull away from ever so slightly, your disorientation reminding him of the moments right after you awoke. “Are you alright?” Came his quiet whisper, long slender fingers moving to fiddle with your earlobe, though the gleeful grin plastered across his face told a different story, a glimpse into his unspoken thoughts. “Crowd’s gone now.”

But much to his chagrin, it seemed that his voice alone wasn’t enough to have you return fully to reality, and you simply nodded along with whatever Raihan was saying without acknowledging that it was him, the confusion still clear in your doe eyes; he had no doubt had it been Leon, you would have already jerked straight to attention.

The ugly jealousy reared its head once more, those nagging little voices that he never had quite managed to suppress whispering from the back of his head, all agreeing with what Raihan had always suspected: that you preferred Leon over him. The same emotion had once driven him to strive so hard to beat the unbeatable Champion flared up, stirring in his chest, yet it was a feeling that was so unbecoming of a lover. All he craved was your attention, the return of the little gestures of love you once showed him : the plate of delicious curry you had offered when he chanced upon your camp in the Wild Area, the little sandwiches you packed to pass him when you visited the vault in Hammerlocke after his complaint about not having the time to grab a bite. To one day hear his name mumbled by those heavenly lips. Yet you only ever gave the time of day to Leon.

Raihan got to you first, fair and square. You were his. You were supposed to be only his. So why? Hasn’t he given enough? Didn’t he treat you right? Didn’t he care for you so much better than that bastard ever did? So why didn't you give him what he craved?

Downturned eyes narrowing, his grin falling slightly as that cursed mob of purple-haired popped into view from the corner of his eye, his arms tightening around you protectively. Oh how he hated his wretched rival. The one man he had to share your attention and affection with. The one man Raihan had never been able to beat. Yet it was you who put both of them in their places, a dark horse that took Galar by storm. And it was truly unfortunate that without either’s cooperation, neither would have been able to have you within their grasp once more.

His patience with your lack of reaction had worn out. A single light tug of the strap of your backpack had you reacting instantly, and the toothy grin was once more back on Raihan’s face as your back stiffened along with the rest of your figure when you finally realized the predicament you were in. That was more like it. “Welcome back, lil champ. You had your little friend all flustered and worried, you know?”

‎

Leon jogged over to the trio left standing in the middle of the road right as you stirred back to life. It had taken a good while to clear off the masses, though nowhere as long as it usually took back in Galar. He didn’t usually mind the fame and adoring fans; they did come in useful from time to time, but this was one of those times that the usually friendly man had to physically bite down his frustration and his unusually short-fused temper. After all, you were right there.

The sun to his Earth, just a stone’s throw away, the light that brightened his life and gave him a reason to keep going. Months of worry, thinking about you, wondering what you were up to away from him, fretting if you were safe out in the dangerous world all alone. The dread he had to endure night after night without knowing where you were, without you in his arms, having to trudge on with his duties to the people of Galar directionless in the lonely darkness. It had been absolute hell, and being forced to watch Raihan plastering his filthy hands all over you from a distance while he worked - Leon wasn’t sure how long more he was going to last.

The Dragon Gym Leader had always been his rival long before you had ever stepped foot near the Gym Challenge, and Leon had always welcomed the challenge - Raihan by and large had been the only person who could force him to his last Pokemon, his partner Charizard. Being unbeatable was boring, and having strong rivals to battle at the end of the Champion’s Cup had been what the purple-haired man looked forward to the most. Yet now, all Raihan was was an eyesore and a pain - an irritant in what could be a smooth-sailing life where Leon had you all to himself. After all, he was the one that saw your potential first, the first friendly face that had guided you along your journey into the world of Pokemon battles, the sole anchor in your life who had been watching out for you since the beginning.

There used to be nothing that Leon chased more than the high of battle - the pure exhilaration, the adrenaline rush of being pushed to the edge. There was nothing more addictive. Being Champion was all well and good, but with no one capable of beating him, the thrill died off quicker and quicker each time the Champion Cup ended with him and Raihan; it was no fun to know your opponent never stood a chance. Yet the first time you had lifted that shy gaze to meet his in a Pokemon battle, the hair on the back of his neck instantly stood on end. The intensity that raged through your eyes, it wasn’t anything he had seen in a while, your potential, breathtaking. And his hunch had been right, Leon overcame with tears when he was finally defeated, his heart beating out of his chest.

It had always been you. You were all he craved. You, the only one to see through the celebrity Champion persona he wore like a second skin, to offer your smile to him as if he was just another person. The only one at the end of the tunnel. The purple-haired man had never asked for much in return for his devotion: just to know your voice as well as his little ungrateful brother Hop did, to earn your love like he earned his badges and scars, to be pampered once more.

So why Raihan? Why did you give two shits what he wanted? Why did you always pick him over Leon? What did you see in that constant loser that the unbeatable Champion lacked?

No doubt you would be made to pay for your sins once Leon had you back where he could have you, body and mind, all to himself. But for now, his work was far from done, the usual celebrity smile still pulling at his lips as his steps came to a slowing stop near the self-proclaimed “Champion-ranked trainer”, whatever that was supposed to mean; even after the last fan had left, sated with the newest selfie and signature they obtained of the formerly unbeatable Galar Champion to add to their collection, there was still one more obstacle standing between you and him to deal with.

He couldn’t quite afford to drop his public persona just yet - it would be idiotic to show such a…personal side of himself that he reserved only for you to anyone else, and so he persevered. “Nemona, was it? Leon.” Sticking out his hand, Leon relaxed his face muscles as much as he could, though it was clear to you that his deceptively friendly eyes held anything but disdain for the other behind the cover. “Thanks for taking care of her.”

Your new friend simply let out a noise that sounded like a cross between a snort of disbelief and a whine of confusion, though she still took the offered hand in a firm shake.

The town had returned to a peaceful normalcy, the streets once more emptying as the night grew late, dim lights spilling out from between the shutters of closed windows and from tired streetlamps just barely illuminating the cobblestone paths. The dropping temperature only brought with it colder winds that swept down from the surrounding mountains, the dust being kicked up and blown about in every direction a mild irritant to the souls still braving the worn roads.

Reaching into his pocket, your flinching at the usually innocent gesture that Leon caught from the corner of his eye drew a genuine grin out of him, though all the purple-haired man retrieved from his pocket this time was one of many copies of his league card. “I know this is not Galar, but would you like my league card?”

‎

Regret. That single emotion was all you could feel in the moment, bile rising at the back of your throat and flooding the cavity of your chest, your heart threatening to beat out of your chest. They were here, Leon and Raihan. They had found you. You shouldn’t have given it your all to win. You never should have caved to Hop’s persistence to join the Gym Challenge as his rival. You shouldn’t have agreed to meet Leon.

After all the risks, all the heartache, all the effort it had taken for you to steal away, to break free; you were back at square one again. Right back in their grasp.

The frigid wind tearing through Cortondo, the same gale you had once enjoyed as it teased your hair and whispered unknowable secrets in your ear, felt especially uncaring this night, you noted bitterly, your gaze still turned downwards the ground, hot tears trailing painful paths down reddened cheeks, your limp body simply propped up against Raihan’s. Dully noting that Nemona’s continued presence despite her current distraction courtesy of Leon, you could only wonder what outcome your friend was hoping for by sticking around. You didn’t want to see her hurt - not the first friend that you had in a long while that you had found your voice to speak to. And if you could still speak, you were sure that you would have told her to run. That these two men were dangerous, that they shouldn’t be trusted, that she should just leave you and save herself. Alas in the presence of your worst nightmares, even your own voice seemed to have abandoned you.

“Your fans have been all worked up about you, lil champ,” Raihan’s Rotom phone popped out from the pocket of his pants, the screen flashing as he navigated to his social media page. A quick scroll to the latest post some five months ago was all it took to reveal the hundreds of questions and concerns that had poured in day and night. “Look how worried they are.” Strangers who knew you only by the images and videos of the life you lived on the platform flooding both the comment section and the Galar gym leader’s direct messages, clamoring for news on the popular gym leader and of course you, their beloved Champion: older comments enquiring the unusual silence of the account and the lack of posts, and newer ones simply wishing both you and Raihan well.

But you knew it was just pretense - what they were truly missing was the entertainment that was your life. The constant stream of posts, the tantalizing updates of the ongoings of your life carefully curated by the influencer and massively popular gym leader. Your “fans” never cared for you any further than the entertainment that you brought; they never did. All you were to them was a break from their boring reality at the cost of your own. “Come on, let’s take a selfie!”

Resisting the command, your attempt to pull away was for naught. He knew you hated it, being in the spotlight of any kind. You had never been one for the limelight, preferring to pass unnoticed, but all the more he was going to make you do it. It was a punishment for defying him, for denying him - that sharp gaze and sharper mind definitely picked up on the few words you had managed to mutter to Nemona earlier. And it was just the beginning. Yet standing no chance against his strength, Raihan pinned you into place, his Rotom getting into that all too-familiar position, ready for a new post, a new update to your adoring fans eager to hear about their Champion. “Smile!”

How could you explain that the all-star life that you lived wasn’t what it looked like? That your every move was controlled as if you were nothing more than a doll on strings, destined to be paraded around as if a trophy and passed between the two puppet masters that ruled every second of your life? The punishments that awaited not only you but your friends and your beloved Pokemon if you disobeyed, the constant new marks and bruises that littered every inch of your skin as Raihan and Leon fought for ownership, both seeking to mark you with the hope the other would back off? No, you knew the answer long before you tried to get help - no one would believe you. Not over Raihan, and certainly not over Leon.

You couldn’t. You tried, the corner of your mouth shaking with the effort as the muscles tried to haul themselves upwards. But you couldn’t, your lips refusing to pull up into even a painful grimace, instead slacking and giving way from the trembles. The flashes of the hellish life under the two men that you had left behind in Galar, long repressed memories that haunted you on bad nights roaring straight back to the front of your mind; you thought you would have found confidence as a Champion. You thought you would have found your voice. All you found at the end of the tunnel were a waiting pair of dragon and lion.

Raihan’s signature lazy, toothy grin dropped entirely from his face, the weight of his glare on you as heavy as his tone. “I said, smile.”

