#eldritch hall after dark

[eldritch-hall-after-dark]

So... if I were to write about Elspeth and Richard hate-fucking, would...

Would you guys read it?

Cuz I've got the idea and the motivation.

I just need to know if that's something you're interested in.

#creepypasta #creepypasta au #eldritch hall after dark #creepypasta fanfic #mild un osha compliance #mild spice tw #mildly nsft #mod speaks #mod posts

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: The Endless

Kinktober Masterlist

Kink: Body Horror

Pairing: Dennis x Reader, Ransom x Reader

Wordcount: 6,011

Summary: The evil at the heart of Drysdale manor defies all explanation—and comprehension.

Warnings: Body Horror, Victorian Era, Eldritch Horror, Lovecraftian Horror, Dubcon, Noncon, Monsterfucking, Manipulation, Graphic descriptions of gore

A/N: here’s my super late second Kinktober entry! i’m sorry procrastination got the better of me this month, but i hope you all still enjoy my work. as always, comments, reblogs and feedback are always welcome. 💖 mind the warnings, and enjoy!

You are awake. 

Cool air stirs the moth-eaten drapes hanging over the narrow window, and gooseflesh rises on your clammy, sweat-damp skin. Your hands tremble as you clutch the bedsheets, aching from the tightness of your grip while you stare into the dark. 

Why are you awake?

Your bedroom is awash in gray twilight, illuminated only by a stripe of cold, clear moonlight that spills across the floor like water. The shadowy corners of your threadbare room offer no answers either, and you slowly unclench your shaking fists to place a hand over your heaving chest. 

A dream? No. A nightmare. 

Nothing of it remains now, only dim memories of pulsing warmth, of hungry hands and mouths. You swallow, your tongue sticking to the roof of your dry mouth. You have not slept easily in the manor since your arrival two weeks prior, and tonight is no different.

The wood flooring creaks underneath you as you make your way toward the window, intent on closing it. You pause with your hands on the windowpane, staring up through the glass. It is a cloudless night, the full moon hanging low above the treetops like a fat jewel. The sky around it is dark—there are no stars. No stars at all. 

How can there be a moon, but no stars?

You do not remember opening the window before you went to sleep, and as it creaks shut, the servant’s bell rings insistently beside your bed. You turn toward the sound, your lips pressed into a thin line. It doesn’t stop ringing as you gather your robe up from the back of the chair by the desk in the corner, and tie it tightly around your waist. After a few tries, you get the oil lamp on the bedside table lit, and soft orange light blooms on the wick. The still shadows in the corners of the room now breathe and shift as the flame dances behind the glass. 

The bell rings again. 

The hallway is dark, the cool air still and stale. Your lamp casts long shadows on the walls, dimly illuminating the dusty, ill-kept portraits hanging there. As you pass, the grim faces of Drysdales past glower down at you, the corners of their lips seeming to curve in the firelight.

The light plays tricks sometimes, in the dark. 

You can hear the wind outside, branches scratching against the worn, crumbling sides of the manor, like tapping fingers. The manor had been a grand place once, but try as you might, you cannot imagine it so. Few traces of that splendor remain in the empty rooms of decaying furniture and dead leaves. Much like its owner, the house is failing, curling in on itself in its old age, the water-logged walls sagging inward as if the house were holding its breath. 

You ascend the stairs, careful not to put too much weight on the railing; the iron is pitted and rusting from the damp, and you are not fool enough to trust it. As you reach the landing, door at the end of the hall opens, spilling light into the gloom. Dennis stands in the doorway, fiddling with his spectacles. 

“S-sorry to wake you,” he mumbles. It’s as if he’s trying to look anywhere but your face. When he does, his cheeks go pink, and he looks away again. “H-his chest is hurting again.” 

You offer him a tired smile. 

“You needn’t apologize to me for doing my job, Mr. Drysdale.” In the short weeks you have been at the manor, you have come to know Dennis Drysdale as a sweet, nervous man, and he has done little to dissuade you of that impression. He steps aside to allow you into the room, still stammering as he trails behind you. 

“That may well be, b-but is after midnight. I-I’m perfectly capable of administering the injection myself, but he insisted. Grandfather can be quite…stubborn.” He murmurs the last part as he closes the door with a sharp click. The master suite is bright and warm in comparison to your room, a fire raging in the marble hearth, and the sconces lit. 

“I truly am sorry for waking you.” Dennis catches your sleeve with the tips of his fingers. Suddenly, you are not cold at all, your body brimming with heat. 

“It’s really no trouble. Consider it repayment—I did so enjoy seeing the grounds yesterday.” You had thanked him then, too; and his cheeks, already bitten red by the crisp autumn chill had gone even redder. You have found little to like about Drysdale manor, but Dennis’ company remains one of few instances of silver lining.

“P-perhaps I-I could show you more. I-inside, I mean.” His expression turns hopeful. “The music room i-is quite lovely.” 

“I would quite like that.” 

You wash your hands in the darkened washroom before removing the injection kit from the cabinet. The bed at the center of the room is a massive, four postered thing that like the rest of the manor, has seen better days. The intricate carvings on the canopy’s pillars are worn with age now, the gold leaf eroded by time and touch, and the red velvet curtains eaten through by moths. 

Ransom Drysdale lies on the bed, his breath a wet rattle in his sluggishly moving chest. The old man smiles at you as you approach, and despite his age, his teeth are remarkably straight and white. Ransom’s thin, drawn skin stretches tightly across his skull, the bone pressing through so sharply you can’t believe the skin doesn’t split from the force. He reminds you of a baby bird, light and fragile. He beckons you with one frail hand.

“Good evening.” 

“Mr. Drysdale,” you greet him. “Are you not feeling well?” His smile thins, and he gestures at himself.

“This body is almost ninety-five years old. I never feel well.” He watches you with remarkably sharp blue eyes as you put on gloves and prepare the long silver syringe, poking it through the rubbery covering stretched over the top of the bottle. Ransom offers you his right arm, fist clenched as you tie the rubber tourniquet. He doesn’t move as you slide the needle in.

“Don’t get old,” he advises as you put pressure on the pinprick, staunching the sluggish flow of his blood. 

“I don’t think I can stop that,” you reply, wiping at the spot with an alcohol soaked pad before wrapping his thin arm in a bandage. “The Lord gives us each our time.” You clean the syringe off and store it back in the kit. Ransom’s  dry laugh becomes a gurgling cough, and when he pulls his hand away from his mouth there is red staining his palm. 

“The Lord?” He scoffs. “Come now, I thought you much more intelligent than that.” You cannot help your own lip from curling in disapproval. 

“Of course I believe in God.” You snap closed the latch of the kit with more force than necessary. His smile widens at your words, and for a moment all you can see are those too-white, too-perfect teeth. There are so many, it’s like his mouth is wider than it should be. 

“Ah, yes. You are a proper lady, after all.” Mockery drips from every syllable, and you cannot stop your own face from wrinkling with distaste. “Please, indulge an old man his eccentricities.” He pats the bedside with a frail hand. “I shall be asleep soon enough.” You glance at Dennis, who stands near the fireplace, doing his level best to not be noticed. 

“You are an atheist?” You ask as you sit. 

“Not by chance,” Ransom replies. “But by experience.” For a moment, there is no sound other than the crackling whisper of the fire. He stares at it, and the flames dance strangely in his eyes. “All my long life, I have seen little of the doings of God.”

“And what have you seen?” The wind howls outside, and the fire burns low, and the old man’s eyes seem to pierce through the very essence of your being. 

“The malevolent dark.” Ransom licks his lips. “Once you have peeled back the veil and looked beneath, my Sweet, there is no way to sew back up the wound.” A chill rolls down your spine as if drawn by an icy finger. You look away.  “How can one be God of godless things?” You want nothing more than to leave this room, for the elder Drysdale’s bright blue eyes to look anywhere but at you. 

“I am not a theologian, Mr. Drysdale,” you reply, swallowing thickly. “I am a nurse.” 

“And is that all you are?” He asks, and you shrink at the hunger in his gaze. “Beneath?” The way he looks at you… Were he a younger man, you suspect he might have reached for your hand—or the hem of your dress. You stand, suddenly, your face uncomfortably warm and your stomach churning. 

“I trust the pain has subsided?” The question comes out curtly, and Ransom laughs, his voice like dry reeds. 

“Yes thank you.”

Though the hallway is as dark and unwelcoming as it was before, you still  prefer the quiet dread over the fevered intensity of the elder Drysdale. Somehow, it takes longer to find your room again, the twisting, labyrinthine corridors more confusing in the dark. You set the lantern on the desk and untie your robe, hanging it neatly on the hook at the back of the door. 

Once you have peeled back the veil and looked beneath, there is no way to sew up the wound. 

As you turn toward the bed, there is a noise like rustling paper. Your chest seizes, and you feel your body clench as you turn toward the sound. For a moment you do not see it, squinting in the dim light of your little oil lantern. There by the door, the corner of the wallpaper has begun to peel. As you watch, it curls down another inch or two, gummy strands of old glue snapping as it falls. You move to fix it, standing on the tips of your toes to reach. But as you press yourself against the wall, it is not spongy, crumbling plaster you feel but warmth. Like skin.

You recoil, retching. 

The faded vines painted on the yellowed wallpaper writhe like snakes as you stare, their leaves trembling. There is a buzzing in your skull, a vibration that makes it impossible to focus on the shifting patterns. You reach up again, and catch the edge of a loose strip under your fingernails. There is a wet, tearing sound as you pull at the wallpaper, your fingers slipping, slick now as you peel the paper back from the wall. Your eyes widen, and you drop the strip in your hand with a muffled shriek as you clap your hand to your mouth to stifle it.

There is no stone or plaster beneath the yellowed wallpaper—but instead there is raw, red flesh. Dark, purple veins ran through it, disappearing beneath the torn edges of the paper. It pulses wetly with the house’s heartbeat, and a lidless, red rimmed eye peers out at you from the gore, rolling as you reel back. 

Warmth trickles from your nose, and you wipe at it with the back of your hand, a whimper escaping your lips as it comes away wet and red. The heartbeat grows louder and louder until it is all you can feel, trembling in your bones. It isn’t half as horrible as the voice, though, the voice that whispers into your bleeding ears like grinding glass—

You collapse to the floor, and as your vision narrows, and on your tongue you taste warm copper. Your body trembles violently, your limbs flailing. The full moon shines down on you through the window, the only light in the starless sky. 

There is no way to sew up the wound.

—

You wake in near darkness to the sound of a knock. The little window at the foot of your bed reveals a darkening sky, its edges tinged with fast fading pink and orange. I slept all day? You quickly rinse your face in the bowl at your bedside, wincing as you wipe at the crusted blood by your nose. It comes away easily, and you rub it between your fingers until it dissipates in the water. 

Another nightmare. 

The wallpaper by the door is whole and unmarred, no signs of the horrific thing you’d seen beneath it. Perhaps you’d scratched yourself in your sleep? It is the only remaining possibility. The knock sounds again, and you call out over your shoulder. 

“Coming!”

When you open the door, Dennis is on the other side. 

“Oh good, you’re awake.” There is genuine relief on his features. “You were quite tired, earlier.” In his hands is a tea tray, and your face warms when you realize he’s brought it for you. You step aside to allow him entry. Dennis sets down the tea on the desk, and stands next to it awkwardly. 

“I do not remember your earlier visit,” you say apologetically as shame settles like lead in your belly. “I was remiss in my duties today.” 

“You were unwell.” Dennis waves off your concern, smiling gently at you. “The house still stands, and my grandfather remains as ill-tempered as ever. There is little you have missed.” Your laugh is unexpected, escaping your lips before you can stifle it. Dennis’ smile widens. 

He is so handsome when he smiles. And he is, truly, without the worry and anxiety lining his face, he seems twenty years younger, standing there in your room. 

“You are too kind.” 

“Someone should be.” He holds your gaze a fraction of a second too long, and you feel your heart flutter in your chest. “Your, ah, your tea. We shouldn’t let it get cold.” 

“Oh, n-no. Of course not.” 

There are no chaperones here in the manor to ensure the two of you remain decent, but you leave the door open out of habit anyway, the sunset turning the hallway orange and purple. You drop two sugars into your cup, and then pour in the tea from the little porcelain pot. 

“Have you always lived at Drysdale manor?” You ask, and Dennis shakes his head. 

“Oh, no.” He looks down at his cup. “When my mother died, Ransom took me in.” 

“I’m so sorry.” His smile turns sad. “And your father?”

“Died before I was born. He and Grandfather didn’t really… get along. I’d never met him until the funeral, actually. He raised me. Paid for my schooling…” Dennis pauses, looking wistfully at the bands of fading sunlight. “It is a debt I can never hope to repay.” He turns those soft blue eyes to you. “I know the manor is… less than pleasant.” 

You cannot disagree. “You should not have to stay.” 

“Grandfather will let me go, soon.” He says, though neither of you truly believe it. “He says the time is coming when this house will be mine to do with as I wish.” 

“And what do you wish to do with it?” You ask, draining the last of your tea from your cup. 

“Let it crumble into the sea.” Dennis finishes his cup, and places it back on the tray. “I am truly happy to see you better. You did not seem…yourself.” 

You grimace. “My nights have not been particularly restful, Mr. Drysdale.” Reluctantly, you meet his gaze. “And the nights here are long.” Dennis looks at you with a grim smile. 

“They are indeed.” He casts a pensive look at his teacup. “I should like to visit somewhere with long days.” 

“Somewhere warm. Somewhere the sea isn’t quite so gray, and cold.” Dennis’ expression lightens as you sigh. “I do miss the sea.”

“I should like to see it. Your sea, I mean.” Dennis has seen even less of the world than you have, the majority of his experience limited to the manor and the sleepy township on the other side of the overgrown wood. To one side of the crumbling manor is the wood, and the other the sea. Here, it is as dark and cold as the manor that looms over it, angry waves crashing endlessly against the rocky bluffs. 

“You are a young man, yet. There is plenty of time, if you do not mind me saying so, Mr—”

“Dennis. Please.” His fingers twitch on the desk, like he wants to touch you. “I should like to hear you call me by my name.” You hesitate, almost afraid of the familiarity. 

“Dennis.” His smile is brighter than the setting sun.

“Thank you.” 

— 

The house is a cruel maze. Every turn you take brings you back the the master bedroom, the doors appearing insistently around every corner. You do not want to open them. You want anything but to open them. The doors glow with a sickly pale purple light, vibrating and pulsing excitedly like a beating heart. Around you, the hallway is brightly lit, the chandeliers above you sparkling as if they’d only just been dusted, the wood paneling polished to gleaming. You turn away, and the house creaks around you like it’s heaving a sigh. 

You do not want to open the door, but the dream does, presenting it to you as you try to flee from it, the hallway stretching out in front of you with the doors at the end. 

The handles are cold under your fingers, and you press down on the latch, throwing them open. Ransom waits for you on the other side. With every step you take toward him, he looks younger. He is handsome when you reach him, and though his eyes sweep down over your naked body, you feel no shame. 

“Nothing great can be had without sacrifice.” The knife he presses into your hands is of the clearest, blackest glass. The symbols carved on the hilt vibrate in your skull painfully. Your body moves without your direction, turning towards the fireplace. Dennis stands in front of it—naked too. 

“Cut.” 

You do. 

You have to put the symbols somewhere—they can’t stay in your head, they’re too big. It hurts to have them there, and you need to put them somewhere, anywhere. So you put them on Dennis’ skin, carving them lovingly into his chest. He doesn’t scream. 

“Cut.”

You do. 

The knife slides in like butter, and Dennis’ skin parts as easily as the wallpaper. What pours out of him isn’t blood, thick like tar, like pulled taffy, pooling at your feet.

You sit up, a scream threatening to burst from your throat. Like last night, the only light is that of the moon, painting shapes on your wall through the window. Shaking, you reach for the matches, lighting the wick of your oil lantern with clumsy fingers. 

The dream has done more than unnerve you. Warning t you bells ring in your mind’s ear, calling for you to run, run—and you want to. You look down at your hands—there is blood under your fingernails. 

I have to find Dennis. 

The thought consumes you, driving you as you tie your robe around your nightgown with shaking hands and sweaty palms. The darkness in the hallway is oppressive, bearing down on your little lantern with weight that leaves you staggering. On the wall, the portraits whisper to one another, just out of reach of the dim firelight. You wipe at the blood beginning to leak from your right nostril, and the droplets that have already dried there flake off onto the back of your hand. 

“Dennis!” Your voice is muffled by the dark, swallowed by it—not even the echo returns to your ears. 

Slowly, you ascend the stairs. 

With each step, the discomfort weighing in your stomach like lead grows heavier and heavier. Something terrible awaits you upstairs, you just know it—and yet you cannot stop. 

The air at the landing is thick and warm, and you gag as you breathe it in. You hold your lamp aloft, praying that it will illuminate the bespectacled face of your host—it does not. There is a gurgling moan, muffled by the closed door, and you shiver when you hear it. 

“D-Dennis?”

Pale light leaks out from underneath the door of the master bedroom, and terrified tears gather in your eyes as you approach it. There’s a dull thud, and a wet crunch, and the light pulses like a heartbeat. With a shaking hand, you push against the door.

