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imaginesofeverykind · 7 months ago

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Witches Brew ~ Chapter 3

Summary: To practice magic is to slight God with the devil's embrace. It is evil, sin, consuming and the price one pays is never worth what one seeks. Yet people, in times of desperation often turn to desperate measures, in Aegon’s case, medicinal remedy is not an option. No healer can undo what has been done. But the Hag tucked away behind reeds, water topped with algae and the voracious bog may be able to. For a price.

Warnings: GORE, graphic descriptions oh bodily harm and maiming, magic described as visceral, catholic-centric monotheism demonised, 18+ minors DNI

Tags: DnD Homebrew Fusion AU, Targaryens are noblefolk, Aegon is a werewolf

Word Count: 4.6k

Chapter Song: Quagmire - Satin Puppets

Series Masterlist

Thayhelm passes almost as quickly as Melthare, the two seasonal holidays sneaking out from nowhere like an unseen strike where once you would be on top of the yearly festivals. Perhaps if Auntie had been around, she would have had a better sense of the time around her and urged you to join her in celebration of the spiritually sound holidays. You still celebrated, only barely recognizing the Autumn Equinox on account of the spiritual vestiges that roamed around the swamp in search for nothing you could provide.

As a child Thayhelm was your favourite holiday, the spirits in the swamp came from many and took on shapes that weren’t of the prime material realm. It was as close to Fey as you could imagine without falling victim and becoming a lost and trapped soul within the cursed labyrinth of the Feywilds. The spirits often flocked to the Elder Tree, its beacon of energy attracting those roaming near like moths to candle fire.

Dead Winter Day was fastly approaching and you’ve made a point to remember to travel out to the shrine of Ornmir and celebrate. The first Midwinter you will be alone, no Auntie to help guide you through the hymns of winter and the offering you’d need to prepare. It wasn’t as though you felt incompetent, you - like the spirits that roam during Thayhelm - felt lost.

And yet, you found yourself feeling the opposite when the moon became full and Aegon would arrive on your horribly deteriorating porch — what would Auntie think? Firstly, she would go on an admonishing rant about the state of the hut which had only worsened since her departure. What once lay a stately cottage, now groaned with wood rot and crackled from the termite infestation. ‘Look after your belongings’ You can hear her reprimand in the shrill voice of your mind, as though any of the hut felt like it belonged to you.

Secondly, she would lecture you on your attachment that had grown toward Aegon over the months since meeting him, warning that things like this may be highly sought after but they were only a means to distract oneself from embracing full potential. ‘Magic makes us whole, not the inevitable absence of others’ She had once said, cryptic as Auntie was known to be, you could easily decipher that it was a warning to sway far from the whims of earthly attachments.

You reluctantly and silently agreed, magic is what made you who you are. A man who barely crossed your path months ago was not something to become attached to. But, the thought flew through your mind like a sin, a flash of wickedness and betraying the memory of Auntie — she was no longer here, it wouldn’t hurt to humour the feelings of warmth or fullness that came whenever Aegon was around..

And that is where your mind lingered, on harmless guilty pleasure. Trivial, menial things like brewing a different potion to help him sleep better after a grueling transformation under the moon or to be more mindful of cooking meals that were less of the slop that mirrored the marshy quagmires but more familiar to him. For comfort, you told yourself when the creeping feeling of embarrassment washed over as though it was foolish for thinking like this.

A knock at the door pulled you from spiraling further into the paralysis you found yourself in more frequently. A slight hiccup bloomed in your gut and heart, who could it be? A face flashed in your mind and it became clear who you wished it might be but the footsteps and the knock weren’t familiar to your ears. And the full moon had only passed a mere week ago.

Appearing, from thin air, as you so often did behind the guest on the porch and it was quite the surprise. The broad and tall Holy Knight was almost unrecognizable, but that wasn’t the cause for the feelings of unease and trouble brewing within you. His holy sigil branded on the tunic beneath his shining armour and imprinted on the cloak that swayed softly in the breeze.

“Squire boy,” you muse, teasingly. The nickname you recall Auntie used when he had visited a decade prior, he was a young man then, though now he had grown more into his features and looked regal in the armour he donned.

He turned to regard you, a steely look in his eyes and it occurred that there was no longer the boyish charm he once had when he first visited. Time had been kind to his features but not to his mind, it seemed. Repugnant religious interference had snuffed out what gratitude and reverence he had prior as he looked down on you with the same look of contempt you get from the villagers whenever you descend into the towns.

“Hag,” he sneers, it was clear he was not here for niceties anymore. Once a young man, now a Holy Knight. “Where is your elder?” His dark eyes watch you carefully meander around him, as if waiting for a chance to strike you down or even an excuse to do so.

Gods, you restrain yourself from rolling your eyes, he’s become boring.

“Gone,” shrugging lazily, you look at his greatsword, far too big to be sheathed. The pommel molded with the same sigil as his cloak and tunic. “Has the church decided to retroactively smite her for helping your master all those years ago?” You taunt, thinking that his arrival was odd enough without his dreadful aura bringing a damper to your day.

He ignores your jape, completely, eyes scanning for any signs of life in the hut. “Gone is she? Gone where?” He accuses, as if you were hiding her away or simply being dishonest about her whereabouts.

“Somewhere,” you shrug, “but not here.”

“Hm,” his jaw tightens, reaching across his body to a concealed pouch and presenting a small wicker doll. “This be your handy work then, witch?” It was made with care for the craft, no amateur could bind the twigs together with an astute precision like this but it was definitely not of your own creation. The weave pattern was unfamiliar, different than what you’d seen before. Not even Auntie’s technique looked like this.

“Afraid not dear Squire,” not even the runestone tied to the chest on the doll looked familiar. It wasn’t troubling to you however, many travelers come and go and it wasn’t the first time a witch or wizard passed through and left signs of their presence.

“You may call me Ser Criston – and how is it that Lord Visery’s suddenly falls ill, no recovery in sight and one of our lord priests finds this?” He presses, clearly trying to milk some confession from you but your resolve remains unchanged. It was benign if anything, a wicker doll could mean anything from good tidings to something as malevolent as blood magic – which you were versed in but this was not your doing.

Plainly it very well might be a targeted attack on the Lord of Oldtown, but the possibility of it meaning good health was higher.

Your shoulders rose and fell in another lazy shrug. To be perfectly honest, it seemed on par for the zealots to make something out of nothing to this degree for the purpose of fear mongering. They denounce magic as devil work and try to ignore its existence but the moment it seems targeted they are suddenly believers.

“Clearly I am an innocent, though I can sense how badly you wish to have me burnt in the city square. No evidence means no charge, even a religious fanatic as yourself can honour law. Or has your false God decided he is above law?”

He reached forward, in an attempt to grip the hem of your cloak. But as his fingertips grazed the top of your collar bone, you had disappeared in a puff of mist, materializing behind him with a grin, tisking his behaviour. “My my, your temper has risen Squire boy. Run along back to your iron castle and false god empty handed… The Witch of the Swamp has no answers for you here.”

“You may be proven guilty yet,” he spun around to face you, upper lip curled in a nasty sneer, “tell me this then – what bewitchment have you put on the Lord’s son Aegon? I was aware of his lustful escapades to the whorehouses and taverns yet he returns to the swamp. What vile deceit do you poison him with?”

Hah, you snort, face contorting into a grimace, “and you care oh so much about the little lordling? Feigning concern does not exempt you or the people for what lay in truth; He was a sinner long before he found me in the eyes of you zealots. But it is ever convenient to have a reason to blame for his frivolities, is it not?”

He nods, a faint smirk on his lips that waned into a contemptuous smile with nostrils flared, “count your days little hag, once the church finds you guilty of maleficium and magical interference you will burn in the square.” His broad torso had begun twisting as he made his descent down the rickety steps of the porch.

“If,” you say aloud, causing him to turn back, a smug smile spreads across your face that twists into a sinister snarl, “get out of my swamp.”

A threat he happily obliged.

***

The winter winds that cast down from the nearby mountainous ranges brought a merciless bite, winter had come with a vengeance and it had only been steadily getting worse. You had yet to see Aegon since the incident of the Holy Knight, Criston, who had darkened the doorstep of the hut and brought with him empty threats under the guise of religious intervention. Perhaps in the beginning, your intention with Aegon had been merely a spiteful jab at the Lord of the land and his family. Even then, your intention was to never cause death even if it would be incredibly easy to do so.

So the Lord Visery’s fell ill? That couldn’t be helped. It was in the hands of fate now whether the man lived or died. All you did was take a mere part of him, the fault should not befall you if his own wounds weren’t tended to properly because the healers were inept.

The harmonious bleating of a distant Nymphernal carries you from your thoughts, a soft reminder that while the creatures of the Swamp were friendly, you were out alone and trudging barefoot through thick marshy glades of still water. It was not quite Dead Winter Day, the midmark of winter and yet you felt a pull to the shrine of Ornmir to pay respects and present an offering. It would be the first time you would venture alone to this area of the Swamp, no longer under the guidance of Auntie who had long disappeared.

To where? That was unclear. One morning you awoke and she had simply gone.

Perhaps on another worldly pilgrimage, or perhaps to take her own life. The only indication you had ever known that this may happen is when she instructed you to not miss her if she were to ever leave. But you did.

Hidden behind the thick shield of clouds, the sun sat at her highest though her warmth nigh be felt from down below where you silently yearned for it. Though you trudged triumphantly, mud and clag squishing up between your toes and sticking to the bottom of your dress where the rips and tethers sat. The hunting song of the Stymphalian echoes through the treetops, no doubt as it prepares to descend on its prey, you were just a girl when nursing the small bird back to health, now you could only imagine the monstrous size it got to.

A local superstition cited, to hear the hunting song of the Stymphalian was a bad omen, and despite never feeding into the poppycock drivel of townsfolk, there must have been some merit to this superstition. The overgrown path that many years ago was used as a trade route between two of the smaller towns now lay abandoned and its only purpose served as the spiritual shrine of Ornmir.

Only the shrine had been destroyed. By what or who was unknown.

Perhaps the townsfolk are right, the only thought you had upon setting eyes on the blighted site. But now, it seemed, you finally had an answer for why Ornmir had grown aggressive. Only a person with intent can wrought this much destruction on a stone and wood shrine, but that hardly narrowed down the culprit.

That afternoon you spent silently restoring the shrine back to its original form, proving to be more difficult than initially thought but your resolve strengthened despite it. Blood Magic came easy. Green Magic, even easier. Mending spiritual monuments to appease a now wrathful spirit? Harder than one would think.

When you finished and bowed your head, the sun began waning and with it; her light. With darkness approaching it was wise for you to return to the hut, yet your feet carried you elsewhere. An unseen feeling tugging at you in the form of soft incomprehensible whispers. You weren’t being bewitched that was clear, you could still control yourself but the feeling was one that couldn’t be shaken.

In the distance, another hunting call from the Stymphalian cawed tauntingly.

Urgently, you walk through the swamp, a feeling of light distress that felt foreign as though it weren’t your own. The thrumming drone of the tree drowned out your own heartbeat and singled in on an anomaly, as you drew near it became clearer what– who the anomaly was.

“Aegon?” You whisper softly, a hand bracing the trunk of a tree as your eyes cast downward on the man in a curled up position. Hardly recognisable and it wasn’t on account of the muck that covered him from head to toe or his ripped clothes. His torso was grotesquely hunched, spine malformed and breaching through the skin similarly to his limbs that disproportionately elongated, causing the skin to tear.

His eyes, though, remain the same as they look up at you, beading with tears. You drop to your knees and understand immediately what’s happened, and partially blame yourself for not warning him that this would happen some way or another. This soon though? Was what caught you off guard.

You place a gentle hand on his arm, “this will be greatly uncomfortable, I apologise.” A string of words fall from your lips in a hiss that echoed in a whirlwind, coming from every angle and direction that encased the both of you until shrouded and the surroundings melt from the deep swamp. He cries out in pain but the strain on his vocal chords doubled over each other creating a monstrous yawp that sounded anything but human.

The swamp seemingly disintegrates from the power of your unwavering muttering, a black void filling its place for a brief time before the inside of your hut melts into the view. Your head spins for a short second, a stabbing pain following in your chest but that did not concern you nearly as much as Aegon.

“What is happening to me?” He bleats, voice strained through his gritted teeth which were more jagged and fiendish than human. His body trembled incessantly though he tried to suppress it by hugging himself, looking to you for an answer. It almost felt cruel to tell him, on top of monthly transformations and mood swings, that there was yet another caveat for this curse.

“Let me help first, I’ll take away your pain.” You promise quietly, rushing over to the cabinet collecting jars of phoenix ashes, slime mucus, hydra scales. All of them became a blur as you quickly swiped them into your arms and collected the mortar and pestle. “This… this is highly unusual to occur so early.” You murmur quietly, shakily pouring ingredients into the mortar.

He groans aggressively, chest rising and falling with each of his staggered breaths as if he were urging you to hurry up. You unclasp the obsidian dagger attached to your belt and another set of ornate tools, similar to that of pliers and look on the writhing man with sorrow, “my apologies for this, it will help I promise.” With a gentle touch you hold his hand and stretch his malformed fingers, black claws poke out of the ends where his nails would otherwise be.

Your lower lip is sucked between your teeth in a deep concentration when you settle the pliers on one claw. “What are you–” he barely pants out when you rip the nail from his finger with a brutal force, he screams out in agony and the immediate response is for him to retaliate but he can only writhe further in pain. Bones cracking harder, bellows becoming breathier.

Adding the nail to the paste marked that it was nearing ready for consumption. You had only ever seen this type of healing solution made once, and the very process of it left a scar embedded into the recess of your memory. Sparing Aegon a glance, you look at him cautiously, “I advise you to look away, this is unsightly but necessary.”

