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felassan · 6 months ago

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New today from IGN: 'Dragon Age: The Veilguard's Devs Reveal New Info About Each of the Companions (and Solas and Varric, Too)'

It turns out The Veilguard really is the friends we made along the way.

Intro:

"Friendships, romantic relationships, and everything in between have always been an integral part of not just the Dragon Age series, but of BioWare in general. From Mass Effect’s Garrus Vakarian to Dragon Age’s Varric Tethras, the characters – and how they get along with the player – are inseparable from titles from the studio. But, perhaps more than any other BioWare game, Dragon Age: The Veilguard is leaning in heavily on this idea, as it’s already easy to see from the marketing material. For one, the name changed from Dragon Age: Dreadwolf back in June, with BioWare general manager Gary McKay telling us at the time that it was out of a desire to shift the focus to a “really deep and compelling group of companions.” That would be followed by a first official trailer at Summer Game Fest that put the focus squarely on seven new companions that will be tagging along with the player character, Rook, in The Veilguard. With all that in mind, it’s little surprise to hear game director Corinne Busche talk about how these companions aren’t just central to the story of The Veilguard, but the gameplay and combat as well. “Building a relationship with companions has always been a staple of Dragon Age, but this time around, that relationship translates into how well you work together as a team,” Busche tells IGN. “It is how you're actually going to level up your companions, by getting to know them better. That's how you're going to unlock skill points. So when you look at all of the various abilities the companions have, there's inherent combos and synergies and roles that they'll have on the battlefield.” She uses the example of Neve, the mysterious detective mage who has a wildly useful special ability to slow time in combat. “But if I really get the opportunity to know her,” Busche explains, “whether it's platonic or romantic, I'm going to help be able to shape her skills and augment those abilities that work really well with my own personal build, so our sense of teamwork really deepens.” During our time with the game, IGN got to see some of this in action; unsurprisingly, Dragon Age: The Veilguard has an approval/disapproval system, with pop-up text on the side of the screen indicating whether or not a companion liked what Rook just did or said. But something new in this Dragon Age: even just completing a quest with a companion in your party increases your “bond” with them, whether they agree with how you handled things or not. Your relationship, Busche says, isn’t necessarily about “how much they like you, but how well you get to know them.” “This is about a found family,” Busche tells us. “That is, they have the same goals, different complications in their life, but they're all giving everything they have to defend Thedas. You're going to get to know them really well. You're going to develop trust, understanding. That doesn't mean you're always going to agree.” But, we’ll have plenty more to say about the game systems and combat later. With Busche, we had the opportunity to really dive into the seven companions at the center of The Veilguard and what they’re all about. Here’s what she had to say about each one:"

"DAVRIN Busche: “When we were thinking about Davrin, how we were going to develop him as a character, we had to think about, 'How is he going to show up on the battlefield?' And it was unique because he has this, I guess you could say, companion of his own, the griffon Assan. That makes him, as a companion, very unique, because Assan shows up on the battlefield. So we had to think about how that integrates into his abilities, where Davrin as a Grey Warden is capable on his own, but also, when does he call upon Assan and what does that look like? What happens if you're indoors?... And indeed, when you're doing some of Davrin's content, just seeing Assan gliding through the environments, you really get a sense that they care and they're protective about each other. “…When we think about Davrin and his being the representative of the Grey Wardens within the team of The Veilguard, it was an opportunity for us to really go back to some of those roots that we know our fans, our players, deeply care about. Dragon Age: Origins, of course, was so Grey Warden-forward. We want to evoke those memories, those connections that our players have. And I absolutely love when you're journeying with Davrin, not only his aesthetic, how he carries himself as a Warden, but how he interacts with his fellow Wardens. The little wrinkle of, 'Hey, there actually are some griffons remaining in Thedas,' how he learns as a Warden to train and interact with these griffons that, to our knowledge, haven't existed for quite some time, it's a learning experience on a lost art of the Grey Wardens that is really unique to Davrin's character.”"

"HARDING Busche: “To talk about Harding as a companion, I guess I'd have to go back to Inquisition. Of course, Harding showed up. She was your scout on the field. There was a light romance with her, and I think one of the things that the team didn't quite expect is how much Harding would catch on in Inquisition. Players fell in love with her, and we heard them. They wanted a deeper romance, they wanted more engagement with Harding. So for the team, I felt like it was kind of a no-brainer for us to bring back Harding, and we also wanted to reestablish that connection to the Inquisition in the world of Thedas, which occurred 10 years ago, the events of Inquisition. “Harding serves as our proxy back to those events, and you get to learn about what's happened with the Inquisition since, so she presents some really lovely opportunities for us. I will say, personality-wise and her role on the battlefield, she is among my favorites. When you see her leap into the air, unleashing these devastating attacks with her bow and arrow, I just can't get enough of her.”"

"TAASH Busche: “Taash, in the creation of their arc, is one of our more complex characters. It's a journey along their arc that is about introspection. 'Where do I belong in the world? What are my boundaries? What do I fight for? How do I become at peace with who I am?' So I love the juxtaposition, actually, between Taash's personal journey and this imposing literal dragon slayer, that sort of hard exterior and really gentle interior. It makes Taash a really special companion for me.” (When asked which companion had the steamiest romance): “I'll just speak for me personally, but at the culmination of the romance arcs, I'd have to say Taash. When I got to that scene and saw the finished version of that cinematic, I was hollering. Hollering.”"

"EMMRICH Busche: “The thing about Emmrich that is going to surprise our fans the most is his relationship with necromancy. I really love that we kind of turned the idea of a necromancer on its head here, where you think of them as these conjurers of evil, the certain malice when you hear the term 'necromancer,' but it couldn't be farther from the truth for Emmrich. There is a reverence about the dead. He has a unique relationship with death. You get to explore how he ended up in the Mourn Watch. Death has shaped this character in all aspects of his life, and we frequently refer to him as our gentleman necromancer. I think his proper, kind nature stems from that respect that he's learned about this cycle of life and death throughout his life. “Manfred is like a son to Emmrich. He very much has an affinity for this wisp, this life force that he's given a second chance through this skeletal body, and in many ways, it's the story of a parent raising a child. Emmrich, he needs to teach Manfred and help him along to develop as a character of their own, things like learning new skills, how to assist The Veilguard. Some of our most charming moments are in dealing with Manfred, and I must say I absolutely love the interactions. They just have me rolling whenever Manfred steals the show. “…In my last playthrough, I romanced Emmrich. What I also loved is as I'm synergizing with him as we're doing combos, just having him refer to me as ‘my dear’ on the battlefield. ‘Well done, my dear!’ It just fills me with joy every time.”"

"LUCANIS Busche: “The character that went through the most changes [throughout development] without a doubt was Lucanis. Lucanis is very complex. He's an assassin. He is very skilled in the art of death. The Antivan Crows, they pursue these contracts with a certain level of dispassion, but also, Lucanis is a romantic, and he's dealing with some internal struggles. He's been through a lot of trauma. He's relearning how to trust. And all of those elements come together with a richness, but it creates a lot of complexity in how we tell that story. So I'd say Lucanis is the first one that comes to my mind in terms of the thought that's gone into it, where we've had to make adjustments to really cover all facets of his character.”"

"NEVE Busche: “Neve is our confident noir detective. I love to bring her onto the battlefield because she's just so incredibly capable. She's our ice mage, so really big on controlling the battlefield, and that's actually a good metaphor to her arc. She wants to fight for change. She wants to fight for a better Minrathous, and she's going to use all the tools at her disposal to try and reshape Minrathous into a better place for all. She's very much a Shadow Dragon. This is among the mantra of the Shadow Dragons. They operate from the shadows, fighting for a better Minrathous. So as this accomplished ice mage, she's fierce. She's not going to shy away from any challenge, whether it's taking down darkspawn or dealing with the Magisterium in Minrathous.”"

"BELLARA Busche: “Oh, my dear, sweet Bellara. I relate to Bellara a lot. She is joyous. She's been through a lot, but she remains curious, optimistic. She's kind of a geek. She really likes her fiction. She fangirls over Neve a little bit. She's just so relatable, and I think that's what our players will find and fall in love with when they get to meet Bellara, is just how much you'll recognize some of those patterns and sensibilities that she holds, but don't let it fool you. She is also a Veil Jumper. She's very comfortable in elven ruins. I frequently bring her with me in my party. I like to play rogue. I like to play the Veil Jumper, or the Veil Ranger. Bellara's a fantastic companion to set up that spec with electric vulnerabilities, so I love her both on and off the battlefield.”"

Bonus rounds:

"SOLAS Okay okay, so Solas isn’t technically one of your core companions who will travel with you, but given his place in the Dragon Age story, we still had to ask about his relationship with Rook. Here’s what Busche had to say: Busche: “Rook's relationship with Solas is a complicated one. Everyone has seen, at this point, the gameplay reveal and the opening moments of the game, so you'll know things got shaken up pretty radically for Solas already. He's trapped. He's basically communicating with you as an advisor, and I absolutely love that idea of, ‘He's your lifeline right now, but can you trust him?’ And those touch points with him, ‘Do I take his advice or not? Can he be trusted? Is he going to betray me?’ All the while giving you this information that you absolutely need in order to be successful. “It creates an interesting stage for us, where, I think our fans will agree, Solas is very complicated. He firmly believes he's doing the right thing, and some of our fans will agree that he's trying to do the right thing. Others will not, and this creates a stage for you, the player, where you get to lean into those tendencies of your own as you're taking advice from Solas throughout parts of the game. I think those really interesting debates about, ‘Was he ever redeemable? Can he be trusted? Was he wrong all along?’ You're really going to be able to dive in deep on that.”"

"VARRIC Varric, while a part of Dragon Age: The Veilguard and a series mainstay, isn’t part of your core companions either. But, as fans can see in the trailers, he’s still very much in The Veilguard, so we asked Dragon Age creative director John Epler about how he’s changed since we last saw him in Inquisition: Epler: “Since the events of Dragon Age: Inquisition, he has spent the time, just briefly, obviously, [serving as] Viscount of Kirkwall. I mean, anybody who knows much about Varric knows how well a job where he sits around and tells people what to do is going to sit with him. He has been participating in the hunt for Solas. And I think for Varric in particular, that's a very difficult thing for him to do because Solas is his friend. Solas is somebody that he grew close to over the events of Inquisition. They adventure together, they work together. “And now knowing who Solas really is, that eats at Varric. Because Varric always sees, Varric believes he can always make somebody do the right thing. Varric believes he is the most convincing, charismatic, because he cares about people. And he has this belief that as long as I get a chance to talk to Solas, I'm going to be able to turn him. But as he's seeing what Solas' ritual is doing to the world around him, as he experienced in the comics, Dragon Age: The Missing, that eats at him a little bit. That's challenging his world view of him as always being the best judge of people, being able to see that somebody is able to be redeemed. And he's starting to question a little bit, ‘am I right or am I being a fool by believing in Solas?’ ”"

[source]

#dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age the veilguard spoilers #dragon age: dreadwolf #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #dragon age #bioware #video games #solas #long post #longpost #dragon age: the missing #dragon age: tevinter nights #mass effect #garrus vakarian

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mellowwhumps · 7 months ago

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thank you tumblr for killing the rest of my tags. unlike hari i bring my emergency photos with me

HELLO!!! IT IS HERE!!! SCARAB CREW INTRO FIC!!!

i'm sorry it took so long guys i've been in a bit of a funk these last few days BUT i really wanted to post this!! i have much more planned for them but i am trying to pace myself because i've been struggling a little bit!

this also counts for early whumperless whump event day 23: well, that doesn't taste right @whumperless-whump-event (allergic reaction / anaphylaxis)

word count: 2507

see this post for info on the scarabs crew!

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In hindsight, Hari probably should have told the team his allergies to start.

There just wasn’t a convenient time for him to do it. It felt weird.

He already felt their judging eyes on him because he was human. Humans weren’t necessarily looked down upon, but it was quite the common consensus that they had more biological flaws than most other races.

This was, of course, made worse by Hari’s precarious condition.

Introducing himself as the human missing a leg with a blood circulation disorder, an inflammatory lung disease, and food allergies was not something Hari imagined would get him much in the way of respect.

So, he stayed quiet.

After all the introductions and mission briefings came and went, everyone retreated to their respective rooms to settle in. A message over the intercom told Hari that Nyla, the pilot, was going to start making dinner.

He supposed now could be a good time to mention it. He remembered how to get to the kitchen, and Nyla should be in there cooking already, but Hari had just taken off his prosthesis. He didn’t feel like going through the trouble.

Besides, what were the chances that, out of all the things in the galaxy, Nyla made something Hari couldn’t eat.

An hour came and went before Nyla’s chipper voice came over the intercom once again.

“Food’s ready, everyone! Come on down to the kitchen!”

Hari perked up. Now that he thought of it, he was hungry. He hadn’t eaten anything more than protein bars and yogurt cups since the initial launch. An actual meal sounded wonderful.

He grabbed his crutches and began making his way to the kitchen.

As he walked through the halls of The Scarab, he couldn’t help but feel a bit astonished. Just a few days ago, he was on his home planet, Earth. Then, he was shipped off to Asto’is. Now, here he was, floating in space with a group of strangers towards countless unexplored territories and potentially dangerous star systems.

What a story he was going to have to tell.

He arrived at the kitchen and quickly saw he was the last to do so.

Captain Nieven Alaric, the Asto’isian, was sitting at the head of the table, typing away on his detpad. A cigarette was held loosely in his free hand, and he brought it up to his lips with a deep inhale. His brow was furrowed, like he was trying to figure something out.

Zel, the Huelxcan, was sitting towards the middle of the table, but her entire body was tensed up. She looked terribly awkward, like she’d rather be anywhere but there. Her gaze remained trained at a spot on the table, but upon Hari’s entry, she lifted her head. Hari met her eyes on accident and flashed a small smile, and he could have sworn she snarled at him.

Vinny, the Z’edin, was sitting opposite to Zel, but they looked significantly less uncomfortable. On the contrary, their knees were pulled up to their chest with their own detpad balancing on top. A peek over their shoulder told Hari that they were reading.. a scientific article? On biochemistry? For fun? That was perhaps scarier than the Huelxcan staring daggers at him from across the table.

And finally, indicated by the soft humming from the kitchen, Hari caught a glimpse of Nyla plating the final dish with her back turned to him.

Hari hadn’t seen many Haryen in his time. The race preferred not to make too much contact with the other PAGE territories, so seeing one out in the open felt odd.

Still, Hari didn’t need to know much about the race to know their signature trait—large crimson wings on their back with a span almost longer than their full height. Hari also didn’t need to know much about the race to know that this particular Haryen’s wings were not paradigmatic of her people’s.

Nyla’s wings were small and curled tight against her body. The muscles in them looked atrophied and shriveled, and even the way they moved with her body seemed off.

Nyla didn’t offer much of an explanation. She simply stated that she was born differently and left it at that. She didn’t owe anyone an explanation anyway; Hari figured. Still, it was not something someone saw every day.

Hari finally took a seat beside Vinny and rested his crutches against the edge of the metal table. Vinny’s gaze flitted to him before coming back to their detpad.

Hari risked another glance at their screen, and saw that not only were they finished with the first article, but they had moved on to another longer one. Hari had to ask.

“What’cha reading about?”

Vinny’s ears flicked at his voice. “Botany.”

“Botany?”

“Mhm. The first planet on the course is a forest planet, so I wanted to brush up.”

“I see—”

“Do you know much about botany? You’re the medic, after all. Figured you’ve at least taken some life science classes, but I don’t know how much time the curriculum would have spent on botany specifically.”

“Well, I was in highschool when—”

“I guess if it was a general biology class, the content would be broader, so you probably spent a little bit on each subsection. Still, I think botany is underappreciated. There’s so much to learn about a planet based on what kind of flora thrives in it.”

“I agree—”

“Plus, it can tell you so much about culture! Your planet, for example, has such a diverse ecosystem with so many different biomes. The different ways your people use the plants in each area is fascinating!”

“Thank you?”

“Not to mention—”

“Dinner is ready!” Nyla chirped, padding into the room with plates precariously balanced on her arms. Hari silently sighed in relief.

Nieven set down his detpad immediately and stood up to take two of the plates from Nyla.

“Thank you very much for making dinner, Nylath... Nylathrania.”

The syllables sounded clumsy on the Captain’s lips and a slight flush creeped up his cheeks at his fumbling.

“Oh please, just call me Nyla. Nylathrania is a hard one, even back on Harye.”

Nieven cleared his throat. “Very well. Thank you, Nyla.”

“It’s my pleasure! What better way to welcome you all onto my ship than good food?” She smiled and set a plate in front of each person at the table before taking her own seat next to Zel.

Hari smiled right back at her and, he figured he could try probing about the ingredients. Subtly, of course. “Yes, thank you, Nyla. This looks good! What is it?”

“Oh! I wanted to start with something pretty universally liked. It’s noodles with a darzel nut sauce, wozoik leaves, and some poultry from Earth! It’s pretty simple. I didn’t want to try anything too wild on the first night.”

Vinny, finally, lifted their head from their detpad and faced Nyla. “You took the meat out of mine, right?”

“Mhm!”

Vinny’s tail swayed slightly and a slight smile overtook their face. “Thank you, Nyla.”

Hari suddenly felt very stupid. If the kid could let Nyla know about their dietary preferences, why couldn’t Hari?

Still, it was fine. Nothing she said was on his allergy list. He’d just let her know after this meal and everything would be fine.

Nyla picked up her fork. “Well, dig in everyone!”

And with that, they did.

Zel sniffed the food experimentally and swirled a forkful of noodles onto the prongs of the utensil before lifting it to her mouth. The usual scowl on her face lessened greatly and she turned to Nyla.

“You made this?” She said softly.

“...I did. Why? Is something wrong with it?” Nyla almost looked sheepish.

Zel said nothing. She simply turned her face back down to her plate and began scarfing down the noodles.

Vinny was following suit, tail swaying freely as they forked mouthful after mouthful into their mouth.

Nieven was a bit more polite. He ate slowly, and in small bites, but the enjoyment of the food was written all over his face in the way his eyes shone.

Alright, now, Hari needed to try it.

He scooped some of the noodles onto his fork, took a bite and—wow. If this was the kind of food he’d be eating for the next few years, he had no complaints.

The nutty flavor of the sauce was light and fresh, enhanced further by the aromatic greens. The chicken was juicy and flavorful, and the noodles were cooked to perfection. Hari’s eyes nearly rolled back into his head.

Nyla swallowed a mouthful of food and tapped her finger idly on the table. “So... How is everyone feeling about the trip so far?”

Vinny perked their head up. “So far it’s been interesting. Your ship is really cool. I can’t believe you fly it yourself.”

“I do! She’s my pride and joy.” She turned to Hari. “You’re somewhat of an aerospace engineer, right? What kind of ships have you worked on?”

Hari startled at his name and glanced up.

“Me? I’ve worked on a few. I worked mostly on airplanes, though.”

“Oh? So a bit different, then?”

Hari nodded and opened his mouth to respond, but found that his tongue didn’t move the way he intended it to. It felt tingly, like it was swollen in his mouth. He furrowed his brows.

“Sorry. I just— My throat feels weird.” He swallowed convulsively.

Nyla tilted her head and leaned forward to get a better look at him. Zel followed suit, sharing a glance with Nieven.

“Are you okay?” Nyla asked.

“I’m fine... I’m...” Hari swallowed again as an abrupt wave of nausea had him clamping his mouth shut.

Nieven suddenly turned his gaze to meet Hari. “Hari? Are you sure? You’re quite... flushed.”

Hari nodded and scratched at the side of his neck. Stars, when did it get so itchy?

And then it occurred to him. The way he was feeling—the way it felt like his throat was swelling and the way his skin felt too hot for his body—stars, he was allergic to the damn food.

Of all the foods in the galaxy! This delicious meal was one his body decided was a threat! He would have groaned if he could.

Instead, he let out a vaguely choked whine and clawed at his throat, desperately pulling at his collar to get some air. Hives were starting to break out along his arms and shoulders rapidly, and the heat was searing.

Everyone was staring at him now. Even Vinny, who had set their detpad on the table, was in a hurry to get a proper look at Hari.

“Hari?” Vinny questioned.

They stood and leaned over, scrutinizing his face. They looked like they were racking their brain for something. Hari truly hoped they were as smart as they came across, because he wasn’t sure he had the faculties to explain what he needed. With their knowledge on Earth and biology, they were probably Hari’s best bet.

