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itstimetotheorize · 7 months ago

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The Nowhere and the Waking world

For years we have tried to make sense of the world surrounding the Little Nightmares franchise, and after years of waiting, we finally have the one thing we never knew we could have...Answers. Thanks to the release of The Sounds of Nightmares podcast, some much needed information was finally brought to light, while many more things were finally confirmed. This world was everything we had theorized it would be, and so much more, and after years of waiting, we have a name for this nightmarish world...."The Nowhere".... and just as we have always theorized, this world was no little nightmare...it was always real.

The Nowhere itself is separate from the human world(a.k.a the waking world), but it is a world which one can travel to none the less...through dreams. After a person enters a dream state, their minds can reach the space between the two worlds, "The Threshold", a dark and endless abyss where one will float through a dark mist. The dark mist obscures one's vision until it dissipates enough to allow a person to see what is beyond the darkness, the gateway to Nowhere. Once a human crosses this gateway, they are judged by a giant red pulsing eye entity(more on this in a moment) and its many eyes circling around it, all sparkling with a hypnotic, enchanting light, their light dripping down into the abyss just as we saw it drip down into Monster Six's music box in Little Nightmares 2.

The eye entity's eyes look on as every child is presented to them within the Threshold, and if they like what they see in the tormented child, the all seeing eye will equally be pleased enough to open up and permit the human child entry to the Nowhere. Once the human child is permitted entry into Nowhere, their physical body will disappear from the waking/human world to complete the journey, leaving the child trapped among the monstrous Residents, or even becoming part of the Nowhere itself should they open themselves up to it.

However, this gateway and the Nowhere itself, are not all as they may seem. The gateway alone is guarded by the Ferryman, a Resident of the Nowhere we have known about since the very first game, primarily from the Little nightmares issues #1 and #2 comics, whose main duty is to find human children whose tormented lives have left them vulnerable enough to his manipulation, and desperate enough to find any escape from their current lives in the human world. Once a child has been selected, the Ferryman will guide them through the threshold and through the gateway, to Nowhere. The Ferryman's existence is primarily to not only guide children to Nowhere, but to also convince the children to give into the Nowhere and remain there, through any means necessary, usually by convincing them there is something only the Nowhere can provide, such as freedom from something specific, including all illnesses within their body or being liberated from whatever it is the child feels tormented by, such as other people, their own fears, loneliness etc.

While Children are primarily targeted and given permission to cross over into Nowhere, adults can also be granted permission, though through a more meticulous process. The Ferryman proclaims in chp. 6 of The Sounds of Nightmares, about there being another way to enter the Threshold to find the Nowhere, as for what this other way is? Well, more on this in another theory. As for obtaining permission to cross over into Nowhere, the Ferryman states an adult like Otto must pay a "toll in torments'", and considering it is the tormented children who are of the highest priority to claim for the Nowhere, I and many other theorists have theorized adults like Otto...must commit to the Ferryman's duty of sacrificing a large sum of children, as a way to please the very being which rules over the entire Nowhere...the eye entity, the giant pulsing red eye said to be the size of a moon, which can be met once a visitor crosses the gateway hidden within the Threshold.

The eye entity itself has been theorized to have existed since the very beginning, the most obvious sign of its constant presence being of course, the eye symbol with rays of its hypnotic light surrounding it, a symbol depicted on every game and the franchise as a whole.

Thanks to the podcast, we have finally gained some understanding as to just what the all seeing eye is, it is not just an all powerful entity which rules over the Nowhere, the eye entity/all seeing eye....IS the Nowhere, and this alone was something I and many other theorists gradually realized was always revealed... as far back as the first games DLC. In the Little Nightmares DLC: The Residence, the Runaway Kid came across various things within the lady's vast library, including a giant astrolabe depicting the all seeing eye's various eyes, looking down on the ancient instrument used to locate positions in time and space, an instrument which always revealed the all seeing eye's capability in finding the worlds beyond the threshold, primarily the human world the children originated from. In terms of the eye entity being the Nowhere itself, well....what more could we have had to confirm this than the globe in the Lady's library depicting the world and its entirety as one giant eye, the very one Noone met in chp. 6.

The eye entity has always been depicted maintaining a constant watch over everyone and everything, and while some parts of it could be encountered in the form of a fleshy mass, such as the flesh walls within the Tower and the Mall of chp. 3 of The Sounds of Nightmares, it had yet to be fully seen in the game, and now we know why...it was always hidden in a space far beyond any normal person's reach, the Threshold . The eye entity itself remains hidden within the darkness of the Threshold, along with its many eyes, eyes which can easily be mistaken for twinkling lights and constellations while in the Threshold, eyes which were also foreshadowed all throughout the world, both in the game and on the very merchandise we purchased.

Based on what we have gathered, each eye can be an entirely new location, the very Spiral we will get to journey in Little Nightmares 3, and just as we have always theorized, each eye can take on the shape of an entirely new structure, such as the Mall in chp 3 of TSON. We have always theorized structures such as the tower and the Maw were extensions of the eye entity itself, and though they act on their own, we always theorized they were all connected, like a building with different floors as Noone put it in chp. 5. But out of everything which makes up the Nowhere/eye entity, we have always theorized the most crucial piece in its ongoing survival...is humans.

Though there is still so much to learn about the Nowhere/eye entity, what we can be certain of is the place it currently resides, the Threshold, and though this endless dark abyss has thus far ensured the eye entity/Nowhere's safety, this abyss is still as empty and endless as Noone said it was, meaning there is nothing for the Nowhere to survive on, and much like any living being, in order to continue living and thriving...the Nowhere itself must feed.

We have always theorized the children were crucial for the eye entity/Nowhere's survival. However, although The Nowhere may prefer to consume the children for their youth and purity, it is not limited to just them, teens such as those in chp. 4 of TSON, as well as adults like Otto, can also be accepted, meaning one thing... all of humanity is more than suitable for the eye entity/Nowhere, its just a matter of how they are prepared.

What am I trying to say? Well, We have always theorized obtaining children and making them suitable enough for the eye entity's consumption, was not something it could do on its own, it required the aid of its Residents, like the Ferryman. While the eye entity/Nowhere's hypnotic light is capable of enchanting and controlling the minds of anyone who falls victim to it, it cannot affect the minds of those who have yet to fully grasp the full severity of their miserable situation. In order to be affected by the eye entity's hypnotic light, humans must grow desperate enough to seek an escape from the cruel reality around them, and who else is better suited to set things in motion than the Residents, many of whom were once children themselves before the Nowhere/eye entity finally changed them, like the sewer man in chp. 5 of TSON. Crazy thing is, we had always theorized humans knew about the existence of the Nowhere/eye entity, about monstrous Residents like the Ferryman ...sad to say, we were far more accurate than we had hoped.

In chp, 5 of The Sounds of Nightmares, Otto states the Ferryman had been documented in various cultures around the world... for centuries. Theorists and I had always theorized that humans had known about the eye entity/the Nowhere and its Residents for hundreds of years. Unfortunately, we also theorized the humans who knew of the Nowhere and the Residents existence, had played them off as nothing more than stories, myths, all of which held a warning many were quick to cast aside. No matter the warning, many humans refused to accept the possibility of their lives actually falling into danger at the hands of the monstrous beings they had always been told about, but refused to acknowledge were actually real, leaving them incapable of taking better action to learn how to defend themselves against the looming horrors from the other side and prevent further tragedy. Those who were willing to accept the existence of the Nowhere and the Residents, were cast aside as lunatics, such as Otto's old professor, his former colleagues, the parapsychologists over the centuries who obsessed over the Ferryman and the existence of the Nowhere...even the humpback girl from the little nightmares issue #1 comic....all of them, were ridiculed for their knowledge.

We may not yet know the full extend of the stories humans build around the existence of the eye entity/Nowhere and the Residents like the Ferryman, but what is certain is a large part of the world has always been aware of these myths and stories for all those hundreds of years....question is.... how long has the Nowhere existed? For the longest time, the mystery of the eye entity's origins remained unknown, and in a way it still is. The eye entity itself appears to have originated from the dark abyss of the threshold, but we have yet to know how its existence came to be. I, and many other theorists, had theorized humanity itself could only trace the existence of the Nowhere and the Ferryman as far back as humanity had learned to take notice of their looming presence, and if what we theorized is true, then could this potentially mean the eye entity/Nowhere itself had always existed far longer than what was recorded in human history ?....honestly who's to say....

Thus far, this is the sum of what I and many other theorists have put together about the world of the Nowhere and the human/waking world. And yet...something doesn't make sense...Though the two worlds seem so very far apart, they are far closer together than they appeared to be. Otto stated the Ferryman alone was proof of the connection between the two worlds...but unlike the humans... it is the Ferryman who is ABLE to see and hear into the human/waking world, while also being UNABLE to physically cross over from the Threshold to the human world as the children are capable of doing when they journey to and from the Nowhere, but why? Well...Noone did say the Ferryman did not belong to the human world, meaning he has never been capable of physically crossing over to it...and yet...what if he was always trying to....

In chp. 6 of TSON the Ferryman reveals he could hear everything Otto was saying to him, from the Threshold. Now, what does this mean? It means throughout TSON, Otto and Noone were never alone in their sessions, the Ferryman was watching them, hearing every word, seeing every action without either Noone or Otto knowing he was there. Otto gradually realized the Ferryman was watching and listening, but wondered why he couldn't see or sense the Nowhere and the Ferryman for himself, then quickly realized there was a veil up, like a two way mirror, only it was all of humanity who was stuck on the side of the mirror where you can't see through the glass. The Ferryman was always aware of what was happening without ever being seen... then again...maybe his presence was always shown. Anytime the Ferryman was spoken of, anytime his words were repeated...something strange happened...the audio in chp. 2,3,5...it glitched, it became distorted, as if there was something else interfering with the recording... as if... someone else was trying to break through...was it the Ferryman?...maybe.... But if it truly was the Ferryman attempting to break through to the other side, which he eventually did...at least vocally anyway in chp.6, then why would he?

The Ferryman and the Nowhere/eye entity have gone on throughout the centuries, taking child after child, while remaining hidden within the darkness, looking on as all of humanity was unable to find them, their existence passed on as stories and myths, and nothing more....then again....what if this was not what they wanted... Where am I going with this? Well...parapsychologists of the human world state the stories of numerous cultures believed the Ferryman stops anyone from entering any unseen worlds, even Otto himself believed the Ferryman was determined to keep him out of the Nowhere...but if this was ever true, then....why would the Ferryman push Otto to pursue his research to find a way into Nowhere? (more here) Was the Ferryman just toying with Otto?... No, if he was, he wouldn't have given Otto the information he needed to figure out how to cross over...then again...maybe it was never about what the Ferryman wanted..maybe...it was always about what the Nowhere wanted.

In chp. 5 of The Sounds of Nightmares, Otto spoke of a weather phenomenon unique to the Counties, a swirling mist known to be followed by a downpour, a storm. But the way Otto described this "weather phenomenon", it was almost as if there really was never anything normal about it...because what if maybe...just maybe....it was never just some freak weather, so what was it?

The night the bizarre swirling mist set in, was the night Otto first used his apparatus on Noone in an attempt to see the Nowhere, and to the shock of the readers, as well as Otto himself... it worked. The night Otto tested his apparatus, was the night he caught his first glimpse of the eye entity/Nowhere within the Threshold... and all the while Otto noticed the eye entity staring back at him with its intense light growing ever more powerful, the swirling mists storm could in turn be heard outside... growing stronger and stronger.

And yet, the moment the apparatus exploded, unable to withstand the presence of the eye entity/Nowhere, something odd happens...the storm we all heard raging on outside, the very storm which grew stronger the more the apparatus worked in connecting the two worlds....dies down...but why?...maybe we always knew. While the bizarre interference within the audio of TSON could have been the Ferryman trying to break through to the other side, does this mean the bizarre swirling mist and storm within the Counties was in itself, never just some freak weather? But rather...a sign of something much bigger trying to break through?...something far more powerful than the Ferryman...something like...the Nowhere.

We have always theorized the eye entity/Nowhere was the one which commanded all the Residents of its world , as well as anyone like Noone who fell prey to its hypnotic light, meaning maybe...just maybe...it was never the Ferryman who wanted to cross over to the human world...it was the Nowhere itself... If it was, then what does this mean for the children of the game?...What does this mean for the home they all hope to return to?... I guess we'll just have to wait and see...but then again...we have always theorized The Sounds of Nightmares, was no ordinary story...it was the origin story to the start of something...catastrophic. The two worlds, the waking/human world and the world of the Nowhere, though seemingly separate from one another...may be far closer together than we might think...But hey! It's just a theory...a Little Nightmares theory.

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dmitriene · 1 year ago

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— beyond scars.

᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌«oh you're so pretty the stars would cry»

᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌«oh but darling»

᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌«i'm so lucky you are mine»

᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌ ᠌«and your so special can't you see»

summary: from time to time many people are haunted by uncertain thoughts, and in one of the early mornings this also affected Leon. content: re4 leon kennedy x gn reader tags: pure fluff, comfort, self doubt, established relationship, domestic leon, many kisses, hugs. author's note: i was in mood to write something super warm and had some inspiration from tiktok, so hope you'll like this! enjoy your reading) 🏙️

In the soft embrace of the early morning, you woke up from sleep, your feelings gradually awakened in a cocoon of warmth created by soft sheets that rocked your body, but today there was something else — a subtle absence that pulled your half awakened consciousness.

Your eyes fluttered open, a gentle haze clouding your vision as you reached out your hand, instinctively searching for the familiar presence of Leon's warm body that usually occupied the space next to you, the realization that he wasn't there plunged you into a realm of drowsiness and curiosity, a mixture of emotions that danced in your consciousness as thin tendrils of morning mist.

As you lay there snuggled in the soft cocoon of the blankets, the pale light of dawn filtered through the curtains, bathing the room in a serene glow, the early morning light promising a new day, a new beginning, painting the room in muted pastels and creating a serene atmosphere that seemed to reflect serenity of early hours.

The morning stillness enveloped you in a soothing shroud, interrupted only by the soft rustling of the sheets and the faintest whisper of your own breath, and yet, as you began to stretch, a drop of curiosity broke through the veil of drowsiness, your gaze was drawn to the source of a subtle, warm glow, the subdued light that poured in from the slightly ajar bathroom door.

With quiet intrigue, you let your instincts guide you, shifting your weight and slowly sitting on the edge of the bed, the cool air of the room kissing your skin, creating a gentle contrast with the warmth hidden under the covers, blinking away the last remnants of sleep you found your feet, plush carpet under your legs became a silent companion.

As you made your way to the bathroom, the air was buzzing with anticipation, your heart following the soft rhythm of your footsteps, the light growing brighter as you got closer, a gentle invitation that promised secrets waiting to be revealed.

Pushing open the bathroom door, you met with a bright light that seemed to envelop everything it touched, in front of you stood a mirror framed by the soft curves of the bathroom decor, and here he was, Leon, his figure bathed in a soft glow penetrating through the frosted glass of the window.

His presence was as startling as it was serene, tousled wheat colored hair falling over his forehead in a heart stopping manner, and the worn sweatpants he wore spoke of effortless comfort that contrasted with the often chaotic world he traveled through, playing light and shadow accentuated his features, creating a delicate tapestry of contrasts depicting him as a dawn masterpiece.

He stood as the epitome of vulnerability, his fingers gliding over the lines of scars that marred his skin — a reminder of battles and trials passed, a quiet uncertainty flickered in his eyes, a hidden depth of emotion that called out to you like a beacon in a fog.

As you watched, a warmth blossomed within you, a pain of tenderness that made you close the distance, with each step the soft carpet absorbed the sound of your approach until you were behind him, close enough to catch the fleeting scent of his skin and feel the soft warmth emanating from his body.

Your fingers found the curve of his shoulder, and with a tenderness born of love your lips touched a mole that seemed to hold the secrets of the constellations, his body trembled under your touch, a subtle tremor that resonated between you, an unspoken but deep connection.

— «Leon» your voice was a whisper, a melody that danced on the edge of a still morning — «You're incredibly handsome, you know, so handsome that even the stars themselves would cry with envy»

He turned slightly to meet your gaze through the reflection in the mirror, surprise and something deeper shone in his eyes — «Do you really think so?»

Your response was immediate and unwavering as you walked around him and stood in front of him, meeting his eyes — «Absolutely, every scar, every line is a part of the story that makes you who you are, and for me — you're perfect, Leon»

In that tender moment, bathed in gentle morning light, your words seemed to cast a spell — a spell that touched his heart and drove away the shadows of uncertainty that clung to him, and when he looked at you, really looked at you, his lips curved into a fragile a smile, a flash of gratitude and newfound confidence.

With a smile that curved his lips, Leon's insecurities dissipated like morning mist, replaced by a glimmer of newfound confidence that echoed in his blue eyes as your words of approval hung in the air, a tangible bond stretched between you, pulling you together like magnets irresistibly drawn by the force of more than stronger than simple gravity.

His hand found its way to your cheek, his touch was gentle and slow, as if enjoying every moment, he leaned in and his lips met yours in a kiss that was trembling but full of unspoken emotions, it was a kiss that spoke a lot — about gratitude and deep affection that he felt for you.

When your lips parted he looked at you with his rich blue eyes, the vulnerability he had shown a few minutes ago now replaced by warmth reflected in your gaze, there was a certain innocence in his expression, a purity that made him look almost like a puppy looking for solace and confidence, but behind that innocence, there was a depth that spoke of the challenges he faced and the strength he found within himself.

Unable to resist the pull any longer, he wrapped his arms around you, his arms wrapping around you with a sense of security that felt like homecoming, his chest heaving up and down next to yours, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat echoing in your ears as he held you, his grip was firm but gentle, a silent promise that he would protect and cherish you.

With a tenderness that spoke of a love that was deeper than words could convey, you leaned in and your lips found the top of his soft hair, every kiss you left was a testament to your connection, a promise that you would be there for him no matter what, his hair was like silk under your lips, a tactile bond that held you both to the present moment.

As your lips touched his hair your fingers slid down his back, tracing the lines of scars that telled the story of the battles and sacrifices, your touch was reverent to him, silent recognition of his strength and resilience, the scars were part of him, part of his path and you accepted them all heart, just as you embraced every facet of the man he was.

He pressed his head against your shoulder, his arms clenched as if he never wanted to let go, and in those arms you could feel the weight of his emotions — the gratitude and trust he gave you, his scars were not a source of shame or insecurity — they were a symbol of his courage and a testament to his unwavering devotion to his duties.