Though you do not keep a gaze on him to confirm if he watches on or not, bringing the obsidian blade to your throat and in a swift motion, slit through your throat and lean forward over the paste. The gurgling sounds made the process appear far more worse than it was, as you recall Auntie doing something similar when tasked with healing a Holy Knight who visited after losing his fighting arm in battle while you were tasked with distracting the young Squire accompanying him. Needless to say, you were unsuccessful. Auntie’s gurgled grunts and waterfall of blood forever etched into your mind, a reminder that the magic you do was part of you.

Once the mortar is filled, thick with the crimson viscous of your own blood, you place a hand over the self-inflicted wound and mutter to yourself, still gurgling through the iron tang sitting in your mouth. A witches body could handle damage tenfold so long as it were for ritual, protection or magic, as it was a vessel for said magic, every aspect of it. Torso drenched and sticky now remain the only indicator of the injury placed on yourself, not even a scar remained in its place.

Finally, mixing everything together, you smear the repugnant salve on the back of a dreamlily leaf and bring it to his lips. Though you could not blame his apprehension after witnessing the obscene display before him for not wanting to ingest the mixture you held. “Trust me, it will help.”

He was fearful, ever so slightly and his nod was almost so non-existent you nearly missed it. With a gentle hand, you begin to slowly feed it through his lips. Your other hand, despite besmirched with blood, ran softly through his once pristine silver hair to help soothe him, just as Auntie often would to help lull you after night terrors or when you fell ill. It was unusually maternal of her but it was the only way to get you to settle.

There was rescinding silence as his groans of pain ceased, one could almost mistake it as if he had passed away, but his tearful eyes with blood vessels burst highlighting the violet within them were open and looking around the hut. Physically he may be present and well, but mentally and spiritually the paste had sent him elsewhere, to a realm of existence that exceeded physical barriers like pain. The husk of his body remained, vulnerable to anything including yourself which is why you set off around the hut to cast protective wards, sparing him several glances as you did so.

***

A vast void thrumming with echoes of magic assaulted your senses. It was jarring. Everywhere you looked there was nothing. Inside the centre of a dying star. Within the core of the prime realm. Imbedded inside the darkest pit of the underdark. Neither of those were quite right, no, the airy feeling as though you were made from gas indicated otherwise. Dreamlike as the sensation was, it was anything but. You were trapped deep within your mind, a hidden pocket dimension tucked away and concealed by magic that was not your own.

“Auntie?” Your voice carried on, repeating for what seemed like leagues ahead of where you stood into the bottomless and endless void. The sound of magic rippled and cracked, like vines being snapped, the volume of it causing you to cringe and cover your ears. Is this what being consumed by magic felt like? At its very core, is this where your magic lie within?

Though no answer to your thoughts or calls. Just you and the Void. It was surreal, a surge of fear shot through you like a jolt of electricity. Am I stuck like this? The sensation, the oppression of it all felt overwhelming. Am I dead? You begin to think and wonder if during your slumber Aegon or someone else ended your life—

“Bramble.”

The softest whisper, distorted through the shadowy abyss. Though it bounced all around and was difficult to pinpoint the direction of its origin. Left? Right? Up? Down? Perhaps there was one God after all, and this was the eternal punishment for blasphemy and devil craft.

”Bramble.”

Much clearer was the voice now, to the right, you affirm and feel yourself move though you do not appear to walk, merely you just are heading right. And though the void felt all encompassing all at once, there was loneliness stowing away within — the voice was not an indication that someone was close.

”Bramble.”

It was right behind you now, like a vacuum of space and time that pulled and ripped you from the chasm of oblivion. Blinding light searing deep into your eyes along with the acrid smell of familiarity binding you to the prime realm once again. Eyes of an angel come to vision, a battle beaten face of someone who must be of celestial ancestry but the unmistakable violet colour of the eyes say otherwise.

The voice pulling you from limbo belonging to the very creature before you. No longer the monstrous amalgamation of man and beast, but a light at the end of a cavern, ascending you from the deepest crevasse within your mind. His very being a beacon of hope coiled within the remnants of a broken man, and you begin to think for the first time that fate has intertwined the two of you somehow for this feeling to be so pure.

His face is close, commanding your field of view but even without him doing so you could tell very clearly that the void was no more and you had returned to the present realm.

”You ‘lright then?” He says before leaning back into the bed, his expression one that could be either concern or inconvenience it was hard to tell. The dark circles under his eyes looked as bad as the ones you felt under your own eyes. Sleep clearly evading you both.

“Yeah,” You softly utter, clearing the collating gunk from the bottom of your throat with a cough. The windows displayed a distinctly dark bog from the outside though it was difficult to tell if only a few hours passed or if a whole day had passed. “You’re back to normal,” it felt less like a comforting observation and more like a jipe considering he would never be back to normal. But, you supposed this was to be his new normal.

He laughs dryly, wincing while shuffling to a spot of more comfort, seemingly like he read your mind and was inclined to agree with you. “Your eyes… did this strange thing. Like there was light trapped inside you, wanting to get out… I thought for a moment divine intervention happened and your soul was being exercised.”

A laugh escapes your lips, “piety does not suit you very well.” Your eyes graze along his body, inspecting for any signs remaining of his partial transformation. The clothes that lay on him were barely holding together, his torso might as well be laid bare and his pantaloons left nothing to the imagination. Your scrutinizing gaze must have made him uncomfortable as he seemed to flush red with embarrassment and cover himself with the thin blanket.

Sighing, you stand up, his gaze following you carefully and curiously. He did this often, everytime he would arrive for the full moon and the two days that followed he did a lot of watching. At first you thought you disliked the constant eyes, peering over your shoulders or beneath the kitchen table but the longer he did it, the less it felt like surveillance and more just curiosity.

You return to him with two identical bottles in hand, wax sealing the corks at the opening to prevent them leaking but also to prolong the viscous liquids effects. “Take these back with you when you go, it’ll help,” placing them on the table, your fingers linger over them for a moment, “do you know what happened… yesterday?”

His head falls back against the pillow, staring up at the various dried herbs dangling from the ceiling, “I have an idea… I was transforming, wasn’t I? Is that — that’s not normal, is it?” His eyes dart around the hut, craning his neck to watch you by the hearth heating up a cauldron.

“Somewhat,” you answer quietly, the heat from the fire encasing you in a warm caress before abandoning it to return to Aegon’s bedside, a hot cloth in hand. “To suffer under the curse of the Lycan is to surrender body and soul to the beast. The moon commands you yes… but there is a beast within you, and if controlled properly can extend to hybrid forms that don’t require the full moon's command.”

“But… I didn’t have control,” his eyebrows crease together, “I was… I was angry. My mother… she —,” he stopped himself, the look that fell from the frown pressed into his lips to the creases on his forehead indicated it wasn’t something he wished to speak about, and it wasn’t something you wished to press him on so you nod silently.

With the steaming cloth in your hand, you softly begin to pat away at his forehead, gently removing the dried up flecks of blood after the day prior’s harrowing ordeal. “A beast is quick to anger,” the saying was something you recall Auntie musing about once, though in reference to the ever grumpy crocodile that frequented its favourite sunspot by the elder tree.

“Don’t let Aemond hear you say that, he may show offense,” Aegon tiredly jested, a smile tugging at his cracked lips.

”I fear if he had been stuck with this burden then perhaps Oldtown would end in ruin,” the thought had occurred many times since that woeful night, “alas, infant lycanthropes tend to show signs of hybrid transformations after an entire seasonal rotation. It was not something I anticipated happening so soon… it will get easier over time and less painful.”

“How do you know?”

”Because that is what I do, I gather ingredients, cast spells and know things.” You smile at him, hand absently caressing his cheek above the steaming cloth and begin to wonder what it would’ve been like if fate entwined the two of you earlier than the blightful event that brought your lives together.

—— Taglist ——

(Lemme know if you wanna be tagged!)

@karlachs-soldier @serving-targaryen-realness @deltamoon666 @bogbutteronmycroissant

#imagines #imagine #fanfiction #aegon targaryen #house of the dragon #aegon ii targaryen x female reader #aegon ii x reader #aegon targaryen x you #aegon ii x you #aegon targaryen x reader

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x-manson-annotated · 4 months ago

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X-Manson Annotated Chapter 5 - Part One: INFILTRATORS.

Holy shit, the final chapter. This is where I really like a lot of concepts. The Avengers make a proper appearance and everyone's favorite sapphic Carol Danvers has a shitty time. See the reblogged version for the rest of it, since Tumblr has a limit on only 30 images.

If i'm not mistaken, this places the year that Kitty is watching the documentary as 2000 whereas before it said "Present Day" or "Today" . This places Kitty and Dani at probably 23 and 26 respectively.

**Dwight Hammer, like all cops is a goddamn moron.

Paid Schill.

1999 the y ear of the raid? Xavier's psychics forcing people to confess to murders that they didn't commit?

*I'm not sure if Dolores is a reference to someone special or just a filler character.

**I don't know why the spelling of her name with the 'e'. I've looked at multiple versions of the story and that detail remains in all of them.

**ALIENS EXIST IN THE CULT AU.

Motherfucking Carol Danvers!

*I'm not totally sure if that's something Supergirl used to be like.

** Rogue. I'm not sure who the intelligence agency is, since SHIELD seems to be a known quantity in the world.

*** That isn't really a thing she's known for either.

*Carole uses that very insistent phrase "the Kree that fucked me up". In the comics, she gained her abilities from an explosion that mixed her DNA with Mahr-Vel. So, is it possible in this au the Kree intentionally experimented on her?

**Pretty green eyes convince Carole Danvers that Rogue isn't a tech. Gay as hell behavior, champ.

***Further gay behavior. Much less traumatic loss of her powers as opposed to what happened to her in the comics.

*This is referencing her lesbianism within the story. I don't know if this is Benway's potentially homophobic perspective on Carole's sexuality, or if it's meant to be a purely in-universe sense of present homophobia.

Rogue's Mom, Destiny is being a cryptic old biddy. She's present twice the story, but Mystique isn't. Maybe she died a while back after some encounter with the cult, resulting in Rogue being sent in as an agent. But, that's just my headcanon.

*See.

**Rogue gave Carole a type.

**Why didn't she decay? Because of Carole's powers?

***Destiny was able to see that Carole was going to fuck her shit up by kissing Rogue's corpse, but not that Rogue would get murdered? Like, c'mon, that's your daughter.

*I might be right.

**I'm so fucking sick of Vance taking every single incorrect lesson from his life. Of course, she was angry, Vance. She was in near-constant pain, you unbearable prick.

***Probably doesn't help that she was being cryptic about what happened.

*I still love how angry he is with American spy agencies.

*Possibly this universe's version of Freedom Force?

Xavier loaning out cult members for odd jobs?

*Sorry HOXPOX fans, Moira isn't a mutant.

**So that's where they're potentially filling up their ranks?

***My immediate thought was Gambit both because of the title and the New Orleans connection. This might also be Amahl Farouk, who has a history of employing pickpockets, but he was based in Egypt. Though, I don't want to discount him totally because of my biased headcanon.

*Tracking the cult's activity from the ground up. But, how is the cult going to all of these places constantly? How far spread are they outside of Westchester?

** Nice to know that Black Tom exists in this au. Hope he and Cain have a summer cottage together somewhere on the coast where they can grow old together, far away from any of this cult horseshit.

Spain

Morocco

Romania

Hungary

Yugoslavia

Westchester, New York.

So, Sean was likely trying to infiltrate them after making contact in Yugoslavia and then ended up being inducted into the cult, proper.

That is so goddamn scary it's unreal.

*was their a psi on the isles manipulating the local Interpol agents? Can Xavier or Cable stretch their influence that far?

*Rahne Sinclair

*I just now noticed that Terry in this story is eleven. My god. That's an especially horrifying ordeal at that age.

*if Sean was pleading, it's possible that either they didn't have him under psychic control yet (not coring him) or the distance allowed the connection to break. But who else is with Logan that's coercing Sean into action?

*She could tell almost immediately that Rahne was a mutant and not some kind of freakish dog.

The river to confuse Logan's tracking ability?

*Rahne's home in the woods.

*They don't see her transform in the dark, but she can take on a human or at least human adjacent shape. Rahne Sinclair is a saint.

First Voice, Unknown.

Second Voice, Logan.

*My first instinct was that this is Sean, but Moira would have clarified if it were. Maybe it's Cable or Piotr?

**Rahne can take on a human shape, but is functionally feral and cant understand human language.

*Logan's voice again.

**Cars everywhere. Some of them look burned. Sunfire? Is the second voice Sunfire?

*Christ alive, they massacred ten whole police officers and special forces agents.

Logan sticking around to threaten the family by leaving shreadded vehicles around? Why not murder them?

