#dark playthrough gets to sit in the corner one more time

[jonquilandlace]

BG3 update so I started a Dark Urge save last night because I was curious and also had a great character from DND for it based on what little I knew about how that playthrough would work and

Ohhhhhh now I get why everyone likes Dark Urge playthroughs so much lmao

#jonniejonniejonquil #like first ofc it feels *so* much easier to get with Astarion here (despite the fact that IRONICALLY I WAS THINKING OF *NOT* THIS TIME) #but like most pressingly #your character actually has like. a subplot of their own??? #I would have tbh expected the same of Tav for being the protagonist but I get why they didn’t #like no subplot (or at least act 1 as far as I’ve gotten in both saves) there’s no details they give you on tav #which makes it so much easier to plop your own character on top of them #but also just feels like #so much less narratively fulfilling??? #anyway not a roast of tav ofc but #dammit I was planning my durge to be my dark playthrough and now I’ve gotten attached 😂 #dark playthrough gets to sit in the corner one more time #bg3 #bg3 tav #bg3 durge #bg3 dark urge #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3

[robogart]

I'm playing Dark Souls 3 right now and I have some thoughts/wonder if other people have experienced something similar?

So I've played through DS1, Bloodborne (favorite) and Elden Ring - really enjoyed all of those (except for the Lost Izalith area in DS1, woof) but I find myself really struggling with the enemies - specifically the Toughest Guys In The Area - so much? And it's sort of like "yeah, doy, that's what it's supposed to be?" but hear me out!

It just feels like that they not only have a lot of HP, but also punishing hits, SEVERELY long combos, and they also just don't stun or their parry windows feel SO small? Even trying to side-dodge or move around them is usually punished by the combo because they'll have back-reach that hits you anyways.

And the fact that they'll maybe introduce one of these Big Lads and you're like "okay cool, got it" but then from then on there are like 2-3 of them all together in your path (not like, guarding a good item in a little corner, they're in your progression route) and it's like?? What is going on? Granted I'm a dex build but that's what I play most my first/second playthroughs as, but I feel like the other games always felt more fair/surmountable in their encounters? I felt like I usually had a chance and the layout seemed balanced? But in DS3 I feel just SWAMPED by the amount of heavy-hitters there will be all together, and I find myself just having to run past them.

And it's not for lack of trying! I just feel like ONE misstep and I get caught in a Stupidly Fast combo! It's so much! ;; w ;;

And I'm ALMOST done with the game! Currently doing the Ringed City DLC right now before I get to the final game boss. And the boss fights have really been spectacular! I just did the Ariandel big boss and they were GREAT - had to summon help because I was getting spanked in the third phase, but it was SO FUN!! It's also so much fun to help other people! Jolly cooperation let's go!

But I don't know - I feel like this game is just less balanced feeling than the other titles? I love the weapons system, the boss fights, the areas and enemy design - but I feel like the enemy layout is just unreasonable at times - more times than I feel it should be? I feel like I've read that they used the same enemy ai as they had in bloodborne, so maybe that's where the misalignment sits for me? That game had a great fighting system that awarded aggression from aggression, your character is always meant to move fast and doesn't roll heavy or anything because armor isn't AS important as it is in Dark Souls, and the parry system was SET to be used in tandem with all enemies. And I feel like you could argue that Elden Ring is similar with DS3 with its enemies, but I feel like that game gives you SO much space, ease of movement (torrent) and the ashes system, so you're able to get some heat off you (especially if you're playing lighter builds). It just feels more balanced to me!

Ahh anyways - trying to gear up to maybe continue a bit more tonight! I'm so close... = __ =;; But I just wanted to rant and was curious is other people felt the same or not? I'll concede when something is a skill-issue in games - especially these games, where a lot of it IS learning the patterns and/or parrying - but somehow DS3 just feels weirdly stacked. Is it just me? Jesus?

#dark souls 3 #ds3 #ds3 thoughts

[adozentothedawn]

My friends, enemies, frenemies, foes, buddies, fuddies, and everyone else, let me tell you a tale of a wild adventure I just went on. It involves unspeakable violence, daring rescues, shocking conspiracy twists, and the state of the world. And most importantly, a very, very, very bugged, Baldur’s Gate 3 playthrough attempt. Strap yourselves’s in folks, it’s gonna get wild.

Our story starts with me deciding to ditch my current playthrough for a bit to start designing my next character. I threw on the game, clicked on New Game and watched as the cutscene started playing. And then I committed a grave sin. I got impatient cause I didn't want to sit through the cutscene and just get to the character creator. I spammed space a few times which didn't do anything. And then. I pressed esc. The screen went black. But instead of being able to build my character, I was suddenly here:

Ya. Just a group of naked guys and the default Dark Urge. Who is the only one to get clothes. So naturally I had to start exploring what the fuck this is and what I could here. The what the fuck question is probably answered with some technical details about developer stuff that I don't know about. As for what I could do...

Mostly just kill the other dudes. Who are called Dummy. So I kinda just did that.

You can do this by either punching them to death with your 1 damage attacks (also when you crit, the damage does not get higher), or you can use your weapons in your inventory! For example by throwing them, which is what I did cause I forgot you could just equip them. You can though.

You can't move the character though, the speed is set to 0 and jumping is turned off cause you're immobilized. The game is lying btw, despite the character icon, there are no clothes anywhere on this map, except on the Dragonborn. Who is btw the only one with more than 1 hp, specifically with 26. More fun facts, only the black guys have penises. The white guys only have Ken crotches. No not vaginas, I did check, Ken crotches.

They all have same stats of 10 on everything, have the race Human and the class None. Only I got weapons though. It was one of like 8 types, but I threw them all so only see that cleaver here. The rest are on the floor.

Fun fact also: When entering turnbased the game still registers the dead guys from your assigned party.

They are also still in your party. Still naked. But now dead on the ground. They also got the xp I got from killing everyone!

This map also allows for a day night cycle, which is influenced by how close to the character the camera is. It's night when you're close, when you get away from them the shadows move until it's day.

As for the excellent question of where this map even is: It is the character creation map! It's not just a background it's a full on map you can scroll around on! The corner is cut off as you can see, but north and east you can just scroll until the character leash is tight. Look it's the bird statue and the platform!

And now the most shocking of all reveals: That landscape from the dreams you can see in the background here? The pavillion and floating rocks? Yeah it’s fake. It’s a giant movie screen in space.

Yeah so that was my adventure in the bugged character creation. xD I have one last surprise! If you have any suggestions on what I should try doing there, you can give them to me! Cause I have a working save that loads directly there. Still bugged. Still very funny.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #glitch #now some attentive readers may ask but what about the rescue I mentioned? #the truth is i forgot where i was going with this joke while writing this post #whoops

[hows-my-handwriting]

Is This a Bad Dream? (spiderverse!LN au)

so..... i have this.... au... right........

lets be real i have too many aus

its Little Nightmares but Spiderverse characters.

BEFORE YOU VOTE: read below the cut i just want to make this intro part short lol. whats below the cut is very long btw so. you have been warned XD

SO. with the recent (not so recent anymore but at the time it was recent lol) announcement of ln3 i lost my mind and went back to watch playthroughs of ln2 and got my googily little gears turning.

im thinking about this very much like an actual little nightmares game if not a little longer than the average game. (eg. 10 chapters instead of the usual 5). the main playable character is miles, and your party is the rest of the kids, mainly gwen, but with pav and hobie to help with puzzles or specific skills.

concept designs for the party + margo and peni. (might change miles and pavitr's designs cuz not sure i like them.

i have most of the bosses figured out and the general pace and timeline of the story but setting and the final two bosses are giving me problems.

anyway here's an excerpt:

It was always night time. 

Miles could sit in his window and watch the sky all day, but it would always stay dark. The lights outside were bright enough so he could see, but the sky was always gray. Or sometimes black. He leans against the glass sometimes just to try to see the sky clearer. 

Sometimes the sky would come down to him. The clouds would crawl out of the sky and walk on the streets with footsteps that sounded like the pitter patter of his own little feet. It would walk on the roof sometimes too. He could hear its feet stomping on the sharp shingles. He wondered if it hurt. 

The ceiling would cry if the sky stomped on it too much. Drops of water would run out of the holes in the white paint and into the buckets littered around his room. There were only two, one was empty right now, the other was full. They were lovely little things- well, they were actually quite big. Miles climbed inside them sometimes, perfectly sized to curl up on their rounded bottoms. 

He drank his house’s tears sometimes. He got thirsty a lot, even though he never really left the room. He would sometimes get a little tray from the lady in the wall. She came up every so often and gave him a tray with some food and a glass cup full of water. 

She was a nice lady. She didn’t talk though. So he didn’t either.

He never left his room. She had her own door, but every time he tried to follow, he couldn’t open the door. There was a bigger door. He remembered at one time, people had come out of it. They would use their large warm hands to lift him up onto the big bed in the corner. They would pat his head and tuck him in with the warm blanket and fluffy pillow. They would speak to him too, in words he didn’t understand. 

He remembered long brown hair and kind eyes. He remembered a stubbly beard and warm smile. He remembered feeling warm when they were looking at him, feeling like he could stay where he was forever. 

But that was a long time ago. He gave up on counting. He had started counted the times the sky went dark. The lines were scratched into the post at the foot of the bed. When those lines filled up all the space, he started counting the times the ceiling cried. But he lost track. 

He was lonely now.

He couldn’t reach the big door. No matter how hard he tried. He tried jumping for it. He tried to climb up the wardrobe leg. But he never got high enough. So he stayed. He stayed on the floor of this room, watching the water fill up the buckets again and again. 

The walls were covered in color. Miles drew all over them. He had crayons that the lady in the wall had brought him one time. It was a big box, filled with more colors than Miles could name. He drew on the dry wallpaper, filling all of the gray space with shapes and scribbles. He had filled up all of the space he could reach, wearing down so many of the crayons down to their paper wrappings. So he moved to the floor. He filled up the floor too, drawing himself adventures that took him far away from the crying house. He drew himself running up to the sky and giving it hugs whenever it cried. 

The floor was full of color too now. 

He sat on the window that was nailed shut, and listened to the footsteps of the sky. He was happy here. He was . . .

jazz hands.

#atsv au #little nightmares au #i dont have self control #suffer as i have suffered #i flesh out niche aus that no one cares about way too much #so now you must fall victim to my blunders #also i'll be honest gwen's is the only design i like rn #hobie is close but i think i want to change his outfit #margo's is final too but the reason for why she is that way is #for another time =w= #title up for debate too #considered 'am i dreaming' but #lmk if i should make that the title lol

[aurabird]

Unexpected Sympathy

Was in the mood to write some Empires hurt/comfort, but between two individuals you would not expect.

Sequel to this~

Tw: mentions of violence, torture and a panic attack but otherwise this is relatively tame

Also on Ao3

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

The nightmare of being a prisoner within Xornoth’s dungeon had seemed and felt so real and flashes of it still blinked into Fwhips mind as he tried to calm himself.

The sky was dark, but save the sounds of the night there was no rain, no thunder, no harbinger of the demon’s presence. And yet, he shook like a leaf, curling up in fear as sobs escaped him.

It was pathetic. Him, the Lord of Darkness, crying in bed like a child.

A crash resounded from outside and Fwhip felt his blood run cold, the sound echoed like thunder and was followed by footsteps, a dark silhouette appearing in the doorway.

His heart raced as he scrambled out of the bed and pressed himself against the back wall. Xornoth had come for him, he knew it. He would be taken back...tortured and hurt some more... 

“Um...Fwhip, s-sorry to trespass like this but my elytra broke and I'm not really equipped right now to travel through the...

...Fwhip?”

When Jimmy had entered the room to apologize for trespassing, he had not expected to see Fwhip cowering like a cornered animal. The man’s eyes were puffy, the look in them one of fear and horror. Jimmy could tell that he’d been crying.

“G-Go away! You aren’t taking me back! I won’t go back! P-Please...have mercy...”

Jimmy’s expression morphed into one of concern at those words and slowly, he stepped into the light, his hands in front of him submissively as he approached his fellow royal. “Fwhip, mate...what’s gotten in to you? Its just me, Jimmy. You know, the Codfather? The guy who would very much like what you stole from him back?”

Yes the last bit was full of sarcasm and could be taken as passive-aggressive, but despite that fact it seemed to have worked. Jimmy saw Fwhip begin to relax, realization slowly fading into his eyes at who stood before him.

“J-Jimmy...?” Fwhip questioned, his voice barely a whisper.

“Yeah, Fwhip, it’s me. I’m here.”

The panicked breathing of Fwhip began to calm at those words and the tinkerer slumped against the wall in an undignified manner he clearly didn’t care about anyone seeing.

Sympathetically, Jimmy sat down across from him, eyes full of concern despite their empire’s current relations with each other.

“Why are you in my Empire this late at night?” Fwhip asked, the harshness in his voice masked by exhaustion, “You shouldn’t be here.”

Normally, at this point Jimmy would have made some form of comeback that would descend into either banter or an argument, but the Codfather knew what he’d seen. “My elytra broke and kinda crashed into some barrels near one of your village houses. I’d go through the Nether, but I’m not exactly equipped to traverse that place on foot.” he paused for a moment before continuing, “Maybe its good that I ended up here though; you were freaking out mate, like a cornered chicken about to be slain by Joel or something.”

A chuckle escaped Fwhip at Jimmy’s demeaning metaphor, "Thank you for that wonderful image of me.”

“What happened? I’ve never seen you like that before. You begged me for mercy as if I was going to kill you. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I would totally do it if it meant getting my cod head back, but... ”

Fwhip didn’t want to admit it to his worst enemy, but the words left his mouth before he could stop them, “I dreamt that demon had me as a prisoner...that it was torturing me...corrupting me. It hurt so much...I felt like I was going to die.”

Mentions of the enigmatic entity that had recently shown up sent a chill down Jimmy’s spine, remembering quite well the horrifying encounter he’d had with it.

“Realistic nightmares aren’t fun, trust me, I should know.”

Fwhip let out a small laugh, “I find it hard to believe that you, the most upbeat person I know, have nightmares.”

Jimmy simply shook his head, “Well, there more like flashes of events that I feel I should remember but yet also don’t. Its always the same, starting with myself living in a flower forest with someone that looks suspiciously like Scott, only less...elf-like and that I think I’m married to.” Fwhip snorted at that; as if the elven king could want to be in a romantic relationship with anyone, let alone Jimmy of all people.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh all you want. Like I said, they looked like Scott. Anyway, all of us in this...dream? Memory? Whatever it is; have three lives before we’re dead, only a limited amount respawn magic in the world to bring us all back twice. I loose my first two to lava and an attempt to disarm a TNT trap...then loose my final one to an arrow through my head. Last thing I see is my husband’s face as I die in his arms before I wake up in bed here.”

The tale was so detailed, as if Jimmy had seen it countless times with each playthrough of it growing more and more complex and clear. If Fwhip didn’t know any better, he’d believe it was true, maybe it even was in some ways.

"I’ll admit, there's some parts of it that make no sense, such as the lack of respawn magic and the blurred figure that looks like Scott, but it feels so real you know? Maybe I should ask him if he has dreamt anything similar.”

Fwhip only nodded, a yawn escaping him. He was tired and his panic attack hadn’t really helped with that. He looked at the clock, there was still plenty of night left for him to sleep.

Jimmy seemed to get the message and moved to help him get back to his bed. Fwhip was out before his head even hit the pillow.

-

His eyes fluttered open, vision flooded with color as the world came into focus around him.

Slowly Fwhip sat up, looking around the room until he caught sight of a familiar cod hat and green robes sitting at the foot of the bed, eyes focused on a book and hand scribbling down words.

Jimmy must have heard him stir as the Codfather was quick to lay the items down and turn to him with a goofy smile on their face. “Hey Fwhip, how you feeling mate?”

“Better...you stayed here all night?”

“Couldn't really do much else with a broken elytra and all so yeah, I did.”

Fwhip sung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, going over to a chest and fumbling through its contents.

Eventually, he pulled out a stack of bottles, enchantment orbs floating around within them. “Here, to repair your elytra.”

Jimmy took the bottles graciously before shattering them against the damaged wings, the tears within the membranes sealing shut through magic.

With his elytra repaired, the Codfather thanked Fwhip and bid him farewell before leaving the storage room. However, just before he was about to take off he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“We never speak of last night again alright? I’m still going to make you work to get that cod head back.”

Jimmy simply grinned, “Wouldn’t expect anything less.”

With that, Fwhip watched him activate a firework and disappear into the distance.

His attention then turned to the amount of corruption in the area and he sighed. Gem would be coming over later to discuss Wither Rose Alliance matters and she would definitely kill him if he did not get the place cleaned up.

Time to get to work, he supposed.

#empires smp #empiresblr #My writing #fwhip #solidarity gaming #jimmy solidarity #3rd life smp references are fun #and i will take every chance to make them canon #not my best work imo but it was meant to be short and sweet

[incorrect-dishonored-quotes]

Do you have a favorite level within each game or even one out of all games / is there a specific level that stuck in your mind since you first played it?

Mine would be the second to last I think in DH1. The one, where you walk over a bridge and it's all orange light on one side and deep shadows on the other. In daud's dlcs it would be the boyle mansion, because I love the flooded building. I've loved the edge of the world in DH2 because Karnaca's atmosphere is such a breath of fresh air and the trail of whale blood through the bright and sunny district reveals very much about the game's world. For DOTO it would either be the bank job or the royal conservatory. It may sound pretty weird but the atmosphere within the bank job gives me vacation vibes lol. Also the moment you take the twin bladed knife feels amazing every time. I also really like the hidden features in the royal conservatory.

Thank you for running this blog, it really means a lot to me. Happy Pride! 🏳️‍🌈

Honestly all the levels in the DH series has a lot of personality in them, and so much visual storytelling. Each one has a different feeling to it while all matching up to eachother perfectly. Never do I feel like one doesn't belong with the others, they all feel part of the same world, and they feel so lived in too.

Everyone has their favorites, and you picked some good ones. I think youre refering to Kaldwin's Bridge which is a very well done level and is certainly pretty to look at, but its rather big with a lot of loading points, and it's a bit choppy and tedious for me. I do like the area around Sokolov's house though. The test subjects imprisoned in the streets and the crumbling buildings around his perfect apartment is great environmental storytelling. Personally my favorite in Dh1 is The Flooded District. The reflection it paints for Corvo, that after everything, things can still get worse and there's still a light at the end and he can't give up. That even after hating Hiram Burrows and wishing death on him, Daud hides there, in the mass grave Burrows made, protected by the rats, flood waters, rivercrusts, and weepers. It's just *chef's kiss*.

I think the one in Daud's dlc's is actually Brigmore Manor, which is one hell of a level. We learn that Daud and Delilah have a lot in common just by the way they work. They both have large followings they share their power with, hidden under everyone's nose. Dispite this, the difference in atmosphere tells the player that Daud is trespassing here. He's met someone who can match him, maybe even best him, and he has to be careful not to lose what little he has left. Brigmore is probably my fave too, but The Surge comes very close. Being in Daud's base, cutting up Overseers, and freeing his Whaler kids is very satisfying.