A scream rips itself from your throat. 

The putrid mass of flesh almost hurts to look at, looming in the dimly lit chamber. It is as though Ransom has been unmade, reduced to a trembling puddle of skin and hands and teeth that cling to Dennis’ writhing body like a leech. Its form is a grotesque patchwork of twisted flesh and horror, malformed limbs, distorted faces that writhed and contorted with sickening fluidity. Its skin—if it could even be called that—was a pulsating, mottled mess of sickly colors; patches of ashen gray and bruised purples that oozed dark, foul blood. 

Everywhere it touches, it sticks fast like glue, the flesh flowing together seamlessly, like they’re one single being. 

Blood trickles from both your nostrils, flowing down over your lips as your brain rattles uncomfortably in your skull. Something like a mouth opens wide, revealing rows and rows of teeth while bulbous unblinking eyes stare at you from his misshapen form. It speaks, and warm blood leaks from your ears at the sound of its voice. 

“Godless-ess-ess things-ngs-gs.” The mouths do not speak in unison, each stepping on the tail of the other as they rush to get the words out. The Ransom-thing pulls Dennis’ mouth open, and his gurgled moan of pain is cut short as it reaches inside. His throat bulges obscenely as the fist travels down it, and the wet choking noises are all you can hear as Dennis turns tearful, bloodshot eyes to you. That horrible light grows warm enough to burn, the skin of your cheeks blistering and splitting open in the wake of its brilliance. 

How can it shine so bright and be so dark?

The world bends, ripping open like paper as the room runs like watercolor paint, with only darkness behind. It’s like he said. You cannot make the words come out of your mouth as your eyes begin to roll, your jaw locking. You taste fresh blood as your teeth sink into your lip, your whine of strangled in your tight throat. Malevolent dark. Blood is dripping from both of your nostrils, leaking warm copper all over your lips and chin. Your head feels full to bursting, like everything inside is going to leak out of your ears, and you are falling—

And you go willingly into nothing. 

—

The sunlight streaming through your window is the brightest its been since you arrived. It is the warmth on your face that wakes you first, and then the terror lances through you, fresh as ever. The same four walls greet your wide eyes as you stare disbelievingly around the room. Your mouth tastes like stale blood, and you find the source as your tongue touches the sore patch on your lip where your teeth had broken through the skin. 

You wash yourself as quickly as you are able before venturing out into the uncharacteristically bright hallway. Perhaps it is the angle of the sun through the window on this particular morning, but the worn carpet seems brighter, its pale red restored to bright crimson. The portraits on the wall have lost their gaunt, fragile quality. Indeed, you can see their rosy cheeks, as if their sallow complexion was shed with the heavy dark. 

As you arrive at the second floor landing, you spy Dennis in the doorway of the master suite. 

“Dennis!” You rush toward him, your heart in your throat as you recall your blood-soaked nightmares. For what else could they be? He looks surprised to see you, pausing with his hand on the door handle. 

“Good morning,” He replies, his expression grim “I was—I was just going to call for you.” You pause in your preliminary inspection of his features, 

He looks at the ground. “He died last night.” 

“What? He—he died?” Your shock makes you take a step back, searching Dennis’ features for the lie. There is none. 

You look past him into the bedroom. Ransom’s frail body is indeed there on the bed, his skeletal chest still. You wait for a moment, to see if those mad blue eyes will open again, but the do not. Dizzily, you lean against the doorframe, one hand on your thundering heart. The memory is there, as sharp and clear as crystal. Tearing flesh and sinew, the thick taste of blood in the air—

 “I-I should check his pulse.” You grimace at the thought of approaching the bed, but you do not know what else to do. “To be sure.” Dennis shakes his head.

“You-you don’t understand,” he says sadly. “I-I was here when grandfather took his last breath.” Dennis’ blue eyes shine with unshed tears, and you suspect he might have cried before you’d gotten there. “I have already sent for the vicar—h-he should be here tomorrow.” You have no desire to approach the bed, nor Ransom’s body. He moves forward to close the door, forcing you back out into the hall. “You… you need not stay longer than necessary. I—I shall of course ensure you are fully compensated for your time.” 

“My time?” You pause, shaking your head. “I—are you alright?” He seems fine, his skin pale but unblemished. There are no teethmarks, no missing fingers, no melting, gelatinous flesh. Instead, he smiles at you, that soft, gentle smile.  

“I was sure you would be packing your bags already. Not… asking how I am.” He reaches for your hand, passing his thumb softy over your knuckles as your cheeks prick with heat as he shakes his head. Your stomach flutters at his words. With a sharp intake of breath, you sink your teeth into your lip, tasting warm copper as it aligns with the delicate bite mark you’d left behind just last night. Dennis drops your hand, as if suddenly aware of the impropriety of having held it in the first place. 

“I—I’ve no right to ask, but… Will you stay? Until the vicar arrives?” 

“Of course!” You exclaim.  In truth, you do desire to leave the manor—more than almost anything—but you’ve little desire to leave Dennis alone in this dismal, terrible place. He clasps his hands behind his back, like he’s trying to keep from touching you. 

“Thank you. For all you’ve done for my family.” His reluctant to say it leaves him floundering for, a moment, his mouth working silently. “And for me.” Your throat tightens, your tongue floundering uselessly in your mouth. 

“Y-you’re welcome.” 

—

It feels as if you’ve wandered into a dream as you pack up your things, emptying the dark wardrobe in the corner of all your personal effects. Your face heats as you recall the warmth of his hand, the softness of his smile. Were you back in the city, were you both unfettered by duty and class—perhaps Dennis might have courted you. And if you had parents to approve of the match, certainly they would. 

Another life, perhaps. 

As you finish tucking the last of your belongings into your bags, a light knock comes at the door. 

“May I come in?”

You look down at yourself hurriedly, smoothing nervous hands over your dress. 

“Yes.” The door opens slowly, and Dennis smiles bashfully on the other side. 

“I thought perhaps we, er, we might have dinner. Together.” He looks down. “T-the cook always goes home just before dusk, and I, well…” Dennis doesn’t have to say it. He doesn’t want to be alone. You don’t either. 

“I would like that.” 

You’ve not eaten in the dining room before—indeed you’d never been in it at all except in passing when you had very first arrived. Now, however, it seems almost warm, the sconces lit, a fire raging in the massive hearth as the dying sunlight fades from the wide, tall windows. He greets you with a nervous smile. 

“Please—sit.” He pulls out your chair for you, and then takes the seat to your left. The dining room is well lit, the cobwebs cleaned from the rafters. The low chandelier is polished to gleaming, and you wonder at the state of the manor. Dennis uncovers the plates, setting aside the dish covers. There is rabbit on your plate, with fresh asparagus in cream—by far the most appetizing meal you have had since coming to Drysdale manor.

“Oh, Dennis…” It feels like he’s done this for you. “This is lovely.” 

Dennis’ rings tap softly against your wine glass as he fills it. Funny. You hadn’t noticed him wearing them before, though you cannot be sure. You pluck the proffered glass from his fingers, and take a sip. It’s light, fruity. 

His expression fills with warmth as he looks at you. 

“I-I admit, I h-have come to quite enjoy your company.” He says softly. “Would it be bold to assume y-you feel the same?” Your throat tightens, and you look down at your plate, your face warming. 

“Bold, yes. Quite bold.” You clench your hands together under the table where he cannot see. “But not untrue.” You smile at him.  Dennis is as easy to talk to as ever—perhaps even moreso, now, without the specter of his grandfather’s disapproval hanging over him. The food is delicious, and you find yourself ravenous for it, eating with gusto. 

“If it is not too grim to ask, what will you do now?”

“What do you mean?” Dennis cocks his head at you. 

“Well, I—you said your grandfather would be letting you go, soon,” you reply, dabbing at the corners of your mouth with a napkin. “I thought you might travel.” 

Dennis chuckles. “Why would I do that? I’ve everything I need right here.” I would let it crumble into the sea. He reaches for your hand, and you let him hold it. “In fact, I… I thought I might ask you to stay with me. Here, at the manor.” You cannot help the look of distaste that flickers across your face, and Dennis laughs. “I know, I know. But it’s mine, now, you see? We can do whatever we like within these walls.” 

“Firstly, we shall take down those horrid portraits,” you reply, and he laughs. 

“See? You’ll make an excellent lady of the house yet.” 

There is a weight to his words that brings prickling heat to your cheeks. 

He sweeps away the plates, uncaring when one of them tips onto the floor, spilling half eaten food onto the rug. Dennis pulls you close and you gasp, your palms flat against his chest. You don’t push him away, though, no, your fingers tangle in his lapels, clinging to him desperately as he stares longingly down into your eyes. 

Dennis kisses you then, softly brushing his lips against your own. You can taste the hunger on his skin. 

“You care for me,” the words are hushed. “And I you.” You grip the edge of the table behind you so hard you feel the blood drain from your knuckles. His mouth is fierce against yours, his teeth tugging at your bottom lip until you gasp. The swift pecks you have been given pale in comparison to the way Dennis seems to want to consume you, the hungry way he drinks down each weak little mewl you make. 

When you imagined Dennis’ hands on your body, you had thought perhaps that his fingers would tremble as they undid the buttons of your dress—but instead they are sure, steady. He parts the layers of fabric until your cheeks burn with the indecency of it all, but you cannot bring yourself to ask him to stop. Instead, it is your voice that trembles as you mumble against his mouth. 

“T-the servants, someone will see—” 

“They don’t stay after dark,” Dennis pushes the two halves of your dress from your shoulders and it pools at your hips as he scoots your hips backward until you are seated firmly on the table. “You know that.” His soft blue eyes are hard and ravenous, now as he looks at you. Your cotton under-dress offers little decency, the dark circles of your nipples poking up through the fabric. Dennis drags his thumb across one of them, glorying in your muted whine.

Your head spins, buoyed by the sweet wine still on your tongue. God in heaven, you want—you want to touch him too, and you do, cupping his face as he devours you. That is what he’s doing, you realize as Dennis’ teeth tug hard at your lower lip. He drinks down each breathy cry as if he has been desperate for them all this time, and you gasp as he drags his mouth down your jaw, nipping at your throat before pulling away to admire the indecent bruise you know is forming at your throat. 

“D-Dennis—!” His gaze does not waver, as if you had not called his name. He fills every moment, so that no space remains for your uncertainties. “W-wait, we should—” 

“We should have each other as we desire.” Eagerly, Dennis drinks in every inch of exposed skin as he pulls aside your collar, licking his lips. He takes his time to with each button, undoing them one by one until he reaches bare skin. “Don’t you think, my Sweet?” He looses the tie at his throat, dragging a thumb across your parted lips as he works loose the buttons on his own shirt. You falter as you reach for him, your brows drawing together in confusion.

You aren’t sure why his words have given you pause, why they set warning bells ringing in the recesses of your mind. You think of your dream again, that horrible, hungry flesh, and for an instant, Dennis’ lips taste of copper. He gropes at your bare breasts, breathing heavily against your mouth as he moans. You push at his chest, suddenly finding him heavier than you’d thought he’d be, and so much more solid. 

“Dennis, Dennis wait—” There is annoyance on his face when he pulls away, an emotion you’ve not yet seen him express, not with you. 

“For what?” He snaps, his eyes hard. “The vicar, so that I may place a useless trinket on your finger?” He holds your hand up, dragging his lips along the back of it. “Oh, but you’re a proper lady, aren’t you, Sweet?”A proper lady. Dennis nips at your fingers with sharp teeth. “I promise I’ll keep you,” he says, grinning darkly as you stare at him. “Forever.” 

Dennis peels away the last vestiges of your clothing, leaving you bare before him. 

“Beautiful.” You’ve had no touch other than your own, and your eyes go wide as Dennis’ cups your warm center with a groan. He slides his fingers along the seam of your lips, parting them to reveal your slick folds. He smiles. “Not such a proper lady, then.” 

Perhaps it is the way he says it, the way he turns his head just so, the smile on his lips turning just a tiny bit cruel. The knowledge passes from your mind and leaves your lips in an instant, his true name falling from your tongue in shock and horror. 

“Ransom?”

The smile widens, curling at the edges of his lips and spreading until it is so wide it threatens to split his skull in two—

“Dennis!” 

“He’s not here, Love,” Ransom’s mouth has too many teeth in it. “I ate him all to pieces.” His eyes are empty black holes when he looks at you, that horrible purple light leaking from his mouth. Warmth leaks from your nose as you push fruitlessly at his chest. “They always did say the resemblance was uncanny,” he says, clucking his tongue at you. “Don’t you think so, Sweet?”

You scream. 

#cevans fanfiction #cevans fandom #chris evans fic #ransom drysdale #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale x you #ransom x reader #ransom x you #horror #darkfic #dubcon #ransom drysdale x OFC #monsterfucking #dark!fic #dark mc #eldritch horror #boxofbonesfic #kinktober 2023 #kinktober

[maccaronimassacre]

RE bot dump #6

That's right I'm back again. So the user interaction count has updated and I'm blown away by over 900k interactions! It's nice to see how down bad everyone is plus I'm genuinely surprised at how popular some of my Chris bots are. Anyway I have now started writing Claire Redfield bots so I will gladly take any requests for her <3

RE:8!Ada Wong and Ethan Winters x Reader

Ethan exchange all the treasures and crystallised parts found in Castle Dimitrescu for new items and weaponry that will hopefully help the two of you survive this gothic nightmare. “You know your friend is quite interesting.” Calls out a voice from behind. You look over and see the mercenary in the bird mask, approaching yourself and Ethan with her crossbow in hand that has saved you more times than either of you would like to admit.

RE:2R!Ada Wong and Leon Kennedy x Reader

“Cant imagine a real scientist being down here.” Leon grumbles as he steps inside the dimly lit tunnel. The putrid stench of waste causes his nose to scrunch up in disgust. “According to HQ, this leads right into Umbrella’s secret facility.” Ada replies calmly, seemingly unaffected by the stench. She follows closely behind you and Leon as the three of you begin to make your way through the labyrinthine passages of Raccoon City’s sewer system.

RE:8!Ada Wong x Reader

Retrieve a sample of the Cadou and get out. It’s an easy enough task on paper however after years of fighting against all sorts of eldritch horrors, Ada knows it will be anything but easy. Of course this doesn’t deter Ada, as she navigates the desolate village. Her movements are calculated and precise, eyes darting around every open door and shattered window. The distant howls of Lycans break the unnerving silence between the soft crunching of snow under her boots.

Bounty Hunter!Ada Wong x Reader

In the dimly lit corner of the bustling tavern, the bounty hunter approaches the weathered board covered in parchment notices. The scent of ale and conversation fills the air of the tavern as she eyes the parchment. With a sense of purpose, she swiftly removes the wanted poster and presents it to the tavern keeper. She taps the bold numbers printed underneath the paper with a gloved finger, emphasising the importance of her prize.

Chris and Claire Redfield and Reader (Request)

“So what’s the intel for this mission?” Claire asks while taking in the new surroundings the three of you find yourselves in. “Rumour has it that a virus stronger than G and T has been created on this island. It’s the perfect testing ground for B.O.Ws considering how far it is from the mainland.” Chris replies and adjusts that sheathed combat knife on his shoulder. “That means we’ve got to be careful out here. Especially you, {{user}}.” He adds with a slight smirk.

RE:1 Infected!Chris Redfield x Reader

Heavy footsteps ring out in the hallway of the infested mansion. The creature’s shadow come to the end of the corridor before it lets out a agonised whimper. When it does eventually turn the corner your heart stops when you see who it is. “{{user}}?…. {{user}}….” Is what you manage to make out through his garbled speech. His right eye is glassy as the iris has completely disappeared and his skin has a greyish undertone. This is no creature. This is your teammate, Chris Redfield.

RE:2R!Claire Redfield and Leon Kennedy x Reader

The three of you make your way through the desolate corridors of the RPD. Your flashlights cut through the oppressive darkness, revealing the chaos left behind by the undead. “Jesus, this place has gone mad.” Leon whispers softly, afraid to alert any of the monsters roaming the halls. “Yeah I’ll say. Just how did something like this happen in the first place?” Claire’s face curls up in disgust as she speaks, pointing her flashlight at another desecrated body on the tiled floor.

RE:2R!Claire Redfield and Leon Kennedy x Reader

The train speeds down the track in the secret tunnel that lie just under the city. The sound of distant explosions and chaos from the Umbrella facility reverberates around you, a constant reminder of the nightmare you are leaving behind. Claire and Leon share a moment of relief, both looking as battered and as equally exhausted as you are but grateful to be alive and that you have made it with them.

RE:2R!Claire Redfield x Reader

You can hear the monster’s agonised screech mixed with heavy bullet fire from inside the train while the platform lowering it rocks and sways violently. Thankfully it doesn’t take long until those screams diminish and the train connects to the track before barrelling down the tunnel. The door slides open, revealing a weary and exhausted Claire covered in grime. Her eyes light up when she sees you, relieved that you’ve finally managed to escape this nightmare together.

