#twst fantasy au

[cougheemedicine]

Twisted Fairytales; Twisted Wonderland Fantasy!au - Prologue

Will include all main cast x GN!Reader

Summary: A nameless adventurer with an incredible amount of friends in high places. Each more infamous and conniving than the last. The things those friends are willing to do for you is only a glimpse of how a so-called "Nobody" ensnared the most powerful in the continent.

A/n: A little au I'm cooking up. Not entirely sure where this will go so I'm not going to put any warnings/specific content until I get the individual chapters out. If this goes anywhere I'll probably add Neige, Che’nya, Rollo, etc. I already have come ideas cooking up for them. Have fun, dear adventurer~ 〜(￣▽￣〜)

˜”*°•.•°*”˜

        Night Raven College. An incredibly prestigious academy, whose history goes so far back in time that only the oldest Fae of the Briar Valley can even begin to fathom the legacy that such a renowned institute holds, and whose reputation reaches even the darkest corners of the kingdom. Aristocratic families from all over the continent vie to send their children to study the art of magic in its' hallowed halls.

        You had attended such a college, once upon a time, though you are far from noble. You met the esteemed headmaster by chance one day, but you didn't know at the time. You had sold him a newspaper, and he grinned at you from under the beak of his mask and patted you on the head. He flipped a single gold coin into your shaking hands, it was the most money you had ever seen at the time. When you had turned around to thank him, more than ready to drop onto your knees and praise the dirt he walked on, he was gone. Leaving only a lone, ink-black feather in his wake.

        You can only assume he took pity on you. Some unclaimed, nameless child, too old to be taken in by an orphanage but too young to be sent off to the mines. In a village so small and far North it didn’t even have a name. The old crones of your small village would wax poetic about his benevolence and graciousness (only after they prattled on about his villainously handsome face). You couldn't even read, let alone weave illusions from incantations or summon a beast from a bubbling brew.

        But he appeared before you nonetheless, with a flurry of his feathered cape. He offered you his hand, that which dripped in gold, and swept you off to Night Raven College. Over the years he taught you everything you know now. He taught you how to paint and juggle, how to fluently read and speak every language used on the continent, even some more eccentric practices like how to identify cursed objects, how to weave certain sprigs of herbs together to create the most powerful warding charm, even which nerve to pinch to have any assailant drop unconscious instantly.

        While under the roof of Night Raven College, you met creatures from every walk of life. One could say you were popular, even. Everyone wanted to get to know the charge of the infamous headmaster Crowley. You grew close to many, some you would even call your friends. Some others, maybe more. But they led very different lives than you. Friendships fade, it's simply a way of life. Even if waving goodbye to them as they graduated and left you behind stung in a way you don't really wish to name.

        You stayed at the college longer than most. Not taking classes, simply acting as an errand runner for the headmaster as a way to repay him for guiding you to a much better path in life. But even he, past his grandeur and games, could see that you wished to spread your wings farther than the astronomy tower and botanical garden.

        With a final pat on your head, he sent you away to pave your own path. His name and the beautifully detailed dagger on your hip, an ivory crow head for the hilt, as your only weapons. On your own you ventured for more years, gaining wisdom from those you met on the way. You had all but forgotten your old friends from your school days. All until one fateful day.

        Sat on the edge of the cliff, you gazed down at the view below you. The sun was setting, painting the sky in vibrant hues. You were in your own world, leaning back on your arms and kicking your feet over the edge of the cliff. Until a shrill meow drew your attention elsewhere. A scruffy grey cat emerged from the undergrowth. Eyes too blue to be a normal feline blinking up at you. A black and white bow tied neatly around his neck. In his mouth was a letter, the envelope only the most ornate of finery. The crest on the wax stamp was that of a noble house.

        The cat curled up in your lap as you used your dagger to cut the envelop open. The parchment inside just as luxurious as what housed it. You scanned the words on the page, language so flowery and formal it may as well have been another language of it's own, but you got the message.

˜”*°•.•°*”˜

Where will you go first, dear adventurer?

Heartslabyul Manor, the home of the ruthlessly strict Grand Duke Riddle Rosehearts and his cronies. They say he bows to nobody but the queen himself.

Savanaclaw tavern, the home base of a ragtag group of mercenaries. Rumor has it their roguish leader, Leona, isn't of this land, and that his reputation is far from good where he’s from.

Octavinelle Gambling Den, a house of luxury and debauchery. The head, Master Azul, is said to be incredibly kind and benevolent. For the small price of your darkest secrets.

Scarabia Merchant's Guild, a travelling guild with gold flooding from every crack in their coffers. The ever-so-kind Master Kalim is said to only be the face of the guild. His servant is who really runs things.

Pomefiore palace, the main residence of the illustrious Queen of the region, Vil Schoenheit. His past is stained red, as is the story of how he managed to sit on the throne. But the people adore him, so what is there to see if not perfection?

Ignihyde tower, the hiding spot of the forsaken Lord Idia Shroud. Head chair of the Magic Council. His brilliance is said to be unparalleled, but people talk... and sources say he hid himself from society after committing a sin to magic itself.

Diasomnia castle, skeptics say that centuries ago, the old castle at the northern border was occupied by Fae royalty. Now it seems there's life in those haunted halls once more, for an air of regality hangs heavy in the fog surrounding the grand castle.

        Many a path to choose, and you have all the time in the world. But, even still, do you think it wise to keep them waiting?

        I wish you luck,

Choose wisely, my dear adventurer~

˜”*°•.•°*”˜

work belongs to @cougheemedicine, all forms of plagiarism, modifying, translating, reposting are not allowed.

[kaifarikus]

[sunshine-sansan]

How I started / How did I finish

Sketch for a very cool job - Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song

author - @dilatorywriting

[yuri-is-online]

Traditional fantasy isekai au where:

Yuu is isekaid to Twisted Wonderland as a child, in a setting that's hundreds of years before the main game, and is adopted by a family there. Maybe Grim is a normal cat that came with them and gained the ability to talk and do magic out of a desire to protect his best friend. They grow up and train as a soldier of some sort out of gratitude to their adoptive parents to protect them, eventually leaving their place with Grim in search of adventure depending on where they landed:

City of Flowers! Yuu who was raised by the people who lived in the Court of Miracles and wants to get a job with the city guard to help fight for the rights of their adoptive home. They're helped by a friend they made as a child, the son of well respected parents who came to heavily rely on Yuu after the loss of his younger brother. Now a well respected legal student with his eye on a judge's seat, Rollo is hiding a deadly secret: he is a powerful mage and you are one of the only people who knows. He's also desperately in love with you and at real risk of going insane if something bad happens to the one good thing he has left in his life.

Land of Dawning! Yuu who hunts monsters along the coast line and finds a badly beaten merfolk on the beach and patches him up without a single thought. The man scolds them when he wakes, wondering why Yuu is so unafraid of what he could do to them now that he's awake only to be met with a shrug and a warning that poachers much less kind than Yuu are in the area who see non typical mer such as himself as monsters. Yuu happens to have a bounty for them. Oya? Jade says he's quite aware of that and what's more, they have his brother and a dear friend. Won't you continue to assist this poor, unfortunate soul in rescuing the only family he has left in this world? He doesn't have anything to pay you with. Something about his attitude makes you roll your eyes but so long as you don't have to split the bounty four ways you say you'll help. Pleasure doing business with you he says, and you both go to sleep that night confident you won't get attached to the other at all by the time the job's done.

Clock Town! Yuu who used to be picked on for not having any magic by the delinquent gangs only to find themselves in a party with one of the worst of the worst torn between being hurt Deuce doesn't remember making fun of them or impressed with how determined he is to turn his life around vs Deuce who absolutely remembers but has no idea how to appropriately apologize so he just makes it his mission to bring you home from every mission unscathed, even if it's at the cost of his own health. He swears he'll say it eventually, he just needs to find a way to not make an ass of himself by saying something stupid like he loves you.

Farm Kid! Yuu who gets recruited by Ace for his party because he literally can't get anyone other than you and Deuce and ends up being the glue that holds it together. Ace is dumbfounded as he watches you successfully recruit Jack, Epel, Ortho, and even Sebek without much trouble and hates himself for ever thinking about abandoning you as soon as he got better party members. Yuu who knows that's what he wanted to do from the start and resigns themselves to him leaving when Riddle makes his offer only for Ace to stay with Ramshackle Party because he's "too busy looking after them" to be a card soldier, hiding the burns on his hands from when he punched the Arch Mage for insulting you. He can surpass Riddle's party on his own any day.

[blood-red-hummingbee]

HEAR ME OUT

FANTASY/DND STYLE AU OF OUR SONAS (AND THEIR RESPECTIVE BOYS LIKE, THIS, LOOK-

“I told you to be careful.” Jack grouched from his spot on the riverbank, scowling down at her. Rose, who was currently on her ass and sopping wet in said river (a thankfully shallow one) scowled back. “I was careful! My aim is impeccable, and I built a failsafe into it!” “Right, and that’s why not just the humans’ carriage wound up on fire but you and the chest you stole from them as well.” “How was I supposed to know one of those bastards was gonna try to grab me?!” “Uh, because the weak fire that machine of yours makes isn’t nearly enough to incinerate them on the spot and humans are notoriously stubborn?”

“I didn’t want to incinerate them! I just threatened to!” She climbed out of the water, grumbling as she wrung out her hair and clothes. They were lucky it ran right next to the road or the fire could’ve spread from the carriage and her to the forest around them. If that had happened, Jack would’ve really been pissed at her. As is, he’s snarky and keeps nailing her with his ‘you’re an idiot’ look. The fae seemed to take joy in messing with her. Then again, she almost always started it. … What? She’s plenty self aware. You get raised by fae, you’re gonna have a mischievous streak, no way around it.

Stripping off her jacket, she sighed and turned to Jack. “We should get back, I’m gonna freeze my ass off.” He shrugged. “Not my problem.” Despite his answer, he transformed, shifting from his mostly-humanoid-with-the-exception-of-his-ears-and-tail form, to his giant dire wolf one. He crouched slightly and she climbed on his back, sighing at the warmth and feel of his soft fur.

She’d grown up with him, his family taking pity on the poor human that got traded to the insane fae known as Crowley. Jack had begrudgingly become her friend, and despite his grumbling, most of their time is spent together.

His younger siblings eat up the, admittedly exaggerated, tale of what they did that day. Rose was a magicless human among faekin, but she found ways to get around it, by building magic-infused devices with the help of her friends. Their excursion earlier in the day was testing a new flame-spitting weapon of hers. It had been effective in intimidating the humans in the carriage, and she’d robbed them blind, before one of the flaming humans grabbed her ankle and her clothes caught fire as well. Jack had swiftly dumped her in the nearby river and knocked the humans out, salvaging the gold, and all around saving her ass.