‎‎

‎

A shrill cry was the sole warning they received, your Cinderace burst forth from its ball unprompted in response to your distress reaching its limits, forcing Raihan to release you from his grasp as it materialized between you and him. Fortunately for you, the crowd had long dissipated, tired souls having retreated to the safety and comfort of their homes - the spectacle would have only been bigger with the appearance of a non-native Pokemon like Cinderace on the streets of Cortondo of all places. Without the support of tanned arms, you slumped to the ground, the distinct clank of metal ringing out through lifeless streets as the bottom of your bag impacted the stone-lined streets beneath, the familiar sound drawing Leon's attention as well: more Pokeballs. You had more of your Pokemon on you.

The remnants of Raihan’s public mask shattered.

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shitsndgiggs · 5 months ago

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Hello! Idk If the requests are open? Maybe Arda x Bosniak!Reader

Where they just bond over the similatrities in the culture, where they often joke about the fact that racist/islamophobic people call Bosniaks "Turkified serbs/croats" etc

A/N: I hope that I did your request justice.

CULTURAL CROSSOVER - ARDA GÜLER

In which you and Arda bond over the similarities of your culture

Arda Güler x bosniak! reader

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

In the heart of Istanbul, Arda and I found ourselves wandering through the quiet aisles of an old library tucked away from the city's bustling streets.

The smell of aged books filled the air as we browsed through shelves that held tales of empires and cultures long intertwined.

"Look at this," Arda exclaimed, pulling out a worn book with faded letters in Turkish and Bosnian on the cover. "It's about Bosnian-Turkish relations."

I leaned in, curious. "That's fascinating. I've always wondered about our shared histories."

Arda flipped through the pages, pointing out passages that spoke of cultural exchanges, shared traditions, and the migration of Bosniaks to Turkey over centuries.

"It's amazing how our stories have woven together," he mused, his eyes bright with excitement.

"Yeah," I nodded, tracing my finger over the intricate calligraphy. "It's like discovering the roots of our connection."

As we left the library, our conversation flowed effortlessly about the similarities between bosnian and turkish cultures. We talked at how food, music, and even family values resonated deeply across our backgrounds.

"I remember my grandmother telling me stories about the Ottoman Empires influence in Bosnia," I said, reminiscing. "She would always cook traditional dishes that had a touch of turkish flair"

Arda's face lit up. "Oh, I know exactly what you mean! My family loves Bosnian food. Have you ever had burek? My mom makes it all the time."

I laughed. "Of course! burek is a staple back home"

"You know, growing up," Arda said, sipping his tea thoughtfully, "I had friends who were bosniaks, they would sometimes get bullied, and be called ‘turkified’ serbs”

I listened intently, feeling a mix of empathy and curiosity.

Setting my tea down gently, I met his gaze with a reassuring smile. "It's heartbreaking how people can twist identities and use them to divide," I replied softly.

Arda nodded, his expression thoughtful. "Exactly. It's like they couldn't see beyond labels. But my friends, they embraced their heritage proudly, just like you."

"I'm glad they had that strength," I said sincerely. "It's a shame people can be so narrow-minded."

As the sun began to set over the city skyline, we found ourselves at a family-run restaurant. The owner, an elderly man with a warm smile, greeted us like old friends.

"Hoşgeldiniz" he said, pouring us glasses of water.

“Hoşbulduk” Arda replied with a smile.

We decided to order a selection of Turkish and Bosnian pastries to share. As we savored each bite, our conversation continued to flow effortlessly, touching on everything from family traditions to favorite childhood memories.

"So," Arda said, leaning back with a playful grin, "if you could travel anywhere in the world tomorrow, where would you go?"

I chuckled, considering the question seriously. "Hmm, maybe Japan. I've always been fascinated by its culture and technology. How about you?"

Arda's eyes lit up with excitement. "I'd love to visit Argentina. I've heard their passion for football matches ours, and I'd love to experience their culture firsthand."

We exchanged stories and dreams for the future, painting vivid pictures of adventures yet to come.

#football imagine #football x reader #turkiye #arda güler #arda güler x reader

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wpmorse · 3 days ago

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One of my side projects is a ASOIAF/Discworld crossover. The main premise is, due to the events of A Thief of Time and Night's Watch, Ankh-Morpork and the surrounding is transported to Westeros roughly replacing Saltpans, approximately when Robert and the court are heading north to Winterfell. Due to their location, Ankh Morpork is forced to become part of the war of Five Kings out of self defense. Due to Ankh Morpork having a different flavor of narativium, a 300+ year technological edge and... wizards, I expected things to be interesting.

For the most part this hasn't gone anywhere beyond me throwing ideas at the wall when I'm inspired. One of the bits I enjoyed the most was a scene with Arya and Rincewind after Rincewind accidentally saves her from the Brotherhood Without Banners and the Hound. It appeals to me for two reasons. The first is because so many fans go on about all of Arya's cool teachers, it appealed to me that she get one with a notably different philosophy than the others. The second is, as any Discworld fan can tell you, sticking Rincewind with someone gung-ho and heroic is comedy gold.

I'm afraid I rushed this scene too much, but it could be worse. Recently I've started to base my vision of Rincewind on Neil from the Young Ones mainly because Nigel Planer uses the voice for him in the audiobooks.

Anyway, here's the scene.

* * *

They had been walking through the forest for the entire day. They’d kept away from trails and didn’t see anyone. Still, Arya wasn’t sure if they were getting anywhere at all. All of the moss on the trees faced north, but she was sure she had seen several of the trees they had passed before, and then before that.

“Are we there yet?“ She asked again.

Her companion stopped and gave a loud exasperated sigh. He turned slowly and stared down at her. Arya stared back until he looked away. "Calm as still water," she thought to herself, smugly.

He was a tall skinny man with a thin, scraggly, beard. When she first met him, two days ago, she thought she had run into another red priest, like Thoros, in his faded red robe. But Thoros didn’t wear a strange pointed, wide-brimmed hat which looked even more threadbare than his robes, with the word “ WIZZARD” sewn in large faded letters. It made him look more like a mummer. Or at least a mummer who had been lost in the woods for many years.

He frowned. "How the gods should I know?" He asked.

Arya could not believe what she heard. “We're lost, aren’t we?” she said.

“ We are not!” He shouted.

“Then where are we going?” Arya demanded.

The man shrugged and started walking. “I don’t know about this ‘we’ business, but I’m going away from here,” he said pointing at the ground.

“That’s stupid!“ she shouted.

“No, it’s not. It’s away from danger!” He shouted back.

“And what if we just end up in more danger?” Arya asked.

The man turned again looking down at her with an infuriatingly knowing smile.”When we find it, we can run away from it too" he explained.

Aria wanted to punch him but she stopped herself as an idea struck her. “If we’re not going anywhere, can we go to Riverrun?” She asked.

"What’s in Riverrun?“ He asked.

“My…“ Arya paused. She wasn’t sure if she should tell him about her mother and Robb. She hadn’t told him her name yet and had gone back to calling herself Weasel, for fear of giving herself away once again. She didn’t think he would try to hold her for ransom, as the Brotherhood had planned, but she didn’t want to take any chances.

“The Warden of the Riverlands and the king in the North,“ she said

The man gave her a crooked look. "So… There’s an army there?“ He asked

"Oh yes, lots,“ she said, excited.

The man shrugged. "Well then,“ he said, "Let's keep away from there. You don't want to mess with armies. Too much of a chance they'll try to kill you.“

Arya couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You're craven!" She shouted.

"I am not! Craving only leads to more trouble! I don’t crave anything'. He paused, remembering something. “Well, except for boredom, that is, and," he sighed wistfully, “ potatoes."

“What’s a potato?“ Arya asked.

The man gave her a pained look. He turned and looked up at the sky and said something under his breath. Arya couldn’t quite make it out, but it sounded like whimpering. “ Look, no one's asking you to follow me, “ he said, changing the subject. “ If you don’ t like where we’ re going, you can leave anytime you want."

Arya said nothing. She didn’t know why she was following the man, ever since she had run straight into him escaping from the Brotherhood, but he had got her past the Brotherhood's outer guard and, she shuddered, the Hound, and so far they avoided any other people out to get her. She was safe around him, even if she found his whining annoying.

She hadn’t asked him his name yet. She didn’t want to know. She didn’t want to get close to anyone, after losing Gendry, Hot Pie, Syro and... her father. Still, she should try to learn as much as she could about him. “Is a wizzard anything like a hedge wizard?” She asked.

He looked at her surprised. “You’re the first person who’s known how to read since I’ve arrived in this gods forsaken mud hole,” he said.

Arya gulped realizing she’d given away an advantage. "Well, is it?“ She asked. The wizard drew himself to his full lanky height. “Oh no, we wizards are something much better. We look into the higher magics.”

“Can you show me some?“ Arya asked.

The wizard coughed. “Not right now.“ He said. “My powers can’t be wasted on simple parlor tricks, especially when we might need them for something serious later. "

Arya said nothing. Let him keep his stupid secrets she didn’t need him.

#illustration #watercolor #asoiaf #discworld #crossover fanart #crossover #arya stark #rincewind #fanfiction

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jungle-angel · 2 months ago

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Into The Wild Woods (Ben Mears x Reader)

Summary: You, Ben and the coven are all out on a hunt one night when you receive some unexpected help from the most unlikely of places

Warnings: Injuries, religion, multifandom crossovers etc.

Tagging: @floydsmuse @attapullman @rhettabbotts @sebsxphia

You placed your hand on Ben's clammy forehead, his chest heaving from his labored breathing. A horrid wet sounding cough came from his throat as Father Callahan made the sign of the cross on his forehead, lips and chest with a few drops of holy water. You very gently pressed a cotton ball against the scratches on his chest, surrounded by tiny little threads of blue and beginning to turn an ugly black.

"Damnit!" Father Callahan hissed. "Where's Dorothea when you need her? She'd be able to draw this out of him."

You wished with every fiber of your being that the voodoo priestess was here too and not three and a half hours away in Bangor. With her and Father Callahan's help, she'd be able to draw out the black poison that was beginning to show itself.

"Baby......." he mumbled, his speech beginning to slur. "M'freezing.....keep me warm....."

You lowered your head to kiss him. "I'll stay with you," you promised him. "Don't worry. You're safe."

Father Callahan gathered the rest of the coven around him. "Listen up," he told them. "I want every single one of you to go and find as much wild garlic as you can. Find wild garlic, buckthorn, wild roses, juniper, holly, hawthorn, anything that's in the plant section of the grimoire, go find it......hurry!"