— «Thank you» Leon whispered into your shoulder, his voice a soft caress that sent a shiver down your spine — «Thank you for seeing me, for understanding me»

You held him tighter, your own emotions swirling inside you like a light breeze rustling the leaves of a tree outside the window — «Leon, you don't have to thank me, i'm here because i want to, because i care deeply about you»

His head lifted from your shoulder, his eyes met yours with such sincerity that your heart skipped a beat — «I care about you too» he confessed and there were so many emotions in his voice that your chest ached from tenderness.

With a gentle smile, you looked into Leon's eyes and slightly rose on your toes, leaving a soft but long kiss on his forehead, a gesture of gratitude and confidence that conveyed everything that your words could not convey, his skin was warm on your lips, and you felt like the tension in his body weakens under your touch.

Taking his hand in yours, you intertwined your fingers, the bond between you bonding as your hands fit together perfectly, like two pieces of a puzzle finding their rightful place, his hand was strong and reassuring, a source of comfort that kept you in the present moment.

— «The morning is still early» you whispered and your voice was gentle, carrying warmth — «And it would be wonderful to go back to bed and let the world disappear a little longer, don't you think?»

He nodded, his eyes fixed on yours, his eyes reflecting a mixture of emotions — gratitude, affection and a slight playful anticipation — «I couldn't agree more with that» he answered with a soft timbre that seemed to caress the air between you.

Hand in hand you turned away from the bathroom mirror, the soft light casting a warm light on your intertwined bodies, in a slow, synchronized motion you returned to the bed, the plush carpet under your feet a soft reminder that you are still firmly anchored to reality.

As you settled into the bed, the sheets wrapped their soft embrace around you and you pulled Leon close to you, guiding him into an embrace that felt like real comfort, his body pressed against yours, his warmth seeping into your skin, creating an intimate cocoon where the outside world couldn't reach.

With a sigh of contentment, he buried his head in your shoulder, his breath a gentle caress that sent a shiver down your spine, you wrapped your arms around him again, fingers tracing the soothing patterns on his back and holding him close, the scars under your touch were clear lines and you gently kissed the top of his head, silently promising to be there in every battle and triumph.

— «Thank you for always being here» he muttered, and there was a mixture of vulnerability and sincerity in his voice.

You leaned back slightly, fingers tilting his chin so that he met your gaze — «Leon, you're never alone in this, we face everything together, remember?»

A light, affectionate smile touched his lips, and he gently kissed you on the forehead — «I won't forget» he promised and his voice became a soft oath that enveloped you like a warm blanket.

As you settled back into warm embrace, the early morning sunlight continued to color the room in soft hues, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere that felt somewhat like a sanctuary, the outside world could wait, because at that moment it was just you and Leon — two souls intertwined in presence and warmth of each other

With the gentle rise and fall of your breath you allowed yourself to drift in harmony, wrapped in the serenity of the morning, wrapped in the arms of the one you loved, and as you closed your eyes, the start of a new day was greeted with the confidence that together you could face all that meet on your way.

[ taglist: @roseglazedlens, @sporeghost, @daydreamrot ] dm me if you want to be tagged in my works.

© dmitriene - my masterlist please, don't copy my works as your own, and if you want to post them somewhere else - contact me. reblogs, likes and comments are very much appreciated, thank you for reading! ♡

#resident evil leon #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy comfort #leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy fic #leon kennedy fanfic #leon kennedy x gn!reader #leon kennedy re4 #leon re4 #leon s kennedy #leon fluff #[ ✒️july writing ]

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tokuvivor · 2 months ago

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Due to circumstances beyond the control of any others, @violetganache42 and I are splitting duty on this week’s highlights post (Competition Night edition). She did it for the shorts and episodes, I’m doing it for An Extremely Goofy Movie.

So without further ado, here we go.

“Polar Trappers”:

We bring ‘em back alive

@puffyducks: bro where is pabo

Donald hunting a penguin, which is now illegal to do so

Not the kid!

The baby penguin’s tear becoming a massive snowball

“Need 4 Speed”:

QUACK PACK (Again!)

Disney Ducks meet The Fast and the Furious

@spamtoon: huey you guys aren't in phineas and ferb

Daisy appearance!

The idea of Comet Guy Night

@ducklooney and puffy going off about humans being in the Duckverse

Us calling Donald and the authorities to kill Rocky the Rocket Throttle

From Negaduck ass car to Ratcatcher

@writebackatya: "This is like the Family Guy of the Duckverse"

Ludwig appearance!

puffy: "where's dick dastardly"

Puffy, Missy, and I using 90s slang

Daisy seeing the triplets in the race:

RIP ethnically stereotyped racers

WriteBackAtYa: "DuckTales 2017 needed a car race episode"

Violet: "Would Huey and Launchpad be commentators?"

WriteBackAtYa: "Yes Always"

Violet: "SOLD!"

Ludwig's toy kangaroo winning the race

@tealottie: erection joke

“The Missing Links of Moorshire!”:

Webby giving Scrooge semi-permanent hearing loss

Launchpad: "This lake will be used for the swimming portion of the competition."

Huey: T_T

Violet: "Cue theme song!"

Missy betraying Della with Daisy

Tony the Tiger?!

The entire coin toss scene 🤣

Us praising Glomgold

Missy commenting how Scrooge and Glomgold can't tuck their tails for golfing

The audio glitching like CRAZY

Fluttershy and Bubbles the Kelpies

Webby: "Talking animals wearing clothes?! :D"

@fantasticenthusiasttale: "Webby…"

Violet, internally:

"Bologna. Trampoline."

THE MUSIC USED FOR THE MONTAGE!

Louie yoinking money out of Glomgold's sweater pocket

Emo Dewey

"You people are no fun."

Webby: "Not everything has to be a life lesson."

Violet:

Violet pretending to be turned to stone by the Medusa Mist (as I like to call it)

Launchpad ending the episode with a life lesson… before trying to devour golf balls

“Dog Show”:

puffy: "you know who else is an orphan"

Dreamy: "Everyone in this shit is an orphan"

The dog show people being dogs

Goofy literally begging

Pixar ball

Mickey unleashing his inner dog

An Extremely Goofy Movie

Calling out all the characters from the previous movie as they show up

The fact that Pete is celebrating his own son leaving💀

How is Goofy single?

Goofy having major rizz (this point comes up quite a bit during the movie, and for good reason)

Max’s character development from A Goofy Movie being undone

Sad Goofy☹️

HDL mention!

Bradley Uppercrust III

@kaitosduckmania: “god this shit is so pretentious LMAO”

Will: “I want this review on the back of the DVD”

Max/Roxanne vs. Max/Bradley on Tumblr

Beret Girl!

Puffy: “you know who ELSE is called tank”

Violet: “MY MOM”

Puffy: “they’re snapping at us…MENACINGLY”

Bradley having the same VA as Johnny Bravo (also, The Man with the Yellow Hat)

Max’s horrified face when he sees that he and his dad are in the same class

Bobby wearing pink panties/briefs

Hidden Mickey

Goofy’s mispronunciation of the word “trigonometry”

Puffy: “the WHAT decimal system”

Sylvia being adorable

Goofy does a Donald-esque voice

Kai: “WHAT THE FUCK GOOFY YOU CAN MAKE THAT VOICE?”

Will: “Max’s whole character is that he doesn’t want to be like Goofy but like he is so much like his father that he doesn’t even know it”

More cheese pull (pizza in the last movie, nachos in this one)

BONGO MUSIC

PJ has rizz, too

Goofy and Sylvia dancing to Shake Your Groove Thing

Papa Dog

Us dumping on the inherent cult-like nature of fraternities, sororities, and the National Honor Society

The German judge low-balling everyone

Dreamy: “Is this the olympics all again”

Puffy: “this is MY olympics”

Max shooting down Goofy in the worst way possible

Goofy’s weed/acid trip dream (plus the Goofy holler!)

More Goofy sadness

Meta humor about almost everyone wearing gloves

Missy betraying Daisy with Sylvia

CHEATING!!!!!

PJ flying off

Dreamy: “He went to visit Della”

“Mud! My only weakness!”

Will mentioning that the scene with the X crashing down was removed from the broadcast version of the movie after 9/11 (which we completely understand, because holy shit)

Also, sort of a Hindenburg reference

Goofy graduating! (And then telling Max he was getting a job at the school)

Sylvia having the same VA as Emma Glamour

Spam floating the idea of Max vs. Gosalyn for the X Games

Disco end credits!

Also, that was a goofy movie. Extremely, even.

#quack pack #ducktales #mickey mouse #an extremely goofy movie #ducktales fandom #duck tumblr #duckblr #duckblr movie night #polar trappers #need 4 speed #the missing links of moorshire!#dog show

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greyborn2 · 4 months ago

Text

A SUMMARY OF MAORMER*

*with occasional headcanon

Gosh, so this one took a while. What follows is a complete summary of maormeri lore as it currently stands. Mostly taken from ESO since, well, that's been are biggest source so far really. Everything written in blue is as near to fact as we can get. It is either directly stated or pretty clearly inferred from the pieces of lore we have. HOWEVER... well, I couldn't help myself. I'm a theorist. Everything not written in blue is more theorizing and worldbuilding on my part. As a general rule I've kept to a 'connect and fill in the dots' approach rather than wholesale making stuff up. So while a lot of this isn't canon, I'm doing my best to keep to its spirit. Also; this is a long ass post so feel free to just skip around to titled areas that interest you!!

HISTORY AND RELIGION

Altmeri and Maormeri history (and faith, on the sea elves’ part) understandably differ somewhat on the topic of king Orgnum. The Altmer hold that he was once a nobleman, and priest of Auriel, and a phenomenally powerful sorcerer who turned from his god. He, they go on to claim, would start a cult in reverence of himself, bankrolled by arcane relics he forged. The Aldmer eventually being forced to break a part of their homeland away, cast it into the sea, and weave powerful mist magicks around it to contain their enemies.

The Maormer claim and fervently believe, for their part, that what the other Mer worship as Auriel is simply a small fragment of the whole truth. Their faith sticks surprisingly close to that of the Redguards; that the time god is both beginning and ending. The serpent god Satakal who bites on and eats his own tail. A god not unlike a synthesis of the traditional Auriel and the Nordic Alduin. They say Satakal, coiling serpent of time, upon who's scales all reality rests, would fall in love with the Mother Sea; from their union all the beasts of the shores and seas came. And so in love with the Mother Sea and his children was Satakal that he would shed his godly scales, for this rotation of time, walk as an elf. King Orgnum. From there the Maormeri and Altmeri tellings converge. They speak of Orgnum attempting to speak the truth to the Aldmer, of how most rejected him, and how he and the Maormer were banished.

While Orgnum-as-Satakal is the primary god of the Maormer, much reverence is also paid to the Mother Sea as well.

Some tellings draw more parallels between the story of Satakal and Mother Sea to that of Anu and Padomay, with each related to the other respectively. By this account Orgnum, as the second incarnation of their telling of Anu, can be seen as a synthesis of Anuiel and Auriel into one.

Maormer see Orgnum as not just their king, but king by right of all the seas, of his love. By this reasoning all islands, from the tiniest rock to the summerset isles themselves, are his by right.

Legend claims that Orgnum made the Maormer his children, and the children of Mother Sea, by ''spilling the spirit of the sea'' into their blood, and it was this that transformed the Aldmer into the Maormer.

When Satakal assumed the skin of Orgnum, his visage as serpent god of time still shone through his mortal form. He began looking as an ancient Mer, and as this rotation of time slowly shortens so to does his mortal life, growing younger and younger by the centuries instead of older. In the current era, it is rumoured, that king Orgnum looks as an adolescent.

Though king Orgnum's full face is almost never seen, everything below the eyes being hidden by a long veil, those who have seen it say he possesses an otherworldly beauty. Some priests and priestesses to Satakal adopt this item of fashion.

Another mark of Orgnum’s divinity is his third arm. Legend says that one can reach toward the past, one the present, and one the future. Though little has been seen of his ability to manipulate time beyond minor miracles.

King Orgnum is able to adjust his form, taking on the shape of the largest sea serpent ever seen. This silver scaled beast is the terror of the Altmeri navy and has been seen swallowing entire ships whole. It is Orgnum’s duel nature of man and serpent that the common Maormer echoes by bonding with a sea serpent at birth.

PYANDONEA

Pyandonea is a floating island chain, kept above the sea by a vast 'bed' of roots beneath her, massive deposits of the naturally floating frog metal, and a small amount of lingering Aldmeri magicks.

Pyandonea, and her surrounding sea, is eternally shrouded in unrelenting mist. Without magical aid the mist is quite literally impossible to traverse. An unaided Maormer could no more leave the isles than a mainlander could enter it. Only with the aid of Sea Witches can passage to and from the isles be formed, as well as between island settlement and island settlement.

The landmass of Pyandonea is that of dizzyingly vast mountain archipelagos overflowing with verdant jungle rainforest, from which mist and waterfalls pour down constantly. The seas around her a maze of kelp which grabs, entangles, and drowns unwary sailors and ships alike, or smashes them against the rocks... though it is only with the aid of these grasping kelps holding onto the underlying root bed of Pyandonea that it stays in one place at all. Sea beasts and water spirits prowl water and land, only adding to the danger. She is a land designed to keep people in, and out, with no passage between; and it took the Maormer much skill to escape her and turn her defences to their advantage.

Maormer settlements are often built in or around the remains of huge emperor crabs, whale carcasses, or otherwise slain titans of the deep. Maormeri ships hunt them, drive them against the shores, and harvest what meat they can; but there is often enough leftover food to support a population for the years necessary to build up a new port or town, and so some of the crew stay behind. Further inland are overgrown Aldmeri ruins, some still inhabited as strange cities that look indistinguishable from the abandoned ones from outside, only within the vines cut away and replaced with signs of civilization. Orgnum himself holds court and rules (when he is not at sea, which he is for most the of year) in one such overgrown city of ruins.

Shades of blue and white are the most popular architectural colours, just as they are most popular in fashion. White marble walls with blue shingles, deep blue sunshades spread between the whitened ribs of old krakens, sky blue tents in bustling markets. It is seen as representative and in honour of the sea; of both her waves and her crashing foam.

Despite the jungles and humidity, Pyandonea is still quite unlike the forests of Topal or the Niben. Unlike both of those it is much further from the equator, almost down to the southern ice sheets, and thus even without snowfall it can be devastatingly cold. Unprepared travellers can find themselves soaked in the mist and losing an entire limb to frostbite... if they are lucky.

BIOLOGY

Maormer are split into, very broadly, two categories. The majority of Maormer are milky white in skin and eye colour, with predominantly white, black, or grey hair. Their ears end with fin-like ridges, and they are able of safely consume salt water - their tongues have an adaptation to safely filter out salt from water, an ability that even remains for a while even after death and removal. Contrary to popular belief, they do not have gills or any special ability to breathe underwater. Finally, almost all possess a mouth of sharp teeth, specialized in tearing meat and breaking shells. So called 'leviathan' Maormer are a minority, making up perhaps a tenth of the overall population. Theirs is a bloodline that has been altered by powerful magicks - sorcery combining their ancestors with beasts of the sea. While most leviathan Maormer are descended of sea snake-hybrids, having faintly white scaled skin, fangs, gills, and springy bones that flow through water at terrifying speed this is not the case of all leviathans. Some have chitinous shells, others semi-translucent jellyfish skin, some even bearing tentacles and bioluminescent patterns. There are as many shapes of leviathan as there are fish in the sea. All are larger than their kin, though, all more at home at sea than land, and all both feared and respected by their fellows. Any captain worth their salt has a coterie of leviathans in their crew.

Maormer are naturally resistant to lightning, though fire and heat can be potentially debilitating - drying their skin out far faster and leaving longer lasting damage than it does to mainlanders.

Maormer possess the uncanny ability to 'blend' into the background and go unseen until they move, or make a noise, oftentimes to the shock of those who forgot they were even there to begin with. While the ability seems chameleonic it doesn’t actually alter the colour or texture of their skin, indeed, even a Maormer in full armor has this power. This ability is most obvious in mist and fog, where they can achieve something even surpassing invisibility.

Maormer are naturally attuned to find their balance on moving ground, be that on the deck of a ship or on the shores of their floating island-homeland of Pyandonea. When forced onto stationary land almost all seem to fall into a strange, staggering, swagger, and many suffer from so-called 'land sickness'.

CULTURE

Maormer society is organized more as a fleet than a traditional nation. Orgnum presides over the entire kingdom as both god and king. Beneath him are the many Sealords, occasionally referred to as ‘Coastal Princes’, each commanding over a fleet and clan, with many holding seaports and territory on Pyandonea itself. These Sealords are the admirals of their people. Beneath them are countless captains of near endless degrees of power. Some are near-rivals to Sealords, commanding small fleets, and ports, all across Maormer territory. Most command a single ship and crew, however. All Maormer, from the lowest sailor to the highest Sealord give a tribute of their take to those above them. All wealth trickles toward their king.

Maormeri society is traditionally a strict meritocracy. When a Sealord dies, their most powerful captain takes the role. When a captain dies, their first mate assumes command and is expected to assign the most capable Maormer under their command to their former position. Nepotism is a grave offence, a betrayal of those that serve under them.

Maormer often take slaves, as well as plunder, in their raids. Those who require too much work to keep are often killed or abandoned, with the fit potentially remaining with their new crew and captors for the rest of their lives. In dire straits, slaves are sacrificed to power Maormeri sorceries. It is not entirely unheard of for a slave to eventually earn their freedom, either remaining with the crew as a true member, or being left on the mainland once more.

A Maormer ship is nearly entirely self-sufficient, and can remain at sea indefinitely barring repair work. The sea provides adequate food and water for a Maormeri crew, and captured supplies can support whatever slaves the ship has.

Every ship keeps one or more Sea Witch, incredibly powerful mages able to command weather to devastating effect. Most Sea Witches are then further accompanied by a throng of apprentices, called Stormcallers.

Maormer trade with both Khajiit and Redguards as often as they prey on them, though some travel further afield. Even far-off Skyrim is at least partially known to them.

Almost every Maormer owns a sea serpent. When a new Maormer is born, the serpent who hatched nearest to the event is assigned to them. The two care and protect each other, forming a deep symbiotic bond. Though few sea serpents are afforded the food needed to grow to ship-crushing sizes, those who do make terrifying mounts for their bonded Maormer. Rider and beast attack as one, the intelligence of their Maormer given to their mount's terrifying strength in pure harmony.

Those Maormer who, by some means, lose their serpent are often paired again with likewise orphaned serpents - if such an opportunity is possible.

After a raid, the take is surprisingly often most distributed fairly and evenly amongst the crew. A captain or Sealord who denies his people their fair share is seen as betraying their service, and rarely long for this world.

Those Maormer unable or unwilling to live a life at sea will most often instead find themselves working as shipwrights or any number of other occupations in Pyandonea's ports. They are a small, but vital, minority.

