#but no like i was actually dreading the moment the game would finally throw one of them crocker dupes at me

[questionable-doctor]

cant believe i spent my whole childhood being afraid of the newspaper zombie. just completely blissfully unaware of the sinister dolphin rider

[jjkamochoso]

Carhartt? More like Car Heart to Heart

NoCursesAU!Choso x female reader

Angst, fluff

Reader and Choso go for a late night drive (inspired by “Streetlights” by Elko)

Warnings: cussing

“Fuck you! We’re over!” you screamed, car keys grasped in your hands as you slammed the front door behind you. Your heart was racing in your chest, ready to burst out of your skin. You knew it probably wasn’t the best idea to be driving while in this enraged state of mind but you had to get out that house immediately. You and your boyfr—well, you weren’t sure what to call him. You had been seeing this guy for a few months. You two were supposed to be exclusive, sure, but there weren’t any real labels on what you two were. It didn’t matter anyway. That relationship was as good as dead now. You and him had actually just gotten into a big fight about the label, the lack of, rather, on your relationship. You’d dwell on the details of that fight later. The problem now was where to go. You were in between places at the moment and had been living with your now ex at his house for the time being. Thankfully most of your belongings were in storage, but you dreaded having to go back to the house for some of your personal belongings. You just hoped he hadn’t trashed anything. Putting your car into drive, you raced away from that place as fast as you could without sparing it a second glance. As you sped through the city, tears threatened to fall as streetlights lit your path. It was 1:30 in the morning and all of your friends were asleep; all, you knew, except one. As you pulled into his apartment complex, you took a deep, shuddering breath. There was a slight breeze as you exited the car and you felt goosebumps appear all over your skin. Although he lived in a safe area, you were still scared as you locked your car and ran up to his door, knocking frantically. You prayed he would hear your knocks over the sound of his video games that kept him up all hours of the night. As you kept your knuckles rapping on the door, your other hand was digging through your purse for your phone to call him. However, there was no need. You faltered slightly as the door opened and you were met with concerned brown eyes.

“Y/n? What—“

“Choso!” you cried out, throwing yourself at him in a tight hug as your tears began to flow. You felt him back up and shift around, bringing your body with him so that he could close and lock the door. You felt his strong arms grip you tight, resting his chin on your head while his hands moved up and down your back in an attempt to soothe you. Your crying finally slowed into emotionally drained hiccups and Choso took that as a sign that it was okay to let go for a few moments.

“I’m so sorry to just show up like this, I just had nowhere else to go and—“

“Y/n,” Choso said, calm and with a little smile, “whatever happened, it’s okay. I’m glad you made it here alright, given the state you’re in.”

You wanted to be mad at his crack of a joke, but he was right. You were a whole mess right now.

“I’m sorry to pull you away from your game,” you motioned to his headphones that were hanging haphazardly around his neck and the game that was sitting abandoned on the tv. Choso furrowed his brow.

“It’s totally fine, it’s just a game. You’re much more important,” he said. You felt your heart flutter at his words. Anything Choso said, he said with such conviction and passion. He was the greatest friend anyone could ask for. He was reliable, kind, passionate. You’d had the biggest crush on him for years and years but you could never risk losing his friendship in case he didn’t feel the same. Sometimes, when he said things like that, and looked at you with that unwavering eye contact and soft smile, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe he felt the same.

“Hey guys, I gotta go, my friend needs me right now. Yes, it’s important. Oh, haha, very funny. Okay, bye, I’m logging off now.” Taking off his microphoned headphones, Choso turned off the tv as well. “You wanna go for a drive? I know that usually relaxes you.”

You nodded in agreement. Choso grabbed you a blanket off his couch, holding it open to help you get wrapped into it. Then he put on his leather jacket over the grey sweatshirt he was wearing and picked up his keys.

“You ready?”

You felt so much safer walking in the parking lot with Choso. He worked out often, that you knew, and he was most likely ripped, that you wished you knew. He opened the passenger door for you and you thanked him. Even though he does this kind of thing all the time, tonight felt different. Was it because it was so late at night? Was it the stress of the breakup? Or do streetlights just cast an ethereal look over attractive men who wear space buns? As he pulled the car out of the lot, you began to unpack everything that happened.

“Jake and I had a fight. It shouldn’t have gotten that big or that explosive, but it just got out of control and I broke it off.”

You couldn’t figure out the look that Choso had on his face. Was it… relief?

“Oh thank god! Y/n, he was a horrible dude. We all hated him anyway.”

“Is this the time where you say ‘I told you so’ and start making fun of me for being an idiot?”

The raven haired man laughed slightly and spared you a quick glance before looking back at the road.

“Yes to the ‘I told you so’ part but I would never call you an idiot. Love makes you do weird things.”

You scoffed.

“Trust me, there was no love there. We’d been together for months and he couldn’t even call me his girlfriend. Not even after I moved in with him! Not to mention, I thought we were exclusive. That’s how the whole fight started. I asked him why he couldn’t be my boyfriend and the whole thing tumbled into me finding out he’d been seeing other girls on the side.” You noticed Choso’s jaw clench at the mention of infidelity. “I mean, am I in the wrong?”

Now it was Choso’s turn to scoff.

“He cheats on you and you’re wondering if you’re in the wrong? You are seriously too good for this world. Y/n, the guy’s trash. I wouldn’t even give him a second thought. He didn’t deserve you and all the good things you have to offer.” The car plugged along, Choso’s knuckles going white at how hard he was gripping the wheel. “I just can’t believe how he could fumble a girl like you. How he could miss the great thing he had right in front of his eyes. Besides the fact that he couldn’t even offer you basic fucking respect. You don’t deserve to feel like that!”

“Choso,” you gently laid a hand on his arm, “I appreciate your passion but you don’t have to get so upset on behalf of me.”

“How can I not when I-” He cut himself off, changing the subject. “There’s that park you like coming up, I’m going to stop there for a second.”

When he pulled into the quiet parking lot, the car was filled with silence as well. Choso groaned, putting his face in his hands, and resting his forehead on the top of the steering wheel.

“Y/n, I’m sorry. You’re one of my closest friends and I only want the best for you. I just get so upset seeing these guys take advantage of you and your kindness. You deserve someone who will open car doors for you, someone who listens to you and understands you. Someone who’s only wish is to be around you at all times. Someone who respects and worships you. Someone who loves you completely and unconditionally. Someone—“

“Like you,” you finished. “Someone like you.”

You’d never seen a person whip their head over to look at you as fast as Choso did in that moment. You were tired of hiding how you felt. Who else would be there for you at the early hours of the morning, offering you sympathy and a shoulder to cry on? Who do you call when you want to talk about something that happened at work, who do you text when you see a silly little snail on the sidewalk? Who do you want to wake up to every morning and eat breakfast with? Who do you want to eat dinner with and go to bed with? Who do you want to kiss and caress for the rest of your life? It’s Choso.

It’s always been Choso.

“What?” His voiced was barely louder than a whisper.

“You, Choso. I’ve been in love with you for years, I’m surprised you never saw it. The guys I dated, they were just distractions from the fact that I had my dream guy right in front of me the whole time, just barely out of reach.”

His big brown eyes with the slight bags under them from lack of sleep were boring into your own, frantically scanning your face for any sign of deceit. After what felt like hours, he finally spoke once more.

“You’re not joking, right?” he asked, and you shook your head.

“No fucking way am I joking about this.”

He breathed a sigh of relief and let out a slight chuckle. “I’ve been enamored, head over heels in love with you since the day we met. I always felt you were too good for me, that’s why I never said anything.”

“God, we’re such losers. We really are perfect for each other, aren’t we?” you asked, giggling.

“You know, there’s one way to make sure we really fit together.”

“And what’s that?”

“This.”

Choso leaned in toward you slowly, giving you enough time to back away if needed. There was no need, however, because you’d spent years dreaming of the moment you could kiss Choso Kamo. When your lips met, it was like all was right in the world. His soft pink lips meshed perfectly with your own. Even though it was a bit of an awkward angle, being in the car and all, it was still perfectly romantic. When Choso rested his hand on your cheek, you felt like you were going to faint. It was like a scene straight out of a movie. The kiss wasn’t too long, but made your heart skip a couple beats just the same. When you broke away, both of your faces were warm with blushes and you two couldn’t stop smiling.

“So, what’s next for us?” you asked.

“Hmm,” answered Choso, “I’m thinking we head back to your ex’s shithole of a house, you get everything you need, and come stay at my place however long you feel like.”

Your face lit up with a bright smile. “Really? You’d do that for me?”

Choso looked at you like you hung all the stars in the sky. “I would do anything for you, my darling.”

You gave him a kiss on the cheek and held his hand as the car pulled out of the lot and into your happily ever after.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Dark Knowledge: Part Six

Miraak x Hermaeus Mora x Female Dragonborn Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): canon-typical violence, tentacles, horror elements

Word Count: 5.1k

A/N: Part Six (Finale) of Dark Knowledge (for @childofyuggoth)

Mora wants to make a deal. Storn makes a choice. Two are betrayed.

Part Five

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // dark knowledge masterlist

If there is anything in all of Tamriel that you can rely on, it is the continuance of pain. Of terror. Of all the horror you’ve lived and now must live again.

Endless. Always.

And why you? Why? Are the gods having a laugh? Do they find this amusing? Or is this some sick test between them and Hermaeus Mora? Are their hands pressed into the gore or do they simply watch on as Mora has his fun?

“What is it?” you ask Teldryn just before the world starts tipping. It is always tipping it seems. Slipping. Falling away from under your feet.

You blink. Shake your head. Attempt to throw off whatever this odd feeling is. There is a slithery sensation over your skin. A creeping that drags, pulling you into a soft weightlessness. You know it. It is an understanding. Taking shape around you is a familiar dread that simply exists. It festers. Desires to consume you whole.

Like before, in that creeping dungeon with the whispering Black Book, you lift your hand to your face, and brush your knuckles under your nose. Pulling your hand back, you see bright red.

Teldryn calls your name but you are falling to your knees even with his arms around you.

Reality is fading.

Fading fast.

Dovahkiin.

“No.”

Dovahkiin.

“No. No. No.”

Within your chest and head, Mora’s voice blooms and grows, shoving you down into an abyss. The dark is endless and it is everywhere. A darkness that has no up, that has no down, that has no side to side.

Rage. You must rage against this, return to the light and the hearth and the warmth of the familiar.

“Be gone, demon. I am not your servant.”

Hermaeus Mora chuckles in the darkness. “Your fiery spirit is such a bright thing. What potential there is inside of you, Dragonborn.”

From the endless darkness comes a soft green glow. It expands enough that you see inside Apocrypha. It isn’t like the places you’ve been before. There is actual land here, and a massive structure that looks more like a horrific cathedral than the towers you dwelled in.

And Hermaeus Mora is not here. At least, not physically. But you sense his presence, and that is enough to swirl your stomach into knots until you’re close to puking all over your feet in this odd dark.

“Well done, my champion,” croons Mora in a surprisingly soft timbre. “Your journey towards enlightenment has finally led you here. To this moment. With me.”

Games. Conquest. That is all this is to Hermaeus Mora. A Daedric Lord only wants to be obeyed and worshipped. Something you will not bend to.

“What do you want from me this time?” The exhaustion in your voice is evident, like you’re too tired to hide it from him. Maybe Hermaeus Mora is blocking your ability to keep things secret. Is his influence here, too? Has a bit of him broken off and festered in your body, waiting for the moment when the two of you would reunite?

“You entered my realm. Sought out the forbidden knowledge,” replies Hermaeus Mora calmly. “Only one other has obtained it. But you already know of whom I speak.”

Miraak.

The man who ushered you from his tower, sent you back to the realm of the living to prevent you from falling into Hermaeus Mora’s grasp. It worked, for a moment, but you’re not sure if this is Apocrypha or you are simply dreaming.

Awake. And dreaming. Or elsewhere. In the creeping dark.

“What is it you want from me, Mora? Speak plainly.” You’re tired of being dragged about. This needs to end quickly.

“You came to Apocrypha to learn Miraak’s secrets,” he says, slowly.

“You already know this. I know this. That isn’t new information,” you snap, growing impatient.

Hermaeus Mora still has not appeared before you. It is just a portal, perhaps a window, a glimpse into his realm.

“Miraak knows what he does because of me. If you wish to defeat him, or even prevent his return to Tamriel, all you need to do is serve me.”

Hermaeus Mora makes it sound so easy. That simple worship will give you all the answers. That basking in his presence and reveling in his praise will end all your ills and suffering.

That is a lie.

“After the way you treated me, I’m not eager for your help. I can learn Miraak’s secrets as well as yours on my own. I do not need you.”

“No!” Hermaeus Mora’s voice is fierce, a sharp slap of sludge against the face. “Look around. You have done nothing here on your own. You could spend a hundred lifetimes searching my realm and wandering the stacks of my library. And still, you will never find what you seek. All you have done, all that you are, and all that you have learned happened because I allowed it to.”

Everything you’ve done, everything you are, and everything you know happened because you made it happen. Not he. Never him. He is not the master of Fate but simply the keeper. Hubris and arrogance are his errors. Just like Miraak. The champion has learned it from his teacher.

“Spit it out, Mora,” you growl. “I’m tired of this.”

Hermaeus Mora hums softly. “You need the final Word of Power. Miraak knows all three but you only know two. One of which I gave you for that delicious bit of knowledge about the secret the Greybeards have dwelling atop their mountain.”

You sigh heavily, staring at that odd building through the circular portal. The sky above it is still greenish, and the land is almost blackened as if it has been dead for centuries.

“What is your price for the final Word of Power?” you ask, keeping your tone flat.

“The Skaal have withheld their secrets from me for many long years. The time has come for this knowledge to be added to my library.”

The Skaal? He seeks knowledge from them?

“And why do you think I need this Word of Power to defeat Miraak? You think I cannot do so without it?”