Off into the woods they all ran, Mark Petrie, Mike and Lucy Ryerson, Matt Burke, Bonnie and Corey Bryant and all the rest, searching frantically while you and Randy stayed with Ben. Their lanterns and flashlights burned like fiery eyes in the woods as they went about searching for the plants that would help draw out the vampire poison.

At last, Father Callahan had found something, the blooms still fresh on a wild hedge of roses likely from an abandoned shack or cabin in the woods and smelling heavily of the rugosa roses Mabel Wertz had planted outside the coven house. Quickly with the Swiss Army knife in his pocket he began cutting as many off the bushes as he could, petals and all when he suddenly felt something pointy against his throat.

"What's this?" asked a woman's voice in the dark. "A priest caught off his guard?"

Father Callahan looked up and over his shoulder, relieved at the face he saw.

**************************

You and Ben were startled by the blinding white light that suddenly emerged from the trees, illuminating your faces. A huge white stag came galloping over the grass and rocks, the antlers like a great crown upon its head. Somewhere behind it, four horses with riders upon their backs followed, the hoofbeats thumping along the ground.

The stag disappeared into thin air when the horses reigned in to a stop but the light didn't fade as the riders dismounted. Your jaw dropped when you saw who they were.

"Is he bad (y/n)?" Harry asked, kneeling beside Ben.

"He was scratched," you answered.

"Doxy?" Harry asked again.

You shook your head. "Vampire."

Harry sucked in a breath. "Fuck," he cursed under his breath. "Malfoy!"

A silver haired rider in a cloak of deep green and black hurried to you, Harry and Ben with a drawstring bag. Ben shuddered when Draco touched his skin, the beads of sweat standing out on his forehead.

"He's beyond the help of muggles," Draco concluded. "He needs wizard medicine."

"But what about the others?" you asked. "They went off to find wild garlic and the other things."

"We'll make a paste and wrap the wound with it," Draco answered. "But we need to hurry and get home. If we wait too long he'll fade."

The others came rushing back with the wild plants and quickly, Draco, Harry, Ginny and Astoria set to work making a paste with the plants. Ben's face scrunched in pain when it was applied, his big hand squeezing yours as Draco's careful hand applied it, his voice speaking in some language that neither of you had ever heard before.

"How did you know where to find us?" Father Callahan asked.

"Easy," Harry chuckled, tightening the saddle on the huge horse he had ridden. "Abraxan horses have noses keener than a bloodhound's. They smelled trouble and started going absolutely mad. That and four of your Russian friends were lurking around in the woods."

Father Callahan nodded. Leave it to the four sisters to tell others where they were.

"You'll need to come with us," Hermione told the priest. "All of you. The woods aren't safe from these creatures and we fear there will be worse ones by daylight."

"But vampires only come out at night," Mark told her.

"Hermione's right," Harry told him. "We need to be on the move before and during daybreak. Your friend is beyond muggle help and he's fading fast. The ones we're after only come out during the day and will chase us if given the chance. We cannot give it to them."

"How are we supposed to go with you guys?" Mike asked him. "There's no portal, no standing stones, nothing."

"Cumberland Ford," Harry answered. "It's the easiest way in and out. We won't need a portkey if we go there."

Matt, Father Callahan and Mike shivered. Frank and Beth Daniels, both members of the Mikmaq Nation, had told them that there were things that had happened in Cumberland Ford that for generations, their people had never been able to explain. Perhaps that had been it.

Other horses were brought forth, all of them the same as Harry, Ginny and Draco's mounts. Hagrid, giant of a man he was, gladly took charge of you and Ben while the others rode alone or with others. Ginny carried Randy on her back in a pale blue wrap while Mark coiled his arms tightly around Harry.

One swift nudge from the riders and off they flew into the night, leaving the woods behind them and hurrying on for the long miles ahead.

Morning soon broke and with it had come the danger that Hermione had spoken of. From out of the woodlines had come those black, ragged creatures who were truly far worse than any bloodsucker imagineable.

The horses thundered along but the dementors wheeled and swooped in for the kill, coming close to the pack of riders. Mark clung fast to Harry, shutting his eyes while you held on to Hagrid. All of you slalomed through the trees and galloped over the hills, urging the horses ever faster.

Mark watched in awed terror as a dementor swooped in and came alongside them. Harry called out the command, drawing his wand and unleashing the light of the patronus shield, clinging to the stallion's bridle. The dementors shrieked and flew away as they galloped faster and faster, turning around one tree and then another.

You watched in horror as one began to reach its bony arm and shriveled hand for Ben, daring to try and draw his already weakened life force from his body. You heard the loud screaming of a horse, thinking it was one of yours but there before your eyes was Ginny's mare, a blinding blue-white that trampled the dementors beneath her hooves.

Over the hills, through woods and across the gullies you rode with the others until at last you reached it, that huge stretch off river that cut through the cliffs like a silver ribbon. The horses splashed across the water but the dementors stopped dead in their tracks.

"Give up the hunters wizard filth!" the leader of the dementors commanded, his voice dead and grating.

Harry drew the sword of Gryffindor from the scabbard in the belt of his jeans. "You want them?!" he taunted defiantly. "Come and claim them!"

The dementors began to make their way across but the wizards never once backed away nor did the horses. Harry drew his wand and began to speak some sort of indiscernible spell. With a wave of his arm, the waters of the Androscoggin River suddenly roared to life, rushing around a hairpin bend and taking the shape of horses which neighed and screamed wildly. The dementors flew in fright but the water pulled them under, drowning them all in one fell swoop.

Harry reigned in his horse and the rest of you followed him deeper into the ford.

************************

Ben's eyes fluttered open as he woke, finding himself in a strange room with the sun pouring in through the stained glass windows near his bed. A smile crawled across his face when he saw you sitting next to him, more so when he saw the image of a lady in a Victorian nurse's uniform moving in the stained glass.

"Morning Sleeping Beauty," you chuckled.

Ben laughed a little as you leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "How long was I out for?" he asked, his voice gravelly from sleep.

"Twelve hours," you told him, brushing a loose strand of hair out of his face.

"Oh bless ye Mr. Mears!" exclaimed the image of the lady. "Bless ye, ye be awake!"

Ben laughed as he tried to sit up, wincing at the pain on his chest.

"Now don't ye go and try sittin up, ye hear?" the lady said. "I'll be right back."

He saw her flitting through one window after another until a nurse in her bright green and white uniform entered the room.

"Hah!" Madame Strout exclaimed. "And that old fool of an intern told me he wouldn't awake. Well serves the little toad right for what I'll do to him later. I see you're in much better shape, Mr. Mears."

"A little but not by much," Ben answered.

"Oh no, don't you dare strain yourself," she ordered, helping to prop him up. "After what you've been through, you absolutely must rest. And I'll certainly hear about it from your watchnurse in the window."

You and Ben turned your gazes to the window where the lady was once again seated with her book, the little gold banner underneath reading the name "Anu O'Maileigh" underneath. She giggled a little and turned her attention back to her book.

"Where are we anyways?" Ben asked.

"You my dear boy are at St. Mungo's and rightfully so," Madame Strout informed him. "Had your friends been any longer and you would've faded. Terrible thing that is, neither here nor there but in between worlds and stuck therein."

Ben shuddered at the thought and you did too.

"Thankfully your friends had knowledge of how to draw out vampire poison," Madame Strout remarked, pouring some orange liquid into a glass. "Makes me quite glad to see that a good portion of muggles still have respect for our ways."

Ben smiled a little, dead tired as he was. "You ever hunt vampires before?"

"Oh have I," Madame Strout said matter of factly. "In fact my father was an auror who chased them down from here to the Carpathians. You wouldn't know it, but a good friend and partner of his turned out to be Van Helsing himself."

Yours and Ben's jaws dropped. "No way!" he exclaimed.

"Oh yes way," Madame Strout told him, mixing together the odd assortment of powders and the juice that was as orange as a pumpkin. "Taught the good doctor everything he knew of hunting vampires and more. In fact, he was so skilled at his craft that he willingly taught muggles how to defend themselves against the foul things at his own secret school. The Harkers were the first teachers enlisted along with the rest of their compatriots."

You and Ben couldn't believe such a thing. It amazed you how the lines between the ordinary world and the realms of magic could be so blurred.

Madame Strout made him drink the entire glass she had mixed together, the motherly nurse in no mood for any shenanigans. "This is pretty good," Ben told her. "Tastes kinda like a Bloody Mary."

"A Bloody Mary with a bit of our own secret ingredient," she told him. "Though I won't tell you what it is. A nurse never reveals her secrets."

Madame Strout made her rounds just as the others were beginning to come in. None of them had been harmed in their flight to the ford, much to your relief, all of them relieved beyond words that Ben was awake and alert.

He spent the better part of two weeks at the hospital and when there was no trace of poison left, Ben was given the all clear to head home. All of you thanked your newfound friends for their help, saddened a little to have to return to the lot. But before you had all left, the witches and wizards promised that this wouldn't be the last time you visited their world, nor would it be the last time they visited yours.

And you and Ben looked forward to that day immensely.

#salem's lot #ben mears #ben mears x reader #father callahan #matt burke #mark petrie #salem's lot x harry potter crossover

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princessofmerchants · 10 months ago

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My prediction about the next four books SJM will publish

I wanted to get this down somewhere, in part to process my angst about the possibility of what may come last in this next cluster of book releases 😫 but also to record the plot and character threads I am seeing as important heading into the next stretch of books SJM will release.

This includes HOFAS, ACOTAR, and TOG spoilers so it's after the break.