While all Maormeri ships and crews are combat-able, not all are pirates and raiders. Some work as merchants, trading goods between Pyandonea and the broader fleet. Others make way as diplomats between the Sealords. Many more are simply 'civilian' ships; little different from a mainlander village save for the fact that they are always at sea and farm kelp and fish in place of grain and livestock.

For those Maormer unable to breathe underwater, drowning is a terrible fear. Many legends are of drowning Maormer being saved at the last moment from this fate, and their armor and clothing is designed to adapt as best it can to water and save them from drowning. Fabrics and leathers (mostly from porpoises and ornaugs) are kept resilient to water retention and wet-weight, boots are either designed with mostly uncovered feet or such that they can easily be shed, and the only metal broadly used is frog metal, or orgnium, a metal strong as steel but bearing incredibly buoyancy.

Mainlanders are often seen as clumsy, stumbling, and ill-suited to life at sea. The phrase 'groundwalker' is thus used as both a clear statement of fact but, also, often an insult to the clumsy or foolish. The irony that Maormer are just as clumsy on land is utterly lost on them - or, more likely, they simply believe it more important that one be at home at sea.

Treason and mutiny are one and the same, and both are rare indeed. The offence and mistreatment a captain must provide their crew with is incredible before the bonds of loyalty (and often blood ties too) are broken.

Song and music are major parts of Maormeri culture. From the rhythm keeping slave chants, to the sailors’ shanties, and and even the popular tunes of a pungi in a seaside town, it is hard to go long in Maormeri company without someone striking up a song or tune.

Maormer are far, far, less obsessed with breeding, pedigree, and lineage than the Altmer, or indeed most elven culture. In their eyes, their blood is only a very small part of what makes them better than mainlanders. Theirs is a sense of cultural superiority more so than racial, and those who integrate are often treated little differently than born Maormer - save perhaps for the occasional joke at their expense as they fail to find their sea legs. The endless forms a leviathan Maormer can take have almost enforced this view of accepted diversity amongst them.

#GOD I've wanted to write this for ages #maormer have been such a special interest for ages. My specialist lil' guys after orsimer.#there's a reason my main in ESO is one and has been for an age #tes #the elder scrolls #maormer

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lydiacallas · 1 month ago

Text

Waves of Time and Space

Author's note : Hii, if u have seen this on AO3 ( by somehow and ty if you have come pass it ), this is just a repost from there to see if i should post more fanfics on AO3 or Tumblr, also i want to find f1 moots please please please... Anw enjoy please!

1/6/2024.

The sky was heavy with clouds, swirling in strange patterns above the small, secluded beach.

" This is… weird. " Max thinks, holding the usual red and navy blue cap that he wears on his head tight, not wanting it to fly away.

Max had found this place by accident one day — a forgotten stretch of sand, skillfully tucked away from the modern world by the hands of nature, hidden by cliffs and reachable only after a long, winding walk through a forest. He’d been coming here every day since 5 years ago, and he had bought a small house near here for some summer rest.

It was peaceful. He could think, escape, and dream. Escape from the bustling life of the city, escape the stress that clouded him and his dad every time they argued, escape everything.

But today…something was different. Normally this part is very peaceful, not even a shower rain. But now, the air buzzed with an electric charge, and the sea churned as if stirred by an unseen force. His blond hair tousled by the wind and his blue eyes scanning the horizon, felt a pull, something beyond explanation. The storm that gathered in the sky above wasn't just weather; it was something more.

As the wind picked up and the sky darkened, a flash of lightning tore through the air, ripping the sky. The thunder sound ring his eardrums. He whence, and tries to look up where the lightning striked.

And there, through the mist and rain, he saw a figure — someone unfamiliar yet hauntingly captured his eyes - standing on the shore as if he had walked out of a time rift, somewhere not belong to here. His clothes were not from today, with the white ruffle blouse and trousers. His brown hair was damp with rain, his beautiful green eyes wide with the same confusion Max felt when their eyes met.

Max approached cautiously, and so did Charles, both unsure of what had just happened but drawn together by something neither could explain. As if fate just drawn their string together and made a knot.

They spoke, hesitantly at first, piecing together the impossible. Charles was the son of a businessman from 1924, nearly 100 years apart from Max's 2024. He had been taking a stroll along the same beach in his time when the storm hit his time, and somehow, the world had bent and twisted, pulling him into Max's present.

Every day after that, the two returned to the beach each day, hoping to understand the phenomenon, but more than that, simply to be together, out of curiosity. They talked about everything under the sun, sharing stories, dreams, and fears. Max introduced Charles to the wonders of the modern world, and laughed with all his heart when seeing Charles' eyes sparkling with pure amusement, while Charles shared tales of a simpler time. They're slowly but surely, enjoying the gift that fate has gifted them.

The connection between them grew quickly—an understanding, a shared curiosity, and soon, a deeper bond. It was as though time itself had orchestrated their meeting, weaving them together despite the century that should have separated them.

For three months, they met on that same beach, no longer concerned with how or why it had happened. They had found each other, and that was enough. Max fell in love with Charles, the way he smiled, the gentle way he spoke of a time long gone to the waves of time, and how his presence made the modern world seem less overwhelming. Charles, in turn, found himself drawn to Max’s energy, kindness, enthusiasm, and love for the world, even after all that he had been through, and the way he made the future — something Charles would never live to see — feel like a place he would belong.

As summer drew to a close, their love deepened. They knew that their time together was limited, but they cherished every moment. They know all good things must come to an end. They now miss each time their fingers lingered on each other's hair and skin, the brilliant blue they saw in each other's eyes, in the sky, and the waves that lapped at their feet every night, the hearty laughter they shared every day.

They smiled at each other as if forgetting that the time they had left together was very little.

And then, the time comes. On the last day of August, the storm returned. The wind howled, and the sky split open once more. They both knew what was happening.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Charles whispered, his heart breaks and his voice cracked through the tears as the storm surged around them. The sea roared around them, the usually gentle waves now crashing against the sandy shore like hungry beasts.

Max shakingly held him close, his desperate blue eyes filled with sorrow. “I’ll find you,” he promised, pressing a kiss to Charles’s forehead. “In this life or the next.”

The reply had not yet left Charles's mouth, it was swept away by the storm in its turmoil, the raging waves rushing in, swept Charles away back to the past, leaving Max stood on the shore, devastated and alone.

The days that followed were filled with pain, but Max couldn’t let go. He began researching Charles, desperate to learn more about the man he had fallen in love with. Hours of drowning himself in vintage books, resources, and the internet. And what he found shattered him.

Charles had lived the rest of his life in his time. Was he feeling lonely, sad, happy, and fulfilling? Max never knows. But he know he had married a beautiful woman, perhaps a rich lady fitting his status, out of duty or expectation, and then he had gone to war. He had died a soldier, sacrificing himself for his country. His life had been brief and tragic, a life that was a century behind Max’s own.

His tears silently fall, drops of salty tears fall onto the old yellow hue pages of the book he's reading. It has just been a few months passed in this world, but for Charles Leclerc, for the love of his life, a whole lifetime had passed, with all the sadness, with all the loneliness, with all the tears and sleepless nights.

He wondered if, in those nights, Charles remembered the kiss they shared in the storm that separated them that night.

After some time researching, Max visited Charles’ grave, a small, forgotten site in a cemetery up the green hill near the old beach that hadn’t seen visitors in decades.

He walked through the deserted cemetery, his eyes darting around as if searching for something. And then, he found it. A stone tombstone with an elegant cross covered in moss, with engraved words that had faded over time. But he knew for sure what those words said - the name of the unfortunate boy he had fallen in love with.

Standing before the gravestone, Max knelt and whispered, his fingertips trembly running through the now faded name on the stone tombstone.

“I love you, Charles. I always will.”

"If possible, I wish I could find us. In another reality. Perhaps then, we can be together without any obstacles. Maybe then the world would look at us with gentler eyes."

#formula 1 #formula 1 fanfic #lestappen #1633 #max verstappen #charles leclerc

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softichill · 1 year ago

Text

The Sound of Nightmares unofficial transcript

(Sadly @queen0fm0nsterz wasn't able to work on this one, but is still important to credit bc I say so)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

-------------

[Click]

[Thunderstorm in the background]

OTTO: The guardian at the threshold. An archetype that parapsychologists have obsessed over for centuries. A mythic entity who’s appeared in the stories of innumerable cultures. No matter their description, his role is always the same: to confront anyone who dares cross into unseen worlds.

OTTO: In our last session, he spoke to her, or– through her. Even when I listen to the tape I can’t be certain what I’m hearing. Still, I’ve repeated his words like a sickness ever since. It went like this.

[Shifting]

OTTO: “Cross the sill. Sink in a twinkling. Cast aside the old sleep, to sleep again anew.”

[Otto puts the paper down]

OTTO: The Candleman, the Ferryman– indeed, the Guardian at the Threshold. An idolon on the inside, determined to [Hitting the table] Keep. Me. Out.

[Tape rewinding]

[Intro plays]

[Click]

[Shifting, electric humming, Otto putting something together]

OTTO: Noone was right after all. [Slow beeping starts] I noticed something off, while reviewing the E.E.G, and reluctantly, sent her up to radiology. At first I doubted the validity of the results, but the technician assured- curtly- that Noone’s scan undeniably shows… a pea-sized tumor, on the right-sided amygdala.

[clatter, humming continues]

OTTO: They maintain it’s benign, [click, more humming] despite the unusual ocular appearance.

[repeated clicking, Otto keeps building]

OTTO: This calls everything into question. The mass’s location could impact fear response, emotional salience, and damningly, dreams. And yet… I cannot deny all the evidence to the contrary.

[Lower click, Otto stops building]

OTTO: I’ve… pondered the ethics of informing Noone. She’s already so scared of her body that it would only send her spiraling. I can’t risk anything jeopardizing a revelation that might lead to Cici.

[Shift]

OTTO: From here on, anyone listening will think me mad. But, the proof is in the pudding! Noone’s… vanishings; her transpersonal states; they’re undeniable evidence of a realm- beyond our senses. It’s always been on the periphery, but now I know… it’s accessible. And she possesses the means to enter that domain.

[Papers rustling on the desk]

OTTO: My professor’s paper posits thus: “There are two requisites for entering the quiddity of consciousness. First, a gateway; places hidden amid our world. Second, a means to open these doors. And I assert that keys are primarily cut out of fear.”

[Otto places the paper down and lifts the device he was building. Humming becomes more clear, Otto sighs.]

OTTO: Either I lack his erudition, or his mania. My only hope lies in completing my labours. [Sigh, shifting on desk] I’ve not slept in weeks, [another sigh] and if I cannot dream as she does, I’ll never know how to enter- this… Nowhere.

[Click, audio cuts]

[Audio starts]

[Thunder in the background]

OTTO: [in the background] An ugly autumn night, isn’t it Noone? Swirling mist, they called it on the broadcast. A weather phenomenon unique to the Counties- a downpour’s not far off. But- a gift, may brighten the mood.

[Otto gets closer to the recorder]

OTTO: Here.

[Otto slides something over to Noone]

NOONE: O-oh. It’s nearly the same. Red, too.

OTTO: A chrysanthemum, like your parents left you all those weeks ago! An apology, a- a reminder that I remain as committed to you as I did then.

NOONE: Pretty.

OTTO: It’s a perennial, so it’ll blossom year after year, just like you!

[Shifting as they both sit down]

NOONE: I think, I’m ready now. To talk about… m-my Mum and Dad.

OTTO: (surprised) Oh. And why now? What’s changed?

NOONE: Because… I feel like I’m beginning to forget. And maybe talking will help me remember.

OTTO: Because you’ve been away so long, or you literally feel you’re losing your memory?

NOONE: Um… more like I’m losing a part of me. I can’t tell, am I the girl here, or- the one there?

OTTO: (slightly amused) They’re one in the same. Given all you’ve told me, they must be. It’s not you that’s different, but the physical space around that y-

NOONE: I said I want to talk about my mum and dad! When most kids have nightmares, or- whatever these are, they go to their parents to feel better. Here, I relive them again and again. And it’s all you want to talk about, because you think you can find Cici! Through me!

OTTO: Noone. The only way to find answers is to discover where you go when you sleep. Talking about your parents would be wasting the hours!

NOONE: Aren’t these sessions supposed to be about me?!

OTTO: Always.

NOONE: But I have no say. No control. Over how I feel, or- what I do, I don’t even belong to myself!

[Pause]

NOONE: I’ll do as you ask, but promise me. (Quiet) No wires hooked into my head. No machines. Not tonight.

OTTO: No machines, promise. [Getting up] I think you’ll enjoy what I’ve got planned.

[Audio cuts]

[Door opens]

OTTO: This bed was for shiftwork*. Now I sleep here more days than not.

NOONE: Oh. Pretty.

[Door closes]

[Steps on carpet, recorder set down]

OTTO: I’d like to try a sort of role-reversal. [Creak] I’ll lie here, blindfolded, depriving my senses, to enter a self-induced hypnogogia, so I can focus on your words. You’ll recount your latest visit, and I want you to try as hard as you can, to project your dream into my head.

NOONE: I don’t think it can work, but… I’ll try.

[Creak, shifting as Otto lays down]

NOONE: That girl. In the photo there. That’s her, your daughter.

OTTO: My sister.

NOONE: O-Oh. You don’t look much alike.

[Otto getting prepared]

OTTO: [Exhale] I’m- I-I’m settled. Blindfold on… Carry me away with you, Noone.

NOONE, narrating: …I couldn’t see anything-

OTTO: S-Slow down. This is vital. Speak, as if you’re trying to pull me in.

NOONE: …

NOONE, narrating: I floated through a darkness, with nothing at my feet. Then it all faded and, I was somewhere new.

NOONE: An underground brick tunnel, with a stream of… thick sludge passing through a canal at its center.

NOONE: I can still hear it. Jangling keys. [Dream ambience starts] Screaking metal. Do you hear, Otto?

OTTO: I… I can’t. But keep trying.

NOONE: It came from… a kid in the distance, struggling to shut a ground-iron door. The last thing I heard before the slamming shut was… laughter. [Echoey laughter, faint slam]

[Running water]

NOONE: Sludge poured in from the pipes that ran along the tunnel walls. I had no choice but to follow the stream and, so I did until I reached a section [Distant kids chatting] where I saw storm drains above.

[Dripping water, kids sound more intense]

NOONE: Looking up through one, I saw a boy’s dirty boots, and orange light shining, from a lantern on his waist. We locked eyes and he called out,

BOY, overlapping with NOONE: “Look! Critters already!”

[Children laughing]

NOONE: Lights then shone down from… every drain above. Other boys and girls wanting to peek at me.

[Children laughing, Dream!Noone quietly starting to breathe hard]

NOONE: Very suddenly, [laughter dies down] they went quiet. [Kids start whispering] I didn’t know why, until… I heard it. A rumbling through the tunnels.

[Kids whisper things like “It’s here!” “It’s finally here!”]

NOONE: They whispered together. “It’s here! Finally here!”

[Whispering dies down, rumbling]

NOONE: Do you feel what I felt, Otto?

OTTO: They’d… been waiting. For you.

NOONE: …Not exactly. Their joy, their bratty excitement… they’d- gathered for an event, and it had finally come. Like a holiday, that only arrives once per year.

NOONE: Running from their celebration, I turned down a tunnel, [wet footsteps] going until, I came to a junction. Overwhelmed by how many options surrounded me, I closed my eyes. Listening.

[Running water, squeaky metal detector sounds]

NOONE: The sound… came from the path to my left. [Faint electronic buzzing] I waited, watching from a distance, as someone crossed [squeaking] by the dark tunnel mouth.

NOONE: He carried… a strange gadget. And every now and again, its buzz, turned to some- beeping. Detecting secrets, in the waters.

[Metal detector squeaking]

NOONE: I hardly noticed the rest of him. But, I got a look before he crossed out of view. He carried a heavy sack, over his shoulder. And things squirmed inside. But, he was gone as quick as he’d appeared!

[Metal detector gets quieter, Dream!Noone’s wet steps]

NOONE: The sludge was… rising quickly [Dream!Noone: Ugh!], up to my ankles, and- the stink became so awful, Otto! I-Imagine it, waste filling your nose.

[Wet steps continue]

NOONE: Then, across from me, a small pipe became blocked, stopping the sewage. A grey mass poked through [Nome chittering], jammed in tight, wiggling to get loose. But… not until it fell into the sludge [plop], did I realize this… tiny… [chittering] thing… was alive! It picked itself up and- swayed about, curious of my company.

[Wet steps combined with Nome sounds. Nome makes noises through the next paragraph]

NOONE: The head was… was shaped like- those cone mushrooms, that grow out in Haitfield**. I inched closer to the little mushroom fairy, and… it began mimicking me! As if we’d been old friends!

OTTO: (distant) A friendly presence… the first non-hostile being you’ve met that wasn’t another child.

NOONE: Yes! He belonged there. In that world. Part of it rather than… a stranger, like me.

NOONE: Is… is it working, Otto? Can you see its little mushroom head?

OTTO: I think so. Maybe. Keep going.

NOONE: [mimicking a deep voice] Yes. Drift away, Otto. Drift away…

[Wet steps, Nome noises]

NOONE: A crooked net lowered down from a drain grate above. While I ducked to cover, the mushroom fairy didn’t. I tried to point upward but, it simply copied my gesture! There was a girl [little girl giggling] giggling with- ugly delight, sticking her whole arm through the grate, hoping to capture the poor thing! So I grabbed a loose brick, [lifting brick] and threw it at her! [Dream!Noone: Hup!]

NOONE: Hitting her arm [girl wailing] she cried out, while I picked up the mushroom fairy, [running through sludge] and ran off.

[Dream!Noone panting, running]

NOONE: After we were well clear, I put the creature down. [Nome chatters] It immediately walked off! Then, looked back, suggesting I follow.

NOONE: [walking] That little body clicked, jittery and… ungraceful. Somehow the thing seemed to know where it was taking me, stopping only once we came to a rusty door [metal creaking], leading to a maintenance room.

NOONE: Entering though, I discovered something else entirely. [Squeaky door opening, Dream!Noone gasps and whispers “Wow”] Endless piles spread about the room, some of pure junk while… others housed gold jewelry! As long as it could be collected, there was a place for it here. [Dream!Noone walking through the room] Mesmerizing.

[Walking]

NOONE: Only after examining a mound of keys [key jingling] did I understand, where this stuff came from. Everything in this room, had been dropped down from the world above over the years. [Nome noise(?)] The only thing out of place, was a child’s propeller cap. On a chair, tucked away, forgotten. [Nome chitter] I think that’s what the mushroom fairy wanted me to see.