They suddenly jolted with thought. “Anaphylaxis! Allergic reaction! That’s what's going on, isn’t it? Your symptoms match!”

Bingo. Hari nodded frantically, pulling in a wheezing breath. Shit, it really was getting difficult to breathe. He needed to do something—and fast.

“Allergic?! Why didn’t you say something earlier!” Nyla shrieked, practically leaping over the table to reach Hari. “What do we do?! You’re the medic!”

Hari wanted to tell her to relax and that it would probably be fine once he got his epi-pen, but he could quite literally feel his airways shrinking and he figured that might not be true for long.

Vinny tapped away on their detpad before whipping their head back up. “We have to give you epinephrine, don’t we? Where the hell are we going to get that?!”

Hari vaguely gestured to the bedrooms, hoping someone would get the hint. He had a small bright red first-aid kit in his luggage, left out in the open. Never had he ever been so grateful for his disorganized unpacking.

“On it,” Nieven muttered, racing toward the hall. Hari tugged at his collar once again, wheezing desperately. It felt like his head was going to explode now. He was sure he was quite the sorry sight with how red he felt his face getting. Not a very good first impression.

Finally, the captain came sprinting back with the little red pouch. He all but threw it onto the table and ripped it open, before realizing he had no idea what he was even looking for.

“Epi..pen..” Hari managed to rasp out, doubling over when another awful wave of nausea overtook him.

Vinny watched Nieven frantically search for a few more moments before grumbling and lunging over to snatch the pouch from him. They procured the item immediately and began to read over it.

“It’s a needle?”

Hari nodded, wondering why that mattered. He didn’t care if someone had to cut his other damn leg off to get the epinephrine in him—he just wanted to breathe.

Vinny uncapped the needle and hesitantly crouched beside Hari. They were moving at far too leisurely a pace. Hari shot a weak glare.

He would have done it himself, if he could. It’s just that his hands were numb. He could barely lift his arm, let alone have the dexterity to administer it properly. Maybe he should start having his epi-pen with him for every meal. Stars, his head was spinning.

“I can’t do it!” Vinny cried, suddenly pulling away.

“For fuck’s sake—” Zel plucked the pen from their hands, skimmed the directions, and plunged the needle directly into Hari’s right leg with no hesitation.

Hari had never been so grateful in his life.

In just a few moments, Hari felt his breath starting to come easier. He slumped back against his chair and gulped down sweet, sweet oxygen.

No one said anything for a beat. And then, Nyla smacked the back of Hari’s head.

“You idiot! If you’re allergic to something you need to tell me! What was your plan if we didn’t get the epi-pen in time?! I would have been responsible for manslaughter!”

Hari blinked. “I didn’t know I’d be allergic to it.”

Vinny stepped in and crossed their arms. “But you have existing allergies, yes? I could have done some research on how similar the food was to your allergens. Darzel nuts, for example, are remarkably chemically similar to peanuts.”

Oh. That explains it, then. Hari felt a blush creep up on his cheeks. He said nothing.

Nyla let out a soft hmph and pointed a finger at Hari. “After we clean up here and I make you something else to eat, you’re going to sit down with me and make a list of your allergies. All of them. This won’t happen again.”

Hari could tell she meant to be vaguely reassuring, but with the way she said it, it sounded like a threat. He gulped and nodded.

Vinny let out a soft laugh that doubled as a sigh of relief. “Welcome to the expedition, I suppose.”

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#HELLOOOOOO i imploded yesterday seeing this intro again #this served as motivation for me to do my tasks. it worked too phenomenally #hari my love #kinda funny that humans are the aliens here (all of them are)#like yeah sure we’re just another species what’s a million more #ngl i’d respect hari more if he told me allat because How Are You Still Alive #remembering how to get to the kitchen #truly an achievement #hari that is a long ass list of allergies you have never underestimate it #longer than santa’s good kid list or smt /j #zel awwwhhhhh #she’s just a little silly like that #i love reading biochemistry for fun. so entertaining (vinny can i have your attitude)#THATS HOW BIG THEIR WINGS ARE MEANT TO BE?????#interesting……studies these bits of info under a microscope #VINNY PLEASEEEE #my guy (genneu). please #thank god for nyla existing vinny’s neurodivergence too strong #NIEEEVENNNNNN #i cheered #oh yeah this is *fine*#i say after seeing the prompt right there #WOAHHHHH SAPPHIC ALERT BEEPWOOBEEPWOO #nieven’s so cute. i cannot #look at him #look at all of them actually #nyla the table is not for leaping over (pop off)#aughhhhh #mess saves the day #nieven you are terrible at this i’m sorry

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raguiras · 7 months ago

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Music Weeks at NRC!

A Twisted Wonderland fan event

For a big event, Night Raven College splits into four large music groups, each with their own unique style and aesthetic. Follow the beat of your heart and create something miraculous!

These are just some quick sketches, but I'm pretty happy with them!

SHARING IS SUPER APPRECIATED!!! ♡♡♡

DEADLINE: none :) // My other ongoing event (ship art trades)

ALL INFO BELOW THE CUT!

☆ LORE ☆

RAGU Entertainment, an up-and-rising music company focusing on young talents, has offered Night Raven College a sponsorship and cooperation! The student body is being split into four large music groups, each with their own aesthetic and style. For every song made by the students, Night Raven College is rewarded with both exposure and money in exchange for promoting the company through the students' music. Some of the teens chose their groups themselves, others were assigned to one; some are performers, others work behind the scenes. Additionally, everyone is turning the music weeks into an unofficial battle — who makes the best, most well-received songs?

The NRC faculty members supervise the groups themselves, and Allen, the Ramshackle student known for his lyrical talent, organization skills and passion for music, is in charge of supervising the event's quality while simultaneously also working as the co-leader of his own group.

☆ GROUP INTROS ☆

Hazard/Riff: hip hop/rock fusion // street style aesthetic // leader: Deuce (+ Allen)

PASTEL BXMB!: bubblegum/dance pop fusion // pastel aesthetic // leader: Kalim

GLOWCHAIN: k-pop/EDM fusion //sparkly, mature aesthetic // leader: Vil

lonely lantern: indie/soft pop fusion // light academia/cottagecore // leader: Silver

The descriptions are rather vague so there's more room for you to be creative.

You obviously aren't limited to these pictures and can expand on the aesthetic as long as it's still similar! Draw your OC in whatever clothes you consider to be fitting.

☆ HOW TO PARTICIPATE ☆

Pick one of the four groups for your OC. Which one suits them best?

Use said group's designated background (scroll down in this post to find them) and make a TWST event card for your OC!

Write some voicelines, such as gacha or homescreen ones.

OPTIONAL: Make a GROOVY version portraying your OC in a music video scene (may be posted separately).

OPTIONAL: Include a few fun doodles or outfit-related stuff.

Post it with the hashtag ragu music weeks, tag (@) me so I can see it, and link this post in it!

I will link your OC's card in the official lineup section of this post.

Writing a fic, drawing something other than a card, or just doing anything creative in general is also allowed! You can obviously mix multiple of these things, too.

I'm looking forward to ALL types of entries.

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

☆ RULES ☆

No NSFW.

All types of NRC student OCs are allowed (except for fan children/another generation)! Faculty OCs are also allowed, but as supervisors instead of performers.

Your student OCs can be anything: a vocalist, rapper, dancer, instrumentalist, producer, lyricist, makeup artist, stage designer, director, choreographer, whatever! Just don't make them a co-leader without my approval.

You can obviously enter with multiple OCs!

Making cards of canon characters is technically allowed, but the event is supposed to focus on OCs. (I will draw Deuce's OFFICIAL card and maybe also some others.)

There are no canon ships (other than Deuce x Allen, which is only canon/extremely implied because Deuce's planned event lore is heavily dependent on his relationship with Allen), so please don't bash anyone for implying that their OC is dating/crushing on the same canon character as yours.

Don't make your OC beef with other people's OCs unless they've given you permission to do so.

Don't move a canon character into a different group. The official lineups can be found below.

☆ CARD BACKGROUNDS ☆

Hazard/Riff -> PASTEL BXMB! -> GLOWCHAIN -> lonely lantern

☆ OUR LINEUPS ☆

[Your OC will be added here with a link!]

Hazard/Riff (supervised by Vargas)

DEUCE, Allen, EPEL, ACE, LEONA, RUGGIE, FLOYD, Zian, Estella, Iyad, Estelle, Yuhua

PASTEL BXMB! (supervised by Sam)

KALIM, LILIA, IDIA, ORTHO, SEBEK, Carla, Bonbon, Astrid, Romeo, Fiend, Yumi, Yuya, Forsythea, Ben, Ruby, Victor (links will be added once I've regained them... they got removed 😭)

GLOWCHAIN (supervised by Crewel)

VIL, TREY, CATER, AZUL, JAMIL, MALLEUS, Ryuuni, Viviroe, Stephanie, Erin, Kyoi, Aurinelle

lonely lantern (supervised by Trein)

SILVER, JADE, RIDDLE, JACK, ROOK, Jinx, Cass, Yorrana, Illysabeth

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

☆ OUR LEADERS ☆

DEUCE: Having adapted music as an outlet for his delinquent tendencies from Allen and enjoying himself with this form of self-expression, Deuce is the born leader of Hazard/Riff. Not only have his vocals and especially his rap greatly improved by now, but he also writes lyrics together with Allen.

KALIM: Spread joy! Despite it being different from his usual aesthetics, Kalim immediately felt intrigued by the concept of PASTEL BXMB! and knew that this was the group he wanted to join. Through his naturally positive aura and ability to bring people together, he fits them incredibly well, and serves as a vocalist as well as the main dancer.

VIL: GLOWCHAIN has a mature, elegant sparkly aesthetic — it was a no-brainer that Vil would be its leader. The ambitious, talented artist makes sure that the group stands out and draws people in with his preexisting popularity and charisma. He is a vocalist as well as the visual of the group.

SILVER: Being calm, kind and well-liked, Silver is a fitting leader for lonely lanterns, an indie group welcoming to all kinds of personalities and skill levels. With his soothing vocals, good looks and somewhat odd aesthetic, he became the face of the group.

(ALLEN: Being the person who introduced music as a coping mechanism to Deuce, Allen is the co-leader of Hazard/Riff. Not only is he a talented producer and rapper as well as an exceptional lyricist, but he also has a blind understanding with Deuce, and the two spend tons of time together. When it comes to the group, Allen is perfectionistic but enthusiastic.)

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

☆ GROUP FOCUSES ☆

Hazard/Riff: Partial usage of instruments. Focuses on rap, rock vocals, and meaningful lyrics.

PASTEL BXMB!: No usage of instruments. Focuses on positivity, good vibes and dance.

GLOWCHAIN: No usage of instruments. Focuses on aesthetics, elegance and good vocals.

lonely lantern: Partial usage of instruments. Has no focus and is the most open-minded group.

☆ INSPIRATION PLAYLISTS ☆

Hazard/Riff — PASTEL BXMB! — GLOWCHAIN — lonely lantern

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

☆ OTHER EVENT NOTES ☆

You're very much allowed to include my designs, Allen (his profile is linked in the leader section), or the Deuce x Allen ship (they have duo magic too!) in your OC's card's groovy version. No need to ask for my permission!

Interactions between your OC and Allen are very much encouraged! Feel free to mention him in your OC's voicelines, too.

I'll make a card for Allen, and I'll also make Deuce's OFFICIAL card. If the mood strikes me, I'll possibly also draw official cards for some other canon characters.

I'll reblog every entry on my reblog blog and also link all entries in this post!

If this event ends up being well-received, I'll do a second part someday! So far, the idea is that it would be vkei/electro swing/weirdcore/Europop.

All resources were found on and downloaded from Pinterest, then edited. The event art was drawn by me.

If you have any questions, please leave a comment!

865 notes · View notes

arbitrarykiwi · 1 month ago

Text

Third Times a Charm: Oral Fixation 2/3

Nam-Gyu (Player 124) x AFAB reader smut series

Summary: you ran into him three separate times. First was at a party, second time was at a club. And like his favorite drugs, he was addicted. The third time? Well he wasn’t going to let you get away so easy. Third times a charm and he was going to get his fix. ((Non-squid games au))

Warnings: Smut (18+), LONG (y'all.. I went over board: 6.4k words), id say this is significantly more debauched than the first chapter, alcohol use, drug use, substance mixing, stalker! Nam-Gyu themes (he finds your info online), porn with plot (long intro, there is a divider added for convenience if you wish to skip to the fuckin') , oral (m receiving), choking, dirty talk, name calling ((this chap. is significantly more gendered than the first one)) (pretty girl, good girl, whore and slut used once), face fucking, sugar daddy! Nam-Gyu themes, spitting, cum play, breath play, he’s nasty- got a filthy mouth on him, brief mention of death threats (he threatens somebody for interrupting y'all), proof read but I am dyslexic, there's prolly more- read at your own risk

Previous chapter: Taste Test 1/3

Next chapter: Bodytalk 3/3

AN: gonnna be so real yall, music inspo for this fic is São Paulo ft. Anitta by The Weekend…if you wanna read it with the fic be my guest 😋 (best time to start it is when yall meet again in da club)

The second time you ran into him was at a club.

It has been about two weeks since your interaction with him. Nam-Gyu. To say that he was all you thought about would be putting it lightly. The thought, the feel, the scent of him, was all you could think about.

Figuring with just a name to go off of and the drugged out crowd you often hung around, your luck of finding him was slim to none. You tried to search him up, nothing. All searches took you to was links about a ‘Club Pentagon’.

You tried to go out with some men, often finding yourself repulsed anytime they put your hands on you. Pushing them away and calling a cab to just go back home and get yourself off. None of those guys seemed worth your time- you’d just be thinking about him anyway.

His hands felt better. His lips felt better. He felt better.

You found yourself in your room, with a half smoked blunt hanging between your fingers as you scrolled through social media aimlessly. While scrolling you watched as a notification popped up at the top of your screen, your phone resonating a ‘ping’- a text from your friend asking you to go out to, none other than, Club Pentagon. You clicked the notification with a speed you didn’t know you had.

A reply is sent quick, agreeing to meet her at the club in a few hours. You stood up off your bed, taking a drag of the blunt you rolled- getting ready or not, you can’t waste it!

In the span of a couple hours you got ready, dolling yourself up in the best outfit you could think of. One of your favorite dresses, the one that was just a little too short but fit oh so perfect. You hope by some grace of the universe- he’s there. And with the chance that he may be there…you wanted to take a little extra time with your makeup.

After finishing off your blunt, taking more than a couple shots, and a excecuting perfect face of makeup- you’re calling a taxi with a nice buzz and making your way to Club Pentagon.

The night is cool when you step out the taxi. You pay and thank the cab driver, turning to find your friends in the long line of people. It doesn’t take long, they find you. They yell your name from the crowd, excitedly pulling you into the line. “God damn!! You look good!” One of your friends cheers, you laugh and give a little twirl. The group you find yourself in catches up, chatting, while walking slowly with the line of people waiting in queue for the club.

Soon you make it to the entrance, a large bouncer stands near a velvet rope that block the front door of the club. The large neon sign sporting the words ‘Club Pentagon’ flash a vibrant pint that illuminated the area outside the club.

Your group begins filling into a small cluster behind the velvet rope, waiting by the entrance for the rest of the group before heading into the club. Your friend in front of you passed the bouncer, adjusting her pink wristband sporting ‘21+’. It was the usual band bars around here used to signify the person wearing it was of age to drink.

You hand your ID to the bouncer patiently waiting to be let into the club. The bouncer looks to you then to your ID, he seems to re-read it then looks back up to you. “Wait here.” He tells you, stepping away. You look to your friend with a quirked eyebrow, wondering what the hold up is.

Your friend laughs, cupping her hands around her mouth and calling out to the bouncer. “She’s of age officer I swear!!” You reach over to swat her arm to get her to stop. “Bitch c’mon! For one, he’s not an officer. Two, that’s literally what someone with a fake ID would say.” You laugh, already tipsy from the pregame.

The bouncer returns with a chuckle at your friend’s antics. “Not worried ‘bout that girls.” He says to you and your friend with a jovial laugh. “Your name was familiar, saw it on the VIP list.” The bouncer says, to only you this time, placing a lime green wristband on your wrist, on it the acronym ‘VIP’ is printed around the entirety of the paper bracelet.

“Huh?” You say incredulously, you haven’t even been to this club before and you sure wouldn’t pay for a VIP band yourself. You look to your friend group, wondering if they had something to do with it. Their faces mimicked yours, confused, so they obviously had nothing to do with this.

“This must be a mistake- I didn’t pay for this.” You say not wanting to get overcharged. “No mistake Ma’am. One of our club promoters put you on the list personally.” He says opening the red suede rope to let you into the building.

You’re confused, you don’t know any club promoters. But you nod, in thanks to the bouncer as you join your friends. You are still wildly perplexed but not complaining- it’s a free all you can drink ticket! Your friends ‘ooo’ and ‘ahhh’ at you as you walk in with them.

“Which club promoter’s dick did ya suck to get that~” Your friend teases leaning into you, you laugh and shake your head. “Genuinely…no one’s. I have never been here before….the covers always been too high.” You say, your eyes scanning the grand entrance of the club- chandeliers covered the ceilings, various colored lasers reflecting off of the diamonds and dispersing into colored rays that flood the floor.

“Ohhh??? A secret admirer??!!” Your friends giggle as you make your way to the bar. You laugh her off, shaking your leaning on the bar. “For real I can’t imagine who would put me on the list…” You shrug as you all order your first round of drinks.

In your head you’re trying to find any possible reasoning. It’s couldn’t be him, could it?

Anytime you looked up his name, and you typed out those six letters more times than you could count over the weeks, he never came up….but this club that you find yourself at - Club Pentagon- did. Was he a club promoter here? Was he the club promoter that put you on the expensive VIP list?! Even if he was…you didn’t give him your name the last time you saw him. You were pulled away from him before you could even thank him for the mindblowing orgasm he gave you, let alone give him your name.

Your eyes darted around the place, examining the club that you never bothered to come to. Sure the cover was expensive but as you see the extravagant decoration, multiple stages lit up with flashing, multi-colored panels, and intricate carved marble columns throughout the place- the price seemed worth it.

You make good use of the VIP wristband, ordering rounds of shots that were covered by the lime green piece of paper that’s on your wrist. But you still can’t stop thinking of who would have put you on the list.

With the free VIP bracelet came an exclusive area within the club, a small lounge area that was one of many within the establishment. Each VIP with a bracelet and their group got one.

So there you found yourself, getting ready to head to the dance floor after spending some time on the plush leather couch of the sectioned off area.

You can’t count how many shots you’ve taken at the VIP table but you were feeling great. Your friends excitedly stood up, hearing one of their favorite songs come on. You laughed, standing with them to begin to head to the dance floor.

Your friends practically ran to the dance floor, leaving you there laughing at just how fast they made it- drunk and in heels nonetheless. Just when you’re about to leave your table you hear someone clear their throat.

You turn immediately to the person, your eyes widening. “Nam-gyu!” You say with a smile, walking over to him. He’s dressed to the nines, a black suit, a red undershirt that’s unbuttoned revealing his collarbones. He’s leaning against one of the columns that had intricate carvings on it.

He smiles, taking a drag from a blunt that he had. “Well, seems like you finally took advantage of your VIP privileges I gave you.” He says with a wicked grin. Under the flashing lights he looks like a snake ready to strike, it’s alluring in ways you can’t even put into words.

You gravitate towards him, your eyebrows raising as you realize he was the one to give you this VIP pass. “You’re the mysterious club promotor who gave me the VIP?” You question as you walk to him. You come close to him, standing in front of him- looking up at him.

He nods, looking you over like he’s a predator ready to catch his prey. His hand reaches out and dances along your arm in a light motion. You watch as his eyes take all of you in, his teeth catch the corner of his bottom lip. His chest heaves as he takes in a deep breath. You don’t know it but all he can think of is the way your cunt felt around his fingers and the way your cum tasted on his tongue. “Put your name on the list personally.” He responds.

“How’d you-“ You begin to say. He cuts you off, pulling you closer into him by the small of your back. “Find your name?” He says, almost mocking the way you’re sure you would have asked it. It’s a demeaning, taunting tone that does nothing to help the growing warmth in your lower stomach. You nod in response, swallowing thickly as his hand runs down the curve of your ass to grip at flesh.

He laughs, guiding you into the rhythm of the music. The hand that wasn’t gripping your ass held a lit blunt. He brought it up to his mouth and took a long drag. As he does, he doesn’t look away from you. His dark eyes are lit up in an orange hue as the cherry of the blunt rages when he draws in a hit. He drops his hand to his side again.