#marvel #fanfiction #x men #xmen #x men 97 #annotations #x-men #Rahne Sinclair #Theresa cassidy #sean cassidy #carol danvers #captain marvel #ms marvel #moira mactaggert #Rogue #anna marie darkholme #anna marie lebeau #fanfiction analysis

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bhaalsdeepbat · 9 months ago

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Unholy Flesh

SFW | AO3 | Baldur’s Gate 3 Word Count: 4,381

Excerpt: It was the killing fate written in the blood of the creatures that sprung from Mercy’s sculpted flesh. The sorcerer flattened their foot against the ground, stilling the rock of the chair. Mercy leaned over in the chair, the nails on their right hand growing unnaturally long and sharp. They ignored the weight of the silver chain wrapped tightly around their wrist as they held their hand out. The tips of two nails pressed against the soft skin of one the throat of one of the sleeping twins. It would have been a mercy to kill them. It would be a mercy to kill them. A/N: This is the next part of Never Love an Anchor. This chapter just establishes more of what's going on and explores the relationship my Durge has with Astarion while otw to leave the hellspawn pups on someone's doorstep. This is a totally self-indulgent au where I wanted to explore nontraditional family structures bc these two idiots are not raising these kids. CW: Accidental Pregnancy, Cryptic Pregnancy, Traumatic Birth, Gore, Blood, General Durge Shit, and they talk about infanticide but,,,,clearly these babies are making it

The evening was calm. The night air provided a cool comfort against Mercy’s warm cheeks as they waited on the cottage porch. The sorcerer was wrapped in their cloak. Dark, loose tendrils of black fabric on the front draped across their shoulders and around their neck, its warm lining soft against their freckled skin. Mercy was perched in a rocking chair, its wood creaking with each push of their dark boot against the ground. Beside the sorcerer, the twins were swaddled in soft blankets, each in a different color to differentiate the little shits. The wrapping was still messy, the blanket tails tucking out where the vampire spawn and the sorcerer gave up trying to figure out the art of swaddling an infant.

It had been two days since the birth, and Mercy was still struggling to comprehend everything that happened. They had no idea they were even pregnant when Mercy had arrived at the cottage with Astarion. It was meant to be a small break to recuperate from the adventuring that occupied a majority of their time together.

What was meant to be a reprieve quickly turned to shit.

The sorcerer hadn’t felt well the day they went into labor. They were exhausted, bone tired, and their stomach churned uncomfortably, but Mercy initially brushed it off as one of the many symptoms plaguing them since their addled mind and broken body were toys the Gods played with, then discarded like trash.

Mercy could never forget the fear of having their body taken from their control, but the years put enough distance for the memory to lose some of its edge. Dulled by time and new memories filling the cracks in their addled mind, the birth of the beasts sharpened the echo of their powerlessness to a point and stabbed them deeply in the gut with a goading twist. As their heart ached with the betrayal of their own body’s failure to warn them, they were reminded that they were always meant to be simply a vassal, never quite in control of their own body, let alone their own future.

The last few years were a taste of true autonomy. Mercy and Astarion had traveled across Faerun, both hungry to see the world once denied to them. They went where they wanted when they wanted, traveling in the cover of darkness without a plan, and without the threat of Bhaal punishing them for straying off his intended path. The couple tried to be heroic, two beasts unleashed, stalking the other monsters of the night who harnessed their own power against the innocent.

However, Astarion and Mercy were also the chaos in the night, causing brawls in the bustling taverns, robbing unsuspecting patriars stumbling drunk through the streets, and generally lying their way into a free room to hide from the sun in. It was a life lived freely, a life the sorcerer was growing used to, putting distance between themself and their past.

Mercy was stupid to think their life would ever be fully free of Bhaal’s influence.

The sorcerer’s blood was quiet, free of the compulsion of their blood whispers, but the same intrusive thoughts accompanied their hard won freedom, a reminder that they were sculpted from divine flesh. Mercy could feel Bhaal’s essence taunting them where it lay dormant in the twins. The sorcerer may have escaped his leash, but not the curse of their unholy flesh. Bhaal rescinded his blood inheritance, but it would seem he still had use for Mercy’s body.

The sorcerer watched the infants slumbering in their makeshift crib. Mercy’s eyes narrowed as they lifted a hand to touch the scar marring the right side of their face. They traced the line from the corner of their eye, dipping beneath the blue iris and curving down across their cheek. They couldn’t remember much from before, but they could remember their own twin sister’s face the night their own Urges first stirred.

Their sister’s necklace - a silver chain holding a ruby the shape of a teardrop - felt heavy where it was wrapped around their right wrist. It was a souvenir from their duel with their sister destined by blood. It was a destiny doomed to repeat, trapping the Bhaalspawn in a vicious cycle of violence and death that would never garner them Bhaal’s favor.

It was the killing fate written in the blood of the creatures that sprung from Mercy’s sculpted flesh.

The sorcerer flattened their foot against the ground, stilling the rock of the chair. Mercy leaned over in the chair, the nails on their right hand growing unnaturally long and sharp. They ignored the weight of the silver chain wrapped tightly around their wrist as they held their hand out. The tips of two nails pressed against the soft skin of one the throat of one of the sleeping twins. It would have been a mercy to kill them.

It would be a mercy to kill them.

Mercy’s jaw clenched as they pulled their hand away, hand returning to normal. They pulled it against their chest, then leaned back in the chair, putting distance between them and the Bhaalspawn.

The memories of the birth were laced with the aroma of life and death, permeating with the heavy scent of blood. Mercy could smell it, as though they were still on the makeshift bed of sheets, bleeding out in front of the dying fire, their wretched brain struggling to stay connected to their suffering body. They were alone.

They were scared.

As they delivered the first child, the sorcerer screamed and sobbed, a choice with their body once more taken from them. It was an anguish momentarily stifled when they had been sure the little girl, a tiefling with a tail just like Mercy’s, had arrived stillborn. The relief was quickly devoured by the pain and surprise of the twin ready to claw her way into the world. The second girl - more Elf than Tiefling - had the sorcerer’s talons, nails distended into hard, unnatural points.

There was so much blood.

A firm hand on their shoulder shook Mercy from the grip of their disconnected memories, forcing them back into the body that had failed them, and back into the moment. The sorcerer tensed, electricity sparking in their hand defensively. Their lips turned down into a snarl as they turned their gaze toward the man now standing beside them.

Astarion’s thick brow arched, but he kept the hand on Mercy’s shoulder. He rubbed it with his thumb, soothing out the tension with the familiarity. The sorcerer slowly lowered their raised hackles, relaxing into the comforting touch. They averted their gaze, the blue electricity around their hand discharging with the flashes of three motes of light.

“What are you doing?” Astarion’s voice was level, lacking any of his usual theatrics and laced with exhaustion. Dark circles darkened his tired, sunken eyes. His eyes were dull, lacking the usual light reflecting from his piercing gaze. His angular face was gaunt, the hard lines etched with equal parts concern and frustration that followed him since he found Mercy half dead on the floor of their home.

Worry knitted Mercy’s brows together, chest tightening with shame. They pursed their lips into a tight line, searching his eyes for any sign of judgment, but all they saw was the reflection of themself. The sorcerer quickly averted their gaze.

Astarion sighed as he ran his hand across their shoulder and down their arm, drawing out the contact before he finally pulled away. “I’m not judging you,” he assured them. “I just know you wouldn't be proud of that choice.”

“Maybe, but we don’t have many other options.” The sorcerer sounded small, their voice deflated to a lower octave.

It was a conversation they had before, one the two found themselves stuck in whenever Mercy found themself spiraling in their self-doubt. Too much innocent blood stained their tainted hands for them to be useful for anything but spilling more blood. Giving life and raising it was not something suitable for hands skilled and trained in the art of murder. Their Urges were gone, but a part of them still found satisfaction in a good hunt, in feeling the life of someone who deserved it fading beneath their hand.

However, there weren’t many options for the newborn Bhaalspawn. Leaving them in the care of another would just spell disaster. The thought was accompanied by the image of their own unsuspecting adoptive parents, the young couple’s blood spilled, bodies savaged by Mercy’s adolescent hand, laid out in offering to a God that would never love them.

“There are options, though,” Astarion cut in, the heel of his boot clicked against the wood of the porch flooring as he circled around the sorcerer, then crouched down in front of them. He took their left hand in his own, holding Mercy tightly when the sorcerer refused to meet his gaze.

For a moment, Mercy let him hold their hand, the two sitting in silence as the sorcerer mulled over his words. “I don’t think you realize how slim our options are,” they finally spoke up, pulling their hand away to rest their arms on the rocking chair’s armrests. They kept their gaze lowered for a moment, then finally lifted their bright irises to meet Astarion’s.

“Please,” Astarion dragged out the word, eyes narrowing as his tone sharpened. “Don’t act like I’m being naive. I was picking through slimmer options before you even graced this planet with your presence, my love,” his voice softened, as did his gaze, as the pet name fell from his lips. “I think you’re making this more difficult than it needs to be right now.”

The sorcerer shrunk beneath the jab. They balled their hands into tight fists and glanced at the sleeping beasties disguised by the innocence of infancy. They remained silent, struggling to put their worries into words. Instead, they turned their wide, uncertain gaze toward Astarion, searching his own for anything to quell the tide of emotions storming inside.

Astarion seemed to understand whatever Mercy left unsaid. He inclined his head, lips pursing as he thought for a moment, then placed his hands on their thighs. He gave the sorcerer a comforting squeeze. “We have a plan. It’s not ideal, but it is a plan.” He paused, eyes glossing over, clearly still distancing himself from whatever fears were making a home in his husk. “Besides. If it doesn’t work out, we can always circle back.”

Mercy watched him closely, still tense, but weighing his words. It was a difficult circumstance he clearly understood, but the hope he had for their flimsy plan had the sorcerer leaning into the comfort he offered. They tugged the sleeves of their cloak down, covering the silver hanging dangerously from their right wrist, before reaching out to cup Astarion's cheeks. He closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, his cheek cold against the palm of the sorcerer's hand.

He turned his head to kiss the inside of their palm before pushing himself up onto his feet. "I was being honest when I said I think they deserve a chance. I'm not a monster." Astarion offered Mercy his hand. Once the sorcerer took it, he helped them up onto their feet. "I don't want the little beasts…but they're already here. It'd be different if we had some warning and could…nip it in the bud, so to speak."

Mercy found reassurance in the admission. They gave his hand a grateful squeeze, communicating their gratitude silently as the sorcerer turned their gaze towards the infants. "Okay…" They nodded to themself, trying to find the resolve needed to move forward. "We should leave soon, then. I don't want to waste time finding you a place to stay before the sun rises."

Astarion twirled two fingers with a playful flourish over to where their bags were packed and waiting outside the entryway. "I'm ready when you are, my love."

Mercy smiled at that, though it faltered when they spoke. "Do you want to carry them?"

Astarion's own expression went cold. "Respectfully, my dear. No. For once, I would rather carry the bags."

Mercy found themself snickering at him. They covered their mouth with their hand, hiding the smile behind their sleeve. Astarion's own expression seemed to relax as he watched them. The sorcerer found themself clearing their throat, suddenly self-conscious. "Fine. I’ll take…Tail and Talons."

"Tail and- Gods above. They're going to need names," Astarion groaned with annoyance. "Better names. Tail and Talons." He shook his head with faux haughty disapproval as he walked over to their bags and pulled out some fabric to make a wrap with.

"It works. I don't see you coming up with anything better." Mercy shrugged, brow arching with the exasperation seeping into their expression.

“Honestly, it's because I’d rather not,” Astarion cut in with an airy giggle meant to disguise his creeping discomfort.

"Well, I'm not naming them." They crouched down by the basin the infants were in and collected both in their arms, not afraid to disturb the sleeping beasts.

Astarion just chuckled, shaking his head as he held the fabric out and began to help the sorcerer secure the twins to their torso. They were a firm, cold weight against Mercy’s body. The sorcerer grimaced, shifting their weight around on their feet uncomfortably.

Astarion watched Mercy closely, focusing his keen perception on the wrap. Once he was satisfied with how secure the twins were, he folded his arms and turned his attention back to Mercy. A smug, half-smirk tugged at one corner of his lips when he met the sorcerer’s gaze. “Cute,” he quipped.

With a soft huff, Mercy rolled their eyes at him. A soft, rosy flush in their pale, blue cheeks betrayed the sorcerer’s feigned annoyance. Astarion snickered to himself as he moved to collect the two hastily packed bags. He slung one over his back before digging through one of the pouches of the other. He pulled out an amulet hanging from a gold chain. He shouldered the second bag, then offered the necklace to his partner.

The pendant was circular with a hinged cover plating the top. Mercy took the enchanted item and popped the top, revealing an interior mechanism shaped like the face of a clock. Instead of numbers, gems in different colors lined the edge of the exposed face of the mechanism. The sorcerer took a claw and gently nudged the hand at the center around, pointing it to the emerald.

“Ready?” Mercy flashed a small smile, flashing their sharp, predatory teeth.

With a firm nod, Astarion moved closer, fitting himself to his partner’s side. An arm draped loosely around Mercy’s waist. The sorcerer leaned into the touch as they gently closed the cover on the necklace. Rays of a spectrum of green lights glistened playfully from within the mechanism. The light began to extend out in pulses.

Mercy’s own magic manifested, blue electricity crackling around their body, static adding weight to the air, then discharged out in sparks that raced out and across the property, before eventually diving into the earth. Invisible lines etched beneath the property came to life, Mercy’s magic tracing the inscription until the magic circle was fully alive.

The transportation circle beneath them was bright, its blue light a beacon in the dead of the night. Astarion’s arm tightened around Mercy’s waist, pulling them tighter against him as the magic began to change the scenery around them. The dark forestline rippled, then faded away like water colors. The dark silhouette of the forest was replaced by dull brick buildings and stone walkways. The crisp, sharp scent of Autumn was replaced by the pungent aroma of city life. Baldur’s Gate sprawled out around them, filling the landscape where the forest had filled the endless expanse of the periphery of their world.

Mercy slipped the necklace around their neck. Astarion moved in tandem, easily becoming an extension of the sorcerer’s body. He gently took Mercy’s braid and guided it over the chain, then let it hang loosely behind the sorcerer. Mercy glanced at him, appreciation apparent in the momentary softness of their expression. It was quick, a moment of comfort, before their eyes narrowed and they steeled themself once more.