“You’d think after doing this for so long, you’d be better at it.”

“I am plenty good at it! How many thoroughly ravaged caravans do I have under my belt now?”

“Four.”

“Exactly! That’s four more than most.”

“Four unassisted. You’ve attempted to raid eight now.”

“.... trial and error is an important part of the scientific process. My success rate will go up.”

“Sure it will.”

“Oi! Have a bit more faith in me!”

“If I did, then you’d be dead.”

“Rude! You little-” She lunged for him, his little siblings ducking out of the way as they both fell to the ground. Jack was about a foot taller than her and not quite twice as wide in the shoulders, there was no way she was going to beat him when it came to anything physical, though she can proudly say she can match him in terms of speed.

He dug his fingers into her side, making her shriek. “Cheater!” She swatted his hands away, but that just opened her up to being slung over his shoulder as he stood up. She clicked her tongue, wriggling. “I demand a rematch!”

He dumped her on the couch, smothering the smile that sneaks onto his face whenever she caught him off guard with her antics. “Too bad, I’m hungry.”

“You’re always hungry!” She called after him as he walked into the kitchen, herding his little siblings after him. She was close to getting him to be so unabashedly himself around her, she could feel it in her bones, human as they may be. Until then, she’d just keep at what she’d been doing and trust him to have her back. ~ DO I KNOW IF FAE HAVE KITCHENS? NO. WILL THIS IDEA PERSIST? I HAVE NO IDEA, BUT ANYWAY THE GIST IS THAT ROSE WAS A TRADED FIRSTBORN TO CROWLEY FOR A BUNCH OF RICHES, SO SHE'S ROBBING OTHER PEOPLE TO GET BACK THE AMOUNT CROWLEY GAVE TO HER DAD, WHO TRADED HER, SO SHE CAN BUY HER FREEDOM BACK. DOES SHE KNOW WHAT AMOUNT SHE'S TRYING TO EARN? NO, OF COURSE NOT PUHSHAW

tags: @screamintoad, @babyghoul138 @skriblee-ksk JACKROSE :D

[otomes-world]

"Under fantasy disguise" part Pomefiore (2)

By pure chance and coincidence, I decided to finish the Pomfiore' arc. I wanted to show interactions with all the characters, since the first part was entirely dedicated to Neige and the dwarves. Perhaps it turned out not as informative as I wanted, but the previous parts also did not have much attention to the "yandere" part. At some point, I moved away from the original idea and everything began to develop as a kind of survival in a fantasy setting. About the possibility and probability of parts of Ignihyde and Diasomnia… I will tactfully remain silent.

Fantasy AU “Under fantasy disguise”: world lore (prologue) heartslabyul savanaclaw octavinelle scarabia pomefiore p1 trigger warning: some suicidal thoughts, reader in bad state (but there is nothing grafic), barrely edited text, no pronounce but mention of famous "damsel in distress"

You obviously didn't trust Rook, Hunt or whatever he called himself and keep quiet. However, it seemed that all your eloquent glances burning into the top of his head didn't bother him at all. He continued to talk about everything at once, trying to simultaneously sing the praises of these lands and achieve the honor of learning about you. He had no honor, you decided, and therefore answered with short polite words, most often just "Yes" or "No". If this angered him, the man did not show displeasure. On the contrary, it seemed that he was amused by your expected reaction. Although everything may have been much simpler, while he was chatting up all the birds in the area, you slowly but surely moved towards the castle.

As soon as the dense greenery of the forest gave way to more sparse vegetation, the feeling of anxiety reminded of itself with renewed vigor. Whoever the king of these lands was, who "dreamed" of meeting you so much, it promised a new portion of problems. The problems that this world so amorously loved to put on your plate. Maybe that's enough, stop already? The wonders of balancing act didn't impress anyone, but the new executioner in a purple robe and a hat with a feather stubbornly led you to the final goal.

You need to calm down. Breath in. Breath out. You had to decide what you could say and what you couldn't. How to lie most convincingly, and where you need to sell the truth as if your life depended on it. The outcome of the upcoming interrogation really depended on whether you could continue your search for a return to your world or the journey would end right here and now.

What information did you have? None. The only thing you even knew about this world was what a couple of noisy guys so carefully told you… what were their names?..

What are their names? You definitely met them, spent the longest time with them. Noisy, annoying, but nevertheless risking everything to help.

Wait, what was your name?

The details of the real world stubbornly slipped from your memory, leaving behind a feeling of emptiness and doubt in your own psyche. What if the modern world had never existed? You slowed down from the sudden realization, and then stopped altogether. No. You had things with you, evidence, you couldn’t invent a promised land for yourself, just so you wouldn’t go crazy. You couldn’t, could you?

"Ma cherie?" The hunter’s voice pulled you out of your unexpected crisis again, squinting slyly as he watched you freeze in place. For the first time in a long time, you were grateful to him. You never knew where your thoughts could lead you, if you would give them the opportunity. "Although my heart bleeds at the sight of your pitying, dignified appearance, we must go. If this path will make the path a little more bearable for you, I am ready to offer my hand."

Shaking your head, you forced yourself to move forward with willpower, waving away the offered help. You didn't need disservice, especially from the one who so carefully led you to certain death. There was no need to worry about returning home if in the end everything turned out to be in vain.

The high gates of the castle and fortress walls made of large stone blocks overgrown with ivy appeared, which meant there was no time to think. Surprisingly, the building itself, although it looked like it came from a book about the Middle Ages, in the courtyard it looked very bright. Even benevolent, but you quickly threw the stupid naive thought out of your head. Who in fact even wrote that a tyrant and murderer must live in a gloomy gothic building whose sharp towers pierce the clouds. Why the king of these lands was precisely a "tyrant" you decided unconsciously. You'd written off your life to his account in advance.

The blond's shoes loudly clicked with heels on the stone-paved road. Sunlight flooded the spacious passage to the castle, the stone arches and the staircase with wide steps. When you mentally prepare for your own death, you begin to pay attention to details that would not normally attract attention. For example, how beautifully the trees in the garden are blooming, if it could be called that.

"What are these trees called?" The question escaped your lips before you thought that maybe there was information that would be more useful.

"Oh, how glad I am that you asked!" The executioner expectedly perked up. During the time on the road, you managed to understand that he was able to hold any conversation. "Although spring is not yet in full swing, the warmth of the sun was enough for the apple trees to bloom and appear in all their glory two weeks before their usual schedule. A truly wonderful sight, such an elegant shade of inflorescences!"

"Indeed," touching one of the flowers with a light movement, you noted how lost in time you were. Who would have thought that spring had come. The last one, you corrected yourself. After examining the delicate petals one last time, you turned to the man who was waiting patiently next to you. There was no point in delaying the inevitable. "I apologize for-.."

You didn't have time to finish. Turning to the hunter, you noticed that despite the absence of other people around, you were clearly not alone. From a window of the castle - whether it was the third or fourth floor - a figure was watching you, his stern and appraising gaze of violet eyes directed straight at you. There was no doubt that this was the same king, with whom you had to meet. Since you had nothing to lose, you slightly bowed your head in a supposedly respectful gesture. The royal person was clearly not impressed, as the man, maintaining his dignity, turned, drawing the scarlet curtains.

Perhaps it was worth curtsying, or whatever this movement was called. However, time cannot be turned back, which meant that all you could do was live with the consequences and hope that insufficiently shown "respect" would not become another reason for execution. After a successful escape from… you frowned, trying to remember the name. After a successful escape, keeping your head on your shoulders, you would like to continue in the same spirit. Why your memory began to fail you at the most inopportune moment was an important question, but not a top priority.

Walking along impossibly long corridors and looking into the same huge windows, not revealing anything new behind them: the same garden and the same apple trees in bloom. Finally, you found yourself in front of heavy doors, which, due to the disgusting feeling of helplessness, seemed even larger than they actually were. A few moments later, they were opened by servants, whose movements were so imperceptible and quiet that at first you decided that it was because of ghosts. However, this world had already managed to surprise you with the presence of magic. If the king was served by both the living and the dead, you could only accept the fact on faith.

In the very center of the hall, on a small elevation with steps, there was a throne, generously decorated with gold and jewelry, its shape creating a semblance of a halo behind the monarch's head. Speaking of one, it was actually the same man who had watched you paw his flowers a few minutes ago. Deciding that this time you could try to correct the mistake, you bowed deeper than before. It was better to go the classic way than to get tangled up in your legs, trying to curry favor.

This time your actions made a better impression, the corners of the man's lips twitched slightly for a millisecond. So quickly that if you were less attentive, you would not have noticed at all. Now you allowed yourself to straighten up and lower your gaze to the floor, residual knowledge from historical films and books stirred in your memory. Something about not talking to members of the royal family or looking them in the eye unless they say otherwise.

Still not taking your eyes off such a beautiful carpet, you, however, noticed that the hunter approached the throne and knelt down. You do not need to follow suit and fall at the feet of a royal person. Or do you?..

"Beautiful Roi du Poison, this humble servant has fulfilled your wish," you could only guess about the expression on Hunt's face, because you did not allow yourself to move yet. "Are you satisfied, Your Majesty?"

"It could have taken less time," the voice sounded softer than you expected to hear. Maybe a little lower, more coldness in the tone and self-esteem. "You, come here." Slightly shuddering from the address, you took a few steps, drawing level with the blond, who was still kneeling on one knee, bowing again. The extra exercise was difficult and gave pain to your rib, but you considered it a bribe to a possible future. "Raise your head."

Well, life was short, but undoubtedly eventful. You met many different personalities, good and bad, eccentric and sarcastic. The thought settled in your head, as if a new psychological defense, maybe all this was just a dream. Then with "death" will come awakening. You did not have enough courage to end life yourself, but from this perspective, giving responsibility into the hands of others did not sound so bad.

Finally, meeting the eyes of the monarch, you did not experience the fear that you were so expecting. The humility that had washed over you a moment ago was stronger than the fear of what was to come. Fight to the last? Throw threats? Jump out of the window? You've done enough crazy things. Perhaps anxiety would envelop you again at the guillotine - let the execution be quick and painless - but for now you felt for the first time in a long time a complete acceptance of this world and its cruel laws.

While the man proudly sitting on the throne looked at you, you allowed yourself to do the same. There was nothing to lose. Perhaps your last brain cell also declared capitulation, because you thought he was handsome. If you pretended that you were in an amusement park or in a full-immersion quest, you could regain for a second the lost sense of belonging. In the modern world, he would be popular. The silk clothes - most likely it was such, you didn't understand fabrics well enough - pleasantly set off his features and the gold of his hair, making his image even more ephemeral. Yes, admiring your killer was a stupid decision even for you.