“Even dragons submit to Miraak's Voice. Without that power, you cannot face him. You’ve seen this power used before. One of his dragons saved you from an imminent death, only to bring you to Miraak upon his command.”

This is true. A great, serpentine dragon snatched you up right before you plunged into the water. It brought you to Miraak without question, almost seeming prideful when it presented you. But Miraak is Hermaeus Mora’s champion. They have dwelled together for years.

“So, you reward loyalty this way? This is how you treat an ally? I thought you were above that. Your words make it difficult for me to want to join your side.” You shake your head. “I am disappointed.”

Through the opening, you notice one lone tentacle drop into frame, swinging slowly as if caught in a breeze. But there is no breeze in Apocrypha. There is only dead air. Silence.

“Miraak no longer serves me in the way that I should be. I need a champion who will flourish and thrive beneath my careful mind.”

With Hermaeus Mora’s words come influence. It slithers in again like it did before when you stood in front of the Black Book and opened it. Voices appear, whispering, distant, but you ignore them. You know what it is you need to look out for. You understand how Mora operates. Falling to him, bending the knee, is not an option.

“And you want Skall knowledge for this? Why?” you ask. Another tentacle drops into frame, this one much smaller than the first.

“Indeed. If you bring me their secrets, you will be richly rewarded.”

Hermaeus Mora is stepping around the specifics, purposefully avoiding exactly what it is he wishes you to fetch. You’re not all that interested in turning over Skaal knowledge just to defeat Miraak. You’ve been successful in others ways without any help from Hermaeus Mora. Why seek his help now? Why give him anything?

“I will speak with the Skaal. Maybe bring you their secrets. But I will not force them.” The words leaving your mouth are false. You will talk with them, but not to help Mora. Merely to warn them of his intentions.

“Of course,” purrs Mora. “I know that you will do all that you can to provide me what I ask for. Then Miraak’s power will also be yours. And I will have a new champion.”

You straighten your shoulders, deciding to push a bit. “And what if the Skaal refuse? What if they do not wish to give up their secrets?”

You hear the displeasure in Hermaeus Mora’s voice. “My servant Miraak would have found a way to bring me what I want. So will you if you wish to surpass him.”

You wish for no such thing. While you and Miraak ended up in bed together, you did so out of survival. Men are weak, even ones like him when it comes to something they want. And he wanted you, and you gave it to him. Doing so provided you a chance to escape.

“After everything you’ve done, you still believe I trust you? That is bold to assume.”

“My word is as true as fate. As inevitable as destiny. Bring me what I want, and I will give you what you seek. Send the Skaal shaman to me. He holds the secrets that will be mine.”

Several more tentacles fall into the frame, as does a few small eyes that watch you greedily, blinking slowly.

“Prince of Fate,” you call out, gaze still locked on the building before you. “What is this place?”

Hermaeus Mora sighs with pleasure. “That is my most treasured place in all of Apocrypha. The Endless Library. All knowledge is hoarded there. It is my purpose. It is my work.”

A weakness is what that is, Hermaeus Mora.

“And if I help you, will you show me its halls?”

“Yes,” he croons. “It will be your home as much as it is mine.”

The next words are easy to stay, even though their meaning is sticky. “Then I will help you.”

“Good,” murmurs Hermaeus Mora. “Good.”

The portal begins to close. The darkness and sickly green of the sky recedes until the only thing you see is the ceiling of Storn Crag-Strider’s home.

At first, there is no breath in your lungs. And then you inhale, sharp and loud and so gasping big that it startles Teldryn who peers down at you.

“Hells. You need to stop doing this to me,” he mutters, grabbing your upper arms.

“Sorry,” you wince, his voice seemingly too boisterous for such a small space.

“What happened?” he asks, and you wince slightly in pain. “What did you see?”

You blink slowly, and then inhale again, this time with more calmness. “I talked with Hermaeus Mora.” Teldryn frowns and proceeds to grabs the sides of your face with both hands. “What are you doing?” you ask, voice slightly muffled by his warm hands against your cheeks.

Teldryn squints and turns your face back and forth, his gaze darting everywhere.

“Teldryn—”

“Hush. I’m checking for insanity.”

“Right,” you mutter, allowing Teldryn this one thing.

“You’re normal,” he says after a few moments.

“I don’t feel normal,” you murmur, staring up at the ceiling.

Teldryn shifts, adjusting his position on the floor next to the bed you rest in. “What did Hermaeus Mora have to say? He must have wanted something.”

You shake your head, avoiding the question. “How did I end up here and not back in that dungeon?”

Teldryn sighs. “Because I carried you and the Black Book here.”

You sit up abruptly and nearly faint. Teldryn reaches out and catches you. “What?”

“I didn’t take it to Master Neloth. Instead, I brought it here, to the Skaal. They’re not happy with me, but when I told them why, Storn calmed the villagers’ fears.”

“I was in the book, and not…here.”

Teldryn shakes his head. “No. You were here. At least in body. The rest of you was gone. A limp dish rag.”

You briefly close your eyes. When they open again, the middle of Teldryn’s brow is creased. “Hermaeus Mora wants ‘the secrets of the Skaal’ in exchange for teaching me a final word that will help me defeat Miraak.”

Teldryn rolls his eyes. “What will he learn from them? How to skin a horker? No. You’re not doing it.”

You arch a single eyebrow. “Are you bossing me around?”

“You might pay me to be loyal but I’m going to tell you when I think something is a bad idea. I haven’t lived this long by making stupid decisions.”

“You should listen to your friend.” You and Teldryn turn at the sound of Storn Crag-Strider’s voice. “You spoke to Hermaeus Mora?”

You nod and Storn frowns slightly.

“Hermaeus Mora. It seems he is the source of Miraak's power. Of course. I should have foreseen that. We have many tales of Herma-Mora trying to trick us into giving up our secrets to him. And now he comes again for what we have long kept from him.”

“I told him I’d help him but I lied. You do not need to help him gain anything for a simple advantage,” you say quickly, not wishing for Storn to try and wiggle his way into helping you.

Storn looks at you with pity, as if he knows something you don’t.

“So, it falls to me to be the one to give up the secrets to our ancient enemy. I do not know if I have the strength to face him.” Storn’s gaze grows sad. “The Tree Stone is still corrupted and the land is still out of balance. But with the other five restored it may be enough. It will have to be.”

“Storn,” you say, trying to push up from the small bed you’re in.

Teldryn tuts and attempts to push you to your back. “You need rest,” he says.

“Get off me,” you growl, surprising Teldryn with a quick pull on his pointy ear.

“Damn the gods! That hurt,” he snaps as you swing your legs over the side of the bed and successfully stand.

Storn is already turning his back on you, walking toward the Black Book.

“I don’t need Hermaeus Mora’s help,” you say to Storn’s back, trying to get the man to turn around and face you.

Teldryn rubs at his ear as he follows you and Storn out into the small communal area of his home. He is completely bundled up for the weather, and you’re in nothing but thin robes. Teldryn begrudgingly holds out a worn blanket to you.

You murmur a ‘thanks’ and take it from him, draping it over your shoulders.

“Don’t give Mora what he wants, Storn,” you murmur, stepping into his line of sight.

“The Skaal tell of the day when we must finally give up our secrets. When Herma-Mora finally wins.” Storn glances down at his feet. “As shaman, it is my duty to guard these secrets, but also to decide when it is necessary to give them up.” He glances up, features grim yet determined. “I believe that time is now. If I am wrong, may my ancestors forgive me. I will take the book. I will read it and speak to old Herma-Mora himself. I will make sure he lives up to his part of the bargain.”

Storn should not do this. He should not give Hermaeus Mora what he wants. Not for you. There is always another way. There is always a different path that can be taken. You just need to find it. You need to figure it out and then Storn can keep his secrets. Mora does not need them.

As you step forward, it is clear that there is little energy within you. You almost topple forward, your left leg giving out. Teldryn is right there, wrapping his arms around your waist, hoisting you back to your feet.

“Let the old man do what he feels is best,” murmurs Teldryn.

You shake your head. “He should not do this for me. It’s not worth it.”

“People are allowed to make their own decisions. I keep telling you that about yourself and you always fail to listen.”

“Teldryn—”

“Put on some boots and let the old man sacrifice himself. You can’t save everyone.”

You and Teldryn stare each other down while Storn lingers near the ominously smoking Black Book. Your hand curls into a fist, ready to fight if necessary.

“All choices have consequences. Even yours, Dragonborn. I will do this, and you will have to accept it.”

You glance away from Teldryn and find Storn holding the Black Book with both hands. Seeing him with it is an ominous sight. A warning. An ending. A new beginning. All of it wrapped up into one.

Frea stands nearby, her face stained with tears. The Skaal are not your people, but it doesn’t mean Storn should have to sacrifice all he cares about in order to help you. He may see it as a way to stop Miraak, and while that is important, you’re not sure what to do about the First Dragonborn.

Frea and Storn’s voices are distant. You only hear pieces. Fragments. The door to the small home is opening, cold air rushing in to lick at your bare legs. You tighten the blanket around your shoulders, following them out, Teldryn right next to you.

It is a horror. As all things that involve Hermaeus Mora are.

With you, Mora was almost tender in the way his tentacles roamed and explored your body. When he dived inside your mind, he took care to make it pleasurable enough that any pain was forgotten or absent. The shuffling within your head was uncomfortable, but it is not this.

Hermaeus Mora is cruel just because he can be.

Blood sprays. Tentacles pierce. Frea screams, sharp and loud and gore-drenched. Curses fall from Storn’s lips. There is outrage. Terror. And sweet, sweet triumphant victory dripping from the Daedric Prince of Fate to pool beneath the floating Black Book.

“At last,” breathes Hermaeus Mora as if he’s awoken from a long sleep. “The Skaal yield up their secrets to me.”

Storn coughs and up comes bright red. “Liar—you—not for you.”

Frea shrieks, her mouth moving, but you’re unable to hear her. You’re focused on the growing puddle underneath Storn’s hovering body. Hermaeus Mora becomes larger, his form expanding as if he is feeding off of Storn’s soul.

“You please me, Dragonborn. You have delivered me the gift I requested. In return, I keep my promise to you.” Hermaeus Mora’s massive eye slowly shifts in your direction even as Storn clings to the last vestiges of life. “I give you the Word of Power that you need to challenge Miraak. You will be either a worthy opponent or his successor, as the tides of fate decree.”

As the tides of fate decree.

You are not a pawn. Not a chess piece. Even if Hermaeus Mora thinks so.

The Word of Power flares to life in your head. It pounds like a drum, beating over and over again until your brain is close to bursting. The Thu’um thrums and vibrates, connecting with your blood and bone to find its own familiar place to dwell within you.

It is bright and bold and unrelenting.

Until it isn’t.

Until all is peace inside your head.

The Black Book belches more dark mist before Mora’s massive tentacles retreat, slipping from Storn’s body, returning to their horrid home. The Black Book shuts abruptly and promptly drops into the snow.

Storn’s body hovers in the air a second longer before he descends with a horrible crunch.

“Father!” Frea bolts, dropping to her knees.

Teldryn stands beside you in the cold, his head swiveled in your direction. You do not look at him as you speak. “I saw something while I was away.”

“What did you see?”

“The Endless Library. Hermaeus Mora’s most precious pride and joy.” You glance at Teldryn. “Do you trust me?”

Teldryn’s lips form a thin line. “What do you have in mind?”

“Gol Hah Dov!”

Your voice rings out and the great dragon above you trumpets, circling back to land upon the platform.

“Hail,” rumbles Sahrotaar. The great beast shakes like a dog. “Your Thu’um is stronger than Miraak’s. And you wish to seek an audience with him.”

“Will you take me to your master?”

Sahrotaar makes a series of rumbles and rolling clicks. “Climb aboard my back. I will carry you to him.”

You take a deep breath, forcing your nerves to steel. There is no turning back. There is no retreating to the moment before Teldryn agreed to this. If everything falls into place as it should, two will lose, and everything will be set to right.

With slow steps, you stride toward Sahrotaar. You place your hand against the dragon’s smooth scales as it dips its massive head for you to slide onto its massive back. Your original gear you entered into Apocrypha with is gone, but Teldryn brought you a few items from the horde you keep in Raven Rock.

It will do even if it’s not your preferred attire.

Finding a small dip in Sahrotaar’s scales, you hoist yourself onto the dragon’s massive back. Once seated, the giant beast pushes off from the platform, soaring high above Apocrypha. You know Hermaeus Mora watches. You know he waits in secret for the moment that he deems it appropriate to make an appearance.

That is something you can rely on. For Hermaeus Mora to flaunt his knowledge and attunement to time and the threads of fate. Perhaps he won’t see what you and Teldryn have planned. Maybe he will. Maybe he is taking care of it right now.

Stay strong, Teldryn. Please, don’t fail me.

Sahrotaar soars, trumpets, flying toward a massive tower. It’s the same one in which you dwelled. The same tower that Miraak and you came together. But that meant nothing, even if the tethered power pulsing between you is too great a thing to completely ignore.

Even as you get closer, you sense that pull. That connection that cannot seem to quiet when the First and Last Dragonborn are within distance of the other.

Sahrotaar circles above the top of the tower before landing with a massive thud. As you slide off the dragon’s back, a familiar figure strolls forward. You don’t have to see who it is to know. The tether pulls taut, close to snapping.

“You return to me.” Miraak sounds pleased if a bit hesitant. “The Last Dragonborn returns to the First Dragonborn at the summit of Apocrypha. No doubt just as Hermaeus Mora intended. His tentacles are always wiggling around where they are unwanted.” Miraak’s voice is as much a comfort as it is a curse.

You still stand close to Sahrotaar, unsure if you should step away from the great beast or use it as a shield.

“I’ve returned,” you reply cooly.

“But not to join me,” says Miraak, already knowing your mind.