Smoke rolls out of his mouth in smooth streams as he looks down at you and grins. “Sweetheart, s’not that hard….” He drawls on, leaning down closer to you. A devious smirk spreads across his lips. “I didn’t just get your name, I found your phone number and address too.” He rasps, pulling back after his words to look at you.

He has a mischievous, almost wicked glint in his eyes that has you spinning. You should be freaked out, fighting against him for being some sort of crazed stalker- but you don’t. You keep grinding against him, your hands finding purchase around his neck.

Your eyes scan his, wide and trying to figure out what to do. ‘Cute’ he thinks. It was like your common sense was fighting your desire for him, and it was a battle he loved to watch. “You knew where I lived and had my number…why didn’t you-“

He cuts you off with a squeeze of your ass, once again, his ringed fingers gripping into the flesh as if you’d run away. He brings his hand up in between you two, holding the blunt so that it faces you. You can taste the wrap on your lips.

You look up at him through your lashes in a way that makes him want to forget pleasantries and fuck you here and now. But he restrains himself- nodding his head towards the blunt, his eyes never leaving yours.

When your lips wrap around the blunt and suck in the smoke, you can hear him hiss. He speaks through gritted teeth. “There you go….” He rasps. “Good fuckin’ girl.” He says, it’s a tone that makes you melt, you can hear the hunger in his voice, speaking through gritted teeth as if he was fighting himself from ruining you on the spot.

When you release the blunt and let the smoke billow out of your lips he speaks again, “You’re right,” he says, finally beginning to answer your question, grinning down at you. “I could have texted or showed up to your apartment…” He says as he spins you around against him, pressing your back into his toned chest.

“But I’m not some stalker..” He hums into your ear, hand hands all over you. “..so I just put you, my pretty little thing, on the VIP list. Hoping that you and your group of friends would show up here.” He hums in a low timbre that sends goosebumps up your skin.

You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face as you look back over your shoulder to at him.

“How could you have been so sure I would have came here?” You say your hand reaching back around him to entangle your fingers in his hair. You find yourself inhaling his cologne, even with significantly less drugs in your system than when you first met him- the scent is just as intoxicating.

“I wasn’t sure. In all honesty if I had to wait any longer I would have showed up on your door step.” He says, the tone in his voice tells you he’s not lying.

And it just makes you hotter.

“But there’s no need to think about that..you’re here now.” He breathes into your ear, his free hand that wasn’t holding the blunt, moving inwards from your waist, traveling down your stomach to grip at the inside of your thighs.

Wherever his hands go, they leave a trail of white hot fire, the only solace is the small cool sensation from the metal rings adorning his fingers. You arch into him, a small gasp coming out of your mouth at his fingers digging into your thighs, just centimeters away from where you needed them most.

“I was thinking about you…” You squeak out in a weak attempt to respond to him. “Tried to look you up.” You say, your breath hitching, breaking up your words into pathetic syllables as you feel him drag your ass against his growing hard on.

Maybe it was the way you were more coherent, less drugs in your system this time meeting him- or maybe it was the thin fabric of your dress leaving nothing to the imagination as he pressed against you- or maybe it was the way his fingers left you a shaking mess during your last meeting so you couldn’t pay attention - but you swore you could feel his erection against your back better than the last time you had an encounter with him.

And he was thick.

He laughs, the vibration tickling at the skin of your neck. “I’m not one to run around with the best crowd, sweetheart. Don’t need people findin’ me so easy.”

He puts the blunt out in a swift motion on an ashtray nearby. His one hand remains on your hip, the one now free from the blunt runs up your back.

He pushes, causing you to bend over in front of him. It’s raunchy, it’s debauched but you let it happen. His hand continues its path up your back to grip the hair at the base of your neck. The way your hips move in tandem is sinful. Your dress has long since bunched up above your ass, allowing his cock that strains against his pants to rub against your clothed cunt in the most delicious way possible.

You’re bent over in front of him, one of his hands tangled in your hair while the other continues the rhythmic sway of your ass against his erection.

“But I had no worry, I’d knew you’d find me eventually…huh, pretty girl?” He has with a scoff in his voice. “Like you said, been thinking about me….” He growls, his hand that’s in your hair pulls you back against him in a rough movement. You can feel the way his clothed cock is spreading your pussy, allowing the tent in his pants grind up against your clit.

A whine is pulled out of your throat as you press yourself back against him even more. Your head nodding in reply to his words. A low groan resides him his throat has he throws his head back, basking in the feeling of how warm his dick feels pressed against your clothed pussy. The slow grind of your body against his is in time with the music. The loud thrum of the bass only serving to make every moment of this even better.

He pulls you back up by your hair, the arm on your hip wrapping around your torso and caging you into him. “Y’know…I played your little game last time, fair and square. I’d say I impressed you at that little party, wouldn’t you?” He says into your ear as he shifts his hips upwards, deliberately dragging his clothed cock up into you, the only thing keeping him from sinking into your velvety walls was your underwear and his pants.

You let out a choked gasp, feeling yourself clench around nothing. It was embarrassing, yet again, how quick he could get you to come undone. Your lip catches on your bottom lip as you try to grind down into his motions.

His hand releases from your hair and comes up to grip your jaw. “Answer me. Use your words.” He says, his breath ticking your ear. The low growl of his voice is smooth but devilish, a warning. You can feel the way his chest heaves with heavy breaths against your back. A sing that you had just as much of an effect on him that he had on you.

“Y-you did. You impressed me.” You say desperately your words slurred by his hand that grips your jaw. His grip loosens, his head dropping to your neck. His lips dance along your pulse point, tongue leaving a warm, wet trail along the column of your throat to under your ear.

“So then you should agree that I should get a nice little reward, for being so gracious, even after you cheated at your own little game?” He says, his lips tickling your ear. You nod frantically, reaching behind you to palm his erection over his slacks to prove a point of how desperately you needed him.

He growls into your ear, spinning you around to face him before smashing his lips on yours. You whine against him, reciprocating the kiss with equal desperation.

You don’t even realize when he leads you down a hall in a feverish mess of kissing. Your back is pressed against a closed door before he hastily fumbles with the knob.

You both stumble into office in the back of the Club Pentagon- being one of its top promoters had its perks of a private office and Nam-Gyu was going to use it.

It’s a fast paced mess of tongue and teeth. You find yourself turned pressed up against the door, closing it with a soft thud. His hands remove themselves from your waist, coming up to cradle your face, his thumbs rest on your cheeks while his pinky’s are nestled right under your ears. He pulls you to him, as is he’s trying to merge you into him.

His tongue explores your mouth in a skilled way that has your mind melting. You whine against him as he bites your bottom lip. Your hands work in clumsy, jittery movements to unbuckle his belt. He chuckles against you, finding your feeble attempt to rid him of his pants endearing.

He breaks this kiss, his forehead pressed to yours as his hands trail up your sides to your chest, stopping to grope at your breasts. “Eager are we?” He chuckles against your lips.

You kiss him again, the taste of his lips addictive. Pulling away to pout, looking up at him as your hands dance along the buckle of his belt. “Yes. And so what if I am?”

He grins, laughing at your words, his hands that massage your breasts slow their ministrations. His thumbs being to work against your nipples under your shirt. He brushes his thumbs over them in feather light touches, relishing in the feeling of your nipples beginning to harden under his touch. When your breath catches in your chest and you arch into him, he scoffs. “Pretty and sensitive…I’m going to have fun with you.” He says in a degrading tone, enjoying the small hint of an attitude you had being subbed out so quickly by him playing with your nipples.

He kisses you again fervently, hands removing themselves from under your bra to push you backwards by your hips. Your knees buckle when you hit a piece of furniture.

You fall to a sitting position onto a small couch in the room, whining when your lips part from his. He comes close to you, standing between your legs and looking down at you.

His eyes are dark. His hair was tousled, some strands still pushed back with whatever product he used to style it while others fall over his face. He smiles down at you, his hands running over your shoulders, along the sides of your neck to cradle your head.

His hands move up into your hair, tangling into the strands and cranking your neck back to look up at him. He moves even closer. Your chin is touching his lower stomach, forcing you to hold his gaze as he grinds his erection that is painfully hard against in his pants against your neck.

He looks down at you as if you’re a goddess in a renaissance painting. “Aren’t you just a sight…” he muses. His hands leg go of your hair, his warning gaze is enough to keep you in place. One of his hands comes up, his thumb tracing over your bottom lip.

You do it almost instinctively, wrapping your lips around his thumb. Eyes never leaving his as your tongue swirls around the pad of his finger.

His eyebrows raise, the breath he sucks in has your pussy clenching around nothing. “Oh…” He drawls on in a low amused hum. His eyes don’t leave your lips, it’s like he’s transfixed on where his thumb disappears into your warm mouth. “You’re fucking dangerous…” He muses in a low rumble. You can feel the way he grinds his erection into you throat as his thumb massages your tongue.

“C’mon then, I need to be inside your fucking mouth.” He growls, removing his finger from your mouth and quickly getting rid of pants and boxers. He doesn’t even have the patience to rid himself of his clothes, simply pushing them down to his knees.

His cock falls free from its confines and lands heavily in front of you, the tip smacking against your lips with a hearty sound.

Taken aback, you grip the base of his dick with one of your hands pulling your head back to look at it. It’s thick, long, the tip an angry red. The dark hairs at the base trail up his stomach in the most tantalizing line.

He hisses at the contact, you can feel it twitch in your hand. “Please, sweetheart…I’m dying…” He says, an upward cadence to his voice but his words are muffled. You look up from his cock, confused and when your eyes trail up his toned stomach to his face, your mouth is dry.

It’s a beautiful view. He has his red dress shirt is pulled up and out of the way by his teeth. His hair is disheveled, falling around his face and framing it in small shadows. His eyebrows are upturned, watching you- more specifically your mouth in a frenzied look, pleading for you to continue. His sleeves are rolled up revealing tattoos on his forearms that decorate his skin in intricate lines of black and grey.

How could you say no to him?!

Your mouth parts in a slow movement, your tongue lolling out of your mouth. You place his cock on your tongue, smacking the angry tip against your tongue a couple times. Each time, you see his stomach clench as the warm wet feeling of your tongue met his dick.

He watches as you lick him from base to tip, stoping to wrap your plush lips on his the tip of cock. It’s a tease for the feeling of heaven that is your mouth because soon you release him, running your tongue along the underside of dick. The sounds he’s making are sinful, low moans and groans of your name that has your thighs pressing together to ease the ache in your cunt.

He groans, taking his shirt out of his mouth and holing it in one of his hands. His other one makes its way to the back of your head, fisting your hair and yanking your head back.

“Enough of this teasing, sweet thing. You’re still the same slut that let me finger her on the dance floor weeks ago…so you’re gonna act like it, yeah?” He says looking down at you as he begins to jerk his cock over your face.

You smile, it’s a sight that has him gripping his dick tighter. Your mouth drops open, you nod. “That’s right…” he coos, shaking your head by the grip in your hair. “Stick your tongue out.” He demands, punctuating his words by tightening his grip on your hair.

You obey, lolling your tongue out, never breaking eye contact. He leans over you, making you watch as he sucks and then spits into your mouth. You moan out when you feel the taste of his saliva hit your tongue, your eyes rolling to the back of your head in ecstasy. “Swallow.” He demands again. “And fucking look at me when you do it.” He says through gritted teeth.

You open your eyes again, watching him continue to pump his thick cock over your face. You obey, closing your mouth and swallowing his saliva. Your gaze locked to his and its filthy. He stands over you, one hand on the back of your head, the other twisting around his length as he watches you swallow.

“Ohhh….” He coos, his eyebrows knitted together in an upturned expression as he watches you. “That’s it….” He says, taking a step closer to rub the tip of his dick over your plush lips. He grins down at you, his dark eyes trained on you as you stick your tongue back out, running it on the underside of his thick length.

“I don’t even have to ask? Y’know just what to do, huh? How fucking filthy you are…” He mocks in a condescending tone. His hips thrust forward just the tiniest bit, pushing the angry tip of his cock between your lips before pulling out. His eyes trained on the way your lips move around the ridge of his cock-head.

He hisses out a shuddering breath, biting his lip before speaking again, this time his tone drastically different- it’s softer. “You look so pretty like this..” He says in a soft hum, his hand brushing your hair back out of your face in a strangely comforting manner.

He surges his hips forward more, sinking his cock into your mouth. The sound he lets out is sinful. You look up, his head is thrown back, his hand clenching his shirt in a white-knuckled grip. “O-oh fuck…” He hisses.

You begin to bob your head in a steady rhythm, your tongue beginning to memorize every vein along his length. He isn’t quiet, he’s obscene. Every time you move your head up and down his cock he’s chanting praises followed by moans that fuel the wetness that pools in your underwear. You’re sure by this point it’s staining the fabric of the couch you sit on.

His head saga to the side, his eyes back on you. “You can do b-better than that. I know you can.” He says, panting between word, a degrading tone lacing his voice.

He moans as he feels you begin to work harder, your hand coming up to stroke at the length that you didn’t have in your mouth. His hand that’s at the back of your head moves to the side, the hand that’s holds his shirt drops the fabric to mirror his other hand.

Both hands on either side of your skull, he smirks down at you, panting. “You can take it.” He says with a chuckle, it wasn’t a suggestion.

You moan around him at his words, only spurring him on to press you down his length. As your lips inch down his cock he groans, indulging him self in the warm, wet, solace that was your mouth.

He keeps his eyes trained on you, watching as spit begins to spill at the corners of your mouth, creating a ring around his cock every time he pulled your head back and forth. He was simply addicted.

“This….” He’s cut off as you straighten your tongue out, allowing him to begin to sink in the tightness of your throat. “O-oh f-fuck….” He shudders out through clenched teeth, the words aggressive. “T-this is so much better than any fucking drug I’ve done.” He huffs out.

His hands continue to press down. His head falling backwards once more as he uses your mouth. When the head of his cock finally slips past the tight ring of your throat he lets out a moan that is so wicked it has you echoing him. You let out a sound that is between a gag and a moan, it’s debauched. Porn worthy.

His head snaps back forward watching you with a dark look. When he sees that you don’t pull away, and instead look up at him- taking more of him in your throat without the push of his hands- he laughs. It’s a soft sound, one of awe, shock and pride.

“Takin’ me so well…so fuckin’ well.” He says, punctuating his words by returning his hands to the back of your head forcing you all the way down. With your nose pressed into the coarse hairs of his pubic bone your eyes roll back into your skull as you gag and choke around him.

One of the hands on your head drops to your throat, cradling it- feeling where his cock was nestled. Your nails dig into the flesh of his thighs, the restriction of air leaving your pussy practically weeping onto the couch.

He pulls back, his cock pulling out of your throat in a messy string of saliva and his pre-cum. You gasp and cough, looking up at him with watery eyes. “Y-you’re so big…” you choke out in a raspy whine. He looks down at you with a pout, rubbing his hand over your lips, smearing your spit on your face.

“I know, pretty. But you can take it, yeah?” He says, his hand stopping at your cheek, his thumb rubbing a comforting circle. “Mhm.” You say with a nod leaning into his hand.

He smiles down at you, his hands returning to their position to cradle your head. “Gonna let me cum down your throat like my good whore, huh?” He says, the words down right depraved but he has such a soft and sweet tone it has your brain spinning.

You nod, mouth opening again, tongue stuck out- waiting so patiently for him.

The rapid pace is set instantly. His cock enters your mouth, instantly sliding to the back of your mouth. His cock bullies its way down your throat relentlessly. You swear your throat is going to be permanently molded to the shape of his dick. Your tongue flattens more, licking against his balls every time he sinks you to the base of his cock.

“F-fuck, your fucking throat is so tight.” He almost chokes out, his hands working your face against his cock at a meteoric speed. Any time he felt you gag, it just made him fuck your face harder- and you loved it.

He looks down at you, his head lolled to the size, his gaze hazy. “I needa cum in y-your throat so bad..” he says in almost a pleading whine. The desperate hitch to his voice has your eyebrows turning up and eyes rolling back. You moan and gag around him, an attempt to spur him on.

“S’gonna feel so good, balls deep in your fucking throat.” He rambles, his breathing becoming heavier and his thrusts sloppier. “And you’re gonna swallow it all.” He mumbles, more to himself than you but you moan in agreement. A few more thrusts is all he needed before he’s nearing his limit

“I’m going to fucking c-cum…” he chokes out, in a growl, his hands twisting into your hair, forcing your all the way down his cock- holding you at the base, tongue lapping desperately at his balls. He hunches over you, pressing you deeper into him in ways you didn’t think was possible.

You feel it in an instant, the warm spurts of cum that flow out of him, his hips thrusting in shallow movements as he milks his cock in your throat. Despite gagging and choking around him, you swallow, greedily, trying your best not to waste any last drop.

He pulls you off of him, a filthy web of your saliva and his cum connecting his dick to your lips. You choke and gasp, catching your breath. When you find it, you look to him. He’s smiling wide.

“Damn….” He says, his hand that’s not on your head swipes between you two, collecting some of the fluids that string the two of you together. “Messy lil thing aren’t ya?” He hums, bringing his fingers up to his lips to suck the mixture of your saliva and his cum off his fingers.

You giggle, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. “Not my fault you cum so much.” You tease back. He laughs again hands coming to hold your face, “Uh actually yeah it is…you I think you sucked the soul outta me…” he says, leaning down to kiss you.

It’s messy, but he takes his time, his lips moving in a soft rhythm against yours- almost as if it’s a thanks for the orgasm you gave him.

He pulls back, his hands working to readjust your dress and smooth out your hair. His thumb even swipes under your eyes- a feeble attempt to fix your makeup- but an attempt nonetheless.

You jump when you hear a loud knock on the door, you gasp- knocking the door was unlocked. Nam-Gyu moves himself completely in front of you- shielding you from the door if whoever was knocking happened to barge in. “S’okay.” He soothes, looking back to you. “Locked or not these fucking dumbasses know not to enter in here without me telling them to.” He says with a grin. You giggle, your fingernails still lightly raking against his thighs.

“Hey!” Someone shouts, then another round of knocks. “We got an issue that requires your help out here, boss.” The individual calls. Nam-Gyu groans. “Can it fucking wait?” He calls over his shoulder, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“No can do! People out back are trying to lowball us for this batch.” The man calls back. Nam-Gyu looks to the door then back to you. “‘m sorry, princess. Gonna have to take a rain check…” He says, a genuine look of upset in his eyes as he realizes he’s going to have to depart from you.

He reaches down to pull you to stand, kissing you once more. This time it’s slow and deliberate, like he’s trying to memorize the feeling of your lips. You sigh into the kiss, the feeling of his lips on yours makes your body light up in ways you’ve never felt.

He pulls away, working to pull up his pants and boxers, tucking his semi-hard cock into his pants. You look at his cock, pouting, pressing your thighs together. He looks up to you, then down to your thighs. “‘M sorry sweetness, next time it’s all about you. Consider it the last of your payback for leaving me hanging the first time we met.” He says, taking a step back towards you, his hand coming to the back of your neck, pulling you to him and placing a kiss on your forehead.

“You coming boss??” The voice calls impatiently from behind the door. “For fucks sake!! Yes. Give me a damn minute.” He yells over his shoulder.

“Wait I don’t have your number. I’m not going to find you again” You say, eyebrows knitted in a worried expression- you lost him once and with dick this good- you couldn’t lose him again.

He finishes up buckling his belt, looking to the wall and into the cracked and dirty mirror that hung there to straighten up his hair. Another loud knock comes at the door. “I’ll be there in a fucking second!” He seethes at the door. “Knock again and I’ll blow your fucking brains out.” He yells in an enraged voice. His face twisted in an annoyed and enraged scowl- a genuine hatred in his eyes that has you scared. The way he was saying it showed that if another knock came, there would be someone’s blood painting the wall.

However, when he turns around to you his face immediately softens. He hurries over to you, his hands cupping your face and shaking his head. “Not gonna have to worry about that, sweet thing.” He coos, brushing your hair, helping to smooth out the evidence of how much he just wrecked you. “I have your number, remember. Promise I’ll text you.” He says with a grin, kissing you once more.

He pulls away, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a wad of cash. He hands you a couple 20’s. “You get home safe. Cabs on me.” He says looking at the bills in your hand before shrugging, placing even more 20’s down into the pile- way more than what you needed for cab fair. “And tomorrow get yourself a gift- on me as well.” He says winking.