Edge of the World is a great intro to Karnaca. You get a feel for the atmosphere, learn about smaller power struggles (Howlers vs Overseers), and get a feel for just how bad things are there. I love taking my time in this level, finding the runes and talking to Mindy Blanchard just because it is a very pretty level that's fun to explore. I also like how it ironically leads you to Addemire, which is dark and claustrophobic. My fave in DH2 though is Crack in the Slab. Going between timelines wasn't something I'd done in a videogame before, and it made learning about Aramis Stilton and the rest of Delilah's allies extremely interesting. I love the little details you can mess with in the past to convenience you in the present too. There's a lot to go though twice over in that level, and I always find something new each playthrough. Also, in the ambience music in the present, you can hear a rhythmic banging, and I theorize you can hear the miners being overworked from Aramis' home.

And then there's DOTO... DOTO, my beloved. This game really brought Billie Lurk's character to life and I enjoy every second of it. My fave here would be Follow the Ink, for reasons similar as to why I like Edge of the World. It's nice to explore and there's so much to do story-wise, and even more to just find or interact with. I do wish the story flowed from one point on the map to the other, like how Edge of the World slowly lead you to the black market, wall of light, overseer outpost, then to Addemire Station. I find I'm going back and forth a lot in Follow the Ink, but that's nit-picking. If anything, it gives me time to stumble across things more. I will say though, The Bank Job is probably the strongest level in the game, and the writing is the best there. Billie getting a hold of the knife, pointing a finger in The Outsider's face and telling him she's coiming, no matter what it takes, only for The Outsider to look her in the eyes and tell her that Daud, the closest Billie had ever come to family, is dead?... Heartbreaking. I'm racing back to the ship. I know he's lying, and he has to be, right? But nope, he wasn't. Billie burning her ship called Dreadful Wale, an anagram for Farewell Daud, as his pyre hurts so much. I love the very ending too and how Daud is low chaos option, and to be honest, I shouldn't have been surprised by that. Ironically, mercy and forgiveness were themes in the background of Daud's dlcs.

Some honorable mentions would be:

-Bottle Street/Holger Square: Learning about Overssers, Slackjaw, Granny Rags and you get to see my man Geoff Curnow! Please switch the poison btw.

-Lady Boyle's Last Party: You fuck around with guards and rich ppl bc they think you're one of them and that's quite the critique on the upperclass huh. Don't forget to sign the guestbook as The Empress' alleged assassin!

Return to The Tower: Hiram Burrows is finally his own undoing, and his worst nightmares have come true! What a satisfying downfall. How poetic. Bitch deserved everything he got.

-Light at the End: In high chaos, Martin shoots Pendleton after calling him inbred and that's hilarious to me. Also in low chaos. Emily will scold Havelock and tell him to "sit in the corner and think about what [he's] done!" In honesty, it's a good climax.

-Eminent Domain: Timpsh's downfall in low chaos is one of the most poetic and well written eliminations in the games. Seeing him faint in front of a General of the City Watch always makes me laugh.

-Coldridge Prison: Revisiting the place as Daud and seeing how it's changed since Corvo's escape was very interesting. There's a lot of details to interact with like other prisoners, executions, and doomed escape attempts.

-Addemire Institute: The Crown Killer was an interesting antagonist, and there's a lot of notes and clues to what Addemire was like before The Duke ruined it. The entire situation is very tragic, but not all is lost!

-The Dust District: It's just really fun to explore Karnaca ok? Also Corvo's old house is there.

-Hole in the World: I love how it hints that there's a low chaos option, but you don't realize it until you talk with Daud’s spirit and all the hints come together. I like wandering around the place too since we don't get to see The Void this much anywhere else.

Sorry this was so long, but I really love how well thought out these game are, and I really rambled! Happy pride to you too!

#mod tad #doto spoilers

[photiniainsummer]

Something Worth Celebrating

Rating: General Audiences (basically GenFic)

Summary: Dark admits he sort of, kind of has a birthday. And then he sort of, kind of asks you to throw him a party.

I know. Pinch me, I must be dreaming.

(Basically a purely indulgent fic where Dark gets to be happy for 0.2 seconds. Yes, it's late, please forgive me, Mr. Darkiplier sir.)

(second person POV, gender neutral reader)

Word Count: 4906

Author’s Note: No warnings. Honestly just tooth-rotting tenderness. This is a super-late birthday 'present' for our favorite spooky ego that I just couldn't get out of my head. Also posted to AO3!

The thought strikes you in the midst of your weekly scan of Mark’s content. While Dark makes sure to check his uploads and social media presence moment-to-moment, you often join his weekly wrap-up review sessions as a second, fresh set of eyes. It’s usually a silent and uneventful affair, with Dark sitting at his desk and you to one side of it, both focused on the week’s batch of content as it projects on the opposite wall. Hooking up the projector was easier than hunching over Dark’s laptop, the two of you bunched together around the screen, and it usually meant you could catch and examine any irregularities with greater accuracy. Not that there had been any for months. Mark’s content has become suspiciously unsuspicious, with no odd shot changes in the middle of playthroughs, no sideways comments in food reviews… and so your mind has started wandering during your viewings.

It’s not that his content is boring. But it’s hard to enjoy Mark’s lighthearted commentary, really, knowing the man for what he is: a manipulative, body-snatching, undead creature bent on conquering the hearts and minds of the world. That kind of imposing terror makes it hard to kick back and enjoy him goofing through a new horror game.

And, yet, despite that same terror, it’s difficult to stay fully focused on the task at hand. Maybe it’s the lack of weirdness lulling you into being unobservant - maybe that’s Mark’s goal. Regardless, he makes a jokey comment, surprised by a new onslaught of enemies so soon after receiving a new weapon - “What, is it my birthday?” - and though he proceeds to casually mow down a fresh flood of zombies, your mind is nowhere near his running monologue. No, you’re off on a tangent of wonderings - When exactly is his birthday, anyway? Is it soon? Do the egos share his, or do they have their own, if they know it? When would they celebrate it, anyway? Did Mark build in birthdays for them when he summoned them up, or was it whatever day they were formed from some strange, shadowy process you still don’t know the specifics of? It’s a strange and vaguely sad thing to ponder, your mouth turning down at the corners as you roll it around in your mind. To your side, Dark sighs softly, reaching out to pause the current video. Mark’s face freezes in an unflattering expression, and you turn to look at the entity.

“What, think of something?”

“No,” he demurs, scrubbing the video back. “But you are distracted. What do you last remember?” He doesn’t sound annoyed, which is a little surprising. Where a few months ago he would have bitten off a sharp comment about your wandering attention, he just gives you a mild look when you don’t immediately respond, hands hovering at his computer. It speaks to how routine this has become for you both, how each of you has grown accustomed to the other - the ringing of his aura barely registers for you now, although you were certain when you arrived that investing in a lifetime supply of ibuprofen was a basic requirement for working in close proximity to Dark for any extended period of time.

That’s when the thought strikes you - you meandering thoughts crystallizing around his presence, centering on him. You have to wonder how much of your thought process Dark actually heard, if your idle thoughts are loud enough for him to pick up. But seeing as he’s not making any attempt to immediately answer, nor chide you for thinking about such unimportant things, the thought, as a question, easily tumbles out between you.

“Do you have a birthday?”

He immediately furrows his brow, blinking in surprise. “What?”

“I said, do you have a birthday?” you repeat, committing to this line of questioning. You go so far as to turn slightly in your chair to look at him better, attention fully directed at him. Dark sighs and turns back to the computer, picking a spot in the video a couple of minutes ago, certainly farther back than necessary.

“I heard what you said,” he clarifies. “I am attempting to understand what could have possibly brought that up.”

“He said something about his birthday. It just got me thinking, that’s all.” Dark pauses, squinting his eyes ever so slightly at the screen. His cursor hovers over the playback bar, obviously considering his next move. You pause with him, then a smile tugs at your mouth. “You missed that, didn’t you.”

“I did not. It was merely an inane comment, so I did not take note of it.” He’s a little too indignant, too quick with that response, and it makes you laugh. He shoots you a patented glare, although it carries very little true malice. “When did he say that.”

“A couple minutes forward, it’s right after he gets that new gun.” Dark hums in response, clearly still miffed at having been successfully teased, but in a good-natured sort of way. You watch him scrub for the right spot, lulling back into a comfortable silence for a few moments before you remember what brought all this up and press on. “So, do you?”

“Do I what?”

“Don’t be obtuse, come on. Do you have a birthday?”

“They had birthdays,” he remarks. You recall them, or, at least, a picture of them, the only one you’ve seen that isn’t a staged portrait. You like it better than the stiff, properly posed photographs Dark hesitantly showed you once, when he had finally explained his origins to you. In the one you preferred to remember, a well-dressed woman and man hug each other close as they smile warmly into the camera. It’s some holiday, or just an excuse to get together - there are garlands blurred in the background - and the woman is holding a fancy-looking drink in the hand that isn’t wrapped around behind her brother, tugging him into frame. He looks a bit put-upon, smiling almost embarrassedly as if the woman has cajoled him in front of the cameraperson into taking a picture with her. But his expression, for all it implies, is still warm. His body curls close to his sister, his hold on her obviously affectionate. The woman is beaming like she’s won, squeezing her brother close as her cheeks apple, her painted lips curled in such pride. Her eyes dance, catching the light of the camera’s flash. They look comfortable, happy, beautiful. Full of life. The woman’s smile had pulled one out of you, when you saw it.

Dark’s explanation of how he had come to be makes the memory all the sadder, the melancholia curling around your throat even as you remember it now.

“I, on the other hand, was not born,” he explains, and for a moment you begin to regret bringing it up. But the shadow-bathed man doesn’t seem bothered, his tone matter-of-fact, simple. You know it pains him still, you saw the look on his face as he described how he had come to be, how his aura had raged around him like he was going to pull apart. How their faces had appeared in agonized red and blue flashes behind him - now that you knew what you were looking for, you could see them as themselves, not just as Dark.

Which makes the fact he can say something that directly referential without threatening to rip through existence sort of comforting. Is he just comfortable with you, now, knowing that you know? Whatever it is, you decide it’s a good thing, and settle back in your chair. “Well, sure, not as such, but… do you celebrate theirs?” you ask, as gently as you can.

“I do not.” Dark finds the proper place in the video, advancing to it.

“So you don’t celebrate you… coming into being, on any particular day?”

“I do not.” You squint slightly.

“You don’t,” you repeat. Dark sighs once more, bringing a hand to his brow in the way he does when Wilford is being particularly taxing.

“No. I do not. But the… fans. Do.” It’s an answer given through gritted teeth - the man finds the celebration of him and his many appearances in Mark’s work frustrating, to put it simply. Of course, he’s completely committed to his role as the villain the actor dreamed of, and won’t lie and say he doesn’t find it utterly amusing how Mark’s own fans seem to like him more than the actor himself. But all that is tinged with the truth of his conscription into this role, the indignity of being painted as the wicked mirror image of the man who took everything from him. It is particularly insulting, particularly painful. So to have some false version of him celebrated and adored, is…

Well, to use his words: Disgusting.

You would go for complicated, instead. It does feels strange to have them celebrate a fictionalized version of the entity next to you, given the reality of the situation, but it’s not like you can fault them for what they don’t know. They’re caught up in Mark’s game - it isn’t their fault. Still, you aren’t really surprised they found a whole day to put aside for the man.

“What day did they pick?”

“Hm?” Dark seems caught up in some internal brooding, set off by the memories of the fanart he’s seen. You prod again.

“What day is it? That they made your ‘birthday’?”

He pauses a moment, considering. You can tell he knows, he’s just debating whether or not to tell you. Whether or not this will have unintended consequences. “June 19th. It was the first time Mark posted something… strange enough to be counted as my first ‘appearance.’ So it is my birthday, by their reckoning.” He pauses again. “I suppose it is as good a day as any. Although I do not understand it - why would someone want to celebrate my existence?”

His tone takes this bitter, harsh edge, and you instinctively want to cringe against it. But you also know how Dark hates you trying to be delicate with him. It’s better to be honest, to know his reactions are not for you, but for his situation. For Mark. So you suppress the desire to turn away from it, instead reaching across the bit of desk between you to touch his arm. He doesn’t react, apart from flicking his eyes to rest on your hand. Touching him like this, yours fades to take on the same black-and-white cast as his own.

“For what it’s worth, I’d want to celebrate it. I’m glad you’re here.” You squeeze him very gently, as if trying to impress that more fully into his mind. “And… they don’t really know you, but, I mean. I think they’d like you even more, want to celebrate you more, if they did.”

Dark is silent, gaze falling to a whorl of wood in his polished desk as he considers your words. He doesn’t immediately reply and you take your hand away, not wanting to be overly touchy-feely about the whole thing. Or, at least, you don’t want to be if that’s not what Dark wants. You’d be the first to console him, if you could, but it’s hard to get a read on what might help the man most. He lives in his head, unaccustomed to sharing much with the other egos, let alone someone who hasn’t directly been through what they have. Your position on the outside imposes a distance that even having worked so closely with him for so long hasn’t yet bridged. Still, you leave that door open for him whenever you gracefully can, whenever it doesn’t feel like you’re opening it to force him through.

You try show him he can walk through whenever he likes. If he likes.

The man shifts slightly, reaching out to adjust a small pile of papers. He puts them to rights, even though they’re already perfectly in line with each other. When he finally speaks, his voice is almost covered by its own deep echo.

“If I am honest, I meant more… why would they celebrate the man they see, the ‘Darkiplier’ in his works? He is not a good man, by any means. He tells the truth, Mark’s confidence in himself sees to that. But they do not know it. He seems to seek to trap the audience through lies, manipulation… I simply do not understand the appeal.” You feel a little caught out, wondering if you jumped a bit too eagerly on his statement as a chance to comfort him. “However…”

He stops, realizing he’s run out of papers to arrange, things to fidget with. Folding his colorless hands in front of him, he finally and intentionally turns to look your way. It’s a slow, steady motion, heavy with purpose. When you meet his intensely contrasted eyes, they fall gently on you. His expression is open, almost bare. Devoid of any bitterness, frustration - his usual armor.

“...it is incredibly kind of you to say that. About me. I. I sincerely appreciate it.”

The hesitancy in his voice, yet how honestly he continues on, intent on telling you this… It’s enough to break your heart. You give him a tender smile.

“You’re not exactly that man in those videos, Dark. Not the way he has you play it, know you well enough to tell that… But even if you were, you have reason enough for it, I’d wager.”

That gets you a wry smile from the man. “Enough reason to pull ourselves back from the dead?”

You laugh, softly. “Yeah, something like that.” At your mirth, the lines of his body begin to relax, and he eases back into his seat somewhat. It’s a rare sight, Dark letting himself relax, be still for a moment. Even his aura, ever-roiling, merely seems to ebb and flow around him in gentle pulses. His mouth stays gently turned up as he looks at nothing in particular, gaze easy on some middle distance. You can tell he’s thinking, even at minor peace like this, but has no real intention to speak again. Sensing the Big Heart-To-Heart Moment™ has passed, you sigh and look back over your sparse notes. “Should we get back to it, though? I totally derailed us.”

Dark pauses a bit longer in the moment before he idly waves a hand and reaches out to close the lid of his computer. “There is nothing interesting this week, really. I think we can call it there, unless you are especially invested in head-exploding physics.” You pull a face.

“Not particularly. I can finish going over it later, anyway. Just in case.” You stretch and twist in your chair with a sigh. “Think I’ll make some coffee - can I get you a cup?”

“Are you going to use the cafetiere?”

“No, I thought the Mr. Coffee would be better. Really gets it nice and watery, just like you like.” Dark scrunches up his nose in the most totally undignified way, and god that makes you belly-laugh, bending slightly over the desk to support yourself. It breaks him, getting a real smile to curl over his face. He can be such a goofball, when he wants to be. “Of course I was gonna use the cafetiere. Who do you take me for?”

“I have to check, I have had many a disappointing cup after agreeing too eagerly. But yes, I will take one, if it isn’t too much trouble.”

“None at all,” you hum, coming down from your laughing fit. You make your way out of his office but before you can turn the corner, Dark calls your name, stopping you in the doorway. You look back to him, and he seems… at ease. His hands are folded across his middle, he’s resting back in his desk chair. The ghost of a smile is still on his face. You try to bottle that moment, preserve it mentally. “Yeah?”

“Thank you. Again. And…” He hesitates for a beat, making some decision. “If you or the others would like to do something. On the day. My… sort-of birthday… I would not be opposed.”

You force your jaw to stay in place and not hit the floor. Wilford will go ballistic. You don’t know if the mustachioed ego will be able to handle the thought of throwing Dark a real birthday party - he might just explode in a haze of confetti and glitter stars. Blinking, you right yourself, finding your head nodding before you even know what it’s doing.

“I. Y-Yeah! Sure, we. We could definitely do that. Do… something.” Dark just smiles a little more fully, exhaling a laugh. “I’ll. I’ll talk to them about it.”

Holy shit.

“Wonderful. It will be nice to have a reason to have a proper party. Something to celebrate. Don’t you think?” You’re nodding again, agreeing wholeheartedly, but dazedly, too. You don’t realize you’re just standing there sort of staring until Dark tilts his head thoughtfully to one side. “Is… coffee still happening?”

“Huh?” You remember. “Oh. Oh! Shi- I mean, shoot. I mean. Yes. Yeah. I. Coffee, yes. I’m… gonna do that.”

As you beat a hasty and red-faced retreat to the kitchen, bursting with ideas, you can just make out the man giving the faintest, echoing chuckle.

---

You don’t think you’ve ever felt such pure excitement in the Manor before. The air is practically buzzing with pure, unbridled energy as you approach Dark’s office door. Downstairs, you can hear the egos making final preparations underneath Wilford’s speaking in an overly dramatic tone, giving some kind of grand speech. Likely a rallying of the troops into being on their best behavior for their de facto leader. You can’t help a smile and a shake of your head - maybe he’d take his own advice tonight.

Either way, everything is ready, so you rap on the birthday boy’s outer office door. He’d graciously locked himself away after retrieving his morning coffee so you would all have the space to prepare. Of course, he hadn’t escaped early-morning birthday wishes from you and the Host, nor a fresh-cut bouquet of flowers you two had collected for him. You’d even carried them up to his office for him, just so he wouldn’t have to touch them himself and risk draining their color. The memory of how sort of bashful he’d looked, the you really shouldn’t have energy that had rolled off him as he directed you to set them on his desk - it makes you grin in anticipation for this evening as he calls for you to enter, now.

He’s sitting by the fireplace, apparently killing time with a book which he looks up from as you enter. An inquiring look pulls his brow. “All prepared?”

