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akanemnon · 10 months

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TWIN RUNES MASTERPOST

1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10 - 11 - 12 - 13 - 14 -15 - 16 - 17 - 18 - 19 - 20 - 21 - 21-1 - 21-2 - 21-3 - 22 - 23 -24 - 25 - 26 - 27 - 28 - 29 - 30 - 31 - 32 - 33 - 34 - 35 - 36 - 36-1 - 37 - 38 - 39 - 40 - 41 - 42 - 43 - 44 - 45 - 46 - 47 - 48 - 49 - 50 - 51 - 52 - 53 - 54 - 55 - 56 - 57 - 58 - 59

To be continued...

TWIN RUNES MINI COMICS

Glasses - Fallen down - First steps - Press [C] - Frisk Dance - But nobody came - Whatstheirface - An acquired taste - Eye opening - Smalltalk

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TWIN RUNES - FAQ

What exactly is this AU about? Twin Runes is essentially a comedic crossover AU between the universes of Deltarune and Undertale. No fancy nicnacs. Just the characters being their chaotic selves. But there might be some darkness lurking up ahead...

When is the next comic? The comic updates most Sundays at 6:30 PM Central European Time.

Why is this AU called Twin Runes? The name is more or less a play on the typical naming format of most AU's by featuring the "Runes" part. There are no literal Twin Runes. The whole name is more of a stand in for Undertale and Deltarune as parallel worlds. Hence the "Twin" part.

When does Twin Runes take place? This AU takes place between a hypothetical Chapter 3 and Chapter 4 of Deltarune. On the Undertale side of things, it takes place post neutral route just as Frisk was about to deliver Undyne's letter to Alphys.

Is the player a thing in this AU? The player lost control over both human children as soon as Frisk entered the world of Deltarune.

When Chapter 3 and 4 are released, will it affect the story? Any chapters after Chapter 3 won't affect the story in the grand scheme of things. If possible, I might make a reference to Chapter 3, but all in all Twin Runes created a new timeline so to speak.

What's up with Kris' and Frisk's hair? The red bits of their hair is more or less a representation of their souls. That in turn is also why Chara doesn't have that feature. They are soulless. It's a stylistic choice.

What's that thing on Kris' chest? It's a scar they got from tearing out their soul.

And why do they have weird lines all over their body? Both Kris and Frisk's anatomy resemble that of ball-jointed dolls. They appear just as markings across their bodies. Think of them as elaborate birthmarks. Kris and Frisk are still made of flesh and blood, but are in fact hypermobile. The reason as to why they do is still a little secret :) People here like to refer to these markings as "puppet limbs". You can get a better look at them and the scar in this artwork

Why does Kris have braces? This is why:

Why is Dark World Frisk green? Frisk changes their main sweater colors with Kris when they enter the Dark World.

Can other ghosts see Chara? (pre Darkner transformation) No, only Frisk and Kris are able to see Chara.

IS KRIS NOW FRISK'S COUNTERPART OR CHARA'S???? :)

So, was Chara in the locket all along? No, Chara possessed the locket to become a Darkner.

Where are Jevil and Spamton? Are they in Castle Town? The Fun Gang have already fought these two in the previous chapters and added them into their inventory. Outside of that little dream sequence, neither will be making an appearance.

Is anyone from Undertale Yellow gonna make an apperance? Outside of a tiny cameo from Clover (that has no greater bearing on the story) no one from Undertale Yellow is going to make an appearance.

Is (insert character here) gonna go to the Dark World/underground? With the way the story is going to play out, only the main group will be heading to this new Dark World. The rest of the story will be taking place there.

Is the Group Project miniseries canon to Twin Runes? It was made before Twin Runes was conceived and before I had any idea I would make a series. It is it's own self-contained story. So it is NOT canon to Twin Runes, but You can read it here: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6

How did you come up with the idea of Twin Runes? Twin Runes is an offshoot of a separate script I wrote. It's a similar concept but turned on its head. The funny moments in that script made me just continue what now is the start of Twin Runes. I pretty much just wanted to see if I am actually capable of drawing a comic to begin with. So... in a way Twin Runes is my first attempt at a comic ever. If I ever finish Twin Runes, then I know I can tackle turning that mammoth project of a script into a comic too. In the grand scheme of things these two projects are sister series. They have A LOT in common and even share similar plot elements. When Twin Runes is over you will automatically also know certain mysteries of The Other Script.

What is The Other Script? As of this moment I call The Other Script: "Lost in the In-Between". At its core it's an inverse of Twin Runes. I.e. Kris falling into the underground and being aided by Frisk on their quest to return home. The story and jokes are a considerably more grounded than in Twin Runes and so are the characters. Though they do have their moments from time to time. The overall mood of that script is a lot darker in nature and it's a 200+ page passion project of mine.

Am I allowed to make fanart? ABSOLUTELY! You are very welcome to make fanart if you feel like it. Please let me know if you do by tagging me, so I can share it with everyone to see so that you get the appreciation you deserve :)

Can I use the funny faces you draw for memes or for private stuff with friends? That's what they're here for :)

Is there x ship in this comic? The focus of the story is not on shipping. If it's in the game it will very likely be mentioned or brought up, but that's about it.

What pronouns do you go with for the human children? I try to stick as close as possible to the games so I use THEY/THEM FOR ALL OF THEM WITHOUT ANY EXCEPTIONS.

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ABOUT ASKS

Asks will open for 24 hours after a new comic has been released. Your questions will then be answered over the course of the week.

Try not to submit multiple asks. If necessary, just keep everything in one post.

Keep in mind that I receive AL LOT of asks, so not every question can be answered...

Questions containing spoilers will not be answered on principle. Wouldn't be as fun if the surprise was ruined, right?

Before leaving an ask (mostly for everyone who's new), please make sure to read the FAQ section above. A lot of times your question might have been answered already :>

I love memes and dumb jokes as much as the next guy, but try not to spam

It probably goes without saying, but please stay civil. I want to give everyone the respect they deserve, and naturally like to be treated the same way.

Please be mindful about drawing requests. It is understandable if you're eager to see a certain character drawn in my style, but I do not like to be bombarded by requests. The more it happens, the less likely I am to do it. Be kind and ask nicely.

Don't use other people's posts that I reblogged to ask me questions! It has happened before and I do not wish to see this!

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REFERENCE SHEETS

The following are ref sheets of characters that don't have established Dark World forms yet (as of writing this comic). The list will be updated as soon as a new character enters the Dark World. Here you will also find references of characters that might appear as surprise cameos, or maybe even completely new faces...

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FULL ART

#twin runes #twin runes masterpost #masterpost #deltarune comic #comic #deltarune au #crossover #undertale #my art #FAQ #frequently asked questions #important #please read #deltarune

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 11 months

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Songs That Sound Like Sea-Foam (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Fisherman!John Price x F!Mermaid!Reader

WORD COUNT: 6.2k

WARNINGS: Fluff, mentions of death, being hunted, vulgar language, price in a tunic (yes this is a warning by itself), awkwardness, nakedness, suggestive (?), implied age gap, etc.

A/N: I'm feral over this AU, ong. A million kisses to the Anon that brought this to my attention-btw this is definitely becoming a mini-series.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Your family told you to never go beyond the deep waterways of the cove, never to brave the open sea. Times were changing. The Harpies, when they weren't as shrewd about their feathers getting wet, would fly down from their tall mountain spires and tell stories—ones about the hunting ships.

They’d seen them, they said as your family listened on in horror from the rocks, dragging all manner of Merfolk up from the waters in large nets made of iron and hard steel. Spears that tore scales to take for profit. In other instances, the unlucky individuals were even sold to royalty to become showpieces in displays of high wealth and standing.

But it wasn’t just Merfolk. It was all manner of mystical beast and being. Hunted. Sold. Humans, your parents had told you, were not friends. They were greedy and selfish; more than often cruel.

And so they started to do the same unto them. Your family would lure them with their voices to the ends of the great ships that were brought close to your cove—watch as they hurled themselves from the sides into the grasp of the ruthless waves. They did it for you, they explained. To try and keep you safe.

For years they did this until they were gone too.

Suddenly the cove seemed more like a prison than a safe spot, and the Harpies no longer came to converse or tell news. Killed or taken you had no idea, but it was becoming fairly obvious that even interactions with your own people were impossible. Were you the only mermaid left? It was a good question to ask and one that you could never answer. All that you knew was that you had been alone for a very long time.

That was, before you first laid eyes on the fisherman.

You watch him now, yet again, from behind the sharp jutting body of the rocks; the water delicately bobs you up and down as your vibrant tail hangs limp in its otherworldly throes. Eyes softly wide and mouth parted in wonder.

He’s walking along the deck of a small ship—not the large and intimidating ones of the other men that sail the seas—with a strong form. A hat on top of his head of brown hair and a well-trimmed beard of the same color made him look gruff in appearance.

Your hands shift over the sharp black stone, and the nakedness of your top is covered by the long strands of your wet, uncut, hair. This man wore a plain white tunic and brown pants stuffed into large boots. Even as far as you were, you heard the soft whistled tune dancing in the shell of your ears. Delicate eyes watch, head slowly peeking out more and more.

He was tending to the nets he had on the bow and as you studied him you were mystified.

“Fascinating,” you whisper, unknown emotions swirling in you.

His muscles strain, large and expansive shoulders lead down to a tapered waist; legs that you blink at before glancing at your tail under the rippling water. There’s a large grunt before the fisherman’s net is thrown in a beautiful arc, hitting the water with a slap and a spray of liquid as it begins to sink. Startled, you flinch back, gasping loudly.

With a racing heart, you quietly scold yourself for the childish reaction, flicking your tail in annoyance. Slowly but surely, your head peaks back out with water dripping down the flesh of your shoulders.

But when you shift back into the open, you find a deep set of stormy blue eyes digging into your field of view. You freeze, seeing his lids go back in surprise and shock as your jaw slackens. A cold fear enters your veins at the new attention brought to you but you find yourself unable to look away.

The Fisherman is the picture of utter stillness, just as you are, like twin mountains of ancient stone. Your nervousness only seems to grow as he doesn’t do anything—teachings and lessons about those who walk on two legs and sail in ships poking holes into your mind.