Before you can respond he’s walking over to the door of his office and whipping the door open, yelling at the person who was knocking for not having any patience. He pushes the individual who was knocking back from the door way immediately so they wouldn’t see you in your less than appropriate form.

You stand there, heart thudding in your chest as you can’t help the smile that spreads across your lips. You open your phone to many missed messages and calls from your friends. Gathering your things, you call them as you walk out to hail a cab- ready to relay all the details about who exactly gave you the VIP wristband.

Tag List: @heyitsayjayy , @chxrrybomb22 , @ziallgff , @ametheslime , @hornyfordaryldixon (( let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list for the last part <3 ))

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barblaz-arts · 1 month ago

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Hi! :) Back when viv was still developing hazbin and making speed draws, she would often draw art of vaggie with these unique eyes surrounding and staring at her, and the art would display vaggie feeling annoyed or uneasy. I find it still very interesting and was wondering if these were eyes that represented all the demons she killed and her guilt? or had to do with something else entirely. We’re still not completely sure if these are still present in current hazbin rn but I was curious on what your take, theories and over all thoughts are on it! Love your comics and AUs on Chaggie sm and can’t wait to see more!

Oh yeah that! I always did find that pretty neat when it came to her earlier arts. Even more interesting, is that this concept was carried over even in one of her trading cards.

I think the eyes are meant to represent a lot of things tbh, especially since eyes in the show had been associated with both Heaven and Hell.

Let's look at Hell's side first.

Your interpretation about the eyes being the demons she killed I think is one of the things it's supposed to mean. I don't know the source, so I dont consider this info canon, but I found out somewhere that the eyes that can be seen all over Hell is supposed to be what remains of the demons the Exorcists have killed. Like being cleansed by angelic steel can't completely erase them but simply make them part of Hell, if no longer sentient.

I have my doubts though, because in the intro backstory, the eyes seem to have already been in Hell before the Exterminations began.

And in the intro, the eyes showed up specifically after Charlie talked about Sin worming its way to humanity because of what Lilith and Lucifer convinced Eve to do. If this timing is in any way relevant, the eyes could be related to Roo aka The Root of Evil instead.

I'm not sure if other characters were drawn with these disembodied eyes as much as Vaggie has been. But at the very least, I think Vaggie's the one drawn the most often with them.

Anyways, considering all this, the more obvious and plausible answer could be that the eyes was just Vivzie's way of foreshadowing her guilt over Exterminating demons. But if Vaggie can be allowed to be more involved with the biggest bad of the show in a more direct way than just her close proximity with the main protag, then maybe it's even meant to foreshadow even more than we already know. I don't have a lot of hope for this tbh. It's not like Vaggie was a very important angel. Exorcists gave me the impression that they could be pretty low in Heaven's hierarchy. So like, idk why this could foreshadow a connection with Roo, but it is a super interesting thought to entertain lol

Now on Heaven's side though, the eyes could also just be for a touch of tragic irony I guess. Angels in the old testament looked a lot closer to this...

... Lotsa eyes and shit. And that's why the seraphs like Lucifer, Sera, and Emily could manifest multiple extra eyes in their "true forms".

But Vaggie was stripped away of everything that physically made her an angel. Lute took away her wings, halo, and even one of her goddamned eyes. Ain't it ironic that she has only one eye when the most powerful angels have been shown with a whole dang lot? Seems to me like it was another cruel way of Lute's to show that Vaggie "has no place in Heaven". And the eyes haunting Vaggie could be a manifestation of her thoughts of it being true.

So to tie this all together(except for the Roo thing), you're right. It could be the guilt over what she did to Hell's denizens. But it could also be an ironic, symbolic reminder that she was an exile of Heaven.

#asks #hazbin hotel

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bunni-v1 · 1 year ago

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Can I please request a reader that has been so traumatised by what’s happened in the Scarabia book that they actively avoid the entire dorm and have Ace and Deuce as their guard dogs (I love those two and I really love how you wrote them as the readers protective besties during the Malleus break up fic). Like how would Kalim, Jamil and Adeuce react to that?

I find it really cathartic when I read fics that have the characters feeling guilty after what they put the reader through whilst the reader is getting support from their friends.

(Something I’m really salty about in twst is how no one ever holds the overblots accountable for what they’ve done. I full on agreed with Ace when he told Riddle that crying wasn’t going to erase all that he did before the overblot and I literally fell in love with him when he punched Riddle after he insulted us/Yuu/the player. I understand that those boys are traumatised and are in desperate need of therapy and overblotting was the only way for their problems to be solved but the treatment they inflicted on Yuu/us was downright hellish. Azul made us homeless and tore us away from the only family/comfort we had in twst (the ghosts) and then sent the tweels to terrorise us in our attempts to reclaim said home and free our friends from servitude; Jamil kidnapped us, hypnotised us, locked us up in a room against our will, isolated us from Adeuce and took away any contact we had with them, forced us on long marches in the dessert and turned a blind eye to our clear suffering during that time; Vil acted like a literal demon to not only us (and then almost made my Deucey cry) but everyone else as well and that was before he decided to try to murder an innocent teenager. Like why does no one understand just how much this can damage an actual child who has no magic and has been stripped from their home and family?)

Reader Terrified of Scarabia After Jamil’s Overblot

TW: PTSD; Mental Breakdown; Disassociation; Mentions of Abuse; Kalim and Jamil are tragic

Info: Ace, Deuce x Reader (platonic or romantic); Kalim, Grim x Reader (platonic); Jamil and Reader (neutral)

🍓I love requests like this tbh. My own OC sorta has her own grapplings with this stuff that I like to touch upon, and I’m excited I get the chance to talk about it here :) THIS IS LONG AS HELL BTW(like this intro here lol). I had a lot of fun writing it :))) I added a cute, shorter little grim part, because our little guy deserves more lovin’ than he gets. I also decided to do a cute little (read: long) intro, and then head cannons since you didn’t specify for either. I hope you enjoy this style, and I’m sorry for the wait <3

You had been through… a lot in your time at Night Raven College. Being thrown into a completely different world would’ve been enough, but it seems that the great seven thought you needed some extra troubles. You weren’t sure how you could’ve encored their wrath, but you were, and you were chugging along despite it all.

First was the attack from the phantom in the mines — something that should’ve been foreshadowing for what was to come. You didn’t even do anything to be in this position. It was Ace Grim and Deuce, but you got dragged into it all because you were “Grim’s keeper.” You managed to befriend Ace and Deuce though, so it wasn’t so bad.

Second was Riddle with his unending temper and strict rules. Despite everything telling you to just stay out of it, your good-natured heart just couldn’t stop you from helping Ace and Deuce. Nearly dying in the process, you managed to help Riddle and made newfound friends in Heartslabyul.

Third came Leona, the selfish, stuck-up, lazy no-good prince of the Savannah. You knew he was trouble from the start, and you wanted nothing to do with him or his little lackey Ruggie. Then he hurt Trey, and you couldn’t stand by while he reigned terror on the school. He was a favorable ally to gain in the end, so you could dismiss his actions so long as he kept in his lane.

Fourth was Azul, another student you figured would cause you trouble. With the extra scary Jade and Floyd always tailing him, and that too buttery sweet voice of his, you were determined to keep your distance. Again, however, your friends were in trouble and you couldn’t help but help them. Azul was a broken person, and you could sympathize with his struggles. He even gave you a job at the lounge to help with funding yourself, so he couldn’t be all that bad.

You’d come to dislike the other house wardens out of principle. A pattern had emerged among them, and you weren’t going to fall victim to another horrific overblot. You still had suction cup-shaped bruises on your arm from Azul’s breakdown. Leona had given you more than just a nasty burn from the scalding hot whirlwind of sand he conjured up. The scars Riddle left behind on your face and arms were healed, but they still ached when you touched them. All painful reminders that you could not truly trust anyone here, that anyone could lose control of themselves and hurt you. Yet…

When you met Jamil in the kitchen, he seemed so kind to both you and Grim. He seemed so genuine and honest. Maybe it was wishful thinking, or maybe it was you missing your friends, but you wanted to trust him despite your gut feeling to be distrustful. Could everyone here really be that bad? Certainly not. Ace Deuce and Jack went here as well… so surely… surely…

The alarm bells didn’t ring at all during the dinner, and Kalim — despite everything you’ve been through — seemed so nice, if not a little overbearing. You could see the tiredness on Jamil's face, and you had the kindness in your heart to express your sympathies. And oh, Jamil so humbly assured you that he was fine. Filling your head with little half-truths and ideas that Kalim had been overworking not only him but the other students. That he had been acting “off” as of late.

You saw Kalim’s sudden shifts in personality. How he would be so sweet, so kind and soft. How he made sure you were enjoying yourself, made sure you ate to your heart's content, made sure you were comfortable in your uniform and your sleeping quarters. Then he would be yelling at everyone, demanding unspeakable exercises and work.

If Ace were there with you, he would’ve called bullshit. Still, you trusted Jamil to start. You actually believed he was kind and had good intentions. You believed that Kalim was the real evil here.

Then he wouldn’t let you and Grim leave, and the students were suddenly so aggressive toward you. He took everything you had and stripped you of your dignity and pride until there was nothing left but fight.

Truly, you didn’t realize it was him that was the issue until he was over-blotting in front of your eyes. It wasn’t an unusual sight to you at that point, you’d defeated multiple overblots and befriended these people. You don’t know what it was. The way you’d trusted him. The fact that you felt truly alone without Ace and Deuce. This one broke you…

You just didn’t feel a damn thing after he was saved. You felt no pity, no joy, no relief. Absolutely nothing, an empty void in your chest. Even as everyone around you celebrated, there was nothing. You stood watching everyone parade around with glee blankly, unable to speak to anyone around you. Just listening to the voices that had begun to mesh together.

You didn’t show anything until Ace and Deuce showed up. Something about their faces, the way they were looking over you, the way they seemed so scared for your wellbeing… it made you cry. It made you cry and cry and cry until you couldn’t make any noise and then you cried some more. They had to drag you away from everyone because you just couldn’t quite stand upright when Deuce would try to get you to walk away with him…

The days after were blurry. You remained holed up in your dorm, unable to really move from your bed. Ace and Deuce stayed in their own separate room next to yours. You could hear them talking through the walls about how worried they were about you, how angry they were at Jamil, how angry they were at themselves for not getting there in time to help you. If you’d had the energy, you would’ve scolded them for being so hard on themselves, but you could hardly speak in the first place.

They cared for you as best as they could. Deuce attempted to cook the recipes Trey sent him over magicam, making sure you ate and stayed hydrated. Occasionally you’d hear Azul downstairs, and Deuce would give you something nice from the Monstrolounge — free of charge, he promised. You could tell that he wasn’t sleeping much in his worry over you.

Grim remained at your side as loyal as a dog and boasting that he’d keep you safe, but you knew he was scared too. He proclaimed that he would keep you safe, but you could feel him trembling at every sudden noise. You had to comfort him from the horrific nightmares he was having. That was okay, though, he was family and you were his.

Ace was the only one who really kicked your ass into gear. He’d tug you out of bed and into the shower as people began to return from winter break. Made you go on walks around campus to show you that you were completely safe. Eventually, he’d been able to get you to visit Azul to thank him directly for his kindness. He wasn’t soft or gentle with you, that wasn’t in his character at all, but he made sure you felt safe enough to return to classes before they started.

They both worked hard to help you recover, but you were still so afraid…

Ace

-Ace isn’t exactly the most comforting person, and he never claimed to be.

-He’s not good at reassuring people, but he’s good at being honest, and if he was being honest he knew that you were safe around him and Deuce.

-He walks you to and from classes, spends most of his nights in your dorm doing whatever the hell you’d like him to do without complaint, distracts you when you’re freaking out, and most importantly keeps that snake as far away from you as possible.

-If he was being honest with himself, which was his whole thing, he didn’t really get your reaction to everything.

-You’ve all been through this before, it's textbook at this point. A guy does some shady shit, a guy gets caught doing said shady shit, a guy overblots, and you defeat a guy with the power of friendship. Boom. Done.

-He’d get it more if you were completely alone, but grim and the octanivelle freaks were there! Kalim too, and he’s always seemed pretty nice. Not the best company, sure, but still you had people helping you out.

-When he looks at your face and sees how tired you are, he forgets the logical stuff. All he can hear are those horrific sobs you let out when you saw him and how you nearly ripped his uniform in half with how tightly you were holding him and Deuce.

-If that was too much for him, he can’t imagine how badly it must’ve felt for you. How bad it must still feel.

-So screw what he thinks, he’s gotta make sure you’re taking care of yourself.

-He doesn’t ask you how you’re feeling, he knows it's not good. He focuses on keeping your mind off of everything that might trigger you.

-Reroutes your paths to classes to avoid Jamil and Kalim completely. Sure it’s longer and more annoying, but it's better than you going dead silent and shutting him and everyone else out again.

-He does everything in his power and you’re doing so well… and then the VDC happens.

-You’re given the title of manager and you’re forced to be around these people who terrify you.

-Vil won’t budge on anything and sevens Ace wishes Rook would let him try out a little target practice with the (illegal) bow and arrows he’s got in his room.

-He keeps himself between you and Jamil at all costs. He won’t let Jamil bother you at all, not that he was trying in the first place.

-The real issue is Kalim, which sounds crazy, but it’s true.

-Kalim is so… forceful. A pretty strong word, but honestly the only one Ace can think to use.

-He’s really nice, really sweet, seriously such a good guy… but you’re still unsettled by him.

-There are several times during practices that Ace has to yell at him to just leave you alone.

-Sure, it gets him a pretty big scolding from Vil, but he couldn’t care less honestly. He doesn’t wanna risk you having a panic attack because Vil doesn’t wanna be a responsible leader.

-You confide in Ace a lot. How you really want to move past all this, but Crowley won’t provide you with any form of therapy, and you’re just not ready to forgive Jamil or Kalim for what happened.

-He won’t tell you this, but hearing you talk like this breaks his heart.

-You’re normally so strong, so brave, so confident… and now you’re absolutely broken.

-He’s proud of you for putting on a brave face to placate Vil, but he’s angry you have to.

-Surprisingly, though, you do begin to warm up to Kalim. Just a little.

-It's only when Ace, Deuce, or Grim is around, but it's a really big step forward in his eyes.

-You’re getting back to where you used to be little by little.

-He still won’t give you or Jamil the chance to reconcile, but you honestly couldn’t be more grateful for that.

Deuce

-Deuce is incredibly different from Ace in how he handles everything.

-He’s a delinquent, sure, but he’s a Mama’s boy at heart. Therefore, he’s much more equipped to help you emotionally through all this than Ace.

-Where Ace is the harsh pushing force to keep you going, Deuce is the calm where you can rest and cry your heart out for as long as you need.

-As I mentioned, he makes sure you’re eating and drinking and at least speaking to someone.

-He asks Trey for recipes without leading on to what’s going on and asks Cater for advice on helping someone feel safe after a traumatic experience.

-It’s not subtle, but it helps.

-He handles making all your meals, even though he isn’t the best cook, he absolutely puts all his heart and soul into everything he makes.

-A good portion of his days are dedicated to cooking for you, and he gets pretty damn good at it by the time classes start up again!

-With Sam’s shop closed, he has to go into town to get the ingredients he needs, and then he has to spend hours preparing and serving the food.

-He watches you eat, encouraging you that everything is safe and that he made it all by himself by hand.

-He doesn’t question why things ended up this way for you, he wonders how can I help?

-And he does help, a lot, more than just with food.

-Sometimes, late at night, he hears you crying alone in your room. He gets up from his own bed, quietly enters your room, and holds you and grim while you both tremble in fear.

-It makes him so mad. Mad that this happened to you. Mad that Jamil did this in the first place. Mad that he couldn’t help more than he already is.

-Like Ace, he accompanies you to all your classes and makes sure to stay close to your side if any Scarabia students are around.

-He’ll go anywhere you need him to, and if you’re not comfortable being alone and he’s got plans, you’re invited to join him. No matter what anyone else thinks.

-Things get better little by little. You make strides in your ability to be independent again and you’re smiling and joking around like you used to. You even agreed to try out for the VDC with him and Ace… a big mistake.

-He didn’t expect to actually get in, let alone get in with Jamil and Kalim. If it were just that he could’ve been civil, but no, you had to be dragged in too… because that’s always how it works out.

-He has to hold himself from getting in Jamil’s face more than once because just him looking at you is enough to send you into a clear panic attack.

-Deuce does his best to comfort you between all of this, though. Being your shoulder to cry on and trying his best to be your protector… it's just hard. Hard to see you like that, and hard to keep his cool for your sake.

-It's worse with Kalim because both you and Deuce know he means well. You both know he wants to reconcile, but you’re not quite ready.

-Deuce helps the confrontation with the two feel a bit easier though. He acts as a mediator between you and Kalim, and eventually, he’s proud to say he helped you trust Kalim just a little bit.

-Jamil… both of you could use some work, but Deuce is more willing to hear you out on him than Ace is.

Grim

-Grim was there with you the whole time. He understands the fear you’re feeling deeper than anyone else.

-He could just tell something was wrong the second he saw your face. Despite all the celebrations, he was focused on making sure you were at least a little okay.

-He tried to talk to you, tried to make you feel okay, but the only comfort he could offer you was letting you hold him while you cried.

-He could still hear your cries, and they made him want to cry too. He almost did, but he was your guard cat — he had to be strong for you.

-Unlike Ace and Deuce, he never left your side. Not a second. He was there with you from the moment you were unwittingly kidnapped to the sleepless nights in your dorm to the horror of finding out you’d have to work closely with Jamil for the VDC.

-He made his distaste for him very known, sure to make a snarky comment at least once every time he saw him.

-It was so bad, at one point, that Vil had to give him a stern talking to. He didn’t stop regardless.

-You are Grim’s best friend, the only family he has, and Jamil hurt you in unspeakable ways. He couldn’t just sit back and be okay with that.

-He’s really such a good guy.

Kalim

-Kalim means well. With his whole heart, he has the best intentions… just not the best execution.

-See, he didn’t notice initially that anything was really wrong the whole time.

-He didn’t suspect Jamil at all. In fact, he thought that you were really enjoying your stay in Scarabia, you seemed so happy and chatty up until Jamil flipped things on their head.

-Call him air-headed, but he was caught up in his own whirlwind of emotions at the time. You know, the whole betrayal of his supposed best friend took a toll on him too.

-It wasn’t until you were sobbing your throat raw that he realized something was really wrong.

-The look of sheer terror on your face when you made eye contact with him sent shivers up his spine.

-He knew that look. He’d worn that look on his own face too many times as a young child.

-Believe it or not, without Jamil’s intervention, he knew to keep his distance. He knew he had to give you time to adjust.

-Then a few days turned into weeks and weeks turned into a little over a month, and he had hardly seen you around campus.

-You are avoiding your normal route to class, and when he did see you he was also greeted by the harsh glares of your good friends.

-He understood if you’d never want to talk to him ever again, honestly. He couldn’t blame you. You were more headstrong than him, after all.

-Still, when the VDC came around… he was hopeful. Truly he was hoping that something would give.

-He would talk to you in hopes of showing you that he meant no harm, but Ace or Deuce or even Grim would shove their way between the two of you.

-Several times Jamil had to tell him to knock it off because “It’s not worth forcing.”

-Still, he wanted you to know he felt bad. He felt horrible.

-In a very un-Kalim-like move, he quietly asks you if you can speak with him. Alone. But in a crowded enough area that you wouldn’t feel threatened.

-He didn’t expect you to accept it, he wouldn’t have blamed you at all. But you said yes.

-You showed up, with Grim by your side, which was fine. He earned some apologies too.

-He poured his heart out to you, apologizing for things that he couldn’t even control. In turn, he listened to you rant about how scared you were, how angry you were, how you wished you were any of these things.

-And after that, things improved. Slowly, but surely. You became more comfortable around him, and you spoke to him again.

-Sure, you wouldn’t be caught dead at one of Scarabia’s parties, but you considered him a friend.

-That’s all he could ask for.

Jamil

-Jamil is the monster in your story.

-He’s the evil guy who kidnapped, manipulated and lied to you.

-He’s the one who used his misplaced anger as an excuse to hurt others.

-He’s the boogyman who made you endure days of long and hard training, just because he could.

-Of course, he felt bad. What he did was unspeakable, but he was more concerned with how his reputation would last after the overblot.

-More concerned with it not getting out for the safety of his family.

-Even with you sobbing, he just thought you were being dramatic in all honesty. You have a reputation already, he knew you’d been through this whole thing before.