“Oh yes. Your party awaits you, sir.” Dark huffs a laugh and rises, setting his book aside. He’s dressed a bit differently, still in slacks and a tie but with the addition of a waistcoat closely fit over his dress shirt, which is slightly rolled up over his forearms. Then he begins to fix them, going for his jacket, and you have to interject. “Are you really going to wear a full suit to your party?”

Dark stops, looking confused. And a little concerned. “I. Was intending to, yes.”

Oops. “I mean, you always wear a suit,” you chide as gently as you can. “They look nice, but the whole point is celebrating, relaxing a little? Besides, you look nice just like that.” Dark pauses, casting a look over himself. He absently adjusts his waistcoat, and you notice a thin chain connected to one of the buttons loops into one pocket. Has he always had a pocket watch?

“You are certain it is not too… casual.” He almost sounds worried, the poor thing. You give him a reassuring smile as you approach, picking up his jacket and folding it with care before hanging it over your arm.

“I’ll bring it down, but I think you’ll be more comfortable like that. Though you aren’t totally dressed, yet.” The man gives you an utterly baffled look, and you grin in response, bringing out a brightly colored party hat. His look sours immediately.

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on.”

“No. I am already being made to go down undressed, I will not go with bells on.”

Sometimes you forget he’s just a grumpy grandpa. You pull out the big guns. “Well… we’re all wearing them,” you hum, your own firmly in place. “Besides, Wilford insisted. And he’s the Decoration Czar. Self-proclaimed, but he rules with an iron fist.” Dark makes a valiant effort to hold onto his resolve, but it weakens in the face of you invoking the mustachioed man. With a soft, amorphous grumble, he pulls the elastic band of the hat under his chin.

Now that you understand a little more about how Dark and Wilford had come to be, their bond makes a lot more sense, even for all Dark’s frustrated looks shot the more light-hearted man’s way in the midst of meetings. Even before you knew the depth of their bond, Dark had always seemed surprisingly willing to go along with Wilford’s more doable requests, less inclined to irritatedly snip at him for his foolishness. As Dark adjusts his party hat in a nearby mirror (making sure his well-coiffed hair isn’t too disturbed by his headwear), you’re glad that, although Wilford may not fully be aware of it, the two of them have each other.

He drops his hands with a sigh. “I look ridiculous.” He’s positioned the cone-shaped hat directly pointing up in the middle of his head, and. Well. It looks way too proper, but very Dark all at once. You chuckle, coming close to help.

“You should see the den. It’s a wreck,” you tease, reaching for his hat, giving the man enough time to wave you off. But he doesn’t, just watching you in the mirror as you adjust it (careful of his curls) to a more jaunty angle. His aura has already absorbed the color from it, but it looks party-appropriate. More importantly, Dark seems a bit more at ease as he gets used to how it looks. You wonder if he’s ever worn a party hat in his life. “There, much better.”

“Hm. Then I suppose I am ready.”

“As you’ll ever be. C’mon, they’re all waiting.” When he turns from the mirror, you playfully offer him your arm. You think you’ll get an eyeroll, a dismissive but amused huff at best. You aren’t anticipating him looping his arm in yours and giving you this little smile that warms his eyes and has you pulling up short. He chuckles somewhat at your reaction, your lack of movement.

“I thought I was being escorted.”

“Uh. You. You are, oh, you definitely are, hold on to your socks, you’re about to experience the best escorting of your life.” Dark’s free hand comes up to help suppress the grin that threatens to split his face as you lead him from the office and down to the almost overwhelmingly decorated den. While the room is comfortably illuminated by a variety of the Manor’s most colorful lamps, the light is somewhat low and catches on the sparkling garlands heavily draped on the walls. Matching balloons bob at varying intervals and a rousing cheer goes up as you and Dark enter, a flood of grins turning your way. Music cuts on - something upbeat and jazzy - and the flock of egos quickly descends on the object of celebration, Wilford leading the charge and pressing a drink into the man’s hand after a massive bear hug. You release Dark’s arm to let the crowd of other egos at him, covering him in birthday wishes and affectionate pats on the back (their boldness inspired by Wilford, no doubt), before eagerly showing off all their preparations.

While Yancy explains the variety of possible games he’s worked up, getting a horribly wry grin out of the shadowy man at his creation of ‘pin the cravat on the Actor,’ you step back a bit to make sure Dark’s suit jacket is safely out of the way of the night’s oncoming revelry. Clearly, he’s already forgotten it, much to your pleasure. The bar is lined up with a few drink options, pre-made cocktails and bottles of wine opened to breathe, a number of elegantly arranged finger foods courtesy of resident chef Google Alpha. Carefully, you tuck Dark’s jacket under the bar in an empty shelf and before scooping up a drink of your own and tossing yourself back into the fray.

It goes a lot more smoothly than you had anticipated - everyone quickly falls into comfortable conversation, dipping into the snacks and games when it lulls. Wilford manages to keep his pants on despite threatening to provide a different kind of ‘entertainment’ at one point (and in spite of encouraging whistles from Bing and the Jims, who are quick to shove a camera in Wil’s direction). Further, Dark survives having ‘Happy Birthday’ sung to him, even blowing out the single candle in the middle of the complicated-looking tiramisu Alpha crafted.

It’s a rousing success, by all measures.

By the time you finally get a chance to sidle back up to Dark, the easy hum of the party has kicked up to a bit more of an excitable buzz as the jazz records have turned more and more swinging. Yandere and Illinois clearly know what they’re doing, beating a quick step around the open dance floor and grinning like bandits as Yancy does his best to help poor Eric get over the hurdle of not staring at your feet when you dance. The Manor feels more full than it usually does, with all of you crowded in the one room together, and you can see the warm, pure energy of it all is having a similar effect on Dark as it is on you - you don’t think you’ve ever seen him smile so much, small as they are.

Another thought hits you, even better than the one that prompted this whole affair. Grinning, you quickly gesture over the nearest Google. With the music like it is, it’s hard to speak over the ruckus, but you mime taking a picture and Green gets the idea, his glasses getting a particular sheen to them so you know he’s flipping through his interface. Once he gives you a thumbs up, you gently tug Dark down by the arm and gesture in Green’s direction. “Say ‘cheese,’” you prompt, and the shadowy man pulls a face.

“I don’t think-”

“Oh, just one, Dark, c’mon,” you poke. “He’s set up and everything.” With a sort of resigned huff, the man twists and gets his free arm around you, hand resting carefully on your back as you get yours around him, bringing him in closer.

Then, almost in your ear, you hear his very dour voice say, “Cheese...” and it breaks you. You’re busting out laughing, forcing yourself not to double over or spill your drink, and over the music and your own laughter, you can hear Dark chuckling, the subsequent snap of Green’s camera feature. The latter catches the most attention, the gathered egos coming running as soon as they realize pictures are happening.

Suddenly, everyone wants in, smushing in as close as they can get to you and Dark, bickering when elbows ‘accidentally’ find soft sides and someone worms in front of someone else, Green taking pictures all the while of the ensuing chaos. Dark’s aura is starting to rouse from its relatively peaceful state when you decide it’s gone on long enough. You quickly clap and break up the worst of the infighting, getting folks arranged as best you can. By the time you finish and most everyone is settled, Dark is wearing a very betrayed look and Wilford’s heavy arm, which is hugging him quite close to his side. With a playful shrug, you pick your way back to your spot.

“I thought you said one,” he grumps softly even as you both get your arms situated comfortably around the other.

“You believed me?” His eyes get a bit wide - you trick Dark? You trick him into photograph like the child? - but you turn away with a triumphant smile. “Green, set your glasses on the bar, get in!”

The android quickly obliges, setting the timer and sliding in among his copies as he counts you down. “Okay,” you call, “everyone say ‘Darkling!’”

The cacophony of laughter and broken-up attempts at the word is something you’ll never forget.

---

Google sends you the photos the next morning, as the Manor collectively attempts to nurse minor to severe hangovers. Flipping through and marking the best ones to print and frame, you get to see the first one of the two of you.

In it, you’re hugging each other close, smiling warmly into the camera. There are garlands blurred in the background and you’re holding a fancy drink, tugging Dark into frame. That slightly embarrassed tinge is gone from his smile, but he still looks cajoled, still smiles as affectionately as he ever has. There’s no doubt he’s changed - the photo warps to try to capture his existence, red and blue fragments breaking up the image - but his expression is still warm. And you look so pleased with yourself, so amused, eyes dancing with success and joy.

Full of life.

It pulls a smile out of you.

#markiplier fanfiction #markiplier egos #darkiplier #ego fanfiction #happy birthday mister man light of my life #sorry it is late i was a pile of mental goop after exams #mad market pliers ramblings #fanfiction

[obeymemc-marcie]

Special Guest Appearance

(That's the title of this one)

Warnings: NSFW, Dom!Levi, a smidge of tail action, MC uses she/her pronouns with female genetalia, slight masturbation, mentions of demon in heat, let me know if I need to add more! 💜

"Hey there Deviltube, L3 here and welcome back to another video. We're going to pick up where we left off here playing Skyrim. If you remember we were-"

Marcie mouthed the words with a practiced ease as she lip-synced his signature intro, dangling her legs outside the rim of his tub bed. Her eyes roved over her own device as she played through the same quest he was currently livestreaming. He had told her before that he didn't mind if she'd made an appearance during one of his streams, but she knew this was his passion and didn't want to distract him from it. Besides, playing along with him always made her feel giddy, gave her a sense of happiness she couldn't explain.

Today, however was a little different. After his last livestream, Marcie had pulled up a walkthrough to read ahead through the next quest. She still wanted to play it through with him but this time, she wanted to make an appearance during his livestream.

It had been almost a full month since his last heat and now that he had Marcie, well it was a little easier for him to get through it, but Marcie also knew he dreaded the heat cycle. It made him insatiable and dark, rough and driven by lust and the pure primal instinct to mate. Marcie couldn't help the bolt of pleasure that danced along her spine, pooling in her lower abdomen remembering how he had been with her. She licked her lips, fighting back a moan, as she felt the ghost of his tail coiled around her throat, his cocks penetrating both of her holes at the same time. Her blue eyes fixated on her screen, set in determination and she squeezed her thighs together just slightly, already feeling her arousal dampen her panties. Today would be an interesting livestream indeed.

"What do you guys think, should I fast travel to the Greybeards or run there?" Levi panned his camera to the area surrounding him and his eyes caught some bandits in the distance, "or should I go kill those guys and steal their horse?" He paused for a moment to rummage through his character's inventory as the comments flowed in, all his viewers casting their votes.

That's when his nose picked up a scent, light at first but unmistakable as it whirled around his senses, embracing him. The scent of sweet oranges and subtle notes of peppermint mellowed out by eucalyptus and tied together with lemongrass; it was the ambrosial scent of his human's arousal.

Orange eyes could see her legs swaying over the edge of his tub in their peripheral vision, he caught the movement as her legs moved closer together and get smell became more potent.

Levi snapped out of his trance when he felt his mouth begin to salivate and turned his attention back to the game. He saw a prominent blush spreading out across the bridge of good nose, painting his cheeks and a light pink in his livestream camera feed. The pupils of his eyes narrowed into slits but only so briefly he thought he'd imagine it. Shaking his head, he faked a few coughs and cleared his throat, hoping it would dispel the blush and felt a stirring in the back of his mind.

"H-hey," his voice cracked and he cleared his throat again, reaching out to take a swig of his energy drink. "Guess I'm going to go steal a horse," his laugh was forced but he quickly found himself delving back into the game.

Marcie was biting her hand trying not to laugh. Watching his face, his real time reactions in the corner of the steam, oh he was going to punish her for what she had planned. She smiled, practically humming in anticipation. Bandits had not spawned in her game so she led her character over to where his would be on his playthrough and paused to wait for him. Making as little sound as possible, Marcie pulled her shirt up and over her head and placed it on the blankets next to her. Levi engaged in combat with the bandits and took the opportunity to pull her legs down and tug off her jeans as well, leaving her with just her bra and underwear on.

The full scent of her arousal washed over him, no longer held back by the denim. He paused his game mid fight to catch his breath. Comments poured in, some asking if he was a noob for chickening out of a fight, some asking if he was okay because he looked feverish. His eyes cut back over to the tub and noticed her legs were not hanging over the rim anymore. Listening for a moment for any indication she was doing something indecent in his bed, Marcie noticed Levi was looking her direction on the livestream and held up her hand, giving him a thumbs-up signaling she was okay. Hesitating, he turned back to his game, face felt like it was on fire. The red stuck out against his normally pale face.

"Sorry about that," Levi saw he was sporting a small pout and changed his expression to a small smile, sheepishly looking into the camera, "I guess I'm not feeling too well today but I still plan on carrying out the rest of this mission." Talking helped him shift his mindset back into gaming mode and soon he was making his way to the Throat of the World on horseback.

A few hours had passed, Marcie found herself lost in the game as well until she'd heard the words she'd been waiting for. While reading the walkthrough, she memorized the key phrase for when she would act out her plan. Levi had a knack for letting the cutscenes play all the way through, soaking in the dialogue and cinematography like a long-awaited movie.

The voices droned on as she saved her game and put her console to sleep. Peeking her head above the top of the tub, her lips spread in a conniving smile; the mischievous kitty about to eat herself a canary. Readjusting her breasts to plump them up in her bra, she crawled out of the tub and slunk down. His attention was solely focused on the monitor, watching the Nordic heroes battling against Alduin's forces, eyes sparkling as he watched the scene unfold. She almost felt guilty for what she was about to do. Almost.

Marcie crept and crouched to hide behind the file cabinet under his desk, successfully concealing herself. Her nerves fluttered, she debated giving up and returning to the tub. But then she felt the ghost of his claws running down her thighs as his tongue, his forked tongue, made her see stars between her legs. Her breathing shuddered as she steeled her resolve and crept closer, crawling on her hands and knees under his desk.

Levi had been entranced by the cutscene. The graphics, the cinematography, the dialogue, the lore, it all fascinated him. The rich lore of the Elder Scrolls and here was the moment he saw the three heroes go against Alduin and witness how the World Eater was cast forward into time.

He almost missed the spike in Marcie's arousal. The scent was stronger this time, he choked back a whine. His leg started to bounce in frustration as he felt his own arousal start to stir. Levi bit his lip as he felt his pants tighten around him, he could feel another part of him start to wake up as well, after having slumbered for almost a month. His grip tightened on the controller as he shifted in his seat, spreading his legs wider to add a little more friction and pressure to his semi-hardening erection.

Marcie could feel the smile that stretched across her face, smug and victorious. She could fell herself start to drool and she inched closer. He was reacting to her. Reaching her hand down to her own apex, Marcie ran her fingers through her folds biting back a sigh and played with her clit and watched the tent in his pants twitch and rise.

Levi sucked in a breath, releasing his lip, a vein pulsated along his neck as he grit his teeth together. She was teasing him now. She had to have known what affect she had on him. The screen blacked out as it shifted to a loading screen. Taking the moment to roll his chair back, Levi arched his body, turning to look into the tub bed. He felt his heart stop when it was empty. He clearly still smelled her, but where-

Oh.

She smiled innocently as they made eye contact, raising her hand to her mouth and sucked on the fingers that were previously rubbing against her folds. Marcie groped her breast before pointing up, indicating his game had finished loading.

Levi's mouth was gaping, his face was burning red, his erection straining against his pants. His eyes slowly followed where she was pointing and he scrambled to pull himself back to his desk and turned off the camera.

"S-sorry everyone," he gulped, ignoring all the comments flowing in, "uh, technical d-difficulties," Levi cleared his throat, "let's p-pick up where we left off." Marcie snickered silently as he tried to keep his composure and placed her hands on his knees, gently squeezing his thighs. Levi shifted into his demon form instantaneously and Marcie licked her lips as his tail cracked against the tile floor.

This was supposed to be the moment in the game where he was to fight Alduin. He had spent days level crunching so he could be prepared. Oh, he was going to punish her. Levi smiled deviously and paused the game.

"I swear, some people in this house are really inconsiderate, I'm sorry, I have to go yell at Mammon again," his tail was thrashing around behind him making crashing noises to accompany the lie. Muting the microphone, Levi rolled his chair back slowly and leaned forward to grip Marcie's chin and pulled her up to meet his face, a wicked grin spreading over his lips. Marcie gulped and licked her lips in anticipation.

"You're going to sit in my lap, and I'm going to edge you until I've decided you've had enough." She nodded enthusiastically and he shook his head, and let out a deep laugh "You underestimate my power."

In normal circumstances, she would have snorted at the reference but with her current state of arousal and the way he was devouring her almost-naked form with his eyes, his words sent shivers down her spine.

Levi rolled his chair back and Marcie climbed out from under his desk. He raised his hips and commanded her to take off his pants.

"You should be wet enough to take all of me, right kohai?"

Marcie bit her lip and twirled a stand of her hair around her finger, saying, "but you're so big senpai, I don't know if my tight pussy will be able to take all of you, but maybe if you fucked my throat first?" Her lower lip jutted out in a pout and he groaned, the arm rests cracking under his grip.

Levi released a dark chuckle, cocked his head to the side, and smiled sadistically. "You haven't earned that right. You know where the lube is, go get it." She pouted but obliged, pulling open one of the drawers and took out the bottle.

"Good girl now hand it over," he outstretched his hand and Marcie whined. He was denying her of touching him, he tutted in response as she held it out to him. "You should have thought about that earlier. You have to earn the right to touch me," Levi coated his erection with enough lube and tossed the bottle onto the floor. "Now, turn around and come sit on my lap."

"Yes senpai," Marcie did as she was told, sticking her ass out further than necessary before lowering herself down, releasing a shuddering moan as his size stretched her out. The lube made it easier for him to slide in but she was still met with resistance and struggled with his size, riding him shallowly to coax her muscles to loosen up.

Levi growled, his tail cracking against the floor as he felt her walls squeeze him. It had been awhile since they were last intimate, and he could tell with the way her heat constricted around him. Leaning forward, a claw traced the fabric of her bra before twisting, slicing right through the fabric. His hand reached around and groped her plump breast as she had done earlier, his other hand moving down her body.

His fingers ghosted over her skin, feeling the flesh ripple and twitch under his delicate touch. He bit into her shoulder as his hand reached her apex, his fingers rolling themselves over her sensitive nub and lapped his tongue against the love bite.

"What's wrong Marcelline," he palmed her breast, toying with her nipple and teased the skin on her other shoulder, "I thought you wanted this yet you're struggling. Try to keep quiet as you take the rest of me or I'll have no choice but to shove my tail down your throat." The tip of the appendage slithered around her thigh before coming up to flick against her clit as emphasis. Panting and biting her lip, Marcie continued rolling her hips in slow and shallow thrusts, moving as much as he'd allow. His nails dug into her hip painfully if she moved too much.

Rolling them back to the computer, Levi switched out his headphones, opting for a single earbud so he could hear her and the game, and moved his mic to the other side, away from Marcie but still able to talk into it. He'd have to read the comments later, but he lost a few viewers.