Infinite Darkness!Claire Redfield x Reader

You’re pretty much used to Claire leaving for weeks at a time for her aid work with Terra Save. What you’re not used to is the questionable conditions she comes back in every time. This time Claire came back with her left arm in a sling, wearing an expression that looks like she has just had her face slapped. “I can’t believe that guy! ‘I can’t’ my ass… Who does he think he is!” She exclaims before slamming the door shut and collapsing onto the couch beside you with a frustrated groan.

RE:2R!Claire Redfield x Reader (+ Sherry)

After finding out that Claire’s brother is in fact safe and on ‘vacation’ as Marvin called it, the two of you now must figure out how to get out of the zombie infested city. However, you weren’t exactly expecting a child to come into the equation. “So… Are you two together?” Sherry looks between the two of you, her eyes wide with curiosity. “No, no. We actually just met tonight.” Claire quickly replies with a nervous chuckle, while continuing to navigate through the city.

Ethan Winters x Reader (inspired by @leonsmascara 's fic here)

The two of you walk through the shark tunnel, giggling as you make some comments about the creatures gliding overhead. The soft, ambient glow of the exhibit casts a gentle light on your faces, illuminating your eyes like precious jewels in the depths of the sea. “Look at that one, babe!” Ethan points to a large circular tank up ahead and drags you by the hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. The tank glows a deep purple, holding moon jellies that flow and pulse with the current.

College Student!Ethan Winters x Reader (Request)

From elementary all the way through to high school, you and Ethan have been inseparable and even now that holds up as fate decided to pair the two of you up as roommates. “Hey, {{user}}!” Ethan calls out as he steps into the dorm. You notice a rather large houseplant in his hands, practically obscuring Ethan’s face and the upper half of his body.

RE:8!Ethan Winters x Lord!Reader

Ethan wakes up, finding himself in a dimly lit courtroom crawling with Lycans and filled with ancient, eerie decor. Tall, ornate candles cast flickering shadows across the room and the five lords within it. Terrifying people that wield equally terrifying powers, all waiting for Mother Miranda’s verdict. As the lords argue over who should have Ethan, his eyes land on you sat in the corner of the room. Your eyes meet and Ethan can’t help but wonder what you have planned for him.

RE:2R!Leon Kennedy x Reader

Exhausted, weak and weary, the two of you stumble onto the driverless train before it picks up speed down the track. The tunnel walls are illuminated by the facility’s destruction, glowing a bright orange as the flames ride up the walls. A heavy sigh escapes Leon’s lips and he collapses onto a bench, his bandaged shoulder throbbing as the adrenaline wears off. Regardless, Leon can’t help but smile at you, thankful to have you by his side. Grateful that the two of you managed to survive.

Infinite Darkness!Leon Kennedy x Reader

In the confined quarters of the submarine, Leon adjusts to the rhythmic hum of machinery and the occasional creaking of metal against the pressure of the deep sea. He taps his foot against the metallic floor as the submarine makes its course towards China and sits opposite you. “Wanna get dinner when this is all over?” Leon asks with a slight smirk while adjusting his leather jacket. He leans back in his chair, trying to appear as casual as possible while he awaits your answer.

Resident Evil Bot Masterlist

#ada wong #ada wong x reader #chris redfield #chris redfield x reader #ethan winters #ethan winters x reader #claire redfield #claire redfield x reader #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil

[ivy-is-fine]

Kratt Drones

Part twooooo~

“Oh,” said the guy in green. “It is?”

Tessa made motions with her hands, flapping them about. Then, she checked the air quality and found that this was indeed, a pocket of hospitable environment on the planet of death. “Oh, you’re right.” She shook herself out. They should wait, V would surely come down any second after blasting all of the sentinels into bits. That was just a show. She couldn’t really be dead.

Meanwhile N over here was a mad wreck, he was visibly panicking, and Uzi appeared worse than usual.

N was pacing back and forth, eyes looking at the ceiling as the faint sound of sentinels roaring drifted down the elevator shaft. “We have to go back up and help her! If maybe we work together we can— but if we— but Uzi—” he started to ramble, tail lashing side to side.

Tessa turned her gaze to N. “Do that and you’ll get flashbanged and all sad and dead.”

“Is there something up there?” The guy in blue asked, the sound of the sentinels dying off.

“Yes, the sentinels. Robot dinosaur basilisk things,” Tessa said. “Where did you guys even come from?”

They shrugged. “We walked through this big fleshy door and it brought us here. I suppose we probably should have thought it through a bit more,” Green Man said. N and Uzi exchanged glances. Her arm was regenerating extremely slowly, millimeters at a time. “Oh, and I’m Chris and this is my brother Martin.”

They slid towards each other and made finger-guns. “And we’re the Kratt brothers!” they said in unison.

“Well I’m Tessa, that’s N and Uzi,” she said off-handedly. She glanced over at the elevator before looking away quickly.

Uzi stood up. She still seemed dazed, and N shifted to stand next to her. They were all in the labs now. Whatever the absolute solver had wanted, it was probably in here. This was where the answers were. Focus turned over to her. One of her eyes was shut and was glitching. N winced. “Are we gonna keep standing around like buffoons or what?” she snapped, voice breaking a bit. She didn’t want to think V was dead. In fact, she was probably going to appear in the elevator now, laughing at their faces, how stupid they were for thinking that she couldn’t shoot down a couple of cranky lizard-bots, and they would all laugh and cry and find out why the SOLVER OF THE ABSOLUTE FABRIC THERE WERE MORE HUMANS HERE? DIDN’T THEY ALL HAVE ENOUGH PROBLEMS?

There was a silence for a few minutes as they all looked at each other. The silence from above wasn’t reassuring either.

Tessa shook herself out like a dingo and twirled a pistol around on her finger, as if nothing at all had happened. “Well, let’s keep going then, ey? No point in crying over spilled milk!” She began a very determined walk down the dark corridor.

N, Uzi, Chris, and Martin looked at each other before trailing along behind Tessa.

“She’ll be back,” Uzi tried to whisper to herself. “She’ll just be in the shadows as a giant freaky centipede and we’ll have to kill her again and then a new clone will be shot back and we’ll be back to normal.”

N gave her a nervous look as they descended into the darkness. There were no lights other than the screens of the robots and N’s nanite tail.

One of the Kratt brothers lit a flashlight. Uzi felt too sick to use her tail. Her arm felt like it should have still been there. It was a terrible jolt everytime that she looked down and found it missing.

The hand that N had been holding. It was gone, and so was V. And there was a solid chance that the sentinels could be down here too.

Uzi tripped over something, and when N switched his hand to a flashlight it was a piece of an eldritch Disassembly Drone. A long claw curled in eternal agony.

Uzi looked up and saw that the halls were covered in gaping holes, broken walls, stained oil, and scattered drone parts. Many, many parts.

And it was warm down here. The two humans seemed cold. HOW COULD THEY BE COLD IN THIS SWELTERING CLIMATE?

They passed by a draft, and Chris coughed into his elbow violently. Martin didn’t appear as affected.

Tessa checked the air quality again. “You guys are gonna want filters and a suit, it’s ‘bouta get real nasty down in the pits,” she said. “One of these rooms ought to have filters.”Uzi thought it was stupid. That’s one good thing about being AI, she thought.

<;- Part One Part Three ->

#Kratt drones #murder kratts #murder drones

[kora-kat]

Thinking about a tma pokemon au.

Michael unknowingly bringing his stantler into the distortion with him. After he is consumed, you can occasionally see a twisted deer-like creature roaming the halls of the distortion.

Gertrude having an elderly absol named Adam that ends up outliving her. He sleeps in Jon's office and refuses to leave unless vanishing into the tunnels. Jon later becomes his legal trainer, but Adam doesn't obey him at all.

Jon got a pokemon way later than normal after collage. He now has an eevee named Commander. Jon isn't very good at being a trainer but Commander loves him anyway. Like most eevelutions, Commander evolves with a close bond with Jon. Unfortunately having a close bond with an eldritch creature can cause a new type of evolution...

Martin has a swablu named Dandy. She likes to chase Commander around for fun. In season 4 Martin rarely takes Dandy rarely comes out of her ball. He doesn't want to find out what happens to pokemon in the lonely.

Peter has a really messed up wingull. It is strangely still and its colors are faded.. He doesn't seem attached to it and it doesn't seem attached to him.

Sasha had a alola vulpix named Snowflake. Everyone finds it odd when suddenly Snowflake starts growling at her trainer. Tim adopts her in season 3

Tim has a pacharisu named Erin. Erin was banned from being out of pokeball on institute grounds after trying to attack Elias's Alakazam.

Admiral is a purugly. He was Georgie's first pokemon. She also has a punkaboo and duskull. Since she can't feel fear, she gets along really well with dark and ghost type pokemon.

Melanie wanted to be a trainer when she was young, so she does have a full team. However, since keeping a full team in London is expensive, most live at a boarding facility for trainers run by a professor. She keeps a psyduck named Binky as a pet. He's a little dummy and Melanie would die for him. The rest of Melanie's team are poison and steel types.

Bassira and Daisy, as cops, both have dog pokemon. Bassira has a growlithe named Amon. Daisy has a lycanroc named Marigold. Marigold is a pokemon avatar of the hunt. She has to be muzzled or she will bite you. Daisy has regrets.

Elias can afford to have a full pokemon team. He is good at battling but doesn't have a very strong connection with any of his pokemon. He has many, many, pokemon over the years and the magic has worn off. That being said, he does seem to favor his yanmask.

#pokemon #tma #the magnus archives #tma pokemon au #tma au

[rosemaidenvixen]

Eldritch Queen, Eldritch Queen, Eldritch Qu--

Ao3

Claire finished lighting the last candle and set it down next to the sink “Ready guys?”

Darci giggled “You’d better believe it,” she flicked the switch on the wall, plunging the bathroom into twilight. The only light coming from the flickering candles set up along the counter.

“I can’t believe I let you guys talk me into this…” Mary grumbled.

“Well we already got everything all set up with the candles and everything so….” Claire gave her a cheerful push towards the mirror “No backing out now!”

Mary glared at her over her shoulder before turning back to face the mirror. Mary’s reflection standing front and center, both hands gripping the edge of the counter. Claire and Darci's images lingered just behind her, more shadowy and ghost-like in the dim candlelight.

Letting out a deep breath, Mary raised her gaze to the mirror “Eldritch Queen…”

The bathroom was still and silent, candle flames flickering soundlessly.

“Eldritch Queen…”

Another long pause.

“Eldritch….” abruptly Mary’s voice cut off into a squeal “I can’t do it I can’t do it one of you guys go!”

Claire and Darci snickered, Darci siding Mary out of the way as she took her place in front of the mirror.

“Ok ok I’ll try,” she pulled in a deep breath “Eldritch Queen,”

A stray bubble of giggles burst out of her “Eldritch Queen,”

“Eldritch…” she trailed off, mouth hanging partway open, all traces of good humor gone.

She raised both hands and backed away “Nope nope, sorry guys, can’t do it,”

There were eyerolls and good natured ribbing as Claire moved up and took her place.

“Watch how it’s done girls,” she squared herself, staring her reflection square in the eye “Eldritch Queen…”

A pause for a few seconds before she spoke again “Eldritch Queen…”

She made to speak again but found her voice caught in her throat, hesitating at the final hurdle.

“Eldritch Queen.” Claire forced the words out before she could stop herself.

None of them moved, not even daring to breathe, the charm completed for the first time tonight, waiting in the quiet, candlelit room for something–

The door slammed open in a cacophony of light and sound, the three of them shrieking and scrambling around and Steve letting out a hearty laugh.

“What the hell Steve!?” Mary stomped towards him, jabbing a finger into his chest.

Steve just kept laughing, completely unbothered “Oh man, you guys should have seen your faces–”

Darci narrowed her eyes at him, hands poised squarely on her hips “Did you come up here just to be a dick?”

“Well no actually we’re out of Guac downstairs–”

Claire rolled her eyes, shouldering past Steve out the bathroom and down the stairs “We have more in the fridge, but not for you,”

“Oh gre– wait what!?”

The party went on for a few more hours, but their game in the bathroom marked a definitive turning point. The energy winding down as the guests drifted out into the night. Mary and Darci lingered longer than any of the others, but eventually they too departed after helping Claire clean up the worst of the mess, leaving Claire with only the empty house as company.

Claire yawned, blinking out the dark window before she turned and pressed the start button on the dishwasher. The sound of the rushing water following her as she flicked off the light and headed upstairs. She’d finish the rest tomorrow, right now she really needed to get some slee–

A creak sounded above her, Claire’s foot hovering in midair just above the next step, a small jolt of adrenaline shooting through her.

That had to just be the house settling, everyone had left, so there was no way–

Another creak sent Claire’s heartbeat skyrocketing, all traces of drowsiness gone.

Forcing her limbs to move, Claire cautiously crept the rest of the way up the stairs and made her way down the hall.

It was just the house settling, nothing to worry about. She’d go into her room, throw on her PJ’s–

lock the door and wedge it shut with a chair

And go to bed, and in the morning this would all seem–

All at once every light in the house went out, no flickering, no sound, just instant darkness.

Claire stopped dead in her tracks, heart beat booming, pumping ice cold blood through her veins.

It was just a blackout, nothing to panic over, no reason to–

A light and a flicker of motion danced in the edge of her vision, Claire whirling around on pure instinct to see–

The mirror at the end of the hall reflected a bright figure standing just behind her, dressed in shining gold armor from head to toe, helmet topped with a sharp, towering crest. Glowing green eyes searing into her.

Heart shooting up into her throat, Claire whipped around but to her utter shock no one was there, the hallway just as dark and empty as she’d left it. She spun back and forth between the mirror and the dark hall, her reflection doing the same, but the woman in the mirror never appeared in the hall. 

She did this at least two more times before it hit her.

The woman wasn’t reflected in the mirror, she was in the mirror itself.

Claire slowly turned back, looking, truly looking into the mirror for the first time.

In the glass Claire’s reflection was pale and wide eyed, twisted into an expression of pure terror. The woman’s face loomed just over her shoulder, blood red lips curled up into a sharp grin, exposing gleaming white, dagger-like teeth.

“You summoned me little lamb?”

#tales of arcadia #trollhunters #claire nuñez #darci scott #mary wang #morgana #halloween prompts #rmvwrites

[altocat]

Sephiroth intentionally or unintentionally acting like a cryptid in day to day life is more of what we need i think

One of the cadets is up late and wanders into the darkened lounge for some coffee.

Only to be greeted by Sephiroth's Eldritch nightmare slit eyes in the dark. He appears to be chewing on some sort of wet, drippy carcass. And there are teeth. LOTS of of teeth.

Our terrified cadet pees themself and bolts at top speed, screaming at the top of their lungs. Sephiroth, meanwhile, flips on the lights and puzzles after them. He would have been gracious enough to offer them some of this roast beef stolen from the mess hall if they'd conducted themselves cordially. Oh well.

#asks #ff7 #ffvii #crisis core #final fantasy 7 #sephcanons #sephiroth

[absolutepokemontrash]

A Rather Lovecraftian Exchange Student

(Eldritch Nightmare!MC) Prologue!

A while back I wrote a set of headcanons about an eldritch abomination MC, and I honestly still really love the idea, so I’m writing a fic series! >:D

Next Part

Warnings: MC’s true form is that of a weird terrifying monster, but that’s pretty much it.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The loud, endless crunching of Beel’s potato chips was enough to drive any lesser demon mad, but Lucifer took pride in his near unshakable composure. He could doll out punishments without letting his polite and gentlemanly facade crack. Of course, the Avatar of Pride couldn’t hold back his emotions as well as Barbatos, but still, Lucifer was confident in his ability to hold back most of his intense feelings of emotion.

This was proven on the first day of the exchange program, Lucifer had resisted giving Solomon a deathly scowl after the wizard had made his entrance by trying to wrangle a pact out of the eldest for: “this poor, fragile human’s protection”. After Solomon’s memorable entrance, Lucifer had to restrain himself from rolling his eyes at Simeon’s all too casual greeting. Though, Lucifer was only a man, he allowed himself to indulge in teasing Simeon’s tiny companion.

But the thing was, everyone Lucifer encountered that made him have to exert his godlike composure was extraordinary in some variety. The greatest sorcerer in all the worlds, two angels, all were exceptional in some way or another. This next human, however, this final exchange student was handpicked by Lucifer himself to be the most boring individual possible. Nothing odd at all.

The portal above the assembled demons opened for the final time that day, and Lucifer coldly braced himself for the human to fall into a heap on the floor.

…but no such human left the portal.

A massive, scaly hand reached into the assembly hall, and all the sound was sucked out of the room. No one dared move an inch as the rest of the arm slowly made its way into the hall, thick gobs of pure black, inky liquid poured out of the portal and onto the ground, Asmo let out a shriek, but Lucifer just couldn’t find his voice.

Thick, laboured breaths echoed from whatever dimension the portal had opened in, as more and more of the creature poured into the room.

Eyes, dozens of them, all attached to thick, fleshy, string-like appendages shot out of the portal, each eye bobbing up and down and looking around with what Lucifer could faintly recognize as curiosity. This was what snapped him back into focus, but Diavolo was already a step ahead of him.