-It didn’t really strike him how badly it affected you.

-He didn’t notice how you switched paths, how you were never in the same area as him for long, and the glares of your friends never once phased him.

-Even Ace’s snarky comments during basketball didn’t bother him for a second.

It wasn’t until he accidentally bumped into you in the hallway, and he saw the look on your face that he realized.

-The terror in your eyes, the way you shrunk back as if he would strike you. It was the same way his parents acted around the Asim’s.

-If he were a more insane man, he might’ve found it liberating, but it wasn’t.

-He had become what he hated to you, he had done what he hated to you.

-Jamil was not only your monster, but he was his own.

-He steers clear of you and keeps as much distance as possible for both your sakes.

-He couldn’t handle someone looking at him like that, and he was sure you couldn’t handle the sight of him after what he did.

-Still, this is NRC, and luck is never on anyone's side here.

-Both of you are forced into a position where you cannot escape the other, you have to learn to live with the awful pits in your stomachs.

-He keeps Kalim away until you both are on good terms, then he simply watches quietly.

-He won’t apologize, he won’t antagonize, he won’t speak unless spoken to.

-You two never truly recover your small lasting friendship, but you do make amends with each other.

-During the trip to the scalding sands, you get to meet Najma, whom he’s confided in about ‘accidentally upsetting a classmate’.

-You get to have a good talk with her, and it makes you really realize some things about Jamil.

-You realize he’s just as broken as you, just as tired as you, and that he feels the most immense amount of guilt for hurting you.

-You, being you, find it in your soul to forgive him.

-Nothing really changes between you. The guilt is still there, and the fear still shakes you to your core, but you both have closure.

-In a situation like this, closure is the best grace a person can ever have.

#twst #twisted wonderland #bunni's treats 🧁#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #x reader #jamil viper #kalim al asim #ace trappola #deuce spade #grim twst #deuce spade x reader #ace trapolla x reader #jamil viper x reader #kalim al asim x reader #kalim x reader

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edgeray · 1 year ago

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“LATE NIGHT DEVIL, PUT YOUR HANDS ON ME

and never never never ever let go”- Teeth, 5 Seconds of Summer

Mafia AU! Arlecchino x Reader Oneshot

Author's Note: It's been a while since I've actually published anything on here. Well, my gay ass is back with another oneshot. This one has been in the works for at least a month. I'm considering making a Part 2, but that will definitely take at least a couple weeks for me to publish (if not months). I wish I was kidding. School literally hates me and my teachers are incessant on killing my GPA. This is also a gift for @megistusdiary because it'll be her birthday when I post this. Please go check out her blog for amazing genshin wlw content (especially Arlecchino content!) Would you guys like this on AO3 as well?

Content Warning/Info: This is a long af oneshot (6.3k words), long af descriptions and kinda long intro, Arlecchino is referred to with they/them pronouns, implied female but no usage of feminine pronouns for Reader, general dark-ish content, pet names, Arlecchino is a lil scary, I've never been to a club so I apologize for the very inaccurate information, nor have I ever been apart of the mafia so also inaccurate, a bit suggestive but otherwise sfw, if I'm missing anything feel free to tell me!

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Monsters are said to have lied underneath beds–waiting to ensnare an unknowing victim–or stalk hidden among the depths of a closet–awaiting an opportune moment to strike its next prey. Monsters are fabled entities that are used to scare off children from bad behavior and are quickly eased from the mind by coddling parents. The mere notion of a monster shooed away like a pesky fly, swept underneath the subconscious like forgotten specks of dirt.

You know otherwise. Real monsters don’t lurk on the undersides of mattresses; no, they lurk both in the skies above and the depths below. They do not stalk dark closets because they instead stalk alleys in daylit streets. Monsters are very real, that you know is true since you’ve seen your fair share of them. You’ve met monsters in person–they’ve come to you before. Terrifying is an understatement for them, and each time one has appeared as a client, you’re no less scared shitless.

You’ve learned that even inhumane demons find themselves in need of entertainment; like the sinful creatures they are, they seek self-pleasure. And that is how you found yourself in this particular circle of hell, meant to serve and please demons, devils, and monsters alike. Perhaps it was a revolting job, working at a strip club run by a criminal organization but it paid decent money for being danced on the fingertips of whoever you were unfortunate enough to be assigned to.

If it was a regular strip club, being an exotic dancer would have been fine. It wouldn't be so bad. Lustful and prying eyes can be accustomed to quickly, and so are the flattering compliments and the awkward flirting by middle-aged married men. However, there was a difference between lecherous and predatory gazes. Here, you aren’t even viewed as a person, no, the clients here, those that come in reeking of smoke or blood (though sometimes both), armed with knives and guns on their person, see you as nothing more than a toy or prey for them. Even in the eyes of your employer, you're less than human in their eyes.

‘You harm our merchandise, you’ll pay for it,’ is the warning given to every guest when they first enter. Merchandise. That's what you are. And that single line of words is the only thing that assures you of your safety among mafia members, gangsters, crooks, and whatnot. You've heard that the organization behind this strip club does well in enforcing that rule according to other dancers, but you personally don't want to see if the statement is true. You've been here for a little over a year, and besides bruising grips and pulled hair you’ve surprisingly yet to be seriously injured in any way. So maybe monsters do have a little humanity in them.

You're quickly growing to be a fan favorite as of recently, which means more money goes your way, but you're not sure how you feel about all the attention on you. It's most likely because of how often you offer private dances and private rooms to clients. Whatever gets you the most money; the faster you make money the faster you can pay off your debt and be out of here.

Tonight is supposed to be no different from other nights. You perform on stage, you rile up the crowd, you get showered in tips, and if there is a customer that looks mentally sane enough not to murder you in private, you take them to the back. Except, tonight, you're approached by your boss, who informs you that the entirety of the club was reserved by the Fatui, a well-known mafia more powerful and larger than the one that backs you up, for some celebration. These kinds of occurrences in the club rarely crop up, but when they do, they're often the most opportune time to bag in an abundant amount of money. Big shots like the Fatui pay and tip well, but there's one unsaid risk that comes with this: as a mere dancer like yourself, your life quite literally dangles in the Fatuis’ hands tonight. The organization that owns this establishment can't retaliate against the Fatuis if they so choose to dismiss the warning. They can't even compare to the might of the Fatui.

Simply put, if a Fatui kills you tonight, no one could do more besides bat their eyelashes. You're not at all pleased with this predicament of practically bordering on death, especially when you know one wrong move with one too hot-tempered Fatui could land you at the pearly gates. Keep pleasing the crowd, keep entertaining them, keep racking in the money, you remind yourself as you continue your dance, twirling around the pole sensually, and the customers devour every movement with their eyes. The only comfort you're given is that you've heard the Fatui are quite reasonable and diplomatic most of the time. This is especially true for the Harbingers, you've heard, the twelve most elite members that serve under the Tsaritsa, and the ones that are the most exclusive customers this night. That doesn't mean the Harbingers are any more humane than the average crook. Having worked in a strip club run by the mafia and surrounded by criminal organizations, the more rumored something is, the more dangerous it is. They can be considered devils amongst demons even. That's simply how vile they're supposed to be.

The most concerning problem about the Harbingers is that you don’t know what they look like, only the occasional whisper has alluded to how to distinguish between the twelve. Perhaps, you can survive through the night if you try not to draw too much attention; let the other dancers shine instead and hope you don’t get requested for a private room or dance. That way, you can ensure you don’t end up dead.

Your time to go upstage comes sooner than you’re prepared for. Your hands are clammy, and your form trembles in a way that only happened during your first month. Both reactions don’t make for a very good combination when your survival relies on you not fucking up and disappointing criminal customers. As you approach the pole, just like every time you’ve done, you make sure that the crowd’s gazes are in the backdrop of your mind, and instead, fixate on repeating the movements you’ve been taught and have mastered with your experience. Bet your survival on the provocative sway of your hips, the practiced showcase of your legs, and the allure of your dancing form. Beguile the crowd, but not too much, just enough to wow them. From what you can tell by the volume of the crowd, you’re doing a good job pleasing the Fatui enough. Your body stops tremoring after a few minutes on stage, and with one last final push of courage, you focus your eyes on the crowd before you.

Unsurprisingly, the makeup of the Fatui are men, though there are notably quite a few women. Either way, all of their attention is on you. As your eyes scan across a crowd, for one reason or another, you stop at a particular set of eyes near the back of the crowd. Intent, pitch-black abysses stare back, like they were trying to bore into your soul and devour every single motion of yours. They don’t quite hold the same ravenous desire as many of those before you right now, you mentally note with curiosity. It feels like your form is being calculated, in the way a predator would cautiously observe their next prey, a sensation you’ve experienced a few times, but each is no less chilling. The weight of their engrossed gaze causes you to shiver momentarily, and you snap away from their disturbing gaze to prevent any fumbling or faltering while you’re on stage.

Tonight marks the first time you actively seek out the same viewer while on stage, or even, during your entire time here. For some reason, you feel awfully bold, or curious, whichever two comforts you more, and unlike the meek little rabbit you usually are, you instead search for the viewer’s gaze. You find the pair of eyes with relative ease, as you remember that above their eyes are distinctive snow-white strands with streaks as black as their orbs. You take a moment to study them, and they remind you of a lion–or lioness–among hyenas. The aura they exude varied quite a bit compared to the other Fatui in front of you: not rambunctious, or arrogant; it's apparent they held an aura of indomitable authority just from the way they held themselves. Perfect posture with their clasped hands nested in their lap, with one leg raised over the other. They’re an embodiment of perfected elegance, however, much like a porcelain doll, they’re also expressionless, their appearance unmarred. You don’t examine the Fatui’s form for much longer because their scrutiny on you pricks at your skin irritatedly.

You don’t look for them again throughout your performance. In fact, you hope you never meet those charcoal pits again. You’re afraid that if you do, you’ll be ensnared by whatever beastly claws or fangs you know that Fatui hides underneath that impenetrable mask. The moment your time on stage ends, you rush back to the changing room to shake off your nerves. You sit down at a nearby chair, taking in deep sighs as you attempt to forget how you were stared down like a you were cornered, defenseless animal. And that is what you are, as much as you hate it. There’s nothing that can protect you from the Fatui. Maybe if you hide, never show your face for the rest of the night, they’ll forget they ever saw you and they’ll target another dancer. Surely, that will work, won’t it?

You’re able to steady your breathing before you can delve into a panic attack. Tonight, you decide, you’re not going to take any customers to any private rooms or take any private dances. You’d be missing out on a lot of money, but your life is more of a priority as of currently; not after the ‘encounter’ with that individual, you don’t want to think about how many more are just like them, hiding in the crowd like they were awaiting an opportunity to pounce on your vulnerable form.

Unfortunately, it seems like someone else has other plans for you because your manager storms into the room asking for your whereabouts before his eyes narrow on you. You immediately sit up, stiff as a board when he practically marches his way towards you.

"Someone wants you."

You sigh and shake your head. You should have known. "Not tonight."

He clicks his tongue. "You know I can't allow that tonight."

You bite your lip. "Just pass them to someone else."

"They're not someone you or I can refuse."

"Who?" You question with a shuddering breath, your nails digging into your thigh.

"The fourth one. The Knave. Lord Arlecchino."

Fuck your life. You might as well pull the trigger now. You’ve heard faint whispers of each Harbinger from the customers audacious enough to speak of them. The youngest, the eleventh, charming and boyish. The ninth, money-obsessed but a pretty looker. The eighth, elegant and cold, yet no less alluring. The seventh, as human-like as their robotic creations, which to say isn’t very. The sixth, is hotheaded and mysterious. The fifth, unknown. And the fourth?

Insane. Ruthless. Bloodthirsty. That’s how the fourth is described. You shiver at the horrors that appear on the forefront of your mind when imagining what may come for you. If you're lucky, you'll be alive at the end of the night, more than likely clinging to the edge of living.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Get ready as soon as you can.”

And you do. It’s not long until you stand in front of the private room’s door, your guest is already inside more than likely. The Fourth Harbinger is waiting, you remind yourself, fruitlessly trying to swallow down your stress. You can be dead the minute you step inside, this room could be marked as your grave. Whatever he tells you to do, you’ll obey wordlessly to survive. Just nod along, smile, and do whatever it is that he tells you regardless of the demand. You inhale deeply, regaining some ease of mind, before you bring your knuckles to the door, knocking.

“Come in,” comes a deep, flat voice, slightly muffled by its distance but what surprises you is how feminine the Harbinger sounds. Maybe you got the wrong room. You glance back at the room number plate on the door, and it’s the room you remember your manager mentioning. It’s the right room. Maybe someone else? You don’t have time to wonder, however, as you enter the room, knowing that if it is the Fourth, it wouldn’t be wise to keep him (Her? Them? You’ll just stick with ‘them’ now.) waiting.

“Lord Arlecchino?” You inquire as you enter the room, closing the door behind you. Sucking in a harsh inhale, you instantly recognize their distinct hair. It’s them. Your sight is immediately greeted by the figure sitting on the couch before you, sitting in exactly the same way you discovered them–crossed-legged and lounging back with unfaltering confidence. The Knave wears a scarlet blazer over a black compressed turtleneck, with a matching set of crimson leggings. Upon closer inspection, you’re able to make out red irises in their jet-black eyes. Despite the blatant and literal red flag, something about their appearance draws you in even when they scream danger. They’re… you’re not quite sure how to describe them. You admire the unblemished and pale skin, their elegant and rugged demeanor is like the perfect balance between femininity and masculinity. Are they beautiful, or are they handsome? You think both.

Arlecchino stares back at you like they’re considering devouring you then and there. You can’t suppress the shudder that runs down your spine. You’re a sheep before a wolf. There’s something so chilling about them that even with your experience with other clients, none has ever made you feel this way with just their mere gaze alone. This is what separates the average crook from one of the most powerful mafia members you've ever heard of.

You wait for a response but they only continue to observe you. You take the silence as confirmation to your question and that they’re anticipating something from you. Biting back a sigh of resignation, your hands hook underneath the band of your bra top and you lift it just the slightest amount before a cutting voice makes you freeze.

“What are you doing?” the Harbinger demands, their tone chilling and apathetic, making you want to shrink in yourself immediately. Your blood pumps loudly in your ears and your hands tremble a bit. Something about how designing their gaze makes you suddenly self-aware in a way you’ve never felt before another client–you’re practically half-naked in front of them with your skimpy bra top, undergarments, and fishnets and now is the only moment that you've actually considered how little covering is on you.

Why are they stopping you? Isn’t this what they wanted you to do? Or maybe they just want to do it themselves. Those types of customers always have the most bruising of grips and suffocating of holds. You stiffen at the notion. How are you going to survive this night with a Fatui Harbinger of all things? How many of your limbs are going to be fractured and how many of your bones are going to end up broken?

“I…I’m undressing,” your meek voice sounds out and you hate the crack in your speech. The Harbinger continues to scrutinize you. You don’t dare continue disrobing yourself.

There are several beats of wordless response before they then stand up from the couch.

Oh shit. You’ve fucked up. Are they going to kill you now? Is this your end?

Every thought is telling you to run in the opposite direction as they stalk up to you, but you're petrified as you realize with a chill that they’re taller than you. You’re not short by any means, a bit above average height, but they tower over you, looking down at you from above and casting judgment on you like a god. Once they stride toward you, you avoid eye contact by looking straight, observing their neck and clavicle that protrudes from underneath the fabric. You tense when they raise a hand, their manicured fingers placing themselves underneath your chin and long, carmine nails dig into the underside of your jaw, making you wince. They forcefully tilt your head, raising your focus onto their face.

It’s like they plunged their hands down your throat and ripped out the oxygen from your lungs, leaving you unable to breathe. Up close, the first thing you notice is their lips, plump and red from their lipstick. Briefly, you wonder what color their lipstick would look on your skin. Then your eyes travel up, red-crossed eyes gaze back at you and you gape quietly at the distinct shape of their pupils. You swear that their pupils flash red as you finally lock eye contact with them.

“Did I tell you to?” Their tone is cold compared to the strange softness of their handsome (beautiful?) face.

Something in your gut coils inwardly and you want to look away, but their firm hold on your chin prevents you. You bite your bottom lip to repress a whimper. You’re delicate glass in their hands, and they can break you so, so easily.

“No, sir.” Only the numerous times you’ve said this phrase ensures you don’t stumble over your words. They don’t answer promptly, but as they observe your features, their lips quirk up the slightest amount.

“You know how to address me. Very good,” Arlecchino purrs after several beats of silence, in a low, oh-so-sultry tone, and oh. Oh.

You’re not sure why, but their last two words make your stomach churn, but not in a discomforting way. In the way that lights a fire underneath your skin and spreads heat to every part of your body. You’ve never quite felt this way with another customer. You couldn’t believe that your body reacts this way just from a single praise but it doesn’t stop the pooling heat in your bowels. The chill down your spine still remains in place, but there’s an off-putting equilibrium of iciness and fervor generated from the client.

The Fatui’s eyes stay fixated on you wordlessly until the hand on your chin turns your head, finally breaking you free of their intense behold. Their grip slackens so that they can trace their nails gently down your throat, every inch of surface their fingertips brush against ignites a blaze on your skin. A shuddering exhale leaves your lips and it seems like they take notice because from the corner of your eye, the small uptick of their mouth grows. Despite how sensual and probing the Harbinger’s touch feels, there’s nothing lecherous about it–purely just intrigue and fascination. It’s a touch you both have and never experienced before. Cold nails rake against your throat, not enough to mark or scratch, but enough to invoke shivers.

You’re aware you should be terrified, but for a reason you can’t pin down, you can’t jerk away from their touch. You try to reason with yourself it was only because you’re one upset away from getting yourself killed but that reasoning falls apart when their hand gingerly traces your jawline and you make the softest of groans, a barely audible noise of content. Unfortunately for you, the sound seems to have reached Arlecchino’s ears and their expression softens slightly: their eyes narrow less and their brows aren’t as creased. And that smirk–if you could even call it that from how faint it is–becomes a half-smirk.

They pull their hand away and your trance is broken, reality returning back to you as you remember that the person before you is still a Fatui Harbinger, no matter how bizarrely melting their touch was. They turn on their heel and walk towards the couch in front of you; the slightest bit of heaviness is placed on your heart. You remain stationary where you are, observing them as they seat themselves gracefully on the couch, and their attention encounters yours again. Their black pits hold expectancy in them. At first, you’re clueless as to what the criminal desires from you, but then their legs spread apart, an inviting gesture that beckons you and every rational thought leaves your easily swayed mind. Your heart skips a beat, and you're sure this time it's not out of trepidation.

Even if you didn’t command them to, your legs would take you to their seating figure. You stand before them, feeling blatantly disrespectful to look down at Arlecchino, but you await their order. They lean back, lounging laxly against the couch, their posture never lacking their usual self-assurance. It only ties the knot in your gut tighter. You’re aware of what they’re instructing you to do, but the absent confirmation makes you hesitant. It seems like the Knave picks up on this because the room echoes with one definitive spouted word from their lips, authority and dominance ringing through their husky voice.

“Sit.”

Your legs buckle underneath you from the one-worded response, the demand only stoking the consuming fire inside you. Eager to please, you perch yourself on their lap, straddling them, your knees pressed into the furniture below you and encasing both of their thighs between your own.

Oh, you think to yourself as your legs make contact with their thighs. They're firm. And for some reason, that provokes your stomach to churn in itself even more. You're so close to them, enough to feel their breath cascade against your skin.

As you seat yourself, you nearly clumsily topple over, instinctively grasping onto their shoulders for support. Their shoulders are remarkably broad, you regard, well-muscled as well. Their hands creep up on your hips, steady but gentle hands grasping on each bare side of yours to stabilize you. The heat that radiates from their hands is infectious, regardless of the nails that burrow into your plush waist. For the first time, you flush considerably, a sweltering inferno forming in your cheeks and your head fills with dizziness. Their touch is gentle–something you rarely experience with customers–so, so gentle that you would describe it as heavenly. How can someone so inexplicably vile have heaven on their fingertips?

It's not a position you never found yourself in. In fact, it's far from the first time you've been like this with another client. But here, as you're sat on top of the Fatui Harbinger, and red x-pupils search yours, a foreign feeling passes through you. Placing your finger on it, you dubiously think it's bashfulness, but the heartbeat that sings in your ears and pulses underneath your fingertips tells you otherwise, tells you it's something more. Against that, you remove your grasp on their shoulders and place your palm flat against the couch’s surface behind the Knave.