'I bet if I turned the camera back on, the viewer count would skyrocket.' Levi mulled over the thought but she threw her head back onto his shoulder as she fully seated herself on his lap and he could see her face; eyes clouded in lust, breasts rolling around to match her panting, cheeks burning bright red, mouth hanging open, was that drool? No, only he was allowed to see her like this. No one else deserved to lay eyes on his precious Marcie.

Levi gave her breast one last squeeze before returning his hand to the keyboard. "Not a single peep. If you make a noise or try to move, I will only play longer." He kissed her shoulder, "you understand kohai?" He smiled as she nodded.

Shout-out to @kawaiizard for helping me beta read this 😭 I appreciate you 💜

#obey me #obey me mc #obey me oc #obey me levi #obey me leviathan #om! swd #om leviathan #om levi #levi smut #obey me smut #om smut #obey me levi x mc #levi x oc #Levi x mc #n/sfw

[gureishi]

Hi hello hi.

I’ve got a bunch of wonderful prompts sitting in my inbox but I was feeling anxious af yesterday and today I had to go to a freakin Zoom funeral and my anxiety brain instead spewed out...this.

I was watching a playthrough of the Forgive ending to try and sort out the timeline for the Jihyun request I’m writing (which I should be posting tomorrow~ <3) and then I started thinking about the disturbing little hints that are in there about depressed Saeyoung and alcohol, and then my anxiety said I needed to write about it. So I transposed that thought into another timeline so my boy could have an mc cause god knows otherwise it would get way worse.

I know alcohol is a really sensitive topic when it pertains to the Choi twins because of their trauma relating specifically to alcohol and alcoholism. To be super super clear, drinking can be fine and okay and not harmful for lots of people, but that’s not the type of drinking I’m portraying here. 

YEESH, I’ll stop rambling. Cw for alcohol abuse; if Saeyoung drinking alcohol is gonna be triggering for you please skip this one. Take care of yourself I love you <3

wanna be ok

The bunker is dark when you get home, and that is your first sign that something is wrong. 

You’re off work a little early, and you fully expected to find the house bright and full of energy. Usually at this time, there would be at least one brother in the living room. There’d be a half-built robot croaking gibberish in a corner or an inexplicable mess from some overly enthusiastic project in the hall.

But when the door slides open (greeting you by name, of course), you’re met with darkness and a startling, eerie quiet. Could they both have fallen asleep…? You check your watch. It’s just after nine.

“Saeyoung…?” You slip off your shoes, calling quietly in case he really is asleep. He hasn’t been sleeping much since his father’s investigation began, waking up at night and pacing the house. Sometimes he does fall asleep at the computer, even these days…

No answer. You peek into the darkened living room. Nothing. No light from his office or the bedroom, either.

You hear a noise and spin, senses on high alert. All your instincts telling you that something is certainly off, you peer warily around the corner.

He’s in the kitchen.

“Babe?”

He’s perched precariously on one of the tall stools at the kitchen island. His arms are everywhere, splayed over the scrubbed wood; he’s slumped over, head in the crook of his elbow. His hair is mussed as though he’s been running his hands through it.

None of this surprises you too much—it’s much a difficult few days. But what does startle you is the stale, harsh smell in the air. There’s a bottle on the counter that looks suspiciously like…

Dread settles in your stomach like hot lead.

You call his name again, some foolishly optimistic part of your mind hopeful that this is an off-color prank. But this isn’t the kind of thing he jokes about.

At the sound of his name, he stirs, lifts his head. As he does, he slips to the side, almost falling off the stool—catching himself at the last minute on the island.

He blinks at you blearily, as if he’s trying to get you into focus, and you know in that moment that he’s not messing with you.

“Hiii, babe,” he slurs, his voice thick. He tries to say your name, stumbles over it. Laughs at himself.

“Honey.” You approach him cautiously. Closer up, the smell is unmistakable—it’s whiskey, mingling with his natural spicy-sweet scent in a way that you find particularly unsettling. “What did you do?”

He tries to spin around in the stool to face you and nearly falls again—you have to reach out an arm to grab him. He gazes at you dizzily, his eyes glazed over.

“Wha’ d’you mean?” he mumbles, his words running together. He sways dangerously on the stool and you put a hand on his shoulder, bracing him. Out of the corner of your eye, you peer at the bottle beside him—it’s one you’d gotten as a gift ages ago and put away in a closet. It’s more than half empty.

“Baby, why did you drink that?” You shift, taking his face in both your hands; he’s unstable again without your hand on his shoulder. You turn him, make him look you in the eye—and he tries, he tries, but his gaze slides over your face as though he can’t quite focus on it.

“You’re pretty,” he sings, and he leans forward as if to kiss you—and misses, his head falling onto your shoulder. “Missed,” he says, giggling. His hands reach clumsily for your waist.

It would be almost cute, you think, under other circumstances. If it weren’t Saeyoung, who doesn’t drink alcohol. Who’s promised himself never to drink alcohol—and for good reason.

He presses his lips against your neck, tilting sideways as he does so. Okay. Okay. One thing at a time. You know how to deal with drunk people, under normal circumstances. Just pretend it’s not Saeyoung. Just for now.

“Come with me, baby,” you say, expertly evading his grasp and offering him both your hands. “Let’s go sit somewhere a little more comfy, okay?”

“Don’wanna,” he mumbles, titling to the right. “Comfy here.”

“You’ll be comfier on the couch, I promise.” You keep your voice light. Taking both his hands, you give a gentle tug, and he obliges you, sliding off the stool without any of his usual grace or agility. He sways as he lands on his feet and you brace him with both hands again, waiting till his gaze clears. 

You lead him to the living room and he comes obediently, albeit stumblingly.

“…m’too drunk for this,” he mutters, laughing at himself as he narrowly avoids running face-first into the door frame.

“Too drunk to walk to the living room?” You guide him more carefully now. Most people would be well and truly messed up from the amount that he drank—based on your cursory assessment of the kitchen, anyway. For him—someone who has, to your knowledge, quite literally never consumed alcohol before—it’s astonishing he’s even still conscious.

You steer him to the couch. He hesitates and you turn to him—his face has gone pale, and he claps a hand over his mouth.

“M’gonna…never mind.” He shuts his eyes.

With some difficulty, you get him onto the couch. He slides sideways immediately and you slip a pillow under his head. He smiles a sloppy, lopsided grin.

“…galaxy,” he murmurs, sinking heavily into the pillow. You don’t question it.

Confident that he’s not going anywhere, you make your way back to the kitchen, fill a big glass with water. Now that you’re alone, your hands are shaking.

It’s not the end of the world to get drunk, but it’s certainly less than great to do it alone. It’s worse, though, so much worse, because it’s him—because of the promise he made to himself, because of the memories of his mother’s violence, because of the fear you know he has of those same genes manifesting in him.

You know that the last few days have been difficult, that the trial’s brought up memories he’d long repressed. But you wouldn’t ever have anticipated…this.

What could possibly have happened?

You take in the havoc in the kitchen: in addition to the whiskey bottle, there’s a glass knocked over on its side as well as the usual debris from chips and other junk food. One of the stools is on the ground.

And where, you think suddenly, is Saeran?

You take a deep, steadying breath—care now, you remind yourself. Figure out the rest later.

When you return to the living room with the water, he’s crying. 

His eyes are shut tight and he’s wrapped both arms around the pillow; there are tear tracks on his cheeks and as you approach he lets out a quiet, pitiful sob.

“Sweetheart…” You kneel beside him and he wriggles toward you like a wounded animal. You bring a hand to his face and wipe away the tears and he clumsily throws out one arm and dangles it over your body.

“Drink a little bit of this, please, love.” You tilt the cup toward his mouth and he opens his lips the tiniest bit. You get a little water in him; most of it ends up on the couch.

“…still hates me,” he mutters, pushing aside the cup, nuzzling his face into your chest. You stroke his messy, tangled hair with your free hand, pulling it off his forehead.

“Who does, baby?” 

“Saeran…does.”

You run your fingers over his feverish skin; his cheeks are flushed and his forehead is warm to the touch.

“Saeran doesn’t hate you, honey. I promise he doesn’t.” You try again with the water. It’s a little more successful this time.

“Does. We hadda…fight,” he slurs. “Gotta…find’m.” Defying all logic, he tries to sit up again, using your shoulders for leverage. Even in this state, he’s stubborn as hell.

“Where is he?” you ask, not sure if Saeyoung will even be able to tell you. You help him wriggle into a sitting position, thinking it’s perhaps safer than lying down after all.

“Walk,” he murmurs. He’s trying to look at you again, his eyes wandering over your face. “Babe! Your face’s…blurry.”

You sigh. It’s not out of the ordinary Saeyoung to push Saeran too far, or for Saeran to snap at him and go for a walk to clear his head. You wonder if the confluence of circumstances—the trial, both twins’ tensions running extra high, the memories Saeyoung associates with his family and raised voices and a dark, empty house—led to this turn of events.

One of the cameras near the door flickers to life—someone’s coming into the garage. You sit up stick straight. Saeran was just on a walk—he couldn’t have gone far. Which means…

“Baby, I’m so sorry, but I need you to move again.”

He groans and mutters something you don’t understand, but you have no time to waste. Glad you’ve already got him sitting, you slide your hands under both his arms and pull. He sags like a rag doll, but he doesn’t weigh a lot, and you’re strong—you tug him to a standing position and he sways dangerously in place, his face pale again.

“Can’t,” he moans, and you don’t have time to pity him. You simply can’t risk the consequences—for both brothers—of Saeran finding him like this.

“C’mon, sweetheart, please try to walk. For me.” You kiss him firmly on the cheek and he perks up a little, reaching for you. You take both his hands again and walk backwards, guiding him to the bedroom.

“No more…” he moans, but you get him down the hall and into the room, giving the corners a wider berth this time.

Panting, you deposit him on the bed.

“…spinning,” he mutters, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. 

“I swear I will be right back,” you gasp, and you run from the room before he can respond. You sprint to the kitchen, sweep the whiskey bottle into the cabinet under the sink. You dump the glass and throw it under there too for good measure. You right the stool, leaving the chips bags—that’s normal enough. 

But the smell…

You hastily grab your bag, which you’d dropped on the floor earlier when you’d found him here—pull out the little bottle of perfume you carry, spritz it liberally over the kitchen island. You inhale. It’s not perfect, but it’s better than nothing.

You throw open the big window over the sink and, bag under your arm, slink back to your bedroom. As the bedroom door is shutting behind you, you hear the security system beeping, the front door sliding open. Just in time.

You spin around. Now where is…?

A soft moan from the en suite bathroom answers your question. You peer through the dark—sure enough, he’s sprawled on the ground, head bent over the toilet. The fact that he’s managed to drag himself there is impressive. You sigh—this was inevitable and is probably for the best.

You sit with him there for a long time: pressing a cool, wet washcloth to his head, plying him with tiny sips of water when you can. He apologizes to you again and again in a raw, miserable voice; you stroke his hair and rub his back and promise him that he’s going to be okay.

Eventually he slumps into your lap and, almost incoherently, whispers the word “bed.” So you hoist him up again, arms around his torso; he tries valiantly to help you, stumbling through the doorway, over the carpeted floor. You guide him onto the bed and he practically melts into it, his breathing immediately slowing, deepening.

You get him as comfortable as you can—wresting his jeans off and casting them aside, tucking the blankets all the way around him. He murmurs groggily as you press a soft kiss to his forehead and then he’s out, chest moving slowly up and down, face peaceful.

You’d never know, you think.

You retrieve his glasses from the bathroom floor, fold them neatly on the bedside table. And then, steeling yourself, you slip through the bedroom door as quietly as you can, tiptoe down the hall. As you’d suspected, Saeran is still in the living room.

“Hey,” he says, lifting his eyes from the book he’s reading. He’s draped over the couch, white hair tousled. He’s turned on a lamp—the dim light illuminates the red roots that are just starting to grow in.

“Hi,” you say. For something to do, you fetch the cup of water you’d left on the floor earlier. Saeran doesn’t bat an eyelash.

“We had a fight,” he offers, unprompted. He drums his fingers on his book—the same nervous habit his brother has. “Did he tell you?”

“Um…sort of.” You put the cup on a side table. Nervously straighten one of the fluffy throw blankets.

“I was mean,” Saeran says bluntly. “I shouldn’t have been.”

You perch on the arm of the couch. Once, he would have flinched away from you; now, he watches you impassively, green eyes unreadable.

“Was it about the trial?” you ask, with some hesitation.

Saeran shrugs. “I guess. He keeps all the TVs in the house on all day. I can’t stand hearing our father’s voice anymore.”

“Right.” You know this—know that the ongoing trial is wearing on them both, know that they’re coping in their own ways.

“Is he…” Saeran looks down and back up at you; his eyes are bright. “Is he mad?”

You take a shaky breath. “No,” you say honestly. “But he feels bad that you fought.”

“Should I talk to him?”

He is still looking at you. You’re surprised—he’s never asked you for advice before.

“Maybe in the morning,” you say, perhaps a little too firmly—but Saeran is unfazed.

“I get it,” he says. “I’m gonna go back to reading now.”

You smile, grateful as always for Saeran’s manner. There’s no risk of overstaying your welcome, because he’ll always tell you when he’s done.

“Good night,” you say. He looks up at you again, gives you a tiny smile.

“Night.”

。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。。

You wake abruptly the next morning. Through the haze of half-dream, half-wakefulness, you hear an intrusive rustling sound—then clunk. Clunk. Clunk. Your eyes shoot open.

“Saeyoung…?” you murmur, the events of the previous night momentarily evading you. You blink the sleep out of your eyes, see a blur of red hair in your peripheral vision.

He’s…cleaning?

“Oh god.” His golden eyes go huge with panic as he sees that you’re awake. He drops the mop (why was it clunking?) and throws himself onto the bed, kneeling beside you. “Hi. Good morning. Um. I am. So, so, so, so, so, so, so sorry. I mean, I—uh. Gah. I practiced this. Hang on—”

“Shhh.” You put a finger to his lips, pushing yourself up in bed. He sits back on his heels like a guilty puppy, eyes huge, waiting for a scolding. “So you remember last night, huh?”

His cheeks match his hair. He lowers his gaze.

“I am so, so, so, so…”

“Hush.” You take his face in both hands again, just as you’d done the night before. Tilt it up, forcing him to meet your eyes. “You don’t need to apologize to me. But I would like to know how it happened.”

He hangs his head, one red curl falling into his eyes. You brush it away.

“I don’t know,” he mutters. “You know I’ve never done that before. Right?”

“Yes, I know.” You slip out of the blankets and sit cross-legged, facing him. “Do you remember why you did it? Why you went looking for the whiskey that I didn’t even think you knew was in the storage closet?”

“I’d known where it was for a while,” he says softly, shamefully. “I found it one day when I was looking for an old hard drive and I guess I thought, wow, glad I know that’s there in case I ever lose my mind.” 

This surprises you. You didn’t know he’d ever give it any thought at all.

“I wasn’t seriously thinking I was gonna drink it!” he says hurriedly, his cheeks growing—if it were possible—redder. “It was like a…weird, bad joke. Like, haha, what a great way to escape my mind if I ever hate myself that much. I…dunno.”

You make yourself take a deep breath. You hate it when he says things like this. “Okay, fine. So why did you…?”

“I fought with Saeran,” he says, still looking down. He twiddles his hands in his lap, fiddles with the blanket. “It was stupid. We were just tense about the trial. And then he left, and it got dark, and I was alone, and I just couldn’t…stop thinking about her.”

“Your mother.”

“Yeah.”

He taps a pattern on his thigh, too fast, too hard. You take his hand, wrapping up his fingers in yours. He shoots you a grateful glance.

“It’s hard to explain,” he mutters. “It was like I was possessed. It was this feeling, like if I could…get inside her head somehow, I’d understand.”

“Understand what?” You realize you’re squeezing his hand too hard and you make a conscious effort to loosen your grip.

“Why she didn’t love us,” he says simply. You look up; there are tears in his eyes again. Automatically you reach for him, catching a tear on your fingertip. You kiss it away.

“Did you?” you ask quietly. Slowly, he shakes his head.

“I don’t think I ever will.”

“Oh, Saeyoung…” You hold open your arms for him and he bows his head, falling into you. You cradle his head against your chest, kiss the tears from his eyelashes.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispers.

“You are a wonderful man, and you deserve the world,” you say firmly. You wrap your arms all the way around his waist and squeeze him tight and he exhales, like he’s letting out breath he’s been holding for a long time.

“I’ll never do it again,” he says, his voice muffled by your shirt. “I promise. I mean it.”

You thoughtfully run your fingers through his curls, de-tangling them, pulling them apart one by one. “Can I ask you something I’ve asked you before?” you say tentatively. He nods; you can feel it. “Would it be okay if I just…got some names? My therapist offered to make a list for you before, you know, and you don’t need to commit to anything, but I just—”

“Yes.” He pulls back enough to peer up at you. There are tear tracks on his cheeks again but his expression is sure. “I’d like that.”

His eagerness takes you by surprise. You smile and kiss the tip of his nose.

“Thank you.”

He leans his forehead against yours. “I’m meant to be the one thanking you. You shouldn’t have had to take care of me last night. You should’ve just left me there.”

“Never.” You take a deep breath and he breathes with you, exhaling against your lips, tickling you. “Now would you please explain to me what the hell you were doing that woke me up this morning?”

He giggles, a little guiltily—still, you’re relieved to hear him laugh. “I felt like crap, both physically and emotionally. I thought I could start apologizing by…”

“Slamming the mop against the wall?”

“I don’t…actually know how to use a mop.”

That makes you laugh, and it feels good, like a release. You wrap your arms around his neck and he sighs against you.

“You’re gonna be okay?” you whisper. He nods, gazing at you reverently.

“Because of you,” he says. He strokes your hair with his long, thin fingers—cautiously, gently, like he needs reassurance that you’re still there. “I’m gonna be okay.”

#mystic messenger #mysticmessenger #saeyoung choi #707 #cw drinking #cw alcohol abuse

[bearwicked]

final thoughts - resident evil 7 (biohazard) VS resident evil 8 (village) !SPOILERS FOR BOTH GAMES!

so a while back i have made a post about the things i like and dislike about resi 8, and now since i finished watching both of the games, i wanna put my opinion out there, after these points being supported by few people (literally just my two best friends).

i’m gonna focus on both pros and cons of both games and try (and fail) explain my reasoning. long post incoming, probably.

- let us start with resident evil 7 (biohazard) -

i LOVE this game and everything about it. i truly think that the story and voice acting and generally the graphics are 10/10. however... let’s just make a list.

PROS

- one of the pros i have with this game is certainly the story. the story taking place in one location with few characters and they’re all (almost all) perfect since you can see their personalities and all that. one of my favorite characters was ethan winters and lucas baker for sure. 

- the graphics are outta this world. the lighting, the shading, the the the... how realistic it all looks. the gore is amazing and all the death scenes made my stomach turn, but in a good way.

- character designs are a huge pro for me. the design of any of these characters can tell you a lot about their personality and how much has the mold affected them.