Gawking and spying were one thing…but being seen meant death. You swallow stiffly and go tense, shifting to half-hide behind your rock.

“Oh, no,” your mouth murmurs, self-hatred and fear lining the tone. “Oh, no, no, no.”

And yet the Fisherman had not moved, nor made any attempt to pull his sinking net back into his boat. Fish panic in the rope grave they’ve been ensnared in. His eyes….why are they so curiously locked on you?

You spare one last glance before shoving away from the rock and disappearing under the water with a violent splash; making off for the deep underwater caves that offer salvation.

When you’re down there—in the darkness with only silent ripples of light to guide your eyes—you find it hard to stop thinking about the Fisherman and his strong jaw. His genuine awe at the sight of you.

Had he not heard the stories of the Merfolk of this region? Or…or were you truly the last of your kind?

The thought troubles you, and, riddled with anxiety, you go over to your store of shiny trinkets that you’d collected over the years; grabbing them in your hands and fiddling with them to try to put your mind at ease. The walls of the caves bare down on you and you hope you’d not just signed over your own death warrant.

Maybe he’ll go away, you offer yourself, face tight and tail curled close, maybe he’ll be afraid and won’t come back.

It was a pointless belief. They always come back—driven by greed or a righteous authority. Humans were cruel.

But your brain goes back to stormy blue eyes like pebbles and softly parted lips. Orbs glinting with wonder and shock. No attempt to shout or grab for the large knife you’d seen strapped to his belt.

A fisherman, you told yourself, who hesitated to go after the biggest fish of them all.

You didn’t quite know if that made you more afraid or more intrigued.

—

It was only after you’d spent three weeks in the underwater caves of the cove that you’d finally decided the coast was clear. You’d cautiously gone back through the winding seaweed and schools of marine life to hide in your little rock fort; afraid but brave. From under the waves in the calm of the water you’d scanned the surface for the shadows of a boat, anything to indicate that the man had returned.

Nothing.

Tension leaves your shoulders and you travel upwards, vibrant scales shimmering like jewels. You were quite close to the mainland, you would say, back to the shore to look out over the open entrance to your home. At the first sign of danger, the rocks would be your first point of shelter if you wished to remain hidden but continue to watch.

Ears popping as your head surfaces, you only look out with the water swaying below your eyes; nose and chin hidden. Sand from behind you shifts.

“Knew I’d seen something, then, eh?” Your heart lurches—brain flashing to hooks and nets; you shove yourself back under the water with a garbled gasp.

Fish around your form dash away as you frantically look back at the surface, your scales shining as the light hits them. Fingers tense in the water, you shift your body so that your form has its back to the floor of the cove and breathe quickly in your own mermadian way with shaking fins.

On the very edge of the shore, you see the shadow of a sitting body in the sand. He hadn’t moved, this Fisherman. Was waiting as inanimate as an empty shell.

What had he said? You ask yourself, hair disturbed by the flow of the waves above your head. A gentle back and forth. After a moment of contemplation, the large muscle in your breast slows itself and a nervous curiosity grows.

Yet still, the shadow stays completely motionless beside the occasional itch and brush as facial hair. Waiting.

Waiting to attack, your hand twitches in the water and you flutter your tail to take you closer to the open air, or waiting to see me?

Taking what you can describe as a deep breath, the top of your head once more breaks the top of the water; lashes dripping salty tear-drops as you blink away the sting. Every part of you is ready to disappear once more if things go south.

And then you lock eyes once more.

The Fisherman sits in the sand with his boots pushing up the granules—his right hand rests over his bent knee while the other keeps him up in a relaxed position from behind his back. You stare, the sun reflected in your eyes with a small glinting and hair in your vision. A foreign heat builds in your face when the man’s head tilts; tiny eyes narrowing as if he’d just proven a point to himself.

Why doesn’t he seem surprised?

There’s a moment of a smirk that slashes his hidden lips but it’s gone in a fraction of a second. His mustache moves as he speaks and your face slightly bobs lower instinctually. The Fisherman doesn't seem hostile—he has a kind of stern comfort to him.

Stubborn gruffness. And his accent only amplifies that fact.

“Well, wasn’t expecting to find you here,” his chest rumbles with his words. You find you quite like the sound of it. Shells grinding against each other and pearls that clatter in palms. Your eyes widen with innocence. The Fisherman clears his throat, still watching carefully as the water sloshes over his boots. “Else I would have stayed clear when I still could.”

Your hands tread water around you, tail flickering in small movements.

The man's gaze darts down to stare as well as he could through the ripples.

“Bloody Christ,” he murmurs to himself, returning your eyes once more, “thought you were all mostly extinct. Fuckin’ hell.”

“Extinct?” Your lips flinch, chin caressing the waves as brows pull up. The Fisherman blinks as if surprised to hear you speak. To be honest, you were half afraid you couldn’t either—how long had it been since you’d had a conversation above water? You spent most of your time passing comments to rare traveling Hippocampus and Sea Serpents.

Not that they could respond, of course.

By now your face had entirely left the water, that word startling you. Your chest tightens.

“What do you mean,” you ask the older man, this strange Fisherman who was shifting his weight in the sand, “extinct?”

Dark brows furrow and his back slightly straightens itself.

“You aren't exactly what I’d be calling common, Love. No one’s seen one of your kind in years.” Your face stills.

“Years?” Head angling itself down, you stare at your reflection in growing fear.

The Fisherman makes a move to stand, and you dart back swiftly. A pale hand is held in the air as if to sedate you.

“Easy, now.” It’s said softly, a grunt stuck at the beginning. A small moment passes before the man fully stands up, dressed similarly to when you’d seen him before.

Top, pants, hat. There’s also a flash of metal around his neck, some piece of jewelry hidden on the chain under the layer of his thin, flowy, tunic. Hands go to cross over his chest in a display of muscle gained from a long time of hard work.

You nervously plead for an explanation, “B-but that…that doesn’t make any sense! I’m not the only one left!”

“No,” the Fisherman slowly states, taking off the hat from his head and delicately placing it on the ground. “No, you’re not the last.”

His eyes dart along your visible body, trying to catch a glimpse of that tail that was in all stories about your kind.

“Your name, Ma’am,” he asks, blue returning to your own sights, “what is it.”

“Well, what’s yours?” You counter, getting snappy in your anxiousness. “You come into my home and expect me to answer to you? And where’s your fishing boat anyways—unless a male Selkie has suddenly managed to brave the deep sea?”

Perhaps it had been a trick of the light, but you had sworn the Fisherman had smiled at you; it was a swift slash of something that pulled his mustache back and wrinkled his face. An amused thing it was. A sort of tiny tease, in its own right.

Your heart beats steadily at the sight, eyes watching.

“Well, I suppose you’re right, then.” He scratches at his beard with one hand, still studying you with a tilt of his head. As if weighing what he should tell you. There was an air of intrigue but that did nothing to hide the hesitance. “I docked my boat in the sea cave, thought it would do more harm than good to leave it in the open. If you’d seen it, you wouldn’t have shown, eh?” The Fisherman points and you look to the deep indent in the mountainside, the tiny ship visible as it stays stationary. You blink at it slowly.

“And you can call me whatever it is you like, I don’t bloody care, but I’m not inclined to tell one of the Merfolk my name—I may have come ‘ere, but I’m not fuckin’ daft, now.”

It was true, what he spoke of. Names to your people have a stark and violent purpose. To know one's name is to own a piece of that person’s soul. Songs gain more power, words grow into orders followed without thought. Not that it was your intention.

You glower, brows pulling in.

“A simple fisherman does well to know that it’s rude to speak ill like such in another’s home.” The man smirks, cheeks rising.

“Simple, am I?” The already expansive build of his shoulders widens as he leans back on his heels, water sloshing at his boots. His eyes glimmer like lighting with humor. The look makes your cheeks burn with warmth, throat swallowing saliva.

“Why are you here?” You avoid the question, treading water and letting your tail drift. Willing the water to cool your senses. It was obvious that this man wasn’t a hunter—foolish, perhaps, but no hunter.

Or maybe just confidently brave.

The Fisherman hums under his breath, grunting in the way you’d already come to associate with him. Rugged fellow, really. Weathered like a pile of old rope but still handsome, the sinews under the stain of dirt pure of color. You found yourself, however apprehensive, enjoying the squareness of his face; how the brunette’s hair would sweep in the warm breeze.

He was attractive.

“Fishing, Ma’am.” A broad sweep of one of his hands, “You have a proper cove. Plenty of places to cast.”

Your tight arms somewhat loosen.

“Just fishing?” Your voice darkens. “Then why is it you’re here on shore and not doing just that.” Tail flickering, it lightly brings you back from him, eyes always darting away to stare into the background of his form—at the dark shadows of trees behind the dark rocks. At the open mouth of the cove in case of extra ships.

If what he told you earlier was true, you were in danger just by living.

Extinct? Not seen in years? No, that can’t be right. A deep knot forms in your stomach.

“I may be human, Ma’am, but I believe myself to be above intrusion.” The Fisherman splays his hands by his waist and shifts his thighs. He seems serious again, like a wave going forward and back he seemed to always revert to a crafted visage of firm resolve. “This is your home, and I’m asking to ferry my boat here when able. Nothing else.”

You blink in surprise, brows pulling back.

He was…asking you?

“I…own the cove no more than the Manticore owns the desert,” your voice stutters, oddly touched by his sincerity. You pause and push yourself farther above a wave. This large man didn’t seem cruel to you. “I have no claim on the waters—they have been here longer than I. Do as you wish.”

While that should have been the end of it, you found his blue eyes continuing to watch you, head tilted like a shaggy dog. Thinking deeply with a slight parting of his lips and rising to his lids.

At the intensity of his silent wonder, your head goes light. Had you said something strange? No, it was just the truth. Then…why was this man’s face going to a modest pink shade? Why were his eyes darting away from yours and his feet shifting?

You narrow at him before he speaks, clearing his throat and crossing his arms.

“Alright,” the Fisherman mutters, chest rumbling.