That is the truth of it. You are not going to join him. Miraak manipulates. Hermaeus Mora manipulates. As Teldryn has said countless times, you are not beholden to anyone but yourself. When it comes to your life, and your choices, only you can make them.

Miraak sighs heavily. “Hermaeus Mora is a fickle master. But I shall be free of him. My time here in Apocrypha will soon be over.” Miraak removes a gnarled weapon from beneath his robes. It looks more like a sickly, broken off tree branch than a weapon.

“I will return to Solstheim and be master of my own fate.”

You stand tall and take a step forward. Sahrotaar shifts and takes flight. Miraak does not watch the dragon go.

“You said we would fight,” you say, lifting your arms slightly from your sides.

“Indeed,” replies Miraak. “But there is still hope that you will see the error of your ways. And you will join me.” He glances up into the sky. “Kruziikrel! Relonikiv! To me!”

What did you expect in coming here? A battle of wits? A bit of blood?

No. Not that.

You expect Miraak to want to kill you, to annihilate you. And yet that is far from the truth.

While Miraak fights with a ferocity that is unmatched, not a single stroke of his blade is meant to kill. His strikes are only to disable or disarm, to incapacitate. Miraak is not trying to kill you, which means he believes he can make you see reason. That he can convince you to come back to him and join his cause.

It is too late for that. With every second that continues, for every dragon felled and soul consumed, Miraak becomes weary and uncertain. You cannot see his eyes, but each time he retreats from his position you notice the way his shoulders sag. You are not making this easy.

But that is the point.

Miraak is a distraction. You are a distraction. This is not for either of you, but for something much greater.

Please, don’t fail me, Teldryn.

Miraak’s blade comes crashing down, and you step to the side, narrowly missing it. That swing held anger. It whistled with it.

“Cease this,” growls Miraak. “You are acting foolish.”

“Foolish? You hurt me,” you chide, poking at his anger.

You swing with your own and Miraak lurches backward, the edge of the blade ringing loudly against his mask. It leaves no mark, just a faint ringing.

Men are all the same, even ones as old as Miraak. He is a manipulator. Hermaeus Mora is a manipulator. They will break your arms and legs only to carry you to safety to tend to your wounds after. They will say sweet things and expect you to be grateful for showing you mercy.

That is who they are. That is their spirit.

That is a cycle you need to break. A Daedric Price cannot be felled, but he can be weakened. Miraak is simply a man, and death will one day claim him.

Another swing and you strike true, slicing Miraak across the chest in a wide arc. He howls, rears back, teleports to the other side of the tower. The moment he reappears, a mass of tentacles pops into existence above the platform.

The Daedric Prince of Fate is here. He has finally made an appearance. You knew he would. You knew it, anticipated it. Mora loves a good show. He loves the drama of it all, and this fight is exactly that. You are playing into his entertainment, and Hermaeus Mora is eating it up.

With ethereal speed, Hermaeus Mora’s tentacles shoot out and wrap around Miraak, lifting him into the air. Miraak growls like a caged wolf, swinging his weight around to try and free himself.

“Did you think to escape me, Miraak? You can hide nothing from me here.” Mora’s voice is a low hiss. “You are my champion. You are my servant. I do not take kindly to those that seek to usurp me.”

“You have found a new Dragonborn to serve you.” Miraak’s golden mask shifts, facing you as he says the next words. “May she be rewarded for her service.”

Miraak’s back bends sharply as three of Mora’s tentacles pierce his chest. It’s just like Storn all over again, but so much worse. The power within you, the tether, flares white hot. A blinding pain that nearly rips your soul from your body to ship off to Sovngarde before extinguishing entirely.

Slowly, Hermaeus Mora sets Miraak’s body on the platform. There is something tender in the way he does it, like a father putting their child to sleep. His tentacles retreat, and he shifts closer to Miraak’s body, inspecting it. The large eye in the center of his massive form squints, almost confused.

Is Teldryn where he is supposed to be? Hopefully he is done, and far form Apocrypha.

You smell it before you see it. And Hermaeus Mora senses it just as you do.

Smoke. Acrid. Dark. Drifting into the air far in the distance. You notice it just above a line of mismatched spiraling towers.

Hermaeus Mora makes a piercing shriek. It is an eldritch pitch of noise that pushes you onto your knees and forces you to slap your hands over your ears. Your brain and tongue and teeth and muscles and eyes and ears are melting. Bleeding. Morphing.

The pain within Mora is a pain you experience just as profoundly.

Hermaeus Mora’s shriek turns into groans, his tentacles coiling back in on himself as if cradling his sorrow. His form heaves like he cannot catch his breath. The Daedric Prince of Fate is in pain, and his pain is sweet. It is good.

His large eye pivots in your direction, grows wide with accusation. He says nothing, only simmers for seconds before growling low and receding into a small black dot until that too is gone.

Teldryn did it. The Endless Library, Hermaeus Mora’s beloved treasure, is on fire.

Miraak’s body is quickly fading. You rush to him, remove the mask, and cradle it to your chest. You glimpse him briefly as you knew him before he melts away, only leaving his clothes and skeleton behind.

The mask you will keep. You will hold it close.

Rushing toward the stairs at the far side of the platform, you descend into the room where the Black Book is held. It is still there, a living horror for anyone unlucky enough to come across it. Keeping the mask tucked close to your chest, you open it up, seeking and eventually receiving that familiar descent.

When you return, Teldryn is right there, smelling of smoke.

“You did it,” you breathe, throwing yourself into his arms.

He laughs, holding you tight. “You owe me a drink. And that house in Falkreath.”

“You can have the damn house,” you smile. “I have two others.”

Teldryn draws back slightly, his hand resting on your forearms. “Do you think Mora will seek vengeance?”

“We will likely be long dead before he manages it.”

“Maybe for you,” chuckles Teldryn. “Not me.”

“You’re already very old, Teldryn. Or have you forgotten in your old age?”

“Very funny, Dragonborn.” He releases your arms and then crosses his over his chest. “We should make ourselves scarce.”

“Back to Skyrim then?”

“You say where, and I shall follow.”

taglist:

@glassgulls @km-ffluv @singleteapot @tiredmetalenthusiast @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @wrathofcats @ninman82

[astraldrake]

tfs thoughts beneath the readmore note: contains spoilers for the entire campaign

the opening vision we get when we enter the traveler... i ended up watching it multiple times (computer issues ;-;) but MAN was it cool the inside of the traveler in general looks super funky, im going to have to do a no hud run at some point just for screenshots. shoutout to bungie for giving us a sparkly pink rainbow subclass, just in time for pride month lol weapon unsunsetting means i get to pull all sorts of old friends out of the vault. (python, the vow, steelfeather repeater, perfect paradox, etc...) i'm pretty ambivalent abt cayde generally but they did a good job w/ his characterization. i was worried he'd end up being kind of grating but so far he's been okay i was (initially) delighted to see targe. i was not anticipating that they were introducing him just so they could kill him off 5 minutes later. i have mixed feelings on zavala's characterization but it's been a minute since i buried my face into the ishtar collective lore vault so maybe it's just my memory being unreliable. for him to just lose it and start acting irrationally like that felt odd. maybe it's bcs we havent seen him in a while? idk it just felt off. (tbf you could point out that it's probably a byproduct of being forced to relive one of the most unpleasant moments of his entire life so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ fear and desperation can make people do strange things) ikora was cool, idk she didn't read as ooc or anything to me, her reunion with cayde was very sweet, though in hindsight i wish they'd given her a little more to do. seasonal stuff has struggled to give consistency to crow but i appreciate this expansion's efforts to tie up some of those threads more neatly. (i lost it when he pulled out an iron battleaxe, i did not expect that plot point to get touched on!! also it was cool!) i am still irritated that they fridged amanda ( i ignored that part of canon so hard it kinda smacked me in the face when they mentioned her.) i love luzaku, and i would kill for luzaku. ( finally! friendly hive!) i did like the emphasis on ghost and guardian relationships throughout the expansion's story. (also ghost as the location vendor!!!! having regular chats with him while we go through the story!!! the fact he becomes increasingly damaged and wounded throughout the campaign giving me the distinct dread that he might die!!!)

the fact the traveler is letting out intermittent shrieks of pain... MAN... the return of the glowing bird as our guide! (also the fact that the grenade projectile for song of flame looks like a bird... i dont think they're actually connected but it is giving me Ideas.) speaking of song of flame, i kind of expected it to be more underwhelming than it is?? it's actually pretty fun! prismatic is a lot of fun to mess around with! nothing like throwing a storm grenade at an enemy to simultaneously proc devour and amplify. the speaker mask exotic is also giving me Ideas >:) i lost my shit when they mentioned Micah-10. she's one of the last lore characters i expected them to pull out of the hat but i am delighted to see her in game, and seemingly as more than just a cameo too, as far as i can tell. pretty ambivalent abt the whole "player character is the most powertful being in the universe and the chosen one" thing. it's kinda where i figured they'd take it and i dont hate the trope so eh whatever. im glad they actually gave me cover for some of these story missions. i did not super enjoy lightfall's strategy of throwing me in a room with one million guys and a few tiny scraps of cover. ( the radial mast double tank fight... *shudders* ) difficulty wise legendary wasn't all that painful, there were a few fights i struggled with, but a change of loadout, or a little trial and error was pretty much all i needed. i def understand why they've saved the witness fight for the raid, but if my raiding history is anything to got by im certainly not doing day one, but that doesn't mean ill never touch it. (ive missed most of the newer raids, im just not that much of a people person.) ill try and take some day 1 screenshots of the opening area at least. also wrt post campaign!! i loved playing projectile tennis with savathun. all the two queens stuff was great tbh sav is such a fun villian. like yes!! you do owe us nothing and are only going to swoop in to help us bcs we have a bigger threat to deal with!! we can go back to trying to outscheme eachother once this is over!! ( also hey, they brought back adventures! i thought they'd never do that!) also what ive played of the crode camping trip (i forgot the mission name) has been fun. just me and the bois, out exploding screebs. ( then the game crashed so i guess i gotta go play that again lmao) overall i think this expansion is pretty good! i havent even gotten to the seasonal stuff yet, much less some of the regular patrol stuff for the pale heart.

[sixthsensewulf]

Something just annoys me when people say that Neverafter failed as a Horror Season. .

It was a horror season. It just moved through various horror sub genres. Did the vibe change after episode 3? yes. Did it still be a Horror season? Also Yes.

The Subgenres: Body Horror. Comedy Horror (That was the most one used, because it was 7 comedians in a HORROR SETTING), Dark Fantasy, Folk Horror, Cosmic Horror.

Horror doesn't need to be scary 100% of the time. Horror can just be creating a world of dread and uncertainty. A world where anything can happen. It was tense, it was spooky, it was a horror season.

Fucking hell. .take the video game Alien Isolation. The xenomorph learns how you play, but occasionally you know it's around, but you cant fucking see it or it's not that. That is the horror of the game. That is the tension. The pay off, you get enjoyment out of it.

Also I read a lot of horror books at the moment. The times I have been scared by a scene in a book, i can't count that high, but the reason why? The tension and the building to a reveal. The pay off. It's amazing. For Example: I got creeped out in The Ritual because of the style of writing and descriptions of the forest. You don't even see or read the description of what is chasing the main characters until literally the last chapters. I'm not kidding. That book is pretty much a Folk horror.

I've read some crazy body horror / splatterpunk that I'm not going to describe fully. Been creeped out so often and scared.

Also read some insane haunted house / psychological horror books as well. Those scare you because of the tension, the atmosphere and the build up to a moment. Like I have been fooled by a moment, where I think a scare or a jump is coming then nothing until it actually hits you.

The reason why people occasionally say it failed as Horror Season, just have one view of what a horror style TTRPG is. The common examples I believe are, Call of Cthulhu, Vampire the masquerade and Curse of Strand. Or just think horror is just how much we can scare people, jump scares galore right. It's not.

For example horror moments I loved in Neverafter:

The Spider fight. . Anything and everything could have gone wrong. And pretty much the aftermath. the description of the town being that fucked up because of the spiders.

PiB with the giants at the end - if he rolled badly, who knows what would have happened. But also he is a tiny black cat.

EVERYTHING WITH THE STEPMOTHER. Just my god. The description of her eating her children. Like the description of that moment of the group fleeing from her in the Library. Her treatment of Pinocchio. "I don't even have a name in my own story" speech (yeah that creeped me the fuck out)

Everything about Candlewick. . Yeah it was played for laughs because of Lou throwing away a Nat20 but Candlewick was just terrifying. My favourite Zac moment of that "so Brennan, who is being eaten"

Honestly the whole deal with the world between pages - that's Cosmic Horror, especially with the ink pot etc.. not going to lie, I was on edge with that episode, because my mind was going, something is too good to be true here, something is going to happen.

Ylfa - yes, 100%.. just her story, on one hand it's heartbreaking but the other the description of her eating the wolf to become the wolf..

Rosamund - got to admit I think why people think it failed as a horror season is because they were expecting more scenes like we got at the beginning. That opening sequence is incredible. The other briars moment that sticks in my head is the final fight one with Thumbelina.

Sorry for the ramble rant about Neverafter.

TLDR: THERE ARE MORE SUB GENRES FOR HORROR THAN PEOPLE THINK. BESIDES IT WAS A HORROR SEASON BECAUSE OF THAT.