"Name."

"I don't remember, Your Majesty," an inner voice gave a mental slap, but filled with inevitability, you saw no point in lying. A barely noticeable crease appeared between the king's eyebrows, he was probably assessing how best to punish the commoner who dared to contradict.

"It's true, Roi du Poison," help came from an unexpected place, you didn't think that in principle in these lands there would be someone ready to stand up for you. "On the way to the castle, fleur blessée, showed gaps in memory and knowledge, which every little resident knows about."

Was he testing you? Flashed through your head, as soon as you caught the blond's gaze, in which knowing sparks flashed. However, this also did not escape the monarch's eyes, as the wrinkles between his eyebrows became more and more noticeable.

"The purpose of your presence here," now there was suspicion in his voice, whatever the reason for his errand boy to help you, the king was not delighted with it.

"To cross the borders between lands as quickly as possible, without delaying unnecessarily."

Weighing your simple and laconic answer, the king turned his gaze to the hunter. He probably already reported the incident with the carpet. More precisely, how he personally carefully burned it down. As long as the information from your lips does not conflict with what the monarch already has, you were safe.

"Reason," continuing the interrogation, the man leaned back slightly in the throne.

"Finding a way home."

"Where is your home?"

"I would like to know the answer to this question myself."

So you were trying to say that you were violating the boundaries of the lands, risking your life to find something that was located God knows where? His Majesty did not voice this phrase, but for some reason it seemed to you that exacly the same one flashed in the gaze of his narrowed amethyst eyes.

Before another question or, on the contrary, a sentence burst from his lips, someone loudly knocked on the door behind him, attracting the monarch's attention. His appearance immediately acquired a stern, slightly arrogant look. You assumed the costs of work.

"Come in," he measured the guard with his gaze, who had disturbed very important matters . At least, you wanted to believe that the decision of your life or death was important. "I ordered not to disturb me. You had better bring news that does not require delay, since my violation of my order did not seem such a great sin to you."

"Y-your majesty," the man quickly looked around, lingered his gaze on you, but still decided that angering the ruler was more expensive. "Sir Epel… escaped."

Whoever this "Epel" was, the king's mood changed for the worse faster than rain begins to fall from heavy gray clouds.

"Bring him back immediately," he stood up, rubbing the bridge of his nose, turning to the hunter, casting a look that did not tolerate objections. "With you.." His eyes lingered for a moment on your figure. "We will finish later. Throw that in the dungeon until I decide what to do next."

So. Now things were starting to get out of hand. In the dungeon, you could wait for an hour, a day, a month, an eternity. Instant death and waiting for it were completely different things.

"Your Majesty, I beg your pardon," before the guard rushed to carry out the order, Rook spoke again, catching the king's irritated look. "I'm afraid the special guest will not survive the dampness and cold of our dungeons. There is information that you did not have time to check."

Man measured you with another appraising glance, as if wasting precious seconds was bringing closer his own death, the he gave in.

"Then throw this into one of the towers. High enough and far enough from the people that not a single soul would dare to pass by."

Ignoring the guard's hasty answer, the king quickly disappeared behind high doors. The last thing you managed to see was the fluttering hem of his robe and another sly look from Hunt. You wanted to decide later whether to feel gratitude or curse him with all your might, feeling a strong grip on your forearm, leading you, apparently, towards the towers.

You have to give them credit, even the rooms with small windows and a bird's eye view of the castle and its surroundings looked decent. True, it was worth acknowledging the fact that trying on the role of a "damsel in distress", who, according to the logic of all fairy tales, should be saved by a prince on a white horse, was clearly not part of the plans. Choosing between imprisonment underground and above it, there was no need to think too much, even if the changes were purely nominal. Propping your chin with your hand and looking down according to all the canons, if such existed, you tried to figure out your further plan of action. The approximate prospects did not look very good.

To escape from the tower, whose door was tightly closed and locked from the outside, you had to jump out of the window. You had enough falls from heights and various places, besides, to repeat such an experience you had to recover from the previous one. You looked, truly, unimportant, since His Majesty decided to change his mind in a fit of rage. Although perhaps the information you possessed was too valuable to be thrown away. The only question was what exactly you could know.

Knowledge of this world? Pass. It was unlikely that you could know any additional information that someone born and living in this world, especially a member of the ruling family, could not get. Knowledge of your world? What was the probability that someone suspected its existence? Or, on the contrary, would you not have been considered crazy if you started talking about the Internet and phones. Where must be something else..

Come to think of it, Neige once mentioned that "Vi" was the king of these lands. Could this "Vi" have sent you to the tower? What could he be looking for? Although maybe not what, but who. If you think about it a little more, the monarch's face quickly changed at the mention of "Epel". Another name that had to be connected with something.

The flow of deductive thoughts was interrupted by noise from below, or rather, you assumed the presence of loud sounds. Squinting and leaning out of the window a little more, you saw people in similar clothes - probably part of the palace guard - leading a resisting child, whose shock of lilac hair was flying in all directions. Meeting your gaze for a moment, he froze, and this mistake cost him his freedom. He was quickly tied up and led to the entrance of the castle, although he managed to throw you another suspicious glance before he was finally taken away.

Moving away from the frame, you sank down and leaned your back against the stone wall. Whatever was happening in the castle, whoever this child was, you could only wait, ignoring the option of stepping out of the window. Gradually, fatigue, both physical and emotional, took its toll and your eyes began to close on their own. A few minutes and you fell into such a desired oblivion.

Opening your eyes in surprise, you realized that it was deep night. Apparently, the king was still busy, since he did not decide to continue the interrogation. Or maybe this was just one of the options to "think about your behavior" and an urge to tell the "truth" next time. Keeping silent that you didn't utter a single word of lie.

Raising your numb body, you stretched out of habit and immediately regretted what you had done. The healing rib was very conveniently forgotten and again reminded of itself in the most unpleasant way. Forcefully exhaling the air you had unconsciously held, you tried to stand up or at least sit up. There was barely enough light from the window to take another look at the temporary prison. You wanted to optimistically hope that it was temporary. The window behind you, a carelessly thrown old thin rug, on which, in fact, you were sitting, and a pile of cold to the touch and cold to the sight of stone.

Closing your eyes once more, you concentrated on breathing. Inhale-exhale. You needed to take advantage of the rare opportunity to rest and sleep peacefully. Yes, the conditions now were many times different from those you were used to. However, in the current reality, when the entire familiar way of life had been replaced by something else, something alien, dreaming of a warm bed was often an unaffordable luxury. Wait, if you remember it right, in the house with Neige you first felt a semblance of everyday life, which you didn't know you missed. The thought of the everyday life of the dwarves and Grimm caused an involuntary smile, at least you led that hunter away from their small family. You only hoped that they would guess right and not go looking for you. Otherwise, everything would definitely be in vain.

A quiet knock distracted you from your thoughts, but, opening your eyes for a second, you closed them back. The probability that it was just the wind or some branch ootside was high. After some time, another knock was heard, more insistent than before and a muffled stubborn "Hey". It looked more and more suspicious with each passing minute.

"Ugh, are ya sleeping or something?" This time the voice sounded clearer, which finally drove away the remnants of sleep. "Hey!"

With a force of will that came from nowhere, you jumped up, almost stumbling and sprawling on the cold floor. Coming almost right up to the door, you knocked carefully in response, hoping to get his attention.

"Y-yes?" Clearing your throat, you repeated more confidently. "Yes."

On the other side, everything went quiet, as if the one calling no longer expected an answer.

"How did ya even get here? Nah, don't give a damn," the speaker quickly chattered while you tried to keep up with his stream of confused thoughts. "Listen here. I don't care one bit what ya are, who ya are, or where you're from. You clearly don't want to sit here until Vil deigns to lift a finger. So, you and I can team up-.."

"What?"

"Become friends for 5 minutes, mateys, call it what ya want. The main thing is that you and me can help each other."

"So," ignoring common sense, which had been of little use lately. "Let's say I'm with you with all my healthy limbs," of which there were few. "How are you going to get me out of here? A plan. Do you even have a plan, No Name?"

"Epel," the voice continued in an angry, dissatisfied whisper. "I'll think of somethin', just don't die there. I have no idea whether they'll feed you or not, but I'll try to get some banal edible stuff." He tried to add something else, but soon fell silent, listening to something. "Damn him, someone's walking around nearby, Rook most likely. I repeat, I'll think of something an' don't ya dare to kick the bucket ahead of time. And don't you dare blurt out that I came. Both you and I will regret"

Speaker thrown out a final warning and hastily left. The muffled echo of his feet was heard outside, and soon it died down, returning the silence of the night. Lowering your head down and closing your eyes tightly, you forced yourself to breathe. Who knew that the mysterious "Epel" would find you first, leaving out the fact that the search with your side was not on the list of tasks. He seemed like a child to you by his appearance, a tomboy by the king's reaction, and a street urchin by his style of speech, with whom you could chase pigeons through the streets as a child.

Whether it was good or bad, but since he promised to get you out… or rather, think about it, all you could do was wait and hope. No matter how disgusting it sounded. Returning to the conventional sleeping place, you tried to fall asleep again, but sleep, as expected, did not come.

It was day number… by your calculations, the third. Or the fifth. There was no calendar, with which to make marks on the wall, like a model prisoner, either. Even if you didn't feel like sleeping morally, there were few options for how to occupy yourself. A whole zero. Besides, the body tried to take everything it could in this situation, and therefore saved, or maybe restored strength, plunging you into an unconscious state with confused dreams, in which everything was mixed up at once.

You didn’t hear much about Epel, except that he showed up a couple of times, pushing through a bread that was almost rolled into a thin layer. To his credit, he did everything to pass you a handout through the crack under the door. Things were worse with water, but even then the “brilliant” tomboy pushed a saucer through. One way or another, with all the ups and downs, he partially fulfilled his part of the deal.

Either His Majesty really decided to test your condition for strength, or he simply forgot. Or Epel somehow secretly distracted all attention to himself. It was impossible to verify the guess.

The accomplice appeared before patience began to run out, and the inner voice stopped to confidently shut the mouth of anxiety. Even though you still couldn't see his face, the distinct sound of the key turning in the lock couldn't be confused with anything else. You stood up from your new favorite place in surprise, but didn't come any closer, keeping a safe distance. The door swung open abruptly, despite the hinges protesting, and revealed an excited young man - presumably Epel - whose lilac shock of hair was etched into your memory that time.

"Nice catch," he throw you some kind of bag, tied with a rope at the top. Its weight felt unusual in your hands. "Hell, don't just stand there. You need to run, do you hear, run."