DISCLAIMER: These are just my guesses based on various interviews SJM has given both before and after the HOFAS release — THE ONLY SERIES BOOK THAT'S CONFIRMED IN THIS LIST IS ACOTAR5 BEING NEXT, and with that one, the main characters and plot threads I'll mention have also not yet been confirmed (beyond an avalanche of textual evidence 👀)

So, here are my predictions, circa 1.5 weeks after HOFAS was released:

➡️NEXT: ACOTAR5 - Az/Gwyn + Nesta and the Valkyries (which should also include Mor, ideally in a shared storyline with Emerie), Illyria / Ramiel / the Prison (and maybe a return of the pegasuses to Prythian), Gwydion and Truth Teller (not to mention the other two Made blades Nesta forged in ACOSF - also will Narben make an appearance? 👀), and I also think the first part of the Autumn Court drama may be told in this book - the truth about what happened between Mor and Eris, Beron's ongoing treachery, and Beron may die in this book making Eris High Lord (though some of these items may also be in ACOTAR6 instead - I do think the Mor and Eris story needs to come out in ACOTAR5 though, for Az to make peace with his 500 years of pining for her)

➡️FOLLOWED BY: A Throne of Glass crossover book - Shifter Fae + humans, more history and context about when the ancient Erilea Fae world-jumped to Midgard and served the Asteri, a story that creates threads and connections (of some kind, no idea how, and not sure which ToG characters it would entail) to Lidia (deer shifter with fire magic a la Aelin), Tharion (and the Mer as a people - ToG stans, remind me, were there mer in the ToG series at all? I'm pretty sure Rigelus says they hailed from the same world as the wolves and other Midgard shifters - I've read ToG in full but not as closely as ACOTAR and CC), and Ithan (wolf shifter with ice magic a la Dorian)

➡️THEN I AM THINKING: CC4: House of Many Waters - This would be the continuation of the story threads SJM did not resolve or finish by the end of HOFAS: Lidia's "service" to the Ocean Queen (and more RuhnLidia story with Brann and Ace 😍), Tharion/Sathia with Flynn and their earth magic / Avallen and the pegasuses, Ithan as the new Prime of the Wolves (and something with Perry - why did the antidote fade for her so fast?), Firstlight Zero, widespread distribution of the antidote, Ariadne (where did she go??!), and maybe more portal hopping to Prythian for Bryce, Hunt, Ember, and Randall (OH and maybe Ruhn here too, to get him in the same room as Rhys 👀) to further develop the cross-world friendships we saw forming in HOFAS

➡️WHICH MEANS FOURTH IN SJM'S AIRPLANE TAXI LINE WOULD BE (SOBS): ACOTAR6 - Elain/Lucien, Band of Exiles, Firebird retelling, Koschei, the mortal queens, and the conclusion of the big magical conflict that began with the finding of the Dread Trove in ACOSF, not to mention the Archeron sisters finally acknowledging and healing all of their familial baggage that was born from their collective and generational hardships from their time as humans (so Elain also coming to terms with her Seer powers and being Fae / no longer human - also answering the question: What happened when Elain went into the Cauldron?), I also think some of the Autumn Court drama would play out in this story Helion/Lady Autumn and Lucien's heritage (Day Court heir?), as well as more information about Papa Archeron from the time period of ACOWAR when Lucien traveled with him (LOTS of processing complex and problematic parents in this one!)

Again, these are JUST MY IDEAS - the ToG book guess is based on SJM saying after ACOTAR5 she's excited about the world her next book will be in which she implied was not the CC or ACOTAR world, and which will be emotional for her because of "who may pop up" - if that doesn't scream a return to her to the ToG universe then I don't know what would.

Then the 3rd and 4th predictions follow from that 2nd one being ToG and what I think she may focus on in it to add layers to her crossover - which seems like something she would want to do after how much work she's put into it so far.

I think there's a stronger and deeper fanbase for ACOTAR6 than there will be for CC4, so I think that could impact a decision to write and release CC4 first (since us ACOTAR stans would wait decades for the conclusion of that story and still buy a bazillion copies of it).

WHICH MEANS (SOBS), if these books are released one every 1.5 years on average... It may be quite a few years until we get our Elucien book 😭 ACOMAF came out in 2016. It would be PAST 2026 when ACOTAR6 gets released, over 10 years, until we get to see what actually comes of Elain's and Lucien's mating bond, if the above winds up bring true.

I swear, Eluciens are going to get the trophy for longest wait to see these two in their endgame, bless our patient souls 🏆

(There is always a chance the last two in the list will be in reverse order, with ACOTAR6 followed by CC4, but even if that winds up being the case, it would still be three books from now for ACOTAR6.)

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nerdraging4point0 · 8 months ago

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The Scorpion and the Scales // Chapter Four // Poly AU: MIW BO crossover

Tropes and Tags: MF, MFM, MFMM, instalove, too much sex, tattooed musicians, polyverse, friends to lovers.

Content warning: 18+ only MDNI, PinV, PinA, oral (f!recieveing, m!recieving), threesomes, light BDSM, voyeurism, exhibitionism, partner sharing, jealousy, angst.

This work below is fictionalized ideas and stories involving real people but does not directly reflect their thoughts, feelings, or behaviors. Please keep in mind that this is a work of fiction.

Active taglist: @ladyveronikawrites @tearfallpixie @beaker1636 @circle-with-me @synthetic-wasp-570 @itsjustemily @thesazzb @vinyardmauro @cookiesupplier @concreteemo @dominuslunae @mountains-to-move @sundamariis @caitcoreeeee @crimson-calligraphyx @letmeadoreyoux @starsomens @artificialbreezy @lma1986 @iknownothingpeople @lilrubles @shilohrosechicken @missduffsblog @jessicafg03 @thatchickwiththecamera @mysticdoodlez @chels3a-smile @sinkingteethinwhitenoise @deathblacksmoke @roley-poley-foley @ravieisunhinged @dethronetheveil @to-be-written @somewhere-diamond @somebodyels3 @sacredthefran @th0ughts-pr4yers @bloody-delusion-expert

I tremble as Noah closes the distance between us, his large hands cupping my face as his lips claim mine in a searing kiss. I feel delicate and feminine in his strong grasp. Letting the pillow slip from my hands, I reach for his wrists, rising to meet his hungry mouth. Our kisses grow more urgent as we shuffle toward the bed, desire pooling low in my belly. My back meets the soft mattress and I gasp against his lips as his tall, muscular frame hovers over me. I arch into him, hungry for more of his heated touch, every nerve in my body alive with anticipation.

My heart skips a beat as my thoughts suddenly spiral. Am I cheating? Chris and I have been texting back and forth for months now, but he's never brought up being exclusive or officially dating. We're just friends who sometimes get a little flirty over text. I mean, sure, we've sent some racy photos and done the occasional video chat, but that doesn't make us an actual couple...right? I've never felt like we were anything official. Still, my conscience nags at me, making me second guess everything.

His hands are on me, sliding up under my shirt, and I can't help the moan that escapes as his fingers find my bare skin. So soft, his touch is like fire, and I arch into him when he cups my breast, teasing my nipple. The pleasure is dizzying, and my mind is hazy, unable to form a coherent thought beyond how good this feels. I know I shouldn't, but I can't resist, can't find the willpower to push him away. This is so wrong, but oh, it feels so right.

His hands are on me, burning my skin as he slides my shorts down my hips. My shirt is already gone, tossed carelessly to the floor. I gasp as his lips trail kisses down my body. Friends with benefits? Girlfriend and boyfriend? I don't know what we are. My mind is clouded, lost in this blissful haze as he continues his sweet torture. I know I should ask, should clarify our relationship, but not now.

My legs trembled as his tongue trailed up my inner thighs. I tensed, unsure if I should allow this stranger such intimate access. Yet my body melted into his touch, my hesitation fading away. I let my thighs fall open, exposing my slick, aching flesh. His tongue slid through my wet folds, flicking my swollen clit, making my hips buck against his mouth.

"Been a while, hasn't it, sweet girl?" he murmured, his breath hot on my sensitive skin. I nodded, whimpering, desperate for more of his delicious torment.

"Well, let's fix that, shall we?"

He continued his sensual assault, circling my clit with the tip of his tongue, caressing my thighs to keep them relaxed and open for him. My hands twisted in the sheets, conflicted between gripping tight or running through his hair. He was driving me to the brink of ecstasy. Though it had been some time, no lover had ever lavished such skillful attention or savored every second of my body's responses.

When he pulled my clit between his lips, sucking ever so gently, I cried out, momentarily forgetting we weren't alone.

His eyes met mine from between my shaking thighs, his mouth curving into a grin. "No, let me hear you, baby. Nick wants to hear how much you're enjoying yourself."

His words sent a shiver through me. I would let him hear. I would let the whole world hear how much pleasure this stranger was giving me.

I gasp and pant, his words igniting me like a spark to tinder. This is nothing like being with Chris - Noah takes me to new heights of ecstasy. My mind wanders, imagining what the others are thinking as they hear my cries of pleasure echoing through the house. The thought of an audience, of Chris himself watching as Noah lavishes me with oral worship, only amplifies my arousal.

I writhe and moan, my body electric, responding to Noah's talented tongue and the fantasy of being witnessed in my debauchery. Some primal part of me is unleashed, raw screams torn from my throat. I am alive, I am free, I am his. Each lick and flick pushes me higher, lost in this hedonistic heaven. The world falls away until there is only this - his mouth and my ecstasy, together in perfect harmony.

He is whispering something but I am lost mentally, unable to process meaning. His voice alone make me shiver. As his tongue finds my clit again, pleasure overwhelms me. I cry out his name, lost in ecstasy.

As I float back to earth, his fingers glide along my slick folds before sliding inside. His thumb presses my clit, keeping me on the edge.

"Did he make you feel like this?" he asks.

I can't speak, only moan as he pumps into me, bringing me closer again.

"Didn't make you come like this, did he?" His murmured words fan the flames. "Wonder what he'd think, seeing you come undone for me."

I don't care. All I feel is Noah, his fingers, his mouth. He takes me higher, makes me burn. Nothing else matters but this.

I moan, rocking my hips against his fingers as they work their magic.

"Naughty girl," Noah growls, his fingers picking up the pace as his thumb starts rubbing my sensitive clit. "You wanna come for me again, don't you sweet girl?"

I squirm and rock desperately on his hand, chasing the euphoric high building inside me. He doesn't need to ask permission this time. My body makes the decision for me, ecstasy crashing over me in waves as I cry out.

"That's my good girl," he rasps, voice thick with desire. Then his mouth is on me, tongue lapping up every drop of my arousal. I clutch his soft brown hair, overwhelmed by the sensory bliss.

When he crawls up my body, I eagerly meet his mouth with my own, tasting myself on his lips and tongue. I'm lost in this heated passion with him, my body singing at his touch.

His voice is a low rumble as he looks down at me, eyes dark with desire. "We're not done yet, baby. Give me more." I'm breathless beneath him, wanting, needing, as he leans back and takes himself in hand. My thigh trembles under his grip as he pushes my legs open, exposing me. I feel him there, hot and hard between my folds, teasing me. A whimper escapes my lips as I arch and roll, desperate for him to fill me. He watches, enjoying how I writhe, so ready for him. And then suddenly he's inside, one powerful stroke seating him to the hilt. I cry out, stretching around him, ecstasy coursing through me.

"That's my girl," he growls. "Take it all."