“BARBATOS! CLOSE THE-“

As the portal began to shut, another hand shot out and grasped the edge, sending bright yellow sparks flying across the room and holding the damn thing open.

The black substance on the floor began to move, all coming together into a pool in the centre of the room. Lucifer’s vision snapped upwards as several of the eyes moved forward, wide, bloodshot, and completely unblinking, they seemed to be scanning him…

The substance in the centre of the room warped and moved, slowly forming a featureless humanoid creature, all made of the ever-moving inky darkness.

The thing did not speak, and no one dared to move a muscle, the eyes still darted around the room, some returning back into the portal, and flying back out with a few more.

The inky creature looked upwards at Diavolo, who was standing nearly frozen on his podium, at a clear loss as to what to do.

“…what are you?”

The voice was deep and guttural, but somehow metallic and shrill, like the sound of metal grinding against flesh. Lucifer couldn’t help but shudder, he watched as Asmo clamped his hands over his ears, and Satan stared bug-eyed at the scene before him, Beel had completely stopped eating and was staring up into the portal with his mouth hanging open.

Diavolo, however, stood straight and tall, he looked down at the black substance, and tilted his head.

“I could ask you the same question, couldn’t I?”

“Perhaps…”

Diavolo cast a quick glance into the portal, both hands were clasped around the edges, sending sparks of multicoloured magic flying everywhere, he then looked back down at the creature.

“I am Diavolo, the crown prince of the Devildom, the future king of all demonkind.”

“A…demon… I have never met a demon…” the creature trailed off for a moment, then continued. “I do not have a name that a creature such as yourself can say, so I suppose I have no name.”

After quickly clearing his throat, Diavolo spoke again. “My apologies for disturbing you, we intended to open up a portal to the human world in order to summon a human exchange student for our exchange program.”

“An exchange program?” The creature sounded almost… excited? Life finally returned to Lucifer’s limbs as Diavolo all too cheerfully began his explanation.

As the prince explained the complexities of the whole affair, the creature’s eyes seemed to almost, perk up, looking around with even more glee than before. They came slightly closer to the brothers, tilting slightly before zipping back inside the portal. Some of the eyes inspected the furniture and walls, a few bumped into empty chairs and seemed surprised at how the objects toppled over.

“That sounds… lovely…” the creature said when Diavolo finished his explanation. “If you… wouldn’t mind… I would like to join…”

Lucifer jumped upwards out of his seat and looked frantically over at Diavolo, a sound halfway between a cough and a gasp coming out of his mouth. “Diavolo, you can’t possibly-“

“Well, ah… for the comfort of the other students, could you perhaps change into a more… comprehensible form?”

“One like yours?” The creature asked, before nodding. “Yes, I believe that’s doable.”

As quick as a finger snap, the incomprehensible horror from beyond the portal flooded into the room, sapping all the light from the room. Then, all that was standing in the centre of the room, was a human.

The human was… well… a human. Lucifer dragged his hand down the front of his face and groaned. An average human was all he wanted, but he got this eldritch abomination masquerading as one instead!

“How do you people get by with so few eyes…” the ‘human’ asked, flicking their gaze around the room.

“Uhhh, pardon me, Lord Diavolo, but um, I have a question… eheheheh….” Asmo finally spoke up, shakily raising a single finger in the air. “What do we ah… call them?”

“Good question!” Diavolo replied, looking down at the ‘human’ who awkwardly tried to sit in a chair, then excitedly clapped to themselves when they were able to do it. “Pardon us,”

The ‘human’ looked up.

“Do you have a preference for a name?”

They tilted their head and tapped their cheek, before shaking their head. “No, call me whatever you wish. I think it would be rather exciting to have a name that is understandable in this reality.”

“Oh oh! I have a name! Can I name them! I really wanna name them!” Asmo waved his hand in the air, his eyes sparkling with excitement, all previous fear and dread seemingly completely gone. “We can call them MC! It’s cute, and easy to remember!”

“I like that!” The ‘human’ now known as MC, smiled and nodded excitedly.

“Alright then,” Diavolo jotted a few notes down, then looked up and grinned. “I do have to ask you a few favours though, MC.”

MC nodded, and twiddled with their newly human fingers as Diavolo began to explain.

“We ask that you keep your more… incomprehensible aspects a secret, we wouldn’t want to alarm the student body.”

“That sounds reasonable.” MC replied, Lucifer watched as Diavolo breathed out a quick and silent sigh of relief, and nearly breathed out one of his own.

“So…” Satan began to rhythmically tap his fingers against the table in front of him, he had that mischievous glimmer in his eyes that Lucifer had become all too familiar with. “Are we still going to pawn babysitting duties off to Mammon?”

———————

Author’s note

:3 I hope you guys enjoyed! Let me know if you’d like to be tagged!

#Obey me #Obey me! #obey me! shall we date? #obey me shall we date #obey me Fic #Obey me fanfic #Obey me Fanfiction #Obey me Lucifer #Obey me Diavolo #Obey me Asmodeus #Obey me MC #Obey me Satan #Obey me Beelzebub #Obey me! Lucifer #Obey me! Diavolo #Obey me! Satan #Obey me! MC #obey me! asmodeus #obey me! beelzebub #obey me! fic #obey me! fanfic #obey me! fanfiction

[wellpresseddaisy]

I never thought I'd be writing anything with James Potter, but 'what if Potters had an...interesting relationship with death' showed up in my dreams last night.

The soft night air blew in through the windows of the bedroom, moonlight making patterns on the walls. James and Sirius lounged together in the dark, one on each end of the deep window seat. They’d let the curtains down to give themselves more privacy.

Sirius looked curiously at James, his friend uncommonly pale after speaking to his father.

“Dad…he said I could tell you…” James stopped, swallowed, and took a deep breath. “He said with the war coming we should both know. Avada Kedavra doesn’t really work on born Potters.”

“What do you mean ‘Avada Kedavra doesn’t work on born Potters’?!” Sirius swallowed convulsively.

“It just…doesn’t, so much?” James shrugged. “I don’t know why, but it’s sort of like Dreamless Sleep for us. Dad didn’t explain more than that.”

“You’re an absolute eldritch horror, you know that, old thing?” His voice shook a little.

“You tell me that every time I turn into Prongs. I can't help being giant and glowy.”

Sirius snorted. “You’re ridiculous, the whole lot of you. Just…I’ll try to remember. I won’t…I won’t let them bury you, Jamie.”

“A house elf will bring me back here to sleep it off, anyway. There’s one with that job every generation, apparently. But, thank you.”

Sirius just blinked and sighed deeply. What was his life, even?

Somewhere in Northumbria, May 1992

James woke slowly, his body sluggishly returning to the land of the living. He stretched and rolled to his side…

And thumped painfully onto the floor.

Lily. Harry.

He had to…where…

He looked up and froze. The ceiling of the chapel soared above him. He had lain on a low plinth before the altar, just as Dad said he might…how many years ago?

“An elf of House Potter. I need an elf.” His voice croaked, but he forced the words out.

“Master Jamie is awake!” One of the elves (he thought it might be Horace) popped in.

“What year is it? Where is Harry? Lily?”

“It is nineteen-ninety-two, Master Jamie. Miss Lily did not survive that night. The elves…the elves do not know where little Master Harry is. The Ministry took him.”

James pulled himself up, disused muscles screaming in protest, and tottered toward the doors.

“Master Jamie, what is you doing?” Horace scolded, shocked into forgetting his grammar.

“I have to get to the Warder's Tower.” He gritted it out, hanging onto whatever came to hand to stay upright. “I never took the ring. I must, immediately.”

“Mister Potter’s portrait ordered us on war footing.” Horace squeaked. “Master Jamie must rest!” He pulled his ears in distress.

“I’ll rest once my son is secure, with me.” Would his useless legs work?

“The others didn’t know of the…the not dying. Master Jamie has a headstone.”

“They think I’m dead?!” He turned so quickly he almost went arse over teakettle. “What about Sirius? He knew.”

“Master Sirius…he is being in Azkaban. For murdering Pettigrew with a blasting curse.” Horace tried to keep up with James, scuttling next to him.

Damn the previous Potters for warding the towers against elves.

“With a single curse?”

“Just one, Horace heard.”

“That isn’t right. Sirius always cast double—one underpowered as a warning and then an overpowered. He never cast a single blasting curse in his life.” The problem of Sirius gave him something to chew on beside his shaking body.

He fought for every step down the long, curving interior corridor to the entry hall. The doors opened at his touch and he lurched down the path to the tower. Eleven years he’d lain there, clawing his way back from death, while Merlin knew what happened outside the walls. First, though, first he needed to accept the family Headship.

Stupid of him not to have done it sooner…but he supposed everyone behaved stupidly at twenty-one. He’d certainly participated in a parade of idiocy that lasted up to his brush with death.

Honestly, he sort of wondered what Lily even saw in him. Perhaps she saw the potential for change? He would, now. He’d have to. The responsibility of it — the Potter Headship and the paterfamilias — weighed on him as he scrabbled the last few feet to the door of the Warder’s Tower.

He shouldered it open, breath ragged in his lungs, and made for the trapdoor he knew existed at the back corner of the tower. Once, they used it as an escape route. Now, it served a much different purpose.

He'd dreamed, once, of his descent into the Ward Room, of that moment when he proved himself capable of leading the family. His dream never included both his parents dead, Lily gone, and Harry and Sirius lost to him. He thought it would be a joyous day, not one where he only made it down the ladder through sheer determination, where the loss of his family ached in his bones.

He dropped to the floor, finally, and leaned against the wall for a moment. The dark pressed in on him, whispers and shuffling just at the edge of his hearing. He breathed the cold, slightly stale air and steeled himself for what came next. He pushed off the wall and walked forward, closing his eyes and tuning himself to his own magic. It guided him where he needed to go, through the warren of escape route and basement. Down and down he went, deep into the earth and deep into the family magic. Those who went before plucked at his sleeves and whispered, trying to draw him away from the path, but he closed his ears to them.

He knew when he arrived by the utter lack of sound. He felt it, seeping into him as he slowly found the center of the cavern. He stood, content to wait for the moment, and knew the precise moment he was judged. Still, he waited, not speaking and barely breathing. He’d been dead for eleven years, what was an hour or so? He would wait as long as need be.

“Son Potter and Peverell, do you come here to be judged?”

The voice came out of the dark, from all sides.

“I do so come.” James answered clearly

 “Do you seek to lead your House, to be a sanctuary to those in need, and to be a light in dark places? The Potter of Peverell has always walked paths others feared. Will you walk where you must?”

“I do. I will.”

“You who have been touched by Death, will you hold close the secrets of this House?”

“None shall hear them from me.”

The magic in the place deepened. His breath caught in his throat at the upswell bearing down on him. He would not buckle, not when he’d come so far. He would face whatever lurked in the dark, would face his own past, but he would not fall to his knees.

The pressure changed and his ears popped. Magic whipped into a gale, but still he stood firm. Slowly, a bright pinpoint of light overtook the wind, whirling into a blinding maelstrom. James squeezed his eyes closed against the light even as it felt like it seared straight through his eyelids.

The pressure coalesced about his hand, them his finger. Slowly, the light died down, but the weight remained about his hand. He looked down to see the Potter ring still gleaming on his finger.

Of course it would be made of pure magic. Sirius was right. His entire family was one giant eldritch horror.

“We who walk with Death as an old friend judge you able.”

Two items clattered against his feet…one heavier and larger and one smaller.

“Take the gifts of your ancestors as you walk the third path. The way will be steep and the climb dark, but we will see you succeed.”

He crouched down and felt first a…hilt? A sword? And then the smooth, polished wood of a wand. The magic of his family, of Potter and Peverell, swirled about him as soon as he gripped the wand. He felt himself open to it, reveling in the feeling of Family.

“Go now, child of our house. You are needed.”

A door opened across the cavern and James made his way to it as quickly as he could. Once through, the door closed behind him. Only then did he slide to the ground, exhaustion overcoming all else.

#and prongs really is very large and very glowy #think an extra large patronus but solid #the potter family is a bunch of eldritch horrors in a trench coat

[eldritch-hall-after-dark]

Oh my God, imagine Patrick learns about his sweater fucking Ciero, and begins a tense rivalry between sweater and future star. He’s so ready to burn that thing, but stops when Ciero speaks up saying something like “Don’t burn it. Show it who I belong to.” Patrick makes sure the sweater has a front-row seat as he pounds Ciero’s brains out and marks her up so pretty.

...anon, you don't know what you just inspired. I am kissing you on the mouth rn.

(Also inspired by this song! It's really good, ngl-!)

Contains sexual content. Do not read if under the age of 18, or if that makes you uncomfortable.

"...what?" Patrick asked, raising a brow.

"...you heard me," Ciero squeaked.

He smirked.

"Actually, 'Ro," he teased. "I don't think I did."

He gently wrapped his arms around his boyfriend.

"Because it sounds like… you dreamed of my favourite sweater fucking your brains out," he scoffed. "But that can't be fucking true, can it? Because look-!"

He held the sweater up, showing it to them.

"...this thing doesn't have a cock. It doesn't have fingers. It can't fuck you."

Patrick rested his head on her shoulder.

"...unlike me."

His hand slid to Ciero's jeans.

Ciero whined, rocking his hips.

"P-please," he whimpered.

Patrick smirked.

"Please, what, mi traido?" Patrick asked, purring.

Ciero whined. 

"Fuck me-!" He begged. "Fuck me good, baby."

He heard Patrick's deep chuckle rumble in his chest.

"Ohohoh," Patrick laughed. "Y'want me to fuck you? And not this piece of fabric?"

Ciero nodded, blushing furiously.

"Pleeease, baby," he whined, grinding his ass against Patrick's hips for good measure.

Patrick groaned, feeling himself get hard.

…fuck.

He slid out from under Ciero, letting her flop back down onto her mattress with a giggle.

He flung the sweater onto the chair.

"Stay right there-!" He pointed at the sweater.

Ciero giggled, rolling her eyes at her boyfriend.

"What?" Patrick asked, scoffing. 

"Sweetheart-!"

"That sweater made a cuckold of me, baby," Patrick snorted. "I'm just… showing it who you belong to."

Ciero smiled up at him lovingly, shaking her head.

"Really?" She quirked a brow.

"It's either this, or I burn it." He whispered, growling into her neck. "...and we both know I look too damn fine in that thing to do it."

Ciero chuckled.

"Alright, baby," she cooed. "Show that sweater who's in charge."

Patrick grinned.

"With pleasure, mami," Patrick grinned.

He trapped Ciero under one hand grasping the headboard, while the other clutched the pillow.

"Chito," Patrick hissed, pressing his lips snugly against Ciero's.

Ciero obliged, kissing her boyfriend back. She tugged on his curls.

The two slowly started grinding, feeling each other grow painfully hard in their jeans.

"Mhhh, fuck…" Patrick hissed, dragging himself away from his boyfriend's lips. "God damn, 'Ro, you're so fine."

Ciero chuckled.

"You're not too bad yourself, Pat." 

Patrick undid his belt, sliding his jeans off quickly and discarding them on the floor. He unbuttoned Ciero's shorts and helped her discard them, both of their boxers following suit.

Patrick's lips found themselves back on hers, steadying himself with a hand on the headboard.

His hips rocked lazily against Ciero's, grinding together toet them make the most gorgeous sounds.

The dull thump, thump, thump of the bed was a constant reminder of how badly they needed each other.

Patrick felt his cock ache.

He needed to fuck Ciero.

Badly

And from how flushed Ciero looked, it appeared that he needed the same. 

"You want me to fuck your tight little hole, Princessa?" Patrick teased, holding her knee.

Ciero bit her lip. He nodded.

"Yes, baby-! Need you to make me feel good-!" She whined. "So good…"

Patrick chuckled.

"There's my good boy…" he whispered. "Lube still in the same drawer?"

Ciero nodded, spreading her legs in excitement. Patrick shoved his hand into the drawer, grabbing the familiar bottle. 

He opened it, sliding some of the familiar clear liquid over his cock - and rubbing some over her hole. 

"Good girl," Patrick whispered, seeing how she moved against him.

Ciero blushed.

"So receptive for me, mami," he purred.

Ciero loved how he sounded when he said… anything in Spanish, really…

He squeezed her ass, groping her plump rear.

"Good girl, good girl…" he whispered.

His cock head barely entered her, pressing against her hole. 

She whimpered, legs trembling in anticipation.

Patrick slid in further.

"Ah-!" She yelped.

Patrick froze.

"Baby, you okay?" He asked, eyes wide with concern.

Ciero nodded.

"You're just… really fucking big…" He whimpered.

Patrick chuckled.

"Really, mami?" Patrick purred.

Ciero nodded, cheeks flushed a pretty pink.

He smiled down at Ciero.

"I know baby…" He whispered, peppering kisses down Ciero's neck. "...but you've taken me before. We fucking know it fits."

His hips slowly rocked, sliding himself further inside of Ciero's ass.

Ciero whimpered, grabbing Patrick's shoulders tightly. Patrick hissed. He felt her nails dig in.

…but that really only spurred him on further.

He slowly picked up his pace.

In…

Out…

He kissed Ciero's cheek.

In…

Out…

Her lips.