A silence falls where your ears twitch to the lapping of the sea-foam and the feeling of blood in your veins which mirrors such movements. As you saw him do to you, your vision falls to the man’s body; looking across the tapering of his waist and the rolled sleeves of his tunic—showing off years of muscle

“I don’t suppose…” Your tail flinches from the sudden noise from the brunette, expecting him to swim over to his boat and get to his business. You stare and listen, and for the first time, you believe a mermaid has been entranced by another's voice. “That I’ll have the pleasure of seeing you again?”

The Fisherman speaks slowly, hands shifting on his biceps; thighs tense and settle. You allow the waves to connect and slide around your body and a feeling reminiscent of warm rocks in the sun grows in your heart.

Strange, this man. This serious-faced Fisherman who asks one of the Merfolk for permission over the waters we don’t control. You tilt your head to teasingly mirror the brunettes. He humphs in his throat at your action. I enjoy him.

At the first sign of danger you’d leave—but for now…talking felt good.

“Perhaps,” you say, lips twitching into a smile. “Would this nameless Fisherman enjoy the company of a mermaid? Not many would say yes.”

“I think you’ll find I’m not like those many, then, yeah?” He smiles, a small twitch of his lips. You begin backing up, getting to deeper water while maintaining eye contact. “I don’t care what you are, just that we have an agreement.”

“Very well,” your neck dips under the waves, tail momentarily peaking above the surface. Blue flickers to it, shoulders lowering in hidden awe. The Fisherman’s lungs still.

He hears your giggle before you dive under, disappearing swiftly down to your caves with a splash.

It’s a long while before the brunette picks up his hat and begins walking the length of the shore—strong steps taking him back to his ship with a tiny smile brightening his ruggedly handsome face.

He runs a hand over his chin and chuckles.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

—

You perch on the side of the Fisherman’s boat, golden comb in your grip as you run it over and over through your locks. Tangles and knots are rendered useless to the fine and beautiful make of the object, the handle covered in small barnacles and seaweed. A nice breeze wafts in the air, and behind you, the padding of feet goes across the deck. With the sliding of nets and a small whistling from the Fisherman, you feel your tail gently sway from side to side; the bottom under the water whose waves rise and lower the vessel.

It had been a week since your first meeting and you had become more relaxed about this man’s presence. He had been truthful—every day he would come and fish.

At first, you’d watch from the black rocks, sitting atop them and studying. More than once you’d see the brunette raise a hand in greeting when his boat had entered the cove; an acknowledgment that you were there and nothing more. No expectation for you to come over or speak to him.

Day after day you’d see the net being thrown from the side only to be reeled back by large arms, legs apart and firm to the deck.

On day four, you swam over and grappled onto the side of the ship, curious. Before you could even realize he instantly knew you were there—despite his back being to you—the Fisherman spoke in a cheeky tone.

“Come up, then, if you’re that interested. No use watching from the water.” So you had, with a bit more fire to your cheeks than you thought mermaids could handle.

Now it was routine. The human man would pull into the cove and you would sit on the side of his fishing boat, doing whatever you wished as he worked.

You pull your comb through the ends of your hair, placing it down after and closing your eyes before your hands grab the shiny strands, twisting them. Under your breath, you hum in tune with the Fisherman’s whistled song; the notes like a growing symphony in your head.

Song to Merfolk is sacred and revered—everything sings, in its own right, and deserves careful crafting to fully understand.

“You seem to enjoy that,” you startle to a stop, eyes popping open. Sharply looking over your shoulder, you pause your hands. Staring, the man has completely stopped his work; nets at his feet with slapping fish of all colors stuck in the rope’s limp weavings.

He squints at your confused face.

“Rhythm.”

“Oh,” you offer a smile and watch him look away only to kneel down and begin separating his quarry. “If you’re worried I’ll sing around you, think nothing of it—I know what that could cause.”

The Fisherman hums, amused at you, “I’m not. I was complimenting you,” the knife at his belt glints in the light. “You have a pretty voice, Love.”

You shyly watch him, hair partly covering your visage, and catch a glimpse once more at the necklace he seems to always wear. Silver and shiny but still hidden.

“If you knew about my species, you wouldn’t be saying that.” Explaining lowly, the man grunts, sending a look your way as he tosses a Cod farther up the deck—you watch it flop around for a moment.

“Well,” the Fisherman explains, hands pausing and body leaning closer as one of his knees connects to the wood. It’s a teasing whisper that slides into your drum, and you find yourself nearly shivering from it. Blue eyes twinkle with mischief. “I did. No worries, I’ll never tell.”

A deep chuckle joins a lighter one, and your tail shimmers in the open light; scales vibrant and rich-looking. From what the brunette can see on the deck—the smaller plates that extend all the way up your navel to stop at your belly button—you know he stares at them.

Not a greedy, evil, stare…just one of hidden admiration. It was of no surprise to you that he found it beautifully uncanny.

You have no idea how to read this Fisherman; have no idea what he wants. You think he doesn’t want anything. On your face, a strange calm settles.

“Tell me, Fisherman,” his gaze snaps from your scales to your face, momentarily stopping at the dip of your neck as you turn as fully to him as you’re able from your perch. Your hand rests at your side; spine twisted halfway. “Who are you? No, I don’t mean your name. I want your person. You don’t act afraid of me—of what I am.” He stays kneeling and lets the net rest for now, his heart beating steadily in his breast. “There is more to you than a human at sea, surely.”

Your words are not accusatory, they lacked any sort of confrontation. Curiosity, though, like enclosed treasure, was stuck behind your tongue. He surprises you by standing and beginning to walk over, boots thumping.

As he nears, he sits down with a huff on the edge, right next to you.

There’s a moment when you both stare into each other's eyes as you feel the world shift. Blinking up at him, at the closer range you take into account the ancientness of his eyes and how it seemed, for such an alone man, it was making him look far older than he was. Still older than you, yes, but the sentiment still stands.

With his hat having been retired not five minutes earlier onto one of the many ship’s barren tops, you saw the streaks of sun-bleached strands in his brown hair. You unconsciously reach for your comb but stay your fingers as they flinch over the gold.

Storm-blue carefully glances away before coming back to you.

“Not much to know, Love,” the Fisherman’s brow raises, “you understand?”

“No,” you say, honestly, head tilting at him. He looks surprised, breath hitching.

“It’s just…there’s not much to tell, Sweetheart.”

Humans are strange creatures.

Not knowing this word game, you take your hand away from the comb and bring it to his chest, slipping under the neck of his tunic to grasp at the necklace he always wears. A hand snaps to your wrist almost immediately—a startling speed that makes you flinch.

Above your heads, seagulls squawk at you, but all you can gaze into are those pure blue orbs. They trap you, drag you down far faster than a whirlpool into the briny depths of hypnotic appeasement.

Perhaps you were naive to the magical whims of males that walk on two feet.

The Fisherman’s jaw clenches, eyes tightly narrowed at you in hesitance and veiled threat. You blink at him softly, not doing anything besides twitching your fingers and widening your sight. Before long, his hold loosens but doesn’t leave, allowing you on whatever it was you were doing yet still touching your damp flesh.

Lips parting, you don’t make a fuss. Instead, you hum under your breath and allow his calluses to scrape you. The toughness becomes a stark contrast to your own make-up.

Feels nice.

Your digits peel out the article of jewelry and you shift closer to look; bare chest brushing against his. You can feel his pulse through the brunette’s tunic, the way his throat shifts in a tense swallow of nothing.

The necklace held two pieces of small, round, silver and said the following.

“Jonathan Price, Captain, 141st company under the King.”

As you read, your tail gradually begins brushing his leg in its swaying. Through it all, the large Fisherman only slants his chin down and watches, breathing half through his mouth and half through his nose. You hear his throat clear; feel his grip squeeze your wrist.

It is a small and taken-aback kind of noise. He doesn’t move his hand.

You are happy he doesn’t.

“You’re a…Captain?” Asking, you look up shocked and aren’t taken aback by how close your face was to his. Even if your cheeks begin to burn at the beard bristles itching your nose.

“...Yes,” breathe puffs over the lower half of your face. Your fingers detangle from the Fisherman’s necklace and let it thump to his chest. “I was. Left.”

Blinking, you whisper, steadily, “What’s a…Captain…?”

A small sound is made in the back of his throat and he releases your wrist and pulls back before a loud bark of a laugh jerks his chest. You stare in innocent confusion, hair falling over your shoulders.

“What?” Gripping his mouth, Jonathan Price grounds himself by gripping his thigh as he chuckles.

“No, no,” he takes a deep breath and releases his face, smoothing down his beard quickly with amusement stuck in his smile. “Bloody hell, it’s nothing. Nothing at all, Love.”

He sends you a warm side glance and you huff, moving back and picking up your comb, getting back to brushing your locks again. You are acutely aware that you now know the Fisherman’s name, but refrain from saying anything until he does. Now you know why he reacted in such a way.

Your tail twitches in the water as fish brush past it and the brunette begins with a soft look.

“I was in charge of a small group of men—we had a ship. Far larger than this old girl,” he pats the deck, and you slow your motion to show that you are listening, intrigued. “We did what was needed of us, but there was a thin line that needed to be drawn to keep every bastard sane.”

Blue meets your eyes and the man’s expression darkens. Your fingers twitch as the breeze ravages his hair, chest tightening.

“And yours?” You ask softly, entranced and open, “What was your line, Captain Price?”

He hums after a small silence, sighing deeply. Along the hull of the boat, the waves rock the vessel gently side to side, and your mythical attention seems to entrap him far better than your voice could. His face loses that dark edge, well-trimmed beard relaxes as his jaw does.

The past it seems, looms over him like a tsunami.

Reaching up a slow hand, his fingers brush the tendrils of hair that had slipped out of your hold and were dangling in front of your face; the Fisherman blinks and pushes them back behind your ear. By now your brush had long stopped and your breath was held in your chest. For the first time in your life, you think you feel yourself shiver at the delicate scrape of his skin on yours.

“John,” he mutters, and you suck down a shallow breath as he watches you like you were an idol of the Gods, “Just John.”

Your smile leaves his fingers pressing deeper into your scalp and, perhaps a bit naively, you welcome him to you like a bird to the sky. You liked his gruffness—his beard and his face. The lines on his forehead that you could imagine tracing as if they belonged on a map instead of the squareness of this Fisherman’s profile. Tiny sockets that hold sapphire stones.