I'm helpless but to obey, letting him fill me completely. My eyes flutter closed as ecstasy washes over me.

"Let me see those pretty eyes."

I open them to meet his smoldering gaze, dark and domineering. His pace quickens and I whimper, right on the edge.

"Not yet," he commands. "You'll come when I say."

I'm trying, I really am, but I'm not sure I can do what he asks.As he resumes his movements, my mind grows hazy with pleasure. I can feel my climax building, just out of reach, and I know that in mere minutes I'll come undone for him.

"Do you want to come for me, baby?" Noah's forehead presses to mine, our gazes locked in heated intimacy. I nod, desperate and willing.

"No," he says firmly. "Tell me what you want. Give me that voice." His fingers pinch my chin, commanding my full obedience.

"Noah," I breathe, my voice laced with aching need. "Please make me come." His movements remain steady, controlled, as his forehead pushes harder to mine. He owns me in this moment, possessing my pleasure completely. I surrender to his dominance, ready to shatter at his will.

"Come for me, baby girl. Come on my cock," he growls. I squeal as my orgasm breaks free, flooding through me. I'm still riding the high when he flips me onto him, his cock still throbbing inside. I settle onto him just as his hands grip my hips, pumping me up and down his hard length. Bracing myself on his chest, my nails digging into his tattooed skin with each deep thrust. "Again," he commands. My body obeys, shuddering as another orgasm charges through. His calm, confident voice pushes me over the edge again.

His voice was husky as he praised me, his hands guiding my hips as I rode him. "That's it baby, just like that. You feel so good wrapped around me." I was beyond words, lost in the pleasure of our joining. I threw my head back and moaned, showing him how much I loved having him inside me.

"Think you got one more in you for me?" he growled, starting to thrust up harder. My throat was dry, and I could only nod eagerly as he picked up the pace. He was urgent now, pounding into me as he chased his release.

"Give it to me baby, come on. One more and I'll make you scream." His words sent a spike of heat through me. I wanted to obey, to push us both over the edge. I moved faster, squeezing around him as the pleasure built. We were so close now, racing towards ecstasy together.

The pleasure was overwhelming as he thrust inside me. I wanted more, I wanted him to lose control. Gripping his hips, I moved with him, desperate to hear those sweet moans escape his lips.

"One more, baby. Come for me one more time," he begged, his voice strained with need. I was close, but didn't know if I could beat him to it. Reaching down, I found my aching clit and stroked it fast.

"Fuck, that's so hot. Make yourself come for me, baby," he growled. His words sent me over the edge. Waves of ecstasy crashed through me as I clenched around him, crying out his name. He continued thrusting erratically before finally finding his own release inside me.

When we caught our breath, he flipped me over, withdrawing swiftly. I whimpered at the sudden emptiness. But he was already moving down my body, his hot breath between my legs.

"I can't...too sensitive..." I panted, even as my hips lifted toward his mouth.

"You can, baby. One more for me. I know you have one more in you," he purred before devouring my slick heat. His tongue soothed my tender flesh even as it stoked the fire inside me once more. I was beyond words, reduced to breathless moans as he worked me expertly to the edge again.

"Going to come..." I managed to gasp. He redoubled his efforts, licking and sucking until I shattered with a scream, the orgasm ripping through my core.

As I floated back down, he gently lapped up my juices, murmuring praise against my sensitized flesh. I drifted in and out of blissful semi-consciousness, vaguely aware of him gathering me in his arms. The last thing I remembered was his fingers stroking my hair as I surrendered to exhaustion, thoroughly satisfied and already longing for more.

#bad omens fic #bad omens fanfic #bad omens fanfiction #bad omens rpf #noah sebastian fic #bad omens smut #noah sebastian smut #Chris Motionless fic #Chris Motionless smut #ricky olson smut #ricky olson fic #miw band #miw #chris motionless #chrismotionlessfanfic #motionless in white fanfiction #motionless in white smut #polyverse

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zenithangelic · 29 days ago

Note

Saw x Silent Hill kinda crossover

Silent Hill protags with a s/o that was originally Jigsaw's victim, only for em to discover that their s/o works for Jigsaw and became obsessed with his ideals.

How do they feel upon finding this out and how do they try to stop the s/o

Hope that's okay, thanks and have a great day

Silent Hill protags finding out that their s/o works for Jigsaw:

Harry Mason

Harry Mason sits at the kitchen table, staring at the steaming cup of coffee in front of him, lost in thought. His s/o is upstairs, working on something they’ve been keeping under wraps for weeks. Their sudden bouts of secrecy hadn’t bothered him at first—everyone deserves their privacy—but lately, something has been gnawing at him. The distance between them had grown, and their once warm, open conversations had turned short and cryptic.

He had tried to brush it off as stress, or maybe just needing space. But the nagging feeling in the back of his mind wouldn’t let go.

As he stirs the coffee absentmindedly, his gaze drifts to the pile of papers they left on the counter earlier that morning. Some sketches, they’d said, for a project. Harry had respected their boundaries—he never liked prying—but curiosity, or perhaps something deeper, urges him to take a look today.

He reaches for the papers, and the moment his fingers graze the top sheet, he knows something is wrong.

The sketch isn’t of some harmless design or blueprint. It’s a mechanical diagram, detailed and meticulously drawn. His eyes scan the intricate lines, recognising chains, blades, and restraints. His stomach churns as the realisation hits him like a punch to the gut.

It’s a trap. A Jigsaw trap.

Harry’s breath catches in his throat as he flips through more sketches, each more horrifying than the last. One of them shows a human figure shackled to a device, a set of rotating blades positioned just inches away from their head, with notes scribbled in the margins about "choice" and "sacrifice." Every detail feels like it’s pulled from the nightmares he thought his s/o had left behind after surviving one of Jigsaw’s games.

A heavy weight settles on his chest. The idea that his s/o—his s/o—had anything to do with Jigsaw beyond being a victim, was unfathomable. But now… now, the evidence is right in front of him. This isn’t the work of someone who escaped Jigsaw's madness. This is the work of someone deeply involved in it.

His hands tremble as he carefully places the papers back on the counter, the implications twisting in his mind. How could this be happening? How could the person he trusted, loved, have fallen so far into the very thing they once fought to survive?

He hears footsteps on the stairs.

Quickly, Harry steps away from the papers, moving to stand by the kitchen sink, trying to collect his thoughts. His s/o walks into the room, their face softening when they see him, but Harry can barely meet their gaze.

“Hey,” they say, crossing the room to lean against the counter, completely unaware of the storm building inside him. “You’re up early.”

“Yeah,” Harry replies, his voice tight. But he can’t keep up the act. Not with what he’s just seen. “I was just looking through some of your sketches.”

They freeze for the briefest moment, but it’s enough. Harry doesn’t miss the flicker of recognition—of guilt—crossing their face before they force a neutral expression.

“Oh, those,” they say, brushing it off with a laugh that feels too rehearsed. “Just some ideas for... a project.”

“A project?” Harry’s voice is sharper than he intends. “This looks more like a design for one of Jigsaw’s traps.”

Their smile fades. Silence stretches between them, thick and suffocating. Harry feels his pulse thudding in his ears, waiting for them to say something—anything—to explain this.

But they don’t. Instead, their expression hardens, and their shoulders tense.

“Harry, you weren’t supposed to see that,” they finally say, their voice low, tinged with something cold, distant.

His heart twists painfully. “You’re working for him, aren’t you? Jigsaw. You’re building his traps now?”

His s/o closes their eyes, taking a deep breath before looking at him with an intensity that sends a shiver down his spine. “It’s not what you think. It’s not about hurting people. It’s about helping them… the way he helped me.”

“Helped you?” Harry can’t believe what he’s hearing. “He tortured you. He nearly killed you.”

“And it saved me,” they snap, the raw emotion in their voice startling him. “You don’t understand, Harry. I was lost, broken. I didn’t appreciate life—I was wasting it. Jigsaw… he showed me what it means to truly value it.”

Harry shakes his head, stepping closer to them. “No. That’s not how it works. You don’t need to hurt people to make them appreciate life. This isn’t you. This… this is his madness talking, not you.”

They glance away, their hands trembling slightly as they place them on the counter. “I don’t want to hurt anyone, Harry. But Jigsaw’s right. People need to be tested, to be pushed to their limits to see their true worth. It’s the only way they’ll understand.”

“You can’t actually believe this,” Harry pleads, his voice softer now, desperate. “You can’t think this is right. You survived him. You got out. You were supposed to be free, not… not this.”

Their eyes flicker with something—regret, maybe—but their resolve is firm. “I thought I could walk away, but the truth is, I see now why he does what he does. He’s not just some monster. He’s trying to make people change.”

Harry’s hands shake as he steps toward them, reaching out, but unsure if he should. “This isn’t you. You’re better than this. You don’t have to do this. We can leave—get away from all of this before it’s too late.”

They look up at him, and for a moment, the person he loves—the person he thought he knew—is there. Vulnerable, conflicted. But then, just as quickly, that cold determination returns.

“I’ve already made my choice,” they say quietly. “I have to finish what I’ve started.”

Harry feels the ground drop out from under him, the weight of their words crushing him. He knows he can’t let this go on. He can’t let them fall any further into Jigsaw’s grasp. But he also knows that confronting them here, now, won’t save them.

He swallows hard, his mind racing for a way to pull them back from the edge. “Then I’ll stop you,” he says, his voice firm but filled with pain. “I’ll stop this before it gets worse. I can’t lose you to him.”

Their eyes flash with emotion—pain, fear, and something else he can’t quite place—but they say nothing, simply turning away from him, as if distancing themselves from what’s to come.

Harry watches them go, feeling the weight of the choice he’s just made. He knows what’s coming, and it terrifies him. He’ll have to fight for them, for their soul, before Jigsaw takes everything. But he’s not going to give up.

Not without a fight.

James Sunderland

James Sunderland sits at the small desk in the corner of his apartment, absently flipping through old photographs of him and his s/o. The memories are warm, happy, but lately, something has changed. His s/o has been more distant, pulling away in ways that remind him of Mary. He doesn’t like it—he doesn’t like where his thoughts go when that distance grows too wide, too painful.

There’s been a lot of late nights for his s/o, mysterious phone calls and errands, and the evasive answers that came when he asked about them. James tries to tell himself it’s just stress. Everyone’s got their burdens, right? He understands that better than anyone.

But the nagging feeling won’t leave him. Something is wrong. Deep down, he knows it.