[ahoneesan]

kebs game update - oct '24

jottin down where im at with the handful of games i consider myself, rightly or not, to be playin rn.

final fantasy 3 (ds) - very fun and well put together game! love the look, love the sound, love the weird double history of it (classic ff game obv, but also part of the prehistory of a strain of classic console rpg revivalism that eventually results in bravely default) but man i am not in the mood to grind rn. there can be something soothing about the structure of go to dungeon, make it a floor or two down, get nearly wiped by one too hard miniboss, teleport out, run back to town to heal and restock, repeat, but now is not the time for that. for me. also the job change waiting period or whatever can huff my shit.

death stranding - just picked this up, toolin around in ch2 but tryin not to get too hung up on stuff bc i know the game can sprawl if you let it. not a terrible game and not a terrible idea (walking simulator with Mechanics) but a little too esoteric for me at the moment. one of the things thats great about metal gear is its grounded in real world adjacent stakes (terrorists take over a nuke facility and you have to stop them) and fun characters (too obvious to list). DS so far has neither. im hopeful that ill get more invested as i go along but for now its a real "well huh how about this thing" feeling from me.

ffxiv - im actually taking a break from goin hard in this after the expac, just in time for me to miss the HEY A NEW PATCH IS COMING OUT festivities theyre throwing rn lol. was fun to grind for a while and im sure ill pick it up again outside of the obvious patch releases, but for now ill let my girl rest. and like, turn an island into an extractive robo capitalist utopia or whatever they fuck this shit is.

ffvii remake - good ass game but due to it being a collective play w me and the girls progress has been slow goin, which has dulled my enthusiasm for it. still obviously a great game, id like to finish the main story before monhun comes out but i did also just pick up DS soooooo we'll see!

system shock (remake) - I DO WANNA PLAY MORE OF THIS but the return stream needs to be splashy. by some definition of splashy. maybe in the next few weekends here i can spin it up again, along with more regular tomboy tuesday streams. lots of things i could tie into this, actually. here's hopin!

umineko - with ep8cast out its time to mosey on with the wrap up pods. unfortunately the GT squad is out of commission until one of us has a home to live in again, so it may be a bit before we can get to it. i'm hopeful to have one lower effort (but still very fun!) thing out before the end of the year.

thats everything as far as i can remember! not very interested in goin back to majora, would like to grab the new zeldy in time for holiday travel, and basically im in a sort of gaming stasis until monhun comes out next year and i vanish inside of there for a month or two. other games that are on my sort of immediate backlog: ffxvi, tomb raider 2010s trilogy, the rest of the ff's as i get to em, that new layton when (if) it comes out, maybe a dread replay, and i should pick up dmc again sometime. thanks for tuning in to this irregular check in.

[dutchdread]

Rebirth Update 10a

85 Hours played and I finally got to see what I wanted to see for 27 years XD. First things first though, Nibelheim was a god send after Cosmo Canyon and Gongaga. Being able to actually comfortably navigate the map really cut down on annoyance and on the time required to do intel. As much as it pains me to say it Rebirth does a bad job at pathing. In general there are too many quests and moments that feel intentionally slowed down as to artificially bloat the run-time of the game. Like walking behind a bunch of black robes at 1 mph. I enjoyed the story content in Nibelheim, and except for the proto-relic quests (which feel slow in all areas to be honest) the intel gathering was a lot easier to swallow than in former areas as well. I wonder how the Nibelheim segments feel to someone who hasn't played the original game, it sort of feels like they might be making the solution to mystery a bit too obvious, but could just be because I KNOW the twist. I do worry however that rebirth loses a lot of the mystery that makes the original telling so effective. When you first get to Nibelheim in the OG you have no idea why the town is back. Any talk about them rebuilding is just speculation, the player has no idea what the deal is with the people in town, it could just as easily be that Cloud is full of shit. Here though it is immediately outright stated that "yes, Nibelheim burned down, we were hired by Shinra". This removal of mystery is lessened somewhat by the addition of the Zack interludes, but those run the risk of just making the entire story feel less cohesive and more convoluted, although we can't say for certain until part 3 wraps up. The Black robes also seem less scary to me but that might just be a result of modern graphics as well as the inevitable increased information about goings on that comes with it. Apparently the black robes are just handed out by Shinra, ok, who knew. That doesn't really change anything and yet it does make it a bit less creepy for some reason. The scene with Aerith on the water tower could already be seen as an LTD killer tbh. So apparently "staring at Tifa from the water tower" sounds just like Cloud, and that's a good thing since that scores you points with Aerith. Sounds like Aerith is cheerleading Cloud and Tifa again. Also, Tifa straight up calling Cloud out about staring at her as kids, cute as heck and just more to throw on the pile of cloti moments that together just make this entire game feel like the story of Cloud and Tifas relationship. Seriously, Aerith so far has seemed like a minor character, it's almost weird, I feel like I would have put more focus on Aerith this game than the developers did. Every scene feels like Cloud and Tifa and their children, it's not even an LTD, it's the story of two couples. One that is up and coming, and one that is in tragedy. The explicit insertion of Zack into the story as someone that Cloud remembers is really interesting, and when it comes to the LTD it is another death nail, but I do worry whether it was the right choice by the developers. I do love seeing Zack so I suppose I can't complain too much, but I am just a little on edge. Unfortunately one of the best segments of the game was followed by the worst. The Cait Sith segment of Nibelheim was dreadful and felt more like artificial bloating than anything in remake, even worse than deep ground. Apparently there is an underground lab that we have to traverse by very slowly throwing boxes around. I know having a bunch of needless mini-games was a staple in the OG and that they're trying to pay homage to that, but it shouldn't be in the way of story progression. The simple mansion layout with the quest to find a few codes honestly had ten times more atmosphere than this series of portal rooms that ends with the code lazily written on the wall. Definitely a low point.

[ralith]

I thought about asking your thoughts on other Ratchets and Ironhides but then again... bayverse is your thing, hands down.

For Ironhide: 13. Dumbest thing they’ve ever done 19. Vices/bad habits 44. Their happiest memory

And for Ratchet: 6. Worst personality trait 39. Favorite game 50. A memory they’ve blocked out

I'm glad I have a reputation within a part of the fandom as that Ironhide and Ratchet person. Their bayverse versions make me very happy.

Ironhide

13. Dumbest thing they've ever done: Defend Sentinel Prime? In the movies, the dumbest thing he's done has to be when he slammed into the Dreads headfirst. Not shoot out the tires, or throw obstacles in their way. No, plow right into them. I can hear Ratchet's furious rant about avoiding bodily harm.

19. Vice/Bad Habits

A bad habit for Ironhide is rushing into battle without first analyzing the situation. He's an experienced warrior, but sometimes he gets too worked up and rushes in, bungling the mission or getting hurt.

One moment I love like this is from the Classified novels where Ironhide sees this new enemy they are battling, robotic alien centipedes, and proceeds to blast their legs off despite Ratchet's protests. The plan backfires and the centipedes actually move faster as they swim through a lake, their legs now acting like propellers. He apologizes to Ratchet right after in a cute scene.

Vices? Probably enjoying blowing up abandoned structures and boulders off the beaten path. He sees an old shed away from civilization with no life inside? Boom. It works his frustrations out. Unfortunate if that building may have had some historical importance at one time.

44. Their happiest memory: When Ratchet finally admitted he loved Ironhide back. It was shortly after a rescue mission where Ratchet had been taken hostage. The two are resting at sunset, the medic injured and exhausted but alive, and leaning against Ironhide. He thinks the medic is asleep when he mutters his love for Ratchet. Ratchet responds with a sleepy "love you too" before drifting off. No hesitation in his voice. Ironhide has never been happier.

Ratchet-

6. Worst personality trait: This one is moderately canon, but he has a tendency to trash-talk his opponents. Some of his battle dialogue from ROTF shows he can get a bit cocky. And this is where he can slip up in battle.

39. Favorite game: I think he would enjoy strategy games and turn based play. He would love something like Geogeussr where you need an understanding of the language or local flora and fauna. It's educational for him, learning about Earth, but exercises his analytical strengths.

50. A memory they've blocked out: Early into his promotion as CMO, the mobile hospital he was in charge of was attacked. Every medic, every patient was killed. Ratchet himself was found buried in the rubble. For days he lay there, the cries for help from the few survivors slowly growing silent until it was just him. They say the only reason he survived was because his armor was thicker.

[sherrifdoggo]

The Map's Setting, A History

Long Talky One Again, this time it's gonna get autobiographical.

So, as i've eluded to in the past, the map (rp_chicago, see previous posts) is not say in our 1930s. It's set in my funny lore setting that i've been cultivating for the past few years that even though has had more abandonded projects tied to it than i can count still doesn't have a name that isn't a working title.

Ladies, Gentlemen and Etceras, It is my honor to present my baby to the world,

The Staten Island Universe

Yes the name sucks and makes you ask more questions than a title should, but there's a fun story behind the bizarre name i promise. Anyways here i go.

The beginings of the Staten Island universe started back in my highschool days, when i used to DM some D&D for a big friend group i had. One day, after playing too much Grand Theft Auto on my PS4 (This was in 2017? or so i think), i had a moment where the stars aligned.

What if i made a D&D campaign set in a modern crime story, without removing all the D&D elements.

And so it was, i never finished it, but we did play an unfinished version of it a couple times and it was very enjoyable. Specially the quest where you had to kill a bard with an electric guitar in the abandoned times square toys-r-us.

Unluckly, me sucking at math caused my grades to slump and now i had less time to make more D&D shit, and ended up throwing the whole project away in the dreaded vault of dead projects.

Now skipping ahead a couple years and it's my last semester of high school, in 2020. So i'm locked in my room pretending to be paying attention to whatever the teacher was saying (maybe related to my slumped grades from above) and making a new D&D campaign that my friends and i were gonna run over the internet this time. The plot of it was unimportant but what was important was my recent (at the time) acquisition of my current computer and a vr headset.

Before i got the VR headset, and around the time I upgraded from a ok-ish Acer Nitro 5 gaming laptop to this thing, i was making a really shit gmod map.

Stallen Island i called it,

and it was my headcannon version of what the missing part of New York City (Staten Island) would look like in GTA IV's map, of course with nowhere near the amount of skill and art-direction to pull it off in fucking Gmod, but i tried my best.

Eventually i got bored of making this map, and/or ran out of ideas for it so i receded into doing whatever it is i did for fun back then. Until my high school friends contacted me over the internet.

They wanted to play some more D&D over the internet, so i obliged. I made them a new campaign and had a silly little idea for it. What if all the maps for it were actually gmod maps instead of PNGs.

These are my only published maps, The D&D map collection.

Info about them individually on their pictures, but i did actually get to play it with them and they enjoyed it very much.

But...

Around the same time i had finally gotten my VR Headset. And i'd been playing a lot of Skyrim VR, which influenced the design of this D&D campaign. Specifically I inserted my Khajiit into it, Mr. Ralasajeeno as a Theif.

But all this is just autobiographical shit right what does this have to do with the big name you put in yellow up there?

Well one night i was writting more shit for the campaign when it hit like how the best ideas hit you, blasting directly into your brain at 3AM.

I remembered the other D&D campaign again, and i revived it as a really big design doc i still have on my computer for a open world crime sandbox game that plays like a mix of GTA and D&D / Skyrim, A.K.A. a game that would cost too much time and money for me to ever make.

Every day, i would wake up and add more and more lore, characters, ideas for situations, missions, locations, items and it would grow so god damn big that eventually i felt like i had to make something for it.

So i had an idea, how about i make a new version of that map i mentioned earlier.

It's name was Staten Island, and it fucking rocked

Staten Island was the biggest map i ever made, and i never really finished it.

Not because of a lack of ideas, because i had plenty of ideas for it, i just outgrew it. Though it forever holds a part in my heart as the map that really kickstarted the Staten Island Universe as it's own thing. Many of the things written down in the lore for it are direct from either me needing assets for the map or questions people would ask while playing on it.

Afterwards there were a couple more Modern Staten Island Universe maps. Pictures Here:

Finally, how does Chicago fit into all this?

Well after a really long time of making smaller maps that didn't go anywhere, making other types of addons and being a support dev for other people's addons, i finally had a good idea for a map again.

This map was the current map, Chicago.

I had the idea while playing lots of Mafia: Definitive Edition a couple months back and having a grand old time.

I always wanted to do something in the past of the Staten Island Universe, so the idea was to make this map and then make a couple more maps.

Each map would pick a different time period and location, moving slowly towards today. Chicago is step one of this plan and unlike all these other maps, i do intend on sticking with this one all the way to the finish line.

trust me bro, i swear

please trust me

[killscreencinema]

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (NES)

I remember being so excited to play this when it came out in 1989! I was living in the country at the time when my parents had the terrible notion that it would be fun to live on a farm out in the middle of nowhere for no particular reason. I should add that despite having farmland, we didn't do any farm stuff, so the whole experiment turned out to be a pointless exercise in tearing me away from the familiarity I had worked hard to get comfortable with at my first school and starting all over again in a new school.

I'm going on this tangent to say that I was at a point in my life when I looked to games like TMNT, or Super Mario 3 (which also came out around this time), as a life raft of sorts to keep me from dying of boredom. I have a vivid memory of my uncle picking up this game and Simon's Quest while coming over to our house to visit and accidentally running his car into a ditch on the way over. My dad had to pick him up and when he got to the house, he handed me the games and was like: "These had better be worth it."

They really weren't... but I didn't really know it at the time. Not yet.

You see, as a child in the 80s living on a non-functional farm, with no cable TV, and no neighbor kids to play with, I tended to have a lot more tolerance for crappy games because I was so starved for entertainment. Hell, I even rented Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, one of the worst NES games ever made, around this time and made the best of it. Plus, this was Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, which I was obsessed with, and I hadn't yet a basis of comparison with the arcade game because I hadn't even seen it yet (although it came out the same year). So it was beyond my understanding that it could be anything but a good game, and I think a lot other kids at the time felt the same way.

It wasn't until the Angry Video Game Nerd reviewed this back in 06 that someone finally perfectly articulated why this game was actually quite bad.