The pendant - a gift from Gale shortly after the gathering at Withers’s request - had placed them in front of the Elfsong Tavern. The building stood in its familiarity, almost like it was frozen in time. Ivy still crept along the gutters and draped down the wood and stone. The lively noises of mortals relishing the joys of the night filled the night air.

“Ah. The smell of home,” Astarion commented with a displeased pout, nose wrinkled. His hand twisted in the fabric of Mercy’s cloak, betraying the way his body was tensing.

Mercy patted the hand awkwardly, then settled theirs on top of his own. Mercy interlocked their fingers with Astarion’s. The sorcerer's clawed digits curled, fingertips pressing into the palm of his hand. They gave him the grace of silence, allowing him to feel whatever was beginning to stir within him, and took the lead. With feigned confidence, the sorcerer guided Astarion towards the entrance of the tavern.

Mercy pulled their hand away as they pushed the door open, then slowly pried themself from the arm wrapped around them. When he released the robe, he followed at the sorcerer’s heel. Inside the tavern, the dirtier scents of the city were replaced with the fragrance of spilled mead and stewed meat. A fire roared in a nearby fireplace, chasing away the night air and blanketing the interior in a welcoming warmth. The two caught the stray glances of a few of the tavern patrons, their eyes never lingering long on the infant sleeping against Mercy’s chest once they caught the sorcerer’s expression: a cold glare and slight curl of their lip, baring dangerously sharp teeth.

The tip of Mercy’s tail flicked with frustration as they approached the bar near the back of the building. Behind the bar’s structure, the barkeep was filling a mug with mead from a large barrel behind them. He placed it down on the polished tabletop and slid it across to a large, hardy woman enjoying the evening in solitude. When his gaze met Mercy’s, his eyes lit with recognition and a little bit of fear despite the babies strapped to the sorcerer’s body.

A smirk played at the corner of Mercy’s lips at the thrill of being feared. They sauntered over to the bar, confidence in their gait. “Good. You remember me.” They placed one arm against the bartop and flashed a shark-like smile.

The barkeep stood straight, body tensing. His eyes narrowed until his fearful gaze became a defensive glare. “I thought we were rid of you two.”

Astarion laughed, full bodied and mocking, as he laid both forearms against the bartop and leaned over. “That’s on you for being so hopeful.” He smirked, his crimson eyes shining with vicious playfulness.

Mercy glanced up at Astarion, locking their gaze with his to read whatever play it was he was about to make. They could see a playful confidence in his dangerous smile, like he was certain he knew what strings to play on the barkeep. They inclined their head, a subtle nod of understanding, before dragging their gaze, slow and deliberate, back to the barkeep. “We need a room,” they stated plainly.

The barkeep glanced between the two, then down at the infant strapped to the front of Mercy’s torso. The sorcerer’s smile faltered, a scowl threatening to twist their features as they dared the barkeep to say anything. He clearly thought twice, eyes quickly rising to look at Astarion, too afraid to meet Mercy’s gaze. “Fine. T-Two-hundred a night,” he stammered.

Astarion was quick to cut in, ready to take over. Mercy happily obliged, content to sit back and watch as the rogue began to run his mouth. “Two hundred a night for your dear old friends?”

The barkeep laughed at that, though his voice wavered, confidence only temporarily boosted before he caught sight of Mercy’s cutting glare. He cleared his throat. “Two-hundred a night or find another place to sleep.”

Astarion feigned a scandalized expression. His hand flew up to cover his heart. “You would kick the Hero of Baldur’s Gate to the street? With their newborns?” He was intentionally loud, drawing more attention than necessary, but he knew how to milk a situation for all it was worth. “Have you no heart?”

Mercy could feel Astarion’s smug satisfaction when the barkeep stammered, shrinking under stray glances from suddenly interested patrons. The barkeep glanced between the sorcerer and the rogue, then finally deflated entirely. “Fine. Gods, fine.” He turned to the keys hanging on the wall behind him. He grabbed one, then tossed it onto the counter, a little afraid to get too close to Mercy.

The sorcerer exhaled sharply, nostrils flaring with the force as they snatched up the key. “Next time, just give us the damn key,” they growled. They eyed him for a moment, delighting in the way the barkeep froze, breath caught in his throat. Mercy shook their head, snorting at the man’s pathetic display as they turned away from the bar.

Astarion waved a playful goodbye before turning on his heel and following after his partner. He reached out to grip onto the back of their cloak, keeping close as the two made their way up to the room. The weight of the beasts pressed on either side of Mercy’s being, holding them in the present when the familiar halls began to stir memories of longing, of memories of greatly missed friends and their ironclad bonds forged in the fires of circumstance.

Astarion took the key from Mercy’s hand. He glanced at the number engraved onto it, then moved ahead to guide the sorcerer. He paused outside the room with the matching number; the room that once belonged to Duke Stelmane. “Are you kidding me?” He frowned, glancing between the key and the door.

Mercy bumped his arm with their shoulder, giving him a gentle nudge. “It’s a free room,” they reminded him. “A little death in the air will make us feel more at home. It’ll be fine.”

A little laugh drifted past the smile parting his pretty lips. Astarion inclined his head as he unlocked the door. “You’re right. Silly me.” He pushed the door open, then moved to allow Mercy to enter first. “Just do me a favor and don’t drink anything you find in the room.”

“Why? A little poison in my wine could be quite the treat.” The sorcerer passed the threshold quickly, then ventured further into the private room.

The room had been cleaned and mostly refurbished, but returned to what the sorcerer assumed was the room’s prior state. Before Stelmane’s untimely demise. The stench of death that once clung to the floorboards was gone. The bloodstained boards were ripped up, replaced with fresh wood to hide the horrors that happened within those four walls. Mercy stood in the center of the room, a little surprised by how little of Duke Stelmane’s death - and of the life she lived there - remained in the room.

The click of the door’s lock sliding into place was an aberration in the silence that fell across the room. Mercy turned, attention honing in on Astarion. He was still in his own thoughts, his gaze cast down as he lifted a hand and carded his fingers through his loose curls. The strands straightened with the pull of his fingers, but immediately bounced back into their perfect coils, as though they had been untouched.

The sorcerer watched in awe, momentarily stricken by his beauty. A moment that quickly faded when they felt Tail begin to stir. Mercy’s heart stopped, gaze falling down to the little girl resting against their chest. The twins had slept through the last two days, their bodies more like little corpses than newborns. Neither of the twins had opened their eyes once since they were born. It was creepy, but Mercy was appreciative of the peace that came with the beasts’ unnatural slumber.

The sorcerer exhaled their relief when Tail fell still. Mercy’s shoulders slumped under the weight of the children hanging from them. “Fuck…that was close.” They rolled their neck, then turned their attention back to Astarion.

Astarion was watching just as closely, only relaxing when Mercy caught his gaze. He dropped both bags to the ground. “Well, then…” He pursed his lips with a brief pause. “Would you like to get some rest before sunrise?”

“No. I can’t wait until sunrise.” Mercy’s brows furrowed, restlessness creeping under their skin as they looked down at the sleeping Tail. The sorcerer couldn’t wait any longer. Two days with their thoughts had been enough and they were ready to pounce into action.

Astarion blinked slowly, a little rattled by what he couldn’t decide was fearlessness or stupidity. “May I suggest not waking an owlbear while it's sleeping?”

“You may, but I’m not guaranteed to consider the input.” Mercy extended out a hand with their palm facing up. “The key.”

Stupidity, Astarion decided with a pause, then produced the key from his pocket. He curled his fingers around theiron, holding it against his palm as he set his closed knuckles against Mercy’s outstretched hand.

“If you’re going to be impatient, I am coming along.” He released the key, then moved to press his palm flat against Mercy’s. He laced their fingers together. “Better odds for you if she has two targets of her ire.”

“Fine.” Mercy sighed, but acquiesced. They leaned over, giving the back of his hand a quick, grateful kiss, then turned their hands over so the weight of the key fell into Astarion’s palm. The sorcerer withdrew their empty hand, arm falling to relax at their side. “If you’re joining me, make yourself useful and take Talons.”

“Ugh.” Astarion’s face scrunched dramatically with his visible discomfort. Despite the theatrics, he wasted no time circling around his partner. He carefully unwrapped the child anchored to Mercy’s back, lifting the small waist and cradling it awkwardly against his chest. He kept his mirthless gaze on the sorcerer. “Jaheira is not going to be happy about this.”

#astarion #astarion ancunin #the dark urge #durge #durgestarion #fanfic #bg3 #bg3 fanfic #never love an anchor #bat writes #in which durge has to go home with their tail between their legs to tell their new mother what happened #AND TO PLEASE FIX THIS BECAUSE DURGE CANNOT

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twistedwonderlandsimps · 2 years ago

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WAIT WHYS CRYPTID YUU SO MAD AT AZUL

YES SOMEONE FINALLY ASKED! Anon's referring to this, btw.

Okay, okay, okay so…!

To explain this, Cryptid!Yuu isn’t mad at Azul simply because that isn’t Cryptid!Yuu.

That’s @a-little-lostecho's oc/twstsona/yuusona whom we refer to as Headmaster Lost. He’s the Ramshackle Housewarden in the CCAU lore.

What’s CCAU? CCAU stands for the Cryptic (or Cryptid) Cottage AU, a TWST AU.

To make a long story short, Ramshackle is known to be the Cryptid Dorm in this AU, with Headmaster Lost being the Dorm Leader, and those who live in Ramshackle are considered cryptids for reasons.

Just imagine multiple Cryptids!Yuus but with different personalities, backgrounds, and life experiences living in it. That’s kind of the essence of it with a little more on the side.

As to why Headmaster Lost was mad at Azul for bribing his dorm members/the cryptids? Eh, why don’t you send some asks in the CCAU blog to find out. :D

#ask #cryptid cottage au #ccau #twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland au #twst au #ramshackle #go check it out nyehehehe #it's a fun passion project :D

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wait-still-rendering · 2 years ago

Text

here is an unfinished soriku fairy tale au i may never finish so im posting it here. and it’s not every realistic, but whatever. goodnight everyone

The rigid reign of Xemnas did not bring prosperity to the land. Riku, his bastard son, knew this. Riku also knew if he stayed within the confines of the castle any longer he’d continue living a miserable existence consisting of harebrained nobles and their furtive glances. Lastly, Riku knew there was no way out of the watchful gaze of his father, bastard son or not.

Riku sat under the veranda admiring the gardens as gray, thunderous clouds began closing in. The rain that came soon after was every bit as stormy as Riku thought it would be, but he didn’t race indoors to the safety of the castle walls. He stayed put.

He learned at an early age that crying brought nothing but trouble and he wouldn’t dare give Xemnas the satisfaction of seeing him at his weakest. The best he could do was simmer in the gardens.

“What’re you doing out here in a storm?” Riku stiffened and turned to see a boy around his age—maybe younger—with spiky brown hair and ocean blue eyes staring at him.

“What are you doing here?” Riku arched an eyebrow.

“I asked you first.” The mystery boy leaned forward, smiling.

Riku examined the boy’s clothes. They weren’t elaborate by any means, but he also did not don the clothes of a servant. He mentally checked off visiting noblemen. A nobleman would not hold himself the way the boy did. He wondered, briefly, if this was another one of Xemnas’ spies. If he was, he was bold.

“I like rainy weather,” Riku answered cryptically, his face hidden by a wall of stoicism.

The boy with the strange clothes let out a laugh. “I’m Sora.” Sora held out his hand for what seemed to be a long stretch of time but in reality was only a few moments. He dropped his hand.

“Riku.” A loud clap of thunder followed after.

“Okay, Riku. Tell me, are you unhappy here? In this situation, I mean.”

Riku narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“Because I’m here to help.” Silence. “I’m an assistant to the Fairy Godmother. Actually, I’m only one of her assistants. I help her with cases she can’t get to,” Sora explained. “Like yours.”

“So I’m a pile of leftovers.” It came out more of a statement than a question.

“Of course not! She just has a lot of people to help, but forget about that. I’m here and we’re gonna find your one true love.” Sora pounded his chest with his fist once and gave Riku a toothy smile.

“What?” Riku sputtered out in alarm. His question was left unanswered.

Sora pulled out a long stick with ornate designs etched into it and waved it around. A hint of a smile formed on Riku’s face before he caught himself. Swirls of silvery-blue magic circled around the two of them and seconds later they found themselves in a quaint house with a large amount of discarded books sitting in the middle of the room.

“Lost again, Sora?” A man wearing the garments of a wizard looked up from his book.

“Oh, uh, sorry, Merlin,” Sora apologized. “Still getting the hang of teleportation magic.”

"I see." He gave a little wave to Riku. "Best be on your way, boys." Before Riku could get in a single word, Merlin waved his wand and poof, they were gone.

Fairy Godmother's cottage was homey and much neater than Merlin's house. She smiled, a twinkle in her eyes and ushered Sora and Riku inside.

"Got lost, dearie?" she asked as she bustled around the kitchen.

"Yeah." Sora sighed.

The rain followed them, it seemed.

"Oh, you'll get the hang of it one day, Sora. Hello, Riku. I'm Fairy Godmother."

"Hello." Riku bowed. His eyes glazed over, still processing everything that had just happened.

"Kairi! Ventus!" Fairy Godmother called. Two figures rushed down the stairs, stumbling. When Riku looked over all he saw was an assortment of limbs. "Did you push Ventus again, Kairi?"

"...No." A girl with red hair untangled herself from the boy who Riku could only assume was Ventus. She rubbed her head.

"Kairi," Fairy Godmother admonished.

"Well, he brought me down with him this time." Her shoulders sagged as she turned to glower at Ventus.

"If we go down, then we go down together,” Ventus said, jumping up and dusting off his clothes.