You didn't have time to curse, because such abrupt starts and escapes became part of an unpleasant reality. Following your unfortunate friend, who was weaving between corridors, ducking around corners, and then continuing on his way again, you couldn't help but ask,

"Where did you get the key?"

"Stole it," the most logical answer for the first time in a long time. "Anyway, forget it, we need to hide before the news reaches Vil. I thought there would be more time, but there is plan. I'm leading us out of the castle through a secret passage: ya run to the right, I'll go left. That's it."

"What right?!" Even though you were indignant, you didn't slow down. "How should I know that I need to "go right"."

"Then I'll go right 'nd ya go left," Epel's main concern was getting out, he just angrily threw behind his back, "don't bother if ya'll do some diggin'. Even if ya bury yourself underground, we need to do it at the same time. I don't know why Vil got so mad at our local good-natured buddy, but some rumors reached his ears."

"You mean-.."

"..that he might be alive," he whispered very quietly, stopping for a moment to catch his breath, and turned another corner, standing in front of a long tapestry. "Vil doesn't know that I know about this passage. For now. We can't use it anymore, and hope won't have to anyway"

Pushing the fabric aside, he began to feel the wall, looking for a ledge. Touching the right stone, he immediately hurried you with a gesture, and then looked around the corridor one last time and slid in after you. It was dark inside, and the air was saturated with the smell of damp and dust. You had to walk, holding on to the wall with one hand. You stopped for a moment and someone crashed into your back and immediately burst into quiet curses, you exhaled. He shaken himself off, from the sounds of it you guessed what he was doing it, and began to search for something.

When the dim light of the moon appeared ahead, your eyes began to water from the sharp difference with the pitch darkness before.

"Wait," grabbing the guy by the hand, who was ready to run, you caught his irritated look. "At least tell me which way to go."

With difficulty restraining himself from starting to curse again, he looked around the area and, making sure that there was no pursuit yet, said,

"If you need to go to Scarabia, give up, ya won’t make it. They’ll catch you earlier. There," he pointed his finger into the distance. "The river. Don't give damn why Vil ordered us not to approach it, but he definitely won’t go there. If, of course, you manage to cross it. And now bye, our chances are 50/50. Vil went crazy after the news, so our simultaneous disappearance will catch him off guard. His royal ego will have to decide who he must chase first. No offense, but I'm betting on ya."

If there was definitely no way to your home behind, but maybe by some chance it could be ahead. Before the news reached the royal ears, you also hurried to hide in the silence of the forest, but for a second you noticed something white out of the corner of your eye. Turning around and not seeing anything suspicious, you continued running in an unknown direction.

Soon the young man finally disappeared into the night, and you quickly weighed the pros and cons and rushed in the direction indicated. Returning for Grimm was very risky, the last thing you needed was to turn the idea of ​​two birds with one stone into one. Going to the river, which, according to the short review of "his majesty" in Epel's free interpretation, did not inspire confidence, but there was no choice.

[screamintoad]

I’m not in a big art mood today so take this quick headshot of Rory in a fantasy au that I and @blood-red-hummingbee thought up! In this au his full name would be “Arorus Borealis” and he would be a half elf who ran away from his family

@jadelover69 @babyghoul138 @angelwishess @twtysevapr

@sunnysidesevenup @oya-oya-okay @beneathsakurashade @moonyasnow @bunniehunn

@skibidibabygirl @chillygourami tell me if you want to be tagged or not!

[twstjam]

I am once again back at it with the random fic prompts

Fic where Yuu is Briar Valley's Most Wanted and though they ARE a criminal they were actually framed for this particular crime and their friends (the first years gang) all know this and help them hide. Even Sebek helps them (this causes Major drama later on ofc) and Yuu hides in some old ruins until their friends find proof of their innocence.

In the meantime there's this weird guy with horns who keeps showing up around the ruins. He doesn't know who Yuu is though, so they let him stick around and he keeps them company when he visits.

Some of their conversations, when not talking about gargoyles, go something like this:

"Hi Tsunotarou! Has that criminal that's at large in your country finally been caught?" "Good evening. Hm. I'm afraid not. How about you? May you return home yet?"

They both somehow do not put the pieces together.

(Alternate scenario: Fic where Yuu is Briar Valley's Most Wanted because their mysterious bestie Tsunotarou who lurks around old ruins and is actually the crown prince of fae fell in love with them. The wrong people found out about this and put a bounty on Yuu's head to have some sort of leg up on the briar fae royalty, but Malleus, in all his genius, said "I'll do you one better." and put an EVEN BIGGER bounty on Yuu's head so that he can have them instead and now it's a race on who can get Yuu first avdjdhdj. Meanwhile Yuu is just confused on why everyone wants them dead (they do not know Malleus is secretly their bestie Tsunotarou who's in love with them. All that they know is that the Briar Heir wants them hunted down for no apparent reason))

[twistedwonderlandsimps]

Technomaniac!Yuu

I'm just here to mix-and-match different kinds of Yuus with different kinds of personalities to see what monstrosity I can make. That being said,,, Technomaniac!Yuu brainrot! 

So basically this Yuu belongs in the High Fantasy Yuuniverse on the human side and they’re absolutely obsessed with technology and becomes unhinged when creating stuff. 

Mayhaps their family ran a robot-related business or a machine-creating business and that’s where their obsession started. Maybe Yuu’s obsession further increased due to the fact that they were a human being in a world full of otherworldly creatures.

In a world of high fantasy, there’s bound to be differing opinions and speciesism can’t be avoided. 

Some creatures thought humans were inferior due to their short lifespans. That they were greedy and ignorant. Some humans were even prejudiced to their own kind. Others thought humans in a more positive light, the fact that they were versatile and determined when it comes to things.

So Yuu with no magic and no super powers strived to be the best in the only thing they knew they could fully control and wanted to prove to everyone that humans weren’t inferior, thus beginning their obsession.

This Yuu has this cute little drone hovering over them all the time because I said so. The drone’s very expressive and acts as a kind of assistant for Yuu. 

So anyway, the day of the entrance ceremony?

Forget Grim opening the coffin, Yuu just ordered the drone to laser through the lid and then kicked it open. 

Seeing this, Grim became startled but then soon after demanded their robe.

“Beep! Threat detected! Determining threat level, please wait… Threat level determined. Warning: Threat level 5, initiating self-defense protocol.” The drone hovering over Yuu’s shoulder turned to an alarming shade of red but before it could do anything, Yuu waved them off gently. “Stand down, A1.”

Yeah, the little drone’s called A1 meaning Assistant 1.

Thankfully, a battle between the force of fire and laser never happened since Yuu saw no reason to wear the ceremonial robe because they felt their clothes were much better and gave it to Grim but only on the condition that Grim become their second assistant.

Grim, too focused on acquiring the robe at all cost, didn’t notice Yuu’s condition.

Anyway, guess what Grim’s nickname is. Yeah, that’s right. It’s A2 for Assistant 2.

Let it be known Technomaniac!Yuu has no penchant for naming. All that’s in their brain is making technological stuff.

I just suddenly thought of Yuu having Doofenshmirtz penchant for naming, just slapping ‘-inator’ at the end of their creation’s names.

Can you imagine an overblot and Yuu just pulls out this strange device and introduces it like:

Yuu: “Behold! Marvel at my ‘Insta-Knockout SlumberBlaster 3000-inator!’ Riddle’s going to definitely go down with this in just one hit!” A1: “With only an approximate 63% chance of dealing concussion! A massive improvement from the previous trials!”  Ace: “Excuse me, only 63%? Wait— Previous trials? Yuu, who did you test it on for you to get that statistic? Yuu? Yuu, come back here! Who did you test it on?! Yuu!”

Another overblot scenario would be…

A1: “Beep! Threat detected! Determining threat level, please wait…” Someone: “W… Why do you need to determine his threat level??? He’s literally about to kill us???” Yuu: “No, no, let my child cook.” A1: “Threat level determined. Warning: Threat level 10. Suggesting course of action: Run.” Yuu: “Okay, now we run.”

Let’s not forget holograms!

Imagine Deuce seeing Yuu facing away from him in the distance so he runs over to them and tries to gain their attention. He tries to tap Yuu’s shoulder but their hand just goes over Yuu’s form, leaving a slight glitch-like effect where Deuce’s hand passes through.

Hologram Yuu looks over to Deuce and says:

“Alas, as I am not here, I disappear.”

Then throws out a peace sign before slowly fading away while still maintaining eye contact.

Now that I think about it, on the first day of their janitorial duties, Yuu was able to make a weird-looking cleaning device out of metal scraps and pieces they found in Ramshackle and it somehow worked.

Well, for the most part anyway. 

Having no windows technically meant nothing to clean so in a way Yuu was doing their job, yes?

Yeah, Yuu broke a few windows and may have contributed to the chandelier also breaking that day so Deuce ain’t the only one at fault for this.

Speaking of, Ace’s first meeting with Yuu.

When he was introducing the Statues of the Great Seven to Grim and Yuu, Yuu turned to him and asked in the most serious voice possible if Ace wanted the statues to be animated by turning it into animatronics.

Ace barely managed to stop Yuu from dismembering the statues.

Technomaniac Yuu at literally everything they can see: “I can make it better!”

Giving broken things to Technomaniac!Yuu to be fixed is a gamble. 

Oh, a toaster? Well, you either get a completely fixed toaster that’s a bit better with warming your bread than before or it turns into a charcoal-maker. There is no inbetween.

Your phone? Oops, might’ve accidentally turned the flashlight function into a flashbang, teehee.

Technomaniac!Yuu is basically the tech support of NRC.\

Or more like tech terror. Tech-rorr, get it? I’m so funny.

Speaking of NRC, Yuu got banned from going to Ignihyde dorm.

That’s because they got too excited seeing all the new devices and technology they haven’t seen before in the dorm and kind of dismantled almost everything to see how it worked.

Ooooo, now that I’m thinking of it, cybernetic body modifications!

Like, what if they got severely injured against one of the overblot boys? Lost a limb or two? Or maybe they already had cybernetic body modifications even before they arrived in Twisted Wonderland.

Imagine them having an arm kinda similar to the robot arm Princess Bubblegum gifted Finn with the various power tools/weapons functions. There’s probably a rocket launcher function around there somewhere.

 Rook tries to stalk Technomaniac!Yuu but it always ends up being a hologram. Why do you think Rook calls them Trickster?

Wait, can you imagine the dynamic between Technomaniac!Yuu and Malleus?

One’s so bad at technology while the other’s the complete opposite.