I'm not about to defend it, as it is definitely not a good game, but I will go so far as to say it's at least functional... sometimes. It's playable when you're not dealing with slow down and flickering enemies. However, it's entirely too difficult - like, unfairly difficult. The game finds cheap ways to knock off your health, whether it's enemies attacking you while you're helpless on a ladder the moment you enter a new screen or the dreaded electrical seaweed in the underwater bomb disposal level (the stopping point for many an 80s kid).

A large part of what sucks about this game is how absolutely terrible every turtle is besides Donatello. Yes, he has great reach with his bo staff, we all know this (although I would argue in the later games it's not as long a reach as we remember), but it's also quite powerful, usually capable of killing most enemies in one hit. Whereas the rest of the turtles have to dispense multiple hits with their piddling little weapons before vanquishing anyone. Good luck landing those hits before taking damage yourself, especially with Raphael or Michelangelo, whose attacks are a joke. You can find secondary projectile weapons, like throwing stars or the scroll weapon (which is the best weapon in the game consequently), that great help making the rest of the turtles playable, but those are finite, so you have to use them wisely.

Another frustrating aspect of the game is the non-linear gameplay. You have a traverse a map and find the correct level in order to advance in the game (so for example, if you're trying to rescue April O'Neill, you have find which building or sewer level she is being held). Often, you have to find an item in order to even open up the rest of the map first. So unless you had a walkthrough, which most of us didn't back in the day, it's trial and error looking for this shit, all the while your turtles' health is being chipped away with each deadend, and if all the turtles die, it's game over. Oh, and you only get two continues, so good luck 8-year-old Craig, ya little pissant!

The one thing that I will say this game has going for it, that still holds up today, is the music. That opening beat for the title screen will forever be burned in my brain, as will the overworld map music and the first level music. I'm not as familiar with the music in the later levels because I haven't ever had a chance to play them until now by cheating my ass off using the rewind feature in the Cowabunga Collection, but that music is pretty decent too.

Revisiting this game as an adult, and experiencing its absurd difficulty and needlessly confusing gameplay, I can safely say it's an entry from the TMNT video game franchise best left forgotten when you can play the myriad of excellent beat 'em ups instead.

[fortemelody]

growing up a child of divorce and neglect meant a lot of traumatic moments obviously- but for the sake of this post we’re throwing most of that aspect away to talk about a smaller issue that i’ve come to realize holds a lot more weight than i ever thought it would.

my dream as a kid was always to have all of the stuff i collected in one space. dvds, cds, video game consoles, toys, plushies, figures, you name it. and until i was about 13 or 14, the room of the house i was neglected at (dads) felt so absolutely barren becus i didn’t have the chance to really go outside and buy stuff for it, and bringing stuff back and forth (unless it was my fav stuffed animal) felt like such a hassle. hell, i barely even had any clothes there and i wasn’t taught how to do laundry for awhile which made it worse.

what does this have to do with the present day you may ask? well, as of january 15 of this year, i officially gained some courage and moved out of my dads house. however i didn’t start moving any of my things till months later. i got a couple essential items here and there but now that it’s summer i’ve officially started getting more things in bulk from there and moving it over. it’s literally a 5 minute walk so it’s not hard to do at all. but i can’t help but have conflicting emotions from it all. for one, my dream of all my stuff being in a single room/house is finally coming true, and i can collectively look at what i all have together. i didn’t think this would happen till i got a new apartment or house of my own after college (so like… around 22 years old compared to being 17). but on the other hand, i can’t help but feel a bit sad. the layout of each room was unique how it was, and i managed to cultivate a safe space at my dads out of really shitty circumstances. in the span of the 3 years where i gained friends and a sense of direction, i could finally obtain merch and other items that made me happy and put them in my dads house, so it wasn’t some barren wasteland that i dreaded. seeing as though that’s where i spent all my time at that house, it only seemed right for it to look good. slowly stripping this room apart makes me really sad that i was destroying the work i put in to make a good environment for myself. but then comes an even bigger problem. i also have become in those three years a MASSIVE hoarder. and the only way that everything fit was having two spaces. and now i will only have one. i quickly went from a kid who wanted so many new products and toys to help me escape my reality, to an almost adult who bought too many things in an attempt to salvage their inner child. it’s quite the heartbreaking thing to see becus many of the items i have now (unless they’re from a specific person i cherish or already have sentimental value ) don’t really have much meaning on their own anymore and it sucks. i would say that money can buy happiness, but only for a limited amount of time. i deep cleaned out my closet to make room for at least some of the stuff from my dads, and i did manage to get three full garbage bags of things im going to donate to goodwill, so i’m glad that i am giving back in some way. but i’m still astonished that -even after that- how much stuff can pile up and eventually just come to be decoration after thinking it would be the key to your life. yes, i’m still going to collect, especially items you can actually use (physical media), but man it really hits different when you can visualize how many items you actually own. it’s a bit terrifying honestly. nevertheless, i do love the act of actually organizing so that aspect will be fun, and i don’t think it’s all completely bad becus there are a few gems that i’m really proud of owning.

a side story to top this all off- i made the mistake of carrying four huge bags full of clothes yesterday as i walked home in a path where i would see a lot of people. i could’ve waited like a half an hour until my dad was ready to load his car with my stuff, but i was so stubborn and wanted to leave his house ASAP. i had it in my mind the whole time that i probably looked like a homeless child (seeing as though me and my mom see this one homeless guy with 20 bags constantly throughout our neighborhood). shameful needless embarrassment aside, it’s really sad that my own stubbornness is what made me look like an “outcast” by society. my family is not exactly financially stable ourselves, but i obviously have a house as stated. it made me think about how many homeless people really only have their items to keep themselves sane. you come to appreciate what you *do* have becus of that. i really hope i come to a point in my life where i can stop buying things i don’t need so i can give back to others that cherish and need their items so much more. or possibly find a balance of my money- with helping others as my main priority while just buying myself things at certain times of the year. and referring to the root of this story, i hope i can also get to a point where i’m not so fucking stubborn and holding that strong of a grudge that i can tolerate my dad for an extra half an hour. but that’s a whole other story 😭

[knittedkikwi]

Need to scream into the void. Please ignore.

I’m so tired. I need this work project to end. I worked ten and a half hours today, for the second time this week I might add. In fact, this has become a regular occurrence over the past couple months. I stopped early yesterday and by early I mean I only worked nine hours. I have been lying in bed for the past hour desperately trying to fall asleep but unable to because I can’t stop thinking about work. It’s midnight here and I just got out of bed to see if I had completely forgotten about something that would solve a big issue. Turns out I hadn’t, but the consultant we’re working with had already replied to my email listing that exact thing as a possible solution. I’m gonna take that as a good sign. Maybe I can put down one worry at least.

I’m so tired. I just want to go back to my normal 8 hour schedule. I want my evenings back. I want my puzzle breaks back. I want to come home without my work computer. I want to associate my home office with games again. I’ve developed an aversion to my personal computers because i’m glued to my work one so much. Any time not spent at my work computer needs to not be at a computer at all for the sake of my own sanity. Why couldn’t we have at least done this in the summer so I could go outside and get some sun after I clock out? But no, it has to be winter and dark for hours before I’m finished.

I’m so tired. I want to talk to The Guy. He was working from home today and we were both so busy that we didn’t even message each other until well after lunch and it was sporadic after that. I need a proper face to face conversation. He’s the most relaxing part of my day and this damn project barely lets us speak to each other anymore.

I’m so tired. I got less than 5 hours of sleep last night and it seems like I’ll be lucky if I get 5 and a half tonight. I’m writing this damn post because supposedly journaling helps a restless mind stop worrying at bedtime. Fingers crossed it works, but I have a feeling I’m going to just keep thinking about work.

I’m so tired. I wish I understood how a desk job can be so physically draining. I’ve been so tense lately (and probably had such bad posture that) that I had to take ibuprofen for my back. It doesn’t help that I overheard a friend telling the new person at our dnd game that this is my “intro to an adult job” or something along those lines. I wanted to punch him once those words sunk in through this haze of exhaustion. First adult job my ass. Your job’s not actually supposed to work you to death! Besides, I’m fairly certain my last job gave me ptsd because I was carrying so much. I stop breathing when I see that company’s products. I have nightmares about going back to work there. I couldn’t bring myself to throw out the shirts they gave me, so instead I would stumble across them in my closet and panic for a moment (I finally did toss them a few weeks ago, though. That was a relief). The weird thing is I can’t remember the specifics anymore. Like, I know it was miserable and I had too much to do and it was so overwhelming that I occasionally shut down. I remember I would regularly scream as I drove home because I just needed a release. But I don’t remember why exactly. I remember it felt like people hated me, but I can’t come up with examples. I get nauseous when I try to think of them, yet I can’t help but try. I know my memory is bad in general. This feels like that whole experience has a big scab over it though. There’s an outline of the injury, but you can’t see the actual wound anymore. Doesn’t stop me from picking at it.

I’m so tired. The end of this project is in sight, even if feels so far away. One thing I’m sure of, though, is that no matter how much pressure I’m under right now, now matter how much lingering dread from my old job persists, no matter how little time I get with The Guy, I’m in the right place. Things will go back to normal eventually, and I’ll be so grateful when they do.

[nemisune]

Mini Custom Night Devlog #4: The Not Final Chapter

Oh wow there’s actually a main menu now.

Hey everyone, it’s been a little over the week since the last devlog/update (at least on Tumblr, I’ve said a bit more on Newgrounds). This blog is gonna contain framework optimizations, bug fixes, additions and lots of system changes so if any of that sounds interesting to you, keep reading.

The VFX Scene Is No More

Previously, there was an VFX scene that would control a lot of the effects and animations like 6AM, game over, camera static, etc. I decided that this was actually a lot of ugly unnecessary work so I removed it entirely. Characters that spawn in effects like Toy Chica and Toy Bonnie now do so by loading a specific effect scene that chills in the effects folder.

Other animations like the game over screen or things of that nature are just now located in the overlay scene which is the same one that controls camera and mask animations among the UI for the game.

Hopefully this leads to a cleaner experience 

Less Buggy Jumpscares

I kinda glued the jumpscare functions together previously so they didn’t always work the best but it was a fine enough solution at the moment. There was a “jumpscare” and “jumpscareNow” function. To keep it brief, jumpscares would play at their leisure after a set amount of time or when the cam is put down, jumpscareNows would instantly cause a jumpscare. But there was some weird issue where dying didn’t really reset things properly and stuff just got weird and I don’t really wanna get into it. But just know that jumpscares have been streamlined. Jumpscares appearing and how they work is now on a character by character basis and is handled in their file rather than being a thing that the main game script handles. Also characters will now do the jumpscare sound that actually matches their game.

New Menus

Self explanatory:

The new game over screen

Custom night’s menu is implemented albeit with a few incomplete elements

You can turn off that dreaded perspective effect if it’s just too much

See all the stuff that went into the project

Removing Non-FNaF/Non-Creative Commons Music

This game is hosted on Newgrounds which has some... strict(?) rules about putting up content that isn’t yours. I genuinely don’t know where this game falls. While Scott made the assets I still have made a majority of the actual code and it is undoubtedly mine to a certain extent. Some games and movies on that site have even used sprites that the rules outline specifically as sprites you should NOT use so clearly the line is blurry and these rules seem more to save face in the situation of legal trouble rather than really preventing it.

That being said, I wanna put less of a target on my back so while initially I wanted to include all sorts of songs from games I like, that isn’t the plan anymore. Only songs from UCN and other free to use songs will be implemented in the future. This means that the one and only current BGM in the game that’s from Sonic Frontiers will also be removed from the game haha.

New Characters

The only new character implemented at the moment is Scrap Baby, you can see some footage of her here:

When Will The Update Drop?

No fucking clue. It’ll be out when it’s out. I need to clean up some characters to work with the new changes and one of them is already finished. The other is a throw away mechanic and the third is complex-ish but is someone I have experience with. It won’t be forever. Expect it soon but not too soon. It’ll be done eventually.

[heartfullofleeches]

Grand Prize: Yandere Show Host x Reader

Summary: A road trip leads to you becoming a guest on a radio game show. What could possibly go wrong

Tw: scoptophobia, body horror 

word count:4.7k

Dread. The single, perfect word to describe how you felt as you tightly gripped your steering wheel. The wide open roads singled you out, tossed further into the sea of obscurity with each bump you hit. You can’t recall how it happened; one wrong turn leading you to current turmoil. You were lost – sure of it. Lost, and the only way back on track was with the assistance of another – if you’d ever came across anyone. 

A few weeks prior, you had won a luxurious vacation for a weeks day at some fancy resort. Most likely a company thing; given you don’t recall signing up for it and you received the news at work. One moment you’re doing your job, and the next your hands were clasped by a strange man with an iron grip and a flashy smile – congratulating you on the win. Due to some error on their end, you had to get there on your own with a car provided by them. This wasn’t a terrible deal since the drive was only twelve hours and you were allowed to keep the car – until your phone died and you had to rely on your own navigation skills. 

You remain on lookout for any place to receive directions, the last fifty miles was nothing but mountains and desolate side roads. As luck would have it, you eventually spot a sign for a diner a few kilometers ahead. You make a beeline for the exit as it approaches; the  smooth asphalt road fading into bumpy gravel and dirt. 

You drive down a narrow path till you reach the establishment; walls painted a faded orange. The air stood still despite the dust filled parking area, time frozen in the mid hours of day. You park in one of the many vacant spots and head for the door. A bell’s chime signals your arrival; multiple heads turning in your direction including the lone waiter tending to another guest. 

“I'll be with you in just a second! Take any seat you’d like.”

You do as told, sitting in a booth by a window. A TV hung overhead, images fading in and out through a fog of static. What you could see seemed to be a reading of lottery numbers; the announcer an ink blot in a suit beside the bold lettering. Aside from you, there's less than a dozen people in the diner. An older couple, a group of young adults around your age or older, and so on. All were enamored with their own lives, chatting amongst each other while they waited. A few eyes glanced your way, but you paid little mind. 