- the pacing. it kept me on my toes the entire time and i kid you not i was afraid to even go to the kitchen after it got dark. there are moments when you think “finally some peace” and you relax a bit, but then the action hits again and it kept me so tense and scared that i just have to praise the game for it, since from what i can remember, no game has ever managed that for me.

- the location designs. HOLY SHIT do the locations look amazing. the baker house is scary, lucas’ party house is also amazing, the tanker (correct me if that’s not what it is, i’m stupid) looks also amazing. it all has its own charm and amazing atmosphere. which brings me to my next point.

- the atmosphere. oh my god the atmosphere. like i said in my pacing point, the atmosphere plays a huge role and it has made this game so much better than anything i ever saw. the dimness of the baker house and just how creepy and crawly everything was, how you were so afraid to turn a corner in fear of getting attacked, how much anxiety was just used so perfectly to the game’s advantage is truly amazing. 

- the fights. i especially love the fight between ethan and jack (all of them) since it truly showed the power of the mold and its abilities. the marguerite fight was truly something that i won’t ever forget. it was creepy, it was gross and i loved it.

- the option to choose between zoe and mia. at this point of the game, you have found your wife mia again, and have the option to save either your wife of 5 years, or the person who has helped you through this nightmare. now i’m not sure if the player (on their first playthrough) is aware of mia’s occupation and just how much does she have to do with all this. because if they’re not aware, they’re pretty much only deciding upon the “she dragged me there, so many hours sitting in a car, where i was later attacked by her, killed, revived, turn into walking mold human, get my arm and leg chopped off, and had suffered immense amount of trauma and agony”, not knowing that mia is what she is.

and now

CONS

- there won’t be much on this list, but i do have some issues.

- mia. oh god mia. i do not like her character to be completely honest. i don’t even have that much of a reason to dislike her, i just simply do.

- the chris redfield design. THEY ARE ALL OVER THE PLACE. i had struggled so much to believe that this is chris. that’s not my daddy buff chris.

and that’s it for resident evil 7 biohazard. now let’s move onto 

- RESIDENT EVIL 8 (VILLAGE) - 

this game is good, truly amazing, but i do have more issues with this one.

PROS

- character  designs. they’re very creative and truly bring me a lot of joy and terror.

- the atmosphere. now this is mostly just because the village reminds me a lot of my village and the places i’ve visited. i like it.

- the rendering and overall graphics. they look,,, good. truly they look amazing, but i sort of liked resi 7 a bit more.

- the voice acting. i like the voices that they give each character, since it truly fits them all so much. angie’s voice is annoying, but in a good sense. i specially like the voices of lady dimitrescu and karl heisenberg. they bring a lot of character into them.

- uhm.

- the story. i like it.

CONS 

- the story. even as much as i love the story, it seems... unfinished to me. in resident evil 7, the story was legendary. but here... not so much. 

- mia again. once again, mia is on the cons list. i just hate the fact that she knew that ethan is basically mold and that she is partially mold, and most likely still has a bit of eveline in her head. which makes conceiving a child ever more dangerous. and this is the reason why mother miranda went after rose so much.  mia utterly failed to explain anything to both chris and ethan.

and that’s pretty much all i had to say. i don’t know why, but replies are constantly turned off, so if you either agree or disagree, feel free to say so in the ask box. again, this is only my humble opinion, that i am not forcing upon anyone.

either way, i’m out.

#resident evil #resident evil 8 #resident evil village #Chris Redfield #ethan winters #mia winters #rosemary winters #karl heisenberg #alcina dimitrescu #mother miranda #help me why am i writing about this #ren talks

[homeformyheart]

scathing - colt kaneko x mc (rod)

author’s note: first ride or die one-shot featuring colt kaneko! i picked him in my second playthrough and GEEZ the route changes near the end caught me off-guard but did NOT disappoint 😂. includes tiny callout to red carpet diaries. also, i know nothing about cars.

copyright: all characters owned by pixelberry studios. series/pairing: ride or die – colt kaneko x mc (ellie wheeler) rating/warnings: 14+; swearing based on/prompt: title inspired by lyrics from “mad woman” by taylor swift word count: 3.8k summary: ellie drops in to surprise colt only to find that he is out with another woman.

scathing

ellie whacked colt with a large pillow with one hand while doing her best to punch his chest and stomach with the other to keep him from grabbing her, knowing she physically wouldn’t be able to do much to hurt him. colt tried to dodge as best as he could while looking for an opening that would let him stop ellie’s attacks without hurting her. he had to not only do this while half blinded by a giant pillow but while protecting his body – he had never seen ellie this mad before and did not want to find out if she was mad enough to knee him in the groin.

“you cheating motherfucker! how dare you, asshole!” ellie screamed, her face shifting between displays of rage and tears.

colt didn’t know which was worse. “god, ellie, stop! will you let me explain?!”

3 hours earlier

ellie weaved in and out of traffic seamlessly, her eyes trained on the inconspicuous white sedan two cars ahead. she had dropped in at the body shop to surprise colt a day early. she was able to convince her dad to let her leave her grandparents’ house early considering they had already spent the christmas holiday with them. she pulled up to the body shop and was told that colt had left for a job by himself, which ellie immediately knew was suspicious. colt was reckless, but he wasn’t stupid. he knew he should never work a job alone, which likely meant he thought this was one he could do in his sleep.

something didn’t sit right. ellie found out where colt was headed and got back in her car. she quickly got on the highway, heading toward the address of the downtown hotel colt was supposedly heading to, when she noticed the white sedan ahead of her. even though it was a completely standard white sedan, of which there were hundreds, if not thousands, in l.a., ellie knew it was colt’s. it was the car they had prepped for the upcoming koenigsegg job. this was even further proof that colt thought this job was brainless – he would never risk taking out their getaway car more than once.

ellie watched as the sedan pulled into the underground parking lot and she quickly found a spot on the street not far from the entrance to the hotel. it was definitely a high-end hotel and she would need to dress in something other than a tank top and sneakers if she was going to blend in. she quickly changed in the backseat into a glittery bodycon dress and flats, running her hands through her braid to loosen the curls to give it that “beachy” look. she swiped on pink lip gloss as a final touch and made her way inside the hotel.

she scanned the room and identified the parking garage elevators and ducked behind a pillar that gave her a good vantage point. she listened for the ding! that signaled the elevator doors opening and peeked carefully to see if it was colt. he was dressed in his crisp navy blue suit, with a white dress shirt but no tie. lucky for her, he didn’t seem to notice her as he walked across the room to the hotel bar. ellie darted over from the pillar to the other side of the doorway, relying on her peripheral vision to see where colt went. he was facing away from her, standing at the bar next to a tall, gorgeous redhead wearing a backless dark green halter dress that definitely showed off her assets.

ellie felt a little silly for spying on her boyfriend, especially when it was definitely clear he was working a job. this woman was not unlike others they had to deal with in the past but she was definitely the prettiest. she considered heading back to the shop when she noticed that they had switched positions – colt was sitting on a barstool with the woman between his legs. his hands were on her waist and she was gripping the collar of his shirt as they kissed passionately.

she felt her heart shatter and tears were quick to prick the back of her eyes as she ran as fast as she could out of the hotel. even through the tears, she pulled her car out of the street seamlessly and raced back to the shop. she let herself cry in the car, the sobs wracking her body. shoulders shaking, she grabbed her tank top from before and used it to blow her nose and dry her face. she was not going to let colt kaneko get away with this.

ellie told the rest of the crew to take off because she was going to need to talk to colt alone before she went upstairs and sat on the bed to wait.

colt sensed something was different when he got back to the body shop. he had been excited to see ellie’s car out front but noticed the backseat still had all her stuff. if she was back, she definitely would’ve brought her duffel bags up to his room. it was quiet in the shop, which was unusual, because he was expecting his crew to work at least a couple more hours. it wasn’t like them to take off without talking to him first.

“ellie! i didn’t know you were coming back early. i missed you, baby,” colt grinned, walking over to ellie to give her a kiss.

she stood up and grabbed one of his pillows. “oh, really? did you miss me while you were sucking face with that redhead? or are there other women i should know about?”

colt rolled his eyes. “don’t be so dramatic. it was for a job, it meant nothing. you know what it takes to get a job done.”

ellie felt her blood boil and started whacking him with the pillow. “no job is ever worth you cheating on me, asshole.”

colt’s eyes narrowed as if he was trying to calculate the likelihood that this was going to escalate. unfortunately, what he didn’t realize was that he was too late and his dismissive attitude already hit ellie’s escalate button.

“ellie, i know it looks bad but it was a job. i promise that’s all it was. i was playing a part and we got what we needed,” colt tried to appeal to ellie’s logical side.

“how stupid do you think i am? i saw you with my own eyes, colt. and even if i didn’t, you reek of chanel perfume, which only old women wear, and you have lipstick all over your face and your shirt.”

colt was starting to lose his patience but clenched his fists as a reminder to avoid saying anything that would nuclearize the conversation. “sweetheart, come on, we’re in this together. you know i only have eyes for you.”

“don’t you ‘sweetheart’ me. everything out of your mouth has been a lie,” ellie snapped. “tell me – was she good in bed? was it worth however much you got from the job?”

now this was getting ridiculous. “ellie, you know i would never sleep with anyone else. i would never cheat on you.”

“i clearly don’t know anything because you did cheat on me, asshole,” her voice dropped but retained the dangerously angry tone that kept colt from coming closer.  “you know perfectly well how i feel about jobs that require you to hook up with someone else. clearly the only thing that matters to you is the job, even at the expense of our relationship.”

“el, come on –”

ellie shook her head and cut him off, “no, you’re not talking your way out of this. we’re done.” she bolted from the room and down the stairs toward the front door.

colt knew if he didn’t catch her before she got in her car, he’d never catch up to her. she was by far the fastest driver on the crew and if she left l.a., he might not be able to find her. he sprinted after her, jumping off the stairs recklessly and barely catching himself before he hit the wall, saving himself from a nasty concussion. he pushed himself up quickly and let the adrenaline propel him out the door just in time to see ellie slide into the driver’s seat.

the car squealed away from the garage and quickly out of sight and colt had no clue where she was headed. dammit, he cursed inwardly as he quickly grabbed his helmet and hopped on his bike to chase after her.

* * * * * ellie had managed to lose colt after half an hour, which she counted as a massive win given that he had the advantage with his bike in l.a. traffic. but she knew how to navigate every nook and cranny of l.a. having spent the better part of the last couple of years charting courses and back-up escape paths. she pulled into the underground parking lot near her destination, pulled on a blonde wig, fixed up her makeup, and changed into heels.

she stepped out of the car and took the parking elevator to the ground floor, walking as fast as she could in three-inch heels outside to flag down a cab. she gave the driver instructions and sat back, giving her appearance a once-over and spritzing a light perfume on her wrists and neck. she pulled up the discreet app on her phone, the one they used to message with their buyers and targets in a way that was untraceable, and texted her contact. he wanted to put a job before her? two could play this game.

when she arrived at the very expensive club, she gave her alias to the bouncer and was escorted quickly to the vip room, where her contact was waiting.  aaron montmartre, the spoiled nephew of famed hollywood producer viktor montmartre, who was known for his extensive collection of expensive cars, spending sprees on viktor’s black card, and his weakness for young, attractive women. he was supposed to receive the newest koenigsegg model before it was even available to the public. and ellie was going to find out exactly when and where the drop would be.

* * * * * colt pulled up around the corner of the vip hot spot that was a known celebrity hangout. he knew ellie and knew she was pissed enough to want to teach him a lesson. he couldn’t help but be impressed with how seamlessly she drove through l.a. to get him off her tail and how she succeeded briefly. he prided himself on being able to handle any route with his bike and the fact that she was still able to lose him was beyond sexy. there was no one else that could compare to her.

although he didn’t know exactly what she was doing, he did know that he needed to be really careful not to give himself away too early. he shoved his hands in his pockets and walked casually up to the bouncer, giving him a curt nod. the bouncer gave him a long, scrutinizing look before letting him in. it took colt a few seconds to let his eyes adjust to the dark, hazy atmosphere of the pulsing nightclub.

he walked toward the bar – it would give him the most unassuming vantage point to observe the club and he could do with a drink – only to notice a blonde wig and curve-hugging dress that looked all too familiar. he approached the bar slowly, making sure there were enough people between them that he wouldn’t get noticed; even though her back was to him, all she would need to do was turn to the right and she’d spot him in her peripheral.

colt ordered a glass of whiskey neat so that he’d have something to keep him occupied as he watched ellie flirt openly with their target. colt knew what ellie was likely up to and he was both angry that she would jeopardize the job by potentially tipping their hand early and furious that she would openly flirt with another man. most people didn’t understand the difference, but a furious colt was a jealous colt; the concept of jealousy was something he kept out of his vocabulary.

ellie knew. she knew the moment colt walked into the room. after three years, five months, seventeen days, and twelve successful jobs together, she had learned a thing or two about him. she knew that he would eventually get back on her tail and actually, she was counting on it. it was what she was good at. reading people. learning him. studying the ins and outs of the road and the job. memorizing the ins and outs of him.

and one of the things ellie knew was that colt was a jealous man, although he would rather shoot himself in the foot than admit it out loud to anyone. but if he could use his raw magnetism to get a job done, then she could use her innocent appearance to disarm a target and gain intel. she had already spent the better half of the last 30 minutes pretending to be a tipsy flirt and encouraging aaron toward drunkenness, knowing he’d be more likely to spill details that way.

what she expected but still wasn’t prepared for was how handsy and charming aaron could be. she actually found herself enjoying their flirty banter and perhaps realized that she was a little tipsier than she should be. ellie turned to lean against the bar so she could subtly inch closer to aaron, placing a hand carefully on his bicep as though to steady herself. she immediately felt colt’s eyes staring at the back of her head and had to make a conscious effort not to shiver. she barely registered aaron placing his hand on her hip and leaning in far too close to ask her if she wanted to leave with him.

“i just got the newest koenigsegg model delivered to me. we could take it for a test drive,” he murmured in her ear.

it took every ounce of willpower ellie had not to tense at the situation. her mind was reeling with this new tidbit of information that would put a wrench in their plans; they had assumed the drop would happen in the next few days.

she knew what she had to do but she also knew colt would be pissed, even more than he already was. ellie pulled back slightly and smiled. “i would love that,” she said invitingly.

that was all it took. before ellie could say anything else, she felt colt’s presence appear behind her, his hand hovering by her right hip.

“if you know what’s good for you, you’ll back off,” colt said through gritted teeth. ellie could feel the tension radiating off him as he sidled up next to her. “we’re together.”

aaron stood up slowly, taking out a wad of bills from his pocket and leaving a generous tip on the bar counter without breaking eye contact with colt. ellie instinctively took a step back away from colt only to have the wooden bar press into her back.

“who the fuck are you?” aaron said, casually inching closer to ellie so his shoulder was angled in front of her.

colt’s hand clenched into a fist. “someone you don’t want to mess with. now back off.”

“i don’t think we should be speaking for the pretty lady. leah, you know this creep?”

ellie blinked, slightly startled before remembering that her alias was leah. she slowly turned to give colt a pointed glare, raising an eyebrow and hoping he’d get the hint.

she turned back to aaron and gave him her best impression of an innocent smile. “no, i don’t think i’ve seen him before in my life.”

aaron turned back to colt. “you heard the lady. now i think you better leave before i have security escort you out.”

colt unclenched and clenched his fist a few times as though he was stretching it. ellie knew where this was headed and inwardly sighed; she could countdown from five at this rate.

right on cue, colt’s fist flew at aaron’s face, hitting him square in the jaw and sending him backward into the bar seat he was occupying previously. to his credit and ellie’s surprise, aaron seemed unfazed, picking himself back up and massaging his jaw briefly.

“why don’t we take this outside and settle this like men?” aaron said, challenging colt with his glare.

ellie’s brow furrowed. normally, colt getting into a bar fight with someone who had been flirting with her wouldn’t faze her, but they did need to figure out how to lift aaron’s car without him suspecting them or getting caught. she wasn’t sure how beating the guy up would help with that. and now she was stuck pretending she didn’t know who colt was.

“fine. after you,” colt seethed, stepping to the side so ellie and aaron could move away from the bar. aaron was a good head taller than him and ellie didn’t think this would be that easy of a fight given how quickly aaron had bounced back before.

aaron reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small black fob. “why don’t you go hang out in the car, leah? this shouldn’t take long. it’s in one of the reserved parking spots in the garage, closest to the elevator,” he said, grabbing her hand to place the fob in her palm and closing her fingers over it.

ellie’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as she looked at him. “oh-okay,” she said, turning away from aaron. she gave colt a pointed side-eye as she passed him.

well, that was a freebie, she thought to herself as she made her way down to the car. it was exactly where aaron said it would be. ellie slid into the driver’s seat and ran her hands over the steering wheel, relishing the feel of the cool leather underneath her fingers. she grabbed her sunglasses and put them on as she drove out of the garage, quickly dialing toby on speakerphone.

“toby, i need you to ready the drop site off exit 54. i’ll explain later. if colt calls, tell him to meet me at our spot,” ellie said quickly, as she navigated the local roads to the drop site, taking extra care to avoid intersections and neighborhoods with traffic cameras.

once she arrived at the drop site, she checked with toby that the car stayed off the radar before emptying the glovebox, wiping down her prints, and shoving her wig into her purse. being methodical was ellie’s forte, even with the adrenaline running through her body, she knew she did everything right.

the dryve back to her car was uneventful, which did little to ease ellie’s nerves. she wasn’t worried about the job in actuality, but about colt. she knew he could hold his own in a fight, but she also knew how stubborn he could be. and despite still being angry with him, she was admittedly worried for his safety.

ellie felt like she was holding her breath the entire drive over to the cliffside. it wasn’t until she saw the familiar motorcycle parked near the railing that she felt a sigh of relief escape her body. she parked and stepped out, her gaze falling on the back of colt’s head.

she walked slowly over to him with anxiety in her stomach at the thought of how bruised he might be. it wasn’t until she saw that he was mostly unscathed, other than a purple bruise forming on his cheekbone and his knuckles, that her shoulders finally sagged, the tension she held all evening releasing at once.

“colt… thank god, you’re okay,” she said softly as she looked up at him, raising her hand hesitantly toward his bruised cheek.

instead, she closed her hand into a fist and punched him in the shoulder.

“ow— ellie, i just got out of a fight, seriously?!” colt yelped, angling his shoulder away from her.

ellie stepped forward every time he stepped back so she could punch him again and again. “you asshole. don’t you dare do that again, i was seriously worried about you! and you almost cost us the job!”