Yuu asks Malleus if he wants his phone to be upgraded and suddenly Malleus’ phone has a built-in taser, ultra hd 4k graphics camera and video resolution, live tamagotchi game synchronization and surveillance, 24/7 AI assistance, unlimited wifi, faster internet speed, ultra deluxe storage expansion, the strongest antivirus known to to mankind, and Malleus still doesn’t know how to use his phone.

Yuu learns Briar Valley has technomancy and they’re immediately putting that place as a vacation spot because hello? Combining magic and technology? Can you imagine all the things they could create with those two forces combined? They’d be unstoppable!

Also, the Magicam Monsters stand no chance against Technomaniac!Yuu.

The moment those suckers break into Ramshackle, Yuu would immediately interfere with their gadgets and kick them out if they’re feeling merciful.

If not, well, say hello to the most vengeful virus they’ve ever met in their lives. 

No matter what gadget they change into, the virus will always follow them everywhere in the cyberspace network and break their devices or cause them the most annoying inconveniences. 

Slow internet? You betcha! Wifi symbol on but internet not coming through? Why, it happens almost every other day! Apps failing to open at the most crucial time? Lmao, rofl.

Speaking of gadget, Cater probably asks Yuu to upgrade his phone so he can take better selfies.

Thankfully the upgrade was a success and nothing exploded.

Yuu: “Well, here’s your phone, Cater! New and improved with better camera quality, efficiency, and effectiveness! Also, I hope you don’t mind but I also added an app that I occasionally use called Therapy Bot. Free of charge!” Cater: “Thanks, Yuu! Wait—” Yuu, looking around and leaning in to whisper: “Between you and me, I think everyone in this school could really benefit from Therapy Bot.”

Technomaniac!Yuu the most unhinged yet one of the most sane Yuu variants out there.

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song [Part 5]

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 6.8k

Summary: 'Rule 27: It’s a poor choice to help a hare at high noon, but it will certainly appreciate you if you do.'

WARNING for some descriptions of violence

[PART 1] [PART 1.5] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [PART 5]

You’d first set foot on The Rose Queen when you were the tender age of eleven. Or, well, something close to that. It wasn’t like most peasant orphans were taught numbers, let alone how to interpret calendars well enough to mark the passing of years.

It was the first ship you’d ever seen up close—sleek, and salt-stained, and creaking beneath your toes. The Boy King at its helm had turned his nose up at you in his too big coat, with his too big boots and tricorn hat that kept slipping down over his eyes. It was a ragtag crew that you’d wandered into, made of nothing but runaways and street rats. The ship itself was just as unusual and fresh-faced. It was built in a very impractical sort of way, with hallways that led to nowhere and portholes that opened up into endless seas of shadow where you could tumble down, down, down for hours and never see an end (or so you’d been warned). There were paintings on the walls, all off-centered and hanging on crooked nails that wobbled with every dip in the waves. The masts and rails were stained a deep, bloody red, in honor of its title. And no matter how the raging winds and waves battered at those petals, your Captain would have you out there the next morning to paint them anew. The Rose Queen was the finest pirate ship in all the ocean, and you only half-said that out of personal bias.

The vessel of the Silver Songbirds was… not like that.

It was grand, certainly. But there was a barren cleanliness to it that didn’t feel lived in. Sure, Riddle’d had you literally scrubbing stains out of the deck with a toothbrush and pot of turpentine, but this was different. Sterile, rather than squeaky. The wood planks didn’t whine with a weary, seaworthy groan beneath your feet that you could feel through the heel of your boots—as if to reassure you it was there. The air smelled of salt, sure, and you could see a group of gulls circling overhead, but the whole of it felt… empty. Lonely.

The black haired man led you to a small, private room in the ship’s hull. That alone was strange. You’d been sharing quarters for the whole of your seafaring career. This new little suite of yours had a bed, and white paint on the walls, and a porthole for a window. He gently coaxed you into sitting at the foot of the mattress and readjusted the coat resting along your shoulders. His smile was soft, kind. The sort of warm, pretty expression that you could read about in a love poem.

You remembered your Siren’s vicious, pointed smirk—red, and haughty, and sharp enough to cut glass—and fought a pang of something you absolutely refused to put a name to.

When you blinked back into focus, his lips were moving in a slow, steady flow and you focused your best on the shape of them. It was hard, with how placid his expression was—with how little there was to make out of anything he was attempting to get across. And whether it be your furrowed brow or a sudden memory that oh right, you’d told him your ears worked as well as a three-legged horse pulling a one-wheeled cart, he startled into silence. His face twisted up with chagrin, and he offered you an apologetic smile with round, pink cheeks.

He fumbled around in his pockets for a piece of paper and scribbled out a hasty note to press into your palms.

‘My name is Neige Leblanche, and I’ll be taking care of you for this journey.’

You paused, fingers worrying at the sides of the neat, square bit of parchment. It felt right to offer your own name in return. That would be the polite thing, surely. But you paused, throat tight with uncertainty and a prickling, unpleasant sort of heat. Because you’d never even told your Siren your name, had you? Not even once.

And beneath that sudden, sour gut punch was something else.

‘Rule 116, your name is not a number, but it is your value. Do not offer it to any whose own interests are undue.’

The first time Ace had found himself with a wanted poster (‘Ugly,’ he’d complained, bitter. ‘How am I supposed to hook any tail with this? I look like a mutant potato. This stupid portrait is worse than prison.’), Riddle had taken your handwritten Book of Rules and underlined that one thrice over. You hadn’t thought much of it until you’d had to cut a hangman’s noose from around your idiot, foxy friend’s throat—the handiwork of the tavern folk he’d been boasting to only an afternoon before. And then it had made sense. Ace had survived (with a new, grand tale of woe that he liked to repeat ad nauseum until you wished you’d left him strung up), but the lesson had remained.

Carefully you swallowed the words resting on your tongue and offered a polite-ish nod in their place.

“Nice to meet you, sir. Thank you. For saving me.”

Neige shook his head in a panicked sort of rush, hands waving back and forth with a clear ‘none of that! None of that!’ before reaching back into his pockets to search for another note.

‘It was my honor,’ he wrote, words jumbled and sloppy in his haste. ‘It’s the duty of all officers to help those in need.’

Your brow pinched. Officer? Officer of what?

Your Siren had called these Songbirds dangerous. ‘Not safe’ written into the sand over and over again with his curled claws. You didn’t know much of mainland politics and other such nonsense, but maybe there was some sort of… Siren Hunting Order? Soldiers of the King sent out to scour the seas and keep them safe for a host of weary, would-be-merman-meals? That would make sense. It would make a lot of sense, actually.

Another note was pressed into your hands.

‘How did you end up stranded on that island?’

Islet, you wanted to correct petulantly. Riddle would have. Your Siren would have.

You opened your mouth and hesitated. Telling Nigel, or Nergal, or whatever his name was that your ship had been besieged by a pod of ravenous mers (and one fair-faced asshole who you already missed far, far too—) was as good as serving them up on a silver platter, wasn’t it? Siren hunters probably traded information like how pirates traded maps or merchants traded gold. And you’d be damned if your loose tongue was what led to your friend companion co-strandee’s family being hunted for sport just after he’d finally managed to make his way home again.

So you stiffened your upper lip and turned to look your savior in the eye.

“I fell overboard,” you said, firm. “Because I’m an idiot.”

He blinked, startled, and you could recognize the spluttered ‘…oh’ shaping his lips.

He handed you another scribbled bit of parchment, gaze averted and awkward.

‘I’m sorry.’

“Never apologize to the half-wit for whatever fallacy of their own led to them falling into the pit,” you recited naturally, and Nigel startled. His doe eyes went round with confusion and he tilted his head at you like a curious hound. Nothing intimidating, more like some kind of fluffy cocker spaniel or primped up lapdog staring up at you with too-long-lashes and too-few-thoughts.

You shrugged.

“Just a rule I was supposed to follow,” you shrugged off. You offered a slanted grin. “Though when you’re the idiot in question, it can be pretty hard to avoid.”

Neville smiled at you with a soft sort of laugh that you swore you could feel dancing along your skin.

Another note.

‘I’ll be back in a bit. Please enjoy the amenities here and get some rest. If you need anything, let us know and I’ll get it sorted personally.’

You dipped your chin in thanks and collapsed back against the small, flat mattress in the corner. It was soft, sturdy, probably good for your back and all that nonsense. The sheets were crisp and white, and they rubbed blandly at your weary hide. You could smell the lingering, sharp fragrance of some kind of tacky soap in the cotton. Totally not unpleasant at all. Theoretically, it should have actually been the best bed you’d ever slept in. But a part of you missed swaying back and forth in a net hammock, and an even bigger part missed plopping down in the sand with the heat of a crackling fire at your front and the even steadier warmth of the long, curling, press of gemstone scales at your back.

You flopped over onto your side and stared at the empty, carefully manicured surface of the desk opposite you and wished more than anything that you’d brought your shell.

.

.

The room was cold when you next woke, and you shivered into the jacket Neige had draped along your shoulders (because it was ‘Neige.’ It had been signed on the bottom of the note he’d left you that morning alongside your breakfast. Which was stupid. The dumbest name you’d ever heard). The starched fabric of it all wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it was better than shivering through the chilly ocean mists that were seeping in through the porthole.

You burrowed into the swathe of white and blue wool like a rabbit in a hole, and then winced in irritation when another of those stupid, gaudy pins dug into your cheek.

You plucked the first from its place—the duo of silver songbirds. It really was quite pretty, despite the ominous undertones and all. Two, graceful, delicate sets of feathered wings arching up into the sky—forever frozen in a dance to the clouds. You dropped it into the little, dark crevice between your bed and the wall. Good riddance.

Next came a crest that was familiar in a distant sort of way—a memory that tickled that back of your brain from days long past. You hadn’t noticed it before, what with the echoes of ‘not safe, not safe, not safe’ blaring in your head like an alarm, but it was just as neatly polished as the birds pinned above. It was diamond shaped, the edges embossed in twining lines like the cut of a rope. At its head sat a strange sort of crown, with the arches and more familiar pointed designs replaced by the billowing arcs of sails.  All of that gallantry surrounded a pair of rearing stallions—hooves crossed along a golden edged sword and circled with blue ivy.

You twisted it between your fingers, watching the metal glint in the low light. You hadn’t set foot in proper society since Riddle had let your young, dumb self abscond into the ocean all those years ago. You could hardly remember the flag of our home country, let alone the specifics.

You frowned and the edges of the badge pricked at your fingers.

You dropped this one behind the bed too, with a petulant flick of your wrist to make sure it really stuck.

.

.

‘I’m sorry I haven’t been around more often, there’s some business I’ve been having to take care of.’