Although the place was far from packed, the next time you see the waiter they’re carrying multiple orders. Balancing the plates, they have no time to figure out whose order is whose, calling out to the others as an alternative. In the commotion, they nearly trip over their own feet and send food flying – something you notice and decide to help with. 

“Can I help you?” You ask, bracing your arms beneath one of the trays as they regain balance.

“Y-yes. Thank you.” Clearly flustered, the waiter hands off one of the trays to you – pointing in the direction of its table. You set it down and return to your own table to wait for them to finish. Finally, they reach you, pen in hand and a soft smile on their face. They place a number stand on the table; the number is scratched but still somewhat eligible.

“Thanks again for your help. What can I get for you?”

“Actually, I was hoping if you could help me with some directions?” 

“Oh, sure. If you can wait a minute, I’m about to go on break.”

Once their break begins, you discuss the directions and other things that come by in passing. You, your trip and them, their life in the town not too far beyond the diner. Jamie, as their nametag read, had grown tired of small town life. They planned to leave as soon as the opportunity arose, even throwing their hat into the ring for the lotto. You had noticed them looking around throughout your conversation, but didn’t know the reason. You look up at the television, the final number yet to be read. You could have sworn the listing had began before you arrived, shouldn’t it have been over by now? 

“07”

The voice is as clear as day amongst the static. Jamie’s head snaps up to the TV at the announcement, then to the ticket in hand – then a final time upward. The final number had just been read; the shine in their eyes a clear telling of events to come. 

“I…I won..” 

“Wait, seriously?” Jamie slides the ticket over for you to see; the first string of numbers matching perfectly with those on screen. The expression on their face is difficult to describe with one word. Disbelief, jubilation, and…… something you can’t quite put your finger on. 

“Congratulations.” Is all you can muster.

“I can’t believe I won..” They stand up; overcome with emotion and wanting to express it with any in proximity – you being the only person available. They sling their arms around you like you’re long time friends; body shaking from joy. Understanding the sentiment, you return the hug; eyes wondering over to the clock on the wall. Time had slipped away from you; hands pointed nearly two hours from when you first arrived. 

“I’m really happy for you, but I need to get going soon.” You mutter sheepishly; lightly tugging on their arm. Their body stills completely  For a second, you wonder their heart had stopped before they finally slither their arms from around you.

“Right. Sorry. Just a bit overwhelmed. Here.” They reach into their pocket, placing a coin in your open palm. 

“A quarter? What’s this for?”

They point over to a wall of capsule machines. “You really helped me out today. In more ways than one in a weird way.”

The confusion on your face only worsens. They move their finger over to the number stand. Scratched and worn to all hell, you could still make out the distinct curve of a number seven on the board. 

“You picked those numbers out yourself, though.”

“Still, I’d like you to have something to remember me by. It’s going to be kinda hard to forget you.”

The faintest glow of red dusts their cheeks. Not wanting to push it, you walk over to the machines; eyes on your back the whole while. It takes a hard turn to get your reward, gears stuck from lack of use. Out pops a keychain in a grey capsule. It appears to be just a ball on the chain, gold star in its center. 

-

Back in your car and on the right road, you start to relax a bit. The stress from earlier seemed silly in hindsight. You start playing around with the radio; limited, but decent options passing along. After picking your music of choice, you lean back in your seat – getting to know it and the landscape rolling by. You hum along, tapping your finger against the wheel to the beat. 

“Ladiiies and Gentlemen!”

The abrupt and rather loud change cause you to swerve; volume a few notches too high for your ears. On reflex, you turn it down before you can process what happened. You then push buttons at random, trying ad nauseam to change the station; but nothing happens. The new voice, masculine and boastful, continues on without bother.

“Boy and girls. Those lovely folks who are neither or both. Welcome back to your favorite show with your favorite host – Eyes on the prize! The only game where everyone goes home a winner.”

Thunderous applause and a generic soundtrack crowd the air that the speaker leaves to fill. A game show? That was certainly – different. Initially annoyed, you decide to listen – as if you had any sat in the first place.

“Unfortunately, our guest couldn’t make it today due to some…. unforeseen circumstances.”

A few boos and “aw's” echo from the crowd, the host chuckling at the display. 

“Worry not, folks. For we have a solution. As much as we’d like to give you a chance, we think it’s only fair for the listeners to get a turn. The first person to call this number will be today’s lucky contestant.” 

The host lists off the number to call, the crowd silent in anticipation. You wait along with them, festive music looping in the background, buzzing in your ears like flies – right behind them like a backseat driver. Once you got home, you needed to get thus radio checked out. Five minutes go by with nothing; not even a second reading of the number. Must not have been a popular station. 

Your luck had already been running high with this trip, so what could be the harm of throwing the hook once more? Stopping on the side of the road, you pick up your phone and dial the number, line connecting before the first ring. You swear you could hear the grin on the other end, voice doubled as it sounds through the radio and your speaker.

“H-Hello?”

“Looks like we got our caller, folks, and from their voice it sounds like we have a real catch. Welcome to the show!”

The crowd's cheering keeps you from a response, their enthusiasm knowing no ends – except for when he speaks.

“Quiet down, everyone. I have to give our guest a warm greeting! Guest isn’t the right word for you, though. We couldn’t do today’s show without you! You’re more like a.. co-host.” He muses, seeming pleased with his choice of words. 

“We’re so glad to have you here, so, would you do us the honors and introduce yourself?”

“My name is Y/n…” You pause, thinking of what to say. “I’m on vacation and I came across this station on accident, but I called in since no one else seemed to.”

“Wonderful. Just wonderful! If you’re lucky you’ll be walking away with even more than all the excitement that might bring. The rules are simple. All you have to do is answer five round of three questions, and make sure you don’t hang up. Real easy stuff, got?”

“Okay..”

“Perfect! First question, what do bees make?”

“..honey?”

There’s a chime – like someone dragging a mallet over xylophone, followed by canned cheering.

“That’s correct! We always ease into things in the beginning – but I can tell you’ll do great! Let’s continue.”

You place your phone in the seat beside you, pulling your car out of park and drifting back on the road. While road safety was important, you hadn’t seen another vehicle for the majority of your travel plus you were sure you could keep your focus on the road.

“Question two,  Which organ has four chambers?”

“Um.. the heart.”

The sound queue plays again. 

“Question three… Are you.. alone?”

There’s a subtle change in his tone with the last word, losing its exuberant manner for one, single precise moment. The background music drowns in the awaiting silence; all waiting for your answer though you can't see the starving look in their stares.

Answer quickly.

“Y-yes?” 

The music returns with gusto, the crowd clapping in approval at your answer and to the end of the first round. 

“Cor-rect! Bit of a trick question, but we need to make sure you aren't cheating. And with that we have our first round! Pat yourself on the back.”

You let go of a breath you hadn't realized you were holding onto. Out of nowhere, there's the sharp ringing of a phone piercing your ears.

“You know what that means, folks, it's time for our audience questionnaire break! What that means for you, Y/n, is that some lucky few will be asking you whatever comes to mind. We like to let our crowd get real personal with our guests. You're allowed to not answer, of course, but what you do will be considered extra points.

You nod subconsciously; realizing your mistake as you blurt out. “Give me all you got.”

“That’s what we like to hear~. Let’s pick our first asker, shall we?” There's an uproar of eager people, shouting over each other like a group of seagulls. A drum rolls out; the image of a stage light shining over the crowd coming to your mind. You image it landing on one individual, as all the noise stops except for an excited squeal.

“You there, down in front. Come on up!”

Footsteps screech along tile floors; feedback booming from the mic as you hear another voice. “Hello, I'm S from California and I've been a huge fan of the show for a while. I'm excited to be here, and to meet you. What do you do in your free time?”

You answer honestly. The process continues.

“What color are your eyes?”

“What makes you laugh?”

“Who knows you best?”

“Favorite color?”

You answer them all as truthful as possible. No point in lying. 

“Do you consider yourself to be a lucky person.”

The question throws you off guard; delivered robotic and cold. In a way, the voice was almost recognizable. Thinking back to the question, you didn't really know. Sure, you won this trip, but there were other parts of your life that couldn't be dealt to someone who had lucky constantly on their side.

“I.... I don't know”

The xylophone plays again. You thought that was only for right answers. 

“I see..”

“Wait what was-”

“Are you single?”

In the few seconds for the words to leave your mouth, the person had slipped away, replaced by another with a query that makes you forget the last instantly. You reluctantly answer; it being the last question in this particular segment. 

Round two starts without a hitch – questions slightly harder, but still in the realms of basic trivia. It's over almost as soon as it began, another tremendous applause at your completion. The road goes smoothly as the questions. but you notice that the sun was still high in the sky; just faintly dipping into a mellow evening. It was by no means late, but by now there should had been a hint of nightfall on the horizon. 

“Are you nervous in front of others ?”

“What's the first thing someone should know about you?”

“What’s your zodiac sign.”

Your throat feels dry; tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth. You should have got something to drink at the diner before you left. 

“I think it’s time for a bit of change, don’t you folks? We’ll call this round, the sensory round. Y/n, what is the animal that makes this sound?” 

You hear a bird’s chirp, and answer accordingly.

“Yet another right answer. How about this one?”

Two tap against glass, too close to be from a soundboard, clicking straight in your ear, as though it came from your back window. Your body tenses; glancing out towards the back seat through the side view mirror. Empty as could be. 

“Is everything alright?”

You rub the anxiety from your eyes. “Yea I’m.. I’m fine. Could you repeat it?”

“Certainly, my dear.” The sound plays again, a full fist instead of the gentle fingers from what you hear the first time. It rings along a different surface; hollow and wooden.

“Someone knocking on a door?”

“Perfection. Final question of the round. What do you see on the billboard you are about to pass?”

Your heart falls into your stomach. As if on queue, you rush past a billboard; its message burnt in though you only see it for a split second. Bold black lettering on a yellow background; an eye hiding in the lens of a camera beside it – staring down all who passed. 

“Smile. You’re on camera.”

“T..there’s a picture of a camera.”

That damn xylophone chimes yet again; the applause popping like fireworks in your ears.

 “What a fantastic round! We’ll skip on the questions this time, you need the rest.” 

Your hands tremble. Was this some kind of prank. You need to hang up the phone – you felt it; but you can’t. A sharp ping hits your stomach; hunger stronger than the worry. A sign comes up for a gas station a few miles ahead. Before you could figure out what the hell was going on, you needed to take care of.

-

The store is quiet, the only occupants being you and the cashier with lidded eyes pointed at a magazine at the counter. He watches you, surprised to see someone around his age all the way out here. Your phone hung dormant in your pocket. Something told you leaving it behind wasn’t a wise decision. Shrinking under the many surveillance cameras around the place; you grab your items of choice and head over to the desk. Your phone buzzes for the tenth time before you’re able to retrieve it; unlocking to find dozens of messages from your boss wondering where you are. 

“What… but I thought.”

“Is everything alright?”

“Yea, my boss just is asking where I am, but I thought he knew I was off for the week.”

His lip quirks. “Sounds rough..” He slides a card “First cup of coffee is on the house, and by the looks of it, you might need it...” He trails off at the end. 

“Thank you, but I don’t need it. I shouldn’t be on the road for too much longer.” You try your best to smile, placing your items on the corner. The guy looks you up and down; a flash of recognition coursing his eyes as he looks at your pocket.

“If that’s what you want. “ He rings up your things and bags them up for you. As you grab the bags, you hear the scratches of a pen before your receipt is thrust your way; crumbled slightly as if to hide what was written. You take it, but his hand remains clutched; eyes narrowed at the paper. He straightens as you lightly tugging on it, smiling as he let's go. 

“Have a pleasant day.”

-

You head outside, turning the paper over. You didn’t know what you expected, but it definitely wasn’t what you read.

“Drop your phone and run. Make it an accident.”

“We’re back, folks.” The voice makes you jump. No music in the backdrop. No audience. Only Host.

“Now, Y/n. We only have one question for round four. What’s on the paper.”

You don’t respond, making a break for the car. The light of the gas station fades into obscurity as you fumble with the door. His voice raises ever so slightly – like a parent scolding their child.

“Don’t ignore me. Or you’ll have to face a penalty.”

You climb inside, your phone tumbling from your pocket without intention. Making sure to turn off the radio, you peel out of the station. The second lane is no longer there, but you pay no heed – intending to return the way you came no matter what it took. Nightfall had finally taken hold, swallowing the road around you. The stars hang low like stage lights; forever unblinking – never deterring from the ones below their gaze. The radio jolts to life with a pitched cry.

“I really wouldn’t like to see you get hurt, Y/n. Even though you broke a rule, I’m willing to forgive you. Just answer the question.” 

“I quit!”

“You can’t.”

Your foot slams down on the gas; trying to run from the voice as if it wasn’t in the seat next to you – whispering. Soothing in a melancholic way; preferable to the cries of outrage behind you. Your silence was worse than a refusal to answer; mocking those who waited for your turn – those who fell before you. You would never experience the same fate as them, and they all knew it; longing for the moment they could have a chance at joining you to their nameless chorus. 

Luminescence finally breaks the endless darkness, persisting past a single beacon like the diner or the gas station. A town; your guard raised in defense, but unlimitedly known it’s where you end up where you liked it or no. What could you even do once you got there? Going to the police was completely out of the question. You just needed to get your head clear.

The entry to the town dawns, streets empty just like everything before it. 

You hurry to the first desk, slapping whatever bills you could find on the surface with no explanation. The manager pushes a key over to you; you not even bothering to look up at them as you run off. The room is on the other side of the hotel, in its on little pocket of isolate. You shut the door; slinking down it to the floor below. You hold your head in your hands. This was all just some kind of fucked up prank. You’d be home before you knew it. 

Taking deep breaths, you survey the area. The average twin bedded room you’d see in movies; the mattress your own slice of heaven. You'd go to sleep, leave the second morning broke, and never look back. If the buzzing would let you rest; swarming in your head. You should probably turn off the TV. 