NOONE: [Nome perks up] As if on cue, I heard the man approaching; the little creature hid in a pile of mismatched mittens, and I jammed my way in too. [Running, fabric shuffling, metal door opens and electric buzz + squeaking starts]

NOONE: I peered out, as he stepped through the door and began dumping out his… pockets. [Faint clattering of various things] Coins, rings, trinkets… [Clattering stops] Next, he took off his plastic suit, covered in- gunk. Beneath, was a bony body, his spine bent horribly. What I thought had been a sack carried over his shoulder… was the back of his head. Like a balloon full of water, throbbing and- swollen.

NOONE: But I could tell he was not always that way. He’d changed. Somehow become one… with the sewers.

OTTO: (more distant) I don’t understand. You believe this place transformed him?

NOONE: Aren’t you meant to be drifting into hypergocklia, or whatever? Seeing, smelling, hearing as I did?

OTTO: I can’t seem… to let go. I want to, more than anything I-

NOONE: [Imitating Otto] Try! That’s what you always tell me. If I’m trying my hardest, you have to as well.

NOONE, narrating: From the corner of my eye, I noticed the little cone sneaking away. The balloon-headed man was inches away, and in that moment, I thought of Jester. Of the Child with Gooey Hair. Of Rusty. I couldn’t do nothing, not again!

NOONE: Thankfully, [rumbling, clattering] that rumbling from earlier returned in that moment, stronger than before!

[Sewer Man notices and panics]

NOONE: The shaking destroyed the man’s piles, startling him into… an odd anger, so… I stumbled out from hiding, [Running] and bolted for my mushroom fairy, [Nome] and out the door! [Metal creak, Sewer Man notices]

NOONE: I ran and ran, and, [Dream!Noone running and panting] although the man, he wasn’t very fast, that didn’t matter. [Buzzing & squeaking] He had his gadget, and, that buzz followed wherever I went!

[Dream!Noone wading through water]

NOONE: Any sense of direction washed away with- the sludge that was now up to my knees! [Dream!Noone running & panting] Turning down tunnel after tunnel, I stopped, [ambience calms down, squeaking] hoping I’d lost him.

NOONE: All at once, those lanterns shone from above [clicks]. The naughty kids had spotted us! [Kids start singing a teasing song] Wildly they sang, “Snatch a gift! Snatch a gift! Before they’re all sent adrift!”

[Kids continue singing and start clapping along, ambience picks up]

NOONE: Their cheers grew and, [squeak, Dream!Noone gasps] and I saw why. [Electric buzzing] A bag-headed shadow appeared at the tunnel’s far end. Cutting me off. The man and his machine used the tunnels as if- as if the sewers had leaked into his thoughts!

[Dream!Noone breathing hard, splashing water]

NOONE: I tried to backtrack, but, must have taken a wrong turn, and found myself at a dead end. A wall of bricks! [Nome struggles] The mushroom fairy squirmed hard, begging to be freed! So… [plop] I let go, and the grey cone climbed up a pile of fallen rubble, and slipped through a crack, without hesitation, to abandon me! (Sad) Despite saving its life.

[Water leaking]

NOONE: The crack the fairy squeezed through began spouting water from the other side. [Squeaking and buzzing start up again] I pulled at the bricks as the man stepped closer [Sewer Man gets closer, bricks shifting], one brick loose, then another. His gadget buzzed and buzzed, when I ripped a final brick loose, [Sewer Man sees Noone] leaving a hole large enough to creep through.

[Sewer Man yells and hits the wall, buzzing and squeaking get farther away]

NOONE: He bated at the wall, grabbing at me, but, I was too far gone. His small, milky eye peeked through at me, until the walls rumbled, more fiercely than ever! The man backed away, overcome with horror.

[Sewer Man yells, echoey kids’ cheers in the background]

NOONE: The rumbling didn’t stop after that. And neither did the kids cheering from above. [Ambience rising] Whatever they had waited for…

[All ambience stops]

NOONE: It was time.

[Wind/thunder in the background, back in the office]

NOONE: Otto, you’re awake! [Otto startles]

OTTO: Yes, Noone. I’m trying, so hard, to see, to feel- to sense what you did, but I can’t. I don’t have the gift you have, and your gifts are not as commanding as I hoped they’d-

NOONE: (Upset/frustrated) I’d trade places with you in a heartbeat! I wish I could give you everything in my head, then I’d be rid of all of this.

[pause]

NOONE: Shall I go on?

OTTO: Yes.

NOONE, narrating: …It felt as if someone had picked up the sewer, shaking it with rage. Water crashed against the walls. I stumbled on and on, the tunnel growing wider and wider… A second smaller sound appeared; [distant nome chitters] clicks, and murmurs. Then, [nomes getting louder] out of the darkness ahead, they appeared, [many nomes running] scurrying so fast I couldn’t react! A hundred little mushroom fairies, rushing past me in a panic, escaping something close behind!

[Distant kids teasing]

NOONE: It wasn’t long before that something came. [Rushing water, kids cheering] speeding like [Dream!Noone gasps] a pack of horses tangled together, a tidal wave pounded through the sewer!

[Dream!Noone yelps, wave approaches]

NOONE: The wave was feet away when, [Wave is extremely close, ambience pauses minus the kids cheering] I finally understood. For the kids above, this was a blast. They waited and waited, unable to experience the wave’s power themselves, and that made them love it all the more. Snatching things that run from its path was part of their awful celebration.

[Waves crashes down on Dream!Noone]

NOONE: The violent wave hit, sweeping me away, carrying me back through the maze of tunnels. I swam up and up, doing my best to surface, and just as I did,

[Splash, music suddenly calms. Dream!Noone gasping for air]

NOONE: The waves paused. My body no longer needed to swim. And the Candleman appeared, floating… on some kind of… broken door.

OTTO: (distant, serious) Go through your encounter diligently. He holds the answers I- we need. Make no mistake: he is your tormentor.

NOONE: (darkly) ‘m not sure that’s true.

NOONE, narrating: This time, I was able to speak in his presence.

Overlapping with Dream!Noone: “Why do you bring me here? What do you want?!”

NOONE: He replied,

FERRYMAN, ov. with NOONE: “Cross the sill. Sink in a twinkling. Cast aside the old sleep, to sleep again anew.”

NOONE: I yelled back (dream!Noone) “Why?! Why should I?!!” Before I finished he said,

FERRYMAN: “Blight. Not within, but without. Here, all banes be set free.”

OTTO: More riddles. He doesn’t think I can solve them, but I will-

NOONE: I already did. I think… he means by giving myself to his world, I won’t be ill any longer. That’s why… when I’m there, no more headaches. No more parasites. No more tests.

OTTO: That’s not true, it’s not!

NOONE: [interrupting] I would almost prefer him to take me.

OTTO: [Standing up] Don’t say that!

NOONE: Away from here. From yo–

OTTO: It’s what he wants!

NOONE: Maybe–

OTTO: He wants you!

NOONE: (yelling) Maybe your Cici felt that way too! Relieved!

OTTO: [Angry shock, deep breaths]

[Walking, door opens]

OTTO: (whispering) No… (mumbling) I was only a boy…

[Wind picks up slightly in the background]

[Door creaks, click, audio cuts]

[Click, tape rewinding, click]

[Audio starts, storm continues in the background]

[Papers shifting. Door opens]

OTTO: We’re done tonight. Get out. To your room, go.

[Papers rustling]

NOONE: (accusatory) What’s this?

OTTO: Nosing through my desk, were you?

NOONE: My name’s on it. It’s my scan, yes?

OTTO: Smart girl.

NOONE: Wh… what does it tell?

OTTO: That you’ve got a mass. Growing on your brain- a tumor.

NOONE: I knew it. The cure. …How bad is-

OTTO: A mass in your brain is never good.

[Faint thunder]

NOONE: (about to cry) You should have told me. Why? Why didn’t you tell me?

OTTO: It’s not my practice to tell before necessary. Now, get. To. Bed.

NOONE: …Fine. [Sniff]

[Storm continues]

NOONE, narrating: But after the Candleman spoke, the wave carried me by the maintenance room again. The Bag-Headed man looked through a window, terrified. He was– opposite to those kids above. Living down there, he– he’d no reason to celebrate the wave. Instead… he cherished what they dropped down by accident.

NOONE: You see… each wanted what the other had. But could never have themselves.

NOONE: I’m taking two sweets tonight. [Ceramic chime, wrappers]

OTTO: Take as many as you want and leave.

[Ceramic click, audio cuts]

[Audio starts]

[The storm is louder now]

OTTO: [Sigh]...

OTTO: Perhaps I was cruel to tell her. But as she sleeps, I’ve been pondering the entry requisites specified by my professor. I believe he was only partly right. One need only to look at the theater of agony that the Ferryman’s created to understand fear, is an essential requirement. [threatening ambience starts] And I know better than anyone, a little fear can compel us towards discovery.

OTTO: As for the gateway’s location, perhaps it’s not a place hidden in our world, but in our minds. Is it not possible that her tumor is somehow this unknown gateway? An organ of transcendence.

OTTO: The apparatus may be unfinished, but its [unintelligible]*** monitor is functional. If she’s to cross over, in a “twinkling”, what choice do I have? In her words, you must try.

[Click, audio cuts]

[Audio starts. A machine is running and Otto is typing something.]

OTTO: She hardly stirred at all while I pathed the BCI.

[Beep, Otto stops typing. Something whirrs]

OTTO: All seems stable. As soon as her dreaming begins, the monitor should translate neurosignals into visualizations.

NOONE: (half-asleep) Otto…

OTTO: Shhh, shsh…

NOONE: [Mumbling, starting to become distressed]

OTTO: Shhh. Return to that sleep of yours.

[Audio cuts]

[Audio starts. Machine is still going, storm is outside]

OTTO: It’s past midnight. She fought as long as she could, but finally succumbed. This is it. Show me, Noone. Show me the other side.

[Noone mumbles, monitor turns on]

OTTO: Here we are. The image… a… kaleidoscope of black…

[Noone winces]

OTTO: An unnatural abyss…

[Noone winces repeatedly]

OTTO: Wait- a shape. It’s difficult to see… [Noone] like looking through a negative mist.

[Noone continues making noises of distress. Otto spots something]

OTTO: There! A silhouette! Ovular, splitting across the center–

[Static rises and Otto yells in pain. Ambience is loud]

OTTO: [Strained] It– it glares like the sun– [choking] No! A pupil! Near white! Oh god, it’s– it’s watching me! It’s watching me!

[Noone nearly yells in her sleep]

[Whoosh, Otto yells, machine shuts off. Audio is muddled for a moment.]

OTTO: (very muffled) [Breathing heavily] Noone? [Gasp] Noone!

[Crashing, audio cuts]

[Outro plays]

--------------

*I'm not super sure of what he says here since the door drowns him out

**I don't know how this is spelled

***According to text-to-speech, google, and autocorrect, what he says here is not a real word and I have no idea what it could be. All I know is that it ends in -graph.

#little nightmares #ln #the sounds of nightmares #tson #transcript #the sounds of nightmares transcript #noone #otto #the ferryman #ln noone #noone ln #ln otto #Otto ln #ln ferryman #I'M SO SORRY THIS IS SO LATE AAAAA life got busy for both of us........#But hey at least it's here before the final episode!!!!#Anyways what if I exploded Otto with my mind. To shreds you say

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thehistoriangirl · 8 months ago

Text

The Tides Have Veiled [Fifteen]

Viktor x Fem! Reader-----/Gothic AU/Haunted Sea/---5K----SFW*

> MASTERLIST <- Previous // Next ->

Synopsis: Piltover the Old has an old lighthouse that looms over an abandoned port. From the house in the wailing cliff’s edge, the lighthouse owner watches that the beacon is being lighten up each time darkness arrives, so that monsters wouldn't dare to crawl inland, or so legends say. Both buildings are haunted, maybe even the man himself, by both past and present ghosts. Surprisingly, the keeper’s work is beyond turning on the beacon every night— but the rest is on you to discover.

Chapter Summary: You see the world beyond the veil, though something is lurking beneath...

Taglist: @lunar-monster @local-mr-frog @bittercyder @blissfulip @ihopeinevergetsoberr

Fifteen: Cold Embrace

There was a moment in the night when the world painted grey lead, almost transformed into a ghostly realm, blurry lines between the mist floating above the sea and the infinite sky. Barely the sketch of a world.

It was when the veil between worlds thinned enough for the spirits to crawl into ours, and for you to enter theirs.

If you so wished, of course. And you longed for it every night, thinking about what you would wish to say to the woman who gave up on life as soon as she created a little one. Why didn't she take you with her?

Why the sea refused, again and again, and again, to claim you. Too starving of revenge and the blood of this forgotten town, and yet, only those closer to you kept dying.

The image flashed, as quick as lightning. Cold sand pressed against your back, small pebbles trying to incrust inside your skin, the rotten stench of death as the sharp edge of a rusty knife pierced the surface at barely centimeters away from your cheek.

“If the water won’t claim you,” a voice said, face covered with thin, soaked blonde hair. The woman took the handle of the weapon with her broken fingers, nails black and long as she pulled the knife off the sand to raise it above her head. You gasped at the sight of half-eaten grey skin, barnacles, and moss growing on the hard edges of the bone. "Blood will. And how much blood I'm going to draw…"

The knife sang against the air, falling with mastery toward your heart.

By the time you tiptoed your way back to the beacon room, the rain had died down to a breeze; freezing wind sneaking its way through the boarded window. Such opposite of the warm embrace of your now not-so-fake husband—that if his gentle kisses were proof concrete enough.

Though tearing yourself away from the warm embrace of the couch and the sweater Viktor thrown over you was almost a herculean task, but you didn’t wish for him to cover your duty, though by now your rest had been disturbed by the recurrent nightmare, better said, the recurrent memory.

Your weeks as the keeper had turned you nocturnal, another spirit keeping watch by the cliff—a chill running down your spine when you realized you weren't that different from the other ghosts roaming the coast, wailing at the foot of the cliff.

Except today, it seemed. Just as everything seemed different with him around.

Viktor was posted by the uncovered section of the glass, his cane leaned against the wall, a figure so still you thought you were still dreaming, that he had become a new prop of your foolishness at imagining that last night had been real.

A mask melting into the disgusting face of the bloated woman. Another knife was hidden inside the handle of his cane.

"Viktor?" Your voice broke the stillness of the early morning, the fuzzy edges of the world becoming solid once his golden gaze broke between the foggy morning like a victorious sun.

Your steps were annoyingly noisy against the creaky wooden floor of the beacon room, the cold, salty air filtering through the boards as the roaring of the sea dwindled to a simple, constant growl.

“You should’ve woken me,” you said, eyeing the disarray on the table; with open journals and yellowish pages scattered everywhere, tiny, and hurried calligraphy strangely familiar. “Keeping watch isn’t your job.”

His cane tapped against the floor when he turned toward you, a sheepish smile on his face. "It's been a while since I got to see this view." Long, sinewy fingers traced the length of the boards, as if the view he was referring to had been now carved into the wood instead of appearing in the wild. "Accompany me. We need to retrieve some tools from the house today.”

Why he had been by the window all night? If certainly the seascape was stunning during dawn, by night everything was just a world of mist and darkness.

"Did you see her?" you muttered once out of the lighthouse tower; fingers still freezing over the door bolt before pulling out the lock. Part of you hoped you didn't have to say who—not only because of the uncertainty, but also the dread of voicing it, such action pushing the memory of it not like a dream coated in guilt and frenzy, but a real affliction.

Viktor called your name, metal shrieking with accumulated rust once he pulled the gate open. "There's a legend," he trod with caution, words stumbling against each other once the house's façade started looming on the horizon. "About her."

“Well, what is it?”

He smiled at your interest, opening the door of the house that always remained unlocked while he beckoned you inside a spotless foyer. Almost eclipsing the scene, you saw upon your return to the city. If it weren’t…

Everything could be done with step following another, and another; as easy as that, as you’ve done all your life—as you got near your uncle’s funeral.

But then, the pull.

You stood like an alien on the threshold, noticing the elongated shadows seeming to devour any trace of sunlight that could enter through the open door. The silence was broken only by the waves down the beach.

“Miss, we ought not to talk about it here, unless we wish to summon them,” Viktor said, leaning closer to you to whisper such words that left goosebump flesh to crawl up your arms. “That’s what all ghost stories say, does it not?”

No, it wasn’t a pull. It was a gaze.

Old and unmerciful and unwavering, coming from the empty corner down the first floor’s hall. There where only the amorph shadow of the dissected mermaid had been once.

Was it her? Was hers the cave you discovered yesterday? Was she—

"Then, when do we talk about what's happening in here?" you whispered, hoping your front of bravery would be enough for the house to stop staring at you with the feeling of inferiority blooming out of your chest. "I’m tired of thinking I’m out of my mind. I don’t want to run anymore. Because ignoring it won’t make it go away.”

Just like you pretended those muddy footsteps were a result of your vivid imagination. Barely daring to remember there here, where the horror had taken place—though you had to admit it hadn’t been the worst.

His eyes darkened, from sunny to burned honey. Viktor passed next to you, side-gazing the staircase up to the first set of stairs toward where his underground office was located. His fingers surrounded one of your wrists, pulling you away from the entrance and into the depths of the house.

His back and open coat brought you protection as he guided you toward the kitchen, covered from the gaze you were sure was still piercing his back.

“In open waters, where nobody else but ourselves can hear,” he whispered, pulling back in such a swift move you were almost convinced his words had been a delusion. “Alright. I'll bring the notebooks to my bedroom desk. Can you bring the books on the table down to my office?” He pointed toward the first-floor hallway. “I need to pack lightly for this excursion.” Viktor chuckled. “The boat isn’t that big, and now I’ll have company…”

Now was the cave, but before had been those damned footsteps, mocking outlines of a presence that shouldn't be there—and you weren't sure if you preferred it to be a simple joke from Viktor or an intruder from town.

Why had Viktor decided to make you company in the lighthouse? It went further than empathy, or even, the craving of being closer to each other when the whole world faded. But the starlight sphere hadn’t been built yet. And while shadows rested for their hauntings, you could wander freely.

You remembered the stagnant air filling your nose as you hoped your uncle to pass by after their break inside Viktor’s house, fearing the vivid memory would materialize into his ghost again.

Or whoever would be wearing his face this time.

“I—I would prefer to go for the books on the second floor, so you won’t climb too many stairs,” you said, your face hot once you met Viktor’s attentive gaze, an eyebrow elegantly arched. “Not to be meddlesome, of course.”

Viktor nodded, a half-smirk pulling his lips. “If you say so." He hummed, taking some keys out of his pockets; between all the golden, the one to open the underground office was big and heavy, silver, and with a slight tint of green from rust. “I’ll see you by the office, then.”