"Shut up, Ven." She got up herself, ignoring Ventus’ hand.

"Kairi!" Fairy Godmother placed her hands on her hips.

"...Sorry."

“Would you two like to say hello to our guest?” Fairy Godmother went back to whatever concoction she was making.

“Hi, I’m Ventus, but you can call me Ven.” He reached out his hand, but Riku didn’t take it. “Man, what is up with everyone today? Something must be in the air.”

Kairi waved. “And I’m Kairi. Do you have a name?”

“Yeah,” was Riku’s noncommittal reply.

“So, what is it?” she asked before Sora could jump in.

“Riku.” He turned to Sora, noting how he hadn’t said a word since his exchange with Fairy Godmother. Strange.

Suddenly, it all sank in. He wasn’t within castle grounds and Xemnas was nowhere to be seen. The colors were suddenly too bright against the darkened skies peaking through the windows, but Riku steadied himself. Emotion was weakness and Riku wasn’t weak. Instead he focused on the smell of spices and not the fact that he had practically been kidnapped. Surely Xemnas would send out a search party and they would find Riku quickly enough. It didn’t bring him any comfort.

“You okay, Riku?” Sora’s eyes were filled to the brim with concern and if Riku was a different person, he’d say yes and explain that whatever was happening right now was too much to handle, but he said none of that.

“I’m fine.” Sora didn’t look convinced, but didn’t push further.

Later, after dinner and the lively antics of Ventus and Kairi, Riku found himself in the guest bedroom as Sora babbled on and on about fairies and other magical beings.

“Fairy Godmother is at the helm of happily ever afters, but there’s also the three fairy sisters, Flora, Fauna, and Merryweather. Merlin isn’t exactly a Fairy Godfather, but he is a wizard. You remember him, right? Pointy hat and beard?”

“Yeah, we were in his house an hour ago,” Riku said flatly.

“Heheh, right.” Sora scratched the back of his head. “I, uh, I’m sorry.”

“For what? Kidnapping me?” Riku leaned against the wall, his arms crossed as he surveyed the room. Again, it was quaint, with baby blue paint, a bed, a closet, a dresser and some drawers. The room was passable, he supposed.

“Is that a smile I spy?” Sora clasped a hand onto Riku’s shoulder. “I guess you’re not completely heartless.” A pause. “And, uh, yeah. I probably should’ve asked you if you wanted this or not before whisking you away. Sorry about that.”

The small smile fell from Riku’s face at Sora’s mention of it, but he didn’t remove Sora’s hand from his shoulder. Something warm nestled its way into Riku’s stomach.

“I don’t smile.”

“Pffftt. Okay, Riku.”

Later that night, Riku found himself gazing out the window toward the stormy night.

#kingdom hearts #kingdom hearts fanffic #kingdom hearts fanfiction #soriku #soriku fanfic #soriku fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #kh sora #kh riku #fairy tale au #i have the notes on how i wanted to end this too #like i wanted it to be like 10k

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bruciemilf · 2 years ago

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(Lol oops) The streaming AU: Bruce's kids finding the stream & eventually sending random cryptic messages not via the stream but via the Batcomputer comms, or Alfred's footsteps echoing oddly around the cave/random water drops or wind howling & the stream watchers all wonder where the heck Bruce is & it becomes A Thing to try & figure out...

OOOOO MY GOD I ABSOLUTELY ADORE THAT - the batkids watch his streams religiously and you can't change my mind;

the first time bruce get a message he's a weird mix between dumbfounded and happy, and he makes the mistake of smiling on camera because he gets FLOODED with thirst after

People literally send him money to smile more and he panics, " Um, please don't do that, I am a literal billionaire and we don't need or deserve more money" he always refounds any donations back and hacks into their bank accounts to leave something extra, wink wink

Imagine you're dick grayson and you're just scrolling through twitter. Thousands of people have your dad's smiling face as their icons and make thirst posts about him. You combust In a million little atoms on sight

His posting schedule is rare due to Batman, but there's been occasions where he'd have a stream with bruises or bandages and he needs to come up with believable excuses, " Um. I got mugged?"

Some people think Bruce is literally streaming from a box. Or a tree house in the woods, because he fits a " goth cottage core" aesthetic.

He also has MCR and Nirvana playing in the bg almost every time. He always says " Thank you Al" when Alfred brings him snacks in that soft spoken voice.

He's the internet's White Boy Of The Month and the batkids must suffer

#batman #batfamily #dick grayson #batdad #bruce wayne #soft bruce wayne #battinson #asks!!!!!#streaming au

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zachsreaderinserts · 4 years ago

Text

sleepy boys inc x gn!teen! reader headcannons

trying something new! i like bbs and all, but i wanted to write for other youtubers! lemme know if yall wanna see more content like this lol.

this takes place in a minecraft au!!! also, mentions of bad parenting/abusive parents

wc: 2,319

okay the sleepy boys

chaos incarnated, all of them. you can’t deny it

so, when tommy invites a friend from a local village, at first, everyone else is skeptical. since when has tommy made a friend who didn’t hate him within 20 minutes from all the screaming and insults he spewed?

unlike his friends, phil is more excited than anything. though he isn’t tommy’s dad, he feels like it sometimes, so he really wants to meet this new person who has caught the youngest’s attention

techno is very much not on board. he has a hard time trusting people at first glance and having been friends with tommy for the longest, he knows that tommy readily jumps the gun and attempts to befriend literally anything just because he can

and wilbur? indifferent for the most part. yes, he feels the need to make sure tommy is protected and cared for, but he also recognizes that this situation is out of his hands. the best he can do is hope that their friend isn’t an absolute asshole

so, it’s saturday. all three men are sitting on the couch in phil’s cottage, talking amongst themselves as they wait for tommy to come back. techno makes a joke about murdering them, which leads to phil scolding him about his violent tendencies

“you haven’t even met them yet, techno, what the fuck.”

wilbur is simply adding fuel to the fire, making little remarks here and there and watching the whole thing escalate to phil lecturing the piglin hybrid.

because of this, not one of them had noticed that tommy returned, with his newest friend. they both stopped at the sight of phil in dad mode, tommy considering just turning around and taking his friend as far away as physically possible

too late, since techno’s sixth sense made him whip around and stare at the newcomer. this made phil stop lecturing and wilbur quit giggling long enough for tommy to introduce his friend

after saying their name, the friend lifted their hand shyly, face burning from slight embarrassment. their other hand was latched onto tommy’s, feeling intimidated.

can you blame them? the fucking blood god looks like they wanna skewer them and cook them over a campfire.

tommy took notice of their shyness and cleared his throat, “we were planning on going to the carnival in their village if you three assholes feel like tagging along.”

like there was any way they were gonna let tommy and his friend go out without chaperones.

tommy turned back to his friend, “give me a second, i’m gonna go grab my sword just in case.” and proceeded to run up the stairs and towards the guest bedroom in phil’s house that he claimed.

the millisecond he was out of earshot, techno grabbed his friend by the front of the shirt.

“what are your intentions with tommy?”

the friend blinked once, twice, then bit back a smile. “you’re asking that as if i’m about to date that motherfucker.”

this time, it was wilbur who bit back a grin of his own. who would’ve expected the originally shy kid to have replied like that????

techno’s brain short circuited and his grip on their shirt loosened slightly. did.... did this kid just brush off his question???

“can you put me down? you’re gonna stretch my shirt.”

techno’s brain blinked back into focus and he gripped the kid’s shirt harder, shoving them against the nearest wall. “i asked a question, kid.”

“you know, tommy told me something like this would happen. i’m glad i came prepared.” and then, tommy’s friend sucked in a deep breath. techno leaned back, expecting the worst...

“MWISTER TECHNWOBWADE, PWEASE PUT MWE DOWN BEFWORE I SCWEAM”

oh god, this was far worse than anything he thought of.

he dropped the teen out of disgust more than anything, reeling backwards. if there was one thing that haunted his dreams, it was uwu-speak.

phil started howling of laughter, clutching his stomach and hunching over. originally he was going to stop techno from threatening a literal child but this outcome was so much better than anything he was anticipating

wilbur was no better, already tearing up from how hard he was snickering. he started choking on his own spit at one point, smacking his arm against the couch.

tommy was so fucking confused when he came back down the stairs, seeing the mayhem that was, for once, not caused by him. he glanced at his friend, who had the world’s biggest shiteating grin.

yeah, they were gonna fit in just fine.

and they did! phil took them under his wing (both physically and metaphorically) and allowed them to come visit his home whenever they wished. and whenever they did, phil was the first to ask how they’ve been and what they were up to

to phil’s surprise, the kid was overall calm in their choice of activities. things like playing soccer or drawing or figuring out how to learn instruments in their free time. it seemed like they were desperate to get their hands on anything and everything just to learn

he found it funny, though, when their chaotic side shone through. they easily were on tommy’s level when they got into that headspace and it was so hilarious to him.

his favorite memory of the kid was when they walked into the house and marched right up to where techno was reading idly in the corner. planting their hands on their hips, they spoke.

“if you were to fuck a clone of yourself, would it be masturbation or would you be considered gay?”

phil, who was washing the dishes six feet away from them, just about crumbled into a ball on the floor from how hard he was laughing and sobbing.

of all questions, that was the one that came out.

but he had no idea that the chaos was a coping mechanism. he just thought they were naturally like that in their free time.

he soon found out the truth when they came home with tommy, who was cursing up a fit, visibly angry. his friend was slumped over, as if trying to hide themselves from the world

when phil asked what had happened, tommy exploded.

“their fucking dad took all their money from their savings! said he needed it more than them and when they asked for it back, he called them a fucking disappointment! that fucking bitch--”

phil can count very few times when he felt true anger and he can confirm that when tommy had told him what had gone down, he saw red.

but he knew better than to outwardly show it. judging by how hunched over and defeated the kid was, what they needed was a stable support system

so he walked over and shut tommy up with a hand on his shoulder, “why don’t we take the rest of the night to build up that game room you wanted in the basement. i’m sure if we knock it out before techno and wil are supposed to be back, we can all play something like monopoly.”

seeing where phil was headed, tommy nodded and brushed away his anger. he knew that what his friend needed was a serious cheering up. tommy ran towards his guest bedroom, claiming that he was going to find his blocks.

phil crouched in front of the teen, tilting their head up to look him in the eyes. “you’re not a disappointment. you’re an amazing person with a chaotic joke machine going 120 kilos over the speed limit in your head and you are talented. your dad doesn’t know shit about what you’re capable of doing.”

oh boy, the kid’s crying. those are tears, full on tears.

that night was one of the best nights of their life, however. they enjoyed the entire three hour long game of monopoly where they watched the light leave everyone’s eyes. it was funny when wilbur lunged across the table when he landed on a railroad, out for phil’s blood.

speaking of wilbur, he enjoyed every minute in the kid’s presence. they often asked creative and random questions and went along with the abstract jokes he made, the two of them laughing heartily the entire time.

when the kid first mentioned wanting to learn how to play the guitar, he practically burst through the wall of the room next door, breathing heavily and exaggeratedly.

“did someone say guitar”

yeah, he’s feral. that’s canon.

they proceeded to spend the entire day in phil’s garden, each of them equipped with a guitar. despite their outwardly smooth brain and stupid demeanor, the teen was a fast learner and could play the most basic chords by the time the sun was setting.

wilbur’s favorite moment was the first night they met, when they went to the carnival. there was the game where you shoot the water and fill up the balloons and the kid was going head to head against techno and tommy.

it was when techno won that the teen turned to techno with murder in their eyes and spoke in a deadpan tone of voice,

“you’re lucky you won this time, you gentrified mayo monkey.”

wilbur’s jaw dropped, as did techno and phil’s. tommy was already in hysterics, smacking his hand against the counter that held the guns.

needless to say, wilbur found his favorite, not-quite sibling in a heartbeat.

techno was the last to come around with the child. can you blame him? every time he tried to threaten them or had beaten them at something, they would respond in a cryptic threat--

“i’m going to pee your pants if you don’t let me win”

or just brushed him off. without a second thought.

“anyways, i was murdering a chicken the other day, and the fucker had the audacity to ribbit at me.”

to say he was confused was an understatement. he was terrified of the fact that a literal child held so much power and disinterest in things like their own life. so for the first few months, he avoided them.

but he had seen past that when it was around midnight on a weekday. tommy was hanging out with tubbo and ranboo in their village miles away from the area. wilbur was out drinking with schlatt, niki, and fundy, and phil was already asleep.

techno wasn’t too far behind, sitting in front of the fireplace and staring out of the window that showed the front yard. it was only then when he saw the flash of a familiar face and looked closer as the teen walked up to the house quietly. their head was down and they carried a small bag with them.

techno opened the front door with a long creak as they reached the porch steps. it was only when they jumped and looked up in surprise that techno had noticed a deep bruise on their left cheek in the moonlight.

despite the fact that he kept away from them, techno was very protective and territorial of tommy, phil, and wilbur. and since they were attached to the teen, he became protective of them as well.

so all the voices in his head went quiet for a second. before exploding into a mixture of screams and threats, all leading back to protecting the child in front of him.

without thinking, he reached forward and cupped their face for a better view of the bruise. at the warm and soft touch, tears slipped down the kid’s cheeks and they sniffed pathetically.

the voices quickly took a 180, all screaming to take care of them. make them feel better. so, techno led the kid inside and let them spend the night in his room, with them falling asleep on the bed and him falling asleep on the rocking chair in his room.

phil did not hesitate to officially declare himself as the teen’s official father, saying that their biological father was a “little bitch”

now somewhat living with the teen, techno found an appreciation for their quieter moments, when they were reading or simply daydreaming. it was cute, in his eyes. but he also grew to enjoy when they were absolutely feral, especially toward tommy.

his favorite moment with them was when they had gifted tommy a music disc for his birthday. it was sweet and sentimental and tommy just about burst into tears when he saw it.

all of the sappiness quickly vanished when tommy put it into a jukebox.