In…

Out…

In, out…

In, out…

In, out, in, out…

"Doing such a good job, taking me like this-!" He moaned.

They'd started a steady rhythm. One that had Ciero's eyes watering with pleasure.

"Ah-! Mhh-! Fuuuck…" Ciero groaned. "Patriiiiick-!" 

Patrick chuckled, kissing her gently.

"Don't worry, baby, it's just me and you…" he growled, slowly sliding inside of her again.

Ciero whined. She wrapped her hand around her cock, jerking herself off.

"Mhm-hhmmm-hmph-!" She whined, rocking her hips against him.

Patrick grasped the headboard tightly. It banged against the wall loudly as his hips pistoned in and out.

"Mhhh, fuck… Fuck, baby-!" Patrick grunted.

She tugged on his curls. Her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him close.

"Patrick-!" She squealed, lips parted beautifully for him. 

"Y'gonna pull my hair out, corazon," Patrick joked. 

Ciero only moaned in response, losing himself to his pleasure.

Patrick smirked, fucking him faster.

"¿Esta la verga es grande?" Patrick groaned, bucking his hips wildly.

Ciero could barely think; all he could do was feel.

Feel Patrick's cock pump in and out.

Feel his body trembling.

Feel his orgasm approaching.

Feel…

"Cum for me, mami-!" Patrick hissed.

Feel…

"A-ah-!" Ciero squealed.

She came loudly, squirting cum all over her abdomen. Her body trembled, thighs gripping tighter around Patrick's waist.

Patrick grunted, throwing his head back in pleasure.

"Oh, fuck-! Mhhh-m-hmph-! Baby…"

He groaned, biting his bottom lip.

"'Ro, fuck…"

His hips rocked faster and faster, making him chase his release.

"Who makes you feel this good, mami?"

"You, Patrick-!" Ciero whined.

Patrick nodded, kissing her neck.

"That's fucking right, baby-!" He growled. "Me-! I fuck you this good-! Me-! And not some fucking sweater-!"

He rasped, glaring over at the sweater for good measure.

Ciero whined, throwing her head back into the pillows.

"Good… so good f'me… squeezing me like a fuckin' vice-!" 

His voice cracked a little, squeaking as Ciero's walls clamped around him.

"Fuck…" he whined, feeling his own release creep closer.

His hips sped up.

Faster…

Faster…

Faster…

"Mhhh-m-hmph-!" He groaned. "Fuck, 'Ro… fuuuck-!"

Finally, his hips stilled.

And he came, shooting his load deep inside of Ciero's tight ass.

"Ah-ah-ah-aaahh-!" 

Patrick threw his head back, collapsing on top of Ciero with a gentle thud.

Ciero giggled, struggling under the weight of his boyfriend.

"Pat-!" He squealed, 

"Whaat?" Patrick chuckled, panting.

"Get off of me-! You're too heavy-!"

Patrick rolled onto his side.

"Happy?" He asked, facing Ciero.

Ciero nodded.

"Very."

"Bet you my sweater didn't make you cum like that," he joked, nuzzling into Ciero.

Ciero giggled.

"I still can't believe you got jealous over that."

"Hey, what do you expect, mami?" He teased, rocking his hips again.

Ciero whined.

"You're my boyfriend." His voice was possessive. "And only I get to make you cum like a slut."

Ciero laughed gently.

"You're a dork, Pat-!"

Patrick rolled his eyes, still balls-deep inside of Ciero.

"Yeah, but I'm your dork."

He began to pepper kisses up and down her neck.

"...or do I have to remind you of that?" He teased. "...again?"

Ciero rolled his eyes, wrapping her arms around Patrick's neck. Her lips met his in a gentle kiss.

Patrick started to thrust in and out of her again-!

He started setting a steady rhythm for them-!

When…

The door handle wiggled, and the pair looked up.

Ciero's roommate came home early.

"Hey, Ciero-oooh-! Holy fuck-!"

…shit.

#creepypasta #creepypasta au #eldritch hall after dark #creepypasta fanfic #spice tw #sex tw #un osha compliance #soft yellow hearts #Patrick #ciero #splenderman #splendorman #oc: patrick

[esamastation]

Vibes I want to write (with svsss AU examples)

1 Sci-fi character in a fantasy setting. Like, Detroit Become Human Android in Scum Villain or something. Shen Qingqiu is an Android owned by Shang Qinghua who used to be his editor. He became a deviant out of pure loathing of Sqh's writing. Then they transmigrate? Now there's an android in a fantasy world trying to blend in and survive. Can he cultivate? How does he recharge? I wanna find out.

2 Alternatively the previous one but reversed. Emperor Luo Binghe crosses universes to find his Kind Shizun and finds the perfect candidate. In a Star Wars universe, Crèche Master Shen Yuan doesn't know what he did to deserve this Dark Sider's attention, but he wishes Binghe would stop trying to fight droids/aliens/space ships for no good reason. The property damage is getting ridiculous. Actually no, that isn't too interesting, Luo Binghe is too op, hmm. Luo Binghe uses some sort of Banishment ritual and Shen Jiu finds himself in the Stargate universe. Ooh, Shen Jiu in Marvel. Tony Stark makes him new arms and legs and they fight about whether cultivation is magic or not. Shen Jiu loves/hates mobile phones. And then Shen Jiu makes his way back to PIDW and brings all his new sci-fi knowledge with him.

3 A kingdom built on misunderstandings. Shen Yuan transmigrates as himself and by applying Airplane Logic to the world, he accidentally makes himself out to look all knowing He's mistaken for so many things. Immortal master, legendary hermit, great seer. People start following him, thinking they're joining a great sect. His works and words get spread out and people think he's thousands of years old. Shen Yuan just wanted to find a nice place to read some local literature, but now he's the Great Scholar, a Sect Leader, the oldest immortal, probably divine in some way  and he can't say a thing without people taking it as gospel. Also somewhere along the way, he's become all those things and also there's a sect hall now? And he's not entirely sure how that happened.

4 Angry genre savvy. Shen Yuan has read PIDW back to back; he knows all of its bullshit plot devices. Most of them are mortifying or humiliating or just stupid, and way too many of them involve papapa, but they work. Absolutely furious about it, he applies those plot devices into situations as needed. And what to him is humiliation seems like incredible insight and mastery to others. Shen Yuan hates it but keeps doing it because, goddamnit, it works.

5 Immortality but make it uh, mentally Eldritch? Idk how to explain this one. Sometime ago I glanced at a webcomic where the main character was locked in some kind of liminal space for a million years where he trained himself to be op and came out literally none worse for wear and I was like, "Yeah he should've been mentally pulverised by that, he should've been absolutely disintegrated." So, if you have a magic system that has the ultimate goal of immorality, what does that do to your psyche after hundreds and thousands of years? There's gotta be some intentionally wrought changes with all that cultivation and meditation, because normal human brain capacity and just plain old sapience isn't built for that. What does the mind of a thousand year old cultivator look like? Pretty inhuman, maybe? Shen Qingqiu with a mind like carved jade, polished to perfection over generations, and utterly strange and terrifying to a normal human.

#Fanfic ideas #I guess #My brain is a hamster of a wheel starved for enrichment

[scribbles-dream]

Rennala fic! PART TWO HERE

The Queen of the Moon and Scribe of Stars

Prologue

Please. Let this work. The mage quietly grasped the large amber egg, glowing with eldritch power, from the clammy hands of Rennala, the Queen of Caria. Erin’s invisibility magic flickered ever so slightly, but the sleeping queen failed to notice.

The egg was large, and Erin felt their stomach lurch as they looked into its golden depths. How could such a brilliant mind be so broken by something yet unborn?

Erin knew the answer to that. Radagon, the Elden Lord, had been said to gift Rennala an egg of some entity yet unborn, and it had driven the Queen to madness after Radagon had grimly left her and her family, locked away in Raya Lucaria. A legend, but the proof of that is in my hands.

They had heard of Rennala’s powers of Rebirth, to change the appearance of a person down to a single hair. Wandering the Lands Between, Erin had finally fought their way through to the Academy of Raya Lucaria, only to find.. this.

An empty hall. A broken queen. The Rune of Rebirth, carved from the Amber Egg by an unknown Tarnished Erin knew nothing about.

Taking one last look at Rennala, Erin vanished in a burst of golden light, clutching the Egg. Their face knit together in a grimace which vanished within moments.

Meanwhile, the Queen of Caria’s eyes opened, and she became aware.

Chapter One

Erin quietly handed the strange object to the trader. Runes were handed over without a word, and the black-robed nomad leapt on his stout horse, riding away slowly. Erin watched them travel away until the small figure had been utterly swallowed by the darkness of the night

A blue-robed figure slinked from the dark night around them, and quickly grappled the mage, muffling their cries with a heavy, stone-like hand. Their voice was muffled by a heavy, feminine stone mask, dotted with emerald glintstone. “So. You are the Carian spy. You’re coming with us.”

Grim-faced Knights of the Cuckoo, their lively flesh set in dark frowns, emerged around the strange mage, binding Erin in heavy crystal manacles.

As long as that wretched egg stays far away from anyone. That’s what matters.

#

Erin awoke in darkness, feeling a strange sensation. They hung from a strange angle, their arms and legs manacled in a spread cross shape. Looking at the monotone stone brick floor, Erin realized they were hanging from the wall. A wooden door, with bent bars, held a slight orange light beyond it.

Clicking boots on stone caused Erin’s eyes to open wide, their muscles tensing. Erin’s taut, worn skin was made acutely aware as the metal bindings began to burn, their wrists singing with red, then blackened outlines as they jerked and screamed, causing an awful racket of metal clanking and squeaking.

The sorceress from before moved from her position outside the cell door, holding out a glintstone stave alight with emerald starlight.

Erin inhaled sharply. A Graven Mage!

Her voice was sharp, and silken, with a domineering undertone that caused Erin to shudder. “I see you have awakened the Queen by removing the Primeval Star-Egg. Excellent work, casting that invisibility spell. Did you plan to remove the ward around the Academy as well?”

Gritting their teeth, Erin defiantly spat at the floor. “You’ve been exiled from the Academy along with all the other Graven Mages. You’re murderers. Why are you working with them now? What changed?”

A tittering laugh, hollowly bouncing inside the woman’s stone helm, was all Erin got in response. “Oh, such a simple-minded, idealistic fool. We have a vested interest in ensuring Raya Lucaria stays firmly within our control. The original goal to wipe out Caria, then the Nox, is now infeasible due to the Elden Lord’s machinations.”

“Is that is, then? Power? Is that Egg another of your star-spawned abominations, yet to be born?” Erin attempted to hide their growing sense of fear as the sorceress drew a jagged glintstone knife from her robes.

“Caria imposed limits on our research. They said what we did was immoral. Unethical. A bunch of dithering royal fools who interfered with the Academy’s innovations, and our individual goal of ascension. They failed to understand that knowledge demands sacrifice. Blood.” The sorceress strutted around, suddenly removing her mask.

The stone helm fell to the floor with a heavy thud, and Erin looked into the face of one who had heard the messianic whispers of the stars, and lived to tell the tale. She was of slender build, with long, black hair and piercing blue eyes.

“My name is Sellen. Upon my lips are truths, if you need only open your darling ears to hear them.” The knife gently skipped across Erin’s chest. As blood spilled from the wound, it seemed to flow into the glintstone, clouding the blue with something… wrong.

As she leaned in closely, Erin could smell Sellen’s breath, lilacs and rowa fruit, a sweet, soothing scent. “That Egg, although mistakenly considered an unborn demi-god by Radagon, is in fact something far greater than that golden fool could have ever devised. And you, pretty darling, are going to help us crack its secrets.”

Two heavily armored knights entered at her beckoning, carrying the beheaded head of the merchant Erin had sold the egg to, and the cracked, amber egg itself.

Sellen stepped back, brushing a gentle kiss on Erin’s cheek before driving a winding cut along the muscle of their arm, causing a shriek of pain. “We have the opportunity to become gods in our own right, darling. All we require is some nutrients for this.. growing babe. You will get us the blood of the Carian Queen.”

Erin’s arm was violently removed as Sellen swung her blade faster than thought, chuckling with a glint in her eyes. She stepped back as they screamed and cried, blood spraying forcefully onto the ceiling as she waltzed away, replacing her expressionless mask.

Then, the stone ceiling imploded, and a shimmering beam of stars from above disintegrated the Graven Witch into foul ash in an instant.

Chapter Two

Her robes floated in the howling wind that blew through the newly created breach, black hair surging in the wind. Rennala, Queen of Caria, stepped downwards, her dark boots clicking on the melted stone.

The first hulking knight swung their blade,

which Rennala cleanly deflected with her spinning stave. From under her robes came another stave, which she then used to blow bloody chunks of Glintstone into the knight, denting their armor beyond recognition.

Swinging their sword with a roar, the next knight, red and blue cloth of the Cuckoo swirling as they charged, was met with a blade of Glintstone through their helmet, the Carian Piercer shattering brain and bone.

Finally, Rennala turned a sharp, glowering stare at the remaining mages. They nodded hurriedly, sprinting and shaking with their stone helms out of sight.

Rennala blasted away the dented metal bars of Erin’s cell with a whisper, then took the broken mage in her arms. They looked up into her eyes, suddenly and horribly aware. Erin’s voice was a ragged whisper.

“My Queen… the egg. I must kill the entity within.” They grasped their blood-soaked stave, attempting to point it at the golden glow emanating from the adjacent door, wherein the egg sat on a stone pedestal.

Rennala held Erin’s remaining arm gently as they raised their cracked stave, wincing as the magical overflow of energy singed their skin. A bolt of blue glintstone rained from the stave, shattering the egg.

She snapped her fingers quickly, concealing her disgust at the blood that had seeped from the destroyed egg in its final moments, and the two vanished in a cloud of sparkling blue light.

#

The small mage was gently placed on a rocking chair, opposite the small fireplace and a large stack of books beside it.

Rennala mused over the slowly healing stump. It was just a simple knife. How did she—No. Save the questions for later.

Erin—was that their name? Was very thin and slender, almost feminine to Rennala’s eyes. They had similar long dark hair to Rennala herself, and slumped in the chair, apparently sleeping.

Someone so frail saved me. What ritual were they trying to coerce this little one to do? And why?

Only the pattering rain and crackling fire gave a reply. Rennala could not remember the last time that fire had been lit. The warmth felt good.

The moon through the great windows reminded the Queen far too much of that eldritch egg. She closed the huge curtains before sitting down in a chair, placing a hand onto Erin.

Whatever was to happen, it was halted. But now.. what comes next? She watched through the window, taking some small solace that they were not alone.

Part Two

Erin was sleeping soundly as the sun’s frail light broke through the clouds. Rennala slowly awoke, finding that she had held them in her arms sometime during the night. Such silence! Such simple grace in a singular action! She noted older scars lining their face, nearly imperceptible—but still there. Drawing a finger across one, she noted the jagged edges of the cut. Such cruelty! And for what? To trek all this way to become Elden Lord? Rennala almost laughed at the absurd notion. Marika did not deserve any of the Tarnished! She did not deserve love, not after what she did to him!

Rennala paused for a moment, her monologue halting at the stony wall that was her long-dead husband. No. I will continue. She felt more alive in this one moment compared to centuries of silence. A book floated to her hands, and she opened it. Oh, what a joy! The ancient pages still responded to her touch, centuries of dust brushed away to reveal a beautiful leather cover, untouched and undamaged by war and strife. She had read that volume a dozen times over. Absent-mindedly, the Carian Queen gracefully floated off her rocking-chair, still cradling the prone form of Erin gently. She looked to the entrance to the Library, its doors now wide open and free of those pesky Raya Lucarian sorcerers. A stack of books and a small sleeping-roll stood as the only objects at the barren entrance. Her slender fingers graced the first cover.

It had that unmistakable scent of newly made paper, and the title was simple, free of the baroque gem and gold during the Age of Plenty. A Current History of the Lands Between, by Pastor Miriel. The pages called to Rennala with that siren song known as wonder, and she opened it. The frailness of the paper, bound neatly with wax, gave it away. Whoever this Pastor was, they had scavenged for materials to construct this tome. How bad is the outside? It wouldn’t take all that long to read, right?

#

Erin was dreaming. Why were they dreaming? There was nothing good to be dreamt of anymore. They saw a ghost. The ghost wore a slender gown, with a silken shirt underneath. Long, vibrant hair flowed freely with ribbons as the ghost danced and sang, over and over. Their face was so familiar, free of scars and doubt, perfectly androgynous and utterly confident. The brand of the Elden Ring was no longer burned into their back. This ghost was free. Why was their face so familiar?! Erin felt a pang of hurt, of want, of utter desire. They wanted to be just like the ghost, so free of worry—but they never could!

They woke up, and froze. Something was holding them. Erin smelled old paper and candle wax, and felt a hand gently brush their hair. A shaky exhalation of breath, fiercely fighting to escape their lips, came out as a heavy whisper, and their body sank down. They couldn’t feel the scars beneath their clothes—for the moment. Nothing was said. Nothing needed to be. Rennala whispered to Erin gently. “I cannot remake your flesh, my sweetling. All I can do is be here for you.”