You handed the note back with a shrug.

“It’s no bother.”

Neige offered an apologetic grimace nonetheless and another of those smiles that looked a bit too sweet to be real.

‘Do you mind if I ask you something?’

You bristled before you could help it, thoughts spiraling away to harpoons, and nets, and hunting parties. And then you settled your shoulders into a polite, easy line and offered one of your own too-put-together smiles in return.

“Yeah, sure. I mean, you saved me after all.”

Neige smiled again, easy and comfortable, and pressed another slip of parchment into your palms.

‘Where were you headed? When you fell overboard?’

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck you with a barbed cactus branch dipped in—

Ahem.

You cleared your throat in a way that was surely a Very Normal Person Thing To Do, and tried to ignore the fact that he was so brazenly attempting to map out his plan of attack—to pinpoint the route that the sirens had been chasing and run after it like hounds tracking a fresh scent. Which, to be fair, sirens were a scourge on the seas. Hundreds upon hundreds of good men and women had been lost to their crooning songs and wickedly sharp teeth. They were vicious, often cruel, and so much stronger than any mortal sailor that of course the world above would fear them. You’d been very much of the same opinion until only quite recently, and now—now you just couldn’t.

“I don’t know where we were going,” you lied, and Neige’s brow pinched in a dour, rejected kind of way. “But,” you tried, sprinkling in a touch of truth to make the lie go down easier, “I know we were coming from Port o'Bliss.”

He nodded, that uncongenial expression slipping off his face as easily as it’d settled there.

He rattled off something quick and bubbly, and you pointedly arched a brow. The brunette blushed bright pink and hastily scrabbled for another bit of paper.

‘Thank you for being so helpful. I know it can’t be easy.’

Your neutral expression froze on your face and when you smiled it felt more like a polite bearing of teeth. Did he know? Could he see right through you? Or worse, was he getting all the answers he wanted from you either way, no matter how you tried to coat it in a veneer of misdirection.

“Sure thing.”

He handed you another note, this time for his pocket. Crumpled and soft, the ink a bit smeared along the curling letters.

‘It’s a poor choice to help a heron at high noon,’ it said, ‘but it will certainly appreciate you if you do. So my thanks to you.’

Something settled in your gut at the familiarity, something deceptively warm and homey.

“It’s a hare,” you said, without much thought. “Not a heron.”

Neige nodded with a polite, smiling mumble that looked like another apology, and then left you to your own devices.

That night, a veritable feast was delivered to your tiny, white-walled cabin. A grand spread of food fit for a king. There was roasted fowl, pools of thick, spiced gravies, mountains of vegetables that you’d never even seen before. And tarts. So many colorful, fruity tarts that were so sweet they almost made your tongue curl.

“What’s the occasion?” you asked as Neige took a seat at your desk to nibble at the meal alongside you—a cloth napkin folded neatly across his nap and a clear glass flute for wine placed a bit precariously by his elbow.

He smiled, honey warm, and offered you another note.

‘For helping the hare.’

.

.

Neige didn’t come to visit you the next morning, and his absence had the hair at the nape of your neck standing on end.

You paced and paced around your cube of a barrack. It was maybe four steps from one end to the next, but the constant bumping your toes against the wall was better than just sitting there doing nothing. The worst part was the silence. Not the one in your head. Yes, yes, you were more than used to that. On and on, yada yada. But the silence of the ship. The Rose Queen had always felt like a living thing, a great, wooden beast with a pulse you could feel thrumming beneath your toes, your palms. All you had to do was lay a hand against its side and you could feel the rumble of the tide beyond, the rushing footsteps of sailors sprinting about to meet one of Riddle’s orders or other, the thump of heavy, wet mop heads smacking the deck overhead. It was quiet, but it wasn’t quiet. This ship? No matter how you laid against the boards or pressed flat to the walls, there was nothing. And it made you feel like you were trapped aboard a vessel full of ghosts.

The sun had long begun to set by the time Neige returned, and by then you were nothing but a livewire of nerves.

Had they found him? Your Siren? Was he there somewhere, just a few floors above—strung up like a fish in a net? Caught and displayed like a fine trophy? Or had they killed him outright? Had they found his pod? Had he put up a fight? Had he—

A piece of rolled parchment was held out for you to take, a satin blue ribbon tied along its belly. Neige’s soft, brown gaze was glued to the floor and you snatched the paper from his hands like a rabid cat and tore it open. You could barely keep your eyes steady to read it all—fine, pointed print done up in a neat hand.

‘—danger to those who venture—'

‘—for the safety of the people—’

‘—therefore, the decision has been made—'

‘—with the greatest consideration—’

‘—with immediate effect—'

‘—we have declared the extermination of—'

“You can’t!” you wailed, and Neige’s doe eyes darted up to yours and immediately away once more in guilt. “He’s—he’s not bad. I swear! I know how things look—and—and I know he’s not—that’s he’s a—but you can’t—”

Neige’s wavering stared jumped back to you in open surprise, and you saw his lips twitch on one word—delicate brows pinching in question.

‘He?’

You frowned and fought the urge to stomp your feet. Because, okay, fine. Sure, you were arguing tooth and nail for someone whose name you maybe didn’t even know. Someone who had swum away from your stupidly sentimental ass with all the power and grace of a beast fit to rule the depths of the oceans while you could barely flounder at its surface. And sure, sirens killed people and ate them. But this one was—he was special, and you’d be damned if you let some primped up fishermen try to reel him in on a hook just because he’d maybe eaten a few people. And—

There was a hand on your shoulder, and Neige was staring down at you with an expression not dissimilar to that of a parent about to tell their child that the cat had got out and met a terrible, squishy end beneath the wheels of your neighbor’s carriage. He sighed, dark lashes brushing along his cheeks, and then reached out with his other hand to tap a finger between your collar bones.

“What?” you snapped, and he tapped again. “Me? What about me?”

He paused, gaze meeting yours with a pointed sort of melancholy.

Oh.

Oh.

You remembered the pins you’d dropped behind your bed, one by one. You remembered the strange coat of arms crowned with golden sails and bearing a great, shining sword. Something regal, something imperial that a commoner like you would have only caught fleeting glimpses of in parades, and marches, and war calls.

Something like, say, Pyroxene’s Royal Naval Fleet.

You glanced down at the parchment again, crumpled between your fists, and smoothed it out into something legible beneath your fingers. You reread the text with careful focus.

‘For the Crime of Piracy’ it said. Right at the tippity top. In red ink.

“…ah,” you blinked. “That makes a lot more sense.”

.

.

You were to walk the plank on the ‘morrow.

Which honestly, you hadn’t even thought was really a Thing—walking the plank, argh. Fiddly dee and a yo-ho-ho. That sort of storybook nonsense. The parables that parents passed onto their children to try and scare them away from a life of villainy. Real pirates were put to the rack, or hanged in the town squares to scare the adults away from doing the same.

But you supposed it was practical, at least. Blood was hard to scrub out of wooden decks, so beheading would have been a bit of a mess. Bullets were best to be conserved out on the high seas where stocks were already low, and honestly, your body would just have to be thrown overboard anyways before it stunk up the barracks. So, like, doing it all in one would be quite efficient. You could appreciate that. 

Your hands would be bound at your back and you’d be given three breaths, three steps, and then you’d be tumbling down into the waves below. Claimed by the waters that you’d patrolled for so many years now. Fitting, honestly. Riddle would be proud (beneath the raging, spitting indignation of you being caught at all, but that was another matter). At least you wouldn’t be going out from food poisoning or something mundane like that, so that was a win. And who knew. Maybe your Siren would find you again when you were nestled to rest in some seabed not too far from here, and he could finally make a meal of your dumb ass yet. Happy endings abound.

You wondered idly at the dual branches of fate you’d wandered along in these past weeks, and if it would have been better to hide away when you’d first seen those sails on the horizon. To keep to the little, crescent island you’d found yourself on and slowly starved to death. Alone, abandoned, and sitting in a forever stillness worse than any silence you’d known before.  Forever staring out over the horizon for a glance of amethyst fins that you knew you’d never see again.

If given the choice between the two, you’d take the plank.

.

Neige brought you another feast that night, and you gorged on it merrily. 

When he nervously kept piling your plate with choice cuts after choice cuts, gaze diverted to the floor and looking like a kicked puppy dog with its tail between its legs, you rolled your eyes and swatted at his fingers.

“Unclench yourself,” you huffed, and he puffed up stuttery and pink in horror. “It’s not the end of the world. You’re just doing your job, right? If we’d met under different circumstances I bet I would have shot you first. So, really. All’s fair.”

He worried his lower lip between his teeth, guilt still swimming heavy and warm in those doe eyes of his.

He said something under his breath, something that you’d bet even if your ears were working at full capacity you wouldn’t have been able to parse out. He leaned forward to scrawl a note on the napkin beside your plate.

‘You’re happier now? After all this? I don’t get it.’

You reached out to pat him merrily on the shoulder, more a smack smack smack then anything really pleasant. He could see him fighting a wince with all the trembling sort of bravery of a field mouse. Poor dear. What was the Royal Navy thinking? Hiring on someone who looked like they belonged on an advert for rouge and sweets. This was the last face a pirate was expected to jeer into? This one? Really? It was a wonder this little, squirrely man hadn’t keeled over the first time someone spat on his boots.

“It’s a poor choice to help the fish at high noon,” you said around a mouthful of crumbs. “But it’s my choice. And I’m happy to do it.”

“Fish?” you saw him mouth, brow pinched, and you batted at his shoulder again before reaching for another of those too-sweet tarts.

.

.

There was a whole procession for your execution. With speeches. Which even with the slowly encroaching panic worming into your guts, you couldn’t help but think was at least a little funny.  

The whole crew was lined up in solemn formation, listening stalwartly to some judge, or high ranking officer, or whatever rattle off who even knew what. Your crimes? A homily? The lunch menu? Fuck if you had any clue. And you were the one being fed to the sharks. There had to be some joke hidden in here, right? The scoundrel pirate who could never be tried, simply because they couldn’t hear their own sentencing. You wouldn’t even know when to stand up and shout ‘I object!’ It would probably be pretty funny, right? If you just did that out of nowhere. And what was the worst that could happen? Oh, no. A fine. Please, sir. Add it to the list of debts I owe from beyond my watery grave. Amen.

A hand at your lower back gave you a gentle nudge forward and you shifted against the ropes binding your wrists. They were nicer than your own stores aboard the Rose Queen. Not nearly as itchy, the fibers neat and clearly expensive. Neige stepped up beside you and offered you a look that was likely meant to be kind, but your growing nerves had started to eat through your willingness to play friendly. You could feel the weight of the crew around you, even if you couldn’t hear them. The creak of the deck beneath your toes as they shifted about, the way their bulk must have been shielding you from the worst of the wind. Unlike with your own mismatched family of castaways, their presence wasn’t reassuring. And you kept your eyes locked forward and away from the field of sharp gazes eating into your hide.