“FUCK THIS PUSSY, BOY, FUCK. FUCK IT RIGHT, BOY--”

tommy had let out the most terrified scream and it practically engrained itself into techno’s brain. it was the first time he ever laughed at something the teen had done and the teen felt proud of themselves.

and finally, tommy. he was already happy to call himself a friend of the teen’s. they were like peas in a pod, working together.

tommy came to them when his insecurity felt heavy and they came to him whenever their dad’s words got to them. they had a nice system of dependency on one another and neither of them would trade it for the world.

tommy’s favorite moment of being friends with them was during their first birthday living in phil’s house. it was a birthday befitting their personality, with brightly color streamers hung and confetti all over the floor. he knew that they enjoyed it severely and once the cake was cut, the kid turned to phil.

“phil, where’s the big tiddy strippers i requested?”

tommy was GONE

he all but choked on his slice of cake and walked away, shaking his head while trying to stifle his giggles. but when he heard phil’s scream of “WHAT”, he just lost it.

all in all, his friend had made a fine part of the sleepy boys. they were a happy face in an otherwise somewhat bleak and dangerous world. and all four men appreciated it.

#sleepy boys x reader #sleepy bois x reader #sleepy bois inc #sleepy boys inc #sbi x reader #x reader #reader insert #teen! reader #mcyt x reader #minecraft youtubers #minecraft youtubers x reader #dreamsmp x reader

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inevitably-johnlocked · 3 years ago

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Quick question sorry if this has been asked before: do you know any Johnlock fanfic where they’re extremely sensual? Like not just making love but just super methodically drawn out and slow and sweet?

Hi Nonny!!

Ahh, because of this ask, I went through my bookmarks to see if I have any listed with “sensuality” so that’s what this list is!! It definitely doesn’t have all of my fics because I have to go back through them and tag them, but in the meantime, enjoy what I started tagging a few months ago when you sent me this ask, LOL <3

As always, add your own fics here, Lovelies!!

SENSUALITY

See also:

Emotional Love Making || [MOBILE POST]

Emotional Love Making Pt. 2

Loved. by inevitably_johnlocked (G, 1,231 w., 1 Ch. || First Sherlock POV, Slice of Life, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Nose Kisses, Morning After, Love Confessions, Morning Cuddles, Emotional Sherlock, Sentiment, Bed Sharing) – Sherlock reflects on his relationship with John. Part 5 of I-J's Tumblr Ficlet Collection

Morning Sunlight by slashscribe (E, 3,565 w., 1 Ch. || PWP, Morning Sex, Fluff, PWP, Established Rel., Soft Idiots) – A thin band of soft morning light peeks between the curtains and stretches across John’s torso, laying dormant across his forearm, dipping into the space between his arm and his chest, illuminating his right nipple but just brushing the edge of his left, disappearing into his armpit, and reappearing again right over Sherlock’s eyes where his head rests, nestled against John’s shoulder. Sherlock is not annoyed by the light’s intrusion on his sleep, not when it rests so soft and tantalizing on John’s skin, a work of unintentionally erotic art. A PWP with so much emotion.

Living Musical by VeeTheRee (G, 4,149 w. 1 Ch. || Est. Rel., Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Hobbies, Summer, Song Fic, POV Sherlock, Painting, Play Fighting, Soft Sherlock, Dancing, Love Declarations, Hair Petting, Promise of Forever) – A one-shot of John and Sherlock being domestic during summer. There is paint, fluff, and music from Imagine Dragons, namely from the album 'Speak To Me', specific song in this one-shot is 'Living Musical'. Part 1 of the Happy Fluffy Johnlock Time series

London Gods by a_different_equation (E, 11,092 w., 5 Ch. || American Gods Fusion || Magical Realism, Sex Magic, True Love, PTSD John, First Kiss/Time, Marathon Sex, Sensuality, Genie Sherlock, Human John, Internalized Homophobia, Star-Crossed Lovers, Soul Mates) – Sherlock Holmes is a jinn who does not grant wishes. However, when Dr. John H. Watson, recently returned from the war in Afghanistan, gets into his cab by "accident", it might not even need magic to grant both men their deepest wish: love.

To be loved by Strange_johnlock (E, 12,436 w., 8 Ch. || Post S3, Established Relationship, First Person POV Sherlock, Pet Names, Soft Sherlock, Mild ADHD, Protective John, Captain Watson, Body Appreciation, Bottomlock, Rough Sex, Travelling for Holidays, Introspection, Sherlock Loves John So Much It Hurts) – John is so deeply integrated into the work, both as my conductor of light, and as a great shot with a vicious right hook who tackles men -and women- no matter their size all in my defense. He protects me with all he can without question, and this loyalty is surely more than I deserve. Or: Sherlock is counting his blessings.

The Invocation of Saint Margaret by Ewebie (E, 15,831 w., 1 Ch. || POV John, Crossing Timelines, Light Angst, Fluff, Series 3 John / Series 1 Sherlock, The Matchbox, Mushy Romance, First Time, Bisexual John, Pining John, Bottomlock, Love Confessions, Sensuality, Emotional Love Making, Snippets of Time) – When Sherlock Holmes opens the matchbox from The Sign of Three and John finds himself years in the past, back to that first dinner at Angelo's with a much younger Sherlock Holmes. Is he dreaming?

Permanent Fixture by vitruvianwatson (E, 18,836 w., 9 Ch. || Post-S4, Parentlock, Slow Build, Friends to Lovers, They’re Good Parents, Blushing Sherlock, First Kiss/Time, Explicit Consent, Sexual Content, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Big Feelings, Crying, First Kiss, Fluff, Anxious Sherlock, Inexperienced Sherlock, Emotional Communication, Love Confessions) – Now, as Rosie sat curled up against Sherlock’s side, John watched and wondered exactly how he had ended up here. Domesticity had never suited him before, not at any point in his life. His disastrous marriage had been proof of that. But somehow, here in the warmth and safety of 221B Baker Street, here with Sherlock Holmes reading medical jargon to his daughter, Sherlock’s bony feet nudging against his leg, John couldn’t imagine anyplace that would make him happier.

Division by MrsNoggin (E, 19,542 w., 11 Ch. || Coffee Shop AU || First Kiss/Time, Fluff, Barista Sherlock, Clingy Sherlock, POV John, John’s Limp, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Sleepy Cuddles, Sensuality, Touching, Virgin Sherlock, Insecure John) – John likes mysteries. And every morning he dips into the local independent coffee bar with his newspaper and ponders another... one Sherlock Holmes.

Through the Clouds by Mazarin221b (E, 20,004 w., 6 Ch. || Retirement, Sussex, Bees, Home Improvement, First Time, Romance) – Sherlock takes a remarkably early retirement at 47, and convinces John that a change of pace would do them both good. They buy an old cottage on the South Downs, and exchange their nonstop life in Baker Street for quiet contemplation, bee studies, and book writing. They might go completely insane, but sometimes it takes stepping outside of the life you're living to find the life you want. Part 1 of Through The Clouds

How To Unfold a Heart by elwinglyre (E, 25,477 w., 7 Ch. || Post S4 Fix It, BAMF John, Mentioned Eurus, POV First Person Sherlock, Case Fic, Fluff, Slow Burn, Topping from the Bottom, 3 Yr Old Rosie, Introspection, Sexual Fantasies, John Worship, Ogling, Hand Holding, Kidnapping, Domesticity, Sherlock Whump, First Kiss/Time, Doctor John, Caring John, Soft Sherlock, Sensuality, Touching, Crying, Love Confessions, Anxious Sherlock, Rimming, Toplock, Fingering, Bossy Bottom John) – To Sherlock’s dismay, John’s return to Baker Street with Rosie is only temporary. Sherlock’s daily visits to Regent Park with John and Rosie illuminate his lost childhood memories and missed opportunities. But with each trip to the park, Sherlock also feels a growing sense of hope. That is until the past horrors return unexpectedly in a cryptic note folded in the shape of a heart. To decipher the message, Sherlock must uncover the nature of the hearts around him, including his own.

Lucifer's Gardens by ampersand_ch (E, 32,679 w., 12 Ch. || GERMAN VERSION || Romance, Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Murder, Poison / Drugging, Mystery, John Undercover, Academic Club, Therapy, Rituals, Jungian Archetypes, Doctors & Physicians, Grief/Mourning, Esotericism, Hospitals, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, John Falls In Love With Another Man, Jealous Sherlock, Crying, Doctor John, Hand Holding, First Kiss/Time, Mysticism, Hugging, Touching) – John goes undercover for an investigation as a favour to Lestrade in a village in Suffolk. The events surrounding the case awaken deep-seated fears in Sherlock. While John begins to come to a realisation of what he needs in Lucifer's Gardens, Sherlock tries to find a way to reach John – in more ways than one.

A Promise Made to Be Broken by PlantsAreNeat (E, 37,018 w., 7 Ch. || Fake Relationship, Pining, Slow Burn, RST, Eventual Relationship, POV Sherlock) – A young John makes an ‘if we’re still single at 40, we’ll get together’ pledge to a woman who ends up all wrong for him. She keeps reminding him of the promise, and won’t let go of it. John asks Sherlock to pose as his boyfriend at a family wedding, so as to dash her hopes permanently. Sherlock, who has at last acknowledged his feelings for John, reluctantly agrees despite knowing how painful it will be to ‘have’ John, but not keep him.

Gold Rush by ShirleyCarlton (E, 71,783 w., 17 Ch. || Post S3 / No Mary, Friends to Lovers, Mentions of Past Sexual Abuse, First Kiss, Case Fic, Slow Burn, Alternating POV, Switchlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Marriage Proposal, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Abduction, Anxious/Insecure Sherlock, Miscommunication, Emotional Lovemaking) – John has divorced Mary and pops round to 221B one evening to find Sherlock in the middle of a case. As Sherlock tries to find the identity of a young woman’s stalker, John realises he can no longer deny his feelings for Sherlock – which then, to their befuddlement, turn out to be mutual. Shy kisses and tentative embraces ensue. But will Sherlock be able to cast off a shadow from his past that he thinks might prevent John from wanting to stay?

Repairing the Broken Things by BakerTumblings (M, 75,252 w., 15 Ch. || S4 Compliant, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Trauma, Hospitals, Big Brother Mycroft, Misunderstandings, Realizations, Severe Accident, John Whump, Pneumonia, Medical Procedures, Bed Sharing, First Time, Healing, Happy Ending) – "I'm calling today to notify you that there's been an accident."

Northwest Passage by Kryptaria (E, 95,157 w., 27 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Canadian AU || BAMF!John, Canadian John, PTSD, Anal / Oral Sex, Rimming, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Drug Rehab, Falling in Love, Pining Sherlock, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Violin, Panic Attacks, Switching, Anxious / Protective Sherlock, Hugs for Comfort, Suicide Mentions, Healing Each Other) – Seven years ago, Captain John Watson of the Canadian Forces Medical Service withdrew from society, seeking a simple, isolated life in the distant northern wilderness of Canada. Though he survives from one day to the next, he doesn't truly live until someone from his dark past calls in a favor and turns his world upside-down with the introduction of Sherlock Holmes." Part 1 of Tales from the Northwest

Against the Rest of the World by SilentAuror (E, 151,714 w., 20 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-TRF, Hiatus Fic, POV First Person Sherlock, Present Tense, First Kiss/Time, Big Brother Mycroft, Escaping from Capture, Soft Sherlock, Toplock, Insecurity, Infidelity, Travelling, Introspection, Pining Sherlock, Depression, Fantasies, Yearning for the Past, PTSD Sherlock, Suicidal Ideation) – Sherlock has been away from London for nine hundred and twelve days and counting, and has no idea what sort of reception to expect when he finally returns.

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #my fic recs #sensuality #soft sherlock #soft john #Anonymous

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cafecourage · 3 years ago

Text

The moment they realized they loved you. (Isekai Au Edition) Part 1

Because this was my first time doing this I went a little crazy. If you want more information on this AU here is the Link!

Time:

- It had been welcomed with open arms.

- You two are literally the opposite but also very similar. Time is calm and stoic. You are chaotic and loud. But both of you are very cryptic.

- You’re the only person in the kingdom of hyrule currently that remembers what he had gone through. He feels like he can trust you with anything.

- It’s started with a slip up by wind and just spiraled out of control.

___________________________________

Time was discussing the groups inventory with Twilight and Wild when it happens. A small slip of the tongue followed by a laughter that could be mistaken as a fairy chime. He looked over to see your bright smile shining through under your hood. In front of you was the target of your amusement, the youngest link.

“That’s so cute!” You exclaimed to the horror of Wind, who was red in embarrassment. “Wait who’s dad?”

“Can we let this go?” The teen was covering his face now.

“It’s Time.” Four said without looking up from his book. Utter chaos broke loose in camp with just a few words. A chorus of any forms of agreement was making you laugh even harder. Time though covering up his true feelings about the situation was very lost. While yes, he acknowledged that he had slowly became the father figure of the group. That title didn’t involve you.

Unless…

“Time! I didn’t know we were married!” You bounced over to their leader looking at him with a playful smirk.

A life with you flashes in his head.

There could be a small cottage farm surrounded by the forest that reminding him of his old family and home. You could take care of the garden while he could take care the animals. In a few years the two of you might just have a few kids running around. Playing with each other without a care in the world. No more fighting. No more traveling. Just a simple lifestyle with a tight knit family. It looked peaceful. Everything he would want.