You squirm a bit, nervousness in your form as you remain as still as you possibly can, waiting for any more instructions. All you need to do is act like an obedient doll for them in order to survive; compliance is the best way of ensuring survival with people like these. You feel like you're merely eye candy from the way that their attention flits across your body, but you're immobile throughout the entirety of their observance. Being looked at is much better than any physical interaction. Their hands still cup your hips, but slowly, they descend to the side of your thighs, making your skin feel tingly.

Impulsively, you mumble out a quiet "Sir…" as strange sensations brush against your skin.

The sound surprises you and you feel on edge as their eyes travel from your lower half to your face. You gulp considerably. From their stare, they expect more of a response, a reason for their addressment, but even you don’t know yourself; it seems like an unconscious calling that just rolled off your tongue. You cow underneath their gaze, even when the two of you are at eye level. When you linger in quietude, their hand releases one of your thighs and lifts to your face, supporting your chin while their thumb rests on your bottom lip, unfurling it just the slightest amount to implore an answer from your now parted lips. Gleaming scarlet pupils grip your regard sternly, piercing into you and instilling you to spew something out. Except, you still can’t, now too entranced and lost in the crimson.

“Doll.”

Despite the pet name, it's devoid of any affection or warmth. It's a word that drips of command, a reminder of your place: simply a toy that they can play with however they want, a manipulated and decorated plaything for their amusement. That means you answer to them, and so when they request a response, you're under the obligation to please them. Your survival is in their palms anyway, if they wanted you to dance, you would just so they wouldn’t strangle the life out of you.

However, its implication doesn’t prevent the tingling shudders that wrack your body nor the involuntary clenching of your thighs around theirs. Was it the gravelly voice that aroused your behavior? Your cheeks flare at the knowledge that Harbinger sensed the physical reaction. It shouldn't be possible. It shouldn't be possible, your thoughts repeat, but then they're interrupted by:

"Oh?" Arlecchino inquires to themselves, a stark amusement in their speech. Their red glare illuminates slightly, replacing the lost darkening with a faint glow in their pupils, and the corner of their mouth curls up. It is only then that you discover something entirely new: that monsters can be sinfully, cataclysmically, terrifyingly beautiful and the sight before you is the most exquisite example. A devil has you wrapped in its claws and its fangs readied for devouring but it’s disguised as an ethereal angel; blinded by their perilous allure, you mistake their snow-white hair, their lustrous piercing rubies, their flawless porcelain skin, and their burning, fleeting touches as traits of a seraph. From a measly smirk, you forget the atrocities lying underneath their fingertips and dismiss the hazard their presence holds.

The hand on your thigh rakes its fingers up, red nails trailing across the surface of your fishnet, wrenching out a breathy gasp from you as they travel inwards. Tingling pleasure injects into your veins as you subconsciously lean in, imploring for further sensual contact. A plea sits on your tongue and nests in your eyes as you beg them through your pitiful expression. They drink in your desperation with a slow swipe of their tongue over their lips, and that single action is debauched enough to elicit a soft groan from your throat.

“Well, aren’t you an amusing toy?” They drawl out with a preposing rasp and dark abysses glint with an insatiable hunger.

They smirk enticingly, their thumb running across your bottom lip and smearing your lipstick on their thumb pad. Their grip on your chin tightens a bit, pulling you even closer to them before a shadow casts over you when their face nears. Before you can even fathom their intentions, they descend upon you, closing the distance between the two of you. Your lips are greeted with something pillowy soft and fervently warm, and you sharply inhale from the sensation. Every one of your nerves sings frenziedly, your muscles tense all over, and your heartbeat drums deafeningly in your ears–all of this as your body is engulfed in a fervid tornado of heat that makes you lightheaded with pleasure. It takes you several beats to realize the reason for this is that Lord Arlecchino, the Fourth Harbinger, the Knave is kissing–no, kissing is far too intimate, devouring–you voraciously like they're trying to rob you of any air, trying to imprint themselves on your mouth. Their mouth dominates yours, pushing against them with a deep fervor and famished urgency, eager to swallow every bit of shocked noise you make.

You close your eyes and allow yourself to indulge.

You first taste lipstick with a waxy flavor hitting your tastebuds. It’s cold against your lips, yet warm at the same time. But the physical texture and flavor of their lips are irrelevant; there’s only one true manner you would distinguish their taste:

They taste like sin.

The type of sin that’s chocolate coated and sprinkled with colorful toppings; depravity so sweet and charming it makes you reconsider the bounds of right and wrong. Degeneracy is far, far tastier than anything you’ve indulged in before. How can something so evil be so heavenly? Cushiony soft, placidly warm, flatteringly zealous, it’s like having a dance with a devil; so unequivocally immoral but no less gratifying. You question if they really belong to the Fatui because how can something like this come from such? You want to engrave the texture of their mouth onto your memory, feel this faux intimacy even when you’ve long parted. The Fourth Harbinger, you surmise as you surrend your will to them, is decadent–the only word that can be defined as both wicked and delectable at once–the perfect word to describe them.

The last remaining bit of reasoning comes to the backdrop of your thoughts and begs you to not be swept away in the heavenly embrace. You discount it in favor of accepting this godsent gift by leaning further with a weak imitation of their ravishing lips and pressing back. It’s a feeble attempt to match their insatiate nature, far too domineering and forceful than you can manage but they display a token of appreciation when they squeeze your thigh, indenting your skin shallowly with the burrowing of their nails. The action exposes just how sensitive you’ve gone underneath their touch and you reward them with the sweetest of sounds.

“Arlecchino,” you mumble with half-lidded dazed eyes in between ravenous exchanges and it evokes a depraved throaty growl from the Fatui, like provoking a call from a starving beast. They lean deeper to indulge in your taste. The gruff sound reaches your ears and it’s like a psalm–you shudder from its musical melody.

Their clutch on your jaw releases and their fingers outline your jawline before snaking to the back of your head. Well-manicured digits entangle themselves in your hair, and there’s a gentle shove against your skull that forces you deeper into the kiss. Your hands clutch onto the couch underneath you as tight as you physically can for any sense of grounding and your knees attempt to close in even more to feel more of their body against yours. The hand on your leg, in turn, caresses the length of your thigh.

Every graceful touch, stroke, and brush exudes an unyielding and infectious warmth that only adds to the stoking fire in your gut, and you’re bathed in so much swelter from the ecstasy that you feel dizzy. Yet, you never want it to end, you grow more addicted and drunk with each encounter of their lips. That, paired with your strained breathing, prompts your stamina to falter much sooner than the Harbinger’s. You let out a soft whine to signal your depleting oxygen, and their mouth unlatch with yours, pulling away despite your ache for more. With the separation comes a small string of saliva attached between the two of you, evidence of the shared intimacy that’s snapped when they lick their lips. The hand behind your head detangles from your hair and you silently mourn over the loss of contact.

You heave for air, your chest rising and falling rapidly. You’re a little perturbed when you notice that they’re not even out of breath, a small but firm reminder that they’re as inhuman as humans can be. That knocks a sense of reality back into you. Customer, mafia, Fatui, Harbinger, it comes back to you like a train. Here you are swapping spit with them while in the lap of potentially the most dangerous criminal you could ever meet, but fuck were they a good kisser–you’ve never experienced anything that came close to this in your lifetime.

Any foolish doubtful contemplation of the morality of this interaction is swept away just like that when you hear:

“Greedy little thing that you are,” they regard with the most cunning and handsome of smiles, discrete amusement dripping from their words. Their dark pits behold you entirely, the same way they have always done when it seems like they were contemplating what part of you to savor the most. Only this time, you’re not so disturbed by the notion. If anything, the swirling heat in between your legs suggests the opposite.

Greedy wasn't a word often associated with you, yet you couldn't more correctly describe yourself in that moment. Greedy. Greedy for a Fatui Harbinger no less. As ashamed as you should be, there's no use denying that you crave for their touch, for their gaze, for anything and everything they're willing to give you. You want everything and more. The more you contemplate, the more it seems obvious why you wouldn’t. Are they a devil disguised as an angel, or are they an angel that fell from grace? Regardless, they bring nirvana to you. An incessant desire bubbles inside you, your throat swelling up with an urgent request on the tip of your tongue. Would they allow such a thing if you plead? Would they be offended by your impudence? Would they punish you for such? But the necessity outweighs any reconsideration of your insolence and the supplicant beg tumbles out of your loose lips.

“Can I… touch you please, my Lord?” You croak out, wincing at just how wretched it comes out. The response from them is not immediate as the two of you stew in silence, a building sense of dejection inside of you. The expression on their face noticeably contorts, smile lessening, their brows furrowing, and their red x’s glinting dimly. Their free hand raises to near your neck and you suck in a harsh breath as their fingers enclose around your throat. The mere action sends a stinging reminder to your lust-dazed thoughts about their position, and a chill pierces you.

Mafia, Fatui, Harbinger, the Fourth Harbinger, the Knave–the labels cycle through your thoughts. Though their grip is lax, not exactly suffocating and giving ample space to breathe, their fingertips does acutely jab into your skin, a display of their impressive grip strength. You have no doubt that they can suffocate you with one hand alone, snap your neck, or, as your mind ventures into more harrowing territories, crush your skull. Those thoughts alone has you breathless with anticipation. A heavy weight suddenly appears in your gut, so heavy that you feel like you can’t move so much as a muscle.

Did you just go too far? Was that too much to ask? Was this how you were going to die?

The reflex to gag and inhale combat each other in your throat, a discomforting sensation that crawls up your spine while you tremble. You’re almost certain that the nails have penetrated the layer of skin, drawing beads of blood that’ll trail down your mark. You whimper at the prickly pain. Yet, in all your unease, the most masochistic thought arrives briefly at the forefront, and you can’t help but consider: this position is just as intimate as all the other interactions. You’re already so vulnerable in their lap, does the hand around your neck change your peril in any way? No, you’ve been a defenseless lamb to a slaughter the moment you’ve stepped into the domain of a menacing wolf.

Ah. Even now, you can’t dismiss the warmth of their fingertips.

“Do you still want to touch me when I do this?” They demand callously, their voice harsh and reverberating through the room. Their grasp closes more around, and you feel your supply of oxygen inhibited. Tears begin to brim your eyes, but you’re undeterred. Unlike Arlecchino’s, your answer is instant and breathless. Your eyes intently lock on theirs, the hardened expression enough to satisfy their question. There’s no need for contemplation. Danger, you determine, is addicting.

“Yes.”

The previously small smile stretches across their lips considerably. Content, or dare you say it, thrill writes itself over their face and the boulder previously pressed against your shoulders is lifted. Your throat is freed from their hold, but their touch doesn’t halt there. Instead, they rotate your head for you to face to the left, exposing your side profile to them. From the corner of your eyes, you watch as their face draws closer to your skin, hot breath cascading across the small dents her nails created. The one on your thigh finally leaves, moving to one of your hips, tender strokes across your flushed surface. They lean forward, and moist, plush skin meets yours. Lips traverse over the length of your neck, teeth scraping against, making you weakly groan. It takes all of your will to still your body, only allowing for the Harbinger to do whatever they desire to your form. Their touches are burning, burning, burning–so hot that you wonder if you’re experiencing a heat wave. Peppered kisses follow the edge of your jawbone, all the way up to your earlobe. A wet kiss graces your ear and then the most sinful of statements dignifies your eardrums, like a devil whispering hymns directly into your ear.

“I think I’ll keep you to myself after this.”

A short hum follows afterward.

“If you want to touch me, you’ll have to work for it. You’re only mine for tonight, aren't you? Entertain me. Give me a private dance, doll. After all, you have me for all night.”

---

Link to M-Alexa's amazing art and how I imagine Arlecchino to look like in this oneshot.

#arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #arlecchino #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact fanfics #guys I'm so tired it's 2AM rn #i have school tomorrow guys #i chose to finish this tonight despite the shit ton of homework I have to do #arlecchino brain rot does that to you #def worth it #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact arlecchino #genshin arlecchino #genshin fics #arlecchino smut #edgeray.writes #edgeray.blog

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thewinter-eden · 1 month ago

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All Ye Who Enter Here

images are mine (except middle LF pic that I got from pinterest). please do not use without permission. ATE pcs are my inspo for this series.

part 6 of the skz crack!horror series.

pairing: Lee Felix x fem!reader rating: mature, dark themes summary: ghost!Felix is said to haunt the abandoned mansion at the end of Blacktree Road. Legend says all who go into the mansion are never seen again. When you decide you’re sick of your friends being afraid of a literal house, you rise to the challenge and go inside. Spoiler alert, Felix is real, and he can’t believe you’re dumb enough to walk into a haunted house.

warnings: Hauntings, killings, more horror than crack, can’t be too predictable, decided to shake it up, this one's different, definitive 2-parter, this is really more the intro than the actual crack!horror sorry it turned out this way I just had a sucky week and never ended up having time to write. This one sucks I'm sorry.

Word Count: 2.3k

Comment a request to be tagged.

series info

PART 2

The heavy antique doorknocker makes you think of Beauty and the Beast.

Honestly the entire Blacktree house kind of reminds you of that old gothic castle.

“Don’t come in.”

The whisper that reaches your ears feels like a breath on the breeze, a trick of your imagination. You push the creaking door open and step into the house, ignoring the adrenalized chattering of your friends behind you.

No one just walks into Blacktree House anymore, not without a healthy amount of fear. Or at least not without some apprehension. The house is haunted. That’s what everyone says. It’s allegedly been haunted since the 90s. Strange noises, lights flickering in the windows, a dark aura surrounding the property.

You don’t believe it.

Or maybe you don’t care about it.

They say people have gone inside and come out cursed. That foolhardy students went in on a dare, or lured others in as a prank, only to disappear like a scream on the wind over the days that followed. That unsuspecting lovers have taken advantage of an empty house only to face their doom soon after. That realtors and agents refuse to work with the house, too frightened or superstitious or terrorized by the ghosts within to ever step foot inside.

So many of them found dead in their homes in the days and weeks that followed.

So many of them supposed victims of the haunted house.

It’s absurd.

You believe in rumors, tall tales, and dumb teenagers.

You believe in what you’ve seen, what you’ve touched, what you know.

You don’t believe in ghosts.

So while your astonished friends watch you walk yourself inside, gait jaunty to prove a point, you tell yourself that the words you heard were just in your head. You have a mission. The bet was that you wouldn’t go into the house by yourself, tour the entire place, take pictures from each window, and then return with or without a curse. The incentive? A hundred dollars.

As far as bets go, to you, it’s an easy hundred dollars.

Your friends are far more terrified by the prospect of you roaming the giant scary house than you are, and you’re relieved to spend a few curious minutes by yourself and come out of it with a hundred dollars.

You cross the threshold and turn to catch their eyes from where the stand out on the street, clinging to each other and gawking. It does occur to you that, as ridiculous as the entire premise of the bet is, it’s not especially endearing that your friends (who seem to fully believe in the murderous ghost curse) have convinced you to take a stroll through the murder house.

The wind catches the door as you go to close it and sucks it shut with a solid thud.

The house is old, filled with dust and a scattering of footprints, completely run down. The previous owner’s belongings still clutter the floors and the shelves in various stages of disrepair. You pull your phone from your pocket and snap a few pictures of the entryway, headed down the first hallway you see.

“You shouldn’t have come here.”

This time, the disembodied whisper reaches your ears with clarity. There’s a moment of shock as you spin on your heel, scanning the room sharply.

There’s no one there.

Of course there’s no one there.

No one comes into this house anymore. It’s just you.

You shake it off, classify it as another example of a suggestible imagination run rampant, and continue your tour. A picture here, a photo there, you’re somewhere near the center of the house when you hear footsteps behind you.

“This wasn’t part of the deal.” You call over your shoulder, spotting a window looking out towards the front yard. “Pretending to be a ghost to freak me out isn’t going to get you your hundred dollars back.”

“Leave now. Last warning.”

Heart leaping into your throat, you spin so fast you nearly trip over a stack of books in the floor, but there’s no one behind you.

Your friends are doing their best to get you to run screaming from the house, abandoning the terms of the bet and forfeiting the reward, so you plant yourself and catch your breath. There’s no way you’re quitting the haunted house tour. There’s no way you’re going to allow yourself to be scared by their efforts when you already know there are no ghosts in the house or anywhere else.

You’re fine.

Taking a bracing breath, you step up to the window and poise your phone to take a photo. Both of your friends are still on the sidewalk, still clutching each other, staring at the house with visible trepidation.

Your finger snaps the photo distractedly.

Because you’re staring at both of the friends who brought you here, and you’re hearing creaking footsteps behind you.

There’s no one in the room but you, so you move on to the next one, pretending that you don’t feel the hair on the back of your neck standing on end. The next room also has a window facing the front yard, so you snap another photo. A first floor perspective of the girls checking their phones to see your texted photos marking your progress.

“You should have listened.” The echoing whisper tickles your ear as you move on.

Right in front of your face, prompted by absolutely nothing, the wide-open door to the bedroom you’re standing in slams shut, locking you inside.

Now you’re worried.

It’s not like there couldn’t have been a string tied to the door knob—fishing line or dental floss or something that you couldn’t see—that someone could have yanked to give the illusion of a door slamming itself, but you’re the only person in the house.

The door won’t open. No matter how hard you try to turn the knob or yank at the ancient wood, it remains firmly closed. Your heart is pounding in your ears, uncertainty filling your thoughts.

There are no ghosts.

This house is not haunted.

So why can’t you open the door that just inexplicably closed itself?

“It won’t open.” This time it’s not a whisper, it’s a strong, deep, full-bodied voice.

You jump, tripping over your own feet as you turn at the words, and your eyes fall on a man standing in the corner. He’s narrow, slender, pale as death, with long blonde hair and pitiful dark eyes.

He seems familiar, his face bouncing around your head with some confused recognition, but you’re far too confused to figure it out. “How did you get in here?” He wasn’t there a minute ago, not when you were standing right where he’s standing. “Who are you?”

His chin lowers ever so slightly, and the light in the room shifts, and you see him flutter in and out of view. The way his entire body flickers transparently for a moment before settling back into normal human opacity makes your brain trip over itself and fall flat on its face.

The door rattles behind you.

Noises rise on the other side, sounding like scraping books and clunking footsteps, nails scratched along the walls. You’re watching the rotted wood of the bedroom door tremble, the door knob rattling against the bolt, and you can’t breathe.

“What is happening right now?”

“They’re coming.” The man behind you says. “You should have left when I told you to.”

You meet his eyes and wish you knew why the sharp point of his jaw looks so familiar to you. “You were the one whispering to me? Back in the hall?” It feels like a dumb question until you watch him flicker again, only to reappear a second later, this time closer to you. Now that you can see him better, you know where you’ve seen him. “Wait, you’re that guy. I remember you now.”

That guy had been in the news a few years ago, a picture of exactly the same face you’re looking at now—24-year-old found dead just days after visiting Blacktree House.

The guy who’s name you can’t remember frowns at you, his eyebrows lowering in disappointment.

Outside the door, the noises grow louder.

You think you can hear voices, but you’re not sure.

“My name is Felix.” He says, and then grimaces. “Was Felix.” His eyes skate over your shoulder towards the door. “They’re coming to kill you.” He turns away and peers out the window, but doesn’t put himself in your friends’ line of sight. “You shouldn’t have come here.”

“It’s just a house.” You mutter. “All those people—it’s not like they were murdered by ghosts.” There’s clear derision and skepticism in your voice, as though you’re not staring at a young man who keeps fluttering through stages of transparency. “I don’t understand.”

“I can’t keep them out forever. They’re coming to kill you.” He says again, like it’s the only thing he can say.

“But you’re not going to kill me?” You mutter, wondering if you can take a picture of him. Or maybe a video. You’re holding your phone, but you can’t decide if you should be calling someone right now, or even documenting what’s happening.

Felix seems to curl in on himself, his expression darkening as he rubs his hands over his arms. You notice the chill in the room, the goosebumps on his skin, but you don’t care. “I don’t want to kill anyone.” He murmurs hollowly. He turns to you, and there’s so much sorrow on his face that your heart clenches. “Why me?” He whispers. “Why did I have to die?”

Tears prick at your eyes, the mourning in his expression needling into your soul. “Why did you come to this house?” You ask. “Back then, when you knew the reputation, why would you come here?”

He shrugs limply, and for a second you both just listen to the pounding and clattering on the other side of the door. You wonder if your friends can hear it from outside. You wonder if you’re going to die tonight. “It was a bet.” He says weakly.

Like you.

Just a stupid bet.

“Who are they?” You ask, gesturing to the door. You can’t believe you’re even asking.