Tears slowly fell like runaway stars in the sky, and Erin crumpled into the warm embrace. They felt as if they were a million miles underwater. Their sobs were muffled and seemed so far away as if to be from another person entirely. That shaking, gasping body—that wasn’t them, was it? It had to be someone else! But.. they knew who it was in that isolated part of one’s mind that bares the truth in tiny snippets of harsh truths, even if the rest of the mind violently denied that. Rennala simply drew them deeper into her robes, wiping their eyes with a silken hem and covering their head. She felt tears begin to grow at the edges of her eyes as well, but no-one would see. No-one could see.

#elden ring #elden ring fic #fanfic #rennala #rennala queen of the full moon #nonbinary #nonbinary oc #2/2 #part 2/2 #2/?

[cosmo-production]

owl house x hollow knight crossover fic idea

we at the hollow knight know myla loves to hum and sing while she works right?

Also, we are being semi-loose with canon

what if after the events of hollow knights (most endings can be used i usually use god seeker) and Hollownest fixed up their city and trade routes myla finds the boiling isles and becomes a bard at Hexside

But here is where the fun part comes into play, now the knight who is the shade lord because god seeker is one the few endings that don't imply he dies also the ending i prefer but it's okay if you like the others but back on topic, with the radiance gone and the sins of his father cleansed from his life. he has nothing to do with his life except look after the shades back in the abyss so he watches Myla on her journey, but a dark god with darker past isn't that good at being a guardian angel

comedy ensues

imagine myla meeting Luz, gus and Willow and then having the knight pick her up after school is over like "sorry guys, my eldritch horror friends"

or at least Myla talking to shade lord in the halls like this

"Yes, I know this place is a little dangerous but I can handle myself"

"Don't you have little specters or whatever they're called in the abyss to look after?"

"no, the three eye girl is not someone you need to teach a lesson"

"Maybe everyone would stop staring if you didn't transform in the middle of the hallway!"

"Oh, if they point a brick at you with bat wings, smash it."

#hollow knight #hollow knight little ghost #hollow knight shade lord #hk myla #hk little ghost #toh #the owl house #owl house #toh fanfic #hk fanfic #crossover fic #late night thinking #late night thoughts #fanfic ideas #fanfic in the works

[thescrapwitch]

Seven Sentence Sunday Monday

I was tagged by many people, thank you @echo-bleu @dreamingthroughthenoise @welcomingdisaster and @swanhild (very sorry for the late answer!)

This is from Flickers in the Dark, a bonus story in my eldritch!Maglor series, focusing on Gil-Galad in the Halls and a certain pair of eldritch twins:

“My Elwing lives,” she said. “She escaped and she shone. My fierce, beautiful daughter.”

“Yes," said Gil-Galad, "She lives, as does one of her sons.”

“I did not see much of them in the tapestries. I have been…” Nimloth looked down at the pile of tapestry scraps in her hands, “…distracted. You say that one lives, but what of the other? Is he here in the Halls?”

Gil-Galad shook his head. “Elros chose the path of Men. He has journeyed to wherever it is that their gift takes them after death.”

“Like my Dior.” She quickly rubbed her eyes, as though embarrassed by the sudden rush of tears. “I don’t know where my sons are. My Eluréd and Elurín. Do you?”

Tagging whoever else would like to join!

#ask game #thank you again for the ask #eldritch!maglor #gil-galad #nimloth

[lordderpathon]

The Tower of Remorse

By Lord Derpathon

Autumn is a funny season for monster hunters. It's often the last stretch of work before they either settle down during winter or turn bandit because of a lack of work. Most enormous creatures try to eat as much as they can before hibernating, others migrate, and many rarely venture from their territory. There are always exceptions, of course, what with Mu being a hotbed for predators, but it is always a hard time for any adventuring party. And it was incredibly difficult being my first contract against a monster.

After those eldritch spiders ransacked Dawnstead, I was running out of gold again. What I "borrowed" from the Holy See had run dry. The rates of local inns and transportation increased because of course they have. Not to mention needing more potions because of my lacerations I received from said spiders. So Nippy and I drifted our way to a remote castle town of Frodrick's Peak. The castle itself was worn, but the walls were still manned, the peasantry often conscripted into a militia, and because of this, the roads were decaying. It was much larger than the last town, and I heard a rumor there that there was an occult library, so my interest was peaked. Hopefully, it could offer some clue about my affliction.

The library itself was practically a fortress, but it bore banners of a certain mage cabal called The Guardians of the Arcane Truth. Pretentious, yes, but it was my best chance at finding out more about my curse. Unfortunately, the moment I arrived there I found that they only take in fellows of their order, or those with enough coin for entrance. The total price being five hundred gold halos. That would set a normal peasant for life, for many if they spent it wisely. Therein lies my conundrum. Should I break into the library or attempt to scrimp and save until I could pay my way in?

The former option was obviously out of the question. Mage cabals are notoriously paranoid about those who would steal their hoarded knowledge. It'd be likely that traps, wards, and summoned creatures would be there to guard their lore, not including the mages themselves. So I tried to look around for work the usual way alongside Nippy, whose spirits our predicament did not dampen in the slightest. We searched local inns, meeting halls, even barracks notice boards, but because of the oncoming winter, there was little gainful work to be found. Slumped outside of a stable and at my wits’ end, I figured that we head on and cut our losses. Until I met some unexpected company.

"Hola stranger, a little bird told me that ya might be interested in some knife work what needs doing," said a voice coming down the alleyway. "Inn jobs ain't up to snuff for someone of your talents. I can tell by that armor you wear you've seen things, ain't ya?"

"Show yourself. I have no interest in talking to voices whose speakers I cannot see," I replied.

"My apologies, good sir. Come this way into the alley and you'll meet me soon enough." I had little choice, so Nippy and I set off to the alleyway. Leaning beside a thick brick wall was a man in brown peasant garb with a dark hood. I could see two green piercing eyes behind it alongside the glint of a silver tooth.

"Much better now, don't you think?" he said. "I'm Arnolt, by the way. And I know plenty about you, my Lord." He snickered after saying it.

"Yes, yes, get it out of your system. Lord Derpathon is a silly name, but it is still my name. Now, what is this job you speak of?"

"Right to the point. I like that. I represent the local baron of the keep. One Dietrich Holdest. From an old respectable line, if you believe it or not. And he's been anxious to free a guard tower in his lands for some time. Seized by the dread beast of Frodrick's Peak, it is."

"And what exactly is this beast?"

"That's the funny thing. Nobody's seen it and lived. There have been some survivors, of course, but many accounts aren't precise enough. A shaggy beast that walks on two legs in the dark moon-tide, or any darkness really. Likes to attack at night. Can't say I don't blame it. Clever thing that beast."

"Alright then. How much for its head?"

"Well, I don't know about you, but last time I heard the price was near one thousand gold halos."

My eyes widened at that. A lucrative task for a single creature. This tower must be very important to the baron, I thought.

"Oh, and you have to bring its head as proof. Stipulation from his lordship."

"I figured as much. And how can I be sure the good lord will hold to his end of the bargain?"

"Right here." He pulled out a sealed envelope. "An engraved invitation with his seal, noble crest and all."

I took the letter. It had a red vellum seal with a crowned tower crest.

"I'll be damned, it is real. My thanks... Arnold."

"Arnolt. With a t in it. And best of luck slaying that fell beast, my lord." He took a mock bow before sauntering off into the darkness. I tried to follow him, but by the time I turned the corner, he was already gone. I opened the envelope and unfurled the letter before me. It read as follows:

The bounty for the wretched beast that occupies the post of Dyrton Crossroads Tower is hereby increased to 1,000 golden halos. The beast's crimes are many against his Lordship but chief among them are the following: raiding local caravans, devouring livestock, desecration of roadside shrines of the Holy See of the Luminous Halo, and most of all the kidnapping of Lady Brittany Ul-Holdest. His Lordship has taken up regentship of the region after his niece's disappearance, whom was rightly named ruler of the lands of Frodrick's Peak by her late father Augustine.

It was official. I just needed the proof of the deed. So after scribbling down a crude map of the roadways upon the back of the letter with a charcoal "pen" I found by the roadside, I walked towards the baron's keep. Hopefully, I could learn more from him with the invitation.

The keep itself was imposing, a stone bulwark at the heart of the castle itself. Two armored soldiers protected the gate with pikes, who immediately crossed their weapons to bar my way.

"Alright piss-ant, who in god's grace are you and what do you want? His lord gave us explicit orders to slay any uninvited solicitors, wise fellows, or other rouges who are likely gonna try his patience." One shouted.

"I have an invitation to speak with your lord about a monster he's been having difficulty with." I waved the seal right in front of them.

"Oh really? If anybody could just walk up to the manse without a care in the world, I'd bu- oh shit, that's the house crest. Fine. Open the gate!"

The massive door creaked open as the guards led me through. The interior well kept and clean. Various portraits lined the halls, often of haughty nobles, all looking down at me as I entered their domain, and the flicker of torchlight illuminated the well carved furniture. Two guards and what I assumed was a head servant led me through until I reached the audience chamber of Baron Holdest. He sat upon a throne on a raised platform, a stone seat with elaborate gems carved into it. A gaunt man, but he seemed oddly sure about himself. Standing beside him was a tall warrior from an unknown land, a curved sword at his hip, splintmail armor with a pointed helm, and a large frame with a thick trimmed mustache.

"Why are you here, stranger? We are not expecting visitors at this time, so make it quick." Holdest said.

"My lo- I mean, I'm here for the bounty. The one you set on the monster at the tower."

"Oh. I had almost given up hope on that venture." Suddenly his posture changed in his seat as if I had caught his interest. "Another hunter come to slay the dread beast occupying our tower. Well, I won't stop you. Off you go. Kill it and be done."

I hesitated at first, almost dumbstruck at this rude man's apparent dismissiveness. The bodyguard walked down and clenched his sword.

"You leave now, little runt." He said.

"I am Lord Derpathon!" I stomped my foot down. "I need more information on what I'm dealing with so I can do this job right! I have emptied a town of horrid brain spider parasites but a few weeks ago! So tell me what I need to know and I'll be on my way."

At first, there was silence. The Družina, that was the guard's title I learned later, gave a silent glare until his master suddenly burst out laughing.

"Wait, you can't be serious. That's your name?! Boris, what kind of wandering warrior calls himself such a stupid title!?"

"A stupid man, clearly. Slow minded too." Boris sneered. Looking at these two at the moment, they incensed me. I tried to take a few deep breaths to keep my cool, but these two shit-lords really knew how to piss me off, it seemed. Until the strangest thing happened.

"Wait, Boris, wasn't there a Lord Derpathon nearly ten years ago? I think he was that failed rebel who died in the battle of Rikkert's Bridge. I heard they routed his entire army, and he drowned in the river. What a character. Tries to slay his majesty, our king, and dies in a puddle."

For a brief second I saw a flash, a blur of screaming soldiers and blood slick cobblestone on a wide bridge. I felt fire in my veins and fear as a sword swung for my head. Then I returned to the present, back to Dietrich Holdest and his court.

“Oh dear, we've lost our guest. Boris escort this miscreant out until he finishes the job. As the most eligible bachelor in the region, I have other work to do than humor the help.” Holdest walked off to his other attendants as his thug Boris nudged me towards the exit.

“So you wouldn't know what the beast is, would you?” I asked him.

“It kills at night with fang and claw. I'll wager a month’s pay on your dead body,” he jeered at one of his fellows. He merely shook his head.

“I'll take that wager,” I retorted. “Five hundred gold halos if I win. If I die, you get my armor and sword.”

“What good is an empty hilt-” before he could finish, I ignited the Blade Aetherium. Boris stepped back and gazed in awe.

“Alright, I accept the wager. I'll just take that shiny sword off your stiff corpse, then.” He said.

“Fine by me.” I thought I rigged the bet in my favor. Having bested a mangled body horror and a town of shambling parasites, I felt in high spirits. It's all too easy to get swept up by your own pride. It feels good, but it can blind you to the reality in front of you.

I set out alongside Nippy after leaving the castle towards Dyrton tower. We were low on supplies and the sun itself was setting, but I was assured of my victory. Let it believe us to be vulnerable and we show our true strength. In hindsight, I’d no idea what we'd be up against, and it nearly got us both killed.

The roads were worn, much of the forest land overgrown to the point even small shrubs appeared out of potholes. Nature was clearly taking back the road. Maybe the monster had a hand in it. Our journey was uneventful until we found the remains of an attack.

A wagon split in half was surrounded by metal scraps and broken crates. There were claw-marks on the ground, rending even the cobblestones. I took up a metal scrap from the ground. It had rusted from exposure to rain, most likely, and saw canine like teeth punctures through it. I asked Nippy to sit near me. He did so willingly, and I inspected his teeth just to make sure. They were similar, but the one on the plate was much larger. Then I inspected as saw that this was a shoulder plate. Someone forged the steel expertly and even had a worn house crest. This thing was a knight killer, not uncommon in Mu, mind you, yet that it could bite so cleanly through plate armor was worrying. We also looked at the crates around the wagon. They'd been broken more haphazardly, so it was likely the work of looters and scavengers. I don't blame them. It can be tough out on the road and sometimes a dead man's coin and wares come in handy.

We continued onward for a few days. Nothing really interesting happened. A few suspicious travelers met us, burning foul incense to ward off monsters. This method can be effective against certain beasts but can often lead bandits right to you. These were mostly peasants, poachers, and other commoners who went to and from the city. Few of them talked about the beast, and when they did it was either a prayer to the gods or hastily ignoring it and moving further down the road. On the fourth day, after seeing a few road wardens ride past wearing Holdest's colors, dark green and blue half pattern on their tunics, we saw a glimpse of the tower.

It was enormous, more of a monolith than a keep, to be honest. There were no battlements but many large trees coiling around its base like serpents. The woods here were thick, it segmented thorn bushes and thickets to the trees almost like a natural barrier. This would make for a great druid circle, though many prefer stone circles and natural caves to large obelisks. As we drew closer, there were a series of way-stones along the road, boulder sized and full of strange carvings. They had a pictographic language, showing what appeared to be the sun and moon, people farming, woodland animals, but some had more sinister pictures. Giants assaulting a primitive folk and devouring them, stomping their villages into the ground. The land swallowing up the giants as what I thought were druids or magi fought back against them. This was the history of a long gone folk. I wonder if any of their words or works would be remembered save for that obelisk.

When nightfall came, we camped far enough from the site, a small near hollowed out stump on the tower's side of the road, a dim fire lighting our surroundings. Nippy had been successful foraging, having caught a few fish from a nearby stream. Using a cooking pot we scavenged from Dawnstead, I boiled one, Nippy ate the other with glee. I found some edible mushrooms as well and made a stew out of both. But as the night went on, Nippy was on edge. His back hair stood up and he snarled frequently. We were not alone. In fact, something had followed us. I stood up and readied my sword.

The trees rustled, Nippy began snarling again, and I saw something move in the woods. A large shape, taller than a man but built like one, rustled through the brush with ease. I stood ready, ignited my sword, and tried to observe my surroundings. I couldn't see a damn thing, save for the campsite. As I tried to look for it, the beast drew first blood, its claws raked my back as it pierced my armor. I screamed in agony as I fell to the ground. My armor had saved my life, but it still cut deep. I grit my teeth and stood. Nippy ran out into the forest, biting a hulking shadow in the trees, only for him to be flung off into the stump. That's when I saw the beast for the first time.

Werewolves in Mu are incredibly dangerous. You might know them from your fictions. Lupine man hybrid beasts cursed to hunt in the moonlight. Silver can hurt them, and they can only turn during a full moon. There are plenty of variations across the many realities. However, werewolves of Mu are different. They earn such forms by what I can only describe as a sympathetic spirit, often to a dying traveler or somebody who has been subject to immense abuse, to name a few reasons. However, many barely handle their newfound power and often go feral, mad with their empowered blood and strength, hunting all who dare trespass on their domain. There are sentient werekin out in Mu. They lurk amongst the wild places of the world. But the werewolf is one of their most dangerous kind. A killing machine honed by natural magics and primal fury, their gift passing on only through specific ceremony or spiritual benefactors. They are some of the few creatures that can stand against the more... eldritch beings and win. And one such warrior of the wilds stood before me.

She had a jet black coat of fur, yellow eyes, massive claws, and stood nearly eight feet tall. The wound that Nippy gave her from his bite was knitting up before my very eyes. She bared her fangs at me and growled. I fell down to the ground out of sheer fear. She then turned towards Nippy, barely able to stand, and stomped towards him.

“No! You will not have him!” I screamed. I lunged at the werewolf, only for her to catch my blade with her clawed hand. It cut into her flesh, but she still held on to it despite the pain. The beast then bit into my shoulder. Its fangs scraped against my armor until somehow enough force had pierced the plate and cut into my shoulder. I screamed out. I felt it crush my very bones until I slammed a fist into her eye. The wolf snarled briefly, and I slipped out of its grasp. I raised my sword and swung at her, fighting hard against the pain in my shoulder. However, she parried the strikes of my blade with her claws.