It’s around midnight when his s/o is out again, “running an errand.” James finds himself pacing the apartment, restless. His eyes catch on a drawer—one his s/o always kept locked. They never made a big deal out of it, but there was always something secretive about it. Tonight, though, it’s left slightly ajar.

James hesitates, his hand hovering over the handle. Part of him screams to leave it alone, to respect their privacy. But another part—the part that’s been gnawing at him for days, weeks—urges him to open it.

Before he knows it, the drawer slides open with ease.

Inside, there’s a stack of papers, meticulously organised. At first, it looks like nothing out of the ordinary—random sketches, lists. But as James starts to leaf through them, his breath catches. The drawings are crude, but unmistakable. Chains. Mechanical gears. Blades.

His pulse quickens as he pulls out more papers. They’re diagrams—detailed, precise designs for traps. Deadly traps. The kind of twisted, intricate mechanisms that remind him of the stories he’s heard on the news, of that madman… Jigsaw.

James’s mouth goes dry as he flips to another page, one with a carefully drawn figure strapped into one of the devices. There are annotations scribbled in the margins—notes on how it would work, what the “subject” would be forced to do to escape.

Why would they have these?

His thoughts spiral, heart thudding painfully in his chest. His s/o had told him about their experience surviving Jigsaw years ago—barely escaping one of his horrific “games.” It had been a dark chapter of their past, something they rarely spoke of. But now… these sketches. These plans. It’s as if they’re not just remembering that nightmare—they’re building it.

His hands shake as he fumbles through more pages. They’re all the same—more traps, more designs, as if they’re planning their own twisted “game.” James feels the air in the room grow heavy, suffocating.

Before he can process any of it, the front door clicks open. His s/o steps inside, looking tired but otherwise calm. They stop when they see James standing at the desk, the papers scattered around him.

For a long, tense moment, neither of them says anything.

“James,” they start, voice low and guarded. “What are you doing?”

His throat is dry, his words barely coming out. “What… what is all this?” He gestures to the papers, unable to keep the tremor out of his voice. “Why do you have these?”

They glance at the designs, their face tightening, but there’s no surprise. Only a quiet, cold resignation. “You weren’t supposed to see those.”

“I wasn’t supposed to see—?” James stumbles over his words, his mind racing. “You’re working for Jigsaw, aren’t you? You’re making his traps now?”

Their silence is answer enough.

James feels his stomach drop, his world teetering on the edge of collapse. The person he loves—the person he thought he knew—wasn’t just a victim of Jigsaw’s horrors. They were… involved.

“I’m not working for him,” they finally say, their voice sharp with a defensive edge. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it?” James’s voice rises, the disbelief clear in his words. “Why are you designing these traps? Why are you doing this at all?”

They take a step forward, their eyes hard, conflicted. “You don’t understand. Jigsaw… he has a vision. A way of making people change, making them appreciate life in a way they never would otherwise. He’s not just a killer—he’s trying to wake people up.”

“Wake them up?” James can’t believe what he’s hearing. “By torturing them? By making them mutilate themselves to survive? You think that’s some kind of… of enlightenment?”

Their expression twists, torn between frustration and something deeper. “It’s not just about pain. It’s about choice. Sacrifice. People need to be pushed to their limits to understand their lives—to understand what really matters.”

James stares at them, a growing sense of horror settling in his bones. “You’re talking like him,” he whispers, voice laced with disbelief. “You’re not even the same person I knew. He’s gotten into your head, twisted everything.”

“I survived his game, James,” they snap, their voice hardening. “I made it out because I learned from it. I saw the truth in what he does. It’s ugly, yes, but it works. People need to be tested. You… you’ve been through it too. You know what it’s like to face your demons.”

James flinches. The mention of his own past, of the demons he’s buried deep, sends a chill through him. “That’s different,” he says, though his voice is quieter now. “That’s not the same. I didn’t… I didn’t want anyone to suffer for it.”

“But you did suffer,” they say, stepping closer, their voice almost gentle now. “And you learned from it. You changed because of it.”

James shakes his head, backing away, his hands trembling. “This isn’t right. This isn’t you. You don’t need to do this. You don’t need to follow him.”

They look at him with a mixture of sadness and determination. “I’m not following him. I’m doing what needs to be done. People don’t change unless they’re forced to. And if I can help make that happen, if I can stop someone from wasting their life, isn’t that worth it?”

“No,” James says firmly, his heart breaking as he looks at them, as he realises just how deep they’ve fallen into this darkness. “It’s not worth it. Not like this.”

They hold his gaze, and for a moment, he sees the person he loves—the person he thought he’d spend the rest of his life with—before the cold mask slips back into place.

“I never wanted you to find out like this,” they say softly. “I wanted to protect you from it, from all of this.”

“You can still stop,” James pleads, his voice cracking with emotion. “We can leave, right now. We don’t have to be part of this. You don’t have to be part of this.”

They look away, the conflict clear on their face, but when they speak again, their voice is firm. “It’s too late, James. I’ve already made my choice.”

James feels the weight of their words settle over him like a shroud. He knows then that they’re too far gone, that they’ve embraced Jigsaw’s twisted philosophy. But he can’t just walk away. He can’t let them destroy themselves—or others.

“If you won’t stop, this” James says, his voice heavy with sadness, “then I will.”

Their eyes snap to his, filled with a mixture of shock and hurt. “You can’t stop this, James. You don’t understand—”

“I do understand,” he cuts in, his tone firm. “I understand that you’ve lost yourself to this madness. But I won’t let you drag anyone else down with you.”

They stand there, staring at each other, the distance between them growing wider and more painful with every passing second. Neither of them moves, neither of them speaks, until finally, they turn away.

“I’m sorry,” they whisper, and James feels his heart shatter.

As they walk out of the room, leaving him alone with the twisted sketches of death and torture, James knows that the battle ahead isn’t just against Jigsaw. It’s against the person he loves.

And it’s a fight he’s not sure he can win.

Heather Mason

Heather Mason stands at the threshold of her apartment, watching her s/o hunched over the small, makeshift workbench they’ve set up in the corner of their shared space. They’re always tinkering with something or other, lost in thought, but tonight feels different. Something about the way they’ve been retreating into their work, into themselves, has been scratching at her nerves. It feels too familiar. Like another secret waiting to blow up in her face.

She’s been patient. They’re allowed to have hobbies, and they’re allowed to have secrets, too. But Heather has learned to trust her instincts, and right now, they’re screaming that something is very wrong.

Her eyes narrow as she watches them tweak a small, intricate mechanism, their movements precise and methodical. Something metallic catches her eye—a flash of a blade or sharp edge hidden among the other tools. Her stomach twists as memories flood back—stories, news reports, and the whispered rumours of the infamous traps created by Jigsaw. Her s/o had mentioned Jigsaw only once in their time together, in passing, a brief and dark mention of their "encounter" with him before they met Heather.

Without warning, she steps forward, her presence made known. “What is all this?” she demands, voice sharp, cutting through the silence.

Her s/o startles, hands halting over the device before them. They look up at her, eyes wide, like they’ve been caught in the middle of something they can’t hide anymore.

“It’s… nothing,” they say quickly, but Heather is already moving forward, snatching up a blueprint that lies on the bench. She scans the page, the lines and annotations, and her blood runs cold. It’s a trap—something horrific and detailed, with arrows and notes about blades, chains, and pressure points.

Heather’s eyes flash with fury as she looks at them, her hand clenched tightly around the blueprint. “This isn’t ‘nothing,’” she snaps. “This looks like something Jigsaw would make. Why do you have this?”

They avoid her gaze, standing frozen, but she’s not about to back down. Not when it’s clear that they’ve been keeping something far darker than she could have ever imagined.

“Answer me,” she presses, her voice seething with barely-contained anger. “Are you working for him?”

Her s/o’s mouth opens, but no words come. Finally, they shake their head, trying to find some excuse, but Heather sees the guilt written all over their face.

“I’m not… I’m not working for him,” they say, voice thin. “I… I believe in what he’s doing.”

She lets out a short, bitter laugh, unable to hide the disgust in her voice. “You believe in him? The man who tortures people? Who kills them? I thought he put you through one of his sick ‘games.’ I thought you’d be done with that kind of madness.”

Their expression hardens, a flash of something defensive crossing their face. “It wasn’t madness. What I went through—it made me stronger, more aware. You don’t understand, Heather. People waste their lives, and they don’t even see it. Jigsaw opens their eyes.”

Heather stares at them in disbelief, her fists clenching as her rage bubbles up. “You’re not serious. You’re actually buying into his twisted logic? After everything he’s done? After what he put you through?”

“It’s not twisted,” they snap back, a fierce conviction in their voice that chills her. “It’s about waking people up, about showing them that their lives have value. He helped me see that, and now I can help others see it too.”

“Oh, you think you’re doing people a favour?” Heather’s voice is sharp, dripping with anger. “By torturing them? You think people are going to be grateful that you’re shoving them into a death trap and making them mutilate themselves just so they can survive? That’s not helping. That’s playing god.”

They look away, but she catches the flicker of guilt in their eyes. “You don’t understand. You haven’t been through it, Heather. When you’re forced to make a choice like that… when you come face-to-face with life or death… you see things differently.”

“Don’t tell me what I understand,” she hisses, her voice low and dangerous. “I’ve been through hell too, or did you forget? Or does my trauma not count because it wasn’t wrapped up in some sick ‘lesson?’”

They flinch at her words, but Heather doesn’t care. Not now, not when she realises just how far gone they are. How deeply they’ve bought into Jigsaw’s poison.

“You’re not the person I thought you were,” she says, shaking her head in disbelief. “I thought you were a victim, someone who survived something horrible. But this?” She gestures to the blueprints in her hands. “This makes you just as bad as him.”

They reach out, trying to take the paper from her, but she yanks it back, her eyes blazing. “Don’t you dare. You don’t get to justify this. You’re building traps to hurt people. I don’t care what excuse you’ve made up for yourself. It’s still murder.”

Their face crumples, but there’s still that stubborn, unyielding spark in their eyes, a part of them that refuses to see the truth. “I just want to help people see what I saw,” they insist, desperation lacing their voice. “To understand that their lives—”

“No!” Heather cuts them off, her voice ringing with finality. “You’re not helping anyone by killing them. You’re just feeding your own ego, feeding his ego. You’re nothing more than his puppet.”