“You should have told me.” He was brought back to the present by your face looking up at him expectedly.

“I thought you knew.” He said super seriously. “We’ve got to raise nine children together already.”

“Hey! I raised you during the war old man!” Warriors called out from across camp.

“You’re the uncle then!” (Y/n) countered “I already say Twilight is our first born!” You declared pointing to Time’s flustered descendent. The rest of the conversation was tuned out as he went back to his thoughts once more.

Time lived longer than most of the heroes here by age 11. Yet not once did he stop to think about a future and family. He was so busy trying to keep out of hero work that it just slipped. Yet see you with the other heroes, knowing now that you were just as much a parental figure to the others as him. It made his softer just thinking about it and he welcomed that warm fuzzy feeling with open arms.

Reaching out he brush’s hair out of your face to kiss your temple. “I’ll propose to you properly later.” He said in a teasing tone to suggest he was only joking to hide the truth in that statement. Seeing your entire face flush red was really worth it.

“Gross Mom and Dad are flirting!”

___________________________________

- He’ll never once tell you straight if he liked you or was just playing along with the ongoing joke that the chain has.

- This time instead of you observing him. He wants to see how far he can go until confessing.

- It drives you crazy. Since you can’t get a read on him. You attempt to flirt back in retaliation. However, it always ends with you being the most flustered.

- Who knew the Old Man had it in him?

Twilight:

- It became a melancholic hopeless feeling that spiral out of control.

- He already had his heartbroken by someone before and he knows he shouldn’t get attached to you too.

- Yet he can’t stop himself from wanting to be near you. He heard you so clearly before.

- Now that he can actually speak to you directly, he wants to get to know his other travel companion more.

___________________________________

Being alone in the forest with you wasn’t what Twilight planned when dropped in a different Hyrule but here you two where. You offered to go on patrol with him when the others were setting up camp claiming it was too see if you could identify the era. It didn’t matter since Twilight enjoyed your company no matter what. The lack of conversation between the two of you didn’t bother him. If anything, it felt the most natural. Only a few words were needed for the two of you to understand each other. “Do you mind if I use my wolf form?” Twilight asked fiddling with the chain that attached to the shadow crystal around his neck.

You paused to think about it. “I mean you can. But be aware I will baby talk you.”

This got Twilight to stop walking. Maybe he lied. He doesn’t need a few words to understand your thought process. “Excuse me?”

“I can’t control myself around cute creatures.” You simply stated like it was the most obvious thing.

Instead, Twilight was burning up. You thought his wolf form was cute? Of all things you used that word? What did you think of human Twilight if you thought like that? Did he want to even know? He was searching for any way to take this conversation but it all lead to dead ends. “Cute?” Was all he could ask. His voice pitching up as he got flustered.

“Yeah?” You looked at him just as confused as he was. “Wolves are just like big dogs and to be honest you look more like a giant dog then a wolf.” Your explanation did not help at all with his situation. “If it makes you feel better you’re very handsome as a Hylian and also built like an go-“

Twilights brain was malfunctioning he couldn’t hear any more of what you had to say about him. He grabbed on to the shadow crystal, turning into his wolf form he ran. He didn’t hear you call out his name in surprise.

Hylia, what was wrong with him? You were just a friend. A very blunt yet gentle friend. Nothing more. Nothing less. Why was his heart racing so much? He had heard you shower him in complements before while on his first adventure. But hearing you say it to his face with no shame whatsoever was a different story.

Twilight knew what these feelings were and deep down he really wanted to act on them. But was it ok? Was his heart finally healing from his last love? Twilight was already aware this time that you had to leave at some point. He didn’t need to act on them despite wanting to. He could just be your friend and continue the relationship like that.

His heart was already breaking a second time.

Twilight was in love you and it was driving him crazy.

___________________________________

- Like Time, Twilight isn’t going to tell you about his feelings. Instead, he is going to forever pine for you.

- It’s going to be a slow process and you need to be aware that he will get hurt if you’re going to go back home.

- He’ll see you off with a smile, but as soon as your gone he will break.

Warriors:

- It was full of denial and fear.

- He went through the receiving end of someone’s obsessive love.

- And it doesn’t help that you’ve watched over their adventures. He vowed to not get that close to you.

- There was a need to destroy the endearing feeling he sees when you smile at him.

- Yet seeing you with a sad far out look on your face makes him scramble to your side to find out what’s wrong.

___________________________________

It was just the two of you. Weaving throughout the crowds of castle town. You were currently in Four’s Era and in the middle of the Picori festival. The group was long spilt up, leaving Warriors alone with the dimensional traveler. Soon even (Y/n) was walking away from him. He didn’t know why he followed, the argument in his head was telling him that it was so they didn’t get lost. Yet there was a part of him that knew that wasn’t it.

“Where are you going anyway?” He thought to finally ask as you reached a quieter area. “It’s going to be hard to spend time in the festival from here.”

“Yeah, that’s the point.” You were a bit snappy today, “shouldn’t you find someone else to hang out with?” Warriors just shrugged as you slowed your pace down to pause in front of the small river that ran through castle town. The silence now filled with the rushing of water as you sat on the bridge.

Against his better judgement Warriors sat next to you. Finally, he got to talk to you one on one but the normally impulsive and excitable person Warrior’s grew to expect had changed in that moment.

You looked so tired.

“Hey Link?” You finally called out to him “I know I shouldn’t ask you this but…” hesitation was new to your character. “How do I even start?” You rake a hand through your hair. Sweeping a part of your hair out of your eyes. “Was I ever helpful during your Adventure?”

Oh… Oh he really wasn’t the right person for this talk.

You look back you and towards the festival and he followed your gaze. From where they were he could only spot a few of his party members. Wind was with Legend and Hyrule playing some of the stall games. While Four was with his Zelda holding hands as she pulled him further into the crowd. “Last time I saw this festival it ended up destroyed by Vaati.” The wind mage was only brought up a few times by Four. All Warriors really knew was that the villain was supposed to be sealed away by the Four Sword, and that his power was connected by the dark mirror. “I found myself wondering if my presence even mattered.” Your shoulder slumped in defeat as you curled into yourself.

The instant need to comfort shot through Warriors. He wanted to reach out. He fought the urge to hold you. He bites his tongue when he started to think of embellished words to make you feel better.

What was wrong with him?

Warriors had to say something though. “I don’t know about Four or the others.” He didn’t even think about your presence in his adventure too much. If anything, he actively tried not to think about it. Here you were though a person and not a figment of in his imagination. “During the war, your voice and presence is what broke the tension. The moments that could have been my lowest, you were there saying things that I wanted to repeat out loud.” There was a fondness while he was looking back at the memories. From the moment he ran on the battle field foolishly as a trainee soldier. His pride grew upon hearing your praise and surprise when seeing him fight for the first time. To your excitement while meeting his friends from the other Eras. He shared your sentiments about Mask as you cooed over the child as Warriors fought by his side. Then your anger, disgust and pity towards Cia. While on his side, your empathetic nature had you morning during her passing. These where just the tip of the iceberg.

Just having someone voice out mutual thoughts on a situation helps when you can’t do it on your own. You feel crazy thinking the way you do. “With you there it’s like you always have someone by your side cheering you on and supporting you.” He paused to look at you. Conflicting emotions clashing together. You turn to look at him, your eyes only briefly visible through your bangs. Curiosity and guilt were swarming with in them. “I’m not the person to talk to about this.” He finally admitted out loud. “But I would be lying if I said your presence wasn’t important to us.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Was that not what he was supposed to say? Warriors tried to stay calm under your gaze.

You let out a huff of laughter covering your mouth and turning away from him a bit to calm down. “I didn’t think about it like that.” There was a pause where you looked back at the festive before turning back to smiling softly at him. “Thanks Cap.”

The smile that you had on your lips had Warriors stomach do back flips. A blush decorated his face as he turns away. “It’s something that should have been said a while ago.” He manages to say without stuttering.

You were really pretty.

The sound of a picto box followed by winds snickering, was ignored when the thought had just register in his head. He finally realized how far he fell for you.

___________________________________

- one by one his defenses lowered.

- With every smiled sent his way, with every laugh that he earned. He found himself wanting more.

- He slowly opens up, a slow process but it wasn’t as scary as he thought it was going to be.

- A teasing nickname here. A gentle touch there. He realizes he has gone too far.

(Part 2)

#linkeduniverse #linked universe #lu twilight #lu warriors #lu time #London fog tea

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a-little-lostmoon · 2 years ago

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RAMSHACKLE DORM CREST

I actually had this made for an au i’m in but the design is canon Ramshackle fitting enough that I think it’s good for Ramshackle dorm residents in general so <3

#twisted wonderland #twst #twst wonderland #my art #fanart #twst fanart #twisted wonderland fanart #twst art #disney twisted wonderland #twst ramshackle #ramshackle #twisted wonderland ramshackle #ccau #cryptic cottage au

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eyes-of-mischief · 2 years ago

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weekly fic recs | 24

prompt: self-harm

fandoms: bnha, bsd, hq, mdzs, tgcf

bnha

I need to purge my urges (shame shame shame) by deesometimes

“Kid-“ Aizawa begins, his eyes are wide.

“It was an accident!” Izuku exclaims, louder than he intended.

better luck next time by nauticalwarrior

(explicit) (graphic depictions of violence, major character death)

As he falls, he lets himself think about it. He lets himself think that if he wakes up, if things go back again, it means that he does have a quirk. It means he really can take a swan dive off a roof and hope for better luck in his next life. It means that all along, he’s been useless and worthless because he hasn’t died yet.

He hits the ground.

And then he opens his eyes.

(vigilante!izuku AU where izuku has a quirk that rewinds time when he dies) (updates every other day most of the time!)

red threads by cassiopeia721

Izuku isn't blessed with a quirk, so it stands to reason that he wouldn't have a soulmate, either. Right?

Fate proves him wrong.

bsd

when you don't by nauticalwarrior

(mature)

You must learn to endure pain, Atsushi's headmaster tells him, over and over again, even though the man is no longer here.

Atsushi begins to inflict pain on himself, even though his ability does not allow the wounds to linger. He knows he'll be caught--it's only a matter of time, when he works for the Armed Detective Agency, but he can't stop himself. He does it anyway.

The Mind Can Be A Cryptic Place by moogah

Akutagawa's eyes are grey, until they aren't. Nothing is wrong, until it is.

Dazai doesn't feel, until he does. ...

How Dazai meets Atsushi and some of what came before.

haikyuu

run rabbit run by norio

Rule #1: Don't hurt Akaashi. Rule #2: Don't taint Akaashi. Rule #3: Don't involve Akaashi. Rule #4: Don't damage Akaashi. Rule #5 (optional): Try not to destroy yourself.

picking my head up, getting nowhere by orphan_account

(mature)

Oikawa only ever gives the bad and only ever takes the good, and he will never be able to forgive himself for it. (One-shot) Trigger warning for self-harm, depression and negativity—please read at your own risk. [Iwaoi]

won't you get up off, get up off the roof? by uaigneach

(mature)

Despite what many may say, Miya Atsumu wasn’t an idiot.

He heard the things people said about him. He knew what people thought. He’d read every single letter that had been slipped into his locker – and make no mistake, none of them had been confession letters like Osamu liked to joke about.

mdzs

Tempo Rubato by Spodumene

(explicit)

Tempo Rubato: Italian; Stolen Time; The musical practice of diverging from the unrelenting and gradual rhythm for a short period of time in a piece, allowing for solo freedom.

Lan Wangji starts high school in perfect step with the rhythm of his uncle's expectations and his duty to his family.

He doesn't quite stay that way.

tgcf

how to heal by parsnipit

When it comes to something like this, there are a few important steps:

First, Xie Lian makes sure that his husband is busy. Something like that makes it sound so terrible, but it’s not—it’s really not! It’s just that Hua Cheng can be overprotective, and if he saw this he would react poorly. Xie Lian would rather spare him that.

Second, Xie Lian puts Ruoye away. The poor thing never wants to go. He has to tie it somewhere safe and placate it with gentle touches and soothing words. Even so, it still lashes its ends and strains after him until he leaves the room. It will cling too tightly when he returns.

Third, Xie Lian goes somewhere quiet and familiar. It can be the armory, or their private baths, or even the shrine near Puqi Village. It is never their bedroom. It is never their cottage.

Fourth, Xie Lian draws his sword.

Fifthly, finally, Xie Lian takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, and carves his own skin open.

so that i might love you by parsnipit

“Okay, San Lang, let’s talk,” Xie Lian says, and is proud of how steady his voice stays. “Tell me about the cuts.” “You talked to E-ming, didn’t you,” Hua Cheng says bleakly. “It only confirmed what I already suspected.” Xie Lian closes his eyes. “Can you tell me that those injuries aren’t from who I think they are?” “Dianxia is so clever.” Hua Cheng looks at him, and there is a sudden exhaustion written in the lines around his eye. “I could tell you they aren’t, but...this San Lang is tired of lying to his god.” Despite his suspicions, to hear it admitted so plainly from Hua Cheng’s own mouth feels like a fist to his heart. Xie Lian takes a deep, deep, deep breath. Calmly. Calmly and clearly. He has already done his crying. He is not going to freak out right now. He is not going to yell. He is not going to yell. He is not— “What were you thinking, Hua Cheng?!”

When E-ming is stolen and its curse activated by enemies, Xie Lian fully expects the chorus of pained howls he hears outside of Paradise Manor. What he does not expect is the multitude of raw, gaping wounds that split open along his husband’s skin.