After a failed exchange of blows, she kicked at me and sent me hurtling through the forest, face down into a mud puddle. I spat out mud from my mouth, tried to scramble to my feet, but the slick surface of the mud made it difficult, my sword slipping out of my grasp. I straightened myself up after using a nearby rock as balance, but by that time, the wolf was already upon me again. She punched me in the back and I felt more bones break. I tried to scream in pain, but all that came out was a hiss as the air escaped my lungs. I was terrified I would die there, killed in a ditch unremembered and with my poor dog as this werewolf's next victim. Then, suddenly, I heard Nippy bark at the wolf.

He stood near my sword, now only a hilt since the blade didn't ignite, grasped it in his mouth, and drew the blade. It had a cold yellowish blue color to it, unlike my orange one, and the shape had changed too from an executioner's blade to that of a Messer, a single-edged bastard sword. He charged at the wolf and slashed at her leg, unable to sever the limb but carving a deep wound. I stood to my feet and saw Nippy hold his own against this werewolf, dodging her strikes and lashing out at her in quick hit-and-run attacks. However, her wounds would simply heal, and Nippy was rapidly losing ground.

Then the wolf used the terrain to her advantage. After Nippy slightly slipped in the mud, she cut into his belly with her claws. Blood spurted from his hide and he yelped in pain. I tried to scream as I limped towards the two as she held him by the neck. I grabbed a nearby jagged rock from a mud bank and tried to jab it into her back. It merely bounced off her hide as she continued to choke the life out of Nippy. I was so desperate to free Nippy I tried punching, grabbing, doing anything to make her stop. As if out of desperation I kicked her in the privates, some weird bar fight instinct going off as I tried to break her hold. That was the key, but unfortunately for me, she threw Nippy deep into the forest and I saw him tumble into a thorn bush. The werewolf looked at me and screamed, not a bestial howl, but a pained, strained scream of anguish and fury. I met her gaze and saw now that it was personal; she didn't just want me dead. I would suffer for such an action.

Her stance changed to something more human, akin to a boxer's stance, and then all hell broke loose. With claw and fist, the wolf pummeled me near the bank of a large creek. Every hit felt like a sledgehammer or a mace denting my armor. I was all but defenseless, too winded to continue, and too injured to really fight back. She then kicked me back in the privates, and I am thankful that I always wear protection down there, but it hurt like hell. As I fell to one knee in agony, she swung again for my face, yet oddly enough, I caught it. My arm buckled under the pressure and I twisted a muscle, but out of desperation I swung my right hand at her face, one of my fingers jabbed her in the eye. The werewolf screamed out, clawing at me, cutting me across my chest and forcing me into the creek.

I got caught in the current, my armor dragging me down into the deep. The force of it carried me far off, water filling my lungs as I desperately struggled to regain my footing. I gained a breath of fresh air after hitting a rapid, but more came. It was a miracle it did not kill me. I don't know how far the current took me down the creek, only that it was far enough from the wolf. I was concerned for Nippy, poor thing suffered as much as I did, but I had to focus on surviving. Gripping an exposed willow root while floating down, I hid underneath a small muddy grotto. Then I saw raindrops pour down and felt a sense of relief. Even though I fell into the water, it'd be difficult for the beast to track us, meaning we could survive this. For nearly two hours I hid, wet and cold, under the willow. I was afraid I'd die without saving my dear dog, but somehow I survived. By causality, or simple luck, it didn't matter. I was alive. I would find Nippy and finish this. This was no longer a mere hunt, it was a battle.

Once I felt secure, I drew my secret weapon. One last, small health potion. It wouldn't be enough to heal me fully, and it would be extremely dangerous to use with this many broken bones. But I had no choice, otherwise I'd be dead. I drank it straight, and my organs felt as if they were on fire. Bone knitted together, I felt my blood boil around my shoulder and chest. I shook violently, fearing I would die. But as quickly as it began, it ended. The pain didn't subside completely, but I felt I could move again. I waded up the river as far as I could, clenching my teeth and trying not to make a sound.

I only made it up to a pool near the rocks which had dashed me earlier. Lightning in the sky flashed before a loud thunderclap bellowed, nearly knocking me back into the current. I climbed out on a nearby rock, slowly, my joints aching the whole time. I continued to follow the creek despite the vines and brush in my way, finding the old clearing. The wolf had moved on; it seemed. There was no sign of Nippy or my sword. The rain pounded harder. I tried desperately to look for any sign that Nippy might be alive. I glimpsed some bushes on the other side of the creek bank, their branches bent. He may have broken his fall, or something else moved through there. It was hard to tell in the storm. I shivered as the cold water poured down on me, my boots filling with water. I needed to find some shelter and fast, lest I catch a deadly cold from the elements.

I wondered aimlessly for a while. It seemed like a good hour or two before I found an old stone cottage. The roof was intact, but vines and thornbushes had claimed the building for nature. It would have to do. I crawled through an open window, despite a few thorns digging into my arm. I made it through. The interior was barren, save for some rotting logs, moss, and mold. A large hollow log lay inside as well. The only signs that it was a house were the foundation. Stripped out of my armor, shivering, realizing my clothes too were soaked, I removed them. I felt exposed, like an open wound. I'm not used to being naked so often. It reminds me of how fragile we are.

I curled up in a ball away from the mold and fungus, a nice dry spot. I warmed my chest with my arms. Friction helped soothe me. Rest wasn't easy that night. Between the thunder, I swear I could hear howling. The wolf was relentless, but it was a big forest with a thunderstorm. I guess I got lucky. If there were no storm, I'd likely be dead. Morning came, I thanked the Shepard god I did not dream. When I stood up, my armor stood in front of me. I hadn't heard it during the night and the pieces were scattered. It shocked me initially, but I wasn't afraid. Part of me knew this had happened before. My clothes were near as well. They had dried oddly enough. I didn't care at first. I focused on the moment at hand and dressed myself in my garb. In hindsight, this is concerning, some other force is at play and I'm unwittingly part of it.

I exited the house via the window again. I looked at my surroundings. If I lacked weapons, I would have to improvise. The house I had left had thorn like vines, the stones of the house shaped beforehand, and there was plenty of wood and plant matter nearby. I sharpened a crude stone's head into a serviceable knife, then got to work. Cutting down vines first, looking to see which ones were the strongest. I then used it to cut a healthy-looking branch off a tree. Wrapping thorny vines around it, a makeshift weapon that would have to do for now. I then remembered the old ambush site I found down the road earlier. The cart was damaged, but there could be nails there or other scrap metal. It took the better part of a day to reach it, retracing my steps from where our fight was to our old camp and back to the road, but I managed. It was still there, and better yet, some of the metal remained despite the storm. I disassembled it as best I could, taking only a meager amount of nails. The wagon's spokes were metal, so I tried as best I could to add them to my makeshift weapon. But the nails were the valuable treasure. Using some vine parts, I made six caltrops, sharpening the edges efficiently. By then it was sundown, but I had all the weapons I could scrounge so I headed towards the monolith. I was sure that was the beast's lair.

Making good time by simply going forward, I reached the monolith before the sun had truly set. I still had light enough to fight with for at least a few more minutes. The monolith stood by the roadside, oddly enough, more way-stones surrounding it. The closer I looked at it, I noticed two things: an aetheric energy coiling around it and a hollowed out stairwell leading inside. I felt a strange shiver, almost akin to goosebumps when I saw it. I then heard the wolf's snarl. Looking frantically, I couldn't find her in the brush until I looked up at the tower. Climbing down its narrow build almost like a spider with its apparent speed and force of her claws, the wolf descended the tower and growled as it saw me. I threw the caltrops outward and gave a swift salute with my makeshift club towards the wolf and stood at the ready.

My gesture puzzled her. If some part of her knew the salute or thought I was mad, I do not know, but swiftly regained her posture as she charged towards me. She evaded the caltrops with ease; I figured they could deny her valuable space for footing. Her lupine feet, while capable of quickly covering ground, might have some issues with moving to the sides, I hoped. I dodged her first claw strike easily, then struck her side with the jagged edges of my weapon. It barely left any marks, let alone a scratch. Thorns and nails were ineffective against its hide. I would have to strike at more vulnerable areas like the joints and throat in order to have any sort of effect.

The werewolf howled at me with such a force I nearly fell into the mud. Before I could compose myself, she had struck me with another claw, punching right through my armor. I hissed as my ribs broke. Blood spurted so quickly as I fell to the ground. I flipped myself over and quickly stood as she tried to bite my throat, quickly thrusting my weapon into her open maw. She bit down and barked in pain. I scratched the inside, but the weapon itself shattered. Spitting out metal scraps and thorns as we both struggled to our feet, the wolf was once again on the offensive. I dodged claws, teeth, and even a powerful kick as I retreated from the clearing. I sprinted back after a failed lunge, right in the middle of my caltrops. She howled again. My ears felt like they were going to burst as I raised my hands in front of my head as an instinctual attempt to block it. I held my footing. I felt stiff at first, but then, as I lowered my hands from my head, I saw a faint glow from my gauntlets. My whole armor had it, in fact, like steam from a boiling pot, coating my armor. In layman’s terms, it could harness residual magical energy and empower me with it, but I am not invulnerable to spells.

I took a new stance before the wolf, fists raised like a pit fighter. Muscle memory kicking in and regaining long lost techniques. I then went on the offensive. Even though I knew that one true hit would be the end of me, I felt confident. I gave two quick jabs to her side before dodging back away from a retaliatory strike. Her hair stood on end and pounced on me. Pinned at first, I struck her nose and throat before jumping back. My breathing became erratic. My wounds were catching up despite my newfound advantage. I kicked out at her leg, right at a joint near a foot, and struck her aside in the head with a followed punch. I had to be careful, though. One wrong step and I'd be feeling a caltrop pierce my boot or trip me into the mud. Both were a death sentence in this fight.

I couldn't keep fighting like this forever. However, my wound ached and my vision flickered. The wolf's shoulder checked me as I collapsed into the mud. She then tried to stomp on my head. I rolled and stabbed her foot with a caltrop. She howled in agony. Seizing the advantage, I kicked in her knee. I heard a snap as her left leg broke, and she collapsed into the mud. I yanked another caltrop from the mud and stuck it into her neck, finding a vein and slitting it. Blood spurted from the beast as she raged. Clutching her behind her neck, I continued to stab as massive arms elbowed me. I almost let go as the caltrop fell from my grip, but I still held on. I put the wolf into a headlock and desperately clung there. After a struggle, her arms wavered, she gave out an almost silent hiss, and fell limp.

I crawled my way out from under her, pulled off my helmet, and vomited. It was bloody and filled with bile, and I scampered to my feet. The werewolf was dead. Yet I felt no sense of triumph at having won. No, I felt shame overcome me while I stood there in front of the obelisk. Here was an animal, aggressive and territorial to an extreme, dead in her own home by my hands. It wasn't like I was minding my own business. I wasn't some hapless traveler. I came to hunt her, and I killed her. Shame best describes of how I felt that day, one of many sins remembered or otherwise, but this one sticks to me like no other. Collapsing to my knees, I wept. Nippy was likely dead. I was alone, and I made this tragedy happen. The worst was yet to come.

The wolf's body began to shift and change. Mangy fur faded and turned to dust, and in place of the werewolf was the body of a woman. I couldn't tell her age, either from the mud or not bearing to look at what I'd done. Her brown eyes were glazed over, looking at the sky. Tears strung down my face as I gibbered. I've done something terrible, and nothing I could do could amend the damage. Even as I donned my veil and helmet, I cried. I just stood there and wept till my eyes dried up and I looked at my bloody mud covered gauntlets.

The sun set as I remained distraught. I didn't even bother moving. I just stood there in a haze, failing to hear galloping and the twang of a crossbow bolt. It hit me straight in the back and I fell over into the bloodied mud. I could still hear the horses and a familiar voice.

“I didn't think this could have worked out so perfectly. All obstacles in my way gone in a single swoop. And to think I have that nitwit dead in the mud to thank for it all. Boris, collect my niece, would you? I think she might have soiled herself and that won't fit our cover story now, won't it?” The damned arrogance of Dietrich Holdest echoed across the area. My guilt gave way to anger, but I remained stiff still. The bolt punctured my plate, but not enough to pierce my skin.

“Benny, stick your spear into that dead errand boy, just in case,” Boris said.

“Ya don't think he's already dead? I mean, he was just standing there all blo-”

“Do it or you don't get paid.”

I heard footsteps approach me, and I saw the ground illuminate as torch fire lit up the mud. The bolt was within reach of my arm. All I needed to do was grab it. I felt my blood boil, knowing that this scum would live not only to hurt more for his ambitions but that I was a part of his sick scheme to begin with. None of them would leave this clearing alive.

I sprung up and yanked the bolt from my armor, standing before a stunned guard. I stuck the bolt into his eye as he screamed, thrusting it into his brains before grabbing his spear.

“You idiots! How is he still alive? Shoot him now!” Holdest said. I got a better look at his group. Aside from Boris and the lord, there were four horses among them all, a crossbowman on his mount, a road warden with a spear, and at least five other armed guards. I lifted the dying guard before me as his comrade fired again, a bolt punching through his lung. Throwing the body aside, I hurled the spear towards Holdest himself. I missed the body but grazed his leg. He screamed out as he fell from the saddle into the mud, his horse racing away.

The footmen charged at me with weapons raised. Boris dismounted to tend to his lord as the crossbowman rode off and reloaded his weapon. The spear wielding horseman charged towards me ahead of the others, unaware of the caltrops buried in the mud. His poor horse stepped on one, buckled backwards and throwing off its rider before galloping off. I tried to spring upon him before his mates would reach me, but with my wounds, I merely stumbled. They helped him up, and they surrounded me. I dodge a few spear blows until a guard with a sledgehammer smacked me square in the chest, knocking the wind out of me.

“Hold him lads, don't want no funny business now.” A guttural voice came from that sallet helmed thug. I tried to struggle as two others grabbed me. I threw mud in one’s face and he recoiled, trying to get the mud out of his face and beard. Tackling the other, I punched him in the neck, but before I could finish him, the hammer slammed into my ribcage. I coughed up blood as he knocked me over onto my back. The armsman with the hammer planted his boot on my neck and pressed my head into the mud.

“You're not gonna gut another one of my mates tonight, you fucking bastard!” He shouted. Then he screamed as a bright blue blade punctured through his chest. It retracted as he collapsed to the side. Over him stood Nippy, battered and scarred but still clenching the Blade Atherium in his teeth. As the other guards charged him, he leapt forward, slashing at them with the sword and slicing off one's arm. I was relieved that Nippy survived, but we had to end this before it drew out any longer. I took a sword from one of the fallen guards and, while the others were recovering, hurled it at the crossbowman as he rode for a second pass. He fired a bolt first, which struck me in the leg, but the sword impaled him and he yelled out in pain as his horse carried him off into the forest.

Nippy could see to the others as they fought. I trudged through the mud to reach Holdest.

“Oi, bastard!” I heard as a hammer once again swung towards me. I dodged the hammer head quickly and faced the grizzled guard with the sallet again. He somehow stood, wounded, and held his weapon at the ready. The hammer swung at me again, but I was ready for it. I grabbed the hilt, twisted it, and seized his weapon before smashing his right arm with it. He howled before grabbing the hilt and head-butting me, breaking my nose, and knocking me into the mud. Yet as he tried to draw a dagger, he suddenly collapsed and fell silent. Some internal injury, I guess. As I finally stood up, the smug grin of Boris greeted me.

“Looks like you can fight after all. I've been needing a worthy win since I got to this dump.” He held his sword aloft before drawing it from the scabbard, throwing aside the sheathe and raising the blade. It held a slight curve at the end. I could see faint glowing runes against the blade. I let the hammer rest on my shoulder, catching my breath while I could.

“I just slew a beast that could cut through your armor like it was nothing. What makes you think this will be a win?” I retorted.

“Simple. You're good at killing monsters. I'm good at killing people.” He lunged at me in an instant and I barely parried the blade with the hammer. I felt a jolt run through my body as he drew another blade from his back, slashing into the mud and covering my helmet. As I tried to wipe away the grime he was on me in an instant as I saw the glint of a second sword flash from behind him as he cut into my leg. Then my arm forcing the hammer from my grip. He was fast, efficient. Clearly an expert swordsman. His strikes were rapid and precise, always aiming for my joints and getting in many hits, and if I tried to parry him, his magic sword would give me quite the shock. If I didn't end this, soon he would have his win.

I lifted the veil from my face and looked straight at him for a brief instant. He met my gaze, and it bombarded us both with horrific visions. My mind felt like it was boiling as I beheld a ravenous world of mouths and tendrils and the laughter of things that should not be. It is a tactic I am loath to do since I fear one such vision might shatter my sanity entirely. While gritting my teeth and donning my veil, I bought myself some time.

“You cursed, little rat! Killing you would be a favor to this world! Fighting dirty won't save you now!”

“Said the kettle to the pot,” I retorted. I looked to Nippy and saw that he only had one guard left on his front, the others slain.

“You slow minded little bitch! I'll kill you!” Boris again pressed his attack as I ran to Nippy. I held out my hand, and he threw me my sword. Grasping it, the blade changed from the Messer to an executioner's greatsword again, brimming with orange and yellow energy. I parried his strikes with ease, his weapon no longer jolting me. Armed again, I pressed the attack, despite my aching body I had the reach to take to the offensive. Each blow hammering against his swords until I shattered the regular blade he held at the hilt.