“Maybe I left because I couldn’t stand seeing such beautiful creatures being put to the hook, eh?” Your eyes widen, tiny gasp leaving your lips.

Merfolk swooned with flattery, truth be told. They enjoy being doted on and praised; given gifts of both words and objects. You were no different.

Oh…did he call me beautiful?

John smirks at your reaction, taking his hand off of you and standing with a low chuckle. Your tail flutters at the sudden absence, head following after him as he walks back to his net with a sway in his step. You blink in astonishment.

“You’re a strange human, John,” calling to him, you grimace at the blatant disappointment in your bones at the lack of his skin on yours. At his humored hum, you sense your growing attraction to the grind of his vocal cords. His voice. “I don’t know what to think of you.”

“Then think nothing of me,” he explains easily, casually, re-gathering his nets in his toned arms. You try not to let your jaw slacken at the bulge under his tunic when he carries them. “I’m not offended by it, Love.” A sly look, “Do as you wish.”

Your tail twitches so violently you’re afraid you might break the side of the ship.

And so this strange dance between the two of you continued well into the longer months—John would come in his ship nearly every day and you would join him on the side of the deck. Sometimes you would hum for him and he would whistle a tune back, others there were long bouts of conversation about the ways of humans and beasts. John told you that the King had ordered the total extinction of all manner of ‘strange and unordinary’ creatures to secure his line safely to the throne.

When he had explained it, the mad had gone red with anger.

“Fuckin’ muppet,” he’d spit, fiddling with his knife as you watched a small distance away, playing with his silver necklace in your hands. You twiddled it around and liked how it shimmered like your scales did in the light. “Bloody thought I would just go along with the deaths of innocent beings. He had no facts—no proof to back up his claim. I’ve done things. Horrible things,” John explained to you, sending you a stiff look, “but I’ve not forsaken my damn mind to reality. Takin’ the piss.”

Muttering the last sentence to himself, you had felt your lips curve into a smile. “You have a proper conscience, John, done bad or not.”

“Yeah, well, Sweetheart, I’ll be done in soon enough.” You only stared with care-drowned eyes and caressed his necklace. When he had seen this, his body had deflated with an exasperated grunt.

You shared a chuckle and he got back to work; feeling his melting gaze drawn back to you every so often.

Later, yet again, you found your form on his boat, this time with his hands across the small of your back as you studied the blade of his knife.

“Careful, now. Don’t run your finger along the edge.” His free grip points to the sharp side—breath fanning your ear. You feel your throat tighten and nod, caressing a thumb on the leather handle.

John’s hand is hard on your bare skin and you sense his heat drilling past your veins into the very marrow of your bones. You unconsciously sigh when his fingers slide slightly higher, traveling the length of your spine; his scars catching on every knob of bone. Your exploration stills and your pupils widen.

His breath is on your neck, nose tilting as his jaw does just above the meat of your shoulder.

“Why’d you stop?” You stare off into the metal, lashes fluttering when his fingers finally curve at the swell of your neck. Lips drag on your flesh before a deep grumble of affection stems from John’s chest as he kisses your rapid pulse. “Distracted? Hm.”

“It’s,” you breathe out, scales reflecting light as your lower body shifts on the wood. His opposite hand circles your waist, drawing your back to his chest. Skin burns and thoughts go to liquid as you feel his roving muscle. “It’s g-good. Pretty—”

Words fail you as his lips continue to slowly travel.

“Could say the same,” John grunts; beard scraping down your flesh.

Your eyes flutter, head tilting to give more room at the same time you whisper out, violently shivering at the compliment, “John…”

“What is it?” The grip moves to run over your scales, right where your upper hips would be; the sensation of him caressing you with gentle, deep, rubs of his thumb was all it took for you to give in completely to him. “Go on, Love, speak.”

You take a breath and feel his heart beating steady along your back—the texture of his tunic. “What…are you doing?”

John moves your hair and places open-mouthed kisses on the back of your neck. He breathes in your scent and you turn your light head to stare unabashedly at his flushed face. Your tail sways, limp, over the side of the boat.

Blown pupils hide that sea-storm blue like a lock and key to dangerous thoughts and attraction.

In answer, his eyes flicker down to your lips hungrily and your gaze widens; a small sound in the base of your throat.

“You’re somethin’ beautiful, y’know that?” He says and you let him lean in closer to your face, eyes threatening to close when you take in the musk of human flesh and sweat. Rope and wood oil. John’s words make you shiver again, hairs standing on end—responding to that deep growl with a roaring in your ears.

You shouldn’t be enjoying this. Shouldn’t be enjoying his lips or his tight grip; his…his rough, large, hands that encapsulate your body and drown you. It terrifies you, this heart-stopping magnetism. You can’t get enough of him.

John presses his firm lips to yours, groaning into the connection as you sigh and part your mouth. Fingers shaking, you twist and place your hands on his chest, gasping mutely as his teeth nip into your lower lip and pull back before pushing back forward. Sparks of subdued pain mix with pleasurable agony at the scrape of his beard hair.

“Every inch of you…” John’s grip captures you closer, hands ensnaring you against his chest like deeply intertwined strands of fabric, squeezing as he licks his upper lip. He catches his breath shallowly. Blue eyes burn through you. “...is fucking perfection.”

You grab at his necklace and drag him back in, feeling him not waste a single moment to grip the back of your head and keep you trapped to him, tongues slipping out of mouths to tangle together like seaweed. Perhaps it was foolish, but a part of you knew that this Captain, this strange Fisherman—this Johnathan Price—was the only man or being on this planet, land or sea, who could make you feel like you could walk and fly all at once.

When he lifts you in his arms and drops you in his lap as if your body weighed as much as a pebble, you knew you’d brave the open ocean for this man in an instant. His arm drips with water as it slips under the joint of your tail; where your knees would be if you had them, and you whine into his mouth at the slip of his fingers.

Intoxicated, drunk off of his scent and his pressure.

A dangerous mix of two different lives.

It couldn’t last.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

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chosoniisan · 6 months

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caught in the middle ▶︎▶︎ choso + suguru (r18)

➤ pairing: kamo choso | reader | getou suguru

➤ setting: modern, non-curse au (uni au, specifically)

➤ genre: smut!! (a little dark, just a lil')

➤ caution: threesome (ish); a splash of d*bious c*nsent (coercion); oral s*x (p & v); rough treatment

➤ summary: according to suguru (no thanks to choso), you're too inexperienced for your own good; he intends to change that

➤ authoress' notes: I was struck with the idea of choso and suguru tag teaming you, and so this was born plus I haven't written smut in so long and wanted to dust myself off. my hope is that I can make this into a lil mini series, because I'm keen to continue exploring the concept of suguru showing you & choso the ropes when it comes to the downright nasty. I'm also keen to playing into a degenerate characterization of suguru, but that's neither here nor there :')

“Remember what I said—don’t let her cum before I do.”

Would you have preferred him talking to you rather than over you?

Who knows, but what you do know is that either way you’re the last one who’s primed to contribute any sort of coherent response. And how could you when you’re currently suffering from acute choking-on-Suguru’s-girth disease of which your symptoms include aching in your jaw, saltiness clinging to your palate, and, of course, an affinity for only breathing through the mostly muffled, the utterly debauched.

But he’s only one accessory to the crime of ruining you from both ends with the other half of the blame resting on Choso’s shoulders, coupled with you resting entirely on his face. How much “persuasion” went into this arrangement is a story for later if ever, particularly when Choso’s not flattening his tongue for another pass across the seam of your lower lips, as though a consolation for drawing back at the last second.

“. . .That doesn’t seem fair to her,” he pitches in your defense, and for that he has your appreciation, even if speaking up for you brings with it the fanning of his breath, teasing of his pinked tiers where you’re most sensitive. It isn’t a perfect solution. . .or much of one at all, considering he makes a point to return to the source of intoxication, courtesy of a rogue flicker over you in that empty space—not so much with the ripple effect that sends you sputtering around Suguru and wishing he isn’t crammed so deeply in your mouth. “She always likes it when I eat her out, and I really want her to cum on me. . .”

Just like Choso’s blatant admission, so too is the embarrassment scorching through your insides, bubbling up over the expanse of your face; though you can only contemplate craning back since Suguru is enough steps ahead of you to crown his fingers through your hair. Suffice it to say, you aren’t going anywhere besides the engorged length of him, filling you up to the absolute brim. (Clearly addressing Choso’s knack for oversharing to your detriment will also have to wait for another time. And honestly, you’re not entirely sure you would have gotten through to him when he’s this overtaken by the peachy pit between your legs.)

Off the heels of abashment, you falter a bit as those pesky digits relinquish their hold on your tresses once Suguru’s commanded your compliance again. He’s silkly devious that way, tracing the pads of his fingertips across your cheek at first before his thumb presses at the corner of your lips and strains the tender flesh even further around his member. Unlike earlier, his sunglow gaze is trained wholly on you and no one else, nursing a glossy sheen atop your skin (then there’s Choso who isn’t helping your case either, wetting saliva over your folds). “Don’t you think that’s selfish of you?”

Is what Suguru says in the same moment that he’s devolved into using his hand on your face to guide you even further onto him, until he’s bobbing dangerously near the back of your throat, preluding what’s to come. Though as for the right now, he’s thoroughly effected by your oral sleeve, those last vestiges of self-constraint gradually falling to the wayside in a wash of heartthrob red laying claim to more and more of his face. “You have me to thank for this—yet you’re only concerned about getting off yourself.” His chiding has an edge of something else, which persists in obscurity as you’re beholden to a punctuated ram throwing you off kilter. “I didn’t think you were a selfish girl. . .” he trails off there, leading you along his very short leash. “Tell me I’m not wrong about you.”

You don’t tell Suguru anything—instead, you offer a semblance of a nod, accompanied by an even greater offering of slickened reverence to his cock as you work him feverishly into your mouth, skimming over the vein webbed on his underside. That sets off the chain reaction of him folding over you with a malted groan spilt from his lips, and in the meantime you rear your hips back, hoping Choso takes the hint to sympathize with your plight of not wanting to fall over the edge too soon. Because if he keeps at his previous pace, you have no doubt in your mind that you’ll be reacquainted with the sort of rapture only he knows how to indulge you in.