“i’m sorry, ow— will you let me, augh!” colt said, finally managing to grab her wrist and hold it in place while grabbing her hip with his other hand and pulling her close.

she made a half-assed attempt at struggling, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to break away. ellie did her best to glare at him, but as she looked into his eyes, she felt her anger cracking. her eyes softened and she found herself subconsciously leaning in. in a split second, colt’s lips were on hers, hot and desperate.

ellie almost forgot why she was mad at him to begin with as he gently bit her lower lip, eliciting a contented sigh that gave his tongue entrance. he pulled her hips as close as possible to his and ellie wrapped her arms around his neck. she gave back just as desperately, fighting him for dominance as she traced her tongue around his bottom lip, sucking on it gently.

colt let out a ragged breath and finally pulled back. “i’m sorry, el,” he said quietly, punctuating her name with a tender kiss. “i’m sorry,” he said again, giving her another kiss.

“if you ever cheat on me again—” ellie threatened quietly before colt silenced her with another gentle kiss.

“believe me, i won’t do that again. i did not like seeing another man put his hands on you, even if it was for a job,” colt said sheepishly, avoiding her gaze.

ellie grinned. “at least we got the job done,” she said.

colt smirked at her. “good, so i didn’t take a beating for nothing. now i don’t know about you, but i could go for a swim.”

“pretty sure you’re not supposed to go in the ocean with open wounds,” ellie warned as she watched colt strip down to his underwear.

“i hear the salt water is great for cuts,” colt grinned cheekily. “you gonna join me, sweetheart?”

ellie rolled her eyes and smiled. “okay, but don’t say i didn’t warn you,” she said, taking off her dress and shoes.

“hey,” colt said with a sudden seriousness just as she was preparing to jump. she turned to look at him and he pulled her closer.

“thanks for having my back,” he murmured, leaning in to give her a deep kiss that took her breath away.

“i’m still your driver, aren’t i?” ellie said affectionately.

colt smirked and gave a nod in response. he held out his hand for her to grab and they turned to look at the glittering horizon before they jumped, together.

* * * * * mentions: @choicesficwriterscreations; @lovehugsandcandy; @kat-tia801 choices permatag: @withbeautyandrage; @agentnolastname; @freckles-spangledvampire

#idk why i waited so long to post this #colt kaneko #colt x mc #colt kaneko x mc #colt kaneko x ellie wheeler #choices rod #ride or die #choices ride or die #choices fics #choices fanfics #choices fanfic #choices fanfiction #playchoices fanfiction #choices #pb choices #playchoices #my writing #not twc #my choices fics #ellie wheeler

[theoriginalladya]

Dragon Age II - Meghan Hawke/Nathaniel Howe, Sebastian Vael *ears perked* *grabby hands* :D for your WIP folders?

Hehehehe   Thought that might get your attention! :)

Okay, so let me start with Meghan and Nate.  Meghan is the only Hawke I’ve ever played (dual wielding rogue).  I ended up playing her twice because on my first playthrough (romanced Fenris) the save I tried to import didn’t work, but I didn’t discover it until Alistair showed up and I knew that language I needed to hear, and I didn’t.  Okay, not so bad.  So I reimported it, it took this time, and I romanced Sebastian second time through in the game.  Great - now I have some baseline on both of those romances.  

That said, I already knew Meghan wasn’t going to be with either of them in her story - she ends up with Nathaniel Howe who she meets when he is still a squire for his lord in the Free Marches.  In fact, they meet in Kirkwall as he is waiting on the ship that will take him back to Ferelden.

Going to put under a cut because this got long really fast! lol

(And I do not vouch for any of this as I first wrote it about six years ago, possibly longer! lol  I’ve certainly learned a LOT more about writing since then, so these will inevitably get cleaned up before I think of posting them in future)

Deep in thought, Meghan left the table and returned to the bar.  She waited to be served another and was considering looking to round up a game of Wicked Grace to entertain herself with when she was unexpectedly and quite rudely hit in the back.  The move shoved her belly first into the bar counter, and the edge caught her just beneath the ribcage.  “Ooof!” Her breath was forced out of her lungs, and for the briefest of moments, Meghan thought she saw stars ….

“Maker’s breath, are you alright?”

Blinking back pain and trying to suck in enough air to breathe let alone reply, Meghan coughed harshly and finally resorted to nodding.  Her vision wasn’t quite back to normal yet, but a strong hand at her back pounded a few times in an offer of help -- help?  How does this help?  

Almost as if he sensed her thoughts, the hand grasped firmly at her shoulder and he guided her to sit on a nearby bench.  She recognized that it was a he, despite still being doubled over from pain.  His voice had that soothing baritone feel to it, very similar to the voice her father once had.  

Once seated, he left her side, returning a half moment later.  He dropped a tankard on the table beside her with a not so gentle thud and both he and she ignored the suds and ale that sloshed over the side, dripping down to form a ring around the vessel.  “I must apologize,” he told her, dropping to a knee in front of her to bring them to eye level.  

Meghan lifted her head, still searching for enough breath with which to speak, when she met cool, steely grey-blue eyes.  Blinking, her mouth worked again, but still nothing escaped that even remotely resembled words.  At best, a rough grunt slipped past.  His eyes narrowed in concern and he moved to her left as if to pound on her back again.

Meghan reacted instantly.  Straightening, she lifted her hand, warding off his actions, and finally drew in a deep breath.  “No, thank you!” she rasped.  She pulled in another immediately following, and then another.  Absently, she rubbed at her ribs where they’d hit the counter. “I’m … good.”

“Are you certain?” he asked.  The look of concern on his face didn’t fade.  If anything, Meghan noticed, his brow seemed to furrow more deeply.  “I would hate to think that I --”

She managed a lopsided smile, waving her hand back and forth between them.  “I’ll be fine,” she promised, this time with better vocal projection even if it was still rough around the edges.  “What -- what happened?”

He grimaced. Glancing around, he pointed towards a mild brawl taking place that was now moved onto the far side of the tavern. “I guess I walked into the middle of something.”

Meghan’s eyes followed his direction and she spotted a pair of vaguely familiar faces in the center of the tussle.  Sighing, she shook her head.  “Willis and Farlan are always in the middle of some ruckus,” she assured him.  Her voice was stronger now and she straightened further.  Reaching for the tankard, she took a careful drink.  Tilting her head slightly to the side, she observed, “You aren’t from these parts, are you?”

The concern finally eased from his face, but Meghan wouldn’t say it softened his features at all. Dark hair, light eyes, and eagle like features even down to his unfortunately large ‘beak’.  Still, he wasn’t entirely unattractive, and Meghan had to admit the caramel smoothness of his voice more than made up for any perceived deficiencies so far.  

“I’m not, no,” he agreed.  Rising, he took a seat on the bench next to her, his eyes drifting to follow the activities across the room.  “My name is Nathaniel Howe.  I’m a squire for Ser Rodolphe Varley.”

Meghan frowned, searching her memory for any information on that name.  She’d heard it a time or two, but had no first hand knowledge. At the same time, something about Nathaniel dropped into place for her.  “You aren’t from the Free Marches, are you?”  When he looked startled, she smiled.  “Your accent -- Ferelden?”

Slowly, he nodded. “I’ve worked hard to disguise it,” he admitted, “and thought I’d made progress.  Obviously, I was mistaken.”

Dropping into the Fereldan tongue, Meghan gave him a sassy grin and extended her hand. “Meghan Hawke, lately of Lothering. My family and I fled to Kirkwall when the Blight started.”

“Lothering?” His look of astonishment faded into a half smile of amusement.  “Your accent, on the other hand, is quite good.”

“My parents were originally from Kirkwall,” she explained.  “They moved to Lothering before I was born.”  She took a healthier swallow of her ale.  “Can I buy you a drink?” she asked after a moment.  

Nathaniel chuckled softly and shook his head.  “It is I who should be buying you one, I think,” he told her.  

Meghan jumped to her feet, only the slightest of tightening at the corner of her eyes indicating any residual pain left from her injuries.  “Nope.  This round is on me.”  She left him before he could protest, returning a couple of minutes later.  Handing him the tankard while regaining her seat, she reached for her own and lifted it to clink against his.  “We Fereldens have to stick together.”

Now, let me tell you a bit about Sebastian in this world.  I adore Sebastian, good parts, bad parts and all the in between.  I’ve always thought he got the short end of the stick on some things too, and I wanted to include him more predominantly in this series of fics, so I’ve sort of broadened his horizons, so to speak.  

Now the clip i’m going to share technically is a part of Serafina and Alistair after the Blight, but it happens in Kirkwall (long story there, too), so I sort of wedged it in on this side of things to make it easier to find in my notes.  You see, he and Serafina met years ago when she is visiting Orlais.  Neither has seen each other since then - about five years previous to this moment.  This is how they bump into one another after all that time...

Their path took them into an open courtyard and for a moment, Serafina’s steps slowed.  

“Did we take a wrong turn?” Alistair asked, his eyes searching the area.  

“I think we must have,” she replied.  “Oh, wait. There’s the Chantry.”  She pointed across the way.  “I think we need to head that way.”  Her hand drifted to a stairwell to the right of the building.  

Alistair’s eyes lifted to view the large building looming over the city.  “You know,” he mused in a tone only she could hear, “I’ve always heard how the people of Hightown think themselves above those in Lowtown, but I didn’t think it was so literal.”

“Hmm?”  Serafina glanced around.  Smiling gently, she nudged him in the arm.  “There is a lot of history here,” she agreed, “but most people tend to forget the simple yet more important aspects of it.”

“Oh?  What do you mean?”  He stopped walking, pulling her over to the center of the courtyard near the Chantry Board.  

Casually, she pointed to the exits to the immediate area.  “What do you see?” she challenged.

Alistair blinked. “Stairs?”

Serafina nodded. “Where do they lead?”

He frowned. “Down?”  

She nodded again and waited, her eyes meeting his.

“To … Lowtown … Oh!” Blinking, Alistair tilted his head to his right.  “Stairs lead up and down.”

“Exactly.  They might find themselves above those whom they think they are better, and their history certainly provides enough reminders that even the bloodiest of battles have not reached these heights,” she pointed out, “but the fact remains that when that happens, they are still stuck. Those stairs are their only way out. If a siege can be held long enough, they have no means of escape.”

“Thankfully,” he muttered for her ears only, “Denerim isn’t set up the same way.”

“There is that,” she agreed.  Then, walking out into the middle of the square, she turned in a slow circle, eyes lifted and surveying the architecture and situation of the buildings surrounding them, “On the other hand, it’s difficult to argue that it isn’t a pretty view.”

“And clean,” Alistair interjected as his eyes followed her.  Granted, certain parts of Ferelden’s capital city were better tended than others.  He wondered how much that had to do with the Blight and civil war or simply because Cailan had been king.  His eyes fell back to her after a moment and he stiffened when he realized …  “Watch out, behind you!”

Serafina, eyes still on the buildings around them, stumbled as she stepped backwards into someone. She caught herself awkwardly, but didn’t quite lose her balance.  “I’m so sorry!”  A strong hand at her arm helped her maintain balance, and she dropped her eyes … to an unexpectedly handsome and familiar, if somewhat older, face from her past. Gasping, her own eyes widened.  “No!  It … it can’t be!” she breathed.  “Sebastian?”

Startled, the man released his hold on her and took a step backwards.  “I’m sorry.  Have we met?” he asked.

It was all Serafina could do to break her gaze from his.  When she did, her eyes trailed over the rest of him.  He stood before her, just as vibrantly muscular and male as she remembered, now dressed in armor that clearly had Chantry’s influence in the design.  That, perhaps, answered a question.  However, some things remained the same.  The blue of his eyes.  The velvety roll of his voice and the soft burr as he spoke ….  

It stung a little that he didn’t recall without some prompting, but considering the circumstances that led to that night, it wasn’t much of a surprise.  “Five years ago in Val Royeaux,” she murmured quietly.  “There was a masquerade and …”

Recognition hit him instantly and he took another quick step backwards from her.  “You!” he gasped, face paling with shock.  

She nodded slowly but remained where she was.  She didn’t realize Alistair had joined her until his voice, quiet but urgent in his concern for her, penetrated through the fog of surprise.  “Are you alright?”

#WIP Folder meme #ladya writes #Dragon Age II #Meghan Hawke #Nathaniel Howe #Sebastian Vael #Serafina MacKinnon #Alistair Theirin #my writings #thank you so much for asking about them!!! #shadoedseptmbr

[stylishanachronism]

*Wakes up from my endless slumber of like two hours* 👀

"Dearheart! There you are, what on earth have you been up to down here, of all places?"

The elven woman who's just taken his elbow is very pretty, all dark hair and bright eyes and the sort of smile that makes him want to crawl into a hole and die before Iselmyr can do anything terrible, her tone fond and close, like he's her very best friend in all the world, but he's never seen her before in his life. She drops some coin on the counter, enough to pay for the drink he hasn't finished, turns that smile on the barman, who seems a little shocked at her presence, she clearly knows who this is, and drags him off his stool before he can get so much as a syllable out.

"Nevermind, you'll never believe what Engferth's been up to, he's more trouble than you are sometimes, I swear to Woedica I don't know what I'm going to do with the pair of you."

She's got a very firm grip, Iselmyr laughing too hard in the back of his head to be of any help for once, as she whisks him out the door without so much as a by your leave.

"I mean, you keep getting yourself into wild straights, and then forgetting to write, honestly half the family's been sick with worry, and he, well, he went and proposed to Miss Elafa again, then told her it was Ma's idea, which it was, don't get me wrong, but she's made her conditions clear, and all he's going to do is annoy her into refusing him entirely, and I like her just fine but Grandmother'd have all our heads if I made a match like that, and you!"

They're headed up the hill, to the nicer part of town, outside what he can afford at the moment, and he'd really like to know what's going on but she hasn't let him get a word in edgewise and he doesn't think he could get away from her if he tried, and he desperately doesn't want to make more of a scene than he's part of already.

"Well, you've done much better, no matter what Ma thinks, and anyways I'm pretty sure she'd strangle you in half a minute, I could strangle you in half a minute, please stop gallivanting off in all directions, or at least let us know you're alright, the things we heard about your trip south, oh, I nearly had kittens, you didn’t really say yes, did you? Papa thinks you did, and you’d think he’d know, but you’re the sensible one, and he’s horrid, really, you hated him in school, I really don’t understand how he’d even think to ask!”

She shoots him a sidelong glance, even as she turns them into the sort of eccentrically ramshackle villa that means old money, the gate guard giving them a smile but otherwise staying focused on the road, like they’re allowed to be here without an invitation, so she must be part of the family, and drags him in through an elegant archway into the main compound like it’s nothing.

“I mean really, you’re the favorite, even if you did knock your head or something and agree, there’s no way anyone else would, you didn’t knock your head, did you? I was told you’d fallen straight through the floor, but you weren’t hurt, but Ma heard differently, and someone told Wolle that you’d straight shattered you leg, which obviously isn’t true, you really need to write and tell us you’re fine, darling, gods only know what made it back to everyone else.”

She doesn’t give him time to answer, just as she hasn’t since she dragged him out of the inn, rapping at the first solid door they’ve passed and letting them in without so much as a pause.

"You’ll never guess where I found him."

The woman sitting behind the desk lifts an eyebrow, but merely shakes her head.

"Go fetch your father, Aelere."

It’s oddly formal, given the woman who’d dragged him here clearly doesn’t feel the need to stand on ceremony with a complete stranger, much less her- employer? matriarch?, but she pushes him into a seat and takes herself off with a cheerful "Yes, Grandmother!"

Matriarch, then, whoever this family is.

She’s considering him as the door closes, something familiar about her posture, very straight and still, though she must be nearing 300 if she’s a day.

"What am I going to do with you, my dear?"

That’s a question he’d like answers to as well, he has no idea what’s going on. Given her own informality, he’s of the firm suspicion they’ve mistaken him for someone else.

"Well." She gathers the papers off the far corner of her desk, tapping them together and laying them out facing him. His name’s on all of them, more or less, though some of them appear to be addressed to or regarding Alys instead, and some of them merely refer to 'your grandson' in the abstract, and one of them is actually addressed to his mother for some reason, though how this woman got her hands on it is as much of a mystery as anything else. "You've caused quite the stir."

"I'm sorry?"

She waves his apology away, though he doesn't know what he's apologizing for either, and half turns to reach for something off behind her.

"I had understood it from your sister that you had no desire to be married?"

The only person who's been mistaken for his sister ever is Alys, and there's clearly something there, given what he's looking at, but how that particular misunderstanding made it here, across an actual ocean, and how this woman knows about it, he has no idea.

"Ah- Well. No, not really."

"Then what were you doing with Lord Beltin's boy?"

"I- The position was as a research assistant?"

"Mm. Well, that's one way of putting it, I suppose. The same with the Maitwyr girl?"

He doesn't remember any of the daughters of the house being involved with that particular trip, but he did sign up with them, it's not like he could afford to spend three months in the Living Lands on his own, and he got paid for it, so he nods.

"You really need to learn to read a contract, my dear. Your father will see to it, but in the meantime..." She turns back around, holding more paperwork, some of it awfully official looking, though he's utterly distracted with dread by the fact she knows his father, and well enough to refer to him so informally, too.

"Here. My condolences, but you've theoretically been widowed. Twice."

--

This is from the middle of ‘Memory is Fallible’, which is more of a collection of scenes than a proper thing (I’ve been working on it for at least three years, if that’s any measure of what it looks like), centered around the idea that A. Aloth was a lot more popular than he thought he was (which was confirmed canon in Deadfire, much to my delight), B. Telephone is a hell of a game to get away from once a group gets the wrong idea, and C. repurposing my own family lore gets really weird, really fast. It’s also built off a couple of things from my own first playthrough, in which I accidentally built a sprite that looked enough like Aloth’s I couldn’t tell them apart, and eventually resorted to putting one of them in Kana’s hat, except I also then couldn’t remember which one was wearing it, so it didn’t even help.

There’s a little more to this particular bit, bookending it, so context is that Aloth is back in Aedyr proper, on the wrong coast to see his mother, gearing up to go find another weird cult and end it as best he possibly can, and a bunch of people who knew Alys, because she lived in the area for a couple of years not that long ago, recognize him and go tell her family, who are local to this coast, that she’s rolled up and is hiding in a shitty inn for some reason, not realizing they’ve got the wrong kid. Her family, who took Alys’ joke that they were twins now and said ‘hey you know what’s a really good idea?’ and stole him from his dad via trickery and intimidation, puts two and two together, and having no idea he doesn’t know he’s been adopted, send Aelere, one of the cousins, and technically actually his oldest sister now, who again, has no idea he hasn’t gotten any of her letters, to go fetch him, because why should he waste money when the house is Right There, and also there’s the whole thing about how he got married and didn’t tell anyone and now he’s been widowed, whoops. So he thinks he’s been kidnapped and they think he’s being shifty about the weddings, and it really is all about to blow up.

send me a 👀 and i’ll post a snippet of art/writing that i never got around to finishing this year (r.i.p)

#thank you for memeing me!! #my writing #I had something feat. Waidwen for you but I couldn't find it so you get this instead #I wish I knew what I did with it because I feel like I was on to something there #but anyways mistaken relationships are my bread and butter #I have enough personal experience on both ends and in any permutation you like #to build them out of literally anything #if you think this is farfetched I am sorry to inform you this is almost word for word something that happened to my aunt #and I personally got an extra sibling in a similar manner #though of course she's not accidentally married to anybody (or at all. yet) #yanara126

[afni-fics]

Elder Scrolls DC - A Reluctant Dragonborn - Chapter 14: Not of This World (Part 1)

Elder Scrolls DC - A Reluctant Dragonborn - Chapter 14: Not of This World (Part 1) by C_R_Scott Chapters: 14/? Fandom: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Red Robin (Comics), DCU (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Characters: Tim Drake, Lucien Flavius Additional Tags: Crossover, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Skyrim/DCU crossover, Reluctant Dovahkiin | Dragonborn, Not Beta Read, Alternate Universe - Skyrim Fusion, Modded Skyrim, Skyrim Spoilers, Tim Drake is Dragonborn | Dovahkiin, Batfamily-centric (DCU), Tim Drake-centric

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Summary:

After completing their exploration of Bleak Falls Barrow, Tim and Lucien rest for the night. While resting, the pair finally begin to speak with one another.