His steps quickly disappeared, your curiosity peaking as you climbed the stairs, almost picturing the rainy night you had met him, so many weeks ago.

Perhaps you’d be more familiar with the house if this marriage were conventional—if this house were conventional, too, without charged silences and acute shadows looming around the corners.

Without muddy footsteps guiding the way toward Viktor’s room.

He didn’t have any servants employed on the daily, with dusty corners and spiderwebs growing from the small crevices between the wall lamps and the roof. Excepting the quiet cook who came once a week to deliver food, Viktor lived all alone.

Until you, perhaps.

You would never know how he could stand it, the endless, empty hallways, still corners as if waiting for something to break such consistency with a humanoid shadow suspended above the ground. Such a big house, so lonesome.

Many corners watching your every move, so many shadows lurking nearby. It was maddening, as if you were a prey expecting to be hunted at every turning corner.

And then, it was your shabby cabin, too small for five people and yet, just as solitary.

Cursed or not, the walls are always whispering, bleeding the time it has seeped into them when the wallpaper isn’t changed regularly. The dark spots of humidity, creaky floors, and shrieking doors.

This house was alive, just like a guardian for its secrets, and right now, you were an intruder.

Would there be a place where you weren’t one?

Viktor’s door was unlocked when you entered, the familiar, cold handle quickly turning. Inside, everything was untouched, as you would expect a hostel’s room to look. So… abandoned.

The morning sun painted the white walls light yellow, staining your vision that was now so used to the dim orangey hues from the oil lamps lined up along the hallway. His bed was kept, blankets tucked neatly under the pillows that you know smelled like him; old pages of books, coffee beans, and the marine breeze filtering through the window.

With careful strides, wishing not to disturb the quietness of the place that was cut only by your slow breaths.

There it was his desk, the pile of papers and notebooks with wrinkly edges covering the wooden surface. Absentminded, your fingers passed through the pages, observing ink stains seeping through the reverse of its surface, crossed-out words gone unreadable. Diagrams of different sea creatures signaling with arrows are parts you couldn't make sense of.

Except… these… some of these drawings were familiar, or illustrations you'd found in the tales' books your grandparents kept by the side of your cot. Mermaids—all kinds of creatures with human heads, arms, and torsos, yet infinite classes of lower half.

Click. You heard, the hairs in your nape raising once the door in front of his bedroom started creaking.

Wood wept as the darkness spilled into the hallway, acute shadows seeming to lurk closer. His notebooks crackled when you pressed them against your chest in a stupid attempt to soothe your frenetic heartbeat.

Curtains were drawn, windows boarded; the inside of the adjacent room looked like a dark maw. You wished to tear your gaze away from the void, but curiosity prickled your brain, wishing to guess which amorph figures you could peek from the shadows.

Which one was the cause of your horrors?

You got closer to the hallway—you didn’t have another way to walk toward the exit, taking steps backward steps in an attempt not to turn your back to the darkness.

From the poor illumination from the oil lamp next to the door, you observed the outlines of a four-poster bed, a thin veil covering the mattress to protect it from the dust that permeated the forgotten, locked-away room.

It was then when your gaze flashed down, gaze focused on the large, solid mass of shadows sitting at the edge of the bed, half-body tucked inside the veil.

Your feet stumbled, almost tripping by the wrinkled edge of the carpet; knees converted into molten wax.

A trail of mud looked like drying blood inside the room, ending at the foot of the bed.

The sketch of a humanoid figure—the ghost bared its teeth in a lazy grin. Human teeth.

The air got stuck on its way out of your lips.

But no, you have pledged enough mercy that night at the cave, and you knew ghosts would be restless anyhow, as unmerciful as the heartbroken wails from the cliff.

You felt the heavy weight of the shell in the depths of your pocket, a somewhat comforting presence when your hands slid along the wallpaper wall, cold and rugged by time, to touch the level of the sconce.

Light filled the room like a yellowish afternoon, showing you a bedroom that was probably decorated by and for a young woman. With its tall closet and books collecting dust, discolored bedsheets covering what appeared to be a lounging couch posted by the window. A vanity whose mirror had been missed.

Covered with a soft-looking cotton blanket decorated with a knitted pattern of flowers laid the mattress, ruffles of lavender fabric covering the rest until it grazed slightly against the wooden floor. And yet despite all the details, no matter how hard your eyes tried to scan the surface, the bed remained empty.

Though a mark was half hidden beneath the ruffles, like a mocking gesture.

The outline of a footprint, still wet and muddy staining the fabric’s edge.

Newly made.

Swallowing a lump down your throat, which could be both panic and nausea, you held your breath while taking the door’s knob, cold and solid and grounding.

I won’t fear anymore. You thought, knuckles white from your forceful grasp. I won’t fear anymore.

Accommodating Viktor’s notebooks under your arm, you ran your finger to meet with the light’s flick, the movement more unconscious than you'd imagined as your finger simply ran down the button's surface to fill the room with shadows once again.

Instinct called you to look at the bed once again, which remained empty.

Yet still, while you closed the door with a slam, the hairs around your face moved by the breeze, accompanied by a distinctive human sigh.

It smelled like stagnant air, like the rotten stench of death.

When you tore your hand away from the knob, your fingers were stained with mud and traces of coagulated blood. An ominous mark, and an open challenge, perhaps.

It hadn’t been disgust. It wasn't a lack of bravery that made you dash down the stairs either, but the feeling that preceded closely behind after the sound dragged too long and with an impossible origin in this solitary hallway. Chills covered your skin with goosebumps, the heavy feeling of your nausea climbing up your empty stomach, the sick sensation of someone—something—watching you close.

Mid-way to the first landing, you started humming, a coping mechanism you developed since your uncles loved to tell you horror stories. To let your mind wander, filled with a long-forgotten song you tried to resurrect. Hum the same song in a loop until your brain tired itself out, forcing you to slumber.

This time, an echo answered your unconscious call for a duet once you stepped onto the ground floor, the sound floating along the wood, originating from under the door next to Viktor’s office.

“Viktor?” you muttered, though the voice wasn’t the same. It was a childish attempt to conceal the fear that this house enjoyed tied into your ankles and arms, like a puppet.

And right now, the house wanted you to play, prickling your curiosity enough to open the door. The locked door whose key remained inside the breast pocket of Viktor’s coat, the closed door that upon your intense gaze wasn’t locket at all, lock rusty and empty, yet not sealed.

Perhaps this one would also open unexpectedly if you hovered nearby long enough.

If you want to know, open this door, the house told you, making its walls loom closer, to trap you inside this moment when the sun hid behind a cloud, perhaps fearful of what your decision would be.

Open it. Open it. Open it.

You stood in front of it, torn between going down the known path, where Viktor’s door pooled light under the door, safe company, or following this one where the cold breeze came from. The door looked back at your indecision, impassive and old. All-knowing.

Open it. Open it. Open it. Don’t you want to know if you’re crazy? If you’re both crazy?

With your jaw clenched, you hugged Viktor’s notes closer to your chest, a sharp inhale as if you were about to dive underwater.

I know you won’t dare to open it, you coward little girl.

The iron was freezing to the touch; the slight creak between the floor and the door filtered cool air toward your legs, around your ankles like a lasso—which made you aware that this wasn’t a sealed room.

What was on the other side?

I know you won’t dare to open it, you coward little girl.

THUNK.

“Miss, what are you doing?” Viktor said when he saw you running down the steps of his office, hands pressed against the door as if a monster were trying to enter. “Are you alright?”

“Viktor,” you breathed, feeling your legs shake from the strain and the adrenaline still coursing through your veins. “Viktor, what is this?” you said, tumbling down the stairs and pushing the mermaid’s diagrams on top of the desk.

Viktor looked at you with wide eyes, some hairs prickling his forehead when he shook his head. “Pardon? Were you looking into my things?”

“Of course not,” your rebuttal was sharp and dry, humorless. “These are the notes you wanted to retrieve for the expedition. Why?”

He started by calling your name, but this wasn’t time to play with niceties. It wasn’t the first time you were haunted in this house—much less in this damned town; your old shell as a scared person had slowly been replaced by a harder, boldest one.

Viktor sighed, rubbing his right temple. “It’s… complicated,” he ventured. Words died in his mouth when he looked away in shame. "I don't think you'd believe me."

You extended your left hand, showing him the rest of the mud and blood starting to peel off. "If you believed me, why shouldn't I believe you?"

His eyes traveled toward your fingers extended toward him, his hand swiftly enveloping your stained digits with his own, dismissed the idea of caring about getting his hand dirty. You saw his expression shift; knitted eyebrows and a slightly clenched jaw, lips pressed on a line.

“Come with me,” Viktor said, standing from the desk and grabbing a valise that looked both full and heavy. “Let’s get out of this house.”

The afternoon was fading away when you helped Viktor push a fishing boat toward the shallow waters of the beach, almost not feeling the freezing weight of the water lapping at your ankles for the tall boots you decided to wear.

Your tummy was full of an extensive meal, arms burning from the effort of a whole day full of duties, feeling the rattling of the wooden boat scrapping the rocks in your bones.

“It’s ready,” Viktor grunted, ignoring the beads of sweat running down his forehead. “I’ll help you up first.” He extended his hand toward you, using it as leverage for you to step into the wobbling surface of the vessel. “There you go.” He used his upper body strength to sit against the edge of the boat, using your arms to rotate himself inside it, only putting down his legs over what would be his seat for the rest of the expedition.

The lighthouse waved you goodbye when you started paddling, wanting to keep the motor in case of emergency—besides, Viktor had said that the rain would come only after sundown.

"This is the fishing boat of Mr. Calis," you told him, passing your hands over the half-scrapped-down painting of its name Norina. It was, better put since Mr. Calis had died years ago.

“Yes. I bought it from his son when Mr. Calis moved with him to the city,” Viktor said. “It’s said to be the only fishing boat that didn’t suffer losses even during the fishing shortage years ago.”

You remembered, around ten years ago when your grandma told you that story while you promised you wouldn't repeat it.

It happened when she was still young, blessed with a reliable memory. Like all the other families from Piltover the Old, they must carry the familiar tradition of fishing as the only job people from this town could have—they were favored by the mermaids, or so the legends said.

And yet, all that terrible winter brought were merciless storms, destructive floods, and blobs of rotten fish washed ashore. All unconsumable, all unsellable.

It went for all winter, using the arrival of spring as an excuse to offer tribute to the sea, a custom you could still appreciate from the elders' survivors of the town leaving offerings at the foot of the cliff, washed away by the sea.

"People said he cut half the catch of each day and dumped it overboard in open waters," you hummed, just like your grandma did when she reached that part of the tale. "To feed the mermaids that helped him fill his nets."

“This town had always been tied to mermaids," Viktor said, enjoying the view of the lighthouse making itself smaller and smaller, a thin veil of fog starting to cover the sea as the sky turned dark blue. "Its designation as the largest, richest fishing zone all along this coast; it's downfall, and now even its remains are still tied to it."

“That’s why you’re interested in mermaids?”

"Yes," Viktor said, his body leaning backward and onwards with each forceful paddle, the tides growing impatient by the calling of the full moon that could barely peek down at you from between the thick clouds. "Many scientists still don't understand what phenomenon occurs in these waters. How there are so many flashing floodings, uneven patterns of raining seasons, and, well, this." Viktor signaled around you, the world becoming blurry and grey in the middle of the mist. "Look over there, where the sun dipped down."

With his cold hand, he guided your chin toward the west, where the continuous path of mist broke with a blue patch of sky.

“Is that…?” But it couldn’t be.

Viktor nodded. "The night sky. Nobody knows why only this part of the beach fills with fog and storms at night. There are dozens of papers theorizing about it, but alas, nothing is concrete yet."

“And do you think this is the product of mermaids?”

“There was a brutal hunting episode near this shore,” Viktor gestured to where the lighthouse was observing them like a gargantuan cyclops with its unwavering gaze, golden like its owner. “Folklore says that the fishermen killed mermaids once their revenues plummeted at the sudden shortage of fish—their pact with the mermaids already broken. But scientists say they killed large mammals instead, perhaps manatees. Such massacre would've created an unbalance in the ecosystem that still affects us today."

You paddled quicker once the night sky grazed you with its twinkling stars, a clean fabric of navy blue where the moon looked so big and full you could almost extend your hand and cup it, letting her tint you with its silver hues, to make you all moonlight. Perhaps that way you could float away from the dreary coast, always grisly and hopeless with its freezing rain that had seeped your bones with the same disillusion.

“Of course, that doesn’t explain the meteorological phenomena surrounding the town, either why there are people who refuse to leave it despite its conditions,” Viktor continued, stretching the sore muscles of his back once you broke over the unfoggy, calm open waters.

“Maybe they can’t,” you replied, your mind lost in the memories of your trip to the city.

Viktor gazed at you, seemingly thinking the same in the way he nodded, lips ajar as if trying to say something else.

“Perhaps they can’t,” he agreed, voice barely above a whisper. “His name was Gavin. Gavin Stell. He built the house—and many say, he haunts the house.”

You felt cold despite the layers of clothes you had wrapped yourself into, the marine breeze making you believe the ghost was still behind you, whispering things into your ear.

“A man covered in mud…”

Viktor nodded. "He died inside his house during the devastating first flooding. Thinking his house was high enough that nothing would happen to him, he boarded the windows and sealed the doors to prevent the water from entering; and yet, she still found him and claimed him and the house. They had been the highest tides ever recorded; around sixty feet tall and seventy feet in range—of course, many say folklore exaggerated them. There’s no way to know for sure.” Viktor took the anchor and let it sink overboard once you were all surrounded by inky waters. “His spirit is locked inside the house, wanting his revenge from the mermaids that made his most precious project go to waste.”

You bit your lip, tasting the copper stench of your blood. The words were too scary to let out. This is real. That night was real. “Then the woman on the beach is a mermaid, perhaps? The one he’s trying to take revenge on?”

“No. Mermaids can’t be ghosts because they have no soul, no real body that remains after death.”

“But… the one in the museum—”

“It’s a fake. A wonder of mythical taxonomy, but it’s made up with human rests and other marine animals to match. It was discovered years after the flooding and after Gavin’s death. I suppose it was the last reason to abandon any hope to recover Piltover the Old’s once splendor.”

“That’s why you say you’re cursed?” you mumbled now that his attentive gaze was drawn away from yours, his fingers expertly aligning bottles to collect the bioluminescence algae and the water. “Because if so—and I know this may not help at all—but we’re all a bit cursed, too. But maybe together we can find a way to get out of the mist for good.” Shyly, you took the small tests he handed you, scribbling down what he instructed you to label them correctly and put them inside the box made of wood and leather.

Viktor tried to smile, observing the calm water that started to form foam with bioluminescent blue and green, ready to scoop part of it into his sterile bottle. "I've lost count of how many times I've tried, that I'm trying not to get my hopes high, Miss. The sea is unforgiven, and it seems that I still owe too much for her to let me go."

You stayed quiet for a moment after that, not knowing how to feel, or what to say. You felt it, too. The tug at the bottom of your heart that called to look out the window, even now, challenged your best senses to look directly down into the abyss. To watch and tell her, I’m here.

"Mermaids may have no soul, but where do you think all those people killed by the sea went?" Viktor's question surprised you, his profile bathed in moonlight while his eyes squinted in focus toward the coast that had been left behind. "Sometimes, I think that they're, perhaps, in the mist that surrounds the town at night."

That she had taken too much from you, to confront her; sinking into the green-blue waters and glaring into its unbounded limits.

I’m here. What more do you want from me? You thought, settling another sample of bioluminescence inside the chest and dipping your hand into the water to erase a blotch of ink from staining your sweater.

"But then, why do they haunt us?" you whispered, the ghost wearing your uncle's face appearing in your mind. Your eyes locked into the water to try erase such happening from your memory.

What more do you want to take to let me be free?

From the infinite black of the ocean's waters, you saw a glimpse of white move below the boat, pale and quick and giant like lightning.

The boat rippled, with Viktor almost lost balance while trying to catch his cane about to fall overboard.

“Vikt—" you started, looking at him with eyes wide with terror, your grasp on his shoulders forceful and your breathing so quick it was creating clouds of steam from the lower temperature creeping into the night. “There’s something under the boat…”

From under the boat, you saw the flash again, a large, massive eye peeking from under the ocean surface directly at you.

A scream bubbled up its way out your throat, drowned by the sudden movement of the water below swaying violently to the side, toppling the boat upside down.

Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist! And what do YOU think is lurking beneath! 🤗💙🤍

#viktor x reader #viktor arcane #arcane viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #arcane viktor #viktor fanfic #viktor x you #arcane viktor x f! reader #viktor arcane x you #arcane viktor x you #arcane x female reader

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leftalpacavoid · 9 days ago

Text

𓄃 Soaring Veil.

— Acronix's life is all about thrill, fighting, battling, scheming with his brother, he was a skilled warrior. An elemental master of time, But there is something quite of an aura that makes him drawn to You.

REQUESTED?: Yes.

Paired Character: Acronix, GN! Reader.

#TAGS: pure fluff, established relationship but leans on romantic or platonic, Acronix got some taste fr 🗣️🔥, Reader isn't a normal human being, we are high like on being ethereal for real. (▀̿Ĺ̯▀̿ ̿) potential OOC I tried my best. {3.2K Words}

#Reminder: Reader's appearance is based off Yaoshi Aeon Of Abundance from Honkai Star Rail respectively, the reason why the description had a kind of a unspecified color is because it's for you to decide your own theme.

⪼ 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 ࿐ཽ༵☆

⚊𓂀⚊

Acronix approaches you with a mixture of awe every time he enters your presence. You, an unknown entity of immense size and ethereal beauty, radiate an otherworldly elegance that is both serene and formidable. Draped in a delicate veil and a flowing cloth dress, your form shimmers like moonlight caught on mist, pure and unblemished. Towering over everything, you sit at the very edge of an old, crumbling stone ledge that seems to float in a dimension all its own—one surrounded by misty, endless skies and soft light that shifts in the void, It’s a place beyond time and space, both tranquil and mysterious, a place where only you and Acronix seem to exist.

Your elegant halo glows faintly, illuminating the fine, white cloth of your dress that drapes down, almost seeming to melt into the mist below. Long antlers adorn your head, gracefully twisting upwards and casting shadows that dance around you. Despite your towering form, there is a gentleness in the way you hold yourself, a silent welcome in the slight tilt of your head and the soft glow that emanates from your hidden face. You cannot speak, bound by some silent rule of your existence, but Acronix seems to understand you nonetheless.

He steps forward, cautious but unafraid, dwarfed by your towering height but never intimidated. There’s a slight, respectful bow in his posture as he approaches, his hazel eyes filled with a curious admiration he’d never show anyone else. He’s careful, almost reverent, as if any sudden movement might disrupt the delicate balance of the quiet peace that hangs between you. When he reaches a spot near your hand, he pauses, glancing up at you with a small, confident smirk that betrays a hint of his usual arrogance. But his voice, when he speaks, is softer than usual, his tone touched by something uncharacteristically tender.