Surprisingly, Choso is receptive to your wordless plea even while he steers you back onto him with hands curled over your sides; the hum of a sigh inked in relief strums through him as he stitches himself back to you in earnest. Like each ticking second spent away from your heat was a second shaved from his existence. He’s measured for once with his devotion, smearing beads of your wetness to pave the way for his tongue breaching past your pleated slit and settling between your inner walls with a sinful ease. From you, there’s a whine that splinters into pieces the moment it hits the air as you’re realizing (belatedly) that you severely underestimated Choso’s proclivity for cultivating you into pure bliss.

It's too late now with his one-track mind and equally fervent ministrations, so you try to make what you can out of the situation in spite of electricity sparking over your nerves, the incessant bubbling up in your stomach already signaling the beginning of the end. And you need look no further than the weight of Suguru seeded on your tongue. Choso might be stealing a good chunk of your attention, but that doesn’t stop you from fixating on the sting at the outer edges of your lips from a tight fit or the soon-to-be mottling over your knees trying to keep yourself steady in the midst of a deterioration into downright battering. How quickly demanding bruises through Suguru like a contagion, the strain that’s cured only from your undoing by his hand, and so you’re left with no choice but to let yourself be caught up by him, in him, for the sake of him.

“You know. . .you’re not very good at this,” Suguru remarks as if he isn’t fiercely warming himself between your lips, because only he could pull himself together enough to tear into you with a breezy tinge in his wake, the proverbial salt in your wound. Sooner rather than later, his hand finds itself tangled at the back of your head, dragging you right down to the base of him, and your scramble to smother your gag reflex (and Choso in the process) through a hail of full-bodied quaking merely proves his point. “You’re lucky I’m willing to teach you how to properly suck dick, since Choso clearly isn’t giving you enough practice.”

Speaking of—it’s right then and there that Choso takes the opportunity to really spear you on his tongue.

He isn’t taking that dig too well.

Problem is. . .his displeasure is misplaced, or at least it feels that way when his fingers move to split open your folds so he can bully and prod at the spot that has you blinking back stars in collapse. A whine sets the stage for your frantic writhing atop Choso, trying your best to dislodge him for your own good, but he’s resistant to coaxing of any kind when you’re falling apart at his beck. It’s one thing to bear through an unrelenting Choso, molding you to the shape of his sticky sweet pleasure, but it’s another thing entirely to keep your head above the waters of gratification whilst swallowing down every inch of Suguru’s cock.

And he doesn’t make it any easier for you, you who’s allegedly rough around the edges in the craft of obliging a man. Breathing might as well be a luxury what with Suguru beating your throat raw with his swollen tip, and there’s no finesse in the way you fumble your tongue over him; either your efforts aren’t clumsy enough to warrant a snide affront or he’s far too consumed with chasing after his own end through you. (You’re inclined to think it’s the latter more so than the former.) Beneath the chorus of depravity suffusing the room, your heart is heavy against your ribcage, and you can only hope that Suguru acquiesces first, even if that means holding your nose to his c—

Lips seal around your clit with particular fervor.

Oh, no.

No no no no no.

A sweeping arch invites itself over your back in the same beat that you instinctively squeeze your thighs around Choso’s head, surrendering even more of yourself to his gluttony. It’s a vicious, depraved cycle because with every convulsion racking down to your bones, you’re anchored back to him gorging on you with little abandon, utterly remorseless that he’s driving you out of your mind. Ecstasy is oh so malted, tastes like a milk & honey delicacy while Choso can’t seem to decide whether to savor your pulsing clit or root through your tightly knotted, dripping wet clutch. Though it’s the bitter part of that sweetness sobering you up before you have a chance to feed into the velveted hunger that’s ravaging as it is rosied:

“You really don’t listen, do you.” His infliction isn’t the slow, too slow drag of his shaft along your tongue nor is it him relinquishing your mouth to slide along the side of your face. And neither is it the obscene tap, tapping of his ruddy cockhead against your cheek, streaking a mess of juices over the once untouched canvas of you.

Blinking bleariness from your vision and yet his moonless gaze, crackling at the edges, is clear as day—says there’s no need to wait long for true retribution.

“I guess, I’ll have to give you a lesson in obedience, too—my treat.”

#geto x reader #choso x reader #choso x you #geto suguru x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #geto smut #choso smut #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk

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themadzarka · 7 months

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DELTARUNE SELF-INSERT MOD

Deltarune Self-Insert Mod (DR-SIM) is a Deltarune AU in-development with its main major change being that the player and the vessel are the same person, instead of Kris being controlled by their own SOUL.

Comics:

Reddit mini-Ask Series / RedSoul Introduction

Q&A:

Is this actually a fangame/Deltarune mod?

Despite the title of the AU, this isn't a fangame nor a mod. It's a YouTube animated series in development. Currently there isn't any way to follow the main story.

How long has DR-SIM been in development?

A full year (post updated in 03/2024). The concept, theme and story took me a long time to properly flesh out. Hallucinating a Deltarune AU to the same J-pop songs over and over demands a lot of energy, you know?

Who is Pinkle?

Pinkle(OC) is the main character of DR-SIM. She steals Kris' role in this AU, being taken into the Dreemurr family instead and leading the main trio of her, Susie and Ralsei.

Is Pinkle YOUR self-insert?

No.

Where is Kris in this AU?

Who's Kris?

Why does Pinkle look like [insert character here]?

It's intentional.

What is the main story of the AU?

Pretty much Deltarune's story but with a valley emo girl as the protagonist.

That's it...?

Obviously I wouldn't leave it like that, the storyline also features a sub-plot happening a few years into the past, which is why there's a lot of young Asriel and Pinkle art on this blog.

Are Pinkle and Asriel siblings?

As much as Pinkle likes to refer to Toriel and Asgore as mom and dad, she doesn't like the idea of Asriel being her brother, to his dismay. He learned to accept that (she's gonna be creepy either way).

What are the headcanons featured in this AU?

I try to be close to the original Deltarune as possible, leaving its mysteries unsolved unless the plot calls for an answer, although anything added from me will be discussed and be considered exclusive to DR-SIM.

Do existing characters get redesigns?

Most of them only get tweaks, but a lucky few need more attention for the sake of storytelling. (ie: Ralsei)

Aside from Pinkle, are there going to be other original characters?

If there are, they need to wait for their turn, we already have a very colorful cast of characters from the original game.

Any ships?

Although this AU was born from a restless hyperfixation on a ship, romance is not a focus despite LOVE being a leading theme.

#deltarune #deltarune self insert mod #deltarune ralsei #ralsei #kris #susie dr #susie deltarune #kris deltarune #someone is missing #deltarune au #pinkle #deltarune oc #qna

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nights-at-crystarium · 2 years

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The crystarium knight who stole the catboy!

People have been talking about these two recently, so I made a whole mini AU for them. ShB spoilers under the cut.

Haurchefant's the first to be erroneously summoned. He stays to help around in the Crystarium, hangs out with Exarch since their adoration for WoL, bizarrely, pushes them closer together instead of sparking the rivalry. Exarch's infinitely curious about the events of Heavensward and especially the time Haurch and WoL spent together (bonus points if Haurch was an actual lover and has lewd stories to share).

Eventually Haurchie, being as intense AND sweet as he is, convinces Exarch to reveal himself. He becomes his accomplice instead of Urianger. He feels that Exarch's in a dire need for comfort and he provides it. Warmth, companionship, shared fantasies. They spend several years as lovers. Exarch still intends to carry out his plan, he asks Haurch to pursue WoL and love him twice as fervently on his behalf when he's gone. Haurch makes the promise but keeps secretly looking for another way to save everyone since he's grown to genuinely care about Exarch. WoL arrives, Haurch still doesn't have a sound plan, panic and chaos and still lots of collective swooning over their hero, now here in the flesh. Canon ShB and post 5.3 events happen, the two end up pursuing WoL together, returning to the Source and becoming Eorzea's cutest throuple.

#ffxiv #haurchefant greystone #haurchefant de fortemps #haurchewol #wolgraha #wol x g'raha tia #g'raha tia #crystal exarch #haurchexarch #haurchexarch au #haurchewolgraha #shb spoilers #own: next lvl

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bipp-bopp-time-to-stop · 2 months

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Little Update

Hello to everyone reading this, I thought I'd post a little update on how things are going. At the current moment, I am struggling to produce fics at a steady rate as multiple things are happening on my end (from work to writer's block to me also just being very easily distracted). This does not mean I'll no longer be posting fics for a while, rather, they'll just be coming out slower than how I planned them to (which was once a week). This also does not mean I won't be posting content in general. Rather, I thought I'd be sharing some headcannons as well as potential AUs. Some of these AUs are niche as they approach specific crossovers or expand on ideas not exactly explored by other authors (that I'm aware of, that is). I'll make sure to posts these headcannons and potential mini fics under their own tags so it'll be easy to find and read them or block them in case it's not your cup of tea. Now, I never like to have a post without a little idea of what's to come, so I'll give a brief run down of a few things knocking around in my brain.

AUs:

Dragon Rider! AU- Because How To Train Your Dragon nostalgia has been hitting me hard this past week, and because I've had LU on the brain, the two naturally started to combine. There are many versions of this I could go for such as the Chain being dragon riders or (Name) being a dragon rider or even actually mixing the stories/ worlds of HTTYD and LU together. The ideas I have for this AU will require its own post and/ or posts.

Fragments! AU- I cannot think of a proper name for this AU, but it's one I've had for nearly as long as I've been reading LU x reader stuff. There's multiple Links due to the Hero's Spirit and the curse, but what about multiple (Name)s? After all, the player/(Name) have likely played other games outside of the Zelda franchise, but I'm focusing in on the self insert games. The ones where you create your own character or "yourself". Think of the Sims or, for a darker flavor, Skyrim and Bloodborne. These are just examples of games where you create a character(s). In a way, these other "you"s would carry a fragment of your essence since you created them. I don't know how else to describe this so I may also create a post for a more in depth explanation. I could also potentially just drop the idea all together as I don't have much for it even though it's been in my head the longest.