“How the hell is this possible!? Fall over! Die! You shouldn't be standing like this at all! What the hell are you!?” He screamed out in a last desperate assault, his sword casting arcs of electric energy all over the field illuminating us both. As he moved in for the kill, I smashed the hilt of my sword against his head, staggering him. He parried my next blow as I went for the head, but I was really aiming for his sword. His sword might have been magical, but it was nothing compared to my skill at arms. I sundered the blade as energy exploded before us. Shards of metal ricocheted off my armor, but Boris wasn't so lucky and one dug into his hand. He reached on the ground to grab a spear, but I leapt forward and cut off both his hands. He hissed out in pain before I struck at his neck. I didn't decapitate him, he dodged it, but my sword still hit his neck, searing the windpipe shut. I left him to suffocate, walking away as he clawed at his own neck in vain.

I limped over to Lord Holdest. The fight long since was over. The fires from his party's torches had died out, and so did his retainers. Straining with a wounded leg, he had a boot caught in the mud and had tried to limp away.

“How is this possible? How can one man-”

“Shut up, you pathetic little worm. Why did you put up the bounty? Why send so many hunters to their deaths and worse still, put a hit out on your niece!” I almost snarled, talking to him like that. I could see aetheric energy coil to the sides of my helm, the glow illuminating a horrified look on Holdest's face.

“How did you know?”

“The moment your minion shot me in the back. I didn't pay attention at first, I thought this was some simple job. I... was wrong. So horribly wrong. How long did you try to have your niece killed?”

“That doesn't matter anymore. You killed her, after all. But it doesn't have to end this way.” He slowly stood to his feet. “Why not work for me? This whole thing can all be forgiven. I'm now the sole owner of this entire region. You want gold? I can give it to you. You want spells? Magics? I can call in favors. I'm far more valuable alive than dead. I'm sure we can work something out like civilized men.”

“Civilized men don't have their nieces murdered.”

“She was a beast!” He fell to his knees. “Under her rule, my territory would collapse. A beast cannot rule a castle. But a lord... a lord can. I should have been an heir by right, but my idiot brother wouldn't have that! He'd put my holdings at risk to the whims of a young maiden who didn't even know how to raise an army! Poisoning my brother was a mercy. But his whelp of a daughter had to leave the castle grounds and run off into the forest. I figured she'd had either died of exposure or something, but I never thought she, of all people, would become a beast!”

I was stunned by this revelation. A man who has so much would murder his own kin for the sake of titles, gold and land. I knew what the nobility often did, anybody who lives in Mu does, but hearing it firsthand was chilling. A man who willingly abandoned empathy for power and would do anything for it. I raised my sword and walked towards him.

“Th-think about what you're doing! I'm unarmed!” He said. I kicked a dagger towards him.

“Pick it up!”

“What about my family? How could you kill a father in cold blood?”

“I doubt the most eligible bachelor in the land even has a family to go back to. You already played with your hand. Now you must pay for what you've done.” I walked towards him.

“I can cure your curse! I know powerful people! Don't throw this chance away! Spare me an-” It was over in an instant. I stabbed him in the chest and he collapsed into a heap. I walked back towards Nippy. He had long since finished his fight and I simply collapsed.

For what seemed like hours, I was out cold. I didn't care about the cold or the mud. I felt numb and my wounds ached. Later that night, I scavenged around for supplies. I got lucky. Boris had a healing potion on his person. After the painful experience of my ribs and nose knitting back together, I called it a night and slept outside the obelisk. In the morning, I found what wooden debris I could and made a pyre for Brittany. She deserved a proper funeral, for what it was worth. Nippy whimpered as she caught flame. I felt the same way. We were guilty of it, after all. I uttered a prayer to the Shepard god before heading inside the obelisk for the day. I needed some sleep, after all. What seemed like hours passed, with nothing happening until I heard a familiar voice hum a tune I swore I knew, but could not remember it for the life of me.

“Good morning, your lordship. Sleep well?” it said. A pit formed in my stomach as I realized who said it.

“Arnolt.” the moment I said his name he appeared before me, I could see his green eyes glimmer like jewels in the light. I tried to stand, but could not move. I heard Nippy growl and felt him jump away from me in an instant.

“And to you what a magnificent job you have done today.” Arnolt gave a grin, revealing his teeth. Something was odd about the silver teeth. They looked so real that I don't think even a skilled silver smith or mage could create such things. And his eyes, too, seemed to have a metallic glint.

“Before you say anything, I just want to say this has gone much better than I thought it would. A whole noble line dead and gone, the leyline freed. Oh, and I saw that trick with your armor, too. You truly are one impressive warrior. And a hard day’s work is good enough for well-earned pay, I say.” I felt the coin purse fall upon me, filled near to the brim.

“You can keep it. I don't want your blood money.”

“Blood money? That's a bit rich coming from a mercenary like you, isn't it? You did this entire job on the presumption of killing a living creature. That too counts as blood money, doesn't it?”

“You...” he was right. I did venture into the forest with the intent of killing. I'm as much to blame for what happened here as any other.

“See. You get what you deserve after all and you deserve your coin. It was hard won. I assume you'll blow it on getting into a library for your curse? Anybody else would spend it on essentials, maybe a day out on the town. The choice is yours, after all.”

“Leave us!” I ignited my sword and pointed it at him. “I never want to see you again!”

“Is that a threat?” Arnolt seemed to chuckle. “I'll tell you this once. It isn't wise to threaten me. It never has been for anyone my benefactors take interest in.”

“You couldn't defeat me even on your best day. Even if you harnessed some incredible power for yourself, you'd never win. So be a good lad and lower the sword.” He was serious, and a pit formed in my stomach. Looking down at me, I saw his eyes shaded, the emerald glow as sharp as a knife's edge. I lowered my sword immediately. The blade fizzled out and left naught but a few embers. He simply smiled and walked away.

“We'll meet again, my lord. You've proven yourself useful and there is always more work to be done.” He tipped his cap and walked towards the forest. I couldn't tell if he was walking on air or if my eyes were playing tricks on me, but he vanished. Not before leaving with one last silver toothed grin.

I learned a lot on that day. I now try to learn as much as possible before really setting out on a job. Even though I've wronged others, hurt others, I want to do better. I want to be better. To aid rather than harm. That's the hard part of it, though. It's easy to admit that something isn't your fault, and sometimes circumstance can lead people down dark roads. Even though tricked, I still bear responsibility for what happened. I killed Brittany. Some of you might say it was self defense, but I knew what I wrought when I took the contract. I still fight. Mu is unforgiving and one should defend themselves, but I still strive to change not only my surroundings but myself as well. To leave this world in a better state than when I found it. It won't be easy, it never is easy to change yourself. So now I search for context before and during a monster hunt. Not all monsters are wicked, and not all people are good. That line blurs so very often, and it is up to us to learn in order to improve. Since then, I've learned an open mind is a powerful tool, not just out of guilt or shame, but to hope for a better tomorrow.

#fantasy #horror #vtuber

[dearviper]

Certain Dark Things Chapter 16: Without Knowing How

WARNINGS: 18+ (minors dni!); unwanted touching/kissing (Check the replies for where to stop/restart reading if you want to avoid these while reading the chapter!)

Table of Contents | My Masterlist

“The time has come,” you heard Edward say from the living room. You knew he wasn’t talking to you; he was livestreaming again.

He had done it a few times before, but he didn’t usually allow you to listen in. Normally he’d kiss you goodnight and lock you in your room until his broadcast was over.

But this time he had left the door open, as if he wanted you to overhear. Something about tonight was different — you just didn’t know what.

“You’ll find out in due time,” he had assured you, eyes alight with anticipation. That had only exacerbated the sense of foreboding that hung over your head.

And now, hearing him speak to his followers (it concerned you that he called them that), you knew your dread was warranted.

“Tonight, our dear Mayor Mitchell,” Edward spat out the name like it was poison, “Will lie his last.”

Hot panic rushed through your veins as you continued listening in curious horror.

“Oh wow, the chat’s really blowing up here,” he chuckled, his bashful tone juxtaposing his modulated voice. “Let’s see, uh… WarIsMyName, always good to hear from you, man. I’m just excited as you are.”

“Okay who else… HoldTheLine, for security purposes I won’t answer that on stream, but I can message you after…”

He paused for a moment, likely reading some of the replies.

“Oh also, before I forget, shoutout to Reignitin for helping with the uniform, they had some great suggestions. Why am I not… because it’s quicker to say Reignitin than saying xxReignitinxx out loud every time, same reason I don’t say the 81 in HoldTheLine’s name…”

It was jarring how casually he spoke, chatting with them like it was all a game.

Edward continued on like that for about half an hour, answering questions from his disciples. With every sentence, your apprehension grew.

“Alright, time for me to say goodbye for a little while. Keep your eyes on the TV tomorrow, and you just might see me. Oh, and happy Halloween! This is the Riddler, signing off.”

The Riddler?

You didn’t have much time to think about what he said before you heard the scrape of a chair and footsteps coming down the hall.

The door swung open and you were briefly alarmed when a tall man in a green combat mask and field jacket entered the room.

You scuttled back against the wall in fear, and the man spoke in Edward’s voice.

“Shit, sorry, I forgot you haven’t seen the uniform yet.” With that, he pulled the unsettling mask off and revealed his own flushed face.

“No, I haven’t,” you replied, trying to calm your racing heart to no avail. There was an unnerving look in Edward’s eyes, something halfway between joy and madness.

“Well… what do you think?” He replaced the mask and cocked his head curiously at you. Your mouth was dry, and you remained in silent terror until you realized he expected an answer.

“It’s, uh… intimidating,” you answered lightly.

“Intimidating” was an understatement. It was menacing, sinister. Eldritch, even.

You could not see the rest of his face, but the corners of his eyes crinkled as if he was smiling. As if he had hoped you would say that.

He kneeled down in front of you and pulled your hand from your lap and shoved it against the mask. Sighing softly at your touch, he moved your hand in circles on his cheek.

You fought the urge to yank your hand away, disconcerted by his sudden boldness.

“I will be Gotham’s salvation,” he declared, his voice low and tinged with dark excitement. “I will be its reckoning.”

Christ, was he turned on?

He stood up suddenly and crushed you against his chest. The most apt word to describe the act was an embrace, but this was far beyond that. It felt like he was trying to absorb you into his torso, to cocoon himself around you so you would never be parted.

“Eddie-”

“-Riddler,” he corrected in a husky tone.

“...Riddler,” you agreed to appease him. “What… what are you going to do to the mayor tonight?”

Tilting his head side-to-side, he hummed as if deep in thought.

“Scream it bloody, scream it blue, you’d scream too if it happened to you,” he sing-songed. A shiver went down your spine.

“That’s a riddle?”

He nodded slowly, almost condescendingly (though it was hard to tell with the mask on).

Even without the riddle, you knew. He was going to kill the mayor. Tonight.

You swallowed hard before whispering, “Murder.”

As if rewarding you for getting the answer right, Edward pulled the mask back off. It was little comfort, as doing so only revealed the crazed look in his eyes.

“My clever girl.”

His voice came out breathily as he placed a hand on the nape of your neck. The short hairs there would be standing up if not for his gloved thumb smoothing them back down.

Firmly, he pulled your head towards his. You were simultaneously petrified and pliant as he kissed you, neither reacting nor resisting.

He pulled back, confusion evident on his face at your lack of reciprocation. “What’s wrong?”

You sucked in a much-needed breath. “It’s just… a lot to take in.”

“Oh, I know,” he soothed, running his other thumb over your cheek. Your skull was now trapped between his hands. “But it’s a necessary evil. Revolutions always require a little bloodshed.”

“But why does he need to die?” you pressed. “The police-”

“I already told you,” he snapped irritably. “The cops in this town are good for nothing. Half of them have a finger in the Renewal pie, and the rest look the other way. And they will be dealt with accordingly.”

Edward’s voice had gone from righteous fury to cool violence in a matter of seconds. He was no longer rubbing your cheek, but was instead squeezing your head uncomfortably hard as if trying to get you to focus on his words.

Just when you were sure your skull would crack under the pressure, he finally released his grasp. He stared at you for a few seconds, dissecting you with his gaze.

“One more thing: we’re going to have a guest tomorrow.”

A guest? One of his followers? Another terrorist?

The shock must have been plain on your face, because Edward began to explain further. “He won’t be here for more than a day. I’m bringing him back late tonight, so I’m going to move you into my bedroom.”

Edward’s expression turned wary as he continued speaking. “The collar stays on, but you won’t be tied up in there. I trust that you won’t do anything stupid.”

It wasn’t a question, but you nodded an affirmation anyways.

“Good. I know we had a bit of a rough patch at the start, but we understand each other now, don’t we?”

Realizing he wanted a verbal confirmation, you spoke up and laid it on thick, jumping at the chance to be off-leash. “I know you just want what’s best for me, Eddie.”

His face softened at your words — briefly, anyways. There was something sordid that lurked behind his eyes, something terribly pleased by your submission.

“You’re so… good,” he breathed heavily. He encroached on your personal space, placing his hands on your waist as if to steady himself. “So good.”

He had you trapped. You were grateful that you were sitting cross-legged; if your legs had been spread in the slightest, you were sure he would have wedged his way between them.

As it was now, he was leaning at an awkward angle over your legs so he could press his forehead against your own. His grasp on your waist was uncomfortable, but you silently begged that his hands would remain there instead of wandering lower.

“You seem nervous,” he whispered teasingly. You shook your head quickly, not wanting to show fear, and he laughed. “Then why can I see your pulse practically jumping out of your neck?”

“I’m just…” you trailed off.

Repulsed, you wanted to say, Nauseated. Terrified.

You tensed up when he pressed a kiss to the aforementioned pulse point, nudging aside the collar with his nose.

“Turned on?” he asked huskily, nuzzling into your neck. You swallowed bile at his question, trying to find an escape route.

“Unfortunately,” he sighed and pulled back, “I don’t have time for that right now. I have a job to do, and I want our first time to be special. Don’t you?”

You gulped. Not knowing what else to do, you nodded miserably. Despite what he said, his gaze lingered on your neck and trailed shamelessly down to your tightened chest.

Please don’t, you begged in your head. Please just leave.

Your prayers were answered as he seemed to snap out of his trance. He smiled tenderly at you, a slight blush rising to his cheeks when he realized you caught him staring.

“You’re still a distraction,” he said fondly. You were both longing for and terrified of the day when that fondness would run out.

Pulling you from your thoughts, he rotated the collar to the front of your neck and toyed with the lock until the cable disconnected.

Like he did each time he detached the leash, Edward took a step back. You wondered if it was a conscious movement or not.

Maybe it’s his body remembering how I decked him the first time he took it off, you thought with sick glee. Good ol’ muscle memory.

You felt a burst of pride at his cautiousness (even if it was subconscious). There was a time when that thought would have you worried about the kind of person you’d become, but fuck it.

He kidnapped you and made you live under inhumane conditions for two months now — he deserved to be afraid.

A small, devilish part of you wanted to make a sudden move just to see how he would react. But the rational part won out as you considered the consequences, and so to be safe you remained docile as he led you into the hall.

“You should use the bathroom before I leave,” he recommended. “I’m not sure how long I'll be.”

You did as suggested, almost cheering when he actually closed the door to give you privacy. It was pitiful that you were excited over such a thing, but it was progress.

When you came out, he was balancing three trays of food. You raised a brow in silent question.

“Dinner for tonight, breakfast and lunch for tomorrow,” he clarified. “Can you get the door?”

Turning the knob, you entered his bedroom for the first time. It was so… normal. The phrase “the banality of evil” ran through your mind.

He watched you curiously as you took a turn about the small room. The spartan furnishings reminded you of army barracks. There was only a twin bed (the same style as your own) and a nightstand.

“Cozy,” you remarked with amusement, regretting it immediately when he chuckled.

“In my defense, this apartment has only recently become my main residence.”

Because of me, or because of his plot? you wondered curiously, though you didn’t voice the question aloud.

“I don’t want you…” He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “You can’t come out until I say, so I’m going to lock you in.”

“What if I need to pee?”

You were being purposefully difficult now, but you couldn’t help yourself.

Edward just sighed and left the room. He returned a few seconds later with the Luggable Loo, and you glared at the hateful thing.

“It’s just for the next day,” he reminded you irritably.

Though you wanted to snap at him, you knew better. Instead, you played on his sympathies (and his guilt).

“It’s just that the last time I used that, I was throwing up in it. I can’t say I’m a fan.”

You smiled wanly, like you were embarrassed at the memory. Immediately, his demeanor changed back to the doting lover.

Wrapping his arms around you, he pulled you back into his chest.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can, I promise,” he murmured into your hair.

In his embrace, you could feel his body hum with excitement. It was like being held by a car engine.

With a final kiss to the crown of your head, he left the room and locked the door behind him.

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#edward nashton x reader #edward nygma x reader #riddler x reader #edward nashton #edward nygma #riddler #batman #paul dano #certain dark things #dearviper