Silence falls between them, thick and suffocating. Her words hang in the air, brutal and cutting, but she knows they’re true. She watches as they open their mouth to argue, to justify themselves once again, but nothing comes out. They look away, shoulders slumping, and for a brief moment, she sees the person she used to know—the person she loved.

But it’s not enough.

“If you keep doing this,” she says, voice low, “you’re no different from him. And if that’s who you’ve chosen to be… then I can’t stand by you.”

They look at her, something like fear flashing in their eyes. “Heather… please…”

“Don’t.” She shakes her head, her voice cold and unwavering. “Don’t try to convince me. I’m not going to let you turn into a monster. Not if I can help it.”

Their expression shifts, defensive anger flaring up again. “So what are you going to do? Stop me?”

Heather’s jaw tightens, and she meets their gaze, unflinching. “If I have to, yes.”

They hold her stare, and for a moment, they seem to search her face for any hint of hesitation, any trace of the old Heather who would let this slide. But there’s nothing but steel in her eyes. She’s done with secrets, done with monsters. If they’ve chosen this path, then they’ve chosen to be her enemy.

“Fine,” they say, their voice a mix of anger and resignation. “Then I guess you’re going to have to stop me.”

Heather watches them, her heart breaking even as her resolve hardens. She knows what she has to do, even if it means standing against the person she thought she loved. She’s not about to let them carry out Jigsaw’s sick vision. Not while she still has the power to stop them.

Henry Townshend

Silence fills Henry's apartment, thick and unyielding, as it always does. His s/o been distant lately, shutting themselves away in the spare room with their “projects” for hours on end. He’s tried to give them space, let them work through whatever they’re dealing with. But tonight, something feels different, off. The uneasy, crawling sensation he hasn’t felt since that nightmare with Walter Sullivan begins to gnaw at him.

He rises slowly, as if in a daze, and heads toward the closed door of the spare room. It’s barely cracked open, and he can hear them muttering to themselves inside, their voice soft and rhythmic, almost like a prayer. His curiosity wins out over his hesitation, and he pushes the door open wider, peering inside.

The sight stops him cold.

His s/o is leaning over a desk, surrounded by sheets of paper covered in designs, sketches that look almost ritualistic in their precision. But these aren’t just any sketches. They’re contraptions—devices with sharp edges, chains, locks, and twisting metal parts that make his stomach drop. They’re plans for traps. Death traps. Like something from the sick, twisted games he’s seen on the news—the work of Jigsaw.

He stands there in stunned silence, watching as they make careful, meticulous notes on one of the sketches. Henry swallows, trying to steady himself, but he knows there’s no easy way to approach this.

“So… this is what you’ve been working on?” he finally says, his voice soft, but filled with a disappointed weight that he can’t hide.

They jolt, turning to face him, their eyes wide with a mixture of shock and guilt. “Henry, I… I didn’t think you’d—”

“See it?” he finishes for them, glancing down at the table littered with plans for pain and suffering. “I guess I wasn’t supposed to, right?”

They hesitate, glancing back at the blueprints, their face tight with something unreadable. Finally, they manage, “It’s… not what it looks like. I just… I thought… people need to be shown the truth, Henry. The way I saw it. The way Jigsaw showed me.”

Henry closes his eyes, feeling that awful, sickening familiarity twisting his insides. “You sound like him. Like Walter.” His voice is barely above a whisper, but the disappointment in his tone is unmistakable. “You sound like someone who’s lost.”

Their face falls, but he keeps going, his voice growing firmer. “You remember what I told you about him? Walter thought he was doing something important too. He thought his ‘21 Sacraments’ would bring him closer to some… twisted salvation. That if he hurt people, if he sacrificed them, he’d be doing something meaningful. But all he did was destroy lives.”

“This isn’t the same thing, Henry,” they insist, their voice sharp. “I’m not hurting people for no reason. Jigsaw showed me what it means to face death, to confront everything I’d been taking for granted. People waste their lives until they’re pushed to appreciate them. He made me understand that.”

Henry shakes his head, an ache settling deep in his chest. “And now you’re just like him. Just like Walter. You’ve let yourself believe that hurting people—forcing them to suffer—is somehow justified. That it has a higher purpose.”

His s/o’s face contorts with frustration, their hands clenching as they look at him. “It’s not like that! Jigsaw helps people see the truth. I’m helping people realise what they’d ignore otherwise. What I ignored until I survived his test.”

“And who gave you the right to decide that?” Henry’s voice is low, calm, but there’s an unmistakable edge to it. “Who said you get to judge who needs ‘saving’ or who’s wasting their life? That’s not your decision to make.”

They look away, clenching their fists as if trying to hold onto their resolve. “It’s better than letting people live their lives blind. Jigsaw showed me that life is fragile, precious. I can make others see it too.”

Henry stares at them, his disappointment cutting deeper than any anger ever could. “You're obsessed. Like him." It's the only words he can muster.

They flinch at his words, the weight of his comparison settling heavily on their shoulders. “It’s not an obsession, Henry. It’s… it’s a purpose. It gives my life meaning.”

“No,” Henry says softly, shaking his head. “It’s hollow. It’s just another way to avoid living, to avoid facing yourself.” He gestures to the sketches, to the dark, terrible plans strewn across the table. “This isn’t purpose. It’s hiding behind someone else’s madness, convincing yourself that cruelty has meaning.”

They stare at him, their face twisted in anger, pain, and something like desperation. “You don’t understand. You’ve never had to face that kind of choice, to confront the truth about yourself like I did. It changes you.”

“Maybe,” Henry admits, his tone calm but unyielding. “But it’s changed you into someone I don’t recognise. Into someone I don’t think I can stand by.”

A silence falls between them, thick with everything they can’t—or won’t—say. He can see the hurt in their eyes, the struggle to justify what they’re doing, to make him understand. But he can’t. He won’t.

“I loved you,” Henry says quietly, his voice almost a whisper. “But I can’t love… whatever this is. I can’t watch you become another Walter. Another person so wrapped up in their own obsession that they think hurting others is the only way to find meaning.”

They look away, and he can see the flash of guilt on their face, the way their shoulders sag. But there’s a stubborn set to their jaw, a part of them that refuses to let go of Jigsaw’s twisted logic.

“So… that’s it, then?” they say, their voice tinged with bitterness. “You’re just going to walk away?”

“If you keep doing this,” he says, his voice soft but steady, “then yes. I won’t be a part of it.”

They don’t look at him, but he sees the way their hands shake, the way their face contorts with frustration and pain. But he knows there’s nothing he can say to change their mind. They’ve already let Jigsaw’s poison seep too deep, just like Walter once did.

“Fine,” they finally say, their voice barely above a whisper. “If that’s how you feel.”

Henry takes a step back, his heart heavy with sorrow and disappointment. “You don’t have to do this. You can still walk away.”

But they don’t answer, their silence filling the room as they stare down at the dark designs they’ve created, the symbols of their own twisted, tragic purpose.

Without another word, Henry turns and leaves, the sound of his footsteps echoing through the quiet, empty apartment. And as he walks away, he feels a strange, hollow ache settle inside him—a painful reminder that, sometimes, even love can’t save someone from themselves.

A/N: This was a tricky one! I loved the idea for this request and I hope that I did it justice!

♡If you liked this fic, please consider buying me a coffee! Ko-fi ♡

#silent hill fanfiction #silent hill #silent hill 1 #silent hill 2 #silent hill 3 #silent hill 4 #harry mason #james sunderland #henry townshend #jigsaw #saw franchise #heather mason #cheryl mason

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dreadwxlf · 2 months ago

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@faebhaal sent: ❝ can we just be normal for like two seconds for once. ❞

~ " I don't believe either of us are normal by any means, " he replies. Still, the elf sighs, his burdens visible in his slumping shoulders. Solas was tired -- of this back and forth with Ithaca, of the weight of his duty, of the implications of Bhaal's interests in his plans. Oddly enough, there was something refreshing about Ithaca knowing his true identity ( as irksome as she could be ). He could let his mask slip just a bit, and not worry about keeping up the guise of a humble apostate. ~

~ After a moment of silence, he pulls a wooden pipe and small pouch from a pocket. He presses the crushed elfroot from the pouch into the chamber before lighting it with a spark of flame from his fingers. The blue smoke curls upwards as Solas takes a small draw. ~

~ " ...It would be nice to be, however, " he muses idly, releasing the mouthpiece. ~

#~{FINALLY -- SMOKE SESH TIME}~#~{they both need it fr}~#smoking tw #faebhaal #ithaca tbt #verse ~ inquisition #beyond the fade ~ crossover #letters ~ ask #inside the fade ~ rp

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dreadwxlf · 9 months ago

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~ Ithaca seemed confused by his question, likening the Circle of Magi to something called a ( druid ). ~

~ " Not an alchemist -- an apostate, " he corrects with a slight hint of frustration in his tone. Her further questions only serve to confuse him more. " I'm afraid I am not familiar with any of those places; the closest settlement is Redcliffe, and we are far north of the Korcari Wilds. " He straps his staff to his back with a sigh. " Regardless, if you wish to avoid any further violent encounters, I would recommend avoiding using your magic. Despite the Inquisition's efforts, there are still a handful of rogue templars about. " ~

~ Solas's friendly smile immediately pulls into a frown at the sight of the strange woman riffling through the corpses' pockets. Ah -- that's why she had been so quick to assist him. Though he supposed he shouldn't judge; she had still helped him. ~

~ " A pleasure -- and no, I am not injured. " He silently watches as Ithaca collects her loot -- hopefully she wasn't planning on taking his belongings next. " Are you an apostate as well? You hardly seem like a Circle mage. " The comment could've been taken as an insult, but with Solas's neutral tone, it was difficult to tell his intent. ~

#~{uh oh here we go}~#inside the fade ~ rp #verse ~ inquisition #beyond the fade ~ crossover #faebhaal

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adorationmajestic · 23 days ago

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Cypress' TLT Fic Recs (November '24)

Second ever rec list! The last one got a few likes and reblogs so I figured it was something people liked to see! Rather than try to put this together in a day on short notice like the last one, I started drafting this list the day after I posted the October list. It is still, unfortunately, a little on the short side. I am also working on the December list at the moment and I promise it will be longer.

Visit the whole November list: here. (link to the bookmarker tag)

This month is all about Unfinished Gems!

Again, almost entirely GriddleHark. The overwhelming majority of works on ao3 under the TLT fandom tag are GriddleHark, though, so I think it's understandable that my selection is unbalanced.