Headcannons:

What/ Who the Guide is and if they are the same person as the Player- The title is pretty self-explanatory. I've only seen tid-bits done on Guide/ Player lore and I'm a lore fanatic so I've been wanting to do my own expansion on this. Personally, I do believe the Guide and the Player do have ties to each other but are (technically) not the same person. The leading theory I have on the Guide is that they were a lesser god in comparison to Hylia and Demise and, to save themselves from being killed by Demise, entered a contract with Hylia that made them watch over Hylia's chosen heroes. It'll also explain how the Guide and Player are connected and why the Guide "leaves" the boys after their adventures are done. I do plan on there being a lot of angst in this, so be warned.

Feel free to send in questions about these as I'm always open to interaction! Plus, interacting with you guys or hearing your opinions/ thoughts on these ideas could help get the brain juices flowing as well as further flesh out these ideas!

#bippboppupdate #lu x reader #linked universe x reader #linked universe headcannon #linked universe au

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twisted-wonderland-shenanigans · 9 months

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So...a little context behind this poll.

Lately, I've felt like I accidentally pigeonholed myself into trying to control what I write and post when it comes to my longer fics. It's been frustrating finding myself stuck and trying to figure out how to get out of that block, and as a result I've been trying to work on personal projects involving my own OCs with Twisted Wonderland just so I can feel like I've done something productive.

I have ideas for the stories from previous polls. I know what I want to do. But I just...got so stuck on one specific fic I promised to finish writing and post first, and now I'm literally stuck trying to get the words flowing. So I had a thought while trying to answer an ask:

Why not do a little rewrite of the very post here that began the Monster!AU and blossomed it into what could possibly be my most popular AU on this blog? (Seriously, thank you all so much who love the AU, I did not expect it to get as popular as it did ;;v;; )

It won't be a full-on prologue rewrite like I said before (possibly up to when Yuu gets taken to Ramshackle and mini!Yuu goes with Crowley and the other staff for the night, though we shall see where inspiration takes me), but I want to flesh it out more with the worldbuilding I've done so far. I also want to expand upon the fact that while these boys may have some humanoid features, they are--in fact--monsters compared to Yuu. I feel like it'll be a fun challenge, like a "before and after" art challenge people tend to do with old drawings, except with writing!

Let me know what you guys think! Poll will close in a day.

And from now on, I'm going to just...let myself be as creative as I want to be and just post whatever I get inspired to finish rather than trying to plan it out. I want you guys to enjoy the stuff I create just as much as I have fun brainstorming and developing all these ideas you all have sent me ;;v;;

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland monster au #twst monster au #faun speaks #twisted wonderland au polls #poll

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hoardingpuffin · 5 months

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Over the Garden Wall Fable AU Concepts

Okay, so - when I was across the pond to see my partner, them and I watched Over the Garden Wall. @the-uninformed-zennial had never seen it, and it's so very much their vibe so obviously we had to. And, as we are both Fable nerds, we ended up talking about potential AU ideas. I'd had two possible concepts for AUs floating in my noggin for a while and we fleshed them out together a bit.

Now, between (hopefully) finishing Three Wishes, and the holidays, and that pesky 30+ page bachelor thesis paper, I won't have time to write them as actual fics anytime soon, so I figured I'd at least put out the concepts somewhere, and Tumblr seemed like a good choice.

For anyone unfamilar with Over the Garden Wall: It's a mini series by Patrick McHale that aired on CartoonNetwork a while ago, focussing on two brothers stuck in the mysterious Unknown trying to get home and experiencing wacky halloween-y hijinks on the way. The Unknown is often interpreted to be a sort of afterlife/limbo, and the series has a lot of themes of that direction, but it's still quite charming and cute and funny (as it is made for kids).

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Concept 1 Icarus and Rae are in the place of Greg and Wirt – they got into some sort of fight in the real world and ended up in a situation that made them enter the Unknown as a limbo between living and dying. In this case, the characters from the Unknown would be remaining a lot more like the ones we know from the show, so the Woodsman is just The Woodsman, the Beast is just The Beast, and so on. I’m not sure who’d be in the place of Beatrice, but there are a few possibilities. If we’re going with the popular interpretation that the Unknown is a form of the afterlife, then it could be someone from canon who has passed already (if we wanna be angsty, it could be Haley maybe? I am not sure if I want her to be though), or alternatively Beatrice could just be a random soul who, like in OtGW Canon, is trying to free their own family.

In this AU, the story would probably progress similar to the one in OtGW – Icarus and Rae trying to get home and through the Unknown, getting into more fights along the way, until Icarus ends up losing faith in being able to get home completely. Rae – much like Greg – would offer himself to the Beast in order to get Icarus home, and Icarus in turn would have to step up and be a responsible older brother and save Rae from turning into an Edelwood.

There’s a lot of similarities between Icarus and Wirt, I feel like, though Wirt’s anxious poetic nature seems more alike Rae. But both Icarus and Wirt have this streak of blaming their younger brothers for stuff that those brothers weren’t necessarily responsible for, and lashing out at them, so I can see Icarus in Wirt’s place rather well. Plus, well, Rae, like Greg, going on a whole arc of “maybe this is actually my fault so I’m gonna go with the Beast to try and fix it” seems fitting for him to me.

Concept 2

Now, the other concept I might actually like more by just a little bit – in this, the people lost in the Unknown would likely be Athena and Jamie, who (due to something other in the real world) are finding themselves in the woods, where they meet the Woodsman – who would be Rae. I can just see Rae being someone to devote themselves to being the Lantern Bearer for the Beast, if it meant to keep the soul of a loved one alive (though in this case it wouldn’t be the child, but likely Aax and Caspian) – plus, the Beast has the whole antler aesthetic going on, so that can overlap neatly with the warden in my opinion. Maybe it’s just cause the Woodsman is such a tragic figure already in OtGW canon, but I think it would be a neat spin to see that character lead the ones lost in the Unknown instead of just sending them on their way, to make the idea that he might be the Beast even worse of a betrayal, which I always thought OtGW was a bit light on. I wish they’d have given that betrayal as much weight as Beatrice’s betrayal. And then, once revealed to the Woodsman that the Lantern holds the Beast’s soul, not anyone else’s, the big fight feels in character for Rae to me, too. Rae’s devotion to the ones he loves is immense, and him fighting the monster that deceived him so – especially to also keep two innocent souls safe in the process – would not only be in character, but also give a quite triumphant turn for him in this AU. Plus, he’d get the happy ending he deserves once he actually slays the Beast and returns home to see that his loved ones are actually there and likely have been all along. The unfortunate side to his AU idea is that most of the characters in the Unknown, like Rae, already being dead and likely for a long time. However, Zenni presented an alternative idea, where the inhabitants of the Unknown aren’t always actually the souls of the deceased, but might also be sort of mirror-verse representations of them. I’m not sure how Athena and Jamie would get to the Unknown then, but it would be an interesting concept to explore, and give more detail to the world – plus, give Athena and Jamie both more of a reason to trust the Woodsman and either for the believed betrayal to hit even worse or for them to not believe it because they know Rae so well in the real world.

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Now, obviously, these are just concepts, not nearly as fleshed out as I would make an actual fanfic - and some stuff might be jumbled as I've not actually written it out before and the whole Putting Things In Your Writing Brain Into Actual Writing thing is difficult as fuck.

Anyways. Those are the two ideas I came up with and have been mulling around my noggin. I don't know if I'll write them, gonna be honest, but - they are concepts alright.

#fable smp #fablesmp #over the garden wall #otgw #over the garden wall au #fable smp fanfic

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marsmarbles · 4 months

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Is this au gonna become a fanfic or comic? I’d gladly read it since it’s so cool!!

I really want it to be! I’d want it to be a comic but writing is fun too. All the mini comics I’ve made so far I see as canon but I’d love to be able to put it all together into a linear story. I doubt something like that would start anytime soon, though. I’ve never made a full fledged comic before and i know it takes a lot of time. I don’t even have all the designs fleshed out yet lol.

#mars ask #chained life au

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theamityelf · 2 days

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How about a reverse mini au where the SDR2 cast have shrunk and now are taken care of by their giant kouhais. The mini-senpai au if you will. All the pairings are the same.

There could be a lot of interesting things but the main draw is tiny Nagito trying desperately trying to start the murder game or help people hide bodies or even just to be the devil on Makoto’s shoulder but he never makes it very far. Nagito is too weak to carry anything, people have to get up close to hear him so they don’t even notice his hope speeches. And that’s not counting the times when Makoto notices that Nagito is gone from his pocket almost immediately and is like “Oh no Nagito you fell out of my pocket again! You’re not hurt are you?”

And of course Makoto won’t accept any of Nagito’s arguments about helping someone kill to make the ultimates stronger. Honestly the discussions they have is probably good for Nagito, but it doesn’t fix the frustration of not being able to achieve anything.

So yeah, tiny ineffectual Nagito.

Other than those two, Mikan and Taka are together if I remember correctly right? It would be interesting seeing Mikan learning to trust Taka, and Taka learning to speak gently to Mikan since his constant yelling can be very alarming.

Oh my gosh, the mind on you! Yes!

Imagining Makoto waking up at his desk and tiny Nagito is just standing there like, "Hello! 😁"

(Still deciding whether the 77th class should have as much memory loss as in SDR2 or if they should actually remember going to Hope's Peak, like maybe their cutoff is right before helping out with the 78th class's orientation, so they still don't remember the Tragedy or anything important, but they do know each other and stuff. That would complicate the whole "It says here that Hope's Peak closed a year ago," thing in a way that might point to the memory loss thing too early, but so would calling them senpais and having them not remember attending Hope's Peak, so I think for now I'll go with 'they remember going to school together'. Though this means they would remember that Hajime wasn't in their class. I'm going to say none of them know that he was reserve course, for story reasons.)