#weekly fic recs #bnha fic recs #bsd fic recs #hq fic recs #mdzs fic recs #tgcf fic recs #prompt #self-harm #please please please be careful of tags

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shyrose57 · 4 years ago

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AU where Dream and Tubbo are siblings, and Dream convinces Tubbo he’s doing all that bad stuff for the sake of the SMP, and gets Tubbo to help him out.

By the time Tubbo is aware of what his brother’s really doing, which is not the much nicer version he’s been told, he’s too scared to leave, having long since been convinced that everybody else would kill him in a heartbeat.

Once his brother is put in jail, Tubbo, who’d been watching from a hidey hole, and really didn’t want any part of this, was teleported out by XD. Why the deity did so, he’s uncertain, but he did. Teleported way out to some distant snowy biome with a few spruce trees, where Tubbo was, essentially, stranded.

He thinks it might be for the best, honestly. He’s not exactly on great terms with everybody.

Purpled kind of has the role of Tommy’s best friend here, because Dream was lowkey an overprotective brother before he decided to be evil instead, and insisted Tubbo wear a protective mask, and keep away from everybody. So, they definitely all think he’s a lot older than he actually is.

The only ones who have any idea are Bad, George, and Sapnap. Bad’s possessed by the Egg, Dream convinced Sapnap Tubbo was all for it, and George…George has been a bit occupied in Dreamland.

Purpled being Tommy’s friend changed quite a bit, actually. He was never part of L’manberg, but he fought with them, and helped out. And when Tommy was exiled by Fundy, after he managed to find the place(it took him awhile, with Dream throwing him off and distracting him), he got Tommy out of there.

The two eventually ran across Techno while hiding from Dream, and both he and Phil were not happy to hear what Dream had been doing to their youngest.

So they take Tommy in, and he ends up sticking with them, along with Purpled, and eventually Ranboo, who they invite to join them on Doomsday, and he agrees, because he’s been having a hard time in L’manberg, not having too many allies.

The Syndicate helps imprison Dream. They’re aware of Ranboo’s enderwalking problems, and trying to help.

What they don’t know is that when Enderboo isn’t forced under Dream’s command, he’s actually very chill, and also, very, very fond of Tubbo, who’s always nice to him, and, occasionally, when his brother wasn’t around, would goof off with him.

Enderboo leaves a lot of semi-cryptic messages for Ranboo that basically amount to ‘please go check on Tubbo, I’m very worried, and I don’t think he’s eating’ or something similar. Unfortunately, Ranboo never figures out what they mean, and just gets really freaked out instead.

Tubbo has accidentally adopted a piglin child with Enderboo-I mean, he assumes that’s what’s going on, he’s not entirely sure. Enderboo kind of just dropped the child off, and now they’re raising him?? Very confusing, but Tubbo kind of enjoys the company.

Basically Tubbo just being sad in his cozy spruce cottage, Enderboo being that one stray cat that keeps adopting things, and everyone else having no idea what’s going on, but misunderstanding just about everything.

#dream smp #dream smp au #tubbo #dreamwastaken #ranboo #A Cry Muffled By Porcelain AU

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wordstro · 4 years ago

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[8:48 PM] + angst + pirate!au + first love

a/n: i hope this actually shows up in the tags.....

choi san was your first love.

you were warned, as all children were, to keep your distance from the charming pirates that frequented the port, but you were enamored by his triumphant tales of besting sea monsters and tracking down treasure, of how the sea called to him, of how he was made to be sail the great seas. you hung onto every word, leaning close to watch the peculiar twinkle in his eyes and catch his dimpled smiles. you knew little of the world aside from stories, and you never thought leaving your port town was a viable option. not until he suggested you to join him.

“i see the hunger for more in your eyes,” he murmured, fingers grazing your jaw, “i can help.”

"really?" you were young, wide-eyed. naïve.

he nodded as he pressed a hand to yours and repeated, “i can help.”

so, you joined him.

he represented a freedom you’d always craved. when he kissed you, you took flight. when he held you, you believed anything possible. his sweet nothings had been everything.

your awe grew into love. even through the worst of it. through the days stranded at sea, waiting for a breeze to move the ship forward, through the starvation, through the inevitable, heartrending fights.

but the warnings were not unfounded.

a year later, you could no longer shake the occasional sidelong glances of pity his crewmates - some of whom you considered friends - sent your way. yunho gripped your shoulder and bid you goodbye in a cryptic tone. wooyoung was actually kind to you. yeosang handed you one of his map sketches you’d poured over with him. even hongjoong allowed you a smile before san whisked you away. the ship needed repair from a particularly bad storm. san took you to what you believed to be an abandoned cottage. he unlocked the front door with a key around his neck, and you were surprised at how well taken care of the cottage was.

as you both lay in bed that night, listening to the gentle sounds of waves crashing against the shore, he etched circles into the inside of your wrist with his thumb before he began, “it’s dangerous where we’re going.”

there was something in his tone that made you still.

“there’s enough money here to last you years,” he whispered, “and many jobs to choose from. just mention me and they’ll hire you.”

you’d sat up, staring down at him. he lay there, still gripping your wrist, twinkling eyes unwavering. unrelenting.

you blinked.

“you can’t leave me here.”

“i can’t take you with me,” he sighed, sitting up. he reached out and pressed a hand to your cheek, “don’t worry, love. i won’t be away for long. i promise.”

you’d stared at him, and he nodded and nodded and it was hard not to believe him when his dimpled smile was so sincere.

and he did return. six months later, he returned to the little cottage at the edge of town and he whispered sweet nothings to you. but as the gaps between his visits grew longer and longer, you knew his sweet nothings were just that: nothing.

once, he tried to stay with you, but he could not. choi san was your first love, but the sea was his. you would never compare.

#ateez #ateez angst #ateez scenarios #san angst #san

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id-rather-be-an-outsider · 3 years ago

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Pick Your Poison

Pieck Finger x Porco Galliard,

Pieck Finger x Zeke Yeager

word count: 1531

summary: Pieck is the receptionist for the science department at Marley U, Zeke is a professor in the same department. Porco is an intern who’s finishing up his degree to get on the faculty there as well. That is all. No story here, not at all.

a/n: I like college AUs, die mad. nothing horny here, just... aftermath. And just for clarity the behavior Pieck and Zeke exhibit as mentioned in this fic are NOT BEHAVIORS I CONDONE so if u do this I will berate you for it like a very disappointed mother

masterlist

“Fuck you.” I say as I put my clothes back on.

“You just did.” Porco says to me, “And don’t act like you didn’t like it.” He smiles like we’re in high school again and not newly hired university staff.

“I told you not to come over. Zeke’s gonna be here any minute.”

He scowls. “Oh, right, I forgot you’re only with him so your parents think you’re dating someone they like.”

I scoff. “Zeke is responsible! And mature, and thoughtful, and-“

“-Don’t forget using you for his own personal gain, purposely hiding your relationship from the general public so he can cheat on you-“

“Shut up.” I snap as he starts listing shit off on his fingers. “He’s only supposed to look the part, I never told him he had to act it.”

We rush to put clothes on in silence until he says, “Are you just expecting to date him until your parents die or something?”

I throw my hands up in the air. “Porco I don’t know! Are you expecting me to date you?”

“I’m just saying,” He deflects, “You know they won’t be satisfied with you and Zeke breaking up eventually. And considering you’re making attempts to hide us from him, you must know that Zeke feels the same way. And you’re catering to his feelings.”

“I am not.”

“Are too,” He insists, “And if I’m being honest, you need to figure it out. You know how I feel.”

I say, “And I told you, if you find someone you like better or are just interested in, you don’t need my permission to pursue them. Just don’t fuck me after that.”

“I know.” He says. “But maybe there is no one else who can pique my interest quite as much as you do.”

“You only like me because I’m unavailable to you, so it’s naughty and scandalous.” I roll my eyes.

“Maybe that was the case at first, but things change.” He admits, pulling on his shoes.

“What do you mean?” I ask, brows furrowed.

“What do you think I mean?” He counters. “We’ve been doing this, hanging out and stuff, for a long time. Don’t tell me you can’t think of one redeeming quality about yourself beyond just the sex that I’ve stuck around for.”

I can feel the heat coming to my face at his remark. “Well, not to be humble or anything, but I don’t really think about myself in that way all that much. So you’d have to tell me.”

“Oh, so you like it when I say nice things about you?” He says, standing up and walking over to corner me. “Didn’t know that.”

“That’s not what I said!” I argue.

He lowers his voice. “But don’t act like you don’t secretly like it. I know you too well for you to play me like that, Pieck.”

A knock comes from the door. My eyes widen. Zeke’s here. “Gimme a minute!” I call, then whisper to Porco, “You have to leave!”

“Off the back porch? But your neighbors will see me.”

“How else? And like they’d care, they have threesomes over there.” I punch Porco’s arm when he gets a look in his eye. “No. I don’t like sharing.”

“And I like it even less than you do.” He states, wrapping me in a quick hug and kissing my forehead. “See you later. Have fun with your Professor.” And climbs down the balcony as I run to the door.

“Zeke!” I exclaim, “I’m so happy to see you.” My warm smile falters when I see his face. He knows. I usher him in as I stare at the ground and close the door.

“I know that was Porco.” He says simply. Flatly.

“Y... yes....” I say, not sure exactly what to say.

“How long are you going to keep this charade up? Presenting me to your parents like we’re madly in love, meanwhile having him in your bed almost every night. Hm?” He asks me, not in an aggressive way, but definitely not gently.

I protest, “I could ask you the same, with all the panties I’ve found in your apartment.”

He sighs, rubbing his hand against his face. “Pieck, I only strayed when I suspected you and Porco. Not saying it’s an excuse,” He quickly defends, “But I think we both can agree the blood’s on both of our hands.”

“I didn’t start fucking him until I found the evidence against you anyways!” I scoff, knowing he’s full of shit. “And what about hiding our relationship from everyone and their mother?”

He looks surprised. “Well. Then I misjudged your relationship with him... partially. Anyways, why wouldn’t I? Everyone on staff thought you and Porco were together even before we started dating.”

“Zeke, you know all the rumors are just Connie wanting to feel included. He’s a temp worker for a reason.” I remind him.

“Well. What’s done is done, then. But... I have something for you.” He gets down on one knee, producing a small box from his pocket. He doesn’t open it, but I can tell what it is.

“Zeke, what is this...?” I ask, extremely confused as to why he would propose after confirming Porco and I were having sex behind his back.

“I won’t ask you that question, because it isn’t fair of me. But.” He pauses, intentionally making eye contact. “I can’t be alone forever. You know my... condition, makes me a ticking time bomb. If I were to propose to you, it would be under the assumption that we would end our scandalous behaviors and be committed solely to each other. I love you, Pieck. I know you feel something for me. But I also know you care for Porco. If you come to my apartment tomorrow and tell me you’ve cut that attachment off, then I’ll propose to you. If you tell me you couldn’t do it, then I want to part ways. I want to find myself a stable marriage. A loving marriage. One where I can raise my children with my wife, with the picket fence, with the house that looks like a cottage, and maybe a few dogs padding around. When I die, I want to feel like a piece of me is left in this world, not that the woman I married is going to forget me and run to the footloose rebel her parents never wanted her to hang around as a kid.”

I smile sadly and gently push his hand down. “I understand.”

He nods, putting the ring box away. “Thank you, Pieck.”

Zeke’s always been very precise with his words. That’s why he makes such a great professor. That speech is probably the longest spiel he’s been on outside of the classroom. As the science department’s receptionist, I’m better at listening than talking, myself.

I mull this over as I walk to Porco’s apartment, only knocking once before he opens the door. It’s almost like he has a Pieck satellite.

“That was a short visit. What happened?” Porco asks.

“He uh... well, he didn’t propose, but he posed the option.” I say awkwardly.

“And...?” He pushes.

“I turned him down. I told him about this hot intern who caught my eye, and that the university wants to hire them permanently after they get their doctorate.” I laugh.

He smirks, “Well, I sure am glad I managed to catch the eye of the cute receptionist in the science department. What do you think the faculty are gonna say about an inter-department relationship?”

“Oh, they’ve been shipping Piecko forever. I’m more worried about what my parents will say.” I half-joke.

He actually looks worried for a second. “What will they say?”

“Probably something along the line of, ‘You’re an idiot for giving up money like that!’ But I don’t mind being an idiot if it means I’m happy and in love.” I smile and hug him. “You know, Zeke’s vision of our life together was very cookie cutter.”

“Told you he wasn’t right for you. You, Pieck, are no cookie cutter kind of gal. But for curiosity’s sake, what kind of life would that be?” Porco raises a brow, patting the seat next to him as he sits down on his sofa.

“He wanted...” I pause to gather my thoughts. “Dogs, kids, a picket fence - the whole package.”

“Oh, dogs would never do for my Pieck,” Porco says dramatically. “Everyone knows you’d want an African Grey and a Komodo Dragon!”

“Don’t forget a Pixie Frog!” I add, now grinning from ear to ear.

“That too. And your fence would have to be scary, like fake heads on pikes and barbed wire to ward off your enemies.” He suggests.

“Exactly. Why have a protective barrier if it isn’t cryptic enough to keep intruders out?” I say in a tone implying that should be obvious.

“If only the science department knew they had such a weirdo running their front desk.” He jokes, “They’d hunt you down with Tiki Torches.”

“If they did, I’d curse Connie’s mom to be a giant monster, then turn into one myself.”

Porco leans in to softly kiss my cheek. “The faculty wouldn’t stand a chance against you.”

#aot pieck #pieck finger #aot porco #porco galliard #aot zeke #zeke yeager #zeke x pieck #pieck x porco #porco x pieck #pieck x zeke #college au #modern au #outsider writes #fluff #steamy #sort of??? idk #connie springer

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