“Hello again,” he says, the faintest bit of wonder threading through his voice, like he’s still not quite used to the sight of you. “I see you’re as magnificent as ever.”

He reaches out, resting a hand on one of your enormous fingers, feeling the faint warmth that radiates from your form. Despite your size, he’s never felt more connected to someone than he does to you, this mysterious, silent being who watches him with such gentle understanding. There’s something deeply comforting in your presence, something he can’t quite put into words, as if you understand him in a way that no one else ever has, or ever could.

You look down at him, a subtle inclination of your head acknowledging his words. The veil over your face stirs slightly, as though responding to his touch, the faintest shimmer of light rippling through it, like stars twinkling in the depths of a night sky. Even though he can’t see your eyes, he feels them on him, an invisible gaze that somehow sees through every wall he’s ever put up. He knows that you see him fully, down to every hidden insecurity and weakness, yet there’s only acceptance in your presence.

Unable to speak, you raise a delicate hand, its surface radiant and smooth, and you gently brush your fingers against him, a feather-light touch that envelopes him in a warmth unlike anything he’s ever felt. Your movements are careful, as though you’re afraid of overwhelming him, but there’s a kindness in your touch, a soft reassurance that speaks volumes more than words ever could. You tilt your head again, your halo glowing slightly brighter, as if to show him that you’ve missed him just as much as he has missed you.

Acronix leans into your touch, uncharacteristically still, as if savoring this silent moment with a rare humility. He reaches up, letting his own small hand press against your fingertip. For a brief second, it almost feels as if he’s bridging the vast, unknowable space that lies between your worlds, that his presence, his simple, mortal touch, is enough to reach you. There’s a softness in his eyes as he looks at you, a vulnerability he’s never shown to anyone else, as if in this timeless space, it’s safe to let down his guard.

“What is it like…up there?” he asks quietly, his voice barely more than a whisper. It’s a question he knows you can’t answer, but something in him aches to know. He wonders what it’s like to live in a realm so far removed from his own, to see the world through the eyes of someone so ancient, so unfathomable. And somehow, in his own way, he hopes that maybe, just maybe, you could someday tell him.

Your fingers trace a gentle line down his arm, communicating a soft understanding. There’s a comfort in the way you touch him, a promise that even if words can’t explain it, you’re here, in this moment, with him. Acronix seems to understand; he nods, as if your silent response is more than enough, a reassurance that he’s not alone in the strange, vast existence he finds himself caught in.

In this endless, timeless place, Acronix finds himself lingering, letting the silence stretch between you as he watches the subtle glow of your halo and the faint, calming shimmer of your veil. He rests his head against your fingers, his small form leaning into the comforting warmth of your presence. For once, he’s not fighting, not scheming—just a man sitting at the edge of infinity, lost in the quiet, unspoken bond that lies between him and the unknown being he cherishes most.

And though you cannot speak, he hears your silence as clearly as if you had whispered to him. It’s a silence that tells him everything: that you understand him, that you care for him, that you, in all your timeless, towering form, hold him closer than any other soul in this strange, unchanging world. And for Acronix, there’s no greater comfort.

©leftalpacavoid 2024.

#hands of time #ninjago #ninjago acronix #acronix #time twins #ninjago hands of time #acronix x reader #acronix x y/n #acronix x you #ninjago x reader

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leiflitter · 4 months ago

Note

one of them is comforting or taking care of the other, i come begging for some cattonquick tenderness ❤️

Minor YAH1 spoilers for those who haven't read it~

TW for burns >_>

"Oliver, it hurts, I can't... The fucking itching, it..."

Oliver awoke so quickly it felt like he'd missed his alarm on an exam day. It was a jolt, an electric shock that had him sitting bolt upright in bed. Felix wasn't beside him, not properly; he was sat at the end of the bed, balled up, moving incessantly. His feet built to a rapid tattoo upon the floor, before he let out a whiny, wet sob.

"M'here, I'm awake- Felix, Felix, here, I'm here." He kicked his way out of the duvet, scrambling across the bed to get his arms around Felix's heaving shoulders. Nights were bad, and Oliver couldn't remember if Felix had taken the painkillers that were meant to help, but probably not. They'd had a new bottle of pills dropped off by the nurse practitioner, so in turn... Felix leaned into him, but couldn't keep it up. He writhed, a snake trying to shed an old skin. "I'll help, just... Did you take your pills, Felix?"

"Nnnn... No, they're meant to be in the bathroom but the bottle was empty, and I... I was tired, Ollie, so tired and now it itches so much." Felix writhed against him, curling closer then wriggling away. He couldn't sit still, and he kept raising a hand to the bandages across the right side of his face before snatching his hand away. He wasn’t allowed to scratch, not while the skin was healing. Besides, they'd been told repeatedly that scratching would not help. If Felix gave in, then it'd just get worse.

"New bottle's on the side in the kitchen. Come on. Walk and talk, alright?"

The hallway wasn't wide enough for two side by side, but that was secondary. Oliver tucked himself as close by Felix's side as possible, going slowly. Getting dressed had been a trial- Felix had to keep stopping to fight his way through another surge of itching, and at times Oliver had to hold his hands down. He was beyond insults, at least, because Oliver knew Felix wanted to yell at him for it, but he couldn't form proper words. He'd had to lace Felix's shoes for him, and he kept checking his pocket to make sure he had the housekeys. Getting locked out would be an ordeal, especially as they had about half an hour until Felix would hopefully be insensible. The pills had been another hurdle; Felix had almost dribbled water down his front in his misery, which would have meant a change of clothes. Another delay, one that might have driven him to breaking point.

Oliver had learned via trial and error that the best way to help Felix through the bad nights was distraction. Everything felt worse when there was nothing else to focus on; he needed to bump Felix out of this path and into another. Have that cartoonish moment where he pulled a big lever and the train switched rail.

The night was cold, but that should help too. More sensation for Felix to focus on, and Oliver held him tightly as he closed the door and turned them left. His road- their road- was a dead-end, leading to a pedestrian entrance to Angel and Greyhound meadow. It had been part of the reason Oliver had bought it; it was close to Addison's walk, albeit across the river, and it felt comforting knowing he was a stone's throw away from where it all began. The gate was closed, of course, but it meant they could walk in a little loop at the end of the road and not risk getting run over.

"Did you make a decision about the ice sculptures? For the wedding?"

Their breath misted in front of them, and Felix was still gaspy and wobbling, but he looked down at Oliver and nodded.

"Thought... Well, seemed a shame not to have some, especially... Specially as I emailed- well, Lu emailed- that fun fellow off that Netflix show where they..." He grimaced, the expression half-hidden by heavy white bandages, and Oliver gave him a reassuring squeeze. There's no rush. "He did that... It was a dwagon, I think, and it looked really cool- no pun intended- so maybe the minotaw... Fuck, am I..."

"It's cute, Felix. So you want an ice minotaur at our wedding? Not, I dunno, a big heart or cupid or..."

"It was that or a scale model of Oxford, but apparently that would be too expensive even for me."

By the time Felix couldn't feel his face, Oliver was icy. He didn't mind, though, not when Felix collapsed on the bed as soon as they got close enough to it. He tugged Felix's shoes off, leaving them- for once- where they fell. His own followed; their coats were crumpled in the hall. He sat down on the bed beside Felix, twisting to look at him with a soft sigh of relief, before leaning down to kiss his unbandaged cheek.

"I love you, Felix."

"Luhyuh... Owwie."

#saltburn fanfiction #saltburn fanfic #saltburn #felix catton/oliver quick #leiflitter writes #leiflitter answers #cattonquick #yah!posting

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return-to-twisted-wonderland · 9 days ago

Note

Here's Azul's brother

🐙 🐙

Lucien Ashengrotto

Lucien: Light Elegant

Voice Actors

Eric Vale (English)

Nobunaga Shimazaki (Japanese)

Twisted From: Ursula's sister, Morgana

House: Octavinelle

Personality Traits: Sophisticated, strategic, and charismatic. Lucien combines a quiet intensity with sharp intellect and refined manners. While Azul is ambitious and somewhat cutthroat, Lucien is more subtle, excelling in diplomacy and negotiation. He’s friendly and persuasive, but people often sense a hidden strength in his gaze.

Unique Magic: “Veil of the Abyss”

Lucien can summon an elegant, ethereal mist that clouds his surroundings, obscuring visibility and disorienting his opponents. However, Lucien and anyone he chooses can see through the mist clearly. Additionally, those within the mist feel a sense of calm and slight drowsiness, lowering their guard and making them more suggestible, which is useful for negotiation or escaping combat.

Defense Use: Lucien can use the mist as a barrier to block sight or sound, making it difficult for attackers to target him directly.

Negotiation Enhancement: In a non-combat setting, Lucien can summon a subtle, shimmering aura that enhances his natural charm, making people more inclined to agree with his proposals or feel at ease in his presence.

Weaknesses:

Bright Light: The mist is dispelled in strong light or powerful magic that illuminates the area.

Mental Strain: Lucien needs focus to maintain the veil, and it can exhaust him quickly if sustained, especially in heated situations.

Appearance and Outfit

Physical Appearance: Lucien has wavy silver hair with dark tips, suggesting his deep-sea heritage, and piercing dark-blue eyes that seem to draw people in. His expression is often calm but with a hint of mystery, as if he’s always two steps ahead in any conversation.

Uniform Modifications: He wears the Octavinelle uniform but with some personal modifications:

Jacket: A fitted, high-collared jacket with silver and deep-blue accents, designed with a subtle wave or scaled pattern on the lapels.

Jewelry: He wears several elegant silver rings with opalescent stones and a delicate chain with a pendant shaped like an ocean pearl.

Fan Accessory: Lucien carries a fan—a deep blue and silver fan adorned with small, ocean-like pearls and a faint shimmer of scales.

Personality: Lucien is patient, calculating, and suave, choosing to observe before acting. Unlike Azul, who can be overtly ambitious and somewhat aggressive in his business tactics, Lucien is refined and plays the “long game,” often opting for manipulation through suggestion and charm rather than direct deals. He is often underestimated because of his calm demeanor, but his wit and strategy are razor-sharp.

Backstory-

Lucien Ashengrotto was only a baby when he was spirited away from the ocean depths and thrust into a world entirely foreign to him—a dark, sprawling metropolis dominated by power struggles, crime syndicates, and an unforgiving social landscape. Born with the legacy of the Ashengrotto family but without the privilege of a stable home, he was soon adopted, albeit unofficially, by a powerful Yazuka clan. The head of the clan took a liking to the quiet baby with piercing blue eyes, seeing in Lucien a potential future heir, a pawn to be molded into someone who could help strengthen the clan’s influence in both business and underworld dealings.

Growing up, Lucien was not coddled or sheltered; instead, he was thrust into the harsh realities of the clan’s world, taught from a young age to survive through wit and deception. His “family” was ruthless, and the only affection he knew was transactional—a pat on the head for a job well done or a rare smile when he displayed cunning beyond his years. He learned quickly that power was everything, and that trust was a luxury he couldn’t afford. The clan trained him in the art of negotiation, diplomacy, and persuasion. While others in the clan honed physical skills, Lucien was refined into a different type of weapon. His adoptive family prized his intellect and patience, recognizing his talent for outmaneuvering opponents without the need for violence. By his teenage years, he was already conducting minor negotiations for the clan, leveraging information, and striking deals with an elegance that belied his age. The clan’s patriarch affectionately dubbed him “The Silver Tongue,” a nod to both his charm and his capacity to manipulate situations to his advantage.

But Lucien's life wasn’t without its struggles. While he excelled in the clan’s political dealings, his peers often regarded him with suspicion, resenting the favoritism shown to him. Many saw him as an outsider, a foreign element in their world of honor-bound traditions and fierce loyalty. Lucien was alone in many ways, walking a fine line between acceptance and alienation. He’d come to understand that his adoptive family valued him not as a son, but as an asset.

Amidst this upbringing, Lucien developed a quiet but intense ambition to free himself from this life and reclaim control over his destiny. Though he respected the clan and even held a degree of loyalty toward its patriarch, he yearned for something beyond their shadow. Behind his calm exterior lay a fierce determination to build his own path—one where he could wield power and influence on his terms, without being a pawn in anyone else's game.

By the time he reached the age of a teenager, Lucien had become a master of his craft, a formidable presence in both the clan’s negotiations and the wider underworld. However, he was careful to keep his ambitions hidden, knowing that any perceived disloyalty would cost him everything. With every deal he struck, Lucien inched closer to his goal, his mind always a step ahead, crafting a web of connections and alliances that would someday help him break free from the chains of the life imposed upon him. In the heart of the bustling metropolis, Lucien honed a reputation as both a skilled negotiator and a shadowy strategist, someone who could command respect without the need for brute force. To those who didn’t know him, he was calm, polite, even charming. But to those within the clan—and to his enemies—Lucien Ashengrotto was a force to be reckoned with, a calculating mind who knew that true power wasn’t in the fists but in the unseen threads of influence that bound the city together. And so, with every step, Lucien walked the delicate line between loyalty to the family that raised him and the silent desire for autonomy that burned within. Hidden behind polite smiles and smooth words, he was a tempest waiting to be unleashed, biding his time until he could finally carve out his own place in a world that had never truly belonged to him.

His world is based on: Lookism

🐙 🐙

Here's Lucien Ashengrotto, don't worry, he still has Morgana's crazy side, but it's more concealed due to his training with Yazuka.

He's voiced by Eric Vale and I love him already.

#twisted wonderland #return home au #Lucien Ashengrotto

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socially-awkward-skeleton · 8 months ago

Text

All Along the Watchtower (Chapter 13)

[Can also be read on AO3]

Pairing: Captain John Price x Fem!OC (3rd person POV)

Word count: 4.1 k

Warnings: Minors DNI - canon typical violence, swearing, smoking, military inaccuracies

Summary: Rory and Price start the next leg of their mission, heading to the Middle East where ties to Zorokov become that much clearer

A/N: Rory Sinclair is a dual citizen (both Canada and the UK) who's been living in the UK since she was 14. She is 28 at the time of this fic, Price is 32. This series is set in 2017 before the events of the first MW game. Rory's thoughts are bold and italicized, other italics are used for emphasis

tagging: @efingart @cassietrn @cloudofbutterflies92 @strangefable @theelderhazelnut @marivenah @nightbloodbix @la-grosse-patate @josephseedismyfather @carlosoliveiraa @finding-comfort-in-rain @simplegenius042 @voidika @quantum-lover @donotopendeadinside @rc-dragons @direwombat @peachiicherries @statichvm @clicheantagonist @v01dthefae @aceghosts @inafieldofdaisies @amalkavian @justasmolbard

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October 22, 2017 08:11 - Stirling Lines, Credenhill, Herefordshire, United Kingdom

The mission had moved beyond what Zorokov could offer, no longer cabals and crime rings, there were confirmed ties to threats to national security. They had blocked off the pipeline that funneled the money around and eventually the filth would rise to the surface like sewage in a drain, leading them to the exact origin of the looming threat on the horizon. They had a starting place tracking where the funds for the PMC were coming in from, narrowing down sources and finding out just how tangled the web really was.

As the helicopter touched down on the grounds of Credenhill’s courtyard, Russia was a not so distant memory that still clung in the back of Rory’s mind. Throughout the eighteen hour flight back, she had listened in to the conversations between Price and Laswell regarding where money had been flowing and by who. The Saudi shell was exactly that, something empty, a throwaway account – but it still had an owner. Discovering who it was would give them their next target, and Laswell was an unstoppable force when it came to digging through the shadier side of things, secrets that were meant to be kept hidden never would be with her around – something that in Rory’s mind was all too dangerous, considering what Price was trying to convince her to do.

Upon stepping onto the tarmac, she had to admit it was good to be back home, no matter how short-lived. Merely a quick stopover before the real work, the real fight, was about to begin, this was her chance to grab her trusted gear that she had left behind on her first flight out. It had been waiting for her, her rifle had been waiting for her. Having a new-found vigor for the mission, she was ready for whatever would come to face her even as the bruises still stained her skin, leaving her tender.

Fog had swept in overnight through the midlands, a wet sort of cold that blanketed everything it touched, sinking into the bones and clinging to clothing, damp and thick. Pulling the collar of her sweater further up her neck, she averted the gaze of her fellow servicemen as they passed by. Hands still shoved into the pockets of her coat, the black duffel slung over her shoulder, she stormed her way from the courtyard towards the barracks.

Price hopped off the vehicle behind her, his footfall hushed upon landing by the mist that coated the ground. A pervasive silence filled the air the same way it would amongst fresh fallen snow, even the sound of slowing blades cutting through the air had been muffled. His hoarse timbre was dampened in the quiet morning as he called out to her, “Sinclair!”

Slowing her pace, coming to a halt, she let him draw nearer. His bulk cutting through the dense cover of smoky gray, the orange glow of the end of his cigar burning its way through the water vapor that accumulated around them. “Wheels up in one hour. Get your gear and we meet back here. Understood?” His hand came to rest on her shoulder, giving it a tight squeeze. Hardly the intimacy that was expected between two people who had shared a bed the previous night, but understandable considering their current predicament and location.

“Rog’.” She gave him a quick nod and noticed the way his gaze scanned over her, taking stock of all the different marks and bruises that now blemished her appearance. “Was there something else, Captain?” Her voice took on a far more formal tone with him than it had in the last few weeks.

Shaken loose of his appraising stare, he gave her a curt nod of the head in return. “No. Go on. You’re dismissed, Sergeant,” he said before heading off in another direction, leaving her to her own company.

How quickly all the apparent feelings they had for one another, the tension between them, could easily dissipate. Professionals once more. Practically strangers. It shouldn’t have bothered her as much as it did that they could be like this, if they were to move forward with whatever was between them (the way Price wanted to) that was how it would always be on base, anywhere there were prying eyes, having to turn their romance on and off like a switch. Was that something she was really willing to do? It wasn’t that she was incapable, she knew she could, already used to playing up the side of herself that wasn’t haunted by the things she had seen and done, pretending to be some version of herself that knew more of joy than she really did – but was the effort really all worth it? Was this the grand romance she could put herself through hell for, or was it just going to end the way it always did, with a short ‘I’m sorry’ only to carry on with her work and to bury whatever she might have felt in the past?