(Hajime is a complication here, due to the THH killing game being in real life, so by this point in the timeline he should be Kamukura. In Mini THH AU, the shrinking isn't an issue because it's all virtual, so the only thing that needs explaining is how the non-survivors of the first killing game are alive to do any of this; are they AI, or did they survive in that AU? Etc. But here, either we say this killing game is also a simulation or the shrinking needs some rules to explain how Hajime can be Hajime. I'm thinking, barebones explanation, they used real living cells of the 77th class to 3D-print living miniatures of them which are controlled by the real people in pods like in SDR2. Basically, flesh-and-blood avatars. So, Izuru Kamukura is in the basement somewhere, with the other senpais, asleep in a pod, controlling a miniature Hajime with only Hajime's memories.)

So yeah, Makoto wakes up, Nagito is there like, "I'm here to help with orientation, but it seems that something strange has happened to my body. Do you think you can take me to someone who can do something about this?"

Makoto is really confused because of the whole "I was walking into Hope's Peak and then I just woke up here" thing. In the course of talking through his confusion, he reveals to Nagito that he's the kouhai he was supposed to mentor, and Nagito introduces himself cheerfully and for the whole walk to the main hall, he's acting like a tour guide despite being four inches tall.

"That room will be your classroom. That room...Huh, that door isn't normally blocked off. Eh, I'm sure it's nothing."

Then they see that the whole 77th class is tiny, and Nagito is just like, "Oh, I see! So it wasn't just me."

The whole dynamic between them would be really fun.

Tiny Nagito trying to radicalize Makoto, talking in his ear, and the only result is that sometimes Makoto makes such a bewildered face that his classmates stop what they're doing to ask him what's going on, and he's just like "Nothing. My senpai just...never mind."

("I thought Byakuya's senpai was Nevermind," Aoi muses.)

Tiny Nagito arguing with Makoto about the best ways to be of use in this situation.

Makoto making sure Nagito eats, finding foods he likes, and giving him a comfortable place to sleep.

(The need to make sleeping arrangements for their senpais complicates the matter of the tool boxes and sewing kits, because I think a lot of them might open those.)

Initially, I think Nagito would stay chill. I think he wouldn't start acting out until after the first murder. He spends most of chapter one just tagging along while Makoto hangs out with Sayaka and teasing him for having a crush.

(The THH cast has enough immediate tension that I think he would be willing to sit tight for a bit and see what they do. In SDR2, it makes sense that they need an instigator, because they're in a more relaxing setting, there aren't as many troublemakers, and they can pretty much avoid anyone they don't like, but fifteen people trapped on the first floor of a school and immediately experiencing a bunch of infighting, I think he's just watching for the first round.)

When Makoto finds Sayaka's body and passes out, the second thing he asks when he wakes up is if Nagito is alright. And he is; Nagito is sitting right next to him when he wakes up in the gym, and he wasn't hurt in the fall. (All the other times Makoto passes out or is knocked out, Nagito is the first thing he checks on.) Nagito asks if he's alright. After all, he finds it a little sad to see his cute (giant) kouhai suffer the loss of someone he really liked. (He's tagging along for Makoto's free time conversations, so he sees him making genuine human connections with the Ultimates firsthand. Sayaka maybe isn't the best example of this, but still. He's invested.)

Then Monokuma pops in and they go over how the killing game works, and Nagito gets really quiet for the entire investigation. For all of people accusing Makoto and Makoto figuring things out, he's pretty much silent. Occasionally giving encouragement or praise, but no clues. He's paying attention and reaching conclusions. Especially now that they know the rules better.

After the first trial, he's impressed by how Makoto pulled it together, it makes him smile how Makoto moved past Sayaka's betrayal, and he considers Makoto's commitment to keep his friends' memories with him admirable but misguided.

And now they have an actual killing game.

He would definitely try to get things done without Makoto knowing. He would try to see if Makoto agrees with him about their role here, first, but when Makoto rejects the first hints at his skewed worldview, he focuses more on convincing Makoto to go places where he (Nagito) can try to influence the outcome.

Probably the item whose impact-to-portability ratio works the most in his favor is a packet of pepper. Anything that can cause Toko to sneeze is a valuable tool. But while he can carry a packet of pepper, and he can open one, he can't conceal one on his person, so he has to suggest to Makoto that he wants some pepper for dinner later and hope that he can get it from Makoto's pocket when it matters. Stuff like that.

I like to imagine Makoto's luck also keeps stopping Nagito from instigating in the ways he wants to, just because I think it's funny. He finally comes up with an actual way to be of "service", and it comes to nothing because something spilled on Makoto's pants and he had to hurry back to his room to change, or the key got stuck in the lock and he needed someone's help to open it.

Makoto's company would definitely be good for him, and having someone be worried about him and take care of him would be a feeling he isn't used to. I could see him being deliberately high-maintenance, at first as an attempt to be off-putting in response to his increasing fondness for Makoto, but then to his surprise Makoto just...does what he asks him to. He isn't really annoyed when Nagito needs something. He might be surprised, he might get overwhelmed, but he doesn't get upset with him about it.

Honestly, I think being with Makoto in this way would change some things about Nagito. Makoto gets punched in the face so hard he passes out, day one, and never holds a grudge. Nagito's understanding of the inherent hierarchy would, I think, take a hit when he's faced with this guy he has every reason to feel protective of– his kouhai, who has been doing everything to take care of him –being constantly harmed, manipulated, and falsely accused by his superiors. Life was kinder to Makoto than it was to Nagito, but his classmates are, I would say, noticeably less kind to him than Nagito's are.

I think Nagito could very easily reach the point where he cares deeply about making sure Makoto specifically survives this. He honestly might reach the Ultimate Hope conclusion in, like, Chapter 3 or 4.

As for the others, I'm just imagining Sakura needs Aoi's help taking care of Hiyoko because Hiyoko doesn't know how to do things for herself and I'm thinking Sakura never played with dolls as a kid. I think that would be a cute thing for them.

Taka with Mikan would definitely have to make adjustments. I feel like Taka has difficulty managing his volume (because I can't imagine he's been doing that on purpose, lol), but when he sees that it startles Mikan, he gets so careful about it. He has her stand on his palm, instead of his shoulder or in a pocket or anything, because he's seen her trip under bizarre circumstances, and he's worried about her. He leaves the room when she is getting dressed, instead of just turning his back or covering the terrarium or something. She tells him he doesn't have to do any of that, but he insists.

After the first trial, which goes the same as in THH because Sayaka acts before any of the senpais can make a difference and Ibuki doesn't really realize what she's doing until it happens, Taka gains custody of Ibuki, Nekomaru, and Peko. (Junko's still running the thing, so who knows where Imposter is. Might just not be part of it.) He finds a different way to carry all of them at once (maybe a basket or something), and initially he plans to put Mikan with them, but she's basically like, "I-If you're tired of letting me stand on your hand, I understand. Maybe you could just, tape me to one of your fingers. E-Even if the tape rips out my hair, I don't mind! As long as it's easier for you! Aah, I'm sorry!" And of course, he's quick to protest, ultimately resulting in him continuing to let Mikan stand on his palm.

Mahiru would still whip Hifumi into shape. Probably more so now than in the Mini THH AU, because him getting anywhere near horny about the idea of a four-inch girl in his room is a problem in this power dynamic. This is the most respectful Hifumi you've ever seen.

Byakuya with Sonia is kind of an adorable concept either way you spin it, because both of them would make sure the other has a luxurious living space and is treated with respect. (Kazuichi tries to get Chihiro to talk to Byakuya so he can talk to Sonia.)

Gundham doesn't have his hamsters in miniature, which does stress him out. He ends up taming a bunch of bugs, though, which Toko grudgingly admires. She understands his grandiloquent way of speaking better than most, but she's still not great at taking care of him; she's not great at taking care of herself.

Celeste tries to get Chiaki to dress differently, because aesthetic is everything. Maybe she enlists Hifumi to make different outfits, since all of the clothes the senpais have are just the things they already wore.

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borrowedtimeandspace · 23 days

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Make It All Come True

AU: The Donna Trilogy | If I Could Turn Back Time

Note: This story started so long ago. Back when I had the time and energy to more actively respond to prompts and requests. I think that this might have been one of the first proper AU of BTaS that I dreamt up, actually. Fleshed out enough that I was even asked at one point if I was replacing the 'canon' story with it. And it never will replace the origins of Zepheera and the Doctor, but after so many years it does hold a special place in my heart.

And now it's grown into a multi-part mini series of an AU. I really hope you guys enjoy, because the journey continues here and now.