The sections are: Something Pre-Harrow, Something Pre-Nona, and Something Post-Nona. "Pre-Harrow" is last published prior to August 4th of 2020. "Pre-Nona" is last published prior to September 13th of 2022. "Post-Nona" is anything last published after September 13th of 2022.

First Category: Something Pre-Harrow

Dominicus Paranormal Investigators by NinthTrash - GriddleHark, CamPal, DeuDyas (5 chapters, approx. 14k words) I would like to start you off with an excerpt from the second chapter.

I have always preferred to work in the dark. The absence of light amplifies hidden sounds- the creaks and moans and faded laughter beyond the veil. Drearburh Home feels warm and sticky. Like a steady stream of blood from a puncture wound. I am a metaphysical interpreter. A one-way ticket historian. A communicator of the dead.

I don't know about you, but the "supernatural reality TV" genre is something that has come and go in my house since childhood. There's always a new take, a new show, somebody who does it differently, somebody who takes a different approach, etc. And my mother and I loved binge-watching these together. So when I tell you I can hear the foley work and audio filters for the above excerpt, I am not pulling your leg. I could probably record myself reading it and match a Very Specific Medium's intro in an uncanny way. This is a compliment. Harrowhark is SO [redacted]-coded. ((Redacted because IYKYK, and if you don't then you'll just think I'm silly))

It's not even just the nostalgia—NinthTrash did *really* well blending the parts of the genre that make it so appealing to me (the overly dramatic nonsense that I adore) with genuine hauntings. These paranormal investigators aren't staging it! They are genuinely encountering ghosts! And yet they are every bit as silly and unbelievable as the real life versions who have never encountered a ghost in their career.

Second Category: Something Pre-Nona

To Boldly Go Into the Locked Tomb by wendiferous - GriddleHark (and Spirk) (1 chapter, approx. 1k) This is Pre-Nona by a technicality. It is not HtN compliant in the least, but instead offers a *what if* alternative ending to GtN. What if, when the Second House pair sent out that distress signal, it was picked up by Starfleet? It's short and sweet, and one I may privately muse upon for months to come. I have not seen Star Trek in long enough to feel ready to approach trying to write Spirk, but I will spend a lot of my free time thinking about what might have been in that particular crossover...

Navegesimus by zoicite - GriddleHark (4 chapters, approx. 19k) Every Nova AU is a little different, often in how the author decides to handle the plot of GtN as it is now driven by the same set of characters but in wildly different positions of power. This plot is different. Zoicite handles the power switch with grace and without mangling the characters we are already familiar with. Gideon is still very much Gideon, and Harrow is still Harrow. This is harder to do than I think some people realize, and those authors that can accomplish this in the Nova AU are gems.

Third Category: Something Post-Nona

Iris, All the Time by Ghostbitsforkicks - GriddleHark (alt. CamGriddleHark) (4+ chapters, at least 25k) Vampires AU. I will be honest with you, this is mostly porn. Which works out because I am very much horny for vampires. BUT this is also a very solid representation of Harrow's and Gideon's base personalities if their childhoods were different. They are recognizable, which is hard to do when so much of what their original form relies on is remolded.

Our College Days by ConstellationCataloguer - GriddleHark endgame?, various other ships (6+ chapters, at least 46k) If you know me, you know my other current love is Baldur's Gate III. So when I saw this crossover, you know I had to give it a shot. Right off the bat, I knew it was going on the list for this month. Because it does rely a little more on having background knowledge of BG3 characters, it might be a little less accessible to the broader audience. But I'm hoping to find those fellow true souls out there with just the right overlap in interests, because let me tell you: this one is worth reading. Bonus points if you are/were also a Theater Kid ^TM.

Perhaps, This is Hell by SwordLesb1an - GriddleHark (projected 7 chapters, 2 at time of posting this, at least 3.8k) I don't know anything about Signalis, but I can tell you this one has my heart in a chokehold. The horror of it has me clutching my shirt on the edge of my seat while I wait to see if she's okay, to see if she'll make it through.

#the locked tomb #tlt #gtn #htn #ntn #the locked tomb fanfiction #the locked tomb fanfic #tlt fanfiction #tlt fanfic #fanfic recs #fanfiction recs #griddlehark #gideon nav #harrowhark nonagesimus #fic recs list #original post #Cy's recs

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commandermeg · 3 months ago

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I finished Trollhunters, and decided to write a crossover one shot fic for it with my main show: Star Trek Prodigy. Please note: I've only seen up to the end of Season 3 of Trollhunters. I have a vague idea of what lies ahead, but I'm not looking it up right now. So if everyone seems out of character, that's fine lol.

Merlin Ambrosius watched in bewilderment as the spark of light flew upwards and away; its magic left a trail of vibrant sparks like a comet in the night sky. It would’ve been beautiful, honestly. Under normal circumstances, the amulet choosing its next warrior was a solemn and profound moment in troll culture.

Under normal circumstances.

However, Merlin was currently standing in line at the ACME market trying to pay for the groceries. The amulet shouldn’t be doing anything at that given moment.

Its magic blasted the nearby power grid with energy. The reaction was volatile.

The fluorescent shop lights above flickered and sputtered, finally going dark with a deep sigh. The tills popped and sputtered to a complete stop, frustrating the employees. Annoyed patrons, their magic-less minds seemingly unaware of the amulet entirely, began cursing or muttering.

Merlin set his basket on the counter and followed the amulet out of the shop. The cashier tried to wave him down as he broke into a sprint out the door.

It didn’t go in any direction in particular.

It simply began floating upward at a leisurely pace.

Bewildered, Merlin found himself staring at the tiny shape as it faded away into the blue. Sure, he could recall it at a moment’s notice. But why would he? This was very unusual, and he found unusual things very interesting.

Eventually, the amulet was no longer in sight. The only thing above him was a clear, blue sky. As he stared above, he became aware of someone approaching him.

“Sir, our power is back on if you want to pay for your things.” The cashier said

“Ah, lovely.”

He followed the cashier back inside as he formulated a plan.

“So your saying it just… floated away?” Jim said, incredulously.

“Yes. It went upward. I can still sense its magic faintly, but it’s farther away than anytime it’s ever been.”

“Can you tell how far?” Claire asked, curiously.

The ex-trollhunter and his wife were lounging on the long sofa that sat in the front parlor. They’d called a ‘family meeting’ of sorts after he’d shared the news – however most of the ‘family’ was still trying to get itself together to come downstairs. He could hear Tobias and his wife trying to wrestle their toddler out of bed.

Merlin had simply walked into their home with the news. While not normally welcome, he figured it was important enough information to warrant a visit.

He pressed his fingers to his temple. The amulet was even farther now, in the moments they’d been talking it’d moved at an incredible rate. As if there was no air friction at all. Nothing stopping it.

“I’m not sure. It’s beyond the moon at this point from what I can gather.”

Tobias finally stepped into the room.

“Heh, maybe Aja is the next Trollhunter.” He joked.

“I don’t think so, the amulet is heading in a different direction.”

Merlin felt their eyes bore into him. He didn’t like the feeling. He remained where he stood, though, and watched as a few others joined them in the parlor. Darcy throwing herself onto the couch next to Jim and Claire, and Toby holding their toddler with one arm.

“So what are we supposed to do then? Wait for it to come back? Are there even Trolls in outer space?” Jim said

Merlin thought for a moment. He had a strong feeling he knew the answer but didn’t really like the feeling. It left an odd pit in his stomach.

“Well, maybe there aren’t any trolls that pose such a threat to earth anymore. Perhaps that’s why the amulet believes it’s needed elsewhere.”

Claire sighed and leaned into Jim.

“No more earth-shattering threats, huh? That’s a huge relief.”

Jim must have had the same feeling. He wrapped an arm around Claire’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. His expression darkened a bit, and he turned to face Merlin.

“I think he means –“ Jim started to say before he paused.

“There are still threats, to be sure. They’re just… out there.” Merlin finished the sentence.

Stardate 25102.34 – 314 years later

“Captain Ambrosius, those readings on the hot spring asteroid have been sent to the labs.”

“Excellent. Good work, Commander.”

Commander Larson left the ready room, the doors zipping shut behind him. Merlin sank into the cushy chair behind the table before twirling the seat around to gaze out the window. The vast, starry void gazed back at him.

Surely, that amulet had to be out there somewhere.

What threat could possibly be out there that warranted the amulet’s departure? Earth hadn’t exactly had the most peaceful couple of centuries in its absence.

“Permission to enter?” a voice asked

“Permission granted.”

The ship’s doctor entered the ready room, her arms full of PADDS that she unceremoniously laid down on the table. Their screens flickered with many tiny lines of words that Merlin didn’t feel like reading at the moment – but would be required to eventually.

“So, Mister-Captain, how goes the mystical quest for the amulet?”

The woman’s smirk made Merlin scowl.

“Shut up, Morgana.”

She stuck out her tongue and cackled. It’d been a very, very long time since they’d fought. Yet, she insisted on pestering him into the distant future. She could be using her powers to help him find the amulet, but she insisted on using them to heal the various morons who worked on this ship.

Tossing her blonde tresses over her shoulder, Morgana stood beside him and gazed out the window.

“You know, I’m rather proud of them.”

“What? Who?”

“Them!” she waved her hand towards the door, towards the rest of the ship.

Her hand had long since been replaced with a fancy, electronic model. It had more bits and bobs to it than Merlin could wrap his head around. It was an entire alchemy lab encased in a single wrist.

“The humans really did a bang-up job, didn’t they.”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Quite smashing.”

“Morgana, I plead you – why are you bothering me?”

“I know where to find the amulet.”

Stumbling back out of the chair, Merlin stood fully upright and glared into her eyes. Had she known this the whole time? It’d been centuries! How had she –

Her green eyes rolled back into her head, and she held a hand, her good one.

“We just need to find where the fighting is.”

Glancing towards the pile of PADDS on the table, Merlin wondered if her work was finally getting to her head. She’d always been a few stones shy of a troll, but even this was getting weird by her standards.

Wait, the PADDS. They were filled with articles on sunlight, skin sensitivity, and… realization suddenly washed over him, and he relaxed.

“You mean, find what creatures are affected by sunlight-“

“- and we’ll find the sword of daylight, yes.” Morgana finished his sentence.

Sinking back into the chair, he rubbed his hand over his face. All of this work had better be worth it.

#Star Trek Prodigy #star trek #trollhunters #fanfic #one shot #crossover #star trek: prodigy

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