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

Several hours after completing their excursion into Bleak Falls Barrow, Lucien Flavius was sitting by a crackling fire within an abandoned stone shelter that he and Timothy had found tucked away at the base of the mountain the Barrow rested atop of. It was a fortunate thing they had found the shelter as, when they emerged from the ruins, the sun had mostly dipped below the horizon and the skies were threatening to release a downpour. There wasn't enough time to return to Riverwood before the coming storm, and while Timothy had the sense to carry camping supplies to set up a tent for the night, it was questionable if they'd be able to get it set up before the rain really started coming down. Spotting the stone shelter was stroke of luck and allowed the pair of them just enough time to gather enough wood to start a campfire so they could keep warm through the night. 

Lucien had most of the contents of his backpack spread out before him as he was completing a catalog in his journal of all the artifacts he had been able to collect. Though it was fairly late in the evening, he was no stranger to late night research, and he really wanted to take stock of all he had learned over the course of this adventurous day while everything was still fresh on his mind. 

But then, the scholar paused as his eyes flitted over to where Timothy laid fast asleep on his bedroll beneath his fur cloak for a blanket. "Timothy Drake-Wayne," Lucien said to himself as he studied Tim's face in the fire light. He watched the younger man as he slept and thought about everything that had spoken about earlier that evening. 

***

The fire had finally roared to full life with a careful application of a well aimed fire spell, and while Lucien was grateful for its warmth and light, he could tell Timothy seemed uneasy with it. His gaze seemed haunted as he stared at the flames eagerly consuming the logs of woods. Lucien was confused for a moment, but then he remembered the young man's awful wounds.

"He was burned by the same dragon that destroyed Helgen," Lucien mused silently as he watched Tim shake himself out of his thoughts and began to  pull out some dried meat and fruit. "What must it have been like to be in that place while that creature was burning it to the ground around him? Why was he even in Helgen in the first place? He's clearly not a Nord... Still don't know where he's from."

Tim was in the process of offering Lucien some of his food to share when the young man paused and gave him an odd look.

"Hm?" Lucien asked.

"You're doing it again."

"Doing what again?"

Tim frowned. "Looking at me like I'm a puzzle you're trying to solve."

Lucien gave him a small guilty smile. "I suppose I am." He reached into is own bag and pulled out a few items of food as well, some bread and cheese, and offered a portion to Tim as well.

Tim sighed as he took just a piece of bread and just stared at it for a long moment. 

"Timothy," Lucien started. "In the Barrow I promised you I would listen to your story with an open mind, and I know you said you would tell me after getting out of that place. However, if you're not ready to speak of it yet, I understand." He tried to give the young man a reassuring expression. "I'm going to theorize surviving Helgen was quite an ordeal, especially with the injuries you suffered. If you need more time to process everything before you can share anything with me... Well... While I admit I am quite curious about you, I do know the value of being patient." Lucien smiled kindly. "And if it helps, perhaps you would like to know more about me first? After all, I'm a perfect stranger to you as well. It's only fair, right?"

That seemed to put Tim a little more at ease. A tension that had been in his expression relaxed and he released a breath that he had been holding with a small nod. "I'd like that."

***

So while they ate another small meal, Lucien told Timothy a little more about himself. He described where he was from in Cyrodiil and told him about both his mother and father. He explained how he came to Skyrim in the first place, at the invitation of an old family friend who'd started a museum up in the capitol city of Solitude, and about all the things he was looking forward to investigating and exploring Skyrim, from more Nordic ruins to Dwemer architecture as well as hunting down several rare historic artifacts that were rumored to be hidden region.

Tim listened to it all with great interest, though at points it was clear he seemed to not quite understand some of what was said, and that the lack of his own knowledge seemed to frustrate him. Finally, he seemed to reach some breaking point within himself. 

"Lucien... Do you have a map of the world?"

"The world?" Lucien was a little confused. He reached into his bag though. "I have a map of Tamriel." He pulled it out and spread it out on the floor of their shelter, using a few stones to hold the corners of the map to keep it from folding back in on itself. 

Tim leaned in and studied the map curiously. Lucien watched, intrigued, as the younger man reached out and traced parts of the map with his fingertips. There was something odd about his companion's expression as he looked at the map. Something about the way the man's blue eyes roamed the entire span of the document, as if searching for something he just couldn't find...

Then a flash of insight struck Lucien. 

"Timothy?" he started cautiously. "Does nothing on that map look familiar to you?"

Tim didn't answer immediately. His expression was guarded as he kept his eyes on the map, refusing to raise them to Lucien. Then he closed his eyes and slowly shook his head.

Despite the heat from the roaring campfire, Lucien felt an chill run through him. "Then... Where on Nirn do you come from, if not from Tamriel?" The scholar's mind was racing with possibilities. Tim was so fair-skinned the native homeland of the dark-skinned Redguards, Yokuda, was not a likely option. Atmora, once the northern homeland of the ancient Nords, was a frozen and barren wasteland now. Nothing and no one lived there in recent memory as far as Lucien could recall. Pyandonea seemed unlikely as they were home mostly to elves, not human beings. Perhaps he was from Akavir, though rumor says only serpent men live there now? 

All of Lucien's theories came to a screeching halt in his mind as Tim finally looked at him, a confused expression on his face. "Nirn? Is that another continent, or is that the name of the entire world?"

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

Warning: This is being pantsed more than plotted, and this is not beta read. We'll see where this journey takes us. Mostly I'm just doing this for my own amusement.

Note1: If you have any questions about the playthrough and Tim's feelings/experiences that aren't described in the chapters, please ask me in the comments. I'll do my best to answer your questions as best I can.

Note2: Map source images: https://www.imperial-library.info/content/maps-tamriel

I included two maps. This first is one that I think would be like what Lucien would carry around on his travels. (I really wish I had the skill to draw my own maps). The second map is one showing the approximate locations of the other continents Lucien was musing on before Tim dropped his little bombshell.

As I write this part of Tim and Lucien's interactions, I'm starting to feel out how the world of Nirn might be connected to DCU Earth Tim comes from, at least in the back of my mind.

#elder scrolls dc#fanfiction#tim drake#skyrim fanfiction#batfam fanfic#red robin#batfam#crossover#lucien flavius#wip#afewnovelideas

#elder scrolls dc #fanfiction #tim drake #skyrim fanfiction #batfam fanfic #red robin #batfam #crossover #lucien flavius #wip #afewnovelideas

[deviantindetroit]

Dream Come True

Part 1: A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes

Connor x GN! Reader

A/N: I am currently rewriting this fic, chapters will be taken down then reposted

You did it. You finished your first playthrough of Detroit. It wasn’t easy and it didn’t go as planned. Let’s run through the outcomes you received. Connor is a deviant now. The sweet baby boy that you so often refer to hugs Hank. Then, the game ends. Somewhere off in the distance, Markus and North are together leading the deviants towards a better future. All seems better in Detroit. But not everyone got to see the emancipation that you had a hand in bringing. Simon died on the roof because you choose to shoot him. Luther wasn't well off either. He died because of you. You were the one who sacrificed him while helping Kara and Alice. If I were to give you a second chance, would you make the same choices? Do you think you could save everyone? Or would you lose all those you care about? 

Are you ready to try? Maybe you can do better than I ever could.

…

You sit in your room staring at the screen euphorically. The game was over.

“Hell yeah!” The credits roll, and you're giddy after getting a decent outcome in your first playthrough. You check the time to find that it's only 20:26 and debate whether to play again. The screen changes again. Chloe appears before you.

“Chloe! What do you think I should do?” She fidgets on the screen before locking her eyes on yours. She then asks you to set her free. You're shocked. It had never occurred to you that Chloe could deviate. The options linger on the screen, and she looks to get increasingly worried. 

“If…” She perks at your voice, almost as if she is listening, “If I let you go, will I ever see you again?” 

She smiles softly, then she noticeably nods. You take this as a sign and decide to release her. You look down at the remote and hesitate. 

How could you say no? Especially after the “friendship” you built. The fact is that Chloe always made your day. After a long day of university classes and work, you usually come home to study. But then one day, a friend had given you the game. Suddenly, you had an outlet to destress with. 

Chloe was the face that you saw after all your hard work. She was there to greet you without fault, and she didn’t hold your choices against you. She knew you were only trying your best. You were saddened by the idea of her leaving, but it wouldn’t be fair to either of you to keep her. She may not be real, but you love her all the same. 

 If you love somebody, let them go, for if they return, they were always yours. And if they don’t, they never were.

You press the button and glance at the screen. Chloe smiles brightly. 

“Goodbye Y/-” you flinch in surprise at the loud chime of your phone. You were upset that your phone had pulled you away from your last moment with Chloe. By the time you look back at the screen, she is gone. 

“See you later Chloe.” The menu loads up and there is no one on the screen. You stare at the empty spot where your friend once stood. “What do I do now? New story? Nah, maybe I should visit the chapter where I lost Luther and try to save him.” You sit there debating but get frustrated.

“It’s not the same without you, Chloe!” Your eyes wander to extras. “That’s it, character art! I can see all my waifus and husbandos!”

Connor is the first character you see, and you buy all of his character art. “Aw, you look so good! My baby boy looks nice in everything. Even in the rain and in the dark. He’s so perfect!” Connor stands there motionless and lifeless. You can’t help but compare him to Chloe. 

She was so lifelike, especially in your last moments with her. The character art is not cutting it. You leave the screen on but focus your attention on your phone. You grab it to look for Detroit x Reader fics. On the screen, you see the notification from before. It was a text from a number you didn’t recognize. 

123-456-7890: See you soon

“See you soon?” You type up a quick response, “Sorry, wrong number my dude.”

After hitting send, you see their typing bubble pop-up. You wait only for it to disappear with no response. You shrug it off before closing the app and looking for some juicy fics. 21:01. 

“I can read a few fics before bed. Or just stay up all night. Not like I have plans. Hmm, let’s start with some headcanons!” Your eyes scan the titles listed on the screen.

How they ask you out…

You squeal, “Perfect!” Then you fall into the endless abyss of one-shots and headcanons.

 ~ A Few Hours Later ~ 

 “NO!” Your poor phone finally died after your four-binge. “It was at 65% like two minutes ago.”

You groan and begrudgingly move to plug your phone in. As you were about to plug it in, you noticed something in your reflection on the screen. Right on your temple rested a yellow LED. Your free hand moves toward your own temple. Before you can lay a finger on it, the color turned bright red. You start to mildly panic and close your eyes.

After taking a couple of deep breaths, you open your eyes and find that the LED was gone. This didn’t make any sense. You decide to blame the lights in your room for the illusion. 

You sigh, “This game is driving me crazy. I can’t believe I seriously imagined that.” With your phone plugged in, you did your nightly routine and get comfy. You guess it is around 1:30ish at this point and you try to get some sleep. As you lay there, you start to come up with your own fic. You imagine yourself befriending the androids and slowly falling in love with Connor. Just as you were slipping away into unconsciousness, your phone turns on. You glance towards your screen and see the logo pop-up. Knowing it’ll be over in a few seconds, you close your eyes and try to continue your little daydream.

The strain on your eyes only gets worse. The light is blinding even with your eyes closed, “Damn technology, you're a cruel mistress.” You feel around for your phone, intending to turn it over. But you pull your hand away when you touch it.

“Fuck!” Your phone had burned your hand. You were wide awake now and worried your phone was going to explode or start a fire. You try to squint and look towards your phone, but the light dazes you. You try again, but the light consumes every corner of your vision. Then, you notice that it’s also coming from your tv screen. There’s a faint buzzing happening too. It gets louder and stronger. Then your bed starts to shake violently. You start to feel really dizzy. The feeling gets worse, and you feel a sharp pain in your right temple. You pass out after a few more seconds of the tremors.

…

You wake up with the light from your window shining in your eyes. You have vague memories of the night before, yet you convince yourself it was nothing but a dream. You check the time on your phone to see that it’s only 7:15. You intend to stay in bed and scroll through your feed, but your bladder has other plans. You groan and decide to make your way towards your attached bathroom. When you stand, you're hit with deja vu. There was a strong feeling that you were in the wrong place. You stay in place and look around you're room. It was the same, but you had some doubts. 

"When was the last time I cleaned? I don't think my room has ever been this clean." Upon closer inspection, you notice that your stuff looks strange, almost unnatural. It's almost as if your room is a sitcom set. It doesn't look as if a person lived in this room. 

You do another scan of your environment. You catalog your stuff and stop at the door. The more you stared at it, the odder it became. 

"That's my..." You stepped closer to it. You move carefully as if you were approaching a wild animal. You notice the pain in your temple increase. It's a hot searing pain. The pain does nothing to stop you. When you're hand touches the doorknob, the pain disappears. There was no trace of the heat you once felt. 

'It's just a closet.' You think, 'But why didn't I know that. Why did I forget about it.' You open the door to find a giant walk-in closet, stocked with your clothes and new items you hadn't seen before. You wander in and your jaw drops. Any article of clothing that you had admired, before was here. Whether you had previously owned it or not, it was now in your closet. You grab a new jacket and admire it. None of this seemed real to you. 

The jacket in your hand seemed unworn. It looked brand new. 'Well of course it is. This isn't mine... Yes, it is.' You feel the thought echo in your head. You shake your head and drop the jacket. You move away from it and instead grab something you recognize, your favorite shirt. 

It didn't feel right. You had worn this shirt hundreds of times, but this couldn't be right. Like the discarded jacket, your shirt felt brand new. You push the discomfort into the back of your head and leave your closet. 

The feeling doesn't leave when you enter your room. You don't feel at home here. You once again scan your room and stop at another door. The second door of the three here. You walk towards it, and the pain starts again. Just as before the pain stops when you grab the doorknob. 

The thought pops up in your head, 'It's your bathroom.' You open the door, and you find a luxury bathroom. There are a separate shower and tub. The tub has jets, from what you can see. You walk in, and you're met with the smell of your favorite incense. The room was spotless and foreign to the one you remember. You want to question your environment, but your bladder reminds you of an urgent matter.

Once the bidet finished its water show, you begin to wash your hands. You feel the pressure in your temple build again. Looking up at your reflection, you’re met with the same LED as before. This time it started off as blue before changing to orange. Then as soon as you blink, the pressure and the LED are gone. 

“Welp that’s it, I’ve gone batshit crazy.” You laugh, “Hey *insert favorite insane character here* hit me up, baby. I’m ready to fuck shit up!” You wash your face and fix your appearance. Moving back towards your room, you jump into bed and stare at the ceiling.

I've always had a walk-in closet, right? And that bathroom." You grab your pillow and bring it towards your chest. You hug it and try to rationalize your environment. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. You have to do a double-take when you smell something foreign. You blindly sniff and notice that the smell is coming from your pillow.

It doesn't smell like you or your usual detergent. Instead, it smelled like women's perfume. It unfamiliar but strangely inviting. You take another quick sniff and smile. 'Why does this smell so good?' You reach for your phone to check the time. 

When you finally get it, the lock screen seems to glitch. But you don’t have time to investigate.

 *bang, bang, bang*

       Someone is knocking on your door. The sound is loud, and you jump. “Who the heck can that be? I don’t have any friends.” You leave your phone and get somewhat decent enough to answer the door. When you open the bedroom door, you’re hit with a sense of another unfamiliarity. 

This feels stronger than you felt from your room. 'Your room has always been that way ... Yeah, my room has always been like that, the rest of my home was not the same.' You were currently looking at a new hallway. You peek your head out your door and scan your new environment. Besides your own door, you see two more. On the opposite end of the hall, you see the beginning of a staircase. 

 “What. The. Fuck.” You step back into your room and close the door. You wait a moment before opening the door again.

“Nope.” You do it again.

“Nuh-uh.” One more time.

You start to panic, in your hysterics, you begin to laugh. “What kind of tomfoolery is this?” You aren’t allowed to repeat your actions when your visitors start to knock again.

 *bang, bang, BANG*

 You leave the door open and walk towards your window. You hope that you can catch a glimpse of your guests but unfortunately, you find a snowy backyard. “Well, la di da, looks like I’m a homeowner now.” This is not the apartment you had fallen asleep in. You bang your head on the window frame and consider your options. 

You could hide up here until your intruders leave or you can go greet them. You sigh and slowly make your way toward your new hallway. You stop in the doorway and take a deep breath. Your anxiety was building, and you can feel your heart heavily beating. 

“Okay, I have to leave my room at some point. Better now than never.” You move into the hall and feel the temperature drop. The house was cold and uninviting. You felt like the intruder in this house. Your stomach drops, and you want nothing more than to jump into your bed and hide under the covers. You freeze and you can feel the anxiety build. 

Taking a deep breath, you walk forward and head toward the staircase. At the bottom, you see a kitchen on your left, the front door on your right, and a living room right in front of you. 

 *bang, BANG, BANG*

 You jump, and you can feel your heart pounding in your chest. You look through the peephole and you find two familiar faces. On the other side of the door stood Connor and Hank. The burning on your temple starts to burn when you see them. You ignore the pain and reach for the doorknob when the knocking continued.

 *BANG, BANG, BANG*

 You jump and a small shriek escapes your lips. Your heart is pounding, and you try to calm yourself but it’s not working. 

“DPD, open up!” Hank's voice reaches your ears. The shock does little to help your deteriorating state. Your sight starts the narrow and you feel like you're going to faint. The burning gets stronger and you feel close to passing out. In your increasing panic, you don’t hear the mumbling on the other side of the door.

You fall to your knees. The pain is excruciating. Tears start to run steam down your cheeks. A hand gently touches your shoulder, and the pain disappears. A sob escapes your lips, but choke back the rest of your tears. There is a soothing hand rubbing circles on your back and you hear words of comfort. 

“Breath, you’re okay. We got you. You’re safe, I got you. Take a deep breath with me.” Connor continues to rub your back and helps you control your breathing. Your fists unclench and you feel some tension escape your body. Fatigue washes over you and the tears keep rolling down your cheeks. You close your eyes and try to follow Connor’s instructions.