(Featuring characters from Zepheera's Origins)

~~~

Earth, 1969 C.E.

Under the floorboards of a quiet cottage in the countryside, in a tiny home built for two and occupied by one, a borrower squinted in the slightest amount of light that cut through the darkness.

Fair skin did nothing at all to hide the deep circles under his light blue eyes. Half awake, he stared unblinking at the second pillow and the other half of the bed. Both empty. Just as they'd been every morning.

He wasn't sure if he'd say he'd slept that night, or any he could remember recently; he'd lie down in the cold bed each night and close his eyes, and when he managed to open them, it was morning. One might accurately call that ‘sleep’, but it was hardly restful for Orrick.

With a heavy sigh, Orrick pushed himself to sit up in bed. He yawned and scratched idly at his short beard, a few patches of which had gone the way of the hair at the edge of his temples and sideburns: lightening and greying from the light ginger.

Ordinarily, he wouldn't bother being any sort of active at this hour. It was only by some automatic instinct that he got out of bed at all, usually well into the afternoon, and ate enough to stay alive.

Today, though, he had work to do. And he knew it would take him all day.

Orrick shuffled into the kitchen out of habit, and his hand found its way to the pencil lead on the table. He made one small stroke on the little slip of paper that had stayed there for weeks.

Right under the words ‘I'm sorry’ were thirty hash marks. One for each day since his wife vanished without a trace.

He'd promised himself that this was as long as he would wait. He couldn't spend the rest of his life waiting for her to return, and he couldn't deny that being alone was not going well. So he would make the journey to the house where he grew up, where at least one of his sisters still lived.

Having the plan was easy enough. Actually working up to it was infinitely harder. After a few hours, he'd only managed to dig out all the large bags he reckoned he could reasonably carry while full, and packed one of them half-full.

Everything he picked up held a memory within it, unlocked as soon as Orrick made contact. Nothing he did could suppress them, and it made deciding what was essential for his journey all the more difficult. The feelings that washed over him when he held the cup she'd always drink her tea from, and the climbing rope she'd made for him, were equally overwhelming and hard to let go of.

He was in the middle of sorting through his clothes (half of which his wife had made for him) when a new sound broke through the silence.

Knock knock…

Orrick was up on his feet in an instant. Any hope that tried to bubble up in his chest was shoved down before he could even register it, leaving only caution in its place. He and his wife had been the only borrowers left in the cottage for years. Once in a blue moon, a borrower of the more transient type would pass through, but they were awfully quiet and polite for that to be Orrick's assumption.

He listened for another moment, leaning slightly out of the bedroom to give the door down the hall a sidelong look.

“Who is that?” he called, his voice rough with disuse and full of suspicion.

No response came from the one on the other side of the door. Orrick wasn't sure what to make of it. After a moment of hearing nothing, he shook his head and decided that they must have scurried off.

“Can't you remember the fun we had…?”

The singing, soft and distant as it was through the door and across the home, sent a jolt through Orrick's body and froze him in his tracks.

He knew that song. It had been ages since he'd heard it, but he would never forget it.

“Time is so fleet…”

Orrick's feet stumbled forward of their own accord, but he stopped himself halfway down the hall.

“Why shouldn't we meet…?”

No one but her would understand the significance of that song, but… No, it couldn't be. After so long, why would she…? Orrick must be hearing things, going mad, he decided. Just ignore it.

“When you're away from me…days are sad…”

The break in the singer's shaky voice tugged at Orrick's heartstrings. An involuntary breath interrupted the phrase, and what managed to come across had an audible quiver to it. Stifling a sob and trying to push through it.

Why would Orrick's mind invent such a detail?

“Life's not complete,” they sang very clearly through tears now. “My sweet… My…”

Orrick couldn't take it.

He all but sprinted down the hall and tore back the door, desperate to see once and for all if this was really happening.

Wide, tear-filled violet eyes met his, and Orrick instantly felt his own well up.

“Orrick,” Zepheera breathed.

Before he could think of anything to say, she tipped forward as though she could no longer hold her own weight. His arms automatically swept up to catch her, and hers wrapped so tightly around his waist.

“I'm sorry,” she sobbed into his chest, and she seemed unable to stop. “I’m so, so sorry, I'm sorry, I’m sorry…”

Orrick's heart shattered all over again. He certainly had questions for her, but she was clearly in no condition to give answers. The way she cried and clung to him felt so desperate that he could only guess that something incredibly serious had happened.

He shifted his grip on her to a proper hug in return, and the two of them sank to their knees in the threshold of their home.

Together they wept.

Together…

~~~

The entire situation struck both borrowers with a surreal sense of déjà vu.

Orrick helped Zepheera to her feet once they'd cried themselves out, led her to the dining table, and let her sit while he made them tea. He stood alongside the small open flame, waiting for the water to boil. She quietly separated tea leaves into their respective cups.

So many years ago, Zepheera had arrived in Orrick's old home so similarly. The signs of her travels were clear in her worn clothes, none of which he recognized as anything she'd owned before she left. Her rucksack was also new to him, yet just as distressed as the rest of her ensemble.

And the look in her eyes as her finger traced the delicately painted design of the doll's teacup in her hands… She'd had it when they first met, before she truly opened up to Orrick. And she'd had it just before she vanished.

The water warmed up fast, and Orrick took up the makeshift kettle to pour a few drops into Zepheera’s cup. She blinked out of her reverie and murmured a small thanks as Orrick served himself next.

Thick silence fell between them as they watched the steam rising from their cups instead of looking each other in the eye.

What do you say to the woman who disappeared, or the man you abandoned?

Zepheera managed to find something first.

“How long have I been gone?”

That drew Orrick’s attention. “You don't know?” he asked, studying her expression. Of all things, Zepheera should know that as well as he did.

Zepheera shook her head and lifted her gaze to meet Orrick’s at last. He felt something in him twist. He couldn't explain it, but…there was something about her eyes now. They hadn't changed, not physically, and yet they weren't the same as he remembered.

She didn't seem confused or disoriented, like she’d somehow lost memories and had no sense of the time passed. At the same time, it looked like she truly didn't know the answer. More like she was afraid to hear it, or worried about what Orrick would say.

“Why don't you know that?” he pressed. “What happened to you?”

Zepheera opened her mouth, and though the desire to speak was clear in her eyes, nothing came out. She let out a long breath, and her gaze dropped back to her teacup. “That is… an extremely long story…”

They both took long pulls of their cooled tea.

Orrick rubbed at his eyes. Getting a straight answer out of Zepheera had never been like pulling teeth before.

“Okay, just… Answer me this,” he tried again. “Why did you leave?”

Zepheera closed her eyes and took another deep breath. “I found something,” she said; it seemed this was the question she was actually prepared to answer. “Learned something about myself. And it scared me.”

Orrick frowned. “You could have talked to me,” he insisted, leaning toward her as though it would make her open her eyes and be honest with him. “That’s the whole point of being married, Zepheera, working through things together–”

“I don't age, Orrick.”

The firm revelation cut straight through any argument Orrick had. When her eyes opened to lock with his again, he felt them pushing him back in his chair like a physical sensation. Astonishment and confusion struck him dumb.

Zepheera struggled to keep her emotions in check as she admitted further, “I think I haven't aged since right around the time we met.”

“How…?” was all he managed to utter, his head spinning with many endings to the question. How was that possible? How could she know for sure? How did that lead her to just leave?

As though she could sense all that, Zepheera gave a shrug and said, “I don't really know. Never did find out for sure, but… Well, I looked at some old drawings.”

Orrick felt what little color there was to be found in his face drain from it. Ever since he was a kid, he found that if he saw something, he could recreate images of it in his head with spot-on accuracy. With practice, he got very good at putting those images down into sketches, to the point that some came out almost like humans’ photographs.

One of his favorite pastimes since he'd met Zepheera was drawing her. For special occasions or just because.

“There were two pictures of us,” she went on. “Must have been drawn about twenty years apart. And in them, you could actually see how much time had passed. With you. But with me?” Zepheera blinked back tears, determined to push through this. “Orrick, I looked exactly the same in them.”

Orrick found himself staring, utterly stunned. Though he always thought Zepheera was beautiful inside and out, he was never the type to put enough emphasis on her looks to scrutinize the finer details of her features. Now that she pointed it out… she did look incredibly young for a woman in her forties. On the rare occasion that he did think about it before, he always assumed that Zepheera had simply been blessed with good genes.

Looking back through all the pictures he had of her in his mind, however… even going as far back as their first meeting, he couldn't deny that Zepheera didn't appear to have aged a single day.

The realization must have shown on his face because Zepheera nodded. “You see it now, don't you?”

Orrick blinked away all the mental images. “I-I don't understand,” he said as he refocused on Zepheera. “Why didn't you just tell me about this?”

“I…” Zepheera's voice caught in her throat. She swallowed and tried again. “I thought that…” Then she gave a sharp huff and slumped in her seat, face buried in her hands. Whether out of shame or frustration, Orrick couldn't tell. “It's all so buggered,” she mumbled.

Orrick's hands automatically reached out to take Zepheera’s, but they stopped short. He still had yet to fully grasp how she was feeling about all this, or decide where exactly they stood now. So he instead let one hand give her shoulder a supportive squeeze. That much felt appropriate.

At first, Zepheera stiffened under his touch, but she quickly recognized it for what it was. She nodded into her hands, ran her fingers through her short hair and breathed.

“I was wrong.” Her violet eyes bore into Orrick’s when she said so. “You deserved to know, and I should have told you right away. But…at the time, I panicked.

“You have to understand,” she insisted as she straightened, rising out of Orrick’s comforting touch. “What we had… Everything we were to each other… My whole life, I hadn't felt that way with anyone. So much of the time, I would think that it was all too good to be true. That I didn't deserve someone as wonderful as you. But you made me feel worthy of being loved.”

This time, when the tears came, there was no effort to hold them back. They simply rolled down Zepheera’s cheeks as she went on.

“But this…it meant that we wouldn't last forever. That I would lose you one day and have goodness knows how long to live with that. And the way that kept playing in my head over and over made it feel like it had already happened. Like all the good things were already on their way out and there was nothing I could do to stop that.”

Zepheera paused to catch her breath and scrub at her cheeks, flush with guilt and shame. “It makes no sense, but… I thought that if I left, then all that pain would be over with. That being alone was the only… ugh, so stupid,” she moaned, lowering her gaze to the anxiously wringing hands in her lap.

Things went quiet once again, as though Zepheera was awaiting Orrick’s judgment of her explanation.

It was a lot to take in. Orrick had to sit with it all for a few moments before he collected himself enough to speak up again.

“What changed your mind?”

She glanced back up, almost to confirm for herself that Orrick wasn't visibly and clearly angry with her for the choice she made. It didn't mean he wasn't upset, just because it didn't show. Still, he deserved an honest answer to his questions.

“I've been through a lot since I left,” she said, very nearly a whisper. “And it all taught me that, even though it all comes to an end… that just makes every single moment you have with the people you love all the more precious.”

For the first time since her return, Zepheera managed a smile, small and sad as it was.

“I don't know if you'll ever forgive me, or take me back. I dunno if I even have the right to ask. But I knew that it would be cruel of me to not at least tell you why I did what I did, now that I have the chance to. You deserve that much.”

Orrick gave a solemn nod when it seemed that she had said her piece, to let her know that he'd heard and understood. There were still plenty of questions he had for her, gaps she had yet to fill. For now, though, this was a lot to process. Not just the idea of Zepheera not aging at all, but all the turmoil she put herself through over such a discovery. It was hard to hear, and Orrick needed time to let it all sink in.

“Thank you,” he managed to reply, a quiet yet dry acknowledgement of all that had been said. Bizarre as it all was, he couldn't deny that Zepheera seemed to be telling the truth.

The next sip of tea they took in tandem was stone cold.

#sfw g/t #sfw gt #The Donna Trilogy #If I Could Turn Back Time #borrowed time and space #the borrowers #borrower OC #Zepheera #Orrick #giant tiny #g/t writing #borrowers

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