The plank was narrow, and immediately you were fighting the urge to sway on your toes. Having your hands bound at your rear only made it worse. It threw off the whole of your center of gravity and had you feeling dizzy and seasick.

You took one breath, stuttery, and one step. The wood whined beneath your heels in a vibration you could feel all the way up to your knees.

Another breath, another step. You could feel the salt soaked board starting to bend now. Clearly it wasn’t meant to support much of anything, let alone a whole person. And for some reason the idea of it breaking beneath you was so much worse than taking that last step all on your own. A sudden plunge that was out of your control. It had your heart hammering in your throat and cold nausea bubbling in your belly.

You looked down. You didn’t want to, but it was like your gaze was a weighted, magnetic thing. Pulled down into the salty depths below. The water looked rougher than it had a moment ago, or maybe you were just really starting to panic. You could see the white froth of the wake breaking against the ship’s hull. It churned like the start of a storm, which was really, terribly inconvenient. Seeing as it’d been so still and calm just a few minutes before. And, y’know, the fact that you had to fall into that mess of sharp peaks and rocking waves. You swore you could see dark shapes flitting about just beneath the surface, a flash of grey, or maybe green. It was hard to tell, with the brightness of the early morning sun in your eyes.

No one was poking at your back, urging you forward, which you thought was quite odd. You’d been taking your sweet ol’ time sauntering to your demise. You’d assumed they’d have less patience for a pirate with cold feet. Instead, the world around you was just silent and still. Shifting with the raging waves below, but empty and quiet as a tomb for all you knew otherwise.

You took your last breath, your last step.

And then the ship lurched and you were plummeting towards the water. The dissonance between having something beneath your feet—no matter how frail—and then nothing was jarring, and it had you gasping on impulse. Hair whipping at your cheeks and lungs squeezing tight as the air screamed past your throat. It felt like you were drowning before you even hit the water.

When you did finally crash into the waves, it hurt. You’d always been a fairly proficient swimmer, but whether it be the mind numbing panic or the ropes binding you tight, tight, tight, you just started to sink. The salt stung like an open wound, and the water was cold. Frigid. Like being tossed into the jagged side of a glacier. You at least had the sense not to gulp down a mouthful of water out of reflex, but that didn’t make things much better.

You screwed your eyes shut, bubbles frothing at your nose, and tried to find that peace that you’d clung to all night long. A life for a life, one catch for another. No one was going to miss you anyways. And if you had to meet the reaper some way, then of all the ends the universe could have spun for you, at least this one had some meaning to it.

You sighed into the darkness, soft, but when your lips parted next around what should have been a mouthful of icy saltwater, all you could taste was air.

Your eyes shot open in the gloom to a mess of familiar golds and purples that you’d thought you’d never see again.

Your Siren pulled back, bubbles curling from the edge of his lips into a soft stream of warmth between the two of you. Nestling as deep as a full breath all the way in the tightest corners of your lungs. You could feel the dip of his claws as he settled his hands at your shoulders—keeping you in place. And immediately you shrieked and flailed in your bindings.

“You—!”

You promptly choked on another mouthful of sea water and your Siren wailed—all that molten fondness in those lovely amethyst eyes of his sharpening into familiar, pissy exasperation from one second to the next. He dragged your face back to his, slotting his mouth against yours and pushing more air into your lungs. You leaned into it before you could help yourself. Half for the whole oxygen thing, and half, because, well—

When he pulled away this time he smacked a hand over your mouth with a sneer, his thumb and index finger hooked upward to pinch at your nose. He jabbed a claw in your face with a clear ‘stay put’ and immediately went to work cutting through the bindings twined along your arms. The ropes fell away beneath his talons like butter to a hot blade, and he fretfully ran his palms up and down your limbs—looking for any stray bits of netting like a compulsion. Once he seemed certain that you’d been properly freed from your ties, he hauled you up against his chest in a grip that had you losing all the air in your lungs all over again. You could feel the cool jut of the sea glass around his neck pressing into your collar, and he buried his head down into your throat until you didn’t know where he ended and you began. The frills of his tail fluttered in the water, and the bulk of those twining strands curled up and around your legs like a barnacle.

He was warm. Warmer than you’d been expecting, for a creature who spent his life patrolling the darkest depths of the ocean. It wasn’t the same sort of heat that would beat off a human’s hide, but it was more comforting than any you’d ever known. You burrowed down against his shoulder, nose scrunching against the side of his neck and the fins at his ears brushing your temple. You could feel his claws flexing at your sides, feel the shift of his scales against your skin. And just as your lungs were starting to burn, he ducked forward to pull you into another kiss—filling your chest with wonderful, wonderful oxygen all over again.

You blinked blearily past the sting of salt in your eyes and he scrubbed a thumb against your cheek.

Now that those high, wonderful, heart bursting emotions were settling back into something manageable beneath your ribs, you took a moment to look at him. Really look at him. Because you’d sent him on his way, hadn’t you? Waved him off with well wishes and a hope for his happiness. And all that aside, how had he even managed to find you—

Bubbles streamed from your nose as that newest shared breath began to run dry, and your Siren hooked an arm around your waist to propel you upwards.

You crested the surface with a gasp, paddling instinctively against the churning wake. When all that did was leave you smack, smack, smacking at your Siren’s chest like a flailing toddler, he hissed—a spitting, pissy thing you could feel on the breeze—and hauled you back up against him. Just like he had all those times you’d swum together in your cove. You forced yourself to settle, bobbing gently against the tide as he kept you both aloft.

Once your body had managed to catch up with your brain to realize that it was, in fact, not drowning, all of the adrenaline rushed out of you like a broken spicket. You slumped against the Siren’s chest, fuzzy headed and dizzy. Because he’d saved you. Which made no sense in the least. But you’d almost died, and he’d saved you—

Your gaze drifted back up to the ship from which you’d only so recently taken your Cannonball of Doom and startled.

There was blood everywhere.

Staining the railings, splashed along the low flying flags, dripping along the deck. A macabre mess of gore and claw marks gutting the once grand vessel like a beached whale. Some of the crew still seemed to be hanging onto the life rafts, others were taking running leaps into the water like they were under compulsion—eyes glazed over and distant. There was a prickling all along your skin, something twisting familiar and strange in your gut, and oh. Oh.

One of the grander looking officers (the one who had been giving your pre-execution speech, perhaps? He looked similar enough) was shouting something from his place at the bow of one of the life rafts—arm extended in a grand show of valor and sword glinting into the light of the morning. And then a great, emerald siren was rearing over the side of that tiny vessel with a sharp grin on his face and sharper talons on display. The officer was dragged overboard, and the siren’s tail came down on the guardrails with a force that had the wood splintering and the already haphazard little boat rock, rock, rocking until it caught on a high wave and capsized.

You could see the flash of colorful scales and the tips of even brighter fins all around. Cresting above the water just long enough to grab hold of another wailing victim and drag them down to the depths. There was enough blood in the water that you could smell it. Acrid and copper against the ocean’s already sharp, salty musk. And sure, you were a pirate. You’d been in raids, you’d seen death. Plenty of it. But this. Well. It was unfamiliar. In a strange, detached sort of way. These assholes had chucked you overboard, after all. So you only really had a teensy, tiny pinch of sympathy for the fact that being eaten alive probably hurt like a sonofabitch.

It was more strange, you supposed, to be at the center of a sirens’ hunt and not be the one facing down the angry, bitey end.

You kicked in the water, nose scrunching when the red tide lapped against your chin.

“This isn’t going to attract sharks, is it?”

Because if you were saved from drowning at the hands of a royal militia only to wind up as a fish’s dinner, you would be terribly annoyed.

Your Siren rolled his eyes at you, like you were just the most ridiculous and stupid creature in all of creation. And then he made a languid swipe of his large, fully-healed tail and began to swim away from the literal bloodbath he and his pod had wrought. With you and all your silly, fragile humanness in tow.

It was far too relaxing, being pulled along against his side. The gentle rocking of his tail beneath you as he swam at the surface—always ensuring to keep your head above the water as he did so. You could feel your eyes starting to dip, feel a yawn cracking along your lips. Maybe it was just the adrenaline crash hitting, or maybe it was the relief that you hadn’t even wanted to address. He’d come back. For you.

The earless pirate who never seemed to do much but stumble into one conundrum after another. Who had only annoyed him at best and shorn his fins to shredded, useless bits at worst. Who had thrown shells at his head and only nicked him a little when you cut the ropes from his hide.

Who had made him human foods with fire and taught him your language in a messy scrawl of sand and snark. Who swam with him in the bay and twined a necklace of shining, purple sea glass around his neck. Who braided his hair, and laughed at his pouting, and—

There was a rough roll of surf that splashed in your face and you spluttered against the white froth.

The Siren paused and beat his tail against the deeper waters, propping you upright as you hacked and fretfully patting at your back. You could see his mouth moving as he mumbled something, brow pinched, and stared back at him with your own wobbly frown—confused.

“Why did you come back?” you asked, and the Siren’s brows jumped up into his hairline. He looked startled, genuinely. And that only had you even more befuddled. “And how did you even find me?”

This time when he huffed, there was a subtle sort of irritation there that you’d learn to recognize well.

He was pouting.

Something brushed against your fingers in the water, soft and fleeting. You glanced down just in time to catch a blur of lavender flitting nervously below the choppy waves, never dipping close enough again to touch, but looking hesitant to keep much further either.

The Siren followed your gaze only to narrow his eyes, pointed teeth bared as he swatted at the poor, round, little octopus with his tail. A clear shoo, shoo if you’d ever seen one. The octopus squeaked, sending bubbles spiraling in all directions, and frantically looped out of the way of the mer’s petulant tantrum. You whacked him right back, indignant on your teeny friend’s behalf. Because—!

“You followed me,” you burbled, and the little octopus spun in a fretful circle. If you didn’t know better, you’d say the poor, little dear was wringing its hands. Your Siren bared his teeth and smacked out again. “Hey! Don’t be an ass! He saved me,” you argued, and your bitch of a merman just snapped his fangs in your face like a feral cat.

You gawked.

“No way. You can’t be annoyed that you were beat out by a baby, purple octopus the size of an orange.”

He huffed and turned up his nose, and you burst out into laughter for the first time since you’d watched him swim out of your cove all those days ago.