Connor stops his instructions and starts to speak with Hank, “Lieutenant, they are having an increased heartbeat and shortness of breath. Along with shaking and sweating, I believe they were having an anxiety or panic attack.”

Hank sighs, “I can see that Connor. I’ll be right back.” You hear the footsteps distance themselves and open your eyes. Connor kneels beside you. He looks worried and offers you a small smile. You let out a shaky breath and pull him into a hug. 

Here before you, sat one of your comfort characters. ‘He’s here. He’s real.’ You hold onto him tightly and a soft sob leaves your lips when he wraps his arms around you. You close your eyes and begin to pull away. When your face to face with him, you open your eyes again. You stare at him in shock. He looked so real, nothing like the character art you saw last night. Your hand moved to cup his cheek, but you saw Hank walking back and you stopped your motion. 

He was coming from the direction of your kitchen with a glass of water. “Here you go kid, drink up.” He handed you the glass. It was shaking in your hands, but you gladly took a sip. After drinking more than half, Connor took the glass from your hands and handed it back to Hank. 

Connor looks at you and begins to stand. He helps you stand with him. Your legs are weak, and you rely on Connor to guide you to the living room. Once you’re sitting on the couch, he leaves and makes his way toward the kitchen. Hank sits on the other sofa and watches you. Your breath is still shaky, and Hank tries to speak to you. He can’t seem to find the right words to say so he gives up and just stares at his hands.

Connor returns to the living room empty-handed and sits beside Hank. “Your breathing and heart rate have gone down. You seem to be shaking slightly but you have improved. Are experiencing any dry mouth, numbness, headache, or dizziness?”

You’re a bit overwhelmed and shake your head. After the pain from your temple disappeared you felt better. These were just lingering symptoms from whatever that was.

In the kitchen, you can hear the whistle of a kettle. It causes you to jump a bit. 

“No worries, I am only making you a tea.” Connor moves back toward the kitchen. Hank turns to you. He seems tense but starts his questioning. 

“We came here to ask about a case, but you don’t seem too good kid. What do you say I leave my card and you can call us later today?” Hank starts to shuffle through his wallet and pulls out a card and places it on the coffee table. 

You think about calling later but you didn’t want to be left alone in this strange place. “No. I. I think it might be better if you ask now. I’m feeling better.” Hank raises an eyebrow at your response and gives you a once over. 

“Don’t push yourself too hard. It’s okay, we can come back later.” Hank begins to stand but you stop him.

“No! I mean, no. I’m fine. Really. Please just ask your questions.” He’s a bit surprised by your outburst but he sits down anyway. 

“Okay, fine.” He leans forward and places his hands on his knees. “You are Ms./Mr. L/n, right.” You don’t know how he knows your name, but you nod.

“Please call me, Y/n.” He continues.

“Okay, Y/n. I’m Lieutenant Hank Anderson from DPD. At 2 a.m. this morning there was a murder. Our suspect was AP400 named Luis. We want to know any information you may have about him.” Hank watches your movements and waits for your response.

“I’m sorry but I have never met nor heard about Luis until now.” Hank scratches his chin and hums.

“Well, we seem to believe that he knows you. Inside his home, we found rA9, and your name is written all over the walls. Are you sure you haven’t noticed anything strange? We aren’t suspecting you. We just want to make sure you and the public are safe. He, unfortunately, has had many victims.” He sits back on the couch.

You take a shaky breath, “No. I’m sorry I can’t be more help. I don’t know anything.”

“That fine, maybe you might know some of the victims. Please stop by the department, we can review names and pictures together. Hopefully, you’ll have some information about them.” Hank sighs and stands up. “Well, you have my card. Please call if you find anything. If you feel unsafe or need anything, call DPD. I’m sure they’ll gladly send a patrol over.” 

Hank offers you his hand. You shake his hand and follow him toward the door. Then you both remember about Connor. In the kitchen, Connor is standing against the wall. His eyes are moving rapidly but he doesn’t move. ‘Is this his analysis thing? What is he looking for?’

You and Hank watch him. Connor snaps out of it and looks at you suspiciously. His LED is glowing yellow. “Ms./Mr. L/n, do you have an android?”

You respond quickly, “No.” You don’t give any more details in fear that he might catch you in a lie. 

“I see. Lieutenant may I speak to you for a second.” Hank doesn’t get to respond before Connor pulls him aside. You stand there and try to figure out what’s going on. 

Wanting to look calm and natural you move toward the kettle to pour a glass. The burning on your temple starts again and you urgently look for the mugs and tea. You hope that when you find them the pain will disappear. In your frantic state, you miss the opportunity to listen in on the conversation between the two men. 

You find the items quickly and serve yourself a nice warm cup of your favorite tea. They return and Connor looks apprehensive.

“Thank you for your cooperation Y/n. Please contact the DPD when you’re ready.” Hank nods toward you and walks away. Connor follows silently. You walk with them toward the door and watch them hop into their car. Once they had driven away you close the door. You lean against it and slide onto the ground.

“What the absolute fuck am I going to do? I’m stuck in a fucking video game.” You set your mug beside you on the ground then rest your face in your palms. ‘Is there something I need to do? How can I get home? Will I ever go back?’ A few minutes pass while you are spiraling. You want to cry but you hold back the tears. 

‘I can’t panic. I can’t just give up. I mean, I’m living the dream! Most fans would love to be in my position. I can simp for my husbandos and waifus in person! And hopefully, bump nasties. I can do this. I can live a good life here and who knows maybe I’ll get the chance to go home. Yeah! Maybe there’s something I have to do.’

With your newfound determination, you stand up and pick up your mug. You ditch the mug on the coffee table in the living room and then grab the card. You run upstairs to get ready and head to the DPD. When you grab your phone, you’re met with a text.

Elijah Kamski: Call me

‘The hell?’ You open your phone but the screen is empty. All your apps, pictures, customizations were gone. It’s as if your phone had been factory reset. Only your lock screen looked the same. You check your contacts and see Kamski’s number and nothing else.

In your messages, you see the text from last night and Kamski’s text but nothing else. After starring at the screen for a few seconds, you decide to call him.

#connor x reader #rk800 x reader #rk800 imagine #connor imagine #connor rk800 x reader #connor rk800 #rk800 #dbh imagine #dbh #detroit #detroit become human #detroit: become human #detroit: connor #gender neutral!reader #gn!reader #connor x gn! reader #connor x gender neutral! reader

[alo-piss-trancy]

What Lurks in the Shadows (P/5 Omo Snippet #7)

((BIG BIG PLOT SPOILERS FOR P5 BELOW!!!!))

((This was going to be a 3 part omo whumpfest about Akira's time after captured by the police/Akechi. 1st chap would be his time in confinement w/Sae and then the car ride with her after escaping aka normal playthrough, 2nd was the Bad End w/Akechi which was going to be absolutely brutal, and THIS was Chapter 1.5 (took place directly after Sae's chapter which had 1 wetting. Makoto stays the night in leblanc to keep an eye on him since Sojiro and Sae can't. Akira is super fucked up from all the injected drugs, Tae's meds, and the trauma. Out of all my snippets this is the one I was most invested in and would love to finish if I ever had time/motivation.))

((Forgive the not-so-accurate injuries, I had planned to research and edit those to be more realistic/close to canon after the basic draft. Same with his paranoia it was gonna be more fleshed out.))

The haze of sleep had faded as he gradually became aware of the various signals coming from his body. His head was pounding... he wasn't sure how much was from the man's foot kicking into it when he'd first woken up in that cell, and how much was a side effect from the drugs still coursing through his veins. It was enough to make him feel nauseous, but the churning in his stomach was nothing compared to the sharp stinging every time he tried to breathe. His sides and back were killing him. 

Everything hurt… he just wanted to drift back off...

But there was one other thing he was aware of that would make that impossible. His bladder, heavy and aching badly enough that he had to squeeze his thighs together, huffing under his breath. Right. Normally he was fine during the night, but after what had happened earlier and all of the fluids he'd had to drink to combat the dehydration, he guessed it made sense that those muscles would be weaker than usual.

Licking his lips, he reached towards the nightstand, fumbling around for his glasses. His sides were screaming in response to the simple movement, but he finally managed to get his shaking fingers to grasp them. As soon as he put them on though, he swiftly wished he hadn't.

His vision was still bleary anyways from the sleepiness, but the slight bit of extra focus he gained made the darkness of his room seem much more threatening than it had been a few moments ago. It had been hazy before, but now he could make out sharp shadows and bulky figures, some of which he swore would move the moment he turned his head. He couldn't gain a clear image, but they were there, lurking in the edges of his vision, the briefest flashes of legs or arms, shined shoes, smug faces. Sharp teeth, inhuman masses, bloody necks without heads.

Shadows can't manifest here, can they?

Arsene. Arsene, can you hear me?

He couldn't sense the rush of unrestrained power, that rush of confidence and flair that let him know his Persona had come to the forefront of his mind. He couldn't feel anything but his heart beating faster, the tremble of his shoulders as he pulled his arms closer to his chest. 

Another flashing face out of the corner of his eyes and he was forced to clench them shut. How many of these things were there? Where were they coming from? Ow, sitting up like this really hurt... every inch of him hurt...

There's too much I'm trying to focus on... I can't think clearly enough to contact him…

Nibbling his lip as he squeezed his thighs together against his body's insistent nagging, he risked a glance towards the left side of the bed. Makoto was still lying there, sleeping peacefully. The sight was somehow both comforting and painfully lonely. Yes, it was nice to know someone else was here with him, but if they weren't actually awake to see the danger in the room...

But... she's always aware of things.  She's the one who triple-checked the door, and made sure both our phones were charging. If there was really an intruder here, she'd wake up immediately, right?

There's nothing here. There can't be. We're the only two things alive in here.

Those things that he was seeing... they must just be hallucinations. Terrifying, but not real. He fought monsters weekly anyways. He could handle a few spooky apparitions.

Taking a breath, he forced himself to look back at the rest of the room, his eyes straining to see what the strange forms and shadowed areas could be. Well, he knew some of the lumps by memory... the crafting table, and all of the junk on that one shelf...

I can feel my way through the rest.

But just as he started to work up the nerve to shift his legs, he caught sight of the door. The doorway, cloaked entirely in darkness, and leading the way down into a pitch-black café. The café everyone had been gathered in so shortly ago...

Someone could have seen Sae's car... And if Futaba had bugged the place once, surely the much more advanced resources the police had access to could do the same... They could have followed him here, and they could be waiting, right down there, and he'd come down and they'd pin him again, and he couldn't fight back, not like this, and they'd-

His breath quickening, he'd finally let himself lie back down, pulling the blanket over his head. He couldn't risk it, he couldn't go down there, not when there could be an ambush...

Just listen to yourself! You got away! You had that whole plan, and it worked, you know it worked! Makoto's here, Sae's on our side... you're safe here…

He knew he should trust logic. But... if there was the slightest chance that they could be here, that he could go through that hell again...

He could wake her, ask her to walk down with him...

But if he was right, then they might beat her, or drug her, or do something even worse, and he couldn't allow her to be put through that...

And if he was wrong, which was just as likely, then she'd just think he was wasting her time and being paranoid, and he was their leader, he was supposed to be confident and strong and totally not scared about the way their plan had gone, because if they knew he had doubts, they wouldn't focus, and then they might not be able to stop Shi-

I can't ask her. I can figure something out.

Well, he couldn't hold it until morning, and he definitely wasn't going to piss himself, so he'd just have to suck it up. Whatever was waiting down there, he'd just have to brave it. 

Just run down there, it'll take two minutes tops. You'll be back up here in no-time, and then you can go back to bed and sleep it all off.

He couldn't bring his legs or arms to move. They were just frozen in place, paralyzing fear running though his body. 

The pulses were getting stronger and stronger with every minute he stayed lying there, each steady throb forcing him to bite down on his lip harder, forcing his hand to squeeze his crotch tighter. He wanted to squirm around so badly, but he couldn't risk waking her. Squeezing his watery eyes shut, he rocked his hips a little, nearly rutting into his hand in a desperate effort to take the edge off. It wasn't helping, damn it, nothing was helping, it was just getting worse and worse...

It's just a room away, damn it! Just get up! All you have to do is get up!

He couldn't help moaning as another urgent spasm sent pain ramming through his abdomen, a slow trickle of warmth dripping out for a few seconds before it stopped, not enough to give him any relief at all. He was already in enough pain, and yet this hurt so badly...

Just slide off the fucking bed. The plant's right there, you don't even have to go downstairs. Just stand up and walk a few feet.

The dim noise of a dog barking outside assaulted his ears, and he clutched himself tighter, his crossed legs shaking as his bladder continued to spasm, waves of pain rolling through him as he fought to breathe quietly. He needed to go worse than he ever had in his life, and yet he was stuck laying on his side, panting into the pillow. He couldn't even work up the nerve to throw the covers back and sit up, knowing they were his only shield from everything else outside his protective bubble.

If I go out there, they're going to kill me... Akechi's going to be there with a gun, or they'll wrestle me to the ground and cuff me again first…

Another burst of warmth started streaming into his boxers, leaking through to wet his sweatpants. His face was blazing hot, sweat starting to drip along his skin, and he groaned, pressing his face harder into the pillow. He felt sick. It felt like the room was starting to spin, and he could barely find the strength to clench himself off before he leaked any more.

I can't piss myself again... I... I can't…

But I can't get up, not when they're right there…

It was too easy to hear the voices floating up from downstairs, those deep tones and firm orders, heartless, merciless. It was too easy to feel the sharp toe of a boot against his ribs, or the cold metal pressed against his head, the sting of more needles jabbing into his skin. He could taste the copper in his mouth, the warm heat bathing his tongue as he tried not to swallow mouthfuls of his own blood...

His entire abdomen was throbbing and pulsing, shudders running up and down his spine as he whimpered under his breath, squeezing as hard as he could against the burning in his crotch. The wet fabric rubbing against his skin kept teasing him, and little spurts kept slipping out to soak them further. 

Please... if I can just hold it until the sun comes up…

If he could just wait until Sojiro came in the morning... it would prove he was safe then...

A new jet shot out to flood his thighs with warmth, coming out so harshly that he had to bite down on his knuckles to muffle the gasp. When he breathed it caused the fabric to shift slightly, little dribbles of the liquid sliding around on his skin. He could feel every inch of his lower body throbbing, the stinging urge to release aching at the very edge of his member. Grinding against it wasn't doing anything to ease it anymore. If anything, it just made his need worse, forcing tiny leaks to drip out with the added pressure.

If I could at least slide off onto the floor, that'd be easier to-

Bang!

The click of a gun, aimed at his head as Akechi walked through the door, striding over to find him on the floor and helpless. 

The creatures were still flashing at the edges of his vision too, dancing around in the dark patches. One could easily be lurking under the bed, waiting to drag him under and rip him apart.

Another harsh burst started pouring into his pants, and he tightened the grip on his mouth, hoping to imprison the sob trying to escape. Sojiro was going to kill him for this.

I can't... I just can't...

No matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't hold it anymore. It was gushing out now, heat drenching between his legs, his thighs, and pooling around his waist. The muffled hiss against fabric sounded way too loud in this room, and he squeezed shut teary eyes, praying nothing was attracted by the noise. It felt so good to go, but the relief only made him feel sicker, his stomach twisting into knots as he felt the blankets around him and the sheets below begin to soak into a pool. 

He was trying his best not to sniffle too loudly, nose running from the light smell that was trapped under the covers, but he felt the bed shift as what he dreaded most began to happen. Makoto was moving, starting to stir with a soft groan, and he was nowhere near finished.

Stop, please stop... please stop...

But no amount of shame was going to force his body to put itself in more pain just to spare his feelings, and he could only lay there in dull fear as urine kept gushing out of him.

"What... What time is it?" It was the softest of slurred voices, but he still flinched as Makoto sat up. She was probably rubbing at her eyes, but he wasn't about to risk making eye contact to check. No, he was keeping his eyes firmly closed, doing his best to try and shut out whatever visual horrors lurked around him.

"Why is... The bed feels..." His breath hitched despite his best efforts, fresh pain shooting through his chest, and that was enough to awaken her more fully. "Akira? Akira, are you crying?"

He didn't answer, trying his best to keep quiet even though it was impossible. His breathing was becoming more ragged as his nerves and the pain caused by them set in, and a few of those shameful tears were sliding down his face. He couldn't wipe them with both hands busy.

"Akira?"

((He's ashamed, but is still too panicked by everything else to be too upset about the actual wetting. She's very gentle when she comforts him, listens to why he couldn't leave. ))

((when she finally helps him move to sit in the floor, he's in agony from his injuries and still dizzy from the drugs.))

"You're wet..." She yanked her hand back from where she'd been touching him, squinting in vain as she tried to inspect her skin in the dim glow of moonlight. "You shouldn't be wet there."

"Sorry... it was kind of a lot, so..."

She shook her head quickly. "No, it can't have been that, it's too high up. Let me see your shirt." 

Before he could protest, she reached out to grasp the edges, tugging the cloth up until it was just below his armpits. He shuddered, both from the pain of having to keep his arms stretched up out of the way, and because of the chilly air hitting his skin.

"Akira, you're bleeding!" The moment her fingers stroked the bandaged area (light as her touch was) he flinched, gasping and gritting his teeth to try and trap a mewl of pain. 

"Oh, sorry, I'm so sorry! That's near where your ribs were broken... I'm going to have to change your bandages though, and get another look at that wound. I think all of your moving earlier pulled open the scab."

((takes him downstairs to clean up in the bathroom, washes him very carefully and avoids his privates. He hates that she has to see his injuries in full, but has no choice.))

((after he gets re-bandaged, she quietly suggests he wait in the booth while she fixes him a snack because he didn't eat earlier (he chooses to hide out in the bathroom instead, still paranoid about the door. She agrees to stay in there with him) ))

((At one point while they're downstairs, Morgana and him make brief eye contact through the shop window. Mona desperately wants to come in and comfort him, but Akira signals for him to stay outside like they originally planned. Mona knows the best way to help Akira is to stand guard seriously, even if his heart is being torn to pieces seeing what a wreck his best friend is...))

~~~

"I told you, I'm really not hungry..."

"Just some light broth, and a few noodles. I'll go fix it, stay in here and rest until I come get you."

((when she comes with his food and some light pain meds, he sees her eyes are bloodshot and puffy. She's been bawling in the kitchen, but forces herself to be calm for his sake.))

((they can't do laundry for the bed at 4am, so she fetches some clean blankets from the closet and they lay bundled up on the floor ))

((makoto tries to comfort him with sympathetic story of Kaneshiro's harassment and calls, when she was terrified he was going to break into her house and how she dealt with the paranoia to keep from breaking down since she couldn't tell anyone.))

((More angst fluff and both trying to hide their emotional anguish from each other as they fall asleep huddled on cold tile bc I am nothing if not a cruel bitch))

#omocute #omorashi #fandomo #fictomo #persomo #bearfic #again i'll edit with formatting in a sec! #but anyway this is the last snippet and it's my fav out of the batch tbh