“The others.” Felix says softly. “All the others who have died because of this house. Why us?” He weeps. “Why did we have to die?”

“It’s just a house,” You whisper back, flinching at a particularly loud bang behind the door. “Nobody’s been killed by ghosts.”

His head tilts. “That’s not true. You know this house.”

You do know this house. It was your mother’s, a long, long time ago. So long ago that you don’t actually remember living in it.

“You know there’s been a death here.”

Your eyes narrow with confusion. “My mom wasn’t killed by ghosts.” You scan the walls again. “She had a heart attack.”

Felix rolls his eyes at you, the first hint of attitude that you’ve seen from him so far. “You’ll be the second. Like mother like daughter.” His hands hang limply at his sides. “As soon as they break through that door it’s over.”

You glance back towards the hallway, now hearing dozens of hands pounding at the wood, desperate to splinter the frame to get to you. “All the others who have died because of this house.” You repeat.

“All of them,” He says. “From the very beginning. Trapped here.”

“So they’re going to kill me.”

Felix smiles a little and it’s not totally happy, not totally sad. “Like mother like daughter.”

You face him fully. “So why block me in here? Why keep me from them?” He’s got you cornered in a small bedroom, out of reach of the malevolent spirits who want revenge for their own deaths, and he’s not trying to kill you. He died because of this house too, but he’s standing perfectly still.

“I wanted to ask.” He says. “I just wanted to know.” His dark eyes flood with tears all over again. “Why me?”

You don’t have an answer. Were you propagating the rumors of the house being haunted? Were you just following in your mother’s footsteps? Was there anything more to it than the itch to express yourself in a way that only you understand?

Sighing deeply, you find yourself shaking your head. “I don’t know, Felix. All I know is that you never should have come here.”

He grimaces, tears spilling over. “It was just a bet. Just a stupid bet.”

That’s what you thought too.

“I know,” You say. “Most of them were stupid bets.”

“Why would you do this?” He cries. “What did we ever do to you? What did they ever do to her? We didn’t deserve to die.”

All you can do is shrug. “It’s like you said. Like mother like daughter.” You couldn’t go into the psychology of it, the genetics versus environment of criminal deviance, the reasons for an irrational display of hubris—you have no answers for that. You don’t have any more answers for why than you have for how your victims—yours and your mother’s—had become trapped into the ancient house forever.

“We didn’t deserve to die.”

You know.

“Why would you come here? Why would you come back to this house? Just to taunt us?”

You smile. “I didn’t believe in you. To me—it’s just a house.” It’s the house where your mother got caught in the 90s for killing dozens of people. It’s the house that was in the background of her photo in the newspaper that labeled her as a psychotic serial killer. It’s the house that the social workers collected you from before they changed your name and wiped your legal connection to your criminal mother.

It’s the house where your mother’s body was found just days after the whistleblower leaked the photos of her trophies, where medical examiners decided she had succumbed to a heart attack.

It’s just a house.

The door creaks and groans, a long crack splitting down the middle as the victims of your wretchedly externalized rage make progress in their efforts to get to you—to get revenge.

“Well,” Felix wipes his eyes and steps toward the door, and you can see how heartbroken he is. But not for you. For you, he is a young man betrayed. A human being betrayed by the wickedness of your unmitigated cruelty. “Now it is your prison.”

And then he opens the door.

This one sucks I'm sorry. Thanks for reading!

PART 2

tag list : @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @estella-novella @babyphotos0325 @softfor-svtptg @furfoxsake22 @tubelightanyaa @kayleefriedchicken @rockstarkkami @sp1derst0rrr @eastjonowhere @its-stayville-forever @allenajade-ite @naraportokala @jinniejjam @blackberryrains @feetoffthemalfoy @highandalive @scarlet789 @ramadiiiisme @thecutiepieme @lemonn015 @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts @dreamingartist13

#skz #stray kids #lee felix #skz crack!horror #yongbok #felix #stray kids felix

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darkmagenugget · 4 months ago

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Hiya! I'm Ashe! One of the main fronters of the DarkMage Nugget System, runner of of this account, and main artist! Fennec kitsune/shapeshifter as well. (She/They) Welcome to the DarkMage Nugget Tumblr!

Creator of Hyper City (With extra lore from friends and Aqua) where a lot of my friends stories are taking place. You can find my commission info here and are open! I do character art, emotes, and more!

System Intros after the break!

Allow me to introduce the rest of the system.

Iris- (She/Her)

Iris is the host of the system. She has her own blog here ( @iristhedarkwitch - 18+ only). She is the witch of our system, and also the current host. Specializing in transformation spells fictionally, and energy manipulation in practice. One of my girlfriends as well. And Aqua's girlfriend too.

Aqua - (She/They)

Aqua is the writer of our system. Also has a blog of their own over here ( @nuggetofthesea ). She is an elf with (currently) 3 forms. A base, a sea, and a shadow form. She is the one responsible for most of the lore in Hyper City, and is usually the calmest of us and just loves hanging out by vibing in the room. Also girlfriend. Also dating Iris.

Chaos- (She/Her)

Chaos is a gremlin. Is always interested in things that are high-energy and fast paced. She plays games on stream on fridays at 4:00 PM Pacific. She is also the most direct of us (Though speaks a little rough) and able to put things bluntly and deal with scenarios we wouldn't be able to otherwise. She can by hyper, but cares greatly for everyone in the system. Usually spending time with Aria.

Mira - (She/They)

Mira is the organizer of the headspace. A crystal fairy who is able to duplicate herself up to up to 30 of her at once, she manages the entire headspace and the thoughts and memories of system members. Keeping the memory archive as a collective reference for us to go back to. They do tend to be able to handle multitasking better than the rest of us, but tends to stay out of the front unless she is needed (or wants to troll us, because when she enters the front we all see what she sees. All 30 of what she sees at once). She keeps everything organized.

Aria - (She/Her)

Aria is a puppy. She's just a big strong puppy. She is the sweetest person in existence. She can't really communicate well verbally or over text. But can communicate through images, emotes, barking, and through me or Chaos. Would protect anyone physically if needed, but we try to not have that be needed. She is too sweet! If she shows up, give her headpats. She absolutely loves them. ^-^

Nova - (They/It/Fae)

A trickster fae that has found its way into our system. Rarely calls anyone by name, and speaking with a scottish Accent, they are playful and tricky. But likes to fly free. Bound to it's "Little Fox" (me) in terms of willing to listen her, but will chime in at any time it wants. So if I ever speak with a scottish accent, that's Nova.

Nero - (Any Pronouns)

Nero is a chao. He is basically a Construct made by Nova in our headspace, and exists in here basically as an emotional support pet. But he is here. Initially a chao I just kept drawing with me in drawings for years, when I drew Nova with them it liked her so much that it decided it wanted him in the headspace. They like desserts and are often seen with different animal parts.

Star - (She/They)

Star kind of just showed up in our headspace randomly one day. She is a very sweet and polite bunny cat, and new to existing. Not quite sure what she likes or doesn't yet, but is always willing to try things to figure it out. They are going to be frequently in front with Ashe, Iris, Aqua, and Chaos.

And just some more examples of my character design work. These aren't part of the system (As far as I know) but are still characters I use often.

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magicalgirlmindcrank · 3 months ago

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hey my gf wants me to get into HDG. what works would you recommend starting with?

Well recommendations depend a lot on the individual, like I wouldn't toss Wellness Check and Independence is Easy to the same person. How comfortable are you with non-con? How hard do you like the sci-fi? Do you want a character that's a bad person and gets broken into a soft pet, or someone softer being ensared by an affini's mechanizations?

Some recs, a brief synopsis, and their strong and weak points:

Wellness Check - NEET Shut-in hacker girl who's kind of just abrasive gets domesticated. Lots of memory play type stuff, digitization, and overall v cute. Very Ace in it's kink.

Independence is Easy - Independent Terran with only some maladaptive traits gets absolutely manipulated and unraveled into non-personhood. (A form of) Doll kink, lots of sex, kink, and good if you like stuff on the harsher side.

The Original - Hard to beat this in a lotta aspects. It's got the setting typical feral breaking, still one of the best contract scenes in the entire setting, and while it's level of non-con isn't as typical, it establishes what you can expect well. Theres a few chapters on Read Only Mind past the rewrite on AO3 if u want.

Divaricated - This was the most popular work in the setting for a long, long time, and for good reason. Outside of maybe Abscission, no fic established as much of the setting as Divaricated did. Softer on the feral breaking, and more focuses on domestication being something thats inevitable, a natural function of of an Affini and a Xenosophont being exposed to eah other. Also perhaps the most sci-fi leaning fic in the setting. The only real downside it's also crazy long, the second longest in the setting. Ace in it's Kink.

Cross-Pollination - The most above board consent wise fic on this list, this is about an actor and a former war hero playing fake pets for propaganda, when things get... more involved. Good length, but not long, very sweet, and a personal favorite.

One Analysts Opinion - Havent actually read this one, but it's lauded as one of the best newer fics for introducing readers to the setting, and we've seen it compared to Cross-Pollination, premise-wise. It details the actual fall of the Accord more than any other fic out there, and has, from what I understand, very excellent kink to boot.

And I'm legally obligated to mention Dog of War - While we can't fully say this is the best intro around simply due it being the longest fic in the entire setting, it is also the most popular. It doesn't really front load a lot of setting info on the reader all at once, but it does present them. We've been told that it's on the softer side non-con wise, but IDK about that. There's a good amount of straight up non-con, and a lot of manipulation. Primarily, this one is about a nervous youngbloom learning to be an Affini, and a living weapon learning to be human.

Of course, if you have anything for us to base recommendations on, we can offer an entirely different slate of fics. You can honestly click on anything on the first like 3 pages sorted by Kudos and find something excellent, and there's plenty of gems all throughout the tag.

#hdg #human domestication guide

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lukolabrainrot · 6 months ago

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Long ask anon with an even longer ask (I truly don’t know how to make long story short, but I can do the reverse), sorry. I am dividing this in two parts in case you decide to post this, so it would not be such an essay.

Part 1. Intro

Something has been eating up at me for a while but I only recently gathered the courage to do anything more than lurking. I actually am quite new to this, mostly because I was not allowing myself to even get into this in the first place. I am a very chill person when it comes to celebrities, I truly couldn’t care less about their lives, don’t even follow them on SM (L and N included) (not that I use SM all that much to begin with), I don’t know why but it always seems strange for me to be invested in strangers’ lives. I am not big of a fan girl either, especially media wise, I am much more interested in books and have no patience for tv shows most of the time. All of this to say, this is unusual behavior for me, watching all of the interviews with repetitive questions (those poor actors having to repeat themselves over and over again), paying attention to actors (beyond just knowing their names).

Polin is one of the rare ships that captured my interest, so I was very excited to learn about s3 being them, and when the wait for even the slightest info seem to be dragging on endlessly those interviews served as a great entertainment. Until they were not, until I started noticing things I wished not to. What started as “oh, they are so cute, and charming, and their friendship is so endearing!” very quickly turned into “babes, WHAT THE F*CK DID I JUST SAW/HEARD?” At one point I was honestly thinking “did I miss something? Are they together? What is going on?” So I checked, out of curiosity nothing more, but found nothing OFFICIAL suggesting that (as in N nor L never claimed anything). So I moved on, watched the show, other interviews (my brows still rising at some points), and then post Part 2 premiere I saw the picture on IG.

Everyone on internet seemed to be screaming about Ls’ GF, and being absolutely vile to him, which I found so disgusting I immediately checked out of the situation and turned my attention back on fiction again. It would be insincere of me not to admit to a certain disappoint on such a development, but that was as far as it would go. Though I can also truthfully say that that girl was not giving me the best impression based on the picture, something just seemed off. I only saw one at that point, where it appeared as if they were holding hands, why did it seem off? Because L looked displeased, almost angry, his eyes averted from cameras, while she was boldly looking right on them smiling as if she was walking her red carpet. As I said that was that, just continued watching the show, reading Polin fanfiction, hung out on a Polin reddit account and some Polin Tumblr blogs. And then I stumbled upon your blog (it was already past papgate 2.0), and now I’m on this bloody ship, and can not seem to force myself overboard, because those two are so soulmate coded (and yes, I realize how cheesy that sounds).

What has been bugging me, is that most, if not all, in this fandom seem to be of the opinion that L is the primary reason why N/L are yet to develop into lovers phase of this friends to lovers arc. From outright blaming him to passive aggressively calling him a dummy for not going after N. And I comprehend that most of it comes from the presence of a certain adjacent. But putting aside the OBVIOUS, LOGICAL point that we, non of us, are privy to their real lives, and bts truth, I still don’t see where that point of view comes from. I know that everyone says L is most like his character, so perhaps part of it is projection of that, but for me it always seems that L is actually a Penelope of this situation. To me, he himself gives it away.

Same Anon... same!

I have never thought L was the hang up in this situation. I think N has been burned in love, is pretty closed off with this stuff, and a TOTAL workaholic. L DEFINITELY fell first (no one can convince me otherwise). L also seems to kind of be a hopeless romantic and public lover boy, which I don't think N is use to. But I feel like that is why they kind of balance each other out ❤️️

#lukola theories #just some thoughts

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drakorn · 3 months ago

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Rewriting Veilguard Part 5 - The Antivan Crows

Rewriting Veilguard Part 4 - The Veil Jumpers

Disclaimer: I don't hate the game, I actually think it's quite great given the development hell Bioware went through in those 10 years. This is more of a hypothetical universe where there was less of that behind the scenes drama. Just a fun writing exercise.

Writing an Origin Story Mission for the Antivan Crows

The Antivan Crows might be the one faction next to the Grey Wardens of whom we know the most about. They’re hired assassins, cold and brutal and calculating. They recruit children and mercilessly raise them to be killers. The Crow training involves killing your own peers to emerge as the victor. They keep a prison off the coast of Antiva City, where they hold people for “fun and torture”. The life of a Crow is rewarding, true, but it is also filled with darkness and a lot of blood. With all this canonical info established, we can confidently say that the Antivan Crows, while undoubtedly resourceful and clever, are not very nice people.

So why are the Antivan Crows in Veilguard so nice?

When I pictured the Antivan Crows before DAV released, “idealistic freedom fighters” wasn’t exactly what I thought of. Yet this is their entire role in the game, slightly controversial freedom fighters who fight against impossible odds.

Well, as you’ve seen with my takes on the Shadow Dragons, the Grey Wardens, and the Veil Jumpers in earlier posts, such a depiction can make sense if you just take your time to explain it in the lore. Why would the Crows suddenly be so much more of a force for good than they were in the other games? This, along with many other questions, shall be answered in just a tiny moment.

This is my take on a potential Antivan Crow origin story. Have fun!

Creating Rook

So, for the fourth time (wow we’re really stuck in that starting phase, are we), we press the start button and listen to Varric’s narration introducing the general state of Northern Thedas. This time, we pick the Antivan Crows as our faction and get this as our little intro blurb:

“You are an Antivan Crow. Swift knives in the dark, the Crows are ruthless assassins, both respected and feared. Some see them as nothing but cold-blooded killers, others as Antiva’s shadowy protectors who hold the nation’s true power. As a member of house de Riva, now a full-fledged Crow, you are summoned to take part in a secretive Crow operation in the occupied Treviso. Your first true contract is waiting for you. But are you worthy of fulfilling it? Are your skills, and your blades, sharp enough?”

Straight off the bat, of all the factions in this game, the Antivan Crows have the absolute easiest way to explain the last name applying to all races. House de Riva is simply the last name all crows belonging to that house choose. It’s just the way it is, no matter what race you are or where you came from. The question is: how exactly did Rook join the Crows?

Well, here’s where we’ll tap into the organisation’s more controversial and darker side. Here we go:

If de Riva is a human, they will have been bought from a poor family as a child, their parents giving them away just so they could have some coin again.

If de Riva is an elf, they will have been bought from Treviso’s Alienage for much the same reasons. In fact, the Crows have a habit of recruiting elves into their ranks because they tend to make the best assassins.

If de Riva is a dwarf, they were picked up as a child beggar in the streets, as their surface dwarf family likely died in some way.

If de Riva is a Qunari, they were taken in as the sole survivor of a group of Tal-Vashoth who sought to escape further inland from the Qun.

The Crows don’t really care about race or status when it comes to recruitment. But no matter who they recruit, the training starts in their childhood and lasts all the way until Crow membership. It’s tough and brutal. And we need to reflect that, guys, Thedas is not a friendly place. Especially in the North. Especially at this time.

In all four cases, Viago, who is now the Fifth Talon and leader of House de Riva, took us in personally and often trained us himself, sometimes along with Andaratei “Teia, please” Cantori. They are, for the lack of a better word, the closest thing to parental substitutes we’re going to get. And we’re going to make this amusing because Viago relentlessly and mercilessly throwing shade at us while secretly carrying some level of fondness is a very very engaging dynamic.

For the sake of this playthrough, let’s go with something a little more unusual and pick a Qunari rogue.

Once we’ve finalised our de Riva, we press the start button and Varric continues his narration. And we get to learn a little bit more about the actual state of the Crows by the time we begin the game: First Talon Caterina Dellamorte called upon a special gathering of Crows in the city of Treviso, the organisation’s ancestral home, which is now being occupied by the Antaam, but not the official branch. This is one of those units that broke off from the Arishok, who is still waging war against Tevinter. This particular unit is led by a warlord called The Butcher. To ensure the liberation of Treviso, Caterina called upon as many members of the Antivan Crows as possible. House Dellamorte, House de Riva, House Cantori, and House Valisti, are now leading an underground fighting force against the Antaam, willing to use their skills to free Antiva.

So you see, we’re still including the freedom fighter angle because it certainly does make sense for the Crows to go against the Antaam. But we provided just a little bit of an additional explanation. Caterina wants the more idealistic and spirited members of the Crows to join the effort because this is something personal. And she needs those who care about a little more than coin and death to accomplish this. The remaining Crows are still out there, doing contracts, being cold and callous. But now, we give an in-universe reason for things to be the way they are presented to us.

Well then, now that we have created our de Riva, let us jump into the game!

The Treviso Chantry

Instead of using the Cantori Diamond, our Crow base is going to be something a little different. Let’s actually implement the lore and explore some history. The original Antivan Crows started out as monks in the area surrounding Treviso. In the years since, Treviso has been nearly destroyed on two occasions and a lot of rebuilding had to be done. So, instead of setting the main crow base in the HQ of one of their houses, we’re gonna set it in Treviso’s Chantry.

The idea is that Treviso’s Chantry is the ancestral base from which the Crows fully operated. But Treviso has been rebuilt so many times that people just forgot that. Well, not really forgotten, the place just looks utterly unrecognisable to its earliest incarnation.

Well, Treviso’s Chantry is grand and beautiful now, think of places like Notre Dame. And just like Notre Dame, it has its secrets. In the years since the last rebuilding, the Crows took the Chantry and secretly kept expanding on it, using House Valisti as the main financial donor. The upper areas were entirely turned into a maze-like collection of rooms that can house a multitude of Crows at once. And the walls were given tons of secret passages and hidden doors. This is the main Crow base, and only fully initiated Crows know how to access it. It is also, most importantly, the one base where Crows are bound by their code not to harm each other. We know how much literal backstabbing these guys get up to, so we absolutely need to establish some kind of neutral ground. Still, ever since the incident in Tevinter Nights, where most Talons met a most gruesome end, there is tension in the air.

We arrive to the Treviso Chantry by rooftop, accompanied by our Talon, Viago de Riva, as well as all the de Riva Crows that were able to join this effort. Like shadows, we traverse the rooftops and ascend the Chantry’s walls like a group of Ezio Auditores. We find some secret passage in the walls and enter the Crows’ main base.

Right off the bat, Viago pulls us aside and tells us to be on our absolute best behaviour. Four of the Crows’ leading houses are gathered here, and we will not tarnish de Riva’s reputation by being ourselves. Classic Viago.

The Nest

The wide attic areas of the Chantry are referred to as “The Nest”, for this is still where the first Crows “hatched”. And now, it’s used as a massive gathering place, including its own opera house-style auditorium. This Chantry is just the definition of extra but that’s what the Crows are about.

As we walk towards our gathering, we can have a few encounters:

We can encounter Viago and Teia Cantori exchanging in something that is obviously flirting to the knowing eye and ear but can very well be masqueraded as diplomatic conversation. Viago also produces his snake…EMIL, EMIL the snake, not…no! His pet snake, which he got in Tevinter Nights. If you join the conversation, Teia acts absolutely delighted to see you and greets you like the cool and loving mom she is, whereas Viago stares daggers into your soul for daring to interrupt this moment.