The tv. The one thing you didn’t notice on your first look around. Static dances across the screen, washing out to a clear image; and you finally see it. See him. The thing that’s been haunting you your whole journey. Slicked back hair. An ashed suit matching his single toned body. An eternal smile plastered on his face from ear to ear; hooked to the flesh like a skin tight mask. Featureless beyond, his blank face points directly at you and you can swear that that grin gets even wider.

“Y/n I have something to admit. I’ve gone pretty easy on you this entire time. You’re… not like anyone else we’ve ever had.. Special. My generosity can only go far. I can only protect you from so much.”

There’s a bang on the door, rattling it in its hinges; shaking every bone in your body. 

“Please answer the question.”

A bang, followed by studio laughter. 

“Answer me.”

Bang.

“My shining star.” 

“H…he told me to run away.”

Everything goes hush. Everything except for the tell-tale sign you won yet another around. The laud is overpowering; whistles of cheer and chants of adoration blocking all other senses out.

“There we have it! Let’s get this show over with and bring our star home.”

The television shuts off, accompanied by the slick of someone peeling tape from a wall. Your surroundings quiver, foundation falling around due to lack of unseen support. They crash against titled floors; no longer there to shield you from piercing lights above. You cover your eyes with your hands as you get used to them, narrowing your vision at whatever lies before you. You sit on the floor of a large stage; reflection bouncing off the smooth, black surface. You see rows upon rows of filled chairs; silhouettes squirming in their confines from hyperactivity. You aren’t keen on finding out what lied in the shadows. You direct your attention to the person towering over you to ignore it; tapping the mic in hand to get both your and everyone’s focus. 

“And here they are! What a beaut, wouldn’t you agree?”

The clapping is unnatural; prolonged by skin sticking against skin – hollow strikes thrown into the mix like hitting bone. Host helps you to your feet, his fingers cold around your wrist; stiff like in a stage of rigor mortis, but soft to the touch. Looking at him, it was easy to see his suit was just an itch or two off from properly fitting his long limbs; the two a match regardless of the shortage.

“Unfortunately, things aren’t over yet. We still have one last round for you to complete.”

“Why me?....”

“Well you did call us, Y/n.”

“You said I’m different from the others, but why?”

The question shuts him up. If he were able, you were sure he’d had a neutral expression on his face. In an instant, he bursts out laughing; audience joining along with him.

“Why. Why, I haven’t the faintest idea and that’s what makes you so amazing! Your kind appear to obsess over the smallest thing. The one that seemed most interesting, was luck. A ripe source of it for you was these silly little shows, and I couldn’t help but play along. It became one of mine as well. A good host always studies his guests well, and I studied you for alooong time. It was like you knew you were being watched. You started to make me become interested in these I wouldn’t have be in a thousand years. It’s.. fascinating.”

His body writhes beneath his words, muscles pulled right against his bones. The skeleton is unlike anything human just from what you see. Ever changing – a formless shape attempting to keep configuration. Jutting with each chuckle, his expressionless face contorts; reality blending to make room for the perverse allusion that is his true shelf. Digits curl and stretch the flesh even further; threatening to break the barrier keeping whatever inside. Your body tell you to run; somehow knowing if any of . A covetous existence wanting to swallow you whole. With a blink of an eye, he returns to “normal”. 

“Sorry about that. Having you here does.. things to me. I was keen on letting you enjoy your vacation, possibly for the rest of your day’s; but the thought of you by my side sidetracked those plans. A treat like you will be a hit with our audience. I'd never let them anywhere near you though. Call it penalty for losing.”

You glance back at the crowd. In the massive sea, your able to make out the shadow of a nametag pinned to one’s shirt and a pair of headphones on another.

“So everyone out there … lost?”

“Ding ding ding. Smart as ever, Y/n. Unfortunately, there will always be repercussions in life, but I’d say this one isn’t so bad. They get a front row seat to the show and if they’re lucky… they get to play a part in it too.”

His voice fluctuates at the end of the sentence; hard to point out who he was impersonating. 

“My eyes in the streets, but of course eyes do wonder sometimes; such as what happened earlier. It was rude to send you, but I’ll forgive him this time. Of course, you were never in any danger. You could say I was in your pocket the entire time. Our guests never wanted to harm you either. Just a little pressure to get you talking. Enough with the questions, least from your end. It’s fine for the final question.”

The concluding praise is unlike all before it; shrieks high to false heavens and soulful. Host places his hands on your shoulders, pushing you forward to their eminence delight. He cranes his body down to your height; grip firm as he breathes. 

“Listen to those people. They love you. We all want you to stay. You’ll be awarded with whatever your mortal body desires, long as you remain under our gaze. We'll have plenty of guests, but the spotlight will always be on you. Our everlasting star. If you answer correctly you win. We all do.”

“For the grand prize of eternity, will you be my co-host?”

[p0ssywhippedcream]

gosh just like, imagine L being somewhat sexuqlly frustrated, case pulling him down and such.

at nights you stay with him, keep him company, ramble at him (which, in turn- he listens, almost being consumed by your voice) while he works. General things.

But now, since he's nearly dying; not having time to take care of himself, too shy to ask you to help- he's just. Suffering through it. One night you seem to just coincidentally turn him on without knowing. He tries holding himself back, not excusing himself or saying anything. They way you delicately put candies in your mouth, the way your fingers glide through the sweets, picking just the right one

g o s h, mans just can anymore, finally has enough of it and just rams you into his desk

*giggles* gosh i love you, y’all know me too well 🤭

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

L loves listening to himself talk, but he loves listening to you talk even more. Your words are coated in honey, voice articulating things he’d never ever imagined. You talk about anything, everything, as long as it sparks curiosity or conflict.

L’s gone through typing thousands of sentences listening to you ramble about necklaces, history, food, shoes, video games, books, ex lovers, humanity as a whole, Poland and society. Sometimes you don’t know if he’s actually listening but when he throws a glance in your direction with an interested expression, you know he does care about what you’re saying even if he doesn’t say it too.

So you continue to come in your comfortable clothes, sit with him and practically burst with information and opinions while stealing his sweets every now and then. L likes you, you’re authentic and honest, you wear baggy t shirts and sleep shorts and smell of mint when it’s closer to bed time for you and you’ve recently brushed your teeth. And you’re consistent, every night, 7 on the dot, he hears the waddle of your padded feet slapping the stairs and the squeal of a chair’s hinges as you sit down and scoot towards him.

He likes that about you, you’re precise, but lately he finds himself conflicted. He loves your visits, loves sharing whatever edible heart-attack he has, loves your beautiful, sweet voice next to him. But he dreads the feelings that come with it. His heart races, palms sweat and vision blurs, intense bodily reactions that cause terror and confusion. He feels like he’s dying. And nobody can focus when they’re dying.

Plus, he has an erection that would be fairly obvious if his knees weren’t in the way of you line of sight. He did some research in a spare moment and discovered many things about himself, the important ones being that he’s most likely aroused and that he may have feelings for you. So, you arouse and intrigue him.

He goes through a few nights thinking that information would be enough to calm his symptoms but soon realizes it’s worse now then before because he’s actually aware of the way he looks at you and where he looks at you now.

He can’t help his eyes falling to your pretty, bouncing breasts as you descend the stairs. He can’t help his attention on your pump lips forming words he can hardly hear anymore. He can’t help the blood rushing straight to his cock when you lean out of your chair to grab a bite of his cake and your shorts lift up ever so slightly, allowing the curve of your ass to be seen from where he sits.