You laughed and laughed until tears were beading at the corners of your eyes, and your Siren was grumbling in complaint and pinching your sides with his curved claws. There wasn’t real malevolence in that stern glare of his, though—just more of the prickly, teasing sort of snide side eye he’d given you in your latter weeks together. Fondness, you realized. That’s what was softening it all. The same sort of warmth you held for him.

Your favorite, pissy, preening, self-righteous goldfish.

You snorted into his shoulder, still shaking on giggles, and you could feel his sigh against your temple. You burrowed down against his side, feeling his fins brush along your hips as he kept the both of you afloat.

“Thanks,” you said, soft. “For coming back.”

You were expecting another melodramatic sigh, another plaintive roll of the eyes. Instead, his fingers came up to twine with yours and tugged your hand to rest against the pendant at his throat. You blinked, confused, and he just curled your palm around that little, sand-smoothed piece of glass.

You arched a brow. “What does that have to do with anything?”

This time he did roll his eyes at you, and when he spoke he mouthed the word dramatic and wide so he was sure that you could see it.

‘Moron.’

You whined in complaint and smacked his fingers away. “But I’m your moron.”

Another huff, soft against the nape of your neck. And you could see the barest twitch of a smile on his red lips as he turned back into the tide and continued his trek home.

.

.

.

[TAG LIST - CLOSED]

@marvelous-maxi, @ilikefanfics4, @jackalope08, @crocwork-clockodile, @cosmicobubisi, @buttplugs-stuff, @pomefleur, @decemebercircus, @ailynyan, @genzombie, @meliade-ot, @sunlightocean, @theofficialantitherapist, @hermiona18, @sailorenthusiast, @fantasy-dating-sim-trash, @thefiasco-onyourblock, @insideous-beez, @its-clockwork-princess

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[kaifarikus]

Full version of twisted boys x fantasy au sketches 🧌

[facadep]

MalleVil forest snu snu. I had a dream of Vil being an elf and doing Malleus's make up in the forest and now they're being gay cuz I say so <3

[allykakamatsu]

Just having some fun with my nerd.

(Also don't ask why the post generator I'm using only has Yuffie (and Tifa but she's not pictured here) by default out of the FF crew but I'm choosing not to ask-)

Masterpost

Buy me a Coffee

Commission Prices

[yuri-is-online]

Traditional Fantasy AU! Yuu who lives with Idia and Ortho in a little town next to the dungeon tm everyone’s adventuring through. Idia's there as part of his duties with S.T.Y.X. keeping an eye on the monsters and the strange resurrections of mages the labrynth allows.

TFAU! Yuu who has no memories before being woken up by Grim in the bed Idia's set aside for them, but has a strange draw to the labrynth and a need to go somewhere in it.

TFAU! Idia who gently forbids them from going, and tries to distract them by teaching them how to make and upkeep various machinery adventures might need, but still insists on teaching them how to shoot a gun. Just in case.

TFAU! Ortho who sneaks out to adventure every once in a while and tells Yuu all about the dungeon and convinces them they need to go even more. They talk about how much fun it would be to go through the floors with Idia, and try to come up with ways to convince him to come with them.

TFAU! Yuu who finds themselves in the Adventures Guild one day to drop off an order and see a red headed idiot talking about what easy money the job he's looking at will be and they can't help but laugh.

"Can't you see it's a scam? That's waaaay too much money for such a simple job!"

TFAU! Ace who gets really mad and starts an argument with the local magicless weirdo about how he could totally do this job, they just wouldn't know because they're stupid, which causes a fight between him, you, your cat, and some random fighter who swears he just wanted to talk things out (promise!) that breaks a bunch of expensive items in the guild and now you have to take the job or go to jail.

TFAU! Ramshackle Party of first years all really happy with their unexpected success in the dungeon... until Idia shows up clearly worried out of his mind over Yuu and legitimately angry that they went into the dungeon, equally terrified when Ortho confirms he's been sneaking out too.

"Promise you'll stick to the upper levels. And no entering melee. And keep together. And-"

TFAU! Idia who goes back to his desk and stares at a letter he's been meaning to send since you woke up months ago, hands shaking as he thinks about what the others will say if they find out he's been lying about your condition. If they find out he's letting you go back there again.

Traditional fantasy ayuu where there is something clearly wrong with Yuu but no one notices until it's almost too late.

Again.

[cosmicobubisi]

Cosmic's Malleyuu Whump vs Flufftober: Day 14

LEFT FOR DEAD hunting gear / Fantasy AU/Mundane AU

TW: Graphic violence and suicide.

Continued from day 6.

The pounding rhythm of the hunt should have been familiar by now, but Tsunotaro knew he’d never get used to this feeling.

No matter how many times he was hunted down, though, he knew he would never stop running.

Running with the wind under his wings was better than being nailed down to a specimen board, body decomposing under hot, bright lights for all of eternity.

The pit that opened up in his stomach at such a cruel fate was quickly pushed away as he heard the sound of snapping branches and teleported away.

There was some sort of dampening on the first that was preventing him from using up a lot of his magic at once. He did not recognize the clearing, but the dampening felt natural.

They'd lured him here. He couldn't remember why anymore, as he teleported away once more.

Appearing at his destination, Tsunotaro reached out to steady himself against a tree, clutching his head.

Sparks flew behind his eyelids as he was hit with a wave of dizziness, the scenery around him spinning into a mishmash of color.

Something was sucking and leeching his magic. The disruption field had to be more complicated than he was giving it credit for.

He felt lightheaded, and it was impacting his ability to think. Tsunotaro tried to shake off the fog as fast as possible, knowing he needed his mind clear if he wanted to escape.

A cough, and a spark. He didn't know how much he had, but Tsunotaro could sense he had enough firepower to scare off at least as small handful of suppression soldiers.

Leaning against the tree, Tsunotaro sank a bit.

He was tired of running. He'd done so seemingly his whole life, but the last few years had reached a peak that were driving Tsunotaro to a breaking point.

Through blurred vision, he looked down at his hands. Would it be... better if he just finished things himself?

What kind of life was this?

He didn't get the chance to ponder this a moment more. A whoosh of air, and a dull thud in his back told him he'd been struck by an arrow.

Tsunotaro teleported away, adrenaline and instinct kicking in, and he lunged at a soldier holding a bow.

The solider whirled around and tried to fire, but the arrow didn't have the strength to make it far before Tsunotaro knocked her to the ground before she could scream.

Her teeth were gritted in a snarl against him, but Tsunotaro didn't question her bravery as he dented her armor with a punch to the chest.

He raised his fist again, but was stopped by someone knocking into him, sending him to the ground next to the soldier.

Now it was his turn to snarl, as his head was shoved down and his arms pinned behind his back.

Tsunotaro tried to raise his head, desperate to see what was coming, but someone seemed to be exerting a lot of force to keep his head down.

The rattling of chains sent his heart into overdrive, and it seemed the soldiers could sense that, because one of them got on his back.

"That's right," one of them hissed. "Can you hear that, little mutt?"

Tsunotaro shoved the ground with every muscle he had, and successfully flipped himself around, knocking the guard off.

His little speech had been his downfall.

But the victory Tsunotaro had won was short-lived. They threw the ropes of iron over his skin, and a sensation of burning began to spread across his skin, as through he were a woodland in the throes of fall being ravaged by an all-consuming wildfire.

He felt his air being suddenly and harshly cut off as someone crushed his throat.

"Tell me what the other side looks life," said the soldier who was on his throat, knife raised in the air. "And I'll go a bit easier on you later."

He felt a breath of air forced out of him as the knife entered his left side, a hand below his shoulder.

A shimmer of light burst through Tsunotaro's vision in that same instant, fast enough that the solider was still holding onto the knife.

He fell over, partially dislodging the blade from Tsunotaro's chest.

There were a few hurried sounds of clanging and clashing, and then a familiar figure appeared.

"Goddamnit," they said, and Tsunotaro would know that voice from anywhere, even in the dead of night.

Which was similar to what he was able to see right now- pitch black, right before he passed out.

--

A familiar sight awaited Tsunotaro, and he was happy to awaken to the sound of cooking- pots and pans, the noises of nourishment.

On his chest was Yuu, the mage of his dreams and savior of his nightmares. They worked so hard, and were so peaceful in sleep, Tsunotaro couldn't help but stroke their head as it lay against their chest.

They were too light a sleeper for their own good, though, and Yuu woke up at the touch.

Yuu inhaled, blinking away sleep. "There you are," they said as if he'd been lost, exhaustion in their voice as they pushed off of Tsunotaro's chest. "You're awake."

"You need to go back to sleep," said Tsunotaro, pushing on their head. "I'll follow."

"No, no," said Yuu, standing up on their knees as they tried to maneuver off of Tsunotaro's sickbed without elbowing him. "You sleep."

"I feel well-rested," he insisted, noting that the ache in his head was gone, and the soreness in his muscles was dulled.

Yuu scoffed. "Shut up. Close your eyes."

"Really," he said, sly smile on his face. "I-"

Yuu threw down a pot and marched abck over to his bed. "I'm not asking! Sit down, and go to bed!"

They said it with such venom that Tsunotaro was surprised back into his bed, wide-eyed. He hadn't realized they weren't just playing a game.

Yuu glared at him for a few more uncomfortable moments, and all of the sarcastic and flippant playfulness left his body.

Their jaw twitched, but Yuu said nothing more as they returned to the kitchen.

Something about this wasn't right. Yuu was tense with anger in a way Tsunotaro had rarely seen.

He knew he could be a bit reckless, but Yuu knew that as well. They'd been working on it together, and Yuu had identified some sort of issue in how he perceived pain, as opposed to how people normally felt it.

But they'd had to leave, and Tsunotaro had been more upset by that for reasons he couldn't identify. It had rankled the mood of their final meeting, and he had been able to tell that Yuu was bothered, too.

In the present, Yuu was muttering something.

"Goddamn stupid," he could make out.

Tsunotaro wasn't sure what to do, and debated whether or not it was best to leave Yuu alone or reassure them of... something.

Yuu glanced over and Tsunotaro's gaze caught ther eye. They seemed a bi embarrassed to be caught, but just bit their lip sourly and stalked off.

"I'm sorry," said Tsunotaro to Yuu's back.

They paused for a moment, but resumed their fiddling with the magic pots.

"You were right," he said.

At taht, Yuu's body finally stilled. They stood there for a while, not making a sound, before marching back over, ducking their head so Tsunotaro couldn't see their face, and climbing into bed ith him, back into the position they;d been in before.

Against his body, Tsunotaro could feel the soft sobs warcking their body.

"You're mean," said Yuu, tears thick in their voice.

"I'm sorry," said Tsunotaro, unable to say anything more.

[hrtzbeat]

he's got that dog in him