We meet Antonio Valisti, the current head of House Valisti. He is both a Merchant Prince and Talon, a very powerful combination. He eyes us up and down and seems even more critical of our very air than Viago, and we thought that wasn’t at all possible.

We find some notes and letters regarding Crows being sent out to hunt down Zevran, who is still on the run. He has stopped waging his one-man-army war against the Crows and is currently lying low.

We can overhear a conversation between Jacobus, his cousin Dareth, and Heir, talking about Jacobus’ training and what it truly means to be an Antivan Crow.

NOTE: In this World State, Zevran is still alive.

We meet Illario Dellamorte and can engage him in polite but tense conversation. He seems to still not having gotten over the death of his cousin, Lucanis, the Demon of Vyrantium. He can only hope to keep his memory alive by being the deadliest assassin he could possibly be. We can be friendly to him here, and he seems to appreciate the sentiment.

The Great Contract

We settle down in the Nest’s auditorium and Caterina Dellamorte, First Talon, steps on stage, and we immediately feel the sheer deadly power and authority oozing from her, despite, or maybe because of, her age. She delivers a short and deadly speech on how this broken part of the Antaam invaded Treviso, led by a man called Daathrata, or “The Butcher”, as the locals refer to him.

Caterina announces that all Crows gathered here have a contract now. All four houses have been bought to assassinate the Butcher and as many of his Antaam soldiers as possible. And who is the client with so much coin for this contract? Well, we’ll meet them later.

Caterina orders the Crows to rest up and prepare, they will be carrying out their plan soon enough. A few select Crows will be chosen to accompany their Talons and meet the client in another location.

Later that evening, Viago approaches us, declaring that he’s chosen us to accompany him to the meeting with the client. He’s incredibly grumpy and stiff about it and tells us to better not make him regret it. At the same time, he concedes that out of all the Crows of House de Riva, we have shown some of the most promise.

Meeting the Client

Heading to meet the client is, as with all Crow-related stuff, shadowy business. So we’re not going to take the streets but jump across the rooftops once again. While we do that, we can see a few things happening below:

We see members of the Antaam dragging a mage out of a house to expose them to the qamek treatment. The Butcher hates mages. Nothing we can do for this one, we must remain in the shadows for now. Even if we want to help them, Viago holds us back. There are too many eyes.

We see the citizens of Treviso being lined up for overall inspection by the Antaam, to see how obedient they are under the new regime.

Eventually, we arrive at our meeting spot: Café Pietra. There, we meet Rayan Ivenci, the Governor of Treviso. Now, for Ivenci, I have something slightly different and more elaborate planned than what we see of them in the game.

Turns out, Ivenci is the one who made the contract and paid the Crows to assassinate the Butcher. Antivan nobles do have a well-established history of hiring the Crows to take out political targets, so this is no exception. Since Ivenci is such a wealthy person, they had enough coin to hire all four houses currently active in Treviso.

If we’re feeling bold, we can even mention how superficial this contract is given that we’re planning to kill the Butcher anyway. Viago gives us another death glare and reminds us of the Crows’ ways of operating. A contract belongs in our very DNA.

Ivenci explains their plan to us: They’re planning on negotiating peace talks with Daathrata onboard his Dreadnought, which is docking just outside the Drowned District. And while they’re having these talks, the Crows can swoop in and perform their assassination. They mention that Daathrata’s main reason for breaking away from the Arishok’s Antaam is that, despite his cruelty, the Butcher doesn’t want to fight in a senseless war against Tevinter. Peace talks are, therefore, not outside the realm of possibility with him.

Our plan put in motion, Ivenci departs and the Crows prepare to gather all forces for a massive descent upon the Qunari.

An Old Friend

When Antonio, Caterina, and the Crows they brought along, leave, Viago and Teia remain. When we ask Viago why we’re not leaving, he says that we still have another meeting to attend. Another contract for after this one is over, so to say.

At this moment, Varric Tethras joins us at the table, with a mug of mulled wine, as he needs that alcohol and coffee is just not his thing. Viago and Teia obviously know him from The Missing so that connection is established. Varric greets us and we probably know him very well, as pretty much everyone knows Varric thanks to his books. And being the Viscount of Kirkwall and serving the Inquisition years ago obviously added to his reputation.

Viago and Teia start talking to him about the contract they have been discussing for a while now. We, as players, obviously can already guess what it is, but the language is kept very vague right now. At this point, de Riva may begin to wonder why exactly we were allowed to stay with two Talons discussing a contract with a new client.

Turns out, Viago has proposed we join Varric and carry out the contract. Even though he has his absolute grievances with us and thinks we’re an annoying baby, he can’t deny our skills.

Varric looks us over and we can have our first little conversation with him, in which we express our interest and curiosity in this strange new contract. This first talk is going to determine partially how Varric perceives us. We can be strictly business-like, as a classic Crow like Viago would behave, or perhaps be a little more idealistic towards the Antaam situation, like Teia. In any case, the meeting ends with Varric stating he’ll wait for us after the Butcher contract is done. Viago barks at us to leave and so we do.

Preparations

Back at the Nest, we have a final strategic meeting with the four houses and determine exactly what everyone will be doing. Here’s the plan: House Valisti, since they have the most and longest experience with Daathrata by having fought him the longest, will go straight for the Butcher’s Dreadnought. House Dellamorte will handle the Antaam in the streets of Treviso. Houses Cantori and de Riva will take care of the Drowned District. Now, we have a first choice presented before us, as there are two different sections of the Drowned District we can focus on:

The Prison Camps: We focus on Antaam’s prison camps and liberate those the Qunari have captured. It’s not entirely out of the goodness of our hearts; the Crows need a win in the public’s perception of them to show that they are both a group to be feared and relied upon.

The Military Camps: We focus on the Antaam’s direct military camps and fracture their overall defences and might. This will weaken them in the long-run.

Whatever we choose is what Houses de Riva and Cantori will prioritise first. If there is still time, we shall focus on the second. While Teia is very much for liberating the prisoners, Viago wants to weaken the Antaam’s overall strength. And this is where our de Riva comes in.

NOTE: As you may have noticed, I am referring to Rook as “de Riva” throughout this write-up, for the same reasons I stated in the other background write-ups.

Well, we have already established our de Riva to be a little more on the idealistic side, so we choose the Prison Camps as our battleground. Let me make one thing perfectly clear, though: we do not actually decide this in-universe. We are a regular Crow. Teia and Viago are Talons. Sure, they could ask us for our opinion, but we don’t get the end say. We just chime in with our own opinion and sway them to this decision. In this case, we support Teia’s idea and she convinces Viago to go along with it. Viago gives us a “this is so your fault” look, but lets it go.

The Crows Descend

What follows is a cinematic of Caterina sending us all to take up positions for what is to be a great shadow battle. The idea is to not engage in open warfare but more so in a Crow way, silent and deadly.

We get a scene at the Butcher’s Dreadnought. Governor Ivenci and some of their guards await to be let on. And this Dreadnought is massive, an absolute unit of a ship, easily overshadowing everything else in the docks. The gangplank is lowered and Daathrata, the Butcher, steps out. He’s an imposing, intimidating Qunari warrior who looks like he can snap anyone in two, including other Qunari. But when he opens his mouth, he is surprisingly well-mannered and soft-spoken, which kinda makes him look even more intimidating. He guides Ivenci and their guards on board. We see Antonio and the Valisti Crows hover on the rooftops surrounding the docks, ready to strike.

At the same time, in the streets of Treviso, we see Caterina and Illario getting the Dellamorte Crows ready to ambush groups of Antaam soldiers and clear the populated areas. Caterina pulls Ilario aside and tells him this is his moment to prove himself and lets him lead the house into battle. This visibly takes aback Ilario.

Lastly, Houses de Riva and Cantori gather on the rooftops surrounding the Prison Camps in the Drowned District. There are many guards around, and even more prisoners.

Now, we get to make another choice: How exactly do we approach this? Teia suggests killing the guards quickly and quietly and then let the prisoners out. Viago, on the other hand, wants to poison the guards and let them die from their food and drink. There are some nice campfires with pots of stew around. So, do we:

Attack the guards directly and kill them as swiftly, quietly, and efficiently as possible?

Or do we poison their supplies and let them choke on their own dinner?

Well, we are still a de Riva and at this point we’ve pissed off Viago enough times. Let’s try and placate him again. We’re in the poison camp. Viago comments that finally, a shred of reason still exists in our head. Since we’re a Qunari ourselves, we now get a bit of a unique flavour to this mission: We know that this particular unit broke off from the Arishok’s Antaam, however, unlike in DAV, they did not break off from the Qun, still holding their own belief to it. As such, they still have Qunari cooks and craftsmen among them. As such, we can play a bit of dress-up: we’ll play the role of a Qunari cook and poison the food ourselves. This is where playing a Qunari really comes at an advantage for us because they won’t suspect us nearly as much as anyone else.

Viago gives us some Adder’s Kiss poison, provided by Emil, and asks us to bring back some qamek for him to study if we find any. He asks this in a bit of a nerdy way, like this is the one poison that still eludes his collection. The other Crows will hold back for the time being while we…go in alone. Mierda.

The Prison Camps

Cut to a little later. Instead of the tight, badass, and sexy Antivan Crow leather attire, we now find ourselves in a plain dress and shirt (I’m going for a feminine Qunari de Riva here). We sneak into a tent filled with cooking supplies, and either knock out, kill, or convince the actual cook to go away. Either way, we are now the cook.

We look around in the tent and find ourselves absolutely aghast at the sheer lack of flavour and variety that is Qunari food. Antivans are supposed to be a mix of Spain and Italy, but the food aspect is definitely Italian-coded. So we look around horrified and mumble something along the lines of “Mierda, no wonder they are the way they are.”

We then set about brewing some fresh stew, which we are utterly disgusted by. As an Antivan, we are used to excellent food full of rich flavour and spices. We really have to reign ourselves in to not make the stew too tasty. This is absolute torture for our poor food-loving heart. This food deserves the poison.

Now that our food has become entirely disgraceful to our standards, it’s time to deliver it to the Antaam.

There are three prison camps aligned next to each other in total, meticulously placed upon the still-standing and dry parts of the Drowned District. We have to sneak the poison into three large pots, one for each camp. As we traverse the camp, we get the following encounters:

We see some prisoners, citizens of Treviso who somehow scorned the Qunari, being tested for potential new rules in the Qun. If we pass them, the Qunari will pull us aside and order us to show some people how to cook. We can play along and actually show them some excellent cooking skills.

But we also see those who actively volunteered into the Qun. They are currently being given weapons or infrastructural jobs. They are clearly under pressure but treated exponentially better than the prisoners. Why are we showing this? Well, if you recall DA2, some people actually did join the Arishok of their own free will. We must show that not everyone actually despises the Qun, or would rather join it than be killed. In any case, it’s important to see.

Whenever we pass one of the main cages with Treviso’s citizens inside, we can try to damage the locks to allow them to escape. This, however, adds the potential consequence of some prisoners trying to make a run for it and being swiftly executed. We choose not to damage them for now.

We see a cage full of mages who were exposed to qamek. They are utterly mindless, almost tranquil, but even…worse than that. In the huge tent next to them, we find a Qunari keeping watch over the poison. We quickly kill him and hide the body, and take a few vials with us for Viago.

When we reach the main pots, something happens each time that will allow us to make some more choices:

Pot 1: Another cook is already filling it. We can either tell them to fuck off or convince them that our food is better prepared since the other tents were befallen by rodents from the canal. Yes, we saw that. We do not lie. The Qun has no lies.

Pot 2: Pot 2 is broken because someone knocked it over and is now being punished for it. We can quickly scurry around and find a new pot to fulfil our duty here.

Pot 3: Pot 3 has a more merciful Qunari captain who let some prisoners have their fill first. You see some people eagerly looking up to you, waiting for food. Dammiiiiittttt. I don’t want to kill the citizens! So do we maintain our cover or find a way around this? Since we’re playing an idealist Crow, we choose to bullshit our way out of this. We make it look like as though one of the Antaam soldiers pushed us and we dramatically let our remaining food spill on the floor. Apologies, huge apologies, we shall get a new fill. The guard is being punished.

Once all is done, we get a very Ghost of Tsushima-style scene where de Riva stands amidst the Antaam and watches the soldiers slowly succumbing to Viago’s poison, except for the third camp. And some others obviously see the poison take effect before eating anything. We quickly dash to where we left our gear. A few minutes later, the Crows descend upon the camps. We re-emerge, once again dressed in our Crow outfit. Viago and Teia join us, and Viago begrudgingly admits that yeah, we’ve actually done a satisfactory job, whereas Teia nudges him teasingly, saying that he can be proud every once in a while.

We then battle against the Antaam, with Viago, and Teia fighting by our side. We mow down those who survived the poison. And because we didn’t break the prisoners’ locks, none of them prematurely escape into an early grave.

Ambush

As soon as we start letting out the prisoners, however, something changes. Something drastic. We see a strange light out on the water and look to the Butcher’s Dreadnought, only to see it go…

BOOM

The Dreadnought fully explodes into smithereens and the debris even reaches us here. All of House Valisti was on board that ship, as well as Daathrata and Ivenci. Before we can react, however, we are suddenly ambushed by a whole new wave of Antaam soldiers. Somehow, the military camp made it here in seconds. And they begin cutting down the escaping prisoners. Mierda, maybe letting them run earlier would have been a better idea. Some would have died, yes, but not as many as right now.

We engage in another, much fiercer battle against the Antaam, but the Crows are driven back. We are not used to open warfare. Now the Qunari have the advantage. We retreat onto the walls.

From there, we see how the streets of Treviso are crawling with Antaam as well and two great Dreadnoughts sail down the river. Where did those come from? Did the Butcher suddenly gain forces? How? Why? How did he know? How…how did he know that we would be planning this? This is too calculated to be a coincidence. Viago and Teia come to the same conclusion: someone betrayed us, betrayed Treviso, betrayed us all to the Butcher. Speaking of…if the Butcher knew this, then the exploding Dreadnought was no accident either. That means he has to still be alive. Maybe we can even save Antonio.

But we also see the Dellamorte Crows struggling in the streets. Teia and Viago begin to argue on what to do next, and we can make a choice here, another big one:

Do we follow Teia and aid the Dellamortes in the streets of Treviso?

Or do we stay with Viago and pursue the Butcher and try to save Antonio and Ivenci?

Well, Viago taught us that a contract needs to be finished, no matter what. We speak out in favour of pursuing Daathrata. Viago agrees with us and Teia rallies House Cantori to help the Dellamortes in the streets. We pursue.

The Butcher

As we race along the docks and fight our way through Antaam soldiers, we are joined by Varric who asks if now’s a good time to make it an outside operation. Viago doesn’t even hesitate to let him join, and so we fight. There are so many Qunari, it’s actually insane. The Crows are way out of their depth here.

While the rest of House de Riva is fighting, we, Viago, and Varric reach the remains of the Butcher’s Dreadnought. We see the corpses of all the House Valisti Crows floating in the water or burning on the wreck. We also find Antonio, who is barely alive and severely wounded. We pull him out of the wreckage and begin patching him up.

We then explore the still-stable parts of the Dreadnought for any signs of the Butcher. Just as we’re about to give up, we see a smaller Qunari ship sailing along the docks. We see the Butcher and Ivenci on it. Well, gotta save the Governor.

Without waiting for Viago and Varric, we hurry over the burning debris, acrobatically swing ourselves back onto the docks, shoot along the piers, jump over gaps and missing parts, see another ship, a fishing vessel, sticking out far enough that we could maybe risk it, quickly make our way there, jump on the boat, climb the mast, the Qunari vessel is almost past us, unsheathe our daggers, SWING OURSELVES FROM THE MAST, DESCEND UPON THE BUTCHER, EZIO AUDITORE!!!

Whoom

We are suddenly stopped, mid-air, as Ivenci stops us with magic, blood magic even; freezing our blood so that our fall is halted. The Butcher calmly turns around and gazes us straight in the eyes. Then, he slowly unsheathes a dagger coated in qamek, and slowly, almost sadistically so, stabs us in the chest.

Ivenci lets their spell go and we drop on deck, our vision blurring, our thoughts dissolving as the qamek spreads through our body. Ivenci is the traitor. But…he made the contract…why would he…

Ivenci looks at us with pure hatred, something unexpected. He looks even more into this situation than Daathrata. Slowly, we fight back and rise to our feet. The Butcher sighs and engages us in battle.

What follows is a very blurry, very short boss battle that basically ends with the Butcher stabbing us again and sending us into the waters of Rialto Bay.

Awakening

We wake up back at the Nest with Viago nursing us back to health. Fortunately, the qamek on that dagger was but a small dosis, so we are certain to recover soon. It’s always good to start acquiring immunity. Viago knows what he’s talking about. As we look at him, we see, for the first time that he’s genuinely worried about us. And no condescension hides that.

He explains that Varric found us floating in the water and dragged us out. If it weren’t for him, we’d be dead. He awaits us at the café when we’re ready. Ready for what? Well, for the other contract. Are you fucking kidding, Viago? Viago dismisses our incredulity by reminding us that contracts are what we’re all about. He asks us what happened with the Butcher. We come back to our senses and tell him that we need to tell something to the other Talons. Viago understands and allows us to get ready.

Slightly slow and wounded, bandaged, we make our way to the auditorium. Teia meets us on the way, glad to see us alive. We see that Viago and Teia are the only unscathed Talons. Caterina is heavily bandaged, as is Antonio. Illario is taking over House Dellamorte while Caterina recovers. Antonio is the only Valisti left. But at least, thanks to us, there is still a Valisti left.

We tell them that Ivenci betrayed us. That they’re a blood mage. That they and Daathrata work together. The Crows are furious, especially Antonio, who wants vengeance for his house. But they also commend de Riva for, albeit while not having finished the contract, at least getting this valuable intelligence.

After the meeting, Viago and Teia take us aside and prompt us to return to the café now. Ivenci and Daathrata think we’re dead and that the other Crows did not receive information on the betrayal. Let us keep it this way for now. Us disappearing out of Treviso on another contract with Varric is a perfect opportunity. We ask what this contract is about but they still won’t say, stating that it’s best for Varric to explain it himself.

Meeting Varric

We meet Varric back at the Café Pietra. He’s glad to see we’re alright and if we’re ready to depart. On our way here we saw that Treviso is currently in a bit of a turmoil. It’ll take a while before all of this is settled. And now, we have two main targets to kill here: Daathrata and Ivenci.

Yeah, the fact that Ivenci’s a traitor is a huge twist in DAV, but I think there is an interesting story to be told if we know they’re the traitor from the get-go. Now, we can wonder why they did it.

We ask Varric what this other contract is about, and Varric says he’ll tell us when we’re way out of Treviso. We can get a little impatient and ask what kind of target this could possibly be that it requires such secrecy. Are we hunting a god or something? Viago and Teia exchange some glances, but we don’t notice.

Instead, Varric encourages us to drop the de Riva name for now, as the Crows…do have a reputation. Best if we just come across as a normal Tal-Vashoth. We need a new name.

We lean back and think. Then, we simply say “Rook.” Varric raises an eyebrow. We shrug. “Close enough to a Crow while still sounding different enough.” Viago visibly and audibly groans in the background. “That’s not what secret mean-“ Teia can’t help but laugh. Varric smirks. “And the strongest piece on the chessboard. I like it.”

Leaving Treviso

Before we leave Treviso, we can have some final talk with Viago and Teia. We do get a little bit more insight into how both of them kinda raised us while still keeping us as a part of House de Riva. They are basically our parental figures, which is super rare among the Crows unless you are blood-related. Even though Viago demeans us all the time, it’s clear he has grown to somehow care for us. While Teia gives us a lot of advice for how to handle ourselves on the road away from all the Crows, Viago simply says something along the lines of “Get this contract done.” At this point, we exasperatedly ask “Mierda, WHO is the target???” and Varric leads us out of the café.

What follows is a cinematic of Rook and Varric sneaking through the streets of Treviso, dodging Antaam patrols. Once we’re out, we take a look back at the huge old Chantry. Still confused on what this is all about, we turn away and follow Varric into the unknown.

And there we have it! A potential origin story for the Antivan Crows! It’s getting really fun doing these. I’m very much enjoying it, and I hope you are too. Next time, we shall head to the Necropolis and explore a potential origin story for the Mourn Watchers. Stay tuned!

Rewriting Veilguard Part 6 - The Mourn Watchers

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