He considers asking for help and immediately mentally reprimands himself for even considering the great L would need help. He doesn’t have time for anything else but working and sleeping and he can’t compromise himself just because he’s feeling a little aroused. So he doesn’t do anything, and suffers the consequences.

~~~~~~~~~~~

You greet L with a smile and giddily bounce over to your designated seat next to him, grabbing a hold of the back of the chair.

“See anything different?” You ask with an excited grin.

L furrows his brow and studies you for a second but comes up empty and shakes his head.

You sigh and give him a faux frown.

“The pajamas?” You spin and he notices what you mean. Deep red strawberries litter your shorts, that seem slightly shorter than the others you wear, and your pink socks have strawberries sewn into the sides. Then you’ve finished spinning and L can see your shirt clearly, he almost goes into cardiac arrest. Directly where your nipples are, there are two small strawberries poking out on the thin fabric.

L quickly clears his throat and turns his chair back to the monitors, bringing his legs closer to his chest, “Very nice.”

You huff and plop down next to him, stealing the fork in his hand and nipping some cake, “‘Very nice?’ I thought you would think they were cute.”

L looks at you from the corner of his eye.

“They’re cute.”

You giggle and turn towards him more, using your foot as leverage to push off the table so that you’re closer to him.

“I know, right? I found them last week shopping with Misa and she said that you were gonna make fun of me but I thought you’d like ‘em so I bought ‘em.”

L thinks for a second then turns to you with a surprised expression, which for him is just a slight eyebrow raise and eye widening.

“You bought them… for me?”

You shrug like it’s no big deal.

“Yeah, thought you’d like ‘em. You’re all about strawberries anyways.”

L’s heart is racing so fast it feels like it’s going to pop out of his chest and run a marathon.

“Well.. you were right. I do like them.”

You throw a smile with teeth his way and he flatlines.

“Anyways… what’ja wanna talk about tonight? I’ve got a few ideas.”

L tries to focus on whatever document he’d been working on before you arrived but you steal his attention again as he sees you pushing your chair even closer to his.

“What are you doing?” He asks.

You make a dive for the bowl of candies next to his keyboard and he gawks at you.

You lean over the arm of the chair and smile at him innocently, “What, you can’t share? Mr. Billionaire is greedy.”

You draw out the ‘dy’ in greedy with a giggle and drop the candies back at his frown.

L shakes his head at your antics, “No, I mean what are you doing so close? Can’t you talk from over there?”

You ignore the ego pang you could take and shrug, dropping eye contact in favor of your finger nails suddenly being very interesting.

“I dunno… thought we were close enough that I could sit here.”

L recognizes your expression and sighs, looking straight ahead at his screen.

“You can. I don’t mind.” He pretends not to see the way your face lights up again and pretends a little harder not to notice the tingling feeling inside his stomach.

There’s a few moments of silence before the creaking of your chair shifting ever closer to his draws a quarter of his attention. The arm of your chair bumps his and he glances to his right to see your mischievous grin beaming up at him from where your head rests on his chair, nearly falling onto his lap.

L must be a pro at this point when it comes to ignoring his feelings but he still struggles to keep a straight face when your hands come out to trace shapes into the side of his jeans.

He can’t tell how long it’s been that you’ve been talking about meaningless things or how long you’ve been practically in his chair with the way your whole body leans onto his. Could’ve been ten minutes, twenty or an hour, L’s too enthralled by your presence to get work done at his usual pace.

You reach your hand out to the bowl of sweets and L watches you in his peripheral vision as your delicate fingers search for your favored flavor, gently brushing the others and softly plucking one up. The way your eyes seem so focused on the task, lips curling into a bottom bite as your hand pushes the candy through reddened lips.

You hum in satisfaction at the taste and L’s thoughts scatter, leaving only the sight of you on his mind. Taking quick note of how little work he’s gotten done tonight, of his aching erection rubbing against the rough confines of his pants and the way your nipples poke out just right on the shirt, barely visible under the strawberries and makes a decision he’s yet to regret. L is going to get laid.

“Y/n, stand up.” Puzzled, you do so and tug on the bottom of your shorts when they come up too high.

“I… want to do something, you may stop me at any time.” You nod and make a concerned face that fades as he stands too, cupping your face and angling it towards his.

The only sign of the anxiety he feels inside is the shaking hands the cradle your jaw with uncertainty. He meets your eyes with hesitant eye contact and sees only pure desire and trust back.

L’s lips gloss over yours, barely a whisper yet enough to make you whimper and tangle your hands in the mess of his hair. You pull his towards you with urgency, slotting your lips against his much more desperately.

You taste like raspberries and toothpaste and months of longing, L feels like he might die when your hands wander down to his chest and fist the fabric of his shirt with a muffled gasp. L knows you’ll stop him if you don’t want anything further so he takes a leap of faith and drops his hands to your waist, pulling you closer to his body. His throbbing, clothed erection brushes your thigh with a groan from you both.

You pull away, lips kissbitten and eyes glazed over with lust. L’s heart chases after you, beating like crazy inside it’s poor little cage.

“You look angelic.” His words fumble out like a broken dam but he means it, almost proud of himself when you blush and smile.

“What was that thing you wanted to do?” You change the subject with a nervous fidget of his shirt in your fists.

“You, if you’d let me.” He sounds bold and sure of himself but he’s hardly controlling himself from begging you to just kiss him like that again, even though if you did, he’d surely fall completely in love with you.

You met his eyes with a unfamiliar shyness and nod quickly.

“I’d let you..please, do.”

He allows his signature proud smirk to take his lips before he takes yours again, hands wandering down to the ruffle at the edge of your pajamas.

He tugs them down your thighs slightly and cups your ass in his big hands before breaking the kiss.

“Turn around.”

Your back faces him and he uses his leverage to bend you over his desk, his mind freezing up when he notices a dark spot on your pink panties, puffy clit poking out on the material.

He trails his fingers up towards the waistband and slowly pulls them down, a string of arousal between your pussy and panties growing thinner and finally breaking once they’re down where your shorts are.

“You’re incredibly wet.” L remarks with a finger sliding through your dripping folds, eyes catching the full body shiver you do.

“You’re incredibly attractive.” You snap back quick but there’s amusement in your tone. “Sometimes shit happens.”

He mentally rolls his eyes and simply replied by propping you up in a easier position, pushing your back into a arch and your ass high in the air.

“May I?” He asks, hoping you understand the implication by the sound of his zipper.

“You may.” You respond with a cheeky grin over your shoulder, “Such a gentleman, aren’t you?”

“Always.” He wants to say something romantic but he doesn’t know how you’ll take it.

Right as his hands clasp your hips and tug you closer to his waiting cock, he lets it slip.

“For you.”

You both know there’s implications behind that more than just him saying he’ll ask for consent but you ignore it for now. You know later, when you’re stumbling back to your room with a giddy smile and sore legs, you’ll giggle to yourself over the thought he may want you for more than just sex.

His tip angles at your entrance and he takes a breath before gently pushing in, pulling a sensual gasp from your mouth as your wetness expands around him. Curses fall easily from your lips as you shuffle your legs farther apart, feeling him bottom out completely.

You already feel your pussy ache, accommodating the stretch almost painful but wonderfully full at the same time. L, on the other hand, is also greatly feeling the size difference. He’s been holding his breath and mentally clicking through past cases to keep himself from busting a load too soon, his hands an iron grin on your poor waist.

A wet squelch sounds as he begins pulling out to thrust in again and your red cheeks flame even harder, knowing you’re definitely soaking him and yourself.

L waits for a second and slyly says, “Is that a snail in your pants or are you just excited to see me?”

You laugh loud and abruptly, nearly choking as he pushes in again through the joke. You love his sense of humor but sometimes he’s really got to read the room, still though, you feel more at ease.

L feels his cock tense and balls clench and resolves to move faster, in order to please both parties. His hips slam against yours deeply as he fucks himself into you, your slick pussy driving him halfway mad.

“F-fuck.. please! Please, L, please!” You sound like you’re crying from the desperation in your voice but from the pornographic moans leaking at a consistent rate, L knows it feels good to you.

Atleast he hopes it does, and when he realizes he wants to make it better, he angles so that with each thrust, your clit rubs against the smooth table and instantly feels the effects, your cunt squeezing infinitely harder.

He lets out a choked noise for the first time and you nearly cum right then, his broken voice groaning sounds ethereal to your ears.

“Y/n…I’m going to orgasm.” You almost chuckle at his use of vocabulary but nod hurriedly nonetheless.

“Mmmm..me too, fuck….harder, please!”

L thrusts harder at your command and gave a few final desperate ruts before letting out a string of your name connected to a deep, long sob of ‘fuck’. You clench around him and pant out his alias as you shake through your release.

He nearly falls on top of you and thankfully rolls to the side with a satiated look, slowly pulling himself out of your sore, dripping hole.

After a few beats of heavy breathing, you shoot him a tired smile and ask, “Get what you wanted?”

He looks back at you with something unidentifiable and smiles slightly too.

“For now.”

[scripts4dreamers]

Oh, my stars!

AN: First writing piece in a long while! I’m going back to my roots and simping over characters from the Wizarding World. So here’s a little piece about Regulus being in love with you in a potions class.  Characters: Regulus Black Pairings: Regulus x reader Warning(s): none

Y/N Y/L/N was…loud. Or maybe she wasn’t. Maybe she spoke at an entirely normal volume and Regulus was just completely unused to sitting next to someone with such a never ending stream of things to say and comment on. It wasn’t totally awful. They’d been forced together to work on a project a few months ago and, from the moment you’d sat down, you had seemed intent on acting as though you and Regulus had been friends for years. At first he’d been mortified by your chattering, and the almost comically bright smile you’d always greeted him with but, as the days went on, Regulus had the shocking realization that you were being entirely sincere. You weren’t being friendly in order to trick him, or smiling to throw him off his game, you were just kind of…like that.

It had taken time, a lot of time, for Regulus to start actually talking back. Longer for him to start smiling, but it had happened. At the end of the first month, he’d been forced to admit to himself that potions had become the best part of his day, and not because he loved Slughorn and chopping mugwort leaves. There was something exciting about having a friend that was just his, especially one who seemed perfectly content to accept his good days with his bad ones, and never pushed him to be more bubbly or open than he was ready for. Which is not to say that Regulus wasn’t waiting for the other shoe to drop and for you to move on to less prickly targets, but he’d bask in your attention for as long as he had it. And bask he did.

“Oi, Reg? Are you even listening to me?” You whispered, nudging his side with your elbow.

“Hmm?” He asked, softly, checking to see if Slughorn had picked up on your nattering.

You giggled, rolling your eyes with a fondness he wasn’t entirely sure he’d earned, and leaned in conspiratorially, “I asked if you were going out to Hogsmeade this weekend. Coraline Fawley has been bugging me about getting you to ask her out for weeks.”

You looked beautiful, as always, with your hair up out of your face and your usual glint of mischief dancing at the corner of your mouth. He spent a lot of time looking at your mouth recently. More time than he’d hoped, but less than he’d like. They were just so fascinating. Wait, what were you saying?

Regulus scrunched up his nose, “Fawley? Tell her I’d sooner go out with the giant squid.”

“Or,” you suggested, “you could tell her that yourself and not use me like an owl, for a change.”

Now it was Regulus’ turn to roll his eyes and he turned back to face the chalkboard, “It’s not like I ask you to meddle, Y/N, you just do it. If you want out, no one’s asking you to stick around.”

He heard you sigh and felt a momentary twinge of regret. Considering how little validation he gave you, you’d been wonderful about not holding his moodiness against him, but Regulus knew your patience wasn’t limitless. And, if he was honest with himself, Regulus was dreading the day he finally pushed you just that little bit too far.

“Alright, Black,” you agreed, albeit a little less enthusiastically, “whatever you say.”

You lapsed into a silence that stretched on longer than usual, seemingly dedicating 100% of your attention to the potion Slughorn had assigned, even though Regulus knew you had next to no interest in potions. As the minutes dragged on without a hint of your signature banter, Regulus couldn’t help but start to worry. This had been happening more and more lately. Little mean things would slip out and, rather than bouncing off your back like normal, they seemed to hang in the air like helium balloons, filling Regulus’ stomach with sand and a gnawing shame.

Maybe it was best, he reasoned, maybe this was the start of the pulling away process. It had to happen eventually, right? He might as well enjoy the silence and let you move on to your greener pastures filled with baby unicorns and endless Hogsmeade weekends with your gaggle of adoring sycophants. It was for the best, really.

“Are you going?” He heard himself ask, with a hint of pleading.

You looked up at him, your features schooled into polite neutrality, which he hated, “That’s why I asked you. I’m not sure yet. I was going to decide based on what your plans were.”

As soon as you answered, Regulus felt the knot in his chest loosen and a quiet sigh of relief slipped from his throat. It took him a second to process your answer but, when he did, his heart skipped a beat.

“You wanted to go…with me?” He asked, unsure.

In the dim light of the potions room, Reg couldn’t be sure, but he swore he saw color rise into your cheeks before you looked away, back into your cauldron.

“No. Well, yes, but not like-” you started, “Caroline wanted me to ask you anyway, but I figured that if you were going anyway we could meet up somewhere.”

Regulus fought the surge of giddiness that flooded his system out of nowhere, and smiled gently, “And if I wasn’t going?”

You shrugged with one shoulder, eyes focussed intently on the contents of your potion.

“I thought we could study. Or fly, or something.”

“Together?’

You sighed, definitely blushing now, and rolled your eyes to the ceiling, “Obviously, together, Black. Otherwise I wouldn’t have asked what you were doing. Nevermind it’s a stupid idea I’ll just-” you muttered, your voice fading into a disgruntled whisper he couldn’t pick up.

Regulus was trying hard not to let the swell of conflicting emotions in his chest register on his face. Were you asking him out? Was that what was happening here? Did he want that?

Okay, that was a ridiculous question, he’d been all yours from the very first moment, of course that’s what he wanted. But only secretly. Only in the deepest parts of himself that he kept buried and hidden away from anything that threatened to come in and empty him out. What he wanted and what he could bear to have had never been the same thing. Being with you, oh Merlin, really being with you, was so far out of his realm of reality that it made him dizzy just to consider it. It was just a fantasy. Just a fantasy.

But it could be real, couldn’t it? That’s what you were offering. Alright, you weren’t declaring your love or anything, but it was a start. A whole day together, just the two of you….what a concept.

Your cauldron was starting to smoke and, by Regulus’ calculations, you were three clockwise stirs over the upper limit. He glanced at the clock. There wasn’t long left and if you submitted what you had now, he knew there was no way Slughorn would give you a decent grade. He weighed up his options for a second, not wanting to seem pushy or patronizing, but was jarred into action as you lifted your pipet of bulbadox juice to add a second drop.

“No no no no, wait.” He leaned forward, his side pressed to yours as he gripped your hand to stop the movement.

You froze, staring up at him with giant eyes as he gently lowered your hand with the pipet, making sure nothing dripped into the potion.

“You’ve over stirred,” he explained gently, “if you add more juice it’s either going to curdle or explode.”

“Really? Shit, thanks for the save, Reg,” you answered with a breathless, slightly tense giggle, “reckon I can salvage it?”

“Of course, just add two flitterby wings and some crushed dragon horn and you should be good to go,” he explained, feeling his heart pound in his chest.

“Alright…” There was a long silence where neither of you moved before you nudged him with your knee and said, as gently as possible, “I’m going to need my hand back to make those changes, Reg.”

Ah.

He was still holding your hand. With his other arm practically wrapped around you. Using the back of your stool as support. Fuck. He pulled his hand back so fast the thought he might fall over, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“Sorry.” he muttered, turning back to his own potion with his ears burning.

“It’s alright,” you responded, and he could hear the smile in your voice, “your hands are very…soft. Softer than I thought they’d be.”

His heart did that funny little stutter again and he shot back, teasingly “Spend a lot of time thinking about my hands then, Y/L/N?”

He quickly glanced your way, so you could see the corner of his mouth turned up in a smile and know he was joking, just in time to catch you shooting him another fond eye roll.

“Not as much time as Caroline Fawley has, I can promise you that,” you joked back.

“Jealous much?”

“Desperately, I’ve been eyeing up Caroline for months.”

Regulus threw his head back and let out a bark of laughter so loud that everyone in class, including Slughorn tore their eyes away from whatever they were doing and gave him a warning look. Regulus mouthed sorry to Professor Slughorn and turned back to his work, stifling his laughter as best he could. One quick glance your way told him you were doing the same, though the hand over your mouth and your silently shaking shoulders told him you were losing the fight.

“Look what you made me do,” he teased, “and after I helped you too…sad.”

“Aww, poor little Reggie,” you teased back, “how about this, to make it up to you, I’ll retract my offer to hang out this weekend, since I’m clearly such a nuisance to you, and go to Hogsmeade with Ollie Macmillan instead.”

Regulus gasped, recoiling in mock horror, “You wouldn’t!”

“Try me,” you responded, leaning in, “Unless, of course, you would rather I didn’t, for some reason.”

Suddenly it occurred to Regulus that you weren’t joking, which was new. You were giving him a choice. If he wanted, you’d go out with Macmillan and, knowing you, you'd never bring up the possibility of being anything more than friends again. You were certain like that. You never pushed. It was one of the reasons he’d started falling for you in the first place.

Regulus opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again when he realized that he didn’t actually have an answer. His heart was screaming at him to say that of course he didn’t want you to go out with that oaf, Macmillan, he wanted you to go out with him. He wanted you to talk to him and laugh with him and let him stare at your mouth until he had every twist and curve and movement memorized. Of course that’s what he wanted.

But, he was Regulus Black. He didn’t get things like this, things like you, that were good and pure and normal. He didn’t get to go on dates and banter with friends and plan a future with the only person who made him feel like a living person anymore. Did he? If he leant in and kissed you, wouldn’t he just be dooming you to heartbreak? Wasn’t he just dragging you down into his shadowy world?

There was a look in your eye that made him shiver, like you were looking right through him, into the confusion, and that it made you sad. You pressed your lips together and, with a second of hesitation, reached out to touch his hand, softly. So, so softly. You only ever touched him softly, like you knew. Like you’d always known that he was fragile, that he needed tenderness like a plant needs sunlight. How had you known? How did you always know?

“Regulus,” you said, barely louder than a whisper, but with an undercurrent of fierce sincerity, “I can’t change the way you think about yourself, I know that that’s up to you, but I want you to know, whatever it is you’re thinking, you’re wrong. This, us,” you squeezed his hand, grounding him, “even just the chance of it. It’s worth it. Or at least it is to me. That won’t change, but you need to meet me halfway here. It can’t just be me putting myself out on a ledge and hoping that someday you’ll trust me enough to come out to, we need to do it together.”

He shook his head reflexively, “You don’t know what you’re saying. You don’t know.”

“I know you,” you countered, “that’s all I need to know. That and whatever you decide to tell me.”

The bell rang and Regulus felt a bolt of panic at the thought of you packing up and heading off. Something told him that, if he let you leave without an answer, without some indication of where his head was, he’d lose you forever.

He squeezed your hand tight, locking your fingers together and said, “Don’t go out with Macmillan.”

It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough. He was going to lose you.

“Don’t go out with Macmillan,” he repeated, “spend the day with me. I don’t give a fuck about Hogsmeade, but I’ll go if you’ll go with me. Honestly, Y/N, I’ll do anything as long as you’ll do it with me.”

You pressed your lips together again, but this time Regulus could see the smile twinkling in your eyes as they watered, and he could feel the way your muscles relaxed, like you’d been bracing for an impact that never came. You were nervous. Oh my stars, you had been worried that he would reject you! The notion was so foolish that, for a moment, Regulus forgot to be scared.

“I would love that,” you answered, “really, Reg. I would love that.”

I love you, he thought to himself. But not yet. It was too soon, he knew that, but maybe one day. Maybe when he’d figured out how to tell you about that secret part of himself he’d kept buried for so long, maybe then he’d say it. Maybe, if he was lucky, you’d even say it back.

Now, wouldn’t that be something?