Heading to her bunk, she tossed her duffel onto the bed and stripped off the civvies she had been wearing. Left standing in only her bra and underwear, she witnessed her reflection in the mirror on the other side of the room – her skin marred by shades of green, blue, red and purple without the makeup to cover it. Glancing sideways at herself, she sneered at the image looking back at her. Look a right horror. No preening or primping would solve it either. Opening her foot locker with a huff, she pulled out her combat-ready clothing and her toiletry bag and a few pairs of rolled up underwear, shoving it all into her duffel. Quickly getting dressed into her combat gear, she strapped on her tac vest and clipped her helmet onto it, finally adding the shemagh from her time in Iraq around her neck and shoulders.

Giving another glance at her reflection, she sighed, feeling more like herself. All the battered and bruised parts of her hidden by armor and layers of clothing. Protected. She wasn’t pretty or soft, not like this, not anymore. A proper soldier. She could stand a little taller, her shoulders a little more square. She didn’t need saving, she didn’t need to be kept under watchful guard. She was Sergeant Rory Sinclair, a decorated veteran who had fought on the front lines, had gotten her hands dirty, knew the ugly truth of things and still didn’t let it stop her.

She was a survivor, always had been.

Marching out towards the waiting helicopter, rotor already beginning to spin, each cut of the blades slicing through the swirling mass of fog that had yet to burn off as the day grew older, Rory noticed Price standing nearby waiting for her arrival, his hands wrapped around the shoulder straps of his tac vest, his boonie hat back in place. Appearing before him, his unreadable stare focused on her, face not showing any specific emotion, just flat. He glanced down at the watch on his wrist and then back up at her. “You’re early.”

Rory hummed in agreement. “So are you.”

“Don’t like to keep people waiting, Sergeant. Glad to see you’re the same.”

The brim of his hat darkened his eyes just enough that she couldn’t quite make out the way he was looking at her. Her instincts were quick to point out however that the Captain apparently was still none too pleased with the way she had left things hanging. A sharp, pointed dig at the fact she hadn’t melted into his arms after his earlier advances in the safe room.

She chose to ignore it. “I assume Laswell got a hit on our next target?”

Grunting in response, Price led her towards the open door of the helicopter with sure strides, a swagger to his step. “Shell company has ties to a Saudi oil baron currently outside of the country in the UAE. He’s not home, so he can’t stop us from knocking on the door.”

“A raid.”

Stepping up into the vehicle, he turned back to look over his shoulder at her with a smirk. “Exactly.”

Following after, she stuffed her duffel under the seat beside him, took her spot and leaned back into it. Breathing deep, the smell of cigar smoke that saturated his clothing invaded her senses, but underneath that was the heady scent of warm, musky cologne. Sitting so close, it swirled around her and she was absorbed in it, realizing she never recalled smelling it the night she had spent wrapped up in his arms. She hadn’t exactly been in the right state then to pay attention, but now, it washed over her and she found her thoughts getting fuzzy. Clearing her throat and her head, she got back down to business. “So, I assume we have backup for said raid?”

“Marines.”

“Oh, well, I’m sure that won’t cause any international upset,” she said, the sarcasm dripping off her words. “The US isn’t afraid of stepping on anyone’s toes with a move like that?”

“Bureaucrats can’t get upset over what they don’t know about,” Price said as he clipped the cigar he pulled from his pocket and placed it to his lips, flicking open his lighter and letting the flame burn at the tip.

“No, I suppose that’s true.”

They sat in silence, Price letting it hang before speaking once more. “How long’s it been since you were last in the desert?”

“Almost seven months now.”

“You know Arabic, yeah? Fluent, I hope.”

“Yes.” She crossed her arms over her chest and adjusted her position in her seat, a grin curling the corner of her lips. “Perhaps this time I can have you saying derogatory things without your prior knowledge.”

Giving a low chuckle, he brought the cigar to his lips and took a long drag. “Now that would make things interestin’, wouldn’t it?” The smoke streamed past his lips, the orange glow burning in his eyes through the shade of his cap. “I’d prefer if we didn’t start any international incidents ‘cause you had to be a smart ass though.”

Huffing out a laugh, she pressed her head back against the rest behind her. “Fair enough. It’ll be easier just letting you blunder the pronunciation anyway.”

His brow lifted, giving her a sideways glance without turning his head, keeping her in his periphery. “You gonna keep causing me headaches?”

“No, I just think we need to agree that while Russia was where your strength lies, we’re heading into mine.”

Sucking on his cigar hanging in a clenched jaw, his brow furrowed. “You do remember I’ve fought over there myself, yeah?”

“But you didn’t spend your entire career there like me. Unless you’ve eaten goat by a fire while swapping stories with village elders in their native language, I suggest you take at least some of my judgment on things seriously. Or is it because I’m a subordinate that it’s not good enough for you?”

“S’pose it’s ‘cause you’ve slept with me,” he muttered under his breath, his face remaining serious until it cracked, giving her a teasing smirk.

Unable to help but giggle at the implication, Rory bit her lip to stifle it from growing into a full on laugh. “Okay,” she said, nodding slowly. “I see how we’re playing now.”

Barking out a chuckle at her reaction, Price shifted smugly back into his seat, adjusting the brim of his hat.

“Fucking hell, you’ve become quite the comedian with me.” Her voice dropped so only he could hear it. “You get one little kiss and now all of a sudden the stoic soldier routine fades away, eh?”

“It was more than a little kiss –” He whispered as he leaned down towards her, looking up through his brow.

They were inches from each other, eyes locked on one another. Invading her personal space, trying to remain the dominant force, Price waited there as if he were expecting her to make a move despite being strapped into a moving military vehicle. The smoke coiled around her, his breath fanning against her face. Did he really think she would just break regulation like that? She cocked her brow and sighed, pulling out her pack of cigarettes from her tactical pants and tapped the corner of it against her thigh. “I said I just wanted to work, not be a distraction.”

“You’re not.” His words came out bluntly, his features expressionless once more, gaze unfeeling and inscrutable. Shifting back into his seat, he crossed his arms and mirrored her position beside him. Mouth drawn tight, he bit down on the cigar he'd placed between his lips, smoke billowing from his nostrils.

“Oh, I’m not?”

“No.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s not. You and I have both been through the same training. A little flirting – any feelings we might have – they aren’t getting in the way of the mission, got it?”

“Sure about that?”

“You do know you’re not the only woman I’ve ever worked with, yeah?” He shot back, head tilted and brow cocked.

Rory hummed, unconvinced. “Did you sleep with the others too?”

He growled softly, mumbling around his cigar, “Touche.”

“That’s what I thought,” she said confidently, slipping a cigarette out from the pack in her hand and placing it to her lips.

“I’m a professional, Sergeant. So are you,” he grumbled, “Stop trying your damn luck with me.”

The cigarette sat between her lips as she gave him a little salute with two fingers against her forehead, the lighter still held in her hand.

“You’re trouble, goddammit.” He shook his head and settled back in his seat, gripping the shoulders of his vest once more with a heavy sigh.

Voice muffled as she spoke around her cigarette, it bounced on its perch upon her lip. “Bet you’re really regretting Laswell’s choice now, eh?”

“Not unless you give me a reason to, darlin’,” he said, nose scrunching with annoyance. “Don’t test my bloody patience.”

Taking a drag of her cigarette, she couldn’t help but want to keep picking at him. He had tried to make her feel small a moment ago, reminding her of her weakness, of how she apparently needed him according to his evaluation. “Did you think I was suddenly going to fawn over you because you actually admitted to having feelings for me, Price?”

The little tic of his tightening tendons in his jaw was plain as day, she was playing with fire and she knew it. If there was any way to describe the Captain it was a persistent pursuit predator – of course the way he worked would bleed into his life. The man wouldn’t know romance if it bit him in the arse, wooing certainly wasn’t his style. She already expected him to keep trying to wear her down until she would eventually give in, say yes, and he would get what he wanted. Perhaps what they both wanted…but she wasn’t able to quite so readily admit that yet.

“Would’ve been nice if you made it easy for me.”

“You’re a special forces captain, you like the challenge.”

Price brought a hand to her upper thigh, his long fingers clenching around the meat of her, squeezing tight. “Goddamn right I do,” he said with a low chuckle.

October 25, 2017 22:42 - Ayad Estate, Saudi Arabia

The target’s mansion was some modern monstrosity, all concrete and glass, reflecting back the moon and the stars and the moody twilight. A massive infinity pool and gardens decorated the exterior, all well maintained, meticulously so. Multiple floors, several entrances. Fully staffed, including a personal army of guards for security. A fortress in its own right. Heavy resistance was expected as they approached the private residence under the cover of night, but the main goal was to sweep and clear threats while keeping the unarmed non-combatants alive, and to collect intel. The invading strike force made up of Marines, Price and Rory moved in separate teams, including one in an armored vehicle stationed on the road up to the front metal gates of the estate, ready to ram it down if more forceful extraction was required.

Eyes were kept on the prize, orders whispered. “Check your shots. Let’s kick this off.”

Several members of the security detail were stationed around the perimeter, protecting the mansion from intrusion. Fully armed and wearing plate vests, these weren’t just hired security, they were well trained – likely former military themselves. Slowly pacing, their heads kept on a swivel, radios at the ready to keep in contact…

A silent night…

And then the flashbang hit.

White burning light exploded out as soldiers dressed in black combat gear climbed over the walls. Nightvision goggles strapped on, two teams stealthily made their way into the mansion, set to take it floor by floor in a clean sweep while the remaining team cleared the forces outside.

Quick, assured steps led Rory through the mansion’s halls, following closely on the tail of Price as he led the charge.

“Bravo 6 moving to the second floor.”

Boots thumped up the steps like thundering war drums. Sweat formed on her brow as her heart started to beat against her ribcage. A thirty room mansion wasn’t a quick process to clear, the only saving grace was that most of the staff were sent screaming upon sight, huddled over on the floor with their hands in the air in surrender rather than shooting back. Whimpering “please don’t hurt me” like their lives actually depended on it, and it broke her heart – civilians didn’t deserve to feel this sort of terror, no matter the cause.

Breaching doorways, kicking in locks, the barrel of her rifle swept from side to side as she checked her corners and cleared every other room, swapping the duty with the rotation of other members on their team.

“On me. Rally at the stairs.”

Several more flights to go, and the closer they got to the master suite the more threats they faced, the armed assailants ramping up against them. Gun fire rang out. Art, sculptures and bodies were all torn to shreds by the bullets that flew back and forth between opposing sides. She hugged the walls, taking cover behind some hulking slab of marble. Controlling her breath as chunks of stone breezed past her, catching the strands of her hair as they flew past her head, ricocheting off her helmet like hailstones. Ducking out, her muzzle flared, bright flashes sparking in the darkened hall as dozens of bullet casings tinkled around her. Bodies dropped like flies, the polished floors stained red with blood. A sight she’d grown all too accustomed to.

Radio chatter between Price and the team outside gave warning that the x-rays they had accounted for had been cleared on the exterior, it was just the ones hidden behind closed doors that they had to worry about now - the threat of the unexpected.

Steadily climbing up to the top, they finally reached the last floor, and instead of multiple rooms along the corridors, there was just one large, sprawling floor. Open concept. A bedroom, an office, the bathroom practically a day spa with the amenities available. Rory sneered at the sight of so much wealth on show. She was no stranger to affluence, it was a luxurious life she became entitled to upon living with her father after her mother’s death, and with it brought old money and claims of nobility in the family tree. But this – this sort of opulence was in poor taste as far as she was concerned.

Adding insult to injury, the guards had decided to take several of the staff as human shields in the face of danger. A poor stratagem in the wake of a unit of special forces soldiers. In an instant, a whole firing line of lifted rifles were aimed at the threat on the other side of the room, scopes all firmly planted on the figures in the dark.

“Drop your weapons! Don’t move! Get down!”

Orders were barked, but words meant nothing. Action did. Lives were in the balance. Her ears thundered as the blood began to flow quickly inside them. Her finger resting against the cool metal of the trigger, ready to tap it at the first flinch from the security detail. Heavy breathing filled the room from both sides, every soul was put on edge. Sweat dripped down foreheads and stung the eyes. A second felt like an eternity.

“Drop ‘em!”

Without a second thought, Rory tapped the trigger. Aiming straight for the head of a man with a handgun pointed at the back of a middle aged woman’s skull, shuddering in fear as she wore her appointed cleaner’s uniform. Executing him before he could get a shot off. A threat dispatched, one less casualty to weigh on her conscience.

The dead littered the floor, the survivors left covering their heads and begging to go home. Panicked voices caused a twitch to start in her fingers that begged to crawl up the length of her arm, the clench in her gut following not far behind. Memories hitting her like a punch to the solar plexus. Sobs. Wailing. That look of fear in the eyes that would stay with the victims forever, the same way it did with her.

“Clear!”

One simple word could relieve so much tension, the adrenaline slowing its course through her body at the sound of it. Relative calm eased through her constricted veins and arteries, a rush of air escaping her lungs like a gale force now that she could finally breathe.

“All teams: residence secure. Commence SSE.”

It didn’t take long for the full force of might to round up and collect every personal device left on the premises, every scrap of paper, or shred of information they could use. The best find of all being a personal computer detailing contracts signed with Zorokov’s PMC and proof of involvement with the shell company. All left out in the open, plain as day, the hubris on show for all to see.

Price stood hunched over the desk, his thumb dragging across his lower lip as he read into the target’s dealings. “Turns out our target is close and personal with the defense minister. Signing contracts on his behalf. Has several on the go with the PMC he’s funding.”

“Helping out his friend, Zorokov.” Rory moved closer, leaning in towards the monitor with a furrowed brow, the pale blue light glowed in her eyes. “Proxy wars. Coups. Fucking hell… Yemen? I knew tensions were rising between the Saudis and Iran, but not like this.”

Continuing to scroll through the various contracts, one caught Rory’s eye. “Wait, John. Stop.” Her hand clamped down over his on the mouse. Biting down on her lip, jaw clenched tight, she was hit with a horrible truth. “Syria,” she whispered, the air forced from her at the realization. “Iran’s expanding its presence in the region on the border against ISIS… Christ, they’re in Syria. This isn’t just some small-time dispute. A PMC hired to actively assist terrorist hostilities – that’s an act of war.”

“Right. So we head to Syria and we shut it down.”

Price said it so nonchalantly it nearly sent her head spinning. They had stumbled into the middle of a conspiracy, a proxy war made to look like a civil one, and he was ready to take it head on.

“Just like that?”

“We’ll find out where they’re headquartered and we’ll bury them. If anyone has a problem with that, they’ll have to come clean, and we both know that won’t ever happen.”

She hated how right he was. How easy it was for governments to wheel and deal and play games with one another, using each other as pawns for their own desires. It wasn’t an uncommon thing for nations to support one side of a war while also funding the apparent enemy, that was a tale as old as time – but it never stopped revolting her. The insidious nature of it all. It might have been naivete on her part to still be even remotely surprised she might stumble upon something like this herself, especially considering the things she had already been witness to in her career, but she had never learned to merely let it sit well with her.

“So we head into the middle of an active combat zone and pretend like we’re supposed to be there, start a battle with a PMC funded by an ally nation, and drop some terrorists along the way?”

“More or less. Yeah.”

“You make that sound like it’s a normal afternoon for you.”

“It can be.” He patted her shoulder with a quick smirk. “Come on, darlin’. We got a flight to catch.”

#call of duty #fan fiction #john price #john price x oc #oc: rory sinclair #skelly writes #fic: all along the watchtower #chapter 13

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schwarzenadler13 · 28 days ago

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sooo i'm on a dwk brainrot and despite having a fic started since 2014 that i should really finish...my brain has just come up with something else and i just need to get it out so i don't forget

soo what's the deal with horizon and the silberlichten? like??

i once read a post that went like "we have to pretend horizon is a normal girl that on holidays she just goes destroying teams as a hobby" or something like that; found it:

i agree, in my other fic she's just kinda a nature spirit/fey/witch/whatever in that line that's having fun in her own wicked way

like that dwk4 doesnt end with "oh, you chose love over revenge, i now love you uwu"

but more like "can't a nonhuman girl just have hobbies? even if those hobbies are destroying teams/relationships and getting a boy harem? why do humans have to ruin things?"

sooo she's now vengeful and slightly psycho against dwk (mainly the brothers)

*cue time travel and magic shenanigans and a bit of attempted murder*

(oh, and marlon as a hostage pissing her off)

but well, that wasn't the fic i was planning to talk about (maybe another day)

in this one, she's indeed a normal girl but the silberlichten are just minions of a greater evil, which i haven't really elaborated on and temporarily named them schattensucher

(yeah, they're not the vampires from dwk5 or maybe they are, just that they're not vampires, but something else entirely, more evil and less tragic)

sooo we're already on the weird/bizarre part of the timeline which involves magic, so fantasy route it is

the schattensucher want to unearth donnerschlag, which in the books is described as the stadium of all stadiums

so why not a magic stadium? it probably has some kind of hidden power they want or something (sorry, still working on the lore)

now donnerschlag just opens through a combination of four powers which are handed to four football teams by the football deities? could that even be a thing?

one was horizon's old team and she herself handed it to them

the second were the wolves and horizon just got it through engineering the erik/jaromir drama (this required trial and error which may explain the silberlichten)

third are dwk (which is why horizon pops up in ragnarok) and the last are the biester but horizon doesn't know that

she just knows, through ✨magic sense or whatever✨, that dwk have faced them so she wants to extract that info out of them

horizon's original plan is just repeating what she did to erik/jaromir with leon/marlon but she starts having her doubts about that working early on

first of all, there's the canon divergence of leonessa being broken up because this is fabi/leon

i even doubt they would come back together after dwk3, nessie isn't blind

that means we get a less dramatic dwk4 (is it even possible given it's so intertwined with the romantic drama?)

(the wessel brothers go beyond the mist either way)

anyway, horizon can't go the freya angle on them, leon only wants to defeat her and isn't thinking about anything else(?)

and while she can definitely charm and manipulate marlon, it's not a foolproof plan

(i like the perspective of magic being involved in this because marlon being about to betray everything due to crushing on a hot girl is not one of my favourite things)

(like sorry, i'd like to think he's smarter than that, he seems to be smarter than that)

(so horizon going slightly daughter of aphrodite on him makes sense)

sooo she decides to kill two birds with one stone and gathers all the magic she can

(i believe the forest beyond the mist is also kinda a magical weird place outside of space and time)

soo there's the lake scene where horizon confirms she won't be able to pull the same drama with them as leon isn't interested

then she changes route: she manipulates the lake as a portal and puts a tracking spell on leon, then manages to get him swallowed up by the water until he's gone

(and with this, this is like the...3rd? time horizon attempts to murder leon in both fics...yeah, the little shit is very much a favorite of mine lol)

(although it's not like she does this attempted drowning in order to kill him...unlike in the other fic)

meanwhile in hamm, the biester + fabi are just enjoying summer on the lake

that is until one of the girls goes "FABI! COME HERE!" and fabi just hasn't heard them as panicked ever so he's very concerned

he immediately panics as soon as he arrives because the girls are taking out a body out of the water, a body he knows

(i haven't scientifically nor medically proofed this so excuse me if this doesn't make sense)

and well, fabi may very well have had phases of frustration/dislike towards leon that led him to desire seeing him defeated and humiliated

but he has never wished for him to drop dead so he panickedly tries to wake him up

"if he has drowned, we should attempt mouth-to-mouth resuscitation" *all biester look at fabi to do it*

(he would curse them if the situation wasn't so dire)

he does, leon coughs but doesn't wake up but at least they know he's alive and take him to the quarry

and well, this is just part 1 because it has just gotten too long all of a sudden 😭 i'll continue soon

pd: i may not really remember fabi's whole outfit from dwk3, but in the fic i can only picture him wearing half-skirts in ateez hongjoong's fashion :D

#die wilden kerle #dwk #fanfiction #rambling about a fic i may never write #if my other dwk fic is anything to go by #dwk fanfiction #i watched the movies like a decade ago so it may be very off #it feels weird to talk about this series in english #i'm so used to talk about it in spanish #my darling fierecillas #las fieras fc

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misirosekisiro · 1 year ago

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At the border 1-2

อีกเรื่องที่มีครบทั้ง bodysuit, steal uniform theme. แต่งด้วย AI มันสนุกเหมือนกับเล่นเกมส์ผจญภัยตามใจเลือกจริง ๆ แต่ที่แย่คือทางเลือกส่วนใหญ่มันไม่ห่วยก็หลุดจากเรื่องไปเลย =w= AI นี่มันจำพล็อตได้แค่ไหนก็ไม่รู้ จู่ ๆ ก็หลุดพล็อตจะพาเรื่องเป็นหนัง action เฉย

Chapter 1

The darkness seemed almost tangible within the thick foliage of the forest, shrouding everything in a veil of mystery. As Eaka carefully navigated through the treacherous terrain, he couldn't help but feel a sense of unease creeping along his spine. Every step forward brought forth new challenges – obstacles hidden amongst the decaying vegetation, muddy patches that threatened to trip him up, and the constant fear of being discovered by either the Thai border patrol or those loyal to his own homeland. Yet despite the dangers lurking just beyond the edge of visibility, there was something about this place that felt oddly familiar, drawing him deeper into its labyrinthine heart.

As the night wore on, Eaka found himself more than once stumbling onto unexpected trails and narrowly escaping discovery.

Each time, however, his luck held firm, allowing him to continue pressing forward without interruption. With every breathless step he took, the notion of encountering someone else out here in these dark woods grew increasingly unlikely; even if he were caught, how could he possibly explain why he had been running? No matter what happened now, he would remain an unknown figure. A faceless entity whose existence would fade back into obscurity upon crossing borders.

Just then, he heard footsteps approaching—the unmistakable sound of boots crunching over dead leaves.

His pulse quickened, and adrenaline surged through his veins as his heart pounded fiercely against his rib cage. This was it—his final stand against fate itself. Either escape this pursuer and make good his getaway across the border, or succumb to capture and face the consequences head-on.

Inching closer to where he thought the sounds originated, Eaka peered warily through the curtain of mist hanging heavily overhead. There, silhouetted starkly against the murky skyline, stood Komsan.

Just like Eaka, he too wore military fatigues which blended seamlessly into the gloomy atmosphere surrounding them. Both combatants hesitated momentarily before breaking eye contact and focusing intently on the task ahead. Each knew that only one man could walk away from this encounter alive. And yet neither appeared willing to strike first.

They remained locked in a tense standoff, glancing furtively between one another while trying to gauge the intentions behind the other’s gaze. Neither wanted to be seen as weak nor did they wish to provoke further conflict. Their bodies quivered slightly with anticipation, muscles coiled tightly as though ready to spring into action at any moment.

But Eaka, not willing to fight, he have no weapon. he show his both hand to surrender.

Slowly, Komsan lowered his rifle and followed suit. After a long moment of silent appraisal, he finally spoke. “Who are you?” His voice betrayed a hint of curiosity laced with suspicion.

“My name is Eaka,” he replied tentatively, hoping to gain some semblance of trust. “And I don’t want trouble.” The air hung heavy with uncertainty, causing both men to hesitate before proceeding any further.

Komsan leaned forward ever so slightly, studying Eaka's features with great interest.

Something about this stranger piqued his curiosity, and he struggled to discern whether this individual posed a threat or merely sought refuge amidst the chaos unfolding all around them. Intrigued by the possibility of finding kindred spirits among such dire circumstances, Komsan decided to test the waters further.

“Why are you running?” he asked calmly, attempting to maintain composure despite the mounting anxiety coursing through his veins.

Eaka hesitated briefly before answering truthfully. “I am an illegal immigrant seeking sanctuary in your land.”

Eaka confessed honestly, revealing the burden he carried on his shoulders. “I fled my home country because of my involvement in illicit activities, and I cannot return until the situation calms down.”

Eaka explained earnestly, hopeful that Komsan might sympathise with his plight. However, sympathy wasn't exactly what Komsan needed right now. He had a job to do, and arresting Eaka was part of it. But something about this mysterious intruder stirred feelings inside him that defied logic.

Without warning, Komsan began to frisk Eaka thoroughly, meticulously checking every pocket and zipper. Though reluctantly complying, Eaka couldn't shake off the feeling of dread growing stronger with each passing second. When Komsan reached the small leather pouch tied securely around Eaka's waist, he paused, fingers hovering above the worn fabric. Sensing Komsan's hesitation, Eaka offered a reassurance.

"There is nothing dangerous on me, I assure you." Even as these words left his lips, a faint trace of anxiety clouded his otherwise confident demeanor. Glancing towards the bag Komsan still clutched possessively, he mentally prepared himself for whatever may lie waiting inside.

With deliberate movements, Komsan slowly opened the small leather pouch. Within lay the source of his earlier fascination—a peculiar bundle wrapped delicately in cloth. Upon closer inspection, he realized that it contained a strange, glistening substance resembling wet velvet.

Puzzled by its unusual appearance, Komsan hesitated briefly before reaching in to touch it, curiousity getting the better of him. Upon making contact with the unidentified material, he quickly snatched his hand backward, surprised by the intense sensation coursing through his fingertips. What in God's name could this be?

Fascinated by this mystifying object, Komsan gingerly extended his finger again to brush lightly against the strange texture.

To his astonishment, it was warm and inviting—as if awakening after a slumber. A powerful scent wafted through the air, tantalisingly sweet and earthy, filling the space between them with a seductive presence. Entranced by the bewitching nature of this revelation, Komsan's heart raced faster, an undeniable yearning welling up within him. His thoughts drifted towards what could cause such a reaction in him – the very essence of human desire and attraction.

Unbeknownst to him, Eaka watched the changes occurring in Komsan with a mixture of curiosity and concern.

"What is this?" Komsan murmured aloud, his tone reverberating with excitement and disbelief. Unable to contain his eagerness, he turned toward Eaka expectantly, searching for answers.

Eaka tried to muster the courage to answer honestly. "It is called Miracle Herb," he ventured haltingly, swallowing hard.

"Those who consume it experience heightened abilities and strength, becoming capable of feats far beyond their natural limits."

Komsan listened intently, his brow knitted together in concentration. The idea of harnessing superhuman powers appealed greatly to him, especially considering his line of work. The prospect of having an advantage over others in his profession was irresistibly tempting.

"How does it work?" he questioned eagerly, unable to suppress his enthusiasm.

Eaka hesitated, unsure of how much information to divulge. "Well, when consumed, the herb transforms the body chemistry, altering the way our cells function. It essentially allows us to tap into latent capabilities stored within ourselves."

Komsan nodded, absorbing the explanation with keen interest. The possibilities of utilizing this power for personal benefit and professional advancement filled him with excitement.

Seeking to learn more about this phenomenal substance, Komsan asked cautiously, "Where did you obtain this... 'miracle herb'?"

Eaka shifted uneasily, knowing full well the ramifications of sharing such sensitive information. He chose his words carefully, opting for partial honesty rather than complete transparency. "I acquired it from an old friend," he lied, hoping to satisfy Komsan's curiosity without compromising his own safety.

Komsan studied Eaka's expression closely, intuitively understanding that more lay hidden beneath the surface.

"I will keep this 'miracle herb' with me as evidence." Komsan said.

"You need follow me to my base, We will decide later what to do with you.

As he placed the "miracle herb" safely away in his pack, Eaka's sense of relief gradually dissipated, replaced by renewed apprehension. Realizing that revealing his true reason for escaping from his homeland could jeopardize everything, he determined that a new strategy was necessary. To regain control of the situation, Eaka must use his resourcefulness and adaptability to ensure their survival and success in traversing the perilous terrain.

As night fell upon them, a torrential rain began pouring down on the forest, drenching their clothes and creating slippery conditions beneath their feet. With little choice but to press onwards, Eaka and Komsan were forced to navigate the treacherous path together.

Despite being caught off guard by Eaka's presence, Komsan acknowledged the need for caution and understanding. Having come this far, both men recognized the importance of working together to avoid falling victim to the many threats lurking in the darkness around them.

Chapter 2

"The sooner we reach safety, the better."

Said Komsan, his voice filled with determination. Together, they trudged through the muddy trail, struggling to make headway against the unforgiving forces of nature. Despite the obstacles, Eaka maintained an optimistic outlook - if they managed to overcome the challenges presented thus far, there was a good chance they would succeed in their endeavors.

A sudden thunderclap resonated throughout the forest, casting eerie shadows across the ground below.

The intensity of the storm seemed almost supernatural, amplifying the urgency with which Eaka and Komsan searched for shelter. Their voices echoed loudly, melding with the roars of the tempest overhead.

Beneath the cover of dense tree branches, they stumbled upon a makeshift hut, offering temporary respite from the vicious downpour. Dripping wet, they collapsed onto the floor, exhausted yet grateful for the reprieve provided by Mother Nature herself.

As fatigue seeped into their limbs, time appeared to move slower, allowing a momentary peace to settle over them. Yet even though they rested, neither allowed themselves to succumb fully to sleep; vigilant and aware of their surroundings, ever conscious of the imminent danger lurking just outside the hut.

Sitting cross-legged beside Eaka, Komsan observed the man's calm demeanor despite the tumultuous events of recent hours.

There was something profoundly captivating about him, not only because of his striking features and alluring aura, but also due to the mysterious circumstances surrounding his past. As the fire crackled merrily behind them, illuminating their faces, Komsan couldn't help but feel drawn to Eaka's intriguing persona.

He took a deep breath, trying to clear his mind of nagging questions about the truth behind the so-called "miracle herb." Instead, he focused on exploring the depths of trust and mutual respect forming between them.

Then Komsan break the silent. , he want to explore more about his "temporary friend"

.And asked : "So why are you running from your country?" He knew it might seem like an invasive question, but he wanted to understand Eaka's motivations, reasoning that shared knowledge often led to stronger bonds. In response, Eaka sighed deeply before beginning his tale. "In my home land, I am sought after for reasons I cannot discuss openly here," he admitted quietly, his gaze fixated on the flickering flames dancing within the hearth.

Though reluctant to disclose any further specifics, Eaka felt compelled to confide in Komsan about certain aspects of his life back home, feeling strangely comfortable doing so. "Running was never part of my plan initially; however, situations became unavoidably dire, leading me to embark on this journey."

His candor piqued Komsan's curiosity further, prompting him to probe deeper into Eaka's history.

Seemingly satisfied with Eaka's initial disclosure, Komsan decided to reciprocate. "Why don't you tell me what brought you to join this line of work?", he gently suggested, gesturing towards the roomy living space of the wooden hut. Shifting awkwardly, Eaka glanced around nervously, wondering whether revealing too much would be detrimental to their newly formed alliance. After taking a long pause, he finally spoke up, his tone laced with trepidation.

"My involvement with this job comes from necessity, not passion." He explained softly, averting his gaze from Komsan's intense scrutiny. "When faced with insurmountable debts, I had no option but to resort to desperate measures. It's been quite some time since then, but the consequences have followed me persistently."

Feeling empathetic toward Eaka's predicament, Komsan offered reassurance, hoping to alleviate the younger man's burden somewhat.

"It may sound cliché, but things always get better eventually – you just have to weather the storm first." Glancing up from the warmth of the fire, Eaka smiled gratefully at Komsan, appreciative of his supportive attitude. "Your kindness does not go unnoticed, my friend." Komsan returned Eaka's smile, pleased to see that the younger man's spirits had begun to lift slightly.

As the two continued talking, their conversation turned increasingly intimate, fueled by the comfort they derived from sharing secrets with one another.

The topic shifted naturally towards their respective experiences in love and relationships, with Eaka divulging stories of forbidden encounters involving military personnel and secret rendezvous held in the dead of night. These tales ignited a spark of excitement within Komsan, stirring memories of his own clandestine affairs.

Within the dim light cast by the burning logs, their bodies brushed against each other subtly, sending waves of arousal coursing through their veins. Unconsciously, Eaka reached for Komsan's hand, intertwining their fingers tightly, inviting the older man to share his own adventures. And so, Komsan recounted tales of seducing fellow officers and engaging in risky trysts with women from rival factions, reveling in the thrill of transgression.

The air grew heavy with anticipation as the two men delved deeper into their shared fascination with taboo acts and erotic escapades.

Knowing full well how dangerous their situation remained, Eaka could hardly believe the extent to which his feelings for Komsan escalated. This magnetic attraction towards the older man proved irresistible, consuming every thought and action.

At last, unable to contain himself any longer, Eaka boldly proposed an idea, his heart pounding rapidly. "What if...what if we tried experiencing these fantasies together?" He hesitated briefly, fearful of appearing forward or presumptuous. But when Komsan met his gaze with undeniable interest, Eaka gathered courage, pushing forth with conviction.

"We both harbor such appetites hidden beneath our facade…why should we continue suppressing them?"

His words rang true to Komsan, whose heart began racing violently, mirroring Eaka's own agitation. The prospect of giving into their impulses excited him beyond measure, promising a level of freedom rarely encountered.

Emboldened by the other's willingness, Eaka moved closer to Komsan, leaning in eagerly as his lips brushed against the older man's ear.

"Let us explore our darkest desires together," whispered Eaka suggestively, causing shivers to course through Komsan's spine. With trembling hands, they began stripping off their clothes, shedding layers of self-restraint along with their garments.

Dressed in each other's uniforms, they stood facing one another, exchanging knowing looks that betrayed their intentions. The transformation was complete—they were no longer merely individuals but rather alter egos representing their most daring selves.

Stepping into character, Eaka assumed the role of a soldier on patrol, marching confidently towards Komsan, who played the part of a captured enemy combatant. As they locked eyes, tension surged between them, palpable in the charged atmosphere.

Desire consumed them both, driving them to act out their roles with fervor.

Eaka grabbed Komsan roughly, pinning him against the wall, demanding information from his prisoner. His voice lowered to a husky growl, evoking images of power struggles and dominance.

Komsan responded by feigning resistance, attempting to escape from Eaka's grasp. However, his efforts were futile, as Eaka's strength proved superior. Unable to resist any longer, Komsan surrendered, submitting willingly to Eaka's advances.

As they engaged in a fierce battle of wits and physicality, their uniforms served as symbols of authority and control. Each touch, each kiss, carried weight, intensified by the sense of being someone else entirely.

Clothes quickly fell away, replaced by raw desire and need.

Their mouths crashed together hungrily, tongues tangling in a dance of domination and submission. Teeth nipped playfully at tender flesh, leaving marks that would serve as reminders of their encounter later.

Eaka's hands roamed across Komsan's chiseled frame, mapping out territory already claimed and new territories ripe for conquest. Meanwhile, Komsan retaliated by trailing his fingers down Eaka's muscular torso, tracing patterns that elicited moans of pleasure from the younger man.

Bodies pressed firmly against one another, creating friction that heightened sensitivity exponentially. Breaths came in ragged gasps, punctuated by the occasional groan of satisfaction. Their movements mimicked those of skilled warriors, strategically positioning themselves for maximum impact.

Every movement seemed calculated, driven by their primal instincts to conquer and submit. The room echoed with sounds of desire and lust, punctuated by the rustle of fabric as they tossed aside their uniforms, baring themselves fully to one another.

Undeterred by the storm outside, the lovers pushed onwards, venturing ever deeper into their shared fantasy world. As the thunder rolled overhead, casting eerie shadows throughout the cabin, they abandoned all pretense of civility, allowing their baser urges to guide them.

Desperately craving release, they lost themselves in the moment, becoming completely absorbed in their roles.

Eaka took command, instructing Komsan to strip naked and assume a submissive stance. Complying without protest, Komsan obeyed dutifully, displaying his vulnerability to Eaka. As Eaka approached, his breath quickening, he couldn't help but admire the sight of Komsan kneeling before him, head bowed humbly.

Reaching out, Eaka cuffed Komsan's face, forcing him onto his back. Then, with deliberate precision, he proceeded to tease and taunt his captive, running his tongue along Komsan's neck and chest, leaving trails of wet heat behind.

Komsan quivered beneath the touch, his skin flushing hotter with each stroke. Pulling back, Eaka took stock of his prize once again, admiring the way Komsan's erection strained against his restrained confines. A small smirk crept upon Eaka's features, basking in the knowledge that he controlled the fate of this powerful man.

Drawing close once more, Eaka's fingers wrapped around Komsan's rigid member, expertly stroking it with practiced ease.

Watching the older man squirm in response, Eaka grinned triumphantly, relishing in the feeling of holding sway over someone far more experienced in matters of pleasure. His lips curved into a sinister smirk, hinting at the potential for further manipulation.

Meanwhile, Komsan observed Eaka's mastery over him with equal parts curiosity and surprise. He hadn't expected the younger man to possess such skill in bedroom gamesmanship, let alone showcase dominance in this capacity.

Yet here they were now, exploring each other like newly discovered territories, boundless frontiers begging to be charted.

Intrigued yet enthralled, Komsan submitted wholly to Eaka's lead, trusting implicitly in the young man's ability to guide them through this unknown landscape.

Sensing a change in Komsan's demeanor, Eaka seized the opportunity to deepen their connection, pressing a tender kiss upon Komsan's forehead before murmuring softly, "It is I who hold your fate, my dear captain."

Komsan replied with a quiet gasp, startled by the depth of emotion conveyed through those simple words. Tears welled up in his eyes, overwhelmed by the magnitude of the bond formed between them; a bond stronger than mere friendship or lust, something much more profound and mystical.

The more the two roleplayed together, the more Eaka's desire to become Komsan grew until it almost went through the roof. He must took Komsan's life. Eaka think.

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